 | THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER,
A LEGEND OF FORT CUMBERLAND. Legends of the West |  |
THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER,
A LEGEND OF FORT CUMBERLAND.
Every person of taste who has enjoyed the luxury
of travelling over that splendid monument of national
munificence, the Cumberland road, must have been
struck with the romantic beauty of the village from
which it takes its name. It is situated on a small
plain in the bosom of a deep valley, surrounded by
tall mountains, whose abrupt cliffs seem to be inaccessible,
unless to the soaring eagle, or the adventurous
hunter. A small tributary of the Potomac
flows in a clear and beautiful stream through the
vale, winding its serpentine course round the bold
promontories and sharp angles of the mountain, until
it reaches the plain, where it forms a graceful
curve round the site of the village. The sides of
the mountains are rocky, and their summits covered
with pines; but the valleys are rich, and thickly
wooded, luxuriant in vegetation, and lovely to the
eye.
Here stood Fort Cumberland, a frontier fortress,
in the colonial wars between the French and English.
At the period at which we commence this
by a numerous and gallant host, engaged in active
preparations for a distant enterprise. Colonel Grant,
a Scottish officer, at the head of eight hundred
Highlanders, was about to lead an expedition against
fort Du Quesne, on the Ohio, and every young
officer who panted for fame, was anxious to volunteer
in this arduous service.
“What think you, Major Gordon?” said the
colonel to his second in command, as they strolled
one evening along the banks of Will's creek, at
some distance from the fort, “will the French be
able to stand against our brave Highlanders?”
“Of the French, could we meet them fairly in
the field, I have little fear,” replied the other, “but
I must confess that I think our troops but poorly
calculated to contend in the mountains against their
Indian allies.”
“Pshaw! Major Gordon, I'm ashamed of you.
It is a reflection upon the honour of his majesty's
troops, to mention them in the same breath with a
horde of naked savages! Sir, with my regiment, I
can burn all the wigwams in North America; and
punish the mutinous sachems for their contumacy,
at a drum-head court martial, if they should dare to
object.”
“You may, perhaps, live to change that opinion.
At all events, be advised, in so important an enterprise
as the one before us, to employ the necessary
caution to insure success.”
“What cautious measure would the chivalrous
inquired the colonel, in a tone which almost conveyed
a sneer.
“The one I have so often pointed out,” replied
his friend calmly, “the employment of a small body
of men from the frontiers of Virginia, whose knowledge
of the country, and of the habits of the enemy,
might serve as a safe-guard against stratagems, to
which our ignorance would expose us.”
“A safeguard!” retorted the proud Scot, drawing
up his fine form, and darting a glance of unmingled
scorn from his fierce eye, “truly, it would be
an edifying sight to behold the Grant and his followers
marching to victory under the protection of a
guard! a guard, too, of paltry peasants! a squad of
militia led by a negro driver, or a village attorney!
If such notions are the result of your long residence
in America, Major Gordon —”
At that instant Gordon suddenly halted, and directed
the eye of his companion to some object
before them. They had just passed a solitary cabin,
surrounded by a few acres of cultivated land, where
an adventurous backwoodsman ventured to reside,
beyond the reach of the guns of the fort. Beyond
his clearing their path led through a slip of marshy
ground covered with high grass and bushes. The
attention of the officers was drawn to two boys, the
children of the backwoodsman, whose hut they had
just passed, one of whom was about eight, and the
other ten years of age, who were stealing through
the woods with cautious steps, bearing a couple of
larger boy, while the muzzles rested on the shoulders
of the smaller. They stopped by a large log at the
edge of the swamp, and peeped eagerly over it, and
the officers then beheld, a few paces from the log,
a large bear, apparently asleep, imbedded in the
mud. The boys, having ascertained that the animal
remained where they had discovered him a few
minutes before, placed one of the guns over the log,
and the oldest lad, after taking a deliberate aim,
fired. The bear, mortally wounded, sprung up in
his bed, and uttered a howl of agony. The youngest
boy ran towards the house, while the other
climbed nimbly up a small tree. Here he sat in
security, watching with delight the expiring struggles
of his victim until the latter sunk exhausted in
the mire—when he screamed after his brother,
“Bill, come back, I've saved him!” Again they
took their post by the log, and gazed at their grim
adversary, who by an occasional twitching of the
muscles showed that life was not entirely gone.
“I guess he 's sort o' 'live yet,” said one of the
boys.
“Let 's give him another pill,” rejoined the
other.
Accordingly, the other gun was pointed over the
log, and discharged. The larger boy then advanced
with a long stick, with which he felt his adversary
at a distance; and having thus satisfied himself, he at
last approached the body, and seated himself on it
in triumph. He then shouted for his brother,
account, to be afraid of a dead bear. I've used
him up, the right way. He's cold as a wagontire.”
The officers now came forward to speak to the
heroic children, and learned that they had discovered
the bear while at play, and ran to the house;
but finding that both their parents were absent, and
knowing that their father's guns were always loaded,
they had determined to attempt the exploit themselves.[1]
When the officers turned to retrace their steps,
Colonel Grant expressed his admiration of this singular
adventure in strong language; and Major Gordon
took the opportunity to remark that it afforded an
apt illustration of the subject on which they had been
conversing. “It is thus,” said he, “that the people
of the frontier rear their children. Their very
sports lead them into danger, and they learn the
artifices of the chace so early, that the knowledge is
almost an instinct. The moment a lad can carry a
gun, he becomes a hunter, as the young falcon as
soon as he can prune his wing darts upon his prey.”
