Sea to Shining Sea

by Michael Phillips

  He stopped, hesitating. His voice had gotten quiet. It was obvious this wasn’t easy for him, especially in front of so many people.

  “Mostly he helped me to see,” Zack went on in a minute, “a lot of things I had never seen or understood about me and Pa. Once Hawk realized how it had been when I’d left, he asked lots of questions, wanted to know how I felt about things. He probably knows you about as good as any man alive, Pa, but the two of you have never met. He told me some things about myself that weren’t too pleasant to hear, even though I knew they were true. But he was a straightforward, honest man, and I knew I could trust him. So I had no choice but to believe him. And so I had to look at myself, at some of the foolish things I’d done, like running off half-cocked like I did, and blaming things on Pa that I had no right to blame on anyone.

  “He made me look down inside myself, just like he made me look at things in nature. He made me look at my anger. He told me that I’d never be a man until I learned what anger was supposed to be for. And that I’d never be a man until I learned to swallow my pride and come back and say I was sorry. He said I’d never be a man till I learned to live with the people closest to me. ‘Only takes half a man to be able to live out in nature all by yourself,’ he said. ‘I don’t doubt that I’ve done a pretty fair job of teaching you that. So, Zack, my boy,’ he said, ‘now it’s time you learned to be a whole man, a complete man. It’s time you went back. Take the half of being a man you learned out here and put it to use being the other half a man. Don’t make the mistake I did of never going back. I went away when I was young, and I learned a lot of things. I know how to live in the wilds. But I’m still only half a man. It’s too late for me now. I’ve drifted for too long and too far away. And most of my people are gone now. But it’s not too late for you, young Grayfox.’”

  “Grayfox . . . who did he mean? Was that you, Zack?” asked Tad.

  Zack smiled—a smile with worlds of unsaid words behind it.

  “Yeah, Tad, it was me.”

  “Why’d he call you that?”

  “After I’d been there a spell, that was my name up there.”

  “It sounds like an Indian name, Zack,” said Almeda.

  Again Zack smiled, the same melancholy, distant, happy, sad, full, grown-up smile he had before. “Yep,” he said, slowly nodding his head. “That it was. Given to me by the Paiutes.”

  “Why . . . what does the name mean?”

  Another long silence followed. As I watched Zack, I could tell that his memories, even for such a short time ago, went into deep regions within him that perhaps none of the rest of us would ever see. But I hoped to see into those places inside my brother—maybe even write about them someday . . . or to show him how to write about them himself.

  At last he sighed deeply. “That’s a long story. Maybe even longer than this one,” he said. “Someday I’ll tell you about it. But right now I gotta finish this one.”

  “You go right on ahead, son. We’re all listening,” said Pa, his voice full of tenderness.

  “Well, Hawk and me, we talked about a lot of things,” Zack continued, “and he kept on gently tugging at me, helping me to see what I needed to do. But I just couldn’t bring myself to do it. I knew I needed to let somebody know I was all right. I figured that one way or another you had probably got word by then that I was missing and would be worried. But though I intended to get word to you, somehow the time passed faster than I realized, and I just never did anything about it.

  “One day we decided to go down to the valley. There were a few things Hawk needed. I’d never gone down with him before. I preferred to stay up in the mountains, even after my leg had healed and after the spring thaw came. I was at peace up there, and something inside me didn’t want to go back. I felt like a new person out there alone, breathing in the high mountain air, knowing that even as desolate as it was, it was a land I could call my own.

  “But this time I decided to go down with him. I figured it was time I let the Express people know I was alive so they could get word to you. We rode to one of the stations, both of us on Hawk’s old mule. They couldn’t believe it was me, but I told them the whole story. There was even a week’s back pay from months before still in an envelope with my name on it!

  “They had a couple of newspapers around, extras that the guys had brought to leave off at the stations along the way to keep the stationmen up on the news. That’s how I first heard about the war and everything back in the South.

  “I was sitting there having something to eat. Hawk was talking to the stationman on the other side of the room. I absently picked up a copy of a Sacramento paper. I don’t know what I was thinking—maybe that I’d run across something Corrie had written.

  “I just was glancing through it, I think it was a paper from May sometime, and a line caught my eye that said something about a resolution passed by the legislature supporting the Union. To tell you the truth, I don’t know why I starting reading it. I didn’t know anything about the conflict going on. But it had been so long since I’d read anything, I was just reading the whole paper.

  “Then all of a sudden my eyes shot open and stopped dead on the page. I couldn’t believe the words I’d read! According to Assemblyman Drummond Hollister, who was interviewed briefly after the vote . . .

  “What! I shouted to myself inside. It couldn’t be!

  “But I kept reading . . . The new legislator from the mining town of Miracle Springs, where he has served as mayor for the past four years, has been an outspoken pro-Union voice in the Assembly. . . .

  “I didn’t need to read another word!

  “I jumped up and ran over to Hawk, shoving the paper in his face. He didn’t have a notion what I was talking about. But all I could say was, ‘Look! Look . . . right there. That’s my pa!’

