“We’ll see to that, captain—­we’ll see to that.  Field-pieces are desperate dampers to Indian courage, so I thought I’d just let ’em have a six-pounder, by way of tryin’ their natur’s.  They look’d like men goin’ to execution, when I told ’em of the cannon, and what a history it had gone through.”

“And what may have been this history, pray?”

“I just told ’em it was the very gun the captain had took from the French, about which we’ve all heer’n tell; and that, as everybody knows, was a desperate piece, havin’ killed more than a hundred reg’lars, before the captain charged baggonet on it, and carried it off.”

This was a very artful speech, since it alluded to the most distinguished exploit of captain Willoughby’s military life; one of which it would have been more than human, had he not been a little proud.  All who knew him, had heard of this adventure, and Joel cunningly turned it to account, in the manner seen.  The allusion served to put to sleep, for the moment at least, certain very unpleasant suspicions that were getting to be active in his superior’s mind.

“There was no necessity, Strides, for saying anything about that affair”—­the captain, modestly, interposed.  “It happened a long time since, and might well be forgotten.  Then, you know we have no gun to support your account, when our deficiency is ascertained, it will all be set down to the true cause—­a wish to conceal our real weakness.”

“I beg your honour’s pardon,” put in Joyce—­“I think Strides has acted in a military manner in this affair.  It is according to the art of war for the besieged to pretend to but stronger than they are; and even besiegers sometimes put a better face than the truth will warrant, on their strength.  Military accounts, as your honour well knows, never pass exactly for gospel, unless it be with the raw hands.”

“Then,” added Joel, “I know’d what I was about, seem that we had a cannon ready for use, as soon as it could be mounted.”

“I think I understand Strides, your honour,” resumed the serjeant.  “I have carved a ‘quaker’ as an ornament for the gateway, intending to saw it in two, in the middle, and place the pieces, crosswise, over the entrance, as your honour has often seen such things in garrisons—­like the brass ornaments on the artillery caps, I mean, your honour.  Well, this gun is finished and painted, and I intended to split it, and have it up this very week.  I suppose Joel has had it in his mind, quaker fashion.”

“The Serjeant’s right.  That piece looks as much like a real cannon as one of our cathechisms is like another.  The muzzle is more than a foot deep, and has a plaguy gunpowder look!”

“But this gun is not mounted; even if it were, it could only be set up for show,” observed the captain.

“Put that cannon up once, and I’ll answer for it that no Injin faces it.  ’Twill be as good as a dozen sentinels,” answered Joel.  “As for mountin’, I thought of that before I said a syllable about the crittur.  There’s the new truck-wheels in the court, all ready to hold it, and the carpenters can put the hinder part to the whull, in an hour or two, and that in a way no Injin could tell the difference between it and a ra’al cannon, at ten yards.”