Let us pause for a glance at Gates.  Born in England, he had seen service in the British army, and had been badly wounded at Braddock’s defeat, but managed to escape from the field.  He resigned from the army, after that, and settled in Virginia, where his supposed military prowess won him the appointment of brigadier-general at the outbreak of the Revolution.  He secured command of the Northern army, which had gathered to resist the great force which was marching south from Canada under John Burgoyne.  He found the field already prepared by General Schuyler, a much more able officer.  Stark had defeated and captured a strong detachment at Bennington, and Herkimer had won the bloody battle of Oriskany; the British army was hemmed in by a constantly-increasing force of Americans, and was able to drag along only a mile a day; Burgoyne and his men were disheartened and apprehensive of the future, while the Americans were exultant and confident of victory.  In such circumstances, on September 19, 1777, was fought the first battle of Bemis Heights, a bloody and inconclusive struggle, supported wholly by the division of Benedict Arnold, who behaved so gallantly that Gates, who had not even ridden on the field of battle, was consumed with jealousy, took Arnold’s division away from him, and did not mention him in the dispatches describing the battle.

The eve of the second battle found the most successful and popular general in the American army without a command.  Gates, deeming victory certain, thought it safe to insult Arnold, and banished him to his tent; but on October 7th, when the second struggle was in progress, Arnold, seeing the tide of battle going against his men, threw himself upon his horse and dashed into the conflict.  In a frenzy of rage, he dressed the lines, rallied his men, who cheered like mad when they saw him again at their head, and led a charge which sent the British reeling back.  He pursued the fleeing enemy to their entrenchments, and dashed forward to storm them, but, in the very sally-port, horse and rider fell together—­the horse dead, the rider with a shattered leg.  That ended the battle which he had virtually conducted in the most gallant manner imaginable.  Had he died then, he would have been a national hero—­but another fate awaited him!

Gates had not been on the field.  He had remained in his tent, ready to ride away in case of defeat.  He had ordered all the baggage wagons loaded, ready to retreat, for he was by no means the kind of general who burns his bridges behind him.  His jealousy of Arnold mounted to fever heat, but that hero, lying grievously wounded in his tent, was for the moment beyond reach of his envy.

Burgoyne attempted to retreat, but found it was too late.  Surrounded and hemmed in on every side, he turned and turned for six days seeking vainly for some way out; but there was no escaping, the American army was growing in numbers and confidence daily, and his own supplies were running short.  Pride and ambition yielded at last to stern necessity and he surrendered.