FORDING THE PLATTE IN HIGH WATER
Early on the following morning, as a sufficient number of men and teams
to conform to the requirements of the War Department had been reported
as ready to proceed, we were at the river's edge prepared to attempt the
ford. During low water many of the numerous sand bars in the river cover
wide areas. But now the swiftly surging waters which had risen
perceptibly during the night swept over all the island bars, leaving the
depressions between them of uncertain depth, because the water loaded
with clay and sand was opaque as flowing mud can be. A number of teams
belonging to different parties were hurriedly prepared to make the
crossing, as the river was still rising. Many drivers removed their
boots, and a few whose wardrobes were limited went even farther and hung
the greater part of their garments in wagons. The general course taken
through the stream by the last preceding travelers might now be more
unsafe than some other route, because of the constant shifting of the
quicksands.
As a preliminary step, it was decided that mounted men from the several
outfits that were to cross should test various parts of the river by
different routes. Stripping the saddles from their horses, those who
were willing to attempt the passage started in from as many different
points. For two or three rods in each course tested, the water was found
to be rather shallow, but further on it varied greatly along the
different routes. The water being muddy, there was no visible indication
of its depth in advance of the rider, except that at the deepest points
the current, being less impeded, was much swifter and was also indicated
by broad, undulating swells. When about one-fourth of the way over, my
horse dropped into a very deep channel, where he could obtain no
footing. In all such places, the horse and rider swiftly drifted down
the river, swimming in the direction of the objective point on the
opposite shore. Nearly all of those who participated in this preliminary
trip seemed to doubt the practicability of a safe crossing. The rider,
however, who had kept the furthest up the stream had found a footing for
his horse through nearly the entire course, there being but one place
where for a moment he seemed to lose his hold on the bottom; and that
was approximately the route adopted.
The tendency of all who crossed, was to be carried down the stream, and
all came out on the north bank a long distance below the point which
they aimed to reach. A trigonometrical measurement of the river, taken
with a sextant, gave the width as 792 yards; Root gives the width as
being one-half mile. But our proposed course, being serpentine and quite
in the form of the letter S, was about seven-eighths of a mile in
length. The general course having been agreed upon, the final
preparations were quickly made for the start. As oxen are the safest
animals to use in this kind of work, it was arranged that the ox team
wagons should move in advance. Eighteen yoke of oxen--in other words,
the teams from three wagons--were hitched to a single wagon, each making
a combined team more than 200 feet in length. Four such teams were made
ready. The heaviest men were assigned to ride on the backs of all the
lead oxen, to bear them down as low as possible into the water, so that
they would be less inclined to float in deep water and lose their
footing. Oxen in swimming do not sink as low in the water as either
mules or horses. The instructions to the drivers of all teams were to
direct them constantly somewhat up stream, that they might eventually
reach the opposite shore as nearly as possible directly opposite the
place of starting, for they would be sure to drift more or less.
The importance of a very long team in fording such a turbulent river of
varying depth is that when the lead teams find water so deep that it
lifts their feet from the bottom, and they are compelled to float and
swing down stream, then the middle teams, urged on by their riders and
the horsemen who ride alongside, may keep the wagon moving and somewhere
near its true course; but it _must_ be kept moving. When the lead oxen
have again secured a footing in shallow water, they must again be turned
up stream, to straighten out the whole line and aid in pulling
intermediate teams over the deep places. A minute halt of a loaded wagon
in the soft quicksand is likely to be very serious, as the rushing
current will quickly undermine it and it will rapidly settle to the
wagon bed.
All these points having been forcefully impressed upon the men, the ox
drivers vaulted to their positions, each astride of an ox. Horsemen were
in waiting at the right, or down stream side, to assist in keeping the
cattle from drifting. No saddles were used on the animals, and the men
were barefooted, for when the horses should sink with their backs below
the water, saddles and shoes would become encumbrances.
