The Bright Side of Prison Life / Experience, In Prison and Out, of an Involuntary Soujouner in Rebellion

by S. A. Swiggett

The next night we came to a blacksmith shop, where we had to take refuge on account of a heavy rain. This shop was one of those old-fashioned country forges, built by the roadside near some farmer's house, where he or his neighbors tried their hands at smith work as occasion demanded. The building was an old "shack," with a leaky roof, but it gave some shelter, although we had to sleep on the forge as best we could, to keep out of the puddles and mud on the earthen floor.

I know of no word better than excruciating, to describe the comforts of that night. The forge was large, and we could lie upon it after cleaning it off, but we had to squeeze together. The edges were rough stones, and our feet hung over. If my readers will take the first opportunity afforded them to occupy a similar position for several hours they will appreciate my use of the above word. To enjoy fully the situation, aside from the pains thereof, they should have a friend stand by with some cold water and occasionally let fall a drop, or succession of them, upon the face, neck or ears of the victim. As a choice of two evils it was an admirable selection; as a matter of comfort it was a failure.

We were not awakened by the daylight, for we were already awake, and, when we could see that the rain had turned to snow, we started off again, preferring the snow and mud in daylight. Coming to an open piece of woods, and seeing a large tree which had been felled, we went to it and found what protection we could in its thick top for the balance of the day, the monotony of the stay being relieved by exchange from snow to rain and from rain to snow every now and then.

Just before dark it cleared up, and we once more started on our way, meeting with no obstacle until we reached the Little Missouri River bottom, which was crossed by an old corduroy road, and then we had some more fun.

For two miles and a half we blundered along on this road, in a gloomy darkness, every few minutes coming to a spot where one or the other of us would slip through between the logs and sink up to our knees in the mud and water, which fact was generally communicated to the others by harsh criticisms upon the efficiency of the county commissioners.

When we reached the river we were about as tired as men can be and stand up, but we found that the ferry-boat was on the other side, and we had to seek some place in which to rest for the night and await daylight. Going back a short distance from the river we found an open space where there were signs of a former camp, and we tried to build a fire. Everything was soaking wet, and all our efforts ended in smoke, except a few sulphurous remarks. There was no shelter to be had; we had to sleep in the open, and the ground was too wet to be comfortable. After some discussion, we decided to try standing up, which means of rest we enjoyed for the balance of the night.

Did you ever try to find a place to rest when everything upon which you could possibly sit or lie was soaking wet? If so, you can understand why we chose to stand up. Did you ever try to sleep in a standing posture, or to rest in like position for any length of time? If so, you will appreciate the following:

Throwing my blanket over my head, I braced myself firmly against a tree, closed my eyes, and—the next thing I knew I was in a heap on the wet ground, wildly struggling with my blanket, my knees having relaxed as I became unconscious. Now fully awake, I took a walk around to find a better spot, but soon came back to my first location and tried it again. This time I remained awake long enough to realize, by the time that the comfortable feelings of drowsiness were again stealing over me, that the air inside of my blanket was not pleasant to breathe, and, in throwing the covering from my head, I became wide awake again. After another interval of wakefulness, during which I realized keenly how tired my limbs were, and after quietly enjoying some of the experiences of my neighbors, the demands of nature again became paramount, and I dozed off. With a sudden sense of a harsh scraping along the back of my head, and a dim realization of the fact that my knees had again refused duty, I came to myself just in time to keep from sitting on the ground, this time sliding down the tree instead of pitching forward. After a walk down to the river to view the situation again, I returned to my tree, adjusted my position, to guard as well as I could against former experiences, and gradually dozed off in the belief that I was this time scientifically and safely propped. Suddenly I realized that I was falling, and became conscious enough to make three or four rapid steps forward, to save myself, before I stumbled over a log and went head first to the ground. After this, I never went to sleep during the balance of the night, but I contented myself with a succession of nods between the intervals of knee-bendings and losses of balance. Try it and see how it works.

I have slept on the wet ground—slept soundly, and never taken cold from it, but not in a boggy location such as that was on that night, and we all stood up in preference, again a choice of the lesser evil.

It might be asked why we did not go back to the high ground instead of remaining in the bottom. No one who has ever tramped over such a miserable road as that by which we had reached the bottom—for two and a half miles in the dark—will be likely to question why we preferred to stay where we were. It is doubtful whether we would have undertaken to retrace our steps over the corduroy road even if we had known in advance just what our night's experience was to be.