Only the face could be seen, and that but for a moment—long enough to indelibly fix the features in Kate's mind. It was the head of a hair-seal, common at that time in the waters of Puget Sound. The sudden appearance of these strange creatures has startled and puzzled many travelers; and led large numbers of people to believe in the existence of a real mermaid.
As the canoe sped on its way, the hills on the east shut off the sun, the channel became narrow and crooked, and the view of waters ahead vanished, leaving only the high elevations, covered with dense forests of evergreen fir, in sight on either side. The outlook ahead seemed as if the party had come to the end of the waters, with a bold elevation—almost a mountain—directly in front. Just then the canoe lurched to the eastward, and despite the utmost efforts of the Indians, shot off the line of travel; then it started as suddenly in the opposite direction, as if possessed by an evil spirit.
The shadows of the hills bordering the narrow passage and a fleeting cloud darkened the view as if night was approaching. A dull, subdued roar comparable to an indistinct echo of a distant sound, reached the ears of the party. Just ahead, the waters apparently swelled up above the common level and then broke away to form again either to the right or left, or both to spread currents running in circles.
Now the sound became louder from the choppy sea of broken waves, forming small conical volumes of water mounting in the air and falling back to the surface. To make matters worse, the whirlpools drew in short bits of driftwood; and some of the larger pieces thumped against the sides of the canoe, interfering with the paddles. The canoe had encountered a tide-rip—water roughened by conflicting tides or currents, a phenomenon of which neither had ever heard.
Kate spoke first; "I wish we were landed, Isaac, don't you?" Pelton felt about the same, but made an effort to speak encouragingly.
It was a battle of the tides in a narrow channel of the Sound with a swift current due to the tide receding toward the sea. The whirling waters extended from shore to shore, while whirlpools of varying extent suddenly formed and as quickly vanished, all moving rapidly in one direction—a grand sight to the beholder from a safe point of vantage, but to Kate an object of terror.
"Tenas alia copet" (it will soon quiet) Sally said, more to herself than otherwise, perceiving Kate's perturbed state of mind; and pointed the canoe toward the eastern shore-line. A few minutes sufficed to reach an eddy outside the disturbed waters, and to shove the nose of the canoe obliquely and gently over to a pebbly beach.
Sally's boy, named Pete after the great humanitarian, Peter Skene Ogden, a courageous and trusted Factor of the Hudson's Bay Company, was the first one out of the canoe. He jumped into the water, waist deep, and began his pranks in a salt water bath, while the mother laughingly scolded him for his rashness.
Kate and Pelton were glad of relief from their cramped position in the canoe, independent of the anxiety of their experience with the tide-rips. "Tenas in-e-ti sitcum sum Skookum chuck copet" (just after noon the current will quiet), Steicca said; and suggested that they remain where they were until the tide turned. Kate had learned enough of the mongrel Chinook jargon to understand what the Indians said; so she and Pelton readily assented.
A steep bluff prevented exploring the nearby woods, and there were no trees until near the top of the hill. Steicca at once began preparations for a brisk fire with the abundant material in sight. A great mass of driftwood obstructed the shore-line just above their landing, some half imbedded in the sand and gravel of the beach, and other debris evidently having been driven beyond the reach of the highest tide by storms of wind and wave. The dead limbs of these derelicts supplied excellent fuel to speedily make a roaring fire.
Kate noticed the Indian gathering and piling small rocks on the fire while Sally dug a small pit, lined it with loose rock, and built another fire in preparation for a clambake. As it was near low tide, the clam beds were exposed and an abundance of the bivalves easily secured for a bounteous meal. Clams are found on the conveniently located sloping beaches, and in enormous quantities along the fifteen hundred miles of the shore-line of Puget Sound waters; so the saying, "dinner is always ready when the tide is out," was literally true.
Kate forgot the apparition of the head and the whirls of the tide-rips that had so startled and alarmed her when their attention was attracted to the picturesque beach, with its many shells and pebbles of various sizes, shapes and beautiful colors. She at once began to make a collection of them, without noticing that Pelton had withdrawn from sight. He had quietly taken his fowling piece and clambered along the beach to a nearby lagoon, where he soon bagged a couple of fat mallard ducks.
No one visiting that region now can have any adequate idea of the vast number of ducks there in the early days. The air was fairly black with these game birds; he could easily have taken a dozen, but hastened back with the two for dinner.
"Nika mamook," Sally said, when she saw the birds, meaning that she would cook them; Pelton readily assented and joined Kate in her search along the beach. The pit of hot rock was nearly ready for the clams; and Sally soon had the ducks prepared for it. Now the rocks were smoothed off, the pit enlarged and the whole covered with a layer of small branches of fir twig ends.
The ducks were placed in the middle of the pit and the remaining space filled with clams. As a sudden dash of water produced an abundant supply of steam, the whole was quickly covered with boughs and ferns, upon which a thin layer of earth was laid and topped by hot rocks from the larger fire.
It was a clambake by experts. Before that time Kate and Pelton did not know what the term meant, but they lived to see it become synonymous with a feast. The "clambake" here supplanted the barbecue in Missouri, where the ox was roasted on a spit.
As years passed they also witnessed the gathering of a thousand or more people at the annual jubilee, all partaking of the luscious contents of an immense clam pit covered with wagon-loads of unhusked green corn. This institution, the clambake that was for many years the central attraction for social gatherings, political conventions and even religious meetings, is only but a memory.
As the time approached for the turn of the tide, Steicca became impatient to open the pit. There came an interim when the battle of the waters temporarily ceased, as the ebb tide spent its force and before the oncoming rush of the flood from the ocean. Steicca knew that when the flood regained mastery, it would be impossible to stem the force of the current in the Narrows and round the point to the large bay ahead. But Sally was unwilling to interfere with her well-laid plans for the first dinner served to her new friends, the admired lady of the village they had left, and the gentleman who had traveled so far to win her.
Indian women, though occupying humble and inferior positions in the life of their tribes, are not devoid of imagination or true devotion to their husbands and children. An Indian mother never chastises her child, and will seldom run counter to the wishes of her husband.
But to open the pit before the contents were ready to serve would break her heart. In this dilemma, woman-like, she appealed to Kate, who had watched with interest the painstaking preparations for the feast and sympathized with Sally in her distress.
"Of course," Isaac said when the situation was explained by Kate, "I'm willing to stay if you are; it's just as jolly here as around the point in the big bay." And Sally was soon made happy by the word they would camp and stop over there until the next tide.
Pelton desired to make the camp leisurely to try his hand, and began to move the outfit from the canoe. Machinery seldom runs smooth on first trial, and so it is on a camping trip; several things had been overlooked or mislaid and a number of surplus articles were found. The folding cot, stools and the stove came out all right. While Sally was busy with the clambake, Kate was arranging the details of the forthcoming meal, for which she had made ample provision before leaving home.
