The Gideon in
James' name was for grandfather Gideon
Gooch.
As a bride and groom Orvilly, as he was
affectionately called, and Cynthia Clark moved to Trenton, Grundy County,
Missouri where their entire family of thirteen children were born. I have no
record of the exact date of their moving to Missouri but it was sometime
between January and December 1830.
In 1860 this large family moved to Oregon
City, Holt County, Missouri from Trenton and lived there for a short time at
the beginning of the Civil War.
A very vivid picture in the minds of
these Aunts was when their older brother James
left to join the Confederate forces. They could see him in their memories eye
coming to tell their mother and younger brothers and sisters good-bye, then
riding across the field on his beautiful chestnut horse, stopping to open the
gate without dismounting then on beyond the horizon in the late afternoon of
some date in 1861.
While the Clark family as a unit was in
sympathy with the North, James was forced to fight with the Confederate
forces. A strange man had ridden into
the field on horseback and talked with James for some time. As he rode away, James came to the house,
from his loft bedroom got a change of clothes, a blanket, his gun and after
dropping his pistol into its holster, bid his family good-bye and rode away.
Many tears were shed for they did not expect to see him again.
They remembered hearing their parents
talk about one of the big issues of the war being the dispute over admission to
the union of Missouri as a slave state. The northern part of the State was
particularly in favor of the Union and it is known that the state furnished
more than twice as many troops to the Union forces than to the Confederate.
They spoke of families being divided on
the question. Brothers fighting with
opposing forces, Fathers against sons.
One neighbor boy fighting with the Confederate forces returned home and
shot to death a brother who had enlisted in the Union Army. Neighbors broke life long friendships and
became bitter enemies.
In 1862 the family moved back to Trenton,
Grundy County, where they remained until they came west.
Grandfather, Orville Scott Clark and eldest son John lured by the discovery of gold in California and the great
opportunities in the Oregon Territory came across the plains in 1849. They
visited both California and Oregon and after looking over the prospects of each
for one year, grandfather returned to Missouri. He gave such glowing accounts of the great west country, the
beautiful scenery, the wonderful climate and the opportunites for the family
that Nicholas's feet began to itch to be on the big trail. Hunting buffalo and
wolves and fighting Indians so fired him with adventure that he came to California
in 1852 with friends who joined the big caravan of that year.
I have already given you an account of
the '50 and '52 trains in a previous letter. I am concerned here only in
mapping the course of the larger part of the family in 1865.
It was your grandfather's plan to return
to the west with his family but he fell ill and died August 10, 1859 in Grundy
County and was buried in Cyrus Cemetery in Trenton.
Elizabeth
Frances and Missouri Ann both died before the
father and are buried in the same cemetery.
With John and Nicholas on the Pacific
Coast and James in the war, Orville
Scott Jr. was the oldest son at home.
He was not too happy about such an arrangement and begged his mother to
let him go west to his older brothers.
In 1864, having arrived at the age of sixteen and thinking himself old
enough to combat the buffalo and Indians he hit the trail with the train of
1864, working his way across by helping with the stock and wagons.
Great grandmother Clark with Nancy Jane and Cynthia Ellen and their families (Nancy was now married to Lafayette Warmoth and had six children.
Cynthia Ellen was married to John
Warmoth, brother of Lafayette) with the four younger Clarks, William, Mildred, Julianna and Joseph
left Trenton in May, 1865 on their long journey to the land of sunshine and
gold. James was still in the army. I
have no record of when he joined the family.
This is where the vital part of my story
begins and I quote the Aunts:
"For months we made great
preparations for this trip which was estimated that it would take six months,
with good luck, to reach our destination in Oregon where our three older
brothers now were. Our bedding was all made over and new warm comforters made.
Sewing went on day after day to supply the family with good warm clothing.
The cooking and preparations of food was
a gigantic task. Bacon was cured,
likewise ham, fruit was canned and for days before starting the cooking went on
day and night. Bread was baked, beans cooked and everything that could be
prepared and kept without spoiling was done so, but the first articles of
importance were bacon, ham, beans, flour, coffee, sugar and rice. Almost as
important as these was to keep a "yeast starter". Our estimate of
food per person was 150 lbs. flour, 150 lbs. bacon, 25 lbs. coffee, 30 lbs.
sugar, 50 to 75 lbs. rice, 1 keg of lard, crackers, dried peaches, salt and
pepper. These estimates were furnished by the government to every person
planning the journey.
At
last the big "shove off" day arrived, when we set out in a great
state of excitement from our Missouri home on May tenth, 1865.
