Adventures on the Great River Road: 1814

By Thomas McCague

A rousing and heart-pounding tale rich with historical detail, about two half-brothers, Reuben and Thaddeus Flack, who set out to deliver a flatboat full of local Kentucky goods to the market in New Orleans in the new Louisiana Territory in 1814. It is a time when the nation was young, life was anything but easy, and the West extended little beyond the Mississippi River. Along the way they encounter river rats and thieves, loose women and "fire-n-brimstone" preachers, dangerous rapids and drenching storms, making one narrow escape after another. Younger brother Thad, who has lived his life in the shadow of his older brother, is thrown ill prepared, into the riverman's rough world where his journey becomes his passage into manhood, with a little help from Effie. Unwittingly the brothers stumble into New Orleans just in time to be unwilling participants in the historic battle.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Thomas McCague
• Release date: Oct 26, 2012
• ISBN: 9781301723775

Thomas McCague

Thomas McCague retired from a 32 year career at IBM in 2008 and became a seasonal worker (real bearded Santa) which is a lot more fun. He decided to dust off a novel he wrote and shelved several years ago. He majored in history at Oglethorpe University in Atlanta, Georgia while working fulltime at IBM. This novel was a result of an independent historical research paper he authored while studying at Oglethorpe. He and his wife are both avid travelers in the U.S. and abroad. They love to get lost and don't spend much time in the typical tourist spots. He currently lives in Sharpsburg, Georgia (where's that?) with his beautiful wife Deborah and their senile cat Ozzie.

Book preview

Reuben came home in November, 1813 after the war ended. Or anyway we thought it had. Earlier that fall the United States Navy had whupped the British fleet on Lake Erie. Then William Henry Harrison had whupped them redcoats up at the River Thames in Canada, and the Injuns along with 'em, and killed the great Shawnee chief, Tecumseh. So as far as folks in western Kaintuck could see, it was as good as over. It wasn't, a' course, as Reub and me found out. But that came later.

It was like Reub to show up with a big noise. Me bein' in the Widow Rude's at the time was pure chance. Pa'd sent me after his barefoot whiskey, as usual, and the Widow had filled the jug and was markin' it on our account, though to tell truth it came nearer charity than credit. I reckon Arrie Rude was 'bout as loose a woman as Ma said, but she was partial to us Flacks. There wasn't any big secret 'bout the reason. It was Reub.

You could tell by the way she always started out, bein’ neighborly a' course-uh huh, neighborly my ass!-with some such remark as, Don't suppose, now, you've heard nothin' from that big he-panther of a brother of yours…?

Half-brother, I said out-a habit. I shook my head. You know Reub.

Seems quite a spell he's been away, don't it? As if she hadn't been keepin' track to the very day!

'Bout two years, I said. Longest yet. Musta got hisself in some new kinda scrape this time. Or maybe some woman's finally hooked 'im for good.

I don't know why I said that, bein' mean. But all she did was toss her yellow head. No sir, don't ever think it, she said. Not Reub. Oh, I don't doubt he's got some doxy a lovin' him, wherever 'tis he's perched. And chances are good he's in some kinda trouble, bein' Reub. But one thing you can count on with that brother of yours…

Half-brother, I said.

He always turns up.

Well, he always has, that's so.

Uh huh, either big as life and twice as natural, jinglin' Spanish pieces of eight in his pantaloons as if he owned the earth, or else so poor and beaten down to bedrock he's got to lean up agin a tree to spit. But he turns up. Arrie sighed and her blue eyes went misty for a moment. No woman's gonna hold that rascal long.

Well, I thought, as long as she's got a notion what she's buckin'… I felt a little pang of sympathy for the Widow, though she was old enough to know better. She was older 'n Reub, for sure; past thirty if she was a day. She even had a boy, Ezra, who was near my age. All the same, she still was a mighty good-lookin’ woman, hadn't a bad shape on her at all if you liked 'em big. I caught myself wonderin' all at once what this Widow'd be like in bed. Not bad, I thought; give you all the wrasslin' you could handle… I'd turned seventeen that fall, and such thoughts seemed to come over me naturally. I felt myself start to go hot and red in the face, the way I usually did at such times, and it was right then we heard the high, wild panther scream:

Yaaaaaaaaaoooooooooooooowwwwwwwww-w-w-w-w-w-w!

