Among the pleasant hills of classic Berkshire there dwelt whilom two sturdy mountaineers, known far and wide by the honoured names of Lije Harris and Hial Dowd. Both were renowned champions in the noble and ancient art of wrestling, which, I am sorry to say, is no longer regarded in these degenerate days with that honour awarded to it by our more chivalrous ancestors.
But the fame of Hial Dowd was greater than the fame of Lije Harris—if one was Ajax, the other was Achilles. In many encounters between them Hial had established his superiority; and, henceforth holding himself superior to all his former competitors, he waited until another should arise more worthy of his arm.
But, as generally happens in such cases, the defeated party was not so easily satisfied. He felt that he was quite as good as Hial Dowd, and in fact a little better, and only wanted an opportunity to retrieve his lost honour. On a certain militia muster, when the young men from the adjacent villages were occupied, as usual, in various athletic sports, the magnanimous Lije, inly grieving at his disgrace, proposed to Zeke Brown, Ajax the less, a stratagem to draw out the Achilles of the playground from his long inactivity. Lije was to wrestle with Zeke three times in succession, and at the first encounter permit himself to be thrown. He would then prove victorious in the two remaining trials, and the acclamations that would be seen to proclaim his triumph could hardly fail to arouse the envy of his great rival.
Zeke readily acceded to this proposal, and Lije, according to their preconcerted arrangement, was soon brought to the ground, to the infinite amusement of all the beholders. But quickly he regained his feet, and was about to renew the combat, with victory already in his eye, when the perfidious Zeke, with unparalleled turpitude, coolly observed, "Wall, I guess that 'ill do for to-day; I'll wait till somebody better comes along."
The horror and confusion of the unhappy Lijah can be better imagined than described. Equally to be pitied is the unlucky wretch who presumes to wrestle with a two-days' lake—he is sure to be vanquished in the first encounter, and will seldom have an opportunity for a second.
Besides, it is so ridiculous to be sea-sick, with land visible on every side—so irrelevant and illogical. Then is the firm ground only a few miles away—the merest touch of which would effect as great a marvel as for Antæus in his famous wrestling match with Hercules (Hercules no doubt impersonating the sea); it seems so easy to get to it, and the motive is so strong, that one lies filled with uneasy wonder that he does not make the attempt. It is as absurd for this little puddle to usurp the prerogative of the ocean, as for a homœopath to claim the dignity of an allopathic physician. I have no more right to be sick in the one case than to be cured in the other. It is a positive insult to my good sense to presume such a thing.
Full of these reflections I rolled myself in my blankets, and, stretched on my back in the stern of our little craft, determined, at all events, not to be sick until I saw a chance of doing it with some credit and respectability. The night passed heavily. Several times a huge wave rolling after would overtop the low bulwarks and come surging in upon us, almost floating me from my resting place, and putting to flight my uneasy slumbers. I caught at such times brief glimpses of lofty, cone-shaped mountains—of short, chopping waves, white with foam—of our bellying sails, and of certain grotesque forms lying on the little deck outstretched and motionless.
The morning's sun dried our clothes, and lighting up mountain and promontory, one after another, we began to look about us to see if we could discover any signs of our place of destination. We had been running all night with a favourable breeze, and San Carlos could not be far distant. Great then were our surprise and indignation to find that our captain, instead of taking advantage of the wind, had acted on nearly the same principle as our early Dutch navigators before mentioned, and, fearful of running down a continent in the dark, had done nothing but tack back and forth all night. It was a still more aggravating discovery that he was entirely ignorant of his course—having, as he said in excuse, sailed this way only three times before. Though we could not admit the validity of this plea, as the shores of the lake were of the most marked and striking character, so that once seen they ought never to be forgotten, yet we were obliged to submit ourselves to circumstances, and accede to his proposition to lie to opposite a house we saw not far from the shore and obtain the necessary information of the inhabitants.
After hallooing till we were hoarse, we had the satisfaction of seeing a party of natives come down to the shore and push off into the lake. By dint of violent and long-continued rowing they at length brought their clumsy canoe alongside, and then a few words sufficed to tell the whole story. We were to round a certain headland they pointed out to us, and afterwards hold a straight course to San Carlos.