[Illustration: HARPER'S ROUND TABLE]
Copyright, 1897, by HARPER & BROTHERS. All Rights Reserved.
* * * * *
PUBLISHED WEEKLY. NEW YORK, TUESDAY, MARCH 2, 1897. FIVE CENTS A COPY.
VOL. XVIII.--NO. 905. TWO DOLLARS A YEAR.
* * * * *
[Illustration]
THE BATTLE OF OPEQUAN CREEK.
BY RICHARD BARRY.
General Sheridan, despite the reputation he had gained for dashing,
reckless bravery, was withal a cautious commander. He did not believe in
making long forced marches and hurling tired troops at an intrenched
enemy. The success of a charge, in his mind, was due entirely to the
freshness of the men, the fierceness of the onslaught, and the surprise
occasioned to the enemy by sudden and unexpected movement.
Early in the month of September, 1864, Sheridan's army was encamped in
the hills looking down into the little valley of the Opequan, a small,
crooked stream about four miles from the town of Winchester. On the
opposite side of the creek the Confederate army under General Early was
intrenched in a strong position. The banks of the stream were steep and
the crossings deep, requiring much care in fording.
For more than ten days the two armies fronted each other without sign of
an advance on either part. But Early was on the defensive, and Sheridan
was preparing a plan of attack that it was hoped would rout him
completely; and if everything had worked to his entire satisfaction, it
might have resulted in the capture of the whole Confederate army before
the forces had time to fall back upon Winchester. By the afternoon of
the 18th these plans had been perfected; the commanders of divisions
and the cavalry leaders had received their orders. The privates knew
from the hurrying of orderlies and the sending of despatches that they
would soon be on the move. There was little sleep that night for the
blue-clad men. Ammunition was dealt out, tents were struck, and troopers
and infantry lay down with their arms beside them. At 2 A.M. word was
passed for the regiment to fall in line, and the great advance was
begun. General Merritt's cavalry was ordered to proceed to the Opequan
and cross at the fords near the bridge of the Winchester and Potomac
Railroad. Merritt was ordered to cross at daylight, to turn to the left
and attack the Confederate flank.
General Wilson's division, followed by the infantry, was to clear the
crossings of the Opequan on the road leading from Berryville to
Winchester. South of the town was Abraham's Creek; it emptied into the
Opequan and flanked the line of the Confederate intrenchments. On the
north was a similar creek, named the Red Bud, which served the same
purpose. Along these natural fortifications, and spreading across the
rise of ground on the farther side of the Opequan, lay the whole force
of Early's army. It was Sheridan's intention to take the centre first
and overthrow it before the rest of the Confederate army, which was
somewhat scattered, could come up to its assistance.
As it is of the cavalry's work in this fight that this short paper
treats, it is best to move at once to the right of the Union line, where
the mounted forces were expected to ford the creek.
It was almost pitch dark, and a few minutes after two in the morning,
when the Second United States Cavalry, under the command of Captain
T. F. Rodenbough, moved with the reserve brigade of the First Cavalry
Division down the sloping ground toward the valley of the stream.
Early's outposts and pickets were met some time before the ford was
reached. There were a few hasty shots exchanged in the darkness, without
any damage being done, and then the mounted pickets crossed to the
safety of their own lines on the farther side.
A small force of the Union cavalry was dismounted on the road, and the
outbuildings of a farm-house were occupied by a reserve force; while the
regiment was deployed, mounted, in the fields to the right and left of
the ruins of the old railroad bridge. Nothing was standing of this
structure but the stone abutments. The bridge that crossed the creek
diagonally to the roadway had been destroyed, but the water was fordable
on either side. Now the forces waited for daylight. Long before the sun
rose, as the dim light spread and widened, the enemy's infantry pickets
could be seen hurriedly making preparations to resist any attempt at
crossing on the part of the waiting cavalry.
The bank of the creek was very steep and thickly wooded. The leaves were
yet on the trees, and the dark masses of armed men could be seen
distinctly here and there in the few clearings. The railroad entered the
hill-side through a deep cut, forming a ready-made intrenchment for the
enemy's infantry and riflemen. One of the stone abutments and the
adjoining pier were close to the entrance of the cut, and formed an
angle with a wooded bluff directly in line with it.
