A Soldier of Virginia Part 19

"In truth, sir," I answered, somewhat abashed at his merriment, "I decided long ago that since I held no station in the world, I needs must win one with my sword, but if I can find no employment for it, I see small hope of advancement."

"Well, do not repine," and he smiled as he shook my hand, "for if the French do not wait to meet us here, we shall yet find plenty of fighting before us. This is only the first stage in the journey, and Duquesne once ours, we press forward to join forces with the expeditions which are moving against Canada. If I hear more from Colonel Washington, I shall let you know."

I thanked him for his kindness, and watched him as he rode away across the plain. When he was out of sight, I turned back to join my company, and I felt that I had made a new friend, and one whom I was proud to have.

CHAPTER XVI

THE END IN SIGHT

The country beyond Great Meadows was exceeding mountainous, and we could proceed only a few miles each day, and that with the greatest difficulty. The horses were by this time well-nigh useless, and at every little hill half the men were compelled to ground arms and take a hand at the wagons. It was work fatiguing beyond description, and our sick list grew larger every day, while those who remained upon their feet were in scarce better plight.

On the evening of the twenty-sixth, we reached the pa.s.s through which had come the party of French and Indians to attack us at Fort Necessity. They must have thought for a time to oppose us here, for we came upon traces of a camp just broken up, with embers still glowing in the hollow, over which they had prepared their food. Both French and Indians had been present, for the former had written on the trees many insolent and scurrilous expressions,--which gave me a poorer opinion of them than I had yet entertained,--and the Indians had marked up the number of scalps they had taken, some eight or ten in all. Whatever their intention may have been, the sight of our strength had frightened them away, and we saw no sign of them as we descended into the valley on the other side.

We toiled on all the next day over a road that was painfully familiar to most of us, and in the evening came to Christopher Gist's plantation.

Spiltdorph and I made a circuit of the place that night, and I pointed out to him the dispositions we had made for defense the year before. The French had burned down all the buildings, but the half-finished trenches could yet be seen, and the logs which were to have made the breastwork still littered the ground.

Beyond Gist's, it was a new country to all of us, and grew more open, so that we could make longer marches. We descended a broad valley to the great crossing of the Yoxiogeny, which we pa.s.sed on the thirtieth. The general was under much apprehension lest the French ambush us here, and so advanced most cautiously, but we saw no sign of any enemy. Beyond the river was a great swamp, where a road of logs had to be built to support the wagons and artillery, but we won through without accident, and two days later reached a place called Jacob's cabin, not above thirty miles, as the bird flies, from Fort Duquesne. Here the rumor ran through the camp that we were to be held till Colonel Dunbar's division could be brought up from the Little Meadows, and there was much savage comment at our mess that evening.

"Why," cried Peyronie, who voiced the sentiment of all of us, "'twould take two weeks or more to bring Dunbar up, and what are we to do meantime? Sit here and eat this carrion?" and he looked disgustedly at the mess of unsavory beef on the table, which was, to tell the truth, most odoriferous. "'Tis rank folly to even think of such a course."

"So the general believes," said a pleasant voice, and I turned with a start to see a gallant figure standing by the raised flap of the tent.

"Captain Orme!" I cried, springing to my feet, and I brought him in and presented him to all the others. We pressed him to sit down, and though he laughingly declined to partake of our rations, against which, he said, Peyronie's remark had somehow prejudiced him, he consented to join us in a gla.s.s of wine,--where Waggoner found the bottle I could never guess,--in which we pledged the success of the campaign.

"So we are not to stop here?" asked Peyronie, when the toast was drunk.

"No," and Orme set down the gla.s.s. "The suggestion was made by Sir John St. Clair, and a council was held half an hour since to consider it. It was agreed without debate that we could not afford the delay, as the provision is running low, and so we shall press on at once."

"'Tis the wiser course," said Waggoner. "We have men in plenty."

"So the general thinks," said Orme. "He has learned that there is only a small garrison at the fort, which can scarce hope to resist us. But 'twas not to talk of the campaign I came here. I had a note this evening from Colonel Washington, which I knew Lieutenant Stewart would wish to see."

"Oh, yes!" I cried. "What says he, sir?"

Orme glanced about at the circle of attentive faces.

"I see Colonel Washington has many friends here," he said, with a smile.

"He writes that he is improving, and hopes soon to join us, and implores me not to neglect to warn him so that he can be present when we meet the French. I shall not neglect it," he added.

"Captain Orme," said Peyronie, after a moment, "I am sure I speak for all these gentlemen when I say we deeply appreciate your kindness in coming here to-night. There is not one of us who does not love Colonel Washington. We thank you, sir," and Peyronie bowed with a grace worthy of Versailles.

"Nay," protested Orme, bowing in his turn, "it was a little thing. I, too, think much of Colonel Washington. Good-evening, gentlemen," and we all arose and saluted him, remaining standing till he was out of sight.

"A gentleman and a soldier, if ever I saw one!" cried Peyronie. "A man whom it is a privilege to know." And we all of us echoed the sentiment.

