Mr. Buck and myself concluded we would try our luck at lead mining for
the summer and purchased some mining tools for the purpose. We camped
out and dug holes around all summer, getting just about enough to pay
our expenses--not a very encouraging venture, for we had lived in a tent
and had picked and shoveled and blasted and twisted a windlass hard
enough to have earned a good bit of money.
In the fall we concluded to try another trapping tour, and set out for
Prairie du Chien. We knew it was a poor place to spend money up in the
woods, and when we got our money it was all in a lump and seemed to
amount to something. Mr. Brisbois said that the prospects were very poor
indeed, for the price of fur was very low and no prospect of a better
market. So we left our traps still on storage at his place and went back
again. This was in 1847, and before Spring the war was being pushed in
Mexico. I tried to enlist for this service, but there were so many ahead
of me I could not get a chance.
I still worked in the settlement and made a living, but had no chance to
improve my land. The next winter I lived with Mr A. Bennett, hunted deer
and sold them at Mineral Point, and in this way made and saved a few
dollars.
There had been from time to time rumors of a better country to the west
of us and a sort of a pioneer, or western fever would break out among
the people occasionally. Thus in 1845 I had a slight touch of the
disease on account of the stories they told us about Oregon. It was
reported that the Government would give a man a good farm if he would go
and settle, and make some specified improvement. They said it was in a
territory of rich soil, with plenty of timber, fish and game and some
Indians, just to give a little spice of adventure to the whole thing.
The climate was very mild in winter, as they reported, and I concluded
it would suit me exactly. I began at once to think about an outfit and a
journey, and I found that it would take me at least two years to get
ready. A trip to California was not thought of in those days, for it did
not belong to the United States.
In the winter of 1848-49 news began to come that there was gold in
California, but not generally believed till it came through a U.S.
officer, and then, as the people were used to mines and mining, a
regular gold fever spread as if by swift contagion. Mr. Bennett was
aroused and sold his farm, and I felt a change in my Oregon desires and
had dreams at might of digging up the yellow dust. Nothing would cure us
then but a trip, and that was quickly decided on.
As it would be some weeks yet before grass would start, I concluded to
haul my canoe and a few traps over to a branch of the Wisconsin, and
make my way to Prairie du Chien, do a little trapping, get me an Indian
pony on which to ride to California. There were no ponies to be had at
Mineral Point. Getting a ride up the river on a passing steamboat I
reached Prairie La Crosse, where the only house was that of a Dutch
trader from whom I bought a Winnebago pony, which he had wintered on a
little brushy island, and I thought if he could winter on brush and
rushes he must be tough enough to take me across the plains. He cost me
$30, and I found him to be a poor, lazy little fellow. However, I
thought that when he got some good grass, and a little fat on his ribs
he might have more life, and so I hitched a rope to him and drove him
ahead down the river. When I came to the Bad Axe river I found it
swimming full, but had no trouble in crossing, as the pony was as good
as a dog in the water.
Before leaving Bennett's I had my gun altered over to a pill lock and
secured ammunition to last for two years. I had tanned some nice
buckskin and had a good outfit of clothes made of it, or rather cut and
made it myself. Where I crossed the Bad Axe was a the battle ground
where Gen. Dodge fought the Winnebago Indians. At Prairie du Chien I
found a letter from Mr. Bennett, saying that the grass was so backward
he would not start up for two or three weeks, and I had better come back
and start with them; but as the letter bore no date I could only guess
at the exact time. I had intended to strike directly west from here to
Council Bluffs and meet them there, but now thought perhaps I had better
go back to Mineral Point and start out with them there, or follow on
rapidly after them if by any chance they had already started.
On my way back I found the Kickapoo river too high to ford, so I pulled
some basswood bark and made a raft of a couple of logs, on which to
carry my gun and blanket; starting the pony across I followed after. He
swam across quickly, but did not seem to like it on the other side, so
before I got across, back he came again, not paying the least attention
to my scolding. I went back with the raft, which drifted a good way down
stream, and caught the rascal and started him over again, but when I got
half way across he jumped and played the same joke on me again. I began
to think of the old puzzle of the story of the man with the fox, the
goose and a peck of corn, but I solved it by making a basswood rope to
which I tied a stone and threw across, then sending the pony over with
the other end. He staid this time, and after three days of swimming
streams and pretty hard travel reached Mineral Point, to find Bennett
had been gone two weeks and had taken my outfit with him as we first
planned.
