AUGUSTA'S JOURNAL
VOL. IIIBy MARJORIE LUND CRUMP RALPH EUGENE CRUMPAuthorHouse
Copyright © 2009 Ralph & Marjorie Crump
All right reserved.ISBN: 978-1-4490-2698-1Contents
ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS.................................................................................VINTRODUCTION - AUGUSTA'S JOURNAL.................................................................VII33. Mr. Diggle January 10, 1859..................................................................134. The Martins' Supper Party, January 12 to January 19 1859.....................................1135. Eldorado - Blissful Days, January 1859.......................................................2136. Eldorado's First Wedding, January 23 to March 2nd, 1859......................................2737. Eldorado's First Accidental Death, Spring 1859...............................................3738. Eldorado - An Intriguing Offer from Texas, Late Spring 1859..................................5739. Eldorado - Abandoned to Indians, Summer 1859.................................................7140. Chelsea - The Glennis Bemis Story, August 1859...............................................8341. Eldorado - Adda Returns to Lawrence, August and September 1859...............................9942. Eldorado - Jacob Eastman Chase, September 11 to late September, 1859.........................11143. Lawrence - A Visit with Adda, October and November 1859......................................12744. We Settle a Score, November, 1859............................................................15145. News of John Brown's Raid at Harpers Ferry, November, 1859...................................16346. Paul, the Disciple, Has a Disturbing Message, November and December 1859.....................17147. Eldorado's First School "Marm", December to Christmas Eve, 1859..............................18748. My Strange Social Status, December 1859 to July 1860.........................................20749. Meditations On The Road to Lawrence, March 12 to March 15, 1860..............................22950. Lawrence D. H. Montague to the Rescue, March 16 to June 1860.................................24151. Conversation With A Proslavery Lawyer, June and July 1860....................................25752. Adda and I Sell Our Eldorado Claims, July 8 to July 19, 1860.................................279
Chapter One
33. Mr. Diggle January 10, 1859, Eldorado
It's a terribly cold day. It's not just the icy temperature; it's the incessant down valley wind. It has snowed some, not much, but the wind has piled up little snowdrifts here and there.
In the afternoon, a stranger knocked at the door. Our neighbors just open the door and walk in, although some of them will shout some greeting, as we do when we visit them. But with the knock on the door I knew it was a stranger, so I became a little guarded.
I no sooner opened the door and he presented his calling card. While the door was open, I couldn't help but notice the black, newly painted, elegant one-horse shay tied up outside. That canvas roof was obviously not from around here. That kind of roof wouldn't last a season out here in our western Kansas wind.
I asked the stranger to step inside. As he removed his hat, exposing a handsome head of prematurely gray hair, I took a good look at his business card: Mr. Randolph H. Diggle, Senior Agent, Corcoran and Riggs Bank, Lawrence, Kansas. He took his topcoat off (which had a brown fur collar of a source unrecognizable to me) and draped it over one of our high kitchen chairs.
I'm familiar with Corcoran and Riggs. Father had some dealings with that bank while Adda and I were in Lawrence. I'm pretty sure he borrowed money from them for the syrup mill. It was my impression that Corcoran and Riggs were originally a Southern outfit but by opening a bank in Lawrence, they had acknowledged that the Free Soil people were here to stay and would probably be the main source of the territory's prosperity, but confirms that the bank will do business with anyone who is worthy of credit.
Mr. Diggle wore an Eastern business suit that included striped pants, a buttoned-up vest, which sported a heavy gold watch chain that hung on his ample chest in two little catenaries. From the chain dangled a yellowish white elk's tooth. (It was secured to the chain with a heavy gold bezel that contained some engraving that I couldn't read.) Mr. Diggle wore gray buckled-up canvas spats that covered the tops of his laced-up, polished shoes, quite an impressive outfit for a prairie traveler. I couldn't imagine him going any farther west in this costume. In fact, I wondered what sort of dandy would come even this far dressed like this.
Adda asked Mr. Diggle what had brought him so far west.
