the Vanishing
A crimson tide awash on the great divide
the plains home to the buffalo and indigenous Indian tribe
a new wave of life the westward migration you can’t hold back the tide
their destiny to be sure
just don’t let Sitting Bull, Crazy Horse, or Red Cloud know you are here
The soil absorbed the blood like rivers of water along dry creek beds during an occasional flood. The airy consciousness of the other world holding court…no one was guiltless. All hands were stained by the lives they had slain, the blood of the innocents crying out from the ground.
The white eyes first came a few at a time often overwhelmed by superior numbers, but they had wagons with wheels, long rifles, and a dogged determination. Their desire to live as free men often cost them their lives, the ultimate sacrifice. But still they came a new life to claim. The land is not your land neither is it theirs. We are the guardians at the gate, caretakers of creation. The white eyes was here to stay. Live with him if you can, as a speck of dust a grain of sand. We’re all pilgrims just passin’ through, another life in the circle of time. Will any even hold our memory? Known to Heaven and maybe a few on earth, how we live determining our worth.
Still using crude implements, travois, with simple solutions and ancient customs, virtually unchanged, the Indian lived for centuries off the mighty buffalo ‘Tatanka’ providing everything they needed; food, clothing, shelter, beds, and fuel, string, rope, vessels for their water and skins for their boats. They saw over 50 million buff’s reduced to under a thousand by centuries end. Slaughtered for sport and their hide, most of their meat left to rot no longer the home where the buffalo roam. Filled with rage and a fierce countenance their sustenance endangered and the only way of life they knew threatened, the Indian did not adapt…. he pushed back, setting the bar for brutality, torture, and unparalleled savagery. The soldiers were so astounded and shocked by what they saw, it was hard to reign them in…they wanted to kill them all!
I sat on my horse flanked by my trusted Lakota scouts as the vastness of the Great Plains unfolded before me. The human eye has its limitations but the scene I viewed seemed to go on forever, magnificent but hideous in its strength. A whole patrol could be swallowed up in an instant with scant evidence of their existence, just another name subscribed in some army archive. It was the eighth day of a ten day reconnaissance and we were weary but watchful. Already we had engaged several Indian war parties and the devastated remains of homesteads and their occupants. Burial details were brutal and difficult, the ground unyielding but carried out just the same.
The Lakota taught me well, an officer straight out of West Point but eager to learn. There were over 250,000 Indians in the West, a few thousand cavalry, and millions of square miles. We were in forts interspersed along the western expansion in segments of 50 to 100 soldiers at any given time. Not your dream job. My master Sargent O’Malley would fuss and fume like an old mother hen over his men. ‘Some of these pups don’t even shave, faces smooth as a baby’s arse. We lead them out on patrol to engage savages, fierce fighters from their youth anna not a one of them who's lived to tell hasn’t come back with soiled britches. Embarrassed and ashamed I tell em to come to see me after they cleaned and changed. You faced Ole Nick today I would say, road into Hell and lived to tell. Now you are a better man. Let me shake your hand’.
Then bowing your head and looking down you said ‘what chance in Hades do they have to grow up and have wee bairns of their own’? ‘You really care don’t you O’Malley’ I spoke. With glistening eyes and a deep sigh he said ‘Cap, I’ve been at this too long. I’m just an old sook, getting soft. It’s time for my farewell song’. ‘Come with me Sarg I’ve got just what ya need’. Leading him to my tent we sat down as I grabbed two tin cups and reached to open a brand-new bottle of Scotch. ‘Aye’ he said, ‘that will surely do’. Smilin’ he took his cup saying ‘it’s been a privilege to serve with you Cap. Together we’ll do our best to keep these pups alive’. We sat laughin’, bent over at the waste, wipin’ tears from our eyes telling stories and swapping lies until the amber was gone. It was one of the best days of my life.
The powers-that-be, they’ve always been there, had decided there would only be peace when the Indian and the buffalo were so reduced in numbers as to make resistance futile and annihilation sure. A few with their blood hot, hostiles to the end would rather die to the man than ever give in. It was the old one’s at night sitting around the fire light that would tell stories of former glories keeping alive memories of the reputation of the tribe, measured by the greatness of their enemies. What’s left of your tribe a remnant that survived sit comatose with a vacant stare, savoring the warmth of the fire you share.
My accomplishments claimed my presence and it was back to Washington and West Point again. This time in counterintelligence and espionage. I Ied a very secretive group of highly trained soldiers often answerable to the president himself. Our mission was to demoralize and destroy the will of the South, disrupt supply lines, and sever communication. Their objective was to kill all resistance, namely the whites. Before I returned to West Point, I spent time with my family in the Missouri Ozarks and after much conversatin’ and deliberation, my childhood sweetheart Lizbeth and I decided to marry. Both of us knew that life didn’t offer any guarantees but having the time to consummate our love with the joy of intimacy if only for a short time was all that mattered. We would always keep the memory. I left thinking I would return soon not understanding the fierce resistance of the South.
Back East my small group disguised ourselves and penetrated deep into Dixie carrying out missions of intelligence and subterfuge often with collateral damage, civilian and military alike. We were known as ‘Richards Rangers’, the moniker raiders, marauders and such I rejected. I wanted no affiliation with the murder and mayhem associated with these names cast in the role of an evil villain. It was not a license to kill. I gave strict orders to my men. At no time would I tolerate acts of aggression, rape, robbery, and the killing of the innocents. This would be met with a soldier being relieved of his duties and sent dishonorably back home or a swift execution if necessary. ‘These are our countrymen’, I said. ‘Charity knows no color and benevolence knows no bounds. If it’s in your power to do good, do it. This war will not last forever, but your acts of kindness will be remembered for generations’. I was aware some men were grumbling, seething inside, the war bringing out the worst in men. But when upon an act of kindness seeing a little one reaching up to be held with children clinging to their legs and starving mothers weeping thanking you over and over again those stony hearts melted, and ‘yes Tim, grown men do cry’.
