1865 New York City Kid: Part Of The Kelly Family Series Book 1

By Mikel D. Noles, Sr.

 Set in the year 1865, as the Civil War draws to a close, 1865 New York City Kid follows the story of 16-year-old Daniel Kelly. Born and raised in the slums of New York City, Daniel, known as 'Kid' among his friends, yearns for something beyond the monotonous life he's known. Working for the New York Tribune, like his late father before him, Daniel finds himself disillusioned, especially after a much-anticipated promotion eludes him.  It's at this juncture that Daniel meets Big Tom, a fur trapper, who persuades him to leave the familiar streets of New York for the wilds of the Washington Territory. The prospect of becoming a fur trapper and the lure of a new life is too enticing to ignore. Thus begins Daniel's remarkable journey, chronicled through his own eyes, as he travels by train and stagecoach in search of a better future. 
 1865 New York City Kid   is a tapestry of fact and fiction, weaving historical elements with the imaginative realm of storytelling. The novel delves into the essence of the American West, a place where the line between truth and myth often blurs, giving rise to folklore and legends. This narrative, presented as Daniel's daily accounts, offers a unique glimpse into a pivotal era in American history, through the eyes of a young man at the threshold of adulthood, adventure, and the unknown. 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Austin Macauley Publishers
• Release date: Mar 28, 2024
• ISBN: 9798891551510

Mikel D. Noles, Sr.

 Mikel D. Noles Sr. grew up in the northwest, along with his sweetheart and wife, Marilynne. After the death of one of their five children due to medical issues, he suffered throughout his life. They left Oregon to pursue a career working with disadvantaged children, the disabled, and the elderly. Mikel and Mari have worked with over a thousand children indirectly and over a hundred directly within the foster care system. They have lived in twelve different states across the US and even lived in southeast Alaska for a year, caring for a 96-year-old woman.   Mikel has always been a storyteller and has enjoyed authoring several books, including his first book about Ryan, their disabled son, called When a Mother Cries. His latest work is for young readers, as well as the young at heart, who enjoy novels that give them their money’s worth. Mikel loves to write using history in his stories of adventure, which causes the reader’s imagination to wonder while learning.   His book, 1865 New York City Kid, is sure to capture the child inside and provide hours of enjoyable reading. Adventure mixed with history and intertwined with easy-to-read stories encourages the mind to be open to possibilities. Today, Mikel and his wife Mari live in St. Paul, Minnesota. With their work as foster parents and care providers now behind them, Mikel wants to concentrate on his writing. 

Book preview

About the Author

Mikel D. Noles Sr. grew up in the northwest, along with his sweetheart and wife, Marilynne. After the death of one of their five children due to medical issues, he suffered throughout his life. They left Oregon to pursue a career working with disadvantaged children, the disabled, and the elderly. Mikel and Mari have worked with over a thousand children indirectly and over a hundred directly within the foster care system. They have lived in twelve different states across the US and even lived in southeast Alaska for a year, caring for a 96-year-old woman.

Mikel has always been a storyteller and has enjoyed authoring several books, including his first book about Ryan, their disabled son, called ‘When a Mother Cries’. His latest work is for young readers, as well as the young at heart, who enjoy novels that give them their money’s worth. Mikel loves to write using history in his stories of adventure, which causes the reader’s imagination to wonder while learning.

His book, ‘1865 New York City Kid’, is sure to capture the child inside and provide hours of enjoyable reading. Adventure mixed with history and intertwined with easy-to-read stories encourages the mind to be open to possibilities. Today, Mikel and his wife Mari live in St. Paul, Minnesota. With their work as foster parents and care providers now behind them, Mikel wants to concentrate on his writing.

Dedication

To my wonderful wife and loving family.

Copyright Information ©

Mikel D. Noles, Sr. 2024

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other non-commercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the publisher.

Any person who commits any unauthorized act in relation to this publication may be liable to criminal prosecution and civil claims for damages.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or actual events is purely coincidental.

Ordering Information

Quantity sales: Special discounts are available on quantity purchases by corporations, associations and others. For details, contact the publisher at the address below.

Publisher’s Cataloging-in-Publication data

Noles, Sr., Mikel D.

1865 New York City Kid

ISBN 9798891551497 (Paperback)

ISBN 9798891551510 (ePub e-book)

ISBN 9798891551503 (Audiobook)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2023924526

www.austinmacauley.com/us

First Published 2024

Austin Macauley Publishers LLC

40 Wall Street, 33rd Floor, Suite 3302

New York, NY 10005

USA

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Chapter One

‘The Early Days’

I was born in 1845 just outside of the city limits of Upper New York. I grew up learning the newspaper trade from my father. I got my first job as a newspaper boy in 1853, at the age of 8. Because my father worked at the New York Tribune, he was able to get me placed on the corner of 5th Avenue and 23rd Street. It was one of the most prized corners in New York City and I made 30 cents a day, that was 8 cents a day more than most paperboys. I was making a name for myself and my future looked bright. Most boys my age was shining shoes for 1 penny a pair and only made around 8 cents a day, if they were lucky. Because most customers stiffed them and would refuse to pay after they cleaned and shined their dirty, muddy shoes. It was a tough job and no one ever liked shining shoes. Although it was better than working in a sweat shop making 10 cents an hour, working 14 hours a day, 6 days a week just to make $8.40.

My father always told me, Son, if you work hard enough, this world will pay you well! He worked long hours as overseer for the New York Tribune newspaper printing shop. When I turned twelve, I had saved a fortune from selling newspapers, putting away $145.00 for my college education. My father had made me save 10 cents per day; the rest was given to help our family. I had plans to attend the New York School of Engineering and it was within my means. Tuition was $200 a year, with book fees $50 for all three years. I was only 12 and still had 5 years before I could attend college. At this rate, I would have over $700 saved, more than what I would need.

