Transcript

As all our people had moved out except two or three families that never came out, we came with a few of our neighbors who were going to California. In all we only numbered eleven (11) wagons. On the second day of May, 1854, I being just twelve years old, we took the line of march, Benjamin [C.] Truman [Turman] being our Captain. My brother William J[efferson]. [King] took charge of one team. He and my sister [Amy] Jan[e] [King] (now the widow of Judge Elias Smith) rode in one wagon and I took charge of the wagon which my father [Thomas Jefferson King] and mother [Rebecca Englesby King] and younger sister [Rebecca] Angelina [King] rode in. I drove the team the entire distance 1400 miles.

My brother, George E[lisha]. [King], who had married and had a young family concluded that he would go his own way. He fitted himself up with a first class four-horse team and started a few days ahead of us. This was the last that we ever saw of him. He started for Washington Territory and settled in King County, near Seattle, and Puget Sound, in 1857. There was what was called the White River Massacre when he and his family were killed by the Indians.

In traveling through Iowa the roads were very heavy there being mud, mud. We came through Garden Grove, stopped at Council Bluffs a day or two, then crossed the Missouri River on a ferry boat near where Omaha now stands. There were no houses on this side of the Missouri River at that time, but a few Omaha Indians were there. We traveled on until we came to the Pawnee Nation of Indians who called us to halt. As I remember they were a hard-looking lot, and they looked like they were mad, too. They wanted flour, and beef and everything they could think of. Finally, the Captain compromised with them by giving them a two-year-old beef.

When we got to the Elkhorn, there was a toll bridge over the stream, and the toll was very high. The Captain said "We wouldn't pay the price." He went down the river a short distance and camped, and he told the women folks they could have a day to do their washing. On the banks of the river there were tall cottonwood trees and plenty of brush there. He told the men to cut down some trees. They were felled into the river and men, who were on the other side of the river, who caught the tops as they floated down and fastened them with ropes. They were then covered with heavy brush and made a strong floating bridge. The men ran the wagons across the bridge by hand and made the stock swim. So we got across the river in one day and the women folks got their washing done.

After we got through the Iowa mud we had fine roads, and I had a fine time, as all I had to do was to drive my teams, being too young to stand guard. Everything went lovely until one day while traveling up the Platt[e] over a broad, smooth prairie, we were all in the wagons perfectly at ease, when all at once my brother's team came by me as though they had been shot out of a gun. I knew in a moment that it meant a stampede. I spoke to my near wheeler, [which] was one of the most intelligent oxen I ever knew. His name was Darby and I never said “whoa” to him before but that he would hold any pair of oxen that ever looked through a bow, but on this occasion Darby had the spirit of the stampede and paid no attention to me. I immediately jumped from the wagon and ran to my leaders, hitting them over the head with the butt of my whip. In some way my near leader struck me on the head with his horn, knocking me senseless. That was the last I saw of the stampede. By the time I regained consciousness it was all over.

We caught up with a company of emigrants going to California, who had some of their stock stolen by Indians and were very much frightened. They were afraid the Indians might come on them again and kill them. They asked our captain if they could travel with us. The captain gave his consent and we camped together that night and put out a strong guard. Some time during the night one of the guard accidentally discharged his gun which was the signal for "every man to arms." There was great excitement for a few minutes until the mistake was discovered. From that time on everything went lovely.

When we arrived at the mouth of the Emigration canyon and could see the valley and the city, I being only a lad leaped for joy to think we had gotten to this place where my mother had longed to be for so many years, and where we could be free from mob violence and could worship God according to the dictates of our conscience. The next day we drove down to the city, arriving there August 6, 1854, to the residence of Judge Elias Smith, where we were all warmly welcomed, as he was acquainted with the whole company, especially the captain . . .