A STORM ON THE PRAIRIES.
[From the Manuscripts of D. D. Mitchell, Esquire.]
I left the Fort early in the morning of the 28th December, accompanied as usual by my Spaniard and a few Canadian servants. The season thus far had been uncommonly fine, not a spot of snow was visible on the prairies, and, as we passed along, the Elk, Antelope, and Fox, were seen in various directions reposing with all that lazy listlessness which the warm suns of March and April never fail to produce upon both man and beast. There was in fact nothing to remind us of the presence of winter, except the barren nakedness of nature, and the long range of the rocky mountains whose snowy peaks glittered in the sun, and whose hoary summits stretching far to the north and south, were undistinguishable from the white vapory clouds which floated around them. Towards evening, however, a fresh gale sprung up from the north, and a very sensible change in the temperature was experienced. We drew our Buffalo robes closer around us, and jogged on, talking and laughing away the time, inattentive to the signs of the storm which was rapidly gathering. A few flakes of snow began to descend, and the sun became suddenly obscured. We were now sensible that a snow storm of unusual violence was fast approaching, and we laid whip to our horses, in the hope of reaching the shelter afforded by a spot of timbered ground, about eight miles distant. The tempest however had already burst upon us in all its fury; large snow-flakes came whirling and eddying about our heads, which were caught up by the wind before they could fall to the earth;—darkness and confusion increased every moment, and in half an hour it was impossible to see ten paces before us. Our horses now became blind and ungovernable, some dashing away with their riders across the prairies, heedless of what direction they took, and others taking a firm and immoveable position with their heads opposite to the wind and refusing to stir an inch. Of course, all of us became soon separated. It was of no use to call out to each other, for our voices were drowned in the roar of the tempest, and could not be heard twenty steps. In this emergency I dismounted from my steed, and leaving him to his fate, endeavored to keep myself warm by vigorous exercise. Blinded and chilled by the wind and snow, I stumbled forward, groping my way in darkness, and regardless of the route which I took. At length, having proceeded some distance, I tumbled headlong into a deep ravine filled with snow, from which, with all my efforts, enfeebled as I was by fatigue, I was unable to extricate myself. After some rest and many unavailing trials, I at length crawled out, and perceiving at some little distance a kind of shelter formed by an overhanging rock, I immediately sought it, and wrapping my cloak and blanket around me, sat down in no enviable mood, contemplating my forlorn and apparently hopeless condition. After remaining in the ravine about two hours, the fury of the storm subsided, when on making a careful examination I discovered a place in the bank which was of comparatively easy ascent, and accordingly succeeded in gaining the level prairies. I looked around for my unfortunate companions, but no vestige of them was to be seen. The snow lay piled up in ridges several feet high, and the wind though considerably abated, continued to throw its light particles into such dense masses or clouds as to intercept the view beyond a short distance. There was a kind of hillock or mound in the prairie, about a half mile off, to which I directed my steps in the hope that from its summit I might make some discovery, and I was not disappointed. I thought that I saw a few hundred yards distant, the whole of my party collected together, and I instantly turned to join them. Guess my astonishment, however, when in lieu of my unfortunate comrades, I recognized my horse standing all benumbed and shivering with cold, in company with a few old buffalo bulls. I approached very near before they saw me, but on reaching out my hand to seize my horse's bridle, the buffaloes took to flight, and whether it was that my horse being a regular hunter, followed them from habit, or clung to them in the present instance as companions in misfortune, I do not know,—but so it was that he scampered off with the rest, and by his ill timed desertion greatly aggravated my distress. I was now thirty miles from home,—the night was fast approaching and the weather intensely cold. What was I to do? If I lay in the open prairie, without the means of kindling a fire, I knew that the snow would at once be my winding sheet and grave: the thought too of my companions, and their uncertain fate, added poignancy to my reflections.
