Daria On The Trail Part Ten Planning To Ford The Platte
DISCLAIMER: I do not own either A Game of Thrones or A Song of Ice and Fire. Nor do I own Daria Morgendorffer. The former belongs to GRR Martin and Daria belongs to MTV Viacom. This story based on the real Oregon Trail and has little or nothing to do with the computer game of the same name. This work of fiction is written for my own amusement and ego gratification, not for profit.
If you like what you're reading, please write a review!
Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail
Orrick's Point of View
Today was the day our Company would reach the North Platte and Laramie River fords just before Fort Laramie. I decided to pick Daria's brain and and see what she knew before talking to the other men in the company. I waved her over to join me, Kennard, and Willem before starting out.
"Daria, what do you know about the fords here?" I said.
"I know how little I know," she replied. "I do know that Emigrants had to cross two rivers here: the Laramie River and the North Platte. I also know that the rivers here are wild and untamed."
"How deep would you guess?" I said.
Kennard looked puzzled. "Three feet?"
"I don't know," said Willem.
"Somewhere between four to eight feet," said Daria, "and that's just a guess."
Kennard scoffed. "That's obvious," he said.
That was obvious, I thought. Had the Platte been dammed and tamed in the world she came from? If so, that said a lot about the strength of her people and what they could do with their machines. I set that thought aside. More important was to know how deep was the Platte at the crossing and how fast did it run in the here and now?
I decided that there were two ways to find out. The first was to heedlessly wade into the water with my oxen and wagons and dare the fates to do what they would. I'd seen that more than once during King Robert's Rebellion and watching as supply wagons came to grief: the wagons sinking, capsizing, or being pushed away from river fords by strong currents and into deeper, more dangerous water. I grinned. The wrath of the Lords' quartermasters was frightful and I remembered the vivid tongue-lashings they'd given out to the luckless drivers and winced. Rough and crude they might have been, but some of them had a gift for words that matched those of any bard.
I decided to use the other way. I'd watch other companies take their wagons across the river. It would be better to watch and then decide. I'd call a meeting after we drew close enough to the crossings to watch.
Captain Ridge walked over to join us while we were talking.
"So you're going to ford the River here," he said. "How're you going to do it? "I glanced at my boys and I noted that that not were Kennard and Willem glaring at him, but so was Daria. Kara told me that Daria had gotten angry when she learned that Ridge had been hoarding his guidebooks without sharing and told her that such actions endangered the safety of the entire Company. She said that such information should have been made available to all so we could best decide what to do in the journey ahead.
I agreed with her. None of us, not even I, were as experienced at leading long-distance wagon trains or even just driving them as the men I'd seen in my youth or, more recently, the men who worked the wagon trains down to Santa Fe and Mexico. After my first week or so on the Overland Trail, I'd not only tried to remember everything I could from my youth, but also started grooming Kennard to take my place to lead our family to Oregon should I fall victim of some sickness or accident. I was all too aware of how little I knew and how much I needed to learn.
"I don't know yet," I said. "We'll stop short of the ford and watch how other companies cross the river and see how they do it. If they cross successfully, we may copy them. If they fail, we will try to learn from their mistakes. But I will lead this company across." I glared at the Captain, trying to stare him down.
I will give Captain Ridge credit: he stared back. But when he saw that I wouldn't yield, he turned away, muttered "Old woman," then stalked off.
I turned around to see how my family took my confrontation with our former captain. No one but my sons and Daria were within earshot, but I saw that not only were Kennard and Willem grinning, but so was Daria. She gave me a thumbs-up, a gesture I'd seen but didn't understand. I didn't know if that was good or bad. I decided that it was good.
Willem smiled at me and said "Cousin, I found something."
"What?" I said.
Willem handed me a horn he'd gotten from Gods knew where. It didn't look like the one that belonged to the Ridges' boy. I put it to my mouth. It had been some years since I'd blown one, but I found that I could still blow one. The blast got everyone's attention.
"All right!" I said. "Let's go! We go to the Laramie Crossing!"
I turned around, slapped one of my lead oxen on the rear, and my wagon started tolling westwards.
-(((O-O)))-
Daria's POV
I watched Captain Ridge stalk away, grinned like a loon, then gave Mr. Trout a thumbs-up. Just before I turned away to walk back to where Mrs. Trout and the girls were standing, I saw Willem hand Mr. Trout a horn. I had just enough time to wonder where Willem had found it, then heard Mr. Trout give it a blast and yell that it was time to get moving.
We started moving. There was already traffic on the Trail. We'd been passed by a party of early-risers and I was sure there were more behind them, not to mention the other wagon trains on the other side of the Platte. The oxen moved at a slow pace, and I knew that it would be a long time until we reached the fords before Fort Laramie. Just how long I wasn't sure.
The wind began to pick up as the morning progressed. At the time, I didn't think much of it, except to grumble to myself about the smells that carried from the wagons in front of me and the dust it was kicking up. I'd have cause for concern later. It wasn't until about 1:00 by my wrist watch that our Company's pace slowed down even further, then stopped. So traffic-jams weren't a twentieth-century invention, I thought. I couldn't see that far ahead but I suspected that we were close to where the Trail crossed the Laramie River. I looked both ways and scurried across the trail to get a better look. The Platte still flowed beside us on the right, but there was another river or a creek dead ahead of us. This must be the Laramie River, I thought. The Fort must be just beyond.