I was now fourteen and the streets had become unsafe for everyone. I lived on the edge of a rundown Manhattan neighborhood called the Five Points. It was a cheap slum that lured in the poorest and least fortunate. Made up of sweatshop workers, immigrants and newly freed slaves, all trying to scrape by side by side in some of the worst living conditions imaginable.

Five Points was far from peaceful, a place where life was short and violent, where race riots regularly broke out and diseases spread like wildfire. It was a place of thieves, brothels, intense poverty and home to the original gangs of New York City. Gang colors cropped up across Manhattan for the first time in the 1840s and were mainly made up of firefighters. Gangs like the Bowery Boys gang, who wore red shirts and stovepipe hats or the Shirt Tails gang that wore their shirttails untucked. Then there was the Plug Uglies gang who wore oversized beaver hats and the Dead Rabbits gang who carried the head of a rabbit nailed to a stick. These Five Points gangs made this one of the deadliest places to live. The newspaper said it had the highest murder rate of any slum in the world. My father read about these gangs daily as he published the newspaper. He was afraid I would be attacked and maybe even killed by them or in one of their riots.

The truth was I sold them newspapers and knew several of them by their first name. They called me ‘Kid’ and would always tip me a penny or two. Most of them looked out for me and I was never afraid of something happening. They even ran off other paperboys who tried to move in on my valued corner. To me, they were my heroes as well as firefighters and I looked up to them.

Looking back, I realize they were responsible for hundreds of murders. I never knew I had been that close to danger and had felt no fear. 1857 was the same year my father became ill and could no longer work. The week before he had to quit, he hired me as an inker apprentice. My new job was to apply ink to the rollers that printed the papers. It was a hard job that made me work harder than I had ever worked. It paid just a little over eight dollars a week or about $6.20 more than my paper stand. However, it was dangerous and I had to move quickly to apply ink to the rollers between every fourth sheet of paper.

If I moved too slow, my hand could get caught in the roller and the bones would be crushed. I was told six months after I was hired that the boy I had replaced crushed his arm in the press and it had to be amputated. Sometime later, he developed gangrene and died from complications suffered from the amputation. It did not frighten me as I felt the streets were far more dangerous.

Although it was a hard job, it helped put food on the table and keep a roof over my head, as my father would say. My mother worked for the Catholic church as a cleaning woman. She worked 14 hours a day and barely brought home $10.70 a week. Women were not paid as much as men yet had to work harder if they wished to keep their jobs. My mother never complained, only saying, God will provide, even when it looks bleak! She worked hard to provide for me and my ailing father who no longer could work. Between the two of us, we kept the house going, although I could no longer put any money away for college.

In the winter of 1858, my father died and a year later my mother passed away, both from scarlet fever. I was now fifteen and had saved up enough money for the first year of college. My plan was to work while attending college to pay for the following two years. Those hopes were dashed after my mother died; it now would take everything I made to keep the small flat we called home. My dream of attending college was my only hope of securing a good-paying job.

I just held on to God and prayed for better times to come. I still had my job and was encouraged by my boss, who reminded me I could achieve even more than my father had in his short life. I would continue to work for the newspaper for the next year, working my way up to assistant print shop overseer. I made enough to cover all my needs with a little left over, which I saved for college. I had been promised the print shop overseer position, the same position my father once held, once Mr. Thomas retired.

Mr. Thomas was a grumpy old fart who smelled of cheap cigars and bourbon whiskey most of the time. He was never pleased with how hard I worked, to get him coffee or run his errands. As well as doing my job checking on the production line to ensure everyone kept up their part so the paper always went out on time. I can still remember the bad taste it left in my mouth when I was introduced to Mr. Thomas’s replacement. He had only worked for the paper for three weeks; however, he was dating Mr. Thomas’s daughter. I was so mad I just grabbed my jacket and walked out, not even saying a word.

Mr. Thomas was shouting something as I walked out the door, I did not care. I had worked hard for that position, I knew every job and even the workings of every machine. Mr. Thomas did not even know as much as I did. I walked and walked, not wanting to go home to my empty flat. It was March 1865, a cold gray rainy day, as I stumbled into this small pub near the docks.

I had never been there before so I cannot imagine why I chose that day to enter, as I never drank alcohol. Walking in the front door of the pub and out of the pouring rain, I looked around; it was dark and full of tobacco smoke, my eyes strained to see. I could barely make out the silhouettes of those who had taken refuge there. A skinny fella with a deep Irish accent called out to me, Yah lost?

I just stood there, not knowing how I should respond. When from out of the dark smoke-filled room, I heard, Leave the poor lad alone, can’t yah see he’s sufferen? There stood this 6’4 350-pound man, with a beard longer than his hair, wearing buckskins and a bearskin coat. He motioned me to over to where he was sitting at the bar and said, Let me buy yah da’ first one, Kid."

Sure, I replied, not really wanting anything to drink.

The bartender put a bottle of sarsaparilla in front of me, saying, You look too young fer’ anything harder. That was fine with me, as it reminded me of my mother.

I would meet her at the church after getting off work, so we could walk home together. While she finished her work, we would share a bottle of sarsaparilla, it was a fond memory. Sarsaparilla sodas tasted like licorice candy. It was made using extracts from spicy herbs such as sarsaparilla root, anise, licorice root and cinnamon. The man in the bear coat grabbed the bartender’s arm as he placed the soda in front of me.

