THE HOUSE WHERE THE FIRST AMERICAN FLAG WAS MADE.

AMERICAN PIONEERS AND PATRIOTS.

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

BY
JOHN S. C. ABBOTT.

ILLUSTRATED.

NEW YORK:
DODD & MEAD, PUBLISHERS,
751 Broadway.

Copyright, Dodd & Mead, 1875.

PREFACE.

As Columbus and La Salle were the most prominent of the Pioneers of America, so was Washington the most illustrious of its Patriots. In the career of Columbus we have a vivid sketch of life in the tropical portions of the New World four hundred years ago.

The adventures of La Salle, in exploring this continent two hundred years ago, from the Northern Lakes to the Mexican Gulf, are almost without parallel, even in the pages of romance. His narrative gives information, such as can nowhere else be found, of the native inhabitants, their number, character, and modes of life when the white man first reached these shores.

The history of George Washington is as replete with marvels as that of either of his predecessors. The world during the last century has made more progress than during the preceding five. The life of Washington reveals to us, in a remarkable degree, the state of society in our land, the manners and customs of the people, their joys and griefs, one hundred years ago.

We search history in vain to find a parallel to Washington. As a statesman, as a general, as a thoroughly good man, he stands pre-eminent. He was so emphatically the Father of his country that it may almost be said that he created the Republic. And now, that we are about to celebrate the Centennial of these United States—the most favored nation upon which the sun shines—it is fitting that we should recall, with grateful hearts, the memory of our illustrious benefactor George Washington.

CONTENTS

George Washington.

CHAPTER I.
The Youth of George Washington.

Lawrence and John Washington—Their Emigration—Augustine Washington—His Marriage with Jane Ball—Birth of George—The Parental Home—The Scenery—Anecdotes—The Mother of Washington—Education—Lord Fairfax—The Surveying Tour—George at the age of seventeen years—The Mansion of Lord Fairfax—Contrast between the English and the French—British Desperadoes—The Ferocity of War—Military Organization—Claims of France and England—Scenes of Woe—Heroic Excursion of Washington to the Ohio.

About two centuries ago there were two young men, in England, by the name of Lawrence and John Washington. They were gentlemen of refinement and education, the sons of an opulent and distinguished family. Lawrence was a graduate of Oxford University, and was, by profession, a lawyer. John entered into commercial and mercantile affairs, and was an accomplished man of business. The renown of Virginia, named after Elizabeth, England’s virgin queen, was then luring many, even of the most illustrious in wealth and rank, to the shores of the New World. Lawrence and John embarked together, to seek their fortunes on the banks of the Potomac.[1]

It was a lovely morning in summer when the ship entered Chesapeake Bay, and sailing up that majestic inland sea, entered the silent, solitary, forest-fringed Potomac. Eagerly they gazed upon the Indian wigwams which were clustered upon the banks of many a sheltered and picturesque cove; and upon the birch canoes, which were propelled by the painted and plumed natives over the placid waters. The two brothers purchased an extensive tract of land, on the western bank of the Potomac, about fifty miles above its entrance into the bay. Here, with an estate of thousands of acres spreading around them, and upon a spot commanding a magnificent view of the broad river and the sublime forests, they reared their modest but comfortable mansion.

John married Miss Pope. We have none of the details of their lives, full of incidents of intensest interest to them, but of little importance to the community at large. Life is ever a tragedy. From the times of the patriarchs until now, it has been, to most of the families of earth, a stormy day with a few gleams of sunshine breaking through the clouds. Children were born and children died. There were the joys of the bridal and the tears of the funeral.

Upon the death of John Washington, his second son, Augustine, remained at home in charge of the paternal acres. He seems to have been, like his father, a very worthy man, commanding the respect of the community, which was rapidly increasing around him. He married Jane Butler, a young lady who is described as remarkably beautiful, intelligent—and lovely in character. A very happy union was sadly terminated by the early death of Jane. A broken-hearted husband and three little children were left to weep over her grave.

The helpless orphans needed another mother. One was found in Mary Ball. She was all that husband or children could desire. Subsequent events drew the attention of the whole nation, and almost of the civilized world, to Mary Washington, for she became the mother of that George, whose name is enshrined in the hearts of countless millions. It is the uncontradicted testimony that the mother of George Washington was, by instinct and culture, a lady; she had a superior mind, well disciplined by study, and was a cheerful, devout Christian.

Augustine and Mary were married on the 6th of March, 1730. They received to their arms their first-born child, to whom the name of George was given, on the 22d of February, 1732. Little did the parents imagine that their babe would go out into the world, from the seclusion of his home amid the forests of the Potomac, to render the name of Washington one of the most illustrious in the annals of our race.

George Washington was peculiarly fortunate in both father and mother. All the influences of home tended to ennoble him. Happiness in childhood is one of the most essential elements in the formation of a good character. This child had ever before him the example of all domestic and Christian virtues. The parental home consisted of a spacious, one-story cottage, with a deep veranda in front. It was, architecturally, an attractive edifice, and it occupied one of the most lovely sites on the banks of the beautiful and majestic Potomac.

Soon after the birth of George, his father moved from the banks of the Potomac to the Rappahannock, nearly opposite the present site of Fredericksburg. Here he died, on the 12th of April, 1743, at the age of forty-nine.

The banks of the Rappahannock were covered with forests, spreading in grandeur over apparently an interminable expanse of hills and vales. In those days there were but few spots, in that vast region, which the axe of the settler had opened to the sun. But the smoke from the Indian camp-fires could often be seen curling up from the glooms of the forests, and the canoes of Indian hunters and warriors often arrested the eye, as they were gliding swiftly over the mirrored waters.

Trained by such parents, and in such a home, George, from infancy, developed a noble character. He was a handsome boy, gentlemanly in his manners, of finely developed figure, and of animated, intelligent features. His physical strength, frankness, moral courage, courtesy, and high sense of honor, made him a general favorite. Every child has heard the story of his trying the keen edge of his hatchet upon one of the favorite cherry trees of his father’s, and of his refusal to attempt to conceal the fault by a lie.[2]

Augustine Lawrence, the father of George, died when his son was but twelve years of age. Mary, a grief-stricken widow, was left with six fatherless children. She proved herself amply competent to discharge the weighty responsibilities thus devolving upon her. George ever honored his mother as one who had been to him a guardian angel. In her daily life she set before him a pattern of every virtue. She instilled into his susceptible mind those principles of probity and piety which ever ornamented his character, and to which he was indebted for success in the wonderful career upon which he soon entered.

In the final division of the parental property, Lawrence, the eldest child of Jane Butler, received the rich estate called Mount Vernon, which included twenty-five hundred acres of land. George received, as his share, the house and lands on the Rappahannock. The paternal mansion in Westmoreland passed to Augustine.

Lady Washington, as she was called, was deemed, before her marriage, one of the most beautiful girls in Virginia. Through all the severe discipline of life, she developed a character of the highest excellence. And thus she obtained an influence over the mind of her son, which she held, unimpaired, until the day of her death.

The wealthy families of Virginia took much pride in their equipage, and especially in the beauty of the horses which drew their massive carriages. Lady Washington had a span of iron-grays, of splendid figure and remarkable spirit, and of which she was very fond. One of these, though very docile by the side of his mate in the carriage harness, had never been broken to the saddle. It was said that the spirited animal would allow no one to mount him. George, though then a lad of but thirteen years of age, was tall, strong, and very athletic.

One morning, as the colts were feeding upon the lawn, George, who had some companions visiting him, approached the high-blooded steed, and after soothing him for some time with caresses, watched his opportunity and leaped upon his back. The colt, for a moment, seemed stupefied with surprise and indignation. Then, after a few desperate, but unavailing attempts, by rearing and plunging, to throw his rider, he dashed over the fields with the speed of the wind.

George, glorying in his achievement, and inconsiderate of the peril to which he was exposing the animal, gave the frantic steed the rein. When the horse began to show signs of exhaustion, he urged him on, hoping thus to subdue him to perfect docility. The result was that a blood-vessel was burst, and the horse dropped dead beneath his rider. George, greatly agitated by the calamity, hastened to his mother with the tidings. Her characteristic reply was:

“My son, I forgive you, because you have had the courage to tell me the truth at once. Had you skulked away, I should have despised you.”

In school studies George was a diligent scholar, though he did not manifest any special brilliance, either in his power of acquiring or communicating information. He was endowed with a good mind, of well balanced powers. Such a mind is probably far more desirable, as promotive of both happiness and usefulness, than one conspicuous for the excrescences of what is called genius. He left school the autumn before he was sixteen.[3]

There is still in existence a manuscript book, which singularly illustrates his intelligence, his diligence, and his careful business habits. This lad of thirteen had, of his own accord, carefully copied, as a guide for himself in future life, promissory notes, bills of sale, land warrants, leases, wills, and many other such business papers. Thus he was prepared, at any time, to draw up such legal documents as any of the farmers around might need.

In another manuscript book he had collected, with great care, the most important rules of etiquette which govern in good society.[4] Had some good angel whispered in the ear of George, at that early age, that he was in manhood to enter upon as sublime a career as mortal ever trod, and soaring above the rank of nobles, was to take position with kings and emperors, he could hardly have made better preparations for these responsibilities than his own instincts led him to make.

It may be almost said of George Washington, as Lamartine said of Louis Philippe, that he had no youth; he was born a man. At sixteen years of age George finished his school education. And though a Virginia school, in that day, and in the midst of so sparse a population, could not have been one of high character, George, by his inherent energies, had made acquisitions of practical knowledge which enabled him, with honor, to fill the highest stations to which one, in this world, can be elevated.[5]

George was fond of mathematical and scientific studies, and excelled in all those branches. With these tastes he was led to enter upon the profession of a civil engineer. There was great demand for such services, in the new and almost unexplored realms of Virginia, where the population was rapidly increasing and spreading farther and farther back into the wilderness. Notwithstanding the extreme youth of George, he immediately found ample and remunerative employment; for his commanding stature, and dignity of character, caused him everywhere to be regarded as an accomplished man.

His handwriting was as plain as print. Every document which came from his pen was perfect in spelling, punctuation, capitals, and the proper division into paragraphs. This accuracy, thus early formed, he retained through life.

Upon leaving school at Westmoreland, George ascended the river to visit his elder brother Lawrence, at Mount Vernon. It was then, as now, a lovely spot on the western bank of the river, commanding an enchanting view of land and water. Mr. William Fairfax, an English gentleman of wealth and high rank, had purchased a large tract of land in that vicinity, and had reared his commodious mansion at a distance of about eight miles from Mount Vernon. The aristocratic planters of the region around were frequent guests at his hospitable home. Lawrence Washington married one of his daughters.

Lawrence Washington was suddenly attacked with a painful and alarming sickness. A change of climate was recommended. With fraternal love George accompanied his brother to the West Indies. The invalid continued to fail, through the tour, and soon after reaching home died. Lawrence was a man of great excellence of character. His amiability rendered his home one of peculiar happiness. At the early age of thirty-four he died, leaving an infant child, and a youthful widow stricken with grief. He left a large property. The valuable estate of Mount Vernon he bequeathed to his infant daughter. Should she die without heirs, it was to revert to his brother George, who was also appointed executor of the estate.

Lord Fairfax visited William, his younger brother, and was so pleased with the country, and surprised at the cheapness with which its fertile acres could be bought, that he purchased an immense territory, which extended over unexplored regions of the interior, including mountains, rivers, and valleys. Lord Fairfax met George Washington at his brother William’s house. He was charmed with the manliness, intelligence, and gentlemanly bearing of the young man. George was then but one month over sixteen years of age. And yet Lord Fairfax engaged him to survey these pathless wilds, where scarcely an emigrant’s cabin could be found, and which were ranged by ferocious beasts, and by savages often still more ferocious. It may be doubted whether a boy of his age was ever before intrusted with a task so arduous.

It was in the month of March, in the year 1748, when George Washington, with an Indian guide and a few white attendants, commenced the survey. The crests of the mountains were still whitened with ice and snow. Chilling blasts swept the plains. The streams were swollen into torrents by the spring rains. The Indians, however, whose hunting parties ranged these forests, were at that time friendly. Still there were vagrant bands, wandering here and there, ever ready to kill and plunder. The enterprise upon which Washington had entered was one full of romance, toil, and peril. It required the exercise of constant vigilance and sagacity.

Though these wilds may be called pathless, still there were here and there narrow trails, which the moccasined foot of the savage had trodden for uncounted centuries. They led in a narrow track, scarcely two feet in breadth, through dense thickets, over craggy hills, and along the banks of placid streams or foaming torrents. The heroic boy must have found, in these scenes of solitude, beauty, and grandeur, some hours of exquisite enjoyment. In a sunny spring morning he would glide down some placid river, in the birch canoe, through enchanting scenery, the banks fringed with bloom and verdure. There were towering mountains, from whose eminences, the eye embraced as magnificent a region of lake and forest, river and plain, as this globe can anywhere present.

It was generally necessary to camp out at night, wherever darkness might overtake them. With their axes a rude cabin was easily constructed, roofed with bark, which afforded a comfortable shelter from wind and rain. The forest presented an ample supply of game. Delicious brook trout were easily taken from the streams. Exercise and fresh air gave appetite. With a roaring fire crackling before the camp, illumining the forest far and wide, the adventurers cooked their supper, and ate it with a relish which the pampered guests in lordly banqueting halls have seldom experienced. Their sleep was probably more sweet than was ever found on beds of down. Occasionally the party would find shelter for the night in the wigwam of the friendly Indian.

