It was, indeed, tougher business than we had yet known-a dash into the enemy’s country, where my poor head was in excellent demand.  D’ri and I were to cross the lake with a band of raiders, a troop of forty, under my command.  We were to rescue some prisoners in a lockup on the other side.  They were to be shot in the morning, and our mission therefore admitted of no delay.  Our horses had been put aboard a brig at midnight, and soon after the noon mess we dropped down the lake, going into a deep, wooded cove south of the Grenadier Island.  There we lay waiting for nightfall.  A big wind was howling over the woods at sunset, and the dark came on its wings an hour ahead of time.  The night was black and the lake noisy when we got under way, bound for a flatboat ferry.  Our skipper, it turned out, had little knowledge of those waters.  He had shortened sail, and said he was not afraid of the weather.  The wind, out of the southeast, came harder as it drove us on.  Before we knew it, the whole kit and boodle of us were in a devil of a shakeup there in the broad water.  D’ri and I were down among the horses and near being trampled under in the roll.  We tried to put about then, but the great gusts of wind made us lower sail and drop anchor in a hurry.  Soon the horses were all in a tumble and one on top of the other.  We had to jump from back to back to save ourselves.  It was no pretty business, I can tell you, to get to the stairway.  D’ri was stripped of a boot-leg, and I was cut in the chin by a front hoof, going ten feet or so to the upper deck.  To the man who was never hit in the chin by a horse’s hoof let me say there is no such remedy for a proud spirit.  Bullets are much easier to put up with and keep a civil tongue in one’s head.  That lower deck was a kind of horses’ hell.  We had to let them alone.  They got astraddle of one another’s necks, and were cut from ear to fetlock-those that lived, for some of them, I could see, were being trampled to death.  How many I never knew, for suddenly we hit a reef there in the storm and the black night.  I knew we had drifted to the north shore, and as the sea began to wash over us it was every man for himself.  The brig went up and down like a sledge-hammer, and at every blow her sides were cracking and caving.  She keeled over suddenly, and was emptied of horse and man.  A big wave flung me far among the floundering horses.  My fingers caught in a wet mane; I clung desperately between crowding flanks.  Then a big wave went over us.  I hung on, coming up astride my capture.  He swam vigorously, his nose high, blowing like a trumpet.  I thought we were in for a time of it, and had very little hope for any landing, save in kingdom come.  Every minute I was head under in the wash, and the roaring filled me with that mighty terror of the windfall.  But, on my word, there is no captain like a good horse in bad water.  Suddenly I felt him hit the bottom and go forward on his knees.  Then he reared up, and began to jump in the sand.  A big wave washed him down again.  He fell on his side in a shallow, but rose and ran wearily over a soft beach.  In the blackness around me I could see nothing.  A branch whipped me in the face, and I ducked.  I was not quick enough; it was like fencing in the dark.  A big bough hit me, raking the withers of my horse, and I rolled off headlong in a lot of bushes.  The horse went on, out of hearing, but I was glad enough to lie still, for I had begun to know of my bruises.  In a few minutes I took off my boots and emptied them, and wrung my blouse, and lay back, cursing my ill luck.

But that year of 1813 had the kick of ill fortune in it for every mother’s son of us there in the North country.  I have ever noticed that war goes in waves of success or failure; If we had had Brown or Scott to lead us that year, instead of Wilkinson, I believe it had had a better history.  Here was I in the enemy’s country.  God knew where, or how, or when I should come out of it.  I thought of D’ri and how it had gone with him in that hell of waters.  I knew it would be hard to drown him.  We were so near shore, if he had missed the rocks I felt sure he would come out safely.  I thought of Louison and Louise, and wondered if ever I should see them again.  Their faces shone upon me there in the windy darkness, and one as brightly as the other.  Afterwhiles I drew my wet blouse over me and went asleep, shivering.

