By an Associate.

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Continuing the narrative that began here.

Chapter 2.—Expedition to Fort Duquesne.—Death of Jumonville and capture of French force.—Construction of Fort Washington.—Siege of fort.—Defeat and surrender.—Arduous march back.—I accept Washington’s offer.

A scant four months later, Washington appeared at my door again. The man at my door was certainly the same Washington, but at the same time was different. For one thing, he was dressed in an even more splendid buff-and-blue uniform; but there was something else. In fact it came to me while he was greeting me: I was not looking down at him. The man had grown a good six inches. I was still somewhat taller than he was, but now his head came above my shoulders.

“Once again, Virginia has need of your services, Mr. Gist,” he told me after we had exchanged greetings. “You were instrumental in the success of our recent expedition, and the governor and I would be honored if you would add your unrivaled knowledge of the western forests to our current enterprise.”

“What little ability I have is at your service, Mr. Washington,” I replied.

“Lieutenant Colonel Washington now. I received my commission at the beginning of the month. But ranks and titles mean nothing between friends, Gist, and I hope you will permit me to consider you a friend.”

“I am honored, sir.”

“And as your friend, let me tell you, do not belittle your own abilities. You have an instinct for difficult notions that has already proved very valuable. North, for instance. I have always had difficulty with that one, but you grasped it right away. I assume you have an equally good grasp of west, and those two notions together ought to get us to our destination.”

“And what is that, if I may ask?”

“The Forks of the Ohio, Gist. My Ohio Company is constructing a fort there, and I have a commission from Governor Dingwoodle to reinforce it and take command. If, therefore, we may make use of your boat once more, I believe that we should be able to make quick progress by simply retracing the route that brought us hither the last time.”

“The spring floods may retard our progress a little,” I remarked, “but otherwise I see no reason why the expedition should not proceed quickly enough. How many are in your party this time?”

“One hundred sixty-three,” Washington answered.

“One hundred sixty-three?” I stepped past him. Gathered in the clearing around my cabin was a motley assortment of militiamen, the sort of force for which the term “ragtag” might have been invented. I recognized none of them except, sitting on the stump of the cherry tree, the familiar figure of Parson Weems.

“Do you think we shall need to make more than one crossing with the boat?” Washington asked.

“It’s possible,” I answered.

“Then the sooner we start the better,” said Washington. “There is a wise old saying…” He pulled out his copybook from his breast pocket and found a page in it. “ ‘A gentleman ought to avoid contradicting a lady if it is at all possible.’ I live my life by these maxims.”

After one hundred seven trips across the river and one hundred six back, we succeeded in transporting all the men and their equipment across the Potomac. We had proceeded only a few miles along the trail, however, when we were met by a small group of ill-dressed men coming from the other direction. One of them approached Washington immediately.

“Sir,” he said, “I perceive by your blue-and-yellow uniform that you must be Lieutenant Colonel Washington.”

“Buff and blue,” Washington replied.

“Sir,” the stranger said, “the French have taken Fort Washington.”

“What do you mean?” Washington demanded in alarm.

“I mean that, whereas once we were inside the fort, with the French outside, now we are outside the fort, and the French are inside.”

Washington looked grim. “This is disturbing news,” he said.

“The French commander also said some very uncomplimentary things about you personally,” the newcomer continued.

“What things were those?” Washington asked.

“I believe his exact words were, ‘And you may tell that petit caniche Washington that if he should come here, je vais kiquer his derrière.”

I asked the man whether this French commander were a certain Captain Hautain, and he answered that he believed that was the name.

Washington turned to address his men. “Men, the object of our expedition has changed. We are going to eject the French from the Forks of the Ohio, where they have ensconced themselves in the very fort we had been marching to reinforce. I must warn you all that we face a foe who does not scruple to insult us in a language we cannot understand. From that fact alone you may learn how wicked these papists are, and why it is necessary to expel them utterly from my—I mean our—land. I rely on every man’s attachment to his country and to his Protestant faith, and to the large bonus Governor Damwadi will doubtless authorize when we are successful.”

The men seemed pleased at least by the prospect of the bonus, and a few of them attempted something like a cheer, which gave Washington obvious satisfaction.

Indeed, I could already see the qualities that would make Washington such a renowned leader of men. The first night he showed himself a stern disciplinarian, sending several men to bed without supper for various infractions. Yet the men, if they did not positively love him, at the very least did not seem to be plotting to assassinate him.

Our progress was considerably slower than it had been in the previous expedition, owing to the larger number of men, the amount of equipment, and the many swollen streams we had to cross. Twice the mania came upon Washington, and an innocent cherry tree met its fate; but the third time was attended with momentous consequences.

It was a bright mid-morning in late May; the sunlight painted irregular splotches on the forest floor, and the air was pleasantly warm without oppressive heat. All at once Washington stopped in mid-stride, and I recognized all the symptoms: the perspiration, the gritted teeth, the trembling tension of every muscle. Beside him was a particularly fine black cherry, at least fifty feet tall, and in full bloom.

