An Incredible Journey

By W.L. Shotts

Devastated by the death of both his parents young John Kilrain sells off the family estate and goes to America. Alone in a strange land, he is befriended by George Lucas who persuades him that his future awaits him in the mountains of western North Carolina where homesteads are free for the taking. He travels to the mountains with George and his slave, Daniel, and established a thriving cabinetmaking business. Then years later while cutting wood, he and George are attacked by savages and as they fight for their lives an event takes place that starts him on an incredible journey that forever changes his life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Sep 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477253823

W.L. Shotts

W. L. Shotts was born in Indianapolis, IN. He attended Indiana Universary and worked for General Motors at the Indianapolis Chevrolet Plant. He has a strong interest in American history, especially eighteenth and nineteenth century history. He began his writing career as a result of an operation that left him unable to sleep at night for several months. He coped with this by making up stories in his head; "An Incredible Journey" came about in this way. He currently lives in Morgan County with his wife Linda, their dog Anna, and an old gray tomcat named Nathan Bedford Forest.

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© 2012 W.L. Shotts. All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the written permission of the author.

Published by AuthorHouse 7/26/2012

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5381-6 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5383-0 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-5382-3 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012913405

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Contents

AN INCREDIBLE JOURNEY

BY W.L. SHOTTS

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

AN INCREDIBLE JOURNEY

BY W.L. SHOTTS

John Ryan Kilrain died today. He died the same way that he had lived, alone. John was known by everyone in town but was not really known by anyone. To most he was considered a lonely old man who stayed to himself, except at those times when he had a tale to tell. He was thought by some to be a great storyteller, by others he was considered to be the biggest liar that ever lived.

It’s hard to say just when John came to this area of North Carolina. Most of the Citizens of Cobb’s Corner say that he was here when they arrived. Even then, according to them, he was a man of strange behavior. He would disappear for long periods of time, and when he was around he stayed pretty much on his farm, except, as I said before, when he had a tale to tell. I became acquainted with John ten years ago when he showed up at the office where I practice medicine. I had come to Cobb’s Corner a few years ago from Asheville because there were already too many doctors there and none here. John told me that he was having chest pains and became tired easily. After examining him more closely I told him that I believed that he had a slight heart problem but that with treatment he could live a normal life for many years. As the years passed I saw more and more of John as his heart condition got worse. At first I saw him at my office, but as time passed, I was invited to come out to his farm.

John Kilrain was good with his hands and was not afraid of work; the condition of his farm attested to that. The two story farm house sat in the middle of six hundred and forty acres along the north edge of the town. It looked out of place because it was not of the usual log construction familiar to this area; it was the kind of house you would expect to see in Boston, New York, or any of the larger cities. When I stepped through the front door I was amazed by the beauty of its construction. The interior walls were covered with fine wood paneling, and each room was full of exquisite furniture. This indeed was not the kind of home that I envisioned an old country bachelor would live in. Most of the farm was wooded with only about fifty acres being cleared around the house; John said that was all he needed to make his living and didn’t see any reason to destroy any more of God’s handiwork than was necessary.

I tried to visit John at least once a week in order to keep an eye on his heart condition, but to be honest I just liked being around him. There was something about this man that was mysterious, and yet I felt very calm and relaxed when in his presence. Each time I climbed down from my horse in front of his house he would open the door, smile, and say, Hello, Doctor Jones, have ye come for another whipping? During most of my visits to John’s home we talked and played checkers till late in the evening. John was a very good checker player and most of the time he would beat me badly.

Last Tuesday, John came by my office. By the look on his face I could tell that something was troubling him. What’s wrong? I asked, as he slumped down into the chair in front of my desk. He looked at me for a few seconds as if he was trying to make up his mind about something. Doc, he finally said, I know that our checker night is not until Friday, but could ye come by tonight for supper? Well, yes I suppose I could. But is there something wrong? He shook his head and then said, Nay, Doc, I just want to tell ye something. With that he arose from the chair and walked to the door. Pausing there, he looked back and said, Ye might want to plan on spending the night. He then turned and was out the door before I could say anything more. I had eaten at John’s many times, but I had never been invited to spend the night. John’s demeanor troubled me and I spent the rest of the day wondering what it could be that had him so visibly upset.

