rrible, we found ourselves
in a deep quicksand. On such occasions horses become, as it were,
insane, trying to throw the riders and then jump on them for support. By
good luck we got out of it soon, but there was an _awful_ five minutes of
kicking, plunging, splashing, and "ground and lofty" swearing. I got
across dry by drawing my legs up before me on the saddle, _a la_ tailor,
but the others were badly wet. But no sooner had we emerged from the
stream than Robert Hunt, bursting into a tremendous "_Ho_! _ho_!" of deep
laughter, declared that he had shown more presence of mind during the
emergency than any of us; for, brandishing his whisky flask, he declared
that while his horse was in the flurry it occurred to him that the best
thing he could do was to lighten the load, and he had therefore, with
incredible presence of mind, drunk up all the whisky!

However, he afterwards confessed to me that the true reason was that,
believing death was at hand, and thinking it a pity to die thirsty, he
had drained the bottle, as did the old Indian woman just as she went over
the Falls of Niagara. Anyhow, the incorrigible _vaurien_ had really
emptied his flask while in the "quick."

Though I say it, I believe that Hunt and I were a pretty well matched
couple, and many a wild prank and Indian-like joke did we play together.
More than once he expressed great astonishment that I, a man grown up in
cities and to literary pursuits, should be so much at home where he found
me, or so congenial. He had been at Princeton, and, _ex pede Herculem_,
had a point whence to judge me, but it failed. {309} His friend Ross was
a quiet, sensible New Englander, who reminded me of Artemus Ward, or
Charles Browne. He abounded in quaint anecdotes of Indian experiences.

As did also a Mr. Wadsworth, who had passed half his life in the Far West
as a surveyor among the Chippeways. He had written a large manuscript of
their legends, of which Schoolcraft made great use in his _Algic_ book. I
believe that much of Longfellow's _Hiawatha_ owed its origin thus
indirectly to Mr. Wadsworth. In after years I wrote out many of his
tales, as told to me, in articles in _Temple Bar_.

The country all about Charleston was primitively wild and picturesque,
rocky, hilly, and leading to solitary life and dreams of _sylvani_ and
forest fairies. There were fountained hills, and dreamy darkling woods,
and old Indian graves, and a dancing stream, across which lay a