19 - The Log of a Cowboy: Forty Islands Ford

Episode Transcript

Speaker 1 (00:00):
Chapter nineteen of The Log of a Cowboy by Andy Adams.
This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Forty Islands Ford.
After securing a count on the herd that morning and
finding nothing short, we trailed out up the North Platte River.

(00:21):
It was an easy country in which to handle a herd.
The trail in places would run back from the river
as far as ten miles and again follow close in
near the river bottoms. There was an abundance of small
creeks putting into this fork of the Platte from the south,
which afforded water for the herd and good campgrounds at night.

(00:45):
Only twice after leaving Ogalala had we been compelled to
go to the river for water for the herd, and
with the exception of thunder storms and occasional summer rains,
the weather had been all one could wish for the
past week. As we trailed up the North Platte, some
of us had visited the river daily to note its

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stage of water, for we were due to cross at
Forty Islands, about twelve miles south of Old Fort Laramie.
The North Platte was very similar to the South Canadian,
a wide sandy stream without banks, and our experience with
the ladder was fresh in our memories. The stage of
water had not been favorable, for this river also had

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its source in the mountains, and as now Midsummer was
upon us the season of heavy rainfall in the mountains
augmented by the melting snows, the prospect of finding a
fordable stage of water at Forty Islands was not very encouraging.
We reached this well known crossing late in the afternoon

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the third day after leaving the Wyoming line, and found
one of the Prairie Cattle Company's herds water bound. This
herd had been wintered on one of that company's ranges
on the Arkansas River in southern Colorado, and their destination
was in the bad lands near the mouth of the Yellowstone,
where the same company had a northern range. Flood knew

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the foreman, Wade Scholar, who reported having been water bound
over a week already with no prospect of crossing without swimming.
Scholar knew the country thoroughly and had beside it to
lie over until the river was fordable at Forty Islands,
as it was much the easiest crossing on the North Platte,
though there was a wagon ferry at Fort Laramie. He

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returned with Flood to our camp, and the two talked
over the prospect of swimming it on the morrow. Let's
send the wagons up to the ferry in the morning,
said Flood, and swim the herds. If you wait until
this river falls, you are liable to have an experience
like we had on the South Canadian lost three days
and bogged over a hundred cattle. When one of these

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sandy rivers has had a big freshet, look out for quicksands.
But you know that as well as I do. Why
we've squam over half a dozen rivers already, and I'd
much rather swim this one than attempt to ford it.
Just after it has fallen, we can double our outfits
and be safely across before noon. I've got nearly a

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thousand miles yet to make and have just got to
get over. Think it over to night, and have your
wagon ready to start with ours. Scholar rode away without
giving our foreman any definite answer as to what he
would do, though earlier in the evening he had offered
to throw his herd well out of the way at
the ford and lend us any assistance at his command,

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but when it came to the question of crossing his
own herd, he seemed to dread the idea of swimming
the river and could not be induced to say what
he would do, but said that we were welcome to
the lead. The next morning, Flood and I accompanied our
wagon up to his camp, where it was plainly evident
that he did not intend to send his wagon with ours,

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and Ma Canns started on alone. Though our foreman renewed
his efforts to convince Scholar of the feasibility of swimming
the herds. Their cattle were thrown well away from the ford,
and Scholar assured us that his outfit would be on
hand whenever we were ready to cross, and even invited
all hands of us to come to his wagon for dinner.

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When returning to our herd, Flood told me that Scholar
was considered one of the best foremen on the trail,
and why he should refuse to swim his cattle was unexplainable.
He must have time to burn, but that doesn't seem reasonable.
For the earlier through cattle were turned loose on their
winter range to the better. We were in no hurry

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to cross, as our wagon would be gone all day,
and it was nearly high noon when we trailed up
to the ford. With the addition to our force of
Scholar and nine or ten of his men, we had
an abundance of help and put the cattle into the
water opposite two islands, our saddle horses in the lead.
As usual, There was no swimming water between the south

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shore and the first island, though it wet our saddle
skirts for some considerable distance, this channel being nearly two
hundred yards wide. Most of the outfit took the water,
while Scholar's men fed or heard in from the south bank,
a number of their men coming over as far as
the first island. The second island lay down the stream

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some little distance, and as we pushed the cattle off
the first one, we were in swimming water in no time.
But the saddle horses were already landing on the second island,
and our lead cattle struck out and breasting the water,
swam as proudly as swans. The middle channel was nearly
a hundred yards wide, the greater portion of which was swimming,

