Darting forward with renewed swiftness, after cutting his burden from him, he was again out of immediate danger, when he came across a young man, sitting upon a log, calmly awaiting the approach of his enemies. He was deadly pale, but his refined and handsome face wore not the least expression of fear. "Don't you know the red-skins are upon us?" called out the ranger. "I know it; but I can not help it. I have never been strong, and now I am wounded. I could not take another step to save my life. Go on—don't stop to pity me." Kennan was too brave himself not to admire the calm courage of this young man. He looked about. A short distance off he saw an exhausted horse, refreshing himself upon the luxuriant grass. Running after the animal, he caught him without difficulty, brought him up, assisted the wounded stranger to mount, and ran by his side until they were out of danger. Fortunately the pursuit ceased about that time, the spoils of the camp offering attractions to the savages more irresistible even than the blood of the remaining whites. The stranger thus saved by Kennan was Madison, afterward Governor of Kentucky, who continued through life the friendship formed that day. Kennan never entirely recovered from the superhuman exertions he was compelled to make on that disastrous day. Of this melancholy campaign of St. Clair's, Hall, in his sketches of the West, says: "The fault was not in the leader, but in the plan of the expedition, and the kind of troops employed. All that an old commander could effect with such a force, under the circumstances by which he was surrounded and overruled, was accomplished by General St. Clair. The brilliant talents of this brave soldier and veteran patriot were exerted in vain in the wilderness. The wariness and perseverance of Indian warfare created every day new obstacles and unforeseen dangers; the skill of the experienced leader was baffled, and undisciplined force prevailed over military science. The art of the tactician proved insufficient when opposed to a countless multitude of wily savages, protected by the labyrinths of the forest and aided by the terrors of the climate. At a moment of fancied security his troops were assailed upon all sides by a numerous and well-organized foe, who had long been hanging on his flanks, and had become acquainted with his strength, his order of encampment, and the distribution of his force—who knew when to attack and where to strike." The loss on this occasion was mournfully great; thirty-eight officers and eight hundred men were slain.