A Soldier of Virginia Part 11

The story of one day was the story of all the others. Obstacles confronted us at every step, but we struggled forward, dragging the wagons ourselves when the horses gave out, as they soon did, and finally, toward the end of May, we won through to a pleasant valley named Great Meadows, dominated by a mountain called Laurel Hill. Here there was abundant forage, and as the horses could go no further, Colonel Washington ordered a halt, and determined to await the promised reinforcements. A few days later, a company of regulars under Captain Mackay joined us, together with near a hundred men of the regiment who had remained behind with Colonel Fry, raising our numbers to four hundred men, though many were wasted with fever and dysentery.

Those of us who were able set to work throwing up a breastwork of logs, under the direction of Captain Robert Stobo, and at the end of three days had completed an inclosure a hundred feet square, with a rude cabin in the centre to hold our munitions and supplies.

There had been many alarms that the French were marching against us, but all of them had proved untrue, so when, some days after, the report spread through the camp again that the enemy were near, I paid little heed to it, and went to sleep as usual. How long I slept, I do not know, but I was awakened by some one shaking me by the shoulder.

"Get up at once, lieutenant, and report at headquarters," said a voice I recognized as Waggoner's, and as I sat upright with a jerk, he pa.s.sed on to awake another sleeper. I was out of bed in an instant, and threw on my clothing with nervous haste. I could hear a storm raging, and when I stepped outside the tent, I was almost blinded by the rain, driven in great sheets before the wind. I fought my way against it to Washington's tent, where I found Captain Stephen and some thirty men, and others coming up every moment.

"What is it?" I asked of Waggoner, who had got back to headquarters before me, but he shook his head to show that he knew no more than I.

A moment later, the flap of the tent was raised, and Colonel Washington appeared, wrapped in his cloak as though for a journey, and followed by an Indian, who, I learned afterwards, was none other than the Half King.

He spoke a few words to Captain Stephen, and the order was given to form in double rank and march, Colonel Washington himself leading the expedition, which numbered all told some forty men.

I shall never forget that midnight march through the forest, with the rain falling in a deluge through the dripping trees, the lightning flashing and the thunder rolling. We stumbled along upon each other's heels, falling over logs or underbrush, the wet branches switching our faces raw and soaking us through and through. It seemed to me that we must have covered fifteen or twenty miles, at least, when the first gray of the morning brightened the horizon and a halt was called, but really we had come little more than five. Here it was found that seven men had been lost upon the way, and that our powder was so wet that most of it was useless, to many of us the charge in our firelocks being all that remained serviceable. After an hour's halt, the order came again to march, with caution to move warily. Scouts were thrown out ahead, and soon came back with tidings that the enemy was hard by.

My hands were trembling with excitement as we crept forward to the edge of a rocky hollow, and as we looked down the slope, we could see the French below. There were thirty of them or more, and they were getting breakfast, their arms stacked beside them. Almost at the same instant their sentries saw us and gave the alarm.

"Follow me, men!" cried Washington, and he started down the slope, we after him. As we went, the French sprang to arms and gave us a volley, but it was badly aimed in their excitement and so did little damage. As we closed in on them we returned their fire, and some eight or nine fell, while the others, thinking doubtless that they had been surprised by a large force, threw down their guns and held up their hands in token of surrender. Captain Stephen had been slightly wounded, but charged on down the slope ahead of us, and took prisoner a young officer, who refused to surrender, but kept on fighting until his sword was knocked from his hand. Then he began to tear his hair and curse in French, pointing now and again to another officer who lay among the dead. He grew so violent that he attracted Colonel Washington's attention.

"Come here a moment, Lieutenant Peyronie," he called. "You understand French. What is this fellow saying?"

Peyronie exchanged a few words with the prisoner, who stooped, drew a paper from the inner pocket of the dead officer's coat, and held it toward us. Peyronie took it, glanced over it with grave countenance, and turned to Colonel Washington.

"This man is Ensign Marie Drouillon, sir," he said. "The party was in command of Ensign Coulon de Jumonville, whom you see lying dead there. M.

Drouillon claims that the party did not come against us as spies, or for the purpose of fighting, but simply to bring a message to you from M. de Contrecoeur, who is in command of the fort at the forks of the Ohio, which, it seems, has been named Fort Duquesne. This is the message," and he held out the paper to Washington.

