"I can't stand this--I will go back to the kitchen."
"You had better follow my advice, Elder," said he very gravely. "I know
things about here better than you do. It's rough, but you had better
stand it."
And I did; being corralled, I had to stand it. That fearful night! The
drunken fellows staggered in one by one, cursing and hiccoughing, until
every bunk was occupied. They muttered oaths in their sleep, and their
stertorous breathings made a concert fit for Tartarus. The sickening
odors of whisky, onions, and tobacco filled the room. I lay there and
longed for daylight, which seemed as if it never would come. I thought
of the descriptions I had heard and read of hell, and just then the most
vivid conception of its horror was to be shut up forever with the
aggregated impurity of the universe. By contrast I tried to think of
that city of God into which, it is said, "there shall in no wise enter
into it any thing that defileth, neither whatsoever worketh abomination,
or maketh a lie; but they which are written in the Lamb's book of life."
But thoughts of heaven did not suit the situation; it was more
suggestive of the other place. The horror of being shut up eternally in
hell as the companion of lost spirits was intensified by the experience
and reflections of that night when I was corralled.
Day came at last. I rose with the first streaks of the dawn, and not
having much toilet to make, I was soon out-of-doors. Never did I breathe
the pure, fresh air with such profound pleasure and gratitude. I drew
deep inspirations, and, opening my coat and vest, let the breeze that
swept up the valley blow upon me unrestricted. How bright, was the face
of nature, and how sweet her, breath after the sights, sounds, and
smells of the night!
I did not wait for breakfast, but had my pinto and buggy brought out,
and, bidding Pete good-by, hurried on to Stockton.
"So you were corralled last night?" was the remark of a friend, quoted
at the beginning of this true sketch. "What was the name of the
proprietor of the house?"