Savage Destiny (The Hearts of Liberty Series, Book 1) (23 page)

Hunter watched the antagonism mount between the industrious Virginians and the slothful troops under Mackay's command, knowing such a feud would aid the French rather than anyone in their camp. When George Washington announced that he intended to leave Mackay at Great Meadows, while the Virginia Regiment extended their road over Laurel Hill to Christopher Gist's settlement, Hunter was the first man ready to leave. Like the Virginians, he preferred the strenuous work of hacking out a road wide enough for wagons and cannon, over watching the men fight amongst themselves while waiting for an attack.

Resolute in their purpose, the regiment crossed the dozen miles to Gist's settlement, and then again set to work creating a defensive entrenchment. Reports from French deserters provided the distressing news that the already well-manned Fort Duquesne was expecting reinforcements. When Indians appearing to be friendly to the British brought warnings of an attack by vast numbers of Frenchmen, Washington sent for Mackay and his troops.

With Gist's house serving as their command post, it was soon decided that the surrounding hills would provide the French with a murderous advantage, and all retreated to Great Meadows over the newly widened road. With but a few pack-horses, the Virginians were forced to carry most of their provisions on their backs and drag the swivel guns, which they relied upon for defense, during the arduous two-day walk. As usual, Mackay's men were of absolutely no help. On July 1, 1754, they returned to Fort Necessity, too exhausted by their travels to retreat farther.

July second was spent in reinforcing the barricades of the crude, square fort. The men had fresh beef to eat, but little else, and their store of ammunition was small. Monacatootha's scouts had reported that the French were rapidly approaching with nine hundred soldiers, supported by countless numbers of Indians. It was clear to all that they were ill prepared for a long siege against a vastly superior force. Rain added to the dismal nature of their outlook.

The enemy was first sighted at mid-morning on July third. Washington advanced to meet them on the plain in front of the fort, but the wily French scattered and opened fire from the cover of the two adjacent hills. Washington then ordered his troops to drop back to the entrenchment, but, caught in a crossfire, they could inflict little damage. The rain continued to fall, at times rendering the visibility so poor they could not even see the enemy, let alone shoot one. They mounted the swivel guns on the rampart, but there was so little cover for the gunners, they were unable to maintain steady fire.

"We don't have much powder left," Elliott warned.

Their plight had been so dire all day that Hunter wasn't greatly alarmed. Unwilling to face certain defeat, Monacatootha and his braves had withdrawn before the fight had begun, but Hunter had not even considered leaving with them. He raised up slightly, took careful aim, and fired. Through the drizzling rain and smoke he saw a Frenchman fall, but he quickly ducked his head before he became a target.

"When we run out of powder, I'll do what I can with my bow."

Elliott doubted there was a braver man among them. "You don't even look tired," he murmured in awe.

"This is no time to be tired!"

"I realize that, but, Lord, I'm weary." Elliott removed his hat momentarily to pour the water off the brim. Nearby a man who'd been wounded lay sobbing, while his friends tended him in the mud. Elliott glanced over at him and shuddered. "I didn't think it would be this bad."

"I did," Hunter replied. He rose up again, and this time took aim at an Indian he recognized as an Abenaki. The brave suddenly turned toward him, and the intensity of the hatred reflected in his gelid gaze caused Hunter to hesitate a second too long. In the next instant, the rain swirled around the Abenaki in a dense wave, and unwilling to waste a shot on a man who might duck for cover, Hunter dipped low without firing.

"Where's Byron?" he asked.

"He's on the other side."

The shooting was no less intense there, but Hunter believed Byron would survive. Hoping for a second shot at the Abenaki, he eased up again, but when he heard one of the French call out, he sank back down out of range and yanked Elliott down beside him. "The French want to talk. Hold your fire."

