A Soldier of Virginia Part 23

We found it in the utmost confusion. At five o'clock on the morning after the battle, a teamster, who had cut loose his horse and fled at the first onset, had ridden madly into the camp crying that the whole army was destroyed and he alone survived. At his heels came other teamsters, for with an appalling cowardice, which makes me blush for my countrymen, they had one and all cut loose their teams at the first fire, and selecting the best horse, had fled precipitately from the field. Toward noon, Colonel Washington had arrived, bringing the first accurate news of the disaster, and at once setting on foot the relief expedition. After him came troops of haggard, toil-worn, famished men, without arms, bewildered with terror, fearing a second ambuscade at every step, and with the yells of the Indians still ringing in their ears. The news of the disaster and the incoherent stories of these half-crazed fugitives spread consternation through the camp. Men deserted by scores and started hot-foot for the settlements, and all pretense of discipline vanished.

Nor did the arrival of the general greatly better matters. He was fast sinking, and long periods of delirium sapped his strength. It was evident that the end was near.

On the morning of the twelfth, I was engaged in collecting such of the Virginia troops as I could find about the camp, when I saw Colonel Washington approaching with a face so gloomy that I foresaw some new disaster.

"What is it?" I asked, almost before he had reached me.

"Have you not heard?" and he looked meaningly back toward a spring near which a number of men were unheading some casks. "We are to destroy all our powder and stores, burn our wagons, and flee back to the settlements, like so many children."

"Why, 'tis folly!" I cried. "'Tis monstrous! Who gave such an order?"

"I know not," and Washington smiled bitterly. "It is certain that the general did not, since he has been raving with fever all the night.

Besides, his one thought has been to march back against the French the instant he could get his troops together. Come, walk over with me and let us watch this unhappy work."

I followed him, and witnessed a sight which filled me with speechless anger and indignation. Powder casks were being knocked open and their contents cast into the spring, cohorns broken, sh.e.l.ls burst, provisions destroyed, and upwards of a hundred and fifty wagons burned. I remembered bitterly what work we had had to obtain those wagons. Such a scene of senseless and wanton destruction I had never seen before, and hope never to see again. A frenzy of terror seemed to possess officers and men alike, and I turned away, raging at heart, to think that to such men as these had been intrusted the defense of our country. At last the work of destruction was complete. With barely enough provision to carry us to Fort c.u.mberland, and with no ammunition save that in our cartouch boxes, the retreat commenced, if the flight of a disordered and frenzied rabble can be dignified by such a name.

CHAPTER XX

BRADDOCK PAYS THE PRICE

It was the morning of Sunday, July 13, that this shameful flight began.

Its arrant cowardice weighed on many of the officers who were left alive, and even on some of the men, especially, I am glad to say, on many of the Virginians. Whose fault was it? Well, Colonel Dunbar was in command, since the general was no longer conscious, and must take the blame.

Colonel Washington had asked me to remain near him, if possible. He had secured me a horse, and together with Captain Orme, who was no less depressed, we formed the escort to the litter whereon lay the dying man.

Doctor Craik came to us from time to time, but the general was far beyond human aid. I had never respected him so much as in this hour, for of his downright valor I had had every proof. If only his pride had been a little less, that his valor might have counted! It was while I was riding thus, absorbed in melancholy thought, that a horse cantered up beside me, and looking up, I saw Lieutenant Allen.

"Confess I was a true prophet, Lieutenant Stewart," he remarked, with a sorry attempt at a smile, "though damme if I could have foretold that act of folly back yonder! You see, I know our new commander better than do you."

"So it seems," I answered, and at that moment caught Colonel Washington's astonished eyes fixed upon us. Allen followed my glance, and smiled as he saw the expression of Washington's face.

"He cannot understand our friendliness," he laughed. "He is doubtless wondering if we are arranging the preliminaries for the desperate encounter for which we were booked. Let me explain the situation to him,"

and he spurred to Washington's side. "I had occasion to say to Lieutenant Stewart a few evenings ago," he said, "that I had been grievously mistaken in my estimate of his courage, and that of the Virginia companies, and that I was truly sorry that I had ever questioned them. In the light of to-day's event, I am still more sorry, and I wish to add to you, Colonel Washington, that I regret the words I used to you, and that I sincerely ask your pardon."