The weather on this early April day had been warm and quite exhilarating. We had experienced an unusually cold winter and this warm, balmy day had been a welcome relief. I had planned on arriving at the Kilrain farm at five o’clock, which was our regular checker time; and as the sun was just sinking down behind the mountains to the west, I figured I would be just on time. When I turned off the wagon road onto the long lane that leads to John’s house, the sun was completely gone and with the darkness came a cold wind. I pulled my neck scarf more closely around my neck and wondered what it was that John wanted to tell me. John had been unusually quiet the last couple of weeks and his behavior in my office today was completely out of character for him. I pulled the horse to a stop at the hitching rail in front of the house just as John came out with a lantern. I dismounted and said, Hello, John, it appears that it’s going to be another cold night. He didn’t say a word but merely motioned for me to bring the horse around to the barn. He pointed out a stall where he wanted me to put her, but said not a word. John was quiet as I removed the saddle and bridle from the mare, he poured some oats into a trough for her to eat, but still he didn’t speak. I was becoming quite uneasy about his conduct, this was just not John. He loved a good laugh and was usually quite talkative. In exasperation I said, John, what is the matter with you? You haven’t said a word since I got here. That coupled with your behavior this morning has gotten me very worried about you. What is wrong? John walked to the barn door, opened it and turning toward me said, Let’s go eat our supper, Doc, and then we’ll talk.

The big oak table in the dining room was set for two, and laden with many good things to eat. There was roast beef, yams, corn that had been canned this past fall, dried beans, potatoes, and for dessert, pudding, pecan pie, and lots of hot black coffee. We ate in silence, and when we had finished John spoke for the first time tonight. Let’s go in by the fire where we will be more comfortable, he said as he pushed back from the table. The fireplace had a roaring fire going in it, and there were two large comfortable chairs pulled up before it; it indeed looked inviting on this cold spring night.

John sat opposite of me and didn’t speak for a long time, at length he spoke these words. Doctor Jones, I invited ye here tonight because I have something very important to relate to ye, well at least it’s important to me. I didn’t reply but sat quietly sipping my coffee as he continued. I’m sixty nine years old, Doctor, and ye know my health problems. I have done and seen many things during those sixty nine years, some things that ye will probably not believe, but they’re all true. I haven’t felt well these past two weeks and I feared I would die before I told anyone my story. He paused for a few seconds before continuing. I know what the people in town say about me, Doc. I’ve heard them say that I am a liar, and some even say that I’m crazy. That’s alright, maybe I am crazy, but I’m no liar. I have tried to tell people what I have witnessed; some laughed and some said that I’m a liar or crazy or both. I ask that ye say nothing until I have finished my story, then ye can decide for yourself." I nodded my agreement to his request and he continued his story.

I was born April, 10th, in the year 1700, to James Kilrain and Catherine Ryan. I never knew my mother’s family because they disapproved of my father. He was a cabinetmaker and was scorned by the Ryan’s who were big dairy farmers. We lived in Dungarvan, a port city on the south coast of Ireland. At the age of eight, my father took me to his shop and began to train me as a cabinetmaker. During the next ten years I learned to read and write, mathematics, and the art of making beautiful furniture. During the winter of 1718 a smallpox epidemic swept through Dungarvan killing over a hundred people, my parents among them. I was devastated. At the age of eighteen I was alone, the two people most dear to me gone forever. I sat alone in our small cottage pondering what was to become of me. My mother’s family would have nothing to do with me, and even though my father’s brother, Michael, offered to take me in,I knew that with six children of his own, there was no room for one more.

In my sorrow and hopeless state of mind I took to wondering the streets and lanes of Dungarvan. One day in my wandering, I came to the docks where ships were being loaded and unloaded. One particular ship caught my attention, it was called the New Hope. There were about a dozen sailors unloading this ship, and I approached one that looked to be about my age. Pardon me, I said, tell me, where have ye come from and where are ye headed to next? The young sailor looked at me and replied, We’ve just arrived from the colonies with a load of tobacco and cotton. As soon as we can refit and resupply, we will sail for the Carolinas with a load of yard goods and farm equipment. With this the young seaman returned to his work leaving me standing there thinking. The colonies, a new world, new hope, that was just what I needed.

