A few years ago, a distant cousin reached out to me with a surprising discovery: a transcript of a journal written in 1871 by William Allen Cross. William was the younger brother of my third‑great‑grandmother, Mary Ann (Cross) Kenison—whom I introduced to you a few weeks ago. You may recall that Mary Ann had journeyed west to Nebraska after divorcing a husband who’d been sent to prison for bigamy. Given that the journal was penned only two years after those dramatic events, you can imagine my anticipation for the family secrets it would most certainly reveal.
Although I knew very little about William, I was aware that he, too, ventured west—first to Nebraska and then on to California. I pictured all kinds of thrilling adventures: Was he with Mary Ann when she settled her homestead? Did he encounter bandits or face hostile Indians? Perhaps he even immersed himself in the rowdy life of gamblers, showgirls, and gunslingers at the local saloon. I eagerly awaited the journal’s arrival from Durango, Colorado. My cousin—a woman of a certain age—chose to send the package by snail mail rather than electronically. At one point, I even began to wonder if she had sent it by Wells Fargo Wagon as perhaps the pony express was down!
The journal finally arrived on October 21, 2020. I initially resisted the urge to open the envelope, knowing that once I began reading, I wouldn’t want to put it down. That night, with a cup of hot cocoa in hand, I settled in to join William on his long-ago adventure.
Sunday, January 1, 1871: “I went across the Platt to see Luther Hubbell. I went with Calvin and family. We crossed on the ice. Then I started to go to Calvin’s and Luther got lost, and I had to stay all night.”
What exactly is “the Platt”? Who were Luther Hubbell and Calvin? Why did they have to cross a frozen river? And how did Luther manage to get lost? This was going to be good...
Monday, January 2, 1871: “We came back to Calvin’s. We came through Laramie.”
Tuesday, January 3, 1871: “Cal and I cleaned out his well. Drew it nearly dry.”
Wednesday, January 4, 1871: “I went to town with Luther Hubbell’s wagon, but couldn’t get nothing to do.”
Ok, maybe I needed to skip ahead a little bit:
January 10: “Worked in the timber today…”
January 11: “How it rained this day…”
January 12: “I did not do anything this day…”
On January 18, he noted that he’d “gone to Egypt to get his horse shod”— seems like a long way to go to “shod a horse,” whatever that meant. On January 22, he stopped at Haynie’s post office, and on January 23, he noted that Bill Sparke’s wagon “broke the tongue out of it.” Not exactly bandits and gunslingers!
In all, the transcript comprises thirty typed pages detailing every mundane day of the first 114 days of 1871. This was certainly not the adventure I was expecting. However, while I won’t deny being a bit disappointed by the routine happenings my Great-uncle William had chosen to memorialize, as a lifelong historian I know that even the most seemingly benign records can hide precious pearls—if only we have the proper context.
At first glance, William’s journal may have seemed like little more than a list of trivial tidbits. Yet when paired with other available records, each entry reveals a genuine window into the past - a snapshot of frontier life where even the most routine activities played an important part in the overall adventure. In upcoming posts, I look forward to further introducing you to my third-great-granduncle, William Allen Cross, and sharing with you the compelling story of his life on the frontier in the Winter of 1871.
William Allen Cross
[David Randall < Mary Welch < Rex Welch < Lucinda Putman < Catherine Kennison < Mary Ann Cross and her brother William A. Cross]
No comments:
Post a Comment