VIRGINIA BIDS US WELCOME
"To my mind, there is only one thing to be done. That is to retire."
The speaker was Colonel Henry Innes, commandant of the fort, but as he
looked up and down the row of faces opposite him, he saw few which showed
assent. Scarcely had the rear-guard of Dunbar's troops disappeared among
the trees which lined the narrow military road, when Colonel Innes had
called this meeting of the officers left at the fort, "to decide," as the
summons put it, "on our future course of action." As if, I thought
indignantly to myself, there could be any question as to what our future
course of action should be.
"We are left here," continued the speaker, in a louder voice and growing
somewhat red in the face, "with scarce five hundred men, all provincials,
and most of them unfit for service. A great part of the army's equipment
has been abandoned or destroyed back there in the woods. In short, we are
so weak that we can hope neither to advance against the enemy nor to
repel an assault, should they march against us in force, as they are most
like to do."
For a moment there was an ominous silence.
"May I ask what it is you propose, Colonel Innes?" asked Captain
Waggoner at last.
"I propose to abandon the place," replied Innes, "and to fall back to
Winchester or some other point where our wounded may lie in safety and
our men have opportunity to recover from the fatigues of the campaign."
Again there was a moment's silence, and all of us, as by a common
impulse, glanced at Colonel Washington, who sat at one end of the table,
his head bowed in gloomy thought. The fever, which he had shaken off for
a time, had been brought back by the arduous work he had insisted on
performing, and he was but the shadow of his former self. He felt our
eyes upon him and suddenly raised his head.
"Do you really anticipate that the French will march against us, Colonel
Innes?" he asked quietly. "There were scarce three hundred of them at the
fort three weeks ago, hardly enough for an expedition of such moment, and
it is not likely that they can be reinforced to undertake any campaign
this summer."
"There would be little danger from the French themselves," retorted
Innes, with an angry flush, "but they will undoubtedly rally the Indians,
and lead them against us along the very road which Braddock cut over the
mountains. Fort Cumberland stands at one end of that road."
Washington smiled disdainfully.
"I have heard of few instances," he said, "where Indians have dared
attack a well-manned fortification, and of none where they have captured
one. To retreat from here would be to leave our whole frontier open to
their ravages, and would be an act of cowardice more contemptible than
that which Colonel Dunbar performed this morning, when he marched his
troops away."
I had never seen him so moved, and I caught the infection of his anger.
"Colonel Washington is right!" I cried hotly. "Our place is here."
Innes did not so much as look at me. His eyes were on Washington, and his
face was very red.
"Colonel Washington," he sneered, his lips curling away from his teeth
with rage, "was, I believe, an aide on the general's staff. Since the
general is dead, that position no longer exists. Consequently, Colonel
Washington is no longer an officer of the army, and I fail to see what
right he has to take part in this discussion."
Half a dozen of us were on our feet in an instant, but Washington was
before us and waved us back with a motion of his hand.
"Colonel Innes is right," he said, his deep-set eyes gleaming like two
coals of fire. "I am no longer an officer of the army, and I thank God
this is so, since it is about to further disgrace itself."
"Take care, sir," cried Innes, springing to his feet. "You forget there
is such a thing as court-martial."
"And you forget that I am no longer of the army, and so can defy its
discipline."
He stood for a moment longer looking Innes in the eyes, and then,
without saluting, turned on his heel and left the place. A moment later
the council broke up in confusion, for Innes saw plainly that the
sentiment of nearly all the other officers present was against him, and
he did not choose to give it opportunity of expression. I had scarcely
reached my quarters when I received a note from his secretary stating
that as the mortality among the Virginia companies had been so heavy, it
had been decided to unite the three into one, and my lieutenancy was
therefore abolished. Trembling with anger, I hurried to Washington's
quarters and laid the note before him.
"Why, Tom," he said, with a short laugh, after he had read it, "we seem
to have fallen into disgrace together. But come," he added more
cheerfully, seeing my downcast face, "do not despair. We may yet win out.
The governor and the House of Burgesses will not receive so quietly this
project to retire from the frontier. I had a letter from Dinwiddie but
the other day, in which he said as much. In the mean time, I am going
home to Mount Vernon to rest, and you must come with me."
I accepted readily enough, for I knew not what else to do, and on the
morrow we set out. Colonel Washington was so ill that we could proceed
but slowly. We finally reached Winchester, and from there, because of the
better road, crossed the river to Frederick, where a great surprise
awaited us. For scarcely were we off our horses at the little tavern,
than the host, learning our names, rushed away down the wide, rambling
street, crying the news aloud, to our great wonderment, who saw not why
it should interest any one. In an incredibly short time, above a hundred
people had gathered before the inn, cheering and hallooing with all their
might, while we looked at them in dumb amazement. We sent for the host to
learn what this might mean, thinking doubtless there was some mistake,
and even as he entered, a dozen men burst into the room, and insisted
that we should not be permitted for a moment to think of putting up at an
inn, but should accompany them home.