Our first night out I shall never forget,
said Aunt Mildred. Julia and I could
not sleep in that covered wagon. Some
were fast asleep, one could hear their deep even breathing. To we two girls, two years apart in age,
everything was so thrilling we just could not settle down. Through the canvas flaps of the wagon we
could see the dark sky, studded with stars.
Somehow we finally fell asleep.
In the morning all kinds of noises awakened us including the loud talk
of the trail and of the fine farm land that lies at the end of it. Everyone was in high spirits for the first
exciting days of the journey.
There was not much room in which to dress
in the wagon for there was so much of everything in it. Barrels of flour, food supplies, tools,
clothing, bedding and even the China dogs that mother was so eager in taking to
Brother Nick.
I
can still smell that first breakfast in the open air. The morning was crisp and cool and the bacon sizzling so
cheerfully in the pan made me wonder why people talked of the hardships of the
overland trail. That night we sat
around the campfire and the hired man played on his fiddle and for some reason
came out with
"Home, home sweet home;
Be
it ever so humble there is
no
place like home."
That was too much for Mother thinking of
our Missouri home and the months ahead in a home on wheels. "Do play something cheerful
please", she said, and he came out with
"Oh,
Susannah, Don't you cry for me, For I'm going to Oregon with my washbowl on my
knee."
Those first few days were not unpleasant
in spite of the bad roads, the heat and sand.
We romped and played, the older people sang and at night danced by the
light of the fire and sang such songs as our hired man did in his gayer moods. Our serious moments came farther along on
the trail.
After traveling in a northwest direction,
cutting off a good corner of Iowa we came to the Missouri River and crossed
where the present city of Omaha now stands.
Before this city, which was on the west
bank of the Missouri River from Kanesville (Council Bluffs) was named Omaha, it
was called, Traders Point and during the years of '49 and '50 it's only
inhabitant was an old trader named "Sarpee". Later the place grew to be quite a city and
was the outfitting place for the trains of the '60's. It drew its name from the O-Maha Indian tribe.
Our trail took us for some distance along
the north bank of the Platte to a point near Fort Kearney where we forded to
the south bank trail then on to the junction of the South Platte and North
Platte where we were held for about three weeks, until the parties arrived from
different sections of the country to make up our party of one-hundred wagons
which was the required number before our caravan was permitted to make the
final take-off. When all were assembled
there were two-hundred fourteen wagons.
It was at this crossing where our first
real quarrel took place. Mother had
hired a man to drive our wagon to Oregon and he was certainly doing a good job
but brother Will, now fifteen years
old, had begged all along the way to be permitted to drive. This, the hired man objected to but on his
persistent coaxing Mother finally gave Will permission to drive. In crossing the river at this point Will,
being inexperienced about currents, sand, and other hazards in crossing a
stream turned the wagon over. The hired
man became so angry that he cursed Mother for her interference whereupon Will
demonstrated his manliness by driving the man from the camp and himself drove
the remainder of the distance to Oregon.
It was a result of this mishap that the two china dogs were broken.
(For those who might like to hear about
the dogs you may tell them the Staffordshire dogs that sit on our mantel were
bought by your grandfather Nicholas Clark, in Trenton, Missouri when he was
sixteen years of age (in 1848) and left them at home with his Mother when he
took off for California in 1852. In
1865 his Mother brought them across the plains. They were broken when the wagon turned over in crossing the
Platte River. The pieces were carefully
preserved and on arrival in Oregon were put together with home made
mucilage. This mucilage is still
holding the dogs together after eighty-six years. (1865-1951). Your grandmother gave one dog to your Aunt
Elsie and one to Uncle Byron. Byron
gave his to Richard - to pass into possession on Byron's death. Aunt Elsie, not wanting the dogs separated
gave hers to Richard also. They are
one-hundred three years old this year, 1951.)
(A precious family heirloom.
Always cherish them as such.)
Another requisite was four-hundred men
and boys who could shoot, as a protection from the Indians. (As I understand their story this final
assemblage took place at the junction of the South Platte and the Platte river
in Nebraska, called Platte River Station.
(This checks with historical records.)
It took ten days to ferry the entire
troop across the South Platte. This was
done by taking the wheels off the wagons and using the wagon box, which had
been calked for that purpose, as a boat.
The horses and other stock swam across which was quite a tedious trick,
much of the stock being lost at this point.
We were fortunate in not losing ours.
At this station a wedding took
place. (It was now in June.) A young girls by the name of Rhoda Payne came with a group from
Missouri and met a dashing young man by the name of John Henry Collins. The
whole train took time to celebrate with dancing and singing and even
chivareeing them. Thinking that life
would be easier for them at home they did not proceed with our train and after
staying at the Platte river Station for a time returned to Missouri.
