As can be seen, there was not much grain to be sold for some time for these farmers. b.u.t.ter and eggs, and, a little later, cattle, were the chief products which could bring a little ready money. To this should be added hay, which many hauled to Yankton with oxen, getting $2.50-$3.00 per ton. Even at this price, and with such slow transportation, this hay traffic was for many the chief source of any money, and some spent most of the fall and winter months at this work when travel was possible.

CHAPTER XII

A BIRD'S EYE VIEW OF THE COUNTRY AS IT APPEARED IN 1800-3

We ought, at this point, to make a visit around the neighborhood as it appeared from '81-'83 and even much later. Beginning in the Turkey Creek Valley, we have already indicated the half dozen families which had located there in the early seventies. As we have spoken in another chapter of this earlier wave of pioneer immigrants, I shall pa.s.s them by now as also those of that same group who had settled to the south, toward what is now Volin.

Berhaug Rise moved his living house from where it was first placed, viz., one quarter mile west of Ole Solem's, to about one mile west, that is, from the creek bottom at the junction of the ravines which traversed the place from east to west, to the higher land at the head of these ravines.

To the southwest of our place, about a mile distant, was John Johnson, who had settled there in '74 and lived in a log house. To the west one mile was Ole Johnson, who had filed in '79 and was living in a dugout with his family. Another mile or so still farther southwest was Peter Moen, also living in a dugout and having a considerable family. Then going back to Ole Johnson and going north were Peter Johnson, Jonas Vaabeno, Ole Liabo, and John Moene. To the east of Peter Johnson there was in 1880 a man by the name of Roser who, however, left about that time. All of these, as far as I remember, lived in dugouts, with the exception of the first named, who lived in a loghouse.

Going from five to six miles to the northwest of this Turkey Creek settlement, we find another group of pioneers, some of whom had come before 1880 and others a little later. We can mention a few. There was Cornelius Nilsen, Albert Boe, Peter, Albert, and O.O. Gorseth; O.

Lokken; Steen Bakke, Mrs. Mary Boe, the Simonson Brothers--Halvor and Ole. Also Asle Mikkelson. There may have been others, but these comprise practically all who were there at that time. The sons and daughters of many of these are either on the old places or in the vicinity to this day. Of course, some have moved away to other parts.

Most of these pioneers are still living, but no longer in the dug-outs.

Going west to what was called the West Prairie, about six miles, could be found H. Hagen, the Gustads, Stoems, Skaaness and others. These had come in the earlier wave of immigration which we have mentioned already, i.e. in the early '70's or later '60's.

Going back to our starting point near Turkey Creek and going south, after pa.s.sing John Johnson already mentioned, we find next the Lawrence place, now owned by Mr. Axlund; then Hans Dahl, followed in order by Haldo Sether, Ole Bjerke, Lars Aaen and the Hoxeng Brothers, both of them then living on the old home place now occupied by Th.o.r.e Hoxeng. There were, of course, others scattered on either side of this line of settlers, but these were a sort of land marks in the early eighties.

Finally, going some eight miles north from our starting point, we find these: Th.o.r.e Fossem and Iver Sneve of our original party and a few others like Ole Brunswick, Ingebricht Saatrum and John Rye, whom we have already mentioned, and J. La.r.s.en. The next to the last named and a few others had settled in that vicinity before 1880. Here should also be mentioned the Durums, Baks, Snoens, Ressels, Grudts, and Lees.

The old homesteaders of this group too, have for the most part found a last resting place in the neighborhood cemetery. Their children, however, are in most cases to be found on the old place or near by.

I am conscious that this rough sketch of our neighbors and neighboring settlements of 1880-'1 is far from complete. Yet it gives a fair idea of the population over the prairie there at that time. There were magnificent distances between neighbors and settlements. Yet there was often more neighborliness and sociability than in later years. We needed each other then, in fact could not well get along without helping and being helped in various ways by one another. Now we can help ourselves or rather think we can. But really we cannot, and if we of the newer generations lose the old neighborliness we shall be poorer and unhappier in our steam heated, electric lighted houses and swift speeding automobiles than they were with their earth cellars and ox teams and lumber wagons. So let us cherish and keep alive the old neighborly kindness and great-hearted hospitality. Practically all these early settlers at first lived in a one-room dwelling, seldom over 12 14 or 16, and this dwelling was in most cases a dugout. Yet in spite of this fact and of having large families of their own to accommodate, the traveler or stranger was not turned out into the night, and the visitor was always welcomed. There was always room, not merely for one more but for half a dozen more if necessary. There never was any lack of room then. In honor of this splendid trait of our pioneer fathers and mothers, let us reserve a room in our big house and, better still, in our hearts, for the occasional stranger or friend, and in doing so we too shall find that while we may not always have "entertained angels unawares", yet by doing so the angels have somehow entertained us more than they otherwise could.

