DIARIES AND BOOKS

EXCERPTS FROM MORAVIAN DIARIES, Edited by Adelaide L. Fries, M. A., LITT.D.,

Archivist of the Moravian Church in America, Southern District, Volume IV, 1780 - 1783 reprinted 1968; Volume V, 1784 - 1792 reprinted 1970; and Volume VI, 1793 - 1808, reprinted 1970, for the Department of Archives and History, State of North Carolina, Raleigh, NC by Litho Industries. Inc, Raleigh, NC. All excerpts pertain to Hoppes family members and/or Deep Creek, Surry County, where they lived for many years.

"JOURNAL OF JOHN WOOD:

As Kept By Him While Traveling From Cincinnati To The Gold Diggings In

CALIFORNIA, IN THE SPRING AND SUMMER OF 1850.",

Nevins & Myers, Book And Job Printers, Columbus, Ohio, 1871.

Henry Hoppes, 19 year old son of John Hoppes (1782 - 1857) of Fayette County, OH accompanied the Robinson & Ogle Company from Fayette County as an ox team driver on this expedition. Henry Hoppes' mess leader Ellis Dixon was among the first to die. The diary of the adventures and misadventures of the 72 men who departed in April, 1850 for the gold fields of California was kept by John Wood of McLean's company accompanying the Robinson & Ogle group. I have selected passages that appear to report Wood's observations at the time, using modern spelling for enhanced ease of reading and eliminating a number of poetic quotations and religious references that may have been added upon editing the diary for publication.

EXCERPTS FROM "CABINS IN THE LAUREL", by Muriel Earley Shepard, originally published in 1935 and republished in paperback edition by The University of North Carolina Press, Chapel Hill, NC in 1991, with photographs by Bayard Wooten. This book relates a number of interesting stories about the locally well-known mountaineer, Walter (Dock) Hoppas (1883 - 1945). On a trip to the Toe River Valley in July 1982, Riki and Harry Hoppes had the privilege of holding the banjo, mentioned in the book, that once belonged to Doc Hoppas at the home of one of his grandchildren. Doc Hoppas, buried in the cemetery of the Liberty Hill Baptist Church, Estatoe, NC, was the seventh son of James Alison Hoppes, son or Ebe Hoppes, son of Adam Hoppes, Jr., son of Adam Hoppes, born 1760.

Excerpts compiled by Harry Hoppes

March 26, 2000

EXCERPTS FROM MORAVIAN DIARIES

Page Date Contents

304 Aug 1765 From Bethania Br. Ettwein visited the people on Deep Creek, and held a meeting in the house of the elder Riesen.

784 Apr 1771 Afoot or on horseback he (George Soelle) made his way to Deep Creek and Dutchman' s Creek and the mountains beyond. . .

790 Jun 1772 Crossed Deep Creek to Reis ' home, --- also shown on the 1771 map. . . On one visit it was recorded that "many English had gathered, as Mr. Cook was to preach to them." "All the Germans here understand English, also." The Baptists were very active in seeking members in this neighborhood. On one visit Soelle talked with Matthias Zimmerman, who formerly, for a year and a half, worked in Salem as a carpenter with Br. Triebel. Now he had become a Captain; and was much opposed to the Brethren. Although a brother-in-law of George Lang, Zimmerman was one of the leaders in the movement to keep Soelle out of the Deep Creek meeting house, claiming that only Lutherans and Reformed should be allowed to use it. Having preached at Ries', Soelle went to George Lang's (Long's) for the night. Lang lived in was known as Miller's Settlement on Deep Creek. The plantation of Christian Miller can be seen on the map of 1771; it was some miles above Ries. Christian Miller was a man past middle age, formally rough and godless, but now he led in meeting when no one else was there to serve. George Lang was a staunch friend of Soelle, who thought highly of him, --- "they and the Rieses are the only Germans hereabouts who care for religion," so it was no wonder that the Baptists tried hard to get him to join them, and that he had much to endure from the taunts of his friends. . .In Sept, 1772, Soelle made a trip from Grant's into the Brushy Mountains. He visited first at the home of Friedrich Lang (Long), and remarked that "they are both young people, and therefore still very poor." The previous year he had met Friedrich Lang at the home of George Lang, and had heard that "the old mother" had broken her leg. Lang lived on the road to Fox Nobbs, which according to a Deed from Michael Henderson to Friedrich Miller, (recorded in Rowan County) was a 600-acre tract on the headwaters of Deep Creek, joining Moses Woodruff, Samuel Gentry, and John Swim. Miller also had 200 acres on Deer Lick branch, joining the Fox Nobbs tract. Passing through Fox Nobbs Soelle came to the home of "old Swim," . . . twelve miles from Friedrich Lang . . .

803 Jul 1773 Rode with Col. Hunt to the home of George Lang, on Deep Creek; spent the night with George Lang's brother, Frederic.

1097 Jun 1776 Br. Lorenz went in the morning from Christoph Ellroth's house to Deep Creek, reaching the home of the elder Simon Gross by ten o'clock. He spent the night with George Lang, after visiting various neighbors.

1243 10Aug'78 Friedrich Lang from Deep Creek came to see about the Oath also, and asked that he and his brother George might sign this petition, and Mr. Dun will be asked to include them.

1244 12Aug'78 Mr. Dun would not enter the request of' the two Langs, he seemed to be afraid because he saw there would be opposition.

1524 4Feb1780 Friedrich Lang, of Deep Creek, was here yesterday. He is one of Br. Fritz' awakened hearers, and he and his brother George have several times expressed a wish to move away from their present place and come nearer a School-House of the Brethren, so they could send their children to school. Br Heinzmann told him of the plantation which Br. Rose has had in rent, and which he is giving up, and asked whether he would like to take it; he looked over it and liked it, but asked for fourteen days time before answering, partly in order to consult with his wife, and partly to see whether he could rent his present plantation.

1526 19Feb'80 Friedrich Lang wrote that he would not be able to rent Rose's plantation.

1619 4Jun1780 Br. Lorenz reported concerning his trip to Deep Creek, that although it had not been announced he had visited in several houses, reaching Friedrich Lang's house about eight o'clock. Valentine Riess, who had shown him the way thither, went on that night to announce his coming in another neighborhood. A little daughter had been born to the Friedrich Langs on May 30th, so Sunday morning there was a meeting in his house and the child was baptized, receiving the name Elisabeth. From Lang's they went to Valentine Riess' where a company had gathered, and eight fathers were waiting to ask baptism for their children. Some of the children were nearly a year old, but under the circumstances no one was refused. It was a great baptizing, but there was no disturbance. There seemed no advantage in further visits, for all were full of the present unrest in the land, so Br. Lorenz decided to go straight home. On the way he and his companion met a large company of Calvary, who said they were going to Alexander Martin, and to a man who was in Salem with many Negroes; -- Br. Lorenz knew nothing of either.

1780 26Feb'81 Br. Fritz, [pastor of Hope,] made a visit to our friends on Deep Creek, to their great comfort and joy. He reached home on the 28^th, thankful for the protection of the Lord during these unsafe times.

1812 9Apr1782 Br. Lorenz was at Deep Creek last Saturday, and preached in George Lang's house to a large audience, and at request baptized six children. The greater part of these German People have ruined themselves by hiding out or by going to the English, and although they are all at home now, and have surrendered themselves, they are very poor.

1803 10Apr1782 Br. Lorenz reports that he preached to a good audience last Sunday, on Deep Creek, and baptized six children. He thinks, however, that unless these people will form themselves into a Society, or will move nearer to us, the method hitherto followed will not be of much use.

1829 16May1782 Our neighbor, Thomas Lang, asked for the baptism of his infant son.

1835 29Jan1783 George and Friedrich Lang have asked Br. Lorenz Bagge to preach again on Deep Creek but this will have to wait until spring.

1861 27Apr1783 Br. Lorenz returned from Deep Creek. On Friday and Saturday he visited most of the Germans there, and on Sunday he preached in George Lang's house to a large gathering of German and English listeners.

2018 19Jun1784 George Lange, of Deep Creek, brought his son George Heinrich to the boys' school here; he will be cared for by Br. and Sr. Daniel Christmann.

2049 8Feb1785 Just before the evening meeting of the congregation Friedrich Lang, from Deep Creek, brought a request that Br. Lorenz would come to George Lang, whose wife passed away this morning; also that he would baptize the little child born twelve days ago. So on Monday, the 9th, I rode thither with Friedrich Lang; reacting the home of George Lang in the evening about six o'clock. I stayed about an hour, then went three miles further to the home of Friedrich Lang, where I (Rev. Lorenz Bagge) spent the night. On Tuesday, the 10th I returned to George Lang's. It snowed a little, and it was nearly eleven o'clock before all the people had come. First I held a service, speaking on the words: "Suffer little children to come unto Me," and then baptized the twins born on Jan. 29th to the now departed Catharina Lang; they received the names Jacob And Sara. The mother herself had selected the names. By the time this service was over all had assembled, and I spoke on John vi, 40, those assembled being touched to tears. An account was read of the more important events in the life of the departed, and then her remains were taken to their last resting place, half a mile from her home, on her father's land, whither she had already seen two children carried. At the grave, as in the preceding service, appropriate hymns were sung, and finally the benediction was pronounced. If the procession was not exactly after the custom of the Brethren yet all was done with attention and respect. Soon thereafter two fathers from a German neighborhood about seven miles away said that they would like to have their children baptized also, and I could not refuse, so in a brief service, and with the usual liturgy, the two children were baptized Christian Bro and Peter Danner. By this time it was too late to return home. The weather was cloudy, with some sleet. Br. Lorenz, who spent last night with George Lang, went with him to the home of Valentine Reis, where a service was held for several families and two little children were baptized, Daniel Gross and Catherine Habes. In the tenth hour I returned with Friedrich Lang, and as he had business in Salem I let him go thither and I arrived in Bethabara before night. No service could be held because of the weather.

2079 2Apr1785 Br. Benzien set out for Deep Creek, beyond the Yadkin, as some of our friends there had asked that a Brother might come to preach and baptize their children.

2079 4Apr1785 Br. Benzien returned from Deep Creek. Yesterday he preached in Friedrich Lang's house, speaking first in English and then in German. The audience was large. At the request of their parents he baptized five children into the death of Jesus.

2122 13Mar1786 The Brn. Benzien and Petersen returned from Deep Creek. There were many attentive listeners at the preaching at George Lang's.

2162 14Apr1786 On this day Johann Spach was married to Catherine Lang by a justice.

2153 12Sep1786 Br. Ernst and Friedrich Lang returned from Deed Creek. Yesterday Br. Ernst preached in Friedrich Lang's house, and baptized three children. As it rained all day only about thirty persons were present.

2142 13Sep1786 Br. Ernst reports that our friends on Deep Creek received him with pleasure. Six couples are ready to undertake the support of a Brother who would hold services for them, and keep a school for their children; and they would build a house on land to be secured by a deed.

2169 5Mar1787 Br. Benzien returned from Deep Creek, where he preached yesterday in German and in English. He also baptized a little son of George Lang.

2180 7Mar1787 Br. Benzien has visited on Deep Creek, preached, and baptized a child of George Lang.

2198 28Jul1787 This morning about six o'clock I set off with Br. and Sr. Waerly for Deep Creek. Soon after ten o'clock we reached the Yadkin. Soon after eleven John Spach and his wife and child arrived, and we rode over together. The Waerlys continued their journey to the home of her father, Friedrich Schor; and we went on shortly after noon. Toward four o'clock we came to the home of old Habbes. He rejoiced to see me, for he had heard of me but because of weakness had never been able to attend a service. From there we went by way of Daniel Habbes and George Lang, reaching the home of Friedrich Lang after five o'clock. He had ridden out to meet us, but we had taken another road so he missed us, and his son George was sent after him, and found him five miles from home sick in a house, having had an attack of colic. He came about seven o'clock and I gave him some pills, which did him good. Before we went to bed I held an evening blessing for the family at their request.

2199 29Jul1787 Toward ten o'clock a fairly good number of Germans and English people arrived. As the room was not large enough, the granary was prepared for the service. After the sermon two children were baptized. One woman with her child arrived too late, but at her request it was baptized in the presence of a few who remained after the people had left. Although the English could not understand the service they were all quiet and attentive.

2199 30Jul1787 I rode home with George Lang.

2219 21Apr1788 The Brn Benzien and Petersen returned from Deep Creek. They reported that they had already crossed the Yadkin, when the storm struck unexpectedly. It blew down trees and unroofed houses, and they were on the road not far from the place where our horses were stopped by a number of freshly fallen green trees; yet they were graciously protected and reached Friedrich Lang's in the evening. The storm had blown all the clapboards off his shed. Last year he built a second story to his dwelling house, intending primarily that services could be held there. This time it was very uncomfortable, for the raw wind blew between the logs; he will plaster this summer. More people attended than could have been expected in that weather. Some came eight or ten miles on foot. After the services they had opportunity to speak with the neighbors, who begged earnestly that a settlement of Brethren might be begun in their neighborhood; they had heard a rumor that this was contemplated.

2250 20Sep1788 I rode with Br. Kapp to the come of John Hoechst who wanted to go with us to Deep Creek. Before we had come from his house to the main road we met the man who had been sent for me. We reached the home of the elder Happes about three o' clock, and George Lang's after four, and scarcely were we there when there was a hard rain which continued into the night.

2224 21Sep1788 Yesterday, Br. Ernst, accompanied by Br. Kapp and an outsider, left for Deep Creek, reaching George Lang's toward evening. Today so many came to preaching that the house was filled and some persons had to stand. Although there were many present who did not understand German they were all quiet and attentive. Toward evening Br. Ernst turned homeward, spending that night with Friedrich Lang.

2286 1Nov1789 Br. Ernst preached in George Lang's house on Deep Creek, to about thirty persons. The attendance was smaller than usual because the Baptists, Methodists, and a Lutheran preacher, Pruegel, were holding meetings in the neighborhood.

2289 13Jan1789 Sam Pfaff and Maria Lang were married by a Justice.

2299 7Aug1790 Friedrich Lang, from Deep Creek, in whose house the Brethren have often preached, came with his family for a visit in Friedberg. Not far from Hope they experienced the special protection of God, for lightning struck a tree near their wagon, and the splinters flew over the horses.

2362 30Jun1792 Our friends on Deep Creek have been visited, as is customary once or twice a year. Br. Kramsch reported that at the Yadkin River he was met by our friend Friedrich Lang, who was waiting to take him home with him. On the way Lang talked about the conditions in which he and his brother found themselves among their neighbors. They try to bear witness to the atonement of Jesus, and are known far and wide as Brethren, or Moravians, and are considered as such, but that means no honor but rather abuse, jeers, and opposition. In their neighborhood there are people of all denominations, Baptists, Methodists, Quakers, Universal Redemptioners, and Lutherans. The first named seem to be most opposed to us, though we cannot say that any of them seem to love us or to desire to attend our services; instead it would appear that when it is announced that a Brother will preach on a certain Sunday, all denominations select the same day, to keep their people away, which was the case this time also. However, more than three hundred persons gathered and the house was completely filled.

2367 25Dec1792 In all our congregations sermons were preached on the salvation brought by the birth of our Lord and Savior, who became Man for us. In Salem, among other visitors, were our friends from Deep Creek, Friedrich and George Lang, and some of their children.

2474 26Dec1793 Our friend from Deep Creek, Friedrich Lang, and his wife and some of their children, spent the festal days in a visit here, and they declared that they had received much blessing from the services.

2476 6Feb1794 George Lang, on Deep Creek, has asked that a Brother may come soon to preach there.

2532 20Apr1795 Br. Wohlfahrt returned today from a visit to Deep Creek. At the request of the residents there he preached yesterday in the house of our friend, Friedrich Lang.

2535 31Aug1795 To the report of this month must be added that the single woman, Maria Lang, who had been received into this congregation, and who was living outside the town, severed her connection with the congregation by marrying an outsider.

2541 1Sep1795 Maria Lang, who has been living at Joseph Sprach's, has married George Brendle without asking the advice of the Brethren and Sisters, and so has cut herself off from our communion.

2561 4Apr1796 Br. Wohlfahrt returned from Deep Creek, where by request he preached yesterday in the home of our friend George Lang, and held a service in the home of Friedrich Lang for the baptism of several children.

2565 21Nov1796 Our dear Br. Hans Christian von Schweinitz left for Bethlehem accompanied by our best wishes. Br. Wohlfahrt returned from Deep Creek where he preached yesterday in Friedrich Lang's house and baptized several children.

2623 9Apr1799 Br. Wohlfahrt returned from Deep Creek. He reported that at the Yadkin he met our friend Friedrich Lang, and accompanied him to his home, something more than thirty miles from Salem. On the 7^th he preached to a large audience. Two miles from there, a week earlier, old Mother Happes (mother of Friedrich and George Lang) had entered into rest. She had asked that a Brother might preach her funeral sermon. On the 8^th Br. Wohlfahrt went with Friedrich Lang to the home of his brother George, and from there, with most of the two families, proceeded to the home of Jacob Miller, where the funeral service was to be. The housewife is a daughter of the deceased, and though she belongs to the Methodists she did not object to having the meeting there and was very friendly. The service could begin at ten o 'clock, as the near neighbors, all Germans, gathered early. After the preaching a number of English persons arrived, and after a pause a sermon was preached for them. Then they went to the grave of the deceased -- she had been buried a week -- and there read the burial liturgy, those present being very quiet and reverent. When the party returned to the house Br. Wohlfahrt baptized a child, at the request of the parents.

2648 Oct1800 Br. Wohlfahrt went to Hope, as Br. Kramsch was to hold a service in George Lang's house on Deep Creek. There was first preaching to a fairly good audience, and several children were baptized. Then most of the people went with Br. Kramsch to a burial place about half a mile away, where funeral services were to be held for the widower George Happes, who had died some weeks before, aged ninety and some years. On his deathbed he had asked that this service might be held by a Brother. In the country here, on account of the lack of ministers, the funeral must often wait a long time after the actual burial, but it takes place beside the grave, which has been left partly open. Br. Kramsch used the English Church burial liturgy. On the 13^th Friedrich Lang accompanied Br. Kramsch to Huntsville, and after a short stay there saw him across the Yadkin.

