I was still wondering what to do when one of the wagon drivers—Mr. Wynkoop—yelled, “Let’s get a-going!”
That was when old Reverend Gideon Fobbscott from our Episcopal Methodist Church, a white-bearded fellow in black frock coat, stepped forward. “Neighbors!” he cried in his rough, booming voice. “I should like to bestow a final blessing upon our emigrant friends!”
People quieted down as the minister stepped up on a porch that overlooked the wagon train. He then commenced his preaching. He went on for a time, and I’ll confess, wanting to leave as quickly as possible, I paid but scant attention. Still, in the middle of his sermon he said something that I would never forget.
He said: “Gold looks like a god’s eye, bright, bold, and beautiful. It’s smooth and soft, the way a god’s touch should feel. You can bend it, shape it, and darn near chew it. It won’t change on you. It won’t rust. Get enough gold in your hands, and you can buy yourself a palace.
“But,” cried the minister, and it seemed as if he was pointing his stubby finger right at me, “gold can make a person crazy. Because if you get gold seeping into your heart and mind, if you let it take over your soul, it will turn you into a hard devil. The only thing your gold can buy you then is a cold coffin in a colder grave.”
His words chilled my heart.
Next moment Mr. Wynkoop called, “Westward ho! Gee!” and cracked a long bullwhip over his oxen team. The great beasts leaned into their yokes. One bellowed. Wheels groaned but turned. Wagons lurched. Wood and leather creaked. As we began to roll forward, the crowd shouted, “Godspeed!” “Farewell!”
I felt true distress at leaving my parents behind in such a fashion. And what was I to do about Mr. Mawr? Was I to be a stalking horse, leading him straight to Jesse? I didn’t think he had ever seen Jesse, but no doubt Judge Fuslin provided a description.
Not sure whether to stay or go, I stood in the middle of the road, only to feel a pluck upon my sleeve. I turned, and there was Lizzy.
“Orphan boy,” she taunted. “Ain’t you coming, after all? Did I scare you off?”
“I’m coming,” I murmured and hastened to catch up with the wagons.
Laughing, the red-haired girl ran ahead of me, scrambled onto the tailgate of her wagon, and watched me run. She even stuck out her tongue at me.
One of our wagon owners, Mr. Griffin, and his son, Peter, had fife and drum, and led the way out of town playing a stirring “Yankee Doodle.” The crowd cheered. It was like the glorious Fourth of July!
The music quickened my steps and allowed me to show some spirit, though I will, in the name of honesty, admit to feeling a mix of joy and sickness all at once.
“Jesse,” I whispered to myself by way of encouragement, “hang on! I’m a-coming to see the elephant!”
CHAPTER TEN
We Head West
IT WAS almost noon when we got going, taking the road that led west from Wiota. Mr. Bunderly asked me to walk beside his oxen team (with a prod stick). He sat in the driver’s seat, reins in hands, his sad-eyed wife by his side. Miss Eliza began in the wagon, but she soon got out and started walking by my side, talking nonstop about her pet pig, Apollo, who trotted at our heels. She told me all about what she hoped to do out in the Cherry Creek diggings.
When I gave but scant reply, she fell into silence.
“Mr. Early?” she suddenly asked. “Do you not care for young ladies?”
I felt my face grow hot. “Don’t know anything about them.”
She made a quick glance back at her parents, and then she whispered, “Mr. Early, my mother keeps telling me to be ladylike, but I say it will only prove to be a hindrance in the uncivilized lands to which we go. Have you any opinion on that subject?”
Hardly knowing what to say, I fetched up with, “I suppose you’re fine the way you are.”
She laughed, tossed her red hair back, scooped up the squealing pig, and left me.
No, sir, I hardly knew what to think of such a creature.
The weather proved decent when we began, but in late afternoon a violent rainstorm came down. My first thought was that was good for our farm. In haste, I helped us camp near a village whose name I didn’t know. I don’t think we had gone but five miles.
