THE LESSON OF THE WILDERNESS
"Wake up, man, wake up!" cried a voice in my ear, and I opened my eyes to
see Spiltdorph's kindly face bending over me. "I let you sleep as long as
I could," he added, as I sat up and rubbed my eyes, "for I knew you
needed it, but the order has come for us to march."
"All right," I said. "I'll be ready in a minute," and I ran down to the
brook and dipped my hands and face in the cool, refreshing water. A
biscuit and a piece of cold beef formed my breakfast. Our company was
striking tents and falling in for the march, and the camp was astir from
end to end. The sun was just peeping over the tree-tops, for that
fateful Wednesday, the ninth of July, 1755, had dawned clear and fair,
and all the day rode through a sky whose perfect blue remained unbroken
by a cloud.
We were soon ready for the road, and while waiting the word, Captain
Waggoner told me that the advance had begun some hours before. At three
o'clock. Colonel Gage had marched with two companies of grenadiers and
two hundred rank and file to secure both crossings of the river, for it
was believed that at the second crossing the French would attack us,
unless they intended giving up the fort without a struggle. An hour
later, Sir John St. Clair had followed with a working party of two
hundred and fifty men, to clear the road for the passage of the baggage
and artillery. And at last came the word for us.
The ground sloped gently down to the Monongahela, nearly a mile away. The
river here was over three hundred yards in width, and the regulars had
been posted advantageously to guard against surprise. The baggage,
horses, and cattle were all got over safely, for the water was scarce
waist-deep at any point, and then the troops followed, so that the whole
army was soon across.
Before us stretched a level bottom, and here we were formed in proper
line of march, with colors flying, drums beating, and fifes playing
shrilly. The sun's slant rays were caught and multiplied a thousand times
on polished barrel and gold-laced helmet and glittering shoulder-knot.
Every man had been instructed to put off the torn and travel-stained
garments of Osnabrig he had worn upon the march, and to don his best
uniform, and very fresh and beautiful they looked, the Forty-Fourth with
its yellow facings, the Forty-Eighth with buff. Nor was the showing made
by the Virginia companies less handsome, though perhaps a shade more
sober. Nowhere was there visible a trace of that terrible journey through
the wilderness. It seemed that this splendent host must have been placed
here by some magic hand, alert, vigorous, immaculate, eager for the
battle. I have only to close my eyes to see again before me that
brilliant and gallant array. The hope of a speedy ending to their
struggle through the forest had brought new color to the faces of the
men, and a light into their eyes, such as I had not seen there for many
days. While we waited, the pieces were newly charged and primed, and the
clatter of the cartouch boxes, as they were thrown back into place, ran
up and down the lines.
At last came word from Gage that he had secured the second crossing,
having encountered only a small party of Indians, who had run away at the
first alarm, and that the route was clear. The drums beat the advance,
and the army swept forward as though on parade. It was a thrilling sight,
and in all that multitude there was not one who doubted the event. I
think even Colonel Washington's misgivings must have melted away before
that martial scene. The broad river rolled at our right, and beyond it
the hills, crowned with verdure, looked down upon us. I do not doubt that
from those heights the eyes of the enemy's spies were peering, and the
sight of our gallant and seemingly invincible army must have startled and
disheartened them. And as I looked along the ordered ranks, the barrels
gleaming at a single angle, four thousand feet moving to the drum tap, I
realized more deeply than ever that without training and discipline an
army could not exist.
When we reached the second ford, about one in the afternoon, we found
that the bank was not yet made passable for the wagons and artillery, so
we drew up along the shingle until this could be done. Pickets were
posted on the heights, and half the force kept under arms, in case of a
surprise. Spiltdorph and I sauntered together to the water's edge, and
watched the pioneers busy at their work. I saw that my companion was
preoccupied, and after a time he ceased to regard the men, but sat
looking afar off and pitching pebbles into the stream.
"Do you know, Stewart," he said at last, "I am becoming timid as a
girl. I told you I had a dream last night, and 't was so vivid I cannot
shake it off."
"Tell me the dream," I said.
"I dreamed that we met the French, and that I fell. I looked up, and you
were kneeling over me. But when I would have told you what I had to tell,
my voice was smothered in a rush of blood."
"Oh, come!" I cried, "this is mere foolishness. You do not believe in
dreams, Spiltdorph?"
