The Death of Jacob Ariesen

Jacob Ariesen was born on Ariesen’s Two Acres, in the Year of Our Lord, 1830. Ariesen’s Two Acres was given to Jacob’s maternal grandfather for services rendered. However, at the time it was not known by that name. The acres came unto the Ariesen family when Jacob’s father married his mother. After awhile folks started calling the property Ariesen’s Two Acres. Jacob was never able to ascertain what services his grandfather had rendered, or to whom, that got his grandfather his plot of land. The property was located on the outskirts of Concord Massachusetts.
At twenty Jacob was a tall, but lanky lad, who stood six feet, two inches in his stocking feet. His bright yellow hair denoted his Dutch ancestry. His features were comely, but one would not call him handsome. His eyes were the most pronounced feature about him. They were a very light blue, with specks of yellow throughout the iris. When Jacob looked into a person’s eyes, his gaze seemed to penetrate that person’s soul.
On the Acres was a most unique house, it was more a cellar than a house. Jacob’s father had built it himself a year before Jacob was born. He first dug a square pit in the ground eighty feet long, half as wide, and seven feet deep. He then lined the walls with wood all around to keep the earth from falling in. Then a floor was laid with plank. A pitched roof was raised, and covered with sod. Partitions were put in place as the family grew, so each child had a room of their own. It was a good house. It was warm in the winter and cool in the heat of summer. It was also a loving home. Once when he was about ten years of age, and after being teased by the other children, Jacob asked his father why they had to live in house that was so different from those of his friends.
His father sat Jacob down, and told him of the first Ariesen to come to the United States, before it was the United States. At the time, it was called New Netherland and it extended from New York to portions of New England. When the first Ariesen arrived he had no time to build a house, he had to get his crops planted before it was too late in the season. So he built a house like the one Jacob now lived in. It was supposed to be temporary, a few years at most, but as time went on, this first Ariesen became aware of the benefits of living in such a house. Those first New Netherland winters were harsh. The Ariesen family was the only family that did not succumb to sickness in those years. Some families lost loved ones from pneumonia, and the like. So, concluded Jacob’s father, “That was two hundred years ago, and the Ariesens have lived in these ‘ground houses’ ever since.” He added, “You just tell your friends that the wind does not blow through your house as it does theirs.”
Jacob’s father was an innocuous man. He earned his living by doing whatever needed doing in the town of Concord; from mending bridles, to sweeping out back rooms. He had helped build more than one of the fine houses that the rich seem to prefer to a more a utilitarian home. He did not make a substantial living, though his family never went without the necessities. There was always food in the larder, and his children were never cold in winter for lack of a winter coat. The coat may have had a sown rent, or a patch, but it kept them warm. In short, Jacob’s father was a good provider to his family. He worked hard year round, and did not partake of the drinking down at the public house, at least not too much. But he always wished for more. He wanted Jacob’s mother to have the fine clothes he saw other women wearing. He wanted to provide a better future for Jacob and his two younger sisters. That is why in the winter of 1850 he came home, and announced to his family that he had sold the Acres, and they were all going to California.
Jacob’s mother asked, “Isn’t that expensive?” Jacob’s older sister burst into tears and declared that she was not going to leave all her friends. Jacob’s younger sister asked, “Where’s California?” And Jacob was just stunned. His father explained to his mother that they had enough to get to a jumping off point in Missouri, with plenty left over to provision them for the trip, including a team and a wagon.
Jacob’s father explained to his family that a few months earlier there had been a gold strike in California, at a place called Sutter’s Mill. And, there was gold just lying on the ground as big as hen’s eggs, just waiting to be picked up. “So, we’re going to be the first people there before all the gold is gone,” said he.
Jacob’s mother did what good wives did in those days; she resigned herself to her husband’s wishes. Jacob’s older sister continued to cry. Jacob’s younger sister said, “As long as there is gold, and I can have a gold bracelet, I want to go.” And Jacob, once he got over his initial shock, thought that that this would not augur well for the family. And in that respect, he was quite right.
They had a week before they had to vacate the house and property. In addition, there was so much to do no one thought to ask Jacob’s father for the details of how they were going to get to Missouri; and once there, what town would be their jumping off point. A jumping off point was the town from which the wagon trains departed. They were the last out post of civilization. The two main jumping off points were Independence and St. Joseph Missouri. But, down to the public house, there had been talk of brigands working out of those towns. “They were dangerous places, filled with thieves and cutthroats, who’d just as soon rob you and leave you for dead as look at you. If a man was foolish enough to traverse to, and have commerce with, either local, then he deserved the fate that awaited him,” so said old Jim Varney. Jim had said, “Go to Westport, Missouri. It is a much smaller town, filled with God fearin’ people.” How old Jim Varney, who had never ventured more than thirty miles from Concord his entire life, knew this, he did not say. It was said of old Jim, that he had an oracular way about him, and in matters of great import, he was never wrong. Therefore, based on what old Jim Varney said, Jacob’s father decided to take the family to Westport, Missouri. In reality, each jumping off town sent out word that the others were dark and dangerous places, filled with all sort of miscreants. There was much money to be made from the people who flocked to Missouri each spring, and every town wanted more than its share.
