A WINTER’S JOURNEY ACROSS THE PLAINS.
When we reached St. Paul the prospect before us was dismal, as the
trains were not to begin running until April, at the soonest. The
railroad officials, mindful of what the general had done for them in
protecting their advance workers in the building of the road, came and
offered to open the route. Sending us through on a special train was a
great undertaking, and we had to wait some time for the preparations
to be completed. One of the officers of the road took an engine out
some distance to investigate, and it looked discouraging enough when he
sprang down from the cab on his return in a complete coating of ice.
The train on which we finally started was an immense one, and certainly
a curiosity. There were two snow-ploughs and three enormous engines;
freight-cars with coal supplies and baggage; several cattle-cars,
with stock belonging to the Black Hills miners who filled the
passenger-coaches. There was an eating-house, looming up above
everything, built on a flat car. In this car the forty employés of
the road, who were taken to shovel snow, etc., were fed. There were
several day-coaches, with army recruits and a few passengers, and last
of all the paymaster’s car, which my husband and I occupied. This had
a kitchen and a sitting-room. At first everything went smoothly. The
cook on our car gave us excellent things to eat, and we slept soundly.
It was intensely cold, but the little stove in the sitting-room was
kept filled constantly. Sometimes we came to drifts, and the train
would stop with a violent jerk, start again, and once more come to
a stand-still, with such force that the dishes would fall from the
table. The train-men were ordered out, and after energetic work by the
stalwart arms the track was again clear and we went on. One day we
seemed to be creeping; the engines whistled, and we shot on finely.
The speed was checked so suddenly that the little stove fairly danced,
and our belongings flew through the car from end to end. After this
there was an exodus from the cars; every one went to inquire as to the
ominous stop. Before our train there seemed to be a perfect wall of
ice; we had come to a gully which was almost filled with drifts. The
cars were all backed down some distance and detached; the snow-ploughs
and engines having thus full sweep, all the steam possible was put
on, and they began what they called “bucking the drifts.” This did a
little good at first, and we made some progress through the gully.
After one tremendous dash, however, the ploughs and one engine were so
deeply embedded that they could not be withdrawn. The employés dug and
shovelled until they were exhausted. The Black Hills miners relieved
them as long as they could endure it; then the officers and recruits
worked until they could do no more. The impenetrable bank of snow was
the accumulation of the whole winter, first snowing, then freezing,
until there were successive layers of ice and snow. It was the most
dispiriting and forlorn situation.
Night was descending, and my husband, after restlessly going in and
out to the next car, showed me that he had some perplexity on his
mind. He described to me the discomfort of the officers and Bismarck
citizens in the other coach in not having any place to sleep. His
meaning penetrated at last, and I said, “You are waiting for me to
invite them all to room with us?” His “exactly” assured me it was
precisely what he intended me to do. So he hurried out to give them my
compliments and the invitation. The officers are generally prepared
for emergencies, and they brought in their blankets; the citizens left
themselves to the general’s planning. In order to make the car-blankets
go further, he made two of the folding-beds into one broad one. Two
little berths on each side, and rolls of bedding on the floor, left
only room for the stove, always heated to the last degree. I was
invited to take the farthest place towards the wall, in the large bed;
then came my husband. After that I burrowed my head in my pillow, and
the servant blew out some of the candles and brought in our guests. It
is unnecessary for me to say that I did not see the order in which they
appeared. The audible sleeping in our bed, however, through the long
nights that followed, convinced me that the general had assigned those
places to the oldest, fattest, and ranking civilians. Every morning I
awoke to find the room empty and all the beds folded away. The general
brought me a tin basin with ice-water, and helped me to make a quick
toilet; our eleven visitors waited in the other coach, to return to
breakfast with us in the same room. Every one made the best of the
situation, and my husband was as rollicking as ever. Though I tried to
conceal it, I soon lost heart entirely, and it cost me great effort to
join with the rest in conversation.
The days seemed to stretch on endlessly; the snow was heaped up about
us and falling steadily. All we could see was the trackless waste of
white on every side. The wind whistled and moaned around the cars, and
great gusts rocked our frail little refuge from side to side. The snow
that had begun to fall with a few scattered flakes now came down more
thickly. I made the best effort I could to be brave, and deceived them
as to my real terrors--I had no other idea than that we must die there.
We tried to be merry at our meals, and made light of the deficiencies
that occurred each time we sat down. The increase at the table quickly
diminished our stores, and I knew by the careful manner in which the
wood was husbanded that it was nearly exhausted. The general, always
cool and never daunted by anything, was even more blithe, to keep me
from knowing that there was anything alarming in the situation. If I
could have worked as the men did, even though it was at the hopeless
snow-drifts, the time would not have seemed so long. Of course I had
needle-work, but at such a time any industry that admits of thinking is
of little use as a distraction. During those anxious days it used to
seem strange to hear a dinner-bell through the air, muffled with snow.
