|
At
this great height, and most artistically situated, we came upon a
rude
log camp tenanted in winter by an elk hunter, but now deserted.
Chalmers
without any scruple picked the padlock; we lighted a fire,
made
some tea, and fried some bacon, and after a good meal mounted
again
and started for Estes Park. For four weary hours we searched
hither
and thither along every indentation of the ground which might be
supposed
to slope towards the Big Thompson River, which we knew had to
be
forded. Still, as the quest grew more tedious, Long's Peak stood
before
us as a landmark in purple glory; and still at his feet lay a
hollow
filled with deep blue atmosphere, where I knew that Estes Park
must
lie, and still between us and it lay never-lessening miles of
inaccessibility,
and the sun was ever weltering, and the shadows ever
lengthening,
and Chalmers, who had started confident, bumptious,
blatant,
was ever becoming more bewildered, and his wife's thin voice
more
piping and discontented, and my stumbling horse more insecure,
and
I
more determined (as I am at this moment) that somehow or other I
would
reach that blue hollow, and even stand on Long's Peak where the
snow
was glittering. Affairs were becoming serious, and Chalmers's
incompetence
a source of real peril, when, after an exploring
expedition,
he returned more bumptious than ever, saying he knew it
would
be all right, he had found a trail, and we could get across the
river
by dark, and camp out for the night. So he led us into a steep,
deep,
rough ravine, where we had to dismount, for trees were lying
across
it everywhere, and there was almost no footing on the great
slabs
of shelving rock. Yet there was a trail, tolerably well worn,
and
the branches and twigs near the ground were well broken back. Ah!
it
was a wild place. My horse fell first, rolling over twice, and
breaking
off a part of the saddle, in his second roll knocking me over
a
shelf of three feet of descent. Then Mrs. C.'s horse and the mule
fell
on the top of each other, and on recovering themselves bit each
other
savagely. The ravine became a wild gulch, the dry bed of some
awful
torrent; there were huge shelves of rock, great overhanging walls
of
rock, great prostrate trees, cedar spikes and cacti to wound the
feet,
and then a precipice fully 500 feet deep! The trail was a trail
made
by bears in search of bear cherries, which abounded!
It
was getting dusk as we had to struggle up the rough gulch we had
so
fatuously
descended. The horses fell several times; I could hardly get
mine
up at all, though I helped him as much as I could; I was cut and
bruised,
scratched and torn. A spine of a cactus penetrated my foot,
and
some vicious thing cut the back of my neck. Poor Mrs. C. was much
bruised,
and I pitied her, for she got no fun out of it as I did. It
was
an awful climb. When we got out of the gulch, C. was so confused
that
he took the wrong direction, and after an hour of vague wandering
was
only recalled to the right one by my pertinacious assertions
acting
on
his weak brain. I was inclined to be angry with the incompetent
braggart,
who had boasted that he could take us to Estes Park
"blindfold";
but I was sorry for him too, so said nothing, even though
I
had to walk during these meanderings to save my tired horse. When
at
last,
at dark, we reached the open, there was a snow flurry, with
violent
gusts of wind, and the shelter of the camp, dark and cold as it
was,
was desirable. We had no food, but made a fire. I lay down on
some
dry grass, with my inverted saddle for a pillow, and slept
soundly,
till I was awoke by the cold of an intense frost and the pain
of
my many cuts and bruises. Chalmers promised that we should make a
fresh
start at six, so I woke him up at five, and here I am alone at
half-past
eight! I said to him many times that unless he hobbled or
picketed
the horses, we should lose them. "Oh," he said "they'll be
all
right." In truth he had no picketing pins. Now, the animals are
merrily
trotting homewards. I saw them two miles off an hour ago with
him
after them. His wife, who is also after them, goaded to
desperation,
said, "He's the most ignorant, careless, good-for-nothing
man
I ever saw," upon which I dwelt upon his being well meaning.
There
is
a sort of well here, but our "afternoon tea" and watering the
horses
drained
it, so we have had nothing to drink since yesterday, for the
canteen,
which started without a cork, lost all its contents when the
mule
fell. I have made a monstrous fire, but thirst and impatience are
hard
to bear, and preventible misfortunes are always irksome. I have
found
the stomach of a bear with fully a pint of cherrystones in it,
and
have spent an hour in getting the kernels; and lo! now, at
half-past
nine, I see the culprit and his wife coming back with the
animals.
I.
L. B.
LOWER
CANYON, September 21.
We
never reached Estes Park. There is no trail, and horses have
never
been
across. We started from camp at ten, and spent four hours in
searching
for the trail. Chalmers tried gulch after gulch again, his
self-assertion
giving way a little after each failure; sometimes going
east
when we should have gone west, always being brought up by a
precipice
or other impossibility. At last he went off by himself, and
returned
rejoicing, saying he had found the trail; and soon, sure
enough,
we were on a well-defined old trail, evidently made by
carcasses
which have been dragged along it by hunters. Vainly I
pointed
out to him that we were going north-east when we should have
gone
south-west, and that we were ascending instead of descending.
"Oh,
it's all right, and we shall soon come to water," he always
replied.
For two hours we ascended slowly through a thicket of aspen,
the
cold continually intensifying; but the trail, which had been
growing
fainter, died out, and an opening showed the top of Storm Peak
not
far off and not much above us, though it is 11,000 feet high. I
could
not help laughing. He had deliberately turned his back on Estes
Park.
