Into the Great Unknown: Chapter Four
Thanks for Coming Back
I’ve included links to the first three chapters in case some of you are just arriving on this journey. Thanks to all of you for following along. I hope you know how important you are to me.
The pioneers have just left the safety of civilization, and are now wandering through Kansas. Let’s see what is up with them today.
Chapter One
- Into the Great Unknown: Chapter One
I have a new family for you to meet. Travel with me to the year 1845. Iowa is the place, and dreams are about to become reality.
Chapter Two
- Into the Great Unknown: Chapter Two
Follow along as a young family travels the Oregon Trail in search of a better life.
Chapter Three
- Into the Great Unknown: Chapter Three
The great journey west is about to begin. Let's peek in on our pilgrims and see how the preparations are coming along.
Two Days, One Dead
It only took two days to lose our first companion on the Trail, crossing the Delaware River, fifty men with shovels, digging down the bank so the wagons could cross, backbreaking work for damned sure, finally got the job done by ten that morning, got three wagons across and then the fourth tipped over, threw the driver, Hank Jackson from Tuscaloosa, threw him clear of the wagon but snapped his neck in the fall, his body laying in the shallow waters, head turned unnaturally, looking west, oddly, three hours spent righting the wagon for Jackson’s wife and daughter, digging a grave, short prayer service, then west, northwest towards the Big Blue.
That was a sobering experience for sure, barely out of shouting distance from Elm Grove and already one dead, just crossing a damned river, no Indian attack, no grizzlies, just a damned river.
The rolling hills of Kansas were lush in green, the prairie grass waist-high on the adults, white puffs of clouds soaring up above, grasses leaning with the wind, in concert, as if they all agreed they should be looking southeast on that particular day. Our son was riding alongside me, him being too young to walk all the miles facing us, and it being his first dead body he was appropriately quiet as the oxen pulled us further away from Hank Jackson’s cross. I didn’t know how to approach the topic of death with him. He saved me the trouble as we were passing a grove of elm trees, thunderheads rising up ahead of us, like giant clouds of smoke rising from the grasses.
“What happens when a man dies, Pa?” he asked, his face scrunched in concern.
Laura was walking behind the wagon with our daughter. She couldn’t save me from that question.
“Samuel, I don’t rightly know. Preacher men tell us we go to heaven if we’ve lived a good life, but since I’m still alive I can’t tell you for certain, and that’s the truth, son.”
He thought that over as the elms fell behind us and one more of the endless small hills rose up to greet us. The oxen continued to plod forward, the wagon swaying, bouncing, testing this man’s spine and making me wish for some cushioning of any sort.
“If there is a heaven, Pa, do you think there’s pain there? Is Mister Jackson still hurtin’?”
“No, Samuel, I don’t believe he’s feeling any pain at all. Pain is for the living to endure, son. What I want you to do, once we stop for the night, is I want you to go to the Widow Jackson and ask her if there are any chores you can do for her. I suspect she is feeling some serious pain right now and would appreciate a kind gesture from you.”
“All right, Pa!”
Broken Axles and Dusty Indians
The sun was high, probably noon or a little later, when one of the lead wagons broke a rear axle. There weren’t much to be done about that, axles requiring lumber and fittings, none of which we had. The wagon would be left behind, belongings and all, the family following the train on foot until we arrived at the first fort.
During the delay we saw our first Indians, two lone riders, maybe five-hundred yards in the distance, sitting atop their horses on a small knoll, just watching us. They didn’t seen hostile, more curious than anything else, ramrod erect, like a painting in some museum. Jeremiah Jackson held a confab with Doctor Elijah and then rode out, solo, to talk to the visitors.
Things were quiet the entire length of the wagon train, all of us no doubt thinking the same thing, where there are two Indians there must be more, what were their intentions, would this spot be where we all died, tall grass swaying, mournful howl of the warm wind, hawks overhead, witnessing our demise.