We looked at each other. Speak of the devil! said Arrie, and we both scrambled for the door.

It was Reub, sure 'nuff. There he stood in the middle of the road, spraddle-legged, hands on hips, grinnin' at Cyrus Crego like a wolf with a lamb cornered. Maybe ten or a dozen other men made a ring 'round 'em. It was 'bout as sizable a crowd as Crego's Landing could muster on short notice, and I saw right off that most were new settlers who'd come down river and taken up Crego land in the last year or two. So Reub would be a new kinda varmint to everybody 'cept Gran'pa Mergy and his nephew Arlo, and a' course Cyrus.

Keep your distance now, Cyrus was sayin'. I don't want no trouble with you Reub Flack.

No trouble? wailed Reub. Why, you minnie! You tadpole! You crawdad, you! Stand here a-braggin' how you aim to take your broadhorn down this here very river where I'm the big bull 'gator from the canebrake, and you got the everlastin' barefaced gall to say to me, no trouble? With that, Reub cut loose another wild panther screech, jumped high in the air and cracked his heels together. He landed all crouched over, arms bent and elbows out like a rooster that's all ruffled up to fight. Everybody, Cyrus included, hastily backed off.

Just go on 'bout your business, now, Cyrus grumbled. 'S a free country. You don't own the damn river.

No trouble, is it? said Reub. Well take a good look at me, Cyrus Crego. No woman ever birthed this varmint, no siree. Blue forked lightnin' hit an ol' pizen oak tree that used to grow where the Salt River meets Misery Crick, an' I riz up fullgrow'd out-a the ashes. I'm part alligator cooter and part earthquake, with a streak-a rattlesnake throw'd in for meanness; weaned m'self on wolf milk and Monongahela whiskey; et raw b'ar and used the bones to pick m'teeth with; and I'll most likely live forever 'cause Heaven won't have me and the Ol' Black Scratch is scairt to. You listenin', Cyrus Crego? Look at me, I say…!

Cyrus looked, crouchin' too and turnin' nervously as Reub commenced to circle 'im. Reub hadn't changed much that I could see. He was 'bout six feet above snakes and loose-hung as always; had a new scar on 'im was 'bout all. It was a thin, jaggedy line runnin' from under one eye clear 'cross the bridge of his big hawk nose, as if somebody'd taken a broken bottle to 'im. Which I never doubted somebody might-a. Like that wolfish grin he had, the scar stood out white in the Injun-dark face of 'im. All the while he circled Cyrus he never quit threatenin':

Say your prayers, friend, for yur up agin the one 'n only original riptail'd roarer. I'm a child of calamity and a bringer-a natural disaster. I can outrun, out jump, wrassle down, stomp flat, drag out, and skin alive any mother's son that's got no better sense than to cross me; white, black, Injun, or in b'tween, 's all one and the same to me…

Listen to the great, stompin', struttin' flapdoodler, Arrie Rude murmured fondly. Aint slowed down a particle, has he?

Aw, go on back and set down, Reub, Cyrus said, finally startin' to bow up. Aint nobody told you that I'm the chief wildcat of these here woods? Calamity, you say? Friend, you're a-flirtin' with calamity this minute unless you shut your gob and go back where you won't rile me no more. It was a good try, but somehow it sounded pretty lame. Cyrus was the oldest Crego boy, 'bout of an age with Reub. He was 'bout as big, too, though he ran more to bull neck and barrel chest than to us Flacks' raw bones. But it was plain he lacked Reub's talent for makin' the eagle squeal. He broke off and jumped backward as Reub made to run at 'im. Take care now...

Reub snatched off his wool hat with the red turkey feather. He flung it down, peeled off his canvas jacket and flung that down too. Now I'm mad, he said. Now my patience is plumb wore out an' nothin'll do but raw'uns...

