MR. HARRY FOKER LOQUITUR: 'He inquired for Rincer and the cold in his nose, told Mrs. Rincer a riddle, asked Miss Rincer when she would be prepared to marry him, and paid his compliments to Miss Brett, another young lady in the bar, all in a minute of time, and with a liveliness and facetiousness which set all these young ladies in a giggle. "Have a drop, Pen: it's recommended by the faculty, &c. Give the young one a glass, R., and score it up to yours truly."'

I fancy the great man who recorded these words was more afraid of Mr. Harry PHOCA than of any other man in the Garrick Club - possibly for the reason that honest Harry was not the least bit afraid of him. The shy, the proud, the sensitive satirist would steal quietly into the room, avoiding notice as though he wished himself invisible. Phoca would be warming his back at the fire, and calling for a glass of 'Foker's own.' Seeing the giant enter, he would advance a step or two, with a couple of extended fingers, and exclaim, quite affably, 'Ha! Mr. Thackry! litary cove! Glad to see you, sir. How's Major Dobbings?' and likely enough would turn to the waiter, and bid him, 'Give this gent a glass of the same, and score it up to yours truly!' We have his biographer's word for it, that he would have winked at the Duke of Wellington, with just as little scruple.

Yes, Andrew Arcedeckne was the original of Harry Foker; and, from the cut of his clothes to his family connection, and to the comicality, the simplicity, the sweetness of temper (though hardly doing justice to the loveableness of the little man), the famous caricature fits him to a T.

The night before we left London we had a convivial dinner at the Garrick - we three travellers, with Albert Smith, his brother, and John Leech. It was a merry party, to which all contributed good fellowship and innocent jokes. The latest arrival at the Zoo was the first hippopotamus that had reached England, - a present from the Khedive. Someone wondered how it had been caught. I suggested a trout-fly; which so tickled John Leech's fancy that he promised to draw it for next week's 'Punch.' Albert Smith went with us to Southampton to see us off.

On our way to Jamaica we stopped a night at Barbadoes to coal. Here I had the honour of making the acquaintance of the renowned Caroline Lee! - Miss Car'line, as the negroes called her. She was so pleased at the assurance that her friend Mr. Peter Simple had spread her fame all the world over, that she made us a bowl of the most delicious iced sangaree; and speedily got up a 'dignity ball' for our entertainment. She was rather too much of an armful to dance with herself, but there was no lack of dark beauties, (not a white woman or white man except ourselves in the room.) We danced pretty nearly from daylight to daylight. The blending of rigid propriety, of the severest 'dignity,' with the sudden guffaw and outburst of wildest spirits and comic humour, is beyond description, and is only to be met with amongst these ebullient children of the sun.

On our arrival at Golden Grove, there was a great turn-out of the natives to welcome their young lord and 'massa.' Archy was touched and amused by their frantic loyalty. But their mode of exhibiting it was not so entirely to his taste. Not only the young, but the old women wanted to hug him. 'Eigh! Dat you, Massa? Dat you, sar? Me no believe him. Out o' de way, you trash! Eigh! me too much pleased like devil.' The one constant and spontaneous ejaculation was, 'Yah! Massa too muchy handsome! Garamighty! Buckra berry fat!' The latter attribute was the source of genuine admiration; but the object of it hardly appreciated its recognition, and waved off his subjects with a mixture of impatience and alarm.

We had scarcely been a week at Golden Grove, when my two companions and Durham's servant were down with yellow fever. Being 'salted,' perhaps, I escaped scot-free, so helped Archy's valet and Mr. Forbes, his factor, to nurse and to carry out professional orders. As we were thirty miles from Kingston the doctor could only come every other day. The responsibility, therefore, of attending three patients smitten with so deadly a disease was no light matter. The factor seemed to think discretion the better part of valour, and that Jamaica rum was the best specific for keeping his up. All physicians were SANGRADOS in those days, and when the Kingston doctor decided upon bleeding, the hysterical state of the darky girls (we had no men in the bungalow except Durham's and Archy's servants) rendered them worse than useless. It fell to me, therefore, to hold the basin while Archy's man was attending to his master.

Durham, who had nerves of steel, bore his lot with the grim stoicism which marked his character. But at one time the doctor considered his state so serious that he thought his lordship's family should be informed of it. Accordingly I wrote to the last Lord Grey, his uncle and guardian, stating that there was little hope of his recovery. Poor Phoca was at once tragic and comic. His medicine had to be administered every, two hours. Each time, he begged and prayed in lacrymose tones to be let off. It was doing him no good. He might as well be allowed to die in peace. If we would only spare him the beastliness this once, on his honour he would take it next time 'like a man.' We were inexorable, of course, and treated him exactly as one treats a child.

At last the crisis was over. Wonderful to relate, all three began to recover. During their convalescence, I amused myself by shooting alligators in the mangrove swamps at Holland Bay, which was within half an hour's ride of the bungalow. It was curious sport. The great saurians would lie motionless in the pools amidst the snake-like tangle of mangrove roots. They would float with just their eyes and noses out of water, but so still that, without a glass, (which I had not,) it was difficult to distinguish their heads from the countless roots and rotten logs around them. If one fired by mistake, the sport was spoiled for an hour to come.

I used to sit watching patiently for one of them to show itself, or for something to disturb the glassy surface of the dark waters. Overhead the foliage was so dense that the heat was not oppressive. All Nature seemed asleep. The deathlike stillness was rarely broken by the faintest sound, - though unseen life, amidst the heat and moisture, was teeming everywhere; life feeding upon life. For what purpose? To what end? Is this a primary law of Nature? Does cannibalism prevail in Mars? Sometimes a mocking-bird would pipe its weird notes, deepening silence by the contrast. But besides pestilent mosquitos, the only living things in sight were humming-birds of every hue, some no bigger than a butterfly, fluttering over the blossoms of the orchids, or darting from flower to flower like flashes of prismatic rays.

I killed several alligators; but one day, while stalking what seemed to be an unusual monster, narrowly escaped an accident. Under the excitement, my eye was so intently fixed upon the object, that I rather felt than saw my way. Presently over I went, just managed to save my rifle, and, to my amazement, found I had set my foot on a sleeping reptile. Fortunately the brute was as much astonished as I was, and plunged with a splash into the adjacent pool.

A Cambridge friend, Mr. Walter Shirley, owned an estate at Trelawny, on the other side of Jamaica; while the invalids were recovering, I paid him a visit; and was initiated into the mysteries of cane-growing and sugar-making. As the great split between the Northern and Southern States on the question of slavery was pending, the life, condition, and treatment of the negro was of the greatest interest. Mr. Shirley was a gentleman of exceptional ability, and full of valuable information on these subjects. He passed me on to other plantations; and I made the complete round of the island before returning to my comrades at Golden Grove. A few weeks afterwards I stayed with a Spanish gentleman, the Marquis d'Iznaga, who owned six large sugar plantations in Cuba; and rode with his son from Casilda to Cienfuegos, from which port I got a steamer to the Havana. The ride afforded abundant opportunities of comparing the slave with the free negro. But, as I have written on the subject elsewhere, I will pass to matters more entertaining.



CHAPTER XVII



ON my arrival at the Havana I found that Durham, who was still an invalid, had taken up his quarters at Mr. Crauford's, the Consul-General. Phoca, who was nearly well again, was at the hotel, the only one in the town. And who should I meet there but my old Cambridge ally, Fred, the last Lord Calthorpe. This event was a fruitful one, - it determined the plans of both of us for a year or more to come.

Fred - as I shall henceforth call him - had just returned from a hunting expedition in Texas, with another sportsman whom he had accidentally met there. This gentleman ultimately became of even more importance to me than my old friend. I purposely abstain from giving either his name or his profession, for reasons which will become obvious enough by-and-by; the outward man may be described. He stood well over six feet in his socks; his frame and limbs were those of a gladiator; he could crush a horseshoe in one hand; he had a small head with a bull-neck, purely Grecian features, thick curly hair with crisp beard and silky moustache. He so closely resembled a marble Hercules that (as he must have a name) we will call him Samson.

Before Fred stumbled upon him, he had spent a winter camping out in the snows of Canada, bear and elk shooting. He was six years or so older than either of us - I.E. about eight- and-twenty.

As to Fred Calthorpe, it would be difficult to find a more 'manly' man. He was unacquainted with fear. Yet his courage, though sometimes reckless, was by no means of the brute kind. He did not run risks unless he thought the gain would compensate them; and no one was more capable of weighing consequences than he. His temper was admirable, his spirits excellent; and for any enterprise where danger and hardship were to be encountered few men could have been better qualified. By the end of a week these two had agreed to accompany me across the Rocky Mountains.

Before leaving the Havana, I witnessed an event which, though disgusting in itself, gives rise to serious reflections. Every thoughtful reader is conversant enough with them; if, therefore, he should find them out of place or trite, apology is needless, as he will pass them by without the asking.

The circumstance referred to is a public execution. Mr. Sydney Smith, the vice-consul, informed me that a criminal was to be garrotted on the following morning; and asked me whether I cared to look over the prison and see the man in his cell that afternoon. We went together. The poor wretch bore the stamp of innate brutality. His crime was the most revolting that a human being is capable of - the violation and murder of a mere child. When we were first admitted he was sullen, merely glaring at us; but, hearing the warder describe his crime, he became furiously abusive, and worked himself into such a passion that, had he not been chained to the wall, he would certainly have attacked us.

At half-past six next morning I went with Mr. Smith to the Campo del Marte, the principal square. The crowd had already assembled, and the tops of the houses were thronged with spectators. The women, dressed as if for a bull-fight or a ball, occupied the front seats. By squeezing and pushing we contrived to get within eight or nine yards of the machine, where I had not long been before the procession was seen moving up the Passeo. A few mounted troops were in front to clear the road; behind them came the Host, with a number of priests and the prisoner on foot, dressed in white; a large guard brought up the rear. The soldiers formed an open square. The executioner, the culprit, and one priest ascended the steps of the platform.

