“Yes,” said Doctor Craik; “if there is a next time for him. I fear from the reports that his wound is fatal. He is a brave man. Is it true that he ordered himself to be left—that he wished to stay and die upon the field?”
“I did not hear him say, but Croghan so maintains,” said Washington. “I was a little late at the spot where he lay.”
So they trudged on, in the rout. Washington walked slightly staggering, for as plain to be seen and as had been proved by the pillow, he was still not recovered from his sickness.
The Indians did not pursue. They were too busy gathering plunder. That was fortunate. The army had been cut to pieces. Of the fourteen hundred men and officers nearly two-thirds had been killed or wounded, sixty-three out of the eighty-nine officers were dead or disabled and of the three companies of Virginia Rangers only thirty members were unhurt.
This night of July 9, 1755, camp was made upon the other side of the river; but Washington, who was the only aide left to General Braddock, had to ride forty miles upon a wagon horse with rope bridle and without a saddle, through the rain and darkness to find Colonel Dunbar.
The terrible retreat continued. General Braddock died at the Great Meadows, and was buried only about a mile from old Fort Necessity.
Colonel Dunbar was now in command. He took the fragment of the fine army back to Fort Cumberland and refused to lead another attack upon Fort Duquesne. Instead, he decided to go into winter quarters at Philadelphia; so nothing more was to be done this year.
From Fort Cumberland Washington went home to Mount Vernon, to rest. The Hunter was laid up for some time with the arm that had been wounded and should have been attended to earlier. But there were many worse wounds, and the doctors had been busy.