THE WEDDING OF BEN AND LINDA; A SECOND OVERLAND TRIP; MASSACRE OF
NEARLY ALL THE COMPANY; BINDING UP THE WOUNDS; THE TRIP RESUMED;
SURVIVORS REACH THE OREGON COUNTRY.
Ben's hair had grown long, his beard had been cropped only with
shears, and his face was tanned by the fierce rays of a tropical sun.
His clothing was begrimed and worn almost threadbare; in appearance
he was very different from the Ben Hardy who had spent the Sunday
evening with Linda Shaeffer just before starting for Oregon with the
Mulhall outfit. It would take considerable preparation to call upon
Linda in presentable clothing; and though very anxious to see her,
Ben shrank from the impulse to do so at once. But his mother said,
"Go as you are; Linda will be rejoiced to see you."
Ben Hardy had traversed, in the opposite direction, the route that
Isaac Pelton took; and for the same object--to secure the girl of his
choice for a life companion. The departure from his Oregon cabin had
been so sudden that there was no time to write of the trip; even if
he had done so, the letter would have gone forward by the same
steamer on which he sailed. Although his trials had been less {161}
severe than Pelton's and the delays not as great, the journey was one
of continuous anxiety and fatigue.
His arrival at the old home in Missouri was unexpected and a great
surprise to all his friends there, naturally most of all to Linda.
Ben's last letter, received only two weeks before, described his
progress in establishing a home for them; but gave no intimation as
to when he would come after her, or how she could go to him. So when
Linda caught sight of Ben passing through the gate in front of her
father's residence, she could not at first believe that she saw
aright, but kept gazing in bewildered wonder and trepidation as he
approached the house.
The change in Ben's appearance had been so great that an acquaintance
could easily have been mistaken in his identity; but Linda, whose
quick eye recognized his familiar movement, rushed from the house and
met him on the walk, half-way between the gate and the veranda steps.
Most readers have known the thrill of such a surprise, though
probably few of the intensity of this one; nevertheless, out of their
own experience, they will understand and appreciate Linda's joy. The
cordial greetings that followed from all the household heartened Ben;
no one seemed to notice his clothes--it was Ben, though greatly
changed, they saw and welcomed.
There was one of the household who in her heart could not
rejoice--not that mother Shaeffer thought Ben unworthy of Linda; but
the realization that the daughter she loved so intensely would be
taken from {162} her, possibly meet a tragic fate at the hands of the
Indians, and certainly encounter the other hazards of a trip to
Oregon, overwhelmed her. Conscious that she might be unable to
compose herself and control her emotions, the good lady withdrew as
quietly as possible to her own chamber, where she gave way to grief
that could no longer be restrained.
Mothers who have had similar experiences of impending separation from
beloved and loving daughters will sympathize with Mrs. Shaeffer; such
is life and the story of each generation! We know that joy in a
steady, overflowing stream often follows grief, which becomes less
poignant with the lapse of time.
As she left the room, Ben caught the expression of distress in Mrs.
Shaeffer's countenance. Could it be possible that Linda's mother was
opposed to their marriage? The very thought disturbed and perplexed
Ben. He did not stay late, though long enough to disclose his plans
for the trip, taking particular care to tell Linda of its
difficulties and dangers. Linda firmly responded, "I am going with
you, Ben;" and with the echo of it in his ears, he rode back to his
mother's home with a light heart, for the moment forgetting the grave
responsibility now resting upon his shoulders.
With only a small amount left from the current funds provided for the
expenses of the trip, the first urgent business was to secure enough
money to purchase an outfit and allow for the expenditures and {163}
any emergencies on the way. Ben had learned by experience that the
popular fallacy, shared by so many, that currency was not needed on
the Trail, was unfounded; and knew to the contrary. The funds upon
which he depended were in three banks of three different counties;
and one of them had suspended payment upon large deposits.
A period of great financial depression had recently swept over the
country. Crops were abundant, but the few existing markets were at
considerable distances, and transportation facilities were entirely
inadequate to move even the portions that could be sold. No
railroads had yet been constructed in Missouri, and it was also
before there were a sufficient number of steamers to serve the needs
of the narrow margin of settlements bordering on the two principal
rivers.
The whole region was without improved roads, but had a superabundance
of products that could not be either consumed or sold at a profit. A
wagon-load of corn would hardly bring enough to buy a pair of boots;
a fat two-hundred pound hog could not be traded for a lady's dress,
or five bushels of corn for a pound of tea or coffee.
Such were the conditions confronting Ben in providing funds for the
purchase of an outfit, with the possibility of not being able to do
so at all. Luckily, he had some certificates of small amounts which
he turned over to father Shaeffer, and thus avoided direct dealing
with the banks.
