Vandalism Closes The Wilderness Road.
by Ed Crabtree
ã2001-2002

     Cautiously leaving the protective cover of the forest along the river bank with his nose held high to catch any scent wisping on the air that might give warning of a nearby predator, the deer walked along the gravel shoal to the stream to partake of its cold and clear liquid refreshment. A slight breeze was willowing through the trees on either side of the river, their leaves just starting the annual transition of glorious summer green to fall crimson. The deer carefully listened as he walked along the waters edge, straining to hear any sounds warning of danger, above the chorus created by the breeze in the trees and the trickling of the water over the rocky riverbed. Momentarily, he would pause, and allow himself the luxury of standing in an open area, not shaded by the trees, to bask in the warmth of the sun that was already low in the western sky, a giant orange orb that would shortly drop below the horizon, signaling the end of another day.

     Suddenly the deer jerked his head high, his ears had picked out a sound on the wind, one that was not of nature but of man. Leaving the sereneness of the river he quickly made his way into the safety of forest, then as motionless as a statue of stone he watched to see what had disturbed his afternoon.

     Wood spoke wheels and running gear, creaking under load, metal chains and various other appurtenances jingling, and the hoofs of four mules on the rocky road, created a chorus of sound as the master of the wagon pulled on the reins and rode the brake, carefully guiding his vehicle and its cargo down the step incline approaching the river.

     The wagon master, like the Captain of a tall sailing ship, was skilled in piloting his vessel along the trade route. His voyage upon the Wilderness Road had begun almost a week ago in north Arkansas and would end early the next morning upon his arrival at the rail head in Springfield. The freight his wagon bore was agricultural produce, destined to be shipped by rail to cities back east.

     He intended to ford the James River and make camp for the day, at the base of the hills just to the north of the river, then just before sunrise the next morn he would complete the final leg of his journey, the last 10 miles to the freight yards of the city. The river was shallow, as the season that year had failed to produce much rain, although the farmers needed rain for their fields and ponds, the wagon master was glad that the water level was low, making his crossing much safer. The strong currents of the James, had claimed many wagons, their freight and teams lost at this crossing when the river was at higher levels and rolling down the valley, towards it’s marriage with the mighty White River, miles down stream.

     Entering the water, he brought the wagon to a stop, just long enough for the mules to refresh their thirst, then urging the magnificent beasts up the opposite riverbank and onto the fertile floor of the river valley.

     Like many rivers the James, snakes its way back and forth across the floor of the valley, between the ridges that keep the river in check. At this particular point where the wagon master had forded, the river snuggled up to the ridge on the south side of the valley, leaving a nice area for farming on the north.

     The Wilderness Road made its way across this farmland, split rail fences erected by the property owner, delineating the route.

     Just ahead, there was a break in the long ridge that paralleled the river to the north, a smaller valley that intersected the valley of the James, that wound its way up to the Springfield prairie. The Wilderness Road followed this route, the grade being less than straight up and over the ridge. The mouth of this valley was a favorite camping spot for teamsters upon the Wilderness Road and several other wagon masters had made camp and awaited their comrade that was approaching from the river ford.

     The wagon master had pulled his wagon up alongside the others, and had set about preparing his team of mules for the evening’s rest, when he noticed that someone had made use the farmer’s split rail fence for fire wood instead of gathering dead wood from the nearby forest. Quite a bonfire had been built and was blazing nicely, the smoke from the White Oak rails permeating the air with an aroma that only those with roots in rural America can appreciate.

     One of the other teamsters had prepared a pot of beans and had fresh coffee brewing open flame, so our wagon master shared with his friends and comrades the simple fare of travelers upon the Wilderness Road, that of beans, and hardtack washed down with black coffee.

     Our wagon master made his bed of blankets, spread out on the ground, early that evening. As he was drifting off into a much needed nights sleep, he wondered just how angered the farmer would become when he learned that someone had used his fence for firewood. But that prospect was not the concern of the wagon master, his duty was to deliver his load at Springfield, then arrange for a load of manufactured goods to haul back south on his return trip.

