“Nobody told me to report to you,” I said. “When we couldn’t get orders from Roche-Fermoy, we came looking for the galleys. We thought—–”

“You thought you’d ride?” Colonel Long asked politely. “Well, we aren’t giving rides to healthy men, except such as we need. We have to take the women and the sick to Skenesboro. Those that can walk are supposed to walk there, by way of Hubbardton. That’s what you can do: walk!” As an afterthought he added: “What’s your regiment?”

“I haven’t got one. I’m a scout officer and a sea captain. I know these waters. I sailed the Congress galley last year.”

“A sea captain? A sea captain from where?”

“From Arundel.”

“From Arundel, eh? What’s your name?”

“Merrill. Peter Merrill.”

“Peter Merrill!” he said thoughtfully. “Well, well! And you sailed the Congress galley! We heard—–” He broke off. “We heard some mighty strange things about that battle—mighty strange.”

“Then you heard a lot of damned lies!” I said. “Colonel, this man with me and I want a chance to fight on one of these vessels. That’s all we want.”

“Well,” Colonel Long said slowly, “I guess it’ll be all right, but there’s no berths open on any of ’em. I’ll take both of you with me aboard the Gates. Make yourselves useful where you can. Help to get things stowed. Tell Captain Kidder I say it’s all right. As soon as we have the women and the sick and the baggage aboard, and can see to move, we’ll push off for Skenesboro. There’ll be nine hundred of us. The rest of the garrison goes by land.”

He broke off to stare accusingly at two militiamen who had stopped to drink from a bottle. “Mullen,” he said, “Mullen! They’ve been looting! Tell ’em so!” To us he added apologetically, “Mullen’s my servant. I don’t hold with profanity, but there’s times when it’s a relief to the spirit, and this is one of the times, so I let Mullen do it for me.”

Mullen bawled at the militiamen in a shrill, insulting voice, “You’ve been looting, you damned black-bellied fish-faces! I’d like to have you under me for five minutes, by God! I’d pull out your dirty green gizzards and stuff ’em in your ears, you yeller, dirt-eating eels!”

Doc Means stared admiringly at Mullen. “My, my!” he said faintly.

The militiamen failed to pay either Mullen or Colonel Long the courtesy of a glance. As they moved away, one belched and the other broke wind. It could scarcely have been accidental.