One blunder was capped by another.

Ticonderoga was left to the French, when it might have been an easy prey to the English.

The day of disaster was not yet ended, though away in the east the star of hope was rising.
It was at Fort Edward that the wounded laird of Inverawe breathed his last.

His wound had been mortal, and he was barely living when they landed him on the banks of Lake George.
"Donald, you are avenged!" he said once, a few minutes before his death.

"We have met at Ticonderoga!".