OUR PRAIRIES ARE A BOOK, WHOSE PAGES HOLD MANY STORIES.
We have just been passing through an extremely interesting portion of
Nebraska, a portion which today is known as Western Nebraska, where
those wonderful formations, Scott's Bluff, Courthouse Rock and Chimney
Rock, are standing now, even as they did in the early '50's. Courthouse
Rock a little way off really looked a credit to its name. It was a huge
affair, and, in its ragged, irregular outline, seemed to impart to the
traveller a sense of protection and fair dealing.
Scott's Bluff was an immense formation, and sometime during its history
nature's forces had cleft it in two parts, making an avenue through its
center at least one hundred feet wide, through which we all passed, as
the trail led through instead of around the bluff.
Chimney Rock in outline resembled an immense funnel. The whole thing was
at least two hundred feet in height, the chimney part, starting about
midway, was about fifty feet square; its top sloped off like the roof
of a shanty. Beginning at the top, the chimney was split down about one
quarter of its length. On the perpendicular part of this rock a good
many names had been cut by men who had scaled the base, and, reaching as
far on to the chimney as they could, cut their names into its surface.
So clear was the atmosphere that when several miles distant we could see
the rock and men who looked like ants as they crept and crawled up its
sides.
As one stops to decipher the inscriptions upon this boulder the sense of
distance is entirely lost, and the traveller finds himself trying to
compare it with that other obelisk in Central Park, New York. As he
thinks about them, the truth comes gradually to him that there can be no
comparison, since the one is a masterpiece from the hand of Nature and
the other is but a work of art.
These formations are not really rock, but of a hard marle substance, and
while each is far remote from the others, the same colored strata is
seen in all of them, showing conclusively that once upon a time the
surface of the ground in that region was many feet higher than it was
in 1852 or than it is today, and that by erosion or upheaval large
portions of the soil were displaced and carried away, these three chunks
remaining intact and as specimens of conditions existing many centuries
ago.
I have been through the art galleries of our own country and through
many of those in Europe; I have seen much of the natural scenery in the
Old World as well as in the New; but not once have I seen anything which
surpassed in loveliness and grandeur the pictures which may be seen
throughout Nature's gallery in Nebraska and through which the trail of
'52 led us. Landscapes, waterscapes, rocks, and skies and atmosphere
were here found in the perfection of light, shadow, perspective, color,
and effect. Added to these fixed features were those of life and
animation, contributed by herds of buffalo grazing on the plains, here
and there a bunch of antelope galloping about, and everywhere wolf,
coyote, and prairie dog, while a quaint and picturesque charm came from
the far-reaching line of covered wagons and the many groups of campers,
each with its own curl of ascending smoke, which, to the immigrant,
always indicated that upon that particular patch of ground, for that
particular time, a home had been established.
In this connection I find myself thinking about the various modes of
travel resorted to in those primitive days, when roads and bridges as we
have them today were still far in the future. The wagons were generally
drawn by cattle teams, from two to five yokes to the wagon. The number
of wagons would be all the way from one to one hundred. The larger
trains were difficult to pass, as they took up the road for so long a
distance that sometimes we would move on in the night in order to get
past them. Among the smaller teams we would frequently notice that one
yoke would be of cows, some of them giving milk right along. The cattle
teams as a rule started out earlier in the morning and drove later at
night than did the horse and mule teams; hence, we would sometimes see a
certain train for two or three days before we would have an opportunity
to get ahead of them. This was the cause of frequent quarrels among
drivers of both cattle and horse teams; the former being largely in the
majority and having the road, many of them seemed to take delight in
keeping the horse teams out of the road and crowding them into narrow
places. These little pleasantries were indulged in generally by people
from Missouri, as many of them seemed to think their State covered the
entire distance to California.
As to classes and conditions constituting the immigration, they might be
divided up somewhat as follows: There were the proprietors or partners,
owners of the teams and outfits; then there were men going along with
them who had bargained with the owners before leaving home, some for a
certain amount paid down, some to work for a certain time or to pay a
certain amount at the journey's end. This was to pay for their grub and
use of tents and wagons. These men were also to help drive and care for
the stock, doing their share of camp and guard duty. There were others
travelling with a single pack animal, loaded with their outfits and
provisions. These men always travelled on foot. Then there were some
with hand-carts, others with wheelbarrows, trudging along and making
good time. Occasionally we would see a man with a pack like a knapsack
on his back and a canteen strapped on to him and a long cane in either
hand. These men would just walk away from everybody. A couple of
incidents along here will serve to show how these conditions sometimes
worked.