"'Tis in French," said the latter, glancing over it. "What does it say?"

"It warns you to return to the settlements," answered Peyronie, "on the pretext that all the land this side the mountains belongs to France."

Here the prisoner, who was evidently laboring under great excitement, broke in, and said something rapidly in a loud voice, which made Peyronie flush, and drew nods and cries of approbation from the other prisoners.

"What does he say?" asked Washington, seeing that Peyronie hesitated.

"He says, sir," answered Peyronie, with evident reluctance, "that M. de Jumonville came in the character of an amba.s.sador and has been a.s.sa.s.sinated."

Washington flushed hotly and his eyes grew dark.

"Ask M. Drouillon," he said, "why an amba.s.sador thought it necessary to bring with him a guard of thirty men?"

Peyronie put the question, but Drouillon did not reply.

"Ask him also," continued Washington, "why he remained concealed near my troops for three days, instead of coming directly to me as an amba.s.sador should have done?"

Again Peyronie put the question, and again there was no answer.

"Tell him," said Washington sternly, "that I see through his trick,--that I comprehend it thoroughly. M. Jumonville counted on using his pretext of amba.s.sador to spy upon my camp, and to avert an attack in case he was discovered. Well, he produced his message too late. He has behaved as an enemy, and has been treated as such. That he is dead is wholly his own fault. Had he chosen the part of an amba.s.sador instead of that of a spy, this would not have happened."

He turned away, and apparently dismissed the matter from his mind, but that it troubled him long afterward I am quite certain, though in the whole affair no particle of blame attached to him. The French made a great outcry about it, but I have never heard that any of them ever answered the questions which were put to M. Drouillon. The truth of the matter is, that they were only too eager for some pretext upon which to base the a.s.sertion that it was the English who began hostilities, and this flimsy excuse was the best they could invent. But that little brush under the trees on that windy May morning was to have momentous consequences, for it was the beginning of the struggle which drenched the continent in blood.

CHAPTER X

THE FRENCH SCORE FIRST

We marched back to the camp at Great Meadows with our prisoners,--some twenty in all,--much elated at our success, but near dead with fatigue.

Lieutenant Spiltdorph was selected to escort them to Virginia, and set off with them toward noon, together with twenty men, cursing the ill-luck which deprived him of the opportunity to make the remainder of the campaign with us.

For that the French would march against us in force was well-nigh certain, once they learned of Jumonville's defeat, of which the Indians would soon inform them, and that we should be outnumbered three or four to one seemed inevitable. But no one thought of retreat, our commander, I am sure, least of all. He seemed everywhere at once, heartening the men, inspecting equipment, overseeing the preparations for defense. The only hostile element in the camp was the company of regulars under Captain Mackay, who refused to a.s.sist in any of the work, a.s.serting that they were employed only to fight. Captain Mackay, too, holding his commission from the king, claimed to outrank Colonel Washington, and yielded him but a reluctant and sullen obedience.

Christopher Gist, who had just come from Will's Creek with tidings of Colonel Fry's death, was of the opinion that a much more effective resistance might be made at his plantation, twelve miles further on, where there were some strong log buildings and a ground, so he claimed, admirably suited for intrenchment. Accordingly, we set out for there, arriving after a fatiguing journey. The horses were in worse case than ever, and only two miserable teams and a few tottering pack-horses remained capable of working. Finally, on the twenty-ninth of June, the Half King, who had been our faithful friend throughout, brought us word that seven hundred French and three or four hundred Indians had marched from Fort Duquesne against us. As the news spread through the camp, the officers left the intrenchments upon which they had been at work, and gathered to discuss the news. There a message from Colonel Washington summoned us to a conference at Gist's cabin.

"Gentlemen," he said, when we had all a.s.sembled, "I need not tell you that the situation is most critical. We can scarce hope to successfully oppose an enemy who outnumbers us three to one, and yet 't is impossible to retreat without abandoning all our baggage and munitions, since we have no means of transport."

He fell silent for a moment, and no one spoke. I saw that the worry of the last few weeks had left its mark upon him, for there was a line between his eyes which I had never seen before, but which never left him afterward.

