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  CHAPTER XII. News from the Camp

  We must fancy that the parting between the brothers is over, that Georgehas taken his place in Mr. Braddock's family, and Harry has returnedhome to Castlewood and his duty. His heart is with the army, and hispursuits at home offer the boy no pleasure. He does not care to own howdeep his disappointment is, at being obliged to stay under the homely,quiet roof, now more melancholy than ever since George is away. Harrypasses his brother's empty chamber with an averted face; takes George'splace at the head of the table, and sighs as he drinks from his silvertankard. Madam Warrington calls the toast of "The King" stoutly everyday; and, on Sundays, when Harry reads the service, and prays for alltravellers by land and by water, she says, "We beseech Thee to hearus," with a peculiar solemnity. She insists on talking about Georgeconstantly, but quite cheerfully, and as if his return was certain. Shewalks into his vacant room, with head upright, and no outward signs ofemotion. She sees that his books, linen, papers, etc., are arrangedwith care; talking of him with a very special respect, and speciallyappealing to the old servants at meals, and so forth, regarding thingswhich are to be done "when Mr. George comes home." Mrs. Mountain isconstantly on the whimper when George's name is mentioned, and Harry'sface wears a look of the most ghastly alarm; but his mother's isinvariably grave and sedate. She makes more blunders at piquet andbackgammon than you would expect from her; and the servants find herawake and dressed, however early they may rise. She has prayed Mr.Dempster to come back into residence at Castlewood. She is not severe orhaughty (as her wont certainly was) with any of the party, but quiet inher talk with them, and gentle in assertion and reply. She is for evertalking of her father and his campaigns, who came out of them all withno very severe wounds to hurt him; and so she hopes and trusts will hereldest son.

  George writes frequent letters home to his brother, and, now the armyis on its march, compiles a rough journal, which he forwards as occasionserves. This document is perused with great delight and eagerness bythe youth to whom it is addressed, and more than once read out in familycouncil, on the long summer nights, as Madam Esmond sits upright at hertea-table--(she never condescends to use the back of a chair)--aslittle Fanny Mountain is busy with her sewing, as Mr. Dempster and Mrs.Mountain sit over their cards, as the hushed old servants of the housemove about silently in the gloaming, and listen to the words of theyoung master. Hearken to Harry Warrington reading out his brother'sletter! As we look at the slim characters on the yellow page, fondlykept and put aside, we can almost fancy him alive who wrote and who readit--and yet, lo! they are as if they never had been; their portraitsfaint images in frames of tarnished gold. Were they real once, or arethey mere phantasms? Did they live and die once? Did they love eachother as true brothers, and loyal gentlemen? Can we hear their voicesin the past? Sure I know Harry's, and yonder he sits in the warm summerevening, and reads his young brother's simple story:

  "It must be owned that the provinces are acting scurvily by his MajestyKing George II., and his representative here is in a flame of fury.Virginia is bad enough, and poor Maryland not much better, butPennsylvania is worst of all. We pray them to send us troops from hometo fight the French; and we promise to maintain the troops when theycome. We not only don't keep our promise, and make scarce any provisionfor our defenders, but our people insist upon the most exorbitant pricesfor their cattle and stores, and actually cheat the soldiers who arecome to fight their battles. No wonder the General swears, and thetroops are sulky. The delays have been endless. Owing to the failureof the several provinces to provide their promised stores and means oflocomotion, weeks and months have elapsed, during which time, no doubt,the French have been strengthening themselves on our frontier and in theforts they have turned us out of. Though there never will be any lovelost between me and Colonel Washington, it must be owned that yourfavourite (I am not jealous, Hal) is a brave man and a good officer.The family respect him very much, and the General is always asking hisopinion. Indeed, he is almost the only man who has seen the Indians intheir war-paint, and I own I think he was right in firing upon Mons.Jumonville last year.

