“Oh Lord,” he said. Shards of shattered hope ripped through his chest.
He turned toward his father whose face hardened as his eyes roamed the river, its surface pockmarked with heavy raindrops. Then they both studied the approaching storm. The nearly black line of clouds promised torrential rain.
It wouldn’t be long before the Red burst over its banks.
The awful truth, as depressing as the low, gloomy clouds above them, gripped them both. Their three homes, their hard work of many years, would be washed away as if it were all nothing of importance. As they sat there in stunned silence atop their horses, worry surged through Samuel—rising, twisting, churning—like the muddy water below them. Full of rage now, the Red was alive. A primal power without a conscience. Each raindrop upon its surface like the step of a marching soldier in a powerful army.
And it was coming for them.
“It’s time to leave. We can’t wait any longer,” Father said.
“Can’t we wait until it actually nears our homes?” Samuel asked. He knew better but he was desperate to keep Louisa where she would be warm, dry, and safe.
“No. The water could come up during the night and trap us all. I’ll go tell Thomas and the settlement,” Father said.
“What if Watson and some of the others continue to refuse to leave?”
“That’s their choice.”
That was true but Samuel still felt pity for all of Watson’s slaves.
“As soon as you get back, hitch the team to that wagon and get Louisa and Melly ready to leave,” his father said. “Tie their horses onto the back of the wagon in case we need them and put their saddles under one of the tarps I bought.”
“I’ll do that.” Samson pranced beneath him, seeming anxious to get away from the river. Or perhaps the horse sensed Samuel’s own need to get away.
“Baldy and Steve should ride guard. Thomas can drive his wagon and Adam can drive Baldy’s. Have Melly drive our wagon so she can be with Louisa. Tell Melly to take off just as soon as Thomas and Abigail arrive. We’ll catch up to all of them later. I know you don’t want to leave Louisa’s side, but the further away she can get from the river the better. She’ll be safe with Baldy and Steve to guard her. You need to go find Hollis and take care of your herd.”
Samuel nodded with resignation. “I’ll tell Hollis and the other hands to move the cattle even further south than we already have. But after I give him instructions, I’ll wait for you at the homeplace, and then we’ll join up with Louisa and the rest of them.”
“Do you think it’s wise to leave five-hundred head in the hands of Hollis and the other men?” his father asked.
Samuel knew Father expected him to stay with the herd. But that wasn’t going to happen. “Whether it’s wise or not, I’m not going to abandon Louisa when she needs me most. Even if I had ten-thousand head.”
His father gave him a rare smile. “I didn’t really think you would.”
Samuel’s herd sat at the southernmost point of their acreage, well within the Louisiana Purchase acreage claimed by the United States. Further south would put them into the vast area now claimed by Mexico, ever since the Spanish lost ownership of Texas to Mexico in 1821 after the Mexican Revolution. That area, known as Coahuila and Texas stretched hundreds of miles to the south and west. But he would worry about political boundaries later. Right now, Samuel’s main concern was getting his herd to a safe place to graze and water.
“The mud will make it like moving a herd of turtles,” Samuel said, “but they can move the cattle further inland and then set up their camp where floodwaters won’t reach them.”
“Did Hollis and the other hands bring all the bunkhouse food with them when they left? And blankets? No telling how long until the waters recede. It could be months.”
“Yes, I told them to,” Samuel said. “Father, once we leave, we’ll have to keep pressing on until we reach Nacogdoches.” Wagons could only travel between ten and twenty miles per day, depending on weather, terrain, and the age and quality of the horse team. “It’s going to take us about two weeks to reach Nacogdoches.”
“I know, but we have no choice. If our homes are flooded with that filthy, muddy water, even if the rain stops, we won’t be able to come back for a while. You don’t want an infant brought into that mess and mosquitos will soon be terrible.”
Samuel nodded. “Baldy says rivers always recede more slowly than they rise.”
