forward to their support, and with fixed bayonets cleared the path.  This, however, was but a temporary success.  The Indians merely changed their position and appeared on the flanks in increased numbers.  From the shelter of trees the foe were creating havoc among the exposed troops, and a general charge was necessary.  Highlanders and Royal Americans, acting under the directing eye of Bouquet, again drove the Indians back with the bayonet.  Scarcely had this been accomplished when a fusillade was heard in the rear.  The convoy was attacked, and it was necessary to fall back to its support.  Until nightfall, around a bit of elevated ground—­called Edge Hill by Bouquet—­on which the convoy was drawn up, the battle was waged.  About the pack-horses and stores the soldiers valiantly fought for seven hours against their invisible foe.  At length darkness fell, and the exhausted troops could take stock of their losses and snatch a brief, broken rest.  In this day of battle two officers were killed and four wounded, and sixty of the rank and file were killed or wounded.

Flour-bags were piled in a circle, and within this the wounded were placed.  Throughout the night a careful watch was kept; but the enemy made no attack during the darkness, merely firing an occasional shot and from time to time uttering defiant yells.  They were confident that Bouquet’s force would be an easy prey, and waited for daylight to renew the battle.

The soldiers had played a heroic part.  Though unused to forest warfare, they had been cool as veterans in Indian fighting, and not a man had fired a shot without orders.  But the bravest of them looked to the morning with dread.  They had barely been able to hold their own on this day, and by morning the Indians would undoubtedly be greatly strengthened.  The cries and moans of the wounded vividly reminded them of what had already happened.  Besides, they were worn out with marching and fighting; worse than physical fatigue and more trying than the enemy’s bullets was torturing thirst; and not a drop of water could be obtained at the place where they were hemmed in.

By the flickering light of a candle Bouquet penned one of the noblest letters ever written by a soldier in time of battle.  He could hardly hope for success, and defeat meant the most horrible of deaths; but he had no craven spirit, and his report to Amherst was that of a true soldier—­a man ‘whose business it is to die.’  After giving a detailed account of the occurrences leading up to this attack and a calm statement of the events of the day, and paying a tribute to his officers, whose conduct, he said, ‘is much above my praise,’ he added:  ’Whatever our fate may be, I thought it necessary to give Your Excellency this information...  I fear unsurmountable difficulties in protecting and transporting our provisions, being already so much weakened by the loss in this day of men and horses.’  Sending a messenger back with this dispatch, he set himself to plan for the morrow.