Truxton, deeply moved, offered up an extemporaneous prayer, and then the attenuated corpse, with the musket which he had carried so long placed beside it, was deposited in the shallow opening, and the dirt flung back with the hand. The whole party were seriously and deeply impressed with the solemn scene, and turned from the grave to talk of Captain Strain, and to wonder at his long absence. The journal adds:
"Sunday, March 5. We have now been waiting twenty-one days for Lieutenant Strain's return, and the party seems generally impressed with the idea that something has happened to prevent it, as he expected to be back in four or five days. The conclusion forces itself upon us, that if he, with three strong men, could not reach the settlements in twenty-one days, that our dispirited, debilitated, and suffering party of sixteen could never get through. A council of the officers was therefore held, and it was determined to return to the ship."
This was a painful determination to take, for Truxton's express orders were to keep down the stream till met by Strain with boats and relief. But that order was based on the certainity of the latter reaching the Pacific. His return with boats would occupy but a few days, and it did not seem possible, if he were alive, that so long a time could have elapsed without relief being sent, even if he himself were not able to accompany it. For twenty-one days those seventeen men had lain there in the wilderness, gradually wasting away with famine and now death had come to claim the first victim. Day after day, and night after night they had waited, and watched, and listened, now cheered by the apparent report of a distant gun, which they believed their commander had fired in Darien Harbor, to tell them he was through, and to bid them be of good courage, for help was at hand, and again quickened into sudden joy as they thought they heard the nearer sound of his carbine, till hope had given way to settled gloom. The silent forest still shut them in, the sullen echo of its falling trees only making them more desolate, by reminding them of the cannon of their own ship, whose roar for so long a time had made the sunset welcome. To the oft repeated question, "Where is Captain Strain?" had now succeeded the melancholy response—"He is dead!" To push on was madness, for all said if Strain with three strong men could not get through in twenty-one days, they, encumbered with the sick and feeble, could never get through. It had taken them, when much stronger, three days to reach his first encampment after he left them. Whether he had perished with famine, or been devoured by wild beasts, or slain by Indians, could only be conjectured. It was simply evident that no safety lay in that direction. To stay where they were, around the grave of their partially covered comrade, was also certain death, for game could no longer be found, while the nuts and palmetto were every day becoming more scarce. Besides, the long rainy season was fast approaching, when marching in any direction would be im-
BURIAL OF HOLMES.
