This spirited, but apparently unsuccessful dash upon the enemy was followed by excellent results. It taught the British that they could not be sure of their ground for a day at a time and so restricted their operations to a limited area about the city. But the enemies of the commander-in-chief did not, of course, take this view of the matter; it was a new repulse, they said, and their clamor for his removal grew louder than before.
A few days later, the Hudson River forts, Clinton and Montgomery, fell before the wily attack of the enemy; then Fort Constitution was abandoned, and the great waterway was open to the enemy as far as Albany. But Clinton neglected to take advantage of this opportunity to go to the aid of the fated Burgoyne; the result was that, on October 17th, that general gave up his sword to Gates at Saratoga.
When this later news filtered through to the American camp it added fuel to the fires already so fiercely burning.
“There will scarcely be any holding them now,” said Ben Cooper, as he discussed the matter with his friends. “Gates will be a national hero, and the cries for him will be redoubled.”
“They say that General Gates is so inflated by his success that he deemed it beneath him to make a report of his victory to the commander-in-chief.”
“His victory, did you say, young gentleman?” spoke a heavy voice almost at the boy’s elbow. “The victory of General Gates? Well, well——” and here the words were lost in a laugh.
The army of Washington was at this time occupying a strong position among the wooded heights at Whitemarsh, some distance from Philadelphia; the afternoon was cold and the boys were clustered about a camp-fire in the shelter of a hill. At sound of the words and the jeering laugh that followed them, they turned curiously, and saw a short, stocky man in horseman’s dress, standing near by. And as they turned he nodded his head good-naturedly and moved nearer to the fire.
“If it does not inconvenience you,” he said, “I’ll share a bit of the blaze with you, for I’ve had a cold, long ride, and I’m fair chilled through.”
The lads made room for him willingly enough; he seated himself upon a log and spread his strong, short-fingered hands out to the black-tipped jets of light that leaped from the green wood.
“The victory of General Gates, says you!” Again the man laughed and again he nodded his head. “Ah, yes, yes, that’s what it will be called; but, between us all, and in confidence, mind you, Gates had no more to do with the beating of Burgoyne than either one of you.”