“What inference do you draw from that fact?”
“Simply, that these backwoodsmen are better
fitted for a campaign in their own forests than our
European soldiers.”
Perhaps the colonel was convinced. It is no
small evidence in favour of such a supposition, that
time. He then gaily asked his young friend,
“when he had last seen the Barrack-master's
daughter?”
“This morning,” replied the other, with some
hesitation.
“And will not the gallant Major Gordon, who
has met his majesty's enemies on so many fields,
acknowledge that his stock of prudence has been
very suddenly and marvellously increased, by his
tenderness for the safety of a fair lady?”
“Whenever my commanding officer can show
his right to act the part of the father confessor, I
will answer the question.”
“Pardon me, Gordon; I pry not into your secrets.
Here we are at the gate. Go to the fair Alice, if
such be your intention. At two we meet in council
at the mess-room.”
Perhaps the most important character, at this
time, in Fort Cumberland, was the Barrack-master.
Ensign Hagerty had entered the service some thirty
years before, a spruce Irish lad, with no other ambition
than that of living like a gentleman, and
dying like a soldier. The first he had always done,
and the last he had never avoided. But although
he used to boast that he had been in more battles
than he had hairs on his head, he had somehow
never been able to advance beyond the grade of ensign.
Yet he had all those good qualities that used
to be so highly regarded in the mess-room. His
good-humour was infinite, he sung an excellent song,
starve, on proper occasions, with the patience of a
camel. He had married, for love, a beautiful but
penniless woman, and become the happy father of
five girls, who were now grown—the youngest just
turned of fifteen and the eldest in the full bloom of
her beauty. What would have become of these
females, after the death of their mother, it is hard
to tell, had not a relative in Philadelphia taken
them, and reared them. The decease of their kind
friend, which had recently taken place, threw them
once more on the hands of the ensign, or as he expressed
it, obliged him to take command of his own
company. It is necessary to state in this place,
that the worthy ensign was not only above the ordinary
stature, but had been annually increasing in
circumference, until he had grown so unwieldy as
to be wholly unfit for active service. Putting all
these things together, he conceived himself a fit
subject for the special favour of his majesty's government;
and accordingly waited on the commander
of the forces to solicit some employment which
would impose less duty, and yield more profit, assigning
for reasons that he had a larger amount of
clay to nourish than ordinary men, and more
daughters than became an ensign. The consequence
was that he received the appointment of
Barrack-master at Fort Cumberland, where there
were no barracks to superintend, with several other
sinecures, the aggregate emoluments of which placed
him in easy circumstances. What was still better,
Quesne, the office of town major, with the addition
of a lucrative post in the commissariat. After all,
his five daughters constituted his greatest wealth.
They were tall, beautiful women, very showy and
quite accomplished. A remarkable circumstance was
the strong likeness which they all bore to each other
in form and feature; the two youngest particularly
could scarcely be distinguished by their acquaintances.
It may be well supposed that with such a
family, the Barrack-master was a prosperous candidate
for all sorts of honours. The title of major
fell to him by courtesy. His house became the
rendezvous of all the officers, as it certainly afforded
the most attractive society in the garrison. Whenever
there was a profitable job to be executed, or a
fat contract to be given, he was sure to get it; and
after spending the prime of his life in hardship,
neglect and poverty, he had reached that enviable
period in the career of an old soldier, when he
might lawfully sit by his own fireside, smoke his
pipe, sing merry songs, and tell over his campaigns
to the young officers.
The preparations for the march were now going
rapidly forward. The troops had been for some
time engaged in cutting a road across the mountains,
and had advanced as far as the Laurel Ridge. The
fort was surrounded by the Indian allies of the
British, who had been engaged to join in the expedition,
and whose slight lodges were scattered
irregularly through the valley. The warriors, fancifully
and other ornaments, were seen strolling about, or
engaged in councils, war dances, or athletic exercises.
While things were in this situation, the young
Alice—to wit Miss Hagerty Number 4—went one
day to visit the sick wife of a soldier, who resided
in a hut outside of the fort, and having paid her
the attention which her situation required, attempted
to return by a path that seemed to be nearer
than the usually travelled road, which was somewhat
crowded with soldiers and Indian warriors.
Another motive might have induced her to wander
from the beaten track. Alice had given her young
heart, and plighted her faith to Major Gordon; and
as it is a generally received opinion that ladies thus
situated are much given to solitary contemplation, it
is possible that she might have chosen this secluded
way in the hope of enjoying in its picturesque
shades, a few moments of delightful abstraction. If
that was the case, the young lady displayed more
good taste than prudence, for it was a romantic
path, leading by a serpentine course to the little
rivulet that waters this noble valley; and she
lingered along the bank of the stream, delighted
with miniature cascades and eddies, and the various
attractions of the scenery, still keeping the narrow
path-way, which was closely hemmed in with
bushes. At last she began to fear that she had lost
her way. But she was a high-spirited girl, and
felt little alarm. Although the fort was not visible,
woods, see its proud flag, waving gaily in the
breeze, and she felt no apprehension of an enemy
while in sight of that emblem of her country's
power. It would be easy, too, to retrace her steps,
and she was about to do so, when a bird of beautiful
plumage attracted her attention. Young ladies in
love are fond of birds too—for the tender passion
softens the heart, and renders it sensitive to all that
is lovely in nature, and the plumed songster, so
melodious in the expression of his attachment, so
tender, faithful, and assiduous, is an especial object
of sympathy. She followed it with her eye as
it alighted on the bough of a large tree, and was
attentively watching its graceful movements, when
the figure of an Indian sitting among the branches
arrested her attention. He was painted with colours
so nearly resembling those of the bark of the tree, that
it was difficult to distinguish his form among the
branches; and Alice would not have discovered him,
had not her glance been intensely fixed upon the
very spot where he sat, but a few yards above her
head. She started back in terror, and the spy, for
such he was, hastily discharged an arrow that whistled
by her ear, and buried itself in the ground. Uttering
a piercing shriek, she turned to fly, while the
Indian, dropping from his place of concealment,
pursued, caught her flowing dress, and was raising
his tomahawk to strike, when a young man of
athletic frame thrust himself between them. With
one hand he pushed back the assailant, and with the
for the attack, but darting backward, fled at full
speed. The forester shouted a signal cry, and in a
moment a number of the friendly Indians appeared,
who, being informed of the cause of the alarm,
dashed off in pursuit of the fugitive. The war-cry
was re-echoed by a hundred voices; the whole of
the surrounding woods seemed instantly to be alive;
the terrific yell sounded on every side; the tread of
feet upon the dry leaves and the tramp of horses,
announced that the whole Indian host was awakened.
