even the well
known particulars of the overland route across the Isthmus become
novel and full of interest in the narrative of our young tourist.
The tropical scenery by day and night on the river, the fandango at
Gorgona, and the ride to Panama through the dense dark forest, with
death, in the shape of a cholera-stricken emigrant, following at their
heels, are in the raciest spirit of story-telling. The steamer from
Panama touched at the ancient city of Acapulco, and took in a company
of gamblers, who immediately set up their business on deck. At San
Deigo, the first overland emigrants by the route of the Gila river,
who had reached that place a few days before, came on board, lank and
brown as the ribbed sea-sand, their clothes in tatters, their boots
replaced with moccasins, small deerskin wallets containing all that
was left of the abundant stores with which they started--their
hair and beards matted and unshorn, with faces from which the rigid
expression of suffering was scarcely relaxed. The tales of their
adventures and sufferings the author speaks of as more marvelous than
anything he had ever heard or read since his boyish acquaintance with
Robinson Crusoe and Ledyard. Some had come by the way of Santa Fe,
along the savage Gila hills--some had crossed the Great Desert, and
taken the road from El Paso to Sonora--some had passed through Mexico,
and, after beating about for months in the Pacific, had run into San
Deigo and abandoned their vessel--some had landed weary with a seven
months' voyage round Cape Horn--while others had wandered on foot
from Cape St. Lucas to San Deigo, over frightful deserts and rugged
mountains, a distance of nearly fifteen hundred miles, as they were
obliged to travel.

The Gila emigrants spoke with horror of the Great Desert west of the
Colorado--a land of drought and desolation--vast salt plains and hills
of drifting sand; the trails which they followed sown white with bones
of man and beast. Unburied corpses of emigrants and carcasses of mules
who had preceded them, making the hot air foul and loathsome. Wo to
the weak and faltering in such a journey! They were left alone to die
on the burning sands.

On the Sonora route, one of the party fell sick, and rode on behind
his companions, unable to keep pace with them for several days, yet
always arriving in camp a few hours later. At last he was missing.
Four days after, a negro, alone and on foot, came into camp and told
them that