{164}
The political turmoil which a few years later brought on the Civil
War then scourged the country, and added to the distress of
commercial depression; in fact, was considered by many the greater of
the two evils. Advocates of slavery were becoming more and more
aggressive, while the Free-Soil element grew more firm. The
approaching conflict of arms led many to emigrate as the best way of
escaping from the public and private agitation.
As soon as it became known that Benjamin Hardy had arrived direct
from Oregon, and was intending to outfit an expedition to return over
the Trail the following summer, he was besieged by numerous parties
desiring to join with him, and by a much greater throng seeking
information. They came two, five or even ten together, and finally a
delegation of forty from an adjoining county to discuss the trip and
country with him. Some offered to form a new company under his
leadership for the land of mild climate and great opportunities.
Those importuning strangers became a great burden to Ben, and much of
his time was taken in imparting information, or declining offers to
join his prospective trip. To all he expressed the intention of
going with only two wagons, or three at the most, and not more than
eight of his friends; but gave a truthful report of the dangers and
privations of the Trail, and a good description of the Oregon
Country. Father Shaeffer's farm was better equipped for assembling
an outfit than his mother's; besides the {165} "Shaeffer boys"--all
stalwarts--were eager to help him train the teams, and another one
for Linda's two brothers who had determined to return with Ben to
Oregon. At first he had no other thought than to assemble the outfit
and train the teams at his mother's home, for he desired to be with
her as much as possible while preparing for the trip.
At the same time, Ben could but acknowledge to himself that he wanted
to be near Linda; so arrangements were made for his mother to drive
over every day to help Mrs. Shaeffer prepare for the wedding and make
clothing for the young couple. A part of the cloth was to be woven
on mother Shaeffer's loom by Mrs. Hardy.
* * * * * * * * *
The wedding was a very quiet affair, with only the Shaeffer family,
Ben's mother and family, and a very few friends to witness it. Linda
was dressed in a frock of her own make; she had woven the cloth for
the very occasion while Ben was more than two thousand miles away,
but with an abiding faith that the time would come for her to wear it.
Ben was dressed in a suit Mrs. Hardy made out of "boughten store
cloth," as she described the material; while not a "tailor fit," the
mother was proud of it, and all agreed that she did very well. At
that time the women not only made their own dresses but also the
clothes of the men folks; so it was nothing out of the ordinary for
mother Hardy to make Ben's wedding suit.
{166}
The "boys" all wanted to invite the young folks of the neighborhood
and "have a good time," but mother Shaeffer pleaded for a quiet
wedding; and in deference to her wishes, all of them gave up the
thought. To her the marriage was a solemn occasion, and she could
scarcely restrain the tears while preparations were being made for
it. Ben had come to know the real reason and deeply sympathized with
her; he felt almost a twinge of conscience for taking the dutiful
daughter from the companionship of a loving mother.
Mrs. Shaeffer had great respect for Ben, believed him worthy of her
confidence and a suitable husband for her daughter; but she wanted
Linda to herself. In calmer moments she realized the selfishness of
such an attitude, and how it might affect Linda's later life to
remain with her; but the premonition that something dreadful would
happen on the trip could not be dispelled. Ben was not free from the
thought that disaster might overtake them on the long journey--little
dreaming of the source from which it would come, a peril not
encountered in his former trip with Squire Mulhall.
April, the time set long in advance for their departure, was near at
hand; the teams and outfits had already been purchased, the animals
were thoroughly reliable and well trained, and everything was about
ready for the start to the far West. Robert and Abraham Shaeffer had
also provided themselves with a team and outfit, and were equally
well prepared; {167} two independent outfits satisfactory to Ben with
four stalwart and reliable men, were in readiness making ten
trustworthy adults in the party. There were also three women and
four children, with Andrew, Jennie and their little girl Margie--in
all twenty persons, five ox-teams, one horse-team and a matched-mule
team for Andrew.
But the banks had not yet responded to the extent of the full amount
needed to defray the expense of outfitting, and enough to provide for
necessary supplies and incidental expenses on the road. It seemed as
if they might be held back at the last minute by the difficulties of
securing the necessary funds.
When all the other arrangements had been completed, Ben and father
Shaeffer rode over to the nearest bank; with a determined expression
of countenance, fire in their eyes and resolute tongues, they soon
convinced the cashier that the money should be furnished to Ben as a
matter of right. Thereupon sufficient for all anticipated needs was
handed to him, and that part of the problem solved.
Ben had secured a light wagon, with half-springs under the bed to
shelter Linda night and day, and also himself when not called
elsewhere during the day, or kept out on watch at night. He had
planned to take a full share of the duties and responsibilities of
the trip, no matter how arduous or fatiguing they might be.
