LIEUTENANT ALLEN SHOWS HIS SKILL
The days dragged on at Winchester, as days in camp will, and I accepted
no more invitations to mess with the officers of the line. Indeed, I
received none, and we provincial officers kept to ourselves. Major
Washington had returned to Mount Vernon, but I found many of my old
friends with the troops, so had no lack of company. There was Captain
Waggoner, who had got his promotion eight months before, and Peyronie,
recovered of his wound and eager for another bout with the French. He
also had been promoted for his gallantry, and now had his own company of
rangers. There was Captain Polson, for whom a tragic fate was waiting,
and my old captain, Adam Stephen. And there was Carolus Spiltdorph,
advanced to a lieutenancy like myself, and by great good fortune in my
company. We began to chum together at once,--sharing our blankets and
tobacco,--and continued so until the end.
Another friend I also found in young Harry Marsh, a son of Colonel Henry
Marsh, who owned a plantation some eight or ten miles above the Frederick
ferry, and a cousin of my aunt. Colonel Marsh had stopped one day at
Riverview, while on his way home from Hampton, and had made us all
promise to return his visit, but so many affairs had intervened that the
promise had never been kept. The boy, who was scarce nineteen, had
secured a berth as ensign in Peyronie's company, and he came frequently
with his captain to our quarters to listen with all his ears to our
stories of the Fort Necessity affair. He was a fresh, wholehearted
fellow, and though he persisted in considering us all as little less than
heroes, was himself heroic as any, as I was in the end to learn. We were
a hearty and good-tempered company, and spent our evenings together most
agreeably, discussing the campaign and the various small happenings of
the camp. But as Spiltdorph shrewdly remarked, we were none of us so
sanguinary as we had been a year before. I have since observed that the
more a man sees of war, the less his eagerness for blood.
From Lieutenant Allen I kept aloof as much as possible, and he on his
part took no notice whatever of me. Some rumor of my affair with him had
got about the camp, but as neither of us would say a word concerning it,
it was soon forgot in the press of greater matters. Whatever Allen's
personal character may have been, it is not to be denied that he labored
with us faithfully, though profanely, drilling us up and down the camp
till we were near fainting in the broiling sun, or exercising us in arms
for hours together, putting us through the same movement a hundred times,
till we had done it to his satisfaction. We grumbled of course, among
ourselves, but at the end of another fortnight the result of his work
began to be apparent, and Sir Peter Halket, when he inspected us just
before starting for Fort Cumberland, as the fortification at Will's Creek
was named, expressed himself well pleased with the progress we had made.
For the order to advance came at last, and after a two weeks' weary
journey along the road which had been widened for the passage of wagons
and artillery, we reached our destination and went into quarters there.
The barracks were much better appointed than were the ones at Winchester,
for this was to be the rendezvous of the entire force, and the
independent companies which Colonel Washington had stationed here the
previous summer had been at work all winter clearing the ground and
building the fort. They had cleared a wide space in the forest, and on a
little hill some two hundred yards from Will's Creek and four hundred
from the Potomac, had erected the stockade. It was near two hundred yards
in length from east to west, and some fifty in width, but rude enough,
consisting merely of a row of logs set upright in the ground and
projecting some twelve feet above it, loopholed, and sharpened at the
top. There were embrasures for twelve cannon, ten of which, all
four-pounders, were already mounted. Though frail as it could well be, it
was deemed sufficient to withstand any attack likely to be brought
against it. A great two-storied barrack for the officers of the line had
been erected within the stockade, and two magazines of heavy timber. The
men were camped about the fort, and half a mile away through the forest a
hundred Indians had pitched their wigwams. And here, on the tenth of May,
came the Forty-Eighth under Colonel Dunbar, and General Braddock himself
in his great traveling chariot, his staff riding behind and a body of
light horse on either side. We were paraded to welcome him, the drums
rolled out the grenadiers, the seventeen guns prescribed by the
regulations were fired, and the campaign was on in earnest.
The morning of the next day, the general held his first levee in his
tent, and all the officers called to pay their respects. He was a
heavy-set, red-faced man of some sixty years, with long, straight nose,
aggressive, pointed chin, and firm-set lips, and though he greeted us
civilly enough, there was a touch of insolence in his manner which he
made small effort to conceal, and which showed that it was not upon the
Virginia troops he placed reliance. Still, there was that in his
heavy-featured face and in his bearing which bespoke the soldier, and I
remembered Fontenoy and the record he had made there. In the afternoon,
there was a general review, and he rode up and down with his staff in
front of the whole force, most gorgeous in gold lace and brilliant
accoutrement. Of the twenty-two hundred men he looked at that day, the
nine Virginia companies found least favor in his eyes, for he deemed them
listless and mean-spirited,--an opinion which he was at no pains to keep
to himself, and which had the effect of making the bearing of his
officers toward us even more insulting.
