Still, the best men of Virginia urged it, and the royal governor so far yielded as to give him the commission of an ensign. Not long afterwards, in one of the bloody fights with the French and Indians, Morgan was shot through the back of the neck. The bullet went through his mouth and came out through the left cheek, knocking out all the teeth on the left side. Supposing that he was {110} mortally wounded, and resolved not to lose his scalp, the fainting rifleman clasped his arms tightly round the neck of his good horse, and galloped for life through the woods. A fleet Indian ran after him, tomahawk in hand. Finding at last that the horse was leaving him behind, the panting savage hurled his weapon, and with a wild yell gave up the chase. [Illustration: Morgan's Escape from the Indian] The hardy frontiersman lay for months hovering between life and death, but finally recovered, and was once more in the thick of the wild warfare. In his old age, Morgan used to tell his grandchildren of the fiendish look on the Indian's face while he felt sure of another scalp, and he would also imitate the horrible yell the redskin made when he was forced to give up the pursuit. At last the war was over, and Morgan went back to his farm. He brought home with him, however, the vices of his wild campaign life. He used strong drink, and gambled. Far and near, he was noted as a boxer and a wrestler. Pugilists came from a distance to try their skill with the noted Indian fighter and athlete, who weighed over two hundred pounds, and yet had not an extra ounce of flesh. But these were only passing incidents in the life of the great man. With a giant's frame, he had a tender heart. His good angel came to him in the person of a farmer's daughter, Abigail Bailey. She had great beauty; and she was a loving, Christian woman. {111} They were soon married, and, as the fairy books say, were happy ever after. As if by a magic spell, the strong man left his tavern chums and their rough sports, his boxing, his gambling, and his strong drink, and to the day of his death lived an upright life. The young wife taught her husband to believe in God, and to trust in prayer. In his simple-hearted way, Morgan tells us that, just before the fierce attack on the fort at Quebec, he knelt in the drifting snow, and felt that God had nerved him to fight. In riding over the battlefield after his great victory at Cowpens, old soldiers saw with wonder the fierce fighter stop his horse and pray aloud, and, with tears running down his face, thank God for the victory. {112} His men never scoffed at their leader's prayers, for it was noticed that the harder "old Dan Morgan" prayed, the more certain they were of being soon led into the jaws of death itself.