2692 1802 The congregation and Society of Hope were particularly impressed during the year by two adult baptisms. The one was held by Br. Kramsch on October 17, the candidate being the married George Samuel Brendel, a friend and acquaintance of many years, living on Deep Creek thirty miles from Hope. He is a son-in-law of Friedrich and Sarah Lang. Friedrich and Sarah Lang and Friedrich's brother, George Lang, were received into the congregation during the blessed celebration of the congregation festival on August 26, and so the wish of many years was fulfilled and our friends became more closely united with the Unity of Brethren. They have known us for more than thirty years, and this year have been visited often from Hope.

2700 17Jun1802 Br. Kramsch preached at Deep Creek in the house of our friend Friedrich Lang. A fairly large number of persons attended, as rain prevented work in the harvest.

2965 4May1804 I (Br. Abraham Steiner reporting of his visit to Deep Creek in Surry County, and to the mountains in Ashe County) left Hope. On the way to our acquaintances on Deep Creek a certain Mr. Reafield asked me whether I were the preacher who preached last year in his neighborhood, and when I said yes he asked me to preach at his house, and asked me to set a time so that he could notify the neighbors. I could not do it this time because of my further journey, but promised to think of him when I made another visit to Deep Creek. When I reached the home of Br. George Lang he asked me to hold an evening service in his house, which I did, and also on morning prayers. A large number assembled for the preaching announced for today, which was principally because there were no services being held by other denominations in this neighborhood. . . .

In company with Jacob Roop I set out for Ashe County, crossed the Yadkin at the Old Island Ford, at about twenty-six miles from Lang's house reached Elk Spur, climbed the mountains, and thereafter saw nothing but mountains around us. In the evening I left my companion, after he had showed me the way to Daniel Happus, a relative of the Langs; riding a mile further I reached and lodged there. This plantation is forty or forty-two miles from the home of Friedrich Lang. The people were very happy over the visit, which they had not expected , for Br. Lang's children had moved away.

Daniel Happus and his wife asked for the baptism of their two-year-old child, but I explained that it was against our rule to baptize children of that age, and they were satisfied, though they would have been glad to have it done, as their other children had been baptized at Deep Creek by the Brethren.

I rode with Daniel Happus to Joseph Miller, who formerly lived in Salem and then near Bethania, and who had belonged to the Brethren. He received me with love and friendship, and was happy see a Brother again, which he had long wished, that he might open his heart to him. His family circumstances are pitiful, because of his wife.

In the evening there was a short service at the home of Happus, and then the evening was spent in profitable conversation. A Bible was brought out which Mr. Happus bought recently in Petersburg for ten dollars; it had numerous fine copper-plates, about which I talked a little to a family.

Toward noon a fair number of people gathered, mostly German or those who understood German, but some were English so I preached in the English language on John iii: 14,15. After the service Joseph Miller had a confidential conversation with me. He regretted that he had lost the happiness of belonging to the Brethren, which at the time he had not recognized or appreciated. . . .

By request I went several miles further and visited a certain Heinrich Wagner, who formerly lived on Deep Creek. He and his wife, elderly people, received me affectionately. In a meeting with a few persons I spoke of the Gospel and Epistle for this, Ascension Day. I spent the night there, and on the 11th, after breakfast, as I was leaving they almost wept aloud, thanked me for the visit, and begged that I would come often. I returned to Mr. Happus, and after a touching farewell with his family, and many requests that I would visit them often, I set out again. Mr. Happus sent his son to show me the path over the mountains into the road leading to Ashe Courthouse. Mountainous as the country is it is well settled. Many of the families formerly lived near Bethania, and others on Deep Creek. Many of them are of German stock but in their houses English is generally spoken, especially by the younger people.

The people are of various denominational connections; the strongest party is the Baptist, which has its own preachers. Others belong to the English Church, Presbyterian, Methodist German Lutheran, and Reformed, but these have no preachers, and it is seldom that one goes to them. Yet there are among them those who make addresses, though they are not ordained preachers. Some belong to no denomination. Among them are many who appear to seek the kingdom of God and wish assurance of salvation. There is an unholy strife between the Baptists and the other denominations concerning the baptism of' children, indeed the neighborhood of Deep Creek is not free of this. It is distressing how they quarrel and fight over baptism and the method and manner of baptizing. I take every opportunity to beg them not to lose sight of the kernel in fighting over the shell, and commend to them Christian love, which Paul told the Corinthians was better than all knowledge and all gifts.

My host, Daniel Happus, and his wife have for some time belonged to the Methodists. He told me he had joined them in order to be associated with a Christian denomination, but they seldom have services here, and must go to the neighboring county of Grayson, in Virginia, to attend meetings.

All the days that I was here it rained, which was the reason that we could not hold more services, as I and the others had wished.

2803 10Jan1805 Last night and today we had heavy rain so that most of the snow melted. In the morning there was rather sharp lightening and thunder, with another thunderstorm toward evening. Streams rose, bridges and fences were torn away, and much damage was done to mills and the like. Men could not remember such a sudden flood in many years. Br. Kramsch left this morning for Deep Creek, to hold the funeral service tomorrow for the married Br. George Lang, who fell asleep day before yesterday, but all the streams, usually small, had become very deep, and the Yadkin could not be crossed by ferry, so he could not proceed but returned in the evening.

2804 10Feb1805 Br. Kramsch went to Deep Creek yesterday to preach the funeral sermon for Br. George Lang as his children requested. Br. Lang had died on January 8, but because of the continuous rain and swollen streams no service could be held. As is customary in this country his body was buried privately and the grave half filled. Today Br. Kramsch went to the home of the departed Brother where a great crowd had assembled, of all religious faiths. They went a mile from the house to the place of burial, where Br. Kramsch read a short prayer from the English Prayer Book, and a hymn was song; then the procession returned to the house. The weather was fine and more than three hundred persons gathered in and around the house, listening through the open windows and doors, quietly and attentively, to the sermon which was preached in English.

After the service a man offered to accompany Br. Kramsch for some miles. He had formerly heard the Brn. Soelle and Utley preach; had later joined the Baptists, but had left them again because during the last war they had taken too much part in political disputes, and he had thought that true Christians should not do that.

2836 6May1805 Leaving the home of Br. Lang on Deep Creek, Br. Steiner went eight miles further to the home of Mr. Reafield, on the Wilkes road, where he found the house and porch filled and many people standing outside. . .

2813 6Oct1805 Mr. Alexander Lang, from Salisbury, brought his ten-year-old daughter to the Boarding School

2838 19Oct1805 In Huntsville I had to wait some time for company, and for Daniel Happus of' Ashe County, so it was night before I reached the home of Br. and Sr. Friedrich Lang, on Deep Creek. I found both of them well and contented.

2838 20Oct1805 The Methodists had their quarterly meeting in the neighborhood, with a lovefeast today. The Baptists also had a meeting today, so only a few of those two denominations came to the preaching at Br. Lang's house; but a goodly number of people gathered and to them I preached on the words: He that hath the Son hath life, and he that hath not the Son of God hath not life. I John v: 12. . . It was a cold, raw day.

2838 21Oct1805 I went further with my guide, Daniel Happus. He had come largely for the purpose of meeting me, having heard that I was coming, though the letter which I had written to him was lost. My horse was a little sick from eating too much new corn, so we climbed the mountains at Elk Spur, from which it is eighteen miles to the home of Mr. Happus. As we rode through the dark night Mr. Happus called to one and another house announcing the service tomorrow at his house.

2838 22Oct1805 Toward noon the neighbors gathered from four miles around, some coming even as much as eight or nine miles. . . The people here are not accustomed to singing, but among those who had come from a distance there was one young man who was willing to lead in common metre. I showed him several hymns in our hymn book which could be sung to that tune, but he was afraid to try words with which he was not familiar, and suggested that he would line out and the singing of hymns that he knew by heart. To this I assented, and he led two good hymns, one before and one after the sermon. Daniel Happus, Heinrich Wagner, Sr., and William Alford, announced another preaching Friday in the house of Heinrich Wagner, Jr. Heinrich Wagner Sr., and his wife are strict Lutherans, and since they have learned that the doctrine of the Brethren agrees with that of the Lutherans they have had a high regard for the Unity.

2839 25Oct1805 I rode with the elder Wagner four miles to his son Heinrich's house. The day was so raw and cold that one could scarcely get warm, it had snowed the preceding day. The house was fairly well filled, and a Mr. Chapel, who lives six miles from that place, led the singing. There were several reasons why more did not come. Yesterday, some distance away, there was a public auction, at which announcement was made, but at the same time there was so much brandy available that a number of persons were still there today to finish the brandy. Today there were various corn-huskings in the neighborhood; we passed one only a half mile away where many persons were gathered. The surveyor was in the neighborhood, and a number were busy in securing and measuring of their land. About which disputes had arisen. Some had business at court in the adjoining Grayson County. Then the weather was so cold, and many had no shoes and could not go out of the house. So altogether there were excuses enough for not hearing the Gospel.

2839 26Oct1805 It snowed nearly all day. It had been planned that tomorrow I should go across the Peach Bottom Mountain, eight of nine miles from here, to preach. Now word came that few would be there, partly because the weather was so very bad and partly because the presence of the surveyor had plunged the entire neighborhood into bitter conflict. My friends therefore advised me not to go, which was quite evidently wise, for during the night there was a hard storm.

2849 11May1806 Yesterday Br. Steiner left for a visit to Deep Creek, where he preached today in the house of Friedrich Lang to a numerous congregation, more than the house would hold. Among them were several Methodist and Baptist preachers and exhorters. . . After the service Br. Steiner, accompanied by Br. Friedrich Lang and James Williams, rode eight miles to the home of Mr. William Williams on the big road to Wilkes County. They arrived about four o'clock and found the people already assembled. Mr. Williams had made a number of new benches for use today and on future occasions, but because of the large crowd not all could sit and many stood in the porch and in front of' the house.

2913 1808 From Hope one visit has been made to Deep Creeks with preaching in Br. Friedrich Lang's house.

2919 22May1808 Br. Strohle, accompanied by Br. George Brendel, went on a visit to Deep Creek, and preached in Br. Friedrich Lang's house to a large gathering of various denominations, mostly Methodists and Baptists. At the invitation of' two preachers who were present he attended services of the Methodists in their church, one mile from the home of Br. Lang.

J O U R N A L O F J O H N W O O D

Greenfield, O., April 1st, 1850.

In the spring of the above year, considerable excitement was created in this place and vicinity, on account of the flattering intelligence received from the gold diggings in California, and hundreds began making preparations to emigrate to that country, across the plains. And the excitement or "mania" seemed to be contagious and spread throughout the Union, so that it was estimated that about eighty thousand emigrated, this season, across the plains. Thousands upon thousands, who were totally unfitted to encounter the inevitable hardships of a wilderness and frontier life, left their families and homes, in the vain hope of making a fortune in a day and without toil; but there were others wiser, hardy sons of toil who knew what it was to climb high mountains, and hunger and thirst in wilderness wastes, and prepared themselves at the onset. Caravans of horse, mule and ox teams were fitted out in all parts of the country, and, among many others, a large train, consisting of ox teams, principally owned by J. H. Robinson and A. M. Ogle, from Fayette County, Ohio, left the Missouri River on the 19th of May, for the gold regions.

This company I had the benefit of traveling with. It consisted of seventeen teams and seventy-two men. The following is a list of the number of messes and the names of all as they were messed together:

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Dixon's Mess.---Ellis Dixon, Kelley Dixon, Jacob Sperry, Henry Hoppis, Nelson Clowser.

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The greater part of this company met in Cincinnati on the 3^rd day of April, 1850, and left on the evening of the 5^th, on the steamer James Millinger, for St. Joseph. This was an exciting time, for it was one of deep interest, we were about to bid adieu to all that was dear to us--perhaps forever.

After thirteen day's run we were landed at St. Joseph, Mo., on the 17^th of April. Here we were greeted with a hearty welcome by many old acquaintances who, also, were bound for the land of promise. St. Joseph is an enterprising town, containing about three thousand inhabitants. It is situated in a rich and beautiful plain in Buchanan County, on the banks of the Missouri River.

The excitement here is almost alarming. There are now about 10,000 emigrants in this place and all are hurrying to make a start, and if I should judge from the movements of many, they know not where--many people have no sense whatever, when once excited -- they now find things different to what they expected, and every thing is wrong and they are wrong and crazy, too. And many poor souls have had entirely different ideas of the trip and difficulties and have got thus far, and the thoughts of their wives or lovers enter their noodle and they set up a howl and strike a beeline for home. Here we have had a pretty fair specimen of the "gambling hells", so much spoken of in California. Several houses being devoted, entirely, to gambling of all kinds, and many a poor credulous youth arrives thus far, on his way to Ophir, then deposits his last dime in a bank that don't even pay interest. This place is now one of the emigrant's great starting points, to Oregon and California. Hundreds of companies, after arriving here, meet with difficulties and expenses, which they never anticipated; consequently, many start only half-prepared and hundreds return home, almost sick of life. These things breed contention among companies, and I must say that, during my stay here, (St. Joseph) I have never been out of hearing of quarreling or wrangling of some kind, except when asleep. On account of the great quantity of stock bought and driven away from here, many buy stock that is unbroken and young--this we found was our "fix". . . .

The weather now is cold and disagreeable and there is yet but little appearance of grass, here; considerable sickness also prevails now among the emigrants, in this town, and we have concluded to move up the river about forty miles and recruit our stock, a few weeks before starting. So, on the 23^rd of April, we left St. Joseph and traveled three days and a half and arrived at Brown's Mills, where we pitched our tents and sojourned, for the space of twelve days. . . .On the 8^th of May, we pulled up stakes and moved about two miles, crossing the Nodoway River and stopped again for three days, recruiting our stock on grass, and on the 13^th we again started for the Missouri River, where we arrived on the 15^th; nothing occurring worthy of note. We are now at Hawk's Ferry, where we have to cross in a boat rowed by hand. We spent the 16^th, 17^th and 18^th, in crossing this river, in which we had considerably difficulty. In crossing one load of cattle the boat floated down on a sandbar, in the middle of the river, obliging us to drive the cattle off the boat, and in swimming out, several came very near drowning.

May 19^th--This morning we made a farewell start for the El Dorado of all our hopes. . . . We are now amongst the Ottoe Tribe of Indians. They visited our camp this morning and traded us some moccasins, etc. They appear very friendly and seemed to be somewhat civilized. Camped early, and found some grass.

20^th.-- Started early this morning. The country we passed over today was similar to that of yesterday. We find but little water along this road. Our cattle are getting a little familiar with the yoke and also the whip--which we greenhorns can't yet crack. We still live and learn.

21^st.--Got along very well today, until we came to the Nimehaw river. Here we had fun until it was left. The banks of the stream being very steep we had to dig them down, in order to make our transit; many stripped and waded in to assist in driving and pushing. Such yelling and screaming you never heard. But no Natives were there to be astonished. . . .

22^nd.-- Started early. Roads tolerably good. No timber to be seen. The country presents rather a romantic appearance yet. All the company in good health, except John Glenn, who has been unwell since we started. . . .

23^rd.-- Made a late start this morning. The day was cool and pleasant. Road pretty good. No timber, scarcely. Cattle getting to work better. Grass pretty good. Camped early, etc.

24^th.-- This day we traveled a bad road, in many places. This evening we reached Salt Creek; but before we got there we had to wade a lake, nearly a half-mile long. Crossed Ash Creek today. Camped on the riverbank; tolerable grass.

25^th.-- This morning we prepared to cross this stream, in a large yawl. . .

26^th.-- Started early, this morning; traveled 12 miles and came to Cottonwood Creek . . .

27^th.-- Rolled out early this morning. Had a muddy road today, on account of a recent rain. Last night the floodgates of the lowering skies were opened upon us again and oh! such floods of rain, pealing thunder and zigzag lightening, dear reader, you will never know anything of, unless you come out here and wait a visit from the upper skies. Today we passed a beautiful grove of oak trees, from ten to twenty feet high, covering about an acre - which afforded us a pleasant resting-place. We are now in the Pawnee Tribe of Indians. They are a miserable looking sample. Several visited our train, while traveling along today, and begged for something to eat. They have a sullen, gloomy look, and are given to stealing. All prairies yet, and tolerably level - - soil in many places, rich. The boys look wild now, for Indians.

28^th.-- Started this morning, by daylight, and traveled about 4 miles; stopped and eat our breakfast and let our stock eat an hour or so, on good grass. Reached the Platt River bottom, this evening, and there camped for the night; had tolerable grass. We now use the river water - -which is very muddy, on account of the water flowing over a bed of sand. Saw no timber today.

29^th.-- Started as soon as we could swallow our grub. The weather is now fine, and we have a good road. We expect to travel up the Platt River, for 600 miles. The bottoms of this river are from one to five miles wide, perfectly level and not a shrub, but generally, good grass, and that eaten very short - -the majority of the emigrants being before us. Today our company was summoned to the battlefield, by a man riding back, in great haste. He said his train, (consisting of 4 or 5 wagons) was stopped on a road, a short distance ahead, and surrounded, by 200 Indians. He requested that all who could leave our train to turn out and save him and his family, from the savages. Accordingly we did. . . . when we arrived at the spot, the Indians were gone, and oh, what a pile rolled off every mind. Soon everything was calm as an infant's dream. . . .

30^th.-- Traveled up the Platt River all day. This river presents a beautiful appearance . . . .

31^st.-- Nothing of importance, occurred today. Traveled about 20 miles, over a level road. The families that were besieged by the Indians are now traveling with our company for safety.

June 1^st.-Today we traveled until noon, and found some good grass. Here we concluded to rest, until tomorrow evening, and let our cattle recruit a little, as they were getting pretty tired as well as ourselves. . . .

2^nd.-This is the Sabbath day, 2 o'clock, and we all concluded we had better get out of our wet camp. We started and traveled 10 miles and camped very late; here we found no wood to cook with, so we eat a few crackers, and resigned ourselves of the arms of sweet Morpheus. This night was awful dark and cloudy, and the guards had to feel their way around the corral. I was on guard, this night, and about 2 o'clock a Platt Bottom thunderstorm came up, and quick as thought, it commenced thundering, lightening and pouring down oceans of rain on us - the cattle (being 160 head) became frightened and run out of the corral, running over two of the guards. Oh, such sights! . . . . .