Andrew, Jennie and Margie were ready when Ben and Linda arrived. Eli
Sumner, the elderly {168} Quaker in whose care Pelton had left his
former slaves, provided a span of matched tan-colored mules and a
complete outfit for them. All three took an affectionate farewell of
their benefactor, for Sumner had been kind to them--just as good as
"massa," Andrew said; and could not restrain tears of gratitude with
the last shake of the hand.
The ox-teams had been sent several days ahead to the Missouri River
crossing, where Ben was to join them with Andrew, Jennie and Margie.
A great surprise was in store for Ben upon arrival; all the teams of
his party were awaiting him, but the great throng seen there on his
first trip was conspicuously absent. Instead of five hundred or more
wagons on the former occasion, there were now not more than fifty
besides his own little party.
In striking contrast to the pressure of two years before at the ferry
landing, where a long line of emigrants waited their turn to be
carried over, now all were easily crossed about as they arrived.
Stirring memories of his adventure on the previous trip came vividly
to mind. The sand-bar where the wagon-box had grounded with Kate
Mulhall in water waist deep, was there; likewise the little island in
front of the ferry landing where the scow upset, though since
partially worn away by the swirling current of the great river.
Grass was abundant near-by the camp site, instead of being cropped
close as he had seen it the first time. Profiting by Mulhall's
experience with the {169} horse team, Ben determined to provide grain
to last his horses and mules a long way out on the Trail. First he
planned to take another wagon and abandon it when unloaded, thus
strengthening his teams with the extra oxen, but under the
circumstances, he concluded it would be practicable for teams to make
the return trip; so two wagons were secured and loaded with grain.
When fully prepared the crossing was safely made, and the great trip
across the plains started on April 18, 185-, about three weeks
earlier in the season than the previous one. The absence of Indians
was at once noticed by Ben, who caught sight of a few in the distance
the second day out; but they did not come anywhere near the train.
At the crossing of the second river on the fifth day, some of their
tepees were found on both sides of the Trail, and one directly across
it at the usual landing place.
There were a dozen or more lodges with altogether probably fifty
Indians, of which about twenty were men. Ben interpreted their
obstruction of the Trail as a sign of hostile intent; and after
selecting a suitable place for defense in case of attack, he at once
gathered all of his people into camp. The wagons formed a corral,
the guns of the party were carefully examined and an armed guard sent
to the grazing ground with the teams. Every one was cautioned not to
go near the tepees, but to await developments; and although Ben's
camp was only about fifty yards away, no Indian approached near it.
{170}
Little or nothing would be lost by waiting, as other teams were
expected in a few hours; at nightfall seven did arrive with eleven
armed men. Their wagons helped materially to enlarge the protecting
circle, while the men increased the strength of the guard.
At a council that evening it was decided not to go near the Indian
camp for twenty-four hours, unless the red men first came to them;
and to show a bold front, asking no favor except to be allowed to
cross the river undisturbed--and make no concessions. The Indians
evidently did not want a show of arms, their immediate object being
robbery under the guise of collecting toll; they had discovered that
only a few wagons were crossing the river, and thought they could
safely intimidate the smaller numbers.
Realizing the impending danger, Ben at once saw the necessity of
forming a larger company, for there might be fifty thousand warriors
within riding distance of the Trail, and still greater dangers ahead.
That night couriers were sent back to ascertain how many men could
come up on the morrow; and definite information was received that
thirty more wagons would reach their camp before the next night.
When the Indians saw these reinforcements, they silently decamped and
left the crossing unobstructed; but the incident naturally caused
uneasiness in all the camps, as the sequel will show. By later {171}
accounts, at least eleven massacres were perpetrated along the Oregon
Trail by Indians during the overland migrations.
Some of those tragedies were revealed only in part by the irons of
destroyed vehicles, with not a human being left to tell the dreadful
story. Ben concluded that it would be unsafe for the two grain
wagons to return; so he took them over and employed the drivers until
they could find an opportunity of returning with others--or else
continue all the way with him to Oregon.
Four days more of travel brought the train to another river crossing
where they saw eleven nude men, women and children of a party whose
three outfits had been burned, all provisions carried off and their
teams driven away. Why the Indians had spared the lives of the
victims none could tell; they had not been harmed bodily, but
stripped of all their belongings. Ben gave the unfortunates one of
the grain wagons and a team, while the people of the train fed and
clothed them.
They were now in the buffalo country, and near where Ben had gone on
the hunt that had been almost fatal to him on the previous trip
across. He had no desire to duplicate the experience, but there were
four more to feed than originally provided for, they had given the
destitute party a month's supplies with the wagon; and he now
realized the necessity of replenishing their stock of food.
So the camp was put in order and an organized {172} hunt arranged;
teams were sent to bring in the game and preparations made to cure
it. In five days the wagons returned fairly loaded down with jerked
buffalo, and the journey was resumed with a bountiful supply of meat
added to the previously diminished store.