Steicca had erected their camp, consisting of mats fastened to a semi-circle of small poles driven obliquely into the ground; such was the usual temporary shelter of nomad Indians even in midwinter, affording protection from the wind but little from the rain. Sally seemed as proud of the camp as Kate was of their new tent and camp equipage.
While waiting the opening of the clam pit, Sally brought out her knitting for "Siwash" (Indian) socks, made of coarse thread from wool carded in her own camp and formed into yarn by manipulating the crude rolls with the palm of the hand. Indian women are always busy, and seem at a loss to pass the time without knitting or weaving mats, making baskets or moccasins, while the average Indian man is apparently ill at ease when he has something to do.
Sally had some plain shaped plates made from the inner bark of the cedar with a shallow rim on the outer edge, all water-proof; on these, as we shall see later, she served the clams and ducks. Having been busy with her camp work, Sally had forgotten to keep watch of her boy Pete; but now he must be called in, scrubbed and otherwise prepared for the meal. Frequent calls, Pete! Pete! brought no response.
Finally a track was found up a ravine, leading to the discovery of him perched on the limb of a scraggy tree high above the reach of his mother. Boy-like, white or Indian, young or old, he had gone, in search of adventure, and while looking for bird's nests, had ventured too far to easily return.
Did his mother scold him? Not at all. Indian women do not scold their children or their men, but sometimes do each other to the point where words fail, and facial grimaces take their place.
The time had arrived to open the pit, and everything was in readiness; Sally beckoned to Kate, who came over to the spot with Pelton, whose curiosity was aroused. Steicca was on hand to see; and of course Pete was there, subdued and hungry. The outer covering of stone, earth and boughs were first carefully removed, revealing the inner covering through which the steam had percolated.
"Closhe" (all right), Sally said to herself as she lifted the inner covering and disclosed the contents cooked to perfection. Both ducks were handed to Kate (one of which was promptly returned by Pelton), and the plates piled high with clams. Kate divided her own supplies with Sally; and the banquet was on in both camps.
Such was the experience of Pelton and Kate in their first camp; her diary briefly tells the story in these words, "Tuesday ——185-, broke camp early; encountered tide-rips so strong as to spin the canoe in a dizzy whirl. Sally lost control for awhile, a little water spilled over into the canoe; somehow wasn't frightened much."
A few hours sufficed to bring them into the calm waters of a large bay where numerous fishing parties, trolling for salmon, were in sight. Here and there glimpses were had of passing canoes, and the thump of paddles mingled with songs, loud laughter or talk to distant parties. The beach for miles was lined with Indian camps, where some of the men were lounging in listless idleness of mind and body, seemingly almost too indolent to breathe, while others—and particularly the women—were industriously drying the fish, or busily occupied with their crude handiwork.
The catch of salmon was of medium size; sixty-pound specimens were taken with nets in shallow waters, and there seemed to be no limit to the supply. Little did Pelton then realize the tremendous commercial value of this product of the sea, amounting afterwards to hundreds of millions of dollars annually.
In the far distance a white-topped dome reached above the clouds that hung upon the lower levels, all reflected in the placid waters of the bay. Steicca and Sally rested from their labors, and floated with the tide. A brief entry in Kate's diary describes the scene, "Beautiful beyond my powers of description—unbroken evergreen forests in every direction; snow-capped mountains about as far away as the eye can see; a thousand Indians in sight on the beach and in their canoes."
Pelton planned to go direct to the forty beautiful islands he had been told could be visited within the waters of Puget Sound, and to more carefully examine the country on their return. The day's sailing, supplemented by four paddles, left the great mountain dimmed by increased distance, but brought into the far view another of almost equal grandeur, and opened to larger channels of waters than any left behind.
A council held in the morning decided that the course should lie to the dim outline of a headland discernible just above the horizon; wind and tide were favorable, and with the aid of the two Indians rapid progress could be made. An alternate course would be to follow the shore-line down to the objective point, considerably farther and no less dangerous; and so the direct route was chosen.
Tons of furniture, trunks, provisions and other things were abandoned along the Trail, often with a sign like the one shown in this illustration; see pages 42 and 180.
[1] Over nine hundred square miles of territory were ceded, reserving only six sections for about nine hundred Indians—and that high ground, heavily timbered and entirely unsuited to their needs. A more outrageous "treaty" was never made between the Government of the United States and its Indian wards; its terms would be unbelievable were they not preserved among the records of the Medicine Creek Treaty, December, 1864, in the Archives at Washington. In less than a year conflict broke out, and massacres followed, with losses of life to both the U.S. troops and the Indians. The latter were defeated in the field, as noted in the text; but they fared better in the subsequent negotiations, for as soon as the war ended and the Government was apprised of the wrong inflicted by that treaty, suitable reservations were provided.
[2] In 1849, after the discovery of gold in California, it is said that more than seven hundred cleared from Atlantic ports to San Francisco; many celebrated clippers made the trip from the East to the West in the years 1850-51, and very fast passages were common from 1850 on.
CHAPTER V
AN ENCOUNTER WITH PIRATES, AND A FORTUNATE DELIVERANCE; BEN FOUND; HIS PROMPT START FOR MISSOURI AND UNEXPECTED ARRIVAL; A SON BORN TO THE PELTONS.
Near the noon hour, with the headland yet in the distance, Pelton noticed two canoes whose occupants were paddling as if speed were a question of life or death with them. Not long afterward, another was seen going frantically in the same direction, followed closely by two more. Steicca observed the racing canoes, but though evidently disturbed as to the cause, discreetly said nothing.
About the same time Kate saw either a boat or large canoe coming directly toward them and wondering what it could mean, called Isaac's attention to it. Sally had likewise discovered the craft and showed signs of uneasiness. A friend had told the story of how, many years ago, her little boy was taken captive by the northern Indians, carried off into slavery, and had never been heard from since. Somehow the appearance of this boat or large canoe revived the memory of that occurrence and created a fear for the safety of Pete. Slavery was once practiced in her own tribe (though at that time discontinued); but she had been told by other Indians that the northern tribes were known to still follow the practice, which seemed corroborated by the taking of her friend's boy. As the large craft approached nearer, Sally hid Pete under the cover of a mat beside her with fearsome admonitions that impelled him to lie quiet and not betray his presence.
Pelton's suspicions led him to slip his fowling piece out of sight, and Kate's trusted rifle was under the outfit in the bottom of the canoe. Isaac directed that no sign of fear should be manifested when they were overtaken, and all intercourse with the strangers be left to him.
