USA > Massachusetts > Our western border : its life, combats, adventures, forays, massacres, captivities, scouts, red chiefs, pioneer women, one hundred years ago, containing the cream of all the rare old border chronicles > Part 8
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OUR WESTERN BORDER.
brings me and my army on this field! Here, orderly, bring me another mount !"
Washington's pale face flushed up with indignation at this stinging, but totally undeserved, taunt, the more galling since Braddock had re- peatedly given his approval of the '54 campaign. Seeing the General's obstinate temper, and knowing he had no right to offer advice, he put spurs to his horse and was soon over the hill to hurry up the artillery.
" That's right, officers !" hoarsely shouted Braddock, soon as he was again mounted. "Tell off your men into small parties, advance on a double-quick, and drive these d-d skulking vagabonds from their hiding-places !"
It was useless. By this time the confident and whooping savages had enveloped both flanks, while a most galling concentric fire was poured in upon the panic-stricken army, which was particularly severe upon the officers. In vain these officers, with unparalleled bravery, put themselves repeatedly at the head of small parties and advanced with cheers upon the hidden foe. Distinguished by their horses and uniforms, they were simply sacrificed. In the dark and narrow road, surrounded on all sides by gloomy trees and dense thickets, were crowded close together the panic-stricken wretches, appalled at the fatal fire of foes whom they never saw. Many fired away into the air ; many more brought down their own men.
Wherever a puff of smoke was seen, off went the soldiers' muskets ; while all around, securely hidden in those mysterious, unsuspected ravines, lay a screeching, murderous, insatiate foe, their rifles or mus- kets loaded with both bullet and buckshot, .peering through grass and bushes, resting them on the brinks, gathering more and more confi- dence with each fatal volley, and making the forest echo with demoniac yells and whoops and savage clamor. Occasionally a naked and hideously-painted savage would break from cover, and rush forward with fearful screech to secure the scalp of some officer he had shot. Then would follow a volley of musketry from the poor soldiers, killing or wounding their own fellows more than damaging the enemy.
SIR PETER HALKET'S DEATH-BRADDOCK'S RETREAT AND DEATH.
What followed deserves not the name of battle ; it was simply a horri- ble slaughter. Once Colonel Burton managed to gather a hundred men and advanced towards a rising ground in front, the very centre of the French position, but upon his being disabled by a rifle ball, the rest retired precipitately. By this time Sir Peter Halket came up with rein- forcements, but too late for good. The men were hopelessly disordered
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SIR PETER HALKET'S DEATH.
and panic-stricken, firing off all their ammunition, quarreling with their brave officers, who threw themselves from their horses and led them repeatedly on foot, but only to be swept into eternity.
The only thing for Braddock to do when he found himself caught in this horrid slaughter-pen, was, manifestly, to retire his forces while he had them yet under control ; throw out scouting parties to beat up the enemy's position ; bring up his artillery to the ends of the ravines and thoroughly rake them with grape and canister, or to rout out the securely-hidden foe with the bayonet. Indians have never yet been - found able to withstand a bayonet charge. The cold steel at close quar- ters demoralizes. They quiver, break and fly. This was what both Halket and Washington urged him to do, but to no purpose. He raged along the road like a fury; drove back his men by the sword and seemed determined to overcome by mere force of drill and obstinacy. Indeed, it is uncertain whether he now could have executed the manœuvre. No soldiers-not even Cumberland's veterans-could long withstand a deadly and concentrated fire from front and both flanks.
The fact that the fatal flashes and puffs of smoke and volleys seemed to come right out of the ground and from unseen foes, while the whole air and woods around rang full of savage yells and horrible screechings, completed the demoralization. Many afterwards declared that during the whole three hours' contest they had never once seen a foe; while others would not assert that they had seen over half a dozen. It is only wonder that soldiers so wretchedly posted and so badly commanded, could stand it as long as they did. The Provincials suffered as much as the British soldiers. Whenever and wherever they could, they took to the trees. It is even asserted, and we think it probable, that some of the officers who, by Braddock's explicit command, attempted to beat back into the road the men who had thus sought shelter behind trees, were shot by their own men.
In one of the pauses of this one-sided conflict, Washington, who had been kept busy carrying the General's orders-the other aids, Orme and Morris, having been wounded-saw Colonel Halket, grim and weary-looking, standing dismounted under a huge oak, and leaning heavily against its massive trunk. Hastening up and out a little from the fire, he anxiously inquired :
" I trust, Sir Peter, you are not very badly hurt?"
