Los Angeles, and from the sea shore to the base of the Sierra Nevadas, resounds with the sordid cry of “gold! Gold, GOLD!” while the field is left half planted, the house half built, and everything neglected but the manufacture of shovels and pickaxes.
13
Two thousand miles to the east Dan Beaverman had faced a similar problem of desertion. Late spring rains had delayed the company’s start. An ever-increasing contingent was calling for the firing of him and joining one of the wagon trains that had been departing daily for the last week. One company member had even quit his companions and joined another wagon train three days prior.
He was the most bullheaded of the lot so Dan did nothing to stop his leaving. That one’s wagon was filled with about 1400 pounds of provisions, most of it mining equipment that the guide had warned them not to bring. The rest was 500 pounds of food instead of the recommended 250 pounds. More of a businessman than miner, this impatient deserter calculated that he could sell the equipment once in California and get rich even if he never found a single gold nugget. He had not yet decided if he would grant discounts to members of his former company.
The wagons that the Elmira Company’s members now depended on to carry them thousands of miles varied greatly. Those who had shipped wagons from home possessed the larger type found on farms in that part of New York. Once delivered to Kanesville, they had to be fitted with metal ribs that supported the white canvas to cover the beds. The wagons purchased in Kanesville by those who had heeded Dan’s advice were smaller, weighed less, sat lower to the ground and were much easier for the oxen to pull. They came equipped with the covering canvas.
Regardless of size all of the wagons were built of wood, usually hardwood such as maple or oak. The sides of the wagons rose about a foot and a half to two feet above the flat bed. The wheels’ wooden spokes numbered from 12 to 14. They ran from a metal hub encased in a wooden ring outward to thick bent curved slats that formed the outer wheel. A metal rail covered the wooden outer wheel. Thick axles connected the wheels. The wheels’ metal rails often lasted the duration of the trail, the wooden components rarely did. Rocks, ruts and holes in the dirt trails, river and stream crossings, and the stress applied to the locked wheels as they skidded down steep hills all combined to splinter and break the parts made of wood. Much time would be spent on making repairs. Fortunately, at times parts could be scavenged from wagons along the trail that had been abandoned after they had proved to be not repairable. Those who performed routine maintenance, such as greasing the hubs of the wagon wheels and examining the axles and wheels for damage before a breakdown occurred, had a much easier trip.
The two teams of oxen were connected to a long wooden tongue that jutted from the front axle. Even though the wagons came with a board that served as a seat big enough to seat two comfortably, it rarely was used. The driver walking alongside the lead team would guide the oxen as he called out commands to them, thus sparing the beasts from the extra weight of any riders. As the miles wore on any extra weight could prove deadly to the faithful animals.
With everything and everyone but Dan ready to roll, the men grew increasingly restless with each passing day. They were given to action. The long delay only made them worry and fret over whether they had hired the wrong guide. That the company had at least already forded the Missouri River by ferry did little to quell the rebellion. The only happy souls seemed to be the oxen and horses that spent their days contentedly grazing on the lush fields of grass along the river’s western banks. The extra fat that they put on would serve them well as grass became scarcer along the trail. As far as they were concerned, they could remain there for the rest of their days. They pitied their kind who departed daily pulling heavily laden wagons down muddy trails.
Being able to lodge in any of the abandoned dwellings built by the Mormons who had wintered there in 1847 while Brigham Young and his advance party went on ahead to find their Zion in the wilderness did nothing for the morale of the company’s members. Young had assumed command of the Mormons after founder Joseph Smith and his brother Hyrum were murdered in 1844. They were being held on charges of treason in an Illinois jail when a mob had broken in and shot both to death.
The constant reminders of death did not help the company’s morale either. The nearby cemetery with its hundreds of Mormon departed who had been felled by disease, weather, and starvation served as a warning of what lay ahead on the trail. Finally, almost as weary as Moses had been while leading a much larger horde of ungrateful souls through the wilderness, Dan at last declared it was time to start. The increased hunting parties of the local Potawaname and Omaha Indians were one sign for him. Dan knew that the natives could predict the weather much better than the settlers and that any hunter preferred to track game under sunny skies. There was a second sign.
