Skilful and brave as were the Rangers, they were not always successful. The French partisans, under good leaders, with their wily and formidable Indian allies well versed in forest warfare, on one occasion inflicted dire disaster upon them.

Near Fort Ticonderoga, Rogers, with one hundred and eighty men, attacked and put to flight a party of Indians, inflicting upon them a severe blow. This, however, proved to be only a small part of a force which, under Durantaye and De Langry, French officers of reputation, was fully prepared to meet the Rangers, of whose movements they had been thoroughly informed beforehand.

The Rangers had thrown down their packs, and were scattered in pursuit of the flying savages, when they were suddenly confronted by the main body of the enemy, of whose presence they were wholly unsuspicious. Nearly fifty of the Rangers fell at the first onslaught, the remainder retreating to a position in which they could make a stand. Here they fought with their accustomed valor, and more than once drove back their more numerous foes. Repeated attacks were made upon them both in front and on either flank, the enemy rallying after each repulse, and manifesting a tenacity and determination equal to that of the Rangers.

The fight had lasted some time, when a body of two hundred Indians was discovered ascending a hill on the right, in order to gain the rear of the Rangers. Lieutenant Phillips, with eighteen men, reached it before them and drove them back. Lieutenant Crufton, with fifteen men, was ordered to anticipate a similar movement in another quarter. The enemy now pressed so closely on their front that the opposing parties were often intermingled, and in general not more than twenty yards asunder.

This unequal contest had continued an hour and a half, and the Rangers had lost more than half their number. After doing all that brave men could do, the remainder retreated in the best manner possible—each for himself. A singular circumstance connected with this battle was, that it was fought by both sides upon snow-shoes.

In the pursuit that followed, Rogers made his escape by outwitting the Indians who pressed closely upon him—such, at least, is the tradition. The precipitous cliff near the northerly end of Lake George, since called Rogers's Rock, has on one side a sharp and steep descent hundreds of feet to the lake. Gaining this point, Rogers threw his rifle and other incumbrances down the rocks. Then unbuckling the straps of his snow-shoes, and, turning round, he refastened them, the toes still pointing towards the lake. This was the work of a moment. He then walked back from the edge of the cliff into the woods, and disappeared just as the Indians, sure of their prey, reached the spot. To their amazement, they saw two tracks towards the cliff, none from it, and supposed that two Englishmen had thrown themselves down the precipice, preferring to be dashed to pieces rather than be captured. Soon a rapidly receding form on the ice below attracted their notice, and the baffled savages, seeing that the redoubtable Ranger had safely effected the perilous descent, gave up the chase, fully persuaded that Rogers was under the protection of the Great Spirit.

The retreating Rangers reached Lake George that evening, and an express was despatched to the fort for assistance. The men, having lost their knapsacks, passed an extremely cold night, without fire or blankets. Proceeding up the lake in the morning, they were met by Stark, who was not in the engagement, bringing to their relief provisions, blankets, and sleds. This timely assistance enabled them to reach Fort Edward in safety.

One fine morning in the following August, Rogers and Israel Putnam, a provincial officer from Connecticut, with five hundred men, were in the vicinity of Fort Anne—a post about midway between Ticonderoga and Fort Edward—watching the motions of the enemy. The French, under the celebrated partisan Marin, were also on the lookout for them, and only a mile and a half distant.

In a spirit of false emulation, and in disregard of that prime virtue of the Ranger—caution in the presence of an enemy—Rogers, before marching, practised firing at a mark with a British officer. The sound reached the ears of the vigilant Marin, who hastily formed an ambuscade at the point where the Rangers soon afterwards emerged from a dense thicket into the open woods. Putnam was in front, Captain Dalzell, with some British regulars, was in the centre, while Rogers brought up the rear.

Just as Putnam entered the forest the enemy rose, and with discordant yells and whoops began the attack. He halted and returned the fire, his men scattering, sometimes fighting aggressively in open view, and sometimes individually under cover, taking aim from behind each tree. Dalzell carne promptly to his support, Rogers contenting himself with protecting the flanks and rear. After a hard struggle the enemy were driven from the field, leaving about ninety dead.

