THE RELIEF OF FORT PITT
On the tongue of land at the confluence of the Monongahela
and Aheghany rivers stood Fort Pitt, on the site of the
old French fort Duquesne. It was remote from any centre
of population, but was favourably situated for defence,
and so strongly garrisoned that those in charge of it
had little to fear from any attempts of the Indians to
capture it. Floods had recently destroyed part of the
ramparts, but these had been repaired and a parapet of
logs raised above them.
Captain Simeon Ecuyer, a Swiss soldier in the service of
Great Britain and an officer of keen intelligence and
tried courage, was in charge of Fort Pitt. He knew the
Indians. He had quickly realized that danger threatened
his wilderness post, and had left nothing undone to make
it secure. On the fourth day of May, Ecuyer had written
to Colonel Henry Bouquet, who was stationed at Philadelphia,
saying that he had received word from Gladwyn that he
'was surrounded by rascals.' Ecuyer did not treat this
alarm lightly. He not only repaired the ramparts and made
them stronger, but also erected palisades within them to
surround the dwellings. Everything near the fort that
could give shelter to a lurking foe was levelled to the
ground. There were in Fort Pitt at this time about a
hundred women and their children--families of settlers
who had come to the fertile Ohio valley to take up homes.
These were provided with shelter in houses made shot-proof.
Small-pox had broken out in the garrison, and a hospital
was prepared under the drawbridge, where the patients in
time of siege would be in no danger from musket-balls or
arrows. But the best defence of Fort Pitt was the capacity
of Ecuyer--brave, humorous, foresighted; a host in
himself--giving courage to his men and making even the
women and children think lightly of the power of the
Indians.
It was nearly three weeks after the siege of Detroit had
begun that the savages appeared in force about Fort Pitt.
On May 27 a large band of Indians came down the Alleghany
bearing packs of furs, in payment for which they demanded
guns, knives, tomahawks, powder, and shot, and would take
nothing else. Soon after their departure word was brought
to Ecuyer of the murder of some traders and settlers not
far from the fort. From that time until the beginning of
August it was hazardous for any one to venture outside
the walls; but for nearly a month no attack was to be
made on the fort itself. However, as news of the capture
of the other forts reached the garrison, and as nearly
all the messengers sent to the east were either slain or
forced to return, it was evident that, in delaying the
attack on Fort Pitt, the Indians were merely gathering
strength for a supreme effort against the strongest
position in the Indian territory.
On June 22 a large body of Indians assembled in the forest
about the fort, and, creeping stealthily within range of
its walls, opened fire from every side. It was the
garrison's first experience of attack; some of the soldiers
proved a trifle overbold, and two of them were killed.
The firing, however, lasted but a short time. Ecuyer
selected a spot where the smoke of the muskets was
thickest, and threw shells from his howitzers into the
midst of the warriors, scattering them in hurried flight.
On the following day a party came within speaking distance,
and their leader, Turtle's Heart, a Delaware chief,
informed Ecuyer that all the western and northern forts
had been cut off, and that a host of warriors were coming
to destroy Fort Pitt and its garrison. He begged Ecuyer
to withdraw the inmates of the fort while there was yet
time. He would see to it that they were protected on
their way to the eastern settlements. He added that when
the Ottawas and their allies arrived, all hope for the
lives of the inhabitants of Fort Pitt would be at an end.
All this Turtle's Heart told Ecuyer out of 'love for the
British.' The British officer, with fine humour, thanked
him for his consideration for the garrison, but told him
that he could hold out against all the Indians in the
woods. He could be as generous as Turtle's Heart, and so
warned him that the British were coming to relieve Fort
Pitt with six thousand men; that an army of three thousand
was ascending the Great Lakes to punish the Ottawa
Confederacy; and that still another force of three thousand
had gone to the frontiers of Virginia. 'Therefore,' he
said, 'take pity on your women and children, and get out
of the way as soon as possible. We have told you this in
confidence, out of our great solicitude, lest any of you
should be hurt; and,' he added, 'we hope that you will
not tell the other Indians, lest they should escape from
our vengeance.' The howitzers and the story of the
approaching hosts had their effect, and the Indians
vanished into the surrounding forest. For another month
Fort Pitt had comparative peace, and the garrison patiently
but watchfully awaited a relieving force which Amherst
was sending. In the meantime news came of the destruction
of Presqu'isle, Le Boeuf, and Venango; and the fate of
the garrisons, particularly at the last post, warned the
inhabitants of Fort Pitt what they might expect if they
should fall into the hands of the Indians.
