Chapter Fourth.
Their journey continued. Finding a Prairie. Encamping for the Night.Singular incident. A Mirage on the Prairie. Alarm in the Camp. ThePrairie discovered to be on fire. Flight to the Sand Hills. Their finalescape. Search for water. Finding a stream. Encampment.
The next day the camp was struck and packed; the oxen, rested andinvigorated by roving over and cropping the rich grasses that grew inluxuriance along the banks of the river by which they had encamped,moved with a brisk step along their shady track, while the voices ofthe drivers sounded musically, reverberating through the stillness ofthe forest. Towards noon they came to one of those singularlyinteresting geological features of the west, a _Prairie_. This wassomething entirely new to the younger children, who had never been farfrom the place where they were born, and it very naturally surprisedthem to see such a boundless extent of territory, without a house,barn, or fence of any kind--nothing but a waving mass of coarse rankgrass.
"Oh! father," cried little Benny, as the vast prairie burst on hissight, "see what a great big farm somebody has got! But where does helive? I don't see any house."
"And the fences, apple, peach, and pear trees?" said Anne.
"It is not a farm; it's a big pasture kept on purpose to feed buffaloesand deer in," said Martin.
"You are all wrong," retorted Lewis, "for though buffaloes and deer dofeed on the prairie, it is not kept for them alone; it has always beenso--trees will not grow on it."
"You, too, are wrong, Lewis," said Mr. Duncan. "Though it is true treeswill not grow on the prairie now, yet it was not always so. Geologiststell us that the vegetable growth, some thousand years ago was, in manyrespects, different from what now covers the solid surface of ourearth. Changes of temperature and constituents of soil are going onfrom age to age, and correspondent changes take place in the vegetablekingdom. Over large tracks, once green with ferns, stately trees havesucceeded, followed in their turn, in the course of ages, by grosserand other herbaceous plants."
"According to that theory, after a regular course of time has elapsed,these rank grasses will be succeeded by some ether form of vegetablegrowth," remarked Sidney.
"Certainly," replied Mr. Duncan. "When one class of trees has exhaustedthe soil of appropriate pabulum, and filled it with an excrement which,in time, it came to loathe, another of a different class sprang up inits place, luxuriated on the excrement and decay of its predecessor,and in time has given way to a successor destined to the same ultimatefate. Thus, one after another, the stately tribes of the forest havearisen, flourished, and fell, until the soil has become exhausted ofthe proper food for trees, and become fitted for the growth ofherbaceous plants."
After pitching their camp that night, the children in rambling roundit, came to one of those landmarks with which the prairies are sothickly studded along the different trails--_a grave_. Saddened at thethought of any one dying in that lonely place, they gathered around it,wondering if the hand of affection soothed his last, his darkest hour,if tears bedewed his resting place, or whether he died unmourned,unwept, hurried with unseemly haste beneath the sod, and onlyremembered by a mother, wife or sister, who a thousand miles away waswondering why the absent one, or tidings of him, came not.
The children assembled thus in a group, Howe drew thither also, toascertain what they had found.
"A grave," said he, "ah! poor fellow, he sleeps well in his prairiebed."
"Here is a name cut in this bit of board at the head, uncle, but it isdone so badly I can't make it out," said Martin.
"Let me try," said Howe; "it is plain enough, sure."
"JOSHUA CRANE "DIED "OCT. 20, 1834, AGED 27."
"Now, children, would you like to see Mr. Joshua?" said Howe.
"Why, uncle," said they, "how can you make light of such a thing?"
"I am in earnest; for, from various indications about it, I am ofopinion that he is a curious fellow."
Anne, with a tear in her eye, cast a reproachful look towards heruncle, while the rest were too much surprised to do anything but stareat him in wonder.
"Bring me a crowbar and shovel, Edward. I find I must convince theselittle doubters that I am really in my senses."
"Oh, uncle!" said Jane, "you could not have the heart to disturb thedead!"
"Bless me, child, who thinks of disturbing the dead; I am only going toshow you what a funny fellow Joshua is. Now," said he, raising thecrowbar, "if Joshua is sleeping here, this iron cannot reach him; but,if as I suspect, why, then, you see"--and down went the crowbar in theloose earth. "Now give me the shovel," said he, and commenced removingthe dirt, the children looking on in astonishment. He soon brought tothe surface, and rolled on the grass a _barrel of brandy_. The broadlonely prairie fairly resounded to the shouts and laughter of thechildren, as they danced about the barrel; Howe standing by enjoying adeep ha! ha! peculiarly his own.
"What a curiosity, Joshua is! Who would have thought of finding such athing there?"
