St. Josephs—The Indian country lying west of the River—Formation of the
Prairie—Scouring material of the Soil—Its general appearance as
far west as the South Pass, or dividing ridge.
St. Josephs is a new town on the Missouri river, in latitude of about 34
deg. 45 min. north, with about 1800 inhabitants, which five years ago
was a field of hemp. The town has 18 stores, 3 drug stores, 9 groceries,
6 tailor shops, 8 blacksmith shops, 2 tin shops, 3 taverns, 3 boarding
houses, 1 steam and 1 water flouring mill, and 2 steam saw mills. Among
its inhabitants are 15 lawyers, 11 doctors, 2 silversmiths and 2
gunsmiths.
The town is mostly located on a plat of ground with sufficient descent
for drainage, contiguous to the bluffs on the north, on which it is
partly built. On this bluff stands the court house of Buchanan county,
where the spectator can overlook the town.
The river from this point is seen but a short distance either up or
down, in consequence of its meandering course, so that it is soon lost
sight of behind the bluffs.
I left St. Josephs for the Indian country lying west of the Missouri
river, through which I was to pass on my way to Oregon, with a train of
emigrants for that place, on the 25th of April, 1848, with a view of
reaching Oregon before the inclemencies of winter should overtake me,
under as favorable auspices as the nature of the case would allow.
The Indian country is a wild, uncultivated tract, and almost destitute
of inhabitants. It has, however, a few scattering tribes of Indians,
though few indeed and far between. This country is what is calld a
prairie country or natural meadow, with very little timber except along
the water-courses. It is a continuation of the great valley of the
Mississippi westward along the tributaries to the Rocky mountains, where
the waters of the continent divide and run westward into the Pacific
ocean.
A prairie may be an alluvial country, and it may be tertiary. The one
here spoken of is alluvial. At a remote period, the timber and loose
material of the country, as well as all prairie districts, were fired by
its inhabitants or by lightning, and this continued for ages will
destroy the timber and leave its soil to be clothd only by the grasses,
an inferior but oftentimes resplendent robe.
The traveler soon after leaving St. Josephs, westward sees prairie in
all stages of formation, from the dense forest to an entire prairie.
This, with the dense forests of young timber eastward, where the white
man has forbidden the practice of firing prairies, seems to be a
convincing proof of the aforementioned mode of prairie formation.
It has been noticed in the State of Illinois, and some other places,
where the plowman is permitted to glide his plow smoothly over the
beautiful landscape, that there is an exceedingly fine scouring material
lying near the surface of the soil, so that steel mold boards, on a very
short use of them, are seen to present a polishd surface, on drawing
them from the soil.—Ages of constant burning of the prairie grasses must
necessarily produce a great amount of very fine coal dust and ashes,
which, by the beating rains from year to year, would cause it to mingle
with the earth to the depth of several inches. Such is the probable
cause of the scouring material of these plains.
On passing over the country from St. Josephs to the dividing ridge of
the continent, along the emigrant route to Oregon, the traveler
accustomd only to fertile districts, is greatly surprised at finding so
great a portion of the continent an almost barren waste. From St.
Josephs to the Platt river, a distance of 250 miles, is most of the way
a country of soil and fertility.
On arriving at the Platt river, a beautifully flat country presents
itself, where nature, it would seem, has but an easy task to burden the
ground with excessive vegetation, but behold a country of extensive
bottom lands, of feeble soil much of the way, and still more feeble at
the distance, among the bluffs and rolling country.
Soon after our arrival at Platt, one day while sitting on its banks
watching our cattle, I could but reflect on the situation of the
country, the emigrant and his journey to Oregon, which I have here
expressd in the following form.
One evening at twilight, whilst sitting to view,
On the banks of the Platt, to me ’twas quite new,
Nor sadden or lonely, as one in despair
Sees the beasts of the forest just ’mergd from their lair,
But cheerful and tranquil, I cast my eyes o’er
The wide-spreading Platt, where I ne’er roamd before.
Its banks are all plat, and its islands are flat,
Its waters are tranquil, and turbid at that.
Protrusion of sandbars are seen all along,
To hinder the boatman—here’s nought of his song.
Still anxious for knowledge, I turnd me around.
And saw at short distance what coverd the ground.
’Twere wagons, full many, an Oregon train,
Who’d left their lovd homes, ne’er to see them again.
If you ask what their hearts speak whilst moving along,
I fear they will mingle a tear with their song,
Whilst telling the story of wandering so far,
With their dear earthly all in their pockets and car.
The parent is anxious for his loving child,
The dame is more careless, less cautious and mild,
The lad cares for little, if father is near,
Of wars or of bloodshed—he’ll shrink to the rear.
Then who shall watch over, and daily provide
For this onward band, which so near are allid?
’Tis He who makes water spring out of the rock,
Abundance shall follow—He cares for His flock.
Then onward, brave pilgrims, your Canaan is near,
You’ll soon cross the Jordan [cascades] with hearts full of cheer.
On advancing up the Platt a distance of about 445 miles to Sweet Water,
one of its tributaries, and near to the dividing point, the country
becomes more barren all around, being more within that portion of the
continent where the sun’s influences are not hindered by rains, or even
dews, for a great portion of the year. Here, no soil is formd by the
decomposition of vegetable or animal matter, for none exists with which
to make soil except the wild sage and a few other useless shrubs.
Few animals of any kind dwell here, for want of the means of sustaining
life. It may justly be calld a desert country. It should, however, be
remarkd that within the distance from Platt to Sweet Water, nearly all
the present buffalo range is comprisd, and if the country is a barren
waste, how do they receive their support? Along the bottom lands of the
Platt and its tributaries, are seen occasional tracts coverd with grass,
but these are few compard with the great extent of country over which
the buffalo is obligd to ramble for his support. At one season of the
year he is seen on Platt and at another on Sweet Water, a distance of
more than four hundred miles in extent.
Along the country through which the Sweet Water flows, is seen a range
of mountains, calld the Sweet Water range, coverd mostly with a dense
forest. On our right are ranges of granite rock of less hight,
occasionally divided by intervening valleys. These rocks are naked,
having no vegetation upon them except in some of their crevices, where a
few vegetables have found a scanty foothold. Within 50 miles of the
dividing ridge, these ranges of mountains lower down to an undulating
plain, without soil or vegetation, except wild sage, so common on these
deserts.
[Illustration: Decorative glyph]