From this point the perilous part of our
journey began. While the earlier trains
had blazed a well defined trail, we knew that ours was to be no path of
roses. Although the way was a degree
safer in many ways there were still the same hazards to be encountered and the
same precautions to be taken for ourselves and our stock which consisted of two
cows, three yoke of oxen and one horse.
Lafayette Warmoth (Nancy Jane's husband) had three span of mules and
John Warmoth (Cynthia Ellen's husband) one team of horses. We were the only ones in the whole caravan
with cows.
The trail was long and the traveling
slow, covering about ten to fifteen miles per day, some da ys less, owing to
weather conditions and the terrain of the country. We carried all of our water for both family and stock for the
water holes were few and far between.
Our route followed in main the old Oregon
trail. In many places there were no
roads and the men had to make their own.
As in the case of nearly all of the trains some would get restless with
the monotony of slow travel and thinking they could find a quicker route would
break away from the caravan and were never heard of again. One lone man finally showed up and rejoined
our party after being gone nearly three weeks.
He had gotten lost and after wandering around finally located us, worn
out and nearly starved.
Soldiers were stationed all along the
route and were near us nearly every night as a protection against the
Indians. While these soldiers were a
protection against the Indians the younger women and girls were as afraid of
them as of the Indians. On two
occassions we can recall of a sodier being shot for molesting a young
girl. (Aunt Julia said that no girl was
safe unless she could run like a rabbit, climb a tree and shoot a gun.)
At night in making camp the wagons were
lined up in a large circle and tied together.
The stock, as were the family, were within this circle. The women and the children slept in the
wagons while the men slept on the ground.
Guards were on duty all night, the men taking turns. The buffalo did not bother us much. Perhaps they had become accustomed to the
foreigners invading their ageless territory, by this time but the wolves and
Indians were a constant peril. One
incident, standing out so vividly in our minds, was that of the Indians
stealing a wagon wheel, wrapping it with dry grass, setting it on fire and
turning it loose down hill toward the stock in hopes of stampeding the animals
and causing them to break away. We were
delayed on two occasions by such as this until we could corral and calm our
animals.
We usually carried a little kindling with
us but many many times our only fuel was buffalo chips. (Aunt Julia said to be sure and make note of
the fact that she had to gather her share of those chips. She sure was a cutie.)
(An interesting item I might relate here
is that General W. T. Sherman remarked in a letter to buffalo Bill, "As
near as I can estimate there were in 1865 about nine and one half millions of
buffalos on the plains between Missouri River and the rocky Mountain and about
65,000 Pawnees, Sioux, Cheyennes, Kiowas and Arapahoes. )
From Platte Junction the next place we
recall is the incident of Chimney Rock.
We do remember some of the country
through that part of Nebraska, it being flat and dusty most of the way. The roads across this part of the plains
would stretch out over an expanse of about fifty miles but when the mountains
were reached they converged again to cross the narrow ravines. This great Platte country was known as the
Great American Desert. Often we had to change
our route on account of the Indians but we never did get far off the real
Oregon Trail. Those who did never got
through. In main this western trail was
one trail. By the '50's it became a
road so deep and broad and obvious that it could easily be traced and was
destined for two thousand miles to become the bravest highway in the world.
For many days we rode without seeing a
tree or water, not even a bush, then again we would see the wild flowers --
especially during the earlier part of our trip on plains -- which were
beautiful.
(In speaking with the Aunts about these
flowers they mentioned the lupin, a little pink flower spoken of as the wild
pink, the verbena, honeysuckle and the sweetbrier.)
"We loved the birds too, especially
the humming birds and the meadow larks.
The trees we remember most and of which our "olders" spoke
were the hazelwood and the quivering asp.
These are a few of the marks of the trail that made a definate imprint
on our youthful minds. Never will we
forget the cries of the Indians which we often mistook for those of the wild
animals. While we considered the wolves
a great peril they often did no more damage than gnaw the ropes by which the
animals were tethered. One thing they
did do that was horrible was to dig up the bodies of those who had died and had
been buried along the way, of which there were many.
"Quoting Walter Prescott Webb in
"The Great Plains"
"It
was an army of peace which came to subdue the wilderness but its casualties
were greater than those of many battle fields.
It has been estimated that for each mile of the two thousand mile course
of the trail seventeen people per mile paid the price of winning of the Oregon
Country."
All along the trail we saw many marks of
graves such as piles of rocks, gates of wagons, buffalo skulls, wagon wheels
and some times a piece of furniture.
