Evening star. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1854-1972, 1897-12-25
CHRISTMAS IN A DUGOUT,
Life Was Passing Away While III
Blizzard Ragged.

Blizzard Ragged.
''The saddest Christmas of my life" said
Webster Davis, assistant secretary of the
interior, to representative of The Star,
was when l went out west to visit a dear
chum of mine who was dying of that most
dreaded of diseases-consumption.
John was the son of poor old soldier,
who had been crippled in the war of the re-
bellion; we called the father Uncle Ben"
for everybody loved him and treated him as
special favorite-indeed, Uncle Ben and
John were loved by all who knew them.
johns mother had died when he was quite
little boy, and he was taught to give to
his father that love and affection which
usually goes out to the mother. When the
great land excitement began to prevail in
the western part Of Kansas, in Colorado, Ne
braska and other western states. Uncle Ben
and John caught the fever and went west and
located on claim. They made a rude dug
out and fitted it up as best they could for
they were poor; they had cultivated a small
patch or ground and their harvest for the
nrst season was not very good; but they
thought, by strict economy and much care
they would be able to get through the win
ter all right and hoped to do better the
next season.
John contracted a severe cold, which soon
developed into consumption and he sank
rapidly. Hearing if his condition 1 went out
to spend Christmas with him and Uncle
pcii- tIelT nome ABOUT nfteen
miles from the nearest town and several
miles from the nearest habitation Poor
John was very low, but he was able to
greet me and talk some about the past
We sat and talked of days long since
passed and gone, and lived over again. as it
were, the past; the good old Christmas
times of other years glided before us as a
panorama. He knew he was soon to die
and spoke of the end with perfect calm
ness, and almost his last request was to be
buried under a lone cottonwood tree that
stood on little knoll a few rods from the
dugout; there were no other trees for miles
around.
Il shall never forget the scene in the dug
out that Christmas day; Uncle Ben was
busy, almost all day, trying to keep us
warm, putting buffalo chips on the fire I'M
I'll the supply Of fuel was nearly exhausted;
the weather was very cold, for a fearful
blizzard ragged all day. None of the neigh
bors came in, as it was impossible for peo-
pie to get about; there We were alone,
"A few days later John died, and by low
ing hands was laid away in the place he
had selected. When dear Uncle Ben came
back to the dugout, old, gray and absolute
ly alone in the world, he broke down and
wept like a child. Some one said: Don't
give up, Uncle Ben, you have some friends
left. All, yes, said he, so l have and l
appreciate them, too, but Uncle Sam is my
best friend. for he has made a home for old
broken-down and homeless soldiers, such
as |. and l will go to the Soldiers Home
He did so, and a short time after died and
was buried with military honors.
Truly, that was gloomy Christmas for
me, and even now, though many years
have passed since then, on every Christmas
day l find myself thinking of the little
grave Of my old chum under the lone cot
tonwood tree on the western prairies.'