Boy Settlers: A Story of Early Times in Kansas

by John Henry Goldfrap

  CHAPTER VI.

  WESTWARD HO!

  The following two or three days were wet and uncomfortable. Rain fellin torrents at times, and when it did not rain the ground was steamy,and the emigrants had a hard time to find spots dry enough on which tomake up their beds at night. This was no holiday journey, and theboys, too proud to murmur, exchanged significant nods and winks whenthey found themselves overtaken by the discomforts of camping andtravelling in the storm. For the most part, they kept in camp duringthe heaviest of the rain. They found that the yokes of the oxen chafedthe poor animals' necks when wet.

  And then the mud! Nobody had ever seen such mud, they thought, noteven on the black and greasy fat lands of an Illinois prairie.Sometimes the wagon sunk in the road, cut up by innumerable wheels, sothat the hubs of their wheels were almost even with the surface, andit was with the greatest difficulty that their four yoke of oxendragged the wagon from its oozy bed. At times, too, they were obligedto unhitch their team and help out of a mud-hole some other lessfortunate brother wayfarer, whose team was not so powerful as theirown.

  One unlucky day, fording a narrow creek with steep banks, they hadsafely got across, when they encountered a slippery incline up whichthe oxen could not climb; it was "as slippery as a glare of ice,"Charlie said, and the struggling cattle sank nearly to their knees intheir frantic efforts to reach the top of the bank. The wagon had been"blocked up," that is to say, the wagon-box raised in its frame or bedabove the axles, with blocks driven underneath, to lift it above thelevel of the stream. As the vehicle was dragged out of the creek, theleading yoke of cattle struggling up the bank and then slipping backagain, the whole team of oxen suddenly became panic-stricken, as itwere, and rushed back to the creek in wild confusion. The wagontwisted upon itself, and cramped together, creaked, groaned, toppled,and fell over in a heap, its contents being shot out before and behindinto the mud and water.

  "Great Scott!" yelled Sandy. "Let me stop those cattle!" Whereupon theboy dashed through the water, and, running around the hinder end ofthe wagon, he attempted to head off the cattle. But the animals,having gone as far as they could without breaking their chains or thewagon-tongue, which fortunately held, stood sullenly by the side ofthe wreck they had made, panting with their exertions.

  "Here is a mess!" said his father; but, without more words, heunhitched the oxen and drove them up the bank. The rest of the partyhastily picked up the articles that were drifting about, or werelodged in the mud of the creek. It was a sorry sight, and the boysforgot, in the excitement of the moment, the discomforts andannoyances of their previous experiences. This was a real misfortune.

  But while Oscar and Sandy were excitedly discussing what was next tobe done, Mr. Howell took charge of things; the wagon was righted, anda party of emigrants, camped in a grove of cottonwoods just above theford, came down with ready offers of help. Eight yoke of cattleinstead of four were now hitched to the wagon, and, to use theexpressive language of the West, the outfit was "snaked" out of thehole in double-quick time.

  "Ho, ho, ho! Uncle Charlie," laughed Sandy, "you look as if you hadbeen dragged through a slough. You are just painted with mud from topto toe. Well, I never did see such a looking scarecrow!"

  "It's lucky you haven't any looking-glass here, young Impudence. Ifyou could see your mother's boy now, you wouldn't know him. Talk aboutlooks! Take a look at the youngster, mates," said Uncle Charlie,bursting into a laugh. A general roar followed the look, for Sandy'sappearance was indescribable. In his wild rush through the waters ofthe creek, he had covered himself from head to foot, and the mud fromthe wagon had painted his face a brilliant brown; for there is more orless of red oxide of iron in the mud of Kansas creeks.

  It was a doleful party that pitched its tent that night on the banksof Soldier Creek and attempted to dry clothes and provisions bythe feeble heat of a little sheet-iron stove. Only Sandy, theirrepressible and unconquerable Sandy, preserved his good temperthrough the trying experience. "It is a part of the play," he said,"and anybody who thinks that crossing the prairie, 'as of old thepilgrims crossed the sea,' is a Sunday-school picnic, might bettertry it with the Dixon emigrants; that's all."

  But, after a very moist and disagreeable night, the sky cleared in themorning. Oscar was out early, looking at the sky; and when he shouted"Westward ho!" with a stentorian voice, everybody came tumbling out tosee what was the matter. A long line of white-topped wagons with fouryoke of oxen to each, eleven teams all told, was stringing its wayalong the muddy road in which the red sun was reflected in pools ofred liquid mud. The wagons were overflowing with small children; coopsof fowls swung from behind, and a general air of thriftiness seemed tobe characteristic of the company.

  "Which way are you bound?" asked Oscar, cheerily.

  "Up the Smoky Hill Fork," replied one of the ox-drivers. "Solomon'sFork, perhaps, but somewhere in that region, anyway."

  One of the company lingered behind to see what manner of people thesewere who were so comfortably camped out in a wall-tent. When he hadsatisfied his curiosity, he explained that his companions had comefrom northern Ohio, and were bound to lay out a town of their own inthe Smoky Hill region. Oscar, who listened while his father drew thisinformation from the stranger, recalled the fact that the Smoky Hilland the Republican Forks were the branches of the Kaw. Solomon's Fork,he now learned, was one of the tributaries of the Smoky Hill, nearerto the Republican Fork than to the main stream. So he said to hisfather, when the Ohio man had passed on: "If they settle on Solomon'sFork, won't they be neighbors of ours, daddy?"

