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366
®limp3f3 of Nero Books.
A DAY IN THE WILDERNESS.
[From Thornton’s Oregon and California, in 1848.
Published by Harper & Brothers, New York.]
November 4. —Having at various times upon
the journey from Ogden’s River, thrown away
my property, I had little remaining, save our
buffalo robes, blankets, arms, ammunition,
watch, and the most valuable part of our
wardrobe; and fearing that we would yet
lose the most of this, Mrs. Thornton selected
the more expensive articles of clothing, and 1
packed them into sacks, 1 succeeded in hir
ing a man to carry these upon his horse.—
We finally determined that, on the morning
of this day, we would make an effort to pass
the mountain. We were very weak, in con
sequence of the want of sufficient and health
ful food. The road was very muddy, and
the rain was descending in the gorge of the
mountain, where we were, while the snow
‘was falling far above us upon the sides.—
There was a close canon,* some few miles
ahead of us, down which we would have to
wade three miles in cold mountain snow-wa
ter, frequently above the middle. Consider
ing Mrs. Thornton’s weak and feeble condi
tion, it was extremely doubtful whether she
would not perish in it. My own powers of
endurance were such as the reader may easi
ly imagine. Mrs. Thornton, myself, arid
Prince Darco, started early on the morning
of this day, I carrying my rifle, revolver,
large knife, some ammunition, and a morsel
of food in my shot-pouch. We struggled
forward, wading cold mountain streams, and
through mud up to the knees. We passed
many cattle that had perished, their bodies
lying in the road. We also passed many
wagons that had been abandoned, in conse
quence of their proprietors finding it impos
sible to take them over. We passed the only
wagon that Josiah Morin had attempted to
take through from our encampment of Octo
ber 29. We found it upon a road of which
Applegate says, that, “ For three or four
miles there is sufficient space of level ground,
and but little work required, to make o good
road.' 1 We passed household and kitchen
furniture, beds and bedding, books, carpets,
cooking utensils, cattle, broken wagons,
and wagons not broken, but, nevertheless,
abandoned. In short, the whole road pre
sented the appearance of a defeated and re
treating army, having passed over it, instead
of one, over which had passed a body of
cheerful and happy emigrants, filled with
high hopes, and brilliant expectations, and
about to enter a land of promise.
Upon approaching near the entrance of the
close canon, we came to where many most
miserable, forlorn, haggard, and destitute
looking emigrants were encamped. Some of
the men looked as angry and fierce as tigers,
under the influence of their justly excited in
dignation and wrath against him who had
thus jeopardized the lives of their families.
Some of the men appeared to he stupefied by
theirmisfortur.es. One of them, a Mr. Smith,
had lost everything, and he appeared to be
overwhelmed. His wife had on a coarse and
tattered calico dress. She was thinly clad,
and the covering for her head was an old
sun-bonnet. Her child was not in a better
condition, while that of her husband was,
perhaps, even more pitiable. They had not
a cent of money : though, had it been other
wise, it would not have purchased food, for
there was none to be sold. In addition to
this, they were so weak, in consequence of
want of food, that it was believed they would
scarcely live through this journey. I remon
strated with this hapless fellow traveler, per
suading him that it would be better for him,
and his wife, to perish in the cold snow of
the canon , than to await a more miserable
death by starvation at that place. He seem
ed to see at once the folly of remaining there,
either to brood over ills calamities, or to heap
harmless anathemas upon the head of his be
trayer. He immediately took up his child,
and about a pound of food, and desired his
alflicted and alrm helpless companion to
follow him.
A relative of his of the same name, had
been standing at that place a few days be
fore, counseling with some of the parly, as
to the means of escaping their present dan
ger. As he was thus anxiously deliberating,
death summonetfhim away, and he fell dead
in a moment. leav mg poor widow with sev
en helpless and akno- starving children. I
was informed that they had nothing for food,
but the flesh of the entitle that ha.l just per
ished. How deeply must that bereaved wife
and* mother have this agonizing affliction.
If she viewed her pr sent afflictions with any
other than the eye • f Christian resignation
* Spanish. i’roaouneed kanyon.
§®IIFE £S El & BIFB IB & IB (B&SBIFIFB*
j and faith, she must have experienced a dou
! ble calamity, and one without compensation.
