University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XIII.

HOW WE GOT OUT OF THE CANAAN—AND IN SPITE
OF OUR TEETH.

Morning has dawned again upon the camp, and
with it we arose to prepare for our homeward
march. We took our last bath in the Blackwater,
and at breakfast eat up all that remained of our
provisions. Some of us, sated with the trout,
breakfasted entirely upon the bacon that was left.
In our hardy and rough life, the fish had ceased
to be food to us, and a beefsteak would have been

the greatest of luxuries. Had we been prepared
to remain out longer, it will be seen, therefore, that
we would have taken to killing the deer for our
table—which we only did not do heretofore, because
it seemed like wanton butchery to slay the
beautiful "foresters," when we had the finest of
all fish that swim in such abundance. Everything,
however, was now gone—the ham and middling
eaten, the last of the coffee drank—and not a
crumb of bread remained. There were about three
hundred trout, cleaned and ready for use, in our
kitchen, but we turned up our noses at them. Out
of these, Conway selected some of the finest, and
making a basket of the bark of the fir-tree, packed
them up to take home, no one else choosing to be
troubled with them: all the rest we left on the rock
—a feast for the otters, or whatever other of the
wild inhabitants of the Canaan, who were fond of
fish.

With our wallets strapped on our shoulders, and
all equipped for the march, we waited the rising of
the sun, to marshal us the way we should go; for
having no compass along, the god of day was our
only guide, preserver, and friend. Presently, the
sun arose, "blushing discontented" at the clouds
around, and Powell, with his rifle in one hand and
the frying-pan in the other, started up from his
seat, followed first by Conway, then by all of us—
and thus we broke our way into the laurel, making

straight up the mountain, that rose high above us,
dark and dense with all the green leaves of summer.

Reaching the top of the ridge, the hunters held
some counsel as to their course; and telling us,
confidently, that they would take us to the glade
on the Potomac, where we had left our horses, by
two o'clock, we strode through the wild in high
spirits—even Peter vaunting himself very much,
and proclaiming the glorious feelings of a life in
the woods. With much jest, and a good deal of
extravagant utterance of one sort and another—
some occasional practical remark in regard to the
wealth of land and water around us—we went
careeringly on our way, like a band of Indians
single file on a war-path, if path that can be called
where path there was none.

In about two hours of such walking, a damper
was put on our spirits by the announcement of
gathering clouds. Presently down came the rain;
and a little tired already with the climbing up
and down the mountains, and the rough and
tumble of it all—the tumble done in the main
by Trip, who fell along as was his wont—we
stopped at length under a tree, until the shower,
as we supposed it, would pass by. We sat here for
some time, but the forest being by this time entirely
wet—which of course would wet us in walking
through it—we concluded that we might as well

take the rain in one shape as another, and proceed
on our way. But here at once a question arose as
to where the way was, for we had lost the sun to
guide us. A right sharp debate took place, but
Powell insisting upon a certain direction, off we
started—Peter beginning to show a little gloom
of countenance, and none of us a face of the brightest.
However, on we went, forcing a spirit we did
not entirely feel, and after about two hours more
of hard walking, all wet and very well blown, we
came to a halt at an exclamation made by Galen,
the purport of which was, that a bent tree just before
us, was the very same bent tree that we had
stopped under two hours ago. This was a very
discomforting remark to have thrust upon us, and
was controverted by the whole party. And there
was great difficulty in deciding the matter, for the
wilderness is so covered everywhere with moss, and
so entirely trackless, and there are so many places
that look alike, and so many trees bent over by the
storms all about, that the fact of our having been
here two hours before was about being decided in
the negative (the wish being father to the conclusion),
when the doctor discovered a cut in the side
of a tree, where he had stuck his hatchet when he
was here before.

This settled the question. It was clear we had been
walking the last two hours in a circle, and had
come back to the point we started from. Clouds

now gathered over the countenance of the expedition,
about as dark as those over the face of the
heavens; and each one manifested himself according
to his temper under adversities—defied or bemoaned
his fate. A great disputation was immediately
entered upon, as to where the north was.
Even Powell and Conway differed entirely. Peter
vehemently urged it was here—Triptolemus contended
it was there. The Signor tried to make it
out by the dark side of the trees; but, in the gloom
of the day, they were on all sides dark. Galen
twisted his neck to no purpose, looking up for a
light spot in the clouds by which to place the sun.
The Prior said and did nothing, but looked as if he
had come to the conclusion that the Canaan had no
north.

