Instantly I began to wonder about Nathaniel: whether it would be better to have him with me in St. John’s where I could keep him under my eye, or whether he’d be better off elsewhere, far removed from Ellen Phipps and other reminders of Marie de Sabrevois.

I might have saved myself the trouble of wondering; for Arnold had his own plans for all of us. “Take Bickford with you,” he said, “and if you need more workmen, requisition any stray soldiers that can’t account for themselves. If they don’t want to work, handle ’em as you would on shipboard. If anybody tries to make trouble for you, squirm out of it the best you can. I’ll leave the details to you; but whatever happens, get that vessel to Crown Point. Here’s your authority.”

He reached for a sheet of paper and drove his pen across it. The window was palely flushed with a Canadian dawn, and in that light his swarthy face was haggard; but the pen scratched on as briskly as though he were fresh from sleep.

While I read my orders, he instructed Nathaniel and Verrieul to get Canadian clothes for themselves and set off on foot down the St. Lawrence to find out whether any troop-ships had arrived from England and where they were: in the next breath he told Cap Huff and Doc Means to report to Major Scott and help him requisition supplies to be used in case of a retreat.

To Nason he said: “Get your men settled, and see me here at nine o’clock in the morning. Your friend Natanis ought to be back from Caughnawaga by then; and I’ll have something to keep both of you busy.” He winked at Nason, a most unmilitary wink. “Take ’em away! I’ve got work to do.”

He picked up his pen, flipped a horseshoe from a pile of correspondence, and before we were through the door the quill was scratching across a sheet of paper as though we had been a momentary diversion from more serious business.

… That was how Tom Bickford and I found ourselves tramping south beside the shallow rapids of the Richelieu, bound again for the dreary settlement we had left two days before.

There was no change in St. John’s, but it seemed to me less gloomy than when I had first seen it. I knew why, too. It was associated with Ellen Phipps and her coarse gray dress. How often a strange town, contemptible at first sight, will be made to seem downright pleasant by the knowledge that one interesting acquaintance lives there!

We found two provision barges tied up at the landing; and the same dilapidated lieutenants who had met us were overseeing the unloading of boxes, sacks and barrels. They jumped when I spoke to them; and one said “My God! I thought you were De Woedtke! What you want?”