Heading West: The Oregon Trail

Thursday, April 10, 1845

Papa said that we’re going to the West in a few weeks. I don’t know where West is, but it’s supposed to make Mama better. Papa says that she’ll get better because it’s warm there, but I don’t understand how thats going to make her better because wouldn’t she get even more sick because of the heat? I tell you, in Illinois, it gets real hot in the summer, and Mama practically falls down from heat. But Papa says that it ain’t cold in West like in Illinois in the winter, and I can assure you the cold is worse than the heat. That’s how Mama got sick, because of the cold.

Friday, April 11, 1845

I asked Chester where West was today. He’s 14, so he knows stuff like that, and Papa won’t tell me anything except that it’s gonna make Mama better. I started to think West was some sort of big infirmary, where all sorts of people went to get better, and so I asked Chester if it was and his eyes got all crinkly and he laughed.

Apparently West is a sort of direction, like left and right. Chester said that if I headed left in one direction for a really long time, than that was West. “Well, that means that we’re moving West, but where are we headed to?” I asked him. he said we’re going to a place called Oregon.

Saturday, April 11, 1845

Me and Chester went to the village today for supplies to move West. We already have a wagon, which is what we’re going to be traveling in, but we needed salt and sugar and bacon and flour. We took the farm wagon with the oxen so that we could take all of that stuff back home. It’s two whole miles to town so it took about an hour. I complained about that to Chester, and he said that we have to travel twothousand miles to Oregon! I really don’t understand why we can’t just get a good Doctor. The supplies is costing us more than a doctor would. I know because Chester frowned when he was paying for the stuff, and he rarely ever does that.

yours,

Phebe

April 13, Monday

I couldn’t write yesterday because it was Sunday, and it was God’s day of rest, but I guess that it wasn’t ours, because we were all hard at work praying the entire day. I don’t know what we hope to expect by praying this often . Maybe we’re hoping that God will give us a miracle when he’s not on his day off. I don’t know what we expect. I don’t know anyone who’s actually seen a miracle before.

Chester and Papa are off loading the wagon. I tried to help at first, but two hundred pounds of flour is a bit much for me, and so I climbed up on top of the frame and Papa said that Phebe if you ain’t able or willing to help, then you’d better get your behind away because this was serious business. So I jumped off and I didn’t land right and I fell. The falling didn’t hurt, it was more the prospect of taking a bath that was painful. The problem with having pale hair is that dirt stands out against it real noticeably. And Mama, even when she’s sick in bed, can always see the dirt. So Chester and Papa have to wash not nearly as often, even though they work the farm all day and are far more dirtier than me. Maybe it’s because they’re boys, but also because they have dark hair.

I went in to bring lunch to Mama and she saw my hair the moment I walked in. so then I took a bath and after that I did some chores that are too dull to tell you about right now.

Tuesday, April 14, 1845

Today we left the house. Papa was surely the happiest person there, he couldn’t stop grinning and singing and it was downright scary because he’s usually a lot morecontrolled than that. He’s always grinning, but the singing really was terrifying, because he never does that and isn’t very good when he does. Everyone seemed assured that we were going to The Great West, and no one could stop them. I think I’m too young to decide for myself. At least that’s what Mama thinks.

One thing people do make assumptions about here are the Indians. Mama says that they’re animals, even though they look like people. That reminded me of church, and how St. Francis blessed the animals. If the animals got blessed and were celebrated, why couldn’t the Indians?I told Mama this but she got a funny look on her face and said it wasn’t the same. I’m not sure though. Mama also said she was fine when she first got sick. She later said she lied because it was more convenient.

Sunday, April 20, 1845

Papa says that we’ll probably be to the jump-off village, Independence, by tomorrow. I asked Chester what we’d have to jump off of there, because I just thought that it was a wagon ride and not require any jumping. But Chester told me that it was just where all the other families going to West meet up and get organized onto wagon trains.

it’s Sunday again, but since there isn’t a church hiding in our wagon, we don’t have to pray if we don’t want to. Mama wants to though, and her chants are scarier than Papa’s singing. It’s shaky and so, so desperate. She has a reason though, I guess, which is the only reason that we don’t tell her to shut up from under her blankets. Papa is too sure of himself to pray. He doesn’t need a miracle, he says. The West is miracle enough.

Monday, April 21, 1845

It’s night right now, and Papa’s telling me to hurry up because we don’t have an endless supply of candles. So I have to rush, and here goes.

