poured a deadly fire into the English ranks. Bravely enough the British soldiers, shouting "God Save the King," gave back volley after volley. But their

bravery was in vain. The foe was hidden, while their own bright coats were only targets for Indian bullets. Washington urged Braddock to order his men into the forest to fight like the Indians, but he would not, and when the soldiers to protect themselves sprang behind trees, he swore angrily at the "cowards," as he called them, and struck them with his sword.

Washington's Virginians alone, fought in true Indian fashion. With help they might have saved the day. Hardly able to sit his horse for weakness from a fever, Washington lost himself in the fury of the fight. Fearing no danger, urging the men on to courage and victory, he galloped into the very thick of the firing. His life seemed charmed. Two horses

were shot under him. Four bullets cut his coat. Still he was without a wound and the Indians murmured in awe: "It is useless. He is protected by the Great Spirit."

Forced to retreat at last, Braddock was hit by a fatal shot. His soldiers wild with fear, amid a hail of pursuing bullets, fled like madmen into the dark night, passing even their own camp and tearing on towards the settlements. More than seven hundred were killed and Washington alone saved the rest from entire destruction. Braddock died with praises on his lips for the gallant Virginia "blues," and regrets for his hot refusal of all advice. To Washington he gave his favorite horse and his devoted servant Bishop, who had carried him dying from the field. They buried Braddock near Ft. Necessity in the rough roadway, so that any trace of his grave might be hid from the savage foe by the tracks of the heavy army wagons

that passed over it. Eighty-five years later a memento of that terrible day was found on the old battlefield. It was Washington's seal with his initials.

Fearing that Indian raids would follow close on the French success at Ft. Duquesne, Virginia increased her forces and made Washington commander-in-chief. Always short of money from the miserly Burgesses, his provisions were scanty, his men without shoes, shirts and stockings. They were not eager for work or training, but very eager for their pay. Special laws had to be made to force them to obey their officers. Disobedience turned to mutiny in many cases, and then Washington became a stern master, promptly hanging the mutineers. Everything seemed to be against him. And yet he did not shrink from the almost hopeless task of protecting three hundred and fifty miles of frontier from the murderous dashes of Indian bands, that often in the dead of night stole, torch in hand, through swamp and forest to their terrible work.

Settlers, crazed with fear, fled to Washington for help. At times even he lost heart. "The supplicating tears of the women," wrote the young commander-inchief, "melt me into such deadly sorrow, that I solemnly declare, if I know my own mind, I could offer myself a willing sacrifice to the butchering enemy, provided that would contribute to the people's ease. I would be a willing offering to savage fury and die by inches to save the people."

PEACE AND MOUNT VERNON

The great William Pitt now became prime minister of England, and he at once put the war in America into the hands of able men. Dinwiddie was recalled, a new attack on Ft. Duquesne was planned, and at last

Washington's advice was followed. The lesson had been learned. Each officer and soldier in Indian dress, and "light as any Indian in the woods," the troops entered the fateful forest, where Braddock's men had been butchered. They found nothing to do but hoist the English Union Jack over the smoking walls of Ft. Duquesne; for the French, fearing they would be cut off by the English in the North, had abandoned and burned their fortress. There was now no need of an army in the Ohio Valley. A new fortress arose on the ruins of Fort Duquesne-on the very spot which Washington himself had first selected. In honor of the famous prime minister, it was named Fort Pitt. There today stands the city of Pittsburgh.

News from Canada, in 1759, of the capture of Quebec, told that the French power in America was at an end. With the coming of peace, Washington left the army to lead the life of a Virginia gentleman at Mt. Vernon, which had become his own through the death of his niece. He was soon elected a member of the House of Burgesses. At his first appearance in the house, Speaker Robinson rose to thank him for his services, now on the lips of every Virginian. Blushing and confused, Washington stood, unable to utter a word. "Sit down, Mr. Washington," said the Speaker, "your modesty is equal to your valor, and that surpasses the power of any language that I possess." During the years that followed, and until the coming of the Revolution, Washington served Virginia as a Burgess.

Meanwhile, on a day in May, in 1758, as he rode on orders to Williamsburg, with the faithful Bishop at his side, Washington had been met by a friend and asked to his home to dine, and-for this was part of the invitation-to meet a beautiful young widow,

his guest. Since the affair of the "Lowland Beauty,' the young soldier's heart, so history says, had beaten the quicker for the charms of another Virginia maiden and of a New York belle, but now it made its final surrender. Dinner was over, Bishop and the restless horses at the door. The shadows lengthened, and still Washington tarried, forgetful of everything but the charms of sweet Martha Custis. Twilight came, and the horses were sent back to the stable. It was well

on in the morning of the next day before Washington bowed low in farewell over the lovely widow's hand, and spurred his horse on to Williamsburg. His duty there done, he returned and sought her at once-this time at her own home. When again he left her, he carried with him to the frontier the promise of her love. This is part of a letter he wrote her, while on the march for the Ohio: "A courier is starting for Williamsburg, and I embrace the opportunity to send a few words to one whose life is now inseparable from mine. Since that happy hour when we made our pledges to each other, my thoughts have been continually going to you as to another self. That an all-powerful Providence may keep us both in safety is the prayer of your ever faithful and ever affectionate friend, G. Washington."

It was on January sixth, 1759, that a brilliant wedding took place at the little Virginia church. In the clear winter sunshine, the soldierly bridegroom, bravely clad in blue, silver and scarlet, gold buckles at knee and instep, rode beside the window of the coach and six that bore his radiant bride. Following them in other coaches was a party of "Virginia belles" in their beautiful silks and satins, attended by a group of His Majesty's officers, resplendent in red and gold. After three months of peaceful content at his bride's