Elephants and Snakes, Part 1
In 1846, the little village of Yerba Buena passed forever from Mexican to American rule. Its 200 inhabitants along the Bay of San Francisco celebrated an historical event under a raised American flag and elected a government. They were of the first to acquire Mexican territory in the Californias, and on January 30, 1847, Yerba Buena's newly formed government passed an ordinance to officially use its public name, San Francisco.
In early February, information reached the town concerning the terrible plight of the Donner party in the Sierra Nevada. The town's Alcalde, Washington Bartlett called a meeting of citizens and the townspeople took immediate steps for their relief. Charlotte Jones campaigned and raised fifteen hundred dollars for food and supplies. Her husband, Luther, a good friend of the Alcalde, was influential in organizing a rescue party and went to nearby Sutter's Fort. From there, they fought snow and extreme hardships to bring out the sufferers.
By June, the town had planned a fourth of July celebration with appropriate ceremonies to last all day. Charlotte Jones had just returned from the planning committee and entered her little house on Kearney Street. She plopped onto the end seat and picked up the private post she had received from her sister, Sara Smith. She glanced at the letter brought by ship around South America to San Francisco, a trip to California similar to hers. Unlike the letter's non-stop route, hers had included a debarkation at Panama, a forty-mile crossing of jungle terrain, and a wait of several months for a ship to sail her and her husband to California.
The sea had been the easier route. Her niece Emma, with her new husband, Daniel, had chosen the longer and more treacherous land route by wagon from Missouri to Oregon. Others had done it before, but not many women. Nancy Kelsey had been the first white woman to cross America and reach California (with her husband Ben in the Bidwell-Bartleson Party, in 1841.) Nancy had been 18 years old at the time, had carried a six-month-old baby girl in her arms, and by the end of the trip was pregnant with her second child. Charlotte knew Nancy Kelsey was a tough, iron-willed woman. She wondered if her young niece could be just as tough and make it to Oregon.
Charlotte gave a small prayer heavenward and looked at the Indian tapestry hanging on the wall across from her. She gazed at the white elephant wearing a gold crown, said another prayer for her niece and closed her tired eyes.
Emma and Daniel's long journey to Oregon had begun at Independence, Missouri during the middle of May. If they had left too early, the roads would be too muddy, the rivers too full and the grass too immature to sustain the livestock; too late, and there was danger of the California emigrants being trapped in the Sierras by early snowfall. The rule was, be over the Sierras no later than the first day of October. That meant that the group traveling to California had about 123 days to go 2,200 miles, which calculated out to eighteen miles per day.
Ian MacGregor's wagon train had been averaging just over the necessary eighteen miles a day since leaving St. Louis. The slow oxen proved better suited than horses and mules for the rough terrain and hadn't slowed their journey. So far, the train had only been stopped by the death of Virginia Riley.
An army scouting regiment led by Major Thomas Strickland had joined the train at the beginning of June. They planned to relocate Fort Kearny of the Missouri River, so were on their way to the Grand Island area of the Platte River. Because of concern among members of the California party about territorial skirmishes between Americans and Mexicans over parts of California, the major shared with Ian MacGregor updated maps that would lead them safe passage. Furthermore, all of the emigrants were warned about Indian attacks at certain high-risk places, and before the wagon train had left Independence, an old mountain man turned buffalo hunter and guide had advised Daniel to purchase a sidearm, "Fer yer well bein'."
"God is with us," Daniel had replied while tapping the bible in his coat pocket. Later, he had bought a leather holster for the revolver. "Just in case," he had told Emma before purchasing a good luck pendant of an elephant made of ivory.
"By which to remember our journey," he had said while pinning the locket to his wife's collar.
Now, a young summer was upon the large wagon train as it journeyed west. Many of the women traveling in the Oregon group had become like family to Emma and she had immediately won the affection of the Fazenbaker sisters, who dressed like men and cursed even more. They were going to Oregon to meet their grandmother, an old Creek woman that the army had removed from her home in Alabama. She, along with other family members, had left the reservation the government had forced them to live on. It was a risky move on their part, but the small band had heard of better land far north from the dry earth they had left behind.
Because the sisters' mother had married a German mill worker, their citizenship had saved them from forceful relocation. The pair thought that the Indian Removal Act was unfair and inhumane.
"You should appeal her removal legally through the courts," someone had suggested.
The sisters smiled kindly and Fannie, the oldest, said, "Our courts are only interested in makin' the future of America white. They'll do all they can to run e'erybody else out of this country."
Emma had carefully considered this statement. For the most part, the city folk she had met had been kind, but she had witnessed occasions of hatred for people of different color and different ways of life.
A tiny sense of uneasiness had come over her then. She started thinking about the turmoil and unrest the newspapers were reporting and wondered where her country was heading. Being with Daniel and the soldiers made her feel safe, but she could not help the nervousness that crept in from time to time. Her dreams had become restless and she was feeling a little homesick.
