Reminiscences of a Pioneer | Page 4

fumed and
threatened, and Indians with war-whoops and yells mounted horses and
rode off from the opposite side. The traders said they were going after
the tribe to exterminate the entire train. They were plainly told that the
first shot fired by traders or Indians would sound their own death
knell--that they, the traders, would be shot down without mercy.
The ferry boats were then seized and the work of crossing the river
began. As fast as the wagons were crossed over they were driven down
the river, one behind another, forming a corral, with the open side
facing the river in the form of a half wheel. When the wagons had all
been crossed, the loose stock was swum over into the opening. There
was no confusion, but everything proceeded with almost military
precision. A committee had been appointed to keep tally on the number

of wagons crossed on the boats. The traders were then paid $4 for each
and every wagon. Still they fumed and threatened. The faces of the
more timid blanched and a few women were in tears. I beheld the
whole proceedings with childish wonder. But the circumstances of that
4th of July and the execution of the murderer were burned into my
brain with letters of fire, never to be effaced while memory holds her
sway.
Every man was under arms that night. Horses were tied up and the
work oxen chained to the wagons, a strict guard being kept on the
traders in the mean time. The next morning the long string of wagons
started out on the road. Two hundred men rode on either side to defend
the train, while scouting parties rode at a distance to guard against
surprise. This formation was kept up for several days, but seeing
neither traders nor Indians the different trains separated and each went
its way unmolested.
Bear river and Soda Springs were next passed. A few miles this side of
Soda Springs the roads forked, one going to California and the other to
Oregon. Here a council was held. A portion of "our train" wanted to
take the California road. Others preferred the Oregon route. A vote was
taken and resulted in a majority for Oregon, and association and
friendship being stronger than mere individual preference, all moved
out on the Oregon road.
Snake river was finally reached, and here the real trials of the journey
began. From some cause, not then understood, our oxen began to die.
The best and fattest died first, often two and three in one camp. Cows
were drawn into the yoke and the journey resumed. But it soon became
evident that loads must be lightened. Wagons loaded with stores and
provisions were driven to the side of the road and an invitation written
with charcoal for all to help themselves. To add to the difficulties of
our situation, the Snake Indians were surly and insolent to a degree.
Gradually a gloom settled over all. No more of laughter, of dancing and
song. And faster and faster the oxen died. Camping places were almost
unbearable on account of the dead and decaying cattle. And then the
terrible mountains of which we had heard so much were before us.
Would we ever reach the settlements? This was a question that began to
prey upon the minds of many. A few of the young men shouldered a
blanket and some provisions and started on foot to reach the valley.

Others began to despair of ever reaching the promised land. If those
who cross the continent now in palace cars and complain of the
tediousness of the journey could take one look at the wreck and
desolation that lined the poisoned banks of Snake river, they would
hide their heads in very shame.
As our situation became more desperate it appeared the Indians became
more sullen and mean. Guards were kept night and day, the women and
children driving the teams and loose cattle and horses in order that the
men might get some rest. At one point the danger seemed imminent.
The men on night guard reported that the horses were snorting and
acting as if Indians were about. Mr. Fathergill's mule appeared
especially uneasy. The cattle and horses were then all driven to camp,
the horses tied up and the oxen chained to the wagons. The next
morning moccasin tracks were discovered within a hundred yards of
our camp, showing plainly that only extreme caution and foresight had
saved us all from massacre. After that camps were selected with a view
to defense. A point was finally reached where we were to bid farewell
to the dread Snake river. Several trains camped there that night. Among
them was a man named Wilson, a brother of ex-Senator Henry Wilson
of Colusa county. Cattle