y.

So at last the advance commenced, and from daylight to sunset we fought
our way through the forest. It rained almost incessantly, and I admit the
work was more severe than I had ever done, for the bridle-paths were too
narrow to permit the passage of the guns and wagons, and a way had to be
cut for them; yet all the men were in good spirits, animated by the
example of Colonel Washington and the other officers. Those I came to
know best were of Captain Stephen's company, and a braver, merrier set of
men it has never been my privilege to meet. We were drawn from all the
quarters of the globe. There was Lieutenant William Poison, a Scot, who
had been concerned in the rebellion of '45, and so found it imperative to
come to Virginia to spend the remainder of his days, though at the first
scent of battle he was in arms again. There was Ensign William,
Chevalier de Peyronie, a French Protestant, driven from his home much as
the Fontaine family, and who had settled in Virginia. There was
Lieutenant Thomas Waggoner, whom I was to know so well a year later. And
above all, there was Ensign Carolus Gustavus de Spiltdorph, a quiet,
unassuming fellow, but brave as a lion, who lies to-day in an unmarked
grave on the bank of the Monongahela. I can see him yet, with his blue
eyes and blond beard, sitting behind a cloud of smoke in one corner of
the tent, listening to our wild talk with a queer gleam in his eyes, and
putting in a word of dry sarcasm now and then. For when the day's march
was done, those of us who were not on duty gathered in our tent and
talked of the time when we should meet the French. And Peyronie, because,
though a Frenchman, he had suffered most at their hands, was the most
bloodthirsty of us all.

Then the first blow fell. It was the night of the twentieth of April, and
our force had halted near Colonel Cresap's house, sixteen miles from
Will's Creek. I was in charge of the sentries to the west of the camp.
The weather had been cold and threatening, with a dash of rain now and
then, and we had made only five miles that day, the guns and wagons
miring in the muddy road, which for the most part was through a marsh. As
evening came, the rain had set in steadily, and the sentries protected
themselves as best they could behind the trees or under hastily
constructed shelters. I had just made my first round and found all well,
when I heard a sentry near by challenge sharply.

"What is it?" I cried, hastening to him,