How to get there was a different matter all together. At the beginning of 1850 train travel consisted of making a portion of the journey by train, detraining to catch a barge on a canal, going in your general direction, and then perhaps hiring someone with a wagon to take you to the next set of tracks, owned by a completely different railroad company. The moneyed, hired private coaches. The closest train tracks to St. Louis that would do the Ariesen family any good terminated at the Pennsylvania, West Virginia boarder. St Louis was to be their first destination. There the sojourners would catch a boat that would take them two hundred miles due west on the Missouri River. When the river turned north, the travelers would disembark and, and if Jacob’s father had not already purchased a wagon, hire one of the waiting wagons to take them into Westport. In the spring, there were always wagons in the offing for the people who were coming to make the two thousand mile trek on the California-Oregon Trail. It was a very good business.
The week after Jacob’s father sold the Acres went by very fast, but not as fast as spring was seemingly approaching. If the family arrived in Westport too late in the season, they would have to wait another year before making the Trail. The day arrived for the family to depart. Jacob’s father was held in high esteem by the men folk of the town, they all wished it was them starting-off on the great adventure, while their women clucked their tongues at such foolishness. Jacob’s father had hired a wagon to take them into Boston, where they would catch the first of many trains. More than a few townspeople turned out to wish them well on their journey. As Jacob turned his head to catch a last glimpse of the receding town of Concord, he knew with a certainty that he would never see California.
The trip to St. Louis took longer, and was more arduous than expected. There were places that had no transport to the next terminus, and it took Jacob’s father a day or more to secure a wagon. Things would have been easier if there had been more canals, as Jacob’s father had envisioned. Once they reached the final terminus at the West Virginia line, it was three weeks before Jacob’s father found someone willing to transport the family and its meager belongings to St. Louis. Jacob’s father had thought the entire journey from West Virginia to St. Louis would take at the most two weeks. Jacob’s father envisioned many things that did not transpire.
The family Ariesen arrived in St. Louis on the ninth of April 1850. The city was a hive of activity, with people bustling this way and that. The streets were crowded, wagons were stuck in the mud, and that seemed to be all the streets consisted of, mud; the spring floods were in full bloom. The first consideration was to find shelter, but every hotel, boarding house, and yes even the flophouses, to which Jacob’s father would not have subjected his family to at any rate, were full. While speaking with a gentleman who wanted to sell him a wagon and team, Jacob’s father was told of a tent city to the north of town where he might be able to rent a tent by the day or week. “Space is in short supply, and it gets worse everyday with all them greenhorns a comin’ in. No offence.” “Non taken,” replied Jacob’s father.
Jacob’s father found his way to the tent city all right, but once there, he had the dickens of a time coming to terms with the proprietor. After fifteen minutes of back-and-forth, a price was agreed upon, $1.50 per night. Which, as Jacob’s father saw it, was highway robbery. “This man who owns the tent city must be one of the brigands Jim Varney warned me about,” thought Jacob’s father as he left to collect his family. On the way, he thought of his friend back in Concord, Henry, who night after night in the pubic house would preach to him his Gospel of Simplification. He remembered Henry telling him, “The cost of a thing is the amount of what I will call life, which is required to be exchanged for it.” “Well, I sure just exchanged a good portion of my life for a few days in a leaky tent. Henry was right after all. What was that crazy Frenchman’s name, Theroux, Thoreau, something like that? Though I gotta’ hand it to him, he spoke good American for a Frenchman.”
When Jacob’s father had gathered his clan together, and shepherd them to their tent, he told them that they were leaving on the next boat, that this was an evil town, and the faster they quit it the better. His plan was to provision and buy the wagon and team in Westport, where the God fearin’ people were.
Jacob had been regulated to the duty of watching over his mother and sisters, while his father ran about St. Louis exploring “the lay of the land,” as his father described his daily forays. Therefore, there was not much for Jacob to do for those three days but sit and think. And, the more he thought, the more he dreaded what his father had in mind for the family. Was his father thinking clearly? A two thousand mile trek across a mostly unexplored continent was not a walk in a bower. They had brought nothing with them; they were supposed to obtain all they needed in Westport. “That friend of father’s, the one who walked beside the wagon as we left town. What did he say? It was something about the savage. What was it? Yes, that was it. ‘The savage folds his home when he wants for greener pastures. Don’t over stock; you need only the clothes you wear,’ poor pixilated Henry.” The amusement of thinking of his father’s friend did not last long. His thoughts turned to whether he should meekly go along with his fathers plan, or step up and register a protest. After all, as he was twenty and just about to his majority, he should have some say in matters of this sort where his entire future was involved.
In their short amount of time in St. Louis, Jacob had heard that most people die of cholera on the Trail. It was not Indian attack that the traveler feared; it was the mysterious killer cholera. He had been told that there is no medicine that will cure it, and a person could go from being healthy and sound to dead in just a few hours. He was told of the train of two years ago that lost three quarters of its people to the disease. And if cholera did not get you, you were more apt to be accidently shot, or run over by a wagon wheel than harmed by a savage. Jacob had no fear of Indians; in fact, he knew quite a few back in Concord. They worked at odd jobs, sold fish, or baskets door to door; they did not fold their wigwams and migrate to greener pastures. In fact, they did not live in wigwams; they lived in houses like everyone else. Jacob wondered if his father knew of the cholera and the other hazards of the Trail. Jacob was graveled as what to do. In the end he decided to put his misgivings aside, be a dutiful son and follow his father. For aught he knew, his father was right, and the family would be better off in California.
