XIFACING WINTER PERIL
Christopher Gist hurried on. When the Hunter arrived, the two were gazing perplexed; and no wonder.
Here lay the swift Allegheny River, a quarter of a mile wide, but it was not frozen over. It was frozen for only fifty paces out from either bank. All the space between the borders was black current, in which great ice cakes, borne rapidly, churned and swirled on their way to the Forks below.
As far up and down as they could see there was no ice bridge—no way to cross afoot. To leap from floe to floe amid that mad race of tilting, spinning cakes, some thick, some thin, at intervals irregular, was impossible. And to swim through was impossible.
“Pshaw!” Gist uttered. “Who’d ha’ thought this? In all reason the pesky river should be frozen clean across. We’re cut short, major.”
“Just where are we?” asked Washington.
“Maybe the boy knows better than we do.”
“Shanopin-town across about two miles down,” said Robert. “Forks another two miles.”
“We’ll have to go down stream, major,” spoke Gist. “Until we come to an ice jam that will bear us, or can signal from opposite Shanopin’s-town. The Injuns might be able to get a canoe to us. We’ll find food and proper rest, too.”
“No,” said Washington. “The French spies are probably ahead of us. I’ll not risk interference fromShanopin’s-town—I must get to the Governor at all hazard. The less we see of Indians, the better. I have no time to take my ease. Cross here I shall.”
“How so, then?” Gist asked.
“By raft. We’ll make a raft and chance it.”
Christopher Gist exclaimed:
“What! You mean to chance a raft in that ice, major? We’re like to be swamped.”
“It can be done, Gist. It’s got to be done. Let’s set to work.”
“And that’s a job, too,” quoth Gist; “with only my hatchet and our hunting knives to shape the timber. But if you say so, I’m not the man to back out. Grant that the Injuns give us time.”
“To work, then,” bade Washington. “Keep an eye on our back trail and our guns ready. All I ask is time to cross.”
They fell to, the three of them; and a job that was, to make a raft that would hold together and bear three persons. Saplings had to be cut down and trimmed with the one small hatchet; driftwood had to be gathered from along the steep, high banks; and all had to be laid closely and bound by poles fastened with wooden pegs.
Washington chopped, Gist hacked and laid and bound, the Hunter hauled and dragged; and while they toiled and sweated the sun rose higher until it marked noon.
The raft was not half completed. The driftwood was frozen and heavy, the saplings rang under the hatchet strokes. Gist had much difficulty in driving the pins that held the binders. They all needs must cast many an anxious glance upon the back trail, and upon the country up stream and downstream and across. Ever the floes whirled past, with no sign of lessening, nor of jamming.
The sun was sinking into the red west. A whole long day had been spent when Gist said, straightening to ease his tired back:
“She’ll do, I think. It’s the best we can manage, anyway; if we’re going to cross before dark we’ll have to make the try, major, or will you wait ’till morning?”
“We’ll cross at once,” declared Washington, “and be ready to march. We can sleep on the other side as well as on this side. Don’t forget the setting poles. Here they are. Now to launch the thing.”
The cumbersome raft weighed tremendously. They all bent to, and shoving, tugging, hoisting, they got it down a shelving place of the bank and upon the ice.
The ice creaked warningly, but held. The sun had sunk into the western forest. The air chilled suddenly and their sweat froze. The night was going to be clear and very cold.
To drag the raft over the snowy ice took time, for the footing was slippery to smooth moccasins. But at last the black water, washing the ragged ice fringe, was close before. One more shove—heave-o! The current and the speeding floes made a dizzy sight—the ice under sole cracked—the raft slid to the edge, and hung, half in, half out——
“Aboard with the Hunter!” cried Washington. “Quick!”
And Robert, his heart thumping, was alone, crouched upon the canted raft.
“Together, now, Gist! Jump as she enters.”
