July 30, 1814
We left Missouri on May 1st. I managed to stay by my brother Thomas's side by disguising myself as one of the 140 young lads who had volunteered for the battle further up river.
We were alone in the world, the two of us, and though St Louis had been recommended to us by neighbors back east after our parents died, Thom was uncertain what type of life a young woman could have in what amounted to wilderness.
Captain Sullivan thought the novelty of having along a lad who furiously recorded each step of our progress in his diary – that lad being myself – would be a grand publication for the colonies back east after this campaign was won, and so – the other sixty day volunteers let me record in my journal each night without their usual good natured jesting at my expense.
Now, wandering tired and sore along this river after losing Thom, I had to question my stubbornness at being allowed to accompany him on this fool's mission.
The fight with the British was not our fight. We only wished for a patch of land to till and farm. It had been Thom and his wistful imagination to be like our grandfather, who had served during the revolution that led him to his end.
We had been attacked along the river by a group of pro-British natives from the Sauk tribe in an area where the river ran wild over rocks and gullies that made me quite sick with the violent upheavals and sudden drops.
Begging to be let off on the shore in order to relieve myself, I was given permission to leave the boat with my sack with instructions to hail the next boat further downriver to gather me up once I was finished with my business.
It hurt to be separated from Thom, but I feared the jests I would have to suffer through should I lose my hardtack and biscuit morning meal in the boat with the other lads.
I had plunged myself headfirst into the thick brush beside the river, just below the narrower passage when I heard the deafening shrieks and battle cries of the natives that lay in wait on the cliffs.
The next boat would never come for me, and I watched with horror as Thom and the others in his vessel were cut down by the savages. The river, I remember – ran red with blood.
Terrified, I ran in to the darkened forest at my back. Hearing the whoops and musket shots behind me, I retraced my steps and went further north up the river in hopes that Thom survived, that a boat in our group would make it past the skirmish and I would be able to rejoin them.
Quietly as possible, I made my way up river, always keeping the raging water within earshot – even as the sky grew dark above.
I know not how long I wandered, but I listened so hard to the eerie silence that my ears were ringing by the time night fell.
Finally, after stumbling and falling numerous times on the rocks that cropped out and around the river, I went further in to the woods to find a meager shelter for the night. If nothing else, then perhaps by daylight I would be able to find my way further north to the fort to rejoin comrades there – if any survived.
For six days I have wandered, eating what berries I could find and hoping that they were not poisonous. It has left me with a terrible griping in my stomach, but at least it is not eating itself from the inside.
Knowing that the fort is further inland then where I currently walked, I ventured a little further in to the darker forest, backtracking my steps now and then to be certain I had not passed it or a camp of my comrades which might have escaped the fight on the river. Imagine my surprise at finding a cabin here – a beacon of hope in the otherwise dark of my surroundings.
Approaching cautiously, I watched the front door and surrounded area cleared of trees and brambles for some sign of life. I do not know how long I sat there, straining my eyes and ears for the sound of a voice, a person – surprised that I actually longed for some company after being so long away from it.
Two more days I sat near there, watching and waiting – leaving only once to bathe my face and arms in a nearby stream before returning.
Biting my lip on the third day as the sun crept over the horizon, I took the first tentative steps toward what would prove to be the most foolish thing I had ever done in my life.
Though I was certain the cabin was abandoned, it was surprisingly well kept. The wood floor was swept free of dust and debris, the large mattress on the bed against the wall opposite the one lone window full of fresh scented cornhusks. There was one long table in the center of the room, a basket full of what looked to be clothing, and a large iron cook pot hanging placidly over the hearth, waiting for something to fill it.
With that thought came a deep rumbling in my stomach, and I pressed a long fingered hand against it to quiet the stirrings in preference for examining my surroundings more fully.
A door led to a lean to type pantry attached to the main cabin – and surprisingly, the larder was full of smoked meats, root vegetables and some corn meal. Swallowing the saliva which had risen in my mouth by the sight of honest food, I tentatively plucked one of the smoked strips of meat from the rope of them and took a bite.