3^rd.-This morning we found all our cattle by 7 o'clock and started on; reached New Fort Kearney about 11 o'clock. . . . Camped about 12 miles west of Kearney, close to the river, and after letting the cattle graze until dark, we brought them up and put them in the corral, but it was not long until they got alarmed at some noise and all simultaneously sprang with all possible quickness, running over two wagons. Crushing one wheel of each to atoms. Some made their exit at the mouth of the corral and scattered in all directions for ten or fifteen miles. . . .

4^th.-This morning we put out, in search of our cattle in nearly all directions and before night we found all but four. . . .

5^th.--All appeared considerably discouraged, this morning, but started out in search of our lost cattle again. The hopes that had heretofore cheered us, on our toilsome march, now began to fade away, and on the countenance on nearly all, could be read the lines of sad disappointment. Many talk of returning home, fearing we will never get through. After traversing the country for fifteen or twenty miles we found our cattle again by the middle of the afternoon. We made one wagon out of the two broken ones, and started on, but just as we had hitched our wagons the cattle started again, but we succeeded in stopping them before they got a fair start. We drove on, until late in the evening and secured our cattle, by driving large pickets in the ground, and chaining them; in this way we secured them. This evening, Robert Duncan, from Highland County, Ohio, was taken bad with the cholera. He belonged to Robinson & Ogle's Company.

6^th.--This morning, Mr. Duncan seemed to be some better and we started on, but had not gone far until he got worse. Mr. Robinson then requested the train to stop and Mr. Ogle brought a doctor, who pronounced Duncan dangerously ill. The doctor did all he could but told him he must soon die. Here was a scene, which was heartrending. Mr. Duncan called us all to him and requested some things to be said to his parents. . . .

7^th. -This morning, Mr. Duncan is still alive but very bad; several others complaining considerably, with the diarrhea. We are advised to move on, this place being very low and wet, so we started and traveled all day. Today I have been sick all day--not able to walk. Camped this evening, on the banks of Plumb Creek. This evening many complain of sickness. John Glenn and David Wright are tolerably bad. All are now considerably alarmed. Since we took to fastening our cattle with pickets (which we have along with us) we have but little difficulty.

8^th.--This morning all is solemn as the grave, for death reigns in the camp. David Wright is dead, and John Glenn, who lies by his side on the same bed, is now struggling with the king of terrors. Yesterday morning these two young men were in the bloom of health and youth--now they have gone to meet their God. We buried them, side by side, on the banks of Plumb Creek . . . About 3 o'clock all were preparing to start, when Ellis Dixon was taken with the cholera. He soon began to sink very fast. A physician was procured soon, who did all he could, but an Angel's arm can't snatch us from the grave. The doctor advised us to move on and get to higher ground, so Mr. Dixon was put in the wagon and we drove ahead a short distance, but before we stopped he was dead. He was taken out of the wagon and put in a tent and straightened for the grave. We are not alone, in this calamity, thousands are around us sharing the same fate. The sick and the dying are on the right and on the left, in front and in the rear and in our midst. We, ourselves are nearly all sick. I feel very weak myself. Hundreds are on their way home, faint-hearted and terror-stricken. Death is behind as well as before. Many are stalking their way through pestilence, unmoved, while others view every step with perfect amazement and consternation. A number of our company now feel determined to return home. Oh! home why did I leave thee; these sentiments are written on every heart this day. . . . . . No one can tell how painful it is to lose a kind friend in the beginning of so long and tedious a journey. The road here is perfectly linted with emigrants. A great many have started on this journey with their families of women and little children. Robert Duncan is yet alive and that is all. In sight of us are many trains encamped, which are waiting on the sick and dying, or burying their dead. Ah! what a sad and mournful train we are, and oh! how many wails of woe and sorrow I have heard the last three days. I notice now a great reformation has taken place among the emigrants. The grass is very short along here. We are advised to use river water exclusively, but it is very muddy. The country presents nearly the same appearance as during the past week. Many are tired and worn out, waiting on the sick. Our situation at this time can better be imagined than described.

9^th.--This is the Lord's Day. Early we proceeded to bury Ellis Dixon. Twelve or fifteen making arrangements to go back this morning notwithstanding there was more sickness behind than before, but oh! the journey seemed so long. Robert Duncan is still alive, which is astonishing; he certainly cannot live until night. All are loath to start--all is confusion. Fear and despair seem to be seated on every countenance--ah, hope, thou life preserver of the soul, was it not for thee who could live a single hour. This morning my thoughts have been turned-on home and all its joys. I imagine that while I hear the voice of mourning and woe--my friends hear the more welcome sound of the church-going bell. Oh, had I the pinions of a dove to bear me away. This morning we employed Dr. Fackler of Mo. to travel with us, after which all concluded to go ahead. We started this morning under the most gloomy and discouraging circumstances imaginable. We traveled about 20 miles and camped on an elevated piece of ground.

10^th.--This morning Robert Duncan is yet alive. Last night Robert Stuart took the cholera and this morning is not expected to live. Capt. Robinson set up with him last night all night; he does all he can for the sick. Robert Hendrickson is now tolerable sick; also Franklin Nitterhouse and Samuel Wilcox. We now seem to be traveling through a graveyard all the time. New graves can be seen from almost any point. The emigrants travel very slow on account of the sick; many trains have to lay by for weeks, waiting on the sick and dying; many have lost their stock and can't go. There seems to be about as many horses as mules on this trip, but the most are oxen. Our stock looks tolerably well yet; the grass is plenty but mostly very short. Robert Duncan died this evening, late, after a long time of severe suffering; but he is gone-alas! We have to follow him to "the house appointed for all living", and leave him there to molder back to dust. Oh! the dying bed is a solemn scene on these desolated plains. I have not seen a man yet who has not regretted that he ever started on these endless "ups and downs".

11^th.--We are about 90 miles west of Fort Kearney. This morning Mr. Duncan was buried on the roadside. The coffin and shroud are not known here; the dead are sown up in their blankets and so are buried. Robert Hendrickson is now very bad. The doctor says he cannot live long. Jacob Sperry is tolerably sick, also Franklin Nitterhouse. This morning there was some confusion about starting; some were in favor of waiting on the sick, while more were in favor of going ahead. We all concluded to start. Here it is like standing on slippery rocks--not knowing how soon we may fall. The epidemic is raging on all sides --no one knows but his turn is next; all earthly hope is banished from the minds of a great many and they begin to feel that God is their only help. Now is the time to try men's souls; many are afraid to visit the sick, for fear of contagion. Morality now rather characterizes our course, for men view themselves as traveling to the grave. We had not gone far until Mr. Hendrickson was a corpse. We traveled on until noon and stopped--where Mr. Hendrickson was buried, on the roadside. A decent grave was dug and the corpse laid and covered with green branches . . . .

We are now traveling over the best road I ever saw, being perfectly smooth and level. The water in this river (Platte) seems to be almost on a level with the extensive plain on either side. The river, for hundreds of miles is filled with numerous islands covered with the most beautiful overhanging foliage. Now, occasionally on the banks are groves of luxuriant cottonwood trees. Dr. Fackler urges us to eat nothing but crackers, tea and coffee, and drink very little water. Oh, how we long to get away from this river and be among the mountains where we can breathe a purer air and drink from the crystal fountains. We have passed hundreds of graves, during the last few days. This evening Jacob Sperry is better, but F. Nitterhouse is very bad.

12^th.--This morning finds us on our way, but far from rejoicing. From any place can be seen a number of trains encamped fostering the sick and dying. When will these things have an end? Today we reached the South Fork of the Platte River, and have to travel up it for three days and then cross and return to North Fork. This river resembles the Platte in being wide and shallow and filled with islands. Scarcely any timber along here. All day we were crossing paths which are made by the Buffalo coming in from the plains to the river for water. Now and then we get a glimpse at a herd of Buffalo from the road; frequently see wolves scenting about where companies had encamped, in the search of some thing to eat. They now howl around our camp at night. This evening we passed many sick and dying. Here my heart was pained again at a most affecting incident. An old father careworn and heart-broken was at last overtaken by disease and was now straightened on the ground, in the icy arms of death and his little son weeping over him saying "Father what will become of me". . . . Today we traveled about twenty-five miles; camped and found but little grass and no wood at all. The sick are some better.

13^th.--All cases of sickness this morning are some better in our train but the voice of death is heard in many others. . . This afternoon Wesley Mahan, who had been complaining a little, was taken with cholera but the doctor thinks he can save him. Robert Stuart, who was at the point of death, is now recovering. Franklin Nitterhouse is recovering; Mr. Mahan is very bad; some complaining considerably.

14^th.--Started early this morning and got along well until about noon, when our cattle became alarmed and away they went, sweeping everything before them for a quarter of a mile, leaving every man to escape destruction the best way he could; but no damage was done, except breaking some yokes and two men run over but not hurt bad. W. Mahan, R. Stuart and F. Nitterhouse, were in the wagons meantime, but the ground being level the wagons did not upset. A destructive sight, but what a fortunate circumstance. Today we met a large company, homeward bound. Some of our company purchased two milch cows from them. They say we never can get through, because there is no grass ahead, and the cholera is getting worse. Their wagons are crowded with sick men. Now our hearts began to fail us again and when we reflect that we have hardly made an introduction to our journey, the task becomes harder and we almost get weary of life. This evening Mr. Mahan is very bad; I think he cannot live long, for death seems pictured in his face. Camped two miles from the South Fork crossing. Here are hundreds.

15^th.--This morning F. Nitterhouse is worse, W. Mahan is still alive, and R. Stuart is getting well. We hitched up and went to the crossing. Here we found hundreds preparing to cross. . . . Crossing this river was a dreaded thing, on account or the cholera being so prevalent. Men were afraid to expose themselves, but we must cross or perish here. We all crossed in safety, by 2 o'clock. Here were the sick, the dead and the dying, on every hand, last night. Jackson Stuart, taken with cholera, died today, about 10 o'clock. He had crossed the river yesterday and was out of the reach of a physician until this morning when it was too late. The destroyer's work was done. Here was another solemn scene; a traveling companion must be laid low in the ground.

Mr. Mahan is thought to be some better but F. Nitterhouse is some worse. After we had buried Mr. Stuart, we started on and traveled five miles and camped for the night. Here we had but little grass and water and no wood, and we were forced to burn dry Buffalo dung, in order to cook some. Now I would thank any person for a cooking stove and some good wood for this substitute is nauseous.

16^th.--This morning we made an early start; traveled about 15 miles, over an elevated plain and came to the North Fork of Platte River, about 2 o'clock. Before we reached this river we descended a very steep and winding hill, which led us down into Ash Hollow -- which is an old Indian battleground. . . .

17^th.--This day we had a dead pull all day, on account of the road being very sandy. Today we passed the burying ground of the Indians--the Sue tribe. They build a scaffold by planting poles in the ground and then fasten poles crosswise on which the dead are laid and wrapped up in skins, ten or fifteen feet from the ground. Their weapons are buried with them--such as bows, arrows, etc. They are rather a good-looking people, for Indians, and I am told very peaceable with the whites. We passed a great many graves today; saw some the wolves had dug out. Mr. Mahan has grown worse all day, and this evening is at the point of death. All are worn out with fatigue and exposure; with few exceptions, none being well. Here we had but little grass.

18^th.--Last night was a cold stormy night, and the wolves howled around our camp, all night. Wesley K. Mahan died about 3 o'clock this morning, after extreme suffering for several days. At midnight I was awoke to set up with him until morning, but alas! he never saw the light again. The night was cold and dreary and I was left alone, with the dead. We were in a tent; all was still, save the howling of the wolves and winds without. . . .

Mr. Mahan was buried early this morning, and we took up our line of march. The road is now so level that we can see 15 miles ahead. We have been in sight of what is called the Court House Rock, for several days; to-morrow we expect to pass it and then I will tell you all about it. It is something very tall, "certain and sure." We have had no rain now for better than a week. The country appears a little different from what it did several days back. Grass is getting more scarce and the soil more sandy, but there is no timber. We have hauled in our wagons wood to cook with, for the last three days. The soil on the Platte bottoms, seems to be rich but they are low, and in many places full of sloughs and subject to overflows. We always get close enough to the river at night to get water. There seems to be no mitigation of the sickness on this river. It is supposed that one-fifth are dying here now with cholera and diarrhea. Thus far one-tenth of our company have died.

19^th.--This morning things appear a little brighter than usually. The sick appear to be better, but it seems like folly to hope for better days for it seems that human wisdom can divine no means of escape. . . . .The cholera appears to be as ever the smallpox was with the Indians. Passed the Court House Rock, which is a large isolated bluff of hard sand, about 300 feet high, somewhat in the shape of a courthouse. It stands on the open plain, "solitary and alone". We generally stop about two hours before dark, graze our cattle until night and then stake them down around our wagons. Being now, as we think, out of the reach of thunderstorms, and the Indians not being troublesome, we don't now guard our cattle. We passed a great many graves today. The grass is very short here.

20^th.--Today we passed what is called the Chimney Rock; it stands in the open plain and is also an isolated bluff, in the shape of a pyramid and about 350 feet high. It is composed of sandstone, and thousands of names are written on it, or rather cut with knives. Several of us climbed high as we could and cut our names, I suppose for the last time. . . .

21^st.--This morning we started early to get water for the cattle as soon as possible . . . .

22^nd.- This morning we started about an hour after sun up, as we generally do, and traveled about 20 miles and camped on the riverbank. . . .

23^rd.--Today we crossed Laramie River, a narrow but very swift stream; it was 2 to 4 feet deep. We crossed with but little difficulty. Fort Laramie stands on the west bank of this river, and is a beautiful location for a fort. It is a far better looking place than Fort Kearney. We drove on some distance past the fort and stopped an hour or two and grazed our cattle; giving all a chance to write home--which many availed themselves of the opportunity. Here Capt. Robinson gave a list of the number of men, cattle and wagons, in our company, and also the number of deaths--which is a customary thing with all companies. Camped on the river. The sick slowly recovering.

24^th.--Today we laid by part of the day to rest our stock. Passed some warm springs today, where a man had encamped and there died, leaving his wife and children in a land of strangers. Oh, when shall our sorrows have an end? Our path seems to lie through a vale of afflictions. I am now scarcely able to sit up and have been unwell for several days. We are now fast approaching the Rocky Mountains, where I sincerely hope we shall all regain our wonted health. The task of keeping my journal now is almost intolerable and I sometimes almost conclude to give it up. But then I recollect I promised my friends that I would keep one and having got thus far, I am induced to labor on. I have stolen the time in which I am recording these lines. Dear reader, I hope you will forgive me. Our road was bad today. Soon we will be in the Black Hills, which is the beginning of the Rocky Mountains.

25^th.--This morning we will leave the Platte River and travel along on the hills for 80 miles and then return to the same old river. The bottoms on this river are getting very narrow and are sandy, affording but little grass. It has its source in the summit of the Rocky Mountains. The weather still keeps tolerably pleasant. The road today was tolerably good. But few Indians inhabit these desolate regions; we have not seen one for some time. Found good water this evening but very little grass--plenty of wood.

26^th.--All the sick seem to be getting well; R. Stuart and F. Nitterhouse, who were at the point of death, are now out of danger, besides many others who were very low. Today we had an awful rough road, it was up one steep hill and down another all day, but we were charmed with the delightful prospects which nature affords here. In front of us could be seen the Rocky Mountains, rearing their snowy summits high among the clouds . . . .

27^th.-Today we traveled about 18 miles, over a very hilly road and very sandy. . . .

28^th.-The country we passed over today, has a wild, romantic appearance, but it is as barren as a desert, affording scarcely any grass at all, and the road was awful stony, which has almost ruined out cattle's feet. . . .

29^th.-Pulled up stakes early this morning and rolled on toward the land of gold. Today we crossed several small creeks with much difficulty, also Deer Creek, a considerable stream, swift, deep, and full of fish. Here is a great camping place; hundreds are here resting their cattle, fishing and cooking. . . .

30^th.-On Sunday morning, the last of June, we started very early and traveled five miles and stopped for the day. We camped in a beautiful grove of cottonwood on the riverbank where there was plenty of wood. . . . .

July 1^st.-This morning we started out after the cattle very early, and soon were on our way, but with heavy hearts. Those lofty mountains far ahead, but which we see every day, seem to bid defiance, yet if they are worse than these Black Hills, we are crossing, we had better give up and cry "lost pup". The shoes, which we nailed on our oxen yesterday, are doing some little good, but many are lost off already, and our cattle begin to look bad, principally on account of their feet being very sore. The health of our company is now getting much better, which I am rejoiced to see. . . .

2^nd.-Today we crossed the North Fork of the Platt River for the first and last time, I hope. We crossed on the timber, which grows along here on the river.

3^rd.-This morning we started by daylight, without any breakfast and traveled until 3 o'clock before we reached water -- about twenty miles. We have now come to where there is a great deal of alkali water, which is fatal to cattle of horses if they are allowed to drink it. We passed a great number of dead animals today. Which were poisoned by drinking this water. . . .

4^th.--This day has been a remarkably pleasant one, but it has been spent by me at least, in an unpleasant manner. We traveled eighteen miles on a very sandy and dusty road, and yet we had another "stampede". As we started this morning we had a long hill to ascend, and in going up this, our cattle gave us another splendid exhibition of their fleetness but we succeeded in stopping them in their wild career, before they got to the top of the hill. Oh, what a destructive sight it would have been had they started going down the hill. Thus far we have been remarkably lucky, with our stampedes. Today my thoughts have turned in on me and the sweet remembrance of home and friends and what I know is going on there, on this memorable day, almost makes me wish I was somewhere else. But here we are in camp this evening near what is called Lone Rock, which is about 100 feet high, and notwithstanding we have forgotten and lost sight of many things since we left our homes, there is one thing fresh in our memories yet, that our freedom, was bought with blood and we are bound to celebrate the day that prompted our forefathers to such heroic deeds. . . .

