Kitabı oku: «With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga», sayfa 4

Enoch had long been considered the best wrestler among the boys of his age. Although Lot was older and taller than him, he threw the bigger boy easily. Crow Wing had quite as easily worsted young Breckenridge; but when the Indian and Enoch finally faced each other in the ring the latter gritted his teeth and determined to put forth every ounce of strength, and use every legitimate trick he knew, to beat his antagonist.

He had recovered his wind now and felt fresh and strong. He measured the lithe form of Crow Wing before the word was given and saw that, although the Indian was doubtless stronger than he in the legs and through the loins, where much of the strain comes in a wrestling match, his own arms and shoulders were much better. Crow Wing ran a great deal, or walked. He was on the trail almost continually, and thus his leg muscles were splendidly developed. Whereas the white boy swung an axe or wielded a hoe almost every day and the upper part of his body was in excellent condition. He saw that if he could seize Crow Wing quickly and with a first effort overpower him, the victory would be his.

So he went into the wrestling match with the intention of getting a “down” at once, and the first round was over almost before Crow Wing knew what Enoch was about. “A fair fall! a fair fall!” cried the boys, and danced about the pair as it was seen that both Crow Wing’s hips and his shoulders were squarely on the turf. The Indian rose slowly, evidently much surprised by the white boy’s tactics. If he was angry he did not show it. His face was as passive as ever.

“Quick work that,” said Bolderwood. “You’ll have to wake up, Crow Wing, if you want to get the best of Nuck.”

“Hurrah for Nuck!” shouted the boys.

But the second trial was another matter. Crow Wing approached warily. He feinted several times and then leaped away when Enoch tried to seize him as he had before. He had felt the power of the white boy’s muscles, and he did not propose to allow a second quick stroke. Enoch followed him around the ring and finally clutched him, but at arms’ length. It was not a good hold; he knew it on the instant. But he had as good a chance as Crow Wing and there they were, swaying to and fro, and panting for several minutes, before either obtained the advantage.

Finally the Indian lad forced Enoch over his leg and slowly, yet determinedly, pushed him backward to the ground. When they fell Crow Wing was on top, but it was several moments ere he managed to force Enoch’s shoulders and hips to the earth together. The second round was declared won by Crow Wing and the boys took a rest before the third and final one. Enoch was glad to see that his antagonist suffered as much as he did this time, laboring for breath and with his face and arms covered with perspiration. When Bolderwood called them for the third round the Indian flung off his hunting shirt, thus showing that he considered the white boy a worthy antagonist indeed.

Enoch was more confident than before. He saw that he could not repeat his first quick throw; but he would not be deceived again into getting any uncertain hold. Crow Wing continued his former tactics, but Enoch simply followed him about, feinting as well as the Indian, and at last, when Crow Wing ran in, thinking he had a chance for an under hold, he caught him like a young bear and hugged him to his chest until the breath was fairly forced from the other’s lungs. Although taller than the white boy the Indian was not so heavy and this display of muscle startled him. With one arm caught between his own body and Enoch’s he could do little to help himself and Enoch squeezed hard before he let him go. Then, with a quick toss, stooping as he made it, Enoch flung him, long legs and all, over his shoulder, and before Crow Wing could rise he was upon him and held him down. The Indian was so breathless that it was a small matter for Enoch to get the “four points” necessary to win the fall and he rose at last triumphant.

The boys and girls cheered him and Bolderwood said he was a good wrestler, and then Crow Wing, who had slipped into his shirt again, came to him and said, with a still impassive face: “Umph! white boy big wrestler–beat Crow Wing fair!” He held out his hand gravely and, after shaking Enoch’s, stalked away while the others were busy, his absence being unnoticed until it came time to go up to the house for supper. “Guess he didn’t like being licked,” said Robbie Baker to Enoch. “You better look out for him, Nuck. My pa says them Injins is as treacherous as wolves.”

But somehow Enoch felt that Crow Wing was a better friend to him than he had been before. Something in the Indian’s handshake seemed to have told him this. The supper was quite as good as the boys had expected. After the meal they shot at a target under ’Siah Bolderwood’s direction and Robbie Baker, son of the greatest shot in the settlement, as was expected, bore off the honors. The company went home through the forest trails by moonlight and thus ended a long and happy day, in which much that was useful had been accomplished as well as a “good time” enjoyed.