It was too much for him. In a movement too quick for the eye to follow, the hatchet came out of his pack, and chunks of wood began to fly in all directions. The air was filled with the heady scent of cherry sap, and Washington was shouting “Hatchet! Hatchet! Hatchet!” with each blow. The men, who by now had seen this performance at least twice before, did their best to remove themselves from harm’s way; and soon the tree was toppling into the forest.

Suddenly there was a loud cry, followed by confused shouting. One voice, higher than the rest, penetrated the din: “On a tué de Jumonville!”

A French patrol! Washington quickly ordered his men into battle array, which was hard to distinguish from their accustomed random grouping, and led a charge toward the source of the shouting. I readied my musket, but by the time I reached the spot, the French were already surrendering to our overwhelmingly superior numbers. Their commander had been crushed by the falling tree, and he had probably died almost instantly; the rest of the French force numbered only nineteen, who were taken prisoner.

Having won this signal victory, Washington determined to build a fort immediately, reasoning that it would be easier to keep prisoners if he had a fort to keep them in. The Youghiogheny River being nearby, I suggested that as a location; Washington, however, insisted on erecting the fort exactly where we stood, which happened to be a low and boggy meadow most remarkable for the proliferation of skunk cabbages in it. He immediately set the men to building, as soon as the French commander had been given a decent burial; meanwhile, he sent messengers back to Williamsburg with a dispatch giving a full account of the affair.

The fort went up quickly. We had all the logs we could desire: it was necessary only to find a grove of cherry trees and turn Washington loose on them, and we instantly had several days’ worth of lumber. Washington himself drew up the plans for the fort, though I persuaded him to make some minor revisions. In particular, I thought that a museum, an opera house, and a university, while they would be of undoubted utility once we had established a more permanent possession of the Ohio country, might strain our resources at the present moment. Washington reluctantly agreed, but he would not give up his plan for a small theater for puppet shows. “I am passionately fond of puppet shows,” he said. “And it is fitting that at least some accommodation should be provided for the muses at the very foundation of what will doubtless blossom into a great city, a beacon shining from the west—a city to be known, when it takes its place among the world’s great centers of the arts and sciences, as Washington.”

“Wasn’t—” I began; but I stopped myself, supposing that no good could come of asking the question.

“You see,” Washington continued, “it is fitting that the place be named after myself, since it is by necessity that we have constructed it.”

Fort Washington was nearly complete when messengers arrived from Williamsburg bringing a new commission promoting Washington to full colonel and officially ordering him to eject the French from the Forks of the Ohio by whatever means he thought appropriate. We were now on a war footing. Shortly after that, about two hundred men arrived, sent by Governor Dinwiddie as reinforcements. Washington immediately put them to work, some planting flower gardens, some laying out a green for lawn-bowling, and an elite detachment charged with mounting a puppet-show. The first performance took place the next afternoon; the plot involved the domestic arrangements of a husband and wife who settled their disputes by hitting each other with sticks. The men laughed riotously; Washington, however, watched impassively without so much as a smile through the whole performance, though he gave it his enthusiastic applause at the end.

That same evening, I dined with Washington, Parson Weems, and three of the officers, and we discussed the best means of surprising the French at their fort, which they had renamed Fort Duquesne.

“It seems to me,” Washington said, “that our best chance is to march directly southeast.”

“But the French are northwest of us,” one of the officers objected.

“Precisely,” Washington replied. “They will be expecting us to march directly to the northwest. But see what an advantage our Protestant natural philosophy gives us over the benighted papists. The most distinguished English philosophers and geographers assert that the earth takes the form of a sphere. If, therefore, we march straight to the southeast, we must eventually come upon the French fort from the northwest, taking the French completely by surprise.”

The three officers stared without saying anything, and after a moment I perceived that they were staring at me. Parson Weems, too, was looking in my direction, with an expression compounded of amusement and anticipation.

“In theory,” I said cautiously, “that strategy would indeed take the French by surprise. However, the advantage gained in surprise might might not be worth the loss of time. While we were marching, the French would have ample time to bring their reinforcements from Quebec, and no matter how surprised they were, they might be able to oppose us with overwhelming numbers.”

“True,” Washington agreed. “We might—heh—therefore be better—heh heh—better advised to—heh heh ha ha—to—ha ha ha—”

What had started as light chuckling rapidly grew into a gasping, choking fit of laughter. The officers were plainly alarmed, and even Parson Weems looked worried.

“Are you all right, Washington?” I asked, standing ready to offer my assistance.

“He hit—” Washington fell forward laughing and gasping, and for some time was unable to make any articulate sounds. At length he tried again: “He hit his—” More laughs, more gasping. Finally he was able to choke out a phrase: “He hit his wife with a stick!” He pounded the table with both fists, laughing and gasping with tears pouring down his cheeks; and it was quite some time before he was able to master himself sufficiently to resume the discussion.

Eventually it was decided that we should attack the French without delay by marching to the Youghio­gheny and then down to the Monongahela, which we could follow to Fort Duquesne. It had the advantage of being a slightly more direct route than going around the world to the southeast, yet at the same time being somewhat more devious than marching straight along the Indian trail to the Forks of the Ohio.