I hurried to my Uncle Michael’s with my plan. At first my uncle was reluctant, but finally he agreed and gave his consent. I returned to the New Hope and asked to see the Captain. Captain Joshua Clayborne was a giant of a man, and when I was shown into his cabin, I felt small in his presence. He leaned back in his huge chair and looked me over, not saying a word. After what seemed like an eternity, a deep voice erupted from his throat, Well, lad, what is it ye want? I stood there unable to speak. Come on, son, my time is valuable, what do ye want?, he growled. I swallowed hard and said, Captain, I want to go to the Carolinas with ye. Oh, ye are an able seaman?, the Captain asked. Nay Sir, I said, I’m a cabinetmaker, but I can pay for my passage. Captain Clayborne leaned suddenly forward in his chair and came to his feet. He paced up and down the cabin as he rapidly fired question after question at me. Tell me, laddie, why do ye want to go to America? What do ye know about life there? How do ye expect to make your living there? Who do ye know there that will help ye when you’re hungry and have no place to live? After he finished his tirade I told him about the death of my parents; the situation with my mother’s family; and the fact that, even though my uncle was willing, there was really no way that he could afford to take me in. Captain, I said, ye are right, I know nothing about America, and there is no one there to help me. But, Sir, this I do know, I am a good cabinetmaker and somehow I’ll survive!"

Captain Clayborne had stopped pacing and had sat down on the front edge of his of his desk. He raised a massive hand and stroked the rusty brown beard that covered his chin. I stood silently waiting while he made up his mind. Presently he stood again and by the expression on his face I knew that he had made his decision. Laddie, he said, as he came near to me, this is a working ship; there is no room for those who don’t pull their weight. In all the years that I have been master of the New Hope I have never allowed passengers on board. I must be getting old because in your case I am going to make an exception. My heart beat faster at the relief and joy that I felt, my prayer had been answered. I clasped his hand as I thanked him and his face took on a look of astonishment. I wasn’t sure if he was amazed by my display of gratitude or by the fact that I had the impertinence to touch him. Sea Captains are just not touched, especially on board their own ship. Captain Clayborne smiled as he withdrew his hand.

The Captain started pacing again, stroking his beard as he walked back and forth. Let me see, he said, half to me but mostly to himself, I’ve never carried passengers before, what do I charge? After much pacing and chin rubbing he turned to me and asked, Does twenty pounds sound fair? Can ye pay twenty pounds? I replied that it sounded fair to me and that yes I could pay the twenty pounds. Good, he said, then twenty pounds it is. We sail in a fortnight, so be back here on the fifteenth. Now, young Master Kilrain, if ye’ll leave me alone, I have work to do!

The next two weeks were busy times. I had much to do preparing for the great adventure that I was embarking on. With the aid of my Uncle Michael, I found a buyer for my parent’s home and furnishings. My Father’s shop and equipment was a little harder to get rid of. Just as it seemed that we would not be able to sell the shop a man, who just happened to be a cabinetmaker, came by Uncle Michael’s and inquired about the shop. He explained that he had just moved to Dungarvan and the shop would be an ideal place for his business. He agreed to allow me to keep some of the hand tools; I would need them when I got to America. Caleb, my uncle’s oldest son, helped me construct a waterproof crate large enough to hold these tools, which we loaded and moved to Uncle Michael’s barn.

Altogether I had gotten a little over three hundred pounds for the shop and my parent’s things, this would be enough to get me started in America. As the fifteenth drew near my time was occupied with last minute things. My Aunt Mary had hand sewn a small leather bag for me to keep my money in, and when she presented it, she gave a little advice to go with it. John, she said, put your money in this bag; put it around your neck under your shirt, and never ever take it out unless you’re alone! I thanked her for the bag as she enfolded me in her warm embrace, and kissed me on the forehead.

As she turned back to her household chores I noticed a tear in the corner of her eye; this brought tears to my eyes as I realized how much I would miss her.

On the fourteenth, Aunt Mary prepared a large meal and we all gathered around the huge table in the dining room. With nine people gathered around the table, everyone talking at the same time, there was a great din of noise, making it hard to hear anything. Through this din came the click, click, click, of Uncle Michael tapping on the side of his glass with a spoon. Soon there was silence throughout the room as all of us turned to look at him. Let us go to God, asking his blessing upon this food, and that he would grant John a safe passage to America. After this we ate the sumptuous meal, and whiled away the hours in light conversation. As the hour grew late and everyone realized that the time of my departure was at hand, the conversation grew somber. Finally Aunt Mary announced that it was time for bed.

