disappointed to learn that all of the Thompson’s daughters were married. The next morning they made their way to the railway station.
In their infancy, the railroads connecting the North American continent consisted of numerous companies, a few had long stretches of track; others, very short stretches. Most of them were still unconnected. The Boston and Worcester Railroad only carried them as far west as Worcester. The remaining miles required the use of a stagecoach. Rudolph’s journeys to Oktoberfest had always been by walking and riding in open wagons. The new forms of transportation that he now used allowed for greater comfort. The gentle swaying and rocking motions of the train and stagecoach were much more pleasant than the violent tossing of the steamship had been. The stagecoach’s movement reminded him of when his mother had held him as a toddler and rocked gently and sang to comfort him.
The coach was bouncing along the road between Northampton and Pittsfield when it suddenly lurched to a bone jarring halt. Arnold poked his head out of the nearest window. He saw two shadowy figures. One of them menacingly barked out a command.
“Hop down off from yer perch up there!” A strange voice ordered. “If you don’t we’ll shoot!”
The driver obeyed. Arnold silently shuffled through the small bag that he had carried inside of the coach, retrieved his pistol, and motioned to the other passengers to crouch down. He hoped that the two masked highwaymen had no other accomplices. The closer of the bandits was also the larger of the two that Arnold had seen. He became the target. The ball from Arnold’s single shot pistol entered the center of the bandit’s chest and knocked him to the ground. Arnold then jumped from the coach and hurled the empty pistol at the second criminal, whose ducking motion caused the thrown weapon to sail over his head. Not waiting to see what else the noncompliant victim might do, the vagabond fired his pistol. Because he was still moving Arnold suffered an off-center wound to his right shoulder.
By then the driver had tired of being an observer and used his whip to slap the miscreant senseless. This allowed Arnold to pounce on the dazed villain. As Rudolph reloaded Arnold’s pistol and aimed it at the surviving thief, the driver bound him hand and foot. Meanwhile Andrea alternated between scolding and tending her wounded spouse.
“You crazy old fool! You could’ve been killed.” She tried to stifle her tears as she tore off enough of her dress to bandage him.
“But those pirates were going to kidnap you, dear. I had to shoot them. Don’t be using too much of your dress to fix me up now. Then I’ll only have to buy you another one.”
Andrea wiped away a tear. “It’s a good thing you didn’t get killed. Then I would’ve finished off the one’s who still alive myself.”
Rudolph and the driver helped the now bound robber to the roof of the coach and used the remaining rope to tie him to it. The driver then deputized the passenger as his temporary assistant.
“If he tries anything, shoot him. You’ll be riding out here until we get to the next town. There’s a doctor there to tend to your friend. Had to drop an ailing passenger off there one time.”
Before long the coach was once again bouncing along the narrow, winding dirt road. Six miles later the driver halted it at a small community for an unscheduled stop. He and Rudolph unloaded their prisoner while the passengers helped Andrea get Arnold out of the coach. The town’s lone tavern became a temporary jail and hospital. Its owner locked the still bound highwayman in his storeroom. Then he sent the employee to fetch the nearest doctor, who lived a half-mile away. Before long the driver and other passengers were saying their goodbyes to Rudolph and the Thompsons.
“God bless you for saving us from those hooligans.” A young businessman shook Arnold’s left hand. “I’m carrying more cash than I should have,” he whispered.
“Glad to be of help, my boy.”
“I’ll send the constable from Pittsfield to get the one you got all locked up.” The driver yelled as he climbed back aboard his stagecoach.
Rudolph watched the stagecoach rock back and forth until it disappeared behind a stand of maple trees. Tired and hungry, he went back inside the tavern. The smell of stale ale and tobacco smoke reminded him of his village’s Gasthaus in Bavaria.
“Would it be possible for us to get something to eat?” Andrea asked.
“Well, I usually don’t serve any food until towards evening.” The owner shrugged. “But since you’re heroes by ridding us of two bandits, I’ll be glad to serve you now.”
“Of course we’ll pay. No use in us treating you like those bandits did. Arnold, pull out enough for us to eat on.”
Arnold fumbled with his money belt by using only his left hand. He soon gave up. “Guess you’ll have to do it, dear.”
