“There should be drift wood lodged at the upper end,” said Washington. So he and Robert went seeking, while Gist started a fire of twigs. Luckily they found drift wood in plenty heaped against the island’s head.
They lugged back snags and bark, to where Gist was blowing at his smudge. It seemed as though the fire would never burst into steady blaze, so damp was the wood, soaked with frost. Meanwhile Washington stamped and thrashed, but complained by not a word, save to say:
“We should have been across, except for my clumsiness. With two poles we would have forced passage.”
“Not so, major,” replied Gist. “Rather, be thankful that we escaped with your life. I confess I’d rather be upon the shore, myself. We’re within rifle shot of it, without cover; and by daylight anybody could make things lively for us.”
“Liveliness would do us no harm,” laughed Washington. “It would warm us up. A possible skirmish bothers me less than the thought of delay. The Governor is waiting to hear of my trip. He sent me, instead of an older man, and he was criticized for it; so I would show that I am not one to fail.”
The fire increased, lighting the island with its ruddy flare; but the cold increased, too, so that while they toasted one side of themselves, the other side chilled and stiffened.
“We dare not lie down, major,” said Gist. “I can see you’re ready to drop, and so is the boy; but if we lie down we’ll sleep, and if we sleep we’ll freeze to death. We must keep each other awake, and moving.”
“Do you and the Hunter lie down, and I will watch and tend the fire,” proposed Washington.
“No, sir,” Gist objected. “You might drowse off—’twould be only human nature to drowse off. Then, who would wake you? The boy may sleep, but we’ll have to rouse him often or he’ll be frostbitten.”