Colonel Williams, seeing rising ground on his right, made for it, calling his men to follow; but, as he climbed the slope, the enemy’s fire flashed out from behind every tree, and he fell dead.  The men in the rear pressed forward to support their comrades, when the enemy in the bushes on the right flank also opened fire.

Then a panic began.  Some fled at once for the camp, and the whole column recoiled in confusion, as from all sides the enemy burst out, shouting and yelling.  Colonel Whiting, however, bravely rallied a portion of Williams’ regiment, and, aided by some of the Mohawks, and by a detachment which Johnson sent out to his aid, covered the retreat, fighting behind the trees like the Indians, and falling back in good order with their faces to the enemy.

So stern and obstinate was their resistance that the French halted three-quarters of a mile from the camp.  They had inflicted a heavy blow, but had altogether failed in obtaining the complete success they looked for.  The obstinate defence of Whiting and his men had surprised and dispirited them, and Dieskau, when he collected his men, found the Indians sullen and unmanageable, and the Canadians unwilling to advance further, for they were greatly depressed by the loss of a veteran officer, Saint Pierre, who commanded them, and who had been killed in the fight.  At length, however, he persuaded all to move forward, the regulars leading the way.

James Walsham had not accompanied the column, and was sitting at breakfast with General Johnson, on the stump of a tree in front of his tent, when, on the still air, a rattling sound broke out.

“Musketry!” was the general exclamation.

An instantaneous change came over the camp.  The sound of laughing and talking was hushed, and every man stopped at his work.  Louder and louder swelled the distant sound, until the shots could no longer be distinguished apart.  The rattle had become a steady roll.

“It is a regular engagement!” the general exclaimed.  “The enemy must be in force, and must have attacked Williams’ column.”

General Johnson ordered one of his orderlies to mount and ride out at full speed and see what was going on.  A quarter of an hour passed.  No one returned to his work.  The men stood in groups, talking in low voices, and listening to the distant roar.

“It is clearer than it was,” the general exclaimed.

Several of the officers standing round agreed that the sound was approaching.

“To work, lads!” the general said.  “There is no time to be lost.  Let all the axemen fell trees and lay them end to end to make a breastwork.  The rest of you range the waggons in a line behind, and lay the boats up in the intervals.  Carry the line from the swamp, on the right there, to the slope of the hill.”

In an instant, the camp was a scene of animation, and the forest resounded with the strokes of the axe, and the shouts of the men as they dragged the waggons to their position.