Sharing our Links to the Past
|
|
Across the Plains in the Early 1860s By Abbie Brown Introduction The following was copied from THE LAKE PLACID NEWS, Friday September 29, 1916. Salmon Brown, son of John Brown and Mary A. Brown was born at Hudson, Ohio, October 2, 1836 and died at Portland, Oregon May 10, 1919. Abbie C. (Hinckley) Brown was born at North Elba, New York, July 11, 1839 and died in September 1929. She was the daughter of Horatio Hinckley. Note from Wallace F. Gray: This story came to my attention when Sandra Knopf <saknopf@earthlink.net> told me of it. It was posted on the Norcal Rootsweb mailing list by Marilyn Heitz <marilyn2@hotcoco.infi.net > who got it from the former wife of Abbie's grandson. Marilyn said it was fine for me to post it here.(E-mail correspondence in November 1999.) I give below a brief history of John Brown: John Brown (1800-1859) was an abolitionist whose attempt to free the slaves cost a number of lives and helped indirectly to bring on the Civil War. From his youth he hated slavery. In 1857 Brown began collecting arms to invade the South. He planned to raid the United States arsenal at Harpers' Ferry in western Virginia (now West Virginia.) He and 18 followers captured the arsenal on October 16, 1859, but were caught. Colonel Robert E. Lee delivered Brown to the state for trial. He was convicted on charges of treason and hanged on December 2. Union troops, when the Civil War began, sang, "John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave, His soul goes marching on." Headlines and paragraphing added. We were married on the 15th day of October 1857, in the town of New Elba, New York, in the Adirondack Mountains, where the body of John Brown lies buried. It was a cold, stormy day, and one of our neighbors, an old lady eighty years old, deplored the fact that we were married on such a tempestuous day, as she was afraid our married life might prove unhappy, but upon learning that none of the wedding cake was burned she concluded that possibly our marked life might be harmonious. Mr. [Salmon] Brown was twenty-one and I was eighteen, and although we may have done some foolish and unwise things, we have had a fairly comfortable life, and so far have not seriously meditated getting a divorce. Mr. Brown, who was a man of great determination and energy, went into the forest and cleared several acres of land and built a house of hewed logs, and also a barn. We had a cow, a yoke of oxen, some sheep, and poultry. We also made several hundred pounds of maple sugar every year, the most of which we sold for eight cents a pound. It was a lonesome old hole in the woods, but I was happy with my husband and children and did not know enough to realize that we were shut off from most everything that is supposed to contribute to comfort and happiness. We surely lived the simple life. Mr. Brown was seldom away from home and was always at home evenings with one notable exception. He had occasion to go away for a few hours, and I expected him home to supper, but as the evening wore away and he did not come I was sure some dreadful thing had happened to him. When eleven o'clock came I concluded to go after him. I had to go a half mile to the woods and was afraid of wild animals, so I thought I would go armed. I took my baby in my arms and a lantern and the pitchfork and drove the old cow ahead of me. I had considerable work getting the poor old beast started as she did not understand the importance of the undertaking. I had gone about half way through the woods when I met Mr. Brown. He made he woods ring with his laughter, then took the baby and my little cavalcade homeward. But I could see nothing to laugh at. It did not look funny to me. On his way home he had stopped at my father's house and visited with them and did not realize the lateness of the hour. We had four children born in the six years that we lived in North Elba, two of whom died in infancy. In 1859 two years after we were married, the Harper's Ferry affair occurred; of course, you all know about that, so it won't be necessary to say anything about it. [See Introduction above.] In 1862 Colonel Fairman of New York City got up the 96 New York regiment. He had enough men enlisted to fill his regiment except Company K. It was in the winter and snow was very deep and he had difficult in getting the men, so he came to North Elba to get Mr. Brown to fill out the company, promising him a lieutenant's commission if he would do so. He got the men and the commission, but when the officers found that a son of John Brown was among them they demanded his resignation, saying that they had no objection to him as a man or a gentleman but on account of his father's notoriety they thought it would be detrimental to the regiment. So they drew up a petition which was signed by the line officers and sent it to Governor Morgan to have him removed. Colonel Fairman refused to have anything to do with it, saying he would resign himself first. So rather than make any trouble Mr. Brown resigned and came home. Three weeks after that our little boy was born but he only lived a few weeks. We lived six years in that cold, inhospitable climate, which as one man expressed it had six months winter and the other six months was mighty cold weather. We were contented with our lot and probably would