Washington; but when he was foolish he thought that he would stay and
get more presents.
“I am going back,” said Washington, angrily. “If your heart is good and
you are a man you will deliver the belt at once. You are acting like a
child and not like a chief, for these French plan to hold you.”
“Wah!” uttered Tanacharison. “I am a chief. You are my brother. I will
deliver the belt this very night.”
That he did, in company with White Thunder and Juskakaka. The French
commander and two other officers received them in private council, and
listened to their words; but the commander would not take back the belt.
“My brother from the Indians of the Ohio is acting hastily,” he
answered. “Let him keep the belt which is the link of friendship from
our father the King of France, until he hears again from me. He can
rely upon his brothers the French, who wish only to live at peace with
him. He has seen how strong the French are, and how generous. And as
further proof of our love for our Indians of the Ohio, I am gathering
together a present of goods, to be sent down at once to Logstown, that
the Indian may not be poor. It is my request that you remain in my fort
until the trail is open; then when you are rested and wish to go home
you will find your people rich. I see your guns are rusty. In a day or
two you shall have better guns, that you may hunt while you are here.”
The speech pleased Tanacharison, but it did not please Washington, for
the commander was smarter than the Half-King.
This same night the reply to the Governor of Virginia was received,
and Washington gave notice that the start home would be made in the
morning. Everybody knew, from the talk, that the Governor of Virginia
had ordered the French out, and that the French refused to go out. They
said again that the Ohio Country was theirs.
The canoes were ready, but Tanacharison would not go.
“It is impolite to leave so suddenly,” he grumbled. “I ask Washington
to wait one day, which will make little difference. The guns are
promised us in the morning, and to run away from them would be like
throwing dirt in the white-headed chief’s face.”
Washington turned red, but he kept cool.
“The white-headed chief says he does not know why you stay. He says
you are free to leave; your business with him is done. If you want
the guns, I will wait until morning. Then you must get your guns; and
if you do not go with me I shall tell the Governor of Virginia, your
father, that your hearts proved weak and you sold yourselves to the
French for a bottle of brandy.”
“Wah!” exclaimed Tanacharison. “Give me this day to get the drink out
of us, and in the morning, after we have our guns that are promised, we
will go at once with Washington.”
This time the Half-King stood by his word. The French came with the
guns in the morning, and with liquor, too, to “wet the present.”
Tanacharison took the guns, and reached out with his hand for the
liquor. Then Washington, holding another gun, stepped between him and
the liquor.
“Ask him,” Washington said to John Davidson, “whether his tongue was
drunk or sober when he gave me his word.”
Tanacharison turned his back and leaving the liquor he strode down to
the canoes. Washington spoke to the Hunter.
“We waited for guns for Tanacharison, Juskakaka, White Thunder and
Guyasuta, who have acted like children instead of like men. I heard
nothing about a gun for you, who have acted like a man instead of a
boy. So I have a gun for you, and here it is. You well deserve it.”
Robert the Hunter took the gun from the hand of Major George Washington.
He was prouder of that than of the panther claws. It was a splendid
little gun; with it were powder-flask and bullet-pouch.
The men with the liquor had laughed and had called after Tanacharison,
who paid no attention. That was the true Half-King, at last. So they
all went down to the canoes. They got in and shoved off. From the fort
the French officers waved, and a great gun boomed goodby.
Thus, they left wintry Fort Le Boeuf. Washington had done well. He had
come through three hundred miles of rain and snow and forest trail; he
had delivered his letter and got his answer, and had brought off all
his men safe. The French had not outwitted him; he had opposed them
with patience, and had learned much. Now he had only to go back with
the answer and the news.
But the French had not given up.
There were two canoes: one for the Washington white men, one for the
Tanacharison men. The Hunter sat with Washington, Jacob Vanbraam,
Christopher Gist and John Davidson. Their canoe led, Tanacharison’s
followed. They had gone but a little way upon the swift current, when
Washington spoke sharply:
“Look there! We must hurry. Signal the Indians to mend their pace and
keep with us. Company is coming.”
Four canoes with French and Indian paddlers had appeared around the
bend behind. They were loaded high. The loads, of course, were liquor,
powder, lead and other presents for the Half-King party, and for
Logstown, from the French “father.”
“Yah!” said Jacob Vanbraam. “It is better not to let dem rascals camp
with us.”
“Or to get to Venango and below ahead of us,” Washington added. “They
will make mischief.”
X
THE 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.
[Illustration: 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 about twenty 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 never a 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
follow your 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.”