Once when in Washington Grant approached me and said, ‘I’ve got to tell you a story Golden. Two high-ranking officers came to me to complain about your strict moral code of conduct and your continual acts of benevolence. I told them if you want your head on a platter like John the Baptist you better say no more. Lincoln would demand it for a centerpiece to adorn his dinner table this very night. You see there is no one, not Jeb Stuart or Mosby for the South, and no one remotely from the North that has provided such critical intelligence, accurate assessments, and detailed reconnaissance penetrating deep into the South. He is a favored son of the President. Along the way if he sews seeds of kindness he is laying the foundation for the healing of this nation. Understood! ‘Yes sir’! as they walked briskly away never to be seen in the halls of the White House again. The complaints must have gotten to Lincoln as they were demoted to Latrine Lieutenants to some God forsaken fort in the Badlands of North Dakota. Smiling he said, ‘keep up the great work Golden. You’re the best this country’s got’!
The South’s early victories at Fort Sumter and Bull Run embarrassed the North while emboldening the Confederacy. The piranhas of the Potomac were incensed and vowed retribution. With the North’s advantages of finances, population, railroads, manufacturing, technology, military and naval assets their victory (if you really want to call it that) was assured. The South was playing a game they could not win. The North dealt the cards, and the deck was stacked. They would suffer humiliation and defeat. It is accepted that the South had superior leadership and then Stonewall was killed at Chancellorsville in May ‘63. Gettysburg followed and on the third day of July ‘63 fully one third of Lee’s army lay dead. Over 50,000 men, North and South, were sacrificed and in field hospitals amputated limbs lay in piles. Holes were dug and they were all thrown together in heaps on top of one another. Apart from the human carnage over 5,000 horses and mules died, had to be collected and burned in great pyres leaving a stench that hung over the area for weeks.
Even in a nation that had seen many battles, Gettysburg set a new standard for suffering and death. For the South there were multiple tactical blunders. The North held the high ground and J.E.B. Stuart, Jeb to his friends, was nowhere to be found providing critical intelligence the South desperately needed. On open ground, uphill, with scant protection this insane suicidal charge was sounded. When Lee invaded the North a critical error in judgment was made, taking the offensive against his brethren rather than maintaining the defense of his homeland. And then one day later on the fourth of July 1863 Vicksburg surrendered after a 47-day siege eventually giving control of the Mississippi River to the Union, a critical part of their Anaconda Plan cutting off invaluable trade for the Confederacy. Split in half this marked a turning point in the fortunes of the Union army. Of the 37,000 casualties less than 5,000 were from the North. From these succession of losses the South was irreparably damaged and would never return. The Rebel yell was still heard but essentially dead, it’s memory kept alive in a bottle on my bedstead.
Behind the battle scenes my boys and I were wreaking havoc everywhere we went, crippling the South’s efforts hoping to help bring a conclusion to this madness. Washington meanwhile continued to underestimate the resolve and unflappable spirit of the South. On several occasions I was shuttled off to the white House to advise Lincoln and generals Winfield Scott, George McClellan, Henry Hallick, and others, and on occasion Grant who preferred to be in the field, not in the oval office. I listened and learned much about the true frame of mind of the government as they devised strategies of warfare and containment.
It was at the battle of Peachtree Creek in route to Atlanta in July ‘64, credited as the turning point that allowed Lincoln to be reelected defeating opponent George McClellan who would have sought peace terms with the Confederacy, that I was critically wounded, taking two balls, one to my chest and one to my gut. After efforts were made to staunch the bleeding, I was rushed to a nearby field hospital barely clinging to life. As soon as it was deemed possible I was transferred to a much larger facility where I could receive the urgent care I required. I remember the doctor saying I was a top priority with strict instructions from the White House itself to at all costs keep me alive. I wanted to die, but was too weak to kill myself, plagued by visions of what I had seen, what I had done, and the knowledge of the North’s true ambition for the South.
This was not a republic. Hell, the ink wasn’t even dry by the signatories of the original drafts before we reverted to a democracy which was eviscerated at the beginning of this designed confrontation, the war fought over states’ rights, not slavery, now a strong central government, an oligarchy with ubiquitous control. The emancipation proclamation freed only the slaves in the South, the North continuing its policy of enslavement of blacks and whites for the duration of the war. It was a shrewd political maneuver by Lincoln to gain favor both home and abroad. Lincoln’s address at Gettysburg, afterwards proved to be plagiarized, was to encourage the aggression of the North, not an end to the hostilities. There was nothing sacred or holy (hallowed) by the shedding of the blood of so many of our country’s sons. It’s only a skewed distorted history and its writers who can twist the truth like that. Written by the victors, believe at your own risk.
These thoughts haunted my mind. There was no escape. Nightmares at night and troubling pictures in the day. I credit angels of mercy disguised as nightingales clothed as nurses who buoyed my spirit and kept me alive. They never showed any revulsion or disdain with their ministrations even with the cleaning of my soiled sheets, wiping my butt and cleaning my privates. I was utterly humiliated and ashamed, but they didn’t seem to mind, always tending to my needs compassionate and kind.
It was during my months of recovery that I was apprised of Sherman’s infamous march to the sea. First the subduing of Atlanta the railroad hub and the industrial center of the Confederacy with foundries, factories, and warehouses that supplied Johnnie Reb, this city was the symbol of the South’s pride and strength. Leaving much of Atlanta in smoke and ruins, and it’s citizens forcibly removed from their homes to accommodate the Northern aggressors, Tecumseh, named after a Shawnee chief with the meaning of ‘one who shears’, marched his troops 285 miles in 37 days practicing a ‘scorched earth’ policy in order to make ‘Georgia howl’.