Jacob’s father returned to the tent that evening and informed his brood that they would be leaving first thing in the morning. He had booked them passage on the steamboat, “Andy Jackson,” an old, but dependable paddle wheeler. He did not tell his family that the extra time spent in getting to St. Louis, and once there the exorbitant prices one had to pay for everything, had seriously depleted the family’s coffers. Why, what they had to pay for breakfast this morning was the pinch of the game for him. Imagine, 40 ¾ cents for griddlecakes! Just for the five of them. No, they would have to get to Westport, and provision before their money ran out.
The next morning found the family Ariesen on the deck of the “Andy Jackson” headed west. Jacob’s father breathed a sigh of relief to have departed the sinful St. Louis. Jacob on the other hand felt dread with each mile that took them closer to Westport, and what else he knew not; but he felt in his soul that it was not going to be good. As the “Andy Jackson” approached Westport, the people on her decks gathered at the bow to get their first look at what would very shortly be the last piece of civilization they saw for half a year. For some on that bow it would be the last sight of civilization they would ever see, including Jacob Ariesen.
As the “Andy Jackson” approached the wharf, she started backing and filling to ensure a smooth docking. Jacob was told by his father to collect the women folk and to meet him at the gangplank. The family assembled at the appointed place along with the rest of the passengers. The throng moved and jostled, with everyone trying to be the first off. Jacob quietly moved his mother and sisters to one side and waited; he did not know where his father was. As he stood there watching that crowd of humanity, with all wanting to be the first off the boat, he thought, “First off, and into what?” While thinking this, he turned to observe the carrying on of the people below him on the dock. The grist of bodies repelled him and started him thinking again of this venture his father was hell bent on seeing to the end.
Those below him appeared as a swarm of buzzing gallnippers out for blood, his and his family’s blood. There seemed to be many a bad egg milling about down there. As these dark thoughts were occupying his attention, his father had walked up without him noticing. His father shook him by the arm and asked, “Thinking of all the gold waiting for us in California?” Jacob did not think this was the time to speak of the grave misgivings he was experiencing, so he simply nodded a nod of agreement and smiled. In a hushed tone, Jacob’s father said,” I want to show you something.” He then unbuttoned his coat and lifted the left side flap, exposing a large revolver. “Ain’t she a beaut?” he asked. Jacob just said, “Why?” “A man back at the stern sold it to me. He told me Westport isn’t much better than St. Louis, and that a man had to protect himself.” Jacob’s father had never own a gun, and as far as Jacob knew, had never even fired one. Jacob thought his father was going mad with gold fever. It was the only explanation he could figure for this journey, and his father’s later actions, such as buying a gun. Jacob thought his father was more apt to shoot himself than a boarder ruffian. “I sure hornswoggled that gent,” his father boasted; “He got the little end of the horn all right.” The gun and his father’s statement repulsed Jacob. His father had never cheated another man, and now here he was boasting of it. However, Jacob did not have time to dwell on this turn of events, the line was moving and he had to go to his mother and sisters.
The family dutifully got in the debarkation line. Jacob’s father at the head of the family, Jacob at the rear, and the women sandwiched between them. As they neared the bottom of the gangway, Jacob’s father turned his head, and yelled over his shoulder to Jacob, “Take care of your mother and sisters, “I’ve got business to attend to.” At this alarming bit of news, Jacob went across lots through the throng to head off his father before the crowd cut them off from one another. Upon reaching his father, Jacob implored him not to leave the family until they had at least secured lodging for the night. His father gave Jacob two dollars and told him to find a clean and decent place for a couple of nights. “And I want proper change back,” said his father. With that, he absquatulated into the crowd. As he disappeared into the conflux of humanity, Jacob could only watch in amazement the retreating figure of his father. The man who just handed him the two dollars did not act in the same manner as the man who had reared him.
Jacob returned to his mother and sisters and escorted them through the myriad of hawkers and drummers, selling everything from charms for the protection from cholera, to Dr. Dennison’s Tooth Powder. Just as he was jostled by a young boy carrying a shoat, Jacob Ariesen came unto his own. He knew with a certainty that if his mother and sisters were to survive the next seven months he would have to assume the mantel of head of the family. His father could no longer be counted on to make rational decisions.
At first he was stymied, he knew not what he should do next. However, within seconds, Jacob Ariesen became a man. The transformation necessitated his next action. Without further dilatoriness, he escorted his mother and sisters to a waiting wagon, asked the man tending the horse if it was his wagon. “Yes, indeed it is,” was the answer to Jacob’s query. Jacob then asked the cost of transport to the nearest decent establishment in which he and his family could find shelter. “For the paltry amount of fifty cents I’ll take you anywhere in Westport, you and yours wanna’ go.” In 1850, fifty cents was not a paltry amount, and it was with certitude, not a paltry amount to Jacob. But, it was paltriness to the good people of Westport Missouri who two thousand miles from the gold fields of California had struck gold of another sort.
