Along the Oregon Trail: The Journal of Liza Jane Sheppard

THE EVENTS CONTAINED WITHIN THE FOLLOWING POST ARE ALL REALISTIC FICTION AND ARE ONLY BASED OFF OF REAL LIFE. THANK YOU.

May 1, 1849

Dear Journal,

    We're all set to go on the Oregon Trail, but we are very worried. We know that we only came to Independence, Missouri to leave, but David's having second thoughts. But of course he has to go, we don't need to lose a second member of the family. We are all feeling very nervous and scared. Oh well. This is our only hope. We are going to get away from the diseases, such as smallpox, which killed my 3-year-old daughter Pearl. Unfortunately, we are gonna be leavin' behind our friends and family and the resting place of poor Pearl. Ain't it so sad? I feel myself tearing up at this very moment. I am expecting many dangers on our journey. We have heard many tales about snakes and Indians. However, I am very excited to see what it looks like over in Oregon. People say that it looks absolutely gorgeous over there. But Joseph might die and I am so scared for him. Ain't it grand, though? I'm still very excited. I swear, the best part about this is the feeling of adventure it gives me.

    Hopefully the Indians don't kill us. We have received many tales of Indians massacring our people. 'Cause, the Indians are vicious! We have a strong group, though, so we hopefully survive. Although, if David and I die, hopefully the Moore or Sanders family will take care of poor Jacob Joseph. I'm just ramblin' now, aren't I? Ah, well. We'll be fine. We'll survive.

May 19, 1849

Dear Journal,

    We traveled 18 days and have crossed the Big Blue River. The crossing was hard. Our wagon train decided and paid $15.00 to take a ferry across. The current was strong and many times the ferry tipped toward one side or the other, and water splashed up onto the deck. When that happened, us pioneers had to stay on the higher side until the ferry tipped back. At one point, my 5-year-old son fell off the ferry and brave David rescued him. They came back aboard soaking wet but still we embraced in a big giant bear hug. Thankfully, we made it across safely and all together.

    After we finished crossin', we set up camp. We sang songs and played games 'round the campfire. But eventually we had to stop an' go on to sleep. We woke up 'round midnight and had to put out a fire. Luckily there was no harm done, so we set off again. Along the way we decided to stop an' hunt for food. We sent out a huntin' party in the mornin' an' the afternoon. The mornin' huntin' party was unsuccessful, but the afternoon huntin' party brought back 50 pounds of food.

July 10, 1849

Dear Journal,

    Hello, journal. I'm so sorry that I haven't been recording in this, but I've been quite busy. We made it to Fort Kearny with no deaths, but we certainly had a challenge. On our way to the fort, we ran into a man named Thaddeus P. Farnsworth. He claimed to be a professor of some sort and was sellin' a tonic of some sort for $3.00. It was green an' smelly, but it seemed real. He claimed it could heal anythin' from smallpox to the common cold. We were all gonna buy some, but I chickened out. Charles Scott, a former general and our scout, told me I was bein' a chicken, but I ignored him. Well, the other three bought it all right, an' their bellies went swirlin' an' twirlin'. It was a fake! At least when we left, his stand had its own little dust cloud. Can you believe it? $7.00 down the drain!!!

    Soon after we reached Fort Kearny, and we restocked our supplies. We traveled along the Platte River for awhile until then was the time to cross. We decided to float across, but first we had to pick our way through the sweetbriar bushes. Unfortunately, Charles an' Paul were swept up in some mighty strong waves. We all survived, but they were a mite injured and we had to stay at the other bank for awhile.

    The next mornin', we were on our way again. Some wagons nearly got hit by a fallen tree, but luckily it barely missed them. On our way to Scotts' Bluff, a man named John Green came up to us an' said, "If your dogs so much as make a peep this night, I'm gonna shoot as many dogs as I can see, an' I'm not stoppin' until we can get some peace an' quite at night!" I didn't want my dogs to get shot, of course, so I conversed with Paul Sanders, Charles Scott, and Mary Moore, my closest friends on the trail. Well, in the end, Charles decided to use our chain to keep 'em quiet.

    Soon after we passed Scotts' Bluff, a huge storm came. The thunder an' lightnin' were so loud we had to spend four days extra lookin' for our animals. The hail grew to the size of eggs and tore open some bags of food. We lost 160 pounds of food that way. At least the storm died quickly enough.

    Of course another thing came up. Paul was takin' a nap while soakin' his feet in a bucket o' water. Durin' that nap, a scorpion crawled into his boot, and decided it liked it there. It was a bit past noon when it was time to leave. His daughter Hanna roused 'im an' told 'im it was time to leave. He dried 'is feet and put on his boots. 'Course, the scorpion didn't like tha', an' it stung 'im in the right foot. We've treated 'im the best we can, but there's no guarantee he'll survive.

