Three Rivers
Hudson~Mohawk~Schoharie
History From America's Most Famous Valleys

The Life and Adventures
of Nat Foster,
Trapper and Hunter of the Adirondacks
by A. L. Byron-Curtiss
Utica, N. Y.
Press of Thomas J. Griffiths,
131 Genesee Street, 1897

Chapter IV

But what of Champ and his pursuers? The former was mounted on a horse selected by Major Lee himself for its fleetness and endurance. But it was little too light for a long and hard ride. He galloped easily along through the darkness, while behind him, but an hour's time between them, thundered the Legion in hot pursuit. They had gone through a number of small hamlets during the darkness, and as day dawned they were but a few miles north of the village of Bergen. As they came to the top of the hill they sighted Champ but three fourths of a mile down the road, urging his little mare to the top of her speed. They set up a shout as they caught sight of him and clattered down the hill, feeling sure of capturing him at once, but he reached the top of an opposite hill and disappeared over the brow with all the speed imaginable.

On dashed the Legion, Foster on his black charger in the lead. They quickly covered the mile of road and reaching the top of the hill again saw Champ, rapidly approaching the village. Foster, by reason of his repeated excursions about the State, was familiar with the roads. He knew that if Champ could pass safely through the village, and cross a bridge at the outskirts, with but five minutes ahead of the Legion, he could successfully reach the shore opposite where the ships were probably anchored. He would then be safe from the infuriated members of the Legion, who were now spurring their horses to their utmost efforts, and were angrily declaring that they would shoot the traitor when they came within range of him, if he would not stop at their commands.

"This," said Foster in after years, when relating the tale to his family, "was the most trying experience of my life. My companions believing that Champ was a traitor, were intent on either capturing or shooting him. How to prevent it, and give him the necessary start from the bridge, was what now occupied my mind with the liveliest kind of speculations and plans." As he rapidly revolved different schemes in his mind, he recollected that a short distance ahead a road branched off from the main one and connected with another, that joined the main road just below the bridge. By taking this they would go around the village while Champ would have a straight course through the town. He instantly resolved to throw his party temporarily off the track by taking this side road.

Accordingly as they came to it Foster reigned his black charger, which all the while had kept in the lead, into this side road; and the whole party followed. Not until they had gone quite a distance did any of the party discover the mistake. They halted and Foster, parleying with them as long as possible, finally persuaded them that it was the best plan to keep to the road they were on; and by doing so they might succeed in heading Champ off at the bridge. To this they finally agreed and started off again, eager to reach the bridge and capture the fleeing traitor. They came nearer capturing him than Foster had intended they should. As they neared the main road again below the village they caught sight of Champ riding furiously towards the bridge. The men of the Legion urged their steeds to their utmost; but lost sight of him as a hill hid the main road from them. Again they sighted him, and he was very near the bridge. With shouts of anger and yells to halt, they plunged their spurs into their horses' flanks, and made a final dash to head him off. Again a friendly hill hid him from their view, and from their pistols too, for they were preparing to fire. A moment later the clatter of his horse's hoofs on the bridge told them of his successful escape. With yells of enraged disappointment they dashed around the foot of the hill and on to the main road only to see Champ dashing away beyond the range of their pistols. They were now insight of the harbor, and of the ships anchored a few rods from the shore. There was yet a possibility of overhauling him before he reached the shore, and they dashed on.

This finale of the chase was as successfully deceptive to the British on board the man of war, who were now watching the chase, as if every member of the pursuing party were aware of its true character. Foster, on his powerful black horse, led them furiously on, while Champ urged his nearly exhausted steed to a fearful gallop. Pistols were discharged at the fleeing sergeant, with hoarse shouts from the pursuers for him to halt or die.

On board the ships, the gunwales were lined with officers, while the British tars swarmed like rats up the rigging to observe the exciting chase. They soon perceived that the man on the sorrel horse was making for the ships, and that the party headed by the large man on the handsome black horse were eager to prevent it. So they cheered the fleeing man lustily, while the pursuers shouted back defiance and wrath.

