The Youth of Washington: Told in the Form of an Autobiography

by S. Weir Mitchell

I met this officer again in 1773, when, being a general, he was entertained at dinner by the citizens of New York. At this time the freedom of the city of New York was presented to him in a gold box having on it the arms of that city, and below, those of the King.[2] Our final intercourse was by letter, when he was besieged in Boston and I felt it needful to remonstrate upon his treatment of prisoners.

[2] Now in the possession of Lord Rosebery.

So many officers were wounded that, early on the day after the battle, although very weak, it fell to me, having at last been better horsed, to carry orders to the force we had left forty miles in our rear.

With a half-dozen horse I rode on all night in a drizzle of rain, and so all the next day, very melancholy and ready to drop with fatigue. Indeed, I fell down as I dismounted when I rode in to Colonel Dunbar’s camp, and was only revived by a little spirits and a good meal.

The whole force which we had left here were more scared, I believe, than those who had been in the battle; for the runaway waggoners told terrible stories, and it was with great difficulty that this division of the army was kept from flying.

The shocking scenes which presented themselves in this march to Dunbar’s camp are not to be described: the dead, the dying, the groans, the lamentations and cries for help of the wounded along the road (for those who were hurt endeavoured, from the first commencement of the action, or rather the confusion, to escape to the second division), were enough to pierce a heart of adamant. Our trouble was not a little increased by the impervious darkness occasioned by the thick woods, which rendered it almost impossible for the guides to know when they were in or out of the track except by groping on the ground with their hands to find the way. It was happy for the wreck of the foremost division that they left such a quantity of valuable and enticing baggage on the field as to occasion a scramble and contention in the seizure and distribution of it among the enemy; for if a pursuit had taken place by passing directly across the deep defiles of Turtle Creek, which General Braddock had avoided, they would have got into our rear, and then the whole, except a few woodsmen, would have fallen victims to the merciless savages.

The provisions and waggon needed for the general were made ready during the night, and at break of day, with two companies of grenadiers, I rode back again, hardly knowing if I should drop on the road. I met the general at Gist’s cabin, some thirteen miles away. On our return we halted half a day at Dunbar’s camp, and then hurried on with his force to Great Meadows, where we camped on the 13th of July. There were, as some of us believed, still men enough, if fitly handled, to return and surprise the French; but, as Gist said, these men were already defeated, and no one of those in command meant to try it again. Indeed, Dunbar intended for Philadelphia and to wait there for reinforcements. Even Governor Dinwiddie would have had him make a new campaign; but they had all of them had, as Dr. Craik said, a big dose of Indian medicine, and a council decided with the colonel. The governor was much troubled when he heard of this decision, and, as he told me later, wrote to Lord Halifax that he would have now not only to guard the border, but to protect the counties from combinations of negro slaves, who had become, Governor Dinwiddie declared, audacious since General Braddock’s defeat, because the poor creatures believed the French would give them their freedom. My wounded general’s proud spirit gave way when he heard of Colonel Dunbar’s intention. He lived four days after the battle, having been brought in much pain, and still more distress of mind, to the camp at Great Meadows.

For the most part he was silent and only now and then let a groan. Dr. Craik told me that he cried out over and over: “Who would have believed it possible?” Once he said to Captain Stewart: “We shall know better next time; but what will the duke say? [That was his Grace of Cumberland.] What will he say?” On the morning of the 13th Dr. Craik said the general had made his will and desired to see me. When he was aware of my coming into his hut, he put out his left hand, saying, “That is the only hand which is left,” for the ball had gone through his right arm. He was said to be a great wit, but that a man about to die should have spirit to use his dying breath in a jest much astonished me.

He said: “I want you to take my horse and my man, Bishop. I have told St. Clair.” Then he said: “I should have taken your advice. Too late; too late.” After this he closed his eyes, and again, after a little, opened them and said feebly: “If I lived I should never wish to see a red coat again. My compliments to the governor.” He spoke no more, only, “How they will curse me!” and I went out. In fact, I was too weak to endure the deadly sorrow with which this brave man’s miserable end afflicted me, to whom he had been so kind a friend.

I endeavoured to distract my mind by examining the remains of the fort I had here made. To my amazement, I saw, as I moved about, that there was little discipline, and I observed that where there is too much drill and mechanical order a defeat does away with it entirely. The colonials it was hard to instruct; but as every man was used to rely on himself at any minute, and not to look all the time for orders, they suffered less during disaster, and on a retreat knew how to care for themselves. Now the few that were left looked on with wonder at the stupid destruction of waggons, provisions, and even artillery. Many of the officers were disgusted, and protested against these disgraceful proceedings.