So far Ben's horses and the mule team had felt the strengthening
results of light rations of grain; but by this time nearly all of it
had been fed out. Fortunately, the grass continued to be plentiful
along stretches where, two years before, it had been eaten close to
the ground by the large numbers of cattle and horses, with here and
there a flock of sheep in the emigrant column.
The Trail crossed a wide, open country inhabited by warlike tribes,
some of which were off on hunting expeditions or in forays against
other tribes, and a few had not yet returned from their trapping
expeditions. To the agreeable surprise of the emigrants, very few
Indians were now seen, and those showed no signs of making trouble.
After this had continued for several weeks, vigilance was somewhat
relaxed and the company began to fall apart--a repetition of what had
transpired in previous years, often with disastrous results.
Believing that all danger from Indians had passed, Robert and Abraham
Shaeffer concluded to try their fortune in the California gold mines,
and left the train.
Before he realized what was happening, Ben found {173} himself with
the original company, except for the Shaeffer boys; but was not as
much disturbed about it as he would have been a few weeks before.
The grass was good, and the abundant feed in the vicinity of the
camping places relieved the long tedious night watches, often far
removed from them. His horses, mules and oxen were in good
condition; the cows gave plenty of milk for the company, and the
surplus cream made considerable butter.
Linda was enjoying the trip; if this was "hardship," she could have
endured more of it without complaint. Andrew, who never tired of
entertaining the little camp with his violin and quaint plantation
songs, was happy with Jennie and Margie. Ben was comforted by the
thought that they would soon be in the cabin home to which they had
looked forward so long, and began to count the days--each one
bringing them so much nearer their destination.
So far the trip had been a surprise to Ben, and a marked contrast to
the one he had made with Squire Mulhall only two years before. The
seasons had differed somewhat, but the greatest change consisted in
the overcrowded Trail in 185-, and the much lesser number now.
He had been traveling several days in a wide and fertile valley, now
the pride of a great State, and had just crossed the river for the
first time to the right bank. The spot was ideal for a camp, with an
abundance of grass, plenty of fuel and pure water for all. So
enticing was the scene that Ben concluded {174} to lay over Sunday to
rest the tired teams and the weary members of his party as well.
A low perpendicular bluff paralleled the river, with a narrow portion
of the main valley, which promised ample feed for the teams, between
them. The bluff on one side and river on the other prevented the
stock from scattering; and for once no guard was sent out, as had
been customary heretofore. A strip of wild grass higher than a man's
shoulder bordered a dense growth of brush near the river.
The women took advantage of the stop-over to do their washing near
the river crossing; and one of the men was bagging some of the
numerous rabbits in the valley. Andrew spent most of his time
entertaining others, as usual whenever opportunity offered; two of
the horses had left the range and returned for a bit of bread or lick
of salt. Ben was busily occupied with the cares of the camp, and
planning the next stage of the trip.
On the following day two Indians were seen passing on horseback along
the top of the low bluff; but nothing was thought of it, as there had
been no trouble with them for several months, or for a thousand miles
along the Trail. A small train of wagons crossed the river during
the day and continued on to the west; soon afterward an Indian was
seen fording it at the same place and riding furiously toward the
east. About two hours later the same Indian returned, his pony
exhibiting all the signs of {175} continued hard riding; after what
followed it is certain that he was a scout sent up the Trail to
ascertain whether or not another train was approaching.
During the afternoon two men from a near-by camp went out to milk
their cows and look after the oxen; and to their surprise were unable
to find either. Following on up the valley they soon came upon sure
signs of hurried travel, and realized that the cattle had been
stampeded from some cause not then apparent; after continuing along
the Trail until near dark they were compelled to return slowly to the
camp.
To their amazement they found it in utter disorder, and without a
living soul. Wagons had been run together and partially burned;
remnants of the outfits were scattered in every direction; remains of
dead bodies were heaped upon the fire and in part consumed. The
dreadful fact dawned upon them that the camp had been raided by the
Indians during their absence, and their comrades massacred.
Linda, who had found a near-by refuge, remained in hiding until she
heard voices in her own tongue, and then came out to the desolated
camp. It was too dark to recognize the mutilated bodies, but by a
token on the remains Linda discovered that Ben was one of the slain,
and immediately lost consciousness. The horrors of that long night
are beyond description, as the fears and alarms of a lifetime hovered
over the heads of the sleepless survivors.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
[Illustration: SCENE AFTER THE MASSACRE, AS DESCRIBED ON THE OPPOSITE
PAGE]
This was part of the price which the overland travel of the 40s and
50s paid that the far Northwest might be settled by Americans and
made a part of the United States. At least eleven such catastrophes
are a matter of record. It is, of course, impossible at this date to
recover the graves of the marytred Pioneers; but we can--and
will--erect suitable memorials to the Unknown Dead of the Plains.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
But the first duty was to look after the living and {176} let the
dead rest where they were. One of the men waded the river and
started eastward on the Trail in search of aid, which he fortunately
met within a few miles. Couriers were dispatched east and west to
warn the emigrants and urge volunteers to assemble and punish the
Indians.
