Taking the Stage--Coach, That Is

One of my favorite John Wayne movies is Stagecoach. Do you remember the scene where, after three days in very close quarters with strangers, the passengers descend the steps, the gentlemen tipping their hats as they walk away, the ladies fanning at the unexpected heat, though they look as fresh as if they’d just left the tender ministrations of their maids.

Yeah. Right.

Nothing could be further from the truth. Stagecoaches were open air affairs where passengers were crammed together onto barely padded benches, some inside, some riding the “rumble seat” on the top of the coach, shoulder to shoulder with strangers, with no privacy from those who were less careful about their personal hygiene. If it rained, oil cloths were lowered over the window frames to keep out some of the water, but that meant less ventilation. Passengers climbed out of those hot boxes with crumpled and stained clothing, sweaty and cranky, with dust in places no one should have to abide dust.

Still, traveling by stagecoach was preferable to making the trip on horseback, or, heaven forbid, walking. And since the trains stopped halfway across the country, in places like St. Joseph, Missouri, or Memphis, Tennessee, the stagecoach picked up their passengers and took them to all points west.

Government mail contracts were the impetus and the financing for many of the stagecoach lines. And a lot of different companies ran stage lines across the west to Texas, Arizona, or California, to take advantage of those contracts. Here are a few examples.

Butterfield Overland Dispatch--two trails, a southern route, established in 1858, ran from Springfield, Missouri and Fort Smith, Arkansas, southwest across Oklahoma, Texas, and New Mexico to California, and was the first to carry mail; the other trail ran from Fort Riley, Kansas, to Denver, Colorado, beginning in 1865.

NOTE: John Butterfield’s company had the southern route, David Butterfield’s the Kansas/Colorado route--and the gentlemen were not related.

Visit this site if you’d like to see all the stations on the Kansas/Colorado route, as well as the approximately mileage between each: http://www.santafetrailresearch.com/research/bod-dispatch.html

Butterfield Overland Stage Company--this was probably the most famous of all stagecoach companies, certainly in Texas. Butterfield proposed the southern route because the mail could continue to run, even through the winter months.

“Butterfield's route headed southwest from St. Louis and Memphis, crossing the Red River at Colbert's Ferry (qv) in Grayson County and continuing across Texas for 282 miles to Fort Chadbourne via Jacksboro, Fort Belknap, and Fort Phantom Hill. The next 458 miles to El Paso swung south across a barren plain between the Concho and Pecos rivers, where water was in short supply, past Horsehead Crossing (qv) on the Pecos, up the east bank to Pope's Camp, (qv) where it crossed the river, hugged the west bank northwestward to Delaware Spring, and then turned westward through Guadalupe Pass to Hueco Tanks and El Paso. The line continued westward through Tucson and Fort Yuma to San Diego.” http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/SS/ers1.html

Butterfield ran the stage lines until they were seized by the Confederate Army at the beginning of the Civil War. When he could no longer operate in the south, he moved his operation north and made use of the “Central Overland Route.”

Central Overland Route (aka “Central Overland Trail", "Central Route", "Simpson's Route", or the "Egan Trail")--This trail was scouted by Howard Egan and used to move livestock between Salt Lake City and California. When the Army heard about the route, they sent an expedition to survey it for military use. It was opened to stagecoach lines and settlers in 1859. In 1860, the Pony Express made use of the trail, followed soon by the laying of lines for the Transcontinental Telegraph.

Cheyenne-Black Hills Stage and Express Line went from the Black Hills of South Dakota to Cheyenne, Wyoming. The Cheyenne-Black Hills line covered just over 300 miles, “…and for the most part the stations were located about 15 miles apart. The daily travel was about 100 miles and three days were necessary to make the entire trip.”

Black Hills Dead Wood Stagecoach went to--you guessed it--Deadwood, South Dakota. And William “Buffalo Bill” Cody rode shotgun and later drove for the company.

In February, 1866, Ben Holladay took over the Butterfield Overland Mail Company, renaming it Holladay Overland Mail and Express Company. Mr. Holladay sold out to Wells, Fargo in November of the same year.

There were specialized coach companies, too, like the Yellowstone Park Stage Coach Line, who had a fleet of bright yellow Concord stagecoaches as sightseeing vehicles in the park in 1886. 