Despite the fact that the men had been in the saddle almost the whole
night, they were keen to move; and before sunrise General Merritt, in
command of the First Division, ordered Colonel Lowell, who led the
reserve brigade, to carry the ford and effect a lodgement on the farther
bank. At once Colonel Lowell dismounted a portion of his command, and
with a cheer the men dashed into the water, and holding their carbines
high above their heads, plashed through the stream, many standing
waist-deep and replying to the fire that was poured into them. The Fifth
United States Cavalry and a portion of the Second Massachusetts infantry
followed at once.
Rodenbough, who had been waiting with his men in one of the fields on
the hill-side, received his orders to move. With a loud shout the
regiment charged down the side of the hill to one side of the slowly
advancing men on foot, dashed pell-mell through the ford, and, in the
face of a terrible fire from the enemy's infantry, swept up the opposite
incline on a dead run, making for the railway cut, where the
Confederates were completely hidden from the Union fire.
The Second had by this time made the solid ground, and charged also,
without firing a shot until it gained the crest of the cut. The
Confederates, who had not expected such an onslaught, threw down their
arms as the mounted men poured over the sides of the embankment down
upon them. Many started to run, but were taken prisoners, and it was a
joyful sight for the commander of the cavalry to notice, as he reformed
his line, that there were but few saddles empty. But in the early
advance, before Rodenbough's cavalry had reached the crossing, the
musket fire concentrated upon the ford was simply terrific.
Colonel W. H. Harrison, late Captain of the Second Cavalry, describes an
experience through which no man would like to pass a second time.
"Lieutenant Wells, myself, and two orderlies, mounted, were
unfortunately imprisoned in the archway between the abutment and
adjacent pier on the enemy's side, the bullets, hot from the muzzles of
their guns, striking the abutment, pier, and water like leaden hail. We
were face to face with the enemy, yet powerless to harm him. Our only
salvation was to hug the abutment until that portion of the regiment
immediately on our left had gained the crest of the cut. Minutes were
long drawn out, and in a fit of impatience Lieutenant Wells rashly
attempted to take a peep beyond the corner of the abutment, thus
exposing his horse, which instantly received a serious wound in the
shoulder. The writer, with equal rashness, attempted to recross the
creek, and when in the middle of it heartily wished himself under the
protection of his good friend the abutment, the bullets being so
neighborly and so fresh from the musket as to have that peculiar sound
incident to dropping water on a very hot stove. Suddenly the cheers of
our men apprised us that the crest of the cut had been gained and a
portion of the enemy's infantry captured."
By the time the sun was up above the trees, the reserve brigade had
gained the coveted position across the Opequan, connecting with Custer's
forces on the left, which had gallantly carried the ford three-quarters
of a mile below.
And now the roll of musketry and the thunder of cannon let every one
know that the main infantry line under General Sheridan had commenced
action. It was a cheerful sound to those on the flank, who had no
inkling of how matters were going on either side of them. The advance
was made at an eager pace, and confidence and determination were evident
from the looks and actions of the officers and men. But the enemy fell
back a few miles toward Winchester, and it was not until almost noon
that any resistance was met with, except for the occasional shots of the
pickets and rear-guard.
It was about this hour that Sheridan's forces were ready to advance
along the entire line. Early had gathered all his strength and met them
with a terrific fire. The battle raged with the greatest fury. Both
sides were now fighting in open sight of each other, and the slaughter
was dreadful, especially at the centre. General Merritt, whose cavalry
had been following the Confederate General Breckenridge, charged again,
and drove their broken cavalry through the infantry line, which he
struck first in the rear, and afterwards face to face as it charged
front to meet him. General Devin charged with his brigade, and turning,
sought the shelter of the main force, bringing with him three battle
flags and more than three hundred prisoners.
A line of the enemy's infantry was perceived at the edge of the heavy
belt of timber, protected by rail barricades which they had hastily
constructed on their front. Here they had evidently determined upon
making a stand, for they waved their battle flags and showed in such
considerable numbers that the cavalry line halted before them. As a
critic of this battle has said, it seemed almost foolhardy to charge a
line of infantry so well posted and protected, but the First Brigade and
the Second United States Cavalry, at the word "Forward! Charge!" dashed
across an open field and through a tangle of underbrush, and in the
face of a fearful fire poured into them, rode straight up to the
barricade. But, alas! it was but a brilliant display of courage and
determination. None of the flaunting battle flags was captured, and the
broken remnant was obliged to retire hastily and in some disorder to
their comrades who had watched their gallant effort.
