XTHE LONG DANGER MARCH
Gist and John Davidson were the paddlers; but the current of French Creek was so swift that they had to drop the paddles and use poles to fend off from the rocks and snags. The afternoon was cloudy and bitter cold. Upon either side of the black creek the snowy forest reeled in reverse.
GIST AND JOHN DAVIDSON WERE THE PADDLERS
GIST AND JOHN DAVIDSON WERE THE PADDLERS
GIST AND JOHN DAVIDSON WERE THE PADDLERS
The day was Sunday, December 16, said Washington. This evening, after sixteen miles of headlong, crooked course down the silent creek, camp was made. But Tanacharison passed by. The French canoes were not in sight, so that was all right.
The next day they found Half-King in camp below with Juskakaka and White Thunder.
“You are not travelling,” Washington accused.
“No,” said Tanacharison. “Guyasuta is out hunting and we cannot leave him.”
“I think you wait for the French canoes and their liquor,” answered Washington. The lines in his thin face had deepened; he looked worried again. “You see the water is falling, and ice forms. You know I have to go on, with my letter for the governor. Will you let the French steal your brains again?”
“Washington may go on. We will follow as soon as Guyasuta comes, but for the French we care nothing,” declared Tanacharison.
After this it was see-saw—a race for Venango, where the horses waited. And ever the cold tightened, and the ice increased, and the creek grew shallower.Its channel was blocked, and they were obliged to get out and wade and carry the canoe around, from open stretch to open stretch.
First the French canoes passed, together with the Half-King’s canoe. Now there were only three French canoes; one, loaded with presents of powder and lead, had been upset and lost.
Then they overtook the French canoes, and camped ahead of them and Tanacharison.
Then they came to rapids, of icy rocks and foaming water. From the bows Gist called back to Washington:
“Another carry, major, else we’ll break our necks. The French are behind. Let them go through if they like it.”
Once again they all stepped out, into water waist high, and unloaded the canoe, and packed it and the supplies across a rough, slippery point of land, to the foot of the rapids. How quickly their clothing froze, while they stood to watch the French canoes, and Tanacharison’s, sweep down, with thrust of pole and paddle to hold steady!
The canoes dashed in. They were flung to and fro. Would they make it? Yes! No? Look!
“Hah!” cried Gist. “As I thought. But they’re getting out. All right.”
“Huzzah!” Jacob Vanbraam cheered. “Dat is goot, very goot!”
“Good indeed,” said Washington. “The cargo of liquor, wasn’t it? Now it’s safe in the creek, and we’re rid of it in time.” He looked well pleased.
For the canoe bearing the liquor had capsized near the foot of the rapids, and the crew were scrambling to the bank.
The other French canoes landed, to rescue the men. Tanacharison’s canoe sped on; and Washington’s men tumbled aboard their own canoe and pursued. This evening, when they went into Venango, never was a place more welcome, for after travelling seven days and more than one hundred miles by water, they were sheathed in ice from head to heels.
To be sure, there was liquor at Venango; but the liquor for Logstown had been lost, and this night Tanacharison, Juskakaka, White Thunder, and Guyasuta were too sick in the stomach to drink.
“You see,” said Gist, “that the French tried to poison you with that stuff they sent by canoe. You will be wise to drink nothing here, and have nothing to do with this Captain Joncaire, or you may be poisoned again.”
Half-King groaned. He could stand cold and wounds, but not cramps in the stomach.
In the morning Washington was ready to start on with the horses. He had sent Robert for Tanacharison.
“Now are you going with us by land, or do you wish to go by water?” he asked.
“White Thunder was thrown into the water and hurt,” said Tanacharison. “He cannot walk, and he is sick besides. We think to stay here until he is better. Then we will take him down in a canoe.”
“You are listening to Captain Joncaire,” scolded Washington. “He would set you against the English. If you stay here you will get more drink and fine words, and when you have no mind the French will laugh over how they have fooled you.”
That angered Tanacharison.
“What I am telling you is the truth,” he said.“We wait for White Thunder. We shall not leave him among the French and he cannot ride upon a horse with you. Now I know the French. My eyes are open. They bewitched us with liquor which they pretended would be good for us, and they bewitched us with fine words. The liquor is out of our stomachs and the words are out of our ears. We are Washington men, and shall have nothing more to do with the French who work us only mischief. I put my hands between your hands, Washington, and when I meet you at the Forks of the Ohio I will give you a speech for our father the Governor of Virginia. And to show you that I am in earnest about the matter, I give you my son the Hunter to take with you. He will find you game; and if I prove untrue you shall keep him as my pledge. I hope that he will learn from you to be a great man. He has white blood in him.”