"Na, na, Geordie; but Ise gotten eneuch. "Tis joost aboon my baldric. Wha culd luke to go thro' siccan an awsome day wi'out scaur or scaith. I ha'e fear Ise ta'en a strong grippit o' death. I am sair, sair forfoughten, but never fear, mon, but wha' the auld Sir Peter will e'er present a heckle to his foes."
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OUR WESTERN BORDER.
"Oh, 'tis not so bad as that, Colonel," said Washington ; " but you, like the rest of us, have received your baptism of fire. 'Tis a gory field, and the end's not yet."
"D'ye mind, Major, the 'secon-sight' I tauld ye of yestreen and the vision of bluid? Said I not recht ?- but, ha'e ye seen Jamie, laddie ?"
" I have, Sir Peter ; there he stands, and unhurt."
" 'Tis strange, verra strange. 'Tis the bairn Francis, and not James that's hurt and ta'en to the rear, alang wi' Sir John Sinclair, Colonel Burton, Gladwin, and mony ithers. Oh, but this is a sorra day ! Braddock's joost lost his fourth horse. The fule carle thinks he's fightin' on the broad plains o' Flanders. 'Tis eneuch amaist to drive one dis- traught to see him trying to wheel and manœuvre a whail army, shoul- ther to shoulther, in a twal-fut road. I ha'e beggit him to let his men tak to the woods, but the dour deevil wi' not. He's clean daft, Geordie, clean daft."
" Well, Colonel," said Washington, " no use to discuss the General now. You need immediate attention. I'll send some soldiers to take you to the rear."
Washington had scarce gone a hundred paces before a bullet, sped by an Indian rifle from the ravine, struck Halket straight through the heart. Just as he was falling, his son James rushed forward and caught him in his arms. He, too, was at the same instant mortally struck, and both fell together, locked in each other's embrace, and this was the last of the old Scotch nobleman. The two bodies lay, just where they fell, for years, through Summer's heat and Winter's snow-"'mid all the wreck of the spiteful elements." We will hereafter relate how, three years after, two skeletons were found locked together, and in how singular a manner the young Sir Peter Halket identified them as those of his father and brother. The Provincials-the American militia of whom Braddock was so contemptuous-were among the last to yield the hill. Among them were Jack, Gist, Waggoner, Scarrooyaddy and others of the more cool and collected scouts and rangers, who had, wherever they could obtain a " coign of vantage," kept up a desultory fire upon the foe.
About this time Jack, his face all begrimed with powder, his bullets almost all spent, his eyes glowing and teeth clenched in a sort of bull- dog fixedness, was sullenly retiring from tree to tree hotly pushed by some Ottawa Indians, when he noted the approach of our old acquaint- ance, Captain Waggoner of the Virginia Rangers, with what was left of his men. They were doggedly retreating step by step, casting many an anxious look behind.
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BRADDOCK'S RETREAT AND DEATH.
"Waggoner," exclaimed Jack, "'tis a crying shame that we should stay here and be butchered for the mad whims of a man, who may be as brave as Julius Cæsar, but who's also as crazy as a loon. Now, I've been studying the lay of these lurking red devils, and from the line of their fire, I feel certain their whole position can be turned from that huge fallen tree yonder, lying just on the rise of the hill. What say you? Can you take your men, and let us run for it?
" Good ! Jack. Give me your hand on't, old hickory ! I'm with you till death. I can depend on what is left of my company to a man, and think I can get enough rangers from Dobb's, Dagworthy's, Stevens' and Peyronies' companies to make the attempt. Ho!" he shouted in clear, ringing tones, " American rangers, stay one moment ! We've tried fighting Indians on the British plan, and if we go on one short half hour longer, we'll not have a whole scalp left. Captain Jack pro- poses to run forward and take possession of yonder huge log, which commands the enemy's position and will give us complete protection, and we'll route those cursed, yelping, barking devils down there, quicker'n you could scrunch a nest of rattlesnakes. All who want to redeem this disgraceful day and strike at least one stout blow for vic- tory, follow me !"
A hearty cheer rang out, and about eighty American rangers, inclu- ding, also, Jack, Scarrooyaddy, Alaquippa's two sons, Gist, Fairfax, and two other friendly Indians, agreed to follow.
