As Far As I Can See Page 4

  Del is so gentle. I cannot stand to think that she might be sold, with her legs in chains. I hate to think how she got the awful scar on her forehead. And I am proud of Uncle Aubert and Aunt Margaret for taking her in. I am proud that we are a “station” on the Underground Railroad.

  June 27, 1856

  The marshall and his men came last night!

  George had been watching at the window. There was no moon. So he did not see the riders until they had almost reached the cabin.

  George rushed to my room. He whispered, “Marshall!”

  Del sprang up. I lifted Pres. Del dove under his feather bed. I put Pres down again and straightened his covers.

  Quickly, I shoved the straw from Del’s bed back in with the straw from mine. I lay down and drew up the quilts.

  Then came a pounding on the door.

  Uncle Aubert lit a candle. George opened the door. I heard the marshall’s voice. He said that he had reason to believe we were holding another man’s property. He said that he and his men had come to search the cabin.

  Uncle Aubert said, “Search if you must. We have nothing here that belongs to any other man.”

  I have never been so frightened. The men’s boots pounded loudly on the wooden floors.

  I lay shivering. I heard Uncle Aubert tell the marshall that his nephew was very ill.

  Suddenly my quilt wall was swept aside. Above me stood the marshall. His lantern shone in my eyes. I got to my feet. I squinted into the light.

  I said, “Uncle?”

  Uncle Aubert said the marshall wanted to look around.

  The marshall held his lantern over Pres.

  Pres’s eyelids fluttered.

  I prayed, Please, Lord, do not let Pres give Del away!

  I looked up into the marshall’s face. It was the face of a hunter. He was hunting Del. To take her back to slavery! I felt anger boil up inside me.

  The marshall asked, “What ails the boy?”

  My anger made me brave. I spoke. I said that my brother had a fever. That he could keep nothing in his stomach. That I feared that he had caught the terrible sickness that had killed so many folks on our riverboat.

  The marshall quickly stepped back from the bed. He lowered his lantern. Then he turned and went back out to the main part of the cabin.

  The searchers kicked at the sacks of buffalo chips by the fireplace. They looked behind the oven. One of them poked the barrel of his rifle up the chimney. But they found nothing.

  The marshall told Uncle Aubert that they would be watching us. Then he and his men left.

  For a minute, no one moved. Then Del lifted a corner of the feather bed to get some air. I took my brother’s hand. I squeezed it. Pres had held as still as a statue.

  Later

  More knocking sounded on the door!

  My heart began to pound.

  Uncle Aubert opened the door. I heard him say, “Thank heaven!”

  It was the “conductors” from the Underground Railroad.

  Everything was a rush then. These men had been waiting down by the creek. Their scout saw the marshall and his men come into our cabin. He saw them come out and ride off again. He followed them. Not far away, the marshall and his men had split up to go home. The scout said they would not come back tonight.

  Del took my hand. And Pres’s. She said she would never forget our kindness. Then she wrapped the scarf around her head. She put on her coat and hat. And she was gone.

  We watched from the window as her rescuers rushed her to a waiting hay wagon. A man with a pitchfork lifted up the hay. Del disappeared deep into it. The wagon pulled away. Now I was thankful for the moonless night.

  June 28, 1856

  It is a perfect Kansas morning. The sky is blue. The wind is soft. And Del is on her way to Canada!

  Aunt Margaret said that Pres could go outside. With a whoop he ran out the door after George, Charlie, and John.

  Uncle Aubert hitched Kip to the wagon. He drove to the Vanbeeks to let them know that all was well.

  Aunt Margaret said she wanted to run down to the creek to gather watercress for supper. She asked me to start the johnnycake batter.

  I was stirring the batter, humming to myself. I never heard boots come up the steps. The first I knew that I had company was when a man’s voice called, “Anybody home?”

  I was alone in the cabin.

  It was too late to hide.