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though the last channel was much wider, but our saddle
horses had already taken it. And within fifty yards of
the farther shore struck solid footing with our own outfit.
We crowded the leaders to keep the chain of cattle unbroken,
and before Honeyman could hustle his horses out of the river,
our lead cattle had caught a foothold and were heading

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up stream and edging out for the farther shore. I
had one of the best swimming horses in our outfit,
and Flood put me in the lead on the point.
As my horse came out on the farther bank, I
am certain I have never seen a herd of cattle
before or since which presented a prettier sight when swimming
than ours did. That day. There were fully four hundred

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yards of water on the angle by which we crossed,
nearly half of which was swimming, but with the two
islands which gave them a breathing spell, our circle dots
were taking the water as steadily as a herd leaving
their bed ground. Scholar and his men were feeding them in,
while half a dozen of our men on each island

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were keeping them moving. Honeyman and I pointed them out
of the river, and as they grazed away from the shore,
they spread out fan like, many of them kicking up
their heels after they left the water in healthy enjoyment
of their bath. Long before they were half over, the
usual shouting had ceased, and we simply sat in our

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saddles and waited for the long train of cattle to
come up and cross. Within less than half an hour
from the time our saddle horses entered the north platte,
the tail end of our herd had landed safely on
the farther bank. As Honeymen and I were the only
ones of our outfit on the north side of the
river during the passage, flood called to us from across

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the last channel to graze the herd until relieved when
the remainder of the outfit returned to the south side
to recover their discard rarded effects and to get dinner
with Scholar's wagon. I had imitated Honeyman and tied my
boots to my cantle strings so that my effects were
on the right side of the river, And as far

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as dinner was concerned, well, I'd much rather miss it
than swim the plat twice in its then stage of water.
There's a difference in daring in one's duty and daring
out of pure venturesomeness, and if we missed our dinners
it would not be the first time. So we were
quite willing to make the sacrifice. If the Quirk family

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never achieve fame for daring by field and flood, until
this one of the old man boys brings the family
name in the prominence, it will be hopelessly lost to posterity.
We allowed the cattle to graze of their own free will,
and merely turned in the sides and rear. But on
reaching the second bottom of the river, where they caught

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a good breeze, they lay down for their noonday siesta,
which relieved us of all work, but keeping watch over them.
The saddle horses were grazing about in plain view on
the first bottom, so Honeyman and I dismounted on a
little elevation, overlooking our charges. We were expecting the outfit

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to return promptly after dinner was over, for it was
early enough in the day to have trailed eight or
ten miles farther. It would have been no trouble to
send someone up the river to meet our wagon and
pilot macan to the herd, for the trail left on
a line due north from the river. We had been
lounging about for an hour while the cattle were resting,

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when our attention was attracted by our saddle horses in
the bottom. They were looking at the ford, to which
we supposed their attention had been attracted by the swimming
of the outfit, but instead only two of the boys
showed up, and on sighting us nearly a mile away,
they rode forward very leisurely. Before their arrived. We recognize

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them by their horses as Ash, Borrowstone and rod Wheat,
And on their riding up, the latter said, as he dismounted, well,
they're going to cross the other herd, and they want
you to come back and point the cattle with that
famous swimming horse of yours. You'll learn after a while
not to blow so much about your mount and your

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cutting horses, and your night horses and your swimming horses.
I wish every horse of mine had a nigger brand
on him, and I had to ride in the wagon
when it comes to swimming these rivers. And I'm not
the only one that is a distaste for wet proposition,
for I wouldn't have to guess twice as to what's
the matter with Scholar, But Flood has pounded him on

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the back ever since he met him yesterday, evening to
swim his cattle until it's either swim or say he's
afraid to. It's shoot luke or give up the gun
with him. Scholar's a nice fellow, But I'll bet my
entry in Goose Heaven that I know what's the matter
with him. And I'm not blaming him either. But I

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can't understand why our boss should take such an interest
in having him swim. It's none of his business if
he swims now or fords a month hence, or waits
until the river freezes over in the winter and crosses
on the ice. But let the big augers wrangle it out.
You noticed, Nash, that not one of Scholar's outfit ever
said a word one way or the other. But Flood

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poured it into him until he consented to swim. So
fork that swimming horse of yours, and wet your big
toe again in the north Platte. As the orders had
come from the foreman, there was nothing to do but obey.
Honeyman rode as far as the river with me, where
after shedding my boots and surplus clothing and secreting them,

