Читать книгу George Washington; or, Life in America One Hundred Years Ago - John S. C. Abbott - Страница 6

Table of Contents

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.