Big Tom was not having it and said, Hey, what da’ yah tink’ yah doing? Slamming his fist on the counter, he said, I ain’t paying fer no kiddy drink, now give him an ale!

I jumped in my seat and squeaked out, That’s fine, I’ll drink it. Afraid of what might happen next, Big Tom proceeded to grab it out of my hand, then he threw it past the bartender, smashing it against the wall. It happened so fast I did not know what to do, so I just kept my mouth quiet. The bartender quickly grabbed me an ale and apologized to the two of us for his bad manners.

This huge man smelled like a dead bear and was as big as one, someone you did not wish to tangle with. As I sipped at the nearly full mug of ale in my hand, he asked, Yah ever been out west?

I was surprised at his question and replied, Uh no, although I have heard of it.

He laughed and said, Yah should go! as he finished his ale.

I told him, I’m not really interested in fighting Indians. All I knew was what the newspaper reported on the western United States, that white men and Indians were fighting each other.

He laughed as he ordered the bartender for another ale and said, Nonsense, tis a foolish notion ta’ fight Indians! Then he smiled and said, Trapping tis what yah do, I’ve made a fortune trapping furs in da’ Northwest. Then he took a breath and said, Yah can do da’ same, I’ll show yah; tis easy. He told me his name was Big Tom; it was a fitting name, as he was big. We talked for hours as he told me of his adventures in the Northwest, that folks around these parts called the wild west.

During our conversation, he pulled from his pocket a wad of paper money, big enough to choke a horse and said, I made dis much in one season, tis easy!

I smiled and replied, I don’t know, I’m a city boy, never been in the wild. Just the thought put shivers down my back, although it seemed exciting.

Big Tom was not a man to argue with; he demanded I read a book about trapping and living off the land before I say ‘NO’. I left the pub that night and promised to return the following week to continue our talk. I went straight to a book shop I knew; it was a small hole-in-the-wall establishment I rarely saw anyone enter. I asked the old man behind the counter, Have any books on trapping in the Northwest Territory?

He said, smiling, Why, you looking to shoot some Indians, then he started laughing.

I replied, No just doing research for my college paper, thinking that he might take me seriously.

The smile left his face as he said, Sure Son, have several over here. He led me across the room to a small bookshelf of books and said, Here you go, should find what you want.

The bookshelf had books all about trapping around the Great Lakes and Canada. However, nothing about the Northwest Territory or the western United States. One book stood out; it was called, Firearms, Traps, and Tools of Mountain Men. It did not speak of the Northwest Territory, only talked about the Great Lakes area; however, it was all about trapping. It had pictures, drawings and even a tool list one should have for trapping. I also found a book simply called ‘The Pioneer Journal’ so I bought it as well. This book spoke about all the great things that the newly opened Northwest Territory had to offer. It said that the federal government offered free land, abundant wildlife, with plenty of opportunity to make a huge fortune. It even had a map of government land available to homestead west of the Mississippi.

Wow, I was sold, I could have fifty acres, to grow crops, build a home and raise a family. Who knows, I could become a land baron like the books I had read in school.

I bought both books for two-bits, then ran home as fast as my feet could carry me. I was so taken in by the stories, I stayed up all night reading them over and over. This sounded too good to be true and so easy even a city boy like me could do it. Thinking to myself, you set a trap, come back the next day and you have an animal you can get meat to eat and sell the fur for a profit. What could be easier, I thought, then it hit me, Why ain’t everyone doing this!

It sounded much easier than the work most folks had been doing. I was only a city boy, who had never even slept outdoors or even been in the woods. Hunting, fishing, trapping, even living in the wild west was all new territory for me. I had never even seen a rifle outside of a book, let alone shot one. However, if Big Tom thinks I can do this, it must be easy.

I did not sleep well for the next three days, dreaming of the adventures I would have. Finally, the day came to meet Big Tom at the pub. I ran most of the way, stopping only to catch my breath once or twice. As I grabbed the door handle, I took a deep breath, yanked the door open and bounced inside. Looking around, No Tom, I said out loud which made everyone turn to look in my direction.

The bartender remembered me and called me over to the bar, Yah looking for Big Tom, I figured? he asked.

Yes sir! I said in a nervous voice, still excited.

He said, Well, he’ll be right back, he told me to tell yah to have an ale on him while you wait.

I did not want an ale; however, I knew Big Tom would not like it if I refused. Thanks, I said and took it from him. Ale has a taste of strong herbs mixed with bitterness, a rather unpleasant taste. I could not see what people saw in this drink; it made one feel giddy and lightheaded.

I sat there watching the front door; when Big Tom arrived, I could hardly contain myself and started to talk a million miles an hour. Hold on, yah talking ta’ fast, no telling what yah saying, canst make yah out! Big Tom said with a confused look on his face.

I took a deep breath and tried to speak again, only it still just came flying out of my mouth. Big Tom said, Kid, stop yapping and I’ll do the talking; you been reading books, ant’ yah’?

Shaking my head, I said, Yes.

He continued, Well yah think yah want to be a fur trapper?

Smiling, I quickly replied, Yes!

He said with a big grin on his face, Great, let’s get started then.

The smile on my face turned to sheer shock, as I said, Started! How? Where? We’re in the city!

It was spring, the first week of April 1865. Big Tom explained it was the perfect time to trap in Central Park. He said, Tis a great place fer yah ta’ learn to. We would spend the next three weeks trapping squirrels, coyotes, rabbits, skunks, beavers, bobcats, marmots, mice, rats and an occasional fisher. It was remarkable; we set our traps and by the next day, they were all full of some kind of animal. By the end of the third week, we had over two hundred furs and sold them for $75.00.

