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The first year in the new home was one of great prosperity, but when we entered the second the interests of the family became divided.Excerpts from The Way To My Golden Wedding by David R. Hindman, 1908
A large company was being formed of citizens
of Rushville and vicinity, most of whom were young men. These formed themselves
into
messes of four or five, each bearing an
equal share in securing the outfit, which consisted of a wagon, four yoke
of oxen, enough
provisions, to the man, to last six months,
with what personal property each one wished to take, consisting principally
of clothing, mining
tools, guns and ammunition. Our mess mates
were brothers, by the name of Taylor, one a doctor, the other a lawyer.
Much time was
spent securing an outfit, and most of the
company had left Rushville before our preparations were completed, but
on the second day of
April all was ready, and on the morning
of the third, goodbys were said to all the dear ones, and we entered on
our long and dangerous
journey. Little did we think that morning,
that one of us would never again meet the dear ones on earth.
Our first day's travel covered but a few
miles. Rain fell during the afternoon, and being poor ox drivers--none
of us having had any
experience in the art--we stranded on a
hill up which we had to carry part of our goods, and when this was accomplished
evening had
come. That night we slept in a reclining
position and in our wet clothes. This was not much like sleeping in mother's
feather bed, but we
were on our way to the land of gold, and
the recompense to be secured at the end of the journey would outweigh all
the hardships to be
met with by the way. We met with no more
difficulty until we left Carthage, the County seat of Hancock County, where
we spent Sabbath.
There is a great deal of flat prairie between
Carthage and Warsaw, and we encountered much bad road. Thinking it would
be better to
turn out on the prairie sod, we did so,
and soon found ourselves located on a claim that we did not wish to hold,
but could not vacate
without carrying a large portion of our
goods to the only dry ground in sight, which was about sixty yards distant.
When this was done,
night had come. The oxen were chained to
the wagon wheels and fed, a cup of coffee made for each man, and with hard
bread to match we
made our supper. After a comfortable night's
rest we partook of the same kind of fare for breakfast, and left our pleasant
camping
ground, which seemed to have been placed
just where it was for our special benefit. We reached Warsaw without encountering
any more
difficulty, where we found the company
encamped. At this point all our heavy goods were shipped by steamboat to
St. Joseph by way of
St. Louis, two responsible men being sent
in charge of them. After waiting two or three days we were ferried over
the Mississippi River,
which at that time was very high, and encamped
on the commons near the village of Alexander, Missouri. The next morning
we made all
needed preparation to reach the bluffs
in safety. Our wagon beds were raised up by putting blocks under them to
keep them above the
water. A guide was employed to pilot us
through the water, and after traveling six miles, dry land was reached,
and when three more were
added to the day's journey, we found a
pleasant place to camp.
From this point to the Missouri River, our
journey was made with ease and enjoyment. Most of the country over which
we passed was
prairie, and the range of vision in some
places almost unlimited. This, with the budding of nature into the beauties
of spring, gave a charm
to all upon which the eye rested. As we
intended crossing the Missouri River at old Fort Kearney our course was
due west, but lack of
roads and bridges over the many streams
we had to cross, caused us to vary our course, and part of the journey
was made in Missouri
and part in Iowa. We camped over Sabbath
at Garden Grove, Iowa, then a Mormon village consisting of a few log cabins
and a horse
mill, but now a flourishing railroad town.
A gentleman, whose name was Kellogg, had bought out the Mormons and was
then on the
ground, and spent the day among us. He
seemed to be embittered against all Christian influence, and was ready
to discuss his infidel
views with anyone who would give him an
opportunity. He was but a sample of many who would rather herd with the
ungodly on the
outskirts of civilization, than live in
a community controlled by Christian influence. From this point we traveled
southwest, and Tuesday
afternoon passed through Bethany, the county
seat of Harrison County, Missouri, then a village about one year old.
A few days after this one of my mess mates
and I left the train in the morning to spend the day in hunting. On this
part of our journey the
houses were few, but about noon one was
sighted. This was our only chance to obtain dinner. The family consisted
of father, mother and
three daughters. Being from "Old Virginia,"
their hospitality prompted them to spread the table with a bountiful repast,
consisting of
corn dodgers, fat bacon and butter-milk.
Remuneration for this bountiful dinner was refused. After saying good bye
to the ladies we had
to accompany the old gentleman to his private
cemetery, where he had laid to rest some of his loved ones, of whom he
spoke very
tenderly. After parting from him we separated.
During the afternoon my way led down a creek. Coming to a place where the
grass was all
killed out, I started to cross it, without
for a moment stopping to ask the cause. I had not advanced many steps,
however, until the cause
was made plain by a rattle snake springing
from its coil at my right leg, which it would have struck between the ankle
and knee, if I had
not made a good jump backward, to the great
disappointment of his snakeship, who manifested a great deal of anger,
but saved his life by
gliding into his hole. Looking around I
saw two or three others disappear in the same way. I at once realized that
the ground I occupied
was full of danger, and at once beat a
hasty retreat. After reaching camp and telling my story, I was informed
that the number killed
along the road during the day was thirteen.
From this statement and my own experience, I felt justified in the conclusion
that it was a very
snaky country.
The following morning we left our pleasant
camp on the Hundred and Two, and ascending a low bluff our eyes rested
on a beautiful
expanse of prairie, and about two miles
away a pretty little village named Maryville, then only one year old. It
is the county seat of
Nodaway county, now a flourishing city
of several thousand. About this time word reached us from those in charge
of our goods that they
could not be shipped to Old Ft. Kearney.
St. Joseph then became our objective point, and our course southwest. We
were now traveling
over the best agricultural part of Northwest
Missouri. As the lovely picture of these virgin prairies which were photographed
on my
memory comes up before me, I realize that
every man in our train could have done much better in a worldly sense by
locating on land in
this section which had just come into market,
than by continuing his journey to the land of gold; but such was the blind
infatuation that had
taken possession of us all, that we could
not see the vast wealth which an all-wise Creator had stored away in these
broad acres, only
awaiting the skillful touch of the husbandman
to call it forth.
Passing through Nodaway and Holt Counties,
we went into camp on the northern bank of the Nodaway River. Here we were
met by a
courier bringing the good news that our
goods had been shipped to Old Fort Kearney. Having reached this point on
Saturday evening, we
remained in camp until Monday morning.
(I will state here that this had been our invariable rule to the present
and continued to be
through our entire journey.) We then faced
about and started for Old Ft. Kearney. This was the last stage of our journey
within the
bounds of civilization. In making it we
traveled northwest, again passing over a portion of Holt County, and all
of Atchison. We passed
through Rockport, the County seat which,
like all the others in what was known as the Platte Purchase, had only
kept one birthday.
We reached the eastern bank of the Missouri
River about the 8th or 9th day of May, and encamped just over the state
line in Iowa.
Hundreds of men were congregated here waiting
to be ferried over the river. We were taken over on the morning of the
14th, our goods
loaded into our wagons in the afternoon,
and all needed preparation made for our long and toilsome journey. Two
officers were elected to
have general oversight over the train,
selecting the camping ground each evening and guiding it in all its movements.
Mr. Manlove, a
middle-aged man, was chosen captain, and
a young man by the name of Boring, who had served in the Mexican war, was
chosen wagon
master.
Our feelings on leaving our beautiful camping
ground overlooking the turbulent waters of the Missouri, and giving a fine
view of the
south-western border of Iowa and northwestern
border of Missouri, were much like those of the mariner who launches his
barque on an
unknown sea. The dangers he may meet with
are only conceived in the mind, not revealed to the eye. So we know that
we had passed
beyond the bounds of civilization, and
would pass over a region inhabited by wild Indians, with here and there
a trapper, and infested with
beasts of prey; but the result of meeting
them was unknown to us, and could only be revealed to the eye by events
yet in the future.
Our first day's journey outside of civilization
was made over rolling prairie, and our first camp was on Salt Creek. On
the evening of the
second day we camped at White Oak Point,
and our next day's travel brought us into the Platte River Valley. There
was so much
sameness in the country over which we were
passing that it afforded but little interest to the traveler. The principle
thing that attracted
our attention for several days was the
large number of new-made graves. Many in their haste started too soon,
and were delayed for
want of sufficient grass for their oxen
to subsist on and travel during the day. Cholera broke out among them and
many died. Thus ended
their golden dreams when far from the "land
of gold." May we not hope that some of them were permitted to enter that
City whose
streets are paved with gold, and where
sickness and death can never enter.
One of the difficulties with which we had
to contend was lack of fuel, another, bad water. Green cottonwood was our
principal dependence
for the former and Platte River for the
latter. We tried buffalo chips for fuel, but decided that they were a failure.
We also tried to
improve the Platte water by putting meal
into it, but the only thing that settled to the bottom was the corn meal.
It had fallen to my lot to
do the cooking for the mess. This caused
me to be interested in these two indispensable articles, and my task was
often accomplished
with difficulty.
Guard duty was taken up the first night
after crossing the Missouri River. The wagons were so arranged as to form
an enclosure, and the
oxen, after grazing in the evening, were
driven into it and guarded during the night. The guard consisted of four
men, divided into two
reliefs. There was much disappointment
on the part of many who had anticipated much pleasure and some profit by
hunting. We were
about the middle of the emigration, and
failed to secure any game worth naming, all having been driven off the
range by those who
preceded us. The only incident of a serious
nature during our journey up the lower Platte occurred near the upper end
of Grand Island.
