Madness and Death

The remainder of our journey was terrible by Nature only, without the atrocious aid of man. But the past had done its work. We reached Washoe with our very marrows almost burnt out by sleeplessness, sickness, and agony of mind. The morning before we came to the silver-mining metropolis, Virginia City, a stout, young, Illinois farmer, whom we had regarded as the stanchest of all our fellow-passengers, became delirious, and had to be held in the stage by main force. (A few weeks afterward, when the stage was changing horses near the Sink of Carson, another traveller became suddenly insane, and blew his brains out.) As for myself, the moment that I entered a warm bath, in Virginia City, I swooned entirely away, and was resuscitate with great difficulty after an hour and a half's unconsciousness.

Burnt Station

Only one consolation was left us. In the middle of the defile stood an overland station, where we were to get fresh horses. The next stage was twenty miles long. If we were attacked in force, we might manage to run it, almost the whole way, unless the Indians succeeded in shooting one of our team, - the coup they always attempt. I have no doubt we were ambushed at several points in that defile, but our prefect preparation intimidated our foes. . . At last we turned the corner around which the station-house should come in view. A thick, nauseous smoke was curling up from the site of the buildings. We came nearer. Barn, stables, station-house, -- all were a smouldering pile of rafters. We came still nearer. The whole stud of horses -- a dozen or fifteen--lay roasting on the embers. We came close to the spot. There, inextricably mixes with the carcasses of the beasts, lay six men, their brains dashed out, their faces mutilated beyond recognition, their limbs hewn off, -- a frightful holocaust steaming up into our faces.