Strange must have been the emotions which at times agitated the bosom of this pensive, reflective, heroic boy, as at midnight, far away from the haunts of civilization, in the wigwam of the savage, he listened to the wailings of the storm, interrupted only by the melancholy cry of the night bird, and the howl of wolves and other unknown beasts of prey. By the flickering light of the wigwam fire, he saw, sharing his couch, the dusky forms of the Indian hunter, his squaw, and his pappooses. Upon one or two occasions they found the lonely cabin of some bold frontiersmen, who had plunged into the wilderness, and who was living at but one remove above the condition of the savage. From the journal which he kept we make the following extract, under date of March 15, 1748. He is describing a night at an emigrant’s cabin.

“Worked hard till night, and then returned. After supper we were lighted into a room; and I, being not so good a woodman as the rest, stripped myself very orderly, and went into the bed, as they call it, when, to my surprise, I found it to be nothing but a little straw matted together, without sheet or anything else, but only one thread bare blanket, with double its weight of vermin. I was glad to get up and put on my clothes, and lie as my companions did. Had we not been very tired, I am sure we should not have slept much that night. I made a promise to sleep no more in a bed, choosing rather to sleep in the open air before a fire.”

One night, after a very hard day’s work, when soundly sleeping, his camp and bed, which were made of the most combustible materials, took fire, and he very narrowly escaped being consumed in the flames. After spending several months on the survey, he wrote to a friend in the following strain:

“The receipt of your kind letter of the 2d instant afforded me unspeakable pleasure. It convinces me that I am still in the memory of so worthy a friend; a friendship I shall ever be proud of increasing. Yours gave me the more pleasure, as I received it among barbarians and an uncouth set of people. Since you received my letter of October last, I have not slept above three or four nights in a bed. But after walking a good deal all the day, I have lain down before the fire, on a little hay, straw, fodder, or bearskin, whichever was to be had, with man, wife, and children, like dogs and cats and happy is he who gets the berth nearest the fire. I have never had my clothes off, but have lain and slept in them, except the few nights I have been in Fredericksburg.”

Such experiences not only develop, but rapidly create character. George returned, from the successful accomplishment of this arduous enterprise, with all his manly energies consolidated. Though but seventeen years of age, he was a mature, self-reliant man, prepared to assume any of the responsibilities of manhood.

The imperial State of Virginia needed a public surveyor. This lad of seventeen years had already risen so high in the estimation of the community, that he was appointed to that responsible office. For three years he performed, with singular ability, the duties which thus devolved upon him. Great must have been the enjoyment which he found, in the field of labor thus opened before him. The scenes to which he was introduced must have been, at times, quite enchanting. The wonderful scenery presented to the eye in beautiful Virginia, the delicious climate, the grandeur of the star-bespangled sky, as witnessed from the midnight encampment, the majestic forests abounding in game, the placid lake, whose mirrored waters were covered with water-fowl of every variety of gorgeous plumage, the silent river, along which the Indian’s birch canoe glided almost as a meteor—all these infinitely diversified scenes must, at times, have entranced a young man in the vigor of youth and health, and buoyant with the spirit of high enterprise.

Lord Fairfax had become the firm friend of George Washington. The opulent English nobleman had reared for himself a large and architecturally beautiful mansion of stone, beyond the Blue Ridge, in one of the most sheltered, sunny, and lovely valleys of the Alleghanies. This beautiful world of ours can present no region more attractive than that in which Lord Fairfax constructed his transatlantic home.[6]

His opulence enabled him to live there in splendor quite baronial. Many illustrious families had emigrated to this State of wonderful beauty and inexhaustible capabilities. There was no colony, on this continent, which could present more cultivated and polished society than Virginia. Distinguished guests frequented the parlors of Lord Fairfax. Among them all, there were none more honored than George Washington. He was one of the handsomest and most dignified of men, and a gentleman by birth, by education, and by all his instincts.

The tide of emigration, pouring in a constant flood across the Atlantic, was now gradually forcing its way over the first range of the Alleghanies, into the fertile and delightful valleys beyond. Still farther west there were realms, much of which no white man’s foot had ever trod, and whose boundaries no one knew.

The French, who were prosperously established in Canada, and who, by their wise policy, had effectually won the confidence and affection of the natives, were better acquainted with this vast region than were the English; and they much more fully appreciated its wonderful capabilities. And still the English colonies, in population, exceeded those of the French ten to one.

Almost from the beginning, the relations of the English with the natives were hostile. And it can not be denied that the fault was with the English. The Indians were very desirous of friendly intercourse. It was an unspeakable advantage to them, and they highly prized it, to be able to exchange their furs for the kettles, hatchets, knives, guns, powder and shot of the English. With the bullet they could strike down the deer at three times the distance to which they could throw an arrow. The shrewd Indian, who had used flints only to cut with, could well appreciate the value of a hatchet and a knife.

Our Puritan fathers were very anxious to treat the Indians with brotherly kindness. And so were the governmental authorities generally in all the colonies. But there was no strength in the Christian principles of good men, or in the feeble powers which were established in the colonies, to pursue, arrest, and punish the desperadoes who, from the frontiers, penetrated the wilderness with sword and rifle, shot down the Indians, plundered the wigwams, and inflicted every outrage upon their wives and daughters. No candid man can read an account of these outrages without saying:

“Had I been an Indian I would have joined in any conspiracy, and would have strained every nerve, to exterminate such wretches from the land they were polluting.”

The untaught natives could draw no fine distinctions. When the Indian hunter returned to his wigwam, and found it plundered and in ashes, his eldest son dead and weltering in blood, and heard from his wife and daughters the story of their wrongs, he could make no distinction between the miscreants who had perpetrated the demoniac deed, and the Christian white men who deplored such atrocities and who implored God to interpose and prevent them. The poor Indian could only say:

“The white man has thus wronged me. Oh, thou Great Spirit, whenever I meet the white man, wilt thou help me to take vengeance.”

Increasing population increased these outrages. There was no law in the wilderness. These British desperadoes regarded no more the restraints of religion than did the bears and the wolves. They behaved like demons, and they roused the demoniac spirit in the savages. Crime was followed by crime, cruelty by cruelty, blood by blood. But for man’s inhumanity to man beautiful Virginia, with her brilliant skies, her salubrious air, her fertile fields, her crystal streams, her majestic mountains, her sublime forests, her placid lakes, might have been almost like the Garden of Eden. If the heart of man had been imbued with the religion of Jesus, the whole realm might have been adorned with homes, in some degree, at least, like those found in the mansions of the blest. But the conduct of depraved men converted the whole region into a valley of Hinnom, abounding in smouldering ruins, gory corpses, and groans of despair.

Rapidly, on both sides, the spirit of vengeance spread. The savages, with their fiend-like natures roused, perpetrated deeds of cruelty which demons could not have surpassed. They made no discrimination. The English were to be exterminated. When the frontiersman was roused, at midnight, by the yell of the savages, and being left for dead upon the ground, with his scalp torn from his head, after some hours of stupor revived to see his cabin in ashes, the mangled corpses of his children strewn around, with their skulls cleft by the tomahawk, and not finding the remains of wife or daughter, was sure that they were carried into Indian captivity, perhaps to be tortured to death, for the amusement of howling savages—as thus bleeding, exhausted, and in agony he crept along to some garrison house, he was in no mood to listen to the dictates of humanity. Thus the terrible conflict which arose, assumed the aspect of a war between maddened fiends.

George Washington had attained the age of nineteen years. Youthful as he was, he was regarded as one of the prominent men of the State of Virginia. Every day brought reports of tragedies enacted in the solitudes of the wilderness, whose horrors will only be fully known in that dread day of judgment when all secrets will be revealed. It became necessary to call the whole military force of Virginia into requisition, to protect the frontiers from the invasion of savage bands, who emerged from all points like wolves from the forest.

The State was divided into districts. Over each a military commander was appointed, with the title of Major. George Washington was one of these majors. The responsibilities of these officers were very great, for they were necessarily invested with almost dictatorial powers. The savages would come rushing at midnight from the wilderness, upon some lonely cabin or feeble settlement. An awful scene of shrieks and flame and death would ensue, and the band would disappear beyond the reach of any avenging arm. In such a war the tactics of European armies could be of but little avail.

The State of Virginia was then, as now, bounded on the west by the Ohio river, which the French called La Belle Rivière. England claimed nearly the whole North American coast, as hers by the right of discovery, her ships having first cruised along its shores. The breadth of the continent was unknown. Consequently the English assumed that the continent was theirs, from the Atlantic to the Pacific, whatever its breadth might be.[7]

But the ships of France were the first which entered the river St. Lawrence; and her voyagers, ascending the magnificent stream, discovered that series of majestic lakes, whose fertile shores presented inviting homes for countless millions. Her enterprising explorers, in the birch canoe, traversed the solitary windings of the Ohio and the Mississippi. Hence France claimed the whole of that immense valley, almost a world in itself, whose unknown grandeur no mind then had begun to appreciate.

It was then a law of nations, recognized by all the European powers, that the discovery of a coast entitled the nation by whom the discovery was made, to the possession of that territory, to the exclusion of the right of any other European power. It was also an acknowledged principle of national law, that the discovery and exploration of a river entitled the nation by whom this exploration was made, to the whole valley, of whatever magnitude, which that river and its tributaries might drain.[8]

These conflicting claims led to the march of armies, the devastations of fleets, terrific battles—blood, misery, and death. France, that she might retain a firm hold of the territory which she claimed, began to rear a cordon of forts, at commanding points, from the great lakes, down the Ohio and the Mississippi, until she reached the Spanish claims in the south. Though France had discovered the Mississippi, in its upper waters, the Spanish chevalier, De Soto, had previously launched his boats near its entrance into the Gulf, and his tragic life was closed by burial beneath its waves.

An awful struggle, which caused as great woes perhaps as this sorrowful world has ever endured, was now approaching, for the possession of this continent. France and England were the two most powerful kingdoms, if perhaps we except Spain, then upon the globe. The intelligent reader will be interested in a more minute account of the nature of those claims, which English historians, generally, have somewhat ignored, but upon which results of such momentous importance to humanity were suspended.

In the year 1497, John Cabot, with a fleet of four, some say five ships, sailed from Bristol, England, and discovered the coast of Labrador. But little is known respecting this voyage, for the journal was lost. He returned to England, greatly elated, supposing that he had discovered the empire of China.

The next year his son, Sebastian, who had accompanied his father on the former voyage, sailed from Bristol, with two ships, in the month of May, and touched the coast of Labrador, far away in the north. Finding it excessively cold, even in July, he directed his course south, and cruised along, keeping the coast constantly in sight, until, passing Nova Scotia, he entered the broad gulf of Maine. He continued his voyage, it is supposed, until, rounding the long curvature of Cape Cod, he found an open sea extending far to the west. He passed on until he reached the latitude of Cape Hatteras, when, finding his provisions failing him, he returned home. It was this voyage upon which England founded her claim to the whole of that portion of the continent whose coast had been thus explored. The breadth of the continent was entirely unknown.[9]

Upon this claim the grants to the Virginia, as also to the Connecticut colony, were across the whole breadth of the continent. King Charles I., in the fifth year of his reign, in the year 1630, granted to one of his favorites, Sir Robert Heath, all that part of America which lies between thirty-one and thirty-six degrees of north latitude, from the Atlantic to the Pacific. This truly imperial gift included nearly the whole sea-coast of North and South Carolina, extending from sea to sea.[10]

The Spanish adventurer, De Soto, whose wonderful exploits are recorded in one of the volumes of this series, discovered the Mississippi, near its mouth, in the year 1541. Some years before this, in 1508, a French exploring expedition entered the Gulf of St. Lawrence, and framed a map of its shores. In 1525, France took formal possession of the country. Ten years after, in 1535, M. Cartier ascended the St. Lawrence, which he so named, as he entered the river on that saint’s day. This wonderful stream, whose bed expands into a series of the most majestic lakes on this globe, presents a continuous water-course of over two thousand miles, and is supposed to contain more than one-half of all the fresh water on this planet.[11]

Several trading expeditions visited the region. In 1608 the city of Quebec was founded. French voyagers, in the birch canoe, extensively explored rivers and lakes, for the purchase of furs. They established a mission on the banks of Lake Huron, in the year 1641, and pushing their explorations to Lake Superior, established one there in 1660. Another mission was founded in 1671, at the Falls of St. Mary, which acquired much renown. In that same year France took formal possession of the vast regions of the north-west.

Two years after this, in 1673, Marquette and his companions discovered the Mississippi. In 1680, Father Hennepin explored that stream to its sources far away in the north. In 1682, La Salle performed his wonderful voyage down the whole length of the river, to the Gulf. A minute account of the romantic adventures he encountered, will be found in the History of La Salle, one of the volumes of this series. In 1699, Lemoine D’Iberville entered the Mississippi with two good ships, explored its mouths, and ascended the river about seventy-five miles, carefully sounding his way. One morning, greatly to his surprise, he saw a British corvette, with twelve cannon, under full sail, breasting the current. He ordered the British immediately to leave the river, stating that he had ample force to compel them to do so. The British officer felt constrained to obey, though not without remonstrance. He said:

“England discovered this country fifty years ago; and has a better right to it than the French have. We will soon come back and teach you that the country is ours.”