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I rode up above the island and plunged in. I
was riding the Gray, which I had tried in the
Rio Grande the day we received our herd, and now
I understood handling him better. I preferred him the Nigger Boy,
my night horse. We took the first and second islands
with but a blowing spell between, and when I reached

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the farther shore, I turned in my saddle and saw
Honeyman wave his hat to me in congratulation. On reaching
their wagon, I found the herd was swinging around about
a mile out from the river in order to get
a straight shoot for the entrance at the ford. I
hurriedly swallowed my dinner, and as we rode out to

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meet the herd, asked Flood if Scholar were not going
to send his wagon up to the ferry to cross,
for there was as yet no indication of it. Flood
replied that Scholar expected to go with the wagon as
he needed some supplies which he thought he could get
from the sutler at Fort Laramie. Flood ordered me to

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take the lower point again, and I rode across the
trail and took my place. When the herd came within
a quarter mile of the river, while the remainder of
the outfit took positions near the lead on the lower side.
It was a slightly larger herd than ours, all stairs
three year olds that reflected in their glossy coats the

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benefits of a northern winter. As we came up to
the water's edge, it required two of their men to
force their ermuda into the water, though it was much
smaller than ours, six horses to the man, the better
ones than ours, for being northern wintered. The cattle were
well trail broken and followed the leadership of the saddle

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horses nicely to the first island, but they would have
balked at this second channel had it not been for
the amount of help at hand. We lined them out, however,
and they breasted the current and landed on the second island.
The saddle horses gave some little trouble on leaving for
the farther shore, and before they were got off, several

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hundred head of cattle had landed on the island, but
they handled obediently and were soon trailing out upon Terra Firma.
The herd following across without a broken link in the chain.
There was nothing now to do but keep the train
moving into the water on the south bank, see that
they did not congest on the islands, and that they

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left the river on reaching the farther shore. When the
saddle horses reached the farther bank, they were throwing up
the river and turned loose so that the two men
would be available to hold the herd after it left
the water. I had crossed with the first lead cattle
to the farther shore and was turning them up the
river as fast as they struck solid footing on that side.

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But several times I was compelled to swim back to
the nearest island and return with large bunches which had
hesitated to take the last channel. The two outfits were
working prosmiscuously together, and I never knew who was the
directing spirit in the work. But when the last two
or three hundred of the tail enders were leaving the

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first island for the second, and the men working in
the rear started to swim the channel amid the general hilarity,
I recognized a shout that was born of fear and terror.
A hushed silence fell over the riotous riders in the river,
and I saw those on the sand bar nearest my side,
rushed down the narrow island and plunged back into the

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middle channel. Then it dawned on my mind in a
flash that some one had lost his seat, and that
terrified cry was for help. I plunged my gray into
the river and swam to the first bar, and from
thence to the scene of the trouble. Horses and men
were drifting with the current down the channel, and as

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I appealed to the men, I could get no answer
but their blanched faces, though it was plain in every
countenance that one of our number was under water, if
not drowned. There were not less than twenty horsemen drifted
in the middle channel in hope that whoever it was
would come to the surface and a hand could be
stretched out in succor. About two hundred yards down the

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river was an island near the middle of the stream.
The current carried us near it, and on landing I
learned that the unfortunate man was none other than Wade's scholar,
the foreman of the herd. We scattered up and down
this middle island and watched every ripple and floating bit
of floatsom in hope that he would come to the surface,

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but nothing but his hat was seen. In the disorder
into which the outfit were thrown by this accident, Flood
first regained his thinking faculties and ordered a few of
us to cross to either bank and ride down the
river and take up positions on the other islands from
which that part of the river took its name. A

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hundred conjectures were offered as to how it occurred, but
no one saw either horse or rider after sinking. A
free horse would be hard to drown, and on the
non appearance of Scholar's mount, it was concluded that he
must have become entangled in the reins, or that Scholar
had clutched them in his death grip, and the horse

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and man thus met death together. It was believed by
his own outfit that Scholar had no intention until the
last moment to risk swimming the river, but when he
saw all others plunge into the channel, his better judgment
was overcome, and rather than remained behind and cause comment,
he had followed and lost his life. We patrolled the

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river until darkness without result. The two herds in the meantime,
having been so neglected that they had mixed. Our wagon
returned along the north bank early in the evening, and
Flood ordered priests to go in and make up a
guard from the two outfits and hold heard for the night.
Some one of scholar outfit went back and moved their

