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DEATH VALLEY IN '49
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A PIONEER, DETAILING HIS LIFE FROM A HUMBLE HOME IN THE GREEN MOUNTAINS TO THE GOLD MINES OF CALIFORNIA; AND PARTICULARLY RECITING THE SUFFERINGS OF THE BAND OF MEN, WOMEN AND CHILDREN WHO GAVE "DEATH VALLEY" ITS NAME. BY WILLIAM LEWIS MANLY, 1894
(member of the ill-fated Bennett/Arcan party in 1849)
Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1894, by WM. L.
MANLEY, In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington, D.C.
TO THE PIONEERS OF CALIFORNIA, THEIR CHILDREN AND GRANDCHILDREN, THIS
BOOK IS DEDICATED, WITH THAT HIGH RESPECT AND REGARD SO OFTEN EXPRESSED
IN ITS PAGES, BY THE AUTHOR.
CHAPTER I
St. Albans, Vermont is near the eastern shore of Lake Champlain, and
only a short distance south of "Five-and-forty north degrees" which
separates the United States from Canada, and some sixty or seventy miles
from the great St. Lawrence River and the city of Montreal. Near here it
was, on April 6th, 1820, I was born, so the record says, and from this
point with wondering eyes of childhood I looked across the waters of the
narrow lake to the slopes of the Adirondack mountains in New York, green
as the hills of my own Green Mountain State.
The parents of my father were English people and lived near Hartford,
Connecticut, where he was born. While still a little boy he came with
his parents to Vermont. My mother's maiden name was Phoebe Calkins, born
near St. Albans of Welch parents, and, being left an orphan while yet in
very tender years, she was given away to be reared by people who
provided food and clothes, but permitted her to grow up to womanhood
without knowing how to read or write. After her marriage she learned to
do both, and acquired the rudiments of an education.
Grandfather and his boys, four in all, fairly carved a farm out of the
big forest that covered the cold rocky hills. Giant work it was for them
in such heavy timber--pine, hemlock, maple, beech and birch--the
clearing of a single acre being a man's work for a year. The place where
the maples were thickest was reserved for a sugar grove, and from it was
made all of the sweet material they needed, and some besides. Economy of
the very strictest kind had to be used in every direction. Main strength
and muscle were the only things dispensed in plenty. The crops raised
consisted of a small flint corn, rye oats, potatoes and turnips. Three
cows, ten or twelve sheep, a few pigs and a yoke of strong oxen
comprised the live stock--horses, they had none for many years. A great
ox-cart was the only wheeled vehicle on the place, and this, in winter,
gave place to a heavy sled, the runners cut from a tree having a natural
crook and roughly, but strongly, made.
In summer there were plenty of strawberries, raspberries, whortleberries
and blackberries growing wild, but all the cultivated fruit was apples.
As these ripened many were peeled by hand, cut in quarters, strung on
long strings of twine and dried before the kitchen fire for winter use.
They had a way of burying up some of the best keepers in the ground, and
opening the apple hole was quite an event of early spring.
The children were taught to work as soon as large enough. I remember
they furnished me with a little wooden fork to spread the heavy swath of
grass my father cut with easy swings of the scythe, and when it was dry
and being loaded on the great ox-cart I followed closely with a rake
gathering every scattering spear. The barn was built so that every
animal was housed comfortably in winter, and the house was such as all
settlers built, not considered handsome, but capable of being made very
warm in winter and the great piles of hard wood in the yard enough to
last as fuel for a year, not only helped to clear the land, but kept us
comfortable. Mother and the girls washed, carded, spun, and wove the
wool from our own sheep into good strong cloth. Flax was also raised,
and I remember how they pulled it, rotted it by spreading on the green
meadow, then broke and dressed it, and then the women made linen cloth
of various degrees of fineness, quality, and beauty. Thus, by the labor
of both men and women, we were clothed. If an extra fine Sunday dress
was desired, part of the yarn was colored and from this they managed to
get up a very nice plaid goods for the purpose.
In clearing the land the hemlock bark was peeled and traded off at the
tannery for leather, or used to pay for tanning and dressing the hide of
an ox or cow which they managed to fat and kill about every year. Stores
for the family were either made by a neighboring shoe-maker, or by a
traveling one who went from house to house, making up a supply for the
family--whipping the cat, they called it then. They paid him in
something or other produced upon the farm, and no money was asked or
expected.
Wood was one thing plenty, and the fireplace was made large enough to
take in sticks four feet long or more, for the more they could burn the
better, to get it out of the way. In an outhouse, also provided with a
fireplace and chimney, they made shingles during the long winter
evenings, the shavings making plenty of fire and light by which to work.
The shingles sold for about a dollar a thousand. Just beside the
fireplace in the house was a large brick oven where mother baked great
loaves of bread, big pots of pork and beans, mince pies and loaf cake, a
big turkey or a young pig on grand occasions. Many of the dishes used
were of tin or pewter; the milk pans were of earthenware, but most
things about the house in the line of furniture were of domestic
manufacture.
The store bills were very light. A little tea for father and mother, a
few spices and odd luxuries were about all, and they were paid for with
surplus eggs. My father and my uncle had a sawmill, and in winter they
hauled logs to it, and could sell timber for $8 per thousand feet.
The school was taught in winter by a man named Bowen, who managed forty
scholars and considered sixteen dollars a month, boarding himself, was
pretty fair pay. In summer some smart girl would teach the small
scholars and board round among the families.
When the proper time came the property holder would send off to the
collector an itemized list of all his property, and at another the taxes
fell due. A farmer who would value his property at two thousand or three
thousand dollars would find he had to pay about six or seven dollars.
All the money in use then seemed to be silver, and not very much of
that. The whole plan seemed to be to have every family and farm
self-supporting as far as possible. I have heard of a note being given
payable in a good cow to be delivered at a certain time, say October 1,
and on that day it would pass from house to house in payment of a debt,
and at night only the last man in the list would have a cow more than
his neighbor. Yet those were the days of real independence, after all.
Every man worked hard from early youth to a good old age. There were no
millionaires, no tramps, and the poorhouse had only a few inmates.
I have very pleasant recollections of the neighborhood cider mill. There
were two rollers formed of logs carefully rounded and four or five feet
long, set closely together in an upright position in a rough frame, a
long crooked sweep coming from one of them to which a horse was hitched
and pulled it round and round, One roller had mortices in it, and
projecting wooden teeth on the other fitted into these, so that, as they
both slowly turned together, the apples were crushed, A huge box of
coarse slats, notched and locked together at the corners, held a vast
pile of the crushed apples while clean rye straw was added to strain the
flowing juice and keep the cheese from spreading too much; then the
ponderous screw and streams of delicious cider. Sucking cider through a
long rye straw inserted in the bung-hole of a barrel was just the best
of fun, and cider taken that way "awful" good while it was new and
sweet.
The winter ashes, made from burning so much fuel and gathered from the
brush-heaps and log-heaps, were carefully saved and traded with the
potash men for potash or sold for a small price. Nearly every one went
barefoot in summer, and in winter wore heavy leather moccasins made by
the Canadian French who lived near by.
CHAPTER II
About 1828 people began to talk about the far West. Ohio was the place
we heard most about, and the most we knew was, that it was a long way
off and no way to get there except over a long and tedious road, with
oxen or horses and a cart or wagon. More than one got the Western fever,
as they called it, my uncle James Webster and my father among the rest,
when they heard some traveler tell about the fine country he had seen;
so they sold their farms and decided to go to Ohio, Uncle James was to
go ahead, in the fall of 1829 and get a farm to rent, if he could, and
father and his family were to come on the next spring.
Uncle fitted out with two good horses and a wagon; goods were packed in
a large box made to fit, and under the wagon seat was the commissary
chest for food and bedding for daily use, all snugly arranged. Father
had, shortly before, bought a fine Morgan mare and a light wagon which
served as a family carriage, having wooden axles and a seat arranged on
wooden springs, and they finally decided they would let me take the
horse and wagon and go on with uncle, and father and mother would come
by water, either by way of the St. Lawrence river and the lakes or by
way of the new canal recently built, which would take them as far as
Buffalo.
So they loaded up the little wagon with some of the mentioned things and
articles in the house, among which I remember a fine brass kettle,
considered almost indispensable in housekeeping. There was a good lot of
bedding and blankets, and a quilt nicely folded was placed on the spring
seat as a cushion.
As may be imagined I was the object of a great deal of attention about
this time, for a boy not yet ten years old just setting out into a
region almost unknown was a little unusual. When I was ready they all
gathered round to say good bye and my good mother seemed most concerned.
She said--"Now you must be a good boy till we come in the spring. Mind
uncle and aunt and take good care of the horse, and remember us. May God
protect you." She embraced me and kissed me and held me till she was
exhausted. Then they lifted me up into the spring seat, put the lines in
my hand and handed me my little whip with a leather strip for a lash.
Just at the last moment father handed me a purse containing about a
dollar, all in copper cents--pennies we called them then. Uncle had
started on they had kept me so long, but I started up and they all
followed me along the road for a mile or so before we finally separated
and they turned back. They waved hats and handkerchiefs till out of
sight as they returned, and I wondered if we should ever meet again.
I was up with uncle very soon and we rolled down through St. Albans and
took our road southerly along in sight of Lake Champlain. Uncle and aunt
often looked back to talk to me, "See what a nice cornfield!" or, "What
nice apples on those trees," seeming to think they must do all they
could to cheer me up, that I might not think too much of the playmates
and home I was leaving behind.
I had never driven very far before, but I found the horse knew more than
I did how to get around the big stones and stumps that were found in the
road, so that as long as I held the lines and the whip in hand I was an
excellent driver.
We had made plans and preparations to board ourselves on the journey. We
always stopped at the farm houses over night, and they were so
hospitable that they gave us all we wanted free. Our supper was
generally of bread and milk, the latter always furnished gratuitously,
and I do not recollect that we were ever turned away from any house
where we asked shelter. There were no hotels, or taverns as they called
them, outside of the towns.
In due time we reached Whitehall, at the head of Lake Champlain, and the
big box in Uncle's wagon proved so heavy over the muddy roads that he
put it in a canal boat to be sent on to Cleveland, and we found it much
easier after this for there were too many mud-holes, stumps and stones
and log bridges for so heavy a load as he had. Our road many times after
this led along near the canal, the Champlain or the Erie, and I had a
chance to see something of the canal boys' life. The boy who drove the
horses that drew the packet boat was a well dressed fellow and always
rode at a full trot or a gallop, but the freight driver was generally
ragged and barefoot, and walked when it was too cold to ride, threw
stones or clubs at his team, and cursed and abused the packet-boy who
passed as long as he was in hearing. Reared as I had been I thought it
was a pretty wicked part of the world we were coming to.
