cracked under my
fingers.

Suddenly a flickering light arose ahead of us, and another, and we saw
that they were candles beginning to twinkle through the palings of the
fort. These were badly set, the width of a man's hand apart. Presently
here comes a soldier with a torch, and as he walked we could see from
crack to crack his bluff face all reddened by the light, and so near were
we that we heard the words of his song:--

"O, there came a lass to Sudbury Fair,
With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!
And she had a rose in her raven hair,
With a hey, and a ho, nonny-nonny!"

"By the etarnal!" said Tom, following the man along the palings with the
muzzle of his Deckard, "by the etarnal! 'tis like shootin' beef."

A gust of laughter came from somewhere beyond. The burly soldier paused
at the foot of the blockhouse.

"Hi, Jem, have ye seen the General's man? His Honor's in a 'igh temper,
I warrant ye."

It was fortunate for Jem that he put his foot inside the blockhouse door.

"Now, boys!"

It was Williams's voice, and fourteen rifles sputtered out a ragged
volley.

There was an instant's silence, and then a score of voices raised in
consternation,--shouting, cursing, commanding. Heavy feet pounded on the
platform of the blockhouse. While Tom was savagely jamming in powder and
ball, the wicket gate of the fort opened, a man came out and ran to a
house a biscuit's throw away, and ran back again before he was shot at,
slamming the gate after him. Tom swore.

"We've got but the ten rounds," he said, dropping his rifle to his knee.
"I reckon 'tis no use to waste it."

"The Willing may come to-night," I answered.

There was a bugle winding a strange call, and the roll of a drum, and the
running continued.

"Don't fire till you're sure, boys," said Captain Williams.

Our eyes caught sight of a form in the blockhouse port, there was an
instant when a candle flung its rays upon a cannon's flank, and Tom's
rifle spat a rod of flame. A red blot hid the cannon's mouth, and behind
it a man staggered and fell on the candle, while the shot crunched its
way through the logs of the cottage in the yard where we stood. And now
the battle was on in earnest, fire darting here and there from the black
wall, bullets whistling and flying wide, and at intervals cannon
belching, their shot grinding through trees and houses. But our men
waited until the gunners lit their matches in the cannon-ports,--i