Jacob’s first impulse to was walk into town rather then succumb to the chicanery of the man who stood before him. However, upon careful reflection he deemed it inadvisable, considering his mother and sisters, not to mention their luggage. Instead, he told his mother and sisters to get into the wagon, and handed their luggage up after them. When he had finished, he climbed up next to the driver and said, “Take us to a lodging house that is appropriate for my family,” and as he said, “My family,” the weight of responsibility descended upon him tenebrously.
The driver smiled and informed Jacob, “That’ll be fifty cents, in advance.” Jacob simply said, “I’ll pay you when we get there.” There was something in the lad’s voice that spoke of steel, of grit, that caused the smile on the driver’s face to do a slow fade. “Perhaps the tenderfoot should not be trifled with”; and with that thought, the driver gave the reins a shake and said, “Let’s go Betsy.”
Westport was smaller than St. Louis and even more congested, if that were possible. As they drove through the streets, Jacob saw men, women, and children scurrying hither and fro, as though Judgment Day were upon them. There were many Dry Goods shops, a multitude of blacksmith sheds, with their ceaseless banging, as mules were readied for the Trail. Many of the shops were nothing more than tents erected helter skelter. They also passed many wagons going in the opposite direction, filled with families, the father at the reins, his wife beside him, and the children peering out the back flap at the wonderland that was Westport. Jacob saw a tableau consisting of two men, with one man holding a knife on the other. The people who passed them by on the street seemed to take no notice of the scene unfolding before them. As Jacob observed these sights, the dread, which had settled within since his father bought the gun, increase many fold.
Their destination was reached before Jacob knew it. He had been deep in thought when he was roused from his contemplation by the driver saying, “Here we are folks, all safe and sound.” Jacob looked at the building, which stood before him, and thought, “Well. It looks decent enough.” Jacob asked the driver to attend to their baggage while he helped the women from the wagon. The driver started to tell Jacob that, “Haulin’ grips ain’t included in the price,” but thought better of it when he looked into Jacob’s eyes.
As the family assembled on the portico of the hotel, Jacob told the driver to wait while he went in to get the change in which to pay him. The driver frowned at this bit of news, but said nothing. Jacob traversed the lobby of the hotel and informed the man behind the counter that he and his family would be staying for a few nights, but first he needed change of a dollar to pay off the man who had brought them there. When the man heard what Jacob had said, he smiled and asked, “You mean a little short fella', horse’s name’s Betsy?” Jacob agreed that yes that was the man. To which the man behind the counter turned to a man behind him sorting mail and said, “You hear that Marvin, ‘ol Charlie got ‘iself another one?” Then turned back to Jacob saying, “You greenhorns should know by now there ain’t a room in all of Westport; ‘ol Charlie been doin’ this for weeks, haulin’ you suckers into town, chargin’ ya’ fifty cents, and letting ya’ think there’s a room to be had when there ain’t.” Jacob said nothing; he just turned, walked back through the lobby, exited the front door, and stepped upon the portico where “ol Charlie was waiting for his fifty cents. He then proceeded to grab Charlie by scuff of the neck and the back of the pants, and tossed him into the mud at Betsy’s feet. He then gathered his family, brought them into the hotel lobby, and told them to sit while he tried to figure the best course of action. “Where was father” kept repeating itself in his mind.
Jacob decided that the best thing to do would be to go out into Westport and try to find his father. Jacob announced his decision to his mother, and it was at that moment that what Jacob had feared all day long finally happened. The older of his two sisters stood up and said, “If you think I am going to sit here like a bump on a log while you and father go traipsing about, you’ve got another thing coming Jacob Ariesen.” Jacob looked to his mother for support, and all she said was, “If you go out, take your sister with you like a good boy.” Jacob had never disobeyed his mother and he was not about to start now. So he said to his sister,” If you’re coming, let’s go.”
They walked out of the hotel’s front door and turned right. Jacob had no idea where to start looking for his father. He thought that if they went up one side of the street to its end, and then do they same on the other side, and If they kept at it, they would find him eventually. The main thoroughfare, based on their trip into town, was quite bit longer than Jacob had imagined. They walked fifteen minutes without seeing the skirts of the town. As Jacob and his sister passed a small alley, or walkway between two buildings they heard, “Hey Bub and Sis.” As Jacob turned to see from where, and from whom, the call was made, he saw a rather large man emerge from the shadows of the way; and with a surreptitious glance in both directions, made motion for Jacob to approach. “Hey boy, ya’ wanna’ buy a Arkansas Toothpick? It was my pappy’s, had it with him when he was with Andy Jackson in ’14; got him a mess of Injun scalps with this blade.” Now Jacob had no idea what an Arkansas Toothpick was, but something drove him nearer the man. When Jacob was within a few feet of the man, the man pulled a very large knife out of his belt. “Ya’ ever seen a toothpick liken this boy?” No, Jacob had to admit he had never seen a knife quite like that before. Then he thought that a weapon of some sort might come in handy, considering the environment. Therefore, Jacob asked, “How much do you want?” “Just a measly five dollars boy.” Jacob informed the would be knife seller that he did not have that much and started to turn to leave, when he heard, “That’s a peart nice Sis ya’ got there, maybe we can come to some kinda’ arrangement.” Jacob said nothing for a moment, he just stood motionless. After a few seconds, he said to his sister, “You go to the Dry Goods store down the street, inquire into the prices of flower, bacon, and the like. I’ll meet up with you in a minute.” Jacob had two reasons for sending his sister to the Dry Goods store; he did want to know the prices they would have to contend with as they provisioned for the Trail. And, he had business to conduct with the gentleman with the knife, and a man’s business affairs are no concern of women folk.