We passed one village of low cheap houses near the canal. The men about
were very vulgar and talked rough and loud, nearly every one with a
pipe, and poorly dressed, loafing around the saloon, apparently the
worse for whisky. The children were barefoot, bare headed and scantly
dressed, and it seemed awfully dirty about the doors of the shanties.
Pigs, ducks and geese were at the very door, and the women I saw wore
dresses that did not come down very near the mud and big brogan shoes,
and their talk was saucy and different from what I had ever heard women
use before. They told me they were Irish people--the first I had ever
seen. It was along here somewhere that I lost my little whip and to get
another one made sad inroads into the little purse of pennies my father
gave me. We traveled slowly on day after day. There was no use to hurry
for we could not do it. The roads were muddy, the log ways very rough
and the only way was to take a moderate gait and keep it. We never
traveled on Sunday. One Saturday evening my uncle secured the privilege
of staying at a well-to do farmer's house until Monday. We had our own
food and bedding, but were glad to get some privileges in the kitchen,
and some fresh milk or vegetables. After all had taken supper that night
they all sat down and made themselves quiet with their books, and the
children were as still as mice till an early bed time when all retired.
When Sunday evening came the women got out their work--their sewing and
their knitting, and the children romped and played and made as much
noise as they could, seeming as anxious to break the Sabbath as they had
been to have a pious Saturday night. I had never seen that way before
and asked my uncle who said he guessed they were Seventh Day Baptists.
After many days of travel which became to me quite monotonous we came to
Cleveland, on Lake Erie, and here my uncle found his box of goods,
loaded it into the wagon again, and traveled on through rain and mud,
making very slow headway, for two or three days after, when we stopped
at a four-corners in Medina county they told us we were only 21 miles
from Cleveland. Here was a small town consisting of a hotel, store,
church, schoolhouse and blacksmith shop, and as it was getting cold and
bad, uncle decided to go no farther now, and rented a room for himself
and aunt, and found a place for me to lodge with Daniel Stevens' boy
close by. We got good stables for our horses.
I went to the district school here, and studied reading, spelling and
Colburn's mental arithmetic, which I mastered. It began very easy--"How
many thumbs on your right hand?" "How many on your left?" "How many
altogether?" but it grew harder further on.
Uncle took employment at anything he could find to do. Chopping was his
principal occupation. When the snow began to go off he looked around for
a farm to rent for us and father to live on when he came, but he found
none such as he needed. He now got a letter from father telling him that
he had good news from a friend named Cornish who said that good land
nearly clear of timber could be bought of the Government in Michigan
Territory, some sixty or seventy miles beyond Detroit, and this being an
opportunity to get land they needed with their small capital, they would
start for that place as soon as the water-ways were thawed out, probably
in April.
We then gave up the idea of staying here and prepared to go to Michigan
as soon as the frost was out of the ground. Starting, we reached Huron
River to find it swollen and out of its bank, giving us much trouble to
get across, the road along the bottom lands being partly covered with
logs and rails, but once across we were in the town and when we enquired
about the road around to Detroit, they said the country was all a swamp
and 30 miles wide and in Spring impassible. They called it the Maumee or
Black Swamp, We were advised to go by water, when a steamboat came up
the river bound for Detroit we put our wagons and horses on board, and
camped on the lower deck ourselves. We had our own food and were very
comfortable, and glad to have escaped the great mudhole.
CHAPTER III
We arrived in Detroit safely, and a few minutes answered to land our
wagons and goods, when we rolled outward in a westerly direction. We
found a very muddy roads, stumps and log bridges plenty, making our rate
of travel very slow. When out upon our road about 30 miles, near
Ypsilanti, the thick forest we had been passing through grew thinner,
and the trees soon dwindled down into what they called oak openings, and
the road became more sandy. When we reached McCracken's Tavern we began
to enquire for Ebenezer Manley and family, and were soon directed to a
large house near by where he was stopping for a time.
We drove up to the door and they all came out to see who the new comers
were. Mother saw me first and ran to the wagon and pulled me off and
hugged and kissed me over and over again, while the tears ran down her
cheeks, Then she would hold me off at arm's length, and look me in the
eye and say--"I am so glad to have you again"; and then she embraced me
again and again. "You are our little man," said she, "You have come over
this long road, and brought us our good horse and our little wagon." My
sister Polly two years older than I, stood patiently by, and when mother
turned to speak to uncle and aunt, she locked arms with me and took me
away with her. We had never been separated before in all our lives and
we had loved each other as good children should, who have been brought
up in good and moral principles. We loved each other and our home and
respected our good father and mother who had made it so happy for us.
We all sat down by the side of the house and talked pretty fast telling
our experience on our long journey by land and water, and when the sun
went down we were called to supper, and went hand in hand to surround
the bountiful table as a family again. During the conversation at supper
father said to me--"Lewis, I have bought you a smooth bore rifle,
suitable for either ball or shot." This, I thought was good enough for
any one, and I thanked him heartily. We spent the greater part of the
night in talking over our adventures since we left Vermont, and sleep
was forgotten by young and old.
Next morning father and uncle took the horse and little wagon and went
out in search of Government land. They found an old acquaintance in
Jackson county and Government land all around him, and, searching till
they found the section corner, they found the number of the lots they
wanted to locate on--200 acres in all. They then went to the Detroit
land office and secured the pieces they had chosen.
Father now bought a yoke of oxen, a wagon and a cow, and as soon as we
could get loaded up our little emigrant train started west to our future
home, where we arrived safely in a few days and secured a house to live
in about a mile away from our land. We now worked with a will and built
two log houses and also hired 10 acres broken, which was done with three
or four yoke of oxen and a strong plow. The trees were scattered over
the ground and some small brush and old limbs, and logs which we cleared
away as we plowed. Our houses went up very fast--all rough oak logs,
with oak puncheons, or hewed planks for a floor, and oak shakes for a
roof, all of our own make. The shakes were held down upon the roof by
heavy poles, for we had no nails, the door of split stuff hung with
wooden hinges, and the fire place of stone laid up with the logs, and
from the loft floor upward the chimney was built of split stuff
plastered heavily with mud. We have a small four-paned window in the
house. We then built a log barn for our oxen, cow and horse and got
pigs, sheep and chickens as fast as a chance offered.
As fast as possible we fenced in the cultivated land, father and uncle
splitting out the rails, while a younger brother and myself, by each
getting hold of an end of one of them managed to lay up a fence four
rails high, all we small men could do. Thus working on, we had a pretty
well cultivated farm in the course of two or three years, on which we
produced wheat, corn and potatoes, and had an excellent garden. We found
plenty of wild cranberries and whortleberries, which we dried for winter
use. The lakes were full of good fish, black bass and pickerel, and the
woods had deer, turkeys, pheasants, pigeons, and other things, and I
became quite an expert in the capture of small game for the table with
my new gun. Father and uncle would occasionally kill a deer, and the
Indians came along and sold venison at times.
One fall after work was done and preparations were made for the winter,
father said to me:--"Now Lewis, I want you to hunt every day--come home
nights--but keep on till you kill a deer." So with his permission I
started with my gun on my shoulder, and with feelings of considerable
pride. Before night I started two deer in a brushy place, and they
leaped high over the oak bushes in the most affrighted way. I brought my
gun to my shoulder and fired at the bounding animal when in most plain
sight. Loading then quickly, I hurried up the trail as fast as I could
and soon came to my deer, dead, with a bullet hole in its head. I was
really surprised myself, for I had fired so hastily at the almost flying
animal that it was little more than a random shot. As the deer was not
very heavy I dressed it and packed it home myself, about as proud a boy
as the State of Michigan contained. I really began to think I was a
capital hunter, though I afterward knew it was a bit of good luck and
not a bit of skill about it.
It was some time after this before I made another lucky shot. Father
would once in a while ask me:--"Well can't you kill us another deer?" I
told him that when I had crawled a long time toward a sleeping deer,
that I got so trembly that I could not hit an ox in short range. "O,"
said he, "You get the buck fever--don't be so timid--they won't attack
you." But after awhile this fever wore off, and I got so steady that I
could hit anything I could get in reach of.
We were now quite contented and happy. Father could plainly show us the
difference between this country and Vermont and the advantages we had
here. There the land was poor and stony and the winters terribly severe.
Here there were no stones to plow over, and the land was otherwise easy
to till. We could raise almost anything, and have nice wheat bread to
eat, far superior to the "Rye-and-Indian" we used to have. The nice
white bread was good enough to eat without butter, and in comparison
this country seemed a real paradise.
The supply of clothing we brought with us had lasted until now--more
than two years--and we had sowed some flax and raised sheep so that we
began to get material of our own raising, from which to manufacture some
more. Mother and sister spun some nice yarn, both woolen and linen, and
father had a loom made on which mother wove it up into cloth, and we
were soon dressed up in bran new clothes again. Domestic economy of this
kind was as necessary here as it was in Vermont, and we knew well how to
practice it. About this time the emigrants began to come in very fast,
and every piece of Government land any where about was taken. So much
land was ploughed, and so much vegetable matter turned under and
decaying that there came a regular epidemic of fever and ague and
bilious fever, and a large majority of the people were sick. At our
house father was the first one attacked, and when the fever was at its
height he was quite out of his head and talked and acted like a crazy
man. We had never seen any one so sick before, and we thought he must
surely die, but when the doctor came he said:--"Don't be alarmed. It is
only 'fever 'n' agur,' and no one was ever known to die of that." Others
of us were sick too, and most of the neighbors, and it made us all feel
rather sorrowful. The doctor's medicines consisted of calomel, jalap and
quinine, all used pretty freely, by some with benefit, and by others to
no visible purpose, for they had to suffer until the cold weather came
and froze the disease out. At one time I was the only one that remained
well, and I had to nurse and cook, besides all the out-door work that
fell to me. My sister married a man near by with a good farm and moved
there with him, a mile or two away. When she went away I lost my real
bosom companion and felt very lonesome, but I went to see her once in a
while, and that was pretty often, I think. There was not much going on
as a general thing. Some little neighborhood society and news was about
all. There was, however, one incident which occurred in 1837, I never
shall forget, and which I will relate in the next chapter.
CHAPTER IV
About two miles west father's farm in Jackson county Mich., lived Ami
Filley, who moved here from Connecticut and settled about two and a half
miles from the town of Jackson, then a small village with plenty of
stumps and mudholes in its streets. Many of the roads leading thereto
had been paved with tamarac poles, making what is now known as corduroy
roads. The country was still new and the farm houses far between.
