The battle raged about the colonel, riding atop his horse as he directed his troops into combat. The horse he rode wasn’t his – and it showed.
This horse wasn’t used for combat, and it was terrified.
The colonel had no choice, though. His original horse had its chest blown away while he sat atop, leaving him scrambling for a new horse to continue giving his men orders.
Corpses surrounded the man, the boom of cannons, bullets whizzed by – and as the colonel braved all this, his horse was shot out from him once again.
Stumbling to the ground, he once more found himself amid a raging battle in search of a steed.
A mare was nearby, its former owner lying dead on the ground.
He ran over to the mare, jumped on, and resumed his place in combat once more.
Many of his men were starting to retreat, but waving his gun in the air, he managed to convince several to return to the fight.
It was no use. His men felt terrified, and thus, were easily routed by the enemy.
The colonel knew he had to do something and fast. Turning his horse to the enemy, he issued both commands and encouragement to his troops.
With his visible officer’s regalia, he drew an unprecedented amount of fire. Soldiers around him scattered as they realized just how dangerous it was to be close to this man.
Despite everything in his power, the colonel was not able to maintain control of his troops. Fear ruled them now.
Today, the fight was over.
Back at the camp that night, he sat by the fire, musing over the happenings of the day.
The fire warmed him, so he took off his coat. Shaking off the dirt and dust of the day, he noticed something — light where there should be none.
Not one but four bullet holes pierced his coat.
“There’s another one in your hat, sir,” a nearby soldier remarked, noticing what was going on.
Two horses had been shot out from under him. Four bullet holes had pierced his coat. One had almost taken off his head.
A fellow officer, having noticed all that was taking place, questioned the colonel.
“Who are you?” he demanded.
The colonel answered back, “I am George Washington.”
“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….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!” – Unnamed Indian chief, Fall of 1770, the Ohio Frontier
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