Jackson reached the Indians, spent a few moments gesturing with his hands, trying to communicate, and then he turned his horse back towards the train and the Indians followed him. Up and down the train men reached for their muskets, which prompted Dr. Elijah to ride the length of the train shouting to “PUT THE MUSKETS DOWN,” and men did as they were told.
Our visitors stayed with us for fifteen minutes, noble men on horseback, not speaking, black hair flowing in the wind, dust caking their faces, watching us all, taking it all in, finally accepting an offering of tobacco from Jeremiah, nodding at us, turning their horses and riding away. I could feel, more than hear, a sigh of relief as the two men rode out of sight. Doctor Elijah addressed us all in a shout.
“Keep your muskets close by. Those two were friendly but we don’t want to be fools about all this. There’s no need to be afraid, now. Not once on my first covering of this trail did I see a hostile Indian. Still, be alert. Now let’s get moving. We’ve had too many delays already and the sun isn’t waiting for us.”
Reflections in the Night
By eight that night we had circled wagons and begun camp preparations. Some men went off in search of game. Wood was gathered from a copse of trees along a stream bank, and in short time campfires came to life. Laura went off to ask the family who had lost their wagon to eat with us, and Samuel paid a visit to the Widow Jackson. Pretty soon I saw him fetching water from the stream for her, his blond hair like a lantern down along the stream.
Darkness crept upon us, silently, gradually, then in the blink of an eye it was totally dark, catching me off-guard. I shook my head to clear my thoughts, no need for foolish illusions, no magic tricks, just Nature doing what Nature does, light to dark to light again. A half-moon could be seen south, floating in an ocean of stars, and in short order the coyotes were howling, and I know every man, woman, and child was feeling what I was feeling, the realization that we were alone in a strange land, cut-off from the safety of the modern world, cut-off from anything that ever tethered us in the past. The wind turned cool as the smell of cooked food drifted among us. Conversations could be heard, an occasional laugh, across the way the haunting sounds of a harmonica, remembered visions of two Indians, where there were two there were bound to be more, all weighing down on us, all filling us with excitement and wonder.
“The trees are disappearing with every step we take, Joshua,” my wife said as she cleaned up after our meal. “What will we use for fuel for our campfires once the trees are gone?”
“Jeremiah says we use buffalo dung, says it makes a fine fire-starter, just build a small pile of it, use grass for tinder, and it burns just fine.”
“Buffalo dung?”
“Yep!”
“Good God Almighty,” she said, and then laughed that laugh I’ve loved for nigh-on to fifteen years. “What have we got ourselves into?” she said, then laughed again.
The End of the Day
The folks with the broken axle, Martha and Thomas Hardy, spent the night around our fire, somber people, dreams broken only three days into the journey, facing all manner of uncertainty, their anchor cut loose, them drifting on the open land. They were mostly silent other than to thank us for our kindness, and I didn’t have any words which would take away their fear and sadness.
We all slept around the fire that night, to ward off the chill and to ward of the pressing weight of fear, the campfires providing comfort and a false-sense of security. Laura pulled close to me under the blanket as the coyotes kept up their serenading, perhaps singing a funeral dirge for the dead behind us, or for those who would be dying shortly.
“Buffalo dung?” she whispered in my ear.
“Yep!”
“Sweet Jesus,” she said, giggling. “I do love you, Joshua. I must if I’m going to be cooking with buffalo dung.”
And a little later she said . . .
“There’s what, about two-thousand steps in a mile? Two-thousand steps multiplied by two-thousand miles. What’s that total, Joshua?”
“Pretty close to four-million, if I remember my sums correctly.”
“Sweet Jesus!”
SEE YOU NEXT WEEK
For sure there will be some drama next week. Stay tuned, and thanks for the visit.
2017 William D. Holland (aka billybuc)
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Comments
- AUTHOR
Exactly, Marlene! I can only imagine what you were feeling on that bus, just as I have no clue what those settlers felt when confronted with their fears. Thanks for sharing that.
