Free The American Chronicle 1 - Burr by Gore Vidal Page B

and most of our confidence. I spent the night with Jonathan Dayton in a tree. At dawn we looked with wonder at a vast lake stretching in every direction through the dark coniferous forest. As the waters began to recede into the earth, we assembled in the mud and tried to make sense of the disaster.
    Just as Colonel Arnold joined us, snow began to fall. He promptly held a council beneath the trees. “I leave it to you,” he said to the men, “whether we go on or turn back.”
    There was much debate despite the swirling snow which made it hard for us to see one another in that awful whiteness. But Arnold cleverly led the discussion, forcing those who wanted to turn back to admit that it was most unlikely that any of us could survive the journey with half our provisions gone, most of the bateaux scattered throughout the forest and the snow mounting even as we spoke. It was decided to press on.
    On the 30th, Colonel Arnold went to buy food at Sartigan, a near-by village according to the fatal map.
    “We won’t see him again.” Dayton was confident we had been abandoned. Rations were exhausted. The men had already eaten their dogs; they were now chewing on belts, moccasins, bits of soap. Fortunately Matt appeared on the scene from the forward detachment, and brought with him the last of the provisions; a half-pound of pork and five pints of flour to last each of us until, presumably, Quebec fell or Colonel Arnold brought us food.
    To the delight of all, supplies arrived three days later from mythical Sartigan. There was a good deal of rejoicing. Even the snow stopped falling for the occasion.
    Then the bad news. An Indian guide reported that our rear detachment under Lieutenant-Colonel Enos had departed for Massachusetts, leaving us with only 500 effective troops.
    Between November 7 and 13, our “army” assembled at Point Levis on the St. Lawrence River across from Quebec. We were relieved to be in civilised country; we were alarmed at our situation. Two ships of the British navy patrolled the river while within the citadel of Quebec there were more than 500 British troops, guarded by a frigate and a sloop whose combined guns numbered forty-two. Arnold’s “best” intelligence reports were about as good as his map.
    On the night of November 13, the British set fire to our remaining bateaux. Astonishingly, the green wood burned.
    We moved to Wolfe’s Cove below the walls of Quebec. It was here that a trapper told us how General Schuyler’s replacement General Montgomery had captured the British forts of Chambly and St. John. Montgomery was now advancing upon Montreal. Delighted, Arnold ordered Matt to go to the citadel and under a flag of truce demand the immediate surrender of Quebec.
    “Tell the British commander that we shall be most generous if they obey us promptly. But unrelenting—repeat— unrelenting if they do not recognise our sovereignty in Canada.” I could hardly believe my ears. Poor Matt did as he was ordered.
    We watched Matt as he approached the gates to the citadel, a small figure, carrying a dirty white shirt on a stick. To Arnold’s fury and (once we knew that Matt was safe) to my amusement, the British fired a volley of grape-shot at Matt who scurried down the heights and joined us at the cove.
    “I shall teach those bastards from hell a lesson they’ll never forget!” Arnold’s dark face was black with wrath; the gray-yellow eyes shone like a cat’s. On the spot he ordered Matt to start down-river to Montreal, to find Montgomery wherever he was and to “tell him he must join us. Now ! For a joint siege. Montreal is not important. Quebec is.” Matt departed within the hour.
    On November 19, we moved twenty miles west of the city to Pointe aux Trembles and established a camp. The next day a British sloop arrived from Montreal; aboard was the Canadian governor Sir Guy Carle-ton. Montreal had fallen to Montgomery! Our spirits soared.
    “We would have been better off serving with