"No," he answered. "And yet I never had such a dream as this."
"Why, man," I said, "look around you. Do you see any sign of the French?
And yet their fort is just behind the trees yonder."
He looked at me in silence for a moment, and made as if to speak, but the
tap of the drum brought us to our feet.
"Come," he said, "the road is finished. We shall soon see what truth
there is in dreams."
We took our places and the advance began again. First the Forty-Fourth
was passed over and the pickets of the right. The artillery, wagons, and
carrying horses followed, and then the provincial troops, the
Forty-Eighth, while the pickets of the left brought up the rear. At the
end of an hour the entire force was safe across, and as yet no sign of
the enemy. Such good fortune seemed well-nigh unbelievable, for we had
been assured there was no other place between us and the fort suited for
an ambuscade.
Our company halted near a rude cabin which stood upon the bank. It was
the house of Fraser, the trader, where Washington and Gist had found
shelter after their perilous passage of the Allegheny near two years
before. We had been there but a few minutes when Colonel Washington
himself rode up.
"Captain Waggoner," he said, "you will divide your company into four
flank parties, and throw them well out to the left of the line, fifty
yards at least. See that they get to their places at once, and that they
keep in touch, lest they mistake each other for the enemy."
He was off as Waggoner saluted, and I heard him giving similar orders to
Peyronie's company behind us. It was certain that the general was taking
no chance of ambuscade, however safe the road might seem. We were soon in
place, Captain Waggoner himself in command of one party, Spiltdorph of
the second, I of the third, and Lieutenant Wright of the fourth. As we
took our places, I could see something of the disposition of our force
and the contour of the ground. The guides and a few light horse headed
the column, followed by the vanguard, and the advance party under Gage.
Then came St. Clair's working party, two fieldpieces, tumbrels, light
horse, the general's guard, the convoy, and finally the rear guard.
Before us stretched a fertile bottom, covered by a fair, open walnut
wood, with very little underbrush, and rising gradually to a higher
bottom, which reached to a range of hills two or three hundred feet in
height. Here the forest grew more closely, the underbrush became more
dense, and a great thicket of pea-vines, wild grape, and trailers
completely shut off the view.
So soon as the line was formed, the drums beat the forward, and the
head of the column was soon out of sight among the trees, St. Clair's
working party cutting the road as they advanced. We were nearing the
tangle of underbrush, which I thought marked the course of a stream,
when there came suddenly a tremendous burst of firing from the front,
followed by a great uproar of yells. My heart leaped, for I knew the
French were upon us.
"Close up, men!" shouted Waggoner. "Bring your party up here, Stewart!"
I obeyed the order, and the other two parties joined us in a moment.
Scarcely had they done so, when the thicket in front of us burst into
flame, and three or four men fell. The others, well used, for the most
part, to this kind of fighting, took at once to the trees, and we
gradually worked our way forward, keeping up a spirited fire till we
reached the shelter of a huge log, which lay at the edge of the ravine.
As I looked over it, I saw that the gully swarmed with Indians, firing at
the main body of the troops, who seemed wedged in the narrow road. I
could see no French, and so judged they were attacking on the other side.
"We've got 'em now!" yelled Waggoner. "Give it to 'em, men!" and we
poured a well-directed volley into the yelling mob.
Fifteen or twenty fell, and the others, affrighted at the unexpected
slaughter, threw down their guns and started to run. We were reloading
with feverish haste, when from the woods behind us came a tremendous
volley. We faced about to receive this new attack, for we thought the
French were upon us. But we saw with horror that we were being fired at
by the regulars, who had taken us for the enemy in their madness, and
were preparing to fire again.
"You fools!" screamed Waggoner. "Oh, you fools!" and white with rage, he
gave the order to retreat.
A moment later, as I looked around, I saw that Spiltdorph was not with
us.
"Where is he?" I asked. "Where is Spiltdorph?"
Waggoner motioned behind us.
"He was hit," he said. "He was killed by those cowardly assassins."
"Perhaps he is not dead!" I cried, and before he could prevent me, I ran
back to the log. Not less than twenty dead lay near it, and in an instant
I saw my friend. I dropped beside him, and tore away his shirt. He had
been hit in the side by two bullets, and as I saw the wounds, I cursed
the insensate fools who had inflicted them. I tried to stanch the blood,
and as I raised his head, saw his eyes staring up at me.