I Every event seemed to conspire against her;
; and it may be. that, wearied with present mis
: fortunes, and exhausted with the almost cer
tain prospect of more, her hold upon life,
aside from a sense of duty to her children,
i had well nigh departed, and she was read)'to
go for relief and repose to the quiet grave.—
She may, in following the corpse of her hus
band to his last resting-place, have heard no
voice of comfort issue from it, or have re
ceived no lesson of instruction, and learned
1 no new fact, except that the light of his eyes
! was forever removed from her sight. If,
j however, these calamities were regarded by
her with an eye of faith, she discovered gra
cious purposes in this combination of afflic
tions, having a tendency and an aim directed
anil controlled by a Great and Good Being.
A Mr Brisbane had also died here, and I
was informed that a child had died at this
place : so that there was indeed a dark accu
mulation of sorrows casting its sad shade
over this memorable spot.
Reluctantly leaving our unhappy fellow
travelers, we proceeded on until we came near
the entrance of the canon. I greatly feared
that Mrs. Thornton would perish in it. In
order that she might have as much warmth
and strength as possible, I proposed, with
well-affected cheerfulness, that she should
j take shelter under a large fir-tree that affbrd
j ed a partial protection from the falling snow
; and rain, for the purpose of resting a little
1 and taking some food, a small amount of
; which 1 had carried in my shot-pouch. She
| affected to be very cheerful and courageous,
| and desired me to take out our dinner. This
I did, determining to avoid eating any of it
myself, in order that she might profit by my
economy, and thus preserve, as well as pos
sible, her remaining strength. But when the
little store was taken out, she did not “want
to take food”—she did not “feel well.” I
knew from my own sensations, that a half
famished person would not “feel well.” And
I knew that she greatly needed food. I was
also convinced that her real motive in de
cling to eat, was one of compassionate regard
for my own necessities. I saw in a moment
her purpose, and while my heart was touch
ed with her generosity and unselfishness, I
said, with seeming cheerfulness, “Come now,
little wife, none of your tricks upon a travel
er. You know that lam a man of iny own
head. If you do not want to eat, yet I want
you to do so; and that is just about the same
thing, for you and I are one, you know.—
Besides, when we were married, you promis
ed to obey me, and all that sort of thing.—
Don’t you remember?” A pleasant smile
covered her face, like sunshine breaking out
from a cloud, and she replied that she be
lieved she did remember having promised
something very much like that. She accord
ingly took the food : but I observed in a short
time that she had contrived to avert her face,
and when I managed to get a glimpse of it,
her tears were falling like great rain-drops.
Upon finding that her weeping had been dis
covered, she laughed at the mouth and cried
at the eyes, like the sun half in view and
half concealed by a cloud, and said, “ Well,
you might take a little food, if it was ever so
little; so you might, and then I would not
feel so sad.”
The pass in the Umpqua Mountains is a
depression which, speaking from memory, is
about two miles wide at its entrance. It soon
narrows to about one mile, where the moun
tains rise to the height of about 2000 feet on
each side. Although it is a depression, there
are many very steep and dangerous hills to
ascend and descend. It is also seamed and
cut up by drains that carry oil the waters
from the mountains on each side. A dense
forest of immense fir-trees, oaks, arbutus,
prunus, cornus, yews, dogwood, hazel, spiraea,
and castanea, covers the mountain with its
thick foliage and branches. We were now
standing under the close boughs of a fir-tree,
at a place where the sides of the defile caine
very near together, leaving only a very nar
row gorge, called a canon. This is a Span
ish word, denoting a very narrow, rocky de
file in a mountain, having sides perpendicu
lar. or nearly so, with a stream of water run
ning through it during the whole or a part
of the year.
