, including his private
papers, maps, memoranda, and all orders and instructions for the
completed plans of campaign.... Wait, if you please, sir. That is
not all.

"On the sixteenth, old John Stark fell upon Baum's and Breyman's
Hessians at Bennington, killed and wounded over two hundred, captured
seven hundred; took a thousand stand of arms, a thousand fine dragoon
sabres, and four excellent field-cannon with limbers, harness, and
caissons.... And lost fourteen killed!"

Speechless at the good news, I could only lean across the smudge and
shake hands with him while he chuckled and slapped his knee, growing
ruddier in the face every moment.

"Where are the red-coats now?" he cried. "Look at 'em! Burgoyne, scared
witless, badgered, dogged from pillar to post, his army on the defensive
from Still water down to Half-moon; St. Leger, destitute of his camp
baggage, caught in his own wolf-pit, flinging a dozen harmless bombs at
Stanwix, and frightened half to death at every rumor from Albany;
McDonald chased out of the county; Mann captured, and Sir Henry Clinton
dawdling in New York and bothering his head over Washington while
Burgoyne, in a devil of a plight, sits yonder yelling for help!

"Where's the great invasion, Ormond? Where's the grand advance on the
centre? Where's the gigantic triple blow at the heart of this scurvy
rebellion? I don't know; do you?"

I shook my head, smilingly; he beamed upon me; we had a swallow of
brandy together, and I lay back, deathly tired, to wait for Arnold and
my despatches.

"That's right," commented the genial Major, "go to sleep while you can;
the General won't take it amiss--eh? What? Oh, don't mind me, my son.
Old codgers like me can get along without such luxuries as sleep. It's
the young lads who require sleep. Eh? Yes, sir; I'm serious. Wait till
you see sixty year! Then you'll understand.... So I'll just sit
here, ... and smoke, ... and talk away in a buzz-song, ... and that
will fix--"

* * * * *

I looked up with a start; the Major had disappeared. In my eyes a
lantern was shining steadily. Then a shadow moved, and I turned and
stumbled to my feet, as a cloaked figure stepped into the shelter and
stood before me, peering into my eyes.

"I'm Arnold; how d'ye do," came a quick, nervous voice from the depths
of the military cloak. "I've a moment to stay here; we march in ten
minutes. Is Herkimer dead?"

I described his death in a few w