5^th.--This morning we start on, we know not where, whether to California or the grave, and some are so much way worn that they are unconcerned as to their fate. This day reminds me of Sabbath; all is calm and quiet and the weather is exceedingly pleasant. We reached the Sweetwater River, about 10 o'clock, which is a beautiful stream, three feet deep and about 80 feet wide; its waters are clear, cold and pleasant. Here, at the crossing, stands Independence Rock, a great natural curiosity. It is five hundred yards long and three hundred yards wide, and about two hundred feet high, composed of hard granite rock; thousands of names are written on it. It stands on the plain all alone, at the foot of the Rocky Mountains; you will see it laid down on the map of the United States. We camped, this evening, at what is called the Devil's Gate. Here the Sweetwater passes through a narrow defile of rocks, fifteen feet wide and four hundred feet high on each side, extending about one half a mile in length, The sublimity and grandeur of the place are indescribable and is certainly a great display of God' works, and is well worth any traveler's attention. This evening we drove our cattle near four miles to grass, over hills and hollows, to bad to tell of. Our cattle's feet are very sore now.

6^th.--Today we concluded, as we found good grass, to rest our cattle until tomorrow. Sickness has now left us since we left Fort Kearney, but none are now to say bad. The health of the emigrants has got better as we approach the mountains, and we don't now witness so many cases of sickness and death, nor so many graves as hitherto. . . . .

7^th.-This is a glorious morning, for it is the Sabbath. From this place can be seen mountain after mountain, covered with eternal snow -- piling their white tops one above another, to an incredible height. We traveled today, about twenty miles on a very sandy road which makes it very disagreeable, and camped on the banks of the Sweetwater again. This river heads on the summit range of the Rocky Mountains and affords us pure water for which we ever be thankful. From this place the Indians stole a team of horses, on yesterday, in daylight. I believe they are the Crow Tribe. . . . .

8^th.- - Last night was cold enough to freeze some, but today is pleasant. The roads are now awful dusty and sandy, that we can hardly tell what color we are when we get into camp at night. Many of our cattle are getting so tender-footed that we cannot work them but turn them loose and drive them along the side of the road. Crossed the Sweetwater three times today and camped in a small bottom, on the bank, where we had tolerable grass. . . .

9^th.-We have beautiful weather now and the mountain breezes are almost healing, yet some of our men are complaining this morning of having the mountain fever, but they are not very bad. Last night was very cold, so that a person can now enjoy a good overcoat, of nights and mornings. Today, about 3 o'clock, David Pucket was taken with cholera and tonight is very bad, at least but little hope of his recovery, and this is painful to see, for he is a kind boy. We traveled about 28 miles and camped on the banks of the Sweetwater, in a beautiful valley, here we found no grass at all; hundreds are here camped for the night; all have to tie their cattle to the wagons to starve until morning, as they have done all day. Here are the way-worn and the leg-weary, the sick, the dying, the dead, and the graves of many who have already died. More than five hundred head of stock are here suffering much for food. Mr. Pucket is very bad, late this evening, but the doctor is doing all he can for him.

10^th.--Early we were on the road, in order to reach grass as soon as possible. We crossed the Sweetwater four times today; all good crossings, and at the end of eleven miles we stopped for the day, but found nothing here, scarcely, but willows for our cattle, and they are now suffering extremely, for food, and from the appearance of some of them now I think their suffering time will soon be over. We passed several wagons, this morning, with families of women and little children, and oh, what sad countenances they wear; their reminded me of a train of mourners, following the remains of some departed friend to the tomb, and perhaps this may be the case with them before another sun shall set, and it may be our painful task, none but God can tell, who of us shall appear before him next. Oh, solemn thought! . . . .

11^th.-Mr. Pucket appears to be a little better this morning, and we start on truly with faltering steps and sorrowful looks. We are now climbing the mountains, the dreaded mountains that we have seen and feared so long; they have a very proper name. We passed a great snow bank, where we had some fun snow-balling each other, which reminded us of our school boy days. The snow was now melting which kept the ground around it moist, and here the grass and flowers were springing up most beautifully. This day reminds me of October, being cool and pleasant. This morning Robinson and Ogle left a good wagon. Some of our teams are well nigh gone, and many in our company begin to fear they will never reach the Pacific slope. For the last two weeks we have found but little grass for our cattle, and during that time we have had the worst road imaginable. From 8 o'clock in the morning until 4 in the evening there is a strong wind, blowing every day, from the west; this blows the sand and dust in our eyes so bad that we are forced to wear a scarf over our eyes all day. The sand and dust is generally from one to three inches deep, and this causes hard drawing. Here the emigrants begin to unload themselves of every hindering cause; they find they have a thousand things they cannot use; they now, for the first time, see that their wagons are all too heavy, also their yokes and log-chains. Thousands have supplied themselves with extra chains, rings, kingbolts, etc., etc. I say thousands, for I am confident that I have passed near one thousand log-chains, during the past two weeks; they throw away the heavy ones and take the light ones; calculating by the time they break a light one a yoke of cattle will be dead, and I must say that I think this is good economy. A great many have left their wagons along here on account of their teams giving out, they then double their teams and make light pulling. We traveled sixteen miles today and arrived at Willow Creek, where we camped, and after driving our stock three miles up the creek we found good grass. Thank fortune, here are some beautiful clusters of green willows, and various flowers which gives to the place a romantic appearance, and here the dead are buried.

12^th.--Today we start in the South Pass, and this morning we crossed the Sweetwater for the last time; and here, at the crossing, are several graves but no stone is planted there to tell who lies there. The ascent is so gradual in the Pass, that you can scarcely perceive it. The road is still very sandy and dusty and the wind is blowing the sand all the time. We are now out of sight of a train of emigrants; some are bound for Oregon. This is truly a desolate region of country along on the backbone of these mountains. We arrived at the Pacific Springs this evening, where we are now in camp for the night. These are the largest Springs in the Rocky Mountains, and the water is as cold as ice. Here we had no grass for our cattle again. Mr. Pucket is now very low; no hopes of his recovery; he is suffering awfully. The balance of our sick are mending but very slowly. Hard times is the by-word from all we meet.

13^th.--Started early this morning and traveled twenty-three miles before we found grass for our cattle, that had none since night before last, and when we got into camp this evening some of them were on the point of giving up their ghosts. The road today was exceedingly dusty, and the sand and dust blew so hard that many times we could not see the teams. This afternoon we came to where the road forks, the right hand leading to Oregon, via Fort Hall, and the left to California, via the great Salt Lake and City of the Dessert; here we all took the left hand road, except John Murry and James Bridewell, who joined themselves to a company that was going to Oregon, fearing that we would never get to California. We camped on a small stream, called Little Sandy, this evening, where we had but little grass. Today we passed several wagons, which had been left, and a great many good log-chains, etc., etc.

14^th.--Started early this morning and traveled about six miles and found good grass, near three miles off the road; we here drove our wagons to the grass too, for we intend to stay here until tomorrow. Here one of our cattle died, being poisoned by drinking alkali water. Wild sage here is as thick as it can stand, and on the creek willows grow spontaneously, where the wolves and hares find a good hiding place. Occasionally may be seen some few antelope and elk, skipping about. The country around here is perfectly barren, except along the little streams, where in some places is found good grass and willows. David Pucket is still alive but he certainly cannot last long, notwithstanding all has been done that could be to save him.

15^th.--This is Monday morning, which finds us on our sickly course to the promised land. We are now about two thousand miles from our homes, on our way down the western side of the Rocky Mountains, and over one thousand miles from California . . . . The weather is cool of nights, yet pleasant during the day. Mr. Pucket is near his last, death seems to follow us.

16^th.- All is still and solemn this morning, for the work of death is seen; David Pucket is no more; he died this morning , just before day and was buried at 7 o'clock, on the banks of Big Sandy, ten miles east of Green River. No relative was there to shed a tear over his grave; he was quite a youth and certainly was an exception to human nature. He told me, a short time before he died, that he had always succeeded in doing what he conceived to be right, that he started to California to get money enough to educate himself, that he might be useful in the world, and that he did not regret the least that he had to die for he was going to heaven. . . . We started on, traveled ten miles and came to Green River, a deep and rapid stream, over which we had to ferry our wagons. This ferry is kept by the Mormons; they charge $4.50 per wagon . . . .

17^th.-Last night, being so many assembled here, I believe they had something like a stag-dance; several violins were going all night and the boys were merry as crickets under hearthstones. All hands were engaged, this afternoon in helping the ferrymen get the wagons on and off the boat and rowing over. The river is six hundred yards wide and very swift and deep. We had all over the river and ready to start by 12 o'clock; then we started and traveled fourteen miles and camped, with but little grass and no water; part of the company, after halting a little, drove on to Black Fork, a branch of Green River, where they arrived about midnight. We are now traveling through a dangerous land, infested with alkali water and Snake Indians. We have been traveling, since we left Fort Laramie, over one of the most desolate parts of this world, I suppose; the soil almost universally, has the appearance of the sea shore.

18^th. -- This morning we started early and traveled to Black Fork, where we found the balance of our company again. Here we found our old Illinois friends, whom we spoke of being attacked by the Pawnee Indians, on the Platte bottom; death has separated some of them. We crossed Ham's Fork, which is a tributary to Green River, the water is clear as crystal and plenty of grass grows on its banks. Ogle & Robinson lost a yoke of cattle today; caused by drinking alkali water, of which there is plenty in these regions. Thousands of cattle, mules and horses die with the nauseous and poisonous stuff. This evening we crossed Black Fork again, and after traveling about twenty-two miles the evening shades began to appear and we pitched our tents, and tarried until morning. We are now very cautious for fear our stock will get to poisonous waters. In searching about for both good and bad water, Jacob Sperry found a large lake, which proved to be good water, and in honor to the discoverer, we called it Sperry's Lake.

19^th.--Again we are on the way to Ophir, and in traveling five miles, we came to Black Fork, where, in a short distance, we crossed it twice, for the last time, and after traveling twenty-four miles over a rather picturesque part of the country we reached a beautiful valley, of fertile soil. In this valley there is a fort, called Fort Bridger, after the old pioneer who built it and lives there near where we have camped. This valley is certainly very rich and affords the best of grass; it is watered by seven beautiful streams running through it called Rushing Creeks. These streams are from ten to twenty feet wide and from one to three feet deep of clear cold water, just from the mountain tops. The Fort is occupied by a number of French and Indians of the Snake Tribe, who live well and prosper by trading. The chief articles they have to trade are furs, moccasins, whiskey, milk and buckskin pantaloons, etc., they sell milk at 10 cents a pint and whiskey at two dollars per pint. They have hundreds of very fine cattle and horses, which the Indians take a great delight in riding. This is the only place which I have seen, for many hundreds miles, that is fit for the abode of man, and this is truly beautiful; here the wild roses and wild flowers flourish and bloom in all their varieties, and green grows the willows on the banks of the ice cold streams of Rushing Creeks, while all around are towering snow-capped mountains shooting their tops high up in heaven, presenting at once an appearance to the beholder, perfectly sublime and enrapturing.

20^th.--This morning we are told that over one hundred lodges of Indians are to meet here today, at the Fort to exhibit five thousand horses, a prize they have taken fax the Utah Tribe, with whom they have been at war. They must have fought a good fight, and I should be very glad to stay here today and see them exhibit their trophies of war, but something seems to say, stay not till tomorrow's sun. We gathered our teams and marched away toward the land where we hope to rest. We traveled until noon and rested an hour, as we always do, but not at so good a spring as we did today. This afternoon we were caught in a storm of rain and thunder which did not come up to our expectations, for we felt as we used to feel on the Platte bottom, at an inundation. Here we took the start off our bullocks and unhitched them, and then some were hard to hold from running off. When we reached Muddy Creek, part of the trains encamped for the night and the balance went on about four miles further to a good spring, here we found splendid grass.

21^st.--This is the Sabbath day again, it seems to me that Sunday comes very often now. It is a very pleasant day, and this morning I felt lost when I contrasted my condition now with my Buckeye days, so I concluded that I would steal away from the train and get into some solitary place and once more enjoy a Sabbath day revere, and I strayed away from the road and found a beautiful little valley of grass, where I laid myself down to read a book, which I had borrowed, and while I lay here in all this glory, I insensibly fell into the arms of sweet Morpheus, who conducted me straight away to dream-land . . . .(When I awoke) I was at least three hour's travel behind the teams; and now came another of those fatiguing jaunts to catch up, which we have already experienced a hundred times. After walking hard for fifteen miles I found them all encamped, on the west bank of Bear River, which is an exceedingly swift stream; the water is cold and clear, and on its banks are some very beautiful natural scenery. It flows into the Great Salt Lake. Today we passed over the summit ridge of the Rocky Mountains, which is several hundred feet higher than the South Pass. Today the company lost some more cattle, by getting poisoned with alkali. Last night we had a little shower of rain.

22^nd.--Farewell to Bear River, we have started, traveled all day and stopped again at a good spring . . . . We traveled, in all, today, about twenty miles and found ourselves where I am now.

23^rd.-Huge mountains seemed to block up our pathway today, but we rolled over them, like the tide sweeps over the main. We also had considerable difficulty, crossing some small streams; some places the wagons would sink in the mud over the hubs. After we got into camp this evening, we had gone about eighteen miles. We now find tolerably good grass, on this side of the mountains. The sick of our train have been strengthening for some time past, so that the health of our company is now pretty good. He that goes to California, the overland route, has to work his passage or die in the plains. For the last week we have, as before, passed a great many wagons, log-chains, yokes, etc., left by emigrants, not being able to take them any further. The dust that almost put out our eyes a few days ago is not so bad now. Encamped at a good spring.

24^th.--Today we had squally times, passing over some of the worst roads imaginable covered with rocks, and at other times we wound our way through long groves of beautiful cottonwood trees interspersed with pine and cedar, and all day we traveled "where the tall cedars grow and the bright waters flow". Vegetation is springing forth here in abundance, and the soil appears more productive than further back, and the mountains present a bold and sublime appearance.

25^th.--The timber today is of some larger growth, being more pine and some few shrubby oaks. Today our path led over some exceedingly high mountains; the road was desperate. Our cattle are wearing away very fast, on these mountains, but we have got the most of them along so far. We pitched our tents this evening near a great spring.

26^th.--This morning we started down what is called the Canyon, an exceedingly deep and narrow ravine, through which flows a beautiful stream of water, cold as ice; this stream we crossed thirty times, in traveling eight miles, the length of the Canyon; some of these crossings were very bad, the mud being very deep. This Canyon leads down to the great Salt Lake Valley, and along it grows some beautiful shrubbery, which served to animate us a little, when we were toiling through. The road through this Canyon is certainly the worst on earth at least, I think that I have already passed over some awful bad roads, but this is so much worse that it baffles all description. But adieu to the Rocky Mountains, we have at last triumphed over the last obstacle which they presented. We entered the valley about 3 o'clock this afternoon, and traveled six miles up it, passing through the City of the Dessert, one mile beyond to the river Jordan, where we encamped. This is truly an extensive valley, being one hundred miles long and twenty wide, containing about 20,000 inhabitants. The population of the city is 8,000, chiefly Mormons. The houses are generally but one story high, and built of brick dried in the sun. The streets run at right angles and are six rods wide and on each side of every street runs a clear stream of mountain water conducted from the mountains by ditches, and of this water they use for all purposes. This valley is almost surrounded by mountains, whose tops are covered with perpetual snow. It seldom ever rains in the valley and their fields and gardens are watered by small streams, led by furrows through all parts of them. The city is twenty miles from the lake and one mile east of the river Jordan, which is eight feet deep and forty yards wide. The Utah Indians inhabit some parts of this valley; they have a camp near us, on Jordan; they are very filthy and selfish. Produce of all kinds is dear here, we paid $25.00 per hundred for flour and other things sell in about the same proportion. They are now engaged in building a large commercial house and yet they have no code of civil law amongst them, but the church officers are the supreme arbiters of all cases. Little or no regard is paid to the Sabbath here, all kinds of trading is going on that day.

27^th.--Yesterday evening we swam our cattle over Jordan and drove them to good grass and today we are, as well as our cattle trying to rest a little and recruit our weary bodies. Today I spent the greater part of the day in the city with the Mormon brethren, whom I found to be very sociable, kind and accommodating, and as I have had no good "creature comforts" for a long time, I took dinner with them, for which they charged 50 cents, and when I sat down to their table, which was burdened with all the rich comforts of life, my heart was filled with gratitude, and my thoughts were turned on the joys of other days. I also took supper with them, and they told me the story of their trials coming here, etc. Their average crops of wheat per acre is about fifty bushels, and corn does not grow well here for the want of frequent showers.

28^th.- This is the Sabbath, and nearly all are bound for church today at the Bowery, where Mr. Pratt is to preach. I went to town but I had so much to look at that I did not attend the service but was present at the benediction and saw the ladies disperse, which was "some"; they are generally handsome, dress nest and with a deep sense of propriety and comfort. Today I shared the hospitality of the Mormon friends again. The health of this city is very good.

29^th.--Today we have been making necessary preparations to leave the Mormon city tomorrow. However this morning we held a meeting, to conclude which road we would take from this place, there being two, one which goes north of the lake, through Fort Hall, and one leading south of the lake, called the Cutoff or Hastings' route, intersecting the other road at the head of the Humboldt or St. Mary's river, about four hundred miles from here. After a short deliberation, we concluded to take the latter road. Here our physician whom we had employed to travel all the way with us left and took the northern road, but the health of our company is good at this time. . . .

30^th.--This morning, I feel down in the mouth for I feel just as if I were leaving home; in fact much more, for already I have been disappointed badly in the roads and in the sorrows and trials of the trip, and knowing that the worst of the journey is yet to be completed, I almost wish, I never had been born. But we hitched up and started on, casting a wishful look behind, where all seems to be happiness, peace and plenty, but ahead all is discouragement, toil, hunger and death. Oh, who can live and not despair under such circumstances, but here is a little band that is bound to go through if God alone is willing. Our cattle seem to be considerably revived. We traveled sixteen miles, over a very dusty road to a good spring--encamped and found good grass.

31^st.--Started early this morning and traveled until 9 o'clock, when we reached the Great Salt Lake, which is certainly a great curiosity. Here the Mormons make their salt; three buckets full of the water make one of pure salt, the finest in the world. Here a number of us took a long bath; the water being so heavy with salt that a person cannot sink from the surface, and clear as crystal. We traveled twenty-two miles and encamped at a good spring and good grass, but had awful dusty roads. The water generally along here is brackish.

