[Footnote 302:  Minutes of Council of War, 22 Aug. 1755.  Ephraim Williams to Benjamin Dwight, 22 Aug. 1755.]

The train of Dutch wagons, guarded by the homely soldiery, jolted slowly over the stumps and roots of the newly made road, and the regiments followed at their leisure.  The hardships of the way were not without their consolations.  The jovial Irishman who held the chief command made himself very agreeable to the New England officers.  “We went on about four or five miles,” says Pomeroy in his Journal, “then stopped, ate pieces of broken bread and cheese, and drank some fresh lemon-punch and the best of wine with General Johnson and some of the field-officers.”  It was the same on the next day.  “Stopped about noon and dined with General Johnson by a small brook under a tree; ate a good dinner of cold boiled and roast venison; drank good fresh lemon-punch and wine.”

That afternoon they reached their destination, fourteen miles from Fort Lyman.  The most beautiful lake in America lay before them; then more beautiful than now, in the wild charm of untrodden mountains and virgin forests.  “I have given it the name of Lake George,” wrote Johnson to the Lords of Trade, “not only in honor of His Majesty, but to ascertain his undoubted dominion here.”  His men made their camp on a piece of rough ground by the edge of the water, pitching their tents among the stumps of the newly felled trees.  In their front was a forest of pitch-pine; on their right, a marsh, choked with alders and swamp-maples; on their left, the low hill where Fort George was afterwards built; and at their rear, the lake.  Little was done to clear the forest in front, though it would give excellent cover to an enemy.  Nor did Johnson take much pains to learn the movements of the French in the direction of Crown Point, though he sent scouts towards South Bay and Wood Creek.  Every day stores and bateaux, or flat boats, came on wagons from Fort Lyman; and preparation moved on with the leisure that had marked it from the first.  About three hundred Mohawks came to the camp, and were regarded by the New England men as nuisances.  On Sunday the gray-haired Stephen Williams preached to these savage allies a long Calvinistic sermon, which must have sorely perplexed the interpreter whose business it was to turn it into Mohawk; and in the afternoon young Chaplain Newell, of Rhode Island, expounded to the New England men the somewhat untimely text, “Love your enemies.”  On the next Sunday, September seventh, Williams preached again, this time to the whites from a text in Isaiah.  It was a peaceful day, fair and warm, with a few light showers; yet not wholly a day of rest, for two hundred wagons came up from Fort Lyman, loaded with bateaux.  After the sermon there was an alarm.  An Indian scout came in about sunset, and reported that he had found the trail of a body of men moving from South Bay towards Fort Lyman.  Johnson called for a volunteer to carry a letter of warning to Colonel Blanchard, the commander.  A wagoner named Adams offered himself for the perilous service, mounted, and galloped along the road with the letter.  Sentries were posted, and the camp fell asleep.