Wednesday, 04 November 2009

• Wolf Trek. The Journey of Thomas McBane

   

  I was to receive a section of land for my service. That was the promise to those who served in the militia. I had no interest in land. What would I do with it? Farm? I am no farmer and that is most certain. Now that the second war with England was over, the greed of men was unashamedly on display. They bartered and gambled their new found acres in a most frivolous manner. In just a few months time, these men, who had courageously halted the advance of the British army and navy, were now quibbling for whatever parcel of ill fed, unproductive land they could get their hands on. Most of them plunging themselves so far in debt, that their land was forfeited to their creditors--a den of vultures lying in wait to gain fortune by trickery or outright theft. My brief twenty-nine years had seen much hardship befall the innocent at the hands of greedy men. I had no interest in land whatsoever.

  Neither did I have any interest in returning to Boston. Since I was a lad, I had wanted to be away from Boston. At twenty-four I struck out west to St. Louis. Working on the riverboats offered a much more peaceful existence than the constant threat of violence and crime on Boston’s dirty streets. Nevertheless, no place that I set my foot felt like home.

  The British had purposed to sack New Orleans and in so doing, would choke off the commerce that was carried upon the waters of the great Mississippi river. Our livelihoods threatened by the action, many of us joined the militia, taking up arms against the marauding swarms of red-coated soldiers.

  Now that the war was over, I found myself not wanting to return to St. Louis. The promise of America was that men may live free; however, a life of toil for others and the accumulation of debt did not seem like freedom to me. I felt a stirring deep inside my being--telling me to leave behind all that I knew. I had grown weary of watching good men die and evil men prosper.

  I refused my six hundred forty acres of land, asking instead for a horse. “A horse?” The man said with a most puzzled look on his face, “Am I to understand that you do not want the land promised you?”

  The quartermaster was stunned by my request. After a period of consultation with his superiors, they decided to grant my request. I was given a fine horse. The animal was mostly brown with a white stocking rising from each hoof. Saddle and bridle were also provided. Mounting the horse, I began to ride north alongside the river. My destination was unknown to me. Guided by my restless desire to prosper by my own hand, I traveled further and further north. Once I had left St. Louis behind me, I discovered that what lay before me was a vast, endless expanse of untamed land. I headed in the direction of the northernmost part of the Louisiana territory--confident that my destiny was contained somewhere therein.

   

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