A moment later the ground vibrated; a dark, massed column of troops appeared in the moonlight, marching swiftly without drum-tap or spoken command; the dim forms of mounted officers rode past like shadows against the stars; vague shapes of wagons creaked after, rolling on muffled wheels; more troops followed quickly; then the shadowy pageant ended; and there was nothing before me but the moon in the sky above a world of ghostly wilderness.

One camp lantern had been left for my use; by its nickering light I untied the documents left me by Arnold; and, sorting the papers, chose first my orders, reading the formal notice of my transfer from Morgan’s Rifles to the militia; then the order detailing me to the Mohawk district, with headquarters at Varick Manor; and, finally, my commission on parchment, signed by Governor Clinton and by Philip Schuyler, Major-General Commanding the Department of the North.

It was, perhaps, the last official act as chief of department of this generous man.

The next letter was in his own handwriting.  I broke the heavy seal and read: 

     “Albany,

     “August 10, 1777. 
     “Colonel George Ormond”

“My dear young friend,—­As you have perhaps heard rumors that General Gates has superseded me in command of the army now operating against General Burgoyne, I desire to confirm these rumors for your benefit.

“My orders I now take from General Gates, without the slightest rancor, I assure you, or the least unworthy sentiment of envy or chagrin.  Congress, in its wisdom, has ordered it; and I count him unspeakably base who shall serve his country the less ardently because of a petty and personal disappointment in ambitions unfulfilled.

     “I remain loyal in heart and deed to my country and to
     General Gates, who may command my poor talents in any manner
     he sees fitting.

“I say this to you because I am an older man, and I know something of younger men, and I have liked you from the first.  I say it particularly because, now that you also owe duty and instant obedience to General Gates, I do not wish your obedience retarded, or your sense of duty confused by any mistaken ideas of friendship to me or loyalty to my person.

“In these times the individual is nothing, the cause everything.  Cliques, cabals, political conspiracies are foolish, dangerous—­nay, wickedly criminal.  For, sir, as long as the world endures, a house divided against itself must fall.

“Which leads me with greatest pleasure to mention your wise and successful diplomacy in the matter of the Long House.  That house you have most cleverly divided against itself; and it must fall—­it is tottering now, shaken to its foundations of centuries.  Also, I have the pleasure to refer to your capture of the man Beacraft and his papers, disclosing a diabolical