A Soldier of Virginia - Burton Egbert Stevenson
"Come, sir," he cried to the general, as he gained his side, "you must
leave the field. There is no hope of getting a guard from among these
cowards or persuading them to make a stand."
Braddock turned to answer him, but as he did so, threw up his hands and
fell forward into the arms of his aide. I sprang to Orme's assistance,
and between us we eased him down. His horse, doubtless also struck by a
ball, dashed off screaming through the wood.
"They have done for me!" he groaned, as we placed his back against a
tree. "Curse them, they have done for me."
Washington, who had left his horse the instant he saw the general fall,
knelt and rested the wounded man's head upon his knee, and wiped the
bloody foam from off his lips.
"Where are you hit?" he asked.
"Here," and the general raised his left hand and touched his side. "'Tis
a mortal hurt, and I rejoice in it. I have no wish to survive this day's
disgrace."
He cast his bloodshot eyes at the rabble of fleeing men.
"And to think that they are soldiers of the line!" he moaned, and closed
his eyes, as though to shut out the sight.
"We must get him out of this," said Orme quietly, and he turned away to
call to some of the Forty-Eighth who were rushing past. But they did not
even turn their heads. With an oath, Orme seized one by the collar.
"A purse of sixty guineas!" he cried, dangling it before his eyes, but
the man threw him fiercely off, and continued on his way. Orme turned
back to us, his face grim with anger and despair.
"'Tis useless," he said. "We cannot stop them. The devil himself could
not stop them now."
The general had lain with his eyes closed and scarce breathing, so that I
thought that he had fainted. But he opened his eyes, and seemed to read
at a glance the meaning of Orme's set face.
"Gentlemen," he said, more gently than I had ever heard him speak, "I
pray you leave me here and provide for your own safety. I have but a
little time to live at best, and the Indians will be upon us in a moment.
Leave them to finish me. You could not do a kinder thing. I have no wish
that you should sacrifice your lives so uselessly by remaining here with
me. There has been enough of sacrifice this day."
Yes, he was a gallant man, and whatever of resentment had been in my
heart against him vanished in that instant. We three looked into each
other's eyes, and read the same determination there. We would save the
general, or die defending him. But the situation was indeed a
desperate one.
At that moment, a tumbrel drawn by two maddened horses dashed by. One
wheel caught against a tree, and before the horses could get it free or
break from the harness, I had sprung to their heads.
"Quick!" I cried, "I cannot hold them long."
They understood in a moment, and, not heeding the general's entreaties
and commands that he be left, lifted him gently into the cart. Washington
sprang in beside him, Orme to the front, and in an instant I was clinging
to the seat and we were tearing along the road. It was time, for as I
glanced back, I saw the Indians rushing from the wood, cutting down and
scalping the last of the fugitives. I saw that Orme was suffering from
his wound, which seemed a serious one, and so I took the lines, which he
relinquished without protest, and held the horses to the road as well as
I was able. The tumbrel thundered on, over rocks and stumps of trees,
over dead men,--ay, and living ones, I fear,--to the river-bank, where a
few of the Virginia troops, held together by Waggoner and Peyronie, had
drawn up. It did my heart good to see them standing there, so cool and
self-possessed, while that mob of regulars poured past them, frenzied
with fear. And the thought came to me that never hereafter would a blue
coat need give precedence to a red one.
We splashed down into the water and across the river without drawing
rein, since it was evident that no chance of safety lay on that side.
Waggoner seemed to understand what was in the cart, for he formed his men
behind us and followed us across the river. Scarcely had we reached the
other bank, when the Indians burst from the trees across the water, but
they stopped there and made no further effort at pursuit, returning to
the battleground to reap their unparalleled harvest of scalps and booty.
About half a mile from the river, we brought the horses to a stop to see
what would best be done.
"The general commands that a stand be made here," cried Washington,
leaping from the cart, and Orme jumped down beside him, while I secured
the horses.
"He is brave and determined as ever," said Washington in a low tone,
"though suffering fearfully. The ball has penetrated his lung, I fear,
for he can breathe only with great agony, and is spitting blood."
Colonel Burton joined us at that moment, and between us we lifted the
general from the cart and laid him on a bed of branches on the ground.
