“I spent the last of our paper money,” Peter whispered as he held her close. Without further explanation, Olga understood the significance of his statement. There were no banks in the wilderness west of Independence and only gold and silver coins would be accepted as money. Peter had deliberately divested himself of the paper money that would soon be worthless. “Tomorrow we will begin buying the needed supplies—flour, yeast, bacon. I want you to select bolts of cloth that you can use to make us new clothes once we reach our new land. I’m sure these clothes will be worn out by then.”
Olga nodded and began creating a mental list of the things she would need to sew new clothes.
Chapter 4
May 1, 1848
Independence, Missouri
Peter and Olga stocked their rig for the four-month journey to Oregon. They purchased two hundred pounds of flour and corn meal, a hundred and fifty pounds of bacon, ten pounds of coffee, twenty pounds of molasses and honey, ten pounds of salt, and assorted dried fruits. Additionally, as suggested by Major Jamison, they bought supplies to trade with the Indians: beads, tobacco, blankets, cheap clothing, butcher knives, and fishhooks. The interior of the wagon was filled. The only open space was the wagon box attached to the front. This is where Olga imagined she would ride for most of the trip while Peter walked alongside the oxen, directing them. While many of the emigrants would sleep in tents alongside their rigs, Olga used their spare canvas to prepare a bed, and placed this over the top of their goods. Wary of the creatures to be found in the wilderness, she was afraid of sleeping on the ground and desired additional privacy.
Thus equipped, Peter and Olga took their place as the twenty-second in the fifty-wagon-long line. The four wagon trains staged in Independence departed at first light. Peter snapped the long birch whip on the backs of the oxen and they took the first step of their two thousand mile journey. In the beginning, the four trains ran in parallel, a hundred feet apart with their extra livestock grazing along between the long rows of wagons. Wranglers rode ahead and cleared a path among the other, disorganized travelers. Most of these were men venturing out on the Oregon Trail alone, and had banded together in groups of three or four wagons. The sight was a confused mass of cows, horses, and men afoot moving among the wagons.
As explained by Major Jamison, their departure date had been carefully selected. The trip across the vast plains of the Indian Territory had to be completed before the first autumn snows in the western mountains. The trail was impassible in the snow. However, they could not leave Independence until after the spring grass had grown. The oxen and other livestock would starve if they departed too soon. Additionally, they had to wait for the spring floods to pass. They would cross many rivers, and these crossings would be too dangerous with the rivers swollen by the spring flood. The very surge of waters that had created the navigable channel for their trip up the Missouri River now hampered their departure.
The oxen plodded along at something close to the walking pace of a man. Olga knew that while horses could draw the wagon faster, they would never have the stamina to pull the wagon day after day for two thousand miles.
Hours later they prepared to make their first river crossing. River crossings were the most dangerous aspect of the trip. They would have to make scores of crossings before they reached Oregon. Most of these would have to be completed with little or no assistance. However, for this first one, teams of men on horseback were ready to help the novice travelers cross the Blue River.
Peter paid a dime to each of three riders. They tied ropes to the front and back of the wagon, and a third line on the ox yoke. The men rode their horses upstream of the wagon to steady it against the current.
“No matter what,” one of the men cautioned Peter, “don’t stop. If you stop, then you will sink into the mud. The wagon will tip over and you will be in a real mess.”
Terrified, Olga held on for dear life as they rolled into the swirling, brown water. The wagon was constructed much like a small flatbed boat and now Olga understood this wisdom. There were moments when the wagon floated completely free, but their assistants kept it from drifting with the current. Some of the families attempted to cross without the assistance of the horsemen. Two of these did tip over, and had to be towed to shore and righted. Olga had no idea how much damage to their belongings occurred. The main body of the wagon train did not wait for these two unfortunate families. Major Jamison had specified the number of miles that they had to achieve before camping. Somehow, those left behind would just have to catch up, or turn back.
From the pamphlets, Olga knew their general route. They would follow the Kaw River west until a safe crossing point was found, and then turn northwest. The next major river crossing was the South Platte River, a hundred miles to the northwest. The rivers were lined with thick groves of cottonwood trees, otherwise the prairie was an unbroken expanse of grass.
At dusk they had completed ten miles. The four wagon trains were camped for the night at half-mile intervals. Olga could see the campfires of her friend, Martha, in the camp behind theirs, but she was too tired and too busy cooking to walk over for a visit.
“Evening, ma’am.” Major Jamison and Mr. Woodstock tipped their hats. Olga smiled and nodded.
“Good evening, Major,” Peter replied.
“How is your rig? Did everything work properly today? Any breakdown?”
“Everything is splendid, sir.”
Not taking Peter at his word, the two leaders of the wagon train completed a quick inspection of the wagon and the oxen’s harness.
“Yep, looks to be fine. Don’t forget to keep the axles greased.” The major tipped his hat once again, “Ma’am.”
“Major?” Olga called out.
“Yes?”
“The two wagons that were left behind at the river, wasn’t that rather cruel? I mean, isn’t the whole purpose in hiring you to solicit your assistance with such troubles?”
