Days on the Road: Crossing the Plains in 1865

In Short

This book is a firsthand journal of an overland journey from Missouri to the gold-mining territory of Montana in 1865. Written by a young woman traveling with her mother and brother, it documents the grueling realities of wagon-train life: the constant labor of cooking and camp maintenance, the threat of illness, the internal politics of the emigrant parties, and the ever-present danger of the trail. It has lasted as a vital, unadorned historical witness to the human cost of westward expansion and the resilience required to endure it.

The Story

The narrative begins in May 1865, as the author sets out with her family and a loose association of other travelers. The early chapters establish the social dynamics of the caravan, characterized by tentative friendships, the exchange of news with other parties, and a shared, if sometimes begrudging, adherence to the Sabbath. The journey is defined by its repetitive, demanding labor—washing, mending, and attempting to bake bread in outdoor stoves—punctuated by the constant, shifting decisions about which route to take and where to stop.

As the travelers move deeper into the wilderness, the tone darkens. The book provides a harrowing account of an accidental shooting within the party, where a young man is killed by a weapon believed to be unloaded, leaving his sister and family shattered. This incident serves as a grim prelude to the persistent health crises that plague the train. The author grows increasingly critical of the poor diet and stubbornness of a fellow family, the Kerfoots, whose refusal to heed medical warnings leads to the tragic, lingering illness and eventual death of their daughter, Neelie.

The group’s original, vague intention to settle in California or Oregon shifts as they encounter other travelers who steer them toward the burgeoning mining camps of Montana. The narrative arc tracks this change in destination while simultaneously recording the splintering of the train. The author’s own family eventually decides to break away from the main group to make better time, a move necessitated by both their desire to reach their destination before winter and their growing frustration with the slow progress of the larger party.

The final stretch of the journey is marked by a somber awareness of the graves passed along the roadside—a constant reminder of those who did not survive the crossing. Upon reaching Virginia City, Montana, the family transitions from the fluid, transient life of the trail to the static reality of a cabin. The conclusion is not a grand triumph but a quiet adjustment to a new, expensive, and alien environment. The author’s final entry, detailing the purchase of a lamp and the simple, domestic act of baking bread, grounds the epic scale of the migration in the immediate, mundane needs of the survivors, signaling both the end of the journey and the beginning of a difficult, uncertain life in the West.

How It Unfolds

The Departure The author prepares for the journey with a mixture of optimism and practical concern, organizing supplies and coordinating with family members. She begins to establish the social geography of the trail, where meeting acquaintances and forming alliances with other wagon trains becomes a primary distraction from the road’s hardships.

The Middle Miles The rhythm of the trail takes hold, dominated by physical labor, the search for water, and the constant threat of injury. A tragic, accidental death within the train disrupts the group’s morale, forcing the travelers to confront the lethal unpredictability of their environment.

The Divergence The train faces increasing pressure to reach its destination, leading to disagreements over speed and safety. The author’s family and a few others decide to detach from the main body, prioritizing their own pace over the collective security of the larger group.

The Arrival The final mountain ranges are crossed, and the landscape shifts from open wilderness to the structured, if raw, reality of a mining town. The book ends as the family settles into a permanent structure, marking the conclusion of their life in the wagons.

The People

Sarah Raymond Herndon serves as the observant, practical center of the narrative. Her primary goal is the successful completion of the journey, but she is constantly hindered by the incompetence, poor health, or stubbornness of her companions. She emerges as a figure of quiet authority, balancing her role as a caretaker with an adventurous spirit.

Hillhouse, the author’s brother, acts as the family’s protector and primary decision-maker. His youth is contrasted with the heavy responsibilities he assumes, such as managing the team and conducting dangerous searches for missing men.

Neelie Kerfoot represents the tragic underside of the journey. Sweet and unselfish, she is undermined by her family’s failure to adapt to the rigors of the trail. Her decline and death serve as a stark indictment of the poor judgment that often accompanied the romanticized dream of "going West."

Mr. Kerfoot, Neelie’s father, stands in as the symbol of stubborn ignorance. His refusal to accept medical advice or prioritize the health of his daughter highlights the dangerous tension between personal pride and the realities of the frontier.

In Its Own Voice

"I have prepared it for publication, because a number of the pioneers who read my journal twenty years ago, when published in The Husbandman, have asked me to."

The author reflects on the impetus for sharing her story decades after the events occurred.

"I saw it was useless to urge her. I am always careful not to expose myself unnecessarily to a drenching, so I raced on to our own wagons and had barely time to unsaddle Dick and turn him loose when down came the rain in torrents."

Sarah describes a moment of frustration as she watches a sick companion ignore her advice and ride unprotected through a storm.

What It's Really About

At its core, the book examines the friction between the romantic ideal of westward expansion and the brutal, often petty, realities of daily survival. It asks what happens to personal morality and social hierarchy when stripped of the comforts of "civilized" life. The narrative is preoccupied with the concept of "doing one’s best" in an environment that remains indifferent to human effort. It explores the tension between collective responsibility—the necessity of the wagon train for survival—and the individual’s drive to forge their own path. Ultimately, the book is a study of grief and endurance, illustrating how the immense weight of the American landscape reshapes the character of those who choose to traverse it.

Why Read It Today

This account is essential for readers interested in the lived experience of the American frontier, stripped of the mythic veneer often applied to it by later generations. It is a slow, methodical read that requires patience, as the author does not skip over the monotony of chores or the long, quiet gaps between major events. You will encounter period-specific attitudes toward Indigenous peoples and the environment that are reflective of the author’s time, which can be jarring to modern sensibilities. However, for those who seek to understand the sheer physical and emotional cost of the mid-19th-century migration, the book offers an unparalleled sense of reality. You will be struck by the author’s sharp eye for domestic detail—the price of coal oil, the making of jelly from wild currants, and the constant, aching anxiety of a traveler who knows that death is only a few miles down the road. It is a quiet, human-scaled achievement that lingers because it refuses to turn its pioneers into heroes, leaving them instead as tired, hungry, and grieving people trying to reach a place they hope will be home.