As this holiday approached, Crockett was much troubled in finding that his powder was nearly expended, and that he had none “to fire Christmas guns.”  This seemed really to annoy him more than that he had none to hunt with.

In the mean time, a brother-in-law had moved to that region, and had reared his cabin at a distance of six miles from the hut of David Crockett, on the western bank of Rutherford’s Fork, one of the tributaries of Obion River.  He had brought with him a keg of powder for Crockett, which had not yet been delivered.

The region all around was low and swampy.  The fall rains had so swollen the streams that vast extents of territory were inundated.  All the river-bottoms were covered with water.  The meadows which lined the Obion, where Crockett would have to pass, were so flooded that it was all of a mile from shore to shore.

The energy which Crockett displayed on the difficult and perilous journey, illustrates those remarkable traits of character which have given him such wide renown.  There must be something very extraordinary about a man which can make his name known throughout a continent.  And of the forty millions of people in the United States, there is scarcely one, of mature years, who has not heard the name of David Crockett.

When Crockett told his wife that he had decided to go to his brother’s for the powder, she earnestly remonstrated, saying that it was at the imminent hazard of his life.  The ground was covered with snow.  He would have to walk at least a mile through icy water, up to his waist, and would probably have to swim the channel.  He then, with dripping clothes, and through the cold wintry blast, would have to walk several miles before he could reach his brother’s home.  Crockett persisted in his determination, saying, “I have no powder for Christmas, and we are out of meat.”

He put on some woollen wrappers and a pair of deerskin moccasins.  He then tied up a small bundle; of clothes, with shoes and stockings, which he might exchange for his dripping garments when he should reach his brother’s cabin.  I quote from his own account of the adventure.

“I didn’t before know how much a person could suffer and not die.  The snow was about four inches deep when I started.  And when I got to the water, which was only about a quarter of a mile off, it looked like an ocean.  I put in, and waded on till I came to the channel, where I crossed that on a high log.  I then took water again, having my gun and all my hunting tools along, and waded till I came to a deep slough, that was wider than the river itself.  I had often crossed it on a log; but behold, when I got there no log was to be seen.

“I know’d of an island in the slough, and a sapling stood on it close to the side of that log, which was now entirely under water.  I know’d further, that the water was about eight or ten feet deep under the log, and I judged it to be three feet deep over it.  After studying a little what I should do, I determined to cut a forked sapling, which stood near me, so as to lodge it against the one that stood on the island.  In this I succeeded very well.  I then cut me a pole, and then crawled along on my sapling till I got to the one it was lodged against, which was about six feet above the water.