d in a private rencounter, had prevented
him from doing his duty, when his country required his service; and he
took the field with a fusil in his hand, though he was hardly able to
carry his arms. In leading up his men to the enemy's intrenchment,
he was shot through the lungs with a musquet ball, an accident which
obliged him to part with his fusil: but he still continued advancing;
until, by the loss of blood, he became too weak to proceed farther.
About the same time Mr. Peyton was lamed by a shot, which shattered the
small hone of his left leg. The soldiers, in their retreat, earnestly
begged, with tears in their eyes, that captain Ochterlony would allow
them to carry him and the ensign off the field. But he was so bigoted to
a severe point of honour, that he would not quit the ground, though he
desired they would take care of his ensign. Mr. Peyton, with a generous
disdain, rejected their good offices, declaring, that he would not leave
his captain in such a situation; and in a little time they remained the
sole survivors of that part of the field.

Captain Ochterlony sat down by his friend; and, as they expected nothing
but immediate death, they took leave of each other. Yet they were not
altogether abandoned by the hope of being protected as prisoners: for
the captain, seeing a French soldier with two Indians approach, started
up, and accosting them in the French language, which he spoke perfectly
well, expressed his expectation that they would treat him and his
companion as officers, prisoners, and gentlemen. The two Indians seemed
to be entirely under the conduct of the Frenchman, who coming up to Mr.
Peyton, as he sat on the ground, snatched his laced hat from his head,
and robbed the captain of his watch and money. This outrage was a
signal to the Indians for murder and pillage. One of them, clubbing his
firelock, struck at him behind, with a view to knock him down; but the
blow missing his head, took place upon his shoulder. At the same instant
the other Indian poured his shot into the breast of this unfortunate
young gentleman; who cried out, "Oh, Peyton, the villain has shot me."
Not yet satisfied with cruelty, the barbarian sprung upon him, and
stabbed him in the belly with his scalping-knife. The captain having
parted with his fusil, had no weapon for his defence, as none of the
officers wore swords in the action. The three ruffians, finding him
still alive, endeavoured to strangle him with his own sash;