“Harris, if you’ll do that for me, I’ll never forget you, my boy.”
My new comrade’s eye lighted pleasantly. The words had touched upon a
happy memory, I thought. Then his face settled into thoughtfulness–
almost into gloom. He turned to me and said,
“Let me tell you a story; let me give you a secret chapter of my life–
a chapter that has never been referred to by me since its events
transpired. Listen patiently, and promise that you will not interrupt
me.”
I said I would not, and he related the following strange adventure,
speaking sometimes with animation, sometimes with melancholy, but always
with feeling and earnestness.
THE STRANGER’S NARRATIVE
“On the 19th of December, 1853, I started from St. Louis on the evening
train bound for Chicago. There were only twenty-four passengers, all
told. There were no ladies and no children. We were in excellent
spirits, and pleasant acquaintanceships were soon formed. The journey
bade fair to be a happy one; and no individual in the party, I think, had
even the vaguest presentiment of the horrors we were soon to undergo.
“At 11 P.m. it began to snow hard. Shortly after leaving the small
village of Welden, we entered upon that tremendous prairie solitude that
stretches its leagues on leagues of houseless dreariness far away toward
the jubilee Settlements. The winds, unobstructed by trees or hills, or
even vagrant rocks, whistled fiercely across the level desert, driving
the falling snow before it like spray from the crested waves of a stormy
sea. The snow was deepening fast; and we knew, by the diminished speed
of the train, that the engine was plowing through it with steadily
increasing difficulty. Indeed, it almost came to a dead halt sometimes,
in the midst of great drifts that piled themselves like colossal graves
across the track. Conversation began to flag. Cheerfulness gave place
to grave concern. The possibility of being imprisoned in the snow, on
the bleak prairie, fifty miles from any house, presented itself to every
mind, and extended its depressing influence over every spirit.
“At two o’clock in the morning I was aroused out of an uneasy slumber by
the ceasing of all motion about me. The appalling truth flashed upon me
instantly–we were captives in a snow-drift! ‘All hands to the rescue!’
Every man sprang to obey. Out into the wild night, the pitchy darkness,
the billowy snow, the driving storm, every soul leaped, with the
consciousness that a moment lost now might bring destruction to us all.
Shovels, hands, boards–anything, everything that could displace snow,
was brought into instant requisition. It was a weird picture, that small
company of frantic men fighting the banking snows, half in the blackest
shadow and half in the angry light of the locomotive’s reflector.
“One short hour sufficed to prove the utter uselessness of our efforts.
The storm barricaded the track with a dozen drifts while we dug one away.
And worse than this, it was discovered that the last grand charge the
engine had made upon the enemy had broken the fore-and-aft shaft of the
driving-wheel! With a free track before us we should still have been
helpless. We entered the car wearied with labor, and very sorrowful.
We gathered about the stoves, and gravely canvassed our situation. We
had no provisions whatever–in this lay our chief distress. We could not
freeze, for there was a good supply of wood in the tender. This was our
only comfort. The discussion ended at last in accepting the
disheartening decision of the conductor, viz., that it would be death for
any man to attempt to travel fifty miles on foot through snow like that.
We could not send for help, and even if we could it would not come. We
must submit, and await, as patiently as we might, succor or starvation!
I think the stoutest heart there felt a momentary chill when those words
were uttered.
“Within the hour conversation subsided to a low murmur here and there
about the car, caught fitfully between the rising and falling of the
blast; the lamps grew dim; and the majority of the castaways settled
themselves among the flickering shadows to think–to forget the present,