How Characters Guide Research and Plot

Characters often guide my research and plot ideas, even before I really get to know them. That was the case with Choctaw Jack, a secondary character from Dashing Druid, book two in my Texas Druids series. Inspired by a real life cowboy, Cherokee Bill, Jack is meant to honor unheralded Native Americans who worked on ranches and helped drive cattle to northern markets. Another character, Dewey Sherman, represents the many black cowboys, often freed slaves, who rode the range after the Civil War. (Dewey may one day get his own book.)

Choctaw Jack remained an enigma throughout Dashing D. Handsome, charming yet brooding at times, he fascinated me. I wrote him as a Choctaw half-breed who served in the Confederate Army with the brother of Lil Crawford, book two’s heroine. Since war’s end, he’s turned up each spring at the Crawfords’ ranch, just in time for the trail drive to Kansas. That’s all I knew about him.

When I began plotting Dearest Druid, book three in the series, Choctaw Jack insisted on playing the hero, but casting him opposite Rose Devlin, youngest of the Devlin siblings, proved challenging. I’d never written a Native American romance, meaning lots of research lay in store for me, and I would need to get inside the head of a man who stemmed from a different culture. Whether I succeeded at that, readers will have to judge.

Another problem arose. The Choctaws were one of the “Five Civilized Tribes” who had adapted in part to white ways. Like the Cherokees, they’d been forced from their eastern homelands, suffering their own Trail of Tears, and most were settled in the Indian Territory (Oklahoma) years before the Civil War. By 1876, when Dearest D. takes place, many Choctaws lived peacefully as farmers, stockmen or storekeepers (though not all.) The trouble was I wanted a more wild-west setting to contrast sharply with Rose’s sheltered youth in a convent. Thus, I decided to give Jack a hidden connection to one of the untamed plains tribes.

The two tribes I considered were the Kiowa and the Comanche, the great horse lords of the southern plains. Closely allied, these two tribes held off white settlement for decades prior to their defeat in 1874. (See http://cowboykisses.blogspot.com/2012/08/mackenzies-raiders.html ) Since the Comanche have often been portrayed in books, I chose to write about the Kiowa.

 

Elk Mountain in the Wichitas

Making Jack half Kiowa, a fact he has concealed due to white hatred toward the fierce raiders, allowed me to send Rose and him on a trek to the Kiowa-Comanche-Apache Reservation, where the heart of their story takes place. I traveled to Oklahoma for a firsthand view of the land, and visited Fort Sill and the Wichita Mountains, two important settings in the book.

From books and websites I learned about Kiowa myth and spirituality, their migration from the far northern mountains to the southern plains, and their reverence for Rainy Mountain, near which I placed Jack’s Kiowa kin. I also learned about their hardships on the reservation, how they missed hunting buffalo after the great beasts were decimated by white hunters, and about remedies they used for everything from coughs to snakebite. Here’s an excerpt from Dearest Druid illustrating the latter:

Dearest Druid cover, almost complete

“Did you see where the snake went?” he asked unnecessarily, trying to distract her from what he was about to do.

“It slithered off that way,” she said, turning her head and gesturing toward the trail he’d already spotted. While she was looking away, Jack made two swift cuts across the bite. Rose shrieked and tried to pull away, but he hung on to her arm.

“Hold still,” he ordered, tossing his hat on the ground. “I’ve got to suck out the venom.” With that, he bent, circled the bloody wound with his lips and sucked as hard as he could. Ignoring her gasp of pain, he spat and repeated the process. When he figured he’d drawn out as much venom as he could, he loosened his bandana and retied it directly over the wound.

“W-won’t the poison sicken you?” she asked.

“No. It doesn’t work like that. Come on. Let’s get you back to the horses.” Slapping his hat back on, he helped her up and carefully guided her out of the prairie dog colony. Once on safe ground, he had her sit on a small hillock near their mounts. She was still shaking despite the warmth of the day. Retrieving her coat from Brownie’s saddle, he draped it around her shoulders, hoping it would stop her trembling.

