Crossing the Great Plains in Ox-Wagons
The mid-19th century witnessed a surge of westward expansion in the United States, fueled by dreams of gold in California and fertile lands in the Oregon Territory. This era saw thousands of families embark on arduous journeys across the Great Plains, seeking new lives and opportunities in the West. Their primary mode of transportation was the ox-wagon, a sturdy yet slow vehicle that became synonymous with the pioneering spirit. This article delves into the realities of crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons, drawing upon the firsthand account of Harriet Scott Palmer, who, as an eleven-year-old girl, experienced the journey firsthand in 1852.
Palmer’s narrative, recorded in 1939 as part of the WPA Federal Writers’ Project, offers a vivid glimpse into the challenges and triumphs of these pioneers. The crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons was not merely a relocation; it was a transformative experience that tested the limits of human endurance and resilience. From the initial preparations to the final arrival in the promised land, every stage of the journey presented its own unique set of obstacles.
The decision to embark on such a venture was not taken lightly. In Palmer’s home in Illinois, the allure of California gold and Oregon’s land grants ignited a fervent "Go West" spirit in her father, John Tucker Scott. The spring of 1852 became a whirlwind of activity. Preparations included the emotional farewells from loved ones, the sale of their farm, and the arduous task of acquiring and training oxen – beasts of burden essential for pulling the heavy wagons across the vast expanse. The air crackled with excitement, anxiety, and the palpable sense of embarking on an unknown future.
April 1st, 1852, marked the beginning of their adventure. A long line of covered wagons, initially pristine white, stood ready to face the rigors ahead. The departure was a communal event, filled with boisterous farewells and the bittersweet feeling of leaving behind familiar surroundings. As the Scott family crossed the Illinois River on a ferry, their loyal dog, Watch, howled from the receding shore, a poignant symbol of the ties they were severing. The journey continued to St. Joseph, Missouri, a vital provisioning point. Palmer’s recollections of Missouri paint a picture of muddy roads, murky water, and widespread poverty, impressions formed through the eyes of a young girl encountering a different way of life, including her first exposure to enslaved African Americans.
The transition into Nebraska marked a dramatic shift in landscape. The seemingly endless plains stretched before them, offering the first glimpse of Native Americans – a group of Potawatomi, adorned in buckskins and beads, leading their ponies in single file. The journey became increasingly challenging as melting snow swelled the streams, rendering the roads treacherous. The Platte River, swift and formidable, posed a significant obstacle. The fear of quicksand loomed large. To mitigate the risk of water damage, John Tucker Scott and his drivers raised the wagon beds. Harriet, carefully placed in the back of the last wagon, vividly recalled the cacophony of yelling drivers, cracking whips, and the jarring motion of the wagons as they navigated the surging waters. Upon reaching the other side, a frantic search ensued when Harriet was discovered, nearly suffocated, hidden beneath the wagon bows. The family, consisting of nine children ranging from four to nineteen, relied on their mother to care for the youngest in "Mother’s wagon".
Tragedy struck in Wyoming, near the Black Hills, this side of Fort Laramie. Palmer’s mother, already weakened by ill health and the rigors of the journey, succumbed to cholera, a rampant killer on the plains. Her death dealt a devastating blow to the family’s morale. The poignant image of a mother buried in a feather bed coffin, her grave marked by stones to ward off wolves and adorned with wild roses, speaks volumes about the grief and hardship endured. The grave was lost forever, a stark reminder of the countless unmarked resting places along the trail. The crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons had extracted a heavy toll.
The relentless journey continued, each day presenting new challenges. The Snake River, stretching for miles without accessible water, forced travelers to endure long stretches without respite. Palmer recounted a particularly grim incident where the camp was inadvertently set up between the decaying carcasses of oxen and a horse, highlighting the constant presence of death and decay along the trail. Near American Falls, a near catastrophe unfolded when the oxen stampeded across the river. A daring rescue attempt ensued, involving multiple men swimming across the treacherous current. One man drowned, and another suffered severe sunburns, trapped among the hot rocks on the opposite bank. The family lost two cows that consumed poisonous plants, an example of the unpredictable dangers that plagued them.
