BATTLE OF THE CHEMUNG
Paul had been sleeping heavily, and the sharp, pealing notes of a trumpet awoke him at the sunburst of a brilliant morning.Henry was standing beside him, showing no fatigue from the night's excitement, danger, and escape, but his face was flushed and his eyes sparkled.
"Up, Paul! Up!" he cried."We know the enemy's position, and we will be in battle before another sun sets."Paul was awake in an instant, and the second instant he was on his feet, rifle in hand, and heart thrilling for the great attack.He, like all the others, had slept on such a night fully dressed.Shif'less Sol, Long Jim, Silent Tom, Heemskerk, and the rest were by the side of him, and all about them rose the sounds of an army going into battle, commands sharp and short, the rolling of cannon wheels, the metallic rattle of bayonets, the clink of bullets poured into the pouches, and the hum of men talking in half-finished sentences.
It was to all the five a vast and stirring scene.It was the first time that they bad ever beheld a large and regular army going into action, and they were a part of it, a part by no means unimportant.It was Henry, with his consummate skill and daring, who had uncovered the position of the enemy, and now, without snatching a moment's sleep, he was ready to lead where the fray might be thickest.
The brief breakfast finished, the trumpet pealed forth again, and the army began to move through the thick forest.A light wind, crisp with the air of early autumn, blew, and the leaves rustled.
The sun, swinging upward in the east, poured down a flood of brilliant rays that lighted up everything, the buff and blue uniforms, the cannon, the rifles, the bayonets, and the forest, still heavy with foliage.
"Now! now!" thought every one of the five, "we begin the vengeance for Wyoming!"The scouts were well in front, searching everywhere among the thickets for the Indian sharpshooters, who could scorch so terribly.As Braxton Wyatt had truly said, these scouts were the best in the world.Nothing could escape the trained eyes of Henry Ware and his comrades, and those of Murphy, Ellerson, and the others, while off on either flank of the army heavy detachments guarded against any surprise or turning movement.
They saw no Indian sign in the woods.There was yet a deep silence in front of them, and the sun, rising higher, poured its golden light down upon the army in such an intense, vivid flood that rifle barrels and bayonets gave back a metallic gleam.All around them the deep woods swayed and rustled before the light breeze, and now and then they caught glimpses of the river, its surface now gold, then silver, under the shining sun.
Henry's heart swelled as he advanced.He was not revengeful, but he had seen so much of savage atrocity in the last year that he could not keep down the desire to see punishment.It is only those in sheltered homes who can forgive the tomahawk and the stake.Now he was the very first of the scouts, although his comrades and a dozen others were close behind him.
The scouts went so far forward that the army was hidden from them by the forest, although they could yet hear the clank of arms and the sound of commands.
Henry knew the ground thoroughly.He knew where the embankment ran, and he knew, too, that the Iroquois had dug pits, marked by timber.They were not far ahead, and the scouts now proceeded very slowly, examining every tree and clump of bushes to see whether a lurking enemy was hidden there.The silence endured longer than he had thought.Nothing could be seen in front save the waving forest.
Henry stopped suddenly.He caught a glimpse of a brown shoulder's edge showing from behind a tree, and at his signal all the scouts sank to the ground.
The savage fired, but the bullet, the first of the battle, whistled over their heads.The sharp crack, sounding triply loud at such a time, came back from the forest in many echoes, and a light puff of smoke arose.Quick as a flash, before the brown shoulder and body exposed to take aim could be withdrawn, Tom Ross fired, and the Mohawk fell, uttering his death yell.The Iroquois in the woods took up the cry, pouring forth a war whoop, fierce, long drawn, the most terrible of human sounds, and before it died, their brethren behind the embankment repeated it in tremendous volume from hundreds of throats.It was a shout that had often appalled the bravest, but the little band of scouts were not afraid.When its last echo died they sent forth a fierce, defiant note of their own, and, crawling forward, began to send in their bullets.
The woods in front of them swarmed with the Indian skirmishers, who replied to the scouts, and the fire ran along a long line through the undergrowth.Flashes of flames appeared, puffs of smoke arose and, uniting, hung over the trees.Bullets hissed.
Twigs and bark fell, and now and then a man, as they fought from tree to tree.Henry caught one glimpse of a face that was white, that of Braxton Wyatt, and he sought a shot at the renegade leader, but he could not get it.But the scouts pushed on, and the Indian and Tory skirmishers dropped back.Then on the flanks they began to hear the rattle of rifle fire.The wings of the army were in action, but the main body still advanced without firing a shot.
The scouts could now see through the trees the embankments and rifle pits, and they could also see the last of the Iroquois and Tory skirmishers leaping over the earthworks and taking refuge with their army.Then they turned back and saw the long line of their own army steadily advancing, while the sounds of heavy firing still continued on both flanks.Henry looked proudly at the unbroken array, the front of steel, and the cannon.He felt prouder still when the general turned to him and said:
"You have done well, Mr.Ware; you have shown us exactly where the enemy lies, and that will save us many men.Now bigger voices than those of the rifles shall talk."The army stopped.The Indian position could be plainly seen.
