Part 13

“Tomorrow, maybe. That is what they say. I could not come before; now I am glad, because I heard the council. They were getting ready yesterday――five hundred French and a few Miami. The Delaware would not go. You saw those boats. Well, those were all French Indians, sent by Onontio, and that white man named Villiers. Jumonville that Washington and Tanacharison killed was his half-brother. He will lead with his Ottawa and Huron and Iroquois, to take revenge. The French captain chief in the fort spoke hot words in the council. Now the King Shingis and the King Beaver Delaware have accepted the black wampum and the French hatchet, and they are all willing to go to fight the English.”

“How many?”

“They are like the corn in the field,” said Bright Lightning. “Wah! Do you hurry?”

“Come,” exclaimed the Hunter.

“No,” replied Bright Lightning. “I am only a girl; you are a warrior and must ride fast. If anybody has followed me, to catch me, that doesn’t matter, but no one should catch you. You go to Gist’s place quick, on the horse; I am not afraid.”

She spoke sense. Robert turned and ran. He knew that Bright Lightning could take care of herself.

XV

IN AND OUT OF FORT NECESSITY

It was a long way, by day and by night, through the woods and over the hills and across the streams, to Gist’s. When he came into sight of the spot he saw that the Washington men had reached it also, and were throwing up a dirt fort.

He rode down upon a lame horse. The Mackaye men were here too, on guard while the Long Knives worked, and Tanacharison had camped near by. Instead of marching on to the mouth of Redstone Creek at the Monongahela in the west, they acted as though they all were getting ready to fight off the French. Maybe they had heard that the French were coming.

So they had, but they had not heard the worst. He found Washington, muddy and hollow-cheeked and stern, wallowing about in the mire, and encouraging his thin, sweat-soaked men. Washington looked at him rather dully――as if maybe he had not missed him; but he said:

“What now? I see the Hunter has been on a journey.”

“I come quick from Fort Duquesne to tell of the French,” Robert burst out. Tell he did, as fast as he could talk, while several other officers drew near, and Washington’s face grew graver.

“Bright Lightning was in the fort?” he asked.

“She counted, and she heard,” Robert asserted. “She does not lie. And I saw. The French are more than one thousand. The Indians are half one thousand. The Delaware have taken up the hatchet. They march to catch Washington.”

“You have heard, gentlemen,” said Washington. “We can believe this boy. The French have received reinforcements again, and I fear are too strong for us in our condition. Peyroney, you will please to summon the officers in council of war to be held immediately in Mr. Gist’s house.” And he added, to Robert: “I thank the Hunter, and I will thank Bright Lightning. You have done good service.”

While the council was being held Robert sat with Tanacharison. The Half-King was glum.

“Washington is a good man but he gets no help,” he complained. “Assaragoa leaves him out in the woods with just a few soldiers and no food. If I could promise presents I could get him plenty of Indians, but he has no presents. He cannot expect the Indians to starve with him and be killed by the French, when Onontio is rich and gives them anything they ask. I will stay and see what happens, but the French are owning the Ohio, with big forts, and the English have nothing. Washington should have moved fast, with many men, and built a great house like I told him to do. But Assaragoa does not listen to my advice. I shall not risk losing my family without any good coming from it. If Washington has sense he will go out from here, which is close to the hills and a very poor place to fight from.”

Washington was of the same opinion; for as soon as the council broke up everybody hustled to move away.

They were going back to Great Meadows and to send to Will’s Creek for more soldiers and supplies or else march to meet the soldiers and supplies. The wagon horses had given out entirely, with sore feet. So the officers’ saddle horses and even Robert’s horse were loaded with the ammunition and the scanty camp supplies; Washington left his own baggage, the other officers did the same, when they saw; the soldiers carried what they could upon their backs, and the Long Knife men dragged the nine cannon by hand.

The weather was warm, with heavy thunder storms. Wah, how they all panted and sweat, through the rain and the heat! But in the third day they toiled across the Great Meadows, to the half-finished fort; and this was the first day of July.

The Tanacharison party had beaten the soldiers and were camped with other Mingos, waiting. Then, as the soldiers staggered on to the fort, Washington trudging beside the first file with Robert the Hunter close to him, two figures in breech-clouts and of painted skin strode through the trampled, wet grass to meet them.

One was Scarouady; the other was his son the Buck, a fine young warrior. Scarouady stepped to Washington, and he said, clapping his rifle with his open hand:

“Ho, brother! I am here.”

“I am glad to see my brother,” Washington answered. “Does he bring news?”

“I bring my son, to fight for Washington,” said Scarouady. “We have seen the French upon the war trail, to eat up the English.”

“Where?”