Then all was silent. The alarm given and the
cause understood, the warriors were tracking the
fugitive spy with noiseless steps. Again, another
shout arose; they had secured their victim.
In the meanwhile, the stranger who had so providentially
rescued the Barrack-master's daughter
from the tomahawk, offered her his arm, and reconducted
her to the fort. He was a young man,
who might have been considered surpassingly ugly,
if it had not been that his features, though coarse and
irregular, wore an expression of courage and
honesty. He was a lieutenant in a company of
volunteers recently arrived from the frontiers of
Virginia, and had already served several campaigns
against the enemy. Though of a good family, he
was rugged and unpolished; for the country, in its
then unsettled state, afforded none of the means of
education, and while other young gentlemen were
sent to distant schools, the youthful Dangerly engaged
as a private soldier in all the military enterprises
sensible of his ungraceful appearance, he soon became
bashful, and was famous among his comrades
for his aversion to female society; and while he
never shrunk from the face of an enemy, the approach
of a lady never failed to put him to instant
flight. In the field he was in his element,
daring, active, and fertile of expedient; in camp he
was the best of all good fellows—always happy,
ready for duty, and true to his friend, enjoyed an
excellent appetite, and slept as soundly on the ground
as in a feather bed.
Mr Dangerly was not a woman-hater—he had
too much good feeling for that, but a woman-fearer;
and on this occasion the distress of the beautiful
girl who stood trembling and almost fainting called
all his better qualities into action. He was surprised
into the politeness of a true cavalier, and gave her
his arm with the kindness of a brother and the ease
of a gentleman. He assured her of the absence of all
danger, and soothed her inquietude in tones which,
though habitually rough, were bland and sympathetic.
Had he been patting his favourite horse on the neck,
he could not have used more coaxing language; and
his brother officers were struck with astonishment
when they beheld the worthy lieutenant advancing
towards the fort arm in arm with the Barrack-master's
daughter, and pouring soft expressions in
her ear with the eagerness of a devoted lover.
Mr Dangerly was not aware of the warmth of his
expressions, or the tenderness of his manner, for
throbbed, and thinking only of the fears of his
companion, he gave full vent to the utterance of his
native benevolence. He was placed, too, for the
first time, in contact with a young and lovely
woman, who, besides being habitually polite, was
under the excitement of a deep sense of gratitude
towards her protector, and replied to his remarks
with an ease and spirit, softened by the circumstances
of the moment into that confidence which so
easily steals into youthful hearts. The gracefulness
of her beautiful form, as it hung for support on his
manly arm, her low tremulous voice, and the rich
melody of her tones, all went directly to the heart
of the gallant Virginian; and he wondered how it
happened, that, among the numberless enjoyments
of life, he had never before learned to estimate the
most exquisite of them all, the love of woman. It
was therefore with some surprise that, on accidentally
looking round, he found himself an object
of general attention, and saw that he was detected
in the fact of gallanting a lady. But there
was no room for retreat; the lady was under his
escort, and although the main entrance of the fort
was thronged with spectators, drawn thither by the
alarm, and whose glances were more formidable to
him than the guns of that fortress would have been
in an engagement, yet, having satisfied himself, by
a hasty glance, that he must run the gauntlet, he
boldly prepared “to pass defile in front,” and pushed
on. The evolution was happily accomplished; and
war, he conducted his fair charge to her father's door
without interruption, and then, having exhausted
his stock of courage, hastily bowed, and retired,
covered with confusion, to his own tent. We pass
over the rough jokes that were levelled at our
worthy officer by his relentless companions. He
bore them with his wonted composure, but inwardly
vowed that while he would cherish through life the
delightful vision that was impressed upon his fancy,
he would never again venture his heart within the
fascination of a woman's eye, or subject himself to
the shame and ridicule which had followed his first
adventure under the banners of Cupid.
The event just related induced Colonel Grant to
hasten his preparations. A part of the troops had
already been sent forward, and were employed in
cutting a road across the mountains. Washington,
then a young officer, had urged Colonel Bonquet,
who commanded on this frontier, to advance the
troops by the route which had been travelled by
General Braddock three years before, which followed
the trace pursued by the Indians, and being now
somewhat beaten, was better than any new road
could be made with the small force and limited
means at the disposal of that officer. But “those
whom the gods doom to destruction they first deprive
of understanding;” the same power which
decreed the downfal of British power on this continent,
seems to have almost invariably used her
own officers as the instruments of defeat; and the
colonial friends, produced always the same disastrous
consequences. Month after month had been consumed
in the herculean task of opening a military
road over the Alpine cliffs and gloomy abysses of
the Alleghany range. The work had now proceeded
as far as the Loyalhanna, where a post
was established, at which the troops were about to
be concentrated.