“I want to find something to treat the bite. Stay right here. Understand?” he said sternly.

“Aye. I won’t move.”

“Good.” Striding away, he headed back up their trail, toward where he’d seen the bush he was looking for. It didn’t take long to find. Hurriedly, he gathered what he needed, turned and ran back to Rose. True to her word, she sat hunched over where he’d left her with her injured arm cradled close and her cross clasped in her other hand. The arm was beginning to swell, Jack noticed when she straightened and looked up at his approach. He read fear in her blue eyes.

“How do you feel?” he asked, crouching beside her.

“My arm hurts.”

“I expect it does. I’m gonna make a poultice and spread it over the bite. Then we’ll start back.”

“To the village?”

“Yeah. My mother’s a medicine woman, remember? She’ll take care of you.” For a brief instant, he wondered if he’d do better taking her to Fort Sill for doctoring, but he dismissed the idea. He trusted his mother’s medicine more than the Army sawbones.

“Oh. That’s nice,” she said distantly.

He frowned, realizing the venom was starting to affect her. “This is buffalo currant. It’s good for snakebite,” he explained, using his knife to quickly strip away the outer bark from the branches he’d gathered. They gave off a spicy scent. Next, he peeled off pieces of tender inner bark, wadded them into his mouth and began to chew. They tasted bitter as gall. He’d seen his mother boil the bark into a poultice but had never known her to chew it. Was it poisonous? He didn’t know and didn’t care. As he chewed, he untied the bandana from Rose’s arm. Once the bark had softened into a pulp, he removed it from his mouth and spread it over the oozing wound.

Rose jumped. “Ayeee! That hurts worse,” she complained.

“I know, but it’ll help,” he told her, securing his bandana in place over the poultice. His mother, like her people, believed snakes were afraid of the buffalo currant bush and that it was a cure for snakebite. He prayed to the Kiowa gods that it was true.

Dearest Druid will be available in mid-April on Amazon.

My Other Books:

Water Witch (prequel novella to Texas Druids trilogy)
Darlin’ Druid (Texas Druids, Book I)
Dashing Druid (Texas Druids, Book II)
Texas Druids Duo (White Witch & Darlin' Druid together at bargain price)
Six Cats In My Kitchen (memoir about cats, family& life with a disability)

To learn more about the Kiowa, Choctaw and the Indian Territory, try these great sources:

The Kiowa by Mildred P. Mayhall
Bad Medicine and Good, Tales of the Kiowas by Wilbur Sturtevant Nye
The Way to Rainy Mountain by N. Scott Momaday

Carbine and Lance: The Story of Old Fort Sill by Wilbur Sturtevant Nye

Ranald S. Mackenzie on the Texas Frontier by Ernest Wallace
Black, Red and Deadly, Black and Indian Gunfighters of the Indian Territories by Art Burton

Civil War in the Indian Territory by Steve Cottrell
 

Strong As an Ox in the American West by @JacquieRogers

You Big Ox!

Oxen played an important part in building the American West (and East), but we seldom pay much attention to them now. What exactly is an ox? It's a fully grown trained bovine, usually a steer. Why are they larger than a normal steer? Because most steers are butchered at two or three years of age, but it takes a minimum of four or five years before a steer reaches full growth.

An Ox's Early Years

A bull calf is castrated shortly after birth. The older the calf, the more likely castration can cause illness and the recovery time is much longer. Halter training can start after a week or two. In the first six months, the calf needs lots of attention so he's comfortable with his handler, and more importantly, so he doesn't mind hooftrimming and shoeing. During these months, he can learn the four basic commands:

• Whoa (stop)
• Giddyup (go)
• Gee (right)
• Haw (left)
• Back (back up)

Most ox trainers use a stick called a goad to tap the animal as he gives the voice command. After a month or so, depending on the animal, he'll respond to voice commands only.

