Tracks of a Rolling Stone Part 14

'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 fis.h.i.+ng for trout, of which he had caught several in the upper reaches of the Sweet.w.a.ter. 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 Pa.s.s is between 8000 and 9000 feet above the level of the Gulf of Mexico. The Pa.s.s 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 ma.s.ses 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 pa.s.s. 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 pa.s.sed 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 Pa.s.s. Sir George Simpson, Chairman of that Company, had given me letters, which ensured the a.s.sistance 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 pa.s.sage of the Blue Mountains was blocked by the winter's snow.

Mr. Grant's warnings were verified to the foot of the letter. Great were our sufferings, and almost worse were those of the poor animals, from the want of water. Then, too, unlike the desert of Sahara, where the pebbly sand affords a solid footing, the soil here is the calcined powder of volcanic debris, so fine that every step in it is up to one's ankles; while clouds of it rose, choking the nostrils, and covering one from head to heel. Here is a pa.s.sage from my journal:

'Road rocky in places, but generally deep in the finest floury sand. A strong and biting wind blew dead in our teeth, smothering us in dust, which filled every pore. William presented such a ludicrous appearance that Samson and I went into fits over it. An old felt hat, fastened on by a red cotton handkerchief, tied under his chin, partly hid his lantern-jawed visage; this, naturally of a dolorous cast, was screwed into wrinkled contortions by its efforts to resist the piercing gale.

The dust, as white as flour, had settled thick upon him, the extremity of his nasal organ being the only rosy spot left; its pearly drops lodged upon a chin almost as prominent. His shoulders were shrugged to a level with his head, and his long legs dangled from the back of little "Cream"

till they nearly touched the ground.'

We laughed at him, it is true, but he was so good-natured, so patient, so simple-minded, and, now and then, when he and I were alone, so sentimental and confidential about Mary, and the fortune he meant to bring her back, that I had a sort of maternal liking for him; and even a vicarious affection for Mary herself, the colour of whose eyes and hair-nay, whose weight avoirdupois-I was now accurately acquainted with.

No, the honest fellow had not quite the grit of a 'Leatherstocking.'

One night, when we had halted after dark, he went down to a gully (we were not then in the desert) to look for water for our tea. Samson, armed with the hatchet, was chopping wood. I stayed to arrange the packs, and spread the blankets. Suddenly I heard a voice from the bottom of the ravine, crying out, 'Bring the guns for G.o.d's sake! Make haste!

Bring the guns!' I rushed about in the dark, tumbling over the saddles, but could nowhere lay my hands on a rifle. Still the cry was for 'Guns!'

My own, a muzzle-loader, was discharged, but a rifle none the less.

s.n.a.t.c.hing up this, and one of my pistols, which, by the way, had fallen into the river a few hours before, I shouted for Samson, and ran headlong to the rescue. Before I got to the bottom of the hill I heard groans, which sounded like the last of poor William. I holloaed to know where he was, and was answered in a voice that discovered nothing worse than terror.

It appeared that he had met a grizzly bear drinking at the very spot where he was about to fill his can; that he had bolted, and the bear had pursued him; but that he had 'cobbled the bar with rocks,' had hit it in the eye, or nose, he was not sure which, and thus narrowly escaped with his life. I could not help laughing at his story, though an examination of the place next morning so far verified it, that his footprints and the bear's were clearly intermingled on the muddy sh.o.r.e of the stream. To make up for his fright, he was extremely courageous when restored by tea and a pipe. 'If we would follow the trail with him, he'd go right slick in for her anyhow. If his rifle didn't shoot plum, he'd a bowie as 'ud rise her hide, and no mistake. He'd be darn'd if he didn't make meat of that bar in the morning.'

CHAPTER XXV

WE were now steering by compa.s.s. Our course was nearly north-west. This we kept, as well as the formation of the country and the watercourses would permit. After striking the great Shoshone, or Snake River, which eventually becomes the Columbia, we had to follow its banks in a southerly direction. These are often supported by basaltic columns several hundred feet in height. Where that was the case, though close to water, we suffered most from want of it. And cold as were the nights-it was the middle of September-the sun was intensely hot. Every day, every mile, we were hoping for a change-not merely for access to the water, but that we might again pursue our westerly course. The scenery was sometimes very striking. The river hereabouts varies from one hundred to nearly three hundred yards in width; sometimes rus.h.i.+ng through narrow gorges, sometimes descending in continuous rapids, sometimes spread out in smooth shallow reaches. It was for one of these that we were in search, for only at such points was the river pa.s.sable.

