The cannon were tugged through; and the wagons and the cattle and the pack horses splashed high; and the Long Knife Americans marched, in their buckskins and their blue, guarding the rear. There were scouts out, too, up stream and down stream—grenadiers. And at last—huzzah!—the whole army was across. The French and Indians were too late to stop it there!
As nobody came, Robert dropped out of his tree, and grabbed up his gun and ran again. He might yet be in time, while Beaujeu was planning another ambush.
He went scudding on, down hill and up, on short cut once more, to reach Washington and tell him; he had gone maybe half way from the tree to Fraser’s near the river when “Crack! Crack! Crackity-crack crack! Bang! Bangity bang! Bang-bang-bang! Bang-g-g-g!” the woods shook! The battle! He himself was too late.
Just how Robert arrived at the scene he did not know. He must have run very fast, for the first thing he did know he was right into the yelling and the shooting and the smoke—and the French Indians!
These were the Hurons, hiding behind trees and logs and bushes, or darting around from cover to cover, while they shot. He just saw Beaujeu, leaping like a deer and cheering in French while he waved to the Canadian Rangers to come on. And on before, through the trees, there showed a mass of red—the coats of the English, who stood in the trail. Then from the red there belched a great cloud, and another thunderous volley, crashing through the woods. The bullets whined among the branches, as if the English were aiming too high; but down fell Beaujeu, and down sprawled several Hurons, dead.
A cry rose from the French Rangers. They were running away, crying: “Save yourself! Save yourself!” But another French officer sprang out, calling them back. The English in red coats were pressing on, through the narrow trail of freshly felled trees, and what they cried was: “Huzzah! Huzzah! God save the King!”
Then the English column parted, two cannon spoke with tremendous noise, and a storm of bullets rushed through the trees, splintering the bark and cutting off branches. At that terrible thunder and lightning the Indians ran also, to one side and another; and Robert likewise scuttled, for the cannons were to speak again, this time into the face of a great volley from more French soldiers who had come on.
More red-coats were coming, too, at the double-quick, from down the slope. But the Indians had not run far. They were spread on both sides of the narrow road: they were hiding in hollows and ravines, where the pea-vines grew thickly and the trees clustered, and were shooting and yelling.
Next, Robert found himself among the Potawatomis. And still he edged along, seeking to get around and find a way in to Washington.
The woods all about him were full of darting, crawling, shrieking painted figures, scarcely to be seen amid the brush and the smoke. The noise was dreadful, while the English volleys answered the French volleys, and the great guns boomed, and the muskets and rifles of the Indians whanged without a pause.