A familiar sound woke me-that of the reveille.  The sun was shining, the sky clear, the wind had gone down.  A crow sat calling in a tree above my head.  I lay in a strip of timber, thin and narrow, on the lake shore.  Through the bushes I could see the masts of the brig slanting out of water some rods away.  Beyond the timber was a field of corn, climbing a side-hill that sloped off to a level, grassy plain.  Beyond the hill-top, reveille was still sounding.  A military camp was near me, and although I made no move, my mind was up and busy as the drumsticks over the hill.  I sat as quiet as a cat at a mouse-hole, looking down at my uniform, not, indeed, the most healthful sort of dress for that country.  All at once I caught sight of a scarecrow in the corn.  I laughed at the odd grotesquery of the thing-an old frock-coat and trousers of olive-green, faded and torn and fat with straw.  A stake driven through its collar into the earth, and crowned with an ancient, tall hat of beaver, gave it a backbone.  An idea came to me.  I would rob the scarecrow and hide my uniform.  I ran out and hauled it over, and pulled the stuffing out of it.  The coat and trousers were made for a stouter man.  I drew on the latter, fattening my figure with straw to fill them.  That done, I quickly donned the coat.  Each sleeve-end fell to my fingertips, and its girth would have circled a flour-barrel and buttoned with room to spare.  But with my stuffing of straw it came around me as snug at the belt as the coat of a bear.  I took alarm as I closed the buttons.  For half a minute I had heard a drum-tap coming nearer.  It was the measured tap! tap! tap-tap-tap! so familiar to me.  Now I could hear the tread of feet coming with it back of the hill.  How soon they would heave in sight I was unable to reckon, but I dared not run for cover.  So I thrust my scabbard deep in the soft earth, pulled down the big beaver hat over my face, muffled my neck with straw, stuck the stake in front of me to steady myself, and stood stiff as any scarecrow in Canada.  Before I was done a column, scarlet-coated, came out in the level beyond the hillside.  Through a hole in the beaver I could see them clearly.  They came on, rank after rank.  They deployed, forming an open square, scarlet-sided, on the green turf, the gap toward me.  Then came three, walking stiffly in black coats, a squad leading them.  The thing I had taken for a white visor was a blindfold.  Their heads were bare.  I could see, now, they were in shackles, their arms behind them.  They were coming to their death-some of my unlucky comrades.  God pity them!  A spy might as well make his peace with Heaven, if he were caught those days, and be done with hope.  Suspicion was enough to convict on either side of the water that year.  As my feet sank deeper in the soft earth I felt as if I were going down to my grave.  The soldiers led them into the gap, standing them close together, backs to me, The squad drew off.  The prisoners stood erect, their faces turning up a little, as if they were looking into the clear, blue sky.  I could see them waver as they stood waiting.  The sharpshooters advanced, halting as they raised their rifles.  To my horror, I saw the prisoners were directly between me and them.  Great God! was I also of that little company about to die?  But I dared not move a step.  I stood still, watching, trembling.  An officer in a shining helmet was speaking to the riflemen.  His helmet seemed to jump and quiver as he moved away.  Those doomed figures began to reel and sway as they waited.  The shiny barrels lifted a little, their muzzles pointing at them and at me.  The corn seemed to duck and tremble as it waited the volley.  A great black ball shot across the sky in a long curve, and began to fall.  Then came the word, a flash of fire, a cloud of smoke, a roar of rifles that made me jump in my tracks.  I heard bullets cuffing the corn, I felt the dirt fly up and scatter over me, but was unhurt, a rigid, motionless man of straw.  I saw my countrymen reel, their legs go limp as rags, their bodies fall silently forward.  The soldiers stood a moment, then a squad went after the dead with litters.  Forming in fours, they marched away as they had come, their steps measured by that regular rap! rap! rap-rap-rap! of the drum.  The last rank went out of sight.  I moved a little and pulled the stake, and quickly stuck it again, for there were voices near.  I stood waiting as stiff as a poker.  Some men were running along the beach, two others were coming through the corn.  They passed within a few feet of me on each side.  I heard them talking with much animation.  They spoke of the wreck.  When they were well by me I faced about, watching them.  They went away in the timber, down to a rocky point, where I knew the wreck was visible.

They were no sooner out of sight than I pulled the stake and sabre, and shoved the latter under my big coat.  Then I lifted the beaver and looked about me.  There was not a soul in sight.  From that level plain the field ran far to a thick wood mounting over the hill.  I moved cautiously that way, for I was in the path of people who would be coming to see the wreck.  I got near the edge of the distant wood, and hearing a noise, halted, and stuck my stake, and drew my hands back in the sleeves, and stood like a scarecrow, peering through my hat.  Near me, in the woods, I could hear a cracking of sticks and a low voice.  Shortly two Irishmen stuck their heads out of a bush.  My heart gave a leap in me, for I saw they were members of my troop.

“Hello, there!” I called in a loud voice, It startled them.  They turned their heads to see where the voice came from, and stood motionless.  I pulled my stake and made for them on the run.  I should have known better, for the sight of me would have tried the legs of the best trooper that ever sat in a saddle.  As they told me afterward, it was enough to make a lion yelp.

“Holy Mother!” said one, as they broke through the bush, running for their lives.  I knew not their names, but I called them as loudly as I dared.  They went on, never slacking pace.  It was a bad go, for I was burning for news of D’ri and the rest of them.  Now I could hear some heavy animal bounding in the brush as if their running had startled him.  I went back to the corn for another stand.  Suddenly a horse came up near me, cropping the brush.  I saw he was one off the boat, for he had bridle and saddle, a rein hanging in two strings, and was badly cut.  My friend! the sight of a horse did warm me to the toes.  He got a taste of the tender corn presently, and came toward me as he ate.  In a moment I jumped to the saddle, and he went away leaping like a wild deer.  He could not have been more frightened if I had dropped on him out of the sky.  I never saw such energy in flesh and blood before.  He took a mighty fright as my hand went to his withers, but the other had a grip on the pommel, and I made the stirrups.  I leaned for the strings of the rein, but his neck was long, and I could not reach them.  Before I knew it we were tearing over the hill at a merry pace, I can tell you.  I was never so put to it for the right thing to do, but I clung on.  The big hat shook down upon my collar.  In all my life I never saw a hat so big.  Through the break in it I could see a farm-house.  In a jiffy the horse had cleared a fence, and was running, with the feet of terror, in a dusty road.  I grew angry at myself as we tore along-I knew not why.  It was a rage of discomfort, I fancy, for somehow, I never felt so bound and cluttered, so up in the air and out of place in my body.  The sabre was working loose and hammering my knee; the big hat was rubbing my nose, the straw chafing my chin.  I had something under my arm that would sway and whack the side of the horse every leap he made.  I bore upon it hard, as if it were the jewel of my soul.  I wondered why, and what it might be.  In a moment the big hole of my hat came into conjunction with my right eye.  On my word, it was the stake!  How it came there I have never known, but, for some reason, I held to it.  I looked neither to right nor left, but sat erect, one hand on the hilt of my sabre, the other in the mane of my horse, knowing full well I was the most hideous-looking creature in the world.  If I had come to the gate of heaven I believe St. Peter would have dropped his keys.  The straw worked up, and a great wad of it hung under my chin like a bushy beard.  I would have given anything for a sight of myself, and laughed to think of it, although facing a deadly peril, as I knew.  But I was young and had no fear in me those days.  Would that a man could have his youth to his death-bed!  It was a leap in the dark, but I was ready to take my chances.

