A writer in the _Leisure Hour_ remarks:—“It is no joke when a town like
New York or London is blocked up for a few hours by snow. Both labour
and capital have then to submit to a strike from nature; but it is a more
serious matter when a man is snowed up in the middle of the Pacific
Railway. He is not then kept at home, but kept away from it; he is not
in the midst of comforts, but most unpleasantly out of their reach. He
may, too, have to endure his privations and annoyances for a week, or
even a month. . . Avalanches, in spite of snow-sheds and galleries,
spring into ravines which the trains have to cross. . . . It was,
however, with some little alarm that the writer found himself caverned
for a considerable time under one of these dark snow-sheds. The
difficulty of running through the snow impediments had so exhausted the
fuel that it was necessary to go to a wood-station in the mountains. As
it was the favourite resort of avalanches, the prudent conductor of our
train directed the pilot to back the carriages into a snow-shed, and then
be off the more quickly with engine and tender for a supply of fuel. It
was bitterly cold and in the dead of night. The snow was piled up around
the gallery, and had in many places penetrated through the crevices. The
silence was profound. The sense of utter loneliness and desolation was
complete. The return of the engine after a lengthened absence was a
relief, like the spring sun following an arctic winter.
“The first parties snowed up were wholly unprepared. They had had their
dollar meal at the last station, and were far enough from the next when
fixed in the bank. It was, however, a rare harvest for the nearest
store. The necessity of some was the opportunity of others. Food of
inferior quality brought fabulous prices. A dispute, involving a heavy
wager, arose about one article of fare. Was it antelope or not? The
vendor admitted that a very lean old cow had been sacrificed on the
pressing occasion.
“For a little while some fun was got out of the trouble of snowed-up
trains. Delicate attentions were tendered by gentlemen as cooks’ mates
to the ladies. Oyster-cans were converted into culinary utensils, and
telegraph wire proved excellent material for gridirons. Many a joke was
passed in the train kitchen, and hearty was the appetite for the rude
viands thus rudely dressed. But when the food grew more difficult to
obtain, and the wood supply became less and less, the mirth was
considerably slackened. It is true that despatches were sent off for
help, and cargoes of provisions were steamed up as near as the snow would
permit; but it was hard work to carry over the snow, and insufficient was
the supply. Frightful growlings arose from the men and sad lamentations
from the women. Short allowance of food, with intense cold, could not be
positively enjoyed any time; but to be cooped up within snow walls in
such a desolate region, far from expecting friends or urgent business,
was most annoying. One spoke of absolute necessity to be at his office
within the week, as heavy bills had to be prepared for. Another was
going about an important speculation, which would utterly break down if
he were detained three days. Alas! he was there above three weeks.
“The sorrows of the heart were worse. A mother was there hastening to
nurse a sick daughter. A father had been summoned to the dying bed of
his son. A husband was hoping to clasp again a wife from whom a long
voyage had separated him. One poor fellow was an especial object of
sympathy. He was hastening to an anxiously waiting bride. He had to
cool the ardour of his passion in the snow-bound car, and pass the day
appointed for his wedding in shivering reflections. In one of the snow
depths was detained an interesting couple who had casually met on the
western side and were obeying the mandate of the heart and of friends in
proceeding to the east to effect their happy union. The three weeks they
were compelled to pass together, under these cold and trying
circumstances, must have given them a famous insight into each other’s
character, and this before the knot was tied.
“The story is told of one resolute man who, though but newly married, had
been compelled to take a business journey. He was most impatient to
return home, and was awhile confounded with his unfortunate imprisonment.
When he found that little chance existed for an early escape, his heart
prompted him to a bold enterprise. He was still two hundred miles from
home. He had no guide before him but the telegraph posts. He could
expect little provision on the way, as the stations were frozen up; but,
sustained by conjugal affection, the good fellow set off on his lonely
walk over the snow. Notwithstanding terrible sufferings, and some free
fighting with wolves, he did his march in five days only. What a
greeting he deserved!
“Those who had not his courage and strength were compelled to endure the
cars. Americans are not folks to whine about a trouble; they succeed so
often that their faith is strong. Though the most luxurious of people,
the men—and the women too—can bear reverses nobly. But they never dream
of Oriental submissiveness. They struggle hard to rise, and make the
best of things till a change comes. So with those in the cars. They
soon found amusements; they chatted and laughed, played games and sang;
the best jokes were recollected and repeated, and the liveliest tales
were told; charades were acted; a judge and jury scene afforded much
amusement; lectures were given to approving assemblies. The Sundays were
decently observed, and services were held morning and evening; reading
was dispensed with, and the sermons were extempore perforce.
“The worst part of their sufferings came when for forty-eight hours they
were under a snow-shed without light, and with the stoves empty. As, for
the maintenance of warmth, every crevice in the cars was stopped, the
misery of close and unwholesome atmosphere was added to their sorrows.
The writer, as an old traveller, has had some experience of odd sleeping
dens, and has been obliged at times to inhale a pestiferous air, though
he has never endured so much from this discomfort as in his winter
passage on the Pacific Railway. For hours in the long nights, as well as
in the day, he preferred standing outside on the platform, with the
thermometer from fifteen to twenty-five below zero, rather than encounter
the foul atmosphere and stifling heat within.
“Meanwhile the brave Chinamen were summoned to the rescue. They are
capital fellows to withstand the cold, and work with a will to clear a
passage. For a distance of two hundred miles the blockade existed, and
several trains were thus caught on the way. Eight hundred freight wagons
were detained at Cheyenne. At one period the cold was 30° below zero.
The worst part of the road was toward Sherman, 8,252 feet above the sea.
Wyoming and West Nebraska were the coldest regions.
“In this great blockade, strange to say, the mortality was but small.
Three died during the imprisonment, and two in consequence of cold. But
an interesting compensation was made, for five births took place in this
season of trial. The principal sufferers were those in the second-class
carriages. Room, however, was made for the more delicate in the already
crowded first-class cars.”