Part 18 (1/2)
In fact, when I paid attention, which I hadn't been doing heretofore, I could make out what the two men were saying quite well, even over the humming of the girl. I set myself to listen, full of conviction that the information I needed would be forthcoming if I just listened long enough.
”It's a whole load,” said the new Mr. Graves.
”Men's or women's?”
”Both. Mostly men's, I think. But they an't gonna cost you nothing. Their owners is all dead!”
”But I got to go all the way to Saint Louis to get 'em.”
”Bailey might bring 'em up as far as Lexington.”
”And I an't heard anyone talk about shoes. I an't sure there's much of a market for old shoes in K.T.”
”Lots of 'em are boots. Anyways, you got to make your own market sometimes.”
”In my opinion, David B., dead men's shoes are a risky venture.”
”In my opinion, cousin, nothing ventured, nothing gained.”
”I'll ponder over it.”
We went along for a ways. Other hors.e.m.e.n and people in wagons were about, and sometimes the two men hailed them.
I dozed off.
A loud and merry laugh woke me up. ”They did?” exclaimed the new Mr. Graves. ”Sent 'em back down the river without their rifles? Haw haw! I like that one!”
'Jim Lane was in a state, let me tell you,” said the old Mr. Graves. ”When he recruited those boys in Chicago, he had to sober them up one by one, then teach the difference between east and west, so they'd know how to get to K.T!”
”Paddy don't know the way, haw haw!” exclaimed the new Mr. Graves.
”And our boys, they said, 'Now, we'll give you two bucks apiece for your rifles, boys, but only if you don't fuss. If you fuss, we'll give you a kick apiece in the hind end!' ”
”That's what they got, haw haw!”
By this time I was wide awake, perceiving that their conversation had turned to the political situation. I tried to be quiet, but I must have let on somehow, because they moved closer together and lowered their voices, so that I could catch only a word here and there. Two of the words I caught were ”Lane's army” and another word was ”Nebraska.” I had heard about this before-Jim Lane had recruited another army in Iowa, in addition to the Chicago group the men had just been discussing, and was bringing it to Lawrence through Nebraska. It was supposed to be a well-equipped northern fighting band, plenty of guns and ammunition and officers trained in military colleges in Indiana and Ohio who were disaffected by the fact that the regular U.S. Army, like every other branch of the government, was in the power of the slavocrats. Louisa and Charles had talked about the plan a few days before. It was mixed up somehow with the idea of Kansas becoming an independent republic, as Texas had been for a while. An independent Free-Soil republic with its own army and the capital at Topeka. Well, people would talk about anything.
And suddenly Thomas was with me. Rolling over that stretch of prairie that we had rolled over in such a state of innocence only a few months before brought him to me. I remembered how I used to feel his presence as a kind of largeness pressing against me, and then I would look over, and he would just be sitting there, mild and alert, taking everything in and thinking about it. That was the distinctive thing about Thomas: he was always thinking about it. You didn't have that feeling with most people; rather, you had a feeling that nothing was going on with them at all. Even Louisa, who was certainly an intelligent woman: if she wasn't talking about something you didn't have the feeling that she was thinking about it. I remembered something I hadn't thought of since it happened - the time we'd camped on the prairie, our first night on the prairie ever, and Thomas had taken my hand between his and rubbed my thumb and asked me if I was afraid. Hadn't I said no? Hadn't the very grasp of his hand driven out the fear that I had felt earlier in the day? How strange that was, all things considered. And shouldn't I learn a lesson from that, to be afraid right now? And yet I wasn't afraid at all, even of the second Mr. Graves and all he represented. Having Thomas with me did that.
We went along all day. We didn't stop in Franklin, but we did stop at the store of Paschal Fish, and I got out while the two Mr. Graveses carried some kegs and chests in. In the afternoon, we stopped again, at another store. I understood without being told that these were rough places and that my best course of action was to stay with the girl in the wagon. I tried to engage her in conversation, in fact, but she was taciturn. When I pressed her, she said, ”I an't gotta talk to abolitionists like you. Abolitionists think I'm no better than a n.i.g.g.e.r.”
”Who told you that?”
”I figured it out on my own.”
”It isn't that, exactly....” I was ready to go into explanations, but suddenly they seemed worthless, and fruitless. And her evident aversion to me was disheartening.
After another moment, she said, ”I know what happened to you. My pa told me.”
”Most people do know what happened to me.”
”You shouldn't have come to K.T. What happened to you was your own fault.”
”You are a hard little girl.”
”I an't a little girl.” And it was true; she was the same age as Frank, who was not a little boy.
