Daria On The Trail Part Thirteen Ft Laramie Part Two
DISCLAIMER: I do not own either A Song of Ice and Fire or A Game of Thrones. I do not own Daria Morgendorffer either. This story is based on my research on the real Oregon Trail, not on the computer game with the same name.
I am writing this story for amusement for fun and for ego gratification, not for profit. If you are enjoying this story, please write and post a review.
Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail*Daria On The Trail
Orrick Trout POV
On our first day at Fort Laramie, I awoke feeling better-rested than I had in days, despite the fact that Kara and I had been sleeping on the ground. Our Company was at rest: we had arrived safely at the Fort. I knew that we planned to stay here for several days while members of our company saw to buying our supplies and repairing our wagons.
I had very little time for the women's doings after we arrived at Fort Laramie. Kara stayed behind with the wagon, as did Kennard. Daria took Jilla on what she described as a "scavenger hunt." I did not see them return because I had more important business. After I'd eaten breakfast, I spent the early morning inspecting some of the wagons in our company, trying to determine which ones were still in a state to be driven west and which ones needed work on their tires and frames. After that I had scheduled a meeting of the heads of households at noon.
The meeting started about the time most of the heads of families were present. There was tension in the air and I head a sense of foreboding, heightened when I saw the expression on Captain Ridge's face. It was not one I liked. I gave a report concerning the state of our wagons and animals and called for our Company to remain at Fort Laramie for a few days while our wagons were being repaired and our families sorted their goods for the difficult road ahead. Several families had already made arrangements with the Fort's blacksmiths to have work done on their wagons and I promised them that I would not leave them behind. I asked them if there were any questions or new business. Captain Ridge stepped forward. I saw the expression on his face and I knew that there would be trouble.
"Captain Ridge," I said.
"I have some new business," he said. "I'm leaving the Company to go to Oregon. This man's constant delays will keep us well behind every other wagon train on the trail. I invite any man who wants to get to Oregon before the snows clog the passes can quit this parade of fools can come with me! Anyone wishes to remain behind with this—foreigner—can remain behind at the fort."
I suppose that I should have expected Captain Ridge to break the Company and to invite anyone dissatisfied with my leadership to join him. If I wasn't entirely certain that he was a fool, I was now. I might be willing to join another Emigrant company, but I would not travel with Captain Ridge. It was then that I decided to take a gamble: that enough men would remain in the Company to make our continuing together worthwhile. I'd risk calling for a discussion and vote, but first I would defend myself. I stepped onto a box and began to speak, wishing my English was better.
"I joined this Company to get away from the wars in my old country. Like you, I want to go to Oregon. Mister Ridge became Captain because he was a big man where many of you come from. He says he is a great Indian fighter. I do not doubt him. I am not an Indian fighter. I have some experience fighting bandits, no experience fighting Indians, and a lot of experience driving wagons and oxen in my country in times of war and peace. I have driven hundreds of miles in wagon convoys across my country with traders and behind armies."
"I became Captain because our Company had wrecked wagons at Windlass Hill. I brought this company from the Ash Hollow without losing a single wagon and without losing a single man. We have descended Mitchell Pass in safety when other companies did not. We have forded the Laramie River and the Platte without losing wagons or beasts."
"We have a long, difficult journey ahead. This place, this holdfast," I accidentally used the Andal world, "is the best place since Fort Kearny where we can rest our animals and prepare for the long, difficult road ahead. Many of us need to shod our oxen and repair our wagons and this place has smiths and is under the protection of the soldiers at the Fort."
"Captain Ridge says he is unhappy. He thinks I cause delays. He wishes to rush off before many of us have had time to prepare. I think he is reckless. If we rush off like he wishes, our trail will be littered with dead animals and broken-down wagons. The time to rest and prepare is now, not when our Company has to deal with dead oxen and wrecked wagons out in the wilderness."
"We have a difficult road ahead. It is a road walked by many before us, but it is a difficult road. I want to prepare for it now, and I will rest here until I am ready to depart. I hope those who would go with me will use this time to prepare, too. I want to see us all safely in Oregon—not come to grief somewhere along the trail because something broke that should have been fixed here. "
To my surprise, I got applause as I finished. I looked over to my family and saw that Kara, Willem, and Kennard were glowing when I finished my speech. Georg Stauffer smiled at me and clapped his hands again, as did the Wooleys, the Tuckers and other families.
I called for discussion after that. Discussion was heated. Nearly half of the male speakers said that they would follow Ridge. Most of the families had either known or known of Captain Ridge for years before our Company had formed at Westport. Looking back, I should not have been surprised. Some had supported him or knew of him in local politics, others had worshipped at the same church that he did.