It was night-time when we came to one of the great falls. We were able here to get at water; and having halted through the day, on account of the heat, kept on while our animals were refreshed. We had to ascend the banks again, and wind along the brink of the precipice. From this the view was magnificent. The moon shone brightly upon the dancing waves hundreds of feet below us, and upon the rapids which extended as far as we could see. The deep shade of the high cliffs contrasted in its impenetrable darkness with the brilliancy of the silvery foam. The vast plain which we overlooked, fading in the soft light, rose gradually into a low range of distant hills. The incessant roar of the rapids, and the desert stillness of all else around, though they lulled one's senses, yet awed one with a feeling of insignificance and impotence in the presence of such ruthless force, amid such serene and cold indifference.

Unbidden, the consciousness was there, that for some of us the coming struggle with those mighty waters was fraught with life or death.

At last we came upon a broad stretch of the river which seemed to offer the possibilities we sought for. Rather late in the afternoon we decided to cross here, notwithstanding William's strong reluctance to make the venture. Part of his unwillingness was, I knew, due to apprehension, part to his love of fis.h.i.+ng. Ever since we came down upon the Snake River we had seen quant.i.ties of salmon. He persisted in the belief that they were to be caught with the rod. The day before, all three of us had waded into the river, and flogged it patiently for a couple of hours, while heavy fish were tumbling about above and below us. We caught plenty of trout, but never p.r.i.c.ked a salmon. Here the broad reach was alive with them, and William begged hard to stop for the afternoon and pursue the gentle sport. It was not to be.

The tactics were as usual. Samson led the way, holding the lariat to which the two spare horses were attached. In crossing streams the mules would always follow the horses. They were accordingly let loose, and left to do so. William and I brought up the rear, driving before us any mule that lagged. My journal records the sequel:

'At about equal distances from each other and the main land were two small islands. The first of these we reached without trouble. The second was also gained; but the packs were wetted, the current being exceedingly rapid. The s.p.a.ce remaining to be forded was at least two hundred yards; and the stream so strong that I was obliged to turn my mare's head up it to prevent her being carried off her legs. While thus resting, William with difficulty,-the water being over his knees,-sidled up to me. He wanted to know if I still meant to cross. For all answer, I laughed at him. In truth I had not the smallest misgiving. Strong as was the current, the smooth rocky bottom gave a good foothold to the animals; and, judging by the great width of the river, there was no reason to suppose that its shallowness would not continue.

'We paused for a few minutes to observe Samson, who was now within forty or fifty yards of the opposite bank; and, as I concluded, past all danger. Suddenly, to the astonishment of both of us, he and his horse and the led animals disappeared under water; the next instant they were struggling and swimming for the bank. Tied together as they were, there was a deal of snorting and plunging; and Samson (with his habitual ingenuity) had fastened the lariat either to himself or his saddle; so that he was several times dragged under before they all got to the bank in safety.

'These events were watched by William with intense anxiety. With a pitiable look of terror he a.s.sured me he could not swim a yard; it was useless for him to try to cross; he would turn back, and find his way to Salt Lake City.

'"But," I remonstrated, "if you turn back, you will certainly starve; everything we possess is over there with the mules; your blanket, even your rifle, are with the packs. It is impossible to get the mules back again. Give little Cream her head, sit still in your saddle, and she'll carry you through that bit of deep water with ease."

'"I can live by fis.h.i.+ng," he plaintively answered. He still held his long rod, and the incongruity of it added to the pathos of his despair.

I reminded him of a bad river we had before crossed, and how his mule had swum it safely with him on her back. I promised to keep close to him, and help him if need were, though I was confident if he left everything to Cream there would be no danger. "Well, if he must, he must. But, if anything happened to him, would I write and tell Mary? I knew her address; leastways, if I didn't, it was in his bag on the brown mule.

And tell her I done my best."

'The water was so clear one could see every crack in the rock beneath.

Fortunately, I took the precaution to strip to my s.h.i.+rt; fastened everything, even my socks, to the saddle; then advanced cautiously ahead of William to the brink of the chasm. We were, in fact, upon the edge of a precipice. One could see to an inch where the gulf began. As my mare stepped into it I slipped off my saddle; when she rose I laid hold of her tail, and in two or three minutes should have been safe ash.o.r.e.

'Looking back to see how it had fared with William, I at once perceived his danger. He had clasped his mule tightly round the neck with his arms, and round the body with his long legs. She was plunging violently to get rid of her load. Already the pair were forty or fifty yards below me. Instantly I turned and swam to his a.s.sistance. The struggles of the mule rendered it dangerous to get at him. When I did so he was partially dazed; his hold was relaxed. Dragging him away from the hoofs of the animal, I begged him to put his hands on my shoulders or hips. He was past any effort of the kind. I do not think he heard me even. He seemed hardly conscious of anything. His long wet hair plastered over the face concealed his features. Beyond stretching out his arms, like an infant imploring help, he made no effort to save himself.

