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Wednesday, May 10th. After we had crossed a small stream where there was a
small mill, we began an ascent of a long hill which took us all morning
to climb. We ate our dinner on the very top, while our stock was resting
from the long, hard climb. That afternoon we descended onto the plains
again, and that night camped right out on the open prairie.
Thursday, May 11th. We passed through a pretty little town called La Grange in the morning, and camped on a little branch for dinner. In the afternoon we drove until we came to the White Breast River where we camped for the night. This was a pretty stream and made a lovely place to camp for the night. |
Friday, May 12th. We were up and started early this morning and then passed
through the little town of Chariton before dinner, finally stopping on
a small branch. In the afternoon, we passed through Osceola, Iowa, which
is located on the banks of Squaw Creek. Out of Osceola we crossed a number
of small streams named according to their distance from Osceola. The first
was "Two Mile Creek", then "Three Mile", "Eight Mile" and "Twelve Mile Creek".
That night we camped on "Three Mile Creek", off to the right of the road.
| For it was here that Mrs. Canterbury, being infatuated with the novel display of woodland foliage, had allowed the reins of slacken, and just at that same moment, being possessed and propelled by the influence of the evil one, a snow white calf had jumped out into the road not a rod away. At the sight of it the ponies bolted, the ladies screamed, and before the slack in the guiding reins could be taken up in order to steer the frightened ponies, the frail chariot became grounded against a firm sapling. The "Handle" (as the French Smithy called it), separated from its ancestral mooring place, and then through the timber Hellatosplit went harness, ponies and all. So there we camped and fished the laggard hours away, until the damaged phaeton could be put into running order once more. Compared to the firsts grief that befell this "royal carriage", we might be inclined to call this disaster a "duodecimo", or just one more volume of misfortune. True to their instincts, the ponies soon came whinnying back to camp, just as blithe and gay as a country maiden at the May Day picnic. |
We were now too far advanced on the frontier to find a "quack" or a "specialist"
who could build, mend, or repair a wagon, buggy or other wheeled vehicle.
So it was Father and Ben Linn who were required to spend all their time before
the Services on the Sabbath Day, by using such crude tools as they had in camp,
shaping a black oak sapling into another guide pole for the unfortunate
carriage. And did those ladies shed tears because of this misfortune?
No, they did nothing of the sort, for how could they when there were so
many wild flowers blooming on the hillsides, with their wonderful fragrance
filling the air. Birds twittered to their mates in the leafy branches, and
there was no room in all that vast outdoors for such a condition in the
human breast as "sadness".
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Sunday, May 14th. This was surely a lovely place to camp, here on the banks
of a small river among the oak trees. There was plenty of good grass for the
stock, and everyone enjoyed the rest. And especially all of us that liked to
go fishing for we certainly caught some fine ones.
Monday, May 15th. We were all feeling fine again this morning after our long rest, and were off to a good start. We crossed the Grand River sometime in the morning, and our dinner in the little town of Afton. Then after dinner we only traveled four miles during the afternoon, and camped that night again right out on the open prairie. |
