Fernando left the general's quarters with his heart beating in a way which he could not explain. Terrence had just returned to the company. Fernando ordered his men to be ready to march at dark, and was hastening across the street to a tavern for his supper, when he was suddenly accosted by a familiar voice with: "Golly! massa Stevens, am dat you?" "Job, where have you come from?" "Everywhar, Massa. I done been rovin' de worl' over huntin' for de massa I belong to when I war taken by de Britishers; but I can't find him. Whar ye gwine?" Fernando explained, and the negro said: "Golly! ye goin' dar?" "Yes, Job." "De ship what am goin' ter bombard dat town am de _Xenophon_." "_Xenophon_!" cried Fernando; "surely Providence must be in this." Job volunteered at once to accompany the riflemen, and, having some knowledge of gunnery, his services were very acceptable. At dusk, with competent guides, Fernando set out for the village. * * * * * Five years had been added to the weight with which time was crushing Captain Lane; but his spirit was still as undaunted as ever, and when he found the town threatened by a British cruiser, he hastily organized the people into militia companies, and began throwing up a line of earthworks, which extended from his own house to the lowest extremity of the village. The plan of the breastwork was well laid and executed; but the artillery was poorly mounted and they were sadly in need of experienced gunners. "Father, don't exert yourself until you are sick!" said Morgianna, when her father came home one evening exhausted. "Surely, if the British come, they will not harm us." "My child, the plunderers have sacked other towns and insulted the inhabitants, and why not ours?" "But no ship is in sight." "No; yet one has been hovering about the coast and Tris Penrose, who was far out in his fishing smack to reconnoitre, says it is the _Xenophon_." "The _Xenophon_!" and the pretty face grew pale. She remembered that that vessel, five years before, had paid the village a friendly visit. Captain Lane was watching her closely. She knew it and guessed the reason. After a moment's silence, she asked: "Father, isn't Lieutenant Matson on the _Xenophon_?" "I suppose he is." "Surely he is your friend." "In war there are no friends among the enemy, child, and no enemy among friends. We are simply Americans or British." "Yet, father, there are personal ties stronger than loyalty to nation or political party." The old man heard her argument with evident anxiety. He loved his little sea-waif as ardently as ever father loved a child, and for five years he fancied and feared she loved the lieutenant of the _Xenophon_.