August 1^st.--This morning we met some Mormon men who had been conducting some emigrants out ten or twelve days travel on this road and they told us that we were within twenty-eight miles of an eighty mile desert and that we world have to cut grass here to feed our cattle, while crossing, so we took our scythes and mowed each team a large pile of grass and loaded it into the wagons and got ready to start by 2 o'clock this evening. We now have to travel twenty-eight miles from here before we reach water, so after cooking enough here to do us this evening and in the morning, and filling our kegs with water, we started on and traveled late; our cattle must suffer all night for water, and travel hard all day tomorrow, through the dust, until night, before we reach it--this is too hard.

2^nd.--Bright and early, this morning, we were on the road and traveled on through dust and heat for eighteen miles, when we reached two good springs, away up on the side of a mountain, two miles from the road, and going these two last miles, uphill, you ought to have seen the bullocks heave when they smelt the water; some of them, however, gave up and would not pull a pound, for they couldn't. At these springs is a great camping place, and about fifty wagons are now camped there. There is some little dry bunch grass here and we intend to stay here until tomorrow evening and rest our cattle. We are now seventeen miles from the starting point across the desert, and having good water and plenty of wood, all are engaged in cooking for the desert.

3^rd.--This forenoon all were engaged in cooking yet. I cooked eleven large flat cakes this morning, in a skillet which I borrowed from a couple of ladies who had got through cooking. Some good looking and well-dressed Indians visited our camp this morning; we interrogated them considerably, respecting the desert we had to cross, which they appeared to know all about, but we could not properly understand them. We stayed at the springs until 2 o'clock, then started and drove six miles to another good spring and camped for the night.

4^th.--This morning we filled all the kegs we had, at this place, for this is the last fresh water spring for perhaps over a hundred miles, and started on and went eleven miles to the last spring on this side of the desert, and camped for the day. Here we found only tolerable good grass and the water uncommon brackish and scarce, so we cannot get enough for our stock.

5^th.-- This morning there are hundreds here preparing to make a start about 12 o'clock into the dread desert. Hundreds are gathered around this spring which is very brackish, and contains a portion of sulfur, quarreling about who shall fill their cask first or get water for their famishing cattle or horses. Many are fearful they will never get any of their stock across. No one knows the enact distance across this desert, but the most that are here now are filling everything that will hold water. It is from this spring about ninety miles to the City of Dessert which we left six days ago. About 1 o'clock today we started into the field of desolation; for the first fourteen miles we had to travel over a very high and rough mountain, the road over being so rough and sidling that we had to hold our wagons from upsetting, with ropes. We reached the foot of the mountain, on the other side about sunset, where we rested a short time and took some refreshments; then we started on our nocturnal journey. The road is exceedingly dusty, and appears to be perfectly level. Nothing grows along here but wild sage which always grows in dry sand, but after traveling until midnight the country appeared to assume a different appearance somewhat, being an extensive plain, destitute of everything, even of wild sage, and yet we crossed one steep hill in the night when we had to put our shoulders to the wheel in earnest, lifting the wheels over rocks three and four feet high almost perpendicular, here we done some of the right kind of whooping and hollowing and it was done just when the man's damsel plum tree was cut, one dark still night when no men could see and when no man did see. Also we passed a wagon which had a sick man in it who was about to perish for water so Capt. Robinson put him in his wagon and we traveled on until daylight when we found that some of our cattle were nearly gone and some of us not much better.

6^th.-This morning we stopped and rested about an hour, taking a little breakfast, giving our cattle about a quart of water apiece and some hay. It has the appearance of being cloudy today, and oh, if it does it will almost be an interposition of divine providence, in our favor. The road has now become good, being very level, smooth and solid, and now while I am sitting here by the wagon wheel I discover that one of our steers is so near gone that he will not eat any hay; poor fellow we will have to make a mile stone of you shortly, and probably of all the rest. We suppose that we are about thirty-five miles from water; and can it be possible, that these cattle can ever take these wagons through. This desert is a barren waste, generally level and mostly covered with a thin saline crust; some places the ground being very soft. We had not gone far until the steer spoken of above, gave way, but on we went pushing for life and death, not knowing how far we have to go, but rather expect to reach the water by dark; we traveled on hard until night and reached a high bluff of rocks, where we were told we could find plenty of water, but lo and behold, it was twenty-five miles farther. Ah, who can imagine our feelings; disappointment sinks the heart of man. Here, around these rocks, our hopes had lingered the life-long day, but now they are transplanted twenty-five miles ahead, around a beautiful group of springs. Before reaching these bluffs, we met an old lady, with some water in a coffee-pot, going back to meet her husband, who had lost his wagon tire and had gone back to hunt for it, but she found him ready to perish; he had laid down to die. We also passed Mrs. Hall, a lady from Cincinnati, on the road, who had stayed with the wagon, while her husband drove the cattle to the water which he expected to find in a short distance, but found it to be forty miles and was unable to return; his wife was left to perish or be supplied by others; our company gave her some water to do her until morning. At the bluffs we fed the last of our hay, and gave the cattle the last drop of water and started on; now we begin to pass a great many dead and dying cattle, and see men suffering extremely for water, but here some men have hauled out water to relieve the emigrants, which they sell at $1.00 per gallon. Several of our cattle about dark are giving way and cannot go much further, they look awful bad and I know they feel worse than they look. I judge them by myself. Soon after dark another steer in our team gave way, and he was left, and some others in the company have also gone the way of all flesh, but we are going to see how many can go through; roll on is the cry now with every one; we are going through or die. . . . About 10 o'clock two more of our steers gave out, which left us but two yoke to take our wagon through; some other teams gave way entirely and stopped for the night. When we got within ten miles of the water, our cattle seemed to know, by some instinct, that water was not far ahead, and became animated with new life, and the two small yoke we had attached to our big wagon, walked as fast as I could and sometimes would trot, and when we got within a mile of the water, I had to walk before them to keep them from running. Who could not sympathize with flesh and blood, suffering in this way. It was 1 o'clock at night when we got through. This was the severest trial I have had by far, the desert proving to be ninety-three miles instead of seventy-five, as we had understood, and having to walk all the way; almost without stopping, with but little to eat and drink, and no sleep, was soul-trying, in the extreme. We dropped our bodies under the wagons and in less than five minutes were in a state of unconsciousness. . . . .

7^th.--This morning we found ourselves near a burning mountain, surrounded by a number of good springs and good grass. This morning our case is deplorable, notwithstanding it is heart-cheering to see water and grass; our team is broken down and we must leave McLean's last wagon; the only resort we have now is to make pack saddles and pack our provisions on our remaining cattle, as many others have to do. Emigrants are arriving here all the time, from the desert, almost famished for water; they say men, women and children are dying with thirst and fatigue. All start in ignorance of the distance across, and many take but little water and they must perish. Mr. Hall, who left his wife on the desert yesterday, is preparing to go back after his wife and wagon. Our company rigged out a team loaded with water; and have gone back on the desert to relieve the suffering, without money and without price. They found many at the point of death, and saved them, and many suffering extremely. Mr. Ogle, who carried water back in the desert, on his back, twenty or thirty miles, tells of one man that could not speak--whom he relieved, and of another who had been drinking his urine, and of many others almost in a similar condition. News of the most distressing character is coming from the desert all the time; many, on arriving here, are perfectly disheartened; some cursing and swearing and others praying. This evening we got our few cattle and drove down the road about a mile to a good spring, and commenced cutting up our wagon and making pack saddles of it; we made the pads of the wagon cover and stuffed them with dry grass.

8^th.--Today we are still working at our pack saddles. A number of others are also preparing to pack on their cattle--fifteen of the company which I have traveled with thus far and six young men from Dayton, Ohio; we are all fixing to start together. We all got ready this evening and moved on eight miles, to the last of these springs which have been scattered along for several miles. Some of the boys had fun with their steers, when they put the packs on, they plunged and kicked and finally run away, breaking some of the pack saddles. It beat all I ever saw, here we have to encounter another desert, of thirty-seven miles, without water and grass. The grass is not good at this spring.

9^th.--After recruiting and fixing up today until 3 o'clock, we started into the desert, intending to travel all night, on account of the days being so warm, but about 2 o'clock in the night, we got so tired that we could go no further, and we tied our cattle to some greenwood bushes, and laid down by them until nearly daylight when we started again. I forgot to say that when we fixed for packing, we also rigged a very light cart of the wheels of a light carriage which had been left, to which we hitched one small yoke of cattle, and in this we hauled our clothing and cooking utensils. We got grease to grease our cart from Ogle & Robinson, whose company we now leave and travel ahead.

10^th.--This morning we traveled over one of the most uninhabitable parts of God's creation; not a thing but the bare earth to be seen, but I suppose if it was not for these there would be no pretty places. We traveled on until 10 o'clock, when we reached some water, nothing but a deep hole dug in the side of the road; our cattle must now have grass or they are gone, and here we can find but little, so our stay must be short here, and yet it is eighteen miles further to water and grass, and we must reach there this night, so at 4 o'clock this evening, we started again, across another desert of eighteen miles, and at 10 o'clock at night we found plenty of water and tolerably good grass. Ogle & Robinson's train also reached this water last night, and we once more camped together. The road since we left the big desert has been pretty good and the weather fair.

11^th.--This morning is the light of another Sabbath, and oh, how we long for rest; earth seems to have no resting place for man but the grave. Robinson & Ogle's train intend to stay here and rest their cattle until tomorrow, but we are scarce of provisions and have no wagons and we must travel on, fast as possible--so farewell boys, for a while--if we get there before you do we shall look to see you coming too. About 8 o'clock we started and traveled over a very level read for eighteen miles and came to what is called the Mound Springs; here the waters spring out of several nobs six or eight feet higher than the surrounding country, and is very warm. These mounds are very miry in places where the water oozes out, and a man can stand on one and shake the ground for fifty feet around. Here we found good grass only around the springs, the whole country around being a perfect desert. We now have to burn wild sage in cooking. We sojourned at the Mound Springs until morning.

12^th.-This morning we started early and drove our steers eighteen miles, by 2 o'clock, when we reached another mound spring; here we rested two hours and started on and went eighteen miles farther, by 9 o'clock at night, where we found good grass and water in a running stream. The roads and weather are now splendid, so we get along with our cart now fine, and our cattle have got pretty well used to the pack saddles. We spread our blankets on our oxen's backs to prevent the saddle from injuring their backs, yet some are getting very sore.

13^th.--At 8 o'clock we were on the road again; we traveled sixteen miles, to a good spring, with plenty of grass, and rested two hours and then started and drove on seven miles farther, to the foot of a mountain with considerable snow on its top; here we encamped at a splendid spring, large enough to turn a mill. The country now begins to look a little more like living.

14^th.- We are now about to start into a valley of a thousand springs; the beginning looks beautiful. We started and traveled due south all day; about twenty-five miles through one of the most beautiful and fertile valleys I ever saw. It far exceeds Salt Lake Valley, being more extensive and better watered; the grass is like a meadow and the springs are innumerable. It is about one hundred miles long and thirty wide, and the soil exceedingly rich, but there is but little timber, which is shrubby pine, on the brow of the mountains, which surround the valley. We passed some warm and hot springs, some of which were boiling hot. Our cattle seem to endure packing better than drawing the wagon. The health of our little band of pilgrims is very good now.

15^th.--The road along this valley is splendid. We called this valley "Fountain Valley". Today we passed hundreds of springs, large enough to turn a mill; they all flow from the mountain, which borders along the valley and collect in the middle of the valley, forming the most beautiful stream in the world. We traveled about twenty-three miles today in a southern direction, and camped near a beautiful spring. We are now going through a country inhabited by the Shoshone Tribe of Indians. I forgot to say a few days ago, some few visited our camp and wanted to buy some rifles and ammunition, or rather to exchange some horses for them, which they had no doubt stolen from the emigrants. They are a sulky, sullen, thievish and blood-thirsty race of people generally, and the emigrants are on the lookout for them. Here, at this spring there is a notice put up that the Indians had stolen from the emigrants at this place, on last night, eleven horses and seven cattle, and to be on the watch at night for them, for they will both kill and steal. On yesterday we were informed that this road led down this valley a considerable distance and then turned to the right, across a mountain and turned due north, parallel with the road, down the valley, and led back almost to where we entered the valley, and that there was a road which packers could travel across the mountain a few miles below where we struck the valley, that teams had to travel down to where we now are, in order to take a wagon across the mountain; which, they say, is only fifteen miles across at any place, but we were afraid to take this cutoff, on account of the Indians, we now having no arms in our company, except one rifle and one musket; supposing that the Indians would be no worse than they had been heretofore, we gave our guns to others who had teams to haul then, for it seemed to be intolerable for us to pack a heavy rifle all day and drive a steer too, and have to stop probably every twenty minutes and balance the pack on the steer, to prevent it from ruining his back. For the last week we tied our cattle to pickets at night, and have not stood guard, but tonight we have a strong guard out and have our cattle tied close around us. In the morning (if the Indians don't take us tonight) we intend to start across the mountain.

16^th.--Started at 6 o'clock AM, and traveled fifteen miles, in a western direction, across the mountains, and found good water and grass, and rested two hours, when we started again and traveled fourteen miles farther, in a northern direction in a small valley, through which flows a beautiful little stream, called Glover Creek, where we encamped amidst grass knee high, near the road. About two rods from the road lies a dead Indian, who has been shot by an emigrant; he has a whip in one hand and an arrow in the other, and seems to have been shot from a horse, and lies as he fell dead. The most intense excitement now prevails among the emigrants; all are in a dread and fear of the Indians. We heard today, that five men, who were packing their packs on their backs, had taken the cutoff across the mountains, (which is spoken of on the other page) were barbarously murdered by the Indians, when crossing; and this intelligence has excited the revenge of all the emigrants, and every Indian is shot that can be seen. We passed a notice, this evening, stating that six Indians had been shot near here, a short time ago, and for emigrants to look out for depredations. Every man is now high strung, with revenge and fear, from the savages. Tonight we had on a strong guard all night and yet none slept soundly.

17^th.--Last night, after night awhile, the guards awakened the company and told us that they discovered the approach of several Indians, who could be seen plainly, approaching our camp, but we were not too hasty and awaited their near approach, when we discovered, to our very agreeable surprise, that they were white men and old traveling companions, viz: A. J. Jeffries and Mr. Hedrick, who belonged to Ogle & Robinson's company, which we had left one week ago. They had taken the cutoff, before referred to, in company with Capt. Robinson and Esq. Milligan, who had got separated from them, during the day, and they, having heard, as we did, that the road continued down the Fountain Valley some distance below the cutoff, and then turned and crossed the mountain and returned back the mountain, on the other side, they concluded to cut across and meet them at noon or night that day, but supposing they were wrong, they had turned back to meet their teams, and after hungering and thirsting all day and part of the night, found our camp and might have been shot for Indians--but we hailed them with joy, after dreading them awhile, and congratulated them on their narrow escape, Robinson and Milligan had taken some other course they knew not, and probably by this time, were killed by the savages. After preparing the lost pilgrims some grub and hearing the many exciting tales they had to tell of Indian depredations, we shared our blankets with them, and laid down low in the grass again, just as a flock of quails would when a hawk is poised above them, and in about as much suspense; but in the morning all was well. Hedrick and Jeffries started back, this morning, to meet their train, with their lives in their hands, and we started on toward California, one close up to the another so that if we were attacked, we could see each other fall; in this way and manner we tramped all day up Glover Creek, for thirty miles, and camped on the banks of the same, whose banks are grown up with thick clusters of willows, forming a splendid retreat for Indians. We saw no Indians all day, but just after we had encamped this evening, we heard, at a short distance, from our camp, most desperate yelling, as if death was being dealt out by wholesale; and we, supposing it to be the cries of emigrants whom the Indians had attacked, armed ourselves well, which we borrowed from some packers who had just arrived in our camp and intend to encamp with us, and hurried in the direction of the cry, which continued for sometime with almost constant firing of guns, but it being now about dark and the cry stopped, we did not find them and returned to camp. When we got to the camp we found Capt. Robinson there with a number of others, who had come across an Indian camp on this creek, among the willows, and had been exchanging the red fellows some lead for which they received a shower of arrows, and it was the effect of this lead that made the Indians scream so terrific. Mr. Robinson supposes that they killed eight or ten of them in the willows. This party had started out yesterday morning, to the foot of the mountain to a camp of Indians, who had in their possession a number of good horses they had stolen from the emigrants, to give them war and take their horses, but could not find them, so concluded to return and search for the dead bodies of the five men who had the day before been killed, while crossing the mountain, which they found and buried as well as they could, and then on returning to the road, near our camp, they found the Indians, whom they peppered as spoken of before. Mr. Milligan had left Mr. Robinson on the road and traveled ahead in another train, for security from the Indians, until his train would come up. Here we were in an enemy's land, in the midst of a host of blood-thirsty and revengeful savages, expecting their vengeance to be wreaked on us this night. This night came my turn to stand on guard, from midnight until day. The night was cold and the tall grass and willows stood thick around our camp, and we knew not what minute the sneaking Indians would crawl up and shoot us down, but our number and arms, I think, bluffed them off.

18^th.--This morning Capt. Robinson started back to meet his train, and we started on toward our Canaan, with sorrowing hearts, for now the awful and fearful truth flashes across our minds, that our provisions are nearly gone. . . . .About 11 o'clock AM, we reached the South Fork of the St. Marine and Humboldt river, which we followed down all day, crossing it twelve times. It descends through a very deep canyon or ravine, which the road follows, and is one of the worst I ever saw, so bad that it would be incredible to tell. We traveled about twenty miles, truly with cautious step, but saw none of the Shoshones, and camped on the river bank, and after traveling a long distance, wading through water half the time and having nothing to eat all day, we found ourselves wolfish hungry, awful tired, and nothing to eat . . . .

