We scrambled for the companion ladder. Arnold’s voice above us spurred us on. “Hoist away! Foresail and mainsail! Haul aft the sheets! Clap on there and haul! Clap on and haul!”

XXXVI

WE WENT down in an echelon, our own vessel in the lead, hugging the Valcour shore; the Washington a little behind us, nearer the center of the channel; then the Trumbull and the Royal Savage, each farther to the rear and nearer the New York side.

Because of the branches above their bulwarks, they had a shaggy wild look.

Arnold watched them contentedly. “Good!” he said. “They look as if they could stand a power of pounding!” He stood on tiptoe to peer at the point of the island. So far as I could tell, he was wholly unmoved at the prospect of going into battle.

With me it was different, I am free to say. No gun had ever been fired at me with serious intent, and the prospect of having God knows how many fired at me before the day was over left me with a liquefied feel in my stomach.

I was uneasy, too, because Nathaniel was in the Royal Savage instead of aboard our own vessel. I wanted him where I could watch him; perhaps steady him if anything went wrong. To tell the truth, I felt that if I had him to watch, I might be steadier myself.

As we opened out the sweep of lake to the south, the men at the bow guns set up a sudden shout. In the same moment we sighted, far away, to the southeastward, a full-rigged ship—a sloop-of-war—working back toward us on the larboard tack.

When we cleared the sheltering shoulder of Valcour we saw two schooners, big ones, pointing toward us as if racing. They yawed as we came out and let off bow guns. I didn’t even look to see where the shot went, for just then we passed entirely beyond the southern tip of the island, and the whole broad expanse of lake lay before us, swarming with craft of every size and shape, as a marsh pool swarms with waterfowl when the moon is full in October.

In a long line to the eastward, their shining sails half blending with the snowy whiteness of the distant mountain wall, a throng of gunboats were converging on us. They were gundelos, each with a single cannon in its bow; but they were long guns and loomed up in that clear air, as big, almost, as the boats themselves.

Towering up above these smaller fry, like a goose among teal, was a floating fortress, low in the water, high-sailed, bristling with heavy guns. There was another large vessel: a sort of overgrown gundelo. We counted seven guns on her: great guns—more than twice as many as any of our gundelos carried.