I disliked Wilkinson for his unwarranted solemnity, but he was a good aide-de-camp, able to look busy when doing nothing, even while taking a nap: able, also, to soothe impatient persons by leading them to think he was about to perform something miraculously important for their sole benefit. He was more profound over inconsequential matters than any man I ever knew—an excellent trait for a soldier, and one that brings higher rank to the person who practices it than mere bravery or ability. It was a great boon to Wilkinson; for in one year’s time he was sent to Congress with a message, and such was the ponderosity with which he delivered it that Congress made him a brigadier general at twenty-one, when he deserved a brigadier generalcy about as much as our village idiot.

When Wilkinson ushered me in to see Gates, I found him fumbling near-sightedly among his papers. He was gray and stooped, with a sly side-glance that returned and returned to the person with whom he spoke. He looked crafty, as if hopeful of stealing up on a person’s thoughts, instead of asking frankly for them. Yet he was bluff and hearty, and seemingly eager to do everything possible to make things easier for those who had to do the fighting.

He got up to shake hands, quite as if my rank were equal to his own: then threw his arms apart in an old-womanish gesture, staring petulantly at my clothes.

“Captain! Captain Wilkinson!” he called querulously. “Here! I want you, dear boy!”

Wilkinson appeared as neatly as though he had shot up through the floor.

“Now look here, Captain,” Gates complained, “look at this!” He flung his hands out before him, seeming to spill from them a burden of disgust. “A captain in our fleet, obliged to fight against soldiers like Carleton and Burgoyne in a teamster’s shirt and wearing tobaccopouches on his feet! Now for God’s sake, Wilky, do something about it! Get him a coat somewhere! Get him some breeches and stockings! And try to find some shoes for him. Damn it, Wilky, fix him up with some shoes!”

Wilkinson looked dubious. “Yes, General,” he said soothingly. “You know such things are scarce: scarce!”