I was a little troubled, but set out light loaded for Dubuque, crossed
the river there and then alone across Iowa, over wet and muddy roads,
till I fell in with some wagons west of the Desmoines River. They were
from Milwaukee, owned by a Mr. Blodgett, and I camped with them a few
nights, till we got to the Missouri River.
I rushed ahead the last day or two and got there before them. There were
a few California wagons here, and some campers, so I put my pony out to
grass and looked around. I waded across the low bottom to a strip of dry
land next to the river, where there was a post office, store, and a few
cabins. I looked first for a letter, but there was none. Then I began to
look over the cards in the trading places and saloons, and read the
names written on the logs of the houses, and everywhere I thought there
might be a trace of the friends I sought. No one had seen or knew them.
After looking half a day I waded back again to the pony--pretty blue. I
thought first I would go back and wait another year, but there was a
small train near where I left the pony, and it was not considered very
safe to go beyond there except with a pretty good train. I sat down in
camp and turned the matter over in my mind, and talked with Chas. Dallas
of Lynn, Iowa, who owned the train. Bennett had my outfit and gun, while
I had his light gun, a small, light tent, a frying pan, a tin cup, one
woolen shirt and the clothes on my back. Having no money to get another
outfit, I about concluded to turn back when Dallas said that if I would
drive one of his teams through, he would board me, and I could turn my
pony in with his loose horses; I thought it over, and finally put my
things in the wagon and took the ox whip to go on. Dallas intended to
get provision here, but could not, so we went down to St. Jo, following
the river near the bluff. We camped near town and walked in, finding a
small train on the main emigrant road to the west. My team was one yoke
of oxen and one yoke of cows. I knew how to drive, but had a little
trouble with the strange animals till they found I was kind to them, and
then they were all right.
This was in a slave state, and here I saw the first negro auction. One
side of the street had a platform such as we build for a political
speaker. The auctioneer mounted this with a black boy about 18 years
old, and after he had told all his good qualities and had the boy stand
up bold and straight, he called for bids, and they started him at $500.
He rattled away as if he were selling a steer, and when Mr. Rubideaux,
the founder of St. Jo bid $800, he went no higher and the boy was sold.
With my New England notions it made quite an impression on me.
Here Dallas got his supplies, and when the flour and bacon was loaded up
the ferryman wanted $50 to take the train across. This Dallas thought
too high and went back up the river a day's drive, where he got across
for $30. From this crossing we went across the country without much of a
road till we struck the road from St. Jo, and were soon on the Platte
bottom.
We found some fine strawberries at one of the camps across the country.
We found some hills, but now the country was all one vast prairie, not a
tree in sight till we reached the Platte, there some cottonwood and
willow. At the first camp on the Platte I rolled up in my blanket under
the wagon and thought more than I slept, but I was in for it and no
other way but to go on. I had heard that there were two forts, new Ft.
Kearny and Ft. Laramie, on the south side of the river, which we must
pass before we reached the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, and beyond
there there would be no place to buy medicine or food. Our little train
of five wagons, ten men, one woman and three children would not be a
formidable force against the Indians if they were disposed to molest us,
and it looked to me very hazardous, and that a larger train would be
more safe, for Government troops were seldom molested on their marches.
If I should not please Mr. Dallas and get turned off with only my gun
and pony I should be in a pretty bad shape, but I decided to keep right
on and take the chances on the savages, who would get only my hair and
my gun as my contribution to them if they should be hostile. I must
confess, however, that the trail ahead did not look either straight or
bright to me, but hoped it might be better than I thought. So I yoked my
oxen and cows to the wagon and drove on. All the other teams had two
drivers each, who took turns, and thus had every other day off for
hunting if they chose, but I had to carry the whip every day and leave
my gun in the wagon.
When we crossed Salt Creek the banks were high and we had to tie a
strong rope to the wagons and with a few turns around a post, lower them
down easily, while we had to double the teams to get them up the other
side.
