 Frontier Fighters. Frontier Fighters. Chronicles of the heroic deeds, trials, and hardships of the men and women who fought in triumph that the West might live. Enshrined forever in the hearts of those sons and daughters who claim the West is Eliza Ann Brooks, the pioneer mother. In 1849, her husband went to California to prospect for gold. Writing from Butte County in 1852 to his wife and family in Michigan, through my dear wife and my beloved children, if you were all here with me, I know that I could make California my home. May God speed that day when we'll all be together under one roof. Kiss the babies for me, your loving husband and father. Father wants us to come to California? Mother, are we going? It's been more than two years since we've seen our father, and if we start right now, it's only just a little... It's only 3,000 miles across mountains, plains, prairies, and deserts. It's no excursion, son. I ain't afraid. I can shoot straight, drive a team. I don't get tired and I'm not a big eater. You are your father's son. You're not just 13, a boy. You're a man. Stand up, Eliza. I'm big for my age. Feel my muscle, Mom. Some folks would be saying I'm a fool taking chances with a boy and five little ones. But the Lord is our shepherd, Elisha, and somehow, some way, He'll lead us to your father in California. Two weeks from the day that she made her decision, Mrs. Brooks put all her worldly possessions and her six children in a covered wagon and was ready to make the start. At her side was her boy, Elisha, and the man she hired to go as far as the Platte River with her. The wagon was drawn by four oxen. Two cows were taken along to supply milk for the children. The departure should have been most auspicious, but the know-it-alls predicted the most dismal kind of failure for the adventure. Mrs. Brooks, I tell you, you're just a flyin' in the face of providence. Eliza, and you must be mad riskin' Eliza's six little children. Only four of us is little. I'm 13 and Sister Margaret's 11. You're leaving a good home and farm in Michigan. The Lord knows for what. Her wife has a right to be where her husband is. He can't come to me, so we're going to him. All right, Jim, let's get goin'. Sun's just horizon. It's a good old man. Come on, come on. You're best good friends and neighbors, and I'm thankin' you for it. We'll write you when we get to California. Goodbye! Goodbye! She's a mighty brave little woman. She's a mighty brave little fool if you're askin' me. I ain't fair goin', but fools do step in where angels fear the tread and find tomorrow's holdin' out a mighty big blessin'. The road to the Missouri River was in the poorest possible condition, and the party was forced to struggle through mire and bogs caused by heavy rain. While crossing Iowa, the children became ill with measles, and one night, the hired man began to grumble. I ain't a fear to catchin' them measles, Mrs. Brooks, but I don't see no sense in just a sittin' here in the middle of the prairie. You can't jog along roads like this with children burnin' up with fever. Well, if you're wastin' a week of my time, I'll be expectin' pay for it when we get to Council Bluffs. You'll get ever punny-do-ya. Ma, Ma, Sister Margaret's out of her head with the fever. I've got a fellow nursein' to do, Jim. You keep your eye peeled for Indians, and I'm warnin' ya to keep away from the bottle. Oh, I ain't a drinkin' man, regular, Mrs. Brooks. Just take a nip to keep my stomach in condition. Ma, you reckon I'm gonna get the measles, too? No, son. I reckon you've passed the time for catchin' them. Here, Margaret. Take some of this sassafras tea. It's so hot. Everything's hot. Get me a cold drink from the well. Get this sassafras tea, and in the mornin' you'll feel better. Cold water from the well, Ma. Cold water. Guess, Sister Margaret's hit mighty hard. She'll come through just like the others. Engines! Engines! Get ready for a fight. I got my gun ready. Here's one for you, Ma. We'll talk trade first. If that fails, we'll fight. Get me that strip blanket. Go a lot of finer sugar. Bring me that once the color fades. First, India. Now, India. Oh, Lord, the station. If that pushes, you got it. Two. Put down your gun, Jim. You two, Elisha. Two children, one squaw, one brave. Give you good pony for brave. Two good ponies for squaw. Give you fine blanket. See it? Much money cost bees. See it? And all of it, big, kind of sugar. To go away. Quite squaw, no matter trade. Just give presents. Quite squawful. Pony's much better than little squaw's or braves. Give all of presents. Indian, go again on march. So