The garrotte is a short stout post, at the top of which is an iron crook, just wide enough to admit the neck of a man seated in a chair beneath it. Through the post, parallel with the crook, is the loop of a rope, whose ends are fastened to a bar held by the executioner. The loop, being round the throat of the victim, is so powerfully tightened from behind by half a turn of the bar, that an extra twist would sever a man's head from his body.

The murderer showed no signs of fear; he quietly seated himself, but got up again to adjust the chair and make himself comfortable! The executioner then arranged the rope round his neck, tied his legs and his arms, and retired behind the post. At a word or a look from the priest the wrench was turned. For a single instant the limbs of the victim were convulsed, and all was over.

No exclamation, no whisper of horror escaped from the lookers on. Such a scene was too familiar to excite any feeling but morbid curiosity; and, had the execution taken place at the usual spot instead of in the town, few would have given themselves the trouble to attend it.

It is impossible to see or even to think of what is here described without gravely meditating on its suggestions. Is capital punishment justifiable? This is the question I purpose to consider in the following chapter.



CHAPTER XVIII



ALL punishments or penal remedies for crime, except capital punishment, may be considered from two points of view: First, as they regard Society; secondly, as they regard the offender.

Where capital punishment is resorted to, the sole end in view is the protection of Society. The malefactor being put to death, there can be no thought of his amendment. And so far as this particular criminal is concerned, Society is henceforth in safety.

But (looking to the individual), as equal security could be obtained by his imprisonment for life, the extreme measure of putting him to death needs justification. This is found in the assumption that death being the severest of all punishments now permissible, no other penalty is so efficacious in preventing the crime or crimes for which it is inflicted. Is the assumption borne out by facts, or by inference?

For facts we naturally turn to statistics. Switzerland abolished capital punishment in 1874; but cases of premeditated murder having largely increased during the next five years, it was restored by Federal legislation in 1879. Still there is nothing conclusive to be inferred from this fact. We must seek for guidance elsewhere.

Reverting to the above assumption, we must ask: First, Is the death punishment the severest of all evils, and to what extent does the fear of it act as a preventive? Secondly, Is it true that no other punishment would serve as powerfully in preventing murder by intimidation?

Is punishment by death the most dreaded of all evils? 'This assertion,' says Bentham, 'is true with respect to the majority of mankind; it is not true with respect to the greatest criminals.' It is pretty certain that a malefactor steeped in crime, living in extreme want, misery and apprehension, must, if he reflects at all, contemplate a violent end as an imminent possibility. He has no better future before him, and may easily come to look upon death with brutal insensibility and defiance. The indifference exhibited by the garrotted man getting up to adjust his chair is probably common amongst criminals of his type.

Again, take such a crime as that of the Cuban's: the passion which leads to it is the fiercest and most ungovernable which man is subject to. Sexual jealousy also is one of the most frequent causes of murder. So violent is this passion that the victim of it is often quite prepared to sacrifice life rather than forego indulgence, or allow another to supplant him; both men and women will gloat over the murder of a rival, and gladly accept death as its penalty, rather than survive the possession of the desired object by another.

Further, in addition to those who yield to fits of passion, there is a class whose criminal promptings are hereditary: a large number of unfortunates of whom it may almost be said that they were destined to commit crimes. 'It is unhappily a fact,' says Mr. Francis Galton ('Inquiries into Human Faculty'), 'that fairly distinct types of criminals breeding true to their kind have become established.' And he gives extraordinary examples, which fully bear out his affirmation. We may safely say that, in a very large number of cases, the worst crimes are perpetrated by beings for whom the death penalty has no preventive terrors.

But it is otherwise with the majority. Death itself, apart from punitive aspects, is a greater evil to those for whom life has greater attractions. Besides this, the permanent disgrace of capital punishment, the lasting injury to the criminal's family and to all who are dear to him, must be far more cogent incentives to self-control than the mere fear of ceasing to live.

With the criminal and most degraded class - with those who are actuated by violent passions and hereditary taints, the class by which most murders are committed - the death punishment would seem to be useless as an intimidation or an example.

With the majority it is more than probable that it exercises a strong and beneficial influence. As no mere social distinction can eradicate innate instincts, there must be a large proportion of the majority, the better-to-do, who are both occasionally and habitually subject to criminal propensities, and who shall say how many of these are restrained from the worst of crimes by fear of capital punishment and its consequences?

On these grounds, if they be not fallacious, the retention of capital punishment may be justified.

Secondly. Is the assumption tenable that no other penalty makes so strong an impression or is so pre-eminently exemplary? Bentham thus answers the question: 'It appears to me that the contemplation of perpetual imprisonment, accompanied with hard labour and occasional solitary confinement, would produce a deeper impression on the minds of persons in whom it is more eminently desirable that that impression should be produced than even death itself. . . . All that renders death less formidable to them renders laborious restraint proportionably more irksome.' There is doubtless a certain measure of truth in these remarks. But Bentham is here speaking of the degraded class; and is it likely that such would reflect seriously upon what they never see and only know by hearsay? Think how feeble are their powers of imagination and reflection, how little they would be impressed by such additional seventies as 'occasional solitary confinement,' the occurrence and the effects of which would be known to no one outside the jail.

As to the 'majority,' the higher classes, the fact that men are often imprisoned for offences - political and others - which they are proud to suffer for, would always attenuate the ignominy attached to 'imprisonment.' And were this the only penalty for all crimes, for first-class misdemeanants and for the most atrocious of criminals alike, the distinction would not be very finely drawn by the interested; at the most, the severest treatment as an alternative to capital punishment would always savour of extenuating circumstances.

There remain two other points of view from which the question has to be considered: one is what may be called the Vindictive, the other, directly opposed to it, the Sentimental argument. The first may be dismissed with a word or two. In civilised countries torture is for ever abrogated; and with it, let us hope, the idea of judicial vengeance.

The LEX TALIONIS - the Levitic law - 'Eye for eye, tooth for tooth,' is befitting only for savages. Unfortunately the Christian religion still promulgates and passionately clings to the belief in Hell as a place or state of everlasting torment - that is to say, of eternal torture inflicted for no ultimate end save that of implacable vengeance. Of all the miserable superstitions ever hatched by the brain of man this, as indicative of its barbarous origin, is the most degrading. As an ordinance ascribed to a Being worshipped as just and beneficent, it is blasphemous.

The Sentimental argument, like all arguments based upon feeling rather than reason, though not without merit, is fraught with mischief which far outweighs it. There are always a number of people in the world who refer to their feelings as the highest human tribunal. When the reasoning faculty is not very strong, the process of ratiocination irksome, and the issue perhaps unacceptable, this course affords a convenient solution to many a complicated problem. It commends itself, moreover, to those who adopt it, by the sense of chivalry which it involves. There is something generous and noble, albeit quixotic, in siding with the weak, even if they be in the wrong. There is something charitable in the judgment, 'Oh! poor creature, think of his adverse circumstances, his ignorance, his temptation. Let us be merciful and forgiving.' In practice, however, this often leads astray. Thus in most cases, even where premeditated murder is proved to the hilt, the sympathy of the sentimentalist is invariably with the murderer, to the complete oblivion of the victim's family.

Bentham, speaking of the humanity plea, thus words its argument: 'Attend not to the sophistries of reason, which often deceive, but be governed by your hearts, which will always lead you right. I reject without hesitation the punishment you propose: it violates natural feelings, it harrows up the susceptible mind, it is tyrannical and cruel.' Such is the language of your sentimental orators.

'But abolish any one penal law merely because it is repugnant to the feelings of a humane heart, and, if consistent, you abolish the whole penal code. There is not one of its provisions that does not, in a more or less painful degree, wound the sensibility.'

As this writer elsewhere observes: 'It is only a virtue when justice has done its work, &c. Before this, to forgive injuries is to invite their perpetration - is to be, not the friend, but the enemy of society. What could wickedness desire more than an arrangement by which offences should be always followed by pardon?'

Sentiment is the ULTIMA RATIO FEMINARUM, and of men whose natures are of the epicene gender. It is a luxury we must forego in the face of the stern duties which evil compels us to encounter.

There is only one other argument against capital punishment that is worth considering.

The objection so strenuously pleaded by Dickens in his letters to the 'Times' - viz. the brutalising effects upon the degraded crowds which witnessed public executions - is no longer apposite. But it may still be urged with no little force that the extreme severity of the sentence induces all concerned in the conviction of the accused to shirk the responsibility. Informers, prosecutors, witnesses, judges, and jurymen are, as a rule, liable to reluctance as to the performance of their respective parts in the melancholy drama.' The consequence is that 'the benefit of the doubt,' while salving the consciences of these servants of the law, not unfrequently turns a real criminal loose upon society; whereas, had any other penalty than death been feasible, the same person would have been found guilty.

Much might be said on either side, but on the whole it would seem wisest to leave things - in this country - as they are; and, for one, I am inclined to the belief that,

Mercy murders, pardoning those that kill.



CHAPTER XIX



WE were nearly six weeks in the Havana, being detained by Lord Durham's illness. I provided myself with a capital Spanish master, and made the most of him. This, as it turned out, proved very useful to me in the course of my future travels. About the middle of March we left for Charlestown in the steamer ISABEL, and thence on to New York. On the passage to Charlestown, we were amused one evening by the tricks of a conjuror. I had seen the man and his wife perform at the Egyptian Hall, Piccadilly. She was called the 'Mysterious Lady.' The papers were full of speculations as to the nature of the mystery. It was the town talk and excitement of the season.

