He drew the rein, and told me then How, with his seventeen hundred men, St. Leger vexed the land again. A fiendish crew around him stood— The Tory base, the Hessian rude, The painted prowler of the wood— The savage Brant was in his train, Before whose hatchet, quick to brain, Fell patriot blood in scarlet rain— [Illustration: THE SITE OF OLD FORT SCHUYLER.] How all this force, to serve the crown, And win in civil strife renown, Before Fort Schuyler settled down, Where Gansevoort close with Willett lay— Their force too weak for open fray— Bristling like hunted bucks at bay. And Dirck, by Herkimer the stout, Was sent to noise the news about, And summon all to arm and out. Far must he spread the word that day, So, bidding me come to join the fray, And blowing his horn, he rode away. I had been married then a year; My wife to me was doubly dear, For a child had come our home to cheer. I had not mingled in the strife That swept the land; my aim in life To tend my farm and cheer my wife. I watched my flocks and herds increase, And ploughed my land and held my peace: Men called me the Tory Abner Reece. Yet now the country needed all Her manly sons to break her thrall; Could I be deaf to her piteous call? I thought me of the cruel foe, The red-skinned Mingo, skulking low, The midnight raid, the secret blow— Hessians and Brunswickers, the lees Of Europe’s cup of miseries, And brutal Tories, worse than these— Britons, with rude, relentless hand: All these made up the cruel band Which came to spoil and vex the land. I felt my heart in anger leap— “No!” cried my spirit from its deep, “I will not here ignobly creep. “I have a strong arm for the fray; I have a rifle sure to slay; I fear no man by night nor day. “When prowling wolves have left their den, The hunter’s craft is needed then— The country must not lack for men.” So from the corn-rows green and tall, I led my plough-horse to the stall, Then took my rifle from the wall. I slung my pouch and powder-horn, I kissed my babe scarce three months born, And bade my wife farewell that morn. I journeyed steadily all that day— Through brake and brier I made my way; For stream or hill I did not stay. At set of sun I made my camp Mid alder bushes thick and damp, And at the dawn resumed my tramp. I reached the meeting-place at eight, But, though no laggard, came too late— They had not thought for me to wait. Oh, fatal haste, so soon to stir! Yet not the fault of Herkimer, Who knew his foe too well to err. Rash, headstrong men the others led, Who mocked at what the general said, And heaped contumely on his head.