The search for a cure to the white death.
At Farmington we passed the night in the office of a local doctor with whom Vincent had made arrangements on his initial journey to Millstone Hills. The next day we awoke at dawn and traveled east along a stream until we arrived at the Farmington Landing, a dock which is central to Farmington commerce, as there is no access to a railroad. At this point such items as the locally produced corn and cotton begin a journey that leads first to Millstone Hills, then to the Washita River and, finally, to the Mississippi. Here too it is that finished goods and all manner of merchandise are received. It was at Farmington Landing that we were met by the Graceful Lady, a small stern paddle-wheel steamboat built with two decks. Our passage on this vessel had been prearranged, as had each step of our journey, by Vincent King.
After several hours of offloading followed by the loading of a cargo of baled cotton, we boarded the ship. Because of the nature of our illness, we had reserved for us the entire top deck of the vessel, a location where we would have minimal contact with the crew and no contact with the few passengers on the lower deck. Once aboard we were able to rest fairly comfortably in hammocks that were strung on the orders of Dr. Sillsman. A tarp was then erected in order to protect us from the elements—rain clouds could already be observed in the east—and here we remained in the cool air. Soon we were able to hear the sounds of the crew as they began to load wood into the single boiler on the lower deck. Shorty after this the master of the vessel gave a command to cast off all lines. The low vessel began to make steam and from my sickbed I could sense the bow coming about to turn to the east. We were then underway, and soon the rhythm of the wheel against the stream—now a gentle splash, and then a forceful slap—had lulled the ailing passengers to sleep.
I was roused from my slumber by the distant rumble of thunder. Lightning began to flash and soon the first raindrops began to fall onto the canvas roof under which we slept. It was then that I became aware of a curious silence. There was the noise of raindrops, of course, but the sound of the steam boiler and the paddle wheel had ceased. It was now morning, though still dark, and we had arrived at the small port of Millstone Hills, a town situated at the place where, in the words of Melgar, there was an “immensely large stream.” Today, as I have already mentioned, it is called the Little Pecan River; it flows to the east and then turns south to join the Washita River. Having arrived at this place, it would not be long before we reached our goal.
We remained secluded on the deck of the Graceful Lady as the passengers disembarked and before long we could hear the sounds of labor as wagons arrived and offloading began. From here the Lady would take on more cargo and continue its journey east toward the Washita. Our destination, the caves, would require us to travel some distance along the river, disembark, and then travel to the north. For this leg of our journey we had been required to secure the services of a smaller vessel—a vessel that could loiter in the area for an extended period of time, unlike a busy steamboat, which was typically under contract and had to be constantly moving in order to receive and deliver their goods in a timely manner. The boat was supposed to be awaiting our arrival, but by the time the laborers had departed it still had not arrived. With nothing to do but wait, we disembarked from the Graceful Lady.
We rested a short distance away from the dock, taking shelter under the oversized willows that grew along and near the bank of the stream. In a short time Dr. Sillsman ordered that tarps be erected so that Ms. Ellsworth, Mr. Taylor, and I might rest in a dry place. From this vantage point we had a very clear view of the “immensely large stream” that would lead us to our destination. As the last of the wagons made their way toward town we watched as the Graceful Lady was boarded by perhaps half a dozen souls. Shortly thereafter the big paddle was again propelling the vessel eastward. The steamboat could still be heard long after it had vanished from our sight.
We continued to wait on our transportation while sheltering under the trees, but by noon the boat still had not arrived. It was then that a man appeared near the dock where Vincent was standing on one of the many piers that jutted out into the river. After a brief exchange, both men approached our group.
The man before us was dark-skinned, very dark-skinned, and was dressed in the simple yet distinctive attire of what I took to be some Indian tribe that I did not recognize. He wore his hair long and loose, and it can only be said of him that he was mostly unremarkable, being average in both height and build. His peculiar dress consisted of a kilt-like garment of buckskin over which was worn something like a short sleeveless cowl or oversized vest. This garment was fastened around the waist by a thick belt, also made of leather, and on his feet could be seen a pair of high twisted sandals. His overall appearance vaguely reminded me of an ancient centurion.
If the man did not project an imposing physical presence, the same could not be said for other aspects of his appearance. To the leather belt were attached two holsters from which the handles of side arms were visible. Also hanging from the belt was a vicious looking Bowie knife or short sword that was similar in appearance to the Roman gladius, though longer. It was clearly advertised that the man, though simple in appearance, was not one with whom to trifle.