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wagon up to the crossing, within hailing distance of ours.
It was a night of muffled conversation, and every voice
of the night, or cry of water fowl in the
river sent creepy sensations over us. The long night passed, however,
and the sun rose in Sabbath benediction, for it was Sunday,

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and found groups of men huddled around two wagons in
silent contemplation of what the day before had brought. A
more broken and disconsolate set of men than scholars would
be hard to imagine. Flood inquired of their outfit if
there was any sub foreman or segundo, as they were

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generally called. It seemed there was not, but their outfit
was unanimous that the leadership should fall to a boyhood
acquaintance of scholars by the name of Campbell, who was
generally addressed as Black Jim. Flood at once ed Campbell
to send their wagon up to Laramie and cross it,

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promising that we would lie over that day and make
an effort to recover the body of the drowned foreman.
Campbell accordingly started his wagon up to the ferry, and
all that remained of the outfits, with the exception of
a few men unheard, started out in search of the
drowned man. Within a mile and a half below the ford,

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there were located over thirty of the forty islands, and
at the lower end of this chain of sand bars,
we began and searched both shores while three or four
men swam to each island and made a vigorous search.
The water in the river was not very clear, which
called for close inspection, but with a force of twenty

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five men in the hunt, we covered island and shore
rapidly in our search. It was about eight in the
morning and we had already searched half of the islands
when Joe Stallings and two of scholars two men swam
to an island in the river which had a growth
of small cottonwoods covering it, while on the upper end
was a heavy logment of driftwood. John Officer, the rebel

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and I had taken the next island above, and as
we were riding the shallows surrounding it, we heard a
shot in our rear that told us the body had
been found. As we turned in the direction of the signal,
Stallings was standing on a large driftwood log and signaling.
We started back to him, partly waiting and partly swimming,

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while from both sides of the river men were swimming
their horses for the brushy island. Our squad, on nearing
the lower bar, was compelled to swim around the driftwood,
and some twelve or fifteen men from either shore reached
the scene before us. The body was lying face upward

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in about eighteen inches of eddy water. Flood and Camp
waited out and taking a lariat, fastened it around his
chest under the arms. Then Flood, noticing I was riding
my black, asked me to tow the body ashore, forcing
a passage through the driftwood. I took the loose end

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of the lariat and started for the north bank, the
double outfit following. On reaching the shore, the body was
carried out of the water by willing hands, and one
of our outfit was sent to the wagon for a
tarplin to be used as a stretcher. Meanwhile, Campbell took

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possession of the drowned foreman's watch, six shooter, purse and papers.
The watch was as good as ruined, but the leather
holster had shrunk and securely held the gun from being
lost in the river. On the arrival of the tarpaulin,
the body was laid upon it, and four mounted men,
taking the four corners of the sheet, wrapped them on

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the hommels of their saddles, and started for our wagon.
When the corpse had been lowered to the ground at
our camp, a look of inquiry passed from face to face,
which seemed to ask what next. But the inquiry was
answered a moment later by black Jim Campbell, the friend
of the dead man. Memory may have dimmed the lesser

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details of that Sunday morning on the North Platte for
over two decades have since gone, but his words and
manliness have lived not only in my mind, but in
the memory of every other survivor of those present this accident,
said he, in perfect composure, as he gazed into the calm,
still face of his dead friend. Will impose upon me

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a very sad duty. I expect to meet his mother
some day, she will want to know everything. I must
tell her the truth, and I'd hate to tell her
we buried him like a dog, for she's a Christian woman.
And what makes it all the harder, I know that
this is the third boy she is lost by drowning.

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Some of you may not have understood him, but among
those papers which you saw me take from his pockets
was a letter from his mother, in which she warned
him the guard against just what has happened. Situated as
we are, I'm going to ask you all to help
me give him the best burial we can. No doubt

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it will be crude, but it will be some solace
to her to know we did the best we could.
Every one of us was eager to lend his assistance.
Within five minutes, Priest was galloping up the north bank
of the river to intercept the wagon at the ferry,
a well filled purse in his pocket with which to

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secure a coffin. At Fort Laramie, Flood and Campbell selected
a burial place, and with our wagon spade a grave
was being dug on a nearby grassy man owned, where
there were two other graves. There was not a man
among us who was hypocrite enough to attempt to conduct
a Christian burial service. But when the subject came up,