     The sun had not yet bothered to show itself above the eastern horizon the following morn, when the wagon master and his comrades where busy hitching up their teams and breaking camp. Some would head south while the other teamsters, like our wagon master, would make their way on into Springfield with the agricultural products they were to deliver to the buyers at the rail head. The final leg of their journey would take them through the rich farmland and rolling hills of the Kickapoo Prairie that extended south from the city to the James, past several of the country estates of the well to do farmers, and past the ruins of a Civil War era fortification, which still stood in grim reminder of that great war between the states that many of the teamsters were trying to forget. Through Springfield the wagons would pass the square where Wild Bill Hickcock had been involved in the first recorded western style “shoot out,” down Booneville hill and across Jordan creek to North Springfield where the road ended at the rail road.

     Our wagon master delivered his load at the freight yards, made arrangements to transport another load south, and had restocked his personal provisions with foodstuffs necessary to sustain him on the long journey home. When he left Springfield he followed the same route that had brought him to the city on the previous day, heading south towards the James, but when he arrived at the farm owned by the man whose rail fence had been burned, he found the road blocked. The farmer had indeed became infuriated by the vandalism and had retaliated by denying traffic across his lands. This unfortunate situation would cause our wagon master to take a detour that would add nearly two days to his journey. Although he was angered at the prospect of a longer route home, he was saddened that the shortsightedness of one individual would cause hardships to hundreds of others that depended upon free travel along the Wilderness Road.

     Such was the life upon the Wilderness Road and its brethren routes, teamsters hauling all sorts of commerce between the city of Springfield and the Ozark Mountain communities of the nineteenth century. The account of Ozarks life we have told today is fiction, based on stories handed down from generation to generation, told mouth to ear by those who traveled the old roads to their children. However the occurrence of the teamsters burning the farmer’s fence is a historical fact.

     In 1876, nearly 200 prominent men, citizens of Christian County, signed a petition, requesting that the County Court of Greene County provide for a public easement for the Wilderness Road. It seems that teamsters were suspected of burning the rails of the property owners fence, and the enraged farmer did indeed close the road as it crossed his property, thereby effectively ending an important commercial thoroughfare between Springfield and points south.

     Today, our highways are constructed along publicly owned right of way or easements. In the days before governmental entities assumed control of such easements, The Wilderness Road like all other routes of the day, crossed privately owned property. Landowners tolerated such use of their property as that use contributed to the public good. However there have been many instances recorded wherein acts of vandalism such as the burning of the rail fence tested the good nature of property owners. These acts sometimes resulted in the closure of the roads to everyone. We can not blame the farmer for his actions in this case, after all, how would you feel if people were crossing your property and destroyed your fence?

     Why was this route so important that such a large number of concerned citizens would petition the court of a neighboring county? We must understand that in those days before railroads were constructed through the central Ozarks, the Wilderness Road was vital to the commerce of the region. Remembrances of those days have been recorded that indicate that it was common to see one hundred wagons per day, pass any given point along the route. Farmers in central Christian County as well as those in Stone and Taney Counties of Missouri along with their peers in the Berryville and Harrison areas of north Arkansas depended on this route to transport their produce to the markets in Springfield. This road was their life's blood. The closure, meant traveling miles out of the way, detouring to another crossing of the James, where the steep hill on the north side of the river afforded a route with a grade that horses or mules could successfully pull the wagons up.

     Now in the year 2002, that same route is still being used to connect Springfield to Berryville and the points between those two cities. Everyday, those who live along the 160/13 corridor depend upon the road to transport them to work and back home again, bring their supplies and inventories for their businesses, and for the tourists to follow the road to the doors of their businesses. Can you imagine what would happen if the road was to become impassible, for one reason or another, with thousands of vehicles passing any given point along the road, each day?

     The incident of the burning of the farmer’s fence, if for no other reason, is interesting due to the fact that like today, the actions of the few effect the livelihood and freedoms of the many. Actually, this story is strikingly similar to the headlines of the newspapers of today. However, most of us would never dream that such an act of vandalism could have been perpetrated by our forefathers.

     When you travel our modern day version of the Wilderness Road, or any other road for that matter, remember that there is history, a story to tell, for every mile. If we take the time to learn the history of the places, and people along the road, in other words learn about the road where we have been, then we have some of degree of hope in making improved decisions that will effect the path of the road that lies before us.