The man spoke slowly and deliberately so that it was clear that he was more accustomed to the speech of some unknown, native, tongue. In broken English he told us exactly that, and he then revealed that his “real name” was unpronounceable, so he had come to be called “Redhawk.” Redhawk lived just outside the town of Millstone Hills and by trade he was a trapper. He was known locally as one who was intimately familiar with the area, and this had led to his retention by the mayor, who had hired him to act as a guide for a group of people who were “seeking life.” I assumed that “seeking life” was the equivalent of “seeking medical treatment.” At any rate, he assured us that he had been to the place we sought on many occasions, and so he was well able to lead us to our destination.
Redhawk then told us that he had arrived in Millstone Hills to inform us that our transportation would be delayed. The small vessel for which we had been waiting had experienced some malfunction of the tiller. It was undergoing repairs, but could not get underway until a certain part was brought in from further downstream. Unfortunately, the current estimate was that our boat would arrive, at best, within two to three weeks.
We were now left with a few options. We could dwell at the townhouse in Millstone Hills: This had already been arranged, should it be required. If this was not desirable, we could set out by wagon—though the terrain might be too difficult to traverse (and now doubly so due to flooding caused by recent and continuing rains.) If we were successful we could arrive by wagon in about five days, but should we encounter difficulty or the wagon be damaged we could be stranded. A third option would be to continue our journey at once by setting out in one of the flatboats tied to the dock near which we sat. By this method of travel we would reach our destination in a little less than three days, though it would likely be necessary to remain stationary during the night. As for Redhawk, he pronounced himself satisfied with whatever we would choose, for the mayor himself had already secured both a wagon and a boat.
It was Dr. Sillsman who determined that it would not be in our best interest to tarry for two or more weeks. In spite of the rain, which was now becoming a steady downpour, we were to take one of the nearby boats and leave immediately. With this, we gathered our belongings, departed our somewhat dry refuge beneath the trees, and walked down to the dock.
The vessel before us was similar in design to a keelboat, though on a much smaller scale and without the keel. It was in fact a tub-like flatboat, designed to be propelled through the water by a single large oar that also served as the tiller. Situated just forward of the stern there was a covered roof under which could be seen a crude arrangement of planking that served as a floor. The roof was attached by lanyards to either side of the boat, and it was designed so that it could be transformed into something like a “tent” by fastening either end. We would not be traveling on a steamboat, but while it would not be the most agreeable form of transportation, we would remain dry.
Those of us who were ill were seen safely into the rough shelter, which was then fastened aft. There had been some question as to whether the boat was large enough for our entire party, and it turned out that it was. We could all travel together and we had enough room left over for all of our belongings and medical supplies. Redhawk would be our pilot and, upon arrival, our guide. Vincent King was available to assist him when and if needed.
At about half past noon during the month of April (year 1919), we departed Millstone Hills, Oklahoma, in a steady downpour of rain under a dark and ominous sky. The small flatboat pushed easily away from its berth and at once a following sea propelled us eastward. We would reach our destination in approximately three days.
On the first day of our journey little was seen. The bank of the river was high and earthy, with trees of all sorts forming a natural barrier that limited our view to what was directly ahead or behind. Occasionally we would pass through an area where the tree-wall had been cut away to allow access to the river. In these places we could see from our boat, just barely, the rooftops of riverside homes. In these same areas we observed perhaps a score of small boats, but the weather ensured that none of these boats was occupied.
If little was seen, even less was said. Apart from a few exchanges between Redhawk and Vincent, our group was mostly silent. Mr. Taylor, ill as ever, spent most of the time asleep. Ms. Ellsworth soon reclined on one of the simple pallets and I sat beside her on the plank floor. Vincent himself sat in the door of our makeshift cabin directly across from where Redhawk labored with the heavy oar. He rose only once or twice when he went to light his pipe. In the main, the voyage was uneventful.
We traveled the river until late evening. When it was dark enough for the flashes of lighting to illuminate our surroundings, Redhawk lit a lamp and we continued to travel into the night. After a much longer period of time than I had expected, the oar finally propelled us toward the riverbank. Here Redhawk tied our boat at both ends to an enormous tree that had fallen from the bank into the river. At that time Vincent, with Dr. Sillsman’s approval, lit a lamp and placed it inside our shelter. We then passed the night sealed within our little refuge, serenaded by the rain upon the river and warmed by the heat of the lamp.
The next morning I awoke to find that the rain was still falling and we were once again moving, Redhawk having set the boat underway while we slept. Though it was still dark it was not long before we were all awake, including the very unwell Mr. Taylor, whose appearance suggested that he was suffering from a fever that I knew well. Vincent reopened the “door” to our shelter and we waited for the light of day. The dawn revealed a grim charcoal sky and a terrain unlike anything we had seen on the previous day. Yesterday we had rowed along the earthen banks of a marsh-like river in the midst of a wall of trees. Now the avenue of trees that lined the riverbank was gone, replaced by towering walls of dark stone. Here and there the tops of large black boulders emerged from the swift stream like great teeth. Here too the river had grown extremely narrow, so much so that I wondered how a vessel such as the Graceful Lady could ever navigate this stream. More than once our pilot used the long oar to keep us clear of the rocks, though we still heard—and felt—an occasional scrape or thud on the hull.
