Added authenticity for the history story

I have been a member of a duck hunting forum that covers the entire united states since 2000. I posted the same story there that I posted here (about my family history) and had a WONDERFUL follow-up comment by a fellow from Chatham, Illinois. Here is what he posted:


From the Lincoln Log - April 15, 1852
In the Woodford County Circuit Court, State's Attorney David B. Campbell enters a motion of nolle prosequi in the case of People v. Snyder et al. Campbell's motion ends the state's prosecution of Lincoln's clients Isaac Snyder, John Johnson, Aaron Burt, and Dempsey Hawkins, who were indicted for "gaming." In the chancery case of Dressler v. Dressler et al., Lincoln files an answer for the minor heirs of Abraham Dressler: Levi Dressler, Jane Dressler, and Hannah Dressler. Lincoln is the guardian ad litem for the children in the land partition case. In the case of Rogers v. Rogers et al., another chancery case involving the partition of land, Lincoln files a guardian ad litem's answer for minor heirs Susan F. Morton, John W. Morton, Tabitha Ann Morton, Elizabeth Morton, Jeremiah R. Morton, and John A. Halderman. Order, 15 April 1852, People v. Snyder et al., Common Law Record A, 230; Decree, 15 April 1852, Dressler v. Dressler et al., Chancery Record A, 109-10, both in Woodford County Circuit Court, Woodford County Courthouse, Eureka, IL; Guardian Ad Litem's Answer (copy), 15 April 1852, Dressler v. Dressler et al., copy files, IHi, Springfield, IL; Decree, 15 April 1852, Rogers v. Rogers et al., Chancery Record A, 114-16, Woodford County Circuit Court, Woodford County Courthouse, Eureka, IL; Guardian Ad Litem's Answer (copy), filed 15 April 1852, Rogers v. Rogers et al., copy files, IHi, Springfield, IL.

Here's the link to the official page:
http://www.thelincolnlog.org/view/1852/4/15

Now how cool is that!? Way cool in my book. My family is going to love that. :-)

Family history: Part 2

Yesterday I posted the first part of a story written by one of the family members of the very first of our family to cross from the east to the west coast in the 1850's. Here's the rest of the story for you to read. If you didn't read the first part PLEASE do so before you read this section...it's right below this. I know it's long, but it's pretty cool, and the best part of it is it's a true story.

Part 2:

There was a great rejoicing when we got Father’s letter. It had been almost a year since he left and we had had no word from him. Mother began to think he had never reached California and blamed herself for giving her consent to his going. In a few days after we received his letter we began to make plans for the trip and we found out there was a large train leaving Peoria for California in the spring. Mother got permission to join the train. She found a man who would take the farm and every other thing she cared to sell.

My mother did everything opposite to my father’s instructions in his letter. Instead of buying herself an outfit and hiring a driver, she made arrangements with one of the men going in the train to take our belongings, herself and we two girls in his wagon for which she agreed to pay two hundred dollars. Mother thought it would be the best way for she would not have the responsibility of having to look out for the wagon and oxen.

Spring once more rolled around and everyone was busy repairing and loading wagons when the man my mother hired brought his wagon to our place, thinking we would only take as few necessary things as possible: but not so with my mother. There were many things she did not want to part with such as furniture, a cook stove and many boxes. The man complained he was loading his wagon too heavy and tried to persuade my mother not to take any furniture, but she would not hear to it.

So, on the seventeenth day of April, 1852, with a train of forty wagons, we left Peoria and headed west. People gathered to wish us God speed and good luck. Many wanted their friends to write and let them know if the west was anything like the reports coming in.

Our course was almost due west. Grass was good, the stock done well, but the road was rough and we did not make very good time. We were not on the main emigrant road, it being to the south, and we would be several hundred miles before we would come to this road.

Day after day we traveled on. One day each week we would stop to rest, do our washing, baking, or anything that may be necessary, but always on. We were now at the Mississippi River. We managed to get ferried across to the west side and into what is now Iowa. I do not know how long it took, but it seemed a long time before we came to the Missouri River. We crossed the river at Council Bluff, then on for about two hundred miles to the valley of the Platte. We traveled up this valley, keeping far enough from the river for our safety. The river was full of quicksand and very dangerous if one should get caught in it.

