Of what happened in the two weeks following this battle, history tells but little, for there was little that was decisive. Burgoyne waited for Clinton to come to his assistance. He did not come. Some of his messages did not get through the lines to Burgoyne. The Americans gradually got control of vantage points between the British and their avenue of retreat to Canada. But these were not dull days for the Rangers. There was scouting and skirmishing in which they bore an active part. On the afternoon of October seventh Rodney brought in word that the British troops were moving, and Gates quickly ordered Morgan forward to engage them. The latter, as was his custom, had obtained a knowledge of the country and he saw a better plan, which was to lead his men around to a wooded hill on the enemy's flank and attack from there. This suggestion was approved. "This will begin the end," remarked a fellow on Rodney's right. "Unless Gates blunders," remarked another. There before them lay a panorama which might well stir the blood, the finest looking soldiers in the world forming on the plain below. General Poor's men were advancing to engage the enemy in front. Now is the moment for Morgan's men! How they swept down on those British regulars, loading and shooting as they charged, and every ball finding its mark! The enemy's volleys were not those of marksmen and did comparatively little execution. Now Dearborn's men are charging with the bayonet, and sharpshooters are picking off the British officers. Human beings could not stand under such an onslaught. The enemy's lines wavered, and then were swept off the field by the soldiers they had ridiculed. What will the King of France think when he hears of this? Ah! there rides Frazer, gallant soldier, rallying the disheartened British troops. Frazer is a host in himself. If he succeeds, he may turn the tide of battle. What! he reels in his saddle and aides ride to his side and he leaves the field to die a few hours later. Those Rangers back on the hill seldom miss the mark. The enemy shield themselves behind their entrenchments, and the Americans, flushed with victory, are charging them, and there goes Arnold riding the field like a madman, though Gates has ordered him to remain in camp. It shall not be said he resigned through fear, if he dies for it. But this desperate charge could not succeed, and Morgan's men turn back and Arnold is wounded in the same leg that was shot during the attack on Quebec. The British admire bravery and Arnold's portrait is to decorate shop windows in London for the curious to gape at. Alas for Arnold that the bullet was not better aimed! At last it is night. The Americans have not been able to deliver the finishing stroke, but the British have learned that their fate is not to be a pleasant one, whatever happens. These are but glimpses of that eventful struggle. The history of it is another story and a thrilling one.