Part 1

Chapter 13,855 wordsPublic domain

VOICES FROM AMERICA’S PAST

THE WESTWARD MOVEMENT 1832-1889

Edited by Richard B. Morris Gouverneur Morris Professor of History Columbia University New York, New York

James Woodress Chairman, Department of English San Fernando Valley State College Northridge, California

WEBSTER PUBLISHING COMPANY ST. LOUIS ATLANTA DALLAS

VOICES FROM AMERICA’S PAST _The Beginnings of America 1607-1763_ _The Times That Tried Men’s Souls 1770-1783_ _The Age of Washington 1783-1801_ _The Jeffersonians 1801-1829_ _Jacksonian Democracy 1829-1848_ _The Westward Movement 1832-1889_ _The House Divided: The Civil War 1850-1865_ (_Other titles in preparation_)

Acknowledgments

Pages 5-8. From Sarah Royce, _A Frontier Lady_. Reprinted by permission of Yale University Press.

Pages 8-11. From Henry Ellsworth, _Washington Irving on the Prairie_, edited by Williams and Simison, reprinted by permission of American Book Company.

Pages 14-16. From the _Autobiography of Isaac Jones Wistar_, reprinted by permission of The Wistar Institute of Anatomy and Biology.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

Preface v I The Land and the People

Frémont Crosses the Sierras 1 Colonel John Frémont Describes His Expedition 1

The Desert Barrier 5 Sarah Royce Crosses the Desert 5

A Tour on the Prairies 8 Henry Ellsworth Accompanies Washington Irving Across the Plains 8

The Indians 11 Francis Parkman Describes the Dahcotahs 11

The Trappers 13 Isaac Jones Wistar Endures a Hard Winter 13

The Emigrants 16 Francis Parkman Encounters a Wagon Train 16 II The Conquest

To California by Sea 19 Richard Henry Dana, Jr., Visits the Coast of California 20

A Day with the Cow Column 22 Jesse Applegate Herds Cattle on the Oregon Trail 22

The Donner Party Starves 25 Virginia Reed Murphy Survives a Terrible Ordeal 25

Mark Twain Rides the Overland Stage 28 A Memorable Account of Stagecoach Travel from _Roughing It_ 28

The Coming of the Railroad 31 Walt Whitman Writes of the Continental Railroad 31 Samuel Bowles Travels on the Union Pacific 32 III The Mining Frontier

The Discovery of Gold 35 Walter Colton Describes the Effect of the Discovery 36 Eldorado: Bayard Taylor Visits the Mining Camps 37 Mark Twain Doesn’t Strike It Rich 40 IV The Ranching Frontier

The Long Drive 44 Andy Adams Encounters Rustlers 44 V The Farming Frontier

Homesteading in the Dakotas 50 O. E. Rölvaag Pictures the Norwegian Settlers 50

The Land Rush in Oklahoma 55 Hamilton Wicks Races to Guthrie 55

The picture on page 1, George Catlin’s “Buffalo Hunt on Snow Shoes,” was reprinted through the courtesy of the Thomas Gilcrease Institute of American History and Art. The picture on page 19, “The Meeting of the Rails,” was reprinted through the courtesy of the United States Bureau of Public Roads. The picture on the cover; the picture on page 35, of gold mining in California; the picture on page 44, of Texas cattle being driven to the cattle rendezvous; and the picture on page 50, of plowing on the prairies west of the Mississippi, were reprinted through the courtesy of the Library of Congress.

Preface

It is hard to fix a beginning date for the Westward Movement, unless we start with 1492 and Columbus’ first voyage of discovery. In reality the entire history of the New World is a movement of Europeans to the Western Hemisphere. In earlier booklets in this series we have dealt with the migrations of pioneers from the Atlantic Coast to the land beyond the Appalachian Mountains. We also have covered the expedition of Lewis and Clark to the Pacific Coast in 1805 and the annexation of Texas in 1845. This booklet is primarily concerned with the region beyond the Midwest, the high plains, the Rocky Mountains, the Sierra Nevadas, the deserts, and the fertile Pacific Coast.

Restlessness and mobility have always been distinguishing characteristics of the American people. Revolutionary War veterans settled in Ohio or Kentucky and lived to see their children move on to Missouri or Texas. Their children’s children pushed farther west to the Pacific Coast over the Oregon Trail or sailed around Cape Horn to join the gold rush in California. The westward movement still goes on, as a glance at the latest census report will quickly show. The difference is that nowadays the immigrant can arrive in California in a few hours by jet from New York, pan his gold on the assembly line of a company making guided missiles, and sleep in a cabin with a barbecue grill and a swimming pool in the back yard.

