Walk Away West

by J. F. Collen

  He stormed off towards the barn.

  “I shall expect you to soak the canvas cover in linseed oil to waterproof it whilst I construct your precious riding bench.” Obadiah threw the words over his shoulder as he strode away. Nellie caught him muttering, “I purchase the finest wagon money can buy, yet she takes umbrage. Impossible to please this choleric woman....”

  How preposterously unjust his mumbled accusations! How totally unfair to permit no opportunity for my rebuttal. “All is well, my little angel,” Nellie said aloud to her daughter, catching Emma in her arms and kissing the top of Emma’s head to hide her own tears.

  Chapter 18 – No Woman No Cry

  Hudson River to Erie Canal, New York, October 1856

  The steamship, relieved of some freight, yet encumbered with more passengers in Newberg, pulled away from the dock and continued its sail up the Hudson. Cornelia Rose took her customary place at the bow. Her heart lifted with its usual delight as soon as the ship began to move. Merciful Heavens, the smell of the salt air when the high tide rushes in from the sea cuts a caper of joy in my soul. The caw of the gulls circling overhead warbles like the sweetest of music! Thank you Lord for the still-nurturing warmth of the October sunshine, pouring unobstructed from the sky.

  Her roving eye caught sight of their Conestoga wagon, anchored on the top stern deck of the ship, like some oddity in P.T. Barnum’s famous American Museum. The excitement and elation left her body in one fast whoosh, like hot air from a balloon stabbed by a pin. Mayhap if I stare at it long enough, Tom Thumb or the Fiji Mermaid shall appear, confirming ‘tis both an apparition and a hoax.

  This is not the beginning of an exhilarating trip on my beloved river. It is the beginning of the end. The end of my time in civilization.

  Obadiah and her daughters caught up with her. Emma, now three-and-a half-years-old, and Elizabeth, nineteen months, giggling, ran right into her skirts. She bent to hug them and looked up at her husband. Obadiah’s eyes lit up when he saw her look at him.

  The love in his eyes and his tender smile warmed the melancholy from her soul.

  One of the many things I love about him, his perpetually happy affect, especially when I am lost in the loss of my family. Nellie shook her head, trying to erase the vision of her mother, Anastasia, and her dear friend Augusta, sobbing and waving as they pulled away from the Upper Dock at Sing Sing for the last time.

  She smiled at Obadiah, in spite of the tears in her heart. “Your smile excites the most tender of emotions in me,” he whispered and kissed her. The soft kiss shot a fire of passion from her cheek into her soul, rekindling her faith in her decision to follow him wherever he led.

  The pale sun caught the gold of the autumn leaves, and the silver of the airborne spray flung by the ship’s movement. “Look Mama, a fish!” Emma pointed. Cornelia looked over the rail, drinking in the familiar sights and sounds of the Hudson.

  “Why do you gaze so intently at the landscape?” Obadiah asked.

  Nellie blushed. “I wish to imprint this felicity of nature upon my memory. As the British author Thomas Hamilton wrote, ‘...add elevation to the mountains and the consequence of the river would be diminished. Increase the expanse of the river and you impair the grandeur of the mountains. As it is, there is a perfect subordination of parts and the result is something on which the eye loves to gaze and the heart to meditate....’” Nellie’s voice shook. Tears slowly ran down her cheek. “‘...which tinges our dreams with beauty, and... often... in distant lands....’” She choked on a sob, and coughed. “‘...will recur, unbidden, to the imagination’.”

  She stared at the landscape, willing her tears away, trying to regain her composure while absorbing the golden view.

  The ship’s twenty mile-an-hour speed ensured they would arrive in Albany long before nightfall. Fast enough! Ever since the Henry Clay, she watched anxiously, monitoring steamship crews’ performance of their jobs, even on her father’s ships. Once, her report of a pilot calling for an increase in speed when they already traveled at a maximum steam-capacity clip produced her father’s public reprimand of that man.

  Just after they boarded, she saw Obadiah examine the engine room to ensure there were sufficient fire buckets stacked at its door. She kept her brood at the bow, the safest part of the ship, she often reassured herself, and fell into her habit of monitoring the release of steam from the boiler at every familiar stop along their route.

