It seemed that Burgoyne and his principal officers had been dining with Gates and his staff, and that all were somewhat the worse for wine, as was common in those days of hard drinking.
That one of Burgoyne’s officers, who, it appeared, had held an independent command among the rangers and Indians attached to the expedition, had distinguished himself by the depths of his potations which yet had no apparent effect on him save to make him more sullen and reserved.
“He was always a surly fellow, that Butler,” said the baron; “and none of us had liked him much, but he was a valuable officer at collecting intelligence and planning surprises, and brought us in more news than all our scouts, so Sir John tolerated him. Once or twice, I believe he went out as a spy among your people, General. Pretty soon, a dispute arose at table about that unfortunate affair of Miss McCrea, and although both Generals tried to stop it, words waxed high. Then on a sudden this Butler chimed in with the disputants in the most insulting manner, and the end of it was that he gave the lie direct to Colonel Morgan of the Rifles. One of Morgan’s officers, who sat next to Butler, maddened by his potations, so far forgot himself as to strike Butler. I shall never forget the scene that followed. Butler caught up a carving-knife, and before any one could interfere he literally hacked the other to pieces. Then with a savage curse, he flung the knife at Gates, rushed from the house, knocking down two officers that tried to stop him, as if they were children, sprung on the horse of Gates himself, that stood by the door, and actually escaped. I tell you, General, that sobered us all. Such an affair I never saw before, nor hope to again. It has cured me of deep drinking for a long while.”
Even as he was finishing, a tall gentleman entered the tent, with a hasty apology, went up to Schuyler and whispered in his ear. The General looked grave and troubled but he answered, hastily:
“Certainly, count, certainly. I have no command here, and Adrian’s duties are merely honorary. He can go.”
The Count de Cavannes, for it was none other, turned to Adrian Schuyler and the young lady, who was known as Diane de Cavannes, and spoke rapidly in French:
“My children, we must be in the saddle in an hour. The enemy of my house is at large, and I have sworn never to rest till he is past doing further mischief. Make your excuses and follow.”
Then, with a hurried bow to the rest of the company that told of the highbred courtesy that even haste could not extinguish, the mysterious count left the tent.
Baron Reidesel remained staring at the tent door in blank surprise after his departure for some minutes. Then he turned to Schuyler and asked, in a low voice:
“Excuse the question, Monsieur le General, but who is that tall gentleman that has gone out?”