“Welcome to you,” answered George, more than pleased to see his ally. “This is no time for much talk,” said the Indian. “Fifty French soldiers with Captain Jumonville are concealed in a glen six miles away. They are spies for the main body--for the French have three men to your one--and if they find you here you will be cut to pieces. But if you can catch the French spies, the main body will not know where you are; and,” he added, with a crafty smile, “if they should meet Tanacharison, he will send them a hundred miles in the wrong direction.” George saw in a moment the excellence of the old chief’s advice. Tanacharison knew the road, which was comparatively easy, and offered to guide them, and to assist with several of his braves. It was then nine o’clock, and rain had begun falling in torrents. George retired to his rude shelter of boughs, called together his officers, and announced his intention of attacking this party of fifty Frenchmen. He made a list of forty picked men, and at midnight he caused them to be wakened quietly, and set off without arousing the whole camp. The wind roared and the rain changed to hail, but still the Virginians, with Washington at their head, kept on through the woods. Sometimes they sank up to their knees in quagmires--again they cut their feet against sharp stones; but they never halted. At daybreak they entered the glen in two files, the Indians on one side, the Virginians on the other, George leading. It was a wild place, surrounded by rocks, with only one narrow cleft for entrance. Just as the last man had entered the alarm was given, and firing began from both parties at the same time. The French resisted bravely, headed by Captain Jumonville, who was the first man to fall; but a quarter of an hour’s sharp fighting decided the skirmish, and the French called for quarter. This was George’s baptism of fire, and it was the beginning of war between France and England, which was to last, with but a few years’ intermission, for more than fifty years.