University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XVII.

In October, we were overtaken by a prairie fire.
At this season of the year the plants and grass, parched
by a hot sun, are ready to blaze in a moment if ignited
by the least spark, which is often borne on the wind
from some of the many camp fires.

With frightful rapidity we saw it extend in all directions,
but we were allowed time to escape.

The Indians ran like wild animals from the flames,
uttering yells like demons; and great walls of fire
from the right hand and from the left advanced toward
us, hissing, crackling, and threatening to unite and
swallow us up in their raging fury.

We were amid calcined trees, which fell with a
thundering crash, blinding us with clouds of smoke,
and were burned by the showers of sparks, which
poured upon us from all directions.

The conflagration assumed formidable proportions;
the forest shrunk up in the terrible grasp of the flames,
and the prairie presented one sheet of fire, in the midst
of which the wild animals, driven from their dens and

hiding-places by this unexpected catastrophy, ran about
mad with terror.

The sky gleamed with blood-red reflection, and the
impetuous wind swept both flames and smoke before
it.

The Indians were terrified in the extreme on seeing
around them the mountain heights lighted up like
beacons, to show the entire destruction. The earth
became hot, while immense troops of buffalo made the
ground tremble with their furious tread, and their bellowings
of despair would fill with terror the hearts of
the bravest men.

Every one was frightened, running about the camp
as if struck by insanity.

The fire continued to advance majestically, as it
were, swallowing up every thing in its way, preceded
by countless animals of various kinds, that bounded
along with howls of fear, pursued by the scourge,
which threatened to overtake them at every step.

A thick smoke, laden with sparks, was already passing
over the camp. Ten minutes more, and all would
be over with us, I thought, when I saw the squaws
pressing the children to their bosoms.

The Indians had been deprived of all self-possession
by the presence of our imminent peril—the flames
forming an immense circle, of which our camp had
become the center.

But, fortunately, the strong breeze which, up to that

moment, had lent wings to the conflagration, suddenly
subsided, and there was not a breath of air stirring.

The progress of the fire slackened. Providence
seemed to grant us time.

The camp presented a strange aspect. On bended
knee, and with clasped hands, I prayed fervently.
The fire continued to approach, with its vanguard of
wild beasts.

The Indians, old and young, male and female, began
to pull up the grass by the roots all about the
camp, then lassoed the horses and hobbled them in the
center, and, in a few moments, a large space was
cleared, where the herbs and grass had been pulled up
with the feverish rapidity which all display in the fear
of death.

Some of the Indians went to the extremity of the
space, where the grass had been pulled up, and formed
a pile of grass and plants with their feet; then, with
their flint, set fire to the mass, and thus caused "fire
to fight fire," as they called it. This was done in different
directions. A curtain of flames rose rapidly
around us, and for some time the camp was almost
concealed beneath a vault of fire.

It was a moment of intense and awful anxiety. By
degrees the flames became less fierce, the air purer;
the smoke dispersed, the roaring diminished, and, at
length, we were able to recognize each other in this
horrible chaos.

A sigh of relief burst from every heart. Our camp
was saved! After the first moments of joy were over,
the camp was put in order, and all felt the necessity
of repose, after the terrible anxieties of the preceding
hours; and also to give the ground time enough to
cool, so that it might be traveled over by people and
horses.

The next day we prepared for departure. Tents
were folded, and packages were placed upon the ponies,
and our caravan was soon pursuing its journey, under
the direction of the chief, who rode in advance of our
band.

The appearance of the prairie was much changed
since the previous evening. In many places the black
and burnt earth was a heap of smoking ashes; scarred
and charred trees, still standing, displayed their saddening
skeletons. The fire still roared at a distance,
and the horizon was still obscured by smoke.

The horses advanced with caution over the uneven
ground, constantly stumbling over the bones of animals
that had fallen victims to the embrace of the
flames.

The course we took in traveling wound along a narrow
ravine, the dried bed of some torrent, deeply inclosed
between two hills. The ground trodden by the
horses was composed of round pebbles, which slipped
from under their feet, augmenting the difficulty of the
march, which was rendered still more toilsome to me

by the rays of the sun falling directly upon my uncovered
head and face.

The day passed away thus, and, aside from the
fatigue which oppressed me, the day's journey was
unbroken by any incident.

At evening, we again camped in a plain, absolutely
bare; but in the distance we could see an appearance
of verdure, affording great consolation, for we were
about to enter a spot spared by the conflagration.

At sunrise, next morning, we were on the march
toward this oasis in the desert.