We took a boat to Independence. It was so big, we just loaded our wagon on and they took us across. We were sitting near the front of the boat and the captain was so nice, he was real friendly. He said that we were lucky that we were so close to Independence, because a bunch of families had to come halfway across the country just to get to jump-off point! I don’t think I’d have standed it, being cooped up with my family for another thousand miles. I’m glad we lived in Illinois, and not some far off place like Virginia or New York, even if the weather is bad there.

Independance was so so so crowded. it seemed like everyone in the world was traveling to West, just like us. There were all of these stands where men in fancy coats asked us to sign up for a wagon train for this or that amount of money per person. Papa signed us onto the first one we saw because he says that earlier is better than later. In four days we’ll be on the trail.

Friday, April 25, 1845

Mama hasn’t asked me to take a bath for ages, which is part because there isn’t bathwater, but also because she’s been coughing more than usual, and hasn’t been moving around at all not accounting boarding the wagon. That’s why I haven’t been able to write for a long time, because I had to tend to her. I got Chester to make a fire for me before he left to prepare for the journey, and boiled water. When Mama wasn’t sick, she told me how to handle coughs. I tried to remember as best I could but didn’t have the herbs to treat it sufficiently, and so I settled on a hot wet rag so that she could breathe in the steam. It would have to do until we got to Oregon.

There was a lot of traffic getting the train in motion. The captain, who was real old-looking with a fancy captain coat, kept shouting things that no one could understand. I don’t think he knew much about the trail himself. I could tell that Papa’s thinking the same thing. He isn’t singing anymore.

Once we got the wagons straight we were moving at a steady place, and I hope it stays that way, because Mama’s getting worse fast, and i just want to get to Oregon as soon as possible.

Saturday, April 26, 1845

there’s not much that’s happening around here, ‘cept the people. they’re the most people I’ve ever seen, not accounting for Independence. So I’m going to tell you about them, because me and this book, we gonna be here with them a while.

The captain of our train I came to know as Harvey Brown, and he doesn’t really do much to help anything, ‘cept that he is in the front of the train the whole time, always. Chester says he’s a businessman, but the only thing that he makes his business is his coat, which is a ghastly shade of green and has very large purple bow.

There’s a family whose wagon is right in front of ours right now. There are two girls with brown hair and one of them looks to be eight, like me. The other one is Chester’s age, and he’s quite obviously noticed. There’s also a boy with black hair that seems to be a little older than Chester, but I don’t see him often, he seems to enjoy exploring the train. A gruff man that I’ve seen in the carriage with the children must be their father, except that he doesn’t look anything like them. He’s bald and thick like a tree trunk.

The real captains of our train are these three men on horses. One of them blond and thin, another black haired and stout, and the last brown haired and medium-sized. I just call them Brown, Blond, and Black.

They walk to the sides of our train so that if anyone gets out of line, they can be herded back. They work like they’re good friends, always joking, and there’s a rumor going around the train that they were trappers in the mountains together, and that they knew the wilderness, and therefore we should listen to them better than Captain Harvey Brown. Which I think I agree with, because anyone can tell that Captain Harvey Brown ain’t a wilderness person.

Sunday, April 27, 1845

There’s a preacher on the wagon train, name of Christopher. He’s really thin and white and is bald like an egg. Mama stuck her nose out the conestoga to get a good look at him, and she said he looked dirty and disgusting, but he’s really very kind. He let all the children gather onto his wagon or on his oxen after the train stopped for the night, since he got no family, and he talked to us about God and it wasn’t confusing like in Illinois.? I think if he told us that you go to hell for missing a bath, then we’d all be condemned since there’s no bathwater.

We sleep under the wagon, because it’s the only kind of shelter that we have, and Mama gets the inside of the cart. It’s a lot like playing hide-and go-seek under the bed; It’s crowded and you can’t move a muscle without upsetting the rest of the family. But Papa says that it’s better than being out in the open, where storms and animals/Indians can get us.

Monday, April 28, 1845

We woke up and Mama was dead.

She must have been dead for a while, because her skin was growing dark under the surface and and her skin was cold.. She was still so pretty-She has blond hair, and blue eyes that none of the rest of the family have. You couldn’t see them though when she was dead because her eyes were closed. Daddy was glad that she at least died in her sleep. I wasn’t. She is still dead. Chester is crying a lot, and I’ve never seen him cry and it scares me, so I’m getting out of the wagon now.

Tuesday, April 29, 1845

There was a funeral for Mama. Mr. Christopher led us in prayer. There are so many people on the train, and I think some of them were irritated that we had to stop for a funeral.