This booklet begins with descriptions of the land and the people in the Great West before the Civil War. This was a period of exploration and conquest. Until they saw for themselves, people could not believe the plains were as broad, the deserts as hot and dry, and the mountains as rugged and high as they really were. Every day was an adventure, some of which ended disastrously. But the West was conquered and the continent spanned by trail, by stagecoach route, and finally by railroad.

When one speaks of the frontier, he must keep in mind that there was more than one frontier as the West filled up. There was, first of all, the frontier of the explorer and trapper. These men had no more effect on the land than the Indians who had roamed the mountains and plains for thousands of years. Next, there was the mining frontier, which brought mushroom growth to specific areas like central California or Denver, Colorado, but left untouched the vast areas in between. Then there was the ranching frontier which created cow towns and cattle trails. Finally, there was the farming frontier, which changed the face of the land unalterably and filled the gaps left by the miners and ranchers.

The frontier of the trappers and explorers ended with the discoveries of gold and silver and the expansion of the borders of the United States all the way to the Pacific Coast. The frontier of the miner and the rancher ended with the building of the transcontinental railroad, which opened up the West to farmers. The frontier of the farmer ended when the entire West was more or less fenced in and dotted with settlements. The closing of the frontier was dramatically announced in 1890 by the director of the census, who reported that no longer could a line be drawn on the map showing the farthest point reached by settlements.

This booklet illustrates the various frontiers from the plains to the Pacific. The West has stimulated the American imagination as almost no other aspect of our history (the television fare on any average night proves this); hence the total literature on the subject is vast. We have selected a handful of interesting reports from the many available.

In editing the manuscripts in this booklet, we have followed the practice of modernizing punctuation, capitalization, and spelling only when necessary to make the selections clear. We have silently corrected misspelled words and typographical errors. Whenever possible we have used complete selections, but occasionally space limitations made necessary cuts in the original documents. Such cuts are indicated by spaced periods. In general, the selections appear as the authors wrote them.

Richard B. Morris James Woodress

The Land and the People

Frémont Crosses the Sierras

Col. John Frémont led several exploring expeditions into the Oregon Territory, mapped the Oregon Trail, and helped add California to the United States during the Mexican War. He later was one of California’s first United States Senators and the first presidential candidate of the Republican Party. In 1844 we find him at the head of an expedition exploring the Sierra Nevada Mountains. In the account that follows, Frémont describes crossing the snowy range in February, over what is now Carson Pass and descending along the approximate route of U. S. Highway 50 to Sacramento.

Colonel John Frémont Describes His Expedition

2d.—It had ceased snowing, and this morning the lower air was clear and frosty; and six or seven thousand feet above, the peaks of the Sierra now and then appeared among the rolling clouds, which were rapidly dispersing before the sun. Our Indian shook his head as he pointed to the icy pinnacles, shooting high up into the sky, and seeming almost immediately above us. Crossing the river on the ice, and leaving it immediately, we commenced the ascent of the mountain along the valley of a tributary stream. The people were unusually silent, for every man knew that our enterprise was hazardous, and the issue doubtful.

The snow deepened rapidly, and it soon became necessary to break a road. For this service, a party of ten was formed, mounted on the strongest horses, each man in succession opening the road on foot, or on horseback, until himself and his horse became fatigued, when he stepped aside, and, the remaining number passing ahead, he took his station in the rear. Leaving this stream, and pursuing a very direct course, we passed over an intervening ridge to the river we had left....

The nut-pines were now giving way to heavy timber, and there were some immense pines on the bottom, around the roots of which the sun had melted away the snow; and here we made our camp and built huge fires. Today we had traveled 16 miles, and our elevation above the sea was 6,760 feet.

3d.—Turning our faces directly towards the main chain, we ascended an open hollow along a small tributary to the river which, according to the Indians, issues from a mountain to the south. The snow was so deep in the hollow, that we were obliged to travel along the steep hillsides, and over spurs, where the wind and sun had in places lessened the snow, and where the grass, which appeared to be in good quality along the sides of the mountains, was exposed. We opened our road in the same way as yesterday, but made only seven miles, and encamped by some springs at the foot of a high and steep hill, by which the hollow ascended to another basin in the mountain. The little stream below was entirely buried in snow....

