LETTER No. IV.
Starting afresh on a new farm—Wheat forty to seventy-five bushels to the acre—Felling trees and fencing—"Life here is deuced hard"—Somewhat despondent—Forty below zero—Ink and bacon frozen—Anxiety for General Gordon—Working in snow up to the waist.
London, August 15, 1885.
In September, 1883, Frank worked his way back into the more civilized regions of Montana, and with his usual enthusiasm he wrote to me:—
"This is the best country I have yet struck, and I am sure that I shall do well here. My idea now is to hack up 160 acres, get a team, wagon, and horses, build a small house, plough forty acres this fall, put it into wheat, and ten acres of oats; ... if I only had the start now which I had when I went to Minnesota my fortune would soon be made I feel sure. Wheat goes from forty to even seventy-five bushels to the acre, and at 4s. a bushel, one ought to make plenty of money. A member of Parliament and several English gentlemen have lately visited this valley, and were surprised at the fertility of the soil. If a little later on you could send me some money to start with again, it will help me to get a home, and so far as I can see pave my way to a large thing.
"By chance I have run out a piece of land where I can secure the entire water right for a farm. I cannot see any thing but success before me.... I am going to work out with the team every day I can spare from the farm and earn money.... I would not ask you for a cent if I could possibly help it, and I only want you to think I am doing the very best for myself. I don't spend any money at all but what is absolutely necessary, and I must beg you to give me another small start to put me on my legs again.
"I worked on the thresher here two days ago, and the wheat on the farm I worked went forty-three bushels to the acre. On some stalks two heads; this is a second crop on same land and no manure."
The result of these appeals was that I supplied Frank with some more money, and he purchased the farm and other things partly on credit (at a ruinous interest), partly with his own savings, and partly with the cash I sent him.
In October of the same year (1883) he wrote—
FRANK'S CABIN, FROM A SKETCH BY HIMSELF.
"I have got my cabin up and ploughed up some land, and have these last five days been hauling logs down from the mountain to build my stable, and, in fact, have come to town to have my log chain mended....
"Don't imagine I am having a good time and spending money for the sake of spending. I am up long before daylight and working hard until dark. This winter I hope to get out 600 posts, and fencing for the farm, besides working round to earn money. I bought fifteen bushels of seed wheat at one dollar, and sowed and harrowed it in my neighbour's piece of breaking. This is called 'renting;' I receive two-thirds of the crop and he gets one-third. As I was not on my land in time to plough enough, this gives me a share in the winter wheat crop, and next year I hope to put in twenty acres of wheat and five of potatoes."
In December, 1883, he wrote to his brother:
"A letter from you now and again would do no positive injury to either party; send me a line when you can, as I don't expect to be home for some years, and I do not want to lose track of any of you. Many thanks for papers, send me any old magazines you can. I read for company's sake, as I am all alone here, and don't want to forget how to read.
"The life here is deuced hard, but I feel certain of reaping a good harvest, and am going to stick to it. At present I am working about two miles from home, cutting down trees for fencing. I then start them down the mountain on a small natural gulch on the snow; they go like greased lightning, and make a terrible noise, which is echoed and re-echoed through the mountains.
"I have just completed my stable which looks boss, logs with mud chinking; next year I intend putting in twenty acres of spring wheat.... As I have just bought some beef-bones I am making a fine stew; which makes my little kitten mew and skip round, being the first taste for her little sides."
"Jan. 1, 1884.
"I wanted, if possible, to begin the new year without having to write for money, but I am now having the hardest time I have ever had; weather excessively cold, and very little grub in the house.... I don't like to give up my best hopes, so if you can let me have the little balance I mentioned, it would make me even.... It was indeed a quiet Christmas for me, at work in the woods at my fencing; and now comes new year, just the same."
"A few days later."
"Sometimes I begin to despair, as the undertaking I have gone into requires more money than I really thought it would.... Don't think by this that I am getting discouraged with the work or prospects—far from it.... It seems to me that I cannot start to write a letter unless I make some allusion to money, but I am so anxious to get straightened up that I cannot help it.... The money has wholly been expended on the ranche, no folly or stupidities have been indulged in, and I feel fully competent to take care of anything I get now.... Winter has set in now nearly two months, and those who can, keep near the stoves. Every day is much the same to me, and all I hope is, that I don't get hurt, or become ill, as getting out timber alone is dangerous work; snow slides, bringing rocks and timber along, may occur at any moment.