"'Tis granted with all my heart!" cried Washington, his face illumined with that fine smile which always lighted it before any deed of courage or gentleness, and the two shook hands warmly. "'Twas granted before you asked it. I am not such a fire-eater as Tom, back there. I have regretted that foolish quarrel many times, and had determined that it should not lead to another meeting between you, which would have been mere folly.

Come here, sir," he called to me. "I wish to tell you how pleased I am that this quarrel has been adjusted."

"No more pleased than I, I a.s.sure you, colonel," I laughed.

"Lieutenant Allen gave me a sample of his swordsmanship I shall not soon forget. I should have been as helpless before him as a lamb in the jaws of a tiger."

"Now you are mocking me!" cried Allen, and as I related to Colonel Washington the story of his little bout with Langlade, we rode on laughing, the best of friends.

"But, believe me, Lieutenant Stewart," he said, when I had finished, "it was not self-complacency which urged me to take up the foils that day. I merely wished to show you that you had need to keep in practice, and so prevent you from becoming over-sure."

"'T was well done," said Washington heartily. "I appreciate your conduct, Lieutenant Allen."

"And I certainly took the lesson to heart," I laughed. "Just before you came, I had conceived a most exalted opinion of my own abilities. I shall not make the mistake a second time."

Presently Allen fell back to rejoin the rear-guard, with which he had been stationed, and we rode on beside the general's litter. He was delirious most of the time, and was fighting the battle of the Monongahela over and over again, giving orders and threshing from side to side of his couch in his agony. In one of his intervals of consciousness, he called my companion to him.

"Colonel Washington," he said in a low tone, "I feel that I have done you great injustice. Had I followed your advice, this catastrophe might not have happened. But my eyes were not opened until too late. Had I lived, I should not have forgot you. I am sure you cannot withhold your pardon from a dying man."

Washington's lips were trembling as he bent over the litter.

"If there is anything to pardon, general," he said softly, "be sure I pardon you with all my heart. You have the love of all your officers, sir, who revere you as a brave and gallant man."

"Ay, but a proud and stubborn one," and he smiled sadly. "Would G.o.d I had had the grace to see it while it was yet time. Colonel Washington," he added, "I wish you to have my charger, Bruce, and my body servant, Bishop. These two gentlemen are witnesses that I give them to you."

Orme and I bowed our a.s.sent, and Washington thanked him with a trembling voice. He was soon wandering again, this time, apparently, among the scenes of his earlier manhood.

"Messieurs de la Garde Francaise," he cried, "tirez, s'il vous plait!"

"Ah," murmured Orme, "he is at Fontenoy."

And again,--

"Poor f.a.n.n.y, I always thought she would play till she would be forced to tuck herself up."

"She was his sister," said Orme, answering our questioning glances. "She ruined herself at cards and then hanged herself. It was a sad story."

And yet again,--

"No, I'll not take your purse!" he cried; and then after a moment, "nor ask my life at your hands. Do what you will."

I could bear no more, and rode forward out of earshot. To see this gallant man lying there, slowly dying, bereft at one stroke of life and that far dearer to him than life, his military reputation, moved me as few things had ever done. He had another lucid interval toward the middle of the afternoon, and warmly praised the conduct of his officers.

"They were gallant boys, every one," he said. "They did their duty as brave men should. How many of them fell?" he asked suddenly, turning to Orme.

"Sixteen," answered Orme sadly.

"And how many were wounded?"

"Forty-seven."

"Sixty-three,--and there were only eighty-nine," and Braddock sighed heavily. "And how went it with the men?"

Orme hesitated, fearing to disclose the extent of the disaster, but the general's eyes were on his and would take no denial.

"They suffered very heavily," said Orme at last. "Less than five hundred escaped unharmed. All of the wounded who remained on the field were killed by the Indians."

"And we went into battle with near fifteen hundred men," said Braddock.

"Why, it was mere slaughter. There has never an army gone into battle which lost such proportion of its numbers. Ah, well, I shall soon join them. And they are happier than I, for they went to their end honored and applauded, whilst I am a broken and ruined man, who will be remembered only to be cursed."

He turned his head away from us, and a great tear rolled down his cheek.

Orme was crying like a child, and made no effort to conceal it, nor were Washington and I less moved.