Evidently I was nearing a village.  Groups of men were in the shady thoroughfare; children thronged the dooryards.  There was every sign of a holiday.  As we neared them I caught my sabre under my knee, and drew my hands into the long sleeves and waved them wildly, whooping like an Indian.  They ran back to the fences with a start of fear.  As I passed them they cheered loudly, waving their hats and roaring with laughter.  An old horse, standing before an inn, broke his halter and crashed over a fence.  A scared dog ran for his life in front of me, yelping as he leaped over a stone wall.  Geese and turkeys flew in the air as I neared them.  The people had seemed to take me for some village youth on a masquerade.  We flashed into the open country before the sound of cheering had died away.  On we went over a long strip of hard soil, between fields, and off in the shade of a thick forest.  My horse began to tire.  I tried to calm him by gentle words, but I could give him no confidence in me.  He kept on, laboring hard and breathing heavily, as if I were a ton’s weight.  We came to another clearing and fields of corn.  A little out of the woods, and near the road, was a log house white-washed from earth to eaves.  By the gate my horse went down.  I tumbled heavily in the road, and turning, caught him by the bits.  The big hat had shot off my head; the straw had fallen away.  A woman came running out of the open door.  She had bare feet, a plump and cheery face.

“Tonnerre!” said she.  “Qu’est ce que cela?”

“My countrywoman,” said I, in French, feeling in my under-trousers for a bit of silver, and tossing it to her, “I am hungry.”

“And I have no food to sell,” said she, tossing it back.  “You should know I am of France and not of England.  Come, you shall have enough, and for no price but the eating.  You have a tired horse.  Take him to the stable, and I will make you a meal.”

I led my horse to the stable, scraped him of lather and dirt, gave him a swallow of water, and took the same myself, for I had a mighty thirst in me.  When I came in, she had eggs and potatoes and bacon over the fire, and was filling the tea-kettle.

“On my soul,” said she, frankly, “you are the oddest-looking man I ever saw.  Tell me, why do you carry the long club?”

I looked down.  There it was under my arm.  It surprised me more than anything I ever found myself doing.

“Madame, it is because I am a fool,” I said as I flung it out of the door.

“It is strange,” said she.  “Your clothes-they are not your own; they are as if they were hung up to dry.  And you have a sabre and spurs.”

“Of that the less said the better,” I answered, pulling out the sabre.  “Unless-unless, madame, you would like me to die young.”

“Mon Dieu!” she whispered.  “A Yankee soldier?”

“With good French blood in him,” I added, “who was never so hungry in all his life.”

I went out of the door as I spoke, and shoved my sabre under the house.

“I have a daughter on the other side of the lake,” said she, “married to a Yankee, and her husband is fighting the British with the rest of you.”

“God help him!” said I.

“Amen!” said she, bringing my food to the table.  “The great Napoleon he will teach them a lesson.”

She was a widow, as she told me, living there alone with two young daughters who were off at a picnic in the near town.  We were talking quietly when a familiar voice brought me standing.

“Judas Priest!” it said.  D’ri stood in the doorway, hatless and one boot missing-a sorry figure of a man.

“Hidin’ over ‘n th’ woods yender,” he went on as I took his hand.  “See thet air brown hoss go by.  Knew ’im soon es I sot eyes on ‘im-use’ t’ ride ’im myself.  Hed an idée ’t wus you ’n the saddle-sot s’ kind o’ easy.  But them air joemightyful do’s!  Jerushy Jane! would n’t be fit t’ skin a skunk in them do’s, would it?”

“Got ’em off a scarecrow,” I said.

“‘Nough t’ mek a painter ketch ’is breath, they wus.”

The good woman bade him have a chair at the table, and brought more food.

“Neck ’s broke with hunger, ’t is sartin,” said he, as he began to eat.  “Hev t’ light out o’ here purty middlin’ soon.  ‘T ain’ no safe place t’ be.  ‘T won’ never dew fer us t’ be ketched.”

We ate hurriedly, and when we had finished, the good woman gave us each an outfit of apparel left by her dead husband.  It was rather snug for D’ri, and gave him an odd look.  She went out of doors while we were dressing.  Suddenly she came back to the door.

“Go into the cellar,” she whispered.  “They are coming!”