As Enoch stood at the door of the cabin and watched the red glow from the fires in the newly cleared lot, he went over in his mind the incidents of the day. Such holidays were not plentiful in his life. It was mostly work and little play, and he would remember this occasion for many months. He did not suspect how many months would elapse, and how many momentous happenings would occur, before he saw all his young friends together once again.

CHAPTER VII
A NIGHT ATTACK

Not often did the Harding children enjoy such a day as that of the stump-burning. Life was very real indeed to pioneer folks, although the fact that every family in the community had to work hard left no loophole for complaint on any side. There were no very poor people then, and there were no immensely rich. It is only by comparison that human beings become discontented with their lot.

The widow’s children had to work little harder than their neighbors. Their mother labored with them in the fields, as well as paying full attention to her household duties. She could swing an axe with most men in the township, and was no mean shot with the rifle. She led the corn hoeing and taught the older boys to do those things which were needful about the farm. The crops during this summer prospered well, and after clearing up and barreling the ashes made during the stump-burning, Enoch and Bryce ploughed and harrowed the new piece along the creek’s edge. They sowed it to winter grain and hung “scare-crows” all about the field to keep the wild birds from pulling up the tender shoots when they appeared above the mold.

Besides leading her children in the work of the farm, Mistress Harding paid more attention to their education than most parents of the settlement could. There was a school in Bennington during the winter months; but it was too far away for any of the Hardings to attend. But the widow had been a school-teacher before her marriage and she had brought some books with her from her old home. So part of almost every day she taught her children. The girls and little Harry, who was just learning his letters and “a-b, abs,” studied during the daytime; but the older boys did their lessons by the light of the candle dips, or lying on the hearth before the dancing fire. Both summer and winter these studies were kept up and therefore Enoch and his brothers and sisters were rather farther advanced in learning than the other children of the scattered community.

To this study Enoch took rather kindly; but to Bryce, who possessed more of his father’s roving disposition, the school hour was distasteful. Bryce, too, complained more than a little because he was not allowed to go to Bennington on training days. He was growing rapidly and was well nigh as big as his brother, and he felt that he should be counted a member of the military company.

This drilling in the manual of arms had become a very serious matter to the Grants people. The Green Mountain Boys, which nickname had before the end of the summer become fixed upon the bands, were divided into four companies of which Seth Warner, ’Member Baker, Robert Cochran and Gideon Warner were the captains. Ethan Allen was elected colonel commanding by acclamation and plans were made to watch over many of the outlying districts liable to be troubled most frequently by the Yorkers. With all his impulsiveness, Allen was long-headed and something of a strategist; yet he leaned to some extent upon Captain Warner’s good sense. Warner was a man of much finer mould than the chief of the Green Mountain Boys, was well educated and had a personal following of his own in the Grants, second only to Allen’s. But there was never any jealousy between them. Allen’s was a nature too frank and generous to harbor such a despicable feeling, while Warner was too deeply interested in the cause to do so.

Nuck Harding was a proud boy indeed, for he was nigh the youngest among those who drilled. Such raiding as was done by the Green Mountain Boys that year was the work of small parties under Allen, Warner, or Cochran, and no general engagement occurred between the Grants settlers and the New York authorities, so Nuck saw no real service. At home, however, he and Bryce frequently talked over what they would do if Simon Halpen should visit them. That he had been scouting about the farm on the day of Sheriff Ten Eyck’s fiasco at James Breckenridge’s place, the older boy was sure. He was certain that the man he had seen beside the campfire in the wood, and whom Crow Wing seemed to befriend, was the Yorker who, twice before, had tried to drive the Hardings from their home. But neither the man nor the Indian youth appeared in the neighborhood as the summer waned and the autumn harvests approached.