When the storm passed over, lightning cracked close enough to send the milk cows scattering. I was told to go after them, which I did. When I had led them back, I was asked to light a fire in the rain so a meal could be cooked. It took a while, but I did that, too. That’s when I began to grasp how little Mrs. Bunderly, with her poor health, would do. But since it was considered women’s work to do the cooking, Lizzy—without complaints—was the one who dodged the smoke and set forth the bacon, corn cake, beans, and coffee, which were good enough. She took pains to feed her mother first.
Chores done, I crawled beneath the wagon on the wet ground and wrapped myself in a blanket provided by Mr. Bunderly, for such was the bed he had promised in his notice.
Lizzy, who had brought the blanket to me, squatted down and peered in. “Wish they’d let me sleep under here,” she announced, before retiring to the comfort of the wagon.
I began to consider that she might be daft.
May 3
The day dawned agreeably and so we started early. Then one of the wagons (Mr. Hicksby’s) had to stay back so his brake lever could be adjusted. Mr. Mawr showed himself to be a forceful man. Though he was a hired hand, he debated with Mr. Wynkoop, insisting we move forward. Mr. Bunderly took no part in the debate. Whether Mr. Mawr was right or wrong, I don’t know; but his will prevailed, and we went on.
I kept alert regarding this Mr. Mawr. He was a large, imposing man with broad shoulders, clean shaven enough to show a constant scowl. Dressed himself in buckskin. Now and again he took note of me, a nod here and there, but we exchanged no words. That was fine with me. I tried to convince myself that perhaps I was wrong: that he had no particular interest in me or Jesse.
All told, that second day we went about seven miles and camped near a slow creek.
May 4
Shortly after we started, we came upon a half-mile of marsh. Though we tried to go forward, our wagons sunk up to their axles. We had to wait till Mr. Hicksby’s wagon joined us. He grumbled and said we should have waited before starting across the marsh. In the end we had to empty the wagons, then haul long and hard to pull the wagons forward one at a time. Then reload them. Miss Eliza helped.
That day I believe we did not go a mile.
It was odd to be with strangers all the time. I’d forget their names, or they mine. Different ways of talking, too. I said “bucket.” Mr. Griffin said “pail.” Mrs. Wynkoop was wont to complain about hardship. You had to stand close to Mr. Hicksby to hear his soft talking. In the miles we had gone, it felt as if I had gone to a different world.
May 5
Got moving, only to strike another low marsh, in which the teams were stuck fast yet again. It was powerful work to get them out—eight oxen to pull each wagon through. Then the road that followed was poor. Happily, the next creek we came to had a bridge. That was progress. Still, here it was just a few days from starting, and already I began to wonder how long our journey to Cherry Creek would take. A long while, I reckoned. I hoped that Jesse could wait for me.
As we wore on, I chanced to note that Mr. Mawr carried a Colt pistol on his belt. What need, I wondered, required him to have a fancy weapon like that?
May 6
The weather proved fine, but we soon reached a big creek that was flooded some fifty yards wide, so we couldn’t cross. Mr. Armon (a pleasant man) and I waded waist deep until we found a shallow spot. Then we drove the wagons across. At one point our wagon was afloat, the oxen swimming. All proved secure.
Such was our relief that when we got to the town of Marengo, Mr. Griffin and his son, Peter, led the way, playing “Oh! Susanna” in lively fashion. My heart was lightened.
That night when I crawled under the wagon to sleep, Lizzy appeared again and peeked in at me.
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Crossing streams and creeks was always a tricky business.
“Mr. Early?”
“Look here,” I said, propping myself up on one elbow, “you don’t want that name ‘Miss Eliza.’Well, I don’t want you calling me ‘Mister.'”
She laughed. “I thought I was being respectful.”
“Sounds otherwise,” I said.
“But, Mr. Early—”
“I’m not talking to you if you call me that.”
She stared at me for a moment and seemed to make a decision. “Early,” she said, “can I tell you something?”
“You can say what you want.”
“Then I so want to know why you are running away from your family.”
I hardly knew what to say. “Why do you need to know?”
“I hate not knowing things,” she said.
