Chapter 3

They made their way over the gleaming ice for two days, but on the third day they left the lake, put on their snow-shoes, entered the woods, marched past Ticonderoga, and came out upon the western shore of Lake Champlain, discovered a party of French, with horses and sleds, on their way from Ticonderoga to Crown Point. Stark, with a part of the Rangers, made a dash and captured seven prisoners. He did not see another party of French around a point of land in season to capture them. They escaped to Ticonderoga, and gave the alarm.

Major Rogers knew that a large party of French and Indians would be sent out from Ticonderoga to intercept him, and at once started to return.

It was a rainy day. The snow was damp and heavy. "We will go to our last night's camp, and dry our guns," said Major Rogers.

They reached the camping-place, where the fires were still burning, dried their guns, put in new priming, and started once more, Rogers in front, Stark bringing up the rear.

It was two o'clock in the afternoon. Rogers descended a hill, crossed a brook, and was picking his way up another hill, when he found himself face to face with more than two hundred French and Indians, the nearest not twenty feet distant.

A volley. Lieutenant Kennedy and John Gardiner fall dead; a bullet glances from Rogers's skull, for a moment taking away his senses; the blood flows down his face, blinding him. Several other Rangers are wounded.

"Form here."

Lieutenant Stark issues the order, and the Rangers under his command take position on a little hill. The Rangers down in the valley fire a volley at the French, holding their ground till all the wounded can make their way back to Stark's position.

Rogers wipes the blood from his face, and issues his orders.

"You are to command the centre," he says to Stark.

He sends Sergeants Walker and Phillips with eight men to the rear, to give notice of any attempt of the enemy to crawl round and attack from that direction.

"Don't throw away your ammunition; keep cool; don't expose yourselves," are the orders, and each Ranger takes position behind a tree. They know that the enemy outnumber them three to one, that they have had the advantage of the first fire; but each Ranger prepares to fight to the bitter end.

Round through the woods steal a part of the French and Indians, making a wide circuit. Major Rogers reasoned correctly, and he posted the two sergeants in the right place. The eight Rangers pick off the French one by one, giving them such a warm reception that instead of rushing on, they remain at a distance.

The other French, with a horde of Indians howling the war-whoop, begin the attack in front, the Indians springing from tree to tree, getting nearer and nearer. But the Rangers are on the watch, and many of the savages leap into the air and fall dead, or crawl away, leaving bloody trails upon the snow.

"If you will surrender, we will give you good quarter," shouts the French commander.

Major Rogers was faint from the loss of blood, and at the moment was faint-hearted. He feared that the Rangers would all be picked off before the fight would cease. It would be three hours to sunset. Could they hold out till then? He had no thought of surrendering, but would it not be best to retreat?

John Stark's blood is up.

"Retreat! No; that will be certain destruction. We can beat them here. I'll shoot the first man that attempts to retreat."

It was bold language for him to use to his commander, but he knew that Rogers had been stunned by the bullet that had glanced from his skull, and was not quite himself.

The fight goes on, the Rangers taking sure aim, the French firing more wildly, but still one by one the Rangers drop. Captain Spikeman and Mr. Baker are killed. A bullet strikes the lock of Stark's gun, and renders it useless. He sees a Frenchman fall at the instant, springs forward, seizes his gun, returns to his tree, and renews the fight.

A bullet tears through Rogers's wrist, and the blood spurts out in a stream. It must be stopped, or he will bleed to death. Rogers wears his back hair braided in a queue.

"Take your knife and cut off my queue," he says to one of the Rangers, who whips out his hunting-knife, cuts off the queue, and Rogers sticks it into the wound to stop the flowing of the blood.

All through the dreary afternoon the fight goes on. The snow is crimsoned with blood. The killed and mortally wounded lie where they fall. For the Rangers there is no escape; they must conquer or die.