“Well, yes, Missus, ah, Graus, you are correct on both accounts. However, consider that everyone in the train is dependent upon my judgment and assistance to get them to Oregon. Make no mistake about it, this is a very difficult venture. Cruel as it may seem, crossing the Blue River is a test to separate the men from the boys. By this I mean that if a wagon team is not strong enough to complete the river crossing, then there is no chance that they will live to see Oregon. Continuing to coddle them will only decrease the chances of everyone else. Thus, we weed them out while they are still close enough to Independence to get back.”
“I see. I do understand, but it seems rather cruel to simply abandon them.”
“Oh, I’m not so heartless. I left a wrangler to watch over them. One of the wagons did return to Independence. I will send his money back to him. The other is still on the trail. I expect they will be here in another hour.”
“Thank you for telling me. I feel much better knowing this.”
“Yes, ma’am, but don’t tell the others. I prefer them to think of me as a cold, heartless bastard.” The major winked.
Chapter 5
June 7, 1848
Bellevue, Northwest Wilderness
In the early morning hours, the steamboat St. Ange approached Council Bluffs, Iowa, to resupply with coal. Council Bluffs was the generic name of the area where Lewis and Clark had first met with the Ote Indian tribe in 1804. A settlement of one sort or another had existed in the area since then. On the eastern side of the Missouri River, the town of Kanesville provided coal and supplies for the river traffic. The area had originally been settled by the Mormons, but by 1848 most of them had migrated westward, across the Missouri.
The ice had broken on the Missouri River in late May and the St. Ange had arrived in Fort Union on the first of June. Following Bart Adam’s murder, Thomas feared that Alistair McKinsey would murder him next. Thus, Thomas Meyer had taken the opportunity of the boat’s departure to abandon the trading post and Fort Union. With the sum total of his meager belongings wrapped in a buffalo skin, twenty ten
-dollar gold pieces tucked in his money belt, his Bowie knife sheathed on his belt, and Bart Adams’ Hawken rifle in his hand, Thomas had been eager to return to the warmth of Missouri. It had been a year since he had truly been warm.
“Aye, Mr. Meyer, it’s a bit chilly this morning. Do ya care to come inside for a nip?” The captain of the boat, Joe La Barge, joined Thomas to watch the crew dock the boat. Joe and steamboats were not strangers to Thomas.
“Thank you, don’t mind if I do.” Stepping into the protection of the wheelhouse, Thomas accepted the whiskey bottle from the Captain. He poured a measure into a cup of steaming coffee and took a sip. Quickly, the warming fluid chased away the morning stiffness in his joints. He wiped his mouth on his sleeve and asked, “How long before we can be taking hot baths in Independence?”
“Nary a minute longer than two more days, the Good Lord willing.” Captain La Barge took a sip from his own spiked coffee cup.
“I plan on jumping ship and heading to California. I hear they found gold there, and I aim to get me some.” Thomas spoke the truth, though he did not plan on actually panning for gold. He planned on establishing his own trading post for the miners. As with the buffalo hunters, there was easy money to be had in selling them supplies. He would leave the hard mining work to others more suited to the task.
“Indeed, but Bellevue is the best place to join the Oregon Trail for the trip west. It’s a hundred miles closer to California and we’ll be there shortly. Also, you don’t have to cross the Kaw River like you do if you jump off at Independence.”
“That so? Am I too late in the season? The wagon trains will be leaving Independence any day now. I’ve yet to get a rig.”
“A man like you won’t have any trouble. You could strike out on your own and catch up with a train. Sign on as a scout and get them to haul yer vittles. You speak injun, don’t you?”
Thomas contemplated this idea, and then nodded. “Yeah, that is a good idea. Drop me at Bellevue.”
The steam whistle blew, the side paddlewheel ceased churning the water, and the dock lines were secured. Thomas drained his coffee cup and returned it. Joe directed his attention to the boat’s crew and Thomas climbed down to the warm interior of the passenger compartment. There was no shortage of heat aboard a steamboat.
Thomas Meyer took the opportunity of the stillness of the boat to pen a letter to his mother:
Dearest Ma,
I pray that this letter finds you well and in good spirits as I am thusly so as it leaves my hands. I do regret that I have been unable to write until now. Let me briefly express my travels to date.
After departing Pittsburg, I made my way westward to the Ohio River. I joined the crew of a keelboat taking cargo down to the Mississippi River. Upon my arrival in Paducah, I had the good fortune to crew upon one of the new steamboats traveling upriver on the Missouri to St. Louis. Here, I changed to a boat heading westward on the Missouri River. It was at this time that I met the most interesting mountain man, Bart Adams. He traveled with our boat to Independence, Missouri, where I had the unfortunate experience of being waylaid by thieves. While I lay upon a sick bed for three weeks, Mr. Adams attended to my wounds with kind providence. With all my money stolen, and having missed the steamboat’s return to journey to St. Louis, Mr. Adams offered me a job.
With my great indebtedness to him, I traveled with him to the farthest reaches of the Northwest Wilderness, to a place called Fort Union. Mr. Adams operated an Indian trading post there and I worked for him for a year.
