But I Had More Faith In Those Tents, For They
Were New And Pitched Remarkably Well.
Soon after we got here, long
poles had been put up on stakes all along each side of, and close to,
the tents, and to these the guy ropes of both tents and "fly" covers
had been securely fastened, all of which had prevented much flopping
of canvas.
Dirt had been banked all around the base of the tents, so
with a very little fire we could be warm and fairly comfortable.
The wind seemed to get worse every minute, and once in a while there
would be a loud "boom" when a big Sibley tent would be ripped open,
and then would come yells from the men as they scrambled after their
belongings. After it became dark it seemed dismal, but Faye would not
go in a building, and I would not leave him alone to hold the stove
down. This was our only care and annoyance. It was intensely cold, and
in order to have a fire we were compelled to hold the pipe down on the
little conical camp stove, for with the flopping of the tent and fly,
the pipe was in constant motion. Faye would hold it for a while, then
I would relieve him, and so on. The holding-down business was very
funny for an hour or two, but in time it became monotonous.
We got through the night very well, but did not sleep much. The
tearing and snapping of tents, and the shouting of the men when a tent
would fall upon them was heard frequently, and when we looked out in
the morning the camp had the appearance of having been struck by a
cyclone!
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