19^th.- . . . .we collected and started to see what came next, and in traveling fifteen miles down this stream, we crossed it about twenty-five times, some places having to wade along in it crotch deep, for a half mile, there being no room on the banks for a road, and in many places these crossings were bad beyond comparison. No timber along here scarcely, and the country away from the streams is perfectly barren and desolate looking. In going down this canyon today, we had a hard time getting our little cart along. This day's travel brought us to the Fort Hall road, and we now find that we missed it by taking the cutoff or Hastings route by at least one hundred and fifty miles. This road was not traveled by so many as the Fort Hall road. Here the Indians have been committing some depredations; all are on the watch for them to take their lives. This morning we packed as much of our deceased bullock on his surviving comrades as we conveniently could, and this evening we find ourselves at the fork of the Humboldt, with our digestive organs perfectly dormant for the want of something to do. Oh dear! "Must we always live at this poor dying rate?"

20^th.--This morning we bought some bran and some shorts from a man who was hauling it along to feed his horse, but we appropriated it to another use, we made it into batter and cooked some cakes of it, which we relished as being good. I also bought twelve pounds of rye, which I ground in a coffee-mill, and reserved for future use when we had no bran. We paid 20 cents per pound for bran and 25 for rye, and had hard coaxing, after the fashion of starving men, to get it at that. We now felt safe for at least a day or two, from starvation, but we hear that the cholera is raging behind; hundreds are dying with it; but here there is not much sickness, yet every day we pass several graves. We started on our tiresome march, with downcast eyes, for we have to travel thirty-two miles before we reach another camping place on this river. The road is awful dusty and in some places hilly and stony. The dust and gravel would settle in my shoes so much that I would have to stop every few minutes and clean them out, and now my toe nails are worn off almost entirely, so that I go hobbling along, limping twice at once. We traveled hard all day and in the night until midnight, when we reached the river, which I sometimes thought we never would, and now, for the first time in my life, I can't tell whether I am more tired than hungry, and as equally unable to describe my feelings. . . .

21^st.--This morning several of us started out amongst the many wagons to buy some flour and bacon, but none could we get, at any price, all being very scarce themselves; so after breakfast we started on our way, inquiring of every man we passed, who had a team, if he could let us have some provision, at any price, but we could get none. We traveled seventeen miles down this river, which we now have to follow down for three hundred miles, where it sinks; and camped on its bank, where we found good grass. . . .

22^nd.--This morning we arose with the sun, and eat our breakfast, which took the last of our bran and most of the rye and beef. The Indians are now dreaded very much by all the emigrants. We have passed several dead horses and cattle, the last few days which were shot by the Indians, with their poisoned arrows. Again we start for the goal--traveled two miles and came to where the road forked, the right hand crossing the river to the north side, and the left led down the south side; here seven of the boys took down the south side and seventeen of us crossed the river and started down the other side supposing that the road crossed back again, and after we had gone until noon, we learned that this road continued on this side beyond the sink of the river; we also learned that the Indians were preparing to attack the emigrants on this side of the river, on account of the emigrants killing a number of them for stealing stock. We passed the graves of one or two emigrants, who had been shot by the Indians. These things, together with the fact that the road of this side is traveled but little, alarmed us, and we determined to cross the river and gain the other road, and after much searching for a suitable place to cross, while traveling this afternoon, we finally stopped and dug down the bank, so that our weak cattle could get down and up, and got them over safe, and then packed our plunder over on our backs; also our little cart was transferred. Before we crossed, we could distinctly see the dust rising from the other road and we thought we now had to travel about two miles, across a large bottom, before reaching the other road, but alas! It was at least four, and the bottom was filled with willow brake, tall grass and sloughs. After we got over the river and fixed up again, we were tired and hungry, for we had traveled hard all day, and it was almost night; but we now considered ourselves safe from the Indians, and started for the road, where we expected or at least hoped to meet our other boys. We proceeded carelessly along, strung out in a line near a half mile, and had not gone far before the boys ahead saw an Indian in the high grass, on a pony, and immediately gave the alarm, which was received with perfect consternation. I was now the hindmost one, with Norris Rowe, driving two very lame steers, and we hurried to overtake the foremost ones, but they were rushing for the road and crying for us behind to come up, which we could not, without leaving our cattle, and so we kept strung out and rushing for life. Now several more Indians on horseback, could be seen, whose movements indicated that they were spies; these, we suppose, reported our number and arms to their camp, which we now discovered about one-half mile from us, to our left, where we could see about forty on horseback and one hundred on foot, all hurrying for our attack. Oh, dreaded moment to us! Breathless suspense! What agonizing thoughts of the death we must die. Must we be cruelly butchered and mangled to death by these hated Indians? Oh, horrid thought; but it may not be so. They have not started yet, but they are singing a war song and putting out their fires, while we are pushing for the road; meantime, we sent a man to the road to give the alarm to passing emigrants, if there should be any, which we expected soon to reach where we would be safe. But here the savages came, on horseback, all armed with guns, flanking around us behind, almost flying, where they fired on Rowe and myself, who were now about five hundred yards behind the others, when we screamed for them to stop and prepare to fight, which they did, and Rowe and myself were compelled to leave one steer, which the Indians immediately killed; the other we rushed up to the others, where we all got together and quickly formed ourselves in a line, and having but two guns, we shouldered them and every cane and tent pole we had, and gave the yell of defiance and stood our ground, which was in front of our cattle. We were all alarmed, on account of our defenseless condition, but we were determined to die fighting, if necessary. The Indians now made a grand rally and all came rushing toward us, as if they were going to take us by storm, until they came within gun shot, and then wheeled and retreated some distance. During this scene, hope and despair played their parts alternately, but we were the wretched victims. The Indians now retreated to their camp and raised a reinforcement and then came rushing toward us again, as before, but there we stood, monuments of victory or death, and they turned aside their course, fearing to come in amongst us. Hope now began to triumph in us, for we expected to live to tell the tale. But now we see, far ahead of us, some men, whom we at first took to be Indians, running toward us, but soon found them to be emigrants, sent for by our messenger to relieve us; this was glorious news indeed. It was now dark, and the men from the road told us that it was nearly two miles to the road yet; we started and rushed our cattle for the road, the Indians following behind us, watching an opportunity to get some of our cattle, perchance they mire down in crossing the sloughs which lie between us and the road, and they were not disappointed, for we were compelled to leave one sticking in the mud. We soon came in sight of the camp fire of a large train on the road, which we soon reached after dark a short time. Here we told the tale of our wrongs and suffering, we were heard and pitied, but when we told them we had nothing to eat, they didn't know us; devil take such men, I say. We succeeded in getting some tea, and after drinking a good portion of it, we laid our bodies down to sleep, but appointed some to guard the cattle, as we are within two miles of the big Indian camp.

23^rd.--This morning we felt like we ought to have satisfaction from the Indians so we rallied a force of 35 men, by 9 o'clock, who went back and attacked them in their camp and fought them four hours, and thank fortune, killed fifteen of the rebels, and then returned on our journey and traveled until midnight, before overtaking our companies, which had gone ahead. This evening we overtook our lost boys, on this side of the river. This morning we eat the last of our old beef, which had some few maggots in it, but I must acknowledge that it tasted well. Today I bought four pounds of coffee, and this evening I bought twenty-five pounds of beef, which an emigrant killed, and several pounds of beans, and soup of course is the game tonight. Here are about four hundred wagons in camp and we don't feel afraid, and here I see several women and children, which appear to be happy. Oh my childhood days, where are they?--days of innocence, peace and pleasure, they are gone forever.

24^th.--Started again this morning, and I have gone ahead, in order to overtake as many wagons as possible and buy provisions. It is now noon and I have set down to rest my weary legs and I feel very much like lying down, but this is the only chance I will have to take down these notes, and a tiresome task it has been to me. I suppose that I have asked to buy of more than one hundred men this forenoon, but with no success. I find it hard to arouse the sympathies of the people; money, a man's best earthly friend, is no inducement for men to part with bread, on this trip. I have offered men two dollars a pound for flour and bacon, but no, they wouldn't take ten, they would see a man die first, and then they wouldn't. Well, I know one thing, very certain, we have some steers that will be chewed very fine, before we starve to death, and then some body's else will have to die if we get hungry. . . . We traveled twenty-five miles today nor saw a single stick of timber, but the grass is tolerably good yet. There are some quite extensive bottoms on this river, and filled with sloughs, near the river, so the road sometimes leaves the river for miles, on account of them. This evening we camped on the river two miles from the road, with a large train. We now have but little fear of the Indians, because we stick close to some large train all the time. . . . Here are, in this camp many cases of suffering, having had no bread for weeks, and they have become tired of asking, and hundreds are living on half rations.

25^th.--This is God's day, and we would all be glad to rest, but we must travel, so we started early and traveled thirteen miles by 4 o'clock, and rested until night. This morning we eat the last pound of beef; we have now nothing left but coffee. We bought thirty-five pounds of beef this evening, at 10 cents per pound, and feasted on coffee and roast beef. The road today was tolerably good and level, but the grass is eaten very short, the road being lined with emigrants. . . .

26^th.-- Had an early start this morning and traveled all day, over a tolerably good road, passing sometimes through bottoms which are said to be full of Indians, in places. Our cattle are now getting so poor that it takes two to make a shadow. I think they will never weather the storm; their feet are sore, and their backs are sore too, and we are sore all over, at least I am and expect to be for a long time; yet my feet are sore and every nerve seems to be sprained so that I fear that I will be an old man from this time on. We camped on the bank with but little grass. Beef and coffee for supper.

27^th.-This morning found us on our way down the Humboldt the king of rivers for desolation and destitution. The country today presents about the same appearance--a perfect desert, with no timber--nothing but willows. The road today was sandy, which made it tiresome walking. This day was exceedingly warm and sultry and now we have no cool water, but have to quench our raging thirst, from one of the most sickly streams on the earth. We continue to pass a great deal of valuable property left to rot on these soul-destroying plains. We have had no rain for several weeks now, nor do we expect any. . . . . The emigrants are so thick along this river, that the Indians never pretend to show themselves and seldom do any mischief. Traveled twenty miles today and encamped on the bank. Our company all have good health thus far.

28^th.-We hear this morning that the cholera is raging behind us, and the only wonder is, why it is not here; in fact it seems curious to me that we do not get sick and die, fatigued to the utmost, drinking bad water and eating nothing but poor beef, and that half raw, sleeping on the cold ground at night and dirty as dust can make us. The road today was extremely dusty and we traveled all day under a burning sun. Some of our cattle are now so weak that they stagger as they walk. The road this afternoon left the river for fifteen miles, obliging us to travel until 10 o'clock at night, making in all we traveled today, fifty miles. . . . .

29^th.-This morning our way is cloudy, with dark forebodings of the future. We have a desert to cross of forty-five miles, which is almost a pile of burning sand. This lies ahead forty or fifty miles, and we are afraid if we kill a steer this morning, we will never be able to get across the desert, so we concluded to go ahead until we find grass for our stock and then kill one. . . .

30^th.--Last night our cattle had little else than willows to eat, and yesterday the road was so dusty that we almost suffocated, and this morning we all ready to go back to it again, for we have our faces washed clean again and they look like new bonnets in old band-boxes. But we started up a hollow, which led us back to the road and soon our faces were as dirty as ever, marching over this heated road. The country, in this Great Interior Basin, is truly one of desolation, being mostly nothing but a desert of sand, without any timber. I have not seen a tree or shrub, except bunch willows, for almost three hundred miles, and they tell me we will find none until we reach Carson River, one hundred miles ahead, and half of this distance is over an awful sandy desert . . . . .We tramped hard all day over a sandy and dusty road, the dust being from two to six inches deep, filling our boots and shoes every few minutes, which we had to stop and clean out. We went twenty miles today and stopped on the river, tired and hungry, hopeless and way-worn.

31^st.--Yesterday, after we encamped for the night, some of the messes being destitute of meat, they killed some old cows, which had been left to perish, and took their hearts and livers, and this morning finding we would not have enough to do us across the desert, we took about forty pounds out of the hind quarter of one of the said old cows, which we hauled in our little cart, which is now, and has been for a long time, used as company stock. We traveled about fourteen miles and reached the beginning of the Humboldt sink, which we have heard so much talk about, and encamped for the day, as there is some grass here and our cattle perishing for it, and here is almost a city of wagons, all encamped, resting their cattle; and oh, how many care-worn faces I see here, and I must acknowledge that I add one more to the number. All are preparing and dreading to cross, by far, the worst desert we have met with yet.

September 1^st.--And now is another Sabbath, and we are moving down the sink slowly. This river ends here, and now begins to widen into a lake as it flows here. It is my opinion, that it does not sink but evaporates, from the fact that it spreads over a large extent of ground, and the impossibility of a subterranean cutlet. We traveled down the river or lake about 10 miles, and stopped in good grass to graze our cattle and cook our old beef, which must last us across the desert. Here I cooked about thirty pounds of beef in an old sheet-iron stove which we found, and packed it in an old sack to keep the flies from blowing it, for they have been in the habit almost invariably of blowing our fresh beef. This evening, about an hour before sundown, we started and traveled about 10 miles by 11 o'clock at night, where we camped with many others for the balance of the night.

2^nd.-We stayed here until 10 o'clock, when we cut some grass to feed our cattle with on the desert. We had to wade into the lake knee deep and cut tall rush grass, with which this lake is almost surrounded in many places, being higher than a man's head. We then traveled eight miles further along the lake to the starting point across the desert, where we found hundreds preparing to make the awful leap. Among the rest was a man from Missouri, who had a large train of wagons loaded with hams and fruits, which he sold at 65 cents a pound; and we, having little money left, spent the last cent we had for about two-thirds of a ham and three pounds of fruit, which we now cooked, and being so desperately hungry, we came very near eating it all for dinner. Here we filled our cask with water from the filthy lake, to support us and our cattle on the desert. My mess has only four steers left now, and the others have a steer to the man, I believe, and they are all poor and weak. Hundreds are now (2 o'clock) about making a start, anxious to know the worst. After lightening our packs by throwing away everything we thought we should not want, we started at half-past 2 o'clock. . . . . We traveled on until 1 o'clock at night, over a dusty and sandy road, when we found that our cattle began to lag, and we stopped, gave our cattle some hay, then laid down and tried to sleep for about three hours, and then got up and traveled until after daylight a short time, when we found ourselves very tired and hungry, when we stopped, built a fire in the wagon, boiled some coffee, and eat the last of our fruit and beef, and now we must fast until we reach the other shore. During the night we passed hundreds of dead stock lying in the road and on all sides; we also passed a great many large petrifaction's. The country is level, bare and barren thus far.

3^rd.-We now begin to meet with the destruction of property and stock; the road being almost lined with wagons, the dead and dying horses, mules and cattle. We traveled until about 10 o'clock, when one of the steers belonging to my mess gave out, and two more belonging to other messes. They were left, and on we went to victory, stalking our way through indescribable scenes of suffering and want. At noon another of our steers fell, which left us but two to haul the cart and all we had. We now became alarmed for fear we would have to throw away all we had; so each man took what he could carry on his back, and went on with heavy hearts, while I stayed with the steer which last fell, and the others went on for life. After he had rested a short time I got him up and drove him about two miles further, when he dropped again. I sat down and rested with him while he laid in the burning sand, for the sun seemed to shed down all his heat, and the sand was warm enough to cook an egg. This was a game that hundreds were playing, I discovered; but many, being as much fatigued as their stock--had but little patience with them and left them, when probably they could have come through. I got my steer up and started on and soon he was down again . . . . So I started again at 4 o'clock with my steer, which I felt bound to take through, and my heavy knapsack on my back. The sand now is generally about seven inches deep, which makes slavish walking, and I am, I suppose, about eight miles from my destination. The steer walked for about three miles and laid down in the road, and I with him, and we rested together for a while, when I got up and raised him by twisting his tail, and on we went reeling for a short time, when he fell again before I had time to strike him with my cane, and after bothering with him in this way every few minutes for a long time, he at last laid down to get up no more; and after I had twisted his tail out of joint in several places, I left him to die in peace if he could. This was in the night, and on I went, and ever and anon, I met a men hurrying back with water or food to save a dying friend, perhaps a wife or child, and they would say, "Go on, my friend; you will soon be through"-which would inspire me with new ambition, and I now began to realize my faith. At 10 o'clock at night I arrived, it might be said in the land of the living; when, after searching for some time among the many tents, I found my old messmates, all well, with two steers tied close to them, for this is a nest of thieves. After eating a little of something I laid down with the boys, but could not sleep, for all must tell the awful story of what they had seen on the desert. My feelings now are unutterable; my thoughts run quick and wild; now I am at home, then I am in California, and again I am here; and where would I have been, had it not been for the goodness of God. . . .

4^th.--This morning we waked and found ourselves on the banks of Salmon Trout or Carson River, surrounded by a number of trading posts, where there is kept all kinds of provision for sale. . . . . . When we looked around us this morning and saw provisions in abundance, our hearts were cheered once more, but we had none, neither had we any money, so we immediately killed one of our steers and sold a part of it for 20 cents per pound and bought some flour. Now we had but one steer left which we sold for $22.50, and divided the money amongst us. Now it was every man for himself, and our little band was disorganized. This day was spent in resting, butchering our beef and selling it. Hundreds are arriving here almost every hour, bringing the most distressing news of cholera, starvation and death on the desert.

5^th--This morning we are all well but in rather bad spirits; we have come to a hard place in life's uneven way; here we are, among thieves and robbers, 300 miles from the mines end thousands of miles from our homes, and we must travel fast or come to want again. Mountains 16,000 feet high, rear their snowy summits high before us, but they cannot be worse than the scorching plains . . . . .But just as we were about to start several of Ogle & Robinson's company arrived from the desert. They say that their cattle are all giving out with the wagons and they will have to leave them on the desert, and that men and beasts are sinking on every side. We stayed till our hearts were sickened with sad tales, and then bid farewell to all behind. . . . . .

6^th.--This morning we started early and traveled all day hard, going about thirty-three miles, every few of which we passed a trading post. The road was very sandy but level. This evening I witnessed another painful scene; a man whose wife had just died with the cholera, was standing by the road with a spade in his hand, about to dig a grave and bury his wife, alone, and on inquiring who was dead, he burst into tears, and said his wife, his last friend. We offered our assistance, . . . .