After a few moments of melancholy musing, I determined to pursue my horse, and if he could not be reclaimed to shoot him on the spot, in order that I might recover such articles as he carried on his back, and which might aid me in repelling the cold. I followed for nearly a mile, the horse and buffalo still walking off before me, when my patience being entirely exhausted, I took deliberate aim and fired. The ball however fell short of its mark, the buffaloes ran off at full speed, and my horse, greatly to my surprise, instead of following the bad example of flight, suddenly pricked up his ears and looked inquiringly around. Whether it was that he knew the report of my gun, which had so often brought down the buffalo, when mounted on his back, or that he really took compassion on my desolate situation and repented his ungrateful conduct, it is of course impossible to tell, but so it was that he turned round and hastened to meet me at a brisk trot. When he approached very near, he stopped and seemed irresolute, but having reloaded my gun I was resolved that he should not again escape. I made towards him as warily as possible, when making a sudden spring I seized the bridle, and in a few moments was safely seated on his back.
A moment before I could have exclaimed with the ill-fated Richard, "a horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!" but now that I had reclaimed my own, I found my situation but little alleviated. The sun had already sunk far behind the mountains, and the wind, which blew directly from the north, came with such intense bitterness that in spite of my clothing and robe, it seemed to penetrate my very vitals. I gazed round on the boundless prairie, in the hope of descrying some timbered spot which should serve as a place of refuge, but all was one dreary waste. Nothing was to be seen but a broad expanse of plain, undulated by ridges of snow—and nothing heard but the hollow and mournful gusts which swept over the desolate scene and sounded like a funeral dirge. My apprehensions were gloomy enough, and losing all confidence in my own half-bewildered reason, I threw the reins on the neck of my horse, and giving him the whip, surrendered the choice of the route to his own better instinct. The sagacious brute seemed conscious of his new responsibility, and as if to atone for his unkind treatment after the storm, he gave a loud neigh, and then sprung off at a sweeping gallop which he continued for an hour and a half. It was now completely dark, and I was so thoroughly benumbed with cold, that I could scarcely retain my seat. I felt indeed like one lingering on the very brink of despair, when my horse suddenly gave another loud neigh which was instantly returned. He sprang forward with renewed life and spirit, and in a moment after, upon reaching the top of some rising ground, a large fire sent up its cheerful blaze to my view; and to my utter surprise as well as delight, I beheld my companions who were so recently dispersed by the storm, comfortably seated around it. With a loud shout of congratulation I hurried down the hill and joined them. A sailor who has been wrecked at sea, and who after buffeting the stormy billows until nature is exhausted, is at length cast on shore by some friendly wave, never felt a more thrilling sensation of pleasure or thankfulness, than I did at that moment. In the fulness of my heart I most fervently thanked heaven for its protection; then seizing my horse around the neck, I tenderly embraced him, and poured forth my gratitude and forgiveness to his unconscious ear. Many no doubt would be disposed to smile at this seeming folly; but let them reflect that when the spirit has been raised from the lowest depths of despair to the highest summit of hope and enjoyment—the man must be cold indeed who does not evince some extravagance in feeling or conduct, as in the case of the poor man, whose fortunes are suddenly made by a prize in the lottery, some excuse may be given for a few irrational freaks and absurd eccentricities. Like all excessive joy, however, mine was but temporary—or at least not unalloyed, for I soon discovered that one of my men was missing, having been separated from his companions during the storm, and not since seen or heard of.
With the aid of a large fire, a sufficient number of blankets, and a bottle of old Jamaica, we contrived to pass the night in tolerable comfort, notwithstanding the cold, which was tremendous. Early next morning, we proceeded to scour the prairie in search of our lost companion. We searched until late in the evening—but all our efforts were vain, and we returned once more to the camp. The unfortunate man had doubtless fallen a victim to the fury of the storm,—for we never heard of him more. His body probably lay wrapped in its snowy shroud until spring, when at last it was revealed to the eager eyes of ravenous birds and beasts. Death is in any shape appalling; and his near approach will for a moment shake the stoutest heart. It will even blanch the cheek of the hero, surrounded by the "pomp and circumstance of glorious war." What then must be the situation of him who is overtaken by the violence of the wintry storm, and sinks, exhausted by cold and weariness, on the trackless prairie. For the last time he hears the night wind, as it chants his funeral dirge,—whilst the mournful howl of the starving wolf, or the scream of the ill-omened raven, as he circles in the air, and watches the last vital spark as it vanishes—disturbs the dying moments of the victim!
For the Southern Literary Messenger.