As we were drawn up there in line, the orders for the camp were
published, the articles of war were read to us, and in the days that
followed there was great show of discipline. But it was only show, for
there was little real order, and even here on the edge of the
settlements, the food was so bad and so scarce that foraging parties were
sent to the neighboring plantations to seize what they could find, and a
general market established in the camp. To encourage the people to bring
in provisions, the price was raised a penny a pound, and any person who
ventured to interfere with one bringing provisions, or offered to buy of
him before he reached the public market, was to suffer death. These
regulations produced some supplies, though very little when compared to
our great needs.
A thing which encouraged me greatly to believe in the sagacity of our
commander was the pains he took to engage the good offices of the
Indians,--such of them, that is, as had not already been hopelessly
estranged by the outrages committed upon them by traders and
frontiersmen. Mr. Croghan, one of the best known of the traders, had
brought some fifty warriors to the camp, together with their women and
children, and on the morning of the twelfth, a congress was held at the
general's tent to receive them. All the officers were there, and when the
Indians were brought, the guard received them with firelocks rested.
There was great powwowing and smoking the pipe, and the general gave
them a belt of wampum and many presents, and urged them to take up the
hatchet against the French. This they agreed to do, and doubtless would
have done, but for the conduct of some of the officers of the line.
The Indian camp, with its bark wigwams and tall totem pole, had become a
great place of resort with certain of the officers. They had been
attracted first by the dancing and queer customs of the savages, and had
they come away when once their curiosity was satisfied, little harm had
been done. Unfortunately, after looking at the men they looked at the
women, and found some of them not unattractive. So, for want of something
better to do, they set about debauching them, and succeeded so well that
the warriors finally took their women away from the camp in disgust, and
never again came near it. Other Indians appeared from time to time, but
after begging all the rum and presents they could get, they left the camp
and we never saw them again. Many of them were Delawares, doubtless sent
as spies by the French. Another visitor was Captain Jack, the Black
Rifle, known and feared by the Indians the whole length of the frontier.
He had sworn undying vengeance against them, having come home to his
cabin one night to find his wife and children butchered, and had roamed
from the Carolinas to the Saint Lawrence, leaving a trail of Indian blood
behind him. He would have made a most useful ally, but he took offense at
some fancied slight, and one day abruptly disappeared in the forest.
Never during all these weeks did the regulars get over their astonishment
at sight of the tall warriors stalking through the camp, painted in red,
yellow, and black, and greased from head to foot, their ears slit, their
heads shaved save for the scalp-lock with its tuft of feathers; nor did
they cease to wonder at their skill in throwing the tomahawk and shooting
with the rifle, a skill of which we were to have abundant proof erelong.
It was not until four or five days after his arrival with General
Braddock that I had opportunity to see Colonel Washington. I met him one
evening as I was returning from guard duty, and I found him looking so
pale and dispirited that I was startled.
"You are not ill?" I cried, as I grasped his hand.
"Ill rather in spirit than in body, Tom," he answered, with a smile.
"Life in the general's tent is not a happy one. He has met with
nothing but vexation, worry, and delay since he has been in the
colony, and I believe he looks upon the country as void of honor and
honesty. I try to show him that he has seen only the darker side, and
we have frequent disputes, which sometimes wax very warm, for he is
incapable of arguing without growing angry. Not that I blame him
greatly," he added, with a sigh, "for the way the colonies have acted
in this matter is inexcusable. Wagons, horses, and provisions which
were promised us are not forthcoming, and without them we are stalled
here beyond hope of advance."
He passed his hand wearily before his eyes, and we walked some time
in silence.
"'Tis this delay which is ruining our great chance of success," he
continued at last. "Could we have reached the fort before the French
could reinforce it, the garrison must have deserted it or surrendered to
us. But now they will have time to send whatever force they wish into the
Ohio valley, and rouse all the Indian tribes for a hundred miles around.
For with the Indians, the French have played a wiser part than the
English, Tom, and have kept them ever their friends, while to-day we have
not an Indian in the camp."
"They will return," I said. "They have all promised to return."
Washington shook his head.
"They will not return. Gist knows the Indians as few other white men do,
and he assures me that they will not return."
"Well," I retorted hotly, "Indians or no Indians, the French cannot hope
to resist successfully an army such as ours."
For a moment Washington said nothing.
"You must not think me a croaker, Tom," and he smiled down at me again,
"but indeed I see many chances of failure. Even should we reach Fort
Duquesne in safety, we will scarce be in condition to besiege it, unless
the advance is conducted with rare skill and foresight."
I had nothing to say in answer, for in truth I believed he was looking
too much on the dark side, and yet did not like to tell him so.
"How do you find the general?" I asked.
"A proud, obstinate, brave man," he said, "who knows the science of war,
perhaps, but who is ill fitted to cope with the difficulties he has met
here and has still to meet. His great needs are patience and diplomacy
and a knowledge of Indian warfare. I would he had been with us last year
behind the walls of Fort Necessity."