Mr. Filley secured Government land in the oak openings, and settled
there with his wife and two or three children, the oldest of which was a
boy named Willie. The children were getting old enough to go to school,
but there being none, Mr. Filley hired one of the neighbor's daughters
to come to his house and teach the children there, so they might be
prepared for usefulness in life or ready to proceed further with their
education--to college, perhaps in some future day.
The young woman he engaged lived about a mile a half away--Miss Mary
Mount--and she came over and began her duties as private school ma'am,
not a very difficult task in those days. One day after she had been
teaching some time Miss Mount desired to go to her father's on a visit,
and as she would pass a huckleberry swamp on the way she took a small
pail to fill with berries as she went, and by consent of Willie's
mother, the little boy went with her for company. Reaching the berries
she began to pick, and the little boy found this dull business, got
tired and homesick and wanted to go home. They were about a mile from
Mr. Filley's and as there was a pretty good foot trail over which they
had come, the young woman took the boy to it, and turning him toward
home told him to follow it carefully and he would soon see his mother.
She then filled her pail with berries, went on to her own home, and
remained there till nearly sundown, when she set out to return to Mr.
Filley's, reaching there yet in the early twilight. Not seeing Willie,
she inquired for him and was told that he had not returned, and that
they supposed he was safe with her. She then hastily related how it
happened that he had started back toward home, and that she supposed he
had safely arrived.
Mr. Filley then started back on the trail, keeping close watch on each
side of the way, for he expected he would soon come across Master Willie
fast asleep. He called his name every few rods, but got no answer nor
could he discover him, and so returned home again, still calling and
searching, but no boy was discovered. Then he built a large fire and put
lighted candles in all the windows, then took his lantern and wont out
in the woods calling and looking for the boy. Sometimes he thought he
heard him, but on going where the sound came from nothing could be
found. So he looked and called all night, along the trail and all about
the woods, with no success. Mr. Mount's home was situated not far from
the shore of Fitch's Lake, and the trail went along the margin, and in
some places the ground was quite a boggy marsh, and the trail had been
fixed up to make it passably good walking.
Next day the neighbors were notified, and asked to assist, and although
they were in the midst of wheat harvest, a great many laid down the
cradle and rake and went out to help search. On the third day the whole
county became excited and quite an army of searchers turned out, coming
from the whole country miles around.
Mr. Filley was much excited and quite worn out an beside himself with
fatigue and loss of sleep. He could not eat. Yielding to entreaty he
would sit at the table, and suddenly rise up, saying he heard Willie
calling, and go out to search for the supposed voice, but it was all
fruitless, and the whole people were sorry indeed for the poor father
and mother.
The people then formed a plan for a thorough search. They were to form
in a line so near each other that they could touch hands and were to
march thus turning out for nothing except in passable lakes, and thus we
marched, fairly sweeping the county in search of a sign. I was with this
party and we marched south and kept close watch for a bit of clothing, a
foot print or even bones, or anything which would indicate that he had
been destroyed by some wild animal. Thus we marched all day with no
success, and the next went north in the same careful manner, but with no
better result. Most of the people now abandoned the search, but some of
the neighbors kept it up for a long time.
Some expressed themselves quite strongly that Miss Mount knew where the
boy was, saying that she might have had some trouble with him and in
seeking to correct him had accidentally killed him and then hidden the
body away--perhaps in the deep mire of the swamp or in the muddy waters
on the margin of the lake. Search was made with this idea foremost, but
nothing was discovered. Rain now set in, and the grain, from neglect
grew in the head as it stood, and many a settler ate poor bread all
winter in consequence of his neighborly kindness in the midst of
harvest. The bread would not rise, and to make it into pancakes was the
best way it could be used.
Still no tidings ever came of the lost boy. Many things were whispered,
about Mr. Mount's dishonesty of character and there were many suspicions
about him, but no real facts could be shown to account for the boy. The
neighbors said he never worked like the rest of them, and that his patch
of cultivated land was altogether too small to support his family, a
wife and two daughters, grown. He was a very smooth and affable talker,
and had lots of acquaintances. A few years afterwards Mr. Mount was
convicted of a crime which sent him to the Jackson State Prison, where
he died before his term expired. I visited the Filley family in 1870,
and from them heard the facts anew and that no trace of the lost boy had
ever been discovered.
CHAPTER V
The second year of sickness and I was affected with the rest, though it
was not generally so bad as the first year. I suffered a great deal and
felt so miserable that I began to think I had rather live on the top of
the Rocky Mountains and catch chipmuncks for a living than to live here
and be sick, and I began to have very serious thoughts of trying some
other country. In the winter of 1839 and 1840 I went to a neighboring
school for three months, where I studied reading, writing and spelling,
getting as far as Rule of Three in Daboll's arithmetic. When school was
out I chopped and split rails for Wm. Hanna till I had paid my winter's
board. After this, myself and a young man named Orrin Henry, with whom I
had become acquainted, worked awhile scoring timber to be used in
building the Michigan Central Railroad which had just then begun to be
built. They laid down the ties first (sometimes a mudsill under them)
and then put down four by eight wooden rails with a strips of band iron
half an inch thick spiked on top. I scored the timber and Henry used the
broad axe after me. It was pretty hard work and the hours as long as we
could see, our wages being $13 per month, half cash.
In thinking over our prospect it seemed more and more as if I had better
look out for my own fortune in some other place. The farm was pretty
small for all of us. There were three brothers younger than I, and only
200 acres in the whole, and as they were growing up to be men it seemed
as if it would be best for me, the oldest, to start out first and see
what could be done to make my own living. I talked to father and mother
about my plans, and they did not seriously object, but gave me some good
advice, which I remember to this day--"Weigh well every thing you do;
shun bad company; be honest and deal fair; be truthful and never fear
when you know you are right." But, said he, "Our little peach trees will
bear this year, and if you go away you must come back and help us eat
them; they will be the first we ever raised or ever saw." I could not
promise.
Henry and I drew our pay for our work. I had five dollars in cash and
the rest in pay from the company's store. We purchased three nice
whitewood boards, eighteen inches wide, from which we made us a boat and
a good sized chest which we filled with provisions and some clothing and
quilts. This, with our guns and ammunition, composed the cargo of our
boat. When all was ready, we put the boat on a wagon and were to haul it
to the river some eight miles away for embarkation. After getting the
wagon loaded, father said to me;--"Now my son, you are starting out in
life alone, no one to watch or look after you. You will have to depend
upon yourself in all things. You have a wide, wide world to operate
in--you will meet all kinds of people and you must not expect to find
them all honest or true friends. You are limited in money, and all I can
do for you in that way is to let you have what ready money I have." He
handed me three dollars as he spoke, which added to my own gave me seven
dollars as my money capital with which to start out into the world among
perfect strangers, and no acquaintances in prospect on our Western
course.
When ready to start, mother and sister Poll came out to see us off and
to give us their best wishes, hoping we would have good health, and find
pleasant paths to follow. Mother said to me:--"You must be a good boy,
honest and law-abiding. Remember our advice, and honor us for we have
striven to make you a good and honest man, and you must follow our
teachings, and your conscience will be clear. Do nothing to be ashamed
of; be industrious, and you have no fear of punishment." We were given a
great many "Good byes" and "God bless you's" as with hands, hats and
handkerchiefs they waved us off as far as we could see them. In the
course of an hour or so we were at the water's edge, and on a beautiful
morning in early spring of 1840 we found ourselves floating down the
Grand River below Jackson.
The stream ran west, that we knew, and it was west we thought we wanted
to go, so all things suited us. The stream was small with tall timber on
both sides, and so many trees had fallen into the river that our
navigation was at times seriously obstructed. When night came we hauled
our boat on shore, turned it partly over, so as to shelter us, built a
fire in front, and made a bed on a loose board which we carried in the
bottom of the boat. We talked till pretty late and then lay down to
sleep, but for my part my eyes would not stay shut, and I lay till break
of day and the little birds began to sing faintly.
I thought of many things that night which seemed so long. I had left a
good dear home, where I had good warm meals and a soft and comfortable
bed. Here I had reposed on a board with a very hard pillow and none too
many blankets, and I turned from side to side on my hard bed, to which I
had gone with all my clothes on. It seemed the beginning of another
chapter in my pioneer life and a rather tough experience. I arose,
kindled a big fire and sat looking at the glowing coals in still further
meditation.
Neither of us felt very gleeful as we got our breakfast and made an
early start down the river again. Neither of us talked very much, and no
doubt my companion had similar thoughts to mine, and wondered what was
before us. But I think that as a pair we were at that moment pretty
lonesome. Henry had rested better than I but probably felt no less
keenly the separation from our homes and friends. We saw plenty of
squirrels and pigeons on the trees which overhung the river, and we shot
and picked up as many as we thought we could use for food. When we fired
our guns the echoes rolled up and down the river for miles making the
feeling of loneliness still more keen, as the sound died faintly away.
We floated along generally very quietly. We could see the fish dart
under our boat from their feeding places along the bank, and now and
then some tall crane would spread his broad wings to get out of our way.
We saw no houses for several days, and seldom went on shore. The forest
was all hard wood, such as oak, ash, walnut, maple, elm and beech.
Farther down we occasionally passed the house of some pioneer hunter or
trapper, with a small patch cleared. At one of these a big green boy
came down to the bank to see who we were. We said "How d'you do," to
him, and, getting no response, Henry asked him how far is was to
Michigan, at which a look of supreme disgust came over his features as
he replied--"'Taint no far at all."
The stream grew wider as we advanced along its downward course, for
smaller streams came pouring in to swell its tide. The banks were still
covered with heavy timber, and in some places with quite thick
undergrowth. One day we saw a black bear in the river washing himself,
but he went ashore before we were near enough to get a sure shot at him.
Many deer tracks were seen along the shore, but as we saw very few of
the animals themselves, they were probably night visitors.
