Clark Meeker was a member of an 1854 wagon train that left Council Bluffs, Iowa in the spring of 1854 heading for Puget Sound. His mother died of cholera in the far eastern edge of Wyoming. In central Wyoming near Devils Gate Clark drowned in the Sweetwater River. In 1906 his older brother Ezra looked unsuccessfully for his grave.
Meeker Wagon Train Members:
Jacob Redding Meeker—age 50
Phoebe Shaw Baker Meeker—age 53
Oliver Meeker—age 26
Amanda Clement Meeker—age 15
Usual Clark Meeker—age 17
Jesse Dunlap—age 30
Hannah Jane Meeker Dunlap—age 20
John A. Packard—age 33 (Bonney, History of Pierce County, page 124)
Lulu M. Packard—age 30 (Pioneer Reminiscences, page 114)
The following people/families were with the Meeker train when it joined the Vermillion party on May 26th, but we do not know when or where they joined the Meeker train.
C.P. Anderson and family—Goodell and Austin simply call them Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Bancroft in his History of Washington supplies the initials. The Andersons traveled with the Meekers from May 29th until July 1st, when they sprinted ahead.
Mr. Hammond—disappeared while searching for missing cattle on June 7th and was never found. It was believed that Indians captured him.
Mr. Wright—confusing, as there was a nine-year-old James Wright with the Ebey train. The Meeker train's Mr. Wright seems to have arrived with the Andersons and left when they departed.
An unidentified African-American family (Goodell and Austin) whose names we never learn.
Milford [Indiana] Mail, Nov 21 & 28, 1901, p8 c1-3
"In Quest of Gold: Reminiscences of An Overland Trip to California Half a Century Ago, Crossing the Plains"
By a Gold-Seeker (aka Jacob P. Prickett)1
ELEVENTH PAPER
"At noon, July 5, we reached Independence Rock … That evening we reached the Sweetwater River, and Carlson had selected our camp up that stream, a considerable distance from the trail, and under the very shadow of the mountains at the lower end of the Devil's Gate. …The emigrant trail made a considerable detour around the point of this Ridge from our camp to a point on the western base of the Ridge where the Sweetwater entered The Devil's Gate. It was not more than a mile through the gorge, and I had a great desire to pass through it and see its wonders. Ike expressed a similar wish and Carlson, knowing that we were more closely confined to the road on account of our duties as drivers of the teams, readily granted our request and detailed two of the men to take charge of our teams. We expected to make the passage of the gorge in time to meet the teams at its western end, and could easily have done so, but something occurred to prevent.
It was an impressive sight. The bottom of the chasm where the bed of the Sweetwater was, was studded with great boulders and points of rock worn to almost a glassy smoothness by the action of the stream and around these the clear, crystal waters of the river dashed and foamed, and their moaning, in the otherwise grave-like stillness of this fearful chasm seemed like the wailing of some imprisoned spirit struggling for light and freedom. On one side the solid rock rose almost perpendicular from the river's edge to a height of 600 or 700 feet while the opposite side was but little less precipitous.
We had passed about halfway through this gloomy gorge, the bottom of which was seldom if ever lighted by the sun's bright rays, when we heard the voice of a man near the upper end of the chasm, calling the name of someone. But although his voice echoed and re-echoed from side to side of these walls of almost perpendicular rock, no answering shout was heard in response. We instinctively knew that something was wrong, because we could detect a note of great anxiety and a tinge of anguish in the voice of the unknown as he pronounced the name he was calling. He soon appeared, but on the opposite side of the river from us. When directly opposite us, he inquired who we were and if we had come up through the entire length of the chasm. We told him why we were there and that we were making our way through the gorge its entire length. He anxiously inquired if we had seen anyone while coming up the river. We said we had not. He then explained that his name was [Oliver] Meeker. That his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were emigrating from Ohio to Oregon, and had camped the previous night at the upper end of The Devil's Gate. That his youngest brother, a young man of 18 years, had been on guard the latter part of the night, and that at daylight had gone down into this gloomy chasm no doubt to get a view of its scenery. That they had heard a shot in the chasm after he had entered it, but that he had not returned to camp. He inquired if we had fired the shot. We told him we had not. He went on down the stream calling the name of the absent one while we followed up the stream in the direction he had come.
