Chapter 1: The Journey Westward

The journey westward in the mid 1800's was a challenge for everyone, just as Isabelle discovers, as her husband and her set out for the Montana frontier in 1862.

It was just nearing sundown, the earth feathered with rays of sunlight that reached over the mountaintops, as I had fixed myself in the pine rocking chair that sat upon our small, makeshift porch.   The tall, dense grasses in the valley before me fluttered amidst the warm breeze that caressed my skin, bringing my soul back to a time when life’s difficulties were at an ease. The mountains across the valley were shadowed as the rays of sunlight drew back behind the great configurations, the pine tree lines parallel to one another upon the valley’s ridges slowly retracting their shadows with the setting sun.  

In all the places that I’d been, the sunsets of Montana were truly the most beautiful, and dispersed over the great vastness of the land all the troubles that rested within a heavy mind. It was seemingly unusual at this time of the evening for finding the time to sit and revel in the natural and stunning splendor that was so effortlessly given to every man upon this earth, but I had prepared a stew for supper that was situated above the hearth, and I had only time to be consumed until it was ready.

Nothing was more appreciated than the time I was given for a short, but much valued putting up of my feet, as the work on the frontier was hard and filthy, nothing of what I had expected previous to my journey westward.  Back east they told us of the riches that would come of it, moving west, how it was nothing but free land ready to be sowed and sold by the bushel, nothing but mines brimmed to the top with gold, but I hadn’t seen much of that ease since my arrival, and wasn’t certain even of its existence.  Henry promised me that if I’d marry him, he’d take me west and build me a big log house, mine me gold up to my ears, and provide me with a family of my own. I had said yes to him, as he was an honest man, but our future journeys were nowhere near what I had expected.  I had been so young when we got married, but my papa told me that it’d be my only chance to make something of myself and to have a better life, in the trying times leading up to the war.

The war was in full swing by 1861, but no one wanted to believe it was true. When Abraham Lincoln had been elected for our dear president in 1860, the people in the south found themselves in a flustered mess, and they feared that Lincoln was an abolitionist of sorts. My background found itself in Vermont, so I didn’t care much for the idea of slavery, but I kept my thoughts to myself about it.  Most everyone with whom I was familiar disliked the idea of it likewise, but all the white southerners had it out for us, especially when Lincoln took office.   They prided themselves in the free labor provided to them by the Negroes, of whom they talked of their filth and their less than human status, none of which I believed in. I had met quite a few free Negroes in the north, and they seemed a mighty fine people to me. But the southerner’s greed for free labor and unnatural, inhumane treatment of these people bared a greater importance to them.

The tensions between the southern states and the Union amplified, and the South had advocates of sorts on maintaining the current condition of the slaves, and one by one, those states started seceding from the Union to which I belonged. They didn’t support the power of the government, and thought it best to find peace among themselves as the Confederate States of America. At the time, Henry and I had only been married but a year or so, but the lingering idea of a full scale war weighed heavy in the back of our minds, and we hunted for every reason to catch a way out of the dilapidating Union.

It wasn’t until July of 1862 that we heard news that would bring us to the beautiful, yet lonely lands of Montana. We had received a newspaper spewing news of gold spotted in the small settlement which was called Bannack, in the territory that later became Montana.  We were certain this was our destiny, our escape from the crumbling ways that were beginning to fester themselves within our country.  When the War Between the States came to a breaking point, the Confederate States issued a Conscription Act, requiring all able bodied men between the ages of 18 and 35 to enlist in the conscription. In light of that news, we recognized it would only be a matter of time before the Union enacted its own Conscription Act. And as Henry wasn’t keen on the idea of serving in a war in which he understood to be against “disgruntled, white rebels,” we hoped our escape to the west would protect us from any wartime extremities.

I undoubtedly agreed to pioneer the trails westward, in hopes of reaching the gold-filled town of Bannack.  How exciting it was to know that I would become one of many others to pioneer the frontier, to start a life unlike any other, as everyone had always talked of.  Shortly upon learning the news of gold in the west, we began to gather what provisions we could, and acquired the animals necessary to complete our journey, along with those to keep us well-nourished upon our upcoming homestead arrival.  My optimisms for the future were high, but my naivety of what lay ahead soon arose, and I found myself drowning in the fears and hardships that each consecutive day brought forth.

Although the landscape was nearly striking enough to take your breath away at times, some of the things we saw on the trail were no doubt horrifying enough to do the same.  Nearly every few days we came upon marked graves, some fairly recent, as most cases were probably due to a bad string of cholera or the scarlet fever that were replenishing themselves upon trailblazers.  We were lucky enough to never see such things affect either of us along the way, but we encountered plenty of folk who were looking like they were surely nearing a turn for the worse. 

We experienced a lot of fair weather days, the sun shining down upon us like a great, beckoning lantern in the sky, leading us on our way to an unfamiliar, yet fated lifestyle.  But most certainly did the tides turn on those days where the weather turned brutal, and the rain and winds whipped our wagon back and forth, compelling our traveling to cease due to bottomless mud and dreadful conditions.  In the event that one of our oxen became injured, or our wagon damaged, it could be a matter of days before our journey could continue. Not to mention the nuisance we had controlling the other animals, especially when they became discontented. It was much to my appreciation when a man, traveling with a group just behind us, offered his aid to me in maintaining the additional animals along the trail.  It was only due to his kindness that I was able to get a bit of rest, as the same group tailed us for many weeks.

