Lost Lenore: The Adventures of a Rolling Stone. Майн Рид
and worked my passage to California round the Horn. It was too late now. To get back to any seaport on the Atlantic, would have required fifteen or twenty dollars; and I had only five left, of all that I had earned upon the liner. I spent these five dollars, before I had succeeded in discovering any plan by which I might reach California. I felt convinced that my only chance of finding my relatives, and making myself worthy of Lenore, lay in my getting across, to the Pacific side of America.
While thus cogitating, I was further tantalised by reading in a newspaper some later accounts from the diggings. These imparted the information that each of the diggers was making a fortune in a week, and spending it in a day. One week in California, was worth ten years in any other part of the world. Any one could get an ounce of gold per diem—merely for helping the giver to spend the money he had made!
Should I—the Rolling Stone—stay where I could find employment at nothing better than splitting rails, while Earth contained a country like California?
There was but one answer to the interrogation: No.
I resolved to reach this land of gold, or perish in the attempt.
Volume One—Chapter Seventeen.
On Horseback Once More.
The same newspaper that had imparted the pleasing intelligence, supplied me with information of another kind—which also produced a cheering effect upon my spirits.
The emigrants proceeding overland to California, required protection from the Indians—many hostile tribes of whom lived along the route. Military stations, or “forts” as they were called, had to be established at different points upon the great prairie wilderness; and, just then, the United States’ Government was enlisting men to be forwarded to these stations.
Most of the men enrolled for this service, were for its cavalry arm; and after my last quarter of a dollar had been spent, I became one of their number. My former experience in a dragoon saddle—of which I could give the proofs—made it no very difficult matter for me to get mounted once more.
Enlisting in the army, was rather a strange proceeding for a man who was anxious to make a fortune in the shortest possible time; but I saw that something must be done, to enable me to live; and I could neither hold a plough, nor wield an axe.
At first, I was not altogether satisfied with what I had done, for I knew that my mother was not to be found in the wilds of America; and that, after remaining five years in the ranks of the American army, I would be as far as ever from Lenore.
There was one thought, however, that did much to reconcile me to my new situation; and that was, that our line of march would be towards California!
Three weeks after joining the cavalry corps, we started for a station lying beyond Fort Leavenworth.
Our march was not an uninteresting one: for most of my comrades were young men of a cheerful disposition; and around our camp-fires at night, the statesman, philosopher, or divine, who could not have found either amusement or instruction, would have been a wonderful man.
Our company was composed of men of several nations. All, or nearly all, of them were intelligent; and all unfortunate: as, of course, every man must be, who enters the ranks as a common soldier.
Man is the creature of circumstances, over which he has no control. The circumstances that had brought together the regiment to which I belonged, would probably make a volume much more instructive and interesting than any “lady novel,” and this, judging from the taste displayed by the majority of readers of the present day, is saying more than could be easily proved.
Many European officers would have thought there was but slight discipline in the corps to which I was attached; but in this opinion, they would be greatly in error.
The efficiency of our discipline consisted in the absence of that pretty order, which some French and English martinets would have striven to establish; and which would have been ill-suited for a march over the sterile plains, and through the dense forests encountered in the line of our route. This absence of strict discipline did not prevent us from doing a good day’s march; and yet enabled us to have plenty of game to cook over our camp-fires by night.
We had no duty to trouble ourselves with, but what the common sense of each taught him to be necessary to our safety and welfare; and we were more like a hunting party seeking amusement, than like soldiers on a toilsome march.
For all this, we were proceeding towards our destination, with as much speed as could reasonably be required.
We had one man in the company, known by the name of “Runaway Dick”—a name given to him after he had one evening, by the camp-fire, entertained us with a narration of some of the experiences of his life.
He had run away from home, and gone to sea. He had run away from every ship in which he had sailed. He had started in business several times, and had run away each time in debt. He had married two wives, and had run away from both; and, before joining our corps, he had run away from the landlord of a tavern—leaving Boniface an empty trunk as payment for a large bill.
“Runaway Dick” was one of the best marksman with a rifle we had in the company; and it was the knowledge of this, that on one occasion caused me perhaps the greatest fright I ever experienced.
I had risen at an early hour one morning, which being very cold, I had lighted a fire. I was squatted, and shivering over the half kindled faggots, with a buffalo robe wrapped around my shoulders, when I saw “Runaway Dick” steal out from his sleeping place under a waggon. On seeing me, he turned suddenly round, and laid hold of his rifle.
I had just time to throw off the hairy covering, and spring to my feet, as the rifle was brought to his shoulder. Three seconds more, and I should have had a bullet through my body!
“Darn it! I thought you was a bar,” said Dick coolly, putting down his rifle, as I fancied, with a show of some chagrin at having been undeceived, and “choused” out of his shot.
I afterwards heard that he was only trying to frighten me. If so, the experiment proved entirely successful.
After reaching the post we were to occupy, I was not so well satisfied with my situation, as when on the march.
The discipline became more strict, and we had a good deal of fatigue-work to do—in building huts, stables, and fortifications.
Besides this unsoldierly duty by day, we had at night to take our turn as sentinels around the station.
Emigrants on the way to California passed us daily. How I envied them their freedom of action, and the bright hopes that were luring them on!
One morning, “Runaway Dick” was not to be found. He had run away once more. It was not difficult to divine whither—to California.
In this, his latest flight, he appeared to give some proof that he had still a little honesty left: for he did not take along with him either his horse, or his rifle.
I overheard some of the officers speaking of him after he was gone, one of them pronounced him “a damned fool” for not taking the horse—so necessary to him upon the long journey he would have to perform, before reaching his destination.
On hearing this remark, I registered a resolve, that, when my turn came to desert, they should not have occasion to apply the epithet to me, at all events, not for the same reason that Runaway Dick had deserved it.
Whether Dick’s example had any influence on me, I do not now remember. I only know that I soon after determined to desert, and take my horse with me.
I had served the Government of the United States once before; and did not think myself any too well rewarded for my services. I might probably have believed that “Uncle Sam” was indebted to me; and