Growing up in a small sleepy Texas town, whose claim to fame was “Sausage Capital of Texas,” left plenty of time to get into trouble or harass your parents because you were bored. My mother was determined that my sister and I would learn historical stories about our ancestors during our free time.

My mother, Nell Been Davis, first introduced us to our great-great grandfather, Warren Angus Ferris, who soon became a “regular guest” at our dinner table. We learned why Grandpa Ferris left his home in New York and became a “Mountain Man” in the Wild West. The reason is still a modern-day problem in families - he and his mother argued about his smoking. We heard outrageous stories about his travels throughout Wyoming and the area that is now known as Yellowstone National Park.

These stories led us into the elementary elements of basic historical research. These were pre-computer days and no internet. That left reading books, visiting Cemeteries and Court Houses. Today, my sister and I still report that we grew up in cemeteries.

In 2019 the Texas Historical Foundation held a board meeting in Jackson, Wyoming. Why Jackson? Back in 1836 this area was considered part of Texas. Fifty miles to the south of Jackson is a small town named Pinedale, home of the Museum of the Mountain Man. A cousin of mine (also a great-great granddaughter of WAF) was traveling with me and we made the scenic drive to see the museum.

The museum was much more than we ever expected. Not seeing WAF’s name among the names mentioned, I sought out the executive director and asked him one question: “Does the name Warren Angus Ferris mean anything to you?” His response was “MEAN ANYTHING?!?! If it were not for Ferris, we would not have this museum. He was literate and wrote beautiful descriptions of the wildlife, geography and the different Indian tribes. Most mountain men were illiterate and could neither read nor write.” The descriptions Ferris sent to his family back in New York eventually became the book LIFE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS. And, yes, my mother had me reading the book when I was 10 years old.

My plea to you is to tell stories of your ancestors to the young members in your family - children, grandchildren, nieces, nephews - and build the excitement of your ancestors in their young minds. I felt sorry for my childhood friends who knew nothing of their extended families. And most of them hated history when they were forced to take history classes in school. Me? I was a history major in college.

Julia N. (Judy) Davis

Great-great granddaughter of Warren Angus Ferris

Descendants of those buried in the Warren Ferris Cemetery and anyone interested in sharing historical information about the cemetery are encouraged to write with stories, additions, and corrections. Please contact greyhairfarm@yahoo.com

“Life in the Rocky Mountains” is an eloquently written journal by Warren Angus Ferris (WAF) in which he recorded his adventures after joining the American Fur Company trapping, trading, hunting expedition to the Rocky Mountains. The journey began February 16, 1830, when WAF was only 17 years old and continued into 1835. His recordings provide insight from his experiences which he poetically described the vast, untamed lands stretching across the American Northwest. He beautifully chronicles the wilderness, Native American tribes and their cultures, and the trade that was the foundation of the westward expansion.

In Chapter V of the journal, WAF uses delicate eloquence to paint an image of the majestic buffalo herds on the Nebraska plains near the Platte River. On the 14th day of May, the company finally encountered their long-pursued buffalo prize. While reading this, just imagine a boy of 17 from Buffalo, New York, witnessing these breathtaking sights and having such deep appreciation for the beauty of it all, that he recorded it in a diary to share with others. Fortunately, WAF was able to capture a scenic moment in time when the American plains were literally covered with buffalo. Based on his words, the experience must have been joyous for him, and it is certainly awe-inspiring to read today.

On the fourteenth, hurrah, boys! we saw a buffalo; a solitary, stately old chap, who did not wait an invitation to dinner, but toddled off with his tail in the air. We saw on the sixteenth a small herd of ten or twelve, and had the luck to kill one of them. It was a patriarchal fellow, poor and tough, but what of that? we had a roast presently, and champed the gristle with a zest. Hunger is said to be a capital sauce, and if so our meal was well seasoned, for we had been living for some days on boiled corn alone, and had the grace to thank heaven for meat of any quality. Our hunters killed also several antelopes, but they were equally poor, and on the whole we rather preferred the balance of the buffalo for supper. People soon learn to be dainty, when they have a choice of viands. Next day, oh, there they were, thousands and thousands of them! Far as the eye could reach the prairie was literally covered, and not only covered but crowded with them. In very sooth it was a gallant show; a vast expanse of moving, plunging, rolling, rushing life - a literal sea of dark forms, with still pools, sweeping currents, and heaving billows, and all the grades of movement from calm repose to wild agitation. The air was filled with dust and bellowings, the prairie was alive with animation, - I never realized before the majesty and power of the mighty tides of life that heave and surge in all great gatherings of human or brute creation. The scene had here a wild sublimity of aspect, that charmed the eye with a spell of power, while the natural sympathy of life with life made the pulse bound and almost madden with excitement. Jove but it was glorious! and the next day too, the dense masses pressed on in such vast numbers, that we were compelled to halt, and let them pass to avoid being overrun by them in a literal sense. On the following day also, the number seemed if possible more countless than before, surpassing even the prairie‑ blackening accounts of those who had been here before us, and whose strange tales it had been our wont to believe the natural extravagance of a mere travellers' turn for romancing, but they must have been true, for such a scene as this our language wants words to describe, much less to exaggerate. On, on, still on, the black masses come and thicken - an ebless deluge of life is moving and swelling around us!

As years passed in his journey, WAF noted in Chapter LIX, his concern about the senseless slaughter of millions of buffalo for sport and predicted their annihilation within 10 years from that period.

Beaver and other kinds of game become every year more rare; and both the hunters and Indians will ultimately be compelled to herd cattle, or cultivate the earth for a livelihood; or in default of these starve. Indeed the latter deserve the ruin that threatens their offspring, for their inexcusable conduct, in sacrificing the millions of buffalo which they kill in sport, or for their skins only.

It is a prevailing opinion among the most observing and intelligent hunters, that ten years from this period, a herd of buffalo will be a rare sight, even in the vast plain between the Rocky Mountains, and the Mississippi. Though yet numerous, they have greatly decreased within the last few years. The fact is alarming and has not escaped the notice of some shrewd Indians, who however believe the evil to be unavoidable.

Introduction to Life in the Rocky Mountains, by W. A. Ferris (mtmen.org)

Blog written by Christine Cohen. Great granddaughter (X3) of Warren Angus Ferris. Great granddaughter (X2) of Henry Ferris.

Julia N. (Judy) Davis reflects on tales of family history

Buffalo Hunting: An Excerpt from "Life in the Rocky Mountains"