Such was Simon Girty when his martial dreams caused him to leave home and proceed to Virginia to enlist in the Rifle Regiment. A half century of Quaker rule in Pennsylvania had failed to disturb the tranquility of the relations between whites and Indians, but in the Old Dominion, there was a constant bickering with the redskins along the western frontier.
As Girty was a sure shot, he was eagerly accepted, and in a short time was raised to the grade of Corporal. Accompanied by a young Captain-lieutenant named Claypoole, he was sent to the Greenbrier River country to convey a supply train, but owing to the indifference of the officer, the train became strung out, and the vanguard was cut off by Indians, and captured, and the rearguard completely routed.
As Girty happened to be the vidette, the Captain-lieutenant, who was in the rear and should have come up and seen that his train traveled more compactly, had a splendid opportunity to shift the blame. An investigation was held at Spottsylvania, presided over by a board of officers recently arrived from England, who knew nothing of border warfare, and were sticklers for caste above everything else.
Someone had to be disciplined, and if a fellow could be punished and a gentleman exculpated, why then of course, punish the fellow. This was speedily done, and Girty was taken out before the regiment, stripped of his chevrons, denounced by the Colonel, forced to run the gauntlet, Indian style, and drummed out of camp.
Girty, though humiliated and shamed, felt glad that he was not shot; he would have been had he been actually guilty of neglect; he was punished as badly as an innocent man dare be punished to shield a guilty superior. After receiving his dishonorable discharge, Girty sorrowfully wended his way back to the parental home on the Yellow Breeches, his visions of glory shattered. He did not tell his parents what had happened, but they knew that something had gone wrong, and pitied him, as only poor, lowly people can pity another.
Henry Fielding, a gentleman born and bred, has said: “Why is it that the only really kindly people are the poor,” and again, “Why is it that persons in high places are always so hard?”
About this time Simon Girty found work breaking colts on the estate of an eccentric character named Gaspar, known in the Cumberland Valley as “French Louis,” who resided near the mouth of Dublin Gap, on the same side of the trail, but nearer the valley than the present Sulphur Springs Hotel. All that remains of his ambitious chateau is the chimney, which was recently photographed by Professor J. S. Illick, head of the research bureau of the State Department of Forestry.
“French Louis” Gaspar was a Huguenot, a Gascon, and prided himself on a resemblance to Henry of Navarre, and wore the same kind of fan-shaped, carefully brushed beard. His wife was also of French origin, a member of the well-known Le Tort family, and a woman of some education and character. They had several daughters, all of whom married well, and at the time of Girty’s taking employment, but one was at home–the youngest–Eulalie.
She was a slim, dark girl, with hair and eyes as black as Girty’s, a perfect mate in type and disposition. It is a curious thing while unravelling these stories of old time Pennsylvania, that in seeking descriptions of the personal appearance (which is always the most interesting part) of the persons figuring in them at an early day, scarcely any blondes are recorded; the black, swarthy Indian-like visages so noticeable to strangers traveling through Pennsylvania today, were also prevalent, commonly met with types of our Colonial period.
Eulalie Gaspar could see that there was something on Girty’s mind, and tried to be kind to him and encourage him, but she asked no questions, and he volunteered no information. If he had not received such a complete social setback at Spottsylvania, the youth might have aspired to the girl’s hand, but he now was keenly aware of the planes of caste, realizing that he stood very low on the ladder of quality.