As the pirates came alongside they insolently threw a line over the bow and stern posts, and then lashed the two canoes firmly together; being much longer and wider, theirs loomed high above that of Pelton's. It was of the pattern of the canoe in which the northern tribes manned with seventy or more men went boldly to sea on their whaling excursions; while not one of the largest, it would easily hold twenty men.
Seven were on each side, with paddles in their hands, one at the helm and a lookout in the bow, sixteen in all stalwart men in size and physical condition far above the tribes farther south. The same may be said of their mentality. In the northern tribes were painters and sculptors of considerable ability, as evidenced by their totem poles, inscriptions on rocks and ornaments of their mammoth canoes.
There were silversmiths in some of the tribes, as shown by many specimens offered for sale on occasions of their peaceful visits to the white settlements. Nor were the women behind the men in ability for fine work, abundantly illustrated by baskets, mats and other articles for ornaments or domestic use.
Ethnologists attribute the superiority of these northern tribes in part to a mixture of Japanese blood from castaways in past centuries, perhaps even in prehistoric days; facial resemblances suggest the fact, which seems to be confirmed by the remains of wrecked junks on the northern coast. These were the people into whose clutches Pelton and Kate had fallen on their honeymoon trip.
The spokesman for the buccaneers began by saying that they wanted a tent, one of which was in sight, to which Pelton firmly responded that he did not have any to spare. He had noticed a ship beating up the Sound against the wind that had tacked toward them, and realized that a parley to gain time until the ship came nearer would be their best chance of escape.
Isaac noticed a silver ring on the spokesman's hand and offered to buy it for his bride; for a moment the wily savage was thrown off his guard, and looked Kate over with evident satisfaction. Just then one of the men said something in a low tone, and after several articles had been snatched by the robbers, the lines fastening the two canoes together were suddenly cast off.
This precipitate action was caused by the near approach of the ship then bearing directly upon them; but unfortunately, it tacked and bore rapidly away the same moment the lines had been loosened from the canoe. Instantly all four paddles were frantically wielded to overtake the ship, until by a supreme effort Steicca broke his.
The Indians soon discovered their advantage, but did not give chase until they observed that the space between their victims and the ship was widening. Kate then gave her paddle to Steicca and intently watched the movement of their recent captors.
"As I live, Isaac, they have started to follow us," she said, as the bow of the robber canoe was turned toward them, "is your gun loaded?" "It is not," Pelton answered. "Then load it quick, and be careful," she cautioned, speaking while reaching down for her rifle and ammunition so as to be ready for action at the crucial moment.
Realizing that it was impossible to escape by racing their few paddles against fourteen, Isaac loaded his gun and deliberately calmed his nerves for the contest. The ship was now too far away to render assistance, and the robbers were rapidly gaining on them. While yet beyond rifle shot, Pelton directed Steicca and Sally to cease paddling, not to make any movement in the canoe other than to keep it pointed on its course, and for Steicca to lie down.
"I believe you can reach them now, Kate," Isaac said. "Wait a minute," came the response in a firm voice, while she stood upright in the canoe. We may well believe the aim was deliberate, for the bullet lodged in the body of the lookout, who tumbled off his perch into the water.
It took but a moment to reload the rifle. Pelton could not reach the buccaneers with his fowling piece at that distance, and held his fire in reserve. The robbers stopped to pick up their dead or wounded comrade.
Sally and Steicca resumed their strenuous paddling as Kate sat down; but when Isaac saw the Indians coming toward them a second time, he again directed to cease paddling so their craft would be steady for aim at the next victim. Onward came the great canoe, again Kate reserved her fire and was successful in hitting her target—this time the helmsman. As the canoe swung off its course to within range of Pelton's gun, he disabled two or more on her broadside.
By this time the ship tacked again and was now approaching, while a sloop rounded the nearby point and made directly toward the distressed voyagers. Seeing these, the marauders drew off toward the eastern channel, and were soon out of sight.
It is unlikely that they ceased the pursuit because of their losses, for it is a matter of history that once this same tribe had 117 warriors in a combat, besides their women and children. During the fight 27 were killed and 21 wounded; but they held out stubbornly for two days, when hunger compelled them to yield. Another historic reference illustrating the ferocity of this tribe, the "Haidahs," states that "both ships were attacked by northern Indians when off the upper end of Vashon Island; all on board, eleven in number, were murdered and the ships plundered and burned."
When the ship was finally hailed, no explanation was required, as the pilot had heard the guns; the captain, with the aid of his glass, knew what had happened. As the canoe came alongside, he cordially invited all, including the Indians with the Peltons, on board; he also took up the canoe, as he was intending to cast anchor off the village from whence they came.
Nothing on the ship was too good for his unexpected guests. The captain had heard of Kate's experience as Deputy Sheriff, but not of the wedding. His enthusiasm at that news knew no bounds; by the time they arrived at the village he insisted that the bride accept a silver table service which she treasured to the end of her life as the present from the big-hearted captain.
Pete had the time of his life with the sailors, who were surprised to see the bright little fellow, up to all sorts of pranks as he explored the ship from stem to stern and from top to bottom. He and his mother were fairly loaded down with presents; Pete never forgot his sailor friends, and in fact became a sailor himself.
The evening after their arrival at the village, Kate and Pelton rowed out to the ship, still at anchor in the harbor, to offer the old tar sincere thanks and leave with him some token of good will and appreciation for the opportune way in which he appeared upon the scene and rescued them from imminent peril of the northern savages. Capt. Pierson was past middle age but in perfect health, and an impulsive jollity pervaded his whole being. He would not listen to their leaving the ship until after dinner, nor to their profuse thanks for his act.
"Oh, that's nothing; a man who did not respond in such an emergency would be a brute. I only wish I could have chastised the rascals," he said—and meant it.
The captain belonged to a class of seafaring men (now almost extinct), which once carried the Stars and Stripes to the farthermost corners of the earth—free and easy with comrades, but usually a strict disciplinarian, though sympathetic with his men. He was the aristocratic ruler of the little world within the bounds of the ship, their home and castle; all were inured to the hardships of long voyages without complaint, but every one greatly enjoyed the respite of a few days in port.
From time immemorial the "ships that go down to the sea" have carried the commerce of the world, and planted the seeds of civilization in every clime. It is difficult to realize that all this has been changed within the range of one span of life. Only a very small number of sailing ships now leave the ports of the United States; and the noble "clippers," the pride of the nation at that period, very seldom grace the waters of the two hemispheres any more. And the rugged, jolly captains, bronzed and weather-beaten, rough in speech and stern in looks though usually kind-hearted and generous beneath the surface, have almost vanished—like their ships.
