nticipated. Nothing is
more deceptive than distance in these high latitudes. At the close of
each of the two suceeding days, my point of destination was seemingly
as far from me as at the moment I took leave of the Madison Range, and
when, cold and hungry, on the afternoon of the fourth day, I gathered
the first food I had eaten in nearly five days, and lay down by my
fire near the debouchure of the river, I had nearly abandoned all hope
of escape.

At daybreak I was on the trail down the river. The thought I had
adopted from the first, "I will not perish in this wilderness," often
revived my sinking spirits, when, from faintness and exhaustion, I
felt but little desire for life. Once, while struggling through a
field of tangled trunks which seemed interminable, at one of the
pauses I found myself seriously considering whether it was not
preferable to die there than renew the effort to proceed. I felt that
all attempt to escape was but a bitter prolongation of the agony of
dissolution. A seeming whisper in the air, "While there is life there
is hope; take courage," broke the delusion, and I clambered on. I did
not forget to improve the mid-day sun to procure fire. Sparks from the
lighted brands had burned my hands and crisped the nails of my
fingers, and the smoke from them had tanned my face to the complexion
of an Indian. While passing through an opening in the forest I found
the tip of a gull's wing; it was fresh. I made a fire upon the spot,
mashed the bones with a stone, and consigning them to my camp kettle,
the yeast-powder box, made half a pint of delicious broth. The
remainder of that day and the night ensuing were given to sleep.

I lost all sense of time. Days and nights came and went, and were
numbered only by the growing consciousness that I was gradually
starving. I felt no hunger, did not eat to appease appetite, but to
renew strength. I experienced but little pain. The gaping sores on my
feet, the severe burn on my hip, the festering crevices at the joints
of my fingers, all terrible in appearance, had ceased to give me the
least concern. The roots which supplied my food had suspended the
digestive power of the stomach, and their fibres were packed in it a
matted, compact mass.

Not so with my hours of slumber. They were visited by the most
luxurious dreams. I would apparently visit the most gorgeously
decorated restaurants of New York and Washington; sit down to immense
tables spread with the most a