Donald McElroy, Scotch Irishman Part 8

The sense of loneliness and regret, of distaste for the life of hards.h.i.+p before me that oppressed me, as we took horse to return to camp, was entirely new to me. So quickly had a week of ease and luxury, of woman's society, and idle trifling enervated me! I was too far gone even to have proper contempt for myself, and rode all morning by Colonel Morgan's side, silent and morose, answering his cheerful talk with rude monosyllables.

"Look here, my lad," said the Colonel, after a while, "I fear your holiday has done you harm, rather than good. I meant to give you a brief rest and change that would hearten you for the work before you, and, if instead I've led you into a snare, Donald, I'm very sorry."

"What snare, Colonel Morgan?" I enquired somewhat haughtily.

"The snare that a pretty woman's face and a frivolous woman's mind has laid for many a strong man before you, Captain McElroy," answered Colonel Morgan, "but I obtrude neither admonition nor advice, sir," and he spurred his horse forward and rode on in front of me.

The "Captain McElroy" brought me to my senses, for I was not used to hearing anything but "Donald" and "lad" from his lips. I felt heartily ashamed of myself, and presently spurred to his side, and humbly begged his pardon.

"I forgive you without stint, lad," he answered me; "your feelings are very natural, and 'tis hardly my privilege to preach to any young man, for my own youth was reckless and dissipated. But I can say with knowledge that there is no influence a young man needs so much to dread as that of his own ungoverned pa.s.sions, and none he should so carefully guard against. You've heard the old hymn:--

'Lo, on a narrow neck of land 'Twixt Heaven and h.e.l.l I stand';

"Well, if there's a single situation in life these words describe it is that point in a young man's life when he makes his first clear decision between right and desire, between yielding himself the sport of youthful inclinations, and following the clean path of duty. When the time comes for you to win honestly a good woman's love, she will be very proud and glad to know that you can offer her an unsullied manhood. It's the one thing that ever comes between Abigail and me:--that even yet I'm ashamed to tell her some of the episodes of my youth."

"Thank you, Colonel! I shall try to remember your words."

Remembering was easy enough, but making application was more difficult.

I could not see, then, that Colonel Morgan's caution applied to my infatuation for Nelly, further than to put me on my guard against letting that infatuation interfere with my steadfastness and courage as a soldier. I took the warning to heart, therefore, only so far as to set my face sternly toward my duty again. Its true application was made clear to me, almost too late.

CHAPTER VIII

There was little time for moping after we got back to headquarters, for on the very next day, Colonel Morgan issued orders to his captains to get their companies in marching order, and a few days later we filed out of camp in double column, bands playing, colors flying, and our faces northward. The men cheered us as we pa.s.sed, for Morgan's rifle rangers were famous by this time, and were always greeted vociferously.

General Gates gave us an enthusiastic welcome when we came up with him, lying intrenched along the Hudson River from Stillwater to Halfmoon; and from the first he paid us the compliment of giving us the positions of greatest danger and responsibility, issuing a command that we were to receive orders from himself alone. It was ours to do most of the scout and picket duty during the three weeks that the British army waited on the opposite bank of the river about thirty miles above us, their rear protected by Fort Edward.

Burgoyne wearied presently of inaction, and determined to wait no longer for Lord Howe's continually delayed reinforcements. He began, too, to suspect that his position was fast becoming a critical one, for news now reached him that the forces of Baum and St. Leger had been destroyed at the battle of Oriskany, and that the attack upon Fort Stanwix had failed, so that the blow from the west could no longer be counted on; the New England militiamen were gathering in force in his rear, and his Indian and Canadian allies--frightened it was said by the report that Morgan's rifle rangers had joined Gates--daily deserted him. There was no alternative left to General Burgoyne but to cross the river and attack Gates, ere this time well fortified, by the skill of Kosciusko, on Bemis Heights.

For six days longer, Burgoyne hesitated, or awaited reenforcements. On the morning of September the nineteenth, one of the outlook, stationed in a tree top, reported a movement of Burgoyne's army which indicated a concerted rear and front attack upon our position. General Gates decided to await the attack behind our fortifications; but Arnold, who commanded our left wing, argued vehemently in favor of a charge upon Burgoyne's advance column, and at last won Gates' consent that he should lead Morgan's riflemen, and Dearborn's infantry against the approaching enemy. The riflemen were given the lead, and we fell upon Burgoyne with telling energy, Morgan all the time exposing himself recklessly, and shouting encouragement to his men above the incessant crack of their rifles, and the responsive roar of the enemy's guns.

It was a picture worth seeing--our regiment in action, their tall commanding figures in their huntsmen's garb scattering or forming as the ground suggested, and each man firing as coolly as if he had nothing more than a brace of partridges in range.