We had gone into camp on Saturday evening
to remain over the Sabbath. In securing wood from the island on Saturday
evening one of
the company, whose name was Wolfe, came
near drowning. He was a physician, the only one in the company in whom
we had confidence.
His death would have been a great loss
to us. The only amusing incident during this part of the journey was a
race between a large train
from Missouri and our own. During the early
part of the season, the first emigrants in passing over flat ground, made
several roads that
continued to be traveled just as the leader
of a train elected. It occurred one evening that the Missouri train encamped
on one branch of
the road and ours on another, about one-quarter
of a mile apart, and beyond, about the same distance, the two roads united.
The race was
made for this point. The driver of our
lead team was a very poor one, and although we had the advantage in distance,
the lead team of the
Missouri train struck the junction one
yoke of oxen in advance and a cheer went up along their entire line. The
man just behind our lead
team was a splendid driver and was driving
the best team in the train. He drew them out of the line, had them on the
trot in a few
moments, and, driving them ahead of our
lead team, cut off the Missouri train which thought they had secured the
right of way. Then the
cheer passed down our line. Our Missouri
friends gracefully yielded, and the incident passed off pleasantly.
The road over which we passed from the point
where we entered the Platte Valley, to the crossing of the South Platte,
was over
undulating prairie, and the season so far
advanced that the trail was in good condition. This enabled us to make
good time. We reached
the ford on the South Platte, which is
some distance above the junction with the North Platte, between the first
and middle of June. The
crossing was effected without a mishap,
but the task, to both drivers and teams, was a hard one. The bed of the
river at this point, like the
main branch, is nothing but shifting sand,
and there was no such thing as stopping to rest. To have done so would
have been fatal,
resulting in the loss of both teams and
wagons with all that they contained.
Having effected the crossing of the river
during the afternoon, we traveled but a few miles farther and then went
into camp. The country
at this point retained the characteristics
of that over which we had passed; the only change was that the bluffs were
on our right hand
instead of our left, being a high ridge
between the South and North Platte. We had passed over the territory occupied
by the Pawnee
Indians, who at that time were at war with
the Sioux, by whom they had been almost exterminated. This no doubt accounted
for their
absence from the highway over which so
many emigrants were passing. Our next day's travel brought us within a
few miles of a large
village of Sioux. In the evening we were
honored by a visit from a chief, who was accompanied by a youth of some
sixteen or seventeen
years of age. The chief wore good clothes
and had a fine silk hat on his head. He was of medium height and, although
an Indian, might be
called good looking. He could use enough
of English to make himself understood, and his manners were such as to
impress one in his
favor. The youth who was with him made
some amusement for us by carefully examining the faces of two lads who
were in our company
and showing much merriment over the fact
that no beard could be found on their faces. We had not traveled far the
next morning until we
began to meet men and women who were very
anxious we should supply their wants. The articles they desired were asked
for by showing
samples. In this way requests were made
for hard bread, beans, rice, sugar, coffee, tea; in fact everything in
the food line in our
possession except bacon. One other article
was desired by many of these importunate beggars, the name of which all
could pronounce. It
was "whiskey," but this, the most sought
for article, was not furnished him by any of our company. Knowing the thirst
the Red Men have
for intoxicating drink, it does not seem
strange that in the bygone days, when they roamed over the plains at will,
they would secure it
whenever it was possible and beastialize
[sic] themselves by its use: but it does seem strange that in this Christian
land, with a perfect
knowledge of the terrible evil wrought
by its use, there are many who use it and multitudes who directly or indirectly
encourage its use.
This is done by some through ignorance,
by others for want of thought, but by the majority through selfishness.
Love of money and desire
for political preferment are the two great
factors which are upholding this great evil. If the common people could
see this, and allow
themselves to be influenced by common sense
and love for those who are suffering from its use, instead of by self and
political party (my
party) such a change would be wrought in
our country as would wipe tears from mother's eyes, fill hungry children's
mouths with bread,
empty our prisons of two-fifths of their
inmates, our alms-houses of nine-tenths of their inhabitants, and cause
the strikes which are
injuring us morally and financially to
be a thing of the past.
We passed through the village before noon,
and in the evening went into camp some twelve miles beyond it. To all the
company it was a
day long to be remembered, not on account
of the beauty of the village through which we had passed, or the wealth
and intelligence of its
inhabitants, but because we had passed
through a village of Indian teepees, whose inhabitants were wild savages.
There were some of
our number who would remember it for special
reasons, in which they as individuals were concerned. One of our number,
to impress the
company with a deep sense of his courage,
took his gun and went through the hills. On his way he met two Indians.
One had a gun, the
lock of which needed repair. By signs he
asked our friend for his knife, which he without hesitation loaned him.
The other one kept him
interested in conversing in the sign language,
and by and by, when he turned to see how the first was succeeding with
repairs, Indian, gun,
and knife had vanished. When he returned
to the company he had not lost any of his bravado, but he was minus a good
knife. Another of
the company, by what he considered a good
trade, secured half of a buffalo robe which would make sleeping delightful,
but one night's
repose on it revealed to him the reason
he had secured it for such a small price. It was inhabited by vermin. Another
trade was made by a
man who did not belong to our company,
but who did want to cheat a poor Indian. It was a horse trade, and, exulting
in his good fortune in
securing a good horse for a poor one, he
was in haste to place his saddle on its back and mount; but when the Indian
removed the blanket
from its back its removal revealed an old
sore full of maggots, and the Indian was left in possession of two horses
instead of one.
The next day we crossed the plateau, and
descended into the valley of the North Platte. A great change was apparent
in the character of
the country. It was more sandy than in
the valley of the lower Platte. The valley was from one to six miles wide,
and the scenery much
more interesting. The grass, however, was
not so abundant, and some difficulty was experienced in securing good camping
ground with
sufficient grass for the large number of
oxen in our train.
At about this point in our journey, we experienced
one of the most terrific electrical storms I have ever witnessed. It came
up from the
northwest, just as night was shutting out
the landscape from view, and for the space of an hour or more the heavens
were filled with
dazzling light, and one peal of thunder
after another vibrated through the heavens and seemed to shake the ground.
One of the
company,--an old hunter,--had gone out
into the bluffs in quest of game during the day, and had not returned.
There was much anxiety for
his safety, and in the morning arrangement
was made to send out a searching party, but before they were on their way
he came into
camp. He was in the bluffs during the storm,
and had difficulty in preventing the wolves from making a meal of him.
His experience as an
old hunter served him well on this trying
occasion.
Two noted landmarks were visited by a number
of the company at this point in our journey. One was the Court House Rock,
the other the
Chimney Rock. They are about thirty miles
apart and about three miles from the old Oregon trial [sic]. They stood
disconnected from the
bluff, and had been wrought into the shape
they were when we passed up the valley by the action of the elements. Our
encampment for
the night being at the nearest point to
the Court House Rock, we found it only a pleasant walk to its base. It
is about one hundred and
fifty feet to the summit, from which a
fine view is obtained. The ascent is not difficult except at one point
near the top. The substance of
which it is composed is a soft marl, with
veins of rock running through it. The top is about forty feet long, and
about twenty wide, and hard
as lime stone. The south side is cut into
deep gullies by the rain and wind, and would be difficult to ascend. Hundreds
of names were cut
on places suitable for the purpose, with
date of time when done, and place from which the inscriber came. After
we had satisfied
ourselves with the magnificent view from
the summit we descended, carving our names in more than one place before
we reached the
plain below. What the condition of the
strange rock is at the present, I have no knowledge, but I am satisfied
that most of the names
carved on it have been obliterated by the
hand of time, and the eyes of a large portion of those who looked with
pride on their handiwork
are closed in death.
The next day we passed Chimney Rock, which
we also visited. At a distance it appears like a great chimney or funnel,
rising from some
vast structure. It was at that time about
500 feet in height, and 300 or 400 feet in diameter at the base, and a
gradual ascent of one
hundred and fifty feet to the point where
it assumed the form of a chimney. About four days travel from Chimney Rock
brought us to Ft.
Laramie, which is located west of the Laramie
River. The fort is built of clay or adobe brick. The walls are about fifteen
feet high,
surmounted with a wooden palisade, and
form a portion of ranges of houses which entirely surround a yard about
one hundred and fifty
feet square. The fort at the time we passed
it belonged to the American Fur Company and was built by them. They had
also built a bridge
across the Laramie River. No doubt much
improvement has been made since it came into the hands of the government.
Passing beyond
the fort some distance, we went into our
camp near one of the largest springs I have ever seen. The basin in which
it rises is about fifteen
feet in diameter, and the rivulet flowing
from it is a pretty little stream. When we left camp the next morning we
began to ascend the
Black Hills. The ascent was gradual, and
when we had reached the plateau we had a fine view of the surrounding country.
The most
prominent object upon which the eye rested
was Laramie's Peak. It seemed to rise out of a plain, and one not accustomed
to guessing
distance in the pure atmosphere of the
Rocky Mountains would place the distance at twenty or thirty miles, when
seventy-five would be
nearer the mark. Two of our company made
an effort to reach it, but after traveling towards it for a half day returned,
saying that they
seemed no nearer to it than when they left
camp in the morning. Our second day's travel over these hills brought us
again into the valley
of the North Platte, and three or four
days more, to where we crossed to the north side of the river. As it was
not fordable, we at once
made preparations to ferry our wagons and
goods to the opposite side of the river. We secured two canoes made of
green cottonwood
from the company which had just preceded
us. These were fastened together, and would carry a small load safely.
