The general looked at him in surprise; then turned questioningly to Nason, who told him briefly the same tale he had told us.

Arnold glared at us. “By God, I’d like to catch the man that starts such stories!” He banged shut his field-desk, ran a finger around the inside of his black stock, and showed his teeth in a mirthless grin. “Well,” he said, “we’ve got more important things to consider at the moment!”

Nason cleared his throat. “We thought, General, that the stories about General Schuyler are like the ones that Easton and Brown spread about you.”

“Of course they are!” Arnold cried. “Of course they are! Do you know what happened about Brown’s charges? They spread so far I had to have ’em investigated by the Board of War. The Board found my character had been cruelly and groundlessly aspersed; but a lot of good that did me!”

“But these stories about Schuyler—–” Nason ventured.

Arnold slapped his table. “They’re identical! But you can’t stop to resent insults, not with Burgoyne twenty miles away.” He looked sourly amused. “Why, see here! I had to resign from this army a week ago, because Congress refused either to give me my proper rank or settle my accounts. They cleared me of Brown’s charges, and still they believed ’em! They’ve let me be twice wounded, and spend the greater part of my savings buying food and supplies for the soldiers they couldn’t feed themselves: now they laugh at me: ignore my accounts and tell me to serve under those I commanded a few weeks ago. They disgraced me in my friends’ eyes and the army’s eyes! They left me no choice! I had to resign!”

I felt hot resentment that a patriotic officer could be treated so.

“Well,” Arnold said carelessly, “that was before I heard about Ticonderoga. When I heard about that, and General Washington asked Congress to send me up here, I withdrew my request to resign. I’ll serve under St. Clair: I’ll serve under anyone, I’ll do anything—anything!—to make myself useful: to prevent this country from being destroyed by Burgoyne or anyone else!”

He stuck out his under lip and gave us a truculent nod, the nod of a fighter. I am, I hope, not one to be stirred to sudden blazing enthusiasms, like a schoolgirl; and I think today what I thought then: that no more generous and magnanimous act had ever been performed or ever will be performed by any soldier so flouted and insulted.

“General,” Nason persisted, “those stories about Schuyler are dangerous. They’re spreading all over the place. If they’re not stopped, they may do a lot of harm.”

“Stopped!” Arnold cried. “They can’t be stopped, any more than this damned rain that you get every day can be stopped!”