Riding to the shore opposite the ships, champ discounted, hastily pulled off his heavy riding boots,and taking his sword in this teeth and his pistol in his hand, plunged into the river and struck out boldly for the ships. Even then, the members of the Legion thought to prevent his supposed desertion by his death. Riding up to the bank, they discharged their pistols at him as he swam. Fortunately for him, those hardy men did not have their muskets with them, for if they had he certainly would have been riddled with bullets. As it was, the water was splashed up all around him as the bullets struck its surface. But the men, not being used to pistols, fired very inaccurately, or otherwise the plucky sergeant would certainly have been killed. Foster, of course, fired wide of the mark. The British on the ships sent up a mighty shout of approval as Champ plunged into the river and struck out for the vessels. And when his pursuers began to fire at him, some of the officers hastily manned a gun to drive them back and protect the swimmer. One shot from the cannon sent them in haste from the bank to a safer place. There, with disappointment and chagrin, they watched until Champ reached the side of the nearest ship; a rope was thrown him and he was drawn on board, amidst the cheers of the officers and crews. Then they turned about and rode their well nigh exhausted steeds tot eh village, where they stopped for a few hours' rest before the return to the army. The men of the Legion uttered many bitter expressions of surprise and denunciation at Champ's unexpected desertion. So good, so brave and apparently so true a man they never expected would be guilty of such detestable conduct as deserting to the enemy; yet he had, and they branded him a fit subject for the gibbet. And all agreed if ever he was captured, that that fate awaited him.

The magnificent black horse which had carried Foster at the very forefront of the party during the long and furious chase, had become slightly lamed by an injury to the frog of one of his forward feet; and under the pretense of giving the horse a longer rest, Foster remained in the village while the Legion returned to camp. What Foster really wanted was an opportunity to go down to the harbor that night and look for a message Champ had agreed to throw overboard at flood tide, if he could do so unobserved. When night came on Foster made his way to the shore opposite the ships. The moon was just rising and cast its pale beams on the rippling waves, as the tide forced them up the sloping bank. The ships, silent and majestic, rode at anchor at the same places they occupied in the morning. Foster walked down to the bank and seating himself, waited patiently for an hour, watching intently the water and waves along the shore.

Soon after he took his position on the shore he had heard a splash in the water as if something had been dropped overboard. But he had almost given up anything coming of it when he espied dancing on the little waves a few yards out a bit of firewood. Something of this kind was what he had been watching for, and he hastened to get it with the aid of a long pole. As he expected there was fastened to it a note addressed to Major Lee, in the handwriting of Champ. Placing the note in his bosom, he mounted his trusty horse and galloped away through the night to the camp of Major Lee. We willingly submitted to arrest by the sentinel on the outposts, and when brought before the officer of the day, he was sent at once to Major Lee, according to previous instructions from headquarters. He then delivered the note from Champ, and waited in silence while Lee eagerly read it. "So far, so good," remarked Lee, as he finished its contents.

Champ had been received by the British as a hero. In his note he said he had been the lion of the ship that day. During the few hours he had been aboard, he had learned that Arnold was to be put in command of a regiment of Loyalists, which was being raised in New York City, and that he was sojourning there now. Champ had decided to enlist in this regiment in order to further his plans for capturing the traitor. The ship's commander had promised to put him ashore next day, with a note of recommendations to Arnold. This would aid him in getting into the confidence of the traitor, and bring him in personal contact with the very man he wished to lay his hands on. He closed his note with the request that Foster be allowed on the following night to go to a certain spot on the North river, about where Hoboken is now situated. There he would endeavor to communicate with him again.

