by Jim Cox
After a hearty meal was eaten and the tableware cleaned and put away, folks sat around telling of their past and where they were headed. Some stories were exciting and some were sad, but everyone’s tomorrows sounded blessed. Several times during the tales, Liz went to Bart’s side and observed his care; the women who were helping were doing a good job.
Captain Willard stepped into the firelight as a joke was being told. "I don't want to bust up the party, but it's time for bed. We need to get an early start tomorrow. It’ll be a long day.” As folks rose, the captain said, "I need two men to stand guard, there are Indians about. Work it out among yourselves who takes the watches."
"We'll tend to Bart out here for the night," said the self-appointed sergeant. "Mrs. Douglas, you and Liz sleep in the wagon." The Douglas women knew there was no use arguing, so they started for the wagon. However, Mrs. Douglas stopped by the sergeant and whispered, "Thank you for all you've done, Mrs. Kaiser, but you don’t fool me. I know your heart is as big as a washtub." She squeezed her hand and smiled. The big woman smiled back.
Morning found Mrs. Douglas cooking over a fire her husband kindled before leaving to tend the livestock. Liz rolled her sleeping bag, and Douglas returned leading three horses and the mule. Breakfast was soon eaten and the wagon prepared.
It was first light when the wagons rolled. Liz and her mother resumed their patient’s care by applying fresh medicine and cloths to his back. Bart’s cheek was black and weeping gray pus from the cauterization, but the redness and heat on the wound were gone. His fever was no better. He sporadically tried to rise and sometimes spoke gibberish in a loud, shrill voice as he was tossed about during the bouncy ride. The day dragged on. It was hot.
During the noon break, Mr. Meyers came by to examine the boy. He made no comment, good or bad, simply looked the boy over and walked away.
For the next three days, nothing changed as the wagons rolled westward. Some of the original anticipation of their trip had been dulled by the grueling travel, but everyone stayed true to their dream of finding a place leading to a better way of life. A place to raise their children, or a place to live out their later years. For others, health issues dictated a better climate. But for all, the motivation to travel west seemed to occupy their inner selves, just as it had for folks who came before them.
Their water supply was now limited because the last two nights had been dry camps. The water needs of the stock were met, but the people’s needs went short. It remained in the nineties during the day but cooled some at night. On two occasions, they saw large herds of buffalo grazing a few hundred yards away, not seeming to mind the passing wagons. The Indians followed.
It was the fifth day after Bart's cauterization when his fever broke. Mrs. Douglas was sitting beside her husband on the wagon seat while Liz slept in the back of the wagon near Bart. Liz woke when a wagon wheel hit a rock and bounced. Rising to her knees, she looked at Bart. Something was different; his face was no longer pale but seemed to have a natural color. "Mama, come fast," she called. "Something's wrong with Bart… he might be dying!" Mrs. Douglas climbed back, kneeled beside Liz, and placed her hand on Bart’s forehead. Turning to Liz with a smile, she said, "Honey, his fever has broken. He's going to be all right."
Four hours later, Bart woke. His jaw had a strange feeling like the skin was being drawn tight across his face, but the pain was bearable. He was comfortable lying on his back. The campfire light penetrated into the bonnet, illuminating his surroundings. He guessed he was in a wagon train because of the number of voices outside. Bart surmised folks had eaten their supper and were sitting around drinking coffee, talking about the day’s travel.
A man with a deep, raspy voice caught his attention. "Sure am glad the boy's fever broke, he’s been through hell. Anybody who would whip a young boy like that should be strung up. Wished I knew how it all happened."
Chapter Ten
It started after Ma died. Pa seemed like himself for a couple of weeks following Ma’s burial in November. He went to work, helped with the chores, and asked about my school work, but he slowly sank into a depression. I tried to get Pa's mind off Ma's death by coaxing him to finish the new room we were building, but he always said we'd start in a week or two.