This was the first meeting of the two rival nations in the Mississippi valley. The bend in the river, where this occurrence took place, has since been called the “English Bend.”[12]

Such was the nature of the conflicting claims advanced by France and England. France was proud; England haughty. Neither would consent to an amicable compromise, or to submit the question to the arbitration of referees. As the year rolled on, English emigrants, crowding the Atlantic coasts, were looking wistfully across the Alleghanies. The French, descending from Canada, had established several trading posts, which were also fortifications, in the beautiful valley of the Ohio.

There is much discrepancy in the details of these movements, which have descended to us through very unreliable sources. The writer has space here only to give the facts which are generally admitted. It is universally admitted that the French won the love of the Indians to an extraordinary degree. An aged chief of the Six Nations, said, at Easton, in 1758:

“The Indians left you because of your own fault. When we heard that the French were coming we asked you for help and arms. But we did not get them. The French came. They treated us kindly, and gained our love. The Governor of Virginia settled on our lands for his own benefit, and, when we wanted help, forsook us.”[13]

Governor Dinwiddie, of Virginia, hearing of these encroachments, as he regarded them, decided to send a commissioner across the Alleghanies, to one of these posts, with a double object in view. One, and the avowed object, was to remonstrate, in the name of Great Britain, against this trespass, as he pronounced it, upon British territory. The other, and the true object, was to ascertain the number, strength, and position of the French garrisons, and to survey a route by which an army might be sent for their capture.[14]

It was indeed a perilous enterprise; one from which the boldest spirit might recoil. The first garrison which could be reached was on the Ohio river, about one hundred and twenty miles below the point where Pittsburg now stands. Here the French were erecting a strong fortress, to which the Indians resorted for trade. There was an intervening wilderness, from the settlements in Virginia, to be traversed, of pathless forests, gloomy morasses, craggy mountains, and almost impenetrable thickets, of nearly six hundred miles. Bands of savages, on the war-path or engaged in the hunt, were ever ranging these wilds. Many were exasperated by wrongs which they themselves had received, or of which they had heard, inflicted by the white men. The Indians, in all these north-western regions, had welcomed the French as brothers; and truly fraternal relationship existed between them. And they had nearly all learned to hate the English, who have never succeeded in winning the love of any people.

In such a journey, one must depend entirely, for subsistence, upon the game which could be taken. There was danger of being crippled by a strain or a broken bone, and of thus perishing, beyond the reach of all aid. There was no little danger from the tomahawk of the savage. It was also probable that the French officers would not allow the commissioner, whom they would regard as a spy, to return to the English colonies with information so valuable to their foes. Principles of justice and mercy have never had much control in military affairs. It would be very easy for the French so to arrange matters, that a band of savages should massacre and plunder the party of the commissioner, in the depths of the forest, under such circumstances that it would necessarily be regarded as merely a savage outrage.

There was no one to be found willing to expose himself to such hardships, and his life to such risks. At length George Washington, who was then but twenty years and six months old, came forward and volunteered his services. It was universally regarded, by the community, as an act of great heroism. Governor Dinwiddie, a blunt and sturdy Scotchman, eagerly accepted his proffered services. As he grasped the hand of the youthful Washington, he exclaimed:

“Truly you are a brave lad. And if you play your cards well, you shall have no cause to repent of your bargain.”

The sobriety and dignity of character of Washington were such, that no one thought of accusing him of boyish fool-hardiness. And he had such experience in the deprivations and perils of the wilderness, that it could not be questioned that he fully understood the nature of the enterprise in which he had engaged.

On the 14th of November, 1753, Washington set out, from Williamsburg, Virginia, on this perilous expedition. His party consisted of eight men, two of them being Indian guides. The storms of winter were rapidly approaching. Already the crests of the mountains were whitened with snow. The autumnal rains had swollen the brooks into torrents. Warmly clad in furs, the party did not fear the cold. With their axes they could speedily rear a camp, which would shelter them from the fiercest storm. Wood was abundant; and the most dreary of midnight scenes may be enlivened by the blaze of the camp fire.

In such a shelter, before such a fire, with choice cuts of venison, the fattest of nature’s poultry, and delicious trout fresh drawn from the brook, these hardy adventurers, accustomed to the woodman’s lodging and the woodman’s fare, could enjoy the richest of repasts, and all the comforts of the warm and bright fireside.

Many days were passed, full of incidents, romantic adventures, and hair-breadth escapes, when the barriers of the Alleghanies were safely surmounted, and the explorers, winding their way through the defiles, descended into the fertile and grand valley beyond. The Indian guides conducted them by a route which led to the upper waters of the Monongahela river. This stream, flowing toward the north, meets the Alleghany, which takes its rise near the great lakes. This union forms the Ohio.

Upon this solitary stream the Indians constructed birch canoes, and the little party paddled down, through sublime solitudes, a distance of nearly three hundred miles, to the mouth of the river, where Pittsburg now stands. The voyage occupied eight days. Occasionally they passed a small cluster of Indian wigwams. Silently the impassible children of the forest gazed upon them as they passed, offering no molestation. There was something truly awe-inspiring in the silence of the wilderness. No voice was heard. No blow of axe or hammer sent its reverberations to the ear. There was no report of the musket to break the solemn stillness. The arrow of the hunter, in its flight through the air, gave forth no sound.

Having reached the mouth of the Monongahela, they heard that the French had an important military fort on French Creek, called also Rivière aux Bœufs, about fifteen miles south of Lake Erie.[15] The French were in possession of a strong station at Presque Isle, on the southern coast of Lake Erie. From this point they had constructed a good wagon road to the head of boat navigation on French Creek. Here they reared another fort, as is supposed, about the year 1752.[16] “Through rivers and creeks, snow, rain and cold,” Washington and his little party, toiling through the dreary wilderness, reached French Creek on the 11th of November. Washington had for his companion, Mr. Christopher Gist (who was a frontiersman of great energy and experience), beside his Indian guides, with four other white men and two Indians.[17] Forty-one days were spent in this arduous journey. They found a small French outpost at Venango, where the French commandant, Captain Joncaire, received them cordially, and guided them to the head-quarters.

On this journey, Washington very carefully examined the Forks of the Ohio, as a suitable place for the erection of a fort. He descended the Ohio about twenty miles to an Indian village called Logstown. Here, in a council with the chief, he endeavored to draw the tribe away from the French and into a friendly alliance with the English;[18] and also to obtain an escort of warriors to conduct him across the country, through the wilderness, to the French post, which was distant one hundred and twenty miles. In this he was but partially successful. Four Indians only accompanied him. This made his party amount to twelve. There were six white men and six Indians. Tanachanson, the chief sachem, and representative of the Six Nations, accompanied Washington’s party.

CHAPTER II.
The First Military Expedition.

The Visit to Fort Le Bœuf—The Return Journey—Incidents by the way—The Night Journey—The Wreck upon the Raft—Night on the island—Romantic scene—Reception at Williamsburg—The Conflicting Claims—Governor Dinwiddie—His rash and reckless order—The First Military Expedition—The site for a fortress—The plans of Washington—Fort Duquesne—The March through the Wilderness—Appalling tidings—The great mistake, and the utter discomfiture—Apologies for Washington.

A French officer, by the name of St. Pierre, was in command at Fort Le Bœuf. Though fully aware of the object of the commissioner’s expedition, he received Washington with the courtesy characteristic of the French nation. Respectfully he received the remonstrance which was presented to him, and gave Washington a written reply, couched in dignified terms, in which he stated that he was placed at that post by the command of his government, and that he could not abandon it until officially instructed so to do.[19]

Washington was as hospitably entertained at the fort as if he had been a friend. In that remote frontier station, buried in the glooms of the wilderness, and with no society but that of rude soldiers and uncouth savages, a French officer, who was almost of necessity a gentleman of rank and refinement, must have enjoyed most highly a visit from an American of cultivated mind and polished manners. There was no opportunity to conceal anything of the strength of the French works from the English party, even if it had been deemed desirable to do so. Washington drew up an accurate plan of the fort, either secretly or by permission, which he sent to the British Government.[20] The reply which St. Pierre returned was obviously the only one which, as a servant of the crown, he could make. This must have been known as distinctly before the reply was given as afterward. And it certainly did not require a journey of more than twelve hundred miles, going and returning, through the wilderness, to learn that, if the French were to relinquish their claims to the valley of the Ohio, they must either be driven from it by force, or be persuaded to it by diplomatic conference at the court of Versailles.

The main object of the mission was however accomplished. A feasible route for a military force, over the mountains, was discovered, and the strength of the French garrisons, in those quarters, was ascertained. Washington was surprised in seeing with how much unexpected strength the French were intrenching themselves, that they might hold possessions which they deemed so valuable.

After a very friendly visit of two days, M. de St. Pierre, who had treated his guest with much hospitality, furnished him with a strong canoe, in which he could rapidly descend the St. Francis to the Alleghany, and that stream to the Ohio. Mr. Sparks writes:[21]

“He had been entertained with great politeness. Nor did the complaisance of M. de St. Pierre exhaust itself in mere forms of civility. The canoe, by his order, was plentifully stocked with provisions, liquors, and every other supply that could be wanted.”

The voyage down the winding stream to an Indian village, where Venango now stands, a distance of one hundred and thirty miles, was full of peril and suffering. The stream, swollen by wintry rains, was in some places a roaring torrent. Again it broke over rocks, or was encumbered by rafts of drifting timber, around which the canoe and all its freight had to be carried. Several times all had to leap into the icy water, to rescue the buoyant and fragile boat from impending destruction. At one place they carried the canoe over a neck of land a quarter mile in extent.

Soon after leaving Venango they found their progress so slow that Major Washington and Mr. Gist clothed themselves in Indian walking dresses, and with heavy packs on their backs, and each with a gun in his hand, set out through the woods on foot. They directed their course, by the compass, so as to strike the Alleghany river just above its confluence with the Monongahela.

This was indeed a weary and perilous journey to take, with the rifle upon the shoulder, the pack upon the back, and the hatchet suspended at the waist. With the hatchet, each night a shelter was to be constructed, should fierce gales or drenching rain render a shelter needful. With the rifle, or the fish-hook, their daily food was to be obtained. In the pack they carried their few cooking utensils and their extra clothing.

Washington’s suspicions that there might be attempts to waylay him were not unfounded. Some Indians followed his trail, either instigated to it by the French, or of their own accord for purposes of plunder. A solitary Indian met him, apparently by accident, in a very rough and intricate part of the way, and offered his service as a guide. Through the day they journeyed together very confidingly. The Indian’s sinews seemed to be made of iron, which nothing could tire. He led Washington and his companion along a very fatiguing route, until nightfall. Then, apparently supposing that, in their exhaustion, if one were shot the other would be helpless and could be followed and shot down at his leisure, he took deliberate aim, it is said, at Washington and fired, at a distance of not more than fifteen paces. The ball barely missed its target. The Indian sprang into the woods. Indignation gave speed to the feet of his pursuers. He was soon caught. The companion of Washington urged that the savage should immediately be put to death. But Washington recoiled from the idea of shooting a man in cold blood. Having disarmed the assassin, he turned him adrift in the wilderness.[22]

It was a cold December night. As it was thought not impossible that the Indian might have some confederates near, they pressed forward, through all the hours of darkness until the morning dawned, taking special care to pursue such a route that even savage sagacity could not search out their trail. They pressed on until they reached the Alleghany river but a short distance from its mouth. The whole region was then a silent wilderness. There were no signs of civilized or even of savage life to be seen. Though the broader streams were not yet frozen over, the banks of the rivers were fringed with ice, and immense solid blocks were floating down the rapid currents. It was necessary to cross the stream before them. With “one poor hatchet,” Washington writes, it took them a whole day to construct a suitable raft. The logs were bound together by flexible boughs and grape vines. It was necessary to be very careful; for should the logs, from the force of the waves or from collision with the ice, part in the middle of the stream, they would be plunged into the icy river, and death would be almost inevitable.

They mounted the raft early in the morning, having finished it the night before, and with long setting poles endeavored to push their way across the whirling, swollen torrent. A piercing December wind swept the black waters. When about half-way across, the raft encountered a pack of floating ice. Washington’s pole became entangled in the mud at the bottom of the river, and the raft was violently whirled around. One of the withes, which bound the logs together, parted; the raft was broken into fragments, and the occupants were plunged into the stream. The water was ten feet deep. Both were, for a moment, entirely submerged. Rising to the surface they clung to the floating logs. Fortunately, just below there was a small island, to which they were speedily floated.

Here, drenched and freezing, they took shelter. Their powder, carefully protected, had not been wet. Despairingly they had clung to their guns. As soon as possible, as the island was well wooded, they constructed a shelter from the gale, and built a roaring fire. Its genial warmth reanimated them, so that they could even enjoy the wintry blasts which swept fiercely by. But before they had reared their shelter and built their fire, Mr. Gist’s hands and feet were frost-bitten.

It is surprising with what rapidity men experienced in wood-craft will rear a camp, enclosed on three sides and open on one, which, roofed and sheathed with overlapping bark, will afford an effectual shelter from both wind and rain. Such a cabin, carpeted with bear-skins or with the soft and fragrant boughs of the hemlock, with a grand fire crackling in front, and a duck, a wild turkey, or cuts of tender venison roasting deliciously before it, presents a scene of comfort which, to the hungry and weary pioneer, is often truly luxurious. He would not exchange it for the most gorgeously furnished chambers in palatial abodes.

Our adventurers, accustomed to such mishaps, regarded their cold bath rather in the light of a joke. They piled the fuel, in immense logs, upon the camp fire; for on the torrent-encircled island they had no fear of being attacked by the savages. They dried their clothing, cooked and ate their savory supper, and, wrapped in their blankets, laid down and slept as sweetly, probably, as if they had been occupants of the guest chamber at Mount Vernon.

