passing a gap in the Blue Ridge,
could hardly make his way for the crowd of fugitives. "Every day,"
writes Washington, "we have accounts of such cruelties and barbarities
as are shocking to human nature. It is not possible to conceive the
situation and danger of this miserable country. Such numbers of French
and Indians are all around that no road is safe."

[Footnote 335: Extract in _Writings of Washington_, II. 145, _note._]

[Footnote 336: _Letters of Dinwiddie_, 1755.]

These frontiers had always been at peace. No forts of refuge had thus
far been built, and the scattered settlers had no choice but flight.
Their first impulse was to put wife and children beyond reach of the
tomahawk. As autumn advanced, the invading bands grew more and more
audacious. Braddock had opened a road for them by which they could cross
the mountains at their ease; and scouts from Fort Cumberland reported
that this road was beaten by as many feet as when the English army
passed last summer. Washington was beset with difficulties. Men and
officers alike were unruly and mutinous. He was at once blamed for their
disorders and refused the means of repressing them. Envious detractors
published slanders against him. A petty Maryland captain, who had once
had a commission from the King, refused to obey his orders, and stirred
up factions among his officers. Dinwiddie gave him cold support. The
temper of the old Scotchman, crabbed at the best, had been soured by
disappointment, vexation, weariness, and ill-health. He had, besides, a
friend and countryman, Colonel Innes, whom, had he dared, he would
gladly have put in Washington's place. He was full of zeal in the common
cause, and wanted to direct the defence of the borders from his house at
Williamsburg, two hundred miles distant. Washington never hesitated to
obey; but he accompanied his obedience by a statement of his own
convictions and his reasons for them, which, though couched in terms the
most respectful, galled his irascible chief. The Governor acknowledged
his merit; but bore him no love, and sometimes wrote to him in terms
which must have tried his high temper to the utmost. Sometimes, though
rarely, he gave words to his emotion.

"Your Honor," he wrote in April, "may see to what unhappy straits the
distressed inhabitants and myself are reduced. I see inevitable
destruction in so clear a light, that unless vigorous measures are taken
by the Assembly, and speedy assistance sent from be