"For our fine regiments marched into an ambuscade on our way to drive Sir John from Stanwix, which he had invested. Colonel Cox is dead, and Majors Eisinlord and Klepsattle and Van Slyck. Colonel Paris is taken, and our brigade surgeon, Younglove, and Captain Martin of the batteaux service. John Frey, Major of brigade, is missing, and so is Colonel Bellinger. Scarce an inferior officer but is slain or taken; our dead soldiers are carted off by waggon-loads; our wounded lie in their alder-litters. And among them our general,--old Honikol Herkimer!--and I myself saw that brave Oneida die--our interpreter, Spencer----" A cry escaped me, instantly checked as I looked at Thiohero. The girl came and rested her arm on my left shoulder and gazed steadily at the militia man. He passed his hand wearily through his hair: "Only one regiment ran," he said dully. "I shall not name it to you because it was not entirely their fault; and afterward they lost heavily and fought bravely. But this is a dreadful blow to Tryon, John Drogue." "We were routed, then?" "No. We drove them from the field pell mell! We cut Brant's savages to pieces. We went at Sir John's Greens with our bayonets and tore the guts out of them! We put the fear o' God into Butler's green-coats, too, and there'll be caterwauling in Canada when the news is carried, for I saw young Stephen Watts[39] dead in his blood, and Hare running off with a broken arm a-flapping and he a-screaming like a singed wildcat----" [Footnote 39: Captain Watts was left for dead but ultimately recovered.] "Steve Watts! Dead!" "I saw him. I saw one of our soldiers take his watch from his body. God! What a shambles was there at Oriska!" But I was thinking of young Stevie Watts, Polly Johnson's brother, and my one-time friend, lying dead in his blood. And I thought of his boyish passion for Penelope. And her kindness for him. And remembered how last I had seen him.... And now he lay dead; and I had seen his sister but a few hours ago--seen her for the last time I should ever behold her. I drew a breath like a deep and painful sigh. "And the Fort?" I asked in a low voice. "Stanwix holds fast, John Drogue. Willett is there, and Gansevoort with the 3rd New York of the Line." "Have you news of McDonald, Dan?" "None." "Whither do you travel express?" "To Johnstown with the news if I can get there." I warned him concerning conditions in Schoharie. We shook hands, and I watched the brave militia man stride away through the forest all alone. When we camped that night, Thiohero touched her brow and breasts with ashes from our fire. That was her formal symbol of mourning for Spencer. Later we all should mourn him in due ceremony. Then she came and lay down close against me and rested her child's face on my hollow'd arm. And so slept all night long, trembling in her dreams.