All of which spoke of deep sorrow and from us drew a prayer of thanks
tha t we had thus far come in sa fety.
It was not a glamor journey by any means. There were fleas and gray backs (lice) and dirt. Noise and quarrels all along the way.
The weather was bad a great portion of
the time. When it was stormy we tied
the animals to the wagon wheels and lashed the wagons down with picket pins
over the wheels to keep them from blowing over. Oh! How that wind could blow.
Never will I forget it. (said Aunt Mildred.)
One writer relates,
"It
blows turable for a week or ten days and then it will take a change and blow
like hell fir a while."
"Often our only meat was buffalo
which is coarser grain than beef but was quite tender and juicy, especially
when we were fortunate enough to have a yearling calf. We used the knuckle bone for soup and many
people used the marrow to spread over the bread because of the nourishment it
contained. (Here Aunt Mildred said she
just could not like that.) Our bread
was often baked in buffalo ashes.
Doesn't sound good does it? But
bread baked any way was mighty good when you were hungry as we were many times
during that journey, not that there wasn't something to eat but we were growing
children and were always hungry.
It was amazing to us that we could see
such a distance on these plains.
Mountains miles and miles away seemed so close. Some of the men, 'on a day of rest which was probably the Sabbath) decided to
visit a huge rock which looked as though it was not more than five or six miles
distant. This rock was Chimney Rock of
which we had heard. It seemed so close
they thought they could make it there and back by noon. Well -- it was late at night when they
returned. They had walked miles and
miles.
Chimney rock, as other land marks along
the way, did not interest our train so much from its picturesqueness as it did
from the fact that on reaching it we had cut-off so many miles of our way to
our future home and comfort.
(This
Rock is one of three great outstanding natural monuments and three equally
noted forts on the old trail:
1
- Chimney Rock, 40 miles Southwest of
Scotts Bluff, Nebraska.
2
- The Red Buttes, fifteen miles Southwest
of Casper Wyoming and
3
- Independence Rock about fiftythree miles
Soutwest of Casper.
These
three stand as a perpetual reminder of that greatest of all world
migration. Julia Altrocchi in her book
entitled, "the Pageant of the Platte" speaks of the great silhouettes
as still impressive and the scenerey weirdly beautiful.)
Our journey so far along the Platte had
not been too bad. The roads along the
south Bank were very good for several hundred miles. Here is where we found the greater abundance of wild flowers, the
lupin, larkspur and the creeping hollyhock.
At certain points it was very dangerous on account of sand. If the team stopped even to rest a minute it
was buried in sand. This is where our
Missouri mules showed their stubborness.
They just humped their backs and would not move and had to be whipped
and often severely clubbed to make them go.
(In checking this sand of the Platte I discovered it was called
"The wide moving river of rapidly running sand."
Washington Irving described the Platte as
"the most magnificent and useless of streams."
The nest place we came to that we
remember quite well was Fort Laramie in Wyoming. Here we had to register, as did all emigrants, so that the
government could have a record of how many crossed the very plains in that
year. I am sure the record could not
have been accurate if as many in previous trains failed to register as did in
ours.
(Fort Laramie, originally a fur trading
post, was changed into a military post by the government in 1849 and for
fortyone thrilling years simply bulged with early western history in the
making. It was here that the Donner Party
celebrated the Fourth of July and it was here that Mrs. Spaulding of the
Spaulding-Whitman Party wrote in her diary on June 21, 1836 on leaving Fort
Laramie,
"This
day we leave this post. Only He, who
knows all things, knows whether this dilapidated form will survive the
undertaking. His will, not mine, be
done."
From Fort Laramie we soon came to another
of our great land marks and trail boosters, Independence Rock or Register
Cliffs, which ever you wish to call it.
Here thousa nds of emigrants carved their names or initials. We along with others.
(This rock is located on the north bank
of the Sweetwater River in central Wyoming.
No diary of importance concerning the winning of the Oregon and
Califprnia country has failed to mention this all important land mark. The name of the rock is thought to have been
given and engraved thereon by the first white travelers who traversed the
famous South Pass. The name of
"The Register of the Desert" or "The Great Record of the
Desert" is accredited to Father De Smet, a Catholic Missionary in the
early 40's. It was here on July 4, 1862
about twenty Masons on their way to Oregon found a shallow recess in the rock
and held lodge -- the first recorded Masonic meeting in Wyoming.)
From here we soon entered the Black Hills
Country where we found the roads very bad.
Here we left the buffalo chips and used greasewood for fuel. We were not sorry to give up our job of
gathering those everlasting chips.
Within a few days we came to what was called South Pass.
