<h3>TAKING THE TRAIL FOR OREGON</h3>
<div class='unindent'><span class="smcap">When</span> we drove out of Eddyville, headed for the Oregon
Country, our train consisted of but one wagon, two yoke
of four-year old steers, and one yoke of cows. We also
had one extra cow. This cow was the only animal we lost
on the whole journey; she strayed away in the river
bottom before we crossed the Missouri.</div>
<p>Now as to the members of our little party. William
Buck, who had joined us as partner for the expedition,
was a man six years my senior. He had had some experience
on the Plains, and he knew what outfit was needed;
but he had little knowledge in regard to a team of cattle.
He was an impulsive man, and to some extent excitable;
yet withal a man of excellent judgment and honest as
God makes men. No lazy bones occupied a place in Buck's
body. He was scrupulously neat and cleanly in all his
ways; courteous to every one; always in good humor and
always looking upon the bright side of things. A better
trail mate could not have been found.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_22" id="Page_22"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>Buck's skill in camp work and his lack of ability to
handle the team naturally settled the division of the work
between us. It was he who selected the outfit to go into
the wagon, while I fitted up the wagon and bought the
team. We had butter packed in the center of the flour,
which was in double sacks; eggs packed in corn meal or
flour, enough to last us nearly five hundred miles; fruit in
abundance, and dried pumpkins; a little jerked beef, not
too salt. Last though not least, there was a demijohn
of brandy "for medicinal purposes only," as Buck said,
with a merry twinkle of the eye.</p>
<p>The little wife had prepared the homemade yeast cake
which she knew so well how to make and dry, and we had
light bread to eat all the way across. We baked the bread
in a tin reflector instead of the heavy Dutch oven so much
in use on the Plains.</p>
<p>The butter in part melted and mingled with the flour,
yet it did not matter much, as the "shortcake" that
resulted made us almost glad the mishap had occurred.
Besides, did we not have plenty of fresh butter, from the
milk of our own cows, churned every day in the can by
the jostling of the wagon? Then the buttermilk! What a
luxury! I shall never, as long as I live, forget the shortcake
and corn bread, the puddings and pumpkin pies, and
above all the buttermilk.</p>
<p>As we gradually crept out on the Plains and saw the
sickness due to improper food, or in some cases to its
improper preparation, it was borne in upon me how
blessed I was, with such a trail partner as Buck and such
a life partner as my wife. Some trains were without fruit,
and most of them depended upon saleratus for raising their
bread. Many had only fat bacon for meat until the buffalo
supplied a change; and no doubt much of the sickness
attributed to the cholera was caused by bad diet.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_23" id="Page_23"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>I am willing to claim credit to myself for the team,
every hoof of which reached the Coast in safety. Four
steers and two cows were sufficient for our light wagon
and the light outfit, not a pound of which but was useful
(except the brandy) and necessary for our comfort. I
had chosen steers that had never been under the yoke,
though plenty of broken-in oxen could have been had,
generally of that class that had been broken in spirit as
well as to the yoke.</p>
<p>The ox has had much to do with the settlement of the
country. The pioneers could take care of an ox team in a
new settlement so much cheaper than a horse team that
this fact alone would have been conclusive; but aside
from this, oxen were better for the work in the clearings or
for breaking up the vast stretches of wild prairie sod. We
used to work four or five yoke to the plow, and when
dark came we unhitched and turned them on the unbroken
sod to pasture for the night.</p>
<p>I have often been asked how old an ox will live to be.
I never knew of a yoke over fourteen years old, but I
once heard of one that lived to be twenty-four.</p>
<p>On the Plains, oxen were better than horses for getting
their feed and fording streams. There was another
advantage, and a very important one, to oxen: the Indians
could not run them off at night as easily as they could
horses.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-033.png" width-obs="300" height-obs="213" alt="The tin reflector used for baking." title="" /> <span class="caption">The tin reflector used for baking.</span></div>
<p>The first day's drive out
from Eddyville was a short
one. When we got to plodding
along over the Plains, we made
from fifteen to twenty miles
a day. That was counted a
good day's drive, without unusual
accidents or delays.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_24" id="Page_24"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>As I now remember, this was the only day on the entire
trip when the cattle were allowed to stand in the yoke at
noontime, while the owners lunched and rested. When it
was near nightfall we made our first camp. Buck excitedly
insisted that we must not unyoke the cattle.</p>
<p>"What shall we do?" I asked. "They can't live in the
yoke always."</p>
<p>"Yes, but if you unyoke here you will never catch
them again," he said.</p>
<p>One word brought on another until we were almost in
a dispute, when a stranger, Thomas McAuley, who was
camped near by, stepped in. He said his own cattle were
gentle; there were three men of his party, and they would
help us yoke up in the morning. I gratefully accepted his
offer and unyoked, and we had no trouble in starting off
the next morning. After that, never a word with the
least semblance of contention to it passed between Buck
and me.</p>
<p>Scanning McAuley's outfit in the morning, I was quite
troubled to start out with him. His teams, principally
cows, were light, and they were thin in flesh; his wagons
were apparently light and as frail as the teams. But I
soon found that his outfit, like ours, carried no extra
weight, and he knew how to care for a team. He was,
besides, an obliging neighbor, which was fully demonstrated
on many trying occasions, as we traveled in
company for more than a thousand miles, until his road
to California parted from ours at the big bend of the
Bear River.</p>
<p>Of the trip through Iowa little remains to be said further
than that the grass was thin and washy, the roads muddy
and slippery, and the weather execrable, although May
had been ushered in long before we reached the little
Mormon town of Kanesville (now Council Bluffs), a few<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_25" id="Page_25"></SPAN></span>
miles above the place where we were to cross the Missouri
River. Here my brother Oliver joined us, having come
from Indianapolis with
old-time comrades and
friends. Now, with the
McAuleys and Oliver's
party, we mustered a train
of five wagons.</p>
<div class="figleft"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-035.png" width-obs="261" height-obs="300" alt="A yoke of oxen." title="" /> <span class="caption">A yoke of oxen.</span></div>
<p>It was here at Kanesville
that the last purchases
were made, the last letter
sent back to anxious
friends. Once across the
Missouri and headed westward,
we should have to
cross the Rocky Mountains
to find a town
again.</p>
<p>We had now come to the beginning of the second stage
of our long journey. We had reached the Missouri River.
