They had not been drilled to fight an unseen enemy.Capt.Pratt was compelled to order a retreat to the river bluff, where he conferred with Girty.
Inside the block-house was great activity, but no confusion.

That little band of fighters might have been drilled for a king's bodyguard.

Kneeling before each porthole on the river side of the Fort was a man who would fight while there was breath left in him.
He did not discharge his weapon aimlessly as the Indians did, but waited until he saw the outline of an Indian form, or a red coat, or a puff of white smoke; then he would thrust the rifle-barrel forward, take a quick aim and fire.

By the side of every man stood a heroic woman whose face was blanched, but who spoke never a word as she put the muzzle of the hot rifle into a bucket of water, cooled the barrel, wiped it dry and passed it back to the man beside her.
Silas Zane had been wounded at the first fire.

A glancing ball had struck him on the head, inflicting a painful scalp wound.