  The hill of Albany soon appeared in sight. “Our honeymoon journey comes to mind,” said Cornelia, with a briskness that disguised the supreme effort it cost to maintain her positive outlook. The ship nudged the dock and the little girls jumped up and down in anticipation of regaining dry land. Cornelia continued, “The thrill of the voyage, the quaintness of the historic Dutch district in Albany, the wonder of each other and our love....”

  “My dearest Cornelia Rose,” said Obadiah, catching both her gloved hands in his own. “We are on a journey of a lifetime. Sustained by precious memories already created and fortified by the continued love of those we have left behind, we shall keep our hearts focused on the wonder of new vistas and worlds we shall view, and pioneer forward to create a new existence for ourselves.”

  He smiled at Nellie with an expectant look.

  She stepped to the plate. “In my extensive reading, I have discovered literature from many famous authors, recording their impressions on their Northeast Tours. The romance! The scenery! The commerce! I have long desired a voyage on the modern-day wonder, the Erie Canal. Moreover, with only a few short detours, we can see Niagara Falls and other sights of resplendent natural beauty along our path.”

  Obadiah frowned. Nellie read his face and knew he would not entertain the thought of detours on their journey. He cleared his throat to speak, but his demeanor communicated all Nellie needed to know.

  She rushed on, “The musings of England’s Frances Trollope, in particular, come to mind. While she viewed all things American with a critical eye, hence the derogatory title of her book on her travels—Domestic Manners of the Americans—her praise for the Trenton Falls was superlative.”

  “Trollope?” asked Obadiah. “Is she not the woman who praised these Hudson Highlands?” Nellie nodded her affirmation. Obadiah continued, “Whilst you advised me she took umbrage in the ‘lack of inspiration’ of the names of our landmarks, she certainly praised the landmarks themselves.”

  “True,” Nellie said. “Howsoever, I am sure her heart was set against finding anything notable at all on this continent—preferring instead to sling uncharitable, unforgiving witticisms. Therefore, the fact that she writes solely laudatory descriptions of these Trenton Falls makes me desire a stop in the landlocked city of Utica.”

  “Nothing is more compelling than a ‘declaration against interest’,” Obadiah agreed with a smile.

  Emboldened Nellie continued, “With a mere fourteen-mile detour we too could be privy to the unparalleled grandeur of the succession of leaps the West Canada Creek takes from platform after platform of rock the Natives call ‘Cayoharic’.”

  Obadiah looked skeptical. Nellie sighed. “That literary giant and my personal acquaintance, Mr. William Cullen Bryant, confessed he scampered about like a little boy enraptured by the beauty of the seventh Fall in the Trenton cascade. So compelled was he by the Fall’s splendor, he climbed and tramped through a private ravine, exploring dangerous terrain as the river rushed by in a torrent of perilous rapids. In his zeal to explore the bounty of nature and the majesty of the river, he quite lost track of time. After darkness fell, concerned friends organized a search party with torches. They scoured the area for several hours before Mr. Bryant finally groped his way homewards through the dark forest.”

  No reaction from Obadiah.

  Nellie took a deep breath and continued, hoping to persuade him. “Internationally renowned, Trenton Falls is second in fame only to Niagara Falls. Quite the rare opportunity to view such splendor presents itself. I would not dare trespass upon your g
oodwill to request the significant detour from our route entailed by a visit to Niagara Falls. I only ask for a slight diversion, a fourteen-mile carriage ride on a well-traveled road.” Nellie smiled and added a mute appeal through raised eyebrows.

  But Obadiah shook his head. “We shall not deviate from our scheduled plan of five days’ and four nights’ ride on the canal boat. We must get across Lake Erie, and then by land to Chicago before the canal and the lakes freeze and the snows set in.

  “But it is late October. We have the entirety of November before we must worry about ice and snow.”

  “Not in those northern parts of New York State. Meteorological trends indicate snow could commence there at any moment.”

  Nellie tried one more argument. “Our canal travel is so swift we shall arrive in Sandusky, Ohio, a week and a half earlier than stagecoach travel would have taken us. Surely that affords us some leeway.”