(History records this as being discovered
by John Charles Fremont in 1842 at which time he recorded complete data and
impressions for the future Overland Trail which our families traveled. I also read that Etienne Provet, a trapper,
is usually named by the best authorities as having been the actual discoverer
of this Pass. One can take their choice
of information. However it was General
Fremont who gave us the official data.
This was called and still is so named the backbone of the American
Continent. The summit is marked by a
stake. On one side the rain that fell
would run toward the Pacific, on the other side toward the Atlantic.) It appears like a mesa or high plateau. Mountains on all sides. The mountains to the west of us were our
attraction and fear because we had to find our way over or through them before
reaching our new home. Narcissa
Whitman, wife of Marcus Whitman is said to be the first woman to cross South
Pass.
Another fort, of which we remember the
name, was Fort Bridger in Wyoming which should follow next or about here in our
journey through the Wind Mountains. Our
party arrived here some time in July.
(They were on schedule time as history
records most of the trains arrived in the Wind Mountains in July. I don't know why our train went to Fort
Bridger unless the California bound part of the party thought they would like
to go through Utah and would make Fort Bridger their parting place. If that were true they changed their minds
after arriving at the fort for their separation point was further along in
Idaho.)
The owners or men who ran these trading
posts were hard looking characters and were just as hard as they looked for
their lives were rugged, having to fight the Indians and trap for food and
fur. They likely made their own clothes
for their pants were of buckskin. These
men were usually large broad shouldered fellows with long hair and beards.
As we approached the large mountains the
going was more perilous and steep. In
many places the wagons had to be lowered over the cliffs by ropes. Also the stock. In other places not quite so steep we had to get down the best
was we could, often getting badly bruised and injured. In many places the road was almost entirely
obliterated but the mountains were the same that looked down upon the Whitman
train of 1850.
Fort Bridger was our first separation
point. From there some of the wagons
took a South trail on to Salt Lake City but our entire family kept with the
Oregon group and took the north-west trail (the old Oregongtrail) out of Fort Bridger.
We found the Mormans we encountered near
the separation point very friendly. We
thought the reason they were so nice was to persuade some of our men folk to
stay and become Mormans. They were
offering very attractive inducements, such as a home, furniture, plenty of food
and the opportunity to build themselves a business, but we were headed for
Oregon and nothing could change our minds.
Our dreams of all that good land awaiting us in Oregon could not be blotted
out by such inducements.
It was at Fort Bridger that the Donner
party made its first mista ke by quarrelling over which trail to take. As a consequence the party split, one part
going the northern trail, and the other being influenced by Jim Budger, the
trader, at the fort, took the ill fated Hastings cut-off into Utah. The northern route party reached California
safely.
(There
were various reasons why people "took off" to this great west
country. Some dreamed of acres of nice
soil, others of gold, thinking they were going to get rich overnight. Many middle aged and older people were
seeking a better climate in which to improve their health, some just for the
adventure, some to escape debts and others just "to show 'em back
home." At the California State
Library in a diary of one of the 49ers we found this entry, "I am going so
I can be independent of the ---- fools back home that feel themselves above me
because I am a poor cuss, ----- their stinking hides.)
Our people I am sure did not come with
any feeling like that. They were people
of the soil and Oregon offered each man 640 acres, 320 acres to each wife and
160 acres to every child. To them it
was truly a land of promise.
So far as I can determine they did not
use Sublettes cut-off for, as they remember they went into Fort Budger which
necissitated them crossing the Green River near Lombard ferry. I am inclined to believe they did not use
the ferry because of the charge, but forded a few miles north of the ferry as
many other trains did.
Out of Fort Bridger our course took us
northward, crossing the Little Muddy River and met another trail (Sublette
Cut-off) near the present city of Cokeville, Wyoming, then across the line into
Idaho about where the present town of Border is located, then along on to Fort
Hall and Pocatello. Not many days
travel after leaving Pocatello brought us to the parting of the trails on Sanke
River at the junction of the Raft.
The parting of our family came at this
junction. One group going to California
the other to Oregon. Here we were met
by Brother John who had come from
California to join brothers Nick and
Scott at Fort Boise whose plans were
to meet us at the Raft River junction but Scott took sick and Nick stayed to
care for him. John came on alone and
after missing our train once met us at the junction. Well do we remember that happy meeting with brother John whom we
had not seen since 1849.
The Oregon group consisted of Mother and
we children, Nancy Jane and her
husband, Lafayette, and their family
and Will Frazier, brother-in-law of
Lafayette.