He then confessed that he was lost, and that he could not find
the
way back. His wife sat down on the ground and cried bitterly. We
ate
some dry bread, and then I said I had had much experience in
traveling,
and would take the control of the party, which was agreed
to,
and we began the long descent. Soon after his wife was thrown
from
her
horse, and cried bitterly again from fright and mortification.
Soon
after that the girth of the mule's saddle broke, and having no
crupper,
saddle and addenda went over his head, and the flour was
dispersed.
Next the girth of the woman's saddle broke, and she went
over
her horse's head. Then he began to fumble helplessly at it,
railing
against England the whole time, while I secured the saddle, and
guided
the route back to an outlet of the park. There a fire was
built,
and we had some bread and bacon; and then a search for water
occupied
nearly two hours, and resulted in the finding of a mudhole,
trodden
and defiled by hundreds of feet of elk, bears, cats, deer, and
other
beasts, and containing only a few gallons of water as thick as
pea
soup, with which we watered our animals and made some strong tea.
The
sun was setting in glory as we started for the four hours' ride
home,
and the frost was intense, and made our bruised, grazed limbs
ache
painfully. I was sorry for Mrs. Chalmers, who had had several
falls,
and bore her aches patiently, and had said several times to her
husband,
with a kind meaning, "I am real sorry for this woman." I was
so
tired with the perpetual stumbling of my horse, as well as
stiffened
with
the bitter cold, that I walked for the last hour or two; and
Chalmers,
as if to cover his failure, indulged in loud, incessant talk,
abusing
all other religionists, and railing against England in the
coarsest
American fashion. Yet, after all, they were not bad souls;
and
though he failed so grotesquely, he did his incompetent best. The
log
fire in the ruinous cabin was cheery, and I kept it up all night,
and
watched the stars through the holes in the roof, and thought of
Long's
Peak in its glorious solitude, and resolved that, come what
might,
I would reach Estes Park.
I.
L. B.
Letter
VI
A
bronco mare--An accident--Wonderland--A sad story--The children
of
the
Territories--Hard greed--Halcyon hours--Smartness--Old-fashioned
prejudices--The
Chicago colony--Good luck--Three notes of admiration--A
good
horse--The St. Vrain--The Rocky Mountains at last--"Mountain
Jim"--A
death hug--Estes Park.
LOWER
CANYON, September 25.
This
is another world. My entrance upon it was signalized in this
fashion.
Chalmers offered me a bronco mare for a reasonable sum, and
though
she was a shifty, half-broken young thing, I came over here on
her
to try her, when, just as I was going away, she took into her
head
to
"scare" and "buck," and when I touched her with my foot she
leaped
over
a heap of timber, and the girth gave way, and the onlookers tell
me
that while she jumped I fell over her tail from a good height
upon
the
hard gravel, receiving a parting kick on my knee. They could
hardly
believe that no bones were broken. The flesh of my left arm
looks
crushed into a jelly, but cold-water dressings will soon bring it
right;
and a cut on my back bled profusely; and the bleeding, with many
bruises
and the general shake, have made me feel weak, but
circumstances
do not admit of "making a fuss," and I really think that
the
rents in my riding dress will prove the most important part of
the
accident.
The
surroundings here are pleasing. The log cabin, on the top of
which
a
room with a steep, ornamental Swiss roof has been built, is in a
valley
close to a clear, rushing river, which emerges a little higher
up
from an inaccessible chasm of great sublimity. One side of the
valley
is formed by cliffs and terraces of porphyry as red as the
reddest
new brick, and at sunset blazing into vermilion. Through
rifts
in the nearer ranges there are glimpses of pine-clothed peaks,
which,
towards twilight, pass through every shade of purple and
violet.
The sky and the earth combine to form a Wonderland every
evening--such
rich, velvety coloring in crimson and violet; such an
orange,
green, and vermilion sky; such scarlet and emerald clouds;
such
an extraordinary dryness and purity of atmosphere, and then the
glorious
afterglow which seems to blend earth and heaven! For color,
the
Rocky Mountains beat all I have seen. The air has been cold, but
the
sun bright and hot during the last few days.
The
story of my host is a story of misfortune. It indicates who
should
NOT
come to Colorado.[11] He and his wife are under thirty-five. The
son
of a London physician in large practice, with a liberal education
in
the largest sense of the word, unusual culture and
accomplishments,
and
the partner of a physician in good practice in the second city in
England,
he showed symptoms which threatened pulmonary disease. In an
evil
hour he heard of Colorado with its "unrivalled climate, boundless
resources,"
etc., and, fascinated not only by these material
advantages,
but by the notion of being able to found or reform society
on
advanced social theories of his own, he became an emigrant. Mrs.
Hughes
is one of the most charming, and lovable women I have ever seen,
and
their marriage is an ideal one. Both are fitted to shine in any
society,
but neither had the slightest knowledge of domestic and
farming
details. Dr. H. did not know how to saddle or harness a horse.
Mrs.
H. did not know whether you should put an egg into cold or hot
water
when you meant to boil it! They arrived at Longmount, bought up
this
claim, rather for the beauty of the scenery than for any
substantial
advantages, were cheated in land, goods, oxen, everything,
and,
to the discredit of the settlers, seemed to be regarded as fair
game.
Everything has failed with them, and though they "rise early,
and
late take rest, and eat the bread of carefulness," they hardly
keep
their
heads above water. A young Swiss girl, dev
| 
댓글 없음:
댓글 쓰기