George Washington

by David O. Stewart

  In any event, the defeat might persuade the assembly and London to provide more funds for Dinwiddie’s campaign. He had wanted a war over the Ohio valley. After Fort Necessity, he had one.

  The experience converted the elation following the Jumonville skirmish into regret and recrimination. Though Washington avoided public admission of his mistakes, his errors had inflicted terrible losses on his men.33 He never wrote about his feelings when leading men to their deaths. Military commanders rarely do.

  Fort Necessity provided important lessons beyond the poor location and layout of the fort itself. Naturally aggressive, Washington had pushed too hard. Eager to take the Forks, he failed to recognize that he was in the wrong place, outnumbered, and unready. He needed to be more attentive to the risks he and his men faced. He would absorb those lessons eventually, but not right away.

  The Fort Necessity campaign delivered another important lesson. Half-starved, largely stranded in difficult country, and surrounded by enemies, the officers and men had followed Washington. They hacked at the wilderness for weeks to build a road of little use. They stood with him at Fort Necessity through a day of bloodshed and misery. And afterward, no officer—not even Captain Mackay—criticized him.34 The experience confirmed that Washington could command men’s loyalty and inspire them to grapple with difficult challenges. He had the precognitive gift of command, a gift rooted in the way he walked and held himself, his gestures, how he spoke and connected with people.

  He and Captain Mackay brought their unhappy, hurting soldiers to Winchester, then traveled on to Williamsburg to report to the governor. France and Britain would not declare war against each other for another two years, when the conflict spread across the globe, but Washington, not for the last time in his life, had been at the hinge of history.

  Chapter 8

  Picking Up the Pieces

  Following the Fort Necessity defeat, many of Washington’s shattered men found desertion an appealing option. “There is scarce a night,” he wrote in late summer, “but what some or other are deserting, and often two three or 4 at a time.” He offered rewards for the return of deserters, but the regiment still lost two-thirds of its men in three months. The officers grumbled anew about their pay. New troops arrived from North Carolina, then turned around and went home.1

  The powerful men in Williamsburg ignored these problems. Governor Dinwiddie and his Executive Council ordered Colonel James Innes to drive the French from Fort Duquesne. In a slight bow to reality, they added that if he could not do that, he should build a British fort nearby that would threaten the French. The governor insisted on the attack because he did not think “soldiers in pay should eat the bread of idleness.”2

  Washington knew the order was preposterous, but this time he responded indirectly, sending a thoughtful dissent to Colonel Fairfax, knowing that his letter would be shared with Dinwiddie and the council. (The deftness of the move raises the suspicion that it was Colonel Fairfax’s idea.) After describing the proposed offensive as impractical and “morally impossible,” Washington wrote that the regiment lacked men, provisions, ammunition, and tools. As to clothing, “scarcely a man has either shoes, stockings or hat.” Morale had withered. When the rumor spread that they would return to the frontier, six men deserted in one night. An autumn advance, Washington continued, would involve “snows, want of forage, slipperiness of the roads, high waters.” Recalling his journey to the French forts the winter before, Washington added that three of the six men in his party had been “rendered useless by the frost,” while the horses had weakened and died. He added that he had no gifts with which to recruit tribal allies, who were asking “if we meant to starve them as well as ourselves.”3

  In early September, the House of Burgesses approved £20,000 for a renewed expedition to the frontier, but attached conditions that the Executive Council rejected. A captain in the regiment dismissed the legislators with a Latin phrase (in translation): “They came furtively, they sat idly, they departed in confusion.” Dinwiddie sent the burgesses home for six weeks, hoping they would return in a more generous frame of mind.4

  Denied funds, the governor invited the governors of North Carolina and Maryland to Williamsburg to discuss the western situation. He pleaded with London for money. He ordered Washington to return to Wills Creek and send forty to fifty men to the frontier to protect settlers. He again asked Lord Fairfax to call out the Frederick County militia. Not a single man had answered his lordship’s call in January; the Fort Necessity defeat would only reduce the enthusiasm for militia service.5