When he's a yearling, he can begin yoke training with a lightweight yoke, but he's not strong enough yet for the real deal, nor should he be pulling a load yet. This sort of training continues until he's fully grown (4 or 5 years old) and muscled up. By then, he's ready to pull.

The Team

Everything above should actually be in plural because it's best to have two calves the same age. Since size and breed make for a balanced pair, it's even better if the calves come from the same bull. There are differing opinions on whether you should teach an ox to switch and take either the nigh (left side) or off (right side) position, or whether they should always be positioned the same. Oxen also need to be trained not to graze when they're yoked.

Oxen Team in Training

Horns

Oxen need horns because as PrairieOxDrovers.com explains: "When people choose an animal for an ox, they choose one with horns. The horns keep the yoke on their heads when they back up. Oxen's horns grow as their bodies grow, and so they have big horns, although not all breeds have the same size of horns."

Jimmy Choo, Anyone?

Yes, oxen need to be shod and it's quite a lot more complicated than shoeing a horse.  First of all, oxen have cloven hooves so require eight shoes instead of four.  Also, an ox can't stand on three legs as can a horse, so they require an ox sling.  This is a contraption made of heavy timbers (today, usually metal) with a series of leather straps to bind and suspend the animal.  It's vital to secure him as tightly as possible because if he struggles, he could very well hurt himself.  A good resource for hoof care and shoeing is Ox Health at The Prairie Ox Drovers, where you can also see a photo of an ox sling, which they call a shoeing stock.

The Work

Oxen have been used as draft animals since before recorded history, and they're still used today in lower tech areas or where people want to use greener resources. But we're talking about the American West here. Oxen were cheaper to buy and cheaper to feed than horses or mules, and while slower, they could also pull a hefty load. They were used for everything that needed some power--farm work, freighting, towing, or to push the wheel for grinding or pumping water.  Or logging:

Oregon Trail

At least half the wagons that traveled the Oregon Trail and all the other trails to the west were pulled by oxen. Some immigrants even used their milk cows as draft animals, which gave the added benefit of fresh milk on the trail.  (This sounds like they were asking for a case of mastitis, to me!)  Oxen took longer to make the trip than mule teams, but most farmers already had oxen or could buy them for a fourth the price of a mule. Oxen generally were even-tempered unlike the often poorly bred mules, and didn't require as much food. Plus, when times were tough, they could be butchered. An added bonus was that the Indians preferred mule meat to oxen meat, so were more likely to steal mules.

Building the New West

Most of the heavy-duty freighting was done by oxen. How did those heavy steam pumps get to the mines? Oxen. Timbers, coal, cast iron pipes? Oxen. They weren't glamorous or showy, so don't play well on B-Westerns, but oxen power built a good part of our country, east and west.

Bullwhackers

Men (and a few women) who drove ox teams were called bullwhackers. There's no seat on an ox freight wagon so the bullwhackers walked. They were renowned for their creative and frequent use of swear words, and most were accomplished with the whip and bowie knife. Bullwhackers were tough--they had to deal with the animals, wagon repair, bad roads (or no roads), freezing weather, blistering hot weather, predators, and road agents. Most had no place to stow luggage, so they wore the same clothes the entire trip.  Let's just say they'd be pretty ripe by the time they got to town.  But while not always a well-respected job, we owe a big thanks for the building of our infrastructure to bullwhackers and their teams.

Oxen in Owyhee
Arthur Hart, an Idaho historian, wrote this in the Idaho Statesman:

 "The transcontinental railroad was under construction in September 1868 when the [Idaho Tri-weekly] Statesman wrote: “Passed Through. A large body of men passed through this city a few days ago from Idaho City with ox teams destined for Owyhee, where they intend working upon the new road leading to the railroad. They were under the supervision of Mr. W.R. Underwood, of Idaho City, and will do good work, as they are all hard working miners.” Washington R. “Wash” Underwood was a 36-year-old miner from Vermont who would become well-known in Boise as well as in Boise Basin."