I didn’t enroll in school that fall. I wanted to because it was my last year before graduating, but I was needed at home. I worked hard all summer and fall, but when winter came, we still weren’t ready. We didn't have near enough hay and wood gathered up to last. Pa didn’t help out much; he simply came home from work and sat in his rocking chair, totally exhausted. He didn't even help with the cooking.
I made a special effort to prepare food he liked, but most of the time he would take a few bites and throw the rest in the hog bucket. By late winter, he became real pale, had lost a considerable amount of weight, and coughed a lot. Sometimes, he would have a coughing fit so bad he went outside for fresh air.
Things were like this for several months. Nothing changed except for Pa's coughing and weight loss. It got worse. I started seeing blood on Pa's handkerchiefs and knew something was wrong, so I confronted him. "Pa, what's wrong with you? You're skinnier than a rail, you don't eat, and you cough all the time. I even see you coughing up blood sometimes. What is it, Pa?"
"Son, you don't have to worry. I've just got a bad cold that's settled in my lungs, probably from the cold, damp weather we've been having. It’s nothing. I'll be getting better soon." But as Pa was saying this, he was interrupted twice with coughing fits.
"Have you seen the doctor?" I asked. "Mr. Stevens at the mercantile can send the doctor by on his next trip." Pa didn’t agree to it, but I went to see Mr. Stevens anyway. He promised to send the doctor around during his next stop in Blainsboro.
Two weeks later at the dinner table, Pa said, “Son, the doctor was here today. He thinks I have consumption." I knew a little about the disease, but not a lot. "What's consumption, Pa? Is it a bad disease?"
"It's a disease of the lungs, Son, and I have a bad case of it, according to the doctor. He said I probably contracted it when I was in the prison camp at Andersonville." Pa turned and coughed several times before continuing. "He says I have only a few months to live if we stay around here; but if we go west, where the air is dry, I might live for several years. What do you think, son?"
Without hesitation, I responded through teary eyes, "Pa, we have no choice, we’ll move west, and we might as well get started tomorrow."
Within a week we sold most of our possessions, including our livestock and chickens. The day after all transactions were completed, we boarded a large raft on the Ohio River and headed west with a sack of food, a suitcase of clothing, and Ma’s Bible.
Our fellow travelers were a family by the name of McCormick who had hired the river pilot, Mr. Phillips, to build a raft and take them to Cairo, Illinois. From there, they planned to catch a steamboat bound for New Orleans. Pa negotiated our passage for a small fee.
The trip to Cairo was quite an experience. We lazily floated downstream, observing the beauty of spring flowers and budding trees. Occasionally, we saw animals drinking or standing back in the timber waiting for us to pass before approaching the river. Pa pretty much stayed to himself so folks couldn’t hear him cough. Twice, we traveled through whitewater rapids, requiring us to hang on for dear life, but Mr. Phillips was an experienced Ohio River pilot and brought us through safely.
After three weeks on the river, we arrived in Cairo about noon on a sunny day. We were in a hurry to get to St. Louis, so Pa bought tickets in the afternoon for departure the next day at eight a.m. I was in awe as we walked to the hotel. Cairo was by far the largest town I'd ever been in. Buggies lined the streets, and people bustled about from store to store. I'd never stayed in a hotel before or eaten restaurant food and was anxious for the experience. We splurged a little by ordering fried chicken, mashed potatoes, and all the trimmings. Afterward, we enjoyed a piece of apple pie with ice cream. We went to bed early that evening and the nex
t morning boarded our boat for St. Louis.
St. Louis was unbelievable. I’d thought Cairo was big, but it was nothing compared to this city. Our plan was to stay in one of the less expensive hotels for three or four days while we purchased the necessary supplies and equipment for the journey west.
We got settled and the following morning walked to the livery stable, intending to buy a wagon and a team of horses. The livery manager had a used wagon for sale. It was a Prairie Schooner made by a German family in Pennsylvania. After some haggling, Pa came to an agreement with him. The liveryman tried to sell us some horses that had seen better days, but Pa wouldn't bite. While Pa and the liveryman were trying to outmaneuver each other, I looked around for other options and noticed a pair of mules. Waiting until the liveryman had gone inside to wait on another customer, I motioned for Pa. "How about these mules, Pa? They look good to me."