In two days, all was prepared, and our whole force set out into the forest. Scarcely had we gone a mile, however, when a French force appeared before us and began firing. Washington’s soldiers, brave to a man, soon discerned that the French had a distinct advantage in numbers, and were not afraid to show the broad expanses of their backs to the enemy, no matter how tempting a target they made. With laudable expedition, the entire force made it back to the fort in a few minutes.

The French soon had us surrounded, and as the bullets flew, Parson Weems began absentmindedly whistling “Lillibullero,” as was his wont in times of danger.

Washington was glowing with battle ardor. “Do you hear those bullets whistling?” he shouted to me as he dashed from one side of the little fort to the other. “Believe me, there’s something charming in the sound!”

I suppose I ought to have told him that it was Parson Weems he heard, but in the excitement there was no obviously appropriate occasion for conveying that information.

For most of the day we held out, but it was obvious that the French, with at least twice our numbers, must inevitably prevail. The officers and I agreed that a surrender upon terms was better than the loss of all our men. As I was, by this time, the one best acquainted with the humors of our commander, it fell to me to approach him with this unpleasant proposal.

“Washington,” I said bluntly, “the officers and I believe it is time to discuss terms of surrender.”

“Had enough, have they? Well, I shall be merciful. They shall have honorable conditions, since they have fought bravely.”

“I meant our surrender,” I said. I dreaded his reaction, but it had to be put as unambiguously as possible.

“Really?” He looked nonplussed for just a moment, and then said, “Oh, well—win some, lose some. Find a white rag somewhere, tie it on a stick, and let’s get on with it.”

I was quite surprised to hear him accept our advice with such good cheer, and I told him as much. But Washington merely pulled his copybook from his pocket and told me, “As the old saying has it, ‘The other guests will be better pleased if you do not make slurping sounds when eating broth.’ Such is the life of a soldier.”

Within the hour, then, we were facing Captain Hautain himself, who could not contain his sneer. “So! It is the assassin of de Jumonville, yes?”

“If you mean,” said Washington coldly, “that I led my men to victory against Mr. Jumonville’s party, that is accurate.”

“Victory! Plume de ma tante! You drop-ped the tree on him! I should have you executed for this thing alone!”

“We have come to discuss terms. If you do not wish to negotiate, we can go back to the fort and resume the battle.”

“Oh, you shall be given terms, Monsieur Washington. When one has the little yapping poodle which chomps at the ankles, then one throws it the bone, yes? Eh bien, we give you the terms, and you allez-vous-en, and we are finis avec you.” He looked back at one of his officers, who stood ready at a portable desk with a quill and paper. “Et maintenant, our terms.”

The terms he dictated were simple and, I thought, for the most part generous.

“1. The Virginians will hand over their arms.

“2. The Virginians may march back with full honors of war.

“3. Colonel Washington will not name anything else in the Ohio country after himself for the space of one year.

“4. Colonel Washington will sign a paper stating that ‘Washington n’est qu’un tout petit caniche qui jappe incessamment.’ ”

Before he affixed his signature, Washington was careful to ask, “What exactly do you mean by ‘full honors of war’?”

“Sacred blue!” cried Captain Hautain. “I mean that you will be permitted to march out of la Nouvelle France without having to wear a sign on your back that says ‘Kiquez-moi’!”

“That sounds fair,” Washington agreed, and he signed the instrument of surrender.

Our march back was a difficult affair. Washington himself was in surprisingly good spirits, and I wonder whether we should have made it back at all had it not been for his relentless good cheer. But we had no arms for hunting game. Once indeed Washington managed to crush a deer with a cherry tree, but we could not rely on such good fortune for the most part.

Parson Weems once congratulated Washington on his philosophical acceptance of defeat, but Washington saw nothing unusual in it. “Victory or defeat is almost immaterial,” Washington explained. “The important thing is the dispatch. A well-written dispatch conquers all difficulties. As a wise man once said, ‘Assistance promptly rendered to a lady purchases a good reputation for a gentleman in society.’ ” (This last was from his copybook.) “It is clear to me that Irving somehow warned the French of our attack, as there is no end to his malevolence; my duty, therefore, is to report to the governor, and to advise him on the next step to be taken to assure our ultimate victory, and the entire possession of the Ohio country for Virginia.”

“What will you tell the governor?” asked Parson Weems.

“The truth, of course: that the entire expedition would have been lost but for the presence of mind and quick action of Colonel Washington.”

We met a small party of Indians one day, and Washington attempted to trade with them for badly needed provisions; but the Indians made use of a gesture that consisted of bringing the thumb up to the tip of the nose, waving the fingers in the air, extending the tongue between the pursed lips, and making a sound like air escaping from a bladder, which in their marvelously expressive sign language signifies, “We are not inclined to treat with you at present.” This was an indication that the local tribes were less favorably disposed toward us than they had been before, and that perhaps they were beginning to favor the French—a suspicion that would prove all too well founded.

At last we reached the Potomac, where, owing to our having considerably less equipment to carry, it took only one hundred sixty-five crossings in my boat to bring all 350 men across. Washington stayed on the north shore until the last man was across, and it was when we had already brought the second-to-last load across that we realized we had left Washington alone on the shore with the entire treasury of the expedition. I directed the men to take cover behind trees until the hail of dollars had subsided; then I went back across to pick up Washington, while the men collected the bonus to which they were doubtless entitled.

