Arnold glanced wryly at Waterbury, who scratched the corner of his mouth. To Wynkoop Arnold said: “I’m glad you spoke of that, Colonel. I’ve had occasion to give considerable thought to the manner in which Wolfe took Quebec.”

He tapped the table. “Wolfe wasn’t the man that took Quebec, though he’ll always get the credit for it. The man that took Quebec was Admiral Saunders—Charles Saunders, moving his fleet up river with every floodtide, and down river with every ebb, perpetually threatening to disembark his men here, there and everywhere, day and night. He wore Montcalm out. Montcalm was in a panic for fear of what Saunders might do. If it hadn’t been for Saunders, Wolfe wouldn’t have had one chance in a thousand of even reaching the Plains of Abraham! Not one chance in a million!”

Wynkoop puffed and made sounds of expostulation.

“If you want the real truth about Quebec,” Arnold said, “here it is: Wolfe should have been court-martialed for putting his troops where he did, and Montcalm should have been court-martialed for abandoning an impregnable fortress to fight in an open field!” He laughed harshly. “Wolfe and Montcalm! Montcalm and Wolfe! Two blunderers! It was Saunders and his sailors! Saunders and his ships! Saunders and his naval discipline! D’you think either Montcalm or Wolfe could have got their regiments to do the work that Saunders’ sailors did—up all night: making sail; shortening sail; anchoring; heaving up the anchor; hauling around the yards? Not by a damned sight! They’d have deserted! Saunders and his sailors took Quebec, and the wrong man got the credit, as usual!”

Nothing that Arnold said, I knew, was making the smallest dent in Wynkoop’s stubborn Dutch mind, though it was the simple truth.