CHAPTER XIX
Thenews brought by George confirmed all the fears of the war which was presently to begin and to last for seven years. The governor immediately called together his council, laid before them Major Washington’s report, and for once acted with promptitude. It was determined to raise a force of several hundred men, to take possession of the disputed territory, and, without a single opposing voice, the command was offered to Major Washington, with the additional rank of lieutenant-colonel.
George said little, but his gratification was deeper than he could express. He wrote to his mother at once, and also to Betty, and Betty answered: “Our mother is very resigned, for she knows, dear George, that when one has a son or a brother who isa great military genius, and who everybody knows must one day bea great man, one must give him up to his country.” At which George laughed very much, for he did not think himself either a genius or a great man.
After receiving the governor’s instructions, and paying a flying visit to Ferry Farm, George went to Mount Vernon, as all the preparations for the campaign were to be made at Alexandria, which was the rendezvous.
His days were now spent in the most arduous labor. He knew what was before him, and he was full of care. He was very anxious to enlist men from the mountain districts, as being better able to withstand the hardships of a mountain campaign. He wrote to Lord Fairfax, who was lieutenant of the county of Frederick, and a recruiting station was opened at Greenway Court. At last, in April, he was ready to march on his first campaign. His force consisted of about four hundred Virginia troops, with nine swivels mounted on carriages. He expected to be joined by other troops from Maryland and Pennsylvania, but he was doomed to be cruelly disappointed. The morning of the 15th of April, 1754, was bright and warm, and at eight o’clock the soldiers marched out, to the music of the fife and drum, from the town of Alexandria, with Colonel Washington at their head.
They were a fine-looking body of men, but, as always, Colonel Washington was the finest figure present. He rode a superb chestnut horse, handsomely caparisoned. In his splendid new uniformhis elegant figure showed to the greatest advantage. All the windows of the streets through which they marched were filled with spectators. At one Colonel Washington removed his chapeau, and bowed as if to royalty, for from it his mother and Betty were watching him. His mother raised her hands in blessing, while Betty held out her arms as if to clasp him. And when he had passed the two fond creatures fell into each other’s arms, and cried together very heartily.
Captain Vanbraam commanded the first company. In one of the baggage-wagons sat a familiar figure. It was Billy—not left behind this time, but taken as George’s body-servant.
On the 20th Will’s Creek was reached. A small party of men under Captain Trench had been sent forward by the governor to the Ohio River, with orders to build a fort at what is now Pittsburg, and there await Colonel Washington. But while the Virginia troops were marching through the forest, before sighting the creek, an officer on a horse was seen approaching. He rode up to George, and, saluting, said:
“I am Ensign Ward, sir, of Captain Trench’s company.”
“From the fort at the meeting of the Alleghany and Monongahela?” asked George.
“Ah, sir,” cried the young officer, with tearsin his eyes, “the fort is no longer ours. A French force, consisting of nearly a thousand men, appeared while we were at work on it, and opened fire on us. We were but forty-one, and we were forced to hoist the white flag without firing a shot.”
This was, indeed, dreadful news. It showed that the French were fully alive to the situation, if not beforehand with the English. Even a small detachment of the French force could cut off and destroy this little band of four companies. George’s mind was hard at work while young Ward gave the details of the surrender. His only comment was:
“We must push on to a point I have marked on the Monongahela, and there build the fort instead of at the junction of the rivers.”
After passing Will’s Creek they were in the heart of the wilderness. The transportation of the guns, ammunition, and baggage was so difficult, owing to the wildness of the country, that they were fourteen days in making fourteen miles. But the men, animated by their commander, toiled uncomplainingly at work most distasteful to soldiers—cutting down trees, making bridges, and dragging the guns over rocks when wheels could not turn. Even Billy worked for the first time in his life. One night, afterthree weeks of this labor, an Indian stalked up to the camp and demanded to see the commander. George happened to be passing on his nightly round of inspection, and in a moment recognized his old friend Tanacharison. “Welcome!” cried the chief in the Indian tongue, and calling George by his Indian name of “Young White Warrior.”
“Welcome to you,” answered George, more than pleased to see his ally.
“This is no time for much talk,” said the Indian. “Fifty French soldiers with Captain Jumonville are concealed in a glen six miles away. They are spies for the main body—for the French have three men to your one—and if they find you here you will be cut to pieces. But if you can catch the French spies, the main body will not know where you are; and,” he added, with a crafty smile, “if they should meet Tanacharison, he will send them a hundred miles in the wrong direction.”