This was the trick. The lady sat in the corner of a large room, facing the wall, with her eyes bandaged. The company were seated as far as possible from her. Anyone was invited to write a few words on a slip of paper, and hand it to the man, who walked amongst the spectators. He would simply say to the woman 'What has the gentleman (or lady) written upon this paper?' Without hesitation she would reply correctly. The man was always the medium. One person requested her, through the man, to read the number on his watch, the figures being, as they always are, very minute. The man repeated the question: 'What is the number on this watch?' The woman, without hesitation, gave it correctly. A friend at my side, a young Guardsman, took a cameo ring from his finger, and asked for a description of the figures in relief. There was a pause. The woman was evidently perplexed. She confessed at last that she was unable to answer. The spectators murmured. My friend began to laugh. The conjuror's bread was at stake, but he was equal to the occasion. He at once explained to the company that the cameo represented 'Leeder and the Swan in a hambigious position, which the lady didn't profess to know nothing about.' This apology, needless to say, completely re-established the lady's character.

Well, recognising my friend of the Egyptian Hall, I reminded him of the incident. He remembered it perfectly; and we fell to chatting about the wonderful success of the 'mystery,' and about his and the lady's professional career. He had begun life when a boy as a street acrobat, had become a street conjuror, had married the 'mysterious lady' out of the 'saw- dust,' as he expressed it - meaning out of a travelling circus. After that, 'things had gone 'ard' with them. They had exhausted their resources in every sense. One night, lying awake, and straining their brains to devise some means of subsistence, his wife suddenly exclaimed, 'How would it be if we were to try so and so?' explaining the trick just described. His answer was: 'Oh! that's too silly. They'd see through it directly.' This was all I could get out of him: this, and the fact that the trick, first and last, had made them fairly comfortable for the rest of their days.

Now mark what follows, for it is the gist and moral of my little story about this conjuror, and about two other miracle workers whom I have to speak of presently.

Once upon a time, I was discussing with an acquaintance the not unfamiliar question of Immortality. I professed Agnosticism - strongly impregnated with incredulity. My friend had no misgivings, no doubts on the subject whatever. Absolute certainty is the prerogative of the orthodox. He had taken University honours, and was a man of high position at the Bar. I was curious to learn upon what grounds such an one based his belief. His answer was: 'Upon the phenomena of electro-biology, and the psychic phenomena of mesmerism.' His 'first convictions were established by the manifestations of the soul as displayed through a woman called "The Mysterious Lady," who, &c., &c.'

When we have done with our thaumaturgist on board the ISABEL, I will give another instance, precisely similar to this, of the simple origin of religious beliefs.

The steamer was pretty full; and the conjuror begged me to obtain the patronage of my noble friend and the rest of our party for an entertainment he proposed to give that evening. This was easily secured, and a goodly sum was raised by dollar tickets. The sleight-of-hand was excellent. But the special performance of the evening deserves description in full. It was that of a whist-playing dog. Three passengers - one of us taking a hand - played as in dummy whist, dummy's hand being spread in a long row upon the deck of the saloon cabin. The conjuror, as did the other passengers, walked about behind the players, and saw all the players' hands, but not a word was spoken. The dog played dummy's hand. When it came to his turn he trotted backwards and forwards, smelling each card that had been dealt to him. He sometimes hesitated, then comically shaking his head, would leave it to smell another. The conjuror stood behind the dog's partner, and never went near the animal. There was no table - the cards were thrown on the deck. They were dealt by the players; the conjuror never touched them. When the dog's mind was made up, he took his card in his mouth and laid it on the others. His play was infallible. He and his partner won the rubber with ease.

Now, to those ignorant of the solution, this must, I think, seem inexplicable. How was collusion managed between the animal and its master? One of the conditions insisted upon by the master himself was silence. He certainly never broke it. I bought the trick - must I confess it? for twenty dollars. How transparent most things are when - seen through! When the dog smelt at the right card, the conjuror, who saw all four hands, and had his own in his pocket, clicked his thumb-nail against a finger-nail. The dog alone could hear it, and played the card accordingly.

The other story: A few years after my return to England, a great friend called upon me, and, in an excited state, described a SEANCE he had had with a woman who possessed the power of 'invoking' spirits. These spirits had correctly replied to questions, the answers to which were only known to himself. The woman was an American. I am sorry to say I have forgotten her name, but I think she was the first of her tribe to visit this country. As in the case spoken of, my friend was much affected by the results of the SEANCE. He was a well-educated and intelligent man. Born to wealth, he had led a somewhat wildish life in his youth. Henceforth he became more serious, and eventually turned Roman Catholic. He entreated me to see the woman, which I did.

I wrote to ask for an appointment. She lived in Charlotte Street, Fitzroy Square; but on the day after the morrow she was to change her lodgings to Queen Anne Street, where she would receive me at 11 A.M. I was punctual to a minute, and was shown into an ordinary furnished room. The maid informed me that Mrs. - had not yet arrived from Charlotte Street, but she was sure to come before long, as she had an engagement (so she said) with a gentleman.

Nothing could have suited me better. I immediately set to work to examine the room and the furniture with the greatest care. I looked under and moved the sofa, tables, and armchairs. I looked behind the curtains, under the rug, and up the chimney. I could discover nothing. There was not the vestige of a spirit anywhere. At last the medium entered - a plain, middle-aged matron with nothing the least spiritual about her. She seated herself opposite to me at the round table in the centre of the room, and demurely asked what I wanted. 'To communicate with the spirits,' I replied. She did not know whether that was possible. It depended upon the person who sought them. She would ask the spirits whether they would confer with me. Whereupon she put the question: 'Will the spirits converse with this gentleman?' At all events, thought I, the term 'gentleman' applies to the next world, which is a comfort. She listened for the answer. Presently three distinct raps on the table signified assent. She then took from her reticule a card whereon were printed the alphabet, and numerals up to 10. The letters were separated by transverse lines. She gave me a pencil with these instructions: I was to think, not utter, my question, and then put the pencil on each of the letters in succession. When the letters were touched which spelt the answer, the spirits would rap, and the words could be written down.

My friend had told me this much, so I came prepared. I began by politely begging the lady to move away from the table at which we were seated, and take a chair in the furthest corner of the room. She indignantly complied, asking if I suspected her. I replied that 'all ladies were dangerous, when they were charming,' which put us on the best of terms. I placed my hat so as to intercept her view of my operations, and thus pursued them.

Thinking the matter over beforehand, I concluded that when the questioner, of either sex, was young, love would very probably be the topic; the flesh, not the spirit, would be the predominant interest. Being an ingenuous young man of the average sort, and desperately in love with Susan, let us say, I should naturally assist the supernatural being, if at a loss, to understand that the one thing wanted was information about Susan. I therefore mentally asked the question: 'Who is the most lovely angel without wings, and with the means of sitting down?' and proceeded to pass the pencil over the letters, pausing nowhere. I now and then got a doubtful rap on or under the table, - how delivered I know not - but signifying nothing. It was clear the spirits needed a cue. I put the pencil on the letter S, and kept it there. I got a tentative rap. I passed at once to U. I got a more confident rap. Then to S. Rap, rap, without hesitation. A and N were assented to almost before I touched them. Susan was an angel - the angel. What more logical proof could I have of the immortality of the soul?

Mrs. - asked me whether I was satisfied. I said it was miraculous; so much so indeed, that I could hardly believe the miracle, until corroborated by another. Would the spirits be kind enough to suspend this pencil in the air? 'Oh! that was nonsense. The spirits never lent themselves to mere frivolity.' 'I beg the spirits' pardon, I am sure,' said I. 'I have heard that they often move heavy tables. I thought perhaps the pencil would save them trouble. Will they move this round table up to this little one?' I had, be it observed, when alone, moved and changed the relative positions of both tables; and had determined to make this my crucial test. To my astonishment, Mrs. - replied that she could not say whether they would or not. She would ask them. She did so, and the spirits rapped 'Yes.'

I drew my chair aside. The woman remained seated in the corner. I watched everything. Nothing happened. After a while, I took out my watch, and said: 'I fear the spirits do not intend to keep their word. I have an appointment twenty minutes hence, and can only give them ten minutes more.' She calmly replied she had nothing to do with it. I had heard what the spirits said. I had better wait a little longer. Scarcely were the words out of her mouth, when the table gave a distinct crack, as if about to start. The medium instantly called my attention to it. I jumped out of my seat, passed between the two tables, when of a sudden the large table moved in the direction of the smaller one, and did not stop till it had pushed the little one over. I make no comments. No explanation to me is conceivable. I simply narrate what happened as accurately as I am able.

One other case deserves to be added to the above. I have connected both of the foregoing with religious persuasions. The SEANCE I am about to speak of was for the express purpose of bringing a brokenhearted and widowed mother into communication with the soul of her only son - a young artist of genius whom I had known, and who had died about a year before. The occasion was, of course, a solemn one. The interest of it was enhanced by the presence of the great apostle of Spiritualism - Sir William Crookes. The medium was Miss Kate Fox, again an American. The SEANCE took place in the house of a very old friend of mine, the late Dr. George Bird. He had spiritualistic tendencies, but was supremely honest and single-minded; utterly incapable of connivance with deception of any kind. As far as I know, the medium had never been in the room before. The company present were Dr. Bird's intimate friend Sir William Crookes - future President of the Royal Society - Miss Bird, Dr. Bird's daughter, and her husband - Mr. Ionides - and Mrs. -, the mother of the young artist. The room, a large one, was darkened; the last light being extinguished after we had taken our places round the dining-table. We were strenuously enjoined to hold one another's hands. Unless we did so the SEANCE would fail.

Before entering the room, I secretly arranged with Mr. Ionides, who shared my scepticism, that we should sit side by side; and so each have one hand free. It is not necessary to relate what passed between the unhappy mother and the medium, suffice it to say that she put questions to her son; and the medium interpreted the rappings which came in reply. These, I believe, were all the poor lady could wish for. To the rest of us, the astounding events of the SEANCE were the dim lights, accompanied by faint sounds of an accordion, which floated about the room over our heads. And now comes, to me, the strangest part of the whole performance. All the while I kept my right arm extended under the table, moving my hand to and fro. Presently it touched something. I make a grab, and caught, but could not hold for an instant, another hand. It was on the side away from Mr. Ionides. I said nothing, except to him, and the SEANCE was immediately broken up.