"There is nothing clear about the whole matter,"
exclaimed Peter, gloomily, "but that we are
lost!"

"That's clear as preaching," answered Trip.

"What an infernal idiot I was to get into this
scrape!" continued Peter. "A man with a family
—living in ease and comfort, enjoying the society
of my friends—I may say surrounded by everything
a man ought to desire—in fact, more too!—
But such is man!—to come out here into this
crooked wilderness, where there is nothing straight
—no paths—nothing leading anywhere! Lost—
yes, undoubtedly lost, and with a fine chance of

being either starved or walked to death—both, I
dare say!"

"Or eaten by the bears," said Trip.

"Any bear that attempts that game on me," rejoined
Peter, "would play into my hand."

"Gentlemen," observed the Signor, "there is
nothing gained by staying here, that I can see. I
propose that Conway take the lead, as he and
Powell differ about the course. Let's try his luck,
and see what will come of it."

"Agreed," said Powell; "let Conaway try it: but
you are going the wrong way. Here, more to the
left, I say, we will come upon the horses. Here's
the north, and here's northeast—and northeast is
our course."

"What do you judge from, Powell? The skies
are all clouds; you can't judge by the moss, and
the weather-stains on the trees—for they are on all
sides alike."

"Well, I can't say rightly what I judge from.
But there is something in the shape of the hills—
the way they slope—and the looks of the country,
that makes me say here's the northeast; and I believe
in an hour or two we would come right down
on our horses."

Powell was evidently very much mortified at his
having walked us round in a circle for the last two
hours. But he accounted for it satisfactorily enough,
by reminding us that in sitting down here before,

and shifting our position under the trees to avoid
the rain, we had unconsciously lost sight of the
direction we were on; and starting off in the confusion
of a disputation upon the vexed question as
to where the sun was, we had, without consideration,
taken the direction we happened to be facing
at the time. An intelligent man, like Powell, takes
great pride in his knowledge of the woods; and in
proportion as he estimated his knowledge highly, he
was now greatly mortified, as was evident from his
whole bearing. The doctor, seeing this, from the
kindness of his nature stepped in to the mortified
forester's relief.

"Never mind it, Powell," he observed, blandly.
"It don't at all impugn your woodcraft in our opinion.
Daniel Boone himself would get lost out here
in a cloudy day. But let Conway try it for a while,
as proposed. It's just trying his luck, you know—
which may fail too."

"I would rather Powell should keep the lead—
he knows more about the woods than I do," said
old Conway, a little infirm of purpose.

"No, I have missed it once," observed Powell,
"and it's but fair that Conway should try it."

"It's no such mighty matter," said Trip; "I could
do it myself!"

"I'll bet," answered Peter, "that if we were to
follow you, we wouldn't get five miles away from
where we are now standing in the next three weeks!"

"Your luck, Trip," said the Master, "couldn't
bring us out, by possibility, anywhere else than at
the exact opposite point to that we are aiming for!"

"Ugh—uh!" replied Trip. "If you follow me,
I'll hit the Fairfax stone in an hour. I feel, and
have felt, all the morning, somehow, as if it ought
to be over here. And you all know, gentlemen,
I've a sort of lean that way."

"That's exactly my opinion," said Powell. "I
would be willing to bet on it, that it is just in the
direction Mr. Todd says. That's the course I've
been arguing for with Conaway."

"Come, give up the point, Powell."

"Blast the crooked wilderness, that I should have
got turned around so! I a'n't worth anything any
longer!"

"Never mind it, Powell. Man is prone to error."

"That's what old Davy Waddell says," observed
the doctor.

"How was that, Adolphus?"

"You all know Davy, gentlemen—"

"Yes—a very shrewd, clear-headed man."

"And a very original one."

"The state hasn't a more remarkable one in its
limits."

"That's a risky remark—there are so many of
them! But what about Davy?"

