Here, at Venango, Major Washington, much to his regret, was compelled
to part company with the Half King and his other red allies. White
Thunder, keeper of the speech-belt, had been so seriously injured in
their passage down, as to be, for the present, quite unable to travel;
and the rest would not think of leaving him, but needs must tarry
there until their friend should be well enough to be brought in a
canoe down the Alleghany.
Remounting their horses, our little party once more took their weary
way through the wilderness. It was now the 22d of December. The
weather was bitter cold; the snow fell thick and fast, and froze as it
fell; and the bleak winds moaned drearily among the naked trees. The
forest streams were frozen from bank to bank, yet often too thin to
bear the weight of the horses; which rendered their crossing painful
and hazardous indeed. To add to the discomfort of our travellers, the
horses, from poor and scanty fare, had become too weak to be able
longer to carry their allotted burdens. Moved with compassion at their
pitiable plight, Washington dismounted from his fine saddle-horse, and
loaded his with a part of the baggage; choosing rather to toil along
on foot, than to take his ease at the expense of pain even to these
poor brutes. His humane example was promptly followed by the rest of
the party; and only the two men kept the saddle to whom was intrusted
the care of the baggage.
You can well imagine, that a Christmas spent in this wild waste of
leafless woods and snowy hills was any thing but a merry one to these
poor fellows, so far away from their homes, which, at that moment,
they knew to be so bright and cheerful with the mirth and laughter of
"old men and babes, and loving friends, and youths, and maidens gay."
And yet I dare say, that, even there, they greeted each other on that
blessed morning with a brighter smile than usual, and called to their
remembrance, that on that morn a babe was born, who, in the fulness of
years, has grown to be the light and love and glory of the earth.
Seeing that the half-famished beasts were growing weaker and weaker
day by day, and that he would be too long in reaching his journey's
end if he governed his speed by theirs, Washington left Capt. Van
Braam in command of the party, and pushed forward with no other
company than Mr. Gist. Armed with their trusty rifles, and clad in
the light dress of the Indians, with no extra covering for the night
but their watch-coats, and with no other baggage but a small
portmanteau containing their food and Major Washington's important
papers, they now made rapid headway, and soon left their friends far
behind. The next day, they came upon an Indian village called
Murdering Town; a name of evil omen, given it, perhaps, from its
having been the scene of some bloody Indian massacre. What befell them
here, I will tell you, as nearly as I can remember, in Mr. Gist's own
words:--
"We rose early in the morning, and set out at seven o'clock,
and got to Murdering Town, on the south-east fork of Beaver
Creek. Here we met with an Indian whom I thought I had seen at
Joncaire's, at Venango, when on our journey up to the French
fort. This fellow called me by my Indian name, and pretended to
be glad to see me. He asked us several questions; as, how we
came to travel on foot, when we left Venango, where we parted
with our horses, and when they would be there. Major Washington
insisted on travelling by the nearest way to the forks of the
Alleghany. We asked the Indian if he could go with us, and show
us the nearest way. The Indian seemed very glad and ready to go
with us; upon which we set out, and the Indian took the Major's
pack. We travelled very brisk for eight or ten miles; when the
Major's feet grew sore, and he very weary, and the Indian
steered too much north-eastwardly. The Major desired to encamp;
upon which the Indian asked to carry his gun, but he refused;
and then the Indian grew churlish, and pressed us to keep on,
telling us there were Ottawa Indians in those woods, and they
would scalp us if we lay out; but go to his cabin, and we would
be safe.
"I thought very ill of the fellow, but did not care to let the
Major know I mistrusted him. But he soon mistrusted him as much
as I did. The Indian said he could hear a gun from his cabin,
and steered us northwardly. We grew uneasy, and then he said
two whoops might be heard from his cabin. We went two miles
further. Then the Major said he would stay at the next water,
and we desired the Indian to stop at the next water; but,
before we came to the water, we came to a clear meadow. It was
very light, and snow was on the ground. The Indian made a stop,
and turned about. The Major saw him point his gun towards us,
and he fired. Said the Major,--
"'Are you shot?'
"'No,' said I.
"Upon which the Indian ran forward to a big standing white oak,
and began loading his gun; but we were soon with him. I would
have killed him; but the Major would not suffer me. We let him
charge his gun. We found he put in a ball: then we took care of
him. Either the Major or I always stood by the guns. We made
him make a fire for us by a little run, as if we intended to
sleep there. I said to the Major,--
"'As you will not have him killed, we must get him away, and
then we must travel all night.'