It may be thought by some that this narration is a biassed one. But those acquainted with the charlatanry in these days of what is called 'Christian Science,' and know the extent to which crass ignorance and predisposed credulity can be duped by childish delusions, may have some 'idea how acute was the spirit-rapping epidemic some forty or fifty years ago. 'At this moment,' writes Froude, in 'Fraser's Magazine,' 1863, 'we are beset with reports of conversations with spirits, of tables miraculously lifted, of hands projecting out of the world of shadows into this mortal life. An unusually able, accomplished person, accustomed to deal with common-sense facts, a celebrated political economist, and notorious for business-like habits, assured this writer that a certain mesmerist, who was my informer's intimate friend, had raised a dead girl to life.' Can we wonder that miracles are still believed in? Ah! no. The need, the dire need, of them remains, and will remain with us for ever.



CHAPTER XX



WE must move on; we have a long and rough journey before us. Durham had old friends in New York, Fred Calthorpe had letters to Colonel Fremont, who was then a candidate for the Presidency, and who had discovered the South Pass; and Mr. Ellice had given me a letter to John Jacob Astor - THE American millionaire of that day. We were thus well provided with introductions; and nothing could exceed the kindness and hospitality of our American friends.

But time was precious. It was already mid May, and we had everything to get - wagons, horses, men, mules, and provisions. So that we were anxious not to waste a day, but hurry on to St. Louis as fast as we could. Durham was too ill to go with us. Phoca had never intended to do so. Fred, Samson, and I, took leave of our companions, and travelling via the Hudson to Albany, Buffalo, down Lake Erie, and across to Chicago, we reached St. Louis in about eight days. As a single illustration of what this meant before railroads, Samson and I, having to stop a day at Chicago, hired a buggy and drove into the neighbouring woods, or wilderness, to hunt for wild turkeys.

Our outfit, the whole of which we got at St. Louis, consisted of two heavy wagons, nine mules, and eight horses. We hired eight men, on the nominal understanding that they were to go with us as far as the Rocky Mountains on a hunting expedition. In reality all seven of them, before joining us, had separately decided to go to California.

Having published in 1852 an account of our journey, entitled 'A Ride over the Rocky Mountains,' I shall not repeat the story, but merely give a summary of the undertaking, with a few of the more striking incidents to show what travelling across unknown America entailed fifty or sixty years ago.

A steamer took us up the Missouri to Omaha. Here we disembarked on the confines of occupied territory. From near this point, where the Platte river empties into the Missouri, to the mouth of the Columbia, on the Pacific - which we ultimately reached - is at least 1,500 miles as the crow flies; for us (as we had to follow watercourses and avoid impassable ridges) it was very much more. Some five-and- forty miles from our starting-place we passed a small village called Savannah. Between it and Vancouver there was not a single white man's abode, with the exception of three trading stations - mere mud buildings - Fort Laramie, Fort Hall, and Fort Boise.

The vast prairies on this side of the Rocky Mountains were grazed by herds of countless bison, wapiti, antelope, and deer of various species. These were hunted by moving tribes of Indians - Pawnees, Omahaws, Cheyennes, Ponkaws, Sioux, &c. On the Pacific side of the great range, a due west course - which ours was as near as we could keep it - lay across a huge rocky desert of volcanic debris, where hardly any vegetation was to be met with, save artemisia - a species of wormwood - scanty blades of gramma grass, and occasional osiers by river-banks. The rivers themselves often ran through canons or gulches, so deep that one might travel for days within a hundred feet of water yet perish (some of our animals did so) for the want of a drop to drink. Game was here very scarce - a few antelope, wolves, and abundance of rattlesnakes, were nearly the only living things we saw. The Indians were mainly fishers of the Shoshone - or Great Snake River - tribe, feeding mostly on salmon, which they speared with marvellous dexterity; and Root-diggers, who live upon wild roots. When hard put to it, however, in winter, the latter miserable creatures certainly, if not the former, devoured their own children. There was no map of the country. It was entirely unexplored; in fact, Bancroft the American historian, in his description of the Indian tribes, quotes my account of the Root-diggers; which shows how little was known of this region up to this date. I carried a small compass fastened round my neck. That and the stars (we travelled by night when in the vicinity of Indians) were my only guides for hundreds of dreary miles.

Such then was the task we had set ourselves to grapple with. As with life itself, nothing but the magic powers of youth and ignorance could have cajoled us to face it with heedless confidence and eager zest. These conditions given, with health - the one essential of all enjoyment - added, the first escape from civilised restraint, the first survey of primordial nature as seen in the boundless expanse of the open prairie, the habitat of wild men and wild animals, - exhilarate one with emotions akin to the schoolboy's rapture in the playground, and the thoughtful man's contemplation of the stars. Freedom and change, space and the possibilities of the unknown, these are constant elements of our day- dreams; now and then actual life dangles visions of them before our eyes, alas! only to teach us that the aspirations which they inspire are, for the most part, illusory.

Brief indeed, in our case, were the pleasures of novelty. For the first few days the business was a continuous picnic for all hands. It was a pleasure to be obliged to help to set up the tents, to cut wood, to fetch water, to harness the mules, and work exactly as the paid men worked. The equality in this respect - that everything each wanted done had to be done with his own hands - was perfect; and never, from first to last, even when starvation left me bare strength to lift the saddle on to my horse, did I regret the necessity, or desire to be dependent on another man. But the bloom soon wore off the plum; and the pleasure consisted not in doing but in resting when the work was done.

For the reason already stated, a sample only of the daily labour will be given. It may be as well first to bestow a few words upon the men; for, in the long run, our fellow beings are the powerful factors, for good or ill, in all our worldly enterprises.

We had two ordinary mule-drivers - Potter and Morris, a little acrobat out of a travelling circus, a METIF or half- breed Indian named Jim, two French Canadians - Nelson and Louis (the latter spoke French only); Jacob, a Pennsylvanian auctioneer whose language was a mixture of Dutch, Yankee, and German; and (after we reached Fort Laramie) another Nelson - 'William' as I shall call him - who offered his services gratis if we would allow him to go with us to California.

Jacob the Dutch Yankee was the most intelligent and the most useful of the lot, and was unanimously elected cook for the party. The Canadian Nelson was a hard-working good young fellow, with a passionate temper. Louis was a hunter by profession, Gallic to the tip of his moustache - fond of slapping his breast and telling of the mighty deeds of NOUS AUTRES EN HAUT. Jim, the half-breed was Indian by nature - idle, silent, treacherous, but a crafty hunter. William deserves special mention, not from any idiosyncrasy of the man, but because he was concerned soon after he joined us in the most disastrous of my adventures throughout the expedition.

To look at, William Nelson might have sat for the portrait of Leatherstocking. He was a tall gaunt man who had spent his youth bringing rafts of timber down the Wabash river, from Fort Wayne to Maumee, in Ohio. For the last six years (he was three-and-thirty) he had been trapping musk rats and beaver, and dealing in pelts generally. At the time of our meeting he was engaged to a Miss Mary something - the daughter of an English immigrant, who would not consent to the marriage until William was better off. He was now bound for California, where he hoped to make the required fortune. The poor fellow was very sentimental about his Mary; but, despite his weatherbeaten face, hardy-looking frame, and his 'longue carabine,' he was scarcely the hero which, no doubt, Miss Mary took him for.

Yes, the novelty soon wore off. We had necessaries enough to last to California. We also had enough unnecessaries to bring us to grief in a couple of weeks. Our wagons were loaded to the roof. And seeing there was no road nor so much as a track, that there were frequent swamps and small rivers to be crossed, that our Comanche mules were wilder than the Indians who had owned them, it may easily be believed that our rate of progress did not average more than six or seven miles a day; sometimes it took from dawn to dusk to cross a stream by ferrying our packages, and emptied wagons, on such rafts as could be extemporised. Before the end of a fortnight, both wagons were shattered, wheels smashed, and axles irreparable. The men, who were as refractory as the other animals, helped themselves to provisions, tobacco and whisky, at their own sweet will, and treated our remonstrances with resentment and contempt.

Heroic measures were exigent. The wagons were broken up and converted into pack saddles. Both tents, masses of provisions, 100 lbs. of lead for bullets, kegs of powder, warm clothing, mackintoshes, waterproof sheeting, tarpaulins, medicine chest, and bags of sugar, were flung aside to waste their sweetness on the desert soil. Not one of us had ever packed a saddle before; and certainly not one of the mules had ever carried, or to all appearances, ever meant to carry, a pack. It was a fight between man and beast every day - twice a day indeed, for we halted to rest and feed, and had to unpack and repack our remaining impedimenta in payment for the indulgence.

Let me cite a page from my diary. It is a fair specimen of scores of similar entries.

'JUNE 24TH. - My morning watch. Up at 1 A.M. Roused the men at 3.30. Off at 7.30. Rained hard all day. Packs slipped or kicked off eighteen times before halt. Men grumbling. Nelson and Jim both too ill to work. When adjusting pack, Nelson and Louis had a desperate quarrel. Nelson drew his knife and nearly stabbed Louis. I snatched a pistol out of my holster, and threatened to shoot Nelson unless he shut up. Fred, of course, laughed obstreperously at the notion of my committing murder, which spoilt the dramatic effect.

'Oh! these devils of mules! After repacking, they rolled, they kicked and bucked, they screamed and bit, as though we were all in Hell, and didn't know it. It took four men to pack each one; and the moment their heads were loosed, away they went into the river, over the hills, and across country as hard as they could lay legs to ground. It was a cheerful sight! - the flour and biscuit stuff swimming about in the stream, the hams in a ditch full of mud, the trailed pots and pans bumping and rattling on the ground until they were as shapeless as old wide-awakes. And, worst of all, the pack- saddles, which had delayed us a week to make - nothing now but a bundle of splinters.

