Mrs. Barston had been screaming the day through, and finally, we stopped to eat and the ladies gathered around to see if any had an opinion about what would help her. The poor woman had been laboring right through the Indian fighting, and was in a terrible state. She was getting weaker and that old Mrs. Meyers says right out loud that she won’t make it. It has been two days of her laboring with that child and some of the women are whispering that child might be dead by now. Her other children are all puny and starved looking, just like her.
Finally she has that child and I was there with some other ladies, but Savannah was not and I am glad. She had an awful looking child, and dead. When she saw the child was dead, Mrs. Barston just fell sort of quiet like and late after we had fed and watered the stock and watered all the trees, we heard she too died.
December 16, 1881
Now it seems as if all these folks that were so mean spirited and hateful before suddenly know they need each other to stay alive, and they are much more friendly and willing to share things. All are included, even the colored families and the Chinamen and Mormons who look just like everybody. I don’t know why folks don’t want them around as they talk our language and all, and call each other Sister Clara and Sister Nina and Sister Lucille. They are three grown sisters and one of them’s husband, and about six children all sharing that one wagon and sleeping on the ground at night.
While Savannah teaches the little children school, I stand nearby and listen. I know she knows I’m listening and she is helping me to learn reading and writing without being embarrassed because of being full grown.
Captain Elliot has put two sergeants in charge of platoons that will take charge of groups of wagons he said. We are split up with assigned groups with each platoon and a sergeant, and now he is telling us he doesn’t care who anyone is or what they do, or if they are sick or in childbirth, all the wagons will travel together, there will be no splitting off the wagon train.
December 19, 1881
Well, it is good news that all are included, because I have found by much pointing to my sorry shoes that the China people’s Papa is a cobbler. As I was sitting on their tiny stool to have my feet measured, the Chinese family gathered around and talked in their little bird sounds and smiled, and they offered me a cup of tea which was very good. Well, I have got my skirt lifted a little bit for him to measure my feet, and there is that soldier boy who thinks he is friends with Doc Holliday peeking over a harrow hanging off their wagon and grinning at my ankles like he is seeing something fancy.
I said to the Chinese Mama, even though I know she doesn’t understand, that he is a scoundrel and I pointed to him and made a frown. Well, she took off after him and chased that boy from their wagon like he was a snake, all the while scolding him at the top of her voice. I can see we will be friends and she looks after her children just like all Mamas and Papas do. They have four children, all very small but since the Papa is only as tall as my shoulder, I suspect they are older than they look.
It seems we are being tormented by the Indians as every morning there is someone who wakes up with their bedroll gone in the night, or their dinner pail or some such. The Indian warriors sneak in under the noses of the sentries posted, and without even waking a dog they take a blanket and go, and don’t harm nobody, but it makes a body feel fully nervous and edgy. They think we are taking their land and don’t know we are just passing through so they want to scare us and they are doing that just right.
So everyone wants to sleep in the center by the fires and close together, with the soldiers on the outside for safety, but Savannah begins to cry at this and blushes about twenty times and says Albert I just can’t, I just can’t. Well, there is rough old Albert, as ornery as any big brother a girl could have, putting his arm around Savannah and cooing to her like a repenting hound dog, and promising her she won’t have to be sleeping out with other folks and that she is not common nor shameful. I watched all this and thought you just never know sometimes what’s in a man’s heart. When you think he is all tough nails and boards he can be different on the inside. It makes me wonder about other men I know, too.
So tonight and every night, Albert will make a little tent and fashion a door that can be tied shut and he slips in and out when he takes a watch, and hides Savannah in there so she can sleep away from other folks eyes. She said to me she is sorry there can’t be room for me too, but I said it is different because she is married and too genteel, and I will be fine, but still, I figured it would be nice to be fussed over a little like that.
December 21, 1881
I have the most beautiful pair of ladies boots I have ever seen and I hate to wear them just to walk to Arizona in, they should be for dancing.
While Savannah is teaching all of us to write and read and do sums, I am helping the Chinese children to say some of our words. I am no teacher but they need to know some things just to get along, and I know their names when they say them but I cannot think of a way to write the sound of it. They call me Sarung instead of Sarah, but I don’t mind because they are pleasant and always offer tea which is very sweet with sugar and they have come to our fire place and travel close to our wagon. Their oldest boy can say, I am walking, I am sitting, and some words like bucket and horse and wagon, and I think he knows what I mean sometimes. This is a good feeling, to help someone.
I talked to those Mormon sisters Sister Clara and Sister Nina who is real young, about my age, and Sister Lucille who appears to be very much older than my Mama. Now I know why people don’t want them around as they are pure addled and claim they are all married to the same husband.
Pretty soon the trail got so muddy we were obliged to stop, and Captain Elliot said, Round up the train.
I saw him on his horse this morning just studying the sky and smoking his cigar and looking lonesome and sad, kind of like my Mama looks when she is thinking about yonder. I wondered if he was thinking about them Indians or the coming rain or what, then I saw him shift in his saddle and just like that he looked like a fierce man and I remembered his bloody sword and the way he went to save a woman that was already dead. He is tall and has a big Cavalry mustache that droops down sad looking as if you couldn’t tell when he smiled at all, and he wears a regular hat instead of a garrison cap like most of the soldiers. He was patting Toobuddy on the head yesterday and looked real gentle, but something about him makes me stiffen up and want to be careful how I walk and what I say and where I look.