Read more and see photos here:
Idaho History: Oxen helped open the West and delivered the goods
by Arthur Hart
Idaho Statesman

More photos:
Ox team pulling a tank to Queen of the Hills mine
Wagon train with a woman bullwhacker
Men with oxen-pulled water team

Hearts of Owyhee

What do oxen have to do with the Hearts of Owyhee series? Not one thing. Not a single ox can be found in the first three books. They might horn in on the fourth book, Much Ado About Miners, though.

See you next month!

Jacquie Rogers, author of the
♥ Hearts of Owyhee ♥ series
#1 Much Ado About Marshals (RttA Winner)
#2 Much Ado About Madams
#3 Much Ado About Mavericks
A short story: Willow, Wish For Me (Merlin’s Destiny #1)

Visit Jacquie:
Website * Twitter * Facebook * Romancing The West * Blog

Weaving Fact and Fiction

Putting together historical facts with the fictional people I’ve produced in my head is harder than just whipping out a completely plausible story.

The “Spirit Trilogy” as I call my books - Spirit of the Mountain, Spirit of the Lake, and Spirit of the Sky – came to me as an idea about Native American spirits. They are complete figments of my imagination but I was interested in incorporating this idea into a tribe I grew up hearing about and admired from the history I’d read about them. So I placed my spirits in the Nez Perce (Nimiipuu as they call themselves) band that summered and wintered in the county where I grew up.

They were a peaceful group who had welcomed Lewis and Clark and the Whitemen who straggled in and eventually began to take over the areas the Nez Perce had called home for centuries.  Reading all the books I could find that were written from both sides, I tried to envision what life was like for the Nez Perce and to write a story as historically accurate about their life as I could and all the while weaving in the spirit element I’d manufactured.

The first book, Spirit of the Mountain, took a lot of digging into information on Nez Perce websites, books, and contacting members of the tribe to make sure the information I wanted to use in my books was factual and didn’t go against their beliefs.  In the first book, I only had to stay true to their way of life.

Spirit of the Lake, again, dealt with their beliefs and how they tried to live with the Whiteman to avoid being put on a reservation. I used information from Nez Perce websites, visited the Spaulding mission, and my contacts with the tribe to ensure I kept true to the facts and let my imagination go wild with the paranormal aspect of this book.

The last book was the hardest. Spirit of the Sky dealt with the nontreaty Nez Perce fleeing to freedom. The band I’d showcased in the two previous books were part of the nontreaty bands who hadn’t signed the treaty that took away all the land they migrated to throughout the seasons.  They tried to live with the Whitemen who steadily flowed into the area of their summer and winter homes, but the Whites wanted the Nez Perce gone and the Army came in to make them move.

The nontreaty bands had finally agreed to move to the reservation when some hot-headed young warriors decided to take revenge. This one act was the catalyst that put the nontreaties on the run. They knew that after the killing it was unlikely the Army would keep their promises.

And that began the four month, 1400 mile pursuit by the Army. Spirit of the Sky, begins two weeks into the pursuit and follows the horrors and triumphs of the Lake Nimiipuu band. Using books written by both sides, I made a time line and highlighted the things I found significant at each clash between the groups. I used this as my plot line and interspersed the meetings between a cavalry officer and the Nez Perce Spirit into this plot line using the factual information to springboard their interactions. The hardest part was keeping each side’s POV focused on their situation, thoughts, and feelings.

Blurb for Spirit of the Sky

To save her from oppression, he must save her whole tribe. To give her his heart, he must desert his career…

When the US Army forces the Nimiipuu from their land, Sa-qan, the eagle spirit entrusted with watching over her tribe, steps in to save her mortal niece. Challenging the restrictions of the spirit world, Sa-qan assumes human form and finds an unexpected ally in a handsome cavalry officer.

Certain she is a captive, Lt. Wade Watts, a Civil War veteran, tries to help the blonde woman he finds sheltering a Nez Perce child. While her intelligent eyes reveal she understands his language, she refuses his help. But when Wade is wounded, it is the beautiful Sa-qan who tends him. Wade wishes to stop the killing—Sa-qan will do anything to save her people.