“I will take him,” answered Washington, “if he wishes to go.” And he asked of Robert: “You have heard. Will you go with me to the white people of Virginia, and learn many things; or would you go with Tanacharison to Logstown?”
“I go with Washington to the Long Knife Americans,” announced Robert.
“It will be a hard journey, through the winter.”
“I go,” said Robert.
“Here you could rest, and then travel by canoe to the people you know.”
“I go,” said Robert, “with George Washington.”
Across the thin face of George Washington there glimmered one of those rare, grave smiles.
“We will come back to Logstown with an army to drive out the French,” he said.
So Robert the Hunter, whose father was red, but whose mother was white, equipped like a warrior with his gun and his panther-claw necklace prepared to go with this George Washington whom he had grown to love as a strong man, a kind man, a man of patience and courage and great will.
“Will the Half-King be true, you think?” Washington queried.
“Yes,” said the Hunter. “Tanacharison now sees that Washington is wise, and he has been foolish. The French would treat him as if he had no brains, he says; but the English are men and he will show that he is a chief. Tanacharison will always be your brother. When he tells Scarouady, Scarouady will be your brother, too.”
By this time Washington’s uniform coat and his trousers and his boots were worn out. He bought deerskin shirt, leggins, moccasins and a blanket coat from the Delawares at Venango for powder and ball, and changed to these.
The pack horses had rested, but they were too weak, still, to carry all the baggage. The packers had to ride, in order to drive the packs; but the other saddle horses, even Washington’s, were loaded also. With Washington, Gist, John Davidson, Jacob Vanbraam (who was fat no longer), and Robert on foot, they all set out upon the winter trail again.
This proved slow work. The horses slipped upon the ice, they cut their legs in the snow crust and the frozen creeks, and had to be dug free of drifts; and after three days the party were only a little way out of Venango.
“This will never do,” said Washington, tonight which was the night of the day called Christmas.“Gist, you and I will take what we can carry, in the morning, and make our best time ahead of the horses. Vanbraam will be left in charge to bring them on as he can, to Will’s Creek.”
“I’m afraid your feet will fail you, major,” said Gist, “if you have no horse near for a lift now and then. They’re sore already. You’re more used to riding than walking with a pack on your back.”
“I’ve been gone from the Governor almost two months, and have been six weeks in the wilderness,” said Washington. “His Excellency will be getting anxious for the reply to his letter. Therefore I must make the best time I can in any way I can. We will take the Hunter, and go.”
Early in the morning, after breakfast, they got ready. Washington and Gist put on dry socks, tucked their leggins inside, pulled off their wet hunting shirts and tied their long woolen blanket coats about them, and Robert did much the same. Washington stowed his papers, wrapped in hide, in his pack of blanket and provisions, and slung the pack upon his back, and his gun upon his shoulders. Christopher Gist also shouldered pack and gun, and the Hunter had his own things.
Leaving Jacob Vanbraam with the other men and the horses they set on, through the lifeless, snow-laden forest, to reach the Ohio by the shortest way.
There was a little trail leading south. They followed this all day, in the snow and the cold, and had no water except by eating snow. Gist thought they might get to a place called Murthering Town, where some Delawares and Mingos lived; but after they had slipped and stumbled and ploughed for abouttwenty miles they came to an old Indian hunting cabin, standing empty in the dusk.
Washington was very tired. He limped on sore feet; and the Hunter could scarcely drag his legs.
“We’d better stop here, and eat in shelter and have a little rest, major,” Gist said. “We can’t reach Murthering Town before dark.”
The logs and all were wet, and they ate without a fire, and lay down in their blankets. But Washington was impatient. As seemed to Robert he hardly had dropped off into a shivery doze when Gist and Washington were up, making ready to start on.
“We might as well move as freeze,” Washington was saying.
Up staggered Robert. The night brooded coldly. Throughout the forest the limbs of the trees were cracking like gun shots. But the sky had cleared, so that when they hobbled out the black sky was sparkling with stars shining on the white snow. Washington looked at his watch and said it was two o’clock.
The sun was rising when they arrived at Murthering Town, and stopped to eat and get dry. The Delawares and Mingos of this town Robert did not know; they did not act very friendly, either.
“The French have been at work here,” said Gist. “We’ll have no help from these people.”
Pretty soon an Indian came to them, very friendly, and shook hands with Gist, saying in Mingo:
“Hallo, Oak-That-Travels,” which was Gist’s Indian name.
He shook hands with Washington, too, and sat down and began to talk.
“Watch out, major,” Gist said to Washington.“This fellow’s not to be trusted. He was at Venango when we went through, the first time. I remember his face.”
“Brothers!” said the Indian. “The English are welcome. We see you travel on foot, and your moccasins are thin. You come from Venango?”
“Yes,” answered Gist.
“Why do you travel on foot through the snow?”