Arrived at the latter place, Colonel Grant's detachment,
consisting of the Highlanders and a small
body of Virginians from the regiment of Colonel
Washington, attached to it much against the wish
of Grant, was organized, and set forward on their
march, towards fort Du Quesne. The alacrity of
this leader, and his gallant bearing, were now as
conspicuous as his total ignorance of the country
and of the habits of his enemy. He had no idea of
the rapidity and secrecy of movement which form
the most striking feature of border warfare; where
every soldier carries his own ammunition and provisions,
sleeps in his blanket under a tree, and is
ready for a march or for battle at a moment's warning.
But under every disadvantage the brave
Highlanders moved forward with a noble spirit.
The newly cut road which they had passed, embracing
all the ridges of the Alleghany mountains,
was already blocked up in some places by fallen
trees, or rendered almost impracticable by deep
ravines washed by the heavy rains that poured in
torrents down the sides of these precipitous heights.
precipices, which seemed inaccessible; and sometimes
an impetuous river, rushing and foaming over
the sharp fragments of rock which formed its bed
seemed to render any further advance impracticable.
But this inhospitable region was now behind them,
and they had entered that great western valley
which was destined to become the home of millions.
Major Hagerty, the Barrack-master, accompanied
the expedition, for the purpose of being on the spot
to enter on the new duties which would devolve on
him at the capture of fort Du Quesne. Notwithstanding
his unwieldy ponderance of body, he
made his arrangements with the alacrity of an old
campaigner. Though not elated like his junior
companions with the hope of laurels to be gathered
on the field of battle, he entered with spirit into
their cheerfulness, and seemed to share their bright
anticipations of success. There was, it is true,
some difficulty in procuring him a suitable conveyance;
some of the officers proposed to stow him in
an extra baggage-wagon; others proposed that a
fatigue party should be detailed to carry him on a
litter, while a better opinion seemed to be that he
might be advantageous mounted in a horizontal position
on a gun carriage and drawn by four horses.
The worthy man, however, was seated at last on a
strong charger, and set out in high glee; and if on
any occasion his unwieldy bulk and difficulty of
locomotion rendered him burthensome to his companions,
he fully compensated for the inconvenience
the whole party.
After many toils they descended into the vale of
the Monongahela, and never did the traveller's eye
trace the course of a more lovely stream. Winding
through bold hills with a gentle current, the river
itself is as placid as the surrounding scenery is wild
and picturesque. At some places the steep promontories
that hemmed it in, seemed barely to afford
room for its passage, and at others it was margined
by fertile vallies, and rich table lands. The most
remarkable feature of the scenery was the gigantic
growth of the forest trees, and the exquisite luxuriance
of the foliage. The boughs were weighed
down with their load of leaves. There was also a
depth and richness of colouring, which the face of
nature displays only in the most favoured climates
and luxuriant spots. In the many varieties of green
exhibited in the forest, there was always a brilliancy
of hue, which conveyed to the mind an impression
of vigour and freshness; the flowers and
wild fruits assumed every shade of the gorgeous and
the delicate in colour: while the whole was illumed
with the intense brilliancy of a September sun,
which had slightly tinged the most prominent points
of the uplands with autumnal tints, without destroying
the verdure of summer.
An excursion through such a region in so delightful
a season, might, under different circumstances,
have afforded high enjoyment to a romantic mind.
But here were dangers to be surmounted, and toils
along the mountain side, poured down torrents
of rain, the vivid lightning shattered the tall trees,
and the heavy explosions, reverberated from a thousand
caverns, struck the stoutest heart with awe.
Sometimes a whole day's march was performed
without rest or food. A lurking Indian was occasionally
seen, prowling around the camp, and darting
away when discovered, with the fleetness of the
antelope, yelling defiance, or laughing in derision.
The straggler who imprudently wandered from his
companions, perished of hunger among those savage
fastnesses, or fell under the tomakawk; while the
nightly howl of the wolf admonished the weary
soldiers, that the beast of prey was patiently pursuing
their footsteps, and eagerly thirsting for their
blood.
After a long and arduous march, they at length
reached the vicinity of fort Du Quesne. It was late
in the night when they descended towards the fortress,
and encamped on the brow of a small eminence
which overlooked it. The enemy slept in security
unconscious of their approach. The French were
doubtless aware that such an expedition was in progress,
but the attempts of the English to penetrate
the wilderness in this direction, had hitherto been
uniformly disastrous, and but little danger was now
apprehended from the troops of that nation. Perverse
in their opinions, rash and headstrong in their
plans, they had neither conciliated the Indian
tribes, availed themselves of the aid of the native
lessons of experience. The French, therefore,
prepared and awaiting their enemy in the confidence
of success, supposed him to be still at the distance
of several days march.
The British soldiers slept that night with their
accoutrements on, and their arms at their sides,
ready for action upon the first alarm.
An hour before the dawn of day, Colonel Grant
was awakened by a slight touch of a friendly hand.
He sprung from his mattrass with the alacrity of a
well trained soldier.
“Ah, Major Gordon! What is the matter? It
is not day!”