Night came on before half the wagons were over, and though it did not
rain the water rose before morning so it was ten feet deep. We made a
boat of one of the wagon beds, and had a regular ferry, and when they
pulled the wagons over they sank below the surface but came out all
right. We came to Pawnee Village, on the Platte, a collection of mud
huts, oval in shape, and an entrance low down to crawl in at. A ground
owl and some prairie dogs were in one of them, and we suspected they
might be winter quarters for the Indians.
Dallas and his family rode in the two-horse wagon. Dick Field was cook,
and the rest of us drove the oxen. We put out a small guard at night to
watch for Indians and keep the stock together so there might be no delay
in searching for them. When several miles from Ft. Kearney I think on
July 3rd, we camped near the river where there was a slough and much
cottonwood and willow. Just after sundown a horse came galloping from
the west and went in with our horses that were feeding a little farther
down. In the morning two soldiers came from the fort, inquiring after
the stray horse, but Dallas said he had seen none, and they did not hunt
around among the willows for the lost animal. Probably it would be the
easiest way to report back to the fort--"Indians got him." When we
hitched up in the morning he put the horse on the off side of his own,
and when near the fort, he went ahead on foot and entertained the
officers while the men drove by, and the horse was not discovered. I did
not like this much, for if we were discovered, we might be roughly
handled, and perhaps the property of the innocent even confiscated.
Really my New England ideas of honesty were somewhat shocked.
Reaching the South Platte, it took us all day to ford the sandy stream,
as we had first to sound out a good crossing by wading through
ourselves, and when we started our teams across we dare not stop a
moment for fear the wagons would sink deep into the quicksands. We had
no mishaps in crossing, and when well camped on the other side a
solitary buffalo made his appearance about 200 yards away and all hands
started after him, some on foot. The horsemen soon got ahead of him, but
he did not seem inclined to get out of their way, so they opened fire on
him. He still kept his feet and they went nearer, Mr. Rogers, being on a
horse with a blind bridle, getting near enough to fire his Colt's
revolver at him, when he turned, and the horse, being unable to see the
animal quick enough to get out of the way, suffered the force of a
sudden attack of the old fellow's horns, and came out with a gash in his
thigh six inches long, while Rogers went on a flying expedition over the
horse's head, and did some lively scrambling when he reached the ground.
The rest of them worried him along for about half a mile, and finally,
after about forty shots he lay down but held his head up defiantly,
receiving shot after shot with an angry shake, till a side shot laid him
out. This game gave us plenty of meat, which though tough, was a
pleasant change from bacon. I took no part in this battle except as an
observer. On examination it was found that the balls had been many of
them stopped by the matted hair about the old fellow's head and none of
them had reached the skull.
A few days after this we were stopped entirely by a herd of buffaloes
crossing our road. They came up from the river and were moving south.
The smaller animals seemed to be in the lead, and the rear was brought
up by the old cows and the shaggy, burly bulls. All were moving at a
smart trot, with tongues hanging out, and seemed to take no notice of
us, though we stood within a hundred yards of them. We had to stand by
our teams and stock to prevent a stampede, for they all seemed to have a
great wonder, and somewhat of fear at their relatives of the plains.
After this we often saw large droves of them in the distance. Sometimes
we could see what in the distance seemed a great patch of brush, but by
watching closely we could see it was a great drove of these animals.
Those who had leisure to go up to the bluffs often reported large droves
in sight. Antelopes were also seen, but these occupied the higher
ground, and it was very hard to get near enough to them to shoot
successfully. Still we managed to get a good deal of game which was very
acceptable as food.
One prominent land mark along the route was what they called Court House
Rock, standing to the south from the trail and much resembled an immense
square building, standing high above surrounding country. The farther we
went on the more plentiful became the large game, and also wolves and
prairie dogs, the first of which seemed to follow the buffaloes closely.
About this time we met a odd looking train going east, consisting of
five or six Mormons from Salt Lake, all mounted on small Spanish mules.
They were dressed in buckskin and moccasins, with long spurs jingling at
their heels, the rowels fully four inches long, and each one carried a
gun, a pistol and a big knife. They were rough looking fellows with
long, matted hair, long beards, old slouch hats and a generally back
woods get-up air in every way. They had an extra pack mule, but the
baggage and provisions were very light. I had heard much about the
Mormons, both at Nauvoo and Salt Lake, and some way or other I could not
separate the idea of horse thieves from this party, and I am sure I
would not like to meet them if I had a desirable mule that they wanted,
or any money, or a good looking wife. We talked with them half an hour
or so and then moved on.
