Braddock's Field

Persons of taste resort to this spot, and a stranger would hardly be pardonable who should omit to pay it a visit.

Twelve miles from Pittsburgh, on the banks of the Monongahela, is Braddock's Field, a scene of signal disaster to the British arms.

The name of Braddock has not been cherished by his countrymen, and no attempt has been made to rescue his fame from obloquy, perhaps because no plausible ground of vindication exists, but every feeling mind must deplore the premature fall of a brave though obstinate leader and the sacrifice of a gallant army.

There is nothing more arbitrary than the mead of applause or opprobrium bestowed upon the soldier's toils, success being too generally the test of merit.

In the tempest of that day which consigned Braddock to an unhonored grave, the genius of Washington dawned with a luster which gave promise of its future greatness, and the American reveres the spot which has been hallowed by the illustrious presence and gallant deeds of the father of his country.

Here too a small band of undismayed Virginians signalized their valor, checked the triumphant savage, and rescued from total annihilation the dispersed and crestfallen remnants of those proud battalions who affected to look down upon them a few hours before with all the vaunting arrogance of military pride.

Braddock's Field, for so the battleground is called, is now a large farm, owned and cultivated by an individual.

The scene of action was on the banks of the river, on an undulating surface, covered at that time with thick woods, but now occupied by enclosed fields.

Persons of taste resort to this spot, and a stranger would hardly be pardonable who should omit to pay it a visit.

Twelve miles from Pittsburgh, on the banks of the Monongahela, is Braddock's Field, a scene of signal disaster to the British arms.

The name of Braddock has not been cherished by his countrymen, and no attempt has been made to rescue his fame from obloquy, perhaps because no plausible ground of vindication exists, but every feeling mind must deplore the premature fall of a brave though obstinate leader and the sacrifice of a gallant army.

There is nothing more arbitrary than the meed of applause or opprobrium bestowed upon the soldier's toils, success being, too generally, the test of merit.

In the tempest of that day which consigned Braddock to an unhonored grave, the genius of Washington dawned with a luster which gave promise of its future greatness, and the American reveres the spot which has been hallowed by the illustrious presence and gallant deeds of the father of his country.

Here, too, a small band of undismayed Virginians signalized their valor, checked the triumphant savage, and rescued from total annihilation the dispersed and crestfallen remnants of those proud battalions who affected to look down upon them a few hours before with all the vaunting arrogance of military pride.

Braddock's Field, for so the battle-ground is called, is now a large farm, owned and cultivated by an individual.

The scene of action was on the banks of the river, on an undulating surface, covered at that time with thick woods, but now occupied by enclosed fields.