The canon , which appears to have been
rent asunder by some vast convulsion of na
ture, is about three miles long, having the
whole of its width occupied by a very swift
stream of cold snow-water, varying from one
foot and a half to four feet in depth, and run
ning over a bottom covered with boulders
from four inches to five feet in diameter.—
The rocky walls on each side are in many
places perpendicular; in others, they recede,
so as to form an angle of about forty-live de
grees with the plane of the horizon. Every
object in view seems to be formed on a grand
scale. The rocks, when nut perpendicular,
are rude and rugged, and seem to have been
piled up in a most irregular manner. Huge
masses, abrupt in form, and hoary with the
mosses which ages have collected, tower up
into mountains, the sublime height of which
constitutes an impassable barrier. Through
this narrow passage the cold mountain tor
rent dashes along, three, or perhaps four
miles, when a little valley, at first only a few
yards wide, begins to open out, and at length
expands to about half a mile. Through this
valley the stream Hows in a serpentine course,
so that the traveler is obliged to ford it forty
eight times in the distance of about three
miles, when he finds himself upon the open
plain, on the north side of the mountain, and
distant about twenty miles from where he
first entered the pass.
Mrs. Thornton and myself at length left
the partial shelter of the fir-tree, and entered
this stream with a “rocky bed, made more
difficult by some large stones and short falls.”
We each had a long stick in our hands to
support ourselves, and to prevent the water
from sweeping us into deep holes. Prince
Darco swam down the stream, contriving fre
quently to rest himself by holding by his fore
feet to the side of some rock. Mrs. Thorn
ton, upon suddenly descending into the cold
snow-water, above the waist, was much
chilled, and I thought at first that she would
perish. I chafed her temples, face, and
wrists, and she revived. In the first moment
of consciousness, she bade me not lie alarm
ed, saying that she was yet worth two dead
women. After proceeding down about three
fourths of a mile, we halted to rest a little
upon some rocks, where the water was not
more than eighteen inches deep. Even this
was a relief, in fact, a positive refreshment,
compared with our condition in the water up
to the waist. We resumed ourjourney, and
at length Mrs. Thornton began to lose all
sensibility upon one side. 1 supported her
as well as 1 could, but at length she com
plained of indistinctness of vision, and soon
became totally blind. I need not say what
were my feelings in that moment of the
heart’s bitterest anguish. I could not, for all
the world, have carried her dead body out of
that canon. The thought, therefore, of her
dying in that place, and under the circum
stances which then surrounded us, had in it
something peculiarly horrible. Her lips were
thin and compressed, and as white and blood
less as paper; her eyes were turned up in
their sockets; her head fell back upon my
arm, and every feature wore the aspect and
fixedness of death. I rubbed her wrists vio
lently, chafed her temples, shook her, and
called aloud to her. At length she revived,
and with returning life sight was restored.—
She still complained, however, of partial in
sensibility on one side. But we hurried for
ward as well as we could ; and at length, in
great exhaustion, and almost chilled to death,
we emerged from that cold mountain stream.
As we passed through this disastrous canon ,
we saw a great many cattle that had perish
ed, and were lodged against and among the
■rocks. A short distance from the place
where we left the narrow gorge, we came to
the tent of the Rev. Mr. Cornwall. He had
already passed the canon , but such was the
toil endured by the oxen upon Jesse Apple
gate’s “level land,” “good way,” and “gen
tle descent;” and such was the chilling effect
of the water, that the oxen nearly all died
the following night. He was, therefore, now
in a totally helpless condition.
Mr. Cornwall was in no condition to afford
us.any shelter under his tent. It was lite
rally filled with others as helpless and dis
tressed as ourselves. But the privilege of
standing at his fire, was, in itself, a favor
that made us feel grateful ; and its warmth,
when contrasted with the cold and suffering
occasioned by the waters of the disastrous
canon , made us, for the time, comparatively
happy.
There were several men about the fire.—
Among them was the Mr. Smith whom 1 had
persuaded to attempt the passage. He got
through, with his wife and child, and al
though almost exhausted, still he was now
far more happy than persons generally are
under circumstances much more favorable to
happiness and comfort. We made a large
fire, and dried our garments as well as we
could, by standing about in the open air, and
under clouds, that frequently reminded us
that they had not yet parted” with all their
contents.