Two wagon beds were
also fastened together, and with these
unwieldy crafts the crossing was effected in less than two days. The oxen
had been forced to swim,
the morning of the first day, and were
permitted to graze and rest safely guarded until the crossing was effected.
Although our task was a
difficult one and attended with some danger,
all the members of the company rendered cheerful service and found much
enjoyment in it.
After two or three days travel from this
point we passed over an alkali district of some thirty miles and entered
the valley of the
Sweetwater, some distance from where it
empties into the Platte. This was a hard day's travel both on men and oxen,
as all the springs
along the way were alkali. We saw two yoke
of oxen lying near a spring from which we supposed they had drunk, causing
their death. We
reached the Sweetwater about nine in the
evening, and men and oxen were much refreshed by its pure waters. Our journey
up this valley
was very pleasant. On the evening of July
3rd we encamped near "Rock Independence." It is an isolated rock standing
out in the valley.
The name was given to it by a company of
emigrants who were on their way to Oregon and celebrated the 4th at its
base. Five miles from
Rock Independence is another remarkable
way mark, called the "Devil's Gate." Here the Sweetwater passes through
a ridge of granite.
Fremont "places the length of the passage
at 300 yards, and the width at 35 yards. The walls of rock are vertical
and about 400 feet high.
The stream in the gate is almost entirely
choked by masses of rock which have fallen from above."
About this time a purpose which had been
forming in the minds of some in the company was consummated. We had noticed
many places
where there were small plats of grass that
would feed a small herd of cattle, but not sufficient for a large one.
This led us to the
conclusion that by a few teams withdrawing
from the large train and forming a small one, our oxen would fare better
and we could make
better time. The separation having been
effected, and the train of which we had been a part and our own being camped
for a day near
each other, we prepared a feast and invited
the captain and a few of our friends to dine with us. Among the viands
on our bill of fare was
veal. Some of our men had found a calf
which had been lost from a train that had preceded us. It was about two
months old and in good
order. Our feast was a success, and some
of our friends were present and enjoyed it; but the captain failed to come,
which we much
regretted, for all respected him, and our
withdrawing from the train of which he was in command was not on account
of dissatisfaction with
his management while we were under his
guidance. Our oxen and ourselves were much refreshed by our day's rest,
for it was an extra
one; Sabbath having always been a day of
rest from our first leaving home. Our journey up the Sweetwater was very
pleasant. The roads
were good, the weather fine, grass and
wood abundant, and the scenery beautiful, filling each day with delight.
On both sides of the valley
were low mountains and among the rocks,
in many places, scrubby cedars and pines were growing, while, along the
river, groves of willow
added their share of beauty to the landscape.
It was while passing over a rising piece of ground in this valley that
we had our first glimpse
of the Wind River Mountains. They seemed
to be only a dark range of successive ridges, rising up against the horizon,
some thirty miles
away, but in fact seventy-five, perhaps
more.
We made the journey from Rock Independence
to Pacific Springs in six days. On the East side of the South Pass, as
we were ascending
the last rise, a few of us came to a bank
of snow that had not been melted by the summer's sun, and for a few moments
engaged in
snowballing each other, that we could have
it to say that snow balls were made and thrown by us in mid-summer. The
South Pass is not
what the name would indicate,--a narrow
defile between two mountain peaks,--but a plain at least twenty miles from
North to South at the
extreme of which, on either side, rises
a hill marking its limit. From East to West the distance is much greater.
On the evening of the 10th of July we encamped
at Pacific Springs. As the name implies, the waters of these springs flow
into the Pacific
through the channels of the Green and Colorado
Rivers. It is said, however, that by the changing of a few pebbles their
waters could be
caused to flow to the Atlantic. And so
it is with many human lives,--an incident, a sentence read, or spoken,
a request made by a loved
one, has changed their course, some into
the straight and narrow path that leads to life, and others from the path
of virtue into the broad
road that leads to death.
The ascent from the Missouri River to the
Pass is so gradual that the traveler, all unconscious of the fact, stands
at an altitude of 7800
feet above the level of the sea. The distance
from the Missouri River to the Pass is 900 miles, and from Ft. Laramie
300. The next point
on the way was Little Sandy, but we found
it only a bed of sand, and without halting continued our journey to Big
Sandy, where we found
enough water and grass to enable us to
go into camp. We remained here the next day and part of the day following.
This was done to give
our oxen rest and an opportunity to graze
on the sparse grass of that region, that they might be prepared for a hard
drive over a desert
district between Big Sandy and Green River.
About 2 o'clock in the afternoon we left camp, and by five in the evening
found ourselves,
for the first time since leaving civilization,
in a real desert. Not a spear of grass was to be seen, or the voice of
a living thing to be heard;
but as far as our vision extended to the
east and south, all was barren and desolate. The only relief to the weariness
of the eye was the
Wind River mountains, off to our right,
but they were so far away that only their rugged grandeur could be seen.
Our journey across this
desert was a hard one, but not attended
with any great danger. The distance was about thirty-five miles. We reached
Green River in the
morning, having spent the entire night
on the way.
Just after the road enters the desert it
divides, one branch going by the way of Granger to Salt Lake, the other,
which is called
Hudspath's cutoff, crosses the river up
higher, and passes through a mountainous district to Bear River. We had
taken the latter route.
We had to remain here two or three days
waiting our turn to be ferried over the river. My first night on guard,
after separating from the
large company, was spent with my mess mate,
Henry Taylor, having taken his brother's place. This brother had the habit
of being sick
when any difficult duty had to be done,
but always recovered very quickly after it had been accomplished. Some
attributed it to a cause
which was not to his credit, but I will
not judge him harshly. I only know that he had a constitutional dislike
to hard work or being exposed
to danger, and avoided both on more than
one occasion. After our separation from the company on Sweetwater, guard
duty was more
trying, as it consisted of only two men,
each standing alone half the night, even when the cattle were taken some
distance from camp.
During the second day the oxen were forced
to swim the river, and guarded on the west side, where better grass was
secured for them.
The ferry was in charge of two men who
were Mormons. The boat would carry two wagons at a load. A strong rope
was stretched across
the river, which passed over two pulleys
with a groove for the rope to run in. These were fastened to two upright
posts which were firmly
fastened to the boat. The propelling power
was the current of the river. Two dollars were paid for taking over each
wagon. Two days were
spent in waiting, but on the morning of
the third we were on our way.
The country between Green and Bear Rivers
is mountainous, but our journey over it was a pleasant one. The scenery
was beautiful, and
gave interest to each day's travel. Not
being required to do any driving I was free to make little excursions to
any point near the road
that had any special attraction. In this
way I found much enjoyment, and have retained in memory some of the beauties
of the region over
which we passed. There was no timber near
the road, but here and there pine forests were seen at a distance. Water
was abundant, and
wood was obtained without difficulty. There
was a sufficiency of grass for the oxen, and pleasant camping grounds by
the way, which with
a good tent to shelter us, and blankets
for bedding were among our greatest luxuries. We looked into but two human
faces while passing
through this beautiful region, those of
a French trapper and his wife, a half breed Indian. To what extent they
were living isolated from
others we had no means of knowing, but
to us who were enjoying companionship with each other, their lives seemed
to be robbed of much
human joy. The length of time required
by our journey from Green to Bear River I am not able to give, but it only
covered a few days.
Our journey down Bear River was made without
any incident worthy of note, and but two places made a deep impression
on my mind.
The first on the way was a beautiful valley,
several miles in length and two or three in width, covered with a luxuriant
growth of grass.
There was a drove of beautiful horses,
about twenty-five in number, feeding in this valley, the property of an
Indian woman, who seemed
to be a person of more than ordinary note
among her people. There was a trader also located here, but I did not visit
his place of business
and do not remember his name.
The other point of interest was Soda Springs.
As we did not tarry long at this point, giving time to examine them closely,
I will quote at
length from Capt. Fremont's Narrative:
"The place in which they are situated is a basin of mineral waters enclosed
by the mountains
which sweep around a circular bend of Bear
River, here at its most northern point, and which, from a northern, in
the course of a few
miles, acquires a southern direction toward
the Great Salt Lake. A pretty little stream of clear water enters the upper
part of the basin,
from an open valley in the mountains, and
passing through the bottom, discharges into Bear River. Crossing this stream,
we descended a
mile below, and made our encampment in
a grove of cedar immediately at the Bear Springs, (now called Soda Springs)
which on account
of the effervescing gas and acid taste,
have received their name from the voyagers and trappers who in the midst
of their rude and hard
lives, are fond of finding some fancied
resemblance to the luxuries they rarely have the fortune to enjoy. Although
somewhat
disappointed in the expectations which
various descriptions had lead [sic] me to form of unusual beauty of situation
and scenery, I found
it altogether a place of great interest;
and a traveler for the first time in a volcanic region remains in a constant
excitement, and at every
step is arrested by something remarkable
and new. There is a confusion of interesting objects gathered together
in a small space. Around
the place of encampment the Soda Springs
were numerous, but as far as we could ascertain, we were confined entirely
to that locality in
the bottom. In the bed of the river, in
front, for a space of several hundred yards, they were very abundant, the
effervescing gas rising up
and agitating the water in countless bubbling
columns. In the vicinity round about were numerous springs of an entirely
different and
equally marked mineral character. In a
rather picturesque spot, about 1300 yards below our encampment, and immediately
on the river
bank, is the most remarkable spring of
the place. In an opening on the rock, a white column of scattered water
is thrown up, to a variable
height of about three feet, and though
it is maintained in a constant supply, its greatest height is only attained
at regular intervals,
according to the action of the force below.
