The Slower Road

… “The three next days were a repetition of the two first. The incidents were, the meeting of the trains, selling the milk, and the care and exercise of the cow, [plus] the overhauling of my wagon and seeing that everything was ready for a move. While here, the people were kind to me.

“I wanted the blacksmith to reset my wheels, but on examination he advised me not to have them touched. I had him make me several bolts as my whiffle-tree and transient-pin were well worn, so that I should have others when they gave out.

“While I was here, I was interviewed by the local reporter who said, ‘Stranger, I wish to ask you a few questions, if you have no objections?’ ‘I have no objections; go on, sir,’ I replied.

“‘Where are you from with this outfit: horse, carriage, cow, and dog?’ asked the reporter. ‘I am from Eureka city, Humboldt county, California.’ ‘About how many miles have you traveled?’ ‘About seven hundred and fifty, to reach this place. From Eureka to San Francisco, is three hundred and eighteen miles; from San Francisco to San Jose, is forty-seven miles, and from there through Stockton, Sacramento, Gold Run, back to Colfax, Grass Valley, Nevada city, Graniteville, Webber’s Lake to this place.’ ‘But you have been nearly three months in getting here,’ said the reporter. ‘Yes, but I have not traveled half the time, I have stayed over more days than I have traveled.’ ‘About how long will it take you to accomplish this great undertaking?’ asked the reporter. ‘About six months.’

[“The reporter replied,] ‘You think you can make this long journey, do you?’ ‘I do, sir; and time will tell.’ ‘You are the man to do it, if any one can,’ said the reporter. ‘How soon will you leave this place?’ ‘I intend to leave tomorrow morning, early.’ ‘Will your cow be able to travel so soon?’ ‘Well, I am going to try it; if I see that it is too much for her, I shall rest again. From here to Wadsworth is about thirty-four miles and I will take two days to travel there.’ ‘I suppose you have your road marked out before you?’ said the reporter.

[“I replied,] ‘I have. I intend to follow the Central Pacific Railroad to Ogden. I do not intend to leave it any distance, in case any serious accident should occur to me, I shall have the railroad to fall back upon.’ ‘Well, stranger, I hope you will succeed, if you do, you will stand on the top ladder of fame. Goodbye,’ said the reporter. ‘Goodbye, sir,’ I replied.

“I returned to my camp, fed my cattle, got my dinner ready and ate it. I put the wagon together, tried the bolts, and found everything in good order, ready for my start next day. In the evening I allowed the cattle their liberty, but they did not wander far, and kept their eyes on the picture; by which, I mean my wagon.” …

… “On the morning of the 21st [of August, 1882], I felt very anxious about Bessie’s feet, as they were very hot and feverish, and thought there must be some inflammation or they would not be so hot. I mowed down some grass and gave the cow a large quantity, throwing water on it so that it would be cold for her to stand on. This morning, there were two trains from the west — an emigrant at half-past five and an express train at seven.

“My camp is but a short distance from the railroad track, less than five rods, and about thirty rods from the depot. I was milking at half-past six, when the emigrant train came along, due here at half-past five. Being late, it had to stop until the express had passed, due at seven o’clock. Many of the passengers came where I was milking, and bought the fluid as fast as I got it from the cow; this time I did not have to take it to the depot. It was all gone before the other train arrived. I got ten cents a cup, a little more than a pint; for this milking I got one dollar and five cents.

“My milk being disposed of, my breakfast also, and the cattle well cared for, I went into the town and called on the blacksmith and told what I had and was doing. He said I was doing the right thing, he was afraid that I would take off the shoes. [He said,] ‘You must make her travel and get used to them,’ and that she would soon be all right.

“About twelve o’clock, I went back to my camp and found all right and gaven them their midday meal. At three o’clock, I took the cow by the halter, leading her around where it was soft, that she might walk as comfortable as possible. I noticed that there was improvement so took her downtown to the blacksmith and said, ‘How is this for high?’ ‘Ah, friend, I see you understand things. Keep on doing as you have and you will soon leave us.’

“I have adopted a new plan: that is, while the cow is in camp she stands on grass well wet with cold water, this softens up her hard hooves. I returned to my camp and prepared to meet the train so as to sell my milk. I sold fourteen cups, which brought me one dollar and forty cents.” …

… “Just then the gentleman came in and the wife said, ‘Frank, come here; here is the milk that this man traveller has brought to me in return for the kindness he has received from us.’ ‘Stranger,’ he answered, ‘it is about time for the express train from the East, it will be here in about ten minutes. Take this pail of milk to the depot and when the train arrives, go and sell your milk. Wife, have you a tin dish that will hold a little more than a pint?’ She got such a dish.

