White Plains, to help re-enforce the army of Washington, and Mr. Allen accompanied it as chaplain, in the battle of White Plains taking a hand in the fighting himself. The next year he went to Ticonderoga, arriving but a few days before its disastrous evacuation.
In August the news of the advance on Bennington reached Pittsfield. The rallying point in any crisis was always the meeting-house. Mr. Allen, whose soul was fired by what seemed to him the needless blunder at Ticonderoga, made an address whose eloquence and power were never forgotten. He went himself as a private under Lieut. Ford, setting a contagious example; for twenty-two men set out at once, — and three days later, too late to take part in the battle, before the news of it could reach them, another company of seventeen, among wnom were some conspicuous cases of recently converted Tories, who had only lately sworn allegiance to "The Independent United States of America." Though called militia, most of these men had been under fire in some previous action. They hastened forward with all speed, not stopping to dress ranks, but each eager to "get there." Mr. Allen set out in an old sulky. The Berkshire contingent arrived in the night, "drenched with rain, bespattered with mud, but with powder dry and hearts burning for immediate action." Edward Everett, in his life of Stark, relates the following: "Among the re-enforcements from Berkshire County came a clergyman [Mr. Allen] with a portion of his flock, resolved to make bare the arm of flesh against the enemies of his country. Before daylight of the 16th he addressed the commander as follows: 'We, the people of Berkshire, have been frequently called upon to fight, but have never been led against the enemy. We have now resolved, if you will not let us fight, never to turn out again.' Gen. Stark asked him if he wished to march then, when it was dark and rainy. 'No,' was the answer, 'not just this minute.' 'Then,' continued Stark, 'if the Lord should once more give us sunshine, and I do not give you fighting enough, I will never ask you to come again.'"
The mind of the country has recently been refreshed as to the battle of Bennington and its results. Our story only concerns itself with the worshippers in the little unpainted box of a meeting-house in Pittsfield. On the morning of the eventful day they would not leave their encampment till Mr. Allen had prayed that God would"teach their hands to war and their fingers to fight," praying with such fervor and power that it inspired the men like a trusted commander's harangue. A large part of Baum's force were Germans. After the battle Mr. Allen found a German surgeon's horse loaded with panniers full of bottled wine, which was at once given to the wounded and worn-out soldiers. Wherever we get glimpses of him through the entire war, we find him collecting comforts and forwarding them to the sick, or when in camp, writing letters for the helpless or caring for the wounded, besides writing letters to the Hartford Courant. The success at Bennington came at one of the darkest hours of the whole war, and kindled anew men's hope and courage. Gen. Stark was magnified into an almost supernatural hero; and following close, as the tale passed from hamlet to hamlet, was the figure of "the bold parson who went with his flock to share the dangers of the battlefield, satisfied that the war which was holy enough for him to advocate from the pulpit, was righteous enough for him to take part in with his musket."