Nevertheless, after harvest, when the farm work was well cleared up, the boys put into practice a plan which, after much thought they had evolved. Many a frontier home of that, and an earlier day, had connected with it an underground passage, or room which, although usually devoted to the simple storage of potatoes and roots, could in time of need be used as a refuge for the family. Of an Indian attack there was little danger; but they did not know to what length the Yorkers might go when once they did appear. Nuck believed Simon Halpen to be a man without compassion or mercy, and that the house might be attacked and burned over their heads.

So, while still the frost held off, they constructed beneath the fireplace a deep stonewalled apartment nearly eight feet square–large enough to hold the entire family if need should come. When finished the entrance was gained by raising a large flat stone which was a part of the hearth. But the winter came without any alarm to the Hardings, and drew its slow length across the green hills and valleys like some albino monster of prehistoric times. The firs were snow-crowned and the white mantle lay deep in the hollows. Bryce and Enoch added generously to the family larder by the fruit of their hunting-trips, for there was plenty of time for such sport now. They had learned to weave snow-shoes in Indian fashion, too, and Bolderwood taught Enoch to tan and “work” the deer hides so well that their mother was able to use the pliable leather for moccasins for the family. “Boughten” shoes they had; but they were kept for best, for the money to purchase them with came hard indeed to the widow.

Not until the sap began to flow from the maples was winter counted broken. Robbie Baker rode over about the middle of March and begged so hard that Mrs. Harding allowed Enoch to return with him to help at the Baker’s “sugaring.” There were plenty of fine maples near the Baker house and Nuck was promised a share of the refined sugar. There was no need of a hut at the sugar orchard, for they slept at Baker’s house, and only a shelter was built over the great kettle in which the sap was boiled. Captain Baker made the incisions in the generous trees, and fitted the troughs; but Robbie and Nuck collected the sap and brought it, bucket by bucket, to the fire which Mrs. Baker tended. It was hard work but there was some fun connected with it, too, and Nuck enjoyed his week’s visit–or would have done so had it not been for the incident with which the outing closed.

Through the winter the people of the Grants had lived almost entirely at peace with their troublesome neighbors over the border. But there were certain active spirits among the Yorkers who were waiting only for the coming of spring to continue their persecutions. Because of the raids by the leaders of the Green Mountain Boys, there were warrants out for several, and Captain Baker was one of these who was wanted by the Albany authorities. The infamous John Munro who had accepted the office of Justice of the Peace from the New York party, gathered ten or twelve choice spirits on the night of March 22d, and feeling the security of numbers approached the home of the Grants’ remarkable marksman, his mind fixed firmly upon the reward that had been offered for the apprehension of “the outlaw, Baker.”

The Green Mountain Boy was not a man to be attacked without due consideration, and the Yorkers came to the house in the dead of night, breaking in without warning, and capturing Captain Baker in his bed. Even thus handicapped Baker fought with desperation and, overpowered by numbers and cruelly wounded, only gave over the struggle when he saw that the Yorkers were beating his wife and son as well.

“I surrender to ye, ye dogs!” he cried. “But let the woman and child alone,” and at that they ceased to belabor Mrs. Baker and Robbie and set about removing the captive as expeditiously as possible. Robbie had been asleep in the loft with his guest when the attack was made and had run down the ladder to get at the guns; but this last was impossible. Enoch’s rifle was likewise down-stairs and he was unable to help his friends; but instead of showing himself to the enemy he lifted a corner of the bark roof and crept outside. It was dark, and although there was a watch kept without the house, he was not observed and managed to reach the ground by climbing down the corner logs.

By this time Captain Baker was a prisoner. They allowed him to partly dress and then securing him with thongs, brought him forth and threw him into a sledge which was in waiting. Their haste was obvious. Even in the night, and at this distance from any succor, the cowardly justice and his friends feared that members of the Green Mountain company would be aroused, and they had no wish to face Baker’s comrades. Their idea was to get him across the Hudson and to Albany as swiftly as possible.

But Enoch, though unable to render his friends any assistance in the fight, had not been idle. Keeping the house between him and the Yorkers at the door, he reached the stable. Mrs. Baker’s voice rose above the general din, begging the Yorkers to spare her husband–to at least allow her to bind up the wound in his head before they took him away. But they merely laughed at her request. It made Enoch grit his teeth in rage, and pulling open the door of the stable he quickly entered and flung the captain’s saddle upon the horse. Buckling the girth tightly he backed the steed out of the hovel and was astride it before the enemy observed him.

