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 columns, 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, Jim Cody’s 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.
Part Two
The Trail
It was a good start, but an inauspicious beginning. The, greenhorns ,and they were great in number, did not have a grasp on how to handle their teams. Within a mile of Westport some teams were tangential to their column, but at right angles, others bumped into other teams, or wagons. Mules refuse to move after a short distance, and one wagon toppled over.
Big Jim had expected and planned for this contingency. He had seen it all before, he knew that no amount of talking would, to those who did not know how to handle a team, ready them for the Trail. Big Jim considered the fist two days “shake down” days. A nautical term used to describe the time testing a new boat once she is launched. “The best way for them greenhorns to learn, is by letting ‘em make their mistakes,” was Big Jim’s take on the situation. However, by day three, the four columns would be straight and proper, or there would be hell to pay. As an incentive, Big Jim rode to each wagon individually, and told the men that if they could not control their team and keep up by the beginning of day three, they would be left behind to fend for themselves.
The Ariesens faired better than most, their oxen seemed better suited for the work, so Jacob and his father were able to progress in a straighter line than many of their fellow emigrants. Oxen are not driven; they are led, or prodded along with ox-goads. Most of the emigrants would end up walking the 2000-mile Trail; the wagons were for the supplies that would sustain the emigrants on their trek. The average speed of a train, Big Jim’s included, was two miles an hour.
The control of the animals, nor the slow pace, not even the sun, which beat down mercilessly on all alike with its scorching heat; none of these were anywhere close to the discomfiture caused by the pernicious dust. It permeated everything. It hung in the air like a fog that would not dissipate. It settled on man and beast; it lay upon the lips, and invaded the mouth. It filled one’s eyes until they were red and raw from the grit. It filled the nostrils, which forced the emigrants to breath through their mouths; which in turn filled their throats with the damnable substance. Even though the wagons were covered and the end flaps securely fastened, the contents were covered with a half inch of dust within days of leaving Westport.
Within the wagons, the children would lie on their backs and watch dust mites dance in and out of the shafts of sunlight that poured in through the small rents and holes in the cotton cover. For a while at day’s end, the women would take great care to remove the dust from their hair, and to shake it off themselves and their clothes. However, by day five, the women, like the men, and the livestock, took the dust in stride. Except for a few short hours after a rainstorm, the dust was a constant on the Trail, along with the long days and the burning heat.
Big Jim had told his charges that each day, no matter the miles covered, at six p.m. the train would halt for the night. The first day the train covered eight miles, a third of what it should have. However, that was to be expected. Big Jim knew he would get sixteen miles covered the next day, and then settle into a routine of twenty-four to twenty-five miles a day. Every seventh day was to be a day of rest, not for the people, but for the animals. The emigrants would work at repairing their wagons and equipment. The emigrants also had to learn how to hitch, and unhitch their wagons in addition to handling the livestock. Most of the people who made up Big Jim’s train of 1850 were easterners, city folk; they were clerks, sellers of dry goods, farmers, just plain folk looking for a better life for themselves and their own.
Jacob and his family were setting up their camp when Big Jim sauntered in, “Saw you folks today, not too bad, but tomorrow we’re doubling the distance covered today. So be prepared. In response, Jacob’s father declared, “Yes sir, we aim to keep up our part, you’ll never have to slow for us.” “Well, that’s just fine Mr. Ariesen, glad to hear it.” With those words, Big Jim ambled to the camp of the Ariesen’s nearest neighbor.
As the second day dawned, Big Jim went from wagon to wagon getting the emigrants moving. He knew after yesterday, the poor souls would rise from their bed upon the ground with the sensation of having battled their way out of perdition. Nevertheless, Big Jim showed no pity towards those he was to lead to the sea; they had another five months of the same, or worse, ahead of them.
The second day went smoother than the first. The train made seventeen miles before stopping for the night. And from the third day onward, Big Jim made damn sure the required twenty-four miles, or more were covered before stopping. However, problems of an individual nature did arise during the first week. Many families had overloaded their wagons, and their teams could not haul such weight, not to mention the strain put upon the wagon wheels. By the third or fourth day, many had come to the realization that personal possessions, even family heirlooms, were not as important as food and the other items that were essential in making this once in a lifetime trek across a continent. As a result, the Trail became littered with trunks holding fine clothing, furniture, wardrobes, and someone even threw out a cast iron stove. Even food had to be jettisoned by families that had over stocked. There were piles of flour and bacon for five miles or more. That part of the trail started to look like a dry goods store once stood upon the spot, and had been blown away by a mighty wind; it was indeed a sorry sight to behold. The Ariesens for their part were traveling light. Their forty square feet of wagon space contained no superfluous items. As trains of the past had done, Big Jim’s train of 1850 left its dross behind on its march to the Promised Land. However, very few of the train that Big Jim headed in 1850 would ever see the Continental Divide, let alone the Promised Lands of California and Oregon.
On the evening of the sixth day Big Jim again went wagon to wagon, informing the emigrants, now that they had learned to manage their livestock, starting that night, and every night subsequent, the wagons would be circled, and not left haphazard for the night as they had been. This was done to provide a corral for the livestock, and not as a precaution against Indian attack. In 1850 there was no danger from Indians, the buffalo had not yet been decimated. Moreover, Indians were seen at the trading post along the Trail, and trading between the emigrants and Indians, while not prevalent, did take place. Prior to 1850, there were a few scattered attacks on trains by Indians, but they were attempts to secure plunder, not to halt the White Man’s ingress into their lands.
It was on the afternoon of the sixth day that the train encountered the buffalo. The herd was as far as the eye could see. It stretched to the horizon and back again. Mile after mile the train passed the great herd. None of the people who made up Big Jim’s train has ever seen such a sight; in fact, very few people had ever seen sixty million animals congregated in one place, not unless they had stood upon the great plains of the American Continent.
The men folk could not wait to get the wagons circled, and take care of the livestock. They were in a hurry to shoot buffalo, not as a food source, but for the sport of it. Most of the men went out that night while the women prepared supper, and slaughtered hundreds of the beast. After each man killed twenty, or thirty buffalo they wearied of the sport, and returned to camp for their supper.
Jacob’s father did not partake of the sport, not because he thought it wrong, but because he did not possess a rifle. As docile as the buffalo were, one still could not walk up to one and shoot it point blank with a pistol, where was the sport in that? Missing out on the sport frustrated Jacob’s father, and at length he resolved to do something about it at the earliest possible moment.
That night as they made camp, Jacob’s father announced to the family that it was high time they got to know their fellow travelers better. “Think after supper I’ll mosey over to the next camp and get better acquainted with Mr. and Mrs. Johnston. Figure we can palaver for a spell, why don’t you join me Jacob. It would be the neighborly thing to do.” “Yes sir,” was Jacob’s only reply.
Supper that evening consisted of boiled rice, coffee, pilot bread, and of course, buffalo meat. After supper, as Mrs. Ariesen and the girls were cleaning up, Jacob and his father walked over to the Johnston camp. As they approached, Mr. Johnston came out to meet them. “Howdy Mr. Areisen, Jacob.” “Howdy yourself Johnston. Thought we’d come over and get better acquainted, seeing as how we’re going to be neighbors, for awhile at least.” “Come on in folks, you know my Mrs., her given name is Clara. And these are our youngsters , Seth, Simon, and Phoebe. Phoebe’s our baby.” “Mighty nice brood you got there Johnston. You’ve seen my girls around. They’re both the apple of their daddy’s eye. The oldest is fifteen, and other is nine. Jacob here hits his majority this summer.” “Why, that’s right nice, congratulations Jacob.” “Thank you sir,” said Jacob.
After a brief visit, and as it was getting late, Jacob and his father bid the Johnston’s a good night. With Jacob’s father saying, “Mighty nice to have met up with you good folks. Come by our camp tomorrow, and I’ll introduce you to the rest of my family.” To which the Johnston’s readily agreed. As Jacob and his father walked back to their own camp, his father said, “We should visit the six other families in our column, get to know everyone; well be needing each other’s support before this trek is done.”
The next day was the first day of rest since leaving Westport. The Ariesen’s wagon was in good repair, so Jacob’s father had plenty of time to search out and meet new friends. For Jacob’s part, he thought he should stay close to camp, and be of help to his mother, if needed. The foreboding that something terrible was going to happen to his mother, and maybe the rest of his family, was still strong within the boy. However, others also could have used some of the prayers he had been saying on his mother’s behalf.
Jacob’s father returned at midmorning and told his family that he and the other men of their column had decided to have one big fire for the noon meal, rather than each family cooking their own dinner. “Everyone is contributing their fair share of chips. We’ll all bring our own food and cook it together. It will give us a chance to know one another a little bit better. Besides the Johnston’s who you know are from New York, there are the Morton’s from New Jersey, the Walters from Pennsylvania, the Winston’s also from New Jersey, and the Blair’s, from New York. Then there’s Garnett and Sutton who are Missourians, or as they are called out here on the plains, pukes. Should be quite a conflux.”
As midday, or the dinner hour, arrived, the families of the second column of Big Jim’s train of 1850, gathered for their first communal meal. The men came carrying bushel baskets of buffalo chips, and the women folk carried the food, and wore their finest habiliments, which they had inveigled their men to fetch from beneath the pounds of food stock in their wagons. Fine clothes were the last thing the women thought they would need on the Trail, so such items were buried deep within the wagons. However, for this particular confluence, and this one time only, the wives wanted to look their finest. Actually only seven of the eight women of the second column wanted to show off their finery. One thought it silly to dress up on the prairie, Jacob’s mother. Jacob’s mother came from sensible Yankee stock. The children, as children do in all times and locales, ran around playing games. The game of the moment was one in which one youngster tossed a buffalo chip, as one would sail a pie tin through the air, to another youngster, who would catch it, and then return it in like manner.
The meal consisted of buffalo meat, boiled rice, coffee, dried fruits and vegetables, and vinegar pickles. The last items were a necessary and essential part of the emigrant’s diet for the prevention of scurvy. Those who did not bring such items usually came down with the disease by the time they reached the mountains. After the meal, the men and the women split into separate camps as humans have done since the beginning of time. The women gossiped about the ladies of the other columns, and the men, in between telling lies to one another, told of their history, and the reasons for them being at that precise location at that moment in time. In other words, the men told each other of their hopes and their dreams.
Jacob’s father did not want anyone to get any ideas, so rather than tell his real reason for going to California, he told the men of his column that he and his family were going to California to find farmland and become farmers. He did not know that California was one of the driest parts of the continent, and that it would be almost half a century before water was brought to the state, and the valleys made fertile. However, he need not have bothered with the lie. His wife had told the other wives the reason for their journey, and they in turn told their husbands. Also, his fear that some would want to go to the gold fields of California was off the mark. No one was going to be dissuaded from their own particular dream, gold, or no gold. Each man had uprooted his family from a safe and relatively secure life for a dream. Come hell or high water that dream was going to be realized. However, other things besides fire and water can keep a man from his dreams. As all of the assembled were shortly to learn.
Later that afternoon when the Ariesen’s returned to their camp, Jacob’s mother and father compared notes, as probably did all the couples; as to what they thought of their traveling, and column companions, and their motivation for making the trek. Jacob’s father started the conversation by stating, “Well, you know Morgan Walters is from Pennsylvania, but did you know he and his family are Quakers?” “Yes, Mrs. Walters told me, and they have four children, two boys, and two girls.” Jacob’s father did not think that information relevant, so he pressed on, “That Jonas Garnett was rather grum I thought.” ”His wife told me they’re going to Oregon looking for farmland.” “That’s what he said all right, but I don’t know, he seems to be hiding something.” And so it went for the rest of the afternoon until it was time to round up the children and start preparing supper.
During the second week on the Trail the emigrants settled into a daily routine of up at five a.m., build a fire, prepare a breakfast of coffee, bacon, and pilot bread; then hitch up their teams to the wagons, break up the circle, and head west. After six hours, the train would stop an hour for a dinner. Usually of coffee, cold beans, and bacon. Then it was westward again until six. By the time the wagons stopped for the night, most of the emigrants were too tired to worry about anything fancy for supper; boiled rice and hardtack usually sufficed. All were fast asleep on the ground by nine. There was no sleeping in the wagons. Wagons were for provisions, not people.
As the days started to stretch into weeks, to break up the monotony of the daily twelve-hour walk, the emigrants not tasked with leading, or driving a team, depending on if the team were oxen, or mules, would walk along with others of their column to talk as the hours and the miles passed. Sometimes the men would attend to the business of moving the team along, allowing the women to walk as a group talking among themselves. At other times, the women handled the team while the men folk palavered about all the places they have never seen, like California and Oregon.
Jacob’s father was lucky in the fact that he had Jacob to help with the team, and being a naturally loquacious man, he got to know his column mates quite well. There was the aforementioned Benjamin Johnston from New York, with his wife Clara, and their three children. He had been a printer. He owned a small printing shop in New York City where people had their handbills, pamphlets, posters, and bookplates printed, and he had specialized in lithography. He had told Jacob’s father in the course of one of their many conversations, “Did you know that in 1768, Jean Baptiste LePrince discovered a way of achieving tone on a copper plate without the hard labor of mizzotinting? His technique …” It was there that Jacob’s father cut him off by saying, “Sounds very interesting Johnston, but I’ve got to get back to my team.”
The view through the shop window never changes, the pedestrians, the horse drawn carts and wagons; it is the same year in, and year out. The shop is sweltering in summer, and in the winter, the ink freezes. Benjamin Johnston has been working on a process to develop lithographic plates so photographs can be printed onto paper. However after two years of trying, the process, even with its many refinements, just will not work. The process will eventually be found to do such printing, but not by Benjamin Johnston, and not for another twenty years. Mr. Johnston owns the shop in which he is working. It is better than working for another, but not by much, what with the rent and the cost of supplies.
It is late in the summer of 1849, when Mr. Johnston throws up his hands in disgust, waves the white flag of surrender, or whatever term takes your fancy. On this steamy, hot August day Benjamin Johnston calls to his wife Clara to come down from their place over the printing shop, he has something he wants to tell her. As Mrs. Johnston walks down the stairs, her husband says, “I am giving up on my process, no one will ever be able to reproduce, and print photographs onto paper. He then adds, “Look at that window. Look at that grime. How many times a week do you have to wash that damn thing?” Misunderstanding her husbands intent, Mrs. Johnston says, “I’m sorry dear, I’ll clean it right away.” “No, no, sweet Clara, that’s not what I meant. I’m just frustrated with the whole set up; the boys have no open spaces in which to play, and they are forced to breathe the dust of the streets. Not to mention the manure effluvium coming off the street, which assaults our olfactory systems relentlessly, and invades the shop and our home. No Clara I’ve had it. I want some land where the boys, and even little Phoebe, can run and play without the fear of being run over by a drunken fish peddler’s horse cart.
Clara Johnston understands her husband well enough to know that he would not be speaking like this if he did not have an idea on how to improve the situation that he now seems to detest so mightily. She had no idea he felt as he does about living in New York. She has never heard her husband speak in such a fashion before; and she replies, being the good wife that she is, “So, what do you have in mind dear?” “I’ve been thinking, there’s land, and plenty of it in Oregon. With what we’ve saved, and what I can get for the shop, we can outfit and make the trek this spring. What do you say?” “I say you are the man of the family, and where you go we will follow.”
That night the family Johnston assembles in their little parlor above the printing shop. Mr. Johnston explains to his two boys, Seth who is eleven, and Simon who is nine, Phoebe is too young to understand the goings on; that in six months time they will take leave of New York City forever, and make a new life for themselves in Oregon. As children are wont to do, the idea of leaving their familiar surroundings repulses them. Seth says he will not leave New York to be dragged across a continent to who knew what. Simon follows his older brother’s lead, and together they swear they will never leave New York City. Mr. Johnston is an old hand at being a father, and simply declares, “This family is Oregon bound, end of discussion.”
It is now the fourth month after putting the shop up for sale. There have been no serious inquiries and Mr. Johnston is starting to fret. Without the income from the sale of the shop, there will not be enough to get to Missouri, outfit once there, and have enough left over to stake them to their new life. This day finds Mr. Johnston turning out some handbills for Barnum’s American Museum, when a man walks into the shop and introduces himself as Thomas Samuels. He inquires if the shop, as he had heard, is indeed for sale.
The upshot is a deal is struck. However, Mr. Samuels wants immediate possession of the shop, and the rooms above it. Because of this turn of events, Mr. Johnson alters the family’s plans and decides to make the journey to St. Louis in the dead of winter. Mr. Johnston believes that relocating to another locale within New York City would seriously deplete the coffers of the family, and that things will be less expensive in Missouri.
The Johnston family spends Christmas day at an inexpensive boarding house in New York City. Train fare is beyond the family’s means, so Mr. Johnston buys a wagon, and, not wanting to walk all the way to St. Louis, as they would have to do if oxen were employed for the journey, a horse is purchased. He knows from printing pamphlets about the Trail that horses are not suited for the trek as are mules, or better yet oxen. However, his thinking is that he will sell, or trade the horse once in St. Louis. The wagon is not covered, but the flimsy covering usually found on farm wagons will not afford much, if any, protection from the cold. There will be time enough to get it covered in Missouri. The cotton covers are no match for rain, or cold, but at least they provide shade from the relentless sun of the prairie.