"Now, my good man, said Lee, as he finished telling Foster of what the note contained, "all depends on his actions during the next few days. This man Andre, who was captured with Arnold's papers in his boots, may be saved, if Champ is successful in capturing Arnold. I will now give you a pass which will take you through the lines at any hour of the day or night." Receiving the pass, Foster withdrew and went to his own quarters, where, after satisfying his hunger, he gave himself up to rest and slumber until midday. Then he arose and prepared to go to Hoboken.

Mounting the black horse, which had recovered from his lameness, he rode to the outposts, and showing his pass, started off down the highway for Hoboken. His ride was far different from the furious one had had taken less than forty-eight hours before. Then he galloped madly at the head of a party of angry men, plunging through the darkness, all but himself intent on capturing or shooting the traitor, Champ. Now he allowed his steed to canter easily along, observing with pleasing mood the beauties of the scenery presented by the surrounding country, which was just beginning to be tinged with the beauties of the autumnal season. As he passed by the place where Champ had dismounted the day before and made his escape to the ships, he observed that they had weighed anchor and were gone. This pleased him. They had undoubtedly landed Champ and anchored farther out in the harbor. An on reaching the place Champ had told him to wait, what was his surprise to find the man-of-war securely riding at anchor, only a few rods from the very bluff Champ had designated as the meeting place.

What to do he did not know. But concluding to hold his position according to directions, he concealed his horse in a clump of trees and bushes, and as darkness settled over the river seated himself under the shadow of a huge rock and waited.

The nearness of the man-of-war made him fear that Champ would not dare to row to that point. Yet he hoped that as the darkness came on, he might. The ships were so near that he was obliged to exercise caution in concealing himself from any possibly observers on the decks; while he could easily hear the voices of the sailors as they told their stories and sang their songs on the forward decks. He had watched and waited scarcely and hour, however, when he saw by the dim rays of the rising moon, a row boat propelled by a single oarsman, coming towards the bluff. The occupant was evidently a fisherman, for he was clad in a tar hat and oil coat. Several small nets suspended from poles, together with some fishing rods, hung over the bow of the skiff. The rower guided his boat under the very shadows of the frowning men-of-war, and coming to within a few rods of the bluff on which foster was seated, dropped anchor and commenced to fish. And, to an ordinary observer he did fish. But although he cast industriously, he hooked nothing. Foster from his seat by the rock, soon discovered that the fisherman was evidently trying to cast his line on the shore instead of in the water; and what was more peculiar, there seemed to be an unusual kind of bait on the hook. Champ (for it was he) had disguised himself and his actions so well that even Foster had failed to recognize him. Surmising now that it was Champ, Foster gave a slight cough, which was instantly answered by the occupant of the boat.

"Hist, cast a little farther," muttered Foster, under his breath.

Champ heard him and casting a little farther, landed, almost at Foster's feet, a small packet of paper fastened to the end of his line. Detaching it and casting the line into the water, Foster stole away in the darkness, leaving Champ to confirm the deception he was practicing upon the British in the ships, by really fishing for half an hour before returning to the New York shore.

Long before a streak of day had appeared, Foster had delivered the note to Lee. It stated that Champ had seen Arnold and presented the note from the naval commander. Arnold seemed pleased to meet him, and had promised to give him an important position in his regiment, when they went south. After registering, Champ had been given his liberty; and he had improved it by finding the whereabouts of Arnold's lodgings. They were situated on the bank of the North river, and by interviewing an old darky servant of the place, he had learned that in the cool of the evening before he had retired for the night, Arnold was in the habit of walking in the garden of the place, which went down to the water's edge. Champ immediately conceived the idea of seizing Arnold some dark night as he was thus taking his evening promenade, and bundling him into a boat, convey him to a party waiting across the river.

All of these facts and plans Champ transmitted in his note to Lee. This was the first of several notes Champ sent to his commander by Foster, all of them cast ashore on a fish line and under the very nose of British gunboats. They would be most interesting and valuable now, if they had been preserved and could be given verbatim, but as far as we know they were not saved and we have only the traditions in the Foster family to depend on for their contents. Foster was on hand at the bluff the next night, and for several nights afterwards. Each time, under the guise of a fisherman, Champ rowed across the river under the prows of the men-of-war, and cast his communication to the waiting Foster.