“He’s right. A major river in Kentucky stayed above flood stage for a hundred and forty-seven days,” his father said. “We have to head south. The Red River blocks us to the north and east since it turns southward at Louisiana. And to the west, Comanches will take our heads or scalps if we venture onto their lands. South is the only safe choice.”
“We certainly can’t stay here,” Samuel said. “These storms no longer carry just rain. They carry danger.”
Chapter 6
Late-afternoon Monday,
Water level reaches top of riverbank
With mud flying off George’s big hooves, Stephen raced the stallion toward Thomas’ cabin located on the westernmost acreage of his property. He’d gifted both Samuel and Thomas a thousand acres each upon their marriage. Cornelius’ land waited for his return. And Steve’s waited for his marriage someday. But their land wasn’t deep. Most of it was river frontage and only ran about a half-mile inland. And Steve’s land jutted out even closer to the Red.
When he’d selected this land for their homeplace, he’d thought that proximity to water would make the acreage more valuable. Now he realized it made it near worthless. When the Red overflowed its banks, all the creeks, bayous, and streams it fed would flood too.
His heart plummeted at the realization.
All four of his sons could lose the land he’d come so far to find for them. Finding land for his four sons was why he’d left Kentucky in the first place. Would the river swallow up their inheritance? Would his only legacy be that he brought his sons to a volatile and now dangerous world?
The thought greatly saddened him for there was no guarantee that the Mexican government would approve a land grant for his sons. The only man the Mexicans seemed to trust was Stephen F. Austin, their appointed Empressario.
If they had to buy land in Texas, the cost would be far lower than American tracts—somewhere between twelve and a half cents an acre and as much as twenty-five cents. However, there was no guarantee that a man could get a clear, sound title to the land he bought.
The American government offered unoccupied land within its borders to settlers at the price of $1.25 an acre with an eighty-acre minimum tract purchase. However, the financial panic that swept the U.S. beginning in 1819, had made money incredibly tight. The government sold land on a cash-only basis and with money now scarce, Americans found Mexico’s giveaway of large tracts of land to settlers willing to become law-abiding citizens of their Republic an irresistible offer.
It was all so thorny. And he knew his sons would look to him for guidance. With God’s help, he would try to direct them in the way they should go.
The trail he rode upon ran along the river frontage of their land and led to the settlement. Normally, the view from the trail was of a sparkling river, full of life and beauty, that wove through fertile green fields and lush woods. Just a few days ago, fluffy white dogwood blossoms could be seen here and there along the trail. But the strong winds driven by the norther had stripped and scattered their petals. And now the Red held only a dull reddish-brown intimidating menace. It didn’t even look like the same river he and the others fell in love with upon their arrival back in 1818.
When he reached Thomas’ place, a loaded wagon waited out front and his second son was covering their things with a tarp.
He raced up to his son. “Thomas, get to the homeplace as soon as possible. I want you and Abigail to leave with the two wagons the others will be in. All of you need to get on the Nacogdoches road before dark. Samuel and I will catch up to you later.”
Wrapped in a thick shawl, Abigail stood under their porch overhang out of the rain. The fretful look on her normally jolly face told him she was anxious to leave. Thomas’ dark-haired wife was nearly as lovely as Louisa but was taller and stronger.
“What about the cattle?” Thomas asked as he continued to tie up the tarp.
“Hollis and the hands are going to move them further south and out of danger. Do you need help with anything?”
“No, I’ll manage,” Thomas said.
“How is Abigail faring?” he asked. She appeared a little unwell.
“She has the morning sickness. As soon as she ate, she heaved, but I gave her some of Adam’s medicine to settle her stomach. Are you riding back with us?”
“No, I’m going to warn the settlement.”
“Father, those men are already watching the river. They’ll know when to leave.”