The metamorphosis that had been taking place in Jacob since his father first told them of this fantastic journey, that had been building the entire journey from Concord, and accelerated in the few short hours since he stepped off the “Andy Jackson,” was approaching a climax. Jacob Ariesen had gone from a docile, dutiful son, to a man willing to kill to protect those he loved. Jacob turned to the man and said, “Yes, I think we can make a deal, May I see the knife?” When the knife was handed to Jacob he looked it over carefully before saying, “What makes you think you can insult my sister with me standing right here?” To which the large man replied, “Ya’ goin’ dirk me with my own blade boy?” It was then that Jacob moved with a swiftness that surprised both men. He stuck the point of the knife up under the man’s chin and pressed until a small rivulet of blood trickled down the bright, silver like blade, obscuring Jacob’s reflection. “I asked you a question, what makes you think you can insult my sister with me standing here?” I didn’t know she was your sister!” “Then why did you refer to her as Sis?” “It’s just a sayin’, you know, them’s just words mister, Bub and Sis.” “Then how about I kill you because I just don’t like the way you look?” Jacob then drove the blade in a little deeper, and said, “I’m keeping this knife in payment for the insult, and if I see you on the street again I going to slit your throat with your pappy’s knife, and then I’m going scalp you with it. Got it?” “Yes sir, no offence intended.” “Now turn and walk back from where you came.” Jacob then removed the knife from under the man’s chin and took one-step back, staring the man in the eyes the whole time. The man turned, but did not walk; he ran back though the alleyway. Of course, Jacob had no intention of harming the man if at some future date their paths should cross; he just thought it prudent to instill some fear into him so there would be no unpleasant repercussions if indeed they should ever meet again.
Jacob wiped the blood from the knife and slid it into his belt; he then went to collect his sister. As he stepped out of the alley, he saw his father across the street, but because of the mud, crossing the street would be no easy task. So, he called to his father, who turned and saw Jacob. His father held up one hand, index finger pointing skyward, indicating wait a moment. His father then scurried about fifty feet up the street and engaged a man in what seemed a heated discussion. Then to Jacob’s amazement, the man turned his back to his father, and his father hopped upon the man’s back; as a small child is carried in the game of piggyback. The man then proceeded to cross the street, stepping gingerly, for if he slipped, or fell, and dropped his charge, he would not be paid. While this was going on, Jacob went to fetch his sister, which was no easy task. It was the first store she had been to in almost two months, and she was recalcitrant to leave when bid by Jacob. As Jacob and his sister exited the store, their father reached the terminus of his trip. He alighted from his carrier’s back, reached into his pants pocket, drew out some change, and handed the man a nickel, the agreed upon price. Men like the one who transported Jacob’s father were plentiful in Westport in the spring. They made a fair living during the rain and flood months transporting people across the main thoroughfare.
As the Ariesens met up, Jacob started to ask his father where he had been, but before he could get the words out, his father said, “Got us a team and wagon. Had to plank down hard cold cash, but the neat and wagon will hold up on the trail. We’ll get the longest use out them.” By neat, Jacob’s father meant oxen; he had already embraced the nomenclature of Westport. He finished by saying, “We’re not quite as poor as Job’s turkey, we’ve still got enough to provision.” “What the hell is father talking about,” thought Jacob. He then mentally regretted using a swear word, he had been taught better. Then he once again used the malediction, “The hell with it! We are not in Concord anymore.” And with that, he turned to catch up with the rapidly retreating figures of his father and his sister, who were already five paces ahead of him.
Jacob caught up with his father and sister, and after a few steps he asked his father, “What are our plans, when do we provision, when do we leave.” “Boy, the train leaves in two-and-a-weeks, the first of the month, by then the grass of the prairie will have grown high enough to feed our team. That gives up plenty of time to provision up and make ready.” Jacob was just glad is father did not say, “High enough to feed the neat.”
The next information Jacob had to convey to his father was the lack of living accommodations in Westport. “Doesn’t matter squat, there’s a staging area at the skirts of town, we’ll camp there until “Westward Ho” is called, it’ll give us good practice for the Trail.” “How does he know all this,” thought Jacob. “But what about tonight?” His father responded with, “Made a deal with the gent I bought the team and wagon from; we can camp a night or two behind his blacksmithy shop, that is where the wagon is now. He stared to ask another question but was cut off by his father, “Jacob I’ll tell you all you need to know, but let’s first collect your mother and other sister and get something to eat. I’m sure your mother and sisters are about ready.” “Yes sir,” was Jacob’s only response. When they reached the hotel, they found Jacob’s youngest sister ensconced in the mud of the street, making mud pies. Her mother sat in a chair on the portico watching over her.