We had not proceeded far when, in a little eddying basin formed by some rocks jutting into the water, we found the body of the young man washed up against the shore. We pulled the body from the water and while Ike proceeded immediately to manipulate it so as to bring back animation if possible, I clambered to the top of a rock from which point I could see the brother far down the river, but its never-ceasing roar which filled the gorge perpetually, prevented him from hearing my calls. I took out my revolver and discharged it three times in quick succession, and the reports reverberating from side to side of the rocky walls finally reached him, as they did the anxious ones waiting in the camp at the head of the chasm. He looked around, and taking off my hat, I signaled to him, and he hurriedly returned.
Those in camp who had heard the reports of my revolver, also came down the river to where we were, and their grief was heart-rending in its intensity. Probably never before nor since has The Devil's Gate echoed such wails of anguish and grief as were mingled with the ceaseless wailing of its waters on this occasion. I intuitively knew that our efforts to restore animation would prove fruitless, but we remained with them until they, too, gave up hope. The brother whom we had first met seemed most deeply stricken. He explained to us that he had been to Oregon where he had prepared a home for his parents, brother and sisters, and had returned to accompany them overland to the new home. He said he had induced them to emigrate, and now blamed himself for being the indirect cause of his brother's death. Ike and I, being the only one's present not members of the grief stricken family, carried the body out of the canyon and to their camp. It was found that one chamber of the young man's revolver was empty. It was conjectured that he had fired it simply to hear the report echo and re-echo down the chasm. That he had then attempted to cross the Sweetwater by stepping or jumping from rock to rock, and the surface of some of them being glassy in their smoothness, he had fallen and stricken his head against the rock, had become unconscious and was drowned. A bruise on the side of his head near the temple seemed to confirm the correctness of this conjecture. His name was Clark Meeker. We found that they were making the journey with horses and wagons, but no cattle. Learning that our train had passed an hour or two before, we were compelled to start out on foot to overtake them, leaving this grief-stricken family alone with their dead.
1 Jacob Pindell Prickett (1836-1914), a native of Elkhart County, Indiana, was a journalist, newspaper editor, and publisher. He published his memoir of his overland trip to California during the last year in which he owned the Milford Mail.
Meeker Wagon Train Members:
Jacob Redding Meeker—age 50
Phoebe Shaw Baker Meeker—age 53
Oliver Meeker—age 26
Amanda Clement Meeker—age 15
Usual Clark Meeker—age 17
Jesse Dunlap—age 30
Hannah Jane Meeker Dunlap—age 20
John A. Packard—age 33 (Bonney, History of Pierce County, page 124)
Lulu M. Packard—age 30 (Pioneer Reminiscences, page 114)
The following people/families were with the Meeker train when it joined the Vermillion party on May 26th, but we do not know when or where they joined the Meeker train.
C.P. Anderson and family—Goodell and Austin simply call them Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Bancroft in his History of Washington supplies the initials. The Andersons traveled with the Meekers from May 29th until July 1st, when they sprinted ahead.
Mr. Hammond—disappeared while searching for missing cattle on June 7th and was never found. It was believed that Indians captured him.
Mr. Wright—confusing, as there was a nine-year-old James Wright with the Ebey train. The Meeker train's Mr. Wright seems to have arrived with the Andersons and left when they departed.
An unidentified African-American family (Goodell and Austin) whose names we never learn.
Milford [Indiana] Mail, Nov 21 & 28, 1901, p8 c1-3
"In Quest of Gold: Reminiscences of An Overland Trip to California Half a Century Ago, Crossing the Plains"
By a Gold-Seeker (aka Jacob P. Prickett)1
ELEVENTH PAPER
"At noon, July 5, we reached Independence Rock … That evening we reached the Sweetwater River, and Carlson had selected our camp up that stream, a considerable distance from the trail, and under the very shadow of the mountains at the lower end of the Devil's Gate. …The emigrant trail made a considerable detour around the point of this Ridge from our camp to a point on the western base of the Ridge where the Sweetwater entered The Devil's Gate. It was not more than a mile through the gorge, and I had a great desire to pass through it and see its wonders. Ike expressed a similar wish and Carlson, knowing that we were more closely confined to the road on account of our duties as drivers of the teams, readily granted our request and detailed two of the men to take charge of our teams. We expected to make the passage of the gorge in time to meet the teams at its western end, and could easily have done so, but something occurred to prevent.
