Part 8

“This is not the place for giving back the speech belt,” replied Washington. “That man Joncaire is nobody. You will only waste time and we have no more time to waste. The place for delivering the speech belt is at the fort above, where you will see the head chief.”

“No,” said Tanacharison. “You are young, you do not understand. This place Venango is where the council fire with the French is kindled. I know Joncaire. He is the man to talk to. I ask you to hear what I say to him.”

“Have done with your foolishness, then,” answered Washington, growing angry. “But I tell you he will not accept the belt.”

Just as Washington had warned, Captain Joncaire only listened, and refused the speech belt.

“It is a matter in which I am not concerned,” he smiled. “My brother should carry the belt to the father at Fort Le Boeuf. But there is no hurry. The woods are cold and wet, and the fire at Venango is warm.”

“We will start,” said Washington, to Half-King.

“In a little,” Tanacharison pleaded. “King Shingis has ordered Kustalogo the Delaware to deliver the Delaware speech belt, and I must find Kustalogo.”

“That is nonsense,” uttered John Davidson. “Kustalogo has told you he cannot make a speech for a king, and Shingis must deliver the belt himself.”

Now if Tanacharison could only be got away from the presence of the French he would be all right. Washington did not dare to leave him or he would be made to believe lies, by the Kustalogo Delawares, and might be kept all winter by the French. He was a fine man, Tanacharison was, when he did not drink; but drink took his senses.

It was not until the morning of the fourth day that Washington at last succeeded in finding Half-King and the three other Mingos sober and ashamed. The march for Fort Le Boeuf began at noon. Captain Joncaire sent La Force and three soldiers to guard Washington by the best trail, and also to spy upon him.

The march up French Creek was even harder than the march from Logstown. By this time Robert’s leg had healed nicely; but there was rain and sleet, marshes blocked the way, the crooked creek, icy cold, had to be crossed by swimming and wading. And the man La Force was constantly trying to frighten the Mingos by telling them of the Miamis and Delawares and Shawnees and of other Iroquois who had joined with the French.

Tanacharison did not listen; but all this――the wet, the cold, and the sly threats――Washington had to stand.

After seventy miles of winter travel, at nightfall of the fifth day from Venango, they sighted Fort Le Boeuf, at the head of French Creek.

There it lay, Fort Buffalo of the French, on the other side of the creek; and a powerful place it looked to be, rising from the snow and mud, half surrounded by a curve of the sullen stream, with the forest cleared to give it room, with its walls, twice a man’s height, of flattened logs set on end, and sharp at the top, with great guns peeping through at the stumps and the water, with long barracks and many Indian lodges outside, and a host of canoes drawn up on the creek banks, waiting for spring; and the French flag above all.

While they of Washington’s company forded the creek again, La Force went before to tell the fort who was coming. When, wet and muddy, they climbed out among the stumps, two officers of the fort came to meet them.

Then in the dark they entered through the big gate, where a soldier saluted. Camp was made. Wah! Here they were; but that had been a tough journey.

Evidently this was an important fort, and business should not be hurried. Washington was asked to wait until morning, when the commander would talk with him.

The officers here were very different from the crafty, blustering officers with Captain Joncaire; and the commanding chief, whose name was Chevalier Legardeur de Saint-Pierre, proved very different from the captain. He was a straight old man, with spick and span uniform, and medals, and with white hair, and only one eye, the other having been lost in battle.

He spoke a little English, and Washington spent a great deal of time with him and the under officers, after having delivered the letter from the Governor of Virginia.

But although they were good friends, it seemed, Washington was not blind.

“While I am busy,” he said to Gist, “you have the Hunter count the canoes on the bank. He is a boy and nobody will notice him.”

By knots in a string, one knot for every ten, Robert counted the canoes. There were fifty birch-bark canoes, and one hundred and seventy canoes of wood, besides many being built. In these the French were going to descend the creek and the river, in the spring. That meant a thousand men or more! Captain Joncaire had not lied.

The rains had changed to snow, and Washington was still waiting for an answer to the letter from the Governor of Virginia, so that he could start back. The horses were getting very poor, because there was little feed for them. On the third day he sent them off, with the packers, to Venango again.

“We will come down by canoe,” he said, “which the French have agreed to furnish for us.”

Then he told the Half-King to deliver the speech belt, and get that done with.

“Well,” said the Half-King, “I have the belt, and when the head chief is ready I will give it to him. Let us not be in a hurry. You are young, but the chief and I are old and wise. Meanwhile you are being well treated and so am I. This place is a good place to stay, but the way home is long and cold.”

There were other Indians and many half-breeds at the fort. They and even the French soldiers kept inviting Tanacharison, White Thunder, Juskakaka and Guyasuta to feasts, where much brandy flowed――a far better drink, Tanacharison declared, than the rum of the English. So that all were kept half drunk, and their ears were filled with stories and warnings, and they were being urged to stay until spring at the fort where they would be comfortable among their brothers.

When the Half-King was in his senses he said he would not leave 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.

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.