In the summer of 1755, during the French and Indian war, General Edward Braddock’s army of 2,200 men was sent on a mission to capture Fort Duquesne and thereby gain strategic control of the Ohio country. A twenty-three-year old colonel, commanding the Virginia militia, accompanied him.
On July 9, 1755 Braddock’s army engaged a small force of French soldiers, along with some 600 Ottawa and Potawatomi Indian warriors in what became known as the Battle of Monongahela, about ten miles east of what is now the city of Pittsburgh. Though Braddock was a fine general and his troops were well trained in European style warfare, they were totally at a loss in knowing how to fight in the woods against men hiding behind trees. His army was soundly defeated, suffering nearly two-thirds casualties. Braddock himself was severely wounded in the battle and died four days later.
Though the battle resulted in a defeat, the young colonel distinguished himself on that day. He rallied his unit, which put up the best fight of any part of Braddock’s army. Miraculously, he came out of that battle unscathed, although two horses had been shot from under him. When he later took off his coat, it had four musket ball holes in it. With Braddock down, the young colonel took command of what was left of his army. He restored order, set up a rear guard to cover its retreat, thereby saving the rest of the army from annihilation.
Fifteen years later, in 1770, that same man returned to the area of the battle on a mission of exploration with his lifelong friend Dr. James Craik. Near the junction of the Kanawha and Ohio Rivers they encountered a band of Indians. Among them was the old and venerable chief who had led his warriors against Braddock’s army in that fateful battle. He asked that they build a counsel fire, as he wished to have words with the colonel who had so ably led his men on that day. The fire was built and the chief spoke.
I am a chief and ruler over my tribes. My influence extends to the waters of the great lakes and to the far blue mountains. I have traveled a long and weary path, that I might see the young warrior of the great battle.
It was on the day when the white man’s blood mixed with the streams of our forest that I first beheld this chief. I called to my young men and said, “Mark yon tall and daring warrior? He is not of the redcoat tribe. He hath an Indian’s wisdom, and his warriors fight as we do—himself alone is exposed. Quick, let your aim be certain and he dies.”
Our rifles were leveled, rifles which, but for him, knew not how
to miss. ‘Twas all in vain. A power mightier far than we, shielded him from harm. He cannot die in battle.
I am old, and soon shall be gathered to the great council fire of my father in the land of shades, but ere I go, there is something that bids me speak in the voice of prophecy. Listen! The Great Spirit protects that man, and guides his destinies. He will become the chief of nations, and a people yet unborn will hail him as the founder of a mighty empire.
Five years after that meeting the former colonel rode to take command of a rag-tag army. Though his army suffered many defeats—though many around him were killed or wounded, were lost to sickness, or were captured—though some deserted or even changed sides, he never wavered in his resolve during the grueling eight years that followed. Perhaps it was on the strength of the chieftain’s prophecy, but somehow General George Washington held the Continental Army together, until America won its independence from Great Britain and began its assent toward becoming the greatest nation the world has ever seen.
