Upon us closer now they came; We formed in circles walled with flame, Which way they moved our front the same. Sore galled and thinned came Butler’s men, With a bayonet charge to clear the glen, And gallantly we met them then. Our wrath upon the curs to deal, There, hand to hand and steel to steel, We made their close-set column reel. Fiercely we fought ’mid fire and smoke, With rifle shot and hatchet stroke, When over our heads the thunder broke. And I have heard the oldest say That ne’er before that bloody day Such storm was known as stopped our fray. ’Twas one of the cloud-king’s victories— Down came the rain in gusty seas, Driving us under the heaviest trees. But short the respite that we got; The rain and thunder lasted not, And strife again grew fierce and hot. At the foot of a bank I took my stand, To pick out a man from a coming band, When I felt on my throat a foeman’s hand. At the tightening grasp my eyes grew dim; But I saw ’twas a Mingo, stout of limb, And fierce was the struggle I made with him. Deep peril hung upon my life; My foot gave way in the fearful strife, The wretch was o’er me with his knife. In my hair his eager fingers played, I felt the keen edge of his blade; But I struggled the harder undismayed. I had sunk before his deadly blow, When suddenly o’er me fell my foe— A friendly ball had laid him low. The Mohawks wavered—Brant in vain Would bring them to the charge again, For the chiefest of their braves were slain. We heard a firing far away In the distance where Fort Schuyler lay— ’Twas Willett with Johnson making play. [Illustration: MARINUS WILLETT.] Advancing, then, with friendly cries, A band of patriots met our eyes— The Tories of Johnson in disguise. They came as though to aid our band, With cheerful front and friendly hand— An artful trick and ably planned. We hailed their coming with a cheer, But the keen eye of Gardinier Saw through their mask as they drew near. “They think,” he cried, “by tricks like these, To lock our sense and bear the keys— Look! those are Johnson’s Refugees!” A deadly purpose in us rose; There might be quarter for our foes Of Mingo breed, but none for those. For cabins fired, and old men slain, And outraged women pleading vain, Cried vengeance on those sons of Cain. A hurtling volley made to tell, And then, with one wild, savage yell, Resistless on their ranks we fell. The Mohawks see their allies die; Dismayed, they raise the warning cry Of “Oonah!” then they break and fly. A panic seized the startled foe; They show no front, they strike no blow, As through the forest in rout they go.