Pony Express Girl

Chapter 11

Horrified as I was at the unequal battle that I had witnessed, I could not help but be pleased and relieved that I was no longer menaced by such a large body of angry and bloodthirsty Indians. I was sorry, though, to see so many men killed like that in front of my eyes.

I spurred on my horse, riding swiftly down the slope to where the soldiers were now exulting in their victory. It was at that moment that I came more close to losing my own life than at any time since setting off from St Joseph. There was a cry of warning, followed almost instantly by the crack of a rifle being discharged. A bullet whistled past my head so close that I felt the wind of its passing.

     What had happened, of course, was that one of the soldiers had seen a rider bearing down on him and his comrades and had assumed as a matter of course that it must be another Indian warrior. There were shouts of protest, though, at his rash action, as others saw that I was  white. They suffered me to approach without firing at me again.

To my amazement I found that this was the column from Fort Richmond, under the command of Colonel Parker. At his side was his adjutant, Major Conway, and both men looked a good deal more travel-stained, dusty and weary than when last I had met them, only a few days earlier. For their part, they both appeared to be pleased to see me.

     ‘Miss Taylor,’ said Major Conway, ‘I rejoice to see you in good health. I was a-feared that you had been killed in the attack on the fort.’

     ‘No,’ I replied pertly, ‘it would take more than that to settle with me.’

     The major smiled at that and said, ‘Yes, I dare say that’s true.’

     Colonel Parker introduced a more formal tone to the conversation, by saying,

‘I too am glad to see you, Miss Taylor. We owe you a debt of gratitude. However, I think that a young girl such as yourself has been wandering about unprotected for just about long enough. You’ll travel south with us now, so that I might deliver you to the safekeeping of some responsible authority.’

     If somebody had talked in this way of handing me over to any authority a day or two earlier I would have bridled and then fought tooth and nail against the idea. Now, though, it sounded quite reassuring and although I didn’t say yea or nay to the scheme, I hoped that my silence would be taken for consent.

It was, and when the field of battle had been tidied up and provision made for the dead and wounded troopers, we all set off together through that pass which I had been seeking before the fighting had erupted.

     The famous Battle of Hebden Pass, which features so much in histories of the State of Kansas, ended in the death of a hundred and twelve Indians. By stark contrast, only two soldiers were killed and nine injured. It was the first and only battle I have ever witnessed with my own eyes and I can truthfully say that it was a bloody and brutal business, which involved little heroism on either side.

     Having recovered me, Colonel Parker seemed anxious that I should not go astray once more. I do not know if this was because of genuinely altruistic concern for my welfare as a young and vulnerable girl, or because he was worried that it would look bad for him if I ended up getting scalped by the Indians.

Whatever his motive, he detailed a trooper to ride alongside me and make sure that I did not get lost again. This man, a grizzled sergeant, was an amiable travelling companion and he appeared to be quite taken with me and my story.

     ‘No, but did you really ride for that new Pony Express outfit?’ asked Sergeant McDermott. ‘But you’re a rare one! How old d’you say you was?’

     ‘Fifteen.’

     ‘Lord, you’re somethin’ else again. Anyways, I got to make sure you don’t go a-missin’, so I hope you won’t mind if I stick to you like a cockleburr?’

     ‘You go right ahead,’ I told him, and I meant it. It gave me a nice warm feeling to know that somebody was taking care of me until I could be returned to my mother. I had surely had enough adventures over those days to last me a lifetime.

     Getting me home proved somewhat harder to do than the Colonel anticipated. My own take on the matter was that with a horse between my legs and a fresh charge of powder in all the chambers of my father’s pistol, I could probably make it  to St Joseph just fine. Indeed, I thought that I would be able to ride back eastwards for the Pony Express and that nobody would be any the wiser about the deception in which my brother and I had engaged.