  Yet the governor’s efforts bore fruit. North Carolina’s governor arrived from Britain carrying £10,000 in coin, plus a promise of credit for a like amount, plus promise of a forthcoming arms shipment. The three governors adopted a plan to attack Fort Duquesne. The burgesses matched the home government, approving a tax to produce another £20,000, dropping the conditions the Executive Council had found odious. They also adopted a law to draft for frontier service any men between twenty-one and fifty “who have no visible way of getting an honest livelihood.” And Dinwiddie reorganized the Virginia Regiment into ten companies of one hundred men, each commanded by a captain; that eliminated Washington’s position as colonel.6

  The abolition of Washington’s position was no accident. A seasoned bureaucratic operator, Dinwiddie did not jettison senior personnel by mistake. He had lost confidence in the prickly young commander who evidently was carrying more responsibility than he could handle.7

  Washington resigned. When an aide to the new British commander urged him to continue in the service, the Virginian replied haughtily: “The disparity between the present offer of a company, and my former rank, [is] too great to expect any real satisfaction or enjoyment.” When an alternative post was suggested, Washington sniffed, “You must entertain a very contemptible opinion of my weakness.” Yet Washington did not abandon his military ambitions. He observed near the end of his letter that, nevertheless, “my inclinations are strongly bent to arms.”8

  * * *

  Washington returned to private life but did not have to support himself with surveying. He had his back pay and rents from the Bullskin Creek properties, and was the military adjutant for the Northern Neck. He did, however, need somewhere to live, a home suitable for the former commander of the Virginia Regiment. He could hardly move in with his mother and brothers at Ferry Farm. He stayed with the Fairfaxes at Belvoir while arranging to take over Mount Vernon, which was vacant because Lawrence’s widow had remarried and moved to her new husband’s home. She agreed to lease the property and its slaves to Washington for a modest 15,000 pounds of tobacco per year, the equivalent of £64. Should any slave die during the lease period, the rent would drop.9

  He signed the open-ended lease in December. So long as Washington paid his rent, he had a lifetime right to Mount Vernon. Anne’s only surviving child by Lawrence died before the lease was signed. If Anne died next, Washington would inherit the estate under Lawrence’s will. A week before signing the lease, Anne and her husband divided Lawrence’s remaining sixty slaves, including sixteen children, with Washington and his brothers.10

  With his personal fortunes improving, Washington ordered clothes from England and began a lifetime of sprucing up Mount Vernon. He bought slaves, furniture, and livestock. In the early spring, his mother arrived to help her bachelor son establish himself in the home she had managed twenty years before. In August, Washington’s remaining elder brother, Austin, won a seat in the House of Burgesses from Westmoreland County.11

  Washington’s time in civilian life proved brief. The British government resolved to avenge Fort Necessity, sending two regiments to Virginia with General Edward Braddock in command. Braddock’s advance on Fort Duquesne would be part of a three-pronged attack against the French in America. Ironically, enthusiasm for war was greater in London than among Virginians. When the colony’s new conscription law took effect, protests and riots
erupted in Petersburg and Fredericksburg.12

  By early January of 1755, Virginians knew that the frontier war was about to grow hotter. Washington would not sit that out at Mount Vernon.13

  * * *

  Britain, however, did not send its best to America. The two new regiments were notorious for fleeing the Battle of Prestonpans a decade before, during a Scottish uprising in favor of the Stuart pretenders to the throne. Their commander, Braddock, had little battlefield experience and an overbearing manner. John Carlyle, an Alexandria merchant, came to regret opening his house to Braddock and his staff, as they “used us like an enemy country & took everything they wanted and paid nothing.” When the Virginians complained, “they cursed the country and inhabitants, calling us the spawn of convicts, the sweepings of the jails.”14

