A Soldier of Virginia Part 12

"'Twould be madness," he said. "They are three times our number, and would pick us all off before we could reach the trees. No, the best we can do is to remain behind our breastwork. It seems a mean kind of warfare, I admit, but 'tis a kind we must get accustomed to, if we are to fight the French and Indians;" and he walked on along his rounds, speaking a word of encouragement here and there, and seemingly quite unconscious of the bullets which whistled about him.

Yet the breastwork did not protect us wholly, for now and then a man would throw up his arms and fall with a single shrill cry, or roll over in the mud of the trench, cursing horribly, with a bullet in him somewhere. Doctor Craik, who had enlisted as lieutenant, was soon compelled to lay aside his gun and do what he could to relieve their suffering. Not for a moment during the afternoon did the enemy's fire slacken, and the strain began to tell upon our men. The pieces grew foul, there were only two screw-rods in the camp with which to clean them, and as the hours pa.s.sed, our fire grew less and less. The swivels had long since been abandoned, for the gunners were picked off so soon as they showed themselves above the breastwork.

There had been mutterings of thunder and dashes of rain all the afternoon, and now the storm broke in earnest, the rain falling in such fury as I had never seen. The trenches filled with water, and we tried in vain to keep dry the powder in our cartouch boxes. Not only was this wet, but the rain leaked through the magazine we had built in the middle of the camp, and ruined the ammunition we had stored there. So soon as the rain slackened, the enemy resumed their fire, but Major Washington forbade us to reply, since there was scarce a dozen rounds in the fort.

I confess that this species of fighting took the heart out of me, and I could see no chance of a successful issue.

I was sitting thus, looking gloomily out at the forest in front of me, and wondering why the fire from there had ceased, when I noticed that there seemed to be many more rocks and bushes scattered about the plain than I had ever before observed. The gloom of the evening had fallen, and I rubbed my eyes and looked again to make sure I was not mistaken. No, there was no mistake, and I suddenly understood what was about to happen.

"Peyronie," I whispered to my neighbor, who was sitting in the mud, swearing softly under his mustache, "we are going to have some excitement presently. The Indians are creeping up to carry us by a.s.sault."

"What?" he exclaimed, sitting suddenly upright. "Oh, no such luck!"

"Yes, but they are," I insisted. "Watch those bushes out there. See, they 're moving up toward us."

He rose to his knees and peered keenly out through the gloom.

"Pardieu," he muttered after a moment, "so they are! Well, we shall be ready for them."

We pa.s.sed the word around to our men, and startled them into new life.

The muskets were primed sparingly with dry powder, and we waited with tense nerves for the a.s.sault. The fusillade from the hills had been redoubled, but a terrible and threatening silence hung over the intrenchment, and doubtless encouraged our a.s.sailants to believe that our ammunition was quite gone. Near and nearer crept the Indians, fifty or sixty of them at least, and perhaps many more, and we lay still with bursting pulses and waited. Now the foremost of them was scarce forty yards away, and suddenly, with a yell, they were all upon their feet and charging us.

"Tirez, tirez!" shouted Peyronie, forgetting his English in his excitement, and we sent a volley full into them. It was a warmer reception than they had counted on, and they wavered for a moment, but there must have been a Frenchman leading them, for they rallied, and came on again with a rush. We met them with fixed bayonets, but they outnumbered us so greatly that we must have given way before them had not Colonel Washington, hearing the uproar and guessing its meaning, dashed over at the head of reinforcements and given them another volley. As I was reloading with feverish haste, I saw an Indian rush at Colonel Washington with raised tomahawk. Washington raised his pistol, coolly took aim, and pulled the trigger, but the powder flashed and did not explode. With the sweat starting from my forehead, I dashed some powder into the pan of my pistol, jerked it up, and fired. Ah, Captain Paul, how I blessed your lessons in that moment! for the ball went true, and the Indian rolled in the mud almost at Washington's feet. They had had enough, and those who were still alive leaped the trench and disappeared into the outer darkness.

