May, 2010

Issue #8

Traveling to the Rocky Mountains in 1847
by Oscar Case

INTRODUCTION
My great-great-grandfather was one of the original Mormon Pioneers who travelled to Utah Territory in 1847 and I have taken the liberty of writing this humorous, fictional short story of the trip in his honor.

I - THE MEETING ON THE PAWNEE INDIAN RESERVATION
So, here I am, sitting on the high bench seat of my wagon, just me alone sitting here, on my way to the Rocky Mountains, to some desert valley by a big, salty lake, they said. The gent that's riding with me is sleeping in the back. Can't blame him for that, even though it is about mid-day. He had a busy night last night on night guard to hear him tell it.

"Get along there, Blocky and Rocky," I yelled to the two oxen pulling the wagon over the hills and through the vales by the Platte River.

Yup, here I am, the captain of fifty wagons all strung out over the prairie. Supposed to lead them all the way, about seven or eight hundred miles, to that valley in the desert, and, hell, I haven't been further west than fifty or sixty of them miles past where I was when they asked me to join up. So far, can't complain, though.

The other explorers in the party have been very cooperative, keeping right up with everybody else, not too many arguments, but, hell, we only been traveling for five days, and no women in my fifty. Makes it easier that way, but two or three of the leading men just couldn't leave their wives behind. I ain't straight on that yet, are they henpecked or just can't cook for themselves? Don't know exactly who them women belong to, even though I seen them once or twice. I seldom get a chance to see what's going on up there with them being at the front. Might be a mile or two away from us. That's the bad thing about being in the back part of the train, we get all the dust, and bad dust it is, when the wind blows from the west. Don't mind it when it comes from any other direction.

It was funny how they thought I should join up with them. Hell, I wasn't even a Mormon, no sir, born and raised in the Presbyterian Church, I was. Even came out here with a couple of Reverends of that faith. First thing these gents said was, "You're going to have to convert to our religion. We need you to get us through this Pawnee territory. If you would join the Mormon Church, we would have a lot more trust in you. We don't get along too good with other religions in this part of the country."

They had come riding up one afternoon out of nowhere, said they had heard about the white people working with the Indians out here on the Loup River. Six or seven of them, well armed, a tough looking bunch, if you ask me. Said they had been kicked out of Nauvoo, Illinois, and had no place to go until their leader, Brigham Young, had a talk ith God, and God had told him to collect his people and head out west to the Rocky Mountains where they'd find water and land and more Indians, and told 'em to till the land, grow the crops, and ye shall prosper until the ends of time. And the leader of this bunch, said his name was something or other, which I didn't quite catch, said they were the advance exploration party for the expedition.

I said, "You're lost now, it looks like to me. There ain't no Rocky Mountains around here, as you can see."

He gave me a queer stare right in the eye, and made me shudder a little, and said, "We know there ain't no mountains here, but we seen plenty of Indians, and we were thinking they're just out here now hunting there buffalo for the winter. But we can't wait that long for them to return to the Rocky Mountains so we can follow 'em. Brigham wants to be in that valley God told him about before the first snow flies, and we were lookin' for somebody that could lead us there. You're the only white man we run into in a couple of weeks, so we thought we'd stop and ask you about joining up with us, since you could probably get us through the Pawnee territory without getting us killed."

"What about that part about having to convert to Mormonism?" I asked. Hell, I didn't really care what faith I was by now, but I would've liked a church that wasn't hated so bad by everybody.

"As Mr. Young told us, we can't have somebody that's not a Mormon leading us Mormons to Paradise on earth. Wouldn't be right. He sounded pretty set on that," the same explorer told me, but in a more soothing and polite way.

So, I thought to myself, I'm getting pretty sick of this country and nobody around to talk to but the Pawnee, which lingo I don't understand anyway, maybe I should take him up on this deal. The Pawnee Agency hired me back a few years ago, and it ain't like it used to be. But they got that liquor situation straightened out and allowed me back on the reservation, but I'm getting a little tired of all this work. Seems like I been doing it for nothing for all the interest the Indians have shown in it. Hell, joining up with the Mormons would be better than this, with that Agent for the Pawnee about ready to lay me off again, anyway.

