"The Samaritans."
Many years have passed since the day that "Peoria Red" and I were caught
out of doors and entirely unprepared to face one of the worst blizzards
that ever swept down from the Arctic regions across the shelterless
plains of the Dakotas.
We had been "hoboing" a ride upon a freight train and had been fired off
by its crew at a lone siding about fifty miles east of Minot, North
Dakota. In those early days trains were few and the chances that one of
them would stop at this lone siding were so small that we decided to
walk to the nearest water tank, which in those days of small engines
were never more than twenty miles apart, and there catch another ride.
It was a clear winter morning, and the sun's rays were vacillating upon
the snow, that like a gigantic bedspread covered the landscape, and
which made walking upon the hidden and uneven track a most wearisome
task, the more so as neither of us had tasted a mouthful of food since
the preceding day's dinner hour. While we were debating and wondering
how and where we would rake up a meal amongst the few and widely
scattered ranches, the wind veered to the north and commenced to blow
with ever increasing force. Soon heavy, gray clouds followed in its
wake, and quickly overcast the sky, and by two o'clock in the afternoon
the rapidly growing fury of the wind commenced to drive sharp pointed
particles of snow before it, which, as the storm increased to cyclonic
proportions, changed to masses of rotating darts, which cut into the
exposed portions of our illy-clad bodies and made breathing a serious
problem.
We soon gave up the small hope of being able to reach a ranch house, as
to leave the railroad track would have spelled death, as we would have
lost our way in a few minutes, as even now, while it was yet broad
daylight, we could barely see a couple of telegraph poles ahead of us,
and when night approached the ever increasing fury of the blizzard
greatly reduced even this short distance.
Staggering against the snow storm our one ardent prayer was that we
would reach our only hope for succor--one of those railroad section
houses, which are located ten miles apart along the right of way of
every railroad, and are the homes of a foreman and a crew of laborers
who repair and keep the track under constant surveillance.
Every moment the cold increased, and although we were spurred on to
almost superhuman efforts by sheer desperation to thwart the fate we
knew would be ours should we falter by the way, gradually our strength
failed us, and although we tried to encourage each other to quicker
progress, it took every vestige of our will power to drag our benumbed
feet from step to step against the howling, snow-laden hurricane.
Peoria Red piteously pleaded with me to stop so he could recuperate, but
well knowing the result should we linger, I shouted my warnings to him
above the screaming of the storm, and when he reeled and even sank into
the snow, I pulled him back upon his feet and forced him to move on.
Presently I felt myself overtaken by the same drowsiness that had
enthralled Peoria Red, and a queer numbness which as it crept upwards
from my feet seemed to kill my ambition to battle for life against the
"Death of the Arctic."
Just as the last gleam of the blood-red sky which reflected the setting
sun was swallowed up in the swirling masses of ice motes, Peoria Red
sank beside the track, and although I tried everything to cause him to
realize his danger if he failed to follow me, he keeled helplessly over
into the snow, while a glassy stare in his half-shut eyes told me that
he was doomed.
Then my own danger came home to me. Self-preservation is the first law
of nature, and I promptly realized that to save my own life I must reach
the section house, which I felt assured could not be many miles ahead of
me, and where I would not only find shelter for myself, but perhaps
obtain assistance to rescue my pal before it would be too late.
After taking one more farewell look at Peoria Red I made a step towards
the track, but fell heavily to the ground. During the minutes I had
lingered to save the life of my partner my feet seemed to have been
turned into solid lead. I laughed aloud. As I was yet in full possession
of my mental faculties this seemed to me a cruel joke, and I tried to
arise so I could by stamping revive the circulation of the blood, but
every time I arose half way I tumbled helplessly back into the snow. The
desire to live increased, and when I felt the numbness creep from my
limbs into my body, I crawled alongside Peoria Red and snuggled closely
against him, hoping that our mutual body warmth would stave off the
crisis to the last possible moment. He was groaning, and mustering the
last vestige of control I yet had over my benumbed hands, I searched
about in the darkness until I found his frozen fingers, and clasping
them in my own I placed my mouth close to his ear and pleaded with him
to bid me farewell. He was too far gone to speak, but twice a faint
pressure against my frozen fingers told me that he had understood me,
and I responded in the same manner. These were our farewells to each
other in this world, a fitting finish to the tragedies of our toilful
and thankless lives. I sank back into the snow and while I dreamily
watched the snowflakes weave our spotless shroud, I dozed away and
dreamed of those glorious, care-free days when I was yet with the "old
folks" at home, chasing bright-hued butterflies in the warmth of the
sunshine of youth and happiness.
The next thing I recall was a burning sensation in my throat, which
involuntarily caused me to open my eyes. I felt as if I had slept for
such a long time that all my faculties had become useless, for I could
not, try as I might, utter a word or move a muscle, although to this day
I vividly remember having heard a man, whom I could plainly see as he
poured a steaming liquid into my open mouth, exclaim: "Thank God we are
having better luck reviving this poor fellow than we had with the other
one! Look, he has just opened his eyes, and listen, can you not hear him
faintly groan?" Then I wandered back into dream-land--into a most
dangerous delirium which lasted for several weeks and during which I
hung as if by a mere thread, betwixt life and death.
