t warfare, they had been cool as veterans in Indian
fighting, and not a man had fired a shot without orders.
But the bravest of them looked to the morning with dread.
They had barely been able to hold their own on this day,
and by morning the Indians would undoubtedly be greatly
strengthened. The cries and moans of the wounded vividly
reminded them of what had already happened. Besides, they
were worn out with marching and fighting; worse than
physical fatigue and more trying than the enemy's bullets
was torturing thirst; and not a drop of water could be
obtained at the place where they were hemmed in.

By the flickering light of a candle Bouquet penned one
of the noblest letters ever written by a soldier in time
of battle. He could hardly hope for success, and defeat
meant the most horrible of deaths; but he had no craven
spirit, and his report to Amherst was that of a true
soldier--a man 'whose business it is to die.' After giving
a detailed account of the occurrences leading up to this
attack and a calm statement of the events of the day,
and paying a tribute to his officers, whose conduct, he
said, 'is much above my praise,' he added: 'Whatever our
fate may be, I thought it necessary to give Your Excellency
this information... I fear unsurmountable difficulties
in protecting and transporting our provisions, being
already so much weakened by the loss in this day of men
and horses.' Sending a messenger back with this dispatch,
he set himself to plan for the morrow.

At daybreak from the surrounding wood the terrifying
war-cries of the Indians fell on the ears of the troops.
Slowly the shrill yells came nearer; the Indians were
endeavouring to strike terror into the hearts of their
foes before renewing the fight, knowing that troops in
dread of death are already half beaten. When within five
hundred yards of the centre of the camp the Indians began
firing. The troops replied with great steadiness. This
continued until ten in the morning. The wounded within
the barricade lay listening to the sounds of battle, ever
increasing in volume, and the fate of Braddock's men rose
before them. It seemed certain that their sufferings must
end in death--and what a death! The pack-horses, tethered
at a little distance from the barricade, offered an easy
target, against which the Indians soon directed their
fire, and the piteous cries of the wounded animals added
to the tumult of the battle. Some of the horses, maddened
by w