fight waxed fierce and hot. But Stark held to his post on the
spur of the hill, where he saw how the foe was trying to get round
to their rear; and again and again his well-aimed volleys sent them
flying back decimated to their companions.

But how was it going with the others? The firing was incessant, and
shouts and cries told of death and disaster on both sides. Stark
bid Fritz make a dash for the main body and bring back word. The
brief winter's day was beginning to draw to a close. There was
something terrible in the brightness of the fire that was streaming
from the thickets as the daylight failed. It seemed as though the
very forest was in flames; and the crack of musketry was almost
unceasing.

"They are calling upon us to surrender," said Fritz, hastening back
with his tale. "The French are calling upon Rogers by name, begging
him to trust to their honour and clemency, and promising the best
of treatment if he and his brave men will surrender. They are
calling out that it is a pity so many bold men should perish like
brute beasts. But Rogers stands like a rock, and replies by volley
after volley. He has been hit through the wrist, and his head is
bound about by a cloth; but he looks like a lion at bay, and will
not yield one inch."

"Let us back to his side, and make one great charge against the
foe!" shouted Stark, who saw that no further flank movement was to
be anticipated now. His men answered by a cheer. They were ready
for any display of gallantry and courage, and swore by Stark, who
was beloved of all for his happy temper and cheerful, dauntless
bravery.

Up the shoulder of the hill and across the ridge they dashed. They
shouted their cry of "Rogers' Rangers! Rogers' Rangers!" It was
taken up by those upon the top, who gathered together and made a
blind rush down towards their foe. The French, taken by surprise at
this impetuosity, and afraid of the darkness of the forest, made
off in haste for Ticonderoga, having worked sad havoc amongst the
bold Rangers, who were left alone with their wounded and dead, the
shades of night gathering fast round them, and the camp of the foe
within a few miles.

It was a situation of grave peril; but Rogers was not to be
daunted. He buried his dead; he gathered together the wounded, and
afraid to allow even a night for rest, he marched his party all
through the night, and by morning they were upon the shores of Lake
George.

"I will fetch a sledge for the wound