'25TH. - What a night! A fearful storm broke over us. All round was like a lake. Fred and I sat, back to back, perched on a flour bag till daylight, with no covering but our shooting jackets, our feet in a pool, and bodies streaming like cascades. Repeated lightning seemed to strike the ground within a few yards of us. The animals, wild with terror, stampeded in all directions. In the morning, lo and behold! Samson on his back in the water, insensibly drunk. At first I thought he was dead; but he was only dead drunk. We can't move till he can, unless we bequeath him to the wolves, which are plentiful. This is the third time he has served us the same trick. I took the liberty to ram my heel through the whisky keg (we have kept a small one for emergencies) and put it empty under his head for a pillow.'

There were plenty of days and nights to match these, but there were worse in store for us.

One evening, travelling along the North Platte river, before reaching Laramie, we overtook a Mormon family on their way to Salt Lake city. They had a light covered wagon with hardly anything in it but a small supply of flour and bacon. It was drawn by four oxen and two cows. Four milch cows were driven. The man's name was Blazzard - a Yorkshireman from the Wolds, whose speech was that of Learoyd. He had only his wife and a very pretty daughter of sixteen or seventeen with him. We asked him how he became a Mormon. He answered: 'From conviction,' and entreated us to be baptized in the true faith at his hands. The offer was tempting, for the pretty little milkmaid might have become one of one's wives on the spot. In truth the sweet nymph urged conversion more persuasively than her papa - though with what views who shall say? The old farmer's acquaintance with the Bible was remarkable. He quoted it at every sentence, and was eloquent upon the subject of the meaning and the origin of the word 'Bible.' He assured us the name was given to the Holy Book from the circumstance of its contents having passed a synod of prophets, just as an Act of Parliament passes the House of Commons - BY BILL. Hence its title. It was this historical fact that guaranteed the authenticity of the sacred volume. There are various reasons for believing - this is one of them.

The next day, being Sunday, was spent in sleep. In the afternoon I helped the Yorkshire lassie to herd her cattle, which had strayed a long distance amongst the rank herbage by the banks of the Platte. The heat was intense, well over 120 in the sun; and the mosquitos rose in clouds at every step in the wet grass. It was an easy job for me, on my little grey, to gallop after the cows and drive them home, (it would have been a wearisome one for her,) and she was very grateful, and played Dorothea to my Hermann. None of our party wore any upper clothing except a flannel shirt; I had cut off the sleeves of mine at the elbow. This was better for rough work, but the broiling sun had raised big blisters on my arms and throat which were very painful. When we got back to camp, Dorothea laved the burns for me with cool milk. Ah! she was very pretty; and, what 'blackguard' Heine, as Carlyle dubs him, would have called 'naive schmutzig.' When we parted next morning I thought with a sigh that before the autumn was over, she would be in the seraglio of Mr. Brigham Young; who, Artemus Ward used to say, was 'the most married man he ever knew.'



CHAPTER XXI



SPORT had been the final cause of my trip to America - sport and the love of adventure. As the bison - buffalo, as they are called - are now extinct, except in preserved districts, a few words about them as they then were may interest game hunters of the present day.

No description could convey an adequate conception of the numbers in which they congregated. The admirable illustrations in Catlin's great work on the North American Indians, afford the best idea to those who have never seen the wonderful sight itself. The districts they frequented were vast sandy uplands sparsely covered with the tufty buffalo or gramma grass. These regions were always within reach of the water-courses; to which morning and evening the herds descended by paths, after the manner of sheep or cattle in a pasture. Never shall I forget the first time I witnessed the extraordinary event of the evening drink. Seeing the black masses galloping down towards the river, by the banks of which our party were travelling, we halted some hundred yards short of the tracks. To have been caught amongst the animals would have been destruction; for, do what they would to get out of one's way, the weight of the thousands pushing on would have crushed anything that impeded them. On the occasion I refer to we approached to within safe distance, and fired into them till the ammunition in our pouches was expended.

As examples of our sporting exploits, three days taken almost at random will suffice. The season was so far advanced that, unless we were to winter at Fort Laramie, it was necessary to keep going. It was therefore agreed that whoever left the line of march - that is, the vicinity of the North Platte - for the purpose of hunting should take his chance of catching up the rest of the party, who were to push on as speedily as possible. On two of the days which I am about to record this rule nearly brought me into trouble. I quote from my journal:

'Left camp to hunt by self. Got a shot at some deer lying in long grass on banks of a stream. While stalking, I could hardly see or breathe for mosquitos; they were in my eyes, nose, and mouth. Steady aim was impossible; and, to my disgust, I missed the easiest of shots. The neck and flanks of my little grey are as red as if painted. He is weak from loss of blood. Fred's head is now so swollen he cannot wear his hard hat; his eyes are bunged up, and his face is comic to look at. Several deer and antelopes; but ground too level, and game too wild to let one near. Hardly caring what direction I took, followed outskirts of large wood, four or five miles away from the river. Saw a good many summer lodges; but knew, by the quantity of game, that the Indians had deserted them. In the afternoon came suddenly upon deer; and singling out one of the youngest fawns, tried to run it down. The country being very rough, I found it hard work to keep between it and the wood. First, my hat blew off; then a pistol jumped out of the holster; but I was too near to give up, - meaning to return for these things afterwards. Two or three times I ran right over the fawn, which bleated in the most piteous manner, but always escaped the death-blow from the grey's hoofs. By degrees we edged nearer to the thicket, when the fawn darted down the side of a bluff, and was lost in the long grass and brushwood, I followed at full speed; but, unable to arrest the impetus of the horse, we dashed headlong into the thick scrub, and were both thrown with violence to the ground. I was none the worse; but the poor beast had badly hurt his shoulder, and for the time was dead lame.

'For an hour at least I hunted, for my pistol. It was much more to me than my hat. It was a huge horse pistol, that threw an ounce ball of exactly the calibre of my double rifle. I had shot several buffaloes with it, by riding close to them in a chase; and when in danger of Indians I loaded it with slugs. At last I found it. It was getting late; and I didn't rightly know where I was. I made for the low country. But as we camped last night at least two miles from the river, on account of the swamps, the difficulty was to find the tracks. The poor little grey and I hunted for it in vain. The wet ground was too wet, the dry ground too hard, to show the tracks in the now imperfect light.

'The situation was a disagreeable one: it might be two or three days before I again fell in with my friends. I had not touched food since the early morning, and was rather done. To return to the high ground was to give up for the night; but that meant another day behind the cavalcade, with diminished chance of overtaking it. Through the dusk I saw what I fancied was something moving on a mound ahead of me which arose out of the surrounding swamp. I spurred on, but only to find the putrid carcase of a buffalo, with a wolf supping on it. The brute was gorged, and looked as sleek as "die schone Frau Giermund"; but, unlike Isegrim's spouse, she was free to escape, for she wasn't worth a bullet. I was so famished, that I examined the carcase with the hope of finding a cut that would last for a day or two; my nose wouldn't have it. I plodded on, the water up to the saddle- girths. The mosquitos swarmed in millions, and the poor little grey could hardly get one leg before the other. I, too, was so feverish that, ignorant of bacteria, I filled my round hat with the filthy stagnant water, and drank it at a draught.

'At last I made for higher ground. It was too dark to hunt for tracks, so I began to look out for a level bed. Suddenly my beast, who jogged along with his nose to the ground, gave a loud neigh. We had struck the trail. I threw the reins on his neck, and left matters to his superior instincts. In less than half an hour the joyful light of a camp fire gladdened my eyes. Fred told me he had halted as soon as he was able, not on my account only, but because he, too, had had a severe fall, and was suffering great pain from a bruised knee.'

Here is an ordinary example of buffalo shooting:

'JULY 2ND. - Fresh meat much wanted. With Jim the half-breed to the hills. No sooner on high ground than we sighted game. As far as eye could reach, right away to the horizon, the plain was black with buffaloes, a truly astonishing sight. Jim was used to it. I stopped to spy them with amazement. The nearest were not more than half a mile off, so we picketed our horses under the sky line; and choosing the hollows, walked on till crawling became expedient. As is their wont, the outsiders were posted on bluffs or knolls in a commanding position; these were old bulls. To my inexperience, our chance of getting a shot seemed small; for we had to cross the dipping ground under the brow whereon the sentinels were lying. Three extra difficulties beset us - the prairie dogs (a marmot, so called from its dog-like bark when disturbed) were all round us, and bolted into their holes like rabbits directly they saw us coming; two big grey wolves, the regular camp followers of a herd, were prowling about in a direct line between us and the bulls; lastly, the cows, though up and feeding, were inconveniently out of reach. (The meat of the young cow is much preferred to that of the bull.) Jim, however, was confident. I followed my leader to a wink. The only instruction I didn't like when we started crawling on the hot sand was "Look out for rattlesnakes."

'The wolves stopped, examined us suspiciously, then quietly trotted off. What with this and the alarm of the prairie dogs, an old bull, a patriarch of the tribe, jumped up and walked with majestic paces to the top of the knoll. We lay flat on our faces, till he, satisfied with the result of his scrutiny, resumed his recumbent posture; but with his head turned straight towards us. Jim, to my surprise, stealthily crawled on. In another minute or two we had gained a point whence we could see through the grass without being seen. Here we rested to recover breath. Meanwhile, three or four young cows fed to within sixty or seventy yards of us. Unluckily we both selected the same animal, and both fired at the same moment. Off went the lot helter skelter, all save the old bull, who roared out his rage and trotted up close to our hiding place.

'"Look out for a bolt," whispered Jim, "but don't show yourself nohow till I tell you."

