Chapter 5

Sunday March 12, 1843

We spent this morning going over our lists. I was amazed that we had everything from every list, as well as a lot of things we had added when we saw them. The one thing not on the lists that I’d seen and wondered about was a small set of mill wheels. They were big enough to grind grain and would need water or animal power to turn them, but were much smaller than the wheels at the big, commercial mill along the Kentucky River back home.

We were still debating the mill wheels when the farmer stopped by. His livestock was spoken for except a young litter of ten piglets he didn’t want to take with him. He offered them to us since they were far too small to butcher. They were five weeks old, just weaned, and about ten pounds each. They’d be much bigger in six or seven weeks, but it would give us a head start on raising pigs.

We spent much of the morning rearranging the wagons and building two large crates to contain the little porkers during the trip. When we left, we’d leave them together in one crate until they got big enough that we had to separate them into two crates. Of course, this meant that we’d have to buy more feed from the feed store.

When we rode into town to buy feed and more seed corn, the freight for the fort had arrived. One of the men was making a hand-lettered sign telling people that the supply wagons for Fort John would leave at sunrise Tuesday, March 14. Anyone wishing to join them needed to meet at this office by noon Monday. I made a quick trip to the feed store and then Jimmey and Isum went with me and we met the men from Fort John at the docks to help load their wagons with the freight that had been unloaded onto the dock from the steamboat.

“We’ll spend tomorrow making sure that we have food and fresh water, and we’ll leave at dawn Tuesday. Think your farmer will let us keep our wagons there tonight and tomorrow night?” Samuel asked me.

“I don’t see why not. His fields aren’t planted,” I replied.

“If he won’t let you, Mule and I stayed in a meadow just up the road,” Nawaji suggested.

“Great,” Samuel exclaimed. “We can’t do much else today since most businesses are closed. Let’s take the wagons out to your farmer’s place and see how they travel with the weight in them. We’ll find out if we need to redistribute any of the weight to make the wagons ride better. Then we can relax for the rest of the day and get an early start tomorrow.”

The farmer had no problem with them staying in his pasture, although his fields were planted--with winter wheat. They just didn’t look like it. The man who had purchased the farm lived just up the road and had planted them already. The farmer even gave us permission to cut any forage that was left, and we could take up to half of the hay stored in the upper loft of his barn. He had already calculated what he’d need to take to feed the horses, mules, and cattle he was taking.

“We can stuff the top of the wagons full of hay,” Samuel said. “That way we don’t have to worry about finding forage at every camp and we won’t have to buy food for the animals during the four-day boat trip. It’ll also make for great sleeping,” he chuckled. I didn’t tell him that we already had three corn shuck mattresses stacked on top of each other in each of our first four wagons. Down mattresses would have been much more comfortable, but while far from comfortable, a corn shuck mattress was better than nothing.

I also asked Samuel about taking coal with us for cooking since Nawaji said they had trouble finding firewood several times. “It’d be easier just to carry enough extra firewood to last two or three days and refill it if we use any,” he suggested. “We’ve never had the luxury of having extra room before. The boss man calculates almost exactly how much he can stuff into each wagon without overloading it,” he chuckled. “He added an extra wagon this year because business keeps increasing with more settlers heading for Oregon.”

After everyone in my group spent time practicing with their rifles and the shotguns, the women outdid themselves making an early dinner that we shared with the men from Fort John, complete with a peach cobbler. Once we were inside our wagon, Tara whispered that she wanted rings for the other three women, too. With so many new men around, we tried to keep our lovemaking quiet.

Monday March 13, 1843

Nawaji and I were up and moving before sunrise. The women wanted us to hunt so they could spend the day drying strips of meat to take with us. Nawaji led me to the huge meadow where she and Mule had stayed. Sensing what we were doing, Wizzer bounded along eagerly, albeit quietly, out in front of us on the road. Working our way up the east side of the meadow, we saw a small herd of deer. Once we were set, both of us chose a target and agreed to count to three. After that, we’d fire when one of the deer raised its head.

We’d barely finished our count when the buck raised his head and looked back across the meadow. A second later, all but two of the herd bolted north, leaving their two fallen members behind. We both reloaded and then Nawaji went to get the horses and four mules we brought in case we got a buffalo.

Just as I got to the first deer, Wizzer faced west and began growling, his hackles rising. After prodding the young buck with my rifle, I lay behind it facing west, using the deer’s body for cover. I wished that I’d thought to bring my shotgun or Model 1839 from the horse.

I finally saw movement in the trees and the first of three wolves cleared the trees moving cautiously towards us. These wolves had obviously had a lean winter as their ribs were showing so I knew they wouldn’t be deterred easily. Lining up my first shot, I took down the biggest of the three, assuming that he was the leader.