" Now, lads, all load up, and sling each man of you around his tree and draw their fire."
"So !" as a brisk volley came from the foe. "Now for it !" and Jack and Waggoner leading, they darted rapidly forward, rifles cocked, all ready in trail and losing only three men by the way.
"Now !" shouted Waggoner, "spread yourselves along snug and fire at will, and if we don't have a little to boast of this day, my name's not Tom Waggoner. Look ! Jack ; look ! D'ye see the painted slip- pery devils wriggling and gliding away ! A-ha ! we've got 'em, every pop ! Now for it, boys ! Quick ! quick ! before you lose 'em. Ready ! Take aim ! Fire !"-and a tremendous volley and red line of flame leaped from their rifles.
" Ha !" yelled Jack, springing to his feet with excitement, as he saw a whole raft of Indians break cover. "One more like that and we'll have scalps enough to buy a farm apiece. Hurrah ! boys ; hur __ "
His words were drowned by the roar of guns and a general discharge of musketry behind him, and at least forty of the eighty fell killed and wounded by the fire from the mob of British regulars in their rear, who loaded and fired wherever they saw a flash or smoke.
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OUR WESTERN BORDER.
" My God !" gasped Jack, the first to recover from the dreadful shock which seemed to paralyze and hold speechless all that were left. "Shot by our own men, as I'm a living sinner ! Worse than murder, by hea- vens ! Come, Waggoner and Yaddy, it's no use. The day's lost when British soldiers can thus slaughter their betters."
Another volley was poured on their doomed heads, until fifty out of the gallant little band were either killed or wounded, and the rest were put to a hasty flight. Their rage, disgust and indignation can be . imagined but not described .* Braddock, almost all his best officers either killed or wounded, and all the ammunition shot away, found it now almost impossible even to effect a safe or orderly retreat. The In- dians, having little more to fear from the army on the hill plain, had now worked down the ravines until they appeared on the first " bot- tom," and commenced to attack the baggage. The flank parties posted for its security all but one ran in. A great number of horses and some drivers were shot down, while the rest, cutting loose the best horses in the teams, mounted and were off. The cannon did some service, and, commanded and sometimes even served by Washington himself, had tor some time kept off the foe, but the spot was so woody that very little execution could be done.
Just at this juncture, Braddock himself, who had had five horses killed under him and whose clothes had been riddled with bullets, re- ceived a mortal wound while standing beneath a large tree on the brow of the second rise. The ball passed through his right arm, lodging deep in his lungs. The order he was just giving was left unfinished on his lips. Falling from his horse, there the brave but unfortunate Gen- eral lay, with but a few friends around him and all his drilled veterans flying off in headlong, disgraceful flight. "They ran," wrote Wash- ington in his first letter after the battle, " as sheep pursued by the dogs, and it was impossible to rally them."
It is related by George Croghan, the famous Indian interpreter, that Braddock, unwilling to survive the disgrace of his defeat ; disgusted at his desertion by the famous soldiers " who had served with the Duke," and probably tormented by the pains from his wound, refused to be carried from the field, insisted upon being left alone, and finally tried to possess himself of Croghan's pistol, wherewith to make an end of himself. Be this as it may, Captain Orme, wounded as he was, offered . sixty guineas to any of the regulars who would carry him off the field,
* This awful disaster to Waggoner's volunteer movement, the only one of the day which promised success, is historical ; indeed the whole account of this battle is based on information carefully gath- ered from every possible source, and can be taken as reliable.
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BRADDOCK'S RETREAT AND DEATH.
but in vain. It was a sauve qui peut rout with the regulars and " devil take the hindmost."
Captain Stewart of Virginia, commander of the body-guard of light horse, and Braddock's own " aide," Captain Orme, carried the dying General off the field, put him in a tumbrel, then upon a fresh horse, and thus the old veteran was borne from the scene of his defeat. It was a custom in those days for every officer to carry a sash of scarlet, silken net-work, with which to bear him, if wounded, from the field. The sash in which Braddock was this day carried, the date of its manu- facture (1707) and the initials E. B. wrought in the woof, and the blood-red stains upon its netting still visible, is said to be yet preserved in the family of the late President Taylor.
