reech of the war-whoop. At this signal of butchery, which was
given by Abenaki Christians from the mission of the Penobscot,[524] a
mob of savages rushed upon the New Hampshire men at the rear of the
column, and killed or dragged away eighty of them.[525] A frightful
tumult ensued, when Montcalm, Levis, Bourlamaque, and many other French
officers, who had hastened from their camp on the first news of
disturbance, threw themselves among the Indians, and by promises and
threats tried to allay their frenzy. "Kill me, but spare the English who
are under my protection," exclaimed Montcalm. He took from one of them a
young officer whom the savage had seized; upon which several other
Indians immediately tomahawked their prisoners, lest they too should be
taken from them. One writer says that a French grenadier was killed and
two wounded in attempting to restore order; but the statement is
doubtful. The English seemed paralyzed, and fortunately did not attempt
a resistance, which, without ammunition as they were, would have ended
in a general massacre. Their broken column straggled forward in wild
disorder, amid the din of whoops and shrieks, till they reached the
French advance-guard, which consisted of Canadians; and here they
demanded protection from the officers, who refused to give it, telling
them that they must take to the woods and shift for themselves. Frye was
seized by a number of Indians, who, brandishing spears and tomahawks,
threatened him with death and tore off his clothing, leaving nothing but
breeches, shoes, and shirt. Repelled by the officers of the guard, he
made for the woods. A Connecticut soldier who was present says of him
that he leaped upon an Indian who stood in his way, disarmed and killed
him, and then escaped; but Frye himself does not mention the incident.
Captain Burke, also of the Massachusetts regiment, was stripped, after a
violent struggle, of all his clothes; then broke loose, gained the
woods, spent the night shivering in the thick grass of a marsh, and on
the next day reached Fort Edward. Jonathan Carver, a provincial
volunteer, declares that, when the tumult was at its height, he saw
officers of the French army walking about at a little distance and
talking with seeming unconcern. Three or four Indians seized him,
brandished their tomahawks over his head, and tore off most of his
clothes, while he vainly claimed protection from a sentinel, who called
him an English dog, and violently pushe