CHAPTER XIII

THE ANNUAL PRAIRIE FIRES--THE TERROR OF THE SETTLERS

During this decade of getting the ground ready and gradually getting an equipment for real farming there was one great enemy which was a continual menace and terror to the homesteaders--the semi-annual burning of the prairie. From times immemorial, before the White settler came, the prairie fire had stalked in majestic splendor over the vast and boundless sea of gra.s.s, covering this and adjoining states, licking up with his red and cruel tongue everything before him and leaving a barren desolation behind him. Sometimes set by the lightning, or Indians, or the campfire of the early explorer or trader, this fire, driven by the wind, would meander back and forth over the prairie for days and weeks until rain or a considerable stream might at last stay his stride.

With the first influx of the settler the fire menace greatly multiplied, for not understanding the nature of this menace, they themselves unintentionally set many of these fires. Thus there came to be a fairly certain expectation on the part of the homesteaders of a visit from this monster twice a year--spring and fall--unless he made a clean sweep in the fall, which was not generally the case.

As a boy I recall waking up at night and seeing a strange glare against the window, and upon looking out, I saw a great wave of fire, a moving wall of flame, pa.s.s by our house and going on to the south.

Let me give a brief sketch of one of these fires, well remembered by the old settlers and reported to me by H.B. Reese, who was then old enough to be out with the men on the fire fighting line. I give it largely in his own words.

It was Good Friday, 1887. In the morning we noticed smoke in the northwest. There was also a strong wind from that direction. There had just previously been several days of wind as also sunshine, so everything was dry as tinder. We knew at once what the black flag, hoisted to the sky in the northwest meant. It meant a challenge from the Fire King to come out and fight for our own and our neighbors'

homes--buildings, stock and everything we had that could burn. We hurriedly got our weapons of sacks and water ready and started out to meet the giant and offer him all the resistance we could. But our antagonist was terribly swift as well as strong, and when we reached Jonas Vaabeno's place, three miles to the northwest, he had already done his terrible work, making a clean sweep of all out-buildings, mostly made of hay or straw, as also of the dugout which served for a dwelling. Where the stable had stood were the remnants of some half-burnt cattle. We hurried on to Peter Johnson's, but the Fire Demon was victorious and took everything except the dugout dwelling.

The same fate was dealt out to Ole Liabo farther north. We were now driven back on our own home premises, and after desperate efforts we saved our buildings, but, of course, had to surrender everything not on the premises where the buildings were, such as trees, hay, etc.

When night came and we could return to the house we just threw ourselves flat on the floor completely exhausted, not having tasted food during the whole day.

Next day, looking out over the country to the northwest, we could see very little except a vast desolation--how far no one seemed to know--of blackened prairie, dotted with many ashpiles which in many cases, as tho they were tombstones, marked the graves of all the settlers' material possessions except the land and a few cattle. It is a puzzle to know how they managed to keep these cattle with the prairie burned off, but they did. Not only that, but tho sorely tried, yet not broken in will or spirit, they borrowed money, even at outrageous interest rates, rebuilt their temporary shelters and began the struggle once more from the bottom up.

The last and most terrible of all the fires, as far as known, swept over that country only two years later, 1889. As the writer of this was old enough to be an active partic.i.p.ant in connection with this, I recall it vividly. The day was in early spring and began very hazy with so much smoke in the atmosphere that one could not see much beyond half a mile. There was a strong wind from the northwest, such as was common in spring in those days, and the prairie gra.s.s was thoroly dried out and very abundant. This condition, however, was not unusual in the spring of the year. On coming out after dinner I noticed that the haze or smoke seemed thicker toward the northwest than in other directions. On looking more closely I soon saw whirls of smoke rolling up toward the sky. I immediately gave the alarm, and every one at the house, including mother, rushed out to meet the foe.