The only place to eat that was not jammed to the rafters, seeing as how it was suppertime, was a groggery, a cheap drinking establishment that also served food. The family had their evening meal and proceeded to the blacksmith’s shop to behold their home for the next seven or eight months. When Jacob saw the wagon, he was surprised at the size of the thing. It was nothing but a farm wagon. He had expected something larger, like a Conestoga wagon, something with grit. Jacob said to his father,” Wouldn’t it be better if we had Conestoga instead of this little thing?” To which his father replied,” You can’t control a Conestoga as you can this little beauty. Look here Jacob, underneath; it’s got a kingpin so the front wheels can pivot.” Jacob got up from underneath the wagon and inspected the wagon bed. It measured about ten feet long and four feet wide, there was a toolbox secured to one side, and a water barrel on the other. Jacob then asked about the team, “Where are they, did you get mules?” “They’re grazing at the smithy’s place. And no, I didn’t get mules. They’re too ornery and cantankerous. Got us four of the finest oxen you ever saw. Unlike mules, a team of oxen can pull a wagon through mud like it was paved road. And they’ll eat anything on the trail, we don’t have haul feed for them like you’d do for mules. Just can’t beat oxen on the trail”
Jacob was now vexed, his father seemed to have everything well in hand. Perhaps his premonition of disaster on the Trail was incorrect. “But it was so vivid, as though I could almost see what was in store for us on the Trail,” thought Jacob. But there was not much Jacob could do at this point, but give his father his head. However, he would keep a vigilant eye on things and be ready to step in if needed. He would not fail his mother and sisters. Jacob was unaware of the axiom, “Love, and fate. Of the two, fate is the stronger.” Despite his best efforts, Jacob could do nothing to save his family from the fate that awaited them on the Trail.
It was decided that Jacob’s mother and sisters would sleep under the wagon to keep off the nightly moisture, and Jacob and his father would sleep in the wagon. After the family settled in for the night and just before falling off to sleep, Jacob asked his father what the plans were for tomorrow. “Tomorrow we start provisioning. We’ll bring what we buy back in lots, your mother and sisters will stay with the wagon to keep an eye on things.” As Jacob fell off to sleep he thought, “Well at least not much can go wrong provisioning.” And he was right.
The family awoke the next morning, and after securing their morning meal, Jacob and his father set out to provision up. They were going to need about 1500 pounds of supplies. Jacob’s father had ascertained the amounts from the man who was to lead the wagons to the sea, Jamison Cody, or as he was better known around Westport, Big Jim Cody. Big Jim had told Jacob’s father that each family should carry 200 pounds of flour, 150 pounds of bacon, 20 pounds sugar, and 10 pounds of coffee and salt each. “That’s all ya’ goin’ be living on for six months,” said Big Jim Cody. He also said, “You run outta’ somethin’ and it’s goin’ cost you to re-up at one of the trading post along the way.” Hell, a pint of flour will cost ya’ a dollar, when you can git it here for four dollars a barrel” On the Trail the diet consisted oh hoe-cakes, a kind of bread that was cooked over an open fire on the end of a stick, and bacon. “We got us buffalo the first third of the way, but then it’s hoe-cakes and bacon until you hate the sight of ‘em,” said Big Jim.
Jacob and his father spent the day buying supplies and hauling them back to the wagon where the women packed them, being very careful to distribute the weight evenly. After two days of buying provisions, they were packed and ready to move on to the staging area north of town. As he started too lead the oxen, his father shouted, “Damn, I forgot something. Jacob run down to the first Dry Goods store you see and get a bottle of linseed oil, here’s fifty cents. Also get a peppermint stick for each of your sisters and one for yourself if you want.” Linseed oil was rubbed into the cotton covers of the wagons in a vain attempt to waterproof them, but the covers leaked anyway. The peppermint sticks were to mollify Jacob’s sisters who had been cranky all day.
When Jacob returned, he handed the candy to his sisters who were situated in the back of the wagon with their mother, and stored the linseed oil behind the seat. With his task completed, he walked to the front of the team and took of hold of the lead pair’s yoke. His father stood opposite him on the other side of the oxen. His hand also was upon the yoke. Jacob’s father said let’s go, and he and Jacob started leading the team. With that, the family Ariesen was off on the first leg of their two thousand mile journey, the five miles to the staging camp on the outskirts of Westport.
By the time the Ariesen’s left the blacksmith’s shop it had started to get dark. And by the time they were nearing the staging camp it was completely dark, but the family had no trouble knowing where to go; they could see the campfires from a mile away. Jacob and his father led the oxen to the edge of camp where Jacob was told by his father to light the lantern and search for smooth ground. “We don’t want to be sleeping on any large stones.” After Jacob found an appropriate local, his father walked the oxen over and said, “Give me a hand unyoking these beasts. From this point onwards, they come first, for without them we are dead.” Jacob wished his father had not put it in those terms, given his already high state of apprehension. Once the oxen were unyoked and hobbled, the family dined on hardtack and biscuits, the oxen grazed on nearby sage. The sleeping arrangements basically remained the same; the women slept under the wagon, the men on the ground next to it, one on each side of the wagon. This was done so that if anyone, or anything, wanted at the female members of the Ariesen family, they, or it, would have to go through a male member of the Ariesen family.
