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Transportation in the Early U.S.

Today, most of us spend our lives moving around on paved streets and roads, and we tend to view our world as a series of locations connected by lines on a map. But the earliest European settlers in North America encountered a vast, amorphous wilderness. In this wilderness there existed no roads, nor any convenient means of transporting objects and people from place to place.

The very first roads in the US were bison paths. These were useful for human purposes, because they tended to link water sources and followed the most level routes. Similar to these were the network of Indian trails, which also followed paths of least resistance. With the help of Indians, early American colonists were able to improve these trails, widening them to accommodate wagons.

During the colonial period, mail was an extremely important means of communication. The first highway in America, the Boston Post Road, dates to 1673. It took a post rider two weeks on this unpaved road to deliver the mail from New York City to Boston. Deputy postmaster Benjamin Franklin personally toured the 500 miles of the Boston Post Road to mark the route with milestones. Eventually, all the major cities in the thirteen colonies were connected by a system of post roads.

In the late 1700s, the introduction of stagecoach passenger and mail service made road improvements necessary. By the time of the Revolutionary War, larger colonies were actively building roads, especially the type known as “corduroy” roads, constructed of wooden planks.

But after the war, federal and state governments quit building roads, and private companies took over. Land companies bought right-of-ways and cleared land to build wagon trails. The first hard-surface road in America was constructed by a private company, the Philadelphia and Lancaster Turn Pike Company. It was a 62-mile toll road from Philadelphia to Lancaster, Pennsylvania that was made of broken stones and gravel, built in 1794.

During the next forty years, private companies built many more “turn pikes,” so called because of the toll gates, known as “pikes,” at which travelers were required to stop and pay a fee. These fees went to cover the cost of road maintenance. About 3,000 miles of these roads were built in the early 1800s.

But as the 19th century progressed, interest in road construction began to wane. Toll fees could no longer cover the costs of road maintenance. The cheapest and most common means of transporting men and materials was by water. To facilitate east-west traffic, a system of canals was built. The 1840s saw the brief appearance of both the steamboat and the fast clipper ship. These technological advances caused road building to fall out of favor for a time.

America’s westward expansion was conducted mostly by horse-drawn wagon train along a few main routes. These famous pioneer trails included the Oregon Trail, the Santa Fe Trail, the California Trail and others. By the mid-1800s stagecoach passenger travel had also become commonplace; each stagecoach company developed its own preferred route to the west coast. All these “roads” were actually just crude pathways of dust and mud.

Disputes over routing helped to delay the development of overland mail service until 1857, when Congress passed an act offering mail contracts to private companies. The first contract went to Butterfield’s Southern Overland Mail; they chose the 2,795-mile Oxbow Route from St. Louis to San Francisco, with stages at ten-mile intervals. Mail service took nearly a month. The famous Pony Express offered an expensive, yet high-speed alternative – mail service in less than a week! – until the transcontinental telegraph made it obsolete in 1861.

The years following the Civil War saw the development of transcontinental railroad service, and for the remainder of the century domestic land travel in America was dominated by trains.

Most cities at that time had only crude, dirt streets filled with garbage and animal waste. While urban residents  struggled with congested, dirty, smelly city streets, rural America had to make the best of rutted, muddy or dusty earthen paths. Travel time to transport livestock or ripened crops to the nearest railhead was critical for farmers, but in favorable weather, a horse and buggy could travel only about five miles per hour along such roads.

Then in the 1890s a new invention helped to shift the nation’s focus back to the need for paved roads. That invention was the bicycle. Thousands of people got caught up in the bicycle craze of the 1890s. But because of the bad condition of most city streets, bicycle enthusiasts were forced to crowd onto the few paved surfaces that existed. Cyclists organized what was called the “Good Roads” movement, petitioning state and local governments for all-weather hard-surfaced roads and streets.

At the same time, the federal government also began to recognize the need for road improvements; after the institution of free rural postal delivery, the US Post Office was in dire need of better roads along its postal routes.

Finally, at the very end of the century, the invention of the automobile would usher in a new era of unprecedented road construction and change the landscape forever.