  "There is to be no more suite to that other quarrel at Benson's Tavernthan there was to the proposed battle between Colonel W. and a certainyoung gentleman who shall be nameless. Captain Waring wished to pursueit on coming into camp, and brought the message from Captain Grace,which your friend, who is as bold as Hector, was for taking up, andemployed a brother aide-de-camp, Colonel Wingfield, on his side. Butwhen Wingfield heard the circumstances of the quarrel, how it had arisenfrom Grace being drunk, and was fomented by Waring being tipsy, and howthe two 44th gentlemen had chosen to insult a militia officer, he sworethat Colonel Washington should not meet the 44th men; that he wouldcarry the matter straightway to his Excellency, who would bring thetwo captains to a court-martial for brawling with the militia, anddrunkenness, and indecent behaviour, and the captains were fain to putup their toasting-irons, and swallow their wrath. They were good-naturedenough out of their cups, and ate their humble-pie with very goodappetites at a reconciliation dinner which Colonel W. had with the 44th,and where he was as perfectly stupid and correct as Prince Prettymanneed be. Hang him! He has no faults, and that's why I dislike him. Whenhe marries that widow--ah me! what a dreary life she will have of it."

  "I wonder at the taste of some men, and the effrontery of some women,"says Madam Esmond, laying her teacup down. "I wonder at any woman whohas been married once, so forgetting herself as to marry again! Don'tyou, Mountain?"

  "Monstrous!" says Mountain, with a queer look.

  Dempster keeps his eyes steadily fixed on his glass of punch. Harrylooks as if he was choking with laughter, or with some other concealedemotion, but his mother says, "Go on, Harry! Continue with yourbrother's journal. He writes well: but, ah, will he ever be able towrite like my papa?"

  Harry resumes: "We keep the strictest order here in camp, and the ordersagainst drunkenness and ill-behaviour on the part of the men are verysevere. The roll of each company is called at morning, noon, and night,and a return of the absent and disorderly is given in by the officerto the commanding officer of the regiment, who has to see that they areproperly punished. The men are punished, and the drummers are always atwork. Oh, Harry, but it made one sick to see the first blood drawn froma great strong white back, and to hear the piteous yell of the poorfellow."

  "Oh, horrid!" says Madam Esmond.

  "I think I should have murdered Ward if he had flogged me. Thank Heavenhe got off with only a crack of the ruler! The men, I say, are lookedafter carefully enough. I wish the officers were. The Indians have justbroken up their camp, and retired in dudgeon, because the young officerswere for ever drinking with the squaws--and--and--hum--ha." Here Mr.Harry pauses, as not caring to proceed with the narrative, in thepresence of little Fanny, very likely, who sits primly in her chair byher mother's side, working her little sampler.

  "Pass over that about the odious tipsy creatures," says Madam. And Harrycommences, in a loud tone, a much more satisfactory statement: "Eachregiment has Divine Service performed at the head of its colours everySunday. The General does everything in the power of mortal man toprevent plundering, and to encourage the people round about to bring inprovisions. He has declared soldiers shall be shot who dare to interruptor molest the market-people. He has ordered the price of provisions tobe raised a penny a pound, and has lent money out of his own pocket toprovide the camp. Altogether, he is a strange compound, this General. Heflogs his men without mercy, but he gives without stint. He swears mosttremendous oaths in conversation, and tells stories which Mountain wouldbe shocked to hear--"

  "Why me?" asks Mountain; "and what have I to do with the General's sillystories?"

  "Never mind the stories; and go on, Harry," cries the mistress of thehouse.

  "--would be shocked to hear after dinner; but he never misses service.He adores his Great Duke, and has his name constantly on his lips. Ourtwo regiments both served in Scotland, where I dare say Mr. Dempsterknew the c
olour of their facings."

  "We saw the tails of their coats, as well as their facings," growls thelittle Jacobite tutor.

  "Colonel Washington has had the fever very smartly, and has hardly beenwell enough to keep up with the march. Had he not better go home andbe nursed by his widow? When either of us is ill, we are almost as goodfriends again as ever. But I feel somehow as if I can't forgive him forhaving wronged him. Good Powers! How I have been hating him for thesemonths past! Oh, Harry! I was in a fury at the tavern the other day,because Mountain came up so soon, and put an end to our difference. Weought to have burned a little gunpowder between us, and cleared the air.But though I don't love him, as you do, I know he is a good soldier, agood officer, and a brave, honest man; and, at any rate, shall love himnone the worse for not wanting to be our stepfather."