I said in a low voice, "Look how big they are. I'll bet they're close to sixteen hands high."
When the liveryman returned, Pa said, "I might take those two mules off your hands, if the price is right." After they had settled on a price, I interjected, "Of course, the price includes harness for both of them, doesn't it?"
The man turned to my Pa with a smile and remarked, "Your son sure drives a hard bargain, but I’ll agree to it. The mules’ names are Maude and Frankie."
We had a noon meal and then went to the mercantile to load up on dry goods and other items needed for the long trip west. After paying, we made arrangements to pick up the goods the next morning. We were almost to the door when I saw a rack of western hats. Pa noticed them too and walked toward them. "Son, pick out one of these hats and try it on. It’s what most men wear where we’re headed." I chose a black hat, rounded high in the crown with a silver band. It fit good and made me look a head taller. Before we left, Pa also bought me a shirt, a bandana, and a pair of black boots. The boots were two sizes too large, but Pa said I’d grow into them.
We joined a wagon train, led by Mr. Adams, and were two days out when the rains started. A cold, drizzly rain stayed with us day and night for four days. Mr. Adams kept the wagons moving even though everyone was drenched to the bone. I knew the damp, cold weather was not good for Pa, so I drove the team while he sat under the bonnet, out of the rain. Pa wore a heavy coat and was wrapped in blankets, but that didn't keep him from shivering. His coughing spells became more frequent and the blood more noticeable.
On the seventh morning out, I woke to a strange feeling. I knew something was bad wrong with Pa. We were sleeping under the bonnet, and Pa was on his side with his back to me. I rose to a sitting position and pulled him toward me on his back. His eyes were wide open and had a glassy, frightened look. "Son, I can't go on. I don't have any strength left," he said between coughs. "I can't seem to get warm."
I dressed in a hurry and erected a shelter out of the rain. I drove four poles in the ground beside a large boulder, mounted a tarp on them, and then started a fire. After the blaze had caught, I added large, dry logs to the fire and found dry leaves for a bed.
Pa was able to crawl to the edge of the wagon but needed help getting down and walking to the fire. By the time I had him lying on the bed of leaves, flames were reflecting heat from the boulder, warming the shelter. I put on coffee.
I couldn’t get Pa to eat. I gave him warmed-up corn muffins and I cooked bacon, but that didn’t tempt him. Pa did drink a cup of coffee. I was finishing my own meal when Mr. Adams rode up and said, "Bart, we'll be leaving in thirty minutes. I know your Pa is in bad shape, and I hate to say this, but I've got to keep this train on schedule. Maybe, you can make a bed in your wagon for him?"
"We'll not be going with you, Mr. Adams. Pa can’t stand the travel. We'll have to stay here till he gets to feeling better."
"Be careful, son. You'll be easy prey, you being young and your pa so sick. There's Indians and trail robbers in these parts. If I was you, I'd hide my valuables in case someone tries to rob you."
"Thanks for the advice, Mr. Adams. I’ll do as you say." As Mr. Adams rode off, I turned to my dying father. Even though the temperature climbed into the high eighties, Pa was shivering and couldn’t get comfortable. I kept the fire going and tried to feed him a little soup and coffee, but to no avail. The day dragged on, and I felt helpless. The sun was setting when Pa called. "Son," he said in a low, weak voice. "There’s over five hundred dollars in my money belt and some extra change in a small, leather sack in my pocket. You need to hide the money along with Ma's Bible in one of the side bins." He turned and coughed several times. I sat staring at him, not knowing what to do. After his coughing stopped, Pa continued. "I won't make it through the night, son, and there are a few things that need to be said. I'm sorry I haven't been a good father since your mother died. You had to do all the chores, I didn't do my part."
"That's all right, Pa. You did fine."
"No, it's not, son. You're a good boy, and I'm proud of you. I know you'll grow up to be a fine man. If I was you, I'd go on to Colorado like we'd planned. It's a country that will provide you with a good life if you plan and work hard."
