Making the Trip to Iowa

Note: This article has been excerpted from a larger work in the public domain and shared here due to its historical value. It may contain outdated ideas and language that do not reflect TOTA’s opinions and beliefs.

From Reminiscences of Newcastle, Iowa, 1848, by Harriet Closz, 1921.

Making the Trip to Iowa

Five families with ox teams and covered wagons left Kokomo, Indiana, September 15, 1848, to make the long trip overland to Iowa.

The company comprised the families of my father, Wilson Brewer; Thomas Long; Robert Palmer; William Stanley, a brother-in-law; and William Brewer, a nephew of my father.

There were, in our family, six children ranging in age from a babe in arms to twenty years. William Stanley — "Uncle Billy" — fathered seven youngsters; one son, Nathan, was married just before leaving the Hoosier home; he made the trip with his father. William Brewer — "Little Bill" — had no children, but one or more of our boys or girls constantly were under his care during the journey. There were six lusty lads and two young women in the Thomas Long family, and Mr. and Mrs. Palmer had two children.

Seventeen yokes of cattle, five prairie-schooners and a truck-wagon made up this emigrant train. Of this outfit, my father owned two wagons and eight yokes of oxen and cows. Twelve of the critters were driven regularly, and the four extra "cow-power" was distributed along the wagon train wherever the exigencies of transportation required. Uncle Billy owned and rode a horse.

Male members of the party who were old enough and able to walk, in turn tramped beside the teamsters during the day and slept on the open prairie at night. If the weather threatened a tent was raised. The women and small children occupied the covered wagons, and six weeks were consumed in making the journey which now requires but a day and night.

Weather and Roads

The weather was fine and the trip not unpleasant. At the camping places father sought to interest the residents in our early Iowa adventure. We crossed the Mississippi River at Flint Hills, now Burlington, Iowa, and declared that we had reached the promised land. Directing our course toward the northwest, we reached Fort Des Moines the latter part of October.

We found bad roads all along the route, although the rivers and sloughs were at low-water mark compared with the spring season. Many of the swamps seemed to be bottomless, which characteristic of Iowa topography has furnished the historian with a topic of perennial interest and amusement; for the highway commissioner, the paving contractor and the good roads expert had not then begun operations upon the swamp-lands of this commonwealth.

We crossed no railroads in the state, and not a wagon bridge contributed to our comfort or safety. All streams were forded, and sloughs of dubious proportions were "doubled" through; although frequently the teams were mired in the virgin muck of the Hawkeye prairie. Log chains and pry-poles often were brought into requisition and were as much a part of the paraphernalia of emigration as the smithy's tools or the tar-bucket dangling at the rear from the wagon-reach.

When there were particularly aggravated cases of being stuck in the mud, the household goods were unloaded and carried to solid ground to lighten the pull for the oxen. For this work, slabs provided for the purpose, were placed one in front of another for the walking convenience of women and children. This method of transportation was slow and wearisome, but our party worked stoically and occasionally sang cheerful and hopeful songs.

Blazing the Trail

Blazing trees — scalping a patch of bark which could be seen from one tree to another — was a forest method of location; and a "point of timber" was a guide-post from miles distant. When traveling over an unknown piece of prairie, a tree or "rise of land" was sighted in a direction to be taken by the company. If the distance was great a man was sent ahead as far as he could be signalled to the right or left. His location was lined up with the course already traversed, the main body came forward and the same work was repeated until the plain was crossed. Indian trails served us very little.

My father was the pathfinder on our trip from Indiana. He walked ahead of the wagon-train nearly the entire distance from our old home. He viewed the prospects for advance and directed the drivers by the routes which seemed to offer the least resistance. Incidentally, he kept the company supplied with game which was shot on his scouting trips.

Tall weeds or rushes were tied in standing bunches if the same course was to be re-traversed, and furrows often were plowed through unmarked low-grass levels. Bunches of bright colored wool tied to the rosin, artichoke or blue-stem stalks were good guides across an expanse of waving meadow.

Seventy years ago Iowa prairie vegetation was vigorous and abundant. All over our present town site, especially the southeastern part, the grass was higher than a man's head. East of Superior street a man on horseback was just distinguishable making his way through the marshy flat; and both north and south of town the hazel-brush grew in rank profusion.

Pioneer traveling, even in the best of weather, was attended by discomfort and hazard, but traveling while a storm was in progress increased the peril an hundred fold.

