From Farm House to the White House - 912 Freedom Library

Farm House to the White House, by William M. Thayer 100
during the engagement. The unearthly yells of the savages, which they had never heard before, seemed to
terrify them even more than the whistling of bullets. They lost self-control, disregarded the orders of their
officers, and ran hither and thither like frightened sheep. Sixty-three of the eighty-five English officers were
killed or wounded, a fact that shows how bravely they fought.
General Braddock proved himself a brave and faithful commander. He did all that mortal man could do to
save his army, exposing himself to death from first to last. After three hours of hard fighting, during which
time four horses were shot under him, he fell, pierced by several bullets, and was borne from the field.
Now the whole command depended upon Washington, who had taken special pains to have the Virginia
marksmen fight the Indians after their own fashion. Their effective tactics had saved the English army from
complete destruction. And now Washington rallied them afresh, to cover the army in its retreat, bearing their
wounded commander as they went.
Mr. Meek's description of the final contest is so particular and graphic that we quote it here:
"Happily, on the left, where lay the heaviest fire, Washington's rangers were posted, but not exposed like the
British. For, on hearing the savage yells aforesaid, in a moment they flew each to his tree, like the Indians;
and, like them, each leveled his rifle, and with as deadly aim. This, through a kind Providence, saved
Braddock's army; for, exulting in their confusion, the savages, grimly painted, and yelling like furies, leaped
from their coverts, eager to glut their hellish rage with a total massacre of the British. But, faithful to their
friends, Washington's rangers stepped forth with joy to met the assailants. Then rose a scene sufficient to fill
the stoutest heart with horror. Here falls the brave Virginia blue, under the stroke of his nimbler foe; and
there, man on man, the Indians perish beneath the furious storm of lead. But who can tell the joy of
Washington, when he saw this handful of his despised countrymen thus gallantly defending their British
friends, and, by dint of mortal steel, driving back their blood-thirsty assailants? Happy check! for by this time,
covered with wounds, Braddock had fallen; his aids and officers, to a man, killed or wounded; and his troops,
in hopeless, helpless despair, flying backwards and forwards from the fire of the Indians, like flocks of
crowded sheep from the presence of their butchers. Washington alone remained unhurt. Two horses had been
killed under him. Showers of bullets had lifted his locks or pierced his regimentals. But still protected by
heaven, still supported by a strength not his own, he had continued to fly from quarter to quarter, where his
presence was most needed, sometimes animating his rangers, sometimes striving, but in vain, to rally the
regulars. 'Twas his lot to be close to the brave but imprudent Braddock when he fell, and assisted to place him
in a tumbril, or little cart. As he was laid down, pale and near spent with loss of blood, he faintly said to
Washington:
"Well, colonel, what's to be done now?"
"Retreat, retreat by all means," answered Washington. "The regulars won't fight and the rangers are nearly all
killed."
"Poor fellows! poor fellows!" weakly replied the dying general. "Do as you will, colonel, the command is on
you."
"More than half of the army are dead and wounded," continued Washington, "and retreat is all that is left us.
The surviving rangers can cover the retreat of the remnant."
"Pardon me, colonel for rejecting your counsel, which I now deeply regret," the general frankly confessed. "I
see it now, but it is all over."
The command of the army reverted to Colonel Dunbar after the fall of Braddock; but he was several miles
away, on the other side of the Monongahela, when the disaster occurred, in charge of the rear division and