The Frontier Express

By Sri Kumar G

There has been no rain for the past 4 years anywhere in the world. Almost all the lakes have dried up and the rivers are running dry. People are calling it the great drought. Drinking water is now a privilege. Only a few pockets of water are available to humans, and of those few pockets, the British East India Company controls the largest pocket of water. The E.I.C took control of India and therefore control over the water flowing down from the Himalayas to the kingdom of Kansama in the northern regions of the country. They have been shipping barrels of fresh Himalayan water in Kansama and selling them off for a profit in the west, starving the local population of water and establishing the dominance of the Company all over the world.

Because of the drought, water holds more value than gold these days. Looters, robbers and thieves have fancied stealing barrels of E.I.C water over gold. Even in the wild west, outlaw gangs are robbing trains carrying slaves from the east to the west, as these trains carry water for them to keep the slaves alive till they reach their masters. A barrel of water is worth 2 barrels of gold. And E.I.C water is worth more than 5 barrels full of gold.

It was a hot day on August 7, 1859, in the state of Mississippi, USA. Not just today, but it had been hot all summer. The once glorious Mississippi river now is no wider than a small stream. The wells and lakes have begun drying up as well. The Frontier Express, the shining jewel of the Clarence Wells Railroad Corporation, runs along the bridge and crosses the Mississippi river and into the wild west.

Of the 14 coaches being tugged along the train, 9 of them were freight cars carrying precious cargo, cargo of mostly able-bodied, dark-skinned men and women from the slave auction house in Jamestown, Virginia to the plantation owners in California and Texas. The women were chained in the first four cars and the rest of the freight cars were loaded up with men. And in the fifth freight car there is a man who looks stranger than the rest. He had lighter shade skin and wavy jet-black hair while the other chained men had darker skin and short curly hair. He had barely a tiny scar on his arm while the rest of the other men’s bodies were riddled with long and deep scars. He’s shorter than most of the men and chained up along with them, nonetheless.

The clanging and banging of the train wheels on the rails and the loud horn finally woke him from the deep slumber he had been on. He could barely open his eyes and he had a throbbing pain shooting from the side of his head. He could hear faint crying of a few men, and the rattling sound of chains. His legs were chained to the other inmates in the row. The only thing he could feel was the heat. Soaring heat burning up his body.

“Wate- Water.” asked the strange man with his parched throat and chapped lips.

The man next to him passes him a ladle of water from a barrel and he drinks it. Another loud train whistle reaches his ears, and he feels a rush of excitement travel through his body. He opens his eyes to confirm if at all he is still dreaming. He is not. He is on a train. Train to the west. Where he’d be slaving for the rest of his life. But there was no sign of fear in his eyes. His eyes, beaming, with happiness and a sense of accomplishment, he is smiling.

“I made it, I made it. I made it onto the train. Finally, my prayers have been answered.’’ he said joyfully.

The other slaves around him, some crying, some praying and some looking as if they’re already surrendered to their fate are astounded by him.

“Whassa matta with you? Don’t ya know where ya off to? You on the train to the plantation boy. Youse happy to be on this train?” said one slave to him.

“Of course, I am. Do any of you know how to stop this train?” asked the man.

“We look like we know how to stop the train? Ain’t nobody gonna stop this train.”

As soon as the slave said that the wheels under the Frontier Express made a screeching noise and the train slowly losing its momentum came to a halt. Then they all hear it. The sound of a gunshot, coming from what seems like the front of the train. Followed by more gunshots. The slaves and the man crouch down finding cover amongst each other. Soon the walls of the freight car are riddled with holes made by gunshots, some shots hitting people, some ricocheting off the metal bars and chains.

The gunshots stop and moments later with a loud bang, the door of the freight car slides open, revealing a man on a black horse, holding a rifle, wearing a black leather jacket and a black hat with a red tipped feather stuck on it. His face covered with a cloth fashioned into a mask.

“Howdy there fellas. Now, you there! What be your name, boy?” said the man on the horse pointing to a slave.

“Mar- Marcus. My massa call me Marcus” said the slave, cowering.

“Marcus. Would you be so kind and drag that barrel up there?”

The barrel which had water in it had the branding of E.I.C on it. The slave gets up and drags himself over to the barrel. He tries to pull the barrel but slips and falls.

“Sweet lord above.” said the man on the horse.

“You, with the long hair, help him.” He said pointing his rifle at the strange man with the straight hair.

Both the men get up and carry the barrel to the edge of the door.

“Thank you kindly, now back to where you were” said the man on the horse.

A rider coming from the front of the train, rushes towards the freight car.

“Hey Cole …. Cole - “

“What?”

“Cole, you gotta come see this. We got somethin’. It’s lookin’ real fine Jesse.” said the rider in a female voice.

“Cole? Jesse? Mr. Cole? Is that your Mr. Cole? It’s me. From the Gathering on the boat. Sweet Belle. I am Prince Kabir. From India. We met on the boat.” said the strange man.

“Kuh Beer? You look a lot less fancier, your highness? Whatchu doin’ on a slave train? And where’s that redcoat protector boy of yours?” Said Jesse Cole.

“Yes Kabir. I do not know. I seem to have misplaced him and I do not exactly recall how I ended up here, either.”

By Sri Kumar G