With an air of studied politeness that made it obvious he had no intention of revealing his mission to a mere female, he said he had some financial business with Mr. Samuel Stewart, President of Eldorado. "Have I found his residence?" he asked.
I didn't want to explain to Mr. Diggle that Father is dead. Mr. Diggle was entitled to know that, but I haven't come to the point where I can bring myself to say it. Just when I think I've accepted Father's death, an inquiry about him, like Mr. Diggle's, brings up renewed pangs of grief and a choking emotion and I realize that I'm not over it. Adda doesn't share this problem, but she sensed my reluctance to tell a stranger that Father wasn't alive anymore. Maybe she felt it wasn't any of his business, `least not until we got to know him better, so she remained quiet for which I was grateful.
"Yes, this is the Stewart claim," I managed, "but Father isn't here just now. Won't you sit down, Mr. Diggle, and warm-up." To change the subject, I suggested I make a pot of tea.
Adda went to the sideboard, got three cups and saucers and arranged them on the table.
Mr. Diggle glanced around the room. While surveying our cabin, he busied himself with smoothing down his gray leather gloves, one glove at a time, one finger at time, as if he expected to coax something out that had traveled with him in the glove, perhaps a small mouse, a little toad, maybe a pet cricket. Nothing detectable came forth.
Adda asked Mr. Diggle if he was "westbound."
"Oh my, no, I have to take care of several business transactions in Emporia, Chelsea and some of your other towns out here, then I plan to return to my offices in Lawrence. He asked Adda if she would oblige him by putting the feedbag on his horse. "You will find it under the seat of my shay. I bought the oats yesterday in Chelsea and the bag should be at least half full." His request was polite, but left no doubt that it was an instruction he expected to be carried out. Adda sprang up to locate her jacket and cap with earflaps to carry out our imposing guest's wishes. As she stood in the doorway behind Mr. Diggle, she looked at me and raised both eyebrows and grinned.
It wasn't all that late in the winter's day but it was already starting to get dark.
I invited Mr. Diggle to stay for supper, telling him that he'd have to take potluck. But I felt rather smug about the invitation, since I knew that I had several stuffed sage hens roasting in the oven and a few minutes before his arrival, I had put into the back of the oven a dozen or so sweet cornmeal muffins of my own recipe. Chase likes the little pieces of fried smoked ham rind I grind up and add to muffins. I give them some little "color" with a pinch of ground sweet red pepper, one of many cooking tricks I learned from Aggie Rourke.
While Adda was outside, I poured Mr. Diggle and myself a cup of tea and offered him some sugar and cream, which he accepted. He seems to possess such fine social graces.
To satisfy my curiosity, I approached the subject again of the reason for his visit. Shortly after we learned of Father's death, Adda and I had discussed the possibility that we might have some debts to contend with. Though Father spoke of shareholders in the sawmill, he never mentioned what it or the syrup mill cost and whether we owed money on them. I said to Mr. Diggle that this January storm might detain Father, glad that Adda wasn't in the room; I didn't need her disdain for this "white" lie.
"This tea is most satisfying," he said, avoiding my question. "I would prefer to discuss this matter personally with your father, who is the payee of the bank's note that I'm here to see him about."
There was a long pause. I didn't know how to respond and didn't want to follow up with some questions that would force me to talk too much about Father. Mr. Diggle solved the problem by volunteering the reason for his visit.
"About a year ago, in February, your Father borrowed some money from Corcoran and Riggs to purchase a sorghum mill. My bank," said Mr. Diggle, "made the payment directly to the factory in Pennsylvania, and I have come to inquire about the debt." Well, we cleared up that mystery!
"I understand your father represents District 17 in the Territorial legislature. Because of his position, I have come to speak to him in private about this matter. Both the note and the interest payments are overdue."
Adda returned and began to pay a compliment on the high style of Mr. Diggle's rig. I interrupted her to tell her about the promissory note, which cleared up the question of whether money was owed on the syrup mill though we hadn't given it much thought, certainly not in November and December, when we were worried about Father.