It was a little cramped, but I offered the men the hospitality of my cabin for the night, which they gladly accepted. In the morning, as they prepared to leave, Washington made an unexpected proposition.

“Gist,” said he, “I have come to rely on your good sense and your expert knowledge of the cardinal directions. If you would consent to come with me, Virginia would be the better for it.”

I thought it over briefly. We were now at war with France; I certainly could not rely on the security of my isolated cabin anymore, especially if the Indians had allied themselves with the French. But with Washington, I might have some small chance of affecting the outcome of that war. I gave him my hand and accepted his proposal.

“Splendid!” said Washington. “With Parson Weems’ spiritual advice and your practical wisdom, the three of us should be more than a match for Irving.”

To be continued in Chapter 3. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.

By an Associate.

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Chapter 1.—My meeting with Washington.—Expedition to oust the French.—French will not be ousted.—Washington’s dispatch, and its reception.

Of Washington’s childhood I have nothing to say. The tale has been told well enough by one who, if he was not better informed than I, has at least been more imaginative. I first encountered Washington as a young man in need of a boat.

When the knock came at my door, I was, I admit, rather surprised, and not a little apprehensive. Visitors came seldom to my cabin on the Potomac, far upstream as it was and at the very edge of English settlement; and it was not out of the question that I might find some lawless savage waiting for me outside the door, ready to take my scalp to add to his personal museum. With that possibility in mind, I seized my staff, which I have always found more useful at close quarters than a musket or a rifle, and opened the door with a quick jerk.

I saw no one before me until I heard a voice saying, “Pardon the intrusion”; then I looked down and beheld a small man, about four feet nine inches tall, looking up at me. He was dressed in military fashion in buff and blue, and he was holding an empty burlap sack. He seemed barely more than a boy, but there was something commanding in his bearing, and a sort of inherent dignity in his address, that compelled my immediate respect.

“Pardon the intrusion,” said he, “but I have urgent need of a boat, and I was hoping I might perhaps make use of yours.”

“You need to cross the river?” I asked.

“Yes, to retrieve the money that was in this bag.” He held up the empty sack. “There were fifty-six Spanish milled dollars in here.”

“But how did they get across the river?”

“Well, I—” He looked down at the ground. “I’m afraid I threw them.”

I fear I may have responded with undignified incredulity. “You threw them?”

“In a moment of absence of mind,” he replied, looking up at me again. “You see, as a boy I whiled away so many hours throwing dollars across the Rappahannock that the thing became an ingrained habit, as it were. When there is a river, and there are dollars, they always seem to end up on the other side.”

“That does seem inconvenient,” I said.

“But there is, I believe, a wise saying that applies very well to such inconveniences.” From his breast pocket he produced a small, well-thumbed copybook, and he leafed through it until he found the page he desired. “‘When in good company at dinner, do not pick your teeth until after the ladies have withdrawn.’” He closed the book and returned it to his pocket.

“Well,” I said, “I am at your service, Mr…”

“Oh! Washington, sir. George Washington, adjutant to Governor Dunwoodie, sir.”

“Dinwiddie?”

“Yes, sir. Forgive me—I ought to have introduced myself at once. I’m on an important mission from the governor, sir, and the cares of my commission must have been weighing heavily on my mind.”

I extended my hand, and the little man gripped it with surprising firmness. “Christopher Gist, sir,” I said, “and my boat is at your service. I shall be happy to take you across.”

“There are several of us in the party,” Washington said. “Allow me to introduce you.” He turned aside to let me through the door, and I stepped out into the cold November air. Four other men were waiting out there, and Washington introduced them one by one.

“This is Mr. Gadelle, an Indian trader recommended to me as familiar with the ways of the savages.”

“Yup,” said Mr. Gadelle.

“And this is Mr. Beadle, another Indian trader, whom I have persuaded to accompany me to consult on the commercial possibilities of certain lands I possess near the Forks of the Ohio.”

“Yup,” said Mr. Beadle.

“Mr. Beadle and Mr. Gadelle are from Connecticut,” Washington explained. “And this is Mr. Von Schloss.”

“Guten Tag, mein Herr,” said Mr. Von Schloss.

“As my mission is to confront the French and warn them to depart the Ohio country, I have engaged Mr. Von Schloss as an interpreter,” Washington explained. “And this is Parson Weems.”

“How do you do, sir?” said the ecclesiastical gentleman.

“Parson Weems will use his most persuasive rhetoric to redeem the French officers from the wickedness of popery,” said Washington. “When that is accomplished, they will doubtless become much more friendly toward us, their fellow Christians.”

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, gentle­men,” said I. “I fear it may take more than one crossing to transport all of you and your baggage across the river, but I can—”

“Oh, that will not be necessary,” said Washington. “It will suffice to transport me so that I may retrieve the dollars, and then you can bring me back, and we shall be on our way.”

“But aren’t you headed for the Ohio country?”

“Yes, that is our destination.”