The captain having mounted on his horse, both being divested of
unnecessary trappings, galloped down the line shouting to the men of
each team, "Come right along in line quick. Follow me and keep 'er
moving!" The first of the four long teams filed behind the Captain and
with some urging splashed down into the muddy swirling waters, and the
others followed in their wake. We who knew that our time was soon to
come stood upon the bank and earnestly watched every movement in their
progress. We saw the Captain's horse suddenly sink over his flanks into
the first deep unseen channel and plunge madly until he reached footing
on a sand bar beyond, over which only two feet of water flowed. There
the Captain turned and halted to direct the drivers who were urging
their teams onward through the soft quicksand. It was a dangerous place,
but there could be no retreat for the long teams and heavy wagons. The
men were shouting at the top of their voices, but above the shouts of
the men and the grumbling swash of the waters, we heard the Captain
call, "Come on, keep 'er moving! Keep 'er moving; keep up stream!" But
when the first oxen dropped into the deep channel they floated swiftly
down with the resistless current in a tangled mass, and then the
horsemen and ox-riders directed their efforts to turn the swimming
leaders toward the Captain. As I learned later, the drivers while in the
broad swift stream hardly knew where they were, or in what direction
they were going. Everything in sight was going down, down, and the eye
having no fixed object near-by on which to rest, was continually led
astray by the flotsam rushing by. For a time the whole team from our
view-point seemed to be an inextricable mix-up, but finally the lead
oxen reached a footing in shallower water and were turned up stream
toward the Captain. After being urged forward, they partially
straightened out the long line and the heavy wagon slowly continued to
move, but soon it also sank down into the deep channel where the swift
waters swept its sides.
"It's going over!" shouted more than one who stood on the shore, as the
wagon reeled from one side to another on the soft, uneven, sandy bottom.
"Keep 'er going, keep 'er moving!" was then yelled continuously by the
drivers and Captain, as they urged the teams to pull harder, and this
continued until the wagon slowly rose in shallower water. But they must
not stop even there in these quicksands, nor until they had reached the
other shore. There was still much more of the deep rushing water farther
on in the river. A like experience was shared by each team, as it went
through the deep places.
The four wagons were finally pulled out upon the farther bank, and the
oxen were returned to repeat the struggle with other loads. Our time had
now come and delay would be dangerous, for the river was rising.
Therefore, as soon as the first ox team had accomplished the first deep
channel, Pete Wintermute started into the river with his wagon and four
horses. Pete was a superb horseman and managed his team with discretion,
but it seemed almost certain at times that his wagon was capsizing. The
remainder of our party could not long delay to watch his uncertain
progress, for each had his own difficult responsibility.
My attention was chiefly directed to Deacon Cobb and Ben and Fred, whose
wagons had each but one span of horses. The Deacon, after progressing
swimmingly for a time, became hopelessly stuck on a sand bar where the
water was not more than two feet in depth. Ben and Fred were also stuck
down stream about twenty rods below the Deacon. It was imperative that
their teams should be combined. It was clearly impossible to get a team
up stream to the Deacon. I dismounted and unhitched the Deacon's horses,
and with whiffletrees in hand turned them floating down toward the boys'
wagon. At times I passed through deep water in which the horses swam,
always knowing that I was likely soon to strike another sand bar. Before
reaching Ben's wagon, one of the whiffletrees became detached, a pin
having come out in the deep water. The harness generally was out of
order. The boys were in the water and were soon busy, tying parts
together and doubling up the teams, using any straps and ropes that were
available. In time they were as ready as could be, under the
circumstances, to move onward, and were soon breasting the current,
while I rode beside them on horseback.
At this juncture there arose great commotion in advance of us. Among the
parties who were making this watery transit were two brothers, each
driving a two-mule team, their wagons being loaded with fancy groceries
with which they intended to start a business in Montana. They were
driving nearly side by side. I observed both their mules and wagons sink
into a deep channel, almost simultaneously and both wagons rolled
completely over being caught in a powerful current. The mules of both
teams, entangled in their harness, were soon kicking and floundering in
their efforts to escape, while the frantic young men, at the peril of
their lives, were trying each to release his own mules by cutting their
harness. Two of the mules were drowned, the wagons were a hopeless
wreck, and I saw many of the lighter boxes and packages from their
cargo floating down the stream. The stock was a total loss. Ben and Fred
had no time to watch these collateral occurrences, for they were
endeavoring to manage a four-horse team that had never been driven in
that form, and might have been found difficult at first to control even
on a solid highway.