Conceived by Sherman and condoned by Grant and Lincoln, known as the widow maker, this may be the first time ‘total war’ was enacted by a country upon itself. Acting outside of standard military principles, the laws of war were discarded. The invaders were willing to make any sacrifice in lives and resources to obtain a complete victory with the emphasis on full destruction. Like the Romans in the Punic wars, Carthage would pay dearly for daring to set foot in Italy and threaten the republic. It was rumored the Roman soldiers sowed salt in the fields to make then untenable and foraging soldiers called ‘Bummers’ from the Union burned and destroyed everything they could not carry. With brutal blunt force crops, barns, homes, animals, food and seed for the next years planting were all destroyed.
The Union army brought little provision with them by design, choosing rather to scavenge and pillage everything they wanted from the cities and rich countryside leaving women, children, the elderly to starve with no shelter, helpless and unprotected, their women ravished, an act of wanton destruction that devastated the morale and infrastructure of the South leaving a smoldering resentment that would persist forever in infamy. They prayed for a defender who did not come in the face of a husband, father, or son. They’re not coming, they never will, the South left gasping, quiet and still. Estimates suggest twice as many innocents died than combatants from both sides in the war. The total dead we will never really know, the total scarred, physically, psychologically and emotionally innumerable as the sand on the Grand Strand.
After Sherman presented Savannah to Lincoln as a Christmas gift on December 21, 1864 the Union army continued to rampage through South Carolina to Charleston, stating it was personal. This is where succession started and must surely end. It was April at Appomattox in 1865 when a formal surrender ended the war, but certainly not the conflict, the most devastating engagements still being fought within the human heart.
“Virgil Kane is the name and I served on the Danville train
‘till Stoneman’s calvary came and tore up the tracks again
In the winter of ‘65 we were hungry, just barely alive
By May 10th Richmond had fell, it’s a time I remember oh so well
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and the people were singing
They went ‘Na, na, la, na, na, la’
Back with my wife in Tennessee when one day she called to me
Virgil quick come see, there goes Robert E. Lee!
Now I don’t mind chopping wood, and I don’t care if the money’s no good
You take what you need and you leave the rest
But they should never have taken the very best
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and the people were singing
They went ‘Na, na, la, na, na, la’
Like my father before me I will work the land
Like my brother above me who took a rebel stand
He was just 18 proud and brave but a Yankee laid him in his grave
I swear by the mud below my feet you can’t raise a Kane back up when he’s in defeat
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and the people were singing
They went ‘Na, na, la, na, na, la’
The night they drove old Dixie down and the bells were ringing
The night they drove old Dixie down and the people were singing
They went ‘Na, na, la, na, na, la”
It was January ‘65. I was recovering, restless, and proud to walk to the latrine. My doctor came and sat beside me with an open letter in his hand. Puzzled I looked from the letter to him. ‘On the back’, he held the letter up ‘it said to have your doctor read it first’. Cautiously with a grim expression he handed it to me. With a trembling heart I read. My family, all of them were dead. With tears streaming down my cheeks I could barely speak, ‘I never even got to hold her; look into her face’. In a vicious act of aggression, they were all taken; my sweet daughter, lovely wife and sister, Ma and Pa. This assault upon my mind greater than the lead that had threatened to take my body. Darkness enfolded me as I turned and faced the wall. I was in a land of shadows suspended in time.
My body hovered in space, waves as billows flooded my soul, threatening to drown me. Then I heard a voice, softly it came ever so sweetly. It was my Lizbeth. She said they felt no sorrow or pain in a place of rhapsody and incomparable beauty. ‘I am ready to come’ I whispered. ‘Not yet my love’ she gently responded. ‘Your path in life remains untrampled, stretching out before you. Your greatness not measured by what you accomplish, but by the opposition you overcome. Your willingness to go into the darkness, your darkness, will empower your recovery and change’. Slowly the voice receded, ‘please don’t go’ I cried. ‘Soon we will be together again, but not now my love. Be strong and live the life you’ve still given. Honor our memory. ‘You are not the designer of your destiny, but you are the author of your story’. Then the voice was still, but a fragrance like gardenia remained subtle and tranquil.
I don’t know how long I was gone, a different world, a different dimension. I never heard the doctor leave, but I was aware someone sat beside me. Turning I saw a rocking chair and an angelic apparition. ‘Bout time you waked up’ my new companion a black mammy shared, ‘and my ain’t you the favored son. All I gots to do is sits right here beside ya makin’ sure you stays alive. The good Lord obviously ain’t finished with you yet, so don’t be tryin’ to kill yerself. It won’t look good when I stands at the gate explainin’ to St. Peter how I let that happen. Now, I ain’t a leavin’ cept to take care of my personals. Talk when yer ready. A trouble shared is a trouble halved’. She rocked gently her hands always full workin’ a needle to perfection. I was not ready to speak, all my energy and focus was on clearing my mind trying to make some sense out of my situation.
True to her word for almost two months she was always by my side, dispensing so much humor and wisdom my misery began to subside. ‘Crisis’ she spoke ‘is the Good Lord’s way of forcin’ change. Hard times are best. That’s where champions are made. You can’t focus on the bad, just focus on gettin’ through it’. We shared about family and friends, our joys and losses in complete honesty, though sometimes brutal. And along the way I realized through the laughter and tears that this was just the medicine the doctor ordered, for I was healin’ from the inside out. ‘The thing yer seekin’ for is seeking you’, Mammy spoke. ‘It ain’t where ya came from but where you’re goin’ what matters most’.
One day Mammy invited her children and grand youngins to come and meet me. Being forewarned I bathed, shaved, dressing in my full military attire with bangles, buttons, and a feather in my hat. Though thin, at 6’3'“tall, I was nevertheless a daunting figure with long flowing blond hair and piercing bright blue eyes. When they arrived I stood to greet them. Mammy spoke. ‘This man is a protector of the weak, a defender of the innocent, and a champion of the homeless, fatherless, and widows. Perhaps the greatest man you will ever meet. It gives me great pleasure to introduce you to Major Golden Richards a true American hero and forever my friend’.
