The unfortunate Granadians were much alarmed at the protracted journey, but still would make no exertions to advance; on the contrary, they constantly retarded the party by begging Strain to halt at times when his own officers and men could have made three times the distance. Lombard and Harrison were really ill and suffering, yet they still pushed on, and the last early halt was made at the urgent request of Castillo, who, though doubtless fatigued, was in perfect health.
Now nearly certain that they were upon the Chuqunaqua, which, though almost unknown to geographers, was noted for its tortuous course, Strain was aware that marches of two miles a day would never clear them of the forest until all had suffered terribly from starvation or perished from disease, which their diet would certainly engender. He had no direction in which to look for assistance from without. Captain Hollins, as he was well aware, must be already very anxious, but he was utterly powerless to relieve him, as any party which he might have sent would have consumed their provisions before they could reach him, and instead of being serviceable, would only embarrass him the more, by increasing the number to be provided for in the forest.
From below he had no reason to expect any assistance, as he did not suppose any one in that direction was aware of the Expedition, and besides, if they had, he had already had sufficient experience among the New Granadians to feel assured that—their fear of Indians being placed out of the question—their indolence and selfishness would prevent them from making any effort for which they were not well paid beforehand. Having nothing, therefore, to expect from abroad, finding the party daily becoming weaker, he determined at this camp to send forward and have canoes and provisions brought up to meet them.
Soon after encamping, therefore, he called the men together, and explained to them their situation and the necessity for obtaining canoes and provisions. He then told them that he had resolved to build a small raft, capable of transporting three persons, who were to go forward in search of them. Notwithstanding their previous ill-fortune, he believed that, with a small raft, obstacles might be avoided and surmounted which would stop one large enough to transport the whole party. The proposition seemed to meet the views of the whole party, and the poor fellows went to work energetically to fell a tree which he pointed out to them, and which he had himself commenced cutting down; the wood was tested to see if it would float, and the result being satisfactory, they felled it with no little difficulty, cut it into pieces of appropriate length, and peeled it.
At sunset they had, as they supposed, timber enough for the raft, and were about to convey it to the river bank when it was discovered—by throwing a limb into the water—that, though the wood would float, it was just about the specific gravity of water, and would bear no additional weight.
Thus were all their hopes dashed to the ground, and their labor thrown away. They had, however, found some pussley, as it was called, which they gathered, but hesitated to eat it; when one of the party said that hogs would eat it in the United States, and if it was good for hogs it was good for men. This was conclusive; and large quantities were boiled, of which they all ate ravenously. Violent vomiting ensued—Strain suffering among the rest. They became so thoroughly disgusted with it, that afterward, though nearly half starved, they could never eat it again.
The camp-fire was kindled, and the dispirited, distressed band flung themselves on the earth around it, and sought that refreshment in sleep which could not be obtained by food. That was a long and gloomy night to Strain. He could not sleep, but lay amidst his suffering men, pondering on their sad condition, and revolving various schemes for their deliverance. He had resolved, if the raft had succeeded, to have sent others forward and remained himself behind. This hope was past; and, turn which way he would, it was clear that the last hope of the party rested on some of the strongest cutting their way through and returning with boats. If they were near the Pacific, so much shorter would be the delay of relief—if far, so much more urgent was it that the attempt to reach it should be made before all were too weak to undertake the journey. The time had come for immediate and energetic action, if they would not all perish there in the forest. He had found by experiment that he could endure more, and on less food, than any other member of the party. Besides, the advance might be more dangerous than the retreat. Before them was all uncertainty, perils greater even than those they had already encountered, might await those who ventured forward. He therefore felt that it was his duty to go; and, if necessary, sacrifice himself for the rest. Still, to leave his command to a doubtful fate, tried him sorely. They had supreme confidence in him, which they might not transfer to another leader; and should an evil fate befall them, which after events should prove he could have avoided, it would be a blow greater than he could bear. Thus revolving his condition, he outwatched the stars; but when the morning dawned his resolution was taken.
Rousing up the men, he called them together and announced his determination to leave the party, and taking three persons, force his way down the river to the nearest settlement, from whence he would send back canoes and provisions. Not willing to order men on this doubtful undertaking, he packed up his blanket, shouldered his haversack and carbine, and called for volunteers. Several at once stepped forward, out of whom he selected Mr. Avery, originally a volunteer in the Expedition, and Golden and Wilson, two of the crew of the Cyane. These