The family takes their time getting from New York to St. Louis. When the winter wind blows at a frightful pace, the family finds temporary shelter from the blustery weather wherever possible. It takes the family seventy-two days to arrive in St. Louis; they are ensconced in the city on 2 March 1850.
The town is crowded, the streets filled with people bustling this way and that. The streets are dry, the winter run off and the rains have not started as of yet. A dreary little man wearing a tow shirt emerges from the assemblage of people filling the street, approaches Mr. Johnston within moments of the family’s arrival, and asks, “Neighbor, mind if I inquire as to which town you good folks are jumping off from?” To which Mr. Johnston queries, “How did you know we were jumping off from anywhere?” “No offense mister, but you folks got greenhorn written all over ya’. Just wanted to give ya’ a little free advice that’s all. Be leery of Independence and St. Joe, them towns fleece you greenhorns somethin’ terrible. I ain’t tryin’ to sell ya’ nothin’ mister. It’s just I hate to see you emigrants get taken, that’s all.” “Well then, what town do you suggest?” “Ain’t but one town treats you folk right, and that be the town of Westport. Good day neighbor, hope I’ve been of some assistance.” And with that salutation the little man, who is in the employ of the town fathers of Westport, withdraws, and amalgamates back into the array of bodies from which he emerged. Taking the little man’s word as gospel, Mr. Johnston purchases tickets for himself and his family on the “Andy Jackson” for her next trip to Westport Missouri.
Now in Westport, the horse is sold, a team of oxen procured, a covering for the wagon obtained, and provisions purchased. Asking around, Mr. Johnston finds that there is a one and a half, to two months wait before the next train leaves for Oregon, and that train is headed by a man named Jamison Cody. Mr. Johnston finally locates Mr. Cody after a two-day search. They reach an agreement and Mr. Cody is paid his fifty dollars. He in turn tells Mr. Johnston to take his kit, boodle, and family to the staging area north of town and wait. “You’ll know when it’s time to set out,” says Mr. Cody, “the grass and sage will be tall enough to sustain your team.” With that statement, Mr. Cody saunters off to find the nearest grog shop for an Irish hoist.
Mr. Johnston does as he is told, and is one of the first wagons in the encampment. He tells his family that the time spent waiting to leave will be good practice, and ready them for the rigors of the Trail. The month and a half passes quickly, and at the beginning of May, the Johnston family finds itself in the fifth position of column two of Big Jim’s Cody’s train that departed Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
Jacob’s father returned to their wagon and told Jacob he would relieve him from guiding the team. Jacob walked to the back of the wagon where his mother was riding, the girls were out visiting with other members of the column, and climbed up beside her. “How are you doing mother?” “Just fine dear, I only wanted to rest, and get out of the sun for a spell.”
As Jacob sat in the back of the wagon, looking out at the oxen of Morgan Walters, who was next in line, the man himself walked up to the wagon and said, “Afternoon ma’am, howdy Jacob. Just thought I’d go up and chew the fat with Mr. Ariesen for a while.” “Yes sir,” replied Jacob, with his mother adding, “That’s nice, Mr. Walters, and how is Mrs. Walters and the children this day?” “Just fine ma’am, thank you for asking. I’ll tell the Mrs. you were asking about her.” As he finished speaking, he ambled around the wagon and headed towards the team, and Jacob’s father.
When Mr. Walters reached the oxen, he greeted Jacob’s father by saying, “Afternoon Mr. Ariesen, not too hot for you today is it?” “No sir, Mr. Walters, but these days I fear are short in number, June and July’s right around the corner.” “It sure is. You know, I was just speaking with Johnston, seems he was a printer before becoming an emigrant. He was telling me the story of lithography, how it was invented by a Frenchman about sixty years ago. I found his knowledge of the history of printing quite fascinating.” “Yeah, he was telling me some such tale, though I didn’t understand all he was talking about. What was your profession Mr. Walters, if you don’t mind me asking?” “No not at all. I was, and maybe I still am, a saddler.” “Now I find I find that quite interesting. I always wondered how saddles were made.” “If you’d like, I would be happy to tell you right now.” “Sure, I’d like nothing better, and seeing as there’s no place I’ve got to be; I’ve got all the time in the world.” Both men chuckled at Mr. Ariesen's attempt at humor. Then Mr. Walters told of how saddles were made.
“First, you’ve got to build a wooden tree from laminated layers of wood glued together. Then it’s got to be steamed to put the rocker, or curved shape, in it. Now this is the most important step. I always ask the person ordering the saddle what kind of horse it was intended for; different type horses have different back structure. For instance, a gaited horse’s backbone differs from those of other of horses. And when building a saddle for a mule with their down-slopped backs, it’s a real challenge. Then you’ve got to attach the stirrup bars and wrap the tree in the seat area with webbing. Then attach the webbing to billets and sew them together. Mr. Areisen, it’s pretty simple when you know how. The really hard part was keeping up with the specific demands of individual riders. Any questions?” No, I think you explained it pretty well; even a young boy could have followed that. Jacob’s father was thinking that it was too bad he was not a young boy because he sure had the dickens of a time understanding half the words Mr. Walters used. “Think I’ll have Jacob relieve me for a bit, nice talking to you Mr. Walters, if I ever need a saddle I’ll know just how to make one. Want to visit Ed Blair with me?” “No thanks, I’m going to spell my wife for a while.”
Morgan and Emma Walters live in Lancaster Pennsylvania and are descended from good Quaker stock. They have four children, William, the oldest at fifteen, Hattie, twelve, Ella, ten, and Albert six; Morgan and wife Emma along with the aforementioned children comprise the entirety of the Walters household.
It is the winter of 1850, and Morgan Walters is in his workshop, looking out the window at the freshly fallen snow. He thinks to himself that there is probably no finer sight in all of Christendom than virgin snow upon the ground of the countryside. He is working on a special order saddle for Mrs. Quinn. Her daughter’s sixteenth birthday is next week, and along with a horse that is safely hidden in old man Crowley’s barn, this saddle is to be the daughter’s birthday present. Mrs. Quinn is not a bad woman, but her incessant interfering in his work has started Mr. Walters to thinking if there may not be more to life than sitting in a small workshop all day listening to people telling you how to apply your craft.
When he was young, and before he married, his dream had been to sail around the Horn and into unchartered waters. “Where did the years go?” were his thoughts on that winter day. He is thirty-seven years old, owns a good, and prospering business, has the dearest wife in the world, and four wonderful children; but in his heart of hearts, he is lacking. Life has become dull for Morgan Walters.
It is now a week later, the saddle for Mrs. Quinn’s daughter has been delivered, and all thought it his finest work. The snow outside his window is no longer pristine. There are tracks in it, with dirt and mud piled along the sides of those wagon tracks. “Wagon tracks, wagon tracks, that’s it!” thinks Morgan Walters. “We’re going to Oregon, or maybe California. I’ve heard tales about the land just ripe for the taking out west. What an adventure, one in which my whole family can partake. I must speak with Emma about this right away.”
It takes a few days for Morgan to get up the courage to broach the subject with Emma. However, the moment arrives when Emma is tidying up around his shop. Morgan remarks, “You know Emma, I’ve been thinking, don’t you feel that life has turned a little stale for us? I mean the day-to-day drudgery, the routine. Do you know what I’m talking about?” “Morgan Walters, if you have something to say, then say it. Don’t waste both of our time by beating around the bush.” “Emma, you know me like a book.” “Well Mr. Walters, what is on your mind?
“What is on my mind Emma is, I think we should go to Oregon, or maybe California. We can get some land, and I can still make saddles, but they’ll be for working horses. I’ll be able to ply my craft without interference from people who don’t know the first thing about saddle making. Those vaqueros in California just want a well-made saddle. They won’t be coming in for fittings every other day. I hear that saddles have to be brought in by ship, and the cost is exorbitant. There will be a need for my craft as more and more people emigrate out there.” “Just one minute Morgan Walters, I let you have your say, now you hear what I have to say. Are you proposing we uproot our children, our lives, and our livelihood for a dangerous six month odyssey across the continent?” “Well Emma, yes I am.” “This I’ll have to sleep on Morgan. Come, dinner will we ready shortly. Why not close for the day, after dinner we can go for one of those long walks like we used to, remember?” That brings a smile to Mr. Walters’s lips, as he affirms, “Yes, I remember those walks quite well. And I also remember what we did as soon as we were out of sight of your father’s house.” Emma Walters leaves the room blushing. That evening Morgan and Emma take their romantic walk, and by the time they return, Emma has agreed to allow Morgan to fellow his dream.
The time passes swiftly, there are matters to be addressed, outstanding orders have to be completed and delivered; the house put up for sale, and travel arrangements to St. Louis must be made among the myriad other items that need looking after. It is now the Ides of March, and Morgan Walters is in his shop putting the last of the family’s personal items that will not be needed on the journey, into crates that will be shipped ahead to St. Louis in advance of the family’s departure. He has nailed the lids shut on all but one crate, as he is about to do so, in walks his good friend Hiram George. He is carrying a rifle and a box of ammunition. “Morning Hiram.” “Morning Morgan. I see you are just about ready to depart.” “Well, not just yet, not for another ten days. These crates are going ahead of us. The trek from here to St. Louis is no walk in the park; I figure it’s best to travel light.” “Reckon you’re right. By the by, I know your thoughts on violence, being a Quaker and all, but there are savages out on the plains where you’ll be traveling. You might be called upon to defend Emma and the children. I knew you don’t have a gun, so I brought you this.” With those words, Mr. George holds out the rifle horizontally in both hands and offers it to his friend Morgan. At first, Morgan is dumbfounded; he does not know what to say. The good people of his community know his views on firearms and their use. However, the man before him is offering something of great value out of the goodness of his heart, to refuse it, would also be against his religious precepts. Morgan accepts the gun with heartfelt gratitude, and places it, and the ammunition, into the last open crate before nailing it shut.
Today is the day of departure for the Walters family. They will travel by train to its terminus, and from there, travel by coach to St. Louis. The railroad company has just instituted a coach service from where the rails end at the West Virginia boarder, to St. Louis. It will operate for sixty days a year to accommodate the people flocking to Missouri each spring. It is a new service and not widely touted as of yet, very few people know of it. However, it is only for train passengers, and it is very expensive.
The Walters family arrives in St. Louis on 7 April 1850. As with all newly arrived emigrants to St. Louis, a jumping off town must be chosen. Because Independence and St. Joseph are more widely known, Morgan chooses Westport as their point of departure, as their jumping off town. He thinks it will be less crowded; the crowds of St. Louis annoy him.
As with many an emigrant before them, the Walters start their trek west on the “Andy Jackson.”Once in Westport, Morgan learns that Big Jim Cody is the man to see concerning arrangements for the trek west. When Cody and Morgan meet, and the financial matters are settled, Big Jim advises Morgan as to what provisions will be needed, and what type of wagon and team to purchase.
It takes the Walters family five days to secure the required items and livestock. On 17 April 1850, the family starts for the staging encampment. Thus, the family Walters found themselves in the fourth position, of the second column, of Big Jim Cody’s train that departed Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
Jacob’s father walked to the back of the wagon and told Jacob he was going to visit Ed Blair, three wagons back, “So you handle the neat for awhile.” “Yes sir.” As he conveyed the acceptance of his task, Jacob climbed down from the wagon and proceeded westward toward the oxen.
Jacob’s father in the meantime had reached his destination of the Blair wagon. “Howdy Mr. and Mrs. Blair, thought I’d stop in for a visit.” “Glad to have ya’, intoned Mr. Blair from beside his team.”” Yes indeed Mr. Ariesen,” chimed in Mrs. Blair from up on the driver’s seat. “Thought I’d walk along with you for a spell.” “That would be nice,” replied Mrs. Blair. “So, Mr. Blair how are you and yours doing?” “Fair to middling.” “You know, I’ve just been talking to Johnston and Walters, good folk they are.” “From what little contact I’ve had with them, I’d have to agree.”
Jacob’s father continued, “They’ve been telling me of their work. Johnston was a printer, and Walters made saddles for a living.” “You don’t say? What did you do before coming on this trek Mr. Ariesen?” “Me, I was a jack of all trades, you know, and a master of none.” Both men enjoyed a hearty chuckle over that bit of wisdom.
“So, what’s your profession Mr. Blair, if I might ask?” “Of course you may, but I was nothing special. I worked for a rich man in Albany New York. I was a coachman; actually, I was the Head Coachman. My wife Polly worked for the household also. She was the housekeeper. She had charge of all the female servants, ‘cepting the lady’s maid, nurse, and cook. She ran a tight household, in fact, she ran two tight households, ours included.
“A coachman you say? What exactly does a coachman do? Just drive the coach from point to point?” “Well, it’s a bit more than that. I was Head Coachman, and there was a second coachman. The way it works is I drove the coach with the two horses, and the second drove the coach that used only one horse.” Sounds like a sweet set-up,” interjected Jacob’s father. “Yeah, but being a servant kind of wears one’s soul. Know what I mean?” “I reckon so.” “I had a lot of responsibility. I was in charge of the stables and the grooms. But, with the responsibility comes some advantages. We had a suite of rooms above the stables. It wasn’t a bad life, but a man’s got to stretch out. Go for the prize. You know what I mean? “Sure I do, we all are going for the prize” answered Jacob’s father before saying, “Tomorrow’s our day of rest, or perhaps I should say the livestock’s day of rest. Why don’t we convene another community meal? We can palaver more then.” Sounds like we think alike Mr. Ariesen, I’ll inform the Mrs. You want to invite the other members of our column?” “Hell yes! We’ve got to cement ourselves; we still got months and months ahead of us. We’ve got to pull together.” “Okay Mr. Ariesen, we’ll see you for dinner tomorrow afternoon.”
It is 17 April 1844; the rain falls hard into the coachman’s eyes making it difficult to see the road ahead. He would have slowed long ago if he and the horses did not know the road so well. The coach goes into a pothole, the second time in as many minutes, which brings a tapping from inside the coach. It is the master telling the coachman to watch for, and avoid the potholes. It is a well-worn code between master and servant. The master does not like to be jarred about in his fine coach.
The master is Samuel Courtland of Courtland and Taylor, the textile enterprise. By 1850, he will employ over 2000 workers in factories both here in America and in England. Ninety-seven percent of his employees are women, who he pays an average of ninety cents a week. That is how he is able to own such a fine coach and have the services of not one, but two coachmen.
As the coach pulls up in front of the house, the master does not wait for the coachman to alight from his seat and open the coach door. He opens his own door, steps out into the rain, and runs for the dryness of the portico, stopping just long enough to shout to the coachman, “That’s all for tonight. Be here at 9:00 a.m. sharp; and without further comment, the master vanishes into the house.
The coachman’s duties are far from over for the night. First, he must bring the coach and horses to the stable courtyard where he and a groom will unhitch the team and put them in the stable. Then he and the groom will push the coach into its home, a small barn-like building. Then the groom will attend to the horses, drying them off and feeding them. Edward, the coachman, will have to clean the coach inside and out, for it must always be pristine when the master steps into it. When Edward’s work is finally finished for the night, he will trudge up the stairs that lead to the rooms he and his wife Polly inhabit above the stables.
Though late, Polly awaits her husband’s return with a pot of hot cocoa to warm him on this cold and damp night. As Edward enters their front room, Polly inquires, “How did Mr. Courtland’s meeting go?” “Based on his mood, I’d have to say not well.” “Come, have some cocoa, it’ll warm you. And get out of those wet clothes; you’ll catch your death.” “Yes dear, hold the cocoa, I’ll be back as soon as I change.”
When Edward returns he has a strange look in his eyes that Polly notices immediately. She asks, “Is there anything wrong dear?” “Let me sit down and have some cocoa, and marshal my thoughts; and I’ll tell you what I’ve been thinking for some time now.” Polly does not press, but instead pours out the cocoa for her husband, sits back down, and takes up her darning while waiting to hear what her husband has to say.
As Edward drains the last of his cocoa, he puts the cup down and says, “Polly, I don’t know about you, but I dislike being a servant. “Yes dear, but times being as they are we are lucky to have a roof over our heads, and we both have good jobs.” “Well, it’s just not good enough. I mean when I was younger I didn’t mind the bowing n’ scraping. But I’m thirty years old now, and I’ve made up my mind that within a few, a very few, years I, I mean we, are going to improve our lot in life.”
Polly knows better than to interrupt Edward once he starts talking on a subject he is passionate about, so she holds her tongue for the time being, and allows Edward to continue. “This is what I was thinking Polly. You heard tell of the emigrants going to Oregon and California where the land is free? Well, that’s what we’re going to do. I’ve been asking around, if we saved every penny, we could have enough to buy the needed necessities, and then join with other families on the trek west. What do you think Polly?”
This is what she had been waiting for; Edward always asked her opinion once he had given his. She expresses her thoughts thusly, “It may take some getting used to, however, seeing as we have no children yet, it may be a good thing. We’re both young and strong, the journey shouldn’t bother us none. Then when we raise our family it would be as our own masters. Yes Edward, the more I think of it, the better your idea sounds.” So, starting this night, 17 April 1844, the Blair’s start to save for the journey of a lifetime.
