Not five turns of a wheel and we roll down a little ridge and into a wide, spread out circle of what looks like a hundred Comanche warriors with their bows drawn. As we look behind they have closed ranks and surround us completely. We have our rifles but don’t want to draw down fire because we are a lost cause.
About forty Indians break from the line and come forward and calmly surround our entire herd of horses. As we sit helpless and watch, there goes our future and all our stake in San Angelo. They have bows drawn, but they do not move to attack. Then one Indian man cuts from the line and moves into the herd, weaving through the horse backs until he comes to a roan with a white nose wearing a rope halter. He scoops up the reins in his hand and pulls Rose from the bunch and starts toward us. Calm as you please he comes right up and looks us all over, rides over to me and holds out the reins. I took Rose from him and then he turned his pony like a top on hind legs and galloped away. The same Indian was the one who scalped the bad men and offered me the scalps. There was a different kind of respect in his eyes when he looked at me than anyone ever had before.
September 19, 1881
We have made San Angelo and it is just a little place of a dozen wood buildings and some tents, and within a week my Papa had grown badly infected in his arm and had a spell of pain in his chest and grabbed his heart and died. That very day I had talked to him about our plans and he said, You all will do fine, just fine, and, I’m tired, girl, just so tired. Let me sleep some and then we’ll plan more. And then he went to sleep and then he roused and said he was strangling and, Help me! to Mama, and then fell down in the floor.
I have no idea what took my Papa away. How can we go on without Papa, I just don’t know. He was wiry and strong and yet gentle always. Oh, Papa. I always felt like I had a hold on things when there was Papa to turn to.
My brothers are sitting around asking each other over and over what will we do now. They ask me what do I think Papa wants us to do, as we have no horse ranch, and almost no money to start up one. We would have to hunt mustangs and break them ourselves, just us four children. Likely we will all starve. Ernest says Papa would want us to stay here and last it out. Harland says he wants to go home. He don’t understand how we have sold that place and have no home to go to. Albert just looks at me and shakes his head. He says what do I think but every time I try to think Papa’s voice comes into my head telling some tale or giving directions about a good way to trim barb wire or such.
Albert, I says, we are about give out now, and I hate to think of traveling all that way again through all that sorrow. Yet staying here means trying to spread out our money thinner than smoke. He said to me he will ask up and down for work, but as I saw him walking off, he crossed back and forth between the buildings and I seen his shoulders hang lower every step. We have lost all and are living in a little hotel room temporarily.
Mama is just a hollow ghost of a person now and don’t eat unless you make her, nor comb her hair. She just sits and holds her pilgrims progress quilt and rocks back and forth. The sound of the squeaking rocker is reminding me she is still with us and I think she will get better in time.
September 21, 1881
Mrs. Hoover sold out her wagon and gave us the money for a stake, saying she wanted no part of it and would have burnt it to the ground long ago rather than go on this foolish pioneering with Mr. Hoover, and besides she had a inheritance and was going back to Boston where she belongs. I saw her to the train and she was wearing the finest travel duds I ever saw and had four trunks of dresses she had been dragging in that Conestoga to load on the train.
Ernest is beginning to walk now, and he and Albert and I have decided it is up to us to take care of Mama for the rest of her days.
Albert asked us would we trust him with the money, so maybe he could put a clear head to it all if he knew just how much we have amongst us. He said did we agree with him that some kind of action was better than sitting and waiting our fate, which don’t appear to be a good one. I for one told him that taking a quandary by the horns and wrestling with it was a better plan than expecting it to go away. So I handed him my money, and we shook on it. Harland did it too, but Ernest was mad. Finally, though, he saw no other way for us to make it in this life, so he did the same.
September 30, 1881
Today I got a wonderful surprise. Albert was gone all morning and comes back riding in like a drunken cowboy. He has gone and asked Savannah to marry him and she is going with us back to the Territory. Since he will have a wife too, Albert has bought Mrs. Hoover’s old Conestoga back at a bargain because he told the livery man he could tell it had seen some rough trails.
Albert has met a man selling pecan seedlings with some apple and peach and pears, and he remembered how well trees grew in parts of the Territory we passed through. He took some of our money and bought most of the seedlings and we are going home. We are waiting for a wagon train that is being gotten up and some cavalry soldiers will guard the way. It is the first time I noticed that Albert is a man for sure, not just a brother, and I will have a sister and we will plant some trees for our children and their children. Last night I dreamed about a little house at a bend in a creek with glass in all the windows.
November 24, 1881
Albert married Savannah yesterday afternoon in a circle of strangers and our little families gathered near the wagon train. There wasn’t no preacher in town nor any sign of a judge or even a lawman, so the Captain in charge of the Cavalry troops said some kind words from the Bible, but he mixed it up a little bit. He is a tall fellow, my head only comes up to his shoulder. He is decked out like for a parade for this little country wedding, and he has clear grey eyes that seem to see like a hawk. It is a fancy sight, and I wish Papa could be here and Mama could realize what’s happening.
