In September, Washington received orders to repair, with his troops, to Raystown, where he was to join Colonel Forbes. It was the middle of the month. And yet, with incredible toil the new military road had been opened but about forty-five miles, where a fort of deposit was built, called Loyal Hannan, a short distance beyond Laurel Hill, a distance of fifty miles, through the wilderness, was still to be traversed.
Colonel Bouquet, who commanded two thousand men there, sent forward about eight hundred men, under Major Grant, to reconnoitre. The Major was a boastful, conceited bravado. A part of his force consisted of Highlanders, and another part of Americans, under Major Andrew Lewis. They were all brave men. Grant was not aware that Indian scouts were watching every step of his advance. The farther they could draw him from the main body, the more easy and signal would be their victory. Supposing that he had approached the fort unperceived, Major Grant decided to make a sudden attack, thinking to take it by surprise, and thus to win great glory. Major Lewis thought the attempt very imprudent. There was certainly danger of failure. The failure might prove exceedingly disastrous. Whereas, by obeying orders, and waiting for the main body of troops to come up, the fort could certainly be taken, and probably with but very little, if any, bloodshed. With characteristic contemptuousness Major Grant replied:
“You and your Americans may remain behind, with the baggage. I will go forward, with the British regulars, and show you how a fort can be taken.”
He then placed Major Lewis in the rear, with the American troops, to protect the baggage. With martial music and unfurled banners, as if in proud challenge of the garrison, he marched his troops to an eminence, near the fort, where he encamped for the night. There was no movement in the fort. Not a gun was fired. Not a voice was heard. Nearly two thousand Indians were encamped near by, waiting to coöperate with a sally from the fort the next morning.
The morning came. With its early dawn there was opened one of those awful scenes of tumult, blood, and woe, which have so often disfigured this sad world. The sally from the garrison attacked in front. The Indians in ambush, with hideous yells, opened fire upon the flanks. The scenes of Braddock’s defeat were renewed. The British officers, with coolness and courage which could not be surpassed, endeavored to rally their men according to European tactics, which was the most foolish thing they could possibly do. The soldiers were thus presented to the foe, in such a concentrated mass, that every bullet of the savages accomplished its mission.
The British regulars, for a little time, held their ground bravely, though almost deafened by the yells of two thousand savages, and assailed by perhaps as terrific a storm of leaden hail as soldiers ever encountered. But no mortal courage could long withstand this merciless slaughter. Panic ensued, and a tumultuous flight. Major Lewis, leaving Captain Bullit with fifty men to guard the baggage, hurried forward, with the remainder of the Virginia troops, to the scene of action. The ground was covered with the dead and wounded, and the English utterly routed, were in frantic flight. The yells of two thousand Indians, in hot pursuit, blended into one demoniac scream.
Lewis was surrounded and captured. A French officer came to his rescue, and saved him from the tomahawk. Major Grant was likewise captured, and his life was saved by a French officer. Captain Bullit endeavored to make a forlorn stand, by forming a barricade with the baggage wagons. It was the work of a moment. The fugitives rallied behind it. Every man could see that escape, by flight, pursued by two thousand fleet-footed savages, was impossible. Concealed behind this bulwark, as the savages drew near, a deadly fire, by a concerted signal, was simultaneously opened upon them. This held the savages in check for a little time, but it manifestly could not be for long. We regret to add that the brave Captain Bullit then resorted to a stratagem, which, had it been adopted by the Indians, would have been denounced as the vilest perfidy. We give the occurrence, in the mild, and certainly not condemnatory language, of Washington Irving.
“They were checked for a time, but were again pressing forward in greater numbers, when Bullit and his men held out the signal of capitulation, and advanced, as if to surrender. When within eight yards of the enemy, they suddenly levelled their arms, poured a most effectual volley, and then charged with the bayonet. The Indians fled in dismay, and Bullit took advantage of this check to retreat, with all speed, collecting the wounded and scattered fugitives as he advanced.”[49]
The routed detachment, in broken bands, after the endurance of terrible sufferings, reached the Fort, Loyal Hannan. Here we are informed, by Mr. Irving, that Bullit’s behavior was “a matter of great admiration.” He was soon after rewarded with a major’s commission.[50]
In this disastrous campaign, fraught with woe to so many once happy homes, twenty-one officers and two hundred and seventy-three privates were either killed or taken captive. There was something in the dignity, thoughtfulness, and heroism of Washington’s character which caused, notwithstanding the incessant attacks to which he was exposed, his reputation to be continually on the advance. The weary weeks still lingered slowly away, and but little was accomplished. The Indians were ravaging the frontiers, almost unopposed. Life had become a burden in hundreds of woe-stricken homes. In many a lonely log-cabin, the widowed mother gathered her orphan children around her, and in terror awaited the war-whoop of the savage. Washington was given the command of a detachment of American troops to do what he could for the protection of these homes where anguish dwelt.