“A caravan could travel ten to twelve miles per day in good weather, but that progress was slowed to a crawl when it rained, and when the rains were heavy, it sometimes became necessary to call a complete halt.”
I read these words, imagining what such a scene might look like if I were actually there…
I can see the courageous wagon master, his skin of his face leathery from the exposure to the elements, he’s tired to the core and soaked to the bone after leading the caravan through a gale force rainstorm. His eyes, however, are blazing with fire, a fire that cannot be extinguished when a man does the work he is born to do. He’s a man who loves the thrill of pitting himself against the unknown. A man who has found a way to marshal the forces of nature in such a way that they have become his allies. He glories in his ability to act quickly and instinctively when dangers threaten the caravan. He’s a man who surveys the great plains with a sense of awe and wonder, knowing that the time will soon come when they will never again look as they do now.
I look past the wagon master and now see the sideways glances from the men in the caravan. Their eyes are steely and focused, they’ve learned to be on alert. They’ve learned to keep their families, systems of communication and rifles, close by. Falling prey to the forces opposing their progress is not an option for these men who often travel with the women who are the loves of their lives, the children they cherish and all their worldly possessions, tucked away in the trunks and wagon holds.
I then see the wise, courageous and beautiful women of the wagon train. They look a bit haughty, but it’s not out of vain pride, but rather a way of holding one’s head high in dignity when feeling unsafe in the accidental company of the roughest frontier drifters and outlaws with their leering looks and bad intentions. An air of dignity, they know, can intimidate men who might wish to take advantage of them.
I could see the way these women comfort their crying children as frightening winds batter the canvas of their home on wheels. I watch as they cover their little ears against the boom of ear-splitting thunder that rolls across the plains.
I see these women stand firmly by the men they love. I’m inspired as I see how they strengthen their husbands through love. I’m amazed as I see the occasions when they use cosmetics, purchased in Independence, to enhance their already beautiful faces. I see them riding, on a Sunday, rather demurely, (as many of them are superb horsewomen), parading their subtly applied makeup, snug fitting dresses of linen, (instead of buckskin), with attractive necklines. This reminds their husbands of their lithe, trim figures and the promise of uniting at the end of a hard day. They take the time to remind the men they love that while life is hard on the wagon trail, in their hearts they are still the young, vibrant women who fell in love with them years before.
To me, the image I see of these women were the most impressive and amazing of all the character groups in this story.
I see the children, the ones least mindful of the rigors of the perilous journey. They will cross the plains while being taught school by their mothers, horseback riding, fishing and shooting by their fathers, and the mysterious ways of the great prairie by the scouts. The fields, streams, boulders, hills, ravines, and later the majestic buttes will be the playground of these children. I imagine that they will hold these memories in their hearts, and years later, after arriving in the promised land of Oregon Territory, will be the ones to write of their memories. Theirs may become some of the greatest of the American frontier storytelling, because all readers, young and old, still hold within themselves the wonder of a child. And what greater story to tell than that of being the first to cross this majestic wilderness? The children, I believe will be the ones best equipped to tell the stories, since their parents and other relatives will be transferring their laborious efforts from making a great journey, to carving out homesteads out of rough hewn and wild land. The children will work, but, thankfully for us, will not be so overly burdened that the stories would be erased from their memories.
Finally, I see the great company of the caravan, those who work alongside the wagon master in an effort tot push forward through the wilderness. I see the native guides and wily scouts, the former army men whose marksmanship and survival skills would prove life saving on many occasions on the journey. I also see the blacksmiths, wood gatherers, water carriers, the doctor and veterinarians that took care of the human and animal needs. I see the carpenters who are skilled in axel and wheel repair who play a key role in keeping the wheels of the wagons turning.
The quote on the top of this review came at page eight of a 382-page story. It was a grand tale, revealing the events, happy, sad and tragic, that hundreds of courageous souls experienced while travelling into unknown territory as the three great columns of wagons moved along across Missouri and into the expansive Oregon Territory.
So richly told was this story, that I couldn’t help as though I too, was one of the pioneers when I read of this important “point of no return” for our storied band of travelers:
“Routines were reestablished by the third day out of Fort Madison. The men, women and older children knew what was expected of them and, for the most part, performed their tasks cheerfully. By now they realized they had entered a new phase of life; they had put the last outposts of civilization behind them, and they would see no towns, no villages and no forts hereafter.”
As I read, I too felt excitement at the adventures and breathtaking scenery ahead, I also felt the apprehension, knowing that the great wagon train faced many perils and hardships ahead.
Man alive, was I hooked!
Previous to reading this book, I’d known something of the weather problems and attacks by warring Indian parties that presented serious obstacles and real danger to the pioneers. But I had little knowledge of the resistance that came from armed frontier drifters, and none about the presence of the British and Russians who’d attempted to sabotage the wagon trains on behalf of their respective nations. Each country had staked a claim on the rich and promising lands of Oregon Territory.
I wasn’t even done the first chapter and already felt a powerful connection with this story. As I read on, scene by scene, chapter by chapter I was introduced to: A courtly and cunning British spy, a stubborn and gutsy Russian peasant girl who snubs a czar, a hardworking and wise young heiress unaware of her beauty, opportunist frontier scum, a wealthy Austrian noblemen who finds new purpose as a member of the wagon train, a lovesick blacksmith, a girl transformed from spoilt southern belle to a wise and discerning woman of substance, a wagon master who is a true leader, the awe inspiring tale of one of the greatest buffalo stampedes in history, a former slave of the south who becomes a valued contributor and great friend to many, a friendly army colonel who strikes a life saving deal with the members of the wagon train, a concerned and nervous but committed president, an ingenious solution to an infant medical emergency, a war hungry Ponca Tribe, an evil bounty hunter, greedy horse thieves, a Paiute Indian attack that is thwarted and becomes the reason for a lifelong bond between two men, an uneasy partnership between a British and a Russian spy, a spy catcher riding alone across the plains with a rifle a good horse and a crumpled letter of orders from the President of the United States of America in his pocket, a destructive river wave, a colorful and amazingly adept clergyman from the east, an amazing medical discovery and a devious personal representative of the Czar of Russia.
This may seem unbelievable, but I’ve only scratched the surface of this amazing and varied story. I’m only to thrilled to realize that it is part of an expansive book series.
I cannot wait for the next one!