“We travel ahead,” said Gist.
“English do not travel on foot. They ride,” said the Indian. “You have left your horses. My brothers were at Venango with horses. Are the horses on the way?”
“The horses will follow.”
“If my brothers will tell us where the horses will be found, we will send out and bring them on by a short trail,” said the Indian.
“He’s plaguey curious,” rapped Gist, to Major Washington. And he replied to the Indian: “We thank our brother, but the horses will know the way.”
“Perhaps they will get here today, my brother thinks?” asked the Indian.
It was plain to Robert that the Indian was anxious to know where the remainder of the party were, with the horses and goods. Then Washington spoke up, to say to Gist:
“The fellow seems to know all about us, and we can’t get away from him. It looks as though we’d been expected, by word from Venango. Ask him if he can guide us straight across country now, for the Forks of the Ohio.”
“We’d do better to strike out alone, more into the south, major,” Gist said. “Down this Beaver Creek, which will fetch us to the Ohio.”
“No,” said Washington, who was stubborn. “We lose time. I mean to cross at Shanopin’s-town of the Forks and get into country that we know, on that side. The Governor is waiting on me.”
The Indian acted very glad to show his brothers the way; and he had a hunting cabin, near water, in the east, where they all could stop for the night.
“Well,” remarked Gist, “we’re three and he’s one, but I don’t trust him. He’s too friendly.”
“It is not to my mind to show him we’re afraid of him,” answered Washington. “You may be mistaken in him. He speaks fair.”
“He has a bad heart,” suddenly said Robert. “Do not trust him, Washington. You can read his face.”
“See? Even the boy knows,” Gist laughed. “You have something to learn of Indians, yet, major. But we’ll try him out.”
The Indian put on snow shoes; and when he saw Washington limping and stumbling he stopped and took the pack.
“My brother the young chief is tired,” he said. “I am strong. Now we will travel faster to my cabin, where we will rest again.”
The Indian led up hill and down, through the woods, at a fast walk which made even the Hunter puff; and after they had gone ten miles Washington’s legs wished to stop.
“We’re veering too much to the north,” he panted. “I can tell by the compass. Supposing we halt and get our bearings.”
Gist and the Hunter were right willing to stop; and while Washington argued with the Indian in the sign language Gist said, to the Hunter:
“We must watch close. This fellow thinks evil.” And Robert nodded.
The Indian did not like to stop.
“The young chief my brother is tired, so I will carry his gun too, for him,” he said and tried to seize the gun. When Washington refused, the Indian grew angry.
“To camp in these woods is foolish,” he complained. “Ottawas of the French are somewhere about. While we sit in camp they will take our scalps. We will be safe in my cabin.”
“Where is your cabin now?” Gist asked.
“It is one gun-shot sound from here.”
“Tell him to lead on, then,” Washington bade. “But I’m beginning to think he means mischief.”
The Indian led on for two miles, always trending more northward; and in two miles they had not reached the cabin.
“Wait. Where is the cabin. Have you lost it?” Gist called.
“It is two whoops. Let my brothers follow.”
They did follow, for another two miles. The Hunter’s feet were heavy like lead, and his moccasins were soaked through and through. Washington stumbled and slipped, and climbed the hills bent away over as if he had no stomach and could scarcely stand.
The Indian kept pausing, and waiting for them to catch up with him. Then Washington panted:
“This is all nonsense, Gist. The sun is low, that Indian has no cabin, he is lying. We’ll camp at the next water, and make our own trail in the morning.”
“I’ll tell him to take us to water,” answered Gist.
The forest had been thick and silent, with nevera game track in the snow. But presently it opened to a fine meadow, of long grass weighted down by the snow, and here and there a great, naked oak tree. The sun had set red in the west; but the light from the sky made the meadow pink, and the snow, freezing again after having softened, crashed under foot and cut one’s moccasins.
They were crossing the meadow, and making a great noise, with Washington bravely toiling along beside Christopher Gist, as if determined upon a good finish, and with Robert the Hunter behind, trying to step in their tracks, when on a sudden the meadow and the woods around it echoed to a ringing “Bang!” and a ball hissed past Robert’s ear, and whined on.
The Indian had turned about, the smoke was oozing from his gun muzzle and the butt was still to his shoulder. From fifteen paces he had fired at Washington or at Gist.
Washington had stopped short.
“Are you shot, Gist?” he cried.
“No,” answered Gist. “Did the beggar fire upon us?”
“I think he did.”
“I’ll have his hair for that!” said Gist.
The Indian was running. He sprang behind an oak tree, and was loading. Gist threw off his pack and cocking his rifle was right after—feeling for his tomahawk as he ran.
Washington ran too, as best he could.
“Wait! Let him be a minute,” he shouted. “Till we see what he does next.”
