“Money, army, officers, men, French,” Nathaniel muttered. Then he raised his eyes to Arnold’s and spoke clearly. “The chief thing was our militia system. They said half-trained troops couldn’t fight. They had figures showing how many times our militia had run away in battle. They said militia would always run away, as soon as the fighting reached open country. They said our officers weren’t competent to plan battles. They said two-thirds of the people in America didn’t want to fight England, and those people were the best and ablest. They said the Loyalist regiments outnumbered Washington’s regiments and fought ten times better. They said our money was almost worthless, and becoming more worthless every day, so that no food or clothes or ammunition could be bought for the army. They said we had no government worth the name. They said we had no chance whatever to win unless we could get help from the French, and they said we’d never be such fools as to do that—never!”

“They did, did they? Did they give their reasons for thinking we wouldn’t be such fools as to do that?”

“Yes. They said France never yet did anything except to serve her own interests, and never would. They said that if we let France help us, she’d own us, body and soul—that we’d be out of the frying pan into the fire—that worthless as our Congress was, it couldn’t be so idiotic as to exchange English rule for French.”

Arnold’s pale eye fixed itself expressionlessly on mine. I knew he was recalling Dr. Price’s book on Civil Liberty: the one he had read the night before we fought the Battle of Valcour Island. I remembered, too, what Price had said: that a Parliament or Congress which subjected itself to any sort of foreign influence would, by that act, forfeit its authority: that a state which submitted to such a breach of trust in its rulers thereby lost its liberty and was enslaved.

Arnold’s eyes went back to Nathaniel. “And you believed all this?”

“Yes sir.”

Arnold snapped his fingers sharply. “And you left them before the second Battle of Saratoga! You came back to us before that battle! Then you must have come back to us still believing what they’d told you—still believing we couldn’t win!”

Nathaniel looked helplessly at me.

“Speak up!” Arnold said. “You still thought we couldn’t win, didn’t you?”

Nathaniel’s voice was desperate. “I’d stopped thinking! I wanted to be with my own people—with my brother. If he’s beaten, I want to be beaten too! Whatever the British are for, I’m against! I’ve done too much thinking! If you’re going to fight, you mustn’t think!”