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Updated: May 29, 2025
And when the plates were cleared away and only the pipes and wine remained, Peyronie sang us a song in French, and Spiltdorph one in German, and Polson one in Gaelic, and old Christopher Gist, who stuck in his head to see what was toward, was pressed to pay for his entertainment by giving us a Cherokee war-song, which he did with much fire and spirit.
Lieutenant Spiltdorph was selected to escort them to Virginia, and set off with them toward noon, together with twenty men, cursing the ill-luck which deprived him of the opportunity to make the remainder of the campaign with us.
"Oh, you fools!" and white with rage, he gave the order to retreat. A moment later, as I looked around, I saw that Spiltdorph was not with us. "Where is he?" I asked. "Where is Spiltdorph?" Waggoner motioned behind us. "He was hit," he said. "He was killed by those cowardly assassins." "Perhaps he is not dead!" I cried, and before he could prevent me, I ran back to the log.
I think Spiltdorph had some twinges concerning his pipe, for he was a conscientious fellow, but he could not decide to give it up, and finally kept it with him, arguing artfully that without it he must inevitably fall ill, and so be of no use whatever. Dear fellow, I wonder what warrior, the envy of his tribe, smokes it now in his wigwam beside the Miami?
"Well," said Peyronie deliberately, "if it were left to me, the first thing I should do would be to cut down Spiltdorph's supply of tobacco and take away from him that great porcelain pipe, which must weigh two or three pounds." "I should like to see you do it," grunted Spiltdorph, and he took his pipe from his lips to look at it lovingly.
I looked up, and you were kneeling over me. But when I would have told you what I had to tell, my voice was smothered in a rush of blood." "Oh, come!" I cried, "this is mere foolishness. You do not believe in dreams, Spiltdorph?" "No," he answered. "And yet I never had such a dream as this." "Why, man," I said, "look around you. Do you see any sign of the French?
When we reached the second ford, about one in the afternoon, we found that the bank was not yet made passable for the wagons and artillery, so we drew up along the shingle until this could be done. Pickets were posted on the heights, and half the force kept under arms, in case of a surprise. Spiltdorph and I sauntered together to the water's edge, and watched the pioneers busy at their work.
He also had been promoted for his gallantry, and now had his own company of rangers. There was Captain Polson, for whom a tragic fate was waiting, and my old captain, Adam Stephen. And there was Carolus Spiltdorph, advanced to a lieutenancy like myself, and by great good fortune in my company. We began to chum together at once, sharing our blankets and tobacco, and continued so until the end.
Colonel Washington reached camp an hour ago, to be here for to-morrow's battle." "To-morrow's battle," repeated Spiltdorph softly. "Ah, yes, I had forgot. Do you know, Stewart, if I were superstitious, I should fear the result of to-morrow's battle, for I had a dream about it." "What was the dream?" I asked. "No matter, we are not women," and he turned to go to sleep again. "Good-night."
Quick as a flash, I fired and brought down another. For an instant the Indians stood dazed at the suddenness of the attack, and then with a yell they broke for the other side of the clearing. Spiltdorph would have started down toward the house, but I held him back. "Not yet," I said. "They will stop so soon as they get to cover. Wait a bit."
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