James HURST and Malinda DAVIS were married in Franklin Co., Missouri on November 16, 1850. He was 19 years old, she only 16. James was the third son of Uriah and Hannah Hurst. Hannah's maiden name remains unknown at this time. Malinda was the daughter of Joseph and Jane (SCRIBNER) Davis. The Hurst and Davis families were friends of many generations' time in Tennessee, Kentucky, Illinois, and Missouri -- and probably both originating in Virginia prior to Tennessee. James and Malinda had grown into their teen years together in Missouri, so they were well acquainted in addition to already having close family ties. 

There had already been several Davis-Hurst marriages in the current generation by the time James and Malinda decided to wed: James' sister Sarah "Sally" Hurst had married Thomas Davis. A brother had married Jane Davis. Both Thomas and Jane were probably cousins to Malinda, although we have yet to unravel all the mysteries about the very large Davis family branches. Around this same time, another of James' sisters, Elizabeth Hurst, married John Davis – Malinda's brother. In fact, of the seven Hurst siblings in James' family, only three married someone without the Davis surname. Indeed, these two families were close!

One of the siblings who married outside the Davis family was James' sister, Leah. She married a relative of Charles Dickens, the famous writer, in nearby Warren Co., MO, on 6 Feb 1847. His name was Jeremiah "Jim" Dickens. It is believed that Leah and Jim came out to Oregon with James and Malinda, although that isn't proven yet. The Dickens' did come to Oregon, however, very close to the same time if not with the same wagon train. Ditto for others in both the Hurst and Davis families.  The Dickens family traveled with the Zumwalt family. Other possible groups whose families came west in conjunction with James & Malinda's arrival included the surnames of WEST, MILLER, TODD, SHEARER, PARRISH, RICE, and others. 

Even with other family present, it is hard to imagine what it would have felt like to have a daughter marry and then embark on a journey such as this, all within four months of her 16th birthday. But times were certainly different back then…

By reading the journals of other pioneers whose families ventured to Oregon from Missouri in the 1840s and 50s, we can visualize a picture that probably very closely resembles the journey of James and Malinda.  There were two major differences between the stories in most journals and that of James Hurst and his new bride. First, we should keep in mind what this journey must have been like for such a young couple, on their own in life for the very first time ever. There was no time to be single, take their own apartment, or even to adjust to married life. The second difference was that, though they may not have known it yet at the time they left Missouri in late April of 1851, James and Malinda were expecting their first child. It was almost inevitable that Malinda would be traveling in an advanced stage of pregnancy, considering their wedding date.

The snippet below, from the story of the Knifong family ("Moving on West"), shows us that Malinda might have been treated with a bit more care because she was pregnant, which might actually have been better than having already given birth, as this woman had…

"My second day's experience was when we crossed Medicine Creek, MO. The creek was pretty deep to ford. The men thought
the women had better ride behind the men on horseback. I rode behind a young man with my baby Columbus in his arms.
When we crossed over, the horse got in the mud, foundered and threw me off in the water. The man threw the baby on one side and he jumped off the other. I got out of the water, ran and picked up my baby, went up the hill, all dripping with mud and water. They all laughed at me and I told them after this, I was going to stick to the wagon."

Contrary to what many people believe, their travels were not like "Little House on the Prairie," where women were treated as ladies, wearing cute little bonnets and riding in the comfort of the wagon. Most of the time, women weren't even allowed to ride -- instead, they were made to walk mile after mile with the children, while the men rode horseback. Yup.

When James and Malinda's wagon train reached the Blue Mountains, Malinda was about seven months pregnant. That was one of the most difficult parts of the entire journey, judging from historical accounts. There were choices to be made about which trail would be safest and most appropriate for the wagons to follow. Since this was not long after a massacre that took place over the very same trail, travelers had good reason to fear for their safety. And it was a rough, long, tiresome trail that sometimes sapped the last of the energy from bone-weary oxen, so the journey was often completed without a full complement of stock. 

