From almost the start Colonel Washington was in the thickest of the fight. As an aide to Braddock he did his best to rally the men and also tried to get the cannoneers to bring their weapons into position, even going so far as to train and fire one of the pieces himself.

“Take to the woods!” were his orders to the Virginia Rangers. “Surround the grenadiers and drive the Indians back. Perhaps we can then take care of the French.”

Soon the rangers, and all of the other colonial troops, were in the woods, fighting the French and the Indians on their own ground. Time and again they rallied around the fatal spot where the royal troops remained exposed, and this should have given the soldiers from England fresh courage, but it did not. Still panic-stricken they fired into the Rangers, cutting down several before the mistake was discovered.

“If they’d only come out in the open,” cried one old grenadier. “I’d fight them all day then!” His sentiment was the sentiment of all his fellows, but the French and their Indian allies knew better, and continued to keep under cover, while cutting down every Englishman at whom they could get a shot.

With the fall of Braddock and a number of the other officers, the command fell upon Washington. The young Virginian was full of the blood of battle and had the contest depended upon his individual heroism the English would certainly have carried the day. Fearless of personal danger he rode around, having two horses shot from under him and receiving four bullet holes through his coat. Again and again did the French and Indians fire upon him, but he seemed to bear a charmed life, as if Providence was shielding him for greater deeds.

At last the truth forced itself home to all who remained alive. Braddock’s awful blunder in trying to fight the Indians and French according to the rules of European warfare had brought about complete defeat. Hundreds of the grenadiers had fallen and among the other troops the slaughter had been just as great. The artillery was practically deserted and the wagoneers cut their horses from the traces and mounted them in a mad frenzy to get away from the scene of slaughter. The shouting and whooping was terrific, and the Indians not only killed but scalped their victims at every opportunity.

It was now that Washington shone forth in his true character, able to calculate wisely even in such a moment of intense excitement. He had seen Braddock borne to the rear, slowly dying but still conscious and able to speak.

“Colonel, what is to be done?” asked the general.

“Retreat,” answered Washington, grimly. “Your men will not fight further, the assault has paralyzed them. The Rangers will cover the retreat.”

“As you think best,” sighed Braddock, and then continued, half to himself: “Who would have thought it! Who would have thought it!”

Again Washington went to the front, past the flying wagoneers and others who had been in charge of the heavy baggage. All was in hopeless confusion, some of the soldiers were on their knees calling upon their savage enemies to spare them. The forest was full of gun smoke, and the dead and wounded lay everywhere, dyeing the soil with their blood.

At last Washington made himself heard and managed to make those who remained understand that they must retreat in order or every man would be killed. The few officers who remained unhurt rallied to the support and the Rangers formed a body guard, beating back the French and Indians who wished to rush in and make the victory greater than it already was. The whooping and yelling went on and with it the shooting, until at last the English gained the river. Then the pursuit came to an end, the Indians stopping to gather up the baggage and other spoils left by the English and the French not caring to continue the fight unaided.

Dave and Barringford were with the Rangers when the first order came to scatter into the woods and “beat up” the French and their Indian allies. Forward went the pair side by side, for they meant to keep together, come what might.

“There are some of the varmin!” cried Barringford, suddenly, and dropped behind a rock. He had seen three Indians ahead, crouching behind a clump of bushes. The red men were in the act of firing on the grenadiers in the glade. As their rifles rang out, so did that of the old hunter, and one of the Indians pitched backward, dead. Then Dave fired and the second red man fell, wounded in the breast. The third took to his heels.

But some French soldiers had now discovered our friends and while they were reloading half a dozen bullets clipped through the bushes around them.

“Come, this is too hot a place for us!” ejaculated Barringford, and ran with might and main for another shelter. As they gained it, they heard a crashing in a tree at their side, and saw a French sharpshooter coming down with his rifle slung over his back. Again Barringford blazed away and another enemy fell, to rise no more.

