A Buffalo Stampede

In the darkness of the night we could soon see the form of the foremost leader and then such dense masses that one could not distinguish one from the other.

Continuing Life on the Oregon Trail,
our selection from The Busy Life of Eighty-Five Years of Ezra Meeker by Ezra Meeker published in 1916. The selection is presented in eight easy 5 minute installments. For works benefiting from the latest research see the “More information” section at the bottom of these pages.

Previously in Life on the Oregon Trail.

Time: 1852

One of our neighboring trains suffered no inconsiderable loss by the sheets of water on the ground, floating their camp equipage, ox yokes, and all loose articles away; and they only narrowly escaped having a wagon engulfed in the raging torrent that came so unexpectedly upon them. Such were some of the discomforts on the Plains in ’52.

From  Chapter VII.

The buffalo trails generally followed the water courses or paralleled them, while again they would lead across the country with scarcely any deviation from a direct course. When on the road a herd would persistently follow their leader, whether in the wild tumult of a stampede or the more leisurely grazing as they traveled.

However, for nearly a thousand miles a goodly supply of fresh meat was obtainable from the adventurous hunters, who in spite of the appalling calamity that had overtaken the moving column of the emigrants would venture out on the chase, the temptation being too great to restrain their ardor.

A story is told, and it is doubtless true, of a chase on the upper regions of the Missouri, where the leaders, either voluntarily or by pressure from the mass behind, leaped to their death over a perpendicular bluff a hundred feet high overlooking the river, followed blindly by the herd until not only hundreds but thousands lay at the foot struggling in inextricable confusion, piling one upon another till the space between the river and the bluff was bridged and the belated victims plunged headlong into the river.

Well up the Platte but below Fort Laramie, we had the experience of a night stampede that struck terror to the very vitals of man and beast. It so happened that evening we had brought our cattle into camp, a thing we did not usually do. We had driven the wagons into a circle with the tongue of one wagon chained to the hind axle tree of the one in front, with the cattle inside the circle and the tents outside. I slept in the wagon that night, which was not often, for usually I would be out on the range with the oxen, and if I slept at all, snugged up close to Dandy’s back. My partner, William Buck, was in the tent nearby and sleeping on the ground, likewise brother Oliver.

We first heard the approaching storm, but almost instantly every animal in the corral was on his feet. Just then the alarm was given and all hands turned out, not yet knowing what caused the general commotion. A roar like an approaching storm could be heard in the distance. We can liken it to the roar of a heavy railroad train on a still night passing at no great distance. As by instinct all suddenly seemed to know what was approaching, the tents were emptied of their inmates, the weak parts of the corral guarded, the frightened cattle looked after, and everyone in the camp was on the alert to watch what was coming.

In the darkness of the night we could soon see the form of the foremost leader and then such dense masses that one could not distinguish one from the other. How long they were passing we forgot to note; it seemed like an age. When daylight came a few stragglers were yet to be seen and fell under the unerring aim of the frontier-man’s rifle. Our neighbors in camp did not escape loss. Some were detained for days gathering up their scattered stock, while again others were unable to find them, and lost their teams, or a part of them, and never did recover them.

At times when not on the road, the buffalo were shy, difficult to approach and hard to bag, even with the long range rifles of the pioneers.

From Chapter VIII.

As soon as a part of our outfits were landed on the right bank of the river our trouble with the Indians began, not in open hostilities, but in robbery under the guise of beggary. The word had been passed around in our little party that not one cent’s worth of provisions would we give up to the Indians, — believing this policy was our only safeguard from spoliation, and in that we were right. The women folks had been taken over the river with the first wagon, and sent off a little way to a convenient camp, so that the first show of arms came from that side of our little community, when some of the bolder Pawnees attempted to pilfer around the wagons. But no blood was shed, and I may say in passing there was none shed by any of our party during the entire trip, though there was a show of arms in several instances. One case in particular I remember. Soon after we had left the Missouri River we came to a small bridge over a washout across the road, evidently constructed very recently by some train just ahead of us. The Indians had taken possession and demanded pay for crossing. Some ahead of us had paid, while others were hesitating, but with a few there was a determined resolution not to pay. When our party came up it remained for that fearless man, McAuley, in quite short order to clear the way though the Indians were there in considerable numbers. McAuley said, “You fellers come right on, for I’m going across that bridge if I have to run right over that Ingen settin’ there.” And he did almost run over the Indian, who at the last moment got out of the way of his team, which was followed in such quick succession and with such a show of arms that the Indians withdrew, and left the road unobstructed.

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