  Aunt Margaret had not bothered to bolt the door. It creaked open.

  I gasped when I saw who stood in the doorway. The yellow-haired gambler from The Kansas Hopeful!

  He stared at me.

  I did the only thing I could think of.

  I grabbed the just-in-case red-hot pepper.

  I said, “Go away!”

  The gambler grinned. Just the way he had grinned at Miss Annie Boone! He said he was looking for Aubert Parker.

  How did he know my uncle’s name? Had the marshall sent him? My head was spinning.

  I held my pepper ready.

  Then I heard Aunt Margaret call out, “Jasper!”

  The gambler turned. The next thing I knew, Aunt Margaret had thrown her arms around him as if he were a long-lost friend.

  Which is what he turned out to be.

  Aunt Margaret told the gambler to come inside. She came in, too. When she saw me standing with the hot pepper shaker in my hand, she laughed so hard she had to sit down. She told the gambler he had just had a very narrow escape.

  The yellow-haired gambler’s name is Mr. Jasper Young. He was on the steamboat that brought Uncle Aubert and Aunt Margaret to Kansas. They became good friends. He will be staying with us in the cabin for a while.

  Mr. Young is not a professional gambler. He only likes to play cards. He does not carry rifles or pistols inside his cases. He carries a camera. And lots of heavy camera equipment. Mr. Young is a wandering photographer. He says we are living an important part of history and he wants to capture it in photographs.

  I wanted to believe him. But one thing bothered me.

  “Why was Miss Annie Boone so angry at you?” I asked him. “Why did she run when she saw you?”

  Mr. Young laughed. He said that he had taken her photograph. When she saw it, she yelled that it was a photograph of some wrinkled, toothless old lady. But it sure wasn’t a photograph of Miss Annie Boone. And she chased him out of her cabin.

  Mr. Young has offered to take my photograph.

  July 1, 1856

  We have been so busy! I have not had a moment to write. Aunt Margaret and I have been making pies. It seems we will need many when we go to the big Fourth of July pic-nic just outside of Lawrence. I fear my fingers may stay blue forever from picking so many blueberries.

  July 2, 1856

  The best thing in the world has happened! Better than twin calves. Better than a new friend. Better even than a letter from Father!

  Aunt Margaret and I were in the kitchen this afternoon. We were baking pies. It was a hot, hot day. Our cabin was steaming. When the pies were ready to bake, Aunt Margaret lit the oven. The burning wood made the cabin even hotter. We could barely stand the heat.

  Uncle Aubert had gone to Lawrence. The boys were out collecting wood. So Aunt Margaret and I took off our skirts. We worked in our camisoles and pantalettes. Our wet hair stuck to our faces. Flour from the piecrusts stuck to us all over. We wanted to be finished, so we worked fast.

  Then, BANG! Aunt Margaret dropped a whole pie on the floor.

  I saw that she was not looking at the pie. She was staring at the door.

  My first thought was Border Ruffians! Or a bear! Then I looked. And if I had been holding a pie, I would have dropped it, too.

  In the doorway stood Mother and Grace! At first I thought I was seeing things — that the heat had made me lose my senses.

  Then Mother stepped into the cabin. She held my sister’s hand. “Well, Grace,” she said. “We surely have come to the end of the earth.”

  Oh, how we hugged and kissed. I cried.
So did Aunt Margaret. I held Grace in my lap for the longest time. My prayers have been answered!

  Aunt Margaret and I rinsed off with water from the bucket. We put on our skirts. Then we went outside, where we might catch a breeze, to listen to Mother’s story. When Mother saw her baby apple trees planted beside the cabin, she broke down and cried, too.

  Mother told us that Grace had recovered quickly. But she herself was ill for a long time. She said that she decided something while lying in her sick bed. She would never again spend a summer in St. Louis worrying that her children might die of cholera.

  As soon as Mother recovered, she and Grace traveled up the Missouri River on The Silver Cloud. In Kansas City, they hired a carriage for the trip to our cabin.