Drama? This story has become my new soap opera! The part about the Indians reminded me about a women's mission trip I took to Mexico. For no reason, a couple of policemen pulled our bus over. There were 10 of us in the bus. None but one of us spoke enough Spanish to save us from the anticipated confrontation. The police said something in Spanish. The lady who spoke Spanish said something back to them and then she turned and said to us ladies, "Ladies, get out your wallets if you want to make it to the church safely." We got out our wallets and after paying the men, they let us go. But, I have never heard a bus full of women being so silent. Other than the two officers and the Spanish speaking lady, no one in the bus spoke a word. We were all holding our breath until the ordeal was over. As I read your story, I imagined the travelers in your story doing the same thing.
- AUTHOR
Missy, that means a great deal to me. Thank you so much!
I always marvel at how precise your details are when you write a story. I can see the trail ride as if I'm bumping along it with them. I can feel the pain of the tragedy when it happens, as well as hearing clearly the voices of the characters. You are always on mark with accents. You are truly a talented writer, Bill Holland! ;)
- AUTHOR
Thank you very much, Susan! I can only imagine the perils...words can only do so much.
Such an scary adventure...I am looking forward to the next chapter. You paint the picture quite well of the perils that these pioneers faced.
- AUTHOR
You are very kind, Jackie! Thank you so much.
This certainly did take some very brave people. You have painted the picture so well.
- AUTHOR
Incredibly tough women, Jo! I have a couple in my deep family too. I simply don't know how they did it.
I'm interested in seeing how the Widow Jackson fares. I found a story at the local historical society about my great, great, great, great grandmother who came in a covered wagon with her two young children to settle near where I now live now after her husband was killed in war. As my husband likes to say, the story may or may not be true, but I like to share it with my granddaughters, reminding them that we come from strong women. So I hope the Widow Jackson thrives.
- AUTHOR
I could probably do that with my phone, Eddy, but I can't figure out how. LOL I'm glad you can, so thank you dear friend.
Peace and love always
bill
I have actually read this chapter before but don't seem to have ;left a comment. Never mind can soon remedy that. Another great chapter and so looking forward to the next one. Love this story . The good news also being that I have a new phone and can actually sign into Facebook,read and comment that way now which will mean that I won't get so behind with my reading. Take care Billy and lots of love from Wales.
Eddy.
- AUTHOR
Really, Shannon? Copse? I pulled that one out of my magic hat. First time I've ever used it in a story. Glad to be of assistance. LOL
Thanks for catching up. I know you're busy and I appreciate it.
Hey, Bill, you taught me a new word. I have never in my life seen the word copse and had to look it up. Ha! Even the spell check in the browser doesn't like it, so I guess I don't feel quite so bad now. LOL.
Enjoying your story so far. I hope you don't go killing off any of the main charachters now!
- AUTHOR
Sha, I used to love hiking. Even climbed a couple mountains in my day. But walking 2000 miles? It ain't happening for this boy,now or in another lifetime. LOL Thanks for the kind words, dear friend. I love historical fiction.
Sweet Jesus, indeed! My goodness, those folks had a whole lot of courage. I can't imagine traveling two thousand miles pretty much on foot and wide open to the elements to boot (no pun intended - well, maybe a little!).
I'm enjoying this social history lesson, Bill. You're sharing these travelers thoughts and feelings with us. They don't teach that aspect in the history books.
- AUTHOR
Thank you Lawrence!
Bill
Another great installment here.
- AUTHOR
Lori, I totally agree. They went into that trip with eyes wide open, knowing there would be great suffering, and yet still willing to undertake it.
- AUTHOR
I admire them as well, Michael my friend. Perhaps that is why that period has always fascinated me.
Blessings always
If in this series there are "crumbs" of the pioneering history of the birth of the USA so it was very hard eaten bread. So much of hardship, suffering in each experience yet every time they mount up into a new hope. I admire the group of settlers described above and their anticipation of a better future at all costs. Very useful lesson.
I'm so thankful we don't have to suffer the same hardships our friends from the past had to. Death and destruction can happen in the twinkling of an eye. Good writing.
- AUTHOR
I'm glad to hear that, Vellur! I'll try not to let you down.
