There was no hope of crossing in the darkness. The barranca was here
deeper than at any point above; so deep that I could but indistinctly
see the rocky boulders at its bottom. Perhaps with the daylight I might
be able to find a crossing-place; but from that doubtful hypothesis I
derived little consolation.
It had now grown quite dark, and I had no choice but to pass the night
where I was, though I anticipated a night of torture.
I dropped to the ground, and having led my horse a few rods into the
prairie--so as to keep him clear of the precipice--I relieved him of his
saddle and bridle, and left him to browse to the full length of the
lazo.
For myself, I had but few preparations to make: there was no supper to
be cooked, but eating was a matter of secondary importance on that
occasion. I should have preferred a cup of water to a roast turkey.
I had but few implements to dispose of in my temporary camp--only my
rifle and hunting-knife, with horn and pouch, and the double-headed
gourd, which served as water-canteen, and which, alas! had been emptied
at an early hour of the day. Fortunately, my Mexican blanket was
buckled to the croupe. This I unstrapped, and having enveloped myself
in its ample folds, and placed my head in the hollow of my saddle, I
composed myself as well as I could, in the hope of falling asleep.
For a long time this luxury was denied me. The torture of thirst will
rob one of sleep as effectually as the stinging pain of toothache. I
turned and turned again, glaring at the moon: she was visible only at
intervals, as black clouds were coursing across the canopy; but when she
shone out, her light caused the little lake to glisten like a sheet of
silver. Oh! how that bright water mocked me with its wavy ripple! I
could comprehend the sufferings of Tantalus. I thought at the time that
the gods could not have devised a more exquisite torture for the royal
Lydian.
After some time, the pain of thirst was less intensely felt. Perhaps
the cold damp air of night had the effect of relieving it; but it is
more likely that fatigue and long endurance had rendered the sense less
acute. Whatever may have been the cause, I suffered less, and felt
myself yielding to sleep. There was no sound to keep me awake: perfect
stillness reigned around; even the usual howling bark of the
prairie-wolf did not reach my ear. The place seemed too lonely for this
almost ubiquitous night-prowler. The only sign of life that told me I
was not alone was the occasional stroke of my steed's hoof upon the hard
turf, and the "crop crop" that told me he was busy with the short
buffalo-grass. But these were soothing sounds--as they admonished me
that my faithful companion was enjoying himself after his hard gallop--
and strengthened my desire for repose.
I slept, but not lightly. No; my sleep was heavy and full of troubled
dreams. I have a sort of half belief that the _role_ we play in these
dream-scenes wears the body as much as if we enacted it in reality. I
have often awaked from such visions feeble from fatigue. If such be the
fact, during that night upon the prairie I went through the toils of the
preceding day with considerable additions.
First of all, I was in the presence of a lovely woman: she was
dark-eyed, dark-haired--a brunette--a beauty. I traced the features of
Isolina. I gazed into her eyes; I was happy in her smiles; I fancied I
was beloved. Bright objects were around me. The whole scene was
rose-colour.
This was a short episode: it was interrupted. I heard shouts and savage
yells. I looked out: the house was surrounded by Indians! They were
already within the enclosure; and the moment after, crowds of them
entered the house. There was much struggling and confusion, battled
with such arms as I could lay hold of; several fell before me; but one--
a tall savage, the chief, as I thought--threw his arms around my
mistress, and carried her away out of my sight.
I remember not how I got mounted; but I was upon horseback, and
galloping over the wide prairie in pursuit of the ravisher. I could see
the savage ahead upon a snow-white steed, with Isolina in his arms. I
urged my horse with voice and spur, but, as I thought, for long, long
hours in vain. The white steed still kept far in advance; and I could
get no nearer to him. I thought the savage had changed his form. He
was no longer an Indian chief, but the fiend himself: I saw the horns
upon his head; his feet were cloven hoofs! I thought he was luring me
to the brink of some fell precipice, and I had no longer the power to
stay my horse. Ha! The demon and his phantom-horse have gone over the
cliff! They have carried her along with them! I must follow--I cannot
remain behind. I am on the brink. My steed springs over the chasm. I
am falling--falling--falling!--
I reach the rocks at length. I am not killed: how strange it is I have
not been crushed! But no; I still live. And yet I suffer. Thirst
chokes and tortures me: my heart and brain are aching, and my tongue is
on fire. The sound of water is in my ears: a torrent rushes by, near
me. If I could only reach it, I might drink and live: but I cannot
move; I am chained to the rocks. I grasp one after another, and
endeavour to drag myself along: I partially succeed; but oh, what
efforts I make! The labour exhausts my strength. I renew my exertions.
I am gaining ground: rock after rock is passed. I have neared the
rushing water; I feel its cold spray sprinkling me. I am saved!
After such fashion was my dream. It was the shadow of a reality,
somewhat disorganised; but the most pleasant reality was that which
awoke me. I found myself in the act of being sprinkled, not by the
spray of a torrent, but by a plashing shower from the clouds!
Under other circumstances, this might have been less welcome, but now I
hailed it with a shout of joy. The thunder was rolling almost
continuously; lightning blazed at short intervals; and I could hear the
roar of a torrent passing down the barranca.
To assuage thirst was my first thought; and for this purpose, I
stretched out my concave palms, and held my mouth wide open, thus
drinking from the very fountains of the sky.
Though the drops fell thick and heavy, the process was too slow, and a
better plan suggested itself. I knew that my _serape_ was water-proof:
it was one of the best of Parras fabric, and had cost me a hundred
silver dollars. This I spread to its full extent, pressing the central
parts into a hollow of the prairie. In five minutes' time, I had
forgotten what thirst was, and wondered how such a thing should have
caused me so much torture!
Moro drank from the same "trough," and betook himself to the grass
again.
The under side of the blanket was still dry, and the patch of ground
which it had sheltered. Along this I stretched myself, drew the serape
over me; and after listening a while to the loud lullaby of the thunder,
fell fast asleep.