"The dream!" he cried. "The dream! Stewart, listen. There is a
girl--at Hampton"--A rush of blood choked him. He tried to speak,
clutched at my sleeve, and then his head fell back, a great sigh shook
him, and he was dead.
The Indians were pouring back into the ravine, and I knew I could stay no
longer. So I laid him gently down, and with my heart aching as it had not
ached since my mother died, made my way back to my company. "There is a
girl," he had said, "at Hampton." What was it he had tried to tell? Well,
if God gave me life, I would find out.
But every other thought was driven from my mind in my astonishment and
horror at the scene before me. Gage's advance party had given way almost
at the first fire, just as Burton was forming to support them, and the
two commands were mingled in hopeless confusion. The officers spurred
their horses into the mob, and tried in vain to form the men in some sort
of order. The colors were advanced in different directions, but there was
none to rally to them, for the men remained huddled together like
frightened sheep. And all around them swept that leaden storm, whose
source they could not see, mowing them down like grain. They fired volley
after volley into the forest, but the enemy remained concealed in the
ravines on either side, and the bullets flew harmless above their heads.
At the moment I joined my company, General Braddock rode up, cursing like
a madman, and spurred his horse among the men. I could see him giving an
order, when his horse was hit and he barely saved himself from falling
under it. Another horse was brought, and in a moment he was again raving
up and down the lines.
"What means this?" he screamed, coming upon us suddenly, where we were
sheltering ourselves behind the trees and replying to the enemy's fire as
best we could. "Are you all damned cowards?"
"Cowards, sir!" cried Waggoner, his face aflame. "What mean you by that?"
"Mean?" yelled Braddock. "Damn you, sir, I'll show you what I mean! Come
out from behind those trees and fight like men!"
"Ay, and be killed for our pains!" cried Waggoner.
"What, sir!" and the general's face turned purple. "You dare dispute my
order?" and he raised his sword to strike, but his arm was caught before
it had descended.
"These men know best, sir," cried Washington, reining in his horse beside
him. "This is the only way to fight the Indians."
The general wrenched his arm away and, fairly foaming at the mouth,
spurred his horse forward and beat the men from behind the trees with the
flat of his sword.
"Back into the road, poltroons!" he yelled. "Back into the road! I'll
have no cowards in my army!"
Washington and Waggoner watched him with set faces, while the men, too
astounded to speak, fell slowly back into the open. Not until that moment
did I comprehend the blind folly of this man, determined to sacrifice his
army to his pride.
We fell back with our men, and there in the road found Peyronie, with the
remnant of his company, his face purple and his mouth working with rage.
All about us huddled the white-faced regulars,--the pride of the army,
the heroes of a score of battles!--crazed by fright, firing into the air
or at each other, seeing every moment their comrades falling about them,
killed by an unseen foe. I turned sick at heart as I looked at them. Hell
could hold no worse.
Hotter and hotter grew the fire, and I realized that it was not the
French attacking us at all, but only their Indian allies. Not half a
dozen Frenchmen had been seen. It was by the savages of the forest that
the best troops in Europe were being slaughtered. Sir Peter Halket was
dead, shot through the heart, and his son, stooping to pick him up, fell
a corpse across his body. Shirley was shot through the brain. Poison was
dead. Totten, Hamilton, Wright, Stone, were dead. Spendelow had fallen,
pierced by three bullets. The ground was strewn with dead and wounded.
Horses, maddened by wounds, dashed through the ranks and into the forest,
often bearing their riders to an awful death. The Indians, growing
bolder, stole from the ravines, and scalped the dead and wounded almost
before our eyes. I began to think it all a hideous nightmare. Surely such
a thing as this could not really be!
Colonel Burton had succeeded in turning some of his men about to face a
hill at our right, where the enemy seemed in great number, and we of
Waggoner's company joined him. A moment later, Colonel Washington, who
alone of the general's aides was left unwounded, galloped up and ordered
us to advance against the hill and carry it. With infinite difficulty, a
hundred men were collected who would still obey the order. As we
advanced, the enemy poured a galling fire upon us. A ball grazed my
forehead and sent a rush of blood into my eyes. I staggered forward, and
when I had wiped the blood away and looked about me, I saw with amazement
that our men had faced about and were retreating. I rushed after them and
joined two or three other officers who were trying to rally them. But
they were deaf to our entreaties and would not turn.
