August 8, 2013
Sorry about my recent blog-posting silence. I’ve been so engrossed in finishing this year’s issue of the CAA’s World on Wheels journal that I keep forgetting to post anything here!
For today’s foray into the “my, that’s an unusual carriage” file, how about this nineteenth-century charvolant?
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August 5, 2013
The morning after we last checked in with him, Mr. Johnson was on his way again.
“Bovine station I left early on the morning of the 17th, for Terrace. It was a dark, cloudy morning, looking as though it would rain at any moment, and should it rain there was no place for shelter. I said to myself, the next station in eleven miles; I must make it, rain or no rain. At half-past five I moved on, and at half-past six I heard thunder; it was dark, too dark for that time in the morning, so I crowded along as fast as possible; remember, it is all walk. Again I heard thunder and kept talking to my horse, saying, ‘Go on, Fanny.’ I was sure we were going to have something terrible; it was something new to have rain, I had seen nothing like it. To my right I could see a long distance, many miles; so flat was the surface. After having made about five miles, I saw to my right a very dark cloud, a black cloud. Thunder and lightning were more frequent and such streaks of lightning and thunder I never before witnessed. I stopped and made things on my wagon as fast as I could, put on my rubber coat, and went as fast as I could. Every streak of lightning went to the ground, the thunder was terrible. It seemed to me as if it had got out of patience with the lightning and was bound to smash things generally. The rain came but it was of short duration; then followed hail, as large as hen’s eggs and it fell with great force, striking on the head of the horse. I stepped back to the wagon, pulled out a sack and threw it over the horse’s head. Here I stopped for the storm to pass over. The cloud passed on and left behind it hailstones to the depth of four or six inches. This made it fine traveling on alkalic soil. I had about six miles to go, so we went on. It took me three hours to travel that distance, less than two miles to the hour. On my arrival in Terrace, I was informed that it was the severest storm ever known there.”
July 29, 2013
Continuing from Friday’s post, as I didn’t have a chance to post anything over the weeked. …
Mr. Johnson says, “It has been my custom to follow the railroad as close as I could, so that should I become sick or disabled I could have ready access to the railroad. This custom I have generally adhered to. I have often been told that the old emigrant trail was always the best, and now I am advised to keep the old trail to Terrace, and on leaving this station there is but one trail for some distance. I took this trail, traveling with the railroad to my right, until about one o’clock in the afternoon, when I came to some grass known as bunch grass. This grass grows in bunches, some as large as a bog. The small bunches look beautiful, on the alkalic plains and among the sage bushes. I stopped here, taking the horse from the carriage, removed her harness, and turned her loose, and the cow also. This they enjoyed for about an hour and at two o’clock we resumed our journey.
“In front of us was a mountain, a noble looking fellow. It appeared to be about five miles away, yet it might be twenty-five. We went on, the railroad was out of sight. I could not see a telegraph pole and began to feel uneasy, and wished I had taken the other trail. The more I thought, the more foolish I felt and concluded to change my course. All around me was a flat surface; the sage bushes were quite thin and scattering, and I was bound to find the railroad that I had left to my right. I had been traveling east by the sun. I then struck out on a southeast line and continued on that course for two hours; the sun almost down and no railroad in sight. I changed my course to the right and just as the sun was dropping out of sight, I came to the railroad.
“I then changed my course to the left and came on the railroad trail near to Bovine station, which I soon reached. It had got dark and cloudy, no moon to be seen. My lantern was minus oil, I having neglected to fill it. I poured some oil on the ground and set it on fire, then I filled the lantern by its light. Having a light, I then saw a house close by and went to it, to ascertain if I could get water. I knocked at the door and a voice asked, ‘Who is there?’ ‘Madam, I am a stranger and have come a long distance; I have a horse and cow and would like some water for them, they have not tasted [any] since this morning. I want some good; I dare not give them alkalic water. All the way from Wadsworth I filled my cans from the cisterns at the stations.’ ‘Where have you come from?’ asked the lady. ‘I have come from California; I am going east to Massachusetts, which is my home.’ ‘I dare not let you in; my husband has not yet come home, he will be here soon.’ ‘I do not care to come in; all I want is water for the cattle.’ I had to wait.