The shades of night steal on; the fire of the French and Indians has been growing less; the war-whoop dies away; the last gun is fired. The enemy, picking up their wounded, retire to Ticonderoga, leaving the Rangers victors. What a dear-bought victory!--one-half of them killed or wounded. Of the enemy one hundred and sixteen have fallen!

The Rangers were only four miles from Ticonderoga, and might expect to be attacked again in the morning. They were forty miles from Fort William Henry. They were weary and worn, but they must move on. They made litters for the wounded, and started, marching all night, but making only a few miles.

The snow had ceased, the air was chill. They must have help. John Stark, leaving them, started for Fort William Henry, reaching it at sunset. Soldiers with horses and sleds started at once, and John Stark with them, stopping not a moment to rest his weary limbs. At sunrise he was back to the Rangers with the re-enforcements and supplies. The French had not followed them, and they made their way safely back to Fort William Henry, having fought one of the most obstinate, unequal, yet victorious battles recorded in history.

THE ANGEL IN THE LILLY FAMILY.

BY SHERWOOD BONNER.

There was something rather queer about the Lilly family. In the first place there were so many of them--fourteen precious children. This alone is queer, when it is the fashion of the day to have small families, and "well-springs of pleasure" are as scarce as diamonds in any properly regulated household. But Mrs. Lilly's heart was made on the omnibus plan; and there was no miserable little "Complet" ever scrawled over its door.

Then it was queer how they avoided nicknames in the Lilly family. Each child was called by its full name, which sometimes happened to be a pretty long one.

It was through a sad accident that one of the Lilly children turned into a regular little angel.

The day after Christmas Mrs. Lilly's aunt--grandaunt of the children--carelessly allowed poor Katharine Kirk Lilly to fall on a marble floor. A serious injury to her spine was the result.

Dear! dear! how Mrs. Lilly screamed! She threw herself on the bed, and poured forth tears enough to put out a Christmas bonfire. She was not soothed until the doctor came, and after a careful examination--which the sufferer bore without a word or moan--pronounced that poor Katharine Kirk would live. But, alas! he added that she must always be an invalid. And smiling with the patient sweetness that distinguished her, the dear child sank back on the pillows from which she was never to lift her golden head. All the rest of the Lilly children stood round, showing by a sort of paralyzed expression on their faces how deeply they were moved; but none of them cried.

"Perhaps, dears," said the poor little mother, sobbing, "this affliction will be blessed to you."

"It will," cried the penitent great-aunt, clasping Mrs. Lilly in her arms; "it will teach them lessons of patience, of self-denial, of love, that will be as good as--"

"As the Prince's pricking-conscience ring in the family," suggested Mrs. Lilly's mother, who had a way of turning things into fun, and never gave way to her feelings.

It was surprising what a change from that time dated in the Lilly family. They had been like other children, a little faulty, perhaps, rather apt to stand on their rights--a fierce footing--but merely to look at the darling invalid, her shining hair outspread, her blue eyes ever bright, was to receive a lesson in sweetness and good temper.

Take the case of Phillips Arthur Cliff Lilly. This young gentleman was the youngest of the family, and his mother's favorite. Why, no one knew, except that he was so ugly. He had so many scars on his face, from falls and fights, that somehow he produced the impression of a target. His hair stood out like a halo of straw, and one defiant wisp reared itself above his forehead with the grace of a cat's whisker. Mrs. Lilly could never sleep until he was safe in her arms, and his life knew no cross until after the accident to Katharine Kirk, who became, in her turn, the pivot round which the family revolved. Horrible to relate, his mother one evening, in her hurry to get back to the invalid, forgot her youngest, and left him in the Common. There he lay all night, like a tramp, with the stars twinkling at him, and stray dogs sniffing as they passed him by. Yet when he was found he _did not utter one word_. He opened his blue eyes as he was picked up, and only gave a single plaintive cry as he was pressed to his frantic mother's bosom.