The family awoke to a cacophony of sound all around them. Jacob’s father, as was his custom since they had reach St. Louis, was already out, and about on one of his forays to discover the “lay of the land.” That left it to Jacob to inquire at their nearest neighbor as to the location of the privy. He was informed that there were two trenches on opposite sides of the encampment, one for the men, and one for the women. Jacob inquired which side was for the women and was told, “East, boy East.”
Jacob took this news back to his mother and offered to escort them. “Don’t be silly, we’re going to have to start fending for ourselves sooner or later. You can’t hover over us for two thousand miles, dear boy.” When his mother and sisters had left, Jacob made his way over to the men’s side of the camp. When he returned his mother was in the process of filling a coffee pot with water. She asked him if he could find enough firewood for a fire. At first glance, it did not look likely, but always the dutiful son he set off to see what he could find.
When he returned with his meager findings, the area was well played out as far as firewood was concerned, his sisters were arranging stones in a circular pattern to encompass their fires. As Jacob handed the wood to his sister, he thought, “Where the hell is father?” This time he did not mentally winch at using a swear word. No, this time it came quite naturally. Now that it was daylight, Jacob could see that there were about thirty, or forty wagons spread out over about a two square mile area. As he was waiting for the fire to get a start so he could have some coffee, a large man of about forty years, with sun burnt hair hanging to his shoulders approached him. The lines in the man’s face bespoke a hard, outdoor life. His steel grey eyes seemed hard, but were softened somewhat by his infectious smile. The man stuck out his hand to Jacob, and said, “Howdy, the name’s Jim Cody, I’ll be takin’ you’all cross to the other side of this great big land of ours. Where ya’ headed, California, or Oregon?” Jacob put his hand in the big mitt of a hand that was Big Jim Cody’s, and shook it. Saying, “We’re going to California, my father has spoken of you.” “Who’s your old man?” Jacob told him his father had spoken with him yesterday. “O yeah, the Yankee gent, I remember the wagon. Nice fella', is he around?” Jacob said he didn’t know where his father was. To which Big Jim replied, “That’s okay son, when he returns tell him thar’s a little business him and me gotta’ talk over.” As Jacob watched the retreating figure of Big Jim Cody disappear among the wagons, the smell of coffee reached his nostrils; so he shrugged his shoulders, turned, and joined the women.
When Jacob had finished his breakfast of coffee and biscuits he thought he’d scout around and see how the other sojourners built their fires, because there sure was no firewood to be had. He asked his mother if she and the girls would be all right if he left for a while. “Of course dear, the girls and I are just seeing to the cleanup of the dishes, and then we’re going to arrange things. You have a good time.” As Jacob left their encampment, he thought of his mother; how he dearly loved her. And, he would be damned if he’d let any misfortune befall her.
Jacob started walking through the camp, nodding to those he met along the way. After about fifteen minutes, he saw a man trying to light a fire, and approached him. “Morning sir,” said Jacob. With a start, the man turned to face Jacob and exclaimed, “Land skakes boy, you nearly sent me to perdition. Ought not sneak up on a man like that.” “I’m sorry sir; it’s just that I wanted to inquire as to what fuel you are using for your fire.” “It betokens you’ve not been here long with a question like that.” “No sir we just got here last night.” “Buffalo chips.” “Excuse me sir?” “I said buffalo chips; the plains are full of ‘em. Easy to start burning, no smell, and make a dandy fire. Most around here has been used up, but a mile or so out they’re as far and wide as the eye can see.” Jacob asked the man if he would mind if he watched him start the fire. He had never seen anyone light dung before; “Sure boy, you watch me, might learn ya’ somethin’.” The man then piled some chips in a pyramid fashion and stuck a lighted stick into an opening he had left at the base of the pyramid. He held the stick there for about a minute before withdrawing it. “That’s all there is to it boy, the place you saw me put the flame will now catch, and in a few minutes we’ll have a nice even fire. But they burn so dang fast you need a couple of bushels to cook a meal.” The man was right, once the fire got a good start; there was a nice even flame. And the amazing thing was there was no odor. Jacob made up his mind right then and there to go out to where the chips were, and get a supply for his family.
As Jacob was returning from his second chip collecting expedition, he saw his father walking towards their camp. Jacob hailed him and together they walked into camp. Once Jacob had discharged his load of chips, he turned to his father and told him of Big Jim’s visit earlier in the day. To which his father remarked, “Yeah we have a pecuniary matter to settle.” Jacob asked in what respect. His father told him that Big Jim did not escort people across a continent for nothing. Each wagon going to Oregon pays him fifty dollars, and each wagon going to California pays him thirty dollars. Jacob asked his father why the difference? “Well, when we get to Separation Pass and turn off the Trail we’ll be on our own. Big Jim will continue west with the people going to Oregon. It’s a matter of miles. The more miles he guides you the more you pay.” Jacob and his father then proceeded to build, and light their first buffalo chip fire.
