It was therefore a wise movement in him, when he reached the little stream, to plunge into it, and wade across, thus washing out, as much as possible, the traces of the morning’s adventures, from himself and his steed, and the other gentlemen, having no alternative, concluded to follow his example.
We did not halt long on the rising ground beyond the morass, for we had a long stretch before us to Bellefontaine, forty-five miles, and those none of the shortest.
Our horses travelled admirably the whole afternoon, Charlie keeping a canter all the way, but it was now growing dark, and there were no signs of the landmarks which were to indicate our near approach to the desired haven.
"Can we not stop and rest us for a few moments under one of the trees?" inquired I, for I was almost exhausted with fatigue, and to add to our discomfort, a cold November rain was pouring upon us.
“If it were possible, we would,” was the reply, “but see how dark it is growing. If we should lose our way, it would be worse than being wet and tired.”
So we kept on. Just at dark we crossed a clear stream. “That,” said my husband, “is, I think, two miles from Bellefontaine. Cheer up—we shall soon be there.” Quite encouraged we pursued our way more cheerfully. Mile after mile we passed, but still no light gleamed friendly through the trees.
“We have certainly travelled more than six miles now,” said I.
“Yes—that could not have been the two mile creek.” It was eight o’clock when we reached Bellefontaine.[[97]] We were ushered into a large room made cheerful by a huge blazing fire. Mr. Wing and Dr. Philleo had arrived before us, and there were other travellers, on their way from the Mississippi. I was received with great kindness and volubility, by the immense hostess, “la grosse Americaine,” as she was called, and she soon installed me in the arm-chair, in the warmest corner, and in due time set an excellent supper before us.
But her hospitality did not extend to giving up her only bed for my accommodation. She spread all the things she could muster on the hard floor before the fire, and did what she could to make me comfortable; then, observing my husband’s solicitude lest I might feel ill from the effects of the fatigue and rain, she remarked in tones of admiring sympathy, “How kind your companion is to you!” An expression which, as it was then new to us, amused us not a little.