p to my father to say
in a light, cheerful way--

"Ah, I've been looking for you, Bruton. I wanted to tell you that I
thoroughly understand now what your feelings must have been like the
other night."

"Don't talk about it," said my father.

"Oh, I don't know," said the colonel. "It's painful, but one knows the
worst."

"No," said my father, sadly; "unfortunately we do not know the worst."

"What do you mean? We can soon set to work and rebuild. The ground is
clear. We cannot be so badly off as when we first landed."

"I was thinking," said my father, in a low voice, "that the enemy has
achieved his work for the night, but to-morrow they will continue this
horrible destruction, and the next night and the next night, till the
palisade and the block-house only remain. Then the worst will come."

"They will try and fire that?" said the colonel, in a whisper.

"Yes. We have a deadly foe to combat, and one full of cunning."

"But we must never let him and his fire-fiends approach the place,--we
must make an outer palisade."

"Of brave men?" said my father. "Yes; I had thought of that; but the
danger cannot be stopped that way. They will fire the place without
coming close."

"How?" cried the colonel.

"With winged messengers," said my father; and I felt what he was going
to say before he spoke.

"Fiery arrows? I see what you mean. Pray heaven they may not think of
such a hideous plan. But if they do, Bruton, we are Englishmen, and
know how to die."

"Yes," said my father, sadly. "If the worst comes to the worst, we know
how to die. Well, there will be no attack to-night," he continued; and
he turned round and seemed to realise the fact that I was there, having
forgotten my presence in the earnestness of his conversation with the
colonel.

"Ah, George," he said, "I did not think that you were there to hear what
I said. Did you catch it?"

"Yes, father," I said in a hoarse voice.

"What did I say?"

"That we should know how to die."

There was silence then, and the ruddy glow in the smoke-clouds began to
die away, leaving everything dark, and cold, and depressing; so that the
cheerful words of the various officers now, as they talked encouragingly
to the men, appeared to have lost their power.

CHAPTER FORTY TWO.

Morning at last, after the horrors of that eventful night. Every one
looked jaded and despondent; but as the sun rose, and the women and
children were allowed to leave