“I asked you to sound the recall.  Those Indians we chase are leading us whither they will.  What in God’s name ails you, Boyd?  Have you never before seen an ambush?”

He stood motionless, as though stupefied, staring straight ahead of him.  Then he said, hesitatingly, that he desired Tim Murphy to cripple one of the Senecas and fetch him in so that we might interrogate him.

Such infant’s babble astounded and sickened me, and I was about to retort when a shout from one of our men drew our attention to the gully below.  And there were our terrified Indians peering out cunningly at us like so many foxes playing tag with an unbroken puppy pack.

“Come, sir,” said I in deepest anxiety, “the game is too plain for anybody but a fool to follow.  Sound your recall!”

He set his whistle to his lips, and as I stood there, thunderstruck and helpless, the shrill call rang out:  “Forward!  Hark-away!”

Instantly our entire party leaped forward; the Indians vanished; and we ran on headlong, pell-mell, hellward into the trap prepared for our destruction.

The explosion of a heavy rifle on our right was what first halted us, I think.  One of the soldiers from the 4th Pennsylvania was down in the dead leaves kicking and scuffling about all over blood.  Before he had rolled over twice, a ragged but loud volley on our left went through our disordered files, knocking over two more soldiers.  The screaming of one poor fellow seemed to bring Boyd to his senses.  He blew the recall, and our men fell back, and, carrying the dead and wounded, began to ascend the wooded knoll down which we had been running when so abruptly checked.

There was no more firing for the moment; we reached the top of the knoll, laid our dead and wounded behind trees, loaded, freshened our priming, and stood awaiting orders.

Then, all around us, completely encircling the foot of our knoll, woods, thickets, scattered bushes, seemed to be literally moving in the vague forest light.

“My God!” exclaimed Elerson to Murphy.  “The woods are crawling with savages!”

A dreadful and utter silence fell among us; Boyd, pale as a corpse, motioned his men to take posts, forming a small circle with our dead and wounded in the centre.

I saw Hanierri, the Oneida guide, fling aside his blanket, strip his painted body to the beaded clout, draw himself up to his full and superb height, muttering, his eyes fixed on the hundreds of dark shapes stealing quietly among the thickets below our little hill.

The two Stockbridge Indians, the Yellow Moth and Yoiakim, pressed lightly against me on either side, like two great, noble dogs, afraid, yet trusting their master, and still dauntless in the threatening face of duty.

Through the terrible stillness which had fallen upon us all, I could hear the Oneida guide muttering his death-song; and presently my two Christian Indians commenced in low voices to recite the prayers for the dying.