He was content to try again, but it was only
too true that his last remnant of strength
was expended—he could not move ten paces
without extreme suffering. It was inevitable
to leave him in the snow, carefully wrapped
up, and push on in the hope of sending early
succour back. It was ten hours before the
camp was reached by the two limping
travellers. Delawares were sent for Mr.
Fuller, and the whole camp sat sorrowfully
awake throughout the night expecting their
return. The sick man was brought in on
the following night, alive, but with feet
black to the ankles. He was carried forward
by his comrades, but the powers of
his life were spent, and he survived not
many days.

After the crossing of the Green River the
whole party went on foot, and the men were
becoming weaker every day for the want of
food. The painter, who had one foot badly
frozen, became at last, through lameness,
constantly the last man on the trail, and
once his energy almost deserted him. He
was at the top of a mountain of snow, with
not a tree to be seen for many miles. Night
was approaching, and, in the direction taken
by his comrades, not a sign of life could be
descried. He sank exhausted on the
snowbank, and took out of his pocket for a
farewell look the miniatures of his wife and
children. Power came to him out of their
faces. He thought how little his wife could
afford to be a widow or his children to be
fatherless, beat down his despair, and struggled
forward. It was not till late at night that
he arrived at the camp fire, where Colonel
Fremont awaited his arrival. Before the men
Colonel Fremont jested with him; but, after
supper, he talked with him in the tent,
comforted him, entreated him to say nothing
dispiriting in presence of the others, and said that
on the next day he would take some measures
for mounting the whole party. Next day,
accordingly, it was declared that all baggage,
including the daguerreotype apparatus, was
to be buried in a cache, that the men were
to mount the baggage mules, relieving them
as much as possible by sometimes walking at
their side. When an animal gave in he was
shot down by the Indians, and divided into
twenty-two parts—two for the colonel and
his cook, ten for the whites of the camp, ten
for the Delawares. Soup was made of the offal.
As to the division between man and man,
there was so much jealousy among the hungry
whites that the several pieces of meat had to
be allotted to the several men by one of the
number, who decided blindfold. The
Delawares, by frugal use of their own share,
always had a little meat, and they were never
known to rob each other; the men of the
white camp, painter included, robbed one
another of food, more or less, and ate up their
allowances improvidently at the cost sometimes
of a two days' fast. For fifty days, life
was sustained on horseflesh only.

Arrived in the midst of deep snow, at the
foot of the Warsatch mountains, Colonel
Fremont called a council of the chief Delawares
to consider the possibility of crossing a
particular mountain; of which the ascent was
at an angle of forty-five degrees, and the
height about a thousand feet. The Delawares
declared the snows to be too deep. That
night there was an occultation, and the
Colonel, assisted by the painter (who was now
become assistant astronomer), standing in
three or four feet of snow took observations.
The next morning Colonel Fremont said that
Parawan, a small Mormon settlement in the
little Salt Lake Valley, was distant so many
miles in a certain direction immediately over
that snow-covered mountain. Cross it he
would—and did, he himself leading the way
and breaking a path for his comrades. On
the day and at the very hour when he had
said he meant to reach the place, the Colonel
led his men into Parawan, a settlement not
visible at two miles distance, having come
straight upon it by the help of science. A
mariner, says Mr. Carvalho, may direct his
course to an island in the sea or to a port;
and, if his calculation be right even within
fifty miles, he will have practical ways of
correcting so much error. But he who leads
men suffering from cold and hunger among
mountains over trackless snow, if he be only
three miles wrong in his reckoning, may
miss the place of rest, and wander lost among
the wilds. Colonel Fremont was precise, not
only in his calculations, but in all his conduct
as a leader. He maintained the temper of a
gentleman through every trial; under no
provocation did he utter any oath, but kept
perfect discipline by showing that he knew
how to respect himself; thus securing the
respect of his companions.

Having entered Parawan, Mr. Carvalho
collapsed. He and his comrades were lank
men, with hair uncut and uncombed, and
faces that had not been washed for a month.
Lodged with a Mormon family, at length a
declared invalid, the painter had his hair
cut and his face scrubbed. Fremont and his
companions travelled on still westward
towards new perils; Mr. Carvalho, invalided,
stayed among the Mormons, received
hospitality from Brigham Young; and, in three
months, under the care of the people of Great
Salt City, added sixty-one pounds to his
weight, that being seventeen pounds more
than he had lost by the privations of the
journey. He has much to tell about the
Mormons, but we leave all who wish to
know what is his report concerning their
strange commonwealth to hear it from himself.