The first day we traveled but five miles before I tired too greatly to go on, but on the second day we reached my canoe.
The river called Tenasee flowed south, described a great curve, and turned back to the north to empty into the river the Iroquois called Ohio. There was, Keokotah warned, a great whirlpool not far south of where we were. Many canoes had been lost there and Indians drowned. Keokotah had sat on the cliffs above and watched canoes go through or into the Suck, as it was sometimes called. It was a place where Indians said, 'the mountains look at each other.' The waters above were about a half mile wide, but where they entered the deep gorge they were compressed into a space of less than seventy yards.
'Can we go through?' I asked.
Keokotah shrugged. 'It is best to hold to the south,' he said. 'I have seen some canoes go through.'
There was a whirlpool where boats were seized and swept round and round, and some were carried into the depths, whence only bits and pieces came to the surface.
We beached our canoe above the narrow river, and on a small point of land among some willows we ate and slept. Keokotah had not known chicory before but was developing a taste for it. I shaved some of the dried and roasted root into a bark dish and made enough for each of us.
It was in my mind to collect more of the root, for I had seen less and less of it and doubted it would grow beyond the Great River, where not many white men had been.
We rested there above the gorge, and at night when all was still we could hear the muffled roar of the waters below us. It was a dangerous place for a man to go, even more so with my crippled leg. If I had to swim against a powerful current ...
Well, one must take some chances, and to go west and not to follow the river would be hard indeed.
When evening came I paused by the water before going to sleep, and stood there facing westward toward the unknown lands.
What mystery lay waiting to be solved? What strange lands to be seen? I might well be the first white man other than the men of De Soto to see these lands. Even he had seen but little, and the Far Seeing Lands beyond ... who knew of them?
Even the Indians had not seen most of those lands. Water was scarce and a man could not carry enough. Someday men would come with horses that could carry them far out on those wide, mysterious plains.
Were there buffalo there? Could a man break a buffalo to ride? The idea seemed ridiculous, but it stayed with me. Why not, if one was captured young and taught from birth to be friendly to a man and if the man fed and cared for it and broke it gradually to the idea?
When morning came we put the canoe into the water and shoved off, but no sooner were we in the current than we felt the difference. The river seemed to have taken on a new power. The water was dark and swift and the canoe shot forward. There was no visible turbulence, no white water, just a sense of rushing power that swept us along. Keokotah, who was in the bow, turned once to glance at me and then gave all his attention to the canoe.
Faster and faster we went until suddenly the canoe shot around a point of rocks and plunged into a rocky defile where the river hurled itself against the rock walls, against great boulders, throwing water high into the air. Keokotah was a master, and crippled though I was I had great skill at handling canoes both in rivers and on the sea. The river roared and foamed about us. Dead ahead was a mighty shelf of rock fallen from the cliff above and we were thrown at it with what seemed tremendous force, and then the water whipped us away just as we seemed about to crash. Our eyes were blinded by splashing water as spray was hurled like stones into our faces. We dipped a paddle here and there, fighting for the south edge, which had seemed safest to Keokotah watching from above.
Suddenly the great whirlpool was just before us, and we whipped around it, but riding the high side toward the south we were flung free and in a moment were sliding downstream at a faster speed than I had ever traveled in a canoe. Then we were in swift but quiet water. Drenched in cold sweat I looked at Keokotah, but his back was squarely toward me and I could not judge his fear, had there been any.
We were in a deep canyon and found no place to escape the river. Chewing jerked venison we traveled on. It was after sundown when we came upon an island. Easing behind it, we found a small beach of gravel where he could draw up our canoe.
We prepared no food, nor did we talk. Exhausted, we rolled in our blankets and slept, and did not awaken until the sun was high.
There followed days of traveling the river. We fished, we hunted, we slept on the banks, and twice we had brief fights with strange Indians, but my longbow carried yards further than could their bows. In the first encounter, the Indians drew off after a man was wounded before they were within bow range. On the second occasion there was an ineffectual exchange of arrows, and then our lighter and faster canoe drew away from them.
We saw game everywhere--numerous deer and occasional small herds of buffalo. For mile upon mile we saw no human life or signs of any. Several times we saw bears fishing at the edges of rivers. They ignored us for the most part, one standing up to see us the better. After looking us over and deciding we were of no consequence it went back to scooping fish from the water.
The river turned north, and after a while we entered the Ohio, a much larger river. There was an Indian village near where the Tenasee entered the Ohio but we passed it at night. Dogs barked and a few Indians came from their lodges to look about. We were far out on the water and they saw us not. Some miles further we camped the night on a sandbar covered with willows, building a small fire for the smoke to keep the mosquitoes away, and at daybreak we were in the canoe once more. Ahead of us lay the Great River, which some Indians called the Mississippi.
My leg was now much better, and soon I would discard the crutch. Whenever possible I moved without it, trying to get the muscles working again.
Having no experience with broken limbs I had no idea when to get rid of the crutch.
The Mississippi, if such it was called, proved a different river. It wound and twisted through the land, carrying much debris, huge trees torn from its banks, once even a cut board, which puzzled us indeed. The other river for which we sought would be several days travel away to the south. How far I did not know.
Keokotah had been there, of course. He had waited there for me and had come looking only when he was sure something had gone wrong.
We camped on the Great River, on a sandy island partly made up of gigantic old trees that had drifted together, moored to the bottom by their own roots and branches. These were drifted trees from somewhere far upstream. Debris and mud had gathered about them, and an island had been created of several acres. Willows had grown up and some other larger stuff had started. No doubt the island would remain until some spring flood tore it loose and scattered its bits and pieces.
Our fire was going in a sheltered place behind great roots, and fish were broiling.
I said to Keokotah, 'The Englishman? How did he come to be with you?'
Direct questions rarely brought a response. He shrugged, and stripped the backbone from a fish in his hands. 'He good man.' He glanced at me. 'Talk, all the time talk.'
'To whom?'
'To me. He talk to me. He say I am his brother.' Keokotah chewed a moment. 'He come in canoe. Like yours. He not a big man. Smaller than you, but strong.'
After a few minutes of silence he added, 'He cough, much cough. I think he sick. I say so.'
The fire crackled, and I added sticks. 'He say he not well and he say, 'You wrong. No sick. I die soon.'
'He look much at small packet.' He shaped a rectangle with his fingers. 'Many leaves sewn at the back. The leaves have small signs on them. He looks at them and sometimes he smiles or speaks from them. I ask what it is and he say this isbook and it speaks to him.
'I listen, no hear it speak.'
'The signs in this book spoke to him,' I said. 'When you look at a trail in the morning, it speaks to you of who passed in the night. It was so with him.'
'Ah? It could be so.' He looked at me. 'You have book?'
'At my home there were many books,' I said, 'and I miss them very much.' I tapped my head. 'Many books up here. Like you remember old trails, I remember books. Often I think of what the books have said to me.'
'What do books say?'
