During a full minute the two stood there. Then the real Ira spoke.
“Give me that cross.”
Without a word the young scout drew it from his bosom and, unfastening its chain from his neck, handed it to the rightful owner. He pulled it apart, and taking a tiny paper from the hollow tube, passed it to the general, who read:
“Fort Edward, June 1, 1777.
“To all officers of the Northern Army:
“This is to certify that the bearer of this paper is Lieutenant Philip Schuyler Jr., my son. He will personate the Tory, Ira Le Geyt, at the headquarters of General Burgoyne. You may rely upon all information he sends you.
“(Signed) Philip Schuyler, “General Commanding.”
Before any other could speak, the young Tory, his eyes flashing, said:
“It is as I have already told you, general. This fellow, with a squad of soldiers, seized me while I was crossing the Hudson on my way to meet you at Lake Champlain, and carried me to Fort Edward, where I was imprisoned. They took not only papers, but my entire outfit, including the clothes I had on. I did not understand why then, but learned later. When your courier, Master Preston, was thrust into the dungeon with me, he told me how an Ira Le Geyt, who was serving as a scout for your army, had betrayed him into the rebels’ hands. Then I saw through the Schuyler plan, and knew that as long as the son, using my name and wearing my clothes, was at your headquarters, nothing but disaster would befall you. I tried desperately to escape. I offered bribes to the guards; I attempted to tunnel out of the fort, but failed. When the new commander, Gates, came, I persuaded him I had been wrongfully confined for weeks, and he ordered my release. I hastened here, too late, I fear, to be of any service. But in justice to myself, I demand that the man who has deprived me of my rights be properly punished.”
“Don’t fear about that, Master Le Geyt,” the officer replied with a cruel laugh. “Out of justice to you, and because of injustice to me, this fellow shall be hanged. I only wish I could string the father up beside the son. In all my military career I never met with, or heard of, so infamous a scheme as they have conceived and carried out. I can see, as you have suggested, that all the disasters have come through this young rascal. I will put him under guard to-night. To-morrow he shall be tried and sentenced. Before another twenty-four hours have passed, he will be executed.”
He called out, and a sergeant with four men entered and took the prisoner away.
Within the stout walls of a log hut, which had been turned into a temporary prison, Philip (for now he should be called by his right name) was left to himself. Naturally he could not avoid dwelling upon the horrible fate that awaited him, for his conviction and execution were foregone conclusions. Many a man had been sent to the gallows by far less evidence than could be brought against him. In the heart of the British camp as he was, he might not look for rescue. There was little hope of escaping through his own efforts.
He recalled all that he had been able to do, through the place he had held in the British camp, for the Cause he loved. The stores at Bennington on which Burgoyne depended for the sustenance of his army, had not been secured, and in the attempt to obtain them that officer had lost a thousand men. The reinforcements he ardently expected from New York had not come, and they could not arrive now in time to save him. St. Leger had been frightened away, and with him had gone the last hope of the British commander for any addition to his forces. With his army weakened, on short rations, and unable to retreat, he had but one alternative, which was to face a foe that outnumbered him. From the human point of view there could be but one outcome, defeat, and with that defeat all the plans of Lord Germain, the war secretary in London, would be shattered. Philip was satisfied. Remembering all he had helped to accomplish, he could, if necessary, surrender up his life.