Snippet #1787458

The date is February 13th, 1864 on a foggy and damp Friday morning, the Hell on Wheels caravan had left Washington state over a month ago and are just now crossing the Oregon-Idaho border on their way to the open plains of the Northwest territories. The wagon train was moving along smoothly for a change, clipping along at an astonishing two and a half miles an hour, the caravan averaging 13 miles a day. This mobile town carried along with it a variety of individuals, from drunkards, tradesmen, several families, an assortment of whores, and also former outlaws. This veritable motley crew had but one thing in common, they all sought another life, a life better then what they had left behind them. The wagon which lead the journey across unionized and border states alike, was in the hands of a retired soldier who served as town sheriff. Jim Dekker was a most detestable man known for frequent drunkenness and outbursts of violence.

A second smaller wagon brought up the rear of the convoy and was driven by Marcus Jamerson, a semi-famous gun slinger. Directly in the center of the caravan rode Reverend Handcock, his wagon overflowing with his makeshift tent. His services were appreciated by some of the residence, while others merely tolerated its existence. It did however provide a welcome break in the monotony of stumbling from the tent where the whores dwelt and the rickety walls of O'Brian's flimsy, termite infested plywood saloon. Toward the middle of this rag-tag fleet of wooden wagons there were several complete family units consisting of a mother, father and children. There were also two additional families heading up the rear of the caravan, one of them Asian and the other Swedish. A family of freed slaved had joined the Hell on Wheels caravan that morning, taking their position within the traveling township as a permanent addition.

In this day and age some people might not feel comfortable, or accept traveling within a wagon train comprised of those normally deemed undesirables by the majority of society. Even though the inhabitance of Hell on Wheels have had their problems in the past, including troubles between the races and struggles between certain class structures. The small portable town has recently become even more diverse with the addition of the family of freed slaves from the south. Still, the fact remains that most of the people in the town have been slaves in one manner or another, and frankly most of them were far too poor to have owned slaves in the first place. Every single citizen within the town had come from lives filled with hardship and misery, as a result, the inhabitants of Hell on Wheels are able to reap the benefits which come as a direct result of relative peace.

The reality is that the caravan was far too busy with the excruciating long journey across America to even think of anything else, and when they were not traveling everyone was too exhausted to take part in any type of in-fighting among themselves. The only times the town remained in a place for an extended period of time was during the winter months and the rainy seasons, which were also particularly troublesome. In a matter of a few weeks it will once again be time for the caravan to stop the Northwest march across the beautiful and budding country. The journey that they had embarked on was an excruciating and tremendously difficult one. No one was starving to death, but they certainly were not living the high life of luxury and excess, far from it. Prospects were good however for they knew that they would eventually reach the Sawtooth mountain range in the newly named state of Idaho.

The mobilized town had to make an unscheduled stop when the right front wheel of the food-wagon broke apart from general ware and tear. This stop was only for a single night, by morning the caravan will be on its way again. It had decided a long time ago that among the chores which the older children in the town were obligated to perform was the gathering of wood for the nightly bonfires. On this night the townsfolk had set up a massive bonfire which attracted the attention of every citizen, the entire town gathered around the fire that night. The good ol' boys within the town would always entertain the others with vividly detailed tales of the glory days of the old west, which the youngsters listened to attentively. By morning the town was on its way, just as was planned. They still had several more weeks of traveling to do, this was done purely by necessity, as bad weather was sure to come. Soon it will be time to erect the small town of Hell on Wheels.

All citizens of Hell on Wheels had been warned that if they should ever venture off from the main train they were to make sure to stay within eying distance. The plains of the Northwest were still inhabited by Indians who had no great love for the white man, they of course had good reason to hate those who had stolen their lands and segregated many of their people. Of all the laws of Hell on Wheels; of which there were few, this was the most strictly adhered to. Unlike the more socially based infringements it was seriously and severely enforced, as such behavior could potentially harm not only the one who has disregarded the law, but the innocent as well. The unsuspecting residence were unaware of the Indian crouched down in the foliage, waiting for his chance to attack, one most likely not all too happy that white foreigners had extended themselves into his ancestor's tribal lands.

The identity of the stranger in the woods was soon revealed to be that of an Indian with elaborately war-painted features, consisting of a complete white face with two black stripes running horizontally across his eyes and mouth. This Indian was particularly outraged by the fact that many American Indians had allied themselves with the same white men that were bent on exterminating their race, and this anger he intended to act out on the unsuspecting inhabitants of Hell on Wheels. This brave Indian, named White-Owl had witnessed the 'Massacre of Cheyenne Indians' earlier that year, when a 700-man force from the Colorado Territory militia attacked a village of friendly Cheyenne encamped in southeastern Colorado Territory, killing and mutilating 163 Indians, about two-thirds of whom were women and children. This unfortunate incident mirrored the Sawtooth massacre of 1721, which resulted in the brutal deaths of 435 innocent and friendly Shoshone Indians, once again the majority of those killed were woman and children. The coincidence of these two horrific and tragic events would result in something which the inhabitants of Hell on Wheels could have never fathomed, this miraculous and supernatural event would begin at the Sawtooth mountain range in Idaho.