I decided that I'd better have a look at the crossing, despite the possibility that I might get left here. The ford was actually a bit over a quarter-mile distant from where I was standing. There was another wagon train stopped in front of us and another one in front of them. They were in the process of fording the Laramie River. I decided to watch them and see how they did it. I watched, fascinated, as a wagon led by a team of mules forded that Laramie River, at first showing some difficulty as they pulled the wagon across the water, then straining again to pull the wagon onto high ground. I smiled and sat on an impulse to cheer, telling myself that I didn't know these people from Adam.
The wind picked up as the next wagon started to ford across, reminding briefly me of hot windy days back in Highland. The mule team splashed into the water and I thought they'd make their way across just as easily as the previous wagon did. Their wagon started drifting: it didn't occur to me that they might be in trouble until the wagon driver and some other men at the crossing started shouting in alarm. These guys were in trouble but I didn't know what kind of trouble. I soon found out as the wagon drifted further to the side, then capsized, spilling its contents into the river. Not only were the men in the river and on the shore yelling, but I started hearing screaming from under the canvas.
Holy crap, that wagon had passengers, I realized.
I watched in horror as guys from the shore jumped into the water and swarm towards the foundering wagon. The people under its canvas top were still screaming and I wondered if I should jump in. As I took off my sweater and nerved myself to jump into the Laramie, I saw that there were four guys already in the water and swimming towards the foundering wagon. Despite the rapidly-moving river current, a couple of guys reached the mule team and got control of them. A couple of the others pulled a hysterical farm woman and a couple of screaming kids out from beneath the canvas towards the nearest riverbank. The wagon was still on its side and trying to drift away. I hoped that the men had gotten everybody out of the wagon and that nobody was still in it.
The commotion in the river and on shore settled down and I hoped everyone was safe. Shaken, I told myself that I could turn away now. I did so, and half-dazed I started walking back towards our wagon train. I hadn't gotten more than twelve paces when I ran into Mr. Trout. Willem and Kennard were with him: Kennard looked almost as shaken as I was.
"Daria, did you see what happened?" he said.
"That wagon that tipped over at the crossing?" I said. "I saw."
"Do you know why it tipped over?" he asked. I suspected that he already knew. I realized that he was in teacher mode and the not-so-clever girl from Highland was facing a vital pop quiz.
"I saw the strong river flow," I said, waving my hands. "That helped push it away from the ford."
"And what else?" he said. Obviously there was more. Kennard smirked at me while I tried to solve the puzzle: I suspected that he already knew the answer already. I thought about it and certain things began to click. I'd made a dangerously wrong assumption that had just been proven wrong before my eyes. Unlike cars or trucks, these wagons were light enough to float, even when loaded as heavily as pioneers packed theirs.
"I hadn't thought that the wagons were likely to float," I said. "Automobiles are much heavier and are more likely to sink." I used the English word for automobiles. Westerosi common had no word for them.
"And what else?" said Mr. Trout.
Think, Morgendorffer, I thought to myself.
I foundered for a couple of minutes, then saw a flap of another wagon's canvas top flap in the breeze and then it hit me. There was not only the pressure of the river current blowing against the wagon bed, but the air pressure from the breeze blowing against the canvas. The covered top was acting much like a sail. That wagon had not only drifted into deep water, but the breeze had helped cause it to tip over.
"So the wagon cover acted like a sail," I said, "providing the force to cause the wagon to tip over."
"Very good," said Mr. Trout. I winced. By his tone of voice I suspected that he'd picked up my sarcasm.
"Now that you know these things, how would you get a wagon across this river?"
That was a good problem, I thought, then I started to work on it. I didn't see any ferries here, so we'd have to ford the rivers. Caulk the wagons, make sure they're waterproof. Perhaps have ox teams just upstream with ropes to keep the current from tipping wagons over, and…
"Take down the covers so they don't catch the wind," said Kennard. I held my thoughts. I didn't know if the beamish boy had thought up the answer himself or if he'd had help from Dad. Either way, he was right.
"Very good, Kennard," said Mr. Trout.
'Maybe have another yoke of oxen ford the river upstream with a rope tied to each wagon to keep it steady?" I said.
"That could work," said Mr. Trout, "but if everyone rolls up their canvas, that might not be necessary. We'll watch a bit more."
"Now here's what I plan to tell the other families…"
As it turned, only some of the company knew how to swim: mostly adults and some of the older children. Daria had known how to swim since Highland High. She wondered if she'd have to be one of the adults who'd have to wade in to help guide the oxen across. She hoped not: the Platte looked much deeper than it had earlier and the water level could well go over her head.
The next morning they struck out for the Platte River crossing and Fort Laramie. Thomas Ridge, the former captain of the Company, relented enough from his snit about being replaced to tell them that they'd first have to cross the Laramie River, then cross the North Platte before they'd reach Fort Laramie. Daria scowled thinking about it: she could understand Ridge being put out that he was no longer the wagon boss, but he'd earned more entries in her bad books for withholding information. Not sharing information about conditions on the trail threatened the safety and welfare of everybody in their wagon train.
One or two of the other companies were rumored to women driving their teams west.
She found one
Someone had dumped a plough , tools, a lovely straight-back chair and a couple of trunks. This might not be Filene's Basement, she thought, but I hope I can find something that fits.
