Wellington's Quest by Robert F. Clifton (feel good fiction books .TXT) 📖

they go, I'll still be here, viewed as a shirker, a cripple, less than a man.”

“You are no such thing James Wellington. You are as much as a man as any around these parts and much more of a man than some. Besides, there are other things you can do to support our troops”. He smiled and pulled her close. After kissing the top of her head, said, “Come on, I'll walk you home.

“That evening Jim sat at the dinner table with his brother-in-law. “Ben, this war means two things to me. First, it's going to be a long war. Anyone who thinks it will be over in ninety days is fooling themselves. Second, since it is going to be a long war the Union Army is going to need food. Right now we're getting twenty five cents a bushel for our wheat. I expect that at this time next year to be getting forty five cents a bushel. Therefore, I'm going to plant five more acres of wheat come spring.”

“Sounds like good thinking, but you know the price of wheat can and does change during shipment. If there is a surplus the buyers know

 

it and they'll wait until the grain is loaded on the barges before they buy” answered Ben Connors.

“True, but right now I'm not thinking about selling to the Chicago or Milwaukee buyers', Jim responded.

“Then, where will you sell?”, asked Ben.

“Redwood Falls, at the Redwood Sioux Agency. Think about it. Less miles to travel transporting the wheat. The agency surely has need for flour and best of all the Indian Agent has cash on hand. We get paid up front instead of waiting for a transfer of funds,” Jim explained.

“Do you think that's wise? I've heard tell of some farmers attacked by Indians when taking their grain to market, Ben questioned.

“If I go in June the Sioux will be on the Redwood Reservation”, Jim answered.

“How can you be sure?” asked Ben.

Jim took out a folded piece of paper from his shirt pocket and handed it to his brother-in-law. Read that”, he said.

Ben unfolded the paper and saw that it was a printed flier. He began to read:

GRAND PLEASURE EXCURSION

TO THE SIOUX AGENCY

FRANK STEEL, CAPTAIN HATCHER,

FAVORITE CAPT. BELL OF DAVIDSON LINE

WILL MAKE EXCURSION

 

Trip to the

LOWER SIOUX AGENCY

on Monday, the 17th of June

Leaving St. Paul at 4:00 P.M. And

arriving at the agency in time to witness

the payments, which will come off on the

19th and 20th

This will afford an opportunity to persons

wishing to visit this splendid region of country

And of witnessing THE CEREMONIES of the

payment of nearly 5,000 Indians

 

Staterooms can be secured of TEMPLE &

BEAUPRE AGENTS ON THE LEVEE

 

Ben folded the flier and handed it back to Jim. “Seems like you've thought this through and made up your mind. Two things you still should be aware of”, said Ben.

“And, they would be?”

“There still might be hostiles out there, and what happens if the Indian Agent doesn’t buy?

“No Indian in his right mind would miss the payment of the annuity. If the agent doesn't buy I'll load it on the Davidson while it's still at the dock”, Jim answered.

On June 17, 1861 Jim Wellington drove his loaded wagon through ribbons of oak, elm, maple and cottonwood trees as he traveled the narrow dirt road towards the Redwood Sioux Agency. The Agency sat on the shores of the Minnesota River that originated at the Minnesota, South Dakota border. It flowed southwest to Mankato then turned northeast, joining the Mississippi south of the twin cities.

After stopping the wagon in front of the building that served as the office of the Indian Agent, Thomas Galbraith, Jim climbed down from the spring seat, dusted himself off and entered the structure. There, he offered his wheat to the Agent.

“Are you trying to sell me wheat or flour?” Galbraith asked.

“Grain”, Jim answered.

“Sorry, I've got no way to mill grain”.

“Can't the Indians grind it themselves? They grind corn don't they?”

“It's not a question of what the Sioux can do. The regulations require that I buy corn and flour, not wheat as non-milled grain, sorry”.

“It appears that I should have brought corn”, said Jim.

“It wouldn't matter. My warehouses are filled with corn, so I wouldn't be buying, Galbraith replied.

“Well, thank you anyway. I'll just ship it north. When is the Frank Steel due to dock?” Jim asked.

“Anytime now. You're in luck. I heard that she unloaded a

 

hundred barrels of salt on this trip. That means there's room for your wheat. How many bushels did you bring?”, asked the Agent.

“Thirty”, Jim responded.

“Have you ever shipped your grain with the Davidson Line?

“No”.

“The Captain will charge you fifteen cents a bushel”, the Agent added.

“That kinda cuts into my profit”.

“I thought you'd like to know”, said Galbraith.

“I do and I thank you. It appears that I'm between a rock and a hard place. I can ship and make some money, or I can turn around and go back home and haul my grain to St. Paul where I'll make a better profit. Of course that means a trip of over eighty miles both ways. I think I'll ship from here. I'll still make money, said Jim.”

He spent the night on the banks of the Minnesota River that flowed near the Redwood Agency. He had pulled his loaded wagon in among a stand of cottonwood trees. There, he unhitched the mule, rubbed it down, tethered the animal to the trunk of a tree, filled a feed bag with oats and allowed the crossbred to eat. At sunset Jim filled a coffee pot with river water. Put in a half a handful of ground coffee beans and placed the pot on the glowing embers of the fire he had built.