It was an impressive sight. The bottom of the chasm where the bed of the Sweetwater was, was studded with great boulders and points of rock worn to almost a glassy smoothness by the action of the stream and around these the clear, crystal waters of the river dashed and foamed, and their moaning, in the otherwise grave-like stillness of this fearful chasm seemed like the wailing of some imprisoned spirit struggling for light and freedom. On one side the solid rock rose almost perpendicular from the river's edge to a height of 600 or 700 feet while the opposite side was but little less precipitous.
We had passed about halfway through this gloomy gorge, the bottom of which was seldom if ever lighted by the sun's bright rays, when we heard the voice of a man near the upper end of the chasm, calling the name of someone. But although his voice echoed and re-echoed from side to side of these walls of almost perpendicular rock, no answering shout was heard in response. We instinctively knew that something was wrong, because we could detect a note of great anxiety and a tinge of anguish in the voice of the unknown as he pronounced the name he was calling. He soon appeared, but on the opposite side of the river from us. When directly opposite us, he inquired who we were and if we had come up through the entire length of the chasm. We told him why we were there and that we were making our way through the gorge its entire length. He anxiously inquired if we had seen anyone while coming up the river. We said we had not. He then explained that his name was [Oliver] Meeker. That his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were emigrating from Ohio to Oregon, and had camped the previous night at the upper end of The Devil's Gate. That his youngest brother, a young man of 18 years, had been on guard the latter part of the night, and that at daylight had gone down into this gloomy chasm no doubt to get a view of its scenery. That they had heard a shot in the chasm after he had entered it, but that he had not returned to camp. He inquired if we had fired the shot. We told him we had not. He went on down the stream calling the name of the absent one while we followed up the stream in the direction he had come.
We had not proceeded far when, in a little eddying basin formed by some rocks jutting into the water, we found the body of the young man washed up against the shore. We pulled the body from the water and while Ike proceeded immediately to manipulate it so as to bring back animation if possible, I clambered to the top of a rock from which point I could see the brother far down the river, but its never-ceasing roar which filled the gorge perpetually, prevented him from hearing my calls. I took out my revolver and discharged it three times in quick succession, and the reports reverberating from side to side of the rocky walls finally reached him, as they did the anxious ones waiting in the camp at the head of the chasm. He looked around, and taking off my hat, I signaled to him, and he hurriedly returned.
Those in camp who had heard the reports of my revolver, also came down the river to where we were, and their grief was heart-rending in its intensity. Probably never before nor since has The Devil's Gate echoed such wails of anguish and grief as were mingled with the ceaseless wailing of its waters on this occasion. I intuitively knew that our efforts to restore animation would prove fruitless, but we remained with them until they, too, gave up hope. The brother whom we had first met seemed most deeply stricken. He explained to us that he had been to Oregon where he had prepared a home for his parents, brother and sisters, and had returned to accompany them overland to the new home. He said he had induced them to emigrate, and now blamed himself for being the indirect cause of his brother's death. Ike and I, being the only one's present not members of the grief stricken family, carried the body out of the canyon and to their camp. It was found that one chamber of the young man's revolver was empty. It was conjectured that he had fired it simply to hear the report echo and re-echo down the chasm. That he had then attempted to cross the Sweetwater by stepping or jumping from rock to rock, and the surface of some of them being glassy in their smoothness, he had fallen and stricken his head against the rock, had become unconscious and was drowned. A bruise on the side of his head near the temple seemed to confirm the correctness of this conjecture. His name was Clark Meeker. We found that they were making the journey with horses and wagons, but no cattle. Learning that our train had passed an hour or two before, we were compelled to start out on foot to overtake them, leaving this grief-stricken family alone with their dead.
1 Jacob Pindell Prickett (1836-1914), a native of Elkhart County, Indiana, was a journalist, newspaper editor, and publisher. He published his memoir of his overland trip to California during the last year in which he owned the Milford Mail.
