The mass of black and brown suits huddled around the gangplank of the steamship. The Colorado had docked, the tug just trudging away into the mist. It was early spring, but unseasonably muggy. The moisture clung to along the ship, giving off a polished gloss. The grey light and the brown highlights of the harbor cast itself like a Daguerre-type.
A young man squinted at the landscape around him. The city of Boston was unknown to him but for his incessant questions. He needed to know the lay of the land before he arrived. They landed near Barton's Point, he surmised that early in the trip, which would allow him egress to Leyerets Street. From there he would progress to the Commons, to South End and out into the country. He needed to be free of the city by dark - or risk his schedule, of which, lives were dependent upon.
He traveled light, with only a 'Ditty' bag upon his person. The bulk would be found in the shoppes of America - as he carried around enough money to get him where he needed to be. The Church made sure of that, and, being a growing influence in the burgeoning West, he needed to get there if he was to avoid delay.
He excused himself as he shifted down the gangway. Wearing the livery of a craftsman masked his brusqueness, although his vocation was much different.
Leyerts was easy, but it took a few turns to find Commons, the street was large enough to distinguish itself as the main thoroughfare. He walked quickly and could not yet afford the time to enjoy the sights around him. Within two hours he made it out of the city proper and into the country. He'd have to find another form of conveyance now.
With some questioning he came upon a small hamlet known as Jamaica Plains, and from there was able to haggle for a horse, buying as little tack as necessary to ride him. As he had experience on bareback, this was not the problem - however he did need to ride some 150 miles over the next week.
"For the price that you seem to be desiring, s'yr, I'd give you the Quarter/Arabian yonder," the man (Ross was his last name), motioned toward a dark brown one that was playing with a full Quarter in a large pen. "Alright." Ross motioned his man to cut it and bring it out for dressing. With some amateur checking of the horses mouth, fetlock, cannon and the like - he felt he had a good enough choice. Time was a factor, and he was sure this one could make 20 miles a day.
He purchased tack, but mostly what he was used to, which was a bit rare this far East - but decided on a Western tack, with hackamore bridle and the most basic of saddles. He dressed the horse himself, then took it around the pens a few times, turning it left and right. The horse was responsive enough. He paid Ross and headed out on a direction of West.
Here, under the eves of low hanging 'ulmus', he pushed the steed forward, heading down roads of shallow mud. He pushed the horse, but not to hard - but he had to get her up to a point of being able to do 20. On Ross' recommendation, he suggested that she not go beyond 10 the first day...and even then it would be pushing it. Being inexperienced, he guessed at 8 miles for the first day and find an inn that could accommodate it. He named the horse, "Her'.
...
At a point of three miles into the ride, he needed to rest. Allowing Her to drink, he took out his Ditty bag and pulled out a woolen 'poncho' of a make that was said to be made in Mexico. He exchanged his beater jacket for the poncho, which, if not being able to keep him as warm, was at least dry. He took off his pants and squeezed out the moisture out of the wool. The itching and chafing of the ride was going to be trouble (it already was).
While in the bag, he ensured that a lantern was still safe from wear (it was), and shifted his Bible and other belongings. Seeing his accouterments made him pause. He prayed thanksgivings for a safe trip thus far - making it from Spain to America within 47 days. Only a short period of motion sickness marred an otherwise quiet trip.
He plucked at the flowers of an arrow wood bush. The crush of them in his fingers had the faint smell of witch hazel. He tasted the bitterness of one just to see if there were other features of the plant. He took a sprig and put it in his bible.
After stretching out and massaging out Her, he returned to its mount and headed off once again. The evening came quickly on account of the low clouds. He made way for a large road and hoped he would come upon an inn.
...
