398 



INCIDENTS OF TRAVEL. 



read reports, papers, and pamphlets on the subject of 

 the great canal, and expected at least to find a road to 

 the port ; but the desert of Arabia is not more desolate, 

 and the track of the Children of Israel to the Red Sea 

 a turnpike compared with it. 



My beautiful gray, degraded into a cargo-mule, 

 chafed under her burden ; and here obstructed, and 

 jerked first one way and then the other, the girths of 

 the saddle became loose, the load turned on her side, 

 and she rushed blindly forward, kicking, and threw her- 

 self among the bushes. Her back was badly hurt, and 

 she was desperately frightened ; but we were obliged to 

 reload her, and, fortunately, we were near the end of 

 our day's journey. 



On the border of the woods we reached a stream, the 

 last at which fresh water was procurable, and filling 

 our calabash, entered a plain covered with high grass. 

 In front was another piece of woodland, and on the left 

 the River San Juan, now a large stream, emptying into 

 the Pacific. In a few minutes we reached a small clear- 

 ing, so near the shore that the waves seemed breaking 

 at our feet. We tied our mules under the shade of a 

 large tree on the edge of the clearing. The site of Mr. 

 Bailey's rancho was on an eminence near, but hardly a 

 vestige remained ; and though it commanded a fine 

 view of the port and the sea, it was so hot under the af- 

 ternoon sun that I fixed our encampment under the large 

 tree. We hung our saddles, saddlecloths, and arms 

 upon its branches, and while Nicolas and Jose gathered 

 wood and made a fire, I found, what was always the 

 most important and satisfactory part of the day's jour- 

 ney, excellent pasture for the mules. 



The next thing was to take care of ourselves. We 

 had no trouble in deciding what to have for dinner. 



