even "sealing wax and paper." But he makes no apologies or complaints, utters no doubts or fears. As fast as his men come in by squads he sends them along. Just as soon as the bullets are run Stark and his bullets go off at the enemy. He comes in sight at Manchester, receiving orders to join Schuyler, and flatly refusing to abandon Vermont. By two felicitous mistakes, one when Congress superseded him and one when New Hampshire gave him an independent command, he was free to follow his own sagacity. He chose the course for which Washington had hoped the enemy would give opportunity, and he fulfilled his own. prophecy of the former year that "a powerful army would come from the north which he with the Green Mountain boys would cut off wing by wing."1

When all this stir around the Connecticut had reached its height things were beginning to move on the Hudson like the opening of some tragic romance. The British general had bored his way doggedly through forest and swamp and creek. He looked anxiously down the river for some trace of Howe, but no tidings came. Ten messengers had gone by different routes but never one had gone through. Even the dispatch sent by him to Clinton in a silver bullet from Stillwater, though swallowed by the bearer, was recovered by an emetic and the messenger hanged as a spy. Only one message from Howe ever found its way to Burgoyne, packed in a quill, but it came too late and brought no hope. On the very day (July 30) when he

1 Ira Allen's History of Vermont (Vermont Historical Collections, i, p. 386).

was writing, "I am in total ignorance of the situation or intentions of General Howe," Washington was writing thus, "Howe's in a manner abandoning Burgoyne is so unaccountable a matter that till I am fully assured of it I cannot help casting my eyes continually behind me." Why it was remained a standing puzzle in America and Great Britain.

But Charles Lee knew why. When Burgoyne sailed for England Lee was, by his own folly, a prisoner. Blustering and cowardly, ill-mannered and profane, boastful, ambitious, and disappointed, on the twentyninth of March he laid before Howe an elaborate plan whereby he would "stake his life" the rebellion could be crushed in two months. It was to be a grand movement on Pennsylvania and the South, accompanied by a proclamation of amnesty. Fortunately for the country it was followed but partially and tardily. While the southern expedition was a failure it abandoned the northern to its fate.1

It would seem from Burgoyne's precautions and delay that he shrank from the expedition to Bennington. But he was nearly out of provisions. He "knew that here was the great deposit of corn, flour, and cattle, guarded only by militia." Necessity knew no law. So he chose "the best" of his German troops and "the select light corps of the British army," and sent them on their perilous venture. And with a

1 See "The Treason of Charles Lee," by George H. Moore. Bancroft doubts that Lee's letter had any effect on Howe. His reasons seem hardly conclusive. It is certain that the letter was in Howe's hands before his plan of campaign appears to have been changed. And it is certain that Howe's failure to move northward "confounded" the British ministers and defeated their plans. So testifies Horace Walpole repeatedly.

strangely gratuitous folly he added to the seizure of supplies a long circuit by Rockingham and Brattleborough round to Albany. It is supposed, however, by some that the written orders were greatly modified by oral instructions.

Why repeat an ofttold tale of the message to Stark that the Indians were at Cambridge, and to Baum that the rebels were at Bennington; of that last letter of the Hessian to his general, "wrote on the head of a barrel," promising to fall on the enemy early to-morrow; of Gregg slowly falling back as Baum advanced and breaking down the bridge at Sancoick; of Stark advancing to his support and in vain offering battle; of Baum and his boldest men thoroughly startled at last by the coolness and confidence of their foe; of that fifteenth of August, stormy with "a hurricane of wind" and "an absolute torrent of rain"; of Baum's men toiling all day long in the merciless storm at their entrenchments as men toil for their lives? There was little sleep that night in the British camp.

Through that pouring rain also came the Berkshire militia, drenched to the skin but with their powder dry and their hearts all hot. They had dropped the sickle for the musket. In their procession rode Rev. Thomas Allen in his old sulky, now become a chariot of war. Warner's troops and a hundred New Hampshire men were hastening up under Emerson to complete the victory, while Warner himself was with Stark as his counselor and right-hand man.

The morning of the sixteenth opened in absolute

Not a stirring leaf.

beauty. Not a cloud. Raindrops glittered "like diamonds" in the trees. The river alone seemed alive as it rolled along "swollen and tumultuous." The German officer never forgot that beautiful scene. For hours not an enemy had been seen nor a sound of alarm had been heard. All was so peaceful that the leaders grew confident, and breakfast was ordered preparatory to action.

But it was the hush of the crouching catamount. Scarcely were the haversacks unslung and the muskets piled when the men were called in all haste to their ranks. The same officer, Glich, looking out from his zigzag breast work on the hill, to his amazement saw the pickets retiring, the outposts withdrawing, and a strange body of men emerging from the thicket behind. He watched in alarm as they marched and countermarched conspicuously in sight. Two of their officers rode forth to reconnoiter; and as the British cannonier fired his harmless shot he did not know that he aimed at Warner and Stark. Suddenly Glich heard a trampling behind in the forest on the right. It was Herrick and his Rangers in their uniform of green. Then came a shout and a rattling fire in the rear on the left. It was Nichols, of Amherst, giving the signal to begin. From before sunrise they had wound in single file through the forest, and now with a green twig in every hatband they came forth. Scarcely had the sound of the first fire died out when the Indians broke and fled. A column pushed forward on the tory breastwork this side the river. It was Stickney and

Hobart, and for a badge every man had a corn husk in his hat. At the same signal the main body moved up in front and the battle raged on every side. The tories fled, and as they climbed the slippery steep behind them came rolling down beneath the shots of our marksmen. For two hours, from three to five o'clock, the fire was one continuous roar. Those deathdealing columns closed in nearer and nearer. At eight paces distance they picked off the cannoniers from their guns. Still nearer they came until the flashes met. The ammunition cart exploded within the entrenchments, and at the sound our men rushed up, scaled the breastworks, and leaped down within. Then came a terrible clashing of sword and gunstock and bayonet. Gigantic John McNeil struck down four Hessians with the butt of his gun. In five minutes twenty men broke through to the forest. The rest were all prisoners or dead or dying. They fought gallantly and their leader died a soldier's death.

The work was done, and the soldiers dispersed for rest and for the promised plunder. John Calef was hunting up his kettle and saddle, Samuel Small his horse, and Parson Allen his surgeon's panniers with the bottles. Stark rallied his men to secure the victory. A hogshead of rum was ordered up. Before it could be served out word came that a British reinforcement was but two miles away. The wearied troops left the rum untasted and marched to the new conflict. Through "bottomless roads," with ill-fed horses and upsetting wagons, Breymann had crawled along, "scarce