This is not to say that there was never a pleasant moment on our long, demanding expedition to the frontiers of Montana. We gained many acquaintances, and traveled with a great many of them for weeks at a time, before one or the other changed course on their way to their own destined location.  We also gained an acquaintance who would no doubt change our new life on the frontier, mine in particular. On the days where the trail was easy going, we found laughs with the others, women chatting of feministic activities, men of hard labor and politics.  It seemed like everyone was running away from the war, desperate to find a life liberated from the dangers of a disintegrating country. Henry often talked of his cowardice for not enlisting and fighting to keep this novel country together, but he always told me he knew what we were doing would provide the best for us, and our future family. 

I hoped to the bottom of my soul that this journey would take us to a place where we could make a beautiful life, one so different from that of back home. In Vermont, I had lived such a dull life that bored me day in and out. I was well certain that where we were destined to go now wouldn’t come easy, but I was ready to take on something new, something worthy of hard work and determination, something that I hadn’t seen before.

Some days on the trail seemed to last an eternity, with nothing to gaze at but the surrounding scenery. 

Occasionally we passed through trivial settlements, seeing the troubled faces of those learning of the new war efforts, and every now and then purchased dwindling provisions. Often we found that we had stowed away supplies that were impractical for our long voyage, and had to try and rid of them to those we passed by.  Under many circumstances, unusable luggage was left upon the trail’s edge to lighten the load, and it seemed that nearly all those traveling the trail did so at one point or another.  Frequent stops were made at every sighting of water, to rest and water the animals and fill up our canteens, although the difficulties of passing through the running rivers made our stopping quite imminent.  Much too easily did it seem that our wagon would nearly buckle under the rushing rapids of the river, and it seemed a dear horror to try and make a safe and manageable passage through the water for the trailing animals.

When we had traveled all we could without proper rest, and dusk began to fall, we would cease our traveling for the night, and set up camp only a short ways off the trail. Due to our great efforts in preserving our food stock, we ate only each time we stopped, and the taste of stale bread and hard tack was never a very flavorsome incentive, especially after jolting around daily on the rutted trail.  We did have storage of meat, heavily salted for preservation, but often it was cooked only in times of extreme hunger, which desolately came more often than not. 

Before setting off at dawn, often we would do our best to wash up with the icy waters of the creek, if we were in luck enough to be near to one. In less fortunate occasions, it would be only the washing off of surface dirt and grime, and our journey would arise once more.  These conditions were everlasting for the many months we underwent our travel, and regularly I had mulled over the thought of this destined land we were headed to, and whether or not it was worth this drudgery.

Though my spirits often found themselves in the low, I put in my best efforts to fill myself with hope and optimism, and Henry’s company along the trail, apart from the others, no doubt kept my smile alive.  I had thought at times how lonesome I felt for those back in Vermont, my papa and brother, and my other friends and family members whom I was already missing dearly. I’d promised to write them as soon as we found permanent settlement, but I suddenly longed to hear their voices, and to receive their empathy, for my future endeavors were to be of the utmost strain, and I would surely find assurance in their gentle words.

I gave my father every ounce of gratitude that my settled mind could offer. He was the hardest working man I’d ever known, made for hard labor, and that was a fact. He had raised me in his best efforts on his own, with the help of my older brother James, who I had also felt sorrow for leaving. James found himself in countless rough patches, and all he needed was a little shaping up, some real hard work to settle his bones.  More often than not, papa and I had awoken back in Vermont to his absence, only to wait upon his reoccurring stumbling through the door, smelling of whiskey, and the obvious appearance of a tavern fight upon his face.  When he was in his clear mind, his conscience was of a completely different attitude, the one I knew he suited better.  I feared for him, James, that the war might get him too, staying steadfast in Vermont, doing the odd trades that kept him afloat.

***

After traveling for what seemed like years, but only amounting to many long, strenuous months, it seemed that we were approaching the journey's end at Bannack, Montana, the place of treasured gold and sought after dreams, or so they said.  After traveling many miles over waving hills and countryside, we crested a hill that looked over what Henry said must have been Bannack.  We had been stopped a few miles back from the town by several men on horseback, who seemed rather interrogative for country stragglers. They had kindly pointed us in the right direction of the town, after asking our names and purposes in the Montana territory. They never spoke of who they were, and snuck out of answering after Henry probed at them. In my best judgment, I still felt weary of them, and hoped that I wouldn’t fall upon their faces again.  I especially didn’t care for the man who had targeted us from the beginning, with his sly, crooked grin, and rough eyes, hidden beneath the shadow cast from the brim of his hat. 

 

When we had arrived in the town, Henry and I took a stop to rest the animals, and to get the word about of our arrival to the few people we saw.  A stout man with a large, burly beard appeared in the doorway of what seemed to be the general store.  Henry and I walked over to him, eager to introduce ourselves to those we would later befriend, and he told us of his ownership of the store, and then of where the best, unclaimed land was up near the mountains. At that point in our journey, it was a sheer pleasure to be able to stop and converse with someone who we discerned might become a familiar face to us.  I desired to search for any reason to call this new land home, to find a motive that would make me feel like I belonged.

After passing through the rest of the town, which amounted to only a small number of log-framed buildings, and getting a few friendly greetings from the firsthand settlers, we traveled out of the town, continuing a bit westward. We came upon our destined plot of land a few hours later, a couple miles up the mountain, overlooking a valley of tall grasses and wildflowers.  It was the most beautiful country we had crossed paths with yet, and a wave a pure happiness washed over me as I knew this was the end of our journey. Together, we had found where our lives would start, where we could be free from the toils of the war, and be in our own, secluded bliss. 

***

Henry called my name from inside the house, conversing of the stew over the hearth.  I presumed it must be nearly cooked through, as I had been sitting out on the porch for some time, so I headed on into the house, as the beautiful, Montana sun set behind me, my thoughts at rest with the twilight sky.

Author's Note

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