We occasionally passed by a grave along the road, and often a small head
board would state that the poor unfortunate had died of cholera. Many of
these had been torn open by wolves and the blanket encircling the corpse
partly pulled away. Our route led a few miles north of Chimney Rock,
standing on an elevated point like a tall column, so perfect and regular
on all sides, that from our point it looked as if it might be the work
of the stone cutters. Some of the party went to see it and reported
there was no way to ascend it, and that as far as a man could reach, the
rocks were inscribed with the names of visitors and travelers who passed
that way.
At Scott's Bluffs, the bluffs came close to the river, so there was
considerable hill climbing to get along, the road in other places
finding ample room in the bottom. Here we found a large camp of the
Sioux Indians on the bank of a ravine, on both sides of which were some
large cottonwood trees. Away up in the large limbs platforms had been
made of poles, on which were laid the bodies of their dead, wrapped in
blankets and fastened down to the platform by a sort of a network of
smaller poles tightly lashed so that they could not be dragged away or
disturbed by wild animals. This seemed a strange sort of cemetery, but
when we saw the desecrated earth-made graves we felt that perhaps this
was the best way, even if it was a savage custom.
These Indians were fair-sized men, and pretty good looking for red men.
Some of our men went over to their camp, and some of their youths came
down to ours, and when we started on they seemed quite proud that they
had learned a little of the English language, but the extent of their
knowledge seemed to be a little learned of the ox-drivers, for they
would swing their hands at the cattle and cry out "Whoa! haw, g--d
d--n." Whether they knew what was meant, I have my doubts. They seemed
pretty well provided for and begged very little, as they are apt to do
when they are hard pressed.
We saw also some bands of Pawnee Indians on the move across the
prairies. They would hitch a long, light pole on each side of a pony,
with the ends dragging behind on the ground, and on a little platform at
the hind end the children sat and were dragged along.
As we passed on beyond Scott's Bluff the game began to be perceptibly
scarcer, and what we did find was back from the traveled road, from
which it had apparently been driven by the passing hunters.
In time we reached Ft. Laramie, a trading post, where there were some
Indian lodges, and we noticed that some of the occupants had lighter
complexions than any of the other Indians we had seen. They had cords of
dried buffalo meat, and we purchased some. It was very fat, but was so
perfectly cured that the clear tallow tasted as sweet as a nut. I
thought it was the best dried meat I had ever tasted, but perhaps a good
appetite had something to do with it.
As we passed Ft. Laramie we fell in company with some U.S. soldiers who
were going to Ft. Hall and thence to Oregon. We considered them pretty
safe to travel with and kept with them for some time, though their rate
of travel was less than ours. Among them were some Mormons, employed as
teamsters, and in other ways, and they told us there were some
Missourians on the road who would never live to see California. There
had been some contests between the Missourians and the Mormons, and I
felt rather glad that none of us hailed from Pike county.
We turned into what they called the Black Hills, leaving the Platte to
the north of us. The first night on this road we had the hardest rain I
ever experienced, and the only one of any account on our journey. Our
camp was on a level piece of ground on the bank of a dry creek, which
soon became a very wet creek indeed, for by morning it was one hundred
yards wide and absolutely impassible. It went down, however, as quickly
as it rose, and by ten o'clock it was so low that we easily crossed and
went on our way. We crossed one stream where there were great drifts or
piles of hail which had been brought down by a heavy storm from higher
up the hills. At one place we found some rounded boulders from six to
eight inches in diameter, which were partly hollow, and broken open were
found to contain most beautiful crystals of quartz, clear as purest ice.
The inside was certainly very pretty, and it was a mystery how it came
there. I have since learned that such stones are found at many points,
and that they are called geodes.
We came out at the river again at the mouth of Deer Creek, and as there
was some pretty good coal there quite easy to get, we made camp one day
to try to tighten our wagon tires, John Rogers acting as blacksmith.
This was my first chance to reconnoiter, and so I took my gun and went
up the creek, a wide, treeless bottom. In the ravines on the south side
were beautiful groves of small fir trees and some thick brush, wild rose
bushes I think. I found here a good many heads and horns of elk, and I
could not decide whether they had been killed in winter during the deep
snow, or had starved to death.
