Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
father's neck and kissed him for teaching her by this example to be
kind to one's enemies. She kissed him again and again, while her
tears wetted his cheek as well as her own, saying "I shall never
forget it"; and she never did.
At last the day of the party arrived and with it, true to promise, a
large delegation of men and women from Jackson Township, with two
wagon-loads of lumber and the "critter"--a fine fat beef--in another
wagon to be barbecued. In an incredibly short time the lumber was
unloaded and a dozen willing hands were laying a floor just outside
the barn for dancing, while some were erecting tables and others
digging a pit for the barbecue.
This is no overdrawn picture; the pioneers were accustomed to do for
themselves, and not stand by to be waited on. Thereby hangs a big
story of pioneer life, full of self-reliance and independence, the
simple life that developed manhood and joy in the household and on
the farm.
For the time being, Ben's usual occupation was gone; the older men
fairly drove him away, and told him to be ready to take part in the
dance. The women in the cabin did the same for Kate, who {27} then
started up the ladder to dress for the great occasion.
Andrew and Stinson's colored man Sam often spent happy hours singing
and playing together; and Sam was asked to come along with his banjo.
When the music began every elderly dame remembered her younger days;
soon the cabin was full of dancers as in the long ago, and the songs
were of the kind that bring rapturous joy. Nothing moves the
emotions more than the pathetic melody in the old folklore songs of
the negro race; in this case the souls of the two experts were in the
music.
The visitors from Jackson Township had also brought fiddlers; dancing
was going on in the barn and on the improvised floor near-by, as well
as in the cabin. For hours the tables were full of happy partakers
of the barbecue and the abundant viands with which they were loaded.
Ben and Kate had planned to have their first dance of the evening
together; so when James Price asked her for it, she told him that he
should have the next. Ben was on hand for the engagement, and from
that moment Price was jealous of him; as the evening wore on Ben and
Kate again danced together, and then Price was sure he had a rival.
Finally Pelton offered and was accepted; to Kate's own surprise she
was dancing with a slaveholder, but justified herself by Squire
Mulhall's lesson of forgiveness, though somehow there was more to it
than she could explain to herself.
{28}
Probably disturbed by the noise and unusual light, the cock crowed at
midnight, but nobody paid any attention to it. At near daybreak the
elderly folk began to leave; but the younger ones said they wouldn't
go home till morning, and didn't. By daylight the hay mow was full
of sleeping men, Andrew and Sam were on their way home nodding, and
the Jackson Township folks were loading their wagons; the big event
passed into history, but the memory of it remained for many years.
During the night word came to the cabin that some of the men were
acting in an unseemly manner. Catherine said to herself she'd bet
the grocer had slipped some whisky into the barrel of cider he sent;
in fact, was sure of it, as what she had tasted seemed unusually
strong. Going out to the barn and biding her time, she threw her
apron over it and opened the faucet; the barrel was soon empty, and
what had been left soaked the ground.
Kate and her father were the last to leave the barn. A bright
shining sun spread over the scene; the symphony of song birds so dear
to Kate's ears had nearly ceased, and the dew on the grass was fast
disappearing, though some of it still glistened in the bright
sunshine. Nell, the favorite mare, whinnied to remind the Squire
that she missed the usual early breakfast; Brindle and Star, though
quietly and contentedly chewing their cuds, looked wistfully at Kate
for her deft hands to relieve their full udders of milk.
{29}
After attending to the wants of Nell and Ned, the Squire hurried to
the cabin where Catherine, who had returned some time before from the
night's activities, lay in peaceful slumber. Kate soon finished her
task, and as usual took the milk to the cabin. The cock of the yard
had ceased to crow, and silence reigned over the scene so recently
one of boisterous joviality.
Throwing herself upon the bed without undressing, face resting upon
her arm, Kate's mind was full of visions as well as of serious
thoughts, particularly of the night just ended. The memory of
Pelton's breath upon her cheek as they participated in the dance
became uppermost in her thoughts; in spite of herself, tears mingling
joy, despair and contrition came involuntarily and wet the pillow.
After what seemed to be hours in this mood, Kate fell into a troubled
sleep which lasted until long after midday, when she was awakened by
the gentle touch of her mother's hand accompanied by words of
affection. "Don't you think you had better have a bite? It's long
after dinner hour; father is up and it would be nice to eat together."
Catherine had arisen a little after the usual hour, and given the
children their breakfast, followed by permission for them to visit
the children of a neighbor for the day, that the sleepers in the
cabin might not be disturbed. Mulhall arose with a slight headache,
which he couldn't account for, unless it was drinking a little too
much "cider"; Catherine kept {30} her own counsel, but of course knew
what was the matter with the Squire's head.
Other influences were at work upon Mulhall; the excitement incident
to the warm greetings of his neighbors, and the general expression of
genuine regret that the community was about to lose so valuable a
member, had their natural reaction. The Squire's thoughts also
turned to the stern responsibilities confronting him, and how he was
qualified to meet them. Had he fully informed himself as to the
obstacles to be encountered; was he personally fitted to safely make
the long trip and not endanger the lives of his family?
