CHAPTER X.
It is needless to say that the letter which had so suddenly arrested the threatened tragedy at Fort Constitution, was from Ellen Gansevoort. Her situation was perilous in the extreme. A prisoner among the most lawless of men, she was held, as has been said, in pledge for the safety of Bender, and was threatened, in the event of his execution, with being carried into remote captivity. A detachment of Indians, belonging to a western tribe, formed part of her captors, and on the fourth ensuing day were to set out on their return to the wilderness, with her, or without, as the fate of Bender should decide. It is unnecessary to say that Wiley was the agent in this infernal transaction. Horror-struck at the arrest of his patron, his terror had given way only to the most vindictive anger toward his supposed dupe, Gansevoort. He knew well the extraordinary affection which that gentleman entertained for his sister, and had also some intimation of Count De Zeng’s attachment to Ellen. With the desperate hope of aiding Sir Philip, for whose arrest he considered himself responsible, he had concocted, and, with unrelenting barbarity, carried into effect, the plot which has been detailed; and which his intimate connection with the Tories of Westchester county had afforded him every facility for consummating. His hand had forged the letter which had deceived Miss Gansevoort, and he had been her companion in the carriage. In the further execution of his plan, he had been compelled to disclose himself to his prisoner. But, although it was his exorcism that had conjured up the storm which now impended over the unfortunate Ellen, he had not the power to control its fury. The savages, whose services had been engaged, had been secured by the promise of a large reward from Major Bender, if released, or the person of their prisoner, if the project failed. Wiley had not the means, if he had had the disposition, to purchase her release in the event of failure. It was therefore no idle threat which had been made.
The substance of these facts was briefly communicated in Ellen’s letter to her brother, which was written at the request of Wiley, and by him forwarded to Gansevoort. In this he proposed to send Ellen, at once, in safety to the fort, upon receiving a written promise from the commander-in-chief to pardon Sir Philip. Miss Gansevoort expressed her belief that there was no reasonable hope of her rescue, owing to the wild and almost inaccessible nature of the fastnesses among which her captors were lurking. Her language betrayed inadvertently the anguish of fear which overwhelmed her, and which, in pity to her friends, she would fain have concealed. The startling effect produced by this letter on Colonels Gansevoort and De Zeng, will no longer be considered surprising; or that all other considerations were immediately lost sight of in so engrossing a subject. To them the safety of Ellen was a matter of paramount moment; and had they possessed the power to procure her release by the discharge of Bender, his shackles would have melted at a breath. But, alas! such was not the case. An immediate sally was earnestly urged by De Zeng, in pursuit of the brigand force; but this, without a guide, without any clew to the hiding-places of the enemy, who had their choice of a hundred impregnable positions among the mountains, would have been but wasting time, and rendering the situation of the captive still more perilous. The inflexible character of the commander-in-chief, in matters pertaining to the welfare of the country, left them but little hope that he would sacrifice its interests to any private consideration. But there was no time to be lost in deliberation; and De Zeng himself set out on the same evening, with a small guard, for Washington’s quarters. His route lying exclusively through a friendly region, he was enabled to obtain frequent relays of horses, and, by dint of hard riding, arrived at the camp soon after daylight on the ensuing morning. He did not hesitate to disturb the slumbers of the commander with a message, begging an instant audience. In the fewest words he had put General Washington in possession of all the facts, and pale with fatigue, and trembling with anxiety, stood watching the working of his countenance, to catch the first glimpses of a decision which he knew would be final. Benevolence gleamed from the commander’s eye, but a stern compression of his lips foreshadowed his reply. It was impossible, he said, to compromise the interests of the whole country for a single life, however precious. Bender’s guilt was unmitigated. The example of his punishment must be made. Similar attempts at corruption on the part of the British government had become frequent, and unless checked by some signal act, might be productive of the most disastrous consequences. In vain did the count, with all the earnestness of impassioned feeling, plead the cause of poor Ellen and her distracted brother. A calm rebuke from the commander reminded him that he also possessed the feelings of benevolence common to humanity, but that his decision, painful as it was, had been well weighed, and could not be altered.
After a brief repose, De Zeng, with a heavy heart, prepared to return; but, in the meantime, a second messenger had arrived from the fort, bearing a dispatch for the count. It was from Sir Philip Bender himself, and had been forwarded by permission of Gansevoort. It enclosed a letter to Gen. Washington, in which the prisoner proposed not only the release of Ellen, but also the surrender of his coadjutor, Wiley, to procure his own pardon. He boldly asserted that he had the means to bring about these results. Wiley was well known at head-quarters as a desperate and daring man, whose connection both with the British army at New York, and with the Tories in the river counties, rendered him a formidable adversary. His bitter hatred of the republicans, the frequency and facility of his disguises, and his utter disregard of every principle of honorable warfare, made him a valuable auxiliary to the enemy, and, not infrequently, a real scourge to the patriots. To accomplish his arrest, scarcely any sacrifice would have been considered inordinate. His life was trebly forfeited even before the affair of Fort Constitution, in which he had prostituted the sacred character of a flag to the most vile and corrupt of purposes.