In the early morning food and clothing were delivered to the stricken
victims, and soon a train arrived to supply physical comforts to
them. A hundred miles of the Trail were traversed by couriers, and
before night a large number of armed men had assembled; time pressed,
and none was lost.
During the day the trail of the oxen was anxiously located, so it
could be followed at night. Each rider carried his rations in his
pouch, or in packages strapped to his saddle; there was no thought of
bedding or camp equipment, as they intended to march all night in the
hope of overtaking the Indians. It is wonderful what a body of
resolute men can accomplish when all are of one mind.
The trail, which led up the valley for some miles, was easily and
rapidly followed in the night; on the table-lands it was dim, but
recognized without much difficulty. At break of day a secluded spot
was selected, the horses tethered and silence enjoined upon every
one. A cautious reconnaissance had discovered signs of Indians; at
midnight the march was resumed, and their camps sighted at daylight.
Each became his own captain as they descended in fury upon the
slumbering Indians, and during the {177} mêlée that followed neither
age nor sex was spared; women and children were ruthlessly shot down,
and no prisoners taken. The oxen and all except one of the cows and
two of the horses were recovered, but Andrew's mules could not be
found. Orders were then given to assemble all the Indian horses
possible, and shoot them on the spot.
The chastisement was swift, severe and long remembered by the remnant
of the band. While this did not bring the dead to life or heal the
wounds of the living, some reprisal was necessary to deter the
savages from again molesting emigrant trains following the Trail on
peaceful missions of finding homes for themselves and their families.
It was cruel; but the emergency called for desperate measures.
After the massacre Andrew, Jennie and Margie wandered off listlessly
on the Trail leading west, and passing scouts found them later a
short distance from the camp. The Indians were terrified at their
first sight of a negro, evidently believing Andrew to be an emissary
of the evil spirit who could bring dire disaster upon them for any
harm done to him; so he escaped.[1]
As Andrew returned to camp, the shock of the disaster seemed to
awaken him to new duties of life; and a vision opened up before him.
"Massa Ben" was gone, and only he was now left of the men {178} in
the original party. Up to this time he had looked to others for
direction, leaning upon them as a child upon a parent; but now he
must act for and depend upon himself. Without realizing the change,
Andrew became virtual head of the remnant of the party, and quietly
assumed the responsibility.
His first act upon returning to camp was to look after the comfort of
"Missus Linda" and provide a place where she might rest, while Jennie
prepared some nourishment for her. Others had attempted the gruesome
task of separating and identifying the dead; but they were so
mutilated and in such a confused mass that all were finally buried in
one grave.
Andrew's grief at the funeral was inconsolable; falling on his knees
at the grave, he offered up a prayer expressing resignation to God's
will and inspiring hopes for the future, that touched the heart of
every one. While a surprise to all, it was comforting, particularly
to Linda; Andrew's thoughts seemed to be centered mainly on his young
mistress, and he spared no effort to encourage and assist her.
The burial of the victims preceded by only one day the revenge upon
the Indians. Echoes of boasts from the returning party that none had
been spared, children and mothers slain and the wounded dispatched
without mercy, troubled Linda's gentle spirit. She could not
participate in the elation of the men, and recalled what Ben had said
of the "irrepressible conflict" between the Indians and the whites,
as well as Andrew's prayer to "look for {179} relief from God
Almighty," as the fervent negro had expressed it.
An exact account of the massacre will never be known, for none were
left to tell the story. When the attack was made Linda and the three
other women of the train were washing at the river, only a few
hundred yards from the camp, though out of sight from it. Hearing
the guns and seeing many armed Indians near-by, all rushed for the
brush and high grass, hiding as best they could.
Immediately after the interment Linda retired, supperless and
disconsolate, to the temporary camp Andrew had prepared for her. The
situation was indeed very desperate. Her brothers had gone on to
California, the last hired man had left them three weeks before, and
her husband was dead.
Deep grief, prolonged fatigue and loss of sleep finally overcame her,
and she sank into a slumber where sorrow was temporarily forgotten.
Morning brought partial relief; and Linda could then fix her mind on
the emergency that confronted them. As soon as Jennie knew her
"missus" was awake she brought some food, of which Linda partook
sparingly, although it was the first for about thirty-six hours.
The wagon and yokes had been burned, and the clothing destroyed or
carried off with the remainder of the outfit; nothing was left but
the horses, the oxen and one cow. Linda had the helpless colored
man, as she still thought of Andrew, as well as his {180} wife and
child, to consider; but a new courage took possession of her mind and
drove away despair. "I have yet something to live for," she said to
herself.
