Chapter XIV The New Home
No promised land of Paradise ever looked fairer to longing eyes than looked the scene that lay before the parched and weary travelers as they approached the Minne-to-wauk-pala or Blue Waters.
Crossing a broad plateau they drove up a gentle incline, and just as the blazing sun was sinking below the horizon there opened before their view a beautiful valley with waving green grass, welcoming trees and flower-strewn glades, and a blue, sparkling river with rock-strewn shady banks flowing swiftly over a rocky bottom, and long lines of timber stretching away to the north and south.
For a moment the travelers stood transfixed, as if the very gates of heaven had opened before them. Then Ruth, with a little gasping breath, cried out:
“Oh, Mother, Mother, isn’t it beautiful! It looks so green, so fresh, so lovely—as if God had just finished it!”
And indeed the fair green land, with no mar of civilization upon it, with its fresh virginal beauty untouched and unspoiled by the hand of man, did look as if newly created.
The tired beasts had sniffed the fragrance of the water and with pricked ears were pushing eagerly forward.
“What a camping-place!” shouted Joe, springing eagerly down as the wagons were drawn up in the shade of the trees. “Come, Mother, jump down and come take a look at this river! Cricky, we haven’t seen anything like this since we left Ohio. This water isn’t red or brown or dirty, it’s just what its name calls it—blue!”
It didn’t take many moments for the tired, thirsty party to scramble out of the wagons and race down to the river, where their thirst was soon quenched by water that was cold, sweet, and free from the alkali which had made the water they had been drinking ever since they entered the Territory almost unbearable to them.
How welcome after the parching heat of the prairies was this cool, green, quiet place! How restful was the ripple of the water, the rustle of the willow and cottonwood trees, the caress of the long, soft grass!
While Mr. Peniman, Joe and Lige were getting the exhausted horses out of their harness and leading them down to drink, Ruth and Sam untied the cow, that manifested almost as much joy in the prospect of grass and shade and water as did the rest of the family.
They all threw themselves down under the trees too worn out and exhausted from the heat, too grateful for the blessed relief, to even explore this Paradise in the desert.
Slowly the fiery globe of the sun sank below the horizon, slowly a pink and purple splendor spread over the evening sky. A hawk flew by, wheeling majestically through the intensely blue dome. Joshua Peniman knelt upon the grass. “Let us thank God,” he said in a low, reverent voice, “who has led us through the perils of the day and brought us to this His holy temple to-night.”
That night while the others slept Hannah Peniman sat long on the banks of the Minne-to-wauk-pala, her eyes fastened upon its blue waters, her thoughts busy with many things.
When they arose the next morning she laid her hand upon her husband’s arm.
“Come down to the river with me, Joshua,” she said. “I want to talk to you.”
She led him to the wide flat rock upon which she had sat and thought the night before, and sitting down beside him took his hand.
“Isn’t it a heavenly place?” she sighed.
“It is indeed. We could have found no lovelier to make our camp.”
“Our home, Joshua.”
“Our home?” He turned quickly and looked at her.
“Yes, dear, our home. I came here last night after you had all gone to bed and communed long with God. I feel that it is His hand that led us here. Why go farther into the wilderness, dear heart? Why brave farther the perils of heat and drought and physical suffering? Here we have timber, water, grass for our cow and horses, shade and protection for ourselves, good land, apparently everything that we need to make our new home. Why go any farther? Why not call our journey ended and locate right here?”
Joshua Peniman stared at her in amazement.
“Thee has taken me completely by surprise, Hannah!” he said after a blank silence. “I had never thought of such a thing. Thee knows that from the first our plan was to go to the Niobrara——”
“But why go to the Niobrara? Why not locate right here on the Blue?” she answered with a little laugh. “Isn’t it just as good? There appears to be land enough around here, heaven knows!”
He sat silent for some moments turning the matter over in his mind. The thought of stopping where they were had never occurred to him. Weary though they were, and suffering from heat and long journeying, he had never once wavered in his purpose of crossing the Territory to its northwestern side, to the lands which had been recommended to him between the Elkhorn and the Niobrara Rivers.
With thoughtful face he cast a slow appraising glance all about him.
“Ye-es,” he said musingly, “that is all true. There is plenty of land about here—I do not believe there is a human creature within twenty or thirty miles of this place. The country lies well, and by the looks of the soil the land should be good. There is shade, and wood, and water—three absolute essentials to the comfort and safety of the settler, and an inestimable blessing in this barren country. There is timber along the creeks—a settler must have timber—and along the bottom land over there we would have good forage for the horses. The land that I was making for on the Niobrara——”
“—Is probably not a bit better than this,” urged Mrs. Peniman. “And, Joshua, look at the horses, look at that poor cow! Think of the many, many weary miles we should have to travel over those desolate burning plains before we got there! It is now the middle of August—the hottest part of the summer—does it not seem like tempting Providence to strike out across the prairies again with our teams in the condition they are?”
Joshua Peniman was silent, thinking intently. Presently he rose and walked up and down the banks of the river, then out toward the plateau, where he stood for a long time, his eyes turning in a keen, critical survey in every direction.
Presently he returned to the rock upon which his wife was sitting.
