"Captain Renault?" he asked.
I nodded, returning his salute.
"Colonel Gansvoort's compliments, and you are directed to report to Colonel Willett at Butlersbury without losing an hour."
"That means an all-night march," I said bluntly.
"Yes, sir." He lowered his voice: "The enemy are on the Sacandaga."
I stiffened in my stirrups. "Tell Colonel Gansvoort it shall be done, sir." And I wheeled my horse, raising my rifle: "Attention!—to the left—dress! Right about face! By sections of four—to the right—wheel—March! ... Halt! Front—dress! Trail—arms! March!"
The veterans of Morgan, like trained troop-horses, had executed the maneuvers before they realized what was happening. They were the first formal orders I had given. I myself did not know how the orders might be obeyed until all was over and we were marching out of the Orange Gate once more, and swinging northward, wagons, bat-horses, and men in splendid alignment, and the Oneidas trotting ahead like a pack of foxhounds under master and whip. But I had to do with irregulars; I understood that. Already astonished and inquiring glances shot upward at me as I rode with Elsin; already I heard a low whispering among the men. But I waited. Then, as we turned the hill, a cannon on the Queen's Fort boomed good-by and Godspeed!—and our conch-horn sounded a long, melancholy farewell.
It was then that I halted the column, facing them, rifle resting across my saddle-bow.
"Men of New York," I said, "the enemy are on the Sacandaga."
Intense silence fell over the ranks.