Ernest, who was standing real close behind me so he can whisper in my ear, said, Sarah look at Albert’s pants and I did and you could see Albert’s boots a trembling inside his pants legs. Although it was a nice ceremony and Albert looked as clean and scrubbed as I have ever seen him, every time he looked at Savannah he got this look like he was going to faint sick or something.
Ulyssa is standing a little back with a big bonnet over her face. She is pale and quieter than ever she was before and any time she speaks she is pleasant and kind but there is a cloud of darkness that slips across her face just as she opens her mouth. She only says dinner’s ready or milk the cow or wash your face Alice, as if she don’t see a future any more just here and now. It pains me too much to think of her sorrows so I just talk to her the same way, about mending a buttonhole or such.
Afterward there’s cheers all around from the wagon folks and some music and dancing is put out by a couple of fellers. One is a Mexican man from San Angelo who plays the guitar so amazing well I could listen to it for hours. The other is a boy coming with the wagons, just a young feller like Harland but he is a fine hand with a fiddle and can hit a tune with just a person calling out the name. There is a lady with a lap harp who says she can play and does a piece but when the feller gets to fiddling she only half keeps up so sometimes she rattled spoons on her hands and it’s just a fine evening for a wedding.
I never danced like they all do but everyone is feeling friendly and the soldiers all want to dance with the ladies. My Mama says no good girl would dance with a soldier and she says it with a look on her face that would scorch a man for just wanting to be a soldier. Mostly I danced with Louisianna and Alice round and round like little girls do and we danced around Harland who made some sashaying and we laughed ’til our sides hurt. Over my shoulder I watched Albert and Savannah in the middle. They are grinning at each other and whispering, and my heart suddenly feels like it is in my throat. How I would like to have a fellow look at me like that.
Some men and women made Albert and Savannah get in their new wagon and acted like the men were the horses and dragged that wagon out onto the flatland a ways. The Mexican man played a beautiful love song and sang to them in Mexic
an and even though the words are different I felt as if I had a knot in my throat from the sweet sound of that song. Then there was lots of crazy cheers. I know they’d never sleep with all that caterwallin and us dancing to beat the band.
The next morning it was a hard time to say goodbye to the Lawrences. Mr. Lawrence looks real old and sad and tired and kind of disapproving, but he is licked and can’t keep all them daughters forever. I am sorry to leave my new sisters and I made them promise to write me as I will write them. Savannah has cried and kissed them all three times. She keeps looking back waving her hand to them. Alice gave Mama a wild rose she picked and Mama pressed it into her Bible. As they slip out of sight behind a little ridge I feel this awful pain at my eyes and can’t seem to keep them from running with water, although it is not tears. The sky is heavy and low and clouds are moving much faster overhead than the wind is on the ground. Rose is tied to the cook’s pantry in back. Our axles don’t match but our wheels are turning.
November 27, 1881
Albert don’t want his new wife to have to drive the team. It is so loaded with the seedlings that he feels shamed to ride too and wants to save the horses. It would be better if we had bought some oxes instead of horses to pull this load. Sometimes Savannah begs him to stretch her legs and so we walk together and Albert drives. It is not hard as this large wagon train ain’t making good time like we did coming over. But it is safer to have all these people together and so far we have no sign of Indians. Likely they got all the horses they need now.
Savannah says I ought not to wear skirts above the ankles and Mama up and says I declare but Sarah, you are eighteen now and we missed your birthday in San Angelo. Well, it was the farthest thing from my mind but I see that I need some changes and we set out in the evening to cut a long skirt from some yard goods. It is brown and that is not my favorite color but it will be new.
Mama will add a length to my petticoat and I will be a lady. Well I don’t feel like a lady so I asked Savannah about things.
She says I’m just fine and she is proud to have me for a sister but I begin watching her and see how she does just so. I have to make myself think to take small steps and not walk like I was always keeping up with Papa and Albert and Ernest in the old days. I notice she don’t laugh out loud nor talk free to people but holds her peace until it seems lady like to answer. I don’t know if I can get to talk genteel as she does because she has been to the tenth grade advancement and has taken a teachers’ test and passed it.
We are packed to the rafters in pecan seedlings all wrapped in sackcloth bundles which we water the roots every evening. We have eight horses pulling and two more spares who aren’t good teamsters but they are better than none. With Rose makes eleven but I would never ruin her by putting a yoke on her neck, even if we lost all them others.
There is a pack of travelers in our line, and some of every kind of person I ’spect there is, even two families of colored freedmen and one of chinamen, one of mormons, and some folks that look regular but don’t talk our language and no one knows what it is they talk nor can talk to them in any way. Some folks started a commotion about the Colored folks wagons and the Chinas and Mormons and foreigners, but Captain Elliot gave them all a speech about how none of us could leave without anyone he had been placed in the charge of. He has a loud voice and he talks like he is used to being obeyed. Seems to me this is a suspicious lot of folks and not too friendly as they all are inclined to hate each other. I will be sorely glad when this traveling is over and we have made a home again.
November 30, 1881
Today it began to rain just as breakfast was cleared up and as the time passed it came harder and harder until the train was forced to stop. We have opened all the water barrels to collect the fresh rain, and tethered all the stock and there is little to do but wait and sew. So my new skirt is done and I am proud to wear it.