“They were yesterday at Redstone Creek. It is well my brother did not go there. They land from canoes paddled up the Monongahela, and march into the woods.”

“How many?” Washington asked.

“As many hundreds as the fingers of my hands,” said Scarouady. “One-third Indians, two-thirds French. They should be here in two more days. What does my brother plan to do?”

“I will receive them here,” replied Washington. “My soldiers are tired and hungry. They cannot travel. If we go on we shall be caught on the road and cut to pieces. Now we will face the French. I see no Indians to help me, but my men are brave.”

“You speak well,” Scarouady approved. “Chiefs promised to come and help, but they lied. I and my son will help. We have run all the way to find you; now we will run back and watch the French. Let Washington be getting ready with his soldiers and great guns.”

Away went the loyal Scarouady and the Buck. Washington trudged on, his gaunt face anxious, to where the men were falling down to rest and eat. Doctor Craik hurried about, giving medicine to those who were sick. Christopher Gist set out for Will’s Creek to hasten supplies and the soldier companies that were still there doing nothing, as far as anybody knew.

“Should you communicate with the Governor, tell him we have been without bread for eight days and have no salt with which to preserve our meat,” Washington said to Gist. “But if we are provisioned and the French prove no better than they did before, we can hold out.”

Washington did not rest. He walked about, with Captain Robert Strobo and Captain Vanbraam the Dutchman (who was stout no longer) and Major Muse, and Captain Mackaye, planning how to complete the fort.

Then the sun sank into the thunder clouds of the west, and night flowed in, and amid the darkness the tired guards walked their beats where, any moment, an Indian might spring with the hatchet.

Nothing happened this night. Early in the morning all the Long Knife Americans who could stand were set at work digging ditches and chopping trees and hauling logs, while the Mackaye soldiers kept guard. Washington himself, Vanbraam, Muse and other officers seized axes and helped; and young Captain Robert Strobo (a slender, lively, handsome man with round brown face and bright dark eyes) showed where the ditches and the walls should be put.

The old ditch with dirt thrown up was changed until it formed a triangle about thirty paces on a side, and the logs were laid on top of the dirt. On two of the sides another ditch was dug, a little way in front. The place was the best possible, on a piece of level ground two hundred and fifty paces wide, between hills, with a creek running through, for water――although there was to be water in plenty without it, they were to find out.

The nearest trees where an enemy could hide were on a point sixty paces distant, and these trees were being cut as fast as possible and used for logs.

This digging, chopping, hauling and piling was hard work for worn-out men. The Tanacharison people did not seem to think much of the fort, which Half-King called a “little thing,” not large enough to stay in――saying that Washington was foolish to expect the French to march down to it and be killed.

However, what better could be done, now? By sunset the outer ditch was only knee-deep, and the dirt of the entrenchment had been raised by only one or two logs. Then in the dusk Scarouady’s son came running. The French, in great number, were at Gist’s place, looking for Washington. They had fired upon Gist’s place before they had learned that nobody was there. Scarouady had stayed to watch them.

All this night it rained――and a miserable night that was. Early in the morning the men got up, and in the rain ate what could be eaten; guards were posted far out to give warning should the French be near; and Washington and Captain Strobo decided that more trees upon the wooded point should be cut down. Most of the Tanacharison people were leaving into the woods where the women and children would be safer than in the fort which had no roof and was too small.

The tree chopping went on slowly. Then, in the rain, who should come, from the other end of the meadow, but Bright Lightning! Yes, it was she, and by the way she hurried she was very tired. Robert seemed to be the one who saw her first――a weary little figure. He ran to meet her.

“Ho, Hunter!” she gasped. “Tell Washington the French are less than four miles off. Nine times one hundred, with many Indians in front. They come.”

And Bright Lightning sank down. Her feet were bare and bleeding; her deer-skin dress was torn. She had been a long time out.

Robert made haste to tell Washington that the French were on this side of the Laurel Hills. He had not got to where Washington was helping chop the trees, when he heard a gun-shot in the forest in that direction. Next a soldier staggered down the slope there.

“Injuns!” he shouted. “The enemy!”

He was one of the out-post sentinels; an Indian had fired upon him and wounded him.

All the sentries were running in now. The tree chopping ceased; the officers began to form their companies at the fort. And next another figure appeared bounding down into the meadow――and Robert heard the scalp halloo of Scarouady.

Here came Scarouady, with a dripping scalp in one hand and his rifle in the other. Huzzah! He had avenged the wounded soldier. And he cried, panting in:

“The French soldiers one short mile; the woods are full of Ottawa and Huron. I have struck the Ottawa. Make ready, Long Knives.”

