goldfields

Friday, 2nd. Continued to coast up the N. fork [of the Platte River]; the bottoms of the river were in many places completely covered with Glauber Salts, so much so that even handfuls could be taken up perfectly white.

Glauber’s salt is a hydrous sodium sulfate mineral, also known as sal mirabilis (wonderful or miraculous salt). It was formerly used as a laxative, much as Epsom salt (magnesium sulfate) was, until gentler methods came along. Now the mineral is mainly used in the manufacture of detergents, and in paper pulping. Bidwell saw it everywhere is the West.

Saturday, 3rd. Left the N. fork; a distance of 12 miles took us to a spring of cool, though unpleasantly tasted water. The day was intensely warm, and road mountainous; killed four buffalo and two deer.

Sunday, 4th. Pursued our way over hills and dales, scorched with heat; came to a small copse of red willows, from which issued excellent springs of water. Three buffalo killed, distance travelled 22 miles.

They were getting close to Independence Rock, and their guide Thomas Fitzpatrick could tell them so.

No one in the group, not Bidwell, nor Jimmy John, nor Father De Smet, make mention of any celebration of Independence Day on the 4th of July in their journals. Yet you’d think it could hardly have gone unremarked. But their focus was always on the day-to-day difficulties of the journey: the rough terrain, the need to find food and water, and the imperative to press on.

When I talk to 3rd and 4th grade classes about John Bidwell, I usually start with his westward journey. I show them a picture of a small ox-drawn wagon, the kind he would have taken, and ask them what they would pack for a 6-month journey, making sure that they understand that there will be no place to buy food along the way and that all food will have to be made “from scratch.” (Which can be difficult, but fun, for youngsters to imagine.)

They will come up with water, bread (“you’ll have to make your own bread, so take some flour”), and apples, among other things. If someone mentions meat, we talk about no refrigeration — how will you get meat? And then one child (usually a boy) will happily announce that you will need a gun.

Yes indeed, a gun was an essential tool. After the Bidwell-Bartleson Party left Fort Laramie they saw buffalo in abundance as they traveled along the Platte River. They were eating buffalo meat on a daily basis at this time.

But what else was on the menu? Besides the supplies they had in their wagons, what else could they find to eat along the trail?

Bidwell mentions:

many wild pears, likewise an abundance of peas, wild — though the bush was dissimilar to to ours, yet the the pods bore an exact similarity, taste, the same.

I have no idea what this pea-plant was.

James John, in his diary covering the same period, writes of “a kind of mountain turnip.”

They are about as large as hen’s eggs and are tender and good eating; also there is currants and mountain cherries.

(These were maybe chokecherries.)

In Wyoming they also found excellent grass for their animals, and grizzly bears. James John was referring to grizzlies when he wrote:

There are some gray bears there which are monsters. Large, but we have killed none of them yet.

If there are any Euell Gibbons types out there who are familiar with edible wild plants, and can identify these pioneer foods, please let us know.

We gradually receded from the river in order to pass through a gap in a range of high hills called Scott’s Bluffs. As we advanced towards these hills, the scenery of the surrounding country became beautifully grand and picturesque–they were worn in such a manner by the storms of unnumbered seasons that they really counterfeited the lofty spires, towering edifices, spacious domes, and in fine all the beautiful mansions of cities. We encamped among these envious objects having come about 20 miles.

After the flat monotony of the prairies, Scotts Bluff provided a welcome change of scenery for travelers on the Oregon Trail. Many travelers remarked on the fantastic forms taken by the steep-sided hills in this area of western Nebraska. More information about the history and geology of Scotts Bluff can be found at the website for Scotts Bluff National Monument and the Oregon-California Trails Association. 

Here is what Scotts Bluff looks like today. Much the same, except that the Bidwell-Bartleson Party had to negotiate deep ravines, like the ones in the foreground, rather than the smooth road you see on the left.

Scotts Bluff National Monument

Looks like John Bidwell left his wagon behind.

From John Bidwell’s Journal:

Thursday 17th. Continued to coast along up the river — encamped on its banks nearly opposite to a huge isolated bluff bearing some resemblance to an immense castle in  ruins. Its distance from us no one supposed more than 1 1/2 miles, and yet it was at least 7. This deception was owing to the pure atmosphere through which it was viewed, and the want of objects, by which only, accurate ideas of distance can be acquired without measure.

The “huge isolated bluff” was probably what other pioneers called Courthouse Rock and the smaller Jail Rock. In the otherwise flat terrain of western Nebraska these features can be seen for miles around.

Jail Rock and Courthouse Rock, Nebraska

Sunday, 13th. A mournful accident occurred in the camp this morning–a young man by the name of Shotwell while in the act of taking a gun out of the wagon, drew it with the muzzle towards him in such a manner that it went off and shot him near the heart. He lived about an hour and died in the full possession of his senses.

This was the only death during the entire dangerous trip. George Shotwell was “buried in the most decent manner our circumstances would admit of, after which a funeral sermon was preached by Mr. Williams.”

