That night
they slept with the snow for a bed, their blankets for a
covering. When dawn appeared the same dubious prospect
confronted them. The current of the river still swept past,
loaded with broken ice.
"There is nothing for it but a raft," said Washington. "And
we have but one hatchet to aid us in making it. Let us to
work."
To work they fell, but it was sunset before the raft was
completed. Not caring to spend another night where they
were, they launched the raft and pushed from shore. It
proved a perilous journey. Before the stream was half
crossed they were so jammed in the floating ice that it
seemed every moment as if their frail support would sink,
and they perish in the swift current. Washington tried with
his setting-pole to stop the raft and let the ice run by.
His effort ended unfortunately. Such was the strength of the
current that the ice was driven against the pole with a
violence that swept him from his feet and hurled him into
water ten feet deep. Only that chance which seems the work
of destiny saved him. He fell near enough to the raft to
seize one of its logs, and after a sharp scramble was up
again, though dripping with icy water. They continued their
efforts, but failed to reach either shore, and in the end
they were obliged to spring from their weak support to an
island, past which the current was sweeping the raft.
Pages:
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123