Rolf In The Woods by Ernest Thompson Seton (phonics story books .txt) 📕

Sir George Prevost And His Staff Of Ten Officers Were Quartered

In Judge Hubbell's House. Mrs. Hubbell Was Hard Put To Furnish

Them With Meals,  But They Treated Her With Perfect Respect,  And

Every Night,  Not Knowing How Long They Might Stay,  They Left On

The Table The Price Of Their Board And Lodging.

For Three Days They Waited,  Then All Was Ready For The Advance.

"Now For Plattsburg This Week And Albany Next,  So Good-Bye,

Madam" They Said Politely,  And Turned To Ride Away. A Gay And

Splendid Group.

"Good-Bye,  Sirs,  For A Very Little While,  But I Know You'll Soon

Be Back And Hanging Your Heads As You Come," Was The Retort.

Sir George Replied: "If A Man Had Said That,  I Would Call Him

Out; But Since It Is A Fair Lady That Has Been Our Charming

Hostess,  I Reply That When Your Prophecy Comes True,  Every

Officer Here Shall Throw His Purse On Your Door Step As He

Passes."

So They Rode Away,  13,000 Trained Men With Nothing Between Them

And Albany But 2000 Troops,  Double As Many Raw Militia,  And --

Macdonough Of The Lake.

Ten Times Did Rolf Cover That Highway North Of Plattsburg In The

Week That Followed,  And Each Day His Tidings Were The Same -- The

British Steadily Advance.

There Was A Wonderful Spirit On Everything In Plattsburg,  And The

Earthly Tabernacle In Which It Dwelt,  Was The Tall,  Grave Young

Man Who Had Protested Against Hampton's Behaviour At Burlington

-- Captain,  Now General Macomb. Nothing Was Neglected,  Every

Emergency Was Planned For,  Every Available Man Was Under Arms.

Personally Tireless,  He Was Ever Alert And Seemed To Know Every

Man In His Command And Every Man Of It Had Implicit Confidence In

The Leader. We Have Heard Of Soldiers Escaping From A Besieged

Fortress By Night; But Such Was The Inspiring Power Of This

Commander That There Was A Steady Leaking In Of Men From The

Hills,  Undrilled And Raw,  But Of Superb Physique And Dead Shots

With The Ride.

A Typical Case Was That Of A Sturdy Old Farmer Who Was Marching

Through The Woods That Morning To Take His Place With Those Who

Manned The Breastworks And Was Overheard To Address His Visibly

Trembling Legs: "Shake,  Damn You,  Shake; And If Ye Knew Where I

Was Leading You,  You'd Be Ten Times Worse."

His Mind Was More Valiant Than His Body,  And His Mind Kept

Control -- This Is True Courage.

No One Had A Better Comprehension Of All This Than Macomb. He

Knew That All These Men Needed Was A Little Training To Make Of

Them The Best Soldiers On Earth. To Supply That Training He Mixed

Them With Veterans,  And Arranged A Series Of Unimportant

Skirmishes As Coolly And Easily As Though He Were Laying Out A

Programme For An Evening's Entertainment.

The First Of These Was At Culver's Hill. Here A Barricade Was

Thrown Up Along The Highway,  A Gun Was Mounted,  And Several

Hundred Riflemen Were Posted Under Leaders Skilled In The Arts Of

Harrying A Foe And Giving Him No Chance To Strike Back.

Among The Men Appointed For The Barricade's Defence Was Rolf And

Near Him Quonab. The Latter Had Been Seasoned In The Revolution,

But It Was The Former's First Experience At The Battle Front,  And

He Felt As Most Men Do When The Enemy In Brave Array Comes

Marching Up. As Soon As They Were Within Long Range,  His Leader

Gave The Order "Fire!" The Rifles Rattled And The Return Fire

Came At Once. Balls Pattered On The Barricade Or Whistled Above.

The Man Next To Him Was Struck And Dropped With A Groan; Another

Fell Back Dead. The Horror And Roar Were Overmuch. Rolf Was

Nervous Enough When He Entered The Fight. Now He Was Unstrung,

Almost Stunned,  His Hands And Knees Were Shaking,  He Was Nearly

Panic-Stricken And Could Not Resist The Temptation To Duck,  As

The Balls Hissed Murder Over His Head. He Was Blazing Away,

Without Aiming,  When An Old Soldier,  Noting His White Face And

Shaking Form,  Laid A Hand On His Shoulder And,  In Kindly Tones,

Said: "Steady,  Boy,  Steady; Yer Losing Yer Head; See,  This Is

How," And He Calmly Took Aim,  Then,  Without Firing,  Moved The Gun

Again And Put A Little Stick To Raise The Muzzle And Make A

Better Rest,  Then Fired As Though At Target Practice. "Now Rest

For A Minute. Look At Quonab There; You Can See He's Been Through

It Before. He Is Making A Hit With Every Shot."

Rolf Did As He Was Told,  And In A Few Minutes His Colour Came

Back,  His Hand Was Steady,  And Thenceforth He Began To Forget The

Danger And Thought Only Of Doing His Work.

When At Length It Was Seen That The British Were Preparing To

Charge,  The Americans Withdrew Quickly And Safely To Halsey's

Corner,  Where Was Another Barricade And A Fresh Lot Of Recruits

Awaiting To Receive Their Baptism Of Fire. And The Scene Was

Repeated. Little Damage Was Done To The Foe But Enormous Benefit

Was Gained By The Americans,  Because It Took Only One Or Two Of

These Skirmishes To Turn A Lot Of Shaky-Kneed Volunteers Into A

Band Of Steady Soldiers -- For They Had It All Inside. Thus Their

Powder Terror Died.

That Night The British Occupied The Part Of The Town That Was

North Of The Saranac,  And Began A Desultory Bombardment Of The

Fortification Opposite. Not A Very Serious One,  For They

Considered They Could Take The Town At Any Time,  But Preferred To

Await The Arrival Of Their Fleet Under Downie.

The Fight For The Northern Half Of The Town Was Not Serious,

Merely Part Of Macomb's Prearranged Training Course; But When The

Americans Retired Across The Saranac,  The Planks Of The Bridges

Were Torn Up,  Loop-Holed Barricades Were Built Along The Southern

Bank,  And No Effort Spared To Prepare For A Desperate Resistance.

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 Ma. Comb 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.

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.

The British Came On In Perfect Review-Day Style. Now A Hush Fell

On All. The British Officer In Command Was Heard Clearly Giving

His Orders. How Strange It Must Have Been To The Veterans Of Wars

In Spain,  France,  And The Rhine,  To Advance Against A Force With

Whom They Needed No Interpreter.

Mcglassin's Deep Voice Now Rang Along The Defences,  "Don't Fire

Till I Give The Order."

The Red-Coats Came On At A Trot,  They Reached The Hundred-

Yard-Mark.

"Now,  Aim Low And Fire!" From Mcglassin,  And The Rattle Of The

Yankee Guns Was Followed By Reeling