How quickly the next two weeks of Guy Loring's life flew by. He was
busy and therefore had no time to notice how often his mother sighed
deeply when he talked of the free, joyous life they should lead on the
plains. There seemed to her little prospect of freedom or pleasure in
becoming a servant; yet she said but little about it to Guy as she
did not wish to dampen the ardor of his feelings, fearing that the
stern reality of an emigrant's life would soon throw a cloud over his
blissful hopes. Even Guy himself sometimes felt half inclined to repent
his impulsiveness, for George Harwood constantly reminded him of it by
calling him "Young America" and asking him if he had no other servants
to hire out.
Guy bore all these taunts very quietly, and even laughed at them, and
made himself so useful and agreeable to every one, that on the morning
of the start from W----, Mr. Harwood was heard to say he would as soon
be without one of his best men as little Guy Loring.
It was a beautiful morning in May, 1855, upon which Mr. Harwood's train
left W----. Guy was amazed at the number of people, of horses and
wagons, and at the preparations that had been made for the journey.
Besides Mr. Harwood's family there was that of his cousin, Mr. Frazer;
five young men from St. Louis, and another with his two sisters from
W----. Guy could not but wonder that so many people should travel
together, for he thought it would have been much pleasanter for each
family to be alone, until he heard that there were a great many
Indians upon the plains who often robbed, and sometimes murdered small
parties of travelers.
As the long train of wagons and cattle moved along the narrow streets
of the quiet village, Guy thought of all he had read of the caravans
that used to cross the desert sands of Arabia. "Doesn't it remind you
of them:" he said, after mentioning his thoughts to George Harwood who
was standing near.
"Not a bit" he replied with a laugh. "Those great, strong, covered
wagons don't look much like the queer old caravans did I guess, and
neither the mules or oxen are like camels, besides the drivers haven't
any turbans on their heads, and the people altogether look much more
like Christians than Arabs."
Guy was quite abashed, and not daring to make any other comparisons,
asked Gus to tell him the name of the owner of each wagon as it passed.
"The first was father's," he answered readily, "the next two cousin
James Frazer's. The next one belongs to William Graham, and his two
sisters, the next two to the young men from St. Louis, and the other
six are baggage wagons."
Guy could ask nothing more as Mr. Harwood called to him to help them
in driving some unruly oxen that were in the rear of the train. Next
he was ordered to run back to the village for some article that had
been forgotten, next to carry water to the teamsters, then to run
with messages from one person to another until he was so tired, he
thoroughly envied George and Gus their comfortable seats in one of the
baggage wagons, and was delighted at last to hear the signal to halt.
Although they had been traveling all day they were but a few miles
from the village, and the people in spite of the wearisome labors of
the day scarcely realized that they had begun a long and perilous
journey. To most of them it seemed like a picnic party, but to poor
little Guy, it seemed a very tiresome one as he assisted in taking a
small cooking-stove from Mr. Harwood's baggage wagon. As soon as it was
set up, in the open air, at a short distance from the wagons, he was
ordered to make a fire. There was a quantity of dry wood at hand, and
soon he had the satisfaction of seeing a cheerful blaze. Asking Gus to
take care that it did not go out, he took a kettle from the wagon and
went to the spring for water.
Every person was too busy to notice whether Gus watched the fire or
not. Some were building fires for themselves, some unhitching the
horses from the traces, unyoking the oxen, and giving them water and
feed. Guy thought he had never beheld so busy a scene as he came back
with the water, hoping that his fire was burning brightly. Alas! not
a spark was to be seen, Gus had gone with George to see the cows
milked, and poor Guy had to build the fire over again. Although he was
very tired he would have gone to work cheerfully enough, had not Mrs.
Harwood, who was wishing to warm some milk for the baby reprimanded him
severely for his negligence. He thought the fire would never burn, and
was almost ready to cry with vexation and fatigue. Indeed two great
tears did gather in his eyes, and roll slowly over his cheeks. He tried
to wipe them away, but was not quick enough to prevent George Harwood
who had returned from milking, from seeing them.