"But, gentlemen," protested Washington, "you have mistaken us for some
one else. We have done nothing to deserve your hospitality."
"Have you not?" they cried, and they hustled us out into the yard. There
was no denying them, so off we rode again, greatly bewildered, and in the
course of half an hour were being introduced by our self-appointed
entertainer to his wife and three pretty daughters.
"'T is Colonel Washington, you understand, wife," he cried. "Colonel
Washington, whose advice, had it been followed, would have saved the
expedition."
A great light broke upon me. So my friend's merits were to be recognized
at last,--were to win him something more than contumely and insult,--and
as he would have made denial, I cut him short.
"Do not listen to him!" I cried. "'T is true, every word of it, and much
more besides."
Whereat the girls smiled at me very sweetly, our host wrung my hand
again, and I swear there were tears in Washington's eyes as he looked at
me in feigned anger. Such a night's entertainment as was given us I shall
not soon forget, nor Colonel Washington either, I dare say. Word of our
presence had got about the neighborhood with singular speed, and the
people flocked in by dozens, until the great hallway, which ran through
the house from front to rear, was crowded from end to end. Then, nothing
would do but that Colonel Washington must tell the story of the advance,
the ambuscade, and the retreat, which he did with such consummate
slighting of his own part in the campaign that I interrupted him in great
indignation, and, unheeding his protests, related some of the things
concerning him which I have already written, and which, I swear, were
very well received.
"But Lieutenant Stewart says nothing of what he himself did," cried
Washington, when I had finished.
"Because I did nothing worth relating," I retorted, my cheeks hot with
embarrassment at the way they looked at me.
"Ask him how he won that sword he wears at his side," he continued, not
heeding my interruption, his eyes twinkling at my discomfiture. "Believe
me, 'tis not many Virginia officers can boast such a fine one."
And then, of course, they all demanded that he tell the story, which he
did with an exaggeration that I considered little less than shameful.
In some mysterious manner, tankards of cold, bitter Dutch beer, the
kind that is so refreshing after a journey or at the close of a hot
day's work, had found their way into the right hand of every man
present, and as Washington ended the story and I was yet denying, our
host sprang to his feet.
"We'll drink to the troops of Maryland and Virginia," he cried, "who
behaved like soldiers and died like men, teaching England's redcoats a
lesson they will not soon forget, and to two of the bravest among them,
Colonel Washington and Lieutenant Stewart!"
It was done with a cheer that made the old hall ring, and when, half an
hour later, I found myself beside the prettiest of the three daughters of
the house, I was not yet quite recovered. Only this I can say,--it is a
pleasant thing to be a hero, though trying to the nerves. I had only the
one experience, and did not merit that, as the reader has doubtless
decided for himself.
Of course there was a dance,--what merrymaking would be complete without
one?--and Colonel Washington walked a minuet with a certain Mistress
Patience Burd, with a grace which excited the admiration of every swain
in the room, and the envy of not a few,--myself among the number, for I
was ever but a clumsy dancer, and on this occasion no doubt greatly vexed
my pretty partner. But every night must end, as this one did at last.
Colonel Washington was much better next morning, for his illness had been
more of the mind than of the body, and our kind reception had done
wonders to banish his vexation. Our friends bade us Godspeed, and we rode
on our way southward. I never saw the house again, and it is one of my
great regrets and reasons for self-reproach that I have forgot the name
of the honest man who was our host that night, and remember only that the
name of his prettiest daughter was Betty.
As we reached a part of the country which was more closely settled, I
soon perceived that however great dishonor had accrued to British arms
and British reputations as the result of that battle by the Monongahela,
Colonel Washington had won only respect and admiration by his consistent
and courageous conduct. We were stopped a hundred times by people who
asked first for news, and when they heard my companion's name, vied with
one another to do him honor. It did me good to see how he brightened
under these kind words and friendly acts, and how the color came again
into his face and the light into his eyes. And I hold that this was as it
should be, for I know of nothing of which a man may be more justly proud
than of the well-earned praises of his fellows.
At last, toward the evening of a sultry August day, we turned our horses'
heads into the wide road which led up to Mount Vernon, and drew near to
that hospitable and familiar mansion. News of our approach must have
preceded us, for there, drawn up in line, were the bowing and grinning
negroes, while at the entrance gate were Mrs. Washington and her
children, as well as a dozen families assembled from as many miles
around to do honor to the returning warrior. My heart beat more quickly
as I ran my eyes over this gathering, but fell again when I saw that the
family from Riverview was not there.
And such a greeting as it was! We all remained a space apart until Mrs.
Washington had kissed her son, as something too sacred for our intrusion.
But when he turned to greet his neighbors, I have rarely seen such
genuine emotion shown even in our whole-hearted Virginia. At the great
dinner which followed, with Mrs. Washington at the head of the table and
her son at the foot, we told again the story of the campaign, and the men
forgot to sip their wine until the tale was ended. Yet with all this
largess of goodwill, I was not wholly happy. For I had no home to go to,
nor was there any waiting to welcome me, and the woman I loved seemed
farther away than ever, though now she was so near.