Rolf In The Woods

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There was no work going on, which was a puzzle till Rolf
remembered it was Sunday. He went boldly up and asked for the
boss. His whole appearance was that of a hunter and as such the
boss received him.

He was coming through from the other side and had missed his way
in the storm, he explained.

"What are ye by trade?"

"A trapper."

"Where are ye bound now?"

"Well, I'll head for the nearest big settlement, whatever that
is."

"It's just above an even thing between Alexandria Bay and
Ogdensburg."

So Rolf inquired fully about the trail to Alexandria Bay that he
did not want to go to. Why should he be so careful? The mill
owner was clearly a good American, but the scout had no right to
let any outsider know his business. This mill owner might be
safe, but he might be unwise and blab to some one who was not all
right.

Then in a casual way he learned that this was the Oswegatchie
River and thirty miles down he would find the town of Ogdensburg.

No great recent events did he hear of, but evidently the British
troops across the river were only awaiting the springtime before
taking offensive measures.

For the looks of it, Rolf bought some tea and pork, but the
hospitable mill man refused to take payment and, leaving in the
direction of Alexandria Bay, Rolf presently circled back and
rejoined his friends in the woods.

A long detour took them past the mill. It was too cold for
outdoor idling. Every window was curtained with frost, and not a
soul saw them as they tramped along past the place and down to
continue on the ice of the Oswegatchie.

Pounded by the ceaseless wind, the snow on the ice was harder,
travel was easier, and the same tireless blizzard wiped out the
trail as soon as it was behind them.

Crooked is the river trail, but good the footing, and good time
was made. When there was a north reach, the snow was extra hard
or the ice clear and the scouts slipped off their snow shoes, and
trotted at a good six-mile gait. Three times they halted for tea
and rest, but the fact that they were the bearers of precious
despatches, the bringers of inspiring good news, and their goal
ever nearer, spurred them on and on. It was ten o'clock that
morning when they left the mill, some thirty miles from
Ogdensburg. It was now near sundown, but still they figured that
by an effort they could reach the goal that night. It was their
best day's travel, but they were nerved to it by the sense of
triumph as they trotted; and the prospective joy of marching up
to the commandant and handing over the eagerly looked for,
reassuring documents, gave them new strength and ambition. Yes!
they must push on at any price that night. Day was over now; Rolf
was leading at a steady trot. In his hand he held the long trace
of his toboggan, ten feet behind was Quonab with the short trace,
while Skookum trotted before, beside, or behind, as was dictated
by his general sense of responsibility.

It was quite dark now. There was no moon, the wooded shore was
black. Their only guide was the broad, wide reach of the river,
sometimes swept bare of snow by the wind, but good travelling at
all times. They were trotting and walking in spells, going five
miles an hour; Quonab was suffering, but Rolf was young and eager
to finish. They rounded another reach, they were now on the last
big bend, they were reeling off the miles; only ten more, and
Rolf was so stirred that, instead of dropping to the usual walk
on signal at the next one hundred yards spell, he added to his
trot. Quonab, taken unawares, slipped and lost his hold of the
trace. Rolf shot ahead and a moment later there was the crash of
a breaking air-hole, and Rolf went through the ice, clutched at
the broken edge and disappeared, while the toboggan was dragged
to the hole.

Quonab sprung to his feet, and then to the lower side of the
hole. The toboggan had swung to the same place and the long trace
was tight; without a moment's delay the Indian hauled at it
steadily, heavily, and in a few seconds the head of his companion
reappeared; still clutching that long trace he was safely dragged
from the ice-cold flood, blowing and gasping, shivering and
sopping, but otherwise unhurt.

Now here a new danger presented itself. The zero wind would soon
turn his clothes to boards. They stiffened in a few minutes, and
the Indian knew that frozen hands and feet were all too easy in
frozen clothes.

He made at once for the shore, and, seeking the heart of a spruce
thicket, lost no time in building two roaring fires between which
Rolf stood while the Indian made the bed, in which, as soon as he
could be stripped, the lad was glad to hide. Warm tea and warm
blankets made him warm, but it would take an hour or two to dry
his clothes. There is nothing more damaging than drying them too
quickly. Quonab made racks of poles and spent the next two hours
in regulating the fire, watching the clothes, and working the
moccasins.

It was midnight when they were ready and any question of going on
at once was settled by Quonab. "Ogdensburg is under arms," he
said. "It is not wise to approach by night."

