“And the savages returned the volley—­which explains the distant discharge I heard.”

“Anybody can see, majjor, that ye’re yer father’s son, and a souldier bor-r-n.  Och! who would of t’ought of that, but one bred and bor-r-n in the army?  Yes; the savages sent back as good as they got, which was jist not’in’ at all, seem’ that no one is har-r-m’d.”

“And the single piece that followed—­there was one discharge, by itself?”

Mike opened his mouth with a grin that might have put either of the Plinys to shame, it being rather a favourite theory with the descendants of the puritans—­or “poor’atin’s,” as the county Leitrim-man called Joel and his set—­that the Irishman was more than a match for any son of Ham at the Knoll, in the way of capacity about this portion of the human countenance.  The major saw that there was a good deal of self-felicitation in the expression of Mike’s visage, and he demanded an explanation in more direct terms.

“’Twas I did it, majjor, and ’twas as well fired a piece as ye’ve ever hear-r-d in the king’s sarvice.  Divil bur-r-n me, if I lets Joel get any such advantage over me, as to have a whole battle to himself.  No—­ no—­as soon as I smelt his Yankee powther, and could get my own musket cock’d, and pointed out of the forthifications, I lets ’em have it, as if it had been so much breakfast ready cooked to their hands.  ’Twas well pointed, too; for I’m not the man to shoot into a fri’nd’s countenance.”

“And you broke the orders for a reason no better than the fact that Strides had broken them before?”

“Divil a bit, majjor—­Joel had broken the orders, ye see and that settled the matter.  The thing that is once broken is broken, and wor-r-ds can’t mend it, any more than for bearin’ to fire a gun will mend it.”

By dint of cross-questioning, Robert Willoughby finally succeeded in getting something like an outline of the truth from Mike.  The simple facts were, that the Indians had taken possession of their old bivouac, as soon as the day dawned, and had commenced their preparations for breakfast, when Joel, the miller, and a few of that set, in a paroxysm of valour, had discharged a harmless volley at them; the distance rendering the attempt futile.  This fire had been partially returned, the whole concluding with the finale from the Irishman’s gun, as has been related.  As it was now too light to apprehend a surprise, and the ground in front of the palisade had no very dangerous covers, Robert Willoughby was emboldened to send one of the Plinys to request an interview with his father.  In a few minutes the latter appeared, accompanied by Mr. Woods.

“The same party has reappeared, and seems disposed to occupy its old position near the mill,” said the captain, in answer to his son’s inquiries.  “It is difficult to say what the fellows have in view; and there are moments when I think there are more or less whites among them.  I suggested as much to Strides, chaplain; and I thought the fellow appeared to receive the notion as if he thought it might be true.”