George Washington; or, Life in America One Hundred Years Ago.

by John S. C. Abbott

The menace which Governor Dinwiddie had sent by Washington, was not unheeded by the French authorities. Immediately they commenced rearing a fortress, which they had, for some time, been contemplating. A thousand men from Canada descended the Alleghany river in sixty French bateaux and three hundred Indian canoes, taking with them a strong armament and a large supply of military stores. They commenced their fortress where Pittsburg now stands, calling it Fort Duquesne.[25] The forest resounded with the blows of the axe men. A thousand French soldiers, many of them skilled as masons and carpenters, plied all their energies in rearing the walls. Several hundred Indians eagerly aided, heaving along massive blocks of stone, and dragging heavy timbers.

Rapidly the works arose, fashioned by the most accomplished military engineers. Eighteen pieces of cannon were soon in position. And by the time the little army of Governor Dinwiddie had blindly commenced its march, the frowning walls of Fort Duquesne could have bid defiance to ten times the force the infatuated governor had sent to drive the French, “neck and heels,” out of the valley.

Scarcely any mistake, in a military officer, can be greater than that of despising his enemy. The French authorities, in Canada, had carefully read Washington’s report. They had made themselves intimately acquainted with all the discussions in the legislature. They had watched every movement. They had read Governor Dinwiddie’s order to “disperse, capture, or kill” them all. They were as well acquainted with the number of troops sent to attack them, and with the strength of their armament, as was the youthful Colonel Washington himself. They knew the day and the hour when the march was commenced; and, by the aid of Indian runners, kept themselves pretty accurately informed of the progress which the army made in its advance.

The march, through the barren and rugged ranges of the Alleghanies, for a distance of nearly one hundred miles, was exhausting in the extreme. There was often suffering for food. Though in the rich and well-watered plains beyond, game was abundant, it was very scarce amid the bleak crags of the mountains. Experienced hunters accompanied the little band, whose duty it was to range the country for one or two miles on each side of the line of march, and bring in such game as could be shot down.

Slowly and painfully the soldiers toiled along, until they had accomplished the passage of the mountains, and, emerging from the rugged defiles, had entered hunting grounds which were abundantly stocked with every variety of game. The troops had reached the valley of the Monongahela, and, buoyant with hope, were pressing forward, sanguine in the expectation of the entire success of their enterprise, when their march was arrested by the appalling tidings which we have recorded.

They were within three or four days’ march of the fortress when a courier communicated the alarming intelligence which we have related. To add to their consternation, he stated, that a combined and outnumbering force of French and Indians were on the rapid march to attack them in front, while a numerous array of Indian warriors had already reached their rear to cut off their retreat. More awful tidings for a young and ambitious soldier, can scarcely be conceived. Retreat was impossible. Even without encountering any foe, his exhausted troops, destitute of food, and with the game driven from their path, would inevitably perish by the way. But to add to his consternation he was told that the veteran soldiers of France, fresh from their barracks, in greatly outnumbering force, were coming down, at the double quick, upon his front; while Indian warriors, the strength of whose bands he could not compute, were lining the path of his retreat with their ambushes.[26]

To surrender his whole force, without striking a blow, was worse than death. In utter desperation to undertake a battle, would be an act of madness. It could, by no possibility, result otherwise than in the destruction of his little army. Though pride might dictate the act, the conscience of Washington recoiled from thus dooming his men to inevitable and useless death. France and England were then at peace. Though, as ever, each was regarding the other with a watchful and a jealous eye, still ostensibly friendly relations existed between the two governments.

France had discovered the valley of the Ohio, had explored it, and for more than half a century had been engaged in a lucrative traffic with the Indians, establishing trading posts, which were strongly fortified. Missionary operations, for converting and teaching the Indians, were connected with nearly all these stations. The claim of the French to the territory was founded, as France thought, upon the universally recognized laws of nations.

The measure of the hot-headed Governor Dinwiddie was totally unwarranted. Without any declaration of war, he had fitted out a military expedition, to take possession of the country, and to disperse, kill, or capture all the Frenchmen found in it. This was dishonorable warfare. It was the act of an individual, who was unfortunately invested with power. Such acts are almost invariably followed by calamity. But in this case, as in so many others, the calamity mainly fell, inexplicably, not so much upon him who had issued the orders, as upon the agents, who, unfamiliar with diplomatic right and wrong, were employed and almost forced to execute them.

As usual, rumor had exaggerated the facts. The French officers on the Ohio, who were rearing their homes in one of the most fertile and genial of earthly climes, who were living on terms of even affectionate relationship with the Indians, were very anxious to avoid any collision with the English colonists, which would involve the two kingdoms in war. They were in possession of the country; they were carrying on a very profitable trade with the natives, and were continually lengthening their lines and strengthening their posts.