“In that case, why didn’t he retreat three days earlier, and save his guns and ammunition and supplies, instead of leaving ’em at Ticonderoga and letting the British get ’em? Why did he wait until the last second, so the British were within an inch of wiping us out?”

“Within an inch!” Cap bawled. “My good God! They wasn’t more than a sixteenth of an inch from me at Hubbardton! There was one of them fellers in a red coat that had his bayonet so close to my breeches that it kept pulling out the threads!” He drew from his pocket a silver watch somewhat like a summer squash in size and shape. He held it to his ear and shook it. It gave out a rattling sound. He showed it to me. “That was his. He kind of fell on it, and I guess maybe he broke something in it.”

“Look here,” Nason protested, “this is no time for arguments. St. Clair brought us here safely—–”

“He brought some of us here safely,” Cap growled. “He didn’t bring Colonel Francis here safely. He’s dead, and his regiment’s wiped out, on account of that poss-pitted General Poor not being willing to go to his support. He didn’t bring the Second New Hampshire here safely. Colonel Hale surrendered the whole damned regiment to a couple of Englishmen that had lost their way and was thinking of heading for Boston so to find out where they were. And how about those Massachusetts militia regiments? The way they was running when I last see ’em, they’re all dead of heartburn by now.”

“We’re here and we’re safe,” Nason insisted, “and St. Clair got us here. This army, from present indications, will be commanded by Schuyler and St. Clair when it fights; and in spite of what you say about St. Clair, he’s an able general. As for Schuyler—–”

“As for Schuyler,” I said, “he’s a Godsend. We’d never have built the fleet last year except for Schuyler; and he’s the only general I’ve ever seen, barring Arnold, that gives me any confidence.”

“That’s about right,” Nason said. “Next to Arnold, Schuyler and St. Clair are the officers best qualified to stop Burgoyne.” He leaned forward and tapped my knee. “And no sooner did we get here than troopers began to sidle up and ask us about the silver bullets—about Schuyler and St. Clair and the silver bullets! You say you haven’t heard how Schuyler gets his silver bullets?”

“Why,” I said, “Schuyler hasn’t even had enough lead bullets to go ’round, and he couldn’t have got those for us if he hadn’t made the Albany people rip the leaded panes out of their windows and melt up the leads.”