On July 26 some Indian ambassadors, among them Turtle's
Heart, came to the post with a flag of truce. They were
loud in their protestations of friendship, and once more
solicitous for the safety of the garrison. The Ottawas,
they said, were coming in a vast horde, to 'seize and
eat up everything' that came in their way. The garrison's
only hope of escape would be to vacate the fort speedily
and 'go home to their wives and children.' Ecuyer replied
that he would never abandon his position 'as long as a
white man lives in America.' He despised the Ottawas, he
said, and was 'very much surprised at our brothers the
Delawares for proposing to us to leave this place and go
home. This is our home.' His humour was once more in evidence
in the warning he gave the Indians against repeating their
attack on the fort: 'I will throw bomb-shells, which will
burst and blow you to atoms, and fire cannon among you,
loaded with a whole bagful of bullets. Therefore take care,
for I don't want to hurt you.'
The Indians now gave up all hope of capturing Fort Pitt
by deception, and prepared to take it by assault. That
very night they stole within range, dug shelter-pits in
the banks of the Alleghany and Monongahela, and at daybreak
began a vigorous attack on the garrison. Musket-balls
came whistling over the ramparts and smote every point
where a soldier showed himself. The shrieking balls and
the wild war-whoops of the assailants greatly alarmed
the women and children; but never for a moment was the
fort in real danger or did Ecuyer or his men fear disaster.
So carefully had the commandant seen to his defences,
that, although hundreds of missiles fell within the
confines of the fort, only one man was killed and only
seven were wounded. Ecuyer himself was among the wounded:
one of two arrows that fell within the fort had, to use
his own words, 'the insolence to make free' with his
'left leg.' From July 27 to August 1 this horde of
Delawares, Shawnees, Wyandots, and Mingoes kept up the
attack. Then, without apparent cause, as suddenly as they
had arrived, they all disappeared. To the garrison the
relief from constant vigil, anxious days, and sleepless
nights was most welcome.
The reason for this sudden relief was that the red men
had learned of a rich prize for them, now approaching
Fort Pitt. Bouquet, with a party of soldiers, was among
the defiles of the Alleghanies. The fort could wait; the
Indians would endeavour to annihilate Bouquet's force as
they had annihilated Braddock's army in the same region
eight years before; and if successful, they could then
at their leisure return to Fort Pitt and starve it out
or take it by assault.
In June, when Amherst had finally come to the conclusion
that he had a real war on his hands--and had, as we have
seen, dispatched Dalyell to Detroit--he had, at the same
time, sent orders to Colonel Bouquet to get ready a force
for the relief of Fort Pitt. Bouquet, like Ecuyer, was
a Swiss soldier, and the best man in America for this
particular task. After seven years' experience in border
warfare he was as skilled in woodcraft as the Indians
themselves. He had now to lead a force over the road,
two hundred odd miles long, which connected Fort Pitt
with Carlisle, his point of departure in Pennsylvania;
but every foot of the road was known to him. In 1758,
when serving under General Forbes, he had directed the
construction of this road, and knew the strength of every
fort and block-house on the way; even the rivers and
creeks and morasses and defiles were familiar to him.
Best of all, he had a courage and a military knowledge
that inspired confidence in his men and officers. Cool,
calculating, foreseeing, dauntlessly brave--there was
not in the New World at this time a better soldier than
this heroic Swiss.
Amherst was in a bad way for troops. The only available
forces for the relief of Fort Pitt were 242 men of the
42nd Highlanders--the famous Black Watch--with 133 of
the 77th (Montgomery's) Highlanders, and some Royal
Americans. These, with a few volunteers, made up a
contingent 550 strong. It was a force all too small for
the task before it, and the majority of the soldiers had
but recently arrived from the West Indies and were in
wretched health.
Bouquet had sent instructions to Carlisle to have supplies
ready for him and sufficient wagons assembled there for
the expedition, but when he reached the place at the end
of June he found that nothing had been done. The frontier
was in a state of paralysis from panic. Over the entire
stretch of country from Fort Pitt the Indians were on
the war-path. Every day brought tragic stories of the
murder of settlers and the destruction of their homes.
There was no safety outside the precincts of the feeble
forts that dotted the Indian territory. Bouquet had hoped
for help from the settlers and government of Pennsylvania;
but the settlers thought only of immediate safety, and
the government was criminally negligent in leaving the
frontier of the state unprotected, and would vote neither
men nor money for defence. But they must be saved in
spite of themselves. By energetic efforts, in eighteen
days after his arrival at Carlisle, Bouquet was ready
for the march. He began his campaign with a wise precaution.
The last important fort on the road to Pitt was Ligonier,
about one hundred and fifty miles from Carlisle. It would
be necessary to use this post as a base; but it was beset
by Indians and in danger of being captured. Lieutenant
Archibald Blane in charge of it was making a gallant
defence against a horde of savages. Bouquet, while waiting
at Carlisle, engaged guides and sent in advance thirty
Highlanders, carefully selected men, to strengthen the
garrison under Blane. These, by keeping off the main
trail and using every precaution, succeeded in reaching
the fort without mishap.
