I’ve been reading a series of books containing letters and journals written by women traveling on wagon trains to the western US. It sounds a little dull, but I’m actually riveted. Some of the passages are incredibly sad, like the daily tallies of graves passed by the side of the road, or the ticking off of names of fellow travelers who died of cholera. Other passages are filled with awe at the landscapes slowly passing by. And then there are the stories of women’s lives on the trail—women who may or may not have wanted to embark on such an adventure and who may or may not have had any say in the matter. Certainly no woman would have willingly signed on to be whipped every day.
july 28 [Sunday] [1850]
we went on to little sandy distance of twelve miles and their stoped for the day and to grase our catle we had to drive them five miles to grase and whilst the men ware gone with the catle this large train come in one mile of us and camped their a rose a quarel with them and what quareling I never heard the like they were whiping a man for whiping his wife he had whiped her every day since he joined the company and now they thought it was time for them to whip him and they caught him and striped him and took the ox gad to him and whiped him tremenduous she screamed and hollerd for him till one might have hare him for three miles
Davis, Sarah Green, 1826-1906, Diary of Sarah Green Davis, July, 1850, in Covered Wagon Women: Diaries & Letters from the Western Trails, vol. 2: 1850. Holmes, Kenneth L., ed. & comp. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1995, pp. 294.
And then there were the sheer numbers of people making the trek out west. Nothing I learned in history classes ever really made it as clear as this:
Friday, August 16 [1850]
We set forward again at ten o’clock and soon began to realize what might be before us. For many weeks we had been accustomed to see property abandoned and animals dead or dying. But those scenes were here doubled and trebled. Horses, mules, and oxen, suffering from heat, thirst, and starvation, staggered along until they fell and died on every rod of the way. Both sides of the road for miles were lined with dead animals and abandoned wagons. Around them were strewed yokes, chains, harness, guns, tools, bedding, clothing, cooking-utensils, and many other articles, in utter confusion. The owners had left everything, except what provisions they could carry on their backs, and hurried on to save themselves.
In many cases the animals were saved by unhitching them and driving them on to the river. After resting, they were taken back to the wagons, which in this way were brought out.
But no one stopped to gaze or to help. The living procession marched steadily onward, giving little heed to the destruction going on, in their own anxiety to reach a place of safety. In fact, the situation was so desperate that, in most cases, no one could help another. Each had all he could do to save himself and his animals.
Frink, Margaret Ann Alsip, 1818-1893, Diary of Margaret Ann Alsip Frink, August, 1850, in Covered Wagon Women: Diaries & Letters from the Western Trails, vol. 2: 1850. Holmes, Kenneth L., ed. & comp. Lincoln, NE: University of Nebraska Press, 1995, pp. 294.
Masses and masses of humans and livestock, all streaming westward in a ceaseless river. And the women! Made of very stern stuff, they were. Margaret Ann Aslip Frisk, for one, spent much of the six month long journey walking or riding horseback. Sidesaddle. In a corset.
red paper boat 