The Farmer Boy, and How He Became Commander-In-ChiefHeady, Morrison
History
The Farmer Boy, and How He Became Commander-In-Chief
Heady, Morrison
Washington, George, 1732-1799
The midsummer sun was shooting its first beams, level and red, among
the Alleghany hills, when the little army, having crossed the
Monongahela at the upper ford, stood on its southern bank, forming in
line of march. By order of their general, officers and men had scoured
and polished their arms and accoutrements the night before; and now
appeared in full uniform, as if some grand military parade were to be
the programme of the day. The whole line was soon moving slowly
forward, with fifes playing, drums beating, and colors flying; the
regulars keeping step the while to the "Grenadier's March." In the
clear and tranquil depths of the river, as they moved along its shady
banks, could be seen, as in a mirror, the long array of
leather-shirted rangers and red-coated regulars, with their sun-lit
arms and prancing steeds, and bright banners that floated in the
morning breeze. This brilliant spectacle, so well set off by the
smiling river in front and the frowning woods beyond, formed a picture
that ever lived in the memory of Washington; and in after-years he
used often to say, that, as it then appeared to him, he thought he had
never seen any thing so beautiful. In the enthusiasm of the moment, he
forgot his late illness, the still enfeebled condition of his
body,--all, save the glory of serving his country; and, mounting his
horse, he joined his brother-aides in their attendance on their
general, else far more fatal must have been the end of that bloody
day.
XVI.
BRADDOCK'S DEFEAT.
In my account of this battle, as well as all the others that will come
thundering in upon us from time to time in the course of our story, I
have thought it would suit our purpose best to touch upon those facts
only that are likeliest to leave the most lasting pictures of such
events on your minds; using the while no more words than may actually
be needed to give clearness and completeness to the same. And now,
Daniel, my young Herodotus, and Ned, my young Hannibal, bring in
another Christmas log, that we may have a more cheerful blaze; for our
story will be doleful enough for the next half-hour, without these
goblin shadows dodging and flitting about the room to make it more so.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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