I was in shock; here, I had been living in this huge city with these parks and wild lands full of critters and did not even know I could have been making money. Then Big Tom dropped the bad news on me, that we were lucky that no one caught us trapping in the park without a trapper’s permit. He told me that only a few permits are issued each year to trap in Central Park and the same folks always get them. He took $5.00 of the $75.00 fur trapping money and said the rest was for our trip west.

It was the most money I had ever held at one time in my entire life. It was almost a year’s wages and we had made it in three weeks. I was ready to go. Big Tom said he would go as far as Fort Colville in the Washington Territory. He told me there were several Indian tribes there, such as Colville tribe, Lake’s tribe, Sanpoil tribe, Okanogan tribe, Spokane Falls tribe and the Kalispel tribe. We went to the train station and secured our tickets west. It would take four days to get to Dodge City, Kansas, by train and thirty days to get to Ft. Colville, Washington, by stagecoach. The train would leave in three days, on Friday, May 5th, 1864.

I was ready to leave now; I could no longer wait to get to Northwest Territory. A third-class ticket would cost $6.00 for me from New York City to Dodge City, Kansas. The first train would take us as far as Pittsburgh Pennsylvania, where we would have to get off and transfer to another heading southwest to Cincinnati, Ohio. Once in Cincinnati, we would transfer to another train that would take us further southwest to Springfield, Missouri, then the train would head northwest to Atchison, Kansas. Hoping our bags made it from train to train and did not get lost. We would then take the Overland stagecoach from Atchison, Kansas, into Colorado before looping back up to southern Wyoming Territory and rejoining the Oregon Trail at Fort Bridger. Then from there on to Fort Colville in the Washington Territory.

The trip from Atchison, Kansas, will cost $450.00 for me to Fort Colville, Washington, with some food and overnight lodging included. I had only read about stagecoaches in school and was looking forward to enjoying the thirty-day trip aboard one. Big Tom said we better get food for the trip before we board the train. I managed to stop by the coffee shop and get sandwiches and soda for the train ride to Iowa. He stopped by the pub and got a few ales for himself. All in all, I spent 79 cents for food and drinks. The sandwiches, soda and ale would only last until we arrived in Pittsburgh, where we hoped to restock.

‘On Our Way West’

Day 1

The trip by train was incredible. I had never been on anything like it in my life. You could stand and walk down to an adjoining car, although it was not safe to leave your seat because someone might take it. Traveling by train was uncomfortable, the railroad cars were roughly made and they jolted badly, making it almost imposable to sleep. Our first train ran only a comparatively short distance to Pittsburgh. But despite all discomforts of the train and having to travel in the worst of railroad cars, it was still much better than traveling in the stagecoach, which would have taken us four days.

Big Tom suggested before we get on the next train, if there was time, we should eat at a restaurant. I think he was not looking forward to eating meat sandwiches for the next few days, without a break. He loved steak and eggs, with all the fixins and hated eating meat sandwiches. I liked sandwiches, as I had eaten them for dinner when I worked for the paper whenever I could afford them.

When we pulled into the station, we got off to get something to drink and eat and buy more sandwiches and drinks for the next train ride. The train station was at the edge of town and we only had to walk a short distance to find a saloon to eat and get Big Tom an ale. Pittsburgh looked like the old part of New York City, with brick buildings, sidewalks and power poles. There were folks everywhere, it felt like home, as we walked around taking in the sights. Big Tom said, I knew a woman who was from here, wonder if she might live here now?

I don’t know, I replied.

Of course yah don’t, why would yah, he said as he laughed. He seemed to be preoccupied from that time on, looking around at the face of every woman he passed. I think she was a long-lost love of his and he seemed it be trapped in thought.

I felt sorry for him as we walked through the busy street to the saloon. Once inside, his whole mood changed and he returned to himself. Big Tom downed the first ale and requested another while we waited on our food and the sandwiches we planned to take with us. When the food arrived, I realized just how hungry I was. Those sandwiches, although they had kept the hunger pains away, really did nothing to satisfy like a hot meal. I was having trouble sitting still; I just wanted to get back to the train and on our way west.

When the waiter brought the sandwiches and soda, I jumped to my feet. Slow down, Kid, we hav’ time, the train don’t leave fer hours, Big Tom said. By the time it was time to go, Big Tom had polished off five ales to my two. My head spinning, I stumbled to the door. Kid, yah need to stick to one ale, he said then he laughed.

We boarded the train late in the afternoon and would travel this next part under complete darkness. I hoped our bags were transferred to the new train and we would find them safe when we arrived in Cincinnati. Although Big Tom reassured me, I still could not stop thinking about it. Once underway, the conductor came through the car and snuffed out the oil lamps that lined the walls of the train. He left only one on at each end of the train car so as not to put us in total darkness.

I tried to sleep but it was impossible to get comfortable as the train was packed, with every seat taken by weary travelers. The train jolted every time it slowed or picked up speed. The smell on the train was that of old cigars, smelly feet and unbathed bodies. With the smell and constant jolting of the car, it made me wonder what the stagecoach would be like.

I had never been outside of New York City and never on a train. The view from the train revealed a whole new world to me. The landscape, a patchwork of farmland and wildlands and vast open fields. I had no idea that this existed; my mom would have loved it. Big Tom slept most of the time; how he could, I do not know. I just stared out the window, unable to take my eyes off the passing scenery.

Once when Big Tom went to stretch his legs, I spoke with the man and woman sitting across the walkway from us. They were headed to Utah, a place called Salt Lake City, where they were to get married. Seemed a long way to travel to get hitched. I wished them luck and returned to look out my window again. The man sitting in the seats just in front asked me, Son, where are you headed?

