Master Bartlett did not continue the conversation after this interruption; but a few moments later I noticed that he was holding earnest converse with Stephen Morley, and believed it had reference to sending some one across the river with an appeal for help. It is not well that I should set down what we said and did during this time while waiting for the attack to be made, because it would not make pleasing reading. With the knowledge in the minds of all that we were heavily overmatched, there was little of cheer in our words; but no thought in our hearts of yielding simply because the odds were heavy against us. Every lad did his duty as sentinel, but never a sign of the foe was seen or heard until perhaps half an hour before midnight, and then the battle was begun upon that side of the stockade nearest the river, the savages suddenly bursting out from the thicket with whoops and yells, at the same time that a discharge of musketry came from every quarter. This was no more than we anticipated. In fact, it was the kind of an assault we had reason to believe would be made, and were holding ourselves in readiness for it. Four of the lads had been instructed by Master Bartlett that, when such assault began, they were to take stations on the side of the stockade opposite where the attack was being made, in order to give an alarm in case the enemy attempted to rush us from any other quarter at the same time. This first assault would not have been anything very serious, as I viewed it, except for the fact that John Coburn, he who had been rescued from the stake, was quite painfully, though not dangerously, wounded, therefore was our force reduced by one, since he would be unable to do duty again for several days. The savages had come on with a rush, firing at random, each bringing with him a log of wood to pile up at the foot of the stockade, with the idea that they might scale the walls; but we poured in such a heavy dose of lead that within fifteen minutes they had had all that was needed, and to spare. When they sneaked back under cover again, it was as if the battle had come to an end; but Master Bartlett said, grimly, to some of those lads who were congratulating themselves that we had won a victory: “Don’t deceive yourselves, lads; they were but just feeling of us, and the next time they try it, which will be before daylight, unless I am mistaken, their work won’t be so difficult, for you will take notice that the logs they brought are yet piled up at the foot of the stockade. Now they may come with no burden, and it will be strange if some don’t succeed in getting over.” “If they do, we’ll make short work of them,” Oscar Stephenson said, boldly, and Master Bartlett turned away, as if to say that it was a waste of time to argue the question with a lad who could not look further into the future.