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If you’ve ever watched a Western movie where Indians attack a wagon train, you’ve likely seen the emigrants frantically circle up the wagons to defend themselves. Such a makeshift fort offered some protection for women, children, and animals, not necessarily in that order. “Circling the wagons” was a common trope in movies from the 1920s to the 1970s. Notable individual titles include “Westward Ho, The Wagons!” (1956), “Wagon Train” (TV, 1957-1965), and classics like “The Covered Wagon” (1923).
So, how often did this really happen? Maybe three times.
In May of 1871, the Warren Wagon Train came under attack near Salt Creek, Texas. Seven men were killed in the Salt Creek Massacre. It wasn’t a group of emigrant settlers, though. It was a freight wagon train.
In August 1867, a circle of wagons was formed in northeastern Wyoming as a defense barricade when several hundred Lakota Sioux attacked soldiers and civilian contractors. In this incident, they pulled the wagon boxes off the frames and tipped them up to shelter behind. It worked. At least, it contributed to a successful defense. The defenders also had much better weapons than the Indians.
The common plot device may have evolved from the custom of circling a wagon train at night for basic security and to corral the animals.
But did Oregon Trail pioneers ever circle their wagons and endure a relentless attack? Yes. And since I’m writing about it, you know it happened in what is now Idaho, playing out over several weeks and spanning some 90 miles.
The Utter Massacre
If you are looking for a descriptive term for a massacre that was horrific, terrible, dreadful, or horrendous, you might land on the word “utter.” How convenient, then, that a man named Elijah Utter was in charge of the train of some 60 emigrants, thus giving the massacre a handy handle.
I just slapped myself for having even one funny thought about what would become the gold standard of wagon train assaults for future screenwriters. There was nothing funny about it.
The wagon train had benefited from a military escort for part of its journey across the Snake River Plain. The soldiers were two weeks gone on September 9, 1860, when about 100 locals, primarily Shoshone Indians swooped down on the wagon train near Castle Creek, attempting to make off with their livestock. In defending themselves and their stock, the emigrants corralled their wagons as they did at night.
But that wasn’t the massacre.
The Shoshone changed tactics and approached them in a manner that seemed friendly. The emigrants responded by sharing some food with them. The now friendly Indians encouraged the travelers to move their wagons closer to water.
When the train started moving again, the Shoshone quickly turned once more into raiders and began attacking the now more exposed wagons.
For more than 30 hours, the battle raged. Elijah Utter and several others were killed.
Now desperate from a lack of water, the survivors abandoned four wagons, hoping that would create a diversion and allow them to reach the river. Four former soldiers traveling with the wagon train mounted up and fled the beleaguered emigrants who were now being killed nearly at will by the attackers.
As night fell, most of the survivors left their wagons and material goods behind and escaped into the desert on foot.
For the next six weeks, those walking—many seriously wounded, barefoot, and scantily clothed—endured hardship after hardship in a meandering journey west along the Snake and Owyhee rivers. They stumbled along mostly at night, hiding during the day. What little food they had ran out. They survived on what a few fish, roots, berries, frogs, and lizards, sacrificing two dogs along the way. It was not enough.
The Van Ornum family struck out on their own near Farewell Bend, Oregon, only to encounter another group of Indians who attacked and killed four of them, making off with four other children.
Starving, the remaining men and women resorted to cannibalism, consuming the bodies of their dead companions—even their own children—to survive. When they could, they traded away every scrap of clothing and stray round of ammunition to passing Indians for anything to eat.
On October 27, 1860, after over six weeks of suffering, a rescue party led by Captain Frederick T. Dent finally found a dozen survivors, severely emaciated, “in a state of perfect nudity,” near present-day Nyssa, Oregon, at a site later named Starvation Camp.
The fate of the four Van Ornum children is foggy. The three girls likely died in captivity. A Caucasian child assumed to be Reuban Van Ornum was found living with the Shoshone in Utah about two years later by his uncle, Zacheus Van Ornum. After his rescue, the boy struggled to re-adapt, and sometimes claimed he was not Reuban at all. It wasn’t long before he abandoned his life as a Van Ornum and returned to live with the Shoshone.