They two strained—the raft slid in—Gist sprang—with final shove Washington gave a running jump, and landed; Gist thrust with his setting pole and out they went, careening into the wild mill.
There was one breathless moment; but the raft held, while the water seeped up through the crevices. It began to drift down stream at astonishing pace. Now Washington and Gist worked desperately with their setting poles, pushing the cakes aside, forcing the raft ahead, making way through the labyrinth that constantly closed and opened.
The drift was alarmingly rapid. Huge cakes blocked the trail, and others rammed them, threatening to bear them under. But they were creeping on, creeping on; they were half way. And now another floe swung athwart the course, and hung, so that the raft tilted while the current dragged at it.
Washington panted:
“Wait, Gist, till I pry off.”
He bent to his setting pole, buried almost to the hand-hold in the water, to thrust the raft free. Then Gist cried out:
“Take care, major! No! He’s gone!”
The raft had moved, the pole had been whipped from Washington’s grasp, and losing balance he had plunged head first into the icy depths.
Gist sprang, Robert the Hunter sprang. An instant more, and Washington’s head appeared just below the raft.
“Here, major!”
The water there was clear of floes. He swam a few strokes, and managed to grab the edge of the raft. With the raft canted dangerously again theyhauled at him and he kicked and scrambled, and dripping wet he came aboard. Wah, but that had been a narrow escape!
“I lost my pole,” he gasped.
“No matter,” said Gist. “Thank Heaven you got out. But we can’t make it tonight, major. We’ll be wedged fast, and freeze to death. The best we can do is to land on that little island right ahead and build a fire.”
Already they had been carried down stream a mile; in the gloom a bare little island, cloaked with only a few trees, cut them off from the farther shore. The raft drifted in to it, while Gist worked with his pole.
“When it touches, jump,” he bade. “I can’t hold it long.”
The raft grated against the edge of the ice that bordered the island; pitching their packs out they all followed, leaping over the piled-up cakes; and away floated the raft. They were prisoners, but they had escaped the greedy river.
Nevertheless, it was a bad fix. The first thing to do was to build a rousing fire. Washington’s teeth chattered and his clothing rasped as he moved briskly, to keep from freezing. The night was due to be the coldest yet.
It proved a bare little island indeed, of scarcely any brush, and with only two or three trees, and the highest part was not much above the river.
“There should be drift wood lodged at the upper end,” said Washington. So he and Robert went seeking, while Gist started a fire of twigs. Luckily they found drift wood in plenty heaped against the island’s head.
They lugged back snags and bark, to where Gist was blowing at his smudge. It seemed as though the fire would never burst into steady blaze, so damp was the wood, soaked with frost. Meanwhile Washington stamped and thrashed, but complained by not a word, save to say:
“We should have been across, except for my clumsiness. With two poles we would have forced passage.”
“Not so, major,” replied Gist. “Rather, be thankful that we escaped with your life. I confess I’d rather be upon the shore, myself. We’re within rifle shot of it, without cover; and by daylight anybody could make things lively for us.”
“Liveliness would do us no harm,” laughed Washington. “It would warm us up. A possible skirmish bothers me less than the thought of delay. The Governor is waiting to hear of my trip. He sent me, instead of an older man, and he was criticized for it; so I would show that I am not one to fail.”
The fire increased, lighting the island with its ruddy flare; but the cold increased, too, so that while they toasted one side of themselves, the other side chilled and stiffened.
“We dare not lie down, major,” said Gist. “I can see you’re ready to drop, and so is the boy; but if we lie down we’ll sleep, and if we sleep we’ll freeze to death. We must keep each other awake, and moving.”
“Do you and the Hunter lie down, and I will watch and tend the fire,” proposed Washington.
“No, sir,” Gist objected. “You might drowse off—’twould be only human nature to drowse off.Then, who would wakeyou? The boy may sleep, but we’ll have to rouse him often or he’ll be frostbitten.”
“I am a warrior,” declared the Hunter. “I will stay awake, and bring wood.”
