THE BUILDER MAY 1916

DEATH IN THE DESERT - THE STORY OF A POEM

BY BRO C.M. SCHENCK. COLORADO

(One of the most pathetic of the poems of Albert Pike is entitled
"Death in the Desert," in which he imagines the last, bitter hours
of a friend and Brother Mason who was wounded and left to perish on
the old Santa Fe trail in the wild days of Indian war. It first
appeared in a tiny volume of "Prose Sketches and Poems Written in
the Western Country," published by Light & Norton, Boston, 1834--
the earliest, and now the rarest, piece of his writing. What lay
back of that poem is told in the following article by a kinsman of
the Brother whose fate the poem describes so vividly.)

IN reading that exceedingly interesting work "Leading Facts of New
Mexico History," by Mr. R. E. Twitchell, my eye caught the foot
note on page 135 of Volume 2, relative to the various Santa Fe
caravans that crossed the plains, which quotes from "Chittenden's
History of American Fur Trade," as follows: "1832 - fall and winter
of this year, attacked by Indians Canadian January and lost all
their property and one man."

Josiah Gregg in his "Commerce of the Prairies" (Vol. 11, pp.
48-53), presumably referred to the same party. He states that three
or more men lost their lives. One of the three was a kinsman of
mine, of whose life and death the following sketch is found in
"Rev. William Schenck, His Ancestry and His Descendants," by A. D.
Schenck, (1882 pp. 80-85), which may be of Masonic interest:

"Colonel William Rogers Schenck was born at Cincinnati, then in the
Northwestern Territory, 20 Oct., 1799. In 1802 his father, Gen.
William C. Schenck, removed and settled permanently at Franklin,
now in Warren County, Ohio, where the son remained with him,
receiving such education as the place and times afforded, until he
reached the age of about eighteen years, when he was sent as a
clerk to Mr. Martin Baum, a wealthy merchant of Cincinnati, and an
intimate friend of Gen. Schenck.

As a young man, William was noted for his wit and social qualities,
a genial companion and something of a poet; some of his effusions
are to be found in a work entitled "Gems from American Poets."

After the death of his father in 1821, he returned to Franklin to
take charge, as co-executor with his mother, of the family estate.
And he then and there established himself in business upon his own
account as a merchant, his store being on Front Street, between
Second and Third Streets. Not being satisfied with this business,
he removed with his family to Lebanon, in Warren County, Ohio, and
commenced the study of law with the late Thomas Corwin, and was
admitted to the bar, but never practised as a lawyer.

He took a great interest in the militia, and held various
commissions as an officer therein. After having been captain of the
cavalry, he was commissioned as a lieutenant-colonel, Second
Regiment, Second Brigade, the 16th of January, 1823. He was
afterwards colonel of this regiment, his resignation being dated
the 15th of November, 1826, "he having been an officer of said
regiment for five years."

On the 24th of October, 1822, he entered the Masonic fraternity,
was "passed" on the 26th of the same month, and "raised" to the
degree of a master Mason on the 27th of the following month. In
1826 he was the secretary of his lodge, Eastern State, No. 55, of
Franklin, Ohio. His father was the first master of this lodge upon
its organization in 1819, and his uncle, Garrett A. Schenck, was at
the same time the junior warden.

On the 3d of February, 1831, Colonel Schenck left Cincinnati to
engage in the Santa Fe trade, a business then in its infancy. He
went from St. Louis by way of Independence to Santa Fe during that
year. One of the same party was the late well-known General Albert
Pike, of Washington, D. C. This party consisted of seventy-five men
in all, and was fitted out by Carter Bent, Frederick Billen and Mr.
Holliday, the train consisting of ten wagons, all but one drawn by
oxen, and left St. Louis on the 10th of August, Independence
between the 5th and 10th of September, and got into Taos, some on
one day, some on another, between the 9th and 15th of November of
that year.

General Pike writes: "In September, 1832, I left Santa Fe and Taos
with a trapping party, descended the Picos, crossed the Ellano
Estacado, and ultimately reached Arkansas. During my stay of near
ten weeks I saw Mr. Schenck very often, and we continued to be on
terms as intimately friendly as we were while crossing the plains.
He told me a thousand things about himself and his relatives, the
course of his life, his success and reverses; but all have passed
out of my memory, for until now, no one has spoken to me of him in
fifty years. He was a man of cultivation and acquirements, of fine
intelligence, cordial and genial, a pleasant companion and firm
friend, sadly out of place in such a country as New Mexico was at
that day, among the citizens of the United States residing there.
I left him in Santa Fe, and after I had been for a time in Arkansas
I heard of his having been wounded and left to die on the prairie,
and wrote and published some lines of verse respecting it, which
were seen by his relatives, and caused them to write to me for such
information as I could give."

