Kate Mulhall A romance of the Oregon Trail
dark and then was tired and hungry; Kate said she wouldn't go until
Ben had dinner, and her mother was of the same mind.
Mulhall lost interest in the meeting when Ben came with the news; the
loss of three of his best oxen would be very serious, and he was then
in no mood to think of anything else. Early the next morning Kate
saddled Nell and Ben borrowed a saddle for Ned; after an early
breakfast the two mounted and started down the wide river bottom to
look for the strays. Toward the end of nearly an all-day search they
were found about seven miles from camp; but from that time on either
Ben or the new hired man always stayed out with the herd.
A few mornings after the night watch had been inaugurated Ben, having
had Dick for a bedfellow the night before, remarked, "I golly, I
snuggled up close to his back and slept as warm as wool." That was
the beginning, for him, of an experience shared by many pioneers,
including the author; and is the origin of the term "bedfellow of the
ox."
A few evenings later, when everything was still and {51} calm, and
not a breath of air stirring, Mulhall, while sitting in front of his
camp, heard a number of voices in the distance. The sound came from
the direction of the Methodist camp; he thought he caught a word or
two, but was not sure.
Just then a gentleman passing by asked, "Do you hear the Methodists?"
"Is that noise of voices we hear the Methodists?" Mulhall asked.
"Yes, they have been going on that way for an hour," answered the
stranger, who passed on and disappeared from sight.
Kate and Catherine had both retired for the night, but Mulhall
resolved to go and hear what they were saying and see what they were
doing. He walked briskly in the direction of the sound, sure enough,
it was a "Methodist awakening," as the participants expressed it.
The reader would not doubt this part of the narrative if he had ever
attended a meeting of the "shouting Methodists" of Indiana in early
days, particularly after a sermon where endless punishment was
preached for unbelievers. Now the Squire saw some of the men and
women who a few days before were sedate in their industrious camp,
shouting and violently gesticulating; some were fairly dancing in an
ecstasy of joy, others praying or lying down as if in a trance or
stupor.
When, after waiting three weeks, Mulhall's turn came to cross the
river, he concluded to send one team and wagon ahead with the tent
and cooking outfit; {52} Ben and Kate went along with it to establish
and prepare the camp for the remainder of the party. About
mid-stream the boat upset. The heavy running-gear of the wagon
immediately sank out of sight; but the bed, though partly submerged,
and with Ben and Kate in it, continued to float, though it was being
carried away from the scene of the mishap by the strong current.
Sometimes the outfit would sink to near the top of the cover, and in
another moment the whirl of the turbulent current would leave the
greater part of it visible again. Ben managed to remove the cover
that had entrapped them, so they were not in immediate danger of
drowning; he at once began throwing heavy things overboard, the stove
first and then whatever else could be found to lighten the load.
At a bend of the river in sight from the crossing, the bed grounded
on a sand-bar projecting upstream from the head of an island, and
swung around broadside, affording the imprisoned occupants a safe
landing. Seeing their peril, two Indians plunged fearlessly into the
Missouri, and swam out to the rescue; others immediately followed in
canoes, and soon landed both of them safely on the west side of the
great river. Yet we sometimes hear thoughtless people say, "there
are no good Indians but dead Indians!"
Kate returned to the Iowa side by the next boat, but Ben remained
awhile longer on the west side to care for the team that had swam
across. One wagon, {53} the yokes, chains and a considerable part of
the outfit had been lost. After arranging for the care of the team,
Ben crossed back about dark to rejoin the remainder of the party
still waiting there, and to consult with the Squire.
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Illustrating a scene witnessed by the author and many other Pioneers
to the Oregon Country. The sinking of the wagon, endangering the
life of Kate Mulhall, the heroine of this story, and her rescue by
Ben Hardy, as described on the opposite page, make a stirring
incident of overland travel in the early 50s. An interesting
reference to this "near catastrophe" a half century later, will be
found on page 231.
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"Prairie schooner" unit of a line made up of vehicles drawn by
horses, mules, oxen or cows, with three yoke of oxen (driven by a man
walking along the left-hand side of the farther yoke), followed by
the captain of the train and protected by an armed guard at the rear.
Many an outfit like this one starting out in good condition was
reduced to the situation illustrated in the drawing on page 75 before
the end of the long journey.
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At the time of the accident, Catherine was at the camp and knew
nothing about it until told by Kate herself; then she fell upon her
knees to offer thanks for the rescue of her daughter. When told that
Kate had been saved by Ben's courage and cool-headed action, she gave
way to tears of joy and gratitude, and exclaimed, "Where is he?
Where is he, the dear, dear boy?" When he arrived, mother Mulhall
kissed him again and again; even the Squire had difficulty in
controlling his emotions, while Kate seemed dazed and said little.
