Mon-on-ga-he-la as the camp, but twixt them lay a pass two miles in length, with the stream on the left and a high range of hills on the right. The plan was to ford the stream near the camp, march on the west bank of the stream for five miles or so, and then cross to the east side and push on to the fort.

By sun-rise the next day the troops turned out in fine style, and marched off to the noise of drum and fife. To Wash-ing-ton this was a grand sight. Though still weak and ill, he rode his horse, and took his place on the staff as aide-de-camp.

At one o'clock the whole force had crossed the ford north of the fort, and were on their way up the bank, when they were met by a fierce and sharp fire from foes they could not see. Wild war-whoops and fierce yells rent the air. What Wash-ing-ton feared, had come to pass. Brad-dock did his best to keep the troops in line; but as fast as they moved up, they were cut down by foes screened by rocks and trees.

Now and then one of the red-men would dart out of the woods with a wild yell to scalp a red-coat who had been shot down. Wild fear seized Brad-dock's men, who fired and took no aim. Those in the front rank were killed by those in the rear. Some of the Vir-gin-i-a troops took post back of trees, and fought as the red-men did. Wash-ing-ton thought it would be a good plan for Brad-dock's men to do the same. But he thought there was but one way for troops to fight, and that brave men ought not to skulk in that way. When some of them took to the trees, Brad-dock stormed at them, and called them hard names, and struck them with the flat of his sword.

All day long Wash-ing-ton rode here and there in the midst of the fight. He was in all parts of the field, a fine mark for the guns of the foe, and yet not a shot struck him to do him harm. Four small shots went through his coat. Two of his steeds were shot down; and though those who stood near him fell dead at his side, Wash-ing-ton had not one wound.

The fight raged on. Death swept through the ranks of the red-coats. The men at the guns were seized with fright. Wash-ing-ton sprang from his horse, wheeled a brass field-piece with his own hand, and sent a good shot through the woods. But this act did not bring the men back to their guns.

Brad-dock was on the field the whole day, and did his best to turn the tide. But most of his head-men had been slain in his sight; five times had he been forced to mount a fresh horse, as one by one was struck down by the foe-man's shot, and still he kept his ground and tried to check the flight of his men.

At last a shot struck him in the right arm and went in-to his lungs. He fell from his horse, and was borne from the field. The troops took fright at once, and most of them fled. The yells of the red-men still rang in their ears.

"All is lost!" they cried.

"Brad-dock is killed!"

Wash-ing-ton had been sent to a camp 40 miles off, and was on his way back when he heard the sad news.

But Brad-dock did not die at once. He was brought back to camp, and for two days lay in a calm state but full of pain. Now and then his lips would move and he was heard to say, "Who would have thought it! We shall know how to deal with them the next time!"

He died at Fort Ne-ces-si-ty on the night of Ju-ly 13. Had he done as Wash-ing-ton told him he might have saved his own life, and won the day. But he was a proud man, and when he made up his mind to do a thing he would do it at all risks. Through this fault he missed the fame he hoped to win, lost his life, and found a grave in a strange land.

His loss was a great gain to Wash-ing-ton, for all felt that he, so calm, so grave, so free from fear, was the right sort of man to lead troops to war. Those who had seen him in the field thought that he bore a charmed life, for though he stood where the shot fell thick and fast he was not hurt, and showed no signs of fear. But Wash-ing-ton was weak, and in need of rest, and as the death of Brad-dock left him with no place in the force, he went back to Mount Ver-non where he thought to spend the rest of his days.

The fight which he took part in as aide-de-camp, and which had so sad an end, goes by the name of Brad-dock's de-feat.