the breast, and he sank upon his right knee. Alarmed at his fall, his men desisted from following the fleeing enemy, and seizing hold of him hurried into the shelter of the woods. They laid him down and were about to loosen his jacket, for he was in a faint, when there rose a burst of cheering from the British line, on seeing the success of the Indians’ diversion. The sound caught the ear of the dying chief. His eyes opened as from slumber, rolled wildly for a moment, and his breast heaved convulsively. He staggered to his feet, and lifting aloft his tomahawk, dripping with the blood of its last victim, he raised the war-whoop, suddenly stopped short, rolled unsteadily, and then fell as a pine-tree falls. An Indian knelt down beside him and raised his head while he pressed his hand on his forehead. There was no responsive throb. Hemlock was dead. * * * * * “I would swear that was Hemlock’s whoop,” said Morton to himself. He stood amid a group of cavalrymen who were watching intently what was going on from a field within easy view. He had followed the engagement with intelligent interest; had noted how the American infantry had advanced, deployed, formed line, and opened fire on the British position. What followed provoked him. When he saw how ineffectual the British fire was upon the American ranks, though standing in the open and within easy range, he ground his teeth in vexation. “Those militiamen could not hit a barn; a hundred regulars would have decimated the American column with half the ammunition that has been spent,” he muttered to himself. When the upper end of the American line swung forward, his thoughts changed. “Ah, they are going to fix bayonets and carry our position by assault. God help our lads.” He was mistaken; the movement was to gain a point whence to rake the British position with an enfilading fire. As he saw the Americans move forward unopposed and the British fire slacken from the bush opposite, his heart sank. “The day is lost: in five minutes the Americans will have possession of the far end of that bushy entrenchment, and it will be untenable.” Suddenly the war-whoop of the Indians was heard, then came their wild assault, and the flight of the Americans. “Well done, Hemlock!” exulted Morton, “no other lungs than yours could have raised that shriek and your timely move has certainly checked the attempt to flank the British position. What next?” Having ascertained so unpleasantly that the wood to their left was held by Indians, the Americans did not try again to turn the British position, and the companies that had broken in disorder were reformed and placed in rear, while the battalions in line continued to pour volleys into the bush heaps in front of them. Hampton and his staff were on horseback, watching the progress of the contest from a bit of rising ground by the river. At this juncture Morton observed him signal with his hand