Summoning Andrew to her bedside, Linda was surprised to note his
confident demeanor. "Yes, missus, I kin drive the oxen, I knows I
kin." "But, Andrew, we have no wagon." "Yes, missus, there's a
wagon down by the ford; I seen it this mornin." When reminded that
the wagon didn't belong to her, Andrew responded, "Everybody takes a
wagon standing on the road, if he thinks it better than hizzen."
Linda remembered the accepted practice of the Trail that abandoned
vehicles, of which there were a great number, became common property;
and followed Andrew to the ford to see the wagon. "Yuse jest take
that; I kin drive it, I know I kin," Andrew confidently reiterated.
"Yuse kin take my wagon (which had not been destroyed by the
Indians), Jennie kin ride the mare and take care of the loose oxen
and the cows, and Margin kin ride in this wagon with me." Evidently
Andrew had been thinking and planning while Linda slept; the new
experience awakened his latent abilities.
Fortunately a considerable part of their money was sewed in a dress
she wore; and some hidden under a false bottom of the wagon-box was
recovered, much to her relief. Linda and Andrew managed to put
together an outfit enabling them to resume the journey. He developed
as the necessity required, {181} Jennie soon became more than a
dependent, and even Margie found incidental ways to be helpful.
Several hundred miles of the Trail were still ahead of them; but each
day brought new experiences and increased confidence. Linda's
strength gradually returned; and Andrew proved that he could drive an
ox-team as well as play the violin, which had been laid aside unused
since the fatal Sunday when "Massa Ben" had been killed. His whole
ambition centered in the welfare of his "missus," and he felt an
obligation to see her safely in the cabin home. As they neared the
end of the journey, Linda became still more self-reliant. She was
surprised at the improvement in Andrew and Jennie, and finally in
herself; and realized in a still larger measure that she had
something more to live for.
Just seven months and one day after she and Ben drove out of the
Shaeffer door-yard in Missouri, Linda drew up unannounced in front of
the cabin which he had built on his claim in the Oregon Country. It
was late in the evening, while the Squire and the girls were at
supper. Hearing a noise outside, Mulhall arose and as he opened the
door Linda was just reaching out to knock for admission; catching
sight of her, the girls screamed with delight and in their hasty
greeting nearly upset the table.
"Where's Ben?" was the first question the Squire asked; but quickly
divining from Linda's countenance that something had happened, the
question {182} was not repeated. He then turned to greet Andrew and
Jennie, and after them Margie. Leaving Linda with the girls, Mulhall
accompanied Andrew to care for the teams, and then learned the
dreadful news; thus he knew there could now be no joyful reunion, and
hastened back as soon as possible.
The sight of the cabin that Ben had built for their home, and the
conveniences he had arranged inside, revived the dormant grief within
Linda's breast until she sank unconscious and helpless to the cabin
floor. Poor woman! She had fortified herself with a resolution to
be brave; but her emotion would not down, and relief came only in
unconsciousness. When she awoke the Squire refrained from asking any
questions about the tragedy, but talked about the country of which
she had seen so little, and discussed plans for the future.
Next morning when Linda's calmness had returned, she voluntarily told
Mulhall the whole story as they wandered over the extensive and
beautiful Donation claim, a mile in length and half a mile in width.
It was an ideal place for a home, nearly all fertile prairie with a
clump of timber in one corner some distance from the cabin, while a
rivulet of pure water fed by springs on the claim flowed through the
land. Small wonder that Ben should have written to her so
enthusiastically about their future home; or that he braved so much
to reach it with her.
He looked forward to a bright future spent in {183} developing and
embellishing this choice tract of land in a salubrious climate, with
the assistance of the young wife whom he adored. But the treacherous
savages in the wilds of what is now part of the State of Idaho put a
cruel end to his joys and hopes. Unfortunate man! But not the only
one, for many like him met a similar fate on the Oregon Trail.
Craig, who had never before seen Linda, came the following Sunday,
and was fairly stunned when told of the disaster. He loved Ben for
the many good traits of his character, and was drawn closer to him
through their mutual adventures. "My lady," he said in a broad
Scotch brogue, "you shall have the cabin and all there is in it; and
I will move the line twenty rods away."
He added something about being able to secure a full claim for
himself, as there was still vacant land adjacent; but made no mention
of the fact that the new boundary would make his own less valuable.
It did not matter very much, for he had long thought that Ben should
come into the ownership of both claims, a mile square in the great
fertile valley. There were many instances in which the earlier
settlers had taken up that amount of land in their own right, under
the law as at first passed; but later settlers were restricted to
half that area.
Craig at once had a new cabin built to comply with the legal
requirements of his own residence; and then without either
ostentation or Linda's knowledge, had his will re-drawn in her favor
instead of {184} Ben's, as the first one read. We are not sure that
Ben knew of the first; both acts were characteristic of Craig's
modesty, forethought and generosity.