Then there was Myra Miles. She was one of the young ladies of the family, and, as might be forgiven in a beauty, a trifle vain. She was to receive calls on New-Year's Day, and had expected to come out in a fine new dress. Pink tarlatan it was to be, trimmed in the French taste with blue, with a train to thrill you to your finger-tips, which seemed to bear the same relation to Myra Miles as the rest of a snake does to its head. Mrs. Lilly's mamma was making it; but her time was suddenly demanded to do something for the invalid, and the dress was thrown aside. The consequence was that poor Myra Miles appeared in the gorgeous pink dress with a black lace scarf instead of the waist. Still, not one word of complaint did she utter, although her sisters Dorothy Dimple and Martha Bonn--the favorites of Mrs. Lilly's aunt--appeared in exquisite raiment of green and blue. There was something very beautiful about her resignation.

When the lovely Susan Mears Lilly was married, Katharine Kirk was taken in her pretty bed to view the ceremony, and was quite a feature of the occasion. Indeed, she did not begin to look so weak and ill as the bridegroom, who, poor youth, was so tottering that Mrs. Lilly's aunt cruelly suggested that his back should be propped with a hair-pin. You may imagine how the girls laughed at this, especially Teresa Fehmer Lilly, a wicked little bridemaid in red satin.

And such attentions as the sufferer had from friends of the Lilly family! The beautiful belle Miss Lilian Love spent many hours over a dainty quilt of silk and lace to adorn the sick-bed. A glorious poet sent in a box of agreeable medicine, with a note running like this:

"MY DEAR MRS. LILLY,--I send you a little book for your sick child, and some medicine for her poor broken back. The peculiarity of this medicine is that in order to produce any good effect it must be taken by the nurse. This is rather hard upon the nurse; but if she is a good nurse she will not mind it much."

Jane Jumper was the nurse really; but while the medicine lasted Mrs. Lilly herself took entire charge, and administered the sweet doses to herself, without one word from Katharine Kirk.

It may have occurred by this time to some shrewd little reader that under no circumstance was any member of this household apt to give utterance to silver speech. Shall I confess? Or, my dear children, have you guessed that Katharine Kirk and all the cherished fourteen belonged to the beloved, the beautiful, the _dumb_, family of--Dolls?

VIAREGGIO, ITALY.

I am nearly six years old. I would like to have a tea party on my birthday. After my birthday has come I will write again, and tell you all about it.

In Rome I have a big play horse and two kitties. My little cat is gray and white, and is called Bimbo. He walks on his toes, and makes a long face. Papa's cat's name is Cavaliere. He is a big Maltese cat.

In Rome we have a nice house and a nice garden, and in the garden there is a straw hut.

We are finishing the summer at Viareggio, and we have nice sea-baths.

IMOGEN R.

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SMITH'S HILL, FEATHER RIVER, CALIFORNIA.

I enjoy the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE, especially those that tell of birds and flowers I have not seen. There are mocking-birds here in summer, and a beautiful bird called goldfinch. There are also robins, bluebirds, and many varieties of sparrows. The bluebirds and robins stay here all winter. It is too bad to take eggs from the birds to give away in exchange. The pitcher-plant grows in a valley not far from here.

My sister Bell went to Lassens Peak last week. It is 10,600 feet high. There is no snow on the mountain now except a small patch on top. Hundreds of small butterflies were flitting about on the mountain-side and alighting on the rocks. As there is no vegetation, except a few hardy plants scattered among the ledges, I wonder what they find to live on. A lake which could be seen from the top of the peak had the appearance of being frozen. In the valley below there are hot boiling springs.

LOU R. K.

Yes, it is too bad to take so many birds' eggs. But if our correspondents are careful to take only one or two from each nest, and to always leave more than half, as we have already begged them to do, the mother-bird will not suffer. If we could believe for a moment that our little friends would be so cruel as to disturb the brooding mother, and rob her nest of all its eggs, we would never publish another letter requesting an exchange of these pretty natural curiosities. The nesting season is now over in all the Northern States, but when it returns, we trust the young egg collectors will never allow their eagerness to secure the coveted treasure to overcome their sense of honor and their kindness of heart.

