Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 333, July 1843Various
General
Blackwood's Edinburgh Magazine — Volume 54, No. 333, July 1843
Various
England -- Periodicals; Scotland -- Periodicals
The spot where we had halted was on the edge of one of those pine
forests that extend, almost without interruption, from the hills of the
Côte Gelée to the Opelousa mountains, and of a vast prairie, sprinkled
here and there with palmetto fields, clumps of trees, and broad patches
of brushwood, which appeared mere dark specks on the immense extent of
plain that lay before us, covered with grass of the brightest green, and
so long, as to reach up to our horses' shoulders. To the right was a
plantation of palmettos, half a mile wide, and bounded by a sort of
creek or gully, the banks of which were covered with gigantic
cypress-trees. Beyond this, more prairie and a wood of evergreen oak. To
the east, an impenetrable thicket of magnolias, papaws, oak and bean
trees--to the north, the pine wood before mentioned.
Such was the rich landscape we had been surrounded by a short hour
before. But now, on looking around, we found the scene changed; and our
horizon became far more limited by rising clouds of bluish grey vapour,
which approached us rapidly from the wind quarter. Each moment this fog
appeared to become thicker; the sun no longer dazzled our eyes when we
gazed on it, but showed through the mist like a pale red moon; the
outlines of the forest disappeared, veiled from our sight by masses of
vapour; and the air, which, during the morning, had been light and
elastic, although hot, became each moment heavier and more difficult to
inhale. The part of the prairie that remained visible, presented the
appearance of a narrow, misty valley, enclosed between two mighty ranges
of grey mountains, which the fog represented. As we gazed around us and
beheld these strange phenomena, our eyes met, and we read in each others
countenance that embarrassment which the bravest and most light-hearted
are apt to feel, when hemmed in by perils of which they cannot
conjecture the nature.
"Fire off your gun," said I to Carleton. I started as I spoke at the
alteration in my own voice. The gun went off, but the report was, as it
were, stifled by the compressed atmosphere. It did not even alarm some
water-fowl that were plashing and floundering in the creek a few hundred
paces from us.
"Look at our horses!" exclaimed Carleton. "They are surely going mad."
The animals were evidently uneasy at something. They pricked up their
ears, turned half round, and gazed with startled eye behind them; then
strained with their heads and necks in the opposite direction to the
vapour, snorting violently, and at last trying to break away from the
trees to which they were tied. A short time previously they had appeared
much fatigued, but now they were all fire and impatience.
"It is impossible to remain here," said Carleton.
"But whither shall we go?"
"Wherever our horses choose to take us."
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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