(Kaszynski 11-23)

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Pony Bob and the Pyramid Lake War

Williams Station was located in the middle of the desolate wasteland that was 1860s Nevada. It may or may not have been a Pony Express stop; little is known about it except for the role it played in triggering an incident known as the Pyramid Lake Indian War.

James O.Williams lived at Williams Station with his two brothers. On the early morning of May 8, 1860, he arrived home to find the station burned to the ground, the livestock gone, and both his brothers and another man lying on the ground dead.

In terror, he rode hysterically through the desert toward Buckland’s Station, ten miles to the west. He paused there only to sound the alarm before galloping further west to Virginia City, stopping en route to warn the occupants of Dayton and Silver Spring that the Paiutes, friendly up to now, had gone on the warpath. By the next morning, greatly-exaggerated reports had reached Carson City, whose citizens were told that a thousand savages were headed their way, bent on destruction.

A mob of vigilantes was quickly recruited from among the local miners and ranchers and the patrons of the local saloons. No investigation of the events at Williams Station was attempted.

According to one early journalist, the attack on Williams Station was provoked when someone at the station abducted several young Indian women, keeping them hostage in a cellar. The husband of one of the women attempted unsuccessfully to rescue her, then went for help. Eight of his comrades followed him to the ranch, killed its occupants, and burned the place. They then headed north to a Paiute encampment at Pyramid Lake, passing by at least one ranch without incident. In other words, they were not on the warpath, but instead were merely exacting specific revenge for a specific outrage.

In any case, the mob at Carson City did not stop to ask questions. The 105 vigilantes, many of them drunk, left town in a festive mood, eager to head up to the lake and shoot some Indians. After stopping at Williams Station to bury the three bodies, they continued on the two-day ride north to Pyramid Lake. With no leadership and no military discipline, the mob quickly fell into a Paiute ambush; at least seventy-six of them were killed, and many of the rest wounded. The survivors scattered. With 83 percent losses, the battle ranks near Custer’s Last Stand in terms of casualties.

Three Paiute were also wounded in the battle.

When news of the disaster reached Virginia City, pandemonium broke out. Settlers and miners fled; others barricaded themselves inside buildings. One miner, hoping to escape attack, lowered himself fifty feet down a mine shaft; his partner panicked and fled, and the man spent three days down there before someone rescued him.

Against the background of these events emerged a figure known to history as Pony Bob. Robert Haslam was a twenty-year-old Pony Express rider, assigned to the stretch that lay between Buckland’s Station and Friday’s Station (present-day Lake Tahoe). On May 9, unaware of the events that had transpired, he left Friday’s Station, riding east with the mail. By the time he reached Carson City, the ill-fated expeditionary force had already left, taking with them all the fresh horses in town.

He fed and watered his horse and continued east to Buckland’s Station. There he found the station keeper in a state of panic, and the relief rider refusing to take his route. So Pony Bob continued east to Sand Springs Station, where he changed horses, and then continued on to Cold Springs and then to Smith’s Creek. He had ridden 190 miles without a rest, between two and three times the normal route of a Pony Express rider.

At Smith’s Creek Station, he slept for eight hours, and then picked up the westbound mochila and headed back to Cold Springs. There he found the station keeper murdered, the station burned, and the stock run off. There were no fresh horses, but there was fresh water, so he watered his horse and kept riding.

At Sand Springs Station, the lone stock tender was unaware of the war that was circling around him. Pony Bob told him what he had seen and heard, and persuaded the man to accompany him west, probably saving his life.

When the two reached Carson Sink Station on May 13, they found fifteen terrified survivors of the Pyramid Lake disaster barricaded inside the station house. Leaving the stock tender there, Pony Bob took a fresh horse and rode on to Buckland’s Station, where the first relief rider had refused to ride. Legend tells us he arrived only three and a half hours off schedule.

After resting for an hour and a half, he continued riding west toward Carson City and back to his starting point at Friday’s Station. He had ridden 380 miles in thirty-six hours.

No account mentioned that he saw a single Indian.