We were turned into camp one evening, and as we were getting supper
there came along a man pushing a light handcart, loaded with traps and
provisions, and asked permission to camp with us, which was readily
granted. He was a stout, hearty, good-natured fellow, possessed of a
rich Irish accent, and in the best of humor commenced to prepare his
supper. Just about this time there came into camp another lone man,
leading a diminutive donkey, not much larger than a good-sized sheep.
The donkey, on halting, gave us a salute that simply silenced the
ordinary mule. The two men got acquainted immediately, and by the time
their supper was over they had struck a bargain to put their effects
together by way of hitching the donkey to the cart, and so move on
together. They made a collar for the donkey out of gunny-sack, and we
gave them some rope for traces. Then, taking off the hand-bar of the
cart, they put the donkey into the shafts and tried things on by leading
it around through the camp till it was time to turn in.
Everything went first-rate, and they were so happy over their
transportation prospects that they scarcely slept during the whole
night. In the morning they were up bright and early, one making the
coffee and the other oiling the iron axle-trees and packing the cart.
Starting out quite early, they bade us goodby with hearty cheer, saying
they would let the folks in California know that we were coming, etc.
About 10 o'clock we came to a little narrow creek, the bottom being miry
and several feet below the surface of the ground. There upon the bank
stood the two friends who had so joyously bidden us goodby only a few
hours before. The cart was a wreck, with one shaft and one spindle
broken. It appeared that the donkey had got mired in crossing the creek
and in floundering about had twisted off the shaft and broken one of the
wheels. We left them there bewailing their misfortune and blaming each
other for the carelessness which worked the mishap. We never saw them
again.
This incident is an illustration of those cases where a man obtained his
passage by contributing something to the outfit and working his way
through. There were quite a number of this class, they having no
property rights in the train.
At the usual time we turned in for dinner near by a camp of two or three
wagons. On the side of one wagon was a doctor's sign, who, we afterwards
learned, was the proprietor of the train. As we were quietly eating and
resting we suddenly heard some one cursing and yelling in the other
camp, and saw two men, one the hired man and the other the doctor, the
latter being armed with a neck-yoke and chasing the hired man around the
wagon, and both running as fast as they could. They had made several
circuits, the doctor striking at the man with all his might at each
turn, when some of us went over to try to stop the fight. Just at this
point, the hired man, as he turned the rear of the wagon, whipped out an
Allen revolver and turning shot the doctor in the mouth, the charge
coming out nearly under the ear. The doctor and the neckyoke struck the
ground about the same time. His eyes were blinded by powder and he had
the appearance of being dangerously if not fatally wounded. Everybody
was more or less excited except the hired man. From expressions all
around in both trains, the hired man seemed to have the most friends.
There were many instances of this kind, though none quite so tragic, the
quarrels usually arising from the owner of the wagons constantly
brow-beating and finding fault with the hired man.
Again I saw an instance where two men were equal partners all around, in
four horses, harness and wagon. They seemed to have quarreled so much
that they agreed to divide up and quit travelling together. They divided
up their horses and provisions, and then measured off the wagon-bed and
sawed it in two parts, also the reach, and then flipped a copper cent to
see which should have the front part of the wagon. After the division
they each went to work and fixed up his part of the wagon as best he
could, and drove on alone.
The entire trip from Monroe, Michigan, our starting-point, to Hangtown,
the point of landing in California, covered 2,542 miles, and we were
five months, lacking six days, in making it. Today the same trip can be
made in a half week, with every comfort and luxury which money and
invention can provide. There is probably nothing that marks the progress
of civilization more distinctly than do the perfected modes and
conveniences of travel. It is strange, but true, however, that so long
as our prairies shall stretch themselves from river to ocean the imprint
of the overland trail can never be obliterated. Today, after a lapse of
over fifty years, whoever passes within seeing distance of the old trail
can, upon the crest of grain and grass, note its serpentine windings, as
marked by a light and sickly color of green. I myself have followed it
from a car-window as traced in yellow green upon an immense field of
growing corn. No amount of cultivation can ever restore to that
long-trodden path its pristine vigor and productiveness.
Our prairies are a book,
Whose pages hold many stories
Writ by many people.
Tragedy, comedy, pathos,
Love and valor, duly
Punctuated by life's
Rests and stops,
Whose interest shall appeal
To human hearts as long as
Their green cover enfolds them.