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Overland Stampede of 1849

By Frank M. Vancil

HE year of 1849 marks an important epoch in the history of the United States. The indus

trial world was wrought up in feverish excitement over the discovery of gold in our then newly-acquired territory of California. The western Eldorado was the Mecca to which hundreds of thousands of people turned their weary footsteps in the mad pursuit of wealth. It has been estimated that fully one hundred thousand pilgrims crossed the plains, and perhaps half as many more reached the sunset lands by ocean passage, via Panama and Cape Horn. The ocean route occupied the major part of a month in completion, while that overland consumed the spring and summer, from April to September.

Among the vast multitude of overland emigrants in 1849, that sought the golden shores of the Pacific, was a well equipped party from Springfield, Ill., known as the Captain Webber Company. Two of the party, who figure conspicuously in the long march, were Colonel James Parkinson John Walters of Sangamon County.

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The company left Springfield about the first of May, and reached Council Bluffs, the border outfitting point, some weeks later. This, then, straggling village, presented a very animated appearance, as it was the chief depot of supplies, preparatory to entering the Great Plains, a vast treeless expanse, inhabited by thousands of buffalo and wandering bands of Indians.

The trail lay up the treacherous Platte River, the valley of which afforded ample pasturage for the stock. It was sometimes necessary, however, to go back a number of rods from the

beaten road to secure sufficient grass, in which case one or more men were selected to stand guard to prevent a stampede by lurking savages, who were ever on the alert to capture stock.

The first rendezvous reached after leaving Council Bluffs was at Fort Kearney, situated on the south side of the Platte River, nearly opposite the present city of Kearney, Nebraska. Here a motley crowd of adventurers was constantly coming and departing, and our little band halted for rest and repairs, and to receive tidings from loved ones at home, and to report progress back after a month's pilgrimage. What an anxious, restless throng besieged the little pioneer postoffice, and with what zest was each white-winged messenger scanned. It may be stated that this historic spot, once the scene of so much activity and interest, is now marked only by a few mounds of earth and patriarchal cottonwood trees.

A day or two of recuperation here and the party joined the endless train up the valley, past Chimney Rock, to Fort Laramie, the next island port in the great ocean wilderness. At this point the details of the former stoppage were repeated, and the same conglomerate mass of struggling humanity was witnessed. The country began to assume a more diversified and rugged aspect, and the foothills of the mighty Rockies were plainly in evidence. Far away to the north, the dark outlines of the Black Hills were observed, while eastward as far as the eye could reach, could be seen a limitless string of white-topped wagons, winding in and out like a mighty serpent on a waterless sea. Interspersed and commingling with the prairie schooners could be discerned almost

every conceivable contrivance of conveyane, from a rustic wheelbarrow to a one-horse shay.

In this locality, extending out upon the level plain at frequent intervals for miles in extent, were seen the wonderful prairie dog towns. The burrows or abodes of the little animals are laid out with apparent street like regularity, and the opening is surrounded by a cone of earth some eighteen inches high, which the occupant uses as a watch tower.

The prairie dog resembles a squirrel in appearance more than any other animal, but it has a sharp yelp like that of a dog-hence the name. The little rodent is fond of sitting erect near the entrance of its burrow and barking; and when frightened, retreats into its hole in a tumbling, comical manner. Rattlesnakes and a small species of owl occupy the burrow with the dogs.

It will be remembered that the year 1849 is memorable as the period of the dreadful cholera epidemic in the United States, and the overland emigrants were not exempt from many fatalities. Scores of freshly made graves lined the great thoroughfarea little mound of earth, a rough pine board, with initials rudely carved, and the mortal remains of the departed were left to mingle with mother earth, to become wholly obliterated in a few short years the silent stars their vigils, and the whistling winds their requiems.

In this connection there might be mentioned an incident of travel which befell the little company of more than passing interest. Captain Webber, who was in command of the company, was vigorously opposed to the use of intoxicating liquors, and exacted from each member of the party before starting a solemn, written pledge to not only abstain wholly from its use, but not to include it among the necessary articles of the expedition. However, where there is a will there is generally a way, and a number of the less pronounced prohibitionists managed to obtain a demijohn of brandy and to se

crete it in the rear of one of the wagons. Before reaching the mountains, Webber was taken seriously ill, and all remedial agencies offered proved unavailing. Stretched out upon an oscillating cot in one of the wagons, amidst dust and heat, the sufferer was fast descending into a feverish unconsciousness when aroused by the cheery tones of Colonel Parkin

son.

"Well, Captain, how are you making it?"

"Badly! Very badly, indeed, Colonel," came in sober tones from the invalid. "This everlasting jostle and stifling heat is wearing me out. I can get nothing I want-nothing to do me any good."

"You mustn't give up," said the Colonel. "If there's anything possible to do for you, depend upon it, there are plenty of willing hands to assist you. What is it that you most desire?"

"Oh, something to stimulate my flagging spirits—to alleviate this consuming thirst. If I only had a little good brandy I believe I could pull through."

Quietly and secretly, Colonel Parkison slipped around to where the demijohn was hidden, and drew forth a half pint of the contraband liquor and hurriedly returned to the prostrate form.

