The Anderson intelligencer. [volume] (Anderson Court House, S.C.) 1860-1914, 1896-12-09
How the Great Blizzard Advances in
its Attack.

Have you ever watched the coming
of the blizzard? Noted it creeping
into the town from the vast prairie
beyond, first breath, then a gust,
then a hurricane of fine, hard, blind
ing snow?
Have you noted what sneak it is,
a peeper through keyholcs, the cracks
in weatherbeaten doors, spy and an
intruder in the cozy crannies of the
ingle?
A sneak, did we say? Well, not
always, for oft times even the wealth
er clerk is wise enough to scent
his approach hours ahead of his ar
rival.
Surely there is nothing underhand
in the familiar symptoms of lowering,
leaden clouds, the short puffs of wind
the sharp flap of shutters, the flying
clouds of dust and stray dry leaves
that herald his approach.
Well. what does all this forewarning
amount to anyway? says your hater Of
mild weather. It's good enough to
send the wary indoors. But for
the weatherwise does it really foretell
quantity and quality on the pending
pranks of the clements?
Partly, yes. The leaden clouds,
fringeless and unbroken, are full of
frozen moisture. The yellow after
noon light turns to green. An iciness
creeps into the wind that now begins
to come in puffs. Swirling spirals of
dust bob up at every corner, and go
eddying down the street. The signs
creak and the shutters and hingeiess
doors flap back and forth. Up go coat
collars as the marrying wayfarers reach
the crossings and feel the sharp edge
of the wind. Now the dust is trans
rmed into skurrying clouds. There
sa low moan along the overhanging
house-tops, a cracking of dry branch
es in the trees.
In the country the: bleak quiet is
rudely broken by the incessant rat
tling of the corn stubbles, that browns
the creaking of the wagon wheels in
the dry, hard rut of the road.
Now the wind rises, and in jiffy
the air is full Of sharp, white needle
points. There is a short, swift battle
between the lancelike, driving snow
fakes and the thick, gray clouds of
dust, which with swoop are beaten
to the ground. The wind is shrieking
now and the icy needle points dance
and swirl madly as they gravitate to-
ward the earth. Then, as the dense
fall increases they are swept like a
slanting sheet Of snow along the route
of the hurricane.
To face it we must bend double, or
be swept off our feet. The stings Of
the millions Of prickly points grow
keener every moment. Are we fight
ing our way through a hornets nest ?
Into our nostrils and ears the white
sand like kernels sift, and against our
batting eyelids they beat with merci-
less constancy. There is no escape
Tor man and beast in the fierce, hard
struggle of the elements. All vision
is shut out. Even if one could keep
ones eyes open, house, a tree, an
animal could not be seen three yards
away through the dense sheet of the
white, seething mass that hangs be-
tween heaven and earth. And as it
falls, it piles up in banks. It drifts
with the wind and builds walls around
interrupting houses and fences. 1t
fills ditches, and makes dcath-beds Of
them for the unwary wanderer who
tramps through the binding storm.
Like highway robber it stops great
railroad trains and hens in the prairie
schooner with it's poor little human
freight.
At last the blizzard has spent its
fury, and there comes a lull. The
wind is dead, the earth is still, and
like wlite-plumed signals Of peace
large snowAakes come dancing through
the air.
How quiet it grows! Peace falls on
storm tossed nature like benediction.
Down, down the snow furlies, soft
and white, and slumbrous. The still
ness grows. Every voice of nature is
hushed. Every scar on her bosom is
| obliterated. She has played her
pranks, and is tucked away under hel