A thrilling little incident happened in this charge, although it had
lasted but a few minutes. When within a few yards of the barricades,
Captain Rodenbough, who was well in advance, had his horse shot under
him, killed almost in his tracks. His men swept by him full tilt to the
line of wooden breastworks, and as they turned to ride back over the
same ground, Orderly Sergeant Schmidt of Company K, mounted on a
powerful gray horse, noticed his commander disentangling himself from
his fallen mount. The sergeant rode up, reining in with difficulty,
helped Captain Rodenbough to clamber up behind him, and, carrying
double, the good charger crossed the open space in safety. But let an
eye-witness tell the story of the last charge of the day, when the
entire division was formed, and rode together knee to knee at the
well-intrenched barrier and the double line of the enemy, who certainly
had the advantage of position.
"It was well towards four o'clock, and though the sun was warm, the air
was cool and bracing. The ground to our front was open and level, in
some places as smooth as a well-cut lawn. Not an obstacle intervened
between us and the enemy's line, which was distinctly seen nervously
awaiting our attack. The brigade was in column of squadrons, the Second
United States Cavalry in front.
"At the sound of the bugle we took the trot, the gallop, and then the
charge. As we neared their line we were welcomed by a fearful musketry
fire, which temporarily confused the leading squadron, and caused the
entire brigade to oblique slightly to the right. Instantly officers
cried out, 'Forward! Forward!' The men raised their sabres, and
responded to the command with deafening cheers. Within a hundred yards
of the enemy's line we struck a blind ditch, but crossed it without
breaking our front. In a moment we were face to face with the enemy.
They stood as if awed by the heroism of the brigade, and in an instant
broke in complete rout, our men sabring them as they vainly sought
safety in flight. In this charge the battery and many prisoners were
captured. Our own loss was severe, and of the officers of the Second,
Captain Rodenbough lost an arm and Lieutenant Harrison wag taken
prisoner.
"It was the writer's misfortune to be captured, but not until six
hundred yards beyond where the enemy was first struck, and when
dismounted in front of their second line by his horse falling. Nor did
he suffer the humiliation of a surrender of his sabre, for as he fell to
the ground with stunning force its point entered the sod several inches,
wellnigh doubling the blade, which, in its recoil, tore the knot from
his wrist, flying many feet through the air.
"Instantly a crowd of cavalry and infantry officers and men surrounded
him, vindictive and threatening in their actions, but unable to repress
such expressions as these: 'Great heavens! what a fearful charge!' 'How
grandly you sailed in!' 'What brigade?' 'What regiment?' As the reply
proudly came, 'Reserve Brigade, Second United States Cavalry,' they
fairly tore his clothing off, taking his gold watch and chain,
pocket-book, cap, and even spurs, and then turned him over to four
infantrymen. What a translation--yea, transformation! The confusion,
disorder, and actual rout produced by the successive charges of
Merritt's First Cavalry Division would appear incredible did not the
writer actually witness them. To the right, a battery, with guns
disabled and caissons shattered, was trying to make to the rear, the men
and horses impeded by broken regiments of cavalry and infantry. To the
left, the dead and wounded in confused masses around their field
hospitals--many of the wounded, in great excitement, seeking shelter in
Winchester. Directly in front an ambulance, the driver nervously
clutching the reins, while six men, in great alarm, were carrying to it
the body of General Rhodes. Not being able to account for the bullets
which kept whizzing past, the writer turned and faced our own lines to
discover the cause and, if possible, to catch a last sight of the stars
and stripes.
"The sun was well down in the west, mellowing everything with that
peculiar golden hue which is the charm of our autumn days. To the left,
our cavalry were forming for another and final charge. To the right
front, our infantry, in unbroken line, in the face of the enemy's deadly
musketry, with banners unfurled, now enveloped in smoke, now bathed in
the golden glory of the setting sun, were seen slowly but steadily
pressing forward. Suddenly, above the almost deafening din and tumult of
the conflict, an exultant shout broke forth, and simultaneously our
cavalry and infantry line charged. As he stood on tiptoe to see the
lines crash together, himself and guards were suddenly caught in the
confused tide of a thoroughly beaten army--cavalry, artillery, and
infantry--broken, demoralized, and routed, hurrying through Winchester."