At six in the morning they were once more going, stiff with
travel, sore-footed, face-frozen, and chafed by delay; but, swift
and keen, trotting and walking, they went. They passed several
settlements, but avoided them. At seven-thirty they had a distant
glimpse of Ogdensburg and heard the inspiring roll of drums, and
a few minutes later from the top of a hill they had a complete
view of the heroic little town to see -- yes! plainly enough --
that the British flag was flying from the flag pole.
Saving the Despatches

Oh, the sickening shock of it! Rolf did not know till now how
tired he was, how eager to deliver the heartening message, and to
relax a little from the strain. He felt weak through and through.
There could be no doubt that a disaster had befallen his
country's arms.

His first care was to get out of sight with his sled and those
precious despatches.

Now what should he do? Nothing till he had fuller information. He
sent Quonab back with the sled, instructing him to go to a
certain place two miles off, there camp out of sight and wait.

Then he went in alone. Again and again he was stung by the
thought, "If I had come sooner they might have held out."

A number of teams gathered at the largest of a group of houses on
the bank suggested a tavern. He went in and found many men
sitting down to breakfast. He had no need to ask questions. It
was the talk of the table. Ogdensburg had been captured the day
before. The story is well known. Colonel MacDonnell with his
Glengarry Highlanders at Prescott went to drill daily on the ice
of the St. Lawrence opposite Ogdensburg. Sometimes they marched
past just out of range, sometimes they charged and wheeled before
coming too near. The few Americans that held the place watched
these harmless exercises and often cheered some clever manceuvre.
They felt quite safe behind their fortification. By an unwritten
agreement both parties refrained from firing random shots at each
other. There was little to suggest enemies entrenched; indeed,
many men in each party had friends in the other, and the British
had several times trotted past within easy range, without
provoking a shot.

On February 22d, the day when Rolf and Quonab struck the
Oswegatchie, the British colonel directed his men as usual,
swinging them ever nearer the American fort, and then, at the
nearest point, executed a very pretty charge. The Americans
watched it as it neared, but instead of wheeling at the brink the
little army scrambled up with merry shouts, and before the
garrison could realize that this was war, they were overpowered
and Ogdensburg was taken.

The American commander was captured. Captain Forsyth, the second
in command, had been off on a snowshoe trip, so had escaped. All
the rest were prisoners, and what to do with the despatches or
how to get official instructions was now a deep problem. "When
you don't know a thing to do, don't do a thing," was one of Si
Sylvanne's axioms; also, "In case of doubt lay low and say
nothing." Rolf hung around the town all day waiting for light.
About noon a tall, straight, alert man in a buffalo coat drove up
with a cutter. He had a hasty meal in an inside room. Rolf sized
him up for an American officer, but there was a possibility of
his being a Canadian. Rolf tried in vain to get light on him but
the inner door was kept closed; the landlord was evidently in the
secret. When he came out he was again swaddled in the buffalo
coat. Rolf brushed past him -- here was something hard and long
in the right pocket of the big coat.

The landlord, the guest, and the driver had a whispered
conference. Rolf went as near as he dared, but got only a
searching look. The driver spoke to another driver and Rolf heard
the words "Black Lake." Yes, that was what he suspected. Black
Lake was on the inland sleigh route to Alexandria Bay and
Sackett's Harbour.

The driver, a fresh young fellow, was evidently interested in the
landlord's daughter; the stranger was talking with the landlord.
As soon as they had parted, Rolf went to the latter and remarked
quietly: "The captain is in a hurry." The only reply was a cold
look and: "Guess that's his business." So it was the captain. The
driver's mitts were on the line back of the stove. Rolf shook
them so that they fell in a dark corner. The driver missed his
mitts, and glad of a chance went back in, leaving the officer
alone. "Captain Forsyth," whispered Rolf, "don't go till I have
talked with you. I'll meet you a mile down the road."

"Who are you and what do you want?" was the curt and hostile
reply, evidently admitting the identification correct however.

Rolf opened his coat and showed his scout badge.

"Why not talk now if you have any news -- come in side." So the
two went to the inner room. "Who is this?" asked Rolf cautiously
as the landlord came in.

"He's all right. This is Titus Flack, the landlord."

"How am I to know that?"

"Haven't you heard him called by name all day?" said the captain.

