The burning of the house was going on rapidly--the flames encreasing in strength, and streaming along the hill, over high pines and thick bush wood. The whole of the guard were at the front of the guard-house, observing the progress of the fire, when the glistening of the firelocks with fixed bayonets caught their attention, rising from the valley below them; and, through the faint and red light, they could perceive they were some of their own regiment who approached. The guard immediately got under arms, to receive them. The challenge was given--the watch word passed--and the party commanded by Ensign Morris, halted in front of the guard-house, and delivered to the sergeant of the guard (Dobson) two prisoners--one slightly wounded by a shot in the arm. The Ensign gave orders that they should be kept in the guard-house until morning, and left Corporal Callaghan with two men, to strengthen the guard: after which, he gave the word to his party, “Right face,”--“March;” and proceeded to the head-quarters of the regiment. The prisoners were two labourers who belonged to the still, and the only two of its defenders who were taken. “Well, my gay fellows, you gave us a purty bit o’ business to-night--eh?” growled Corporal O’Callaghan, when all were seated in the guard-house. “Look at that,” continued he, taking off his cap, and showing them a hole made by a bullet; “look at that, ye spalpeens. Which o’ ye did that?” “Neither of us, plase your honour!” exclaimed both the prisoners; “we never fired a shot, at all, at all.” “That’s a lie, old chap,” replied one of the soldiers who had escorted them; “that’s a lie; for I’ll take my affadavy I saw your infernal face looking out of the window when the fire first broke out; and if I’m not very much mistaken, it was this musquet that pinked your arm when you were running up the hill.” “Whoever _did_ pink my arm, as you call it, I wish’d o’ Christ I had him on the top o’ Faudrick’s Hill,--he with his firelock, an’ I with my pitchfork; I’d make him know his Lord God from Tom Bell.” This was the reply of the wounded man, who became evidently agitated with rage as he concluded. “Well, my boys,” observed Corporal Callaghan, “it’s all over now; you are prisoners, and one o’ you is wounded. The business is over, so say no more about it.” “Yes, yes,” said Sergeant Dobson, “say no more about it;--but, Corporal, tell us how the matter went.”