I had time to reload since they stopped momentarily to sniff their fallen comrade before cautiously continuing in my direction. When they turned my way again, their pace had quickened. My second shot dropped the second wolf but the third broke into a run heading right for me. I stopped Wizzer from attacking it and lined up a shot with my revolver. My first three shots missed. Just before firing a fourth shot, the wolf dropped and skidded to a stop. A split second later, I heard the report from a rifle behind me. When I turned to look, Nawaji grinned at me.

We both reloaded while Wizzer checked the three wolves. The wolves were in such sad shape that their pelts weren’t worth bothering with, so we left them where they lay. We made sure both deer were dead before field dressing them and taking them back to our camp where the women descended on them.

Mahala and Sallie drove two wagons for the trappers and Isum drove one of ours into town. That left Tara and Nawaji to protect our camp and both were excellent shots. The others were competent enough with the shotguns to deter anyone close enough to be a threat and could probably discourage them with their rifles even before they got that close. While Samuel made sure the trappers had their food and supplies for the trip, Isum and I bought the two mill wheels, including all the necessary hardware, an extra set of hardware in case we needed to make repairs, and the wooden parts necessary to set up one of the sets of wheels. We would copy those to make the wooden parts for the second wheel.

I also bought more corn, oats, and wheat to plant this spring or next, even though I wasn’t sure if we’d actually sell any flour to the Indians. With the addition of the pigs, cattle, and chickens, the amount of corn we’d need had increased dramatically. Oats for the large number of horses and mules we had would also necessitate more acreage for oats. I wanted to have the extra just in case. As expensive as Samuel said flour was to buy from the fort, I figured they might sell more if they had a cheaper supply. I also bought a dozen throw pillows since the ladies all commented about how hard the wagon seats were and how uncomfortable it was to ride on while the loaded wagons bounced each time they hit a rock or bump.

The blacksmith had our branding iron finished, and even used it on a piece of scrap lumber that he gave me. I smiled seeing “L_C” burned into the wood. I stopped back at the same jewelers and bought three more rings. As an afterthought, I bought three for Isum and Jimmey to give their wives. “Some of the other wives in our group were jealous when I gave my new wife a ring,” I explained. I also bought seven gold chain necklaces so the women could wear their rings around their necks and near their hearts when they were doing rough or dirty work and couldn’t wear them on their hand.

Seeing a man selling beehives in the marketplace, I stopped and talked to him. He explained that the honeybees we were used to hadn’t made it very far west of the Mississippi River yet. All the honeybees we knew were descended from bees brought over from Europe. Wondering how the country could have survived until now without honeybees, I bought the eight wooden hives of bees, as well as eight unassembled hives.

He reminded me to keep the hives as cool as possible so the bees wouldn’t become too active, and showed me a small opening drilled into the wood where I should add a teaspoon of water every couple of days. If the water wouldn’t go into the hole, I needed to poke a slender twig through the hole to clear it of any wax the bees may have covered the hole with. He also sold me a getup like he wore when he was working with the bees. I knew I’d feel silly wearing it, but would probably feel sillier getting stung several times.

It consisted of pants, a coat, and long gloves made of boar’s hide. Leather thongs pulled the bottom of the pant legs tight around the top of my boots to keep bees out. More thongs pulled the wrists of the jacket closed around the gloves. A wide-brimmed hat had thin gauzy material draped around the front to keep bees out while still allowing me to see what I was doing.

The hat had been altered so there was a piece of leather hanging down in the back. He told me to try it on and have my wife stitch the leather to the back of the jacket to protect my neck. The final thing he sold me was a smoker, used to render the bees inactive when I wanted access to the hive.

When we went by the fur trading office, there were three mule-drawn carts there. Samuel was talking to two couples and a single man. He introduced Isum and me to them telling us that the five people were missionaries headed for the Oregon Country. Evidently, a handful of missionaries made the trip each year, increasing the number of missions to the Indians in the Oregon Country. The two couples represented the Methodist Episcopal Missionary Society. They knew each other from a missionary conference they had attended in New York last year. The single man had been sent by several churches in Virginia that worked together so they could afford to send him.

Since I was done shopping, I headed back to our campsite. The women were still drying deer meat and were almost done filling the water barrels on our wagons from the farm’s well. They were able to use the hand pump he had, making the process much simpler. All they had to do was pump the buckets full of water and dump them in the barrel instead of winding the rope up with each bucketful of water.

I told them that the missionaries would be joining us for the trip to Fort John. There, they hoped to find Indian guides willing to take them to the Oregon Country or at least to Fort Hall where they could find new guides to take them the rest of the way.