Seafaring men who navigate the oceans in the immense vessels of the present time are entirely unlike the old-time sailors in appearance and actions. The modern crew appear upon our thoroughfares in fancy uniforms, the officers resplendent in gold braid and gilt buttons, and the common sailors in natty uniforms, usually without anything to mar their dandified appearance. One can easily tell that reefing a mainsail or splicing a rope is no longer part of their duty.
But the old-timers came ashore careless in appearance and rollicking in manner, out for a good time—ready for a fight or a frolic—and usually had it. Now they belong to the things that were, and we see no more of them.
Captain Pierson believed the reason the Indians did not return the fire was that their spokesman wanted to take Kate captive, for they could have destroyed the little honeymoon party without mercy. The confusion incident to the loss of their helmsman, quickly followed by the wounding of several of their paddlers, and the sudden tacking of the ship so disconcerted their plans that the marauders barely had time to get beyond reach of the howitzers on its deck. It was late when Pelton and Kate fairly tore themselves away from the jovial captain and left the ship, and long past midnight before the council of Kate, Isaac and Squire Mulhall broke up, after agreeing upon a plan of action.
Pelton had several times spoken about his former slaves, Andrew and Jennie, whom he had left in Iowa; and could not banish from his mind thoughts of the danger that "night riders" from Missouri might carry them off into captivity. Besides, Jennie had cared for him with a mother's solicitude after the death of his own mother while he was still quite young; and Andrew had always been kind to him in his boyhood days, as well as faithful to his interest in later life. And that unsophisticated little girl, Margie! Somehow he could not feel easy in his mind to leave them where they were; now they were separated, he realized that he remembered, and appreciated more than ever before, their kind and considerate acts toward him.
How to bring them on from Iowa to Oregon was a problem with almost insurmountable obstacles, which Isaac had thoroughly discussed with Kate, taking advantage of that favorable opportunity to let her know that he had abundant means in Missouri to provide for their trip—and to her surprise a fairly large sum besides. While Kate had not married for money, she was nevertheless gratified to know that Pelton possessed a goodly fortune, and sympathized with his laudable desire to expend a part of it to better the condition of his former slaves.
Kate resolved to share Ben's secret with both her father and husband, and to suggest that the Squire should go to see or send for Ben. She would also have her father and Isaac supply him with enough money to bring Linda to Oregon with Andrew, Jennie and the little girl Margie. All instantly agreed to the plan, and became so enthusiastic that they forgot all about their recent escape from death, and the cares of pioneer life still confronting them.
"I will not go until school is out," the Squire said, "and then will take the girls with me." He had noticed that they continued to harbor jealous thoughts toward Pelton. Kate reminded her father that any considerable delay would make it too late for Ben to cross the plains the next season. Isaac advised by all means to avoid the Isthmus route as being too uncertain, dangerous and withal very expensive.
Pelton announced that he would start at once, and search for a claim until he found one that suited him; then he would immediately proceed to prepare a home, and be away most of the time until school closed. In acceding to this suggestion, the Squire said he would take the girls over to Ben's claim in the spring, as he intended to care for it himself while the young man was making the trip; and was anticipating the opportunity to repay Ben for his faithful and honest service on the long trail.
So intent had been the council, that all forgot the lateness of the hour; the thought of sleep was banished by the excitement incident to the plans made, but all felt supremely happy. Father Mulhall suggested that they celebrate a little by an oyster supper, even at the unseasonable hour; and Kate, who the very evening before had secured some Puget Sound oysters from an Indian, instantly seconded the suggestion. Oysters, unlike other shell fish of the Sound, were rare and confined to small areas of beds.
Kate had learned that though very small—not larger than one's finger nail—these were very delicious; and had provided them to celebrate their wedding a month ago to-morrow. And here it was, the date already ushered in, though the sun had not risen! Her celebration was intended as a secret to be disclosed as a surprise to her husband and father to demonstrate how supremely happy she was, not only in the escape from captivity among the hordes of northern savages, but as the wife of Isaac Pelton. There was no toastmaster or speeches at the little banquet that followed; but a spirit of unalloyed cheerfulness prevailed, and all were very hopeful of what the near future would bring forth.
Mulhall's search for Ben proved a short one, as the crude records of the self-surveyed Donation claims quickly revealed the identity of the nearby participants, and the Squire was delayed only a day in reaching the location chosen by his young friend. Ben was a short distance from his cabin splitting rails from a worm fence to protect the crops of the following season, when the Squire arrived; and, following the sound of the maul soon came upon Ben intently engaged at his task, not dreaming of the presence of anyone behind him.
Mulhall stopped a moment in mute surprise at the change that had come over the young man. He was looking at a stalwart frame instead of the slim lad who had helped to train the team in the Missouri barn-yard; and stood as if fascinated until Ben by a change in position became aware that a figure was standing near him.
"Why, father!" "Why, Ben!" sufficed for the greeting, but not so the hand-shakes that followed, for the Squire clasped Ben in his arms, while tears of joy fell upon his own cheeks. We may well believe that a pleasant visit followed, but it was soon interrupted by the important information to be shared between them.
Ben listened, as if in a dazed condition of mind, to words that seemed to be too good to be true; but when he grasped the full meaning of the Squire's message, it was Ben's turn to display so-called weakness; he threw his arms around Mulhall's neck and planted a kiss upon the furrowed cheek of his friend and benefactor. But the Squire considered that all he had done, or proposed to do, was only a recompense in part for a debt that could never be paid in full.
"But, father, what am I to do about my claim?" Ben asked after taking a little time to think over the proposed trip. "Well, I'm going to stay here until you come back with that young wife; and you may be sure there will be some crops growing when you return," the Squire responded. So preparations were made almost at once for the proposed trip; and time began to pass.
No one could tell how long it would take to reach the old home, though Ben knew that he must go out to sea over a dangerous bar where recently there had been a wreck, with the loss of many lives. Thence on to and across the Isthmus and to New York, where he would reverse the direction of travel and turn his face westward toward their former home in Missouri.[1] Parts of the journey would be by railroad, stage-coach, horseback and steamboat.
We cannot record the incidents of the trip, thrilling though some of them were; it will suffice here to say that on a frosty noonday in February, 185-, Ben clasped his surprised mother to his breast with the utterance of one word, "Mother." The story of another overland journey from Missouri to the Oregon country will be told after we have followed the fortunes or misfortunes of David Mulhall, Isaac Pelton and his bride, and the two little twin sisters.
It will be remembered that when the Squire left home to find Ben Hardy, Pelton was preparing to look for a claim where he could establish the home so long pictured in his mind. In the course of his wanderings, Isaac had some thrilling experiences which came near ending in tragedy. The Oregon Country of almost limitless extent—as one might say, a thousand miles each way—presented many and varied conditions to confuse and impel one to continued search, with something new almost every day.