“No, but it soon will be, and if we are to fight
the French this morning, it is time to be stirring.”
“You are right. It will be a glorious day for us,
I trust. And yet if I was a believer in some of the
superstitions of our country, I should feel discouraged
by the dreams that have haunted my pillow
during the night. Do you believe in such things,
Gordon?
“It is hard to believe that which is contrary to
reason; yet it is difficult to deny what so many of
our ancestors have asserted, and what many of our
countrymen still hold to be true.”
“You are a believer then; I might have known
that; where is the true Scot who will give up one
jot of the faith of his fathers. But come, let us see
if all 's well.”
So saying, the two officers stepped out of the tent,
was clear and calm. The air had that chilliness
which precedes the dawn of day. The soldiers
slept; not a sound was heard in the camp or in the
surrounding forest. The dim form of the centinel,
as he walked his post, was the only object that moved.
The officers passed round the chain of sentries, giving
the word in a low tone, and then returned towards
the colonel's tent.
“It is strange,” resumed Colonel Grant, “that
the firmness of a man can be shaken by a mere
phantasy. I am not superstitious. Yet, last night,
lying, as I supposed, wide awake, I distinctly saw
our soldiers passing one by one through my tent,
so slowly that I could recognize every individual.
They were all bloody and mutilated. I have seen
men stretched on the field of battle, but never did I
behold such dreadful gashes, such marks of wanton
butchery. They seemed to bid me farewell. I
arose, looked round, but saw no one. The sentry,
in front of my tent, assured me that no one had
entered. I threw myself down, but again, and
again, and again, the same apparitions appeared.
This incident has affected me. But come, let us
shake off these unbecoming fancies. They are unworthy
of British soldiers, especially of us, who
have really no danger to encounter, and are sent to
crush a nest of half civilized French and ignorant
savages.”
“You despise our foe too much,” replied Major
Gordon, “however deficient they may be in discipline,
is capable of affording a stout resistance to a force
like ours, unprovided with a train of artillery.”
“Mere fudge!” exclaimed the colonel, “they
know better than to resist us. At the first sight of
his majesty's flag they will sue for peace.”
“Believe it not; with their advantages of numbers,
of position, of ample supplies, and of a familiar
knowledge of the country, success on our part will
be gained only by hard fighting and artful management.”
“What artifice would Major Gordon propose?”
“No other than an early attack, by which the
enemy shall be surprised, before he is aware of our
presence.”
“No, by Jupiter! I'll fight the rascals here, and
by daylight. I hate ambuscades, midnight attacks,
and scaling walls like a thief in the night. They
will be sufficiently surprised, I take it, at not being
allowed time to run away. No, sir, we will fight
them at our leisure. Let the reveillè be sounded.
We will try the metal of these monsieurs. If they
are brave, let them come out and fight us on the
plain; if not, let them surrender.”
“Perhaps they may not choose to do either.”
“Then by St Andrew we shall scale their ramparts
in broad day. A band of brave Scots with a
Grant and a Gordon at their head, need fear no odds.
Let the music sound, if you please, major.”
With a reluctant step, and a melancholy foreboding
of the disastrous consequences of so imprudent
order of his superior. In a few minutes the cheerful
tones of the bugle were heard echoing from hill
to hill, the ruffle of the drum, and the shrill notes
of the fife succeeded, and then the martial melody
of the full band burst upon the repose of the valley.
The troops paraded at the sound, and stood by their
arms, slowly and gradually filling up the long line,
as a number of the beautiful airs of their native glens
were played in succession, and the music floated
over the hills. The darkness of the night was
around them, but a number of lights held by the
serjeants who called the rolls, shed a faint light
along the ranks, and showed a line of stern faces
and athletic figures, clad, as was allowable, in all the
varieties of military undress. Some were in regimentals,
some in great coats, some wore the Highland
bonnet, and others night caps; but all these
gallant soldiers, as they leaned on their muskets,
showed the stern indifference, or careless courage,
of men who, having imbibed the opinions of their
leader, felt no sense of danger to themselves, or of
respect for their foe. The officers strolled along the
lines, yawning from their slumbers, or collected in
groups, some looking suspiciously towards the
surrounding thickets, and others conversing in low
accents on the anticipated events of the ensuing
day.
“These are new tactics,” said the old serjeant
major to the Barrack-master, as they sat together
on the end of a log.
“Quite novel,” replied the latter, “the Frenchman
ought to be much obliged to us, for giving him
timely notice of our approach. If monsieur would
only stretch his courtesy so far as to invite us all to
breakfast, I should take it as a kindness. This
bush-fighting, O'Doherty, makes sad inroads upon
the regular habits of old campaigners like you and
I. Nothing but cold meat and forced marches. If
we were only snug in yonder fort, I should like it,
if it were only for the honour of the regiment, and
the credit of sitting once more at a decent table.”
“Young men will have their own way,” croaked
the serjeant major, whose appetite just then was not
the keenest.
“Aye,” rejoined his friend, “and old soldiers,
who look for promotion, should have quiet tongues
—bushes have ears, as well as walls.”
The day now began to dawn, and Colonel Grant
advancing towards a circle of officers, began to give
orders.
“Major Lewis,” said he to a brave Virginian,
who commanded the small corps from the regiment
of Colonel Washington, “you will take charge of
the baggage, and retire with it two miles to the
rear.
The major bowed assent, remarking that it would
have been gratifying to him and to his men to
participate in the action.
“It will be a mere skirmish,” replied the commanding
officer, “these fellows will not fight, depend
major, would only be in the way.”