Rolling my eyes at Mammy, they stood with huge brown eyes totally mesmerized. I smiled widely and opened my arms saying, ‘come here’. Haltingly they approached until Mammy spoke out. ‘This man has seen things no eyes should see and survived when any other man would have died. He needs your hugs’! Then the damn broke and a cascade of hugs and kisses threatened to capsize me. They plied me with questions, begged for stories, and shared about their lives and family, the sounds of children laughing music to my ears. After a sumptuous lunch especially prepared, reluctantly we said our goodbyes. ‘How do you do it Mammy’? I spoke, ‘you always seem to know just what I need. Today I saw my self worth through a child’s eyes. I feel renewed and ready to saddle up again’.
The day came when we said our goodbyes. With tears streaming we looked into each other’s eyes. ‘How can I ever thank you enough?’ I spoke. ‘‘By livin’ and bein’ the man the Good Lord created you to be. You can’t take back three things; time, words you have spoken, and lost opportunity’. ‘I loves you so much’ she said, ‘and I surely love you’ I responded. 'There’s a gal waiting for you. Have enough courage to feel joy and trust love once again. Summoning up a big smile, she said ‘now go’! and don’t let the door hit ya, where the Good Lord split ya’.
I arranged for flowers, multiple crates of food, new dresses and shoes for Mammy, and toys for the youngin’s to be delivered to her modest home. As I instructed a note was given to her personally on formal stationary from the Army. Inside I wrote:
This is a small token of my gratitude for givin’ so generously of your wisdom and love. Forever in your debt…… Golden
Mustering out early my circumstances prevailing, I received multiple citations, awards for valor, and a personal note of gratitude from the White House signed by the president and his oval office generals. I also received a generous stipend (blood money) from the government as a retiring major a horse of my choice and weapons of my discretion. ‘Major’ the hostler said, ‘let me show you my selection as the finest horse in the entire remuda’. He led me to a saddlebred. Large, strong, with stamina, speed, and courage, 16 hands high, a dappled grey with white stockings similar to Lee’s horse, Traveler. As I walked up he turned and looked at me with beautiful dark eyes and readily received the apple I held out for him. I nuzzled his face and spoke softly, ‘well, it looks like it’s you and I and a long journey to new beginnings’. He nickered as if to say, ‘I’ll be with you every step of the way’.
My weapons of choice from the arsenal available to me were a Henry seven shot wonder repeating rifle, the basis for the 1866 Winchester which I later traded for as soon as it became available, a .44 caliber Remington new model revolver, a model 1859 .52 caliber sharps for long range, and a Belgian double barrel shotgun for short range. I was a trained warrior, and now fully armed. You did not want to mess with me.
In late February 1865 I started my long trek to what was left of my home near Jefferson City Missouri. Early on I had the fortune of meeting up with two young sons of the Union, discharged honorably for medical reasons chasin’ the sun till they could go no further wanting as much separation as they could find from the Hell they had left behind. Like me they had little or no family and were headed West delighted to have my company and me theirs. Bushwackers and back shooters abounded. We were much safer in numbers. I found them to be capable soldiers and good traveling companions. When they found out who I was they insisted on calling me ‘Major’. ‘That’s not necessary boys’ I told them, ‘the war for us is over’. ‘We know who you are sir, as stories were told around the night fires about your courage and valor. It is an honor and pleasure to ride with you’. So major it was.
At night we would set up a perimeter of strings and cans around our encampment, and along with Ryder, my dappled grey, an alarm system was in place to warn us of intruders. On several occasions we dispelled invaders, and if killed we left them for the buzzards instead of burial, a message to anyone who might follow. One day ascending a small rise I said emphatically, ‘boys don’t look back. We’re being followed’. Fightin’ the urge to sneak a peak I said , ‘don’t’! ‘How do you know’? they asked. ‘In order to survive you have to develop a sixth sense in your gut or on the hairs on the back of your neck. Whether in the wilds of the west, incursions in the south, or ridin’ along with you boys, we got to be constantly alert. Once we’re over the rise you boys ride another fifty yards and wait in the cover of the trees. Take Ryder and I’ll grab my rifle and do some glassin’. Stay where you are unless I open fire’. Watchin’ from cover it only took about 15 minutes before three men rounded a curve grousing our trail and nonchalantly following our tracks. They had the look of road scavengers. They would wait until we were asleep tonight.
About dusk I said, ‘boys lets hed for the shelter of those trees’ motioning with my head, about 40 yards off the trail. It had grass and water and offered protection. A half moon and clear skies offered shadowy visibility. Making no effort to conceal our camp we built a fire with the aromatic smell of coffee, bacon and beans lofted in the breeze emboldening our pursuers. We then set about to make beds stuffed with grass, wood, and anything we could find to give the appearance of sleeping men. The fire gave off a faint glow visible from the road. It was about midnight. Quietly they drew nearer stalking their prey. Whispering the leader said, ‘it’s time to thin out the herd’. And then he spoke casually to the sleeping men, ‘we’s here to lift the burden of yer load’ before filling our blankets with bullets. Then one of them walked up and kicked the blanket off one of the beds with a startled, ‘what the hell’! ‘Exactly boys’ I said, as we filled them full of holes. Death by lead poisoning. Dragging the bodies away from our camp we remained vigilant to watch for any others. Come mornin’ after breakfast we retrieved their horses about a 1/4 mile away. We searched through their panniers and their person. Found ammunition, coffee, and two bags of gold coins as well as greenbacks totaling almost $300. Except for a few gold coins I told them ‘keep the spoils boys, I’ve a plenty’. Who ever owned this is more than likely dead, and this will surely help in your new start’. Grinnin’ from ear to ear they gladly accepted the generosity of the three tragically departed road agents.
