journey was a terrible one. Winter had set in; rain and snow fell almost unceasingly; the forest was next to impassable; great were their toils, severe their hardships. On December 5 they reached the French outpost at Venango (now Franklin), where French Creek joins the Alleghany. Here they were met by Captain Joncaire, the French commandant, with a promising show of civility. Secretly, however, the astute Frenchman sought to rob Washington of his Indians. Fortunately, the aborigines knew the French too well to be cajoled, and were ready to accompany Washington when he set out on his remaining journey. Their route now led up French Creek to Fort Le Bœuf, on the head-waters of that stream. This they reached on the 12th, after a wearisome experience of frontier travel. Forty-one days had passed since Washington left Williamsburg.

The commandant here was M. de St. Pierre, an elderly man, of courteous manners, a knight of the order of St. Louis. He received Washington cordially, treated him with every hospitality while in the fort, did everything except to comply with Governor Dinwiddie's order to leave the works.

Washington's instructions were conveyed in a letter from the governor of Virginia, which asserted that the lands of the Ohio and its tributaries belonged to England, declared that the French movements were encroachments, asked by whose authority an armed force had crossed the lakes, and demanded their speedy departure from English territory.

St. Pierre's reply was given in a sealed letter. It declared that he was a soldier, his duty being to obey

orders, not to discuss treaties. He was there under instructions from the governor of Canada. There he meant to stay. Such was the purport of the communication. The tone was courteous, but in it was no shadow of turning.

While the Frenchman was using the pen, Washington was using his eyes. He went away with an accurate mental picture of the fort, its form, size, construction, location, and the details of its armament. His men counted the canoes in the river. The fort lay about fifteen miles south of Lake Erie. A plan of it, drawn by Washington, was sent to England.

At the time fixed for their return, Washington found the snow falling so fast that he decided to make his journey to Venango by canoe, the horses, which they had used in the outward journey, being forwarded through the forest with their baggage. St. Pierre was civil to the last. He was as hospitable as polite. The canoe was plentifully stocked with provisions and liquors. But secretly artifices were practised to lure away the Indians. The Half-King was a man whose friendship was worth bidding for. Promises were made, presents were given, the Indians were offered every advantage of friendship and trade.

But the Half-King was not to be placated by fine words. He knew the French. Delay was occasioned, however, of which Washington complained, and hinted at the cause.

"You are certainly mistaken, Major Washington," declared the polite Frenchman. "Nothing of the

kind has come to my knowledge. I really cannot tell why the Indians delay. They are naturally inclined to procrastinate, you know. Certainly, everything shall be done on my part to get you off in good time."

Finally, the Indians proving immovable in their decision, the party got off. The journey before them was no pleasure one, even with the advantage of a water-route, and a canoe as a vehicle of travel. Rocks and drifting trees obstructed the channel. Here were shallows; there, dangerous currents. The passage was slow and wearisome, and not without its perils.

"Many times," says Washington, "all hands were obliged to get out, and remain in the water half an hour or more in getting over the shoals. At one place the ice had lodged and made it impassable by water, and we were obliged to carry our canoe across a neck of land a quarter of a mile over.”

In six days they reached Venango, having journeyed one hundred and thirty miles by the course of the stream. The horses had preceded them, but had reached the fort in so pitiable a condition as to render them hardly fit to carry the baggage and provisions. Washington, Mr. Gist, and Mr. Vanbraam, the French interpreter, clad in Indian walking-costume, proceeded on foot, the horses following with their drivers. After three days' journey the poor animals had become so feeble, the snow so deep, the cold so severe, that Washington and Gist determined to push forward alone, leaving Mr. Van braam as leader of the remainder of the party.

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Gun in hand, and knapsack-containing his food and papers-on back, the intrepid explorer pushed forward with his companion, who was similarly equipped. Leaving the path they had been following, they struck into a straight trail through the woods, purposing to reach the Alleghany a few miles above the Ohio.

The journey proved an adventurous one. They met an Indian, who agreed to go with them and show them the nearest way. Ten or twelve miles were traversed, at the end of which Washington grew very foot-sore and weary. The Indian had carried his knapsack, and now wished to relieve him of his gun. This Washington refused, whereupon the savage grew surly. He pressed them to keep on, however, saying that there were Ottawa Indians in the forest, who might discover and scalp them if they lay out at night. By going on they would reach his cabin and be safe.

They advanced several miles farther. Then the Indian, who had fallen behind them, suddenly stopped. On looking back they perceived that he had raised gun, and was aiming at them. The next instant the piece was discharged.

his

"Are you shot?" cried Washington.

"No," answered Gist.

"After this fellow, then."

The Indian had run to the shelter of a large white oak, behind which he was loading as fast as possible. The others were quickly upon him, Gist with his gun at his shoulder.

"Do not shoot," said Washington.

"We had

best not kill the man, but we must take care of him."

The savage was permitted to finish his loading, even to putting in a ball, but his companions took good heed to give him no further opportunity to play the traitor. At a little run which they soon reached they bade the Indian to make a fire, on pretence that they would sleep there. They had no such intention, however.

"As you will not have him killed," said Gist, "we must get him away, and then we must travel all night."

Gist turned to the Indian. "I suppose you were lost, and fired your gun," he said, with a transparent affectation of innocence.

"I know the way to my cabin,” replied the Indian. "It is not far away."

"Well, then, do you go home. We are tired, but will follow your track in the morning. Here is a cake of bread for you, and you must give us meat in the morning."

The savage was glad enough to get away. Gist followed and listened, that he might not steal back on them. Then they went half a mile farther, where they made a fire, set their compass, and, after a short period of rest, took to the route again and travelled all night.

The next night they reached the Alleghany. Here they were destined to experience a dangerous adven ture. They had expected to cross on the ice, but the river proved to be frozen only for a short distance from the shores. That night they slept with the