It is now the evening of 30 October 1845. Edward paces frantically in the stable courtyard, aided by two grooms. Upstairs in their rooms, Polly is more than heavy with child; she is about to, with the help of the downstairs maid and the nurse, deliver the couple’s first child.
The call soon comes down from the railing outside his front door, “It’s a boy Mr. Blair, a fine healthy boy!” Edward thinks that is great news indeed, but the only words out of his mouth are, “And Polly, how is she doing?” “Fine Mr. Blair, just fine. Why don’t you come up and see her and your son in about fifteen minutes. We’ll be ready for you then.” Edward turns to the two grooms who had weathered the crisis with him, as all new fathers think of a birth as, and shakes their hands.
It is a few days before Edward stops to think of Polly’s words of seventeen months previous. “… Seeing as we have no children …,” Edward wonders if having the child will make a difference to Polly’s resolve to make the trek. It takes him three months to broach the subject with her. He starts by saying, “How is little Aaron today?” “He’s doing just fine; my, he gets bigger and bigger every day. I never thought babies grew so fast. And he gets to look more like you all the time.”
That tact got him nowhere, so Edward has to come right to the point. “Polly, remember when we decided to go to Oregon and you said because we had no children you thought it a good idea?” “Yes Edward I remember.” “Has Aaron’s birth changed your mind about going?” “I have been waiting for you to bring up the subject, you silly man. To answer your question, yes, it does make a difference. We figure on having enough saved by next year, but I think putting an infant through the rigors of crossing a continent would be cruel. When Aaron is three we will go. Do you agree?” “Yes, yes, I thought you might have changed your mind about the entire venture.” “No dear, let’s keep saving, and we’ll just have that much more to start our new life when we do leave.” As Polly says these words, Edward is filled to overflowing with love for her.
It is a very cold February day. It looks like snow, but it has not fallen as of yet. Once again, we find Edward Blair pacing the stable courtyard. This time however he is alone. It is much too cold for anyone to join him. Edward is shortly put out of his misery, when the call comes from on high, “It’s another boy Mr. Blair.”
Once again, the trek is postponed. The second son, Isaac, will be three when the family finally starts for St. Louis. Because of the added waiting period, Edward has found and read pamphlets about the Trail. He is intrigued with the jumping off cities. Without really knowing why, Edward chooses Westport as their initial destination. The Blair’s make Westport on 20 April 1850. And on the first of May, they find themselves, sixth position of the second column of Big Jim Cody’s train that departed Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
After three weeks on the Trail, during the third day of rest, the members of the second column met for noontime dinner. The women were the first to arrive at the large encirclement that was to be their cooking fire. The men and boys were out collecting chips. As the women waited or the men folk to return, they talked among themselves. Mrs. Winston sat next to Jacob’s mother, and after an initial hesitation she said, “How are you folks finding the Trail?” “Oh, it’s not so bad,” declared Jacob’s mother. “I understand you folks are from Concord Massachusetts.” “Yes, and where pray tell was your home before leaving it?” “Oh we’re from a small town in New Jersey, Parsippany is its name. My husband worked in the local, or as you good folk from New England refer to them, the public house. “Mrs. Winston.” “Please call me Martha that’s my given name.” “Well Martha, I was just thinking that you and your husband are so young, and I notice you have no children; what made you pack up and leave?” “John, that’s my husband, was very unhappy with his work. The late nights, the drunken revelry night after night, just took its toll on him. We decided two years ago to make this trek. We just had to save enough for outfitting.” Just as Mrs. Winston had finished, her husband walked up with a bushel basket filled with buffalo chips. “Hi Martha, howdy Mrs. Ariesen.” “John, I was just telling Mrs. Ariesen why we left New Jersey.” “Oh yeah, well, we couldn’t leave there soon enough to suit me,” exclaimed her husband.
The smoked filled room with its raucous laughter and the incessant drone of many men speaking at once is more than John Winston can stand this night. He is twenty-three, and has been working in this tavern since he was eighteen. It is the evening of 3 July 1848 and the men seem to have a head start on the Independence Day celebration. If he was not recently married, and a man of responsibilities, he would walk out the front door, never to return.
Later, after cleaning up the dross of the night, John bids the owner of the tavern good evening and walks the half mile to the little house he shares with his bride of six months. Martha is waiting up for him as she does every night. They are very much in love, as are all newlyweds. As John enters the house Martha notices the worn look on his face. She asks, “John is there anything the matter? You look drawn.” “I’m all right Martha, it’s just that I can’t seem to stomach working down at the local any longer. I’d like a job that doesn’t entail cleaning up the swill of drunkers every night.” Well John what do you have in mind?” “I don’t yet know, but Martha, I promise you this, before another year has passed we’ll be in different circumstances.”
It is now three months later and John has not found a way out of his unhappiness with his lot in life. It is November 1848 the harvest moon is the brightest John has ever seen. Its beams shine through the front window and are highlighted by the dim light and smoke in the room. The moonlight falls upon a man sitting at the table by the window. He is a solitary figure among the many men engaged in having a good time. He looks, and gives, the impression of being a gentleman. John has never seen him before, but for some unknown reason he feels he must speak with the man who sits alone in front of the window bathed in moonlight.
As John serves drinks to the other patrons, he keeps a watchful eye on the man. The man has only ordered one ale, and has barely sipped at it in the last half hour. In spite of his natural reserve, John approaches the table to inquire if he may replenish the man’s drink. John knows the ale glass is practically full, but he wants to speak to the gentleman, why, he does not know. He is drawn to the man as a moth to flame.
“Sir, may I offer you another ale?” “No thank you sonny, this will do for now.” However, upon hearing the refusal John does not turn and leave. The man noticing the reluctance of the boy to depart asks, “Yes what is it? What are you looking at?” “I’m sorry sir, but there is something about you … I don’t know what it is. But I feel I either know you, or you have something of great importance to impart to me.” The man says nothing he just sits looking at John. Until John says, “I’m sorry, it’s been a long night. If you wish nothing else I’ll leave you to your thoughts.” “No! Don’t go, please sit, and stay a while.” “Again, I am sorry sir. The proprietor does not allow me to sit with paying customers. “Nonsense boy. You do as I tell you, now sit. I’ll handle the any trouble that arises.” “Yes sir.” As John sits down, the stranger says. “So, you think you know me, or that I’m some kind of messaging angel sent here to impart the wisdom of the ages to you? Don’t bother answering boy I’m only funnin’ with you. My name’s Jess Clanton from Westport Missouri. I’m in the dry goods business. Just been up to New York setting up new sources of supply. My train came off the tracks a while ago. So, while they get things straighten out, thought I’d mosey on over here and be comfortable.”
In 1848 a train derailing was a common occurrence, and because of the slow speed was not as catastrophic as they would later become.
Clanton continued, “ What’s you handle son?” “John sir, John Winston.” “You’re a young lad, what’s your dream in life? I always ask the young ones that. I wanna’ see if it matches mine when I was your age.” “Well sir, I don’t rightly know. I’m just married.” “Congratulations.” “Thank you sir, but I’m looking to better myself so I’ll be a better provider, and someday a better father.” “So, you’ve got no idea how to go about ‘bettering yourself’?” “No sir.” “Have you ever heard of Oregon, and the Oregon Trail?” “I think so. I know Oregon is out California way. But what is the Oregon Trail?” “Son the Oregon trail is opportunity a knockin’ at your door. Every spring emigrants flock to Westport and use it as their jumping off point to adventure and riches, not to mention a new life. Did you know that there is land for the taking in Oregon? Or, if you go to California the government will give you a quarter section for each member of you family? Free land boy, free land!” “So, how do I get some of this free land?” “Just by goin’ there and claiming it for yourself.” “How do I get there, by ship? I couldn’t afford that, and besides isn’t it a year’s journey by sea to California? That much I know.” “No son, we’re talkin’ about the Trail. The California-Oregon Trail. You ain’t never heard of it?” “Hardly not sir.” “Okay, there are men who will guide you across the continent, for a fee. But first you’ll need a wagon, a team, and provisions for about five to six months. Then you just go and get yourself some land. Look here boy, if you ever decide to follow the sun, use Westport as your jumping off point. Then come and see me at Clanton’s Dry Goods Emporium, it’s the biggest in Westport. I’ll outfit you properly, and I’ll help you with your other needs as well. No charge for that, only the dry goods. Think it over boy. I’ve got to go now. They must have that damn contraption back on the tracks by now.” With those words, the stranger who calls himself Jess Clanton takes his leave of John Winston.
John cannot wait for the closing bell to clang. He wants to get to Martha and tell her the news. They are going to California and become farmers. When he reaches his home, John is so excited about the venture, his enthusiasm transfers to Martha. They haven’t much money, and rather then wait while the needed funds were skimped and saved, they with the audacity of youth, decide to work their way to Westport.
Within a month, they start south. The plan is to travel until the money runs out, then stop and work until they saved enough to continue the journey. They are young and do not think about what awaits them at journey’s end. It takes the Winston’s fourteen months to arrive in Westport. The date is 2 March 1850. They have managed to save almost two hundred dollars along the way.
Their first stop is Jess Clanton’s dry goods store. It is the busy time of the year for Westport, and Jess Clanton is taking care of customers for the better part of an hour before there is a lull in the traffic and John has an opportunity to approach Mr. Clanton. “Hello sir, do you remember me? I’m John Winston.” Clanton looks up from what he’s doing, looks John up and down, from head to toe, and says, “No, don’t reckon I can place you.” “Up in Parsippany last year, at the local when your train came off the tracks, you said you’d help me get outfitted for the trek west.”
After a moment’s hesitation Clanton declared, “God sakes almighty, you were a boy, you’ve sure grown a tad since I last saw you.” “Yes sir. I’d like you to meet my wife Martha. Martha this is Mr. Clanton, the man I’ve been telling you about.” “Glad to meet you little lady, welcome to Westport.” Thank you sir,” replied Martha. Jess Clanton then tells one his clerks that he will be gone for a short while, and says to the Winston’s “Come on folks let’s us get some coffee.”
Once seated in the nearest flapjack establishment, and the coffee ordered, Jess Clanton says to John, “Well, you took my advice, so now I reckon I’m kinda’ responsible for you. How much money you folks have?” “Nearly two hundred dollars sir.” “Not enough, but close. Your oxen are goin’ cost you about sixteen dollars each, and about the same for their yokes. Then you’ll need a wagon and provisions to fill it. You two young folks seem to have enough grit so there’s no problem there. You can stay with me until we get you outfitted, then you can get your ‘sea legs’ under you at the staging camp. John, you look healthy enough, you can work at the store to help pay for the provisions. Don’t you young folk worry, we’ll get you started westward. By the way, tonight you’ll meet my brother-in-law, I married his sister; he’s the man that will be talking you west. His name is Jamison Cody, Big Jim to his friends, of which he has many. He has a train leaving in about two months. I think we can even get Jim to waive payment in your case. We’ll just call it a family courtesy.
Which is how John and Martha Winston found themselves in the eighth position of the second column at the start of Big Jim Cody’s train that departed Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
Jacob walked up just as John Winston stopped speaking, and addressed his mother, “Is there anything I can get for you?” “No dear, I was speaking with the Winston’s; why not invite the Garnett’s to join us? They seem a bit shy, always keeping to themselves.” Jacob responded with, “Yes mother, right away.”
The Garnett’s had quite the little horde with them. Besides Jonas and his wife Mary, they had five children, ranging in age from eighteen to five years. First, there was Abigail who at eighteen was the oldest. Then Jonas junior at fifteen, Elisabeth eleven, Alexander nine, and Virginia, the baby, at five years of age.
Jacob approached their camp and spoke to Mr. Garnett, “The folks over at the big fire would like you to join them.” Mrs. Garnett smiled and started to say something when Jonas cut her off saying, “That’s right neighborly of ya’ folks, but we attended the last one. We ain’t much for mixin’ with folk. No offense son, that’s just be us.”
Jacob, from the first time he spoke with Jonas Garnett felt that he was a troubled man. And being the person he was, Jacob thought it his Christian duty to see, if in some small way, he might be of help. “Well sir, I kind of agree with you. There’s just too many people over there. Mind if I join you for a while?” This time Mrs. Garnett spoke before her husband could say anything, “Yes. We’d love to have you. Can you stay and have dinner with us?” To his credit, Garnett said nothing, he just busied himself building the fire. In way of reply, Jacob stood, walked over to where he had left his basket of chips, picked them up, carried them over to the Garnett’s camp, and handed them to Jonas Garnett, saying, “I understand you folks are from Missouri, where abouts?” Garnett ignored him, pretending to be busy stacking the chips. So it was up to Mrs. Garnett to answer Jacob’s query. “We’re from Columbia. It’s in the middle of the state, half way between St. Louis and Kansas City. We was tenant farmin’ until my husband thought we should better ourselves for the children’ sake. He didn’t want them growing up poor like us.”
Jacob thinks about what he had just heard, then asks, “Is tenant farming really that tough?” This is more than Garnett can bear, he interjects, “Boy, you don’t know what tough is till you break your back farmin’ forty acres and at the end of the year, year after year, you got nothin’ to show for it. The deal was the owner and I would split the proceeds fifty-fifty at the end of the year. He would supply the land and the money needed for plantin’ the crop, and we was to supply the labor. But when you don’t own title to the crops themselves, and ya’ git cheated every year, there’s nothin’ ya’ can do ‘cept swallow ya’ pride and take what’s given ya’. We was robbed every year for fifteen years straight!”
The man stands in the middle of the half-plowed field. He stands behind a mule, and harnessed to the animal is a plow. The man is also harnessed to the animal, and to the plow. The sun that beats down upon him is unforgiving. Sweat pours from his face. Over the years the sun has turned the man’s skin a dark brown, and it has aged his face, so that he looks older than he is. It is a hard face.
The man has been in the field since before sunup. He knows from the position of the sun that his woman will soon be calling him to his noon meal, but he wants to turn one more row before stopping. He must get the crop planted; he already has lost a week because of the rains. He walks behind the mule and plow thinking, ”Here I am, forty-two years of age, and not a red cent to my name that I can call my own. Hell, this mule, this plow, even the house I live in belong to another man. A man that robs me every year, and if I should say anything, or call him out on it, me and mine would be tossed off this land faster than ya’ can say ‘Jack Robinson’.” As he nears the end of the row, the man hears his woman calling him to dinner.
The man enters the house and the smell of freshly baked bread assaults his olfactory senses, which reminds him of his childhood, and in spite of himself, he smiles. Hearing him enter, his woman comes out of the kitchen and suggest he wash up, adding, “I’ve made you some lemonade to cool you down, I know how hot is out there for you. It’s on the table; dinner will be ready in a minute.”
The man walks through the kitchen and out the door to the pitcher and basin located on the back porch. He bends his head down over the basin, picks up the pitcher of water, and pours it over his head. Then, grabbing the cake of soap to his right, and using the water in the basin, he washes his hands and face. Once the washing ritual is done, the man tosses the spent water and soap onto the dry, brown soil that encompasses the house. He reenters the kitchen, takes a seat at the kitchen table, and pours himself a glass of lemonade.
His woman places his dinner before him, and sits down facing her man before saying, “All right Jonas what’s on your mind? You haven’t been yourself for months, and that look on your face is enough to scare the bejeebers outta’ ‘ol Mr. Scratch himself. What is it dear?” “It’s just I’m plum tuckered out, that’s all.” “Look at me Mr. Garnett. It’s me, Mary, your wife. I can read you like a book. Now let’s have it.”
Jonas looks at his wife, smiles, and says, “Okay, it’s just this; we’ve been tenantin’ this farm for near on fifteen years, and where’s it got us? We don’t own anymore today than we did the day we was married. And now we got a flock of offspring to consider. Miller, he keeps us just poor enough so I have ta’ keep on workin’ for him. He knows there’s nothin’ I can do, we need this house. If not for it, where would we be? Lately I’ve been figurin’ out how much we’ve been cheated over the years by that no account, mudsill Miller. I figure it’s about eight hundred dollars, eight hundred and seventy-five as near as I can reckon. With that money, we could go to Oregon, git us some land of our own and git a new start. Our children would have it better than what life handed us. And you Mary, if we stay here much longer, you’ll wither and die before your time, what with your duties here, and what ya’ do up to the big house to help ends meet.”
Jonas Garnett was not a man of long and fiery speeches. His wife had not heard him so passionate in a very long time. After reflecting on what he said, his wife says, “Yes Oregon would be wonderful for the children, but where would we get whether all to get there?” “I’ve been a thinkin’ on that too, I figure we’ve owed somethin’ from Miller. And I aims to git it, and I don’t give a jugful on how’s I git it.”
The date is 13 November 1849, Jonas Garnett’s crop has been harvested, and as in years past, the crop is handed over to the titleholder, Miller. As Miller surveys the wagons filled with the product of another man’s labor, he turns to his tenant and exclaims, “Hot damn, Jonas, this has indeed been a bumper year all right! You sure got the touch, but I tell you that every year. However, it doesn’t make it any less true. See you in a week to ten days with your share of the proceeds. Of course, you know that there have been added expenses, like when little Virginia took sick. The doctor wasn’t cheap, but we did what needed doing.”