“The Indians are coming this way!” cried Dave, suddenly. “See, a whole company is on the run!”

“Oh, fer a cannon to train on ’em!” muttered Barringford, who was reloading his hot piece with all speed. “Give it to ’em, Dave. Take the leader.”

Dave did “give it to ’em,” aiming at the leader, and the Indian fell so quickly that two of his warriors stumbled over him. Then the Indians caught sight of our friends and whooping in a rage bore down on Dave and Barringford with all speed.

Not to be caught, the young soldier and his companion fled to another portion of the forest. Here there was a rise of ground and from this spot they could catch sight of the opening where stood the larger portion of the grenadiers in hopeless terror. As they came into view several of the royal troops opened fire on them, putting a bullet through Dave’s coat and another through Barringford’s rather long hair.

“Willikins! they take us fer Frenchmen!” roared Barringford. “It was a close shave, wasn’t it? Git out o’ sight, lad!” And he pulled Dave flat.

After such an experience the young soldier was willing to go into hiding, and lying among some tree roots, the pair spent ten minutes in getting back their breath. Several other Rangers were in the vicinity, all occupying something of a semi-circle and each on the alert for the first sight of a French soldier or Indian enemy.

At the end of the rest, Barringford crawled forward on hands and knees until he reached a large rock with a split in the center. Dave followed the old hunter. From this point they could see a detachment of the French behind some brushwood to their right. Down in the glade was Washington, trying to place the troops in order for retreat.

“They are going to fire on Washington!” cried Dave. Scarcely had he spoken when Barringford’s weapon rang out and one of the French soldiers fell.

The others looked toward the split in the rocks and just then Dave fired, but missed his mark. The French soldiers gave a yell and turned their aim on our friends. Several bullets hit the rocks and one cutting across Dave’s cheek left a mark which the lad carried to his grave.

“You are hurt!” cried Barringford.

“It’s nothing,” answered Dave, putting up his hand. “But we must get out of here!”

They fell down and crawled off, and were not a minute too soon, for presently the French came to the spot in a body. In the meantime the other Rangers had left the vicinity and now the grenadiers were in full retreat.

“Our men have moved in this direction,” said the old hunter, as they stopped to reload. “We had better go after them, or we’ll be left behind.”

“It’s hot work!” panted Dave. “I wish there was a brook handy, where I could wash my face and get a drink.”

But nothing was at hand, and he had to push on, with his face covered with blood, dust and gun soot, making him look as fierce as any Indian. The yelling kept on, and also the firing, but they noticed that both came from a considerable distance.

“This day is a loss to us,” said Barringford, sadly. “And Braddock is responsible. With all the soldiers in the woods we could have fought our way to the fort beyond a doubt.”

“This ends the hope of releasing father, if he is alive,” returned Dave, sadly.

They went on, until they came to another clump of brushwood. Here they found two Rangers, each badly wounded and moaning because of his hurts.

“Dobley!” cried Barringford, as he recognized one of the unfortunates. “This is rough on ye.”

“Save me, Barringford,” answered the man addressed. “Don’t let the Indians come and scalp me.”

“Save me, too,” put in the other Ranger.

Barringford and Dave came to a halt and gazed at each other in perplexity. They were perfectly willing to save the men, but how could it be done?

“I can carry one of ’em,” said the old hunter to Dave. “But the other——”

“I will see what I can do,” answered the young soldier. “Perhaps we can get to some sort of safe place.”

Slinging their rifles over their backs, they took up the wounded Rangers and placed them over their shoulders. Then Barringford struck out through the forest, hoping to make a wide detour and thus gain the river at the point to which the main body of the English army was retreating.

A hundred yards were covered, when a wild yelling sounded out close at hand, and in a twinkle the little party was surrounded. Several shots rang out and the Ranger Dave was carrying was instantly killed. Then Dave himself felt a sudden sharp pain in the back of the head and pitched forward insensible.