"I have to go back to Council Bluffs to tell my wife and boys," I told him.

And, by golly, here I am. They even made me a captain of fifty wagons, even though it is the tail part of the train, to start out. But, I don't mind, no, sir. I'm sorry I had to take the Agency's only oxen and a bunch of tools and stuff, though. I'll have to send them some money for that. Maybe I can take up a collection among these Mormons and send it to Council Bluffs to satisfy that Agent. Hell, I think being a Mormon is going to work out just fine, as long as we don't get overrun by them Indians and get ourselves in a mass-acree.

"Haya! Haya! Blocky and Rocky, get some speed up, we got a long ways to go!"

II - CHIMNEY ROCK
Well, here we are at the rock they call Chimney, sticks straight up in the air a couple hundred feet, looks like to me. It's pretty independent out here all by itself except for that other clump of rocks over there. Never did hear why they called it Chimney, but some of the explorers been talking among themselves on that very thing. Don't think none of 'em know what they're talking about, though. Pretty simple, it's supposed to look like a chimney. I guess you get far enough away from it, it would stick up like a chimney. But they ain't never going to get any smoke out of it.

We had a big prayer meeting every night as we traveled along, all gathered around the leaders, Brigham Young and a few others, who took turns leading us all in prayer. It usually sounded about the same, but they all prayed in earnest, talking to the Lord and, consequently, to ourselves about how the trip has gone, and thanking Him for leading us to Paradise on earth. A couple times Brigham said a few words after the prayer, usually chastising some member or other about the way they been acting on the trip, telling them that we still had a long way to go, and we didn't have room for all those petty arguments he heard about, and it was all well and good to be happy in the evening after the chores were done, but he didn't like the men dancing with each other and staying up so late at night. He told 'em it was unseemly for grown men to be carrying on like that, especially in front of the females of the party. "Oh yes," he said, "they know all about it, and it has made them blush and hide their eyes on more than one occasion to see and hear grown men acting like the fools they're turning into."

Hell, it didn't bother me a bit after what I seen them Pawnee do when they got a hold of a bottle or two of that rotgut whiskey. You should've seen what they did, half-naked as they were to begin with. At least the men in our party keep their clothes on most of the time, except for the weekly dip in the river to get the grime and dust off themselves, and some of 'em don't even take off their clothes for that. No sir, just go in dressed like they are every day. Helps to keep the clothes half-way decent, too. I tried that once or twice, but I couldn't stand walking around in a wet pair of britches waiting for them to dry off.

All in all, my fifty has been pretty well behaved, I think. Oh, we got a few of those type men that are belligerent and want to run things. They just can't stand to take orders from somebody else, not even when it's for their own good. Taking them to Heaven on earth, they should be downright happy about that. Hell, I just never could understand that. Only had to beat on two or three of them to make them understand the importance of what we're doing in the Lord's scheme of things. Seemed to work pretty good. Them knowing I'm dead set against violence and bloodshed has made believers out of most of 'em.

The head explorer of the expedition said we'd be getting into the Rockies any day now. In fact, we could see some mountains rising up to the west in the far distance. Some of the men let out a whoop like it was the best news they had heard in years. Hell, don't they know that the hard work starts with them mountains? No reason to get too happy about that. And the Indians have more hiding places on the trail a lot closer than down here on the Platte. Hell, if we don't run into a mass-acree, I'll be surprised.

And that head explorer told us that we would be coming to more landmarks now, the Devil's Gates or something or other, to help guide us through. I never heard of those gates, but it'll be interesting to take a gander at 'em. Who built them in the first place? He never did say, or at least, I never heard him say anything about that. They must be made out of gold to be so important. He said Wyoming Territory started around here somewhere. But before we get to the Devil's Gate we got to get by that other big rock, Independence, he called it. Something about the Fourth of July is why they call it by that name. Haven't got the full particulars on that yet.

