ays an army of twenty thousand men had gathered round
Boston.

New Hampshire sent its militia, with John Stark at its head; Rhode
Island sent her quota under the leadership of Nathaniel Greene.

New Haven was not behind, for a regiment was dispatched from that city
with Benedict Arnold as leader.

All this news was conveyed to Ethan Allen by Eben Pike, who had been
dispatched on the dangerous mission to Boston to find out what the
Provincials meant to do. No more trusty messenger could have been
found than the young scout of the Green Mountains.

"What shall we do?" asked Baker.

"Fight!" was Allen's curt reply.

"Shall we join the patriots at Boston?"

"No; Connecticut has offered a thousand dollars toward the expenses of
capturing Ticonderoga, and that reward we will win."

To capture the fort with its treasures would be to strike a blow at
England's supremacy which would tell more than any concerted action at
Boston.

"Call the roll," ordered Allen.

Two hundred and seventy men answered the call, and Allen shouted for
joy.

"Men of the Great Mountains, we are strong, because a mountain boy is
worth ten men of the valleys. We shall capture Ticonderoga. I cannot
offer you life; many may be killed, more wounded; but remember we have
fought for our homes, we must now fight for our country. We have
driven the Yorkers out of the Green Mountains, we must now drive the
English out of America, or compel them to recognize our right to govern
ourselves. Will you follow me?"

A tremendous shout in the affirmative went up from those brave
patriots, and Ethan Allen was so overcome with emotion that for a few
moments he could not speak.

Then, raising his sword above his head, he shouted:

"On to Ticonderoga! Victory and freedom, or death, for every man who
hears my voice!"

And the Green Mountain Boys took up the cry:

"On to Ticonderoga! Victory or death!"

CHAPTER XIII.

BENEDICT ARNOLD.

"At last I see my way to a position. They said I was a ne'er-do-well.
We shall see!"

The speaker, a fine, handsome-looking man, paced the floor of a small
room in Cambridge.

It was one week after the battle of Lexington.

He was restless; every muscle in his body seemed to quiver with
excitement.

Anyone looking at him would prefer him as a friend rather than an
enemy, for there was that in his face which betokened strong passion.

He was ambitious. For the gratification of that ambition he wou