The dawn of the next morning revealed to them the fact that the night had been one bitterly cold; for the whole stream was firmly frozen over. They crossed the remaining channel on the ice to the eastern shore. Hence they continued their journey home, over the wide range of the Alleghanies. Without any remarkable incident occurring, they safely reached Williamsburg, then the capital of Virginia, on the 16th of January, 1754, having been absent eleven weeks. Washington seemed to be the only man who was unconscious that he had performed a feat of remarkable skill and daring.

At the confluence of the Monongahela and Youghiogeny rivers, there was an Indian princess, called Queen Aliquippa. Washington paid her a complimentary visit, and quite won her confidence by his friendly words and valuable gifts. He also came across a small trading post, recently established by Mr. Frazier. Here he remained two or three days, and succeeded in obtaining some horses for the rest of the journey.

He made his modest report to the governor. It was published, and was read with surprise and admiration, not only all over the State, but it was eagerly perused by statesmen in England, who were watching with great jealousy the movements of the French west of the Alleghanies. The all-important facts which the report established were, that the French had taken full possession of the valley of La Belle Rivière; that they were entrenching themselves there very strongly; that the native tribes were in cordial sympathy with them, and would undoubtedly enter into any military alliance with the French which they might desire; that it was very much easier for the French to bring down any amount of reinforcements and supplies from Canada, by the way of the great lakes and the natural water-courses, than for the English to transport such supplies across the wide, rugged, precipitous, pathless ranges of the Alleghanies; and finally that it was clear that the French would resist, with all their military force, any attempts of the English to establish their settlements in the valley of the Ohio.[23]

The intelligent reader will inquire who, according to the law of nations, was legitimately entitled to this region. The candid reader, laying aside all national predilections, will say:

“It is very difficult to decide this question. The English ships had sailed along the coast. How far back, into the interior, did this entitle them to the country? The French had discovered these magnificent rivers, and had explored them in their canoes. Did this so entitle them to these valleys, as to limit the western boundaries of the English by the Alleghany mountains, upon whose western declivities these valleys commenced?”

Such was the question. Alas! for humanity, that it could only be settled by war, carnage, and misery.

The Legislature of Virginia happened to be in session at Williamsburg when Washington returned. Soon after presenting his report he went, one day, into the gallery, mingling with the crowd, to witness the proceedings of the House. The speaker chanced to catch sight of him. He immediately rose from his chair and, addressing the assembly, said:

“I propose that the thanks of this House be given to Major George Washington, who now sits in the gallery, for the gallant manner in which he has executed the important trust lately reposed in him, by his excellency the Governor.”

These words called forth a spontaneous burst of enthusiasm. Every member sprang to his feet. Every eye was directed to the modest, confused, blushing young man. A shout of applause arose, which almost shook the rafters of the hall. There was no resisting the flood of homage. Two gentlemen conducted Washington to the speaker’s desk. There was instant and universal silence.

Washington was entirely taken by surprise. To such scenes he was altogether unaccustomed. Be it remembered that he was then but twenty-one years of age; just entering the period of manhood. Thus suddenly was he brought before that august tribunal; and all were silently awaiting words for which he was utterly unprepared. In his great confusion he was speechless. There was a moment of silence, and then the speaker, perceiving the cruel position in which he was placed, happily relieved him from embarrassment, by presenting a chair and saying:

“Sit down, Major Washington; sit down. Your modesty is alone equal to your merit.”

Governor Dinwiddie, a reckless, headlong Scotchman, was governed mainly by impulse, and was accustomed to speak and act first, and reflect afterward. He despised the French, and could say with Lord Nelson, “I drew in hatred for the French with my mother’s milk.” He paid no respect whatever to the considerations upon which the French founded their claim to the valley of the Ohio; but affirmed it to be the height of impudence for Frenchmen to pretend to any title to territory, which Englishmen claimed as theirs. Such insolence, he declared, was not to be tolerated for a moment; and he determined that he would immediately drive the intruders, neck and heels, out of the valley.[24]

Arrogance is pretty sure to bring its own punishment. But we are often bewildered by the thought that, in the incomprehensible government of God over this world, the punishment often falls upon the innocent, while those who merit it go free.

Energetically the irate governor marshalled an army of four hundred men. The idea that the cowardly French could present any effectual resistance to his lion-hearted Englishmen, seems never to have entered his mind. The orders issued to this army, so formidable in those days, were very emphatic and peremptory.

“March rapidly across the mountains. Disperse, capture, or kill all persons—not subjects of the king of Great Britain—who are attempting to take possession of the territory of his majesty, on the banks of the Ohio river, or any of its tributaries.”

George Washington was appointed colonel of this regiment. A wiser selection could not have been made. His administrative abilities were of the highest order; his exalted reputation invested him with authority; he was acquainted with the route, as no other man in the colony could be; his bravery was above all suspicion, and his experience as a surveyor would enable him to select the best strategic points to command the vast territory.

At the confluence of the Monongahela and the Alleghany, he had spent a day in constructing a raft. There he had been wrecked. The delay which these incidents had caused, enabled him very carefully, with his practised eye, to study the features of the country.

This spot, he decided, with instinctive military skill, to be the most appropriate place for England to rear a fortress and establish a garrison, which would constitute the most effectual point d’appui (point of support), from which expeditions could emerge for the destruction of the French trading posts. This whole region was then an unbroken, howling wilderness. Buried in the glooms of the forest, far away from all observation, Washington hoped to rear a strong fortress before the French should have any suspicion of what was going on. Having completed these works, and rendered them impregnable to any force which France could bring against them, he would then build strong flat-bottomed boats, armed with cannon, and manned with troops, in which they could drift down the Ohio, and attack by surprise, and destroy, all the French military and trading posts found upon the banks.

Contemplating this plan in the light of humanity, it was a very sad one. “War is cruelty. You cannot refine it.” At these posts there were many humble emigrants, fathers and mothers, little boys and girls. They were innocent of all crime. Struggling against the enormous taxation, of king and nobles, in France, they had left the thatched cottages of their lowly ancestors, hoping to find homes of more comfort in the wilderness of the New World. It is dreadful to think of the consternation, which must have spread through such a little settlement of pioneers, when suddenly, on some bright, sunny morning, the terrible gun-boats, crowded with armed soldiers, rounded a bend in the river, and opened their fire. “Bayonets,” says a French proverb, “must not think.” Soldiers must obey orders, regardless of the tears and pleadings of humanity. The orders were peremptory.

“Apply the torch and lay every building in ashes. The dying matron, helpless in her bed, and the new-born babe, must look out for themselves. Disperse, capture, or kill all the inhabitants. Leave nothing behind but smouldering ruins and mangled corpses.”

Such was the plan, in its awfulness, when contemplated by the eye of ordinary humanity. In a military point of view the plan, thus devised, was worthy of all admiration. As a means for the attainment of the desired end, it could not have been better. The expedition, however, was not popular, and it was found necessary to resort to impressment to fill the ranks. By the Provincial law, the militia could not be ordered to march more than five miles beyond the bounds of the colony. And it was at least doubtful whether the French were in Virginia, though Governor Dinwiddie declared the Pacific Ocean to be the western boundary of the State. Unfortunately for the success of the expedition, the French engineers were by no means behind the English in military skill. In descending to the Ohio, from the lakes, they had been accustomed to take canoes, on the upper waters of the Alleghany; and often, in fleets propelled by the paddles of friendly Indians, they had encamped, for the night, upon the forest-crowned eminences at the confluence of the Alleghany and Monongahela rivers. They also had decided that this was, above all others, the spot upon which France should rear her central fortress, and where she should store her abounding supplies.

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.

Peace was evidently the policy for them to pursue. By war they had nothing to gain, but much to risk. Though minutely informed of the movements of Washington, and fully conscious that he might be crushed by a single blow, that blow would be but the beginning, not the end. It would surely inaugurate a terrible war, which would call into requisition all the fleets and armies of Great Britain. It would prove the signal for a conflict which would encircle the globe.

The French commandant at Fort Duquesne, who had nothing whatever to fear from the exhausted and half-famished little band which was approaching him, decided to send a friendly party to meet Colonel Washington, and to advise his return, assuring him that he could not be permitted, without the consent of the French government, to rear a fortress upon territory which France had long considered as exclusively her own. A civilian, M. Jumonville, was sent on this peaceful mission. He took with him, as an escort through the wilderness, but thirty-four men. This renders it certain that he had no hostile designs, for he sent not one to ten of the soldiers composing the regiment of Washington.

But Washington, young, inexperienced, and in a position of great responsibility, was agitated by indescribable embarrassment. It was a dark and stormy night. Jumonville, with his feeble escort, dreaming of no danger, for France and England were at peace, and he was on a friendly mission, had reared their frail shelter camps, and were quietly sleeping around the fires. Some Indians who had been sent forward as scouts, hurried back to Washington with the information that the advance-guard of the French army was encamped at the distance of but a few miles before him. The sagacious Indian scouts very accurately described their number and their position.

They were in a sheltered glen, on the banks of the Monongahela, which was quite shut in by rocks. An invisible foe could easily creep up in the darkness and the storm, and, aided by the camp fires, could take deliberate aim, and, by one volley, kill or disable almost every one of the unsuspecting and sleeping foe. Washington, who had no doubt that this party was advancing to attack him by surprise, unfortunately, unjustly, but not with dishonorable intent, adopted a resolve which introduced a war and ushered in woes over which angels might weep. It is altogether probable that, without this untoward event, France and England would have drifted into a war for the possession of this continent. But the candid mind must admit that the responsibility of opening these dreadful vials of woe, rests with the English and not the French.[27] Washington, who had commenced intrenching himself at a place called Great Meadows, and which he described as a “charming field for an encounter,” took a strong detachment of his troops, and, leading them in person was, in an hour, on the march. The darkness was as that of Egypt. The rain fell in torrents, and the tree tops of the gigantic forest swayed to and fro in the howling gale. Savage warriors, whose eyesight seemed as keen by night as by day, led the party. Quite a band of friendly Indians joined in the enterprise, so congenial to their modes of warfare.

A march of two or three hours brought them to the glimmering fires of the French. Many of the sleepers were protected by the camps, which they had hurriedly reared. The assailants, with the noiseless, stealthy step of the panther, crept behind the rocks and into the thickets, and took careful aim at their slumbering victims. The Indians united with the English in two parties, so as entirely to surround the French, and prevent the possibility of escape.

Just as the day was beginning to dawn through the lurid skies, the signal for attack was given. A deadly volley was discharged, and the forest resounded with the yells of the Indians, so loud and hideous, that it would seem that the cry must have burst from thousands of savage throats. That one simultaneous discharge killed M. Jumonville and ten of his men. Others were wounded. The survivors sprang to their arms. But, in the gloom of the morning, no foe was visible. The assailants, entirely concealed, could take fatal aim at their victims who were revealed to them by the light of their fires. The French fought bravely. They were, however, overpowered; and after many had fallen, the survivors, twenty-one in number, several with bleeding veins and shattered bones, were taken captive. The prisoners were sent under guard to Virginia.[28]

This deplorable event, one of the greatest mistakes which was ever made, created, as the tidings spread, intense excitement throughout America, France, and England. France regarded it as one of the grossest of outrages, which the national honor demanded should be signally avenged. Though nothing is more certain than that Washington would recoil from any dishonorable deed, still it is impossible to palliate the impolicy of this act. His little army, as he well knew, was entirely in the power of the French. This act of slaughter could by no possibility extricate them, and would certainly so exasperate his foes as to provoke them to the most severe measures of retaliation.[29]

The moment the tidings reached the French commandant at Fort Duquesne, he despatched an allied force of fifteen hundred French and Indians, to avenge the wrong. Washington, as we have said, could not retreat. Neither could he fight with the slightest prospect of success. Capitulation was inevitable. But his proud spirit could not stoop to a surrender of his force until he had protected his reputation by a desperate resistance. And such is the deplorable code of honor, in war, that it is deemed chivalric for an officer to consign any numbers of sons, husbands, fathers, to a bloody death, simply that he may enjoy the renown of having fought to the bitter end.

All the energies of Washington’s little band were brought into requisition in throwing up breastworks. Appropriately he called the ramparts Fort Necessity.[30] At eleven o’clock in the morning of the 3d of July, the French and Indians, who are variously estimated at from nine to fifteen hundred, commenced the attack. Nature seemed in sympathy with the woes of man. It was a tempestuous day. The shrieks of the storm resounded through the forest, and the rain fell in torrents. And yet, far away in the solitudes beyond the Alleghanies, Frenchmen and Englishmen were all the day long killing each other, to decide the question, who should be permitted, of the human family, to rear their homes in these boundless wilds. The history of our fallen world teaches us, that the folly of man is equal to his depravity. God made this for a happy world. Man, in rebellion against his Maker, has filled it with weeping eyes and bleeding hearts.

The fratricidal strife continued until eight o’clock in the evening. Captain Vanbraam, the only one in the fort who understood French, was then sent, with a flag of truce, into the camp of the assailants to ask for terms upon which the English might capitulate. He soon returned, bringing articles “which by a flickering candle in the dripping quarters of his commander, he translated to Washington; and, as it proved, from intention or ignorance mistranslated.” In these terms, which Washington accepted, and which it is said his courier did not correctly translate, the death of Jumonville is spoken of as an “assassination.”[31]

Washington, as we have mentioned, was a young man of ingenuous character and winning manners. He was in all respects a gentleman of dignified deportment, of firm moral principles, and of the highest sense of honor. Fortunately he fell into the hands of M. De Villiers, a French officer, who was also a gentleman, capable of admiring the character of his captive, and of sympathizing with him in the terrible embarrassments into which he had been plunged.