With a smart slap on the creature’s flank Nuck sent the horse tearing down the road to Bennington and was almost out of rifle shot before the Yorkers realized his escape and the meaning of it. Several shots followed him, so reckless were the justice’s companions, but there was no pursuit. Instead, the villains tumbled into the sledge and upon the backs of their own steeds, and amid the cries of the woman and Robbie, took the way to the Twenty-Mile Line and Albany. The prisoner’s wife and son scarcely realized what Nuck’s escape meant; it looked as though the guest had fled when peril threatened the helpless family. But Nuck very well knew what he was about.

It was still several hours before dawn, but the moon brilliantly illumined the forest road and as the way was fairly well beaten, Nuck set the horse at his fastest pace. He knew that he could find men at Bennington–particularly at the Green Mountain Inn–who would consider no hardship too great to assist the captured settler. Many of Remember Baker’s own company of Green Mountain Boys would be in town and Stephen Fay, the host, would be able to tell him where to find these men quickly. It was a long ride to the Hudson and the hope of overtaking the Yorkers and their prisoner spurred the boy on.

On and on flew the horse and rider until at last the scattered houses of the hamlet came into view. The settlement lay lifeless under the cold winter sky; not a spiral of smoke rose from the broad-topped chimneys, for the fires in every house were banked during the night, and it was too early for the spryest kitchen-maid to be astir. The horse thundered up to the door of the Catamount Inn and Nuck’s wild halloa brought a night-capped head to the window instantly–that of the innkeeper.

“What might be the news, neighbor?” he demanded.

“Captain Baker has been carried off by the Yorkers!” shouted Nuck, and his words were heard by other night-capped heads at other windows about the inn. “’Squire Munro and some others came and got him out of bed. They’ve driven off toward the Line.”

“’Member Baker’s captured!” The word was taken up by a dozen voices and the settlers dressed hurriedly and ran forth from their houses. Meanwhile Master Fay had aroused certain men who happened to be in his hostelry, as well as the stablemen in the yard. There was a great bustle about the inn. “Boy!” cried the innkeeper to Nuck, who still bestrode Captain Baker’s horse, “do you go and call Isaac Clark and Joe Safford. They’ll have their horses handy–and good horses, too, I’ll be bound. Tell them to come here with saddle and rifle.”

These two men lived at the other end of the village. Nuck routed them out and in fifteen minutes was back with them at the inn. By that time quite a crowd had collected and ten men beside Nuck were found to be mounted and ready to set forth after the Yorkers. Each was a tried Green Mountain Boy and eager to take satisfaction for the attack upon their leader. Ten men were considered ample to attack the Yorkers, and with a promise to the bystanders to recapture ’Member Baker, even though they followed him to Albany, the cavalcade galloped away from the Green Mountain Inn, Enoch riding in their train.

CHAPTER VIII
THE TRAITOR’S WAY

Remember Baker lived at Arlington, and the distance from that new settlement, it could hardly be called a village, to Bennington was about two and a half miles. Enoch Harding might have given the alarm to the neighbors of the captured man, but he knew that they would not be able to pursue the Yorkers, for good horse flesh was scarce outside of Bennington. And Robbie would doubtless rouse them, anyway, as soon as he was recovered from his fright. As he saw it, Enoch believed his duty to point to the Catamount Inn, and we have seen how quickly a company was formed there for the chase of the Yorkers and their prisoner.

Enoch had ridden Baker’s horse hard into town and now he followed behind the ten rescuers, urging the animal to still greater efforts. The hard-packed snow rang merrily under the hoofs of the steeds. Fortunately the boy’s mount had been well “sharpened” by the local smith shortly before, or riding recklessly as he did the horse might have suffered a fall, and Enoch been flung off. Nevertheless he could not keep up with Isaac Clark and his companions, so gradually fell behind. His steed’s wind was sound, however, and he pursued the trail steadily.

