Rolf In The Woods - Ernest Thompson Seton (interesting books to read for teens .TXT) 📗
- Author: Ernest Thompson Seton
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"Charge!" Shouted The British Officer And The Red-Coats Charged
To The Bridge, But The Fire From The Embankment Was Incessant;
The Trail Of The Charging Men Was Cluttered With Those Who Fell.
"Forward!" And The Gallant British Captain Leaped On The Central
Stringer Of The Bridge And, Waving His Sword, Led On. Instantly
Three Lines Of Men Were Formed, One On Each Stringer.
They Were Only Fifty Yards From The Barricade, With Five Hundred
Rifles, All Concentrated On These Stringers. The First To Fall
Was The Captain, Shot Through The Heart, And The River Bore Him
Away. But On And On Came The Three Ranks Into The Whistling,
Withering Fire Of Lead. It Was Like Slaughtering Sheep. Yet On
And On They Marched Steadily For Half An Hour. Not A Man Held
Back Or Turned, Though All Knew They Were Marching To Their
Certain Death. Not One Of Them Ever Reached The Centre Of The
Span, And Those Who Dropped, Not Dead, Were Swallowed By The
Swollen Stream. How Many Hundred Brave Men Were Sacrificed That
Day, No One Ever Knew. He Who Gave The Word To Charge Was Dead
With His Second And Third In Command And Before Another Could
Come To Change The Order, The River Ran Red -- The Bloody Saranac
They Call It Ever Since.
The Regiment Was Wrecked, And The Assault For The Time Was Over.
Rolf Had Plied His Rifle With The Rest, But It Sickened Him To
See The Horrible Waste Of Human Valour. It Was Such Ghastly Work
That He Was Glad Indeed When A Messenger Came To Say He Was
Needed At Headquarters. And In An Hour He Was Crossing The Lake
With News And Instructions For The Officer In Command At Burlington.
Chapter 80 (The Battle Of Plattsburg)
In Broad Daylight He Skimmed Away In His One Man Canoe.
For Five Hours He Paddled, And At Star-Peep He Reached The Dock
At Burlington. The Howl Of A Lost Dog Caught His Ear; And When He
Traced The Sound, There, On The Outmost Plank, With His Nose To
The Skies, Was The Familiar Form Of Skookum, Wailing And Sadly
Alone.
What A Change He Showed When Rolf Landed; He Barked, Leaped,
Growled, Tail-Wagged, Head-Wagged, Feet-Wagged, Body-Wagged,
Wig-Wagged And Zigzagged For Joy; He Raced In Circles, Looking
For A Sacrificial Hen, And Finally Uttered A Long And
Conversational Whine That Doubtless Was Full Of Information For
Those Who Could Get It Out.
Rolf Delivered His Budget At Once. It Was Good News, But Not
Conclusive. Everything Depended Now On Macdonough. In The Morning
All Available Troops Should Hurry To The Defence Of Plattsburg;
Not Less Than Fifteen Hundred Men Were Ready To Embark At Daylight.
That Night Rolf Slept With Skookum In The Barracks. At Daybreak,
Much To The Latter's Disgust, He Was Locked Up In A Cellar, And
The Troops Embarked For The Front.
It Was A Brisk North Wind They Had To Face In Crossing And
Passing Down The Lake. There Were Many Sturdy Oarsmen At The
Sweeps, But They Could Not Hope To Reach Their Goal In Less Than
Five Hours.
When They Were Half Way Over, They Heard The Cannon Roar; The
Booming Became Incessant; Without Question, A Great Naval Battle
Was On, For This North Wind Was What The British Had Been
Awaiting. The Rowers Bent To Their Task And Added To The Speed.
Their Brothers Were Hard Pressed; They Knew It, They Must Make
Haste. The Long Boats Flew. In An Hour They Could See The Masts,
The Sails, The Smoke Of The Battle, But Nothing Gather Of The
Portentous Result. Albany And New York, As Well As Plattsburg,
Were In The Balance, And The Oarsmen Rowed And Rowed And Rowed.