There was a ferry here to cross the river and go up along north side.
Mr. Dallas bought the whole outfit for a small sum and when we were
safely over he took with him such ropes as he wanted and tied the boat
to the bank The road on this side was very sandy and led over and among
some rolling hills. In talking with the men of the U.S. troops in whose
company we still were, I gathered much information concerning our road
further west. They said we were entirely too late to get through to
California, on account of crossing the Sierra Nevada mountains, which,
they said would be covered with snow by November, or even earlier, and
that we would be compelled to winter at Salt Lake. Some of the drivers
overheard Mr. Dallas telling his family the same thing, and that if he
should winter at Salt Lake, he would discharge his drivers as soon as he
arrived, as he could not afford to board them all winter.
This was bad news for me, for I had known of the history of them at
Nauvoo and in Missouri, and the prospect of being thrown among them with
no money to buy bread was a very sorry prospect for me. From all I could
learn we could not get a chance to work, even for our board there, and
the other drivers shared my fears and disappointment. In this dilemma we
called a council, and invited the gentleman in to have an understanding.
He came and our spokesman stated the case to him, and our fears, and
asked him what he had to say to us about it. He flew quite angry at us,
and talked some and swore a great deal more, and the burden of his
speech was:--"This train belongs to me and I propose to do with it just
as I have a mind to, and I don't care a d--n what you fellows do or say.
I am not going to board you fellows all winter for nothing, and when we
get to Salt Lake you can go where you please, for I shall not want you
any longer." We talked a little to him and under the circumstances to
talk was about all we could do. He gave us no satisfaction and left us
apparently much offended that we had any care for ourselves.
Then we had some talk among ourselves, at the time, and from day to day
as we moved along. We began to think that the only way to get along at
all in Salt Lake would be to turn Mormons, and none of us had any belief
or desire that way and could not make up our minds to stop our journey
and lose so much time, and if we were not very favored travelers our lot
might be cast among the sinners for all time.
We were now on the Sweetwater River, and began to see the snow on the
Rocky Mountains ahead of us, another reminder that there was a winter
coming and only a little more than half our journey was done. We did not
feel very happy over it, and yet we had to laugh once in a while at some
of the funny things that would happen.
The Government party we were with had among them a German mule driver
who had a deal of trouble with his team, but who had a very little
knowledge of the English language. When the officers tried to instruct
him a little he seemed to get out of patience and would say something
very like _Sacramento_. We did not know exactly what this meant. We had
heard there was a river of that name or something very near like that;
and then again some said that was the Dutch for swearing. If this latter
was the truth then he was a very profane mule driver when he got mad.
The Captain of the company had a very nice looking lady with him, and
they carried a fine wall tent which they occupied when they went into
camp. The company cook served their meals to them in the privacy of
their tent, and they seemed to enjoy themselves very nicely. Everybody
thought the Captain was very lucky in having such an accomplished
companion, and journey along quietly to the gold fields at government
expense.
There seemed to be just a little jealousy between the Captain and the
Lieutenant, and one day I saw them both standing in angry attitude
before the Captain's quarters, both mounted, with their carbines lying
across their saddles before them. They had some pretty sharp, hot words,
and it looked as if they both were pretty nearly warmed up to the
shooting point. Once the Lieutenant moved his right hand a little, and
the Captain was quick to see it, shouting;--"Let your gun alone or I
will make a hole through you," at the same time grasping his own and
pointing it straight at the other officer. During all this time the
Captain's lady stood in the tent door, and when she saw her favorite had
the drop on the Lieutenant she clapped her delicate, little hands in a
gleeful manner:--"Just look at the Captain! Ain't he spunky?" and then
she laughed long and loud to see her lord show so much military courage.
She seemed more pleased at the affair than any one else. I don't know
exactly what the others thought, but I never could believe that the lady
and the Captain were ever married.
The Lieutenant was no coward, but probably thinking that prudence was
the better part of valor, refrained from handling his gun, and the two
soon rode away in opposite directions.