  Father is still in St. Louis. He will sell his business and the house. He is having the furniture packed and shipped to Kansas.

  Mother asked Nellie to come to Kansas, too. But she said she has saved a good amount of money working for us. And it seems a certain Sean O’Brien from Ireland is waiting for her in New York City. So Mother put her on a train bound for New York.

  The boys came home for dinner. When Pres saw Mother, he let out such a whoop. Mother held him in her lap while she told him that our family hopes to buy a claim near Aunt Margaret and Uncle Aubert. We are going to live in Kansas.

  Preston shouted out, “Amen!”

  July 3, 1856

  Mother, Grace, and I went down to the stream this morning. Mouser came, too. We took a pic-nic.

  I waded in the cool water with Grace while Mother read my diary. When she read about Grigg’s Hotel, she said, “Oh, my!” She read all the way to the end, then said I had done a fine job of writing my adventures. It made me so happy to hear it!

  July 4, 1856

  We have come to the Lawrence Pic-nic. Everyone has brought all sorts of food. We will all share our food with everyone else at the pic-nic. I do believe half of Kansas Territory is here. There are folks dressed in silks, like Mother. There are folks dressed in cotton, like me. (Aunt Margaret finished my prairie dress last night!) Some folks are wearing buckskin and others, flour-sack trousers. There are Delawares wrapped in bright red blankets and men in denim trousers and leather hats. Everyone seems to want to get along on the Fourth of July.

  We are lucky to have found a shady spot to spread our quilts. The Vanbeeks have their quilts spread next to ours.

  Mother, Aunt Margaret, and I put our pies on the long table. I think there is enough food on it to feed the whole territory!

  I have been sitting on our quilt, writing, but Pres is pulling me to my feet. He says it is time to eat. He says we must hurry! I say that, with our riverboat manners, we need not worry about missing dinner.

  Later

  What a feast! There was barbecued buffalo and deer, barbecued lamb and fresh ham. Even Dr. Baer and the Peach ladies could have had a vegetarian feast on the corn cakes, mashed squash, diced potatoes, and salads of every sort. There were pies and cakes topped with ice cream, too. It tasted even better than the ice cream at Barnum’s City Hotel.

  This diary was to last me a year. But I have only one page left. I looked back at the first pages. I had to laugh at my idea of adventure! I need a new book now to write more Kansas adventures. For I will be here when the cold weather comes. I will warm myself by a buffalo-chip fire. I will sleep under a feather bed. I will go to school with Lily in Lawrence this fall.

  Mr. Young, formerly known as the yellow-haired gambler, is calling us. He has set up his camera. He wants to take a picture of Uncle Aubert, Aunt Margaret, George, Charlie, John, Mother, Pres, Grace, all the many Vanbeeks, and me. Next year, Father will be here to be in the picture, too.

  The speeches are starting now. The crowd is quieting. A man has stepped onto a platform. He is reading from the Declaration of Independence. These lines from it seem a fine way to end my diary: We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty, and the pursuit of Happiness.

  Amen!

  In 1856, Missouri was a state in the United States. St. Louis was its largest city, with 122,000 people. St. Louis factories made engines, railroad cars, soap, candles, and chemicals. Black smoke billowed out of factory smokestacks into the sky. The air was full of soot and dirt.

  A view of St. Louis, Missouri, in the 1850s.

  Yet St. Louis was not all soot and smoke. It also had fine hotels. Opera singers came from Europe to sing in its beautiful theaters. Wealthy families lived in grand houses. They wore fancy clothes made of silk and linen.

  Servants helped care for the grand houses and the people who lived in them. They often lived in small rooms on the top floor of the house. Although most servants were paid for their work, nearly 2,000 people in St. Louis in 1856 were slaves who worked for no pay. There were people who thought of slaves as property. Several times a year, slaves stood on the steps of the Courthouse to be sold.

