“Wait for orders, men, wait for orders,” observed the serjeant, by way of quieting an impatience that was very apparent.  “If his honour, the captain, wished us to be acquainted with his movements, he would direct a general parade, and lay the matter before us, as you know he always does, on proper occasions.  ’Tis a flag going out, as you can see, and should a truce follow, we’ll lay aside our muskets, and seize the plough-shares; should it be a capitulation—­I know our brave old commander too well to suppose it possible—­but should it be even that, we’ll ground arms like men, and make the best of it.”

“And should Joel, and the other man, who is a stranger to me, be scalped?” demanded one of the party.

“Then we’ll avenge their scalps.  That was the way with us, when my Lord Howe fell—­’avenge his death! cried our colonel; and on we pushed, until near two thousand of us fell before the Frenchmen’s trenches.  Oh! that was a sight worth seeing, and a day to talk of!”

“Yes, but you were threshed soundly, serjeant, as I’ve heard from many that were there.”

“What of that, sir! we obeyed orders.  ‘Avenge his death!’ was the cry; and on we pushed, in obedience, until there were not men enough left in our battalion to carry the wounded to the rear.”

“And what did you do with them?” asked a youth, who regarded the serjeant as another Caesar—­Napoleon not having come into notice in 1776.

“We let them lie where they fell.  Young man, war teaches us all the wholesome lesson that impossibilities are impossible to be done.  War is the great schoolmaster of the human race; and a learned man is he who has made nineteen or twenty campaigns.”

“If he live to turn his lessons to account”—­remarked the first speaker, with a sneer.

“If a man is to die in battle, sir, he had better die with his mind stored with knowledge, than be shot like a dog that has outlived his usefulness.  Every pitched battle carries out of the world learning upon learning that has been got in the field.  Here comes his honour, who will confirm all I tell you, men.  I was letting these men, sir, understand that the army and the field are the best schools on earth.  Every old soldier will stick to that, your honour.”

“We are apt to think so, Joyce—­have the arms been inspected this morning?”

“As soon as it was light, I did that myself, sir.”

“Flints, cartridge-boxes and bayonets, I hope?”

“Each and all, sir.  Does your honour remember the morning we had the affair near Fort du Quesne?”

“You mean Braddock’s defeat, I suppose, Joyce?”

“I call nothing a defeat, captain Willoughby.  We were roughly handled that day, sir; but I am not satisfied it was a defeat.  It is true, we fell back, and lost some arms and stores; but, in the main, we stuck to our colours, considering it was in the woods.  No, sir; I do not call that a defeat, by any means.”