It had been found upon the body of a white man slain by the Indians a few days before, and brought to the French camp.

The Marquis de Montcalm had read it, and sent it now to the person for whom it was intended.
"Give my thanks," said Monro, "to the Marquis for his courtesy, and tell him that it is a joy to me to have to do with so generous a foe." But the letter thus received was one of evil omen to the hapless garrison.

It came from General Webb, and repeated that, until reinforced from the provinces, he could do nothing for the garrison of Fort William Henry; and advised Colonel Monro to make the best terms that he could with the enemy, who were plainly too strong for him to withstand.
It was time indeed for the gallant little garrison to think of surrender.

Men and officers stood in knots together gloomily surveying the scene.
"We have done what men can do," said Captain Pringle to his friends Fritz and Roche; "but where are we now?
A third of our men are sick and wounded.

Almost all our big guns are burst.