Mr. St. Clair's death, a stone in me.
Can't bear to write another word.
July 10
Heaviness in the air. Our whole company shrouded in gloom. Hands can't seem to move. I'll never take up a pencil to sketch again.
Louisa has come with news of Mr. St. Clair's sketches having burned up along with him!
Our loss is unthinkable. Such sorrow, unbearable.
The men already prepare the grave. I wish I were a tortoise with a shell to crawl inside of. I can't bear to
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think of oxen stamping over his grave, as if to erase where the artist has been.
Later
WE LEAVE PAWNEE FORK.
I'm writing with the artist's thick pencil. That and the sketch of the Indian dance are all that is left of him.
Doesn't feel right to leave this place without Mr. St. Clair.
Like leaving Papa's grave back in Arrow Rock.
Camp No. 26
Traveled only six miles today.
More wagons with us now, 75 or so filled with goods -- 150 in all, which slows us down a good bit. No matter. I am in no hurry to be far away from Mr. St. Clair.
July 11 Camp No. 27 Coon Creek
Mama was taken sick tonight, with pains she can't account for. She's taken some medicine given her by
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Mrs. Nutting, but Dr. Antoine has gone ahead with the companies before us, on to Bent's Fork. I sit here writing when I should be saying extra prayers for Mama. I wish I had a book to read to her. I must confess, I miss books more than baths.
July 12
Wednesday morning.
Mama shows no signs of improvement. Mr. Ryder has in mind to ride ahead himself to see if Dr. Antoine, the Frenchman from St. Louis, can be stopped.
All we can do is wait, wait, WAIT.
July13
Mr. Ryder has returned to say Dr. Antoine could not be caught. He assured Mama we'll head direct for the fort, where the good doctor will be detained. The doctor, we are told, is most skilled in midwifery.
Mr. Ryder was all gentleness and affection on his return, telling Mama we should thank God that the Frenchman knows especially about female cases. But
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the fort is still eight or nine days journey, and already the blush is drained from Mama's face. Mr. Ryder frowns, and on his brow are two half-moons of worry.
July 14. The Caches
Noon rest. Stopped twenty miles this side of the crossing, where we visited a train of large holes dug in the ground, in the shape of jugs, to my way of thinking. Frenchie says they are called the Caches (sounds like kash-ez), from a French word. A man rumored to have escaped from prison made them! Near as I can tell, the man goes by the name of Beard, and was overtaken by a severe winter storm. I imagine him a pirate, direct from Robinson Crusoe, which Jem begs me to tell each night around the fire, since we had to leave the book behind. This Beard fellow lined the holes with moss, sticks, and stones to conceal his goods until he could return for them. On his way back to recover his store, he was attacked by Pawnee.
Jem and I could not help wondering what stolen treasure was kept hidden there! Eliza said, "Just think what gold and rubies could have lain in this very
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hole." Louisa remarked that I can now embroider a treasure chest for one of my quilt blocks.
While the four of us entertained visions of stolen jewels and finery, Mama has been weeping. When Jem and I returned, her eyes were puffy and her nose red as Indian paintbrush.
Mama seldom cries.
Camp No.31
Went to bed by eight and a quarter o'clock, but sleep did not descend long. I awoke to lightning flashing jagged tongues in all directions. Thunder followed, and rain poured. Not a spoken word could be heard. The tent shook and loosened the pegs from the sand beneath us until the whole shelter was likely to collapse with the tempest. I was most fearsome that something terrible would come of it.
Mr. Ryder attempted to carry Mama to the wagon, but the ropes from the tent tangled somehow, and in the confusion the pole fell on her!
Mr. Ryder would not let us in directly to see her.
Mama was soaked through and through. Mrs. Nutting brought dry blankets to her aid. I do not see
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why Mrs. Nutting should be allowed entrance and not her own daughter!
July 16
Today Mama sat up, smiled weakly and called the mishap a "shipwreck on land." It promises to thunder again tonight. Pah! I told Jem, "I hope we have no more shipwrecks."
"Except for Robinson Crusoe," said Jem.
