The Trap

(Source)

Little Wolf had seen twenty men, one of them the English officer Will Jefferson, approaching along the opposite side of the ridge. What he hadn't seen was a second party of twelve men, all Mohicans, led by Standing Wolf. That group had been near the top of the ridge, looking for the Abenaki scouts¹. With no success.

"There is a low spot further along the ridge, Blue Eyes. The French will go that way after skirting the village of the strange people." Standing Wolf had said to Jefferson that morning before dawn.

"Strange people?" Jefferson had asked.

"They believe in strange things, they claim to be Abenaki, but none of the other members of that confederation will have any dealings with them. They fight at night, it is said that they eat human flesh. Strange people."

Jefferson looked unsettled by that news, he also told himself that they should also avoid that place. Cannibals!

Just before dawn Standing Wolf set out with his flanking party, his thought was to get above the notch and set up an ambush there for when the French came through. He assumed that they would do so because in all his dealings with the Europeans they tended to do things the easiest way possible. Why climb over the ridge when they could simply use the notch? It was a perfect spot for an ambush.

He was right.

Sergent Malheur had given Little Wolf eight of his best men, his most experienced men, to cover the right flank of their position. He had studied the terrain in the final light of yesterday. Where the ridge dipped down to the notch it would be easy to send a party slightly above that notch. If he was setting an ambush for someone moving north, he would do that.

Jacques Gaudry was with Little Wolf, so the right flank numbered ten men all told. Caporal² Paul Soult had objected to taking the younger of the Gaudry brothers, the Indian he didn't mind as the man knew the terrain. "Mon Sergent, he is but a boy, I know nothing of him but that he is young. A strong lad, yes, seldom complained on the march south, but still, he is a child."

Malheur nodded thoughtfully then said, "Do you know he travelled the Great River with only his brother last summer? They traveled through these very lands, just the two of them. These Gaudry boys know the forest almost as well as the Abenaki. Let him guide you into position, he knows nothing of war, that is true, but he will listen to you. You should listen to him when it comes to the ways of this land."

"Very well, I still don't like it but..."

"Would it make you feel better to face the Mohican with one less man, or two? He and the Abenaki are close, like brothers. I would not send Gaudry but the Abenaki's French, while very good, may not be good enough for our purposes. At least Jacques knows the words of drill and command."

"Oui Sergent, that much is true."

Dull Knife was watching his war chief, Standing Wolf seemed nervous, something was bothering him. Dull Knife saw nothing to be concerned about, they had defeated les français and their Abenaki dogs many times in the past. This was almost too easy, chasing down frightened children in the forest was harder.

Standing Wolf was nervous, his senses were trying to tell him something on this forested hillside. The day was dawning and the weather was pleasant. How hard could it be to set up an ambush like this? Why was he so on edge?

As the flanking party began to descend down to the lower part of the slope, the forest began to thin out somewhat. Standing Wolf could see the trail that led through the gap between this ridge and the next. As he gave the signal for his warriors to spread out to cover the trail, he caught movement out of the corner of his left eye. He started to turn in that direction.

Private Alphonse Côté was the best shot in the Third Company, perhaps the best shot in the regiment. Caporal Soult had left it to him to judge when it was best to open fire. The patrol was relying on him to start the fight. He wanted to make sure his first shot counted.

He had first noticed the big warrior when he had gestured to the others, clearly the man was some sort of leader. Côté determined that that man would be the first to fall. When he had started to turn in the direction of the French right flank, Côté pulled the trigger of his firelock. As always, he said a little prayer to ask for the flint to strike cleanly and for the spark to travel to the main charge. If that happened, he knew the bullet would fly as true as a smoothbore could send it.

The flash of the priming charge was followed almost immediately by the kick of the heavy musket as the main charge detonated, propelling the lead ball on its way. Côté grunted with satisfaction as he began the process of reloading his weapon. Seeing the smoke billow forth from the small grove in which they were hidden made him realize that the ambush was a success. His fellow soldiers had fired within a second of his shot.

Dull Knife looked on in astonishment as his war chief was knocked to the ground, a spray of bright red blood indicating that Standing Wolf had been badly wounded if not killed outright. His astonishment didn't last long as he too was hit. His last thought was that he would be sad not to see his woman again.

When Lieutenant Will Jefferson heard the rattle of musketry on the hillside above him, his first thought was that Standing Wolf had somehow started the fight too early. There was no way the French would be moving this early. The thought that they had been there all night never crossed his mind. He had severely underestimated his opponent.

Soult was reloading again, for at least the fourth time by his reckoning, the slight breeze had died and the powder smoke was starting to thicken around their position. As he brought his firelock up, he felt a hand on his shoulder.

"Mon Caporal, the enemy are all down. We should sweep down the hill, we can take the men in the notch from behind." Jacques Gaudry knew for a certainty that the Mohicans they had been firing on were all down, Little Wolf was already collecting scalps in the sparse tress where the flanking party had been slaughtered.

Soult hesitated, then bellowed, "À baïonnettes! En avant!³"

Lieutenant Will Jefferson was down on one knee, he was clutching his right side, trying to staunch the flow of blood from the ball which had torn his uniform coat open and ripped his flesh. The pain was nearly overwhelming.

He looked towards the French line, he knew they were opposed by French soldiers alone, he had heard no war cries, he had seen no arrows fly. The volleys which had emanated from the woods before him had been methodical and deadly. Most of his warriors were down, those who had survived the initial volleys had taken to their heels. He couldn't blame them, had he been able, he would have fled as well. His honor be damned.

When he heard the screams from behind him, he knew the French had closed the trap.

Sergent Malheur commanded the men to cease fire. The smoke was getting too thick to see and he detected no return fire, musket balls or arrows.

"On your feet lads, fix your bayonets."

Fixing his own bayonet, Malheur looked to both sides, the men were ready. As he commanded the men to advance, Alain Gaudry joined him.

"The enemy are destroyed mon Sergent, one man remains, an English officer from the look of it. Caporal Soult's party hit the Mohicans from behind."

Malheur cocked an eyebrow, so there was a European among the Mohican, who, from what he could see, were mostly dead on the ground, one perhaps two were still moving, though weakly, soon to die. "Bring him to me!" Malheur commanded.

"He is badly wounded mon Sergent, he may die."

"Very well, take me to him."

Carefully, Jefferson peeled the tattered cloth away from his wound. The pain was immense. Gingerly he felt the  wound, it wasn't a graze, the ball was still inside him. He was on both knees now, his consciousness seemed to be fading. Surely he couldn't be hurt that bad?

He heard voices, footsteps on the forest floor, he looked up to see three French soldiers walking towards him. Frenchmen, thank God they weren't Abenaki. Then he passed out.

Alain knelt by the Englishman, he checked for a pulse, the man was still alive. "He yet lives mon Sergent."

Malheur nodded, thinking, "What am I to do with a wounded Englishman?" To Gaudry he said, "How bad is his wound?"

Gaudry looked at his sergeant and said, "Bad, I would hesitate to move him."

Malheur nodded again. "Where is Little Wolf?"

Jefferson opened his eyes, he had his back to a tree. His eyes went wide when he saw the Abenaki kneeling in front of him. He was surprised when the native spoke French to one of the soldiers standing nearby.

"You speak French?" Jefferson asked in amazement.

Little Wolf turned to the Englishman with a wolfish grin, "Why not, you do?"

Jefferson nearly fainted when the Abenaki drew a long knife and said, in French, "Hold him."

¹ The Mohicans thought there were more than one, in truth, Little Wolf was the only Abenaki with the French party.

² Corporal

³ With the bayonet! Forward!

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