'For a minute or two the suspense was exciting. One hardly dared to breathe. But his majesty saw us not, and turned again to his wives. We instantly reloaded; and the startled herd, which had only moved a few yards, gave us the chance of a second shot. The first cow had fallen dead almost where she stood. The second we found at the foot of the hill, also with two bullet wounds behind the shoulder. The tongues, humps, and tender loins, with some other choice morsels, were soon cut off and packed, and we returned to camp with a grand supply of beef for Jacob's larder.



CHAPTER XXII



AT the risk of being tedious, I will tell of one more day's buffalo hunting, to show the vicissitudes of this kind of sport. Before doing so we will glance at another important feature of prairie life, a camp of Sioux Indians.

One evening, after halting on the banks of the Platte, we heard distant sounds of tomtoms on the other side of the river. Jim, the half-breed, and Louis differed as to the tribe, and hence the friendliness or hostility, of our neighbours. Louis advised saddling up and putting the night between us; he regaled us to boot with a few blood-curdling tales of Indian tortures, and of NOUS AUTRES EN HAUT. Jim treated these with scorn, and declared he knew by the 'tunes' (!) that the pow-wow was Sioux. Just now, he asserted, the Sioux were friendly, and this 'village' was on its way to Fort Laramie to barter 'robes' (buffalo skins) for blankets and ammunition. He was quite willing to go over and talk to them if we had no objection.

Fred, ever ready for adventure, would have joined him in a minute; but the river, which was running strong, was full of nasty currents, and his injured knee disabled him from swimming. No one else seemed tempted; so, following Jim's example, I stripped to my flannel shirt and moccasins, and crossed the river, which was easier to get into than out of, and soon reached the 'village.' Jim was right, - they were Sioux, and friendly. They offered us a pipe of kinik (the dried bark of the red willow), and jabbered away with their kinsman, who seemed almost more at home with them than with us.

Seeing one of their 'braves' with three fresh scalps at his belt, I asked for the history of them. In Sioux gutturals the story was a long one. Jim's translation amounted to this: The scalps were 'lifted' from two Crows and a Ponkaw. The Crows, it appeared, were the Sioux' natural enemies 'anyhow,' for they occasionally hunted on each other's ranges. But the Ponkaw, whom he would not otherwise have injured, was casually met by him on a horse which the Sioux recognised for a white man's. Upon being questioned how he came by it, the Ponkaw simply replied that it was his own. Whereupon the Sioux called him a liar; and proved it by sending an arrow through his body.

I didn't quite see it. But then, strictly speaking, I am no collector of scalps. To preserve my own, I kept the hair on it as short as a tooth-brush.

Before we left, our hosts fed us on raw buffalo meat. This, cut in slices, and dried crisp in the sun, is excellent. Their lodges were very comfortable, most of them large enough to hold a dozen people. The ground inside was covered with buffalo robes; and the sewn skins, spread tight upon the converging poles, formed a tent stout enough to defy all weathers. In winter the lodge can be entirely closed; and when a fire is kindled in the centre, the smoke escaping at a small hole where the poles join, the snugness is complete.

At the entrance of one of these lodges I watched a squaw and her child prepare a meal. When the fuel was collected, a fat puppy, playing with the child, was seized by the squaw, and knocked on the throat - not head - with a stick. The puppy was then returned, kicking, to the tender mercies of the infant; who exerted its small might to add to the animal's miseries, while the mother fed the fire and filled a kettle for the stew. The puppy, much more alive than dead, was held by the hind leg over the flames as long as the squaw's fingers could stand them. She then let it fall on the embers, where it struggled and squealed horribly, and would have wriggled off, but for the little savage, who took good care to provide for the satisfactory singeing of its playmate.

Considering the length of its lineage, how remarkably hale and well preserved is our own barbarity!

We may now take our last look at the buffaloes, for we shall see them no more. Again I quote my journal:

'JULY 5TH. - Men sulky because they have nothing to eat but rancid ham, and biscuit dust which has been so often soaked that it is mouldy and sour. They are a dainty lot! Samson and I left camp early with the hopes of getting meat. While he was shooting prairie dogs his horse made off, and cost me nearly an hour's riding to catch. Then, accidentally letting go of my mustang, he too escaped; and I had to run him down with the other. Towards evening, spied a small band of buffaloes, which we approached by leading our horses up a hollow. They got our wind, however, and were gone before we were aware of it. They were all young, and so fast, it took a twenty minutes' gallop to come up with them. Samson's horse put his foot in a hole, and the cropper they both got gave the band a long start, as it became a stern chase, and no heading off.

'At length I managed to separate one from the herd by firing my pistol into the "brown," and then devoted my efforts to him alone. Once or twice he turned and glared savagely through his mane. When quite isolated he pulled up short, so did I. We were about sixty yards apart. I flung the reins upon the neck of the mustang, who was too blown to stir, and handling my rifle, waited for the bull to move so that I might see something more than the great shaggy front, which screened his body. But he stood his ground, tossing up the sand with his hoofs. Presently, instead of turning tail, he put his head down, and bellowing with rage, came at me as hard as he could tear. I had but a moment for decision, - to dig spurs into the mustang, or risk the shot. I chose the latter; paused till I was sure of his neck, and fired when he was almost under me. In an instant I was sent flying; and the mustang was on his back with all four legs in the air.

'The bull was probably as much astonished as we were. His charge had carried him about thirty yards, at most, beyond us. There he now stood; facing me, pawing the ground and snorting as before. Badly wounded I knew him to be, - that was the worst of it; especially as my rifle, with its remaining loaded barrel, lay right between us. To hesitate for a second only, was to lose the game. There was no time to think of bruises; I crawled, eyes on him, straight for my weapon: got it - it was already cocked, and the stock unbroken - raised my knee for a rest. We were only twenty yards apart (the shot meant death for one of the two), and just catching a glimpse of his shoulder-blade, I pulled. I could hear the thud of the heavy bullet, and - what was sweeter music - the ugh! of the fatal groan. The beast dropped on his knees, and a gush of blood spurted from his nostrils.

'But the wild devil of a mustang? that was my first thought now. Whenever one dismounted, it was necessary to loosen his long lariat, and let it trail on the ground. Without this there was no chance of catching him. I saw at once what had happened: by the greatest good fortune, at the last moment, he must have made an instinctive start, which probably saved his life, and mine too. The bull's horns had just missed his entrails and my leg, - we were broadside on to the charge, - and had caught him in the thigh, below the hip. There was a big hole, and he was bleeding plentifully. For all that, he wouldn't let me catch him. He could go faster on three legs than I on two.

'It was getting dark, I had not touched food since starting, nor had I wetted my lips. My thirst was now intolerable. The travelling rule, about keeping on, was an ugly incubus. Samson would go his own ways - he had sense enough for that - but how, when, where, was I to quench my thirst? Oh! for the tip of Lazarus' finger - or for choice, a bottle of Bass - to cool my tongue! Then too, whither would the mustang stray in the night if I rested or fell asleep? Again and again I tried to stalk him by the starlight. Twice I got hold of his tail, but he broke away. If I drove him down to the river banks the chance of catching him would be no better, and I should lose the dry ground to rest on.

'It was about as unpleasant a night as I had yet passed. Every now and then I sat down, and dropped off to sleep from sheer exhaustion. Every time this happened I dreamed of sparkling drinks; then woke with a start to a lively sense of the reality, and anxious searches for the mustang.

'Directly the day dawned I drove the animal, now very stiff, straight down for the Platte. He wanted water fully as much as his master; and when we sighted it he needed no more driving. Such a hurry was he in that, in his rush for the river, he got bogged in the muddy swamp at its edge. I seized my chance, and had him fast in a minute. We both plunged into the stream; I, clothes and all, and drank, and drank, and drank.'

That evening I caught up the cavalcade.

How curious it is to look back upon such experiences from a different stage of life's journey! How would it have fared with me had my rifle exploded with the fall? it was knocked out of my hands at full cock. How if the stock had been broken? It had been thrown at least ten yards. How if the horn had entered my thigh instead of the horse's? How if I had fractured a limb, or had been stunned, or the bull had charged again while I was creeping up to him? Any one, or more than one, of these contingencies were more likely to happen than not. But nothing did happen, save - the best.

Not a thought of the kind ever crossed my mind, either at the time or afterwards. Yet I was not a thoughtless man, only an average man. Nine Englishmen out of ten with a love of sport - as most Englishmen are - would have done, and have felt, just as I did. I was bruised and still; but so one is after a run with hounds. I had had many a nastier fall hunting in Derbyshire. The worst that could happen did not happen; but the worst never - well, so rarely does. One might shoot oneself instead of the pigeon, or be caught picking forbidden fruit. Narrow escapes are as good as broad ones. The truth is, when we are young, and active, and healthy, whatever happens, of the pleasant or lucky kind, we accept as a matter of course.

Ah! youth! youth! If we only knew when we were well off, when we were happy, when we possessed all that this world has to give! If we but knew that love is only a matter of course so long as youth and its bounteous train is ours, we might perhaps make the most of it, and give up looking for - something better. But what then? Give up the 'something better'? Give up pursuit, - the effort that makes us strong? 'Give up the sweets of hope'? No! 'tis better as it is, perhaps. The kitten plays with its tail, and the nightingale sings; but they think no more of happiness than the rose-bud of its beauty. May be happiness comes not of too much knowing, or too much thinking either.



CHAPTER XXIII



FORT LARAMIE was a military station and trading post combined. It was a stone building in what they called a 'compound' or open space, enclosed by a palisade. When we arrived there, it was occupied by a troop of mounted riflemen under canvas, outside the compound. The officers lived in the fort; and as we had letters to the Colonel - Somner - and to the Captain - Rhete, they were very kind and very useful to us.

