THE STORY OF JOS. FRANCL.
Translated by Fred Francl.
II.
The grass is sprouting out of the ground and the prairies are covered with a mantle of green. We have stopped buying and hauling feed for our animals, thereby saving considerable expense. We halted near the small town of Marengo, on the banks of the Iowa river, fourteen miles from Iowa City, spending the night there. On the morning of June 3rd we started out and travelled the «whole day, made camp for the night and travelled the next day. We realized that we were wandering. The road we are on looks dim, no one has been over it for a year. There are no human tracks, but there are signs that wolves and larger animals have passed here. An overpowering stillness oppresses us. Occasionally we hear the drumming of pheasants and wild turkeys, the frightful rattling of a woodpecker pecking into a dry and hollow tree. It is lightning in the west and drops of water rare falling from the heavens. We cannot find a spot of dry ground, dry enough to sleep on. I do not know where we are, or what to do, we are lost. For two days we have not had sight of a house or human being, for we were in a thick forest. We agreed that on the third day we would proceed on our way and hoped to meet or find someone. Surely this road will lead us to something. About four o’clock of the third day, in the afternoon, we saw a house on a small knoll and on the south of it a beautiful marsh or lowland and some felled trees. The farm belonged to a newly-arrived immigrant, a Pomeranian from Prussia, judging by his language. He said he bought the land before seeing it, on promises and words. In order to keep others from getting it, he paid some money down to bind the bargain and was to pay, the balance from the income from the farm. He began to tell of his life from the beginning to the time of his buying the farm and concluded by saying: “I know very well that here in America foreigners have to take good care of themselves. I am well satisfied so far except that I forgot to inform myself how many miles my farm is located from Marengo. On the county map it appears to be exceedingly close. My countryman told me I could not place confidence in anything regarding my purchase. I guess it to be fifty miles from here to Marengo. The road over which you came leads only to my farm and that of my neighbor. He lives seven miles to the north of me. How far is it to Skunk River? I do not know for certain, but from what I have heard, it is 88 miles. I do not know the way there, only the road from Marengo. I will tell you what to do. One of you go to my neighbor. He has lived here two years and is more likely to know the road you are looking for.”
What else could we do but that Henry and I, early the next morning, went to see the neighbor. When we came there, he began to inform us and described how we might find the road to the small town of Newton near the Lion river. We returned and at one o’clock in the afternoon were back at the first farm. The good farmer cooked a supper for us and permitted us to sleep on the floor on straw. On the 10th and 11th he accompanied us a long way on the road and told us to bear in mind carefully the marks made by axes on the trees, or we might be lost. These marked trees were made by those who had blazed the way. What a road! It wormed round here and there. Only once since the creation of the world had a wagon passed over it and we have the honor to ride over it a second time. For ninety miles we kept careful watch of every tree, so we would not lose sight of the marks. We overturned ten times, always without damage. Many times we could not turn out of the way on account of fallen trees, we went over them and everything else in the way. On the fifth day in the afternoon we came to the small town of Newton and had five miles more to go before we reached the banks of the Long river, where we rested for two days and made up for all the trials we had undergone on that wretched road.
Everything is verdant, grass a-plenty, wild fowl as turkey, quail, ducks, geese and snipes are everywhere around us. On the following day early in the morning we took a notion to try to run down a wild turkey. I stayed in camp and went fishing with fish-hooks. In half an hour I caught 60 pounds of pike, the largest weighed ten pounds. At about nine o’clock in the morning Mr. Merrman brought a large wild turkey, much larger than a domestic turkey. Wild turkeys are of a dark rusty color, all those that I saw, and they can run fast, a good, fast Indian horse has all he can do to outrun them. Their legs are longer than those of domestic turkeys, otherwise they look the same. We are going to stay here on the Leon River some times. (Note of transcriber: Francl’s original notes are rather hard to decipher at times; it will be noted that Lion, Leon and Long rivers are probably meant for the one and same river, the name of which has probably been changed.) I thought it would be a good time to prepare a list of provisions and necessities and how much of each we ought to have to last us to California, thus: 250 pounds dried biscuits (hardtack), 150 pounds smoked ham, 50 pounds butter, 50 pounds sugar, 30 pounds coffee, 20 pounds beans, 10 pounds peas, different kinds of spices, 5 gallons vinegar, an axe, chain, rope, auger, 26 pounds powder, a sack of shot, 40 pounds lead. That is all and in truth a very small quantity indeed.
“Boys, what shall be have for dinner, fish or turkey?”—“All of it shall be baked and boiled,” they all exclaimed with one voice. “Very well,” I answered. “But how are we going to roast the turkey, we have no iron pan large enough for it?’ We chopped it in two pieces with and axe and I proposed that I would make a good stuffing for it. Merrman and Gustav took Tiero, my fairly good setter, and went to look for ducks and quail eggs. In a little while they brought a half hatful of prairie chicken eggs, about three dozen. Now I went to work quickly and made the stuffing and set the turkey to roasting. “Frieda, see if the turkey is roasting. Take a fork and try if the stuffing is baked throug} Frieda obeyed. Suddenly he began to shout with all his strength: “Francl, Francl, hurry, come here. The turkey has bursted.” He stuck the fork into the turkey’s crop (which I had stuffed), and the stuffing being very thin, ran out with the butter over the pan and into the fire. The whole thing was ablaze and no wonder Frieda did not know what to do with it.
“Dinner is ready!” We all fell to and the turkey was good except the stuffing (or dressing), which we could not eat at all. Once more this same day we caught fish, by the firelight, in the rapids. That is, they caught themselves. We made a trap of willow twigs and fastened it in the rapids. These narrowed down to small runs and shallow water below and ended in a willow trap where