The rescuers showed no hesitation in choosing their route. There were but a few beaten trails and they knew the road John Munro and his party would take with the prisoner to the bank of the Hudson. They could not miss it. The road from Arlington broke into this main trail at a point not far beyond the confines of Bennington and there it was at once apparent that the sledge and horsemen had passed that way not long before. There were plain marks of the runners and the ice and snow were cut up by the feet of the flying horses. The fact that the Yorkers numbered as many–if not more–than themselves, did not disturb the Green Mountain Boys in the least. “A Grants man who is not good for two or three of the scurvy Yorkers, is no good at all!” Stephen Fay had declared when they set forth, and probably the only emotions the ten felt as they rode on were eagerness and wrath.

Meanwhile, behind them raced Enoch Harding, desiring mightily to “be in at the death,” as the fox-hunters say. His heavy farmhorse could not compete with the mounts of the possé, however, and with tears in his eyes he saw them increase the distance between themselves and his animal. But he doggedly pursued the road, while the clatter of hoofs grew mellow in the distance. The morning was very still; the moon had sunk now and the stars were fading before the gray light of the coming day. In the east behind him the sky was even streaked with pink above the mountain-tops; the wind blew more keenly and he suddenly awoke to the fact that he was almost perished with the cold, for he had stopped for neither greatcoat nor mittens.

Finally arriving at the top of a ridge of land he saw before him–at least two miles along the road and just mounting another ridge–a group of flying horses with a sledge in their midst, the prisoner and his captors. At first he did not see the Green Mountain Boys at all; but as his own horse plunged down the slope he suddenly observed the squadron which had left the Bennington Inn, come out of the dip of the valley where the trees were thickest, and begin the ascent of the further ridge. The two parties were less than half a mile apart.

But from the elevation he was on Enoch had seen something else. The second ridge was lower than this and over it and not very far beyond he had caught a glimpse of the frozen Hudson! The river was not far away. Would the settlers catch the scoundrelly New York justice and his companions before they reached the river?

And this must be done if they would rescue Captain Baker. It was all very well to talk of following the party to Albany; but that would simply result in the imprisonment of all in the jail. Once at the river the Yorkers would be among friends and would find plenty of people to help them beat off the Green Mountain Boys. The latter understood this well enough. They did not need young Enoch Harding to tell them, and it was quite evident to the boy that his friends were spurring their horses desperately up the farther slope in a last grand burst of speed to overtake the fugitives.

On and on they sped and finally, when Enoch reached the dip of the vale, Clark and his party were over the hill and had disappeared. The boy dared not urge his horse up the ascent too rapidly and he lost much precious time before reaching the summit. But once here he had a broad outlook over the slope and plain beyond and if he could not be present, at least he had an unobstructed view of the end of the chase. The Green Mountain Boys had spurred down the hill madly and gained upon the sledge so rapidly that the faint-hearted Yorkers were thrown into a panic. The horses attached to the sledge gave out and one of them slipped and fell in the harness. Instead of stopping to help Munro get the animal on its feet, the horsemen, with the fear of punishment from the angry pursuers before their eyes, rode on and scattered in the thick woods beyond, leaving the doughty justice to meet the possé alone. Munro was not a physical coward and he felt that with the majesty of the law–New York law–behind him, he could face Baker’s friends.

They bore down upon him with threatening cries, but he stood his ground and warned them at the top of his voice neither to shoot nor to try to rescue his prisoner. There was no need of firearms, of course, for they were ten to one now. But they laughed his authority to scorn. What! allow him to carry ’Member Baker to Albany to be tried by a judge who was himself interested in land speculations, and by a jury antagonistic to the settlers of the Grants? It was preposterous!

Baker, who suffered sorely from his wounds, was untied and placed upon one of the horses which could carry double. The possé felt ugly, but they did not harm the justice and after some wordy warfare rode away again, leaving Munro to get his horse up and harnessed again to the sledge without their help. His threats of future punishment for the entire party were unnoticed. Their wild ride had been crowned with success, for they had recovered their wounded comrade within a mile of the Hudson River, and they took him home without any molestation.

