Closer And Closer The Rocks Gathered Round Us, Growing Taller And
Steeper, And Pressing More And More Upon Our Path.
We entered at
length a defile which I never had seen rivaled.
The mountain was
cracked from top to bottom, and we were creeping along the bottom of
the fissure, in dampness and gloom, with the clink of hoofs on the
loose shingly rocks, and the hoarse murmuring of a petulant brook
which kept us company. Sometimes the water, foaming among the
stones, overspread the whole narrow passage; sometimes, withdrawing
to one side, it gave us room to pass dry-shod. Looking up, we could
see a narrow ribbon of bright blue sky between the dark edges of the
opposing cliffs. This did not last long. The passage soon widened,
and sunbeams found their way down, flashing upon the black waters.
The defile would spread out to many rods in width; bushes, trees, and
flowers would spring by the side of the brook; the cliffs would be
feathered with shrubbery, that clung in every crevice, and fringed
with trees, that grew along their sunny edges. Then we would be
moving again in the darkness. The passage seemed about four miles
long, and before we reached the end of it, the unshod hoofs of our
animals were lamentably broken, and their legs cut by the sharp
stones. Issuing from the mountain we found another plain. All
around it stood a circle of lofty precipices, that seemed the
impersonation of silence and solitude. Here again the Indians had
encamped, as well they might, after passing with their women,
children and horses through the gulf behind us. In one day we had
made a journey which had cost them three to accomplish.
The only outlet to this amphitheater lay over a hill some two hundred
feet high, up which we moved with difficulty. Looking from the top,
we saw that at last we were free of the mountains. The prairie
spread before us, but so wild and broken that the view was everywhere
obstructed. Far on our left one tall hill swelled up against the
sky, on the smooth, pale green surface of which four slowly moving
black specks were discernible. They were evidently buffalo, and we
hailed the sight as a good augury; for where the buffalo were, there
too the Indians would probably be found. We hoped on that very night
to reach the village. We were anxious to do so for a double reason,
wishing to bring our wearisome journey to an end, and knowing,
moreover, that though to enter the village in broad daylight would be
a perfectly safe experiment, yet to encamp in its vicinity would be
dangerous. But as we rode on, the sun was sinking, and soon was
within half an hour of the horizon. We ascended a hill and looked
round us for a spot for our encampment. The prairie was like a
turbulent ocean, suddenly congealed when its waves were at the
highest, and it lay half in light and half in shadow, as the rich
sunshine, yellow as gold, was pouring over it. The rough bushes of
the wild sage were growing everywhere, its dull pale green
overspreading hill and hollow. Yet a little way before us, a bright
verdant line of grass was winding along the plain, and here and there
throughout its course water was glistening darkly. We went down to
it, kindled a fire, and turned our horses loose to feed. It was a
little trickling brook, that for some yards on either bank turned the
barren prairie into fertility, and here and there it spread into deep
pools, where the beaver had dammed it up.
We placed our last remaining piece of the antelope before a scanty
fire, mournfully reflecting on our exhausted stock of provisions.
Just then an enormous gray hare, peculiar to these prairies, came
jumping along, and seated himself within fifty yards to look at us.
I thoughtlessly raised my rifle to shoot him, but Raymond called out
to me not to fire for fear the report should reach the ears of the
Indians. That night for the first time we considered that the danger
to which we were exposed was of a somewhat serious character; and to
those who are unacquainted with Indians, it may seem strange that our
chief apprehensions arose from the supposed proximity of the people
whom we intended to visit. Had any straggling party of these
faithful friends caught sight of us from the hill-top, they would
probably have returned in the night to plunder us of our horses and
perhaps of our scalps. But we were on the prairie, where the GENIUS
LOCI is at war with all nervous apprehensions; and I presume that
neither Raymond nor I thought twice of the matter that evening.
While he was looking after the animals, I sat by the fire engaged in
the novel task of baking bread. The utensils were of the most simple
and primitive kind, consisting of two sticks inclining over the bed
of coals, one end thrust into the ground while the dough was twisted
in a spiral form round the other. Under such circumstances all the
epicurean in a man's nature is apt to awaken within him. I revisited
in fancy the far distant abodes of good fare, not indeed Frascati's,
or the Trois Freres Provencaux, for that were too extreme a flight;
but no other than the homely table of my old friend and host, Tom
Crawford, of the White Mountains. By a singular revulsion, Tom
himself, whom I well remember to have looked upon as the
impersonation of all that is wild and backwoodsman-like, now appeared
before me as the ministering angel of comfort and good living. Being
fatigued and drowsy I began to doze, and my thoughts, following the
same train of association, assumed another form. Half-dreaming, I
saw myself surrounded with the mountains of New England, alive with
water-falls, their black crags tinctured with milk-white mists.
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