Tracks Of A Rolling Stone - Henry J. Coke (novels in english .TXT) 📗

Dalles Hove In Sight.  And Our Cry, 

'The Tents! The Tents!' Echoed The Joyous 'Thalassa!

Thalassa!' Of The Weary Greeks.

 

 

 

Chapter 29 Pg 152

 

 

'Where Is The Tent Of The Commanding Officer?' I Asked Of The

First Soldier I Came Across.

 

He Pointed To One On The Hillside.  'Ags For Major Dooker,'

Was The Dutch-Accented Answer.

 

Bidding Samson Stay Where He Was,  I Made My Way As Directed. 

A Middle-Aged Officer In Undress Uniform Was Sitting On An

Empty Packing-Case In Front Of His Tent,  Whittling A Piece Of

Its Wood.

 

'Pray Sir,' Said I In My Best Louis Quatorze Manner,  'Have I

The Pleasure Of Speaking To Major Dooker?'

 

'Tucker,  Sir.  And Who The Devil Are You?'

 

Let Me Describe What The Major Saw:  A Man Wasted By

Starvation To Skin And Bone,  Blackened,  Almost,  By Months Of

Exposure To Scorching Suns; Clad In The Shreds Of What Had

Once Been A Shirt,  Torn By Every Kind Of Convict Labour, 

Stained By Mud And The Sweat And Sores Of Mules; The Rags Of

A Shooting Coat To Match; No Head Covering; Hands Festering

With Sores,  And Which For Weeks Had Not Touched Water - If

They Could Avoid It.  Such An Object,  In Short,  As The Genius

Of A Phil May Could Alone Have Depicted As The Most Repulsive

Object He Could Imagine.

 

'Who The Devil Are You?'

 

Chapter 29 Pg 153

'An English Gentleman,  Sir,  Travelling For Pleasure.'

 

He Smiled.  'You Look More Like A Wild Beast.'

 

'I Am Quite Tame,  Sir,  I Assure You - Could Even Eat Out Of

Your Hand If I Had A Chance.'

 

'Is Your Name Coke?'

 

'Yes,' Was My Amazed Reply.

 

'Then Come With Me - I Will Show You Something That May

Surprise You.'

 

I Followed Him To A Neighbouring Tent.  He Drew Aside The

Flap Of It,  And There On His Blanket Lay Fred Calthorpe, 

Snoring In Perfect Bliss.

 

Our Greetings Were Less Restrained Than Our Parting Had Been. 

We Were Truly Glad To Meet Again.  He Had Arrived Just Two

Days Before Me,  Although He Had Been At Salt Lake City.  But

He Had Been Able There To Refit,  Had Obtained Ample Supplies

And Fresh Animals.  Curiously Enough,  His Nelson - The

French-Canadian - Had Also Been Drowned In Crossing The Snake

River.  His Place,  However,  Had Been Filled By Another Man, 

And Jacob Had Turned Out A Treasure.  The Good Fellow Greeted

Me Warmly.  And It Was No Slight Compensation For Bygone

Troubles To Be Assured By Him That Our Separation Had Led To

The Final Triumphal Success.

 

Fred And I Now Shared The Same Tent.  To Show What Habit Will

Do,  It Was Many Days Before I Could Accustom Myself To Sleep

Under Cover Of A Tent Even,  And In Preference Slept,  As I Had

Done For Five Months,  Under The Stars.  The Officers

Liberally Furnished Us With Clothing.  But Their Excessive

Hospitality More Nearly Proved Fatal To Me Than Any Peril I

Had Met With.  One's Stomach Had Quite Lost Its Discretion. 

And Forgetting That

 

 

 

 

 

Famished People Must Be Slowly Nursed,

And Fed By Spoonfuls,  Else They Always Burst,

 

 

 

 

 

One Never Knew When To Leave Off Eating.  For A Few Days I

Was Seriously Ill.

 

An Absurd Incident Occurred To Me Here Which Might Have Had 

Chapter 29 Pg 154

An Unpleasant Ending.  Every Evening,  After Dinner In The

Mess Tent,  We Played Whist.  One Night,  Quite By Accident, 

Fred And I Happened To Be Partners.  The Major And Another

Officer Made Up The Four.  The Stakes Were Rather High.  We

Two Had Had An Extraordinary Run Of Luck.  The Major's Temper

Had Been Smouldering For Some Time.  Presently The Deal Fell

To Me; And As Bad Luck Would Have It,  I Dealt Myself A

Handful Of Trumps,  And - All Four Honours.  As The Last Of

These Was Played,  The Now Blazing Major Dashed His Cards On

The Table,  And There And Then Called Me Out.  The Cooler

Heads Of Two Or Three Of The Others,  With Whom Fred Had Had

Time To Make Friends,  To Say Nothing Of The Usual Roar Of

Laughter With Which He Himself Heard The Challenge,  Brought

The Matter To A Peaceful Issue.  The Following Day One Of The

Officers Brought Me A Graceful Apology.

 

As May Readily Be Supposed,  We Had No Hankering For Further

Travels Such As We Had Gone Through.  San Francisco Was Our

Destination; But Though As Unknown To Us As Charles Lamb's

'Stranger,' We 'Damned' The Overland Route 'At A Venture';

And Settled,  As There Was No Alternative,  To Go In A Trading

Ship To The Sandwich Islands Thence,  By The Same Means,  To

California.

