The Cabin on the Prairie Part 15

The sum which had been pledged by the settlers was not sufficient for the support of the missionary's family; and although the treasurer exerted himself to the utmost, he could only collect a portion of what was due from those whose names were on the subscription paper. No one felt the inconvenience of this more than the clergyman's wife. She was a good manager, and had a wonderful faculty for making "one dollar go as far as three, and getting up meals out of nothing," as her husband often remarked. But it must be confessed, that with the keen appet.i.tes brought to them on the wings of the prairie winds, the little household sometimes rose from the scantily-furnished table hungry for more.

Mr. Payson, under these circ.u.mstances, would comfort her with antic.i.p.ations of future abundance. They knew, indeed, that most of the settlers had newly arrived, and had everything to buy, as they had not been long enough settled to raise anything from the ground. But a year had now elapsed, and many acres of the rich soil had been turned over and planted, and there was prospect of abundant returns. The missionary, being unaccustomed to farming, and wishing to devote his energies, as far as practicable, to the spiritual interests of his growing charge, had let out his tillable ten-acre lot to a neighbor, to be cultivated on shares, reserving a little spot for himself, which he had planted to early potatoes, and a good variety of garden vegetables. As the one who carried on the rest of the piece was an intelligent and experienced farmer, and had facilities for the work in the way of teams and men, the clergyman felt that he might reasonably calculate on a supply of corn and wheat, to which crops the ground had been devoted. And nowhere was there promise of a larger yield than on that quick and productive river bottom. The corn grew to a prodigious height, crowded with mammoth ears, and the wheat emulated the corn; while the squash and pumpkin vines conducted as if on a race to see which would beat in the number and size of their fruit; and Mr.

Payson's pet sorghum--a species of sugar-cane--shot up to a marvellous perfection. It is true that a neighbor's unruly cattle had broken into the enclosure a number of times; and a contrary sow, with her lively family of eleven, had also made sundry plundering raids, causing the minister considerable trouble in driving and keeping out the intruders; but he had already a fine supply of seasoned oak rails under way for perfecting the fences; and he cheerily said to his wife,--

"Another year, and I'll defy the unruliest animals in the settlement to steal an ear of corn or a potato from my lot."

Summer had now faded into late autumn, and one day the farmer, who had charge of the field, called at Mr. Payson's, looking very dejected.

"Elder," said he, "our farming this year is going to be losing business."

"Why, what's the matter?" asked the clergyman.

"You see," he replied, "most of the settlers, like myself, came from a warmer climate than this. We were told also that the growing season was as long here as there, and brought our choicest seed with us. But there is not time for it to ripen; and our corn will not do to grind, nor will it keep, it is so green. It is a great disappointment to me; but most of the neighbors are in the same situation."

Words cannot describe what sad tidings these were to the missionary.

"The wheat is good--is it not?" he inquired.

"Yes; but you know there was little sown, as the ground was best adapted to corn."

So it turned out that more was realized from the half acre cultivated by the missionary, notwithstanding the old farmer laughed at his city style of doing things, than from the nine and a half acres besides.

And the year of plenty had to be deferred for another twelvemonth.

That eighty acres!--how much comfort the missionary and his wife took in the thought that it was, or rather soon would be, theirs! How many times they admired its pleasant, rolling aspect, and weighed its prospective value! And the pretty grove near the cabin, with its straight-growing trees--what cosy walks they had with the children in its leafy shade! What enjoyment in noting the progress made in clearing out the underbrush and tr.i.m.m.i.n.g the trees of superfluous branches!

"If the place was only paid for," said the husband one day, "I should be glad. Let me see. Eighty acres, at one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre,--the government price,--would be one hundred dollars. I think I'll act upon Mr. Jones's suggestion, and sell some of the timber across the river, and pre-empt immediately. I have been offered thirty dollars an acre for the privilege of cutting off the wood, and, at that rate, three and a half acres would be more than enough."

So the sale was effected, and, with the hundred dollars in his pocket, the clergyman started one morning on horseback for the Land Office, thirty-seven miles distant. A horseback ride across a Minnesota prairie is highly exhilarating, and both horse and rider were in good spirits. Seemingly half borne on by a sweeping prairie wind, Mr.

Payson reached his destination in some five hours, in season for an early tea; and the next morning he was conducted to the Land Office by a lawyer acquaintance, and, with a witness at hand to prove what he affirmed, stated, under oath, that he had, on the land he wished to pre-empt, a cabin and other improvements to the amount that the law required; and then, having paid his hundred dollars, he started towards home with a light heart.