"What I propose," he said at last, "is to fall back to Great Meadows. I believe it to be better fitted for defense than this place, which is commanded by half a dozen hills, and where we could not hope to hold out against artillery fire. At Great Meadows we can strengthen our intrenchment in the middle of the plain, and the French will hardly dare attempt to carry it by a.s.sault, since they must advance without cover for two hundred yards or more. It is a charming field for an encounter. Has any one a better plan?"

Mackay was the first to speak.

"'Tis better to lose our baggage than to lose both it and our lives," he said. "The French may not care to risk an a.s.sault, but they have only to sit down about the work for a day or two to starve us out."

"That is true," answered Washington, and his face was very grave; "yet reinforcements cannot be far distant. Two independent companies from New York reached Annapolis a fortnight since, and are doubtless being hurried forward. Other companies have arrived in the colony, and must be near at hand. Besides," he added, in a firmer tone, "I cannot consent to return to Virginia without striking at least one blow at the French, else this expedition might just as well have never been begun."

"That is the point!" cried Stephen. "Let us not run away until we see something to run from. Your plan is the best possible under the circ.u.mstances, Colonel Washington."

We all of us echoed this opinion, and after thanking us warmly, our commander bade us make ready at once for the return to Great Meadows. The baggage was done into packs as large as a man could carry; a force was told off to drag the swivels; the officers added their horses to the train, and prepared to carry packs just as the men did. Colonel Washington left half of his personal baggage behind, paying some soldiers four pistoles to carry the remainder. So at daybreak we set out, the sufferings of our men being greatly aggravated by the conduct of the regulars, who refused to carry a pound of baggage or place a hand upon the ropes by which we dragged our guns after us.

The miseries of that day I hope never to see repeated. Men dropped senseless on the road, or fell beneath the trees, unable to go further.

The main body of the troops struggled on, leaving these stragglers to follow when they could, and on the morning of the next day we reached Great Meadows, weak, trembling, and exhausted. But even here there was no rest for us, for it was necessary to strengthen our defenses against the attack which could not be long deferred. The breastwork seemed all too weak now we knew the force which would be brought against it, and we started to dig a trench around it, but so feeble were the men that it was only half completed. Even at the best, our condition was little short of desperate. Much of our ammunition had been ruined, and our supply of provisions was near gone. We had been without bread for above a week, and while we had plenty of cattle for beef, we had no salt with which to cure the meat, and the hot summer sun soon made it unfit to eat.

Yet, with all this, there was little murmuring, the example of our commander encouraging us all. At our council in our tent that evening, Peyronie, with invincible good humor, declared that no man could complain so long as the tobacco lasted, and in a cloud of blue-gray smoke, we gave our hastily constructed fort the suggestive name of "Fort Necessity."

The morning of the third of July was spent by us in overhauling the firelocks and making the last dispositions of our men. Colonel Washington inspected personally the whole line, and saw that no detail was overlooked. He had not slept for two nights, but seemed indefatigable, and even the regulars cheered him as he pa.s.sed along the breastwork. But at last the inspection was finished and we settled down to wait.

Peyronie and myself had been stationed at the northwest corner of the fort with thirty men, and just before noon, from far away in the forest, came the sound of a single musket shot. We waited in suspense for what might follow, and in a moment a sentry came running from the wood with one arm swinging useless by his side.

"They have come!" he cried, as he tumbled over the breastwork. "They will be here in a moment," and even as he spoke, the edge of the forest was filled with French and Indians, and a lively fire was opened against us, but the range was so great that the bullets did no damage. The drums beat the alarm, and expecting a general attack, we were formed in column before the intrenchment. But the enemy had no stomach for that kind of work, and veered off to the south, where they occupied two little hills, whence they could enfilade a portion of our position. We answered their fire as best we could, but it was cruel, disheartening work.

"Do you call this war?" asked Peyronie impatiently, after an hour of this gunnery. "In faith, had I thought 'twould be like this, I had been less eager to enlist. Why don't the cowards try an a.s.sault?"

"Yes, why don't they?" and I looked gloomily at the wall of trees from which jets of smoke and flame puffed incessantly.

"'Tis not the kind of fighting I've been used to," cried Peyronie. "In Europe we fight on open ground, where the best man wins; we do not skulk behind the trees and through the underbrush. I've a good notion to try a sally. What say you, Stewart?"

"Here comes Colonel Washington," I answered. "Let us ask him." But he shook his head when we proposed it to him.