We had been but a short while in action, when General Frazier turned eastward to help General Burgoyne; and Riedesel, seeing Burgoyne was hard pressed, hurried up to his a.s.sistance from the river road, along which he was marching to attack Gates' position, in front, while, as they had planned, Generals Burgoyne and Frazier should simultaneously attack our position in rear. We had, therefore, successively diverted the entire force, marching to charge Bemis Heights, and fought, with our three thousand backwoods riflemen and raw infantry, four thousand of the best troops in the British army, led by their bravest and most skilled officers.

The fight was waged with desperate determination on both sides for two hours, while Arnold and Morgan galloped hither and thither, animating the men by their voice, presence, and example. Again and again Arnold sent couriers to Gates begging for re-enforcements, and a.s.suring him that with two thousand more men he could crush the army of Burgoyne. But the self opinionated Gates, who preferred to lose by his own judgment, rather than win by any other man's, sat calmly in his tent, watching the fight below, and steadily refused us a.s.sistance. In defiance of his narrow stupidity Arnold fought on till dark, and though Burgoyne was left in possession of the battle field, he had lost heavily, and his attack upon our position had been foiled. We, also, had lost heavily, and of our brave riflemen far more than we could by any means afford to spare.

General Burgoyne did not venture another attempt for nearly three weeks.

Meanwhile we did not lack excitement in camp, for the long brewing difficulties between Gates and Arnold came rapidly to a head, culminating in a rash speech of Gates that "as soon as General Lincoln should arrive he would have no further use for General Arnold," and the withdrawal from Arnold's command of Morgan's and Dearborn's regiments, the two he counted most upon. Arnold was furious and all the officers under Gates, except two or three, were indignant. We had as much confidence in Arnold's courage and military skill, then, as we had doubt of Gates possessing either of these qualities. General Arnold sent in his resignation, which General Gates accepted; but after all the other officers had met and signed a pet.i.tion entreating Arnold to remain, he was induced to withdraw his resignation, and Gates submitted sullenly.

It fell also to the lot of Morgan and Arnold to check the second concerted movement of the British, and upon almost the same ground as before. But the second battle of Freeman's Farm was a far more decisive victory for us. Again Morgan's men led the attack, were the first men on the field, and the last to withdraw. This might well be called the battle of the Colonels, for until General Arnold led the famous charge upon Frazier's wavering line late in the afternoon, which completed the rout of the British, no officer higher in command than a colonel was engaged in the fight on our side.

General Burgoyne now found himself surrounded by the American army, and next discovered that every ford along the river for miles was strongly guarded--Gates was a better general at reaping the fruits of others'

victories, than at winning them for himself. A few days later Burgoyne asked for terms of surrender, and on the seventeenth of October--seven was our lucky number during this campaign--the "Convention of Saratoga"

was carried into effect by the British army marching into a meadow, and laying down their arms, while General Burgoyne handed his sword to General Gates. Our men stayed within their entrenchments, not caring to look upon the humiliation of a brave enemy, and not a single cheer was heard as the disarmed and dejected British repa.s.sed our lines; we realized then, as more than once afterwards, that Americans and Britishers could never really be enemies and that the aims and destinies of Anglo-Saxon peoples were and always would be much the same.

In General Gates' report of the surrender he failed to mention Colonel Morgan's name, or to give any credit to the riflemen for the important service they had rendered. A few days after the capitulation, General Gates gave a dinner to a large number of British and American officers, but he did not include Colonel Morgan. During the progress of the dinner Colonel Morgan was compelled to make some important report to the general in chief, and was ushered into the banqueting room. He saluted formally, made his report, and withdrew.

"And who, General Gates, may be that soldierly and magnificent looking colonel?" enquired a British officer.

"It is Colonel Morgan of the Virginia Riflemen," answered Gates, with as gracious an air as he could command.

"What, is that the famous Colonel Morgan! Pardon me, but I must shake hands with him," and he rose from the table, and followed Morgan, several of the other British officers doing likewise, thus compelling General Gates to recall and introduce him.

"Sir," said General Burgoyne, "you command the finest regiment in the world."

Colonel Morgan proudly repeated this to his men, and each man of the regiment treasured it in his memory to the end of his life, as being the highest compliment troops could receive, for it came, unsolicited, from a gallant enemy.

A few days afterward we rejoined the main army at Whitemarsh, Morgan's command taking part in the battle of Chestnut Hill. It was there I got my first and only wound during the Revolution, and was for a second time taken prisoner. I was leading my men in a headlong charge upon the enemy's works, when a small body of British cavalry dashed suddenly upon us from an unexpected direction, and threatened to cut us off from the main body of our troops; I gave the order to retreat at double quick, and remembered no more, till I found myself a prisoner with a bullet in my left thigh.