Lookin' back over the last weeks, I got to say that it's been a rough expedition, what with that stiff wind blowing in our faces every day, the continual flood of dust, the couple of rainstorms that came blasting out of nowhere, and those darn buffalo that're too numerous to count like big black ants with fur on them tryin' to run us over. Came right near succeeding a couple of times. What gets 'em all in a huff, anyway? Hell, they got the whole damn prairie to wander in, and over some unknown reason, they all head south or north at the same time. Scare the hell out of a ghost, they would.

And we were held up for a couple days due to broken wheels or runaway oxen. Took us awhile to find them in this country. They disappeared into the small valleys and high grass before a cat could lick his tail, dragging their harness along with 'em. Don't they know enough to put an extry rope on 'em and tie it to the wagon? Some of these so-called explorers should've been left behind, and if it had been up to me to do the choosin', they would still be in Nauvoo or Council Bluffs or somewhere other than here. Hell, we'll never get there at this rate.

All that praying came in handy, though, when those Pawnee attacked the train. If they'd had a few more with 'em, it would've been a mass-acree for sure. As it was, it was nip and tuck there for a while. We followed instructions, about all of us did. There were one or two that didn't seem to get the word about what to do if we were attacked by the Indians, though, and that put the whole train in danger, practically, 'til they finally maneuvered their wagons in like they were supposed to. Some people never listen.

I'll be anxious to get into them mountains. Never been that high up before. Hell, the only mountains I've seen were those little ones between New York and Ohio, and I was so young when we made that trip, I hardly remember 'em. Hell, this is a big country.

I might take a walk later tonight when everyone's sleeping except the night guard. I figure I can sneak out and climb up to the top of that rock where I can write something on it to let everybody coming this way know that I was here. They'll think it was Jesus Christ, himself, been up there instead of me. I'll put something like, "Jesus is watching you. You're half-way to Heaven up here, but don't look down. Raise your arms high and sing hosanna, hosanna, God is the King! J.C. WAS HERE!"

Hell, I'm going to have to wait until we reach that Indpendence Rock to do any writing. I thought I could get up high enough on Chimney, but I had to give it up. Had to quit anyway when the night guard caught me with all my paint and brushes. And for some reason he told me that Independence Rock was much easier to climb and you can write away to your heart's content. Never did say how he knew so much about it. The hell with it, is what I say about it. Lose too much sleep climbing around on a rock out in the middle of nowhere where nobody's going to see it anyway except a bunch of Indians who can't read.

I wonder if the Indian Agent has noticed the missing items yet. We'll get more use out of them than the Pawnee anyway the way they go about farming. Never get around to it, they don't.

III - FORT BRIDGER
We made it into Bridger's fort a way ahead of schedule according to my calculations. We're supposed to be by that salty lake before the snow flies, but everything I heard coming down through those mountains of Wyoming, tells me it's only July. Hell, snow don't start flying until September or later, so we're way ahead of schedule. Give us some time to get in a crop or two for the winter. They said we only got about a hundred and fifty more miles to the Great Salt Lake Valley. I'll tell you, I'll be glad when this expedition is over. They cut my leadership down to ten wagons way back there, and have only one captain of fifty now from what I gather, even though there's more wagons than that in the party. Hell, I get 'em through the Pawnee territory with no casualties and they take away four-fifths of my responsibility. If I go too much further, I'll probably be kicked out of the outfit now that I've done my duty. Maybe I should've stayed a Presbyterian. I'm not up to liking this situation as a Mormon too much any more, but I made my bed, now I got to lie in it. We'll see, we'll see.

