Chapter 13: An Abortive Attack. 

Three weeks passed. James kept his men steadily at work, and even the scouts allowed that they made great progress. Sometimes they went out in two parties, with an officer and a scout to each, and their pouches filled with blank cartridge. Each would do its best to surprise the other; and, when they met, a mimic fight would take place, the men sheltering behind trees, and firing only when they obtained a glimpse of an adversary. 

"I did not think that these pipe-clayed soldiers could have been so spry," Nat said to James. "They have picked up wonderfully, and I wouldn't mind going into an Indian fight with them. They are improving with their muskets. Their shooting yesterday wasn't bad, by no means. In three months' time, they will be as good a lot to handle as any of the companies of scouts." 

Besides the daily exercises, the company did scouting work at night, ten men being out, by turns, in the woods bordering the lake. At one o'clock in the morning, on the 19th of March, Nat came into the officers' tent. 

"Captain," he said, "get up. There's something afoot." 

"What is it, Nat?" James asked, as he threw off his rugs. 

"It's the French, at least I don't see who else it can be. It was my turn tonight to go round and look after our sentries. When I came to Jim Bryan, who was stationed just at the edge of the lake, I said to him, 'Anything new, Jim?' and he says, 'Yes; seems to me as I can hear a hammering in the woods.' I listens, and sure enough axes were going. It may be some three miles down. The night is still, and the ice brought the sound. 
What was in their bags?
their pouches filled with blank cartridge