Fort Laramie on the Oregon Trail: Shoes for Oxen, Wheels for Wagons

"I'll be gone this morning with the oxen, Mary Ann. It's our turn at the blacksmith's shop. He's charging a fair price for the oxen - one dollar per hoof, same as for the horses, even though he has to put on two separate plates, one for each half of the split hoof on the oxen. I'm having the four oxen on the spare team shod also. They aren't pulling much of the time, but they will have the same distance to go and they need to be ready to replace our best team if necessary."

"Thirty-two dollars sounds like a lot of money, James."

Ox shoe for one half of the cloven hoof, by Justlettersandnumbers
Creative Commons CC0 1.0 Universal Public Domain Dedication

"Don't worry, Mary Ann. We planned for these expenses. Our wagon and wheels don't need repair, so it is less than is set aside. Would you like to see if there is a new sunbonnet, or perhaps moccasins, that you'd like to buy?"

"Thank you James, I'll look for moccasins. My shoes are so worn already. Is there anything you need from the store here?"

Moccasins by Santee Sioux -
maybe similar to the pair Mary Ann purchased

"I'm getting another pair of boots. We have over fourteen hundred miles left to go, and I didn't bring an extra pair when we left home. At least the leather goods here are a reasonable price."

"I'm going to buy moccasins for Mary Jane too. She will be walking everywhere before we get to Oregon. I wish Eliza could see her now. She'd be so proud of her."

"I know you miss your sister, Mary Ann. I wish she could be here too. We'll just have to love Mary Jane double - once for us, her aunt and uncle, and twice for her mother being gone."

New People and Old Names on the Oregon Trail:

 "Mama," began Mary Ann.

"Yes, dear," replied Nancy Evans.

"Mama, look what I got in trade from an Indian woman at Fort Laramie yesterday."

"Why, those are the most cunning, tiny, deer skin booties I ever saw. What lovely bead work. Oh, my dear, don't tell me you are going to have a baby."

"Yes, I think James and I are going to have a baby. I'm not certain yet, but maybe..."

"That's exciting news, Mary Ann. I hope you will take good care of yourself, and eat well. Don't skip meals."

"Oh yes, I'll be careful. We are thinking of what to name the baby. If it is a boy, we want to name him *Hugh Richard: "Hugh", after James' father Hugh and "Richard", after my father Richard."

"I'm sure Richard would be very happy to have a grandson named after himself," replied Nancy.

"If it is a girl," continued Mary Ann, "we are thinking of naming her **Ann Elizabeth: "Ann" after James' mother Ann, and "Elizabeth" after papa's mother, Elizabeth (see Note). Plus your middle name is Ann, so it works both ways."

Nancy pulled the pan of corn bread off the fire before it burned, and told Mary Ann that she would need naps and rest as the baby grew. "I want you to come and tell me whenever you feel too tired, and I'll make sure you get the rest you - and the baby - will need."

* James and Mary Ann did name a son, born in 1858, Hugh Richard.

** James and Mary Ann named their first child, a girl, Ann Elizabeth. She was born a few months after they arrived in Oregon Territory, but she lived only one day. In November 1853 they had another daughter, who they also named Ann Elizabeth. She grew up and married a neighbor, Constant Barchus.

Note: Richard Evan's father, Revolutionary War veteran Edward Percy Evans, married first, Sarah Vaughn, and after her death, married Elizabeth Howard. Elizabeth raised Richard Evans from a baby, and was the only mother he would remember, but he was born to Sarah (Vaughn) Evans, who died within the next three years.

Mary Ann Sherrill: Rejoicing to be Nearly to Half Way to Oregon.

The day before yesterday our wagon train crossed to the south side of the Platte River so that we could buy supplies at Fort Laramie. The Fort has the only general store of any note for eight hundred miles. At first, the men planned to wade across the Platte, or ride their horses, and leave us all camped on the north side of the river. What a great outcry was heard when they told us their plan! We all felt it was worth the trouble of another river crossing, to be able to choose what we wanted. After shopping, we stayed camped outside of Fort Laramie, among the many wagon trains camped here. Closer to the Fort are the teepees of tribe after tribe of Sioux Indian, who live here for protection against their enemies.

After a meeting with the wagon master, of all the section heads in the wagon train, my father came to ask each head of a family to meet with him. James went to the meeting, as did Jacob Thompson, William Leach, Thomas Martin, and the rest of the heads of families in our section. James returned to our wagon to tell me what has been decided. He said that Fort Laramie is over 600 miles from where we crossed the Missouri River, and it is the last outpost on the Oregon Trail for getting worn oxen shoes replaced, and cracked wagon wheels repaired. With all the other wagon trains camped here, we have to wait a couple of days for our turn with the blacksmith.  Everyone agreed with the wagon master, that we must take this opportunity to renew our preparations for the rest of the trip.

We ran out of sugar a week ago, so I bought more sugar at Fort Laramie. Tonight, with the concentrated  lemon syrup, also from the fort's general store, I made lemonade with cold water from the swift running, nearby Laramie River, which joins the Platte River by the Fort. After our nightly prayers of thanksgiving, we had a dance. You'd think that after a long and strenuous day of toil, we would all just want our dinner and our beds, but dancing, in squares or in circles, was exactly what we all needed. We wanted to celebrate the distance we had come already, and rejoice that we are nearing the half way point of South Pass. Other sections of the wagon train were making music and dancing also, and some joined together for a larger group of dancers. Even with the celebrations, all the men took their turns at their assigned guard duties, making sure the horses and oxen were not stolen or strayed overnight.