The California party was made up of
brother John who came from
California to meet us at this point, sister Cynthia Ellen and her husband, John
Warmoth, a man by the name of Dugan
and Henry Warmoth.
(The Aunts spoke much of how badly the
mother felt on telling Cynthia Ellen goodbye for she never expected to see her
again. It turned out that she did see
her a couple of times after tha t, once when she came to California with
Nicholas in 1883 and again later at a family reunion in Western Oregon.)
(After this sad parting the trains
proceeded on their respective routes.
First I shall map the course of the Oregon party which was no path of
rosex as expressed by the Aunts.)
That part of our trip (so say the Aunts)
from the separation point to Fort Boise was crowded with uncomfortable
experiences. The things that stand
foremost in my mind, so says Aunt Mildred, were the mosquitos and flies. There were millions and millions of them and
they were as big as mice. Many people
became sick from so many bites and we were told that one man died.
(In an other diary the mosquitos in Idaho
were quoted as being smaller than humming birds but much larger than
crickets. Many diaries spoke of them as
being their greatest discomfort in the entire trip. One diarist spoke thusly
"All other vices subsided as the years went by but the mosquitos
went on forever."
Here is where we encountered the Digger
Indians said to be the filthiest people on earth. They were not so much for fighting as for stealing. They would come right into camp and steal
any thing they could get their hands on.
They would steal animals, cats, dogs, horses -- any kind -- and cook
them whole and eat everything. A Whole
boiled rat was a great delicacy for them.
We could always tell where a Digger Indian camp had been from the filth.
From this junction we proceeded on a
north westerly direction through Twin Falls on to Fort Boise, on the Snake
River. We had followed this river with
its gorgeous waterfalls and crystal clear water from Fort Hall. Here at this fort we met brothers Nick and Scott and enjoyed another happy reunion. Nick was working for a man by the name of Cy Mulkey and stayed on in Fort Boise for another year before
joining the family in Oregon. Scott
having recovered sufficiently to travel came on into Oregon with us. These brothers whom we had not seen for so
long were a great attraction to we children and we simply hovered around them
every minute, constantly sparring for our turn to hold their hands. Mother just sat and looked at them with
tears streaming down her cheeks. It was
a happy occasion.
From Fort Boise our trail took us on a
northwest direction crossing the Snake River twice near Farewell Bend on
northwest crossing the Powder River, through a small town called Kamela, on to
Pendleton and finally to our home cite
on a farm near what is now the town of Weston in Umitilla County about
October first 1865. Here we
"settled down" to make our home and till our soil. Oh! how good it was to know we did not have
to travel any more. We were a tired,
dirty family and no credit at all to the Territory of Oregon when we arrived
but we were an industrious family and did not lose much time in establishing
ourselves and "digging in our roots" into the state where we have
lived ever since. We made of ourselves
good neighbors too, sharing our farm equipment, such as it was with those who
did not have any. Nancy's husband, Lafayette
Warmoth gave Taylor Green the
mule to plow the ground to plant the first corn in Umitilla County.
The Oregon and California trails were
identical for 1200 miles, from Independence and other starting points on the
Missouri River to Burley, Idaho.
A complete continuous marking of this
trail should be made as a monument to that human courage which brought our East and West together. Especially should these markings be made
through those gorges where the wagons went over the identical wheel marks
digging trenches three to five feet deep and are still to be seen at this late
date. The present Lincoln Highway
follows in certain sections the old path of the 49'ers but there is still no
visible continuous marking.
The Oregon Train Association, I
understand is working on such a program.
I do sincerely hope they will be successful in remarking this great
Trail and that it will always be a pathway of free men.
Going back to the parting of the ways at
the junction of the Raft and Snake Rivers we will now accompany the other half
of the family to California, praying each minute that we will all be lucky
enough to arrive in that land of gold, me in the writing of it, they in the
actual culmination of their trip.
Proceeding on a southwest trail the party soon joined a group from Salt
Lake City who had come on a northwest trail to join the north caravan at the
junction near the Nevada, Idaho border.
This was one of the significant events of the journey west. Sixteen miles from this junction the trail
led over Granite Mountain and down to the Big Goose Creek. This descent into Big Goose Creek was one of
the worst of the journey and they found the remaining third of the overland
trail by far the most dangerous and uncomfortable. Bad water, no feed, dust and heat by day and extreme cold at
night. Here is where they again had to
chain all the wheels to hold the wagon back down a five mile decline then on to
a steep mountain called "The Devil's Grave."
