From Farm House to the White House - 912 Freedom Library

Farm House to the White House, by William M. Thayer 82
"Well, then," continued Gist, "do you go home, and here is a cake of bread for you, and you must provide
meat for us in the morning."
The Indian was glad enough to get away without being pierced by a bullet, and he promised them excellent
fare the next morning. It was nine o'clock at night when he left them, taking with him his gun, that
Washington returned to him. Gist followed him for quite a distance, to be sure that he was not deceiving them,
and then hurried back.
"Now, since you would not let me shoot the villain," he said to Washington, "we must shoulder our packs and
hurry away, and walk all night, or we shall never see Williamsburg."
"You are right, Gist, and we will be off at once; and the fellow may keep his meat till we come this way
again," replied Washington, with as much composure as if their lives had not been in jeopardy. By the light of
the camp fire their compass showed them which way to go.
The excitement of this perilous episode seemed to rest Washington's weary limbs, so that they traveled rapidly
through the whole night, finding themselves at the head of Piney Creek in the morning. Washington's journal
has the following entry for that day:
"The next day we continued traveling until quite dark, and got to the river, two miles above Shannopin's. We
expected to have found the river frozen, but it was not, only about fifty yards from each shore. The ice, I
suppose, had broken up above, for it was driving in vast quantities."
"What next?" said Gist, with an air which indicated that he recalled his warning words to Washington about
the perils of such a journey. "If the Indian's bullet had taken effect we should have been saved some trouble
here."
"A formidable difficulty, to be sure," answered Washington; "but a good share of wit and perseverance may
overcome it. No way of getting over this stream, I think, except on a raft."
"A raft!" exclaimed Gist. "A raft would be swamped in a giffy by that ice. Besides, what have we to build a
raft with? A hatchet alone will not do it."
"A hatchet is much better than nothing," responded Washington. "We will try what a hatchet can do towards
it. If we fail, we will fail in trying."
"Try it is, then," said Gist, rather admiring Washington's hopefulness and pluck than otherwise. "I am at your
service, and if anybody can cross the river, I think a man of your grit can."
So they set to work to construct a raft, with no implement but a solitary hatchet, consuming a whole day in the
work. When the awkward affair was fairly launched, they went on board of it, and pushed off for the opposite
shore. About mid-way of the river, the floating ice came down with such violence as to threaten the
destruction of the raft.
"We can never reach the shore on this craft," said Gist, in a tone indicating entire resignation to a watery
grave.
"Can't we stop the raft and let the ice go by?" answered Washington, at the same time putting down the setting
pole to accomplish this purpose. But the rapidity of the torrent dashed the raft with such violence against the
pole that it threw Washington into ten feet of water.
"Hold on!" shouted Gist under the greatest alarm; "grasp this oar." And he reached out his oar to Washington,