It will be a lean day and I don’t like having to eat cold food left from last night as there is not a dry stick of wood in miles and there will be no fires today or tomorrow either. Folks sit in their wagons and as I look out the wagons all look deserted and empty and the train disappears off in the distance like a line of white sheets fluttering just above the ground.
December 1, 1881
At sunset tonight the sky turned miraculous colors and gold shined off everything in the land and it reminded me I have always wished for a yellow sunbonnet. Mama used to say yellow won’t go with my hair which is too dark to be called blonde and too light to be brown. She said stick with a nice blue or at least dark brown to match my eyes. I have got some freckles from not wearing a bonnet often enough on this trip. Savannah is lucky.
I know my face has gotten brown from riding in the sun. The truth is there is nothing much I can do, I am plain and not pretty like the Lawrence girls. Savannah is shorter than me and has got a fine figure and I am straight and thin like my brothers, and she has all that wavy dark hair and mine is straight as a stick and cantankerous, although it is thick enough for two people to share. I know Mama would say that the heart is what is important, but I think if I was shorter and filled out more and prettier I would like that just fine. I can look eye to eye with lots of men, and mostly they want to be taller than a girl. There’s nothing special about my figure, either, so it will likely be a hard thing for me to take up with a fellow. I’ll bet men would stand in line to marry any of the Lawrence girls with all that black hair and those blue eyes, even Alice with the bucked teeth. If I had a yellow sunbonnet I would wear it always and keep from getting more freckles.
December 2, 1881
Today Savannah was watching me and Ernest clean the rifles and guns. I always did like the smell of cleaning guns. It is a cooling smell like a rain coming. She says to me Sarah, show me to shoot a gun.
Well, Albert was not keen on this but he can’t say nothing because it don’t put him out any. I told Albert how important it would be if we was set upon by the Comanches again just to have one more hand among us. Well, he says that’s why we got this here army, but he agreed Savannah ought to learn at least to fire a pistol, so after dinner we set up a row of cans and sticks aways off. The pistol kept popping up in the air and she jumped before she even let fly with the trigger, so I said try the rifle, maybe that is your best shot.
Savannah says she will try and put the stock against her arm instead of her shoulder. It gave her a kick and knocked her back so she sat down and began to cry out, my arm! my arm!
Albert was all bug-eyed and made her go right to the wagon and roll up her sleeve and show him. Then he judged it was not broken but blue bruised. It was getting dark, so we went to the inside of the wagon circle for now. It quit raining but turned cold that seeps into your bones.
Our family was sitting quiet in a circle and Ernest began to talk about how Savannah might hold the rifle different but she should let her arm get good again before she tries, and she is agreeable to this. Then a fellow near by says real loud, It ain’t no good for no woman to learn to shoot any how, least of all from some skinny little girl. He says this to some other fellows around and their women sit around and nod and send us mean looks like they are too good for the likes of us.
I thought maybe it wasn’t lady like to shoot a gun but Savannah is darning socks by the firelight, and without missing a stitch she doesn’t look up but says to our family, When those Comanches come back Missis will have to throw her knitting at them.
Then Ernest laughs low and says, That will surely scare them, he seen her knitting. We all had us a good hearty chuckle out of their ears.
December 3, 1881
My feet have paid the price of growing and walking too much at once. I will ask up and down the fires tonight if there is a shoemaker amongst us. Mr. Barston’s wife is heavy and expecting to be confined any day now. She looks mighty peaked and will be glad to have that over with. She looks as rangey and meager as any spavined old mare I ever saw and being used to breeding animals by nature, we all know she will have a mean t
ime. Even though she has three other living children, she is missing some teeth and is nearly bald headed, I saw her hair is missing in patches when her bonnet blew off yesterday.
I heard Mr. Barston talking to the army Captain about when her time comes and the Captain looked real angry but I don’t know why. Then I hear some other soldier saying about how any one having babies on the trail is bound to be left behind and to take their chances.
The Captain says back he wasn’t going to leave anyone in this Comanche territory but any man who’d make a baby before a trip like this ought to be torn apart by horses. Then he looks up and sees me standing there and he says he is mighty sorry for saying them words in my hearing. I was just so red faced I couldn’t talk at all and I turned away with my wash bucket and hurried back with the water.
Mama must be right. Soldiers are a dirty bunch and that was a dirty thing to say. Still, I know you don’t want to drive a mare in foal and it has got to be true for people too. I will stay away from that Captain Elliot as he is a coarse and mean soul.
I have been up and down the bunch and have asked about some boots to trade for some hand work or washing, or some cobbling to be done but there is none. Ernest and me are trading walking and driving the wagon. Mama can’t seem to be able to manage driving it so sometimes she likes to walk with me and Savannah.
Tomorrow being Sunday we will stay put for the day but we will not rest as there is harness to mend and washing to do and all. Ernest was talking to those folks that was talking out about Savannah and me shooting the rifle. He says their name is Meyers and they are from Missouri State. They say they are the ones who made the Captain stop for Sunday and asked Ernest wasn’t he glad that some folks was Christian enough to stand up for what’s right?
These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901 Page 3
