More perplexed than ever, angry with Maggie and angry with himself, he braced himself and followed the Colonel in silence until the camp was reached. Supper awaited them, and that disposed of, the Colonel, wearied with his day’s exertion, flung himself on the ground and fell asleep. Morton tried in vain to do likewise.
At daybreak the army was astir and the expectation of the men was an order to renew the assault upon the British position. No such order came, and it was wearing well into the forenoon when the commanding-officers were summoned to attend at the General’s tent to hold a council-of-war. Among others Colonel Vanderberg went. Morton watched eagerly his return, and when he came his questioning eyes told what his tongue, from courtesy, would not ask. “Well, Morton, you would like to know what has been decided upon, and as it is no secret, I will tell you. The campaign has been abandoned and the army goes back to the States to go into winter-quarters. We marched into Canada to co-operate with Wilkinson. Last night the General received a despatch that he had not yet left Sackett’s Harbor, while we supposed he was now steering his triumphant way down the St Lawrence, and might even be at the mouth of the Chateaugay waiting for us. It was argued that, as Wilkinson had not moved, and it was uncertain if he would, nothing was to be gained by our army going on, for, without the flotilla, we could not cross the St Lawrence to take Montreal.”
“And what of the disgrace of retiring before an enemy whom you have burnt powder with for an afternoon?”
“There you have us, Morton. I urged that, before we fell back, the honor of our flag required our routing the enemy in front of us, but the General showed that he has had all along complete information of its position and strength, obtained from spies and deserters—that there are six lines of wooden breastworks, held by Indians and light troops, and that only after storming them would we come in face of the main position, where the regulars are entrenched with cannon and commanded by Sir George Prevost in person. When there was nothing to be gained, it was asked, what was the use of further fighting? The miscarriage of the attempt under Purdy to flank the enemy’s position discouraged our officers, who, altho’ they do not say it, want to get away from this miserable condition of cold and wet and mud.”
“So we go back whence we came?” remarked Morton moodily, as he thought of the stable at Chateaugay.
“My dear fellow, bear up; I will do my best to have you exchanged.”
Morton shook his head as he said, “I am not held as a prisoner of war.”
The Colonel bit his lip. “I have not told you all. The carrying of the decision of the council to Wilkinson was entrusted to me.”
“And so you leave me!” exclaimed Morton sadly.
“I start after dinner, and cheer up, man; we will have a good one as a farewell feast.” Then, with evident hesitation, the Colonel went on, as delicately as possible, to show Morton that he had better withdraw his parole and go again under a guard. Removed from his protection, it would not be safe to move among men soured by an unfortunate campaign. Morton assented and expressed his thanks for advice he knew it pained the Colonel to give. Dinner over, the Colonel’s horse was brought, and with a warm grasp of the hand he bade Morton good-bye, leapt into the saddle, and galloped out of sight. Morton saw him not again.