The French and Indian fire increased, so that the balls whistled thickly. The French soldiers were covered by the trees of the point and the slope sixty yards and one hundred yards away; the Indians climbed into the trees themselves; and from above the fort they all could shoot down into it. Then the Virginians and the Mackaye men began to answer with muskets and cannon, so that the ground and the air shook, and one could scarcely see through the smoke.
The battle lasted all the rest of the day. The cows ran hither and thither, and the French Indians shot them. In the ditches and in the fort itself men were being struck. Ensign Peyroney was badly wounded. The cannon had been placed upon dirt platforms to shoot over the logs, but the gunners were picked off when they reloaded and aimed. The dirt of the breastworks got soft from the rain, and flowed down into the trenches. Much of this the Hunter learned a little later, for now he was out in the ditches with the Long Knives, who shot well. Every little while an Indian fell from a tree, or a French soldier sprang up and toppled down.
But the weather fought against Washington. He sought no cover—he moved along, behind his men, encouraging them, and so did Doctor Craik, seeking the wounded. In the afternoon another thunder storm broke; the rain poured in sheets, the men could not fire their muskets, and the ditch was almost level with water.
Washington gave orders and they all went back to crowd into the trenches of the fort, which were not much better. After the thunder storm the sky cleared somewhat. The fight opened again. The Washington men could not get out, the French dared not come in.
“If we can hold till morning, I think we have them whipped,” said Washington to Major Muse.
“That, if our ammunition holds out also,” said Major Muse. “The men have scarce a handful of bullets and a dozen charges of powder apiece; the guns are fouled and no way of cleaning them.”
“The French may be in worse shape, sir,” Washington declared.
Now it was getting too dark to shoot. The little fort was littered with dead and wounded; one-third of all the Long Knives and the Mackaye soldiers were out of action. But, as Washington had said, the French might be no better off.
Then from the dusk on the edge of the nearest woods somebody called in French: