“At all events, your honour, I will carry the quaker in,” said Joyce, tossing the stuffed figure on a shoulder.  “He do to man the quaker gun at least, and may be of use in frightening some one of the other side, more than he has yet frightened us.”

Captain Willoughby did not object, though he reminded Joyce that the desertions had probably put the enemy in possession of a minute statement of their defences and force, including the history of the wooden gun.  If Joel and his fellow-delinquents had joined the party at the mill, the name, age, character and spirit of every man remaining in the garrison were probably known to its leaders; and neither quakers nor paddies would count for much in opposing an assault.

The captain came within the gate of the palisades last, closing, barring, and locking it with his own hands, when all immediate apprehensions from the enemy ceased.  He knew, certainly, that it would probably exceed his present means of resistance, to withstand a vigorous assault; but, on the other hand, he felt assured that Indians would never approach a stockade in open day, and expose themselves to the hazards of losing some fifteen or twenty of their numbers, before they could carry the place.  This was opposed to all their notions of war, neither honour nor advantage tempting them to adopt it.  As for the first, agreeably to savage notions, glory was to be measured by the number of scalps taken and lost; and, counting all the women left in the Hut, there would not be heads enough to supply a sufficient number to prove an offset to those which would probably be lost in the assault.

All this did the captain discuss in few words, with the serjeant, when he proceeded to join his anxious and expecting wife and daughters.

“God has looked down upon us in mercy, and protected us this night,” said the grateful Mrs. Willoughby, with streaming eyes, as she received and returned her husband’s warm embrace.  “We cannot be too thankful, when we look at these dear girls, and our precious little Evert.  If Robert were only with us now, I should be entirely happy!”

“Such is human nature, my little Maud”—­answered the captain, drawing his darling towards himself and kissing her polished forehead.  “The very thoughts of being in our actual strait would have made your mother as miserable as her worst enemy could wish—­if, indeed, there be such a monster on earth as her enemy—­and, now she protests she is delighted because our throats were not all cut last night.  We are safe enough for the day I think, and not another night shall one of you pass in the Hut, if I can have my way.  If there be such a thing as desertion, there is such a thing as evacuation also.”

“Hugh!—­What can you, do you mean!  Remember, we are surrounded by a wilderness.”

“I know our position reasonably well, wife of mine, and intend to turn that knowledge to some account, God willing, and aiding.  I mean to place old Hugh Willoughby by the side of Xenophon and Washington, and let the world see what a man is capable of, on a retreat, when he has such a wife, two such daughters, and a grandson like that, on his hands.  As for Bob, I would not have him here, on any account.  The young dog would run away with half the glory.”