A government wagon train forded the Red River on Aug.
20, 1857 and began the long, hard trip across the Lone
Star State.
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What it was like to travel in Texas in those hot and
dangerous days before cars, trains, planes and – gasp! –
air conditioning?While most voyagers were too busy
staying alive to record their impressions for posterity,
a member of an 1850’s caravan kept an unusually detailed
daily log that provides a rare first-hand account.
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The men-only wagon train under the leadership of Col.
James B. Leach was 53 days out of Memphis, when it
rolled into Texas on that summer day a century and a
half ago. The job of the construction crew was to
improve the road from El Paso to Fort Yuma, but first
they had to get there.
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Their initial night under the Lone Star stars was spent
nine miles southwest of Preston, a Grayson County hamlet
dismissed by the anonymous commentator as “a place of
but little note.” (Old Preston, as it is now called,
lies in a watery grave under Lake Texoma.) Three days
later, they passed through Gainesville, the only town on
the itinerary.
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The next day, the expedition encountered “several
antelope, the first we have met with. A few hot headed
Nimrods gave chase to them but they might as well have
chased the North Wind.”
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Following the trail blazed in 1849 by Gen. Randolph B.
Marcy, Col. Leach and his men saw their first
rattlesnake on Aug. 30 and on the 31st finally came
face-to-face with honest-to-goodness Indians. The
rattler was killed, but the red men, a couple of Caddo
and a like number of Delaware, could not have been
friendlier and were allowed to live. The next noon, the
wagon train reached Fort Belknap on a hill overlooking
the Brazos River and a short hop from the future town of
Graham. Refreshed by two days of military hospitality,
the gadabouts abandoned Marcy’s trail for a more
southerly course.
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The long-distance sighting of Comanches clearly unnerved
the chronicler. Conceding the fact that the Indians on
their reservation were “at present at peace with the
U.S.,” he added ominously, “But little reliance is
placed in the good faith of these savages. Certainly a
more villainous and treacherous looking set have not
often been seen.”
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After four days of complaints about “a severe and
obstinate case of inflammation of the bow(e)ls and
stomach,” Col. Leach awoke too sick to travel on Sep.
6. The highlight of the day off was the discharge of a
man “for idleness and insubordination.” “He will
tomorrow commence his solitary march back to the
States,” explained the expedition biographer, who forgot
Texas was no longer a foreign country.
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Though still under the weather the next morning, Leach
refused to let his illness impede their progress and
gave the order to break camp. He spent the following
week flat on his back without once relinquishing
command.
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The subject of the longest entry in the journal was “a
village of prairie dogs” seen on Sept. 11. “The active
little denizens of this populous settlement were out of
sight in an instant. During the day we passed through a
number of these towns and invariably found the little
folk living therein retreating at a moments warning to
their burrows where they are altogether safe from
attack.”
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By the time the wagon train pulled into Fort Chadbourne,
halfway between modern Abilene and San Angelo, on Sep.
12, Col. Leach was sinking fast. He agreed to stay
behind under the care of the post physician and to catch
up as soon as he was back on his feet.
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During the colonel’s absence, “an incident rather
laughable” occurred. Everyone had turned in for the
night, when without warning the sentries test-fired
their muskets.
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“One person, from whom nothing else could have been
expected, sought a safe hiding place in the tall bear
grass. He was speedily joined by another, a great tall
strapping booby, who tremblingly asked in a whisper, ‘Do
you think we shall be safe here?’”
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At midday on Sep. 18, “Col. Leach rejoined the train
much improved in health” and was welcomed four
afternoons later by the worst storm of the journey.
“Wind, rain and hail of great severity overtook us (and)
such was the quantity of water which fell in the space
of one hour that it converted the road into a quagmire.
A norther in the meantime came sweeping down upon us,
which rendered our situation exceedingly disagreeable.”
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The wagons crossed the Pecos on Sept. 30 and tracked the
river downstream for two days before turning due west
toward the Davis Mountains. Fort Davis was a sight for
sore eyes on Oct. 8 after a difficult week in some of
the roughest and driest country in Texas.
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The weeklong trek to the Rio Grande tested the endurance
of man and beast, but the leisurely pace of the last leg
along the great river let both catch their breath. The
Leach wagon train entered El Paso on Oct. 20 completing
the “waltz” across Texas in 62 days.
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The rugged bunch covered 824 miles in 56 travel days for
an average of slightly under 15 miles. And this was
accomplished without the loss of a single life in spite
of the man-eating reputation of the Lone Star frontier.
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