Quade’s face twisted. “They’re what did for us. They occupied the woods at the summit; kept us pinned down with musket fire. All this while Van Rensselaer was still trying to rally his troops into crossing the river. Trouble was, the cowards had seen the redcoats advancing and they could hear the screams.”

“Screams?” Hawkwood said.

“Of the wounded …” Quade lifted his glass and took a swallow, “… and the natives. That’s when the militia told Rensselaer they weren’t prepared to fight on foreign soil! It was their cowardice that left us stranded. Once the rest of Sheaffe’s men arrived, we never stood a chance. Marched towards us as calm as you like. Stopped a hundred and fifty yards out. At that range our muskets were useless. When they fired their volley, we couldn’t see them for the smoke. It was only when it cleared that we realized they’d used it to hide their approach. That’s when they fixed bayonets and charged.”

The American grimaced. “And we ran; every man of us, like frightened jack rabbits. Only there was nowhere to go. We had the drop from the Heights at our backs and the British in front. We tried sending two men out with a white flag, but the savages cut them to pieces. By that time, most of our side were trying to climb down to the river, hoping they’d be able to swim across. You could hear their bodies hitting the rocks, even above the sound of the guns.”

Quade shook his head, as if to rid himself of the memory. “I don’t know how the hell I made it. Truth is, I was more fearful of what those savages would do if they caught me than I was of falling over the damned cliff. I thought the Mullahs were inventive when it came to torture, but they’re nothing compared to the Iroquois.”

The major cradled his glass in silence for a moment then his eyes met Hawkwood’s. “I took a musket ball in the side and that sent me tumbling. Broke the bone when I landed. One of my sergeants hauled me into the water. Funny thing is, it was one of those missing oars that saved us. We found it adrift on the current and used it to float back to our own shore.”

Quade extended his injured limb and resumed kneading the muscle above his knee. “We left a thousand men behind. It wasn’t a retreat, it was a rout, plain and simple. No other word for it.”