"It is a rare thing, I own," said Howe, "yet occasionally resorted towhen oxen have given out, or died. Sometimes wagons have beenover-loaded, and then unable to make their way over the rough roads,some heavy article is taken and buried with all the signs of a graveabout it, to prevent its being disturbed and stolen, as in the presentinstance. Probably the owner will be along here for it, or sell it tosome one who will come for it in course of the summer."
"Will you leave it here, or bury it again?"
"The prize is mine; I shall carry it along with me," said Howe.
"That would not be right," rejoined Martin. "It is another man'sproperty."
"Which he forfeited by false pretences. No, children, whatever foundwithout an owner in these wilds, falls to the finder by right," saidthe Trapper.
"I think the children are right," said Mrs. Duncan, who had come hitherat the sound of their mirth.
"Suppose the owner is dead and never comes for it," said Howe.
"It in no wise alters the case. It is better that it never finds anowner than possess ourselves of what has purposely been hid from us."
"Such notions are right and proper for a settlement, but for a placelike this, it is carrying it to too nice a point."
"The rights of others should be as sacred to us in one place asanother," replied Mrs. Duncan.
"Suppose somebody had trapped beaver and foxes in some particularlocality, would that make the animals that were uncaught in thatlocality his own?"
"Certainly not. The case is different; as the beaver uncaught neverwere his, he had no claim on them. But if he caught a hundred beaverand cured the skins, and secreted them in some place until he chose tosell them, it would be decidedly dishonest for any one to take themaway as their own, because they had found the place in which they werehidden."
"I believe you are right, Mary. Joshua shall be reinterred," said Howe,rolling the barrel in its old bed, and proceeding to cover it.
"Mother is always right," cried the children, as they wended their wayback to camp.
Early the next morning, as they were moving over the prairie, abeautiful vision burst on their sight. It was a mirage of the prairie.As the sun rose in all the splendor of an unclouded sky in the east,the objects in the west became suddenly elongated vertically, the longrank grass stretching to an amazing altitude, while its various hues ofgreen were reflected with vivid accuracy. As the emigrants approachedthe optical illusion, it gradually contracted laterally above and belowtowards the centre, at the same time rapidly receded towards thehorizon, until it assumed its original aspect. As the sun approachedthe meridian, the atmosphere become so intensely warm that Mr. Duncanthought it prudent to rest until it began to descend, to which they alljoyfully assented, as their oxen appeared to be almost overcome withthe heat. They had been a day and a half on the prairie, and as thewater they brought with them would not last them longer than the nextmorning, they were anxious to make the distance to the hills, whichwere looming faintly before them in the west, where they we
re sure offinding an abundant supply. Accordingly, the oxen were turned loose,the horses and mules being picketed, and all resigned themselves to thedisagreeable necessity of an encampment in a burning noonday sun on theprairie, with not even a shrub to shelter them from its rays. But therewas no help for it, the oxen could not proceed with the wagons, andthey were obliged to wait until the heat of the day was over.
Towards evening, a light breeze began to stir the heated air, and borneon its wings, came also a disagreeable odor caught only at longintervals, but which served to put Howe and Mr. Duncan on their guard.
"There is a fire on the prairie, away at the north," said Howe, "andthere is not a moment to be lost, if we would save our baggage, cattle,or even our lives!"
"It is true, there is fire, and now I see the smoke away yonder,looking like a thin mist against the sky; should it blow this way, ouronly refuge is the Sand Hills, that I know lay yonder towards theforest," said Mr. Duncan, looking intently towards the point whence theodor came.
"Saddle the horses and mules, boys," said Mr. Duncan, "and place Maryand the children on them. Benny, you must ride with your mother, I amafraid to trust you alone on a mule chased by fire. You must sit still,my boy, and keep up your courage; the Sand Hills are yonder, not morethan three miles over the plain; you see them, Mary," he continued,"but do not mind the trail; keep your horses headed direct for them,and ride for your lives. I do not think there will be any danger forany of us; but it is better to make all ready for the worst."
"But, suppose you, with the oxen, wagons, and cows, are surrounded withfire," said Mrs. Duncan.
"We will do our best in the emergency. But I hope to gain the hills insafety. Perhaps the wind will shift and blow the fire in anotherdirection. We must hope for the best, doing everything in our power forour safety. Now go; give the horses and mules a loose rein."
