Master Rouse, Captain Haskell, and I soon had the water bailed out of the flatboat and the bedding, now dried, on board; before the afternoon was more than half spent, we were ready to set out on the last stage of our long journey. OUR PILOT We had, however, a new member of the company, an old trapper and hunter by the name of Bruce. Our gentlemen had met him at the tavern, and learned that he was familiar with the river, knowing all the shoals, or at least claiming that he did, and I have no reason to doubt his statement in view of what occurred before we arrived at Marietta. [Illustration] He had intended to travel in his canoe, which was neither more nor less than a dugout, by which I mean the trunk of a tree hollowed out to make a shell-like craft which would carry a very heavy load. It required delicate handling because of its liability to overset in case any of the cargo was suddenly shifted. In fact, the old hunter laughingly said that if he shifted his pipe from one side of his mouth to the other the canoe would heel. He had with him flour, half a dozen or more sides of bacon, a number of beaver traps, his camp kettle and equipage, not to speak of his rifle, blankets, and ammunition sufficient to last him during the winter season, while he was in the wilderness far from any other human being. [Illustration] His canoe was lashed alongside the flatboat and he stood at the huge steering oar which swung from the stern, or rather from that end of the craft which we chose to call the stern, for, it being square at both ends, we might as well have called one the bow as the other. 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.