Savannah courier. (Savannah, Tenn.) 1885-1979, 1898-02-25
CHRISTMAS IN A DuGOuT.
A Life Was Passing Away While the
blizzard Ragged.

bllxznru huSeu.
"The s0ddest Christmas of my life"
laid Webster Davis, assistant secretary
Of the interior, to a representative of
the Star, "was when | went out west
to visit dear chum of mine who was
dying OF that most dreaded of diseases
consumption.
John was the son of poor old sol.
der, who had been crippled in the war
of the rebellion; we called the father
Uncle Ben for everybody loved him
and treated him as a 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 Colo
RADIO, Nebraska and other western
states, Uncle Ben and John caught the
fever and went west and located on
claim. They made rude dugout and
lAAtu ~ u ho bNNl NllN NbAAh' lOl AiNl
were poor; they had cultivated a small
patch of ground and their harvest for
the first season was not very good; but
they thought, by strict economy and
much care, they would be able to get
through the winter all right and hoped
to do better the next season.
John contracted n severe cold, W hich
soon developed into consumption, and
he sank rapidly. Hearing Of his condi-
ton, | went out to spend Christmas
with him and Uncle Ben. found their
home about Is miles from the nearest
town and several miles from the near
est habitation. Poor John was very
low, but he was abe 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 glidcd before us as a
panorama. lie 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 a little knoll a few rods
from the dugout; there were no other
trees for miles around.
II shall never forget the scene in the
dugout that Christmas day; Uncle Ben
was busy, almost ali day, trying to keep
us warm, putting buffalo chips on the
fire until the supply of fuel was nearly
eXhausted; the weather was very cold,
for fearful blizzard ragged all day.
None of the neighbors came in, as it was
impossible for people to get about; so
there we were alone.
"a few days later John died, and by
loving hands was laid away in the place
he had selected. When dear Uncle Ben
came back to the dugout, old, gray and
absolutely 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 'Ah, yes said
he, so | have, and | appreciate them,
too, but Uncle Sam is my best friend,
for he has made home for old,
broken down and homeless soldiers,
such as I, and I will go to the soldiers
home lie did so, and a short time aft
er 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 find myself thinking OF
the little grave of my old chum under
the lone cottonwood tree on the west
crn prairies. Washington Star.