Croghan came to me the day after at my hut (I am not sure of this
date), and with him was Mr. Gist and a tall man in buckskins, leggins,
and moccasins. He carried a long rifle and a scalping-knife.
Captain Croghan said: “This, colonel, is my friend, Captain Jack, of
whom I wrote. He has come with fifty Pennsylvania men to offer as
scouts.”
I had heard often of this man and was pleased that we were to have
his services. I made him welcome, bade him be seated, and offered him
rum, which he refused to take, saying he drank no spirits. He was
very silent and made brief answers to my questions concerning the
Indians and their inclinations. When I would have gone further, he
rose and said his men were waiting to camp. He must see the general,
and asked me to go with him. As we walked through the shelters the
rangers had set up, I saw many look at him with curiosity, which was
not surprising, for he was not less than six feet three, but a gaunt,
thin man, of melancholic aspect. He never spoke a word, but presently
we met a certain Major Moore, a rough, hard-drinking officer of the
grenadiers. As he stopped us, I saw that he was under liquor, as was
too common. He said, “Whom have you got there? Make a fine grenadier.”
I said, “This is Captain Jack, a famous Pennsylvania scout,” and so
would have passed on, when the major said rudely to Captain Jack, “Who
the deuce made you a captain?” The scout tapped his rifle and said,
“That,” and walked on, without saying more than his gesture seemed to
imply. I could not avoid remarking, “You are well answered, major,” for
I have always had a liking for men who do not talk much. I contented
myself with saying to the scout that, as usual, the major was in liquor.
I sent in my name to General Braddock, and we were desired to enter his
tent. Here I introduced Captain Jack as an experienced ranger and said
he had fifty good scouts. The general asked me to be seated, but as he
did not invite the scout to sit down, I remained standing. As for the
captain, he said not so much as a word, but waited, looking steadily
at the general, who asked me a question concerning the roads, and then
said to me, “Let the man wait; I will see about him in a day or two.”
Then he asked what pay they wanted, to which Captain Jack said, “No
pay, nothing.”
I tried to make the general understand the great service we might
expect in the woods from such men, but he replied impatiently that
these men could not be drilled, and that he had experienced troopers on
whom he could rely for any service he might require. He was going on to
give orders as to where the men should camp, when Captain Jack turned
and went out without further words. The general damned him roundly for
an ill-bred cur, and I made after him in haste. When I had overtaken
him, he said very quietly: “Good-by, Colonel Washington; when you have
a separate command send for me.” I made a vain effort to induce him to
remain. In half an hour he called his men together, and they went away
into the woods Indian fashion, one after the other, and we saw him no
more. Captain Croghan told me that this man had had his whole family
massacred by the Indians, and had spent years in revenging himself,
sometimes alone, and sometimes with a party, for he was both esteemed
and trusted on the border-lands of Pennsylvania. Both Croghan and I
were much disappointed.
Amid the difficulties caused by European need of useless luxuries
and by the absence in officers and men of what Mr. Franklin called
“pliability in the hands of new circumstances,” I was getting useful
lessons and was made to see that when a commander cannot get what he
wants he must make the most of what little he has. Indeed, the delay in
getting waggons he could have done without was, in the end, a calamity
to the general.
The army, over two thousand strong, followed routes over and through
the Alleghanies which I had used in 1754, and which could easily have
been bettered by free use of trained scouts and our own axe-men sent on
ahead.
There was much sickness, and the regulars suffered in many ways by
reason of ignorance and want of knowing how better to take care of
themselves. They complained bitterly of the mosquitos, black flies,
and midges, and took so kindly to smudges that Orme said the smoke
was like that the Israelites had, with less or no trouble. There was,
indeed, some reasonable cause for complaint by men unused to the woods.
We had twice the worst thunder and lightning I ever saw. Trees were
struck, but no man, nor ever is in the woods. Three men died of the
bite of rattlesnakes, but few escaped the little forest bugs called
ticks, which bore into the skin and leave sores and great itch for
weeks. Our rangers undressed every night and picked off these pests.
The soldiers were too lazy or did not know enough, and many were lamed
or ulcered for want of such care.
Even before we reached Little Meadows certain officers saw the danger
of our thin line; more than four miles of it stretched out across
streams and marshes in deep woods. Had the French been in force we
had certainly been sooner ambushed. Even the men became uneasy as we
entered the white-pine woods beyond Great Savage Mountain. Here the
deep of the forest was like twilight, and the trees of great bigness.
When the rangers told the soldiers that these dark woods were called
the “Shades of Death,”――but why I do not know,――they were more alarmed,
and were glad about the 18th to be out of the forest and descending the
shaggy slopes of the Meadow Mountain to Little Meadows, where was more
light and room to camp.
It was a wonder to us frugal woodsmen how all this host, cumbered as it
was, did at last get over the hills and reach the Little Meadows, this
being about June 18.
On the evening of our arrival the general desired me to remain after
the other aides had received orders and gone away. He then opened his
mind to me with great freedom about the tardiness of the march and his
desire to know what was my opinion concerning the matter in hand. When
he had made an end of speaking, I said that he had more men than were
needed, but that to push on in haste was desirable and to take only the
light division, leaving the heavy troops and most of the baggage.
I begged leave to add that Duquesne was as yet weakly garrisoned, and
the long dry weather would keep the rivers low, and hard to navigate by
reinforcements from Venango and the lake, so that if we could dismount
officers, take to packhorses, and push on without encumbrance, we could
be sure of an easy victory.
A council of all the field-officers was called soon after I left the
tent; but my rank not entitling me to be present, I was pleased to hear
from Captain Orme that the general had stated my views and that a more
rapid march was decided. I was much disappointed to learn that we were
still to be overburdened with artillery and waggons. I gave up one of
my horses for a packhorse and saw it no more. Out of two hundred and
twelve horses allowed to officers, only twelve were thus offered. Why
the general did not order them taken I do not know.
The force selected was in all about twelve hundred men and their
artillery; but in place of pushing on with vigour, they must needs
stop to bridge every brook and level every mole-hill. In four days we
marched only twelve miles.
St. Clair and Colonel Gage were sent on ahead to clear the way with
four hundred men, and the general followed with eight hundred. We still
moved so slowly that we were constantly halted because of overtaking
our pioneers. It was up hill and down, where cannon and waggons had to
be lowered by ropes. There were deep morasses and constant scares from
outlying parties of Indians.