A Change of Weather

It was about three o'clock when we started. The sky was overcast, and there were signs of rain in the south, while the wind shifted here and there until almost any one might have proved himself a weather prophet by predicting a storm.

Within an hour of sunset the wind swung around to the northwest and blew fiercely across the bend of the river where we then were, kicking up such a sea as to send the crests of the waves over the side of the boat, threatening to sink, if not overset, the unwieldy craft.

We men and boys worked at the oars to the best of our ability, striving to force the clumsy vessel toward the Pennsylvania shore, for the opposite bank, or what was called the Indian side, was said to be infested with savages who, even though they were supposed to be at peace with white people, robbed flatboats and killed travelers at every favorable opportunity.

Master Bruce's huge canoe pounded and thumped against the side of the boat until it seemed certain she would stave in the planks, and finally, regardless of the fact that all his property was on board, the old hunter cut her adrift.

Then, while we rode more easily, the danger was lessened but little, for the wind increased in force, and the waves grew higher, until all of us boys were forced to work at bailing in order to keep the water from rising so high as to soak our goods.

I had not realized that there was any actual danger until I heard the old hunter say to Captain Haskell that we must take our chances of being attacked by the Indians, because it was impossible to force the flatboat over to the Pennsylvania shore, therefore we ought to make harbor wherever we could.