Encountering American Indians

We did not, however, have much trouble with the Indians in 1852.

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

In another instance, I came very near getting into serious trouble with three Indians on horseback. We had hauled off away from the road to get water, I think, and became separated from the passing throng, and almost, but not quite out of sight of any wagons or camps. The Indians came up ostensibly to beg, but really to rob, and first began to solicit, and afterwards to threaten. I started to drive on, not thinking they would use actual violence, as there were other emigrants certainly within a half mile, and thought they were merely trying to frighten me into giving up at least a part of my outfit. Finally, one of the Indians whipped out his knife and cut loose the cow that I was leading behind the wagon. I did not have to ask for my gun, as my wife in the wagon, who had seen the act, believed, as I did, that the time had come to fight, and handed me my trusty rifle out under the cover, and before the savages had time to do anything further they saw the gun. They were near enough to make it certain that one shot would take deadly effect, but instead of shooting one, I trained the gun in the direction so I might quickly choose between the three, and in an instant each Indian was under cover of his horse, and speeding away in great haste. The old story that “almost anyone will fight when cornered” was exemplified in this incident, but I did not want any more such experiences and consequently thereafter became more careful.

We did not, however, have much trouble with the Indians in 1852. The facts are, the great numbers of emigrants, coupled with the superiority of their arms, placed them on comparatively safe grounds. And it must be remembered, also, that this was before the treaty-making period, which has so often been followed by bloodshed and war.

But to return to the river bank. We crossed on the 17th and 18th of May, and drove out a short way on the 19th, but not far enough to be out of hearing of a shrill steamboat whistle that resounded over the prairie, announcing the arrival of a steamer.

I never knew the size of that steamer, or the name, but only know that a dozen or more wagons could be crossed at once, and that a dozen or more trips could be made during the day, and as many more at night, and that we were overtaken by this throng of a thousand wagons thrown upon the road, that gave us some trouble and much discomfort.

And now that we were fairly on the way the whole atmosphere, so to speak, seemed changed. Instead of the discordant violin and more discordant voices, with the fantastic night open-air dances with mother earth as a floor, there soon prevailed a more sober mein, even among the young people, as they began to encounter the fatigue of a day’s drive and the cares of a night watch. With so many, the watchword was to push ahead and make as big a day’s drive as possible; hence it is not to be wondered at that nearly the whole of the thousand wagons that crossed the river after we did soon passed us.

“Now, fellers, jist let ’em rush on, and keep cool, we’ll overcatch them afore long,” said McAuley. And we did, and passed many a broken-down team, the result of that first few days of rush. It was this class that unloaded such piles of provisions, noted elsewhere, in the first two hundred mile stretch, and that fell such easy prey to the ravages of the epidemic of cholera that struck the moving column where the throng from the south side of the Platte began crossing. As I recollect this, it must have been near where the city of Kearney now stands, which is about two hundred miles west of the Missouri River. We had been in the buffalo country several days, and some of our young men had had the keen edge of the hunting zeal worn off by a day’s ride in the heat. A number of them were sick from the effects of overheating and indiscreet drinking of impure water. Such an experience came vividly home to me in the case of my brother Oliver, who had outfitted with our Hoosier friends near Indianapolis, but had crossed the Missouri River in company with us. Being of an adventurous spirit, he could not restrain his ardor, and gave chase to the buffaloes, and fell sick almost unto death. This occurred just at the time when we had encountered the cholera panic, and of course it must be the cholera that had seized him with such an iron grip, argued some of his companions. His old-time comrades and neighbors, all but two, and they could not delay. I said, “It’s certain death to take him along in that condition,” which they admitted was true. “Divide the outfit, then.” The Davenport boys said they would not leave my brother, and so their portion of the outfit was put out also, which gave the three a wagon and team. Turning to Buck, I said, “I can’t ask you to stay with me.” The answer came back quick as a flash, “I am going to stay with you without asking,” and he did, too, though my brother was almost a total stranger. We nursed the sick man for four days amidst scenes of excitement and death I hope never to witness again, with the result that on the fifth day we were able to go on and take the convalescent with us and thus saved his life. It was at this point the sixteen hundred wagons passed us as noted elsewhere in the four days’ detention, and loose stock so numerous, we made no attempt to count them.

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