The next two weeks were uneventful and boring. The days were spent sitting around waiting for the grass to grow tall enough to feed the oxen. About three quarters of those in camp chose oxen to pull their wagons, so they would not be going anywhere until they were sure the neat could be fed. On the thirteenth day since the Ariesen family arrived in camp, word spread through the camp that at noon the following day Big Jim Cody had some words he wanted to speak to all those hoping to hit the Trail. He wanted every man, woman, and child assembled at the south end of camp at noon the next day. After weeks of waiting, this news caused quite a stir, and was the talk of the camp that evening around the buffalo chip fires. “You think we’re leaving soon? Is that what he wants to tell us?” “Maybe, ‘bout time, any more sittin’ around all our provisions be gone.” “I don’t think he has anything to say, probably just wants to hit us up for more money.” So, the different conversations around the different campsites went well into the night.
The next morning, well before the appointed hour, people were starting to assemble south of the encampment. Jacob and his family arrived just before noon, so they were regulated to the back of the crowd. There seemed to be about a hundred a fifty people amassed around a single uncovered wagon. At precisely noon, Big Jim strode into the crowd, up to the wagon, and climbed up onto it. He held up both arms high into the air, palms facing outward, and said, “Let’s have some quiet folks, let’s have some quiet.” When the crowd had quieted down, Big Jim started to speak.
“Looks like we got ourselves a fine boodle of folk here, seems like everyone showed. All righty, I got me some things to tell ya’. And in no particular order, as they come into my head you’ll know ‘bout ‘em. First of all I’m not out for your approbation, you good folks hired me to git you to where ya’ wanna’ go, and with the Good Lord’s help I aim to do just that.
“First of all we pull out at first light in the mornin’. We’ve got thirty-two wagons. So to cut down on the dust, we’ll roll four abreast of eight wagons each, separated by ‘bout one hundred yards. Everyday the lead of each column will change. The wagon at the end will take the lead, and the lead will fall back one. This way no one will have to eat dust all the time the whole way to Oregon.
“Next I expect you men folk to be abstemious while on the Trail. Oh ya’ can imbibe at the trading post, but on the trail liquor is forbidden. It just leads to trouble, like fights, and even worse. Last year I had to hang a man who got drunk, and killed another man over a woman. I’d rather not have to do anything of the sort this go round. Which reminds me, I am the law from the time we leave till we git to where we’re goin’. Anyone breakin’ my Law, or shuckin’ his duties will answer to me
“We are all leagued in our common purpose. Be mindful of your dross, others have to live with ya’ for the next half year. If you flag, we can’t stop and wait for ya’ to catch up, unless ya’ havin’ trouble with your wagon, so keep ‘em moving. If ya’ do break down, we stop to help out. But remember we gotta’ make it over them mountains fore the onset of winter, or we’d all freeze to death.
“There will be very little laving on the Trail, water is too important. All you folks at one time, or ‘nother will be at your nadir. Well that’s to be expected, but be mindful that other’s are acountin’ on ya’ to pull ya’ share. Anyone thinkin’ of any hugger-muggery out thar, or if ya’ think ya’ can gull me, well think again.
“Make no mistake ‘bout it, not all of ya’ are goin’ make it, some are goin’ die out thar. Those that are a dyin’ will have to be left so we don’t join ‘em. Sorry, seems harsh, but gotta’ be done for the good of the train. Mountain Fever is our worse look out, nothin’ to be done for the poor souls who git it., Watch out for your wagon wheels, next to Mountain Fever, bein’ run over and crushed by a wheel is you best chance of meetin’ you maker. And you greenhorns, careful with ya’ guns. Had two men shoot theirselves last trip, one died. And any man jack of you caught molestin’ women folk will git a bullet in the head from my own gun.
“We’re takin’ the Platte-Sweetwater Trail, done it before, and if you’all mind me, most of ya’ will make it through. We made the last trip in a hundred sixty-five days to Oregon. They tell me those that left us at Separation Pass made it to California in a hundred and thirty-five days. But I don’t know, I wasn’t thar. That’s it folks, see ya’ at gloaming.” With that, Big Jim Cody hopped from the wagon and strode off in a westerly direction.
The Mountain Fever Big Jim was referring to was a catchall term used to describe all ailments encountered on the Trail. However, the number one killer of those who traversed the Trail was Cholera. In 1850, the year of the Ariesen family’s trek, five thousand deaths were attributed to Cholera. It was not known at the time that the cause of the disease was contaminated water.
The next morning found the Ariesens in one of the four trains, third from the lead. Everyone was eagerly awaiting the arrival of Big Jim so they could commence their journey to the Promised Land. They did not have long to wait. If nothing else, Big Jim Cody was punctual. He rode up astride a large black mare, an old campaigner, which Big Jim had named “Sweetheart on Parade,” and she was easily one of the finest horses the Good Lord ever made. Big Jim was sitting straight and proud as he inspected the four trains, making sure they were evenly spaced. After nodding his head in approval, he raised his right arm, and in a forward, arching motion, simply said, “Follow me.” And with that simple action, and those two simple words, the infamous Train of 1850, which departed from Westport Missouri, started west; which put into play events that culminated in the largest mass execution in the history of the United States.

The End of Part One
By
Andrew Joyce