“’Twas a great achievement, Dave,” said Rogers to Willet, “and improves our position wonderfully, but ’twas one of the hardest things I’ve ever had to do to stand here, just waiting and listening to the roar of the battle.”

“Tayoga says we were helped by Areskoui, and we must have been helped by some power greater than our own.  We paid a price for our victory, though it wasn’t too high, and tomorrow we’ll see what St. Luc will do.  ’Tis altogether possible that we may have a naval fight.”

“It’s so, Dave, but this is a fine deed you and Daganoweda and your men have done.”

“Nothing more than you would have done, Rogers, if you had been in our place.”

They spoke in ordinary tones, being men too much hardened to danger and mighty tasks to show emotion.  Robert stood under the same inverted boat that sheltered them, and he heard their words in a kind of daze, his brain still benumbed after the long and terrible test.  But it was a pleasant numbing, a provision of nature, a sort of rest that was akin to sleep.

The storm had not abated a particle.  Wind and rain roared across Andiatarocte and along the slopes and over the mountains.  The waters of the lake whenever they were disclosed were black and seething, and all the islands were invisible.

Robert looked mostly at the great fire that crackled and blazed so near.  It was fed continually by Indians and rangers, who did not care for the rain, and it alone defied the storm.  The sheets of rain, poured upon it, seemed to have no effect.  The coals merely hissed as if it were oil instead of water, and the flames leaped higher, deep red at the heart and often blue at the edges.

Robert had never seen a more beautiful fire, a vast core of warmth and light that challenged alike darkness, wind and rain.  There had been a time, so he had heard, in the remote, dim ages when man knew nothing of fire.  It might have been true, but he did not see how man could have existed, and certainly no cheer ever came into his life.  He turned himself around, as if he were broiling on a spit, and heated first one side and then the other, until the blood in his veins sparkled with new life and vigor.  Then he dressed, still pervaded by that enormous feeling of comfort and content, and ate of the food that Rogers ordered to be served to the returned and refreshed men.  He also resumed his rifle and pistol, but kept his seat under the inverted boat, where the rain could not reach him.

He would have slept, but the ground was too wet, and he waited with the others for the approach of day and the initiative of St. Luc.  The rangers and Mohawks had made the first move, and it was now for the French leader to match it.  Robert wondered what St. Luc would attempt, but that he would try something he never doubted for a moment.