A MOUNTAIN PASS AT NIGHT. 
31 
not prepared to say that his party ever insinuated anything of 
the kind. In the after part of the day, I was overtaken by Maj. 
Sewall, lady, and suite. They descended the mountain, and as 
they were about to cross the brook at its base, Capt. Tyler, one 
of th$ party, dismounted, and as he was crossing over, a double- 
barrelled gun accidentally discharged within four feet of him, he 
receiving the entire charge in his hip. This caused the greatest 
consternation. The Capt. having Mrs. Sewall’s child in his 
arms, it was feared it had received a part of the charge. This 
fortunately did not prove to be the case. The Capt. was imme¬ 
diately stripped, the wound dressed, and through the kind 
assistance of the Engineering corps of the Panama Railroad, 
who were encamped near, a litter was constructed, and he was 
taken through to Panama on the shoulders of the natives. 
I was detained until the sun had disappeared behind the 
mountain, and it was with some difficulty my horse found his 
way. I ascended the next mountain, and in attempting to 
descend, lost my way. I dismounted, and after a long search, 
found the gully through which it was necessary to pass. There 
was not a ray of light—it was the very blackness of darkness— 
and on arriving at the end of the gully, I was again obliged to 
dismount, and after groping about for half an hour, found what 
I presumed to be the path. My horse was of a different 
opinion. The matter was discussed—I carried the “point.” 
After riding a short distance, he stopped, and on examining the 
path, I found that it dropped abruptly into a chasm twenty 
feet in depth. My horse now refused to move in any direction, 
which left no alternative but to encamp. I succeeded in find¬ 
ing canebrake, which I cut for him, and spreading out my 
India rubber blanket, using my saddle as a pillow, I stretched 
myself out for the night. A most profound stillness reigned 
through the forest. All nature seemed to be hushed in sleep. 
Occasionally a limb would crack, struggling with the weight of 
its own foliage, and once, not far distant, a gigantic tree, a 
patriarch of the forest, came thundering to the ground. A slight 
breeze passed mournfully by, as if sighing its requiem, and again 
all was still. 
This solemnity was painfully ominous. There appeared to be 
something foreboding in the very solemnity, that reigned. If 