* * * * *
RING AROUND THE ROSY.
Jack was sitting quietly by the fire the other day, doing no harm to
anybody, when a young person who thought well of himself rushed in and
attacked him with the assertion, "You can't do that!"
The boy held out a card, upon which was drawn a dot in the centre of a
circle, and repeated his challenge:
"You can't draw that figure without taking your pencil off the paper!"
[Illustration]
Jack looked up and smiled. He bent one end of the card over, made a dot
with his pencil on the face of it just at the margin of the part folded
over, after which he moved the pencil across the overlying paper to the
point where he wished to begin his circle; then he let the line slip off
on to the face of the card, allowed the bent-over portion to fly back,
and finished the "ring around the rosy" without once taking his pencil
off the paper. This done, he handed the card to his friend, and went on
studying the fire, without a word. It is great to be great!
* * * * *
HE TOOK ONE LOAD.
It is reported of the late William H. Vanderbilt that his father, the
Commodore, did not give his son, when a young man, much credit for
business ability. Absolute verification of this is doubtful, but a good
story is told of an incident wherein the son proved that he too carried
in his head some of the astuteness in commercial intercourse that his
father possessed. The Commodore presented him with a farm on Staten
Island, informing him that he might live there, and to make the land
pay, as that was all he cared to contribute towards the lad's support. A
short time later the Commodore inquired of his son how he was getting
along.
"Not very good, father," the young man replied. "What I need badly is
some means of improving the earth."
"Well, suppose you go up to my stables and get a load of refuse; but
mind, I shall only give you one load."
"All right," replied the son, and he took one load; but, to the
astonishment of the Commodore, when he went to the stables they had been
entirely cleaned.
"How many loads did that boy of mine cart away from here?" he inquired
of the stableman.
"One, sir," replied that functionary; "but he carried the stuff away in
a _barge_, sir."
LIFE IN THE WHITE HOUSE.
BY LUCY C. LILLIE.
Once in every four years one lady in the land is called upon to
undertake the most onerous of its social duties--those of mistress of
the White House--duties which, though attended by fewer formalities, are
scarcely less exacting than those of crowned Queen or Princess Royal in
a foreign court. Indeed, one may safely affirm that they are far more
fatiguing, since the lady of the White House must be equally courteous,
attentive, and considerate to all with whom she comes in contact, her
doorway excluding only the ragged or disorderly, Betsey Brown, from the
remotest village in Maine, enjoying the same right to call upon the
President's wife which belongs to the leading society belle of the day,
the male members of the two families having shared in electing their
President to his office of ruler of the nation. Simple, however, as the
etiquette of the White House may be, it is governed by certain rules and
customs handed down from one ruler to the next--modified or changed
according to the times, but in the main suggested by a spirit of
republican simplicity and cosmopolitan good-breeding.
[Illustration: THE WHITE HOUSE.]
The President's family occupy a suite of rooms as secluded as possible
from public view. They have their own staff of servants under a trained
steward and housekeeper; their own personal friends are received and
entertained with as much privacy as though the dwelling were not, in
part, an official residence. The "state apartments," open to the public
at fixed days and hours, include the Red Room, Blue Room, the galleries,
etc., about which is a romantic as well as historic interest; and in
turn various people are entertained therein as a matter of prescribed
formality. All Senators, Congressmen, and their wives and families,
foreign diplomats, visitors of any distinction, above and beyond all,
the "army and navy," are not only to be received, but during the short
winter season specially entertained, a series of dinners and receptions
being planned for this purpose.
[Illustration: THE NURSERY.]
And meanwhile, is there time, one asks, for much home life in the White
House? As a matter of fact, few home circles are more comfortably and
agreeably managed than that of the President's family, provided, of
course, the "all-ruling spirit"--the _mother_--has within herself that
gracious gift which makes the fireside of home a radiant centre. "Mrs.
President's" day can be very closely outlined, excepting, of course,
such incidents as may occur at any time to alter the programme or such
plans as result from her own personality, and unless she elects to add
to her domestic cares, she need have nothing whatever to do with
housekeeping matters.