Clark Meeker was a member of an 1854 wagon train that left Council Bluffs, Iowa in the spring of 1854 heading for Puget Sound. His mother died of cholera in the far eastern edge of Wyoming. In central Wyoming near Devils Gate Clark drowned in the Sweetwater River. In 1906 his older brother Ezra looked unsuccessfully for his grave.
Meeker Wagon Train Members:
Jacob Redding Meeker—age 50
Phoebe Shaw Baker Meeker—age 53
Oliver Meeker—age 26
Amanda Clement Meeker—age 15
Usual Clark Meeker—age 17
Jesse Dunlap—age 30
Hannah Jane Meeker Dunlap—age 20
John A. Packard—age 33 (Bonney, History of Pierce County, page 124)
Lulu M. Packard—age 30 (Pioneer Reminiscences, page 114)
The following people/families were with the Meeker train when it joined the Vermillion party on May 26th, but we do not know when or where they joined the Meeker train.
C.P. Anderson and family—Goodell and Austin simply call them Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Bancroft in his History of Washington supplies the initials. The Andersons traveled with the Meekers from May 29th until July 1st, when they sprinted ahead.
Mr. Hammond—disappeared while searching for missing cattle on June 7th and was never found. It was believed that Indians captured him.
Mr. Wright—confusing, as there was a nine-year-old James Wright with the Ebey train. The Meeker train's Mr. Wright seems to have arrived with the Andersons and left when they departed.
An unidentified African-American family (Goodell and Austin) whose names we never learn.
Milford [Indiana] Mail, Nov 21 & 28, 1901, p8 c1-3
"In Quest of Gold: Reminiscences of An Overland Trip to California Half a Century Ago, Crossing the Plains"
By a Gold-Seeker (aka Jacob P. Prickett)1
ELEVENTH PAPER
"At noon, July 5, we reached Independence Rock … That evening we reached the Sweetwater River, and Carlson had selected our camp up that stream, a considerable distance from the trail, and under the very shadow of the mountains at the lower end of the Devil's Gate. …The emigrant trail made a considerable detour around the point of this Ridge from our camp to a point on the western base of the Ridge where the Sweetwater entered The Devil's Gate. It was not more than a mile through the gorge, and I had a great desire to pass through it and see its wonders. Ike expressed a similar wish and Carlson, knowing that we were more closely confined to the road on account of our duties as drivers of the teams, readily granted our request and detailed two of the men to take charge of our teams. We expected to make the passage of the gorge in time to meet the teams at its western end, and could easily have done so, but something occurred to prevent.
It was an impressive sight. The bottom of the chasm where the bed of the Sweetwater was, was studded with great boulders and points of rock worn to almost a glassy smoothness by the action of the stream and around these the clear, crystal waters of the river dashed and foamed, and their moaning, in the otherwise grave-like stillness of this fearful chasm seemed like the wailing of some imprisoned spirit struggling for light and freedom. On one side the solid rock rose almost perpendicular from the river's edge to a height of 600 or 700 feet while the opposite side was but little less precipitous.
We had passed about halfway through this gloomy gorge, the bottom of which was seldom if ever lighted by the sun's bright rays, when we heard the voice of a man near the upper end of the chasm, calling the name of someone. But although his voice echoed and re-echoed from side to side of these walls of almost perpendicular rock, no answering shout was heard in response. We instinctively knew that something was wrong, because we could detect a note of great anxiety and a tinge of anguish in the voice of the unknown as he pronounced the name he was calling. He soon appeared, but on the opposite side of the river from us. When directly opposite us, he inquired who we were and if we had come up through the entire length of the chasm. We told him why we were there and that we were making our way through the gorge its entire length. He anxiously inquired if we had seen anyone while coming up the river. We said we had not. He then explained that his name was [Oliver] Meeker. That his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were emigrating from Ohio to Oregon, and had camped the previous night at the upper end of The Devil's Gate. That his youngest brother, a young man of 18 years, had been on guard the latter part of the night, and that at daylight had gone down into this gloomy chasm no doubt to get a view of its scenery. That they had heard a shot in the chasm after he had entered it, but that he had not returned to camp. He inquired if we had fired the shot. We told him we had not. He went on down the stream calling the name of the absent one while we followed up the stream in the direction he had come.