Arriving in St. Louie we parted and went our separate ways, grateful for each other’s company, always brothers in arms. Catching a rail to Jeff City I then carefully threaded my way south, the hills full of Confederate and Union sympathizers, guerilla gang offshoots of Cantrell and Bloody Bill Anderson. But I was an expert at camouflage and concealment, a good tracker, and wise to the devices of the enemy. Traveling early morn and by the light of the moon, I slowly made my way, one day at dawn noticing a dust cloud in the distance. Watching from the protection of the forest I held Ryder’s nose and noticed a feathered cap atop of the leader dressed in gray followed by a ragged and bedraggled group of hoary headed old men and young boys, their innocence stolen. They would never even have the chance to live long enough to have their first dance.
Without incident I arrived back home safely, ready to face the challenges and anxious to move on. I had learned the value of patience and persistence from the Indians and the academy. Silently I watched glassin the surroundings. Finally I spoke. ‘Ryder, it’s time to face the Devil. Let’s go down and see what we have to see and do what we have to do’.
Leaving the trees and concealment and crossing good bottom land three hundred acres in all I arrived, sitting still on my horse. All that was left was charred remains and five mounds, one only two feet long, with crude wooden crosses and names inscribed: Ma and Pa Richards, my sister Starr, wife Lizbeth and baby Annabelle. For a long time I sat and stared finally dismounting and kneeling by the graves I wept and prayed. Rising I surveyed the situation and began a final cleanup and burning in order to consume what memories were left and purge my grief. In the back behind the house I found Pa’s stash still intact. I knew he would be pleased to know he helped me get a new start away from here with fresh dreams, hope, ambition, and most of all, redemption.
After two days of cleanup making the property as presentable as possible, I headed for town to talk to Mr. Benson the banker, an honest man that cared more for people than for profit, a rarity in the financial world. I wanted to sell the homestead and I trusted he would give me a fair offer. Also I needed gravestones made and installed, a lasting tribute to those I Loved. Along the way it was important to stop and check in on the Davidsons our nearest neighbor. Once again I waited in the tree line patiently watching. Looking through my field glasses I saw no movement.
Slowly approaching I noticed everything was in neglect and needing repair. Stopping I yelled ‘yo the house. Is anyone there’? It was then I noticed a .12 gage double barrel Greener pointing at me out of the open front door from the shadows of the porch. ‘Who are you and what do you want’? a voice demanded. ‘I’m Golden Richards the adjacent neighbor comin’ to check on my old friends the Davidsons. It’s been a while’. Placing the shotgun against the wall a voice cried out ‘Golden is it really you’? As I dismounted a beautiful young woman came into the sunshine running down the stairs crashing into me and sobbing. For some time I held her embrace until she lifted her head to meet my eyes, ‘Jesse’ I said, ‘it’s you’.
Leading Ryder and I behind the house and up a hill, Jesse took us to a small campsite and a place of concealment. ‘Let’s build a small fire’ I said. ‘I’ve got coffee’, ‘and I’ve got a pot and water’ Jesse spoke. ‘Coffee would be so good; I haven’t had any for months’. Sitting close on a log with fresh steaming cups of cowboy coffee she told me her story. ‘It’s not safe’ she said ‘to stay in the house and with nowhere to go I live up here. Bands of guerilla fighters pass close by across the pasture in the concealment of the forest and trees. Sometimes they stop and do some glassin, even comin’ to the house lookin’ for anything they can forage. I can see them during the day and I can hear them at night, knowin’ when they are close by. I don’t feel safe, but I won’t go down without a fight. I’ll be damned if I let those bastards take me like some old bitch dog in heat. I seen what they did’, then stopping and bowing her head finally looking up with tear filled eyes, ‘to all your women folk. I’m so sorry. Your sister and I were so close’ and then pausing to gather herself, ‘I was the one who found the bodies and dug the graves’.
Drawing near I wrapped my arms around her, holding her tight as we both let grief engulf us, our tears spillin’ to the ground. ‘I’ she continued, ‘don’t go to town. They’ve got spies and the sheriff sure as hell ain’t comin’. Until I figure what I’m goin’ to be a doin’ I don’t want those murderin’ scum to know I’m out here still alive’. ‘Who are these men, does anyone know’? ‘They are gangs favoring both sides sometimes only a few and often a dozen, full of festering hate runnin’ in packs like rabid dogs lookin’ for easy prey: stagecoaches, small town banks, a weary traveler and farms in the country’. ‘And your folks’? I asked. ‘One day Pa went out huntin’ and never came home. I found him layin’ face down with a bullet in his back. Ma took to grievin’ so and then fell sickly dyin’ a short time later. Dug their graves over yonder for all to see and even a mound for myself, trickin’ those yeller bellied snakes to thinkin’ we’s all dead. Pa taught me how to set traps, catch small game, and to keep from starvin’. Foods all gone from the house and cellar and as you can see I’m as thin as a sapling’. ‘While you stoke the fire and put on some water’ Golden spoke, ‘I’ll go get some fixin’s for dinner out of my bags. I always come prepared’. ’Learned that in the army. How does beans and bacon tossed in with some taters and corn sound’? ‘Like a piece of Heaven. I am surely famished’. She ate ravenously, embarrassed while wipin’ her mouth with her sleeve. ‘Can’t remember enjoying a meal this much’. Silently I vowed to never let this happen again. This girl has surely got sand!
I never made it to town that day. We made some more Joe and talked well into the night. I told her stories of the war, filling in the blanks until sleep overtook us. In the mornin’ over Arbuckle’s and breakfast I told of my plans to go into town and visit Benson the banker, selling the property, catchin’ a wagon train and headin’ West. Pausing I looked at her. ‘Jess, I can’t leave you here. Will you come with me out West’? She practically jumped into my lap and with a big smile and tears she said ‘oh yes’! ‘I thought you might not ever ask. I’ve hoped against hope that you would return, thinkin’ you must surely be dead, and now you’re here takin’ me with you. There is a God in Heaven who answers prayers’. ‘We will have to go as brother and sister’, I said. ‘I’m not quite ready for more than that. It’s not that I don’t want to. I hope you understand. Can you be patient with me’? Lowering her gaze and then meeting my eyes she said, ‘I will go through Hell and back with you as your sister, and then one day as your wife’. Exhaling I said, ‘I believe that day will come sooner than you think. You stole my heart from the first, running down the steps, with tears flowing and jumping into my waiting arms’. Giving her a gentle kiss and promising more, I said ‘go get your papers for the bank and personals you want to take, memberin’ it’s both of us on Ryder and not a lotta space. I’ll buy you your own horse once we get to town’.