We now came into the main emigrant road leading out of Independence. This gave us a better road, but the grass was not so good for our oxen. The countless hundreds of people traveling west to California with their horses and oxen had eaten away the grass very close, and at times we had to leave the road to camp so our oxen could find enough to eat. We traveled up the Platte until we reached the ford. Crossing, we took up the North Platte. We headed up until we reached Fort Laramie. It was told us this was the last post on the eastern side of the Rockies. We replenished some of the food that had given out, at a very fair price. The train stopped at Fort Laramie for a week to rest, and what a relief! We had traveled now over a thousand miles and got to go to bed at night knowing you would not have to travel over the rough road the next morning.

The Indian scare had been getting worse now for we were entering their country and all this would be ended at least a week. But the week soon flew past and we must move on. We kept on up the North Platte to the ford. We were on the watch now more than ever for Indians. Then, one day after we had been traveling two hours or more, one of the scouts came racing in on his horse yelling, “Indians!” The train boss ordered the wagons to form a circle and the stock to be driven inside the enclosure. We looked to the north and saw a great cloud of dust raising higher and higher. There was a loud rumbling noise. One of the older scouts coming in told us it was buffaloes on a stampede, not Indians. He said if we were in line of the stampede we would all be trampled down, but if not they would go past and we would not be hurt.

The men took their guns and stood to one side of the encircled wagons ready to fire into the fleeing buffalo and try and turn them from the wagons. On they came, running like mad! It seemed to me there were thousands of them. I know it took quite awhile for them to pass. They missed the wagons by about five hundred feet. The men shot into the herd killing two young heifers and we had fresh meat for everyone. It was the first buffalo meat I had ever eaten but I would rather go without meat than to go through that experience again. With all those fleeing feet the ground shook as if by an earthquake. All vegetation was ground into dust.

We now left the Platte and were getting up into the mountains. We then went to the valley of the Sweetwater and men stood guard all night long. Everyone began to be worn out from traveling. Men would fight at the least provocation. The man that mother hired would not speak to us unless it was absolutely necessary. The oxen were showing the effects of the long, hard journey. They were getting poor, their feet bleeding, their hooves almost worn away. Some of the men were unloading their wagons of all surplus weight. They pleaded with mother to unload some of her unnecessary furniture, but mother would not hear of it. We passed everything imaginable other trains had left by the roadside.

It was getting cooler now for it was already the fall of the year. We could see snow on the high peaks both to the north and south of us. One morning, while getting breakfast, one of the women told us that Grandma Wilson had died this morning. Poor old soul. I was over to see her last night and I knew she could not last long. I don’t see why they ever brought her on a trip like this; it is all a young, stout person can stand. Well, they did not want her to come, but she was bound to come. You know, she was so stubborn. And how were the two little girls of the Allenger family? They were so sick last night and called in the man we called Doc. He did not say what the trouble was, but gave them some medicine. You know, there was cholera in places on the Platte Rivers. The train master said he would hold the train one hour to bury Grandma Wilson and no longer. He said we have to get out of this country before winter sets in or we would all be with Grandma Wilson. A shallow grave was scooped out of the sand, then she was wrapped in a blanket and lowered in the grave. One of the men read a prayer, and some of the women sang a hymn. Then the sand was put back in the grave and smoothed out as though it had never been disturbed so no roving Indian would find her grave. Then, as the train rolled onward, we took one last look of Grandma Wilson’s lonely resting place and wondered if there would be more of us in our grave, like her, before our journey’s end.

It began to seem like we were traveling slower and slower. Then one day we drove off the road to a little valley where the grass was good. No one had camped there, so it was decided we should rest for two or three days and let the oxen regain some of their strength. The wagons were put in the old familiar circle, oxen turned out to graze and everyone was busy getting supper when, just as the sun was setting, the most unearthly yell came from the eastern side of the valley. Everyone looked at the other and exclaimed, almost in one voice, “What’s that?” Indians, always in our minds, shouts came from every corner, “Indians! Indians!” Then another terrible yell, this time coming from the west; then more yells from different parts of the valley. Just then one of the older men came running, telling us it was wolves and that we would be attacked by them as soon as it was dark.

The oxen were run into the enclosure and every man, woman and child were ordered to gather firewood and place it around the wagons. Then a great pile of wood was gathered to replenish the fire. We were in the mountains and wood was easily gotten. Even at that, some of the things were taken from the wagons and thrown on the pile to be burned. Everyone had worked like mad without a bite to eat. Just as the twilight faded, the wolves came. The circle of wood was set fire. The train master gave his instructions to keep the fire burning all around and be as saving of the wood as we could, for he said we will have to keep the fire burning all night.

