He eyed me with that hard, pale stare of his. “It beats all how people can’t see beyond their noses! I had hell’s own time to make folks realize these lakes were worth holding—that the safety of all the colonies depended on it. I had to write letters day and night to make ’em believe it: letters to Congress: letters to Connecticut: letters to Massachusetts: letters to Albany: letters to everyone—For God’s sake, send men! Send men so we can fortify Crown Point and Ticonderoga and hold ’em! That’s what I told ’em. Then I did what I could to fortify the place—me with my hundred men! Dig, dig, dig, dig! That’s all we did, dig, until New York and Connecticut listened to my letters and sent up a thousand men under those three she-rabbits, Hinman, Easton and Brown. By God, sir: there were enough healthy men to make this place impregnable in four months, if commanded by anyone but Hinman, Easton and Brown! They wanted my place, and they got it! And then they sat here, they and their thousand men, and wondered whether it wasn’t too warm to go fishing. They did nothing! Not one damned thing! No fortifications: no entrenchments: no sentries! Any quiet, nice little boy could have taken the place by hammering on a child’s drum and squeaking, ‘Surrender or I’ll fire!’ ”

I thought of Easton and Brown, sitting with Hazen and Bedel and glowering at me like sulky children. “I’ve heard it said,” I told him, “that Easton and Brown aren’t favorably disposed toward you.”

“Favorably disposed!” he cried. “I should hope not! Easton’s a tricky, intriguing coward. I told him so to his face, here at Crown Point, over a year ago and kicked the seat of his breeches by way of proving it. Brown’s a bad officer—no foresight: no vision: no more than Easton had. What they didn’t do at Crown Point would be enough to prove it. But there’s more than that. Montgomery told me Brown was a bad officer, and now Brown wants to be promoted: wants to be a lieutenant colonel. Well, he can’t be: not if I have any say! I’d sooner see a cow made lieutenant colonel!”

He snorted and made a whisking motion with his hand, as if to sweep Brown and Easton from his life forever. A few moments later I laid the bateau alongside the shaky wharf beneath the ruins of the fort, and Arnold jumped ashore to get something to eat before pushing on for Lake George and Albany. He beat his breast, as if on the verge of exploding from long hours of inaction, and immediately turned two one-handed cartwheels, first on his left hand and then on his right—a difficult thing to do, if you have never tried it.