The Ottowas came without warning, running through the trees with tomahawks held high. Only when the British piquet turned did the Ottowas release their war-whoops, the sound high and chilling.
“Fight them!” MacKim stood in the middle of the piquet, as he and Dingwall had planned. “There is no retreat from here, my boys!” He wished fervently that Chisholm had been with him, but he was back in the camp with a fever.
Rather than run, the piquet slid behind the nearest trees, fired a volley and quickly fixed bayonets. MacKim swore. He had not expected the Ottowas to be in such numbers. “Form a circle, boys, guard the flanks.” He raised his voice to a roar. “Now! Now, Grenadiers!”
Emerging from their positions fifty paces behind MacKim’s piquet, the mixed Light Infantry and Grenadier patrol