“I want none of you men to shoot into the pack of wolves, but if any jump the fire, shoot it and throw his body back over the fire line!”

You could see hundreds of shining eyes in the darkness. They would come up to the fire and snap at it. You could see their ugly mouth and sharp teeth and you shivered to think what would happen if they broke through the line of fire. Some of the larger ones did jump the fire and would immediately be shot and thrown back. As soon as his body hit the ground there would be a great commotion among the wolves. They would tear his body to pieces and devour it in a few minutes.

We kept strict watch all night but at the first streak of dawn the wolves began to leave, and at daylight they were all gone. Men and women alike fell to the ground: they had become so exhausted from their day’s travel and fighting off the wolves at night without any rest. The train master told them to let the oxen out so they could get a little grass to eat while we got a quick breakfast. We were soon on our way. Going about half a mile, the wagon train came to a quick stop. Everyone got out to see what was the trouble. Some emigrant train had all been killed by Indians. Their oxen too were shot. The people had been buried by men from another train. Only bones of the oxen was all that remained and we found out that the wolves came there every night to gnaw on the bones and that is why they attacked us. We rolled on, wishing to get as far from the place as possible before we would have to camp.

We soon left the Green River and passed below the Bighorn Mountains and by the Devil’s Gate. Then we crossed the Rockies by the south pass. We were now on the Pacific Slope. Going on for miles into forbidden country, we were just getting ready to camp when the Indian alarm was sounded. The train boss came by and told us the band of Indians were too large for us to think of attacking. He said not to make the Indians mad. Let them have the things they want and above all, keep calm and don’t let the Indians know you are afraid. This was a trying time, not knowing what to expect from the Indians. They came into camp and wanted food and tobacco, took several ponies and even took many handkerchiefs from the women’s heads…then finally rode away. We were all thankful they had not taken more and left us with our lives.

After a week of travel in this forbidden country we crossed the Green River and came to Fort Bridger. This was the first good resting place west of the Rockies. We were welcome here and, as it was a very pretty spot, we stayed and rested for awhile.

Leaving Fort Bridger we traveled up to the top of ridges, down the other side crossing rivers: on and on. Then a stop was called to repair the wagons. The tire came off one of the wagons and under the heavy load the wheel went crashing to the ground, breaking most of the spokes. The wheel was beyond repair. The load had to be put onto another wagon and the team doubled up. This was a heavy load for the wagon.

We reached Fort Hall. We were now on the Snake River and stopped at Fort Hall for a few days to rest, then went down the Snake River to Raft River. Here the road forked: one road leading to California, the other to Oregon. Fifteen of the wagons took the California road. We kept on down the river for Oregon. When we reached the ford of the Snake River, men hesitated to drive into the river. It was full bank and very muddy: coming from the melting snow higher up in the mountains. Again, more things were unloaded from the wagons and left on the bank of the river.

The man my mother was with said, “Mrs. Elston, if you don’t let me unload some of your things I will not drive into that river with the wagon the way it is so heavily loaded.” Mother stood firm and would not let anything be unloaded. Other men came and pleaded with her to allow them to take off some of her things and lighten the load. My mother stood, defiant to all their pleas. Finally, the man said, “If you won’t let me unload some of the things, I will unload all of them and drive off and leave you here on the bank of the river.” Mother still refused. True to his word the man unloaded all our things. Other men tried to get Mother to change her mind with no better luck. The train drove into the swollen river and succeeded in crossing and on out of sight.

Mother and we two girls sat down on the unloaded things of every description, waiting and waiting: for what? Our only hope was another emigrant train to come along. Or would they be loaded with their belongings and would not want to take on any more weight? We sat there until four o’clock when in the distance we saw dust. Our hopes were that it may be another train. When it got closer we could see many wagons and it proved to be a very large train. They stopped and began to prepare to cross the river. They asked us why we were there alone. Mother told them her story. The men of the train flew into a rage. Any man that would go off and leave a woman and two girls in a place like this to be killed by Indians, or die, are not men and they called them all sorts of names. All mother’s things were distributed among the wagons. We got safely across the river, except a cousin. He plunged into the whirling water and got too far to one side. His horse was taken under, and he nor his horse was ever seen again. We moved on. It was getting cold at nights for we were very high in the mountains, but we had plenty of wood and there was no more gathering of buffalo chips to make a fire. You could manage to cook with them and that was about it.

