Chapter 4

Wednesday March 8, 1843

Just before noon a week after ambushing the three bandits outside of Indianapolis, we reached the city of East St. Louis on the Illinois side of the Mississippi River. I was surprised that the fabled Mississippi looked slightly narrower than the Ohio River had been where we crossed it. Still, there were dozens of steamboats docked along both sides of the waterfront and probably more around the bend of the river where we couldn’t see them.

Our travel this last week had been tiring and cold, as well as wet on a couple of occasions. Knowing that we wouldn’t be returning home also made it a bit depressing. Tara and I missed our families and friends.

The former slaves had it even worse. Four of them had lost both parents and they had left behind everyone they knew aside from their small group. They were out of their element, forced daily to face a lifestyle that was foreign to them, and to do things they’d never done before. Another bothersome issue for us was not knowing exactly where we were going or what we’d find there.

I was especially worried about what we’d do when we got there, and also worried that Mr. Tyler might show up in camp one morning. I was sure he was spending vast amounts of money to find me, hiring trackers if necessary.

Before this, sixteen days was the longest I’d been away from home and family. Both times, I was hunting, knowing that I’d return home at the end of the trip. Both hunting trips had been colder, wetter, and snowier than this trip, yet I had found them exciting, knowing that I would be returning home with pelts and meat that would help my family. This time I was running for my life, unsure what the future held, and had eight other people depending on me.

We found a German immigrant with a ferry who was willing to take us across the river and paid a whopping $6.25 for the service. His ferry surprised us since it was only marginally larger than the one we built to carry half of our supplies and animals across the Ohio River. This ferry trip carried nine more animals than we ferried on each trip across the Ohio, as well as all of us, with no problem. He even ferried two mules of his own that he used to tow the raft back upriver before crossing back to the Illinois side with a few people who wanted to travel east.

When we asked the man operating the ferry, he recommended another German immigrant that he knew who made wagons. We knew that we would need wagons to carry everything we’d need to survive and to start a life somewhere else, including more tools, a year’s worth of food for nine people, and seeds to plant next spring.

We found the German wagon maker shortly before he finished work for the day and were surprised that he already had four wagons ready. He explained that people were buying more wagons from him each year; last year, he sold fifteen wagons and could have sold more. He had hired three more men to help him this winter. Two of the men intended to head for Oregon soon and were excited that they had been able to find a job this winter.

We swarmed over the four wagons checking them out. They were in excellent condition. He had another one just about finished and I asked if he could install a false bottom or other hiding place in that wagon. He assured me that he always did, and would have the wagon ready in two more days.

I had him make two adjustments to the wagon he was working on and include some additional hardware so we could make two, two-wheeled carts out of that wagon once we got where we were going. One of the two carts would be big enough to be pulled by a horse or mule. The other would be a large-wheeled cart the girls could push easily or have a mule pull while they worked in the family garden. They could carry tools, move rocks, carry composted manure, or even carry crates and baskets of fruit and vegetables they harvested. He also had two water barrels mounted on each wagon.

I paid for all five wagons and arranged to pick the first four up in the morning. Then we found the stable he recommended, one willing to let us sleep inside tonight for a nickel per person--as long as we were boarding our horses and mules there. I asked the man at the stable to check the hooves of all the horses and mules while we were there and to shoe any that needed it. I’d already checked and knew that several of them needed to be re-shod soon.

Thursday March 9, 1843

We rode to the wagon maker’s place early this morning and picked up the four completed wagons. I kept arguing with myself that we didn’t really need a fifth wagon, but kept returning to the argument that made me decide to buy it in the first place. We had the money we took from the two bandit groups (just over $5,000 total) and the money taken from Master Greene, as well as what I made selling my pelts and the remainder of the money the Tyler boys had when they made the biggest mistake of their shortened lives.

Since we had the money, I wanted to have more than enough of everything to cover all possible contingencies. We had to visit several stores to buy enough food to last us for a year and a half, assuming that we wouldn’t arrive in time to plant crops this year. I also insisted on enough for eighteen people instead of nine. Food could spoil or be lost during the trip and it would be a year before we could replace it. As much as I enjoy rabbit, venison, and the buffalo meat the time we had it, a steady diet of nothing but those would become real old real fast.

