Chapter 3

I'm going to post Chapter 3. I hope everyone else is enjoying reading this as much as I did.

Chapter III

During the years of the early ‘50’s Grandpap farmed his land and ‘got a start’ of cattle, sheep and hogs. He fed his corn to the hogs and steers when they had reached the mature age of two and three years and could carry weight and travel well, as they had to be driven across prairie and timberland to St. Joseph to be marketed. This was a distance of some seventy-five miles, and sometimes it took two weeks to make the trip. They usually brought back provisions sufficient to last until the next trip.
As his herds of cattle and sheep grew in numbers, they would often stray away and join other herds that were, likewise, permitted to run loose on the prairie.
The only fences were made of rails which were split from the trees which grew along the streams and lowlands. These fences were used for making enclosures which held the mules or oxen used for work on the farm.
The oldest cow and ewe in the herds usually wore a bell strapped around their necks, which tinkled as they grazed on the quiet hills, thus guiding the children as they went in search of them at evening time while Grandma stood waiting with her milk pail on her arm.
As the herds grew in numbers and the children grew in size, they were sent out each day during the crop season to herd the cattle and sheep. While they were all small children, the boys, accompanied by Catherine (Kitty), went together in a group and separated only to round up the animals that had become scattered. They had very little with which to amuse themselves until one warm day one of the boys observed a tumblebug rolling a ball. It seemed to be walking backward and rolling the large ball with its strong hind legs, and to a small boy that looked interesting. He picked it up and placed it in his pocket. When he rejoined his brothers, he put his hand into his pocket and brought out the bug which clung to his finger with its sharp little claws. It seemed to be very much disturbed and showed a tendency to want to fight when they prodded it with their bare toes. This gave the boys an idea. Next time when they separated to round up the animals they were herding, each boy came back with a tumblebug in his pocket. By the time the grass was pulled off to make a smooth “arena’, the bugs were in a very bad humor, and when they were placed together on the ground, a fight would ensue which highly amused the boys, and it would last until Kitty, who was the mischievous one, would run into the ring and give the bugs such a boost with her toe that they would take off in opposite directions, and Kitty would run with the boys chasing her. She was a strong, athletic girl, and it usually took all of the boys to get the best of her. If they did, she would get even with them in some manner. One of her favorite schemes was to run home in advance of them, and when she could see them coming, she would call their hound pups around her and pick them up by their tails, and one by one she would lash them with a small switch until they howled so piteously that the boys came running to their rescue; and then a tussle ensued which Grandma had to settle.
Often emigrants passed through on their way to seek homes farther west. At one time a number of wagons followed by a large heard of cattle and sheep camped near Grandpap’s home while they rested their mules and oxen and grazed their cattle and sheep on the open prairies. One night a fire got started in the tall grass where the sheep had laid down to rest. Some of them were so badly burned that they died and others were unable to travel. The emigrants moved on and left the burned sheep. As the boys were herding a few days later, they found these sheep in a very pitiable condition.
When they told Grandpap about it that evening, he told them to bring the sheep in and doctor them, and if the emigrants never came back to claim them, the boys could keep them for their own. The boys were filled with enthusiasm at the hope of having the sheep to claim as their very own and could hardly get to sleep that night for thinking about it. They were up early and out next morning to the place where they had found the sheep. A few of them could hobble along, and these the boys drove home, and then they went back and half dragged, half carried the others in. They were very tired but had no time to rest. They washed the sores with warm water just as Grandma instructed and then they greased them with turpentine mixed with hog lard that she prepared for them.
The wounds healed, and by the time the weather turned cold, the wool had grown long and covered the scars; and the boys were very proud of them. Grandpap admitted they were a better breed of sheep than his own. But the boys’ pride in the ownership of the sheep was short lived. When Grandpap rounded up his cattle, sheep, and hogs to drive to market, the boys’ sheep were driven away with them. My father was both angry and broken hearted. But Grandma tried to console him as best she could, and as a special favor she told him he might stay up with her the night she expected Grandpap to come home.