As I glanced back up the slope down which we had come, I saw a sight
which palsied me. Colonel Burton had fallen, seemingly with a wound in
the leg, and was slowly dragging himself back toward the lines. Behind
him, an Indian was dodging from tree to tree, intent on getting his
scalp. Burton saw the savage, and his face grew livid as he realized how
rapidly he was being overtaken. In an instant I was charging up the
slope, and ran past Burton with upraised sword. The Indian saw me coming,
and waited calmly, tomahawk in air. While I was yet ten or twelve paces
from him, I saw his hand quiver, and sprang to one side as the blade
flashed past my head. With a yell of disappointment, the Indian turned
and disappeared in the underbrush. I ran back to Burton, and stooped to
raise him.
"Allow me to aid you, Lieutenant Stewart," said a voice at my elbow, and
there stood Harry Marsh, as cool as though there were not an Indian
within a hundred miles. "I saw you turn back," he added, "and thought you
might need some help."
I nodded curtly, for the bullets were whistling about us in a manner far
from pleasing, and between us we lifted Burton and started back toward
the lines.
"My left leg seems paralyzed," he said. "The bullet must have struck a
nerve. If I could get on horseback, I should be all right again."
And then he staggered and nearly fell, for Marsh lay crumpled up in a
heap on the ground.
"He is dead," said Burton, as I stared down in horror at what an instant
before had been a brave, strong, hopeful human being. "A man never falls
like that unless he is dead. He was doubtless shot through the heart. He
was a brave boy. Did you know him?"
"His name was Marsh," I answered hoarsely. "He was my cousin."
"I shall not forget it," said Burton, and we stood a moment longer
looking down at the dead.
But it was folly to linger there, and we continued on, I helping Burton
as well as I could. And a great loathing came over me for this game
called war. We reached the lines in safety, where Burton was taken to the
rear and given surgical attention. His wound was not a bad one, and half
an hour later, I saw that he had made good his assertion that he would be
all right once he was on horseback.
In the mean time, affairs had gone from bad to worse, and the men were
wholly unnerved. Those who were serving the artillery were picked off,
and the pieces had been abandoned. A desperate effort was made to retake
them, but to no avail. The Indians had extended themselves along both
sides of the line, and had sharply attacked the baggage in the rear. The
men were crowded into a senseless, stupefied mob, their faces blanched
with horror and dripping with sweat, too terrified, many of them, to
reload their firelocks. The general rode up and down the line, exposing
himself with the utmost recklessness, but the men were long past the
reach of discipline. After all, human nature has its depths which no
drill-master can touch. Four horses were shot under him, and even while I
cursed his folly, I could not but admire his courage. Nor was the conduct
of his officers less gallant. Throwing themselves from the saddle, they
formed into platoons and advanced against the enemy, but not even by this
desperate means could the regulars be got to charge. So many officers
fell that at last it was as difficult to find any to give orders as to
obey them, and when, as a last desperate resort, the general, putting his
pride in his pocket, yielded to Washington's advice, and directed that
the troops divide into small parties and advance behind the trees to
surround the enemy, there was none to execute the manoeuvre, which,
earlier in the action, would have saved the day.
It was plain that all was lost, that there was nothing left but to
retreat. We had no longer an army, but a mere mob of panic-stricken men.
The hideous yelling of the savages, as they saw the slaughter they were
doing and exulted in it, the rattle of the musketry, the groans and
curses of the wounded who fell everywhere about us, the screams of the
maddened horses, combined into a bedlam such as I hope never to hear
again. Toward the last, the Virginia troops alone preserved any semblance
of order. Away off to the right, I caught a glimpse of Peyronie rallying
the remnant of his company, and I looked from them to the trembling
regulars, and remembered with a rush of bitterness how they had laughed
at us a month before.
Of a sudden there was a dash of hoofs beside me, and I saw the general
rein up beneath a tree and look up and down the field. Colonel Washington
was at his side, and seemed to be unwounded, though he had been ever
where the fight was thickest.
"This is mere slaughter!" the general cried at last. "We can do no more.
Colonel Washington, order the retreat sounded."
And as the drums rolled out the dismal strain which meant disgrace for
him and the blighting of all his hopes, he sat his horse with rigid face
and eyes from which all life had fled. He had been taught the lesson of
the wilderness.