"He has good advisers," I suggested. "Surely you can tell him what
occurred that day."
But again Washington shook his head.
"My advice, such as I have ventured to give him, has been mostly thrown
away. But his two other aides are good men,--Captain Orme and Captain
Morris,--and may yet bring him to reason. The general's secretary, Mr.
Shirley, is also an able man, but knows nothing of war. Indeed, he
accepted the position to learn something of the art, but I fancy is
disgusted with what knowledge he has already gained. As to the other
officers, there is little to say. Some are capable, but most are merely
insolent and ignorant, and all of them aim rather at displaying their own
abilities than strengthening the hands of the general. In fact, Tom, I
have regretted a score of times that I ever consented to make the
campaign."
"But if you had not, where should I have been?" I protested.
"At least, you had been in no danger from Lieutenant Allen's sword," he
laughed. "I have heard many stories of his skill since I have been in
camp, and perhaps it is as well he was in wine that night, and so not at
his best. How has he used you since?"
"Why, in truth," I said, somewhat nettled at his reference to Allen's
skill, "he has not so much as shown that he remembers me. But I shall
remind him of our engagement once the campaign is ended, and shall ask my
second to call upon him."
Washington laughed again, and I was glad to see that I had taken his mind
off his own affairs.
"I shall be at your service then, Tom," he said. "Remember, he is one of
the best swordsmen in the army, and you will do well to keep in practice.
Do not grow over-confident;" and he bade me good-by and turned back to
the general's quarters.
I thought his advice well given, and the very next day, to my great
delight, found in Captain Polson's company John Langlade, the man of whom
I had taken a dozen lessons at Williamsburg. He was very ready to accept
the chance to add a few shillings to his pay, so for an hour every
morning we exercised in a little open space behind the stockade. I soon
found with great satisfaction that I could hold my own against him,
though he was accounted a good swordsman, and he complimented me more
than once on my strength of wrist and quickness of eye.
We were hard at it one morning, when I heard some one approaching, and,
glancing around, saw that it was Lieutenant Allen. I flushed crimson
with chagrin, for that he guessed the reason of my diligence with the
foils, I could not doubt. But I continued my play as though I had not
seen him, and for some time he stood watching us with a dry smile.
"Very pretty," he said at last, as we stopped to breathe. "If all the
Virginia troops would spend their mornings to such advantage, I should
soon make soldiers of them despite themselves. Rapier play is most useful
when one is going to fight the French, who are masters at it. I fear my
own arm is growing rusty," he added carelessly. "Lend me your foil a
moment, Lieutenant Stewart."
I handed it to him without a word, wondering what the man would be at. He
took it nonchalantly, tested it, and turned to Langlade.
"Will you cross with me?" he said, and as Langlade nodded, he saluted and
they engaged. Almost before the ring of the first parade had died away,
Langlade's foil was flying through the air, and Allen was smiling blandly
into his astonished face.
"An accident, I do not doubt," he said coolly. "Such accidents will
happen sometimes. Will you try again?"
Langlade pressed his lips together, and without replying, picked up his
foil. I saw him measure Allen with his eye, and then they engaged a
second time. For a few moments, Allen contented himself with standing on
the defensive, parrying Langlade's savage thrusts with a coolness which
nothing could shake and an art that was consummate. Then he bent to the
attack, and touched his adversary on breast and arm and thigh, his point
reaching its mark with ease and seeming slowness.
"Really, I must go," he said at length. "The bout has done me a world of
good. I trust you will profit by the lesson, Lieutenant Stewart," and he
handed me back my foil, smiled full into my eyes, and walked away.
We both stared after him, until he turned the corner and was out of
sight.
"He's the devil himself," gasped Langlade, as our eyes met. "I have never
felt such a wrist. Did you see how he disarmed me? 'Twas no accident. My
fingers would have broken in an instant more, had I not let go the foil.
Who is he?"
"Lieutenant Allen, of the Forty-Fourth," I answered as carelessly
as I could.
Langlade fell silent a moment.
"I have heard of him," he said at last. "I do not wonder he disarmed me.
'Twas he who met the Comte d'Artois, the finest swordsman in the French
Guards, in a little wood on the border of Holland, one morning, over some
affair of honor. They had agreed that it should be to the death."
"And what was the result?" I questioned, looking out over the camp as
though little interested in the answer.
"Can you doubt?" asked Langlade. "Allen returned to England without a
scratch, and his opponent was carried back to Paris with a sword-thrust
through his heart, and buried beside his royal relatives at Saint
Denis. I pity any man who is called upon to face him. He has need to be
a master."
I nodded gloomily, put up the foils, and returned to my quarters, for I
was in no mood for further exercise that morning. What Allen had meant by
his last remark I could not doubt. The lesson I was to profit by was that
I should stand no chance against him.