Uttering their cry of despair, "Oonali! Oonali!" a wail
for a battle lost, they sprang into the stream, many of them
throwing away their rifles, tomahawks, and blankets, and rushed
for the other shore. But the Scouts and a body of riflemen were
after them.
Braxton Wyatt and his band appeared in the woods on the far
shore, and opened fire on the pursuers now in the stream. He
alone among the white men had the courage, or the desperation, to
throw himself and his men in the path of the pursuit. The
riflemen in the water felt the bullets pattering around them, and
some were struck, but they did not stop. They kept on for the
bank, and their own men behind them opened a covering fire over
their heads.
Henry felt a great pulse leap in his throat at the sight of
Braxton Wyatt again. Nothing could have turned him back now.
Shouting to the riflemen, he led the charge through the water,
and the bank's defenders were driven back. Yet Wyatt, with his
usual dexterity and prudence, escaped among the thickets.
The battle now became only a series of detached combats. Little
groups seeking to make a stand here and there were soon swept
away. Thayendanegea and Timmendiquas raged and sought to gather
together enough men for an ambush, for anything that would sting
the victors, but they were pushed too hard and fast.
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