"EL DORADO WEST" [PG] - Chapter Thirteen
The following is Chapter Thirteen of my story about a pair of free black siblings making the journey to California in 1849:
Chapter Thirteen - New Experiences and Friendships
May 21, 1849
The wagon company has spotted its first buffalo herd, today. Contrary to popular belief, they struck me as docile creatures. Quite like cattle. They quietly gaze on the prairie grass, seemingly oblivious to the dozen wagons that rolled by. I must say that their appearance seemed nothing like a cow or bull - especially with their short shaggy fur, small eyes and little horns that protrude from the top of their heads like little devils.
“They can be quite the devils, Miss Alice,” Mr. Wendell commented. “Try facing one of them creatures while it’s stampedes toward you. Steam comes out of their nostrils and their eyes turn red.”
Personally, I found his description of the buffalo slightly difficult to accept. But I remained silent. Instead, I asked Mr. Wendell about the beast’s meat. I wanted to know how it taste. “You’ll find out,” he answered. “When Hadley returns with a bull or two.” Mr. James, Warren Palmer and Joel Moore had left the company for a buffalo hunting expedition. Ben had been invited to accompany the three hunters, but rejected their offer. Apparently, he considered me incapable of driving the wagon. Nor did he want to leave me alone to . . . fend for myself.
Mr. James’ little expedition resulted in two buffaloes, both shot by our intrepid guide. After he and Mr. Wendell had skinned and butchered the beasts, they distributed the meat to each wagon. Buffalo steaks became the main course this evening. Compare to regular beef, it had a rich . . . almost gamy flavor. Mr. James and Mr. Wendell also consumed the buffaloes’ intestines. Watching them pull and stretch the tube-like entrails over a fire seemed disgusting. But when each man took an intestine, threw back his head and swallowed them whole, I had to turn away.
May 24, 1849
High winds and heavy rain battered our wagon company today. Despite all of this, we managed to travel at least fifteen miles before finally camping on a bluff above the Big Blue River, high above the threat of the flooding water. Mrs. Robbins had invited me to join her inside her wagon, while her husband and Ben helped guard the camp tonight.
Thanks to a little brandy Mrs. Robbins had stored with her other provisions, I learned a great deal about the Kentucky couple. They had two grown sons who owned farms in Illinois. Albert J. and Dorcas Robbins had already buried two other babies during the early years of their marriage. The Robbins belong that unknown society that consisted of abolitionists from the Southern states. Mr. Robbins’ hatred of the slavery institution stemmed from the years he had been raised on his uncle’s tobacco farm somewhere in Harrison County, Kentucky. Mrs. Robbins’ family - the Beeches - originally hailed from Delaware and were originally indentured servants.
Just last November, the Robbins had helped two runaway slaves cross the Ohio River into freedom. Unfortunately, a neighbor discovered their actions and informed the local law. The couple managed to cross the Ohio, with the law close on their heels. Fortunately, they eventually evaded their pursuers and ended up outside of Jonesboro, Illinois - where their sons had settled.
“How exciting!” I exclaimed, while sipping brandy. “But why did you not remain with your sons?”
Mrs. Robbins replied that news of James Marshall’s gold discovery had convinced the couple to move further west. “Albert doubts that we will ever find any gold there. But he would like to start his own farm or ranch.”
“I wish I could say the same for Ben,” I said. “Gold seemed to be his only motivation.”
“And you?”
The Kentucky woman’s question threw me off-balance momentarily before I decided to be honest. I told her of my desire to see the West and California. I also told her of my troubles with my family - especially with my parents - over my decision to reject Charles Marshall’s offer of marriage. After a moment’s pause, Mrs. Robbins brought up the topic of Elias Wendell. “Do you believe he was the runaway that those Missouri catchers were searching for? I do.” She then revealed what Ben and I had already noticed - namely the blue waistcoat that one of the slave catchers and later, Mr. Wendell had worn. “Of course, he ain’t wearing it now.”
I had also noticed the disappearance of the waistcoat. I suspect that Mr. Wendell had rid himself of the piece of clothing after our arrival in Independence. “Why . . . I mean, do you suspect that the Goodwins might say anything about Mr. Wendell?”
Mrs. Robbins assured me that the Tennesseans had lost their chance to expose Mr. Wendell, now that we were on the trail. However, she pointed out that their chances would be renewed either in Fort Kearny or Fort John on the Laramie.
End of Chapter Thirteen