As we traveled the hard rain continued to fall but the deluge soon eased, at least somewhat. The sound of thunder could once again be heard off somewhere in the distance, though now the walls of the ravine provided us with some protection from both the rain and the accompanying wind. In the eerie silence little was heard save the occasional scraping noise of the hull on the rocks and the sound of Redhawk as he labored. Vincent still sat close to our guide, wrapped in a tarp but ready to assist if needed. I had the thought that the black sky, rocks, and river water were appropriate for such a gloomy day.
It was at this time that I began to experience what I will not call a sense of dread, but a general uneasiness. In hindsight I have been able to identify several reasons for this growing disquiet, not the least of which was the menacing rock face of the ravine through which we traveled. The rock—dark gray sandstone or black shale—was rendered even darker due to the falling rain, and as we traveled along I had the disturbing impression that we were somehow moving through the night sky. At other times the closeness of the rocky banks wrought uncomfortable sensations of claustrophobia. Certainly the rain had contributed to my uneasiness, along with the thunder, lightning, blackened sky, and my own diminished constitution. While all these were distressing, none was the exact source of my discomfort. I merely had the vague feeling that all was not as it should be—the feeling that one is not alone, or that he is somehow being observed. Perhaps because of the ominous height of the blackened stone walls, I speculated, I began to have the disconcerting notion that we were under observation.
Around mid-morning we emerged from the ravine into a low hilly area where we could once again see our surroundings. A low mountain lay to the stern. We had passed along the foot of this hill, though it had been hidden from view by the walls of the ravine. Directly ahead lay a similar mountain. If the stream did not meander then it seemed likely that we would pass near to it, perhaps also at the foot. On either side of us the low bank sloped up into a rocky beach which looked to be formed of black shale or sandstone. Huge boulders of the same material dotted the bank, which was also covered in various spots by dark wet piles of chert. In both directions the bank appeared to ascend until it reached the equally dark and rocky hills that could be seen in the distance. An occasional shrub protruded from shallow beds of earth that had collected in some of the rocky areas and, farther back toward the hills, a few trees could be observed. For the most part, however, the terrain was identical to the colorless ravine.
Almost as soon as we reached this point in our journey we encountered what would be the first of two odd stones. On the rocky bank there was seen a great black boulder arranged in a vertical position. It rose perhaps seven feet into the air and was vaguely similar in appearance to an obelisk, though not on so grand a scale. Although the stone was rough it was positioned in such a way as to suggest that it was indeed a monument that had been placed there for a purpose. As we drew closer we observed that images had been carved into the stone.
The stone was carved on the side facing the river. The glyphs that appeared there were simple and they were quite small in proportion when compared to the size of the monument. In the approximate center of the stone there were three crude figures. The prominent glyph was what seemed to be a stylized bird, perhaps a falcon or some other bird of prey. The second and third glyphs were representations of two men. These human figures were represented as standing side by side and wearing a sort of ceremonial garment or winged robe. The image of the bird was carved directly above the heads of the humans, perhaps representing the elder falcon or hawk deity that was formerly known throughout the Southeastern United States. The two figures below the deity, dressed in the avian garb, could have been priests or even worshipers. Whatever the case, it seemed very possible that some extinct culture was represented on the stone.
As we passed by the monument I wondered whether the human figures might represent a person who, such as Melgar’s Kanis companion, was held to be priest-king (or priestess-queen). Was this a Kanis stele? French explorers operating near this area had described several groups of people that lived here. Perhaps this monument was erected by one of those peoples. Without expecting an answer I posed these questions to Vincent and received an interesting response from the usually silent Redhawk. No, he said, the stone was not the product of the Kanis, though that tribe did dwell for a time in this area. The stone we had just passed was a boundary marker set up for the purpose of warning others against encroaching on the territory of the Ao’chitaw, a people who had dwelled in the mountains before the arrival of the Kanis. The figures we had seen on the marker were the A’shita, an order of priests or healers who ruled over the Ao’chitaw people. With regard to the image of the bird, Redhawk said, I had been correct. The A’shita deities were spoken of as the Avalay, or “the old ones,” and their special messengers were thought to take the form of great birds that watched over the people, as symbolized by the prominence of the crude bird-like image on the stele.