Buying our food took nearly an entire day. Tara insisted on splitting up the food by putting one quarter of it in each wagon we had with us. We all agreed that it was a good idea. I managed to sell four pieces of jewelry that we got from the bandits by selling two pieces each to two different jewelers.

Tara also bought more paper because she was keeping fastidious notes about what we bought and how much we spent, how much money we had left, and what was in each wagon. She even had us carve numbers on the back of each wagon to help us keep track. Her original list of things to buy was now broken down by category: food, clothing, weapons, tools, farm implements and supplies, seeds, household goods, and sundries.

Each time we bought something, she dutifully crossed it off her list of things we needed to buy and added it to the list for the wagon or wagons we put it in. By the end of the day, we had more than ten thousand pounds of food in the wagons and were exhausted. Once again, we spent the night at the livery stable except we put the wagons in one of his corrals and slept in them on our newly purchased corn shuck mattresses that had been made specifically to fit inside a wagon.

Friday March 10, 1843

Today was spent buying tools--everything we could possibly need for cutting and hauling timber, and later for splitting or cutting it into boards. We also bought the tools we’d need to work with the wood and boards to build cabins, barns, fences, and furniture.

Tara found me and hauled me to the open-air market where they had been buying fresh food for us to eat now. A farmer there was selling his farm, preparing to move to the new Republic of Texas to raise beef cattle. Tara wanted to buy his six milk cows and two bulls, along with a dozen chickens and a rooster to take with us. Each of the cows had been bred and should deliver in the next five to eight months.

I couldn’t imagine us using that much milk, but figured we could make cheese, and any male offspring of the six cows could provide us with beef.

The farmer intended to take most everything else he owned with him, but he had two of a new style steel-bladed prairie plow designed to make cutting through the difficult-to-plow prairie soil much easier than current cast-iron plows. He explained proudly how he bought two of the plows when he was passing through Illinois last summer on his way back here, before deciding to move to Texas. He bought one for himself and one for his son. His son left for Texas last fall and the old, cheaper cast iron plows worked fine there so he wanted to sell the two expensive plows for $15 each, two dollars less than what he paid for them.

I gulped at the price, even though we had plenty of gold. Fifteen dollars for a plow was a steep investment for a farmer! No wonder he hadn’t been able to sell them.

We bought the plows and the livestock Tara wanted from the farmer and he let us keep our wagons in one of his fenced pastures. He wasn’t planning to leave for two more weeks and we’d be gone within a week--I hoped.

I made it back to town in plenty of time to finish buying the tools on our list, as well as about twenty that weren’t on the list. I never realized just how many different tools Dad had accumulated. Some of them we only used a couple times a year, but when we needed them, we needed them. Other tools we used seasonally and some we used once or twice a month. Where we were going, we wouldn’t have neighbors to borrow tools from.

Closing my eyes, I pictured the wall of the barn where Dad kept most of the tools. As I pictured each tool, a mental image of the first time Dad had showed me how to use it came to mind. I realized, again, that he had been teaching me since a young age what I would need to know to raise, protect, and provide for my own family someday.

By the end of the day, we had carpentry tools, masonry tools, farming tools, gardening tools, and leatherworking tools--at least one of each, and multiples of critical and commonly used tools like shovels and rakes. These were in addition to the tools I had purchased to use building the raft, and the ones Dad sent with me. Remembering that Isum had experience as a blacksmith, I had him find the tools he’d need to make repairs to tools and other metal items, as well as to make horseshoes.

I remembered that we needed to send a letter to my uncle to let him know where we were, and where we were headed so he could let my family know we were safe. I intended to thank Dad for everything he did for us when I wrote and tell him that I hoped I could be as good with my own kids.

While I bought tools, the girls bought seeds, cloth, sewing supplies, soap, hairbrushes, combs, and too many other things to list here. I’ve seen how many pages Tara’s lists fill. I also bought five apple trees and five peach trees. The bare roots were in sawdust-filled wooden crates and the trees didn’t have any leaves yet. The man I bought them from said to water them once a week for now. I should try to get them in the ground before they started leafing out. If not, water them every other day and pick off any blossoms that grew this year.