Andrew wanted very much to see "Massa Pelton," but hesitated to leave
Linda; he could not tell which he loved best, his old master or the
new missus. Both had been good to him, which was more than he could
say about some others of the white race.
Great numbers, perhaps a majority, of the early settlers in the
Oregon Country had come from slave States, bringing prejudices
against the black man so intense that at first no negro could live in
their midst under pain of the whipping post. Unbelievable! the
reader will exclaim--but yet authentic history. The law had been
passed by the Provisional Government under the stimulus of temporary
and unreasonable excitement, and without due consideration or
deliberation; it was never enforced and soon repealed.
Linda asked the Squire if he thought Pelton would consent to have
Andrew and Jennie stay with her through the winter; but at the moment
Mulhall considered it unlikely. "Won't I have time to write him
before you go with Andrew?" she asked. "I'll wait till you do," the
Squire answered, as he could see the necessity of help for the lone
widow, though he didn't yet know the principal reason.
Linda wrote not to Isaac, but to Kate. After telling her of the
tragedy, she explained that she was looking forward to another one to
live for, which explained why she so much wanted Jennie to be {185}
with her. When Kate told Pelton of the special reason he said, "God
bless her, yes! I would almost say you should also go and be with
her." But Kate had her own household and their own little boy to
care for.
Squire Mulhall was reluctant to leave for home, as he had planned to
do on Ben's arrival; in fact had about made up his mind to stay. But
the girls must be taken back before school opened; and he did not see
how it could be managed unless he made the trip with them, even if he
returned at once to the Hardy cabin. Imagine his surprise when, two
days after Linda received Kate's letter telling her that Andrew and
Jennie could remain with her, Pelton knocked at the door and greeted
the astonished Squire in the cabin.
Isaac explained that he wanted to see his former slaves so badly
that, over-night, he concluded to make the trip; besides Kate had a
small package to send to Linda. He instinctively knew also that the
Squire would want to stay longer with her; so on his return he would
take the girls back in time for school. Andrew fairly shouted with
joy at the sight of his old master; Jennie was no less jubilant, but
had a different way of showing it; not until sleep overtook them,
could either restrain their long pent-up feelings.
The two men counselling together that night agreed upon a course of
action--first, that with Linda's consent an addition would be built
to the cabin, and a {186} one-room cabin put up for Andrew; second,
that Pelton would return home immediately, taking the girls to his
home until Kate could make suitable arrangements for them in their
own home in the village near the school; and third, that the Squire
should stay with Linda for an indefinite time, or at least until
after the approaching event that was to mean so much for her.
It required only one week to have Andrew's one-room cabin ready to
move into, and not much longer to complete the addition to the main
dwelling, more than doubling its rooming capacity. Meanwhile Isaac
had returned home with the girls ready for school. The two men
wanted to build a more pretentious residence, but Linda said she
preferred to live in the humble one that Ben had built with his own
hands.
The little conveniences that he had provided seemed doubly precious
in her eyes; every shelf and cooking utensil, the sheet iron stove
and even the cups he had used all seemed treasures to her. Having
been planned and built to accommodate Craig as well as Ben, the cabin
was commodious and very comfortable. She did want an open fireplace,
that she might enjoy the cheerful glow of the evening fire and the
pure-health giving air; so a large fireplace was built in it.
* * * * * * * * *
The Squire had been busy during the summer, and raised a bounteous
crop on the fresh plowed virgin {187} soil; to protect it during the
winter he had erected a "post-barn" large enough to shelter all the
stock and store the provender. Trunks of beautiful young timber
growths up to a hundred feet in length and practically any size
desired, were easily obtainable. A post-barn was constructed by
planting posts of this timber deep in the ground to support a roof,
using the ground as a floor; with a shelter on the windward side,
stock would be comfortable in the open air of the mild Oregon winter.
Andrew was happy in the thought of staying with Linda, without
expecting compensation for his labor; a wage was something foreign to
his mind. He was denied the privilege of owning a home in his own
right; and what was the use of earning wages, when he could not
enforce collection in courts closed to him? But these things did not
disturb him, as he lived in an atmosphere of love for his master and
missus, Jennie and Margie, and was happy.
December had come, and still the flowers remained in bloom and the
grass green; Christmas was approaching, and the Squire said they
ought to celebrate. He hoped to divert Linda's mind from her great
loss; but was puzzled how to do so. His first thought was to make a
present to her, though uncertain what would be the best selection.
Linda did not enter into the spirit of the suggested festivities--not
that she was brooding over her affliction, for she had regained her
cheerfulness. When Christmas was only three days away, and {188}
before the Squire had made up his mind about the present and the
celebration, a boy of nine pounds appeared in the cabin; and all
agreed that his name should be Benjamin.