"Rally the men here," he said, setting his teeth to keep back the groan
which would have burst from him. "We will make a stand, and so soon as we
can get our force in shape, will march back against the enemy. We shall
know better how to deal with them the second time."
We turned away to the work of rallying the fugitives, but the task was
not a light one, for the men seemed possessed with the fear that the
savages were on their heels, and ran past us without heeding our commands
to halt. At last we got together above a hundred men, posted sentries,
and prepared to spend the night. Darkness was already coming on, and
finally Captain Orme and Colonel Washington, after having searched in
vain for Doctor Craik, themselves washed the general's wound and dressed
it as best they could. They found that the ball had shattered the right
arm, and then passed into the side, though how deeply it had penetrated
they had no means of telling.
Despite his suffering, he thought only of securing our position, and so
soon as his wound was dressed, he ordered Captain Waggoner and ten men to
march to our last camp and bring up some provisions which had been left
there. He directed Colonel Washington to ride at once to Colonel Dunbar's
camp, and order up the reinforcements for another advance against the
French. He dictated a letter to Dinwiddie calling for more troops, which
Washington was to take with him, and forward by messenger from Dunbar's
camp. Though so shaken in body he could scarce sit upright in the saddle,
Washington set off cheerfully on that frightful journey. Orme and I
watched him until he disappeared in the gloom.
"A gallant man," he said, as we turned back to the rude shelter which had
been thrown up over the place where the general lay. "I do not think I
have ever seen a braver. You could not see as I could the prodigies of
valor he performed to-day. And he seems to bear a charmed life, for
though his coat was pierced a dozen times and two horses were killed
under him, he has escaped without a scratch."
We walked on in silence until we reached headquarters, where Colonel
Burton was also sitting, suffering greatly from his wound now he was no
longer on horseback.
"Lieutenant Stewart," he said to me, "I place you in charge of the
sentries for the night. Will you make the rounds and see that all is
well? I know the men are weary, but I need hardly tell you that our
safety will depend upon their vigilance. Guard especially against a
surprise from the direction of the river."
I saluted, and started away to make the round. The sun had long since
sunk behind the trees in a cloud of blood-red vapor, which seemed to me
significant of the day. All about us through the forest arose the chorus
of night sounds, and afar off through the trees I could catch the
glinting of the river. What was happening beyond it, I dared not think.
And then I came to a sudden stop, for I had reached the spot where the
first sentry had been posted, but there was none in sight.
I thought for a moment that in the darkness I must have missed the
place, but as I looked about me more attentively, I saw that could not
be. I walked up and down, but could find no trace of him. Could it be
that the Indians had stolen upon him and killed him with a blow of
knife or tomahawk before he could cry out? Yet if that had happened,
where was the body?
I hurried on toward the spot where the next sentry had been posted, and
as I neared it, strained my eyes through the gloom, but could see no
trace of him. I told myself that I was yet too far away, and hurried
forward, but in a moment I had reached the place. There was no sentry
there. With the perspiration starting from my forehead, I peered among
the trees and asked myself what mysterious and terrible disaster
threatened us. The third sentry was missing like the others--the fourth
had disappeared--I made the whole round of the camp. Not a single
sentry remained. And then, of a sudden, the meaning of their absence
burst upon me.
I hurried back to the camp, passing the spot where we had quartered the
men whom we had rallied, but who were not placed on sentry duty.
As I expected, not one was there.
"All is well, I trust, Lieutenant Stewart?" asked Colonel Burton, as I
approached. Then something in my face must have startled him, for he
asked me sharply what had happened.
"I fear we cannot remain here, sir," I said, as calmly as I could. "All
of our men have deserted us. There is not a single sentry at his post;"
and I told him what I had found.
He listened without a word till I had finished.
"You will get the tumbrel ready for the general, lieutenant," he said
quietly. "I will report this sad news to him. It seems that our defeat is
to become dishonor."
I put the horses into harness again, and led them to the place where the
general lay. He seemed dazed by the tidings of his men's desertion, and
made no protest nor uttered any sound as we lifted him again into the
cart and set off through the night. We soon reached the second ford, and
on the other side found Colonel Gage, who had contrived to rally about
eighty men and hold them there with him. But there seemed no hope of
keeping them through the night, so we set forward again, and plunged into
the gloomy forest.
