“Wake up, mistress.” A familiar young man's voice filled my ears as I slowly opened my eyes. Private MacDonald stood over me. In the light, he looked younger than he sounded the night before. He was lean and looked to be around fifteen. His smooth face showed no signs of needing to shave anytime soon. His brown hair was pulled back out of his face and tied at the nape of his neck with a thin leather strip. Stray hairs escaped. He looked frazzled. So incredibly young to be a solider. “Ensign Ward sent me in here to wake you and to tell you to get ready to leave.”
I looked around the room and noticed the papers and books were missing, along with every other packable item. Somehow, I slept through the commotion. I stood up and straightened up my clothes. While I pulled my hair out of the chignon and attempted to smooth down the flyaway hairs, Private MacDonald rolled up the bedding. No sooner had I twisted my hair back up, MacDonald shoved the bedding into my arms. “You are to go to the stable and await Ensign Ward. Please, follow me.”
The early morning sun spilled over the landscape and into my groggy eyes. I squinted as I left the building and held the bed roll tighter in my arms. I yawned while I stumbled behind the MacDonald as he led me across the fort and to a small stable. He took the bedroll from me and tied it to the back of a saddled horse. “Remain here.” Of course, I would remain there. Where was I going to go?
I sat down on an overturned bucket near the stable, rested my chin in my hands, and closed my eyes. I would need to find somewhere to relieve myself. Although I slept well enough in a bed instead of the ground, I felt lethargic from the lack of food. I had just closed my eyes when I was awoken by Ensign Ward. “You will go with Private MacDonald. You need to leave now before the French arrive. I will surrender the fort over to them and we will meet you along the way to Wills Creek.”
He brought the horse out from the stall and into the courtyard. He checked the side bags and latched on a rifle. “Mistress Murray, please, we must leave now,” Private MacDonald said. He mounted the horse and held out his hand. I walked over and Ward began helping me mount the horse in front of MacDonald.
“You’re going to ride behind me?” I was confused. My thoughts were being clouded with exhaustion, hunger, and a full bladder. Surely, the two of us would be too heavy for the horse to travel. I suppose MacDonald couldn’t have weighed much, probably less than I weighed.
“Yes, behind you. I need to make sure you do not fall off the horse, and I cannot do that if you are behind me. Now, please, move forward.” I complied, and MacDonald started walking us out towards the opening to the fort. Apparently, the gate would have been installed soon if they were not about to be evicted. “I need you to hold on tight; we need to keep you safe from the French.”
A sudden burst of energy flowed through my body as my head shot back and forth looking around the perimeter of the half-built fort. “Jumonville! Where is he? Please, don't let him take me again.” I panicked. Jumonville would kill me if he found me. I clamped my hand on Private MacDonald's forearm, that caused him to nearly jump out of the saddle. Poor kid.
“I will keep you safe, but we have got to leave. I must apologize, but I need use of my arm.” I released his arm and grabbed hold of the saddle in front of me. We rode out of the fort and MacDonald nudged the horse to run. Shouts near the river and the sound of a rifle being shot, pierced through the morning sky. I ducked my head out of instinct, certain that Jumonville or Bouchard must have meant that bullet for me. MacDonald leaned into the horse's stride, pressing his chest against my back, giving me the sensation of being pushed forward. With what little energy I had left, I held on tight to the saddle. Without stirrups, I bounced around with every hoof landing. This would not be a gentle ride and my bladder did not appreciate the jostle.
“Use your legs,” MacDonald shouted next to my ear, as my head bounced up and hit him in the chin.
“For what?” I had not been on a horse for years and when I last was on one, it was a gentle trail ride in the Shenandoah, not the ride for my life.
“To hold on to the horse,” he grunted. “With your thighs.”
I tried to brace myself by squeezing my thighs. I was not sure how effective it was to keep me from bouncing around. At that point, I would have run over cut glass, while barefoot, if it meant getting away from Jumonville.
MacDonald slowed the horse down, and I let out a deep breath. “We should be well enough ahead of anyone that could follow us,” he said as he sat back in the saddle.
My eyes closed and head lolled as the adrenaline rush subsided. “When do you think the other soldiers and Ensign Ward will catch up?” That was the limit of what I could squeeze out of my thoughts. That and, “I have to pee.”
“They will be along after the surrender.” His voice trailed off. Something caught his attention.
I looked up and saw a soldier on horseback approaching our location. It was another British soldier. If I were religious, I would have said a prayer in gratitude that it was not Jumonville, but this man could be trouble for me as well.
“Tanaghrisson, the Mingo Half-King, told me that there was trouble at the fort.” He looked at the both of us, sizing me up. “Why are you leaving with this woman? Where is the rest of your unit?”
“Private MacDonald, sir. The French arrived. Ensign Ward is surrendering the fort. This is Mistress Murray. I was told to get her to safety and the rest will meet up with us on our way to Wills Creek.”
“Is that so?” The man sat tall in his saddle, raised an eyebrow, and looked me over. He sounded arrogant, and it did not impress me. We would not get along.