Early in the fight a rush was made upon the Rangers, and Putnam's fusee unfortunately missed fire, just as he was confronted by a large and powerful savage. With uplifted hatchet and exultant yell the warrior sprang forward, compelled him to surrender, and then disarming him and binding him to a tree returned to the conflict.

A turn in the tide of battle soon brought this tree directly between the two parties, and it was pierced by many of the balls which flew incessantly from either side. Putnam's clothes were riddled with shot-holes, but not a bullet touched his person. In this uncomfortable situation, unable to stir hand or foot, or even to incline his head, he remained more than an hour, when, on the retreat of the enemy, he was unbound and carried off by his captor.

At one time, when the Indians had gained ground, a young brave amused himself by throwing his tomahawk as near Putnam's head as possible without hitting it. While engaged in this pleasant occupation, the weapon several times struck the tree within a hair's-breadth of the mark. He tired at length of this cruel sport, and a more savage Frenchman approached and levelled his musket within a foot of Putnam's breast. Fortunately it missed fire. In vain Putnam claimed the consideration due to a prisoner of war; the dastardly wretch gave him a cruel blow on the jaw with the butt end of his piece, and then left hint to his fate.

At some distance from the scene of action he was stripped of his coat, vest, stockings, and shoes, loaded with as many of the packs of the wounded as could be piled upon him, strongly pinioned, and his wrists tied as tightly together as they could be pulled with a cord. When, after a long and toilsome march, the party halted, his naked feet were torn and bleeding, and his hands were immoderately swollen from the tightness of the ligature.

Exhausted with bearing a burden beyond his strength, and frantic with pain, he entreated the savages either to kill him at once or loose his hands. A French officer interposed; his hands were unbound, and his load lightened. Just then his captor, who had been absent, returned, gave him a pair of moccasins, and expressed great indignation at the cruel treatment of the prisoner. He also gave him some hard biscuit, which, as he could not chew, on account of the blow inflicted by the Frenchman, the more humane savage soaked in water. This and some bear's meat lie managed to suck through his teeth, and allay his extreme hunger.

On encamping for the night, the savages, besides other outrages, had the barbarity to inflict upon him a deep wound with a tomahawk in his left cheek. They had determined to roast him alive, in accordance with their savage custom with captives taken in battle.

Leading him into the forest, he was stripped, bound fast with green withes to a sapling, and dry brush, with other fuel, was piled at a short distance in a circle around him. Fierce yells and savage screams accompanied this labor and added to the horror of the scene. The flames were kindled, but were almost extinguished by a sudden shower. Soon the blaze increased, and Putnam began to feel the scorching heat. He could just move his body, and often shifted sides as the fire approached—a sight which afforded the greatest diversion to his inhuman tormentors, as he could perceive by their yelling, gesticulating, and dancing.

Only a short time before he had been nearly roasted in a successful and heroic effort to save the powder-magazine at Fort Edward, after its outer planking had been burned through; and it had taken him a month to recover from the effects of that fierce battle with the flames. This time he had given up all hope of escape from the fiery fate that enveloped him, when a French officer, rushing through the savage throng, scattered the burning brands and unbound the victim. It was Marin himself, to whom a humane Indian had hastened with the tidings, just in time to save him, and who remained with him and protected him until the return of his captor, who it seems had not been present at his attempted torture.

This savage, while treating his captive with humanity, took every precaution to prevent his escape. His mode of securing him at night was most ingenious. Lying on his back upon the ground, Putnam's arms and legs were stretched apart, and each fastened to a sapling. Then a number of tall but slender poles were cut, which with some long bushes were laid across his body from head to foot. On these, at each side, lay as many Indians as could conveniently bestow themselves. In this disagreeable and painful posture Putnam passed the long and dreary night but, as he afterwards related, he could not, in spite of his discomfort and suffering, help smiling at the thought of what a ludicrous group for a painter this scene presented. At Ticonderoga he was placed under a French guard and properly treated. Transferred to Montreal, he was finally exchanged through the exertions of Colonel Peter Schuyler, a fellow-prisoner.

