Chapter Seventeen.
Sad fate of the poor Learys—Grief of the mother and sisters—We go in search of the missing ones—Find them at the bottom of the ravine—The burial—Wild scene—Return to camp—Go on a sporting expedition—My battle with the hawks—Very nearly beaten—Short comes to the rescue—Consequences of indulging in a fit of romance on a journey—Go to sleep, and find that my only companion is a huge rattlesnake.
I was describing our passage down the western slopes of the Rocky Mountains, our worthy companion Pat Leary having taken it into his head that he had discovered a much more rapid way of reaching the bottom than the slow one which the rest of our party thought it prudent to pursue. As we stood on the platform immediately above the slope he had taken, we saw him dashing on at a furious speed not at all conscious of the danger he was running. As his wife and daughters, however, saw his rapid descent, they became so, and screamed out for him to stop. He was a great favourite with us all, in spite of a few eccentricities, for he was a capital fellow in the main; and had he not been so, the cries of the women would have made us anxious for his safety.
Obed and I, who were in advance of the rest of the party, could not resist the temptation of setting off to see what had become of him and to render him any assistance in our power. Leaving our wagon, therefore, in charge of two lads, we ran down the slope of the mountain as fast as our legs would carry us. On we went till we were almost done up, but the only sign of the Learys were the ruts which their wagon wheels had made in the softer spots on the mountain side; often they approached fearfully near the edge of the precipice on the left, and then apparently the animals, seeing the danger, had inclined again to the right. We were already carried much farther down the mountain than we intended, and began to repent having come, and to think of our long climb up again, when we saw, a considerable way below us, close to the precipice, some objects moving, which, on descending farther, we discovered to be human beings. They were lying on the ground and waving their hands. As we proceeded we found that the nearest was our poor friend Leary.
“Oh, help them!—save them! murther, murther, or they’ll all be dashed to pieces,” he shouted out, pointing down to the deep glen or gorge below us, through which rushed a rapid, roaring, foaming stream.
Two of his sons lay close to him almost stunned. Four had started in the wagon. Where were the other two? Where was the wagon? The marks of the cart wheels verging to the left, and the broken ground at the edge of the precipice, told us too plainly what had occurred. We looked down the fearful ravine. No attempt we could make to aid the two unfortunate young men would avail. Far, far, down amid masses of rocks at the edge of the torrent lay a confused mass, amid which we could distinguish the wheel of a wagon, and the head of one of the animals which had drawn it, but nothing moved, no sound was heard. It was our conviction that both men and beasts had been, long ere they reached the bottom, deprived of life.
We did not describe to the poor father what we had seen. He was hoping against hope that his sons had escaped. We needed no one to describe to us how the accident had occurred. The road sloped away to the left, and the animals, losing their footing, had been forced by the impetus of the wagon over the precipice, while he and his other two lads had mechanically leaped out at the moment it was about to make the fatal plunge. The two lads were stunned and so much bruised that when they came to themselves they could not walk, while Leary, though less hurt, what with grief and regret at his folly and alarm, had his nerves so completely unstrung that he lost all command over himself. To leave them in this condition was impossible, so I volunteered to climb up the mountain to hurry on some of the party with assistance; but Obed would not hear of it, and insisted on my remaining while he returned. I consented to his proposal, and having assisted me in dragging the three men to a distance from the precipice, off he started. My watch was a very painful one. Poor Leary was constantly raving, asking why his boys did not come up from below there, and crying out that he would go and look for them. I often had great difficulty in restraining him. One of his sons, too, was so severely hurt that I feared he would sink before assistance could come. The other, who was the eldest, was fully conscious of what had occurred, and groaned and cried bitterly, blaming himself and his father as being the cause of the death of his younger brothers, which was indeed too true. Many an anxious look did I cast up the mountain in the hope of seeing my companions on their descent. I expected them long before they could possibly arrive, for I had not calculated how much time it would occupy Obed in ascending, and the wagons with their wheels locked, and the trees astern in descending the mountain.
The state of my poor friends almost unnerved me, and I began to think of grizzly bears and wolves, and all sorts of monsters which might scent us out. Though I had my rifle at my back I could scarcely hope to defend myself and my companions. Still I, of course, determined to do my best. As I looked towards the glen into which the wagon had shot over, I saw high in air several huge birds rapidly winging their flight from various directions, and hovering over the spot ere they made a pounce down on it. I knew too well what they were—vultures drawn by their keen scent from afar to their dreadful banquet. They knew, whatever we might have hoped, that death was there. At last the wagons appeared, and the sound of female voices shrieking and wailing gave me notice that Obed had told the poor wives and sisters of the sufferers what had occurred. It was a most piteous scene. As soon as the wagons could be safely brought to a stop, some of the women threw themselves by the side of the sufferers, and hung over them, and kissed them, and embraced them convulsively, while the bereaved widows cried out for their husbands, and asked what had become of them.