“Yes, it is so,” I replied in a matter-of-fact kind of way. “There are at least five hundred French soldiers arriving to take the fort.”
“How do you know this?” He lifted his chin in my direction. He wore the uniform of an officer, red coat, white breeches, and tall black boots. His cocked hat–or what I would incorrectly refer to as a tricorne hat–cast a shadow down his face.
Why would I lie about it? I was trying to save their asses. I tired of repeating the same story. “I was kidnapped by a group of them a week ago and could finally escape last night.” I knew I should have kept my mouth shut and let MacDonald tell this man what happened. The instant I said that I was with the French, I could tell he was ready to send me back to them. “I found my way to the fort and warned Ensign Ward of the impending attack.”
“I was on my way to take command while Captain Trent and Lieutenant Fraser were away. Lieutenant Colonel Washington is on his way with a larger command. Mayhap I could…”
I cut him off with a wave of my hand before he could finish saying he would try to stop the surrender. “He won’t get here in time. They lost the fort to the French. Ensign Ward and the rest of the troops will be on their way, and Washington or someone else can take it back later. Live to fight another day, and all that.” I knew there was nothing that could be done. The addition of one more man against five hundred would still end in failure. I needed to make him aware of it and have him stop trying to play the arrogant hero.
The soldier sat quiet for a moment, inhaled and exhaled deep enough I could see his chest rise and fall. He looked at me sternly. “Who are you, and why do you have this information?”
“My name is Amelia Murray. Ensign Joseph Coulon de Villiers, Sieur de Jumonville,” I sighed. I was really getting tired of saying his name, “and his team took me hostage. I escaped last night.”
“I haven’t heard of him.”
“You wouldn’t have. He isn’t notable.” I suppose he was notable enough to have a glen named after him. It was on my list of places to visit. I couldn’t remember all the details from my research, but I relayed what I could to the soldier. “And who are you?”
“Captain Henry Spencer, at your service, Mistress Murray,” he said as he gave a slight bow with his head. “You mentioned something about an escape?”
“Yeah. Escape. I know this is going to sound like I’m crazy. I’m not. Really. But I got lost and stumbled across an encampment and it was Jumonville, Bouchard, and about thirty other French soldiers. They held me hostage and beat the crap out of me for about a week. We marched north and joined at least five hundred other soldiers. I really couldn’t tell how many there were at the meeting point. It was dark when I escaped. I knew someone would be at the fort that was being built, so I went to warn them about the attack,” I belted out in one breath. He raised an eyebrow in response to my story. How do people raise one eyebrow? He was going to believe me or not. I was too tired, too hungry, and too sore to care anymore. Private MacDonald remained quiet on the saddle behind me. I had hoped that he would speak up and offer some validation to my story, but he was young, inexperienced, and—apparently at this point—mute. “Listen, if Bouchard or Jumonville get their hands on me, they will kill me.”
“Right then. Tanaghrisson warned me about the French and told me not to go to the fort. I thought I could get there before the French. I should have listened to him.” Captain Spencer looked me over. I’m not sure why he believed what I told him. “Private MacDonald, I’ll travel with the two of you to meet up with your unit and head to the rendezvous at Wills Creek.”
They kept the conversation to a minimum as we rode further away from the fort. Spencer and MacDonald chatted about the progress of the build. The fort was far from finished. Weather delays and a lack of support stalled progress. They would have installed a gate in the upcoming days, if they had built it. Captain Spencer grunted in disapproval.
We headed towards wherever this meeting point was located. Wills Creek was not on my list of places to visit. We had traveled for a good part of the day, stopping only for bathroom breaks—which I desperately needed—and a drink of water from the occasional stream that we crossed. I was surprised that I hadn’t got dysentery with the number of streams I drank out of while on the road. One thing that I don’t like about camping is the lack of a proper toilet. This past week or so, took “roughing it” to a whole new level.
“I hate to bother you,” I interrupted the conversation about whether the spring rains have been too heavy for the young seedlings that had recently been planted. Thinking about the crops made me think of food even more. I don’t know how people do those fasting diets. “Will we be able to get something to eat soon? I think I ate yesterday morning.”
My stomach made an audible protest and drew the attention of the men. We left in such a rush from the fort that there was no time to pack anything to eat. Earlier in the day, Captain Spencer mentioned he had no more rations, as he had expected to have been able to eat at the fort when he would have arrived. Neither man had food for our journey. I would have to ignore the hunger for a while longer.
The slow rock of the horse reminded me of when my late husband Todd would take me on a road trip, and the vibration of the car allowed me to relax my mind and easily fall asleep. My blinks were getting longer. The push of adrenaline from the morning's escape, minimal rations of food for the past week, constant abuse to my body from Bouchard, and the lack of sleep was taking its toll on me. A long blink turned into my head bobbing down. I could feel my body shutting down. I pressed my back into Private MacDonald’s chest for support.
“When we stop, we can,” Captain Spencer started to speak before I couldn’t focus on what he said, and everything went black.