Israel Putnam, who rose to be the senior major-general in the Revolutionary army, and next in rank to Washington, was born at Salem, Massachusetts, in 1718. He had the slight education of a farmer's son at that day, but possessed a vigorous frame, great bodily strength, hardiness, and activity, together with no ordinary share of courage, enterprise, and perseverance. He was a hero, not only by constitution and temperament, but by the nobler impulses of love of country, and an invincible devotion to duty. As a captain in Lyman's provincial regiment, in 1755, he became connected with Captain Rogers, of the Rangers, and having himself a similar command, they were frequently associated together in scouting and other service.

On the first occasion of the kind it was Putnam's good-fortune to save the life of Rogers, who, with himself—their men being concealed at a little distance—was engaged in the hazardous operation of reconnoitring the works at Crown Point, in the midst of a forest filled with hostile Indians. While thus engaged, in the early morning, Rogers accidentally encountered a stout Frenchman, who instantly seized his fusee with one hand and with the other attempted to stab him, while he called to the guard for assistance. Putnam, perceiving the imminent danger of his friend, hastened to the spot, and with the butt end of his piece laid the Frenchman dead at his feet. Speedily rejoining their party, they made good their retreat.

Putnam was present at the siege of Montreal, in 1760, at the capture of Havana, in 1762, and in 1764 was a colonel in Bradstreet's expedition against the western Indians. His military reputation was of great service to the patriot cause at the outset of the Revolution, inspiring his country-men with the confidence they so much needed to enable them to confront the great military power they were then defying.

He was a conspicuous figure at the siege of Boston, and at Bunker Hill seems to have exercised, at the redoubt, the breastwork, the rail-fence, and iii the retreat, all the functions of a commanding officer. While commanding at the Highlands of New York he made the judicious selection of West Point as the site of a fortress. While posted at Reading, Connecticut, in 1778, with only a picket-guard, he was suddenly attacked by the British troops, and escaped by plunging down a precipice where the dragoons in pursuit of him dared not follow. One of their bullets having pierced his hat, Tryon, their commander, by way of compensation, sent him soon afterwards a complete suit of clothes. He had an attack of paralysis in the fall of 1779, and died at Brooklyn, Connecticut, May 29, 1790. Putnam was a good executive officer, but was more brave than prudent. Though wanting in dignity, he possessed a large share of those nobler attributes, humanity and generosity.

Few men ever encountered such a variety of dangers, or faced death in so many different forms. From the fierce she-wolf in her den—a story with which all boys are familiar; the burning powder-magazine at Fort Edward; the fiery torture at the stake; the tomahawk and the bullet of the concealed savage whose forest haunts he invaded; close and bloody contests with Indians and Frenchmen in the Old French War; at the Havana, fighting at the same time the Spaniard and the pestilence, which proved fatal to so many of his companions; and lastly at Bunker Hill and on other Revolutionary fields—a conspicuous target for British bullets. With the exception of the singeing he got at Fort Edward, and the cruelties inflicted upon him while a prisoner, he escaped, as by a miracle, from all these manifold perils without a wound.

We come now to the last exploit of this famous corps of Rangers. The village of the St. Francis Indians was situated in the heart of Canada, midway between Montreal and Quebec. This tribe was wholly in the interest of the French, and had for a century past harassed the New England frontier even in times of peace. During the past six years they had killed and carried away more than six hundred persons, and it was determined by Amherst, the British commander-in-chief, that a signal chastisement should be inflicted upon them. To this arduous service the Rangers were assigned.

The march through two hundred miles of unbroken wilderness was one of great difficulty and no slight peril. The boats of the Rangers, in which were the provisions for their home journey, had been left at Missisqui Bay, and they soon learned that these had fallen into the hands of the enemy, who were following in their track. This was a serious blow, and threatened the ruin of their enterprise, but they determined to push on, and accomplish their object by outmarching their pursuers.

For nine days their route lay through a spruce-bog, a portion of which was covered with water a foot deep. When they encamped at night, boughs were cut from the trees, and a kind of rude hammock constructed to keep them from the water. Their daily march began a little before daybreak, and continued until after dark at night. The tenth day after leaving the bay found them at a river fifteen miles north of St. Francis, which they were compelled to ford against a swift current. To accomplish this the tallest men were put up stream, and holding by each other the party crossed in safety.