A pioneer family would often bring cattle, horses or oxen across country, only to have the animals drown in their weakened condition while crossing a river in Oregon, only days from their destination. For this reason, most of the wagon trains had times when they would "lay by" for a few days, to simply rest up. Other times, weather conditions or a band of Indians up ahead on the trail would have the pioneers lay by for longer periods.

Provisions were becoming much more scarce, clothing had often worn so thin it could not be mended yet again, and many pioneers had worn out their last pair of shoes at this point. Most had lost weight and were malnourished and weak. Virtually all of the pioneers had begun the journey with favorite possessions and furniture in the wagon, but very few finished the journey with more than the clothes on their backs and maybe a feather bed mattress. Many treasures from their old homes had to be pitched out of the wagon to lessen the load along the way as the oxen wore out; many heirloom furnishings were used to feed a campfire that would warm the weary travelers. For a time in the 1840s and 1850s, it is said that one could nearly follow the Oregon Trail by simply using the castaway possessions as a guide.

In this condition, our ancestors arrived in Oregon Territory. They stopped at Whitman Mission at the base of the Blue Mountains for a few days, to let their stock rest and prepare themselves for the journey down the Columbia River to The Dalles. 

Some groups were guided to The Dalles by one of the early white frontiersmen from the Hudson's Bay Company, while others were guided by Indians. Some of the Indians were still quietly hostile about this invasion of whites, and they would pretend to be friendly until they got a family on the river en route to The Dalles. They were clever, and they could arrange to not be around at certain times when there was a particular threat known only to the Indian. Others were truly friendly, risking their own lives to assist the travelers down the Columbia River. No matter how many times they traveled this river, they would never be able to know it well enough to be certain they could avert disaster.

At first, a wagon train family (especially women & children) would welcome the respite from the endless walking that had taken place in the previous few months. Except for those who became "seasick" or were still suffering "mountain fever" from the changes in altitude, most were relieved to be sitting in the raft or canoe, although all knew there would be some danger ahead. Most of the women and children had not been told any particulars, and even the men didn't fully fathom the dangers of this great river. Most were from inland areas, far from the pull of the sea, even if they had some river rafting experience. 

Before long the travelers reached the first section of river with whirlpools and boulders that were typical of the Columbia. The raft pitched in the waves while barreling downstream frighteningly fast. All eyes were on the guide at the front of the raft, for if he crouched low, they too must try to flatten themselves against the floor of the raft so that the big wave ahead would not knock the raft upside down. Keeping the weight balanced was of prime importance. Mothers wrapped themselves around infants and toddlers, trying to keep the children down and safe. A nursing mother would have to halt a feeding several times for this purpose. Older children were told to "hang on & crouch low" and mothers prayed the children wouldn't fly overboard as the waves crashed around them.

Where there were waves, whirlpools also abounded. As they would approach such an area, those who were rowing would paddle like mad. One explanation for this is that they felt less fear when they were paddling in a near-frenzy. Another is that they had been taught this method by the French "water ducks" of Hudson's Bay Company. Such a guide would typically burst into song at the most treacherous places, singing songs from the homeland at the top of his lungs. The name of "The Dalles" is often credited to an old French steersman standing up at this point and yelling to his boatmen, "d'allez, d'allez" – "Let her go! Row for your lives!" This theory is, of course, contrary to the accepted one with regard to the naming. Pointing the craft into the right part of the river to catch the fastest, deepest surge, was the strategy. Then, at the last moment before they careened through the rapids, the oars were pulled in and all passengers braced themselves to be shot through the whirling waters, hopeful of skimming over rather than riding them. 

There is an old story that was told by pioneers, about one such seasoned guide on the Columbia who was from other origins.  Sir George Simpson, famous for his speed in crossing the continent, would lean over and put his hand into the water to estimate the speed of the craft. He would first shout, "faster, faster men!" and then would tell his piper – yes, that's right, a piper – to strike up a Highland song. Often was heard along the mighty Columbia such songs as "the Campbells are Coming" and "Old Hundred." This he did to spur his oarsmen on to greater speed.