Boo! he yelled suddenly, and that time he did run at Cyrus. And agin Cyrus jumped backward, so fast he piled into a man standin' behind 'im. By the time they got untangled he'd of been easy game, if Reub had followed up. But Reub stopped, put his hands on his hips and guffawed. He had a laugh on 'im louder 'n a span of mules both brayin' at once.

It was catchin'. Somebody in the crowd snickered. Then two or three more did. Then everybody did.

Cyrus turned red as raw meat. Think you're damn funny, don't you? Aw right, you river rat, if it's fight you want… He balled up his fists and made as if he'd go at Reub, but didn't. It was too late; he'd already been faced down. He stood there lookin' from man to man around the ring and you could see it slowly sink in. Go to hell then, the lot of you! he blurted, and turned on his heel and stalked off. The worst of it, I suppose, was his realizin' that the whole business had been nothin' but a joke to Reub. Not that it mightn't of come to a fight, if Cyrus had got provoked enough. But the big talk and the showin' off came as natural as breathin' to Reub, and he loved it.

The snickerin' died away. For a minute or so nobody said a word, either. Then:

Reub! the Widow squealed, and ran and grabbed a-holt of 'im as if she'd eat 'im up right there. That sort-a broke the ice.

Bless my soul, said Gran'pa Mergy, as he sat whittlin' on the stoop of the dry goods store. If we aint got the prodigal back amongst us like a visitation of the plague.

Howdy, Reub, Arlo called out. We thought this time they'd hung ya' sure.

Well, they aimed to, Reub told 'im, but I outrun 'em.

The Widow was still clutchin' and pawin' 'im, wantin' to know where he'd been and what he'd been about and all. Later, honey, he said, fetchin' her a swift slap across the backside that made her yelp. Thad, pass the jug ya' got there, he called to me, and till then I'd not been aware of carryin' it outside.

Two years Reub had been away and that's all he had to say to me, Thad, pass the jug.

We didn't talk much, walkin' home.

Is it a fact 'bout Cyrus and his brother Ham fixin' to take a broadhorn down the river for their Pa? Reub asked me.

So I've heard tell, I said.

God help us, he said.

Reub could sneer, bein' a riverman hisself. He was back from keelboatin' up the Missouri in the fur trade, or so I gathered from his braggin' to the Widow before we'd left her place. It might-a been all lies; ya' never knew with Reub, and the Missouri was pretty far off country even for 'im. But he'd already been 'bout everywhere else a flat or a keelboat could float, I reckon, from the forks of the Ohio up at Pittsburgh clear down to the Port of New Orleans and up to St. Louis on the Mississippi. He'd first run off to go on the river years ago, long before he was my age. To be honest, I suppose that was what galled me 'bout Reub: that he'd had the nerve to cut loose and do it, whilst I'd never be likely to get any farther than pushin' a plow and a draft ox through the bear grass all my born days. Well, there was more to it, a' course. It was actually a long story, the two of us not gettin' on and such.

Every place we'd ever lived as far back as I could remember, and there were a plenty, Pa bein' a fiddlefooted man talk, would somehow start 'round that Reub was part Injun. He was the get of Pa and some Mingo squaw, folks would say, from Pa's old roamin's up north of the Ohio River in the days when all that country belonged to the wild Injuns. Not many men ever mentioned it out loud in Pa's hearin', or Reub's either once he'd commenced to get his growth. He'd given me more 'n one thrashin' for tauntin' him 'bout it, till I learnt better. All the same, I always suspected he didn't only believe it hisself but even took a dark and secret pride in it. After all, 'tisn't everybody can be part Injun. Mind now, I never knew whether he was or not. He could-a been, is all I know. Pa'd come out-a Virginia through the Cumberland Gap, and up Boone's trace to Kaintuck, as a young man. He'd hunted and trapped, and lived with Injuns and fought Injuns, ever since. He'd been friends with Boone and Simon Kenton and them. He'd marched to Vincennes and Kaskaskia with George Rogers Clark and to Mackachak with General Ben Logan, and I don't know what-all or where-all else. Takin' Ma for his wife was the nearest he'd ever come to root, hog or die, but evidently it didn't change 'im a whole lot. Reub was six years old or thereabouts at the time and wild as a badger. I'd heard Ma tell what a chore she'd had, tamin' 'im down to where he could live amongst decent folks. She said herself he was the very spit and image of Pa. Everybody said so, includin' more than a few that hadn't much use for us Flacks. I'd learnt that too, as I grew up. Men of Pa's cut didn't usually stand real high with the general run of neighbors, once frontier country started turnin' what people called 'respectable.' Still, though it might come a trifle grudgin', they got their due. Like ya'd hear men say, He's Flack clean through to the backbone, aint he, that Reub? Or, That's all man there 'cept what's wildcat, they'd say. It was more 'n anybody ever said of me. And Reub surely was. Which didn't make it any easier bein' half-brother to 'im, let me tell you…