We had not proceeded far when, in a little eddying basin formed by some rocks jutting into the water, we found the body of the young man washed up against the shore. We pulled the body from the water and while Ike proceeded immediately to manipulate it so as to bring back animation if possible, I clambered to the top of a rock from which point I could see the brother far down the river, but its never-ceasing roar which filled the gorge perpetually, prevented him from hearing my calls. I took out my revolver and discharged it three times in quick succession, and the reports reverberating from side to side of the rocky walls finally reached him, as they did the anxious ones waiting in the camp at the head of the chasm. He looked around, and taking off my hat, I signaled to him, and he hurriedly returned.
Those in camp who had heard the reports of my revolver, also came down the river to where we were, and their grief was heart-rending in its intensity. Probably never before nor since has The Devil's Gate echoed such wails of anguish and grief as were mingled with the ceaseless wailing of its waters on this occasion. I intuitively knew that our efforts to restore animation would prove fruitless, but we remained with them until they, too, gave up hope. The brother whom we had first met seemed most deeply stricken. He explained to us that he had been to Oregon where he had prepared a home for his parents, brother and sisters, and had returned to accompany them overland to the new home. He said he had induced them to emigrate, and now blamed himself for being the indirect cause of his brother's death. Ike and I, being the only one's present not members of the grief stricken family, carried the body out of the canyon and to their camp. It was found that one chamber of the young man's revolver was empty. It was conjectured that he had fired it simply to hear the report echo and re-echo down the chasm. That he had then attempted to cross the Sweetwater by stepping or jumping from rock to rock, and the surface of some of them being glassy in their smoothness, he had fallen and stricken his head against the rock, had become unconscious and was drowned. A bruise on the side of his head near the temple seemed to confirm the correctness of this conjecture. His name was Clark Meeker. We found that they were making the journey with horses and wagons, but no cattle. Learning that our train had passed an hour or two before, we were compelled to start out on foot to overtake them, leaving this grief-stricken family alone with their dead.
1 Jacob Pindell Prickett (1836-1914), a native of Elkhart County, Indiana, was a journalist, newspaper editor, and publisher. He published his memoir of his overland trip to California during the last year in which he owned the Milford Mail.
Meeker Wagon Train Members:
Jacob Redding Meeker—age 50
Phoebe Shaw Baker Meeker—age 53
Oliver Meeker—age 26
Amanda Clement Meeker—age 15
Usual Clark Meeker—age 17
Jesse Dunlap—age 30
Hannah Jane Meeker Dunlap—age 20
John A. Packard—age 33 (Bonney, History of Pierce County, page 124)
Lulu M. Packard—age 30 (Pioneer Reminiscences, page 114)
The following people/families were with the Meeker train when it joined the Vermillion party on May 26th, but we do not know when or where they joined the Meeker train.
C.P. Anderson and family—Goodell and Austin simply call them Mr. and Mrs. Anderson. Bancroft in his History of Washington supplies the initials. The Andersons traveled with the Meekers from May 29th until July 1st, when they sprinted ahead.
Mr. Hammond—disappeared while searching for missing cattle on June 7th and was never found. It was believed that Indians captured him.
Mr. Wright—confusing, as there was a nine-year-old James Wright with the Ebey train. The Meeker train's Mr. Wright seems to have arrived with the Andersons and left when they departed.
An unidentified African-American family (Goodell and Austin) whose names we never learn.
Milford [Indiana] Mail, Nov 21 & 28, 1901, p8 c1-3
"In Quest of Gold: Reminiscences of An Overland Trip to California Half a Century Ago, Crossing the Plains"
By a Gold-Seeker (aka Jacob P. Prickett)1
ELEVENTH PAPER
"At noon, July 5, we reached Independence Rock … That evening we reached the Sweetwater River, and Carlson had selected our camp up that stream, a considerable distance from the trail, and under the very shadow of the mountains at the lower end of the Devil's Gate. …The emigrant trail made a considerable detour around the point of this Ridge from our camp to a point on the western base of the Ridge where the Sweetwater entered The Devil's Gate. It was not more than a mile through the gorge, and I had a great desire to pass through it and see its wonders. Ike expressed a similar wish and Carlson, knowing that we were more closely confined to the road on account of our duties as drivers of the teams, readily granted our request and detailed two of the men to take charge of our teams. We expected to make the passage of the gorge in time to meet the teams at its western end, and could easily have done so, but something occurred to prevent.