We said our goodbyes to the only homes we ever knew, but never to the memories. Arriving to town at noon I went straight to the livery. Mickey an old friend was still there. We talked briefly and I left Ryder in his care. ‘What an outstanding horse’ he proclaimed ‘with excellent confirmation. I’ll take great care of him Lad. He’ll get a good brushing, water, a bag of oats, and even an apple’. As I went to pay him he said ‘no thanks Lad. It is I who should be thanking you for the pleasure. You don’t see many like this. Besides I’ve heard stories and I thank ye for what you’ve done’.
Nodding and smilin’ I turned with Jesse who was lookin’ at me curiously. ‘What things have you done’? ‘In time’ I said, ‘in time’. ‘Right now I’m gunna take you to eat’. ‘But Golden I’m so filthy, but I sure could eat’. ‘Quickly’ I said, ‘let’s stop in here’ as I took you inside the local mercantile and visited with Mr. Pearson the owner. You shed your old clothes, his wife graciously providing a dish of soap and water with a towel so you could tidy up before putting on new clothes and shoes, brushing your auburn hair with a new brush I just purchased. You walked out as I finished placing my order for our trip. Smilin’ and looking demur, you said ‘‘what do you think’? ‘I think you look very pretty. Thanks for lettin’ some of that inner beauty shine. I’ll see you tomorrow morning Mr. Pearson’ as we headed for Dottie’s Cafe.
Getting quite the reception everywhere I went we finally got seated with a fresh pot of coffee ordering two specials: fried chicken, mashed taters, with butter and gravy, corn, and hot fresh rolls. For dessert apple pie with cheese on the top. Once again Jesse ate like a starvin’ pilgrim. ‘Please tell me to slow down’ she said. I just grinned delightin’ in her appetite. Gathering our things we walked to the hotel with Jesse groanin’ and holding her stomach but with a happy satisfied smile. I got us two rooms for the night and arranged for a hot bath for Jesse. ‘You luxuriate and take a rest while I get a shave and bath. I’m going to talk to Mickey about a horse for you. ‘Golden, you’re doing so much. How can I ever repay you’? ‘I’ve got an answer for that. I’ll tell you later’.
Finding the local tonsorial and cleaning up I went back to Pearsons, the missus helping me to buy a pretty dress for Jess, having just helped her and knowin’ her size. I then returned to Mickey’s to see about buyin’ a horse for Jess. ‘I know exactly what you need. Come back tomorrow mornin’. This evening I’ll go fetch em for you at old man Henderson’s. I’m thinkin’ you’ll be pleased’.
Before returning to the Hotel I stopped by the bank to talk to Benson apprising him of our intention to sell the properties givin’ him time to do some evaluations. Then I confirmed a 7:30 reservation with the hotel restaurant for that evening. Knocking on Jessie’s door and announcing my presence, she opened with a big smile and I handed her a box wrapped with ribbon. ‘What is this’? she said with wonder. 'Open it and see’. With wide childlike eyes you held up the dress and giggled. ‘I’ve never had a store bought dress before. It’s beautiful’! ‘And it won’t be your last’ I said. ‘I’ll pick you up a little before 7:30. Make sure you’re wearin’ the dress’.
At 7:25 I knocked on the door and it opened. With mouth agape I stared, stunned at this beautiful specter. With her auburn hair done up with ringlets dangling on the sides, rouge, lipstick, a little makeup provided by the Pearson’s as well as help with your hair wearing the dress I just purchased you looked radiantly beautiful. ‘So’ she said coyly, ‘am I ok’? ‘Better than ok’! I said. ‘You are this soldier boy’s dream’. As we took our seats, very formally addressed by the Mater Dei and our waiter, as the Major and Miss Jessie all eyes were transfixed. We enjoyed sweet wine, a first for Jesse, and their best steaks, a petite size for Jess with all the trimmins , but no pie. ‘My appetite has finally caught up with my stomach. ’From now on I’ll be eatin portions appropriate to my size’.
Walkin Jesse to her room, I asked if I could return after we both changed and got comfortable. ‘I would like to speak about our plan’s’. Looking at me with a curious grin she said, ‘you come knockin’ and do some sweet talkin’. Returnin’ and sittin’ facin’ her on the only chair in the room, she sat perched on the edge of the bed. ‘Sis’, ‘Jesse, I have this all wrong. This bein’ sister and brother must come to an end. I want you for a wife, not just a friend. This celibate life has no rewards and I think we can find happiness as man and wife’.
‘Well brother I’ve had this in mind for some time waitin’ for the persuasion to come to you. Never resistant, my patience wearing thin, I loved you from the start. Comin’ over to be with Starr as children, and secretly close to you, I watched with envy at the love you shared with her, wantin’ more from you than you were ready to give. You always treated me kindly but looked at me only as your sisters friend. Then when Lizbeth was announced as your choice, my heart and all my childhood dreams were shattered. Ma did her best to comfort me while I wallowed in my pity and despair. Seein’ you with Lizbeth and the love you shared, I could never begrudge her the chance of such happiness. She was so beautiful and such a good friend even knowin’ what was goin’ on in my heart with nothin’ bein’ said’.