- AUTHOR
And blessings to you, Shyron! Well, bison dung doesn't smell after it has dried out. That I know from experience. I can't tell you about burning it. My curiosity only went so far at Yellowstone. :)
Bill, nice chapter.
Q. does buffalo dung smell when it is burning or does it smell only when it is not completely dried out? Just curious not interested in finding out for sure.
Pain is for the living to endure - this is one true statement.
Blessings always
Eager to read what is going to happen next, off to the next.
- AUTHOR
I have always been fascinated by this era and this trip in particular, Maria! I'm glad you are enjoying it.
Thank you, and love always.
bill
Your writing is as convincing and authentic as the videos you've shared with us, dear Bill.
Truly a tale of ordinary people in extraordinary circumstances - a compelling and satisfying story.
Moving on to Chapter 5... Love, Maria
- AUTHOR
RoadMonkey,it will immediately go viral on YouTube! LOL
Try telling a modern home maker they have to cook with buffalo dung and check THEIR reaction!
- AUTHOR
Thank you Jaye! I've been reading about this era for a great many years, and traveled about half the trail (by car, of course), so I have some feeling for what it must have been like. I really want to capture the non-romantic side of this arduous trip.
This chapter started off with a bang. Since I remember from reading historical novels years ago how much trouble and death stalked a wagon train, I was braced for it. The sadness of death and other losses is leavened with moments such as the narrator's wife laughing about using buffalo dung for a fire instead of wood. See you at the next chapter. Jaye
- AUTHOR
It's true about NIUME....I guess it was expected...and I really wonder how much longer HP will hang in there, Rasma!
- AUTHOR
Thank you very much, Larry!
Wonderful work!
So I just got closer to that warm fire and looking forward to dinner. Looking forward to the next. I guess I will ask you right here. It was the oddest thing. I was on another site I write on and someone posted that they had received an email from NIUME that said they could no longer afford to pay anyone and that everyone had the option of downloading their work. I didn't understand a thing and then two things - one that I went into NIUME and it appeared that nothing had changed and I posted some more work and I have received nothing in my email. Do you have any information?
For now here is that latest link on my dad. If all goes well I will also write about his life and so on.
- AUTHOR
Thank you very much, Linda! Ordinary people doing extraordinary things. :) That's what I want to convey.
- AUTHOR
Thank you Sis! I want everyone to understand that even the mundane events were dangerous, tedious, and just plain hard work on that journey. Nothing was a walk in the park for those people, unless you consider walking 2000 miles a walk in the park. :) I hope you slept well in your lush accommodations, my dear friend.
I feel so for Mrs. Jackson and child. What heavy sadness at a time when anxiety was high enough! You've made sure we realize the serious difficulty of crossing such rugged terrain. No picnic here!
The touching conversation between father and son when Samuel's curiosity needed to be satisfied....that moved me so, bill. Dad did a wonderful job of giving his son some comfort, even wishing his wife could have done it. Typical Dad. I had to smile.
Held my breath for just a moment with the interaction of travelers and Indians, and a sigh of relief as it appeared to go well. This is a much more nerve-racking journey than the last one you took us on, Bro. Might as well sit up tall and brave and be prepared for what may come...
Good timing, btw...looks like I'm turning in right along with everyone...except my accommodations are preferable... G'night! Sis
The description is very effective, Bill. Your story is definitely engaging! I'm looking forward to the next chapter.
- AUTHOR
I'm guessing, MizB, but I think most of them were desperate. The cities were growing too rapidly, the economy was suffering in the 1840s...but then there were some who just couldn't ignore the call of the wild. I suspect I would have been one of them. :) Thanks as always...have a wonderful weekend.
- AUTHOR
I do know that, Ruby, and I'm very grateful that you do. Thank you so much.
This was a beautiful episode to a story full of compassion, love and danger. I especially loved your description of the grasses leaning with the wind in concert. Thank you for sharing. As you know, I love your writing!