Washington knew as well as any of his men just how desperate their situation was. One hundred of his force of three hundred eighty-four had been too sick to fight, and in the day-long battle, another hundred had become casualties. Not wanting the French to send a spy into their midst to make such a report, he declined their offer to talk. It wasn't until the French commander suggested he send an officer to them, that he finally agreed. He had only two men who were fluent in French, one, an ensign, was wounded, so the other, Captain Vanbraam, a Dutchman, had to go.

When Vanbraam returned, Hunter stood at Elliott's elbow to hear the French proposal. "The French commander is Coulon de Villiers. He says his brother, Coulon de Jumonville, was the ensign killed when we captured the spies. While clearly he's come for revenge, most of his terms are reasonable." The discussion which followed was lit by a candle frequently extinguished by the rain, but by midnight, terms agreeable to both sides had been reached, George Washington signed the surrender, and freed his French prisoners.

Early the next morning, Fort Necessity was abandoned. During the battle, all the horses and cattle had been slain, so any soldier able to help carry the wounded and sick was obliged to do so. They had been accorded the honors of war and left accompanied by drums with their flags waving proudly. They had been allowed to keep their muskets, and one of the swivel guns, but it was a pathetic parade which would have to cover the fifty-four mile route back over the Alleghenies to Will's Creek.

Among the able-bodied, Hunter was carrying a severely wounded man on his back, when several volleys of musket fire rang out farther down the line. Fearing they had again fallen under attack, Hunter did not wait for an order. He eased the wounded soldier down onto the grass at the side of the road, and hurriedly reassured him that he would soon return.

Terrified that he would be forgotten, the injured man reached out to grab Hunter's arm, but caught only a handful of fringe. "No, don't leave me," he begged.

Hunter pried his fingers loose. "If there's trouble, I must stop it before it reaches you. Now let me go." He watched the fear in the soldier's eyes turn to confusion, but at last he gave a feeble nod and Hunter got away. Others were also attempting to dodge the wounded and make their way to the rear, but Hunter was among the first to reach those in need of aid.

The troops at the end of the column had been set upon by Indians, and when Hunter saw the Abenaki brave he had missed shooting during the battle, he screamed, "Coward! You attack the wounded rather than men who can fight!" He raised the musket he'd been given, intending to send the brave straight to hell, but a badly wounded soldier chose that instant to stagger to his feet and blocked the shot.

"Blind Snake is no coward!" the Abenaki shouted, and waving a bloody scalp, he followed his fleeing band into the trees.

Hunter started after them, but Byron caught up with him and hauled him back. "No, stay. We can't spare you," he ordered.

Hunter looked around at the bloody scene. In the surprise attack, two of the men wounded in the previous day's battle had been murdered and scalped, and several others appeared near death. The medicine chest had been reduced to splinters, and the medicines which would have eased the wounded men's pain had been ruined.

"The Abenaki are no better than vultures," he complained. "Let me go after them."

"No," Byron insisted again. "We may have seen only a few of a much larger war party, and I'll not risk losing you. The French may be unable to control their Indian allies, but I'll not tolerate the same wild streak in you."

Outraged by that undeserved taunt, Hunter stepped back and regarded Byron with a newly suspicious gaze. "I would never stalk a retreating army to kill their wounded. Indians are like white men. Some have honor and others do not." Disgusted that Byron would compare him to murderers, he threw his musket at his feet. "Keep your weapon. I'll have no more need of it."

Hunter turned away, and Byron called out to him. "Where are you going?"

"I have a man to carry."

Byron knew he'd just made a terrible mistake, but the responsibility of caring for so many sick and wounded men in the wake of a humiliating defeat was weighing heavily on him. He bent down and picked up Hunter's discarded musket, and having more than enough grief on his hands for the present, he vowed to make peace with the Indian later.

It was July 4, 1754, and having vanquished all English resistance, the French now dominated the Ohio Valley.

* * *

Ian bathed Melissa's flushed face with a cool washcloth and then rocked her gently in his arms. "You shouldn't be this sick every morning, sweetheart. I want to send for your doctor."