One can just tell where the going was the
toughest by such names as "Dead Man's Pass, Hell's Hlaf Acre, Three
Crossings, Massacre Rock, Devil's Gate, Hell Upset, Point of Rocks and Echo Canyon". This is where, again, the wagons were
lowered with ropes. It is described as
worse than all the bad places, they had previously encountered, put together,
having perpendicular stretches of twenty to thirty feet at a place. In spite of their efforts to save their
wagons, one went tail over tongue to the first landing, losing many of the
provisions. John who was driving at that time fell off the seat and over the
rest of the team onto the head mules, which brought tears from Aunt Ellen (Ed Warmoth's Mother) thinking
her brother would surely be killed. The
wagons seemed to stand on end during this descent. (How welcome the modern tanks and jeeps would have been at points
such as this.)
This train also encountered the Ute and
Shoshokee Indians through Utah and Nevada.
The Utes were described as very cruel, the Shoshokees as peaceful,
wanting only food. However they were a
filthy tribe and would roast a whole horse and just gorge themselves. They never got enough to eat. Owls, lizards, crickets and grasshoppers
were all plentiful and on their daily menu.
In order to catch the crickets and grasshoppers the squaws would often
set fire to the grass and burn their legs so they could be easily caught. They often dug deep holes and a large circle
of Indians was formed and thousands of crickets were driven into the hole by
the gradually narrowing ring of flailing Indians. In some cases they added hot rocks which partially cooked them
then ate them at once. At other times
they allowed the insects to dry and ground them into a coarse meal cakes. (How
would you like to drop in for hors d'oeu-vres?) While these Shoshokees were rather peaceful they were a menace in
that they would shoot arrows into the stock until they would have to be killed,
then as the caravan moved on they moved in and gulped down the animals,
entrails and all. If any cattle were
driven away, it could be laid to the Utes.
They were thieves. Never have I
been so engrossed in listening to tales as I have been in the telling of these
by members of the family and in reading letters relating to experiences of
others who were in this train.
This open flat of Little Goose has been
described as a place looking like Hell Upset.
The rocks and boulders were so think and so large that the wagons had to
drive right over them, the wheels slipping between the boulders, the animals
falling and every one shaken to a jelly.
Here was a good chance for the ever watchful Utes to attack. The rocky passageway through the Records
Bluff actually dripped with blood. This
tribe did not scalp, they liked best to take as many horses as they could, not
dead or wounded. This neccissitated a
very alert guard day and night, esp ecially at night for that is when they
operated most effectively. They would
stalk a train all day to get a chance at the stock at night.
We spoke of the '65 trail through Idaho
being no bed of roses. The family,
California bound, spoke of their trek through Nevada as "plain hell."
The journey continued on toward the
soutwest through Thousand Springs Valley, Rock Springs (the waters of which
were warm and safe to the emigrant). I
say safe for on several occassions both for our train and others
encountered poison springs. Earlier
trains were the ones who paid the grea ter price for a drink from these
springs. Afterward they were marked so
were passed by, by many a thirsty traveler.
Their greater trouble being to keep the stock safely away from them for
when the stock smelled water they bolted for it and there wasn't a thing that
could be done until they had drunk their fill and dropped dead soon after.
On to Emigrant Springs and Bishop
Canyon. Our wagons crossed Bishop Creek
eight or nine times and finding it as rough as Little Goose Canyon. On to the valley of the Humboldt Wells where
the train rested and nursed their bruises and sick had a chance to
recover. Here our train met other
trains that had circled the hills to avoid the canyon. While they avoided the rough going they ran
into the poison springs which was worse than the boulders.
Along the banks of the Humboldt River and
the hot sands of Nevada many animals died of thirst.
The grassy marshes were encountered aroun
Winnemucca, Rye Patch and Lovelock.
The actual illness occurred in the last
seventy-five miles of the Humboldt River by increasing alkali and filth content
of the water. The lower valley of the
Humboldt was one long sequence of calamity.
The trains travelled its banks for over three-hundred miles. Its waters sink in the hot sands of the
state and is truly a river whose course
appears contrary to all laws of nature.
It is one of the very few long rivers of the world flowing wetward
parallel to the equator. All along its
path the Digger Indians were a perpetual pest.
This river has the distinction of being named by General Fremont in
honor of the noted traveller Baron Humboldt.
The trains of '49, when Grandfather Clark and Uncle John made their first trip,
encountered much trouble with the Indians through this strip of country. Their train would many times find much of
their stock missing in the morning and the men would have to go looking for
them. On one occasion three of the men,
whose duty it was for the day, went in search of two horses, never returned
leaving their wives and family stranded.
One woman had six children that had to be scattered over several trains,
wherever they could be squeezed in.
Indians were everywhere. Aunt Ellen's husband, John Warmoth, spoke of them as
"Those dirty, thieven, stinkum sons-a-guns."
