Journey of Hope: A Novel of Triumph and Heartbreak on the Oregon Trail in 1852

by Murata, Victoria

  He found the Muellers a few wagons back. Mrs. Mueller was inside the wagon, and Nellie and John were leading the teams. Nellie looked exhausted.

  “John, we’re going to stop up here in another mile. We’ll rest for a couple of hours before we move on.”

  “Alright, Captain. I think the rest will be very welcomed,” John said, glancing at his wife.

  Captain Wyatt moved through the train informing the families of his plan. He knew some of them wanted to stop for the night, but he couldn’t let that happen. They were a little behind schedule, and he was worried about snow. He had been caught once before three years back. The wagon train had taken the Barlow Road and hadn’t gotten very far when a snowstorm had stopped them. Two days later, when the storm passed, they had had to backtrack and take the river route. He didn’t care for the river route. There were always mishaps, and invariably, someone drowned—a bitter end to a long and hard journey.

  He drew up next to the Hanssons’ wagon. “Hans, Mr. Rowe could use your help when we stop in an hour. One of his wheels is coming apart.”

  “Alright, Captain, I’ll take a look at it.”

  Both Ben and Hans helped anyone in need whether they would get paid or not. Usually if they weren’t paid in money, they were compensated with a hot meal or a trade of another sort. Their skills with wagons and stock were invaluable, and they were the only overlanders who were actually making money on this trip.

  Except for Mr. Brown, the Captain thought darkly. He’s making a lot of money.

  Two days later the rain had stopped and the sun shone brightly. The air was crisp with the smell of autumn, and the trees wore brilliant hues of reds and golds. Everyone was in good spirits anticipating the end of the long journey.

  Rebecca was putting finishing touches on Tommy’s birthday cake. There had been other birthdays in the past months that had gone uncelebrated in the daily toil of the trail, but Mary had begged Rebecca to make Tommy a birthday cake. She had had to borrow sugar from Emily and eggs from Nellie. The little cake looked forlorn without icing, but she knew it would still be a welcomed treat. Sam had carefully whittled small sticks to use as candles, and these Rebecca spaced evenly around the top of the cake. Then Sam used a torch from the fire to light them.

  “Okay, everyone,” Rebecca said as she walked to the campfire with the cake.

  Little Annie spun in circles clapping, delighted with the celebration. Even Mattie seemed happy and content. Tommy leaned over the small cake and blew out all the candles, and everyone cheered.

  “Give us a speech, Tommy,” Mary teased.

  Tommy stood up, smiling, happy to be the center of attention. He bowed deeply.

  “Thank you all for coming to my party,” he said. “And thank you, Rebecca, for making this fine birthday cake!” He looked around imploringly at the faces of his family. “Do I have to share it?”

  “Cake!” Annie exclaimed, clapping her hands. Everyone laughed.

  “Okay,” Tommy said with mock resignation. “I guess I’ll share.”

  Rebecca cut the small cake into tiny pieces and passed them around.

  “It’s really good, Rebecca,” Sam said. He had finished his piece in two bites. “Is there any left?”

  “No, Sam! You don’t get any more. If there’s any left, it’s Tommy’s,” Mary said indignantly.

  “Who made you queen of the world,” Sam said cuttingly.

  “Tommy, someone has brought you a gift,” Thomas said standing up. He went to the back of the wagon and returned carrying a large and heavy rolled bundle. “Mr. Ames tanned this hide for you. He thought you might like it.” Thomas unrolled the hide and they all looked in silence for a few moments. There was the hide and head of the bear that had chased Tommy in the meadow. It was now a bearskin rug. Its teeth were bared and the eyes were pieces of black stone.

  “Wow!” Tommy said. “Is it really mine, Dad?”

  Annie crawled into Rebecca’s lap, not sure what the mean looking animal would do.

  “Yes, it’s all yours!”

  “You’re so lucky!” Sam exclaimed. “Look at those teeth! They almost chomped you, Tommy!”

  “That’s scary!” Mary said.

