ng
themselves of the assistance of the animal, they reached the camp early
in the morning.

On arriving there, Mr. Crooks was shocked to find that, while the people
on this side of the river were amply supplied with provisions, none had
been sent to his own forlorn and famishing men on the opposite bank. He
immediately caused a skin canoe to be constructed, and called out to his
men to fill their camp-kettles with water and hang them over the fire,
that no time might be lost in cooking the meat the moment it should be
received. The river was so narrow, though deep, that everything could
be distinctly heard and seen across it. The kettles were placed on the
fire, and the water was boiling by the time the canoe was completed.
When all was ready, however, no one would undertake to ferry the meat
across. A vague and almost superstitious terror had infected the minds
of Mr. Hunt's followers, enfeebled and rendered imaginative of horrors
by the dismal scenes and sufferings through which they had passed.
They regarded the haggard crew, hovering like spectres of famine on the
opposite bank, with indefinite feelings of awe and apprehension: as if
something desperate and dangerous was to be feared from them.

Mr. Crooks tried in vain to reason or shame them out of this singular
state of mind. He then attempted to navigate the canoe himself, but
found his strength incompetent to brave the impetuous current. The good
feelings of Ben Jones, the Kentuckian, at length overcame his fears,
and he ventured over. The supply he brought was received with trembling
avidity. A poor Canadian, however, named Jean Baptiste Prevost, whom
famine had rendered wild and desperate, ran frantically about the bank,
after Jones had returned, crying out to Mr. Hunt to send the canoe for
him, and take him from that horrible region of famine, declaring that
otherwise he would never march another step, but would lie down there
and die.

The canoe was shortly sent over again, under the management of Joseph
Delaunay, with further supplies. Prevost immediately pressed forward to
embark. Delaunay refused to admit him, telling him that there was now a
sufficient supply of meat on his side of the river. He replied that it
was not cooked, and he should starve before it was ready; he implored,
therefore, to be taken where he could get something to appease his
hunger immediately. Finding the canoe putting off without him, he forced
himself aboard. As he drew near