Regret

PART 1

CHAPTER 1

The Mississippi River is more than 2350 miles of continental drainage ditch, flows about 1160 miles as the crow flies and for dreamers, the direct route to adventure, romance and, they frequently hoped, a quick and easy buck. For the absolute and raving capitalist, the river opened the continental interior to exploitations of every stripe. Immigration led to development, which opened the doors to anyone willing to take advantage of the dreams of those who were involved in the national obsession of the time: Manifest Destiny. Go West young man, whatever the cost. Ignorance was indeed bliss. Like ants away from the nest exploring in the garden, there were hazards.

The river's been called many things by many people: The Nation's Aorta, The Beginning of the Frontier, Big Muddy, and others; some flattering, some not. Its more notable tributaries include the Platte rivers, North and South forks splitting the plains to the west; the Missouri and the Ohio Rivers, each with unexplored territories attached. This story is but one of millions in which the Mississippi played a role.

From the middle of the 18th century on, the variety of crafts plying the route was outnumbered only by the differences in the people who used it, and the cargoes that depended upon its perpetual motion. There were the Native Americans and the trappers with their canoes and rafts and flatboats. These vessels were of literally innumerable sizes and shapes. Construction materials ranged from stretched hides to the finest hand carved and elaborately decorated imported teak. There were the boats used by the freshwater privateers. They were propelled by pole-men lining the sides of the craft, each with a pole about twenty feet in length and able to, in concert with its mates, propel the flat boat in the calmest of waters to speeds nearly equal to those of the swiftest canoe. These craft held to the shallows, manned either by local operators, or by river pirates always on the lookout for the weak, the unprepared, the under-defended, the unwary, and those of wavering desire.

As the population along the continent's eastern seaboard burgeoned and civilization's requirements became more pervasive, human flotsam wafted to the west along with sturdy pioneer stock seeking more room and fewer problems featuring legal entanglements. As time passed, populations swelled the river's banks. At the outset of the river's heyday, that is, at the beginning of the 19th century, water traffic was as thick as fleas on a hound dog. This included commercial barges taking the continent's raw materials down to the French port of New Orleans and bound for ports worldwide.

The boat traffic was instrumental in the sowing of the Great Louisiana Territory and the world beyond. Anything that was available on the eastern seaboard was gaining markets throughout the continent. Although one might have to wait as long as six months or more for delivery, the market was there and was growing faster every day. St. Louis to New Orleans was now comparatively easy and fairly inexpensive. Then, along came the farmers.

As commercial traffic increased on the river, so did travel in general. No longer was relocation to the country's interior the province of adventurers and miscreants. As the increase in river-born commerce grew, so did ideas about opportunity.

This entire rococo thread loaded thousands and thousands of people aboard those triple decked, twin stacked, ornately appointed, stern wheeled floating palaces that ran the length of the river for more than one hundred years hitting a multitude of stops carrying passengers, cargo, and anything else that someone thought would enlarge their own personal fortunes.

Along with the growing, river-based economy came those whose ambitions were a little less morally and ethically oriented. They were the general group of gamblers and other pirates who, for one reason or another, were ejected from societies around the world. Some were liars. Some were cheats. In virtually every case, something for not very much was the goal. For those who succeeded, their version of something could turn into a veritable king's ransom. The prevailing hope was to hit the big one…just once.

In the early days of the river's growth, the traffic upon its surface outreached even the vaguest notion of the law and its enforcement. Still very much a part of the frontier, there was simply no way the thinly strung military postings could monitor anything outside their immediate physical presence. Even then, no one could be two, or two hundred, places at the same time. As a result, there were frequent episodes of hijacking that occurred over the length of the river. The only real recourse available to anyone using the river was to arm themselves to the teeth.

The armaments of choice varied from the family's trusty old squirrel gun, inherited from an ancestor, all the way up to the latest in cannon. Still, the best defense was found to travel in numbers. A single family setting out to settle the western territories with dreams of freedom easily fell prey to one or more of the many varieties of river-riding vermin working the banks of the Big Muddy. Larger groups usually survived with only small losses of life and property. Fortunately for the river rats, it was almost an entire generation before word got around and travelers began considering road agents and river pirates in their travel plans.