I still had a morsel of food in my shot- i
pouch, and also a very small quantity of the
very best tea. Mrs. Thornton prepared our
little supper, and although it was neither so
good as it might have been, nor yet quite so
abundant as was particularly desirable just
about this time, still it was something, arid
we were certainly very grateful for it. * After
all the occupants of the tent had lain down
to sleep, I obtained the use of a chair j
little bench about four feet loin? i,’ r ’- a
backto,,. This seemed UkesfVen^'nmil
multiplication of comforts. [ placed ,\?„t
before the fire, and sitting down unon t" 1
chair, 1 had Mrs. Thornton recline iipoi, t |,!
bench, with her head and shoulders upon ,
arm where we slept until morning wh “J
she declared she had never enjoyed a teller
A NIGHT AT WESTMINSTER ABBEY,
From Chateaubriand’s Memoirs from Beyond the Tomb’
I also amused myself at Westminster - in
this labyrinth of tombs, I thought of mine
ready to open. The bust of an unknown
mortal like me would never take a place
among these illustrions effigies! Then the
sepulchres of the monarchs were shown me
Cromwell was no longer there, and Charles I
was not there. The ashes of a traitor, Rob
ert d’ Artois, reposed under the slabs pressed
by my faithful footsteps. The destiny of
Charles I had just seen extended to Louis
X\l.; every day the axe was harvesting in
France, and the graves of my relatives were
already dug.
The chants of the chorister, and the chat
ting of the strangers, interrupted my reflec
tions. I could not multiply my visits, for I
was obliged to give the guardians of those
who did not live the shilling necessary to
keep me alive. But then I took my turns
outside the abbey with the rooks, or stopped
to gaze on the towers, twins of unequal
height, which the setting sun crimsoned by
its lays falling upon the dingy tints of the
city smoke.
Once, however, wishing to view the inte
rior of the Basilicon, as night approached, I
forgot myself in my admiration of its wild
and capricious architecture. Subdued by the
‘ Sombre vastness of the Christian churches
(Montaigne) I wandered slowly and was be
nighted. The gates were shut. 1 tried to
find egress; I called the usher; I knocked
upon the gates; all the noise diluted and
swallowed by the silence was lost;. I must
needs resign myself to lodge with the dead.
After some hesitation in the choice of my
bed, I came to a stand near the mausoleum
of Lord Chatham, below the lobby and the
double floor of the chapel of the Knights and
of Henry VII. At the cntranceof these stair
cases, and aisles closed with grates, a sarco
phagus set in the wall opposite a marble
Death armed with his scythe, offered me pro
tection. The fold of a winding sheet, also
of marble, served me for a niche; after the
example of Charles X., I accustomed myself
to my interment.
I was for the first time so lodged as to see
the world as it is. What a mass of great
ness has been gathered nnder these domes!
How much of it remains? Afflictions are
not less vain than felicities; the unfortunate
Jane Grey differs not from the lucky Alice of
Salisbury ; her skeleton is only less horrible
because it lacks the head; her carcass is em
bellished by her punishment, and the absence
of that which constituted her beauty. The
! tourneys of the victor of Crcssy, the field
! sports of the golden standard of Henry VIII,
I will not be resumed in this hall of funeral
i spectacles. Bacon, Newton, Milton, are also
! profoundly asleep, as much passed away for
| ever as their more obscure contemporaries,
j I 5 banished, vagabond, beggar—would l con-
I sent not to be the little forgotten, unhappy
thing that I am, to have been one of these le
mons, powerful, luxurious dead? Oh! Life
jis not all this ! If from the shores of this
world we do not distinctly discover divine
things, let us not be surprised at them ; Time
is a veil interposed between our eyes and the
light.
Crouched under my marble sheet, I de
scended from these high thoughts to impres
sions more natural to the place and the time.
My anxiety, mingled with pleasure, was
analagous to that which I had experienced in
winter, in my turret at Combourg, when I
heard the wind. A blast and a shadow are
much alike.
Gradually accustoming myself to the ob
scurity, I could distinguish the figures placed
upon the tombs. I gazed upon the niches
( encorbcllemem) of Saint Denis of England,
from which one would sny that the events of
the past, and the years that have been, were
descending with “othic torch-bearers: the
entire edifice was like a monolithic temple of
petrified centuries.
1 had counted ten and eleven o’clock ; tht
hammer which rose and fell upon the brass
was the only living being with me in these
regions. Outside a rumbling vehicle, the erv
of a watchman, that was all; those distan
sounds of earth came to me from one worn
into another world. The fog of the 1 hames,
and the smoke of the mineral coal, filtered in