From the western bank of the river we should strike out
across the Plains, through what is now Nebraska and
Wyoming, to the crest of the continent. We should follow
the ox-team trail along the north bank of the Platte, and
then up the north fork of the Platte to the mountains.
But first we must get across the Missouri.</p>
<p>"What on earth is that?" exclaimed one of the women,
as we approached the landing for the ferry which crossed
the river to a point a few miles below where Omaha now
stands.</p>
<p>"It looks for all the world like a big white flatiron,"
answered another.</p>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN href="images/illus-036-big.png"><ANTIMG src="images/illus-036.png" width-obs="492" height-obs="500" alt="On this page and the following are shown the main trails" title="" /></SPAN> <span class="caption"> On this page and the following are shown the main trails that stretched across the continent, west of the Missouri, in the years before the building of railroads. The Oregon Trail from Kanesville to Portland is marked with the heaviest line. The lighter line from Huntsville to Kanesville shows Ezra Meeker's early travels; this
marks not a trail but a main-traveled road. People starting out from
St. Louis for the Oregon Country went by way of the Santa Fé Trail
about as far as Fort Leavenworth, then northwest to Fort Kearney
on the Platte River, where they joined the trail from Kanesville.
The Santa Fé Trail was the earliest trail to be made; trading expeditions
had gone from St. Louis to Santa Fé since the early 1800's.
The California Trail and the Oregon Trail are the same as far as the
big bend of the Bear River, at which point the California Trail goes
off to the southwest.</span></div>
<div class="figcenter"> <SPAN href="images/illus-037-big.png"><ANTIMG src="images/illus-037.png" width-obs="485" height-obs="500" alt="Second Main Trail map" title="" /></SPAN></div>
<p>We drivers had little time for looking and for making
comparisons. All our attention had to be given to our<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_28" id="Page_28"></SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[27]</SPAN></span><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[26]</SPAN></span>
teams, for as we neared the landing we found the roads
terribly cut up on account of the concentrated travel.</p>
<p>It was indeed a sight long to be remembered. The
"white flatiron" proved to be wagons with their tongues
pointing to the landing. A center train with other parallel
trains extended back in the rear, gradually covering a
wider range the farther back from the river it went.
Several hundred wagons were thus closely interlocked,
completely blocking the approach to the landing.</p>
<p>All about were camps of every kind, some without any
covering at all, others with comfortable tents. Nearly
everybody appeared to be intent on merrymaking, and
the fiddlers and dancers were busy; but here and there
were small groups engaged in devotional services. These
camps contained the outfits, in great part, of the wagons
in line; some of them had been there for two weeks with
still no prospect of securing an early crossing. Two scows
only were engaged in crossing the wagons and teams.</p>
<p>The muddy waters of the Missouri had already swallowed
up two victims. On the first day we were there, I
saw a third victim go under the drift of a small island
within sight of his shrieking wife. The stock had rushed
to one side of the boat, submerging the gunwale, and had
precipitated the whole load into the dangerous river. One
yoke of oxen that had reached the farther shore deliberately
reëntered the river with a heavy yoke on, and swam
to the Iowa side; there they were finally saved by the
helping hands of the assembled emigrants.</p>
<p>"What shall we do?" was the question passed around
in our party, without answer. Tom McAuley was not yet
looked upon as a leader, as was the case later.</p>
<p>"Build a boat," said his sister Margaret, a most determined
maiden lady, the oldest of the party and as resolute
and brave as the bravest.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_29" id="Page_29"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>But of what should we build it? While a search for
material was being made, one of our party, who had got
across the river in search of timber, discovered a scow,
almost completely buried, on the sandpit opposite the
landing. The report seemed too good to be true.</p>
<p>The next thing to do was to find the owner. We discovered
him eleven miles down the river.</p>
<p>"Yes, if you will agree to deliver the boat safely to me
after crossing your five wagons and teams, you may have
it," said he.</p>
<div class="figright"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-038.png" width-obs="204" height-obs="250" alt="Digging out the scow." title="" /> <span class="caption">Digging out the scow.</span></div>
<p>The bargain was closed then and there. My, but that
night didn't we make the sand fly from the boat! By
morning we could begin to see the end of the job. Then,
while busy hands began to cut a landing on the perpendicular
sandy bank of the Iowa side, others were preparing
sweeps. All was bustle and stir.</p>
<p>Meanwhile it had become noised around that another
boat would be put on to ferry people over, and we were
besieged with applications from detained emigrants.