We now took down Boise River to Fort Boise. At this place our benefactors unloaded our things from their wagons and bade us goodbye and they proceeded on their journey. They proclaimed to let my father know where we were.

I was a small girl, past eight years old, with blond hair that hung below my waist. An Indian Chief visited the fort one day. He followed me around and he could not keep his hands off my hair. He went to my mother and offered her thirteen horses and nine brass kettles for me. Mother told him no and he said, “Me take any way.” One day, while I was playing on the outside of the fort with some Indian children, an officer of the fort called me to come quick and shut the gate. Just in time as the Indian Chief’s lasso fell harmlessly against the gate. I was never allowed to go on the outside again.

Things were not going so well at the fort. Food began to give out and winter had set in. We were put on half rations. The food grew less and the snow deeper. Finally the food gave out and we had to eat horse meat. Then the salt gave out and all we had to eat was horse meat without salt.

A young man at the fort by the name of Jim Bowden fell in love with my half sister and they were married by the officer at the fort, but my mother would not recognize their marriage until they could be married at some town in Oregon.

The emigrants found my father and told him where they had left us and he secured a large pack train with guides. He loaded the horses with all kinds of food, traveled and fought deep snow in places until he reached Boise. Never was such joy in the fort. I was so excited, for all I wanted to see was my father. The food was turned over to the fort; only enough held out for us to make a return trip to a place where we could purchase more. After my father and his men rested, the weather settled and the horses were packed. We said goodbye to the men at the fort and headed for Oregon. Back again across the Snake River, then up to the Burnt River. Here was the roughest piece of road we had come over, but with pack horses we did not mind and we were making much better time than with oxen and wagons. From Burnt River to the Blue Mountains, then touching the Columbia River.

From there we made our way over rivers and valleys to Eugene, Oregon, where we made our home for more than a year, then to other parts of Oregon; finally coming to California, where I have lived ever since. When eighteen years of age, I met a young man by the name of Aaron Burt, whom I married. We lived at Cherokee, Pentz and Magalia the greater part of our life. We have six children living.

My husband came from the east and at one time had Abraham Lincoln for his attorney. Mr. Burt went to stay all nights with a cousin and they went down to the store and played “three card Lou” for clothing. Mr. Burt won a pair of boots and his cousin a pair of pants. When his cousin came down to breakfast the next morning he showed his mother what he had won and said Arron had won a pair of boots. A minister staying at the house for the night heard the conversation. The law forbid gambling so he had them arrested. They hired Mr. Lincoln for their attorney. He said, “Boys, you should not break the law.” But, with a smile said, “I like to play penny ante myself sometimes.”

The trial came up but was postponed. The complaint was pigeon-holed, but on each law day the case would be called up and then postponed again. One day Mr. Burt, his cousin and Mr. Lincoln were in a courtroom alone. Mr. Lincoln picked up the complaint, put it in his pocket, and with a smile said, “Boys, the case is closed and you can go home.”

Mr. Burt always voted the Democratic ticket, then one day was told some of the Southerners were going to lower the Stars and Stripes and put up the southern flag at Cherokee. Mr. Burt got some men together and went to Cherokee. The Stars and Stripes were not lowered and my husband never again voted the Democratic ticket. He would always say a poor Republican was better than a good Democrat.

Now I will close my story as a pioneer family as I am an old lady and my health not good. I will soon be joining another trail to that unknown. And to all my friends and relatives who may read my story, I will say, “God bless you and may we all meet across the river.”

Jane Burt

Family history

Many people, indeed probably most if the truth be known, have little idea about their family history. Even less have any written account of what may have occurred many years ago. I am finding out that our family is not "of the norm" in this regard.

One weekend, not too long ago, we met with a large number of our family at a cemetery just south of Paradise, California. Here is where many of our ancestors are buried and we were there to place my father's ashes in the ground near his mother. Walking around looking at the headstones I was struck by the large number of them dating back to the 1800's. My cousin, Jim, told a story about the first of our family who made their way from Illinois to California and I found out that that story was recorded by Jane Burt: the daughter of the first of us to make the trip. I begged for a copy of that story and received it a couple of weeks ago. I am in the process of retyping it and thought you folks might be interested in reading along. It's not overly lengthy, about eight pages or so, but it's a fascinating glimpse of life on the Oregon Trail and how we originally got from point "A" to point "B".

