began to bellow, their desperate cries reaching across the river. It was to no avail: the ferry listed so heavily, so quickly, a pair of yoked oxen lost their footing and tumbled into the river. But they must have been tied to a wagon, for one cascaded into the water, too. It sent up a great billowing splash and was swept immediately away, only to sink in the roiling waters. Behind, the ferry raft righted itself, and nothing more was lost.
But from that ferry came the most dreadful cries of lamentation, appalling to hear. I saw a man restrain a woman from leaping into the waters. We would learn later that a one-year-old child had been sleeping within the wagon that was lost—drowned.
God have mercy!
After the river tragedy, Mrs. Bunderly no longer wished to stay inside our wagon. I, too, was nervous the rest of the way. Lizzy gripped my hand.
We got across and reached the landing place. Once on the far banks, we worked our way through the little town of Omaha, which I was told had been made by the Mormons. Fewer houses than Council Bluffs, mostly log built; a few streets; plus one hotel, and a sea of mud.
We camped in a grove of cottonwood trees, perhaps two miles beyond the terrible river. Mrs. Bunderly sobbed loud prayers of thanks, and I joined in, thinking mostly of that poor, lost babe.
Lizzy sat upon the ground, clutched her knees, and sang softly to herself.
Having seen the tragedy in the river, we were forcibly reminded of the many dangers that lay ahead—dangers of which we had no true knowledge.
That said, we were safely across. After almost a month of travel we had at last entered Nebraska Territory! All we had to do was get across the most of it, and there we’d be, right along Cherry Creek.
With Jesse.
And Mr. Mawr.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Into Nebraska
B EYOND OMAHA was a great crowd of wagons. They were just sitting there, as if catching breath for what was going to happen next—crossing what was called the Great American Desert.
The four wagons we had had when we began had been reduced to three. Word was that you didn’t dare go across in a train of fewer than twelve. Much too dangerous. You might lose your way, meet hostile Indians, stampeding buffalo, hungry wolves, or catch all manner of sicknesses, suffer wagon breakdowns or dying oxen, or a millions other perils you never considered when you began. No wonder emigrants believed in the safety of numbers, with sometimes as many as fifty wagons in a train.
When Mr. Bunderly was about to go off with the men to find a bigger train to join, I heard Mrs. Bunderly say, “Mr. Bunderly, I beg you. Let’s go no farther. I’ll not survive.”
“Cheerful heart,” he returned, “you’ve managed magnificently thus far. Certainly some hazards lurk before us. But with courage and fortitude, we shall find prosperity and excellent health hovering beyond the horizon.”
“I am ill, Mr. Bunderly, ill! Words can’t cure me.”
A little later, I asked Lizzy, “Is your ma doing very poorly?”
“I think so,” she answered. “Her fevers come in waves, and she’s exhausted. And even more frightened. Early,” she said, “I pity her, but her whole world is her ailments. It’s too small for me.”
I watched and listened as our people, trying to join a bigger train, went around and talked to other emigrants. There was much debate about which route to take, but also about traveling rules—Sabbath travel, liquor, who would be in charge of what: night watch, scouting, hunting, what tasks would women or children do, and the like. Endless rules, debates, and finally agreements.
Even when a train was set, there were debates about who was going to be captain and who lieutenant. The men all agreed you had to organize military style, this being the only way to deal with the trail dangers. That said, I did see one solitary fellow heading west, pushing nothing but a wheelbarrow into which his provisions were piled. I always wondered what became of him. I
But from that ferry came the most dreadful cries of lamentation, appalling to hear. I saw a man restrain a woman from leaping into the waters. We would learn later that a one-year-old child had been sleeping within the wagon that was lost—drowned.
God have mercy!
After the river tragedy, Mrs. Bunderly no longer wished to stay inside our wagon. I, too, was nervous the rest of the way. Lizzy gripped my hand.
We got across and reached the landing place. Once on the far banks, we worked our way through the little town of Omaha, which I was told had been made by the Mormons. Fewer houses than Council Bluffs, mostly log built; a few streets; plus one hotel, and a sea of mud.
We camped in a grove of cottonwood trees, perhaps two miles beyond the terrible river. Mrs. Bunderly sobbed loud prayers of thanks, and I joined in, thinking mostly of that poor, lost babe.
Lizzy sat upon the ground, clutched her knees, and sang softly to herself.
Having seen the tragedy in the river, we were forcibly reminded of the many dangers that lay ahead—dangers of which we had no true knowledge.
That said, we were safely across. After almost a month of travel we had at last entered Nebraska Territory! All we had to do was get across the most of it, and there we’d be, right along Cherry Creek.
With Jesse.
And Mr. Mawr.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Into Nebraska
B EYOND OMAHA was a great crowd of wagons. They were just sitting there, as if catching breath for what was going to happen next—crossing what was called the Great American Desert.
The four wagons we had had when we began had been reduced to three. Word was that you didn’t dare go across in a train of fewer than twelve. Much too dangerous. You might lose your way, meet hostile Indians, stampeding buffalo, hungry wolves, or catch all manner of sicknesses, suffer wagon breakdowns or dying oxen, or a millions other perils you never considered when you began. No wonder emigrants believed in the safety of numbers, with sometimes as many as fifty wagons in a train.
When Mr. Bunderly was about to go off with the men to find a bigger train to join, I heard Mrs. Bunderly say, “Mr. Bunderly, I beg you. Let’s go no farther. I’ll not survive.”
“Cheerful heart,” he returned, “you’ve managed magnificently thus far. Certainly some hazards lurk before us. But with courage and fortitude, we shall find prosperity and excellent health hovering beyond the horizon.”
“I am ill, Mr. Bunderly, ill! Words can’t cure me.”
A little later, I asked Lizzy, “Is your ma doing very poorly?”
“I think so,” she answered. “Her fevers come in waves, and she’s exhausted. And even more frightened. Early,” she said, “I pity her, but her whole world is her ailments. It’s too small for me.”
I watched and listened as our people, trying to join a bigger train, went around and talked to other emigrants. There was much debate about which route to take, but also about traveling rules—Sabbath travel, liquor, who would be in charge of what: night watch, scouting, hunting, what tasks would women or children do, and the like. Endless rules, debates, and finally agreements.
Even when a train was set, there were debates about who was going to be captain and who lieutenant. The men all agreed you had to organize military style, this being the only way to deal with the trail dangers. That said, I did see one solitary fellow heading west, pushing nothing but a wheelbarrow into which his provisions were piled. I always wondered what became of him. I
Similar Books
