“The scouts say there are about seven hundred French and half as many Indians coming,” said Dave to Henry, after having examined his rifle to see that it was ready for use. “If that is true, we have some hot work cut out for us.”

It was raining in torrents and this rendered some of the firearms of the defenders useless. It must be confessed that the militia were much downcast, for provisions had continued scarce and it is hard for anyone to keep up courage on a half-filled stomach.

As the firing drew closer Washington ordered his men inside the fort and did his best to cheer them up.

“You are all good shots,” he said. “Wait until you see the enemy distinctly and then make every bullet reach its mark.”

Soon the French and their Indian allies surrounded the fort upon three sides and opened the deadliest fire the situation allowed. The Virginians followed, Dave and Henry with the rest, and the cracking of rifles and the booming of the small cannon was incessant. The rain continued to come down heavily and this, combined with the smoke, often hid one side from the view of the other.

Amid the general tumult in the fort Washington was to be seen here, there and everywhere. He had on his person a good brace of pistols and used them at every opportunity. Men fell all around him, but strange to say he was untouched.

“You are doing well, men!” he shouted. “Keep it up and the French will not dare to come closer. We are dropping three men to one at every volley.”

“Ain’t got no more powder,” came from a corner of the fort. “Anybody got some for me?”

“My powder is all wet,” came from somebody else.

“My flints are all used up,” added a third soldier.

“Divide your powder and your flints,” said Washington. “And, remember not to waste a single shot.”

The battle had started at eleven o’clock and now, at four o’clock, it still continued, the French firing constantly and the defenders of the fort as often as they saw the chance of making a shot tell. The English had had but a scant breakfast and no dinner. But Washington and his fellow officers still continued to cheer them up.

Dave and Henry were in an angle of the fort. From this point they presently caught sight of half a dozen Frenchmen sneaking closer, along the shelter of some rocks. Without hesitation both raised their guns.

“My last bit of powder,” observed Henry and pulled trigger. As the report died away one of the Frenchmen threw up his hands and fell flat on his face, seriously wounded in the side.

“A good shot,” exclaimed Dave. “Here goes for another.”

He took equal care in aiming and the report was followed by the fall of another enemy. He turned to reload, when there came a sharp clipping of a bullet through the leaves and he saw Henry pitch over on his back.

“Henry!” he ejaculated, and for a moment his heart seemed to stop beating. His cousin lay like one dead, with the blood streaming from a wound in his side. Throwing down his rifle, Dave ran to him and raised him up.

“What’s the matter?” asked a soldier standing near. “Killed, eh? Too bad!”

“I—I don’t think he’s dead,” returned Dave. “Get the surgeon, will you?”

“Certainly,” and the soldier ran off through the rain. Soon he reappeared with the medical man, who dropped on his knees in the mud to make an examination.

“Got it pretty bad,” said the surgeon, after what seemed a very long wait to Dave.

“But he—he will get over it?” faltered Dave.

“He has a chance, that’s all. Help me to carry him to where we have the other wounded.”

Dave complied, and Henry was placed on some cedar boughs, where lay all manner of sufferers. He was given a little liquor to strengthen him and his wound was bound up.

“We can’t do any more for him just now,” said the surgeon. “You had better get to the front again,” and Dave hurried back to his post of duty, but with a heart that was heavy and sore.

“Poor Henry!” he murmured. “If he dies, how ever will I tell Aunt Lucy and Uncle Joe? It will break their hearts, and the hearts of poor Rodney and little Nell too.”

The fighting had let up a little, but now it was resumed with increased vigor upon the side of the French and their Indian allies. The Indians were for assaulting the fort and forcing a hand-to-hand fight, but luckily for the English the French commander would not allow this.

Dave had hardly returned to his post, and was standing on the very spot where Henry had stood when another bullet came whistling that way, striking the young soldier in the shoulder. He stumbled and fell but quickly arose to his feet.

“Are you shot?” asked the soldier who had spoken to him before about Henry.

“Yes, in the shoulder, but I do not think it is severe.”

“Must be a sharpshooter with an eye on this p’int,” went on the soldier. “If so, wish I could draw a bead on him.”

“The shot came from yonder tree, I saw the smoke,” replied the young soldier, and grated his teeth over the pain his shoulder was causing him.

“I see his cap!” ejaculated the older soldier. Up came his rifle like a flash and down came the hammer on the flint. There was a flash and a crack, and Dave saw a French sharpshooter pitch from the tree and fall on the rocks, dead.