We spent time practicing with the guns again. I was happy with the Hawken and could accurately hit a pinecone about two hundred yards away. I was surprised when Nawaji tried it and was just as good, so I gave her one of the new Hawken rifles. Isum did okay with the Hawken, so I gave him one, but Jimmey wanted to stick with the longrifle for a while since he was just now gaining confidence with it. Jimmey did adequately with a revolver, as did Isum. Nawaji already knew how to use one.

We spent the rest of the day stuffing the top of our wagons with hay from the barn loft. We barely had room for us in the two wagons where we slept. The girls made a cocoon of sorts for us in the hay by blocking both ends of the wagon with hay. I made sure we had plenty of firewood and kindling for cooking our meals while aboard the steamboat. Evidently, the boat had several cooking areas on deck that allowed the deck passengers to cook over a small fire without setting the boat ablaze. Samuel assured me that we could resupply our firewood for most of the first two weeks once we reached Indian Territory.

The white passengers among us could eat in the steamboat’s dining room, but I wouldn’t eat there if the rest of our party wasn’t welcome. The men from Fort John preferred eating on the deck as their table manners and manner of dress usually drew angry glares from the “civilized” passengers, so we planned to prepare our own meals.

Our venison steak dinner was nearly ready when the fur company’s wagons and the three carts belonging to the missionaries rolled in. We all pitched in to help get them unhitched and to put the horses and mules in the roped off part of the pasture, keeping them away from the wagons.

The last thing we did before heading to bed was to load the piglets into their new home for the next few weeks. We made sure they had food and water, and since there was no straw available, a good cushion of hay beneath them. We headed for bed early since we were getting up before dawn.

Tuesday March 14, 1843

I awoke, dressed, and got out of the wagon where the moon provided just enough light to read my pocket watch that read 3:36. I figured we should get started so I woke the women up. It felt cold enough for frost, but the ground remained frost-free, and I sure wasn’t going to bitch about it. The sky was clear which was good. Since arriving in St. Louis, we hadn’t had any rain.

We got the fire started from the banked coals and milked the cows, using our new milk buckets, milk stools, and milk cans. All six cows were producing milk. That was good because it meant we shouldn’t be delivering any calves on the trail.

Our six milk cows gave us enough that everyone had all the milk they wanted, even the piglets and Wizzer, and still left us with 15 gallons of milk. I figure we’d have to dump it out but Samuel stopped me saying that the steamboats would gladly buy our milk. It was a good thing because we only had a few empty milk cans we could use. The rest of the cans had already been stuffed full of everything from buttons and cloth to dried fruit, corn, and seed potatoes to save space in the wagons.

The fur company’s wagons led the way, followed by ours, with the three missionary carts bringing up the rear. Since we didn’t need a scout today, I drove one of the wagons while Arnaud drove the lead wagon. Samuel took off on his horse so he could reach the ferry crossing the Missouri River to St. Charles and arrange to load ten wagons, three carts, and all the livestock.

We made good time, finally arriving shortly after noon--much to our relief. About two hours before we arrived, a thick, dark cloud cover had blown in and the skies opened up, dumping a week’s worth of rain on us in an hour. We actually had to stop for over half an hour since we couldn’t see where we were going. By the time we reached the ferry, we were soaking wet and cold, as well as hungry and not in a good mood.

Samuel met us and told us that our ship would be leaving in about four hours. We hurried and got the wagons and livestock aboard while the ship’s crew loaded cargo from several wagons Samuel had previously rented and filled with crated goods for the trading post in Council Bluffs. While they accomplished that, I rode into town with two pack mules and bought canvas, lumber, an awl, heavy needles, and heavy-duty thread, as well as a few woodworking tools that I knew we already had. Having them and being able to find them was an entirely different story. I realized that we should have left more than axes, saws, and adzes where they were easily accessible.

I made it back more than an hour before the ship sailed and immediately crawled into our sleeping wagon and changed into dry clothing. Stuffing some of my purchases into one of the wagons, I made a beeline for the coffee pot that someone had heating on the small campfire we were allowed. As the first cup began to warm me from the inside, I drank a second cup.

The livestock were in pens on the rear deck of the steamboat. There were only two horses and one mule that didn’t belong to someone in our party. Our five wagons were also on the rear deck, as were the three carts belonging to the missionaries. Five of the wagons belonging to the fur trading company were along the left side of the front deck to help deflect the wind. Their other wagon, as well as someone else’s wagon and carriage were along the right side of the front deck.

Everyone in our group pitched in to help me once I had changed into dry clothes and explained my idea. The wooden framework of the livestock pens worked well as we attached pieces of the canvas I had just purchased to cover the left, front, and right sides of the pen to decrease the cold wind blowing across our livestock. We ran a single sheet of canvas across the top of the pen. It was attached to the front to provide shelter from the rain and snow. It didn’t provide a lot of protection, but it offered some. I used a rope tied up high on the second deck to keep the upper canvas from sagging down onto the animals. A few of the animals were tall enough that their ears almost rubbed the canvas in some spots, but it was the best we could do.

