by John Babb
Also, it was an expensive proposition. He calculated that the trip down the Ohio, then down the Mississippi to New Orleans, and then on an ocean-going ship to Panama, would cost at least thirty dollars. Then he would have to travel across land to the Pacific and then pay for another ticket on a California-bound steamer. Nobody seemed to know how much that ticket might cost. And then he’d have to buy his prospecting gear and a supply of food. Even if he sold his forty acres of marginal pasture land and his calf, he couldn’t raise that kind of money. And what if all the claims were taken? What if he failed to find gold? It’s not like he had any mining experience. It might be all gone by the time he got there. Then he’d be coming back home to nothing but a cabin and a couple of acres.
The second choice was entirely a river and ocean voyage, requiring the traveler to round the southernmost tip of South America—the “Horn”—before sailing up the Pacific coast of South and Central America, then Mexico, until reaching California. This involved a sea voyage of seventeen thousand miles and commonly took five months or more. This option required the least struggle and pain on the part of the traveler, but it was the most expensive of the three, and subjected one to what were described as terrible dangers at sea. One fellow said a steamer ticket from New Orleans to San Francisco was a hundred and fifty dollars. Also, ships would only begin that voyage from September through February because of the horrendous weather around the Horn from April through September.
The third option was to travel by boat down the Ohio to Cairo, Illinois, then up the Mississippi River to St. Louis, followed by a trip up the Missouri River to a trailhead in Missouri, then overland—joining other travelers in a train of wagons to California. The overland portion of the trip was also projected to take about five months. Again, the traveler had to consider the time of year, as the trip could not be undertaken during the winter. No wagon master would agree to lead a party if they wanted to depart from Missouri after the middle of June. The preference was to begin the journey in April or May.
Of all the choices, this one involved the most significant physical demands on the part of the traveler. It was also very dangerous—wild Indians, crossing deserts, mountains, raging rivers, and maybe even starvation. But, as it was the most economical, it was overwhelmingly the preferred method of travel among the men from Pittsburg.
For a man traveling with a family, the trip would require purchasing a wagon and a team of oxen. But for a man traveling by himself, he could buy a lightweight wagon—maybe just a buckboard. Or perhaps he could just go on horseback. But the men from the steamship advised that each traveler would need several hundred pounds of food and supplies just to support his needs on the trip. Therefore, he would also need at least one, and maybe two, pack mules to carry that kind of weight.
Daniel’s biggest problem was his lack of financial resources. He didn’t have a dime in the bank. He earned four dollars a week in Jeffersonville and six dollars a week when he worked in Pittsburg. But his family spent the money as fast as he made it. He considered going to the bank to see if they would loan him some money. Maybe he could offer them a quarter of any gold he found. But he knew they’d want his farm to secure any loan. And until he actually found gold, how could he make payments on such a loan? The only other solution was to work his way to California. He certainly knew his way around a steamship. All he needed to do was hire out on the trip. It seemed to be the only way.
The first week of March, Ben went with his pa and his stepmother to the dock in Clarksville on the morning of departure. Looking out across the roiling river, Ben was amazed by the power of the rapids that held travelers hostage between Jeffersonville and Clarksville. He hoped there would only be smooth sailing from Clarksville downstream.
He had told his father goodbye many times—in fact, every spring for the last five years Daniel had gone upriver for months at a time. But this was different. At least in all those previous departures, it felt like the Ohio still connected them somehow, and he always knew his pa would come home every autumn. The trip to California seemed to be more final. It was too far away. If his pa was successful in his prospecting, he might well be gone for a couple of years. Then again, he might be hurt badly or even killed by Indians, and Ben might never find out how or when or where.