For an instant I was deluded into the thought that by some strange
necromancy we had been spirited on to a station, and that this was the
clang of the eating-house bell. It was only the call from the car where
the employés were fed. The lowing of the cattle and howling of our dogs
in the forward cars were the only other sounds we heard. Finally the
situation became desperate, and with all their efforts the officers
could no longer conceal from me their concern for our safety.
Search was made throughout all the train to find if there was a man who
understood anything about telegraphy, for among the fittings stowed
away in the car a tiny battery had been found, with a pocket-relay.
A man was finally discovered who knew something of operating, and it
was decided to cut the main wire. Then the wires of the pocket-relay
were carried out of our car and fastened to either end of the cut wire
outside, so making an unbroken circuit between us and our Lincoln
friends, besides uniting us with Fargo station. In a little while the
general had an answer from Colonel Tom, most characteristic: “Shall I
come out for you? You say nothing about the old lady; is she with you?”
The “old lady” begged the privilege of framing the reply. I regretted
that the telegram could not be underscored--a woman’s only way of
emphasizing--for I emphatically forbade him to come. On this occasion
I dared to assume a show of authority. The stories of the risk and
suffering of our mail-carriers during the two previous winters were too
fresh in my memory for me to consent that Colonel Tom should encounter
so much for our sake.
After that we kept the wires busy, talking with our friends and
devising plans for our relief. We only succeeded in suppressing our
headlong brother temporarily. Against our direct refusal he made
all his preparations, and only telegraphed, when it was too late to
receive an answer, that he was leaving garrison. Then our situation
was forgotten in our solicitude about him. The time seemed to move on
leaden wings, and yet it was in reality not long. He went to Bismarck,
and looked up the best stage-driver in all the territory, and hired
him. This driver was cool, intrepid, and inured to every peril. At
an old stage-station along the route he found relays of mules that
belonged to the mail-sleigh.
At last a great whoop and yell, such as was peculiar to the Custers,
was answered by the general, and made me aware for the first time that
Colonel Tom was outside. I scolded him for coming before I thanked him,
but he made light of the danger and hurried us to get ready, fearing a
coming blizzard. His arms were full of wraps, and his pockets crowded
with mufflers and wraps the ladies had sent out to me. We did ourselves
up in everything we had, while the three hounds were being placed in
the sleigh. The drifts were too deep to drive near the cars, so my
husband carried me over the snow and deposited me in the straw with the
dogs. They were such strangers they growled at being crowded. Then the
two brothers followed, and thus packed in we began that terrible ride,
amid the cheers of those we were leaving. It was understood that we
were to send back help to those we left.
The suspense and alarm in the car had been great, but that journey
through the drifts was simply terrible. I tried to be courageous, and
did manage to keep still; but every time we plunged into what appeared
to be a bottomless white abyss, I believed that we were to be buried
there. And so we would have been, I firmly believe, had it not been for
the experience and tenacity of will shown by the old driver. He had a
peculiar yell that he reserved for supreme moments, and that always
incited the floundering mules to new efforts. The sleigh was covered,
but I could look out in front and see the plucky creatures scrambling
up a bank after they had extricated us from the great drift at the
bottom of the gully. If there had been a tree to guide us, or had it
been daytime, it would not have seemed so hopeless a journey. The moon
was waning, and the clouds obscured it entirely from time to time.
There was nothing to serve as guide-posts except the telegraph-poles.
Sometimes we had to leave them to find a road where the sleigh could
be pulled through, and I believed we never would reach them again.
Divide after divide stretched before us, like the illimitable waves of
a great white sea. The snow never ceased falling, and I knew too much
of the Dakota blizzard not to fear hourly that it would settle into
that driving, blinding, whirling atmosphere through which no eyes can
penetrate and no foot progress. It is fortunate that such hours of
suspense come to an end before one is driven distracted.
When at last I saw the light shining out of our door at Fort Lincoln
I could not speak for joy and gratitude at our release from such
peril. Our friends gathered about us around the great log-fire in the
general’s room. No light ever seemed so bright, no haven ever so
blessed, as our own fireside. The train remained in the spot where we
had left it until the sun of the next spring melted down the great ice
banks and set free the buried engines. All the help that Bismarck could
give was sent out at once, and even the few cattle that survived were
at last driven over that long distance, and shelter found for them in
the town.
Hardly had we arrived before a despatch came recalling the general to
the East. I had no thought but that I would be allowed to accompany
him, and went at once to repack my things. My husband found me thus
employed, and took my breath away by telling me he could not endure the
anxiety of having me go through such peril again. In vain I pleaded,
and asked him to remember that I had summoned sufficient self-control
not to utter a word about my fears; I promised more courage the next
time. It was of no avail, I had to submit.
Not the shadow of an anxiety, nor the faintest sign of dread of the
coming journey over the snow again came into his face. He left me with
the same words with which he always comforted me: “Be sure, Libbie,
it’s all for the best; you know we always find it so in the end.” With
these farewell words he stepped into the sleigh--which he knew well
might be his tomb.
It is not possible for me to speak in detail of the days that followed.
Life seemed insupportable until I received a despatch saying that my
husband had again passed safely over that two hundred and fifty miles
of country where every hour life is in jeopardy.