We did not have to go far before we met him, and so swiftly did he come that in our hasty retreat toward the house Mother was very nearly overcome by the smoke and heat. Fortunately there was a piece of plowed ground near by where she was able to find safety and lie down until sufficiently recovered to go on to the house. Then we all took our stand, some hauling water, others fighting at the front. There was a strip of plowed ground, or fire break, around the place, but the terrific wind continually threatened to carry the fire across, now at one point, now at another. Moreover, some barn manure had been spread on this plow land, and this, taking fire and blowing everywhere in the terrific wind, made our situation quite desperate for a while.

However, we at last won to the extent of saving the buildings. This fire, together with the one which raged next day, when the wind was still more terrific, did enormous damage, burning out, in part or whole, even some of the older settlers, such as James Hoxeng and others. The town of Volin was almost completely destroyed. Some who had suffered loss in the previous fire were again burned out in part or whole, and the gra.s.s, as was the case after such a fire, was damaged for years to come. Many are the stories of narrow escapes in saving their homes and even their lives told by the old timers in connection with these fires. Sometimes there would be a whole company of women and children out on the middle of a plowed field, having fled there as the only refuge.

In every new country the Fire King, as tho endowed with a dramatic instinct, seems to end his performances with a grand climax. So here this was the last prairie fire of any consequence in that part of the country. King Corn from now on began to reign and the Fire King had to abdicate his immemorial sway and boundless dominions.

CHAPTER XIV

THE GREAT BLIZZARD OF 1888

Even at the risk of seeming to chronicle too many of the hardships and afflictions of those times, I feel that I cannot leave this decade of our pioneer life without referring to the great blizzard of Jan. 12th, '88, for that, too, is a landmark and one which brings sad memories to many a South Dakotan of those years. The writer was merely a young boy then, yet the experience of that storm is very vivid in my mind.

The day opened bright and very mild, almost thawing, with no premonition that it held in store untold suffering, terror and death to man and beast, such as no other day has held for South Dakota.

There was considerable loose snow on the ground, but the day being exceptionally pleasant up till noon and after, men were out on their various errands of going to town, hauling hay or other out-door occupations. The cattle, too, taking advantage of the mild day, were in the corn stalks and generally had scattered out some distance from the buildings. It being shortly after noon when the storm struck, many cattle were being taken to water, which in those days was often a considerable distance from the stables.

Suddenly and without the slightest warning, upon this peaceful unsuspecting scene, the storm burst forth in all its deadly fury. The wind having suddenly whipped around to the northwest, the temperature fell in a very short time as much as 60 and 70 degrees. The wind coming at the rate of about 60 miles an hour, picked up the loose snow and whipped it into a fine powder, rushed over the prairie as it were a rapidly moving wall of snow and fine particles of ice. Thus the air was so thick with fine snow, driven along by the furious storm, that it became very difficult to breathe and almost impossible to open one's eyes even for a moment. This choking, blinding effect of the storm soon exhausted either man or beast and, of course, all sense of direction was lost. Thus it seems probable that many of the victims were at first choked into exhaustion before they froze to death.

Many narrow escapes are told of that day. But there were also many who narrowly missed finding a shelter and never lived to tell their experiences. Some lost their way even between house and barn, and some were found frozen only a few rods from the house they had tried to find, but in vain. This was the case with two girls to the east of our place, who in going out to look for a younger brother never came back but were found frozen to death a short distance from the house. My younger brother Sivert and I were at the barn when the storm struck.

We did the best we knew how for the cattle, Father being absent at a neighbor's and then we started for the house. We were only a short distance from the house and there was also a small building between, but even then we had to pause before starting out and take definite aim from where we were and then run, as we say, "for dear life". We reached the house to the great relief of Mother, who had become very anxious about us by that time.

The storm raged with merciless and demon-like destructiveness all that afternoon and all thru that night, with the temperature getting colder as the hours slowly rolled by. What terror and suffering the hours of that afternoon and fearful night brought to many, no one will ever know. There were those out in the storm, fighting desperately hour by hour with death, and in most cases only to find themselves rapidly nearing complete exhaustion. Then came the gradual numbness of all the sensibilities, followed by nature's merciful growing unconsciousness as drowsiness and sleep crept upon them and they at last stumbled over in the snow not to rise again. But tho the many tragedies and sufferings out in the open prairie that dreadful night were beyond words or imagination, yet scarcely less was the suffering of fathers, mothers and relatives of the lost ones who were utterly helpless in most cases even to attempt a rescue. These latter, as they listened to the merciless storm all thru that night, almost had a taste of the agonies of the lost world--if such a thing can be in this world. For in many cases their waiting thru the night was utterly without hope.

