In the next minute the heads of the several columns debouched from the wood, and, the whole advancing in double quick time, with their arms at the trail, moved across the meadow in the several directions assigned them.  The space to be traversed by Captain Cranstoun’s division was considerably the shortest of the three; but, on the other hand, he was opposed to that part of the enemy’s defences where there was the least cover afforded to an assailing force.  Meanwhile there was an utter repose in the fort; which for some moments induced the belief that the Americans were preparing to surrender their trust without a struggle, and loud yells from the Indians, who, from their cover in the rear, watched the progress of the troops with admiration and surprise, were pealed forth as if in encouragement to the latter to proceed.  But the American Commander had planned his defence with skill.  No sooner had the several columns got within half musket shot, than a tremendous fire of musketry and rifles was opened upon them from two distinct faces of the stockade.  Captain Cranstoun’s division, being the nearest, was the first attacked, and suffered considerably without attempting to return a shot.  At the first discharge, the two leading sergeants, and many of the men, were knocked down; but neither Cranstoun, nor Middlemore, nor Grantham, were touched.

“Foorward men, foorward,” shouted the former, brandishing his sword, and dashing down a deep ravine, that separated them from the trenches.

“On, my gallant fellows, on!—­the left column for ever,” cried Middlemore, imitating the example of his Captain, and, in his eagerness to reach the ditch first, leaving his men to follow as they could.

Few of these, however, needed the injunction.  Although galled by the severe fire of the enemy, they followed their leaders down the ravine with a steadiness worthy of a better result; then, climbing up the opposite ascent, under a shower of bullets, yet without pulling a trigger themselves, made for the ditch their officer had already gained.

Cranstoun, still continuing in advance, was the first who arrived on the brink.  For a moment he paused, as if uncertain what course to pursue, then, seeing Middlemore close behind him, he leaped in, and striking a blow of his sabre upon the stockade, called loudly upon the axemen to follow.  While he was yet shouting, a ball from a loop-hole, not three feet above his head, entered his brain, and he fell dead across the trench.

“Ha! well have you won your wager, my noble Captain!” exclaimed Middlemore, putting his hand to his chest, and staggering from the effect of a shot he had that instant received.  “You are indeed the better man,” (he continued excited beyond his usual calm by the circumstances in which he found himself placed, yet unable to resist his dominating propensity, even at such a moment,) “and deserve the palm of honor this day.  Forward, men, forward:  —­axemen do your duty.  Down with the stockade, my lads, and give them a bellyfull of steel.”