ured
Dons had squeezed themselves through, without their muskets, but with
their short sabres in their hands. They are active dangerous fellows
those Spaniards in a hand-to-hand tussle. One of them sprang at me, and
if it had not been for my hunting-knife, I was done for, for I had no
room to swing my axe; but as he came on I hit him a blow with my fist,
which knocked him down, and then ran my knife into him, and jumping over
his body snatched a musket out of Rachel's hand, and began laying about
me with the but-end of it. I was sorry not to have my rifle, which was
handier than those heavy Spanish muskets. The women were now in the
way--we hadn't room for so many--so I called out to them to get into the
blockhouse and load the rifles. There was still another Acadian alive,
and I knew that the fight wouldn't end till he was done for. But while
we were fighting, Godsend and the women loaded the rifles, and brought
them out, and firing through the stockade, killed three or four, and, as
luck would have it, the Acadian was amongst them. So when the Spaniards,
who are just like hounds, and only come on if led and encouraged, saw
that their leader had fallen, they sprang off the mound, with a 'Carajo!
Malditos!' and ran away as if a shell had burst amongst them."

The old squatter paused and drew a deep breath. He had forgotten his
usual drawl and deliberation, and had become animated and eager while
describing the stirring incidents in which he had borne so active a
part. When he had taken breath, he continued.

"I couldn't say how long the fight lasted; it seemed short, we were so
busy, and yet long, deadly long. It is no joke to have to defend one's
life, and the lives of those one loves best, against fourscore
bloodthirsty Spaniards, and that with only half a dozen rifles for arms,
and a few palisades for shelter. When it was over we were so dog-tired
that we fell down where we were, like overdriven oxen, and without
minding the blood which lay like water on the ground. Seven Spaniards
and two Acadians were lying dead within the stockade. We ourselves were
all wounded and hacked about, some with knife-stabs and sabre-cuts,
others with musket-shots; ugly wounds enough, some of them, but none
mortal. If the Spaniards had returned to the attack they would have made
short work of us; for as soon as we left off fighting and our blood
cooled, we became stiff and helpless. But now came the women with rags
and bandages, and was