"Bad?"
"Monstrous bad, John. For on my forest-running south from Chambly, I saw Sir John and his crew as they gained the Canadas! They seemed near dead, too, but they were full three hundred, and I but one, so I did not tarry to mark 'em with a stealthy bullet, but pulled foot for Saint Sacrement."
He grinned, bit a morsel from a cold pigeon, and sat chewing it reflectively and watching the Indians at their painting.
"You know what is passing in Canada?" he demanded abruptly.
"Nothing definite," said I.
"Listen, then. We had taken Chambly, Montreal, and St. John's. Arnold lay before Quebec. Sullivan commanded us. Six weeks ago he sent Hazen's regiment to Arnold. Then the Canadians and Indians struck us at the Cedars, and we lost five hundred men before we were out of it."
"What was the reason for such disaster?" I demanded, turning hot with wrath.
"Cowardice and smallpox," said he carelessly. "They were new troops sent up to reinforce us, and their general, Thomas, died o' the pox.
"And atop of that comes news of British transports in the St. Lawrence, and of British regulars and Hessians.
"So Sullivan sends the Pennsylvania Line to strike 'em. St. Clair marches, Wayne marches, Irving follows with his regiment. Lord, how they were peppered, the Pennsylvania Line! And Thompson was taken, and Colonel Irving, and they wounded Anthony Wayne; and the Line ran!"