Throughout the night a careful watch was kept; but the enemy made no attack during the darkness, merely firing an occasional shot and from time to time uttering defiant yells.

They were confident that Bouquet's force would be an easy prey, and waited for daylight to renew the battle.
The soldiers had played a heroic part.

Though unused to forest warfare, they had been cool as veterans in Indian fighting, and not a man had fired a shot without orders.
But the bravest of them looked to the morning with dread.
They had barely been able to hold their own on this day, and by morning the Indians would undoubtedly be greatly strengthened.

The cries and moans of the wounded vividly reminded them of what had already happened.

Besides, they were worn out with marching and fighting; worse than physical fatigue and more trying than the enemy's bullets was torturing thirst; and not a drop of water could be obtained at the place where they were hemmed in.
By the flickering light of a candle Bouquet penned one of the noblest letters ever written by a soldier in time of battle.