It is accompanied by a subterranean noise, which together with the motion
of the water, makes
very much the impression of a steamboat
in motion, and is called "The Steamboat Spring." The rock through which
it is forced is slightly
raised in a convex manner, and gathered
at the opening in an urn-mouthed form, and is evidently formed by continued
deposition from
the water, and colored bright red by oxide
of iron."
Our last encampment on Bear River was but
a short distance below these springs, at the point where the old Oregon
trail turns northwest
to Ft. Hall and the Bear River south and
continues to flow in that direction until it empties into Salt Lake. Here
a new cutoff has been
made, by which much difficulty was avoided
in travel, and many miles gained in distance. Our first day's travel on
this cutoff was a very
pleasant one. Beautiful scenery along the
way, good water for men and oxen to drink, a pleasant place to go into
camp in the evening,
and good grass for the oxen to feed on
during the night. At noon on the second day we camped on the bank of a
beautiful brook, in a
grove of quaking-asp [sic] trees. On leaving
this lovely camping ground after noon tide we neglected to fill our vessels
with water, and
suffered for this neglect. We had gone
but a few miles when we began to ascend a mountain. The ascent was gradual,
being up a canon,
on the left hand side of which were many
small quaking-asp trees. On the smooth bark of one of these a notice had
been written, with
pencil, by one who had preceded us, consisting
of only five words,--"No water for twenty-five miles." This important news
was somewhat
startling, but as we had passed over more
than one district previous to this one which was destitute of water, we
continued our journey
without hesitation. We reached the summit
of the mountains just as the king of day descended below the western horizon.
As the descent
was steep it was quickly made, and as the
darkness of night settled over us we stood at its base, weary, hungry and
thirsty, but neither
food nor water was obtainable, and rest
not to be thought of under these trying circumstances. We traveled until
12 o'clock, and then laid
down and rested until morning. We were
again on our way, just as the sun gilded the top of the mountain over which
we had passed. The
country around us was a barren waste; not
a plant nor a blade of grass nor a living thing in sight. As the hours
passed, the heat became
intense, and our thirst increased every
moment, but relief came at last. About 11 o'clock a. m. we came to a beautiful
oasis, set like a
gem in this barren desert; from the western
border of which bubbled up a living fountain of water. Here we quenched
our thirst, the oxen
were freed from their yokes to drink, graze
and rest for the remainder of the day, and each mess prepared a bountiful
repast by which the
hunger of all was satisfied.
But one other point on this part of our
journey is distinctly impressed on my memory. It was a stream of water
about twenty feet wide and
about four feet deep and at the place where
we encamped for the night it had but little current. I heard no name for
it, but no doubt it is a
branch of the Snake River, which heads
in the region over which we were then passing, and flowing northwest empties
into the main
branch below Ft. Hall.
The next point distinctly remembered was
where the road from Salt Lake City connected with the one on which we had
traveled. Here a
number of notices had been put up by those
who had passed, giving name of the company, date when they passed, and
signed by the one
who had written the notice. All of these
were read, but our comrades from whom we separated on the Sweetwater were
not among them.
We put up a notice, giving the day and
date on which we passed, for their information, which was read by them
eight days after it was
written.
Shortly after passing this point a serious
difficulty arose between our messmates and the company. Much dissatisfaction
had existed in
the mind of my brother and myself on account
of their neglect of duty, especially by the elder of the two. The burden
thrown on my
brother was very heavy, and my duties as
cook had to be done at a time that prevented me from rendering him the
assistance he needed.
We talked the matter over, and decided
to propose a separation on such terms as they could accede to with honor
to themselves and also
to us. Accordingly we had a conference
with them and made our proposition, which was, an equal division of all
the company property
which the wagon contained and the payment
of a surplus paid out by us of the mess expenses. Our half interest in
the wagon we offered
to give to them, and their choice of two
out of the four yoke of oxen. Our offer was rejected in a very unkind spirit
by the elder of the two,
and we were compelled to continue our journey
with them, without any promise of amends for the future. Some days after
this a Mexican
came into our camp and was taken into our
mess, without asking our consent or that of the company. We bore with this
patiently, as we
had no desire to have trouble with men
for whom, before joining our interests with theirs we had entertained a
high regard. Trouble,
however, did occur between their new found
friend and one of the company, that came near ending in a serious difficulty.
It was avoided,
however, and the Mexican shortly afterward
took his departure, but the trouble caused by him only increased the feeling
existing in the
company against them. This feeling was
further increased by their shameful neglect of guard duty, which came near
ending in blood-shed.
It was prevented, however, and when peace
was restored they were informed by the company that they must accept the
offer made to
them by the Hindman brothers, and withdraw
from the company. Thus ended a partnership which at first promised to be
very pleasant,
but in the end was very bitter, especially
to the Taylor brothers. They were compelled to make the remainder of the
journey to the land of
gold alone, and encountered much difficulty,
not because our company cast them off, but by unwisely taking what was
represented to be a
cutoff, but which added over two hundred
miles to the journey. It is with a feeling of pleasure that I am able to
state that they returned to
their former home much better off in a
worldly sense than when they started. The youngest (Harry) became a very
useful man. He was an
elder in the Presbyterian church of Brooklyn,
Illinois. His dust now sleeps in an honored grave, awaiting the summons
of the Archangel's
trumpet, to call it forth to a glorious
resurrection. Of the elder brother I have no knowledge, but sincerely hope
that he became a useful
man, and that from his return to his home
and friends he never shirked any duty that was required at his hands.
By our generosity to the Taylor brothers
we were left with two yoke of oxen, provision for the remainder of the
journey, and our clothing
and arms, but no means of conveyance. This,
however was made good to us by two messes of the company giving us places
with them.
This, in fact, had been arranged before
the separation took place. The only unpleasant thing cause by it was our
separation at the mess
hour. We, however, spent the evening and
night together, having a tent of our own, the only one in the company;
but members of the
mess who had given my brother a place shared
it with us. Our only chance for private intercourse was by joining each
other during the
day when no duty was required of us.
The next point of interest was one of the
most singular valleys we passed through during the entire journey. A number
of great rocks had
been thrown up from the bowels of the earth
by some mighty upheaval, and appeared at the distance like old castles
that were being
dismantled by the hand of time. We did
not have an opportunity to examine any of them closely, as they were some
distance from the
road. I do not remember hearing any name
for this valley; but the name "Castle Valley" would be very appropriate.
We were now
drawing near a noted way mark, the only
one of the kind we passed during our long journey,--the noted Hot Springs
near the head of the
Humboldt River. It was a beautiful morning
on which we crossed the plateau on which this spring is situated. No difficulty
was
experienced in finding it, for the air
was impregnated with the smell of sulphur by the fume that ascended from
it. We had been told that
the water would cook an egg if submerged
in it, but our hens were not laying and we had to accept the statement
as true and pass on to
the next place of interest,--the head waters
of the Humboldt River. This is a point which many of the forty-niners had
good reason to
remember. An enterprising ranch-man, living
near the head of Feather River, succeeded in marking a road over which
wagons could pass
from the head of Humboldt to the Feather
River, and by representing it to be much nearer, succeeded in drawing part
of the emigration
onto it. His object in doing this was to
make money off those who were foolish enough to believe his statement.
Instead of being much
nearer, it added about two hundred miles,
and was with good reason called "Greenhorn's Cut-off." That part of the
company from which
we separated on the Sweetwater took this
route and had great difficulty getting through, part of their oxen being
stolen by Indians. They
did not reach Feather River until November.
The head waters of the Humboldt had a great
attraction for us, first, because they were pure and cool, and second,
because we had
reached the waters of a river, down the
valley of which we would travel between three and four hundred miles. On
our first day's travel
we passed several pools of water which
were warm enough on the surface to be pleasant to bathe in, and as they
were five or six feet
deep and very clear, they were were [sic]
quite inviting. We did not, however, partake of the comfort we thought
they might afford, but a
man belonging to another company did, and
tarried only a moment in the pool, as he found the water beneath the surface
far too warm for
comfort. Over three weeks were required
in passing from the head waters of this river to the point where they were
lost in the great
desert, but they were among the most pleasant
of our entire journey. The river was at a low stage when we passed down
the valley, and
could be forded at almost any point. The
water and grass were good, and wood could be secured without difficulty.
The mountains on
either side of the valley are low and destitute
of timber. The only thing in sight to remind one there were such things
as trees, was the
willows that grew along the river. These,
however, were not found in great abundance on the lower part of the stream.
