The Pioneer: A Journey to the Pacific

by Schwartz, Richard Alan

  “Yes, Mrs. Beckham.” She hurried to the bran-filled barrel which held the pork belly.

  “Breakfast in thirty-minutes,” Rivka called to her husband while mixing pancake batter.

  “Mrs. Beckham, you always put on a clean apron every day. It seems extra work when everything else gets so filthy on the trail.”

  “I realize we don’t have time for regular washing so we have to re-use clothing day after day. It may be frivolous but I’m determined to start every day with a clean apron.”

  * * *

  Captain Burgess, a tall, wide shouldered man, and the elected leader of their wagon train, approached while they ate. He squinted at the cloudless sky. “It’s cool but sunny now. Should warm up later on.”

  “Cup of coffee, Captain?” Rivka Beckham asked.

  “Ah’d appreciate that, Ma’am.”

  He surrounded the tin mug with both hands to remove the chill from his stiff digits. Captain Burgess took a noisy sip of the dark liquid. “We’ll take a day to empty the wagons and dry everything out.” He turned to Dr. Beckham. “I suggest you check your axles and grease them if needed.”

  “That’ll be good,” Dr. Beckham said. “After all the strain on the oxen, they could use a day of rest and eating.”

  “I could use a day of dry,” Daire said. “We had storms in Ireland but I’ve never experienced such large drops of rain. They pelted my head like acorns.”

  “Sometimes these storms are accompanied by terrible winds. We were lucky on that account,” Captain Burgess said.

  “We survived the tornado that came through Independence,” Rivka said with a shiver. “A nightmare to experience.”

  “These plains hold immense beauty which can quickly turn into ugly tragedy,” Dr. Beckham said.

  “You speaking from personal experience?” Captain. Burgess asked.

  “Lost my first wife and two children to a prairie fire up in the Dakotas. They tried to outrun it.”

  “Dr. Beckham, I’m so sorry,” Daire said.

  “I don’t mention it often,” he said with a sigh. “That fire did bring me to Rivka.”

  She smiled.

  “Rivka’s not only been a fine wife but taught herself enough medicine to be my nurse. Should have seen her running around bandaging and caring for people after the tornado.”

  “Gunter,” Mrs. Beckham said, “remember the children who helped us? Warmed my heart the way they assisted with so many injuries.”

  “Children?” Daire asked.

  “Three of them from the same family, two boys who were five and seven, and a sister around ten.”

  Dr. Beckham grinned at the memory. “I hurt my hands and little Abbey sewed up a young girl’s leg wound. I let her brother, a seven-year-old put a few stitches in as well.”

  “Did you say she was ten?” Burgess asked.

  Dr. Beckham nodded. “I did. Lots of backbone in those three. Like their parents. The five-year-old knew to use his hand to close a puncture wound to stop a similarly aged girl’s bleeding. Probably saved the child’s life.”

  Mrs. Beckham said, “The older boy stayed at my side and helped me care for the ugliest of injuries. Afterward, he and his sister spoke of becoming doctors. Family name was Kaplan.”

  “I believe Kaplan was the name of the family my sister lived with before she traveled west,” Daire said. She addressed Capt. Burgess. “My family got us to Independence where we’d planned to meet my sister Kathleen but she’d moved on to Portland, Oregon as did the Kaplans. The Beckhams agreed to take me with them. My folks stayed behind to work.”

  * * *

  “Daire,” Rivka said. “Let’s get things out of the wagon and into the sun.”

  The evening prior, the wagons were pulled into a tight circle, nose to tail, with little space between them. The oxen were left to roam the inside of the circle and enjoyed the lush Kansas grass.

  The two women emptied the wagon and placed damp items in the sun.

  Daire said, “Many women have gorgeous quilts. They are not only pretty but I imagine, warm.”

  Rivka told her. “They’re more treasured keepsakes than used for warmth.”

  “Keepsakes?”