One day we overtook some canoes containing Indians, men, women and
children. They were poling their craft around in all directions spearing
fish. They caught many large mullet and then went on shore and made
camp, and the red ladies began scaling the fish. As soon as their lords
and masters had unloaded the canoes, a party started out with four of
the boats, two men in a boat, to try their luck again. They ranged all
abreast, and moved slowly down the stream in the still deep water,
continually beating the surface with their spear handles, till they came
to a place so shallow that they could see the bottom easily, when they
suddenly turned the canoes head up stream, and while one held the craft
steady by sticking his spear handle down on the bottom, the other stood
erect, with a foot on either gunwale so he could see whatever came down
on either side. Soon the big fish would try to pass, but Mr. Indian had
too sharp an eye to let him escape unobserved, and when he came within
his reach he would turn his spear and throw it like a dart, seldom
missing his aim. The poor fish would struggle desperately, but soon came
to the surface, when he would be drawn in and knocked in the head with a
tomahawk to quiet him, when the spear was cut out and the process
repeated. We watched them about an hour, and during that time some one
of the boats was continually hauling in a fish. They were sturgeon and
very large. This was the first time we had ever seen the Indian's way of
catching fish and it was a new way of getting grub for us. When the
canoes had full loads they paddled up toward their camp, and we drifted
on again.
When we came to Grand Rapids we had to go on shore and tow our boat
carefully along over the many rocks to prevent accident. Here was a
small cheap looking town. On the west bank of the river a water wheel
was driving a drill boring for salt water, it seemed through solid rock.
Up to this time the current was slow, and its course through a dense
forest. We occasionally saw an Indian gliding around in his canoe, but
no houses or clearings. Occasionally we saw some pine logs which had
been floated down some of the streams of the north. One of these small
rivers they called the "Looking-glass," and seemed to be the largest of
them.
Passing on we began to see some pine timber, and realized that we were
near the mouth of the river where it emptied into Lake Michigan. There
were some steam saw mills here, not then in operation, and some houses
for the mill hands to live in when they were at work. This prospective
city was called Grand Haven. There was one schooner in the river loaded
with lumber, ready to sail for the west side of the lake as soon as the
wind should change and become favorable, and we engaged passage for a
dollar and a half each. While waiting for the wind we visited the woods
in search of game, but found none. All the surface of the soil was clear
lake sand, and some quite large pine and hemlock trees were half buried
in it. We were not pleased with this place for it looked as if folks
must get their grub from somewhere else or live on fish.
Next morning we were off early, as the wind had changed, but the lake
was very rough and a heavy choppy sea was running. Before we were half
way across the lake nearly all were sea-sick, passengers and sailors.
The poor fellow at the helm stuck to his post casting up his accounts at
the same time, putting on an air of terrible misery.
This, I thought was pretty hard usage for a land-lubber like myself who
had never been on such rough water before. The effect of this
sea-sickness was to cure me of a slight fever and ague, and in fact the
cure was so thorough that I have never had it since. As we neared the
western shore a few houses could be seen, and the captain said it was
Southport. As there was no wharf our schooner put out into the lake
again for an hour or so and then ran back again, lying off and on in
this manner all night. In the morning it was quite calm and we went on
shore in the schooner's yawl, landing on a sandy beach. We left our
chest of clothes and other things in a warehouse and shouldered our
packs and guns for a march across what seemed an endless prairie
stretching to the west. We had spent all our lives thus far in a country
where all the clearing had to be made with an axe, and such a broad
field was to us an entirely new feature. We laid our course westward and
tramped on. The houses were very far apart, and we tried at every one of
them for a chance to work, but could get none, not even if we would work
for our board. The people all seemed to be new settlers, and very poor,
compelled to do their own work until a better day could be reached. The
coarse meals we got were very reasonable, generally only ten cents, but
sometimes a little more.
As we travelled westward the prairies seemed smaller with now and then
some oak openings between. Some of the farms seemed to be three or four
years old, and what had been laid out as towns consisted of from three
to six houses, small and cheap, with plenty of vacant lots. The soil
looked rich, as though it might be very productive. We passed several
small lakes that had nice fish in them, and plenty of ducks on the
surface.
Walking began to get pretty tiresome. Great blisters would come on our
feet, and, tender as they were, it was a great relief to take off our
boots and go barefoot for a while when the ground was favorable. We
crossed a wide prairie and came down to the Rock river where there were
a few houses on the east side but no signs of habitation on the west
bank. We crossed the river in a canoe and then walked seven miles before
we came to a house where we staid all night and inquired for work. None
was to be had and so we tramped on again. The next day we met a real
live Yankee with a one-horse wagon, peddling tin ware in regular Eastern
style, We inquired of him about the road and prospects, and he gave us
an encouraging idea--said all was good. He told us where to stop the
next night at a small town called Sugar Creek. It had but a few houses
and was being built up as a mining town, for some lead ore had been
found there. There were as many Irish as English miners here, a rough
class of people. We put up at the house where we had been directed, a
low log cabin, rough and dirty, kept by Bridget & Co. Supper was had
after dark and the light on the table was just the right one for the
place, a saucer of grease, with a rag in it lighted and burning at the
edge of the saucer. It at least served to made the darkness apparent and
to prevent the dirt being visible. We had potatoes, beans and tea, and
probably dirt too, if we could have seen it. When the meal was nearly
done Bridget brought in and deposited on each plate a good thick pancake
as a dessert. It smelled pretty good, but when I drew my knife across it
to cut it in two, all the center was uncooked batter, which ran out upon
my plate, and spoiled my supper.
We went to bed and soon found it had other occupants beside ourselves,
which, if they were small were lively and spoiled our sleeping. We left
before breakfast, and a few miles out on the prairie we came to a house
occupied by a woman and one child, and we were told we could have
breakfast if we could wait to have it cooked. Everything looked cheap
but cheery, and after waiting a little while outside we were called in
to eat. The meal consisted of corn bread, bacon, potatoes and coffee. It
was well cooked and looked better than things did at Bridget's. I
enjoyed all but the coffee, which had a rich brown color, but when I
sipped it there was such a bitter taste I surely thought there must be
quinine in it, and it made me shiver. I tried two or three times to
drink but it was too much for me and I left it. We shouldered our loads
and went on again. I asked Henry what kind of a drink it was. "Coffee,"
said he, but I had never seen any that tasted like that and never knew
my father to buy any such coffee as that.
We labored along and in time came to another small place called
Hamilton's Diggings where some lead mines were being worked. We stopped
at a long, low log house with a porch the entire length, and called for
bread and milk, which was soon set before us. The lady was washing and
the man was playing with a child on the porch. The little thing was
trying to walk, the man would swear terribly at it--not in an angry way,
but in a sort of careless, blasphemous style that was terribly shocking.
I thought of the child being reared in the midst of such bad language
and reflected on the kind of people we were meeting in this far away
place. They seemed more wicked and profane the farther west we walked. I
had always lived in a more moral and temperate atmosphere, and I was
learning more of some things in the world than I had ever known before.
I had little to say and much to see and listen to and my early precepts
were not forgotten. No work was to be had here and we set out across the
prairie toward Mineral Point, twenty miles away. When within four miles
of that place we stopped at the house of Daniel Parkinson, a fine
looking two-story building, and after the meal was over Mr. Henry hired
out to him for $16 per month, and went to work that day. I heard of a
job of cutting cordwood six miles away and went after it, for our money
was getting very scarce, but when I reached the place I found a man had
been there half an hour before and secured the job. The proprietor, Mr.
Crow, gave me my dinner which I accepted with many thanks, for it saved
my coin to pay for the next meal. I now went to Mineral Point, and
searched the town over for work. My purse contained thirty-five cents
only and I slept in an unoccupied out house without supper. I bought
crackers and dried beef for ten cents in the morning and made my first
meal since the day before, felt pretty low-spirited. I then went to
Vivian's smelting furnace where they bought lead ore, smelted it, and
run it into pigs of about 70 pounds each. He said he had a job for me if
I could do it. The furnace was propelled by water and they had a small
buzz saw for cutting four-foot wood into blocks about a foot long. These
blocks they wanted split up in pieces about an inch square to mix in
with charcoal in smelting ore. He said he would board me with the other
men, and give me a dollar and a quarter a cord for splitting the wood. I
felt awfully poor, and a stranger, and this was a beginning for me at
any rate, so I went to work with a will and never lost a minute of
daylight till I had split up all the wood and filled his woodhouse
completely up. The board was very coarse--bacon, potatoes, and bread--a
man cook, and bread mixed up with salt and water. The old log house
where we lodged was well infested with troublesome insects which worked
nights at any rate, whether they rested days or not, and the beds had a
mild odor of pole cat. The house was long, low and without windows. In
one end was a fireplace, and there were two tiers of bunks on each side,
supplied with straw only. In the space between the bunks was a
stationary table, with stools for seats. I was the only American who
boarded there and I could not well become very familiar with the
boarders.
The country was rolling, and there were many beautiful brooks and clear
springs of water, with fertile soil. The Cornish miners were in the
majority and governed the locality politically. My health was excellent,
and so long as I had my gun and ammunition I could kill game enough to
live on, for prairie chickens and deer could be easily killed, and meat
alone would sustain life, so I had no special fears of starvation. I was
now paid off, and went back to see my companion, Mr. Henry. I did not
hear of any more work, so I concluded I would start back toward my old
home in Michigan, and shouldered my bundle and gun, turning my face
eastward for a long tramp across the prairie. I knew I had a long tramp
before me, but I thought best to head that way, for my capital was only
ten dollars, and I might be compelled to walk the whole distance. I
walked till about noon and then sat down in the shade of a tree to rest
for this was June and pretty warm. I was now alone in a big territory,
thinly settled, and thought of my father's home, the well set table, all
happy and well fed at any rate, and here was my venture, a sort of
forlorn hope. Prospects were surely very gloomy for me here away out
west in Wisconsin Territory, without a relative, friend or acquaintance
to call upon, and very small means to travel two hundred and fifty miles
of lonely road--perhaps all the way on foot. There were no laborers
required, hardly any money in sight, and no chance for business. I knew
it would be a safe course to proceed toward home, for I had no fear of
starving, the weather was warm and I could easily walk home long before
winter should come again. Still the outlook was not very pleasing to one
in my circumstances.
I chose a route which led me some distance north of the one we travelled
when we came west, but it was about the same. Every house was a new
settler, and hardly one who had yet produced anything to live upon. In
due time I came to the Rock River, and the only house in sight was upon
the east bank. I could see a boat over there and so I called for it, and
a young girl came over with a canoe for me. I took a paddle and helped
her hold the boat against the current, and we made the landing safely. I
paid her ten cents for ferriage and went on again. The country was now
level, with burr-oak openings. Near sundown I came to a small prairie of
about 500 acres surrounded by scattering burr-oak timber, with not a
hill in sight, and it seemed to me to be the most beautiful spot on
earth. This I found to belong to a man named Meachem, who had an octagon
concrete house built on one side of the opening. The house had a hollow
column in the center, and the roof was so constructed that all the rain
water went down this central column into a cistern below for house use.