He treated Washington with magnanimity worthy of all praise. The terms of surrender were generous. The troops were to leave the fort with the honors of war, and were to return to their homes unmolested. They were to retain their small-arms, ammunition, and personal effects, surrendering their artillery, which indeed they had no means of moving, as their horses were all shot. They gave their word of honor not to attempt any buildings in the valley of the Ohio, for the space of one year. And they promised that all the French taken in the attack upon Jumonville, and who had been sent to Virginia, should be immediately restored.

Washington had sent a letter to Governor Dinwiddie, commending the prisoners to “the respect and favor due to their character and personal merit.” But the British Governor threw them into close confinement, and treated them with great cruelty. He also, infamously regardless of the terms of capitulation, refused to surrender them. One of the officers, La Force, attempted to escape. He was recaptured, secured with double irons, and chained to the floor of his dungeon. Washington felt deeply mortified by this obtuseness of the governor on a point of military punctilio and honorable faith; but his remonstrances were unavailing.[32]

The next morning, Washington and his dejected troops commenced their forlorn march back through the wilderness. Encumbered with the wounded, who were carried on litters, but three miles were made that day. The next day they resumed their melancholy march, and, by slow stages, returned to their homes.[33]

On the whole, the character of Washington did not suffer permanently from this occurrence. His extreme youth, and the untried nature of the perplexities in which he was involved, and the fact that he supposed that Jumonville was approaching to attack him by surprise, disarmed the virulence of censure with all candid men. Indeed, his countrymen, somewhat oblivious of the extraordinary magnanimity of M. De Villiers, were disposed to applaud him for the military genius he had displayed in rescuing his little army from such imminent peril, and in conducting the troops back so safely to Virginia. The numbers engaged in the action at Fort Necessity, and the number killed and wounded, on the two sides, can never be known. Of the Virginia regiment alone, twelve were killed and forty-three wounded.

The rank and file of every army almost necessarily includes many of the most wild and depraved of men. The adventurers who crowd to the frontiers of any country, and especially those whose tastes have led them to abandon the more cultivated regions of civilization, and to plunge into the solitudes of the wilderness, have generally been those who have wished to escape from the dominion of laws and from the restraints of religion. In the little band enlisted under the banner of Washington there were many unprincipled and profane men. His ear was constantly pained by that vulgar cursing and swearing, which was exceedingly repugnant to his refined tastes, and to his Christian principles. He could not forget that, amid the thunderings and lightnings of Sinai, the law had been proclaimed:

“Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain, for the Lord will not hold him guiltless that taketh his name in vain.”

And he recognized the divine authority of the words of our Saviour, when, in confirmation of this command, he said, “Swear not at all.” Under the influence of these teachings, which he had received from the lips of his pious mother, and which had thus far governed his life, this young officer issued the following admirable, yet extraordinary order of the day.

“Colonel Washington has observed that the men of his regiment are very profane and reprobate. He takes this opportunity to inform them of his great displeasure at such practices; and assures them that, if they do not leave them off, they shall be severely punished. The officers are desired, if they hear any man swear or make use of an oath or execration, to order the offender twenty-five lashes immediately, without a court-martial. For a second offence he shall be more severely punished.”

Such was the character of the youthful Washington. Even those who do not emulate his example, can appreciate the excellence of his principles. Twenty years after this, when the war of the Revolution was deluging our land in blood, and when the infant colonies, which numbered a population of less than three million white inhabitants, were struggling, in deadly battle, against the armies of the most powerful empire on the globe. Washington, still recognizing the authority of God, and avowing his faith in the religion of Jesus Christ, was greatly distressed in the view of the contemptuous way in which the name of God was used by the officers, as well as by the common soldiers.

The feeble army he led was defeated, overwhelmed with disaster, and threatened with irretrievable ruin. Agonizing were the prayers which he had been heard offering to God, pleading with him to interpose to rescue our country from the gigantic power which was trampling out its life. In those dark hours, when nearly all patriotic hearts were engulfed in despair, General Washington, Commander in Chief of the Armies of America, in August, 1776, issued, at New York, the following order to the troops:

“The General is sorry to be informed that the foolish and profane practice of cursing and swearing, a vice hitherto little known in an American army, is growing into fashion. He hopes that the officers will, by example as well as by influence, endeavor to check it; and that both they and the men will reflect that we can have little hope of the blessing of heaven on our arms, if we insult it by our impiety and folly. Add to this, it is a vice so mean and low, without any temptation, that every man of sense and character detests and despises it.”

Profanity must be exceedingly displeasing to God, or it would not have been so solemnly prohibited in those commandments which God issued for the regulation of the conduct of men in all ages. And yet it is our national vice. How many are there “who have no God to pray to; only a god to swear by.” While speaking upon this very important subject it may be proper to refer to an anecdote of Washington, which was related to the writer by an officer in the United States Army, who was present on the occasion.

Washington had invited the members of his staff to dine with him in the city of New York. As they were sitting at the table, all engaged in that quiet conversation which the presence of Washington invariably secured, one of the guests very distinctly uttered an oath. Washington dropped his knife and fork as though he had been struck by a bullet. The movement arrested the attention of every one. For an instant there was perfect silence. Washington then, in calm, deliberate tones, whose solemnity was blended with sadness, said: “I thought that I had invited gentlemen only to dine with me.” It is needless to add that no more oaths were heard at that table.

CHAPTER III.
The French War.

Braddock’s Army—Washington Resigns, accepts the office of Aide to Braddock—Interview with Franklin—Crossing the Mountains—The Ambush—The warnings of Washington—The Attack—Events of the Battle—Peril and Bravery of Washington—The Rout—Narrative of Colonel Smith—Indian Strategy—Scenes at Fort Duquesne—The Indian War-cries—The Gold Seal—What Washington had gained—Spirit of the Savages—Washington’s statement—Scenes of woe.

War between France and England had now became inevitable. The British cabinet, being resolved to drive the French from the continent of North America, had not only no apology to offer for her untoward military movement, but immediately made new and more formidable preparations for the accomplishment of her determined purpose. The task seemed not difficult; for the rapidly growing English colonies, scattered along the Atlantic coast, contained a population greatly outnumbering those gathered around the settlements on the banks of the St. Lawrence, and the few military and trading posts which were established on the borders of the great lakes, and in the valley of the Ohio.[34]

On the other hand, the pride of the court of France required that it should not submit to indignity; neither could France yield to the arrogant demands of the English, and surrender, at their dictation, territory which she had long considered as beyond all legitimate question her own. Thus the warfare became essentially one of attack on the part of England, one of defence on the part of France. England was to organize armies and send them across the mountains, to drive the French from the valley of the Ohio. France was to strengthen her fortresses in the valley so as to repel and drive back the invaders. Both nations did everything in their power to enlist the Indians warriors beneath their banners.

In the spring of the year 1755, the British government sent two regiments of regular troops from England, to cross the wilderness of the Alleghanies, and wrest Fort Duquesne from the French. The highly disciplined troops were well instructed in the tactics of European battle-fields, but were entirely unacquainted with Indian strategy, and were quite unprepared to cope with the difficulties of Indian warfare. General Braddock, a proud, self-conceited Englishman, who despised all other nationalities, and who had a thorough contempt for the military ability of the Americans, was placed in command.

“Pride goeth before destruction and a haughty look before a fall.” He was too proud to learn from those who were abundantly able to teach him. He was too haughty to listen to any warnings of danger from those who were far wiser than himself, but whom he regarded as ignorant and cowardly. He, in command of well drilled British regulars, had nothing to fear and nothing to learn from colonists, Frenchmen, or Indians.

General Braddock, at the head of his two highly disciplined and well uniformed regiments, commenced his march across the wide, rugged mountain ranges. From the eastern declivities, where the water commenced running into the Atlantic, to the western slopes where the gushing springs flowed into the Ohio, was a distance of more than one hundred miles. The path was narrow. In many places torrents were to be bridged, obstructions removed, and the trail widened through the vast masses of rock, by the corps of engineers. Thus there would be presented to the keen eyes of the Indians, who were sent by the French, to watch and report the progress of the foe, a straggling, broken line of men and wagons four miles in length.

There was something exceedingly exasperating in the contemptuous manner in which the British court and cabinet treated the colonial officers. It seemed to be, with them, an established principle that an Englishman must, of necessity, be superior to an American. Governor Dinwiddie reduced Colonel Washington to the rank of a captain, and placed over him officers whom he had commanded. This degradation was, of course, not to be submitted to by a high-minded man. Washington at once resigned his commission, and retired from the army.

Governor Sharpe, the crown-appointed Governor of Maryland, received, from the king, the appointment of Commander-in-Chief of the forces employed against the French. He was well acquainted with Washington’s exalted character, and valuable experience, and yet he had the presumption to write, urging him to accept the office of captain of a Virginia company, intimating to him that he might nominally hold his former commission as colonel. Washington replied:

“This idea has filled me with surprise; for if you think me capable of holding a commission that has neither rank nor emolument annexed to it, you must entertain a very contemptible opinion of my weakness, and believe me to be more empty than the commission itself.”

When General Braddock landed at Alexandria, in Virginia, with his two regiments, hearing of the fame of Washington, and of his previous excursions across the mountains, he invited him to take part in the campaign, as one of his staff, retaining his former rank. The chivalric spirit of Washington was roused; for the pageantry of war was quite conspicuous from his quiet retreat at Mount Vernon.

British ships of war, with their gay banners, and transports crowded with troops, were continually sailing by his door, to Alexandria, which was but a few miles above. The booming of cannon, and the music of well-trained bands, woke the echoes of those vast forests. Washington mounted his horse, and rode to Alexandria. The love of adventure, of heroic military achievements, inspired him. He eagerly accepted the offer of Braddock, to become a member of the general’s military household, but without any emolument or any distinct command. The position recognized his full rank, and gave him the opportunity of acquiring new experience, and of becoming acquainted with the highest principles of martial tactics as then practised by the armies of Europe.

His widowed mother entreated him not again to expose himself to the perils of a campaign. But he found the temptation too strong to be resisted. On the 20th of April, 1755, the army commenced its march, from Alexandria. Washington was announced as one of the general’s aides. Benjamin Franklin, then forty-nine years of age, visited the army when it had reached Fredericktown. Braddock was so confident of the success of the expedition, that he said to Franklin:

“After taking Duquesne, I shall proceed to Niagara; and having taken that, to Frontenac, if the season will allow time. And I suppose it will, for Duquesne can hardly detain me above three or four days. Then I can see nothing which can obstruct my march to Niagara.”[35]

Franklin, with his customary good sense and modesty, replied, “To be sure, sir, if you arrive well before Duquesne, with these fine troops, so well provided with artillery, the fort, though completely fortified, and assisted with a very strong garrison, can probably make but a very short resistance. The only danger I apprehend, of obstruction to your march, is from the ambuscades of the Indians, who, by constant practice, are dexterous in laying and executing them. And the slender line, nearly four miles long, which your army must make, may expose it to be attacked by surprise on its flanks, and to be cut, like thread, into several pieces, which, from their distance, cannot come up in time to support one another.”

Franklin adds, “He smiled at my ignorance, and replied, ‘These savages may indeed be a formidable enemy to raw American militia, but upon the king’s regular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should make any impression.’

“I was conscious of an impropriety in my disputing with a military man on matters of his profession, and said no more.”[36]

There were many delays; and it was not until the 20th of May, that the army reached Wills’ Creek, where there was a frontier post called Fort Cumberland. Here again there were delays, which Washington deemed the result of want of judgment. On the 10th of June, the march was resumed, and the army commenced, what Washington called, “the tremendous undertaking,” of dragging the artillery and the heavily-laded wagons up the steep and rugged mountain road, which the engineers had been sent forward to open.

Washington very strongly disapproved of the great number of horses and wagons required by the officers for the transportation of their baggage, with many needless luxuries. He was astonished and appalled at the recklessness with which the march was conducted; and he could not refrain from warning his superior officer of the peril to which the army was exposed in its thin line several miles in extent.

“The French officers,” said he, “through their Indian runners, will keep themselves informed of every step of our progress. The eyes of these savage scouts, from the glooms of the forest and the distant crags, are continually fixed upon us. We are in danger, every hour, of falling into an ambush, when our men and horses will be shot down by volleys of bullets from an invisible foe. And that foe can instantly take flight, beyond all possibility of pursuit. The French officers can lead hundreds of the savage warriors to plunge, in a sudden onset, upon our straggling line, and striking fiercely on the right and left, plunder and burn many wagons, throw the whole line into confusion, and retire unharmed, before it will be possible to concentrate any force to repel them.”

It would seem that such suggestions would be obvious to any man of ordinary intelligence. General Braddock, with a smile of incredulity and contempt, listened to these warnings of his youthful aide, and politely intimated that a Major-General in the regular army of his majesty the king of Great Britain was not to be taught the art of war by a young American provincial, who had never seen even the inside of a military school.

