But it was no use. Robert ran too, for the road was like a stream. He had to run, or be swept down and trampled upon. There was shooting from either side, and shooting behind, and the Virginians were still darting from tree to tree, answering with their guns. But the red-coat soldiers seemed to have shot all their ammunition—and not to much purpose, either.
After a short time he came out of the boiling current into a little eddy formed by an oak tree overhanging the road. Washington was here, with two other officers, bending over General Braddock.
General Braddock was not so angry of face, now; he was paling, and blood was welling from his right arm and his chest. He had been shot through, and could scarcely speak. It looked to be a bad wound. A brave man, this. Robert afterward heard that he had five horses killed under him before he himself was struck.
The soldiers were pouring past, and paid no attention. Not one stopped, for the Indians were yelling the scalp yells. The two officers with Washington ran out and ordered and pleaded; then they stopped a little cart; they carried the General to it, and put him upon it, and trundled him on.
Washington turned about. He saw the Hunter, and he looked astonished.
“What are you doing here? Go to safety!”
“I stay with Washington,” Robert answered.
“Then you shall work. Find me my horse. We must help my Virginians hold the enemy from the ford.”
Washington ran forward. Every loose horse had been seized by the soldiers, who galloped right over Robert. So he followed Washington again, who was trying to halt the soldiers, and make them join the Virginians. Doctor Craik came on, helping a wounded officer.
The Virginians were holding the rear and the woods at the foot of the hill. The Indians were pressing them closely. Had it not been for the Long Knife Americans in blue buckskin many of these soldiers never would have reached the ford. And likely the Indians would have crossed and killed all between the fords.