  “I was so overcome that I had to be alone. Still clutching the paper in my hand, I stumbled out the door and toward the stables and the barn where all the equipment was. I wandered inside and sat down on a bale of hay. Even here, so far away from home, I couldn’t escape it. Suddenly everything I saw—every leather strap, every smell, from hay to leather to manure to wood to horseflesh—reminded me of home. Everything Hawk had been saying to me over the last two months came back to me.

  “In that moment, sitting there, I saw it all so clearly—what I had done, how closed off I had been to all the love Pa had always tried to give me . . . the best friend I’d ever had, and always had, just like Hawk had told me.

  “I opened up the paper again and looked down there toward the bottom where the article was. Over and over I read those words about Assemblyman Drummond Hollister. And all I could think was what a good man that new legislator was, a better man and a better father than any of those people in Sacramento could possibly realize. Better than I’d realized till right then! And the one thing I knew more than anything else was that I had to see him again. And I didn’t want to wait! I had to see him now. I wanted to go home!

  “I was crying by then. I was embarrassed at the time, but I’m not ashamed to admit it now. There were tears falling all over that newspaper page, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the words.”

  Half the room was crying by now to hear Zack tell it—at least Almeda, Becky, Harriet, and I were. I have a feeling the men were choking back tears as well.

  Zack looked over toward Pa, drew in a deep breath, and then spoke again.

  “I tell you, Pa,” he said, “I was so proud of you when I read those words . . . so proud of who you are! I just wanted the whole world to know you were my pa! And I had to tell you! I had to tell you . . . how much—I had to tell you how much . . . I love you, Pa.”

  Both of them were on their feet by now. This time it was Zack who approached and put his arms around Pa, bending down slightly to rest his face against Pa’s shoulder, weeping like the boy-turned-man that he now was. Pa’s strong gentle hands reached slowly around his son and pulled him close.

  Almeda rose and went to them, followed next
by Rev. Rutledge. In another minute we all stood together, weeping, hugging, sniffling, and sending up lots of silent prayers of rejoicing.

  As we gradually fell away two or three minutes later, Rev. Rutledge broke the silence.

  “So, what happened next, Zack?”

  Zack drew in a long breath to steady himself.

  “I went inside, asked if I could buy a horse for the $25 in the envelope, in up-front payment, and I’d send them the rest.

  “Seeing as how it was me, the stationman said, and considering what I’d been through, he didn’t figure Russell, Majors, and Waddell ought to mind too much.

  “I said my good-byes, and I had to fight back the tears again when Hawk took my hand and shook it. But within the hour I was headed west . . . and here I am!”

  Chapter 51

  The End of the Express and a New Opportunity

  Zack was home!

  It was hard to get used to. Every time I stopped to realize it, a wave of joy swept over me.

  It seemed as if life ought to stop, but it never did. There was still a war going on in the East, plots and counterplots in the West. Pa still had to keep going to Sacramento . . . and there was still Cal.

  The very next morning, Pa came upon Zack with soap all over his face. “What in tarnation are you doing?” he exclaimed.

  “Shaving off my beard, Pa.”

  “What in thunder for?”

  “I figured if I’m going to come back to civilization, I ought to look civilized. Besides. I figured you’d want it off.”

  “Well, you figured wrong. I like it!”

  “You do?”

  “Sure I do. Makes you look like me when I was your age.”

  “You want me to keep it?”

  “Well, it’s up to you, son. But I sure think a man’s beard looks good on you.”

  “Okay, Pa,” said Zack with a smile. He couldn’t have been more pleased!

  In mid-October a letter came to me, in an envelope from the office of the governor of California. My heart skipped. I was sure it was from Cal, but I was mistaken. I can’t imagine a letter from such an important person as the governor being a disappointment, but I have to admit that one was.

  Dear Miss Hollister,

  I apologize to seem to be always asking you favors. But when a man in my position discovers a person who is loyal and competent, with a handsomeness and intelligence to match, he does not find it easy to replace her. So I am coming to you cap in hand to once again ask for your help in a matter of extreme importance to the future of our nation. As you know, the soldiers of the Union have grave needs, and we of California are doing everything we can to help them. A major fund-raising effort is underway, led by my friend and yours, Mr. King, in order to raise and send to President Lincoln’s forces as much cash and gold as possible. California, as I’m sure you can appreciate, stands in a unique position to be able to help in this regard.

  It is my hope that you will consider allowing me to appoint you co-chairwoman of a new organization which is being formed to work alongside Mr. King’s efforts, to be called California Women for the Union, and whose principal activity will be raising funds for the Federal troops. Your name is one that is recognized and respected among the women of this state, and your efforts on behalf of the Union will, I am certain, not go unnoticed.

  I am, your humble servant,

  LELAND STANFORD

  Governor

  A hastily added note was attached to the letter. It said, “As always, my faithful Cal Burton has told me he will help you in this assignment in any way which might be beneficial to you. I look forward to hearing from you. LS.”

  I hardly knew what it would involve, but how could I not accept? I did want to help the Union. And when somebody as important as the governor asks for help, it seemed my patriotic duty to say yes. I wrote back the next day saying I would do it, but said that he would have to make sure somebody told me what was expected of me. I was willing, I said, but totally ignorant of what the appointment might entail.

