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the top of Mount Tahawus, it is nearly twenty miles through the woods. Not a human footstep, so our guide the “mighty hunter, Cheney," tells us, has profaned it for six years, and it is two good days' work to go and return. A tramp of forty miles through a pathless forest to see one mountain, is a high price to pay,
but we have resolved to do it. You must know that thirty miles in dense woods, is equal to sixty miles along a beaten track. These primeval forests are not your open groves like those south and west, through which a horse can gallop; but woven and twisted together and filled up with underbrush that prevent you from seeing ten rods ahead, and which scratch and flog you at every step, as if you were running the gauntlet.
One or two nights at least, we must sleep in the woods, and our provision be carried on our backs, and so behold us at 7 o'clock in the morning ready to start. First comes Cheney, our guide, with a heavy pack on his back filled with bread, and pork and sugar, carry.ing an axe in his hånd with which to build our shanty and cut our fuel. Young sth has also a pack strapped to his shoulders, while A-ld and Phave nothing but their overcoats lashed around them; B- -n carries a tea-kettle in his hand, for he would as soon think of camping out without his pipe and tobacco, as without his tea. As for myself, I carry a green blanket tied by a rope to my shoulders, a strong hunting-knife and a large stick like the Alpine stock, which I found so great a help in climbing the Alps. Some of the worthy workmen of the furnace are looking on, doubtful whether all will hold out to the top. “ Have you the pork ?" says one ; “Yes." "Have you the sugar and tea ?”
“ Have you the spyglass ?” “ Yes."
“ Yes.” “Well,” says Cheney, “is everything ready ?” “Yes." 66 Then let us be off.”
HURRAH! we are off, and crossing a branch of the Hudson near its source, enter the forest, Indian file, and stretch forward. It is no child's play before us; and the twenty miles we are to travel will test the blood and muscle of every one.
The first few miles there is a rough path, which was cut last summer, in order to bring out the body of Mr. Henderson. It is a great help, but filled with sad associations. At length we came to the spot where twenty-five workmen watched with the body in the forest all night. It was too late to get through, and here they kindled their camp-fire, and stayed. The rough poles are still there, on which the corpse rested. "Here,” says Cheney, “on this log I sat all night, and held Mr. Henderson's little son, eleven years of age, in my arms. Oh, how he cried to be taken in to his mother; but it was impossible to find our way through the woods; and he, at length, cried himself to sleep in my arms. Oh, it was a dreadful night.”. A mile further on, and we came to the roch where he was shot. It stands by a little pond, and was selected by them to dine upon. Cheney was standing on the other side of the pond, with the little boy, whither he had gone to make a raft, on which to take some trout, when he heard the report of a gun, and then a scream; and looking across, saw Mr. 'Henderson clasp his arms twice over his breast, exclaiming, “I am shot!” The son fainted by Cheney's side; but in a few moments all stood round the dying man, who murmured, “What an accident, and in such a place !" In laying down his pistol, with the muzzle unfortunately towards him, the hammer struck the rock, and the cap exploding, the entire contents were lodged in his body. After commending his soul to his Maker, and telling his son to be a good boy, and give his love to his mother, he leaned back and died. made us sad to gaze on the spot; and poor Cheney, as he drew a long sigh, looked the picture of sorrow.