  “I already calculated that swiftness and economy of travel into our schedule,” Obadiah countered. “We must assimilate the wisdom of the guidebooks and adhere to our plans.”

  He turned on his heel and walked away.

  Chapter 19 – We May Never Pass This Way Again

  Erie Canal, New York, October 1856

  It seemed to Nellie she had barely closed her eyes when Obadiah caressed her arm and woke her.

  “Time to begin the adventure of a lifetime!” He smiled at her in the darkness of their cozy hotel room.

  Their pre-dawn activity was filled with the many logistics of the journey. They readied the children, breakfasted, repacked the few things they had needed the previous night and saw their Conestoga wagon, crammed with personal belongings Nellie was loath to leave behind, as well as equipment for their long trek, safely loaded onto a freight boat.

  “We shall bypass more than four hundred miles of highways and turnpikes by floating down ‘Clinton’s Ditch’,” marveled Nellie to Obadiah upon boarding the boat. The four Wrights stood on the deck watching the three horses on the side path break into a trot. The boat floated smoothly down the recently widened canal.

  “Whilst I do admire your blithe, adventuresome spirit, I remind you of our conversation of yesterday. Be cognizant, always—this is not a holiday, but rather the beginning of a long voyage into the unknown. ‘Tis best, I believe, not to tarry sightseeing nor disembark to dine in every town. What’s more to the point, of course, is a discussion of the matter of frugality of resources. We must resist the temptation to spend traveling funds before we realize the full extent of expenditure required to provision ourselves for the overland journey. We have already disbursed the entire expense for passage on this boat, the Storm Queen, at four cents a mile, including room and board. There is no compelling reason to alter our course.”

  Nellie sighed. “I am painfully aware we do not embark upon a pleasure cruise. I know full well a tiresome and arduous trek across the wilderness awaits us. Howsoever, as we can already ascertain from our morning’s float along this passage, nothing is seen to advantage from this canal.” Nellie stared at the swampy land, littered with rotting tree stumps, passing before her eyes. “In point of fact, very little is seen at all. Mayhap you can allow our purse strings to open for just one adventurous journey, such as a trip to Trenton Falls, before we must fully assume the mantle of pioneer.”

  Obadiah’s face looked like a thundercloud.

  Nellie sighed. “I am sure the children and I shall find many amusements and diversions simply floating along the canal. Further, I live in hope that as soon as the canal path parallels the Mohawk River the scenery shall improve.” With another sigh, this time of resignation, she made a beeline for a chair on the deck, careful not to stray too close to the rail-less edge of the roof of the main cabin upon which they stood. With another look at the swamp around them, she brushed her hair out of her eyes and settled herself with her daughters and her knitting bag. I shall nip my disappointment in the bud and take consolation in the name of our vessel, the Storm Queen, as it reminds me of my favorite mountain at home, Storm King.

  Nellie listened to the jargon of their captain and the canawlers commandeering the commerce along the canal. She contemplated the new words she had already learned while she knit and enjoyed the autumn sun. Most of the words she could discern from context—canawlers, people who worked on the canal; towpath or berm, the narrow path of earthen embankment that ran the whole length of the canal along which the horses and donkeys walked and pulled the boats; Lockkeeper; Pathmaster. She giggled. By all appearances, the Pathmaster’s main mission this morning was shooing the Dutch goose-girl and her geese from the canal towpath.

  Nellie glanced at her daughters, cuddling their dolls on the bench beside her. All’s well. My safety checks must be frequent and thorough, to spot potential dangerous situations before they occur. With a sigh of relief, she turned her thoughts back to her new vocabulary list.

  Nellie loved acquiring new vernacular—hoggee meant the boy driving the team, mung news meant gossip. Nellie could not fathom why. Besides the usual nautical terms—bow deck, stern deck, tiller, and steersman—a whole new string of words evolved for the breed of boats developed solely for canal travel. Packets were boats exclusively for passengers that commanded the right of way; line-boats took on both freight and passengers; counter sterns seemed to be boats that had two sterns and no bow. The craft looks confused... or mayhap, as if it travels in continual backwards motion. Nellie giggled to herself.

