Allis Family; or, Scenes of Western Life, Page 2

  THE PRAIRIE FIRE.

  It was a trying summer for the Allis family. The weather was hot and dry,and Mr. Allis, unaccustomed to labour in the fields, often almost faintedin the sun. His work seemed to him to progress very slowly. He had no oneto assist him in sowing and planting and gathering in his crops; for, inthe first place, there were few people to be hired, and, more than that, hehad no money to pay his workmen if he had been able to obtain them. Everymorning he had to go more than a mile with his oxen for water, which hebrought in a barrel for family use; and it was often nine o'clock before hegot to his work in the fields.

  At length November came and found his summer's work completed. He had nobarn in which to store his grain, and could only secure it by "stacking" ituntil it could be threshed.

  The potatoes, squashes, pumpkins, beets, turnips and other vegetables whichthe garden had produced for winter use were as securely housed as possibleand protected from the frost; and Mr. Allis began to hope that now he mighttake that rest which he so much required.

  For a number of weeks the children had been excited by wonderful lights inthe sky, just above the horizon. Sometimes eight or ten of these could beseen in different directions at once, and occasionally some one of themwould seem to shoot up suddenly, not unlike the flame of a distant volcano.To the eager inquiries of the little ones, they were answered that thesesingular lights were called prairie-fires.

  "What is a prairie-fire, father?" asked both the children at once.

  "It is the burning of the long coarse grass which covers the prairie insummer. This becomes very dry, and then, if a spark of fire chances to fallupon it, it is at once all in blaze."

  "Does it make a very big fire, father?" asked Susie.

  "That depends upon circumstances, my child. If the grass is very high andthick, as it sometimes is in the sloughs and moist places, it makes a bigfire, as you call it."

  "Oh, how I wish I could see a prairie-fire close by us! Don't you, mother?"

  "I cannot say that I do, my child; they are sometimes rather mischievousvisitors, and I would much prefer that they should keep at a respectfuldistance."

  "Mr. Jenkins told me that a man some ten miles from here had his stacks andhouse and every thing he had, destroyed, a few days since, losing his wholeyear's labour and all his clothing and furniture. The family barely escapedwith their lives.

  "Is there any danger that the fire will come here, husband?" said Mrs.Allis.

  "There is danger, I suppose; but I hope we shall have no trouble of thatkind."

  "Is there nothing that can be done to protect your property?"

  "I shall try to _burn_ up what grows around the house and stack-yard in aday or two, I think; but just now it does not seem possible for me to sparethe time."

  One day, not long after, a long line of fire appeared on the prairie,several miles distant. It was, however, so distant that Mrs. Allis and thechildren did not feel alarmed, as the evening was still; and they werewatching it with interest, as the flames assumed various fantastic shapes,now darting upwards like tongues of fire, and now weltering and bubblinglike a sea of melted lava. Mr. Allis had not yet returned from town, wherehe had been engaged all that day, entirely unsuspicious of any approachingcalamity; and Mrs. Allis was not aware how rapidly the flames wereapproaching her home, until she was startled by seeing a horseman riderapidly to her door and hastily dismount, inquiring for Mr. Allis.

  "He is at ----. I expect him home in the course of an hour or so. But whatis the matter, Mr. Jenkins? Is anybody sick?"

  "Matter, woman! Don't you see that prairie-fire yonder? You'll be burnt outif you don't stir round lively."

  "Burnt out, Mr. Jenkins! What do you mean? What shall we do?"

  "Do? Why, we must go to work right away and set a _back-fire_,--as quick aswe can, too. Call your girl there, and come out both of you as soon aspossible!"

  Not many minutes passed before Mr. Allis reached home. He had seen the fireat a distance, and, understanding the danger far better than his wife,hurried home as rapidly as possible.

  Poor Annie and Susie were sadly frightened. When they saw the smoke andfire so near the house and stacks of grain, they cried as if their littlehearts would break; but there was no one to hear them, for their mothercould not be spared a moment until the danger was past. Poor children! Theysoon had enough of prairie-fires, and they thought they would be verythankful if ever they could see their father and mother and Mary aliveagain. Sometimes they were almost suffocated by the smoke which the risingwind drove into the house, and then they thought they should surely beburned to death. Still, lonely and frightened as they were, they did notattempt to go out. They remembered that their mother had told them not on_any account_ to leave the house, and, like obedient children, they did asshe had told them.

  It was two hours--but it seemed much longer to the poor littlegirls--before their mother came in; and then they scarcely knew her, forher face was blackened with smoke and dust, her hands were burned sadly,and the skirt of her dress torn and burned in many places. Although theywere excited and curious, yet these good children undressed and went tobed, helping themselves all they could, that their mother might rest,and trying to wait until morning for all they wished to know.

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Allis busied herself, weary as she was, in providinga comfortable supper for her husband, who had eaten nothing sincedinner-time. It was past midnight when Mr. Allis and Mary came to thehouse, and they too were tired enough, as we may suppose.

  But, above all, they were grateful to that kind heavenly Father who had somercifully preserved and protected them from harm amid such dangers. Littledid any of them sleep that night; and it was not strange that the morning,which came on wet and showery, found them but little refreshed after theunusual fatigue of the preceding night. But the children were awake withthe first light, and eagerly asking questions about the fire.

  "But what is a _back-fire?_" said Annie, when her father had finishedtelling them about the matter. "How do you set a back-fire?"

  "Well, Annie, we light _another fire_, nearer the house or fence whichwe are trying to save, and then, with a brush or broom, or sometimes alittle stick, _whip it out_, so that it cannot burn very fast. When thegrass is burnt off in this way there is nothing left for what we call the'prairie-fire' to burn, you see. If we can do this in season, the houseor stacks are generally safe."

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