Can their differences save her tribe? Or will their love spell the end of the Nimiipuu?

Excerpt:

     She smiled and his heart leapt into his throat. He thought her beautiful from the first moment he saw her standing in the river fiercely protecting the child, but watching her tense face relax and smile, he was smitten. A light and pleasing calm washed over him for the first time in a very long time. He could only bask in the moment briefly. They were enemies.

    “I am from the sky, and I watch over the Nimiipuu.” She nodded her head and flashed him with yet another smile. “You may call me Angel.”

    “Only if you call me Wade.”

     She nodded. “Let me check your wounds. You have moved around.”

     “Why are you taking such good care of me when your warriors left me for dead?”

     Her sunshine gaze peered straight into his eyes. “You saved my niece at the village and the wounded from the Bannock scout. You do not have the thirst to kill like the other soldiers.” She bowed her head and removed the blood encrusted bandage from his shoulder. “The Nimiipuu need you.”

     Her touch warmed his body, tingling the areas around his wounds. He glanced at her small, delicate hands hovering over his injuries. He shut his eyes, and then opened them. Her hands shimmered as if in a fog. His pain subsided, in fact, his body felt well rested.

     A soft lyrical chant rose from her lips as she continued to hover her hands over his wounds. Her eyes remained closed, her light lashes resting on her sun-kissed cheeks. He’d never seen a woman as beautiful as this. He had to learn her true origins and return her to her family.

Buy Link:

Wild Rose Press

Kindle

You can learn more about Paty at her blog; www.patyjager.blogspot.com  her website; http://www.patyjager.net or on Facebook; https://www.facebook.com/#!/paty.jager and twitter;  @patyjag. 

Let's Get HOT!

There were many jobs in the old west that we often take for granted and yet most were crucial in keeping a town alive. Blacksmithing was one of those jobs. In fact, the larger trail drives might include having a blacksmith along.

Before I did research on blacksmithing for Texas Forged, I assumed incorrectly that the blacksmith took care of shoeing horses. Well, he indeed had the knowledge to shoe a horse but this particular job usually fell to the farrier.

In the early days, one didn't attend trade schools to learn various jobs. Instead they apprenticed to a skilled laborer. A boy could apprentice to a blacksmith as young as eleven or twelve and while a teen this young couldn't do the heavy work, he could assist in keeping the forge hot and other small jobs that made the blacksmith's day easier and was mutually beneficial. He'd be required to clean and to replenish the supply of coal in the forge. He'd be asked to retrieve supplies as needed and as he grew older and stronger, he might be asked to pump the bellows.

 

The day began by building the fire in the forge using coal. When the fire burns hot enough, the coal becomes coke which tends to burn in a ring round the fire thus giving a more controlled heat. Metal rods were placed into the fire until hot enough to work using a striker and anvil. The hot metal was called "heats." Metal was shaped, cooled, reheated and shaped some more until the desired product was formed. It was then filed and polished.

 

In my story, Texas Forged, the hero owns a small smithy even though several blocks away, a larger company employs many blacksmiths. Please enjoy a short excerpt:

Galin pulled the yellow-orange iron from the coals and placed it on the anvil. With powerful strokes he molded the metal until it took shape. The process intrigued her but not nearly as much as the man himself.

A cry sounded, instantly snagging her attention. Where was Spencer? She jumped from her seat, frantic with worry. Galin dropped the hammer on his work table and shoved the rod back into the forge before gathering Spencer to his chest. “Let me see.”

“I never saw him get up.” She rushed forward, ashamed she hadn’t paid more attention.

“Not your fault.” Galin tried to hush the boy’s wails. Finally the boy held his arm aloft for his inspection. “Looks like a spark burned his arm. Best get some cool water on it.

He led the boy to the trough out front and shoved his arm into the soothing coolness. Aubrey stood aside, still mortified that her mental wanderings had prevented her from keeping a better watch. “Why don’t you let me care for him?”

“Not your job.”