“Taking the cup from his wife he continued, saying, ‘This cup full is worth ten cents, even change every time, the value of a dime. It is now ten minutes after eight o’clock, I will go with you and we will see the depot master, he may have objections, if so, you can sell it on the highway, don’t stand on the platform and call out milk.’ We went to the depot and saw the depot master, my friend saying: ‘Mr. Chamberlain, this man is from Eureka, Humboldt county, on his way East, to Massachusetts, he stopped here to get his cow shod. In doing this the shoes are put on so tight she can’t travel, and so this man is obliged to stop here a short time. The cow is a fine one, and here is her milk. I told him to bring it here to sell. Will you allow him to do so on the trains?’ ‘How long do you intend to stop here?’ asked the depot master. ‘But a short time, I hope to be able to travel in three or four days at the longest,’ I answered. ‘It is strictly against our rules to allow peddling in or around the depots, but situated as you are, I will allow you to sell any where around the depot.’

“When the train arrived I went aboard the cars and sang out, ‘I have better milk than any of you have had since leaving Omaha, don’t take my word for it, but try it.’ One man said, ‘Bring some here, pour it into this cup.’ I filled it, he tasted, saw it was good and had it refilled.

“Then the man said, ‘Ladies and gentlemen, it is the best milk I have tasted since leaving Massachuesetts.’ ‘Are you from there?’ ‘I am.’ ‘So am I and now on my way back; I belong in Webster when at home. This milk I have got from a cow that I have led from California to this place, more than seven hundred miles and which I intend to take to Massachusetts. I may fail, but I intend to try.’ ‘Stranger, we hope you will succeed,’ was answered.

“I entered the cars with two gallons of milk and came out with one dollar and thirty-five cents in return. I went back to my camp and commenced to bathe the cow’s feet. About half-past ten, I went to bed and slept till about midnight, when I awoke and gave her another wetting and more grass. I went back to bed but could not sleep, so soon got up again; I examined the cow’s feet and found them very hot and feverish, so I bathed them most of the remainder of the night.” …

continued from yesterday …

“Turning to the crowd I said: ‘Gentlemen, you see the condition in which I am placed; being obliged to stop a few days. Where can I get grass for my cattle? I prefer grass to hay as they have been fed mostly on grass during my journey.’ ‘Stranger, I have grass and a grass cutter, and you may have all your cattle can eat as long as you stay and I won’t charge you a dime.’ ‘Friend, where is your grass?’ ‘One house this side of where you stopped this morning; I will show you.’

“I led the cow by the halter, but it was no use, she could scarce walk, and she laid down; I got a pail of cold water and poured it upon her hooves continuously for several hours. About six o’clock, I took my horse and carriage and went to the man’s lot for grass, but had not been there very long before the cow came into the yard. ‘Well, Bessie, you have done finely. Did you think that we had left you? No, we only came for grass for you, and you shall have some,’ I said to the cow. I gave her the grass, which she ate greedily as she lay down. I continued to pour cold water on her feet, rubbing her ankles and legs occasionally.

“The whole town knew where I was and in what condition; many came to see me and learn my intentions. Ten thousand questions were asked and answered.

“The time had arrived for milking, her bag was hard-full, I got a pail and went to the cow, and said ‘Bessie, you must be milked, then you will feel more comfortable. Get up and let me milk you.’ She got up and I milked her, filling the pail. ‘Good Bessie, you have done well; lie down and I will bathe your feet.’ She lay down and I bathed her feet. All I said to her she understood; she could not talk but made motions that I understood.

“I carried the milk into the house and offered it to the lady; she was reluctant to take it, saying that she did not know what to do with so much milk.” …

As we follow Mr. Johnson’s current tale (the shoeing of his cow, during a stopover in Reno), I want to clarify that Bessie’s iron shoes wouldn’t have been the same as those used on horses.

I found a blog devoted to American milking Devons, which has this explanation on its “about oxen” page:

Cattle’s hooves can be fitted with iron shoes to protect their feet and provide traction. “Oxen if used upon snowy or icy roads, must be well shod, and kept sharp” (The American Agriculturist, Volume 29, 1870). Because cattle have cloven hooves, a shoe is required for each claw and a total of eight shoes are needed per animal. Ox shoes were a critical item on the trails of the westward migration.

.

Now that we’ve cleared that up, let’s get back to Mr. Johnson’s story:

… “About this time, the whole town had assembled to witness the shoeing; many questions were asked and answered at leisure. The blacksmith had commenced nailing on the shoes. He would strike on the nail, driving it in about one-third of its length, or until bending, then drawing it out and taking another, drive that in further, and so on, until the whole were driven and the shoes securely put on; the harness of the hoof causing many of the nails to bend. Her feet having been seared three times, made them hard and flinty. While all this was being done, Bessie behaved herself bravely. Two nails were driven that made her flinch; these nails were marked, so that should they trouble the cow they could be removed. On taking her from the brake she could scarcely travel; we got her back into the brake and had those two nails drawn and replaced, which made quite a difference.

“The blacksmith said that the soreness would wear away. He charged me not to take the shoes off, but keep them on and remain here for a few days until she could travel again. Should I take them off I should be in a very bad fix. Without shoes, I could not get her along, and now they are on good, wait until she can travel. It may be three days, perhaps five or more, but be contented. I am sure [said the blacksmith,] you will by the gainer by so doing.” …