The stairs wound around this central column, and the whole affair was
quite different from the most of settlers' houses. I staid here all
night, had supper and breakfast, and paid my bill of thirty-five cents.
He had no work for me so I went on again. I crossed Heart Prairie,
passed through a strip of woods, and out at Round Prairie. It was level
as a floor with a slight rise in one corner, and on it were five or six
settlers. Here fortune favored me, for here I found a man whom I knew,
who once lived in Michigan, and was one of our neighbors there for some
time. His name was Nelson Cornish. I rested here a few days, and made a
bargain to work for him two or three days every week for my board as
long as I wished to stay. As I got acquainted I found some work to do
and many of my leisure hours I spent in the woods with my gun, killing
some deer, some of the meat of which I sold. In haying and harvest I got
some work at fifty cents to one dollar per day, and as I had no clothes
to buy, I spent no money, saving up about fifty dollars by fall. I then
got a letter from Henry saying that I could get work with him for the
winter and I thought I would go back there again.
Before thinking of going west again I had to go to Southport on the lake
and get our clothes we had left in our box when we passed in the spring.
So I started one morning at break of day, with a long cane in each hand
to help me along, for I had nothing to carry, not even wearing a coat.
This was a new road, thinly settled, and a few log houses building. I
got a bowl of bread and milk at noon and then hurried on again. The last
twenty miles was clear prairie, and houses were very far apart, but
little more thickly settled as I neared Lake Michigan. I arrived at the
town just after dark, and went to a tavern and inquired about the
things. I was told that the warehouse had been broken into and robbed,
and the proprietor had fled for parts unknown. This robbed me of all my
good clothes, and I could now go back as lightly loaded as when I came.
I found I had walked sixty miles in that one day, and also found myself
very stiff and sore so that I did not start back next day, and I took
three days for the return trip--a very unprofitable journey.
I was now ready to go west, and coming across a pet deer which I had
tamed, I knew if I left it it would wander away with the first wild ones
that came along, and so I killed it and made my friends a present of
some venison. I chose still a new route this time, that I could see all
that was possible of this big territory when I could do it so easily. I
was always a great admirer of Nature and things which remained as they
were created, and to the extent of my observation, I thought this the
most beautiful and perfect country I had seen between Vermont and the
Mississippi River. The country was nearly level, the land rich, the
prairies small with oak openings surrounding them, very little marsh
land and streams of clear water. Rock River was the largest of these,
running south. Next west was Sugar River, then the Picatonica. Through
the mining region the country was rolling and abundantly watered with
babbling brooks and health-giving springs.
In point of health it seemed to me to be far better than Michigan. In
Mr. Henry's letter to me he had said that he had taken a timber claim in
"Kentuck Grove," and had all the four-foot wood engaged to cut at
thirty-seven cents a cord. He said we could board ourselves and save a
little money and that in the spring he would go back to Michigan with
me. This had decided me to go back to Mineral Point. I stopped a week or
two with a man named Webb, hunting with him, and sold game enough to
bring me in some six or seven dollars, and then resumed my journey.
On my way I found a log house ten miles from a neighbor just before I
got to the Picatonica River. It belonged to a Mr. Shook who, with his
wife and three children, lived on the edge of a small prairie, and had a
good crop of corn. He invited me to stay with him a few days, and as I
was tired I accepted his offer and we went out together and brought in a
deer. We had plenty of corn bread, venison and coffee, and lived well.
After a few days he wanted to kill a steer and he led it to a proper
place while I shot it in the head. We had no way to hang it up so he
rolled the intestines out, and I sat down with my side against the steer
and helped him to pull the tallow off.
It was now getting nearly dark and while he was splitting the back bone
with an axe, it slipped in his greasy hands and glancing, cut a gash in
my leg six inches above the knee. I was now laid up for two or three
weeks, but was well cared for at his house. Before I could resume my
journey snow had fallen to the depth of about six inches, which made it
rather unpleasant walking, but in a few days I reached Mr. Henry's camp
in "Kentuck Grove," when after comparing notes, we both began swinging
our axes and piling up cordwood, cooking potatoes, bread, bacon, coffee
and flapjacks ourselves, which we enjoyed with a relish.
I now went to work for Peter Parkinson, who paid me thirteen dollars per
month, and I remained with him till spring. While with him a very sad
affliction came to him in the loss of his wife. He was presented by her
with his first heir, and during her illness she was cared for by her
mother, Mrs. Cullany, who had come to live with them during the winter.
When the little babe was two or three weeks old the mother was feeling
in such good spirits that she was left alone a little while, as Mrs.
Cullany was attending to some duties which called her elsewhere. When
she returned she was surprised to see that both Mrs. Parkinson and the
babe were gone. Everyone turned out to search for her. I ran to the
smokehouse, the barn, the stable in quick order, and not finding her a
search was made for tracks, and we soon discovered that she had passed
over a few steps leading over a fence and down an incline toward the
spring house, and there fallen, face downward, on the floor of the house
which was covered only a few inches deep with water lay the unfortunate
woman and her child, both dead. This was doubly distressing to Mr.
Parkinson and saddened the whole community. Both were buried in one
grave, not far from the house, and a more impressive funeral I never
beheld.
I now worked awhile again with Mr. Henry and we sold our wood to Bill
Park, a collier, who made and sold charcoal to the smelters of lead ore.
When the ice was gone in the streams, Henry and I shouldered our guns
and bundles, and made our way to Milwaukee, where we arrived in the
course of a few days. The town was small and cheaply built, and had no
wharf, so that when the steamboat came we had to go out to it in a small
boat. The stream which came in here was too shallow for the steamer to
enter. When near the lower end of the lake we stopped at an island to
take on food and several cords of white birch wood. The next stopping
place was at Michilamackanac, afterward called Mackinaw. Here was a
short wharf, and a little way back a hill, which seemed to me to be a
thousand feet high, on which a fort had been built. On the wharf was a
mixed lot of people--Americans, Canadians, Irish, Indians, squaws and
papooses. I saw there some of the most beautiful fish I had ever seen.
They would weigh twenty pounds or more, and had bright red and yellow
spots all over them. They called them trout, and they were beauties,
really. At the shore near by the Indians were loading a large white
birch bark canoe, putting their luggage along the middle lengthways, and
the papooses on top. One man took a stern seat to steer, and four or
five more had seats along the gunwale as paddlers and, as they moved
away, their strokes were as even and regular as the motions of an
engine, and their crafts danced as lightly on the water as an egg shell.
They were starting for the Michigan shore some eight or ten miles away.
This was the first birch bark canoe I had ever seen and was a great
curiosity in my eyes.
We crossed Lake Huron during the night, and through its outlet, so
shallow that the wheels stirred up the mud from the bottom; then through
Lake St. Clair and landed safety at Detroit next day. Here we took the
cars on the Michigan Central Railroad, and on our way westward stopped
at the very place where we had worked, helping to build the road, a year
or more before. After getting off the train a walk of two and one half
miles brought me to my father's house, where I had a right royal
welcome, and the questions they asked me about the wild country I had
traveled over, how it looked, and how I got along--were numbered by the
thousand.
I remained at home until fall, getting some work to do by which I saved
some money, but in August was attacked with bilious fever, which held me
down for several weeks, but nursed by a tender and loving mother with
untiring care, I recovered, quite slowly, but surely. I felt that I had
been close to death, and that this country was not to be compared to
Wisconsin with its clear and bubbling springs of health-giving water.
Feeling thus, I determined to go back there again.
CHAPTER VI
With the idea of returning to Wisconsin I made plans for my movements. I
purchased a good outfit of steel traps of several kinds and sizes,
thirty or forty in all, made me a pine chest, with a false bottom to
separate the traps from my clothing when it was packed in traveling
order, the clothes at the top. My former experience had taught me not to
expect to get work there during winter, but I was pretty sure something
could be earned by trapping and hunting at this season, and in summer I
was pretty sure of something to do. I had about forty dollars to travel
on this time, and quite a stock of experience. The second parting from
home was not so hard as the first one. I went to Huron, took the steamer
to Chicago, then a small, cheaply built town, with rough sidewalks and
terribly muddy streets, and the people seemed pretty rough, for sailors
and lake captains were numerous, and knock downs quite frequent. The
country for a long way west of town seemed a low, wet marsh or prairie.
Finding a man going west with a wagon and two horses without a load, I
hired him to take me and my baggage to my friend Nelson Cornish, at
Round Prairie. They were glad to see me, and as I had not yet got strong
from my fever, they persuaded me to stay a while with them and take some
medicine, for he was a sort of a doctor. I think he must have given me a
dose of calomel, for I had a terribly sore mouth and could not eat any
for two or three weeks. As soon as I was able to travel I had myself and
chest taken to the stage station on the line for the lake to Mineral
Point. I think this place was called Geneva. On the stage I got along
pretty fast, and part of the time on a new road. The first place of note
was Madison the capital of the territory, situated on a block of land
nearly surrounded by four lakes, all plainly seen from the big house.
Further on at the Blue Mounds I left the stage, putting my chest in the
landlord's keeping till I should come or send for it.
I walked about ten miles to the house of a friend named A. Bennett, who
was a hunter and lived on the bank of the Picatonica River with his wife
and two children. I had to take many a rest on the way, for I was very
weak.
Resting the first few days, Mrs. Bennett's father, Mr. J.P. Dilly, took
us out about six miles and left us to hunt and camp for a few days. We
were quite successful, and killed five nice, fat deer, which we dressed
and took to Mineral Point, selling them rapidly to the Cornish miners
for twenty-five cents a quarter for the meat. We followed this business
till about January first, when the game began to get poor, when we hung
up our guns for a while. I had a little money left yet. The only money
in circulation was American silver and British sovereigns. They would
not sell lead ore for paper money nor on credit. During the spring I
used my traps successfully, so that I saved something over board and
expenses.
In summer I worked in the mines with Edwin Buck of Bucksport, Maine, but
only found lead ore enough to pay our expenses in getting it. Next
winter I chopped wood for thirty-five cents per cord and boarded myself.
This was poor business; poorer than hunting. In summer I found work at
various things, but in the fall Mr. Buck and myself concluded that as we
were both hunters and trappers, we would go northward toward Lake
Superior on a hunting expedition, and, perhaps remain all winter. We
replenished our outfit, and engaged Mr. Bennett to take us well up into
the north country. We crossed the Wisconsin River near Muscoda, went
then to Prairie du Chien, where we found a large stone fur trading
house, owned by Mr. Brisbois, a Frenchman, from whom we obtained some
information of the country further on. He assured us there was no danger
from the Indians if we let them alone and treated them fairly.