  Ruth and Rebecca exchanged looks. “That is not going in the house,” Ruth said adamantly.

  “Ma! It would look so great on the floor in front of the fireplace,” Sam said, feeling one of the long incisors.

  Ruth looked at Thomas threateningly.

  “It’s okay, Ma,” Tommy said. “I’ll put it in my room.”

  Ruth let the discussion end for now, but there was no way that bear was ever going to have a place in her home. Never!

  Sam, Mary, and Tommy were closely examining the head of the bear. Thomas looked at his wife from across the fire. He recognized the determined jaw set on Ruth’s face. He smiled to himself. The bear might end up in the barn, he thought. That would be the closest Ruth would ever let it get to her family. It had gotten too close when it was alive.

  Lost And Found

  Chapter Thirty-Three

  October 5, 1852

  Mile 1883

  The wagon train had crossed the Des Chute River and was stopped for the mid-day meal when James Cardell told his wife Rebecca that two oxen were missing.

  “Missing? Where could they be?” she replied.

  “They can’t have gone far. I looked close by but I didn’t see them.”

  “James, we have to find them!”

  “Sam and Thomas are helping me look. Thomas saddled Molly and is riding out a ways.” James looked worried. They were so close to The Dalles now, and to lose two oxen would be devastating. But they weren’t on the prairie, and visibility was compromised by the trees and brush.

  “James, what about asking the Indians to help us?” Rebecca asked. When they had made camp, there were a few Indians camped close by.

  James looked reluctant, but then he remembered losing his trees in the Snake River because he hadn’t asked the Indians for help. He sighed heavily. “Alright, Rebecca, I’ll ask them.”

  James and thirteen-year-old Sam walked over to the Indian camp. Two of the four men stood up when they approached. “Speak English?” James asked.

  One of them nodded.

  “I’ve lost two oxen and I could use your help.”

  The English-speaking Indian turned to the other and spoke in his native language. The other man looked at James and Sam and then back to his friend. He nodded.

  “We will help,” the first man said, and the two Indians turned and walked to their horses that were tied close by.

  James breathed a sigh and he and Sam walked back to camp.

  “Why are we asking the Indians for help? Why can’t we find them ourselves?” Sam asked.

  “Because the Indians know this place. They’ve lived here a long time, and they know where animals will go.”

  Sam was thoughtful for a few minutes. “I guess you’re right, James. How did you get so smart?”

  “Your sister Rebecca is the smart one, Sam. I’ve had to learn the hard way.”

  A short while later the two Indians rode into camp leading the oxen with a rope. Thomas had returned disappointed that he hadn’t found the beasts. James jumped up from his seat at the campfire and smiled broadly. “You found them!” he exclaimed.

  The English-speaking native gestured in the direction from where the oxen had wandered. Sam grabbed the ropes and led the beasts to the front of the wagon.

  “How can I pay you?” James asked the men.

  The one who could speak English looked around the camp. He saw two of James’s shirts hanging from the back of the wagon to dry from Rebecca’s washing the night before. He gestured at the shirts.

  James looked to where the man was pointing. “You want those shirts?” he asked.

  Rebecca was already removing the shirts from the wagon. She walked up to the Indian and handed him the shirts. “Thank you so much,” she said, smiling.

  The Indian accepted the shirt
s and smiled back at her. Then they turned their horses and left.

  “I was going to bargain with them, Rebecca. Those were my last two shirts!”

  “It’s worth it, James. They’ve done us a huge service.” She looked at the disappointment on his face. One of the shirts was still in very good condition and he had worn it on their wedding night. “I’ll make you a new shirt, James. It will be better than those.” She hugged him warmly and he smiled at her.

  “I could use some help here,” Sam called, and James went to help him with the oxen.

  Later that night, snuggled next to Rebecca in their bedroll, James reflected on the day. He hadn’t trusted the natives. He had heard so many stories about their treachery before he left Independence on the wagon train. So many friends had warned him that the Indians were thieves and cutthroats. He remembered Mrs. Dougherty, one of his dental patients.