Washington Territory, I said.

Out west, are you crazy, I heard there are Indians attacking wagons and killing settlers. You are planning on fighting them? he replied.

I tried to explain I was not going there to fight with Indians. I’m a trapper, I trap animals for their fur, I explained.

Is there still money in fur? he replied.

Oh yes, enough to keep one pleased for a long time, I told him. He was not impressed and acted as if I had lost my marbles. He wore a big top hat and was dressed in his Sunday clothes; as for me, I wore what I did every day—slacks, a blazer and a button-up shirt with a bow tie. They were what was required by the newspaper and they were all I had, other than my Sunday clothes which were a bit small for me now. Most folks on the train were dressed up in their finest clothes. Only a few were dressed in less fancy clothes and seemed to be traveling west to find work.

After that encounter, I decided I would say I was going out west to homestead. Even though most folks still thought anyone who went west had lost their mind. The news was all about Indian attacks out west, back in New York City. Folks were scared to head west unless you had no other choice. I tried to just keep quiet and not talk to anyone, figuring that it was better that way.

The train was uncomfortable and I could not wait for this part of the journey to be over. Big Tom was not a good seat mate, as his size took up all his seat and half of mine, squashing me against the window. Although being by the window, I could open it to get fresh air. I was still quite content enjoying the countryside as we made our way along the tracks. It made up for the cramped quarters and bad smells.

When we stopped at various stations to let folks off or on, Big Tom would get off to stretch his legs before the train continued. I remained on board afraid of losing our seats; after all, I would stand in the walkway and that was good enough for me. When the train pulled away from the station, Big Tom would fall asleep and sleep until we came to the next station. I could not understand how he was able to sleep with all the jolting, banging and rocking of the train, not to mention the noise.

Big Tom snored loudly so that those around us could not sleep, however his size kept anyone from complaining. I did nod off now and then, only to be awakened by the jolting, even though I was exhausted.

Day 2

The train arrived in Cincinnati, Ohio. Wow! What a town! I thought I was in the Northwest Territory. I asked Big Tom, Where’s the Indians?

He replied, Slow down; you’ll get a chance to see ’em.

Wow, real Indians! I had seen picture books with photos, but I had never seen real-life Indians. I was a little disappointed when I saw my first one, he was dressed fancier then I was and walked with a walking cane, a true gentleman. Where’s his feathers? I asked Big Tom, who only laughed and replied, This is not the wild west, Kid. He explained most Indians wore everyday clothes and worked normal jobs unless they lived out west.

The train station dropped us off smack dab in the middle of town. We had to walk across a dusty dirt road, then across some railroad tracks to reach the other side. Big Tom said, Be glad it ain’t raining or yah would be up to yah knickers in mud!

I was covered head to toe in dirt and needed a bath desperately and a good night’s sleep. Big Tom was only interested in eating and drinking; I don’t think he had ever bathed. We arrived at the hotel and found our room, a twofer as Big Tom said. That meant two beds.

Big Tom said, Don’t count on dis every time, dey are very rare, mostly yah end up with one bed fer two. It felt like it had been a long trip, having very little sleep. With the smell of the train still resting heavy in my nose, I lay down on the bed. I wanted a bath, I needed a bath and my feet hurt from wearing my new boots Big Tom had made me buy. I was just pleased to lay down on something that did not move. I fell asleep. Big Tom went to the saloon to eat and drink, I had no idea when he returned.

Day 3

The next morning, Big Tom woke me and said we better hurry if we wanted to eat breakfast and buy more sandwiches and drinks before we boarded the train. Big Tom and I went to the saloon and he demanded I have steak and eggs for breakfast. I had never had steak, other than the one time with Big Tom before we left New York City. Maybe because it cost 38 cents with drinks and for 76 cents for both, I could have bought a week’s worth of groceries.

Big Tom said, Kid, let me pay fer dis. Who was I to say no as I was so hungry, I could have eaten a whole cow. After breakfast, we ordered meat sandwiches and soda, then we walked around looking at this amazing town. There were wagons everywhere. I had never seen such a sight in my life. It was a hot windy day and the smell in the air was that of livestock and dust. The dust I did not mind, it was the flies that were drawn to the livestock smell that caused me trouble. Big Tom said the flies would be worse if it weren’t so windy. I was pleased for the wind as it did cool me off and prevented me from sweating. I had hoped to go to the bathhouse and get cleaned before we left; however, no time for that.

We boarded the train and found the only seats left were aisle seats several rows apart. I was pleased as I would now enjoy more room without Big Tom taking up half of my seat. I settled in when Big Tom hollered, Kid, come up here, this seat just opened. Seemed like the man sitting next to Big Tom wanted all his seat to himself, so he moved. I thought of not going; however, it was a window seat where I could get relief from the stench, heat and flies that lingered in the train car.

I sat down and stuck my head out the opened window, it felt so good with the wind on my face. As the train started to move, the train jolted badly, worse than ever before, then the train came to a complete stop. Big Tom and I looked at each other, puzzled at what was going on. Then two men came onto the train and started asking questions from a few folks as they walked down the car. When they came to us, one of the fellas said, Have you two seen two young boys traveling alone?

No, we replied, then one of them said, Hey, there they are. I looked back and saw two boys around 7 or 9 years old trying to escape out the back door of the train. Big Tom said, Runaways, happens all the time! How he knew that I never asked. After a half hour, the train started moving again and we were on our way to Springfield, Missouri, some 399 miles away.