(By now, the adventurers were relatively safe and close to reaching their objective. To conclude:)

14^th.-This morning was pleasant and warm, and we hurried on for our cattle and horses; they had no grass at all last night. The road today descended gradually through a continual grove of the most beautiful pine and fir trees, imaginable - perfect monuments of old creation. It seems to me that there is enough of timber here to supply the whole world for ages. The dust on the road today was about eight inches deep, but the wind was calm and our eyes were saved. Hundreds of men have passed us today, traveling, separately, for life, with their blankets on their backs. This afternoon Capt. Robinson and several others belonging to his company overtook us, whom we were glad to see. They were on foot and had left their train in Carson Valley; the sight of our old traveling comrades seemed to rejoice us. They passed us and on they went towards the "diggins". . . . .

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I have told you a great many things which have happened on the journey but I have not told you half, but merely given outlines of all connected with the expedition. To tell all the little petty occurrences and transactions that have taken place would fill volumes, and you would become tired of reading it, but I leave you to imagine the circumstances and our feelings in our different conditions. Imagine my tiresome task of keeping this journal, which I found to be far greater than I ever anticipated; only think, when weary, faint and hungry, of sitting down and committing whole pages to writing, day after day, and for months; Oh, how many thousand times have I regretted that I ever undertook the task, and if I had not met with strong encouragement, from my comrades, I think that I would have given it up. . . . .

And now, before I close this little book, I beg leave to insert my opinion of the best way to go and come from California. In the first place, I would say never cross the plains, while there is a path on the high seas. I returned by sea in thirty-eight days, which I considered a pleasure voyage in comparison with my four months march across the deserts and mountains, and oh, if these mountains could only talk they would tell you tales and ghost-like stories that would haunt you to the grave, and the desert would tell such stories of suffering and death that your soul would become terror-stricken and the spirits of the dead would number yours with the departed. The fate of more than half no one knows nor never can. What a blessing to the world, if mankind only knew their wants, and seek for contentment in honest and moderate gain, for true and lasting happiness can come from no other source.

EXCERPTS FROM CABINS IN THE LAUREL

Page Excerpt

46 Uncle Zack McHone, a son of Kim McHone, from whom Spruce Pine took its early name "The Kim Thickets," is ninety years old, confined to bed with a broken hip that refuses to mend. He lives in a weathered cabin on Chalk Mountain above Spruce Pine, with a wide view of the Blue Ridge to the south and the Roan and Yellow Mountains spread out to the north.

"Look what Zack done!" he says, pulling himself up on his pillows to point at the fields beyond the open door. "I got good land and I got minerals. Spar and fluorspar, too. When I came hit was all woods. You kaint seem to make the young 'uns see the old times. There's folks all over everywhere now till you,'re like to tromp on 'em, and they all got it easy.

"You kaint know how simple we done in those days. Pickin' out of the cook pot and no plates and nothin' but wooden bowls. Spoons, we had, and a few things out of pewter. Most of the time we lived on corn bread, milk, butter, and meat. When we wanted pork, we shot a wild pig. The same with beef. Nobody penned up their animals. They turned 'em loose and when they needed meat they hunted 'em down. Men wore caps of rawhide. Pa tuck his and beat a man's face all to pieces once when they had a fight. Some folks had fur caps or 'most anything to cover their heads with. We wore flax and tow clothes mostly.

"My folks lived to start with over near Phil Tolley's on the Burnsville road in a place I could show you if I could just get up and walk. When we lived over there our house wa'n't finished for a long time. My daddy was an awful man to drink by spells and I know once when the chimney hadn't got no further than your shoulder and no floor laid but enough for the bed to stand on, he went off and didn't come back when night come. There was just two little girls then, the least one a baby, and the rest of us not born yet. Ma was scared because the wolves was gathering close and howling in the bushes, edging up as hit fell night. She kept running out in the clearin' for a rail and then another and back like the whole pack was after her, and she piled 'em around the bed where the young uns was, and she piled 'em in front of the door that wouldn't shut. Pappy didn't come and in the night the wolves fit and growled by the house, wantin' to come in, and Mammy seen their eyes shine in the fire light where they'd slunk under the floor that wa'nt half finished. And she'd have at 'em with a stick blazin' out of the fire (they don't dast go near fire) and then mornin' come and their scolding and yowling got farther and farther off.

"All the next day Pappy didn't come neither and hit started gettin' night and the wolves was gatherin'. Mammy couldn't stand no more. She was plum drug out. She just took he baby and set her straddle of her neck and crossed her legs under her chin and tied 'em tight and she grabbed my sister's hand and run for the Hoppas cabin that stood clean over the mountain in what's the Jase Burleson orchard now. She tuck the old Cane River Indian trail and run with the baby flapping on her back and when she come on the ridge she fell down and thought the varmints would git her. But they didn't and she got up and run on to Hoppas's."

58 By the spring of 1864 a Home Guard, made up of Confederate sympathizers above he age of conscription, was formed to punish the guerillas and catch the deserters. A war-within-a-war developed which instead of relieving the defenseless families increased their suffering.

Doc Hoppas, the son of a Union soldier, says, "It makes me mad to even think of the Home Guard for the way they done my daddy and my grandmammy . When the war come, they drove off all the men into one army of the other, and then after a while they said they had to have a Home Guard to take care of the women and children. Hit was a militia they raised up, but they didn't take care of 'em. They took from 'em. They was the hatefullest, thievin' bunch there was. Down at Jim Bailey's they come in and found a little cloth in the loom Aunt Polly was weavin' to make John some clothes and they cut if out and took it with 'em. If a family hadn't a thing to depend on but their cow's milk, they'd kill her for beef right in the yard and leave 'em with nothin'.

"My daddy was Allison Hoppas that was the son of Ebe Hoppas that's buried with Yankee soldiers at Knoxville. His pappy was Adam Hoppas that come from across the water in Ireland. When he come to this country he married Old Link's daughter and heir-ed all the Grassy Creek land from him, but he lost it again puttin' up money on slaves.

"My grandmammy seen hard times after grandpap went with the Union. She was a Buchanan, sister to Lewis Buchanan that was my wife's grandpap. This here militia knowed grandpap was with the Union but they suspicioned he was home layin' out. One day they come and got grandma and said they'd make her tell where he was so they could get him. She told them the truth - all she knowed. He was gone to the War and she hadn't seen him no more'n they had. They wouldn't believe her and kept at her until finally they dragged her out to the fence and lifted up the top rail where it sets, alternating one on top of the other at the joints, and put her fingers in between and walked on the rails. They thought then she'd have to tell, but she couldn't tell what she didn't know. When she was give out and they got tired of that, they picked on my daddy that was just a little boy. He had a great big pet dog and they figured he'd tell anything to keep 'em from hurting his dog. Of course he couldn't tell them neither. Then they said if he wouldn't they'd make him chop up his dog with an axe. And that's what they done. He had to hack him to pieces on the door stone to the house. When I heard him tell that when I was growin' up, I turned Republican right then, and I been so ever since. Two of us children was Democrats and two Republicans, so we just killed each other's votes regular, come election."

81 Doc Hoppas, who lives up the Hollow above the first Bailey mill, likes to talk about the lumber business in the old days, as he sits on the porch of a Sunday afternoon cooling off from the hot walk up the hill to church at Estatoe and back.

"About the time Jim Bailey started his mill there begun to be several mills all at once," he says. "They had to have something to grind corn and they got rigged to cut lumber too. There was little notches in the sash saw machine to feed the log along, whether you stayed and watched it or not, and if it finished while you weren't looking, it made no difference. Uncle Tom Sparks built a sash sawmill over near Lockridge's place and Lewis Buchanan had one. He got killed in his, one Sunday, when he went over to grind a little run of meal for dinner, and got caught by his shirt. There wa'n't nobody there to turn him loose so he was whipped to pieces.

"We done all our chopping, of course, with axes, and squared off the ends with the axe, too. There wa'n't any cross-cut saws yet. Plenty of lumber that went out of here by ox team to Marion and Cranberry was whip-sawed. That was real work. We'd pick a sidling bank and roll logs out on skid-poles laid from the top of the bank into the crotch of a tree lower down. That would leave a place for the man sawing on the bottom side to get in under. He and the man on the upside each hewed to a line and it worked very well.

"I recollect when the first cross-cut saw come in the country. Jimmy Bailey and Josh Bailey, Tom Sparks and Lewis Buchanan, all went together and were partners in a cross-cut saw that they had sent away for. Hit hadn't no drag teeth but it cut even. When they got it, each one was so afraid the other would do something to spoil it they never let just one use it alone. They wythed it on a board for fear it would take hurt if it bent, and then when they got it set to cut they'd ease the board away. They had themselves a time when it needed to be sharpened. It took the hull of 'em to do that. They were so choice of that saw, it would be here yet if it hadn't burnt up. Hit was just a curiosity, though. They only used it for house timber and such as that. In the woods we used axes right on and the women were stout enough to step up and take their turn. We none of us cared for work. My wife has packed plenty of wood out of steep places on her back and so have I.

"Finally, Clem Ellis, that's Ed Ellis' father, and Rube Woody brought in the first circle-saw we ever seen and set hit up on Brushy Creek. That was in 1893 when I was ten years old. Hit run by steam and folks were afraid of it but they came for miles and miles and stayed all day and brought their dinner just to see it run. John Silvers got the second circle-saw. All the timber was still going out to Marion and Cranberry with ox teams, six and eight head to a wagon, but they couldn't haul much even then, not with a axle draggin' in the mud. Those days were hard on everybody--oxen and mules and folks.

"After my Daddy forsook Ma and us children, she didn't have nothing and we got nothing to eat only as we went after it and made it. The neighbors tried to get her to give us away but she stayed with us right on. There wa'n't no jobs to get to speak of. If you got fifty cents a day you were flyin'. We lived near the Thompson Barrens on the Long Branch, close to Crabtree. Sometimes Ma could get a day's work for us over to Spruce Pine at $.50 for the hull of us. That was $.25, for her and 12� � for me and my brother. I was about 12 and him 14. We were tough and could hoe as good as she could, but that was the wages. We'd walk from our place to where we was working and be in the field till night. Then we'd go to Berry's store by English's Inn and get us our provisions and pack 'em home. We'd have to shin over all the ridges back to Crabtree in the dark and I'll tell you hit was a snake country. You just had to take your chance of tromping on 'em and bear away from where you heard 'em sing. Hit would be midnight when we got home and no fire nor light. All there was to do was crawl in the bed in the dark and glad to get there. Ma'd always lift the top quilt off and give it a smart flirt before she let us get in, just in case a snake could a crawled in during the day while we were gone. You never know'd for sure if you might be gettin' in to bed with one in the dark. I was young and rested directly, but Ma would be whipped down. Come morning I'd have to go over a mile for fire and then we'd work our own land.

"Ma rented a piece that had been planted to corn the year before. This was the second year for it. We hadn't no way to plow it, of course, not having no animals, but we made us a crop. I went ahead of Ma and pulled up the stalks left standing from last year and she came along and dropped the corn in the hole, and my brother behind her stomped it down. If I come to a hill where the stalk had failed last year, it was my job to dig out a hole with my toes or my fingers. We made a hundred bushels of corn that year and then we were fixed to feed ourselves and a pig.

"We put the piece to wheat next and dug it with hoes. Hit was awful to save our stuff from the wild turkeys. The country was full of them. Sometimes I've seen eighteen at a time in our lot and we hadn't no gun nor powder. Quick as you went for 'em they'd rise, but when you left, back they came.

"John McBee's daddy sent for Ma to come down after awhile and he give her a brood sow and ten pigs to keep for him. We got half the litter for tending 'em. The most you had to do was to keep an eye on 'em, because they'd pick a living in the woods. They just multiplied and multiplied until the brush was full of them. Ma sent him word to come get his half but he never did, so when we moved off'n that place we left his. They was perfectly wild, running everywhere.

"Ma kept figuring a little here and there and she raised us even if we never had nothing laid by. When I married we had nothing either, but we raised our children. They're gone by themselves now, and the worst we got to put up with is being lonesome."

142 Doc Hoppas of Brushy Creek, much in demand locally as a story teller and ballad singer, will sit down in a chair in front of two or three hundred people at the Appalachian School festivals and tell stories and sing as nonchalantly as though he were on his own shady porch. In the summer of 1933 he told mountain tales and sang ballads from the door step of the Carolina Cabin which the Penland Weavers sent to the Century of Progress Exposition, and he enjoyed giving the performances quite as much as his audiences enjoyed hearing them. . . . . . .

The mountain man seems able to adapt himself to any kind of job, even create his own tools if necessary. He may not work at it long, however, if something else claims his interest. My neighbor on the Ridge could move or repair our telephone, lay stone, do mechanical work on the car, cut and split wood, chink logs, underpin a house, or do any ordinary kind of farm work.

When, as a boy, Doc Hoppas wanted a banjo, he made it out of a wooden axle-grease box, using waxed shoe threads for strings. Besides being a ballad singer and story teller, he is a spar miner, stump puller, farmer, woodsman, barber, and maker of axe handles. When he saw his wife laboriously threading bobbins for her loom, he made a machine to do it for her, and he devised a trooped trellis of hickory bark laced between saplings for the bean vines to climb, so she could stand in the shade to pick them..

180 Doc Hoppas of Brushy Creek tells this story of how corn whiskey delayed the progress of the arbiters in a land survey dispute. I have taken the liberty of putting Doc's prose into the verse of the country.

BLOCKADE

The Long Road to Piny Cove

The sourwood boughs made a thin green screen.

The slender dogwood laced between

And kept out the sun, but the simmering heat

Oozed through softly, summer sweet,

And young Rafe Belfield lounged in his saddle

His shirt undone, long legs astraddle

And dangling down almost to the ground,

The little mare mincing and picking around.

He stared out beyond with half-shut eyes

Where the open gap of Lick Creek lies

And reckoned whether he'd get clear through

By dinner time as he hoped to do.

Below, two men were starting to ride

Up the trail he was on. He stared down and tried

To make out who it was. That's why he ran

Almost straight into a horse and man.

The road there was narrow, no more than a ditch.

The man pulled up short, cut his horse with the switch

And rode on around, barely glanced, and passed by.

"That's Gates, the surveyor. Couldn't he try

Fur something to say? I wonder how come

He's acting so feisty? He's pesterin' some."

It was something to think of. That was at noon.

The other two men would be coming up soon.

But they didn't show up. He went down alone,

And there at the bottom was Uncle Zack Stone

With faithful Deal Ransom, both sitting still

On the backs of their horses. "We're waitin' until

A feller can holp us," volunteered Deal.

"We want to get yander and both of us feel

We kaint never make it. You understand?

Hit's this yere liquor. Give me a hand!

I'd like to get down and stand up a spell.

You see, I kaint talk much. Zack better tell--"

"You fool! Stay where you are!" yells Zack.

"Lord knows, kaint nobody get you back.

Belfield, I'm mighty glad you've come.

We'd set so long, I'd worried some

For fear nobody's come this way.

We got to get some place today.

Deal, where is it we have to go?

You're goin', too. You ought to know."

"To Piny Cove, Zack. That's the place.

We got to get there. Hit's a case

We can't let nothin' stand in the way.

We got to check on Gates' survey."

"I met Gates yander on Razorback."

"We was together," said Uncle Zack.

"And then he says, 'I won't fool no more,'

And cussed us out and ripped and tore

And went by himself. We slowed him so

Stoppin' to drink when he wanted to go

Wherever we're goin'. I don't feel to hurry

And fetch up all lather. Taint like me to worry

But I do want to get there and speak for my man

While Deal talks for his'n, providin' he can."

"Belfield haint heard about that," broke in Deal.

"The Piny Cove Kirbys have figured to steal

About half the land that's the Allens' by right

And Kirby and Allen got into a fight.

The feller surveyin' the land that they stole

Got knocked out cold with his own measurin' pole.

Now they've got Gates to survey out the line

And I favor the Allens. They're good friends of mine."

"The Kirbys ain't callin' for more than what's theirs.

I'm goin' to watch Gates. Any time that he dares

To edge the line in where it oughtn't to run

I'll sure call a halt. I can handle a gun."

"Zack, don't talk so!" counseled Deal.

"We're peacemakers. You mustn't feel

Fur stirrin' up another row.

The reason that we're goin' now

Is that they've had one. We're to see

He runs that line--" "Ye don't need me,"

Rafe interrupted, "I've got to go.

My girl's got dinner down below.

I'm late right now. You'll be all right.

Go on. I'll watch you out of sight."

"Don't go, Rafe! You know Zack's old

And I got more than I can hold,

So much I kaint go up that grade.

There wa'n't no saddle ever made

Could keep me from slipping over the tail

The minute I hit a steep up trail.

I kaint look out fur Uncle now.

All by himself ye kaint tell how

Or where he'll want to head that mare,

And I kaint help him. I don't care

For me, but I am choice of Zack.

He come with me. I'll bring him back.

We got a sight of work to do.

Runnin' a line. Did I tell you--?"

"Yes. You did. I heard it all--"

"Quick there! Ransom's goin' to fall!"

Called Zack, aslant of his saddle bow,

Weaving dizzily to and fro.

"Just ride behind him up the hill.

Ye kaint desert us now until

Ye've leastways seen us up to the top.

That's far enough. And then we'll stop

And you go on where you're started to.

Hit's the only Christian thing to do."

"Deal!" yelled Rafe. "Drop that demi-john!

There's no more drinkin'goin' on

If I got to go to the top with y'all.

Look at ye now! All ready to fall

And fixin' this minute to lap up some more."

"All the more reason ye kaint go before

Ye got us well started." Deal dung to Rafe's arm.

"If your girl's a mite peevish--oh well, what's the harm?

Hit ain't such a lot, just missin' a meal.

Take some corn, feller. We've plenty!" said Deal.

"You bet I'll take it. All you've got.

Yours too, Zack. You'd better not

Drink any more till you sober a bit.

Come on! Hand it over. My horse carries it."

"Ye can carry the jugs but ye needn't think

We'll give them up without a drink."

That was Zack, and Deal agreed

One sup was all that either'd need.

They wouldn't want another drop.

They'd ride straight on and never stop.

And Rafe gave in. "Well, just one then.

Remember not to ask again."

"My jug is particular how I hold her."

Zack tossed it fondly on his shoulder

And drank a most prodigious swallow.

He looked at Deal. "Rafe thinks I'm hollow.

Say, boy, d'ye know--the more I pour

The less hit seems I had before?

I'm finished, Deal. Are you ready to ride?"

"Ready, Zack. I'm fortified."