  Mr. Bryant took out a little map of the Territory that he had in hisknapsack, and, after some study, made up his mind that the newcomerswould not be "neighbors enough to hurt," if they came no nearer theRepublican than Solomon's Fork. About thirty-five miles west and southof Fort Riley, which is at the junction of the Smoky Hill and theRepublican, Solomon's Fork branches off to the northwest. Settlersanywhere along that line would not be nearer the other fork thaneighteen or twenty miles at the nearest. Charlie and Sandy agreed withOscar that it was quite as near as desirable neighbors should be. Thelads were already learning something of the spirit of the West. Theyhad heard of the man who had moved westward when another settler drovehis stakes twenty miles from his claim, because the country was"gettin' too crowded."

  That day, passing through the ragged log village of Tecumseh, they gottheir first letters from home. When they left Illinois, they had notknown just where they would strike, in the Territory, but they hadresolved that they would not go further west than Tecumseh; and herethey were, with their eyes still fixed toward the west. No matter;just now, news from home was to be devoured before anybody could talkof the possible Kansas home that yet loomed before them in the dimdistance. How good it was to learn all about the dear ones left athome; to find that Bose was keeping guard around the house as if heknew that he was the protector of the two mothers left to themselvesin one home; to hear that the brindle calf had grown very large, andthat a circus was coming to town the very next day after the letterwas written!

  "That circus has come and gone without our seeing it," said Sandy,solemnly.

  "Sandy is as good as a circus, any day," said his uncle, fondly. "Thegreatest show in the country would have been willing to hire you fora sight, fixed out as you were last night, after we had that upset inthe creek." The boys agreed that it was lucky for all hands that theonly looking-glass in camp was the little bit of one hidden away inUncle Charlie's shaving-case.

  The next day, to their great discomfiture, they blundered upon acounty election. Trudging into Libertyville, one of the new mushroomtowns springing up along the military road that leads from FortLeavenworth to Fort Riley, they found a great crowd of people gatheredaround a log-house in which the polls were open. Country officers wereto be chosen, and the pro-slavery men, as the Borderers were nowcalled in this part of the country, had rallied in great numbers tocarry the election for their men. All was confusion and tumult.Rough-looking men, well armed and
generally loud voiced, with slouchedhats and long beards, were galloping about, shouting and making allthe noise possible, for no purpose that could be discovered. "Hoorayfor Cap'n Pate!" was the only intelligible cry that the newcomerscould hear; but who Captain Pate was, and why he should be hurrahedfor, nobody seemed to know. He was not a candidate for anything.

  "Hullo! there's our Woburn friend, John Clark," said Mr. Howell. Sureenough, there he was with a vote in his hand going up to the cabinwhere the polls were open. A lane was formed through the crowd of menwho lounged about the cabin, so that a man going up to the door tovote was obliged to run the gauntlet, as it were, of one hundred men,or more, before he reached the door, the lower half of which wasboarded up and the upper half left open for the election officers totake and deposit the ballots.

  "I don't believe that man has any right to vote here," said Charlie,with an expression of disgust on his face. "Why, he came into theTerritory with us, only the other day, and he said he was going up onthe Big Blue to settle, and here he is trying to vote!"

  "Well," said Uncle Charlie, "I allow he has just as good a right tovote as any of these men who are running the election. I saw some ofthese very men come riding in from Missouri, when we were one day outof Quindaro." As he spoke, John Clark had reached the voting-place,pursued by many rough epithets flung after him.

  He paused before the half-barricaded door and presented his ballot."Let's see yer ticket!" shouted one of the men who stood guard, oneeither side of the cabin-door. He snatched it from Clark's hand,looked at it, and simply said, "H'ist!" The man on the other side ofthe would-be voter grinned; then both men seized the Woburn man by hisarms and waist, and, before he could realize what was happening, hewas flung up to the edge of the roof that projected over the low door.Two other men sitting there grabbed the newcomer by the shoulders andpassed him up the roof to two others, who, straddling the ridge-pole,were waiting for him. Then the unfortunate Clark disappeared over thetop of the cabin, sliding down out of sight on the farther side. Themob set up a wild cheer, and some of them shouted, "We don't want anyYankee votes in this yer 'lection!"

  "Shameful! Shameful!" burst forth from Mr. Bryant. "I have heard ofsuch things before now, but I must say I never thought I should seeit." He turned angrily to his brother-in-law as Mr. Howell joined theboys in their laugh.

  "How can you laugh at such a shameful sight, Aleck Howell? I'm sureit's something to cry over, rather than to laugh at--a spectacle likethat! A free American citizen hustled away from the polls in thatdisgraceful fashion!"

  "But, Charlie," said Uncle Aleck, "you'll admit that it was funny tosee the Woburn man hoisted over that cabin. Besides, I don't believehe has any right to vote here; do you?"

  "He would have been allowed to vote fast enough if he had had the sortof ballot that those fellows want to go into the box. They looked athis ballot, and as soon as they saw what it was, they threw him overthe cabin."

  THE POLLS AT LIBERTYVILLE. THE WOBURN MAN IS "HOISTED"OVER THE CABIN.]

  Just then, John Clark came back from the ravine into which he had slidfrom the roof of the log-house, looking very much crestfallen. Heexplained that he had met some pro-slavery men on the road thatmorning, and they had told him he could vote, if he chose, and theyhad furnished him with the necessary ballot.

  "They took in my clothes at a glance," said Clark, "and they seemed tosuppose that a man with butternut homespun was true-blue; so theydidn't ask any questions. I got a free-State ballot from another manand was a-goin' to plump it in; but they were too smart for me, andover I went. No, don't you worry; I ain't a-goin' up there to try itag'in," he said, angrily, to an insolent horseman, who, riding up,told him not to venture near the polls again if he "did not want to bekicked out like a dog."

  "Come on, neighbor; let's be goin'," he said to Uncle Aleck. "I've hadenough voting for to-day. Let's light out of this town." Then the men,taking up their ox-goads, drove out of town. They had had their firstsight of the struggle for freedom.