The nearest settlement of any kind was "Swan River," on the Mississippi, but we were so completely blockaded with snow, that no team could possibly get through. Two or three times during that memorable winter, our oldest son, a boy of eighteen years, made the trip on snow-shoes, at the risk of his life, to get our mail, and learn, if possible, something from our supplies. The round trip was a three days' journey, and there being no stopping place or house of any kind on the route, he, of course, was obliged to camp out one night. Our anxiety during his absence was terrible, and we remember vividly our overpowering sense of relief, when, at the close of the third day, long before his form was discernible, some familiar song in his clear ringing tones, broke on the still night air, to assure the dear home folks he was safe and well. Like the man whose business was so urgent he could not stop to rest, but now and then picked up a stone and carried it some distance, then threw it down, and went on relieved and encouraged, so we, when we laid down this burden of anxiety felt rested and better able to bear our daily trials.
It is due to our only neighbors, the Indians, to say that they were by no means troublesome, that our intercourse with them was pleasant, and to some of them we became much attached. A great chief's wife was a frequent visitor at our house, her little son, of perhaps eight winters being her invariable attendant. On one occasion having missed a small case-knife of rather peculiar formation, which was in daily use, I ventured to ask her if the little lad had taken it to their wigwam, it occurred to me he might have done so, innocently to show to some of his family, in whose honesty I had implicit faith. The old woman drew herself up to her full height, and with a grace and dignity which would have done honor to the mother of the Gracchi, said, in all the expressiveness of her native tongue: "The son of Ne-ba-quum cannot steal!" In real admiration and reverent contrition, I laid my hand on the injured mother's shoulder, and explained my meaning. She accepted my apology fully and graciously, giving me her hand, in token that my error was condoned, and you will readily believe it was never repeated. Through all the years of our residence at Long Prairie she and her family were always welcome guests at our house, when in their wanderings they came that way, and when, during our late war, her brave, loyal husband's offers to assist us in our struggle, were contemptuously scorned by one of our Generals, and the mortified, broken-hearted old chieftain, unable to bear up under such an insult, went to the "happy hunting grounds," we sincerely mourned the loss of our staunch and honored friend, Ne-ba-quum.
Some time in January, our five year old boy was very suddenly seized with pleurisy in its most violent form, and for hours he seemed in mortal agony. We had no efficient remedies, no doctor within thirty, perhaps fifty miles, and to complicate matters, I had lain down sick for the first time, thoroughly vanquished by fatigue and unusual exposure. But that sickness of mine had to be postponed, and we fought all that night with the fearful disease, using vigorously all the external remedies within our reach, cupping the dear child with inexperienced hands, but prayerful hearts, leaning entirely upon God, who, when we cried unto Him in our distress, heard and mercifully regarded our cries. The acute and agonizing symptoms of the attack were subdued, but lung fever supervened, and for four weeks our dear boy lay very near death. His form wasted, his hands, through extreme attenuation, became almost translucent, and we could only watch and pray, and use all the means in our power to alleviate his sufferings. I recall the seasons of family worship around that sick bed, when we were drawn so near the All-pitying Father that we could talk with Him, as a man talketh with his friend, when the loving Savior made us feel that He was near us to sympathize with us, and the Blessed Comforter brooded over us, and spoke peace to our sorrowing hearts, so that we could say, "Thy will be done," and from our hearts could sing:
"Ill that God blesses is our good,
And unblest good is ill;
And all is right, that seems most wrong,
If it be His dear will.
"When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison walls to be;
We'll do the little we can do,
And leave the rest to Thee."
During this trying time, our stock of candles was nearly exhausted, and our weary watchings were only lighted by a sense of God's presence. So with our hand on the dear sufferer, and our ear attentive to his breathing, his father and I sat beside him, lighting our candle only when absolutely necessary, and felt as none can feel until they have tested it, the sustaining grace and Infinite love of the Blessed Watcher, who never slumbers nor sleeps. He granted us sweet thoughts of His love and precious promises, which were to us as songs in the night, and under the shadow of His wings, our hearts were kept in perfect peace. Thanks to the Great Healer, a change for the better came, and then occurred a strange thing, that has always seemed to me directly Providential.
