The Great Lakes of the United States—yes, and even some of the smaller ones—are often the scenes of storms as terrible as those which occur on the broad bosom of any ocean on the face of the globe.
But there was never a worse storm on any of them than that which raged one night, soon after Buffalo Bill’s return to Fort McPherson, on the dark waters of a large lake on the edge of the great plains.
Driving before the squall which had come down with awful suddenness was a schooner containing the surveying party that had been sent out from Fort McPherson to make surveys and take soundings of the lake.
The party was under the command of our friend Captain Meinhold, and with him on the Enterprise was his old and trusted friend, Buffalo Bill, who had been requested, at the last moment, to accompany him.
There were several surveyors in the party, and their assistants, besides the sailors of the vessel and a few soldiers from Captain Meinhold’s company, who acted as an escort.
Terrified almost out of their wits by the violence of the wind and the fearful height to which the waves ran, tossing the craft up and down as if it were a mere cockleshell, were also three women, wives of three of the surveyors.
Suddenly, when the storm was at its height, a wave swept over the quarter of the schooner, washing away a deck house and carrying five men with it.
To save them was impossible. Even if the skipper could have worn schooner, instead of merely driving helplessly before the wind, they could not have been found and picked up on such a stormy night in such a raging sea.
A few minutes later the mainmast went by the board, killing two more men and leaving the vessel a helpless wreck.
The skipper was one of the two men killed by the fall of the mast. His mate had been washed overboard. There was no one left who was competent to navigate the vessel, even if she had been navigable.
The well had been sounded a little while before, and it had been found that the craft was leaking badly.
Captain Meinhold ordered one of the seamen to find out if the water was gaining. The man did so, and returned with the terrible news that it was simply pouring in and the schooner was fast settling down.
“She’s nothing but a sieve now,” said the man. “The fall of the mainmast just racked her to pieces and opened the seams.”
It was not necessary, indeed, to sound the well; for it was obvious to the veriest landsman that the schooner was sinking, and must soon disappear beneath the raging billows.
“We must take to the boats at once,” said Captain Meinhold to Buffalo Bill, who was standing calmly by his side, as fearless on sea as on land.
“There is no other course,” the scout agreed. “The schooner is evidently doomed.”
Having anticipated the order which was now given to them, the sailors who survived had already commenced to cut loose the boats, ready for launching.
“I will run down below and get my weapons,” Cody said to Meinhold. “I would not lose them for a trifle.”
He turned to execute this purpose, and as he got to the head of the companionway a tall negro came rushing up the stairs and butted into him. He was Joe Congo, the steward of the vessel, and one of the best specimens of the African race to be met with anywhere.
“No time to go below, Massa Cody,” the black cried to him. “De ole ship go down plumb quick now.”
Buffalo Bill would have gone, nevertheless; but at that moment another wave came sweeping over the vessel, carrying Joe Congo off his feet.
The border king, who was gripping a rail on the companion, caught hold of the man with an iron grip, just in time to prevent him from being swept overboard.
“Golly, massa!” said Congo, as soon as he could recover his breath and speak. “Dat was a near t’ing! I owe you a life. Maybe I pay it some day.”
“All right, Congo. Don’t worry about that. I must go below for my guns.”
As he was about to do so a voice sang out in stentorian tones that sounded clearly above the roaring of the storm:
“All for the boats! We can’t wait any longer.”
“Leave de guns, massa,” said Congo. “T’ink ob your life.”
Buffalo Bill concluded that this was good advice to follow under the circumstances. Helping Congo along, he hurried across the slippery deck to the side where one of the boats was even then being launched.
He helped the three women into it, and then motioned to Congo to enter, following himself.
The other boats were being got away at the same time, and in a few moments all the crew and passengers who survived had left the doomed vessel, which[211] sank below the waves with a heavy lurch after they had got a little distance away from it.
The danger of their position was understood by all, and it is probable that not a soul in the company expected to set foot on dry land again.
All through the long night, however, the men battled manfully at the oars trying to keep the head of the boats to the waves and avoid being capsized.
Again and again large volumes of water poured over the sides and had to be bailed out.
It seemed as though the night would never wear through, but at last it ended, and with the first rosy streaks of dawn the sea moderated somewhat.
The welcome sun revived the sinking spirits of the worn-out men in the boats, and they looked around eagerly for signs of land, but they could see none.
They had little or no knowledge of their location. They had been somewhere near the center of the lake when they were wrecked, but the only men who could have given them any exact idea of their bearings—the captain and the mate—were both dead.
Buffalo Bill, who had been looking around constantly, in accordance with his usual habit, suddenly exclaimed:
“Hello, what’s the matter with that boat? She’s going over, by thunder! Bad management there! See!”
There was no need to call attention to the foundering craft. Yells from a dozen voices in it did that. It was the biggest boat of the lot, and carried the greatest number of men.
Then the oval bottom of the boat was seen, with several men clinging to it for dear life, while others were struggling in the water, upborne by life preservers and floating like corks on the billows.
The capsized boat was perhaps about thirty or forty[212] yards from the one in which Buffalo Bill was sitting, and the other was not much farther off.
Both came to her relief as speedily as possible, not without increased peril to themselves. This was still more augmented when some of the struggling swimmers came clinging to the sides of the boats and begging to be taken in.
These appeals, of course, could not be disregarded, and the sufferers were hauled in as fast as they came.
Some of them, however, being strong and brave men, and seeing that their comrades were making an attempt to right the boat, swam back to aid in it, for the danger of overloading the two other craft was apparent to all.
Captain Meinhold called for volunteers to follow him into the water and help to right the boat, and Buffalo Bill was the first to respond.
Luckily the sea had now gone down still farther, though it was still running high, and thus making the task one of extreme difficulty.
All of the men in the water were buoyed up by life preservers, but unfortunately two soldiers who had not worn any had sunk when the boat first went over.
For a time the violence of the sea defeated all the efforts of the men to right the boat, but at last they got it over on its keel again and with infinite labor bailed it free of the water.
Its crew got back, and the other men swam to their boats and were hauled in.
The men were so thoroughly worn out by their labors that Captain Meinhold realized that it was hopeless to try to head for land at present.
He advised them not to still further exhaust their strength by any attempt at making progress while the sea still continued rough, but merely to keep the heads[213] of the boats straight with the waves and avoid being caught broadside on.
“No matter which way we go or how far or how little,” he said, “let your aim be only to keep from filling and upsetting. After it becomes calmer it will be time enough to try to make progress. A few miles more or less now can make little difference. These............