If she were a more violent person, she’d take the hammer to the smithy’s hard head. “Do you close yourself off to everyone you meet or just me?”

“Just like a woman to get riled for no cause.” He lifted the arm out of the water and studied the red mark. “Be tender for a while but you’ll live. Next time, stay put when you’re told.”

“I want my mother.” He sniffed back tears and rubbed his nose on the back of his sleeve.

“Maybe I can take him to his mother,” she offered, wanting to make up for her irresponsibility.

“Spencer, you head up those stairs and make yourself at home. There’s some leftover biscuits in a towel covered bowl. Help yourself. Be up in a while to check on you.” He pointed to the set of outdoor steps that led to his apartment. The boy trudged up the incline, holding his arm until he disappeared from sight. When he disappeared into the second floor home, Galin rounded on Aubrey. “Spencer’s my concern. Not yours.”

“But…”

His hand reached for her hat and came back clutching a twig. “Do you always wear hats like that?”

“Like what?”

“Like nature stirred up a hornet’s nest.” His voice softened in a way that sent awareness skittering along every nerve cell. “The artist that conjured that monstrosity ought to be shot. At the very least, tarred and feathered.”

 www.ciaragold.com

Mustang - Symbol of the American West

By: Peggy L. Henderson

Early forms of wild horses roamed the North American plains for millions of years. Ancenstors of the modern genus Equus migrated over the Bering Land Bridge into Asia and Europe, and the horse died out completely in North America about 10,000-12,000 years ago. This may have been due to climate change, or impact from human hunters.

Horses were re-introduced to North America by Spanish Conquistdors, starting with Columbus. He imported horses to the West Indies in 1493. When Cortes reached the  mainland in 1519, he brought domesticated horses with him.

The first mustangs on the North American plains are descendant from Iberian horses that were brought to Mexico and Flordia. They were mostly of Andalusian, Barb, and Arab ancestry. Some of these horses escaped into the wild, or were captured by Native Americans. From there, they spread quickly throughout the western United States.

The plains Indians quickly adopted the horses as a primary means of transportation, and they replaced dogs to pull travois. By becoming horsemen, the Indians had a great advantage in warfare with other tribes, used horses in trade, and for hunting bison.

Some horses that belonged to ranchers, settlers, and explorers in the 1800’s escaped to mix their genes with the early Spanish-descended wild horses. Ranchers also commonly released their stock in winter to forage on their own, and recaptured them in the spring, which by then usually included a few wild mustangs.

By 1900, there were an estimated 2 million free-roaming horses in the United States. This number has been greatly reduced, as horses were being captured by the military and for slaughter.

In 1971, the Wild and Free-Roaming Horses and Burros Act was passed by Congress to protect certain established wild herds. Mustangs were officially recognized as “living symbols of the historic and pioneer spirit of the West.” These herds are managed by the Bureau of Land Management. The feral population is now estimated at around 33,000 horses and 4700 burros, with more than half of these in Nevada. The BLM holds annual roundups and adoption of wild Mustangs to qualified individuals who must meet certain criteria.

Mustangs have many outstanding characteristics. They tend to have a sensible disposition, agility, alertness, and hardiness. They range in size from 13.3 hand to 15 hands, and tend to have a very smooth gait, a high endurance level, and strong hooves. Mustangs that live in colder climates are shaggy and small, and desert mustangs can survive on remarkably small amounts of food and water.

In my book, Come Home to Me, Jake Owens, a wagon train scout, rides a mustang.

 

Here is a brief excerpt:

Jake reined in his mare, and patted her on the neck. The stout little mustang had to be the best trained horse he’d ever sat on.  A subtle shift of his seat backwards, and she stopped. If he leaned forward, she stepped out. A slight turn of his shoulders in either direction, and her body followed. At least the reverend had supplied him with a good mount, if nothing else. He’d almost forgotten the exhilarating feeling of sitting astride a horse, galloping across open country.