His supper that night was a slice of ham, cornbread and coffee. When he was finished eating he untied the mule and led it to the edge of the water and allowed it to drink. As it did Jim washed his plate, knife and fork. He would re-heat the coffee in the morning.

Back at his campsite he checked the mule covering the animal with an old blanket to keep the flies and mosquitoes off of its hide during the night. Then, he gathered dead branches that laid on the ground, placed them near the fire, made his bed on top of dead cottonwood leaves and went to sleep.

The next morning he was amazed at the sight before him as he neared the Redwood Agency. As far as he could see there were erected tipi's. Sioux women went about their daily activities, working hides and skins, others cooked over open fires. Children ran about in play and their happy voices were carried on the morning air. A large pony herd

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was being watched by the older boys of the tribe. Jim estimated that the collection of horses to be of about ten or fifteen thousand head. He maneuvered the mule and wagon slowly through the throng of people, a crowd now made up of fancy dressed men and women with plumed hats and parasols, mixed with members of the crew off of the Frank Steel now tied at the dock. Sioux men and women dressed in buckskins, others partially attired in the clothing of the white man walked through the grounds of the agency. Some wanted to trade such things as beaded moccasins for steel knives or dried pemmican for apple cider. Most of the Sioux men looked for weapons or whiskey.

A brass band began to play much to the delight of the Indians many of whom were fascinated with the sounds that came out of the trombones and tubas. Jim had to halt the mule several times before he was able to pull his wagon dockside. Shouting over the loud music, he asked a deck hand where the Captain was. “He's topside on the bridge,” answered the man.

“Can you get him for me?”,asked Jim.

“Nope, I'm busy, you want him come aboard and go up there and see him.”

“I don't like leaving my mule, wagon and load unattended”, explained Jim.

“See that pickaninny over there? He's trustworthy. Pay him with a twenty five cent piece and he'll climb up there on the wagon seat and protect your property like he owns it.

Jim called to the boy. The ten year old ran to him and when Jim explained what he wanted the lad to do the youngster took a position on the spring seat of the wagon and sat there like he was in command of the entire rig, including freight.

Crossing the gangplank and stepping down on to the deck Jim was met by a tall, neatly, bearded man about forty years old nattily dressed in a tan suit. He took a look at Jim and smiled. “Excuse me sir, but may I inquire of just what you are transporting in your wagon?”, asked the man.

“Wheat, I'm about to try to ship it to St. Paul”, Jim answered.

“May I ask what price you are looking for?”, asked the stranger.

 

“Thirty five cents a bushel”, said Jim.

“I'll take all of your wheat and give you twenty eight cents a bushel”, said the man.

“It's selling for thirty five cents a bushel in St. Paul”, said Jim.

“True, it is, at the mill, after you transport it there. If you ship it here on the Frank Steel the shipping rate is fifteen cents a bushel as you already know. I'll pay you what I offered plus the shipping fee', the man stated.

“That means you'll end up paying forty three cents a bushel when you total up the cost mister, mister?”

“Wilcox, Milford Wilcox, and you let me worry about the total cost. You see I'm what they call a speculator. Some might call me a war profiteer. This will be a long war I'm afraid. Our side will need food, bread in particular. I'll store this wheat and sell it later with the best offer. I guarantee you the best offer will come from the Quartermaster General that will purchase my wares', said Wilcox.

“How can you be so sure?”, asked Jim.

“As the saying goes, I have friends in high places, Mister? Mister?”

“Excuse me. The names wellington, James Wellington”.

Wilcox held out his hand and asked, “Then Mister Wellington do we have a deal?”

Jim took the man's hand and shook it. “Yes sir, we do. I lost a little in profit, but gained a whole lot less trouble”.

“Excellent! May I suggest that we lunch on the upper deck. You'll be my guest of course. I should like to inquire about your other crops that might be of interest to me. While we lunch we can watch the festivities. I'm told that the Sioux will do a few tribal dances this day”.

Shortly after One P.M. The two men left the Frank Steel and walked to a place in the shade where they could watch the proceedings. The brass band that had traveled down the river from St. Paul left the grounds and when the last musician left the area Sioux women entered.

All of the women walked into the shade of the buildings. Some sat. Other stood. Then the standing women began to sing. As they sang the seated women got to their feet and began to dance.

 

As the women sang, the steady beating rhythm of a buffalo hide drum could be heard. The dancers moved in a clockwise direction.

“They do this dance as the circle of unity, the never ending cycle of life”, said Wilcox to Jim.

“You must have seen them dance before”, suggested Jim.

“Many times. I come for the payment of the annuities every year. By being here I get I get an awareness of just how the tribes are feeling. I'll tell you this, The United States government and in particular the bureau Of Indian Affairs are cheating on a daily basis. They force the tribes to concede their land by having them sign a treaty. Each treaty ends up being a lie and the Indians know it. The Bureau Of Indian Affairs cheats the tribes by cutting rations, or by selling