"No." Melissa clung to her husband as she sought a way to avoid a physician's scrutiny. She was three months' pregnant, but it had been only two months since their wedding at Bruton Parish Church. "We'd have to confide in him about the elopement, and he's sure to tell others."

"Then we'll consult someone who's more discreet, but I can't bear to watch you suffer like this."

"It's not supposed to last more than the first few months."

Ian scanned the crowded bedroom Melissa had been attempting to decorate. He had hired a woman to come in each day to cook and clean, but Melissa wouldn't let her touch the clutter. He admired his wife's ambition, but doubted she would ever arrive at any order, while she felt so poorly. Between the abundant wedding gifts and her subsequent purchases, the bedroom was filled to overflowing, while the rest of their home remained as stark as the day they had moved in.

Just looking at the mess made him nauseous, but he didn't want to discuss his frustration while she was sick. "I doubt it's just the pregnancy that's making you ill. I think it's something more."

Alarmed, Melissa sat up slowly. She had never given Ian any reason to doubt her babe was his, but she was terrified that he might have somehow guessed the truth. "What do you mean?" she asked.

"I fear I've expected too much of you. While I'll readily admit the responsibility for your condition, I also deserve the blame for encouraging you to work so hard on our home. It's no wonder you're not well. I think it might be a good idea for us to move back to your parents' house for a while. I'll do what I can to straighten everything out here, and when you're feeling better, you can provide the finishing touches."

Relieved that he hadn't grown suspicious, Melissa gave her husband a loving hug. "I've made a dreadful mess of things here, haven't I?"

"No, not all," Ian lied. "You're going to create a beautiful home, but this just isn't the time to do it."

"But I want to stay here."

"Yes, and so do I, but not if it's making you ill."

"The house is really no trouble, Ian." Melissa caught herself then, for their home provided the perfect excuse for the black moods that often overtook her without warning. She could be merely straightening a pair of curtains, or pouring a cup of tea, and suddenly she could feel Hunter's presence so strongly she would turn toward the door, fully expecting to find him standing there. She had told herself repeatedly that now that she was married to Ian, Hunter could never do her any further harm, but her imagination continued to play tricks on her.

She sighed softly and rested her forehead against Ian's. "No, you're right. It's foolish of me to try to accomplish everything at once. I really should be more careful, take things easier, and concentrate on having a healthy baby. Perhaps a week or two at my parents' home will be all I'll need to get over this awful queasiness."

"At least you never feel sick at night."

Melissa sat back to study her husband's rakish grin. His loving left her feeling wonderfully content, and she was as pleased as he was that their nights together hadn't been ruined by the nausea that plagued her days.

* * *

Aware of their daughter's pregnancy, John and Rachel readily welcomed her and Ian back into their home, for it was plain at a glance that the once-vivacious young woman was unwell. Without criticizing their son-in-law, they provided her with every comfort, and encouraged the young couple to remain with them until after their baby's birth.

Alanna had been lonely while Melissa was away, but now that every conversation led to talk of babies, she found being around her difficult. They had always had their own separate interests, but now Melissa was preparing for motherhood with the same enthusiasm she had shown when planning her wedding, while Alanna was still absorbed in the simple pleasures she had always found there on the plantation. Alanna did try to take an interest in the tiny clothes her aunt and cousin had begun sewing, and because she was good with a needle, they welcomed her help.

Melissa held up a tiny nightgown. "Are babies really this small?" she asked.

"I used the same pattern for your brothers' clothes," Rachel reminded her. "You'll be surprised by how quickly your baby will outgrow them though."

Alanna was seated near a window to take advantage of the light, and as she knotted her thread and cut it, a long-forgotten memory suddenly became clear. She hadn't been old enough to be of any real help to her mother before her sisters had been born, but she had been able to do simple sewing by the time her brother arrived. Her mother had cut out tiny garments for him and done the seams, but Alanna had put in the hems. Her work couldn't have been very neat, but her mother had given her lavish praise.