In the year 1757 Fort George, as it was then called, had as its garrison a small detachment from Colonel Warburton’s regiment of foot. This trifling force was compelled to watch over a wide extent of territory in addition to the special place they occupied. France and England were again at war, and both regular expeditions and lawless guerillas abounded. On a certain day in midsummer the garrison embarked upon a small vessel and sailed away to the relief of a threatened settlement. Rupert Haydon, the drummer-boy, was left in charge of the fort. With him were several women, wives of soldiers, and their small children. “We shall be gone but a week at most, drummer,” Captain Peabody had announced. “It suits me not to leave women and stores so ill protected, but the commands of my superiors must be obeyed. However, it is scarce likely that the enemy will have knowledge of the fort’s weakness in time to profit thereby.” The drummer-boy stood at attention and saluted as the soldiers marched out through the covered way. With the aid of the women he hoisted the drawbridge and closed the massive timber gates. Then, scrambling up on top of the parapet, he watched the little sailing craft, her decks all bright with the scarlet-coated warriors, pass out through the narrow harbor entrance and disappear from view around the first headland. Scarcely had the transport so vanished, when Rupert’s keen eyes discovered another vessel making for the harbor from the opposite side. Mere supposition was useless. The newcomer might prove to be a friend. If an enemy, the chance of being let alone was problematical. It was now too late to recall the recently departed garrison. Upon the drummer’s young shoulders lay the whole burden of maintaining the dignity of the English flag. Rupert Haydon was only a poorly educated boy, but he must have had a great deal of latent talent. Even while gazing in consternation at the fast-approaching vessel, he mentally mapped out a plan of campaign. Hastily gathering the women about him, he explained the matter to them, and secured their aid. They were all well used to the happening of the unexpected, and inured to danger and fatigue. The wife of a British soldier has never had an easy lot. These rugged-looking though golden-hearted women donned some uniforms left behind by their husbands, and became, in outward appearance at least, full-fledged soldiers. The six small cannon mounted in the fort’s bastions were loaded, small-arms served out, and ammunition placed conveniently to hand. One of the soldier-women mounted guard upon the ramparts, and marched up and down, in plain view, with musket upon shoulder. The English ensign was, of course, flying from the tall staff in the centre of the redoubt.