Sometimes I wonder if people were desperate or crazy to settle the West, your brave souls in this story not excepted. I had a collateral ancestor in the ill-fated Fancher Party (murdered by Mormons and Piautes), and I don't think I could have gone with them back then. I hope Laura learns to cook with Buffalo chips like the plains Indians did. I'm sure it won't impart the nice smokey flavor of mesquite, though. I will be waiting to see what happens next.
- AUTHOR
Thank you for that, Flourish! It will be a tedious, dangerous, fascinating journey, hopefully reflected properly through our travelers' eyes.
- AUTHOR
Thank you very much, Venkatachari M. I really appreciate you following along.
- AUTHOR
Tamara, I've been to Yellowstone four times, and I can say with certainty that bison are fascinating and terrifying all at the same time. I stay in the car when they are nearby...don't even open the windows....there is always that sense that something very dangerous could happen at any second.
I had no idea that Bison could run 40 MPH! That's very creepy to envision a huge head, such as these great beasts have, to come storming in on someone at this rate of speed. And, their horns are intimidating, of course, too.
Felt very sorry for the death. The child's enquiry was a touching reaction. The story is very interesting.
As I've said before, this series is your best. So well written. You have a big hit here and I am so excited to see what you do with it.
- AUTHOR
Great uncertainty, Dora, and I think that added to the fear and apprehension. None of them truly knew what they were heading into.
- AUTHOR
So glad you're enjoying this series, Bill. Thanks so much for joining the Train. We can use your expertise. :)
- AUTHOR
Manatita, I like to think I'm made of the same courage and sense of adventure, but I don't know....tough people for sure, my friend.
When I think of these pioneers, I feel a real sense of pride and courage. Some died, yes, like your man here. Some Indians were nice too, interestingly enough. Most made it after a very, very long trip full of adventure. Great! So far ...
What fun! Great writing...we can feel their concerns. Really enjoyed your selection of photos. They helped set and keep the mood of the journey. Looking forward to the next chapter.
I feel the mood of uncertainty in the great outdoors with gesturing visitors added to the mix. Different and memorable.
- AUTHOR
Thank you so much, Pop! It's a pleasure entertaining you.
- AUTHOR
Thanks so much, Linda. It's kind of nice to write a story where there are no gory details. :)
- AUTHOR
Tamara, you have good reason to be afraid of them. They can almost be classified as prehistoric animals, pure instinct, very little intelligence, and they can run 40 mph. If you ever go to Yellowstone, give them a wide berth and enjoy them from a distance. :) Thanks for being here.
Great writing! I am still looking for a particular book of yours that I am going to search for on my Kindle, about Simplicity... BTW, I have always been terribly afraid of Bison as they have such huge heads. They are so scary and mean looking. I am not personally against them, but they just scare me. I mean, I don't hate them, or anything...I am sure they mean well, but they are terrifying! I still like/love them as God's animals, though.
Hugs,
Tamara
Bill, I'm so glad that you are continuing this story. I hope you get as much enjoyment in writing it as we do in reading. I'm looking forward to next week.
I feel like I am making the trip with them which is testament to your fine writing.
- AUTHOR
It's my pleasure, Eric. This is one of my favorite topics, so I'm glad everyone is enjoying it. Secretly I'm just writing to please myself. :)
- AUTHOR
You did, Zulma. Janine must be busy with her little girls this morning. LOL
Thank you again Bill. Amazing tale. You are weaving in and out and bobbing around tragedy and triumph like they were twin sisters. 4 million.
Settled near the forts? Maybe their 'fresh start' was meant to be there and not Oregon.
Oh, and, woo-hoo. I got the first comment. :D
- AUTHOR
Good morning Zulma and thank you! I think the point of no return differed...some turned back, some settled in the area of forts along the trail, and some hitched a ride (walk) all the way to Oregon...and of course, many died.
Anyway, I hope you have a spectacular Thursday, my friend.
You can really feel the atmosphere here. I could see them all huddled around the fires. I could feel the unease and uncertainty spreading through the group. I wonder if any will turn back or have they reached the point of no return. That point must be different for everyone, though.
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