That Bridger gent is a fine specimen of humanity, I'll tell you. Living out here all by himself just about, him and that other fellow, Vasquez, I think they called him, and taking care of the Indians instead of killing them, he's made himself quite a power. Heard he'd had some fights with them once or twice, but he overcome that and built himself this fort here on the green grass by that little river. Not too luxurious, but why would he want luxury in the middle of nowhere. He's been a big help to the expedition, helping with the wagon repairs, telling us where to go, etc. Yes sir, a big help.

Bridger told us about the Oregon Trail, which direction it headed, and where to take the trail to the valley of the salt lake. I suppose we'll be heading out pretty soon, but, hell, I'm enjoying this stop, the weather is just right, can't beat it, cool at night and warm in the daytime. Plenty of room to spread out and stretch. Beautiful sight, it is!

Whoa up, there, some riders are approaching the fort from up that salty lake trail. Wonder who they could be. Bridger said that everybody's been coming or going on that Oregon Trail, but here we are, about a dozen riders in that party coming in from the south. They look like they been on the road a while, and they're asking for Brigham Young.

Turns out they're a party of Mormons that took that boat out to the Pacific to California, and are headed back east to deliver messages and such about the church group out there. I heard about them before, yes sir, old what's-his-name they called him, a leader of that group. They were talking about him on the trail here, some of the leaders every once in awhile would bring up his name for one reason or another. They been pretty well huddled up with the leaders of our expedition. Must have a bunch of important news to pass on the way they been huddling tight with Brigham. Had another big prayer meeting, said they'd been discussing church matters, thanked the Lord for preserving us in our travails, and to protect us on this last leg of the journey. Amen.

This morning they took off heading east bright and early, and we captains were called up to a meeting with our leaders for some reason or another. Hell, there's more talking around here than anything else. Yup, just as I thought, we're to get our wagons in order, 'cause we're leaving tomorrow morning. This'll be the last jaunt on this great expedition with the Salt Lake valley only a few days away. Through more mountains, of course. We're right in the middle of these Rocky Mountains, and by Hell, it's a glorious sight to behold! The air is a good deal thinner than it was down there on the prairie and is just as clear as a bell, you can see all the hills and mountains in the distance. Feels like you're on top of the world. Makes a man's feet tickle after a few days rest and a rebuilding of the physical parts. Feels like we ought to be doing something besides sitting around here waiting for the cold weather to set in.

There are plenty of Indians camped around the fort, Shoshones, Utes, etc., even some Arapaho and Sioux they said, enough to have a big mass-acree and wipe us all out if they take the notion. But Bridger said not to worry, they just want to do some trading, get some goods, to pacify them over the winter season. Thank God for that. Hell, I thought they were all out hunting buffalo on the prairies to get their winter meat. A lot more of them than I thought. Live and learn, I say, live and learn.

IV - THIS MIGHT BE THE PLACE
What a glorious sight it presented from the hillside up above as my wagon came around the last bend of the trail! I could see across the valley the salty lake everyone had been talking about, and south of that the mountains on the other side of the sweeping, broad depression that made up the Great Salt Lake Valley. You could tell how salty that water was by the whiteness of the soil around it on the beaches. There was a nice-sized island sticking up that one could distinguish in the glare of the sun off the water. The lake was big, vanishing into the horizon to the west.

If you'd asked me a few days ago, I wouldn't have believed we could get a wagon down that last cut, narrow as it was. No trail of any kind on that hill, and that creek running through it presented a tough obstacle to get a wagon through. Hell, I wouldn't have believed it! But somehow that crew Brigham sent down there to clear the way did just that, but it still wasn't a joy ride when my wagon finally got down that way. Brigham said that with prayer and hard work anything could be accomplished. Like I said, I wasn't the first one down that way, I just had to go on what I heard around the campfire at night. I was still lying in my wagon with some type of fever, not feeling at all well. But, I got over my sickness and went on down there.