Garnett knew that the doctor was a friend of Miller’s, and had not charged him. It was at that instant that Jonas Garnett knew for certain where he was going to get the money to leave his indentured servitude behind.
It is now 27 February 1850. The time is 11:20 p.m. and there is no moon. Jonas Garnett is walking on the road that leads from the house he occupies to the big house owned, and lived in, by Miller. A few years ago, and quite by accident, Jonas discovered where Miller hid his assets. It was just before Christmas 1847. Miller had asked Jonas if he would like to earn a little extra money building a bookcase for his study. Being as how it was Christmas time, Jonas readily accepted the commission.
While installing the bookcase he stepped upon a loose floorboard. Thinking he might repair it and maybe earn an additional fifty cents, Jonas probed the loose board, and that is when it sprung open to reveal the treasure that lay beneath. Under the floorboard lay a steel box twelve inches long, half as wide, and six inches deep. Out of curiosity, Jonas withdrew the box to inspect its contents, if any. The cash and gold coins that stared back at him start his heart a racing. Not at the sight of so much currency and gold, but because he feared if anyone were to walk in at that moment they would think him a thief; He hastily put the box back in its original resting place, and replaced the floorboard. That was almost three years ago.
Jonas arrives at the big house and finds it silent and dark, as he expected. He goes to the study window and opens it to affect his ingress. Once inside he knows just where to go and what has to be done. The floorboard is still loose and the box is still hidden within. Jonas lifts the box from its hiding place and opens it. It is too dark to see what is inside, and that is important. For Jonas Garnett is not a thief, he has come only to extract what is rightfully his. He had the foresight to bring a small tallow dip with him, and this he lights. Since his last tally of eight hundred and seventy-five dollars, Jonas has figured that Miller cheated him out of an addition seventy-five dollars for this year’s crop, which makes the total owed nine hundred and fifty dollars. He has brought a piece of paper with him, on that paper is written the amount taken, and why, he plans to leave it in the box.
Jonas takes the paper money in hand, counts out nine hundred and fifty dollars, and puts the remaining currency back into the box. He is just about to place his receipt in the box when he thinks better of it. “It may be days, or even weeks before the money is missed. We’ll need time to get to St. Louis, and then to a jumping off town. Once on the Trail I don’t give a dang who know about it. It’s my money. I earned it by the sweat of my brow, and it was stolen from me by Miller. Let any man say different!” He puts the receipt back into the pocket from whence it came, closes the lid of the box, returns it to its place of rest, and replaces the floorboard. He is out of the big house and home in bed within a half an hour.
Jonas Garnett chose Westport to jump off from because it was the furthest town from Columbia that would satisfy his needs. This is how the Garnett’s, Jonas and Mary, along with their children, Abigail, Jonas Jr., Elizabeth, Alexander, and little Virginia ended up in the first position of the second column of Big Jim Cody’s train that departed from Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
As Jacob sat at the Garnett’s fire, and as Mrs. Garnett and Abigail prepared the food, he spoke with the Garnett children, especially Jonas Jr. “Well Jonas what are you going to do when you get to Oregon?” “Me and my father are goin’ start a farm. He says we’re goin’ be gentleman farmers.” “Sounds nice, do you know what you’ll be raising?” “Naw, not yet, he says we’ve got to git there first. You know, git to know the lay of the land.”
Just then dinner was called. As Jacob sat with the Garnett’s, his gaze kept settling on Abigail. She was a comely lass with beautiful, rich and dark, black hair that fell over her shoulders. To Jacob, it was the most telling thing about her, except maybe her eyes. They kept changing color, from a hazel to a dark green, to a honey yellow, depending on if she faced the sun or not. Within those jade colored orbs, Jacob detected a woman much older, much wiser, than her given age of a score, less two.
When dinner was finished, Jacob thanked the Garnett’s and bade them a good afternoon. He then walked over to the big fire and sat down beside his mother and father. Looking up from sewing a patch on one of his sister’s dresses, his mother asked, “How are the Garnett’s? Did you enjoy your meal with them?” “Yes mother, they are very nice people, even Mr. Garnett, once he lets his guard down.” At that point Jacob’s father chimed in, “I don’t know, seems there’s something off there.” To which Mrs. Ariesen replied, “Mr. Ariesen, where is your Christian love for your fellow man.”For once, Mr. Ariesen had no reply.
The people who had no repairs to attend to, were milling about the large fire talking to one another. It was a nice respite from the previous six days of the drudgery of the Trail and its never ending dust. Jacob’s father was fighting with a hoe-cake, trying to keep it on the end of a stick, and at the same time hold it over the fire without it falling off into the fire. He was also trying to get it cooked without burning it. He did not have much luck with hoe-cakes, he usually burnt the outside to a nice even black in color, while the inside stayed doughy and uncooked. However, this day he intended to get one of the little buggers cooked, and cooked correctly, if it killed him. He was so intent with his battle concerning the hoe-cake, he did not notice when Nate Morton walked up and sat down. “Afternoon Mr. Ariesen, Mrs. Ariesen, Jacob.” After the members of the Ariesen clan responded in kind, Mr. Ariesen said, “Sorry, didn’t see you come up. How’s the Mrs.?” “She is just fine. She’s over there speaking with Mrs. Sutton. Where are your lovely daughters?” “They’re around here somewhere. I think they fell in love with the little Blair boy. You know females, no matter what, they’re goin’ mother something.” “Reckon you’re right.”
As the battle raged between Jacob’s father and the hoe-cake, Nate Morton looked on. Finally he said, “I kind of wish it would rain, at least that way it would cut down on the dust for a while.” Jacob’s father was so preoccupied with keeping his bread on the stick, and not letting it fall into the fire, it took him a moment to respond to Nate’s comment. But finally he said,” Big Jim tells me the storms out here on the plains can be pretty tough. The wind, the lightning, he said he’s seen hail as big as man’s fist. That could do some serious damage to our wagons, at least to our covers. But I know what you mean about the damn dust. I must have swallowed at least a pound of it in the last three weeks.” As Jacob’s father finished speaking, he withdrew his bread, and it was burnt black as usual. As he threw it into the fire, with a soft “damn” under his breath, he turned to Nate Morton and said, “Mr. Morton …” “Call me Nate, everyone does.” “Okay Nate, I see you’re traveling with another man. How’d you and him end up here on the trail?” “He’s by brother-in-law, my wife’s brother. We went into this venture together. He’s all right, I like him.” “Just a second Nate, let me get another hoe-cake. I’m going get one of these damn things cooked if I got to stay here all night.”
The date is 9 September 1849. It is a cold and blustery day as the men with the block and tackle pull and heave the stone figure that is to adorn the edifice before them. The wind is of such a high velocity that the load, as heavy as it is, sways back and forth at a twenty-degree angle.
When the load is three quarters of the way up the building, and almost to its perch, the knot on the line suspending it slips. The almost one half ton of limestone comes hurling to earth and crashes not twelve inches from one of the men, who until a moment ago, was lifting the now smashed gargoyle into place.
The man’s co-workers rush to him, and one exclaims, “Nate, you all right? That damn thing missed you by a cat’s whisker!” The man’s name is Nathaniel (Nate) Morton. He is thirty-seven years old and a fixer mason. A fixer mason is one whose job it is to lift accouterments, such as gargoyles, saints, or what have you, to the top of new buildings. Which seem to be sprouting up everywhere in Newark these days. Once the piece is in place a fixer mason affixes it with mortar and grout. Nate has been a “fixer” for nine years. Prior to that, he was a quarryman, splitting the rock and removing it from the earth. His dream, up until a moment ago, was to become a banker mason, one that does the carving of the statues in a workshop. However, the near miss has crystallized something forming inside of him for a long time.
Now that the statue is no more, the men decide to call it quits for the day, and go home early. When Nate arrives home, his wife Rebecca (Becky) is alarmed, she asks, “You didn’t lose your job did you?” To which Nate replies, “What makes you think that?” “Well, you’ve been sort of moody lately, and I had a feeling it had something to do with your work.” Marveling at the astuteness of his wife, Nate answers her question. “No, I didn’t lose my job, we quit early because there was an accident, and the statue we were to place on the Bonner Building was destroyed. He decides not to tell Becky about the nature of the accident, he does not want worry her needlessly. “But you are right; I am frustrated with my work. Eight long years breaking my back in the quarry, and now almost ten years hauling tons of rock up to the top of buildings, I am not a young man anymore.”
In an effort to change the subject, Nate asks, “Where are the girls?” Nate and Becky have two beautiful daughters, Mattie who is nine years old, and Carrie who is six. Becky tells Nate, “They’re out with Ham. Ham is Hamilton Richards, Becky’s brother. He works as a clerk for the City of Newark, in the roads and public works department.
Knowing her man a well as she does, Becky does not press the matter of Nate’s dissatisfaction. Instead, she tells him to go and wash up, then relax while she prepares dinner. Then she thinks of a better plan, “Why not go down to the local and have an ale, and on your way back you can stop in at Harriman’s bakery, and get something sweet for desert.” Nate, thinking that is a capital idea, readily agrees, and without stopping to wash up, leaves for the local.
Just outside the front door, Nate runs into his brother-in-law who has in tow, Mattie and Carrie. Or, it may be the other way around, Nate is not exactly sure. “Hello daddy,” the girls say in unison. “Hello girls, why not go inside and help mother with dinner? I want to speak with Uncle Ham for a while. The girls being the well-behaved little girls they are, assent to their father’s wish without delay, and without comment. As soon as the girls are in the house, Nate turns to his brother-in-law and says, “Come with me, let’s go have an ale and talk.” Now Hamilton Richards, if nothing else, was a man who never refused an offer of liquid libation.
When they had entered the drinking establishment, ordered their ales, and seated themselves at a table in the corner of the room, Ham says,” You look vexed, is there anything wrong?” “No, it’s nothing like that. It’s just that I’m unhappy with my work. Down at the shop they tell me to be patient, that my time will come, but I know every banker in that shop has at lest another ten or twelve years left in him. And, I’m sure as hell not going to be hauling stone up the side of buildings when I’m nearing my fiftieth year. No sir, it’s not going to happen.”
After taking a long pull on his ale, his brother-in-law, in the form of a reply to a question that was not asked, says, “I’ve been on the same train you’re on. Those sons of bitches down at the department ain’t dying fast enough to suit me. Hell, I’ll be well along in my dotage before I’m offered advancement.” With that statement, the two men sat in silence drawing on their ales.
Suddenly, Ham slaps his open palm down hard upon the table, jarring Nate out of thoughtful contemplation, and announces, I got it; I know where a man can be his own man, where there is free land just waitin’ to be claimed. Nate, we gotta’ go to California.” “What do you mean sail there? We can’t afford that.” “No, we take the California-Oregon Trail. This guy I work with, his brother did it two years ago. He’s now in California. My friend just got his first letter from him last week. He tells of all the space that there is out there. And you can claim a quarter section for each member of your family. That’s one hundred sixty acres for you, Becky, and the girls. We can pool our money. I’ll talk to Jonesie, that’s the guy at work, tomorrow and get some details of how his brother did it, what do you think Nate?”
This line of thinking took Nate unawares, he can only say, “Talk to your friend, but I’ve got to think on this some. You’re free, but I’ve got Becky and the girls to think of. I had better talk it over with Becky first. But you find out what you can. The more it settles on me, the more I cotton to the idea.”
The next night after dinner while Mattie and Carrie ready themselves for bed, Nate, Becky, and Ham sit around the kitchen table by the light of a candle as Ham tells of his discussion with his co-worker Jones. “First of all, in the letter his brother said he went to St. Louis, and from there to a jumping off town. That’s where you outfit and leave from; he also said they had good luck and made it to California in four and a half months. He said it wasn’t all peaches and cream, sixteen people died from Mountain Fever along the way. And he tells his family he’s happy, and damn glad he made the trek.”
After hearing what Ham had to say, Nate turns to Becky and asks, “Well, what do you think?” “What do I think? You know darn well Nathaniel Morton that if you decide to go to California the rest of us would have to go along if we wanted to or not.” After a moment to catch her breath Becky continued, “Okay, look into the matter, and see what it will take. I’m not against going to California if we can afford it and it’s not dangerous for the girls.” Nate smiled at Becky, took her hand, and said, “You’re a good woman Rebecca Morton.”
As with the other families, either through hap stance or fate, the Morton’s, along with brother, and brother-in-law Hamilton Richards, found themselves in Westport Missouri 1 May 1850 in the second position of the second column of Big Jim Cody’s train as it traveled into legend.
As Jacob’s father came back with a new hoe-cake he said to Nate,” My wife is making up some batter for slapjacks. Thought we’d griddle us a batch. We’d be pleased if you and your wife would join us.” “If you’re sure we won’t be obtruding.” “Hell no, glad to have you, my Mrs. is making plenty. I see your Mrs. is still speaking with Mrs. Sutton, invite the Suttons over too; tell them to come over for slapjacks and some persiflage. I don’t know Al Sutton all that well. This will give us a chance to get to know one another.” “Sounds like a capital idea. I just need to slap some grease on my hubs. The damn dust is caking there bad, and getting on the axles. I’ll send my wife over, and extend your invite to the Suttons. I’ll be back before the griddle gets hot.” As Nate walked away, the hoe-cake fell off the stick and into the fire.
“Here comes Smith. You know what that means; we’ll be loading his honey-fuggling cotton well neigh into the night. I’ll tell you Al, there ain’t no rest for the wicked.” Al can only agree with his co-worker that there is indeed no rest. He does not know about the wicked, but he thinks, “There sure as hell is none for Alfred Sutton.” This he knows only too well, but that is about to change, and this he also knows.
Smith strolls up to Captain Allison, Master of the “Andy Jackson.” “Evening Captain.” And without further preamble, Smith gets right to the point. “Got room for my cotton this trip?” In form of reply Captain Allison inquires, “How many bales?” “Just twenty-five, I bought ‘em outta’ Woodbine’s warehouse. He had ‘em left over from last season.” “Yeah we can take them, I’ll tell the boys to start loading.”
When Al hears this, he groans inwardly. He was looking forward to getting home to his wife and son. Then as he starts to load Smith’s cotton, he smiles to himself. He knows he won’t have to put up with this sort of thing much longer. Alfred Sutton thinks back to the winter of ’45 when he made his momentous decision. It was a very cold day in February, and the goods going on the “New Orleans” were just about stored when he heard the captain shout, Sorry boys, its all gotta’ come off. We’re goin’ south and the gent wants his goods in Davenport. Can’t see how we can go in two directions at once.” That was the proverbial straw that that broke the camel’s back.
That day after work, on his way home, Alfred Sutton thought of all the cargo he had loaded on board the various boats going up river that carried the emigrants on their way to Oregon and California. When he arrived home that night, he was indeed a weary soul. As tired as he was, the first words out of his mouth were, “Is Teddy still up?” Teddy is Theodore, their three year old son.” No dear, I fed him and put him to bed a while ago. I didn’t know what time you’d be home.” “The way they run that dock, it’s a wonder I make it home at all.” “Would you like your dinner now?’ “Not right now Cassie, let’s talk for a minute.” “What’s on you mind Al?” “Come over here and sit down, I’ve got an idea I’d like to run by you.”
As Cassie settles in her chair, across the table from her husband, Al starts with, “For over three years I’ve been loading emigrant’s wagons and gear onto boats going west on the Missouri. I’ve seen all kinds of people, young, old, some even going by themselves, no family. But one thing they all had in common was the look in their eyes. It was a look of hope, of a new beginning, of a better life ahead. And I’ve been thinking, if they can do it, why not us? No, please Cassie, before you say anything hear me out. I’ve got it all figured. If we cut down on a few things and start saving a little bit each week, we could have enough saved in four to five years to get us To Oregon, with enough left over for a good start for us and Teddy. I know a man who works out of Westport, he leads a train west every spring, name’s Cody. I’ll get in touch with him to see how much we’ll need to outfit. And Captain Allison, you know him, he’s the captain of the “Andy Jackson” I’m sure he’ll give us passage to Westport. So maybe we won’t have to save that long after all. Okay Cassie, Now, what do you think?”
Cassie Sutton, as most women are, is one smart cookie. When a woman sees that her man has his mind set on something, the only thing to do is go along. Therefore, she answers Al’s question with a question, “How long did you say we’d have to save?”
That was the night the Sutton’s decided to make the trek to Oregon. Now after almost five years of scraping and saving, they have their bankroll, their grub steak, to a new and better life. In three days, this Saturday, when Al gets his pay, that will be the end of dockworker Al Sutton, and the beginning of Alfred P. Sutton, Esq. and Oregon land owner.
As Al helps load the twenty-five bales of cotton, his mind is on the verdure of his Oregon land.
