The whip arm came back and the tip end picked off another leaf. “Don’t say another word.”
Ebersole slunk away, muttering under his breath.
Dr. McAllister appeared at Cracker Ryan’s side. “We heard all that. Thank you. Some of the soldiers told us that those two were boasting how they sold Monongahela whiskey to the Indians all the way down from Pittsburgh in trade for pelts and skins. They boasted how easy it was to fool the Indians once they had a little whiskey in them.”
Cracker Ryan coiled up the whip. “They’ll probably lose all that money before they leave Brashear’s Stand. It’ll serve ’em right.”
The convoy packed up and started up the highway. They stopped in the early evening and camped at the edge of a meadow near the Pearl River.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
Earthquake
December 16, 1811
Zeb was shaken out of a deep sleep. He started to reach for his boots when his bedroll shook again. “All right! All right!” he whispered. “I’m up.”
His grampa sat up. “What’s goin’ on?”
The ground below them trembled violently. “What was that? Grampa, did you feel that?”
He tied his boot laces together and threw them around his neck, the boots dangling on his chest. He crawled out of the tent and stood barefoot to stare at the field of grass. A quarter moon was up, right over his head. Must be just a little after midnight, he noted. The ground below the grass was rippling like the surface of a big lake in a rainstorm, but he felt no wind. The ground trembled again and he heard branches snap and crash to the ground behind him.
His grampa crawled out next to him. “Earthquake!” he shouted. “C’mon! We’ve got to get away from these trees….”
They ran barefoot toward the meadow.
“Let’s go get the horses!” his grampa shouted. “We’ll take ’em to the center of the field.”
Now Zeb could hear great explosive snaps from the forest behind them, followed by a long whoosh as the giant trees crashed in the forest. The horses were neighing and someone was screaming in fear or in pain.
A strange odor wafted around the woods and the field. Zeb wrinkled his nose. Almost like rotten eggs, he thought, or like the smell when you strike flint with steel.
The dragoons had already begun moving the frightened horses to the center of the meadow. Zeb ran to help. He untied the reins from the tree limbs where the horses were tethered and soon had Kapucha’s and Christmas’s leads in his hands. His grampa was leading Andy and one of the draft horses to the center of the meadow. The shaking seemed to have stopped and the horses were beginning to calm down a bit.
The dragoons immediately cut pieces of wood to stake out their horses. Zeb was impressed with how calmly and quickly they handled emergencies, as if they had practiced what to do in case of an earthquake. But he knew that there hadn’t been an earthquake in this whole area in his lifetime, and no one had ever told him of one happening near here in the past.
Zeb’s grampa took the lead lines from him, and Zeb ran to where the Lodges were camping. The little girls sat in the bed of the wagon, peering wide-eyed over the edge. The younger one screamed, “Mama! Mama! Mama!” Zeb stepped between the traces and pulled the wagon out to the field.
Reverend Lodge and his wife pulled up the stakes of the tent, dragging it as they hurried behind the wagon into the meadow.
Zeb’s grampa ran up, grabbed one of the traces, and helped pull it to the center of the meadow. Then he pointed to their gear. “Quick, load our pack baskets onto the horses. Then get the small ax out and make some stakes. Be careful. Stay only at the edge of the woods. I think the earthquake is over, but some trees could still fall.”
Zeb ran to help move the frightened horses.
Just as Zeb turned to get the ax, the earth began to shake again. Zeb was thrown to the ground. He was surprised to feel the vibrations through his hands. He looked up as the huge trees lashed back and forth.
Someone shouted, “River’s risin’!”
They all stared in horror at the other end of the meadow as the Pearl River began to overflow its banks. Zeb struggled back to his feet as the water rushed across the field. With a sudden hiss and a cloud of steam, the water extinguished the hot coals from the smoldering campfire.