They told me that Brigham said, "This is the place," the first time he got a good gander of it. I thought to myself that this might be the place, if we could get something to grow in all that salty earth down there. There's a stream that leads into or out of the lake that cuts right down the valley with a lot of vegetation and some trees growing on its banks indicating it is fresh water. Mighty curious, that. Down here below the tree line, there's a bunch of good grass growing. Looks like it pretty well covers the valley, except for some bare spots out there. It'll take a passel of hard work to get a crop in of some type, but I wouldn't rule it out.

After all the wagons got down out of the mountains and everybody had a good drink of water from a fresh water creek that rolled into the valley from the higher elevations, we all gathered around and Brigham said a prayer to the Almighty, thanking Him for everyone's safety during the journey and the deliverance to this valley that would become our home. He went on about asking the Lord to protect and watch over them as they began the hard work of…, and etc.…etc. Amen!

Somewhere after leaving Fort Bridger a number of us got sick from something or other, and it took awhile to reach the valley, even Mr. Young had a hard time of it for a while. So, his prayer fit right in, and who knows how we had all got here without some of us being killed or dying or whatever. Hell, this Mormonism is all right. If it can get us all through that, it's going to be just fine. Yes sir, just fine.

The leaders of the expedition now ended, drew up a map of the valley and doled out spots for everyone to park their wagons, and we all set to work tilling the soil and putting seed into the ground with the hopes it would all grow out to be extra productive of its fruit. Them tools I took from the Pawnee Agency, I should say we took, came in handy at this time. There was only three or four fights over 'em, until somebody got the bright idea of taking control and assigning them to individuals of the party. Yup, I worked that out real fine and proper. No more fights over that stuff. Can't stand violence of any kind, myself.

By hell, one of the party found a pool of hot water bubbling out of the earth on that hill over there and we all had to take a look at it. Some of us even had a bath in it. It sure felt good to get all that dust, dirt and grime off the corpus after being on the trail for so long. But, it was hot, mighty hot and it took awhile to get accustomed to it. I looked and felt like a parboiled lobster that they talked about eating in New York climbing out of that pool. Praise the Lord for his little touches of luxury! A few of the men still didn't take their clothes off when they got in there, I bet it was mighty uncomfortable walking around after they climbed out of that hot water.

Some of those Indians around here, somebody called them Utes or Paiutes, or Diggers, or something, came to call on us and asked us to leave. But Brigham told 'em that we were here to stay, the Lord had told us this was our land, and by Hell, we're going to keep it. Not exactly in those words, but something along that line. We shared with them some of our possessions and food and they left without causing a fracas this time. But we know enough to be on the lookout, 'cause you just can't trust them people. They get enough of 'em together, you never know what they'll do. They all like to count up their coups at the end of the day and might just have been looking forwards to a run on the place, a mass-acree, if you will. They're better lookin' than the Pawnee, though, that is, the Utes are, at least in my eyes. Appear cleaner and bigger, most of 'em, than the Prairie type of Indian, except for those they call Pie-utes or Digger Indians. Them people don't appear to be too cultivated like the others. I guess it's just the way they live, though. You have to stand upwind any time you get next to 'em.

Well, now that that expedition is over with, it looks to me like there's a lot more to look at around here. Hell, there ain't no white people once you get out of the valley. I guess Jim Bridger been down through here a couple of times. He's probably the only one that ever looked around much. Hell, those people coming from California came through here, but they didn't spend any time exploring or such or have anything good to say about it that I heard. Too dry and desolate for anything but Indians, I heard they said. And there was those Spanish explorers came through here a couple hundred years or so ago, too, once, further down south about the middle of the valley, though. I would've liked to read what they said about this country. They ain't never been back, so I suppose it wasn't anything too praiseworthy to them. I heard somebody say that they were looking for the seven cities of gold. I wouldn't mind finding that myself.

Hell, I guess I better get to working this land or they'll take it away from me and give it to somebody else. I got a feeling that this is going to be a bad winter. If we survive it, though, we can survive anything. Just hope nobody steals my oxen. To me, they're worth more than all the gold in them cities they talked about. Mighty fine workers they are. Yup, mighty fine.

Click here to be notified when each new issue comes out!