Flack smiled, went out and returned with his license to sell
liquor, and his commission as a magistrate of New York State. The
latter bore his own signature. He took a pen and reproduced it.
Now the captain threw back his overcoat and stood in the full
uniform of an army officer. He opened his satchel and took out a
paper, but Rolf caught sight of another packet addressed to
General Hampton. The small one was merely a map. "I think that
packet in there is meant for me," remarked Rolf.

"We haven't seen your credentials yet," said the officer. "I have
them two miles back there," and Rolf pointed to the woods.

"Let's go," said the captain and they arose. Kittering had a way
of inspiring confidence, but in the short, silent ride of two
miles the captain began to have his doubts. The scout badge might
have been stolen; Canadians often pass for Americans, etc. At
length they stopped the sleigh, and Rolf led into the woods.
Before a hundred yards the officer said, "Stop," and Rolf stopped
to find a pistol pointed at his head. "Now, young fellow, you've
played it pretty slick, and I don't know yet what to make of it.
But I know this; at the very first sign of treachery I'll blow
your brains out anyway." It gave Rolf a jolt. This was the first
time he had looked down a pistol barrel levelled at him. He used
to think a pistol a little thing, an inch through and a foot
long, but he found now it seemed as big as a flour barrel and
long enough to reach eternity. He changed colour but quickly
recovered, smiled, and said: "Don't worry; in five minutes you
will know it's all right."

Very soon a sharp bark was heard in challenge, and the two
stepped into camp to meet Quonab and little dog Skookum.

"Doesn't look much like a trap," thought the captain after he had
cast his eyes about and made sure that no other person was in the
camp; then aloud, "Now what have you to show me? "

"Excuse me, captain, but how am I to know you are Captain
Forsyth? It is possible for a couple of spies to give all the
proof you two gave me."

The captain opened his bag and showed first his instructions
given before he left Ogdensburg four days ago; he bared his arm
and showed a tattooed U. S. A., a relic of Academy days, then his
linen marked J. F., and a signet ring with similar initials, and
last the great packet of papers addressed to General Hampton.
Then he said: "When you hand over your despatches to me I will
give mine to you and we shall have good guarantee each of the other."

Rolf rose, produced his bundle of papers, and exchanged them for
those held by Forsyth; each felt that the other was safe. They
soon grew friendly, and Rolf heard of some stirring doings on the
lake and preparations for a great campaign in the spring.

After half an hour the tall, handsome captain left them and
strode away, a picture of manly vigour. Three hours later they
were preparing their evening meal when Skookum gave notice of a
stranger approaching. This was time of war; Rolf held his rifle
ready, and a moment later in burst the young man who had been
Captain Forsyth's driver.

His face was white; blood dripped from his left arm, and in his
other hand was the despatch bag. He glanced keenly at Rolf. "Are
you General Hampton's scout?" Rolf nodded and showed the badge on
his breast. "Captain Forsyth sent this back," he gasped. "His
last words were, 'Burn the despatches rather than let the British
get them.' They got him -- a foraging party -- there was a spy at
the hotel. I got away, but my tracks are easy to follow unless it
drifts. Don't wait."

Poor boy, his arm was broken, but he carried out the dead
officer's command, then left them to seek for relief in the
settlement.

Night was near, but Rolf broke camp at once and started eastward
with the double packet. He did not know it then, but learned
afterward that these despatches made clear the weakness of
Oswego, Rochester, and Sackett's Harbour, their urgent need of
help, and gave the whole plan for an American counter attack on
Montreal. But he knew they were valuable, and they must at once
be taken to General Hampton.

It was rough, hard going in the thick woods and swamps away from
the river, for he did not dare take the ice route now, but they
pushed on for three hours, then, in the gloom, made a miserable
camp in a cedar swamp.

At dawn they were off again. To their disgust the weather now was
dead calm; there was no drift to hide their tracks; the trail was
as plain as a highway wherever they went. They came to a beaten
road, followed that for half a mile, then struck off on the true
line. But they had no idea that they were followed until, after
an hour of travel, the sun came up and on a far distant slope,
full two miles away, they saw a thin black line of many spots, at
least a dozen British soldiers in pursuit.

