Memoirs of John R. Young, Utah Pioneer, 1847

by John R. Young

Before our company left Omaha, two American families joined us. They were rough Nebraskan farmers; and one of the men, whom I will call Jerry, was of great service to me. He was good-natured, strong and fearless. A younger brother of mine was also with me. He, too, was quiet and reliable. At prayer time I told the people that I feared the Indians were following us, and that they would try to stampede our stock, which I dreaded above all things.

I had seen the effects of stampedes in my first trip across the plains. A tornado is but little more to be dreaded than the rush of a large herd of crazy, frightened cattle. I have seen wagons smashed to stove-wood, and strong men trampled to death. I therefore requested Jerry and my brother to spread their blankets near me, and I kept my best horse saddled ready for any emergency.

And the emergency came about three o'clock in the morning. A wild yell like an Indian war-whoop rang out on the air, followed by a rush of cattle. In an instant, all was confusion; women and children tumbled pell-mell out of the wagons in their night clothes, screaming and fainting. The men, guns in hand, formed bands and, rushing in front of the cattle, fought desperately to keep them from bolting; and caused the crazy beasts to run in a circle. Every round brought them nearer the wagons; and I knew if they struck them that we were ruined.

Grasping my two trusted men, I urged them to mount their horses and throw themselves between the cattle and the wagons, and force the cattle, if possible, to bolt from us. I seconded their efforts by mounting my horse, and getting my interpreter, hurried to the men who were fighting the cattle, and led them to where I could hear Jerry and my brother's voices vainly trying at each returning surge of the dark mass, to force the cattle farther from the wagons.

Massing my men at the most exposed angle of the corral, I ordered them, on the return of the cattle, to fire a volley into the air. The sheet of flame from the guns seemed for a moment to paralyze the stock; and then with a rush that shook the ground beneath our feet, away they thundered toward the foothills on the north.

I lay flat on my horse, and crowding him into the jam, was swept along with the herd for about three miles, until I was satisfied no Indians were following; then I straightened up and commenced talking to them. This had the effect of quieting them. They slowed up, began lowing, as if calling to each other, and finally stopped. I was soon joined by my brother; but Jerry's horse, being slow, was soon distanced and lost, and he did not find us. Nor did he reach camp until the next day.

As soon as it was light, we moved the cattle back to camp; but they were nervous, and great care had to be taken in yoking them up. About nine o'clock we broke camp. I put my brother's team in the lead, and told him to drive briskly as I wanted to keep the wagons some distance apart. I strung out the teams and instructed the drivers to not close up. I purposed to drive fast until we should reach Goose Creek, fifteen miles away, and then camp.

All went as I desired, until we reached the summit of the last ridge. From there we had a mile of downhill grade to the creek. I glanced back, and could see the line of white covered wagons following each other like birds of passage, moving in orderly columns to a warmer clime. A feeling of joy filled my bosom, for I felt that the labors of the day would end in peace. I spurred my horse and galloped rapidly to the front to select the best spot on which to form my camp.

Crossing the creek and ascending the bench a few rods to the west, I turned and looked back just in time to see two Indians ride from the head of a hollow on our left. As they rushed past the rear of the train, they gave their wild, blood-curdling war-whoop. As quick as lightning an alarm seemed to flash from one end of the train to the other, and every team rushed wildly down the hill.

My pen is too weak to describe the heart-rending scene that followed the fearful rushing of the wild, stampeded cattle. Wagons were jolted against wagons with such force that the inmates were thrown out, to be run over and trampled under foot by other mad teams following in their rear. On they came, tearing blindly in any direction that their crazy fear led them. Wagons were embedded in the mire of the creek, and the tongues jerked out. At last they began to scatter, and then stopped.