I was still unbelieving, and looked my unbelief.
“It’s as I say,” resumed the sergeant; “there is no doubt about it. Just after daylight this morning some skirmishers took a messenger from Clinton, who bore dispatches announcing his arrival within a very short time. It seems that Clinton is much farther up the river than we supposed, and that his army is also much larger than all our reckonings made it. I guess that with re-enforcements he got over the fright we gave him.”
This in truth sounded like a matter of moment. I asked Whitestone if he was sure of what he reported, and he said the news was all over the camp. I must confess that I felt as if it were a personal blow. I had looked upon the capture of Burgoyne as a certainty, but the arrival of Clinton with seven thousand fresh men would be sure to snatch the prize from us. It looked like a very jest of fate that we should lose our spoil after all our labors and battles.
“What’s to be done, Whitestone?” I asked gloomily.
“In a case of this kind,” he replied, “I’m glad that I’m a humble sergeant, and not a general. Let the generals settle it. Take another piece of the bacon; it’s crisp and fresh.”
“Have you seen this captured messenger?” I asked.
“No,” replied Whitestone. “They have him in a tent over yonder, and I think the officers have been busy with him, trying to pump him.”
As soon as I finished the bacon I walked about the camp to see if I could learn anything further concerning the matter, in which attempt I failed. I saw, however, its effect upon the army, which vented its feelings largely in the way of swearing. The soldiers expected we would have to leave Burgoyne and turn southward to fight Clinton. Some said luck was always against us.
I was interrupted in my stroll by a message from my colonel to come at once. I hurried to him with some apprehension. He had expressed his high confidence in me of late, and, as I have said before, these high confidences bring hard duties.
But the matter was not so difficult as I had expected.