Rolf in the Woods

Every man that could hold up a gun was posted on the lines of Plattsburg. The school-boys, even, to the number of five hundred formed a brigade, and were assigned to places where their squirrel-hunting experiences could be made of service to their country.

Meanwhile the British had established a battery opposite Fort Brown. It was in a position to do some material and enormous moral damage. On the ninth it was nearly ready for bloody work, and would probably begin next morning. That night, however, an extraordinary event took place, and showed how far from terror-palsy were the motley troops in Plattsburg. A sturdy Vermonter, named Captain McGlassin, got permission of Malcomb to attempt a very Spartan sortie.

He called for fifty volunteers to go on a most hazardous enterprise. He got one thousand at once. Then he ordered all over twenty-five and under eighteen to retire. This reduced the number to three hundred. Then, all married men were retired, and thus again they were halved. Next he ordered away all who smoked — Ah, deep philosopher that he was! — and from the remnant he selected his fifty. Among them was Rolf. Then he divulged his plan. It was nothing less than a dash on the new-made fort to spike those awful guns — fifty men to dash into a camp of thirteen thousand.

Again he announced, “Any who wish to withdraw now may do so.” Not a man stirred.

Twenty of those known to be expert with tools were provided with hammers and spikes for the guns, and Rolf was proud to be one of them.

In a night of storm and blackness they crossed the Saranac; dividing in two bodies they crawled unseen, one on each side of the battery. Three hundred British soldiers were sleeping near, only the sentries peered into the storm-sleet.

All was ready when McGlassin’s tremendous voice was heard, “Charge front and rear!” Yelling, pounding, making all the noise they could, the American boys rushed forth. The British were completely surprised, the sentries were struck down, and the rest assured that Macomb’s army was on them recoiled for a few minutes. The sharp click, click, click of the hammers was heard. An iron spike was driven into every touch hole; the guns were made harmless as logs and quickly wheeling, to avoid the return attack, these bold Yankee boys leaped from the muzzled redoubt and reached their own camp without losing one of their number.

Chapter 80. The Bloody Saranac

Sir George Prevost had had no intention of taking Plattsburg, till Plattsburg’s navy was captured. But the moral effect of McGlassin’s exploit must be offset at once. He decided to carry the city by storm — a matter probably of three hours’ work.

He apportioned a regiment to each bridge, another to each ford near the town, another to cross the river at Pike’s Cantonment, and yet another to cross twenty miles above, where they were to harry the fragments of the American as it fled.

That morning Plattsburg was wakened by a renewal of the bombardment. The heavy firing killed a few men knocked down a few walls and chimneys, but did little damage to the earthworks.

It was surprising to all how soon the defenders lost their gun-shyness. The very school-boys and their sisters went calmly about their business, with cannon and musket balls whistling overhead, striking the walls and windows, or, on rare occasions, dropping some rifleman who was over-rash as he worked or walked on the ramparts.

There were big things doing in the British camp — regiments marching and taking their places — storms of rifle and cannon balls raging fiercely. By ten o’clock there was a lull. The Americans, from the grandfathers to the school-boys, were posted, each with his rifle and his pouch full of balls; there were pale faces among the youngsters, and nervous fingers, but there was no giving way. Many a man there was, no doubt, who, under the impulse of patriotism, rushed with his gun to join the ranks, and when the bloody front was reached, he wished in his heart he was safe at home. But they did not go. Something kept them staunch.

Although the lines were complete all along the ramparts, there were four places where the men were massed. These were on the embankments opposite the bridges and the fords. Here the best shots were placed and among them was Rolf, with others of McGlassin’s band.

The plank of the bridges had been torn up and used with earth to form breastworks; but the stringers of the bridges were there, and a body of red-coats approaching, each of them showed plainly what their plan was.

The farthest effective range of rifle fire in those days was reckoned at a hundred yards. The Americans were ordered to hold their fire till the enemy reached the oaks, a grove one hundred yards from the main bridge — on the other bank.