The enemy was on snowshoes, and without baggage evidently, for
they travelled fast. Rolf and Quonab burdened with the sled were
making a losing race. But they pushed on as fast as possible --
toiling and sweating at that precious load. Rolf was pondering
whether the time had not yet come to stop and burn the packet,
when, glancing back from a high ridge that gave an outlook, he
glimpsed a row of heads that dropped behind some rocks half a
mile away, and a scheme came into his mind. He marched boldly
across the twenty feet opening that was in the enemy's view,
dropped behind the spruce thickets, called Quonab to follow, ran
around the thicket, and again crossed the open view. So he and
Quonab continued for five minutes, as fast as they could go,
knowing perfectly well that they were watched. Round and round
that bush they went, sometimes close together, carrying the guns,
sometimes dragging the sled, sometimes with blankets on their
shoulders, sometimes with a short bag or even a large cake of
snow on their backs. They did everything they could to vary the
scene, and before five minutes the British officer in charge had
counted fifty-six armed Americans marching in single file up the
bank with ample stores, accompanied by five yellow dogs. Had
Skookum been allowed to carry out his ideas, there would have
been fifty or sixty yellow dogs, so thoroughly did he enter into
the spirit of the game.

The track gave no hint of such a troop, but of course not, how
could it? since the toboggan left all smooth after they had
passed, or maybe this was a reinforcement arriving. What could he
do with his ten men against fifty of the enemy? He thanked his
stars that he had so cleverly evaded the trap, and without
further attempt to gauge the enemy's strength, he turned and made
all possible haste back to the shelter of Ogdensburg.
Sackett's Harbour

It was hours before Rolf was sure that he had stopped the
pursuit, and the thing that finally set his mind at rest was the
rising wind that soon was a raging and drifting snow storm. "Oh,
blessed storm!" he said in his heart, as he marked all trail
disappear within a few seconds of its being made. And he thought:
"How I cursed the wind that held me back -- really from being
made prisoner. How vexed I was at that ducking in the river, that
really saved my despatches from the enemy. How thankful I am now
for the storm that a little while back seemed so bitterly cruel."

That forenoon they struck the big bend of the river and now did
not hesitate to use the easy travel on the ice as far as
Rensselaer Falls, where, having got their bearings from a
settler, they struck across the country through the storm, and at
night were encamped some forty miles from Ogdensburg.

Marvellously few signs of game had they seen in this hard trip;
everything that could hide away was avoiding the weather. But in
a cedar bottom land near Cranberry Lake they found a "yard" that
seemed to be the winter home of hundreds of deer. It extended two
or three miles one way a half a mile the other; in spite of the
deep snow this was nearly all in beaten paths. The scouts saw at
least fifty deer in going through, so, of course, had no
difficulty in selecting a young buck for table use.

The going from there on was of little interest. It was the same
old daily battle with the frost, but less rigorous than before,
for now the cold winds were behind, and on the 27th of February,
nine days after leaving, they trotted into Ticonderoga and
reported at the commandant's headquarters.

The general was still digging entrenchments and threatening to
annihilate all Canada. But the contents of the despatches gave
him new topics for thought and speech. The part he must play in
the proposed descent on Montreal was flattering, but it made the
Ticonderoga entrenchments ridiculous.

For three days Rolf was kept cutting wood, then he went with
despatches to Albany.

Many minor labours, from hog-killing to stable-cleaning and
trenching, varied the month of March. Then came the uncertain
time of April when it was neither canoeing nor snow-shoeing and
all communication from the north was cut off.

But May, great, glorious May came on, with its inspiring airs and
livening influence. Canoes were afloat, the woods were brown
beneath and gold above.

Rolf felt like a young stag in his strength. He was spoiling for
a run and volunteered eagerly to carry despatches to Sackett's
Harbour. He would go alone, for now one blanket was sufficient
bed, and a couple of pounds of dry meat was enough food for each
day. A small hatchet would be useful, but his rifle seemed too
heavy to carry; as he halted in doubt, a junior officer offered
him a pistol instead, and he gladly stuck it in his belt.

Taller than ever, considerably over six feet now, somewhat lanky,
but supple of joint and square of shoulder, he strode with the
easy stride of a strong traveller. His colour was up, his
blue-gray eyes ablaze as he took the long trail in a crow line
across country for Sackett's Harbour. The sentry saluted, and the
officer of the day, struck by his figure and his glowing face as
much as by the nature of his errand, stopped to shake hands and
say, "Well, good luck, Kittering, and may you bring us better
news than the last two times."