It appeared, though, that there was not the slightest chance of doing this. By now the Pony Express knew about the destruction of the station at Smoky Mountain and they had assumed that one Jack Taylor Esq.  had been killed by the Indians. When the cavalry arrived with me at one of the little staging posts, one which I had passed through on the way to Smoky Mountain, there was general consternation. That I had, throughout all my vicissitudes and tribulations, managed to preserve the mochila with which I had started out out from St Joseph was viewed as little short of miraculous.

     The three men at the station could not decide what they were most amazed about: that I had succeeded in keeping the mochila intact and in my care or the fact that it was now generally known that I was a girl.

One said, ‘You guarded the mail with your life. I reckon you’re the best boy we ever had so far!’ He grinned as he said this, so that I would not be offended at being called a boy. Another of the men said,

     ‘You riding back eastwards for us, I reckon?’

     The adjutant from Fort Richmond, Major Conway, chipped in at this point and said,

‘This child is riding nowhere for anybody. We’re aiming to send her home as soon as may be.’

     ‘Don’t rightly know how that’ll work,’ said one of the Pony Express men doubtfully, ‘There ain’t no railroad or stage running from here to St Joseph. Only us. It’s over a hundred and fifty miles as the crow flies.’

     ‘Be that as it may,’ said the major, ‘this girl has done with riding for you. All else fails, she can ride along of us for a day or two, I guess.’

     It turned out that the bulk of the men from Fort Richmond were bound for some other fort, whose name I cannot quite recollect. A certain number though - eighteen - were heading for the Missouri River. Major Conway was not among their number, for which I was sorry, but the party was headed by Sergeant McDermott, with whom I had got on well.

After camping out near to the Pony Express station the soldiers split up the next morning and I rode along with the men heading east.

     Sergeant McDermott was a regular Tartar when it came to keeping his men in order. Before we set off that day he addressed the troopers thus:

‘Some of you fellows might note as we have a young lady riding with us, which I’ll allow is no a common thing. That being so, I tell you all that if I hear any dirt, cussing or talk of any kind which ain’t fitting for a well-brought-up young lady to hear, then you’ll answer for it. Is that clear?’

     It was, seemingly, clear, because during those two days that I rode with the cavalry I did not have the least apprehension about any one of those men. They were curious about me, to be sure, but very polite and respectful. Not one of them took any liberties or even spoke roughly. That was, I think was a tribute to what a ferocious sergeant they had.

     When we were near the Missouri we came to a small town, perhaps twenty miles from the river itself. I had passed through this place on my ride to Seneca. Sergeant McDermott sought out the sheriff there and outlined the case to him, impressing upon the man most forcefully that I had to be tended  to like I was a piece  of  delicate china and got back safe to my folks in St Joseph. The sheriff, with something of an ill grace, accepted the commission, which also says something about Sergeant McDermott’s way of running down all opposition and having his own way. The long and the short of it was that the sheriff agreed to take me to St Joseph himself and hand me over to my mother.

     Incredible to relate, I arrived back at the ferry across the Missouri only a week after I had left for Seneca. It felt like a lifetime and I knew that, in some way, I had grown up over those days.

The man piloting the ferry stared at me and my escort with a look that spoke of inquisitiveness, but seeing the sheriff with me caused him to hold his tongue. I don’t rightly know what he thought was going on. I knew this man slightly, at least by sight, and wondered if he’d heard some tidings of what had been going on over in Kansas.

     The sheriff said, when we had gained the far bank,

‘I guess I’d better take you to the door, young lady. I don’t want that firebrand sergeant on my tail, should anything miscarry with you getting home safe.’ We were both riding and I still hadn’t told anybody the story of the horse I was on. I felt bad about the idea of hanging on  to the beast and so I asked casually,

      ‘You ever hear of a town called Eldorado?’

     ‘Eldorado?’ he replied, ‘Sure. Boom town, or used to be. Silver. Why d’you ask?’

     ‘No special reason. Only this horse belongs to somebody there.’ He gave me a quizzical look and I added hastily, ‘I didn’t steal it. But happen you could return it there. I wouldn’t feel good about keeping it.’

