As we pushed on through the woods, Colonel Gage talked with me at length of the disaster. He made many excuses for the soldiers, as that they had been worn out by labour on the way, had no rum, and were disheartened by the tales our rangers had told them of the Indians. Indeed, I fear it was true that the Virginians amused themselves with talk about legions of rattlesnakes, bears, and scalping. Croghan said the regulars were babes in the woods and quite as helpless. I made answer to the colonel that but for our rangers few of his Majesty’s men would have seen their homes, and that the soldiers had behaved like poltroons. He said that was true, and after this we walked our horses on through the woods in silence, the rangers ahead. I met this officer again in 1773, when, being a general, he was entertained at dinner by the citizens of New York. At this time the freedom of the city of New York was presented to him in a gold box having on it the arms of that city, and below, those of the King.[2] Our final intercourse was by letter, when he was besieged in Boston and I felt it needful to remonstrate upon his treatment of prisoners. [2] Now in the possession of Lord Rosebery. So many officers were wounded that, early on the day after the battle, although very weak, it fell to me, having at last been better horsed, to carry orders to the force we had left forty miles in our rear. With a half-dozen horse I rode on all night in a drizzle of rain, and so all the next day, very melancholy and ready to drop with fatigue. Indeed, I fell down as I dismounted when I rode in to Colonel Dunbar’s camp, and was only revived by a little spirits and a good meal. The whole force which we had left here were more scared, I believe, than those who had been in the battle; for the runaway waggoners told terrible stories, and it was with great difficulty that this division of the army was kept from flying.