And that most famous of all stagecoaches? Believe it or not, Wells, Fargo and Company didn’t own their own stagecoach line until 1866, when they purchased Ben Holladay’s company. Until then, they rented space from other lines as they needed it. “By 1864, Wells Fargo, and Company were selling over two million envelopes a year for the Wells Fargo mail service and the public was using Wells Fargo green mailboxes throughout California.”

Check out this link for lots more information on these and other stage coach companies:
http://www.legendsofamerica.com/we-stagecoachlines.html

Not all stages were the big coaches, drawn by six horses or mules. Concord made what they called a “Celerity Wagon,” a light, durable vehicle made for travelling over rough roads. But from what I read, it wasn’t any more comfortable, it just held together longer.

“The Butterfield Overland Mail transferred passengers and mail to light, durable vehicles for travel over rough roads.  From Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper, October 23, 1858.”

Whether a Celerity Wagon or a Concord Stage Coach, the trip west was certainly not for the faint of heart.

Tracy G.

 

#blogabookscene ON THE ROAD AGAIN

I’m writing this as dh and I are preparing to travel for some Cowboy Action fun this weekend. We have it so easy—pack a suitcase, put everything in the truck and go when we’re ready. Three hours on the road and we’re in a different state. It’s nothing like it was in 1889 where those same 175 miles would have taken the better part of a week in a stagecoach or on horseback. To say nothing of sleeping on the ground and cooking over a campfire versus a hotel bed and room service.

Here’s a scene from my novel, WILD TEXAS HEARTS, where Wolf and his son, Calvin, are “on the road again.”

WILD TEXAS HEARTS

Dawn came, but only a generous man would have called it morning. Wolf knew the sun was up there somewhere, since there was light enough to see the ground, but that was all he would concede. They were a day out of Fort Elliott, too far to turn back. A steady rain had started in the very late hours of last night and it was still falling.

“Pa?” Calvin hunched under a gray rain slicker that was three sizes too big. “When’s it going to stop?”

Wolf held on to his temper, barely. “I’m not God, son, and that’s a decision only He gets to make. No use complaining about it. You’ll be just as wet and you’ll irritate your horse.” And me, he added, but not aloud. He didn’t want to upset his son. He was too damned grateful to have him back alive.

Calvin heaved a sigh and patted his horse’s neck. “Okay, Pa.” They rode in silence for another mile. “Pa?”

Wolf topped a small rise and pulled his horse to a stop to wait for Calvin to catch up. “What now, son?”

“I think Lightning needs to rest. I might be getting too heavy for her.”

His irritation evaporated. Wolf turned his face away so Calvin wouldn’t see his grin. His boy was not quite eight years old and as small as Wolf was big. “Well, if you think so, we’d better find a spot to stop for a while.” He scanned the landscape again. “There’s a small stream a couple of miles ahead. Can she make it that far?”

“Sure I ca-- I mean, she can.”

Looking over their back trail for any sign someone was following, Wolf checked the lead rope on the packhorse, then bumped his big chestnut mare in the ribs and set off down the hill with Calvin close behind. The trees that grew near the stream were too small to offer him any protection, but Calvin managed to ride under some of the higher branches, out of the rain. Wolf dismounted and lifted his son from the saddle just for the joy of holding him. Resisting the urge to hug him, Wolf set him on the ground. “Go on. I’ll see to Lightning.”

Calvin didn’t wait for a second invitation, but disappeared into the brush downstream, his slicker flying behind him. When he returned, Wolf was waiting to boost him back into the saddle. “We need to keep riding. There’s not enough cover for all of us.”

“Okay, Pa.” Calvin settled on the back of the chestnut filly that had been a gift from Jake McCain, the Texas Ranger responsible for rescuing his son from the killers who’d kidnapped him. Calvin leaned forward to pat the horse’s neck. “Come on, Lightning. We’ve still got some miles to cover.”

One heavy eyebrow rose as Wolf heard his son quote words he’d said many times in the months since they’d ridden away from Lucinda, Texas. Being on the trail was hard, and they didn’t cover many miles in a day, but Calvin’s company made for more laughter and sunshine, somehow. Wolf stretched tired muscles. He was ready to be home. How much more tired must a young boy be?

