Of course I should have reloaded before I attempted this; but one does not always do the right thing, especially in a hot fight. I had gone but a short distance when an Indian fired at me from the bushes, and then ran at me with a tomahawk.
I turned, parried the blow with my gun, and the tomahawk was struck from his hand.
We grappled each other. He was a fine, large man, decked out with feathers and warpaint, and was the strongest and most active man I ever got hold of. He seemed to be made of steel springs. As I struggled with him, I couldn't help thinking, "What a splendid wrestler you would make if you only knew the tricks!" I gave him Jonas Parker's best throw, and we came down together, and I on top.
The fall knocked the wind out of him and partly stunned him. I got hold of my hatchet and brained him. I had not noticed or thought of anything but him. But now I heard a crack! crack! zip! zip!
As I started to run I felt a pain in my left arm, and also in my left leg. But I got off to our men among the bushes, and they bound my arm up, and put a bandage round my leg.
I saw an Indian leap in among the regulars, and kill two men with his hatchet. Then he jumped on a log and taunted our men. A soldier struck at him with his gun and made him bleed. The Indian was returning the blow with his tomahawk, when Rogers shot him.
I was still able to load and shoot. We fought some two hours before they gave way. At last they broke up into little parties and ran off. We remained and buried our dead.
BEN WOUNDED
We lost about fifty men. The French and Indians left over one hundred dead on the field; and their loss was much heavier, for they carried off most of their dead.