A week later, he Cassie, and Teddy find themselves on the deck of the “Andy Jackson.” Captain Allison has given them free passage as a sort of going away present. They will disembark at Westport. In the last letter received from Mr. Cody, he stated that he would meet the family at the dock and get them started with their outfitting and provisioning. Once properly outfitted and provisioned they’ll go to the staging camp. The date is 20 April 1850. In eleven days, they will find themselves in the seventh position of column two of Big Jim Cody’s train that departed from Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
There were, of course, other families on Big Jim’s train of 1850, but these seven, Johnston, Walters, Blair, Winston, Garnett, Morton, and Sutton were leagued with the Ariesens, for better or worse.
The next day saw the emigrants up before the auroral dawn and on the Trail.
The dark clouds hugged the far horizon off to the northwest. Lightning could be seen, however, the storm was too far away for any thunder to be heard. It was first noticed by the people of the train about an hour before they stopped for their noon meal.
After stopping, and to get some relief from the sun, the families sat under their wagons eating pilot bread and hardtack, or whatever was ready to eat. No fires were built. As they ate, the emigrants looked skyward with eager anticipation, they watched as the clouds came their way. They hoped the rain would give them a respite from the omnipresent dust, if only for a few hours. However, Big Jim knew the dangers of a thunderstorm on the plains; there was nothing to attract the lightning except the people, the animals, and the wagons. As the families made ready to continue the day’s march, Big Jim rode from column to column telling each that when the storm broke, everyone was to stop and get into their wagons.
As the storm moved toward the train, the air cooled, and the wind picked up. The drop in temperature was a welcome relief to the people of the train. The clouds covered the sun now, and the sky was almost black. The wind was blowing the dust away, and then the first drops fell. The rain was light at first, just a few drops here and there. Then the heavens opened up, and the wind increased to an almost gale force, then the rain came down in sheets.
The families halted their teams, and scrambled to get into their wagons. Jacob and his father had applied the linseed oil while at the staging camp so not much water leaked into their wagon. Apart from being dry, the storm was a frightful experience. Lightning was hitting all around the wagons, and the following claps of thunder made those inside jump every time one sounded.
As the Ariesens huddled in their wagon, they could feel it sway from the force of the wind. The cotton cover rattled, and the end flaps fluttered tumultuously. Jacob chanced a look out the back, and saw the prairie grass bent over in a horizontal position, parallel to the ground. Just then, a lightning bolt struck next to the wagon. The family could feel the excessive discharge of electricity. The resulting thunder was so close, and so loud, Jacobs youngest sister started to cry. Jacob’s mother took her to her breast in an effort to comfort her. However, her words of comfort were lost among the turbulence of the storm.
When it was thought that the storm had hit its intensity, a resounding BANG was more felt than heard against the side of the wagon. Then another, and another, the sound built slowly until it was a steady drum beat. It was hail, and with the hail, the storm raged harder than ever.
After an hour of the assault, when it seemed that the fury would never cease, all of a sudden there was calm. The storm had passed, heading southeast. A light rain still fell, but the men were beginning to emerge from their wagons to see what damage the storm had caused. Big Jim rode up to the column and said to all within hearing distance, “All right men, check your wagons over, but we move out right away. We’ve already lost too much time.”
There was only one hitch in Big Jim’s plan to move out right away. The storm had turned the floor of the prairie into a slough. The wagon wheels had sunk into the soft mire, some as much as 18 inches. The teams struggled mightily to move their loads, only to have the wheels, after rotating an inch or two, fall back to their original position. If the wagons could only get a start, then the teams would be able to keep them moving. It would be slow moving, but on the Trail, you moved, or you died.
When Big Jim saw his people sloshing around helplessly, without the faintest idea of what to do, he rode to the head of each column and told the men to stop beating their animals, it was not going to do any good. He then ordered the women and children from the wagons, and told the men to wait for him at the lead wagon of their column.
Once the men had assembled as ordered, Big Jim went from column to column, and said the same thing, “Listen gents, the only way ya’ goin’ git your wagons a movin’ is by pitchin’ in and workin’ together. We’re going move one wagon at a time from each column. We start with the lead here. The owner takes care of the team, four of you men git back thar’ at the tailgate, you other three each take a wheel. And thar’s no need to beat the livestock, just makes the mules ornery, and does no good with the oxen. We got eight strong men here, we’ll git ‘em movin’. Tell ya’ women folk and youngin’s to just follow and stay outta’ the way. This can be dangerous work. Them wagon wheel s can crush a man’s bones to powder, and it’s easy to slip in this muck. After she gits up a head of steam, turn the team over to your Mrs. Then ya’all git yourselves back to the next wagon, and do the same gall darn thing all over agin.”
Call it fate, but the lead wagon of the second column belonged to Benjamin Johnston. The men did as ordered; Johnston with the team, and the others went where told by Big Jim. Walters, Blair, Winston, and Garnett at the tailgate; Morton took the left front wheel, Sutton the right, and Jacob’s father the right back wheel.
Johnston prods his team of oxen; the four men at the back put their shoulders to the wagon and push with all their might. The three men on the wheels grab onto the steel rim, and pull and jerk trying to free it from the mud. The men’s feet slip in the mud; it hard to get a footing and push at the same time. However, little by little, the mire gives way, and there is a sucking sound as the wheels turn and become free of the ooze. At first, it is only an inch, but then slowly, as the oxen tug at their load, and the men push, the wagon starts to move. After a quarter revolution, the wagon is moving through the mud.
As the wheels come around, the mud sticks to the metal rims making them slippery. The men on the wheels grab onto the spokes to get traction. After a few feet, the wagon bogs down again. Watching the drama is Benjamin Johnston’s eleven-year-old son, Seth. As many boys his age, he thought himself far too grown up to be with the women and children. Looking at the men struggle with the wagon, he thinks to himself, “I can help out. There’s a free wheel, someone should be on it. That will make the wagon go faster.” His mother occupied with his little sister Phoebe does not see Seth as he walks through the muck to the rear, left wheel. Nobody observes him. The men at the back of the wagon cannot see him because of his height, and Morton, on the front, left wheel is facing forward.
Little Seth approaches the wheel; it is taller than he is, but that does not dissuade him. He spits on his hands, rubs them together as he has seen the men do, and grabs hold of the back portion of the rim. Just at that instant the two back wheels, which were the cause of the stall, slide out of the hold that the mire had on them, and roll free. The movement is so quick and unexpected, that Seth continues to hold on to the rim. The momentum flings him forward, and he falls into the mud. As he lies prone on the ground, and before he can raise himself, the rear, left wheel rolls over his head.
No one saw it happen, and no on knew it had happened until the end of the wagon had passed the recumbent body of little Seth Johnston. The first person to see the body was Jonas Garnett; he was looking down trying to keep his footing in the mud when he saw him. He immediately yelled halt, and went to the boy. Upon hearing the command to halt, the men on the wagon stopped pushing and looked to Garnett, Benjamin Johnston, Seth’s father, looked back, and the women and children, who were congregated further back with the other wagons, looked forward. What they all saw was Jonas Garnett on his knees over a small, prostrated body.
Garnett bent over the boy, and reached down to raise his head out of the mire, that’s when he got his first look at the damage the wheel had done to the boy. He closed his eyes, and his head involuntary turned away in disgust. The wheel had crushed the boy’s head until he was unrecognizable.
By the now, the other men at the wagon were standing in a circle over Garnett and the body of the boy. The stirrings and the murmurings of the men brought Garnett out of the daze he was in because of the horror that lay before him. He opened his eyes and looked up into the solemn faces of the men standing over him, and simply said, “Why.” He then slowly rose to his feet and walked back to his wagon and his family. For at that moment Jonas Garnett had a powerful need to be with those he loved.
As Garnett walked away, Big Jim rode up to the circle of men, and said, “What’s the hold up here?” In reply, the men moved aside so Big Jim could see for himself the body of little Seth Johnston. After seeing what lay in the mire before him, Big Jim looked to his left and saw Benjamin Johnston walking his way.
Big Jim dismounted and stood in front of Johnston blocking his way, but then thought better of it and let him pass. He then turned to the men of the second column and told them to spread out and keep everyone away from the area, especially Mrs. Johnston.
Until Benjamin Johnston reached the body, he had no idea it was his son, but as he looked down at the body he recognized the clothing as that of his son’s; and slowly the realization crept over him that what he was looking at, the horrible site he was looking at, was his son. When he became fully aware of what he saw, he dropped to his knees, and then fell forward so that he was on “all fours” with an arm on each side of the boy’s head with his hands resting in the mire. His head hung low, so that it was only a foot above the boy’s, and the only thought going through his mind was the day Seth was born, and how proud he was to have a son. And with that thought, he pushed himself up, took Seth to his bosom, and cried.
In the meantime, Big Jim and the men of the second column were busy keeping people at bay. Big Jim spotted Mrs. Johnston hurrying forward toward her husband looking distraught, and thought it advisable she not see what lay in the mire, what her husband was holding. Therefore, he slashed through the mud to head her off, taking her gently by the arm when he reached her, and turned her around; at the same time he called to Mrs. Sutton and Mrs. Blair to come take charge of the woman. But Mrs. Johnston would not be dissuaded, she pulled her arm from Big Jim’s grasp, turned, and ran as fast as she could, considering the mire, and joined her husband. At that point, Mrs. Sutton and Mrs. Blair decided between themselves to take charge of the other Johnston children, Simon and Phoebe, until such time that their parents came to call for them.
By now, the people of the other columns were approaching the scene, and Big Jim went to them and said, “Please folks, give them their moment.” He did not have to ask twice, for every parent of Big Jim’s train was thinking the same thing, “But for the grace of God …” The people of Big Jim’s train took their children by the hand, turned, and walked back to their own wagons.
Big Jim called a halt for the day and told his charges to unhitch their animals and hobble them. Of course, there would be no encirclement of the wagons that night. By morning, the earth would be dry, and the wagons should have not trouble moving. The wagons whose wheels had sunk the deepest into the plain could be easily dug out in the morning.
Jacob’s father was the first one to suggest digging a grave for the boy. “I think I’ll ask Big Jim if it’s all right if we men of the second column dig it, we’re sort of family you know.”
After unhitching their team, Jacob and his father approached Big Jim with the request to be allowed to dig Seth Johnston’s grave. “Sure Mr. Ariesen, but dig it deep so the wolves don’t dig him up.” “What do we do for a coffin?” “There ain’t no eternity boxes out here on the plains Mr. Ariesen. Wrap him in a blanket, put the coins on his eyes, and pin the blanket shut. That’s the way it’s done out here.”
The women of the second column went to the Johnston’s who were kneeling in the muck of that godforsaken plain holding one another, and looking to the sky. As the women got closer, they could hear that the Johnston’s were praying, “… and forgive us our trespasses as we forgive those who trespass against us, and lead us not into temptation, but deliver us from evil, Amen.”
The women of the second column remained at a respectful distance until the Johnston’s were finished. It was Mrs. Garnett who went to the Johnston’s and very softly and gently said, “With your permission we would like to lay Seth out for a proper burial. You have two other children that need you right now. Please let us take care of him for you.” Mrs. Garnett’s kind words brought the Johnston’s around; they were both miles away in their own thoughts.
Mrs. Johnston turned to Mary Garnett and said, “Thank you,” and then lifted herself from the ooze, followed by her husband. As Benjamin Johnston rose, he nodded to Mrs. Garnett in acknowledgement of her kindness. The Johnston’s, husband and wife, then clasped hands and walked back towards the other wagons to be with Simon and Phoebe.
The women did their job, the men did their job; within the hour, Seth Johnston was entombed on the great plains of the American Continent, the first death of Big Jim’s Cody’s train that left Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850, but not the last, by far not the last.
Death was nothing new to the Trail. By the time the last wagon rolled over her earth, there were ten graves for every mile of her 2000 miles.
The next morning saw the earth dry once again. The emigrants seemed listless, few fires were built; the events of the previous day had drained the energy from the people of Big Jim’s train. Big Jim had told the emigrants before leaving that death would be a fellow traveler on the Trail. He had seen it demoralize an entire train once, which lead to more deaths. If he did not address the matter, little by little the fabric that held his train together would unravel. It was time to rally his people.
Big Jim went from column to column spreading the word that there was to be a meeting of all the emigrants at the lead wagon of the third column. When all had assembled, Big Jim climbed up onto the wagon and began to speak, “Listen up folks, yesterday’s complexion is bound to affect ya’, but ya’ gotta’ pocket what happened. I’m a tellin’ ya’ it’s goin’ happen again afore we reach Oregon, so don’t chafe ‘bout it. I’m sure Mr. and Mrs. Johnston would agree with me that if we don’t cover as many miles as we can, we’ll all die out here. They got two youngin’s they need to git to Oregon. You folks got youngin’s you need to git to Oregon or California. So pocket what happened to the Johnston boy.”
After drawing a breath, Big Jim continued, “We’re only three weeks out and we’re nowhere near Chimney Rock. That’s where the plains end and the high plains start. After that is Independence Rock. We’ve gotta’ make that by the fourth of July to beat the winter snows of the Blue Mountains of Oregon. At Independence Rock ya’ll find plenty of grass for the livestock and the sweetest water ya’ ever tasted. But the most dangerous part of the trail is just ahead of us. It’s the rivers, the South Platte, the Green River, and the damn Republican. Sorry ladies, forgot myself. The Pawnee call the Green River Seedkeedee. It means prairie chicken, and they call the Republican the Kitkehahki, don’t rightly know what that means. Big Jim thought it prudent to tell these things to his people. It invested within them with a knowledge of their surroundings, which in turn instilled in them a certain pride of accomplishment upon reaching those locales and knowing the Indian name for them.
The Republican River was not named for the political party by the same name. That did not come into existence until 1854. The river was named for a band of the Pawnee Nation known as Republicans, though they referred to themselves as Chaticks-is-Chaticks, Men-of -Men. Coming in contact with the White Man did not auger well for the Pawnee. Small pox and Cholera would decimate the tribe. By 1900 there were only 600 left. The Pawnee, which were also know as the Paneassa, lived in the Platte Loop until the Trail of Tears.
Continuing, Big Jim said, “The Republican snakes around worsin’ then a real snake. Parts of it go by different names, but it’s all the same water. Two-year back 37 people drowned crossing the Green River. So I need you folk in sharp form, and payin’ attention. They’ll be some bridges and ferries, but they’ll cost ya’, ‘bout the same as an ox, sixteen dollars. Don’t mean to throw no fright into ya’ folks, just lettin’ ya’ know we got us some miles to cross, and we best do it as though our lives are at stake, cause they are. Ya’ gotta’ be on your toes and pay attention. And do as I say.
“So folks, git your animals hitched, and let’s move out. We leave in half an hour.” With that last statement, Big Jim climbed down from the wagon, and walked over to where he saw Mr. and Mrs. Johnston standing with their children. “Morning folks, sorry I had to call ya’ out just now, but I figured if they all knew ya’ folks were buckin’ up for the sake of your youngin’s, then the rest would do the same. Mr. Johnston said, “We understand, and we want to thank you and the rest of the train for the fine burial you all gave Seth.” “That’s fine Mr. Johnston, I’m just glad we had the time.”
What Big Jim meant was that along the Trail when someone died there was no time to stop and conduct a formal burial, one with a gathering and words spoken. The train could not be slowed for anything, ever, not even death itself. When someone died, kinfolk or a friend dug the grave while the train moved on. If someone was dying, say of Cholera, in which there was no hope of recovery, that person was left along the Trail to die. Either alone, of with a “watcher.” A watcher was a person who stayed with the person dying until death set in. With Cholera, it was always fast, within a few hours. The watcher would then dig the grave and bury the person, and then catch up with the train. Sometimes the gave was dug while the person was still alive, and watching their own grave being dug.
Within Big Jim’s prescribed time frame of a half an hour, the train was once again moving across the plains, heading westward.
As the train got underway, Jacob’s father told Jacob to handle the team, that he had some talking to do with Mr. Walters. The Walters’ wagon was three ahead of the Ariesen’s, and that is the direction Jacob’s father headed as he left Jacob.
Jacob’s father was vexed because once they hit the high plains, the buffalo would be no more, and still he had not had his chance at slaughtering his fair share. That is where Morgan Walters came into the picture. In a previous conversation, Walters had told Jacob’s father of the rifle that he had no use for; the one his friend, Hiram George had given him. The one that was the last thing to be placed into the packing case before the lid was nailed shut.
If Mr. George had been a few minutes later in arriving, Morgan Walters still would have accepted the gift, but if not packed securely away, he might not have brought it with him on the Trail. Those few minutes would have a profound effect on the Ariesen family.
As Jacob’s father approached the Walters’s wagon, he observed Benjamin Winston goading his oxen along with his ox-goad. “Howdy Morgan.” “Howdy yourself. Want to walk along with me for a spell?” “That’s what I’m doing here, also wanted to do a little talkin’.”
The two men then walked westward in silence for a while until Jacob’s father broke the silence by saying, “Morgan, you remember telling me about that rifle of yours, you know, the one your friend gave you, and that you have no need for because of your religious views?” “Yes, I remember.” “Well, I was just thinkin’ you might want to sell it, seeing as how you’re never goin’ use it.” “I haven’t given it much thought. True, I got no use for it, but I don’t much hold with killing; and that is all a gun is good for.”