Although the Mingos of Tanacharison had proved weak, and the Delawares and the Shawnees were not helping, it was good to have Scarouady and his son and the brave little Bright Lightning faithful.

Pretty soon figures of both Indians and French soldiers could be seen moving among the trees of a hill in the northwest a quarter of a mile away; and on a sudden a great smoke gushed and a tremendous volley rolled across the meadow. But never a ball dropped anywhere near.

The Long Knives and the Mackaye company stood in line in the open meadow in front of the ditches, with Washington walking up and down before them. The blue flag of Virginia drooped over the centre of the Washington men, and the red flag of the King drooped over the centre of the fort.

“Do not answer,” Washington ordered. “They cannot harm us from that distance. They only seek to draw us from our position. Wait them here, and when they descend, fire at close quarters. They cannot stand against our balls well delivered.”

But the French did not come out of the woods. They fired another volley or two, their Indians screeched; and seeing that Washington stood firm, waiting them, they began to march about. A stirring sight they made, from the glimpses of them: part of them in regular uniform, and part in rangers’ hunting shirts, and the Indians scuttling painted for war.

By this day the men of Washington who were able to fight had shrunk to about three hundred and fifty, including the Mackaye company.

It wasn’t long before shots commenced to pepper from the point where trees had been left, and from another slope a little farther. That was killing range.

“The rascals will not show themselves,” said Washington, to Major Muse. “Do you ask Captain Mackaye to station his men within the log trenches, and my rangers will hold the outside ditches. Then if that tempts those fellows to assault, let them come.”

This was quickly done. The Captain Mackaye King’s soldiers knelt behind the log-capped breastworks, ready to serve their muskets and the cannon; and the Long Knife soldiers knelt in the ditches in front.

The French and Indian fire increased, so that the balls whistled thickly. The French soldiers were covered by the trees of the point and the slope sixty yards and one hundred yards away; the Indians climbed into the trees themselves; and from above the fort they all could shoot down into it. Then the Virginians and the Mackaye men began to answer with muskets and cannon, so that the ground and the air shook, and one could scarcely see through the smoke.

The battle lasted all the rest of the day. The cows ran hither and thither, and the French Indians shot them. In the ditches and in the fort itself men were being struck. Ensign Peyroney was badly wounded. The cannon had been placed upon dirt platforms to shoot over the logs, but the gunners were picked off when they reloaded and aimed. The dirt of the breastworks got soft from the rain, and flowed down into the trenches. Much of this the Hunter learned a little later, for now he was out in the ditches with the Long Knives, who shot well. Every little while an Indian fell from a tree, or a French soldier sprang up and toppled down.

But the weather fought against Washington. He sought no cover――he moved along, behind his men, encouraging them, and so did Doctor Craik, seeking the wounded. In the afternoon another thunder storm broke; the rain poured in sheets, the men could not fire their muskets, and the ditch was almost level with water.

Washington gave orders and they all went back to crowd into the trenches of the fort, which were not much better. After the thunder storm the sky cleared somewhat. The fight opened again. The Washington men could not get out, the French dared not come in.

“If we can hold till morning, I think we have them whipped,” said Washington to Major Muse.

“That, if our ammunition holds out also,” said Major Muse. “The men have scarce a handful of bullets and a dozen charges of powder apiece; the guns are fouled and no way of cleaning them.”

“The French may be in worse shape, sir,” Washington declared.

Now it was getting too dark to shoot. The little fort was littered with dead and wounded; one-third of all the Long Knives and the Mackaye soldiers were out of action. But, as Washington had said, the French might be no better off.

Then from the dusk on the edge of the nearest woods somebody called in French:

“Hallo, Messieurs the English!”

“Hallo!” shouted Washington.

“I would come in. We offer a parley to save the English further loss of life.”

Vanbraam translated.

“Tell him to keep away,” Washington directed. “We wish no parley. Besides,” he added, “the French are weakening and to let them see our condition would encourage them.”

So Vanbraam told the man to keep away. Then pretty soon the man called again. He asked that an officer be sent out to talk. Washington consented to this. Ensign Peyroney spoke good French, but he was too sorely wounded to move. Accordingly Captain Jacob Vanbraam went out to the French and the Indians.

He was gone a long time. When at last he came back he brought a paper that made terms. He read the paper by light of a candle to Washington, and Washington shook his head.

“We will never agree to terms so dishonorable,” he said. “The only thing to which I will consent is the privilege of marching out with all our forces and property, and of retiring unmolested. Captain de Villiers may then have the fort, such as it is.”

Captain Jacob Vanbraam made several trips back and forth, in the dark; and each time the paper was changed by the French captain, and was reread by Vanbraam by the light of the flickering candle held under a cloak spread over it.