"Hullo!" he cried, catching Guy by the ears and holding back his
head that everybody might see his face, "here is 'Young America'
boo-hoo-ing, making a reg'lar 'guy' of himself sure enough. Has
somebody stepped on his poor 'ittle toe?" he added with mock
tenderness, as if he was talking to a little child; "never mind, hold
up your head, or you'll put the fire out with your tears; just see how
they make it fizzle: why, how salt they must be!"
Guy had the good sense neither to get angry, or to cry, at this
raillery, although he found it hard to abstain from doing both. But he
remembered in time that his mother had told him the only way to silence
George was to take no notice of him.
"Guy," said Mrs. Harwood, who had just come from the wagon, with some
meat to be cooked for supper, "I want you to go to your mother, and
amuse Aggie."
He went joyfully as he had not seen his mother since morning. He
uttered an exclamation of surprise when he entered the wagon in which
she was seated, it was so different from what he had imagined it. It
was covered with thick oil-cloth, which was quite impervious to rain;
on the floor was a carpet, over head a curious sort of rack that held
all manner of useful things, guns, fishing poles and lines, game bags,
baskets of fruit, sewing materials, books; and even glass-ware and
crockery. Guy thought he had never seen so many things packed in so
small a space. There were at the rear of the wagon and along the sides,
divans, or cushioned benches, made of pine boxes covered with cloth and
padded, so that they made very comfortable seats or beds. As Guy saw no
sheets or blankets upon the divans, he was at a loss to know how the
sleepers would keep warm, until his mother raised the cushioned lid of
one of the boxes, and showed him a quantity of coverlets and blankets,
packed tightly therein.
There was a large, round lamp suspended from the center of the wagon,
and as Guy looked at his mother's cheerful surroundings he could not
but wonder that she sighed when he spoke of the dark, lonesome lodgings
they had left, until he suddenly remembered that she had been nursing
the heavy, fretful baby, and trying to amuse Aggie all the day.
Poor little Aggie was looking very sad, and often said she was very
tired of the dull wagon, and was cold, too. Guy told her of the bright
camp-fires that were burning beside the wagons, and asked her to go out
with him to see them, for although he was very tired and would gladly
have rested in the wagon, he was willing to weary himself much more if
he could do anything to please the sickly little girl.
"Oh I should like to go very much," cried Aggie eagerly, "Go and ask
ma if I can! It will be such fun to see the fires burning and all the
people standing around them."
Mrs. Harwood was willing for Guy to take Aggie out, if he would be
careful of her, and so he went back and told the anxious little girl.
"Ah! but I am afraid you won't take care of me," she exclaimed hastily.
"No body but mamma takes care of me. George and Gus always lets me
fall, and then I cry because I am hurt, and then papa whips them, and I
cry harder than ever because _they_ are hurt."
"But we will have no hurting or crying this time," replied Guy as he
helped Aggie out of the wagon, thinking what a tenderhearted girl
she must be to cry to see George Harwood whipped, he was sure that he
should not, "for," said Guy to himself, "we should never cry over what
we think will do people good."
How busy all the people seemed to be as Guy, with Aggie by his side
walked among them. Both were greatly pleased at the novel scene
presented to their view. Two cooking stoves were sending up from their
black pipes thick spirals of smoke, while half a dozen clouds of the
same arose from as many fires, around which were gathered men and women
busily engaged in preparing the evening meal. Tea and coffee were
steaming, beefsteaks broiling, slices of bacon sputtering in the frying
pans, each and every article sending forth most appetizing odors.
Aggie was anxious to see how her father's baggage wagons were arranged
and where they stood. They proved to be the very best of the train, but
they were so interested in all they saw and heard that they did not
appear long in reaching them.
"What a nice time we shall have on the Plains," exclaimed Aggie. "I
shall want you to take me out among the wagons every night. I never
thought such great, lumbering things could look so pretty. I thought
the cloth coverings so coarse and yellow this morning, and now by the
blaze of the fires they appear like banks of snow."