We bought fifty pounds of flour for each of us, and then started up the
divide between the Wisconsin and Mississippi Rivers. On one side flowed
the Bad River, and on the other the Kickapoo. We traveled on this divide
about three days, when Mr. Bennett became afraid to go any further, as
he had to return alone and the Indians might capture him before he could
get back to the settlement. We camped early one night and went out
hunting to get some game for him. I killed a large, black bear and Mr.
Bennett took what he wanted of it, including the skin, and started back
next morning.
We now cached our things in various places, scattering them well. Some
went in hollow logs, and some under heaps of brush or other places,
where the Indians could not find them. We then built a small cabin about
six by eight feet in size and four feet high, in shape like a A. We were
not thoroughly pleased with this location and started out to explore the
country to the north of us, for we had an idea that it would be better
hunting there.
The first day we started north we killed a bear, and filled our stomachs
with the fat, sweet meat. The next night we killed another bear after a
little struggling. The dog made him climb a tree and we shot at him; he
would fall to the ground as if dead, but would be on his feet again in
an instant, when, after the dog had fastened to his ham, he would climb
the tree again. In the third trial he lay in the fork and had a good
chance to look square at his tormentor. I shot him in the head, and as
he lay perfectly still, Buck said:--"Now you have done it--we can't get
him." But in a moment he began to struggle, and soon came down,
lifeless.
Here we camped on the edge of the pine forest, ate all the fat bear meat
we could, and in the morning took separate routes, agreeing to meet
again a mile or so farther up a small brook. I soon saw a small bear
walking on a log and shot him dead. His mate got away, but I set my dog
on him and he soon had to climb a tree. When I came up to where the dog
was barking I saw Mr. Bear and fired a ball in him that brought him
down. Just then I heard Mr. Buck shoot close by, and I went to him and
found he had killed another and larger bear. We stayed here another
night, dressed our game and sunk the meat in the brook and fastened it
down, thinking we might want to get some of it another time.
We were so well pleased with this hunting ground that we took the bear
skins and went back to camp. When we got there our clothes were pretty
well saturated with bear's oil, and we jokingly said it must have soaked
through our bodies, we had eaten so much bear meat. I began to feel
quite sick, and had a bad headache. I felt as if something must be done,
but we had no medicine. Mr. Buck went down by the creek and dug some
roots he called Indian Physic, then steeped them until the infusion
seemed as black as molasses, and, when cool told me to take a swallow
every fifteen minutes for an hour, then half as much for another hour as
long as I could keep it down. I followed directions and vomited freely
and for a long time, but felt better afterward, and soon got well. It
reminded me some of the feelings I had when I was seasick on Lake
Michigan.
It may be interesting to describe how we were dressed to enter on this
winter campaign. We wore moccasins of our own make. I had a buckskin
jumper, and leggins that came up to my hips. On my head a drab hat that
fitted close and had a rim about two inches wide. In fair weather I went
bare-headed, Indian fashion. I carried a tomahawk which I had made. The
blade was two inches wide and three inches long--the poll two inches
long and about as large round as a dime; handle eighteen or twenty
inches long with a knob on the end so it would not easily slip from the
hand. Oiled patches for our rifle balls on a string, a firing wire, a
charger to measure the powder, and a small piece of leather with four
nipples on it for caps--all on my breast, so that I could load very
rapidly. My bed was a comfort I made myself, a little larger than usual.
I lay down on one side of the bed and with my gun close to me, turned
the blanket over me. When out of camp I never left my gun out of my
reach. We had to be real Indians in custom and actions in order to be
considered their equals. We got our food in the same way they did, and
so they had nothing to ask us for. They considered themselves the real
kings of the forest.
We now determined to move camp, which proved quite a job as we had to
pack everything on our backs; which we did for ten or fifteen miles to
the bank of a small stream where there were three pine trees, the only
ones to be found in many miles. We made us a canoe of one of them. While
we were making the canoe three Indians came along, and after they had
eaten some of our good venison, they left us. These were the first we
had seen, and we began to be more cautious and keep everything well hid
away from camp and make them think we were as poor as they were, so they
might not be tempted to molest us.
We soon had the canoe done and loaded, and embarked on the brook down
stream. We found it rather difficult work, but the stream grew larger
and we got along very well. We came to one place where otter signs
seemed fresh, and stopped to set a trap for them. Our dog sat on the
bank and watched the operation, and when we started on we could not get
him to ride or follow. Soon we heard him cry and went back to find he
had the trap on his fore foot. To get it off we had to put a forked
stick over his neck and hold him down, he was so excited over his
mishap. When he was released he left at full speed and was never seen by
us after.
When we got well into the pine woods we camped and cached our traps and
provisions on an island, and made our camp further down the stream and
some little distance from the shore. We soon found this was very near a
logging camp, and as no one had been living there for a year, we moved
camp down there and occupied one of the empty cabins. We began to set
dead-fall traps in long lines in many different directions, blazing the
trees so we could find them if the snow came on. West of this about ten
miles, where we had killed some deer earlier, we made a A-shaped cabin
and made dead falls many miles around to catch fishes, foxes, mink and
raccoons. We made weekly journeys to the places and generally staid
about two nights.
One day when going over my trap lines I came to a trap which I had set
where I had killed a deer, and saw by the snow that an eagle had been
caught in the trap and had broken the chain and gone away. I followed on
the trail he made and soon found him. He tried to fly but the trap was
too heavy, and he could only go slowly and a little way. I fired and put
a ball in him and he fell and rolled under a large log on the hillside.
As I took the trap off I saw an Indian coming down the hill and brought
my gun to bear on him. He stopped suddenly and made signs not to shoot,
and I let him come up. He made signs that he wanted the feathers of the
bird which I told him to take, and then he wanted to know where we
slept. I pointed out the way and made him go ahead of me there, for I
did not want him behind me. At camp he made signs for something to eat,
but when I showed him meat he shook his head. However he took a leg of
deer and started on, I following at a good distance till satisfied that
he would not come back.
We had not taken pains to keep track of the day of the week or month;
the rising and setting of the sun and the changes of the moon were all
the almanacs we had. Then snow came about a foot deep, and some days
were so cold we could not leave our camp fire at all. As no Indians
appeared we were quite successful and kept our bundle of furs in a
hollow standing tree some distance from camp, and when we went that way
we never stopped or left any sign that we had a deposit there.
Some time after it was all frozen up solid, some men with two yoke of
oxen came up to cut and put logs in the river to raft down when the ice
went out. With them came a shingle weaver, with a pony and a small sled,
and some Indians also. We now had to take up all of our steel traps, and
rob all our dead-falls and quit business generally--even then they got
some of our traps before we could get them gathered in. We were now
comparatively idle.
Until these loggers came we did not know exactly where we were situated,
but they told us we were on the Lemonai river, a branch of the
Wisconsin, and that we could get out by going west till we found the
Mississippi river and then home. We hired the shengle man with his pony
to take us to Black River, farther north which we reached in three days,
and found a saw mill there in charge of a keeper. Up the river farther
we found another mill looked after by Sam Ferguson. Both mills were
frozen up. The Indians had been here all winter. They come from Lake
Superior when the swamps froze up there, to hunt deer, till the weather
gets warm, then they returned to the Lake to fish.
Of course the presence of the Indians made game scarce, but the mill men
told us if we would go up farther into the marten country they thought
we would do well. We therefore made us a hand sled, put some provisions
and traps on board, and started up the river on the ice. As we went the
snow grew deeper and we had to cut hemlock boughs for a bed on top of
the snow. It took about a half a cord of wood to last us all night, and
it was a trouble to cut holes in the ice to water, for it was more than
two feet thick. Our fire kindled on the snow, would be two or three feet
below on the ground, by morning. This country was heavily timbered with
cedar, or spruce and apparently very level.
One day we saw two otters coming toward us on the ice. We shot one, but
as the other gun missed fire, the other one escaped, for I could not
overtake it in the woods. We kept on up the river till we began to hear
the Indians' guns, and then we camped and did not fire a gun for two
days, for we were afraid we might be discovered and robbed, and we knew
we could not stay long after our grub was gone. All the game we could
catch was the marten or sable, which the Indians called _Waubusash_. The
males were snuff color and the female much darker. Mink were scarce, and
the beaver, living in the river bank, could not be got at till the ice
went out in the spring.
We now began to make marten traps or dead-falls, and set them for this
small game. There were many cedar and tamarack swamps, indeed that was
the principal feature, but there were some ridges a little higher where
some small pines and beech grew. Now our camp was one place where there
was no large timber caused by the stream being dammed by the beaver.
Here were some of the real Russian Balsam trees, the most beautiful in
shape I had ever seen. They were very dark green, the boughs very thick,
and the tree in shape like an inverted top. Our lines of trips led for
miles in every direction marked by blazed trees. We made a trap of two
poles, and chips which we split from the trees. These were set in the
snow and covered with brush, We sometimes found a porcupine in the top
of a pine tree. The only signs of his presence were the chips he made in
gnawing the bark for food. They never came down to the ground as we saw.
They were about all the game that was good to eat. I would kill one,
skin it and drag the carcass after me all day as I set traps, cutting
off bits for bait, and cooking the rest for ourselves to eat. We tried
to eat the marten but it was pretty musky and it was only by putting on
plenty of salt and pepper that we managed to eat them. We were really
forced to do it if we remained here. We secured a good many of these
little fellows which have about the the best fur that is found in
America.
We were here about three weeks, and our provisions giving out and the
ice becoming tender in the swamp were two pretty strong reasons for our
getting out, so we shouldered our packs of fur and our guns and, getting
our course from a pocket-compass, we started out. As we pushed on we
came to some old windfalls that were troublesome to get through. The
dense timber seemed to be six feet deep, and we would sometimes climb
over and sometimes crawl under, the fallen trees were so thickly mixed
and tangled.
Mr. Buck got so completely tired that he threw away his traps. We
reached our starting place at O'Neil's saw-mill after many days of the
hardest work, and nearly starved, for we had seen no game on our trip.
We found our traps and furs all safe here and as this stream was one of
the tributaries of the Mississippi, we decided to make us a boat and
float down toward that noted stream. We secured four good boards and
built the boat in which we started down the river setting traps and
moving at our leisure. We found plenty of fine ducks, two bee trees, and
caught some cat-fish with a hook and line we got at the mill. We also
caught some otter, and, on a little branch of the river killed two
bears, the skin of one of them weighing five pounds. We met a keel boat
being poled up the river, and with the last cent of money we possessed
bought a little flour of them.
