at all during that time. On
the fourth day they got past dancing, and, lying in drunken heaps about
the barroom, commenced a most unearthly howling. Some barked like dogs,
some roared like bulls, and others hissed like serpents and geese. Many
were too far gone to imitate anything but their own animalized selves.
The scene, from the description I have had of it, must have been a
complete illustration of the fable of Circe and her fearful
transformations. Some of these bacchanals were among the most
respectable and respected men upon the river. Many of them had resided
here for more than a year, and had never been seen intoxicated before.
It seemed as if they were seized with a reckless mania for pouring down
liquor, which, as I said above, everything conspired to foster and
increase.

Of course there were some who kept themselves aloof from these
excesses, but they were few, and were not allowed to enjoy their
sobriety in peace. The revelers formed themselves into a mock vigilance
committee, and when one of these unfortunates appeared outside, a
constable, followed by those who were able to keep their legs, brought
him before the court, where he was tried on some amusing charge, and
_invariably_ sentenced to "treat the crowd." The prisoners had
generally the good sense to submit cheerfully to their fate.

Towards the latter part of the week, people were compelled to be a
little more quiet, from sheer exhaustion, but on New Year's Day, when
there was a grand dinner at Rich Bar, the excitement broke out, if
possible, worse than ever. The same scenes, in a more or less
aggravated form, in proportion as the strength of the actors held out,
were repeated at Smith's Bar and The Junction.

Nearly every day I was dreadfully frightened by seeing a boat-load of
intoxicated men fall into the river, where nothing but the fact of
their _being_ intoxicated saved many of them from drowning. One morning
about thirty dollars' worth of bread (it must have been tipsy-cake),
which the baker was conveying to Smith's Bar, fell overboard, and
sailed merrily away towards Marysville. People passed the river in a
boat, which was managed by a pulley and a rope that was strained across
it from Indian Bar to the opposite shore.

Of the many acquaintances who had been in the habit of calling nearly
evening, three, only, appeared in the cabin during as many weeks. Now,
however, the saturnalia is about over. Ned and Chock have nearly
fiddled them