July 17
Today marks the midpoint of our journey to Santa Fe. Halfway to our new home. We have come over four hundred miles and have been on the trail six weeks!
Tomorrow we reach Cimarron Crossing. It sounds to Jem like cinnamon, and he's sure we will find cinnamon candy growing on trees. I told Jem, "Now I will never smell cinnamon without thinking of Louisa and Eliza," for I just found out this is where I shall have to say good-bye to my dear friends.
The trail splits here -- there's been much debate over the two routes. Mr. Ryder insists that we take the
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Mountain Branch, and I confess to being most anxious to see some snowcapped peaks rather than being parched in a desert. He says he must do some trading at Bent's Fort, but I can tell he's worried over Mama, and needs to get her to a safe resting place for a few days.
The Nuttings and many of the others who've joined us will take the Cimarron Cutoff, which they say is one hundred miles shorter. But crossing the Arkansas at Cimarron Crossing is highly dangerous. After that, it's sixty long miles with little water until the next river. Word is people die of thirst in the Cimarron Desert. And the traders say the Kiowa and Comanche are sure to attack on that route. What if Louisa and Eliza should be attacked by Indians? Drown in the river? Die of thirst?
Noon rest
I overheard Mama tell Mr. Ryder she thinks herself well enough to take the Cimarron route! My heart leaped like a pond frog!
Then I heard Mr. Ryder say back that the desert route is called La Jornada Del Muerto, the journey of death! He says water is so scarce and so many traders
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die of thirst that they often have to notch their horses' ears and drink the blood to stay alive.
I solemnly do not want to be parted from my dear friends, but neither do I wish to drink horses' blood!
July 18 morning
The time has come.
I must say good-bye to my friends. I'll leave them each with a gift, besides the cottonwood seeds bound for California. For Eliza, my drawing of Mr. Biscuit, so she can always remember her hero. And for Louisa, four patches of cloth sewn into a small cover, each of which I have embroidered with her favorite wildflow-ers so that she will at least have something to wrap round her violin.
I have asked Louisa and Eliza to sign their names here in my diary, just like Aunt Florence's autograph book, the one with the red velvet cover, which she had us all sign before leaving home.
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Cows like pumpkins Calves like squash I like you, I do, by Gosh Eliza
I thought, I thought, I thought in vain, And so at last I sign my name. Louisa Nutting
Eliza has given me a silky hair ribbon to keep, which she says she won't wear, anyway! What a funny girl. I use it now to mark the page in my diary. Louisa has written me a song and played it for me on her violin! I can't recount the words here without crying buckets.
Later
Good-bye, farewell, adios seems all this journey is about. Louisa and Eliza are gone. Seems to take forever to find a true friend, but only a moment to lose one. And I have lost not one or even two, but three!
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It takes a full day to cross that river. What if Louisa and Eliza did not even make the river crossing? What if I should never hear from them again?
Camp No. 34
I am lonely and have fallen under the cloud of my own bad
weather.
Camp No. 35 Mosquitoes. Thunderstorm.
Camp No. 36
Saw my first snowcapped mountain far away in the distance. Mr. Ryder says it must be eighty miles or more. They call it Pikes Peak, or James Peak. I should like to climb a mountain someday, but have not the will for it at present.
Later
Have been humming Louisa's song. Here is what I remember of the words:
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Over the trail Under the moon Across the sand I'll think of you
Camp No. 37
Mama is doing poorly.
July 22
Came upon some traders camped here, who've said we are but fifteen miles from the fort. Mr. Ryder seems to know them as old friends. One Mr. Cooper is said to be a rich man, but I can't see it. And Mr. Fayette is quite a beau. Mama found him quite charming, though she commented, "Where he'll find a bride in these parts, I can't imagine." Jem, like a mosquito, would not leave Mr. Cooper alone. He dogged him with questions of California and gold until I had to yank him away under pretense of washing before supper.
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July 23
We passed a soldier's encampment -- fifty or more tents in a ring with soldiers drying clothes in the sun! One might think there's a war on with so many soldiers, but I don't believe we'd find them at their washing, were it so.