His eyes scanned far off into the distance. Open country was right.  After leaving the Missouri River a few hours ago, the wagon train made its way west, first through sandy marshlands as they moved away from the river and onto the uneven, rolling hills they entered now. In the distance, the hills blended into steeply ridged sandy bluffs. Tall grasses swayed in tune with the wind as far as the eye could see. At least there was food here for the livestock. That might not be the case the further west they traveled.

Details about the wagon trains along the Oregon Trail, information he’d thought long forgotten from many history classes, seemed to come back to him now as if someone had implanted a computer chip in his brain. This land was foreign to him, but he hoped to get a better feel for it once they entered more familiar territory further west in Wyoming, or what would someday be Wyoming.

 Judging by the map the reverend had given him, Jake guessed they were within an hour from a water source called Papillion Creek. Hopefully, the wagon master would agree to stop there for the night. They hadn’t covered much ground today, and after what happened earlier, Frank Wilson was not going to be his buddy on this trip. Jake wanted to get to Oregon as fast as possible, too, probably faster than the wagon master, but he couldn’t afford to be careless. The reverend had made it pretty clear that the safety of these people rested on Jake’s shoulders. He ran his hand through his hair. Dried grit and sand scraped against his scalp from the muddy Missouri.

 Getting all the wagons across the wide river had been an exhausting undertaking. Jake absently rotated his shoulders, the muscles in his arms sore and tight. They hadn’t lost any cattle as near as he could tell during the crossing. Three men had volunteered to help him get the cattle and mules through the river. Two of the men were bachelors, without families to worry about.

Elijah Edwards heartily shook his hand once the entire train was safely across the river and the mules and oxen were hitched to their wagons. Beaming brightly, he had slapped Jake on the back, congratulating him on a job well done, and that he had great confidence that this trek to Oregon would go off without any trouble. He had invited Jake to eat supper at his wagon that night. His wife, Harriet Edwards, had shot her husband a look of outrage. Just to irritate the woman further, Jake wanted to accept the invitation, but he wasn’t going to stand up Rachel a second time.

SAILING UP TO NORTHEAST TEXAS

A riverboat port in Northeast Texas?  Strange as it sounds, Jefferson, on Big Cypress Bayou, was an important port in the 1870’s. Jefferson is one of my family’s favorite places to sightsee. We visit antique shops and the candy store (for yummy fudge), drive along the lovely streets, and enjoy the beautiful scenery. Many of the 19^th century homes are now bed and breakfast inns, and the Excelsior Hotel still accepts guests. We’ve even been known to go fishing in Lake Caddo. (Not me - I read a book while my husband fishes.)

During the late 1840s efforts were made to clear Big Cypress Creek for navigation. As the westernmost outpost for navigation on the Red River, Jefferson quickly developed into an important riverport. The first steamboat, the Llama, reached Jefferson in late 1843 or early 1844. Within a few years steamboats were regularly making the trip from Shreveport and New Orleans, transporting cotton and other produce downstream and returning with supplies and manufactured goods, including materials and furnishings for many of the early homes. By the late 1840s Jefferson had emerged as the leading commercial and distribution center of Northeast Texas and the state's leading inland port.

Among the persistent legends that have grown up around the town was the belief that Jeffersonians had shunned the railroads. While much of the city's wealth during the antebellum and early postbellum years derived from the river trade, city leaders recognized early the importance of rail transportation and made efforts to build a railroad linking the town with Shreveport and Marshall. Construction of a line began in 1860, but only forty-five miles of road was completed by the outbreak of the Civil War. During the Civil War a meat cannery was established there, as were factories for boots and shoes.

Jefferson was an up-and-coming city after the Civil War. In 1867 Jefferson became the first town in Texas to use natural gas for artificial lighting purposes, and ice was first manufactured on a commercial scale there in 1868. By 1870, Jefferson was the sixth largest city in Texas. In the late 1860s more than 75,000 bales of cotton were being shipped annually. By 1870 only Galveston surpassed Jefferson in volume of commerce.

