n us when they see that the fleet is coming to our
relief."

The face of Major George Augustus Braithwaite, scholar and soldier, was
transformed. Both the scout and Gregory Wilmot saw it when the lightning
flickered across the sky, but the same joy was pounding at their own
hearts. Wilmot, obeying the Major's order, hurried away to see that the
walls were manned by riflemen ready to repel any attack, but the scout
remained.

"They're comin', they're comin', shore, Major," he said, "but they've
had to make a mighty fight uv it. You kin be certain that Timmendiquas
did everything to keep them from gittin' by. Listen, thar go the rifles
ag'in, an' they're nearer now!"

Good news spreads as fast as bad, and in ten minutes it was known
throughout the beleaguered houses of Fort Prescott that a great and
glorious event had occurred. They would not be taken by the Indians,
they would not be slaughtered or carried into captivity. Relief, many
boats and canoes filled with their own warlike country-men, an
irresistible force, were at hand, because Major Braithwaite and Gregory
Wilmot had heard the welcome sound of their rifles and cannon.

Out into the rain and darkness poured men, women, and children, and they
cared for neither rain nor darkness, because the rescue from imminent
death was coming, and they would see it.

People gathered around Major Braithwaite and the scout and they did not
order them back, because this was a time when all would wish to know,
and in the night and darkness they waited patiently and hopefully to see
what the fitful flashes of lightning might let them see.

The sound of random shots came from the dripping forest, and the men of
Gregory Wilmot at the barrier replied, but Major Braithwaite paid little
attention to such a diversion as this. The Indians would not undertake
now to storm the fort--they had failed already in several such
attempts--and their renewed fire was merely proof that they, too, knew
that the fleet had forced the watery passage.

"Thar she goes ag'in!" said the scout. "Ez shore ez I'm a livin' sinner
that's the crack uv Kentucky rifles, fifty uv 'em at least!"

"You're right," said Major Braithwaite, "and it cannot come from
anything but the fleet. Hark, there's a new sound, and it removes the
last doubt!"

Clear above all the other clamor of the night, the wind, the firing, and
the rain, rose a long, mellow note, low but distinct, sweet and clear.
It was a haunting note,