The grizzled veteran brushed him aside.
Washington was for rapid marching, with scouting troops deployed on
ahead.
"But this prospect," he writes, "was soon clouded, and my hopes brought
very low indeed, when I found that, instead of pushing on with vigor,
without regarding a little rough road, they were halting to level every
molehill, and to erect bridges over every brook, by which means we were
four days in getting twelve miles."
A few days before Braddock reached the vicinity of Fort Duquesne,
Washington had fallen sick of a fever, and had barely recovered
strength enough to rejoin the command. But the slow progress to which
he refers, enabled him to do so before the attack--though he was still
far from well.
As he rode up to meet the general, he could not help but admire the
beauty of the scene. The troops had crossed a ford on the Monongahela,
about fifteen miles from the fort, and now marched in close formation
along its winding bank, as though on dress parade. But his admiration
of the display only intensified his sense of danger--the sixth sense of
every woodsman. He begged his general to scatter his forces somewhat,
or at least send scouts ahead. But Braddock rebuked him angrily for
presuming to teach English regulars how to fight.
Suddenly the sound of firing was heard at the front, although no
attacking party could be seen.
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