rolf in the woods- 第55部分

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　82。　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　could　clearly　hear　it　while

standing。　As　the　sound　neared；　he　heard　the　clank　of　arms；　and

when　it　passed；　Rolf　knew　that　this　was　a　mounted　British

officer。　But　why；　and　whither？



In　order　to　learn　the　rider's　route；　Rolf　followed　at　a　trot　for

a　mile。　This　brought　him　to　a　hilltop；　whither　in　the　silent

night；　that　fateful　north　wind　carried　still　the　sound



te　　rump　te　　rump　te　　rump。



As　it　was　nearly　lost；　Rolf　used　his　knife　again；　that　brought

the　rider　back　within　a　mile　it　seemed；　and　again　the　hoof　beat

faded；　　te　　rump　te　　rump。



〃Bound　for　Canada　all　right；〃　Rolf　chuckled　to　himself。　But　there

was　nothing　to　show　whether　this　was　a　mere　despatch　rider；　or　an

advance　scout；　or　a　call　for　reinforcements。



So　again　he　had　a　long　wait。　About　half…past　ten　a　new　and　larger

sound　came　from　the　south。　The　knife　in　the　ground　increased　but

did　not　explain　it。　The　night　was　moonless；　dark　now；　and　it　was

safe　to　sit　very　near　the　road。　In　twenty　minutes　the　sound　was

near　at　hand　in　five；　a　dark　mass　was　passing　along　the　road。

There　is　no　mistaking　the　language　of　drivers。　There　is　never　any

question　about　such　and　such　a　voice　being　that　of　an　English

officer。　There　can　be　no　doubt　about　the　clank　of　heavy　wheels　

a　rich；　tangy　voice　from　some　one　in　advance　said：　〃Oui。　Parbleu；

tows　ce　que　je　sais；　c'est　par　la。〃　A　body　of　about　one　hundred

Britishers；　two　or　three　wagons；　guns；　and　a　Frenchman　for　guide。

Rolf　thought　he　knew　that　voice；　yes；　he　was　almost　sure　it　was

the　voice　of　Francios　la　Colle。



This　was　important　but　far　from　conclusive。　It　was　now　eleven。　He

was　due　at　the　canoe　by　midnight。　He　made　for　the　place　as　fast

as　he　could　go；　which；　on　such　a　night；　was　slow；　but　guided　by

occasional　glimpses　of　the　stars　he　reached　the　lake；　and　pausing

a　furlong　from　the　landing；　he　gave　the　rolling；　quivering　loon　call：



Ho…o…o…o…ooo…o　Ho…o…o…o…ooo…o。　Hooo…ooo。



After　ten　seconds　the　answer　came：



Ho…o…o…o…o…o…o…o　Hoo…ooo。



And　again　after　ten　seconds　Rolf's　reply：



Hoo…ooo。



Both　his　friends　were　there；　Fiske　with　a　bullet…hole　through　his

arm。　It　seemed　their　duty　to　go　back　at　once　to　headquarters　with

the　meagre　information　and　their　wounded　comrade。　But　Fiske　made

light　of　his　trouble　　it　was　a　mere　scratch　　and　reminded

them　that　their　orders　were　to　make　sure　of　the　enemy's

movements。　Therefore；　it　was　arranged　that　Seymour　take　back

Fiske　and　what　news　they　had；　while　Rolf　went　on　to　complete　his　scouting。



By　one　o'clock　he　was　again　on　the　hill　where　he　had　marked　the

horseman's　outward　flight　and　the　escorted　guns。　Now；　as　he

waited；　there　were　sounds　in　the　north　that　faded；　and　in　the

south　were　similar　sounds　that　grew。　Within　an　hour　he　was

viewing　a　still　larger　body　of　troops　with　drivers　and　wheels

that　clanked。　There　were　only　two　explanations　possible：　Either

the　British　were　concentrating　on　Chazy　Landing；　where；　protected

from　MacDonough　by　the　north　wind；　they　could　bring　enough　stores

and　forces　from　the　north　to　march　overland　independent　of　the

ships；　or　else　they　were　in　full　retreat　for　Canada。　There　was

but　one　point　where　this　could　be　made　sure；　namely；　at　the　forks

of　the　road　in　Chazy　village。　So　he　set　out　at　a　jog　trot　for

Chazy；　six　miles　away。



The　troops　ahead　were　going　three　miles　an　hour。　Rolf　could　go　five。

In　twenty　minutes　he　overtook　them　and　now　was　embarrassed

by　their　slowness。　What　should　he　do？　It　was　nearly　impossible　to

make　speed　through　the　woods　in　the　darkness；　so　as　to　pass　them。

He　was　forced　to　content　himself　by　marching　a　few　yards　in　their　rear。



Once　or　twice　when　a　group　fell　back；　he　was　uncomfortably　close

and　heard　scraps　of　their　talk。



These　left　little　doubt　that　the　army　was　in　retreat。　Still　this

was　the　mere　chatter　of　the　ranks。　He　curbed　his　impatience　and

trudged　with　the　troop。　Once　a　man　dropped　back　to　light　his

pipe。　He　almost　touched　Rolf；　and　seeing　a　marching　figure；　asked

in　unmistakable　accents　〃Oi　soi　matey；　'ave　ye　a　loight？〃



Rolf　assumed　the　low　south　country　English　dialect；　already

familiar　through　talking　with　prisoners；　and　replied：　〃Naow；　oi

oin't　a…smowking；〃　then　gradually　dropped　out　of　sight。



They　were　nearly　two　hours　in　reaching　Chazy　where　they　passed

the　Forks；　going　straight　on　north。　Without　doubt；　now；　the　army

was　bound　for　Canada！　Rolf　sat　on　a　fence　near　by　as　their

footsteps　went　tramp；　tramp；　tramp　　with　the　wagons；　clank；

clank；　clank；　and　were　lost　in　the　northern　distance。



He　had　seen　perhaps　three　hundred　men；　there　were　thirteen

thousand　to　account　for；　and　he　sat　and　waited。　He　did　not　have

long　to　wait；　within　half　an　hour　a　much　larger　body　of　troops

evidently　was　approaching　from　the　south；　several　lanterns

gleamed　ahead　of　them；　so　Rolf　got　over　the　fence；