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George Washington Trail In West Virginia
GEORGE AND THE ANGEL OF BATH
by Jeanne Mozier
He quickly pulled his long legs back to their cramped position as cold rain hit his unbooted feet. Punishment, thought George. He had rejected vermin-infested straw last night at Captain Hite's; tonight, he would have welcomed it.
Rolling restlessly inside the rough shelter, the young man finally yielded the unslept hours and went out to sit under a huge oak that kept off most of the rain. Vapors. Fog. Mist. It was all he could see of the rugged mountain just a stone's throw away. Pulling off his stockings, George stuck his large feet into a stone-rimmed sand hollow and sighed as the warm water hit them. He couldn't vouch for travelers' tales that the springs had healing powers. He could say, however, that warming his feet in the water made him feel better.
The surveying party's horses were snuffling softly behind him; raucous snores from one of his companions came from the same direction. The fire was a smudge to his left. Although he couldn't see Sterling who was on watch, he was not much concerned about hidden enemies. Tales of a tribal truce area near these springs were as widespread as those about the water's beneficial effect on certain health complaints. Since it was March, the colonists who squatted at the springs during the summer seeking a cure were not around.
A thickening swirl in the fogs caught his eye. He stared through the darkness. The swirl tightened and began to take on a shape. George stood in the warm pool and gripped his toes in the sand that lined its bottom.
The shape grew more concentrated. A pillar of mist that looked like an ancient Greek column. No. Not a column, a statue. A goddess, with a helmet.
"Liberty."
No sound was uttered but he heard the word and knew. The shape was the goddess Liberty.
A hand emerged from the cloudy form. At the end of trailing fingers was a map. It vibrated against the darkness. Heat rose from his feet up through his body and sweat beaded on his forehead. George's eyes remained fixed on the map. He recognized the coastline of the colonies, and across a whirling pool of blue was Europe. Abruptly, a mass of dark clouds gathered above the continent, swept across the ocean and enveloped the American colonies. As quickly as the clouds appeared, they disappeared toward the west revealing towns and cities springing up across the space that stretched beyond these mountains where he was sitting.
The young man knew with every fiber of his being that the vision he was seeing was the birth of a great nation. With even more certainty, he knew that there was a part for him in its building, and he was glad. Honor. Serving the destiny of this great land with honor was all George wanted.
A second scene replaced the first. A dark angel hovered above Virginia and brothers stood apart then fell upon each other with a savagery that shook George to his soul. His hands clenched the stone edge of the pool. A bright angel then appeared and drove out the darkness. The new angel wore a crown with the word "Union" emblazoned on it. George realized he would not live this tragedy, but knew its ferocious hatred would lay waste to the land and springs where he sat. He could feel them scream in pain.
The changing visions fixed him in place. He was the statue. Nothing moved but the continuously whirling pillar of mist; nothing was visible except the scenes unfolding from it. Only the warm water around his feet reassured George that he had not left the springs, or his companions.
Once again the images in the air shifted across the Atlantic. Europe appeared; Asia beyond and Africa below. George controlled his fear by examining details of the new map. It was an admirable work and surpassed even the masterpiece that hung on his brother's wall at Mount Vernon.
Explosions of fiery red light pierced dark clouds that poured from the three continents. Armies marched in the clouds and descended upon America. The land was devastated, cities burned and citizens slaughtered. Terror choked his heart as the population of his shining land sank to its knees in defeat. George lurched forward. There must be something he could do.
The angel of light once again appeared, followed by a legion of fellow angels. They drove out the invaders and the original angel planted an azure standard in the ground that said "while the stars remain, so long shall the Union last."
Liberty was standing alone before him as the scene cleared. Words without sound were once more in his head. The goddess was making him a promise. This final devastation would be held at bay while America worked out its destiny. Tears of gratitude filled George's eyes.
Blood pounding, the young man slipped back to his shelter. Confused thoughts ricocheted through his skull. What was the apparition and why had he seen it? Why not one of the older men lying just beyond the fire? He had never had a vision, never imagined such a thing was possible. George vowed to keep this secret. He would write in his new journal only that they had visited the fam'd warm springs. He was a surveyor, and a Washington. His notes would be about the land. He was not a recorder of miracles.
George hung back from his companions as they set out for the Potomac River just after dawn. The scenes in the mist still clouded his brain. He was safer riding alone.
The river, too swollen to cross the previous day, had dropped. The men canoed across, horses swimming alongside.
As George pulled the canoe onto the shore, he took a last look at the opposite bank, then swung onto his mount and followed Sterling's huge gray mare westward along a well-beaten path.
C'mon laddie. You been trailin' since the sun come up." The burly horse keeper turned to face the young man he'd taught to ride and waited for him to move closer. "All this ridin´ wearin´ you down?"
George shook his head, and tried to smile at the silly question.
Sterling leaned towards George, scarcely pausing for breath. "Here you are, barely sixteen and already headin´ west, leavin´ your mark on the wilderness. " There was excitement in his reedy voice. "Cheer up, boy. You'll be seein´ some good land and there´ll be a party tonight at Colonel Cresap's. Savages, meat, maybe even a little whiskey for ya."
Party. That was it. The seed of his vision flashed in George's mind. Sterling's words triggered a memory from his recent birthday celebration at his brother's estate. There was a tiny Irishman at the party with a twisted leg and hours of songs and stories.
Encouraged by the guests, the man told a tale about Bath and the ancient Roman temple to Minerva that workmen uncovered at the popular resort less than twenty years ago.
Prophecies flow from ancient springs as surely as the water. The goddess marks her favorites places with these magic waters," the singer chanted that night as scores of family and friends welcomed George to manhood.
Ancient springs guarded by prophetic angels. Worry slipped away. His mind was sound.
George knew he would return to the stone pools and their warm water. Bath. A good name for a new country's first spa.
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