One Day Of Snow, Mist, And
Darkness Was Rather Depressing, And Yesterday A Hurricane Began
About Five In The Morning, And The Whole Park Was One Swirl Of
Drifting Snow, Like Stinging Wood Smoke.
My bed and room were
white, and the frost was so intense that water brought in a
kettle hot from the fire froze as I poured it into the basin.
Then the snow ceased, and a fierce wind blew most of it out of
the park, lifting it from the mountains in such clouds as to make
Long's Peak look like a smoking volcano. To-day the sky has
resumed its delicious blue, and the park its unrivalled beauty.
I have cleaned all the windows, which, ever since I have been
here, I supposed were of discolored glass, so opaque and dirty
they were; and when the men came home from fishing they found a
cheerful new world. We had a great deal of sacred music and
singing on Sunday. Mr. Buchan asked me if I knew a tune called
"America," and began the grand roll of our National Anthem to the
words:
My country, 'tis of thee,
Sweet land of liberty, etc.
December 1.
I was to have started for Canyon to-day, but was awoke by snow as
stinging as pinpoints beating on my hand. We all got up early,
but it did not improve until nearly noon. In the afternoon Lyman
and I rode to Mr. Nugent's cabin. I wanted him to read and
correct my letter to you, giving the account of our ascent of
Long's Peak, but he said he could not, and insisted on our
going in for which young Lyman was more anxious than I was, as
Mr. Kavan had seen "Jim" in the morning, and departed from his
usual reticence so far as to say, "There's something wrong with
that man; he'll either shoot himself or somebody else." However,
the "ugly fit" had passed off, and he was so very pleasant and
courteous that we remained the whole afternoon. Lyman's one
thought was that he could make capital out of the interview, and
write an account of the celebrated desperado for a Western paper.
The interior of the den was frightful, yet among his black and
hideous surroundings the grace of his manner and the genius of
his conversation were only more apparent. I read my letter
aloud - or rather "The Ascent of Long's Peak," which I have
written for Out West - and was sincerely interested with the taste
and acumen of his criticisms on the style. He is a true child of
nature; his eye brightened and his whole face became radiant, and
at last tears rolled down his cheek when I read the account of
the glory of the sunrise. Then he read us a very able paper on
Spiritualism which he was writing. The den was dense with smoke,
and very dark, littered with hay, old blankets, skins, bones,
tins, logs, powder flasks, magazines, old books, old moccasins,
horseshoes, and relics of all kinds. He had no better seat to
offer me than a log, but offered it with a graceful
unconsciousness that it was anything less luxurious than an easy
chair. Two valuable rifles and a Sharp's revolver hung on the
wall, and the sash and badge of a scout. I could not help
looking at "Jim" as he stood talking to me. He goes mad with
drink at times, swears fearfully, has an ungovernable temper. He
has formerly led a desperate life, and is at times even now
undoubtedly a ruffian. There is hardly a fireside in Colorado
where fearful stories of him as an Indian fighter are not told;
mothers frighten their naughty children by telling them that
"Mountain Jim" will get them, and doubtless his faults are
glaring, but he is undoubtedly fascinating, and enjoys a
popularity or notoriety which no other person has. He offered to
be my guide to the Plains when I go away. Lyman asked me if I
should not be afraid of being murdered, but one could not be
safer than with him I have often been told.
The cold was truly awful. I had caught a chill in the morning
from putting on my clothes before they were dry, and the warmth
of the smoky den was most agreeable; but we had a fearful ride
back in the dusk, a gale nearly blowing us off our horses,
drifting snow nearly blinding us, and the mercury below zero. I
felt as if I were going to be laid up with a severe cold, but the
men suggested a trapper's remedy - a tumbler of hot water, with a
pinch of cayenne pepper in it - which proved a very rapid cure.
They kindly say that if the snow detains me here they also will
remain. They tell me that they were horrified when I arrived, as
they thought that they could not make me comfortable, and that I
had never been used to do anything for myself, and then we
complimented each other all round. To-morrow, weather
permitting, I set off for a ride of 100 miles, and my next letter
will be my last from the Rocky Mountains.
I. L. B.
Letter XVI
A harmonious home - Intense cold - A purple sun - A grim jest - A
perilous ride - Frozen eyelids - Longmount - The pathless
prairie - Hardships of emigrant life - A trapper's advice - The
Little Thompson - Evans and "Jim."
DR. HUGHES'S, LOWER CANYON, COLORADO, December 4.
Once again here, in refined and cultured society, with harmonious
voices about me, and dear, sweet, loving children whose winning
ways make this cabin a true English home. "England, with all thy
faults, I love thee still!" I can truly say,
Where'er I roam, whatever realms I see.
My heart, untraveled, fondly turns to thee.
If it swerved a little in the Sandwich Islands, it is true to the
Pole now! Surely one advantage of traveling is that, while it
removes much prejudice against foreigners and their customs, it
intensifies tenfold one's appreciation of the good at home, and,
above all, of the quietness and purity of English domestic life.
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