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that contained our whole supply of pro
visions, at the bottom of the bayou. How
ever, I was truly thankful to get out of
the scrape as well as I had done.
The first thing I did, after reaching the
shore, was to examine the condition of
my tinder. This I always carried in the
top of my cap, and I was rejoiced to find
that * the water had scarcely penetrated
the piece of greased cloth in which it was
carefully wrapped. I took it out and
spread it in the sun, that what little mois
ture it had imbibed might be evaporated.
If I had lost my tinder, as well as my
haversack, I should have been in a truly
pitiable condition.
When I had partially dried my clothes,
I set out again in my old direction, which
led me for some distance through a dense
thicket, from which I finally emerged
into open post oak woods. I proceeded
on through these until nearly sun-down,
when the howling of wolves warned me
that it was time to select a suitable camp
ing ground. I chose a spot in a small
thicket that grew on the margin of a pool
of rain water. There I built my fire, and
as I had to go to bed supperless I deter
mined at any rate that the bed should be
a good one, so I set to work, and with my
butcher-knife, before dark I had cut dry
grass enough to make a luxurious couch
for myself and Flacco. Upon this we
slept soundly, after the fatigues and mis
haps of the day.
As soon as daylight appeared, I again
took up the line of march, and in a little
while came to a large prairie, in which I
saw a beautiful lake and a large forest ex
tending to the water’s edge on the oppo
site side. Towards this lake and forest I
took my course, but after traveling some
distance I was astonished to find that I
was apparently no nearer to them than
when I first started. Whilst I was won
dering at this, I perceived that the lake
and forest were each moment growing
more dim and indistinct, and at length
they vanished altogether, and in place of
them nothing was visible but the level
expanse of the open prairie. I then knew
that the appearance of this lake and
woods was an optical illusion, termed a
milage, produced by some peculiar
state or condition of the atmosphere at
the time. I have frequently seen them
since on the great jilains lying between
the Nueces and Kio Grande rivers, and
have several times been cruelly tantalized
by such apparitions of lakes, when suffer
ing from thirst.
After traveling a while longer, I ob
served at a great distance “an island of
timber,” behind which the long line of an
extensive forest was dimly visible. To
BURKE’S WEEKLY.
this forest I steered my course, guided
by the island of timber I have mentioned.
As I went on, I saw several detachments
of Mexican troops a long ways off, but
what astonished me much was, that they
were all traveling in a disorderly manner
towards the west. It immediately occur
red to me, however, that the Mexicans
had met with a signal defeat at some
point, and that these were straggling de
tachments from their routed army. I
have no doubt this supposition was cor
rect, for the battle of San Jacinto, in
which Santa Anna was taken prisoner,
was fought and won by the Texans a few
days prior to this.
Towards evening 1 came to the “island
of timber” that had served as a landmark
to guide me on my course, and shortly
afterwards I entered the main body of
the woods half a mile or so beyond it.
This timber was very dense and heavy,
but tolerably free from undergrowth, so
that I had not much difficulty in making
my way through it.
I resumed my original course, and about
sun-clown came to a deep and rapid stream
called by the Mexicans the San Bernard,
near the banks of which I encamped for
the night. 1 was suffering much from
hunger, not having eaten anything since
the loss of my haversack, but notwith
standing this, I slept pretty well, and was
up by the time daylight had fairly broke,
arid, without any further preparation than
simply tying my cap securely upon my
head, to guard against the loss of my
precious tinder, I plunged at once into
the rapid Sail Bernard, followed by my
dog Flacco.
The water was very cold, but I quickly
made the passage, and ascended the bank
that rose up almost perpendicularly thirty
or forty feet on that side of the stream.
When I had gained the top of the bank I
discovered a house a few hundred yards
above me, to which I turned my course.
As it was all open prairie on that side of
the river, except one or two scattering
“islands of timber,” I had a good chance
to reconnoitre the premises before ap
proaching them, and seeing nothing to
indicate that they were occupied, I ven
tured up. The house proved to be a sin
gle log cabin, in a very dilapidated condi
tion, and it had evidently been visited by
the Mexicans, who had taken or destroy
ed any provisions that might have been
left there, with the exception of a hand
full of corn 1 found in a small out-build
ing. I was thoroughly chilled by my
swim across the river, and I concluded I
would build a fire in the chimney of this
house, for the double purpose of drying
my clothes and parching the corn I had
found. In a short time I had a roarimr
fire under way, and was soon busily en
gaged in cooking corn by the primitive
method of roasting it in the ashes. There
was but one door and one window to the
hut, both on the same side of the house.
Whilst busily engaged in parching rnv
corn, my attention was drawn to a lo\v
grating sound in that direction, and look
ingup I perceived the muzzle of a gun
slowly protruding through the window.
Written for Burke’s Weekly.
“DIDN’T YOU LOOK AROUND.”
ITTLE ALICE, of four
yeaiS ’ talkS 11 good . deal
who is dead. The other
night, while going to bed,
dp? she asked :
“ Does baby have all her things
j fzjy in Heaven ?”
j “She has everything she wants
there,” was the reply.
“Does she have a table, and spoon, and
a rattle ?”
“She has all she wants in Heaven,”an
swered mamma.
“Do they have beds in Heaven?” per
sisted the child, springing at the same
time into her own little nest.
The mother’s attention had been called
to something else, and she replied ab
sently :
“ I don’t know ; I never was there.”
Little Alice sprang up, and gazing ear
nestly at her mother, exclaimed:
“ Didn’t God make you?”
“ Oh, yes.”
“And didn’t you look around you when
you was made?” demanded the child in
accents of astonishment.
The Best Friend.
“What do you do without a mother to
tell all your troubles to?” said a child
who had a mother to one whose mother
was dead.
“ Mother told me to whom to go before
she died,” answered the little orphan. "I
go to the Lord Jesus; lie was mothers
friend, and He is mine.”
The other replied : “Jesus Christ is up
in the sky ; He is away off, and has a
great many things to attend to in Ih a\-
en. It is not likely He can stop to mind
you.”
“I do not know about that, ’ said im
orphan. “All I know is, He says He vill,
and that is enough for me.”
The orphan was right. God’s ear is
open to babes and sucklings as it is to di
vines and senators. Oh, that all the chil
dren were told as much, and believed if