“You heard some of them. They won’t leave or they’ll wait until the last second and then it will be too late. Maybe I can talk some sense into some of them.” Mostly, he was concerned about the slaves on Watson’s plantation. They had no choice in the matter. Watson held their lives in his dainty gentleman’s hands. If there was a chance Stephen could coax Watson into taking them to safety, he had to try.
“All right. But hurry back to the homeplace. Will Samuel be waiting there for you?” Thomas asked.
“He will be, Son. Promise me you’ll hurry.”
“I will. We’ll leave now.”
As soon as Stephen reached the settlement, he spotted a group of sodden men standing under the porch overhang at the Red Buffalo Tavern. Rain poured off the roof in a sheet and the waterlogged wooden structure stood in a couple inches of water, as did the horses and mules tied outside. Several already loaded wagons were parked nearby, their horse teams standing with heads bent, and their wheels mud-covered.
Holding George’s reins in his hand, he joined the group from the side of the porch to allow his horse to get his head out of the rain. George didn’t like this weather any more than he did.
The scent of dirty men, soaked clothing, and wet leather filled the crowded space. Water and dirt pooled beneath their boots and mud-splattered every man’s breeches.
He sensed tension also splattered among the men. Their concerned faces were even more anxious than they were when they came to his homeplace. Many of their jaws and fists were clenched against an enemy they could not fight. Against an enemy stronger than all of them.
“Time to leave,” he said. He’d always been a man of few words, but now, especially, there was no time to waste.
“We’ve been arguing about that all morning,” Wetmore said.
“Stop arguing and go,” he said. “There’s an old saying—when things go wrong, don’t go with them.”
“I can’t take seventy slaves to safety,” Watson said. “Half of them would run off.”
“Would you rather see them drown?” Stephen asked him.
“I’d rather see them stay put,” Watson said.
“We’d all rather stay put. When we made our claims and homes here, none of us dreamed this river could ever get this high. But it has. And from the looks of that sky, it will get even higher. I don’t want to see any of you or your families’ lives claimed by the Red. But if you don’t leave now, I fear that may happen.”
Watson rolled his brown eyes. “The rain is bound to stop any time. It’s been raining for days.”
“Don’t give them false hope, Watson,” Stephen snarled. He was losing his patience, what little he had. “There’s no way to know that. Right now, that river is our adversary and must be treated with the same respect any formidable enemy deserves. That river is too powerful for any of us to stand up against it. Even you, Watson.”
Watson curled a lip at him. “My plantation sits a half-mile from the Red. It couldn’t possibly reach my home.”
“It can. And from my experience with flash floods, it will,” he persisted. On their journey to Kentucky, he’d nearly lost his life in a flash flood. “Risking your own life is one thing. But risking the lives of others is wrong and immoral.”
Watson had the decency not to respond.
Stephen eyed the rest of the group. “My family and I will be on the road to Nacogdoches soon. If any of you stay and live through this, next time anyone travels south to Nacogdoches, I’d appreciate word sent there as to how our property fared. If our homeplace isn’t swept away, I’ll come and survey the damage soon after the babe is born. But if needs be, we’ll make our home elsewhere.”
“I’ll be on the Trace shortly, but I’m only going a little further inland,” Mabbitt said. “As soon as the water recedes, I’m coming right back. I’ll gladly send word with anyone traveling there.”
Stephen told Mabbitt, “I would wait a little further inland as well, but that land is lower and marshy. And, I think it will be months before the water recedes. Louisa is due to deliver her babe any day. We can’t risk having her and the newborn being stuck on the road if the river takes its time receding or if bad weather persists. We have to get her to safety.”
“Understandable,” one man agreed. “This deluge could go on for several more days. We got hit with a double curse—that blue norther and a Gulf storm.”
“I agree. Even if the rain stops, if the river overflows, it will be weeks before it dries out around these parts,” another man said.
“I hadn’t thought about that,” Mabbitt said. “I guess I’ll be going to Nacogdoches too.”
