I was now very eager to go, but notwithstanding the polite ways of the
commandant, I found needless delays as to guides and supplies. This
was to gain time to win the Half-King, who was of our side to-day, and
the next had what the Indians call “two hearts.” I cannot say that
ever in my life I suffered as much anxiety as I did in this affair.
The Half-King, being half drunk, assured me the chevalier was keeping
him. That officer swore that he was ignorant why we did not go, but
this I determined not to do without Tanacharisson. One day a gun was
promised the savage, another day all my sachems were dead drunk. I was
in despair, for to lose the Half-King to the wiles of the French would
be a serious matter, and I was resolved not to fail. But here was I, a
lad of twenty-one, playing a game with old, astute men for the prize of
a drunken Indian!
Finally Gist succeeded in keeping him sober a day, and yet, as he said,
reasonably intoxicated with promises of great gifts; and so at last, on
December 16, we gladly bade farewell and set out in our birch canoes to
go down French Creek.
A cannon was fired, and the officers assembled on shore saluted us
politely as we left the fort. The commandant sent one canoe loaded with
strong liquors to be used on the way, and at Venango to overcome the
wits of Tanacharisson.
Each of us, Gist and Van Braam and Davidson, was seated very
comfortably in the middle of a canoe of birch bark; at the bow and
stern were Indians or half-breeds, and, as the water was very rapid
most of the way, they used poles of ash to hold and guide the canoes.
On the 18th December we were no longer comfortable. The ice was thick,
and we had all of us to wade and, in places, to portage. On the 22d
we came to a strong rapid. Gist advised to land and portage the
provisions. This we did, and, being arrived before the French canoes,
stood to watch them descend, a fine sight. About half-way the man on
the bow of one canoe――that with the liquors――caught his pole between
two rocks. He should have let it go; but as he did not, the boat slued
square to the stream and, filling, turned over, so that all the brandy
was lost, to my satisfaction. The men got out, with no great ease,
swearing oaths, both French and Indian.
It rained and froze, and when, at fall of night, we came to Venango on
December 22, we were cased in ice like men in armour. I was never more
glad of a fire.
Here Captain Chabert de Joncaire set to work again to convince my
Half-King with the bottle. But by good luck the sachem was much
disordered in his stomach because of the rum he had of St. Pierre, and
when Gist persuaded him the French had bewitched the liquor, he would
none of it. Here we found our horses, but very lean, and, after a
rest, set out by land from Venango, over a bad trail, this being about
December 25.
It was a horrible journey, the men getting frozen feet and the
packhorses failing, until, in despair at the delay, on the third day,
against Gist’s advice, I left Van Braam to follow me with the horses
and men, and determined to strike through the woods by compass to the
Forks of the Ohio, and thus be enabled the sooner to report to the
governor.
For this venture Gist and I put on match-coats, Indian dress, thick
socks, and moccasins. We carried packs, with my papers tied up in
tanned skin, and as much provision as we could manage. With our guns,
and thus cumbered, we left the camp and struck out through the woods,
where to move by compass is no easy matter, because to go straight is
not possible where every tree and bit of swamp must turn a man to this
side or that. But by taking note of some great pine in front of us,
and, on reaching it, of another, we made good progress, and for part of
the way we had an Indian trail.
On the third day, the snow being deep, we struck up the southeast fork
of Beaver Creek. Here were a few Indians camped, who seemed to expect
us, but how they could have done this I never knew; but there is much
about Indian ways of communication of which I must confess myself
ignorant.
They were too curious to please Gist; but as we were now in midwinter,
and to pass through a wilderness with no trails, we engaged, for we
could do no better, an Indian as guide and to carry my pack. Gist
mistrusted him, and I soon shared his opinion.
We left at break of day, and after ten miles were in doubt as to our
route, I with one foot chafed and the most tired I ever was in my life,
on account of plunging through drifts, where, on his snow-shoes, the
Indian was at ease. At this time he would have carried my gun, but I
refused. When we said we would camp and rest, he declared the Ottawas
would see our fire-smoke and surprise us. Upon this we kept on, as he
said, toward his cabin. Once he told Gist he heard whoops, and then a
gun, and kept turning northward, to our discontent.
Notwithstanding my fatigue, I found the loneliness and silence of
these woods to my taste, being open and free of undergrowth. I was
startled at times by the sharp crack, like a pistol-shot, of huge limbs
breaking, but there was no other sound.