The incident, also known as the Van Ornum, or Salmon Falls Massacre, led to increased military patrols on western trails. The horrific tale lived large in public imagination, but it was anything but typical. Some 500,000 people travelled the Oregon Trail. About 360 of them were killed by indigenous people.
So, how often did this really happen? Maybe three times.
In May of 1871, the Warren Wagon Train came under attack near Salt Creek, Texas. Seven men were killed in the Salt Creek Massacre. It wasn’t a group of emigrant settlers, though. It was a freight wagon train.
In August 1867, a circle of wagons was formed in northeastern Wyoming as a defense barricade when several hundred Lakota Sioux attacked soldiers and civilian contractors. In this incident, they pulled the wagon boxes off the frames and tipped them up to shelter behind. It worked. At least, it contributed to a successful defense. The defenders also had much better weapons than the Indians.
The common plot device may have evolved from the custom of circling a wagon train at night for basic security and to corral the animals.
But did Oregon Trail pioneers ever circle their wagons and endure a relentless attack? Yes. And since I’m writing about it, you know it happened in what is now Idaho, playing out over several weeks and spanning some 90 miles.
The Utter Massacre
If you are looking for a descriptive term for a massacre that was horrific, terrible, dreadful, or horrendous, you might land on the word “utter.” How convenient, then, that a man named Elijah Utter was in charge of the train of some 60 emigrants, thus giving the massacre a handy handle.
I just slapped myself for having even one funny thought about what would become the gold standard of wagon train assaults for future screenwriters. There was nothing funny about it.
The wagon train had benefited from a military escort for part of its journey across the Snake River Plain. The soldiers were two weeks gone on September 9, 1860, when about 100 locals, primarily Shoshone Indians swooped down on the wagon train near Castle Creek, attempting to make off with their livestock. In defending themselves and their stock, the emigrants corralled their wagons as they did at night.
But that wasn’t the massacre.
The Shoshone changed tactics and approached them in a manner that seemed friendly. The emigrants responded by sharing some food with them. The now friendly Indians encouraged the travelers to move their wagons closer to water.
When the train started moving again, the Shoshone quickly turned once more into raiders and began attacking the now more exposed wagons.
For more than 30 hours, the battle raged. Elijah Utter and several others were killed.
Now desperate from a lack of water, the survivors abandoned four wagons, hoping that would create a diversion and allow them to reach the river. Four former soldiers traveling with the wagon train mounted up and fled the beleaguered emigrants who were now being killed nearly at will by the attackers.
As night fell, most of the survivors left their wagons and material goods behind and escaped into the desert on foot.
For the next six weeks, those walking—many seriously wounded, barefoot, and scantily clothed—endured hardship after hardship in a meandering journey west along the Snake and Owyhee rivers. They stumbled along mostly at night, hiding during the day. What little food they had ran out. They survived on what a few fish, roots, berries, frogs, and lizards, sacrificing two dogs along the way. It was not enough.
The Van Ornum family struck out on their own near Farewell Bend, Oregon, only to encounter another group of Indians who attacked and killed four of them, making off with four other children.
Starving, the remaining men and women resorted to cannibalism, consuming the bodies of their dead companions—even their own children—to survive. When they could, they traded away every scrap of clothing and stray round of ammunition to passing Indians for anything to eat.
On October 27, 1860, after over six weeks of suffering, a rescue party led by Captain Frederick T. Dent finally found a dozen survivors, severely emaciated, “in a state of perfect nudity,” near present-day Nyssa, Oregon, at a site later named Starvation Camp.
The fate of the four Van Ornum children is foggy. The three girls likely died in captivity. A Caucasian child assumed to be Reuban Van Ornum was found living with the Shoshone in Utah about two years later by his uncle, Zacheus Van Ornum. After his rescue, the boy struggled to re-adapt, and sometimes claimed he was not Reuban at all. It wasn’t long before he abandoned his life as a Van Ornum and returned to live with the Shoshone.
The incident, also known as the Van Ornum, or Salmon Falls Massacre, led to increased military patrols on western trails. The horrific tale lived large in public imagination, but it was anything but typical. Some 500,000 people travelled the Oregon Trail. About 360 of them were killed by indigenous people.
A picture of young "Reuben Van Ornum" seated in the middle: his uncle Zachias is to his left
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