Kate--hereafter Mrs. Pelton now that she is a mother--was delighted
when she heard that Linda also had a boy; no trace of jealousy tinged
her thought. Isaac, her own little son, was the brightest and cutest
baby in all the world; there could be no rival to him, and nothing
would excite the remotest feeling of envy. Sincere congratulations
were sent by Mr. and Mrs. Pelton to Mrs. Hardy with a substantial
gift for Benjamin, "the future protector of his mother and a joy
forever."
From some unexplained cause, both mothers felt that the two babes
were to be drawn close together in the experiences of life, as their
parents had been. Mrs. Pelton, whose wishes seemed almost prophetic,
freely communicated these thoughts to Mrs. Hardy--not Linda any more.
Prophecies of later days, like those of olden times, are often
remarkably fulfilled.
The two "babes in the woods," we might almost literally say, grew and
thrived amazingly under the best maternal care and in the healthful
environment of pure air and mild climate. Mulhall zealously guarded
the supply of pure milk and food for the household, and looked after
the little one with an almost paternal affection. After putting it
off as long as possible, he reluctantly informed Mrs. Hardy {189}
that he must soon leave for his own home, and at the same time
lessened her anxieties by saying that he would provide for her
financial needs.
Pelton had reached his own conclusion that Ben Hardy's widow needed
Andrew more than he; and wrote that the colored man could remain with
her a year or longer--practically without limit of time. That was a
sacrifice, as Isaac had planned to have his former slaves near-by,
where he could make their advancing years comfortable and happy; but
was now convinced that Andrew and Jennie would be about as content
where they were as in his own home, and, realized that they would
greatly assist Mrs. Hardy. A second letter, received soon after
father Mulhall arrived home, so informed Mrs. Hardy, to her great joy
and relief; she often wondered if it would ever be possible to repay
this great kindness, forgetting that Pelton was already rewarded by
the consciousness of having contributed materially to the welfare and
happiness of others.
It seemed to the parents an incredibly short time before the "babes"
of the two households became school children. A few years later they
were taking courses in the University, and grew into manhood--the
pride of their elders and an honor to the State which had been
developed out of the region in which they were born. Gradually, too,
the parents in each family realized that they had passed middle life,
and were approaching old age.
Their eyes were dimmed and hearing somewhat {190} dulled, but their
minds were still clear and active; aspirations, hopes and even
ambitions remained with them, while reflections upon past
achievements and some failures (the ripe experience to which there is
no short-cut) brought deeper thought and greater happiness into their
lives. In both the Pelton and Hardy families, the results of
successful endeavor, intellectual development and independence were
manifest in an unusual degree.
Kate--Mrs. Pelton--had changed into a motherly stature so attractive
to her husband and all friends; the active, graceful movement and the
fire of her eye were retained, her complexion was still ruddy, and
there was a sprinkling of grey hairs to lighten the color of the
whole. Pelton continued in excellent health; the active outdoor life
on his farm had developed a sturdy frame, strengthened his muscles
and quickened his mind. Like many other pioneers with great
opportunities before them, he had prospered beyond expectation, and
was in affluent circumstances.
Ben Hardy had located on a Donation claim of three hundred and twenty
acres of such intrinsic value that if he had lived, the rise of land
values in a country of ever-increasing population and prosperity
would have made him a wealthy man. When the Donation Act under which
he took up his claim was passed, the law provided that half of it
should be held by the wife in her own right.
Before that date, and for many years afterward, {191} a wife could
not legally inherit or hold property in fee simple except in the
Oregon Country, under this special act. Incredible as it may seem,
she was also denied the right to control her children, sue in the
courts, speak in public or enter schools of higher education.
So when Linda became Ben's wife, she had no property rights except
insofar as this special law gave her an equal share in the land upon
which they had settled. Hardy did not live to return to the claim,
but after years of doubt and delay, his widow came into ownership of
half (160 acres) in her own right; and by descent her son received
the other half.
The experiences of these years, and considerable of what may properly
be called semi-litigation, developed Mrs. Hardy's latent ability to
cope with business problems as they arose; so she prospered and
became known as a woman of executive ability. It was in memory of
the husband and for the welfare of her boy, the younger Benjamin,
that she resolved that life was worth living; and right well did she
prove the correctness of the resolution.
Things did not run smoothly during the whole of the long period.
Pelton had been compelled to make one trip to the old home in
Missouri to adjust some business matters. Mrs. Hardy sustained a
loss in consequence of a heavy snowfall, and met some reverses of
minor importance; but the steady development of the country and
consequent increase of land values, proved of great advantage to them
both.
[1] A similar instance is recorded in the case of York, the slave of
Captain Lewis of the Lewis & Clark Expedition, upon whom the Indians
looked with superstitious awe mingled with terror.
{192}