Rolf in the Woods

At six in the morning they were once more going, stiff with travel, sore-footed, face-frozen, and chafed by delay; but, swift and keen, trotting and walking, they went. They passed several settlements, but avoided them. At seven-thirty they had a distant glimpse of Ogdensburg and heard the inspiring roll of drums, and a few minutes later from the top of a hill they had a complete view of the heroic little town to see — yes! plainly enough — that the British flag was flying from the flag pole.

Chapter 70. Saving the Despatches

Oh, the sickening shock of it! Rolf did not know till now how tired he was, how eager to deliver the heartening message, and to relax a little from the strain. He felt weak through and through. There could be no doubt that a disaster had befallen his country’s arms.

His first care was to get out of sight with his sled and those precious despatches.

Now what should he do? Nothing till he had fuller information. He sent Quonab back with the sled, instructing him to go to a certain place two miles off, there camp out of sight and wait.

Then he went in alone. Again and again he was stung by the thought, “If I had come sooner they might have held out.”

A number of teams gathered at the largest of a group of houses on the bank suggested a tavern. He went in and found many men sitting down to breakfast. He had no need to ask questions. It was the talk of the table. Ogdensburg had been captured the day before. The story is well known. Colonel MacDonnell with his Glengarry Highlanders at Prescott went to drill daily on the ice of the St. Lawrence opposite Ogdensburg. Sometimes they marched past just out of range, sometimes they charged and wheeled before coming too near. The few Americans that held the place watched these harmless exercises and often cheered some clever manceuvre. They felt quite safe behind their fortification. By an unwritten agreement both parties refrained from firing random shots at each other. There was little to suggest enemies entrenched; indeed, many men in each party had friends in the other, and the British had several times trotted past within easy range, without provoking a shot.

On February 22d, the day when Rolf and Quonab struck the Oswegatchie, the British colonel directed his men as usual, swinging them ever nearer the American fort, and then, at the nearest point, executed a very pretty charge. The Americans watched it as it neared, but instead of wheeling at the brink the little army scrambled up with merry shouts, and before the garrison could realize that this was war, they were overpowered and Ogdensburg was taken.

The American commander was captured. Captain Forsyth, the second in command, had been off on a snowshoe trip, so had escaped. All the rest were prisoners, and what to do with the despatches or how to get official instructions was now a deep problem. “When you don’t know a thing to do, don’t do a thing,” was one of Si Sylvanne’s axioms; also, “In case of doubt lay low and say nothing.” Rolf hung around the town all day waiting for light. About noon a tall, straight, alert man in a buffalo coat drove up with a cutter. He had a hasty meal in an inside room. Rolf sized him up for an American officer, but there was a possibility of his being a Canadian. Rolf tried in vain to get light on him but the inner door was kept closed; the landlord was evidently in the secret. When he came out he was again swaddled in the buffalo coat. Rolf brushed past him — here was something hard and long in the right pocket of the big coat.

The landlord, the guest, and the driver had a whispered conference. Rolf went as near as he dared, but got only a searching look. The driver spoke to another driver and Rolf heard the words “Black Lake.” Yes, that was what he suspected. Black Lake was on the inland sleigh route to Alexandria Bay and Sackett’s Harbour.

The driver, a fresh young fellow, was evidently interested in the landlord’s daughter; the stranger was talking with the landlord. As soon as they had parted, Rolf went to the latter and remarked quietly: “The captain is in a hurry.” The only reply was a cold look and: “Guess that’s his business.” So it was the captain. The driver’s mitts were on the line back of the stove. Rolf shook them so that they fell in a dark corner. The driver missed his mitts, and glad of a chance went back in, leaving the officer alone. “Captain Forsyth,” whispered Rolf, “don’t go till I have talked with you. I’ll meet you a mile down the road.”

“Who are you and what do you want?” was the curt and hostile reply, evidently admitting the identification correct however.

Rolf opened his coat and showed his scout badge.

“Why not talk now if you have any news — come in side.” So the two went to the inner room. “Who is this?” asked Rolf cautiously as the landlord came in.

“He’s all right. This is Titus Flack, the landlord.”

“How am I to know that?”

“Haven’t you heard him called by name all day?” said the captain.