The country through which the Humboldt flows
is arid, and unlike other streams, there are no feeders flowing into it,
hence when the
snow has all melted off the low mountains
on either side of the valley, and the ground is being parched by the hot
summer's sun, it
absorbs the water, and for the last hundred
miles it gradually decreases until it is all taken up by the sands of the
desert. We reached the
meadows near the sink of the Humboldt about
the third week in August. These meadows are comprised of a small level
district of country
which is thoroughly irrigated by the overflow
of the river during the spring and early part of the summer, causing it
to produce a luxuriant
growth of grass. There is a lake east of
the meadows into which part of the water flows, where some Indians were
encamped. Two or
three of them visited us, bringing some
nice fish with them, which were bought by some of our company. We spent
two or three days at
these meadows resting our oxen and making
preparation for our journey across the desert. Grass was cut, cured and
bound into bundles
to feed the oxen, food was prepared for
ourselves, some wood secured, and, last but not least, every vessel filled
with water. Our
preparations being completed, we left the
meadows about 2 o'clock in the afternoon and reached the sink about twenty
minutes before
the sun had shed its last rays on the most
isolated scene on which our eyes had ever rested. The sink is a pool of
black, stagnant water;
and to the east, south and west, we beheld
a barren waste upon which the stillness of death was resting. I cannot
describe my feelings as
we entered on this, the most trying and
dangerous part of our journey. Not that I had fears of the ultimate result.
I know there were fresh
waters and green pastures beyond this barren
waste, and there was that within me that said "you will reach them," but
the desolation
which surrounded us, the gloom in which
the sun descended below the western horizon and the coming darkness of
night, will never be
obliterated from my memory.
There were two roads across this desert,
one to Truckee River, the other to Carson River. We took the latter, and,
as the night was cool
and the road good, we made about twenty
miles by morning. We halted at sunrise, gave each ox a bucket of water
and a bundle of hay,
prepared and ate our breakfast, and in
an hour were again on our way. The road was good for several miles farther,
but at last it faded
out, and we entered on the most difficult
part of our journey. A large part of the distance is a white sand in which
we sank at each step to
our ankle joints. This was very trying
on us, but much more so on our faithful oxen. They not only sank deeper
in the sand than we, but
had to draw the wagon through besides.
By 10 o'clock the heat was intense and continued to increase until almost
evening. About 2
o'clock we came to some brackish wells
that had been dug by some of those who had preceded us. We halted at these
and rested our
oxen for an hour, but derived but little
benefit, as the tendency of the water was to increase thirst instead of
allaying it. After leaving this
point we traveled continuously until 11
o'clock p. m., when the Carson River was reached and men and oxen quickly
quenched their
thirst. Only those who have passed through
such an experience can realize the thrill of joy that fills the breasts
of those who have
overcome such a difficulty and are permitted
to drink refreshing water from the flowing stream, and lie down in green
pastures to rest
their bodies, that are exhausted with incessant
toil. We were twenty-nine hours crossing this desert, twenty-seven of which
were spent in
continuous travel; (counting one and three-quarter
miles per hour, it would make the distance across it forty-seven miles.)
After a rest of thirty-two hours we resumed
our journey. The country west of the desert was much like that along the
Humboldt. The
Carson River, however, is a much smaller
stream, but the current is greater, and the mountains on the south side
of the stream much
higher; while on the north side there are
none until near the head waters, which flow out of the first range of the
Sierra Nevadas. Only
two incidents are worthy of note during
our journey up this beautiful stream. One was caused by failure to place
a guard over the oxen
after a hard day's travel, which did not
end until about 9 o'clock in the evening. The oxen being very tired and
the grazing good, the
wagon master decided that we could pass
the night safely without a guard. This was the only night from the Missouri
River to
Weaverville, when no guard was on duty,
and we suffered loss for this neglect. When morning came arrows were found
sticking in two of
the oxen, one of which we had to kill.
Another had been slaughtered about one-half mile from camp, half of it
carried away, and the other
half put up in a scrubby tree. We did not
know whether the Indians were prompted by generosity, and concluded to
divide with us, or did
not have time enough to convey all to their
camp before morning, but I suppose the latter. There was much indignation
among us on
account of the injury inflicted, and preparation
was at once made to find and punish the thieves. Twelve of the company
went forth from
camp fully armed, and so imbued with the
spirit of revenge that if we had succeeded in finding their camp more than
one poor digger
would have been killed (they were called
diggers because they subsisted principally on roots), and some of our own
number would more
than likely have lost their lives.
Two of our number, who became separated
from the main body, ascended a mountain south of our camp. Near the summit
they came to
an Indian hut in which was an old man and
a lad in his teens. Being very thirsty, they by signs inquired for water,
and were directed to go
around the point of the mountain and they
would find a spring. While they were complying with the directions, the
lad ran to the summit
and gave a whoop to notify his friends
that danger was near, and when our comrades rounded the point they not
only found a spring, but
an Indian camp which was constructed of
pine boughs and contained thirty or forty Indians. The men put on their
quivers, and, seizing
their bows, stood ready to defend themselves.
our friends, seeing the odds against them, did not stop long enough to
get a drink of water,
but, retiring in good order, returned to
camp, and told a very interesting story. The following morning, when the
train left camp, a few of
our men ascended the mountain and about
noon we saw the smoke rolling up from the Indian camp, which had been deserted
by them and
was set on fire by our men. How much better
it would have been, and how much more consistent, if, on that day (for
it was the Sabbath)
we had remained in camp, and made it a
day of thanksgiving instead of going out armed to take revenge on the poor
degraded Indians. It
was a great mercy to us that our oxen were
not stampeded, and many of them lost (in place of two or three) which would
not only have
caused delay, but might have made the remainder
of our journey very difficult.
Another incident took place a few nights
after the one just related, which only concerns myself. Our oxen had been
taken about two miles
from camp to graze during the night. A
small company from Iowa had joined with us, and we had a double guard.
I came on duty during
the second watch (from 1 a. m. until morning.)
The night was clear and the moon had almost completed the third quarter,
but was giving
enough of light to see distinctly. I had,
however, slept very soundly, and when I was awakened my eyes were somewhat
clouded. We
inquired in what direction we would find
the cattle, and as they were in two groups we went in opposite directions.
I had gone but a short
distance when I saw three or four oxen
moving along leisurely, and just behind them an Indian in a crouching position,
moving at the
same pace. I at once set the hammer of
my gun, but the thought of killing a human being overwhelmed me. After
a moment's thought I
resolved to give him a chance for his life,--realizing
at the same time that more than one might be near, and that an arrow might
at any
moment pierce my own flesh,--I would, however,
be merciful; so I fired one barrel over his head, intending to shoot him
with the other as
he ran. The moment I fired, cattle and
Indian assumed their real characters,--that of sage brush. I felt very
small when I discovered what
a fool I had made of myself, and expected
to hear very often about being so merciful to an Indian, but it was only
mentioned to me once,
and I came to the conclusion that others
had had similar vision.
The next point of interest was Carson Valley.
It is a beautiful body of land, on the east side of the first range of
Sierra Nevada
mountains. It contains may thousands of
acres of rich land, and, when we passed through it, it was clothed with
a thick growth of grass
from eighteen inches to two feet high,
and was inhabited by many small snakes, about the color of the grass. The
head waters of Carson
River flows into this valley from the northwest,
through a canon some twelve to fifteen miles long, but wide enough for
a good wagon road
on the east side. We went into camp at
the head of the valley, close to the mouth of the canon. There were salmon
trout in the stream,
although it was so narrow that one could
jump across in it many places. One of our company caught one that weighed
three pounds. This
catch lead [sic] two of us, the next morning,
to go directly up the canon with hook and line, and fish along the way;
but we succeeded in
catching only two. Having no lunch with
us and becoming very hungry, we ate some alder berries of a variety we
had never seen before.
They were purple in color and had an acid
taste but were very palatable. We regarded the find at the time as quite
fortunate, but had
reason a few hours later to change our
minds. After reaching camp and preparing the evening meal for the mess,
I went on guard with my
brother. The oxen being some distance from
camp, we went prepared to spend the night. Just as darkness shut out the
beautiful mountain
scenery around us from view, I was taken
with what I thought to be cholera morus, in a very violent form. Having
suffered intensely for
several hours, and becoming very weak,
my brother got me on the only horse belonging to the company and took me
to camp; where we
found my companion of the day before suffering
the same way, but his case was more serious than mine. Whether this difference
was
caused by his red hair, or, being under
the doctor's care was a question I was not able to decide. When morning
came and the train was
ready to move, we were made comfortable
in the wagons of our respective messes. By evening we were convalescent,
and again took up
the duties required of us. On leaving camp
the next morning the strength of the oxen and the skill of drivers were
taxed to the utmost. A
very steep ascent had to be made, requiring
from six to eight yoke of oxen to the wagon. This having been accomplished
without mishap
the rest of the day's journey was very
pleasant, and at it's [sic] close we went into camp at the foot of the
main range of the Sierra
Nevada mountains. We had now reached the
point to which we had been looking with glowing anticipation. We went into
camp in a small
valley at the base of the mountain, and
passed the night in comfort, not withstanding the fact that it was cold
enough to form ice on a
small lake near our camp. Preparation was
made during the morning hour for making the ascent, and by the time the
sun had lighted up
the eastern slope in all its grandeur,
we were on our way. Pine timber skirted the base of the mountain, but as
we ascended, it gradually
diminished, and by noon we were above timber
line. Ice had formed in places from melting snows. This melted with the
forenoon sun, but
by 2 o'clock in the afternoon the top of
the mountain cast its shadows on the eastern slope, and it began to freeze.
We reached the pass a
few minutes before sundown, but as the
peaks on the right and left were many hundred feet higher than the pass,
the departing rays of
the king of the day were shut off from
us, and the magnificent scene from the pass was robbed of much of its grandeur.