So were our ancestors' first days in Oregon Territory. One can only imagine how difficult that passage was for a woman nearing the term of her pregnancy in September, 1851. But for Malinda Davis Hurst, there was more to come.

For reasons unknown to the author, there seem to be very few travelers in the year 1851 who actually made it all the way, so they could register at one of the end points. This might be because many died along the way from illness, drowning, or perhaps Indian attack. And of course, much of the west's charm at that time was the promise of finding gold in California – so perhaps not so many were headed for Oregon as for California that year. I would venture a guess for illness or gold, since there was also no known historical account of that year's wagon trains. A massacre or mass drowning in the Columbia would likely be recorded history. Whatever the reason, the ancestors who did complete the journey apparently avoided that danger somehow.

Having arrived at The Dalles on September 16, 1851, James and Malinda were among those whose provisions had run out, without any means of replacing them. Like most, they were not yet quite to their destination. The place they would call first call "home" was on the other side of yet another mountain range that would have to be crossed. They had to complete the journey as quickly as possible so steady work could be found with which they could purchase the necessities. It probably would have been prudent to stay the winter in The Dalles for those purposes, but because Wasco County wasn't yet open to land settlements due to the lack of Indian treaties to protect potential settlers to that area, they chose to continue on the trail until they reached Linn County.

At that time, there were but two methods used to get across the Cascade mountain range: by water craft on the Columbia or overland using the rough Barlow Trail, which wound around the lower regions of Mt. Hood, the tallest peak in Oregon. Having no money to pay for passage down the Columbia, the only option for James and Malinda was to go overland. But there again they had a problem: Malinda's advanced state of pregnancy would not allow her to trudge over the rugged mountain trail.

Although it was originally a toll "road," the Barlow Trail was truly only a trail. In fact it needed to be "blazed" over and over every year. While it was being operated in the late 1840s, that maintenance was done in the spring of each year. Even so, it was a rough road to travel. Once the Gold Rush began in 1849, the men who normally were in charge of smoothing out the Barlow Trail each spring were gone to California, chasing wealth. By the time the Hursts crossed the Cascades in the fall of 1851, the Trail was beyond rough – it was barely passable.

The question was: "How to get a woman over that trail when she is nearly eight months pregnant?" The answer, of course, was not to try. They had brought their oxen to pull the wagon and some other stock as well, which had been driven down a passage too narrow for wagons on the Washington side of the Columbia. Those same cattle would have to be driven over the mountain, so James had no choice but to go the distance on the Trail. Malinda, however, could not tolerate the jarring ride or the walk over this trail at that point in her pregnancy. And they would have to hurry about this trip over the Cascades: the foggy chill of autumn was already hanging in the air most days, and snow would be soon to follow at the higher elevations.

Once again, the wheels and tongue were removed from the wagon and it was caulked anew with tallow and tar. Malinda and the few other women in the party would float down the river, and the men would (hopefully) meet up with the women on the other side of Mt. Hood. It would be a dangerous journey for the women, but there was no real alternative. Their provisions were by now almost completely gone. The night before they set out to cross the Cascades, Malinda used the last of their dry goods to make five biscuits. She gave three to her husband and kept two for herself. That would be the extent of their sustenance until they either reached their new home or were able to work for a meal at a pioneer home along the way.

Amazingly, they managed to find eachother and made the rest of the journey together, ending up at a location near Scio, Oregon, in Linn County, on September 30, 1851. There Malinda gave birth to their first child in December, a little over a year after their wedding day and just 6 weeks after their wagon's arrival. They named their new son Joseph James Hurst, after Malinda's father and also after James himself. James was now 20 years old, his young wife a much wiser woman at age 17 than she had been only a year before. 

They were, officially, pioneers of the old Oregon Trail.