“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.