"Well, I'll tell you," resumed the doctor. "Some
years ago, I was at the races down at Baltimore—

about the time the Central club was in its hey-day
—before racing had died down in the country.
Stevens's `Black Maria' had beaten the Southern
horse in the great race of the season. But a race
was made by Colonel Johnson, to run `Trifle' against
the Northern mare the next day. Trifle was then
young, and pretty much unknown. Trifle beat the
race. There was a great deal of excitement about,
and a good deal of money lost and won. After the
race was over, I walked up to the hotel, where there
was a great crowd, and a good deal of loud talking,
laughing, and paying over of money, going on. In
the midst of all this melée, Davy's voice sounded
high above it all, and compelled attention. It seems
that the most of the betters had staked upon Black
Maria—and very naturally too, for she had won the
race of the day before against one of Johnson's best
horses—the `Bonnets of Blue,' I believe. Davy,
however, had bet on Trifle, and of course he won.
He was accordingly in high spirits, and was consoling
the losers by explaining to them how prone man
was to arrar, as he called it:—

" `Gentlemen, I tell you, you needn't think any
the worse of yourselves for betting on the wrong
mare, for I wish I may never see another horserace
if man a'n't always committing arrar in some shape
or other. It a'n't in his nature to avoid it! Why,
sar, let any man—any intelligent man—any of
you gentlemen around me—any man, sar, who

doesn't know the geargraphy of the country he's a riding
in, come to a place in the woods where the roads
fork, and he's sure to take the wrong fork—he's
sure to do it, sar! And, gentlemen, if there's a cockfight
a transpiring anywhere, the most of the betters
are sure to pick out the fowl that's whipped—I never
knew it otherwise! Pitch up a handful of coppers
in the middle of a bar-room that's full of people,
and some two or three, by chance—altogether by
chance—will say, "Heads," but all the rest of them
will call out, "Tails!" and when you come to pick
up the coppers, it's heads they all are: I never knew
it otherwise, unless thar was some cheating going
on. And now, gentlemen-losers, I'm going to take
the liberty of giving you a little advice—I always
practise on it—and I don't know that I ever lost
any money except when I've been foolhardy enough
to go against it: and that is, always to bet against
the majority; for I'll be d—d, sar, if I ever have
known 'em to be right, except when it was clearly
by chance! You see it must be so—for, seeing as
how man is prone to arrar, the majority of 'em must
go wrong; and the majority being necessarily wrong,
whenever you want to bet your money upon a race,
or cock-fight—at faro, or "sweat," or "double O,"
or anything at all at which gentlemen pleasure themselves—find
out the general opinion, and put up
your money against it, as I did on the Virginia mare
on principle, and you'll double your pile!—you may
depend upon it, as sure as my name's David Waddle,
at your service!' "

"Well, now," said old Conway, "that Waddell
must be considerable of a smart man; for whenever
I've been out in the woods, and didn't know I was
right, I've mostly, I may say, gone wrong."

"What's the opinion here, gentlemen," inquired
Peter, "in regard to the northeast?"

"That question has neither a majority nor minority
attached to it. There are no two of us who
agree on it."

"Allow me to say, gentlemen," observed Peter,
"that this thing is not to be trifled with. It's a very
serious business. Now, it strikes me that there is
something in Davy Waddle's opinion, and that we
ought to act upon it. Something might come out
of it. Let every man, I say, point to where he
thinks the north is."

It was done, on the word; and the fact was demonstrated
that the expedition entertained seven
different opinions on the subject. Of course, it was
impossible, in our case, to act on Waddell's theory
of going right, and we had to give up that chance.
One of three things, therefore, was all that was left
to us: either to follow Powell, who had just walked
us round for two hours in a circle; or trust to Trip's
lean to the Fairfax stone; or stake our deliverance
upon old Conway, who seemed by no means confident
in his judgment. Something, however, had

to be done; and, as is usually the case in such matters,
we adopted the wrong alternative—put Conway
in the lead, and went to the right, when we
should have gone to the left, as it afterward turned
out.

Now, then, Conway leading, we once more broke
our way through the wild, striking a course that
presently brought us to some laurel. This we skirted
for a while, but at length found ourselves hemmed
in by a great belt of it, spreading everywhere as far
as the eye could see. There is always a stream of
some size in the laurel; and we now plunged into
the brake to see in what direction the water flowed.
If it ran to the right hand, both the hunters agreed
that we would be on the waters east of the Backbone,
flowing into the Potomac—and would be on
the right course; if it ran to the left, it would then
be certain that we were still west of the Bone, on
the waters of the Cheat—and therefore on the
wrong course altogether. When we made our way
to the stream, it ran to the left; and hope now put
off farther than ever. There was evident dismay
upon the countenance of the expedition, and something
of a disposition manifested to revolt against
the guides—which shows that, notwithstanding all
the talk about man's individual advancement in this
nineteenth century, he is, in and about, the precise
same animal at bottom now that he was when he
murmured at the leading of Moses and Aaron in