  “Most of them were made by family and friends who didn’t expect they’d meet the emigrants again. The quilts are full of the names and symbols of the folks left behind. They were a going away present; a remembrance so to speak.”

  * * *

  The oxen-pulled-wagons traveled at a leisurely three-miles-an-hour. A week of bright sunshine turned the formerly muddy trail into fine dust which billowed into the air with each impact of humans, horses, oxen, and wagon wheels. Daire, usually in the company of similarly aged and energetic teens, walked faster than the cattle and would circle their wagon train a few times each morning.

  When passing Mrs. Kelsey’s wagon for the third time, she slowed down to talk while the middle aged woman maintained a slower pace at the side of her oxen.

  “How’s Mrs. Anderson taking the loss of her husband?” Daire asked.

  “She’s busy with her chores and children. It may seem cruel to say but in time she’ll be so busy he’ll be forgotten. I know. It happened to me.”

  “I heard you lost your husband in the tornado. Sorry about that.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  “I lost brothers and sisters in the Irish Potato Famine. It tore me apart.”

  “You were a child then. You’re a grown woman now and don’t let any man fool you, we woman are tougher than they are. There isn’t a man who ever lived could stand the pain of childbirth but we women get through it numerous times.”

  They walked in silence for a few miles, the only sounds being the oxen’s footsteps, the wagon’s creaking, and the rumble of the wheels as they bumped over occasional rocks.

  Mrs. Kelsey used her switch to swat one of her oxen. “When I first married, I believed I’d need a husband to take care of me and provide an income as well as give me children. Not being married, you don’t know what it’s like to have a man rooting about and grunting when he’s between our legs.” She shook her head. “Back breaking labor during the day with children on our teats; men thumping our bodies at night. It’s amazing we live as long as we do.”

  “Mrs. Kelsey, aren’t you…”

  “Embarrassed? Certainly not. Men talk about it. Why not us?” She laughed and leaned closer to whisper, “It’s between our legs they’re always wanting to stick their willies. Why shouldn’t we talk about it?”

  Daire blushed.

  “I’ve watched you. You’re a tough young lady. The match of any man. Don’t let anyone tell you otherwise.”

  “Get up there Gip,” Mrs. Kelsey swatted the same oxen on its rump. “He tries to let Tyler do most of the work but I watch the yoke and don’t let him get away with it.”

  “I’ve helped Dr. Beckham with his oxen. They’re peaceful creatures.”

  “Less excitable and stronger, but slower than horses. By the way, there are ruffians among the cattle drovers. You keep an eye out young lady.”

  “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Do you have anything for personal protection? A pretty woman like yourself should.”

  “Never thought about it.”

  “I have a Bowie knife strapped to my thigh. It hides nicely under my skirt. I have an extra which I’ll let you borrow while we travel.”

  “Thank you.”

  “Mrs. Kelsey,” Mrs. Anderson yelled from the following wagon, “I’m having trouble with the oxen,”

  “Poor thing. She’s afraid to use the switch. I’ll help her if you’ll walk next to mine and keep them moving.”

  * * *

  They were crossing a wide, flat plain with few trees and widely scattered scrub bushes. Dr. Beckham turned toward a faint rumbling sound and saw a distant cloud emanated from the horizon.

  “No flame visible at its base.” Dr. Beckham said to Capt. Burgess as he put a hand up to shade his eyes and squinted slightly to get a better view. “
There’s brown below it.”

  Capt. Burgess yelled in his loudest voice, “Buffalo stampede! Get the women and children in the wagons!”

  As the animals neared, the ground began shaking. Screams now mixed with the thunder of thousands of hooves.

  Dr. Beckham repositioned his wagon so its tail was facing the rumbling herd.

  He told Daire, “According to Captain Burgess, a buffalo cow can weigh eleven-hundred-pounds and a bull two-thousand-pounds and those monsters can run forty-miles-per-hour.”

  Some folks fired guns in the air to frighten the herd but to little affect.

