Although the hardships would be so great, Robert Rogers had no difficulty in obtaining all the men he wanted. The settlers had suffered so much from the enemy that they were eager to take their revenge. There was a fascination in the service. How stirring the thought of stealing through the woods, making roundabout marches, shooting a deer or bear, eating the nice steaks, lying down to sleep beneath the trees; up again in the morning, coming upon the French and Indians unawares, pouring in a volley, killing the savages or taking them prisoners, and returning in triumph!
Major Rogers chose as lieutenant the man who had knocked the Indians about, right and left, when called upon to run the gauntlet—John Stark, who could follow a trail as well as any Indian, who was always cool and collected, and as brave as a lion. The men were called Rangers. They wore green frocks, and besides their rifles each man had a long knife which he could use in a close fight. They wore boots and leather leggings, and each man carried his rations—bread and cold corned beef—in a bag.
The ice on Lake George was thick and strong in March, 1757, when the Rangers, seventy-four in number, with iron spurs on their feet, several days' rations in their bags, their blankets rolled upon their shoulders, marching in single file, with trailed arms, Major Rogers at the head, and John Stark in the rear, started from Fort William Henry.
They made their way over the gleaming ice for two days, but on the third day they left the lake, put on their snow-shoes, entered the woods, marched past Ticonderoga, and came out upon the western shore of Lake Champlain, discovered a party of French, with horses and sleds, on their way from Ticonderoga to Crown Point. Stark, with a part of the Rangers, made a dash and captured seven prisoners. He did not see another party of French around a point of land in season to capture them. They escaped to Ticonderoga, and gave the alarm.
Major Rogers knew that a large party of French and Indians would be sent out from Ticonderoga to intercept him, and at once started to return.
It was a rainy day. The snow was damp and heavy. "We will go to our last night's camp, and dry our guns," said Major Rogers.
They reached the camping-place, where the fires were still burning, dried their guns, put in new priming, and started once more, Rogers in front, Stark bringing up the rear.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Rogers descended a hill, crossed a brook, and was picking his way up another hill, when he found himself face to face with more than two hundred French and Indians, the nearest not twenty feet distant.
A volley. Lieutenant Kennedy and John Gardiner fall dead; a bullet glances from Rogers's skull, for a moment taking away his senses; the blood flows down his face, blinding him. Several other Rangers are wounded.
"Form here."