The night soon came and was very dark. We were compelled to stop for rest and for food, which we found at a farmer’s house. But we were satisfied with our day’s work. We had started, and with the appearance of fact too, the report that Burgoyne had beaten us in pitched battle. We knew the report would be carried far and wide, and Clinton would think haste was not needed. Let me repeat that to win a battle is not to win a campaign, and I hold no general’s commission either. In the morning we met a few countrymen in a state of much fright. “Clinton is coming!” was all that we could get from them. We thought it more than likely that Clinton was coming in truth, since all the reports said he and his ships ought to be very near now. “The river is the place to look,” said Whitestone. We turned our horses that way, and in a few minutes stood upon its high banks. “See,” said Whitestone, pointing a long arm and an outstretched finger. I saw, and I saw, moreover, that our search was ended. Far down the river was the British fleet, a line of white specks upon the silver bosom of the water. We could scarce trace hull or sail or mast, but ships they were without mistake, and British ships they must be, since we had none. It was not a pleasant sight for us, but it would have rejoiced the heart of Burgoyne had he been there to see. We knew that Clinton must have several thousand men either on board the fleet or not far below, and we knew also that with such a strong force nothing could prevent his speedy arrival at Albany if he chose to hasten. I knew not what to do. Ought we to go back at once to our army with the news of what we had seen, or ought we to stay and find out more? On one side was time saved, and on the other better information. I put it to Whitestone, but he was as uncertain as I. Meanwhile the fleet grew under the horizon of the river. We could trace masts and spars, and see the sails as they filled out with the wind. The little black figures on the decks were men. A quarter of a mile or more below us we saw a rocky projection into the river. I proposed to Whitestone that we ride at least that far and decide afterward on further action. We rode rapidly, but before we were halfway to the place we met men running--frightened men at that. Their condition of mind showed plainly on their faces. They wore militia uniforms, and we knew them to be some of our citizen soldiery, who are sometimes a very speedy lot, not being trained to the military business. We tried to stop them and find out why they were running and whence they came; but all we could get out of them was, “The British are coming, with a hundred ships and forty thousand men!” At last, half by persuasion and half by force, we induced one man to halt; he explained that he had been sent with the others to man a battery of four guns on the point. When they saw the British fleet coming, some of the raw militia had taken fright and fled, carrying the others with them.