the Arabian wilderness. However, be this as it may,
there was evidently nothing to be gained by mingling
our murmurs, here in the wilds of the Canaan, with
the gentler murmurs of this unknown little stream.
So we crossed over the laurel—which gave us about
as much to do as we could attend to for the time—
and, right or wrong, kept on the way we were going;
and after about an hour's hard and rather disconsolate
work, we came to a halt, on the top of a
ridge, to rest ourselves, and let Peter come up with
us, who by this time was farther behind than was
deemed consistent with his safety. Presently, that
unhappy gentleman came in, looking very much dismantled—his
face red—breathing hard—and renewing,
for about the hundred and nineteenth time
(according to Triptolemus's arithmetic), his proposition
to encamp.

"Oh, this is most damnable!" exclaimed Peter.
"What o'clock is it?"

"You had better ask, `What's the latitude?' "

"I take it," said Powell, "it is somewhere between
dinner-time and supper-time."

"Is there anything to eat?" asked Peter. "I'm
suffering for food; my strength is nearly gone!"

"Conway, give him a raw trout out of your basket,"
replied the artist.

"Have you any bread?" inquired Peter.

"Not a crumb."

"Nor any meat?"

"No meat—not a bite!"

"Well, that settles it—we must encamp, and let
the hunters go out and shoot a deer."

"No, not so, we must get into the settlements at
all hazards," interposed the artist.

"If the sun would only come out, I'll insure it
to reach the horses yet to-day," said Powell.

"If I could have had any idea of this," rejoined
Peter—"that I should be walked to death in this
manner—I don't think—"

"Don't think anything! It's clear that all we
have to do is to go on. We may get out somewhere.
If we stay here, we may starve."

At this moment, in the midst of all these doubts
and fears of ours, and the perplexity and bewilderment
of the guides, some one thought he discerned
something like a slight lighting up of the clouds.
This led to a very excited debate, maintained with
great ability on all sides, whether it indicated the
position of the sun, or might not be just as well
caused by the wind getting up in that quarter. After
a good deal said, however, that we will not stop
to record here—all of which was strongly characterized
by the different mental and moral peculiarities
of the various parties to the discussion—it was at
length put to the vote and passed, that no man should
henceforth say a word upon the question as to where
the four points of the compass were, but that the
matter should be left to the two hunters, upon whose

deliberations, undisturbed by any suggestions of
ours, the fate of the expedition should entirely depend.
Powell and Conway, therefore, undisturbed
by any confusing opinions of ours, presently came
to a determination as to their course, and off we
struck again through the wilderness.

We will not encumber our narrative with a recital
of all that occurred on the march, but merely
state, that the route we had fallen on in our bad
luck, led us through about as rugged, as savage,
and as difficult a wilderness, as a man could well
get into; that we climbed hills so steep that we
had to pull ourselves up by clinging to anything
we could lay hold of, and get down them as best
we could—that we were now all the time either
crossing mountain-tops, or clambering their sides,
or plunging into the laurel that filled the ravines
between; that sometimes the dead trees would
cover the ground everywhere before us—lying six
feet high when we would come to scale them, and
often so decomposed that we would sink into them
up to the waist. It was through such a wild that
we now forced our way; until, at length, somewhere
about five o'clock in the evening, jaded and
much exhausted for want of food, that part of the
expedition that was in the advance called a halt in
front of some very extensive laurel just ahead, the
look of which made it necessary, in the opinion of
the guides, to hold a council of war.

"This time we straggled in at considerable intervals—an
indication of our weary plight; and each
one, as he came in, instead of sitting down as usual,
unstrapped his wallet, and stretched himself out at
full length on the moss, wet as it was from the rain
of the day. Up to this time no one had entertained
the idea, seriously, that we would not be able to
get out of the Canaan some time or other during
the day. But that hope was now failing us; and
although we had nothing to eat, it was seriously
deliberated whether we had not better build a fire
and prepare to pass the night where we were. But
at this time, the clouds that had obscured the sky all
day, broke away, and the wind rising, the sun
presently shone out; whereupon it was determined
to make one more effort to get out, and if that
failed, then to encamp, roast the few trout we had
for a supper, and take the chances of killing a deer
in the morning for our breakfast.

