You cannot picture the distress of the women, children, and feeble
old men waiting at Forty Fort the issue of the battle.

The sorrowful groups on the bank of the river listened to the sounds
of conflict, and read the meaning as they came to their ears.

The steady, regular firing raised their hopes at first. They knew
their sons and friends were fighting well, despite the shouts of
the Indians borne down the valley on the sultry afternoon.

By and by the firing grew more scattering, and instead of being so
far up the river as at first, it was coming closer.

This could mean but one thing; the patriots were retreating before
the Tories and Indians.

One old man, nearly four score years of age, who pleaded to go into
the battle, but was too feeble, could not restrain his feelings.
He walked back and forth, inspired with new strength and full of
hope, until the scattered firing and its approach left no doubt of
its meaning.

He paused in his nervous, hobbling pace, and said to the white faced
women standing breathlessly near--"Our boys are retreating: they
have been beaten--all hope is gone!"

The next moment two horsemen galloped into sight. "Colonel Butler
and Colonel Denison!" said the old man, recognizing them; "they
bring sad news."