“Thee has a long head, Hannah,” he said, falling into the old Quaker form of speech which he often used when they were alone or when he was deeply stirred; “and I will not say that thee is not in the right of it. But this is a serious matter. We have gone far and sacrificed much to make our home in this new country, and we must not make a mistake now. Let us stop here to-day and think it over. I will go out and look the land about here over carefully, and I feel that we should consult with the children. For you and me the time in this new land will not be so long, but for them it is their whole lives and the happiness and prosperity of their future. I feel that they should have their say about our location. Does thee not agree with me?”
“I do indeed. That is best. Let us stay here to-day, rest, think, pray to God for wisdom, and look the ground over carefully with a view to our permanent location. And let us have a family consultation after prayers.”
When the boys tumbled out of bed for an early swim before hitching up their teams for the start, they were astonished to find their father walking thoughtfully up and down on the bank of the river and none of the usual active preparations for the day’s travel under way.
“We have decided to take a day off to rest, lads,” he told them gravely. “This is going to be a very hot day, and both we and the horses need it. Will thee enjoy having a day here by the river?”
“Will we?” shouted Joe, who was beginning to be sadly weary of the hot, dusty days on the monotonous prairies. “I should say we would! This is such a lovely place I hate to leave it.”
As they all darted off for their swim, followed nimbly by Ruth and Nina in calico wrappers, Joshua Peniman looked about him. Down in the bottoms the horses, turned out to enjoy their well-earned rest, were cropping the sweet short grass along the stream, the cow lying down in a bed of wild clover chewing her cud and exhaling long sighs of contentment, and under the shade of the trees Sara and David and Mary were playing, with the collie lolling with tongue out beside them, while the two little pigs that had traveled all the long journey in their box at the back of the wagon had been turned loose in a pen made of loose boards, and were tranquilly grunting their appreciation.
The table was spread on the long, soft grass, and about it moved Mrs. Peniman, humming softly to herself as she prepared the breakfast. The scene was a peaceful and pleasant one, and Joshua Peniman looked long and earnestly upon it, weighing and judging and trying to make up his mind.
When the morning chapter had been read and the silent prayer over, he turned to his family.
“Children,” he said, “thy mother and I have been having a grave discussion this morning. We have called thee into our council because we believe that each of thee should have a voice in a decision that will so materially affect all thy after lives.”
The young people looked at him with startled faces. What could this decision be that so materially affected them? That made father look so grave, and mother so eager?
“Thy mother thinks,” their father continued, “that perhaps it would be well to change our plans, give up the idea of going any farther west, and stay here.”
“Stay here?” The words were shouted in a chorus.
“What, locate here? Take up land—make this our home?” cried Joe.
“Exactly. We have been going over its possibilities as a future home this morning, and I must admit that I am much impressed with them. We have water here, shade, timber, grass for pasture, the land appears rich and the soil deep, and of course there is no scarcity of land about here for homesteading. Now, as you will have to live your lives and make your future in this new country, we want to know what you all think about it.”
The discussion that followed was eager, enthusiastic and noisy, but the general consensus of opinion was one of hearty approval of the plan. The children were all tired of the journey, and the prospect of having that journey definitely ended, of remaining here in the green and pleasant place was one that appealed to them all.
The day was spent in going over the land, laying out in fancy where the house should stand, where corn and wheat and oats and potatoes should be put in, where the barn should be built, and the fruit trees set out, and the vegetable garden planted.
About half a mile above the point at which their camp had been made they came upon a piece of ground that sloped gently down to the river, with a broad, level expanse to the south of it that appealed to Mr. Peniman’s practical mind as fine farming land. Nearer the river was a grove of cottonwood trees, and in a fern-lined hollow beneath the bank an ice-cold spring of sweet water.
“Here shall be the place for the house!” cried Mrs. Peniman, her eyes sparkling. “What could be lovelier? Where could we find anything finer if we searched the whole Territory of Nebraska? Here we would have shade, water, shelter from the wind, a spring, and a world of good farming land all about us!”
“That field over there has a southern exposure and would be fine for corn,” mused Mr. Peniman. “We could sow oats and wheat over there on the plateau, that point running down to the river would make good pasture-land——”
“And we could build a little spring-house over the creek down there in that little bend,” cried Mrs. Peniman, still absorbed in her household plans.
“Yes,” said Joshua Peniman, thoughtfully knitting his heavy brows, “I believe that it would do—I believe that it would do well. But to make sure that we are all accord in this important matter we will take a vote. Think now, my children, for upon your decision this morning may rest the beginnings of a colony—a town—a city—perhaps, the beginning of civilization in this part of the Territory. The place where you will probably all carve out your futures, and where, I hope, you will leave your mark upon the civilization of the West.”
For a moment there was a solemn pause. Youthful as they were the young Penimans were impressed with the thought that upon the decision of that moment the environment of their whole after lives might depend.
“Are you ready?” asked Joshua Peniman. Then, “As many as favor remaining here and locating our new home upon the Blue River hold up your right hand.”
“Am I to vote, too?” queried Nina timidly.
“To be sure, my child. You are one of us. We look upon you now as one of our own children,” answered Mr. Peniman kindly.
When the vote was put every hand went up.
“It seems to be a unanimous decision,” he smiled. “Then this spot shall be our future home. Here let us kneel and ask God’s blessing upon it.”
On the green grass by the river the little colony knelt down, and the father’s voice went up in earnest supplication for heavenly protection for the new home. Overhead the trees whispered softly, and the river mingled with the earnest voices when they uttered a fervent “Amen.”