Andrea also struggled to remove the hidden belt. She grunted until it broke free.
“Ouch!” Arnold groaned. “You almost took part of me belly with the belt.”
“That’s because there’s so much there. Your belly that is. The money belt certainly feels lighter. Especially since you paid half fare for Rudolph.”
“Hush! I told not to be squawking about that no more, woman!”
Rudolph stared at the bickering couple. “But…but I work. You not pay, yah?”
Arnold sighed. “Well, you see, because of yer change of duties, ol’ Captain Smith made me pay half fare for ye. He’s a hard one. Learned the ways of doing business from him.”
“Humph.” Andrea interrupted them. “You could’ve learned a lot more if you’d listened to my father. If you had, we’d be rich by now instead of living out our days on a rundown farm you found on one of your wild goose chases all around the American wilderness. It had better be everything you said it is at that farm you always brag on and on about.”
“Oh woman, give me peace. If this wound doesn’t hasten me death, you surely will.”
“Well, it’s a good thing there were only two robbers. Any more and they would’ve gotten your belt and our life savings. Why couldn’t you leave them in that bank in Boston? You could’ve had the bank in Pittsfield take a check to move it over, you know.”
“But we must move quickly to buy the farm. I figured cash on the barrelhead would help move things along. It would take at least a week, probably more if I had to be moving the money among banks.”
Rudolph tried to intervene. “I…I sorry I problem. Wish I stay by boiler.”
“Don’t worry boy. What’s done is done. Don’t be crying over spilt milk as the farmer says. That is what we be now, farmers. Our sailing days is over for good.”
The tavern owner placed a tray of bread, butter, and three ales on one of the tables and called to his guests. “Here you go. It’s not much but I won’t have no meat till my wife gets here and cooks it up.”
The famished wayfarers gathered to eat. Arnold asked their Maker to bless the simple meal. They were almost finished with it when the doctor arrived.
“I heard someone’s been shot?”
“That be me.”
The doctor set down his bag next to Arnold. He slowly removed the blood soaked makeshift dressing that Andrea had applied and examined the wound. It caused him to frown.
“Well, the ball’s still in there. Looks like the shoulder bone stopped it from going all the way through you. That ale you’re drinking won’t be enough to kill the pain while I fix you up. He’ll be needing a large glass of whiskey, Tom.”
The tavern keeper delivered the requested anesthetic. As Arnold drank the whiskey the doctor took a bottle of alcohol from his bag and poured from it onto the wound to help deaden the pain. This made his patient jump.
“Hope it won’t be hurting that bad after you’re done.”
The doctor waited a few minutes for the general and local anesthetics to take effect. He then probed the wound for the projectile that was partially buried in Arnold’s flesh and bone. As he pulled the ball out pieces of shattered bone and muscle and connective tissue came with it. So he washed the wound several more times with the alcohol to remove as many ot
her fragments as possible and to further lessen the pain. He had Andrea watch as he sewed up the wound and applied the dressing.
“I want you to change this bandage everyday so you can check on the wound. If the wound gets worse get him to a doctor for bloodletting or else he might die. And pour alcohol on the wound for any pain. I’ve found that works quite well over the years. Helps to kill most pain.”
“I ain’t planning on dying, doc. Tell me, will I get the use of me arm back? I need to run our farm.”
“I doubt that even a surgeon could put you back together again. You’re like Humpty Dumpty.”
“Threescore men and threescore more, cannot place Humpty Dumpty as he was before.” Arnold repeated his favorite lines from the nursery rhyme.
The doctor was glad to see that his patient still maintained a sense of humor. “Luckily the shot missed your arteries. You’d be dead by now if it had hit one. How big is your farm?”
“Forty acres. It’s on the other side of Pittsfield.”
“I’m sorry. You can’t work that much land with one good arm.”
“I hope it’s sold by the time we get there. Whole thing was another one of his crazy daydreams anyway,” Andrea muttered. “I knew we should’ve stayed on there in Boston.”
The doctor’s eyes sparkled. “You don’t own the farm yet?”
“No.”
“Listen. One of my patients is really getting on in years and can’t manage his orchard any more. I finally