I saw a man selling cuttings of Osage orange and bought all fifty cuttings that he had for sale. I could use those to reinforce the fences along our property line, as well as the hog pens. Osage orange grew readily from cuttings, forming dense, intertwining hedges strong enough to keep bulls in (and hopefully buffalo out) and dense enough that not even pigs could get through them. Each year, I could take new cuttings to plant along other fence lines.

I even sold two pieces of jewelry to two more jewelers, leaving only two more pieces to sell.

Despite the side trip to see the farmer, we finished shopping early enough in the day that I wanted to go by the local office of the American Fur Company. That was the company Dad sold our pelts to in Lexington and the company I sold them to in Madison. I told Tara that I hoped someone there could suggest places to trap, someplace to build our home, and possibly give me a better idea of what to expect when we got there. I promised to meet everyone back at the farmer’s place when I finished.

When I got to the fur company, several men were hanging around outside of the office, talking. They eyed me suspiciously as I walked by them and entered the store. When I told the man inside what I wanted, he directed me to talk with the men outside. They worked at Fort John.

“Good afternoon, gentlemen,” I said politely when I got back outside.

The men all laughed, with one of them replying, “I don’t see no one here but the six of us, and we surely don’t qualify as gentlemen.”

“I try to give everyone the benefit of the doubt,” I riposted. “I asked the man inside if he could suggest places to trap, someplace near Fort John to build a home and start a farm, and possibly give me a better idea of what to expect when I get there. He said I should ask you because you work at the fort.”

“Everyone working there calls it Fort Laramie,” one of the men said. He was taller than I was and outweighed me by a good fifty pounds, but most of it was around his middle. I learned later that everyone called him “Mule.”

“I don’t know about any place to trap, though. Everyone just finds themselves a string of valleys or trades with the Indians. I got a lot of my furs by trading with the Blackfoot and Gros Ventre. I’d lead mules loaded with trade goods to their villages and trade for the pelts they had. What I offered them was usually half of what I would get selling the furs at Fort Laramie although I usually accompany the annual resupply wagons here to St. Louis where I sell them for much more than I’d get at the fort.

“I don’t think our supplies are going to get here today,” a second man said.

“We’re waiting for our supplies to get here by steamboat,” the man I would learn was Samuel explained to me. He was in charge of the fort’s resupply wagons this spring.

“Unfortunately, three of our men quit shortly after we got here,” he added. “The last two winters were really harsh and they decided they wanted a warmer climate,” he chuckled.

“I need a drink,” Arnaud, one of the remaining drivers commented with a distinctive French accent.

“Any chance you could afford to buy us a round of beers?” Samuel asked me. “I’m sure we’d be a lot more talkative.”

“I’ll do even better if any of the places here serve Old Bourbon County whiskey instead of the watered-down rotgut that saloons usually sell,” I offered.

“Let me ask Harold,” George, another of the drivers said excitedly as he jumped up and ran inside.

“Harold is a frequent patron of the local saloons,” Samuel chuckled.

“Howard’s Emporium, two streets west and two north,” George exclaimed hurrying back outside.

We all got on our horses and rode over. During the short ride, I listened as the men teased each other. Evidently, Mule got his name because, if he’s really drunk, his laugh sounds like a mule braying. I learned the names of the men in the group. Samuel was in charge of the resupply run. George, Fremont, Arnaud, and Robert were the four remaining drivers.

They laughed at my name, commenting on it being so similar to Lewis and Clark who opened the west for trapping by American trappers. “That’s because William Clark was the brother of my grandfather Jonathan Clark, as well as George Rogers Clark who founded Louisville and who is credited with winning the Northwest Territory from the British,” I replied proudly. “I’m just grateful that they didn’t name me Meriwether Clark like they did one of my cousins,” I laughed.

[Author’s note: at the time, the Northwest Territory referred to the area that became the states of Ohio, Indiana, Illinois, Wisconsin, and Michigan.]

“Then you come from a good bloodline of frontiersmen,” George said. “My grandfather fought alongside George Rogers Clark. He’s my namesake,” he said proudly.

