raised my eyes.

"Your sweet lady gave me the letter--I waited while she wrote it in the
warden's room--and she was crying, sir. God knows what she has written
you!--but she kissed me and my little one, and went out into the yard.
I have not seen her since, Mr. Renault."

Would the din of that hellish bell never cease its torture? Would sound
never again give my aching brain a moment's respite? The tumult, men's
sharp voices, the coughing of the sick woman, the dull, stupid blows of
sound were driving me mad! And now more noises broke out--the measured
crash of volleys; cheers from the militia on the parapet; an uproar
swelling all around me. I heard some one shout, "Willett has entered
the town!" and the next instant the smashing roll of drums broke out in
the street, echoing back from facade and palisade, and I heard the
fifes and hunting-horns playing "Soldiers' Joy!" and the long
double-shuffling of infantry on the run.

The icy current of desperation flowed back into every vein. My mind
cleared; I passed a steady hand over my eyes, looked around me, and,
drawing the ranger's whistle from my belt, set it to my lips.

The clear, mellow call dominated the tumult. A man in deerskin dropped
from the rifle-platform, another descended the ladder, others came
running from the log bastions, all flocking around me like brown deer
herding to the leader's call.

"Fall in!" I scarce knew my own voice.

The eager throng of riflemen fell away into a long rank, stringing out
across the jail yard.

"Shoulder arms! Right dress! Right face! Call off!"

The quick responses ran along the ranks: "Right! left! right!
left!----"

"Right double!" I called. Then, as order followed order, the left
platoon stepped forward, halted, and dressed.

"Take care to form column by platoons right, right front. To the
right--face! March!"

The gates were flung wide as we passed through, and, wheeling, swung
straight into the streets of Johnstown with a solid hurrah!

A battalion of Massachusetts infantry was passing St. John's Church,
filling William Street with the racket of their drums. White
cross-belts and rifles shining, the black-gaitered column plodded past,
mounted officers leading. Then a field-piece, harness and chains
clanking, came by, breasting the hill at a gallop, amid a tempest of
cheers from my riflemen. And now the Tryon County men were passing in
dusty ranks, and more riflemen came running up, falling in behind my
co