have spent many more years there, if not our whole lives, if an uncle of mine had not returned from California. He came to see us one day and told such glowing tales of that state while he rocked my baby in its cradle and I prepared the meal in the one room which served as kitchen, dining room and parlor, that we felt impelled to emigrate to that land of golden opportunities, and as Mrs. Brown's mother and sisters favored the plan we made arrangements to leave as soon as possible. We sold our farm and our little effects and Mother Brown did the same, and in September of 1863 we started for Iowa, intending in the spring to go to California. In Iowa After we reached Iowa that country looked pretty good to us and we decided to settle there, so we bought a farm, or at least got a contract for one. That winter we bought poultry and quail and shipped them to New York City. It was an exceedingly cold winter, the coldest in the history of that country, and our thoughts turned again to California. We threw up our contract and in April, with our emigrant wagons and with oxen and cows, we made another start for that country. We had three wagons, one for our family, consisting of Mr. Brown and myself and two children, another for Mr. Brown's mother and sisters and one wagon with six Spanish Merino sheep. The last two wagons were driven by two young men who wished to go to California and drove the team for their board. We provided ourselves with hardtack and dried mashed potatoes, dried fruit and sausages made of beef. Our cows, which were yoked with the oxen, were milked at night, and the milk helped very materially with our meals. In the morning the milk was put in milk cans and at noon when we camped we often found a nice little cake of butter which the motion of the wagon had churned. Nebraska Our travels through Iowa were uneventful and when we reached Omaha we reinforced our stock of provisions, which we thought would last us until we reached the Sacramento Valley. We carried a sheet iron stove [with] which we did our cooking. When we camped at night our sheep would leave the wagon on a plank with cleats, and in the morning they always went up of their own accord. To keep my youngest child, who was thirteen months old when we started, from straying away while I was busy, I often tied her with a long rope to the wagon wheel. Before we started from Decorah, in Iowa, where we spent the winter, a man who was going from that town to California arrived at Council Bluf (sic) and told them that the family of John Brown was going to cross the Plains. From there the news preceded us and it was published in the California papers long before we reached there. That was how the rebels, many of whom were crossing the plains that year, found out that we were on the way. When we got to Council Bluff (sic) we found five hundred wagons in line, waiting to cross the Missouri river on the ferry to Omaha. Every thing moved slowly and it was several days before our turn came. After we left Omaha we joined a train going to Denver. The captain, whose name was Woodruff, was going there with loads of freight. On one of his wagons he had the Stars and Stripes and some of the rebels who saw it demanded that it be taken down. Woodruff told them that if they undertook to take it down that they would have a fight on their hands, so it remained there. We traveled with this train for some time, going up the north side of the River Platte. Occasionally some little incident occurred to divert us but so far nothing of very great importance had happened. One day we camped for dinner under a fine large cottonwood tree. When we were about half done eating some one looked up in the tree and saw a dead Indian wrapped in a buffalo skin lying across the branches. It did not take us long to move from there as we were afraid something might drop down on us. One evening we camped near some large mounds of the most beautiful yellow sand. After supper we all went up there, men, women and children, and took off our shoes and stockings and played and frolicked for hours like happy, care-free children. Sometimes we girls would take walks to different points which seemed in that clear atmosphere to be but a few minutes' walk, but which would prove to be miles away, and often we would turn around and come back before we had covered half the distance. We soon began to hear of Indian depredations and the Captain ordered us to give up our walks. I do not remember now just where Chimney Rock stands but it is somewhere on the Platte River. After we came in sight of it and it seemed a few miles from us, it was several days' drive before we were opposite it, for it was on the other side of the river from where we were...When we camped that night Mr. Helsinger, who was traveling with us, proposed going to Chimney Rock. Mr. Brown said he would too, so they started out, though both were hoping the other would back out. It was after dark, though a bright moonlight night, and the Platte was quite wide at that place. They tied their clothes across their backs and swam the river,and when Mr. Brown threw his clothes down on the ground the warning rattle of a huge snake caused them to move on without trying to dispute the right of way. The sound seemed ominous and did not serve to dispel the gloom. From where we were camped it