The next morning about nine came Mr. William Fairfax to the inn and
said: “There is some trouble about the capitulations, but I do not know
what. You are wanted at once by the council.”
Upon this I made haste to reach the palace, wondering what could be the
matter.
In the council-chamber were several gentlemen standing, in silence――Mr.
Speaker Robinson, Colonel Cary, and my Lord Fairfax, as I was pleased
to see, he having arrived that morning to be a guest of Governor
Dinwiddie. There were also others, all standing in groups, but who they
were I fail now to remember. All of them appeared to be serious as I
went in, and there was, of a sudden, silence, except that the governor,
a bulky man, very red in the face and of choleric temper, was walking
about cursing in a most unseemly way. Lord Fairfax alone received me
pleasantly, coming forward to greet me, but no one else did more
than bow. The governor came toward me, and holding the capitulations
in one hand, struck them with the other hand and cried out: “Explain,
sir――explain how you, sir, an officer of the King, came to admit over
your signature that you were an assassin, and twice, sir, twice. I
consider you disgraced.”
Lord Fairfax laid a hand on my arm to stay me and said:
“Your Excellency, it is not the manner among us to condemn a man
unheard; nor, sir, to address a gentleman as you have permitted
yourself to do.”
Colonel Cary said: “That, sir, is also my own opinion.” For this I was
grateful, because on a former occasion he had himself been lacking in
civility.
Then my cousin Willis came across the room and said very low: “Keep
yourself quiet, George.”
I bowed and asked to be shown the translation. I read it over with
care, while no one spoke. What had been said was correct. For a moment
I was too amazed to speak. As I looked up, utterly confounded, Lord
Fairfax said: “Well, colonel?”
Upon this I related the facts of the case, and that Captains Mackay and
Stephen had heard Van Braam translate the articles, and that he had
never used the word _assassination_, but, in place of it, _death_; and
that I considered it to have been ignorance on his part, and no worse.
I saw also that, while I had been given to understand by Van Braam that
for a year we were pledged not to make any forts on the lands of the
King of France, I had really agreed that we were not for that period to
do so beyond the mountains.
When I had thus fully accounted for my misapprehension, Lord Fairfax
said at once: “Then, gentlemen, this unfortunate mistake and this
unlucky pledge were due to the governor’s council having failed to
provide Colonel Washington with a competent French interpreter.” I
could hardly help smiling at this transfer of the blame to the governor
and his advisers. Colonel Byrd laughed outright, as the governor, with
a great oath, cried out, “Nonsense, my lord,” and to me, “You should be
broke, sir; you are unfit to command.”
Lord Fairfax said quietly, “Be careful of your words, governor.” This
stayed his speech, but amid entire silence he stood shaking with
anger, so that, although his wig was covered with a net, the powder
fell over his scarlet coat.
Upon this I threw the capitulations on the table and, with much effort
controlling myself, said: “I have explained myself to the honourable
council and have no more to say.”
The governor said: “I presume, sir, we must accept your statement.”
I replied at once, looking about me: “If any gentleman here doubts
it, I――” But on this Colonel Cary said: “I do not. I think the matter
cleared, Colonel Washington, and I trust that his Excellency will see
that he has spoken in haste.”
Lord Fairfax and Mr. Robinson also spoke to like effect, and with
a degree of warmth which set me entirely at ease. The governor,
much vexed to be thus taken to task, said in a surly way that he
was satisfied and that Van Braam was a traitor, which I declined to
believe, also adding that Captain Stephen would be asked to see the
governor and confirm my statement.
After this, to my surprise, the governor desired my company at dinner,
and seeing Lord Fairfax nod to me, I accepted, but with no very
good will. The matter ended with a vote of thanks from the House of
Burgesses, Van Braam being left out, and also Adjutant Muse, who was
considered to have shown cowardice. I was well done with a sorry
business.
Indeed, but for the rain, the bad light, and that I had no reason to
disbelieve what Van Braam read to us, I should have looked over the
paper, where the word _assassin_, being as much English as French, must
have caught my eye. What seemed to me most strange was that De Villiers
should so easily have let go a man whom he professed to consider the
murderer of his brother.
When we surrendered the French officers were very civil, and I saw no
evidence of unusual enmity, but I do not think I met M. de Villiers.
Van Braam was very much abused and called a traitor, which I neither
then nor later believed him to have been. Some few in Virginia blamed
me, but since then I have lived through many worse calumnies.
As each nation was casting the blame of warlike action on the other,
much was made in France of the death of De Jumonville and the
surrender of Fort Necessity.
I was able long afterwards to see the account of this capitulation at
Fort Necessity as it was given by the French commander, M. de Villiers.
It was quite false, but he could not have known all the facts as to
De Jumonville’s conduct nor how the Dutchman Van Braam――as I believe,
without intention――misled me. That he was not bribed to do so is shown
by the fact that, being held as a hostage, he was long kept in jail in
Quebec.
It is to be remarked as worthy of note that only a month ago I should
have heard news of this old soldier of fortune. A letter came to me at
Mount Vernon in which Van Braam related his wanderings and how at last
he had settled down in France, as it would seem, in a prosperous way.
He was very flattering to his old pupil, and, for my part, I wish him
good luck and a better knowledge of the French tongue than he had when
we starved together at the Great Meadows.
I am also reminded as I write that Lieutenant-Colonel Wynne asked leave
during the siege of Yorktown to present to me a young French nobleman,
an officer of the regiment Auvergne, whose name now escapes me. This
gentleman’s father had served in Canada under Marquis Montcalm, and
before that on the frontier. The conversation fell upon my early
service on the Ohio. To my great astonishment, the young gentleman
told me that in 1759 a French writer, called, if I remember, Thomas,
published a long piece in verse about this unfortunate De Jumonville in
America, and how his murder was avenged. I never supposed any one would
write poetry concerning me, nor do I believe it will ever happen again.