“I do know, boy,” exclaimed Arnold seating himself on the settle. “What would you say if I were to tell you that once I deserted?”
“You?” cried the youth flinging up his head to stare at him. “I’d never believe it, sir. You desert! Impossible!”
“Nevertheless, I did, my lad. Listen, and I will tell you of it. I was fifteen at the time, and my imagination had been fired by tales of the atrocities committed on the frontier by the French and Indians. I resolved to enlist and relieve the dire state of my countrymen as far as lay in my power. So I ran away from home to Lake George, where the main part of the army was at the time. The wilderness of that northern country was dense, and I passed through hardships similar to those we sustained in our march to Quebec. You know, Drayton, what an army may have to endure in such circumstances?”
Drayton nodded, his eyes fixed on his beloved leader with fascinated interest.
“Well,” continued the general, “the privations proved too much for a lad of my age, so I deserted, and made my way home. I shall never forget the fright my good mother would be in if she but caught a glimpse of the recruiting officer. I was under the required age for the army, to be sure, but none the less I skulked and hid until the French and Indian war had ceased, and there was no longer need for hiding.”
“You,” breathed the youth in so low a tone as scarce to be heard, “you did that, and then made that charge at Saratoga? You, sir?”
“Even I,” the general told him briefly. “’Tis a portion of my life that I don’t often speak of, Drayton, but I thought that it might help you to know that I could understand—that others before you have been faint hearted, and then retrieved themselves.”
“You?” spoke the lad again in a maze. “You! and then after that, the march through that awful wilderness! Why, sir, ’twas you that held us together. ’Twas you, that when the three hundred turned back and left us to our fate, ’twas you who cried: ‘Never mind, boys! There’ll be more glory for the rest of us.’ ’Twas you that cheered us when our courage flagged. ’Twas you that carried us through. And then Valcour! Why, sir, look at the British ships you fought. And Ticonderoga! And Crown Point! And Ridgefield, where six horses were shot from under you!”
“And do you remember all those?” asked Arnold, touched. “Would that Congress had a like appreciation of my services; but it took a Saratoga to gain even my proper rank.”
“I know,” cried the boy hotly. “Haven’t we men talked it over by the camp-fires? Were it left to the soldiers you should be next to the commander-in-chief himself.”