On May 23, six more men being gone away, I retreated to Great Meadows,
a wide, open space free of large trees, a charming place for an
encounter, and here I cleared the ground of bushes, began a log fort,
and prepared to remain until I heard further. This I did very soon,
for Gist, the trader, came in on the 25th of May with news of my old
acquaintance, La Force, having been at his camp, at noon the day
before, with some fifty men, and one, De Jumonville, in command. They
were foolish enough not to hold Gist, for he got off and warned me of
their being not five miles from us. They had been sending runners back
to Contrecœur, and what were their intentions Gist did not know. That
night I got news of my doubtful Half-King, who promised help if I would
attack this party.
Whatever indecision I have had in my life of warfare has been due to a
too great respect for the opinions of other officers, and very often
I had done better to have gone my own way. All day long I had been in
the melancholic state of mind which at times all my life has troubled
me. I remember that the news from Gist of this prowling band so near
as five miles, and the word sent by the Half-King, at once put to rout
my lowness of mind. Usually young officers go into their first battle
under more experienced guidance, and I now wonder at the confidence
with which I set out, for some of my officers were clear against it.
I felt sure that De Jumonville would attack me if I retreated, or, if I
let him alone, would wait for further help and orders from Contrecœur
before making an end of my little party. That I was to strike openly
the forces of the King of France did not disturb me, after their
seizure of our fort at the Forks.
When I told Van Braam and Gist what I meant to do, the former approved,
but Gist would have had me retreat to Wills Creek. I said no; we would
surely be ambushed, and the men were deserting.
Having given my orders, I tied an extra pair of moccasins to my belt,
and taking no gun myself, set out at 10 P.M., leaving behind me a
baggage-guard. I took with me forty men, the best I had, and mostly
good shots. The Half-King and a few warriors in full war-paint met me
at a spring some two miles away.
His scouts had found the French in a rocky valley, where they had
cleared a space and evidently meant to await orders or reinforcements.
The rain was pouring down in torrents, the worst that could be, when
we met the Half-King. We halted in the darkness of the forest while my
interpreter let me know the situation of De Jumonville, which seemed to
me to be well chosen as a hiding-place, but ill contrived for defence.
After this we pushed on, the Indian guides being ahead. Several times
they lost their way. We stumbled on in the wet woods, falling against
one another, so dark was the night, and crawling under or over the
rotten trees of a windfall. I was both eager and anxious, and kept on
in front, or at times fell back to silence my men. We were moving so
slowly that my anxiety continually increased, and I had constantly to
warn my men to keep their flint-locks dry.
At last, toward dawn of day, we came where we could look down on the
camp. The wind being in our faces, we had smelt the smoke of their
fires a quarter of a mile away, and now and then, even at this distant
day, the smell of the smoke from wet wood smouldering in the rain
recalls to my mind this night, a fact which appears to me singular. To
my joy, the camp was silent and there were no sentinels. I halted the
men, and my orders were whispered down the trail for them to scatter
to the right while the Indians moved to the left. After giving time
for this, I moved out alone from the shelter of the rocks and trees.
As I did so, a man came from a hut and gave a great shout. At once
the French were out with their arms and began to fire, but had no
cover. Some of my own men were practised Indian-fighters and kept to
the shelter of the trees, moving from trunk to trunk and firing very
deliberately. I heard the enemy’s bullets whizz around me, and felt at
once and for the first time in war the strange exhilaration of danger.
A man fell at my side, and I called to those near me to keep to the
trees, but did not myself fall back, feeling it well to encourage my
men.
For a little while the firing was hot. It lasted, however, but fifteen
minutes. Then I saw an officer fall, and they gave up and cried for
quarter as I ran down into their camp to stop the Indians from using
their tomahawks and killing the wounded.
Van Braam told me afterwards that I exposed myself needlessly, but I
thought this was necessary in order to give spirit and confidence to
men who were many of them new to battle.
Our loss was small and that of the French great, since De Jumonville,
who was in command, and ten men were killed and twenty-two taken, with
some others hurt.
I remember to have written my brother Jack of this little fight, that
the whistle of the bullets was pleasing to me; but I was then very
young, and it was, after all, but a way of saying that the sense of
danger, or risk, was agreeable.
On our way back through the woods I talked to La Force, who was in no
wise cast down and told me that I should pay dear for my success, and
how innocent they were, and a fine string of lies.
I was very well pleased to have caught this fellow, one of the most
wily and troublesome half-breeds on the frontier, and a fine maker of
mischief, as he had been when I was on my way to the lake.
After the fight we found, on the person of De Jumonville and in his
hut, papers amply proving his hostile intention, although even without
this evidence his hiding so long in our neighbourhood, and sending out
runners to Fort Duquesne, sufficiently showed what my party had to
expect when the French would be reinforced.
After the fight it was thought prudent to return as soon as possible,
so, to my regret, I had to leave the dead, both our own and the French,
without decent burial. This I believe they had later at the hand of
De Villiers. Although the fugitives were nearly all taken, one or two
escaped and took the news to Contrecœur, at the Forks of the Ohio.
I sent my prisoners to Williamsburg under a strong guard, having
previously supplied M. Drouillon, a young officer, and La Force with
clothes of my own out of the very little I had. I remember that I was
amused when Drouillon, a pert little fellow, complained that my shirt
was too big for him. Indeed, it came down near to his ankles.
I asked of the governor in a letter such respect and favour for these
persons as was due to gentlemen placed in their unfortunate condition.
Neither of them seemed to me to have been aware of the character of
their commander’s orders. To my regret, the request I made to Governor
Dinwiddie received small consideration, as I may have to relate. I was
of opinion, however, that La Force should not be set free too soon,
because of his power to influence the Indians.