But the Long Knives kept falling back, from tree to tree. Colonel Washington was with them now, ordering and urging: “Stand firm, lads! Waste no shot. Brave boys! Keep to cover.”
“To cover yourself, major!” barked George Croghan. “You’ve been singled out—you’ve four bullets through your clothes. There’ll be a fifth.”
Most of the soldiers had crossed the ford, and the Long Knife Americans at last crossed also—facing and firing at the Indians who burst into the road, hot for plunder.
That ended the battle. Doctor Craik was waiting on the other side of the river.
“You’re not hurt, colonel?” he asked of Washington.
“No, sir. But I think I’m the only officer on the General’s staff unwounded. Two horses were shot from under me.”
“I looked to see you killed, a dozen times,” exclaimed Doctor Craik. “I hear that the General is wounded. Is that so?”
“Yes, sir; and badly.”
“I must go to him at once.” Doctor Craik looked at his large, gold watch. “Bless me! Five o’clock! What a bloody day for His Majesty’s arms! Who would have thought it! The best troops of Europe defeated by savages and a handful of French!”
“Aye, doctor; and saved from utter destruction by a handful of those whom the General was pleased to term ‘backwoodsmen’ and ‘farmers’” said Washington, a little bitterly. “Would we all had been backwoodsmen, and fought fire with fire. If the Virginians had only been given the advance, as I implored they might—but no matter. If the General survives, next time there will be a different story, for now he knows the value of the American Volunteer.”