The Cannon Roared Louder And Louder, Though Less Continuously, As
Another Hour Passed. Now They Could See The Vessels Only Four
Miles Away. The Jets Of Smoke Were Intermittent From The Guns;
Masts Went Down. They Could See It Plainly. The Rowers Only Set
Their Lips And Rowed And Rowed And Rowed.
Sir George Had Reckoned On But One Obstacle In His March To
Albany, An Obstruction Named Macdonough; But He Now Found There
Was Another Called Macomb.
It Was Obviously A Waste Of Men To Take Plattsburg By Front
Assault, When He Could Easily Force A Passage Of The River Higher
Up And Take It On The Rear; And It Was Equally Clear That When
His Fleet Arrived And Crushed The American Fleet, It Would Be A
Simple Matter For The War Vessels To Blow The Town To Pieces,
Without Risking A Man.
Already A Favouring Wind Had Made It Possible For Downie To Leave
Isle Au Noix And Sail Down The Lake With His Gallant Crew, Under
Gallant Canvas Clouds.
Tried Men And True In Control Of Every Ship, Out- Numbering
Macdonough, Outweighing Him, Outpointing Him In Everything But
Seamanship, They Came On, Sure Of Success.
Three Chief Moves Were In Macdonough's Strategy. He Anchored To
The Northward Of The Bay, So That Any Fleet Coming Down The Lake
Would Have To Beat Up Against The Wind To Reach Him; So Close To
Land That Any Fleet Trying To Flank Him Would Come Within Range
Of The Forts; And Left Only One Apparent Gap That A Foe Might Try
To Use, A Gap In Front Of Which Was A Dangerous Sunken Reef. This
Was Indeed A Baited Trap. Finally He Put Out Cables, Kedges,
Anchors, And Springs, So That With The Capstan He Could Turn His
Vessels And Bring Either Side To Bear On The Foe.
All Was Ready, That Morning Of September The 11th As The British
Fleet, Ably Handled, Swung Around The Cumberland Head.
The Young Commander Of The Yankee Fleet Now Kneeled Bareheaded
With His Crew And Prayed To The God Of Battles As Only Those
Going Into Battle Pray. The Gallant Foe Came On, And Who That
Knows Him Doubts That He, Too, Raised His Heart In Reverent
Prayer? The First Broadside From The British Broke Open A Chicken
Coop On The Saratoga From Which A Game-Cock Flew, And, Perching
On A Gun, Flapped His Wings And Crowed; So All The Seamen Cheered
At Such A Happy Omen.
Then Followed The Fighting, With Its Bravery And Its Horrors --
Its Brutish Wickedness Broke Loose.
Early In The Action, The British Sloop, Finch, Fell Into
Macdonough's Trap And Grounded On The Reef.
The British Commander Was Killed, With Many Of His Officers.
Still, The Heavy Fire Of The Guns Would Have Given Them The
Victory, But For Macdonough's Foresight In Providing For Swinging
His Ships. When One Broadside Was Entirely Out Of Action, He Used
His Cables, Kedges And Springs, And Brought The Other Batteries
To Bear.
It Was One Of The Most Desperate Naval Fights The World Has Ever
Seen. Of The Three Hundred Men On The British Flag- Ship Not More
Than Five, We Are Told, Escaped Uninjured; And At The Close There
Was Not Left On Any One Of The Eight Vessels A Mast That Could
Carry Sail, Or A Sail That Could Render Service. In Less Than Two
Hours And A Half The Fight Was Won, And The British Fleet
Destroyed.
To The God Of Battles Each Had Committed His Cause: And The God
Of Battles Had Spoken.
Far Away To The Southward In The Boats Were The Vermont Troops
With Their General And Rolf In The Foremost. Every Sign Of The
Fight They Had Watched As Men Whose Country's Fate Is Being Tried.
It Was A Quarter After Eleven When The Thunder Died Away; And The
Vermonters Were Headed On Shore, For A Hasty Landing, If Need Be,
When Down From The Peak Of The British Flag-Ship Went The Union
Jack, And The Stars And Stripes Was Hauled To Take Its Place.