The day became dark and cloudy; and, as there was only a faint cart track across the prairies, the minister found, in the course of the afternoon, that he had lost his way. There were no cabins at which he could retrieve his error, and, after many vain endeavors to find the track, he let his horse take his own course; and, carrying his master under low-branched trees and through th.o.r.n.y thickets, across a swamp, he brought him out at last by a much shorter route than he had taken in going, on the farther bank of the river, near the town.

As the clergyman neared the village, he noticed heavy volumes of smoke ascending. Then he saw Mr. Palmer with a force of men busily engaged in checking a fire that was careering through the bushes. There was a wall of flame between him and them. Striking the road, he dashed through the glowing boundary; and Mr. Palmer, beckoning to him, said,--

"We have rather bad news to tell you, though not so bad as it might have been. A fire commenced near your place yesterday afternoon, and came near burning the town."

"A fire there!" e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.ed the minister. "How did it start?"

"I cannot stop to tell you," said his bachelor friend; "but your wife, when you get home, will tell you all about it. Had it not been for her, we should have been swept away."

What a sight met the clergyman's eye as he came into the town! The entire area, before so like a lawn, looked as if the contents of a large ink-pot had been spread over it. He was relieved, however, to see that his cabin and the other houses were still standing; but his wife met him with a depressed bearing quite in contrast to her usual sprightly manner. It so struck to his heart to see how badly she felt, that--although his glance from the saddle showed that the flames had not spared his beloved grove, and had consumed the rails, of which he had been so proud, and spoiled many a promising tree--with a desperate endeavor, he set about comforting her.

"O, this is nothing," said he--"nothing at all! Consider what it would have been had the cabin taken fire, and you and the children been in danger."

"Which would have been the case," she added, "had not our quick-moving town owner, Mr. Caswell, come to the rescue with his usual energy, at the head of a force of men and teams, bringing with them hogsheads of water, and pails, with which to throw it upon the fire. You have reason to thank them; for they worked as I never saw men work before."

"But how did the fire commence?" he asked.

"Why, you see," said she, "after you left, I said to the children, 'Father's gone to the Land Office to buy the land; and now we'll stir around, and see how nice we can make everything look by the time he gets back.' Well, you know how unsightly the chips looked around the house, and which you had not had time to remove. So we went to work raking them up into little heaps. While we were thus employed, we heard the report of a gun in the bushes near by. The morning, you recollect, was quite calm; but just as the gun was fired, a gust of wind swept over the place, carrying with it some burning wadding that alighted in a dry log some rods away. Before I could get there, the inflammable wood was afire, and from that other sparks had been borne on, and at once had kindled flames in a number of different places.

Seeing that it was impossible to arrest the progress of the conflagration, I sent Helen to the nearest neighbor's to give the alarm, and, as I have already said, by the help of those that came, our cabin was barely saved, and the neighbors had to fight hard to preserve their own dwellings."

Each day after that the missionary would walk about his blackened domain, pondering the uncertainty of all sublunary things, about which he had so often preached, his wife scrutinizing his disconsolate face the while, and he repeating, with an emphasis that showed he was saying it for his own benefit as much as hers,--

"O, it's nothing at all--nothing at all; and as for those few rails,"--as he kicked over the burnt fragments with a melancholy look,--"they're not of much account, for the piece over the river is pretty well fenced, after all; luckily, the fires didn't touch them, and we have them safe for another year."

One afternoon, a few days later, as Mr. Payson was in his attic study absorbed, an unwonted darkness fell upon the page before him; then a heavy peal of thunder succeeded. It was one long, continuous roll, for an hour or more, without pause, and the rain poured down as he never saw it in any shower east; it seemed as if the heavy clouds were literally emptying their contents upon prairie and forest, while flash followed flash of vivid lightning. Throughout the whole night it rained, and the next day, and the next; and, were it not for the ancient promise, one might have thought that a second flood was to sweep the inhabitants of the world away. About midnight of the third day of the terrible storm, the family at the missionary's cabin were awakened by wild shoutings in the village below.

"What do you suppose is the matter?" asked Mrs. Payson.

"Nothing serious, I think," said her husband. "As the town site is rolling and descends towards the river, it is probable that the high water has come up into some of the yards and gardens, and perhaps has invaded some of the settlers' pig-pens and hen-coops, and the neighbors are working in the rain and darkness to save their live stock."

The sun came out next morning like "a bride-groom from out his chamber, rejoicing as a strong man to run his race," flooding the fields with light, as the clouds had flooded them with water, revealing the destruction which the tempest had caused. It appeared that the river, a short distance up stream from the town, had become obstructed by dead trees, and brush, and loosened soil, until a heavy body of water had acc.u.mulated, when, the impediment suddenly giving way, the water rushed with tremendous power, inundating a wide extent of ground, and sweeping away everything movable in its path. Many cabins were flooded, sleepers being awakened by the water dashing against their beds, while articles of furniture were floating about in the room. It was this that caused the outcries that Mr. Payson had heard.