When everyone looked for a place to run, Captain Morrison shouted, “Hold your positions! There is no higher ground!” He looked down at the water, now ankle deep. “I don’t think this will get much deeper.” He looked toward the river. “The earthquake must have blocked up the river downstream, but the water pressure will soon break the logjam.”
Hannah and her parents splashed through the water toward Zeb. Their shoes tied around their necks, they carried their bedrolls and other belongings over their heads.
When the shaking stopped, Captain Morrison sloshed through the water to the group gathered in the center of the field. “We learned about earthquakes at West Point Military Academy,” he told them. “These are probably aftershocks. We will have a number of them. I believe that each one will be a little less strong than the previous one, but could still be very dangerous.” He paused for a moment, then said, “We’ll wait until morning and if the river doesn’t rise any higher, we’ll continue our journey north.”
“But that’s impossible!” Dr. McAllister said. “How can we travel under these conditions?”
Captain Morrison replied, “We will move north at daylight. There is nothing to be gained by staying here.” He gestured around him. “The campsite is covered with water. There is no room for discussion.”
Zeb began to feel the water moving in the other direction across his bare feet. Slowly, the water drained back into the riverbed.
Mrs. Lodge climbed up into the wagon with the girls and held the little one in her arms, rocking her and talking to her quietly.
The missionary tried to fold the wet tent. Zeb took the other end, and together they draped it over a tree limb to dry.
It was barely light when the captain informed them that they would be moving out within the hour. “There is still some venison from last night,” he said. “Eat what you want. We’ll leave the rest for other travelers.”
Zeb folded the still-damp tent and tied it to the other bundles on the packhorse. He tacked up Kapucha for the trip north. Hannah and her parents were saddling their horses. The dragoons had their horses ready to go.
In the dark forest, it was impossible to see the sun rise, but they could sense the new dawn as they prepared to move out.
They lined up and moved onto the Nashville Road once again.
December 16, 1811
CHAPTER NINETEEN
The Cypress Swamp
Less than an hour later, after winding around tree limbs now strewn across the trail, they reached a sharp curve in the road. The dragoon sergeant suddenly raised his hand and the convoy came to an uneasy stop. The sergeant dismounted, looping the reins over the saddle. He walked slowly forward and then stopped and stood with his hands on his hips, looking around the turn in the road. The captain, who had been at the rear of the convoy, cantered up to the sergeant.
“What is going on, sergeant?” he demanded.
The sergeant pointed to a place out of sight of the rest of the convoy, where the road curved sharply to the left.
The captain dismounted.
Zeb vaulted off Kapucha and ran up to where the sergeant and the captain were standing. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. The cypress swamp that had been on both sides of the road when they had traveled down the trail just a few months ago now seemed to have swallowed up the road itself. The road disappeared into the swamp and came out the other side. For a distance of about ten wagon lengths, there was no road at all!
“Earthquake must have done this,” Captain Morrison muttered. He looked around. “Perfect place for an ambush.”
The sergeant signaled the men, who dismounted and took positions on either side of the road. The sergeant and the Captain remounted, mo
ving quickly up and down the line. Zeb and his grampa pulled their rifles from the saddle holsters.
The captain told the Lodges to lie down in the bed of the wagon.
Zeb looked around the forest. Trees were down everywhere. Many just leaned on upright trees. But the big cypress trees in the swamp—with their wide lower trunks and their strange roots half out of the water—were all upright.
One of the dragoons changed into a green stable jacket and gray hat so he would be harder to spot in the woods and slipped into the forest. After twenty minutes, he crossed the highway behind them and went into the forest on the other side. The captain’s horse skittered when he suddenly appeared a half hour later at Captain Morrison’s side. “There is no evidence of horses or men on this side of the swamp, sir,” he said.
Zeb heard a click as Cracker Ryan uncocked his rifle. Zeb took a deep breath and did the same. The Lodges sat up in their rickety wagon.
