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Hunter watched the antagonism mount between the industrious Virginians and the slothful troops under Mackay's command, knowing such a feud would aid the French rather than anyone in their camp. When George Washington announced that he intended to leave Mackay at Great Meadows, while the Virginia Regiment extended their road over Laurel Hill to Christopher Gist's settlement, Hunter was the first man ready to leave. Like the Virginians, he preferred the strenuous work of hacking out a road wide enough for wagons and cannon, over watching the men fight amongst themselves while waiting for an attack.
Resolute in their purpose, the regiment crossed the dozen miles to Gist's settlement, and then again set to work creating a defensive entrenchment. Reports from French deserters provided the distressing news that the already well-manned Fort Duquesne was expecting reinforcements. When Indians appearing to be friendly to the British brought warnings of an attack by vast numbers of Frenchmen, Washington sent for Mackay and his troops.
With Gist's house serving as their command post, it was soon decided that the surrounding hills would provide the French with a murderous advantage, and all retreated to Great Meadows over the newly widened road. With but a few pack-horses, the Virginians were forced to carry most of their provisions on their backs and drag the swivel guns, which they relied upon for defense, during the arduous two-day walk. As usual, Mackay's men were of absolutely no help. On July 1, 1754, they returned to Fort Necessity, too exhausted by their travels to retreat farther.
July second was spent in reinforcing the barricades of the crude, square fort. The men had fresh beef to eat, but little else, and their store of ammunition was small. Monacatootha's scouts had reported that the French were rapidly approaching with nine hundred soldiers, supported by countless numbers of Indians. It was clear to all that they were ill prepared for a long siege against a vastly superior force. Rain added to the dismal nature of their outlook.
The enemy was first sighted at mid-morning on July third. Washington advanced to meet them on the plain in front of the fort, but the wily French scattered and opened fire from the cover of the two adjacent hills. Washington then ordered his troops to drop back to the entrenchment, but, caught in a crossfire, they could inflict little damage. The rain continued to fall, at times rendering the visibility so poor they could not even see the enemy, let alone shoot one. They mounted the swivel guns on the rampart, but there was so little cover for the gunners, they were unable to maintain steady fire.
"We don't have much powder left," Elliott warned.
Their plight had been so dire all day that Hunter wasn't greatly alarmed. Unwilling to face certain defeat, Monacatootha and his braves had withdrawn before the fight had begun, but Hunter had not even considered leaving with them. He raised up slightly, took careful aim, and fired. Through the drizzling rain and smoke he saw a Frenchman fall, but he quickly ducked his head before he became a target.
"When we run out of powder, I'll do what I can with my bow."
Elliott doubted there was a braver man among them. "You don't even look tired," he murmured in awe.
"This is no time to be tired!"
"I realize that, but, Lord, I'm weary." Elliott removed his hat momentarily to pour the water off the brim. Nearby a man who'd been wounded lay sobbing, while his friends tended him in the mud. Elliott glanced over at him and shuddered. "I didn't think it would be this bad."
"I did," Hunter replied. He rose up again, and this time took aim at an Indian he recognized as an Abenaki. The brave suddenly turned toward him, and the intensity of the hatred reflected in his gelid gaze caused Hunter to hesitate a second too long. In the next instant, the rain swirled around the Abenaki in a dense wave, and unwilling to waste a shot on a man who might duck for cover, Hunter dipped low without firing.
"Where's Byron?" he asked.
"He's on the other side."
The shooting was no less intense there, but Hunter believed Byron would survive. Hoping for a second shot at the Abenaki, he eased up again, but when he heard one of the French call out, he sank back down out of range and yanked Elliott down beside him. "The French want to talk. Hold your fire."
Washington knew as well as any of his men just how desperate their situation was. One hundred of his force of three hundred eighty-four had been too sick to fight, and in the day-long battle, another hundred had become casualties. Not wanting the French to send a spy into their midst to make such a report, he declined their offer to talk. It wasn't until the French commander suggested he send an officer to them, that he finally agreed. He had only two men who were fluent in French, one, an ensign, was wounded, so the other, Captain Vanbraam, a Dutchman, had to go.
When Vanbraam returned, Hunter stood at Elliott's elbow to hear the French proposal. "The French commander is Coulon de Villiers. He says his brother, Coulon de Jumonville, was the ensign killed when we captured the spies. While clearly he's come for revenge, most of his terms are reasonable." The discussion which followed was lit by a candle frequently extinguished by the rain, but by midnight, terms agreeable to both sides had been reached, George Washington signed the surrender, and freed his French prisoners.
Early the next morning, Fort Necessity was abandoned. During the battle, all the horses and cattle had been slain, so any soldier able to help carry the wounded and sick was obliged to do so. They had been accorded the honors of war and left accompanied by dr
ums with their flags waving proudly. They had been allowed to keep their muskets, and one of the swivel guns, but it was a pathetic parade which would have to cover the fifty-four mile route back over the Alleghenies to Will's Creek.
Among the able-bodied, Hunter was carrying a severely wounded man on his back, when several volleys of musket fire rang out farther down the line. Fearing they had again fallen under attack, Hunter did not wait for an order. He eased the wounded soldier down onto the grass at the side of the road, and hurriedly reassured him that he would soon return.
Terrified that he would be forgotten, the injured man reached out to grab Hunter's arm, but caught only a handful of fringe. "No, don't leave me," he begged.
Hunter pried his fingers loose. "If there's trouble, I must stop it before it reaches you. Now let me go." He watched the fear in the soldier's eyes turn to confusion, but at last he gave a feeble nod and Hunter got away. Others were also attempting to dodge the wounded and make their way to the rear, but Hunter was among the first to reach those in need of aid.
The troops at the end of the column had been set upon by Indians, and when Hunter saw the Abenaki brave he had missed shooting during the battle, he screamed, "Coward! You attack the wounded rather than men who can fight!" He raised the musket he'd been given, intending to send the brave straight to hell, but a badly wounded soldier chose that instant to stagger to his feet and blocked the shot.
"Blind Snake is no coward!" the Abenaki shouted, and waving a bloody scalp, he followed his fleeing band into the trees.
Hunter started after them, but Byron caught up with him and hauled him back. "No, stay. We can't spare you," he ordered.
Hunter looked around at the bloody scene. In the surprise attack, two of the men wounded in the previous day's battle had been murdered and scalped, and several others appeared near death. The medicine chest had been reduced to splinters, and the medicines which would have eased the wounded men's pain had been ruined.
"The Abenaki are no better than vultures," he complained. "Let me go after them."
"No," Byron insisted again. "We may have seen only a few of a much larger war party, and I'll not risk losing you. The French may be unable to control their Indian allies, but I'll not tolerate the same wild streak in you."
Outraged by that undeserved taunt, Hunter stepped back and regarded Byron with a newly suspicious gaze. "I would never stalk a retreating army to kill their wounded. Indians are like white men. Some have honor and others do not." Disgusted that Byron would compare him to murderers, he threw his musket at his feet. "Keep your weapon. I'll have no more need of it."
Hunter turned away, and Byron called out to him. "Where are you going?"
