"Here he be"--answered the Indian, producing another missive, from the folds of his calico shirt.
The captain received the note which he read with extreme gravity, and some surprise.
"This is in Bob's handwriting," he said, "and is dated 'Boston, June 18th, 1775;' but it is without signature, and is not only Bob, but Bob Short."
"Read, dear Willoughby," exclaimed the anxious mother. "News from _him_, concerns us all."
"News, Wilhelmina!--They may call this news in Boston, but one is very little the better for it at the Hutted Knoll. However, such as it is, there is no reason for keeping it a secret, while there is _one_ reason, at least, why it should be known. This is all. 'My dearest sir--Thank God I am unharmed; but we have had much to make us reflect; you know what duty requires--my best and endless love to my mother, and Beulah--and dear, laughing, capricious, _pretty_ Maud. Nick was present, and can tell you all. I do not think he will extenuate, or aught set down in malice."' And this without direction, or signature; with nothing, in fact, but place and date. What say _you_ to all this, Nick?"
"He very good--major dere; he know. Nick dere--hot time--a t'ousand scalp--coat red as blood."
"There has been another battle!" exclaimed the captain; "that is too plain to admit of dispute. Speak out at once, Nick--which gained the day; the British or the Americans?"
"Hard to tell--one fight, t'other fight. Red-coat take de ground; Yankee kill. If Yankee could take scalp of all he kill, he whip. But, poor warriors at takin' scalp. No know how."
"Upon my word, Woods, there does seem to be something in all this! It can hardly be possible that the Americans would dare to attack Boston, defended as it is, by a strong army of British regulars."
"That would they not," cried the chaplain, with emphasis. "This has been only another skirmish."
"What you call skirmge?" asked Nick, pointedly. "It skirmge to take t'ousand scalp, ha?"
"Tell us what _has_ happened, Tuscarora?" said the captain, motioning his friend to be silent.
"Soon tell--soon done. Yankee on hill; reg'lar in canoe. Hundred, t'ousand, fifty canoe--full of red-coat. Great chief, dere!--ten--six-- two--all go togeder. Come ashore--parade, pale-face manner--march-- booh--booh--dem cannon; pop, pop--dem gun. Wah! how he run!"