As the years passed, thieves learned that there would have to be improvements in their methodology if they wanted to continue to reap rewards from the unwary. While the lowest of life forms still scoured the shoreline for the unable, the discouraged or the unawake, heavier thought and greater organization was being utilized at other levels. Home bases appeared for the marauding bands. There were entire cities that would aid and abet because the town's main income was derived from their successes. The quest was for a high return against a minimum investment; same game, different clothes.

Of course, greed didn't limit itself to those who had less and wanted more. White collar crime has been a fully functional portion of the civil equation from the beginning. You got it. I want it. It was a simple formula and it was difficult to find someone on the river who didn't subscribe.

Oddly enough, the less there was to gain from any particular enterprise, the more violence was involved in the procedure. Truly meager amounts of money would set a pack of river pirates upon an unsuspecting family whose sole hopes were of a better life in a land to the south and west of the known world that they had just about already given their all to leave. Whereas, thousands could be made simply by contorting a few ledgers in an office somewhere, including enough for the several people required to cover up the activity.

CHAPTER 2

The Springer family of Philadelphia is a good example. Howard Springer was a big, burly sort of a man with rough features and hands of iron developed through years of working with brick and mortar. His wife Clara was no better educated than most working class women of the time. Her sole duties were within the home, tending the house itself, and caring for their three children. Wilhelmina, the eldest, was a demure but strong sixteen years of age, already taking over many of the household chores with her own home and family constantly in the foreground of her thoughts. Regret was thirteen and wavered between being a deadly tease and being a hermit with her thoughts in the sky. Little Jeremy was a six year old surprise. He was into everything, all the time.

Howard's family had come to the new nation at the turn of the century, during the first great migration. Europe was overcrowded and already straining its agrarian base. It seemed like you couldn't get through a whole day without someone or something making some kind of unexpected impact on your well-ordered and completely satisfying life.

The Springer family had been masons for as long as anyone in the family cared to take the time to remember. There was actually some metal working in the past, but a few burns too many had caused some forefather or other to make the switch.

Howard Springer had been the first of his family actually born in the new United States. His father had settled the family far enough outside the town and made certain they had staked enough land upon which to base the family's own brick works. The family operated the business from beginning to end, cutting out several middle men. It was the consternation of this group that caused Howard Springer to pack up kith and kin and head west. That and the fact that he was just plain tired of the trade. He'd decided, over the remonstrations of the rest of the family, that farming was the thing to which a real man should devote his life. So, with his three brothers running the business while the old man counted his money, Howard, Clara, Wilhelmina, Regret, and Jeremy took the Springer gene pool out into the North American frontier.

Their destination undetermined at the outset, Howard knew there was plenty of room out west because he'd been reading about it in Harper's magazine. The trip to St. Louis was generally uneventful. Clara became a shrew. Wilhelmina whined only while awake. Regret started a fight between a couple of boys. Jeremy got into the poison ivy in Kentucky. The wagon achieved two broken wheels that were repaired with the help of others in their party. But, mostly, the trip was uneventful. Then came the river and the choices it presented.

They had set up their camp in the midst of what to Howard seemed like thousands of others who had much the same idea as he. Open discussions could be heard at almost any time of the day or night regarding the various options available to travelers at that time and place. It was mostly hearsay. It was also about the only news there was. The occasional available newspaper was filled generally with news from back east. Besides, since Howard knew nothing at the outset, he felt he was gaining an enormous education regarding the workings of pioneers in the new American Wilderness.

Just about the time Augustine Taylor showed the world that two-by-fours were just fine for framing houses, somebody started filling Howard Springer's mind with Texas.

The abundance of pecan trees notwithstanding, Texas of that time had much to offer the pioneer. There were fertile fields as far as one could see, generally plenty of water for animals and crops, and space for everyone…except the natives and the Mexicans. These last two groups would provide problems aplenty for visitors and settlers for a good portion of the coming century.

It was to this promised land Howard Springer became intent upon replanting his brood. It was a fate-filled decision because even though Howard had listened intently to the information flowing around the traveler's common campground, and to stories told around the city, he, like too many before him, was simply unprepared. Howard's dream included mounting the family's wagon on a raft, floating as far as Natchez, then trading the raft for oxen or mules to drag them deep into their own personal dreamland. Where turned out to be the easy part. How became something of a conundrum for the whole family.

