“It ain’t no use. We can’t buck agin _him_. He just utilizes everything we put up to modify him with, and gives it his own flavor and plays it back on us. Why, Cap., don’t you know, it’s as much as a hundred times worse in there now than it was when he first got a-going. I never _did_ see one of ’em warm up to his work so, and take such a dumnation interest in it. No, sir, I never did, as long as I’ve ben on the road; and I’ve carried a many a one of ’em, as I was telling you.” We went in again, after we were frozen pretty stiff; but my, we couldn’t _stay_ in, now. So we just waltzed back and forth, freezing, and thawing, and stifling, by turns. In about an hour we stopped at another station; and as we left it Thompson came in with a bag, and said,— “Cap., I’m a-going to chance him once more,—just this once; and if we don’t fetch him this time, the thing for us to do, is to just throw up the sponge and withdraw from the canvass. That’s the way _I_ put it up.” He had brought a lot of chicken feathers, and dried apples, and leaf tobacco, and rags, and old shoes, and sulphur, and assafœtida, and one thing or another; and he piled them on a breadth of sheet iron in the middle of the floor, and set fire to them. When they got well started, I couldn’t see, myself, how even the corpse could stand it. All that went before was just simply poetry to that smell,—but mind you, the original smell stood up out of it just as sublime as ever,—fact is, these other smells just seemed to give it a better hold; and my, how rich it was! I didn’t make these reflections there—there wasn’t time—made them on the platform. And breaking for the platform, Thompson got suffocated and fell; and before I got him dragged out, which I did by the collar, I was mighty near gone myself. When we revived, Thompson said dejectedly,— “We got to stay out here, Cap. We got to do it. They ain’t no other way. The Governor wants to travel alone, and he’s fixed so he can outvote us.” And presently he added,— “And don’t you know, we’re _pisoned_. It’s _our_ last trip, you can make up your mind to it. Typhoid fever is what’s going to come of this. I feel it a-coming right now. Yes, sir, we’re elected, just as sure as you’re born.” We were taken from the platform an hour later, frozen and insensible, at the next station, and I went straight off into a virulent fever, and never knew anything again for three weeks. I found out, then, that I had spent that awful night with a harmless box of rifles and a lot of innocent cheese; but the news was too late to save _me_; imagination had done its work, and my health was permanently shattered; neither Bermuda nor any other land can ever bring it back to me. This is my last trip; I am on my way home to die. LUCK.[2]