Mr. Graves was as kind to me as he could be. When we camped again on the prairie that night, he gave me the best bits of the prairie chicken that he caught and roasted, then he made me my bed in the wagon. I knew that he and I would have had a lot to say to one another, but his conversation with his cousin had died, and he didn't seem to wish any conversation with me in the hearing of his cousin. After nightfall, both men, and the girl, for all I knew, fell immediately asleep. I lay awake in the relative comfort of the wagon, looking at the sliver of moon and listening to the hobbled mules crop the prairie gra.s.s. The perennial K.T breeze blew over me. I knew this was the last of these scenes for me, that once I had left, my horror of the place would grow and nothing would bring me back. That morning, I had looked on my friends with coolness, and impatience to be on my way, but right then I felt the attachment strongly, and it smote me that I wouldn't be there to see Louisa and Charles's child, to lift him into my arms and hold him up to my cheek. If there was any reward for living in K.T., perhaps that would be it. And I was sorry I had acted so coldly at our parting. I felt that if I were to tot up my regrets about my life in K.T, then that would be right at the top of a long list.
CHAPTER 19.
I Go Among the Enemy [image]A person of strong const.i.tution, who takes much exercise, needs less clothing than one of delicate and sedentary habits. According to this rule, women need much thicker and warmer clothing, when they go out, than men. But how different are our customs, from what sound wisdom dictates! Women go out with thin stockings, thin shoes, and open necks, when men are protected by thick woollen hose and boots, and their whole body encased in many folds of flannel and broad-cloth. - p. 115 IF LAWRENCE WAS BUSY with new money and new men, then Kansas City was a-boil. Just as each time I came into Lawrence from our claim, the experience of all that noise and all those people with their business was a shock and a revelation no matter how much I expected and longed for it, so the even greater level of activity and noise in Kansas City was an even greater shock. It was hardly the same town as it had been when we pa.s.sed through in September. Every road or path leading from the town was jammed with wagons and men on horseback, and once you were well into town, there were no quiet sections. Everywhere, someone was building or tearing down or loading or unloading or yelling out instructions, admonishments, oaths, imprecations. And shortly I noticed that the town was all men and, as with Lawrence, all the men were armed, only they didn't carry just a carbine or a pistol; they carried a rifle and wore a pair of pistols, and you could see the handles of knives sticking out of their boottops and their pockets.
Mr. Graves turned to me now and said, ”I know the captain of a steamboat, the Missouri Rose, and I think the boat is leaving for Saint Louis in the next day. I'm going to buy you a ticket right now and put you on there, ma'am. She's a safe boat with a shallow draft and an't gonna get hung up like some of them others.”
”We got hung up on the way upriver. A woman on that boat beat her slave girl because she got her shoes wet.” I glanced at the second Mr. Graves and saw the back of his neck twitch, but he didn't turn to look at me.
”Now, ma'am, I have to remind you that, as you are unsound on the goose question, you would be wise to maintain a womanly silence and gentleness of demeanor at all times, because though all Missourians and southerners honor the fair s.e.x, by habit and from their earliest childhoods, no one can answer for the general irritability that I see all around me here. I am feeling that you should take your cabin on the Rose and stick to it and not say too much about your troubles in K.T.”
The other Mr. Graves s.h.i.+fted on the wagon seat. My Mr. Graves said, ”Now here is a lesson in point.” He gestured to the large print of a news-paper that had been pasted on a wall we were pa.s.sing. It read: ”Abolitionists' Nest to Be Razed, Vows Atchison,” then, in smaller but still blaring type: ”No One Can't Stop Us!”
”Though I have an establishment of my own, where you yourself have visited me, I've been here half a dozen times this summer, ma'am, and I felt you had to see it for yourself to believe me. You can get out of this country safely, and I hope with all my heart you do, but you got to do it quick and you got to do it now, because there's a war coming and a conflagration that is going to roll over Lawrence, K.T, like a burning log, smas.h.i.+ng everyone in its path. We been taking their weapons and turning them back, at the same time as our allies from the southern states have been pouring in to us, with fresh horses, fresh weapons, and fresh spirits ready for a fight as only southerners can be. I have an interest in you, ma'am, and I think you've seen enough and suffered enough. I would hate to see what is coming to them come to you.”
Well, I admit that these sights and sounds, and Mr. Graves's words, too, were startling. I saw that his plan was just what Charles's had been-to bundle me out of harm's way. My plan, of eliciting from him the names of Thomas's killers, had been entirely unsuccessful, and I didn't see another way, just yet, but even as he was speaking, I was trying to think of one. I looked toward my bag, which contained my pistol and my rounds of ammunition, for inspiration. Mr. Graves's mules ambled through the crowds, slowly making our way for us to the boats I could see down on the river. Frankly, I had not imagined so many people. Even if that boy were here, I would certainly miss him in this crowd, unless some emanation from him, such as Louisa maintained she was sensitive to, was carried to me across the spiritual realm. It was enough to discourage someone not quite as single-minded as myself. But there they were, as close as the inside of my own head-Thomas turning to speak and falling out of my sight behind Mr. James's little wagon, Jeremiah rearing up in the traces, that boy's face as he shot him dead. You couldn't rest with such a picture in your head, even in the teeth of such scenes as I now beheld.
