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

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,  But It Was Low

And Its Pickets Offered Poor Shelter. Farther Back Was Judge

Hubbell's Familiar Abode With Dense Shrubbery. He Hastened To It

And In A Minute Was Hidden Where He Could See Something Of The

Approaching Troops. They Were Much Like Those That Had Gone

Before,  But Much More Numerous,  At Least A Regiment,  And As They

Filled The Village Way,  An Officer Cried "Halt!" And Gave New

Orders. Evidently They Were About To Bivouac For The Night. A

Soldier Approached The Picket Fence To Use It For Firewood,  But

An Officer Rebuked Him. Other Fuel,  Chiefly Fence Rails,  Was

Found,  And A Score Or More Of Fires Were Lighted On The Highway

And In The Adjoining Pasture. Rolf Found Himself In Something

Like A Trap,  For In Less Than Two Hours Now Would Be The Dawn.

The Simplest Way Out Was To Go In; He Crawled Quietly Round The

House To The Window Of Mrs. Hubbell's Room. These Were Times Of

Nervous Tension,  And Three Or Four Taps On The Pane Were Enough

To Arouse The Good Lady. Her Husband Had Come That Way More Than Once.

"Who Is It?" She Demanded,  Through A Small Opening Of The Sash.

"Rolf Kittering," He Whispered,  "The Place Is Surrounded By

Soldiers; Can't You Hide Me?"

Could She? Imagine An American Woman Saying "No" At Such A Time.

He Slipped In Quietly.

"What News?" She Said. "They Say That Macdonough Has Won

On The Lake,  But Plattsburg Is Taken."

"No,  Indeed; Plattsburgh Is Safe; Macdonough Has Captured The Fleet.

I Am Nearly Sure That The Whole British Army Is Retiring To Canada."

"Thank God,  Thank God," She Said Fervently,  "I Knew It Must Be

So; The Women Have Met Here And Prayed Together Every Day,

Morning And Night. But Hush!" She Laid A Warning Finger On Her

Lips And Pointed Up Toward One Of The Rooms -- "British Officer."

She Brought Two Blankets From A Press And Led Up To The Garret.

At The Lowest Part Of The Roof Was A Tiny Door To A Lumber

Closet. In This Rolf Spread His Blankets,  Stretched His Weary

Limbs,  And Soon Was Sound Asleep.

At Dawn The Bugles Blew,  The Camp Was Astir. The Officer In The

House Arose And Took His Post On The Porch. He Was There On Guard

To Protect The House. His Brother Officers Joined Him. Mrs.

Hubbell Prepared Breakfast. It Was Eaten Silently,  So Far As Rolf

Could Learn. They Paid For It And,  Heading Their Regiment,  Went

Away Northward,  Leaving The Officer Still On The Porch.

Presently Rolf Heard A Stealthy Step In His Garret,  The Closed

Door Was Pushed Open,  And Mrs. Hubbell's Calm,  Handsome Face

Appeared,  As,  With A Reassuring Nod,  She Set Down A Mug Of

Coffee,  Some Bread,  And A Bowl Of Mush And Milk. And Only Those

Who Have Travelled And Fasted For Twelve Hours When They Were

Nineteen Know How Good It Tasted.

From A Tiny Window Ventilator Rolf Had A View Of The Road In

Front. A Growing Din Of Men Prepared Him For More Troops,  But

Still He Was Surprised To See Ten Regiments March Past With All

Their Stores -- A Brave Army,  But No One Could Mistake Their

Looks; They Wore The Despondent Air Of An Army In Full Retreat.

The Battle Was Over At Plattsburg Town,  Though It Had Not Been

Fought; For The Spirit Of Macdonough Was On Land And Water,  And

It Was Felt By The British General,  As Well As The Yankee

Riflemen,  As Soon As The Union Jack Had Been Hauled From The Mast

Of The Confiance.

Now Sir George Prevost Had To Face A Momentous Decision: He Could

Force The Passage Of The Saranac And March On To Albany,  But His

Communications Would Be Cut,  And He Must Rely On A Hostile

Country For Supplies. Every Day Drew Fresh Bands Of Riflemen From

The Hills. Before He Could Get To Albany Their Number Might

Exceed His,  And Then What? Unless Great Britain Could Send A New

Army Or A Fleet To Support Him,  He Must Meet The Fate Of

Burgoyne. Prevost Proposed To Take No Such Chances And The Night

Of The 11th Eight Hours After Macdonough's Victory,  He Gave The

Order "Retire To Canada."

To Hide The Move As Long As Possible,  No Change Was Made Till

After Sundown; No Hint Was Given To The Beleaguered Town; They

Must Have No Opportunity To Reap The Enormous Advantages,  Moral

And Material,  Of Harrying A Retreating Foe. They Must Arise In

The Morning To Find The Enemy Safely Over The Border. The Plan

Was Perfect,  And Would Have Been Literally Carried Out,  Had Not

He Had To Deal With A Foe As Clever As Himself.

How Eagerly Rolf Took In The Scene On Chazy Road; How Much It

Meant! How He Longed To Fly At His Fastest Famous Speed With The

Stirring News. In Two Hours And A Half He Could Surely Let His

Leader Know. And He Gazed With A Sort Of Superior Pride At The

Martial Pomp And Bravery Of The Invaders Driven Forth.

Near The Last Was A Gallant Array Of Gentlemen In Gorgeous

Uniforms Of Scarlet And Gold; How Warlike They Looked,  How

Splendid Beside The Ill-Clad Riflemen Of Vermont And The Rude

Hunters Of The Adirondacks. How Much More Beautiful Is An Iron

Sword With Jewels,  Than A Sword Of Plain Gray Steel.

Dame Hubbell Stood In Her Door As They Went By. Each And All

Saluted Politely; Her Guard Was Ordered To Join His Regiment. The

Lady Waved Her Sun-Bonnet In Response To Their Courteous

Good-Bye,  And Could Not Refrain From Calling Out:

"How About My Prophecy,  Sir George,  And Those Purses?"

Rolf Could Not See His Hostess,  But He Heard Her Voice,  And He

Saw The Astonishing Effect:

The British General Reined In His Horse. "A Gentleman's Word Is

His Bond,  Madam," He Said. "Let Every Officer Now Throw His Purse

At The Lady's Feet," And He Set The Example. A Dozen Rattling

Thuds Were Heard And A Dozen Officers Saluting,  Purseless,  Rode

Away.

A Round Thousand Dollars In Gold The Lady Gathered On Her Porch

That Morning,  And To This Day Her Grand-Kin Tell The Tale.