"Thank God!" A Soft, Murmuring Sigh Ran Through All The Boats And
Many A Bronzed And Bearded Cheek Was Wet With Tears. Each Man
Clasped Hands With His Neighbour; All Were Deeply Moved, And Even
As An Audience Melted Renders No Applause, So None Felt Any Wish
To Vent His Deep Emotion In A Cheer.
Chapter 81 (Scouting For Macomb)
General Macomb Knew That Sir George Prevost Was A Cautious And
Experienced Commander. The Loss Of His Fleet Would Certainly Make
A Radical Change In His Plans, But What Change? Would He Make A
Flank Move And Dash On To Albany, Or Retreat To Canada, Or
Entrench Himself To Await Reinforcements At Plattsburg, Or Try To
Retrieve His Laurels By An Overwhelming Assault On The Town?
Whatever His Plan, He Would Set About It Quickly, And Macomb
Studied The Enemy's Camp With A Keen, Discerning Eye, But Nothing
Suggesting A Change Was Visible When The Sun Sank In The Rainy West.
It Was Vital That He Know It At Once When An Important Move Was
Begun, And As Soon As The Night Came Down, A Score Of The
Swiftest Scouts Were Called For. All Were Young Men; Most Of Them
Had Been In Mcglassin's Band. Rolf Was Conspicuous Among Them For
His Tall Figure, But There Was A Vermont Boy Named Seymour, Who
Had The Reputation Of Being The Swiftest Runner Of Them All.
They Had Two Duties Laid Before Them: First, To Find Whether
Prevost's Army Was Really Retreating; Second, What Of The
Regiment He Sent Up The Saranac To Perform The Flank Movement.
Each Was Given The Country He Knew Best. Some Went Westerly, Some
Followed Up The River. Rolf, Seymour, And Fiske, Another
Vermonter, Skimmed Out Of Plattsburg Harbour In The Dusk, Rounded
Cumberland Bend, And At Nine O'clock Landed At Point Au Roche, At
The North Side Of Treadwell's Bay.
Here They Hid The Canoe And Agreeing To Meet Again At Midnight,
Set Off In Three Different Westerly Directions To Strike The
Highway At Different Points. Seymour, As The Fast Racer, Was
Given The Northmost Route; Rolf Took The Middle. Their Signals
Were Arranged -- In The Woods The Barred-Owl Cry, By The Water
The Loon; And They Parted.
The Woods Seemed Very Solemn To Rolf That Historic September
Night, As He Strode Along At Speed, Stopping Now And Again When
He Thought He Heard Some Signal, And Opened Wide His Mouth To
Relieve His Ear-Drums Of The Heart-Beat Or To Still The Rushing
Of His Breath.
In Half An Hour He Reached The High-Road. It Was Deserted. Then
He Heard A Cry Of The Barred Owl:
Wa -- Wah -- Wa -- Wah Wa - Wah -- Wa -- Hooooo-Aw.
He Replied With The Last Line, And The Answer Came A Repeat Of
The Whole Chant, Showing That It Might Be Owl, It Might Be Man;
But It Was Not The Right Man, For The Final Response Should Have
Been The Hooooo-Aw. Rolf Never Knew Whence It Came, But Gave No
Further Heed.
For A Long Time He Sat In A Dark Corner, Where He Could Watch The
Road. There Were Sounds Of Stir In The Direction Of Plattsburg.
Then Later, And Much Nearer, A Couple Of Shots Were Fired. He
Learned Afterward That Those Shots Were Meant For One Of His
Friends. At Length There Was A Faint Tump Ta Tump Ta. He Drew His
Knife, Stuck It Deep In The Ground, Then Held The Handle In His
Teeth. This Acted Like A Magnifier, For Now He Heard It Plainly
Enough -- The Sound Of A Horse At Full Gallop -- But So Far Away
That It Was Five Minutes Before He
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