rt perched on the sandy edge of an
island. I spent most of that day there, watching anxiously for some
movement. But none came.

That night I was again awakened. And running into the gallery, I heard
quick footsteps in the garden. Then there was a lantern's flash, a
smothered oath, and all was dark again. But in the flash I had seen
distinctly three figures. One was Breed, and he held the lantern;
another was the master; and the third, a stout one muffled in a cloak,
I made no doubt was my jolly friend. I lay long awake, with a boy's
curiosity, until presently the dawn broke, and I arose and dressed, and
began to wander about the house. No Breed was sweeping the gallery, nor
was there any sign of the master. The house was as still as a tomb, and
the echoes of my footsteps rolled through the halls and chambers. At
last, prompted by curiosity and fear, I sought the kitchen, where I had
often sat with Breed as he cooked the master's dinner. This was at the
bottom and end of the house. The great fire there was cold, and the pots
and pans hung neatly on their hooks, untouched that day. I was running
through the wet garden, glad to be out in the light, when a sound
stopped me.

It was a dull roar from the direction of the bay. Almost instantly came
another, and another, and then several broke together. And I knew that
the battle had begun. Forgetting for the moment my loneliness, I ran
into the house and up the stairs two at a time, and up the ladder into
the cupola, where I flung open the casement and leaned out.

There was the battle indeed,--a sight so vivid to me after all
these years that I can call it again before me when I will. The toy
men-o'-war, with sails set, ranging in front of the fort. They looked
at my distance to be pressed against it. White puffs, like cotton balls,
would dart one after another from a ship's side, melt into a cloud,
float over her spars, and hide her from my view. And then presently the
roar would reach me, and answering puffs along the line of the fort.
And I could see the mortar shells go up and up, leaving a scorched trail
behind, curve in a great circle, and fall upon the little garrison.
Mister Moultrie became a real person to me then, a vivid picture in my
boyish mind--a hero beyond all other heroes.

As the sun got up in the heavens and the wind fell, the cupola became
a bake-oven. But I scarcely felt the heat. My whole soul was out in the
bay, pent up with the men in the fort. Ho