The altitude in the
pass is 9000 feet. From the pass we descended
into a small valley, called Rock Valley, and went into camp. The night
was colder than
that spent at the base of the eastern slope,
but sheltered by our tent and snugly covered with our blankets, we spent
a very pleasant
night. We were on our way in the morning
about our usual time, but had not gone far, when we found the road blocked
by two teams of a
Missouri train which camped some distance
in advance of us. The rest of their train was not ready to move. The man
in charge of our
lead team drove out through the pine trees
on the right, and all our wagons without difficulty entered the road beyond
them. We supposed
the parties who blocked the road were seeking
a quarrel, but as we had quietly passed them, we were not prepared for
the foolish display
of anger which followed. Two of them, stripped
to shirt and pantaloons, ran along the line of our train swearing they
could whip any man in
the company. One of them ran to the front
of the train and jumping on a large rock repeated the challenge. One of
our number stopped in
front of him, and said: "You are in no
condition to fight. Look at your knees," pointing to them with his finger--"You
are so angry that
they are smiting together." With an oath
he answered, "I can soon whip you." "That may be true," was the answer,
"but I am not going
to make such a fool of myself as you are
doing." "Well," said he, "it is not you I want to whip, but that red headed----,"
and leaving his
perch on the rock he approached the man
with the red head, who placed himself in such an attitude of defense, that
he returned to his own
company an humbler and we hope a wiser
man. How often do men say and do things of which they are afterward ashamed.
This man for
some reason had become offended at one
of my mess mates who had a red head, and took this way to pick a quarrel
with him; and if that
end could not be accomplished, he would
fight with anyone who was quarrelsome enough to knock the chip off his
shoulder.
We crossed the main range of the Sierra
Nevadas about the 13th of September, and as a result felt that the last
difficulty in our long
journey had been surmounted. In one week
more we would reach the mines, and the members of the different messes
began discussing
plans for the future. My brother was with
a mess of seven, beside himself One was a physician and another a carpenter.
They were going
to Sacramento. Another would engage in
hauling goods to the mines. Four intended working in the mines, and wished
my brother and I to
go in partnership with them, to which he
had given his consent. He then sought an interview with me and stated his
plans. I could not
enter heartily into them, and frankly gave
my reasons, which were two. First, it would be more enjoyable for us to
live by ourselves.
Second, in case we secured claims that
paid well, they would be all our own, in place of being divided among six.
To these he presented
counter objections. First, a cabin would
have to be built in which to spend the winter, and we could not accomplish
the task alone; and
second, lack of means to secure a stock
of provision sufficient to last through the winter. The last was based
on the supposition that
during the rainy season no hauling could
be done. To the first, I answered, "We have a good tent, and if we can
do not [sic] better, we can
build a small cabin of poles and put the
tent on top for a roof." As to the second, "We have twenty dollars in cash.
You have an ox that
will sell for twenty-five dollars, and
I have a yoke that will sell for forty-five dollars. With this we can secure
provision enough to last
several months, and if we cannot dig out
enough gold in that length of time to replenish the stock, then, the sooner
we leave the country,
the better." He, however, being the elder,
his plan was adopted. The last night on guard was spent in Round Valley,
some two miles from
camp. The oxen belonging to several trains
had been driven into it, and none of the guards kept very close watch over
them. Camp fires
and the frequent discharge of guns was
considered sufficient to protect them from Indians. The thought that it
was the last night I would
be required to do guard duty, brought to
me a deep sense of relief. Many weary hours had been spent in the discharge
of this duty, and
no doubt danger was often near; but under
the sheltering wings of my heavenly Father I was protected from all harm.
We reached Weaverville the 21st of September,
and went into camp north of the village, on a beautiful slope overlooking
the north
branch of Weaver creek, and facing the
mountain range between Weaverville and Placerville. Five months and eighteen
days had been
spent in travel, except on the Sabbath
and a few other days made necessary by different causes. Two rivers had
been crossed which unite
and empty their waters into the gulf of
Mexico, and the headwaters of another that empties its waters into the
gulf of California. The
Rocky Mountains and the mountains between
Green River and Bear River had been crossed. We had traversed the Great
Basin,
traveling down one of its principal rivers
from its head until its waters are lost in the desert. Crossing the desert
we ascended another
river (Carson, which is lost in the same
desert) almost to its source in the Sierra Nevadas. The Sierra Nevada Mountains
had been
crossed, and a journey of one hundred miles
made down one of the ranges of the western slope. This long journey of
2000 miles was
made with ox teams; without the loss of
a man and the loss of but two oxen.
A few days were lost by the illness of one
or two members of the mess, but preparation was soon made, and a cabin
erected which did
credit to the builders. The inside of the
logs was hewed; it was covered with good split-board, a chimney was built
of poles and mud, a
puncheon floor laid, and a table and benches
to match constituted the furniture. Provision sufficient to last several
months was brought
from Sacramento. Having made ample preparations
for winter, we were ready to do some prospecting.
Our first claim was a small plat of ground
in a dry ravine, about one hundred yards from the creek. The dirt was dug
and carried in sacks
and run through the washer. This was a
machine very much like the old fashioned cradle in which our mothers had
rocked us to sleep
during our infancy. On one end of the rocker
a screen was placed made of boards about two feet long and six inches deep,
with a bottom
of perforated sheet iron, the holes being
about one half inch in diameter. This screen was fitted into the head of
the washer, being held in
place by cleats. A bar, about two inches
wide, was placed midway between the head and foot. Another was made at
the foot by cutting out
a space for the water and gravel to pass
through. The head of the rocker was raised about two or three inches higher
than the foot. A
hole was bored in the bottom just above
the bar, and the gravel, sand and gold was passed through it into a pan.
The fine gravel and sand
were separated from the gold by a motion
of the arms; the edge of the pan being submerged in the water and by a
quick motion raised to
the surface.
We took out of our first claim $600, just
one hundred to the man. A season of prospecting followed, but before any
success was achieved
the rainy season began. We had not seen
a drop of rain for four months and a half, and the first rain interested
us greatly, although some
of us were much inconvenienced by it. We
had spent the day prospecting and were about seven miles from home when
we went into camp
for the night. A beautiful Indian summer
day had just closed, and the stars looked down on us with their dim light,
giving promise of quiet
sleep and pleasant dreams; but about 3
o'clock in the morning it began to rain very gently. A hasty breakfast
was prepared, and by the
time it was light enough to see it was
raining very hard. Our walk home was made with difficulty, as our clothes
and blankets were soon
saturated, and became very heavy. This
was the beginning of the rainy season, (about the middle of November) and
it continued until
January. During this time rain fell almost
every day, interspersed with short periods of sunshine. The temperature
was like that of May
in the Middle States, and during the short
periods of sunshine the birds cheered us with their merry songs. Heavy
snows drove the deer
down into the foot hills, and many found
pleasure and some profit in hunting. Among the number were two brothers,
by the name of
Johnston,--John and James. Their last day's
hunt ended in a terrible conflict with a grizzly bear. They were several
miles from home when
the encounter took place. When they first
discovered it, both, without hesitation, fired on it, being ignorant of
the fact that grizzly bears
were seldom killed wih [sic] ordinary rifles
such as they were using. They only inflicted a slight wound, and the bear
retreated and they
followed. After going some distance it
entered a thicket of chaparral, taking a path that had been made through
it, and the brothers
followed. It did not go far until it doubled
on its track but before it met them they stepped out of the path, and as
it passed them they
placed the muzzle of their guns against
its side and fired. Although they inflicted a severe wound it continued
to retreat, and after going
quite a distance it passed over a hill
and was hid from view, but came in contact with other hunters,--five in
number,--who fired upon it.
Again it doubled on its track and came
back on the path on which they were advancing. They stopped and stood side
by side, and awaited
its approach. When within fifteen steps
of them, it turned diagonally off the path to pass them, giving them the
only chance they had to
make a fatal shot, but being ignorant of
the fact that the eye is the only point in a grizzly's head that a ball
fired from an ordinary rifle will
penetrate and cause death, they simply
aimed at its head and fired. The bear, now thoroughly angered, turned and
rushed upon them.
Knocking John down, it seized one of his
thighs and commenced lacerating it with its teeth. James, whose gun barrel
weighed twelve
pounds, clubbed it, shivering the stock
the first blow. Being a strong man, his blows fell so fast and heavy on
its head that it released
John and seized him. John regaining his
feet, grasped the gun barrel that his brother had used so effectively in
his behalf, and dealt blow
after blow on the bear's head, which had
now become very tender. It did not endure long until it released James
and again seized him.
Thus the unequal conflict continued until
John was down four times and James three. The last time James was released
from the
monster's grasp, he was so exhausted that
he could only make an effort to shove it off his brother. As he did so
it released him, walked
off a few steps, turned and gave a savage
growl, and then shambled from the field of conflict, leaving them victors,
but badly injured. The
flesh of John's thigh was stripped from
the bone, and he had received other injuries. James had one arm badly injured,
but was able to
assist his younger brother, David, in taking
care of John. I do not know whether he fully recovered or remained a cripple
for life. I write
this sketch from personal knowledge, having
visited them two days after the conflict occurred. The five men who fired
on the grizzly on
the opposite side of the hill, and turned
it back to the Johnston brothers, came to the top of the hill and from
it witnessed the noble fight
made by them, but did not have the courage
to come to their assistance. There are men today, looking on the conflicts
that are being
waged against the monster evils that are
cursing our land, who, like these men, are either too cowardly or too selfish
to render any
assistance.