‘And so dear brother you had me from the first howdy, completely and without reservation. I’m yours for life’. ‘They say marriage is made in Heaven’, I spoke, ‘the only verification we need, exceptin’ if you want to jump over a broom as a token of our commitment’. ‘A preacher will do’ Jesse said smilin’ radiantly ‘and I’ll find a couple of witnesses’ I said. I arose takin’ her in my arms and this time with a passionate kiss. ‘Just one more day my love. I want this to be so beautiful, honorable, and right’. ‘With a pouty face and then a grin you spoke, ‘I’m givin’ you just one more day brother, after that I’m takin’ things into my own hands’. Leavin’ you with one more kiss I retired to the adjacent room and bed, neither of us sleepin’ well, too many thoughts of wedding day bliss filling our head.
Next morning we ate breakfast early and discussed all that we needed to accomplish that day. First it was to Mickeys about a horse, his choice and the price most agreeable, then to Pearsons about rings and seein’ if they would be witnesses at our weddin’. They happily agreed. ‘I’ll be back after talkin’ with the preacher to let you know the time’. After talkin’ to the sin-buster with a short word and prayer early afternoon was agreed upon for the nuptials, and then we were off to see Benson the banker.
Offering us fair prices for our property anticipating an increase in demand after the war was over, we agreed and had the money placed in a joint account. There was a small balance left in Jess’s folks account, and a little larger in my family’s account. Closing those out and takin’ the money for expenses I was apprised of some railroad stock that my father had invested in and I had forgotten. ‘Just leave it’ Benson said, ‘watch its value triple, as soon as the war is over and track layin’ restarts’. By September 1865 the line between St. Louis and Kansas City was runnin’ and the Golden Spike was driven at Promatory Utah in May 1869 joining the Central Pacific and Union Pacific Railroads, the first transcontinental railroad across the United States.
In perspective Buffalo Bill was sent from New York City, which boasted streetcars, electricity, and early automobiles to Standing Rock in 1890 a reservation in the Dakota Territory to ‘secure’ Sitting Bull of the Battle of Little Bighorn Fame, a star in Bills Wild West show. Imagine the Indians dismay; first wagon wheels, then paddle wheels, and now train wheels trying to adapt to the white man’s way. After a wonderful weddin’ night Jess and I secured passage on a steamer, risky business but much faster than the dangerous overland option and were deboarded close to Independence happily saying goodbye to ‘The Big Muddy’ chasing time and the wind hoping to catch a wagon train to the Willamette.
Arriving in town I went first to the livery for the care of our horses, inquiring about accommodations and food. Most importantly I asked the best place to go to get information about wagon trains west. ‘The Crazy Calhoun Saloon is your best bet. Most wagon masters and their crew hang out there’. After gettin’ Jess settled in the hotels honeymoon suite a perfect place to enjoy our marital bliss, I headed out for the Crazy Calhoun Saloon. Walkin’ in through the batwings I paused to let my eyes adjust. Wasn’t lookin’ for trouble but prepared just the same. Hawg leg on my hip and an Arkansas toothpick sheathed at my back, I sauntered up to the bar askin’ for a beer and information.
‘JD’ the barkeep yelled at an old timer at the other end of the bar, ‘Feller here would like to talk to ya’. Walkin’ over with a beer and a loose affiliation of hair, he grinned widely and said, ‘names John David Crow. Indian only in name, wagon trains my only game’. What’s your handle’? ‘Golden Richards recently retired, US Army’. With a huge smile and a look of recognition in his face he thrust his hand out, ‘lands sake’.’ Never thought I’d be palaverin’ with a true American hero’. Laughin’ he said ‘I think I’m feelin’ a little lightheaded, I best be leanin’ on the bar. Well, let’s chin away and hear what you got to say’.
I told him what I was hopin’ to find. ‘Well fortune favors you son. We’re fixin’ to lite out in a couple of days, waiting on a small train from Illinois to join us. We’ll be about 50 wagons in all, not too big not too small. Wagon master names Bo McCallister a good man and fair, seasoned with ten crossin’s to his credit. I’ve been with him for eight. Keep them wagons workin’, yes I do. Got me a small anvil and portable smithy and ever tool I need to keep them rollin’. Even do a little shoein’ on the side. Trip will take five to six months dependin’ on the weather, disease, corntankerous Indians and such. Trips faster than 10 to 20 year ago with bridges, boats and good trail, with more tradin’ posts, forts and small towns springin’ up along the way. With your skills I’m bettin’ you can pay your way and then some, along with your experience with Indians and livin’ on the plains. Bo’s lookin’ for a scout. Last one took sick, luv sick, and stayed out west’.
Walkin’ through the door Bo strode right over to us. Beamin’ JD said, ‘Bo, I’ve found you a scout’. ‘You know who I am young man, what’s your name’? Before I could answer JD interjected, ‘this is none other than Golden Richards of Richards Rangers’. Takin’ my hand in a lingering manly grip he said, ‘I’m proud to meet you son’. We had small talk and more beer before Bo saddled up to the topic at hand at bein’ a scout and his proposition. We agreed and said we would sign the appropriate papers tomorrow, also instructin’ JD to help us find a good rig and mules, whatever was our choice for the journey. ‘I’ll take you tomorrow’ JD said ‘and we’ll find what ya need’. ‘How about breakfast at Kate’s Kafe’? I asked. ‘You’ll get a chance to meet the wife before we get all the truck we need for the train’.
Next mornin’ we were seated for breakfast when two Army officers came over to our table. ‘Please excuse us Golden but it’s been a while’. Standing I shook their hands with introductions all around. Starin’ at Jesse they recovered and said ‘please forgive us ma’am, it’s been a long time in the saddle and livin’ at the edge of the wilderness surrounded only by other men. Seein’ a beautiful captivatin’ woman helps renew our faith in mankind. God is still in the business of creatin’ perfection’. Blushing, Jess said, ‘no apology needed as I thoroughly enjoyed your assessment of God’s handiwork’. When Golden asked them about their current assignment, they spoke about routing the guerrilla gangs that were plaguing this part of the country. We shared our stories briefly. Incensed they said, ‘don’t need more of an incentive after hearin’ what they done to you. Those bast… excuse me ma’am, will be brought to heel’. ‘I believe’ Jesse spoke, ‘the word is bastards sir’. Smilin’ the captain said, ‘why yes, it is ma’am, yes it is’. Taking their leave they turned to Jesse smiling, ‘it has truly been a pleasure ma’am’, returning to their table while JD and Jesse got acquainted. It was an instant attraction. ‘Good thing you snared this gal first Golden, before I had a chance to hitch a ride’. Laughter ensued as we made final plans for our departure.
