He was counted as one whose mind wanders.

Yet in the hour of battle none could fight with more obstinate bravery than Charles Angell.
"Fire! fire! fire!" It was Charles's voice that raised the cry in the dead of the night.

No attack had been made upon the fort; but under cover of darkness the enemy had crept nearer and nearer to the outlying buildings, and tongues of flame were shooting up.
Instantly the guns were turned in that direction, and a fusillade awoke the silence of the sleeping lake, whilst cries of agony told how the bullets and shots had gone home.
"Come, Rangers," shouted Rogers, "follow me out and fall upon them! Drive them back! Save the fort from fire!" Rogers never called upon his men in vain.

No service was too full of peril for them.

Ignorant as they were of the number or power of their assailants, they dashed in a compact body out of the side gate towards the place where the glare of the fire illumined the darkness of the night.
Dark forms were hurrying hither and thither; but the moment the Rangers appeared with their battle cry, there was an instant rout and flight.
"After them!" shouted Rogers; and the men dashed over the rough ground, pursuers and pursued, shouting, yelling, firing--and they saw that some bolder spirits amongst the Frenchmen had even set fire to the sloop on the stocks which Rogers had been teaching the soldiers how to construct.
But in the forefront of the pursuit might be seen one wild, strange figure with flying hair and fiery eyes.