Loading cotton bales

The town reached its peak in 1872, but in 1873 two events occurred that eventually spelled the end of Jefferson's importance. The first was the destruction of the Red River Raft. The Great River Raft or Red River Raft began in prehistoric times as the river ate away at the river’s bank, causing trees at the river’s edge to collapse into the river. Timber and driftwood formed solid bridges that stretched across the river. In some places the raft was reported to be twenty-five feet deep. Some areas were solid enough to serve as land bridges that could support a man on horseback, although I can’t imagine a poor horse having to cross. With slow-moving flow of water, the silt carried by the river sank, damming the bayous along the river.

Breaking up the raft

Imagine a 165-mile log jam. In November of 1873 nitroglycerin charges were used to remove the last portion of the raft, which had previously made the upper section of the river unnavigable. The demolition of the raft reopened the main course of the river, but significantly lowered the water level of the surrounding lakes and streams making the trip to Jefferson by boat difficult.

Even more important to Jefferson's decline was the completion of the Texas and Pacific Railway from Texarkana to Marshall, which bypassed Jefferson. Death to any city!  Although another line of the Texas and Pacific reached Jefferson the following year, the development of rail commerce and the rise of Marshall, Dallas, and other important rail cities brought an end to Jefferson's golden age as a commercial and shipping center. Though efforts were made in later years to raise the water level on the Big Cypress, the railroads soon displaced the riverboats, and with them Jefferson.

For my latest release, BLUEBONNET BRIDE, I placed a fictional town called Pearsonville a few miles from Jefferson that shared in the riverboat shipping trade. The heroine’s late husband bullied his way to control Pearsonville. Fortunately for Rosalyn, my heroine, she severed all ties with the area only a month before the area’s decline.

Here’s the blurb for BLUEBONNET BRIDE, Men of Stone Mountain book three:

He’s a by-the-book Texas sheriff; she’s on the run from a murder conviction...

When a tornado provides Rosalyn with the opportunity to escape the gallows, she collects her daughter Lucy and flees. They travel far enough West that Rosalyn believes she’s gone to the ends of the earth. She hopes she and Lucy will be safe in this remote North Texas town where she embarks on a new life as a dressmaker. If only she could avoid contact with people, especially the handsome sheriff who pops up every time she turns around. She fears either she or her chatterbox daughter may slip and reveal too much.

Joel Stone has been content with his life, even if it’s not the one he’d dreamed. His younger brothers are married and living nearby, his aunts have moved to Radford Springs, and he is respected for the efficient job he does as sheriff. When he meets the new widow in town, his instant attraction staggers him. She appears uninterested, but he is determined to win her hand in marriage. 

But life doesn’t turn out the way either Rosalyn or Joel plan. They overcome temporary obstacles, but what of the secret she protects? Can he save her from the gallows?

BLUEBONNET BRIDE is available at Smashwords in e-book:

https://www.smashwords.com/books/view/287177?ref=CarolineClemmons

And in print or e-book from Amazon at:

http://www.amazon.com/Bluebonnet-Bride-Stone-Mountain-ebook/dp/B00BHOC7L8/ref=sr_1_10?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1361679076&sr=1-10&keywords=caroline+clemmons

Thanks for stopping by!

Social Media and Blogging in the Old West

Dateline: Late19th Century


A quick trip to the past proves that at the core, blogging and social media are nothing new.

It isn't as portable as a laptop, but a good sized wagon can carry a small press and allow an itinerant printer to set up shop. For a modest price businesses can print handbills. Lawmen can spread wanted posters. And activists can print pamphlets expounding their opinion without being shut down by a newspaper publisher with advertisers to please. 

Tweeters have nothing on telegraphers who have to pay by the character.

Salesmen carry news and gossip as well as sample bags across the country. Of course, you can't rely on the veracity of the information received, but that's nothing new. As Mark Twain said: "A lie can travel halfway around the world while the truth is putting on its shoes."

Live chat is popular, especially at the general store. Just pull up a chair by the pickle barrel. If you're a good customer, you might even get a cup of coffee.