This determination met with no favor from Peter,
who was dead opposed to any further walking for
the day. He urged the advantage of encamping in
a great many points of view—but all to no avail;
and, finally, as a last resort, made an appeal to
feeling.

"Well, then, gentlemen, go on. One thing is
certain, that I can go no further. You will have
to leave me behind, if you can reconcile it to your
consciences."

"Man in a state of nature has very little of that
commodity," said the Prior.

"As for myself," said the Signor, "I am somewhat
at best, like the Spanish sharper, who threw
his aside in his youth, because he was told it had a
sting."

"You may make yourselves as merry as you
please with my sufferings," replied Peter, with an
air of resignation, "but it's utterly impossible for
me to go any further. And what is it all for? We
are wandering about here, nobody knows where.
Gentlemen, it's the height of nonsense. Let's encamp
and eat something."

"Hadn't we, Peter, much better keep on a little
longer—we might, by chance, get to the horses."

"If we stay here we will never get out," said the
Signor. "Powell, move on."

"Stop awhile," said Peter, "let me ask a question
of Powell. Powell, have you any distinct idea at
all of where we are?"

"Well, to tell you the truth, Mr. Botecote, I have
not. All the water we have come upon yet, has
been running the wrong way to me. If I could see
some water running to the right of our course, I
should feel satisfied."

"You really give it up then, Powell?"

"No, I don't say I give it up—I only say I don't
know where we are."

"What do you say, Conway?"

"I'd give something to be back on the Blackwater
where we started from."

"There it is—I knew it would be so from the
beginning. We don't know where we are. These
hunters haven't the slightest idea themselves. It's
all abominable! It is perfectly intolerable! It's
insufferable! It's"—

"It's bad enough, that's true," said one.

"And likely to be worse," said another.

"My heels are rubbed raw," said Galen, "and
will be, I expect, rawer before we get out."

"Towells was right about the Canaan," said
Trip.

"Towers," said the Signor; "Towers, Trip, don't
call him Towells. You only add to Peter's aggravations."

"He's beyond such niceties now," said the Master.
"It is only when the body's at ease that the
mind is delicate."

"May Towers roast for this!" said Peter. "It's as much owing to him, as anybody else, that I came
out into this desert. He took very good care, however,
not to come himself!"

The expedition, by this time, was well under way
again, skirting the edge of the laurel that lay wide
to the left of us, while the mountain, on whose
slopes we walked, rose high and bold above us, on
the right. Pursuing a course along the rugged and
broken side of the mountain, it was not long before

we found ourselves entangled in the midst of some
fallen trees that blocked up the way. This broke
up the single file line of our march; and each man
hunted out for himself the best way to get through,
in doing which, we became a good deal scattered
about the forest. In this dispersion of our forces,
it so fell out, that Galen, stopping astraddle of the
last monstrous hemlock he had to climb over—his
sore heel impelling him thereto—saw something
that he took for an old blaze, on a tree before him.

This he announced in a loud voice; and there
was a general gathering in of the expedition around
him. It was an undoubted blaze. But whether it
led to the Potomac settlements, or those in the
opposite direction on the Cheat, was all matter of
doubt. At all events, it would lead us out somewhere,
if it could be traced. With the purpose of
forming some opinion in regard to it, Powell followed
it for some distance up the mountain—then
returned, and traced it down the mountain, until he
came to the laurel. Here he called us to him;
when he and Conway held a very earnest and excited
consultation—the result of which was a declaration,
that if the blazing continued on through
the laurel, it would, in all likelihood lead us to the
Potomac.

Stimulated by the probability of being near the
Potomac, we now broke into the laurel, and forced
our way through its tangled branches with an impetuosity

that made nothing of its difficulties—
eagerly hunting out the cuts on the trees—now
losing them—now finding them again; until, at
length, we came upon something like an old cattle
path. Down this we made our way, without any heed
to the blaze—half in a run—Triptolemus thrown
out into the bushes occasionally—and Peter full up
with the movement, even when it was at its fastest.
Old Conway was ahead, springing along with the
light and nimble movement of a kitten, notwithstanding
the rifle on his shoulder, and the basket
of fish, the coffee-pot, and tin-cups dangling to his
girdle; and presently, he reached the base of the
mountain—where he soon came to the banks of a
stream, and cried out that it was the Potomac.
Powell came up and made proclamation to the same
effect; and The Potomac was shouted all along our
line, as we descended the steeps of what we now knew
was the Backbone: the echoes crying out everywhere
The Potomac—the woods and the floods
still reverberate with the voices, even as we stood
silent on the banks of the laurel-crowned river.