Fords

Fording streams was one of the perils of pioneer life. The ability of a pathfinder did not extend to improving roads. Once a trail was located it was followed across side-hills that threatened to, and with an inexperienced driver often did, upset the wagons; up and down bank-pitches that would have demoralized any motive power except the deliberate oxen; through thickets and among trees so close growing it was necessary to worm a way around them. For many years these conditions were unchanged.

Occasionally a tree was cut in the line of march, but the stump remained to straddle or bump into in passing. When a creek or river was reached the train halted. A scout "took up" the river and another "took down" it. Locating a safe ford often was a day's work. At this distance I feel justified in asserting that none of them was safe. It was desirable, if a ford could be established on a spreading riffle, although that was not always possible. The stony bottom which characterized the riffle furnished solid footing, and an expansive surface indicated shallower water than was found in the smooth-flowing narrow runs.

An ox, and a man who was a good swimmer were chosen to try out a dubious looking ford. When dangerously deep the rider slipped off the back and clung to the tail of the ox. If neither one was drowned the ford was pronounced safe. I do not remember that we crossed a river on our trip that did not swim the "critters." Our wagon-boxes all were calked against the contingency of just such wettings. We did not use the boat-shaped wagon box as some emigrants did.

We could not always land opposite the point of starting. Often we made some distance up stream in the water to reach an accessible bank. At other times we were floated down stream by the force of the current in spite of our effort to make the desired landing. We never were overturned in the water, however. Some of the old fords still are used during low water periods. Foot-logs over small streams served the man a-foot.

We remained in Des Moines several days; replenished the provision wagon, did the party washing, were entertained with horse-racing on the main thoroughfare during the day and at a public dance in the evening. Dr. Campbell furnished music for the occasion on a fiddle which he had purchased from a frontier scout. One of our party bantered the doctor for a trade, but the articles offered in exchange were worth only about fifteen dollars and the owner wanted twenty dollars for the violin.

Des Moines Town Lots

I clearly recollect the delegation that visited our party while we were encamped near the settlement. They offered business inducements for us to remain with them. We learned later that when Des Moines was platted, lots sold for $7.50 apiece, payments to be made annually in one dollar installments. Many Iowa towns have passed through seasons of muddy streets. It has, however, been reported of Des Moines that through the springtime the mud in Walnut street rose and fell with the tide, and that skiffs were towed about the center of the Capitol city during high water.

The early settlers of Des Moines included the Messrs. Bryant, Scott, Sturtevant, Cassady, Kinsey, Newcomer, Rankin, Cypher, Moore, Sherman, McHenry, Dicks, Clapp, Dr. James Campbell, who later became well known in our community, Rev. Thompson Bird, Barlow Granger, later of Granger's Grove, and Alexander Turner, who soon came to Homer.

Thomas Long and family of our party, having had quite enough experience in traversing the western prairies, accepted the business proffer of the delegates and remained in Des Moines. My father, however, signified his intention of continuing the journey; after a consultation the other emigrants, except Long, decided to accompany us.

On our way northward we camped where were, afterward, the trading posts of Boonsboro and Hook's Point. We were entertained at the latter place by Major Brassfield, who, the previous season, had arrived in what now is Hamilton county.

Our First Location

We located on the Boone river the first week in November, about six miles south of Webster City; my father selecting and staking his claim to include what now is known as Bone's mill site, S.W. 1/4 31-88-25. Along the ravine our party constructed rude log cabins, which, with pole-supports for thatchings of bark, provided comparatively comfortable shelter. Nature smiled upon us the fall of 1848, the weather was ideal and not a flake of snow fell until after New Year Day. Christmas was close at hand when the four cabins were completed and the log stables, surrounded with brush corrals, were ready as shelter for the cattle.

Every one worked with a will. Some of the men were delegated to cut a supply of hay from the already dry fields of prairie-grass; others were detailed to provide wild game-animals for food, and all participated in the work of wood chopping and grubbing.

Royal Stag

There were so many deer that during our early seasons fresh or cured venison was the leading article on our daily menu. A few days after our arrival the track of the first "big game" was sighted by Roll Brewer and Tom Stanley, at a point near the spring in the Church "holler" at the Silver's farm. The beast was followed northward by devious wanderings to near where the Country Club house now is located. Night overtook them and the boys decided to give up the chase until daybreak.