They had been encamped, with the rest of the dreamers, just outside St. Louis for the entire winter. Howard had gotten a part-time job at the local brick works, Clara took in some sewing, and the children had gotten their own worlds into some semblance of order. Wilhelmina was in love. Regret was harder than ever to find. Jeremy learned that there were some animals in the forest that just didn't want to be friends.

Wilhelmina had made the acquaintance of a group about her same age at the Methodist church they'd begun attending while awaiting the thaw. She attended Sundays of course, and usually Wednesday nights, which were more informal and designed for young people; a little Bible study, a little mingling. Also in this group was a young man named Clayton Higgenbotham. He was a twenty-one year old high school graduate and clerk at one of the mercantiles downtown. He was six feet tall, always wore a suit, and Wilhelmina was in love. When her father announced his plans for the family, she collapsed and wouldn't come out of the wagon…period.

When the roots begin to grow, no matter how briefly, it becomes much more difficult to displace the plant. The same is true of most people. Breaking the bonds of familiarity can be a traumatic experience for any family. That's especially true for the children whose life experiences are generally limited. They lack the perspective that's sometimes needed to achieve understanding. They crave stability while attempting to break the bonds themselves. The family was their social safety net. The talk and the promises can be of a better house, a better school, better weather, more money, new friends, basically a better deal all around. It doesn't matter. But, talk is cheap and those who have been around the least seem to have some sort of uncanny insight regarding pigs in pokes. On the other hand, you will easily find people who have been around but are just flat dumb, or are blinded by some inner light. These are the ones who, like Howard Springer, will just ignore some important fact or two and plunge ahead like the bull into the torero's sword. Tell the Howard Springers of the world about river pirates, land locked thieves, white water, tornadoes, angry natives, shysters and shylocks. In return you'll receive a wink and a nod and a short but sure response.

It'll never happen to me.

Heard about it. But, I ain't seen it.

We ain't carryin' enough of anything that'll get us robbed.

They're just tryin' to scare you away 'cause they know there's big money to be made out there.

Pig-headed would be an appropriate term. Although many of the people who made the cross-country or down-river treks were made of truly stern stuff, some even well-educated, it was almost impossible to stem the tide of righteous intention. Off they would go, hell-bent for wherever. Ask one of them about this Oregon for which they were bound and their eyes would gloss over and they'd begin speaking of gossamer skies, fields of wheat stretching as far as the eye could see, and kindly neighbors who lived nearby…but not close enough to make you feel crowded. Ask them about anyplace to the west or south and you'd think you were listening to a representative from that area’s visitor's bureau. There'd be a lot of High and Mighty's and virtually no payments to be bothered with. Even those with their feet planted firmly upon Mother Earth couldn't begin to guess the trials, tests, and hardships that would be encountered along their way. This was especially true for the women. Already faced with an opposite sex, frequently their mate, intent upon single ownership and operation of the enterprise, the exterior forces that came into play truly complicated the traveler's gumbo.

So it was that spring when Howard Springer continued to.push his retinue from the solid banks of their lives in Philadelphia, out into his own personal river of destiny.

It was not a painless departure, however; Wilhelmina opted for a hasty wedding to her Clayton the day before. Clara cried, and Regret was gloomy at the prospect of having to work that much harder and being able to spend less time in the world she had created for herself. Howard's thoughts centered around the saved weight and space on the craft, and Jeremy ignored the whole thing, happy to finally get moving again.

Howard had help in the construction of their vehicle from a few of the local veterans and, although it was a bit top-heavy, it was deemed solid enough for their proposed excursion. The plan was to float during the day and camp at night. As a safety measure, and for a little mutual assistance, Howard had found another family whose travel intentions nearly matched his.

Their name was McGraw. They were a family of five. Hiram McGraw had been a farmer in New York when he and his wife Martha made the decision to pack it up and head west. The McGraw children were: David, age twelve, Colin, aged nine, and Donald, who was six.

In fact, the McGraws were something of a catalyst to the Springers' plans. Howard's timidity had already stuck the family in that camp longer than had been planned, and it had cost him a daughter in the bargain. The McGraws had arrived just after the ice on the river had broken. Since Hiram had, in his mind, neither time nor interest in waiting, they shoved off within two weeks of the McGraws' arrival in the camp.

Except for Wilhelmina, who was already wondering about her decision, and with their two rafts lashed together, a Conestoga riding each, the two families resumed their quest for a better life.

Howard and Hiram worked the paddles and