THE REMINISCENCES OF CARL SCHURZ
the splashing of our feet in the water, and an occasional exclamation from our guide, asking us to “stop a moment.” He seemed to have become uncertain of his bearings. We had been wandering and wandering on the river for more than half an hour and ought to have reached the opposite shore some time before, when the man upon whom we depended informed us that he did not know where we were. The gray dawn was slowly creeping up the sky, but the snowfall was still so thick that we could not see the river bank on either side. There we stood, a most forlorn and desolate group, half-way to our knees in cold water, but still drops of perspiration running down from our foreheads, for the carrying of a heavy satchel was no small labor under such circumstances. At last the snow became a little less dense and our lookout a little clearer. Then we found that we were still about midway between the two shores, but a considerable distance below the point from which we had started. We had evidently been walking down stream for a good while. But now that we knew at last where we were, we heaved a deep sigh of relief, and in another quarter of an hour clambered up the muddy river bank on the Illinois side, an extremely wretched-looking lot of humanity.
While visiting Boston on a lecturing tour I had occasion to attend one of those “Conservative Union Meetings,” which were held to warn the people against anything like an active anti-slavery movement and to lead them back to the paths of ancient whiggery. It was held in Faneuil Hall, and Edward Everett and Caleb Cushing were the principal speakers. I had never heard either of these two distinguished men before, and was prepared for a powerful onset of argument and appeal. But my expectations were disappointed. In the first place, Mr. Everett's introduction to the audience produced an almost comical effect. It was a raw winter-day and Mr. Everett had
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