"Here, Captain," he exclaimed, "is a little of the desired elixir of life. Now drink, and let's see you out of this at once."

"My God, Colonel, where did you get that?" amazingly retorted the sick man, as he nervously clutched the proffered bottle.

"Oh," continued Parkinson, "we expected just such a demand as this, and smuggled it in before leaving Springfield."

"Well," said Webber, "it was a wise thought after all; and now, Colonel don't let any of the boys know of this, and keep the location of the liquor a secret."

It is needless to say that the Captain rapidly recovered, and that one solemn vow at least was sadly ig

nored the remainder of the journey.

South Pass and Hell Gate, a natural avenue through the great backbone of the continent, was occupied for a 4th of July celebration, where the starry banner was unfurled and snowballs were served instead of lemonade. Upon the smooth, eroded walls of this natural passageway were carved thousands of names of the spirited throng, en route to the land of gold.

A little further on, where the waters ripple towards the Pacific, Fort Hall was reached, the radiating point to the Pacific Coast. This fort was built in 1834 as a trading post, and was well situated for defense on a beautiful mountain stream of water, some fifteen miles north of the present city of Pocatello, Idaho. The greater part of the buildings were of adobe brick, and to-day little remains of the original structures, except an adobe chimney, to which a log cabin has been built.

Proceeding south, the wild and impetuous Bear River was crossed, and the valley of the Saints was entered. The isolated Mormon colony was but a village then, but a neighborhood of busy and industrious workers. Completing preparations here for the most trying ordeal, that of crossing the great American desert and the alkaline desert beyond, the Webber company moved on and into the vast Sahara. The trackless desert region, formerly included in the lake, lies just west of Great Salt Lake, and was a level, shifting bed of sand, varying in width from twenty to one hundred miles. At this season of the year the heat of the noonday sun was intense, and the wagon wheels in places cut down half way to the hubs, rendering travel exceedingly tedious and difficult. To avoid the tropical heat of midday, the dreary waste was crossed in the night.

For some unaccountable reason, the Webber party and a few others wandered from the trail, and the blazing light of the morning found them a famishing, wandering band, groping here and there for an exit. Realizing that

they were lost and would probably perish, the greatest consternation prevailed. Their supply of water was nearly gone, and their thirsty teams were nigh exhausted from fatigue. Resting a portion of the day amid the blistering, scorching days of a midsummer sun, the disconsolate travelers plodded on and on, stimulated by the deceptive visions of the ever-present mirage. Several miles were made the second night, but the dazzling splendor of aurora revealed no promising hopes of deliverance. Frequent islets of vernal beauty, apparently reflecting mountain lakes of crystal waters, would arise from the shoreless ocean of sand, only to disappear upon a near approach.

The situation was indeed appalling. Already one of the party-Jim Walters-was prostrated, and lay unconscious in one of the slowly moving wagons. Teams had fallen and were unable to rise, and the progress was interrupted and snail-like. About three o'clock in the afternoon of the second day, another oasis appeared a few miles to the westward, which seemed more distinct and real than the elusive ones heretofore observed. The disheartened wanderers pulled for a nearer observation, and joy unspeakable-it proved to be real. The haven. was reached a little before sunseta slightly elevated mound of solid earth, some ten acres in extent, covered with scrubby trees and dense bushes. This betokened water. Never was a spot more rapturously welcomed —a fruitful island to the storm-tossed, famished mariner on a wide waste of waters. Search disclosed a sparkling spring of pure cooling water, bubbling forth, only to disappear a few rods below in the sun parched earth. haste was made for the invalid, Walters, who was borne, limp and insensible, and rolled into the channel and thoroughly saturated. Soon the spark of life revived, and but a short time elapsed ere the sufferer was restored to vitality.

The company remained here a number of days, and upon proceeding,

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By Ox-Team to California

Personal Narrative of Nancy A. Hunt

Prepared from original manuscript by Professor Rockwell D. Hunt, Professor in the University of Southern California, and President of the Historical Society of Southern California. The original manuscript was prepared more than twenty years ago, with great care and considerable research, but of course chiefly from memory.

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must have some reason for it: perhaps it is this just to know something of our family history. I myself have often wished I knew more of the history of my parents and ancestors; so I will do what I can to grant my son's request for this reason, if for no other.

I must begin back with my ancestors. From a rare old book, "The Pioneer Families of Missouri," I have learned that Jacob Zumwalt emigrated from Germany to America during colonial times and settled first in Pennsylvania, at the present site of Little York. Mr. Zumwalt was married twice. By his first wife he had two sons and two daughters, and by his second five sons and one daughter. It is said that his son Jacob built the first hewed log house that was ever erected on the north side of the Missouri River in 1798, about one and a half miles northwest of O'Fallen Station, on the St. Louis, Kansas City and Northern Railway. I have not been able to trace the connection between the Missouri Zumwalts and my own parents, though all were no doubt related.

The name of my great-great-grandfather was Adam Zumwalt. His son, George Zumwalt, emigrated from Germany to America, and lived in Virginia, where my grandfather, Jacob Zumwalt, was born. The names of great-grandfather's children were Jacob, Elizabeth, Henry, Mary, Magdalene, Christina, Philip, Christian, and John. My grandfather (Jacob

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