George saw in a moment the excellence of the old chief’s advice. Tanacharison knew the road, which was comparatively easy, and offered to guide them, and to assist with several of his braves. It was then nine o’clock, and rain had begun falling in torrents. George retired to his rude shelter of boughs, called together his officers, and announced his intention of attacking this partyof fifty Frenchmen. He made a list of forty picked men, and at midnight he caused them to be wakened quietly, and set off without arousing the whole camp.
The wind roared and the rain changed to hail, but still the Virginians, with Washington at their head, kept on through the woods. Sometimes they sank up to their knees in quagmires—again they cut their feet against sharp stones; but they never halted. At daybreak they entered the glen in two files, the Indians on one side, the Virginians on the other, George leading. It was a wild place, surrounded by rocks, with only one narrow cleft for entrance. Just as the last man had entered the alarm was given, and firing began from both parties at the same time. The French resisted bravely, headed by Captain Jumonville, who was the first man to fall; but a quarter of an hour’s sharp fighting decided the skirmish, and the French called for quarter. This was George’s baptism of fire, and it was the beginning of war between France and England, which was to last, with but a few years’ intermission, for more than fifty years.
The prisoners were at once taken back to the American camp, and then sent, under guard, back to Virginia. This little success raised the spirits of the troops very much, but George, witha prophetic eye, knew that, as soon as the story of Jumonville’s defeat and death reached the French, a formidable force would be sent out against him. He had brave and active spies, who penetrated almost as far as Fort Duquesne, as the French had named Trench’s fort, but none of them equalled old Tanacharison. One night, the last of June, he and three other scouts brought the news that the French were advancing, nine hundred strong, and were near at hand. A council of war was called, and it was determined to retreat to Great Meadows, where a better stand could be made, and where it was thought provisions and reinforcements would meet them. Accordingly, at daybreak, a start was made. The horses had become so weak from insufficient food that they could no longer drag the light swivels, and the men were forced to haul them. George himself set the example of the officers walking, and, dismounting, loaded his horse with public stores, while he engaged the men, for liberal pay, to carry his own small baggage. It very much disgusted Billy to be thrown out of his comfortable seat in the baggage-wagon, but he was forced to leg it like his betters.
Two days’ slow and painful marching brought them to Great Meadows, but, to their intensedisappointment, not a man was found, nor provisions of any sort. The men were disheartened but unmurmuring.
George immediately set them to work felling trees and making such breastworks of earth and rocks as they could manage with their few tools.
“I shall call this place Fort Necessity,” he said to his officers; “for it is necessity, not choice, that made me retreat here.”
Every hour in the day and night he expected to be attacked, but no attack would have caught him unprepared to resist as best he could with his feeble force. His ceaseless vigilance surprised even those who knew how tireless he was.
At last, on the morning of the 3d of July, just as George had finished making the round of the sentries, he heard, across the camp, a shot, followed by the sudden shriek of a wounded man. The French skirmishers were on the ground, and one of them, being seen stealing along in the underbrush, had been challenged by the sentry, and had fired in reply and winged his man. The alarm was given, and by nine o’clock it was known that a French force of nine hundred men, with artillery, was approaching rapidly. By eleven o’clock the gleam of their muskets could be seen through the trees as they advanced to the attack. Meanwhile not a momentsince the first alarm had been lost in the American camp. George seemed to be everywhere at once, animating his men, and seeing that every possible preparation was made. He had posted his little force in the best possible manner, and had instructed his officers to fight where they were, and not to be drawn from their position into the woods, where the French could slaughter them at will.
The French began their fire at six hundred yards, but the Americans did not return a shot until the enemy was within range, when George, himself sighting a swivel, sent a shot screeching into the midst of them. He fully expected an assault, but the French were wary, and, knowing their superiority in force, as well as the longer range of their artillery, withdrew farther into the woods, and began to play their guns on the Americans, who could not fire an effective shot. The French sharp-shooters, too, posting themselves behind trees, picked off the Americans, and especially aimed at the horses, which they destroyed one by one. All during the hot July day this continued. The Americans showed an admirable spirit, and this young commander, with the fortitude of a veteran, encouraged them to resist, but he was too good a soldier not to see that there could be but one issue to it. At everyvolley from the French some of the Americans dropped, and this going on, hour after hour, under a burning sun, by weary, half-starved men, would have tried the courage of the best soldiers in the world. But the men and their young commander were animated by the same spirit—they must stubbornly defend every inch of ground and die in the last ditch.
Captain Vanbraam, who was second in command, was a man of much coolness, and knew the smell of burning powder well. During the day, standing near him, he said quietly to George:
“I see, Colonel Washington, that you practice the tactics of all great soldiers: if you cannot win, you will at least make the enemy pay dearly for his victory.” George turned a pale but determined face upon him.