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CHARLESTON, SOUTH CAROLINA.

I am ten years old. I take HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it very much. I am always glad when Wednesday comes, for that is the day I get it. I think it is a very nice paper for boys and girls. I have a pet dog whose name is Lion.

SAMUEL P.

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BELLEVILLE, TEXAS.

I am ten years old. I have no pets except a Maltese cat and a dog. I was very much interested in the dog and cat of Madelaine, the little French girl. I like "The Moral Pirates" and "Who was Paul Grayson?" best of all the stories. My father gave me a piano for my birthday present; and when I was seven years old he gave me a pony, and I named him Button. I dearly love to gallop over the hills.

I went to New Hampshire in 1875 to see my grandfather, and we visited the White Mountains.

I think YOUNG PEOPLE is the nicest paper I ever saw, and I intend to take it until I grow up.

JOSIE C.

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NEW YORK CITY.

B. I., of Radnor, Ohio, asks how to feather arrows. Choose goose or turkey feathers of a suitable size. Cut them carefully from the quill; put on hot glue, and fasten them to the sides of the arrow, about an inch from the notch, at equal distances apart. There should always be three feathers.

A. H.

It is a good plan to fasten the feathers to the arrow with pins until the glue is perfectly dry, when they can be carefully removed.

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SAN FRANCISCO, CALIFORNIA.

I have a pet now, a lovely little dog, with long curly hair and large bright eyes. He is snowy white all over, and his name is Mischief. I am going to have his picture taken some time. He looks just like a bundle of cotton, with three black spots shining through. Those are his eyes and nose.

The tree represented in the illustration of the beetles in YOUNG PEOPLE No. 38 is just like the California buckeye-tree. The blossoms are exactly the same.

I am very much interested in the directions for making salt and fresh water aquariums. When I was in Monterey I might have collected lots of sea-anemones, snails, and pink and white star-fish, but I did not think of it. One of the gentlemen at the hotel went fishing with a net, and caught a little baby cuttle-fish, or devil-fish, as it is commonly called. It had seven or eight long legs, all lined with little suckers, like buttons. It was a dreadful ugly-looking thing. It must have been very young, for it was only ten or eleven inches long. The gentleman was going to keep it for a curiosity, and until he could get something better he put it in a pan of salt-water; but he forgot to cover the pan, and in the night the fish crawled out on to the floor, and died.

I have exchanged Farallon Island eggs and leaves and specimens of trees with a good many children since my letter was printed.

Is there any difference between postage stamps and postmarks? I don't believe I know what postmarks are.

IDA BELLE DISERENS.

A postmark is the stamp put on the outside of a letter at the office where it is posted. It certainly is not of much value in itself, but if a collection is neatly pasted in a book, States and countries being arranged together, counties being written under towns in the United States, and a note made of any manufactories or natural productions for which the town is celebrated, such a collection may become an interesting gazetteer, and valuable as a book of reference.

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HOBOKEN, NEW JERSEY.

On September 27 I found a blossom on the peach-tree in our back yard. I picked it, and have pressed it to send to you. I think it is very odd to have peach blossoms in September, and I would like to know if any girl or boy has ever seen them blooming in that month in this climate.

I think the story "Who was Paul Grayson?" is splendid.

REBA H.

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SOUTH ELIOT, MAINE.

I bought three silk-worms' cocoons at the Educational Department of the Permanent Exhibition at Philadelphia. In about a week's time the cocoons broke, and the moths came out and began to lay their eggs on a sheet of brown paper which I laid them on. They have laid about all their eggs now, and there are a great many.

CHESTER B. F.

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HOWARD, TEXAS.

I am seven years old. Mother teaches me at home. I am studying spelling, geography, arithmetic, and the Third Reader.

I love so much when Wednesday morning comes, for then I get my YOUNG PEOPLE, and I read until I have finished it.

I received a beautiful pressed bouquet, from Mary Lowry. It was real nice, and I am going to send her some seeds very soon.