When the army commenced its march from Fort Cumberland, Washington was quite dazzled by the brilliance of the scene. He declares it to have been the most beautiful and inspiriting spectacle he had ever beheld. The British troops were dressed in full and gaudy uniform. They were arranged in columns, and marched with precision of drill such as Washington had never seen before. The beams of the unclouded sun were reflected from silken banners and burnished arms, while well-trained musical bands caused the forests to resound with their martial strains. The officers were mounted on prancing steeds, in the highest condition. The river flowed tranquilly by, an emblem, not of horrid war, but of peaceful, opulent, and happy homes. All were inspirited with hope and confidence.

Such was the commencement of the campaign. How different the scene presented, when, at the close of a few weeks, the fragments of this army returned, bleeding, exhausted, starving—a struggling band of fugitives, one half of their number having been killed and scalped by the Indians.

Washington soon became convinced of the incapacity of General Braddock to conduct such an enterprise as that upon which he had entered. He writes:[37]

“I found that, instead of pushing on with vigor, without regarding a little rough road, they were halting to level every mole-hill, and to erect bridges over every brook, by which means we were four days in getting twelve miles.”[38]

On one occasion Washington said, “If our march is to be regulated by the slow movements of the train, it will be very tedious.” Braddock smiled contemptuously at this indication of the ignorance of the young American officer in reference to the march of armies.

Without encountering any opposition, the army surmounted the rugged acclivities, and threaded the long defiles of the mountains, until, from the dreary expanse, they entered upon the luxuriant, blooming, magnificent valley of apparently boundless reach beyond. This successful passage of the mountains inspired Major-General Braddock with renewed self-confidence. His deportment said, every hour, to his youthful American aid, “You see that a British officer cannot be instructed in the art of war by a young Virginian.”

The lips of Washington were sealed. Not another word could he utter. But he knew full well that an hour of awful disaster was approaching, and one which he could do nothing whatever to avert. On the 9th of July the sun rose over the Alleghanies, which were left far away in the east, in cloudless splendor. The army, in joyous march, was approaching the banks of the Monongahela.

It was one of those lovely days in which all nature seems happy. The flowers were in their richest bloom. The birds were swelling their throats with their sweetest songs. Balmy airs scarcely rippled the surface of the rivulet, along whose banks the troops were marching. All the sights and sounds of nature seemed to indicate that God intended this for a happy world; where he wished to see his children dwelling lovingly together, in the interchange of all deeds of fraternal kindness. It was such a day as Herbert has beautifully pictured in the words:

“Sweet day, so still, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky.”

The troops were defiling through a ravine which presented a natural path for their march. On either side the eminences were covered with the majestic forest and dense and almost impenetrable thickets of underbrush. The narrow passage was very circuitous. It was just the spot which any one familiar with Indian warfare would carefully explore, before allowing a long line of troops to become entangled in its labyrinthine trail. But there was no pause in the march; no scouts were sent along the eminences to search for an ambush; no precautions whatever were adopted to guard against surprise.

The troops were now within a few miles of Fort Duquesne. The march had been triumphantly accomplished. Braddock was sanguine in the assurance that before the sun should set his banners would float, in triumph, over the fortress, and his army would be sheltered within its walls. He was exulting. Washington was appalled in view of the danger which still menaced them. Proudly Braddock hurried along, with his straggling band. Jokes and laughter resounded, as the burnished muskets and polished cannon of the British regulars brilliantly reflected the sunbeams.

The hour of doom had come. Suddenly there was a thunder-burst of musketry, as from the cloudless skies. A storm of bullets, piercing the flesh, shattering the bones, swept the astounded ranks. It was like a supernatural attack from invisible spirits. Not a musket was revealed. Not an individual was to be seen. But from hundreds of stentorian throats the hideous war-whoop burst, leading those, who had never heard those shrill yells before, to apprehend that they were assailed, not by mortal foes, but by incarnate fiends.

The Indians were unerring marksmen. They were allies of the French, and their savage ferocity was guided by European science. Crash followed crash in rapid succession. The ground was instantly covered with the dead and the dying. The horses, goaded by bullets and terrified to frenzy, reared and plunged, and tore along the line, dragging fragments of wagons after them, and trampling the living and the dead into the mire. The ranks were thrown into utter consternation. There was no defence that could be made. And still the deadly storm of bullets fell upon them, while a feeble return fire was attempted, which merely threw its bullets against the rocks, or buried them in the gigantic trees. The Indians were derisively laughing at the convulsive and impotent struggles of their victims.

Washington, who had been appalled as he anticipated this terrific scene, now that the awful hour had come, was perfectly calm and self-possessed. He had previously made the arrangement with some of the provincial officers, precisely what to do in the emergence. The Virginia troops were somewhat scattered. Washington was on horseback. Almost instantly his horse was shot beneath him. He sprang upon another, from which the rider had fallen; but scarcely was he seated in the saddle, ere that horse dropped to the ground, pierced by the bullet. Four bullets passed through his clothing. All this occurred in almost less time than it has taken to describe it.

The scene was one to appall the stoutest nerves. The yells of the savages, the clamor of the panic-stricken soldiers, the frantic plungings of the wounded steeds, the utter and helpless confusion, the unceasing rattle of musketry, the storm of leaden hail, the incessant dropping of the dead, and the moans of the wounded, all united in presenting a spectacle which could scarcely be rivalled in the realms of despair. How different this awful scene of battle from the picture of loveliness, peace, and happiness, which the valley exhibited, reposing in its Maker’s smiles, as that morning’s sun flooded it with its beams.

Braddock was a Briton, and, almost of course a man of physical courage. Even pride was sufficiently strong to prevent any display of cowardice. With bull-dog daring, he stood his ground, and issued his orders, endeavoring in vain to marshal his troops in battle array. At length a bullet struck him, and he fell mortally wounded. An awful scene of confusion and horror was presented. There were six hundred invisible foes in ambush. They were armed with the best of French muskets, and were supported by a small band of highly disciplined French troops.

Washington rallied all the Americans within his reach, and each man, posting himself behind a tree, fired not a bullet without taking deliberate aim. The English huddled together, and senselessly, in their frenzy, firing at random, presented a fair target to the Indian marksmen, and fell as fast as the savages could load and fire. As the Indians rushed from their covert, with tomahawk and scalping-knife to seize their bloody trophy of scalps, from the dead and the wounded, who were struggling upon the ground, the Americans, with their rapid and deadly fire checked them, and drove them back. But for this the army would have been utterly destroyed. The English regulars were helpless. “They ran,” wrote Washington, “like sheep before the hounds.”

The rout was complete. Braddock, bleeding, exhausted, and experiencing the intensest mental anguish, begged to be left upon the field to die. Everything was abandoned. The wagoners and artillery-men, cutting the traces, mounted the horses and fled. Fortunately, the savages were too much engaged in plunder to pursue. The carnage had been awful. Out of eighty-six officers, twenty-six were killed and thirty-six wounded. Over seven hundred of the rank and file fell. The tomahawk of the savage soon numbered the wounded with the slain.

Braddock was hurried from the field in a litter, and his wounds dressed about a mile from the scene of carnage. He could not mount a horse, and had to be carried. A woe-stricken band of eighty soldiers formed his escort. For four days he lingered in great pain, and then died. Once he was heard to exclaim: “Who would have thought it.” It is also said that he apologized to Washington for the manner in which he had rejected his advice. His remains were buried in the road, and all indications of his grave concealed, lest the Indians might discover the spot. In the gloom of night the melancholy funeral ceremonies were performed. Washington read the burial service. It is probable that not even a volley was fired over his grave. Seldom has there been recorded a more sad close of an ambitious life.

The army of Braddock was annihilated. The French, conscious that it could do no further harm, left the starving, staggering, bleeding remains to struggle back to Virginia. They returned to Fort Duquesne, to rejoice over the victory, and to strengthen their works, in preparation for another assault, should the attempt be renewed.

There was, at that time, an English officer, Colonel James Smith, a captive at the fort. He has given a minute and exceedingly interesting account of the scenes which had transpired, and which continued to be enacted there. His narrative throws much light upon the character of the conflict, and upon the woes with which man’s inhumanity can crush his brother man.

He says that Indian scouts were every hour watching, from mountain crags and forest thickets, the advance of the army. Every day swift runners came to the fort with their report. The French commandant was kept as intimately acquainted with the condition of the army, and its position, as Braddock could have been himself. These warriors, intelligent men, with established military principles, loudly derided the folly of Braddock, declaring that he was nothing but a fool. As they described his straggling and defenceless line, its utter exposure, the course which they knew he must pursue, and the ambush they were preparing for his destruction, they would burst into boisterous laughter, saying, “We will shoot ’em all down, same as one pigeon.”

It is a great mistake to imagine that men must be simpletons because they can neither read nor write. It is said that Charlemagne could not even write his own name. And many of the most illustrious warriors of ancient days had no acquaintance whatever with books. No one can read, with an impartial spirit, the history of the Indian wars, without admitting that there were in many cases, Indian chiefs who entirely outgeneralled their English antagonists. The scene of events at the fort is very vividly presented by Colonel Smith.

Early in the morning of the day in which the attack was to be made, there was great and joyous commotion in and around the fort. The Indians, some six or seven hundred in number, were greatly elated. They seemed to be as sure of victory then as they were after it had been attained.

There was hurrying to and fro, examining the muskets, filling the powder-horns from open kegs of powder, storing away bullets in their leathern pouches, and hurrying off in small bands, in single file, through the trails of the forest. About an equal number of French troops accompanied the Indians.

Soon all were gone, save the small garrison left in charge. Slowly and silently the hours of the long summer day passed, when late in the afternoon the triumphant shouts of fleet-footed runners were heard in the forest, announcing the tidings of the great victory—tidings which awoke the garrison to enthusiasm, but which filled the heart of Colonel Smith with dismay. They brought the intelligence that the English were huddled together and surrounded, in utter dismay and confusion, in a narrow ravine, from which escape was almost impossible. The Indians, from their concealments, were shooting them down as fast as they could load and fire. They said that before sundown all would be killed.

The whoops or yells of the savages had various significations. There was the war-whoop, with which their fierce natures were roused to the attack. There was the cry of retreat, at whose signal all seemed instantaneously to vanish. And there was the exultant, triumphant “scalp-halloo,” with which they made the forests resound, when they returned to the camp, dangling the gory trophies of victory.[39]

Soon a band of about a hundred savages appeared, yelling like so many demons in their frantic, boisterous joy. It was the greatest victory they had ever known or conceived of. Braddock’s army was laden not only with all conveniences but with all luxuries. The Indians were astounded, bewildered, at the amount and richness of the plunder they had gained. It was more than they could carry away, and it presented to them a spectacle of wealth and splendor such as the fabled lamp of Aladdin never revealed. The savages returned stooping beneath the load of grenadiers’ caps, canteens, muskets, swords, bayonets, and rich uniforms which they had stripped from the dead. All had dripping scalps, and several had money. Colonel Smith writes:

“Those that were coming in and those that had arrived, kept a constant firing of small-arms, and also of the great guns in the fort, which was accompanied by the most hideous shouts and yells from all quarters; so that it appeared to me as if the infernal regions had broke loose. About sundown I beheld a small party coming in with about a dozen prisoners, stripped naked, with their hands tied behind their backs. Their faces, and parts of their bodies were blackened. These prisoners they burned to death on the banks of the Alleghany river, opposite to the fort. I stood on the fort walls until I beheld them begin to burn one of these men. They tied him to a stake and kept touching him with fire-brands, red-hot irons, etc., and he screaming in the most doleful manner. The Indians, in the meantime, were yelling like infernal spirits. As this scene was too shocking for me to behold, I returned to my lodgings, both sorry and sore.[40]

“From the best information I could receive, there were only seven Indians and four French killed in this battle. Five hundred British lay dead in the field, besides what were killed in the river, after their retreat. The morning after the battle, I saw Braddock’s artillery brought into fort. The same day also I saw several Indians in the dress of British officers, with the sashes, half moons, laced hats, etc., which the British wore.”

On the 17th of July, Washington, at the head of his sad cavalcade, reached Fort Cumberland. Fugitives had already brought reports of the disaster. Washington, knowing the terrible anxiety of his family wrote as follows to his mother.

“The Virginia troops showed a good deal of bravery, and were nearly all killed. The dastardly behavior of those they called Regulars, exposed all others, that were ordered to do their duty, to almost certain death. At last, in despite of all the efforts of the officers to the contrary, they ran, as sheep pursued by dogs, and it was impossible to rally them.”

The American troops, who, in silent exasperation, had allowed themselves to be led, by the folly of Braddock, into the valley of death, had, in some way, become acquainted with the warnings and remonstrances of Washington. This foresight, combined with the perfect courage he had displayed on the battle-field, gave them the highest opinion of his military abilities. They proclaimed his fame far and wide. Thus the ignominious defeat of the British Major-General rebounded to the honor of his American aide.

After the lapse of eighty years a gold seal of Washington, containing his initials, was found upon the battle-field. A bullet had struck it from his person. The precious relic is in possession of one of the family.

This total defeat of the English, established, for a time, the entire ascendency of the French in the valley of the Ohio and on the great lakes. Washington reached Mount Vernon on the 26th of July, in a very feeble condition of bodily health. He was probably well satisfied that there is but little pleasant music to be found in the whistling of hostile bullets. To his brother Augustine he wrote, in reference to his frontier experience:

“I was employed to go a journey in the winter, when I believe few or none would have undertaken it. What did I get by it? My expenses borne. I was then appointed, with trifling pay, to conduct a handful of men to the Ohio. What did I get for that? Why, after putting myself to a considerable expense in equipping and providing necessaries for the campaign, I went out, was soundly beaten and lost all! Came in, and had my commission taken from me; or, in other words, my command reduced, under pretence of an order from home [England]. I then went out a volunteer with General Braddock; and lost all my horses and many other things. But this, being a voluntary act, I ought not to have mentioned it; nor should I have done it, were it not to show that I have been on the losing order, ever since I entered the service, which is now nearly two years.”