Breakfast in the White House from time immemorial has been a social
family gathering, and generally takes place about nine o'clock. After
this the President's wife usually goes for a drive, during which she
attends to any personal shopping, either visiting the shops herself or
sending in her maid with orders, and it is one of the unwritten laws,
closely adhered to, that every item purchased shall be scrupulously and
promptly paid for--the system of "patronage" so extensively adopted in
many foreign countries not holding good, thank fortune, in our
republican government. Unless she especially desires to do so, the
President's wife makes no calls, one rule of the administration being
the blessed one which prohibits her returning any visits. She is
therefore free from the terrible social bore and strain--a round of
formal calls. Returning from her morning drive, she may be called upon
to receive some guest who is invited to luncheon.
The methods of approaching the mistress of the White House or its ladies
are pre-eminently simple. If the visitor has a special introduction, he
or she can send this by messenger, receiving an answer through one of
the President's secretaries. Generally a day and hour will be fixed for
the guest to call at the White House, when he or she will be received as
in any other mansion, the degree of formality being regulated by that of
the introduction. An invitation to luncheon or dinner may
follow--possibly to some afternoon drive or theatre party. On levee days
some of the ladies of the cabinet, or it may be wives of special members
of the Senate or Congress, the army or navy, etc., receive with the
President's wife, relieving her in part of the fatigue of these weekly
ceremonials. However, it is all so smoothly and agreeably managed that
in the course of many administrations the complaints of lack of
courtesy have been very few.
[Illustration: MRS. CLEVELAND'S DRAWING-ROOM.]
As I have said, the White House is replete with historic and romantic
interest. On October 13, 1792, its cornerstone was laid with Masonic
ceremonies, and seven years passed before its completion. The original
plan called for three stories, but the public raised the cry of economy,
and it was cut down to two stories and basement. The entire expense of
building the White House, including furnishings, repairs, etc., up to
the year 1814, amounted to the small sum of $334,000.
It was first occupied just ninety-six years ago by President John Adams,
and various were the struggles to keep it in even ordinary repair. Mrs.
Adams, its first mistress, was dissatisfied with the place, and her
complaints were varied and numerous. She wrote that "the rooms were
large and barren, and that it took a great deal of money to keep them in
proper order. Everything is on too grand a scale." It is amusing to know
that this lady used what is now called the great state drawing-room to
dry the family linen in, stretching the clothes-lines from one wall to
another.
[Illustration: A RECEPTION IN THE WHITE HOUSE.]
After the decisive battle fought at Bladensburg, Maryland, in the war of
1812, the British advanced upon Washington. President Madison was in the
rear of the American lines, and seeing that the city was lost, he sent
word to his wife to escape. That noble lady's first thought was to save
Stuart's celebrated oil portrait of George Washington, which hung in the
White House. Hastening to the room, she had it taken from the wall and
carried to the retreating ranks of the American army, thus saving for
the republic one of its greatest art treasures. It was during this
invasion that the White House obtained its name from the coat of white
paint applied to its surface after the burning of its main building.
Numberless suggestions have been made to enlarge the official residence,
but the public objected. Its present occupation, doubtless, will end
with the close of the century and its hundred years of life, since the
needs and demands of the President's family and the public have outgrown
its proportions and capacity. But it will forever be associated with all
that has made our nation important. Tragedy has gone hand in hand with
festivity within its walls more than once. The great men of the country
have sat in its rooms in grimmest council, when the fate of the nation
hung in the balance of a decision that sent a messenger at daybreak
flying from the White House gates. Twice its doors have opened to
receive a murdered President, and again the joy bells have rung to honor
a bride, and a child born in its "purple," yet who lived to toil for her
daily bread far from friends and home. It cannot be parted with or even
altered carelessly, yet unquestionably its fate is sealed. With the
close of the century its story of a hundred years will be told.
THE PAINTED DESERT.
A STORY OF NORTHERN ARIZONA.
BY KIRK MUNROE,
AUTHOR OF "RICK DALE," "THE FUR-SEAL'S TOOTH," "SNOW-SHOES AND SLEDGES,"
"THE MATE SERIES," ETC.
CHAPTER III.
LOST ON THE PAINTED DESERT.
