Staunton spectator. [volume] (Staunton, Va.) 1849-1896, 1856-06-11
A Fearful Adyenturc.

The Missouri Republican in a letter from
Kansas correspondent has the following:
At st. Joseph saw Mr.. A. 7. German OF New
York. who had just come in from the mountains
in such state of prostration and aifiictlon as
could only have been occasioned by such expo
sure, hardship, and suffering as perhaps no other
man ever survived. In company with Cana
dian Frenchman and two Kentucklans he lett
the country of Black Feet Indians last fall to JOIN
Culyerson and party at Fort Pierre and accom-
pany them to the States. They arrived at Fort
Pierre two days after Culyerson's departure,and
fastened on after in the hope Of overtaking
him.
On the third day one of those snow storms
known only in those bleak and elevated regions
opened upon them 1t came down in solid mass
es to the depth of four feet and was blown a
bout by drifting winds, leveling uneven places,
penetrating and filling their wagons and clothes,
and obstructing their progress. Evening was
approaching, and they resolved to make one Ell
fort to reach q more protected place before the
night set in. They urged their horses forward,
but had not proceeded more than afew hundred
yards, German being mounted with one OF the
teamsters, his companion in the wagon, when
suddenly he felt himself preeipitated, he knew
not how far, into an abyss of snow. He was
completely covered over, and could not tell
which way to turn He struggled on, however,
making slow and tedious way, until ne came
to the surface, he supposed a hundred yards
from where he sank He looked around for his
companions, but neither they nor the wagon
could be seen. The place where they had fallen
into the chasm was smoothed over and present
ed plain of snow. He called aloud for them
but was only answered by wild and walling
winds.
A feeling of dread and desolation and despair
came over him, and he was about to yield him
self to that death which seemed inevitable. Al
ready the cold penetrated his frame; darkness
was covering the skies; the increasing winds
hurled the falling snow more furiously; he was
alone in a vast, inhospitable, unknown country,
without provisions, without shelter, without
arms or ammunition, and he was fearful to take a
step in any direction lest he should be buried in
deep abyss. His manhood was subdued; he
wept like child; the memories of his happy
home and of his mother came thick upon him.
He knew the many anxious hours, the miserable
years that his unknown fate would cause her,
If he could only send her one word OF affection
ate adieu he could die in peace; but that could
not be, and he must rouse himself.
He offered his first prayer for heavenly aid
He arose and moved forward through the dark
ness and the drifts. He sometimes fell from ex-
haustion, and felt inclined to repose; but he
knew that one moments pause was fatal, and ne
struggled on. The next day he saw some bush
es, which gave him hope of rest and warmth, but
when he reached them he found to his dismay
that the matches in his pocket were wet and
spoiled, and could not be ignited. His feet had
become so sore and swollen from constant walk
ing as to burst the soles from his shoes, and he
was compelled to crawl and tumble along. Thus
ba 1vorkad hic xyav slowly hnt uuoaaSln1ly
through the next night and day, becoming more
faint each hour, and suffering thousand deaths
from hunger, thirst-frosted limbs, sore feet, wear
mess, and drowsiness, when he deserted hut
short way off.
Suddenly revived, like candle Pickering In
the socket he sprang and ran forward few
steps and screamed for help, and fell senseless IN
the snow. Some Indians at the hut heard and
saw him and went and brought him in, and us
ed all their restoratives upon him but it was
several days before he left his bed. lie lost sew
eral of his toes and is otherwise injured, but,
through the assistance of some generous genie
men of ST. Joseph, he will be enabled to reach
home. His companions have never been heard
of.
John Reeve was accosted in the Kensington
road by an elderly man, with a small bottle OF
gin in his hand:
"Pray, sir, beg your pardon, is this the way
to the poor housei"
u John gave him look of clerical dignity, and,
pointing to the bottle very gravely said:
'sNo sir but THAT is"
Byron himself felt want of sympathy when he
wrote
The driving up single tear has more
Cf honest fame than shedding seas OF gore.