In the small corner of the great region which Pelton examined there were no roads or provision for crossing rivers, and only a few sparse settlements. When a cabin was found, he was always assured of a cordial welcome and the best it afforded; but at length, after a two days' tramp he was virtually lost, without blankets or food. That somewhat cooled his ardor; and as he had already overstayed the set time, Isaac suddenly abandoned the search and turned his face homeward. He arrived there safely, to the great relief of Kate, who had become very uneasy at his prolonged absence and non-return at the appointed time.
Pelton's story of what he had seen and experienced—wading a river nearly waist deep, slipping off a log into the water and swimming with his boots on, losing the trail and camping in the deep forest overnight without fire, blankets or food—cast a shadow over the bright pictures of a home in the minds of both; but he had found a magnificent country, and intended to go back and try again. At first Pelton resolved not to tell Kate of the mishaps of the trip, of the real hardships endured or how he had come so near to death's door.
He argued to himself that it would only sadden her and do no good. Then the question as to whether or not he was justified in having a secret from his trustful wife would come uppermost in his mind. If he now began with one, others would surely follow, and the resolve—a compact with himself—was made that he would have none; so the full story was told to her.
A month passed and though several trips were made, no location was yet found to suit him. Finally, he received information from a neighbor about some excellent land not yet taken; and immediately starting out to examine the tract, found it even better than represented. After staking his claim, he returned and informed Kate of his good fortune in finding a location satisfactory in every essential respect.
Father Mulhall wrote that Ben had started on his long trip, and was now well on the way; and that as soon as school closed, he would come after the girls. He added that he would plant on Ben's claim and stay with the crops until he returned; and as a postscript, Wouldn't Kate like to come over with the girls, and see Ben's claim and Craig? In reality the Squire was lonesome and wanted his daughter with him for awhile; he also knew that she and the girls would enjoy the trip—besides he had a surprise in store for them.
Pelton said, "By all means, go; it will be a nice jaunt for the girls, though a little rough. I'll give each of them a pony to make the trip horseback, and all can have a jolly good time on the way, as well as while there." He was enthusiastic in urging Kate to go, while she didn't feel sure of wanting to do so.
The fact was, she was more inclined to move out on the claim which she had not seen, while Isaac planned to wait until he could have a surprise for her in the new house he was contemplating. Kate suggested building a cabin, where she could be as happy as in a more commodious residence, to which Pelton assented with a mental reservation that he would build one for Andrew and Jennie. And if Kate persisted, they could live in the cabin while the house was being built, though that would defeat the surprise party he had in mind.
"Isaac, I believe you want to get rid of me," Kate jestingly said one day after making up her mind to go with the girls; but lovingly added, "you'll feel sorry after I have gone." However, they understood each other and were drawn closer together by the thought of temporary separation.
Pelton's attention was called to two ponies so nearly alike in build, size and marks that it required close observation to distinguish "Tom" from "Jerry"—both beauties, with keen bright eyes, lively yet docile, and safe for the girls to ride. He did not let the extra price asked stand in the way of his becoming the owner of them; and purchased two new saddles and bridles to set them off handsomely. A small riding whip, though not needed in riding, was attached to each saddle.
On the afternoon of the last day of school, the ponies were brought by Pelton's direction into the front yard before the girls came home. Their manes and foretops were plaited with red, white and blue ribbons; and they held up their heads as if proud of the decorations. Before Isaac rode off to the homestead to be gone overnight, Kate was enjoined not to tell them from whom the ponies came—only to say they were presents, and "lots" might be drawn to determine which one of the girls should own "Tom," and which one should have "Jerry."
"Who brought these here, Mamma? Where is he? Tell him to take them away!" was spoken in such quick succession as to preclude the possibility of an answer until the questions and the exclamation had been completed.
"The man said they belonged to two little girls that live in this house; he left them in the front yard, but went away without any explanation," Kate replied. All of this was true, though not all that she knew. Kate and the girls then took hold of the halters, and led the ponies outside the garden gate.
"What did you mean, Mamma, when you said they belonged to two little girls that live here?"
"That's what the man said when he left them and went away."
"But you don't mean it?" persisted Sarah.
"I only told you what the man said."
"Yes, but you don't believe it, do you?" Sarah came back in an attitude of cross-questioning.
"Look on the pummel of the saddle and see," Kate responded; and in doing so displayed evidence of knowing more about the case than she had intended to reveal.
"From Santa Claus to Sarah," the girl read as she held in her hand the paper just taken from the saddle, unnoticed before. Then she intently re-read the label, and exclaimed, "Oh, I know—it's from Uncle Isaac, as sure as I am alive."
For the first time in her life she had called Pelton "uncle"; before it was either "Mr. Pelton," "Sir," or some monosyllable to address or make reply. Sarah had recognized the handwriting on the note, and then knew instantly where the present came from.
Now that she was trapped, Kate gave away the whole plan about the intended trip to see father and Craig, and have a good time on the trip besides. Sarah fairly worshiped Craig since the memorable scene at the lone pine on the Oregon Trail. His promise, "I will mark your mother's grave so you can find it the longest day you live," had sunk deep in her memory and fixed in her youthful mind the thought that some day she would visit the sacred spot and pay homage to her saintly mother—the germ of a plan that led in later years to a pilgrimage to the grave, as will subsequently appear.
Next morning the ponies were returned to the front gate of the garden all ready for a run in the country, and with a riding mare for "mamma." The girls had not forgotten their experience of riding "Nell" on the plains, but were at first shy of the ponies. Sarah soon plucked up courage to mount Tom, while the Indian boy held him; but in a spirit of mischief, the boy suddenly let go of the halter, whereupon the pony started off on a canter before the rider was fairly seated, or could grasp the reins.
Up the village street they went on a gallop, Sarah holding onto the pummel of the saddle, with her feet dangling in the air outside the stirrups. Tom stopped of his own accord at the hitching rack in front of the village store, and Sarah scrambled off the pony's back as quickly as possible to be out of sight of the idlers there. Her teacher, happening by and seeing her predicament, held Tom until she mounted with both feet in the stirrups and reins firmly in hand; then with the pony under control, she was soon back at the starting place by the garden gate.
When all three were mounted, the course taken led up the hill and at a more moderate gait until the prairie was reached. A delightful day in the wide, open spaces, with a visit to the old camping ground and a canter back home in the evening, ended their first day of horseback riding in joviality and pleasure. A few days of such practice sufficed to prepare them for their long jaunt on the road or trail to Ben's cabin beyond the big river, over the prairies and through dense forests.