  A slave auction.

  Slavery was not against the law in Missouri in 1856 but many believed it was a terrible evil. These “abolitionists” worked to pass laws against slavery. And many of them helped slaves escape to Canada on the Underground Railroad.

  More than 4,000 people in St. Louis died in the great cholera epidemic of 1849. Cholera is caused by dirty drinking water and contaminated food. But back then, no one knew the cause. Every summer for years, cholera broke out in St. Louis.

  The St. Louis riverfront was lined with many huge steamboats known as “floating palaces.” Some had grand staircases and carpeted lounges. The boats were powered by hot wood fires that boiled water under great pressure to make steam. Sometimes the boilers exploded and the boats caught fire. Riverboat travel was both exciting and dangerous.

  The “floating palace” steamboats docked at St. Louis.

  In 1856, it took about six days to travel on a floating palace from St. Louis to Kansas City. West of Kansas City lay Kansas Territory. People went there for the chance to own land. Others went for the adventure. Still others went because of slavery.

  A sod house in Kansas.

  At this time, about half the states in the United States allowed slavery. The other half did not. By 1856, everyone knew that Kansas would soon become a state. But would it be a free state? Or would it allow slavery? Congress said that people in Kansas should vote to decide.

  Some men from the South came to Kansas only temporarily. They were called Border Ruffians. They came by the thousands over the border into Kansas. They roved in gangs, and were dangerous outlaws. They went to vote, saying that they lived in Kansas. They voted for Kansas to allow slavery. And then they went back home again. They figured that the more slave states there were, the harder it would be to end slavery. In the years right before the Civil War, Kansas Territory turned into a terrible battleground. The Free Staters, northerners who went to Kansas, fought the Border Ruffians. Many died in the fighting.

  Border Ruffians.

  Life in Kansas Territory held other dangers as well. There were fierce thunderstorms. Plagues of grasshoppers ate the crops. The summers were burning hot and dry. Winters brought blizzards and freezing cold. Yet even though the Kansas prairie of 1856 was a hard place to live, many loved living in its endless seas of grass, and breathing its fresh, clean air. They would not have traded their lives on the prairie for anything.

  Burning fields to kill grasshoppers.

  The author would like to thank her editors, Beth Levine and Amy Griffin, for their wise guidance with this project. She would also like to thank Jenny Vaughn, Marky Shapleigh, Susan Craig, and Jane Courter; The Campbell House Museum in St. Louis, Missouri; and Deborah M. White of the Lawrence Visitor Center. She is especially grateful to Judith M. Sweets of the Watkins Community Museum of History in Lawrence, Kansas, for her critical reading of the manuscript. She would like to acknowledge her debt to two diarists who traveled to Kansas in the 1850s: Mrs. Miriam Davis Colt and the Re
verend Richard Cordley.

  Grateful acknowledgment is made for permission to reprint the following:

  View of St. Louis, State Historical Society of Missouri, Columbia.

  Slave auction, State Historical Society of Missouri, Columbia.

  Floating palace, North Wind Picture Archives.

  Sod house, North Wind Picture Archives.

  Border Ruffians, State Historical Society of Missouri, Columbia.

  Burning the fields, The Kansas State Historical Society, Topeka, Kansas.

  Kate McMullan says, “I grew up in St. Louis, Missouri, and was a great Mark Twain fan. His stories always made me wish I could travel back in time and take a ride on a steamboat. I loved writing about Meg’s journey because it gave me a feel for what an 1856 ride up the wild Missouri River must have been like.”

  Kate McMullan has written more than fifty books for children, including the best-selling If You Were My Bunny and The Story of Harriet Tubman, Conductor on the Underground Railroad. She teaches writing for children in the Master of Fine Arts program at the New School University, and lives with her daughter and her husband, the noted illustrator James McMullan, in New York City and Sag Harbor, Long Island.

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