Just before we arrived at the Platte River, we crossed a small creek,
the bottom of which was exceedingly soft; the men were forced to
double up the teams in order to draw the heavy loads along, and Colonel
Russell's wagon upset in midstream, where the water was two or three
feet deep.
[Illustration]
Now there was nothing comical in such a mishap, and yet Ellen and I,
who were standing on the bank of the creek where we could see all that
was going on, laughed until I felt actually ashamed of myself. It was
all so ridiculous that I could not have kept my face straight whatever
might have been the result.
If the accident had happened quickly, there would not have been
anything so very funny about it; but, instead, the wagon toppled
slowly, the men striving meanwhile to prevent it from going entirely
over. In the heavy wagon were Mrs. Russell and four children. We saw
first the youngest child, as if some one had tossed him out, come
shooting from the wagon and strike the water. Then another child, and
so on, one after another, exactly like a lot of grasshoppers, until
Mrs. Russell herself appeared. Out they marched in the same order,
water streaming from their clothing, which was bedaubed with mud.
[Illustration]
Mother reproved Ellen and me severely for laughing when our neighbors
were suffering; but even as she spoke the Russell procession passed
along the edge of the bank, marking the way with mud and water, and I
noticed that it was all she could do to keep her face straight while
she scolded us.