did not look to be more than a few minutes' walk, but distances there are very deceiving and they walked miles before they came to the Rock. They climbed upon the base, but of course, could not climb the shaft. While they were there a rain came up, making it so slippery that the descent was very difficult. When they came back they ran into a camp of rebels, but as soon as they heard their sentiments they beat a hasty retreat without expressing their view on any subject, only making some casual inquiries about the country. I did not expect my husband to be gone more than an hour or two. I lighted a lantern and hung it in the front end of the wagon so they could see where to come back, and then I sat there with my baby in my arms waiting for them to come, and as hour after hour passed I was filled with fears for her safety. I have been frightened and worried many times in my life, but never have I been so filled with such [anxiety to hear] their voices when they returned at one o'clock. Indians and Rebels The Woodruff train went to Denver and we traveled for some time alone but as Indians were getting quite numerous, we thought it best to join some train, especially as we were hearing of murders being committed. We went in with a small train from Indiana, some of whom were tinctured with colored blood. They seemed to know who we were and were very friendly, but as several emigrants were killed the night before we joined them we felt that we ought to get in a larger train. We were soon overtaken by a train of eighty wagons and they seemed anxious for us to come into their train on account of the Indians. We had not traveled many hours before we saw a band of Indians coming. There were two hundred and fifty Sioux on horseback, armed to the teeth with guns and lances which shown (sic) wickedly in the sun and made us feel that our doom was near. They rode in and out among our wagons, probably trying to estimate our strength and preparing to stampede our stock and then massacre us, as that was their mode of warfare. One of them made a grab at one of Mr. Brown's sisters' hair and when she screamed, laughed as though it was a great joke. At last the captain ordered the train stopped and the men got out their guns. Our little four-year-old girl said, "Papa, don't you shoot; if you do they will kill all of us." Fortunately they did not have to shoot. The Indians all fell into line and dropped heir heads and never stirred till our train moved on. I could never forget it if I lived a thousand years, how they looked with their heads all lowered and their horrible naked brown shoulders shining in the sun. They were all huge, powerful specimens of Indians and looked as cruel as death. When our train moved on, the Indians moved on too, single file, and we watched them until they were out of sight, and I suppose if we had not joined that train that morning we would not have lived to tell this tale. We thought then that our troubles were over, but as it proved they had only just begun. We had not been with this train long before we felt that there was something wrong. We traveled with them several days and finally our Indiana friends found that they had planned to kill us and told us of it. We hardly knew whether to believe them or not, but two young men from Virginia came to Mr. Brown and corroborated the story. They said they were Southerners but that they were opposed to anything of that kind. That night the train from Indiana pulled out, urging us to go with them. It was Saturday night and they (the rebels) had planned to camp over Sunday, as the stock was tired and needed rest. It was near the time to camp when the tire came off of one of their wagons and they could go no further. That seemed to be our chance to leave the train as they would have to wait till the tire was set before they could go further. As we did not stop, several of the men got out their guns. Mr. Brown also had his pistol in his hands. For some reason they did not think it was a favorable time for the attack and they allowed us to go over the hill that was near. As soon as we were out of sight, we made all possible speed and soon overtook the other train which had camped for the night. They were overjoyed to see us and when we told them what had happened, they did not consider it safe to stay there, but thought we ought to get as much of a start as we could. As the rebel teams were in so much need of rest and a tire had come off, the men of our train thought they [should] adhere to their plan and camp over Sunday, but I had a feeling that if they meant business they would try to overtake us. We started that night and traveled till four o'clock in the morning, when going down a steep hill, the front wagon tipped over. Not being able to get our meals, we sat in the wagon and munched hardtack and were thankful to get that. As soon as daylight came and the wagon could be righted we traveled on till noon, when we camped to feed ourselves and teams. I could not rid myself of the thought that we were being pursued and that they would not camp over Sunday. The hill where our wagon tipped over could be seen for miles, and I sat in the back end of our wagon and never took my eyes from that hill even when we were eating our dinner. At last my patience was rewarded by the sight of the long train pouring