Jacob’s father did not like where the conversation was headed. He wanted a rifle, and he wanted to shoot some buffalo. To Jacob’s father, it was just that simple. He now knew what tact to take, but he thought it better to work up to it from the backside. So he said, “Morgan, you ever hear tell of the first man to traverse this here Trail?” “No can’t rightly say that I’ve have.” “Big Jim was talkin’ about him around one of the fires the other night. It was neigh about ten year ago that the first man that wasn’t out preachin’ the word of the Lord, travelled the same Trail we’re treading upon now. His name was Joel Walker, brought his whole family too boot. He was the brother to that famous Mountain Man, Joseph Walker. Ever hear tell of ‘em?”
To that query, Mr. Walters had to answer in the negative. “No. I’ve never heard of either brother. However, I did read in the Democratic Review before we left that the editor, his name is John Sullivan, said that it is the Manifest Destiny of the United States to conquer this continent. He said that America was chosen to drive out the wilderness and establish civilization. It was partly because of his editorial that we now have the Homestead Act. Imagine forty acres for every member of you family. That means two hundred acres for my family.”
The term Manifest Destiny was nothing more than a phrase people took to heart; however, it was the justification for the taking of lands that others possessed.
Jacob’s father wanted to maneuver the talk back to the rifle. The vicissitudes of the conversation were not getting him to where he wanted to be. “Listen Morgan, enough of this persiflage, I’m gonna’ acknowledge the corn, and come right to the point. I would like to buy your rifle, if you’ll sell it to me.” “Mr. Ariesen, you may have the gun, I don’t want it. I only hope you’ll use it in the defense of yourself, and your family. I’ll unpack it for you when we stop for dinner.”
As his wife prepared the noon repast, and true to his word, Morgan Walters unpacked the rifle, Hiram George had given him; and gave it and the box of ammunition to Jacob’s father.
Jacob’s father was practically giddy with excitement because that evening he was finally going buffalo hunting. He thanked Mr. Walters, and walked back to his wagon. As he passed Jacob, he told him to stay with the team because he had things to do. He then proceeded to the back of the wagon, and climbed up over the tailgate, and into the wagon; bringing his newfound prize with him; a prize that would never kill a single buffalo.
As the wagons rolled westward, Jacob’s father opened the box of ammunition and placed a bullet in the breech. There was no such thing as a “repeating” rifle in 1850. All rifles were single shot, the “repeaters” were not introduced until the last years of the Civil War, and then only the North had them. Once the rifle was loaded, Jacob’s father laid it on the sacks of salt that rested against the side of the wagon. He was now ready for the Great Hunt.
When Big Jim surmised that they had covered a sufficient amount of miles for the day, he called a halt to the train. After the wagons were encircled, and the teams unhitched; the women started preparing supper for their families. The men went about the business of inspecting their wagons for any repairs that might need attention, and the children ran about as children always do, interacting with one another.
Jacob’s father left Jacob building a fire, and his wife and daughters fixing the family’s evening meal. He had buffalo to hunt. He walked to the back of the wagon, untied the flaps, and reached in for the rifle. He grasped the barrel that was facing toward him with his right hand, and pulled the gun toward him. As the gun slid in his direction, and along the sacks of salt, the trigger caught on the corner of the last sack, discharging the gun. The bullet entered Jacob’s father’s heart; he was dead before he hit the ground.
The report of the shot was heard throughout the camp. The emigrants stopped what they were doing and looked about. A stray gunshot was not that uncommon, the men were always taking pot shots at a buffalo, or a stray bird passing overhead. But Jacob knew instinctively from where the shot originated, and ran to the back of the wagon, where he found his father lying on his back with his eyes wide open, starring into eternity.
Jacob had just arrived, and was looking down at his father when Big Jim rode up. He took in the scene on the ground before him, and knew right away why, and how the man the man had died, he muttered under his breath, “Dang fool.”
Big Jim dismounted, and pushing Jacob aside, knelt on one knee over the body. More for the sake of Jacob than anything else, he went through the motions of inspecting the wound. After a moment, Big Jim stood, faced Jacob, and said, “I’m sorry son, but ya’ now the head of ya’ family. Ya’ best be gittin’ back to ya’ mother and sisters, they’ll be a needed ya’. I’ll handle things here.”
Jacob was numb. The only words he heard Big Jim speak were, “… you are now head of your family.” He slowly turned, and started for his mother and sisters.
Because of the wagons close proximity to each other, the body of Jacob’s father was not visible from inside the enclosed circle. As Jacob walked away, Big Jim called to Winston and Sutton who were two wagons back talking to one another, “Come over here a moment boys, I wanna’ talk to ya’.”
When the two men reached Big Jim, he stood aside to reveal the body. He then said, “I need ya’ to ready him for his earth bath.” He told John Winston to get a blanket to wrap the body in, and he told Sutton to stand by until Winston’s return; and if he saw anyone heading that way, stop them before they could see the body. Of course, by “earth bath,” Big Jim meant his burial.
Big Jim knew word would soon fly throughout the camp of the death, but he wanted to hold it in abeyance for as long as possible. For two deaths in as many days were bound to have a demoralizing effect upon his people. He wanted to be the one to make the pronouncement, and at the same time perhaps instill a little gun safety into the men of his train. After all, they were farmers, and merchants, people unfamiliar with weapons; Big Jim figured that the death of Mr. Ariesen could be turned to some good if it would get the men of the train to respect the power, and danger of firearms.
In the meantime, Jacob had arrived at his family’s fire. His mother was stirring a pot of rice, and his sisters laying out the plates and eating utensils for the meal. He sat down next to his mother without saying a word and starred into the fire. One of his sisters just then walked up to the fire with a hoe-cake and a stick, and as she was attaching the bread to the stick, Jacob thought of his father and all the trouble he had cooking hoe-cakes.
Big Jim walked the encampment, saying hello when he encountered someone, but he was not idly walking about, he wanted to know if word had gotten around about the death. He figured if it had, someone would approach him and ask him to confirm it, but no one did.
As Jacob sat by the fire, next to his mother, and Big Jim walked the camp, John Winston returned to Alfred Sutton and what used to be Arijen Ariesen, carrying a blanket. The two men spread the blanket on the ground next to the body, and then they rolled it onto the blanket. As Sutton was about to fold the ends of the blanket over the body, John Winston said, “Don’t you think it would be proper to close his eyes, and fold his arms over his chest?” In spite of himself, Sutton had to smile, the boy was right. He thought, “When did you, Al Sutton, become so hard that you’d bury a man with the site of his own death still in eyes?” Though he said aloud, “You’re right John, and we should put the coins on his eyes. It’s the least we could do.”
As the two men were finishing their preparation of the body for a Christian burial, Big Jim returned. He watched the men pinning the ends of the blanket closed before saying, “Word of this hasn’t gotten about yet, and I don’t want it to until I can have my say. Boys, this is what we’re goin’ do. First, you tell no one of this, especially your women. Next, we’re goin’ pick him up, put him in his wagon ,and leave him there until it gets dark and the camp is asleep. Then we’ll bury him, and in the morning I’ll tell the rest what happened.”
As Big Jim finished speaking, John Winston spoke up, “Excuse me sir, but aren’t we even going to have the family at the burial?” “Sure boy that will be fine. When the time comes, you fetch ‘em.”
Jacob sat transfixed in front of the fire; he had uttered not a word since returning to his family. As he gazed into the flames, his thoughts were on the day his father told him of the history of the house they lived in, and of the first Ariesen to come to America. He inwardly smiled at the memory of that day, “You just tell your friends that the wind does not blow through your house as it does theirs.” “Yes” he thought, “that about sums up my father, practical. At least until he was struck by the gold fever.”
Jacob slowly surfaced from his contemplations, and he took in the scene before him. His mother who he loved so much, his two sisters, who in spite of the usual sibling squabbles, he also loved dearly; how was he going to tell them of the death of the man who has looked out after them for all these many years.
“Well,” thought Jacob, “if indeed I am now head of the family, my first duty is to inform the family of their father and husband’s death.” He decided to wait until after dinner, they would need all the strength they could muster. As he made his first decision as the man of the family, Big Jim walked up, and said, “Mind if I speak to ya’ private like?” He wanted to get Jacob away from the women. Big Jim had surmised that Jacob had not told them anything as of yet because of the demeanor of the girls’ and Mrs. Ariesen.
Big Jim said to Jacob, “We’ve put him in the back of your wagon for now. I don’t want word of this to git around until I had my say, which will be in the morning. After dark, we’ll bury him. When we’re ready the Winston boy will fetch ya’. I suggest you keep your family outta’ the wagon until ya’ tells ‘em. Might be kinda’ a shock to ‘em.”
Jacob had not thought of that. He excused himself and hurried back to the campfire. He need not have worried though; his mother and sisters were right where he had left them. Jacob walked up to his mother and asked, “How long before we eat?” “It’s ready now,” his mother replied. Adding, “Go see if you can find your father, he’s probably lost all track of time, hunting those buffalo of his.” It never crossed her mind that she had not heard a single report of gunshot; the herd was only a few hundred yards to the north. Jacob took a deep breath and said, “Father said to eat without him.”
When the Ariesens had finished their evening meal, and the girls were collecting the eating gear, Jacob asked his mother to walk with him. He did not want his sisters to hear what he had to say. Jacob walked his mother to their wagon, and escorted her to the rear, by the tailgate, before saying, “Mother something horrible has happened.” That is as far as he got before faltering.
After a moment’s hesitation, Jacob thought to himself, “If I am to get this family to California I must be strong. I reach my majority in less than a month; I am not a boy any longer. He then faced his mother and said, “Mother, your husband, my father, is dead.”
It took a moment for Jacob’s mother to comprehend the words her son had spoken. In that brief moment, she went from not understanding, to the hope that somehow her son was mistaken, to the acceptance that his words were true.
As Jacob’s mother stood looking up at her son, she noticed that the yellow in the iris of his eyes were now a golden-orange in color. They were reflecting the light of the setting sun as it slid beneath the horizon; and she thought, “How beautiful.” Then she simply asked, “How?”
Jacob explained to his mother the circumstances of her husband’s death. He then opened the rear flap of the wagon to show her the body, and told her the burial would he held after the camp had gone to sleep. Having seen the body of her dead husband, she said, “I must tell the girls. Please come for me when it’s time to put him to rest.” With those words, she returned to the fire, and her daughters.
As it grew dark, Big Jim sought out Al Sutton and told him,”Git Winston and some diggin’ tools and meet me at the Ariesen wagon. Oh yeah, and bring a lantern.”
When the men arrived at the wagon, they found Big Jim and Jacob waiting for them. They were told by Big Jim, “Git out thar and dig a grave for the man, and git yourselves far enough away from camp so ya’ don’t wake anyone. And make it at least four feet deep, or he’ll be scattered to hell and back by morning, now git goin’; the boy and me will tote him. See ya’ in a few minutes.”
When Winston and Sutton had walked out into the darkness, Big Jim turned to Jacob and asked, “Are your mother and sisters ready for the burial?” Jacob responded, “Yes she’s out walking with them. They’ll be here in a few minutes. “Okay boy, let’s git him to his final resting place.”
After the men had dug the grave and placed Arjen Ariesen in it, Jacob went to get his mother and sisters. He had only walked a few steps, when out of the darkness they came, his sisters, one on either side of their mother had their arms about her waist, and she in turn had an arm around each. The girls had been crying, but as they approached Jacob, there were only residual sniffles. Jacob told his mother to follow him even though the location of the grave was discernable because of the lantern.
While the family huddled, the men, Winston, Sutton, and Big Jim stood a respectful distance away. After a few moments of silent thought, Jacob’s mother looked into the shadows and said, “You men were his friends, will you please join us?” The three men walked into the light of the lantern, Winston still held the pick, and Sutton the shovel.
Jacob, as head of the family Ariesen then said, “This is from Exodus, Chapter 10, Verse 21. Then from memory he spoke these words, “Now therefore forgive I pray thee, my sin only this once, and entreat the Lord your God that he may take away from me this death only.”
When Jacob had finished, he bent down, and picked up a handful of dirt and threw it into the grave, and onto the body of his father. Then his mother and sisters did likewise. He turned to the men and said, “We thank you,” and then he escorted his mother and sisters back to their wagon. Winston and Sutton took turns filling in the grave of Arjen Ariesen, father to Jacob Ariesen, as Big Jim held the lantern and watched.
The next morning while the emigrants were preparing their fires for their morning meal, Big Jim walked to the center of the camp and called the men to him. He then told them of the death, and how it occurred, and he suggested it would be best if the rifles were kept unloaded. “Ya’ never know. One of ya’ youngin’s might git to it, ya’ just never know.”
With that bit of wisdom, Big Jim told the men to go back, tend their fires, and eat. “”We’ve got miles to cover.” Within the hour, the teams were hitched, and the four columns of Big Jim’s train were once again westward bound.
The Ariensen’s, like the Johnston’s had not the luxury of properly grieving for their dead. They had to press on. They could grieve inwardly, but the Trail must be traversed. The Trail was all. The Trail would take others if miles were not left behind everyday.
When the train stopped at noon, and while Jacob’s sisters were out collecting chips for their fire; Jacob spoke with his mother. “Do you think we should still go to California? Maybe Oregon would be better. I never did want to go after gold.”
His mother responded thusly, “Jacob you are now the man of the family. You must make the decisions for all of us. But if you are asking my advice I’ll tell you what I think.” “Yes mother, please; I’ll need guidance.”
This is what Jacob’s mother had to say to her son the day after his father had died, “Jacob, your father is not dead. I see him in you when you smile. I see him in your sisters when they laugh. He lives in my heart. It was his desire that we go to California. I do not want you to live his life. You must live your own. But why not go where he was taking us? When we get there then you can decide what we will do.” “Thank you mother. I’ll be back in a moment to build the fire for you.”
Jacob had something he needed to know, and the only man who could answer his question was Big Jim Cody. Jacob saw Big Jim sitting at one of the fires, and walked over to him. “Hello Mr. Cody.” “Hey boy, why not sit a spell. We’ve got a lot of miles to cover ‘afore the day is spent. Might as well rest while ya’ can.” “Thank you sir.” As Jacob squatted next to Big Jim he asked, “When we split at Separation Pass how will we know the Trail to California?” “Well boy thar’s only one pass through them mountains so ya’ cain’t git lost. Once ya’ come down from the mountains the Trail is clearly marked. And if that ain’t enough, just follow the sun. It’ll lead you right to California.” Jacob then stood and said, “Thank you sir,” and headed for his wagon.
Shortly thereafter the wagons were rolling. The hours tuned into days without the emigrants knowing the difference. Each day was like the last. The scenery did not change. The dust never retreated. The sun beat down everyday. The Trail was the Trail.
On the fourth day after the death of Jacob’s father, when the train had stopped for the night, Big Jim addressed his people. “Tomorrow we come up to our first river crossing. Thar’s a ferry, but as I’ve said, it’ll cost ya’. The river is at peak height, there’ll be no fording’. If ya’ was fool enough to try it, ya’ lose ya’ wagon fer sure. Maybe even your livestock, not to mention ya’ fool necks. We’ll cross by columns; startin’ with column number one. Then we’ll go in order. Now git somethin’ to eat, and git a good night’s sleep. “Cause loadin’ ya’ wagons and team onto them ferries is the stuff to try men’s souls.”
The next morning the emigrants were exited about the upcoming crossing. However, according to Big Jim, they would not reach the river until midday. The four columns of Big Jim’s train set out at first light in a westerly direction; by last light, eighteen more souls of Big Jim’s train that left Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850 would be dead.
Shortly before noon, the train caught its first sight of the Republican River, or as the Pawnee called it the Kitkehahki. They also saw a shack sitting upon a small rise overlooking the river. The shack was the domicile of one William J. Travis, the proprietor of the ferry. William J. Travis was also known as Crazy Bill because living alone on the plains for four years had changed him, as it would have done to anyone.
Big Jim rode ahead of the train up to Bill’s shack, and hollered, “Anyone about?” The reply, which came from inside the shack was simply, “Where in tarnation ya’ reckon I be?” Then a grizzly beard poked itself out of the door followed by a small man of about two score year. He was short, very thin, and walked with a limp favoring his left leg. When the man saw the black mare, and the man astride her, he said, “Well, if it ain’t ‘ol Jim Cody his self? What brings ya’ to this neck of the woods?” In answer, Big Jim simply pointed east. The man, who of course was Bill Travis, looked in the direction in which Big Jim was pointing and said, “I see ya’ got ya self another flock of emigrants.”
Big Jim dismounted, walked up to the little man and said, “We’ve got ‘bout an hour ‘afore they git here, what cha’ got to drink?” “I reckon I can rustle us up a little somethin’. Let’s go in and git outta’ the sun.”
An hour later, the two men emerged from the shack to await Big Jim’s train. When Big Jim saw that that it was still at least fifteen minutes out, he mounted his horse and to said Bill, “I gotta’ speed ‘em up. I want ‘em all across fast. I still plan on making miles afore it gits dark. Git your barge ready.” He then turned “Sweetheart On Parade” and galloped eastward. As Big Jim rode off, Bill shouted after him, “While ya’ gone I’ll git ya’ buggy across. No charge as usual.”
