“No,” Nason said. “You haven’t heard the news. He’s got silver bullets. When the British came up to Ticonderoga, they loaded their guns with silver bullets and shot ’em into the fort. Then those in the fort got up early in the morning and picked up the bullets and took ’em to St. Clair, and St. Clair sent ’em to Schuyler, and Schuyler melted ’em up and turned ’em into hard money.”

“Well, for God’s sake! Were all of us supposed to pick up silver bullets?”

“The whole damned kit and caboodle of us!” Cap bellowed. In a mincing tone he added, “We played games while we picked ’em up. The ones what picked up the most silver bullets got pink ribbons to wear in their hair; and the feller what picked up the mostest most, they give him a peppermint to put in his tea!”

“It’s no laughing matter,” Nason said. “It’s supposed to be gospel truth!”

“But what in God’s name were the silver bullets supposed to be?”

Nason was exasperated at my density. “Bribes! Bribes! The British were bribing Schuyler and St. Clair with silver bullets to get out of the fort!”

“That’s too ridiculous to talk about,” I protested.

Nason shook his head. “No: they believe it. People believe anything about a man—anything that shows he hasn’t behaved himself about money, women or rum.”

“Not people with any sense.”

“People don’t have any sense,” Nason insisted. “Listen to any of ’em talk! There isn’t one man in a thousand that doesn’t talk himself black in the face about subjects he’s completely ignorant of; and the most senseless of the lot, nine times out of ten, are folks that claim to be educated.”

“By God,” Cap shouted, “you never said a truer word! Ain’t people the damnedest?”

“Now listen,” Nason said. “That’s the story that’s going around about Schuyler and St. Clair. They took silver from the British: therefore they’re not fit to command our troops. They’re traitors and thieves. The sooner we get rid of ’em, the better. That’s the story. Does that remind you of anything? Did you ever hear anything vaguely like that about anyone else?”

“Certainly,” I said. “It’s like the stories that went around about Arnold.”

“Like ’em? Oh no! It’s the same damned thing. And it’s the twin of another story that came pretty close to doing us a terrible lot of harm. For all we know, it did do us a lot of harm. It may have delayed us just long enough to keep us from taking Quebec!”