  In the meantime, another major event in the life of the country was taking place. It had nothing to do with the war, but, because of Zack, and because of what Pa and I had been through, it came a little closer to home.

  The Pony Express was about to go out of business after just eighteen months in operation.

  The Pony Express had never made a profit for Russell, Majors, and Waddell. They had from the beginning hoped for government financial help but never received it. Once the war began, the amount of mail had dwindled, since many army troops were transferred from the West back to the East, and the army had been a heavy user of the mail services. But on October 24, 1861, something else happened that made the eight to ten days to take news from coast to coast eight to ten days too long. Suddenly the Pony Express was no longer the fastest way to transmit news.

  On that day, in Salt Lake City, two teams that had been working from California and Nebraska for six months met and joined the telegraph wires they had been stringing up across the country. The instant those wires were connected, Washington and San Francisco were able to communicate directly with each other over nearly three thousand miles—not in days but in minutes!

  Unfortunately for him, Governor Stanford was away at the time. But in his place the Chief Justice of California sent this message to President Lincoln along the new telegraph wires:

  In the temporary absence of the Governor of the State, I am requested to send you the first message which will be transmitted over the wires of the telegraph line which connects the Pacific with the Atlantic states. The people of California desire to congratulate you upon the completion of this great work. They believe that it will be the means of strengthening the attachment which binds both the East and West to the Union, and they desire in this—my first message across the continent—to express their loyalty to the Union and their determination to stand by its Government in this, its day of trial. They regard that Government with affection and will adhere to it under all fortunes.

  The riders of the Pony Express had ridden well over half a million miles. Only one rider had been killed by Indians, although a number of station attendants had lost their lives. Only one pack of mail was lost. Whatever its financial losses, in many other ways it had been a great success. But two days after the completion of the telegraph, the Pony Express officially discontinued its service.

  All across the country, and especially in California, there were articles of praise and tribute for the Pony Express, now that it was gone. The Alta printed several, too. I had written a story about my experience with Pa at Tavish’s station earlier, but now I wished I could have written one of these tributes. Mr. Kemble would have let me, but I wasn’t a good enough writer to do the kind of articles that were being written. In November, in the Sacramento Bee, for example, one tribute read:

  Farewell, Pony: Farewell and forever, thou staunch, wilderness-overcoming, swift-footed messenger. Thou wert the pioneer of the continent in the rapid transmission of intelligence between its peoples, and have dragged in your train the lightning itself, which, in good time, will be followed by steam communication by rail. Rest upon your honors; be satisfied with them; your destiny has been fulfilled—a new and higher power has superseded you.

  This is no disgrace, for flesh and blood cannot always war against the elements. Rest, then, in peace; for thou hast run thy race, thou has followed thy course, thou has done the work that was given thee to do.

  Chapter 52

  Raising Money for the Union

  After the battle of Bull Run in July, there were no more battles fought in the war all the rest of that year, except for a minor skirmish here and there. Both sides now realized that the enemy was stronger than they had thought, and they spent the next six months and all winter getting their troops ready, strengthened, and trained. Both presidents and their staff of generals devised great battle plans intended to knock out the opposing forces, whatever it took.

  The year 1861 had been only a beginni
ng, the calm before the storm. It seemed that 1862 would probably be a devastating and bloody year for our country.

  Therefore, fund-raising became all the more important. The Union army would need lots of money. Early in 1862, a movement was begun back in Boston to help the Union effort, and it became the focus of the nationwide effort to raise money. It was called the Sanitary Fund, although I never understood why it had such a funny name. Thomas Starr King and the other leaders in San Francisco—including me—had been raising money to send to Mr. Lincoln. We immediately organized a local branch of the Sanitary Fund.

  I had a hard time thinking of myself as a leader, but I was called a chairwoman of the California Women For the Union. So, when the Sanitary Fund started operating in earnest, Mr. King asked me if I’d be willing to work with him as the head of the ladies’ auxiliary of it. Mrs. Herndon, a woman I’d been working with on the other committee, would take that over herself. We both agreed.

  As chairwoman of the Ladies’ Sanitary Fund, I had to go to Sacramento and San Francisco a lot—more than Pa, in fact. He started giving me a bad time about being busier with politics than he was.

  “It’s you that oughta be in the legislature, Corrie,” he said one day. “You spend so much time in Sacramento talking to folks about money, I oughta just turn over my seat in the Assembly to you!”

  Pa sometimes had some farfetched notions, but that was about the most farfetched one I’d ever heard. The idea of a woman holding a political office like that made Almeda’s running for mayor seem like nothing!

  He was right, though—I was gone from Miracle Springs more than I was there, it seemed. And I hardly had any time for writing anymore—other than writing asking people to help the war effort and give whatever they could. But most of it was done in person, sitting in front of a group of people with Mr. King or one of the other men involved, listening to them give a rousing speech. They would always give me a nice introduction, saying who I was and making it sound as if I were more important than I was. And then I’d stand up and talk for three or four minutes too, urging the women especially to help out however they could.