When Big Jim got his train to the river, he told the men of column one, “Ya’ can eat when ya’ git to the other side.” Then he told the people of the other three columns, “Ya’ can eat while we move the first column across. No fires, ain’t got time. We got miles to cover afore it gits dark.”
Bill Travis went from wagon to wagon collecting his fare of sixteen dollars from ever man who wanted to avail himself of the ferry. When the men saw how swollen and fast moving the river was, they paid. Albeit begrudgingly. In 1850, sixteen dollars was a fare amount of money, especially to people who were out to start a new life, and needed every penny to sustain them while that new life took hold.
After collecting his fares, Bill walked up to Big Jim who was looking at the barge that Bill Travis called a ferry. It was rectangle in shape, one hundred feet long and fifty feet wide. It had railings that where about two inching in diameter on all four sides made from river Birch branches. The longer railings on the sides were permanently affixed, while the ones on the ends were removable for getting the wagons and teams on and off the ferry.
As Bill approached Big Jim he asked, “Notice the improvements?” “Just looks bigger that’s all.” “Them’s the improvements. I can now git eight wagons and teams on her. Makes for less pullin’ for me. I ain’t as young as I used to be. The set up works this way Jim, fours wagons and teams abreast at the front, and four behind ‘em at the rear.” Big Jim frowned at what he had just heard. He did not think eight wagons and teams could fit on the ferry, and said so. To which Bill responded, "Had a train through here two day ago. Loaded eight wagon and team every time. Mite crowded, but I got ‘em all across without no trouble.” Big Jim just shrugged his shoulders and said, “Alright, it’s your ferry.”
By “less pullin’” Bill was alluding to the method that the ferry used to traverse the river. Bill had secured a line from one side of the river to the other using two old oak trees as anchors. Once the line was in place, he firmly affixed a block and tackle to each tree, and then ran a rope through them. This gave him a pulley system. Eyebolts were then threaded through the original line and secured to stanchions that were in place along the right side of the barge. This was done to keep the ferry in place as Bill pulled her across the river.
As the other emigrants watched, the first wagon of column one moved to the ferry. Bill had shoveled earth to the bank of the river to form ramp of sorts. Bu doing so, he raised the bank of the river to the height of the floor, or the deck, of the ferry.
The first wagon had no trouble ascending the ramp and getting onto the ferry. Once in place the other seven wagons followed suite. In spite of Big Jim’s doubts, the ferry did accommodate the eight wagons, barely. Because of the lack of space, the families were confined to the back of the wagons, while the men folk sat in the driver’s seat. There was no room on deck in which to stand.
When the eight were in place, Bill untied the line that held it to the riverbank and started to pull. The crossing and the debarkation were uneventful, as it was with columns two and three when they crossed the river without incident.
While the first three columns were crossing the river, about a mile upstream an old river Birch stood poised on the riverbank. The tree stood on the eastern shore, just where the river made a sharp turn from flowing east, to flowing in a southerly direction. For weeks, the fast moving water of the river had been eating away at the soil beneath the Birch. River Birches are known for their multiple trunks, and this one had three. Together they measured almost ten feet across.
Just as Bill departed his side of the river with the eight wagons of column four, the soil gave way under the old river Birch and it fell into the maelstrom that was the Republican River on that particular day. The tree landed in the river with a mighty splash, and was momentarily submerged. When it bobbed back to the surface, the trunk was facing west, and started on its journey down river.
At the exact moment that the Birch started it’s journey westward, Bill had the ferry, with all of column four on it, about a quarter of the way across the river. As Bill pulled the ferry to mid river, the river Birch and ferry met. The tree struck the right front quarter. The resulting jolt caused the front wagon on the opposite side, the one that was closest to the left railing, to slide slightly, which in turn precipitated the left, rear wheel to slip over the side of the ferry. As the wagon started its slide into the water, the railing broke and slowly the wagon went into the river, dragging the team of oxen with it.
The weight of the wagon as it slipped into the water pulled the left side of the ferry to a precariously steep angle, as the left side dipped, the right side rose into the air. When the ferry rebounded, the two wagons on the right edge crashed through the railing, and slid overboard. As they slipped into the water they were entangled with the line that anchored they ferry, the line Bill Travis was holding. The wagons took the line and Bill Travis into the river with them. At that point, the ferry was free from tether, and out of control. As the ferry progressed down river, it started to spin; wagons, teams, and people were flung, or slipped into the cold and fast moving waters of the Republican River.
Because of the weight of the stores, and the emigrant’s personal possessions, the wagons sank immediately, pulling the livestock under with them. However, after a few moments they bobbed to the surface. Some with only the top half of their cotton covers showing, but most of the wagons were on their sides, which meant that those inside were trapped under hundreds of pounds of provisions.
The emigrants on the far shore watched in horror as the ferry speed down river, throwing all that stood on her deck into the water. The first man to take action was of course Big Jim, followed by Jacob Ariesen. Big Jim mounted his horse and said to the men, “Git your ropes and follow me. We’re goin’ have people that need pullin’ outta’ that damn river.” Before Big Jim had finished speaking, Jacob was running down river, rope in hand. As Big Jim passed Jacob he said, “Ya’ git the first one ya’ see. I’m goin’ down river to git ‘em as they come by.”
Jacob ran until until he saw a man struggling to reach the shore. He ran passed him to a point a hundred yards down river. He waded in until he was waist deep, and as the man came his way, he threw an end of the rope to him. In desperation, the man grabbed for it, and got hold of it just before he was swept out of its reach. Jacob hauled the man towards him, when he was close enough, he walked out to him, and lifted him under the arms, and walked him the bank of the river.
As they made their way out of the river, the man more choked out than said, “My wife, my children.” To which Jacob responded, “Don’t worry, Big Jim is down river. He’ll get them.” By then other men were running past them looking for someone, anyone, to throw a lifeline to. However, there was no one else to be seen.
Meanwhile down river, Big Jim had ridden far enough until he thought that the first into the water must still a bit up stream. He then saw a woman in the middle of the river facing the far shore. Big Jim hailed her, but to no avail. She either did not hear him, or her panic was so great she stayed fixated on the place she was trying to reach. Big Jim knew that the river was stronger than she was, and that she would never make dry land. Without another thought, Big Jim dove into the icy waters of the Republican River.
When Big Jim reached the woman, she tried to climb upon him as though he were a boulder in midstream, and a place of safety. Compared to Big Jim, the woman was small, however her fear gave her strength, and she fought his attempts to grab hold of her. He finally had to grab her by the hair and make for shore in that fashion. It is not the way big Jim would normally treat a woman, but hers, as well as his, life depended on getting her out of the river. Every moment spent fighting her, and fighting the river, sapped his strength.
When he finally emerged from the river, some men from the train were there waiting. They took charge of the woman while Big Jim turned back to the river looking for someone who might still be alive. He did see members of his train passing, but they were all dead. He told the men to start looking for survivors. To fan out along the bank of the river, and to look across the river to the far bank for anyone who might have landed there.
After stating his orders, Big Jim mounted “Sweetheart,” and rode down river looking for the living and the dead. He did not have far to go when he came upon the ferry. As he looked down from astride his horse at the barge that Bill called a ferry, he saw the line that anchored her to the oak trees. Entwined within the line was an arm, and attached to the arm was Crazy Bill Travis, his eyes wide open, seeing nothing. Like all good captains, William J. Travis went down with his ship.
The dead numbered thirty-one, not counting Bill Travis. Survivors were two in number. Men women, and children, entire families, were either floating down the Republican River, or were lying on her banks waiting. Waiting for what, only the dead know for sure.
The two who survived were Charlie Hicks and Molly Smith, wife and mother. Mr. Hicks sat huddled, wrapped in a blanket repeating the same four words he had first spoke as Jacob pulled him from the river, “My wife, my children.” Molly Smith sat by a fire and said nothing.
It took the emigrants three days to collect and bury their dead. The last body recovered was ten miles down river. Not all the bodies were found, of the thirty-one dead, four were never found. Big Jim was for moving on, and leaving the dead where they lie. Not because he was unmindful of the emigrant’s feelings, but he knew that if the train dawdled, for whatever reason, they would not make Independence Rock by July Fourth. And if they did not make that deadline, many more would die in the mountains when the snows came. However, Big Jim knew the collection and burying of the dead was something the people of his train had to do before they could move on, so he helped bury the dead, and said not a word.
When the dead had been buried, and the train made ready to leave, Charlie Hicks announced that he was not going to leave his family. The fact that he had no family to leave did not seem to matter to him. Before anyone could stop him, he ran to the river, jumped in, and swam to the far shore. Once on dry land, he shouted across the river to the other emigrants, "I’m stayin’ in this here shack. I will not leave my wife and little ones.”
Big Jim walked up to those starring across the river at the retreating figure of Charlie Hicks and said, “Come on folks, we’re movin’ out. He’s a grown man, he knows his mind.” Whereas Molly Smith had lost her entire family also, she was ensconced with the Winston’s for the simple reason that they had no children.
Big Jim Cody’s train that departed Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850 that was now down to three columns of eight wagons each; and down to 110 emigrants from the 144 who started the trek across a continent, headed west once more.
Big Jim was worried. The river catastrophe took place on June fourth, which meant he had a month to get his people to Independence Rock if they were to be assured of crossing the Blue Mountains before the first snow. However, Independence Rock was almost eight hundred miles away. Making twenty miles a day, with every seventh day a day of rest, meant that the they would not reach Independence Rock until July fourteenth. Providing nothing else happened to delay the train.
There were a few more river crossings ahead, but they were all small rivers and easily fordable. Fifty miles before Courthouse Rock the Republican would have to be traversed again, but when the emigrants reached it, the water should have slowed. In addition, Big Jim knew of a narrow crossing point, there would be no ferry needed.
The next two weeks were uneventful. The train averaged nineteen miles a day and the emigrants were slowly getting over the shock of losing a fourth of their number. Jacob and his family took the days as they came. All days were the same. Up before day break, walk for six hours, stop an hour to eat, then walk for six more hours, or seven, if Big Jim deemed not enough miles had been covered; then stop for the night, and do the same thing the next day.
After twelve days of travel, and two days of rest, the train reached Courthouse Rock; so named because it reminded the first emigrants of the St. Louis courthouse. Twelve miles to the west stood Chimney Rock whose name should be self-explanatory. And six miles to the west of Chimney Rock the incident that was to define Big Jim’s train of 1850 took place. Once again, it involved water. However, this time rather than a raging river, it was water by the ladleful.
The train camped at Courthouse Rock that night. The next night the train made eighteen miles before stopping, they were six miles west of Chimney Rock. Big Jim halted the train after only eighteen miles because there was a source of water at that location, and some of the emigrants water barrels were getting low.
To a man, the emigrants were too spent from the day’s march to carry bucketfuls of water back to their wagons. It was an individual decision on each man’s part, but they all decided to refill their water barrels the next day.
In the morning as the women prepared the morning meal, the men refilled their barrels. As they did so, they brought Death unto the bosoms of their families. Death that had stalked the train since it left Westport was now firmly entrenched within Big Jim’s train of 1850.
Death took the guise of Cholera, which is transmitted in drinking water. The water the emigrants had just put into their water barrels was teaming with the Vibrio Cholerea bacterium. The symptoms of Cholera are, vomiting, leg and muscle cramps, dehydration, abdominal pains, diarrhea, and finally the body goes into shock. And, as previously stated, the emigrants referred to the disease as Mountain Fever.
Not all the emigrants had need of refilling their water barrels. Four wagons of the first column and two of the third column did not need to replenish their water supply. Also Big Jim’s water barrel was almost full, so he figured on refilling it when they reached the South Platte River in a few days. However, all the wagons of column two, save Jacob’s, refilled before leaving camp that morning. Jacob was preoccupied with hitching up the team and forgot about filling his water barrel.
The train moved out at dawn. As the sun rose from the horizon and climbed higher in the sky, the emigrants and their wagons cast a long shadow. As the day wore on, and the sun rose still higher, the shadows shortened, and the heat of the prairie increased. This caused the emigrants to lose water through the pores in their skin, which in turn caused a thirst in their mouths. One by one, they went to their water barrels, and by the ladleful took Death into their bodies.
While Jacob was goading the oxen, his mother walked up to him and said, “I’m going to visit with the Winston’s. I want to see if there is anything I can do for poor Mrs. Smith. And the girls are going visiting. I think Sybylla will be with the Blair’s. She has fallen in love with their youngest boy, little Isaac. At nine years of age I think she practicing to be mother. And Maryse will be with the Garnett’s oldest daughter, Abigail. They’ve become fast friends. So, if you need us for anything, you’ll know where to find us.”
If his mother and sisters had stayed with their wagon, what the fates had in store for Jacob Ariesen would have been quite different then what history was to record. Jacob’s mother and Molly Smith walked along side of the Winston’s wagon. Occasionally partaking of their hospitality by drinking from their water barrel and Jacob’s sisters did the same with the folks they were visiting.
By the time the train stopped for the noon meal, the first of the emigrants were starting to feel the effects of the Cholera bacterium. In the second column Nate Morton was the first. While leading his team he felt such sharp abdominal pains, he fell to his knees. Then he started to vomit.
When Nate let go of his oxen they halted their advance, which halted the advance of the wagons that were behind his. The Ariesen wagon was directly behind the Morton’s, so he was the first to notice and get to the stricken man. The other members of the second column were soon to follow. Jonas Garrett who was in the lead continued on until Jonas Jr. told him the rest of the column had stopped. He then stopped goading his oxen, and walked back to see what the trouble was.
When Big Jim looked back and saw that the second column was not moving, he halted the other two columns, and rode to see why it had stopped. As he rode up to the knot of people surrounding Nate, he saw Becky Morton wiping the sweat from her husband’s brow. Big Jim dismounted, walked up to those gathered around the Morton’s and said, Git back to ya’ own wagons. We’re stopping here to eat. Jacob will ya’ tell the other columns?” And Jacob replied, “Yes sir.”
When Jacob and the others had left, Big Jim knelt down and asked Nate what was wrong. Becky answered for her husband, “We don’t know. His legs are cramped, he’s been heaving, and he told me he has pains in his stomach.” When Big Jim heard what Becky Morton had to say he stood and looked about. He saw Ham Richards standing close by with the two little Morton girls. Big Jim said, “Help me git him to his feet, we’ll put him in the shade of his wagon, he’ll be more comfortable there.”
When they had gotten Nate situated, Big Jim stood, looked out over the makeshift campsite, and sighed. He knew Mountain Fever when he saw it. And he knew that soon others would be coming down with the debilitating sickness. It never affected just one. He told Becky to keep Nate comfortable, and that he would be back presently. It was just high noon as Big Jim left the Morton’s.
Jacob arrived back at his wagon to find his mother laying out biscuits and bacon that had been left over from the previous night’s meal. After saying hello, he asked, “Where are the girls?” “They’re eating with their friends,” answered his mother. For some reason that bit of news bothered Jacob; why, he did not know. The trepidation he had felt back in Concord when his father first told the family that they would be going to California was now as a bell ringing in his head. It seemed to be signal of danger.
Jacob expressed his concern to his mother by saying, “I think the girls should be with us, something is not right. I cannot explain it, but I’m getting the girls. They should eat with us.” And without awaiting a response from his mother, Jacob went in search of his sisters.
Jacob and his sisters returned to find their mother sitting on the ground bent over in pain. Jacob knelt down on the grass next to his mother, and asked her what was wrong. “I don’t know, all of a sudden I had cramps in my stomach and I got sick.” By sick, his mother meant she had vomited. Jacob told Maryse to get a blanket from the wagon and spread it out under the wagon. He then helped his mother to stand and walked her over to the wagon. Once Jacob got his mother comfortable, he said to his sisters, “Look after her, I have to speak with Mr. Cody.”
Jacob found Big Jim sitting in the shade of his cart looking pensive. When Big Jim saw Jacob he said, “Squat son. Ya’ got somethin’ on your mind?” Yes sir, I sure have. Is what affects Mr. Morton Mountain Fever?” “I’m sorry to say so, but yes it is.” “Well, my mother has it also.” Big Jim thought for a moment before answering, “Once again I’m sorry, but ya’ a man now so I’ll level with ya’. Them that gits the fever usually don’t recover. Some do, but very few. I’m a just sittin’ here waitin’ to see how many come down with it this go round. I’ve seen it before. It hits outta’ nowhere, and within twelve hours them it hits are dead, usually a lot sooner than that.”
Jacob listened to the words Big Jim spoke, and asked, “Is there no medicine for the illness?” “If thar is, I ain’t never hear tell ‘bout it.” To which Jacob replied, “Thank you sir.” He then stood and started back to his wagon when Big Jim stopped him by saying, “Son, it’s almost an hour we’ve been sittin’ here, and by rights we should be movin’ out in a few minutes. But we’re not goin’ to do that. Ya’ hear them moans and cries out thar? That’s more of my people being struck down with the fever. I figure by four o’clock, them that’s comin’ down with the fever will have it. So an hour later I’m movin’ them that’s healthy a few miles up the Trail. It’s goin’ be a night of death. Them that are healthy are my responsibility. Them that are dyin’ are God’s. I’ve got to git this train over the mountains afore first snow, or the rest of ‘em will die. I don’t reckon you’ll leave your ma, but I just wanted ya’ to know why we’re leavin’. I’ll ride back in the morning to check up on ya’ afore we start the day’s march. And just one more thing son, build yourself a big fire tonight. The wolves will be comin’ in after the dead.”