“I went back to the camp and gave the cattle some grain and got ready to go to bed; as I was about to retire the freight train from the west passed by. I made my cattle fast to their post, went to bed and soon fell asleep. About one a.m., I was awakened by a passing train, which came to a dead stop. Two men got off the train and went to the house. Soon after, these men came to where I lay; my lantern was hanging on the hub of the wheel, burning. I called out, ‘Halt! Advance and give the counter-sign.’ They stopped, right short. ‘We have just got off the train and went to the house where we belong. I am boss of repairs. My wife said there was a man on the other side of the railroad, with a horse, carriage, cow, and dog from California, going east, to Massachusetts. Is that so?’ ‘It is; I told her every word of it.’ ‘Is that true?’ ‘It is true; I have come from California and it is my intention to go east, to Massachusetts.’ ‘Stranger, come into the house and take a bed; you shall be welcome.’ ‘Friend, I thank you; I never have left my cattle alone over night. All times, day and night, I am with them. I do not intend to have anyone take my horse or cow without my knowledge.’ ‘Your cattle will be safe here.’ ‘Perhaps they would, but I do not intend to take any chances. Friend, my cow ought to be milked, she has not been milked since yesterday morning; she will be more comfortable. You get me something to milk in and you can have it.’ He went for a pail and I filled it, about four quarts. He took the milk into the house and gave it to the lady. ‘Stranger, there will be a train from the west soon. Is your horse afraid of the cars?’ ‘No, not the least, but the cow is.’ ‘Well, stranger, if you will not come in and sleep, we shall have to leave you out for the night. Good night.’
(I hope Fanny and Bessie got some water to drink!)
July 26, 2013
We left Mr. Johnson during the morning of the 15th. Much later that same day, he wrote, “On making this place [Monticello station] a little later I stopped, all of us being very tired. I hitched the horse to a telegraph pole, spread my blankets and laid down on them, being very tired I was soon slumbering.
“On the morning of the 16th I was awakened about five o’clock by a passing train and got up. The sun had not yet risen, but I thought it was late. I am a great talker to my cattle, having no one else to speak to, and said, ‘Well, Fanny, how are you this morning? You must want some water about this time?’ I fed them with grain and gave them water, greased the wagon, and went onwards.
“At nine o’clock we reached Tecoma station; this is a telegraph station. On entering the town, on my right I saw a stack of hay and I drove along side of it, giving the cattle a chance to eat, which they did right smart.”
July 23, 2013
When we last checked in with Mr. Johnson, he was leaving Wells, Nevada.
“On the morning of the 14th [of September 1882], I left Wells. About eight o’clock I reached Cedar station. This is simply an accommodation station for the drawers of wood; on my right there is cedar timber in abundance. So far my trail has been good but hilly, the surrounding country rolling; no more alkalic deserts for the present. …
“At Wells I was informed that at Independence I should find grass in abundance. On our arrival I found some grass, but more cattle than grass. There was a large meadow fenced with wire, and when we came to this fence I stopped. The trail had been fenced in. I turned sharp to my right and crossed the railroad, going on until we came to a small creek. Before crossing, I looked around and saw a herd of cattle rushing after me, and we were soon surrounded by them. I should think there were seventy-five of them. I was a little frightened, so was the cow, but the horse was not. I took the dog out of the wagon and set it at the cattle, which made them scamper away. Then I crossed the creek over a plank bridge and followed the trail; in fact, the road, as money had evidently been expended on it. I went on, leaving the railroad on my left, and in front a high bluff or mountain range. I saw that I was leaving the railroad to my left, and supposed the track was obliged to go round the other side of this mountain and my trail would come on it again, so continued onward.
“The sun was fast going down. I crowded along as the day was getting darker and I could see no houses, but to my right there was a light. I think the horse saw this, for as soon as the horse came to the trail she took it, and after traveling about forty rods we came to a log cabin. Two men were standing in front, to whom I said, ‘Good evening, gentlemen.’ ‘Good evening, stranger.’ ‘I am traveling east. Am I on my right road to Ferrice?’ ‘You are not; you are from the west, I suppose, as you answer to the description of the man that is traveling from California to Massachusetts. When you were at the creek near the railroad, you should have taken the trail to the depot, this side of the bridge.’ ‘Must I turn back?’ ‘Yes, you will have to return to the depot.’ ‘Can I stay here tonight? I see you have hay and I would like some for my cattle.’ ‘Yes, you can have all the hay you wish, and I will not charge you a cent.’ ‘I carry grain, and when not able to find grass or hay, I fall back on grain.’ ‘There is the hay, help yourself to what you want; down there a few rods, you will find water, and good at that.’
“Taking my basket to the cabin I asked permission to make some coffee. ‘Yes, if you like, but, stranger, you can take some supper with me.’ ‘Thank you, I have plenty to eat, as I carry tea, coffee, sugar and milk.’ ‘I see you have a fine-looking cow. Does she give milk?’ ‘She does. I will milk her and you can have the milk; it may be a luxury to you.’
“At five o’clock on the morning of the 15th, I left Cabin Ranch for a return to Independence station. My taking the wrong trail had made fourteen miles of extra travel.”
The Slower Road 