During a bitter wind and blinding snow storm, some snow birds took refuge in our wood-shed and were caught by the Indian boys. At the suggestion of our oldest son, who had read somewhere the story of a sick child and her Canaries, these little refugees were brought into the nursery and soon became perfectly tame, flying all about the sick boy's head, lighting on his hands, and amusing and resting him wonderfully. For several days the storm continued, and we sheltered the little creatures, our invalid growing better so rapidly as to excite our surprise. But at last there came a mild bright day, and we turned them out to find their companions. Why was it that they flew only a few rods and then fell dead? To us it seemed that these little winged messengers had been driven to us in our extremity by the fury of the storm as healing agents, and had given their lives for our child's. The question now arose, where shall we find suitable food for our convalescent? There seemed no possible help for us, but we believed it would come. One morning as I sat wondering how this would be brought about, my dear brother came in, and handing me a fresh laid egg, said: "I did not know there was a fowl on the place, but it seems that an old superannuated hen, who doubtless has lived in the wheat all winter has suddenly been aroused to a sense of her duty, and this is the result." Had the golden egg, famous in fable, been presented in his other hand for my choice, it would have been to me no better than a chip, but the treasure he brought me was of priceless value, and I received it gratefully as a gift from God. It furnished a whole day's nourishment for our exhausted, feeble little boy, and for three days he was supplied in the same way; then, just as he was more hungry than ever, and when it was evident he never could regain his strength without nourishment, the supply ceased. We waited and trusted, and in a day or two our son found a fine pheasant, which had evidently lost its way, sitting in the snow, wondering, perhaps, where all its companions were, and why the berries were all gone. Where it came from we never knew, but we do know that there never was so delicious a bird eaten. It was reserved for the sick child, but a small piece was given to each of the other children, and not one of them will ever forget the taste of that precious morsel. By the time this nutritious supply was exhausted, our invalid was so much better as to be able to do his share of picking over wheat, and of eating this simple but very healthful diet.
Soon after this the wheat ran low, the long hard winter had told upon us all, and we seemed to need more substantial food as we had never needed it before. Day after day we managed to prepare something that sustained life, but I had a nursing child, and supporting myself and him too, almost solely upon a wheat diet, had been hard on me and I was much exhausted. We did not lose faith; the spirit was willing, but the flesh was growing weak. I sat one morning after our simple breakfast, with my precious baby in my lap, wondering on what I should feed the dear ones at noon, as scarcely anything remained. The children were full of glee in their unconscious ignorance, and I must not, by a word of repining, shake their sweet trust and faith. Our eldest son sat near me, reading my thoughts, but saying nothing, only conveying by a loving look his sympathy, when, suddenly, a shadow darkened the window; he looked up quickly, and said: "Mother, look there!" I looked, and directly at our door were two sleds heavily laden with our long-looked for supplies! Then came the first tears I had shed that winter. I could not speak, but my over-wrought feelings found most salutary relief in those blessed, grateful tears. There was danger that the powerful reaction would overcome me entirely, but very soon every member of the little colony knew that relief had come, and the work of unloading the sleds, opening boxes, and unheading barrels, was carried on with such ardor, as to leave no chance for such a result, especially as we learned that the teamsters had had no breakfast, that they had been three days coming 28 miles; had been obliged to shovel their way through great drifts, a few rods at a time, and had reached us thoroughly worn out and exhausted. Then came the preparation of that wonderful breakfast. No need that a priest should burn frankincense and myrrh, sending up our orisons in the smoke thereof. The odor of that frying pork, the aroma of that delicious coffee, the perfume of that fragrant tea went up to heaven, full freighted with thanksgiving and praise. No need that a President or Governor should proclaim a day when we should return thanks in view of God's great goodness; it proclaimed itself, and every human being within our reach was bidden to our thanksgiving feast.
Our supplies were ample and varied, and 3 o'clock found a large company seated around a table loaded with excellent, well-cooked food, of which all partook with a gusto most flattering and gratifying to the cook, who was glad to retire to her room with her baby, when the meal was over and rest on her laurels, while the young people danced and made merry in very gladness of heart.
Night closed around a little settlement of thoroughly grateful, happy human beings. What if it was still cold, and there must yet be many stormy days? No fear of suffering or starvation. God had not forgotten us, and we should never cease to trust Him. I could not sleep for very joy, and the delicious sense of relief from anxiety on the score of providing for the daily meals. I seemed to see in the darkness, in illuminated letters, "Jehovah Jireh," and felt He had abundantly verified his blessed promise.[B]