I awoke early the next morning to start on my great adventure. Dressing hurriedly, I went down to the kitchen, finding Aunt Mary already there fixing breakfast. As I entered she turned from her work, Good morning, John, she said, did ye sleep well?, and just as quickly she turned away again. I went to her side and put my arm around her shoulder; turning she embraced me and whispered, Oh, John, I wish ye were not going, but I know ye must. Before I could respond, she dabbed a tear from her eye and went back to work. When breakfast was finished Caleb hitched up the horse to the cart, and helped me load the crate with my tools. I was not one who wore fancy clothing, just simple work wear was all I needed. These I packed into my haversack along with my other personal items, and the Bible that my mother had given me. I embraced all my cousins, shook my uncle’s hand, and kissing my aunt, I told her not to worry, I would be alright. John Kilrain, be sure that ye write now and again so we well know that ye are well, she exhorted as she kissed me back. She then pressed a packet of food into my hands, saying, Here is a little something I prepared for your journey. I laughed and told her that I was sure that they would have food on board the ship, but she insisted that I take the packet anyway. I didn’t realize, at the time, that the packet of food, and the leather bag around my neck would be the last of my aunt that I would ever have. They all stood in front of the house and waved as Caleb and I drove down the road to the docks. As I watched them disappear into the distance I suddenly realized that I would never see them again; tears came to my eyes as a feeling of great sadness swept over me.

Jumping down from the seat as Caleb pulled up beside the New Hope, I ran up the gangway in search of Captain Clayborne. I found him just as he was coming out of his cabin; when he saw me coming his way he said, Well, Master Kilrain, ye made it on time, then I take it that ye still want to go to America. Noticing Caleb setting in the cart with my crate of tools, he smiled and remarked teasingly, I see ye have brought your luggage! Luggage?, I replied. Nay, Sir, that contains my tools, which I’ll need when I get to the Carolinas. I will pay ye the freightage on them."

Captain Clayborne turned and called out to two sailors working nearby, ordering them to put my crate in the hold. Go bid your relation goodbye, and then come to my cabin, he said to me.

I said my goodbyes to Caleb and returned as ordered to the Captain’s cabin. I knocked on the door and was bidden to enter. The light inside the cabin was dim compared to the bright sunlight outside, and it took a few minutes for my eyes to adjust to the dim light. The Captain was sitting in his chair behind the desk and motioned for me to come closer. I had taken twenty pounds out of my bag before leaving this morning and had put them into my pocket, as I approached the Captain’s desk I withdrew them and laid them on the big oak desk. Here’s my passage money, Captain, now if ye’ll tell me what the freightage is on my crate… With a wave of his huge hand he stopped me in mid sentence, Put away your money, Laddie, he growled, ye’ll need it when ye get to America! I’ve been thinking, he went on, in the thirty years that I’ve been master of this ship, I’ve never taken on any passengers; the plan that I have in mind will get ye to the Colonies and keep my record intact. He went on to explain that I could work my way to America. I looked at him dumbfounded, saying, But I’m no sailor! I don’t know anything about ships! Are ye not a cabinetmaker?, he asked. Well, indeed, I am. Then ye can assist the ship’s carpenter; there’s not that much difference between making furniture and repairing the ship, he exclaimed. It was clear by the smile on his face that he was very pleased with himself. He went on to explain that as a member of the crew I would be paid for my labor which would benefit me in the Carolinas. After some protesting on my part Captain Clayborne won me over and I agreed to become a member of the ship’s crew. We then went to seek out the ship’s carpenter, and as we went the Captain gave me some friendly advice. John, he said, I have taken a liking to ye and I want to be your friend, but there are some things that I must insist on. When we are in the presence of the crew, ye must always refer to me as Captain, and John, no one ever touches the Captain! Ye understand that without these rules I would never be able to control the crew.

We found the ship’s carpenter up on deck supervising the loading and stowing of oak timbers, boards, nails, tar, and other things necessary to his trade. He was a big man, near as big as the Captain himself. His salt and pepper hair was long, pulled back from his face and tied in a ponytail; his chin was covered by a short, thick beard. He was well muscled in his chest and arms from years of hard labor, his hands hard and