And away over the plain the cavalcade went, followed by the wagon asfast as the oxen could travel, but the progress they made was slow incomparison to that of the fire. On it came, and on went the cattle,goaded by the drivers at first, but at last catching sight of theheavy, rolling wave of fire that was sweeping towards them, theystarted into a gallop, frightened and seeming to comprehend the dangerthat menaced them. Mr. Duncan saw his wife and children gain the SandHills in safety, and then the smoke and half consumed grass filled theair, hiding the rescued from view as the burning wave swept towardthem, maddening the oxen and making the stout hearts of the pioneersquail, as the burning fragments eddying through the air, fell thick andfast among them. Prairie dogs, in droves went howling past, wolves andpanthers laying their bodies close to the ground in their rapid leaps,heeded not each other, and even an antelope joined in the flightunmolested, from their common foe. Innumerable prairie fowls filled theair with their cries; but, above every other sound arose the roar andcrackling of the scorching billowy mass, as on, still on it came, nowrising until its seething flame seemed to touch the sky, then falling amoment only to rise the next still higher.
A prairie on fire is a sublime spectacle, which those who have had thegood fortune to see, in a place of safety, will not soon forget. But ahorrible ordeal it is for those who are overtaken by the raging flame;for, if the grass is dry, with a slight breeze to fan the flame, ittravels with the speed of a whirlwind.
Mr. Duncan could not abandon his noble beasts in the extremity, for heknew if left to themselves, unaccustomed to the ground, they would losethemselves, and ensure their destruction; but, in keeping by theirsides, encouraging them by his presence and urging them on, he stillhoped to save them, although half blinded with smoke and the hot airthat surrounded them. Howe had charge of one of the teams, and Sidneythe other, who, following the example of Mr. Duncan, stood their groundbravely, resolving to share the fate of their cattle.
Mrs. Duncan and the children, from their hill of refuge, saw withterror the fearful and unequal race on the plain below, until they wereentirely enveloped in smoke, and then their suspense was harrowing tilla puff of wind lifted the smoky cloud, which it occasionally would,giving them for an instant a glimpse of their friends, as on they cametowards them in their headlong career. But, as nearer, still nearercame the flames, the cloud became too dense to be lifted by the wind,and all was one circling, eddying wave, hiding every object from view.A few moments of suspense, during which no words were spoken, and thenbursting through the cloud came their noble oxen, their tongues dry andblackened and hanging from their mouths, their hair scorched from theirsides, and the wagon covers on fire, while the drivers feeling theywere safe sank on the sand, half way up the hill from exhaustion.
Mrs. Duncan, and the children, were soon by the wagons, tearing off thecovers, and by so doing, saved the contents from burning. Then pouringwater over and down the throats of their exhausted oxen, they were soonable to breathe freely. In the meantime, by Mrs. Duncan's direction,Anne had taken a basin of water and bathed the faces and hands of thedrivers, so that they were, though quite exhausted, very comfortable.The fire rolled past them without reaching them further, and finally,after having spent itself died away, leaving the broad prairie that wasat noon so heavily covered with verdure, a blackened plain.
"This is a pretty fix for us to get in, Duncan," said Howe, as the firerolling away, left them clear of smoke, and gave them a full view oftheir position. "Here we are," he continued, "every drop of waterspent, without a blade of grass around us, begrimed with soot andsmoke, looking worse than any Indians I ever saw."
"We ought to be thankful," said Mr. Duncan, "that no lives are lost. Wehave escaped better than we had reason to hope, placed as we were."
"To be sure we have escaped ourselves, but see what a pitiable plightour oxen are in. They will not be able to draw another load in a week,at least; and what are we to do in the meantime?"
"I declare, uncle, I think you have the horrors; for whoever before sawyou at a loss for an expedient under any circumstances?" said Jane,with a merry twinkle in her eye; for this was a peculiar phase in heruncle's character, to hold up to others the worst side of anycircumstance, while at the same time he was taking active measures toremedy it. So in this instance: for he had already made arrangements toreconnoitre the forest, that lay west of the Sand Hills, not over twoand a half miles distant. Accordingly, mounting one horse, with Lewison the other, they galloped over the plain, and striking the forest atthe nearest point, they found it dry, destitute of grass, and totallyunfit for a camping ground. Taking a circuit in a southerly direction,where the surface seemed more broken, they found they were on higherground, and as they rode on, the thick undergrowth all the whilegrowing more dense, encouraged them to proceed; for which they wererewarded by striking a small brooklet of pure water, whose banks werelined with rich grasses, sheltered by tall trees that grew on eitherside. Here he resolved the camp should be pitched, and lighting a fireto mark the place, they galloped back to the Sand Hills. To remove theheavy wagons was no easy task, as the oxen were only able to walkwithout a burthen.
There were two pairs of mules and one of horses, and these beinghitched to one of the wagons, were taken to the place designated by thestream, and then brought back for another until all the wagons were onthe ground, which the last reached about ten at night. In the meantime,Mrs. Duncan had walked thither with the children, Mr. Duncan, with theother boys, driving the oxen a little way at a time, and at lastreached the camp ground as the last wagon came up.