Adda asked Mr. Diggle how much was owed. He didn't give her an exact figure but responded by saying that the bank was more concerned about the lapse in interest payments than about the note. He explained in bankers' jargon that when interest payments become too delinquent, the note becomes a liability. This financial concern goes away by bringing the interest current.
"Well, we can solve that problem, Mr. Diggle," said Adda. "I'm sure we can cover the interest payments from the money we are making from the syrup we are selling. We can't produce it fast enough. We made four batches in October and November and sold every last quart through the two stores we have here in town." She got up and opened the stiff little clothbound account book where we keep our sales records, presenting it to Mr. Diggle for his inspection. She moved the coal oil lamp so close to the account book I was afraid it might singe his hair.
Mr. Diggle was so pleased he closed the ledger.
"According to these accounts, you have enough to pay up the arrears on the interest." He waved his hand as if he were brushing away the account book, that his inquiry in this matter was now closed.
The three of us had several cups of tea. I checked on the status of my roasting hens and set the table.
I heard Chase's wagon, quickly got up and put on Adda's jacket, which still had little drops of water on it, put a shawl over my head and shoulders and stepped outside. I wanted to explain to Chase about Mr. Diggle but out of his earshot, and I did it outside.
The four of us enjoyed the supper. My cornmeal muffins and the prairie hens came out just fine.
I invited Mr. Diggle to spend the night, though I didn't think he would accept. He seemed too dignified to climb the ladder and undress in the loft. Dignified or not, he stayed and filled the cabin with snores, which woke up Adda during the night. Using a broom handle, she thumped the underside of the loft, which did interrupt the snoring, but not for long. I think the snoring was worse than the wind!
The next morning, before our "star boarder" awoke, Adda and I put our heads together over the ledger.
We both agreed that we should first pay up the interest. To pay off the bank note, we'll use the proceeds from the lumber mill, though collections are rather "spotty" now, because we have trouble getting paid for several jobs. But it's my opinion that the sawmill is a more reliable and steady source of income than the syrup mill and will increase as the valley grows.
I've been having second thoughts about the wisdom of keeping the syrup mill anyway. We only get use of it for about two months out of the year. The balance of the year it is not only idle, but various parts of it rust, and paint is hard to come by out here. Last fall, after we took some sorghum syrup to McWhorter's store, one of the brothers came over and was poking around outside, looking at the sorghum mill. I recall that it was a warm day. I went outside to find out why he was inspecting the mill, and he asked me how much we would take for it. I said he'd have to speak with Father. As he got back on his horse, he remarked that it was a shame we weren't making rum as well as syrup. His comment made me think maybe I should put aside my feelings about alcohol: Perhaps the sorghum press has more value as a mill for alcohol, though we would have to buy a still to coax the alcohol out of cane-mash and a condenser to collect it. All that would require the services of Mr. Eastwood again.
To figure out how much we could pay Mr. Diggle, Adda and I totaled up how much money we had and how much was owed us. We had about seventy-five dollars in cash, plus the seventy-five dollar Army scrip that we got last August from the teamsters. Mr. Conner owed us thirty-five or forty dollars for our sorghum syrup he had sold and the McWhorters owed us about the same amount, maybe more. Adda and I agreed we could afford to pay Mr. Diggle one hundred dollars if we could collect a little from the stores and we decided to do this after breakfast and get a receipt. Adda left to pay a visit both stores.
About 8 AM, Mr. Diggle stirred. I called up to him in the loft, "I have some scrambled eggs and spiced hominy for you when you're ready." He asked if I would be so kind as to heat up some water, saying he wanted to shave before heading back.
While Mr. Diggle was having breakfast Adda returned from Mr. Conner's store with twenty-five dollars, commenting that he still owed us fifteen. I asked Adda, "What about the McWhorters?" She said they weren't up yet.