“I must never let the Frenchman think that Americans are easily beaten. They outnumber us three to one, but we must fight for honor when we can no longer fight for victory. Nor can I acknowledge myself beaten before the Frenchman thinks so, and he must sound the parley first. The braver our defence the better will be the terms offered us.”
Captain Vanbraam gazed with admiration at the commanding officer of twenty-three—so cool, so determined in the face of certain disaster.George in all his life had never seen so many dead and wounded as on that July day, but he bore the sight unflinchingly.
About sunset on this terrible day a furious thunder-storm arose. Within ten minutes the sky, that had gleamed all day like a dome of heated brass, grew black. The clouds rushed from all points of the compass, and formed a dense black pall overhead. It seemed to touch the very tops of the tall pines, that rocked and swayed fearfully, as a wind, fierce and sudden, swept through them. A crash of thunder, like two worlds coming together, followed a flash of lightning which rent the heavens. As tree after tree was struck in the forest and came down the sharp crash was heard. Then the heavens were opened and floods descended. At the beginning of the tempest George had promptly ordered the men to withdraw, with the wounded, inside the rude fort. He worked alongside with the private soldiers in trying to make the wounded men more comfortable, and lifted many of them with his own arms into the best protected spots. It was impossible to secure them from the rain, however, or to keep the powder dry, and George saw, with an anguish that nearly broke his heart, that he had fired his last shot.
For two hours the storm raged, and then diedaway as suddenly as it rose. A pallid moon came out in the heavens, and a solemn and awful silence succeeded the uproar of tempest and battle. About nine o’clock, by the dim light of a few lanterns, the Americans saw a party approaching bearing a white flag, and with a drummer beating the parley. George, who was the first to see them, turned to Captain Vanbraam.
“You will meet them, captain, but by no means allow them to enter the fort so they can see our desperate situation.”
Captain Vanbraam, accompanied by two other officers, met the Frenchmen outside the breastworks, where they received a letter from the French commander to Colonel Washington. George read it by the light of a pine torch which Captain Vanbraam held for him. It ran:
“Sir,—Desirous to avoid the useless effusion of blood, and to save the lives of gallant enemies like yourself and the men under your command, I propose a parley to arrange the terms of surrender of your forces to me as the representative of his most Christian majesty. Captain Du Val, the bearer of this, is empowered to make terms with you or your representative, according to conditions which I have given him in writing, of which the first is that your command be permitted to march out with all the honors of war, drums beating and colors flying. I have the honor to be, sir, with the highest respect,“Your obedient, humble servant,“Duchaine.”
“Sir,—Desirous to avoid the useless effusion of blood, and to save the lives of gallant enemies like yourself and the men under your command, I propose a parley to arrange the terms of surrender of your forces to me as the representative of his most Christian majesty. Captain Du Val, the bearer of this, is empowered to make terms with you or your representative, according to conditions which I have given him in writing, of which the first is that your command be permitted to march out with all the honors of war, drums beating and colors flying. I have the honor to be, sir, with the highest respect,
“Your obedient, humble servant,“Duchaine.”
As George finished reading this letter for one moment his calmness deserted him, and with a groan he covered his face with his hands. But it was only for a moment; the next he had recovered a manly composure. With a drum-head for a table, and a log of wood for a seat, he called his officers about him, and quietly discussed the proposed terms, Captain Vanbraam translating to those who did not understand French. The conditions were highly honorable. The Frenchman knew what he was about, and the stubborn resistance of the Americans had earned them, not only the respect, but the substantial consideration of the French. They were to be paroled on delivering up their prisoners, and were to retain their side-arms and baggage.
The men knew what was going on, as orders had been given to cease firing, and having built camp-fires, sat about them, gloomy and despondent. But no word of murmuring escaped them. When at last, in about an hour, the preliminaries were arranged, signed, and sent to the French commander, George assembled round him the remnant of men left.
WITH DRUMS BEATING AND COLORS FLYING“WITH DRUMS BEATING AND COLORS FLYING”
“WITH DRUMS BEATING AND COLORS FLYING”
“WITH DRUMS BEATING AND COLORS FLYING”
“My men,” he said, in a choked voice, “to-morrow morning at nine o’clock we shall march out of Fort Necessity beaten but not disgraced. Every man here has done his whole duty, but wewere outnumbered three to one; and our fight this day has been for our honor, not for victory, because victory was impossible. We are accorded all the honors of war, which shows that we are fighting men as honorable as ourselves. I thank you every one, officers and soldiers, for the manly defence you have made. This is our first fight, but it is not our last, and the time will come, I hope, when we can wipe out this day’s record by a victory gained not by superior force but by superior gallantry.”