The girl spoke up. ”We an't had nothin' good to eat since two days ago, and I'm hungry.” The two men looked at each other. I said, ”I'm hungry, too.”
The second Mr. Graves barked, ”We got stuff to unload!” and the girl looked abashed, but then the first Mr. Graves, a man who I could see was always kindly in spite of himself, said, ”We're going to Morton's ware - house. It seems to me there's a place down around there that an't too bad, if we set by the door and keep our eyes peeled.”
”I can pay for myself,” I said, as if the men's reluctance grew out of stinginess, but I knew it grew out of something else, perhaps only caution at the general rowdiness.
There was a place-the Alabama Hotel, a building still under construction but already a going business-and after unloading, we went there. Vida and I sat in the wagon for a moment, while the two men checked on the activities inside. All was quiet enough, and so we got out, tied up the mules, and went in.
The ground floor of the Alabama Hotel was cavernous, lit by six gla.s.s windows that ran along the back wall, facing the river over the bluff. It contained a vast number of tables, no two alike-some round, some rectangular, some finely finished, and others just rough boards. And pulled up to the tables were chairs, stools, benches, and kegs of all sorts, too. Clearly the Alabama Hotel was a business built on the failures of other businesses. While we stood in the corner beside the door, a half-dozen Negro men came running in from the back and started setting the tables, with a clatter of crockery and utensils. They then brought in big bowls of food and placed them in the center of the tables, also at a run. I saw that this was to be a meal on the steamboat model, and indeed, all around the walls of the room, men were gathering, waiting near the tables for the signal to be seated. The Negroes ran faster and worked harder as the top of the hour approached. The men around the walls were armed and rough-looking characters, and not likely to entertain any delay to the gratification of their appet.i.tes. There were shouts of ”Hurry, boys! I'm hungry as a dragon!” and ”Step it up, boy! Set down the food, then get out of the way!” There was even a shot, which made everyone jump, but then the rumor went around that the shooter had just let off his pistol exuberantly, out the window toward the river. The waiters didn't even react that I could see. I suppose they were happy enough that there was only one shot. I noticed that a very rough-looking character, bearded from his eyebrows to his chest and with hands like loaves of bread, was going around taking money. He came to us, and the first Mr. Graves gave him a dollar and some change. ”That's one plate full per person,” admonished the man. ”This is an honor system here, but I'm watching you, anyway.” Then he went on to the man beside me, who paid him a dollar, and he said, ”That's all you can eat, Morgan, same as always, but you got to sit at that table.” He pointed. Morgan nodded and moved closer to the designated table. This man, the one who was taking the money, had his pistols holstered at his waist, clearly visible to all the rowdies. When he had gotten around the room, and the Negroes had gotten out of the way, he came to a gong and rang it, and the men poured off the walls and into the chairs. After that, it was the same wolfing of food that I'd seen on the steamboat, with this difference, that there was pa.s.sing of bowls back and forth between some of the tables, until all the food was gone and all the bowls were as clean as if they'd been washed. I remember sitting with the Misses Tonkin on the steamboat and watching Thomas across the dining room, reaching for a piece of something and having it s.n.a.t.c.hed from between his fingers. The thought made my throat tighten. Men licked their knives, their spoons, even their plates. We had some pork, some cuc.u.mbers, some corncakes, some wheat bread, and some corn pudding. After a bit, there was another sounding of the gong, and when I turned to glance at the first Mr. Graves, he said, ”They're serving up a drink of whiskey to each man, out on the porch. That gets 'em outta here pretty brisk. We can finish up at our leisure.”
”You can,” said his cousin. ”I'm gettin' what I paid for.”
”I paid for it,” said Mr. Graves. And I saw the cousin smile for the first time. ”You set,” the second Mr. Graves ordered Vida, though she hadn't moved, and then he pushed off.
”My cousin has high ambitions for Vida,” said Mr. Graves. ”She's a precocious young lady with considerable accomplishments already. Vida, sing your song!”
Vida was happy to oblige, and as all around us men were pus.h.i.+ng back their chairs and rus.h.i.+ng to the door, Vida sang four verses of ”The Last Rose of Summer” in a high but tuneful voice. Mr. Graves clapped for her, and she nodded and simpered at him. Then he said, ”My cousin keeps her by him, so that he can guard her precious talents. That side of the family was always musical. I don't share their talents myself.”
”And I play the piccolo and dance,” said Vida, proudly. ”Pa says that I am going to go on the stage in a year or so.”
”There's a great call for entertainment in the west,” said Mr. Graves. ”My cousin himself once did a lecture circuit, but since discovering Vida's promise, he's been devoting himself to nurturing it.”