  "A stepfather, indeed!" cries Harry's mother. "Why, jealousy andprejudice have perfectly maddened the poor child! Do you suppose theMarquis of Esmond's daughter and heiress could not have found otherstepfathers for her sons than a mere provincial surveyor? If there areany more such allusions in George's journal, I beg you skip 'em, Harry,my dear. About this piece of folly and blundering, there hath been quitetalk enough already."

  "'Tis a pretty sight," Harry continued, reading from his brother'sjournal, "to see a long line of redcoats, threading through the woodsor taking their ground after the march. The care against surprise is sogreat and constant, that we defy prowling Indians to come unawares uponus, and our advanced sentries and savages have on the contrary fallen inwith the enemy and taken a scalp or two from them. They are such cruelvillains, these French and their painted allies, that we do not thinkof showing them mercy. Only think, we found but yesterday a littleboy scalped but yet alive in a lone house, where his parents had beenattacked and murdered by the savage enemy, of whom--so great is hisindignation at their cruelty--our General has offered a reward of fivepounds for all the Indian scalps brought in.

  "When our march is over, you should see our camp, and all the carebestowed on it. Our baggage and our General's tents and guard are placedquite in the centre of the camp. We have outlying sentries by twos, bythrees, by tens, by whole companies. At the least surprise, they areinstructed to run in on the main body and rally round the tentsand baggage, which are so arranged themselves as to be a strongfortification. Sady and I, you must know, are marching on foot now, andmy horses are carrying baggage. The Pennsylvanians sent such rascallyanimals into camp that they speedily gave in. What good horses wereleft, 'twas our duty to give up: and Roxana has a couple of packs uponher back instead of her young master. She knows me right well, andwhinnies when she sees me, and I walk by her side, and we have many atalk together on the march.

  "July 4. To guard against surprises, we are all warned to pay especialattention to the beat of the drum; always halting when they hear thelong roll beat, and marching at the beat of the long march. We aremore on the alert regarding the enemy now. We have our advanced picketsdoubled, and two sentries at every post. The men on the advanced picketsare constantly under arms, with fixed bayonets, all through the night,and relieved every two hours. The half that are relieved lie down bytheir arms, but are not suffered to leave their pickets. 'Tis evidentthat we are drawing very near to the enemy now. This packet goes outwith the General's to Colonel Dunbar's camp, who is thirty miles behindus; and will be carried thence to Frederick, and thence to my honouredmother's house at Castlewood, to whom I send my duty, with kindestremembrances, as to all friends there, and bow much love I need not sayto my dearest brother from his affectionate--GEORGE E. WARRINGTON."

  The whole land was now lying parched and scorching in the July heat. Forten days no news had come from the column advancing on the Ohio. Theirmarch, though it toiled but slowly through the painful forest, mustbring them ere long up with the enemy; the troops, led by consummatecaptains, were accustomed now to the wilderness, and not afraid ofsurprise. Every precaution had been taken against ambush. It was theoutlying enemy who were discovered, pursued, destroyed, by the vigilantscouts and skirmishers of the British force. The last news heardwas that the army had advanced considerably beyond the ground of Mr.Washington's discomfiture on the previous year, and two days after mustbe within a day's march of the French fort. About taking it no fearswere entertained; the amount of the French reinforcements from Montrealwas known. Mr. Braddock, with his two veteran regiments from Britain,and their allies of Virginia and Pennsylvania, were more than a matchfor any troops that could be collected under the white flag.

  Such continued to be the talk, in the sparse towns of our Virginianprovince, at the gentry's houses, and the rough roadside taverns, wherepeople met and canvassed the war. The few messengers who were sent backby the General reported well of the main force. 'Twas thought the enemywould not stand or defend himself at all. Had he intended to attack, hemight have seized a dozen occasions for assaulting our troops at passesthrough which they had been allowed to go entirely free. So George hadgiven up his favourite mare, like a hero as he was, and was marchingafoot with the line? Madam Esmond vowed that he should have the besthorse in Virginia or Carolina in place of Roxana. There were horsesenough to be had in the provinces, and for money. It was only for theKing's service that they were not forthcoming.

