June 25, 1885
We have stopped to rest from the afternoon sun. If we set out again once evening comes, we will make it through the pass by morning.
Tillman protested the plan. I pointed out that it will be cooler come evening, but with the clear skies, it will remain light enough to see. This artic sun skirts below the northern horizon for only a few hours each night, so a kind of twilight remains even after sunset.
Tillman was unconvinced.
?—?Don’t you understand, Colonel? Those wolverines, they live off the flesh of the dead. We’re getting close to that other world the Indians talk about. We shouldn’t be wandering up there at night. If there are ghosts nearby, they’ll be haunting the hills.
I have no use for the occult. I said as much. To which Tillman said that while I might not have much use for spirits, they might have some unpleasant use for me.
This caused an unexpected chuckle from Pruitt. Soon he & I were both laughing outright. Nat’aaggi was perplexed at our humor.
Tillman said with some indignation that it was nothing to joke about, that the only way we’d be safe is if we could throw salt over our shoulders to chase off the spirits.
?—?Not that I’m a superstitious fellow, Tillman gravely added.
This only provoked a new round of laughter from us.
Pruitt said that if anyone had salt to throw over a shoulder, he would follow along on hands & knees to lick up every grain.
?—?Yeah, boy, Tillman agreed. —?What I wouldn’t do for a lick of salt & a splash of whiskey to wash it down.
Just as the Indians warned, we find no firewood, no food or shelter. Only sleet & a beating wind. We hoped to outrun the storm before setting camp. None of us want to remain here, yet we have no choice. We hunker down with sleeping bags pulled up over our heads. Nat’aaggi wraps herself in a skin tunic. Tillman offered his coat, which she refused. We are wedged best we can against the rocks. Hard to see to write in this sleeping bag. There is nothing else to do. We wait.
Pruitt keeps shouting above the storm?—?Do you feel that? Can’t you feel that?
What he says makes no sense. He says there are hands on him. Something pulls at him. He says he has to run. I have warned him to stay put.
(undated entry)
My dearest Sophie. I pray you will read this. You are first & last to me.
I do not know if we will survive this night. They are all around us. They scream & cry so that it is hard to think to put these words on the page.
You must know that I love you.
I am not afraid of death but instead of the passage from here to oblivion, of being aware of its coming. I would rather have been run through with a spear than to face this long dread.
373. After retreat (or the hour appointed by the commanding officer), until broad daylight, a sentinel challenges every person who approaches him, taking, at the same time, the position of charge bayonet. He will suffer no person to come nearer than within reach of his bayonet, until the person has given the countersign, or is passed by an officer or non-commissioned officer of the guard.
?—?From The Soldier’s Hand-Book, for the Use of the
Enlisted Men of the Army, 1881
Lieut. Col. Allen Forrester
June 26
We have woken on a floating mountain. Overhead is sunlit blue sky. The storm that surrounded us last night has settled as white clouds below us in the Wolverine Valley. We see nothing of river or forest below. The view is groundless, only vapor & rock & sky. The mountains on either side are white with new snow. The sun brightly glints off rocks & heather leaves still wet from the melted snow.
Nat’aaggi found a clump of small bushes with twigs to start a fire. It’s just enough to give us small warmth until the sun heats up the land.
?—?I’m aching like we spent the night three sheets to the wind, Tillman said.
All of us are the same. We blink against the brightness of the day, our heads & muscles beaten. I attribute our symptoms to the long, sleepless night & near hypothermia.
As we sit beside the fire, which produces more smoke than heat, we have tried to set straight our recollections of last night’s occurrences.
So much is unexplained. What is it that we witnessed? The terror, absurd as it seems, has not entirely left us.
The storm came upon us swiftly. The dark clouds streamed across the mountaintop & moved amongst us, the air turned icy & wet, so our clothes were soaked through, our faces damp. The midnight sun was blotted out.
They walked out of the fog. Yet how can I say they walked? They were only shadows in the windblown mist. Arms, hands, howling mouths. Bitter cold, their touch. Some were of human form, while others were great lumbering beasts.