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mc cann said, as he came down the river the
evening before, he noticed an immigrant train of about thirty
wagons going into camp at a grove about five miles
up the river. In a conversation which he had had
with one of the party, he learned that they expected
the rest over Sunday. Their respect for the Sabbath day

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caused Campbell to suggest that there might be some one
in the immigrant camp who could conduct a Christian burial,
and he at once mounted his horse and rode away
to learn. In preparing the body for its last resting place,
we were badly handicapped, but by tearing a new wagon
sheet in the strips about a foot in width, and

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wrapping the body, we gave it a humble beer in
the shade of our wagon, pending the arrival of the coffin.
The features were so ashened by having been submerged in
the river for over eighteen hours that we wrapped the
face also, as we preferred to remember him, as we
had seen him the day before, strong healthy and buoyant.

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During the interim awaiting the return of Campbell from the
emigrant camp and of the wagon. We sat around in
groups and discussed the incident. There was a sense of
guilt expressed by a number of our outfit over their
hasty decision regarding the courage of the dead man. When
we understood that two of his brothers had met a

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similar fate in Red River within the past five years.
Every guilty thought or hasty word spoken came back to
us with tenfold weight. Priests and Campbell returned together. The
former reported having secured a coffin which would arrive within
an hour, while the latter had met in the emigrant

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camp a super enumerated minister who gladly volunteered his services.
He had given the old minister such data as he had,
and two of the minister's granddaughters had expressed a willingness
to assist by singing at the burial service. Campbell had
set the hour for four and several conveyances would be

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down from the immigrant camp, the wagon arriving shortly afterward.
We had barely time to lay the corpse in the
coffin before the emigrants drove up. The minister was a tall,
homely man with a flowing beard, which the frosts of
many a winter had whitened, And as he mingled amongst

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us in the final preparations, he had a kind word
for every one. There were ten in his party, And
when the coffin had been carried out to the grave,
the two granddaughters of the old man opened the simple
service by singing very impressively the first three verses of
the Portuguese hymn. I had heard the old hymn sung

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often before, but the impression of the last verse rang
in my ears for days afterwards. When through the deep
waters I call thee to go, the rivers of sorrow
shall not overflow, for I will be with thee thy troubles,
to bless and sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. As

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the notes of the hymn died away, there were a
few moments of profound stillness, and not a move was
made by any one. The touching words of the old
hymn expressed quite vividly the disaster of the previous day
and awakened in us many memories of home. For a
time we were silent, while eyes unused to weeping filled

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with tears. I do not know how long we remained.
So it may have been only for a moment. It
probably was, but I do know the silence was not
broken till the aged minister, who stood at the head
of the coffin began his discourse. We stood with uncovered
heads during the service, and when the old minister addressed us,

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he spoke as though he might have been holding family worship,
and we had been as children. He invoked Heaven to
comfort and sustain the mother when the news of her
son's death reached her, as she would need more than
human aid in that hour. He prayed that her faith
might not falter, that she might again meet and be

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with her loved ones forever in the great beyond. He
then took up the subject of life, spoke of its brevity,
its many hopes that are never realized, and the disappointments
from which no prudence or foresight can shield us. He
dwelt at some length on the strange mingling of sunshine
and shadow that seemed to belong to every life of

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the mystery, everywhere, and nowhere more impressively than in ourselves.
With his long bony finger, he pointed to the cold,
mute form that lay in the coffin before us, and said,
but this, my friends, is the mystery of all mysteries.
The fact that life terminated in death, he said, only

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emphasized its reality. That the death of our companion was
not an accident, though it was sudden and unexpected. That
the difficulties of life are such that it would be
worse than follying us to try and meet them in
our own strength. Death, he said, might change, but it
did not destroy. That the soul still lived and would

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live forever. That death was simply the gateway out of
time into eternity. And if we were to realize the
high aim of our being, we could do so by
casting our birth and saw on him who was able
and willing to carry them for us. He spoke feelingly
of the great teacher, the lowly Nazarene, who also suffered

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and died, And he concluded with an eloquent description of
the blessed life, the immortality of the soul, and the
resurrection of the body. After the discourse was ended, and
a brief, earnest prayer was covered, the two young girls
sang the hymn Shall we Meet beyond the River? The

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services being at an end, the coffin was lowered into
the grave. Campbell thanked the old minister and his two
granddaughters undertaking leave for their presence and assistance, and a
number of US boys also shook hands with the old
man at parting end of chapter nineteen