 

On October 20 We Procured A Canoe Large Enough For Seven Or

Eight Persons; And Embarking With Our Light Baggage,  Fred, 

Samson,  And I,  Took Leave Of The Dalles.  For Some Miles The

Great River,  The Columbia,  Runs Through The Cascade

Mountains,  And Is Confined,  As Heretofore,  In A Channel Of

Basaltic Rock.  Further Down It Widens,  And Is Ornamented By

Groups Of Small Wooded Islands.  On One Of These We Landed To

Rest Our Indians And Feed.  Towards Evening We Again Put

Ashore,  At An Indian Village,  Where We Camped For The Night. 

The Scenery Here Is Magnificent.  It Reminded Me A Little Of

The Danube Below Linz,  Or Of The Finest Parts Of The Elbe In

Saxon Switzerland.  But This Is To Compare The Full-Length

Portrait With The Miniature.  It Is The Grandeur Of The Scale

Of The Best Of The American Scenery That So Strikes The

European.  Variety,  However,  Has Its Charms; And Before One

Has Travelled Fifteen Hundred Miles On The Same River - As

One May Easily Do In America - One Begins To Sigh For The

Rhine,  Or Even For A Trip From London To Greenwich,  With A

White-Bait Dinner At The End Of It.

 

The Day After,  We Descended The Cascades.  They Are The

Beginning Of An Immense Fall In The Level,  And Form A

Succession Of Rapids Nearly Two Miles Long.  The Excitement

Of This Passage Is Rather Too Great For Pleasure.  It Is Like

Being Run Away With By A 'Motor' Down A Steep Hill.  The Bow

Of The Canoe Is Often Several Feet Below The Stern,  As If

About To Take A 'Header.'  The Water,  In Glassy Ridges And

Dark Furrows,  Rushes Headlong,  And Dashes Itself Madly

Against The Reefs Which Crop Up Everywhere.  There Is No

Time,  One Thinks,  To Choose A Course,  Even If Steerage,  Which 

Chapter 29 Pg 155

Seems Absurd,  Were Possible.  One Is Hurled Along At Railway

Speed.  The Upreared Rock,  That A Moment Ago Seemed A Hundred

Yards Off,  Is Now Under The Very Bow Of The Canoe.  One

Clenches One's Teeth,  Holds One's Breath,  One's Hour Is

Surely Come.  But No - A Shout From The Indians,  A Magic

Stroke Of The Paddle In The Bow,  Another In The Stern,  And

The Dreaded Crag Is Far Above Out Heads,  Far,  Far Behind;

And,  For The Moment,  We Are Gliding On - Undrowned.

 

At The Lower End Of The Rapids (Our Indians Refusing To Go

Further),  We Had To Debark.  A Settler Here Was Putting Up A

Zinc House For A Store.  Two Others,  With An Officer Of The

Mounted Rifles - The Regiment We Had Left At The Dalles -

Were Staying With Him.  They Welcomed Our Arrival,  And

Insisted On Our Drinking Half A Dozen Of Poisonous Stuff They

Called Champagne.  There Were No Chairs Or Table In The

'House,' Nor As Yet Any Floor; And Only The Beginning Of A

Roof.  We Sat On The Ground,  So That I Was Able

Surreptitiously To Make Libations With My Share,  To The

Earth.

 

According To My Journal:  'In A Short Time The Party Began To

Be A Noisy One.  Healths Were Drunk,  Toasts Proposed, 

Compliments To Our Respective Nationalities Paid In The Most

Flattering Terms.  The Anglo-Saxon Race Were Destined To

Conquer The Globe.  The English Were The Greatest Nation

Under The Sun - That Is To Say,  They Had Been.  America,  Of

Course,  Would Take The Lead In Time To Come.  We Disputed

This.  The Americans Were Certain Of It,  In Fact This Was

Already An Accomplished Fact.  The Big Officer - A Genuine

"Heavy" - Wanted To Know Where The Man Was That Would Give

Him The Lie!  Wasn't The Mounted Rifles The Crack Regiment Of

The United States Army?  And Wasn't The United States Army

The Finest Army In The Universe?  Who That Knew Anything Of

History Would Compare The Peninsular Campaign To The War In

Mexico?  Talk Of Waterloo - Britishers Were Mighty Fond Of

Swaggering About Waterloo!  Let 'Em Look At Chepultapec.  As

For Wellington,  He Couldn't Shine Nohow With General Scott, 

Nor Old Zack Neither!'

 

Then,  We Wished For A War,  Just To Let Them See What Our

Crack Cavalry Regiments Could Do.  Mounted Rifles Forsooth! 

Mounted Costermongers! Whose Trade It Was To Sell 'Nutmegs

Made Of Wood,  And Clocks That Wouldn't Figure.'  Then Some

Pretty Forcible Profanity Was Vented,  Fists Were Shaken,  And

The Zinc Walls Were Struck,  Till They Resounded Like The

Threatened Thunder Of Artillery.

 

But Fred's Merry Laughter Diverted The Tragic End.  It Was

Agreed That There Had Been Too Much Tall Talk.  Britishers

And Americans Were Not Such Fools As To Quarrel.  Let

Everybody Drink Everybody Else's Health.  A Gentleman In The

Corner (He Needed The Support Of Both Walls) Thought It

Wasn't Good To 'Liquor Up' Too Much On An Empty Stomach; He