In a word, Mulhall awoke in a mood of anxiety, dissatisfied with
himself and in fact with a stroke of the blues, so often fatal to
true happiness. The dinner passed moodily; the Squire had nothing to
say, and Kate very little. Strive as best she might, Catherine could
not arouse the usual cheerfulness, and gave up in despair.
We think of discontent as synonymous with pessimism, unhappiness,
misery and many other ills of life; on the other hand it leads to
enterprise, boldness and progress. Had the pioneers been content
with their lot, they would never have crossed the Missouri River;
there might have been no long western trails, and the Oregon Country
would probably not have been secured to the American Government.
Civilization itself rests upon the spirit of adventurous discontent;
so when Squire Mulhall arose from {31} the table in that frame of
mind, he simply followed in the footsteps of many others, realizing,
however, that he had not taken care to acquaint himself definitely
with what lay ahead of them on the proposed trip.
One day Pelton rode up in front of the cabin, hitched his horse and
came to the door. Kate, not knowing who was there, went to answer
the call.
"Is the Squire at home?" inquired the visitor.
"Yes, he is at the barn," was her reply, as she invited him in while
the little sister ran to call father. Pelton disarmed all
embarrassment by at once making inquiries about Oregon; and Kate
could hardly do otherwise than to take a seat beside him to answer
his questions--and more too--about Oregon and the proposed trip.
Bess returned to say that, "Father will be in as soon as he puts the
team away." Neither Kate nor Pelton showed any signs of impatience
at being left alone; she enjoyed talking about Oregon as much as he
liked to hear her, and so they forgot everything except the topic of
the great trip.
Stamping his feet repeatedly to shake off the mud and partially clean
his boots, father Mulhall's presence was announced; and at once in
true pioneer spirit, he asked Isaac to have his horse put up and stay
to supper. Preparations for a frugal repast were well under way when
Pelton arrived; but it would never do, the mother said, to sit a
neighbor caller to such a picked-up meal. So while the two {32} men
went to the barn to care for the horses, Kate and her mother took
counsel together.
Only a few days before she had picked off a young turkey with her
father's rifle; but the mother said the "leavings would at best make
a mussed-up meal." Just at dusk Kate went off to the barn for a
chicken; she had no trouble securing a desirable fowl and quickly
returned to the house. They had plenty of "sassafras" bark for tea,
and a small portion of last spring's run of maple sugar.
One of the neighbors had found a bee tree and brought over a dish of
honey that the mother had saved for special occasions. Thirty years
before, Daniel Boone discovered bee trees lower down the river; but
the dry plain and lack of timber had served as a barrier to invasions
farther west extending, as we have seen by Jake's letter, to the
Oregon Country--and as we later know, to the whole of the Pacific
coast.
The children had an early supper and were out of the way, leaving
only the four people to partake of the meal and join in the
conversation, most of which was naturally about the proposed journey.
During the evening it developed that Pelton knew more about the
Oregon Country than the Mulhalls; so Kate couldn't help but surmise
that his early inquiry about Oregon thinly veiled the real object of
his visit.
She was puzzled to know how anyone of spirit could come back after
the rebuff she had administered to him; but could not help
acknowledging to {33} herself that she had really enjoyed the visit,
and wondered if she had in any way revealed her inmost feelings.
Long before bedtime she climbed the ladder to the loft determined not
to "make a fool of myself"; but as before, she couldn't go to sleep
until long after their visitor had left.
As Pelton rode home from the Mulhalls, he berated himself for not
carrying out the design that prompted the visit, and let Kate know
that he intended to free his slaves; then his pride would again rise
up to justify hesitation. Would Kate assume that this resolution was
either a subterfuge, or simply to win her hand? Could she respect a
man who would sacrifice a principle, as Kate would assume that all
slaveholders believed that slavery was right? No, he must convince
her by deed to prove the sincerity of his purpose, not by words of
promise actuated by the motive to gain favor in her sight.
Then came the question, could he free all of them? Margie was a
minor and if "free" could, under the laws of Missouri, be taken
before the County Court and bound out to servile employment until of
legal age; this was virtual slavery, and it would unquestionably be
done upon motion by some one of the slaveholding class who might make
application to the court to enforce the law. The secret "Blue
Lodges"--night riders in fact--law or no law, in conjunction with
other organizations of similar aim, virtually ruled the State. When
Pelton arrived home and in accordance with life-long custom called
Andrew, in {34} a fit of absent-mindedness he told him to take care
of "Kate" instead of naming his saddle horse, "med."
"Massa, what's you mean?" asked the servant.
"Oh, I mean Ned, of course," was Pelton's reply.
Andrew chuckled to himself and told Jennie he'd bet Massa had been