An hour later, as I was plodding wearily along beside the cart, thinking
over the events of this tragic day, I was startled by a white face
peering from beneath the upraised curtain out into the darkness. It was
the stricken man within, who was surveying the remnant of that gallant
army which, a few short hours before, had passed along this road so
gayly, thinking itself invincible. He held himself a moment so, then let
the curtain drop and fell back upon his couch.
CHAPTER XIX
ALLEN AND I SHAKE HANDS
Of the horrors of the night which followed, my pen can paint no adequate
picture. Fugitives panted past us in the darkness, pursued by phantoms of
their own imagining, thinking only of one thing--to leave that scene of
awful slaughter far behind. The wounded toiled on, groaning and cursing,
for to drop to the rear or to wander from the way was to die, if not by
knife or tomahawk, none the less surely by hunger. Here and there some
poor wretch who could win no farther sat groaning by the roadside or
rolled in delirium upon the ground. The vast, impenetrable darkness of
the forest overshadowed us, full of threatening suggestion and peopled
with nameless terrors.
Colonel Gage remained with us with such of his men as he could hold
together, and among them I saw Lieutenant Allen. He had been wounded in
the shoulder, and at the suggestion of Captain Orme mounted the tumbrel
and drove the horses, while I walked beside it. What agonies the stricken
man within endured, tossed from side to side as the cart bumped along the
rough road, through ruts and over rocks and stumps of trees, must have
been beyond description, but not once during all that long night did I
hear a groan or complaint from him. Once he asked for water, and as Orme
and I stooped over him I heard him murmur as though to himself, "Who
would have thought it?" and again, "Who would have thought it?" Then he
drank the water mechanically and lay back, and said no more.
The disaster had been too sudden, too unexpected, too complete, for any
of us to fully realize. It seemed impossible that this handful of
terror-stricken fugitives should be all that remained of the proud army
to which we had belonged, and that this army had been defeated by a few
hundred Indians. Few of us had seen above a dozen of the enemy,--we of
Waggoner's company were the only ones who had looked down upon that
yelling mob in the ravine,--and scarce knew by whom we had been
slaughtered. It was incredible that two regiments of the best troops in
England should have been utterly routed by so contemptible a foe. The
reason refused to acknowledge such a thing.
I was plodding along, wearily enough, thinking of all this, when I heard
my name called, and glancing up, saw Allen looking round the corner of
the wagon cover.
"Won't you come up here, Lieutenant Stewart?" he asked. "There is ample
room for two, and 't is no use to tire yourself needlessly."
I accepted gratefully, though somewhat astonished at his courtesy, and in
a moment was on the seat beside him. He fell silent for a time, nor was I
in any mood for talk, for Spiltdorph's fate and young Harry Marsh's
sudden end weighed upon me heavily.
"Lieutenant Stewart," he said at last, "I feel that I did you and the
Virginia troops a grave injustice when I chose to question their courage.
What I saw to-day has opened my eyes to many things. In all the army, the
Virginia troops were the only ones who kept their wits about them and
proved themselves men. I wish to withdraw the expressions I used that
night, and to apologize for them most sincerely."
My hand was in his in an instant.
"With all my heart," I said. "I have thought more than once since then
that we were both too hasty."
He laughed,--a short laugh, in which there was no mirth.
"I think there are many of us who have been too hasty in this campaign,"
he said. "It is easy enough to see now that regulars are worth little in
this frontier warfare, where their manoeuvres count for nothing, and that
the provincials should have been left to fight in their own fashion. It
is not a pleasant thought that all my work in drilling them was worse
than wasted, and that every new manoeuvre I taught them impaired their
efficiency by just so much."
"'Twas not quite so bad as that," I protested. "The Virginia troops have
much to thank you for, and we shall know better how to deal with the
enemy next time."
"Next time?" he repeated despondently. "But when will next time be,
think you?"
"Why, at once, to be sure!" I cried. "We have still, with Colonel
Dunbar's companies, over a thousand men. So soon as we join with him, and
get our accoutrement in order, we can march back against the enemy, and
we shall not be caught twice in the same trap."
He did not answer, and there was a moment's silence. I glanced at his
face and saw that it was very grave.
"You do not mean," I asked, with a great fear at my heart, "that you
think it possible we shall retreat without striking another blow?"
