For the most part he was silent and only now and then let a groan. Dr. Craik told me that he cried out over and over: “Who would have believed it possible?” Once he said to Captain Stewart: “We shall know better next time; but what will the duke say? [That was his Grace of Cumberland.] What will he say?” On the morning of the 13th Dr. Craik said the general had made his will and desired to see me. When he was aware of my coming into his hut, he put out his left hand, saying, “That is the only hand which is left,” for the ball had gone through his right arm. He was said to be a great wit, but that a man about to die should have spirit to use his dying breath in a jest much astonished me. He said: “I want you to take my horse and my man, Bishop. I have told St. Clair.” Then he said: “I should have taken your advice. Too late; too late.” After this he closed his eyes, and again, after a little, opened them and said feebly: “If I lived I should never wish to see a red coat again. My compliments to the governor.” He spoke no more, only, “How they will curse me!” and I went out. In fact, I was too weak to endure the deadly sorrow with which this brave man’s miserable end afflicted me, to whom he had been so kind a friend. I endeavoured to distract my mind by examining the remains of the fort I had here made. To my amazement, I saw, as I moved about, that there was little discipline, and I observed that where there is too much drill and mechanical order a defeat does away with it entirely. The colonials it was hard to instruct; but as every man was used to rely on himself at any minute, and not to look all the time for orders, they suffered less during disaster, and on a retreat knew how to care for themselves. Now the few that were left looked on with wonder at the stupid destruction of waggons, provisions, and even artillery. Many of the officers were disgusted, and protested against these disgraceful proceedings. But Colonel Dunbar meant to move on to Philadelphia, as he said, for winter quarters, and yet now it was only July, and he had men enough left to guard the frontier or to return and take the fort. I felt sick and worn out, and soon went to my shelter among the Virginians. I threw myself down and fell into a deep sleep, and indeed never stirred until Captain Walter Stewart had to shake me to wake me up. I must have dreamed, for he told me I had called out “Indians” twice. When I was well awakened, he said: “We are to move at once. Every frog that croaks and every screech-owl is an Indian for these whipped curs. The general died at twelve o’clock. He is to be buried in the roadway, so that the red devils may not dig up his scalp. Colonel Dunbar asks that you will read the service.”