4th—I went ahead early with two or three men, each with a lead horse to break the road. We were obliged to abandon the hollow entirely and work along the mountainside, which was very steep, and the snow covered with an icy crust. We cut a footing as we advanced and trampled a road through for the animals; but occasionally one plunged outside the trail, and slid along the field to the bottom, a hundred yards below. Late in the day we reached another bench in the hollow, where in summer the stream passed over a small precipice. Here was a short distance of dividing ground between the two ridges, and beyond an open basin, some ten miles across, whose bottom presented a field of snow. At the further or western side rose the middle crest of the mountain, a dark-looking ridge of volcanic rock.

The summit line presented a range of naked peaks, apparently destitute of snow and vegetation; but below, the face of the whole country was covered with timber of extraordinary size.

Towards a pass which the guide indicated here, we attempted in the afternoon to force a road; but after a laborious plunging through two or three hundred yards, our best horses gave out, entirely refusing to make any further effort, and, for the time, we were brought to a stand. The guide informed us that we were entering the deep snow, and here began the difficulties of the mountain; and to him, and almost to all, our enterprise seemed hopeless....

5th—The night had been too cold to sleep, and we were up very early. Our guide was standing by the fire with all his finery on; and seeing him shiver in the cold, I threw on his shoulders one of my blankets. We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and never saw him again. He had deserted....

While a portion of the camp were occupied in bringing up the baggage to this point, the remainder were busied in making sledges and snowshoes. I had determined to explore the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to be used in transporting the baggage....

6th—Accompanied by Mr. Fitzpatrick, I set out today with a reconnoitering party on snowshoes. We marched all in single file, trampling the snow as heavily as we could. Crossing the open basin in a march of about ten miles, we reached the top of one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indicated by our guide. Far below us, dimmed by the distance, was a large snowless valley, bounded on the western side, at the distance of about a hundred miles, by a low range of mountains which [_Kit_] Carson recognized with delight as the mountains bordering the coast. “There,” said he, “is the little mountain—it is fifteen years since I saw it; but I am just as sure as if I had seen it yesterday.” Between us, then, and this low coast range, was the valley of the Sacramento.

Frémont and his companions retraced their steps to camp and spent the next four days preparing for the final ascent to the pass. The temperature was three below zero on the eighth, and on the ninth snow fell. They then were camped at 8,000 feet.

11th—High wind continued, and our trail this morning was nearly invisible—here and there indicated by a little ridge of snow. Our situation became tiresome and dreary, requiring a strong exercise of patience and resolution.

In the evening I received a message from Mr. Fitzpatrick, acquainting me with the utter failure of his attempt to get our mules and horses over the snow—the half-hidden trail had proved entirely too slight to support them, and they had broken through, and were plunging about or lying half buried in snow. He was occupied in endeavoring to get them back to his camp; and in the meantime sent to me for further instructions. I wrote to him to send the animals immediately back to their old pastures; and, after having made mauls and shovels, turn in all the strength of his party to open and beat a road through the snow, strengthening it with branches and boughs of the pines.

12th—We made mauls, and worked hard at our end of the road all day. The wind was high, but the sun bright, and the snow thawing. We worked down the face of the hill, to meet the people at the other end. Towards sundown it began to grow cold, and we shouldered our mauls and trudged back to camp....

14th—the dividing ridge of the Sierra is in sight from this encampment....

16th—We had succeeded in getting our animals safely to the first grassy hill; and this morning I started with Jacob on a reconnoitering expedition beyond the mountain. We traveled along the crests of narrow ridges, extending down from the mountain in the direction of the valley, from which the snow was fast melting away. On the open spots was tolerably good grass; and I judged we should succeed in getting the camp down by way of these. Towards sundown we discovered some icy spots in a deep hollow; and, descending the mountain, we encamped on the headwater of a little creek, where at last the water found its way to the Pacific....

I was now perfectly satisfied that we had struck the stream on which Mr. Sutter lived; and turning about, made a hard push, and reached the camp at dark. Here we had the pleasure to find all the remaining animals, 57 in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill near the camp....

On the 19th, the people were occupied in making a road and bringing up the baggage; and, on the afternoon of the next day, _February 20, 1844_, we encamped, with the animals and all the _matériel_ of the camp, on the summit of the PASS [_Carson Pass, altitude, 8,635 ft._] in the dividing ridge.

The expedition then began the descent towards the Sacramento River Valley, which was just as hard as the climb. By the time they reached lower altitudes, where they found grass for their horses and mules and game and fish for themselves, they were nearly exhausted and their animals almost starved. But the journey ended successfully, and the expedition reached Sutter’s ranch on the American River on March 6.