Though much annoyed, I grumbled, “I’m not running away.”
“You are doing something devious.”
“I’m going to Cherry Creek.”
“You grow up in that town, Wiota?”
I nodded. “Nearby.”
She was quiet for a moment, sat down on the ground, and then drew up her knees and hugged them. “We were there only a month. You won’t believe how often we’ve moved. My mother didn’t want to go. Says she’s too ill with her fevers.”
“Is she?”
Lizzy nodded. “Rock fever. Brings waves of heat and unhappiness. Hurts right into her bones something awful. But my father said we had to go, as it is our last chance.”
“Chance for what?”
“To restore health to his business and to my ma. She insists she’ll not live to get there.” Lizzy paused again before saying, “Mr. Early, I envy you.”
I sighed. “Why?”
“I’d like to run away from my family.”
“Why would you want that?”
“Then I could do all kinds of things.”
“What kinds of things?”
“Get gold for myself,” she said. “Be the richest lady on the whole earth.”
“If you went to sleep,” I suggested, “you could dream about it.”
She considered my remark and then said, “Early, I don’t usually care for boys, but you’re a mite sharper than most.”
Next moment we heard her mother calling, “Miss Eliza! Where are you? I need you!”
She sighed. “Being an orphan seems fine to me.”
She hastened away.
May 7
Crossed a river (I never learned its name) by pole ferry, the owner of which charged us one dollar each team. No less than robbery!
Made good miles, but then the men got into a dispute about when to stop. No one asked my opinion. In the end, we pushed on.
That same evening, Mr. Mawr finally spoke to me. I was tying down our ox team. When I looked up, there he was, staring down at me, full of scorn.
“Boy, what’s your name?” he asked, as if he didn’t know.
“Early.”
He said, “Early, I have heard your uncle has already gone to the diggings.”
Of course he’d heard. He was with the judge when I told him. He must have thought I hadn’t recognized him.
“Maybe,” I said.
“Going to meet him?”
“Could be.”
“And he’s done well, I suppose.”
“I don’t know that for certain,” I replied, not pleased with the drift of his questions.
“Mr. Early,” he said, “there is much that is uncertain in this world.”
Any hopes I had that he was not interested in Jesse vanished: his words were a warning.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Mr. Mawr
May 8, 1859
IT BEING Sunday, we rested—though we really had not gone very far. But the Lord will be served, even going west.
Mr. Griffin and his son, Peter, played fife and drum, and so we sang some old hymns. Lizzy, for such a tomboyish creature, surprised me with a fine voice. The songs she sang, one of which was “Home Sweet Home,” filled me with affecting thoughts of our farm.
Had some dried fruit soaked in water as a Sunday treat.
May 9
In the morning, we were held up by a strong rain. Mr. Bunderly urged me to join his family as they huddled in the wagon. The rain beat on the canvas as if it were a drum, and there was some leaking. Thunder rumbled near. When lightning came the canvas lit up like a magic lantern. Apollo, Lizzy’s pig, rested his head in her lap and now and again grunted. When he did, Lizzy looked at me, and we struggled to keep from laughing.
Mr. Bunderly sighed and said, “Laughter, as the poet said, is the soul of youth turned to sound.”
“Don’t you ever laugh, Mr. Bunderly?” I asked.
“Mr. Early, consider: I now reside in a wagon with all my earthly possessions, my beloved wife and daughter, and you, Mr. Early—plus a pig. Outside, a deluge. A genuine summation of what my existence—so far—has achieved.” He spoke with such solemnity that Lizzy and I could not hold back our laughter.
“Miss Eliza!” cried Mrs. Bunderly. “Be a lady!”
The poor woman spread her misery.
When the rain cleared, we discovered one team of oxen had strayed, so our start was late. That said, we went six miles, but stopped when we found some old fence posts. I set them to fire while, as usual, Lizzy cooked our dinner: bacon, rice, corn cake, and coffee.