The evening was well advanced when Ben and the drivers of two other of
our wagons pulled out from the northern bank. Dan Trippe was two or
three hours in advance of any of our party. We had been in the water the
entire day, and laboring every moment to the extent of our ability.
Several animals had been drowned, but our sympathy went out especially
toward the young men who had lost their all and were now stranded with
two mules.
And how about Deacon Cobb? He was sitting alone in his wagon in absolute
serenity when I, who had seen him last, had parted from him. His wagon
had then settled to the axles in the quicksand, and the muddy waters
were swiftly sweeping by it and through it. He had piled boxes and other
articles in the center of the wagon box and had surmounted the pile with
his little mattress, which he had rolled into a bundle. I saw him
perched upon the summit patiently awaiting developments. In the meantime
the waters had filled the box. He was near the middle of the river. The
rest of his party now being safely across, we shouted to him through the
gathering darkness of the evening, to assure him that we would come to
him as soon as possible. If he responded to our call it was not heard
above the sound of the running waters. The wagon was so deeply imbedded
in the mud that it seemed a dubious task to pull him out with our weary
and hungry horses.
We endeavored to negotiate with the captain of the ox-team wagons for
assistance, but he replied that he would not have his weary men and
stock undertake the hazardous task for five hundred dollars at that late
hour. The point was urged that a good man's life was involved, and that
our teams were absolutely unequal to the undertaking, as he well knew.
He finally consented to send three men with four yoke of oxen to make
the attempt, upon the payment of forty dollars, to which terms we
cheerfully agreed. The oxen were sent for and yoked in the darkness, and
soon were in the river on the way to the rescue. The men stated on their
return that after a time their course was directed by the Deacon's
voice, which was finally heard in the distance and approximately
indicated his location. After a long period of comparative silence the
approach of the rescuing party to the shore was announced by cheers from
the drivers. The Deacon when pulled up to the shore was the calmest and
most comfortable man in the party, although he had been fully aware of
his critical situation. He was moreover the only dry object in the
wagon.
The bacon in our mess wagon was not seriously injured by its baptism,
and at 9 P. M., we regaled our empty stomachs with such of it as could
be readily found. My own trunk, containing garments and papers, had
suffered little. Like Homer's horses, we had to await the throned dawn
before drying ourselves. In the early morning the caravan moved onward
five miles to where sage brush was found for fuel and some grass for the
horses, there being practically none near the place of crossing. There
we took an inventory of our effects, and all were unloaded that we might
dry them out. We had received on our arrival at Nebraska City a box of
ginger snaps and some other delicacies, also some dried fruit, sent by
friends at home. These had been carefully retained for use in an
emergency, perhaps in case of illness, when some change of diet from
rough camp fare might be welcome. The box was now for the first time
re-opened, as the hour had come to test it, but all those dainty
tributes of good-will were blended into a common mass, of the
consistency of thin pudding, and no one article could be separated from
another. The box had been filled with sand and water for nearly
twenty-four hours, and in the meantime had been thoroughly shaken up. It
was gratifying, however, to find that a bag of dried apples, also
reserved for some state occasion, had about doubled its bulk since
leaving Nebraska City. In this case the high water might seem to have
been a blessing, in disguise, but the disguise was perfect, for when we
again dried them out in the hot sun and gave them a little time to
re-adjust themselves to the environment, they gradually resumed their
original modest proportions. The pudding left as the residue of the
cookies was re-cooked, but for dietary purposes it was hardly
satisfactory, as it yielded only a gritty, earthy-tasting food.
The final consensus of opinion was that we would never again ford the
Platte during high water.