  Screams emanated from a wagon which was knocked on its side. An old man and his son, in front of their overturned wagon, were trampled trying to keep the animals from crashing into it. Any cattle not in a yoke, started running. The cloud of dust filled the air. Those who knew, put a cloth over their face. The rest gagged, coughed and choked on the fine particulate.

  In the lee of her family’s overturned wagon, a four-year-old girl screamed for her parents while she held tightly to her screaming two-year-old brother. Many wagons hitched to horses, were uncontrollable as the equines panicked.

  Out picking wildflowers, Mrs. Anderson’s three youngest children huddled by a four-foot-tall and similarly wide rock. She saw the youngest trying to run back to their wagon but he was trampled under the thundering hooves.

  Unable to control her instinct to protect her children, Mrs. Anderson ran to their rescue but suffered a similar fate.

  * * *

  Over an hour later, the balance of the herd passed. Mrs. Anderson’s three remaining children approached Mrs. Beckham.

  The oldest, fourteen-year-old Gavin, said, “Mom’s gone. No trace of her or Tom. And our wagon’s on its side.”

  “I’m sad for you kids but we have to get ready to move again,” Mrs. Beckham said. “Let’s inspect your wagon and, if it’s in good enough shape, we’ll right it.”

  “Daire,” Dr. Beckham said while splinting a broken leg, “Why don’t you plan on staying with them for the rest of the journey. You slip their wagon behind ours when we start moving again.”

  “Let’s plan on having meals together,” Mrs. Beckham said. “That should give you a chance to set up a routine with them.”

  * * *

  Daire stood with hands on hips after the wagon had been righted. “Front-right-wheel’s broken.”

  “I’ll search for a replacement,” Gavin said.

  With a bit of effort and help from friends, Daire and Gavin replaced the broken wheel.

  “Walk around and gather as many of your possessions as you can find,” Daire told them. “We’ll be leaving soon.”

  Four-year-old Angela wept. “I want my mom.”

  Daire picked her up. “She’s gone to live with the angels, sweet girl.” She told Gavin and twelve-year-old Theresa, “I’m going to be depending on the two of you. You need to watch out for your little sister. Gavin, are you old enough to walk next to the oxen and keep them moving?”

  He stood tall. “Yes, Ma’am.”

  “Theresa, we need to organize and repack the wagon. I need your help but we also have to keep Angela close.”

  “You children pay attention to Daire,” Mrs. Beckham said. “You mind her and you’ll be fine.”

  They heard angry male voices.

  “Mr. Goshen again,” Rivka Beckham said, glancing in the direction of the sounds.

  Daire said, “He seems to yell at anyone who comes near him.”

  “Gunter tried to give him advise about the fittings on his wagon. They nearly came to fisticuffs.”

  “Same happened to Captain Burgess.”

  Rivka shook her head. “If you’ve heard the expression, there’s no fool like an old fool, Mr. Goshen is a perfect example.”

  * * *

  “Mrs. Beckham,” Daire said, while carrying the four-year-old, “Angela’s been lethargic the last few days and wants to sleep a lot. Her eyes have been red and watery. She’s had a sore throat plus cough for the last few days. Now she has these red areas on her face which seem to be spreading to her chest and arms.”

  Rivka took one look and yelled for her husband.

  He examined the little one and shook his head. “Measles. Damn. We’re in for it now.”

  “I had it as a child,” Daire said.

  “You won’t get it again but any adults who get the sickness will be in rough shape. I’d better tell Capt. Burgess and help him spread the word.”

  “I read that two-thirds of the native population of Cuba died from a measles outbreak during the fifteen-hundreds,” Daire said.

  “Fifteen-twenty-nine, if I remember correctly,” Rivka said. “The native populations in this country have little ability to fight the disease. If it spreads it may devastate them as well.”

  “What should I do for my three?”

  Dr. Beckham said, “Make sure they get plenty of rest and they need to eat. If, after they get the redness, they become quite hot, complain of extreme headache or begin convulsing, find me immediately. Those may be symptoms of a disease which can kill them.”

