Chapter XI: Fording the Platte in High Water

Early on the following morning, as a sufficient number of men and teams to conform to the requirements of the War Department had been reported as ready to proceed, we were at the river's edge prepared to attempt the ford. During low water many of the numerous sand bars in the river cover wide areas. But now the swiftly surging waters which had risen perceptibly during the night swept over all the island bars, leaving the depressions between them of uncertain depth, because the water loaded with clay and sand was opaque as flowing mud can be. A number of teams belonging to different parties were hurriedly prepared to make the crossing, as the river was still rising. Many drivers removed their boots, and a few whose wardrobes were limited went even farther and hung the greater part of their garments in wagons. The general course taken through the stream by the last preceding travelers might now be more unsafe than some other route, because of the constant shifting of the quicksands.

As a preliminary step, it was decided that mounted men from the several outfits that were to cross should test various parts of the river by different routes. Stripping the saddles from their horses, those who were willing to attempt the passage started in from as many different points. For two or three rods in each course tested, the water was found to be rather shallow, but further on it varied greatly along the different routes. The water being muddy, there was no visible indication of its depth in advance of the rider, except that at the deepest points the current, being less impeded, was much swifter and was also indicated by broad, undulating swells. When about one-fourth of the way over, my horse dropped into a very deep channel, where he could obtain no footing. In all such places, the horse and rider swiftly drifted down the river, swimming in the direction of the objective point on the opposite shore. Nearly all of those who participated in this preliminary trip seemed to doubt the practicability of a safe crossing. The rider, however, who had kept the furthest up the stream had found a footing for his horse through nearly the entire course, there being but one place where for a moment he seemed to lose his hold on the bottom; and that was approximately the route adopted.

The tendency of all who crossed, was to be carried down the stream, and all came out on the north bank a long distance below the point which they aimed to reach. A trigonometrical measurement of the river, taken with a sextant, gave the width as 792 yards; Root gives the width as being one-half mile. But our proposed course, being serpentine and quite in the form of the letter S, was about seven-eighths of a mile in length. The general course having been agreed upon, the final preparations were quickly made for the start. As oxen are the safest animals to use in this kind of work, it was arranged that the ox team wagons should move in advance. Eighteen yoke of oxen--in other words, the teams from three wagons--were hitched to a single wagon, each making a combined team more than 200 feet in length. Four such teams were made ready. The heaviest men were assigned to ride on the backs of all the lead oxen, to bear them down as low as possible into the water, so that they would be less inclined to float in deep water and lose their footing. Oxen in swimming do not sink as low in the water as either mules or horses. The instructions to the drivers of all teams were to direct them constantly somewhat up stream, that they might eventually reach the opposite shore as nearly as possible directly opposite the place of starting, for they would be sure to drift more or less.

The importance of a very long team in fording such a turbulent river of varying depth is that when the lead teams find water so deep that it lifts their feet from the bottom, and they are compelled to float and swing down stream, then the middle teams, urged on by their riders and the horsemen who ride alongside, may keep the wagon moving and somewhere near its true course; but it _must_ be kept moving. When the lead oxen have again secured a footing in shallow water, they must again be turned up stream, to straighten out the whole line and aid in pulling intermediate teams over the deep places. A minute halt of a loaded wagon in the soft quicksand is likely to be very serious, as the rushing current will quickly undermine it and it will rapidly settle to the wagon bed.

All these points having been forcefully impressed upon the men, the ox drivers vaulted to their positions, each astride of an ox. Horsemen were in waiting at the right, or down stream side, to assist in keeping the cattle from drifting. No saddles were used on the animals, and the men were barefooted, for when the horses should sink with their backs below the water, saddles and shoes would become encumbrances.

