his wife; “there seemed to be nothing but thunder and lightning and perpetual pillars of smoke.”  To him, his colleague Doctor Pynchon, one assistant, and a young student called “Billy,” fell the charge of the wounded of his regiment.  “The bullets flew about our ears all the time of dressing them; so we thought best to leave our tent and retire a few rods behind the shelter of a log-house.”  On the adjacent hill stood one Blodget, who seems to have been a sutler, watching, as well as bushes, trees, and smoke would let him, the progress of the fight, of which he soon after made and published a curious bird’s-eye view.  As the wounded men were carried to the rear, the wagoners about the camp took their guns and powder-horns, and joined in the fray.  A Mohawk, seeing one of these men still unarmed, leaped over the barricade, tomahawked the nearest Canadian, snatched his gun, and darted back unhurt.  The brave savage found no imitators among his tribesmen, most of whom did nothing but utter a few war-whoops, saying that they had come to see their English brothers fight.  Some of the French Indians opened a distant flank fire from the high ground beyond the swamp on the right, but were driven off by a few shells dropped among them.

Dieskau had directed his first attack against the left and center of Johnson’s position.  Making no impression here, he tried to force the right, where lay the regiments of Titcomb, Ruggles, and Williams.  The fire was hot for about an hour.  Titcomb was shot dead, a rod in front of the barricade, firing from behind a tree like a common soldier.  At length Dieskau, exposing himself within short range of the English line, was hit in the leg.  His adjutant, Montreuil, himself wounded, came to his aid, and was washing the injured limb with brandy, when the unfortunate commander was again hit in the knee and thigh.  He seated himself behind a tree, while the Adjutant called two Canadians to carry him to the rear.  One of them was instantly shot down.  Montreuil took his place; but Dieskau refused to be moved, bitterly denounced the Canadians and Indians, and ordered the Adjutant to leave him and lead the regulars in a last effort against the camp.

It was too late.  Johnson’s men, singly or in small squads, already crossing their row of logs; and in a few moments the whole dashed forward with a shout, falling upon the enemy with hatchets and the butts of their guns.  The French and their allies fled.  The wounded General still sat helpless by the tree, when he saw a soldier aiming at him.  He signed to the man not to fire; but he pulled trigger, shot him across the hips, leaped upon him, and ordered him in French to surrender.  “I said,” writes Dieskau, “’You rascal, why did you fire?  You see a man lying in his blood on the ground, and you shoot him!’ He answered:  ’How did I know that you had not got a pistol?  I had rather kill the devil than have the devil kill me.’  ‘You are a Frenchman?’ I asked.  ‘Yes,’ he replied; ‘it is more than ten years since I left Canada;’ whereupon several others fell on me and stripped me.  I told them to carry me to their general, which they did.  On learning who I was, he sent for surgeons, and, though wounded himself, refused all assistance till my wounds were dressed."[312]