Then while Robert was squatting among the weary men who waited anxiously Scarouady’s son, the Buck, touched him on the shoulder.

So Robert rose, and followed the Buck out of the fort, and around to where Half-King was camped at a little distance, on high ground among some trees.

Scarouady and Aroas and Fairfax, the son of Queen Allaquippa, were here sitting beside Half-King who was lying down wrapped in a blanket.

“You have been listening to the talk between Washington and the French captain,” said Tanacharison. “What is going on down there? Do the English surrender?”

“Washington says the French will have to let him march away or he will fight,” the Hunter answered.

“Wah!” grumbled Tanacharison. “That is right. The French have had enough. They are cowards and hide in the woods, but the English are fools and do nothing at all. I lent you to Washington to learn the white ways. Now it seems to me the Indian ways are better. The Mingos are going to Aukwick to live till the French and English are done fighting. I wish you to come with me.”

But Aukwick, which in the Mohawk tongue was Oquaga or Place of Wild Grapes, was an old Iroquois town far away, upon the Susquehanna River in New York; and Robert’s heart sank.

“I am Washington’s man,” he said. “I cannot leave Washington.”

“You are not his son; you are mine,” replied Tanacharison. “Now the French have bewitched me for having killed the Jumonville men and I am sick. I will go where the French cannot reach me. You will be of no use to Washington, for the French have driven him out. I need you more than he does. Those are my words.”

Half-King did indeed appear sick. After staying for a time the Hunter went back, down to the fort. It was midnight, and Washington and Captain Mackaye were just signing the French paper.

Evidently they had got good terms. The French did not know, but there were thirty dead and seventy wounded, and little powder and ball, and less than two days’ food.

The dead had to be buried and the wounded cared for. Just how to tell Washington that Tanacharison had taken him away Robert could not figure; but of course tell Washington he should. And finally he found a chance.

Washington, who was tired out and looked sad, nodded gravely.

“You must go with the Half-King,” he said. “He is sick and needs you. I do not need you. Tell him I call him brother and he must not fight against the English, for the French cannot keep this country.”

“When you come again I will help you, Washington,” said the Hunter. “I am American.”

Scarouady had returned. He stepped forward; and he said:

“Half-King old and sick, Connotaucarius. No fight um French, no fight um English. Me, Scarouady, brudder to English, fight um French. Me watch um. Next time you come, send for Scarouady.”

Then he shook hands with Washington and patted him on the back. The Hunter followed him and the Buck, to sleep upon the hill.

Early in the morning they all were up, to see what was going to happen. The fort had been busy much of the night by the light of fires; and it was still busy with men getting ready to march away. Some of the French were there waiting. Pretty soon the Washington soldiers, and the Mackaye soldiers started carrying a flag and beating their drums. Upon their backs or in litters of blankets they bore wounded men while other wounded men hobbled after. But they moved bravely, without fear of the French and Indians looking on.

It was a long file. Before it all had left the fort Tanacharison said:

“I have seen enough. Washington is not a man to give up easily, but now the French are here. Let us go too, or they will make me so I cannot travel.”

They set out. The Half-King was in pain from his sickness, but when by a roundabout way they reached Gist’s place, in the afternoon, he felt better and they stopped again to rest. Gist’s was deserted. After they had rested for a time the Buck came in from his look-out on the trail.

“What is it?” Tanacharison asked.

“The French are coming. They will be here soon,” the Buck reported.

Tanacharison groaned.

“I feel sick. If I stay I shall die or else lose my mind to the French. We will put distance between us and them, and get out of their evil power.”

The Buck and Robert had followed only a little way when in the woods the Buck spoke into Robert’s ear.

“Wah! We will not run off. We are warriors. Let us turn back and see what these French are going to do.”

The Buck was a fine young man, not much older than Robert. No one could ask for a better partner. His words sounded good. Therefore the Hunter dropped back with him; and they two lay in the brush where they could watch the French come into Gist’s.

Presently the column descended from the road through the woods into the flat where Gist’s houses were and where Washington had made his ditches. Ottawa and Huron scouts led, walking swiftly; then came the French commanders, and the soldiers and Canadian rangers, and more Indians: all merry, and many loaded with plunder from the Great Meadows.

But see! Who were those? Amid the blue and white uniforms of the French there was a flash of red: the English color!

“Wah!” uttered the Buck. “They have prisoners.”

Robert’s heart sank again. One of the prisoners was tall. The French had kept Washington! Washington would be a great prize. Those were either Long Knife officers, or else Mackaye men, for the Long Knife soldiers themselves had been poorly dressed in all kinds of clothes.