"They won't try that again," I remarked to Peyronie, who was sitting against the breastwork. "But what is it, man? Are you wounded?" I cried, seeing that he was very pale and held both hands to his breast.

"Yes, I am hit here," he answered, and added, as I fell on my knees beside him and began to tear the clothing from the wound, "but do not distress yourself, Stewart. I can be attended after the battle is won."

"Nonsense," I said. "You shall be attended at once." He smiled up at me, and then went suddenly white and fell against my shoulder. I tore away his shirt, and saw that blood was welling from a wound in the breast. I propped him against the wall, and ordering one of the men to go for Doctor Craik, stanched the blood as well as I could. The doctor hastened to us so soon as he could leave his other wounded, but he shook his head gravely when he saw Peyronie's injury.

"A bad case," he said. "Clear into the lungs, I think. But I have seen men recover of worse hurts," he added, seeing how pale I was.

I watched him as he bound up the wound with deft fingers, and then between us we carried him to the little cabin, which had been converted from magazine to hospital, and was already crowded from wall to wall. It was with a sore heart that I left him and returned to the breastwork, for I had come to love Peyronie dearly. The event was not so serious as I then feared, for, after a gallant fight for life, he won the battle, recovered of his wound, and lived to do service in another war.

The repulse of the Indians seemed to have disheartened the enemy, for their fire slackened until only a shot now and then broke the stillness of the night. Our condition was desperate as it could well be, yet I heard no word of surrender. I was sitting listlessly, thinking of Peyronie's wound, when a whisper ran along the lines that the French were sending a flag of truce. Sure enough, we could see a man in white uniform approaching the breastwork, waving a white flag above his head. He was halted by the sentries while yet some distance off, and Colonel Washington sent for. He appeared in a moment.

"Where is Lieutenant Peyronie?" he asked. "We will have need of him."

"He is wounded, sir," I answered. "He was shot through the breast during the a.s.sault."

Washington glanced about at the circle of faces.

"Is there any other here who speaks French?" he asked.

There was a moment's silence.

"Why, sir," said Vanbraam at last, "I have managed to pick up the f.a.g ends of a good many languages during my life, and I can jabber French a little."

"Very well," and Washington motioned him forward. "Mount the breastwork and ask this fellow what he wants."

Vanbraam did as he was bid, and there was a moment's high-toned conversation between him and the Frenchman.

"He says, sir," said Vanbraam, "that he has been sent by his commander, M. Coulon-Villiers, to propose a parley."

Washington looked at him keenly.

"And he wishes to enter the fort?"

"He says he wishes to see you, sir."

Washington glanced about at the mud-filled trenches, the ragged, weary men, the haggard faces of the officers, the dead scattered here and there along the breastwork, and his face grew stern.

"'Tis a trick!" he cried. "He wishes to see how we are situated. Tell him that we do not care to parley, but are well prepared to defend ourselves against any force the French can muster."

I gasped at the audacity of the man, and the Frenchman was doubtless no less astonished. He disappeared into the forest, but half an hour later again approached the fort. Vanbraam's services as interpreter were called for a second time, and there was a longer parley between him and the messenger.

"He proposes," said Vanbraam, when the talk was finished, "that we send two officers to meet two French officers, for the purpose of agreeing upon articles of capitulation. M. Coulon-Villiers states that he is prepared to make many concessions, and he believes this course will be for the advantage of both parties."

Washington looked around at the officers grouped about him.

"It is clear that we must endeavor to make terms, gentlemen," he said.

"The morning will disclose our plight to the enemy, and it will then be no longer a question of terms, but of surrender. At present they believe us capable of defense, hence they talk of concessions. What say you, gentlemen?"

There was nothing to be said except to agree, and Vanbraam and Captain Stephen were sent out to confer with the French. They returned in the course of an hour, bringing with them the articles already signed by Coulon-Villiers, and awaiting only Colonel Washington's ratification.