In the fall or winter of 1832-33, a party consisting of twelve men
started to return from Santa Fe. This party met with a terrible
calamity, an account of which is given by Josiah Gregg in his
"Commerce of the Prairies," (Vol. 11, pp. 48-53), as follows:

After three or four days of weary travel over this level plain the
picturesque valley of the Canadian burst once more upon our view,
presenting one of the most magnificent sights I had ever beheld. It
was somewhere in this vicinity that a small party of Americans
experienced a terrible calamity in the winter of 1832-3, on their
way home; and as the incident had the tendency to call into play
the most prominent features of the Indian character, I will digress
so far here as to relate the facts.

The party consisted of twelve men, chiefly citizens of Missouri.
Their baggage and about ten thousand dollars in specie were packed
upon mules. They took the route of the Canadian River, fearing to
venture on the northern prairies at that season of the year. Having
left Santa Fe in December, they had proceeded without accident thus
far, when a large party of Comanches and Kiowas were seen advancing
with the treacherous and pusillanimous disposition of those races.
The traders prepared at once for defense; but the savages having
made a halt at some distance, began to approach one by one, or in
small parties, making a great show of friendship all the while,
until most of them had collected on the spot. Finding themselves
surrounded in every direction, the travellers now began to move on
in hopes of getting rid of the intruders; but the latter were
equally ready for the start, and mounting their horses, kept
jogging on in the same direction.

The first act of hostility perpetrated by the Indians proved fatal
to one of the American traders named Pratt, who was shot dead while
attempting to secure two mules, which had become separated from the
rest. Upon this the companions of the slain man immediately
dismounted and commenced a fire upon the Indians, which was warmly
returned, whereby another man by the name of Mitchell was killed.

By this time the traders had taken off their packs and piled them
around for protection, and now falling to work with their hands,
they very soon scratched out a trench deep enough to protect them
from the shot of the enemy. The latter made several desperate
charges, but they seemed too careful of their own personal safety,
notwithstanding the enormous superiority of their numbers, to
venture near the rifles of the Americans. In a few hours all the
animals of the traders were either killed or wounded, but no
personal damage was done to the remaining ten men, with the
exception of a wound in the thigh received by one, which was not at
the time considered dangerous.

During the siege the Americans were in great danger of perishing
from thirst, as the Indians had complete command of all the water
within reach. Starvation was not so much to be dreaded, because, in
case of necessity, they could live on the flesh of their slain
animals, some of which lay stretched close around them. After being
pent up for thirty-six hours in this terrible hole, during which
time they had seldom ventured to raise their heads above the
surface without being shot at, they resolved to make a bold sortie
in the night, as any death was preferable to the fate which awaited
them there. As there was not an animal left that was at all in
condition to travel, the proprietors of the money gave permission
to all to take and appropriate to themselves whatever amount each
man could safely undertake to carry. In this way a few hundred
dollars were started with, of which, however, but little ever
reached the United States. The remainder was buried deep in the
sand in hopes that it might escape the cupidity of the savages; but
to very little purpose, for they were afterwards seen by some
Mexican traders making a great display of specie, which was without
doubt taken from the unfortunate cache.

With every prospect of being discovered, overtaken and butchered,
but resolved to sell their lives as dearly as possible, they at
last emerged from their hiding place, and moved on silently and
slowly until they found themselves beyond the perlieus of the
Indian camp. Often did they look back in the direction where from
three to five hundred savages were supposed to watch their
movements; but much to their astonishment, no one appeared to be in
pursuit. The Indians, believing no doubt that the property of the
traders would come into their hands, and having no amateur
predilection for taking scalps at the risk of losing their own,
appeared willing enough to let the spoliated adventurers depart
without further molestation.