The French and the English now alike infamously engaged in enlisting the Indians to aid them in the conflict. These benighted savages seem to have had no more idea of mercy than had the wolves. They burned the lonely cabins, tomahawked and scalped women and children, carried mothers and maidens into the most awful captivity, and often put their helpless victims to the torture. And yet the nobility of France and the lords of England looked complacently on, while they goaded the savages to their infernal deeds.

The English settlers outnumbered the French more than ten to one. But the French, in actual possession of the lakes and the valley, could rally around their banners a vastly more powerful force of savages than the English could summon. Thus the English were much more exposed than the French. The savages having lapped blood, and generally hating the English, entered eagerly upon the work of conflagration, plunder, and slaughter.

There were American hamlets of log huts, and lonely American farm-houses, scattered through the wilderness for a distance of four hundred miles along the western frontier of Virginia. But the court and cabinet of Great Britain considered their weal or woe a matter of but little consequence compared with the national glory to be obtained in driving the French from this whole continent.[41]

Fifteen hundred plumed, painted, howling savages were soon the allies of France, perpetrating deeds which one shudders to record. At midnight these demons of the human race would burst from the forest, and rush howling upon some hut where the poor defenceless emigrant, with his wife and his children, was tremblingly sleeping. In an hour the dreadful tragedy was completed. The yells of the savages drowned the shrieks of the mother and her babe, as they fell beneath the tomahawk. The cabin was in ashes. The savages had disappeared. The rising sun revealed but the gory corpses in their shocking mutilation.

For the protection of the frontier, thus exposed to the greatest woes of which the imagination can conceive, Virginia raised a force of seven hundred men, which was placed under the experienced command of Colonel Washington. For three years he was engaged in these arduous but almost unavailing labors. No one could tell at what point the wary Indian would strike a blow. Having struck it, the demoniac band vanished into the glooms of the wilderness, where pursuit was impossible. There is some excuse to be found for the fiend-like deeds of the savages, in the ignorance, and in the principles of war which they and their ancestors had ever cherished. But there is no excuse whatever to be found for those French and English statesmen, who employed such agents for the accomplishment of their ambitious projects. The scenes of woe, which Washington often witnessed, were so dreadful that, in after life, he could seldom bear to recur to them. We will give one instance, which he has related, as illustrative of many others.

One day as, with a small detachment of troops, he was traversing a portion of the frontier, he came to a solitary log cabin, in a little clearing, which the axe of a settler had effected in the heart of the forest. As they were approaching, through the woods, the report of a gun arrested their attention. Cautiously they crept through the underbrush, until they came in full sight of the cabin. Smoke was curling up through the roof, while a large party of savages, with piles of plunder by their side, were shouting and swinging their bleeding scalps, as they danced round their booty. As soon as they caught sight of the soldiers they fled into the forest with the swiftness of deer. In the following words Washington describes the scene which was then opened before them:

“On entering we saw a sight that, though we were familiar with blood and massacre, struck us, at least myself, with feelings more mournful than I had ever experienced before. On the bed, in one corner of the room, lay the body of a young woman, swimming in blood, with a gash in her forehead, which almost separated the head into two parts. On her breast lay two little babes, apparently twins, less than a twelve-month old, with their heads also cut open. Their innocent blood which once flowed in the same veins, now mingled in one current again. I was inured to scenes of bloodshed and misery, but this cut me to the soul. Never in my after life, did I raise my hand against a savage, without calling to mind the mother with her little twins, their heads cleft asunder.”

The soldiers eagerly pursued the fugitive savages. They had gone but a short distance from the house, when they found the father of the family and his little boy, both dead and scalped in the field. The father had been holding the plough, and his son driving the horse, when the savages came upon them. From ambush they had shot down the father, and the terrified little boy had run some distance toward the house, when he was overtaken and cut down by the tomahawk. Thus the whole family perished. Such were the perils of a home on the frontiers, in those sad days. In allusion to these awful scenes Washington wrote:

“On leaving one spot, for the protection of another point of exposure, the scene was often such as I shall never forget. The women and children clung round our knees, beseeching us to stay and protect them, and crying out to us, for God’s sake, not to leave them to be butchered by the savages. A hundred times, I declare to heaven, I would have laid down my life with pleasure, could I have insured the safety of those suffering people by the sacrifice.”

During the years 1756 and 1757, the English met a constant series of disasters. The French furnished their Indian allies with the best muskets, and amply supplied them with ammunition. A small band of French, under skilful officers, would take lead. They could call to their aid any number almost they wished of Indian warriors. These hardy men, cautious and sagacious, were highly disciplined in the kind of warfare in which they were engaged. They were by no means to be despised. In such enterprises they were far more valuable than European troops could have been. If there be fiendish work to be done, fiends are needed as the agents.

In February 1756, some matters of state called Washington to Boston. He travelled the distance, five hundred miles, on horseback, and in considerable state. He was accompanied by two aides. The three officers had each black servants dressed in livery. All were well mounted. In Philadelphia and New York Washington was received with distinguished honors.

Almost every man must have his first love. It is very confidently asserted that Washington, young, rich, handsome, and renowned, became an ardent and open admirer of a beautiful and highly accomplished lady, Miss Philipse.[42] It is even said that he sought her hand, and was refused. This is not probable. He remained in Boston but ten days; the press of business demanding a speedy return. The lady subsequently married Captain Morris.[43]

Napoleon once said that he could easily imagine himself surrounded from infancy by family influences, education and companionship, which should have led him, instead of espousing the cause of the people, to have been an ardent defender of the ancient régime. Mr. Everett writes:

“One cannot but bestow a passing thought on the question, What might have been the effect on the march of events, if Washington, at the age of twenty-five, and before the controversies between the mother country and the colonies had commenced, had formed a matrimonial alliance with a family of wealth and influence, in New York, which adhered to the royal cause and left America, as loyalists, when the war broke out? It is a somewhat curious fact, that Washington’s head-quarters, during a part of the campaign of 1776, were established in the stately mansion of the Morrises, on the Harlem river.”[44]

CHAPTER IV.
The Warrior, the Statesman, and the Planter.

Political Views of Washington—Lord Fairfax—Greenway Court—Panic at Winchester—Raids of the Savages—Policy of the British Government—Trials of Washington—The Ministry of Pitt—The New Route—Scarvoyadi the Chief—The Rendezvous at Winchester—Washington meets Martha Custis—The Result—Washington elected to the House of Burgesses—Opening the New Route—Recklessness of Major Grant—The Disaster—The Melancholy March—The Fort Abandoned and Destroyed—The Return—Splendors of Mount Vernon.

The remonstrances of Washington against the folly of cutting a new road were unavailing. As we have mentioned, the people were not in sympathy with these war measures. They were unwilling to enlist, and still more unwilling to furnish supplies. Washington, at this period of his life, had very high notions of military authority. He was then by no means a democrat, and not even a republican. In his view, it was the duty of the people to obey the orders of the court, not to question them. He was compelled to impress both wagons and wagoners. They could be obtained in no other way. In his indignation he wrote:

“No orders are obeyed but such as a party of soldiers or my own drawn sword enforces. Without this, not a single horse, for the most earnest occasion, can be had; to such a pitch has the insolence of this people arrived, by having every point hitherto submitted to them. However, I have given up none, where his majesty’s service requires the contrary, and where my proceedings are justified by my instructions; nor will I, unless they execute what they threaten, and blow out our brains.”[45]

WASHINGTON’S HEAD-QUARTERS AT NEWBURGH.

Washington was at Winchester, gathering troops for the new expedition. The savages were ravaging the frontier, murdering travellers, burning farm-houses, butchering and scalping the inhabitants. They had even crossed the western ridge of the Alleghanies and penetrated the valley of the Shenandoah. Even the baronial home of Lord Fairfax was menaced by them. Greenway Court, as his stately mansion was called, was surrounded by the majestic forest, where the savages, in large numbers, could gather unseen. The scalp of his lordship would be considered by them an inestimable trophy. His friends urged that he should abandon the place and take refuge in some of the lower settlements. The British nobleman, with spirit characteristic of his race, replied to his nephew, Colonel Martin, who was urging this measure:

“I am an old man, and it is of but little importance whether I fall by the tomahawk or die of disease and old age. But you are young, and, it is to be hoped, have many years before you; therefore decide for us both. My only fear is that, if we retire, the whole district will break up and take to flight; and the fine country, which I have been at such cost and trouble to improve, will again become a wilderness.”

It was decided to remain, and convert Greenway Court into a sort of fortress, garrisoned by the slaves of Lord Fairfax, and his numerous other retainers. Aid could also be speedily summoned from Winchester. Washington, at Winchester, organized a band of Americans familiar with forest life, and explored the hiding places in the mountains and valleys in search of the prowling bands of savages.

The panic at Winchester was dreadful. Every hour brought its tale of horror. Only twenty miles from the town, in the Warm Spring Mountain, a scouting party of the English was attacked by the savages, all on horseback. The captain and several of the soldiers were shot down. The rest were put to flight by the victorious Indians. It was daily expected that the town would be attacked. All looked to Washington as their only protector. The consternation of the women was dreadful. They came to him, with their children in their arms, and implored him to save them from the savages. The heart of Washington was often wrung with anguish. He wrote to Governor Dinwiddie:

“I am too little acquainted with pathetic language to attempt a description of this people’s distress. But what can I do? I see their situation. I know their danger and participate their sufferings, without having it in my power to give them further relief than uncertain promises.

“The supplicating tears of the women, and petitions of the men, melt me into such deadly sorrow that I solemnly declare, if I know my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacrifice to the butchering enemy, provided that would contribute to the people’s ease.”

Washington himself was bitterly assailed. Every outrage inflicted by the Indians was charged to his neglect or incompetency. His sensitive nature was stung to the quick. His situation was indeed deplorable. He derived neither honor nor emolument from his command. He was shut up in a frontier town, surrounded by savage hordes, whose ravages his feeble band could by no means arrest. He declared that nothing but the imminent danger of the times prevented him from resigning his command. His friend Mr. Robinson, Speaker of the House of Burgesses, wrote to him:

“Our hopes, dear George, are all fixed on you, for bringing our affairs to a happy issue. Consider what fatal consequences to your country your resigning the command, at this time, may be; especially as there is no doubt most of the officers will follow your example.”

The House of Burgesses was in favor of the policy of erecting a chain of frontier forts to extend a distance of about four hundred miles, through the solitudes of the Alleghany mountains, from the Potomac to the borders of North Carolina.

Washington considered this measure quite injudicious. To render it of any avail, it would be necessary that the forts should be within about fifteen miles of each other, so that the intervening country could be daily explored. Otherwise the Indians would rush between, and, having effected their ravages would escape back to the forest where pursuit would be fruitless. The forts would have to be very strongly garrisoned, for French artillery could be brought against them, and almost any number of savage warriors. The cost of rearing so many forts would be immense. They could not be suitably garrisoned by less than two thousand men. Washington, therefore, proposed that, instead of this series of forts, there should be a strong central fortress at Winchester, and three or four large fortresses, at convenient distances on the frontier, from which parties could easily explore the surrounding country. He also made many other suggestions of reform in the military service, which developed, thus early, the sagacity and forethought which so signally characterized him in future life. Many of the suggestions of Washington, Governor Dinwiddie rejected. But the central fortress at Winchester and the frontier posts were reared.

The repeated inroads of the savages had driven nearly all the inhabitants out of the beautiful valley of the Shenandoah. The woes which these poor fugitives endured cannot well be imagined. It was the object of the British government, not only to expel the French from the valley of the Ohio, but also from the valley of the St. Lawrence. The necessity of collecting troops from Pennsylvania and Virginia, to attack the French in Canada, greatly weakened the power of the Americans in the more southern States, to protect their homes.

Every man who attains celebrity pays a heavy price for the attainment. Washington, in one of his hours of anguish, when he was thwarted in his most important plans, and assailed by a constant torrent of abuse, wrote, in reference to a very unwelcome order he had received:

“The late order reverses, confuses, and incommodes everything; to say nothing of the extraordinary expense of carriage, disappointments, losses, and alterations which must fall heavily upon the country. Whence it arises, or why, I am truly ignorant. But my strongest representations of matters relative to the peace of the frontiers are disregarded as idle and frivolous; my propositions and measures as partial and selfish; and all my sincerest endeavors, for the service of my country, are perverted to the worst purposes. My orders are dark, doubtful, uncertain; to-day approved, to-morrow condemned.

“Left to act and proceed at hazard, accountable for the consequences, and blamed without the benefit of defence, if you can think my situation capable of exciting the smallest degree of envy, or affording the least satisfaction, the truth is yet hidden from you, and you entertain notions very different from the case.”[46]

Care, exposure, and sorrow threw Washington into a burning fever. He retired to Mount Vernon, where he was reduced very low, and four months passed away before he was able to resume his command. This was on the 1st of March, 1758.

Much to the relief of Washington, Governor Dinwiddie, in January, had sailed for England. The Earl of Loudon succeeded him. But, busily engaged in organizing an expedition for the invasion of Canada, the earl did not immediately enter upon the duties of his office in Virginia. William Pitt was now prime minister of Great Britain.

