“Back towards the fort? I can’t seem to get away from this area, can I?” I exclaimed to Henry one evening.
It was mid-May as we headed north to a place called the Great Meadows. Washington’s troops were expanding the road over the Allegheny Mountains and each day brought us closer. Most of the days I had spent helping where I could and stayed out of the way when I couldn’t. Henry and I kept our conversations in the present for fear that someone may overhear us. Social decorum kept us from being alone together. It didn’t matter that we had spent weeks together traveling alone. When it came time to be in front of the men and his commanding officer, Henry fulfilled the expectations of his position. I found it charming and annoying at the same time. I knew the closer we got to the Great Meadows, the closer we got to the conflict that started the war.
Great Meadows was a favorite of Washington’s. It had a fairly open area, surrounded by the mountains, with a stream that ran through the middle of it. The surrounding woods would offer the opportunity for hunting and pasture for the horses, cows, and goats we brought with us. We set up our tents and planned to make it a base for the next couple of weeks while trees were felled, and the road widened.
“This is our current mission. The road will make it easier to move troops north.” Henry plopped down next to the fire I used for cooking.
“I know it’s just been, well, boring. I got used to our adventures, our side quests.” I slid the sewing basket into my tent. “Now, all I do is cook, clean, mend clothes, and really, that is the least exciting thing I could do.” I will not confirm that I might have stuck my lower lip out in a childish pout.
“I thought you said all of this was… what was your turn of phrase? Stupid and that you did not like all the distractions.” Henry laughed at me while he poked at the fire. It was early evening, and we finally had the opportunity to sit down and relax.
“I’m thinking I prefer the distractions.” I sat back against a log. The long day had finally end and I was spent.
“I can take you away from here.” Henry looked away from the fire towards me. “Would you like to go back to Fredericksburg? I have a home in Williamsburg if you would like to go there instead.”
“My home outside of Fredericksburg won’t exist for another two hundred years.” I picked up the stick Henry used to poke the fire and poked holes into the ground with it. What I needed was a distraction and stabbing the ground seemed to be a good distraction. “I would like to see your plantation or your home in Williamsburg.”
“My plantation is not the safest of places with the ongoing quarrels with the French. The other is currently occupied by Mistress Lovett.”
“You own the Lovett’s house? Why didn’t you mention that before?” My eyes could burn a hole through him. “Besides, before I go anywhere, you know I need to get my notebook back.” I wasn’t going to dwell on the Lovetts. “So, I can’t leave here. I just get to pack up camp, set up camp, mend, wash clothes, and cook, biding my time until we meet up with Jumonville. I feel so domesticated. Blah.” Stab. Poke. Stab. Poke. Poor ground, it took the abuse.
“We’ll figure out how to get your notebook back. Yesterday, Lieutenant Colonel Washington sent seventy-five men with Gist to search the area for the French.”
I perked up. “Well, that’s great, why didn’t we go with him.”
“Captain Spencer,” Private Brown came running over to us. “Lieutenant Colonel Washington requires your presence at his tent.”
Henry and I looked at each other. Men stirred around the camp. Something was amiss. He ran over to the tent. I was hot on his trail. Henry entered a tent filled with men. An arm blocked my entry. They wouldn’t allow me in. I stomped my foot in protest, but stood outside, in hopes of finding out what was with all the racket.
I could hear the excitement in all their voices. Mingo scouts had come across French soldiers about six miles from where we were located. This sounded familiar to me. I wondered if Jumonville would be with them. It felt as though they took forever debating if they would advance. Tanaghrisson’s men had spotted them and reported their findings to our group. Jumonville and Bouchard must be with the group. Tanaghrisson told me they would find him. If they were going to scout the group, I had to go with them. I needed to get the notebook back before Jumonville could cause damage with the information in it or it could reveal my secret to the masses. They would label me a witch and in 1754, that would not go over well at all.
Henry pulled me by the arm as he rushed out of the tent. “Jumonville has been spotted.” We headed back towards his company tents.
“I knew it!” I exclaimed, louder than I had expected. “I’m coming with you.” Elated, I was ready to conquer this mission.
“You need to stay here,” he said as he leaned close to my ear. “I will get your notebook for you. I cannot allow you to go with us.”
“You can and you will.” I stopped in my tracks like a stubborn child. “I know what it looks like, and I want him to know that I am the one taking it back.”
“Amelia, I don’t want you hurt.” He turned to face me. “We are taking weapons, and I don’t want you in the middle of it.”
“Listen, I need to look him in the eye and let him know he has not won. I need to do this, Henry.” I grabbed his hand and pleaded.
He looked down at my hand that held his. “You are going to be the death of me, woman.” He let out a huff.
“I hope not.” I snorted a laugh. “I can’t do this without you.”
He took a deep breath and pinched between his eyes with his free hand. “Come on,” he said, defeated. We gathered a few items and met up with the group of soldiers.
