Now, as they crossed the river with no sign of French interference, he was positive their progress had been much too easy and still suspected a trap. He had kept an eye on Byron, without ever giving himself away; with the fort within striking distance, he looked for him again. The troop
s from Virginia were at the rear; riding Marshal, Hunter cantered by them as though he had been summoned by the artillerymen at the end of the line. Once past them, he turned and followed close behind the blue-coated Virginians.
When Braddock's force had successfully forded the Monongahela without incident, Gage's advance guard continued to lead the way. About a quarter of a mile from the river, they crossed a ravine, and an engineer was mapping out the road when a French officer was sighted coming up the path.
Capt. Hyacinth Beaujeu was stripped to the waist like an Indian, but wearing the badge of his rank, a silver gorget, around his neck. Apparently startled by the advancing English, the Frenchman turned to give a signal; and with shrill war whoops, a large force of French and Indians appeared. Gage immediately ordered his men to form a line and fire. Beaujeu was shot dead during their third volley, and the majority of his troops began to flee. Elated by what appeared to be a swift victory, Gage brought up two cannon and commenced firing, but the forest provided such excellent cover for the Indians, none were hit.
Inspired by French officers, the Indians rallied, parted to surround the English bunched along the path, and fired from behind the security of the trees. In their bright red coats, the British regulars were easy prey, while their return fire slammed into the trees and wounded no one. Caught in a murderous cross fire, Gage's troops attempted to fall back, only to be engulfed by Braddock's main force rushing forward to their aid. The result was chaos rather than the orderly form of battle for which Braddock had been trained.
In the rear, the Virginians quickly broke ranks and adopted the Indians' strategy, firing from behind the natural cover provided by the woods. A well-placed slap on the rear sent Marshal galloping back toward the river, while Hunter knelt down beside Byron and began to fire the musket he had been given. "This is no time to argue," he told him. "Just stay alive."
"Watch your back," Byron warned. "If the French don't shoot you, I will!"
Hunter laughed as though Byron's taunt had been a joke, but he made his shots count and fought bravely to keep the enemy at bay. When General Braddock rode by shouting for the Virginians to form in lines on the path, the Indian thought the man daft. "Does he want us all dead?" he asked Byron.
"No, only you!"
Most of the Virginians hadn't heard the general's order, and kept firing from cover. Hunter saw George Washington ride up, and to his utter dismay, heard the general again give the order for them to form lines and fight, as though they were facing French regulars on a European battlefield. Washington, knowing the value of their present tactics, argued forcefully for the right to fight from cover like the Indians, but Braddock refused to listen.
When his fellow Virginians began to fall back to form the suicidal lines Braddock had ordered, Hunter grabbed Byron's arm. "If you want to live to fight again, come with me," he shouted above the gunfire and war whoops ringing all around them.
"I'm an officer, I can't leave my men!"
When Byron tried to pull away, Hunter slammed the butt of his musket into his chin. Byron's knees buckled and, going limp, he fell into Hunter's arms. The Indian picked up the musket and ammunition which had fallen from Byron's hands, and then half-carried, half-dragged Byron down the path. As he saw it, he wasn't deserting, just making a strategic retreat. He found cover for them both, and continued to shoot each time one of the opposing Indian allies came into view.
A model of bravery, despite his misguided view of how the battle should be fought, General Braddock continued to exhort his men to do their best. Four of his mounts were slain, but he fearlessly climbed upon a fifth. When, after three hours of senseless slaughter he finally realized all was lost and called a retreat, he received a mortal wound.
Sixty-three of his eighty-nine officers had been killed or wounded, and more than nine hundred of his troops were casualties. Thanks to Hunter's prompt interference, Capt. Byron Barclay awoke with a bad headache to find he was among the few who had been unharmed. Just as Hunter had expected, he was not in the least bit grateful.
Chapter 29
In the rash to retreat, Byron lost sight of Hunter. Burdened with the responsibility of calming the hysteria in the able-bodied men and caring for the casualties, he had no time to deal with him. He was ashamed to have missed the last of the fighting, but the demands on his attention were so acute as to preclude the possibility of going after Hunter immediately. He intended to settle the score with the Indian at the first opportunity, however.
The French were not following the retreating army, and the Indians, bent on stealing anything of value that had been left behind, also failed to give chase. Despite the lack of vigorous pursuit, the terrified soldiers bolted across the Monongahela with a frenzy that brought honor to none. As he lay dying, General Braddock hoped to hold his position until the reinforcements they had left behind could arrive, but rather than make camp, his demoralized troops continued to flee toward Fort Cumberland, and he had to give up the plan. When he succumbed to his wounds two days later, he was buried in the road, so the passing wagons would obliterate all trace of his grave and prevent mutilation of his body.
Humiliated by a repeat of the previous summer's defeat, Byron's spirits sank lower than despair. They had all believed the addition of British troops would enable them to retake Fort Duquesne, and to have been beaten more by their general's archaic tactics than by French courage, he felt not only disgraced, but betrayed. They had traveled several days but were still some distance from Fort Cumberland, when he again saw Hunter, and his anger burst into a blinding rage. The Indian had been helping tend the wounded, but the brave's compassion meant nothing to the embittered Virginian. He grabbed Hunter from behind; bent on beating him to death, he wrestled him to the ground.
Although caught off guard, Hunter quickly recovered. He grabbed Byron's wrists and held on, forcefully preventing him from throwing any punches. Infuriated, Byron tried to break free, when he pulled back, Hunter lunged forward, sending him rolling in the dirt. Hunter sprang to his feet and assumed a defensive stance, waiting for Byron to come at him.
Among the onlookers were several men who had seen Hunter fight Vernon Avey; expecting another brutal spectacle, they cheered him on. Hunter recalled Byron's warning that each man he bettered in a contest, whether it was with his fists or an ax, would bear him a grudge. He wasn't facing an old enemy out for revenge now, though, but the friend who had issued that warning. He took a step back.
"I don't want to fight you," Hunter swore.
"Not when I can fight back, you mean!" Byron crouched low, waiting for another chance to rush Hunter.
Hunter shook his head. "Not ever."
Determined, Byron took a step closer. "Come on, I know you know how to fight."
"I have no argument with you."
"Liar!" Byron screamed. He went for Hunter then, meaning to blacken both his eyes, but the wily Indian blocked his punches and withdrew without throwing any of his own. "Damn you!" the irate Virginian swore. Reflecting his mood, the surrounding crowd grew restless. They wanted blood, and Byron was determined to supply it. Again attempting to knock Hunter off his feet, he threw his whole body at him, pummeled his stomach, and tried to trip him.
Byron had adopted such a wild combination of tactics, Hunter did not know what to expect from him next, but he again concentrated on repelling Byron's blows rather than landing any of his own. Choosing only to defend himself, he disappointed the bystanders badly, and they began to boo him. Undaunted, he continued to ward off Byron's punches, and hoped the young man would soon come to his senses.
"You've no right to live when Melissa's dead!" Byron hissed.
Hunter stubbornly refused to respond to that taunt. Melissa had caused him enough sorrow, and he was far too proud a man to argue about how badly she had betrayed him in front of a crowd of strangers. He just stared at Byron, willing him to see the truth, but sadly, he did not.