Perfection City

by Adela E. Orpen

Napoleon Pompey used to bring up a wheelbarrow full from the melon patch each morning for the day’s consumption. He, like a true negro, was inordinately fond of melons, or “millions” as he called them, and would have sucked them all day long if left to his own devices. Whenever he had to go anywhere in the waggon, as occasionally happened, he would lay in a store of “millions,” and lay himself beside them, and suck them, just as if he were a black caterpillar of unlimited capacity. The horses meantime, far too oppressed with the heat to require much attention, would plod along with their eyes shut, trying to keep out the glaring light. There was nothing to stumble over or fall into, so the driving became of the most elementary pattern, requiring only an occasional rattle of the reins and a comment or two, such as: “Yo’, Reb, g’ ’long will yer, g’ out o’ dat.”

Olive during this period found the heat stifling, and used to sit out of doors on the shady side of the house, until the terrible wind blew up from the Plains, when she would flee as before the breath of a volcano, and shutting herself tight up in her room with closed doors and windows, would gasp through the visitation as best she might. She was no worse off than anyone else, and the nights were always cool and refreshing. That was an unspeakable blessing. All this heat dried up the thick prairie grass until it was like a vast plain of dry hay standing erect.

The corn crop at Perfection City had turned out exceptionally good. There was ample for all the needs of the Community and a good surplus which was to be sold at Mapleton in order to enable them to buy some farm-machinery that was greatly needed. Consequently the whole Community worked hard at getting in the corn so as to be early in the market. The heavy ears of corn with their twenty rows of golden yellow grains were stripped off the tall stalks by hand: a most limb-lacerating job, for the “shucks,” or coverings to the ear, are masses of fibrous leaves with sawlike edges. These edges have the power of cutting an exposed finger in a most painful manner, and they are by no means loath to use the power.

All this hurry and concentration of the workers upon the cornfield was possible only if every other sort of work was neglected for the moment. It seemed the wisest plan to hasten off with their harvest in spite of the risk, and, unused as they were to prairie life, yet even they realized that there was some risk in thus leaving their farms unprotected. Ezra was perfectly aware of it, but like so many people he shut his eyes and hoped for good luck. He spoke to Olive on the subject.

“If anyone so much as drops a lighted match on the prairie we shall be lost,” he said.

“Why, what do you mean?” asked his wife in surprise. She was still so new to the prairie that she did not understand to what he referred. They happened to be on that outside landing of the stairs which looked out over the wide boundless western prairie. This stairway from its position made an exceptionally good place from which to take a survey of the whole prospect.

“That grass is like tinder, and if anybody leaves a coal of fire burning at his camping-place or drops his pipe, the thing will catch in a second, and if there is a strong west wind we shall see about as bad a prairie fire as we care to.”

“Oh, but that’s dreadful! What shall we do?” said Olive, much alarmed.

“As soon as our corn is sold at Mapleton, we shall plough all round Perfection City and back-fire, if we can only get a calm day. We must not back-fire in a high wind, because that would probably start a prairie fire and just cause the very mischief we want to guard against. It would take fifty people to keep a line of fire under control for a mile’s length with grass like that and a strong wind.” So spoke Ezra, critically scanning the horizon for any sign of smoke which might betoken danger. He was very uneasy, and the fierce west wind, which seemed never weary of blowing, made him all the more anxious, as it might prevent them guarding themselves by running the usual belt of burnt prairie all around Perfection City.

It was not a light job to get a safety belt of about four miles long, for that was the circumference of the portion of their land fenced in, and it was an impossible one in the face of a high wind with their small force—unless indeed they did as selfish individualists did, namely let the fire go and burn out whom it liked and what it liked once they were themselves safe. The Pioneers refused to be guilty of this act of treachery to the common weal of the inhabitants of the prairie. It is a comparatively easy thing to keep one line of fire safe and so protect your own fields; the real difficulty begins when you want to stop the fire from spreading in other directions as well. Most of the settlers back-fired their own land, and left Providence or the Devil to see to the result as regards their neighbours. The Pioneers had naturally a higher standard of public duty than this, therefore they did not back-fire in the high wind.