  Obadiah opened the Albany morning newspaper and perused the front page. Nellie made an attempt to resume pleasantries. “The fresh breeze on the deck shall keep the tenacious autumn mosquitoes at bay. I can save the spicy odor of my stash of pennyroyal leaves for repelling those disease-carrying gall nippers later in our journey.”

  The children began jumping around her, playing and laughing in the sunshine. Nellie smiled too, until her memories of the Henry Clay tragedy threw her into a fretful state. Mercy, Emma is not yet a confident swimmer and Elizabeth has only begun to learn. Perchance my back shall be turned and they shall slip and fall overboard. Will they have the skill to stay afloat?

  She retrieved a scarf from her bag and tied one end around Elizabeth’s waist and held the other firmly in her hand. At Elizabeth’s attempt to pull it off, Nellie said, “Now you can scamper about to your heart’s content and not tumble overboard. This beautiful fabric shall guarantee my peace of mind.” A small step to alleviate any chance my little darlings might fall to a watery grave. She put her knitting away and stood up, ready to walk around behind her toddler. Obadiah stood up and stretched.

  “Here’s an adventurous navigation,” snarled a man appearing at Nellie’s elbow. “‘Tis a triangulation of a murky mud-puddle.”

  Cornelia and Obadiah swiveled their heads toward the speaker in surprise. A whiskered and wizened old man stood nearby, scowling in the direction of the horse team and the razed forest beyond the berm. “All the dismal swamps and unimpressive scenery that could be found between the glorious Hudson and the vastness of Lake Erie shall be on display during our entire voyage,” he said in a querulous tone.

  Quite the curmudgeon, thought Nellie. In an attempt at civility and diplomacy she said, “Truly, the canal is still called ‘governor’s gutter’ by some. Howsoever, experience has proved its mettle as quite an efficient and profitable way to move people and freight. In truth, the only way one could travel faster is by sleigh, over snow and ice – an impossible choice on a beautiful autumn day such as this!”

  All of a sudden, a dark structure loomed directly in front of them. The barge continued along its conduit, right toward it.

  “The railroad will soon overtake....” the curmudgeon began.

  “Duck!” shouted Nellie to the grouchy man, as he was now facing toward her and the rear of the boat.

  “Madam, do you refer—”

  Bam! The stone façade of a low bridge hit the man in the back of the head and he fell forward on top of the crouched Nellie. Nellie fell against
the deck. The dark underbelly of the bridge obliterated the sun for thirty seconds while they passed underneath.

  Obadiah hurried around Nellie’s trapped figure and yanked the inert man off her. Blood dripped from a gash across the back of his head, and Nellie’s heart skipped a beat. Was he fatally injured?

  Handing Obadiah the scarf still attached to Elizabeth, Nellie turned to the stricken man. She pulled smelling salts out of her bulging handbag and stuck them under the man’s nose as her other hand reached for the side of his neck to check his pulse. He still has a heartbeat, she thought with relief, as she passed the salts back and forth with one hand and chafed his hand with the other.

  At last, his eyes flew open. With a dazed expression on his face, the old man looked up at them in terror. “What’s happened?”

  “‘Tis most fortuitous that my wife shouted a ‘low bridge’ warning at that precise moment,” said Obadiah. “It afforded me, and the rest of the passengers on deck, sufficient time to stoop, sparing our heads. You, Sir, have been lucky as well, as you bent slightly toward her seeking an explanation of her brazen command, and fell directly upon her, which cushioned your fall. But for that, you might have been knocked off the boat, or killed.”

  The old man lay there, rubbing his head, and looking dazed.

  “In other words,” said a fellow passenger. “We thought the atoms in your head were rearranged for you.” Nellie and Obadiah stifled smiles.

  One of the crew came forward and led the man down to the multipurpose room below.

  “Mercy,” said Nellie, from her prone position on the hot deck floor, after yet another low bridge. “The numerous bridges could, in fact, seem quite the nuisance. The arches of most are barely high enough to admit the passage of the boat. They leave us no option but to descend from our seats and drop to the deck, every time we approach one, or be swept summarily into the drink!”