One of General Washington’s biographers well says, in reference to this incident, in the life of the first President, that, “it may well be doubted whether in any of his battles he was in equal danger.  If the disease entered an army, it was a foe more to be dreaded than embattled hosts....  But it 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 raft which, with only “one poor hatchet,” cost them an entire day’s labor to construct.  When crossing the river, Washington, while using the setting pole, was thrown violently into the water at a depth of ten feet, and saved his life by grasping a log.  They spent the night, in their frozen clothing, on a little island on which, had they been forced to stay till sunrise, they would, beyond question, have fallen into the hands of the Indians; but the intense cold which froze the feet of Washington’s companion, also sealed the river and enabled them to escape on the ice.