Travels with Nicholas Porter Earp past every bloody massacre site on the Mormon Wagon Road through the Mojave (The 1864 Diary of Sarah Jane Rousseau)
It was 1864. Four families packed up everything they owned and headed west. They left Pella, Iowa, for California, hoping for a better life. Nicholas Porter Earp, a strong-willed and often fiery man, led the way. He had his sons with him, including 16-year-old Wyatt Earp. Traveling with them were the Rousseaus, the Curtises, and the Hamiltons. Sarah Jane Rousseau, the family matriarch and a talented pianist, kept a daily diary. She wrote about the people, the weather, the landscape, and every struggle they faced.
From day one, it was hard. Cows ran off. A boy nearly got crushed under a wagon. One family lost a horse. The trail stretched out across the prairie, endless and exhausting. Sarah wrote it all down. She described graves by the roadside, thunderstorms rolling in, and the sparkle of a prairie flower. But there were also drownings, sickness, and tensions in the group. Nick Earp didn’t make things easier. He was strict, sometimes harsh. At one point, he exploded angrily because someone dared pass him on the trail.
By the time they reached Salt Lake City, the group had survived months of hardship. But the worst was yet to come. From there, they set out on the Mormon Wagon Road — a path full of blood-soaked history. One of the first places they passed was Mountain Meadows, where 120 people had been massacred just seven years earlier. Sarah didn’t dwell on it in her diary, but she knew the story. Everyone on the trail did.
Further on, the trail twisted through canyons and lava flows. The group crossed the Virgin River 17 times in one day. Nick pushed the wagons up Mormon Mesa without rest, which cost them dearly — a horse later died of exhaustion. When they camped near Paiute villages, they offered cattle in exchange for peace, even taking young men as overnight “hostages” to ensure a calm night. Nick didn’t like it, but Sarah and the others saw it as wise.
They reached Las Vegas — not a city then, just a dusty fort and bubbling springs. Sarah rested, did laundry, and probably took in the quiet. Then it was back on the trail. The desert stretched ahead. They found Resting Springs, a true oasis, and then Salt Springs, where they came upon a horror: the charred remains of a mine. Just weeks earlier, miners had been attacked there. Two fled into the desert and, fearing torture, took their own lives.
At Bitter Spring, Sarah remembered another story — two teamsters murdered, and soldiers later hanging Native men in retaliation. The trail had scars, and Sarah’s diary traced them all. One of her horses collapsed from hunger. She mourned it deeply.
They finally reached the Mojave River, a winding ribbon of life in the desert. At Camp Cady, they may have seen soldiers. They camped at Fish Ponds and Point of Rocks, where water bubbled up from underground. At Lane’s Crossing, they saw signs of real settlement.
Then came Cajon Pass. They climbed in the snow, descending on a road that twisted and dropped steeply. John Brown’s new toll road spared them the worst of Crowder Canyon. Sarah saw green grass at the bottom, a sharp contrast to the desert behind them.
On December 17, 1864, they arrived in San Bernardino. Sarah wasn’t sure if they’d stay. But they did. The Rousseaus settled in town. Dr. Rousseau became a respected doctor and educator. Sarah taught piano. The Earps moved to nearby Colton. Nick became a justice of the peace.
Sarah’s diary ended there, but her words carried on. She told a story not just of dust and hardship, but of grit, endurance, and quiet courage. Her journey wasn’t just miles on a map. It was a passage through history, over blood-stained ground, and into a new life. Her steady and clear voice gives us one of the most vivid pictures of the Mormon Trail and those who dared to cross it.