“Sergeant,” the captain ordered, “have two of the men ride through that swamp to the other side. We need to know how deep it is and what the bottom is like. I want them to cut long poles and test the bottom in front of them and to each side as they move forward. There could be a ditch or a new channel underneath that water. If they find deep water, they are to turn around and come back.”
As a pair of soldiers urged their horses into the water, the horses sidled along the edge of the swamp, refusing at first to go in. The green slime on top of the water made it impossible to see what was underneath. The soldiers urged them forward again, and finally the horses placed one careful foot in front of the other into the thick muddy water, one horse slightly ahead of the other.
The men moved the horses forward a few steps, stopped them, prodded with the poles, and then moved forward again. When they had gone no more than the length of a wagon, the man in front pushed the pole into deeper water, but he was able to touch the bottom. He moved the pole to the right and then to the left, checking an area about three feet wide. His horse stepped into the deeper water, the green slime reaching the dragoon’s knees. When the horse struggled to move ahead, the dragoon stopped him, checked once again with the pole, and then moved forward. The soldiers urged the horses on, stopping to prod and check until they finally emerged on the other side.
They turned the horses around and carefully crossed the swamp again. One of them reported to the sergeant. “Bottom seems difficult for the horse, Sergeant,” he said. “Thick mud, I would guess. But underneath the mud, the bottom is solid. The water is not too deep for a big horse, but it might cause problems for the wagon.”
The captain told the sergeant to send three of the men to the other side. He ordered the scout to go with them and check the forest. Everyone stared at the green water, watching to see if anything broke through the surface.
The scout came back in about an hour with the news that there was no sign of outlaws or anyone else in the forest.
The sergeant ordered the men to lead the civilians on horseback across the swamp. One by one they struggled with the deep water and the muddy bottom. The minister and his family waited behind. When the captain sent three of the soldiers back, two of them put the little girls in front of them on their saddles and rode them across the swamp.
Mary, the seven year old, seemed very confident on the horse. She held on to the mane and smiled up at the soldier. Beth, the five year old, kept twisting around to look back at her mother. The missionary’s wife rode behind one of the soldiers. She waved at Beth reassuringly.
After crossing the swamp, some of the soldiers stood guard while the others scraped the slime off the horses’ legs and bellies and checked them for leeches. They lifted the horse’s feet and pried the packed mud and stones out of the hooves. Zeb and Hannah followed their example and took care of the rest of the horses.
Now all that remained was the missionary wagon. Reverend Lodge clucked the big draft horse forward and into the green slime. When the horse stepped into the deep water, the farm wagon floated behind him. One of the back wheels was at an angle and scraped against the wagon bed. It looked like the wheel was coming off. The horse could not move forward.
Without saying anything, Zeb mounted Christmas and Cracker Ryan mounted Andy. Zeb walked his horse into the green slime and the missionary climbed on Christmas behind him. Zeb then moved Christmas over next to the wagon. “Grab that saddle,” he told the missionary. “If we can’t move it, we’ll have to cut the wagon loose and you’ll want that to ride the horse.”
“If you have to cut the wagon loose,” the missionary said, holding the saddle under one arm, “I’ll have to come back and get the rest of the things. They’re all we have.”
“That’s what we’ll do,” Zeb said. He left the missionary with his family. Then he and his grampa maneuvered their horses to either side of the draft horse. With his boots hanging around his neck and his socks in the boots, Zeb slipped off Christmas and squished through the mud to hitch Andy and Christmas to the wagon on either side of the draft horse.
Zeb and his grampa nodded to each other and slowly began to move forward. The two rear wheels of the wagon, now completely stuck in the mud, came off, and the wagon box tore away from the chassis. The box broke into pieces. The Lodges’ belongings disappeared under the green slime. The three horses pulled the broken chassis and the two front wheels out onto the north side of the swamp.
“Oh, no!” the missionary cried, leaping into the swamp. He struggled through the muck toward the place where the wagon box was last seen. He thrust one arm into the water, his head turned to the side, his face green with slime.