When asked about delays, I said that it was better to have our repairs done here at this holdfast rather than try out in the wilderness. When asked whether I wished ill of Captain Ridge, I that I wished no ill of anyone who wished to follow Captain Ridge, but I believed that his way was reckless. I had been a caravanner in Westeros, that I now had experience here in this new country, and that I had a better idea as to what we could expect further down the dangerous road ahead of us. I ended my speech by saying that I would see them in Oregon. Some of the men questioned my belief in the Seven. I replied that I promised to do my best to lead them to Oregon, whether they followed the Christ or the Seven. I also said that I believed in the Seven and would not turn my coat to find favor. I also reminded the Company that none of us, not even the fiery Captain, had ever been to the Oregon and the great captain had never led a wagon train until we left Westport.
I had thought that that Captain Ridge's reputation and ties of friendship would cause the rest of the Company to follow him. To my relief, I learned that while I had my opponents, I also had my supporters, unexpected as well as expected. Benjamin Calloway, a young man who' married into one of the other families who'd journeyed west on the trail, spoke up when questioned by the Captain that while he thought I might be a pagan, I was the one most likely to get us to Oregon. I made a note to myself that I would take pains to respect the Three-In-One God's worshippers' holidays as long as I was Captain. The discussion ended and we took a vote: the majority of the company, having descended from Scott's Bluff and crossed the Platte and Laramie Rivers with me and remembering the descent from Windlass Hill with Captain Ridge, voted to keep me as Captain of the Company.
Captain Ridge then announced that he would be leading what he called his company out of Fort Laramie two days hence and invited all who wished to follow him and leave ours. I replied that I and those that would follow me would remain at the Fort as long as it took to repair our wagons and properly prepare for our journey west, and that anyone left behind by Captain Ridge would be welcome to rejoin our company. The meeting then broke up with bitter feelings among the men and tears among the women.
The breaking of our company was no simple thing. We had established a common fund for repairs and to replace animals and supplies lost on the trail, and that we would have to refund those who had decided to quit here at the fort. I'd need help for that; I still had some trouble with Yankee numbers and handwriting. I could use Daria or seek out someone else.
Daria and Jilla walked up as the meeting was breaking up and different families began to make preparations to either remain with us or go off with Captain Ridge. "Where in the Gods' names were you?!" I asked angrily.
Daria flinched at the tone of my voice, but she neither cried nor shouted back at me. She composed herself, then said "We were searching a couple of the dump sites west of our camp."
"And while you wasting your time sifting through other people's trash, did you find anything useful?" I asked.
"I found an emigrant's guidebook," Daria replied. "It's one we'll own that won't go flitting off with Captain Ridge."
"That might be someone else's property," I said.
"Mayhap, but they left it behind at least a couple of days ago," said Daria. "I doubt they'll come back for it. They're at least a day or so further west." The girl was still uneasy but masked her true feelings underneath a veneer of calm. My anger began to dissipate. The girl was not only trying to see to her own needs but she was trying to be useful.
"Do you trust it?" I asked.
"I don't know," said Daria. "This might be a reliable guide or it might be garbage. Even if it is trash, it can give me a framework for what sorts of questions we should be asking. I'd best ask around."
"Do so," I said. "Ask anyone you think would have adequate knowledge of the trail ahead. Who do you think to ask?"
"Trappers, wagoneers returning east, soldiers, stage drivers," she replied. She frowned. "Perhaps the Pony Express people." The more she spoke, the more I decided that we ought to keep her. It wasn't simply that she was clear-headed, but also that she knew who to ask.
"Anything else?" I asked.
"I would like some money to go shopping at the store at the Fort. I'm not sure that the trail guidebooks have any information about the Lander Road. But if they do have any information to sell about the Lander Road, it would be very useful," said Daria. She grinned at me "If you'd like, Cap'n, I'll bring receipts." I noted that she used American slang for Captain and grinned back.
Daria's POV:
Captain Trout walked over to his family and was embraced by his wife and children. I smiled. The title looked like it wore well on him. I stood back but I could hear Kara praising him and saying that she was so proud of him for his courage in facing down what she called that headstrong fool and that she was glad that he was leading the company. Kennard and Willem waited until the women had had their turn, then moved in to give him their hugs. Theirs were much briefer. Guys. I rolled my eyes and wished for sunglasses both for shade and to hide the look on my face.
I left the campground and started walking towards the Fort. I knew they had a store, but I forgot what they called those things in this day and time. I didn't think they called it a Post Exchange: I think that term came along later. I thought about it as I was trudging along and remembered that in my history it shared the same building with the Fort's Post Office. I'd just ask for directions to the Post Office and then go in the next door. That would be the store.
