On Arriving There, Mr. Crooks Was Shocked To Find That, While The People On This Side Of The River Were Amply Supplied With Provisions, None Had Been Sent To His Own Forlorn And Famishing Men On The Opposite Bank.

He immediately caused a skin canoe to be constructed, and called out to his men to fill their camp- kettles with water and hang them over the fire, that no time might be lost in cooking the meat the moment it should be received.

The river was so narrow, though deep, that everything could be distinctly heard and seen across it. The kettles were placed on the fire, and the water was boiling by the time the canoe was completed. When all was ready, however, no one would undertake to ferry the meat across. A vague and almost superstitious terror had infected the minds of Mr. Hunt's followers, enfeebled and rendered imaginative of horrors by the dismal scenes and sufferings through which they had passed. They regarded the haggard crew, hovering like spectres of famine on the opposite bank, with indefinite feelings of awe and apprehension: as if something desperate and dangerous was to be feared from them.

Mr. Crooks tried in vain to reason or shame them out of this singular state of mind. He then attempted to navigate the canoe himself, but found his strength incompetent to brave the impetuous current. The good feelings of Ben Jones, the Kentuckian, at length overcame his fears, and he ventured over. The supply he brought was received with trembling avidity.

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