James John vividly describes the same incident:

I was out of camp seeking oxen from the river. I heard the report of a gun and heard a Scream. I went to the camp and saw a man bleeding on the ground. He was taking his gun out of the wagon with the muzzle towards him and it discharged and shot him thru the left side. He lived about an hour and died. We buried him the the sand about a mile from the Camp.

It was a lesson in gun safety: never grab a gun, loaded or unloaded, by the muzzle. Poor George Shotwell! A letter was sent to his family later by a returning traveler, and at Fort Laramie “the things of Mr. Shotwell were sold at auction.”

Thursday, 10th.  This morning the most of the oxen were again at large, owing to the neglect of the owners to the great danger of losing them by the Indians and by their mingling with buffalo, or  by straying so far that it would be impossible to track them on account of the innumerable tracks of the buffalo. Making therefore a rather late start, we continued to ascend the river on the N side. We traveled about 14 miles and encamped on the river. Buffalo were seen in countless thousands on the opposite side of the river; from the time we began our journey this morning till we ceased to travel at night, the whole south side of the stream was completely clouded by these huge animals, grazing in the valley and on the hills, ruminating upon the margin of the river, or crowding down its banks for water.

Through the remissness of the sentinels, the guard last night was nearly vacant; and as this was considered dangerous ground on account of the warlike Pawnees, Chiennes etc., a court martial was called to force those to their duty on guard, who were so negligent and remiss.

This is an interesting example of how the emigrants organized and disciplined themselves. At the outset of their expedition, being Americans, they elected a president and a recording secretary, and also a captain. So it was both a democratic association  and a semi-military organization.

When a problem arose, they consulted together in a trial, or court martial, of the offenders. Bidwell doesn’t indicate any punishment given. I imagine the men who were found guilty were given extra guard duties for a time.

Friday 11th. The oxen had wandered about 1/2 mile from the camp this morning, when a man was sent to bring them in; he soon came running back in great haste, crying “the Indians are driving the oxen off!!” In less than half an hour the oxen were at camp and not an Indian seen–all this is easily accounted for when we consider how timidity and fear will make every bush, or stone, or stump an Indian, and 40 Indians, thousands. Vast herds of buffalo continued to be seen on the opposite side of the river. Distance today about 20 miles.

From John Bidwell’s Journal:

Tuesday, 8th. There were 8 or 10 buffalo killed today; but not one-tenth of the meat was used; the rest was left to waste upon the prairie. In the afternoon we passed the confluence of the N. & S. forks of the Platte river & encamped, having come about 18 miles; many hundreds of buffaloes were seen at this place.

The scenery of the country on the Platte is rather dull and monotonous, but there are some objects which must ever attract the attention of the observant traveler; I mean the immense quantity of buffalo bones, which are everywhere strewed with great profusion, so that the valley, throughout its whole length and breadth, is nothing but one complete slaughter yard, where the noble animals used to graze, ruminate and multiply in uncounted thousands–but they are fast diminishing. If they continue to decrease in the same ratio that they have for the past 15 or 20 years, they will ere long become totally extinct. It has been but a few years since they left the frontiers of Missouri, and are now fast retreating towards the Rocky Mountains.

The Indians are anxious to preserve them, and it is said of them that they never kill as long as they have any meat remaining, but behold with indignation the shameful and outrageous prodigality of the whites, who slaughter thousands merely for their robes and leave the meat, which is far more delicious than that of tame cattle, to waste or be eaten by wolves and vultures.

When you think that the massive slaughter of the American bison had only just begun, and that the great Gold Rush migration, and the building of the railroad, was yet to come, you realize how prescient John Bidwell was when he foretold the extermination of the buffalo. Those mighty herds would be brought to the edge of extinction before the slaughter ended and the rescue began.

Saturday, 5th. Started early to get clear of our red visitors. Descried a large herd of buffalo on the opposite side of the river–saw several boats descending the river, laden with fur, robes, etc. They belonged to the American Fur Company–one of our Company, E. Stone, returned with them.

The latter part of the day was very inclement, high winds, dark clouds rushed in wild confusion around and above us. Soon with amazement we saw a lofty waterspout, towering like a huge column to support the arch of the sky; and while we were moving with all haste, lest it should pass over us and dash our wagons to pieces, it moved off with the swiftness of the wind and was soon lost among the clouds. Rain & hail succeeded, the largest hailstones I ever saw. Several were found, an hour after the sun came out bright & warm, larger than a turkey egg.

Another one of the emigrants, James John, described this same storm:

There came up a storm in the afternoon. The wind blew very hard and on the opposite side of the river a tremendous hurricane. We saw trees flying on the air and water blown our of the river a high apparently as the clouds. After the storm abated we traveled about one mile and found hail stones as big as goose eggs.

Tornadoes, hailstorms, and wild weather are nothing new to the Great Plains, but this was the first time these Americans had seen weather quite so spectacular.