The next day I was taken to a prison hospital in Philadelphia, and laid on a straw pallet in a row of other groaning, tossing, half delirious unfortunates. For some days--I lost count of time--I lived in a troubled dream, with but one definite need, one clearly defined longing, and that for water. Oh, for a fountain of cool sweet water, that I might drink and drink, then rest and drink again! That which some one brought me from time to time was muddy and flat, but I drank it as if it had been the ambrosial cup of Jove, and in the confused visions which floated in and out of my mind, there was always a sparkling spring gus.h.i.+ng out of a green hillside, and falling with a splas.h.i.+ng sound into a pebble paved basin. Sometimes I seemed to lie flat upon my chest in the cool gra.s.s, and to plunge my head into the cool water. Again I saw the spring, as on that last night at home, silvered by the moon's rays, and Ellen standing on the rock above, wrapped in her white robe, her face mystical with strange thoughts. She smiled at me, and gave me to drink from a golden cup the sweetest water I had ever quaffed.

One of the first things to arouse me from my semi-stupor was the beseeching cry of a poor lad, who lay on the pallet next mine, for "water, water,"--over and over again, in tones first petulant and insistent, then entreating and pitiful, then weary and despairing. The next time the bucket and dipper came around, I begged the man who distributed our dole to give my share to the lad, though my throat was like cast iron within, and my heavy tongue as slick as if coated with varnish. The boy fell asleep afterwards, and the brief quiet of his tossing limbs with the smile his dreams brought to his pale lips so rested my nerves, as to enable me to endure the hours which ensued before the next bucketful was distributed.

"This is Captain McElroy, I believe, sir," I heard a prison official say one day, standing over my pallet--I do not know whether it was morning or afternoon, or how many days after I had been brought to the hospital.

"Do we not provide better accommodations than this for wounded officers?" said another in lowered voice.

"We cannot make our own wounded comfortable, Captain," answered the first; "we must do as we can in this half savage country."

I opened my eyes now, and met those of a slim young man in British uniform,--"Can you tell me, sir," he asked, "where I may find Captain Donald McElroy, of Morgan's rifle company?"

"I'm Captain McElroy of the Virginia Riflemen, sir," and I sat up with a mighty effort, and managed to salute him with a trembling hand.

"You have not lost your pluck with your strength, I see, Captain McElroy," returning my salute; "I'm Captain Buford, a brother of the young woman you met at the home of Colonel Morgan, last April. Nelly saw your name in the list of wounded prisoners, several days ago, and has waited impatiently for my return to the city, that she might set me to searching for you. She tells me that you two entered into a friendly compact, pledging each other help and protection while the war lasts, whenever one is needed, and the other possible. It was your pleasure once, she bade me say, to extend courtesy to a Tory, it is hers now to show her appreciation of that courtesy, and also of the valor of a brave opponent,--the word enemy she charged me _not_ to use."

The little blood left in my body all mounted to my face, and I knew not if it were weakness, or pleasure that made my brain reel so. "Will you convey to your sister my most grateful thanks, Captain Buford, and say to her for me that any obligation she may feel to my friends--for she can owe none to me, since she but honored me with her society--is doubly discharged by her gracious interest in my fate. If it is in my power to do so, I shall call to express my grat.i.tude in person, as soon as I am strong enough. Will you be so good as to leave your address with me?"

But I had used up all my will power, in this long speech, which had come faltering from my dry throat, and now I fell back on my pallet almost in a swoon of weakness.

"You need more practical a.s.sistance, if I mistake not, Captain McElroy, than a mere expression of interest. And our Cousin Abigail will never forgive us the neglect of a friend of her husband. If it is possible to get permission, and I think there will be no difficulty, we wish to take you to our house as a paroled prisoner. With a comfortable bed, and nouris.h.i.+ng diet we shall have you well in no time."

"I am too unsightly an object to risk being seen by your mother and sister, Captain Buford--would it not be well to wait until I am strong enough to be shaven and dressed," I protested, weakly.

"You need only fresh garments, and a comb to be entirely presentable."

"Then I am in your hands."

When Captain Buford returned, he was accompanied by a physician and his own body servant, and had my parole in his hand. The last he showed me, while the physician administered a cordial hardly more stimulating, after which the negro valet made me as decent in appearance as my state permitted. Before they carried me to the ambulance in waiting, I stopped a moment, beside the lad's pallet to say good-by, and speak a cheering word to him. His fever had abated, now, but I feared he would die of exhaustion, aided by extreme dejection.

"Cheer up, comrade," I said; "my friends here have promised me they will have you paroled or exchanged, if you'll only set your mind to it, and get well."

"I'm glad for your good luck," he answered wearily, "but I don't expect to hear another friendly voice this side of Heaven."

"That is not soldier-like talk, lad--a patriot must learn to defy suffering, and mischance."

"Yes, I know, and I'm trying to learn to endure as a soldier should,"