As one of his first measures, in the year 1758 a strong expedition was organized, consisting of six thousand men, to march against Fort Duquesne. General Forbes was appointed to the command of the whole force. Virginia raised two thousand troops. These were divided into two regiments. Washington, who had been appointed by the Assembly, commander-in-chief of all the Virginia troops, was also colonel of the first regiment. Colonel Byrd led the second. Colonel Bouquet, in command of the British regulars, was in the advance, marshalling his forces in the centre of Pennsylvania.

Early in July, Washington, with his troops, marching from Winchester, reached Fort Cumberland. Two of his companies he dressed in Indian costume. To Colonel Bouquet he wrote:

“My men are bare of regimental clothing, and I have no prospect of supply. So far from regretting this want, during the present campaign, if I were left to pursue my own inclinations, I would not only order the men to adopt the Indian dress, but cause the officers to do it also, and be the first to set the example myself. Nothing but the uncertainty of obtaining the general approbation causes me to hesitate a moment to leave my regimentals in this place, and proceed as light as any Indian in the woods. It is an unbecoming dress, I own; but convenience rather than show, I think, should be consulted.”

Notwithstanding the earnest remonstrances of Washington, it was decided to cross the mountains by a new route. With immense labor, a road had been cut for the passage of wagons and artillery, along which Braddock’s army had passed. Slight repairs would put this road in good condition. Washington presented an accurate estimate, showing that the whole army could be at Fort Duquesne in thirty-four days, with a supply of provisions remaining on hand for eighty-seven days. But Colonel Bouquet was firm in his resolution to open a new route, from Raystown, through Pennsylvania. Washington, after an interview with Bouquet, wrote, on the 2d of August, to a friend, Major Halket:

“I have just returned from a conference with Colonel Bouquet. I find him fixed—I think I may say unalterably fixed—to lead you a new way to the Ohio, through a road every inch of which is to be cut, at this advanced season, when we have scarce time to tread the beaten track, universally confessed to be the best passage through the mountains. If Colonel Bouquet succeeds in this point, all is lost—all is lost indeed. Our enterprise will be ruined, and we shall be stopped at the Laurel Hill this winter; the southern Indians will turn against us, and these colonies will be desolated by such an accession to the enemy’s strength. These must be the consequences of a miscarriage; and a miscarriage is almost the necessary consequence of an attempt to march the army by this new route.”

Quite a large band of Indians were engaged as allies of the English on this expedition. They were led by a very intelligent and distinguished chief, called Scarvoyadi. There were several tribes who recognized his chieftainship. They had kept aloof, for some time, from military alliance with either party. At length, with some hesitancy, they joined the English. Washington considered the aid of these bold warriors as of the utmost importance. He knew that they were proud, and would quickly discern and keenly feel any insult. He therefore urged that they should be treated with consideration, and that they should be consulted on important questions.

But the British officers had but very little respect for ignorant savages. Many of the warriors, disgusted with the long delay, deliberately shouldered their muskets and marched back through the wilderness to their homes. They were ready at once to respond to the invitations of the French, who ever treated them as equals. Scarvoyadi, who still personally adhered to the English, wrote to the Governor and Council of Pennsylvania, in reference to the defeat of Braddock, as follows:

“As to the defeat at the Monongahela, it was owing to the pride and ignorance of that great general who came from England. He is now dead. But he was a bad man when he was alive. He looked upon us as dogs. He would never hear anything we said to him. We often endeavored to advise him, and tell him of the danger he was in. But he never appeared pleased with us. That was the reason why a great many of our warriors left him.”[47]

We have no space here to allude to the great and successful campaign in the north, against Canada, with which Washington had no connection. But operations went on very slowly on the frontiers of Virginia. General Forbes, who was commander-in-chief, was long detained in Philadelphia. Colonel Bouquet, who was to command the advance, assembled his corps of British regulars at Raystown, in the heart of Pennsylvania. There were about three thousand five hundred American troops, Provincials, as they were called, at other appointed places of rendezvous.

Washington summoned his two regiments of Virginia troops to meet at Winchester. They numbered about nineteen hundred men. There were also about seven hundred friendly Indians, who came into his camp, lured by the high reputation of Washington and the prospect of the plunder of Fort Duquesne.

But when the American young men, from their scattered farm-houses in the wilderness, some of them distant two hundred miles, arrived at the rendezvous, they found themselves destitute of everything needful for so momentous a campaign. They were in want of horses, arms, ammunition, tents, field equipage, and almost everything else essential to the enterprise.

It was necessary for Washington immediately to repair to Williamsburg, to present the state of the case to the Council. When he reached the Pamunkey river, where there was no bridge, he was carried across, with his horse, in a ferry-boat. In the crossing he chanced to meet a Virginia gentleman of the name of Chamberlain, who was wealthy and who occupied a mansion in the neighborhood, where he entertained his distinguished guests with almost baronial hospitality.

He urged Washington so importunately to accompany him to his dwelling, at least to dine, that Washington, though with great reluctance, as it might cause the delay of an hour, felt constrained to accept the invitation. Among the guests at the table was a very beautiful young widow, by the name of Martha Custis. She was wealthy, and both by birth and marriage was connected with the most distinguished families in Virginia.

She was high-bred, accustomed to the most polished society, intelligent, and very beautiful. Her husband, who had been dead about three years, had left her with two children and a large fortune. Washington seemed to be, at first sight, deeply impressed with her surpassing loveliness and her social and mental attractions. The dinner hour rapidly passed. The horses, according to appointment, were at the door. But Washington decided to remain until the next morning. The afternoon and evening passed rapidly away, and at an early hour the ensuing day Washington was again in the saddle, endeavoring to make up for lost time as he urged his steed toward Williamsburg.

The beautiful and opulent widow had many suitors. The somewhat stately mansion, reared upon her large estate, was known as the White House. It was situated in New Kent county, not far from Williamsburg. Washington, apprehensive that he might lose the prize, improved the brief time which remained to him, to the utmost. The result was that their mutual faith was soon plighted. The marriage was to take place as soon as the campaign against Fort Duquesne was at an end.

Washington was continually urging upon the British officers the necessity of an immediate and vigorous advance. But these men, though winning the admiration of all by their bravery in the field, being generally the sons of the nobles, and accustomed to luxurious indulgence, deemed it necessary to make provisions for their comfort on the campaign, which, to the hardy Americans, seemed quite preposterous. The troops became daily more restless and demoralized by the temptations of an idle camp. The Indians, quite disgusted, in a body retired.

At length Washington, to his great relief, received orders to repair to Fort Cumberland. He reached that frontier fort on the 2d of July, and immediately commenced cutting a road through the forest, a distance of thirty miles, to Raystown, where Colonel Bouquet was stationed. Scouting parties of Indians were ranging the woods, firing upon the workmen, and upon the expresses passing between the posts, and worrying the laborers in every possible way. Washington succeeded in engaging the services of a band of Cherokee warriors, whom he sent out in counter parties against the hostile Indians. Colonel Bouquet thought that no one but an American could be guilty of the folly of imagining that Cherokee warriors could, in any emergence, be equal to British regulars. He insisted that each party should be accompanied by an English officer and a number of English soldiers. Washington was annoyed by the encumbrance, but was obliged to yield. He said:

“Small parties of Indians will more effectually harass the enemy, by keeping them under continual alarms, than any parties of white men can do. For small parties of the latter are not equal to the task, not being so dexterous at skulking as the Indians. And large parties will be discovered by their spies early enough to have a superior force opposed to them.”[48]

While affairs were moving thus slowly, Washington was quite enthusiastically chosen, by the electors of Frederick county, as their representative to the House of Burgesses. On the 21st of July, tidings arrived of the capture of Louisbourg, and the island of Cape Breton, by the English. This increased the impatience of Washington to be on the move. The rumor reached him that Colonel Bouquet intended to send a body of eight hundred troops in advance toward the fort. He immediately wrote to the Colonel, entreating that his command might be included in the detachment.

“If any argument,” said he, “is needed, to obtain this favor, I hope, without vanity, I may be allowed to say, that from long intimacy with these woods, and frequent scoutings in them, my men are at least as well acquainted with all the passes and difficulties as any troops that will be employed.”

Notwithstanding the remonstrances of Washington, and the indignation of the Virginia Assembly, Colonel Bouquet persisted in his plan of cutting a new road over the mountains, to Fort Duquesne. Sixteen hundred men were sent forward, from Raystown, to engage in the work. Thus July and August passed away; Washington was still encamped at Fort Cumberland, in the extreme of impatience, with nothing to do. He learned, by his spies, that on the 13th of August there were but eight hundred men, Indians included, at Fort Duquesne. There can be no question, that had Washington’s counsels been followed, the fort would, by that time, have been in the hands of the British.

In September, Washington received orders to repair, with his troops, to Raystown, where he was to join Colonel Forbes. It was the middle of the month. And yet, with incredible toil the new military road had been opened but about forty-five miles, where a fort of deposit was built, called Loyal Hannan, a short distance beyond Laurel Hill, a distance of fifty miles, through the wilderness, was still to be traversed.

Colonel Bouquet, who commanded two thousand men there, sent forward about eight hundred men, under Major Grant, to reconnoitre. The Major was a boastful, conceited bravado. A part of his force consisted of Highlanders, and another part of Americans, under Major Andrew Lewis. They were all brave men. Grant was not aware that Indian scouts were watching every step of his advance. The farther they could draw him from the main body, the more easy and signal would be their victory. Supposing that he had approached the fort unperceived, Major Grant decided to make a sudden attack, thinking to take it by surprise, and thus to win great glory. Major Lewis thought the attempt very imprudent. There was certainly danger of failure. The failure might prove exceedingly disastrous. Whereas, by obeying orders, and waiting for the main body of troops to come up, the fort could certainly be taken, and probably with but very little, if any, bloodshed. With characteristic contemptuousness Major Grant replied:

“You and your Americans may remain behind, with the baggage. I will go forward, with the British regulars, and show you how a fort can be taken.”

He then placed Major Lewis in the rear, with the American troops, to protect the baggage. With martial music and unfurled banners, as if in proud challenge of the garrison, he marched his troops to an eminence, near the fort, where he encamped for the night. There was no movement in the fort. Not a gun was fired. Not a voice was heard. Nearly two thousand Indians were encamped near by, waiting to coöperate with a sally from the fort the next morning.

The morning came. With its early dawn there was opened one of those awful scenes of tumult, blood, and woe, which have so often disfigured this sad world. The sally from the garrison attacked in front. The Indians in ambush, with hideous yells, opened fire upon the flanks. The scenes of Braddock’s defeat were renewed. The British officers, with coolness and courage which could not be surpassed, endeavored to rally their men according to European tactics, which was the most foolish thing they could possibly do. The soldiers were thus presented to the foe, in such a concentrated mass, that every bullet of the savages accomplished its mission.

The British regulars, for a little time, held their ground bravely, though almost deafened by the yells of two thousand savages, and assailed by perhaps as terrific a storm of leaden hail as soldiers ever encountered. But no mortal courage could long withstand this merciless slaughter. Panic ensued, and a tumultuous flight. Major Lewis, leaving Captain Bullit with fifty men to guard the baggage, hurried forward, with the remainder of the Virginia troops, to the scene of action. The ground was covered with the dead and wounded, and the English utterly routed, were in frantic flight. The yells of two thousand Indians, in hot pursuit, blended into one demoniac scream.

Lewis was surrounded and captured. A French officer came to his rescue, and saved him from the tomahawk. Major Grant was likewise captured, and his life was saved by a French officer. Captain Bullit endeavored to make a forlorn stand, by forming a barricade with the baggage wagons. It was the work of a moment. The fugitives rallied behind it. Every man could see that escape, by flight, pursued by two thousand fleet-footed savages, was impossible. Concealed behind this bulwark, as the savages drew near, a deadly fire, by a concerted signal, was simultaneously opened upon them. This held the savages in check for a little time, but it manifestly could not be for long. We regret to add that the brave Captain Bullit then resorted to a stratagem, which, had it been adopted by the Indians, would have been denounced as the vilest perfidy. We give the occurrence, in the mild, and certainly not condemnatory language, of Washington Irving.

“They were checked for a time, but were again pressing forward in greater numbers, when Bullit and his men held out the signal of capitulation, and advanced, as if to surrender. When within eight yards of the enemy, they suddenly levelled their arms, poured a most effectual volley, and then charged with the bayonet. The Indians fled in dismay, and Bullit took advantage of this check to retreat, with all speed, collecting the wounded and scattered fugitives as he advanced.”[49]

The routed detachment, in broken bands, after the endurance of terrible sufferings, reached the Fort, Loyal Hannan. Here we are informed, by Mr. Irving, that Bullit’s behavior was “a matter of great admiration.” He was soon after rewarded with a major’s commission.[50]

In this disastrous campaign, fraught with woe to so many once happy homes, twenty-one officers and two hundred and seventy-three privates were either killed or taken captive. There was something in the dignity, thoughtfulness, and heroism of Washington’s character which caused, notwithstanding the incessant attacks to which he was exposed, his reputation to be continually on the advance. The weary weeks still lingered slowly away, and but little was accomplished. The Indians were ravaging the frontiers, almost unopposed. Life had become a burden in hundreds of woe-stricken homes. In many a lonely log-cabin, the widowed mother gathered her orphan children around her, and in terror awaited the war-whoop of the savage. Washington was given the command of a detachment of American troops to do what he could for the protection of these homes where anguish dwelt.