Of course the deep gloom in the camp was accompanied by rejoicing
that there had been no loss of life.
The emigrants flocked around to praise Ben's act of bravery; but he
made light of it, saying anybody but a coward would have done the
same, and he wasn't entitled to any special praise. That evening an
elderly Quaker with his wife and daughter came to Mulhall's camp.
"We came to see thee," he said, "to join in praise to God for his
mercy in restoring thy son and daughter to thee; and further to tell
thee the Spirit moves us to proffer aid to enable thee to repair thy
loss." The Squire was deeply impressed with the evident sincerity of
the man, and felt to some extent relieved {54} from the feeling of
depression he had been striving to dispel.
Catherine was unable to conceal her emotion or control herself; the
shock upon the poor woman's nerves had been too great. Kate arose
from a cot to assure her mother that she would be all right again in
a little while, but seemingly without effect until the Quaker lady's
sympathetic words wrought a change of promised relief.
One of the ferrymen came into the camp and witnessed the scene of the
Quakers striving to alleviate Catherine's anguish. The two women
were about the same age; and the daughter of the Quaker family had
been a great comfort to Kate in her distress. Grasping the
situation, and seeing that he could do nothing at the moment, the
ferryman soon withdrew, beckoning Mulhall to follow him outside.
"I come," he said, "to tell you we think we ought to replace your
wagon and outfit, and will do so to-morrow. A number of parties who
have concluded not to go any farther will sell their wagons and
outfits at a reasonable price. Come and see us in the morning."
At the moment Mulhall was more concerned about his wife than over the
loss of a part of the outfit; but the calls of the Quaker and the
ferryman were appreciated more for the sympathy manifested than for
the offer of material aid. The Quakers stayed until long after
midnight. Catherine had been induced to lie down; and with the hand
of the good {55} Samaritan on her brow, had fallen asleep and
peacefully rested.
Kate's companion had exercised much the same influence upon her as
the Quaker mother had upon Mrs. Mulhall; and shortly after midnight
she also passed from consciousness to sweet slumber. The three
visitors then noiselessly withdrew, and deep silence fell upon the
camp. Catherine slept late and awakened calm, and reassured when she
found that Kate was up and preparing breakfast.
True to promise, on the following day the ferryman gave the Squire
his choice of three wagons and outfits; and before night he was ready
to cross the Missouri to the Indian Country, then extending across
the Rocky Mountains to the Pacific Ocean. Mulhall was confronted
with a perplexing situation--one team was now on the west side of the
river, and the other on the east or Iowa side. The hired man, who
shall be nameless, seemed to delight in using his long whip-lash on
the oxen, and goaded them to unnecessary exertion; and had proven
very unsatisfactory in other ways. His language was also offensive;
and when the Squire found that he had been indulging immoderately in
liquor, summarily discharged him.
Fortunately for Mulhall, at this juncture Douglas Craig, the young
man with the outfit presented to him by the ferryman, came highly
recommended and expressed a desire to continue on the trip; the
Squire immediately engaged him, and never had cause to {56} regret
it. As soon as Mulhall could move his camp to the landing, he
crossed over without much difficulty, leaving Ben to follow when he
could get the cattle up from the bottoms.
That night the campers heard the shrill whistle of a steamer from
down the river, and soon saw the lights of the "Ajax" as it moved
slowly up to the landing. A great throng greeted the captain as he
came ashore, and vociferously clamored to be ferried across the
river, with the promise of extra compensation if done that night. So
the occupation of the open-scow ferryman was gone, and the steamer
took its place; after that a hundred wagons with their teams were
crossed by day and nearly as many at night.
One can scarcely imagine the confusion that followed the congestion
on the one road leading, out from the landing place on the western
side of the river. Outfits had been separated and cattle gone
astray, children were separated from their parents, and thieving
Indians mingled with the throng. Mulhall soon brought together his
outfit (small as compared with some trains of fifty wagons) and drew
off to a nearby camping place.
He had been cautioned by the missionary not to join in the rush to
drive furiously forward, as others would certainly be doing. Kate
became very impatient at the delay of a day that her father
considered necessary to have everything in readiness. On the fourth
day they were confronted with a narrow {57} but deep river; and there
was another struggle to get across.
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Many of the Pioneers crossed the rivers on the Oregon Trail with all
of their outfits, except the oxen, in the manner shown by the
illustration. At best it was a hazardous adventure; at one place on
the North Platte nine men were drowned in making the attempt. The
author crossed the Snake River twice by this method and swam his
oxen; this photograph, taken in 1912 on the "Loup Fork," a tributary
of the Platte River in Nebraska, shows his improvised craft in the
middle of that great stream, and will convey some idea of the dangers
encountered by the emigration of which he was a part. See pages 57,
69-70 and 213.
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The confusion was increased by many coming into camp every hour day