They heard the wagon wheels screeching in the snow long before he came into sight. When he drove up in front of the door with his load of provision. My father ran out to investigate what was in the wagon. Grandpap walked around the back of the wagon and pulled out a pair of little red topped boots and gave them to my father who was dancing around so overjoyed he reached over and licked his tongue against the wagon tire. His moist tongue froze to the wagon wheel and there he stuck until Grandma came with a teakettle of warm water and thawed him loose. Despite the sore tongue, he enjoyed the new boots which partly reconciled him to the loss of his sheep.
My father told me that story many times, the last time just a few months before his death. I think that all of his life he carried a feeling of resentment against Grandpap for breaking his promise to him.
It was said of Grandpap that he was scrupulously honest in all of his business dealings, and he put forth a great effort to instill honesty into the minds of his children. And whether or not he did right regarding his disposition of the sheep brings up a question which, at some time, confronts almost every farm family.
When you’re Great Grandfather Platte Colvin (whom I shall refer to as my father) was a young boy, he was playing with the other brothers, and he fell as they were jumping from the low roof of an old shed. He seemed to be only slightly shaken up. Grandma pronounced it only a slight bruise, gave him a loving pat, and told him to lie down and take a nap and he would be all right. No more was thought of it until a few weeks later he began to complain of his hip hurting him, and in the course of time an abscess developed on the front of his hip joint which would not heal. At that time it was called White Swelling and was very painful for many months, and his life seemed to be in danger. But Grandma cared for him and carried him gently about until the wound finally healed. But for years he could walk only bent forward with his hand on his knee. Thus disabled for work, it gave him the advantage of going to school while the other children in the family had to stay at home to assist with the farm chores, which were allotted to them.
In the year 1858 a large stationary sawmill was built by Abraham Hagey four miles north of Quitman, Missouri, on the west side of the Nodaway River. (Nodaway was an India name meaning placid.) This mill did much toward furnishing lumber to the early settlers. This lumber could be used for roofs, floors, window and door castings for the log houses, and from it furniture could be made, and to the great delight of herself and Missouri, Grandma got a new spinning wheel. Abraham Hagey had a turning lathe, and he made it himself, as he did many others.
The discovery of gold in California had created a great deal of excitement among the early settlers of Nodaway County by the year 1849. The news of discovery had spread to all parts of the United States, and fabulous stories were told of the immense wealth to be found there. Thousands of men from the ‘states’ could be seen wending their way to the golden strand of the Pacific coast in search of the precious metal.
This must have been a dazzling picture to the hard pressed ‘settlers’ of Northern Missouri who were breaking the wild prairie land, or clearing the timber and thick underbrush. Many equipped wagons joined the many thousands who were California bound.
To gain some idea of the vast number of men who went West during the gold excitement days in California I will give the number who crossed the river at St. Joseph and other places from April 1 to June 15, 1849. The number of wagons crossing at that ferry port was one thousand five hundred eight. The number of men averaged four to the wagon, or about six thousand men. At Duncan’s ferry, about four miles above St. Joseph, six hundred eighty-five wagons crossed. At Bontown, Savannah, and other nearby ferries as far up as Council Bluffs, there were two thousand wagons more, making a total of four thousand one hundred ninety-three wagons. Ten thousand persons had crossed at Independence, making a grand total of twenty-seven thousand. There were about eight mules or oxen to each wagon, making the total number thirty-seven thousand five hundred forty-four mules and oxen.
For those who remained at home, gold was the topic of conversation as the farmers gathered around the stove in a little store or under the trees while they waited for their plows to be sharpened at the blacksmith shop. Neighbors talked of it leaning across the fences, as the horses rested at the end of the furrows.
But as time passed, interest wore down until the year 1859 when John H. Gregory struck the rich vein of gold near Central City, Colorado.