“Then you’ll have to cross the river. North is that way.”

“Is it?” He looked puzzled for a moment, and then seemed to reach a sudden decision. “Mr. Gist, you seem to be extraordinarily well informed in matters of geography. Would you consider serving the great country of Virginia in the capacity of a scout or guide? I have sore need of a man with your obvious gifts.”

I did not accept his invitation at first. But when he pressed it on me a second and third time, I reconsidered. I had no wife or children, nor even so much as a hunting dog, to tie me to my simple cabin. If I could be of service to Virginia, ought I not to place my meager abilities at her command? After some hesitation, I accepted the proposal.

“Governor Denwaddie and I will be most grateful,” said Washington. “And now, if you will conduct us to the other side, we can be on our way.”

“It might be best to set off tomorrow,” I suggested. “The day is already far advanced, and I have some small preparations to make before I leave. You gentlemen are welcome to my cabin tonight, where, poor though it may be, you will at least be warm and comfortable. Tomorrow we may start at dawn, and we should be able to make good progress on the Indian trail.”

“A fine suggestion,” Washington agreed. “Only—”

He hesitated, looked to the left and the right, and lowered his voice.

“You haven’t heard a sound around here that might be described as ‘braying,’ have you?”

I listened. Except for the usual sounds—the river, the wind in the trees, and a crow in the cherry tree near the riverbank—I heard nothing, and certainly nothing that could have been called braying.

“I don’t think so,” I answered.

“One can never be too careful,” said Washington. “Now, if you would be so kind as to take me across to pick up my dollars, I shall be most grateful to you.”

“By all means. Please follow me.”

“Just a moment.” He turned to Mr. Von Schloss and pointed to another burlap sack, this one sitting on the ground and obviously full. “I rely on you, Mr. Von Schloss, to guard that bag. It is of the highest importance.”

“Guten Tag, mein Herr,” said Mr. Von Schloss.

“Well done. And now, Mr. Gist, to the boat.”

We walked down to the riverbank, and had almost reached my little rowboat, when suddenly Washington came to an abrupt halt.

“Is that a cherry tree?” he asked so quietly that at first I could not hear him distinctly.

“I beg your pardon?”

“It is a cherry tree, isn’t it?”

I looked down at the man, and in just a few seconds, there in the November chill, large beads of perspiration had formed on his forehead.

“Yes,” I answered cautiously. “A wild black cherry. Very productive of fruit in its season.”

Washington was trembling all over. “Hatchet,” he whispered through gritted teeth. And then he shook his head vigorously. “Please forgive me, Mr. Gist. I am in perfect control of my actions.” His manner, however, suggested the opposite, and I wondered whether he was speaking more to convince himself than to inform me.

We made the crossing with no difficulty, as the river was calm at the time, and on the opposite shore we easily found the dollars we were seeking. They were distributed over a remarkably small area. “You must have very good aim with a dollar,” I remarked.

“It is not boasting to say that I can throw a dollar farther than anyone else in the colonies, and with greater accuracy.” He picked up one of the dollars, and, turning to face the river, suddenly launched it with almost incredible force. It sailed through the air until I lost sight of it; and then, a few moments later, we heard a sharp yelp from the opposite shore.

“Oh, dear,” said Washington, gazing in that direction. Then he turned away. “Well, it can’t be helped now. As they say…” He pulled the copybook out of his pocket and thumbed through it rapidly until he found his page. “A pair of clean stockings every day will do much to improve one’s standing among men of discernment.” Then he replaced the book in his pocket and resumed filling his sack with dollars.

When we returned with the sack of fifty-five dollars, we found Mr. Gadelle prone on the ground. Washington passed the cherry tree as quickly as he could and then addressed Mr. Beadle apologetically. “I appear to have struck Mr. Gadelle with a Spanish milled dollar.”

“Yup,” replied Mr. Beadle.

“He’ll come around soon enough,” Parson Weems remarked. “They generally do.”

“Under the circumstances,” said Washington, “I think I ought to let him keep the dollar as usual.”

“Yup,” replied Mr. Beadle.

And indeed Mr. Gadelle recovered soon afterward and took possession of the dollar without further remark.

I managed to feed the five guests and myself fairly well, and when we retired, though the cabin was small, we slept soundly, except for a brief moment when Washington shouted the name “Irving” in his sleep, waking the rest of us but not himself.

The next morning I woke just before dawn to the sound of some sort of pounding on the outside of the cabin. My alarm turned to curiosity when I noticed that Washington was missing, and that none of the other guests seemed to be alarmed by the sound. Tossing on my coat, I stepped around and over the sleeping guests, or rather the grudgingly waking guests, and walked out into the grey chill of pre-dawn November.

Washington was pounding a nail into the wall beside the door with a stone for a hammer. When he moved his hand, I saw that the nail went through a hole in a brass panel or plaque. Another nail was already driven through a hole in the other end of it, and as I approached closer, and Washington stepped back to admire his work, I was able to read these words on the plaque, in finely engraved letters:

george washington slept here

“I have always thought,” said Washington, “that gratitude ought to be promptly expressed, or it is as good as not expressed at all. In fact, there is a wise saying on that subject.” The copybook came out of its pocket again, and Washington flipped through its pages. “I remember that it was… Oh, yes—here it is. ‘Gratitude ought to be promptly expressed, or it is as good as a cucumber.’ I may have miscopied that.” He closed the book and slipped it back in the pocket.