Following Mr. Adams’ death, he was murdered by a thieving scum Alistair McKinsey, I was forced to flee in fear of my own life. All these afflictions are undoubtedly sent upon me for some good end. I surely have had a goodly share of misfortune, but you know that I never give up. Never give up, tis wiser and better to hope than fall into despair, I always say.
And in hopes that this day will usher in a bright future, I am back on a steamboat on the Missouri River. However, I am at this juncture continuing west across the new territories to California. I have heard that gold has been found there.
Your loving son,
Thomas
June 7, 1848
While it had only been two years, it seemed like a lifetime ago that Thomas had come to blows with his father. While their argument had been the cause of his hasty departure, he had difficulty remembering what it was that they had been fighting about. Then, he added at the bottom of the paper:
Give my warm regards to Papa. I am sorry that I could not fulfill his wish for me, and marry for money. The man who marries for money may better his worldly condition, but this is a hard fate. You spoke the truth when you said that I care not for such things. No, give me a woman who possesses the qualities to make a man happy, though poverty be her lot. With such I could pass through the world in happiness. And so, the life of a lawyer is not mine. I am sorry for the financial straits that my action has cast the family into. At my earliest opportunity, I will send you money.
He wished that he could exchange one of his gold coins for a banknote. However, this was not possible in the wilderness. If he wrapped one of his gold coins in the paper, that would only ensure that it would be stolen and that the letter would never reach its destination.
At noon and ten miles further south, Captain La Barge stopped the boat close ashore at Bellevue.
“Joe,” Thomas addressed the captain, “may I burden you with seeing that this letter reaches my mother in Pittsburgh?”
“Certainly.”
With a final nod, Thomas Meyer climbed overboard and waded ashore.
Bellevue had been established in 1822 as the only fur trading post on the west side of the Missouri River. The post was located where the Platte River joined the Missouri. The original intention had been to establish riverboat traffic westward on the Platte River. However, this river proved to be a mile wide and an inch deep. Even the Indians carried their canoes instead of attempting to navigate the waterway. With the addition of a ferry crossing the Missouri River, Oregon bound settlers could now stage their departure closer to their destination than at Independence.
Wading ashore, Thomas made a beeline towards the largest building in the town, the combination hotel, saloon, and bathhouse.
“How much for a bath?” he inquired.
“Ten cents,” the clerk replied.
“How much for fresh, clean hot water?” He had not had a bath in a year, and he did not want someone else’s used water.
The clerk eyed him, and answered, “That’ll be four bits.”
Thomas added a second quarter-dollar for a shave and a haircut. Striping his clothes off, but carefully keeping his belongings in sight and his bowie knife under the water in the tub, he washed away a year of buffalo stench. He laid back and soaked while a young woman shaved him and cut his hair. Afterwards, he went into the saloon for a double shot of whiskey followed by a beer.
With his needs for a hot bath and a shot of red-eye satiated, he turned to the next item on his mental list. He studied the women seated under the stairs. Given that they were attired in only their undergarments, he had no doubts as to their profession. While continuing to sip his beer, someone tugged on his sleeve. Turning, he saw the woman who had shaved him. She smiled, but said nothing as she reached for his hand.
Thomas allowed her to lead him up the stairs. Once inside her room, he placed a dollar on the small table beside her bed. Slowly, she undressed him. Thomas had not known which woman would invite him upstairs, but he had expected the transaction. In preparation, he had bundled his money belt in the folds of his buffalo hide.
“Where did you get these?” she asked, holding up his doeskin shirt and buckskin trousers.
“An Indian woman named Wyalla made them for me.”
“She is very skilled. Is she Pawnee?” She studied the decorative stitching.
Thomas judged that the woman was half Pawnee. “No, Blackfoot.” He did not bother to tell her that Wyalla was dead.
“You are
from very far away.”
“Yes, from a place that is always cold and now I want to get warm.”
“I will warm you,” she seductively said, in Pawnee. Thomas spoke a few words in several of the Indian dialects, but he was not proficient in Pawnee. However, he had understood her. He would have understood her had she spoken Chinese.
“Show me how warm I can be,” he responded in Lakota. While the native language of the Sioux, most Indians understood more Lakota than he understood Pawnee.
When he was naked, she tucked him into bed like a child. Then he watched as she disrobed. Unlike the other women in the saloon, she had been fully clothed. Thomas’s excitement mounted with each article she divested. Once reduced to her birthday suit, she crawled into bed and wrapped her nude body around his.
“Are you warm now, Mr. Blackfoot?” She continued speaking Lakota while stroking his cock into an erection.
“Almost,” he sighed. He rolled her onto her back, slowly spread her legs wide, and eased his member inside her. Her warm, moist entrance was most enticing. She wrapped her arms and legs around him and held on tight for a bumpy ride. When they finished, Thomas held her warm body close to his. Relishing the steady rhythm of her heartbeat, he fell asleep.
The woman was still snug in his arms when the first rays of sunlight awoke him. Thomas lifted her chin and kissed her good morning.
South Pass Brides Page 4