This '49 train of which Grandfather and
Uncle John were a part came well supplied with food and, so far as I could find
out, got through to California with a small supply on hand.
The family train of '65, when the Indians
were more treacherous were afraid to do much hunting or fishing and at night
did not dare build fires to keep warm and had to crawl from one animal to the
other in utter darkness to be sure they were still there. Their trail led them through the muddy
country of the Humboldt where earlier trains had lost hundreds of animals in
the mud. On to Elk and Canyon of the
South Fort -- The same unfriendly gorge traveled by the ill-fated Donner
Party. Most of the trains became so
weary and discouraged, for here is where they parted with so much that was left
of what they started with from Missouri.
Our family having been over the trail some years earlier came through
Greenhorse cutoff to Emigrant Pass without much trouble. They felt that their suffering with the dust
was greater than all of their other discomforts combined. Even those mosquitos in Idaho and Wyoming.
Profiting by mistakes of other trains our
train kept to the North side from Humboldt Wells to the Great Desert from
Emigrant Springs down a steep hill to Gravelly Fort, noted for its many scraps
with the Ute Indians.
This spot was also the scene of that
fateful event in history of the Donnor Party when James Reed and John Snyder
quarreled. Snyder was killed and James
Reed was expelled from the party thus settling the fate of the entire
party. (Any account written on the
Donner Party will give you details on
this disagreement).
On past Battle Mountain to
Winnemucca. A few miles past Winnemucca
the trail branches, one that would lead through Susanville in California, the
other north of Alturus and down the Pitt River. These two alternate routes were not very popular on account of
them being infested with Indians. The
Clark train, in so far as I can determine took neither route, choosing the
safer but sandier route down the Truckee river to Truckee, Donner Lake, down Bear
River to its junction with the Feather River then north to Chico and
Corning. In and about these towns our
families settled and devoted the greater part of their lives to farming. Many of the younger generations still live
there. (The Bankheads and Brunks,
descendents of Aunt Nancy Clark Warmoth,
in and near Corning. The Robert Mitchells, Bell Warmoth at Paskenta and Harry
Clark, Uncle John Clark's son at Chico.)
This is a record of the "Oregon
Trail" and "California Trail" parties of the Clark family, a
record of an invisible trail as it still lived in the minds and on the lips of
those dear Aunts and others who travelled the way of its colorful past.
I have found in my investigations that
most of it is authentic. I have also
found that parts are delightful reminiscent tales as told to them by their
elders. My position can be described
best by that quotation from the
"Last Minstrel"
"I
cannot say how the truth may be
I
say the tale as t'was told to me."
In grateful salute to those who made our
great west country possible for us.
With my love to my boys always,
Mother
(Mary Clark)
===========================================================================
Notes (Added 20 October 1999):
There are several levels of
"telling" here:
1. The oral history of the wagon train
journey, told by Mildred Clark Swaggart and Julia Clark O'Hara, two Clark sisters who made the trip. This history was told in the year 1934 on
the occasion of the 100th birthday of their eldest sister, Nancy
Jane. At the time of the telling,
Mildred was 82 and Julia 80.
2. The original letter by Mary Frances
Guthrie Clark to her sons. According to
Mary Frances, she collected the stories from Mildred and Julia 13 years before
creating the letter, working from notes she had jotted down at the time. By this calculation, the letter was written
about 1947. However, in a parenthetical
insert describing the fate of two china dogs, the year is identified as 1951.
3. The typed version produced by Marian
Warmouth Belard Warmoth. According to a
note by L. Arthur Warmoth, this version was produced around 1960.
4. The Microsoft Word file which appears
here, produced by Brian Raffaelli and Ann Warmoth Harbeson, with this
explanatory addendum.
On Errors: Every effort has been made to reproduce this document exactly as
typed in the original copy from Marian Warmoth. There are typos and misspellings, all of which appeared in this
original and which have been included in the interests of faithfulness to the
original document.
One exception to
this attempt at authenticity is the use of bold
text when names appear. This
exception has been made to assist family historians and others in locating
individual names while purusing the text.
It should be
noted that in the Clark birthdate table, two dates were incomplete because the
photocopy handed down was cut-off on the right edge. The dates shown are our best guess given the sequence of the
children the the pieces of the numbers which could actually be seen: Orville Scott Jr., and Julianna.
It is likely
that the original letter was a handwritten document and we have no known copy
of that letter. While the obvious typos
can be assumed to have been the work of Marian Warmoth, it is not clear which
spelling errors might have been hers and which in the handwritten letter.