Filled with a determination not to become rattled by the perils
surrounding him, our young hunter at once proceeded to select a
camping-place and make his scanty preparations for passing the long
hours of darkness. With neither wood, water, nor grass to be seen in any
direction, and all places looking alike uninviting, the task was not
difficult. Dismounting, and leading his horse to a little recessed gully
at the foot of a steep bluff, which would at least afford a shelter from
the wind, Todd unsaddled, fastened the free end of the picket-rope to a
bowlder, cleared away the rocky fragments from a small space of level
sand, and unrolled his blankets.
Thus the sorry camp was made; and as the poor boy contrasted it with the
one he had occupied but the night before--a camp of cheerful fires,
merry talk, an abundance of food, and an atmosphere of perfect
security--the horrors of his present position crowded upon him like
black forms, from which he recoiled with a shiver of apprehension. He
found in one of his pockets half a hard biscuit that remained from his
lunch of that day, and this, with a sup of lukewarm water from the
scanty supply still remaining in his canteen, formed his evening meal.
Then, with the saddle for a pillow and rifle by his side, he rolled
himself in his blankets and tried to sleep.
For a long time he could not, and when he finally stepped into the land
of dreams they were of such an unhappy nature that he was thankful to
awake from them and find a faint dawn stealing over the weird landscape.
Both he and his pony were shivering with the chill of early morning when
he once more mounted and attempted to retrace his course of the previous
day. This, however, was soon given up as a fruitless task, for in that
region every prominent feature was reproduced over and over again with a
bewildering sameness. Then he sought for some one among the many
inaccessible sandstone bluffs by which he was surrounded that might be
climbed. Before he found such a one and gained its summit the sun was
high overhead, and blazing down with a pitiless heat. Still, on
attaining the desired elevation, the lad felt amply repaid, for not many
miles away he could plainly see a regular range of bluffs and the trees
that indicated a river. He could even catch glimpses here and there of
flashing waters. To be sure, these things did not lie in what he
believed to be the right direction; but recalling that lost persons
generally become turned about, he decided that this must have happened
in his case. Carefully noting the bearings of intervening objects, the
boy hastened down from his observatory, remounted, and began to urge his
unwilling steed over the new course thus laid out.
For hours he travelled, wondering at the distance with each succeeding
mile, until finally, at the crest of a long and toilsome ascent, he
gained a point from which he again commanded a broad view of the
outlying country. Casting an eager glance in the direction he supposed
the river to be, the poor lad rubbed his eyes and looked again. Then, as
he realized the bitter truth that there was no river, and that he had
been the victim of a fleeting mirage, all his strength and energy seemed
to leave him, and he sank down on a fragment of rock as weak as a babe.
For some time he sat oblivious to his surroundings. He did not note the
wonderful scenery outspread as far as the eye could reach on all sides,
and upon which every other boy in the country would have considered it a
rare privilege to gaze. He had no thought save for his crushing
disappointment and his own melancholy condition. He was weak in body
from hunger, thirst, and fatigue, and heart-sick at remembrance of the
folly and disobedience that had brought him to such a pass.
After a while a pull on the bridle-rein hanging across his arm roused
him and caused him to look up. His pony was pulling away, as though
impatient to be off.
"I want to go as much as you do, old fellow," said the boy, sadly; "but
which way shall we turn?"
Just then his eye lighted on a cluster of slender blue pinnacles rising
above a distant horizon, and appearing so different from all that
intervened as to seem like signs of friendly promise. At the same time
he saw, lying between him and them, a lovely rock-rimmed valley filled
with green grass and waving trees, and threaded by a sparkling stream of
water.
The boy gazed eagerly at the beautiful picture; and then, as it became
blurred by dancing heat-waves, he closed his eyes wearily, muttering
that it was only an effect of imagination. In a minute he opened them
again, and saw the lovely valley as distinctly as before.
"It may be real, and we'll make a try for it, at any rate," he said,
aloud, rising from the rock on which he had been sitting, and climbing
very slowly into the saddle.
This time he was determined to gain frequent assurance that he was on
the right course. So, within half an hour after leaving the place from
which he had discovered the lovely valley, he fastened his pony by the
picket-rope to a miniature spire of sandstone, and clambered on foot to
the top of another elevated outlook. He hardly dared glance abroad, for
fear that all the things he had seen before would have vanished. No.