The flies were bad trapped inside the train from all the cattle held next to the station in Cincinnati. Once the train was at full speed, they seemed to disappear some and stopped landing on your face. My mind raced back to those two boys, wondering why they were running. At their age, I could never have had the courage to board a train and leave my parents. I imagined they were not running from something but to somewhere. They did not look like hoodlums; they were dressed pleasantly and had too much excitement on their faces to be in trouble. When they were caught, they did not fight back, only looked down at the floor as they were escorted from the train.

I felt sorry for them and the quick end to their possible great adventure. It made me a bit sad to think that there were two moms worried to death that their sons were gone. Just then, the train jolted severely, snapping me from my thoughts and back to reality. Looking out the window, I could see miles across the cornfields without seeing a building, barn, farmhouse or any hills. The land flat, not even any large trees and only a farm here and there. It is truly the end of civilization, I thought.

Day 4

We arrived in Springfield, Missouri, after 9 ½ hours. Springfield was not what I expected; it was dirty, dusty, a city lost in time. I had seen old pictures of how New York City once looked and it had never looked this bad. I asked Big Tom, Are there Indians here?

He laughed. No, not anymore; dey hav all moved tu better land.

I could understand why after seeing the city. We would have to spend the night there and in the morning board a north-bound train to Atchison, Kansas. We left the train station and hired a buckboard wagon, as they called it and went to the hotel in town. The ride was rough and Big Tom said that the stagecoach we would be riding the rest of the way was not much better. It was a rough ride and the road was full of wheel ruts that caused the wagon to pitch back and forth violently. Once the wheel fell into a deep rut on the right side and I almost flew out of the wagon—it was a bit frightening.

The old man who owned the buckboard never said much, he just kept to himself. It seemed like an odd world I had just entered. Big Tom acted as if this was normal, so I just held on for dear life until we arrived at the hotel. It was a two-story wooden structure; unlike any I had ever seen before. Big Tom said to let him do the talking, for if they heard my New York accent, the price of the room would go up. I was glad to have him do all the speaking and just quietly stayed in the background.

We paid 35 cents for one room, that was more than I expected. I wondered how much it would have been if they knew I was a New Yorker. I paid for the room, as Big Tom had paid for our meal. The room was small with one bed. I chose to sleep on the floor and let Big Tom have the bed. I was just pleased to be off that train again and on something that was not moving.

After we checked in and dropped our bags off at our room, we went in search of a place to eat. As expected, it was a saloon, so Big Tom could enjoy an ale or two. Big Tom oversaw the ordering and he was hungry after riding through the night with only two sandwiches to eat. As usual, he ordered steak with all the fixins and an ale for each of us. I said I really did not want the ale. Big Tom replied, Yah a trapper now, drink up!

I knew better than to argue with him and sipped the ale. After all, he had just bought the meal and the ale.

We had just spent three days on a train and I was already tired and wished the trip was over. We are in luck! Big Tom shouted. They have dancing women tonight!

Dancing women, what is that? I asked.

Yah don’t know what dancing women are? he replied.

No, I guess not, I said, not sure what else to say.

Big Tom laughed and said, Well then, yah in for a treat.

The piano started to play and a man came out onto the stage next to the bar. Ladies and gentlemen, may I present the Springfield Sisters!

Then the curtain opened and seven ladies entered the stage and started dancing. SQUARE DANCING! Big Tom shouted. Where’s them dancing women?

I was afraid to ask what he meant; I was enjoying the dancing and the music. It was the greatest show I had ever seen. I had only been to the circus twice in my life and never to a show like this. I had never even seen dance like this before, it was great. Big Tom didn’t seem interested at all in what was happening on stage; he just drank his ale and ate. I had a hard time eating as my eyes were locked on to what was happening on stage. Big Tom finished and said, Come now, we must go!

Go? I said. Why, it’s not over yet, I persisted, hoping we could stay.

Nope, we need to get up early to catch the stage! Big Tom said. We made our way back to the hotel, Big Tom still seemed to be upset at the lack of dancing women. Although I enjoyed the show, I could not understand why he was so disappointed. Now my thoughts drifted more to a good night’s sleep.

I took off my socks and washed them out, they were full of dirt. Hanging them in the open window, I prayed they would be dry by morning. I was asleep in no time at all; it had been a hard, hot and dusty day’s travel.

‘The Stagecoach’

Day 5

Next morning, Big Tom and I went to the saloon and ordered steak and eggs for breakfast, for 65 cents. After we ate, we ordered meat sandwiches and soda for the trip north. This would be a short train ride and I hoped to enjoy every minute, as it would be the last train ride for me, for a long time. We boarded the train for the 3- to 4-hour trip north. It seemed the train had barely gotten up to speed when we were told we were coming into the Atchison Kansas train station.

Atchison was not what I expected; it looked more like a town than a city. There were no more than a dozen buildings along a dirt road. We gathered up our bags, headed to the hotel in town and paid 70 cents for one room. I paid for the room, as Big Tom had paid for our last meal.

The room was huge with one big bed and a sink with running water. We dropped off our bags and headed to the saloon to get something to eat. Big Tom ordered for us again; however, instead of steak, he ordered fried chicken with mashed potatoes and brown gravy. Taking me by surprise and only for 35 cents. After a few ales, Big Tom said we should walk around and see what there was. Our travels by train were over, tomorrow we would go to the Overland station and start our stagecoach adventure west.

As we walked around town, I spotted the bathhouse and suggested we go, as I needed a bath desperately. It was crowded and we had to wait for twenty minutes for a tub to become available. As we waited, I decided to go back to the hotel and pick up some clean clothes for the two of us. I knew we would not have time to have our dirty clothes washed while we took our baths. The bath was hot, relaxing and I wondered if there would be bathhouses in the Northwest Territory.