  Although at their family meetings and repasts the inmates of Castlewoodalways talked cheerfully, never anticipating any but a triumphant issueto the campaign, or acknowledging any feeling of disquiet, yet, it mustbe owned they were mighty uneasy when at home, quitting it ceaselessly,and for ever on the trot from one neighbour's house to another in questof news. It was prodigious how quickly reports ran and spread. When,for instance, a certain noted border warrior, called Colonel Jack, hadoffered himself and his huntsmen to the General, who had declined theruffian's terms or his proffered service, the defection of Jack and hismen was the talk of thousands of tongues immediately. The house negroes,in their midnight gallops about the country, in search of junketing orsweethearts, brought and spread news over amazingly wide districts. Theyhad a curious knowledge of the incidents of the march for a fortnightat least after its commencement. They knew and laughed at the cheatspractised on the army, for horses, provisions, and the like; for a goodbargain over the foreigner was not an unfrequent or unpleasant practiceamong New Yorkers, Pennsylvanians, or Marylanders; though 'tis knownthat American folks have become perfectly artless and simple in latertimes, and never grasp, and never overreach, and are never selfishnow. For three weeks after the army's departure, the thousand reportsregarding it were cheerful; and when our Castlewood friends met at theirsupper, their tone was confident and their news pleasant.

  But on the 10th of July a vast and sudden gloom spread over theprovince. A look of terror and doubt seemed to fall upon every face.Affrighted negroes wistfully eyed their masters and retired, and hummedand whispered with one another. The fiddles ceased in the quarters: thesong and laugh of those cheery black folk were hushed. Right and left,everybody's servants were on the gallop for news. The country tavernswere thronged with horsemen, who drank and cursed and brawled at thebars, each bringing his gloomy story. The army had been surprised. Thetroops had fallen into an ambuscade, and had been cut up almost to aman. All the officers were taken down by the French marksmen and thesavages. The General had been wounded, and carried off the field in hissash. Four days afterwards the report was that the General was dead, andscalped by a French Indian.

  Ah, what a scream poor Mrs. Mountain gave, when Gumbo brought thisnews from across the James River, and little Fanny sprang crying to hermother's arms! "Lord God Almighty, watch over us, and defend my boy!"said Mrs. Esmond, sinking down on her knees, and lifting her rigid handsto Heaven. The gentlemen were not at home when this rumour arrived, butthey came in an hour or two afterwards, each from his hunt for news.The Scots tutor did not dare to look up and meet the widow's agonisinglooks. Harry Warrington was as pale as his mother. It might not be trueabout the manner of the General's death--but he was dead. The army hadbeen surprised by Ind
ians, and had fled, and been killed without seeingthe enemy. An express had arrived from Dunbar's camp. Fugitives werepouring in there. Should he go and see? He must go and see. He and stoutlittle Dempster armed themselves and mounted, taking a couple of mountedservants with them.

  They followed the northward track which the expeditionary army had hewedout for itself, and at every step which brought them nearer to the sceneof action, the disaster of the fearful day seemed to magnify. The dayafter the defeat a number of the miserable fugitives from the fatalbattle of the 9th July had reached Dunbar's camp, fifty miles from thefield. Thither poor Harry and his companions rode, stopping stragglers,asking news, giving money, getting from one and all the same gloomytale--a thousand men were slain--two-thirds of the officers weredown--all the General's aides-de-camp were hit. Were hit?--but were theykilled? Those who fell never rose again. The tomahawk did its work uponthem. O brother, brother! All the fond memories of their youth, all thedear remembrances of their childhood, the love and the laughter, thetender romantic vows which they had pledged to each other as lads, wererecalled by Harry with pangs inexpressibly keen. Wounded men looked upand were softened by his grief: rough women melted as they saw the woewritten on the handsome young face: the hardy old tutor could scarcelylook at him for tears, and grieved for him even more than for his dearpupil who lay dead under the savage Indian knife.