I have three dolls, one wax and two china ones. Every day, when I am through with my lessons, my sister Myrtle and I have nice times playing with them.

MABEL P.

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WEST CHESTER, PENNSYLVANIA.

I live on a farm about one mile from town.

We had a ring-dove given to us, and we bought a mate for it, and now we have four more. One is just hatched. Last summer, a year ago, we had a present of a pair of guinea-pigs, and we have raised six others. One of the little ones is pure white, except its head, which is black. It looks as if it had a mask on. My brother, who is ten years old, has a pigeon-house and about thirty pigeons. And he has six rabbits, which are all the time burrowing out of the pen, and a young shepherd dog. We have black and brown bantams, and two little red calves we call Spot and Lina, because one has a red spot on its back, and the other a white line.

Last spring I planted one small ear of pop-corn, and now I have gathered nearly eighty ears from it. I also planted ground-nuts.

My brother, my sister, and I have each a pair of stilts, and we have lots of fun inventing new ways to walk on them.

BESSIE R. H.

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I would like to exchange postage stamps of France and Germany with any readers of HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. Correspondents will please put "Viâ England" on the envelope, as letters thus addressed are more likely to come safely.

B. D. WOODWARD, 49 im Trutz, Frankfort-on-the-Main, Germany.

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I would like to exchange postmarks for foreign postage stamps, or for other postmarks, with any boy in the South or West.

WILLIAM F. PENNEY, 559 Henry Street, Brooklyn, New York.

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I have a collection of postage and revenue stamps, and would like to exchange with readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

W. H. EASTMAN, Emporia, Kansas.

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My mamma takes YOUNG PEOPLE for my sister Laura and me. We read all the stories, and are never tired of it.

We have a pair of pet pigeons named Polly and Dolly. When we first got them we had to put the food in their mouths, but now they can eat alone. When we come they hunt in our hands for something to eat.

I am a little Iowa girl, but my father came to live in Old Virginia almost five years ago. We live near Greenway Court, the old home of Lord Fairfax, and where General Washington surveyed the land when he was a very young man.

I am thirteen years old. I have a cabinet and a museum, and am collecting postmarks and stamps, which I would like to exchange with any correspondent.

MAY BELL MILLER, Care of Joseph A. Miller, Nineveh, Warren County, Virginia.

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I am having a splendid time in Mamaroneck. I have a lot of chickens, and it is very funny to see the young roosters fight. I shall leave the country soon, and I would like to say to those wishing to exchange stamps with me that after October 25 my address will be

PIERRE JAY, 291 Madison Avenue, New York City.

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I am making a collection of postmarks, and would like to exchange with any correspondents of YOUNG PEOPLE.

C. H. MCBRIDE, Rexford Flats, Saratoga County, New York.

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I am making a collection of birds' eggs, and would like to exchange with any readers of YOUNG PEOPLE.

JOSEPH SKIRM, Santa Cruz, Santa Cruz County, California.

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I am very much interested in the letters in YOUNG PEOPLE. I would like to exchange birds' eggs with any of the readers.

H. GRAY, Albion, Orleans County, New York.

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My younger sister takes YOUNG PEOPLE, and I like it as well as she does. I have no pets, but I have a flower garden and a good many house plants. I would like to exchange flower seeds with any correspondent of YOUNG PEOPLE. I have sweet-pea, cypress, rose-moss, dew-plant, and other seeds.

MOLLIE C. MICHENER, Kokomo, Howard County, Indiana.

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I have read YOUNG PEOPLE ever since it started, and like it very much. I like "The Moral Pirates" and Jimmy Brown's stories about Mr. Martin the best.

I have a Chilian, a Greek, and a Portuguese coin which I would like to exchange with any reader who is collecting foreign coin. I have a collection of almost two hundred.

JOHN PYNE, Wiscasset, Maine.

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I thought you would like a letter from this town, where a great battle was fought.

I spend many happy hours with the dear YOUNG PEOPLE. I love, most of all, the little letters, as it seems like talking to little people.