We pitched our camp by the Laramie river, four miles from the fort. Nearer than that there was not a blade of grass. The cavalry horses and military mules needed all there was at hand. Some of the mules we were allowed to buy, or exchange for our own. We accordingly added six fresh ones to our cavalcade, and parted with two horses; which gave us a total of fifteen mules and six horses. Government provisions were not to be had, so that we could not replenish our now impoverished stock. This was a serious matter, as will be seen before long. Nor was the evil lessened by my being laid up with a touch of fever - the effect, no doubt, of those drenches of stagnant water. The regimental doctor was absent. I could not be taken into the fort. And, as we had no tent, and had thrown away almost everything but the clothes we wore, I had to rough it and take my chance. Some relics of our medicine chest, together with a tough constitution, pulled me through. But I was much weakened, and by no means fit for the work before us. Fred did his best to persuade me from going further. He confessed that he was utterly sick of the expedition; that his injured knee prevented him from hunting, or from being of any use in packing and camp work; that the men were a set of ruffians who did just as they chose - they grumbled at the hardships, yet helped themselves to the stores without restraint; that we had the Rocky Mountains yet to cross; after that, the country was unknown. Colonel Somner had strongly advised us to turn back. Forty of his men had tried two months ago to carry despatches to the regiment's headquarters in Oregon. Only five had got through; the rest had been killed and scalped. Finally, that we had something like 1,200 miles to go, and were already in the middle of August. It would be folly, obstinacy, madness, to attempt it. He would stop and hunt where we were, as long as I liked; or he would go back with me. He would hire fresh good men, and buy new horses; and, now that we knew the country, we could get to St. Louis before the end of September, and' - . There was no reasonable answer to be made. I simply told him I had thought it over, and had decided to go on. Like the plucky fellow and staunch friend that he was, he merely shrugged his shoulders, and quietly said, 'Very well. So be it.'

Before leaving Fort Laramie a singular incident occurred, which must seem so improbable, that its narration may be taken for fiction. It was, however, a fact. There was plenty of game near our camping ground; and though the weather was very hot, one of the party usually took the trouble to bring in something to keep the pot supplied. The sage hens, the buffalo or elk meat were handed over to Jacob, who made a stew with bacon and rice, enough for the evening meal and the morrow's breakfast. After supper, when everyone had filled his stomach, the large kettle, covered with its lid, was taken off the fire, and this allowed to burn itself out.

For four or five mornings running the kettle was found nearly empty, and all hands had to put up with a cup of coffee and mouldy biscuit dust. There was a good deal of unparliamentary language. Everyone accused everyone else of filthy greediness. It was disgusting that after eating all he could, a man hadn't the decency to wait till the morning. The pot had been full for supper, and, as every man could see, it was never half emptied - enough was always left for breakfast. A resolution was accordingly passed that each should take his turn of an hour's watch at night, till the glutton was caught in the act.

My hour happened to be from 11 to 12 P.M. I strongly suspected the thief to be an Indian, and loaded my big pistol with slugs on the chance. It was a clear moonlight night. I propped myself comfortably with a bag of hams; and concealed myself as well as I could in a bush of artemisia, which was very thick all round. I had not long been on the look-out when a large grey wolf prowled slowly out of the bushes. The night was bright as day; but every one of the men was sound asleep in a circle round the remains of the camp fire. The wolf passed between them, hesitating as it almost touched a covering blanket. Step by step it crept up to the kettle, took the handle of the lid between its jaws, lifted it off, placed it noiselessly on the ground, and devoured the savoury stew.

I could not fire, because of the men. I dared not move, lest I should disturb the robber. I was even afraid the click of cocking the pistol would startle him and prevent my getting a quiet shot. But patience was rewarded. When satiated, the brute retired as stealthily as he had advanced; and as he passed within seven or eight yards of me I let him have it. Great was my disappointment to see him scamper off. How was it possible I could have missed him? I must have fired over his back. The men jumped to their feet and clutched their rifles; but, though astonished at my story, were soon at rest again. After this the kettle was never robbed. Four days later we were annoyed with such a stench that it was a question of shifting our quarters. In hunting for the nuisance amongst the thicket of wormwood, the dead wolf was discovered not twenty yards from our centre.

The reader would not thank me for an account of the monotonous drudgery, the hardships, the quarrellings, which grew worse from day to day after we left Fort Laramie. Fred and I were about the only two who were on speaking terms; we clung to each other, as a sort of forlorn security against coming disasters. Gradually it was dawning on me that, under the existing circumstances, the fulfilment of my hopes would be (as Fred had predicted) an impossibility; and that to persist in the attempt to realise them was to court destruction. As yet, I said nothing of this to him. Perhaps I was ashamed to. Perhaps I secretly acknowledged to myself that he had been wiser than I, and that my stubbornness was responsible for the life itself of every one of the party.

Doubtless thoughts akin to these must often have haunted the mind of my companion; but he never murmured; only uttered a hasty objurgation when troubles reached a climax, and invariably ended with a burst of cheery laughter which only the sulkiest could resist. It was after a day of severe trials he proposed that we should go off by ourselves for a couple of nights in search of game, of which we were much in need. The men were easily persuaded to halt and rest. Samson had become a sort of nonentity. Dysentery had terribly reduced his strength, and with it such intelligence as he could boast of. We started at daybreak, right glad to be alone together and away from the penal servitude to which we were condemned. We made for the Sweetwater, not very far from the foot of the South Pass, where antelope and black- tailed deer abounded. We failed, however, to get near them - stalk after stalk miscarried.

Disappointed and tired, we were looking out for some snug little hollow where we could light a fire without its being seen by the Indians, when, just as we found what we wanted, an antelope trotted up to a brow to inspect us. I had a fairly good shot at him and missed. This disheartened us both. Meat was the one thing we now sorely needed to save the rapidly diminishing supply of hams. Fred said nothing, but I saw by his look how this trifling accident helped to depress him. I was ready to cry with vexation. My rifle was my pride, the stag of my life - my ALTER EGO. It was never out of my hands; every day I practised at prairie dogs, at sage hens, at a mark even if there was no game. A few days before we got to Laramie I had killed, right and left, two wild ducks, the second on the wing; and now, when so much depended on it, I could not hit a thing as big as a donkey. The fact is, I was the worse for illness. I had constant returns of fever, with bad shivering fits, which did not improve the steadiness of one's hand. However, we managed to get a supper. While we were examining the spot where the antelope had stood, a leveret jumped up, and I knocked him over with my remaining barrel. We fried him in the one tin plate we had brought with us, and thought it the most delicious dish we had had for weeks.

As we lay side by side, smoke curling peacefully from our pipes, we chatted far into the night, of other days - of Cambridge, of our college friends, of London, of the opera, of balls, of women - the last a fruitful subject - and of the future. I was vastly amused at his sudden outburst as some start of one of the horses picketed close to us reminded us of the actual present. 'If ever I get out of this d-d mess,' he exclaimed, 'I'll never go anywhere without my own French cook.' He kept his word, to the end of his life, I believe.

It was a delightful repose, a complete forgetting, for a night at any rate, of all impending care. Each was cheered and strengthened for the work to come. The spirit of enterprise, the love of adventure restored for the moment, believed itself a match for come what would. The very animals seemed invigorated by the rest and the abundance of rich grass spreading as far as we could see. The morning was bright and cool. A delicious bath in the Sweetwater, a breakfast on fried ham and coffee, and once more in our saddles on the way back to camp, we felt (or fancied that we felt) prepared for anything.

That is just what we were not. Samson and the men, meeting with no game where we had left them, had moved on that afternoon in search of better hunting grounds. The result was that when we overtook them, we found five mules up to their necks in a muddy creek. The packs were sunk to the bottom, and the animals nearly drowned or strangled. Fred and I rushed to the rescue. At once we cut the ropes which tied them together; and, setting the men to pull at tails or heads, succeeded at last in extricating them.

Our new-born vigour was nipped in the bud. We were all drenched to the skin. Two packs containing the miserable remains of our wardrobe, Fred's and mine, were lost. The catastrophe produced a good deal of bad language and bad blood. Translated into English it came to this: 'They had trusted to us, taking it for granted we knew what we were about. What business had we to "boss" the party if we were as ignorant as the mules? We had guaranteed to lead them through to California [!] and had brought them into this "almighty fix" to slave like niggers and to starve.' There was just truth enough in the Jeremiad to make it sting. It would not have been prudent, nay, not very safe, to return curse for curse. But the breaking point was reached at last. That night I, for one, had not much sleep. I was soaked from head to foot, and had not a dry rag for a change. Alternate fits of fever and rigor would alone have kept me awake; but renewed ponderings upon the situation and confirmed convictions of the peremptory necessity of breaking up the party, forced me to the conclusion that this was the right, the only, course to adopt.

For another twenty-four hours I brooded over my plans. Two main difficulties confronted me: the announcement to the men, who might mutiny; and the parting with Fred, which I dreaded far the most of the two. Would he not think it treacherous to cast him off after the sacrifices he had made for me? Implicitly we were as good as pledged to stand by each other to the last gasp. Was it not mean and dastardly to run away from the battle because it was dangerous to fight it out? Had friendship no claims superior to personal safety? Was not my decision prompted by sheer selfishness? Could anything be said in its defence?

Yes; sentiment must yield to reason. To go on was certain death for all. It was not too late to return, for those who wished it. And when I had demonstrated, as I could easily do, the impossibility of continuance, each one could decide for himself. The men were as reckless as they were ignorant. However they might execrate us, we were still their natural leaders: their blame, indeed, implied they felt it. No sentimental argument could obscure this truth, and this conviction was decisive.

The next night and the day after were, from a moral point of view, the most trying perhaps, of the whole journey. We had halted on a wide, open plain. Due west of us in the far distance rose the snowy peaks of the mountains. And the prairie on that side terminated in bluffs, rising gradually to higher spurs of the range. When the packs were thrown off, and the men had turned, as usual, to help themselves to supper, I drew Fred aside and imparted my resolution to him. He listened to it calmly - much more so than I had expected. Yet it was easy to see by his unusual seriousness that he fully weighed the gravity of the purpose. All he said at the time was, 'Let us talk it over after the men are asleep.'

