Rolf in the Woods

Sir George replied: “If a man had said that, I would call him out; but since it is a fair lady that has been our charming hostess, I reply that when your prophecy comes true, every officer here shall throw his purse on your door step as he passes.”

So they rode away, 13,000 trained men with nothing between them and Albany but 2000 troops, double as many raw militia, and — MacDonough of the Lake.

Ten times did Rolf cover that highway north of Plattsburg in the week that followed, and each day his tidings were the same — the British steadily advance.

Chapter 79. McGlassin’s Exploit

There was a wonderful spirit on everything in Plattsburg, and the earthly tabernacle in which it dwelt, was the tall, grave young man who had protested against Hampton’s behaviour at Burlington — Captain, now General Macomb. Nothing was neglected, every emergency was planned for, every available man was under arms. Personally tireless, he was ever alert and seemed to know every man in his command and every man of it had implicit confidence in the leader. We have heard of soldiers escaping from a besieged fortress by night; but such was the inspiring power of this commander that there was a steady leaking in of men from the hills, undrilled and raw, but of superb physique and dead shots with the ride.

A typical case was that of a sturdy old farmer who was marching through the woods that morning to take his place with those who manned the breastworks and was overheard to address his visibly trembling legs: “Shake, damn you, shake; and if ye knew where I was leading you, you’d be ten times worse.”

His mind was more valiant than his body, and his mind kept control — this is true courage.

No one had a better comprehension of all this than Macomb. He knew that all these men needed was a little training to make of them the best soldiers on earth. To supply that training he mixed them with veterans, and arranged a series of unimportant skirmishes as coolly and easily as though he were laying out a programme for an evening’s entertainment.

The first of these was at Culver’s Hill. Here a barricade was thrown up along the highway, a gun was mounted, and several hundred riflemen were posted under leaders skilled in the arts of harrying a foe and giving him no chance to strike back.

Among the men appointed for the barricade’s defence was Rolf and near him Quonab. The latter had been seasoned in the Revolution, but it was the former’s first experience at the battle front, and he felt as most men do when the enemy in brave array comes marching up. As soon as they were within long range, his leader gave the order “Fire!” The rifles rattled and the return fire came at once. Balls pattered on the barricade or whistled above. The man next to him was struck and dropped with a groan; another fell back dead. The horror and roar were overmuch. Rolf was nervous enough when he entered the fight. Now he was unstrung, almost stunned, his hands and knees were shaking, he was nearly panic-stricken and could not resist the temptation to duck, as the balls hissed murder over his head. He was blazing away, without aiming, when an old soldier, noting his white face and shaking form, laid a hand on his shoulder and, in kindly tones, said: “Steady, boy, steady; yer losing yer head; see, this is how,” and he calmly took aim, then, without firing, moved the gun again and put a little stick to raise the muzzle and make a better rest, then fired as though at target practice. “Now rest for a minute. Look at Quonab there; you can see he’s been through it before. He is making a hit with every shot.”

Rolf did as he was told, and in a few minutes his colour came back, his hand was steady, and thenceforth he began to forget the danger and thought only of doing his work.

When at length it was seen that the British were preparing to charge, the Americans withdrew quickly and safely to Halsey’s Corner, where was another barricade and a fresh lot of recruits awaiting to receive their baptism of fire. And the scene was repeated. Little damage was done to the foe but enormous benefit was gained by the Americans, because it took only one or two of these skirmishes to turn a lot of shaky-kneed volunteers into a band of steady soldiers — for they had it all inside. Thus their powder terror died.

That night the British occupied the part of the town that was north of the Saranac, and began a desultory bombardment of the fortification opposite. Not a very serious one, for they considered they could take the town at any time, but preferred to await the arrival of their fleet under Downie.

The fight for the northern half of the town was not serious, merely part of Macomb’s prearranged training course; but when the Americans retired across the Saranac, the planks of the bridges were torn up, loop-holed barricades were built along the southern bank, and no effort spared to prepare for a desperate resistance.