While talking over their plans an animal which was resting near the river, sprang forward along the steep incline only a few yards from the hunters. Tom fired; but in the fast-falling darkness his aim was untrue. Roll covered the fleeing creature with his gun, waiting for him to reach the crest of the hill against the horizon, knowing if the animal were a deer he would tarry a moment at the top to survey the surroundings. This pause of a few seconds was the sportsman's opportunity; and five minutes later the young men were removing the skin of this splendid forest creature.

The happy hunters severed the antler trophy from the skull of the animal and a choice cutlet was taken from the carcass as an evidence of good faith for the family at home. The antlers from this stag still are in the possession of our family. They have the double crown of crockets, which represent the seventh year.

Paramount Problem

For several seasons our paramount problem was sustenance. True, the same problem exists today, but not in the naked aspect of the pioneer period. It was necessary to produce food at first hand, or by a hundred-mile haul, which represented days of exposure to the elements and possible danger from wild animals or Indians.

Diligence and industry readily supplied the demand for heat and meat; so, to prepare for the next season's crop was our immediate concern. Small patches of prairie sod were plowed for spring corn and grain, and the hazel-brush plots were grubbed for buckwheat, potatoes and garden truck.

The seed-potatoes brought with us were holed-up, or down, beyond the possibility of injury from frost; our other seed supplies, obtained from Des Moines during the winter, prepared us for the spring planting. The virgin soil responded with splendid abundance; the crop of the following season was a wonderfully satisfactory one and we were relieved of the necessity for many long trips and the worry of want for the winter.

Not always were we so fortunate with crops. There were dry and wet seasons with the result of absolute failure of harvests together with the loss of seed and labor.

Marshall County Settlers

The year after we left our old home, a party of about twenty-five followed us from Indiana. They were the William Ellsbury, John Arney, James Boyle and Henry Hauser families. They covered the same route, and were to have continued their journey to the Boone valley; but sickness of some of the party prevented, and they located in Marshall county.

The first wedding of the community took place in the fall of 1849, to which ceremony my parents were invited. The bride was Elizabeth Boyle, the bridegroom William Arney. I believe there still are members of these families residing in Marshalltown.

Our summer sojourn at Bone's mill site location, 1849, was enlivened by a detachment of soldiers, who passed our way and pitched their tents with our party. They were acting under the orders of Colonel Mason, and were the advance inspection guard who were to recommend the location of a military base. The site was chosen on the Des Moines river; and in August of the following year Fort Clark — now Fort Dodge — was located. Major Samuel Woods, with the Sixth United States Infantry, was detailed to this fort; and scouting parties occasionally visited "Hope Hollow," our new home. The fort was maintained until 1853, when the soldiers were removed to Fort Ridgley, Minnesota.

Wedding

The visits of the military detail started the vibration of wedding bells in our midst. A young soldier, John Drought, and my cousin, Lucretia Stanley, became very good friends; and in the summer of 1850 the couple were married.

Our family by this time had moved farther north, but communication between our relatives was frequent. The wedding preparations were prolonged and impressive. There was a minister at Swede Bend, on the Des Moines river; but his services were not secured; so Reverend Thompson Bird, who doubtless wished that he could fly, was brought from Des Moines to perform the ceremony.

Elder Bird made the trip on horseback. On the way he was compelled to wade through several sloughs, and when he arrived his appearance was not that of our well-groomed, present-day parson. His look of resignation, however, indicated that he was quite ready to accept the dictum of the Master that: "In heaven there is no marrying or giving in marriage." The minister was to be paid for his services with coonskins — when the hides were "ripe" — so, his prospects for remunerative returns were not alluring.

The wedding ceremony, to my youthful mind, was solemnly awe-inspiring despite the gay jollity, the even hilarious spirit manifested by the many attendants. The Marshall County contingent had been invited, as were the various recently located neighbors. There were present members of the families of Brassfield, Mericle, Spaulding, Warner, Russell, Stall, Woolsey, Hogan, Turner and Kinnett; also a squad of soldiers from Fort Clark, who forgot for a day the rules of army discipline.

The wedding-feast consisted of fish, venison, corn dodger and "garden-sass," with dessert of wild berries. The dining was done in the shade of the immense trees in the yard, and the dancing on the circular clearing around the cabin. "Ans" Brassfield fiddled furiously throughout the evening; and, as sleeping accommodations were limited, the guests "danced all night till broad daylight" and returned to their homes in the morning.

Closz, Harriet. Reminiscences of Newcastle, Iowa, 1848. Historical Dept. of Iowa, 1921.

Harriet Closz

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