of the drawbridge, as it was again raised by its strong pullies,
and the dull creaking sound of the rusty bolts and locks that secured
the ponderous gate, announced the detachment was once more safely
within the fort.

While the wounded men were being conveyed to the hospital, a group,
comprising almost all the officers of the garrison, hastened to meet
Captain Erskine and Lieutenant Johnstone. Congratulations on the escape
of the one, and compliments, rather than condolences, on the accident
of the other, which the arm en echarpe denoted to be slight, were
hastily and warmly proffered. These felicitations were the genuine
ebullitions of the hearts of men who really felt a pride, unmixed with
jealousy, in the conduct of their fellows; and so cool and excellent
had been the manner in which Captain Erskine had accomplished his
object, that it had claimed the undivided admiration of all who had
been spectators of the affair, and had, with the aid of their
telescopes, been enabled to follow the minutest movements of the
detachment.

"By heaven!" he at length replied, his chest swelling with gratified
pride at the warm and generous approval of his companions, "this more
than repays me for every risk. Yet, to be sincere, the credit is not
mine, but Wentworth's. But for you, my dear fellow," grasping and
shaking the hand of that officer, "we should have rendered but a
Flemish account of ourselves. How beautifully those guns covered our
retreat! and the first mortar that sent the howling devils flying in
air like so many Will-o'the-wisps, who placed that, Wentworth?"

"I did," replied the officer, with a quickness that denoted a natural
feeling of exultation; "but Bombardier Kitson's was the most effective.
It was his shell that drove the Indians finally out of the bomb-proof,
and left the coast clear for your retreat."

"Then Kitson, and his gunners also, merit our best thanks," pursued
Captain Erskine, whose spirits, now that his detachment was in safety,
were more than usually exhilarated by the exciting events of the last
hour; "and what will be more acceptable, perhaps, they shall each have
a glass of my best old Jamaica before they sleep,--and such stuff is
not to be met with every day in this wilderness of a country. But,
confound my stupid head! where are Charles de Haldimar and Sir Everard
Valletort?"

"Poor Charles is in a high fever, and confined to his bed," remarked
Captain Blessington, who now came up adding