burning.

It was a savage sort of warfare, but it was the work of the Rangers
to repay ferocity in kind, and to leave behind them dread tokens of
the visits they paid.

Whilst the terrified inhabitants and the angry soldiers were
striving to extinguish the flames, and vituperating Rogers and his
company, these bold Rangers themselves were fleeing down the lake
as fast as snowshoes could take them, full of satisfaction at the
havoc they had wrought, and intent upon leaving their mark at
Ticonderoga before they passed on to Fort William Henry.

Guarded as it was by fortifications and surrounded by Indian spies,
Rogers and his men approached it cautiously, yet without fear; for
they knew every inch of the ground, and they were so expert in all
woodcraft and strategic arts that they could lie hidden in
brushwood within speaking distance of the foe, yet not betray their
presence by so much as the crackle of a twig.

It was night when they neared the silent fort. A dying moon gave
faint light. The advancing party glided like ghosts along the
opposite bank. A sentry here and there tramped steadily. The
Rangers could hear the exchange of salute and the rattle of a
grounded musket. But no sign did they make of their presence. They
kept close in the black shadow, and halted in a cavern-like spot
well known to them from intimate acquaintance.

Richard Rogers had been sent scouting by his brother, and came in
with news.