  “Be careful, James,” she had said, her blue eyes round. “I know a man whose cousins were ambushed by Indians and killed for a cow! They’re very sneaky, James. Don’t turn your back on them!”

  Mr. Fenton, another patient, had related stories of war parties and terrible atrocities from the friend of a friend who had traveled the Oregon Trail two years earlier. Much of the talk around the dinner table in the weeks before he had left had centered on the “savage” Indians. He had been fearful and mistrusting, he realized, and now he knew that it had cost him dearly. He believed now that if he had trusted the native guides at the Snake, he would still have his fruit trees. He sighed loudly and Rebecca stirred.

  “What’s wrong, James?”

  “Nothing, Rebecca, go back to sleep.”

  She sat up on one elbow. “Not until you tell me what’s troubling you.”

  James could see her eyes shining in the dark, and he knew she was wide-awake now. “I was just thinking about my trees. I was thinking that if I had trusted the Indian guides at the Snake, I might still have them today.”

  Rebecca paused a long moment. “James, why are you putting so much energy into thinking about what’s already happened? You lost the trees. Maybe the Indians could have gotten them safely across the river, and maybe not. It doesn’t do any good to keep thinking about it. Think about today instead. You asked the Indians for help and they found the oxen. Now we can make it up the Barlow Road and over the mountain to Oregon City.”

  “I know, Rebecca, and I’m very grateful. I just wish I hadn’t been so fearful of the Indians. I guess I believed all the stories I heard about them.”

  “We believe what we hear from people we respect, but sometimes they’re wrong, James. And just because we hear a story more than once doesn’t mean it’s true. Often people talk from a place of fear, and fear can be very convincing.”

  “I wouldn’t have believed that earlier, Rebecca, but I do now. I’ve seen so many examples of kindnesses from the natives. They’ve shared with us the little they have. Some of them have learned our language, and they’ve taught us hunting and trapping skills. Many of them are so poor. They’re trying to do the best they can, just like us. I guess when I think about my trees, I’m feeling regret. If I could do it over again, I would hire the native pilots.”

  “You did what you did, James, and it’s brought you to where you are now.” She wrapped her arms around him. “I don’t want you to regret the past, James. We have so much to live for today.”

  James knew she was right. He felt the truth of it somewhere inside. He resolved then and there to never look back again. He felt himself get lighter. A weight seemed to be lifted from him, and he easily fell asleep in Rebecca’s arms.

  Down River

  Chapter Thirty-Four

  The Dalles

  October 8, 1852

  “The Barlow Road has been closed due to early snow. For those of you who had planned to take that route, you’ll be taking the Columbia River with the rest of us.” Captain Wyatt made his pronouncement and left the campfire. Earlier he had briefed everyone on what to expect. Many people were uneasy about the risky Columbia River route, but now they had no choice. The Barlow Road was also treacherous and difficult. It had been opened in 1846 and allowed wagons to skirt the south shoulder of Mount Hood.

  Michael Flannigan looked grim. The river crossings had been rough, but he knew this would be far different. It wasn’t a crossing; it was a float down river on unwieldy rafts and wagons, and part of it would be done in fast-moving rapids with eddies and unpredictable whirlpools. But it was the only way now.

  “What are we going to do, Da?” Conor asked.

  “We’re going to float down this river, Conor.”

  “Are we going to build a raft?”

  “We have a raft, son. Our wagon is watertight and it will float us down.”

  Conor looked skeptical. “How will we all fit?” Even though their provisions were greatly diminished, the wagon was still full of everything else they had brought with them, not to mention the buckets, boxes, and utensils hanging off the sides.

  “We’ll make it work, Conor. We may have to leave some things behind.”

  The next days were spent readying the wagons they would ride down the river. Everything was unloaded and the insides were caulked with tallow and tar. The wheels and tongues were removed and put inside the wagons. Everything was loaded and balanced, and if a family had one, the featherbed mattress was placed on top. This is where they would ride. Thomas Benson crafted a long pole from a pine log to use to help guide the wagon.