If they knew their loved ones were caught by the storm some distance from the house, they also knew that there could be no hope. So they could only follow them in thought and imagination out there in the storm and the darkness as they were fighting their unequal and losing fight with the cruel, relentless storm. But even those who were in uncertainty as to the exact whereabouts of members of their families, like parents who had children in school, scarcely suffered less, for they had no a.s.surance but that theirs, too, might be out there in the storm, and in many cases their worst fears proved to be the fact.

However, as all things come to an end, so this night of nights. The storm let up somewhat toward morning, and the new day at last came on, gray and terribly cold. The snow everywhere as far as eye could see lay piled up in great drifts. The prairie, especially near farm houses, was in many places dotted with frozen cattle, and other cattle still alive. There were over the country thousands and thousands of these cattle either already dead, dying or badly frozen. But worst and saddest of all, there were in this state and adjoining parts of Iowa, Minnesota and Nebraska, over two hundred men, women and children scattered around, singly or in groups, in the snow. Some were found sitting; some lying as tho in their last step they had stumbled forward on their face exhausted. Some even standing and, as it were, about to take one more step when the end had come. Not strange that January 12, 1888, is the most memorable and terrible date in all the world's story to many a settler whose loved ones were out in the storm that fearful night and who never came back.

CHAPTER XV

WHEN THE FATHERS AND MOTHERS OF TODAY WERE BOYS AND GIRLS

We have spoken of the men and the women who broke the ground and prepared the way for the prosperity and comforts we enjoy today. It would be unfair not to mention the part which the boys and girls also bore in this struggle with raw nature, poverty and many discouragements. In the early spring, as soon as seeding was well under way, the boys--and often, when there was no available boy on the place, the girls--had to keep vigilant watch of the cattle, and this thruout the long summer until the corn was all out. There were no "pastures" or wire fences in the early eighties. This meant for most boys that, either at home or away from home, they had to be out on the prairie with the cattle beginning with early spring and ending late in the fall, from early morning until night, rain or shine, and not even a Sunday off, or at least very seldom. The food we carried for our dinners would, of course, get mussed, stale and unpalatable, being carried around all day and exposed to the hot sun. The water, or whatever we carried to drink, would become even less palatable and often scarce. Often in our extreme thirst we would drink out of the sloughs or stagnant lake beds. Then in the spring and fall we would frequently have a cold, drizzling rain continuing all day and often soaking us to the skin as there was no shelter, and raincoats were almost unknown. Every step we would take thru the wet gra.s.s the water would churn in our shoes and we had to keep going, for the cattle were generally restless at such times and insisted on starting off in directions where lay the plowed land or hayland which must be guarded.

Where there was no boy in the family, girls had to do this job, for the cattle had to be herded. For them, as can readily be seen, this job was even more difficult than for the boys, being impeded in their chase after the cattle by their skirts dragging in the tall, wet gra.s.s. Not strange that some of them sacrificed their health and future in this task. Of course, when, as in the case of most girls, they were at home, they would generally be relieved for at least part of the day. But even half a day was long under those conditions.

But let it not be inferred that we boys, and the girls, too, had no good times during those long summer days. The sun shone anyway most of the time, and we made the most of our opportunities while the sun shone. We boys hunted gophers, digging them out or drowning them out if near a pond; we dug Indian turnips in the spring and picked grapes, plums and berries in their season if we could get to them; built stone houses or caves; waded or swam in the sloughs or creeks; fished; fought snakes and skunks and sometimes one another. We traded jack knives, which were our chief valuables and consequently a standard medium of exchange; we braided long, long whips made from old boot legs or even willow bark; we broke young steers to ride on, at least attempted to, and sometimes they in turn nearly broke our necks by bucking and throwing us off; we concocted special modes of terrible punishment for exasperatingly troublesome members of our flocks. Much of the time, however, we could not get together or, as we said, "herd together". Then time pa.s.sed more slowly and we had lots of time to think and even to brood over our job, which we considered about the worst there was in the world. However, with all its drudgery and sometimes loneliness and hardship, our job was a good preparation for the jobs that lay ahead of us.

CHAPTER XVI