They rode on behind their leader, in single file, watching every little patch of wood that might hide an enemy. Two men rode on each flank at easy rifle-shot distance, beating up the brushwood, and leaving nothing unsearched.
Their numbers and actions sufficiently told that they composed a reconnoitering party, under command of the ex-hussar. It was a noticeable fact in the history of the Revolutionary war, that those officers who had served in European armies were treated with great distinction whenever they could be induced to accept commands, and that their career in American armies was generally very creditable, with the exception of those coming from the English service. The latter, as in the cases of Lee and Gates, were almost uniformly unfortunate, while those provincials, such as Washington, Putnam, Stark, and Schuyler, who had learned war in the French and Indian struggle, under English tuition, were as uniformly good leaders. All which facts tend to prove that the English system of war is inferior to that pursued, in Germany especially, on the European continent; as also that American intellect is able to attain a good result, even in a bad school.
Adrian Schuyler was a model light cavalry officer, and conducted his party with due caution. A rifle-shot ahead, was the best scout of the party, and every now and then, silent signals were exchanged between the advance and the main body, that communicated some intelligence. Presently the scout in front halted, and crouched on his horse’s neck. Instantly, at a low word from Adrian, his party stopped, and the officer rode slowly up to the side of his advanced vidette, to see what was the matter.
“Thar they be, Cap,” said the scout, in a low tone, pointing to his left front, “they’re gone into camp, as slick as molasses, and their Dutch sentry ain’t got no eyes, I guess, for he’s a-blinkin’ this way, jest like an owl on a fine day, and hain’t seen me.”
Schuyler, sheltering himself behind the other, and bowing his head, so as to hide his tall cap, slipped off his horse and leveled a telescope over the croup of the scout’s steady animal. A bluish line of smoke, clearly visible against the cold gray background of mist and rain, pointed out the position of the camp of Baum and his Hessians, detached from the army of Burgoyne, to seize the stores at Bennington.
They lay in a square, compact mass, in a bend of the little rivulet, called the Wollonsac, which covered their position. A green grove, at the borders of the stream, furnished them with some shelter from the rain, for otherwise they were compelled to trust to huts of straw.
A brown line of fresh earth, covering the whole front of their position, showed that their commander was a cautious man, who knew the value of intrenchments.
“There they are, sure enough, Kerr,” said Schuyler, as he shut up his glass; “but I don’t see any Indians.”
“I’d admire to see the reptyles,” said Kerr, spitefully, “sneaking round when our boys are here, Cap. No, no, thur ain’t one of ’em left near us, since the Mountain Devil’s up and arter ’em.”
“The Mountain Devil! Who’s that?” asked Adrian, surprised. It was the first time he had heard allusions from others to the singular being that had effected his own release from his late captors.