So, the next morning, the order was given to march as usual, and we made about five miles to a salt lick in the marsh, where we camped for the night. The next day we reached a little stream called Thicketty Run, and here there was a longer halt, until we could gain some further information of the enemy. Christopher Gist, by dint of many gifts and much persuasion, had secured the services of eight Iroquois, lazy dogs, who up to the present time had done little but eat and sleep. But we were now so near the enemy that it was imperative to reconnoitre their position, so, after much trouble, two of the Indians were induced to go forward, and Gist himself was sent after them to see that they really did approach the fort and not try to deceive us. This was the fourth of July, just one year since we had marched away from Fort Necessity. All the next day we remained at Thicketty Run, waiting for the scouts to come in, but they did not appear until the sixth.

The Indians returned early in the morning, bringing with them the scalp of a French officer they had killed near the fort, and stated that they had seen none of the enemy except the one they had shot, and that the French possessed no pa.s.s between us and Duquesne, and had seemingly made no preparation to resist us. Gist got back later in the day, having narrowly escaped capture by two Delawares, and confirmed this story. Such carelessness on the part of the French seemed incredible, as the country was very favorable to an ambuscade, and the officers were almost unanimously of the opinion that it was their purpose to abandon the fort at our approach.

These reports once received, we again broke camp and advanced toward the Monongahela. An unhappy accident marked the day. Three or four men who had loitered behind were surprised by some Indians, and killed and scalped, before a.s.sistance could be sent them. This so excited our scouting parties that they fired upon a body of our own Indians, notwithstanding the fact that they made the preconcerted signal by holding up a green bough and grounding arms. The son of Chief Monakatuca was killed by the discharge, and it was feared for a time that the Indians would leave in a body. But the general sent for them, condoled with them and made them presents, ordered that Monakatuca's son be given a military burial, and, in a word, handled them so adroitly that they became more attached to us than ever. Additional scouting parties were thrown out to right and left, and every precaution taken to prevent further mishap.

The next day we endeavored to pa.s.s a little stream called Turtle Creek, but found the road impracticable, so turned into the valley of another stream, known as Long Run, and on the night of the eighth encamped within a mile of the Monongahela, and only about ten from the fort. Here General St. Clair, who seems from the first to have feared for the result, advised that a detachment be sent forward to invest the fort, but it was finally judged best to send the detachment from the next camp, from which it could be readily reinforced in case it were attacked. We were to ford the Monongahela at Crooked Run, march along the west bank to the mouth of Turtle Creek, ford it a second time, and advance against the fort. Both fords were described by the guides as very good ones and easy of pa.s.sage, while if we attempted to advance straight ahead on the east bank of the river, we should encounter a very rough road, beside pa.s.sing through a country admirably fitted by nature for an ambuscade. Colonel Gage was to march before daybreak to secure both fords, and the men turned in with full a.s.surance that the battle so long deferred and so eagerly awaited was not far distant.

That night it so happened that I was placed in charge of one of the rear pickets, and I sat with my back against a tree, smoking lazily and wondering what the morrow would bring forth, when I heard a horse galloping down the road, and a moment later the sharp challenge of a sentry. I was on my feet in an instant, and saw that the picket had evidently been satisfied that all was well, for he had permitted the rider to pa.s.s. As he reached the edge of the camp, he emerged from the shadow of the trees, and I started as I looked at him.

"Colonel Washington!" I cried, and as he checked his horse sharply, I was at his side.

"Why, is it you, Tom?" he asked, and as I took his hand, I noticed how thin it was. "Well, it seems I am in time."

"Yes," I said. "The battle, if there be one, must take place to-morrow."

"Why should there not be one?" he questioned, leaning down from his saddle to see my face more clearly.

"The French may run away."

"True," he said, and sat for a moment thinking. "Yet it is not like them to run without striking a blow. No, I believe we shall have a battle, Tom, and I am glad that I am to be here to see it."

"But are you strong enough?" I asked. "You have not yet the air of a well man."

He laughed lightly as he gathered up his reins. "In truth, Tom," he said, "I am as weak as a man could well be and still sit his horse, but the fever is broken and I shall be stronger to-morrow. But I must report to the general. He may have work for me," and he set spurs to his horse and was off.

I turned back to my station, musing on the iron will of this man, who could drag his body from a bed of sickness when duty called and yet think nothing of it. All about me gleamed the white tents in which the grenadiers and provincials were sleeping, dreaming perchance of victory.

Alas, for how many of them was it their last sleep this side eternity!

The hours pa.s.sed slowly and quietly. Presently the moon rose and illumined the camp from end to end. Here and there I could see a picket pacing back and forth, or an officer making his rounds. At headquarters lights were still burning, and I did not doubt that an earnest consultation was in progress there concerning the orders for the morrow.

At midnight came the relief, and I made the best of my way back to our quarters, crawled into the tent, whose flaps were raised to let in every breath of air stirring, and lay down beside Spiltdorph. I tried to move softly, but he started awake and put out his hand and touched me.

"Is it you, Stewart?" he asked.

"Yes," I said, "just in from picket. Colonel Washington reached camp an hour ago, to be here for to-morrow's battle."

"To-morrow's battle," repeated Spiltdorph softly. "Ah, yes, I had forgot.

Do you know, Stewart, if I were superst.i.tious, I should fear the result of to-morrow's battle, for I had a dream about it."

"What was the dream?" I asked.

"No matter, we are not women," and he turned to go to sleep again.

"Good-night."

"Good-night," I said, and in a few moments his deep breathing told me he was again in the land of dreams. It was long before my own eyes closed, and my dreams were not of battle, but of a bench upon the river's bank, and a figure all in white sitting there beside me.