On the evening of the fifth day of June, Ian had estimated that they had gone six hundred and fifty miles. They were right on schedule. He excused himself from his dinner table and went to one of the army tents near his wagon to check the maps.
The sun was setting and families were finishing their meals. Liam began playing music on an old five-string guitar, entertaining the camp with songs of Irish mythology with exotic names like Cu Chulainn, Inis Subai, and Ben Etair.
Liam called the children around the campfire to tell them a tale. As he began speaking, the adults began to hush and listen to his story.
"This is a story me mother used to tell me when I was a youngster like ye," he said. "'Tis a tale her mother used to tell her, passed down from before our great-great-great grandmothers were born. It's about a time in Ireland when the moon became curious about what went on durin' her rest--what we call 'the dark o' the moon.'"
And he began.
The Moon pondered somethin' as she looked down upon the marshes and bogs. She had heard that durin' her rest, boggles and imps crawl from the swamp to bother reckless travelers. "Were such tales true?" she wondered till finally her curiosity got the best o' her, and she wrapped herself in a velvety black cloak and stepped to the murky paths.
The night was endless, with only the glint o' stars showin' in the sludgy black waters that gurgled from somethin' wicked in their depths. Cautiously, fearfully, the Moon stepped warily along. But her dainty foot slipped and with a tiny cry, she tried to right herself by clutchin' at a withered willow. As soon as her fingers touched the wood, the branches and twigs twisted tight around her wrists and manacled her solidly.
The water gurgled as the Moon struggled, but her tuggin' came to naught. Around her, she could hear the faint sounds o' wet feet slappin' upon the paths, and evil laughter. Then all evil stopped--for a man was comin' along the path, cursin' the darkness and prayin' for safety.
The Moon knew that the man would be doomed to quicksand if he had no light, and that the boggins o' the night would drag him down! She wriggled until her black hood fell back revealin' the glow o' her white hair and face.
Whimperin' and mewin' at the light, the evil scurried back into the depths with sluggish plops.
Liam made plopping noises and made his audience laugh. Emma and Daniel smiled at each other, and Daniel touched her stomach.
Liam continued:
On the path, the man said a prayer o' thanks and hurried towards home, ne'r wonderin' where the light had come from. The Moon was relieved that the man had reached safety, but began sobbin', knowin' she was still trapped. The brightness o' her light kept her safe, but as the hours went on she sank to her knees and leaned helplessly against the tree. Around her blew a fitful breeze until her hood was pushed over her head to hide her radiance.
Then, from the swamp's evil depths crawled boggles, imps, and other evil things, and all around the Moon they gibbered and crawled and plotted her death. Finally, with their combined strength, they pushed the Moon beneath the foul waters and covered her with a great stone. They commanded the will-o-wisps to keep guard over the stone.
There lay the poor Moon, dead and buried. Night after night, the Marsh folk put pennies in their caps to welcome their protector's quick return and light their way home at night. But each night they stumbled fearfully to their houses, and were terrified by the Moon's absence.
Many dark nights passed and many tongues wagged, particularly at the local inn where the old men sat by the hearth and shared a bit o' tobacco. On one such evil night, a traveler shared the fire with them and listened to their worries, which made him ponder and remember a night when he had struggled along a black marsh path. Suddenly he declared he knew where the Moon was , and he hastened to tell his tale.
The Marsh folk took him to the local Wise Woman, who was a Goodwife, neither young nor old, but sharp in the ways o' the spirits o' the marshes. She listened to the traveler's story, and brought out a mirror and a book. Then she said, "Go before night gathers. Put a stone in your mouth and carry a hazel twig. And remember to say not a word before ye be safely home!" She pointed a finger at each and continued, "Then ye can walk bravely into the marsh. Go until ye find a coffin, a candle, and an elephant. Follow the direction o' the elephant's snout and there shall ye find the Moon!"
Many had ne'r seen an elephant before, but the traveler knew what one looked like. So, the next night the men gathered, placed stones within their mouths, and held tight to their hazel twigs. Then they followed the traveler along the path he had used.
The water gurgled and bubbled, and sharp twigs tried to snag them. But the men walked on, lookin' this way and that, until the traveler stopped suddenly and pointed towards where corpse-lights--those will-o-wisps, those glowin' harbingers o' death that float about the air at night--glittered like candles on a half-submerged stone, which looked like a sunken coffin.
The ancient tree with its limbs twisted into a shadowy elephant snout, stood above the stone. The Marsh folk hastened and with silent strength they heaved the great stone away. And from the depths o' the black water glowed the beautiful face o' the Moon. She opened her eyes and her expression turned to joy.
Her rescuers stumbled back as she sped past them so that her radiant light could bathe the bog in her glow, drivin' the evil things scurryin' back to their watery depths.
And she ne'r went lookin' for boggles and imps again.The children were delighted with the story and Liam grabbed his guitar and began singing again. When the children had gone to do their chores, he drank from his bottle of ale until all was gone. He stopped singing and playing and fell asleep where he sat, snoring every third or fourth breath. Emma wondered what boggles or imps plagued the man.
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