Non più andrai, far-fal-lo-ne a-mo-ro-so,
Not-te gior-no d'in-tor-no gi-ran-do;
Del-le bel-le tur-ban-do il ri-po-so,
Nar-ci-set-to, A-don-ci-no d'a-mor!
Del-le bel-le tur-ban-do il ri-po-so,
Nar-ci-set-to, A-don-ci-no d'a-mor!
Play no more, boy, the part of a lov-er,
Nor a-bout beau-ty fool-ish-ly hov-er;
In the wars you'll more pleasure dis-cov-er,
When your heart beats to glo-ry and fame!
In the wars you'll more pleasure dis-cov-er,
When your heart beats to glo-ry and fame!
At times he imitated a certain pathetic yet comical old woman he had heard singing at some camp-meeting, "The dear blessed Bible, the Fam-i-ly Bible," etc. He told me one day that this fondness for singing, especially amid extremely unpromising or gloomy circumstances, had on more than one occasion led the men of the first expedition to suspect his sanity. When he was singing, I could see that frequently he was really not thinking about his song at all, but of something quite foreign to it, and the singing was a mere accompaniment. Our party as a whole commanded an extensive repertory of song for an exploring expedition and while most of the voices were somewhat below concert requirement, there was no one to object, and one of us, Jack, did have an excellent voice. A song often heard was, Shells of Ocean and also that one most appropriate, What Are the Wild Waves Saying? Then there was If I Had but a Thousand a Year, Gaffer Green, and of course, Annie Laurie. Never was there an American or an English expedition to anywhere that did not have that song, as well as Way Down upon the Suwanee River. In addition to all these and the ones previously mentioned of which
"Oh, the lone starry hours give me Love
When still is the beautiful night,"
was a special favourite, Jack's individual repertory contained an exhaustless number, both sad and gay. There were Carry me Back to Old Tennessee, The Sailor's Grave, Aura Lee, with her golden hair, who brought sunshine and swallows indiscriminately to each locality which she graced with the said golden hair, and Come where my Love Lies Dreaming, Seeing Nellie Home, and scores or at least dozens that I fail to recall.
But while we had a great store of songs we were deficient to the last degree in musical instruments, the one solitary example being an humble mouth-organ which in a moment of weakness I had thrown in with my outfit. We just escaped having a flute. Frank, who left us on the 10th of June, possessed one, and when he was preparing to go Steward negotiated for this instrument. He gave Cap. his revolver to trade for it, considering the flute more desirable property for the expedition. Cap., being an old soldier, concluded to fire at a mark before letting the revolver pass forever from our possession. Presently there was an explosion which demolished the pistol and all our prospects of acquiring the musical treasure at one and the same moment. Possibly Fortune was kinder to us than we dreamed. The mouth-organ then remained the sole music machine in all that immense area. I did not feel equal to the position of organist but Steward boldly took up the study, and practised so faithfully that he became a real virtuoso.
As a boy in New York Jack, though not a Hibernian himself, had associated closely with descendants of the Shamrock Isle, and he could speak with a fine emerald brogue. A refrain of one of his songs in this line was: "And if the rocks, they don't sthop us, We will cross to Killiloo, whacky-whay!" This sounded our situation exactly, and it became a regular accompaniment to the roaring of the rapids. Jack had many times followed in the wake of the Thirteen Eagles fire company, one of the bright jewels with a green setting, of the old volunteer service. The foreman, fitting the rest of the company, was Irish too, and his stentorian shout through the trumpet "Tirtaan Aigles, dis wai!" never failed to rise above the din, and when the joyful cry smote the ears of the gallant "Tirtaan," the rocks nor the ruts nor the crowds nor anything could stop them; through thick and through thin they went to the front, for there was rivalry in those days and when the Aigles time after time got first water on, they won triumphs which we of this mercenary epoch cannot understand. The Aigles were in for glory, nothing else. So when we heard the roar of a rapid and sniffed the mist in the air, "Tirtaan Aigles dis wai," was our slogan.
Where the river now ran smoothly, as it did for a considerable distance below the Robideau crossing we could drift with the slow current and enjoy the study of the surroundings, the boats requiring no attention. Passing the mouths of the Uinta and the White, both rivers entering very quietly through a level valley, we pulled gently along watching the banks for something new. When we had thus gone a couple of miles we discovered our first acquaintance of this valley, Douglas Boy, encamped on the right with his runaway bride. They had a snug and secluded hiding-place protected by the river and some low cliffs. We landed to pay our parting call. Both had their faces completely smeared with the bright vermilion obtained by trade from us, and they presented in our eyes a ludicrous appearance. They had recently killed a fat deer and seemed very happy. Prof. exchanged some sugar for enough venison for our dinner and we said farewell to them, the first as well as the last human beings we had met with in this valley. Clem, as usual, gave them various messages for the "folks at home" and assured them with gracious smiles, that they "would ever be the subject of his most distinguished consideration." They smiled after us and we were soon beyond their vision. Presently low cliffs, 100 to 150 feet began to show themselves, on one side or the other, and the wide valley vanished. The great canyon below was reaching out for us. There were numerous islands covered with immense accumulations of driftwood or with growing cottonwoods where high enough. Hundreds of beaver swam about. Occasionally a shot from the boats would kill or wound one, but it was next to impossible to secure any as they seemed to sink immediately to the bottom and we gave up trying as long as they were in deep water. The stream being so tranquil reading poetry was more to our taste than hunting the beaver, and Prof. read aloud from Emerson as we slowly advanced upon the enemy.
After about nine miles of this sort of thing we stopped for dinner in a pretty cottonwood grove at the foot of a cliff on the right with beaver swimming around as if they did not know what a human being was. When our venison had been disposed of the boats were shoved out into the river again and we continued our approach to the canyon. The surrounding region became a desolate waste; a broken desert plateau elevated above us about two hundred feet. Some deer seen on an island caused us to land and try to get a good shot at one, but we failed to get near enough for success and they quickly disappeared. The ground was too difficult for pursuit. After some seventeen miles, camp for the night was made in another grove of rather small cottonwoods at 5.30. We were on a large island with the surrounding waters thick with beaver busy every moment though their great work is done at night. Many trees felled, some of them of a considerable diameter, attested the skill and energy of these animals as woodchoppers. Cap. tried to get one so that we could eat it, but though he killed several he failed to reach them before they sank, and gave it up.
As we looked around we saw that almost imperceptibly we had entered the new canyon and at this camp (33) we were fairly within the embrace of its rugged cliffs which, devoid of all vegetation, rose up four hundred feet, sombre in colour, but picturesque from a tendency to columnar weathering that imparted to them a Gothic character suggestive of cathedrals, castles, and turrets. The next day was Sunday and as Beaman felt sick and we were not in a hurry, no advance was made but instead Prof. accompanied by Steward, Cap., and Jones climbed out for notes and observations. They easily reached the top by means of a small gulch. They got back early, reporting an increasing desolation in the country on both sides as far as they could see. They also saw two graves of great age, covered by stones. In the afternoon Prof. entertained us by reading aloud from Scott and so the day passed and night fell. Then the beavers became more active and worked and splashed around camp incessantly. They kept it up all through the dark hours as is their habit, but only Steward was disturbed by it. This would have been an excellent opportunity to learn something about their ways, but for my part I did not then even think of it.