"I knew it, gentlemen, I knew it would be thus.
We were bound to get out," said Peter, very extravagant
in his happiness—his genuine characteristics
beginning to reveal themselves for the first
time since we abandoned our horses and took to it
afoot. "Yes, gentlemen," he continued, oratorically,
"we are out at last—and I will say it, owing

to a degree of indomitable energy, perseverance,
skill, fortitude, and endurance, and so forth, et
cetera, that has never been matched. It is not to
be denied, that history contains many instances of
desperate achievement, bearing some resemblance
to this deliverance of ours—there is the well-known
case of Moses in the bullrushes—but what
are bullrushes, I would like to know, to this all-fired
laurel? Grass! nothing but grass! Napoleon got
out from the forests of Russia—but how? With
all his grand army gone! We stand here, gentlemen,
with our ranks yet unthinned by the loss of a
single follower. It is true, gentlemen, I was a little
disconsolate at one time; but then I recalled to
mind the case of Marius sitting among the ruins of
Carthage, in the very acme of his adversity; and
remembering that he was a second time proconsul,
my soul rose up within me, and I would have suffered
the last extremity of martyrdom in the shape of
locomotion, before I would have given up. The
case, also, of Moses and the children of Israel occurred
to me; and I determined it should not be
said by posterity that the children could get into
their Canaan, while I wasn't able to get out of ours.
I will even, gentlemen, go so far as to say, that at
that crisis, when I thought we had found out the perpetual
motion, from the rounds we were describing
in the forest—I will candidly admit it, out of my
regard for the truth of history—that just then, I
verily believe I would have submitted to the operation
of being eaten by a bear, without feeling any
indignation at the audacious effrontery of such a
procedure. But Allah Akbar!—God is Great!—
and the bounties of Providence are new every day!
—and here I am—you may say in spite of my teeth
—and, indeed, you may say of all the other parts of
my body. When I look back upon my tracks, and
think of the laurel, and the interminable mountains
—and such mountains, and the piles of rotten hemlocks
and firs that I have been stuck in—and that I
have been at it now from sunrise, without any intermission,
up to this time, six o'clock in the evening—
thirteen mortal hours—and all without anything
to eat, may the devil take my lights! as Towers
says, if I am not utterly lost in astonishment at
those powers, hitherto unrevealed to me, that have
stood me out. It's glory enough for any one man's
lifetime: and I tell you all now, if ever you catch
me in the Canaan again, unless it is a horseback,
and with plenty of provisions, my name's not Peter
Botecote. By the way, men, how far off are the
horses from here? That's a matter to be seen to
at once."

"Well, I reckon, the glade where we left them,
must be some six miles above us," said old Conway.

"At least that," said Powell.

Peter fell again at this information. But upon
Conway's saying that it was not more than some

three miles to his house through the woods, and by
a path all the way, it was determined to let the
horses stay where they were, and go on at once
afoot.

So we moved on, crossed the Potomac, and struck
into a good path winding through the forest. We
went along at a rapid walk; and even at this fast
gait were urged to go faster by Peter, now dashing
along with a free swing up among the foremost of
the party. Indeed, you would suppose from the
energy of his movements, that he was walking for
a wager—so reanimated was he at having accomplished
the exodus of the Canaan.

At this rate we walked about an hour—and had
yet some two or three miles to go. It was evident
that Conway was tolling us along. But on we
went, getting down from a pace that was four miles
an hour, to one that was only two; and at length
crossing Laurel run (one of the tributaries of the
Potomac) we ascended the long hill beyond, at
scarcely the rate of a mile an hour.

The lighter part of the expedition rose this hill at
evident advantage, and sat down on a log to rest.
But weight was now beginning to tell effectually;
and the heavy forces advanced at a very slow and
labored pace, each one wheeling in upon the log as
he came up, except Butcut, who passed on without
stopping, or casting even so much as a look to
where we sat.

"Don't you mean to stop and blow, But?"

"Blow the devil! I'm blowing all I can as it is!"

"You had better stop—we have two miles yet
to go."