Vanbraam read them aloud by the light of a flickering candle, and we listened in silence until he had finished. They were better than we could have hoped, providing that we should march out at daybreak with all the honors of war, drums beating, flags flying, and match lighted for our cannon; that we should take with us our baggage, be protected from the Indians, and be permitted to retire unmolested to Virginia, in return for which we were to release all the prisoners we had taken a few days before, and as they were already on their way to the colony, should leave two officers with the French as hostages until the prisoners had been delivered to them.

There was a moment's silence when Vanbraam had finished reading, and then, without raising his head, Colonel Washington signed, and threw the pen far from him. Then he arose and walked slowly to his quarters, and I saw him no more that night. Captain Mackay insisted also that he must sign the paper, and, to my intense disgust, wrote his name in above that of our commander.

There was little sleep for any of us that night, and I almost envied Peyronie tossing on his blanket, oblivious to what was pa.s.sing about him.

Vanbraam and Robert Stobo were appointed to accompany the French back to the Ohio, to remain there as hostages, and we all shook hands with them before they went away through the darkness toward the French camp.

But the night pa.s.sed, and at daybreak we abandoned the fort and began the retreat, carrying our sick and wounded on our backs, since the Indians had killed all our horses. Most of our baggage was perforce left behind, and the Indians lost no time in looting it. That done, they pressed threateningly upon our rear, so that an attack seemed imminent, nor did the French make any effort to restrain them; but we held firm, and the Indians finally drew off and returned to the fort, leaving us to cover as best we might those weary miles over the mountains. By the promise of ten pistoles, I had secured two men to bear Peyronie between them on a blanket, but 'twas impossible to treat all the wounded so, and the fainting men staggered along under their screaming burdens, falling sometimes, and lying where they fell from sheer exhaustion.

What Colonel Washington's feelings were I could only guess. He strode at the head of the column, his head bowed on his breast, his heart doubtless torn by the suffering about him, and saying not a word for hours together, nor did any venture to approach him. I doubt if ever in his life he will be called upon to pa.s.s through a darker hour than he did on that morning of the fourth of July, 1754. Through no fault of his, the power of England on the Ohio had been dealt a staggering blow, and his pride and ambition crushed into the dust.

What need to tell of that weary march back to the settlements, the suffering by the way, the sorry reception accorded us, the consternation caused by the news of French success? At Winchester we met two companies from North Carolina which had been marching to join us, and these were ordered to Will's Creek, to establish a post to protect the frontier from the expected Indian aggression. Captain Mackay and his men remained at Winchester, while our regiment returned to Alexandria to rest and recruit. As for me, I was glad enough to put off the harness of war and make the best of my way back to Riverview, saddened and humbled by this first experience, which was so different from the warfare of which I had read and dreamed, with its bright pageantry, its charges and shock of arms, its feats of single combat. Fate willed that I was yet to see another, trained on the battlefields of Europe, humbled in the dust by these foes whom I found so despicable, and the soldiers of the king taught a lesson they were never to forget.

One word more. Perhaps I have been unjust to Captain Mackay and his men.

Time has done much to soften the bitterness with which their conduct filled me, and as I look back now across the score of years that lie between, I can appreciate to some degree their att.i.tude toward our commander. Certainly it might seem a dangerous thing to intrust an enterprise of such moment to a youth of twenty-two, with no knowledge of warfare but that he had gained from books. It is perhaps not wonderful that veterans should have looked at him askance, and I would not think of them too harshly. He doubtless made mistakes,--as what man would not have done?--yet I believe that not even the first captain of the empire could have s.n.a.t.c.hed victory from odds so desperate.

CHAPTER XI

DREAM DAYS AT RIVERVIEW

In the many summer evenings which followed, I played the part of that broken soldier, who, as Mr. Goldsmith tells us so delightfully,