Bouquet led his force westward. Sixty of his soldiers
were so ill that they were unable to march and had to be
carried in wagons. It was intended that the sick should
take the place of the men now in Forts Bedford and
Ligonier, and thus help to guard the rear. The road was
found to be in frightful condition. The spring freshets
had cut it up; deep gullies crossed the path; and the
bridges over the streams had been in most cases washed
away. As the little army advanced, panic-stricken settlers
by the way told stories of the destruction of homes and
the slaughter of friends. Fort Bedford, where Captain
Lewis Ourry was in command, was reached on the 25th. Here
three days were spent, and thirty more guides were secured
to serve as an advance-guard of scouts and give warning
of the presence of enemies. Bouquet had tried his
Highlanders at this work; but they were unfamiliar with
the forest, and, as they invariably got lost, were of no
value as scouts. Leaving his invalided officers and men
at Bedford, Bouquet, with horses rested and men refreshed,
pressed forward and arrived at Ligonier on August 2.
Preparations had now to be made for the final dash to
Fort Pitt, fifty odd miles away, over a path that was
beset by savages, who also occupied all the important
passes. It would be impossible to get through without a
battle--a wilderness battle--and the thought of the
Braddock disaster was in the minds of all. But Bouquet
was not a Braddock, and he was experienced in Indian
warfare. To attempt to pass ambuscades with a long train
of cumbersome wagons would be to invite disaster; so he
discarded his wagons and heavier stores, and having made
ready three hundred and forty pack-horses loaded with
flour, he decided to set out from Ligonier on the 4th of
August. It was planned to reach Bushy Creek--'Bushy Run,'
as Bouquet called it--on the following day, and there
rest and refresh horses and men. In the night a dash
would be made through the dangerous defile at Turtle
Creek; and, if the high broken country at this point
could be passed without mishap, the rest of the way could
be easily won.
At daylight the troops were up and off. It was an
oppressively hot August morning, and no breath of wind
stirred the forest. Over the rough road trudged the long
line of sweltering men. In advance were the scouts; then
followed several light companies of the Black Watch; then
the main body of the little army; and in the rear came
the toiling pack-horses. Until noon the soldiers marched,
panting and tortured by mosquitoes, but buoyed up by the
hope that at Bushy Run they would be able to quench their
burning thirst and rest until nightfall. By one o'clock
in the afternoon they had covered seventeen miles and
were within a mile and a half of their objective point.
Suddenly in their front they heard the sharp reports of
muskets; the firing grew in intensity: the advance-guard
was evidently in contact with a considerable body of
Indians. Two light companies were rushed forward to their
support, and with fixed bayonets cleared the path. This,
however, was but a temporary success. The Indians merely
changed their position and appeared on the flanks in
increased numbers. From the shelter of trees the foe were
creating havoc among the exposed troops, and a general
charge was necessary. Highlanders and Royal Americans,
acting under the directing eye of Bouquet, again drove
the Indians back with the bayonet. Scarcely had this been
accomplished when a fusillade was heard in the rear. The
convoy was attacked, and it was necessary to fall back
to its support. Until nightfall, around a bit of elevated
ground--called Edge Hill by Bouquet--on which the convoy
was drawn up, the battle was waged. About the pack-horses
and stores the soldiers valiantly fought for seven hours
against their invisible foe. At length darkness fell,
and the exhausted troops could take stock of their losses
and snatch a brief, broken rest. In this day of battle
two officers were killed and four wounded, and sixty of
the rank and file were killed or wounded.
Flour-bags were piled in a circle, and within this the
wounded were placed. Throughout the night a careful watch
was kept; but the enemy made no attack during the darkness,
merely firing an occasional shot and from time to time
uttering defiant yells. They were confident that Bouquet's
force would be an easy prey, and waited for daylight to
renew the battle.
The soldiers had played a heroic part. Though unused to
forest warfare, they had been cool as veterans in Indian
fighting, and not a man had fired a shot without orders.
But the bravest of them looked to the morning with dread.
They had barely been able to hold their own on this day,
and by morning the Indians would undoubtedly be greatly
strengthened. The cries and moans of the wounded vividly
reminded them of what had already happened. Besides, they
were worn out with marching and fighting; worse than
physical fatigue and more trying than the enemy's bullets
was torturing thirst; and not a drop of water could be
obtained at the place where they were hemmed in.