'I seized him firmly by the collar,-unfortunately, with my right hand, leaving only my left to stem the torrent. But how to keep his face out of the water? At every stroke I was losing strength; we were being swept away, for him, to hopeless death. At length I touched bottom, got both hands under his head, and held it above the surface. He still breathed, still puffed the hair from his lips. There was still a hope, if I could but maintain my footing. But, alas! each instant I was losing ground-each instant I was driven back, foot by foot, towards the gulf.

The water, at first only up to my chest, was now up to my shoulders, now up to my neck. My strength was gone. My arms ached till they could bear no more. They sank involuntarily. William glided from my hands. He fell like lead till his back lay stretched upon the rock. His arms were spread out, so that his body formed a cross. I paddled above it in the clear, smooth water, gazing at his familiar face, till two or three large bubbles burst upon the surface; then, hardly knowing what I was doing, floated mechanically from the trapper's grave.

'My turn was now to come. At first, the right, or western, bank being within sixty or seventy yards, being also my proper goal, I struck out for it with mere eagerness to land as soon as possible. The attempt proved unsuccessful. Very well, then, I would take it quietly-not try to cross direct, but swim on gently, keeping my head that way. By degrees I got within twenty yards of the bank, was counting joyfully on the rest which a few more strokes would bring me, when-wsh-came a current, and swept me right into the middle of the stream again.

'I began to be alarmed. I must get out of this somehow or another; better on the wrong side than not at all. So I let myself go, and made for the sh.o.r.e we had started from.

'Same fate. When well over to the left bank I was carried out again.

What! was I too to be drowned? It began to look like it. I was getting cold, numb, exhausted. And-listen! What is that distant sound? Rapids?

Yes, rapids. My flannel s.h.i.+rt stuck to, and impeded me; I would have it off. I got it over my head, but hadn't unb.u.t.toned the studs-it stuck, partly over my head. I tugged to tear it off. Got a drop of water into my windpipe; was choking; tugged till I got the s.h.i.+rt right again. Then tried floating on my back-to cough and get my breath. Heard the rapids much louder. It was getting dark now. The sun was setting in glorious red and gold. I noticed this, noticed the salmon rolling like porpoises around me, and thought of William with his rod. Strangest of all, for I had not noticed her before, little Cream was still struggling for dear life not a hundred yards below me; sometimes sinking, sometimes reappearing, but on her way to join her master, as surely as I thought that I was.

'In my distress, the predominant thought was the loneliness of my fate, the loneliness of my body after death. There was not a living thing to see me die.

'For the first time I felt, not fear, but loss of hope. I could only beat the water with feeble and futile splashes. I was completely at its mercy. And-as we all then do-I prayed-prayed for strength, prayed that I might be spared. But my strength was gone. My legs dropped powerless in the water. I could but just keep my nose or mouth above it. My legs sank, and my feet-touched bottom.

'In an instant, as if from an electric shock, a flush of energy suffused my brain and limbs. I stood upright in an almost tranquil pool. An eddy had lodged me on a sandbank. Between it and the land was scarcely twenty yards. Through this gap the stream ran strong as ever. I did not want to rest; I did not pause to think. In I dashed; and a single spurt carried me to the sh.o.r.e. I fell on my knees, and with a grateful heart poured out grat.i.tude for my deliverance.

'I was on the wrong side, the side from which we started. The river was yet to cross. I had not tasted food since our early meal. How long I had been swimming I know not, but it was dark now, starlight at least.

The nights were bitterly cold, and my only clothing a wet flannel s.h.i.+rt.

And oh! the craving for companions.h.i.+p, someone to talk to-even Samson.

This was a stronger need than warmth, or food, or clothing; so strong that it impelled me to try again.

'The poor sandy soil grew nothing but briars and small cactuses. In the dark I kept treading on the little p.r.i.c.kly plants, but I hurried on till I came in sight of Samson's fire. I could see his huge form as it intercepted the comfortable blaze. I pictured him making his tea, broiling some of William's trout, and spreading his things before the fire to dry. I could see the animals moving around the glow. It was my home. How I yearned for it! How should I reach it, if ever? In this frame of mind the attempt was irresistible. I started as near as I could from opposite the two islands. As on horseback, I got pretty easily to the first island. Beyond this I was taken off my feet by the stream; and only with difficulty did I once more regain the land.

My next object was to communicate with Samson. By putting both hands to my mouth and shouting with all my force I made him hear. I could see him get up and come to the water's edge; though he could not see me, his stentorian voice reached me plainly. His first words were:

'"Is that you, William? c.o.ke is drowned."

'I corrected him, and thus replied:

'"Do you remember a bend near some willows, where you wanted to cross yesterday?"

'"Yes."