Early in June we at length obtained possession of one fourth of a submarine armour. We paid for it three hundred and twenty-five dollars, or nearly one half our little capital; but such was my own confidence in the success of our schemes that I parted with the money that had cost us so much labour without the least reluctance. St. John was less sanguine, and I saw him turning it over in his palm with an expression of profound solicitude, as if debating the question whether a fish in hand were not worth two in the water. However, he soon decided, and clutching the purse in his fist walked rapidly down the Bar. When he returned, the purse was empty and the share was ours. The remaining shares were held by men at Big Bar, eight miles farther up the river; but, for the first scene of their operations, they had selected a spot about three miles from Ford's, and reported to be one of the richest on the Middle Fork.
The distance from our camp, trifling as it may seem, was rendered truly formidable by the nature of the path which wound along the edge of the river, sometimes dipping beneath the surface and at others rising high on the shelvy face of the mountain, or over rocks where a single false step would precipitate the unwary traveller a hundred feet down into the boiling current. At one place, called Jacob's Ladder, a flight of gigantic steps brought the giddy climber to a narrow projection resembling a pulpit, though in height a very steeple, over whose tottering verge, if he had nerve enough to make the trial, he could see the sunken rocks and whirling eddies directly at its base.
One dark and stormy night, soon after our friend Dr. B. arrived on the Bar, he was called by a stranger to go two miles up the river to visit a man supposed to be dying. Fortunately, he had never been over the path before, or his presence of mind would certainly have failed him; but, on returning the same way the next morning, he could hardly credit his senses on seeing by daylight the dangers through which he had passed, in the pitchy darkness of night and rain, with no other assistance than the pressure of the hand or hurried warning of his guide.
As these difficulties in effect greatly increased the distance, and would render it impossible for the one who assisted in working the armour to return oftener than once a week, and as he would in consequence be exposed to many hardships and privations from which our more civilized life was comparatively exempt, it became a question of considerable importance on which of us the lot should fall. The difficulty was removed, however, by St. John's magnanimously offering himself for this enterprise, which not only far exceeded our apprehensions, but proved to be the most stirring episode in the whole course of our adventures.
In giving an account of his experience, I shall still continue to make use of the third person, partly for convenience, and partly from a foolish fondness I have always had for that individual.
[CHAPTER XVI.]
What have we here? a man or a fish? dead or alive? A fish;—he smells like a fish; a very ancient and fishlike smell; a kind of, not of the newest, Poor John. A strange fish!
One glowing summer's day, in the pleasant month of June, two travellers might have been seen slowly winding along the narrow path that led from Ford's Bar, on the Middle Fork of the American River, to Big Bar, eight miles above. It needed but a glance at the arms and equipment of the first, to see that he was a knight of distinguished rank, who was now, doubtless, wandering over the world in search of adventures. The light cap that he wore on the back of his head, showed crisp-curling black hair, sparkling eyes, united with a rather thoughtful and grave expression, as of one equally skilled in counsel and in fight. His helmet, which he carried slung over his left shoulder, was of very unusual dimensions, and apparently made of burnished copper, that fairly dazzled the eyes of the beholder as it glinted back the rays of the morning sun.