Our place is 'bout four miles downriver from Crego's Landing. We'd covered nearly all of it before I said, Pa went off to the war, ya' know.

Reub grunted. And how the hell would I know, sprat?

Well, he did, I said. Last spring, with General Green Clay's militia.

We walked on a ways. How old's Pa? Reub asked. Never see sixty agin, huh? Sight too old to still be playin' sojer, anyway, the damn ol' fool.

He didn't appear to see it that way, I said.

Reub grunted again. He and Pa'd put on a fearful shoutin' match over the war, back before it even started but only seemed likely to. It was over the militia, really. Pa'd been in some militia outfit or other near 'bout all his life. I doubt he'd ever missed a campaign from the time he first came out to Kaintuck right up to General Mad Anthony Wayne's great victory over the Injuns at the Fallen Timbers in 1794. But Reub had declared right out that he wasn't 'bout to follow in Pa's footsteps. 'Twasn't his style,' he said. Him, go to stompin' bugs up and down a drill field all day long? Frettin' lest his buttons weren't shined so? Sayin' Yes sir and No sir to some pinch gut officer he could-a et raw for breakfast any day in the week? Uh huh, said Reub, no way. He'd gone on like that till at last Pa'd bellowed at him to get out; he disowned him; would-a soon have a skunk around the place. So Reub had packed up his budget and his blanket roll and got. It was the last we'd seen of 'im till now.

Word come 'bout Tecumseh and the redcoats layin' siege to Fort Meigs up in Ohio, I said. Then pretty soon General Clay sent to tell Pa he was enlistin' a relief column and could use an ol' hand like him. After that there was no holdin' Pa. I'd a' gone instead. I wanted to. But he wouldn't have nothin' of it, said somebody had to stay and tend the place…

For some reason it was terrible important, all at once, that Reub know that 'bout me. But he ignored it.

I hear that relief column got cut up somethin' cruel, he said.

They done won though, I reminded 'im. Ended up chasin' the redcoats and Tecumseh and the whole pack of 'em all the way back to Canada.

Pa hang'd onto his scalp all right?

He hung onto it.

Damn ol' fool, said Reub.

It was pretty thick dusk by the time we turned off the river road onto our place. There was barely enough light left to show a big roan saddle horse tied in the open-sided barn along with our ol' swayback mare Dessie and the draft ox Samson.

Now whos'd that be? Reub wondered. Not Pa's, surely?

Eston Crego's, I said, suddenly feelin' uneasy.

I had reason to. We'd barely rounded a corner of the cabin when the door flung open with a crash and Eston Crego hisself burst through a-runnin'. Somethin' hit the lintel above his head a wallop that might a' scattered his brains broadside, had it landed. It was Pa's hickory-fork crutch; he musta hurled it like a destroyin' thunderbolt, for it glanced off and went spinnin' end for end across the cabin yard, catchin' Mister Crego a smart whack on the ankle as it went by. And right behind, hoppin' awkwardly on his one leg, arms thrashin' up a storm, come Pa. He lurched headlong into the doorpost, almost fell but caught a-holt and hung there, bellowin':

Get out! Get off my place, goddamn your hide!

Mister Crego had run right out from under his hat. He bent down and groped in the dark till he found it, and clapped it on his head. He limped off a few more steps before he turned 'round to shout back at Pa, his voice quiverin' so he could scarcely get the words out:

Aw right, I've warned ya', Hiram Flack. This here's the last straw. And now by all that's holy we'll see what the law's got to say 'bout squatters like you.

