m
there. This suggestion was approved.

"This will begin the end," remarked a fellow on Rodney's right.

"Unless Gates blunders," remarked another.

There before them lay a panorama which might well stir the blood, the
finest looking soldiers in the world forming on the plain below.

General Poor's men were advancing to engage the enemy in front. Now is
the moment for Morgan's men!

How they swept down on those British regulars, loading and shooting as
they charged, and every ball finding its mark!

The enemy's volleys were not those of marksmen and did comparatively
little execution. Now Dearborn's men are charging with the bayonet,
and sharpshooters are picking off the British officers. Human beings
could not stand under such an onslaught. The enemy's lines wavered,
and then were swept off the field by the soldiers they had ridiculed.
What will the King of France think when he hears of this?

Ah! there rides Frazer, gallant soldier, rallying the disheartened
British troops. Frazer is a host in himself. If he succeeds, he may
turn the tide of battle. What! he reels in his saddle and aides ride
to his side and he leaves the field to die a few hours later. Those
Rangers back on the hill seldom miss the mark.

The enemy shield themselves behind their entrenchments, and the
Americans, flushed with victory, are charging them, and there goes
Arnold riding the field like a madman, though Gates has ordered him to
remain in camp. It shall not be said he resigned through fear, if he
dies for it. But this desperate charge could not succeed, and Morgan's
men turn back and Arnold is wounded in the same leg that was shot
during the attack on Quebec. The British admire bravery and Arnold's
portrait is to decorate shop windows in London for the curious to gape
at. Alas for Arnold that the bullet was not better aimed!

At last it is night. The Americans have not been able to deliver the
finishing stroke, but the British have learned that their fate is not
to be a pleasant one, whatever happens.

These are but glimpses of that eventful struggle. The history of it is
another story and a thrilling one.

We may think of Rodney and Zeb exulting as the days passed and they
saw the American lines tighten about the hesitating enemy, hesitating
only to be lost. Conrad, true to the manners of his adopted people,
sat in stolid silence, seeing much and saying nothing, while his wound
quickly healed. And there is Gates, so anxious for