We had made the run from Isle aux Noix to Crown Point in a day and a half—half a day better than Arnold had stipulated. Considering that our bateau was only a little more seaworthy than a washtub, and that Tom Bickford and Verrieul had never stopped bailing in all that time, we had done well.

I thought Arnold had no appreciation of the manner in which this argosy of ours had been nursed along. As we approached Crown Point, he stood up in the stern, staring at the sorry fortifications. The closer we came, the more restless he grew, sitting down only to pop to his feet again and make faint sounds of exasperated amusement.

“Nothing!” he finally exclaimed. “Not one damned thing! Now what do you think of that!”

He tapped my hand. “Look at it! There’s a lesson for you in how far a pee-wit can see! Take a good look at it!”

It wasn’t much to look at; but it was better than Isle aux Noix.

“Properly fortified,” Arnold said, “that point controls the lake. Put a decent fort there, properly manned, and no invading army could ever get past. And now look at it! Half a year’s work to be done on it, and no time or men to do it!”

“I don’t understand about the pee-wit,” I said.

Arnold laughed. “I haven’t seen this place for sixteen months! Sixteen months ago I commanded it! A hundred men, I had. I took ninety of ’em and invaded Canada.” He slapped his knee. “Yes sir! Invaded Canada, captured St. John’s, destroyed the shipping, and cut the British off from the lake.”