The landscape itself became an adversary. The relentless sun beat down upon them as they traversed cactus-strewn deserts and expanses of sagebrush. Shoes wore out, forcing them to barter with Native Americans for moccasins, which offered little protection against the prickly pears. Oxen, weakened by exhaustion and disease, perished along the way. Near Burnt River, in the heat of August, the family suffered another devastating loss. Palmer’s four-year-old brother, Willie, succumbed to illness. The image of her father, heartbroken, carving a cavity in the solid rock of Burnt River Mountain to serve as a resting place for his son is incredibly moving. Twenty years later, Palmer’s brother Harvey located the grave, identifying it by the juniper tree upon which their father had carved Willie’s name. This highlights the enduring impact of these events and the powerful need to remember those lost along the way. The memory of crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons was forever etched in their minds.
As they neared the Cascade Mountains, the condition of the wagons and oxen deteriorated. Food supplies dwindled. For three days, the family subsisted on meager rations of salal berries and watery soup thickened with flour dust salvaged from an empty sack. The desperate situation prompted a man to sell flour at an exorbitant price of $1.00 per pound. Unfortunately, the flour was tainted with mildew, rendering it almost inedible. In an act of quiet selflessness, Palmer’s sister and aunt secretly saved portions of their own biscuits to share with the youngest children, a testament to the bonds of family and the unwavering commitment to protect the vulnerable.
The arrival at the old Barlow Road and Barlow’s Gate in the Cascade Mountains brought a glimmer of hope. Provisions and fresh fruit, including apples and peaches, became available. It was not long before they reached the valley settlements and were reunited with relatives who had arrived the previous year. Before reaching Oregon City, Palmer’s father managed to purchase two pounds of butter, a rare and coveted treat. However, the hungry children were left disappointed as the adults devoured it before it reached them. This seemingly insignificant detail underscores the sacrifices and deprivations endured during the journey.
Palmer’s responsibilities included herding the loose livestock, a task that often placed her in precarious situations. She was assigned an old one-eyed sorrel mare named Shuttleback, known for her powerful build and skittishness around Native Americans. One day, while seeking water for Shuttleback, Palmer found herself in a dangerous predicament when the mare became trapped in quicksand. Her cries for help were answered by a man driving stock behind her, who summoned her father and other men. Using ropes and poles, they managed to rescue the mare from the quicksand. Palmer’s father, instead of scolding her, simply placed her back on the wet, muddy saddle and urged her to continue, a rare moment of compassion amidst the hardship. Shuttleback was later lost in the Cascade Mountains but was eventually recovered, along with a black colt that became a cherished member of the family.
The descent down Laurel Hill in the Cascade Mountains proved particularly treacherous. The steep, rocky road required the use of chains to slow the wagons. Palmer recounted the story of her aunt Martha losing a shoe and lamenting her inability to continue the journey. The crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons continued to test their limits. Her sister Margaret fell off a wagon wheel, rolling down the mountainside.
The crossing the Great Plains in ox-wagons was filled with many stories. One day, the "Salon Wagon," as they called the wagon that served as a parlor, overturned. Her sister Fanny, after freeing herself, cried out, "Oh Lord, come here quick!".
The sight of a rooster crowing on a fence near Fort Walla Walla brought tears to the eyes of the weary travelers. This seemingly ordinary event served as a powerful symbol of civilization and the promise of a new life after enduring months of hardship.
Harriet Scott Palmer’s account of her family’s journey across the Great Plains in ox-wagons offers a valuable and deeply personal perspective on a pivotal period in American history. It serves as a reminder of the courage, resilience, and sacrifice of the pioneers who shaped the American West.