What was kind of odd about the funeral is that the two girls that are in the wagon in front of us came. The ones with brown hair. They looked a lot alike except the tall one had darker eyes, and the little one has big light brown eyes like amber. I asked the little one why they were here, because who cared about Mama other than Papa and Chester and me? She said her mama died of typhus a year ago, so she knew how bad it feels. but it doesn’t feel bad, exactly, I said.

It just feels odd, the girl said, and nodded.

Her name is Emily, and she lived in Mississippi before boarding the wagon train. Her family is going to West because Emily’s papa was sad about Emily’s mama dying, and he wanted a new start. I hope he’s happier in Oregon. he doesn’t seem happy now. When I’ve seen him, he always has this scowl on his face.

Emily and I decided to be best friends until we get split up because she Knows My Situation. We’ll tell each other secrets and walk together when the train’s going. It will be sodelightful to have a best friend. I’ve never had a best friend before, not accounting Chester. But Emily says it’s great fun.

We left Mama by a stream. So then she could take a bath whenever she liked.

May 1, 1845

Yesterday I was too busy to write. I was off with Emily and Ernest. That’s her brother. I’ve never been to the very back of the train before. It doesn’t taste very good. It tastes like dust. Ernest says it’s because of the dirt the wagons kick up. He’s 16. He knows even more than Chester. He knows a lot about horses. We didn’t have any horses on our farm, but they did. So Ernest knows everything. There are eleven horses that different families take along with them. Ernest knows them all by name, color, and family surname, and we’ve only been here a few days. He says he’s going to teach me how to ride one maybe, which I’m real glad about.

His favorite horse is named Stewie, who’s grey and spotted and is kind of nasty, and he tries to bite me when I come near. He loves Ernest though, and Ernest got permission from the family to ride him when the train stops for the day. He’s real good on him, too. Ernest says he competed in county fairsbefore he was uprooted. That means when he started traveling to West. Emily says he won a silver metal once. It isn’t as good as a gold, but Emily says the competition in Mississippi’s real tough there, and he is lucky he won anything.

After that I went back to our wagon for food, and Papa was crying and Chester wasn’t there, so I decided to skip dinner and go to Emily’s camp-out. Her father was not nearby. Emily, in between her dinner( mush and bacon), said he was with some of the other men doing something or other she wasn’t supposed to know about. The older sister, whose name is Anna, asked where Chester was. I told her I didn’t know but I’d let her know if i found him. Politely. If Mama’s reading this-if you’re reading this, Mama- You’ll be gratified to know that.

Wednesday,april 30, 1845

What if we have to go back to Illinois? Since Mama died before she got there. What if Papa makes us head back? I don’t want to head back. We’ve already gone so far.

Thursday, May 1, 1845

We aren’t heading back to Illinois, I asked Papa today. He said we wouldn’t know our way back so we couldn’t even go back if we wanted to. That makes sense. Papa can’t always find himself to town back home.

285 miles to Oregon

Sunday, May 11, 1845

I haven’t written in a while because the wagon is being occupied by Papa and Chester and they’re still acting a little sad when I’m around. ‘cause of Mama. Maybe it’s the hair. The trouble this hair gets me into.

I keep this book in one of the baskets that are hanging in the wagon, and I really don’t like to go in the wagon right now, but today I decided to risk it, and so here I am.

When Chester isn’t lurking in the wagon, he’s with that girl Anna, Emily’s sister. Sometimes I come with him and Anna, and sometimes Emily, but I think it annoys him a little bit that I come with him and Anna, because I think he’d prefer to be alone with Anna. But I haven’t had anything to do alone, lately, and neither has Emily, and Ernest is too busy caring for the horses. and cattle. So I simply have no choice but to tag along.

Christopher the preacher says that since it’s God’s day of rest, and we should stop on Sundays and pray to Him. The Mountain men , Brown, Blond, And Black, are obviously impatient to get going, but Since Captain Harvey Brown agrees with Christopher, we have to stop anyway because Captain Harvey Brown is the Official Captain of Our Trip and Brown, Blond, And Black aren’t.

Chester and Papa got all sad about a His Day of Rest because Mama was real strict about it, but I’m glad she isn’t here, because she would’ve made me pray. Today, it’s His day of rest, and mine.

Thursday, May 8, 1845

We have to cross a river soon. The plaid river, or something. I never saw a river that was anything but blue, so I’m excited, but everyone else on the train seem worried, because Brown, Blond, and Black said it was Dangerous. So did Captain Harvey Brown, but no one cares about what he says.