We passed a lone rock standing in the river bottom on the Sweetwater,
which they named Independence Rock. It was covered with the names of
thousands of people who had gone by on that road. Some were pretty
neatly chiseled in, some very rudely scrawled, and some put on with
paint. I spent all the time I could hunting Mr. Bennett's name, but I
could not find it anywhere. To have found his name, and thus to know
that he had safely passed this point would have been a little
re-assuring in those rather doubtful days. Some had named the date of
their passing, and some of them were probably pretty near the gold
fields at this time.
All along in this section we found alkali water near the road, some very
strong and dangerous for man or beast to use. We traveled on up the
Sweetwater for some time, and at last came to a place where the road
left the river, and we had a long, hard hill to pull up. When we reached
the top of this we were in the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, the
backbone of the American continent. To the north of us were some very
high peaks white with snow, and to the south were some lower hills and
valleys. The summit of the mountains was not quite as imposing as I
expected, but it was the summit, and we were soon surely moving down the
western side, for at Pacific Springs the water ran to the westward,
toward the Pacific coast. The next day we came to the nearly dry bed of
the river--the Big Sandy. The country round about seemed volcanic, with
no timber, but plenty of sage brush, in which we were able to shoot an
occasional sage hen. The river bed itself was nothing but sand, and
where there was water enough to wet it, it was very miry and hard
traveling over it. There are two streams, the Big Sandy and Little
Sandy, both tributaries to Green River, which we soon reached and
crossed.
It was a remarkable clear and rapid stream and was now low enough to
ford. One of the Government teams set out to make the crossing at a
point where it looked shallow enough, but before the lead mules reached
the opposite shore, they lost their footing and were forced to swim. Of
course the wagon stopped and the team swung round and tangled up in a
bad shape. They were unhitched and the wagon pulled back, the load was
somewhat dampened, for the water came into the wagon box about a foot.
We camped here and laid by one day, having thus quite a little chance to
look around.
When we came to the first water that flowed toward the Pacific Coast at
Pacific Springs, we drivers had quite a little talk about a new scheme.
We put a great many "ifs" together and they amounted to about this:--If
this stream were large enough; if we had a boat; if we knew the way: if
there were no falls or bad places; if we had plenty of provisions; if we
were bold enough set out on such a trip, etc., we might come out at some
point or other on the Pacific Ocean. And now when we came to the first
of the "ifs," a stream large enough to float a small boat; we began to
think more strongly about the other "ifs".
In the course of our rambles we actually did run across the second "if"
in the shape of a small ferry boat filled up with sand upon a bar, and
it did not take very long to dig it out and put it into shape to use,
for it was just large enough to hold one wagon at a time. Our military
escort intended to leave us at this point, as their route now bore off
to the north of ours. I had a long talk with the surgeon who seemed well
informed about the country, and asked him about the prospects. He did
not give the Mormons a very good name. He said to me:--"If you go to
Salt Lake City, do not let them know you are from Missouri, for I tell
you that many of those from that State will never see California. You
know they were driven from Missouri, and will get revenge if they can."
Both the surgeon and the captain said the stream came out on the Pacific
Coast and that we had no obstacles except cataracts, which they had
heard were pretty bad. I then went to Dallas and told him what we
proposed doing and to our surprise he did not offer any objections, and
offered me $60 for my pony. He said he would sell us some flour and
bacon for provisions also.
We helped them in crossing the river, which was somewhat difficult,
being swift, with boulders in the bottom but we got all safely over and
then made the trade we had spoken of. Dallas paid me for my pony and we
took what flour and bacon he would let go. He gave us some ropes for
head and stern lines to our boat and a couple of axes, and we laid
these, and our provisions in a pile by the roadside. Six of us then gave
up our whips. Mr. S. McMahon, a driver, hesitated for some time, but
being pressed by Dallas for a decision, at last threw down his whip and
said:--"I will go with the boys." This left Dallas with only one driver,
but he took a whip himself, and with the aid of the children and his
wife who drove the two-horse wagon, they got along very well. I paid for
such provisions as we had taken, as the rest of the fellows had almost
no money.
So we parted company, the little train slowly moving on its way
westward. Our military captain, the soldier boys, and the gay young lady
taking the route to Oregon, and we sitting on the bank of the river
whose waters flowed to the great Pacific. Each company wished the other
good luck, we took a few long breaths and then set to work in earnest to
carry out our plans.