December 22, 1881
I am almost full grown now, and need to have more room in my blouses up top, and Savannah said I better fix up my hair instead of letting it hang down like a girl. My camisole is busting apart in the middle and the ribbon that used to hold the top in little ruffles just makes a ridge that holds up the camisole without any help from the straps. I am glad. Maybe I will get a figure after all. So we cut a new camisole and mended the old one, and out of my old skirt we are piecing together a blouse. We have hid the seams in the front with some embroidered flowers and it doesn’t look pieced at all.
Then we decided us ladies would like a bath in the rainwater, and we shooed the men and Harland away and made them bring us up buckets of rain, so we could wash our hair and clean off. When Savannah stood up in her shimmy I saw her looking pinched and strained and then I said, Why, Savannah you need a new camisole too, and bigger drawers.
Mama looked at her hard and suddenly said, Savannah, you have plumped up like a mother hen.
And Savannah started to blush hard, and she said, Yes, it didn’t take long. I saw that she and Mama were staring at each other, and suddenly I realized what they were saying. Savannah’s body was plumped up in the right places and there was no mistake.
Then I thought of what that hateful Captain Elliot had said about a man being torn apart, and I thought of Mrs. Barston screaming herself to death for more than two days, and I felt sick. Mama and Savannah were all but crying with joy, but all I could say to her was, Don’t worry, we will be home before it comes,
and I left their wagon and went back to ours.
This isn’t a good time for a baby and I can’t help feeling that God sure likes to make things tedious on folks. It seems as if no one is spared a share of torment, and some will have more than their due. Lord if you see this pitiful band of travelers, please lend a hand and see us through with no more dying. I’ve had enough to last me all my days.
December 24, 1881
Tormented by Indians most of the day. Many soldiers are dead and some of the wagon train folks. I have no more feelings and just keep my rifle loaded and my eyes on the horizon and drive.
December 25, 1881
Christmas Day. It is cold and dreary looking out. Some of the folks want to stay put to have Christmas and Mrs. Meyers is the loudest and rudest thing and scolds at the Captain for pushing us onward. He doesn’t say anything to her but orders his men around and we go on. We have pushed on and on and the wind has picked up terribly.
I wish I had a gift for my family but I don’t, so I went to everyone this morning and said Merry Christmas and hugged them and told them they are my Christmas present just being alive. Next year we will have Christmas in a house I hope and have gingerbread men and mince pie and roasted goose, then I said, it will be with a new baby in the family and that is a fine gift for all of us. Well, Savannah cried when I said that and hugged me tight and said I was a wonder to her.
Mama started singing Gather at the River, but I said, Mama, sing a Christmas song. She started singing Away in the Manger and we were humming along, but in a few lines she had it confused and it turned into Hush Little Baby Don’t You Cry, and she started rocking back and forth. That is the song she sang to Clover as he passed away, and it is too sad for me to bear on a Christmas day and so I got out of the wagon and let Harland drive so I could walk out of hearing up ahead aways.
I wasn’t going to write anymore but I have been given a Christmas gift from the Lord and I must tell it. Around noon we came upon a deserted campsite and standing there as if the owners were coming right back was a small wagon with a canvas cover. Since our wagon is close to the front of the train, I hurried up ahead to see if there were folks around.
No sign of anyone, and in fact, the worn down places on the canvas and the scattered fire place looks as if it was deserted for the longest time. We are several miles from the railroad tracks, on a route the Captain has on a map, and although the trail looks used, this wagon is deserted for sure.
Being my share of nosey, I climbed up inside and found the dearest treasure I think I have ever seen. The wagon bed was lined with boxes of books. Books and books, stacked and packed in rows with leather covers on them and some had gold and ribboned edges. Some of them were story books, some of them seemed to be schoolbooks, and were about things I don’t know of, and one is a magical book, with a big D on it, a book of words to learn to spell and what they mean. I opened it up and said my ABC’s to myself and found Gale in the book and it is a strong wind of high velocity usually a storm on the ocean.
This wagon is a treasure chest and I am suddenly struck greedier than ever in my life. I want it so bad I am just beside myself. All these words to read and know is more than my insides can stand and I am trembling all over with excitement.
Mama, Albert, Savannah, Harland, Ernest! I shouted. I can drive this wagon, we have two extra horses, and the foreigners horses and, Rose. I cannot force her to a yoke says my heart, but look at all these books!
Well, Albert says the Army has got those foreigners horses and he doesn’t want to spare the extras without a double yoke, in case they are needed by the family. And why would I want all that, he says, obviously someone else dropped it as useless trash.
These books are not trash, I said, as I know they are the opposite. They are the only thing I wanted in my life more than I could name. They are pearls in my hair and scarlet velvet gowns but I could not say that out loud because they would think I was touched.