Following a narrow road the third day out, Sarah leaned over to avoid the overhanging brush and fell sprawling into a sea of mud, the saddle having turned to Tom's side. Seeing her sister's predicament Bess laughed, but Sarah rather pettishly said she couldn't see anything funny about it, to which sister readily assented, but admitted that somehow or other she couldn't help it. The incident had a serious side, as her clothes were now spattered with sticky mud from head to foot; her shoes were filled with it and even her hair bedaubed.
It was necessary to stop and clean her clothes, empty her shoes, gouge the mud out of her ears and wash it off of her face. A few miles further on, it became Sarah's turn to laugh when Bess was scraped off her saddle and tumbled over Jerry's rump, holding onto his tail to lighten the fall; but Bess couldn't see anything funny about that! After numerous mishaps, the party finally reached the river steamer, where the ponies were comfortably stalled; then all the party had a general clean-up on the upper deck, and a good laugh together as the adventures on the road were recounted.
In two days more of tiresome traveling, with the glamour of a horseback ride worn off, Ben's cabin was reached and father Mulhall's welcoming kiss bestowed. Notwithstanding the various adventures on the trip, all enjoyed the experience, and expressed a desire to return the same way.
The very next day, Craig came, as he did every other Sunday of the month, to make good a legal "residence" on his claim. He was a great favorite with the twins, and the reunion that followed repaid all the fatigue of their trip. Toward evening he excused himself to visit a neighbor, and withdrew, leaving his end of the cabin free to the visitors.
Only a week had passed when, to her father's surprise, Kate announced that she would start for home the next day after the morrow. He felt hurt that the daughter he loved so well should cut her visit short; but nothing he could say would alter her resolution. Kate had a reason of her own which she did not explain to her father—but which he would know later, and the reader will probably surmise.
Pelton was as much surprised at her sudden return as the Squire had been upon her hasty departure; and his plan of introducing Kate into a finished residence, of which he was certain she would be proud, was frustrated. He had all the workmen that could be employed to advantage in hastening completion of the residence, including hot and cold water under pressure in the kitchen, a convenience she had never experienced.
Isaac admitted to himself that he was pleased when Kate told him she preferred to stay for the present in their village home. But when he returned from the claim on the second Saturday, he found the drawer of the dresser locked—something that had not happened before—and his razor, shaving cup and brush outside. Pelton was becoming conscious that Kate had a secret she didn't want to disclose, but said nothing about it.
Work on the residence progressed apace; and every Saturday Isaac came to spend Sunday in the village. Somewhat to his relief, Kate had not yet expressed a desire to visit the new home; but a month later Pelton was ready, and to his delight Kate, still without an inkling of the great surprise in store for her, said that she was willing to go.
One day, after Kate had been at the new home for a few weeks, enjoying it with indescribable pleasure, a lady and gentleman drove up to the front door. Though strangers, she had evidently expected them, and promptly directed the man where to stable his horses, and then asked him into the house for lunch, though it was after the usual hour. The woman went at once to the kitchen and began helping to prepare the lunch and to make herself otherwise useful.
Isaac came in later, but expressed no surprise at their presence, for he was also expecting them. Without ceremony, the lady took charge of the household work, while the gentleman sauntered into the library and became absorbed among the books in the small but choice selection on the shelves. Thus a week passed in quiet expectation.
One night a light was left burning in the room up-stairs, and neither of the visitors retired at the usual hour. The nurse remained in the room with Kate, and the doctor made frequent visits there, finally remaining a considerable length of time. Then, in answer to Pelton's anxious inquiry, he said, "It's a boy, and a rousing little fellow he is."
When father Mulhall heard that he had a grandson, the mystery of Kate's early departure was explained; and his slight pique was turned to joy and exultation, increased by parental pride in the daughter who had always been so loving and helpful to him. As soon as they knew about it, the twins were very anxious to see their nephew, and filled with childlike pride at the prospect of being called "aunt."
BABE IN THE WOODS; SEE ALSO PAGE 188.
[1] The map of the Oregon Trail and the National Road on page 8 will give the reader some idea of the principal routes traveled to Missouri, either from the Atlantic Coast or the Pacific Northwest, during the period covered by this narrative. E.M.
CHAPTER VI
THE WEDDING OF BEN AND LINDA; A SECOND OVERLAND TRIP; MASSACRE OF NEARLY ALL THE COMPANY; BINDING UP THE WOUNDS; THE TRIP RESUMED; SURVIVORS REACH THE OREGON COUNTRY.
Ben's hair had grown long, his beard had been cropped only with shears, and his face was tanned by the fierce rays of a tropical sun. His clothing was begrimed and worn almost threadbare; in appearance he was very different from the Ben Hardy who had spent the Sunday evening with Linda Shaeffer just before starting for Oregon with the Mulhall outfit. It would take considerable preparation to call upon Linda in presentable clothing; and though very anxious to see her, Ben shrank from the impulse to do so at once. But his mother said, "Go as you are; Linda will be rejoiced to see you."
Ben Hardy had traversed, in the opposite direction, the route that Isaac Pelton took; and for the same object—to secure the girl of his choice for a life companion. The departure from his Oregon cabin had been so sudden that there was no time to write of the trip; even if he had done so, the letter would have gone forward by the same steamer on which he sailed. Although his trials had been less severe than Pelton's and the delays not as great, the journey was one of continuous anxiety and fatigue.
His arrival at the old home in Missouri was unexpected and a great surprise to all his friends there, naturally most of all to Linda. Ben's last letter, received only two weeks before, described his progress in establishing a home for them; but gave no intimation as to when he would come after her, or how she could go to him. So when Linda caught sight of Ben passing through the gate in front of her father's residence, she could not at first believe that she saw aright, but kept gazing in bewildered wonder and trepidation as he approached the house.
The change in Ben's appearance had been so great that an acquaintance could easily have been mistaken in his identity; but Linda, whose quick eye recognized his familiar movement, rushed from the house and met him on the walk, half-way between the gate and the veranda steps. Most readers have known the thrill of such a surprise, though probably few of the intensity of this one; nevertheless, out of their own experience, they will understand and appreciate Linda's joy. The cordial greetings that followed from all the household heartened Ben; no one seemed to notice his clothes—it was Ben, though greatly changed, they saw and welcomed.
There was one of the household who in her heart could not rejoice—not that mother Shaeffer thought Ben unworthy of Linda; but the realization that the daughter she loved so intensely would be taken from her, possibly meet a tragic fate at the hands of the Indians, and certainly encounter the other hazards of a trip to Oregon, overwhelmed her. Conscious that she might be unable to compose herself and control her emotions, the good lady withdrew as quietly as possible to her own chamber, where she gave way to grief that could no longer be restrained.
