“It was just after dinner when this conversation took place.
“‘But,’ continued the mate, stretching himself before the fire, ‘I expect it will be between you and me, for, look, the other fellows have all gone to sleep, and I feel so drowsy I really—don’t—know—how long—’
“He said no more; he was asleep.
“‘Poor fellows,’ I said to myself, as I took up my gun and prepared to leave the room, ‘they’re tired. I’ll station myself here by the door, where I can be in the dry and still see all that is going on.’
“The storm continued with unabated violence. The rain came down in sheets; the thunder seemed to rend the old fort and shake it to its very foundation, while the lightning was everywhere; the whole world looked as if on fire. Night was coming on, and rude though our shelter was, I felt thankful we were not out in the gloom of the forest.
“‘How soundly they sleep!’ I said to myself about half an hour after when I went to heap more wood on the five. ‘How I envy them! I’ll sit a moment and think. The Indians are not so bad as they look. First impressions are not always—the—best.’
“The next thing I was conscious of was hearing voices close beside me. It was the Indians bending over me and over my companions, and seeming to listen for our breathing.
“‘They’re dead,’ one said.
“‘Better make sure,’ said another.
“Then with half-open eyes I could see drawn daggers gleaming in the fire-light; but I was unable to stir hand or foot; I felt like one in some dreadful nightmare. I tried to shriek, but my voice failed me. Then, ‘O God, be merciful to us!’ I inwardly prayed, ‘for our hour is come.’