After feeding the livestock and milking the cows, we took the extra milk to the boat’s kitchen. They didn’t mind Isum and Jimmey carrying milk into their kitchen, but wouldn’t let them eat in the dining room. If they hadn’t paid us good money for the milk, I would have dumped it overboard. When we finished, we were ready for our own supper that the wives of the missionaries were kind enough to prepare while we tended to the livestock. “You seem to care about your animals more than most people,” Reverend Walters commented while we were eating and enjoying the fresh milk.

“My dad taught me that caring for your animals is not only humane, but keeps them healthier so they work better and produce more. Even the Jews in the time of Christ insisted that animals be treated humanely. Caring for their animals was one of the few acceptable tasks they were allowed to perform on their Sabbath,” I replied.

“You’re well-versed in the bible,” he commented questioningly.

“Our pastor was very insistent that each member of our church read the bible from cover to cover at least once a year. My family did most of the reading during the winter when there were fewer chores to keep us busy. I had to squeeze in time to read it all through the year, even when I could barely keep my eyes open, because I was gone a lot in the winter hunting and trapping.

“I didn’t understand a lot of what I read the first few times, and kept asking my parents and the pastor questions until I understood it. Frequently, the pastor would answer my questions the following Sunday during his sermon. Even though he said that he felt there were others with the same question, it was embarrassing when he announced that I had asked a question about something I read,” I explained.

“I was proud of Lewis when that happened,” Tara interjected, “and I know his parents were, too.”

I volunteered to take the first watch tonight. I’d wake Isum, who would wake Jimmey, and then the women while each of us stood watch over our wagons for two hours. The way our wagons were situated, we could sit just inside the front wagon and see anyone approaching the wagons. The trappers just had one of their men sleep in each of their wagons. It left one unguarded but they made sure it was one in the middle.

I decided to stand guard for three hours so only two of the women would have to stand guard. I was surprised when Reverend Walters joined me. “Your group has provided me with a unique opportunity,” he commented. “While we are against slavery, my wife and I have never met a Negro before. The Negroes in your group seem to be just as intelligent and nearly as well-spoken as white people.”

I replied, “Coming from Kentucky, there were lots of Negroes around and most of them were slaves. I hated the way they were treated. We treated our livestock better than some of what I saw and heard about. While they weren’t allowed to learn reading or writing, they are all well-spoken as you mentioned. As slaves, they were rarely allowed to make their own decisions.

“I realized that my father began teaching me what I needed to know to make my own decisions when I was very young. My parents guided me and corrected me when I made mistakes. Slaves are corrected with a whip, not words of encouragement. They learn as quickly as any white man I know. They have the same feelings that white people do, and are just as hardworking,” I commented before realizing that I was rambling.

“I don’t mean to pry, but are they your slaves?” he asked cautiously.

“Yes and no,” I replied, grinning at his confusion. “I found them in Kentucky trying to escape to Ohio. They didn’t know where they were, where exactly Ohio was other than north, and didn’t know they’d have to cross the Ohio River.

“I showed them how to build a raft big enough to get our horses, mules, and us across the river. They explained that they weren’t comfortable making decisions for themselves and wanted me to be their Master. I reminded them that slavery wasn’t allowed in Ohio. I finally agreed when they understood that they could leave whenever they wanted to. They consider themselves my slaves, but it’s voluntary, and I don’t mistreat them. I try to teach them the things my dad taught me so they can start making their own decisions.”

“The Indian woman with you is also the first Indian we’ve met,” he admitted. “She doesn’t seem to be wild or savage,” he commented.

“They are no wilder or more savage than white men,” I replied. “One of our neighbors had an Indian woman as a wife and I spent hours talking to her when I was younger. She seemed to enjoy telling me about the Shawnee people. From what I understand, the Indian nations were, and still are, much like Europe. There are many different nations here and some are constantly at war with their neighbors trying to expand or protect their territory. There are numerous different languages spoken, but they were smart enough to develop a trade language of hand signs so they could communicate with each other.

“This means friend,” I said as I made the sign for friend with my hand. I showed him the twenty-three signs I already knew, surprised that I could still remember them since I rarely got to use them in Kentucky.

“Imagine how Europeans would respond if Indians had landed in Europe and claimed the land for themselves,” I suggested. “Europeans would fight to the last man to protect their homes and families. The big difference is that the Indians don’t mine, smelt, or work metals like Europeans do. They also believe that the land claimed by their nation belongs to everyone in the nation. They don’t buy and sell plots of land. If they want to build a village, they do.