Mothers who have had similar experiences of impending separation from beloved and loving daughters will sympathize with Mrs. Shaeffer; such is life and the story of each generation! We know that joy in a steady, overflowing stream often follows grief, which becomes less poignant with the lapse of time.
As she left the room, Ben caught the expression of distress in Mrs. Shaeffer's countenance. Could it be possible that Linda's mother was opposed to their marriage? The very thought disturbed and perplexed Ben. He did not stay late, though long enough to disclose his plans for the trip, taking particular care to tell Linda of its difficulties and dangers. Linda firmly responded, "I am going with you, Ben;" and with the echo of it in his ears, he rode back to his mother's home with a light heart, for the moment forgetting the grave responsibility now resting upon his shoulders.
With only a small amount left from the current funds provided for the expenses of the trip, the first urgent business was to secure enough money to purchase an outfit and allow for the expenditures and any emergencies on the way. Ben had learned by experience that the popular fallacy, shared by so many, that currency was not needed on the Trail, was unfounded; and knew to the contrary. The funds upon which he depended were in three banks of three different counties; and one of them had suspended payment upon large deposits.
A period of great financial depression had recently swept over the country. Crops were abundant, but the few existing markets were at considerable distances, and transportation facilities were entirely inadequate to move even the portions that could be sold. No railroads had yet been constructed in Missouri, and it was also before there were a sufficient number of steamers to serve the needs of the narrow margin of settlements bordering on the two principal rivers.
The whole region was without improved roads, but had a superabundance of products that could not be either consumed or sold at a profit. A wagon-load of corn would hardly bring enough to buy a pair of boots; a fat two-hundred pound hog could not be traded for a lady's dress, or five bushels of corn for a pound of tea or coffee.
Such were the conditions confronting Ben in providing funds for the purchase of an outfit, with the possibility of not being able to do so at all. Luckily, he had some certificates of small amounts which he turned over to father Shaeffer, and thus avoided direct dealing with the banks.
The political turmoil which a few years later brought on the Civil War then scourged the country, and added to the distress of commercial depression; in fact, was considered by many the greater of the two evils. Advocates of slavery were becoming more and more aggressive, while the Free-Soil element grew more firm. The approaching conflict of arms led many to emigrate as the best way of escaping from the public and private agitation.
As soon as it became known that Benjamin Hardy had arrived direct from Oregon, and was intending to outfit an expedition to return over the Trail the following summer, he was besieged by numerous parties desiring to join with him, and by a much greater throng seeking information. They came two, five or even ten together, and finally a delegation of forty from an adjoining county to discuss the trip and country with him. Some offered to form a new company under his leadership for the land of mild climate and great opportunities.
Those importuning strangers became a great burden to Ben, and much of his time was taken in imparting information, or declining offers to join his prospective trip. To all he expressed the intention of going with only two wagons, or three at the most, and not more than eight of his friends; but gave a truthful report of the dangers and privations of the Trail, and a good description of the Oregon Country. Father Shaeffer's farm was better equipped for assembling an outfit than his mother's; besides the "Shaeffer boys"—all stalwarts—were eager to help him train the teams, and another one for Linda's two brothers who had determined to return with Ben to Oregon. At first he had no other thought than to assemble the outfit and train the teams at his mother's home, for he desired to be with her as much as possible while preparing for the trip.
At the same time, Ben could but acknowledge to himself that he wanted to be near Linda; so arrangements were made for his mother to drive over every day to help Mrs. Shaeffer prepare for the wedding and make clothing for the young couple. A part of the cloth was to be woven on mother Shaeffer's loom by Mrs. Hardy.
* * * * * * * *
The wedding was a very quiet affair, with only the Shaeffer family, Ben's mother and family, and a very few friends to witness it. Linda was dressed in a frock of her own make; she had woven the cloth for the very occasion while Ben was more than two thousand miles away, but with an abiding faith that the time would come for her to wear it.
Ben was dressed in a suit Mrs. Hardy made out of "boughten store cloth," as she described the material; while not a "tailor fit," the mother was proud of it, and all agreed that she did very well. At that time the women not only made their own dresses but also the clothes of the men folks; so it was nothing out of the ordinary for mother Hardy to make Ben's wedding suit.
The "boys" all wanted to invite the young folks of the neighborhood and "have a good time," but mother Shaeffer pleaded for a quiet wedding; and in deference to her wishes, all of them gave up the thought. To her the marriage was a solemn occasion, and she could scarcely restrain the tears while preparations were being made for it. Ben had come to know the real reason and deeply sympathized with her; he felt almost a twinge of conscience for taking the dutiful daughter from the companionship of a loving mother.
Mrs. Shaeffer had great respect for Ben, believed him worthy of her confidence and a suitable husband for her daughter; but she wanted Linda to herself. In calmer moments she realized the selfishness of such an attitude, and how it might affect Linda's later life to remain with her; but the premonition that something dreadful would happen on the trip could not be dispelled. Ben was not free from the thought that disaster might overtake them on the long journey—little dreaming of the source from which it would come, a peril not encountered in his former trip with Squire Mulhall.
April, the time set long in advance for their departure, was near at hand; the teams and outfits had already been purchased, the animals were thoroughly reliable and well trained, and everything was about ready for the start to the far West. Robert and Abraham Shaeffer had also provided themselves with a team and outfit, and were equally well prepared; two independent outfits satisfactory to Ben with four stalwart and reliable men, were in readiness making ten trustworthy adults in the party. There were also three women and four children, with Andrew, Jennie and their little girl Margie—in all twenty persons, five ox-teams, one horse-team and a matched-mule team for Andrew.
But the banks had not yet responded to the extent of the full amount needed to defray the expense of outfitting, and enough to provide for necessary supplies and incidental expenses on the road. It seemed as if they might be held back at the last minute by the difficulties of securing the necessary funds.
When all the other arrangements had been completed, Ben and father Shaeffer rode over to the nearest bank; with a determined expression of countenance, fire in their eyes and resolute tongues, they soon convinced the cashier that the money should be furnished to Ben as a matter of right. Thereupon sufficient for all anticipated needs was handed to him, and that part of the problem solved.
Ben had secured a light wagon, with half-springs under the bed to shelter Linda night and day, and also himself when not called elsewhere during the day, or kept out on watch at night. He had planned to take a full share of the duties and responsibilities of the trip, no matter how arduous or fatiguing they might be.
Andrew, Jennie and Margie were ready when Ben and Linda arrived. Eli Sumner, the elderly Quaker in whose care Pelton had left his former slaves, provided a span of matched tan-colored mules and a complete outfit for them. All three took an affectionate farewell of their benefactor, for Sumner had been kind to them—just as good as "massa," Andrew said; and could not restrain tears of gratitude with the last shake of the hand.