August 16, 1849

Dear Journal,

    Wow. It has been quite awhile since I wrote last, more than a month. Well, a little into August, we reached Independence Rock. We just about finished carvin' our names  in the rock along with the many others that has already been there, when a group of angry Shoshone Indians came in and surrounded us. They were angry. I bet they were fed up with us pioneers crossin' "their land." It doesn't even belong to them! But we decided to negotiate with them. We had heard stories of a previous wagon train who tried to fight. None of them died, but they barely made it, just about killin' 40 Indians! So, we decided we had to negotiate. We eventually came to this: We had to give them $40.00 worth of items and they would give us 5 pounds of food in return for every dollar they got. We decided to give them my harmonica, one of our lanterns, all of our silverware, Mary's sewing kit, and my seeds, which all amounted to $41.00. We got 205 more pounds of food. They also let Charles hunt, and he got us 100 more pounds of food.

    After a while, we started travelin' along South Pass. We saw an old, thin man with a pale face collectin' stuff to bring to Fort Laramie to sell. He warned us that we should get rid of some of our unneeded items to lighten the load and make it easier for our oxen to pull the wagon. We didn't know it at the time, but the man had contracted cholera and exposed us to it. No one caught it, except for our blacksmith, Paul Sanders. He made it through in the end, although he was very weak. Soon after, our children held a hoedown. Paul's daughter Hannah and Mary Moore's daughter Elizabeth even wrote a song to cheer us up. I'm sure Paul appreciated this very much. Charles also went walking and slipped on some rocks. He sprained his leg.

    Once we exited South Pass, we healed Paul. He is almost back to full strength. We're lucky that Charles only sprained his leg. He's alright now, although he still limps a little.

September 24, 1849

Dear Journal,

    It is now September. Wow. Perhaps the hardest decision we've made so far is whether we should take the treacherous Sublette Cutoff and go straight to Fort Hall or travel nearly 100 miles more to get to Fort Bridger and then Fort Hall. Charles, Mary, Paul, an' I were all united on the decision to go to Fort Bridger. Some of the other wagons disagreed, and we told them they were free to go. In the mornin', when the rest of us set off to Fort Bridger, we said goodbye to the 30 or so wagons that chose to use the Sublette Cutoff.
    At Fort Bridger, we bought bullets an' hunted. We got 600 pounds of food, and bought a few pounds, too. Afterwards, we set out for Fort Hall. We got there in 15 days, since we had switched out 2 of our oxen at Fort Bridger. We bought some more bullets before settin' off for Fort Walla Walla. We have traveled 11 days since then. We have been travelin' the rocky trail along the Snake River when our wagon wheel's spoke broke, and we had to spend one day repairing it. At the campfire on the eleventh night, Charles Scott told a funny story. It was about a banker named Jonathan Weaver, who sat on a cactus. It was so funny!

November 7, 1849

Dear Journal,

    Wow. It's been two months since my last journal entry. We entered the mountains on November 3. For most of the ways through the mountains, the temperature was below 0℉. We had to share 3 heavy blankets, and I went without one first. Then, Paul let me use his blanket. After that, Charles gave his to Paul. But none of us froze or died of hypothermia. Right before we were about to get through the mountains, we got snowed in. Luckily, Paul and I were able to pull us through the final stretch. In the wagons behind us, two people died of starvation. Dr. Eliza Smith, one of Mary Moore's good friends, passed her journal down to her daughter, Patricia. Their scout, Clarence Jones, passed his down to his dog.

    Once we reached Fort Walla Walla, we had to decide to cross the Cascades or float the Columbia. We had heard from the wagons ahead of us, who were safely across the Cascades, but we decided to float the river instead. Twice, we got caught in large troughs of water - sudden drops on the river floor. We only lost 60 pounds the first time, and 20 times the second. We also broke an oar, but at least we all survived with full health. Behind us, some people even fell overboard! Cora Beth Adams hit her head on a rock, and handed her journal to her spouse, Samuel.

    When we met up with the other wagons, who were resting, we learned that Edward Long had died in a landslide, and had passed his journal on to his wife, Hannah Long, and his 2-year-old son. The good thing is, our entire wagon train made it to Oregon with only 8 deaths, since 2 of our children had disappeared and 2 of the doctors' husbands, Walter Campbell and Peter Moore, were captured by Indians.

December 8, 1849

Dear Journal,

    We have homesteaded in Oregon, and I am writing this by the fire. Life is great. Goodbye, journal. Until the next adventure.

                                 - Liza Jane Sheppard