One had a scar across his eye and looked like a statue standing guard until he marched up with his musket to ask, "Where you goin'?" My heart beat most furiously, but I thought Jem's eyes might come clean out of his head. The soldier said to Jem, "Go ahead, touch it. It ain't no snake," pointing to his scar. "Got me this in the Mexican War."
Jem declined the offer, but the soldier did let us pass without delay once we gave him our destination.
Camp No. 39
In sight of the fort!
July 24. Bent's Fort and a roof!
The fort is like a castle built of mud bricks, which Mr. Ryder says are Mexican adobes baked in the sun. The
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walls are six feet thick to make it safe from fire on the inside. Over the main gate is a watchtower with a belfry. I long to hear a bell sounding again.
There is only one door and, inside, a space as large as a palace! I feel I am indeed a princess of the Plains.
Twenty-five or more rooms surround the open space. One is a dining room, another the cocina, a kitchen, where I hear the cook singing. A blacksmith shop, a store with real goods to buy, a barber, and an icehouse, perhaps more exciting than the store! I shall be content to chew on ice for the whole of my dinner.
I've been inside the trade room. There are things there from all over the World! Tea from China, bells from Germany, clay pipes from England, glass beads from Venice, wine from France, and guns from Pennsylvania.
The blacksmith was most friendly to me, a furry man by the name of Mr. Vieth. His shop is most mysterious of all -- it has the feel of night even in the day -- dark, glowing with redhot coals and ringing with metal. A giant bellows hangs from the ceiling, giving air to stir up his fire. He makes horseshoes and door latches and handles -- there is nothing that man can't make or fix by bending and twisting metals as if they were strings of licorice.
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Mama says this is a rough place, and I don't think she's referring to the coarse furniture. All I can think is how long it's been since I felt a roof over my head! Oh to wash at a basin again! Glorious!
They have a well here, with fine water anytime we want! There are tables with buckets on them which we are free to drink from. I have actually seen one man throw water from the bucket on the floor, as if it were nothing!
Mama says the floors have to be watered on purpose every morning to keep the dust down. I, for one, am no stranger to dust!
Upstairs
At last I find myself in a hotel, the one Mr. Ryder described. Our room is on the second story, with two real windows! One looks out on the plain, the other looks down over the yard, which they call the patio.
We have our own furniture!! I need double exclamations to say that we have a table, chairs, beds, and washbasin(!!), and we eat in our own room. This fits my idea of a castle for a princess, indeed!
If only Louisa and Eliza could share the wonder.
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The ceilings are made of logs. Mr. Ryder says they're cottonwood, and I can't help but wonder if they still contain spirits. Must ask Frenchie how this works.
Jem tells me they have a billiard room up here! I'm afraid Mama will remove us at once if she hears tell of gambling. She would rather we contend with wolves and starvation and Indians than cheap morals. Thankfully she's already taken to her bed.
Jem was delighted to inform me that no girls dare enter the billiard room. We'll see about that!
Later
The doctor is here, and he's attending to Mama now. Mr. Ryder says he should be able to give her some medicine which will improve her condition. Jem and I are to go take a walk up the river.
July 25. next morning
I wandered into the kitchen, where I met the cook, and she has given me bread.
Bread oh bread. To have bread again! The world could end tonight.
The cook's name is Letty and she is a round, dark
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skinned person with a great wide smile, the friendliest person I've met at the fort so far. She asked me if I'd like to see the root cellar and help her carry up some turnips, so I followed her into a small underground room beneath the kitchen. It was quiet there, so pleasantly quiet, and Letty gave me the peaceful feeling that no talking was needed. The cool air wrapped round me like a lady's silky shawl, and I told Letty I thought it must be the kindest spot between Missouri and New Mexico.
Back in the kitchen, I watched her scrape some green mold from the bacon. She reached a finger to her lips and said, "Shh! Don't tell. Our secret." I wanted to say we've seen a lot worse than moldy bacon on the trail, but I get the feeling there are some folks here who are fancy-like and just might not cotton to the thought of eating spoiled food.
