Even while Nathan watched Gabe and his master depart into the forest southward, he became aware the assemblage was moved by some new object of interest. Turning, he saw Colonel Allen and another gentleman, eagle-eyed, eagle-beaked, in handsome military dress, talking angrily in the midst of an excited group. At length Allen turned his passionate face toward the men and called in a loud voice:

“Men, fall in for a moment. Here,” waving his hand toward his companion, as the men rapidly fell into line, “is Mr. Benedict Arnold. He bears a colonel’s commission from the Connecticut Committee of Safety, and claims the right to command you to-night. Men of the Green Mountains, whom do you follow—Arnold or Allen?”

“Allen, Allen,” came in response, loud and decided.

The chosen chief turned a triumphant smile upon his rival, who strode away in silence of restrained passion. Soon returning, however, he addressed Allen in a clear, steady voice:

“Sir, I submit to the will of these men, but let me be a volunteer in this glorious enterprise. The Green Mountain Boys and their famous leader are too generous to refuse this.”

Allen, touched at a vulnerable point, grasped the speaker’s hand heartily and answered:

“Indeed, so brave a man as I well know you to be, is most welcome, and, by the Great Jehovah, if the men don’t object, you shall be second in command.”

A shout of approval went up from the men, who gathered around their camp fires again, while Allen and Arnold, together with Warner, walked apart in amicable consultation. Soon the first called loudly for any information concerning a lad named Nathan Beeman. At the sound of his name, Nathan started, blushed, hesitated, and then stepped bashfully forward, and was quickly recognized by Allen in spite of his added stature.

“Here, this is the youngster, Colonel Arnold, that Mr. John Brown tells of in this paper, whom he saw and conversed with last winter about Ticonderoga.”

The two colonels then asked the boy many questions about the Fort, its entrance, the interior, the number of the garrison, and the disposal of the sentinels. Evidently satisfied with his straightforward replies, Allen said, low and impressively:

“You have such a chance to serve your country as don’t often fall to a boy. Will you lead us into the Fort to-night? Will you do it faithfully?”

Nathan looked steadily into the earnest, searching eyes fixed upon him, but did not answer.

“Speak,” cried Allen, sharply.

“If the commandant’s lady won’t be hurt, I will,” he said at last, his left hand thrust into his pocket, fumbling his cherished shilling piece.

Allen laughed good-humoredly. “So the lady is a friend of yours. Well, never fear. We may disturb her morning nap, but she shall not be harmed. We are not waging war in the wilderness against women and children. Here, my boy, stick this twig of hemlock in your hat. Don’t you see we’ve all mounted it? There, now,” as he himself put the evergreen sprig in Nathan’s hatband, “you wear the Green Mountain Boy’s cockade. See that you never disgrace it.”

The boy thrilled with pride as he walked with measured step behind the stately chieftain and his lithely built companion. Presently the sound of oars was heard and a large batteau swept into the landing, navigated by two of Newton’s sons, who gleefully related how, with a jug of rum, they had lured Skeene’s old negro with the coveted craft into their toils, as he was voyaging homeward from Crown Point. It was capable of carrying twenty-five persons and was a welcome prize. Though one by one, and in little flotillas, boats continued to arrive, still, at two o’clock in the early May morning, there were not enough to transport half the men gathered. After brief consultation, it was determined that as many as possible should at once cross to the other shore and there await the coming of the others in the returning boats.

Embarkation began at once under the superintendence of Allen, Arnold, and Warner. Nathan found himself with the first two in the leading boat, Warner being left in charge of the party remaining on the eastern shore. At a low word of command, the flotilla swept out of the flickering glare of the fire into the darkness. It passed down the creek and was soon upon the lake, heading for the other shore, being guided to the chosen landing by the mountain peaks that loomed black against the western sky. The night was windless. The shrill piping of hylas, the monotonous trill of toads, and the rush of running brooks filled the air. Such sounds faded out as the middle of the lake was reached, where nothing was heard but the light plash of muffled oars, to rise again in increasing volume from the other shore.

As the last boat grounded on the shelving beach, Nathan was startled by the loud, hollow hoot of an owl, uttered thrice, almost in his ear. A few moments later there came, like an echo from the distant creek, the answer to this preconcerted signal of safe arrival. The men quickly disembarked, and the boats returned to those who, under Seth Warner, were eagerly awaiting their turn.

Those who had made the passage tramped to and fro to stir their blood, for there was a creeping chill in the night air. The first light of dawn was stealing up the eastern sky, the woods and mountains showing in sharp relief against it, yet no signs came to strained eyes and ears of the returning boats.

“The lazy-bones,” growled Allen, forgetting the long distance. “What has gone wrong? Daylight will betray us if we wait much longer. What do you say, my men—shall we wait, and maybe lose our best chance of success, or go on with what strength we have?”

There was a murmur of universal assent, and Allen commanded:

“Fall in, in three ranks!”

Instantly the men formed in the order of the ranger service. “I want no man to go against his will. You that wish to go with me, poise arms.” Every gun was brought to the position.

“Shoulder arms! Right face! Forward, march!”

Before the last word was fairly given, Arnold stepped in front of the speaker.

“I swear,” he cried, shaken with his passion, “I will not yield my right. I planned this enterprise. My money set it on foot. I swear I will command, and not yield my right to Ethan Allen or the devil.”

There was a muttered growl of dissatisfaction among the men, and Allen was raging. “What shall I do with this fellow? Put him under guard?” he asked, turning to one of his captains.

“Gentlemen,” said Captain Callender, a staid and quiet man, “for the sake of the good cause, don’t quarrel. Yield a little, both of you. Share the command equally, and enter the Fort side by side.”

Allen returned his half-drawn sword to its scabbard and said bluffly: “For the sake of the cause I agree to this.” The Connecticut colonel sullenly assented, and the three columns moved briskly along the shore, led by the two colonels marching side by side, till, through the branches of the budding trees, the leaders saw close before them the walls of Ticonderoga, looming dark and vague in the gray of the morning.