Saturday, May 10, 1845

I’’m on Emily’s wagon right now, and We’re about to cross the plaid river. It’s disappointingly, blue. I’m asking Emily right now why it isn’t plaid and she says she doesn’t know. And I can’t ask Anna because she’s with Chester in our wagon, or Ernest,because he’s with the horses. And Mister Richardson, their father, is who knows where. So I guess I’ll have to ask later. We’re starting along now, and we are going sideways and we’re bumping around an awful lot and

Monday, May 13, 1845

Papa and Anna are dead. They did something wrong and the wagon toppled over and Chester got out alright because he’s young and strong, but Papa’s old and he just didn’t come up for breath when they fell. And Anna’s a girl, so she’s dead too. Chester’s real sad about that. He liked her alot. Emily is crying. I don’t have anywhere to sleep now that my wagon’s drowned and Emily’s too sad and I don’t like to bother sad people. I’ve been sleeping on the ground for a little while. It’s always wet and cold and I’m afraid one of the horses will step on me.. Sometimes Ernest is there because he tends to the cattle, and he doesn’t say very much, but he’s nice. Yesterday he gave me dinner. I hope he does tonight too because all our supplies are gone with the wagon and I'm hungry a lot of the time now. Chester doesn’t eat or sleep. He tried the first few nights but he just can’t. if he tries to sleep he gets nightmares, and if he eats, he hurls.

Wednesday, May 16, 1845

Emily gave me breakfast today. The oatmeal and bacon is getting a little bit spoiled, but it tastes alright on account of not having any food for a while..

Chester spent the day with me, but I could tell he was trying not to cry sometimes. I wish he wouldn’t but I’m getting kind of used to it. He was Mama and Papa’s favorite, because he didn’t get into trouble and he stayed clean and he’s a boy. He loved them more than I did, so he cries more.. I told him this and he got angry because he says I was supposed to like them just as much and I was supposed to cry too. But it’s the truth, really. The only person who I ever talked to about things is Chester. Besides Emily, because we’re best friends now. But that doesn’t feel the same, somehow, even though she’s nice. I don’t really know her like Chester.

Friday, May 18, 1845

We saw buffalo today.

We felt it first. Then we heard it. It was this big big rumbling in the ground and it was making everyone’s wagons shake and Ernest was trying to make the horses and cattle calm down and it wasn’t working.

Brown and Blond and Black were yelling real loud but I couldn’t hear them. and then we saw the cloud coming in front of us.

It was huge and the sound was getting louder. and it was made up of these large cows with big horns and manes like lions. They passed only a few yards in front of the train. I was with Chester at the back of the train with Ernest (they are together a lot since Anna died) so I saw things kind of far away. but it was still rather close.

After that some of the women picked up things called ‘chips’, which is going to be the fuel for our fires tonight.

Saturday, May 19, 1845

We never got to bury them.

we never got to bury Papa or Anna. They got carried away by the river. The Platte river, it’s called. Not the plaid. Emily told me eventually. We didn’t bury them, and now they’re rotting away in the water. maybe they’re already gone. What if they never go to heaven. Mama said that we wouldn’t go to heaven unless we were buried. But Papa was a good man, and I’m sure Anna was a proper young lady. They were good people. I’m going to pray tomorrow for them. Papa doesn’t deserve to go to hell. Even if Papa wasn’t the cleanest man alive.

He was a good dirty. Dirty like he worked too hard to take a bath. I’m crying now. I don’t want to get these pages dirty. So goodbye.

Sunday, May 20, 1845

I couldn’t sleep last night. I had nightmares. They used to be dreams. I saw the farm, our old farm, and Chester was milking the cow, and he smiled at me. And then Anna and Papa came and they smiled at me too. And they took Chester away. They lead him by the hand, and he was gone. I don’t want him to leave. He’s all I have left.

It’s Sunday, and I prayed all morning, and I think I was pretty sincere, too. Maybe now Papa will go to heaven, which I’m glad about, but I’m still sad because I miss him. Now I think I’m going to see Emily, and maybe Ernest will teach me how to ride one of the horses. Maybe Chester will come too.

Friday, May 30,

A lot has happened.

Cholera took the train. John, Emily’s father got it first. He was real sick, sicker than Mama was. Then he died. Emily cried to me. He was never good to her, but he was still her papa, and that never changes. Ernest was there too, as was Chester and some boys that are orphans, who knew Her Situation. I asked them then why didn’t they come to Mama and Papa’s funeral. The younger one, whose name is Barty, says that Papa and Mama weren’t the same, because Mama wa already sick when she came on the train and Papa did something wrong when he came over so that was his fault. But Mister Richardson didn’t have to die. And neither did his parents, who died in a fire lit by someone else’s cigar.

