“WITH DRUMS BEATING AND COLORS FLYING”
“My men,” he said, in a choked voice, “to-morrow morning at nine o’clock we shall march out of Fort Necessity beaten but not disgraced. Every man here has done his whole duty, but we were outnumbered three to one; and our fight this day has been for our honor, not for victory, because victory was impossible. We are accorded all the honors of war, which shows that we are fighting men as honorable as ourselves. I thank you every one, officers and soldiers, for the manly defence you have made. This is our first fight, but it is not our last, and the time will come, I hope, when we can wipe out this day’s record by a victory gained not by superior force but by superior gallantry.”
A cheer broke from the men who had listened to him. They were soldiers, and they knew that they had been well commanded, and that the unequal battle had been very nobly fought, and George Washington was one of the few men in the world’s history who could always command in defeat the confidence that other men can only secure in success.
Next morning—by a strange coincidence the Fourth of July, then an unmarked day in the calendar—at nine o’clock the Americans marched out of camp. The French were drawn up in parallel lines in front of the intrenchment. Knowing that the American officers would be afoot, the French officers sent their horses to the rear. As the Americans marched out, with George Washington at their head, the French commander, Duchaine, turned to his officers and said, smiling:
“Look at that beautiful boy-commander! Are not such provincials worth conquering?”
The Americans halted, and George advanced to thank the French commander for the extreme courtesy shown the Americans, for it was the policy of the French to conciliate the Americans, and to profess to think them driven into the war by England.
Before George could speak the Frenchman, saluting, said:
“Colonel Washington, I had heard that you were young, but not until this moment did I fully realize it. All day yesterday I thought I was fighting a man as old in war as I am, and I have been a soldier for more than thirty years.”
George could only say a few words in reply, but to the core of his heart he felt the cordial respect given him by his enemies.
But his thoughts were bitter on that homeward march. He had been sent out to do great things, and he came back a defeated man. By the watch-fires at night he prepared his account to be submitted to Governor Dinwiddie, and it was the most painful work of his life. After two weeks’ travel, the latter part of it in advance of his command, he reached Williamsburg. The House of Burgesses was in session, and this gave him a painful kind of satisfaction. He would know at once what was thought of his conduct.