About the first of January three of our
mess, Bowring, Stevenson and Cady, went to other diggings, hoping to meet
with better success
than they had in Weaverville. William Loudon
remained with us, and two others who had crossed with that part of the
company which we
separated from on the Sweetwater, came
down from Feather River and found shelter with us. About this time a number
of men were
working at the mouth of a ravine that emptied
into Weaver Creek some distance below our cabin. Hoping to share in the
good fortune we
had reason to believe they were enjoying,
I went to the ravine, but found no unoccupied space except the high-ground
between the ravine
and the creek. Throwing down my shovel
and retaining my pick, I commenced digging, remarking to John Lambert--one
of the men who
had taken shelter with us--that I was as
likely to strike my fortune at that point as anywhere else. He threw down
his tools about ten feet
from me, saying, "I will dig here, I am
as likely to strike it rich as you are." As they day was almost passed
when I commenced work,
little was done that evening. Returning
the next morning I struck slate rock in one corner of the excavation which
I had made. Taking a
pan full of the soft rock and clay that
was mixed with it and panning it out, I found it would pay for washing.
Returning to our cabin, I got
the washer and by the time I returned,
Loudon and my brother had joined me. We had not washed out many buckets
full until we struck it
rich, and when we weighed the amount taken
out during the forenoon, we found that we were three hundred dollars better
off than when
we commenced work in the morning. It rained
very hard during the afternoon and we remained at home, feeling well satisfied
with our
good fortune. The next morning we took
out about three hundred dollars more, but by noon our claim ceased to yield
any more hidden
treasure. It was just a small pocket which,
by some freak of nature, had been deposited in that particular spot for
our benefit, when that
great volcanic upheaval took place, rending
the granite rocks of that region and melting the gold from the veins of
quartz which ran
through them. Our friend Lambert and his
partner made excavations on three sides of us, the result of which was
one piece worth ten
dollars. This is a good illustration of
the uncertainty attending the efforts of many who sought their fortune
in the gold mines of California
in those early days.
Our partners who left us in January returned
after a month's absence, full of hope for the future. Rich mines had been
discovered in
Eldorado Canon, a tributary of the North
Fork of the Middle Fork of the American River. Friends had knowledge of
its locality, and when
the proper time came would notify them.
Preparation was made for the journey, the notification was received, and
we made a journey of
three days, at the end of which we found
ourselves in a pretty little valley about eighty-four miles from Sacramento.
It was called Bird's
Valley. The rich mines we hoped to reach
were still a secret, but we knew they were not far away, and that in due
time their locality would
be known and we would be permitted to enter
them.
A heavy snow fell a few days after we reached
the valley, which was soon followed by another, and communication with
the outside world
was cut off for a short time, but not long
enough to exhaust the stock of provision kept in the small trading house
located in the valley.
Although the snow was two feet deep around
our camp, which was near a swampy plat of ground, in the edge of which
was a good spring,
yet we did not suffer from cold. Some ice
formed at night, but during the day frogs cheered us with their music.
As soon as the trail was open new arrivals
were coming into the valley daily. Gamblers were on hand with a large tent,
and were soon
doing a profitable business. These men
were found where ever there were paying mines; spending their nights in
swindling every man
who was foolish enough to bet on their
lay-outs. After spending four weeks in idleness, we, with many others,
entered the new mines. Our
acquaintance had been extended, and by
the effort of one of the company with whom we were first associated, a
company of nineteen was
organized. Prospecting was done on a large
scale. Two rich bank diggings were discovered. Out of one we took $2,200.00
in a few days;
out of the other $1,500.00. The first one
we had to give up, as the claim covering the stream covered the bank also,
and the bed of the
stream had been taken by another company.
We held, with our other bank claim, seventy-five yards of the stream. Preparation
was made
to drain it. Two of our company were sent
to Sacramento for sailcloth and crowbars: the sailcloth to make a flume,
with which to drain the
stream, and the crowbars for moving heavy
rock. Three widths of sailcloth were sewed together. This required many
stitches and
consumed a week in its accomplishment.
When it was finished, a dam was put in, a gangway laid, the flume laid
upon it, and the stream
nicely drained the full length of the claim.
The bedrock was bare almost the entire length, and as there were no crevices
in the rock, or
sand and gravel in which the gold could
find a lodgment, our enterprise upon we entered with such glowing anticipation
proved a failure.
Seventy-five dollars was the amount taken
out, being about thirty-four cents per day to the man, for the time we
were engaged in doing
the work. This was a great disappointment
to us all, and resulted in the dissolving of the company. It was solvent
and by selling the flume
paid all its debts, but there was no dividend
recovered by the members of the company. Almost the entire amount accumulated
by brother
and myself at Weaverville was gone and
five months wasted. At this juncture I met with the keenest disappointment
in all my experience
in the mines. A young man whose name was
McNealy, and I, had planned to work out the bank diggings at the upper
end of our claim in
the bed of the stream. We felt satisfied
that our men had left more gold in it than they had taken out, as at no
point had they reached bed
rock. Thinking that others in the company
had taken the same view and would make the same effort, we, to accomplish
our purpose, went
to Bird's Valley with the company and remained
over night. The next morning we returned to Eldorado Canon, and going on
to the claim,
we found eleven men engaged in doing what
we had so carefully planned to do. Knowing the foreman of the company,
we asked him how
it was that they were there at work. his
answer was, "When Dr. Wolfe, your treasurer, sold us the flume, he threw
in the claim with it."
This we doubted, but they had possession
and were eleven to two, so our bright prospect for ready cash was dashed
to the ground. We
then saw how foolish we had acted. If,
at the proper time, we had asked the company for the claim, it would have
been given to us; by
failing to do this we lost $2,200.00, the
amount which these men took out in one day.
Two incidents occurred while we were in
Eldorado Canon worthy of notice. We had in our company a man whose name
was Graves, for
whom I had a high regard. He claimed to
be a Universalist and took pleasure in airing his religious beliefs. I
had many conversations with
him. During one of these he have me a sketch
of his Christian experience. When a young man serious impressions were
made on his
mind, and he felt it his duty to unite
with the church. His relatives were Presbyterians and he united with that
branch of the church. He
soon fell into a period of doubt, and decided
to withdraw from the church. "But," said he, "I did not wish to leave it
at once, so I took a
step down and joined the Methodist Church.
After being connected with the Methodist Church for a year I was prepared
to take another
step down, so I joined the Campbellite
Church. After remaining in that church for a year I was prepared to step
out." I have given this
statement in his own words. A few days
after he made this statement, the water being too high for us to work on
our claim, nine of our
company started to new diggings that had
been discovered on the south side of the North Fork of the Middle Fork
of the American
River. We went to a point on the river
called Horse Shoe Bend, and engaged an old sea captain to ferry us over.
Five of our men got into
the canoe. There was deep water, causing
an eddy at the foot of the Horse Shoe, but the down current was much the
stronger. When the
canoe reached the line between the down
and up current, the captain failed to change his paddle at the right moment,
and it was whirled
into the down current. Below the eddy there
was a great bend in the river, and the current was very swift. One of our
men, who was a
good waterman, and quick to see the only
way of escaping the pending danger, seized a shovel, and, bidding his comrades
sit in the
bottom of the canoe, the two angled the
current and reached a point of safety about two hundred yards below the
starting point. Here the
canoe came in contact with two small trees,
about ten feet from the shore, and went down. The men saved themselves
by climbing these
trees and clinging to the limbs. Two of
us, as we ran down the shore, secured from the side of a small tree a pole
long enough to reach
them. We took out Mr. Graves first, saying
to him as we did so, "As you have a wife and children at home, and cannot
swim, we will take
you out first." After rescuing them all
from their unpleasant position we went into camp and remained until the
next morning.
We had in the company a man whose name was
Ferguson, who took delight in telling jokes on his comrades. He and Graves
were
intimate friends. The next morning being
chilly, we were all standing round the camp fire. He, as was his custom
when he had something
interesting to impart, commenced laughing,
"Ah," said he, "I have a good joke to tell on Graves; he says that his
Universalism will do to
live by, but it will not do to go over
the rapids with. I came to the conclusion last evening that there was a
hell and a devil, and I was going
to see them very soon." Mr. Graves joined
with us in the hearty laugh which we indulged in at his expense, but never
again did I hear
him discussing the doctrine he had formerly
advocated.
The other incident to which I have alluded
was a sad tragedy, which occurred in Bird's Valley. Four men engaged in
a game of poker. All
went well until midnight, when a quarrel
occurred among them. Two left the game, and two continued to play till
morning. The name of
one was Helms, the other White. They were
playing in the Helms brothers' cabin. When they closed the game White was
winner and
demanded the money. Helms told him that
his brother had their money and he would pay him when he came in. In the
meantime the
quarrel of the previous night was renewed,
and the lie was passed. White drew his revolver and shot Helms through
the neck, killing him
instantly. As he was falling the brother
stepped into the door, and seeing what was done, there was a flash of steel
in the morning light,
and White, pierced to the heart by the
avenger's knife, died almost at the same moment as his victim; thus, two,
who had degraded
themselves by sin, passed into eternity
together. They were buried side by side in the little cemetery in Bird's
Valley, and their dust is
sleeping far away from the home of their
childhood.