  Arriving back at the Anderson’s wagon, Theresa approached Daire. “I’m coughing and my face is getting red.”

  “Dr. Beckham said to rest and be sure to eat.”

  “Gavin’s eyes are red and he’s been coughing too.”

  “All of you are sick. You rest in the wagon.”

  * * *

  “How are your patients?” Rivka Beckham asked Daire that evening.

  “Angela mostly sleeps. Theresa is helping me with chores. Threatening a severe thrashing was needed to get Gavin to ride in the wagon and rest. I think he was in there all of two seconds and he fell asleep.”

  Rivka shook her head. “Typical man. Doesn’t know when he needs to rest. Gunter hasn’t slept more than an hour since we discovered the sickness.” She shook her head. “We’ll stop for a few days. Capt. Burgess is worried because we’ll be behind schedule if we do.”

  “Then why stop?”

  “Quite a number of adults are sick. If they don’t rest, the disease can kill them. Gunter explained they need all their strength to fight the sickness.”

  * * *

  Two weeks later, Theresa told Daire, “A good day to be on the trail after all the illness. It looks like we’re traveling through a carpet of wildflowers with an azure blue sky over our heads.”

  “Azure – good vocabulary.”

  “Back in Indiana, I was the best reader and speller in my class.”

  “We seem to be slowing. Capt. Burgess said there would be a river crossing today.”

  “Will we have to unload the wagon?” Theresa asked.

  “I doubt it. Our wagon’s light and this river’s only a-couple-feet-deep plus the water is slow moving.”

  * * *

  “A good day despite the rocky trail,” Captain Burgess said one evening the following week. “Covered at least twenty miles.”

  “Mrs. Beckham put milk in our butter churn this morning and I strapped it to the side of our wagon,” Daire said. “The constant bumping and banging from the trail caused a nice roll of butter to form.”

  They both laughed.

  Captain Burgess said, “Those wagons do ride rough. Lots of folks supposed they’d ride ‘em to Oregon but they mostly end up walking. Only the tiny ones and the sick manage to stay inside when moving.”

  That evening, a violin player and guitarist entertained the crowd. A few danced to the lively tunes.

  A skinny teen approached Daire. His pock-marked face evidenced as many bumps on it as the rock-strewn trail they traveled that day.

  “Will you favor me with a dance?” Timothy, the preacher’s son asked. She blushed and nodded. They twirled to the sound of a lively tune.

  An outrider approached Daire and asked for a dance. She agreed but didn’t like the look in his eyes.

  * * *

  The wagon train stopped just before a river crossing. Four Indians waited at
the water’s edge. Captain Burgess conversed with them and returned to a group of men. Many emigrants craned their necks to gain sight of the first Plains Indians they’d run into.

  “They want five-cents-per-wagon. They say we’re crossing their land.”

  “Five cents?” A short, wide man said, pulling a hat off his bald head and throwing it to the ground. “There’s at least three-hundred wagons behind us.”

  “If there’s four Indians standing here, there could be hundreds hidden nearby. We pay and they’ll leave us alone.”

  “Tarnation,” Preacher Straus said.

  Waiting for their turn to cross the river, Daire asked Rivka, “I’ve heard that word tarnation out here. Wonder how it came about.”

  “Polite society doesn’t swear. Since the Puritans arrived, people have been inventing words to use as epithets that aren’t swear words or contain religious connotation. Tarnation is a combination of eternal and damnation.”

  Daire wrinkled her brow. “Damnation I can understand but eternal?”

  “Eternal isn’t polite to some as it may be used as the Lord’s name like the Eternal One. Colloquial speech changed it to tarnal.”

  The teen laughed. “And I thought I knew English.”

  * * *

  The same outrider she’d danced with, slowed his horse to walk next to Daire.

  “July fourth, in two days, Miss Devlin. Independence Rock is nearly in sight. Should be a right fine celebration.”

  “That’s what I’ve heard.”