  General Edward Braddock

  Courtesy of the Library of Congress

  More disturbing than Braddock’s manners, though, were his work habits. One contemporary described him as “glad for anyone to take business off his hands.” An aide thought Braddock, known for a sulfurous temper, “disqualified for the service he is employed in, in almost every respect.” John Carlyle dismissed him as a man “of weak understanding, very indolent, [and] slave to his passions, women and wine.”15

  Even if they were less than the nation’s best, the British regulars exuded a professionalism that was new to Virginians. At their camp outside Alexandria, the army drilled in crisp red coats with silk cuffs over white collars and waistcoats, red breeches tucked into white spatterdashes and buttoned above the knees. Their hair was clubbed and tied at the nape of the neck with a black ribbon; on important occasions, flour or rice powder whitened their locks. Officers strutted in wigs, lace stock and cuffs, red sashes, and gleaming black boots. Braddock presided from a wide marquee in a forest of white tents.16

  For Washington, it was a glittering opportunity. If he could find a position with Braddock, he might escape Governor Dinwiddie’s disapproval, as well as the bedraggled Virginia soldiers and their modest appetite for combat. Ever eager to advance, he hoped to “form an acquaintance which may be serviceable hereafter” for a military career.17

  After an overture on Washington’s behalf, which certainly came from the Fairfaxes, Braddock’s top aide invited him to join the general’s personal staff (his “family”). Washington specified that he would serve as a volunteer, without pay, with the rank of colonel, so officers with royal commissions could not claim precedence over him as a mere colonial.18

  The situation displayed Washington’s complex attitudes toward money and reputation. He insisted to a friend that his “sole motive” in joining the expedition was to win Virginia’s “approbation and esteem.” But he had to balance his craving for reputation with his anxiety over money. Fearing that Mount Vernon would deteriorate during his absence, he claimed reimbursement for losses during the Fort Necessity campaign (a servant’s death, plus lost clothes, surveying equipment, and horses). He had to borrow £40 from Lord Fairfax.19

  Washington’s new position exposed him to British military systems, but left him free of cares about supply, ordnance, and transportation.20 He met men he would fight with and against in the future. Major Thomas Gage, a friend in these years, would become an opponent. Horatio Gates and Charles Lee would become colleagues and rivals. For the next three decades, he would intersect repeatedly with Pennsylvania politician Benjamin Franklin.21

  When the westward march began in late April, Washington discovered that, despite Braddock’s reputation for ill temper, they got along. The general “requires less ceremony than you can easily conceive,” Washington wrote to his brother Jack, who was managing Mount Vernon and the Bullskin lands while Washington was away. Although Braddock quarreled with many, Washington reported that the general treated him “with freedom not inconsistent with respect.”22

  Virginia’s soldiery, mostly volunteers attracted by a cash bounty, plus homeless men who were conscripted, made a poor impression. A senior British officer wrote that the Virginians’ “sloth and ignorance is not to be described.” Another found that their “languid, spiritless, and unsoldierlike appearance considered with the lowness and ignorance of most of their officers gave little hope of their future good behavior.” Washington’s view was nearly as negative. He complained that it took two days to assemble a militia escort for him, but the men instantly would have fled upon the approach of an enemy.23

  The general and his aide parted company, however, on the fighting qualities of Indians. Washington knew Indian allies were essential to frontier warfare. Braddock did not. He brushed off Ben Franklin’s warning about the risk of ambush, assuring the Pennsylvanian that “these savages may, indeed, be a formidable enemy to your raw American militia, but upon the king’s regular and disciplined troops, sir, it is impossible they should make any impression.”24 At a council with Indian leaders, Braddock foolishly declared that “no savage should inherit the land.” That was exactly what Indians feared. A key war leader of the Delawares, who had intended to join the British, led his warriors home instead, denouncing Braddock. The Delawares would be implacable British foes for the next three years, while Braddock would be crippled by the lack of Indian allies.25