“Captain Brinton,” continued he, “you will
take an escort, and reconnoitre the enemy's works.
We have no time to spare, sir; ride up to the esplanade,
and take a rough plan. If there are any buildings
in the vicinity that would interrupt our approach,
burn them. Let us dress for parade,
gentlemen, and after that, if the Frenchman should
not be polite enough to give us the first call, we
will pay him a morning visit.”
The troops dispersed, and were soon engaged in
active preparations for breakfast, for the morning
parade, and for battle. Fires were kindled round
the encampment, and the business of cooking commenced.
Men were seen brushing their clothes,
burnishing their guns, placing new flints in their
locks, and preparing in various ways for the active
business of the day. The sun now rose in unclouded
splendour over the eastern hills, lighting up a
landscape of unrivalled beauty. The camp was
situated on a small hill, overlooking the woods on
either side. On the left was seen the Monongahela,
a placid serpentine river, meandering through a
broken picturesque region, and margined with
forests of matchless luxuriance. Beyond this stream
was a range of tall hills, covered with timber, and
whose western exposure, not yet lighted by the
morning sun, was clothed in the deepest and richest
shades. On the right was the Alleghany, a bold
rapid current, rushing over broken rocks, and covered
while the hills beyond were glowing with brilliant
hues. In front, these rivers were beheld mingling
their waters, and forming by their junction the
beautiful and majestic Ohio, which swept off to the
west in a broad, smooth, and rapid stream. On the
point of land formed by the “meeting of the
waters,” stood fort Du Quesne, whose massy parapets
were embosomed in forests, and whose gaudy
flag was sporting its gay colours over a wilderness
of green. Not a sound was heard from that solitary
fortress, not a living creature was seen, to give evidence
that it was the abode of man, or the seat of
military power. Between that and the British
camp was a plain, thickly wooded, with the exception
of a strip occupied by a cluster of straggling
huts, and a few small newly cleared fields. Such
was the scene displayed to the eyes of the military
strangers; and if its silence and solitude conveyed
to their minds an idea of the timidity of the foe, who
seemed to shrink from observation, and retire from
conflict, there was also a sense of awe induced by
the vastness of the amphitheatre, and the noiseless
repose of its secluded valleys. The excitement produced
by the sight of a proudly marshalled enemy,
by the clangor of arms, the rapid transit of neighing
steeds, the flourish of trumpets, and the bustle
of military evolutions, was absent from this exhibition,
and the soldiers gazed around them in doubt
and silence. Suddenly a thick column of smoke
was seen ascending into the air, and in another moment
flames. Still not an enemy was seen. The engineer
who had been charged with the duty of reconnoitring
the fort, and who had fired the village,
marched leisurely and carelessly back to camp, with
the security of one who having taunted the foe by
approaching to the muzzles of his guns, was convinced
of his cowardice or weakness.
“What news?” inquired the colonel, as his emissary
advanced to report the execution of his
orders, “I hope you had a pleasant visit, captain,
and found Monsieur in good health and spirits.”
“Monsieur was not at home,” replied the officer;
“I found the gate locked, and not even a porter
to answer my call. Having no opportunity,
therefore, of even leaving my card, I kindled a
bonfire, as the only feasible mode of announcing to
him that I had paid my respects.”
“A very good idea, captain; now gentlemen, let
us to breakfast; and after that, if this unsocial
Frenchman should continue to keep his gates barred,
we will try the virtue of an escalade.”
The officers retired to their tents, the soldiers sat
in little groups in the open air with their smoking
messes before them, and all were engaged in doing
justice to the coarse fare of the camp, with the keen
appetites of veteran campaigners, when the report
of a musket was heard, and a bullet whistled over
their heads. The soldiers started to their feet, and
the officers rushed from their tents.
“Who fired that gun?” demanded the officer of
the day.
No one replied, and the soldiers looked round at
each other, for even yet none suspected that a foeman
was near.
“The enemy! the enemy!” shouted several of
the sentinels, and the same moment a shower of
balls poured in upon the British, accompanied by
the signal calls of numerous bugles, and the loud
yell of the savage.
“To arms!” exclaimed the colonel.
“Fall in! fall in!” cried the company officers.
“Form your companies, gentlemen! “roared the
colonel, “the day is our own, my brave Higlanders!
Music there! beat all the drums, and drown that
cursed yelling! Let the guard be called in! Major
Gordon, take a company and dislodge the enemy
from the thickets on our right!”
Before these several orders could be executed,
the battle thickened around the devoted party, and
the bullets poured in upon them from every side.
The Indians, hideously painted, and decked in their
savage finery, advanced audaciously so near that
their dark forms could be plainly distinguished, as
they glided from tree to tree. The sharp shrill
sound of the war whoop, uttered in tones resembling
the barking of a small dog, acquired a terrific
volume and frightful energy from the number of
voices engaged in the horrible concert. The sentinels,
disdaining to fly, were slain at their posts
before they could be relieved, and their bodies
by the fiends who tore them in pieces with
hellish exultation.