What a night that was! A still, stinging, cold night, while amid the stillness the ice boomed, the floes ground upon each other in the current, the forest cracked, the wet wood of the fire hissed, and overhead the million stars glittered in the black sky.
Now and then they three sat at the fire, or standing turned about to baste their backs; and to keep awake. Gist told stories of bears and Indians, and Robert told of his bear and the Cherokee, and Washington told of his plantation and of things to be seen among the Long Knives of the American settlements. When anybody felt drowsy he was made to walk, and rub his hands and cheeks with snow, or fetch more wood; and sometimes they roamed over the island.
“There’s one advantage in this cold,” said Gist: “The Injuns aren’t likely to stir abroad before sun-up. But we may catch it if we’re found here by the Ottawas.”
“So you say,” replied Washington. “You forget another advantage. The cold may bridge the stream for us, and we’ll get off.”
He was always hopeful, that man Washington.
Robert wearily trudged out again, for more wood from the drift pile. When he reached the spot, he stared, surprised. There, in the star-light, a log upon which he had stood high and dry, the last time,was being lapped by water. Wah! He ran back with the bad news.
“Washington! River comes up!”
The two men exclaimed.
“What? No!” “You can see.”
And leaving the fire, see they did, at the drift pile, and also along the island edges. They set a stake and watched that; and the water crept higher.
“Either a gorge above has broken, or one has formed just below,” said Washington.
“’Twill take little more rise to flood us off,” remarked Gist. “I say things can’t be worse.”
“If they can’t be worse they’re ripe to mend,” Washington answered steadily. “When we can’t stay on the island we’ll swim ashore, for we’ll have to do something.”
They all watched the stake. After midnight, by the stars, the water stopped, short of the fire, but the drift-wood pile was out of reach, except by wading. And that fear of being swept away by the black flood in the night was terrible—although it did not seem to worry Washington.
The stars slowly paled, and the east grew red. Washington returned from another trip to look at the channel between the island and the shore.
“The ice has packed, Gist!” he almost shouted. “Huzzah! We’ll be able to cross. Thanks for the cold, after all.”
His haggard face beamed.
“Aye,” said Gist. “Then we’ll make over as soon as we can, major, for I don’t like these winter quarters. I’ve frozen all my fingers and some of my toes during the night.”
“They should be tended to, sir.”
“And so they will be, but you should deliver your message to the Governor. That is of first importance. Will the ice bear us?”
“We can try. Follow us, Hunter. If it bears us it will bear you.”
They shouldered their stiff packs again, and rifles in hand went hopping swiftly but gingerly from stationary floe to stationary floe; and sprang to snowy land.
Thus ended the dreadful night.
The morning was steely cold, as yet. Once safe from pursuit, in the forest of this the east side of the Allegheny they stopped and made another fire, and ate, and each slept an hour while the two others fed the fire.
Now it was queer how comfortable and happy they felt, although it still was one hundred and forty miles to Will’s Creek, and one hundred more to the place Washington called “home.” But they had conquered.
Robert the Hunter decided that Indians, even Scarouady and Tanacharison, would not have tried to cross that river. They would have waited. Upon that island Indians would have given up and have died. Gist himself, a strong man, had stopped at the river, and had wished to turn down. But George Washington had said: “We will cross,” and cross they did, and here they were.
“You will never have tighter squeezes for life, major,” Christopher Gist declared, as they all travelled on. “Bullet, drowning and freezing—I tell you, you narrowly escaped. You’re reserved for better fate.”
Washington was striding briskly, as if tired not a whit.
“Whether for better or worse I hope to be equal to it,” he said. “But I never feared for a moment that we would not get through.”
They reached Trader John Fraser’s house beside the Monongahela, this evening.
“Hah,” spoke Gist. “Indians, major.”
“Mingo!” cried Robert. “I see somebody.” And he ran aside, while Washington and Gist went into the house.