Finally, the word coming
to the ears of the ferrymen,
they were foolish enough
to undertake to prevent
us from crossing without
their help. A writ of replevin
or some other process
was issued,—I never
knew exactly what,—directing
the sheriff to take
possession of the boat
when it landed. This he
attempted to do.</p>
<p>I never before or since
attempted to resist an officer<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_30" id="Page_30"></SPAN></span>
of the law; but when that sheriff put in an appearance
and we realized what his coming meant, there wasn't a man
in our party that did not run to the nearby camp for his
gun. It is needless to add that we did not need to use the
guns. As if by magic a hundred other guns came in sight.
The sheriff withdrew, and the crossing went on peaceably
till all our wagons were safely landed.</p>
<p>We had still another danger to face. We learned that
an attempt would be made to take the boat from us, the
action being not against us, but against the owner.
Thanks to the adroit management of McAuley and my
brother Oliver, we were able to fulfill our engagement to
deliver the boat safely to the owner.</p>
<p>We were now across the river, and it might almost be said
that we had left the United States. When we set foot
upon the right bank of the Missouri River we were outside
the pale of law. We were within the Indian country,
where no organized civil government existed.</p>
<p>Some people and some writers have assumed that on
the Plains each man was "a law unto himself" and free
to do his own will,—dependent, of course, upon his
physical ability to enforce it. Nothing could be farther
from the facts than this assumption, as evil-doers soon
found out to their discomfort.</p>
<p>It is true that no general organization for law and order
was effected on the western side of the river. But the
American instinct for fair play and a hearing for everybody
prevailed, so that while there was no mob law, the law
of self-preservation asserted itself, and the counsels of
the level-headed older men prevailed. When an occasion
called for action, a "high court" was convened, and woe
betide the man that would undertake to defy its mandates
after its deliberations were made public!</p>
<p>An incident that occurred in what is now Wyoming,<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_31" id="Page_31"></SPAN></span>
well up on the Sweetwater River, will illustrate the spirit
of determination of the sturdy men of the Plains. A
murder had been committed, and it was clear that the
motive was robbery. The suspected man and his family
were traveling along with the moving column. Men who
had volunteered to search for the missing man finally
found evidence proving the guilt of the person suspected.
A council of twelve men was called, and it deliberated
until the second day, meanwhile holding the murderer
safely.</p>
<p>What were they to do? Here were a wife and four little
children depending upon this man for their lives. What
would become of his family if justice was meted out to
him? Soon there developed an undercurrent of opinion
that it was probably better to waive punishment than to
endanger the lives of the family; but the council would
not be swerved from its resolution. At sundown of the
third day the criminal was hanged in the presence of the
whole camp. This was not done until ample provision
had been made to insure the safety of the family by
providing a driver to finish the journey. I came so near to
seeing the hanging that I did see the ends of the wagon
tongues in the air and the rope dangling therefrom.</p>
<p>From necessity, murder was punishable with death.
The penalty for stealing was whipping, which, when
inflicted by one of those long ox lashes in the hands of an
expert, would bring the blood from the victim's back at
every stroke. Minor offenses, or differences generally, were
arbitrated. Each party would abide by the decision as if
it had come from a court of law. Lawlessness was not
common on the Plains. It was less common, indeed, than
in the communities from which the great body of the
emigrants had been drawn, for punishment was swift and
certain.<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_32" id="Page_32"></SPAN></span></p>
<p>The greater body of the emigrants formed themselves
into large companies and elected captains. These combinations
soon began to dissolve and re-form, only to
dissolve again, with a steady accompaniment of contentions.
I would not enter into any organized company,
but neither could I travel alone. By tacit agreement our
party and the McAuleys travelled together, the outfit
consisting of four wagons and thirteen persons—nine
men, three women, and the baby. Yet although we
kept apart as a separate unit, we were all the while in
one great train, never out of sight and hearing of others.
In fact, at times the road would be so full of wagons
that all could not travel in one track, and this fact
accounts for the double roadbeds seen in so many
places on the trail.</p>
<hr style="width: 65%;" /><p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_33" id="Page_33"></SPAN></span></p>
<div class="figcenter"> <ANTIMG src="images/illus-039.png" width-obs="500" height-obs="285" alt="Giving chase to the buffaloes." title="" /> <span class="caption">Giving chase to the buffaloes.</span></div>
<h2>CHAPTER FIVE</h2>
<div style="break-after:column;"></div><br />