The Night Of The Midnight Stage

Lightning crashed yet again right outside the window of Room #8, where I'd been reading for the past hour, since finding myself unable to sleep through the raging storms of the evening.

I reached to turn up the oil in the lamp on the table beside me when I heard a soft rapping at the door.

"Stage is running late, Sir. The storm's bad for miles out. Trees are down across the Trail and the horses are probably spooked." The bellhop delivered this less-than-encouraging news while making his rounds to see that all the doors and windows on the second floor were secure.

While I was expected to be in Springfield by the weekend, the prospects of arriving on time were diminishing by the hour. Seeing there was nothing to be done, I poured a glass of brandy and closed the book I'd been struggling to read. My thoughts turned to my stay in the little town for the past few days.

I pulled back the curtain and peered out across the muddy, rain-soaked road to the little grocery/inn across the way. The shop had been long closed for the night, with only a stray light in an upstairs window, likely that of another traveler unable to sleep. A stray dog trotted down the road toward the hotel's back door, hoping to find a few scraps of meat from dinner, or a big bone thrown out for him.

It was a busy little town, thanks to the Trail and the Old Military Road which brought travelers and farmers alike to transact their various business dealings. Looking out in the other direction, yet another hotel stood across the way. This was the stop for the stageline, which delivered passengers and the mail to the town's post office just north of the hotel where I was staying.

After downing my last swallow of brandy, I turned the light out and willed myself to bed and hopefully back to sleep. Either the brandy had worked its magic, or fatigue had finally overwhelmed my senses because I was soon soundly sleeping, wakened only by the sound of foot traffic in the hallway in the morning and the welcoming smell of coffee from the dining room below.

The allure of breakfast's call led me to get up, shave, and wash for the day ahead. What it would bring was anyone's guess. The stage hadn't arrived, nor was there any word as to when it might be expected, which would effectively keep me tethered to the hotel until word was received or we saw its arrival.

Arriving downstairs, I found the dining room nearly deserted, with the exception of two local businessmen who were sharing breakfast before opening their shops down the street and in another section of the hotel. One operated a clothing and shoe store a block to the north, while another kept his drugstore on the other side of this building. They introduced themselves as Ahrens and Grother and asked me to join them.

This kind of welcoming friendly gesture was what made the little town special. They told me the stage was usually late, but never like this. Word of the wild weather reached the town from as far away as Kansas City, so I resigned myself to the likelihood that I'd be spending yet another day here in town.

The stage arrived late that evening, and the driver was in a surly mood. Time would need to be made up somewhere along our journey, and it didn't seem to matter to him how it would be done. He snapped at me and the two other passengers as he threw our luggage on top of the stage, taking but a minute to haphazardly cover them with the tarp.

He slammed the door behind us and climbed to his seat before cracking the whip on the hides of the wild-eyed horses that were obviously exhausted despite their fear. They would still need to cover the four miles to Burns Station, where they would be exchanged for fresh horses before we headed south toward Warsaw and eventually my destination of Springfield.

It had been that kind of day for me, so it really should have come as no surprise when things ended as they did. We were little more than a mile from fresh horses and hopefully, a new driver when it happened. Lightning crashed seemingly right outside the carriage and the already frightened horses were struck with a deeper terror, surging forward out of the angry driver's control.

 Just then a wheel dropped off the edge of the trail, hitting a stump or rock large enough to overturn the carriage, effectively freeing the horses to run wherever their fears would take them while leaving us rainsoaked and lying on our side hanging precariously on the edge of a deep ravine. The other two passengers - both women - were beside themselves with a mixture of fear, anger, and indignation over the evening's events. It was up to me to restore some degree of sanity, if not calm.

The driver had been thrown from his seat and lay unconscious in the deep depression below. Somehow, I equated his new fate to be his just reward for his manner of treating his passengers and his horses. By then, I felt sure we were better off without him. As the rain had done nothing but increase in intensity, our immediate concern was to gently extract ourselves from the teetering carriage before it joined the driver at the bottom of the ravine, taking us unwillingly with it.

As I was calculating our odds, the carriage lurched one final time, which might have sent us to our end, had it not been for a large oak tree just a couple of feet from where we had been perched.

This hold seemed far more secure while leaving us a path to climb free of the carriage and back to the road. Helping the ladies to freedom, I saw there was little else but to leave our luggage and press on by foot, hoping to safely reach the relay station that waited just ahead.

Reach it we did, despite arriving drenched by the downpour. The station manager supplied dry blankets and hot coffee along with assurances that a new stage was being readied for the trip south to Warsaw and beyond.

As the worst of the storm seemed to have passed, or gone to the north, we headed south with a bit more confidence, given the new driver was a kindly man intent on our safe passage.

Although I didn't arrive in Springfield until Monday morning, the meeting was still made, and I was told that my luggage would be at my hotel by evening. The cruel driver who allowed us to be wrecked and face imminent disaster, however, didn't fare as well. Word reached me that he had, indeed, perished in the crash. The runaway horses had been found and were safely secured at Burns Station, never to be harrowed by that driver again.

Travel in those days, was always a bit of an adventure. But, this trip offered more than our share of excitement. During my next stay in Cole Camp at the Bellview Hotel, I'd certainly have tales to tell Mr. Ahrens and Mr. Grother. They'll surely be wondering about my fate on that wild and scary night of the midnight stage.