over the hill. We were soon on the road again and we traveled to the full capacity of our teams, only stopping to eat and sleep as little as possible. We traveled nearly a week before we reached Soda Springs where a colony of Morrisites, who had seceded from the Mormons, were living and were being protected by soldiers. The rebel train was not more than three hours behind us. We had told the soldiers of our narrow escape and when the rebels got there they said we were rebels and that they were the Union men. The soldiers spied around their camp and soon found out what they were. Then they lined both camps up and made us take the oath of allegiance. Of course we were glad to do so, but the rebels hated it like poison. Some of the old men hid in the brush but were dragged out and compelled to take the oath; others said they did not mind taking the oath, that they had been made to take it in Missouri. Many of that train were deserters from Price's army. We stayed several days at Soda Springs, and when we felt that we could not spend any more time there they sent an escort of soldiers two hundred miles with us. One of the rebels told Mr. Brown the day they reached Soda Springs that if they would have caught us the night we left them there would have been bloody work. Our stock of provisions was running low so we felt that we must reach California as soon as possible. Once Mr. Brown killed an antelope which was divided with the train, but that was before we joined the rebel train. In doing so he nearly lost his life. The shirt he had on was of a color that could easily be taken for an antelope and as he went crouching along one of the men caught sight of him and was just about to pull the trigger of his gun when he stood up and he saw his mistake. Shortly after the soldiers had left us one of the men killed a fine fat cow that some other train had left behind them. That also was divided and nothing ever tasted better than that fresh beef did after the stale old stuff we had been eating for months. California A great many emigrants crossed the plains that year and over two hundred were killed by Indians. But I guess our lives were spared for some good purpose, for with all of our hairbreadth escapes we reached the Sacramento Valley just six months after we started from Iowa. We reached Red Bluff a hungry, almost barefoot, ragged lot of emigrants. But the people came generously to our aid and gave us feed and clothes. Flour was then eighteen dollars a barrel and dry goods very dear. We were given a sack of flour and other groceries, and I was given a pair of shoes and cloth for a dress , and others of the train were also supplied with necessities. Mr. Brown got a job at once grubbing out young oaks for [four or forty] dollars. He did the job in eight days and we felt rich. That winter we bought a ranch of a hundred and twenty-eight acres and a band of sheep, all on time. Our house was in a grove of cottonwood trees with a fine large spring near it. We thought it was a paradise. In two years our ranch and sheep were paid for. Of course we had free range for our sheep. But that country was hot and [had lots of] malaria, so we decided to move to Humboldt County. Mr. Brown took his sheep over the mountains and went back and moved us up the Coast by water. We lived there twenty five years. Mr. Brown was largely engaged in the sheep business while in Humboldt County. He had three thousand acres of land and he and his partner had fourteen thousand sheep, but they lost eight thousand of them in the winter of ninety and ninety-one. That winter proved to be our undoing, for we lost everything we had except forty head of horses which belonged to the girls and me. Mr. Brown made an assignment and we took our horses and came to Salem (Oregon). When we went to Humboldt County Mr. Brown was about thirty-five years old. He was a powerful man, full of vim and confident in his ability to win success in his business. And he was very successful for many years. Whatever misfortunes we met with were not in any manner due to his mismanagement, but were brought on by circumstances which were beyond his control, such as hard winters, low price of wool and the depredations of wild animals. While we were in Salem we were engaged in a small meat business. We were there nine years, but when our boys went to Alaska we moved to Portland. Our journey across the Plains was an interesting one and we like to look back to it when, like all old people, we get into a reminiscent mood. I would like to take the trip over again in the same way if [we] were younger as we would not be exposed to the dangers that beset us at that time. I do not wonder that old Ezra Meeker likes to repeat the trip. But we're now in the sere [?] and yellow leaf and our steps lag painfully and our tempers and endurance are not what they were once were, so we like to sit in our easy chairs and read the Journal and Oregonian and library books, and do a few light chores to vary the monotony of our lives while we wait the onslaught of the Grim Reaper who will soon gather us (our bodies) to our final resting place. Home Page |
|
© 1998-2002 by Wallace F. and Frances M. Gray. All rights reserved. This Web site may be freely linked. Please send comments and suggestions and report broken links to us at grayfox@sedonalink.com |