Jacob again thanked Big Jim and returned to his wagon. He arrived to find both his sisters ill, and the younger one crying out in pain. Jacob had never felt so helpless in his life, and he thought to himself, “I knew something bad would happen, and yet I did not speak up. If I had, it might not have altered things, but still I did nothing. It was the sin of omission, and for that sin I must now pay.” He then sat under the wagon to watch he mother and sisters die.
A few hours later Big Jim walked up and asked, “How ya’ farin’ son?” Jacob looked up at the big man who stood before him and said, “My sisters are dead, and my mother is about to die.” “I’m sorry son. Just wanted ya’ to know we’re movin’ out. Only six families came through the attack. Only six. I’ll ride back in the morning afore we start the day’s march. I want to unhitch the livestock. It would do no good to leave ‘em in harness. Don’t think they kin survive a winter out here, but at least they’ll have a couple of months of good grazin’. Best to ya’ son, I’ll see ya’ in the mornin’.” “Please wait Mr. Cody. There is no need for you to return. I will take care of the livestock. And I will also attend to the dead. You may believe me when I tell you no wolves will touch any member of your train.” “All right son, ya’ seem to have grit, ya’ catch up with us as soon as ya’ kin. But I don’t know how ya’ goin’ bury eighty bodies and keep the wolves at bay. Just remember wolves gotta’ eat too. Oh, I almost forgot, Mr. Richards is stayin’ too. Says he’s gotta’ bury his dead. His sister, her husband, and the youngins’ are all gone.” Actually, it was eighty-eight dead. Though not all were dead as of yet, but they would be come morning.
As Big Jim walked away, Jacob’s mother grabbed Jacob by the arm and said something in a whisper. She was so weak; Jacob had to bend down to hear her words. This is what she said, “My beautiful first born, do not mourn us. Your father is here, I see him standing right behind you. He is waiting for me, but he looks different. He is the young man that I married. He tells me the girls are with him, and that he has a home waiting for us. He also told me that now is not your time. You have something very important to do first then we’ll all be together again.” To say those words took the last of Anika Ariesen’s strength. She slowly closed her eyes, and died with a smile on her face. Jacob covered his mother’s body with a blanket as he had done with each of his sisters when they died.
It was only after his mother’s soul had left her body that Jacob noticed the cries of those dying around him. He stood and looked at the bodies lying in the tall grass, some moving, some still. Jacob then looked to the west and saw the pitiful vestige of Big Jim’s train. He thought, “Only six wagons out of thirty-two.” Within those six wagons were twenty souls who still had a dream, and still needed Big Jim Cody to get them to the Promised Land.
For the second time that day, the sun cast long shadows of the emigrants and their wagons. However, in the morning the shadows were before them, now, like many of their fellow emigrants, the shadows were behind them.
As Jacob pondered the receding train, Hamilton Richards walked up to him with a bottle of whiskey in his hand and said, “So you’re staying too?” Jacob answered, “Yes. I’m staying. I have things to do. My family might be alive if I had just spoken up, but I did not. Now the retribution I must pay comes in the form of protecting the dying and the dead from wolves this night. And I must also bury my family.” “Well, have a snort first. This day has been a hell for both of us. And anyway, I’m not much of a water drinker. I had a case of this stuff hidden in the wagon. I always said, ‘Whiskey will quench a man’s thirst faster than water will.’ So what do say Jacob?” Hence, the reason Hamilton Richards did not succumb to the Cholera bacterium, he did not drink the affected water in his family’s barrel.
To Mr. Richards’ offer of libation, Jacob politely refused by saying, “Not now thank you. It’s time to bury my dead.” “All right Jacob, I’ll help you bury yours, and then you can help me bury mine. The disagreeable work will go faster that way. I’ve got a pickaxe and shovel. I’ll be right back.” When he was left to himself, and with the cries of the dying reverberating in his ears, Jacob knelt by his mother and said this prayer; “Please Lord let it be true that my mother did indeed see my father, and that they and my sisters are this day in heaven with you.”
When Hamilton returned with the entrenching tools, the work of burying their dead commenced. By the time the seven graves were dug, the occupants placed therein, and the words spoken, it was getting dark. Jacob turned to Hamilton and said, “We’ve still got a long night ahead of us. First of all, we’ve got to unhitch the livestock and set them free. There are sixteen wagons not counting yours and mine. We’ll hobble our teams then you take eight and I’ll take eight. We should be finished before dark.” “Yes Jacob, but how are we going to keep the wolves from the dying and the dead? And are you planning to bury over eighty bodies? It will take us days, and by then the wolves would have surely gotten to some of them.” “I have an idea, I’ll tell you about it later, but first we need to wait for those that are going to die to die. Come morning we will take care of the dead. However, tonight we must keep watch. We will take whatever we can find in the wagons that will burn and start two or three big fires, and we’ll keep them going all night. So let’s start unhitching, it’s getting late.”
So the two men set about what they had to do. They sat up throughout the night listening to the sounds of death. As the night wore on the sounds became more feeble until the only sound heard was the crackling of the fires. When the sun once again made its appearance, Jacob and Hamilton looked at one another, nodded, and set about doing what had to be done.
During the night, Jacob conveyed his plan to Hamilton. He told him of something he had learned from a man who lived in Concord. This man told Jacob of the funeral rites of the people of India. And how they placed their dead on a funeral pyre and burned the body until it was nothing more than ashes. At first, Hamilton balked at such a notion. “What about the resurrection of the bodies? That’s blasphemy.” “No,” said Jacob. “I thought the same thing, but it was explained to me that the body turns to dust after a few years. So what is the difference if the body turns to dust or ashes? It’s all the same in the end.”
Jacob’s plan was to put the bodies of the dead in their own wagons, dose it with lantern oil, and set it ablaze. By the time the wagon burned down to embers, there would be nothing left for the wolves. Hamilton saw the merit in Jacob’s plan and besides digging graves was hard work. So, the two men, after a meal of hardtack and biscuits, set about the business of burning the dead.
As the day wore on, and the sun beat down upon the men toiling at their gruesome task they quenched their thirst. Each in his own way, Jacob from his water barrel, Hamilton from his whiskey bottle.
After burying their own dead, the men had eighty-one other bodies to load onto wagons. By noon they had just about completed their task. Only four more bodies lay in the grass. It was the Blair family. Edward, Polly, Aaron, and little Isaac who Jacob’s youngest sister adored. Hamilton was about to suggest they stop for something to eat, but realized the work of loading the dead onto wagons had robbed him of his appetite.
After putting the bodies of the Blair’s in their wagon, Jacob took a drink of water from their water barrel rather than walk the fifty, or so, yards to his own wagon. It had been a tiring morning’s work. Seeing Jacob ladling the water to his mouth, Hamilton said, “That looks refreshing. I think I’ll bend my rule about water and join you. Thus, the last two of the ninety left behind on that plain took the Cholera bacterium into their bodies.
Now that the bodies were in the wagons, it was time to set them afire. Jacob had decided to burn the wagons of columns one and three first, saving the wagons of his column until last. The men went to each wagon, found the supply of lantern oil, and poured in on and throughout the wagon. Then the wagon was set afire.
When it came time to set fire to the wagons of his column, Jacob hesitated. “My father considered these people his friends. Perhaps we should take a moment to remember them, maybe say a few words.” Hamilton agreed, and said, “Let’s start at the back, and work our way up.” The men had moved their own wagons about a quarter of a mile up the Trail in readiness to move once their work was done. However, it was getting late, so Jacob suggested they finish and head out first thing in the morning. “No use starting an hour before dark.” “You’re right Jacob. Let us get this last task behind us, so we can rest. I’m spent, what with all the work and no sleep last night.”
By coincidence, or by hap stance, the wagons were in the same order as they were the day they left Westport. The last wagon was the Winston’s, John and Martha, the newlyweds. Jacob poured the oil on the wagon and onto the bodies of John and Martha, struck a match, and threw it into the wagon. The flame followed the trail of oil and within seconds, the cotton cover was ablaze. Jacob looked upon the makeshift pyre, and said, "John Winston told me of his dream. He told me of his hatred of working in a public house, and He told me of his love for wife. At least they are together in eternity.”
The next wagon in line was the Sutton’s. The oil poured, the wagon set on fire. Jacob turned to Hamilton and asked, “Did you know them? I barely spoke with him and not at all with his wife.” “Yes, I spent many an hour jawboning with Al. He loved his wife and little boy Teddy. He was a dockworker, and as much as he loved his family, that is how much he hated the docks. I do not believe there are any docks where he is now. That should sooth his soul.”
At the Blair wagon Jacob spoke, “Ed Blair was a coachman, but he referred to himself as a servant. He and his wife Polly saved for five years to make this trek. They wanted a new life as masters of their own fate. At least he died as a free man.”
The two men moved on to the Johnston wagon. While watching it burn Jacob said, “Mr. Johnston was my father’s first friend on the Trail. He was a printer, but what he wanted more than anything was wide-open spaces in which to raise his children. His son Seth went ahead to prepare a place for the family. Now Benjamin Johnston is with his wife Clara and his children, Seth, Simon, and Phoebe in a place that is nothing but wide-open spaces.”
At the Walter’s wagon, Jacob hesitated. He was not sure how one should speak for those of the Quaker faith. It was Hamilton who said, “Morgan Walters was a man of peace. And I heard that he was also a damn good saddle maker. Of course, I heard it from him, but it must be true because Quakers don’t lie. Morgan and his wife Emma had four beautiful children; William, Hattie, Ella, and Albert that must be a comfort to them at this very moment.”
The first wagon of the column and the last wagon to be set afire was the Garnett’s. Jacob spoke this time. “My first thought as I stand before this inferno is of Abigail Garnett and her beautiful green eyes. Next, I think of the bitterness contained within the soul of Jonas Garnett. The man worked hard all his life, but I wonder if he ever saw the fruits of his labors with a clear eye. Like the rest, he wanted something better for his children than what he had. But did he really have so little? He had five wonderful children, Abigail, Jonas Jr., Elizabeth, Alexander, and Virginia. Perhaps he now knows of the richness of his life and the bitterness has left him. I pray so.”
As the six wagons of column two burned, the two men walked to their own wagons. They were tired; it had been a long day. They sat in the grass between their wagons, neither one wanting to eat. Hamilton brought out a bottle of whiskey and offered it to Jacob. This time Jacob accepted the offer and took a long pull from the bottle. “I just want to get the taste of death out of my mouth.” “Amen to that,” responded Hamilton. They sat in the tall grass and shared the bottle as they watched the sun sink towards the horizon.
After a few moments of contemplation, Hamilton said, “You know those were some nice words you spoke back there, it staring me thinking of Nate and Becky, not to mention the loves of my life, Mattie and Carrie. Poor old Nate. Spent years chipping rock out of the earth, then more years hauling that same rock up the sides of buildings. And you know, he was happy doing it until recently. The rock was not his life. It was Cassie and the girls. You know the first thing he did every night when he came home was ask for the girls. He was a good father.” Jacob nodded and said, ”My father was also a good father. He worked hard, sometimes doing jobs that were disagreeable just so we would not do without. I think the only reason he wanted to find gold in California was so we, my mother and sisters, could have more. It’s just too bad he didn’t realize that we had everything we needed. We had a loving home, and that’s more than some folks have.”
As the clouds turned orange and the sky turned purple, Jacob remarked, “God does move in mysterious ways. Here we sit surrounded by death, but look at His majesty in that sky.” Hamilton just shrugged and said, “Pass that bottle over here.” After handing the bottle to Hamilton Jacob suggested, “We should unhitch our teams for the night, and it would be best to do it before it got dark.” Hamilton said, “Sure let’s do it. I’m ready to hit the hay. I’ve been too long without sleep. I’m feeling kind of low.” What Hamilton was feeling was the first effects of Mountain Fever.
As the men bedded down for the night, to the south a band of Santee Sioux were returning from a retaliatory raid on the Pawnee. The daughter of the War Chief looked to the north and saw great plumes of smoke rising into the air. She rode her pony up to her father and asked, “Father what is that?” “I do not know daughter, but we will cross that place tomorrow, then perhaps we will know.”
We will return to Jacob in a moment, but first let us ascertain the progress of Big Jim Cody’s train that left Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850 and became legend.
Big Jim was hell bent on getting his train to Oregon before any other disasters befell it. Only one of the six remaining wagons was originally destined for California. However, after discussing the pros and cons of a solitary trek to California, it was decided that the emigrants of that wagon would accompany Big Jim and the other five wagons to Oregon. Once there, if the emigrants so desired, they could proceed down the coast to California. It was deemed safer than making the trek alone.
The first stop of any significance was Fort Laramie, situated between the North Platte and Laramie Rivers. It was originally known as Fort William, named for the man who erected it, William Sublettle. However, in 1834 the United States Military purchased the fort and renamed it Fort Laramie after the French fur trapper Jacques La Ramie.
The next destination of mention was Independence Rock. The train was fifteen days late in getting there. Big Jim knew that would not bode well for his train. He could only hope and pray that the snows were late in coming that year. They were not.
Big Jim had gotten his flock to the Elkhorn Mountain, at about eight thousand feet when the final adversity befell his train. It was in the form of a severe snowstorm. When the storm had passed, there were three feet of snow on the ground. The train could neither progress up the mountain, nor go back down the mountain.
Big Jim scouted for a place to camp until, and if, the snow melted. He found it in the form of a rock outcropping. He huddled his charges against the far wall and built a fire for them. Thus, they stayed for two days waiting for the snow to melt enough to traverse the pass and descend on the other side of the mountain.
On the third day when the snow showed no sign of melting, Big Jim thought some fresh meat might bolster the emigrant’s spirits. Therefore, he picked up his gun and went looking for fresh game.
The woman wandered away from the makeshift camp looking for warmth. Of course, she was not thinking right, or she would have known that the only source of heat was the small fire Big Jim had managed to make in spite of having nothing but damp wood to work with.
When Big Jim returned to camp, he saw that the woman was gone. He immediately went in search of her. He was following her tracks in the snow, and had gotten only a few hundred feet from the camp when he heard a woman’s scream. He knew right away from where it came. There was a cave he had scouted a few days earlier in the hope that it might present shelter and warmth for his bedraggled group. Upon entering the cave, he had discovered a very large grizzly bear in the mist of its yearly hibernation. Big Jim knew that next to a she bear protecting her cubs, there was nothing more dangerous than a grizzly bear who had been disturbed while hibernating.
Without another thought, Big Jim made his way as fast as he could through the thick covering of snow. Just as he entered the cave, and as his eyes adjusted to the dim light, he saw the grizzly; now standing erect on its hind legs, take a swipe at the woman’s head, removing her scalp in one fluid motion. For a moment Big Jim stood transfixed as he looked at the bone white skull slowly turn to red as the woman’s blood poured over it. Then the woman crumpled to the ground.
Big Jim did not have his gun with him, but after that momentary hesitation, he drew his knife, and flung himself upon that mighty monster. The bear’s first advance missed, Big Jim had ducked in time, which gave him the opportunity to get inside the bear’s arms, and sink his knife into the its left shoulder. The knife went deep enough to hit bone. As steel met bone, the bear gave out with a prodigious roar. It lashed out at Big Jim, connecting with his face, which was immediately removed. But Big Jim did not yet give up the fight. Even though he was now blind from the blood pouring onto his eyes, he fought as a man of his stature was expected to fight. Pain meant nothing to a man like Big Jim, but no man is a match with a grizzly bear in hand-to-hand combat.
The bear made short work of Big Jim that day. When it had finished, the pile of meat that lay upon the floor of the cave could not be taken for anything human if not for the clothing. It might be said that Big Jim no longer wanted to live after the disasters that befell his train. However, those that knew the man knew with certitude that Big Jim died as he had lived. He died in the defense of another human being.
Without Big Jim to fend for them, the small group of remaining emigrants slowly, one by one, froze to death. So ended the trek of Big Jim Cody’s train that left Westport Missouri in the spring of 1850.
Some say it was greed that brought down the hand of God upon Big Jim Cody’s train. However, only a few of the souls were out for gold. Fate, God, whatever you want to call it, descended on all alike. All save one, were marked for death.
Now back to Jacob.
When the teams had been unhitched, and hobbled, Hamilton turned to Jacob and said, “I’m sleeping in the wagon tonight. Got myself a bed fixed in there. I’m through sleeping on the ground.” “All right Hamilton, but I like looking at the stars as I fall asleep. I’ll see you in the morning.” Actually, the two men would never again see, nor speak, with one another, not in this life anyway. Perhaps the next, because come sunrise, one would be dead, and the other just this side of death.
Before bedding down for the night, Jacob walked over to the graves of his mother and sisters, and stood for a few moments in silent prayer. He fell asleep to the crackling and popping of the burning wagons.
Sunday, October 17, 2010
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