"In the third year our beavers had increased to such numbers, that we
saw it was time to thin them off, and commence laying up our store of
furs. They had grown so tame that they would take food from our hands.
We had no difficulty, therefore, in capturing those we intended to kill,
without giving alarm to the others. For this purpose we constructed a
sort of penn, or bye-pool, with raised mud banks, near the edge of the
lake, and a sluice-gate leading into it. Here we were accustomed to
feed the animals; and whenever a quantity of roots of the swamp
sassafras was thrown into the pool, a large number of the beavers
crowded into it--so that we had nothing else to do but shut down the
sluice-gate, and catch them at our leisure. We accomplished all this
very quietly; and as none that we trapped were ever allowed to go back
and `tell the tale,' and as at all other seasons the trap was open and
free, of course the surviving beavers, with all their sagacity, never
knew what became of their companions, and did not even appear to suspect
us of foul play, but remained tame as ever.
"In our first crop of skins we laid by, at least 450 pounds worth, with
more than 50 pounds worth of `castoreum.' In our second year we were
enabled to do still better; and the produce of that season we estimate
at 1000 pounds. Wanting a place to dry and store our furs, we built a
new log-cabin, which is the one we are now living in. The old one
became our store-house.
"The third year of our trapping was quite as productive as the second;
and so with the fourth and fifth. Each of them yielded, at least, 1000
pounds worth of furs and `castoreum;' so that our old cabin now contains
4500 pounds of property, which we have taken care to keep in good
condition. Besides, we estimate our livestock in the dam, which we can
trap at any time, at 2500 pounds more; so that, you see, we are worth in
all 7000 pounds at this moment. Do you not think, my friends, that we
have realised the prediction of my wife, and _made a fortune in the
Desert_?
"As soon as we began to collect these valuable furs, a new train of
thought was suggested to us--when and how we should bring them to a
market.
"Here was a grand difficulty that stared us in the face. Without a
market in which to dispose of them, our furs would be of no more use to
us, than a bag of gold would be to a man dying with hunger in the middle
of a desert. Although surrounded with plenty for all our wants and
necessities, we were still, in a manner, imprisoned in our little valley
oasis. We could no more leave it, than the castaway sailor could leave
his desert island. With all the animals that were subject to us, none
of them were beasts of burden or draught--that is, except Pompo. He was
old at the time that these reflections first occurred to us; and when we
should be ready to leave our valley in a few years more, poor Pompo
would be still older; in fact, barely able to carry himself, let alone a
whole family of people, with several thousand beaver-skins to boot.
"Although quite happy where we were--for we were always too much
occupied to be otherwise--these thoughts would intrude upon us every now
and then, and they gave us a good deal of anxiety.
"As for Mary and myself, I believe we should have been contented to
remain where we were, and lay our bones in this lovely, but lonely spot.
But we had others to think of--our children. To them we had a duty to
perform--the duty of their education. We could not think of bringing
them up ignorant of the world; and leaving them to such a wild and
wayward fate as would be theirs. These reflections, I have said, at
times pressed heavily upon us.
"I proposed to my wife that I should take Pompo, and endeavour to
penetrate the settlements of New Mexico--where I could obtain either
mules, horses, or oxen. These I should bring back to our valley, and
keep them until we required them for carrying us out of the Desert.
Mary would not listen to this proposal. She would not consent that we
should be separated. `We might never,' said she, `see each other
again.' She would not allow me to go.
"Indeed, when I reflected seriously on this matter I saw that it would
have been useless for me to make the attempt. Even could I have crossed
the Desert in safety, where was the money wherewith to purchase these
animals? I had not enough to buy either ox or ass. The people of New
Mexico would have laughed at me.
"`Let us be patient,' advised my wife. `We are happy where we are.
When the time arrives, and we are ready to go forth, trust that the hand
which brought us here _can_ and _will_ guide us safely back again.'
"With such words of consolation my noble wife always ended our
conversation on that subject.
"I looked upon her words as almost prophetic; and so they proved in this
case, as on many other occasions.
"One day--it was about the fourth year of our sojourn in the valley--we
were talking on this very theme; and Mary, as usual, had just expressed
her firm reliance upon the hand of Providence to deliver us from our
strange captivity, when our conversation was interrupted by Harry, who
came running into the house breathless with haste, and with looks full
of triumph.
"`Papa! mamma!' cried he; `two elks--two young elks--taken in the trap!
Cudjo is bringing them on in the cart,--two beautiful young elks, about
as big as year-old calves.'
"There was nothing very new or strange in this announcement. We had
captured elk in the pit-fall before; and we had several of them in our
park--old ones. It was the fact of their being `young elk,'--a sort we
had not yet taken--which had put Harry into an unusual state of
excitement.
"I thought nothing of it at the moment, but went out along with Mary and
the children to have a look at our new pets.
"While Cudjo and the boys were engaged in putting them into the park,
all at once I remembered what I had read of, but which had hitherto
escaped my memory--that the great American elk is capable of being
trained as a beast either of draught or burden.
"I need hardly tell you, my friends, that this thought at once led to a
series of reflections. Could these elk be trained to draw a wagon?--to
_draw us out of the Desert_?
"I lost no time in communicating my thoughts to my wife. She, too, had
read of this--in fact, in a London menagerie, had seen the elk in
harness. The thing, therefore, was practicable. We resolved to use
every effort to make it so.
"Let me not weary you, my friends, with details. We set to work to
train our young elk. No man knew better than Cudjo how to break a pair
of oxen to either plough or cart; and when the elk had grown big, Cudjo
yoked them to the plough, and turned up several acres of ground with
them. During the winter, too, many a good load of dead-wood did Cudjo
make them `haul' up to the wood-pile that supplied our fire. In short,
they worked, both in the plough and cart, as gentle as oxen."