After our baths, we went to the hotel to drop off our dirty clothes before heading over to the general store. Big Tom wanted to see if they might have anything interesting for sale. He was in luck, they had venison pasties—one of his favorites. It looked like a small pie in shape, filled with meat and a gravy. It looked good and had a pleasant odor; however, biting into the pie caused the congealed gravy to spill out all over your hand. It wasn’t enjoyable at that point, as now my hand was covered with this thick congealed gravy. Big Tom did not seem to be bothered by it, as he licked it from his hands. I just wanted to find some water and wash up.

We returned to the saloon for another ale and to listen to the piano music and just relax. As the night went on, I became sleepy and said we should go and get a good night’s sleep. We headed to the hotel, the town now quiet, most folks were in for the night. Looking into the sky, you could see millions of stars. I felt so small and wondered, does God know who I am? I washed out my socks and hung them by the open window to dry. Climbing into bed felt so good, with the cool sheets against my tired and now clean body.

Day 6

The next morning, we went to the Overland stagecoach station where I learned we could only travel 85 miles a day at most. Horses would be changed out at each stagecoach stop, which were a minimum of 20 miles apart. That meant four horses would pull the stagecoach for about three-four-hour shifts. The stagecoach would stop every two hours to water and feed the horses, then continue to the next stop where we would have a meal before proceeding. That meant we could only cover 80–85 miles a day.

We had to travel 1,650 miles; that would take us 20 days plus waiting days between stagecoaches. I was promised it would only be 18 days by stagecoach by Big Tom. We had just spent 5 days by train and now we were going to spend the next 28 plus days on a stagecoach! That would mean I would arrive in Ft. Colville, Washington, in the middle of June 1865. I was not pleased; I was ready for this trip to be over already.

I let Big Tom know it. Calm down, Kid, Big Tom replied. If I told yah it would take two months to get to Fort Colville, would yah be standing here right now?

He had a point I could not argue with. Yes, I guess so, I said.

Yah dang right yah would, Big Tom said. I knew I would still be in New York City if I didn’t do something and would have never seen the world outside of my own neighborhood. Big Tom said, Give me all da money yah have.

Why? I replied.

’cause I’d hate to be dat guy who dare trya take it from me, he said, smiling. I knew traveling by stagecoach was dangerous and often than not, those riding on the stagecoach were robbed. I gladly handed it over. I trusted him, as we had become close friends. I handed over all I had in the whole world. Big Tom gave me $2.46 and told me to tuck it in my boot.

I could not see me heading to the western territories in my Franklins made of black calfskin. Big Tom picked out my stovepipe boots also known as a common boot that cost me $2.75. I had never spent that much money on footwear before. Big Tom said I would come to thank him my first winter in the northern mountains. I spent my entire last paycheck on a rucksack, boots, hat, gloves and a winter coat. Big Tom said that the prices in New York were lower than out west and it would save me money in the long run. I was less excited for the start of our journey ahead and knew it would be tough going.

The stagecoach was not what I expected, it had room for six inside, unless you were Big Tom’s size then you could only put two on each side. There was room to hold two to three others on top, which they charged a lower fee and the two drivers. One was called a conductor who took care of the passengers, the other was called the driver who drove the horses and oversaw their daily care. I called them both drivers as it was hard to tell them apart most of the time.

Our stage was not scheduled to leave for another week. Big Tom got us on the earliest one available, by paying 25 cents extra to bump two folks to our later stage. I hoped they would not mind; I just could not see waiting a week here and spending money I really did not have. This town was expensive with prices higher than New York. Big Tom told me it was because of the pioneers who traveled through these parts and would stock up on goods for their trip west. Towns like this made huge profits by charging more, as the demand was high on dry goods. Coffee, dried meat, salt, sugar, beans and flour were selling at an all-time high, almost twice the price sold elsewhere.

We climbed into the stagecoach, Big Tom and I on one side. A man and wife and their daughter across from us and their two sons topside. I was excited to be on the stagecoach, no more smelly train, being jolted or tossed around. The excitement was short-lived; I counted every bump along the way as they left impressions on my backside. I could not see how I was going to survive days and days of riding this stage. It was worse than the train; even the little girl was complaining.

I was so pleased that after two hours we stopped so the horses could be watered and fed and we could stretch our legs. I could hardly stand up, every muscle in my backside and upper legs were so sore I could barely move. I chose to just stand leaning against the stagecoach. My legs hurt, I had never felt such pain, all from just sitting. Big Tom said I would eventually get used to it. I prayed so, as I did not like feeling sore, to where I could not walk or even move without causing myself pain. Big Tom entertained himself talking of his adventures in northwest mountains to those who would listen. We were told we were running behind so we would have only a few minutes to stretch our legs before continuing.

It would be another three hours before we stopped for dinner. The road was in bad shape ahead of us and extremely muddy. Which sounded good to me, as I figured it would not be so bumpy, with the soft mud and all. Boy, was I wrong; the stagecoach would lean to one side and slide until it hit the hard side of the muddy rut, then rock and slide to the other side. Every time it slid right, Big Tom would smash me against the wall of the stagecoach, then we would lean the other way and I would slam against him. I don’t know which was more painful, as Big Tom was built like a brick wall. Sliding side to side unnerved me; I just prayed we would reach our stagecoach inn and I could get out.