The Desert Barrier

Sarah Royce Crosses the Desert

It is hard today to realize the terrors that the desert held for settlers who toiled across the empty wastes by covered wagon in 1849. The trip, which now takes only a few hours by auto, then required days of courage and endurance, plus careful preparation. In the following narrative Sarah Royce, mother of the philosopher Josiah Royce, tells of her experiences in crossing the desert from Salt Lake City to the California gold fields. She was traveling in a single wagon with her two-year-old daughter, her husband, and several other men when the party lost its way. They had started before daylight and missed a turn which led to a grassy meadow and water. Hence they found themselves at noon far out on the desert, lacking fodder for the oxen and water.

We began to look anxiously for the depression in the ground, and the holes dug, which we were told would mark the Sink of the Humboldt. But it was nearly noonday before we came to them. There was still some passable water in the holes, but not fit to drink clear, so we contrived to gather enough sticks of sage to boil some, made a little coffee, ate our lunch and, thus refreshed, we hastened to find the forking road. Our director had told us, that within about two or three miles beyond the Sink we might look for the road, to the left, and we did look, and kept looking, and going on, drearily, till the sun got lower and lower, and night was fast approaching. Then the conviction, which had long been gaining ground in my mind, took possession of the whole party. We had passed the forks of the road before daylight, that morning, and were now miles out on the desert without a mouthful of food for the cattle and only two or three quarts of water in a little cask.

What could be done? Halt we must, for the oxen were nearly worn out and night was coming on. The animals must at least rest, if they could not be fed: and, that they might rest, they were chained securely to the wagon, for, hungry and thirsty as they were, they would, if loose, start off frantically in search of water and food, and soon drop down exhausted. Having fastened them in such a way that they could lie down, we took a few mouthfuls of food, and then, we in our wagon and the men not far off upon the sand, fell wearily to sleep; a forlorn little company wrecked upon the desert.

The first question in the morning was, “How can the oxen be kept from starving?” A happy thought occurred. We had, thus far on our journey, managed to keep something in the shape of a bed to sleep on. It was a mattress-tick, and, just before leaving Salt Lake, we had put into it some fresh hay—not very much, for our load must be as light as possible; but the old gentleman traveling with us also had a small straw mattress; the two together might keep the poor things from starving for a few hours. At once a small portion was dealt out to them and for the present they were saved. For ourselves we had food which we believed would about last us till we reached the Gold Mines if we could go right on: if we were much delayed anywhere, it was doubtful. The two or three quarts of water in our little cask would last only a few hours, to give moderate drinks to each of the party.

They decided they must return, the distance to the next waterhole was too far. Soon after they began retracing their steps, they met another group of emigrants, who confirmed their suspicions that they had missed the turn 15 miles back.

I had now become so impressed with the danger of the cattle giving out, that I refused to ride except for occasional brief rests. So, soon after losing sight of the dust of the envied little caravan, I left the wagon and walked the remainder of the day. For a good while I kept near the wagon but, by and by, being very weary I fell behind. The sun had set, before we reached the Sink, and the light was fading fast when the wagon disappeared from my sight behind a slight elevation; and, as the others had gone on in advance some time before, I was all alone on the barren waste. However, as I recognized the features of the neighborhood, and knew we were quite near the Sink, I felt no particular apprehension, only a feeling that it was a weird and dreary scene and instinctively urged forward my lagging footsteps in hope of regaining sight of the wagon....

The next morning we resumed our backward march after feeding out the last mouthful of fodder. The water in the little cask was nearly used up in making coffee for supper and breakfast; but, if only each one would be moderate in taking a share when thirst impelled him, we might yet reach the wells before any one suffered seriously. We had lately had but few chances for cooking; and only a little boiled rice with dried fruit, and a few bits of biscuit remained after we had done breakfast. If we could only reach the meadows by noon. But that we could hardly hope for, the animals were so weak and tired. There was no alternative, however, the only thing to be done was to go steadily on, determined to do and endure....

I found no difficulty this morning in keeping up with the team. They went so slowly, and I was so preternaturally [_unnaturally_] stimulated by anxiety to get forward, that, before I was aware of it I would be some rods ahead of the cattle, straining my gaze as if expecting to see a land of promise, long before I had any rational hope of the kind. My imagination acted intensely. I seemed to see Hagar, in the wilderness walking wearily away from her fainting child among the dried-up bushes, and seating herself in the hot sand. I seemed to become Hagar myself, and when my little one, from the wagon behind me, called out, “Mamma I want a drink”—I stopped, gave her some, noted that there were but a few swallows left, then mechanically pressed onward again, alone, repeating, over and over, the words, “Let me not see the death of the child.”