t belongs to that class of diseases of which, by a
mysterious law of our nature, our frames are, generally speaking,
susceptible but once.... Thus it came to pass, that, in the morning of
his days, Washington became (humanly speaking) safe from all future
danger from this formidable disease."

The reader of American history will remember that the smallpox appeared
among the British troops in Boston in the fall of 1775; that it ravaged
our army in Canada in the following spring; that it prevailed the same
year at Ticonderoga, and in 1777 at Morristown. Regarding this last
occasion of its appearance, Washington said, in a letter to Governor
Henry, of Virginia, where vaccination was not permitted:

You will pardon my observation on smallpox because I know it is
more destructive to the army than the enemies' sword and because I
shudder whenever I reflect upon the difficulties of keeping it out.

This was the tremendous peril from which Washington was comparatively
safe after his twentieth year. "If," says a very eminent writer, "to
refer this to an overruling Providence be a superstition, I desire to be
accounted superstitious."

_The Journey to Venango_, 1753

The next imminent danger to which Washington was exposed, and from which
his escape was well-nigh miraculous, was on the occasion of his historic
expedition to the headquarters of the French Governor at Venango, in
1753. The journey itself, in the winter season, of five or six hundred
miles through an unsettled country, most of it constantly traveled by
natives at enmity with the English, was one continued story of danger
and escape. It was but two years after this trip of Washington's to
Venango that English soldiers--surrendered prisoners of war--were
tortured to death by the savage natives within sight of Fort Duquesne.
On his return from the fulfillment of his mission, Washington traversed
the forest with a single companion and an Indian guide. Just at
nightfall, on one of the days of their perilous journey, their savage
attendant suddenly turned, and at a distance of but fifteen paces fired
on Washington, happily without evil result.

After this alarming experience the two companions pursued their way
alone, footsore and weary, through the woods, with the sure knowledge
that the savages were on their trail. Reaching the Alleghany River on a
night of December, they found it encumbered with drifting ice, and only
to be crossed by means of a