be it. I have spoken. Jim, fork over them presents of a cheap. Hmm. Hmm. Sugar is sweet. Meads bright. Blanket good. Oh, yeah. You all right, Mom? Dirty there, Mrs. Brooks. Better take a nip of this here liquor. I'm all right. Elisha, you and Jim had better keep a watch right through the night. If Margaret's fever breaks, morning will see us out on the road again. Don't you think we better turn back ma'am? We're never turning back. Elisha's father married a woman who ain't afraid to fight. Council blocks was reached after many weary days. There Eliza and Brooks lost her hired man. But Elisha stepped into his place in the driver's seat and the journey continued. As they followed the Platte River, they began to see the graze of those who had died from cholera. But on and on they drove. Never fearing. Always trusting in the provenance that was to guide them to California. During the night while waiting for the ferry to take them across the Platte River. Ma, sounds like thunder. If it's going to rain, we'd better get some of this canvas tacked down. It ain't thunder in the heavens we're hearing, son. Mama, what's that funny noise? I don't know, Margaret. Elisha, stick your head out and see if the sky's clear. It might be rain thunder at that. Sky's clear, Ma, but there's a powerful lot of dust rolling in from off the west. Margaret, you watch over the children. Elisha, bring your gun. I think I know what that noise is. Think it's Indians, Ma? No, son. It looks to me like a butthole stampede and us right in the path of it. Ma, what are we going to do? Stand our ground. Trust in the Lord to show us a way to divide that herd. So no harm will come to any of us. I can see him now, Ma. Hundreds of them are coming. All right, Elisha. Let's not walk in toward that herd. Ma, what if there's no ips now, son? We're going to pick off the leaders of that herd just as soon as we can sight them. All right, son. And remember, every bullet's got a count. Some of them turn and land. We won out, son, for tonight. But let's not crow too soon. We've got a good 2,000 miles to go yet, and the way's going to be mighty hard. Storms, wolves, thunder. The cattle waxed lean and grew weak because the land was picked bare of grass but the hungry stalk of the thousands ahead of them. A plague of grasshoppers dimmed the light of the sun. The brackish water was hardly fit to drink, and one day under a scorching August sun, the two cows died. 50 dust-choking, tortuous miles and two of the four oxen dropped in their tracks, dead of starvation. There remained but one thing for Mrs. Brooks to do. Everything's got to go. That ain't of some use. You're going to throw out that good mahogany chair Grandma gave us? Everything. That's of no use. Just our clothes, drinking water, bedding and pots and pans is all we're keeping. Mom, what are we going to do when the food we've got left is gone and there ain't no more water? That food we've got left and the water, too, is mana from the hand of man. What comes now has got to be mana from heaven. For weary weeks, while the little party crept along over the sands of the desert, on every side now are freshly dug graves, grim reminders of those who had lost their fight with the desert. One day after crossing the Humboldt River, young Elisha called to his mother. Ma, there's a rider coming toward our camp. He's on a horse and leading two or three other pack mules. Can't you make out his face? I'll run ahead of peace and see if he might spare a little food. All right, Elisha. Hi, mister. Mister. Hi. It's our father. It's father. Come to meet us. Oh, God be thanked. God be thanked. Elisha. Elisha. Father. You don't know how good it is to see you all. Oh, Elisha. Oh, Elisha. Are you all well? Are the children all right? Yes, Elisha. We're all right. Praise heaven for that. How did you ever find us, Elisha? I don't know. I don't know, I'm sure. Something just seemed to be guiding me along this route. Yes. Yes, I know. You know? My prayers guided you to us, Elisha. Ma, maybe father is that man up from heaven you prayed for. Yes. Yes, my son. I know he is. Elisha Brooks Sr. arrived just in the nick of time as his pitiful little family eked out the last portions of food and water. And with this last minute rescue, he provided a thrilling and historically true climax to our story. The Brooks family had little trouble in crossing the Sierras, and in a few days reached Butte County, California, where they made their new home. It has been our privilege to salute a courageous, spiritual pioneer mother, Eliza Ann Brooks, one of the truest of all frontier fighters.