By the flickering light of a candle Bouquet penned one
of the noblest letters ever written by a soldier in time
of battle. He could hardly hope for success, and defeat
meant the most horrible of deaths; but he had no craven
spirit, and his report to Amherst was that of a true
soldier--a man 'whose business it is to die.' After giving
a detailed account of the occurrences leading up to this
attack and a calm statement of the events of the day,
and paying a tribute to his officers, whose conduct, he
said, 'is much above my praise,' he added: 'Whatever our
fate may be, I thought it necessary to give Your Excellency
this information... I fear unsurmountable difficulties
in protecting and transporting our provisions, being
already so much weakened by the loss in this day of men
and horses.' Sending a messenger back with this dispatch,
he set himself to plan for the morrow.
At daybreak from the surrounding wood the terrifying
war-cries of the Indians fell on the ears of the troops.
Slowly the shrill yells came nearer; the Indians were
endeavouring to strike terror into the hearts of their
foes before renewing the fight, knowing that troops in
dread of death are already half beaten. When within five
hundred yards of the centre of the camp the Indians began
firing. The troops replied with great steadiness. This
continued until ten in the morning. The wounded within
the barricade lay listening to the sounds of battle, ever
increasing in volume, and the fate of Braddock's men rose
before them. It seemed certain that their sufferings must
end in death--and what a death! The pack-horses, tethered
at a little distance from the barricade, offered an easy
target, against which the Indians soon directed their
fire, and the piteous cries of the wounded animals added
to the tumult of the battle. Some of the horses, maddened
by wounds, broke their fastenings and galloped into the
forest. But the kilted Highlanders and the red-coated
Royal Americans gallantly fought on. Their ranks were
being thinned; the fatiguing work of the previous day
was telling on them; their throats were parched and their
tongues swollen for want of water. Bouquet surveyed the
field. He saw his men weakening under the terrible strain,
and realized that something must be done promptly. The
Indians were each moment becoming bolder, pressing ever
nearer and nearer.
Then he conceived one of the most brilliant movements
known in Indian warfare. He ordered two companies, which
were in the most exposed part of the field, to fall back
as though retreating within the circle that defended the
hill. At the same time the troops on the right and left
opened their files, and, as if to cover the retreat,
occupied the space vacated in a thinly extended line.
The strategy worked even better than Bouquet had expected.
The yelling Indians, eager for slaughter and believing
that the entire command was at their mercy, rushed
pell-mell from their shelter, firing sharp volleys into
the protecting files. These were forced back, and the
savages dashed forward for the barricade which sheltered
the wounded. Meanwhile the two companies had taken position
on the right, and from a sheltering hill that concealed
them from the enemy they poured an effective fire into
the savages. The astonished Indians replied, but with
little effect, and before they could reload the Highlanders
were on them with the bayonet. The red men then saw that
they had fallen into a trap, and turned to flee. But
suddenly on their left two more companies rose from ambush
and sent a storm of bullets into the retreating savages,
while the Highlanders and Royal Americans dashed after
them with fixed bayonets. The Indians at other parts of
the circle, seeing their comrades in flight, scattered into
the forest. The defiant war-cries ceased and the muskets
were silent. The victory was complete: Bouquet had beaten
the Indians in their own woods and at their own game. About
sixty of the enemy lay dead and as many more wounded. In
the two days of battle the British had fifty killed, sixty
wounded, and five missing. It was a heavy price; but this
victory broke the back of the Indian war.
Many horses had been killed or had strayed away, and it
was impossible to transport all the stores to Fort Pitt.
What could not be carried with the force was destroyed,
and the victors moved on to Bushy Creek, at a slow pace
on account of the wounded. No sooner had they pitched
their tents at the creek than some of the enemy again
appeared; the Highlanders, however, without waiting for
the word of command, scattered them with the bayonet. On
the following day the march began for Fort Pitt. Three
days later, on August 10, the garrison of that fort heard
the skirl of the bagpipes and the beat of the drum, and
saw through the forest the plaids and plumes of the
Highlanders and the red coats of the Royal Americans.
The gate was thrown open, and the victors of Edge Hill
marched in to the welcome of the men and women who for
several months had had no news from their friends in the
east.
Bouquet had been instructed to invade the Ohio country
and teach the Shawnees and Delawares a lesson. But his
men were worn out, half of them were unfit for service,
and so deficient was he in horses and supplies that this
task had to be abandoned for the present year.
Pennsylvania and Virginia rejoiced. This triumph meant
much to them. Their borders would now be safe, but for
occasional scalping parties. Amherst was delighted, and
took to himself much of the credit of Bouquet's victory.
He congratulated the noble Swiss officer on his victory
over 'a band of savages that would have been very formidable
against any troops but such as you had with you.' But it
was not the troops that won the battle; it was Bouquet.
In the hands of a Braddock, a Loudoun, an Abercromby, these
war-worn veterans would have met a fate such as befell
Braddock's troops. But Bouquet animated every man with his
own spirit; he knew how to fight Indians; and at the critical
moment--'the fatal five minutes between victory and
defeat'--he proved himself the equal of any soldier who
ever battled against the red men in North America.