There at least were the slender blue peaks, looking as cool and
refreshing, but, alas! quite as distant as before. But where was the
green valley? It had disappeared, and in its place rose a range of tall
cliffs, like a great white wall, miles in length.
It was a very cruel disappointment; but either the lad's senses were
becoming numbed by his sufferings or he had expected it, for he only
sighed wearily as he turned away.
"The blue peaks are there, at any rate," he said to himself, as he
descended to the plain, "and I will make toward them. If I can reach
them, I know I shall be all right; and if I can't--well, I will die as
near to them as possible."
When he regained the place where he had left his pony he had been absent
from it nearly, if not quite, an hour. Now it seemed as though he must
have made some mistake in retracing his steps, for the animal was
nowhere to be seen. There were his tracks, though, and there was the
slender shaft of rotten sandstone to which he had been fastened, freshly
broken off, and lying there upon the ground.
"Oh, what a fool I am! What a poor blind fool!" groaned the boy, as the
full extent of this fresh disaster was made plain to him. "If I had only
let the brute have his head in the first place, he would have carried me
to the nearest water. I have often heard Mort say that a horse has a
better knowledge of such things than a man; and of course he knows, for
Mort knows everything. He knew that I was no more fit to take care of
myself than a child, and he knew I would get lost. Oh, why didn't he
send me back home, or tie me up, or do something to save me from my own
foolish self? The dear old fellow won't be bothered with me any more,
though, for we shall never meet again in this world. Poor Mort, how he
must be suffering! But I can't die here. I can't! It is too horrible! If
I could only reach those blue mountains. I wonder if there is the
slightest chance of it? I wonder how long a fellow can live and travel
without food or water?
"Water! Oh, for a long cool drink of it! How gladly would I give the
wealth of the world to lie beside one of those springs that we passed a
day or two ago, and drink and drink and drink! Or the well at
grandfather's. Or the trout brook up in the Alleghanies. Or-- But I
mustn't think of such things or I shall go crazy, and that will be the
end of everything. I will make a try, though, for those blue mountains,
for I am sure there are springs and lovely streams in their dark cool
valley. If I can only reach them! Oh, what joy! And if I don't-- Well, I
will have done my best. Which way are they? Yes, I know--they are over
there, and if I walk all night and all day to-morrow I will surely come
to them by to-morrow night. Only twenty-four hours more, and I believe I
can hold out that long."
So the poor lad started, and walked with uncertain steps through the
yielding sands in a direction that he believed would lead him to the
wished-for mountains. He could no longer see them, but he knew their
slender pinnacles were steadfastly uplifted like taper fingers beckoning
to him and promising pleasant things.
Just before sunset he came to a broad opening between the clustering
mesas, through which he caught another glimpse of them, now tinged with
a rosy flush, and seeming more beautiful than before, but in a few
minutes the light faded and they were gone. Then, trembling with
weakness, the lad sat down and watched until a star rose where he had
last seen them, when, with it as a guide, he resumed his weary way. He
often stumbled, and sometimes he fell, but still he pushed on, until at
length his glittering beacon was obscured by black clouds. Then he sank
to the ground, without heart to rise again.
For a long time he lay asleep or in a stupor, from which he might never
have awakened but for a shower of rain, that, falling on his upturned
face, roused him to consciousness. Eagerly sucking the precious fluid
from his saturated garments, and gaining fresh strength with every
life-giving drop, he waited for the dawn, and with the first hazy
glimpse of the far-away blue peaks he again staggered toward them.
The sun rose and scorched him with its pitiless heat, until he seemed to
be treading coals of fire. Mirage after mirage danced before his
bewildered vision, with pictures of all things shady and cool and
refreshing, until his eye-sight failed him, and he groped his way amid a
darkness shot by glowing sparks. The last thing of which he was
conscious was a great white wall that seemed to rise to the sky before
him, and stretch to infinity on either side. It seemed to shut him off
completely from the blue peaks he had striven so bravely to gain, and
apparently presented an effectual barrier to any further progress.
In that last moment his head was splitting, his brain was on fire, his
mouth and throat were like molten brass, his whole body was racked with
pain, and his feet were like leaden weights. Then all sense of suffering
was lost in a delicious laughter, and he seemed to be floating through
infinite space that was filled with the music of rippling waters.