Daniel had indeed found a job on the steamship downriver, so he had to get aboard, for it was his job to make sure the boiler was constantly fed. Ben saw his pa hold and kiss his wife with tenderness, tell her not to worry, and that he would be back with bags of gold. Ben then stepped to his pa, but there was no touch, and his tone was no longer tender as his stepmother stood by watching. His pa looked at his wife, and she seemed to give him an approving nudge. “Ben, I expect you to help Sarah with chores around the cabin, and don’t be no burden to her. You need to quit that school now so you have more time for chores. You kin start back up again when I get back. You’ll need a big garden to keep all of you’ns fed. Be sure you do as she says, understand? I don’t want to hear no word about you disobeyin’ her, or there’ll be hell to pay when I get back.”
Ben nodded mutely as his pa turned away and stepped on board. Daniel turned and waved once then was gone in the crowd of passengers and crew. Ben felt like he had been kicked. It seemed to him that his stepmother’s meanness was reflected in his pa’s voice. Ben understood his pa’s order, but at the same time, he had every intention to only go to the cabin when absolutely necessary. If only he could have gone with his pa!
Six
Run For Your Lives
Jeffersonville, Indiana 1849
When Ben awakened the next day, his stepmother told him they were all going to the Baptist church where she had been raised. Ben cringed at the memory of his last visit to Sarah’s church, as he was much more comfortable at the Congregationalist Church in town. “Can I just go to church with Abbie?”
“We’re all a goin’ as a family—thet means you too. Pastor Swinson says he believes thet Arthur is possessed by the devil. He says if’n we’ll bring him to services this morning, he promises the whole congregation can get the devil out of him.”
Ben had not thought about that particular solution to Arthur’s problem. “Since pa is gone, how are we going to get him there?”
“You and me are gonna tie ourselves to the ends of that hemp rope, and then tie Arthur in betwixt us.”
“I’m not sure we can hold him. What if he decides to run off?”
“Well, one thing’s for sure—I’d never let go of the rope, and you’d better not neither! Besides, he ain’t never run off before. No reason to think he would now. Hurry up so’s we won’t be late. Pastor wants us on the front row.”
As they began their two-mile walk to the church, Ben couldn’t help but compare his tall, thin stepmother to a stretched-out earthworm. Once he thought about it, she was even just about the same color. He chuckled to himself when he thought about Mr. Finnerty saying that it might be a good idea not to take her to any funerals, as it was likely she could be confused with the corpse.
As they walked, Ben kept expecting Arthur to try to get away. But he was surprised at how docile the young man was. In fact, he just ambled along, seemingly happy to be outside and free of his confinement. Although Sarah had put one of Daniel’s old shirts on Arthur, it did very little to improve on his appearance. The poor fellow was in terrible need of a bath, his hair and beard were matted and in complete disarray, and his only pair of pants was stained with urine and who knows what else.
They were one of the first families to arrive, and true to his word, Pastor Swinson seated them on the very front row, asking the deacons to give up their usual spot and sit behind the family on the second.
Sarah couldn’t help noticing the Dyer sisters—the old biddies were looking at Arthur and undoubtedly sharing some sort of uncouth comment about her poor brother. Likewise, the Mathis family, who always normally sat toward the front of the church, retreated to the back when they caught sight of Arthur.
Although A
rthur sat quietly when he first arrived, it seemed that he grew increasingly apprehensive with the arrival of more people. Apparently, the pastor had advertised the morning’s events very well, as the small chapel was completely packed with not only traditional church members but a goodly number of just plain onlookers by the time the service began.
Who could have known that a packed church would not have required a full armload of firewood for the stove, but the Spirit was indeed at work among the faithful who—in their efforts to save Arthur—generated enough heat to run Satan himself out of the small church. Jackets and coats were shed, as the sweaty business of Salvation was obviously at hand.
Finally, with the last chorus of amen, the pastor asked his three most sanctified deacons to come down to the front. Each of the four men held a lighted candle in each hand, and they moved together to stand in a tight semi-circle directly in front of Arthur.
Pastor Swinson began by calling upon Jesus and all his angels to drive the devil from inside the body of their poor brother, Arthur. Then he called on every member of the church to chant together, “Devil leave us. Jesus come in.” The congregation continued their remonstration over and over again. At the same time, the preacher and the deacons were each thrusting one candle forward, then another, toward Arthur’s face.