“You got him,” said Dave, grimly. “He’ll never shoot my cousin or me again.” Then he turned back once more, to have his wound bound up, for the blood was flowing freely down his side. He had to wait some time for this, because the surgeon and his assistants had more than they could do, with men dropping every few minutes.

At last it grew dark, and with the coming of night the firing ceased. The French and their Indian allies had withdrawn to a safe distance and gone into camp. At the fort half of the soldiers remained on guard while the others threw themselves on their guns to snatch a bit of rest. The scanty food which remained was divided evenly among all, Washington getting no greater share than that of the commonest private.

What the morrow would bring forth nobody could surmise, yet to tell the truth matters looked very black. The French and Indian force was a large one and through some trustworthy scouts Washington learned that the French commander had sent back to Fort Duquesne for reinforcements.

“We’ll be wiped out to-morrow,” said more than one of the soldiers. “And if they can’t wipe us out they’ll starve us out.” And a good many others said the same.

Dave was thinking more of Henry than of what was going to happen on the morrow. The sufferer had regained consciousness but was deathly weak. Dave’s shoulder now felt stiff but the pain was gone. He sat on the cedar boughs with Henry’s head in his lap.

Late in the evening the French commander sent word to Washington that he desired a parley and old Jacob Van Braam, now a captain of the Virginians, went forth to see what was wanted. It still rained steadily and in that downpour Washington waited for Van Braam’s return. When the old soldier got back the paper he brought was written in French, and he had to translate it by candle-light.

“They want us to surrender,” said Washington, as the paper was translated.

“They want us to give up all our arms and stores,” said another officer.

“I will not give up our arms and stores,” said Washington. “I would rather risk another battle, weak as we are.” And his officers agreed with him.

When the French commander heard what Washington had said he was much disappointed, for he had counted on a complete victory. But he had no desire for another encounter with these English, whose shots were so deadly, so he said if Washington wanted his stores and his small arms he could have them. It was mutually agreed that the artillery should be destroyed. The English troops were to march from the fort with flags flying and drums beating and were not to be molested on their way back to Will’s Creek.

Early in the morning preparations were made to leave the fort. The killed, numbering twelve to fifteen, were buried. The wounded, to be taken along, numbered sixty, many of whom were still able to march. The loss to the French and their Indian allies had been nearly twice as great, hence the desire of the French commander to avoid another battle.

The wounded were carried in wagons and on litters, and among them was Henry. The rough journey ahead would do the young soldier no good, but there seemed no help for it, since he did not wish to be left with the French, and indeed, they did not want him.

“Those Indians mean treachery,” said one old soldier to Dave, as they marched from the fort, and he was right. Washington’s command had not covered a mile when the Indians who had aided the French fell on his pack train and began to plunder it. Seeing this, the young commander ordered all the unnecessary stuff burned, and this was done, causing the Indians to gnash their teeth in rage. They wanted to fight, but did not dare to fire a shot.

A long and weary march now lay before Washington’s command and many, especially the wounded, were much downcast. They had fought bravely but the number of the enemy had been too great for them, and a deserved victory had passed them by.

Many weary days were spent upon the road and a constant guard had to be kept lest the treacherous Indians might fall upon them. Several of the wounded died and had to be buried by the wayside. Poor Henry developed something of a fever and at times was out of his mind.

At last Will’s Creek was reached. News had been sent out ahead, and the settlers from far and wide came to welcome the returning soldiers, who were greeted with enthusiasm regardless of their defeat.

“Henry!” cried Joseph Morris, as he ran up to where his son rested on a litter. “My poor boy! Is he seriously wounded?”

“It’s bad enough,” answered Dave, soberly. “But it might be worse. The surgeon says he will get well, but it may take some months.”

“And you are wounded, too.”

“Oh, that’s little more than a scratch, Uncle Joe. But tell me, have you heard from father?”

“Not a word since you brought that notice in.”

“That is strange.”

“It is strange and I am more fearful than ever, now that the French are in possession at Great Meadows and elsewhere.”

It did not take Joseph Morris long to obtain a wagon and in this he removed his son to his home. Dave went along, having obtained permission to absent himself. What would be the next movement of the English troops nobody knew.

At home, Henry and Dave were both tenderly cared for by Mrs. Morris. As Dave had said, his wound was slight and he quickly recovered. But Henry lingered on a bed of sickness for several months.