Rafe slung the jugs on the little mare

And climbed up back of Ransom where

He could steer him best and hold him on.

The three toiled slowly up upon

The tedious winding mountain road

With Deal's horse bearing a double load.

They sweated and cursed and slipped and stumbled,

While Deal clutched the saddle bow and grumbled,

And Rafe kept urging his horse ahead

And holding Deal. "Well, boys," Zack said.

"I feel as high as a Georgia pine!

I'll leave you fellers run the line.

Let Belfield do it. I don't care.

I don't reckon I'll be there."

They reached the top. Rafe called a halt.

"Ye kaint leave now. Hit ain't my fault,"

Said Uncle Zack. "Hit's just the heat.

But if I'm goin' to keep my seat,

You're goin' to have to make a trade

And hold to me on this down grade.

I kaint ride down hill sober even.

Rafe, ye ain't so set on leavin'?"

"I kaint leave Deal, Zack. He's the worst.

I'll stay with him like we started first.

You just make up your mind to ride.

Bear down on your heels. You'll stay astride."

Rafe wondered when the day would end.

Zack rode obediently round a bend

And fell head first. He never stirred.

"Hit was Zack a fallin' that we heard."

Ransom groaned. "We might a known

He couldn't ride by himself alone.

No use to look. I know he's dead.

I hate that. He fell like lead."

"Hold tight, Deal, while I go and see

How much he's hurt." "No! Don't leave me!"

But Rafe had jumped down on the ground.

"Keep your head up, Deal. Don't move around!"

"Don't go, I tell you. Uncle's dead.

Didn't you hear him pitch on his head?

He was feared of that and now it's done.

Don't leave me now. I'm the only one."

But Rafe ran down the trail to Zack

Lying stretched flat on his back.

He seemed all right. His eyes were wide.

"I'm killed!" he said. "I'm smashed inside."

Rafe looked him over. "Come along.

You're just high. There's nothing wrong."

"Don't tell me that. I guess I know

When I fall and kill myself. Rafe, you go

And see to Deal. Don't let him fall.

You kaint do nothin' for me at all."

From behind came a heavy bumping sound.

Somebody else had hit the ground.

A grit of gravel, a horse's squeal,

And Rafe ran up the road to Deal.

He was fast asleep right where he fell

And anybody could foretell

He'd be long gone; not a bit of use

Of Rafe expecting to get loose.

He'd have to watch. He didn't dare

Go off and leave that drunken pair.

He dragged Deal down where Uncle slept.

The sun went down. A cold draft kept

The laurel branches tossing about.

The two slept on. Thought Rafe, "I doubt

But both may have come sober now.

I'm going to wake them anyhow."

He called and shook. They wouldn't stir.

It seemed their sleep was heavier

Than any time since they passed out.

He couldn't start them down without

He packed them like a load of wood.

And then he thought, "Suppose I could

Affright them so they'd up and start!

I might pretend I had a cart

And rout them out to let me by."

He hid in the brush. "Hello, Deal! Hi!

Hup, Zack! You two clar out of there!

I'm like to tromp ye down, I swear.

I got a team and a heavy load.

What air ye doin' blockin' the road?"

Then Deal woke up and tried to climb

Out of the way. "Hey! Give me time

To wake up Uncle. Zack! Scoot over!

Get out of the road and let that drover

That's yellin' yander drive on by."

Zack didn't move. "I'll have to try

A little mite more. Wake up! Hit's me.

Ye got to get up. Do ye want to be

Broke all to bits? He's a real nice man.

Leave him go by as quick as you can."

"Are ye gone?" called the drover. "Here I come

"Not yet we ain't. I've tried him some

But he kaint hear a word I say.

Hold on! We're goin' to get away!"

Zack wouldn't rouse. Deal said at last,

"I'll save myself then. Go on past!"

He sat up, whirled his legs around

And lay back down upon the ground--

Right where he was. "Be on your way.

I'm gone!" he shouted. "Come ahead!

Good-bye, Zack. You're good as dead!"

Then he begged, "Kaint ye go slow

And sort of fix to hit him low?

If his legs get broke, I know they'd mend--"

Then Rafe stopped trying to pretend

That he was the teamster any more.

The two lay just as they were before.

When the moon came up Zack set up straight.

"Wake up, Deal! Hit's awful late.

Hey, Rafe! What's become of you?

Where's our horses wandered to?"

And then, "I just remember now.

I haint no horse. I wonder how

We'll get along? Remember, Deal?

He broke his legs in the wagon wheel

The time that teamster made a fuss

Fur room to pass and crowded us."

250 In the hills the rhythm of the singing counts for more than the tone. The beat must be what the ear has been led to expect from the foregoing phrase. If a line of verse has come to have too many syllables to scan properly, it will be slurred to fit the rhythm somehow and the effect will not be faulty. When Doc Hoppas sings the "Rim Rock Ranch," the lines run thus:

Goodbye to my friends and relatives

Goodbye to the girl that I love.

The rhythm satisfies the ear because he naturally puts the emphasis where it belongs, even though he must mispronounce a word in order for the line to scan as it should.

In spite of its title, which belongs to another locale, the "Rim Rock Ranch" is a good type of the new folk song of the mountains, besides being an illustration of the urge for rhythm that is part of the atmosphere. Doc Hoppas read a book called The Rim Rock Ranch. The dramatic qualities appealed to him, and he made it his own by translating it into the mountain mood; that is, he expressed his own reaction in rhythm. Thus we have a highland song with outlander material.

264 Story telling goes hand in hand with the music of the mountains as the prime entertainment of private gatherings. They say that Professor Wing, who started a mountain school and library at Ledger fifty years ago, used to hire Sol Pitman by the day, to come and recite his tales. Sometimes, as with Doc Hoppas, the story teller is a singer as well, and alternates songs with long spun narratives.

Doc's house lies in the narrow wooded Brushy Creek Valley, the gap that runs from Estatoe, a cluster of houses on the Asheville Highway, to Penland, on the North Toe River at the foot of Bailey's Peak. You can drive into Doc's front yard with a car in any weather if you come by way of Estatoe, although you may have to jockey about if the road is washed in the spring. If you approach by the Penland side, you will cross the river on the railroad trestle and follow the old dinky line that runs to the Hoot Owl mines.

It is a delightful walk in the long twilight of a June evening with the laurel in pink bud and pale bloom in the shadows on either side, and the great varnished rhododendron leaves reaching out like hands, with here and there the exotic pale flower against the foliage. The branch tumbles and gurgles over the rocks beside you, crossed and re-crossed by the wobbling old rails on their rotting trestles. Here and there the ties have fallen in, and there are yawning black rectangles where the water keens and boils below in the dark. An abandoned spar car stands on the track, and if you push it up the dinky line to the high point where a by-road leads to Doc's house, you will have it ready for a return trip down the valley. The box of the car has long since disappeared, but railroad ties piled on the frame will work as well, with a fence rail for a brake stick. Only as Doc said to a timid guest debating whether to venture the ride or not, "Somebody's neck will get broke yet. Hit seems to be the proper thing to throw the brake stick away as soon as the car gets going."

It is not the trip for a timid soul. The car roars down the staggering old tracks faster and faster as the grade lends momentum, tears over the weaving trestles, and is gone again before the expected cave-in occurs. At last it flashes under the open sky at the North Toe River trestle, rattles across, slows on the level and stops.

From the dinky line a short steep road skirts the "deadening" of a new corn field and turns unexpectedly into the Hoppas yard. Spruce pine trees screen the house from the road. Tonight there is a sizeable crowd on the porch. People are perched on the railing. They sit along the angle of the house wall and on the floor in the shadows. The house looms large in the semi-darkness, two wings at right angles to each other with a porch running the length of both buildings in the angle.

Doc sits at the head of the porch in a streak of moonlight, with his wife and daughter beside him. His banjo lies carelessly across his knees as he leans back talking with a neighbor about the dry weather. He has a lean, high-nosed face--scarcely lined at fifty. Everyone is waiting for the turn of conversation that will start a story. Finally something is said about the Estatoe church.

"Doc was telling a story down at the church last night," offers Mrs. Hoppas, a matronly woman more interested in weaving and gardening than singing and carrying-on.

"Hit wa'nt right in the church," corrects Doc. "I was telling some stories to the men on the church steps and I got a good laugh. Some things on Deal Ransom, it was. You know he's got an awful lot of imagination and when he's drunk he'll tell you all sorts of things there ain't a word of truth in."

Everyone relaxes to enjoy himself. Doc is warming up now.

"This one I was telling to the men happened quite a while ago," continues Doc."I'd just come to the house for my dinner when Deal rides in on his horse. He was living with his wife, Doley, then, (they've separated since) and he says, 'I'm hurt bad, Doc. Shot full of buckshot'--and he was holding his hand on his breast--'so I kaint get down from my horse to open the gate on top of the hill. Come up and get me through so I can get along home.'

"I knew there wa'nt anything wrong with him and he was just imaginin' it, because he looked all right, but I wanted him to get started, so I went up to the gate and let him through and then he says, 'Come on home with me and settle Doley. She's goin' to be awful mad. I kaint go home alone and face Doley.'

"'Tell her you're shot!' I says. 'I kaint go with you. I got to get my dinner.'

"'She won't believe me if I do tell her,' he says. 'Hit's awful when you've got no fit home to go to. Taylor Garvey just plugged me full of buckshot and Doley'll be mad at me for drinkin' again. My breast is all shot to pieces. Just look a here!'

"And he pulled his shirt open to show me, but of course there wa'nt nothing there. After a while I got him going by himself. When he got home, his wife's sister Lockie was there in the house with Doley and he called to her and says, 'Come and get me off this mule for I'm shot bad!' and she came runnin' out to get holt of him, but Doley wouldn't let her.

"'He's not shot,' she says. 'He's drunk. Leave him where he is.'

"And then Deal hollered, 'I'm shot in the breast by Taylor Garvey and you're goin' to lose an awful good man if you don't come and help me down.'

"But Doley wouldn't do a thing for him, nor let Lockie neither, and he kept settin' there on his mule until finally he says, 'I kaint stay here forever. You're making me have to fall off to get down.' And with that he let himself go.

"But he didn't look where he was fallin' to and he went in the daubin'-hole where they took clay out to daub the chimney. Hit was full of muddy water and there he was. Wedged in with his feet out and his head out and he couldn't stir to get free. Then he yelled harder than ever for Doley, but she went on kneading bread and wouldn't even come out to have a look at him. So there he stayed until some of the neighbors came by and hauled him out. He never would have got turned loose by himself, either."

"Wasn't Deal along when they went over the Burnt Mountain to the wedding?" asks someone, anxious to keep the ball rolling.

"No. That happened pretty near a hundred years ago. Old man Gabe Cox told me about it and he was just about fifteen or sixteen when it happened. I'll tell it like hit was me, but you'll understand.

"You see hit was Christmas Eve and we were all foolin' around and plannin' to have some fun special that night, and we aimed to get some corn. You could get it most any house you went for fifty cents a gallon. (Those days everybody made up their fruit.) And then we heard there was going to be a wedding over by Bandana, the other side of the Burnt Mountain. There wa'nt a wedding so very often in those days, so we thought we'd better go to it. The man who was telling us said it was going to be at eight o'clock. Hit was four right then so we said, 'We'll have to give up going because we kaint walk across the Burnt Mountain in deep snow and get there in time to see anything.'

"But the fellow says, 'Hector McNeal ain't gone yet and it's him that's getting married.'

"And then everybody said, 'We ought to see that. Who's marrying Hector?'

"The fellow said it was Patty Gouge, Old Bob's girl. She was getting along some. About Hector's age, or I guess she was younger. He was about fifty and a widower with children.

"So we went over to Hector's, and he was flyin' around gettin' ready to get married. We told him we was going with him, and then we thought we'd better get us a little corn to take along to warm us up. The snow was deep then. Right to your knees and we knew we'd want liquor, but we couldn't find any right off and there wa'nt much time, so we went back to Hector's without it, to go with him. We knew old Bob had lots of liquor when we'd get there. He had worlds and worlds of it and he was just stillin' all the time.

"When we got to Hector's, aye jallus, he'd done gone. He'd just lit out, but we thought we'd catch him because he was breaking trail. He could sure plow through the snow some when he was in a hurry. With just five minute start he went up the Burnt Mountain so fast we didn't catch him, and we didn't see him neither, and we thought when we got to the top and looked down we'd get sight of him, but we didn't. We climbed down as fast as we could and when we got to Gouge's, the couple was on the floor and the square was marryin' them.

"After that was over we figured Old Bob would treat us, and we were pretty dry; but right off the women commenced moving the furniture around and they set three big tables. I asked what was about to take place and they said, 'There is goin' to be a big inn-fair.'

"That suited us all right because we was hungry. Right away they brought out everything they could think of to eat that they knew how to fix in those days. And when everybody was through eating they took down the tables and I said, 'What's about to take place?'

"And they said, 'A big dance.'

"And still Old Bob hadn't offered any liquor. He was missing right then, but he came back in a minute just a battlin' around all over and staggerin', and we asked what was wrong with him. But he just went out and started walking around the house. Hit was hard goin' in the snow but he made himself a regular road--he went around so much--and every time he came to a particular corner of the house he'd yell, 'Hell's to rip and plow sandy!' as loud as he could, and go around again, and when he came to the same place, he'd yell like that, saying the same thing. After a little while of doing that, back he came in the house, sober as ever.

"He didn't say a word about a drink for us, so I thought, 'Aye jallus, I'll look around a little.' You know how they used to build the old houses. Two big rooms about eighteen by twenty with an entry room between, say twelve by eighteen. That was how Bob's house was. I went into the little entry room where he kept his house-plunder. Hit was all dark in there and first thing I saw was that some others were up to the same thing. They were feelin' around and not findin' anything, most of 'em handlin' the same barrel over and over in the dark and telling each other hit was empty. Then I run onto Sheriff John Woody (he wasn't a sheriff yet but he got to be later) and he says, 'I found a big keg over in the corner but I don't rightly know if hit's water or brandy yet.'

"Then he hit it a wallop--kerwarp--to hear how it sounded, but everybody was on to him to keep quiet and not be bringing all the house folks in on us, and he couldn't tell what was in it by the sound. So we rolled it gentle, but we couldn't tell then neither.

"Then Sheriff John says, 'Set it on end and I'll tell ye.'

"And we did and rocked it for him and it went kerswish and he says, 'Hit's water or brandy because hit's too quick for molasses.'

"Then he got us to set it up sideways on another barrel and he hit it again--kerwarp. Everybody was on to him to know why he was making so much noise to bring in all the house folks that was dancing and he said, 'To knock the bung out and find if it's water or brandy.'

"'Don't do it,' I says to him. 'Dig a little hole in the bung with your knife and I'll get a quill,' and I ran out of the house to where the Spanish needles grew to your waist. I found me a big one and stuck it in the hole he'd made, and it fitted airtight. We knew by then hit was brandy by the smell and John said for findin' it he ought to drink first, and we agreed.

"So he took what he wanted, pulling on the quill, and then come another and another. About then there was a big thump of somebody falling.

"'Who's down?' whispers the one at the quill, stoppin' where he was.

"'Hit's me,' says Sheriff John.

"'What's wrong with you? Y've not had much to drink,' says the one at the barrel, goin' on to finish his own.

"'Hit's the truth,' says John from the floor, all stretched out. 'But I'm on a drunken spree and I never was so drunk in my life.'

"In just a few minutes there was another thump and down went another man just like John. I came up last for my drink and thump--another man was down. But I went on and had mine.

"Right off I commenced to feel it pretty good, so I thought I'd better get clar of there where they were all lyin' around and get some air. So I went out on the porch and one of the boys was leaning up against a post, hanging on to it. And so I said to him, 'What's the matter with you?'

"And he answered back just like Dave had, 'I'm on a drunken spree and I was never so drunk in my life!'

"And with that he pitched head first out into the snow. I thought I'd better be getting in where the dancing was if everybody was like to be took down that way. So I started for the room where the party was going on. There was a step-up as you went in the door, and my feet got caught and I pitched head foremost amongst them. Old Bob came runnin' up to me and says, 'What's wrong with ye?'

"And I answers, 'I'm on a drunken spree and I never was so drunk in my life!'

"Then he asks me, 'Where did ye get it? I was aimin' to give you fellows a dram bye and bye.'

"And I up and told him how we tapped the brandy barrel in the entry room with a quill. Then he commenced to take on.

"'Aye jallus,' he says. 'Hit'll kill you all. Ye've done drunk up the gas that's come on that brandy, and hit's been there eleven months. There's no way for it but you'll have to march now because if you don't keep movin', you're dead.'

"So they heaved up all the men that was down and put a sober one on t'either side, with the drunk one's arms around their necks, and it was lucky there was enough to go around. Such a time getting them going you never see. Old Bob says, 'When ye get to the house corner you've got to holler to keep your voice workin'!'

"And so they went around the house and around the house, yelling on the corners just like he done earlier in the night. Pretty quick, as soon as they were able, they'd turn loose to go by themselves. Such staggering and battling around you never see, and all t'once you'd see a pair of legs sticking out of a drift and somebody would fetch a feller out and set him up and say, 'Go on. Ye've got to march!'

"Then, all at once a woman came out and started tromping around after us, and we thought she came out just to mock us. But, aye jallus, it wa'nt no time till out come some more and pretty quick they was all walking too. You see the women folks had seen the quill sticking in the brandy bung and they had some too. So we all of us went around and around until gray-day and by then we were getting sobered up and the boys were saying we'd better get us some breakfast. We wanted to be on our way over the mountain because it was Christmas morning. But the housefolks couldn't give us no breakfast because there wa'nt anybody to fix it with all the women-folks out a marchin'.

"So we lined up two and two, with the bride and groom coming last, all of us hungry, and started wading the snow back. Just as we come into the little cove on the Burnt Mounting where there was a sort of a drift under the bushes, we saw a hat lyin' on the snow. One of the boys went after it, and aye jallus, it was on Sheriff John's head, and him all covered over solid with snow. Hit seems he'd just filled himself up a little bottle extra and streaked out ahead. Then he'd set down to enjoy himself and wasn't studyin' about the snow covering him at all. So we dug him out and breshed him off and marched him home and hit was Christmas morning!"

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