Gates’s reply was testy. “Well, of course they’re scarce, dear boy! If they weren’t, he’d get ’em himself, wouldn’t he? Now look here, Wilky: if you can’t find clothes in the fort, go over to Mount Independence and talk to some of those York troops. They’ve got clothes, some of ’em have, and they’ll sell anything! They’d rather have money than breeches, and they’re no better with breeches than without ’em, so there’s no reason why we shouldn’t deprive ’em. We’ll equip Captain Merrill out of the public funds: that’s what we’ll do; but for God’s sake, Wilky, don’t bring back clothes that are lousy! They tell me all the York troops are lousy, so if you get clothes from ’em, be sure to have ’em examined, especially the seams. Have the seams well looked at, dear boy!”

In spite of Gates’s kindness, I could never think of him, after that, except as something of a fussbudget—too much of a fussbudget to be a good commander-in-chief.

When Wilkinson had departed, grave and splay-footed, Gates sat down at his desk again and pawed among his papers. “Well, we thought you’d never get here in time to fight!” He eyed me slyly over the tops of his spectacles.

“The fever took all our carpenters, sir. We were lucky to finish the Congress and the Washington.”

“When’ll the Gates be ready?”

“In a week, I hope, sir.”

“By cracky! I hope so! We need her! General Arnold’s been making life miserable for us, shouting for those galleys! We get a letter from him every fifteen minutes. He wants those galleys!” He poked irascibly among his papers.

“When does he expect to fight?”

“Whenever he has to,” Gates said, “and I don’t want you to lose a minute—not a minute! We’re putting everybody to work on your galley and Waterbury’s. By cracky, it’ll be a shame if the Gates isn’t fit to fight!”

“Sir,” I asked, “what’s known about the British fleet? Have they built vessels bigger than ours?”

I waited his answer with a shrinking feeling; for on the size of the British fleet depended, in all probability, my safety and Nathaniel’s. More, even, than our safety hung on it: our very lives might be at stake.

Gates pounced on some papers with a grunt of satisfaction. “Now then, here’s General Arnold’s requisitions. For your galley: two eighteens, two twelves and four sixes. For the Washington galley, one eighteen, one twelve, two nines and four fours. Right?”

“No sir,” I said. “The Congress galley can carry more guns. She ought to have two long nines in addition to those named.”