You thieving skinflint, bawled Pa. Schemin' to diddle a man out-a his honest rights. Looming there in the cabin doorway with the flickerin' firelight behind his great, gaunt body, he looked ten feet tall and meaner than Samson 'bout to tear down the temple of the Philistines. He tossed his head in such a fury that shining strings of spit flew from the corners of his mouth. The awfulness of his wrath made me shiver. Ya' crawlin' bloodsucker, he shouted, you conniving louse…

Pa, don't! I heard Ma wail. I glimpsed her troubled face over his shoulder, but she might as well of tried calmin' down a cyclone. Mister Crego, don't listen to him, she pleaded. its temper a-talkin', he don't mean it…

Quiet, woman! Keep yur place, Pa roared. He turned on her, or went to; but when he let loose of the doorpost he lost his balance and would-a fallen flat if he hadn't flung both arms 'round her. He hung on, pantin', and for that one instant the vast helplessness of 'im, such a hulkin' wreck of a man, struck me as more awful to see than all his foamin' rage.

The instant passed. Turnin' away, Eston Crego ran full-tilt into me. He shouldered me aside without a by-your-leave, but Reub stuck out a leg and tripped 'im and down he went on all four with a thud. He struggled back onto his feet, fumin', all ready to light into me. It wasn't me standin' over 'im, though. It was Reub, all a-brim with concern by the sound of 'im:

Fall down and hurt yurself, did you?

Get outta my way, damn ya', Mister Crego snapped.

Ya' want-a be more careful, Reub said. A fat bag of guts like you could bust somethin' mighty easy.

Scum! Mister Crego muttered. Miser'ble no-count squatter scum… Still mutterin', he limped off into the darkness.

Hurry back now, ya' hear? Reub called. He elbowed me in the ribs. Be damn, though, if he aint goin' away mad in spite of us wouldn't ya' say, sprat? He threw back his head and guffawed.

I didn't. I leaned against the cabin wall, my knees feelin' limp as a wet dish rag now it was all over. The cabin door had swung shut but I heard Pa inside, still carryin' on. I could imagine Ma bent like a sapling under the furious weight of 'im, coaxin' and soothin' as she helped 'im to his chair and eased 'im into it. What with the dark and the excitement and all, it seemed neither of 'em had noticed Reub and me.

Reub had his laugh out. You never told me Pa'd lost his leg, he said.

I said, Well, you never asked me.

Where'd it happen?

Fort Meigs. British cannon ball.

Reub chuckled. Still full of piss and vinegar though, aint he? The ol' turkey gobbler.

We heard a harness jingle in the barn, then a thudding of hooves as Eston Crego rode off. The sound dwindled and died in the darkness.

Ya' needn't a' tripped 'im, I said.

Aw, it done him good, said Reub. They're all too full-a their selves, them Cregos. He reached and took the whiskey jug from me, pulled the corncob stopper, swung the jug up over his arm and took a long pull. He handed it back. Have one yurself, sprat, and start growin' some hair on that chest a yurs.

I didn't usually drink whiskey; Ma thought I was too young. But I felt I could use a jolt right then. It was good whiskey the Widow Rude put out: kill a man dead at forty rods, as the sayin' went.

What was the dustup all 'bout, anyway? Reub asked.

I drew a long breath. Well... I began, and stopped, not havin' much heart for gettin' into the sorry business. Then I never had to, for the door opened and Ma stepped out. She was after Pa's crutch. But it was pitch black all over the cabin yard by then, save for a narrow fan of light that spilt out over the ground from the open doorway. She made a stab at lookin' 'round and stopped, not knowin' which way to go.

Wait, Ma, I'll find it, I hollered.

Oh, she said, so you're back, Thad. And high time, too. What kept you?

How-do, Hattie, said Reub. I reckon I'm what kept him; your own lovin' step-son's come home to roost. His grin gleamed white in the dim firelight flicker.

Well, come on in outta the cold then, Ma said. She wasn't a woman that startled easy.

