Antoine of Oregon: A Story of the Oregon TrailOtis, James
General
Antoine of Oregon: A Story of the Oregon Trail
Otis, James
Overland journeys to the Pacific; West (U.S.) -- Description and travel
After traveling fifteen miles, we encamped where the ground was so
sodden that our feet sank into the soil two inches or more; however,
we gained such shelter as we could under the wagon bodies or beneath
the wagon coverings, striving to sleep while the wind drove the rain
in upon us like a shower bath.
We could not well put up the tents in such mire, and it was more
comfortable pacing to and fro as if doing sentry duty, than lying at
full length in a veritable swamp.
Again we set out with the rain coming down as if it would never cease,
passing village after village of prairie dogs; but the children and
the women showed no desire to spend any time looking at them, for all
our company were in such discomfort that it would have needed
something more than an ordinary animal to entice them out of their way
a dozen paces.
Not until we arrived at the lower crossing of the Platte River did the
storm of rain subside, and while we were striving to get the wagons
across, the sun came out with full strength, making matters quite as
uncomfortable for us who labored, as when the torrents of water were
pouring down upon our bodies.
THE BUFFALO COUNTRY
At this crossing the water was from one to three feet deep and the bed
of the river sandy, therefore in order to get our wagons over it was
necessary to double up the teams, and in some cases put on twelve or
fourteen yoke of oxen, all of which required considerable time.
When we were on the other side of the river, and our men so weary that
they spent but little time making camp, in order the sooner to throw
themselves down to rest, I aroused them to the highest pitch of
excitement by announcing that now we were in a buffalo country, and
that before many hours had passed they should have as many short
ribs, humps, and tongues for roasting as could be eaten at one meal,
however hungry they were.
As if some magic change had been wrought, every man sprang to his
feet, insisting that we go at once in search of the game; but I held
firm, claiming that the horses were far too weary to take part in a
hunt.
Before the next day had fully dawned, the men who were standing guard
aroused the camp by shouting excitedly that we were surrounded by
buffaloes.
[Illustration]
It was not a very great surprise to me that the huge beasts should
come so near the camp, for I had heard from men who traveled over the
Santa Fe trail that the buffaloes would often mingle with straggling
cows, and more than once had emigrants lost their live stock by having
the animals literally forced away by these big brutes.
HUNTING BUFFALOES
It was a difficult matter to restrain the hunters who were bent on
starting off on the instant, believing they could kill a buffalo with
but little effort, if one came within range.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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