Zeb waded out and stood next to him. “We must go back, Mr. Lodge. It’s too dangerous out here. If your feet get stuck in this thick mud, we may not be able to help you.”
“But I must find them,” the minister gasped.
Zeb put his arm around the Reverend Lodge and turned him toward the shore. The minister kept looking over his shoulder, “All will be lost. I must find them….”
“Whatever you have lost can probably be replaced at Yowani.”
When they got back on the dry road, the minister stood before his family. His clothes, his hands, and the side of his face were covered with green slime. “I’m sorry,” he said, still gasping for breath. “We won’t be able to start the way I had hoped. I’ll have to contact the Foreign Board of Missions after all.”
He looked up at the sky, visible now through the winter lacework of bare tree limbs. “Maybe it was wrong to believe that this was to be my mission,” he said in a low voice. “Losing that box was a sign.”
Dr. McAllister put his hand on the missionary’s shoulder. “Don’t worry, we can help you with whatever you need.”
The missionary sagged. “You don’t understand. There was a box with ten Bibles in that wagon.”
Hannah looked up at him. “We have lots of Bibles at Yowani,” she said. “The traveling preachers leave them with us.”
The two rear wheels of the wagon box broke into pieces.
“You have Bibles at Yowani?”
Hannah nodded. “My friend Nashoba and some of the others are trying to translate them. They don’t agree on the best way to write the translation yet.”
“Translate the Bible! Into Choctaw?”
“Nashoba taught me one verse in Choctaw.” She looked off into the forest as if she were trying to remember. She quoted,
chim okla hak osh
um okla cha,
chin Chitokaka ak osh
an Chitokaka ha chi hoke.
“And that means?”
And thy people
shall be my people
and thy God
my God.
The Reverend Lodge looked toward the sky once again and said, “Thank you.”
Little Beth looked up at her father, tugging on his pant leg. “Will you be able to find my doll?” she asked.
Hannah squatted down next to Beth. “We have lots of dolls at Yowani, too. You will have a new one when you get
to your new home.”
The captain walked over to the missionary family. “Now what?” he said. “I told you, I can’t wait for you. I’m sorry, but I simply cannot wait.”
Without saying a word, Zeb picked up Beth, put her on Kapucha at the front of the saddle, and then mounted the horse, wrapping his arms around her. Mary moved over to Christmas. Dr. McAllister helped Hannah mount and then helped Mary get up on the horse behind Hannah. Reverend Lodge saddled the draft horse, and he and his wife mounted. She sat behind him.
The captain stared at them, then nodded.
Hannah and Mary rode toward the convoy. Zeb and Beth followed until they were riding alongside Hannah, with Zeb still leading the packhorse. The Reverend and Mrs. Lodge urged the draft horse forward until they were behind the convoy.
Captain Morrison trotted his horse back and forth behind the group, then rode up next to Zeb. “That maneuver took some planning,” he said gruffly. “Whoever anticipated the situation and carried out the plan ought to be in the army.”
Hannah turned and saluted Zeb. “Nice going, Sergeant D’Evereux.” She grinned.
The captain announced to the convoy, “We will proceed on until we find a dry area, where we will camp for the night.”
“Yes,” Dr. McAllister agreed. “We must leave this place as soon as possible. People who stay around the swamps often come down with the fever.”
They had traveled north for about an hour when they came to a place where the road was blocked by a number of large fallen trees. The sergeant led the way into the woods, expecting to find an easy way around. But it was not to be. The group had only proceeded a few hundred yards into the woods when another series of aftershocks slammed more trees to the ground around them.
Hearing a strange creaking noise, Zeb looked up. The tops of the trees were whipping back and forth like deep grass in a windy meadow. Some of these aftershocks seem as strong as the earthquake, Zeb thought.
Natchez Under-the-Hill Page 13