"I fear it is only too possible," he answered gloomily. "If the general
lives, he may order another advance; indeed, I am sure he will, in the
hope of saving some fragment of his reputation. But if he dies, as seems
most likely, Colonel Dunbar, who succeeds to the command, is not the man
to imperil his prestige by taking such a risk."
"Risk?" I cried. "How is this any greater than the risk we took at
the outset?"
"You forget, lieutenant," said Allen, "that all of our equipment was left
on the field. The men flung away their arms, many of them even the
clothes upon their backs. Everything was abandoned,--the general's
private papers, and even the military chest, with L10,000 in it. These
losses will not be easily repaired."
I could not but admit the truth of this, and said as much.
"And then," continued Allen, still more gloomily, "we have suffered
another loss which can never be made good. The morale of the men is
gone. They have no longer the confidence in themselves which a winning
army must have. I doubt if many of them could be got to cross the
Monongahela a second time."
Yes, that was also true, and we fell silent, each busy with his own
thoughts. It seemed too horrible, too utterly fantastic. At last came the
dawn, and the light of the morning disclosed us to each other. As I
looked about me, I wondered if these scarecrows, these phantoms of men,
could be the same who had gone into battle in all the pride of manhood
and pageantry of arms the day before. Orme was ghastly, with his bandaged
head and torn, mud-stained uniform, and as I looked at him, I recalled
sadly the gallant figure I had met at Fort Necessity. Nor were the others
better. Haggard faces, bloodshot eyes, lips drawn with suffering, hair
matted with blood,--all the grim and revolting realities of defeat were
there before us, and no longer to be denied. And I realized that I was
ghastly as any. A bullet had cut open my forehead, leaving a livid gash,
from which the blood had dried about my face. I had lost my hat, and my
uniform was in tatters and stained with blood.
We soon met the men who had gone forward with Waggoner to secure us some
supplies, and halted by a little brook to wash our injuries. Captain Orme
and some others attended as well as they were able to the general, and
gave him a little food, which was all too scarce, barely sufficient for a
single meal. Fortunately, Doctor Craik, who had learned that the general
was wounded, came up soon after, and made a careful examination of the
injury. He came away, when he had finished, with grave face, and told us
there was little hope, as the wound was already much inflamed and
fevered, and the general was able to breathe only with great agony. He
said there could be no question that the ball had entered the lung. The
general fancied that he would be easier on horseback, so when the march
was begun again, he was mounted on the horse Orme had been riding, but
after half an hour his pain grew so intense that he had to be taken down.
It was evident that he could not endure the jolting of the cart, and we
finally rigged up a sort of litter out of a portion of the tumbrel top,
and the men took turns in bearing him on this between them.
Daylight banished much of the terror of the night, and as we toiled
onward, we began to talk a little, each to tell what part he had seen
of the battle. It was here that I heard the story of Harry Gordon, the
engineer who had been marking out the road in advance of the column,
and who had first seen the enemy. They had appeared suddenly, coming
through the wood at a run, as though hurrying from the fort, and led by
a man whose silver gorget and gayly fringed hunting-shirt at once
bespoke the chief. So soon as he saw Gordon, he halted and waved his
hat above his head, and the rabble of savages at his heels had
dispersed to right and left and disappeared as if by magic. An instant
later came a tremendous rifle fire from either flank, which cut Gage's
troops to pieces. They had rallied and returned the fire with spirit,
so that for a time the issue hung in the balance; but the terrible fire
to which they were subjected was too much for any discipline to
withstand, and they had finally given way in confusion, just as Burton
was forming to support them.
It was not until long afterward that I heard the French story of the
fight, but I deem it best to set it down here. As our army had approached
through the wilderness, the Indians who lurked upon our flanks had
carried greatly exaggerated stories of our strength to Fort Duquesne, and
M. de Contrecoeur prepared to surrender on terms of honorable
capitulation, deeming it mere madness to oppose a force so overwhelming
in strength and so well disciplined. To the French the reputation of
General Braddock and of the Forty-Fourth and Forty-Eighth regiments of
the line was well known and commanded the greatest respect. On the eighth
of July, it was reported that the English were only a few miles from the
fort, which they would probably invest the next day, and M. de Beaujeu, a
captain of the regulars, asked the commandant for permission to prepare
an ambuscade and contest the second passage of the Monongahela.
