And how about Deacon Cobb? He was sitting alone in his wagon in absolute serenity when I, who had seen him last, had parted from him. His wagon had then settled to the axles in the quicksand, and the muddy waters were swiftly sweeping by it and through it. He had piled boxes and other articles in the center of the wagon box and had surmounted the pile with his little mattress, which he had rolled into a bundle. I saw him perched upon the summit patiently awaiting developments. In the meantime the waters had filled the box. He was near the middle of the river. The rest of his party now being safely across, we shouted to him through the gathering darkness of the evening, to assure him that we would come to him as soon as possible. If he responded to our call it was not heard above the sound of the running waters. The wagon was so deeply imbedded in the mud that it seemed a dubious task to pull him out with our weary and hungry horses.
We endeavored to negotiate with the captain of the ox-team wagons for assistance, but he replied that he would not have his weary men and stock undertake the hazardous task for five hundred dollars at that late hour. The point was urged that a good man's life was involved, and that our teams were absolutely unequal to the undertaking, as he well knew. He finally consented to send three men with four yoke of oxen to make the attempt, upon the payment of forty dollars, to which terms we cheerfully agreed. The oxen were sent for and yoked in the darkness, and soon were in the river on the way to the rescue. The men stated on their return that after a time their course was directed by the Deacon's voice, which was finally heard in the distance and approximately indicated his location. After a long period of comparative silence the approach of the rescuing party to the shore was announced by cheers from the drivers. The Deacon when pulled up to the shore was the calmest and most comfortable man in the party, although he had been fully aware of his critical situation. He was moreover the only dry object in the wagon.
The bacon in our mess wagon was not seriously injured by its baptism, and at 9 p. m., we regaled our empty stomachs with such of it as could be readily found. My own trunk, containing garments and papers, had suffered little. Like Homer's horses, we had to await the throned dawn before drying ourselves. In the early morning the caravan moved onward five miles to where sage brush was found for fuel and some grass for the horses, there being practically none near the place of crossing. There we took an inventory of our effects, and all were unloaded that we might dry them out. We had received on our arrival at Nebraska City a box of ginger snaps and some other delicacies, also some dried fruit, sent by friends at home. These had been carefully retained for use in an emergency, perhaps in case of illness, when some change of diet from rough camp fare might be welcome. The box was now for the first time re-opened, as the hour had come to test it, but all those dainty tributes of good-will were blended into a common mass, of the consistency of thin pudding, and no one article could be separated from another. The box had been filled with sand and water for nearly twenty-four hours, and in the meantime had been thoroughly shaken up. It was gratifying, however, to find that a bag of dried apples, also reserved for some state occasion, had about doubled its bulk since leaving Nebraska City. In this case the high water might seem to have been a blessing, in disguise, but the disguise was perfect, for when we again dried them out in the hot sun and gave them a little time to re-adjust themselves to the environment, they gradually resumed their original modest proportions. The pudding left as the residue of the cookies was re-cooked, but for dietary purposes it was hardly satisfactory, as it yielded only a gritty, earthy-tasting food.
The final consensus of opinion was that we would never again ford the Platte during high water.
[CHAPTER XII]
The Phantom Liar of Grease Wood Desert
A portion of the compound constituting the waters of the Platte, with which many of our effects were saturated, passed into the air by evaporation in the sun, but a residuum of clay and sand long remained as a reminder of the day spent in the muddy flood of that river. We were happy to find that our ammunition was uninjured. We waited three days for the arrival of Phillip's mule train, which was at Julesburg and with which we expected to proceed, but finally learned that it would not hazard an attempt to ford a river that had proved so disastrous to others. In the meantime we hunted sage hens and jack rabbits, which were numerous in that sage brush country.
It has often been said of Yankee mechanics that they are "Jacks of all trades and masters of none." Necessity has made them self-reliant. Such were we, and the delay afforded us an opportunity to put everything in good order. Although there were no harness makers, blacksmiths, or carpenters, to repair harness or wagons, no horseshoers to shoe the horses, and no shoemakers or tailors to mend boots or garments, nearly every member of our company showed himself fully qualified to do very satisfactory work and with few tools in each of these lines of industry. The valuable miscellaneous training in the primitive days in our country, when the trades were not specialized as they are now, fitted the young men of that time for such emergencies.
Deciding that our present situation justified a violation of army regulations, we moved forward alone to the crossing of Lodge Pole Creek, a milky-colored stream about fifteen feet in width. They told us at Julesburg that the Indians were accustomed to obtain lodge poles from a place near the distant sources of this stream, a fact to which it owed its euphonious name.