I asked Mr. Diggle if he would take scrip for part of the intended payment. I explained how we came by the scrip as a means to insure its value to him in lieu of currency.
"Yes, I can take scrip," he said, "but I'll have to discount it steeply." Well, I had no intention of discounting that scrip, so after breakfast, Adda and I counted out one hundred dollars and gave it to him. He drew from his traveling valise a rather large clothbound book, a formal bank ledger that contained blank checks and receipts. He wrote out a Riggs' receipt for the moneys paid, adding a note written at the bottom that the interest was now paid up through February 1859 and put his initials along side it. His penmanship was almost as good as mine.
About 9 AM he bundled up, and gave his horse some more oats. Adda had broken the ice in the trough out back. She said his poor horse drank like a camel. The last we saw of banker Diggle he was headed east in his one-horse shay, its canvas roof shaking and flapping as if it would be off downwind before he reached Emporia.
I said to Adda, "Our friend Mr. Diggle is very interesting. He is obviously a Southerner, but not from the Deep South." I wondered out loud if he was proslavery, and if so, why would the Corcoran and Riggs Bank send him to collect on a note owed by an abolitionist?
Chapter Two
34. The Martins' Supper Party January 12 to January 19 1859
Mr. Conner came by our claim today to drop off some mail and a book on carpentry for Chase. Mr. Conner's store has become the unofficial post office. The book was a long awaited one that Chase had ordered while Howland was still here. It came from England, sold through a bookseller in Philadelphia.
Chase has been glued to his stool, poring over the book, which teaches English-style house framing (Chase says that in the States it's called the Chicago style.) There is a chapter on roof framing: how to assemble mill-sawed timbers into connected triangular frames to create an open span from wall to wall to support the roof, then how to connect those roof frames when vertically in place, using diagonal planking that stiffens the roof assembly. This author, Chase says, teaches to caulk between the roof planks with tar or pitch to make the roof waterproof; then page after page of drawings of part names with recommended dimensions. This author, an English contractor who builds homes, claims to be the inventor of the double truss, a system to frame roofs for buildings of varying sizes. By using mathematical formulas, all detailed in the book, the author provides the dimensions required for each truss element for various roof trusses including rafter sizes to provide adequate strength to handle all sorts of roof loads like wind, snow, roof tiles, etc. These dimensions are all arranged in a large tabular summary for each of several ceiling spans.
Chase says this style of framing puts the fireplace in the walls, rather than in the center of the room, where a column of heavy masonry containing the fireplace flue also supports four diagonal roof beams.
The back of the book contains advertisements for carpentry shop machinery: attachments, pages of handsaws, two-man saws, and bucksaws along with details about the number of saw-teeth per running inch of saws for both hardwood and softwood.
One lathe attachment described in the book is for a "spinner," which is really a cutter that yields long dowel-shaped pegs known as treenails or, as the book calls them, "trunnels." The dowels are cut from hardwood lumber clear of knots. This author recommends using these dowels as fasteners, adding that they are the best way to hold together large joints made by mortises and tendons, which Chase cuts now, by hand. The mortise is a deep, rectangular slot chiseled into one member dimensioned to accept a tongue of wood, called a tenon cut on the end of the joining member. The tendon fits snugly into the mortise. The mortise and tendon joint is held together by the trunnel, which is driven in to a hole drilled perpendicular to the joint made by the mortise and tendon.
Tonight, January 19th is the Martins' supper party. I must say that it doesn't look like a very good night for a gathering. It's snowing and blowing a "perfect" gale.
Chase said he would come by for us late afternoon. I think we'll take the small wagon that will give Chase and me a chance to ride up to the Martins' together and have some time alone to talk about our wedding plans. It's so cold I'd better take along the big buffalo robe that Father brought back with him from attending one of his meetings of the legislature.
(Continues...)
Excerpted from AUGUSTA'S JOURNALby MARJORIE LUND CRUMP RALPH EUGENE CRUMP Copyright © 2009 by Ralph & Marjorie Crump. Excerpted by permission.
All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.
