CHAPTER XXXII
A NOTABLE EXPLOIT
"What is it?" inquired Phil quite eagerly, the moment they entered the tent of the Concord Company.
"A letter from Silas Berks."
"Yes, we know that, but what's it about?" urged Ralph.
"Fellows," replied Andy smartly, his face working with a good deal of excitement, "we were talking about being hungry a little while ago. What would you say, if I told you that I think we have a chance to make the biggest kind of a haul of all kinds of food, and lots of it?"
"We'd say," cried Ralph enthusiastically, "show us the chance!"
"Good! Read that letter, both of you. Then Phil, as you know our commanding general best, if you see anything in the proposition, go to him and arrange for the raid."
In turn Phil and Ralph perused the crabbed missive that the old Indian fighter had sent. It was a strange message. Briefly, it informed Andy that the writer knew of the needs of the Continental army. From a friend who had been burned out and robbed by the Tories, Silas had learned that something strange was going on in the neighborhood of Berkston.
His friend had told Silas a strange story. The British had raided the territory, burning houses, stealing cattle, and driving the colonists away. Somewhere near Berkston Hills, they had a kind of a rendezvous, Silas said. Here by spells they came frequently to gather up and carry to ships on the coast a vast amount of provisions obtained by bribed agents in the interior districts.
Recently the Tories had hired a vagrant band of Indians to scour the country, visiting the settlements, begging, stealing, breaking into stores, houses and barns, and pilfering generally in both a small and a large way. They had carried away the whole contents of farmers' smoke houses, in some instances. At one isolated town the general store was swept clean.
Old Silas stated that he was satisfied that these robbers massed all their stealings at one central point, where the Tory agent bought the goods for little or nothing, giving in exchange British gold and "fire water." Their latest headquarters, from what his refugee friend told him, he believed to be in the vicinity of Berkston Hills.
Phil and Andy did some thinking, planning and arranging with their commanding officer. That afternoon they started Peleg home, made happy with various trifling gifts, and sending a reply letter to Old Silas, thanking him for his kindly interest in his boy friends and his fidelity to the cause.
"Sachem would be the prime fellow to consult about this proposition," remarked Andy, as, accompanied by twenty of their "picked men," the two young volunteer leaders left the camp.
"Sachem has won the confidence of the general by his continued sobriety and usefulness," explained Phil, "and has been sent off on a mission where fleet-footedness means something. I think he will be back by nightfall, but this affair of ours is important, and can't wait."
There was a brisk march to Berkston. Only a few half-burned buildings of the little town were visible. The place was lonely and deserted. The hills lay to the east of the village, and the boys threaded many a valley and ravine, searching for the place of the rendezvous of the marauders.
Just toward the end of the afternoon, as they passed down a rock-protected glade, Phil made out a human form. It appeared and then disappeared where the valley turned.
"Did you see him?" inquired the Boston boy of Andy, who had been keeping a close lookout by his side.
"I fancied that I saw something or somebody," responded Andy, "but it was only a momentary flash. Human or animal, I couldn't make it out."
"It looked like an Indian to me," declared Phil. "I've got the spot well in mind. We'll hurry on; leave the men in ambush, and you and I will do a little investigating."
"All right," acceded Andy, and this was done. When they came to the spot where Phil had seen the supposed Indian disappear, the company was ordered to cover, while their leaders proceeded cautiously around the turn in the valley.
"We've struck it," said Phil, after they had proceeded several yards.
"Yes," nodded Andy convincedly, "for here are a lot of well-trodden paths, diverging over the hills both ways from this spot. See, Phil—here's a regular route. Here they end."
"A cave," said Phil.
They had met many of these formations in traversing the valley. The one that now showed its verdure-covered entrance plainly, seemed to be of considerable magnitude. Phil and Andy entered the place, looking curiously around them. There was an outer cave, and this narrowed so as to be a kind of a doorway to a vast inner cavern. The roof of this had some breaks, letting in the daylight, and, although the place was dim and gloomy, the intruders could make out their surroundings.
"I say!" exclaimed Andy, in petrified wonder, staring about the queer place. Phil was equally spellbound. The cave was simply a great storehouse. Scattered about were heaps of plunder of every description. Here was a heap of smoked bacon and ham, there were kegs and barrels, probably containing molasses, sugar, cider and vinegar. There were sacks of grain, flour and vegetables, sugar, salt, dried beans, peas and fruits. Boxes of candles, clothing, bed linen, heaps of firearms and garden tools—the mixed mass of booty resembled the despoilment of half-a-dozen towns.
"Phil," exclaimed Andy breathlessly, "Old Silas was no dreamer. Oh, what a find!"