But Captain Baker was weak from the loss of blood and terribly shaken by the experience and was in bed and under the care of a surgeon for some days. The news of the Yorkers’ raid spread throughout the Grants and the settlers whose fears had been lulled to sleep by the peace of the winter, were roused to a realization of the fact that the land grabbers intended to be quite as active in the future as they had been in the past. The next training day the conversation of the Green Mountain Boys who were present in Bennington was bitter indeed. Cochran, and such reckless spirits, were for retaliating with fire and bullet on the New York border. Nevertheless Warner and other more moderate men counseled forbearance.

“We overawed the sheriff’s army last year, it is true. But at that time we had given the people of New York no reasonable excuse for attacking us,” declared Warner. “We’ve beech-sealed more than one surveyor and warned New York settlers off the farms they had stolen since then. We’ve been obliged to use force and now force will be used against us. But I find that many of these New York settlers have been brought here under a misapprehension. They did not understand the controversy before they got the farms, and believed that the land-grabbers really owned the property of which they are in possession. To visit our righteous wrath upon helpless women and children will not help the cause of the Grants.”

Many of his hearers, however, were not convinced. “’Member Baker’s been beaten and his wife and boy ill-treated. What are we going to do about it?” was the demand.

“Complaint has already been made to Governor Tryon of New York, and John Munro may be punished by his own side for what he did the other night.”

“And there’s ’Member’s gun,” spoke up another ill-affected partisan. “Munro stole it and has got it to his house. I’m told so by a neighbor of his. ’Member thinks a deal of that gun.”

“I’ll get that,” said Warner, quickly. “’Member shall have his property back before next training day.”

And with that promise the disaffected spirits were satisfied for the time being. When Enoch rode away from Bennington on his return home that afternoon, the Connecticut giant overtook him on the road. Warner was a fine-looking man, younger even than Ethan Allen and idolized by the women and children of the community as Allen was by the men. But there was nothing effeminate about Warner. He was of the better class of borderers, possessing more education than most of his neighbors and with that measure of refinement and cultivation which placed George Washington above the majority of his associates. Warner had no patrician bearing, however, but entered into the work, sports and pursuits of his fellows. He was a superb horseman and rode on this day a mount which the governor of New York himself might covet.

Enoch Harding had grown used, by this time, to seeing these prominent leaders of the Grants and had spoken with Captain Warner before. “Master Harding, your road lies my way for some distance,” declared Warner, smiling on the boy. “We will go together.”

“You do not ride this way frequently, sir,” said Enoch.

“Nay. But you heard my promise to-day. I must get ’Member’s gun. That rascally Munro may have to be taught a lesson, too.”

“But will you go alone?” cried the boy.

Warner laughed. “Why, it is a peaceful mission. See–I have not even my rifle–only my sword as captain of our military company. A show of force might only make matters worse–and dear knows they are bad enough as it stands.”

“Munro will be among his friends, sir. Ought you not to have somebody with you?”

“There might be some doubt regarding that, Master Harding. A man like Munro is never blessed with an overabundance of friends. He may have minions that, for wage, would help him in his nefarious deeds. But I shall meet him when he least expects to see a Green Mountain Boy and I fear no serious trouble. But if you have doubt as to my safety,” and he smiled again, “you may ride with me and see that the doughty ’Squire does not capture and run away with me as he attempted to with Captain Baker.”

Enoch’s eyes sparkled at this permission and he spurred on after Captain Warner although the direction was one which carried him some distance out of his way. A two hours’ ride brought them to the settlement where the New York justice lived. Before they reached the place the figure of Warner was spied and recognized and Munro met the Green Mountain Boy in the roadway before his own house, surrounded by several of his neighbors. Enoch kept in the rear and as they rode up the boy unslung his gun and laid it across his saddle. Warner smiled as he noted this act, and then his face grew stern again as he drew rein before the much-hated Yorker.

“Master Munro,” he said, without parley, “it has been brought to my attention that, upon your late evening visit to Captain Remember Baker, you carried away from his house a certain weapon which Captain Baker highly prizes. You mistook it for your own, I presume, and the duties of your office have doubtless been so onerous since then that you have not had opportunity to return it. Happening to be in this neighborhood I have stopped to request the return of the gun.”