Before I know it I am off to see Captain Elliot again. Just as I found him riding along and he tips his hat to me, I feel like I must fly back to that wagon and find out what a velocity is before I can go another step. Captain, I said, has the Army got the right to those killed settlers horses, or are you just keeping them for spares?
Well, he wasn’t used to being spoken to so directly by a woman, I ’spose, because he kind of laughed and looked at me queer again. No, we don’t have the right to them, Miss Prine, he says, but they need to be fed and I guess we could keep them if we wished since the Army is feeding them.
Well, I said, I wish for someone else to feed them. Me. I have found a wagon, a good, sound wagon and it is loaded with good books someone left behind and I need just two horses because we have two spare and I don’t want to yoke up Rose and she is not a draft horse and I want the loan of them horses. If you Please.
Suddenly he got this mean look in his eye and he tipped his head way back and looked at me under his hat and sort of laughed again. Books? he says. A wagon of books? Show me, he said as he got off his horse, and so I grabbed him by the hand and pulled him quick over to the wagon and showed him inside.
He looks down at me and goodness, but he seems tall, and he says, Now, Ma’am, I can’t loan Army property to a civilian, but I could sell those horses, for something of equal value of course.
I know my face is red and I am trying not to think of his twinkling eyes looking right through my head. What do you want? I said.
Well, he says, he wants a book, a book for each horse, and he gets to pick which ones. I had to think really hard and really fast. To give that man a book was more than I could stand, but if it meant to have all the others, I just had to do it. So up he climbs into the wagon, and says Come on, you can decide the value of the book, if it’s worth a horse or not. I don’t know what he means but I am up in the wagon with him and I can smell the pages and the ink and the glue of the books.
He picks up a red covered book and holds it up to me and blows off the dust and then reads out the title, A Study of Animal Species of the Northern African Continent.
So I said, What is that about? He opened it and there are drawings of strange animals and monsterous things and it looks like something I truly want to see.
He snapped it shut and said right away, This one’s for one horse. Then he picked up another and read out, Annotated Expositional Sermon Texts from the Right Reverend Simon Thomas Brown, and I said Fine, right away. He looked at my face, not at the book, and said, No, this one ain’t worth a horse. Then he picked up the magical book with a big word what started with a D which I can’t even say, the book with all the spelled out words in it, and he is eyeing me and says, This one.
Oh, no, I said, not that one, and I started to reach for it.
He stuck out his chin and said, This one’s worth a horse.
Oh, no, I said again. It’s not, really it’s not, and I could not stand to see that book in his hands.
Maybe, he said, this one’s worth more than one horse.
Well, I said, then you got a horse and a half and you can’t do that so you got to find a one horse book.
I get the feeling he is laughing at me under that mustache but I don’t care I just want him to rob me of my books and get out fast. Pretty soon he comes up with a book called The Duchess of Warwick and Her Sorrow by the Sea and I frowned hard. He opened it up and flipped the pages all gilt edges and shiny.
This isn’t worth much, there is a page gone, he said. Page eighty-seven is gone.
Oh, Oh, was all I could say. Page eighty-seven! As I thought those words I wondered if he could hear my heart pounding. The Duchess of Warwick was the scarlet velvet lady with the tragic letter clutched to her bosom!
This one, he says, with pure meanness in his heart, I just know. He says This one is a one horse book, as after all, those are big horses and strong enough to pull this wagon of lead. I bet this weighs a quarter ton, he says, and stands up with the Scarlet Velvet Lady book and the Animals of Africa. Sold! he hollers and laug
hs, and says to me, let’s go get your horses, Miss Prine.
The hateful scoundrel.
December 27, 1881
Yesterday the Indians came again. Ernest jumped on my Rose and chased them with a rifle and got Rose shot in the bargain. She is limping but it appears the bullet went in and out her flank and I was stroking her and cleaning her up.
That sergeant in charge of our group said, Back up, honey, to me and pulled out his carbine and aimed it at Rose.
Well, I charged at him and said No, no, and he fired and it went over Rose’s head and into a wagon. It was luck that no one was hit, but I won’t let him put Rose down. She can get well.
I got that Ernest Prine alone and told him he was a mule headed, low down skunk and he better not lay a rope on my horse again. He just looked at me puffed up and said he was defending his family. Well, I said, that doesn’t give you leave to put aside all sense and judgement and go acting like you had the right to my horse. So he called me selfish and said if Papa was here he’d make me give him Rose to apologize. I said right back that Papa would whip his tail for what he done. We parted mad, and I don’t care. It ain’t often you are given a horse like Rose. It ain’t right to steal her, I don’t care what for.
I just turned around to walk away, and I saw that Captain Elliot watching us. I hope he didn’t hear me fussing at my brother, but if he did he didn’t seem to notice.
December 28, 1881
Rose is real sick and for once I am glad for our slow pace. Much work with the horses and poor Savannah cannot walk at all for the sick stomach complaint, so it is nice that we have this extra seat and now she sits by me sometimes and sews baby clothes and croshays little socks and soakers of woolen and mittens and hats. Her baby is going to have more clothes than all us Prines put together.
These Is My Words: The Diary of Sarah Agnes Prine, 1881-1901 Page 5