“We have enough supplies to keep us for a while yet, so we don’t have to go into town first. I expect we’ll be sleeping in our own beds in two or three more days.” Alone Wolf could have covered the distance from the fort to Civil in two days.

Calvin glanced at the sky, his face a mirror image of his mother. “Only three more nights on the ground.”

“Maybe less, if we get moving.”

The boy grinned at him, mischief sparkling in his eyes. “Then what are we doing standing here? You aren’t afraid of a little rain, are you Pa?” Without warning, he kicked his little mare into a gallop, splashing through the stream and racing away across open ground. Wolf swung into the saddle, dropped the packhorse’s lead rope and shot off in pursuit. The big horse overtook them in seconds, and Calvin squealed when Wolf scooped him from the saddle on the run.

See you the first Monday of next month!

Tracy

Travel to Western Frontier? Only The Hardy need Apply

by Linda Carroll-Bradd

 

In the mid-1800s, people needed determination and patience to travel from one side of the country to the other. Stagecoaches ran on a weekly or bi-weekly schedule. A trip from St Louis to San Francisco involved about 25 days of travel. The coaches were drawn by six horses and stops were made every 12 miles for fresh teams. Depending on the terrain, coaches covered between 5 and 12 miles per day—running day and night. Passengers were grateful to get hot coffee, biscuits and jerky at these stops; on rare occasions, hot meals were available.

True, the Transcontinental Railroad was completed in the summer of 1869 but that line served a route of the most-populous cities and only in the northern part of America. How was someone, like my character Vevina Bernhard raised in Ohio, to travel to a small town like Comfort, Texas? Trips on different railroad lines (Ohio to St. Louis on Pennsylvania RR and from St. Louis, a smaller spur line) would have transported her to Dallas where she would have boarded a stagecoach—most likely a Concord coach (built with sturdy braces for a more comfortable ride), that ran a north/south route between the two east/west lines that bisected Texas.

The suggested items to travel with would have filled a large satchel or three. In addition to their clothing, passengers were admonished to pack 6 pair of thick socks, woolen underdrawers, blankets—one in summer and two in winter, 3-4 towels, heavy overcoat, light coat, hat and their choice of pistol or knife for personal protection. Imagine being a lady raised on a dairy farm near a city with creature comforts reading that list.

Once she got inside the stagecoach, she would have had her choice of window or middle position (approximately 15” in width) on either a forward or backward-facing bench seat. As she set out on her journey, she could read the rules about men forgoing swearing and smoking in a lady’s presence, but tobacco chewing was allowed, as long as the chewer spat downwind. I would hope so. Or if the person (presumed to be a male) couldn’t refrain from drinking alcohol, then he must pass the bottle around. Yum. Snoring loudly or using another passenger’s shoulder as a pillow were frowned upon. Improper advances toward a woman could get the male kicked off the stagecoach in the middle of nowhere. Forbidden topics of conversation were stagecoach robberies and Indian uprisings. Sounds like a smart rule. Shooting at wildlife (Texas had a huge population of deer) was prohibited. Passengers were encouraged not to jump from the stage in case of runaway horses so as not to be left victim to the weather, hostile Indians or hungry coyotes. Yikes.

Like I mentioned, Vevina had a purpose and she looked at all these strictures as part of her great adventure. To lessen her impact on her family’s limited resources, she’d answered an advertisement for a mail-order bride from a rancher in central Texas. Although the match wasn’t all she’d hoped for, she made the best of the situation. Five years later, she’s a widow with a young son but her ranch is being haunted by mysterious lights. She’s in town, making a plea to the sheriff about investigating what’s happening and that’s the first time ex-Texas Ranger/bounty hunter Kell Hawksen sees her and their story begins.

Wanderer, Come Home  is part of the Cowboys, Creatures and Calico, Vol 1. Halloween anthology. http://amzn.com/B00NVX5Y2C

One copy of the anthology will be awarded to a person who leaves a comment (be sure to include your email address in the comment). Winner to be contacted Monday, November 17.

Bio:

As a young girl, Linda was often found lying on her bed reading about fascinating characters having exciting adventures in places far away and in other time periods. In later years, she read and then started writing romances and achieved her first publication--a confession story. Married with 4 adult children and 2 granddaughters, Linda writes heartwarming contemporary and historical stories with a touch of humor from her home in the southern California mountains.

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