From the Pen of Mary Ann (Evans) Sherrill (part 2) More Relatives

Counting up the rest of her relatives who were traveling to Oregon with them, Mary Ann remembered to add Her Kyniston cousins to her mental list. Her seven year old cousin Mary Ann Kyniston rode with Richard and Nancy Evans, even though Edward Kyniston, age 4, and Thomas Kyniston, age 8, who were her brothers, and their father, Thomas Kyniston, had their own wagon, and  were in the wagon train. 

She had to count William Holloway, even though her sister Eliza Jane (Evans) Holloway had died, William was still a relative. Their little baby had been in her care ever since her sister passed away, and now she was bringing her one year old niece, Mary Jane Holloway, to Oregon. 

Mary Ann quickly constructed her mental list of the rest of her relatives who were traveling with them. The Leach family and the Martin Family were down to earth, practical people who encouraged Mary Ann to ride in their wagons and while away the long hours of travel listening to outrageous stories of their family adventures. She resolved to write them in her diary every night so they would be remembered.

William P. Leach, 32 years, m. to Polly Ann (d. 6 Jun 1902)

Polly Ann (Martin) Leach, 31 years

(Polly Ann's sister Virginia Ellen (Martin) EVANS m. David EVANS, son of Richard & Nancy): David and Virginia EVANS stayed in Iowa.

Rachael Leach, 7 years old

James Leach, 5 years

David Leach, 2 years

Thomas J. Martin, 27 years (brother of Polly Ann Leach and Virginia EVANS) (d. 6 May 1869), on the Census for 1850 Wapello Co. Iowa

Selena (Plough) Martin, 26 years

John Martin, 13 years

Mary J Martin, 8 years

From the pen of Mary Ann (Evans) Sherrill: a Wagon Train of Relatives

My father, Richard Evans, is in charge of our section of the wagon train - 14 wagons out of 110 wagons altogether. It's a well organized wagon train, with each section having a captain to keep people going, solve problems and keep the peace. The captains meet each day with the wagon master, who decides when and where we would halt, and for how long.

Every day of our trip is a delicate dance, balancing the need to get to Oregon before the snows hit the mountain passes, and not driving our oxen so hard they die and leave us stranded. Our  wagon master is doing a good job, and knows the trail - where to find good water, where to cross the rivers, and so on. There are people who grumble, who expected to go faster, or who think they can do a better job of leading the wagon train. The captain has the confidence of the majority, since he has been over the trail before, and has the maps and the scouts.

I'm proud of the way my mother quietly prepares a good meal every night, and of the way my brother Edward drives his team at a steady pace, not showing off, just keeping his place in the line. My uncle Jacob Thompson is like Edward - driving steady, taking good care of his oxen. Jacob's wife is an Evans - Rhoda Evans, 28 years old. They have a son, James, seven years old, and Rhoda's (cousin? sister?) Caroline Evans, age 16, with them.  I feel very secure and comfortable, traveling with my family all around me.

Antelope  - image courtesy of Orland Ned Eddins.  Click for larger image

In the past several weeks, our wagon train has forded so many tributaries of the Platte River, that I have lost count, but we are making good time over the prairie. We passed Scotts Bluff, and Fort Laramie, and last night we camped at Independence Rock. We can see the beautiful Wind River Mountain Range ahead.

This morning the men rode into camp after a short time hunting, and they brought back three antelope, seven grouse and a turkey. The meat is welcome for a change in diet, and to make our supplies in the wagons last longer. My husband James shot two of the antelope, but it will all be shared with our section, and if we have more than we can use, some of the meat will make a gift to another section that has too little.

Mary Ann Views Chimney Rock - another Day, Another Monument

From Mary Ann Evan's Trail Diary:  A single day of travel from Courthouse Rock we saw another amazing monument of Nature. It is called Chimney Rock, for obvious reasons. We read about Chimney Rock in every guide to the Oregon Trail that we found in print. Visible from over thirty miles away, it is unique in appearance, and assures travelers that we are on the right path, and that we are going to get to Oregon Territory.

Chimney Rock was a challenge for every young man in our wagon train. They wanted to climb it. They wanted to measure the height. They wanted to leave their names carved into it. I didn't have much use for Chimney Rock, except that we would have a layover on the the trail for one day, so we could do our laundry, if the weather would cooperate.

Chimney Rock National Historic Site, Morrill County, Nebraska, USA

Creative Commons ‘Attribution-NonCommercial-ShareAlike 4.0 International’
Mike Tigas

James wanted something more practical than leaving his name for posterity carved into the rock. James wanted to bring home some buffalo meat, or at least an antelope. For all the unexpected accidents, sudden losses of property and life, and the discomfort of extreme weather that was present on the Oregon Trail, there was also the joy of the hunt, the excitement of trading with the Indians, and the amazing beauty of nature on display, every day of the trip.

James had noticed that the stresses of the trail brought out the best, or the worst, in their fellow travelers. He wanted to be one who gave forth his best when in a hard situation. Reason number 101 that I adore my new husband. This has been an amazing honeymoon - with my parents and brother and niece and James' relatives. But someday we'll be able to tell our grandchildren that we traveled 2,300 miles for our honeymoon.