We arrived around 3:30pm for a dinner stop before we traveled to the last stop for the day about four hours away. We ate beans, dried meat and a chunk of hard stale bread, with watered-down coffee full of coffee grounds. The little girl, maybe 8, complained she could not stomach the meal we had been served. The woman who did the cooking so badly wanted to say, better eat up or starve! I could not eat the dried meat as it was so salty and it hurt my teeth to chew on it. Big Tom said, If yah not going to eat that, I’ll take it. I was only too pleased to let him take it from my plate. I took the beans and placed them inside the stale bread as a sandwich. It was rather tasty and softened the bread so I could chew it. I could not believe I had paid 25 cents for this meal. I had a rather poor upbringing and still I never ate food this awful. Once, I can remember we had only stale bread, some milk and moldy cheese in the house. My mother took it all and made cheese soup; it was so tasty I asked her to make it a regular weekly meal.

I wondered what my mother could have made with this meal; I know it would have been better. My only prayer was that the next dinner I ate would be much better. After an hour and a half, we got back into the stagecoach and headed down the road. By this time, it had started to rain hard and Big Tom suggested the boys riding on top come inside with us. With no legroom, it was a tall order to fit them in, but somehow we managed. All seven of us crammed in a stagecoach made for a maximum of six normal-size adults. Now, it was overwhelmed with all of us, although we tried to make the best of it. Until the beans kicked in—the stench arising from each one of us like an orchestra that made our eyes water.

It also influenced all of us in the form of laughter; the only problem was the more we laughed, the more we passed gas. We all had tears in our eyes from laughing so hard and the next thing I knew, the stagecoach stopped and the driver said, All out; we’re here for the night!

It was almost 8pm and the sun was going down; the time had passed so fast, although my sides hurt from laughing so hard. I was glad the ride was over for the night. Supper was better than dinner, we had soup and yes, it was bean soup, with bits of ham. They also served it with hard stale bread, although dipping it in the broth softened it and made it palatable. They also had the same watered-down coffee, although Big Tom told me I better get used to beans and watered-down coffee as that will be my main diet in the northwest mountains.

I washed out my socks and hung them to dry by the fireplace and retired for the night. The bunk they gave me was hard, although I was so tired it did not seem to matter much. There was no place on my body that did not hurt and I prayed by morning I would feel better, knowing I probably wouldn’t. My prayers now focused on my ability to be able to walk once this journey was over. Big Tom had not prepared me for the toll on my body that traveling would cause.

‘The Breakdown’

Day 7

Wake up! Big Tom told me. Come on, it’s almost five; if yah want breakfast, better hurry, we leave at six. Barely eight hours of sleep, I normally got twelve as normal people do. I felt just as tired as when I laid down for the night. I needed coffee! I was pleasantly surprised to see hot oats, coffee and toast waiting for me at the table. I told Big Tom I wish they gave us this for every meal and it only cost me 15 cents.

He just laughed and told me I was a pampered pup, as my mother must have pampered me. That’s when he told me about his mother, it was the first time he had mentioned her. He told me of how his mother made him boiled potatoes and served them with honey and milk. I had never heard of potatoes for breakfast, although how he talked about the love and care his mother took in preparing the meal made me want to have some. I even saw a tear in his eyes, as he quickly wiped them away.

Once we all had finished eating, we gathered our things and climbed back into the awaiting stagecoach. It was still raining and cold, the two boys climbed inside with the rest of us. I prepared myself for another fun-filled adventurous day, filled with unknown happenings. It was 10 in the morning when we stopped to feed and water the horses and get out to stretch. It felt good as we had been cramped all together inside the stagecoach. Just being able to stretch my legs felt good and I started to look forward to our next stop each time. After a spell, we loaded back in and this time the two boys returned to the topside as the rain had finally stopped.

I had just fallen asleep when I was woken by a large bang and the stagecoach tilted hard to the right side. We all got out as quickly as possible, looking around to see what had happened. The wheel had broken and we were now stuck in the middle of nowhere. One of the drivers told us we would be there until another wheel could be brought out to us. One of the drivers, after he unhitched the horses, got on one without a saddle and rode off to get a new wheel.

We just stood there looking at each other and wondering how long this delay would take. We all were invited to sit around a fire the other driver had lit to relax. Two hours later, the other driver returned with a new wheel and a spare horse. He also brought some coffee, jerky and bread.

Big Tom disappeared and then returned with a tree, that he called a lever. He shoved one end under the stagecoach and he and one of the drivers jumped up on the end up in the air and lifted the stagecoach. It was amazing. I was standing there trying to wrap my brain around what had just happened. When Big Tom yelled, Help get du old wheel off and du new wheel on before we drop it, I jumped up and grabbed the wrench handle while the other driver used the back end of an axe to hit it.

After about twenty hits, the nut holding on the wheel started to loosen. It took us an hour or more to change the wheel and get the stage ready to travel again. That is when we learned that we would have to skip dinner to make up time, though they were not going to charge us for the bread, jerky and coffee. It really was not bad news as I was not looking forward to eating another meal of beans and dried beef. It was almost two in the afternoon when we arrived at the stagecoach stop. We didn’t even have time to get out; they quickly changed out the horses and we were off again. It was an uneventful rather smooth ride to our supper stop for the night.

We arrived closer to six-thirty in the evening, yet we had barely gone twenty miles for the day. Supper was already on the table and we were all hungry. It consisted of a cup of tea, hard biscuit and a slice of mold-covered cheese, for 20 cents. What a letdown after we had already had such a dreadful day. I decided to skip supper and save the money.

Big Tom never missed a meal and ate both mine and his meal that night. I was glad I did not have to pay for mine, as he said that he ate it and should pay for

Reviews for 1865 New York City Kid

[mikelmarinoles · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

thirty-two hours of listening pressure, where the listener is pulled into the storyline. This book is non-stop adventure, with history intermixed with imagination. This is the first of a six book series, that carries the reader from one adventure to another.