My heart sank within me. The provisions and blankets were with him. I do not think that at any point of my journey I had ever felt fear—panic that is—till now. Starvation stared me in the face. My wits refused to suggest a line of action. I was stunned. I felt then what I have often felt since, what I still feel, that it is possible to wrestle successfully with every difficulty that man has overcome, but not with that supreme difficulty—man’s stupidity. It did not then occur to me to give a name to the impatience that seeks to gather grapes of thorns or figs of thistles.
I turned back, retraced my steps till I came to the track of the mules. Luckily the ground retained the footprints, though sometimes these would be lost for a hundred yards or so. Just as I anticipated—Samson had wound round the base of the very first hill he came to; then, instead of correcting the deviation, and steering for the mountains, had simply followed his nose, and was now travelling due east,—in other words, was going back over our track of the day before. It was past noon when I overtook him, so that a precious day’s labour was lost.
I said little, but that little was a sentence of death.
‘After to-day,’ I began, ‘we will travel separately.’
At first he seemed hardly to take in my meaning. I explained it.
‘As well as I can make out, before we get to the Dalles, where we ought to find the American outposts, we have only about 150 miles to go. This should not take more than eight or nine days. I can do it in a week alone, but not with you. I have come to the conclusion that with you I may not be able to do it at all. We have still those mountains’—pointing to the Blue Mountain range in the distance—‘to cross. They are covered with snow, as you see. We may find them troublesome. In any case our food will only last eight or nine days more, even at the present rate. You shall have the largest half of what is left, for you require more than I do. But I cannot, and will not, sacrifice my life for your sake. I have made up my mind to leave you.’
It must always be a terrible thing for a judge to pass the sentence of death. But then he is fulfilling a duty, merely carrying out a law which is not of his making. Moreover, he has no option—the responsibility rests with the jury; last of all, the sufferer is a criminal. Between the judge’s case and mine there was no analogy. My act was a purely selfish one—justifiable I still think, though certainly not magnanimous. I was quite aware of this at the time, but a starving man is not burdened with generosity.
I dismounted, and, without unsaddling the mules, took off their packs, now reduced to a few pounds, which was all the wretched, raw-backed, and half-dead, animals could stagger under; and, putting my blanket, the remains of a ham, and a little packet of tea—some eight or ten tea-spoonfuls—on one mule, I again prepared to mount my horse and depart.
I took, as it were, a sneaking glance at Samson. He was sitting upon the ground, with his face between his knees, sobbing.
At three-and-twenty the heart of a man, or of a woman—if either has any, which, of course, may be doubtful—is apt to play the dynamite with his or her resolves. Water-drops have ever been formidable weapons of the latter, as we all know; and, not being so accustomed to them then as I have become since, the sight of the poor devil’s abject woe and destitution, the thought that illness and suffering were the causes, the secret whisper that my act was a cowardly one, forced me to follow the lines of least resistance, and submit to the decrees of destiny.