第50章 CHAPTER XX(3)

Fred, of course, laughed obstreperously at the notion of my committing murder, which spoilt the dramatic effect.

'Oh! these devils of mules! After repacking, they rolled, they kicked and bucked, they screamed and bit, as though we were all in Hell, and didn't know it. It took four men to pack each one; and the moment their heads were loosed, away they went into the river, over the hills, and across country as hard as they could lay legs to ground. It was a cheerful sight! - the flour and biscuit stuff swimming about in the stream, the hams in a ditch full of mud, the trailed pots and pans bumping and rattling on the ground until they were as shapeless as old wide-awakes. And, worst of all, the pack-saddles, which had delayed us a week to make - nothing now but a bundle of splinters.

'25TH. - What a night! A fearful storm broke over us. All round was like a lake. Fred and I sat, back to back, perched on a flour bag till daylight, with no covering but our shooting jackets, our feet in a pool, and bodies streaming like cascades. Repeated lightning seemed to strike the ground within a few yards of us. The animals, wild with terror, stampeded in all directions. In the morning, lo and behold! Samson on his back in the water, insensibly drunk.

At first I thought he was dead; but he was only dead drunk.

We can't move till he can, unless we bequeath him to the wolves, which are plentiful. This is the third time he has served us the same trick. I took the liberty to ram my heel through the whisky keg (we have kept a small one for emergencies) and put it empty under his head for a pillow.'

There were plenty of days and nights to match these, but there were worse in store for us.

One evening, travelling along the North Platte river, before reaching Laramie, we overtook a Mormon family on their way to Salt Lake city. They had a light covered wagon with hardly anything in it but a small supply of flour and bacon. It was drawn by four oxen and two cows. Four milch cows were driven. The man's name was Blazzard - a Yorkshireman from the Wolds, whose speech was that of Learoyd. He had only his wife and a very pretty daughter of sixteen or seventeen with him. We asked him how he became a Mormon. He answered:

'From conviction,' and entreated us to be baptized in the true faith at his hands. The offer was tempting, for the pretty little milkmaid might have become one of one's wives on the spot. In truth the sweet nymph urged conversion more persuasively than her papa - though with what views who shall say? The old farmer's acquaintance with the Bible was remarkable. He quoted it at every sentence, and was eloquent upon the subject of the meaning and the origin of the word 'Bible.' He assured us the name was given to the Holy Book from the circumstance of its contents having passed a synod of prophets, just as an Act of Parliament passes the House of Commons - BY BILL. Hence its title. It was this historical fact that guaranteed the authenticity of the sacred volume.

There are various reasons for believing - this is one of them.

The next day, being Sunday, was spent in sleep. In the afternoon I helped the Yorkshire lassie to herd her cattle, which had strayed a long distance amongst the rank herbage by the banks of the Platte. The heat was intense, well over 120 in the sun; and the mosquitos rose in clouds at every step in the wet grass. It was an easy job for me, on my little grey, to gallop after the cows and drive them home, (it would have been a wearisome one for her,) and she was very grateful, and played Dorothea to my Hermann. None of our party wore any upper clothing except a flannel shirt; I had cut off the sleeves of mine at the elbow. This was better for rough work, but the broiling sun had raised big blisters on my arms and throat which were very painful. When we got back to camp, Dorothea laved the burns for me with cool milk. Ah! she was very pretty; and, what 'blackguard' Heine, as Carlyle dubs him, would have called 'naive schmutzig.' When we parted next morning I thought with a sigh that before the autumn was over, she would be in the seraglio of Mr. Brigham Young; who, Artemus Ward used to say, was 'the most married man he ever knew.'