merely firing an occasional shot and from time to time
uttering defiant yells. They were confident that Bouquet's
force would be an easy prey, and waited for daylight to
renew the battle.

The soldiers had played a heroic part. Though unused to
forest warfare, they had been cool as veterans in Indian
fighting, and not a man had fired a shot without orders.
But the bravest of them looked to the morning with dread.
They had barely been able to hold their own on this day,
and by morning the Indians would undoubtedly be greatly
strengthened. The cries and moans of the wounded vividly
reminded them of what had already happened. Besides, they
were worn out with marching and fighting; worse than
physical fatigue and more trying than the enemy's bullets
was torturing thirst; and not a drop of water could be
obtained at the place where they were hemmed in.

By the flickering light of a candle Bouquet penned one
of the noblest letters ever written by a soldier in time
of battle. He could hardly hope for success, and defeat
meant the most horrible of deaths; but he had no craven
spirit, and his report to Amherst was that of a true
soldier--a man 'whose business it is to die.' After giving
a detailed account of the occurrences leading up to this
attack and a calm statement of the events of the day,
and paying a tribute to his officers, whose conduct, he
said, 'is much above my praise,' he added: 'Whatever our
fate may be, I thought it necessary to give Your Excellency
this information... I fear unsurmountable difficulties