And upon this announcement Peter wheeled to,
and came down heavily upon a stump near him,
without saying a word.

It was evident now that the expedition was very
nearly on its last legs. Nothing but that fortitude
of endurance, indomitable energy, &c., which Mr.
Botecote had alluded to down on the banks of the
Potomac, had kept it moving up to this time. One
was a little faint—another was dizzy about the
brain—a third had a film over his eyes—Trip said
that there was a humming, and buzzing, and singing
going on in his ears, very much like the running
down of his watch when the main-spring breaks:
every one had something out of gear—even Powell
and Conway were overtasked; and it is certain that
nothing but "the unconquerable free-will" of some
of us, and "the undying hope" of all, to get into
Conway's, kept us from remaining out all night
starved in the woods, unless, maybe, it was a small
flask of brandy, containing about a gill, which the
Prior, with a wise forethought, had brought along
with him as physic for his body in case he should
be bit by a rattlesnake.

The flask was now produced, and each man swallowed
a mouthful of it raw. Thus temporarily

propped up, we once more set forward on the
march; and straggling wearily along the now broad
and beaten path, with long intervals between—almost
utterly exhausted, we at length, late in the
twilight, defiled from the woods into the open fields
of the Conway possession (held by squatter tenure),
about as dilapidated a set of adventurers as ever
wandered a forest—ragged, tattered, and torn, and
all forlorn—starved, haggard, barely able to drag
ourselves up the gentle slope that led to the cabindoor—the
very contrast of the bright, buoyant,
elate, trimly-arrayed, and may we not say it, rather
stylish-looking band, that only four days ago had
witched the world of these regions with our noble
footmanship.

I—the writer of this chronicle—with every faculty
of my nature, as I supposed, obliterated by fatigue
and starvation—with my head bent down to
my breast—entered the threshold of the old forester's
door, and, putting out my hand, took hold of
what I supposed was the hand (extended to me in
welcome) of the mistress of the household; but it
was not hers—it was the soft hand, freshly washed,
of the old man's lithe daughter of seventeen summers;
and I take it upon me to say that, broken
down as I was, the touch thrilled every fibre of my
heart—and I raised my head and looked into the
face of the seventeen summers before me—beheld
the red of her cheek and the beam of her young

eye—and for the moment I thought she might be
Donna Maria Gloriana of Spain, or the queen of
Sheba in all her glory!—such and so great is the
power of "woman divine" over a man who has been
associating for some time with nothing but men and
bears in a wilderness. Holding Gloriana Conway's
hand as daintily as if it had been the queen of
Spain's, my soul revived within me. But when I
let it go, I relapsed straightway into my former
nothingness. It was but like the swallow of brandy,
a temporary stimulant, and nothing more; so I

acted upon a sounder philosophy, and dipped in
with the rest into the insides of a monstrous pumpkin-pie,
that was already more than half-devoured.

"I thank Heaven," said Peter, scarcely intelligible,
owing to an over-large mouthful, "for this deliverance!"
And as his heart revived within him,
he grew classical, and repeated with much unction
the happy words which Gil Blas wrote over his door
at Lirias:—

"Gentlemen," said the artist, speaking too out of
the fullness of his mouth as well as of his heart—
"the knight of the gloomy countenance brightens.
He has scarcely yet set his foot within the precincts
of civilization, and the immortal creation of Le Sage
rises unbidden to his thoughts!"

"It is clear But was never intended for savage
life," observed one.

"He hasn't made a joke since we've been out,"
said Trip. "The first time he gave any symptoms
of being himself again, was when he made that
speech—back on the banks of the Potomac—about
Marius and Moses."

"He's lucky he wasn't born an Indian," rejoined
the artist.

And to these, and many other such remarks, Mr.
Peter Botecote made once in a while a reply; but
what he said must for ever remain lost to the world
—for his mouth was so full, that nobody could possibly
make it out.

After a satisfactory supper, which in due course

of time was prepared for us by the family of the
hospitable old hunter—consisting of fried bacon
and eggs, broiled venison, some of the trout Conway
had brought home, a large coffee-pot of strong coffee,
bread, milk, butter, honey, maple-sirup, and various
comfits and preserves—which we mention here to
show how well stocked is the home of a deer-hunter
in the Alleganies—we stretched ourselves out side
by side, on some pallets spread down on the floor
before the fire, and in a few moments were all dead
asleep.

And so ended the day we got out of the Canaan.