It was an impressive sight. The bottom of the chasm where the bed of the Sweetwater was, was studded with great boulders and points of rock worn to almost a glassy smoothness by the action of the stream and around these the clear, crystal waters of the river dashed and foamed, and their moaning, in the otherwise grave-like stillness of this fearful chasm seemed like the wailing of some imprisoned spirit struggling for light and freedom. On one side the solid rock rose almost perpendicular from the river's edge to a height of 600 or 700 feet while the opposite side was but little less precipitous.
We had passed about halfway through this gloomy gorge, the bottom of which was seldom if ever lighted by the sun's bright rays, when we heard the voice of a man near the upper end of the chasm, calling the name of someone. But although his voice echoed and re-echoed from side to side of these walls of almost perpendicular rock, no answering shout was heard in response. We instinctively knew that something was wrong, because we could detect a note of great anxiety and a tinge of anguish in the voice of the unknown as he pronounced the name he was calling. He soon appeared, but on the opposite side of the river from us. When directly opposite us, he inquired who we were and if we had come up through the entire length of the chasm. We told him why we were there and that we were making our way through the gorge its entire length. He anxiously inquired if we had seen anyone while coming up the river. We said we had not. He then explained that his name was [Oliver] Meeker. That his father, mother, brothers, and sisters were emigrating from Ohio to Oregon, and had camped the previous night at the upper end of The Devil's Gate. That his youngest brother, a young man of 18 years, had been on guard the latter part of the night, and that at daylight had gone down into this gloomy chasm no doubt to get a view of its scenery. That they had heard a shot in the chasm after he had entered it, but that he had not returned to camp. He inquired if we had fired the shot. We told him we had not. He went on down the stream calling the name of the absent one while we followed up the stream in the direction he had come.
We had not proceeded far when, in a little eddying basin formed by some rocks jutting into the water, we found the body of the young man washed up against the shore. We pulled the body from the water and while Ike proceeded immediately to manipulate it so as to bring back animation if possible, I clambered to the top of a rock from which point I could see the brother far down the river, but its never-ceasing roar which filled the gorge perpetually, prevented him from hearing my calls. I took out my revolver and discharged it three times in quick succession, and the reports reverberating from side to side of the rocky walls finally reached him, as they did the anxious ones waiting in the camp at the head of the chasm. He looked around, and taking off my hat, I signaled to him, and he hurriedly returned.
Those in camp who had heard the reports of my revolver, also came down the river to where we were, and their grief was heart-rending in its intensity. Probably never before nor since has The Devil's Gate echoed such wails of anguish and grief as were mingled with the ceaseless wailing of its waters on this occasion. I intuitively knew that our efforts to restore animation would prove fruitless, but we remained with them until they, too, gave up hope. The brother whom we had first met seemed most deeply stricken. He explained to us that he had been to Oregon where he had prepared a home for his parents, brother and sisters, and had returned to accompany them overland to the new home. He said he had induced them to emigrate, and now blamed himself for being the indirect cause of his brother's death. Ike and I, being the only one's present not members of the grief stricken family, carried the body out of the canyon and to their camp. It was found that one chamber of the young man's revolver was empty. It was conjectured that he had fired it simply to hear the report echo and re-echo down the chasm. That he had then attempted to cross the Sweetwater by stepping or jumping from rock to rock, and the surface of some of them being glassy in their smoothness, he had fallen and stricken his head against the rock, had become unconscious and was drowned. A bruise on the side of his head near the temple seemed to confirm the correctness of this conjecture. His name was Clark Meeker. We found that they were making the journey with horses and wagons, but no cattle. Learning that our train had passed an hour or two before, we were compelled to start out on foot to overtake them, leaving this grief-stricken family alone with their dead.
1 Jacob Pindell Prickett (1836-1914), a native of Elkhart County, Indiana, was a journalist, newspaper editor, and publisher. He published his memoir of his overland trip to California during the last year in which he owned the Milford Mail.
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