THE ORVILLE MILLER STORY
By
Linda C Wood
CHAPTER 1
BOSTON 1840 - 1841
Orville Miller's parents, Sam and Nancy, emigrated to Boston, Massachusetts, with their nine-year-old son and five-year-old daughter Sally in 1840. Sam had been a farm labourer in England and, after many years of hard work and saving, was able to buy steerage passages to America for his family to try and give them a better start in life. In a big, growing city, farming skills were not wanted, so Sam had to turn his hand to odd-jobbing to keep his family fed and with a roof over their heads. The only accommodation he could afford was in the poorest part of the city, but he was still able to send his son to school, leaving his little daughter at home with her mother for another year or so till he had raised enough money for her education, too. Unfortunately, Orville Miller had no desire to be educated. The school he attended was rough, most of the children coming from the poor Irish families who were landing in Boston at that time. Orville had a good brain on his shoulders and, when the children who were less intelligent kept the rate of learning at a snail's pace, he saw no purpose in staying indoors when he could be hitting the streets, doing things, finding out about what was going on out there. There were other children who skipped school, too, but their backgrounds and families were less law-abiding than the Millers. Orville got in with a bad crowd, and his alert, street-wise mind soon made him the boss of the neighbourhood gang. Tall for his age, slim and nimble on his feet, he was often able to escape trouble from the law whilst others got caught, but sometimes he, too, ran out of luck. Caught stealing money from a grocery shop's till one day, a policeman escorted him home.
Sam Miller had just returned from a hard day's work that had brought him no profit for his honest endeavours when there was a violent knocking at the front door.
The beat policeman held Orville by the scruff of the neck, struggling fruitlessly against the vice-like grip.
"This your son?" he enquired with a broad Irish accent. Orville's eyes flashed anger and frustration as he continued to struggle in the big man's grip.
"Yes." replied Sam, gently. "What's he done this time?"
"Sure an' he's bin caught robbin' the grocer's till. If yiz don't get him ta behave, yiz'll be hivvin' a juvinil' delin-kwent on yir hands, Mr Miller." and he unceremoniously pushed young Orville into his father's arms. Orville said nothing.
"I'll have a word with him, Officer. Are there to be charges?"
"Not this time, but if he's caught again ..."
"Thank you, officer. Good evening." and Sam closed the door. A naturally gentle man, he found it very difficult to discipline his wayward son, but he realised that, this time, there was to be no shirking.
"Well, young man, what have you to say for yourself?"
Orville's dark eyes flashed insolently and then he dropped his head. "It was a dare." he said quietly. "But I only did it for you!"
"Why 'for me'?"
"There's not enough money to feed us all - if I'd got off, we'd've eaten well tonight."
"And do you think that I would accept stolen money - even from my son?" Sam angrily asked.
Orville's eyes searched his father's and saw the answer there.
"No." he said quietly, hanging his head to hide his burning cheeks.
"Never let me find you've been stealing again, boy. I'll have no son of mine branded a thief. Have you been to school today?"
"No sir."
"Very well. Go to your room and read your schoolbooks for one hour. I'll come up and ask you questions, and then you will eat and go to bed. You will go tomorrow morning to apologise to the grocer, and you will go to school every day, even if I've to take you there myself and collect you at night. I forbid you to go out on the streets. Is all that quite clear?"
"Yes, sir." said Orville, a sulky, insolent look on his face. Reluctantly, he did as he was bid.
It was, however, not always possible for Sam Miller to escort his errant son to school, and on these occasions Orville invariably promised he would go to school but instead he would hit the streets, bringing together his gang.
Street gangs always have names, and Orville named his 'The O Gang'. The number of boys in his gang varied, but usually he had at least six cronies around him as they went pilfering and nuisance-making. There were a number of other gangs in the neighbourhood, the biggest of which was one called 'The Cat Gang'. The members of this particular organisation were all older and stronger than any others around and ran a thriving protection racket. The leader of the gang, the one they called 'The Cat', was a powerfully-built, half-Mexican, half-Irish character who, despite his youth, was already completely bald. Orville's gang had repeatedly encroached on The Cat's territory, and The Cat decided to do something about it.
Orville had again dodged school and had been foraging all day with the six most loyal members of his gang. It was winter time, cold and dark, and Orville reckoned it was time for him to go home. His gang walked around the neighbourhood, swaggering and singing, as one by one they dropped away and went home. Orville was the only one left, and was two blocks away from home, when six of The Cat Gang jumped out of a dark alley in front of him. One boy, at least four years older than Orville, stepped forward. Even in the darkness, Orville could see that the boy was bald.
"Hi!' smiled the boy. "My name's Jed Catlow - what's yours? His voice was deep, and had an unusual accent which Orville could not place. Orville, cut off from the rest of his gang, realised he was completely on his own. He straightened to his full height of five-foot-two and stood defiantly alone. He did not reply to the question.
"I said - what's your name?" repeated Catlow. Orville still did not reply and stood his ground.
"What's the matter, cat got your tongue?" and Catlow laughed long and loud at his own joke, followed by his cronies, who did not see the joke at all.
"You're the leader of The O Gang, ain't you?" persisted Catlow.
Orville remained silent, his dark eyes burning with anger, the adrenalin pumping through his veins.
"What's the 'O' stand for, dummy? Oliver?" The rest of the gang laughed. "Oswald?" The baying laughter echoed in Orville's ears, but still he kept his mouth shut.
"Naw,"said one of the other youths, "It ain't 'Oliver', it's 'Olive'." and the raucous laughter doubled in volume. Then they started to taunt him "O-live! O-live! O-live!' till Orville could take it no longer and lashed out at the nearest youth. That was the sign for the whole gang to descend on Orville, punching and kicking and, although he tried to fight back, sheer weight of numbers defeated him and they left him, unconscious and bleeding, in the dark alley.
Orville's parents became worried when he had not returned for the evening meal. Sam went out into the cold, dark streets to look for his son in all the places he knew that the boy went to. Passing a dark alley, he heard a noise like a whimpering dog and nearly walked past, but he stopped, turning back to investigate, and discovered his son lying in a gutter, his clothes torn to rags, his face a mass of blood, arms hugging his slender body where two ribs had been broken. It was at that moment that Sam Miller decided to get out of Boston.
It took Orville some time to convalesce, during which he withdrew into himself even more than before. He refused to tell his parents who had beaten him up and secretly vowed revenge if ever again he met the youth called Jed Catlow. Nursing his burning hatred at having been bested, he grew more moody and introverted each passing day.
Sam discussed the crisis with his wife. "Nancy, we're going to have to leave Boston, for Orville's sake. This city has corrupted him."
"Do you think leaving Boston will help him?" asked his wife. Knowing her son as only a mother can, she realised that for him it was already too late.
"I really don't know, my dear," replied her husband, "but we must try. If he stays here, there's no saying what might happen to him."
"Where will we go, Sam?"
"We're going West, my love - you know the saying 'Go West, young man.' I think we should go where I can try and start a homestead. I hear the cowtowns are booming, and I thought we should try and get to Kansas."
"Can we afford it, Sam?"
"Only just, my dear and, maybe, when we get there, things might be better."
---oo0oo---