The captain having mounted on his horse, both being divested of unnecessary trappings, galloped down the line shouting to the men of each team, "Come right along in line quick. Follow me and keep 'er moving!" The first of the four long teams filed behind the Captain and with some urging splashed down into the muddy swirling waters, and the others followed in their wake. We who knew that our time was soon to come stood upon the bank and earnestly watched every movement in their progress. We saw the Captain's horse suddenly sink over his flanks into the first deep unseen channel and plunge madly until he reached footing on a sand bar beyond, over which only two feet of water flowed. There the Captain turned and halted to direct the drivers who were urging their teams onward through the soft quicksand. It was a dangerous place, but there could be no retreat for the long teams and heavy wagons. The men were shouting at the top of their voices, but above the shouts of the men and the grumbling swash of the waters, we heard the Captain call, "Come on, keep 'er moving! Keep 'er moving; keep up stream!" But when the first oxen dropped into the deep channel they floated swiftly down with the resistless current in a tangled mass, and then the horsemen and ox-riders directed their efforts to turn the swimming leaders toward the Captain. As I learned later, the drivers while in the broad swift stream hardly knew where they were, or in what direction they were going. Everything in sight was going down, down, and the eye having no fixed object near-by on which to rest, was continually led astray by the flotsam rushing by. For a time the whole team from our view-point seemed to be an inextricable mix-up, but finally the lead oxen reached a footing in shallower water and were turned up stream toward the Captain. After being urged forward, they partially straightened out the long line and the heavy wagon slowly continued to move, but soon it also sank down into the deep channel where the swift waters swept its sides.

"It's going over!" shouted more than one who stood on the shore, as the wagon reeled from one side to another on the soft, uneven, sandy bottom.

"Keep 'er going, keep 'er moving!" was then yelled continuously by the drivers and Captain, as they urged the teams to pull harder, and this continued until the wagon slowly rose in shallower water. But they must not stop even there in these quicksands, nor until they had reached the other shore. There was still much more of the deep rushing water farther on in the river. A like experience was shared by each team, as it went through the deep places.

The four wagons were finally pulled out upon the farther bank, and the oxen were returned to repeat the struggle with other loads. Our time had now come and delay would be dangerous, for the river was rising. Therefore, as soon as the first ox team had accomplished the first deep channel, Pete Wintermute started into the river with his wagon and four horses. Pete was a superb horseman and managed his team with discretion, but it seemed almost certain at times that his wagon was capsizing. The remainder of our party could not long delay to watch his uncertain progress, for each had his own difficult responsibility.

My attention was chiefly directed to Deacon Cobb and Ben and Fred, whose wagons had each but one span of horses. The Deacon, after progressing swimmingly for a time, became hopelessly stuck on a sand bar where the water was not more than two feet in depth. Ben and Fred were also stuck down stream about twenty rods below the Deacon. It was imperative that their teams should be combined. It was clearly impossible to get a team up stream to the Deacon. I dismounted and unhitched the Deacon's horses, and with whiffletrees in hand turned them floating down toward the boys' wagon. At times I passed through deep water in which the horses swam, always knowing that I was likely soon to strike another sand bar. Before reaching Ben's wagon, one of the whiffletrees became detached, a pin having come out in the deep water. The harness generally was out of order. The boys were in the water and were soon busy, tying parts together and doubling up the teams, using any straps and ropes that were available. In time they were as ready as could be, under the circumstances, to move onward, and were soon breasting the current, while I rode beside them on horseback.

At this juncture there arose great commotion in advance of us. Among the parties who were making this watery transit were two brothers, each driving a two-mule team, their wagons being loaded with fancy groceries with which they intended to start a business in Montana. They were driving nearly side by side. I observed both their mules and wagons sink into a deep channel, almost simultaneously and both wagons rolled completely over being caught in a powerful current. The mules of both teams, entangled in their harness, were soon kicking and floundering in their efforts to escape, while the frantic young men, at the peril of their lives, were trying each to release his own mules by cutting their harness. Two of the mules were drowned, the wagons were a hopeless wreck, and I saw many of the lighter boxes and packages from their cargo floating down the stream. The stock was a total loss. Ben and Fred had no time to watch these collateral occurrences, for they were endeavoring to manage a four-horse team that had never been driven in that form, and might have been found difficult at first to control even on a solid highway.

The evening was well advanced when Ben and the drivers of two other of our wagons pulled out from the northern bank. Dan Trippe was two or three hours in advance of any of our party. We had been in the water the entire day, and laboring every moment to the extent of our ability. Several animals had been drowned, but our sympathy went out especially toward the young men who had lost their all and were now stranded with two mules.

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.