  They were all camped close to the fort, and some of the travelers bought or traded for food and provisions. These last hundred miles would be hard, and everyone needed to keep strong for the river trip. The men who were driving the stock overland on the pack trail had left. They would travel over Lolo Pass and the northwest shoulder of Mt. Hood to Eagle Creek and on to Oregon City. Theirs would be a difficult journey also.

  The Bensons’ large family wouldn’t all fit in their wagon, so they spent some time building a raft from pine logs. Some of them would ride in the wagon, and the rest would be guided down by an Indian navigator in the log raft. Thomas traded the last two oxen to the Indian who would be their guide.

  Emily and Abel Brown, the Muellers, and some of the others who still had money hired Indians to steer them in canoes down-river. Other Indians would bring their wagons and belongings on rafts. Abel traded his tired oxen for their transport.

  A town was growing up around Fort Dalles, and a few of the families decided to stay at the fort over the winter rather than brave the rapids. Work was done at a fever pitch as the overlanders felt the cold fingers of winter sweeping down off the Cascade Mountains.

  The morning arrived when most of the travelers would put in to the river. Emily Brown was so nervous she could barely function. “Let’s go, Emily. It’s time,” Abel said as he took her arm and led her to the canoe. Buster dutifully followed his mistress. A tall Indian stood ready to take his position as their guide.

  “Mr. Brown,” Emily said breathlessly, “I can’t breathe!” She was hyperventilating and feeling faint.

  Abel took one look at her white face, swooped her up, and put her into the canoe. He gestured to the guide to push off. Buster jumped in and Emily fell backwards in a swoon.

  Captain Wyatt had proposed that the Indian guided boats and rafts leave first and the others follow. The Indians were familiar with the rocks and boulders that poked up from under the surface or lay hidden beneath the churning water. They would lead the way and the others would try to keep the same path.

  The place where each wagon, raft, and boat put in was calm. One by one they followed each other downriver. Ruth Benson sat in the middle of the raft holding baby Mattie. Mary and Tommy were next to her, and Thomas and the Indian guide steered. Following them was their wagon navigated by James Cardell and Sam, with Rebecca holding on to Annie on top of the featherbed. The children were enjoying this easy float, unaware of the dangers that lay ahead.

  “This is fun!” shouted Tommy excitedly.
/>   “It’s better than walking!” Sam shouted from the wagon behind the raft.

  “At least you have shoes,” said Mary, who had worn out her last pair walking to The Dalles. She too was enthralled with the smooth and gently moving watery highway.

  Behind them, Michael Flannigan maneuvered his wagon in the water. Kate, Brenna, and Conor were sitting comfortably atop the featherbed mattress.

  “Hey, Ben, try and catch up!” Conor yelled to the wagon floating behind theirs.

  “Why don’t you slow down,” Ben yelled back laughing.

  After hours floating down river, they pulled into a willow thicket and camped for the night. The children had enjoyed the day immensely. It was like a picnic on the water. They were in high spirits and couldn’t understand why the adults were so somber.

  The next two days were a repeat of the first day on the river, except the wind had picked up and it was cooler. That evening as they gathered around the campfire, Captain Wyatt spoke to them.

  “Tomorrow we will be coming to the narrow part of the gorge where the Columbia River cuts through the Cascade Mountains. It’s going to be treacherous, and there will be many rapids, whirlpools, and eddies. Keep the children close. If someone falls overboard, there’s little that can be done.”

  “How far are we from Fort Vancouver?” someone asked.

  “We’re still over fifty miles away, but some of those miles will go quickly. After the narrows, we’ll float downriver to the fort. The chief factor is John McLoughlin. He’s a good man and he’ll make sure everyone has a roof over their heads and a good meal.”

  “Where is Oregon City from there?”

  “It’s another fifteen miles downriver. There’s a man named Robert Moore who owns a company called Robin’s Nest. He operates a ferry that will take you across the river to Oregon City.”