The fall of the General destroyed all semblance of further opposition. Every aid but Washington and every field officer was struck down. About nine hundred out of the fourteen hundred men, and sixty-three out of the eighty-six officers were either killed or wounded, and the rest scarce waited for the drums to sound the retreat. All, all was aban- doned ! Horses, cattle, wagons, artillery, military chest, personal bag- gage, every thing-and what was worse, almost every person who was badly wounded .*
Down, down the fugitive mob rushed to the ford, over which they had passed with such pageantry and enthusiasm in the morning. The whole route was strewn with guns, military trappings, and even cloth- ing-all which could impede flight. About fifty Indians pursued even to the Monongahela, tomahawking several in the passage.
It was well that the savages, glutted with blood, ladened down with scalps, or having a wholesome fear of Dunbar's army still in the rear, turned aside from the monotony of slaughter to the work of gathering the rich spoils of the disastrous field. Had they chosen to pursue across the river, or had they gone up the same bank and waited at the other ford, two miles above, for the poor, panting, exhausted and panic- stricken fugitives, as they crossed the stream for the fourth time that day, but few would have been left to tell the sad and disgraceful tale.
But happily, and it is a well-attested historical fact, the French and Indians were about as much frightened as the British. After hastily
* There were two exceptions worthy of special note. Captain Treby of the 44th was so desper- ately wounded as to be unable even to crawl to the nearest bushes to avoid the pursuing Indians. While the herd of fugitives went trooping by, his woeful situation arrested the attention of a gentle- man volunteer named Farrel, who placed the sufferer on his own back and so carried him until out of danger. At the first fire, Captain John Conyngham's horse was shot down and he himself very se- verely wounded. Falling under his horse, and being unable to rescue himself, his soldiers "for the love they bore him," rushed to his rescue and finally carried him in triumph to a place of safety, al- though many were shot dead in the attempt.
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tearing away the scalps from both living and dead lying on the fatal field ; after having loaded themselves and the captive beasts with all manner of spoils and killed all the horses they could not take with them, they spiked the British artillery and burst all the shell, and only fol- lowed the route of the British fugitives when they learned from deser- ters that the panic with Dunbar's reserves was even greater than with the army in the field.
Scarcely believing that this disgrace, which was at the time consid- ered throughout the country as far greater, more inexcusable, and more disastrous in its consequences than even the defeat and flight of Brad- dock's army, could be possible, Dumas Beaujeu's successor-then sent a force to follow the route, and to destroy all that " Dunbar, the Tardy," in his pusillanimity, had left.
This headlong, disgraceful flight is an unwelcome theme, and not be- ing directly connected with our story, we care not to dwell on it, ex- cept to say that about a quarter of a mile on the other side of the river, a hundred men were prevailed upon to make a brief stand at a favora- ble point. Braddock and some wounded officers remained there an hour or so, but soon all the soldiers sneaked off, and Washington, sick, exhausted and fever-stricken as he was, and having so lately passed through a most terrible ordeal, with two horses shot under him and four bullets through his coat, was dispatched by Braddock to Dunbar to for- ward wagons, provisions, etc., to the wounded. He rode, sad and op- pressed, during the whole of that wet, long and dismal night; through dark, gloomy forests, frequently having to dismount to grope for the path, and reached Dunbar-whose camp was in an incredible state of alarm and confusion from reports brought by the frightened wagoners -by sunrise the next morning. His wretched feelings during that truly doleful ride can better be imagined than described. Thence, be- ing still very feeble, he retired to Mt. Vernon to recruit his shattered health.
It is a well-attested fact, that in 1770-fifteen years after this battle- Washington, when traveling on the Big Kanawha, was visited by an old Indian chief, who stated that he had been present at the battle of Brad- docks Fields, and had not only often fired on Washington himself but had instructed his young warriors to fire; but finding it in vain, had come to the conclusion that he was protected by the Great Spirit and was preserved for a great future. So, indeed, he was. We may pause by the way one moment to follow Braddock till death released him. He remained under the faithful care of Captain Stewart; was first car- ried on horseback and afterwards conveyed by soldiers in his sash, fast- ened on poles as a "stretcher."
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BRADDOCK'S RETREAT AND DEATH.
