heard in the distance. But Clinton did not
move to Burgoyne's assistance until too late. The blundering of the War

[Sidenote: Oct. 4.]

Office had worked its inevitable results. By the time Clinton reached
Tarrytown, thirty miles above New York, Burgoyne's army had been put on
short rations. With the utmost economy the provisions could not be made
to last much beyond the day fixed in Burgoyne's despatch. Foraging was
out of the question. Nothing could be learned about Clinton's progress.
All between the two British armies was such perilous ground, that
several officers had returned unsuccessful, after making heroic efforts
to reach Clinton's camp.

While Burgoyne was thus anxiously looking forward to Clinton's energetic
cooeperation, that officer supposed he was only making a diversion in
Burgoyne's favor, a feint to call off the enemy's attention from him;
and thus it happened that in the decisive hour of the war, and after the
signal had been given, only one arm was raised to strike, because two
British commanders acted without unison; either through misconception of
the orders they had received, or of what was expected of them in just
such an emergency as the one that now presented itself.

Perhaps two armies have seldom remained so near together for so long a
time without coming to blows, as the two now facing each other on the
heights of Stillwater. The camps being little more than a mile apart,
brought the hostile pickets so close together, that men strayed into the
opposite lines unawares. Day and night there was incessant firing from
the outposts, every hour threatened to bring on a battle. Half
Burgoyne's soldiers were constantly under arms to repel the attack,
which--in view of the desperate condition they found themselves placed
in, of the steady progress from bad to worse--was rather hoped for than
feared.

Two weeks passed thus without news of Clinton. Burgoyne's provisions
were now getting alarmingly low. If he staid where he was, in a few
days, at most, he would be starved into surrendering. Again the ominous
word "retreat" was heard around the camp-fires. The hospital was filled
with wounded men. Hard duty and scant food were telling on those fit for
duty. Lincoln's raid announced a new and dangerous complication. It was
necessary to try something, for Gates's do-nothing policy was grinding
them to powder.

A council was therefore called. It is a maxim, as old as history, that
councils of war ne