A party of Indians were gathered at the edge of the woods near the house. He had recognized the tall form of Scarouady.
“Hallo, Scarouady.”
Scarouady looked him over.
“I see the Hunter. But the Hunter is thin and hard. He is no longer a boy; he carries a gun and wears the panther claws of a warrior. Wah!”
“I have been far,” said the Hunter.
“To the French.”
“Yes.”
“Where do you go now?”
“I go with Washington,” Robert explained proudly. “I am a Washington man and go with him to the Washington Americans.”
“Tell me,” Scarouady bade. “I will listen.”
When the Hunter had finished, Scarouady nodded gravely.
“Wah! You have done well. I see that Washington is a travelling buffalo, whom nothing stops. His name truly is Connotaucarius, the Eater of Land. The Great Spirit protects him so that he may lead the Long Knife Americans upon the war trail. Itis time that the great house with guns and goods be built at the Forks of the Ohio, for the French will come soon. You tell Washington that when he marches against the French, Scarouady will bring warriors and help. Goodby.”
“You are going?” asked the Hunter.
“We stay tonight at Queen Allaquippa’s town. Tomorrow I will talk with Tanacharison at Logstown and learn what he knows.”
“Where have you been, Scarouady?”
“To get scalps in the Catawba and Cherokee country. When we were part way we found five Englishmen and two English women lying dead in some houses. The tracks were Ottawa tracks; but for fear the English would think we had done it and would attack us we turned back, to tell Fraser.”
Scarouady and his nineteen warriors left, up river to visit Queen Allaquippa’s town, three miles away. Wah! So the Ottawas of the French were raiding even far into the south! Washington had struck to the eastward none too rapidly.
Now the road to Assaragoa the Governor of Virginia was open, although still long. While John Fraser was trying to find horses, Washington wrote his travel story in his book.
Queen Allaquippa sent word that she was offended because Washington did not visit her. They went to see her, the next day, and he gave her his red blanket-coat, which pleased her.
“I heard you passed me by once, which was impolite,” said old Allaquippa, woman sachem of the Delawares, who was fat and wrinkled and smoked a pipe. “You probably were in a hurry. But now I think well of you. I am a lonely widow with twosons, and should have a husband to protect me from the French. Is Washington supplied with wives?”
“Hah! She wishes to marry you, major,” Gist chuckled.
Major Washington turned red, and soon left as if he were glad to get away.
“That is your fourth narrow escape,” Gist laughed again.
“Yes,” Washington replied soberly. “A wife with a tomahawk at her belt is scarce to my liking.”
Trader Fraser could find no horses. On this day called New Year’s Day, of January 1, 1754, they three set out once more, on foot, for Christopher Gist’s new place, southeast upon the way to Will’s Creek. There they got horses.
“Within one week we shall be at the frontier of Will’s Creek; in another week I shall be reporting to the Governor,” said Washington, as from Gist’s place they jogged on, in the rain, following Nemacolin’s Trail through forest and mountains, with Will’s Creek and the Ohio Company’s store-house at the Potomac seventy miles distant.
“You will urge him to fortify the Ohio at once, before the French descend in the Spring?” Gist asked.
“I shall press upon him the instant need of a fort and trading-house in the Forks; the place that I am recommending in my report,” answered Washington.
They made what haste they might, again, upon poor horses, in bad weather, over a heavy trail. Washington was eager to report to Assaragoa and have the French stopped; Gist’s fingers and toes demanded medicines; and Robert the Hunter looked forward to strange sights in the towns of the Long Knives—hehad been promised that he should shake the hand of the Long Knife Governor himself.
They had been travelling four days and were within one day’s journey of Will’s Creek, when they heard shouts and snappings. Then at a turn of the blazed trail they were face to face with a line of white men, a few ahorse and the others afoot, driving pack animals.
“Ho!” uttered Washington. “Whither bound?”
“To the Forks of the Ohio, sir.”