ves in two long parallel lines, between
which he was told that he must run, the faster the better, as they would
beat him all the way. He ran with his best speed, under a shower of
blows, and had nearly reached the end of the course, when he was knocked
down. He tried to rise, but was blinded by a handful of sand thrown into
his face; and then they beat him till he swooned. On coming to his
senses he found himself in the fort, with the surgeon opening a vein in
his arm and a crowd of French and Indians looking on. In a few days he
was able to walk with the help of a stick; and, coming out from his
quarters one morning, he saw a memorable scene.[216]

[Footnote 215: See Appendix D.]

[Footnote 216: _Account of Remarkable Occurrences in the Life of Colonel
James Smith, written by himself_. Perhaps the best of all the numerous
narratives of captives among the Indians.]

Three days before, an Indian had brought the report that the English
were approaching; and the Chevalier de la Perade was sent out to
reconnoitre.[217] He returned on the next day, the seventh, with news
that they were not far distant. On the eighth the brothers Normanville
went out, and found that they were within six leagues of the fort. The
French were in great excitement and alarm; but Contrecoeur at length
took a resolution, which seems to have been inspired by Beaujeu.[218] It
was determined to meet the enemy on the march, and ambuscade them if
possible at the crossing of the Monongahela, or some other favorable
spot. Beaujeu proposed the plan to the Indians, and offered them the
war-hatchet; but they would not take it. "Do you want to die, my father,
and sacrifice us besides?" That night they held a council, and in the
morning again refused to go. Beaujeu did not despair. "I am determined,"
he exclaimed, "to meet the English. What! will you let your father go
alone?"[219] The greater part caught fire at his words, promised to
follow him and put on their war-paint. Beaujeu received the communion,
then dressed himself like a savage, and joined the clamorous throng.
Open barrels of gunpowder and bullets were set before the gate of the
fort, and James Smith, painfully climbing the rampart with the help of
his stick, looked down on the warrior rabble as, huddling together, wild
with excitement, they scooped up the contents to fill their powder-horns
and pouches. Then, band after band, they filed off along the forest
track that led to the ford of the Mon