Colonel Grant displayed all the coolness and gallantry
of an accomplished soldier; exposing a solid
front to the enemy, and bravely attempting, by
desperate charges, to dislodge them from the surrounding
coverts. But he now learned how unavailing
is courage when it is not guided by prudent
counsels and accurate information; and how inefficient
are the tactics of regular warfare, in a contest
with barbarian hordes in their native forests. The
French and Indians, dispersing themselves through
the woods, occupied every thicket which afforded concealment,
and lurked behind every object which
offered the protection of a natural rampart. Some
were placed in the ravines and hollows, stretched
at full length on the ground, some kneeled behind
the great trunks of fallen trees, while the boldest
warriors advanced singly, each selecting a standing
tree as a cover, and firing from behind it with but
little exposure of his own person. If they pressed
forward, it was by darting rapidly from one tree to
another, if they retreated, the same operation was
practised in an inverted order; and thus while the
European troops stood together in compact ranks,
affording a broad and stationary mark to an army
of sharp shooters, their own bullets whistled harmlessly
through the forest. The lines of the brave
Highlanders were rapidly thinned, and their leader,
stung to desperation, determined at last to rush into
Placing himself at the head of the whole detachment,
he dashed forward into the thickest body of
the enemy. The Indians, smeared with blood, and
excited to fury, closed around them. The bayonet
and the cutlass came into contact with war-club
and tomahawk, and the shouts of the maddened
soldiers were mingled with the yell of the savage.
For a moment the stout Scots felt the stern joy of
gratified revenge as their foes fell around them; but
their success was but momentary; out-numbered,
hemmed in, and entangled in the brushwood, they
were rapidly dwindling in force, while the places
of their slain foes were continually supplied by new
reinforcements. At this crisis, a heavy volley was
heard in the rear, mingled with loud and reiterated
cheers, and Major Lewis, with that band of Virginians
who had been ordered away, that they
might not impede the motions of the regulars, was
seen advancing. Adopting, to some extent, the
Indian mode of warfare, his men came forward in a
long irregular line, firing from behind the trees, and
each individual aiming at a particular foe, and discharging
his rifle at his own discretion with deadly
effect. Rapidly but cautiously they moved on,
sweeping the enemy before them, and reached the
battle ground just as Colonel Grant had been struck
down, and was about to be dragged away by the Indians.
Major Lewis rushed to the rescue, but these
officers were soon separated from their troops and
both taken captive. The patriotic Virginians stood
and undaunted by the fierceness of the
battle, while the enemy fell back under the destructive
energy of the American rifle, and collected
their forces for a more desperate effort. Two hundred
of the Highlanders had now fallen, and the remainder,
panic struck, and thrown into confusion,
stood crowded together in stupid dismay, while
their brave defenders faced the enemy with cool
disciplined courage. The battle still raged with
great fury, for the Virginians, adding experience to
ardour, and magnanimously devoting themselves to
the protection of those who had so lately spurned
their assistance, fought like men resolved to conquer
or die. The enemy was soon forced to act
on the defensive, and at length, after great loss, retired
sullenly from the contest. Major Gordon
rallied the Highlanders, and a retreat was effected
in good order, to the place where Major Lewis had
left the baggage under a small guard. The conduct
of the handful of Americans who so gallantly turned
the fortune of the day, may be estimated not only
by their brilliant success, but by their loss. Out of
eight officers, five were killed, a sixth wounded,
and a seventh taken prisoner; and of one hundred
and sixty-six privates, sixty-two were killed.
But what became of the Barrack-master? Having
no command, and being too honourable to fly, Major
Hagerty stationed himself as near the centre of
the troops as he could, from a prudent conviction
that an unnecessary exposure of his person would
stood for a long while, pushed forward when the
troops advanced, pushed backward when they recoiled,
and dreadfully pushed all the while, in his
fat sides, by the soldiers' elbows and the butts of
their muskets. At last, wearied with this exercise,
he very deliberately seated himself on a log, and
watched the conflict with a wary eye, until finding
that the prospect of becoming town major was
every moment growing more faint, his military
ardour began to kindle, and seizing the sword of
an officer who had fallen, he stepped into his place.
Here he performed good service, until the retreat
was ordered, an evolution which was performed in
good order, but with such rapidity that he was soon
left puffing and blowing in the rear. The Indians
in full pursuit were yelling behind him like a pack
of hungry wolves, while the Virginia rangers were
as fiercely beating them back and covering the retreat.
On he waddled, nearly exhausted; at last the
Highlanders were almost out of sight, and the covering
party came sweeping by, led by an officer
mounted on horseback, and covered with blood and
dust.
“Run, Falstaff!” shouted the officer.
“Run yourself!” replied the exhausted veteran,
“my race is over.”
“Hurra boys!” shouted the officer, “beat back
the blood-hounds! Old Virginia for ever! Run, old
gentleman!”
The Barrack-master stopped, folded his arms,
awaiting his fate, “I can go no further,” said
he faintly, “I can die—my poor children!”
In a moment the officer, who was Mr Dangerly,
was at his side, and dismounted; “take my horse,”
said he.
Hagerty was brave, but exhausted with heat and
unwonted exertion, daunted by the near approach
of a cruel death, and overcome by the recollection
of his helpless family, a desperate apathy was creeping
over him. Dangerly, assisted by his men,
placed him on the horse; the change of position
brought him to his senses; he looked round for a
moment like one awakened from a dream, then
pressing his heels into the charger's sides, was
borne in a few minutes to his companions.
“There goeth the last of them!” shouted Dangerly,
“now for another charge! Hurra, my brave
fellows! Virginia for ever!”
The Indians, once more driven back, pursued no
further; and the covering party, dripping with sweat
and blood, soon joined the main body.
