The weight that the Mohawks had suddenly thrown into the battle was too great.

The force of St.Luc was steadily driven northward, and Daganoweda's alert skirmishers on the flanks kept it compressed together.
Robert knew how bitter the defeat would be to St.Luc, but the knowledge did not keep his exultation from mounting to a high pitch.
St.Luc might strive with all his might to keep his men in the battle, but the Frenchmen could not be numerous, and it was the custom of Indians, once a combat seemed lost, to melt away like a mist.

They believed thoroughly that it was best to run away and fight another day, and there was no disgrace in escaping from a stricken field.
"They run! They run! And the Frenchmen must run with them!" exclaimed Black Rifle.

As he spoke, a bullet grazed his side and struck a soldier behind him, but the force pressed on with the ardor fed by victory.

Willet did not try any longer to restrain them, although he understood full well the danger of a battle in the dark.