I have heard it said that God took a hand in our defeat of England: that Providence fought for us because our cause was just. That may be so; but God and Providence seemed far away on that sunny Sunday morning; for they did nothing about our adverse wind: took no steps to deprive the British of their fine north breeze. I am, I hope, one who fears God and respects religion; but having a regard for truth, I have never, since that day, blamed my misfortunes on either God or Providence.

Inch by inch we struggled against that devilish damned wind, while the British bore down on us with a speed that filled us with cold forebodings.

When, at last, the south wind died and we finally caught the same breeze that had done so handsomely for the British, a scant mile separated us from the foremost of the onrushing vessels.

Even then we made poor progress; for the four gundelos ahead of us, shot-riddled and water-logged, were slow, and the Congress hung behind them, herding them like four reluctant sheep.

Arnold, watching their laborings, shook his head. “These rear-guard actions aren’t pleasant,” he admitted, “but there’s no escaping this one. If we can find a corner to dodge into with these gundelos, we may be able to save their guns and crews, and certainly we’ll make it possible for Wigglesworth to get through to Ticonderoga with the Trumbull, the Enterprise and the Revenge. He must have another gundelo with him; and the Gates ought to be equipped by now; and the Liberty’s there; so if Wigglesworth gets safe away, we’ll still have enough of a fleet to keep the British from being over-reckless.”

His eyes were pale and expressionless as he studied the approaching British. There were three of them in the lead—the Inflexible sloop-of-war, with her three towering masts and her press of canvas, and the two big schooners, the Carleton and the Maria. Far behind them was the swarm of gunboats, gathered around the floating fortress like ducklings paddling contentedly beside a swan.

It was eleven when Arnold gave the word, and the stern guns, in the cabin beneath us, let off with a jerk. The Washington, behind us and steering wildly, let off her guns as well; but to neither of us did the British reply. The two schooners hauled their wind so that they were between us and the western shore.

“Well, well!” Arnold said. “Look at that! They’ve made up their minds they won’t let us land on the New York side!” His face wore an expression of exaggerated concern.

“Think of it!” he said. “Crown Point and Ticonderoga are on the New York shore, so they figure the only way we can reach those places is to go ashore on that side! Strange! Strange they persist in thinking there’s only one way to skin a cat!”