Fanny Kelly

A PRAIRIE ON FIRE—SCENES OF TERROR.

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 catastrophe, 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.