About the first of May we reached Prairie du Chien. Here we were met
with some surprise, for Mr. Brisbois said he had heard we were killed or
lost. He showed us through his warehouses and pointed out to us the many
bales of different kinds of furs he had on hand. He told us we were the
best fur handlers he had seen, and paid us two hundred dollars in
American gold for what we had. We then stored our traps in the garret of
one of his warehouses, which was of stone, two stories and an attic, as
we thought of making another trip to this country if all went well.
We now entered our skiff again and went on down the great river till we
came to a place nearly opposite Mineral Point, when we gave our boat to
a poor settler, and with guns and bundles on our backs took a straight
shoot for home on foot. The second day about dark we came in the edge of
the town and were seen by a lot of boys who eyed us closely and with
much curiosity, for we were dressed in our trapping suits. They followed
us, and as we went along the crowd increased so that when we got to
Crum. Lloyd's tavern the door was full of boys' heads looking at us as
if we were a circus. Here we were heartily welcomed, and every body was
glad to see us, as they were about to start a company to go in search of
their reported murdered friends. It seems a missionary got lost on his
way to Prairie La Crosse and had come across our deserted cabin, and
when he came in he reported us as no doubt murdered.
I invested all of my hundred dollars in buying eighty acres of good
Government land. This was the first $100 I ever had and I felt very
proud to be a land owner. I felt a little more like a man now than I had
ever felt before, for the money was hard earned and all mine.
CHAPTER VII
Mr. Buck and myself concluded we would try our luck at lead mining for
the summer and purchased some mining tools for the purpose. We camped
out and dug holes around all summer, getting just about enough to pay
our expenses--not a very encouraging venture, for we had lived in a tent
and had picked and shoveled and blasted and twisted a windlass hard
enough to have earned a good bit of money.
In the fall we concluded to try another trapping tour, and set out for
Prairie du Chien. We knew it was a poor place to spend money up in the
woods, and when we got our money it was all in a lump and seemed to
amount to something. Mr. Brisbois said that the prospects were very poor
indeed, for the price of fur was very low and no prospect of a better
market. So we left our traps still on storage at his place and went back
again. This was in 1847, and before Spring the war was being pushed in
Mexico. I tried to enlist for this service, but there were so many ahead
of me I could not get a chance.
I still worked in the settlement and made a living, but had no chance to
improve my land. The next winter I lived with Mr A. Bennett, hunted deer
and sold them at Mineral Point, and in this way made and saved a few
dollars.
There had been from time to time rumors of a better country to the west
of us and a sort of a pioneer, or western fever would break out among
the people occasionally. Thus in 1845 I had a slight touch of the
disease on account of the stories they told us about Oregon. It was
reported that the Government would give a man a good farm if he would go
and settle, and make some specified improvement. They said it was in a
territory of rich soil, with plenty of timber, fish and game and some
Indians, just to give a little spice of adventure to the whole thing.
The climate was very mild in winter, as they reported, and I concluded
it would suit me exactly. I began at once to think about an outfit and a
journey, and I found that it would take me at least two years to get
ready. A trip to California was not thought of in those days, for it did
not belong to the United States.
In the winter of 1848-49 news began to come that there was gold in
California, but not generally believed till it came through a U.S.
officer, and then, as the people were used to mines and mining, a
regular gold fever spread as if by swift contagion. Mr. Bennett was
aroused and sold his farm, and I felt a change in my Oregon desires and
had dreams at might of digging up the yellow dust. Nothing would cure us
then but a trip, and that was quickly decided on.
As it would be some weeks yet before grass would start, I concluded to
haul my canoe and a few traps over to a branch of the Wisconsin, and
make my way to Prairie du Chien, do a little trapping, get me an Indian
pony on which to ride to California. There were no ponies to be had at
Mineral Point. Getting a ride up the river on a passing steamboat I
reached Prairie La Crosse, where the only house was that of a Dutch
trader from whom I bought a Winnebago pony, which he had wintered on a
little brushy island, and I thought if he could winter on brush and
rushes he must be tough enough to take me across the plains. He cost me
$30, and I found him to be a poor, lazy little fellow. However, I
thought that when he got some good grass, and a little fat on his ribs
he might have more life, and so I hitched a rope to him and drove him
ahead down the river. When I came to the Bad Axe river I found it
swimming full, but had no trouble in crossing, as the pony was as good
as a dog in the water.
Before leaving Bennett's I had my gun altered over to a pill lock and
secured ammunition to last for two years. I had tanned some nice
buckskin and had a good outfit of clothes made of it, or rather cut and
made it myself. Where I crossed the Bad Axe was a the battle ground
where Gen. Dodge fought the Winnebago Indians. At Prairie du Chien I
found a letter from Mr. Bennett, saying that the grass was so backward
he would not start up for two or three weeks, and I had better come back
and start with them; but as the letter bore no date I could only guess
at the exact time. I had intended to strike directly west from here to
Council Bluffs and meet them there, but now thought perhaps I had better
go back to Mineral Point and start out with them there, or follow on
rapidly after them if by any chance they had already started.
On my way back I found the Kickapoo river too high to ford, so I pulled
some basswood bark and made a raft of a couple of logs, on which to
carry my gun and blanket; starting the pony across I followed after. He
swam across quickly, but did not seem to like it on the other side, so
before I got across, back he came again, not paying the least attention
to my scolding. I went back with the raft, which drifted a good way down
stream, and caught the rascal and started him over again, but when I got
half way across he jumped and played the same joke on me again. I began
to think of the old puzzle of the story of the man with the fox, the
goose and a peck of corn, but I solved it by making a basswood rope to
which I tied a stone and threw across, then sending the pony over with
the other end. He staid this time, and after three days of swimming
streams and pretty hard travel reached Mineral Point, to find Bennett
had been gone two weeks and had taken my outfit with him as we first
planned.
I was a little troubled, but set out light loaded for Dubuque, crossed
the river there and then alone across Iowa, over wet and muddy roads,
till I fell in with some wagons west of the Desmoines River. They were
from Milwaukee, owned by a Mr. Blodgett, and I camped with them a few
nights, till we got to the Missouri River.
I rushed ahead the last day or two and got there before them. There were
a few California wagons here, and some campers, so I put my pony out to
grass and looked around. I waded across the low bottom to a strip of dry
land next to the river, where there was a post office, store, and a few
cabins. I looked first for a letter, but there was none. Then I began to
look over the cards in the trading places and saloons, and read the
names written on the logs of the houses, and everywhere I thought there
might be a trace of the friends I sought. No one had seen or knew them.
After looking half a day I waded back again to the pony--pretty blue. I
thought first I would go back and wait another year, but there was a
small train near where I left the pony, and it was not considered very
safe to go beyond there except with a pretty good train. I sat down in
camp and turned the matter over in my mind, and talked with Chas. Dallas
of Lynn, Iowa, who owned the train. Bennett had my outfit and gun, while
I had his light gun, a small, light tent, a frying pan, a tin cup, one
woolen shirt and the clothes on my back. Having no money to get another
outfit, I about concluded to turn back when Dallas said that if I would
drive one of his teams through, he would board me, and I could turn my
pony in with his loose horses; I thought it over, and finally put my
things in the wagon and took the ox whip to go on. Dallas intended to
get provision here, but could not, so we went down to St. Jo, following
the river near the bluff. We camped near town and walked in, finding a
small train on the main emigrant road to the west. My team was one yoke
of oxen and one yoke of cows. I knew how to drive, but had a little
trouble with the strange animals till they found I was kind to them, and
then they were all right.
This was in a slave state, and here I saw the first negro auction. One
side of the street had a platform such as we build for a political
speaker. The auctioneer mounted this with a black boy about 18 years
old, and after he had told all his good qualities and had the boy stand
up bold and straight, he called for bids, and they started him at $500.
He rattled away as if he were selling a steer, and when Mr. Rubideaux,
the founder of St. Jo bid $800, he went no higher and the boy was sold.
With my New England notions it made quite an impression on me.
Here Dallas got his supplies, and when the flour and bacon was loaded up
the ferryman wanted $50 to take the train across. This Dallas thought
too high and went back up the river a day's drive, where he got across
for $30. From this crossing we went across the country without much of a
road till we struck the road from St. Jo, and were soon on the Platte
bottom.
We found some fine strawberries at one of the camps across the country.
We found some hills, but now the country was all one vast prairie, not a
tree in sight till we reached the Platte, there some cottonwood and
willow. At the first camp on the Platte I rolled up in my blanket under
the wagon and thought more than I slept, but I was in for it and no
other way but to go on. I had heard that there were two forts, new Ft.
Kearny and Ft. Laramie, on the south side of the river, which we must
pass before we reached the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, and beyond
there there would be no place to buy medicine or food. Our little train
of five wagons, ten men, one woman and three children would not be a
formidable force against the Indians if they were disposed to molest us,
and it looked to me very hazardous, and that a larger train would be
more safe, for Government troops were seldom molested on their marches.
If I should not please Mr. Dallas and get turned off with only my gun
and pony I should be in a pretty bad shape, but I decided to keep right
on and take the chances on the savages, who would get only my hair and
my gun as my contribution to them if they should be hostile. I must
confess, however, that the trail ahead did not look either straight or
bright to me, but hoped it might be better than I thought. So I yoked my
oxen and cows to the wagon and drove on. All the other teams had two
drivers each, who took turns, and thus had every other day off for
hunting if they chose, but I had to carry the whip every day and leave
my gun in the wagon.
When we crossed Salt Creek the banks were high and we had to tie a
strong rope to the wagons and with a few turns around a post, lower them
down easily, while we had to double the teams to get them up the other
side.
Night came on before half the wagons were over, and though it did not
rain the water rose before morning so it was ten feet deep. We made a
boat of one of the wagon beds, and had a regular ferry, and when they
pulled the wagons over they sank below the surface but came out all
right. We came to Pawnee Village, on the Platte, a collection of mud
huts, oval in shape, and an entrance low down to crawl in at. A ground
owl and some prairie dogs were in one of them, and we suspected they
might be winter quarters for the Indians.
Dallas and his family rode in the two-horse wagon. Dick Field was cook,
and the rest of us drove the oxen. We put out a small guard at night to
watch for Indians and keep the stock together so there might be no delay
in searching for them. When several miles from Ft. Kearney I think on
July 3rd, we camped near the river where there was a slough and much
cottonwood and willow. Just after sundown a horse came galloping from
the west and went in with our horses that were feeding a little farther
down. In the morning two soldiers came from the fort, inquiring after
the stray horse, but Dallas said he had seen none, and they did not hunt
around among the willows for the lost animal. Probably it would be the
easiest way to report back to the fort--"Indians got him." When we
hitched up in the morning he put the horse on the off side of his own,
and when near the fort, he went ahead on foot and entertained the
officers while the men drove by, and the horse was not discovered. I did
not like this much, for if we were discovered, we might be roughly
handled, and perhaps the property of the innocent even confiscated.