The ox-teams had been sent several days ahead to the Missouri River crossing, where Ben was to join them with Andrew, Jennie and Margie. A great surprise was in store for Ben upon arrival; all the teams of his party were awaiting him, but the great throng seen there on his first trip was conspicuously absent. Instead of five hundred or more wagons on the former occasion, there were now not more than fifty besides his own little party.
In striking contrast to the pressure of two years before at the ferry landing, where a long line of emigrants waited their turn to be carried over, now all were easily crossed about as they arrived. Stirring memories of his adventure on the previous trip came vividly to mind. The sand-bar where the wagon-box had grounded with Kate Mulhall in water waist deep, was there; likewise the little island in front of the ferry landing where the scow upset, though since partially worn away by the swirling current of the great river.
Grass was abundant near-by the camp site, instead of being cropped close as he had seen it the first time. Profiting by Mulhall's experience with the horse team, Ben determined to provide grain to last his horses and mules a long way out on the Trail. First he planned to take another wagon and abandon it when unloaded, thus strengthening his teams with the extra oxen, but under the circumstances, he concluded it would be practicable for teams to make the return trip; so two wagons were secured and loaded with grain.
When fully prepared the crossing was safely made, and the great trip across the plains started on April 18, 185-, about three weeks earlier in the season than the previous one. The absence of Indians was at once noticed by Ben, who caught sight of a few in the distance the second day out; but they did not come anywhere near the train. At the crossing of the second river on the fifth day, some of their tepees were found on both sides of the Trail, and one directly across it at the usual landing place.
There were a dozen or more lodges with altogether probably fifty Indians, of which about twenty were men. Ben interpreted their obstruction of the Trail as a sign of hostile intent; and after selecting a suitable place for defense in case of attack, he at once gathered all of his people into camp. The wagons formed a corral, the guns of the party were carefully examined and an armed guard sent to the grazing ground with the teams. Every one was cautioned not to go near the tepees, but to await developments; and although Ben's camp was only about fifty yards away, no Indian approached near it.
Little or nothing would be lost by waiting, as other teams were expected in a few hours; at nightfall seven did arrive with eleven armed men. Their wagons helped materially to enlarge the protecting circle, while the men increased the strength of the guard.
At a council that evening it was decided not to go near the Indian camp for twenty-four hours, unless the red men first came to them; and to show a bold front, asking no favor except to be allowed to cross the river undisturbed—and make no concessions. The Indians evidently did not want a show of arms, their immediate object being robbery under the guise of collecting toll; they had discovered that only a few wagons were crossing the river, and thought they could safely intimidate the smaller numbers.
Realizing the impending danger, Ben at once saw the necessity of forming a larger company, for there might be fifty thousand warriors within riding distance of the Trail, and still greater dangers ahead. That night couriers were sent back to ascertain how many men could come up on the morrow; and definite information was received that thirty more wagons would reach their camp before the next night.
When the Indians saw these reinforcements, they silently decamped and left the crossing unobstructed; but the incident naturally caused uneasiness in all the camps, as the sequel will show. By later accounts, at least eleven massacres were perpetrated along the Oregon Trail by Indians during the overland migrations.
Some of those tragedies were revealed only in part by the irons of destroyed vehicles, with not a human being left to tell the dreadful story. Ben concluded that it would be unsafe for the two grain wagons to return; so he took them over and employed the drivers until they could find an opportunity of returning with others—or else continue all the way with him to Oregon.
Four days more of travel brought the train to another river crossing where they saw eleven nude men, women and children of a party whose three outfits had been burned, all provisions carried off and their teams driven away. Why the Indians had spared the lives of the victims none could tell; they had not been harmed bodily, but stripped of all their belongings. Ben gave the unfortunates one of the grain wagons and a team, while the people of the train fed and clothed them.
They were now in the buffalo country, and near where Ben had gone on the hunt that had been almost fatal to him on the previous trip across. He had no desire to duplicate the experience, but there were four more to feed than originally provided for, they had given the destitute party a month's supplies with the wagon; and he now realized the necessity of replenishing their stock of food.
So the camp was put in order and an organized hunt arranged; teams were sent to bring in the game and preparations made to cure it. In five days the wagons returned fairly loaded down with jerked buffalo, and the journey was resumed with a bountiful supply of meat added to the previously diminished store.
So far Ben's horses and the mule team had felt the strengthening results of light rations of grain; but by this time nearly all of it had been fed out. Fortunately, the grass continued to be plentiful along stretches where, two years before, it had been eaten close to the ground by the large numbers of cattle and horses, with here and there a flock of sheep in the emigrant column.
The Trail crossed a wide, open country inhabited by warlike tribes, some of which were off on hunting expeditions or in forays against other tribes, and a few had not yet returned from their trapping expeditions. To the agreeable surprise of the emigrants, very few Indians were now seen, and those showed no signs of making trouble.
After this had continued for several weeks, vigilance was somewhat relaxed and the company began to fall apart—a repetition of what had transpired in previous years, often with disastrous results. Believing that all danger from Indians had passed, Robert and Abraham Shaeffer concluded to try their fortune in the California gold mines, and left the train.
Before he realized what was happening, Ben found himself with the original company, except for the Shaeffer boys; but was not as much disturbed about it as he would have been a few weeks before. The grass was good, and the abundant feed in the vicinity of the camping places relieved the long tedious night watches, often far removed from them. His horses, mules and oxen were in good condition; the cows gave plenty of milk for the company, and the surplus cream made considerable butter.
Linda was enjoying the trip; if this was "hardship," she could have endured more of it without complaint. Andrew, who never tired of entertaining the little camp with his violin and quaint plantation songs, was happy with Jennie and Margie. Ben was comforted by the thought that they would soon be in the cabin home to which they had looked forward so long, and began to count the days—each one bringing them so much nearer their destination.
So far the trip had been a surprise to Ben, and a marked contrast to the one he had made with Squire Mulhall only two years before. The seasons had differed somewhat, but the greatest change consisted in the overcrowded Trail in 185-, and the much lesser number now.
He had been traveling several days in a wide and fertile valley, now the pride of a great State, and had just crossed the river for the first time to the right bank. The spot was ideal for a camp, with an abundance of grass, plenty of fuel and pure water for all. So enticing was the scene that Ben concluded to lay over Sunday to rest the tired teams and the weary members of his party as well.
A low perpendicular bluff paralleled the river, with a narrow portion of the main valley, which promised ample feed for the teams, between them. The bluff on one side and river on the other prevented the stock from scattering; and for once no guard was sent out, as had been customary heretofore. A strip of wild grass higher than a man's shoulder bordered a dense growth of brush near the river.