A cheer broke from the men who had listened to him. They were soldiers, and they knew that they had been well commanded, and that the unequal battle had been very nobly fought, and George Washington was one of the few men in the world’s history who could always command in defeat the confidence that other men can only secure in success.
Next morning—by a strange coincidence the Fourth of July, then an unmarked day in the calendar—at nine o’clock the Americans marched out of camp. The French were drawn up in parallel lines in front of the intrenchment. Knowing that the American officers would be afoot, the French officers sent their horses to the rear. As the Americans marched out, with George Washington at their head, the French commander,Duchaine, turned to his officers and said, smiling:
“Look at that beautiful boy-commander! Are not such provincials worth conquering?”
The Americans halted, and George advanced to thank the French commander for the extreme courtesy shown the Americans, for it was the policy of the French to conciliate the Americans, and to profess to think them driven into the war by England.
Before George could speak the Frenchman, saluting, said:
“Colonel Washington, I had heard that you were young, but not until this moment did I fully realize it. All day yesterday I thought I was fighting a man as old in war as I am, and I have been a soldier for more than thirty years.”
George could only say a few words in reply, but to the core of his heart he felt the cordial respect given him by his enemies.
But his thoughts were bitter on that homeward march. He had been sent out to do great things, and he came back a defeated man. By the watch-fires at night he prepared his account to be submitted to Governor Dinwiddie, and it was the most painful work of his life. After two weeks’ travel, the latter part of it in advance ofhis command, he reached Williamsburg. The House of Burgesses was in session, and this gave him a painful kind of satisfaction. He would know at once what was thought of his conduct.
On the day of his arrival he presented himself before Governor Dinwiddie, who received him kindly.
“We know, Colonel Washington,” he said, “that you surrendered three hundred men to nine hundred. But we also know that you gave them a tussle for it. Remain here until I have communicated with the House of Burgesses, when you will, no doubt, be sent for.”
George remained in his rooms at the Raleigh Tavern, seeing no one. He knew the governor perfectly well—a man of good heart but weak head—and he set more value on the verdict of his own countrymen, assembled as burgesses, than on the governor’s approval. He did not have to wait long. The House of Burgesses received his report, read it, and expressed a high sense of Colonel Washington’s courage and ability, although, in spite of both, he had been unfortunate, and declared a continuation of their confidence in him. Not so Governor Dinwiddie. His heart was right, but whenever he thought for himself he always thought wrong. The fact that hehad to report to the home government the failure of this inadequate expedition set him to contriving, as all weak men will, some one or some circumstance on which to shift the responsibility. It occurred to him at once: the Virginia troops were only provincial troops—Colonel Washington was a provincial officer. What was needed, this wise governor concluded, was regular troops and regular officers. This he urged strongly in his report to the home government, and next day he sent for George.
“Colonel Washington,” he said, suddenly, “I believe nothing can be accomplished without the aid of regular troops from England, and I have asked for at least two regiments for the next campaign. Meanwhile I have determined to raise ten companies to assist the regular force which is promised us in the spring, for it is now too late in the season for military operations. I offer you the command of one of those companies. Your former officers will be similarly provided for; but I will state frankly that when the campaign opens the officers of the same rank in his majesty’s regular troops will outrank those in the provincial army.”
George listened to this remarkable speech with the red slowly mounting into his face. His temper, brought under control only by the mostdetermined will, showed in his eyes, which literally blazed with anger.
“Sir,” he said, after a moment, “as I understand, you offer me a captain’s commission in exchange for that which I now bear of lieutenant-colonel, and I am to be made the equal of men whom I have commanded, and all of us are to be outranked by the regular force.”
The governor shifted uneasily in his chair, and finally began a long rigmarole which he meant for an explanation. George heard him through in an unbroken silence, which very much disconcerted the governor. Then he rose and said, with a low bow:
“Sir, I decline to accept the commission you offer me, and I think you must suppose me as empty as the commission itself in proposing it. I shall also have the honor of surrendering to your excellency the commission of lieutenant-colonel, which you gave me; and I bid you, sir, good-morning”—and he was gone.
The governor looked about him, dazed at finding himself so suddenly alone.
“What a young fire-eater!” he soliloquized. “But it is the way with these republicans. They fancy themselves quite as good as anybody the king can send over here, and the spiritshown by this young game-cock is just what I might have expected of him.”
The governor tried to dismiss the subject from his mind, but he could not, and he soon found out that “the young game-cock’s” spurs were fully grown.