They stood one at either side of the Indian, watching.
“If he puts in ball,” said Gist, “his heart is bad. I’ll crack him from here, major, or he’ll do damage.”
And Gist’s gun was levelled and his finger upon the trigger.
“No,” ordered Washington. Then he walked straight in, for the tree. “Give me that gun,” he ordered. He looked at the Indian, and the Indian looked at him, and handed over the gun.
“The young chief is not angry with his brother?” the Indian asked. “His brother fires only powder, to clean his gun.”
“Then why did my brother run behind a tree?”
“He was afraid. The white men did not seem to understand.”
Washington drew the ramrod and dropped it into the barrel, and measured. Anybody could see that there was a ball on top the powder now.
“You ought to have let me kill him, major,” said Gist. “He deserved death for that trick. Now we must keep charge of the guns, and get rid of him first chance we have.”
They all went on, and came to a little stream. The sky had darkened, and the stars were out, and the forest was commencing to crack again.
“We will sleep here,” Gist said to the Indian. “Make us a little fire to sleep by. You were lost, and you fired your gun so that somebody would hear?”
“Fire my gun to clean him,” replied the Indian. “I know where my cabin is. Not far now. You come?”
“We will come in the morning,” Gist said. “Tonight we are too tired. You travel on, with this cake of bread; and in the morning we will followyour tracks, and we hope you will have some meat to give us, at your cabin.”
“That is good,” agreed the Indian. “Let my brothers rest by the fire. When they come to my cabin in the morning they will find deer meat to show them I am their friend.”
He went off, travelling fast among the trees.
“Be ready to leave at once when I’m back,” said Gist; and he, too, went off, trailing the Indian.
“That Indian meant to kill one of us, Hunter,” spoke Washington, as he sat with his feet to the fire.
“Yes,” Robert answered. “I hear bullet whistle. He French Injun. Now he goes to tell other French Injuns.”
“So I think myself,” said Washington. “We’ll have to clear out and keep ahead of them. Can you travel again in the dark?”
“A strong heart does not notice weak feet,” said Robert. “I am a warrior, and can go where Americans go.”
“You are half white, too.”
“Yes. White blood go where Injun blood can go. Injun blood go where white blood can go. So I all go.”
And Washington almost laughed.
They did not have long to rest. Christopher Gist came hurrying back.
“The fellow has no cabin. I trailed him a mile. We ought to start right on, major. He’s making a straight course, and he’ll have a pack of the red rascals upon us. I’ve no doubt there are Ottawas hereabouts, or as bad; and within gun shot, too. I didn’t like the looks we got at Murthering Town, either. So we travel all night, or we’re like to lose our hair.”
“Very well,” Washington answered; and he staggered up. “You lead, or shall I?”
“Turn about,” said Gist. “First we’ll go a little way and make a larger fire. They’ll think we’ve only changed camps.”
A large fire was built about half a mile on. It lighted up the woods, and looked very cosy; but they could not stay beside it. It was only a blind. So Washington read his compass, and took direction, and he led; then he struck flint and steel, to take direction again, and by the compass Gist led. In this way they travelled, southeast for the Forks of the Ohio, while the stars glittered and the branches snapped with the frost, and the wolves howled, until daylight.
But they had left a plain trail in the snow; and now by daylight the enemy would follow at full speed; so they three did not dare to camp. They ate bread and meat while they walked. Gist said that a little creek here ought to flow into the Allegheny. Down along the creek they plodded, all this day, without sleep. Surely Washington and Gist were strong men. Robert resolved that Tanacharison should hear about this march.
“We can go no further,” gasped Christopher Gist, at dusk. “We’ll camp where we are. I think we’re safe until morning.”
“And where are we?” George Washington queried.
“The creek has broadened. The Allegheny’s within easy distance. We’ll strike it at daybreak and cross on the ice.”
“Once across, we’ll soon be at Fraser’s house andget horses,” Washington planned. “Then I can make quick time to Will’s Creek and on to the settlements.”
They slept this night under a lean-to of boughs, their feet to a little fire. To sleep was very good. Never in his life had the Hunter been so fagged. They had walked with scarcely a pause a half day, a night and a day, through snow and upon ice, in sun, darkness and cold, up hill and down, ever in a wilderness.
Washington and Gist were astir early, ere the sky had lightened. Truly, Indians who would catch these two men should travel like the elk.
“Forward, march!” bade Major Washington. “Come, Hunter. We cross the river.”
He hobbled, Gist hobbled, and Robert the Hunter hobbled after.
It was not far to the river. Robert had fallen a little behind when Washington, in the lead, halted stock still in the fringe of the woods. His voice carried clearly through the dawn light:
“Here’s the river, Gist; but we’re cut off. The channel’s open.”