"Upon which I said to the Indian,--
"'I suppose you were lost, and fired your gun?'
"He said he knew the way to his cabin: it was but a little
distance.
"'Well,' said I, 'do you go home, and, as we are tired, we will
follow your track in the morning; and here is a cake of bread
for you, and you must give us meat in the morning.'
"He was glad to get away. I followed him, and listened until he
was fairly out of the way; and then we went about half a mile,
when we made a fire, set our compass, fixed our course, and
travelled all night. In the morning, we were on the head of
Piny Creek."
Thus you see, my dear children, from this adventure, upon what slight
accidents sometimes hang the destinies, not only of individuals, but
even of great nations; for had not this treacherous Indian missed his
aim, and that too, in all likelihood, for the first time in a
twelvemonth, it had never been our blessed privilege to know and love
and reverence such a man as Washington; and that, instead of being the
free-born, independent people that he made us, we might have been at
this very moment throwing up our hats and wasting our precious breath
in shouts of "Long life to Queen Victoria!"
All that day they walked on, weary and foot-sore, through the deep
snow, without a trace of living man to enliven their solitary way. The
cold gray of a winter's evening was deepening the shadows of the
forest when they came to the banks of the Alleghany; and here a new
disappointment awaited them. They had all along cheered themselves
with the prospect of crossing this river on the ice: but they found
it frozen for about fifty yards only from either bank; while the rest
of the ice, broken into huge cakes, went floating swiftly down the
main channel, crushing and grinding together, and filling the hollow
woods around with doleful noises.
With heavy hearts they kindled their camp-fire, and cooked and ate
their frugal supper; then, making themselves as comfortable as the
piercing winds would allow, they lay down on their snowy beds to
sleep, hopeful that the morrow would bring them better luck. Morning
dawned, and yet brought with it no brighter prospect. Would you know
what they did in this grievous state? Listen while I read Major
Washington's own account of it, as we find it written in his
journal:--
"There was no way for getting over but on a raft; which we set
about, with but one poor hatchet, and finished just after
sun-setting. This was a whole day's work. We next got it
launched; then went on board of it, and set off. But, before we
were half way over, we were jammed in the ice, in such a manner
that we expected every moment our raft to sink, and ourselves
to perish. I put out my setting-pole to try and stop the raft,
that the ice might pass by; when the rapidity of the stream
threw it with so much violence against the pole, that it jerked
me out into ten feet of water: but I fortunately saved myself
by catching hold of one of the raft-logs. Notwithstanding all
our efforts, we could not get to either shore, but were
obliged, as we were near an island, to quit our raft, and make
to it. The cold was so extremely severe, that Mr. Gist had all
his fingers, and some of his toes, frozen; and the water was
shut up so hard, that we found no difficulty in getting off the
island, on the ice, in the morning, and went to Mr. Frazier's."
Here, for a space, they stopped to rest and refresh themselves after
the fatigue and exposure they had just undergone; and here, among
other items of interest, they heard that Queen Aliquippa, an Indian
princess, had been deeply offended that the young Long Knife had
passed by her royal shanty, the month before, without calling to pay
his compliments. Major Washington, well knowing that to humor their
peculiar whims and fancies was the best mode of securing the good-will
and friendship of these people, hastened at once to present himself
before her copper majesty, and make what amends he could for his
breach of etiquette. The present of a bottle of rum (over which, queen
that she was, she smacked her lips), and of his old watch-coat, that
would so handsomely set off her buckskin leggins, softened her ire
completely, and made her, from that time forward, the stanch friend
and ally of the English.
Travelling on a few miles further, they came to Mr. Gist's house, on
the banks of the Monongahela, where Washington bought a horse to bear
him to his journey's end, and parted with his trusty guide. He was now
entirely alone; and a wide stretch of woods and mountains, swamps and
frozen streams, still lay between him and the cheerful homes to whose
comforts he had been so long a stranger. Now and then, the loneliness
of the way would be for a moment enlivened by the sight of some sturdy
backwoodsman, axe or rifle on shoulder, pushing westward, with his
wife and children and dogs and household trumpery, to find a home in
some still more distant part of the wilderness. It was midwinter,
when, after having been absent eleven weeks on his perilous mission,
our young Virginian, looking more like a wild Indian than the civil
and Christian gentleman that he really was, rode into the town of
Williamsburg, nor halted until he had alighted and hitched his horse
in front of the governor's house.