"Come, Tayoga," said the hunter, "we'll go back to the ground our lads
have defended so well, and eat, drink and sleep. The Mohawks will
attend to all the work that's left, which isn't much. We've earned our
repose."

Captain Colden, slightly wounded in the arm, appeared and Willet gave
him the high compliments that he and his soldiers deserved. He told
him it was seldom that men unused to the woods bore themselves so well
in an Indian fight, but the young captain modestly disclaimed the
chief merit, replying that he and his detachment would surely have
been lost, had it not been for Willet and his comrades.

Then they went back to the ground near the cliff, where they had made
their great fight, and Willet although the night was warm, wisely had
a large fire built. He knew the psychological and stimulating effect
of heat and light upon the lads of the city, who had passed through
such a fearful ordeal in the dark and Indian-haunted forest. He
encouraged them to throw on more dead boughs, until the blaze leaped
higher and higher and sparkled and roared, sending up myriads of
joyous sparks that glowed for their brief lives among the trees and
then died. No fear of St. Luc and the Indians now! That fierce fringe
of Mohawks was a barrier that they could never pass, even should they
choose to return, and no such choice could possibly be theirs! The
fire crackled and blazed in increasing volume, and the Philadelphia
lads, recovering from the collapse that had followed tremendous
exertions and excitement, began to appreciate the extent of their
victory and to talk eagerly with one another.

But the period of full rest had not yet come. Captain Colden made them
dig with their bayonets shallow graves for their dead, six in number.