General Washington avowed his utter disbelief in Bender’s ability to fulfill his engagement, which he considered probably a ruse to gain time. He, however, to the great delight of Count De Zeng, accepted the proposition; and the latter, with renewed hope, but with many misgivings set out on his return.
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CHAPTER XI.
The messenger who had brought Miss Gansevoort’s letter to the fort, was the same servant of Sir Philip who had accompanied him to the house of Captain Wilton on the night of his arrest. It was through his agency that the prisoner proposed to accomplish his present designs. Base and perfidious to the last, he manifested not the least repugnance to thus sacrificing one, who, whatever were his other faults, had ever manifested the utmost fidelity to him. The servant had come directly from the camp of the brigands, and being fully in their confidence, could guide a detachment from the garrison directly to the spot, and thus probably promote the destruction or capture of the whole band. No time was lost in this enterprise. Count De Zeng in the most earnest manner begged, and obtained, command of the expedition. The outlaws were only about thirty in number, and the count, anxious to make a rapid and secret march, did not consider it necessary or prudent to take more than twice that force. The distance to be accomplished was about thirty miles, and at the hour of ten on the ensuing evening the little army set out. Knowing the vigilant character of his enemy, De Zeng had observed the greatest secrecy, and at the hour of starting not an individual of the company, excepting himself and his guide, had the most remote idea of the object of the expedition. Avoiding the village, which might contain the lurking spies of Wiley, they took the nearest route to the forest, and there, through its wild and unfrequented depths, slowly pursued their way. We will not dwell upon the particulars of this most toilsome march. The cold was intense, the snow lay deep upon the ground, and the wind came moaning through the long defiles of the mountains, among which their path must be pursued. To the Count De Zeng, unaccustomed even to the sight of an American wilderness, it was painful in the extreme. But no word or look gave token of impatience. The deep anxiety that pervaded his breast in relation to the result of his mission, on which the life of Miss Gansevoort, and his own future happiness must depend, diminished every smaller trial. Laughing at every obstacle, he encouraged his followers by his own fortitude and fearlessness. At the dawn of day they had accomplished but little more than half of their journey. Allowing his men a single hour for refreshment and repose, he again pressed forward. They beheld his endurance with surprise, and were ashamed to complain.
At about noon, the guide having informed De Zeng that they were drawing near to Wiley’s encampment, he made a brief halt, for the purpose of explaining to his men the nature of the service on which they were bound. He informed them that Wiley was to be taken alive, if possible; but charged them particularly that the chief object of the expedition was the safe recovery of Miss Gansevoort. Having succeeded in animating them with a portion of his own enthusiasm, by a few brief but forcible remarks, he resumed his march.
The camp was situated on a summit which overlooked all the adjacent region, and which, by reason of its steepness, was nearly inaccessible, excepting at a point which was in full view of the enemy. The denseness of the forest was, however, favorable to the secret approach from another direction, and De Zeng resolved at once to scale the height in the rear. With incredible toil this task was performed. The summit having been attained, the panting soldiers were immediately formed and led forward. Against any ordinary approach of an enemy Wiley was sufficiently guarded; but he was not prepared for treachery. He could not anticipate the approach of an army by a way that even a chamois hunter would have hesitated to climb. He was taken so entirely off his guard, that but few of his company were even under arms, and the first intimation of his enemy’s approach was a loud demand to surrender. The Tories and savages flew hastily to their arms, but a single volley, and a rapid charge with the bayonet proved decisive. Several were killed, and the rest, excepting only their leader, instantaneously surrendered. He alone, agile as a deer, fled into the forest, and descending the dreadful declivity almost at a leap, once more seemed to bid defiance to his foes. But the avenger was on his path. Nothing could exceed the rage which had burned in the bosom of the young count from the moment when he first caught sight of his enemy. Calling now on a few of his men to follow, but distancing every competitor, De Zeng rushed down the side of the mountain in pursuit, and gaining momentarily upon the fugitive, once more called on him to yield. Wiley turned, and stood for a moment at bay; but beholding the flashing blade of his pursuer at his breast, and numbers of his enemies hastening up, he quietly surrendered. Exulting in his success, the count now returned hastily to the camp; but, alas! he was yet destined to experience a bitter proof how difficult it is to circumvent a vigilant adversary. Notwithstanding Wiley’s terror, his countenance had worn a sardonic smile, which gave token of some unknown calamity. Too soon did the fearful truth transpire. Miss Gansevoort was not in the camp. No words can express the anguish of Count De Zeng at this discovery. Wiley, who was immediately sternly interrogated by his captor, stated that Ellen was a full day’s journey in the wilderness, in custody of a band of Hurons. But a moment’s reflection convinced the count of the improbability of this story. The time had not yet arrived, when, according to the statement in Ellen’s letter, the Indians were to start; and they would not be likely thus to defeat their whole plan by a premature movement. The other prisoners were severally questioned, but no satisfactory information could be obtained. Rage mingled with the grief of De Zeng, when he saw himself thus trifled with. He believed that Miss Gansevoort had been conveyed to some other lurking-place in the forest, by Wiley’s direction, and that the latter was fully cognizant of her present position. This hypothesis alone affording him any hope of rescuing her, he resolved to act upon it. Summoning Wiley, therefore, to his presence, he addressed him as follows: