George had held his commission as major for more than a year, and at twenty-one military titles have a captivating sound. So Major Washington, as soon as he had got his supper, changed his travelling-suit, and, preceded by Billy with a lantern, picked his way through the muddy streets to the palace. The governor was sitting in his closet, as his private room was called in those times, with Colonel Byrd and Colonel Steptoe, his colonial secretary, when the door opened and Major Washington was announced.
George’s appearance, always striking, was more so from the handsome mourning-suit he still wore, although his brother had been dead more than a year. It showed off his blond beauty wonderfully well. His features had become more marked as he grew older, and although his face lacked the regular beauty of his father’s, who had been thought the handsomest man of his time, there was a piercing expression, an indescribable look of dignity and intelligence in George’s countenance, which marked him in every company.
The governor, who was a fussy but well-meaning man, began, as soon as the formal greetings were over: “Major Washington, I have work in hand for you. I am told by my Lord Fairfax and others that you are the fittest person in the colony for the expedition I have in hand. It requires the discretion of an old man, but it also requires the hardiness and strength of a young man; and you see, therefore, what a burden I lay upon you.”
George’s face turned quite pale at these words. “Sir,” he stammered, “you ask more of me than I can do. I will give all my time and all my mind to my country; but I am afraid, sir—I am very much afraid—that you are putting me in a position that I am not capable of filling.”
“We must trust some one, Major Washington, and I sent not for you until I and my council had fully determined what to do. Here are your instructions. You will see that you are directed to set out with a suitable escort at once for the Ohio River, and convene all the chiefs you can at Logstown. You are to find out exactly how they stand towards us. You are then to take such a route as you think judicious to the nearest French post, deliver a letter from me, sealed with the great seal of the colony, to the French commandant, and demand an answer in the name of his Britannic majesty. You are to find out everything possible in regard to the number of French forts, their armament, troops, commissariat, and where they are situated; and upon the information you bring will depend to a great degree whether there shall be war between England and France. When will you be ready to depart?”
“To-morrow morning, sir,” answered George.
CHAPTER XVIII
The next day, the 31st of October, 1753, George set forth on his arduous mission. He had before him nearly six hundred miles of travelling, much of it through an unbroken wilderness, where snow and ice and rain and hail at that season were to be expected. In the conference with the governor and his advisers, which lasted until after midnight, George had been given carte blanche in selecting his escort, which was not to exceed seven persons until he reached Logstown, when he could take as many Indians as he thought wise. He quickly made up his mind as to whom he wanted. He wished first a person of gentle breeding as an interpreter between himself and the French officers. He remembered Captain Jacob Vanbraam, a Dutch officer, now retired, and living at Fredericksburg, who might be induced to make the journey. Then there were Gist and John Davidson. It was thought best, however, to take an Indian along as interpreter for the Indians, as they might complain, in case of a misunderstanding, that Davidson had fooled them. In regard to the other three persons George concluded that it would be well to wait until he reached Greenway Court, which was directly in the route of his outward journey, as he would be most likely to find in that vicinity a person better used to such an expedition than in the lower country. Armed with full credentials by the governor, and with a belt around his body containing a large sum in gold and negotiable bills, George at daylight took the road he had traversed the night before.
He determined not to take Billy on the expedition, but he rather dreaded the wild howlings and wailings which he thought it was certain Billy would set up when he found he could not go. George therefore thought it well as they trotted along to make Billy ride up with him, and describe all the anticipated hardships of the coming journey. He did not soften one line in the picture, and enlarged particularly upon the scarcity of food, and the chances of starving in the wilderness, or being scalped and roasted by Indians. Billy’s countenance during this was a study. Between his devotion to George and his terror of the impending expedition Billy was in torment, and when at last George told him he must remain at either Mount Vernon or Ferry Farm, Billy did not know whether to howl or to grin.
George reached Fredericksburg that night, and went immediately to Captain Vanbraam’s house. The Dutchman, a stout, middle-aged man, yet of a soldierly appearance, at once agreed to go, and, in the few hours necessary for his preparations, George took the opportunity of crossing the river, and spending the night with his mother and sister and brothers at Ferry Farm. His mother was full of fear for him, but she realized that this brave and gifted son was no longer solely hers—his country had need of him as soon as he came of age. Next morning Betty went with him across the river, and bade him good-bye with the smiling lips and tear-filled eyes that always marked her farewells with George, her best beloved. Billy wept vociferously, but was secretly much relieved at being left behind. Four days afterwards George and Captain Vanbraam reached Greenway Court, having sent an express on the way to Gist and Davidson, who lived on the Great North Mountain.