  Chapter 9

  A Worse Catastrophe

  Washington expected Braddock’s advance to Fort Duquesne to be slow and grinding. The British and Virginia troops had to cross mountain ranges divided by plunging ravines and churning waterways. Much of the land was unknown to whites, who feared Indian ambush at every turn. From high points, the forest stretched before them without end.1

  For nearly half of the two hundred miles to the fort, Braddock’s men had to cut a road through the trees and over the mountains. They needed enough horses and wagons to haul twenty-nine artillery pieces, with shot, shells, gunpowder, and equipment. On good roads, that would require more than two hundred horses, plus many more to carry food and equipment for the soldiers and feed for the horses. But the expedition would never see anything like a good road. To speed the advance, Braddock decided against building resupply bases along the line of march, which meant that everything had to be carried from Fort Cumberland all the way to the army (see map on p. 57), multiplying the need for horses and wagons. Braddock calculated that he needed two hundred fifty wagons and twenty-five hundred horses. As Washington had learned the year before, both were scarce on the frontier.2 The advance stayed close to schedule only because Ben Franklin met his pledge to deliver one hundred wagons and fifteen hundred horses to Fort Cumberland. Braddock proclaimed the episode “almost the only instance of ability and honesty I have known in these provinces.”3

  Braddock raged over supply failures and much else. In early June, Washington reported to Colonel Fairfax that the general showed “want of that temper and moderation which should be used by a man of sense.” Washington, who discovered that Braddock did not resent being challenged, advised the general to hold his temper.

  We have frequent dispu[tes] . . . , which are maintained with warmth on both sides especially on his, who is incapable of . . . giving up any point he asserts, let it be ever so incompatible with reason or commonsense.4

  The roads were a nightmare. A senior British officer called the stretch from Fredericksburg to Winchester “very bad,” and the one to Fort Cumberland “the worst road I ever traveled.” There the roads ended.5

  On May 30, six hundred men with axes and shovels set out from Fort Cumberland to chop out a twelve-foot-wide passage that crossed countless streams and rivers. Soldiers on either flank patrolled against ambush, bears, and wolves; nothing could protect against poisonous snakes. They opened only two miles that first day, ruining three wagons and damaging many others. “The ascent and descent were almost perpendicular rock,” according to Braddock’s senior aide. Washington called the effort “very tedious.”6

  Even though eighteenth-century standards for roadbuilding were low, the wi
lderness made each step more difficult. American roadbuilders ordinarily followed Indian trails, which tracked land contours over high ground and stable soils. The Braddock expedition mostly followed a path marked three years earlier by Christopher Gist and Nemacolin, a Shawnee. Washington’s Virginians had scoured out a rough track as far as Fort Necessity at Great Meadows, but never finished the leg to Redstone Creek.7

  When a full team was at work, a hundred axmen chopped at once; a hundred more levered rocks and stumps from the path; another hundred threw the limbs and tree trunks aside, a hundred others used shovels to fill in holes and smoothed the roughest patches with rakes or crude scrapers drawn by horses. They skirted large trees and rocks. If they could not swerve around wetlands, they filled in soft spots with tree trunks laid sideways, producing a bouncy “corduroy” effect. Engineers built rough bridges across streams. They labored in a dark, claustrophobic forest. Swaying branches blotted out the sky. The men called one passage the “Shades of Death” because interlaced treetops blocked most light. Clouds of gnats and mosquitoes tortured roadbuilders and flankers as the work parties chewed through the woods like strange horizontal organisms.8

  The resulting road ranged from unreliable to atrocious. Horses dragged ponderous wagons around holes and over roots and stumps, through mire and muck on wet days and over bare, rain-slick rock. The horses strained at their loads, weakening daily. Some died in harness. A morning could be consumed in traveling a quarter mile. Numerous wagons smashed on descents.9