I am going to post here what is labeled "Part One" of Jane's story. I will try and finish typing the rest of the story today so I can get it online for all of you. One thing that is not mentioned in the story is one of the items that came across in our family's covered wagon was a fiddle made in the 1700's. I have that instrument, and recently had a fellow here do a little work on it and get it back into playing condition. Perhaps someday I will learn to saw a tune on it. Now how cool would that be?

Here's part one of the story:


Bach Family History: Coming across on a covered wagon (told by Jane Burt)

In the year of 1850 my father and mother lived in the town of Peoria, Illinois. I was eight years of age. My half sister was fourteen. My father owned a small farm and, being a shrewd man and a hard worker, was always able to provide well for his family. Leaving the house for the field one morning, he saw a man coming in a hurry. As he came nearer he saw it was his neighbor. He seemed to be greatly excited.

“What’s the trouble Joe? Why are you so excited?”

“Gold, gold has been discovered in California!”

“Well, I don’t see what there is about that to get so upset about. It would take more than a few ounces of gold to sweep me off my feet.”

“Ounces? Bill, why the rivers and creeks are yellow with it. You can shovel up a fortune in a few days and it is not only in one place but all over the state of California.”

“Well, what good will it do us? We are not in California and it is a long way off. There is hardly more than a trail and I am not interested in California gold Joe.”

“So, you don’t want to go Bill?”

“Why, are you going to go Joe?”

“Sure! Half the people around here are going. We will have about fifty wagons in our train. Better come and go along Bill.”

“Well, I will think it over Joe.”

“I will send a man over to see you who has just come from California.”

“Alright Joe, I will be glad to see him.”

My father resumed his work in the field. Joe kept his word and the man from California called on my father.

“I tell you Mr. Elston, it is the greatest gold discovery of all times. You could work on this farm all your lifetime and then not have as much as you could make in California in a few weeks. Gold is not the only thing in California. Do you know you can travel for a few days on the richest farming land? Nothing to equal it in Illinois. The grass is as high as your waist and you can have any part of it by taking it up.”

I saw my father getting interested. He asked a few questions: how to get there and what he would have to have to join the party. The man told him everything he wanted to know. I noticed the next few days my father did not work very much, but was in deep study. One day he came in the house, sat down in his favorite chair, then called mother to him.

“Well Mother (that is what he called my mother), I am going to California.”

William Elston,” my mother exclaimed, “What is to become of the children and me? You know we are happy here and we have a good living.”

“Yes, I know, but I can make a fortune and take up a nice farm in California. I will send for you and the girls by next year.”

“But you know, William, the Indians are bad and you are taking a big chance of being killed, and then what would we do?”

The argument kept up for two or three days and finally my mother gave in and helped my father plan for the trip. My father had a heavy wagon made and began to look around for a good team of oxen. A notebook was kept handy on the table and every time anyone thought of something that my father might need it was written in the book. It would have taken two teams of oxen to haul everything listed in that book. Mother had a great variety of medicines, even to catnip to make tea, and she told my father over and over again to take them.

The winter months passed slowly. We girls would plan what we would do and buy when father made his big fortune. As the time grew near to the day they had planned to start, everyone grew more excited. At last the seventeenth of May rolled around: the date set to start. All the people in the town, and for miles around, were there to see the great train leave for the west. There were fifty wagons in the train pulled by the finest oxen I ever saw. As they were all in line, impatient to start, the train boss stood with a watch in one hand and a pistol in the other, waiting for the time he set to start. Finally he raised the pistol in the air and fired and, with the popping of whips, the train slowly stated to move. Some were laughing, some were crying. Now and then you would see some mother giving her boy a farewell kiss. One girl shouted, “Don’t forget George, you promised me the first piece of gold you found!”

The train moved out of sight and headed west, not knowing the hardships that were before them. Weeks followed months with Indian scares. Then a stop to repair wagons and let the oxen rest, a swollen river to cross, but the train kept steadily on, mile after mile, always facing the setting sun. On the nineteenth day of December, 1850, they arrived at Sutter’s Fort.

My father did a little mining, but bought claims and sold them at a profit. In the following winter he sent Mother word to sell the farm and everything on it, keeping just what was necessary to make the trip, have a heavy wagon made, buy a yoke of oxen, hire a man to drive them and start for California in the spring.