For a couple of minutes, Arthur had no reaction, save jerking his head back away from the flames each time a candle was pushed toward him. Then a sheen of sweat appeared, first on Arthur’s brow, followed by a growing perspiration stain on his shirt. His head began to rock back and forth, and a gob of spittle formed on his lips.
Pastor Swinson sensed success and increased the volume and the tempo on the chant as well as the speed of the moving candles.
When Arthur fell forward on the floor, Pastor Swinson hollered. “Come on brothers and sisters. Praise the Lord. We’re almost there. Devil leave us. Jesus come in.” The pastor handed one of his candles to Deacon Grey White and bent down to finish the job by laying his hand on Arthur’s brow.
It was at that moment that Arthur finally responded to the loud noises, the heat, and the thrusting candles and was overcome with a fit. Pastor Swinson interpreted this for the congregation. “Hallelujah, the devil is leaving him!” And every member of the church leaned forward to see—in case the real devil, with horns and all, would suddenly appear and turn tail to flee from their little church.
But as the seizure became more vigorous, the pastor’s right shoe was situated directly in front of Arthur’s face, and as he convulsed again, Arthur’s teeth fastened around the preacher’s ankle and sunk right to the bone. The pastor screamed and attempted to jerk his foot away, but the clonic phase of the seizure was almost continuous at this point, and Arthur bit his ankle seven or eight times so rapidly that it was impossible to remove his foot.
“Jesus wept!” The Pastor hollered as he tried to hit Arthur on the head with his candle. “The devil’s still got him, and he’s got me too. Run fer your lives!”
The stampede started with the Dyer sisters, whose nephew Ralph leapt over the pew behind him as they tried to grab his ankles. Little Ray Stubblefield took the long awaited opportunity to grab Clara Beecham’s chest as he escaped; and old Granny Copeland choked on her last dip of snuff, as she hobbled out the door declaring “Hit was a sight in this world how Pastor Swinson could cuss!” The pushing, shoving, and kicking, which then occurred in the melee inside the Twelve Disciples Baptist Church, would forever be regarded in the future as a moment the church would never speak about again.
Ben was still attached to Arthur, and as he got down on the floor with him, he looked for help from his stepmother. But rather than his stepmother sitting there in the empty pew, there was nothing but the other end of the hemp rope. Arthur’s elbows and knees were convulsing along with the rest of his body, so Ben, dodging the flailing appendages, tried to keep from being hit or kicked while he repeated Arthur’s name beside his head. The Pastor was still hollering, but the strength of the individual contractions was beginning to reduce, and within a few seconds, he was able to extricate his foot. Noticing that his flock had completely emptied the building, he then immediately followed them as fast as his mangled leg would allow.
As soon as Ben realized that Arthur’s seizure was over, he told him he was going to be all right, and to just lie still for a while. He used Arthur’s shirtsleeve to wipe the blood and saliva off his mouth and face. Ben thought for a minute that Arthur was going to go to sleep, as he appeared to be completely exhausted, but after a few minutes, the two of them stood up and walked out the front door with the empty end of the rope trailing along behind. Although he was still scared, Ben had no idea whether the devil had left Arthur or still had a hold on him, but he tried to act like everything was back to normal.
The pastor, his deacons, and Sarah Windes were speaking together in a small circle until Sarah shook her finger at them and walked over to where her daughters were standing. Pastor Swinson cleared his throat and addressed his members. “I made a mistake today, thinkin’ that we could win this here battle with evil. But there ain’t no cure for the wickedness in that boy. Satan hisself has got a firm grasp on him, and us innocent men and women of the church can’t hope to do battle with the devil in this here situation. I’m gonna ask that Sister Windes and her family not come back to the Twelve Disciples Baptist Church until such time as there ain’t no devil in her house.”