By this time the rest of the party had risen, so after a breakfast of johnny cakes and salt beef, we set out on our way. I had brought the lightest possible pack, but it took four trips across the river to carry all the men and the baggage over. I admit that we were perhaps overly cautious, and the bag of dollars made every trip, owing to Parson Weems’ reasonable insistence that it was unwise to leave Washington and the coins alone together on the riverbank, and Washington’s flattering (if inexplicable) unwillingness to trust anyone but me with it. Once we had crossed the river, and the men had all assumed their burdens (Washington seemed to be carrying nearly his own weight in equipment), we set off along the Indian trail that crosses the Alleghenies.

“And what gives me the most satisfaction,” Washington said as we walked, “is that I am almost certain that Irving has not followed us across the river.”

“Who is this Irving?” I asked. “Forgive me for asking, but we heard you shouting his name in your sleep last night.”

“Irving,” he said gravely, “is my mortal enemy. For most of my life he has pursued me relentlessly, and I have no doubt but that he will continue to pursue me to the end of my life. He lives to deepen my sorrows, to blast my victories, and to hound me into an early grave. I am morally certain that Irving will be the death of me sooner or later.”

“But how can one man be so thoroughly wicked?”

“Oh, Irving is not a man. Irving is a mule.”

“A mule?” I asked incredulously.

“The most fiendishly devious and diabolically wicked mule ever bred.”

“But—but what does he look like, this Irving?”

“Irving,” Washington said, “is not visible in the strict sense.”

To this I could think of no reply, so we walked on in silence for a while.

The weather was turning colder as we crossed the mountains. We camped under a rocky overhang the first night; in the morning, Washington produced another brass plaque from his big clanking sack, but had the devil of a time trying to get his nails pounded into the rock, until I suggested that he apply the plaque to a nearby tree instead. This solution satisfied him, and we continued on our way.

So we went, crossing the Alleghenies in nine days and leaving a trail of brass plaques behind us. At the Allegheny River we made the trifling mistake of leaving Washington alone on the shore with the bag of dollars; but since we were obliged to make the crossing anyway, we suffered no serious inconvenience.

Eventually we reached the French post at Fort Le Boeuf, where we were received courteously by a lieutenant in a rather tattered uniform. Washington immediately brought forward his interpreter, Mr. Von Schloss.

“Guten Tag, mein Herr,” said Mr. Von Schloss.

“I’m terribly sorry,” the lieutenant replied, “but I don’t speak a word of High Dutch. However, I have some rudimentary knowledge of the English tongue, if that will suffice.”

“That will be suitable,” Washington agreed. “I have a message from Governor Dimwittle that must be delivered personally to your commanding officer.”

“If you will follow me,” said the lieutenant, “I will conduct you to him forthwith.”

We all followed Washington as he followed the lieutenant. The fort was a hastily constructed stockade, but one small building in the center showed considerably more effort than the rest. To this building we were conducted, and we waited outside while the lieutenant went in to inform his superior of our presence.

He emerged a few minutes later and told us, “Captain Hautain will see you now.”

Washington entered, and we filed in after him, one after another.

The interior was sumptuously appointed, with carved chairs upholstered in fleur-de-lis patterns, fine tapestries on the walls, and a magnificent table whose marquetry top was covered with an array of pastries the likes of which I had never seen before in my life. Captain Hautain was standing before it in all his military splendor, his mustache perfectly waxed to a pair of dangerous points.

“Bonjour, mes amis!” the captain said cheerfully. “Vous avez quelque chose à dire? Bien! Mais maintenant, des napoléons!”

“Captain Hautain says that before you speak, you might like some of these pastries, which for some reason are called ‘napoleons,’” the lieutenant said.

“Lieutenant!” the captain said sharply. “Vous êtes de trop! I will be the handling of these matter. —Gentlemen! Comme vous voyez, I speak English assez good.”

“I’m grateful to you for your hospitality,” Washington responded. “I shall come straight to the point. My name is George Washington, adjutant to Governor Dunwattle of Virginia, and I have come to warn you that you are trespassing on Virginian soil. It is imperative that you leave as soon as practicable.”

“Ho! Virginian soil? It is a plaisanterie, oui? This is the soil of the Nouvelle France. Dites-moi, little adjutant fellow, if I should refuse the moving of my fort, yes?—then what would your Governor Denwallow do, hein? Comment?”

Washington appeared to be taken aback. He was silent for a few moments, and then he replied, “Well, I don’t know. I had relied upon your honor as a gentleman to persuade you to do what was obviously the right thing. But perhaps you would like to hear Parson Weems preach first on the reasonableness of the Protestant religion.”