Two days later the journey began, and without a passel of children, Jess and I’s passin’ was easier than most. I scouted with a Cherokee named ‘Wohali’, meaning Eagle, someone brave. Havin’ learned English, we conversed easily and became trusted friends. Often he would sit the fire with us, he and JD both takin’ a personal interest in Jesse’s safety while I was gone, sometimes for long hours. Takin’ a shine to Jesse, JD was often seen sittin’ in the wagon jawin’ with her treachin’ her the finer facts of leadin’ a wagon with mules. Most nights he would take supper with us, exceptin’ when the widow Wilson’s wheels needed greasin’ again, which they did quite regular like.
At night around the fire we’d have some jitter juice as JD shared his cowboy logic specially when some ‘Old Fitzgerald’ was added, just to sweetin it up a bit, don’t ya know. ‘Never drink unless you are alone or with someone’ he said. ‘If you find yourself in a hole first thing to do is to stop digging. Timing has a lot to do with the favorable outcome of a rain dance, and if lawyers are disbarred, clergymen are defrocked, does it mean cowboys are deranged’? Laughter is such great medicine after a long day of eatin’ dust, starin’ at a mules arse or walkin’ your way to Oregon. Cholera was a concern and strict rules were set in place regarding cooking, water, and sanitation. Disease and accidents were the greatest killers of the 500,000 plus pioneers that made their way west.
By 1865 some of the Plains Indians were subdued and there were still tribes who fought to survive, renegade warriors, and gangs of whites on the prowl. Between Wohali and I, we were most often able to ferret out their intentions with minimal loss of life, both man and beast. Early one morning Wohali scouted some small hills and saw smoke and quietly stole upon a group of a dozen men camping in a secluded ravine, recognizing the leader of the Viper gang, Snake Liston. Casually they set the fire enjoying coffee and conversation, checking their loads and cleaning their weapons. Returning he shared with me what he had found. Alerting everyone to the danger we decided on a night raid of our own before the vulnerable river crossing in only two days. There were no other farms and towns for miles around. Obviously we were the target. Led by Wohali we road to their camp and walked silently the last half mile. Their night watch had fallen asleep in a drunken stupor only to wake up at the door step of hell. With a group of chosen men, mostly veterans, we surrounded their camp and opened fire. There were no survivors. They would never prey upon the innocent again. The spoils were shared by all.
Generally having favorable weather and river crossings, we arrived in late September settlin’ in the area of Cottage Grove Oregon, at the confluence of the Row and Coast fork of the Willamette River at the south end of the Willamette Valley, nestled between the Coast and Cascade Mountain ranges. The Homestead Act provided 160 acres of free land for a small fee and our continued residence for five years to obtain ownership. JD decided he’d had enough of trail dust and applied for property adjoining ours, the widow Wilson in tow, still needin’ grease for her axels.
Eventually, we were able to buy additional property bordering our homestead swelling the total acreage to about a thousand acres. With good grass land and timber we began to build a small herd. After our second child and a third in the oven I followed up on a hunch and contacted the army regarding the whereabouts of my old sergeant O’Malley. Retired and drawing a pension, restless and needin’ something to occupy his time, he agreed to come west and give a try at settlin’ with us. He never left, and became the best pappy our four children could ever hope to have. ‘I could never leave these wee bairns’ he said, ‘they’ve become the joy of my life’. As for me I’m not a farmer or rancher so I found work doin’ what I do best, and became a law dog. Once again with the army’s help and carte blanche resources offered upon hearin’ my name, I was able to locate two young lieutenants who served with me eager for a new start and very capable deputies.
Jesse was the most amazin’ person in my life, a wonderful wife, mother, friend, and always a favorite of the old men. Many nights we would sit by the firelight or outside on the covered porch with our treasured old friends sippin’ and jawin’ about things we would never see again. The widow Wilson was always there, now Mrs. Crow, a grand help in the house and kitchen, Pippy to the youngin’s who adored her, a female friend and mother figure to Jesse. JD kept things runnin’ on the ranch and Sarge enjoyed managin’ the property and cattle. The main house was built with a large kitchen and ample sittin’ room at the table which was always full, with gravity fed water and a pump in the sink.
Somethings remained while others were never the same. Gone was the plains life for the Indian, the buffalo, the wide-open spaces bein’ ravished by the rails, the innocence of this fledgling nation, a once vibrant South and the Myth of America with its vacuous corrupt leadership a dictatorship in disguise, and the people, a mirror of those who govern. The life we live is a grand illusion believing lies dressed as the truth, generation after generation having lost their way, pursuing a path, a downward spiral, the walk of death. There are no good intentions in Heaven. We believe the preacher man from the pulpit telling us what God wants us to do and the politician from the Potomac behind closed doors and hushed hallowed halls issuing their dictates fueled by their bloated grandiose perception of their worth. Engorged on power, their opiate of choice, existing as all governments do to control and confiscate wealth. A man and a handshake were once all you needed. Now honesty, integrity, values, and virtue are on the chopping block open for auction and sold to the highest bidder, vanquished from this present terminus, and vanishing forever. What remains must be strengthened with a steely resolve. Tell me no lies to soothe and kill, only the truth that hurts then heals.
Man can take nothing in death but leave a legacy for life. A good man out of his possessions brings forth noble treasures of wisdom and truth, teaching by example not only by spoken words. Written on the hearts of his children and generations to come, not just another name carved in stone or engraved in the family Bible. I may not choose the day I die or how it will happen, but I can choose the way I live. Choose wisely my friends, lead a good life, and leave a legacy that others will choose to follow……