Sarah stalked off, followed close behind by her two daughters (both of whom were threatening to die of embarrassment), while Ben and Arthur brought up the rear. Ben kept looking sideways, wondering whether Arthur might have another fit in the next few minutes, and gradually he came to the conclusion that the safest place for the boy was probably back in his cage.
After they arrived home and got Arthur settled in again, Ben told Sarah he wanted to go to Abbie’s. “All you want to do is go over there and make fun of my poor brother.”
“No. I need to tell them what Pa told me about quitting school.” Surprisingly, he got no argument.
Before he left, he spent several minutes standing beside Arthur’s cage with his hand on one of the timber cross pieces. On the other side of the barrier, Arthur stepped over and placed his own hand on top of Ben’s hand—not in a threatening way at all—but rather just possibly as an attempt to acknowledge his thanks. They stood there looking at each other for a minute or so, before Arthur backed away and began a conversation in earnest with himself.
Seven
The Going Away Gift
Jeffersonville, Indiana 1849
Ben found Abbie, Sean Finnerty, and Sue at home. Mr. Finnerty was getting ready to pull his soup wagon into town. He told them about quitting school, then he reminded Abbie of their conversation wherein she had said he could help Mr. Finnerty with the soup business when school was out. “I can easily sleep in the shed when the weather turns warmer. There’s no need to build a lean-to. I can help with some of your chores too. But I have to tell you that my pa told me I’d have to work over at his cabin too.”
Abbie hesitated, but Sean was quick to say he had lots of work to be done across the road in his fields as soon as the weather broke, so Ben’s offer to assist with the soup sales would help him a lot. If Sean had been completely honest, he would have confessed that he hated going to the docks every day. Ladling up the soup and passing out the cornbread made him feel as though he was no better than a common slave to the rivermen. The only reason he kept it up was because the money was so good. “And as to how much time you spend at the other cabin, we can play that by ear. I’ll have to admit that just hearin’ Miz Windes’ voice is enough to curdle milk in the churn. But I got a feelin’ she’s always gonna have a long list o’ chores for you. Dealin’ with that woman is a tough stump to jump.”
He spent the night at his pa’s cabin, and the next morning was up early, determined to spend no more than a couple of hours working there before he headed to Abbie’s for his soup run. He used a hoe on the garden, gradua
lly expanding it for the planting that would begin in April. Then at about ten o’clock in the morning, he washed up at the well, picked up his belongings, and hollered to his stepmother that he would be staying with Abbie and would be back in the morning to work on the garden some more. He was determined to take off before she had a chance to stop him.
When he was high tailing it halfway across the front yard, she screamed at him, “Where do you think you’re goin’? Yore pa told you to do my chores whilst he was gone.”
He didn’t slow down, “I’ll be back tomorrow. I’ve got to go help Abbie.”
He escaped into the woods with the sounds of “You come back here or you’ll be sorry you didn’t,” ringing through the treetops. He couldn’t help but laugh out loud as he ran through the woods.
Ben actually liked school and truly regretted not being able to go anymore, but he looked forward to going back to the dock. All the talk was about going to California. His friend Jeremiah complained he had lost almost half his crew. “All them boys caught the ‘gold fever.’ Some calls it the ‘Great Itch’—and they just cain’t bear it ’til they scratch it. In fact, the town must’ve lost fifty men in the last few weeks. I don’t know who’s gonna be left to do the work around here.”
Ben told Jeremiah his pa had gone to get rich too. Jeremiah responded, “The only people that get rich during a gold rush are the ones selling something to the miners. The miners end up spending all their gold on food or whisky or women. Me and about four thousand other fools spent six months in Lumpkin County, Georgia during the rush of 1829, and I can tell you the one who probably took the most gold out of the state was Miss Annie O’Shaunnessy. Miss Annie ran a boarding house that had a little saloon downstairs and two real pretty barmaids. Most all the miners spent every night they could afford it at Miss Annie’s. She had a scale in the place and exchanged gold dust for paper script. No telling how much she was worth by the time the gold played out.”