(Corbett 63-79)

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Early Mail Service in the West

In the years between the California Gold Rush of 1849 and the beginning of the Civil War, only about 2 percent of the entire population of the United States lived in the West and Southwest; two-thirds of those lived in California.

If you lived in California during that period, to get a letter in the mail could take forever. Homesick young men who were separated from their families and working in the gold fields could wait from three or four weeks to six months for news from home, by which time, of course, the news could be hopelessly out of date.

Most letters coming from the East would travel in wagons along a meandering, 2700-mile-long trail called the Butterfield Overland Mail Company Route. It went southwest from St. Louis, meandered down to El Paso, then up through California to San Francisco; it was more commonly known as the Oxbow Route. Other letters went by steamships down the Atlantic coast to Panama, crossed the isthmus by mule train or railroad, and then traveled up the Pacific coast. Another route went around Cape Horn; this method could take six months, depending on the weather.

Letters were delivered to the miners by entrepreneurial independent mail contractors. These operations were nothing more than a man, his mule, and a 100-pound sack of mail. The amateur mailman would pick up the mail from the post office in Sacramento or San Francisco, and then ride through the country from one mining operation to another searching for the recipients of the letters. Grateful miners would pay for the letters in gold dust, sometimes as much as an ounce per letter; the equivalent today would be more than $300 per letter. (One of these entrepreneurs, Alexander H. Todd, accumulated $250,000 worth of gold dust in this way; in today’s value, over $4.5 million.)

Other miners, impatient for news, would leave their holdings in the hills and come down to the cities to wait for the arrival of the mail steamers. They would wait in line at the Post Office for days, or pay other men to wait for them. Some would pay quantities of gold dust for better places in line, and some opportunists would stand in line even if they weren’t expecting mail, just so they could sell their spot.

Because mail delivery was so sketchy, alternative methods were tried. Two men, George Chorpenning and Absolom Woodward, contracted with the US Postal Service to haul mail from Sacramento to Salt Lake City on mules; Woodward was killed en route by Indians, and Chorpenning completed the trip, then spent the rest of his life petitioning Congress for compensation. Then the government tried camels; seventy-five were purchased in Saudi Arabia for the purpose. But the rocky terrain proved too hard on their hooves, and westerners could not get the hang of working with the unfamiliar beasts. The camels terrified horses and mules; just the smell of a camel could cause a stampede. Some of the camels wandered off into the wilderness, never to be seen again; the rest were eventually sold to circuses.

During the same period, virtually all overland freight service in the US was provided by a company called Russell, Majors & Waddell. They were famous, the FedEx of their day. Goods were shipped by them on miles-long trains of Conestoga wagons pulled by oxen. In the spring of 1860, inspired by a spectacular feat of horsemanship, the company decided to get into the mail delivery game.

A decade earlier, a horseman named Francis Xavier Aubery had completed a series of heroic one-man cross country rides that made him famous in his day. Using a relay of horses, he was able to make the trip from Santa Fe to Independence in less than two weeks; his fastest trip took only five days and thirteen hours. It was a trip that normally took two or three months. The feat, which he performed on a thousand-dollar bet, nearly killed him, and he slept for twenty hours after his arrival.

In 1860, Russell, Majors & Waddell became convinced that expert riders on good horses could replicate Aubery’s feat and provide high-speed mail delivery to the West. Their plan was to use a relay system and deliver the mail day or night, in all weather, in ten days or less. They established a subsidiary business for this purpose, calling it the Central Overland California & Pike’s Peak Express Company. We remember it today as the Pony Express.

Although men wagered that the feat was impossible, the Pony Express was miraculously successful in its mission. Riders would change every one hundred miles, handing off the twenty-pound “mochila” full of letters to the next rider, who would resume the trip. It cost five dollars to send a letter by this method.

The Pony Express operated for about eighteen months, until the fall of 1861, when the Civil War and the completion of the transcontinental telegraph made the whole venture, and the whole problem of mail delivery in the West, suddenly a thing of the past.

(Corbett 17-36)

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