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 assist in any of the work, asserting 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 assembled, "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 assault, 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 assault, 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
circumstances, 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 passed 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 assault?"
"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.
"'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 passed, 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 assault."
"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 passed 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 assault. The fusillade from the hills had been
redoubled, but a terrible and threatening silence hung over the
intrenchment, and doubtless encouraged our assailants 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 assault."
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 fag
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 passing 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 passed, 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 pass 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 attitude 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 snatched victory from odds so desperate.