At ten P. M. on the 10th, the day after the battle, he reached Gist's plantation. Next morning he arrived at Dunbar's camp, high up in the Laurel Hill, six miles from the present city of Uniontown, where the half-famished fugitives from the battle-field were constantly coming in and soldiers deserting by the score without ceremony. Braddock's strength was now rapidly ebbing away. He had abandoned all hope of achieving anything; and it is to be supposed that the sufferings of his mind were far greater than those of his body. He still issued his com- mands, and confidently expecting pursuit and knowing that Dunbar's panic-stricken force was in a most shameful and dangerous state of de- moralization, ordered the destruction of the immense stores of arms, wagons, powder and provisions, resuming his march towards Cumber- land on the 12th. These orders were not fit for a British officer to give nor for one to obey. Want of horses and demoralization of his army were Dunbar's excuses.
On the 13th Braddock was evidently sinking fast. Ever since the retreat commenced, he had preserved an almost unbroken silence. His dying hours were very much embittered, and it would have been far better had he left his remains on the carnage field. The only allusions he made to the fate of the battle, was to softly repeat to himself once or twice: "Who would have thought it?" Turning to Orme: "We shall better know how to deal with them another time!" and these were his parting words. A few moments later he breathed his last at eight P. M. Sunday, the 13th, and was buried the next morning right in the middle of the road-Washington reading the funeral service over his grave. The troops, wagons and artillery passed over the place to destroy all traces and prevent discovery and mutilation by the enemy, supposed to be in pursuit.
About 1823, some laborers, while working on this road, exposed these last "unwept, unhonored and unsung" remains. They were still distinguishable by their military trappings. It is asserted that some were sent to Peale's Museum, Philadelphia, while the rest were re-in- terred under a tree near by. This tree has, in these present times, either by "decay's effacing fingers," or by the spoliations of relic-hunt- ers, been reduced to a mere rotten stump. It remained for Josiah King and John Murdock, of Pittsburgh, to rescue the spot from total neglect. In December, 1871, they proceeded to the forsaken grave, situate on the farm of James Dixon, nine miles east of Uniontown, and planted about it a number of elms, spruces, larches and willows.
We scarce deem it worth while to allude to a Pennsylvania tradition, industriously circulated and generally believed throughout the whole country for half a century, that Braddock fell by the hands of one of
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OUR WESTERN BORDER.
his own men. Thomas Fausett, a sort of mountain hermit of Fayette county, wild, uncouth and gigantic in his appearance, distinctly claimed for himself that he killed Braddock to save the remnant of the army from destruction, and to revenge the cutting down of his brother Joseph by Braddock for taking a position behind a tree. There is not a tittle of trustworthy evidence to support the story. All cotemporary author- ities are totally silent concerning any such feat, and Fausett's own tale -as well as are the accounts of those who uphold his claim-is bung- ling, absurd and inconsistent.
It is now known, from sundry French accounts, that the French, who had scouts out following and menacing Braddock's army from the time it left Fort Cumberland-scarcely expected to give it more than a check on its way. The French Indians were very much demoralized by the rumors of the size of the well-equipped English army, and refused to make a stand. The day before the battle, however, Beaujeu, the com- mandant of the fort (not Contrecœur, as the histories have it), went out and made an earnest and passionate harangue to the savages, but they held a council and still refused to stir, alleging that it would be mad- ness for such a small force as theirs to attack Braddock's great army. Beaujeu, who was very influential with the Indians and much beloved by them, made now a last appeal: "I am determined to go," he said. "What ! will you suffer your father to go out alone?" He then started out with his tomahawk and rifle, accompanied by his regulars and Ca- nadians, and was immediately followed by a mob of yelling savages. Beaujeu was killed almost at the first fire, Dumas then taking the com- mand. The French loss was very trifling, and Langlade, who led the Indians, stated that some of those who were killed were not hit by the enemies' bullets, but by the falling limbs cut from the trees by the over- shooting of the English cannon. As soon as the defeat was sure Lan- glade had all the English liquors poured out upon the ground for fear of a savage debauch.
The French-Indian force was not known until lately, but according to three accounts from their side, is now put down at seventy-five regu- lars, one hundred and fifty Canadians, and six hundred and thirty Indians. It is also pretty certain that the French intended making their first stand at the river, and had selected the ground where the actual battle was fought as the best place to which to retire in case of defeat. But the English army was quicker than expected, and they had scarcely time to take their places about the slaughter-trap that they had so artfully se- lected, before the hapless Britons were enmeshed. When the French were first sighted, they were undoubtedly all on the spring, Beaujeu far in the advance. Smith's interesting narrative (given hereafter) fur-
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