So she talked on until Guy had led her past the fires, the groups were
busy and cheerful people, the lowing cattle and the tired horses and
mules which were quietly munching their fodder and corn, until they
reached the baggage wagons. In one of them they found a lamp burning,
and by its light they saw how closely it was packed. There were
barrels of beef, pork, sugar, flour, and many other articles which were
requisite for a long journey. There were boxes too, of tea, coffee,
rice, crackers and many other edibles, and in one corner, quite apart
from these a number of flasks of powder. There were also several guns,
some spades and other tools, and a great many things which Guy and
Aggie thought useless, but proved very valuable at a later time.
"I wonder what papa brought so many guns for?" said little Aggie. "And
all the others have them too. I should think they would be afraid to
sleep in a wagon with so many guns and so much powder in it."
"Men should not be afraid of anything," said Guy very bravely, "and at
any rate not of guns and powder, for with them they can guard their
lives and property from the Indians."
"The Indians!" cried Aggie opening her eyes very wide with fright and
surprise. "Are there Indians on the Plains?"
"Yes. But don't be frightened," replied Guy. "They shall not harm you,
and perhaps we may not see any."
"Oh, I hope we shan't. Let us go back to mother, it is getting dark,
and I'm so frightened. Oh, dear! Oh, dear!"
Aggie's alarm rather amused Guy, but he soothed her very kindly and
told her he would take her to her mother, and they had just left
the wagon, when a terrible figure, wrapped in a buffalo robe, and
brandishing in his hand a small hatchet, jumped with an awful yell into
the path before them.
Poor Aggie caught Guy's arm and screaming with terror begged him to
save her from the Indian. For a moment Guy himself was startled, then
as the monster came nearer he jumped forward, wrested the hatchet from
its grasp, and with hands neither slow nor gentle, tore the buffalo
robe aside and administered some hearty cuffs to the crest-fallen
George Harwood.
"Let me go," he said piteously. "Don't you see who I am? I'll tell my
father, so I will."
"You are a fine Indian," said Guy, contemptuously, "just able to
frighten little girls."
"I can whip you," exclaimed George, as he saw Guy was preparing to lead
Aggie to her mother. "Just come on!"
"No," said Guy, who had already proved the cowardice of his opponent,
"I am quite willing always to protect my master's daughter from
Indians, but not to fight his sons."
"Bravely spoken my little man," exclaimed Mr. Harwood, who had
approached them unperceived.
"He's a coward," whimpered George, "he struck me!"
"I saw all that passed," replied Mr. Harwood, "and I wonder that he
acted so well. I shall make him from henceforth Aggie's especial
defender, and he can strike whoever molests her, whether it be an
Indian or any one else."
George walked sullenly away, and Mr. Harwood, Aggie and Guy turned
toward the camp-fires, and passing three or four, reached that of their
own party. At some little distance from it was spread a tablecloth
covered with plates, dishes of bread, vegetables and meat, cups of
steaming coffee, and other articles. On the grass around this lowly
table the family were seated, all cheerful and all by the labors of
the day blessed with an appetite that rendered their first meal in camp
perfectly delicious.
But for Guy, a dreary hour followed the supper, there were dishes to
wash, water to fetch, and fires to pile high with wood. Guy almost
envied his mother the task of rocking the baby to sleep, yet was glad
that he was able to do the harder work which would otherwise have
fallen on her hands.
It was quite late when all his work was done, and he was able to sit
for a few moments by the camp-fire. He had just begun to tell Aggie of
"Jack, the Giant Killer's" wonderful exploits, when Mr. Harwood rang a
large bell, and all the people left their fires and congregated about
his. Mr. Harwood then stood up with a book in his hand and told them in
a few words what a long and perilous journey they had undertaken, and
asked them to join with him in entreating God's blessing upon them. He
then read a short chapter from the bible and all knelt down while he
offered up a prayer for guidance and protection.
Aggie whispered to Guy, as she bade him "good-night," that after
that prayer she should not be afraid of the Indians, and went very
contentedly to her mother's wagon, while Guy followed Gus and George to
the one in which they were to sleep.
They were all too weary to talk, and wrapping their blankets around
them lay down, and Gus and George were soon fast asleep. Guy lay awake
some time, looking out at the bright fires--the sleeping cattle, the
long row of wagons, seeing in fancy far beyond the wide expanse of
prairies, the snowy peaks of the Rocky Mountains, and at last in his
peaceful sleep, the golden land of California.