“You won’t surrender, eh?” bawled in broken French an old Indian chief.  “Fire away then and fight your best; for if we catch you after this, you shall get no quarter!”

The response to this threat was the heavy boom of the cannon as Fort William Henry discharged its first round of artillery.

For a moment it produced immense effect amongst the swarms of painted savages, who scuttled away yelling with fear; for though well used to the sound of musketry, and having considerable skill with firearms themselves, they had never heard the roar of big guns before, and the screaming of the shells as they whistled overhead filled them with terror and amaze.

They were intensely eager for the French guns to be got into position, and were a perfect nuisance to the regular soldiers, as they worked with intrepid industry at their trenches and mounds.  But before long even the Indians were satisfied with the prolonged roar of artillery, which lasted day after day, day after day; whilst within their walls the brave but diminished garrison looked vainly for succour, and examined with a sinking heart their diminished store of ammunition and their cracked and overheated guns.

“It cannot go on long like this,” the officers said one to the other.  “What is the General doing over yonder?  He must hear by the heavy firing what straits we are in.  He knows the condition of the fort.  He should risk and dare everything to come to our aid.  If this fort is lost, then our western frontier has lost its only point of defence against the inroads of Indians and the encroachments of France.”

A few days later and a cry went up from the walls, “A white flag! a white flag!” and for a moment a wild hope surged up in the hearts of the soldiers that the enemy had grown tired of the game of war, and had some proposal to make.

The messenger brought a letter.  It was not from the French commander himself, though it was delivered with a courteous message from him.  It had been found upon the body of a white man slain by the Indians a few days before, and brought to the French camp.  The Marquis de Montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for whom it was intended.

“Give my thanks,” said Monro, “to the Marquis for his courtesy, and tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a foe.”

But the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless garrison.  It came from General Webb, and repeated that, until reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison of Fort William Henry; and advised Colonel Monro to make the best terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for him to withstand.

It was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of surrender.  Men and officers stood in knots together gloomily surveying the scene.

“We have done what men can do,” said Captain Pringle to his friends Fritz and Roche; “but where are we now?  A third of our men are sick and wounded.  Almost all our big guns are burst.  The enemy’s trenches are being pushed nearer and nearer, and there are still more of their guns to be brought to bear.  Our wall is breached; I marvel they have not already made an assault.  There is nothing for it but surrender, if we can obtain honourable terms of capitulation.”