Phil was surprised, in fact fairly agitated, as he realized what all this plunder meant to the patient, ill-fed continental army. He could not keep from trembling with anxiety. Here was the booty. How could they get it to camp? It was extremely improbable that its owners would leave it long, unguarded. At any moment their intrusion might be discovered.
"I'll go for the company," said Andy excitedly. "We'll leave half of them on guard here. The rest of us will carry off what we can to camp, and the general will send a full company or two for the rest of the plunder."
"We certainly must act quickly and decisively," rejoined Phil, and both started for the exit from the cave.
"Ugh!"
"Wagh!"
Suddenly from behind a great heap of bags four Indians stepped directly in their path. They leveled muskets and looked fierce and dangerous. Just then from outside came the echoes of a series of frightful yells mingled with the explosion of firearms.
Phil and Andy made a rush to rejoin their comrades outside, whom they felt certain had been attacked. Seemingly all hands had fallen into a trap, their recent progress having been closely watched by redskins in ambush. The four Indians intercepted Phil and Andy. The youths were seized, disarmed, and were dragged back into the inner cave, as their volunteer friends were driven into the place by a party of Indians nearly double their number. There was scuffling and struggles, some shots were fired, some blows given, and, at the end of the general mix-up, the young volunteers found themselves driven en masse into a corner of the cave. Their weapons were taken from them, and forty or more Indians squatted on the stone floor about ten feet from them, fully armed, and in instant readiness to resist and punish any attempt at escape.
"Well, we're in a nice fix now, aren't we?" spoke Andy, in a disgusted tone. "I wish we'd fought to the last second."
"No one had the chance—it was all so sudden," replied Phil. "It would have been a massacre, if our fellows had attempted it."
Beyond the guards the four men who had prevented Phil and Andy from leaving the cave stood together, evidently holding a council. There was a noisy pow-wow in a tongue the boys could not understand.
The apparent leader of the redmen finally approached the Indian guards. He spoke briefly and rapidly. He seemed to be putting some case before them for them to vote upon. When he had concluded speaking, a great, unanimous shout from the entire group appeared to affirm the decision of the council.
"They've voted 'Aye' on whatever it is," said Andy. "Now he's coming to tell us our fate, I'll wager."
The stalwart savage looked very stern and cruel as he approached Phil and Andy, recognizing them as the leaders of the intruders. He spoke in poor English, and his words were few. He gave them to understand that he knew they were enemies—being colonists—also, that their friends were the British. They had come to rob the native redskin, as their forefathers had robbed them. If they were set free, they would bring a revengeful horde on the trail. Ugh! wagh! they must die!
The speaker drew back, waved his hand and uttered a sharp, quick command to the Indian guards. As if by magic the latter dropped their firearms. Then each one of them drew a knife or a tomahawk from his belt.
There was no mistaking their ferocity or their purpose. They were fully intent on slaying the intruders. It seemed that the scene was to be a repetition of cruel massacres to which these untutored savages had been incited several times since the Revolutionary War had begun.
Phil never could analyze the promptness with which a sudden, wild suggestion entered his mind. In a flash there occurred to him a vivid thought. In a kind of erratic desperation his hand went to a breast pocket. It was to draw forth the singularly engraved and painted token that Sachem had given him, on that memorable day when he had rescued that redman from the fugitive horse in the swamp.
With a vague cry to attract attention Phil raised this in plain view of the Indian leader. The latter stared, glided forward, regarded the token fixedly, and spoke sharply to the guards, who fell back astonished.
"Whew!" ejaculated Andy. "That was a close shave. Phil, they must know Sachem. It's mighty lucky you thought of it. They're pow-wowing over it, see?"
The four principal Indians were discoursing animatedly. Evidently Phil's possession of the token mystified and influenced them, and checked their bloodthirsty instincts, at least temporarily. Finally the head Indian came up to Phil. He asked some questions about the token, which Phil truthfully answered. Then he asked about the whereabouts of Sachem. He seemed troubled and irresolute. He told Phil that a friend, an agent of the British, who had gone to see about a ship, would be with them soon, and they would get his opinion about affairs.
At that moment a peculiar Indian call echoed from outside the cave. It stirred the savages greatly, and some ran out. It was to return with one of their own people, though he was not in Indian garb.
"Sachem!" cried Phil. "We are saved."
Sachem had returned to camp, and had set out on their trail at once. He had arrived in the nick of time. He made a short speech to the savages. He promised them money from the continental general.
Within an hour the young volunteers and the Indians, each bearing a heavy load, were headed in the direction of the camp at Cambridge. The influence of Sachem had won the day.
As soon as they arrived and Phil reported to the general, a company of militia was dispatched to bring in the remainder of the plunder. The camp rang with the exploit, and the army had a royal feast for many days to come.