Rolf knew how to travel now; he began softly. At a long, easy
stride he went for half an hour, then at a swinging trot for a
mile or two. Five miles an hour he could make, but there was one
great obstacle to speed at this season -- every stream was at
flood, all were difficult to cross. The brooks he could wade or
sometimes could fell a tree across them, but the rivers were too
wide to bridge, too cold and dangerous to swim. In nearly every
case he had to make a raft. A good scout takes no chances. A
slight raft means a risky passage; a good one, a safe crossing
but loss of time in preparations. Fifteen good rafts did Rolf
make in that cross-country journey of three days: dry spruce logs
he found each time and bound them together with leather-wood and
withes of willow. It meant a delay of at least an hour each time;
that is five hours each day. But the time was wisely spent. The
days were lengthening; he could travel much at dusk. Soon he was
among settlements. Rumours he got at a settler's cabin of Sir
George Prevost's attack on Sackett's Harbour and the gallant
repulse and at morning of the fourth day he came on the hill
above Sackett's Harbour -- the same hill where he had stood three
months before. It was with something like a clutching of his
breath that he gazed; his past experiences suggested dreadful
thoughts but no -- thank God, "Old Glory" floated from the pole.
He identified himself to the sentinels and the guard, entered the
fort at a trot, and reported at headquarters.

There was joy on every side. At last the tide had turned.
Commodore Chauncey, after sweeping Lake Ontario, had made a
sudden descent on York (Toronto now) the capital of Upper Canada,
had seized and destroyed it. Sir George Prevost, taking advantage
of Chauncey's being away, had attacked Sackett's Harbour, but, in
spite of the absence of the fleet, the resistance had been so
vigorous that in a few days the siege was abandoned.

There were shot holes in walls and roofs, there were a few
wounded in the hospital, the green embankments were torn, and the
flag-pole splintered; but the enemy was gone, the starry flag was
floating on the wind, and the sturdy little garrison filled with
a spirit that grows only in heroes fighting for their homes.

How joyfully different from Ogdensburg.
Scouting Across Country

That very night, Rolf turned again with the latest news and the
commandant's reports.

He was learning the country well now, and, with the wonderful
place-memory of a woodman, he was able to follow his exact back
trail. It might not have been the best way, but it gave him this
advantage -- in nearly every case he was able to use again the
raft he had made in coming, and thereby saved many hours of
precious time.

On the way out he had seen a good many deer and one bear, and had
heard the howling of wolves every night; but always at a
distance. On the second night, in the very heart of the
wilderness, the wolves were noisy and seemed very near. Rolf was
camping in the darkness. He made a small fire with such stuff as
he could find by groping, then, when the fire blazed, he
discovered by its light a dead spruce some twenty yards away.
Taking his hatchet he went toward this, and, as he did so, a wolf
rose up, with its forefeet on a log, only five yards beyond the
tree and gazed curiously at him. Others were heard calling;
presently this wolf raised its muzzle and uttered a long smooth
howl.

Rolf had left his pistol back at the fire; he dared not throw his
hatchet, as that would have left him unarmed. He stooped, picked
up a stick, and threw that; the wolf ducked so that it passed
over, then, stepping back from the log, stood gazing without
obvious fear or menace. The others were howling; Rolf felt
afraid. He backed cautiously to the fire, got his pistol and came
again to the place, but nothing more did he see of the wolf,
though he heard them all night and kept up two great fires for a
protection.

In the morning he started as usual, and before half an hour he
was aware of a wolf, and later of two, trotting along his trail,
a few hundred yards behind. They did not try to overtake him;
indeed, when he stopped, they did the same; and when he trotted,
they, true to their dog-like nature, ran more rapidly in pursuit.
How Rolf did wish for his long rifle; but they gave no
opportunity for a shot with the pistol. They acted, indeed, as
though they knew their safe distance and the exact range of the
junior gun. The scout made a trap for them by stealing back after
he had crossed a ridge, and hiding near his own trail. But the
wind conveyed a warning, and the wolves merely sat down and
waited till he came out and went on. All day long these two
strange ban dogs followed him and gave no sign of hunger or
malice; then, after he crossed a river, at three in the
afternoon, he saw no more of them. Years after, when Rolf knew
them better, he believed they followed him out of mild curiosity,
or possibly in the hope that he would kill a deer in which they
might share. And when they left him, it was because they were
near the edge of their own home region; they had seen him off
their hunting grounds.

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