****

Chapter 2

Our troubles with the Cregos came from their holdin' us to be no better 'n squatters. Eston Crego claimed title to all that stretch along the Ohio River, considerably more than a thousand acres of it, I reckon, with our place at the mouth of Rabbit Crick spang in the middle. He'd got it the way men of means customarily did pick up good land cheap: buyin' old sojers' warrants. But Pa'd staked out a tomahawk claim to our piece on the crick years before, when he'd camped there durin' a hunt. They were called tomahawk claims 'cause a man blazed trees with his hatchet to mark out the boundaries he was claimin', and not one in a hundred ever got filed at any county seat. In the old days, anyway, the county seat might be two, three hundred miles away, so it wasn't precisely handy. I reckon that was Pa's trouble, though I never did understand all the legal rights and wrongs of it. But if they ever went to law, ya'd have to say that was more Eston Crego's dish 'n Pa's. On the other hand, Pa wasn't a man to be put off of land he thought was his, no matter what.

None of this was new, actually. Reub musta heard it all dozens of times already. Why you so het up? he asked Pa. You and Eston Crego never raised much sweat over it before.

Pa snorted and glowered at 'im. He still was a long way from callin' it quits with Reub 'bout the militia. Pa hadn't a forgivin' nature, and losin' his leg hadn't softened 'im none.

Ma said, settin' the pone and bacon on the table, We've had our differences. But the Cregos have always been good neighbors to us, up till now.

Pa gave another snort.

I can't help but feel we could of patched things up some way, if we'd tried, Ma said. Her voice had an edge to it.

She put the hominy grits on the table and sat down. It was funny 'bout Ma. She was built chunky and strong, but short-legged. Standin' up, 'specially alongside of us lean, rangey Flack men, she looked like the runt of the litter. Let her set down, though, and she all of a sudden became a big woman: long in the back and straight as a musket barrel. She wasn't pretty. I doubt she'd ever been pretty, for she had a face that was all odd planes and angles sort of tossed together. She'd said once, laughin' a little ruefully, that she'd been sixteen and doomed to spinsterhood when Pa finally come along to claim her. It was a good face, though; you'd trust Ma and she'd not let you down. Her eyes were what you noticed most 'bout her. They were gray, and could be warm and soft or bleak as a winter sky with a blizzard comin'. They were bleak right then, starin' Pa down till he grumbled under his breath and reached for the jug, which he'd fetched to the table with 'im.

I glanced at Reub. But he went right on shovin' pone and bacon into hisself as if he hadn't et in a week. Maybe he hadn't, for all I knew. I thought 'bout the corn crop I'd made with Pa off at Fort Meigs and then maimed when he come home. And in the fall a bear had taken one of the hogs we'd counted on butcherin'. So what I was thinkin' was, it had already looked like pretty short rations for the Flacks this winter, let alone havin' Reub's big mouth to feed.

Ma turned to 'im. The trouble is, Reub, here lately Eston Crego's got it into his head to set up his own boatyard. Crego's Landin'll support one, he says, and a sawmill too, the way it's a-growin' hand over fist. And I'll not deny.

Man can't hardly spit no more, Pa growled, without hittin' some fool that's crowdin' him out of his elbow room.

All the years of my growin' up we'd been leavin' places to move on west 'cause Pa'd run out-a elbow room. He'd long ago sold off his own land warrants that he'd got for servin' with Colonel Clark in the War for Independence. If he'd held onto the best of that land and farmed it he might-a been a rich man, or a prosperous one at least. At heart, though, Pa'd never been anythin' but a long hunter, and never would be neither. Before the war come along he'd talked a lot 'bout pullin' out for Missouri, far enough off across the Mississippi so a man could live as he pleased again. Daniel Boone had already done it, and Elisha Walden, and some of the others he'd known in the old days. But Pa'd never do it now, a' course.

I quit listenin' when Ma went on to tell Reub 'bout the Cregos. I'd heard it so much I was sick to my stomach of it. Down right ill. How Cyrus and Ham would be shovin' off 'most any day with a flatboat load of barreled pork and tobacco and stuff for the