“What’s at Crab Island?”

“A hospital. It’s new. Parts of it are still under construction. Built especially for the war, they say.”

“There’s not one at Burlington?” Lawrence asked.

“There is, but the good citizens of Burlington didn’t want the soldiers filling up their hospital beds.” There was an abrasive edge to Renner’s voice.

“Why not?”

“They were too sick.”

“Too sick?” Lawrence echoed warily. “What was wrong with them?”

“Dysentery, typhus, smallpox, pneumonia – take your pick. The pneumonia’s proved particularly virulent. It’s spread beyond the barracks. I understand there have been more than fifty civilian deaths so far.”

Lawrence grimaced. “In that case, you can’t blame the townsfolk. But moving men when they’re in that condition – that’s not good.”

“It was General Dearborn’s orders, on the advice of Surgeon-Major Lovell.”

“That’s madness,” Hawkwood said. “What if some of the men you took to Plattsburg were sick without anyone knowing? They’d spread the diseases even further.”

“That’s why the Plattsburg townsfolk haven’t welcomed them with open arms either. The army’s been forced to set up camp a couple of miles out of town, only there aren’t the facilities to house them, which is why they needed the tents, as temporary accommodation until proper huts are built.”

“Hell, tents won’t see them through the winter. If that’s all they’ve got, a lot more are going to fall ill and a lot more are going to die. They should have left them to see the winter out where they were, then transfer them come the thaw.”

“Bloody generals,” Lawrence muttered. He threw Hawkwood a knowing look and shook his head vexedly. “Was it ever thus?”

“I heard that Fulton was making a military version of his steamship,” Hawkwood said after a pause.

Renner looked grateful for the change of subject. “I heard the same rumour, but I doubt there’s anything in it. It’s too impractical, even for Fulton.”

“How so? From what you’ve told us it would be most useful, given the speed and the fact it’s less dependent on the weather.”

“It would indeed be useful,” Renner agreed. “And you wouldn’t have to rely on the wind to bring your guns to bear. But tell me, if you were in command of a British frigate and you wanted to put Vermont out of action, what would you order your gunners to aim at? Her smokestack? Her masts and rigging? What?”

Hawkwood thought about it. “Neither. I’d aim for one of those.” He jerked a thumb towards the paddlewheel, flinging up water behind Renner’s shoulder.

“Precisely. They’re a big enough target. One well-aimed shot and she’d be dead in the water. Oh, we’ve masts, a spread of canvas and two steering positions, but without those paddles she’d be a sitting duck and about as much use as a floating bathtub.”