I was so angry at this. Papa didn’t deserve to die and neither did Mama. They both died. They died. There is no reason for that. I think the older boy, Aaron, was embarrassed, at least. His cheeks went even paler than they were before, and they are quite pale, like the white cow we kept back home.. He said something in apology, but it was too low to hear it. They look a lot alike. But Barty’s eyes are hard and coal-grey, and Aarons are like grey-green water, and show what he’s feeling even if he doesn’t want to show. I’m glad for that. At least I know he has the sense to be embarrassed for his brother.

Harvey Brown was Not Happy about cholera. Who could be. Cholera is contagious. and no one is allowed on the train who is contagious. And we were all infected with Mister Richardson.

I am writing this at the side of the road. There is nothing except the two bare scars on the ground stretching across the earth. Into the sunset.

Saturday, May 31, 1845

Nobody is sick yet. I can tell everyone is on edge, waiting for it though. They jump at Ernest’s hiccups, and when Chester stumbled once I swear we all gasped together! We are scared. We have no adult to guide us. The oldest of us is Ernest, who is hardly an adult, at sixteen. He cries too easily. So does Chester, the second oldest. And Emily. Aaron. The only ones who are not bawling are me and Barty. And Barty’s a complete bastard. I complained about this to Chester, and he told me that’s not how Mama brought you up, Phebe, and I said, well, it’s true, and he laughed and said it was true, but Barty wouldn’t appreciate it, and he was about eight feet away from us and he might hear me. And then Chester gave me a ride on his shoulders which was nice and gave my feet a rest too. I had to discard my shoes because they split open real fast after we started on the trail. The grass is getting spiky and hard. We can still see our old train, real far away now, but it’’s getting farther and farther.

Sunday, April 1, 1845

Emily’s sick. we stopped for her today because she couldn’t go on. It’s Sunday anyway. We prayed for her all morning but it isn’t getting better and I am terrified. She is too. she doesn’t talk but her eyes move around all glazed over like brown frosted glass. It looks like the night before Mama died. I don’t want Emily to die.

Barty’s sick too, and Aaron’s taking care of him, but it looks bad, maybe even worse than Emily. I don’t like Barty, but I don’t want him dead. He might or might not deserve to die, but he’s still dying. Emily’s dying.

Monday, April 2, 1845

They aren’t getting better. They are getting worse and I hate it. I miss home.

Tuesday, April 3, 1845

We brought a shovel in case it happened. We thought ahead for a good cause. It was a good choice. But it is terrible, too. I hate it. I hated covering Emily. I will never see her face again. I was sickened when Barty was buried beside her. I hated that. She hated him. Ernest shook and shook with his sadness and I don’t blame him. He has lost too much. Chester is crying too. He is reliving Anna. I can tell.

Aaron is sitting right now with wood. He is carving their lives out in crude letters. He has misspelled Emily’s name. Barty’s is already done, sticking out of the pile of stones like a hand from the grave. Aaron isn’t crying because he’s concentrating. But he will cry too. At some point we all have.

Thursday, April 4, 1845

We stayed yesterday to have a sort of funeral. I wish Christopher were here so it could be Proper. At least they were buried. I tried to tell Ernest to comfort him, but I don’t think he appreciated that.

We all said a few words about them. Aaron told us about before his parents died. He said that Barty wasn’t a bad boy before that. He was a caring boy, if not overly confident before. He did not have a bad heart.

Ernest talked about Emily as if she was still there. ‘She is always smiling and always laughing. She wants to learn how to ride horses. She is a kind and caring person, always’. He is different now. He shudders so often, not with cold. His shoulders are raised like something terrible is going to happen at any minute. His eyes are hardening. Not a angry hard, but an abused horse hardening.

We make fires out of buffalo chips that are laying on the ground. No one sings. We have a little food that we got from The Richardson wagon, but we don’t eat much, for fear of running out too soon. I am the only girl left, and I’m supposed to be able to cook. Mama was going to show me, but got sick early on to keep her promise. No one complains, though, at how burnt the risen bread is.

We are split into pairs. Ernest and Aaron could be brothers. Pale skin, black hair, green eyes. They sit back to back tonight, staring at the sky. Do they wish for a miracle? I’ve never seen a miracle before.

We’re on the road again tomorrow. And the day after too. We are headed for West. West is not miracle enough anymore. not anymore.