That day or evening we came to Fort Kearney.  That was a town of tents.  Soldiers were there; also covered wagons everywhere.  We were told the safest route we could go was to cross the Platte River and travel up the north side.  So the first thing, everyone had to put flour and everything that the water would spoil - on top of the load.  The wagon boxes were set on blocks of wood or wooden buckets and tied to running gear to keep them from floating off.  The river was a mile wide and the bottom was covered with quicksand.  Only a few teams could go in at a time.  They had to keep moving or they would sink.  The water was so muddy one could not see the bottom of a bucketful.  The river had no banks to speak of.  One man led his team down to drink.  One stepped into the water and went clear out of sight and had to swim to a place where he could get out.  All that day was taken up crossing the river.  That day and part of the next was spent in drying clothes and bedding.  The morning of the third [day] we were on the road by six o'clock on our line of march "bound for the Oregon shore".  It was desolate country, level, but no sign of civilization.  About the first time they laid over was on Bittercreek.  The water was so strong with alkali no one could drink it.  It was just like    lye.  We all drank cold coffee.  There was nothing of importance occurred to mark one day from the next.