We walked throughout the night. Forty of us. Six miles through the rainy Allegheny Mountains. My clothes did not appreciate the rain, and neither did I. Dawn approached, the rain subsided, and we met with Tanaghrisson and a group of his men. To say that I was excited to be going into battle with George Washington would be an understatement. No one else understood the significance of this event. I did. I wanted to pee my pants… well… dress. My stomach felt as though it was going to turn upside down.
Tanaghrisson and his men were going to approach the French encampment from behind in the glen. We would approach from above. I would stay behind the frontline. Surprise engagement. That’s what Washington had planned. A low dimmed sun took over the woods in the early morning hours. We could hear men wake up. A deep yawn. Clank of a pan to fix breakfast. Rustle of fabric to get dressed. I remember what it was like traveling with this group. They seemed to take their time in the morning to get started.
Smoke rose from down below in the glen as we approached, weapons ready. They were sitting ducks. They thought the edge of the hill would provide them cover. It only provided us the perfect vantage point. Trees filled the area, but the French had found a spot next to the twenty-foot rocked wall. They were easy to look down on from our high ground position.
I could hear my pulse pounding through my ears like a big drum. Breathe. I tried to steady my breathing, but it was no use. Every breath trembled out. I was about to face my bullies and I was bringing my forty overprotective brothers with me. I had one thought and one thought only: get the notebook. To hell with Jumonville and the asshole, Bouchard, I didn’t care what happened to them.
The sound of gunfire popped through the quiet morning woods. Nesting birds squawked and took flight above the canopy of trees. They scattered in every direction in the sky. Men yelled in French. Outnumbered, outgunned, and outmaneuvered, the French returned fire. I stayed out of range, just beyond the crest of the small cliff. I was determined not to get shot two hundred years before I was supposed to be born. The yelling continued, both in English and French. A scream from below. Another scream. More yelling. More pops from the muskets and pistols. One of the Virginians fell. He laid there in pain, bleeding. Reload. I couldn’t save him. He died before he could take his next breath. Men reloaded pistols and rifles. Shots volleyed back-and-forth. Fifteen minutes later, it stopped. Moans, cries, and barked orders joined the smoke from the gun fire that lingered low in the heavy humid air.
I wanted to see if Jumonville was alive. I silently wished to see Bouchard laying on the ground squirming in pain to his death. Where did that come from? It was unlike me to think with such hatred. But there I was, wanting him to suffer. I needed to get to the bottom of the glen and retrieve my notebook. Henry looked back towards me and nodded for me to come over to him. I wanted to throw up. A deep breath and a twist of the ring around my finger, I walked over to the edge and looked down. Someone had hit Jumonville with a bullet. Under my breath, I had hoped it would have been Henry that shot him. Shot him for me. Bouchard was alive, dirty, and not wounded. Damn. On the ground laid thirteen French soldiers dead or on the brink of death. Twenty-one had surrendered. Tanaghrisson’s men had kept all but one of the French from retreating. We could see the man running away. Private Davies chased after him. Washington stopped him, “Leave him. He can go tell his command that we are not to be challenged.” That was bit arrogant, Washington.
The rest of us worked our way down to the bottom of the glen. Looking up, I could see why Jumonville thought he was hidden from view. He thought he was hidden behind the wall. It was a good thing we had Tanaghrisson on our side or else we would have never seen their approach. Jumonville spoke in French. Apparently, his ability to speak English must have left him while his blood was spilling from his wound. He approached, carrying documents in his hand, along with my notebook. I gave a panicked look towards Henry and Tanaghrisson. There was my notebook and, possibly, my demise. Jumonville held out the papers decorated with his bloody fingerprints.
Tanaghrisson stopped the approach of Jumonville. “You are not yet dead,” Tanaghrisson said. I thought he was going to get my notebook for me. Instead, he pulled out an axe, striking Jumonville in the skull. I gasped and covered my mouth. I could not believe what I witnessed. Yes, I wanted to be rid of him. He held me captive and allowed Bouchard to beat me. What I wasn’t expecting was to see him killed before my eyes. Tanaghrisson grabbed Jumonville’s dead body and scalped him. The rest of his group scalped the rest of the dead. Trophies.
I walked over to Tanaghrisson, shaking with every step I took. I had to see if it was true. Jumonville was dead. His body laid on the ground in a slump. My notebook laid next to him in his outstretched hand. I tried to bend down. My legs shook uncontrollably. I couldn’t. I just stood there. Shaking. I felt a hand touch my back. It startled me. I couldn’t take my eyes off Jumonville. Tanaghrisson picked up my notebook with his hand covered in Jumonville’s blood. The owner of the hand on my back took it from him and pulled me away from the glen. This was not a movie. This really happened. In front of me. Death. Murder. Blood. Flesh sliced away. I cannot get the look of Jumonville out of my mind.