Just before dawn several dark forms were seen by the best-sighted of the men on watch, creeping cautiously up the ravine towards the hiding-place. The cracking of twigs and an occasional grunt were heard, and we knew the Indians were approaching. Word was passed not to fire until our leader gave the signal, which was finally given. Two of the old flintlocks went off, the others missed fire. One of the bullets struck one of a drove of pigs which were quietly feeding up the ravine and which in our terror we took for the foe. The squeals of the wounded pig frightened the others, and the whole drove came charging and squealing up the ravine right through our camp, tumbling over men, women and children, whose screams, added to the noise of the pigs, made matters a trifle lively until the enemy went by. The morning growing bright, and no Indians appearing, a cautious approach was made to the farm, and shortly after a runner came from the fort with word that the Indians had taken to their canoes the night before and had started out, but had been turned back by the gunboat which was on watch, and they were not allowed to leave the outer harbor, so our terror was without cause. (Note.--I saw the arrest of the Indian chief "Captain Jack," and heard the shot fired by Constable Taylor that killed him, as I stood outside the outer entrance to the gaol.--E. F.) CHAPTER IX. FIRES AND FIREMEN. I had intended telling what I knew of the fires of early Victoria, but when I sat down to put to paper what I know of any noted fires, I first realized how little there was to tell of that dread element's ravages in early Victoria. But although there is not so much to tell of great fires, there is a good deal to be said of the men who prevented those fires becoming great, so I decided to go on with my subject.