Bugle calls began to sound, some of them signals for regiments to rally and reform, others the ubiquitous fox hunting calls which everyone knew so galled the rebels.
Grey dismounted to confer with the commander of the Black Watch. The battle was already winding down.
"Start pulling your command together, sir. They still outnumber us, even though we have them on the run!"
The Scotsman laughed.
"They're a runnin' clear to the Ohio."
"Keep control of your men!" Grey replied.
The colonel saluted and ran off, followed by his staff.
The General looked over his shoulder at Andre and grinned.
"Hell of a fox hunt it is now, Andre."
"Keep driving them!" Grey shouted as he remounted.
Allen stepped forward as if to interrupt and Grey looked down at him.
"You got one I see," Grey announced pointing to Allen's blade, the blood on it black in the moonlight.
Andre's hand was on Allen's shoulder pulling him back.
Grey spurred his mount and was off.
Allen turned on Andre and shrugged his hand off.
"It would have served no purpose, Lieutenant," Andre said. "He sees you now as one of us. You got your man."
"One of you?" Allen replied woodenly.
He looked back toward the forest, the burning wigwams. The blood frenzy was abating and he could see a column of prisoners, most of them wounded, staggering out of the woods, prodded along by guards with bayonets lowered. One of the men staggered and fell, and in an instant, two guards were on him, bayoneting him.
Andre again grasped Allen by the shoulder.
"With your damn accent you can't stop it. Let the fury leave them. By morning more than one will be on his knees to God asking for forgiveness."
"And the other side?" Allen asked coldly, nodding westward. "What will be their prayer?"
By the early light of dawn Anthony Wayne pressed along the road leading west. Staggering behind him was the wreckage of his command. Except for the cries of some of the wounded carried on stretchers or helped along by comrades, nearly all were silent, heads lowered, numbed, dejected.
Their general, however boiled with silent rage.
He had lost a battle, which was shame enough. He had also endured a massacre and he would have his vengeance, he swore to God, if it meant his life, he would have vengeance. Gone forever was any thought that this was a conflict of gentlemen. In his heart it was war as savage as any fought on the frontier and he would fight it thus until the end.