“Go, Louis, and tell all the men that I would speak with them.”
When the whole force was mustered, there were but six in all, two of them boys and one an old man over eighty. Madelon spoke to them thus,—
“God has saved us to-day from the hands of our enemies, and let us pray that we shall escape their snares to-night. As for me, know that I am not afraid. See, I will keep the fort with the old man and my brothers, whilst you, Pierre Fontaine, and the two soldiers, La Bonté and Gachet, go into the blockhouse with the women and children, as it is the safest place. If I am taken, do not you surrender, even if the horrible Iroquois cut me to pieces and burn me before your eyes. I am but one, and in the blockhouse they cannot reach you if you care for yourselves as you should. So all to your places, and may God keep us through the night.”
Madelon tramped off to her chosen place of duty, with the old man and her young brothers.
“Louis,” she said, “choose thou the place on the bastion where thou wilt serve, Alexander shall choose next, then the old man, and I shall take the last.”
Each did as he was bidden, and all night through the wind and storm the two little boys, the aged man whose fires of life had burned so low, and the young girl kept vigil. All night long the cries of “All’s well” rang from bastion to blockhouse, making it appear as if the place was fully manned by a large garrison. At about one o’clock the old man who was on guard at the place on the bastion nearest the gate, called out,—
“Mademoiselle, I hear something, mayhap the enemy.”
His voice quavered with fear and fatigue, and as Madelon hurried to him she feared the worst had come.
“Where is it that thou hearest something?” asked Madelon, hardly above her breath.
“There, just below, at the gate of the fort.”