With Ethan Allen at Ticonderoga

by W. Bert Foster

He staggered out of the cabin and fell upon the ground. In a moment the surprised neighbors were running with buckets and pans from the well, for Mistress Harding’s milk vessels had been left to dry outside the springhouse. Bolderwood took it upon himself to revive the half-strangled Enoch, while the others dashed water over the smouldering interior of the cabin, putting out the fire on the floor which was burning briskly, and finally being able to draw the widow and the smaller children from the secret room under the hearth and carry them to the outer air. Here they quickly revived and Mistress Harding with the girls and little Harry took shelter in one of the hovels.

The destruction of the cabin was practically complete. There was not a log that was not charred, and the interior furnishings of the house were ruined. The kind-hearted neighbors saved the chests of bedclothing and the family’s best garments, for the flames had not gotten at them. But everything was sadly smoked. And the house would have to be torn down and rebuilt with new timber throughout. It was a sad spectacle indeed for Enoch and Bryce to look upon. “I wish I had shot them all!” cried the latter in a rage. But Enoch said nothing. He would not whisper how his anger had made him aim to kill Simon Halpen. Now, in cool blood, he was glad that the bullet had not sped true.

But the condition of the house filled him with despair. Winter was at hand and it would be next to impossible to build a good house before spring, although the timbers could be drawn and squared while the snow was on the ground. What would they do for a shelter until then? “We’ll make yonder hovel that you boys play in, all tight and warm for the winter, Nuck,” Bolderwood observed, seeing the tears running down the boy’s cheeks. “Don’t cry about it. And we’ll have up a better house than this in the spring, lad. The neighbors will all help ye.”

Meanwhile, however, Bolderwood had kept his eye upon the surveyor. The latter, seeing that the family had been so miraculously saved from the fire, sought to get away while the men were saving those goods which were unconsumed. But Bolderwood was after him with mighty strides and dragged him back, a prisoner. “Nay, friend, you’ll be needed here as a witness,” he said, grimly. “We don’t allow such gentry as you in the Hampshire Grants without presenting you with a token of our respect and consideration. Ha!” he added, suddenly, “whom have we here?”

A horseman rode quickly out of the wood and approached the burned cabin. Before he pulled in his steed the men welcomed him vociferously, for it was Captain Baker. “Look at this, ’Member!” cried Bolderwood, dragging the trembling surveyor forward. “What a sight this is to blister the eyes of decent men! A poor widder’s house burned about her ears and only by the mercy of God were she and her youngsters saved.”

“The villains!” roared Baker. “And is that one of them?”

“He was with the party. But I truly believe that he had little to do with this dastardly work. He’s only a poor surveyor body.”

“We’ll find shelter with some neighbor for Mistress Harding and the little ones,” said Baker, “and then attend to his case without delay.”

But the widow was not minded to leave her homestead. It was not yet very cold and the hovel in which the children had had their frolic a fortnight before was easily made comfortable for the family. She set about this at once while Captain Baker and the neighbors sat in judgment upon the trembling surveyor. These impromptu courts held by the Green Mountain Boys when they happened to capture a Yorker guilty of meddling with the settlers, were in the nature of a court martial. Sometimes the sentences imposed were doubtless unjust, for the judges and juries were naturally bitter against the prisoners; but the punishment seldom went beyond a sound whipping, and in this case the surveyor, still sputtering and objecting to the illegal procedure, was sentenced to two score lashes, save one, and Enoch and Bryce selected the blue beech wands with which the sentence was to be carried out.

The surveyor was taken behind the log barn, his coat and shirt stripped from his back, and Bolderwood and one of the other neighbors fulfilled the order of Captain Baker as judge of the military court. Bolderwood, remembering the tears the prisoner had shed when he thought the family burned alive, could not be too hard upon him, and although the woodsman made every appearance of striking tremendous blows, he scarce raised a welt upon the man’s back. But when the other executioner laid on for the last nineteen strokes, the surveyor roared with pain and without doubt the lesson was one which did him good. It would be many a day before he ventured to survey the lands east of the Twenty-Mile Line–at least, not until his back stopped smarting. Finally he was given his clothing, and part of the band marched him across country to the New York border and turned him loose.