We did so. We placed our saddles side by side - they were our regular pillows - and, covering ourselves with the same blanket, well out of ear-shot, discussed the proposition from every practical aspect. He now combated my scheme, as I always supposed he would, by laying stress upon our bond of friendship. This was met on my part by the arguments already set forth. He then proposed an amendment, which almost upset my decision. 'It is true,' he admitted, 'that we cannot get through as we are going now; the provisions will not hold out another month, and it is useless to attempt to control the men. But there are two ways out of the difficulty: we can reach Salt Lake City and winter there; or, if you are bent on going to California, why shouldn't we take Jacob and Nelson (the Canadian), pay off the rest of the brutes, and travel together, - us four?'

Whether 'das ewig Wirkende' that shapes our ends be beneficent or malignant is not easy to tell, till after the event. Certain it is that sometimes we seem impelled by latent forces stronger than ourselves - if by self be meant one's will. We cannot give a reason for all we do; the infinite chain of cause and effect, which has had no beginning and will have no end, is part of the reckoning, - with this, finite minds can never grapple.

It was destined (my stubbornness was none of my making) that I should remain obdurate. Fred's last resource was an attempt to persuade me (he really believed: I, too, thought it likely) that the men would show fight, annex beasts and provisions, and leave us to shift for ourselves. There were six of them, armed as we were, to us three, or rather us two, for Samson was a negligible quantity. 'We shall see,' said I; and by degrees we dropped asleep.



CHAPTER XXIV



BEFORE the first streak of dawn I was up and off to hunt for the horses and mules, which were now allowed to roam in search of feed. On my return, the men were afoot, taking it easy as usual. Some artemisia bushes were ablaze for the morning's coffee. No one but Fred had a suspicion of the coming crisis. I waited till each one had lighted his pipe; then quietly requested the lot to gather the provision packs together, as it was desirable to take stock, and make some estimate of demand and supply. Nothing loth, the men obeyed. 'Now,' said I, 'turn all the hams out of their bags, and let us see how long they will last.' When done: 'What!' I exclaimed, with well - feigned dismay, 'that's not all, surely? There are not enough here to last a fortnight. Where are the rest? No more? Why, we shall starve.' The men's faces fell; but never a murmur, nor a sound. 'Turn out the biscuit bags. Here, spread these empty ham sacks, and pour the biscuit on to them. Don't lose any of the dust. We shall want every crumb, mouldy or not.' The gloomy faces grew gloomier. What's to be done?' Silence. 'The first thing, as I think all will agree, is to divide what is left into nine equal shares - that's our number now - and let each one take his ninth part, to do what he likes with. You yourselves shall portion out the shares, and then draw lots for choice.'

This presentation of the inevitable compelled submission. The whole, amounting to twelve light mule packs (it had been fifteen fairly heavy ones after our purchases at Fort Laramie), was still a goodly bulk to look at. The nine peddling dividends, when seen singly, were not quite what the shareholders had anticipated.

Why were they still silent? Why did they not rebel, and visit their wrath upon the directors? Because they knew in their hearts that we had again and again predicted the catastrophe. They knew we had warned them scores and scores of times of the consequences of their wilful and reckless improvidence. They were stupefied, aghast, at the ruin they had brought upon themselves. To turn upon us, to murder us, and divide our three portions between them, would have been suicidal. In the first place, our situation was as desperate as theirs. We should fight for our lives; and it was not certain, in fact it was improbable, that either Jacob or William would side against us. Without our aid - they had not a compass among them - they were helpless. The instinct of self-preservation bade them trust to our good will.

So far, then, the game was won. Almost humbly they asked what we advised them to do. The answer was prompt and decisive: 'Get back to Fort Laramie as fast as you can.' 'But how? Were they to walk? They couldn't carry their packs.' 'Certainly not; we were English gentlemen, and would behave as such. Each man should have his own mule; each, into the bargain, should receive his pay according to agreement.' They were agreeably surprised. I then very strongly counselled them not to travel together. Past experience proved how dangerous this must be. To avoid the temptation, even the chance, of this happening, the surest and safest plan would be for each party to start separately, and not leave till the last was out of sight. For my part I had resolved to go alone.

It was a melancholy day for everyone. And to fill the cup of wretchedness to overflowing, the rain, beginning with a drizzle, ended with a downpour. Consultations took place between men who had not spoken to one another for weeks. Fred offered to go on, at all events to Salt Lake City, if Nelson the Canadian and Jacob would go with him. Both eagerly closed with the offer. They would be so much nearer to the 'diggings,' and were, moreover, fond of their leader. Louis would go back to Fort Laramie. Potter and Morris would cross the mountains, and strike south for the Mormon city if their provisions and mules threatened to give out. William would try his luck alone in the same way. And there remained no one but Samson, undecided and unprovided for. The strong weak man sat on the ground in the steady rain, smoking pipe after pipe; watching first the preparations, then the departures, one after the other, at intervals of an hour or so. First the singles, then the pair; then, late in the afternoon, Fred and his two henchmen.

It is needless to depict our separation. I do not think either expected ever to see the other again. Yet we parted after the manner of trueborn Britons, as if we should meet again in a day or two. 'Well, good-bye, old fellow. Good luck. What a beastly day, isn't it?' But emotions are only partially suppressed by subduing their expression. The hearts of both were full.

I watched the gradual disappearance of my dear friend, and thought with a sigh of my loss in Jacob and Nelson, the two best men of the band. It was a comfort to reflect that they had joined Fred. Jacob especially was full of resource; Nelson of energy and determination. And the courage and cool judgment of Fred, and his presence of mind in emergencies, were all pledges for the safety of the trio.

As they vanished behind a distant bluff, I turned to the sodden wreck of the deserted camp, and began actively to pack my mules. Samson seemed paralysed by imbecility.

'What had I better do?' he presently asked, gazing with dull eyes at his two mules and two horses.

'I don't care what you do. It is nothing to me. You had better pack your mules before it is dark, or you may lose them.'

'I may as well go with you, I think. I don't care much about going back to Laramie.'

He looked miserable. I was so. I had held out under a long and heavy strain. Parting with Fred had, for the moment, staggered my resolution. I was sick at heart. The thought of packing two mules twice a day, single-handed, weakened as I was by illness, appalled me. And though ashamed of the perversity which had led me to fling away the better and accept the worse, I yielded.

'Very well then. Make haste. Get your traps together. I'll look after the horses.'

It took more than an hour before the four mules were ready. Like a fool, I left Samson to tie the led horses in a string, while I did the same with the mules. He started, leading the horses. I followed with the mule train some minutes later. Our troubles soon began. The two spare horses were nearly as wild as the mules. I had not got far when I discerned through the rain a kicking and plunging and general entanglement of the lot ahead of me. Samson had fastened the horses together with slip knots; and they were all doing their best to strangle one another and themselves. To leave the mules was dangerous, yet two men were required to release the maddened horses. At last the labour was accomplished; and once more the van pushed on with distinct instructions as to the line of march, it being now nearly dark. The mules had naturally vanished in the gloom; and by the time I was again in my saddle, Samson was - I knew not where. On and on I travelled, far into the night. But failing to overtake my companion, and taking for granted that he had missed his way, I halted when I reached a stream, threw off the packs, let the animals loose, rolled myself in my blanket, and shut my eyes upon a trying day.

Nothing happens but the unexpected. Daylight woke me. Samson, still in his rugs, was but a couple of hundred yards further up the stream. In the afternoon of the third day we fell in with William. He had cut himself a long willow wand and was fishing for trout, of which he had caught several in the upper reaches of the Sweetwater. He threw down his rod, hastened to welcome our arrival, and at once begged leave to join us. He was already sick of solitude. He had come across Potter and Morris, who had left him that morning. They had been visited by wolves in the night, (I too had been awakened by their howlings,) and poor William did not relish the thought of the mountains alone, with his one little white mule - which he called 'Cream.' He promised to do his utmost to help with the packing, and 'not cost us a cent.' I did not tell him how my heart yearned towards him, and how miserably my courage had oozed away since we parted, but made a favour of his request, and granted it. The gain, so long as it lasted, was incalculable.

The summit of the South Pass is between 8000 and 9000 feet above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The Pass itself is many miles broad, undulating on the surface, but not abruptly. The peaks of the Wind River Chain, immediately to the north, are covered with snow; and as we gradually got into the misty atmosphere we felt the cold severely. The lariats - made of raw hide - became rods of ice; and the poor animals, whose backs were masses of festering raws, suffered terribly from exposure. It was interesting to come upon proofs of the 'divide' within a mile of the most elevated point in the pass. From the Hudson to this spot, all waters had flowed eastward; now suddenly every little rivulet was making for the Pacific.

The descent is as gradual as the rise. On the first day of it we lost two animals, a mule and Samson's spare horse. The latter, never equal to the heavy weight of its owner, could go no further; and the dreadful state of the mule's back rendered packing a brutality. Morris and Potter, who passed us a few days later, told us they had seen the horse dead, and partially eaten by wolves; the mule they had shot to put it out of its misery.

In due course we reached Fort Hall, a trading post of the Hudson's Bay Company, some 200 miles to the north-west of the South Pass. Sir George Simpson, Chairman of that Company, had given me letters, which ensured the assistance of its servants. It was indeed a rest and a luxury to spend a couple of idle days here, and revive one's dim recollection of fresh eggs and milk. But we were already in September. Our animals were in a deplorable condition; and with the exception of a little flour, a small supply of dried meat, and a horse for Samson, Mr. Grant, the trader, had nothing to sell us. He told us, moreover, that before we reached Fort Boise, their next station, 300 miles further on, we had to traverse a great rocky desert, where we might travel four- and-twenty hours after leaving water, before we met with it again. There was nothing for it but to press onwards. It was too late now to cross the Sierra Nevada range, which lay between us and California; and with the miserable equipment left to us, it was all we could hope to do to reach Oregon before the passage of the Blue Mountains was blocked by the winter's snow.