"I will Pa, I promise. I'll go to Colorado liked we planned."
I buried my father the next morning on a hilltop overlooking the valley. I said a few words over Pa, like those
I’d heard at other burials, but mostly, I talked to Ma, hoping she’d be proud of the kind words I said about Pa. My last words to my father were, "See you in Heaven, Pa.” Then I took his seat behind the mules and headed west, looking between two pairs of long, pointed ears.
Travel was uneventful for the next two days. The terrain was hilly, causing the mules to labor a little, but they did fine. At midmorning on the third day, the rain started again. I was about to go under the bonnet to get out of the wet when the mules stopped. I heard the shuffle of leaves before seeing the man ride from the woods onto the road in front of me. I didn’t like the looks of him. He was a big man, standing over six feet tall and weighing at least two hundred twenty pounds. His hat was bent out of shape. His clothes were filthy, and his boots were run down at the heels. His hair and beard were unruly, and besides, he needed a bath. A coiled, rawhide whip hanging from his side caused me to stiffen. Furthermore, he was cruel to his horse. Its ribs and hip bones were showing, and its barrel was raked with spur marks.
"Howdy," he said in a friendly voice as he rode up to the wagon. "What's a youngun like you doing out on a miserable day like this? You gonna get a death of cold. I’m Luke, Luke Mills. Who’re you, you all alone?"
I didn’t want to give my name. I wanted to get away from this man and the sooner, the better, but my parents had taught me to respect my elders, so I answered, “Bart Carter." After hesitating for a minute or two, I said, "It's nice meeting you, Mr. Mills, but I need to be going. We've a ways to go before nightfall."
Luke reached for Frankie's halter rope, and said, "I ain't letting no boy like you get a death of cold, no, sir. I ain't got no palace, but my cabin will do you fine till the rain stops. It’s over the hill yonder."
“I don’t mind the rain, Mr. Mills,” I said. “I need to be on my way.” But he ignored my comments and started down the road, leading the mules.
We stopped in front of a dilapidated barn. He turned his horse loose in the corral and carried his saddle inside the barn. He told me to unharness the mules and then to follow him to the house. After he had gone, I took a few food items from the wagon and placed them in an empty feed bag crumpled up by the barn wall. I also put Pa’s money sack and Ma's Bible in the bag. After tying the bag shut with a rope, I hid it under a moldy haystack in the corner of the barn. I unhitched the mules, removed their harness, and led them to the corral where I gave them several forks of hay. Feeling uneasy about the situation, I left their halter ropes on.
When I let myself in the cabin, Luke was sitting in a rocking chair, sucking on a jug. The place was a cluttered, filthy mess with an odor that nearly turned my stomach. There were no windows for light or vent
ilation.
"Make yourself at home. It ain't much, but it'll have to do," Luke said between drinks. "It's nigh supper time, but you’ll want some coffee beforehand. There's wood out back—tote in a few armloads. The water bucket is outside by the door, and the coffee’s in that there green can sitting on the shelf. Don't make none fer me. I'll be sticking to the jug."
After I got a fire burning, I cleaned the coffee pot, filled it with water, and placed it on the fire. Luke watched my every move. Minutes went by without words, but when I sat down to drink my coffee, he said, "I been watching and have a notion you're handy at cookin’. I’ll be letting you fix the vittles."
"I'd be happy to cook supper if you'd tell me what there is to cook, Mr. Mills."
"You can cut out that Mister stuff. My name's Luke," he said with a stern voice. "There's taters and salt pork on the shelf. You can throw in a wild onion if you want. They’re growing behind the house."
After I drank my coffee, I started supper. I got the potatoes and salt pork frying and then started for the door. "Where're you goin'?" Luke barked.
"I'm going after the wild onions. You said they're behind the cabin, didn't you?" Luke nodded a reluctant approval and took another swig from his jug. After I returned, he rose and said he was going to check on the livestock and would be back in a few minutes.
