“Together, now, Gist! Jump as she enters.”
They two strained—the raft slid in—Gist sprang—with final shove Washington gave a running jump, and landed; Gist thrust with his setting pole and out they went, careening into the wild mill.
There was one breathless moment; but the raft held, while the water seeped up through the crevices. It began to drift down stream at astonishing pace. Now Washington and Gist worked desperately with their setting poles, pushing the cakes aside, forcing the raft ahead, making way through the labyrinth that constantly closed and opened.
The drift was alarmingly rapid. Huge cakes blocked the trail, and others rammed them, threatening to bear them under. But they were creeping on, creeping on; they were half way. And now another floe swung athwart the course, and hung, so that the raft tilted while the current dragged at it.
Washington panted:
“Wait, Gist, till I pry off.”
He bent to his setting pole, buried almost to the hand-hold in the water, to thrust the raft free. Then Gist cried out:
“Take care, major! No! He’s gone!”
The raft had moved, the pole had been whipped from Washington’s grasp, and losing balance he had plunged head first into the icy depths.