176 WILD SPOKTS IN THE FAR WEST. 



latter duty did not take long, for my whole store of 

 provisions consisted of maize flour, dried venison, and 

 wild honey. 



Darkness, thick darkness, lay upon the slumbering 

 earth : yielding up my imagination to memorials of old 

 times, I drew the solitary chair to the blazing fire, took 

 out my zither, and with soft mournful tones, soothed 

 the home-sickness, which in loneliness forces itself on 

 the heart. After a time, overcome by fatigue, I ex- 

 tended myself on my buffalo skin before the fire, and 

 soon a succession of fantastic dreams flitted across 'my 

 brain. The little fat distiller sat Avith me and mine 

 in a garden at Leipzig, relating all the hardships and 

 dangers which he had undergone at the buffalo hunt, 

 while my dear mother listened to him with astonish- 

 ment: many other loved forms were sitting round a 

 large table, each with their coffee before them, when 

 we were all disturbed by a loud knocking at the gate, 

 and started up to see what was the matter, except the 

 little distiller, who laughingly told us it was only a 

 tame buffalo that he had tied up at the gate. The 

 knocking growing louder and louder, I jumped up in 

 alarm : the fire was burnt out, thick darkness sur- 

 rounded me, but the repeated loud knocking shook off 

 the remains of sleep, and I hastened to the door. 



One of the drivers who had left the day before, 

 stepped into the room, his teeth chattering with ague. 

 I made haste to light the fire, vvhich soon burnt up 

 brfglitl}', and then looked to my patient, who had sunk 

 down on a chair, telling me with a weak voice that 

 his last hour was come. Luckily, I had some coffee at 

 hand, and made him drink a couple of cups as hot as 



