Our host for the night beguiled the evening hours with stories of the war; and again we enjoyed the luxury of beds.
XXI. Saturday, January 7.
A Well-Fortified Refuge.
A friend piloted us eight miles over the rough, snowy mountains, avoiding public roads. In the afternoon, we found shelter at a white frame house, nestling among the mountains, and fronted by a natural lawn, dotted with firs.
Here, for the first time, we were entirely safe. Any possible Rebel raid must come from the south side of the river. The house was on the north bank of the stream, which was too much swollen for fording, and the only canoe within five miles was fastened on our shore. Thus fortified on front, flank, and rear, we took our ease in the pleasant, home-like farmhouse.
Near the dwelling was a great spring, of rare beauty. Within an area of twelve feet, a dozen streams, larger than one's arm, came gushing and boiling up through snow-white sand. By the aid of a great fire, and an enormous iron kettle, we boiled all our clothing, and at last vanquished the troublesome enemies which, brought from the prison, had so long disturbed our peace.
Then, bathing in the icy waters, we came out renewed, like the Syrian leper, and, in soft, clean beds, enjoyed the sweet sleep of childhood.
XXII. Sunday, January 8.
A new guide took us eight miles to a log barn in the woods. After dining among, but not upon, the husks, we started again, an old lady of sixty guiding us through the woods toward her house. Age had not withered her, nor custom staled, for she walked at a pace which made it difficult to keep in sight of her.