We shall now leave these perilous wars, of which
the reader has perhaps had a surfeit, and change the
scene to Fort Cumberland. The troops had returned,
and Major Hagerty sat by his own fireside, surrounded
by all his social comforts, and all his tall
daughters. He was repeating the story of the battle
—the twentieth edition with copious notes—and
was dwelling especially on his own miraculous hair-breadth
escape from the barber-ous surgical operation
magnanimous conduct of Mr Dangerly, in giving
up his horse, at a time when this heroic young man
was so exhausted from fatigue and loss of blood as
to render the act one of generous self-sacrifice.
“What a noble deed!” exclaimed Alice.
“Considering that he was never out of America,
it was quite remarkable, said Miss Hagerty Number
1.
“A very clever action, I declare,” echoed Number
2.
“We are under infinite obligations to him,” simpered
Number 3.
The Barrack-master puffed the tobacco smoke in
large volumes from his mouth, and after musing for
some minutes, said, with a significant glance,
“I fear, Alice, my dear, that he has lost his
heart.”
The young lady blushed deeply, for the impression
made by her beauty upon the heart of the
American officer, had been the subject of so much
conversation and merriment, that the allusion could
not be misunderstood.
“Gordon need hardly fear such a rival,” remarked
Number 1, ironically—for Number 1, with
reverence be it spoken, had passed the mature age of
five-and-twenty, and sometimes spoke tartly in relation
to young men.
The father seemed hurt, and warmly replied,
“You might be proud, either of you, of such a
lover. Would to Heaven he had placed his affections
heart is not her own.”
“I hope, papa,” said Number 2, bridling her
pretty head, “you do not intend to offer us to this
singularly uncouth young man?”
“—A person of no family—” continued Number
3.
“—And a mere colonist—” added Number 1.
“Don't be at all alarmed, girls,” exclaimed Number
5, a blooming maiden of sixteen, with an arch
eye, a round blushing cheek, and a forehead of
snowy whiteness, “be quite easy—I intend to have
Mr Dangerly myself.”
“Eleanor!” said Miss Hagerty.
“Nay, do not lecture me, sister. If my seniors
choose to waive their birthrights, I shall put in my
claim. I set my cap for the lieutenant—shall I not,
Pa?” cried the laughing girl. And there the conference
ended.
One more scene, and we shall have ended.
Lieutenant Dangerly, in spite of his bashfulness, had
resolved to pay a visit to the fair Alice. Perhaps
he never would have plucked up courage for such
an enterprise, had not his comrades teased him
until he became desperate, while the report of her
engagement to Major Gordon awakened his jealousy.
“If it be true,” thought he, “that her heart
is plighted to Gordon, I shall not complain. He is
a fine fellow, and deserves her. But I shall feel
better satisfied, when I know from her own lips
that there is no hope for me.”
Behold him now seated in the Barrack-master's
parlour, twirling his hat in his hands, and watching
the door with a palpitating heart. At length a
light step is heard, and the fairy form of Eleanor
glided in. The lieutenant rose, scraped his best
bow, dropped his hat, picked it up, and was about
to hand a chair, when he perceived that the young
lady was already seated. He glanced wistfully at
the door, and meditated a retreat—“If I could only
avoid a close action by passing defile in the rear,”
thought he—but it was too late.
Eleanor was too polite, and entertained too sincere
a regard for her visitor to notice these things.
She led the way in conversation—talked of the recent
campaign, of guns, horses and parades, with
the fluency of one well versed in such subjects—
and her visitor, forgetting his embarrassment, unconsciously
fell into an animated dialogue. Dangerly's
heart was now irrevocably gone. If the
young lady's beauty had fascinated his senses, her
wit, her spirit, above all, her respectful politeness,
and the evident interest with which she listened to
him, completed the conquest of his affections. An
hour rolled away, when, unable to remain longer in
suspense, he said,
“May I, without giving offence, ask you one
question?”
“Oh, yes, I love to answer questions.”
“Are you—is Major Gordon—pardon me for
seeming so inquisitive—are you absolutely engaged
to Major Gordon?”
“Major Gordon is engaged to my sister—” replied
Eleanor quite composedly.
Dangerly rose and paced the room; his heart was
in his throat, and his limbs trembled with emotion.
Eleanor walked to a window, and began to feel a
little choked too.
“One more question,” said he, approaching her.
“I only promised to answer one.”
Dangerly involuntarily laid his hand on hers.
She did not withdraw it. Their eyes met, and a
language which cannot be mistaken, revealed to each
the treasured secret of the other's heart.
At this moment Alice entered the room leaning
on Major Gordon's arm. “Mr Dangerly,” said
the latter, “I have never, until now, felt authorized
to thank you for the brave service which you rendered
to this lady, for I was not before at liberty to
mention her name in connexion with my own. But
the happy day being now appointed, I am privileged
to indulge my feelings of gratitude.”
“That lady! you mistake sir; this is the lady, to
whom I was so fortunate as to render a slight service.”
“It is you that mistake,” replied Alice.
Dangerly gazed at the two sisters alternately.
“If such is the fact,” said he, “Pythagoras was
right in his doctrine. To that lady I gave a heart,
which had never before been touched by the exquisite
sensation of love, and it is equally certain that
it has transferred itself to the person of this, her
there is no mistake about that.”
A month after this time, the two sisters stood together
before the hymenial altar, dressed exactly
alike.
“Gordon,” said Dangerly, “be good enough to
stand a little further off, for fear we change partners.
You took the first pick, but I love my Eleanor too
well to have the slightest inclination to swap. Be
pleased, Mr Clergyman, to dress the ranks before
you begin, and take care not to get the parties
mixed.”
| THE BARRACK-MASTER'S DAUGHTER,
A LEGEND OF FORT CUMBERLAND. Legends of the West | |