Twenty-two days after leaving Crown Point, Rogers's party, one hundred and fifty-two, men and officers, came in sight of the Indian town. Upon climbing a tree it was revealed to them at a distance of three miles. On reconnoitring the village, the Indians were seen to be engaged in a "high frolic"—a wedding celebration, as it proved—and were dancing and enjoying themselves as was customary upon such occasions.

Half an hour before sunrise the Rangers rushed upon the sleeping village. The surprise was complete. The Indians had no time to arm themselves, and in a few minutes the work was done. Two hundred of them were killed, some women and children were captured, five English prisoners released, and the village was wholly consumed. Six hundred human scalps were found hanging upon poles over the doors of the wigwams.

For their subsistence on the march home, the Rangers loaded themselves with corn, the only provision to be found. From the prisoners they learned that three hundred French and Indians were close at hand, addition to the party already known to be in pursuit. It was at once determined to return by a different route from that by which they came, and that by the Connecticut River to Number Four (Charlestown, N. H.) was selected. The annals of the wilderness contain no more thrilling chapter than that which records their sufferings during this terrible journey. Hunger and privation of every kind—these they were familiar with; a vengeful foe following upon their track—even this inspired no especial dread; but starvation! that was an enemy before whom the stoutest and bravest quailed. Some of the details of their sufferings are too shocking for repetition.

After repulsing repeated attacks, Rogers at length turned upon his pursuers, and dealt them a punishment so severe as to stop further assaults, though the Indians continued to follow him with the tenacity of bloodhounds.

For eight days the Rangers kept together, but at Lake Memphrenragog the scarcity of food compelled them to separate into companies, with guides to each. The place where they were to meet was at the mouth of the Ammonoosuck River, to which point supplies had been directed to be sent. On arriving at the Coos Intervales, worn down with hunger and fatigue, they found, to their dismay, that the officer who had been despatched with provisions to their rescue had returned, after waiting but two days, carrying the supplies with him, and that he had been gone hardly two hours!

This was a terrible disappointment. Says Rogers: "We found a fresh fire burning in his camp, and fired guns to bring him back, which he heard, but would not return, supposing we were an enemy. In this emergency I resolved to make the best of my way to Number Four, leaving the remainder of the party—now unable to proceed farther—to obtain such wretched subsistence as the wilderness afforded until I could relieve them, which I promised to do in ten days."

With great difficulty Rogers reached his destination, and on the tenth day after his departure relief reached his men at Coos, as he had promised. Upon the arrival of the survivors at Crown Point, it was ascertained that the Rangers had lost in this retreat three officers and forty-six men. Two of the parties had been overtaken, and most of the men composing them killed or captured by the enemy.

Great as were the sufferings of the other parties, they were as nothing compared with those of Lieutenant George Campbell and his companions. For four days they were without subsistence of any kind whatever. Their misery was so aggravated, by their not knowing whither the route they were following would lead them, that some lost their reason. What leather they had in their cartridge-boxes they had reduced to a cinder and greedily devoured, when relief finally reached them.

The Rangers took part in the final campaign of 1760, which ended in the conquest of Canada, and, in a skirmish with the rear-guard of the retreating French, fired the last hostile guns of the war. By order of General Amherst they were sent to take possession of Detroit, and the other western posts ceded by the French.

Rogers's subsequent career was not particularly creditable to him. While Governor of Michilimackinac, in 1766, he was arrested for plotting to give it up to the Spaniards, and sent in irons to Montreal for trial. He managed to be acquitted of the charge, and on visiting England, in 1769, was presented to the King. Returning to America on the breaking out of the Revolution, in 1775, he was suspected by Washington of being a spy, and prohibited from entering the American camp. Arrested in June, 1776, he was soon released by order of Congress, and at once openly joined the British in violation of his parole of honor. Obtaining a commission as colonel in the British service, he raised a corps known as the Queen's Rangers, afterwards commanded by Colonel Simcoe, and famous for its exploits. Rogers, however, gained no laurels while at its head, and came near being captured in an attack upon an American outpost near Mamaroneck, in New York. He soon afterwards returned to England, where he died near the close of the century.