“Good luck, Mr. Wyllie. We pray your grandchild is safely delivered,” Wetmore said and the others all nodded their agreement.
“Thank you and may providence guide all of you,” Stephen said. Some of them moved hurriedly toward their horses and mules, no doubt anxious to leave the area. Others moved sluggishly, their heads bent and their shoulders slumped. He knew a few would stubbornly, and foolishly, take their chances.
Stephen remounted George and took off for home. He needed to get his family to Nacogdoches. He especially had to get his daughters-in-law and the grandchildren they carried to safety. Somehow, he knew Samuel and Louisa’s child would be a boy and he loved him already. Just the thought of having another grandson filled him with a kind of unique joy. And he was betting Thomas and Abigail would have a daughter. That thought made a soft spot form in his chest and brought a smile to his face.
He truly wanted grandchildren around him again. He’d had to leave his other grandchildren back in Kentucky with his daughters. The feelings that had gripped him when they were born were different than the excitement he felt at the birth of each of his six children. The birth of a grandchild was a kind of heart comforting and soul gladdening feeling. Perhaps because grandchildren meant a part of him would live on after he left this earth. Perhaps because there was something special and extraordinary about your children having children.
One day soon, perhaps this Christmas, he vowed to go back and visit his family in Kentucky. He missed all of them.
But if he didn’t get away from this river soon, he might never get to make that trip. Before he got a hundred yards down the trail that ran alongside the river, the rain intensified. In spots, the river spilled over onto the road and Stephen had to take George off the well-worn path and into the thick scrubs to get through. In another spot, a mass of grass-covered driftwood and broken branches nearly covered the trail.
George stopped suddenly, causing Stephen to pitch forward over the stallion’s thick neck. Then he spotted the reason. A cottonmouth, displaced by the storm, slithered off to the right. He waited for the deadly snake to move well away.
He took off again and tried to hurry. Daylight was waning and soon it would become difficult to see the trail at all. He hoped the others were already on the road heading south and that Samuel would be ready to leave.
When he made it past the thick brush, Stephen pushed George to go faster. Soon, though, the stallion had to step through water as the river slowly edged out of its banks. He gl
anced down. The muddy water was so thick and dirt-filled it looked like Melly’s brown gravy. Everywhere, rainwater painted the weepy trees and bowed brush. There wasn’t a single dry spot anywhere. It was as if a tearful earth could not stop crying. Heavily, her tears fell and fell and fell.
The sound of booming thunder merged with a sudden storm force wind and the roar of the river’s rushing water.
Against his better judgment, Stephen took his trusted steed to a slow gallop. It was a race now. If the river rose much more, he wasn’t sure he could make it back on this trail. He would have to find another way home.
What used to be his home.
Chapter 7
Early evening Monday,
Red River at forty feet
Rain dripped from the sky in a steady, drumbeat rhythm as Samuel stood watching the three loaded wagons take off heading toward Trammel’s Trace. Except for his father, the wagons held all the people he loved in this world.
Well-armed and as experienced with a gun as he was with a scalpel, Baldy rode in front of the wagons. Behind him, Adam drove the Grant’s wagon. Thomas, sitting next to Abigail, held the reins of the second wagon’s team. And Louisa sat beside Melly who drove the last wagon, the only one equipped with a cover. All their horses were tied behind each wagon. Steve, who was the best shot of the group, rode behind to guard everyone’s back.
Before they left, each of them used hot candle wax to seal the seam between the pan and the closed frizzen on their flintlocks. And in weather like this, they used lard inside the working parts and beeswax on the exterior. Moreover, they kept the lockwork of their pistols covered with their coats because a flintlock requires the flint to create a hot enough spark to ignite the powder in the flash pan. If the flint got wet, they might get a weak spark or no spark at all. Also, their powder horns were filled and the plugs checked.
LAND OF STARS: The Texas Wyllie Brothers (Wilderness Dawning Series Book 2) Page 6