“My text,” Parson Weems began without further preamble, “is taken from the Letter of St. Paul to the Galatians, the second chapter, beginning with the—”

“Sacred blue!” the captain interrupted. “Away with your preachers of the preaching! I have the réponse for your governor, yes? You may tell your Governor Dingbattle that it is my irrevocable intention to keep toute la Nouvelle France, yes? Et par Dieu, if he comes here, je vais twiquer his nose! That is what il faut dire to your governor!”

An interval of silence followed this outburst; then Parson Weems suggested, “Perhaps you would like to read a small tract which I have composed, entitled ‘Fifty Popish Falsehoods and the Answers Thereto,’ which gives—”

“Hors d’ici!” the captain shouted. “And take with you your miserable heretical tracts! No napoléons! Allez-vous-en!”

The lieutenant was very apologetic as he escorted us to the gate of the fort. “Captain Hautain is of a warm disposition,” he explained.

“I have done my duty, Lieutenant de Trop,” Washington replied. “You have been most courteous, and I shall not forget your gentlemanly conduct. I have a reply to bring to my governor, and I shall bring it. For myself, I am certain now that Irving has preceded me here and has poisoned the mind of your captain.”

“Irving, Mr. Washington?” the lieutenant asked.

“My mortal enemy. But I need not burden you with my personal affairs. Irving is no concern of yours. Farewell, Lieutenant de Trop, and may we meet again under more favorable circumstances.”

So saying, Washington picked up his heavy sack of brass plaques, and the rest of us resumed our burdens for the long march southward.

The weather was now sharply colder, and flakes of snow were dancing among the brown leaves. Streams we passed were freezing along the edges, and at night the cold seemed to penetrate me with unusual power. Washington, however, made light of the difficulties of the journey, reminding me that, as it was written in his copybook, “When ladies are present, one can wait to use the chamber-pot.” Our misery was compounded by a steady cold rain the third day, which soaked our clothes; and I think we might have frozen to death had we not found another natural rock shelter in which to build a fire.

We met a small party of Indians on the fourth day, and here our Indian traders proved invaluable to us. I directed them to ask the shortest route to the Allegheny River, which I intended to follow for some distance. Mr. Beadle addressed the Indian who appeared to be the leader of the group.

“Mr. Washington, him big chief in Williamsburg. Him heap socially connected. Him going places. Him needum find heap quick trail to river of many waters.”

“I’m sorry,” the Indian replied, “but I don’t quite catch your drift.”

“He says,” Mr. Gadelle explained, “that the little fellow over there is a very important man, and he needs to know the shortest route to the Allegheny River.”

“Ah, yes, of course,” the Indian replied. “Tell him to head straight for that gap in the hills down there to the southeast, and then the trail will wind down to the river. You can’t miss it.”

Mr. Gadelle turned to Mr. Beadle. “Him say, takum trail to hole in hill, walkum down to many waters.”

“Heap much thanks,” said Mr. Beadle.

Mr. Gadelle turned to the Indian. “He says he’s very grateful to you.”

Washington gave the four Indians a dollar each for their trouble, which seemed to please them; and indeed we found the trail exactly as they had told us. When we came to the Allegheny, which was much more boisterous this time, owing to the recent heavy rains, we continued downstream for a day and a half, until Washington came to a sudden halt in a grove by the riverbank.

I looked down at him to ask the cause of our abrupt stop, and saw the beads of sweat rapidly growing on his forehead.

“Hatchet,” he whispered. “Hatchet… Hatchet… Hatchet…”

I looked around us. From the bark, I could recognize that the grove in which we stood was made up entirely of wild black cherry trees.

Suddenly Washington erupted. “Hatchet!” he shouted, dropping all his possessions with a loud clatter of brass plaques and drawing a hatchet out of his pack. “Hatchet! Hatchet!” With a mad gleam in his eye, he attacked the nearest tree like a man possessed. “Hatchet!” he bellowed as the splinters flew. “Hatchet! Hatchet! Hatchet! Hatchet!” So vigorous was his assault that the tree was felled in less than a minute. The rest of us scrambled to get out of the way as it fell, but Washington was still attacking it as it collapsed, and did not rest until the tree was reduced to a pile of logs of varying sizes. Then it was as if the devil had left him, and he sank down exhausted beside the logpile.

“Forgive me, gentlemen,” he said after a few minutes’ rest. “The…indisposition is usually under my control. But—so many cherry trees!” He took a few more heavy breaths, and then added, “I place the blame on Irving, of course.”

“Well,” said I, “since my plan was to build a raft at some convenient spot, and since we now have a ready supply of logs, I propose that we stop here and make our camp for the night, and then tomorrow we may assemble our raft at our leisure.”

This proposal met with ready agreement; so we all set to work establishing our camp, and then retired early.

Washington woke us as usual with the sound of a brass plaque being nailed to a tree. Once we had fortified ourselves with some of our provisions, we set to work on the raft, using some stout frost-grape vines to bind the logs together. It took us most of the day, except for a few intervals of rest, during which Washington managed to empty his bag of dollars before anyone noticed what he was doing; but since we had to cross the river anyway, we thought the incident would be attended with little inconvenience.

