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PILGRIMS OF THE PLAINS
December 23, 1871, pages 1200-1201 (Illustrated Article)
Before the completion of the Pacific Railroad the journey across the plains was a very different undertaking from what it is now. It was full of peril, wild adventure, and exciting romance. Those who first ventured to explore the pathless wilderness must have left the last precincts of border civilization with the same feeling that Columbus and his men for the first time saw the shores of their native country sink out of sight, while before them stretched the unknown, illimitable waste of waters. Their only guide was the compass. A net-work of devious Indian and buffalo trails perplexed rather than aided them in selecting their road, and at the same time kept then constantly alive to the perils every step. Every moment might bring their dusky enemies into sight, and compel them to fight for their lives with a foe whose cruelty was only exceeded by his wiliness and craft.
In time these matters somewhat mended. The trails most commonly pursued by the emigrant trains became magnificent roads, often from fifty to sixty yards in width, and were so frequently traversed by large and well-guarded trains as to be safe in comparison with what they had been. Occasionally, it is true, a strong band of Indians would swoop down upon a small or negligently guarded train, and stampede the cattle and teams, if they did not massacre the people; but these calamities bore small proportion to the immense number of caravans that passed every year across the plains. The danger was, however, constant, and was only averted by unceasing vigilance on the part of the "pilgrim," as the emigrants were styled on the plains—not, however, for their saintly characteristics.

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Our illustration on this page represents a halt of one of these trains for the night. The day’s journey has been accomplished, and the corral, or camp, must be made up before darkness comes on. This is done by arranging the wagons in a circle, leaving but one opening, to guard against an Indian charge as well as to provide a place where the animals belongings to the train can be securely guarded and kept from straying. The camp cooking fires are lighted, and during the preparations for the meal, which includes both dinner and supper, the hearts of the weary wagoners are beguiled with cheering notes from the musician of the train. They are a hard, wild set, these wagoners. Living beyond the confines of civilization, and removed from all the softening influences of society, they form a class by themselves peculiar to the great plains. Constant exposure to peril makes them insensible to danger, and is also the cause of their utter recklessness of human life. Men who don’t care for their own lives are not apt to be particular about others’, and when they fight, it is, perhaps, less to save themselves than to kill somebody else. But in spite of this trifling moral defect they are a class worthy of great respect. As a general rule, they are men of their word, brave and generous, and if they undertook to carry you across the plains, you might feel sure they would die for you just as recklessly as they would kill you on the proper provocation.

December 23, 1871, pages 1200-1201 (Illustrated Article)

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