The question with my brother and myself
now was: What shall we now do? We had failed in mining, not because it
would not pay, but
because we had joined our interest with
too large a company which was controlled by men who were incompetent. We
remained in Bird's
Valley for several weeks. Securing a whip-saw,
we sawed out several hundred feet of lumber, and engaged in making pumps
and
washers. This was profitable for a time,
but the demand was not sufficient to give us constant employment. During
this time one of the
company with which we had been connected
came to us. He was very much discouraged and did not have enough money
to buy himself a
good dinner. We kept him for a week at
an expense of a dollar per day. His name was H. Clay Rainy. At the end
of a week his brother
William and Mr. Graves came into the valley.
They had fared much better and were in good spirits. They spent a day or
two with us, Mr.
Graves paying a debt due us of sixteen
dollars. They went into a small canon about two miles from the valley called
Dutch Gulch. There
was a flat in it that had never been thoroughly
prospected. Coming to a place where other parties had made an excavation,
they sank it
deeper, striking a rich deposit of gold.
Just at this time we accepted an offer of two shares in a claim on the
North Fork of the Middle
Fork of the American River, and knew nothing
of their good fortune until some weeks after. They staked out claims and
dug them out in
six weeks, taking out of them about $10,000
and left for home. Whether others who secured claims in the flat were also
successful, we
never learned. We did not succeed in but
one thing, that was, finding plenty of hard work to do. We took out enough
to pay for our
provisions, but by the first of October
all were so discouraged that most of the company left for other mines.
We could not reach bedrock
on account of water and large rock. If
this could have been accomplished the result would have been different.
Brother and I, after
spending a few days in the Valley, went
to Sacramento. He was a good mechanic and could have secured work at good
wages, while I,
though not as good a mechanic as he, could
have found employment also. There was some cholera in the city, and brother
was not willing
to remain. It was with a sad heart that
I turned my face toward our mountain home, where we had met with so many
disappointments, and
our lives had been so destitute of any
real joy. We had spent a Sabbath in the city; had been taken into the choir
of the First Presbyterian
Church by one of its members, and joined
our voices with it in singing God's praise. We had listened to a good sermon,
the first and only
one we were permitted to hear for over
two years.
Precious brother! Why he was so fearful
and so quickly turned his back on those budding joys that would for us
have bloomed into
beauty, I could not tell. Little did he
think that bright morning on which we left the city, that he was going
back to his mountain home to
die.
After returning to Bird's Valley, we did
some prospecting and found where our labors could be made remunerative,
but before we had
made a thorough test our hopes were blighted
by sickness and death. About the middle of December brother was taken down
with
mountain fever, and twenty-four hours after
I was taken with the same disease, but in a much milder form. There was
no physician in the
Valley. The only one of whom we had any
knowledge was twelve miles away, and we had no friend to go for him or
render us any
assistance. We left our own house and secured
boarding with the only man that kept a house of entertainment in the Valley.
It, however,
was little better than our own, and all
the care my brother had was given by my own hands. This was done with great
difficulty, but
necessity compelled me to do all that I
could for his comfort. Once or twice, weak as I was, I had to cut and carry
in wood to keep him
warm. He lingered three or four weeks.
During that time he suffered a great deal, but without complaining. The
morning before he died
he dressed himself, and sat up most of
the day. Walking to the store in the afternoon he received kind greetings
from all those whom he
had the pleasure of meeting. I had almost
despaired of his recovery, but now hope sprang up anew within me, only
to be dashed from me
in a moment. That evening when I lay down
by him, he complained of not being able to get in any position in which
he could rest easy.
Thinking that it was caused by the efforts
he had made during the day, I soon went to sleep. Waking in the latter
part of the night I
extended my arm over him to see if he was
covered, and my hand rested on his arm, which was bare and cold. I felt
for his pulse, but it
had ceased to beat. I placed my hand on
his heart, and found he was dead. I was overwhelmed with anguish too great
for tears; but the
struggle did not last long. Reason assumed
the throne, and I saw that the rebellion against God in which I was indulging
was wrong and
although stricken with deepest grief, submission
to my Heavenly Father's will brought relief. A kind German made a coffin
out of lumber
we had sawed out during the summer, and
in the evening a few friends bore his precious body to a new-made grave,
and committed it to
the keeping of mother earth, there to sleep,
until He who "shall change our vile body, that it may be fashioned like
unto His glorious
body," shall on the great resurrection
day raise it up to glory.
No one, unless he has passed through the
same experience, can realize my felings [sic] under this sad bereavement.
No relative nearer
than two thousand miles; and not even an
intimate friend near me, to whom I could look for comfort. The board I
had to pay, for little
more than shelter, was fifty dollars, and
when it was done my purse was empty. I had depended on my brother to decide
every important
matter that came up before us, but now,
he was gone and I must use my own judgement and exercise my own will in
every decision I was
required to make. His Godly example had
been to me a source of strength, but it came before me now only in memory.
Not a line had
been received from home to tell of the
good or ill that had come to the loved ones. We had written to them frequently
and all our letters
were received and answered, but from some
cause the answers never reached us. It was some two or three weeks before
my health
became normal, but during that time I was
able to render the only merchant in the valley some assistance, making
one or two trips to a
trading house some forty miles down the
divide and on the north side of the North Fork of the American River. One
morning, while
preparing to make one of these journeys,
three men came into the Valley and inquired for me. Two of them were from
my own county, the
other was from St. Louis. They asked for
direction to some point if I knew of such, where they could mine with profit.
I gave them the
desired information and the privilege of
using a tent and mining tools which they would find some distance above
the point to which I
directed them.
I was much distressed with homesickness
during this period, and in my petitions to my Heavenly Father, asked Him
to bless me with
sufficient means to return to my home and
friends in Illinois. Finding that I was wasting time working with the man
with whom I had been
associated since my brother's death, and
desiring to look into the face of one I had known in childhood, I went
from the mouth of
Eldorado Canon down the North Fork of the
Middle Fork of the American River to the place I had directed the strangers.
It was a lonely
walk of about six miles. The mountains
on both sides of the river rose far above it, but I was too homesick to
enjoy their rugged
grandeur. Not only was I homesick, but
penniless; and my object in going to my tent was to get a crowbar which
I hoped to sell for enough
to pay for my expenses to Bear River, where
I hoped to find a friend by the name of Scott. Coming to the tent and finding
that someone
had taken possession of it, and that the
tools were gone I was angry, and for a moment the homesickness was forgotten.
Leaving the tent
in which I had spent so many pleasant hours
with my brother, and going down the river a short distance, I saw three
men at work on a
short strip of ground between a canal and
the river. This increased my anger, for I had an interest there, but it
was soon dissipated.
Coming opposite to where they were at work,
I recognized them as the men I had directed but a few days before to the
place where they
were working, and had given permission
to use the tent and the mining tools. Recognition was mutual, and after
asking the usual
question, "Does it pay," and receiving
and affirmative answer, I was invited to cross the canal and judge for
myself, as it was almost
night, and they were going to wash out
what had been gathered that afternoon. Judging from what they panned out,
they were making
about eight dollars per day to the man.
They gave me a very cordial invitation to spend the night with them, to
which I gave cheerful
consent. As I had told them that I had
an interest in the claim to which I had directed them, and gave them the
use of a tent and mining
tools, they could not do less than offer
to take me in as a partner. This offer being the brightest prospect that
had presented itself since
the death of my brother, I gave up my journey
to Bear River, and accepting it, cast in my lot with these new-found friends.
Our labors
together were pleasant and profitable,
and at the end of three or four weeks I realized that my prayer for means
enough to take me home
were answered. I had three shares in the
claim above where we had been working, and as the dam and canal were in
good condition,
there was a prospect of doing successful
mining during the summer. These shares I sold to the men with whom I had
been working, for
fifty dollars a share, twenty-five dollars
down, the balance when worked out, providing they paid for working. This,
added to what I had
already secured, would be sufficient for
the long journey. The two men from near my home intrusted me with small
amounts to carry to
their families, with the understanding
that if by any mishap it became necessary for me to use a part of it, I
had the privilege of doing so.
At this point in my narrative it will not
be out of place to refer to some of the causes of failure on the part of
so many whom their friends
had good reason to think should have succeeded.
It was not because they were unwilling to work, neither was it because
there was lack of
gold in the mining districts, which had
been sought out and quickly peopled with those who were anxious to secure
a fortune in a few days.
The first cause of failure was want of
exercising good judgement, just as men must do in any calling in life in
which they may engage. Too
many seemed to think that by going from
place to place and digging a hole here and there they would, by and by,
strike it rich. This did
occur in some instances, but it was not
a wise rule to follow. A second cause of failure was neglect to follow
up every indication that gave
promise of success. I will never forget
the first particles of gold upon which my eyes rested. I felt at the time
that thorough work should
be done to ascertain whether the plat of
ground that could have been claimed would pay; but my messmates passed
it by without even
taking out a pan full of dirt and making
a slight test, which would have required but a few moments of time. A few
weeks after, passing
the same plat of ground, I saw that thorough
work had been done, and that it had paid, back quite a distance from the
bank of the creek.
No doubt hundreds of dollars had been taken
out of the claim. A third cause of failure was unwillingness to be satisfied
with reasonable
wages. This led men to listen to the wonderful
stories that were told, and make hard and expensive journeys without promise
of sure
success. The fourth and greatest cause
of failure, was the forming of too large companies. The number that could
work profitably
together depended on the nature of the
mines in which the work was being done. On bars and in dry or placer diggings,
from two to three
could work successfully, and in many places
one man with a long tom could do well. It was with a thankful heart
I bid these kind friends
goodbyand turned my face homeward.
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