The journalist adds: "Mr. Boggs is respited until to-morrow, when, if he can not advance more steadily, he is to share the fate of former sufferers. He is the first officer we have been called upon to abandon. After frequent delays we reached camp about one mile ahead, where Messrs. Boggs and Truxton were attended to. Here have cut down some sour nut-trees, with great fatigue to the few who were able to assist. The fires enlivened the gloom of the forest until a late hour.
"Thursday, March 23. Left 15 Return Camp at 6.30 a.m. Mr. Truxton better, but dreading the effects of the march. Mr. Boggs hopeful of his ability to proceed. Mr. Garland suffering acutely, and Harwood fearful of not being able to accomplish the day's march.
"Philip Vermilyea requested Mr. Kettlewell to note down his last requests, and then laid himself down in despair; and at another time requested that a tin pot, some nuts, and a blanket and a hatchet might be given him. All of these requests Mere complied with, though the different articles were so necessary to the party, and with the most melancholy presentiments leave was taken of the dying man, when the march was continued.
"Nearly half a mile from camp, two bunches of ripe nuts were found, which the party with few exceptions greedily devoured, reserving for the future those which were not absolutely necessary to appease their immediate hunger." While plucking these nuts Vermilyea came staggering up. The gloom and desolation of the forest as he found himself alone and abandoned, were more than he could bear, and rousing himself by a desperate effort, he had pushed on in the track of the party. As he joined them they gave him a part of the nuts they had gathered, which revived him much, and he declared he was able to go on. Further on some acid nut-trees were found, but as it would take a long time in their feeble state to cut them down, and as the entire party, with the exception of Maury and Kettlewell, were exceedingly prostrated, it was determined to encamp at this point, solacing themselves for the little distance they had made by the strange delusive promise that on the morrow they would proceed by longer marches to the plantations, but seven camps distant. Cherishing this delusive dream they stretched themselves on the ground, while Maury and Kettlewell built the fire in which to roast the few acid nuts which had been obtained. These two officers, with two or three more not so much prostrated, then went down the bank to cool the fever of their sores, and refresh themselves with a bath. To a mere looker on, the camp this night would have presented a most heart-rending spectacle. It was plain that not more than two or three could ever reach the banana plantations, while four or five must be left in the morning to starve and to die. Three knew that their fate was sealed, and looked forward to their abandonment the next day with the calm, stern eye of despair. Their young commander, Truxton, would in all human probability never lead them again. Weighed down with the terrible responsibility of so many lives resting on his exertions—taking on himself the toil which properly belonged to the men, and at the same time denying himself food for their sustenance, he had borne nobly up till the sudden attack produced by eating some unknown berries. His gallant spirit and courage would naturally keep him up to the last moment, and when he broke down the prostration would be sudden and complete. That catastrophe had now arrived, and no one was so much aware of it as himself. As he lay with his head resting against the root of a tree—his clothes in rags, his face wan, his dark eye sunken and sad, while the blood streamed from his hands, which the thorns had pierced as he cut a path through them with his knife—he presented a spectacle that would draw tears from stones. He felt that the sands of life were almost run, and that those whom he had struggled so hard to feed must leave him to starve and to die. Boggs, a young man of fortune, and who had joined the expedition as an amateur, lay near him. It was plain that he had made his last march. He was engaged to be married to a young lady in Illinois, and visions of her, together with the thronging memories of the past and gloomy forebodings of the future, swept over his spirit as he pondered the morrow. Tall and well formed, he lay a wasted skeleton along the ground. His doom was sealed. A few steps off, in the men's camp, the spectacle was still more harrowing. Some were sitting on the ground with their heads doubled to their knees, so as to press the stomach together, and lessen the gnawings of hunger; while others lay upon their backs, gazing sadly on the sky. The smoke of their fire curled peacefully up amidst the trees, whose tops glittered in the golden light of the tropical sun, as he sunk away toward the Pacific, which had been so long the goal of their efforts, and the only hope of their salvation. Harwood, a young man, twenty-two years of age, was also sitting up, and doubled together—a mere bundle of rags. His eye, which was black and piercing, had sunk far away into his head, and, with his long-neglected hair hanging down over his shoulders, gave an unearthly aspect to his whole appearance. He knew that his marching was over. Beside him, in the same posture, and almost naked, sat another young man, named Miller, who was also to be left in the morning. But little was said between them, but that little related to the dreadful fate before them. A short distance from these sat Harrison, leaning against a tree. He was about thirty-two years of age, a tall, powerful man, but now wasted to a skeleton, and but half covered with rags. His features, originally, were strongly marked, and now the shriveled skin, drawn tightly over the large lines of his face, gave to his countenance the expression of intense anguish. He had been one of the best men of the party, but starvation
