waited for a break in the weather. Near the first of February the sun came out. A south wind dried up the bogs and ruts left by others, too anxious to wait out the winter storms.
The day finally dawned when David was confident winter was past. “It’s time to go Ma,” he said. “The birds are singing. That’s a good sign. We’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
The wagons lined up single file. William took the lead. “With luck we will reach the Cutright camp in two days,” he called back to the others.
When they rolled past the last section of rail fence, Martha turned to look back. Not toward the home she had come to love, but to impress upon her memory the picturesque grove of maples shading the spot where her Jacob lay. Alone and unmarked, his grave would soon be indiscernible, as the family had agreed it should be.
Rebecca’s children were thrilled with this new adventure. They stuck their heads in and out of the wagon flap, making faces at Clarinda and Martha seated on Jonathan’s wagon, second in line. David, who had Nancy and Sarah aboard came next. Jake, John and the hounds, with Old Beauty in tow brought up the rear. The stout calf that Clarinda called Cedric, trotted along beside his mother as if born to the trail.
Rebecca, nursing Ben, rocking and swaying with the motion of the wagon, began to sing:
I’m just a poor wayfaring stranger
A-trav’lin through this world of woe,
But there’s no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright world to which I go.
I’m goin’ there to see my mother;
I’m goin’ there, no more to roam.
I’m just a-goin’ over Jordan.
I’m just a-goin’ over home.
My father lived and died a farmer
A-reapin’ less than he did sow.
And now I follow in his footsteps
A-knowing less than he did know.
Soon the whole group was singing, jaunty and jubilant to be on their way, ready to embrace whatever lay ahead. The miles jounced by. Martha and Clarinda talked about the new country they were going to see, and how they would draw closer to Kentucky each day, as the wagons maintained their westward course.
Clarinda’s excitement was contagious. Spirits were high, and without mishap they reached the rendezvous point where the Cutright party was camped.
William set the pace, so the wagons covered up to ten miles each day. Soon they were surrounded by vast forest. There was an abundance of game. The camp had fresh meat every night, thanks to John and his hounds.
By the second week they were seasoned to the trail, setting up and breaking camp in record time. The higher elevation brought cold temperatures. The men took turns driving while the women and children walked or ran alongside the wagons to keep warm. This also eased the load on the horses so they made good time. Each night the travelers gave thanks for the progress made that day and asked the Creator for guidance and direction.
Nights were dark in the deep woods. Prowling wolves kept up a constant howling. William, an experienced woodsman, recognized the mournful cries. “John you better muzzle your hounds,” he said. “They’ll want to join that chase, but will be torn to bits by the timber wolves. From here on we’ll post a sentry around the camp.”
The wolves moved in so close one night that the horses and Old Beauty became extremely agitated. Stamping and snorting, they threatened to break out of their makeshift pen. David was standing guard. “Wolves,” he yelled. “Hurry, help me build up the fire.”
His brothers sprang to his aid, throwing wood onto the coals. The flames climbed skyward, and the bright firelight drove the darkness away, calming the stock. After that experience a hot fire was kept blazing throughout the long nights.
The Cherokee were a nation of many towns and villages. Their homeland reached from the Ohio and Tennessee Rivers to the west, southward across Alabama and Georgia. The Indian hunters moved with the seasons, following the migrating animals they needed for food.
The Allington men thought it unlikely they would encounter any hunting parties now. This wild region was the Cherokee’s summer hunting grounds. Nevertheless, a sharp lookout was kept for any tell tale sign that Indians recently had passed through.
Clarinda, who loved the outdoors, was overwhelmed by the ongoing panorama of nature. The blue mountains rose layer upon layer into the clouds. Daily they passed by glittering cascades of water rushing down the steep slopes. Rocky cliffs gave way to sweeping valleys. She noticed the flowering forest trees were beginning to show signs of spring.
The children moved back and forth between the wagons, riding in first one, then another. Clarinda did her best to help Rebecca keep them in tow, while investigating anything new or different herself. She had always been inquisitive and questioned the reason behind everything she saw or heard.
Climbing into the seat beside William one morning, Clarinda begged, “Tell me about the Cherokee Indians your Pa knew in North Carolina, and then I want to hear more about Kentucky.”
William laughed and slapped his horse’s reins. Clarinda had learned that he enjoyed telling her about his adventures because she was such a good listener, and she always remembered what he taught her.
“Sis, it was a long time ago in North Carolina, before the wars caused such bad blood on both sides. The Cherokee believe, as do most of the tribes, that the universe consists of three worlds. The Upper World, the Lower World and This World. Man lives in This World along with his friends, the animals and plants. The Indians exist in harmony with the earth. They believe all living things have souls and should be shown proper respect and consideration.
“The Cherokee have an advanced culture. They’re known as the Real or Beloved People. They live in permanent towns with long, low houses. The men are hunters and traders. My Pa traded with them. He took the goods that ships brought from England and France to their villages. They exchanged fine furs for firearms, ammunition, knives, beads, paint, clothing and whiskey.”
Clarinda’s eyes widened. “Whiskey, I thought your Pa was a preacher man?”
“He was, but that was much later on in his life.” William continued. “As more immigrants came to the New World, the Indians were forced to move further and further west. There were bloody battles over land, and disputes over the fur trade and slaves.
“About 1760 the Cherokee revolted. The story goes, a group of Cherokee warriors had been helping the English fight the French in a battle near the Ohio River. They stopped on the way back to their village to capture wild horses. A few white settlers pretended the horses belonged to them, and killed the Cherokees. The white men sold the horses, and collected bounties on the Cherokee scalps, claiming they were taken from Indians allied to the French, which was not true.”
William looked at Clarinda to see if his story had moved her.
“I don’t see why so many bad things happen? Tell me more,” she pleaded. “I want to learn all I can before we get to Kentucky.”
“Well, after this