“Why now?” Rudolph asked him.
“Well last night at sundown the sky was red. You know what they say:
Red sky at night, sailor’s delight
Red sky at morning, sailors take warning
It should be good weather for at least a day or two. That will dry out at least some of the mud for us. Plus enough wagons left in the last week to pack down at least part of the mud. And we’ll know where the mud’s still too deep by the wagons they left behind stuck in it.”
So in mid May 1849 the band of New Yorkers and their guide joined the rush west. Their party of 60 men, 10 horses, and 205 oxen waved, whinnied, and mooed goodbye to the late arriving wagon trains which were floating across the river by ferry. All of the Elmira company felt the excitement that comes from setting foot into the unknown with the promise of riches as a reward for their boldness.
By the third day on the trail the amount of waste, both animal and human, was common enough to create a smell that made pulling off of the trail at least several hundred yards to camp each night a necessity. The number of humans and their livestock combined accounted for over 100,000 in 1849 on the trails west. This ensured that the stench remained even weeks after the last wagon had pressed on westward. Only the swarms of flies did not mind. Rotting dead livestock added to the misery.
The route along the north of the Platte River was dubbed the Mormon Trail; the one to the south of the Platte was called the Oregon Trail. As the first couple of waves of Mormons had traveled the trail named for them work crews were always in advance leveling and shoring up the road as needed, removing rocks, and even building bridges when possible. All who followed greatly benefited from their labor.
Many of those hostile to the Mormons had refused to do business with them as they journeyed to the Missouri River. This resulted in a shortage of wagons for the Latter Day Saints still on the trail to Salt Lake City. Constructing handcarts pulled by men and pushed by women and children solved that problem. They were so devoted to their cause and anxious to flee the hostile Gentiles whom they had endured in the east that the fastest of those with handcarts covered up to 30 miles on good days. Horse-drawn wagons usually averaged 25 miles daily, ox-drawn wagons about 20 miles.
By the fourth day of travel the trailside graves started to appear. Most of those buried in them had died from cholera, malaria, and dysentery. Others died from sheer exhaustion caused by constant exposure to scorching days, clouds of choking dust kicked up by the wagons and hooves of livestock, cold nights, and drenching rainfall. This was especially true for those whose journey by wagon had started further east than the Missouri River. On the sixth day the party came upon a wretch who looked to be well on his way to joining those who were already in the ground. The one who had deserted the company a week earlier had in turn been deserted by the wagon train that he had joined. His overloaded wagon had become mired in mud up to its axles.
“Thank God you’re here!” He waved his arms until the lead wagon pulled to a stop.
Dan Beaverman had already ignored the pitiful know-it-all and ridden past him without a word. Luckily for the abandoned one, his former compatriots had been on the move since before sunup and had
already gone a respectable 13 miles. Now that it was close enough to midday the kindest among them were able to convince Dan that it was a good time for nooning, when two hours or more would be spent for the day’s largest meal. Grass, water, and rest awaited the stock. The guide reluctantly agreed. He feared that he would never hear the end of it if did not let his charges at least partially decide the wayward one’s fate. After the livestock had been unhitched to graze, Dan came to the point.
“Okay, boys, let’s git it over with. First off you all votes on whether we help the poor fool out. If you votes yes then I gits to set the terms for him to rejoin our party.”
Those who had pleaded with Dan breathed a sigh of relief. They had feared that he would ignore their pleas for mercy. The rest of the company either nodded or shrugged, depending on their interest in the drama that they were drawn into. All the while the outcast paced nervously around and around his immobile wagon. The vote was 41 to 18 to allow him back into the fold. Those who had known him the longest and had built up sufficient defenses against his selfishness tended to vote yes. Those not yet immune to his parasitic ways tended to vote no. Dan then called him over