We were up early on the morning of August 5th prepared to leave Camp 32. Prof. took a lunar observation, and at eight we entered the boats and turned our backs on "Fort" Robideau, the only house on or near the whole river at that time from the mouth of the Virgin, to our Camp No. 1 where we had the snow-storm, a distance of about one thousand miles. We had vanquished many rapids and now we pushed on ready for our next battle with the river in the Canyon of Desolation, just before us. The order of going was slightly changed in the absence of the Major, for Prof., being now in sole command, went ahead with his boat, the Nellie Powell, while ours, the Emma Dean, for the time being took second place. The river for a brief distance ran smoothly with only enough current, about two miles an hour, to help us along without hard rowing. I missed the Major while we were on the water, probably more than any one else in the party, for as we were facing each other the whole time and were not separated enough to interfere with conversation we had frequent talks. He sometimes described incidents which happened on the first voyage, or told me something about the men of that famous and unrivalled journey. Besides this he was very apt to sing, especially where the river was not turbulent and the outlook was tranquil, some favourite song, and these songs greatly interested me. While he had no fine voice he sang from his heart, and the songs were those he had learned at home singing with his brothers and sisters. One of these was an old-fashioned hymn, The Home of the Soul, or rather the first two verses of it. These verses were among his special favourites.[12]
"I will sing you a song of that beautiful land,
The far away home of the soul,
Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand,
While the years of eternity roll,
While the years of eternity roll;
Where no storms ever beat on the glittering strand
While the years of eternity roll.
"Oh! that home of the soul in my visions and dreams,
Its bright jasper walls I can see;
Till I fancy but thinly the veil intervenes
Between the fair city and me
Till I fancy, etc."
Another was a pretty four-part song, The Laugh of a Child, of which he sang the air. The words ran:
"I love it, I love it, the laugh of a child.
Now rippling, now gentle, now merry and wild.
It rings through the air with an innocent gush,
Like the trill of a bird at the twilight's soft hush,
It floats on the breeze like the tones of a bell,
Or music that dwells in the heart of a shell.
Oh, the laugh of a child is so wild and so free
'T is the merriest sound in the world to me."
Still another of which he sang the English words often was the well-known air from Figaro. I give a few bars:
NON PIU ANDRAI—PLAY NO MORE.
Air. Figaro.