Contrecoeur granted the request with great reluctance, and only on
condition that Beaujeu obtain the assistance of the Indians, of whom
there were near a thousand camped about the fort. Accordingly. Beaujeu at
once called the warriors to a council, and urged that they accompany him
against the English on the morrow. They received his proposition with
marked coldness, and according to the Indian custom, asked until morning
to consider their reply. In the morning, the council was called together
again, and the Indians refused to take part in the expedition. At that
moment a runner burst in upon them and announced that the enemy was at
hand. Beaujeu, who knew well the inflammable nature of his hearers, was
on his feet in an instant.
"I," he cried, "am determined to go out against the enemy. I am certain
of victory. What! Will you suffer your father to depart alone?"
It was the one spark needed to set the Indians on fire. They were frantic
with excitement. Barrels of bullets and casks of powder were rolled from
the fort, and their heads knocked out, so that each Indian could take
what he needed. War paint was donned, and in an hour the band, nine
hundred strong, of whom near seven hundred were Indians and the remainder
Canadians and regulars, set off silently through the forest. Beaujeu
calculated, at the most, on giving us a severe check as we crossed the
second ford, but long ere he reached the river, the beating of the drums
and the tramp of the approaching army told him that he was too late, and
that we had already crossed. Quickening their pace to a run, in a moment
they came upon our vanguard, and as Beaujeu gave the signal, the Indians
threw themselves into two ravines on our flanks, while the Canadians and
French held the centre. The first volley of Gage's troops killed
Beaujeu, and was so tremendous that it frightened the Indians, who
turned to flee. But they were rallied by a few subalterns, and finding
that the volleys of the regulars did little damage except to the trees,
returned to the attack, and during the whole engagement were perfectly
sheltered in the ravines, rifle and artillery fire alike sweeping above
them. They lost altogether but twenty-five or thirty men, and most of
these fell before the volley which we of Waggoner's company had fired
into the ravine.
After our retreat, no pursuit was attempted, the Indians busying
themselves killing and scalping the wounded and gathering up the rich
booty which the army had left behind. They decked themselves in British
uniforms, stuck the tall caps of the grenadiers above their painted
faces, wound neck, wrist, and ankle with gold lace, made the wood to echo
with the dreadful scalp-halloo. Such an orgy of blood they never had
before; not another such will they ever have.
One other horror must I record, which chokes me even yet to think of. A
score of regulars, surrounded by savages and cut off in their retreat
from the remainder of the army, yielded themselves captive to the
victors, thinking to be treated as prisoners of war have ever been in
Christian nations. But the Indians knew only their own bloodthirsty
customs. Half of the captives were tomahawked on the spot. The others
were stripped of clothing, their faces blackened, their hands bound
behind them, and were driven forward to the Allegheny, where, just
across from Fort Duquesne, a stake had been set in the river's bank.
Arrived there, the prisoners began to understand the fate prepared for
them, yet they could not believe. A hundred yards away across the river
stood the walls of the fort, crowded with soldiers, the fair lilies of
France waving lazily above their heads. Calmly they watched the terrible
preparations,--Contrecoeur, Dumas, and all the others,--and not one
raised a hand to rescue those unhappy men, or uttered a word to mitigate
their torture. From dark to dawn the flames shimmered across the
water,--for the English went to their fate singly,--and things were done
to turn one sick with horror; yet did the French look tranquilly from
their bastions and joke one to another. Our flag, thank God, has never
been sullied by a deed like that!
Early the next morning, the Indians started westward to their homes,
laden with booty, sated with slaughter, leaving the French to take care
of themselves as best they might. The latter remained for a week in great
fear of another attack, which they would have been quite unable to
withstand, little thinking that our army was fleeing back to the
settlements with feet winged by an unreasoning terror.
We reached Gist's plantation at ten o'clock on the night of the tenth,
and here we were compelled to stop because of our own exhaustion and the
great suffering of the general. And here, early the next morning, came
Colonel Washington, sitting his cushioned saddle like some gaunt
spectre, and bringing with him wagons loaded with provision. The general
still persisted in the exercise of his duties, despite his suffering, and
he at once detailed a party to proceed toward the Monongahela with a
supply of food, for the succor of the stragglers and the wounded who had
been left behind,--a duty which was ill fulfilled because of the
cowardice of those to whom it was intrusted. Meanwhile we pushed on, and
reached Dunbar's camp that night.