"... Time is creeping along, and spring not far off, bringing back the horrid grizzlies and panthers."
"Jan. 10, 1884.
"I am obliged to write in pencil, as my ink has frozen, and adding water to it has taken away nearly all its colour. The snow is nearly three feet deep on the level, making it mighty hard work to get about; however, if it lets up it will make it all the better sleighing. I am still at work in the woods chopping; up to my waist in snow, getting down fencing and firewood; uncomfortable. Though when I have a good soup and get a refreshing sleep I forget all the discomforts. If it snows to-morrow I shall plaster up my shack inside, having bought a bushel of lime.... Every day I learn something new, and expect to do so for years to come. I look forward to a bright future. All farming operations have ceased long ago, and nothing can be done until the spring.
"... I have made several friends out here, but have been very careful who they were, and sometimes by moonlight I skip away five miles and have a chat with a good old timer.... My paint box has not come from Cook City yet; when it does I will try my hand at giving you some faint idea of this superb scenery."
"Feb. 8, 1884.
"I told you that S. had disappeared altogether, and with him my hundred dollars and other money he owed me. Young B. has now come out here, and has so far joined me that we go halves in expenses, and he helps me in all work.... The weather the last four days has been intensely cold, forty below zero. In fact, so cold, that we dared not go out to work, and though we have just put a floor in the shack, just in time, at night the cold wakes one up and sends the creeps down one's back. Our bacon freezes solid, saw and axe only having any effect. Is there no old aunt to die and leave me some money? I do hate to be always bothering you.... Of course we 'bache it' here, and as there is no great variety to cook, cooking is no great hardship.
"We have just finished our supper of bacon and beans, and some stray pieces of meat; and as Burnaby says in his book that tea stays longer by one than coffee, we have been teaing for some time.
"Now is the dull season, of course; but we are getting a few hens, hoping the weather will improve, to make them cackle. It does not seem like the same place now I have some one with me—much pleasanter and a great help in working.
"I must not forget to mention that I hurt my back a few days ago lifting some logs, and I get up every morning like an old man; however, B. has put a porous plaister on my back, and I really don't know which is the greater nuisance of the two, back-ache or plaister."
"March 5, 1884.
"Thanks for sending me the papers! I really don't know what we would do without them; the neighbours make regular calls, weather permitting, to borrow them. Our anxiety for General Gordon is as great here as I suppose it is with you.... Although life is hard and rough here, I like it more and more, and I trust to do well here: our plans for next year are as follows:—To put in about four acres of garden produce, onions, potatoes, &c., and sell the produce; and if we have luck we shall do well on this; not to put any crop in at all, as machinery is too expensive; a reaper, rake and thrashing expenses would eat up our profits, especially as the machinery would have to be bought on time, a system I am not going in for if I can help it. To fence the whole 160 acres in, the posts for which I have already cut (640), besides hen-house logs, &c., with barbed wire, will cost £23, but I hope to sell hay enough off the place to cover this. When the fencing is done, I shall start out somewhere to get work, and stay away six months (the law allows this under the Homestead Act), and B. will run the ranche.
"I hope to earn three dollars a day, but cannot figure on it, as all sorts of accidents may happen; I might not get paid, or I may hurt myself in some way. B. has already six cows from which we hope to make butter and raise the calves; this is the best and surest business, they increase rapidly. The natural grass (bunch grass) is not only good feed, but strengthening and fattening....
"During the season B. ought to have time to cut up at least fifty cords of wood, which left to the fall to season, readily brings in Bozeman six dollars a cord, or in all, 300 dollars.... As the 'Rheumatiz' has got a slight hold of me, the result of working in the snow up to my waist after fencing and timber, I must make an early start to bed.... A general thaw was followed last night by eight inches of snow, bringing the average up again to two feet ten inches on the level."