Finally Champ gave the information that his plans were nearly matured, and asked that a posse be in waiting the next night, to receive the traitor he was now sure of capturing.

His plans as outlined in his various notes to Lee, are most interesting; and, if the traditions concerning them have been correctly preserved by the Fosters, are valuable additions to our histories of the war of the Revolution. They are to the effect that Champ made the acquaintance of a lady admirer of Major Andre, a sweetheart in fact. To her Champ made known his real character and his mission to capture and return to the American lines the traitor Arnold; telling her that if this was accomplished, he whom she admired and loved might be saved from the death of a spy. She, of course, instantly consented to aid him with all of her power, and soon enlisted in her services her colored male servant and a white man who was secretly a patriot.

Their plans were well laid, and on the night on which Champ had asked Lee to send a posse with foster to Hoboken, they were to seize and gag Arnold as he took his usual walk in his garden, and hustling him into a skiff, were to row him across the river to the American army. Acting upon the request of Champ, Lee selected five trusted men, swore them to secrecy, and then revealed to them the plan, and sent them with Foster to the position designated by Champ, which was about a quarter of a mile north of the bluff he had been occupying for the past few nights.

All night long the little party watched up and down the river at Hoboken. The men-of-war had changed their positions, and anchored a mile away, lower down the harbor, so they were no longer to be feared. Yet the brave sergeant and his coveted prize did not appear. What could keep him? Had his plans failed? Had he been unsuccessful in his endeavors to capture Arnold? There and other like questions Foster and his companions asked each other the whole night long, as they patrolled the shore and watched the river in the darkness. As day began to dawn they were forced to abandon all hope and concluded that Champ, in his attempt to seize the traitor, had been resisted and killed. Disappointed and disheartened, Foster and his companions returned to their camp.

What was the matter? That very day on which Champ had completed his well laid plans, and was waiting only for the night to carry them out, Arnold had been ordered to prepare to go with his regiment of Loyalists to Virginia, and so did not go to his lodgings that night, but remained at the quarters of his regiment. Champ having enlisted in the same regiment, was obliged to remain at the barracks too; so that he could not even row out on his nightly fishing excursion and apprise the waiting and expectant party of the failure of his plans.

Had the order for Arnold's movement south been delayed but twenty-four hours, the traitor, in all probability, would have been captured, and he, instead of Andre, would have been hung, and that portion of our country's history changed completely.

During the time Champ was in the British lines it was not believed that he was suspected of acting the part of a spy by either the British or by his former comrades in the American army. They both believed him sincere. He was obliged to accompany Arnold's regiment to Virginia, but at the very first opportunity deserted and made his way to Major Lee's corps, which was then in the vicinity.

As he entered the lines he was greeted with jeers and hisses, and finally was arrested and marched off to headquarters. Foster was standing in front of Lee's tent as Champ was brought in. "My God," he exclaimed, as he caught sight of Champ between the guards, "I thought you lost or dead."

It was an affecting scene. The two stalwart men embracing each other with tears in their eyes; and as they stood there clasping each other's hands, they heard a noise at the tent door behind them. Turning they saw Major Lee approaching; again they saluted him together as they had done many months before. After acknowledging the graceful courtesy, Lee advanced and grasping Champ by both hands, welcomed him with tears streaming down his face. Not until this spectacle afforded them, did the guards and others standing about (many of whom figured in the exciting pursuit of Champ) suspect the true character and import of his desertion on that memorable night. Now they realized that it was some secret work that he had gone to do, and many a coat sleeve was drawn across the eyes as the hardy men recollected their angry chase and denunciatory expressions of opinion of him afterwards. They now crowded about the brave sergeant with greetings and apologies, extended in their rough but thoroughly sincere manner.

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