Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
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