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.