The Jones's cabin had been well chosen for safety on ordinary occasions; but, on the night in question, Tom was awakened by something cold touching his hand; for, in throwing it out of bed in his sleep, it had been immersed in the water, which had entered the room, and was rapidly rising. Shouting to his mother and the children, he struck a light, and leaped into the water; and, taking Bub in his arms, and directing the movements of the rest, he hurried them out of the door, away from the river bank, as fast as they could go. How providential it was that he should have, in his restlessness, dropped his hand over the bedside! for scarcely had they ascended a swell of ground beyond the field when the cabin went down with a crash, and the fragments, whirling about and jarring together, disappeared from view.

They were now poorer than ever; but, cold and wet, with the lightning flashing about them, in the pouring rain, they clung together for mutual protection, while they took their toilsome and difficult way from the scene of danger.

There was an unoccupied shanty in the edge of the town farthest from the river, and to that Tom led the terrified and shivering group. It was three full hours before they reached it; and then they had nothing but the bare walls and the bare floor, with the shelter over their heads, for a resting-place, where, the next day, the missionary found them as he went about a.s.sisting to succor the sufferers; and, at his suggestion, from the scanty stores of the settlers about, their cabin was fitted out with eatables and housekeeping articles.

During all this time Mr. Payson had been so occupied in benevolent labor among those whose cabins had been flooded, that it had not occurred to him that he had sustained any damage; but, after the subsiding of the waters, as he took his way down his favorite path through the grove, he saw that the waters had borne away every vestige of fencing around his cherished ten-acre lot. The highest part of the fence had been under water many feet on that calamitous night, and with the loss of the rails had gone down another of the earthly props on which he had leaned for his daily bread in the wilderness.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE INDIAN LODGE.

Spring on a north-western prairie. What a glorious scene! Suddenly, you scarcely know when, the snow has disappeared, leaving the long, dead gra.s.s lying in matted unsightliness, and you would think it was dead forever; but soon, in little cl.u.s.ters of from three to seven, you see dotting the landscape a purple flower, a tough, membranous, hairy sheath protecting each floweret from the chilling winds, for it opens at once to your gaze. Then, as the weather waxes genial, the blossoms shoot up from their hirsute guardianship, and nod brightly in the breeze. It is the "spring beauty,"--as the frontier folk call it,--the first vegetation of the season, presenting the phenomenon of rich blooming flowers, while yet the lifeless turf shows no signs of vitality. But life is there; for at once, as if by magic, the whole expanse is green with verdure, growing with marvellous rapidity, decked with flowers.

"Garden without path or fence, Rolling up its billowy blooms."

Then you rise some soft morning, and the air is vocal with the cooing of myriad birds. If you are just from the east, you will think that thousands of turtle doves are announcing that spring has come. They seem close about you; but you cannot see them. They are not in the groves near by; you follow the sounds through the waving prairie gra.s.s for a long distance, and you find them not, and will be surprised when your western friend tells you that these are the voices of the prairie hens, miles away, holding their annual convention, the queer cuckooing not being loving sounds, but notes of war--abortive attempts at crowing, which the rival males set up as they prepare to do battle with each other.

And now from the blue expanse overhead come down the varied cries of the migratory birds returning from the south. Line upon line of wild geese, in military order, follow their leader, while the trumpet blasts of the sand-hill cranes--the ostrich of the American prairie--ring out clear and shrill, and their long white bills glisten in the sunlight from afar, like bristling bayonets of ivory.

Tom stood in front of the hotel, enjoying the spring sights and sounds with unusual zest. The two winters now past had been eventful to him.

Mr. Payson, the missionary, who had taken a great interest in Tom, had, the winter before, kept school in his own cabin; and Tom and his sister Eliza had attended much of the time, their tuition being paid by such a.s.sistance as Tom might be able to render Mr. Payson in his outdoor work.

Eliza had grown to be a sedate and interesting young woman, and was making good headway with her studies, when one day she gave notice that she should not be able to attend school any longer; and to her teacher's inquiries she returned only blushes in reply, and he could get no further light until the next day, when an enterprising young man from a "neighboring village," twenty miles distant, called to invite Mr. Payson to join himself and "Miss Eliza" in marriage.

The last winter the missionary's family had occupied rooms at the hotel. Mrs. Payson had been growingly unhappy from dread of the Indians, and often said to her husband,--

"Our lot is just such a place as they would be likely to come to first."

Mr. Payson did not share this fear; but, on account of her feelings, the generous-hearted landlord offered them rooms for the winter rent free.