With the raft finished, I proposed to camp there another night, making the crossing in the morning, when I hoped the river might be somewhat lower; but Washington insisted that time could not be lost, saying that it was of vital importance to inform the governor of the French response quickly. Thus, though it was already late in the day, Washington insisted on crossing the river immediately. We therefore piled our baggage on the raft and carefully launched it, using a long branch as a pole until the river became too deep, and then resorting to some improvised paddles.

The river was turbulent, and it took all our effort to stay on the raft and propel it in the direction of the southern shore. Nevertheless, we continued without serious incident until about two-thirds of the way across, when our raft was struck by a drifting branch, which knocked Washington’s sack of brass plaques into the river.

Instantly and without a word, Washington leapt into the icy water. I shouted after him, but he sank like a brick. For some time—it must have been brief, and yet it seemed infinite—there was no sign of him. Our consternation may be imagined. Parson Weems began whistling “Lillibullero,” as I would discover was his habit whenever danger threatened. But then, when we had already given him up for drowned, Washington appeared above the water and grasped the raft with one hand.

“Give me your other hand!” I called out to him. “I’ll pull you up!”

“Impossible,” he replied, in between loud gasps. “The other… the other hand…has…the sack.”

“Let it go!” I begged him. “The plaques can be replaced!”

“A gentleman does not part with his honor!”

Casting about for some way to end this impasse, I leaned out with the branch I was using for a pole. “Get the sack on the pole!” I directed him, bringing it as near as I could to where I supposed his other hand must be. With much effort, he managed to snag it with the branch, so that Parson Weems and I could haul it aboard. Meanwhile, Washington’s other hand was free, and Mr. Von Schloss and the two Indian traders were able to pull him up on the raft.

“Guten Tag, mein Herr,” said Mr. Von Schloss, and we all concurred in the sentiment.

We landed a good mile downstream; but Washington, wet, frozen, and exhausted as he was, still insisted on walking that mile to retrieve his dollars before he would rest. Only when he had them safely back in his sack did he consent to make camp for the evening. Then we built a fire, and Washington carefully laid his copybook on a rock near the fire to dry. I think the poor man nearly froze to death in his wet clothes that night, but we never heard a word of complaint from him, save that, several times in the quiet of the night, he groaned out the name “Irving” in his sleep.

From there the next morning we followed the Allegheny down to the Forks of the Ohio, since the forbidding bluffs that lowered over the narrow strip of land on the south shore suggested to me that our most efficient route to the south would be by way of the Monongahela. At the point where the two rivers met, we stopped for a quick meal of the abundant game in those parts; and while we admired the magnificent view down the mighty Ohio, Washington was much taken with the strategic potential of the place.

“A fort here,” said he, “at the confluence of these two mighty rivers, would command the only water route into the west, and thus keep the French from penetrating any further into my land.”

“Your land, sir?” I asked.

“Indeed. My late brother founded the Ohio Company for the purpose of developing the western lands. As I inherited the estate, the land now belongs to me, from the Allegheny Mountains westward to the Russian Empire, assuming, as seems to be the case, that there is a connection between the western extremity of America and the eastern part of Asia.”

“But how did your brother acquire it in the first place?”

“By forming the Ohio Company to develop it. You see, at present the only occupants of the land are Indians, who are savages, and the French, who are papists. The land thus belongs to the first civilized Christian gentlemen who are prepared to plant the seeds of true Christian civilization in it. A fort here will be but the beginning. At this commanding location I foresee a mighty city rising—a city whose position at the head of navigation into the west will give rise to undreamt-of prosperity—a city of titanic industries and globe-circling commerce—a city of gleaming towers and verdant parks—a center of learning and the arts—a city called Washington.”

The remainder of our journey passed without any remarkable incident, and we reached my cabin early in December. Once again I offered the company my hospitality, which once again was accepted with thanks; but Washington and his party left so early the next morning that I was not able to bid them farewell. When I did come out of my cabin, I found the cherry tree by the river felled and a note stuck on the stump:

Mr. Gist—

My apologies for the state of your cherry tree, but the fit came upon me suddenly this morning. In compensation, I have left you ten Spanish milled dollars, if you will make the trifling effort to retrieve them from the opposite shore. I owe you a debt of gratitude that can never be properly repaid, but I shall see to it that the governor sends a handsome reward.”

Yours, &c.,

George Washington.

Not too long afterward I received the handsome reward of which he spoke, in the form of a framed certificate headed “Valued Team Member” in elaborate blackletter, and signed by Governor Dinwiddie himself.

As for Washington, I had rather pitied the young man, imagining that the governor would be less than pleased with the outcome of the expedition, which had utterly failed in its object of displacing the French. I had not reckoned, however, with Washington’s mastery of the art of the dispatch. As soon as he reached Williamsburg, he wrote an account of his expedition that placed his own conduct—and, I understand, mine as well—in a very favorable light. Governor Dinwiddie was immensely pleased and had Washington’s dispatch printed as a small duodecimo, which proved to be the most popular work ever issued by the press in Williamsburg, having sold upwards of eighteen copies.

So ended my first adventure with young George Washington, and I fully expected not to see the man again, at least for a great while. Momentous events were afoot, however, which would soon bring us together again.

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To be continued in Chapter 2. Or you can order the whole book now and spare yourself the wait.