When this news reached them, their enthusiasm knew no bounds. Colorado they knew was not nearly as far away as California, forgetting the fate of so many who had gone ten years before, a group of the most venturesome ones, Grandpap included, decided to form a wagon train and drive to Colorado to seek an easy fortune. Wagons were loaded with meal and salt port for food, powder and bullets for loading the guns which would be used for shooting wild game for food, also for protection against hostile Indians or bands of horse thieves which were not uncommon at that time.
Other wagons were loaded with grain to feed their horses when they stopped to camp at night. Jugs of water were packed, as many stories had been heard of the people who perished for water while crossing the desert. And a few “jugs” might have been hidden under the dash boards, just in case a driver might need emergency treatment, such as snake bite or eye strain.
The night before they were to start the following morning the wagons were assembled at the starting place with all of the tongues pointing west. The horses were curried and brushed; the harness was mended and freshly greased.
A meeting had been held and a leader chosen whose authority all had agreed to obey. And, according to the story, this agreement was kept during the entire journey.
During this meeting they had each disclosed their fondest hopes of riches and much merriment had been displayed, possibly to build up their morale as well as to hide the undercurrent of uncertainty (a trait that the masculine members of the early settlers never permitted their neighbors to see).
The womenfolk were less confident as to the outcome of this adventure; but, as they were well disciplined wives who had given ear to the glamorous hopes of their husbands, consented by their silence, and bravely went ahead with the duties of keeping the home, caring for the young children, overseeing the farm work and the herding of the livestock by the older children of the family.
The wagon train started at the crack of dawn one fine morning with the leader driving the first wagon. He was equipped with a compass to guide him as to the direction. Each night when they pitched camp they unhitched “and left the wagons with the tongues pointing west”.
The first day they had a cross country road to follow and reached the Missouri River which they crossed by ferry.
As the days passed the road became a cow trail, and that dwindled into a buffalo trail. The sun became hotter and hotter, and the wind blew dust into their weary, suntanned faces. When the trail led away from the streams, it was difficult to find water for the tired horses. Once when one of the men was going down a gulch hunting for water he came upon the bones of what appeared to be a pair of oxen. On going a short distance farther he saw the skeleton of a man—he couldn’t tell whether it had been a white man or an Indian. When he went back and told his companions about it, they decided it had been a white man on his way to California ten years earlier. Had it been an Indian, members of his tribe would have carried him away for burial. But still that night all wagon tongues were left pointing west.
Late summer had arrived, and one evening when they had pitched camp, the horses were tired and thin; the men were tired of travel and cooking wild game by camp fire with no fuel except dry buffalo chips. Far in the distance the high snow-capped ridges of the Rockies could be seen to the west of them, and nothing except dry prairies behind them, something, not mentioned, became predominant in the minds and hearts of these men. All knew it, but no one mentioned it.
Just before retiring to their blankets, the leader called all of the men together around the dying embers of the campfire and in a toneless voice said, “Men, in the morning we will drive in the direction our wagon tongues are pointed”. And, would you believe it? Next morning every wagon tongue was pointed east.
Not much was ever said of the return of the wagon train, but my father told me how the crops had been harvested and the supplies had been “laid in” for winter. The apples, potatoes, and cabbage had been buried within a heavy layer of straw or slough grass with a few feet of dirt thrown over the top.
For weeks Grandma had been spinning and knitting by day and late into the night and every little while she would go to the window and look anxiously out, brush away a tear, and return to her task.
One evening in late autumn just at dusk (the first snowflakes of the season had begun falling), Grandpap came driving in. He unhitched his tired horses with no regard as to which direction the wagon tongue was pointed. If Grandpap had ever started to a place he never believed in turning back; he thought it would bring bad luck. If he started to town to mail a letter and when he got outside the gate he noticed he had forgotten it, if he couldn’t call to Grandma or one of the children to bring it to him, he would go on without it. It was an old superstition, but he made it a duty to abide by it.
Some weeks later when Grandma cautiously mentioned his turning back from his trip to Colorado, he turned on her with a glare and said, “Woman, that there subject makes my face burn!”