When I recovered my reason, I found that I was domiciled in the bunk
house, that together with the section house and tool house form the
total of buildings upon every railroad "section" reservation. The
foreman and his family resided in the section house, a two-story
building; the tool house was used for storing the hand car and the
track tools, while the bunk house, a small, one-story building, formed
primarily the sleeping quarters, and secondly the social center of the
section crew, whose five roughly dressed men were only permitted to
enter the adjacent section house, where they boarded, at meal hours, as
the foreman's home was at all other times considered by them a sort of
hallowed spot. But the bunk house was their own, as within it they slept
at night in the wooden "bunks", which were nailed one adjoining the
other, all around the boarded walls, while in the center a small stove
in which a roaring fire was kept up, made things comfortable for the
inmates when they returned in the evenings after their day's work was
done, and all day every Sunday--their day of rest.
While the men were absent and I was yet unable to attend to my needs, a
sweet-faced lady looked after my wants and gave me my medicine. She was
the foreman's wife, and her ever cheering words with never a sign of
weariness that I, a sick and penniless harvester, should have so
unexpectedly become a charge upon her hands, were most grateful to me.
I made inquiries among the laborers and ascertained from their answers
that I was being cared for at the very section house that Peoria Red and
I had striven to reach during the howling blizzard. I tried to find out
what had become of my partner, but somehow they evaded my questions and
it was many days before I managed by slow degrees to learn from them the
facts concerning his absence.
During the height of the blizzard the foreman had ordered his crew out
and upon their hand car driven at a lively rate by the power of the wind
they had inspected every switch and car standing on sidings upon their
section, to assure themselves that everything was properly safeguarded.
While they were slowly "pumping" the hand car homeward, fighting against
the force of the raging snow storm, they discovered us lying closely
cuddled together, all but buried in the snow and beginning the eternal
sleep of death. They stopped, and finding that we were yet faintly
breathing, they loaded us upon the hand car and brought us to the
section reservation.
Here by every means known to them they tried to revive the flickering
sparks of life left in our frozen bodies. In my case they were
successful, but Peoria Red, poor fellow, failed to respond to their
heroic efforts. The following day they buried him on a slight elevation,
diagonally across the track from the bunk house, where, whenever I
looked in that direction, I could plainly discern the white board cross
that the whole-souled laborers had erected to mark his grave.
The section foreman's name was Henry McDonald. He was a kind-hearted, yet
stern man who demanded utmost obedience of those whom he commanded,
while at the same time he was a loving father to his family. Foreman
McDonald had none but the friendliest of greetings for me and he spent
many moments at the bunk house trying to cheer me in my hard luck.
Whenever I felt ill at ease for having added such a heavy burden to his
small income, his quaint answer would always be: "Joe, what little we
can do for you we would cheerfully do for any human being in distress.
We do not ask for your excuses, as I feel that the Almighty above us
will take care of me and my family, the pride of my humble life."
When I recovered some of my former strength I did the "chores" for the
section foreman's wife, who not only boarded the five members of her
husband's crew, but took proper care of her four healthy and ever hungry
children.
The oldest one of them, a boy of sixteen, was named Donald. Then came a
set of lively boy twins of fourteen, who had been baptized "Joseph" and
"James", but who were for convenience called Joe and Jim. These twins
resembled each other so closely that only their parents and intimate
acquaintances could tell them apart. They were inseparable companions,
and full of boyish mischief. The fourth child, the pet of everybody,
was a beautiful, doll-like baby girl of three, whose name was Helen.
[Illustration: When I watched Baby Helen repeat her evening prayer, I
turned away, for I realized that I missed that what is most sublime in
all creation: A loving wife and devoted mother; a healthy baby and one's
own "Home, sweet Home."]
There was one singular imperfection about these children, that they had
inherited from their father, which was a freak growth of an inch-wide
streak of white hair which started from the center of their heads and
continued downwards to the base of their skulls, and which as it showed
plainly in their black hair made this strange birth-mark all the more
conspicuous. Otherwise they were mentally, morally and physically
perfect, and while I was convalescing I often stood by the window and
watched them at play in the snow and it caused me to shudder every time
I heard those youngsters shout with glee while they enjoyed the winter's
sports, when I thought of poor Peoria Red whom this same merciless snow
helped to murder.
In the evenings after supper had been served, I could see from the bunk
house window how baby Helen in her sleeping room across the road in the
section house knelt and humbly repeated her evening prayer, and then
just before she was put to rest for the night, her father would kiss her
"good-night", and as soon as he had left the room her sweet-faced mother
would smother her with kisses before she tucked her darling between the
spotless sheets of her cradle, and many were the times that I turned
away from this picture of perfect domestic happiness as tears were
welling into my eyes, for I realized that I had missed that which is
most sublime in all creation:
A loving wife and devoted mother; a healthy baby and one's own "Home,
sweet Home."
[Illustration: Baby Helen playing in the fields]