Wynkoop settled himself in his chair as if he intended to stay there all day. “Cheneral Sguyler gafe me der commend uf Lake Shemplain,” he said stolidly. “In dot gepecity I belief der broper wessels iss gundelos. Dey’re more mople, und petter aple to selegt der bettle ground.”

Waterbury looked puzzled. “They’re more what?”

“Mople. Dey ent so heffy.”

“Mobile!” Arnold exclaimed. “Gundelos mobile? In dirty weather they’d be as mobile as lobster-pots!”

He glared at Wynkoop, his lips pressed tight together, his swarthy face lumpy. Suddenly he smiled. “As senior officer at this post,” he said carelessly, “I order an immediate Council of War to consider the form of ship construction best adapted to our needs—the council to include all officers above the rank of lieutenant colonel. The council will be in order. General Waterbury, what are your views on the type of vessel that would be of greatest service to us?”

“Chust a minute!” Wynkoop objected; but his objection was unheeded by Waterbury, whose reply to Arnold’s question was magisterial.

“I’m in favor of completing the gundelos now under construction, and in devoting all our efforts to the construction of row-galleys similar to this plan.” He slapped my drawing with his open palm.

Wynkoop, breathing heavily, made explosive sounds.

Arnold nodded thoughtfully at Waterbury and said, “Those are my opinions exactly, General, and since that disposes of the business before this Council of War, the council stands adjourned. Captain Merrill, lay down the keel of that Spanish galley tomorrow and remain in charge of her until she joins the fleet.”

XXX

SKENESBORO was an ante-room of hell in the weeks that followed; and our labors turned into a confused and fever-ridden struggle such as sets dreamers to groaning in their sleep.

Wherever Arnold could find a sea captain, he laid violent hands on him and hustled him to Waterbury, who put him in charge of the building of the vessel he was to command. He called on the regiments at Ticonderoga for seamen and marines; and as might be expected, the ones sent were those who could best be spared—the sickly and contentious: the thieves and rascals: the worst clad and least trustworthy: men who looked unable to shoot, march or hand a sail—men so pocky and so vermin-ridden that to pull their own weight at an oar seemed beyond their powers.

Poor as they were, they were marvels of physical perfection by comparison with those collected in New York to serve aboard the fleet—or purchased, rather; for the latter were raked out of alleys and gutters by the offer of a bounty; and if ever there were human beings who deserved the title of “sweepings of hell,” which one of our officers gave them, it was they.