I did then work up the courage to ask her if she told fortunes. She said, "Now, honey, what on earth gave you that idea? The only future I can see is what's for tonight's supper." She laughed so hard, it made me laugh, too.
Letty is famous for her pumpkin pies. She says her best pie eater is Manuel, called Manny, a boy my age who helps his father break horses in the corral.
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Cook says I may help her to bake pies, and I told her, "We shall see who can eat more pumpkin pie, this Manny or my own self."
Afternoon Scene
The fort is its own small city -- a welcomed change from the prairie. Everywhere there's
hustle-bustle and no end to new sights and new words I'm hearing. The men are gambling away the very shirts on their backs, then coming to Mr. Ryder for advances on their wages.
The plaza is filled with the clanging of the blacksmith, the mountain men in their buckskins down from the Rocky Mountains, Mexican traders offering chiles, pine nuts, and exotic spices, and Indian hunters with buffalo robes by the hundreds. Even soldiers milling about looking so serious!
It is like a symphony just to stroll through the place. So far I do believe I've heard seven different languages. Cheyenne, Comanche, French, Sioux, Spanish, Ute, and my own English. And dare I say the mountain men have a language all their own!
One such colorful character they call Muldoon. A regular Kit Carson! He wears a flaming red shirt and leggings made of buckskin. He says he does his own
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sewing of clothes, but who ever heard of a man sewing? (Mr. Ryder should take some lessons!)
Anyhoo (as I heard this Muldoon say!), he walks about on slippered feet carrying a flintlock musket, and everywhere hanging from him is beadwork of one kind or another -- his knife case, tobacco pouch, flint and steel, etc., which he makes himself. I thought it just another tall tale until I saw him with my own eyes, all squinty-eyed catching beads on his needle. He has tiny round glasses,
and a red beard that nearly reaches his waist!
Wheresoever he goes, he leads around a one-eyed mule named Reuben, and the funniest thing about Reuben is ... that mule wears a sombrero -- complete with feather!
I immediately felt shy of Muldoon, so I couldn't look him in the eye, but I did so want to pet Reuben ... I made myself go near him, and Muldoon called a friendly "Howdy do, miss!" to me. He right away began telling me he was back from a rendezvous in the mountains, which I took to mean a big meeting place where traders gather and have more fun and games than they do trading. He said, "Rendezvous this season was the best doin's ever! Got me three skunk tails for my hat and up and won Reuben in a tomahawk
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throwing contest! A bigger fool never drew breath than the one parted with Reuben."
Evening
Dr. Antoine has given Mama some medicine and some advice: to rest. She's not to get out of her bed, or stray far from her room. Mama says the advice is much easier to swallow than the medicine!
We're all glad of the rest, and feel safer knowing there's a doctor at hand. I think Mr. Ryder has drunk one too many toasts to Mama's good health this eve. He growls loud as a bear, and laughs too hard at his own jokes.
July 26
Today is my cumpleanos -- (thirteenth) birthday! I had not imagined it passing without notice, but Mama complains of feeling strangely -- her back, head, and hips -- and I do not wish to bother her. When she tries to get up out of bed she holds her hand over her eyes like she might faint.
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Seeing as how it's my Bustin' Out Day (according to Muldoon), he promised to teach me how to shoot a musket. What would Mama say? I begged Jem not to breathe a word of it. I am not one for killing things, but I sure would not mind shooting me a dried-up old cow chip!
We walked out back to the meadow, and he showed me where the powder goes and about the tiny patch of cloth that catches the spark so the musket can go off. Then he showed me how to load it with a genuine musket ball!
Shooting is much harder than I thought. I aimed at the cow chip, but the gun went off so loud, it near made me jump my skin and I fell backwards. A few more times I got to shoot off his musket, and Muldoon said, "Afore you know it, you'll be fit for the girls' shootin' match up to Rendezvous."
I knew he was just blowing wind, but I liked his kindness all the same. My shooting, for all its noise and racket, didn't go anywhere near that cow chip!
All the stars in the sky: the Santa Fe trail diary of Florrie Mack Ryder Page 5