     The sheriff looked as though he wished that I had not burdened him in this way and that he would have been happy not to be told about the horse, but he agreed to take it back across the river with him.

By this time, we had reached my home. I tried to dismiss the man with profuse thanks, but he was having none of this, it being his fixed intention of speaking a few words to mother and ensuring that I was now transferred into the care and protection of some responsible grown-up person.

     There was nobody outside our house and so I dismounted, nervous, now it had come to the point, of what my mother’s reaction would be to all this.

I soon found out. Just as I got down from the horse, the door to my home opened and out walked my ma. I had never seen her in such a state; her hair was down and her face chalk white. She looked altogether distracted. Her clothes were in disarray and she was bent over like an old woman. She did not at first look up to see me, so I cried out cheerfully,

‘Hey, Ma! I’m back!’ Whereupon my mother looked up quickly, her eyes widened to an astonishing degree and then she swooned clean away, crumpling up in a heap.

     The sheriff hastened over to where my mother lay on the path and began trying to rouse her. I went over as well and then I heard my brother say, from behind me,

‘Hidy, sis.’ I turned round and there stood Jack.

He said, ‘They said as you was dead. Killed by the Comanches, but I didn’t believe a word of it. I knew for certain-sure you’d be back again.’

     I noticed that Jack was standing on his two feet without any apparent difficulty, so I said,

‘Your ankle better now?’

     For a moment, my brother looked perplexed, like he didn’t know what I was talking about. Then he said,

‘Oh, that. No, it’s fine now. Sprain weren’t as bad as I feared.’

     ‘Oh, that’s a mercy,’ I said. ‘Happen you’ll be in a position to take over from me now at the Pony Express?’

     ‘I wouldn’t o’ thought so,’ he said gloomily, ‘Everybody knows about that stunt we worked.’

    ‘Oh? How’s that?’

    At this point my mother recovered consciousness. Despite the sheriff telling her not to stir but to stay lying down, she got unsteadily to her feet and enfolded me in the tightest embrace I have ever received in my life, clinging on to me desperately as though she was a drowning sailor and I a rock.

 She said, ‘I been plumb distracted, child. I thought you was dead.’

     At some time during this affectionate family reunion the sheriff slipped away, taking with him, as well as his own mount, the horse I had acquired from Tom Rawlings. My mother led me, still hanging on  to me, as though unwilling to let me leave her side.

     What had happened was that the Pony Express riders travelling east had swiftly brought tidings of the attack at Smoky Mountain and the fact that a bunch of dead bodies were found there. Each new rider who fetched up in St Joseph added something to the tale and since all that was known was that I had ridden west from Seneca and had not been seen since leaving the way station fifteen miles east of Smoky Mountain, the conclusion was inescapable.

     There isn’t much more to say about this mad escapade of mine. We all, that is to say me and my mother and brother, thought that the Pony Express company would be furious at the deception practised on them, but in fact the publicity they received from all this was a prime factor in their success that year. The story of how one of their riders went racing off to alert the army to the Comanche invasion caught the imagination of the public and stories about it appeared in newspapers as far away as Washington and New York. That it had been a young girl, masquerading as a boy, served only to make the whole thing more curious and remarkable. The mochila that I had kept safe also featured in these tales.

     Best off was where William Russell was so tickled by the business that he allowed my brother Jack to take up his job after all, now that his ankle was better. One of his riders being instrumental in the events which climaxed with the Battle of Hebden Pass was something to savour and Russell wished to present himself publicly as a man who appreciated grit of that sort.

     That incident in 1860 was the only truly remarkable thing ever to occur in my life. Two years later I met and swiftly fell in love with the man I was to marry and my life since then has been blessed with normality and dullness. Every so often though, somebody will remark of me to a stranger,

‘That’s Beth Taylor, as was. The only girl who ever rode for the Pony Express.’

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