The men wore fringed buckskins and had an unkempt appearance about them, including untrimmed, bushy beards. Aside from the beards, I wondered if I looked like that when I got back from a week or two of trapping.

“Looks like you’ve already been to see the Hawken brothers,” Arnaud said as we rode past a storefront on F Street. There was a sign with a big painted rifle on the front of the store. “Jacob and Samuel Hawken--Proprietors,” the sign declared proudly.

“No, I got this rifle in Kentucky,” I replied, deciding that it would be a good idea to visit the Hawken brothers soon. Isum and Jimmey would need Hawken rifles once they were more proficient with the rifles they had. The long rifles were good, but were a smaller caliber, only had half the range, and didn’t have the stopping power of a Hawken.

The Hawken used a much larger charge of powder to propel the larger lead ball. The charge it used would quickly damage one of the longrifles. Reportedly, some people even used a 1:1 charge of powder in the Hawken, matching the weight of the lead ball with an equal weight of powder while causing no damage to the rifle. The 218-grain .525, or .53-caliber, ball weighed just over the maximum recommended charge of 215 grains of powder.

The saloon was noisy and boisterous when we arrived. The noise of conversation and laughter, as well as the smell of tobacco smoke and stale beer spilled out of the swinging doors when we opened them. While I’d had Old Bourbon County whiskey before, compliments of Dad, I’d never been in a saloon before. Everything I knew about saloons was what I heard from my dad and brothers, although never when Mom was around.

“This gentleman here would like to know if you serve any good whiskey,” Samuel told the man tending bar while motioning towards me.

“Depends on what you consider good,” he replied with a bit of a challenge in his voice.

“Something with ‘Old Bourbon County’ on the barrel,” I replied.

“Will Jas. E. Pepper Old Bourbon County do?” he asked with a smirk. “If so, it’s fifty cents a glass.” I saw Samuel’s eyebrows arch.

“Seven glasses, but straight from the barrel. Don’t dilute it with anything,” I replied knowing that the price he quoted had to be for diluted whiskey. The eyebrows of the man tending the bar rose this time. Samuel’s rose even higher than they had been.

“Seven dollars,” the man responded challengingly. I handed him seven dollars in silver coins.

“Maddie,” he hollered across the room, causing several men to turn their heads in an effort to locate the attractive young woman. Maddie removed herself from the patron’s lap that she was keeping warm and hurried over.

“Take a pitcher and get me eight glasses of Pepper’s whiskey. Don’t add anything to it. They don’t want it watered down,” he directed. Maddie grabbed a pitcher and hurried into the back room.

“Maddie and I will share a drink toasting a man with both good taste in whiskey and the resources to enjoy it,” he said as we all watched Maddie’s delightful backside sway out of sight.

“Enjoy it, gentlemen,” he said to us after she returned, and he had poured our seven glasses.

He poured the remainder into two glasses and added water to it, giving one to Maddie. “Go sit in this fine young gentleman’s lap so you’re nearby in case they want another drink,” he told Maddie. “Maybe you’ll even find a coin or two hidden in your bodice when he leaves,” he chuckled suggestively.

I was surprised that Maddie seemed pleased by his request. We found an empty table and sat. Maddie carefully parked herself in my lap--after wiggling her butt against my erection.

“Well?” she asked me coyly after a minute of stilted silence. She leaned back into me and turned her face so she could see mine. I saw movement as her hand came up to her bounteous chest and carefully teased the bodice of her dress slightly away from her chest.

“I don’t see any coins in there,” she giggled. I pulled a silver half dollar out of my pocket and reached beneath her arm, touching the coin to the skin at the top of the deep cleft I could see, preparing to drop it into the deep chasm.

“No, silly, like this,” she said playfully as she took my wrist and guided my hand deep inside the top of her dress.

“What the heck,” I thought, reaching deeper and leaving the coin pressed beneath the weight of her breast, and then removing my hand.

“Much better,” she cooed.

“How much of that do you get to keep?” I asked.

“All or none, depending on how you look at it,” she chuckled. “My husband collects it each night,” she explained, nodding towards the man who served our drinks.