I soon discovered that the route to the Fort was more crowded than I expected. The Overland Trail wasn't as crowded as it had been during the California Gold Rush or I suppose when the first wave of Westerosi realized that there was cheap land to be had on the other side of the American continent, but there was traffic, admittedly most of it westbound. I'd seen a westbound wagon train roll past our campsite this morning as well as some soldiers leading in a couple of freight wagons from the west.
I reached the fort about an hour or so later and asked for directions to the post office. The Sergeant who answered my question frowned in disapproval at my appearance and body odor. I agreed with him in principle, but there was little I could do about it. On the other hand, he gave me what I believed to be straight information, even if I did hear him mutter about me and my body odor after I turned my back and resumed my trek.
I expected the Morgendorffer bad luck streak to kick in when I got to the store and that it would be closed. The door was open and there was a woman arguing with the shop-keeper. I was about to go in the store but decided that it would be more prudent to wait.
"What do you mean you can't give me anything for my books or supplies?" the woman asked indignantly.
"We don't need them and we aren't buying," the shop-keeper replied. "We've got a surfeit." I could tell he'd been through this before and that his sympathy was thin to non-existent. Careful, Morgendorffer, I told myself.
Guidebooks, top priority, I told myself. I edged just a little further away. Lander Road, also top priority.
The woman stormed out of the store and started stalking back to wherever she was camped.
"Excuse me," I said.
The woman kept trudging. I ran after her and tugged on her sleeve.
"Excuse me," I said again. The woman turned around and started to swing at me. I stepped back before she could connect. She stopped, and settled for glaring at me.
"What do you want?" she said.
"I overheard that you were selling books," I said.
"What of it?" she said.
"What sorts of books?" I said.
"Guidebooks," she said.
"You might have a customer if I like what you have for sale," I said. "I can pay in cash."
"Why can't I sell them at the Sutler's store?" she said.
"Because I overheard your conversation with the shopkeeper," I replied. "He's not buying."
The woman gave me a dirty look. "All right," she replied. "I'll deal."
"Before we start dickering, where did you start and where were you going?" I said.
"I started at St. Joseph and I was headed for California," she replied.
"I joined a wagon train from Westport headed for Oregon," I replied, skirting around how I got there. "I might not buy guidebooks specific to the California Trail. Could I see what you have?"
She thought about it, then opened her tote bag and handed me a small stack of books. I opened them and started reading titles, then their tables of contents, and then their indexes. The first book was a general emigrant's guide first published in 1855 and revised two years later. It covered both the California and Oregon routes and had information on the Snake River valley and the Blue Mountains. I decided to take a chance on it.
"OK, this one I'm interested in," I said.
The next one was titled The Husbandman's Guide to the West and the Overland Trail. I'd never heard of it. It had a lot about setting up a homestead and about loading a wagon but little about the trail.
"I'll pass on this one," I said.
"Why?" she said.
"The people I'm traveling with are already packed and it has little about trail conditions much west of the Missouri," I replied.
"How about this one?" she said, handing me another book. The Pioneer's Guide to The Overland Trail. I hadn't heard of that one either, but as I opened its pages, I discovered that while it wasn't a Wild West equivalent of a Michelin Guide, it described a lot of the features of the Oregon Trail. I wondered if the author had either traveled the route himself or had plagiarized someone else's work. Probably: people did a lot of that in the here-and-now. I hated plagiarism but I liked survival a lot more. I didn't care how they got their information, just so long as it was accurate.
"I like this one, too," I said.
We were both in a good mood, then she handed me the next book. I read the title and smiled: The Emigrant's Guide to Oregon and California. Then I saw who wrote it and made the sign for protection against the Evil Eye. The author was Lansford Hastings. It was all I could do to stop muttering the Mexican curses I'd learned back in Highland. I handed that book back to her and said "I won't buy this one."
"Why not?" she said.
"Because unlike your other books, I don't trust it," I replied. "Lansford Hasting's guidebook was the one the Donner Party used when they set out for California."
"So what's the matter with that?" she said.
"Three dozen deaths from one wagon train," I replied. "If they'd taken a different route, they wouldn't have been caught by the snow in the Sierras and a lot of them would still be alive." Her mouth opened with a silent "O."
We then set to dickering. The woman tried to get me to buy all of her books. I refused. She then tried to get me to buy the two I was interested in at five times the cover price. I replied that while I was willing to pay double the cover price, the clerk at the Sutler's store wasn't willing to buy any of her stock.
She then tried to appeal to my sense of charity. "Don't you have any sympathy for a woman in distress?" she said.
"I do," I replied. "But I'm a charity case myself and I'm paying with borrowed money. I'm sorry but double is the best I can do."
She saw my expression and then she finally looked over my outfit. No, I did not look like I was made of money.
"All right," she said. She passed me the books I was interested in and I paid her off in coin.
"Good luck," I said, feeling my conscience give me a hard twinge.