The destitute travelers having run themselves short of provisions,
and being no longer able to kill game for want of material to load
their rifles with, they were soon reduced to the necessity of
sustaining life upon the roots and tender barks of trees. After
traveling for several days in this desperate condition, with
lacerated feet and utter prostration of mind and body, they began
to disagree among themselves about the route to be pursued and
eventually separated into two distinct parties. Five of these
unhappy men steered a westward course, and after a succession of
sufferings and privations which almost surpassed belief, they
reached the settlements of the Creek Indians, near the Arkansas
River, where they were treated with great kindness and hospitality.

The other five wandered about in a great state of distress and
bewilderment, and only two finally succeeded in getting out of the
mazes of the wilderness. Among those who were abandoned to their
fate and left to perish thus miserably was a Mr. Schenck, the same
individual who had been shot in the thigh, a gentleman of talent
and excellent family connections, who was a brother, as I am
informed, of the Hon. Mr. Schenck, at present a member of Congress
from Ohio. The following is a poem mentioned by General Pike,
written by him upon hearing of the fate of his unfortunate friend:

DEATH IN THE DESERT

The sun is sinking from the sky, 
The clouds are clustering round the moon, 
Like misty bastions, mountain high; 
And night approaches, ah! too soon. 
Around me the dark prairies spread 
Its limitless monotony. 
And near me, in wide sandy beds, 
Runs water salter than the sea, 
Bitter as tears of misery. 
And now the sharp, keen, frosty dew, 
Begins to fall upon my head, 
Piercing each shattered fibre through; 
By it torturing wound with fresh pain is fed.

Near me lies dead my noble horse; 
watched its last convulsive breath, 
And saw him stiffen to a corse, 
Knowing like his would be my death. 
The cowards left me lying here 
To die- and for three weary days 
I've watched the sunlight disappear; 
Again I shall not see his eyes; 
Upon my dead heart they soon will blaze. 
Ah, God! it is a fearful thing 
To be alone in this wide plain, 
To hear the hungry vultures wing, 
And watch the light of my existence wane.

Am I, indeed, left here to die? 
Alone ! Alone ! It is no dream ! 
At times I hope it is. Though nigh, 
Already faintly sounds the stream. 
I must die! and fierce wolves will gnaw 
My corse before the pulse is still, 
Before my parting breath I draw. 
This doth the cup of torture fill; 
This, this it is that sends a thrill 
Of anguish through by inmost brain; 
This thought far bitterer than death; 
I care not for the passing pain, 
But fain would draw in peace my last, my parting breath.

And here, while left all, all alone, 
To die, (how strange that word will sound) 
With many a bitter, mocking tone, 
The faces of old friends come around. 
They tell of one untimely sent 
Down to the dark and narrow grave 
By Honor's code; of old friends bent, 
With grief, for causes that I gave; 
And leaning on each misty wave, 
I see the shapes I loved and lost 
Gather around, with deep dim eyes, 
Like drowning men to land uptossed. 
And here one mocks, and my vain rage defies.

Dear God! my children, spare the thought! 
Bid it depart from me, lest I 
At length to madness should be wrought, 
And cursing Thee, insanely die! 
Hush! the cold pulse is beating slow-- 
I see death's shadow close at hand; 
I turn from sunset's golden glow, 
And looking toward my native land, 
Where the dark clouds, like giants, stand, 
I strain my eyes, and hope perchance, 
To see, beneath the calm cold moon, 
Some shape of human-kind advance 
To give a dying man the last and saddest boon.

In vain, in vain! No footstep comes!
All is yet lone and desolate;
Deeper and darker swell the glooms,
And with them Death and eyeless Fate.
Now am I dying. Well I know
The pains that gather round the heart,
The wrist's weak pulse is beating slow,
And life and I begin to part;
Vain now would be the leech's art;
But death is not so terrible,
As it hath been. No more I see!
My tongue is faltering! Now all's well!
My soul, 'tis thine, oh Father, take it unto

THE HEREAFTER

Hereafter ! O we need not waste 
Our smiles or tears, whate'er befall; 
No happiness but holds a taste 
Of something sweeter, after all:-- 
No depth of agony but feels 
Some fragment of abiding trust,-- 
Whatever Death unlocks or seals 
The mute beyond is just.
--James Whitcomb Riley.

THE HIDDEN GLACIER

There is no time for hate, O wasteful friend: 
Put hate away until the ages end. 
Have you an ancient wound ? Forget the wrong.

Out in my West a forest loud with song 
Towers high and green over a field of snow, 
Over a glacier buried far below.
--Edwin Markham.
"The Shoes of Happiness."