Eating with the Bunderlys was not like eating with my family. My family talked and argued—at least Jesse and Adam did. And there was no better bread than my mother’s. But at camp, Mrs. Bunderly rarely spoke, save to criticize Lizzy. Their corn cake was heavy. Mr. Bunderly gave long speeches, which made Lizzy roll her eyes or appeal to me with impish looks.
I missed my family.
May 10
We continued on. The slowness of our progress weighed on me. I worried much about Jesse and his predicament. Then I reminded myself that worry would not move me faster. All I could do was keep going. But I could not keep from fretting about Mr. Mawr.
At one point Lizzy walked by my side, her long skirt dragging in the muddy road, her bonnet, as usual, dangling down her back.
“Early, you mustn’t be bothered by my mother. She can’t scold her illness, so she scolds me. I try not to mind.”
“It’s all right,” I said.
We went on in silence for a bit and then she said, “Early, I so do wish to know why you are going to the diggings.”
I considered her question, shrugged, and said, “Same as everyone else. To get the gold.”
“Early,” she said, “by now you should know that I will take pride in keeping your secrets.” She put a hand to her heart as proof.
I glanced at her sideways. She was looking at me, too. “A shared secret is an honor shared,” she said, trying to make her words solemn. Next moment she sputtered and laughed. “When I talk like Father, I sound thick.”
I returned her honesty by blurting out, “I’ve an uncle at Cherry Creek.”
“Does he know you’re coming to him?”
I shook my head.
“He get any gold?”
“Think so.”
“He going to give you some?”
“Don’t know.”
She considered my reply and then said, “I should like you to know, I shan’t marry unless the man is rich.”
“Why is that?”
“Rich people do as they choose.”
“Can rich wives?” I asked.
She glared at me and tossed her hair. “I will.”
“Fine, then. And what would you do?”
She thought a bit and finally said, “Not sure.” Then, as if correcting herself, she added, “But I’d do it.”
For some reason or other, we both laughed. It felt good to do so.
We went on for a while, and then she said, “I hate this stupid bonnet.”
“Why wear it, then?”
“Ma doesn’t want me looking dark.”
“
Dark is better than washed-out and peaked.”
For once it seemed as if I had surprised her. “Do you truly think so?”
“Just said, didn’t I?”
After a moment she whipped her bonnet off, looked round at me, and grinned.
I was pleased we were becoming easy.
May 11
Went twenty miles, which was the most we had gone in one day. Toward sunset, we found a sinkhole with good water.
If you look at this picture, you can see some wagons were pulled by oxen, others by mules. Sometimes, even by horses. Oxen were considered best, being strongest, and because they really liked to eat the prairie grass.
Lizzy served up bacon, beans, corn cake with molasses, and coffee. I was tempted to ask if she could cook anything else. Didn’t.
In the evening, when I crawled under our wagon as I usually did to sleep, I found myself restless. As I lay there, I heard footsteps approach our wagon.
“Mr. Bunderly?” a voice called.
“Is that you, Mr. Mawr? Good evening.” It was Mrs. Bunderly who had replied.
“Evening, ma’am. I hope you’re feeling better.”
“I do the best I can.”
“Mrs. Bunderly, I was wanting to speak to your husband about that boy of yours, Early.”
“My husband is asleep. Is there something I can answer for you?”
“I heard say the boy is traveling to meet his uncle in the diggings. Has he spoken of that to you?”
“He told my husband he’s an orphan, that’s all.”
“Did he? Has he said why he’s going out to this uncle?”
“Not to me,” said Mrs. Bunderly.
“I wonder if he can be trusted,” said Mr. Mawr. “You might be better without him. You can find another in Council Bluffs.”
“You can speak to my husband in the morning or even with my daughter. She’s on good terms with the boy.”
“With your permission, I shall. Good night.”
“Good night, Mr. Mawr.”
I hated that man.
CHAPTER TWELVE
News About Jesse
May 12
I WOKE TO discover our oxen had broken loose again. Mr. Bunderly had not tied them properly. Since we could not move without, I had to find them. When I did and yoked them up, I offered to tie up the oxen from then on. Afterward we went along a road of black mud.