Really my New England ideas of honesty were somewhat shocked.
Reaching the South Platte, it took us all day to ford the sandy stream,
as we had first to sound out a good crossing by wading through
ourselves, and when we started our teams across we dare not stop a
moment for fear the wagons would sink deep into the quicksands. We had
no mishaps in crossing, and when well camped on the other side a
solitary buffalo made his appearance about 200 yards away and all hands
started after him, some on foot. The horsemen soon got ahead of him, but
he did not seem inclined to get out of their way, so they opened fire on
him. He still kept his feet and they went nearer, Mr. Rogers, being on a
horse with a blind bridle, getting near enough to fire his Colt's
revolver at him, when he turned, and the horse, being unable to see the
animal quick enough to get out of the way, suffered the force of a
sudden attack of the old fellow's horns, and came out with a gash in his
thigh six inches long, while Rogers went on a flying expedition over the
horse's head, and did some lively scrambling when he reached the ground.
The rest of them worried him along for about half a mile, and finally,
after about forty shots he lay down but held his head up defiantly,
receiving shot after shot with an angry shake, till a side shot laid him
out. This game gave us plenty of meat, which though tough, was a
pleasant change from bacon. I took no part in this battle except as an
observer. On examination it was found that the balls had been many of
them stopped by the matted hair about the old fellow's head and none of
them had reached the skull.
A few days after this we were stopped entirely by a herd of buffaloes
crossing our road. They came up from the river and were moving south.
The smaller animals seemed to be in the lead, and the rear was brought
up by the old cows and the shaggy, burly bulls. All were moving at a
smart trot, with tongues hanging out, and seemed to take no notice of
us, though we stood within a hundred yards of them. We had to stand by
our teams and stock to prevent a stampede, for they all seemed to have a
great wonder, and somewhat of fear at their relatives of the plains.
After this we often saw large droves of them in the distance. Sometimes
we could see what in the distance seemed a great patch of brush, but by
watching closely we could see it was a great drove of these animals.
Those who had leisure to go up to the bluffs often reported large droves
in sight. Antelopes were also seen, but these occupied the higher
ground, and it was very hard to get near enough to them to shoot
successfully. Still we managed to get a good deal of game which was very
acceptable as food.
One prominent land mark along the route was what they called Court House
Rock, standing to the south from the trail and much resembled an immense
square building, standing high above surrounding country. The farther we
went on the more plentiful became the large game, and also wolves and
prairie dogs, the first of which seemed to follow the buffaloes closely.
About this time we met a odd looking train going east, consisting of
five or six Mormons from Salt Lake, all mounted on small Spanish mules.
They were dressed in buckskin and moccasins, with long spurs jingling at
their heels, the rowels fully four inches long, and each one carried a
gun, a pistol and a big knife. They were rough looking fellows with
long, matted hair, long beards, old slouch hats and a generally back
woods get-up air in every way. They had an extra pack mule, but the
baggage and provisions were very light. I had heard much about the
Mormons, both at Nauvoo and Salt Lake, and some way or other I could not
separate the idea of horse thieves from this party, and I am sure I
would not like to meet them if I had a desirable mule that they wanted,
or any money, or a good looking wife. We talked with them half an hour
or so and then moved on.
We occasionally passed by a grave along the road, and often a small head
board would state that the poor unfortunate had died of cholera. Many of
these had been torn open by wolves and the blanket encircling the corpse
partly pulled away. Our route led a few miles north of Chimney Rock,
standing on an elevated point like a tall column, so perfect and regular
on all sides, that from our point it looked as if it might be the work
of the stone cutters. Some of the party went to see it and reported
there was no way to ascend it, and that as far as a man could reach, the
rocks were inscribed with the names of visitors and travelers who passed
that way.
At Scott's Bluffs, the bluffs came close to the river, so there was
considerable hill climbing to get along, the road in other places
finding ample room in the bottom. Here we found a large camp of the
Sioux Indians on the bank of a ravine, on both sides of which were some
large cottonwood trees. Away up in the large limbs platforms had been
made of poles, on which were laid the bodies of their dead, wrapped in
blankets and fastened down to the platform by a sort of a network of
smaller poles tightly lashed so that they could not be dragged away or
disturbed by wild animals. This seemed a strange sort of cemetery, but
when we saw the desecrated earth-made graves we felt that perhaps this
was the best way, even if it was a savage custom.
These Indians were fair-sized men, and pretty good looking for red men.
Some of our men went over to their camp, and some of their youths came
down to ours, and when we started on they seemed quite proud that they
had learned a little of the English language, but the extent of their
knowledge seemed to be a little learned of the ox-drivers, for they
would swing their hands at the cattle and cry out "Whoa! haw, g--d
d--n." Whether they knew what was meant, I have my doubts. They seemed
pretty well provided for and begged very little, as they are apt to do
when they are hard pressed.
We saw also some bands of Pawnee Indians on the move across the
prairies. They would hitch a long, light pole on each side of a pony,
with the ends dragging behind on the ground, and on a little platform at
the hind end the children sat and were dragged along.
As we passed on beyond Scott's Bluff the game began to be perceptibly
scarcer, and what we did find was back from the traveled road, from
which it had apparently been driven by the passing hunters.
In time we reached Ft. Laramie, a trading post, where there were some
Indian lodges, and we noticed that some of the occupants had lighter
complexions than any of the other Indians we had seen. They had cords of
dried buffalo meat, and we purchased some. It was very fat, but was so
perfectly cured that the clear tallow tasted as sweet as a nut. I
thought it was the best dried meat I had ever tasted, but perhaps a good
appetite had something to do with it.
As we passed Ft. Laramie we fell in company with some U.S. soldiers who
were going to Ft. Hall and thence to Oregon. We considered them pretty
safe to travel with and kept with them for some time, though their rate
of travel was less than ours. Among them were some Mormons, employed as
teamsters, and in other ways, and they told us there were some
Missourians on the road who would never live to see California. There
had been some contests between the Missourians and the Mormons, and I
felt rather glad that none of us hailed from Pike county.
We turned into what they called the Black Hills, leaving the Platte to
the north of us. The first night on this road we had the hardest rain I
ever experienced, and the only one of any account on our journey. Our
camp was on a level piece of ground on the bank of a dry creek, which
soon became a very wet creek indeed, for by morning it was one hundred
yards wide and absolutely impassible. It went down, however, as quickly
as it rose, and by ten o'clock it was so low that we easily crossed and
went on our way. We crossed one stream where there were great drifts or
piles of hail which had been brought down by a heavy storm from higher
up the hills. At one place we found some rounded boulders from six to
eight inches in diameter, which were partly hollow, and broken open were
found to contain most beautiful crystals of quartz, clear as purest ice.
The inside was certainly very pretty, and it was a mystery how it came
there. I have since learned that such stones are found at many points,
and that they are called geodes.
We came out at the river again at the mouth of Deer Creek, and as there
was some pretty good coal there quite easy to get, we made camp one day
to try to tighten our wagon tires, John Rogers acting as blacksmith.
This was my first chance to reconnoiter, and so I took my gun and went
up the creek, a wide, treeless bottom. In the ravines on the south side
were beautiful groves of small fir trees and some thick brush, wild rose
bushes I think. I found here a good many heads and horns of elk, and I
could not decide whether they had been killed in winter during the deep
snow, or had starved to death.
There was a ferry here to cross the river and go up along north side.
Mr. Dallas bought the whole outfit for a small sum and when we were
safely over he took with him such ropes as he wanted and tied the boat
to the bank The road on this side was very sandy and led over and among
some rolling hills. In talking with the men of the U.S. troops in whose
company we still were, I gathered much information concerning our road
further west. They said we were entirely too late to get through to
California, on account of crossing the Sierra Nevada mountains, which,
they said would be covered with snow by November, or even earlier, and
that we would be compelled to winter at Salt Lake. Some of the drivers
overheard Mr. Dallas telling his family the same thing, and that if he
should winter at Salt Lake, he would discharge his drivers as soon as he
arrived, as he could not afford to board them all winter.
This was bad news for me, for I had known of the history of them at
Nauvoo and in Missouri, and the prospect of being thrown among them with
no money to buy bread was a very sorry prospect for me. From all I could
learn we could not get a chance to work, even for our board there, and
the other drivers shared my fears and disappointment. In this dilemma we
called a council, and invited the gentleman in to have an understanding.
He came and our spokesman stated the case to him, and our fears, and
asked him what he had to say to us about it. He flew quite angry at us,
and talked some and swore a great deal more, and the burden of his
speech was:--"This train belongs to me and I propose to do with it just
as I have a mind to, and I don't care a d--n what you fellows do or say.
I am not going to board you fellows all winter for nothing, and when we
get to Salt Lake you can go where you please, for I shall not want you
any longer." We talked a little to him and under the circumstances to
talk was about all we could do. He gave us no satisfaction and left us
apparently much offended that we had any care for ourselves.
Then we had some talk among ourselves, at the time, and from day to day
as we moved along. We began to think that the only way to get along at
all in Salt Lake would be to turn Mormons, and none of us had any belief
or desire that way and could not make up our minds to stop our journey
and lose so much time, and if we were not very favored travelers our lot
might be cast among the sinners for all time.
We were now on the Sweetwater River, and began to see the snow on the
Rocky Mountains ahead of us, another reminder that there was a winter
coming and only a little more than half our journey was done. We did not
feel very happy over it, and yet we had to laugh once in a while at some
of the funny things that would happen.
The Government party we were with had among them a German mule driver
who had a deal of trouble with his team, but who had a very little
knowledge of the English language. When the officers tried to instruct
him a little he seemed to get out of patience and would say something
very like _Sacramento_. We did not know exactly what this meant. We had
heard there was a river of that name or something very near like that;
and then again some said that was the Dutch for swearing. If this latter
was the truth then he was a very profane mule driver when he got mad.
The Captain of the company had a very nice looking lady with him, and
they carried a fine wall tent which they occupied when they went into
camp. The company cook served their meals to them in the privacy of
their tent, and they seemed to enjoy themselves very nicely. Everybody
thought the Captain was very lucky in having such an accomplished
companion, and journey along quietly to the gold fields at government
expense.
There seemed to be just a little jealousy between the Captain and the
Lieutenant, and one day I saw them both standing in angry attitude
before the Captain's quarters, both mounted, with their carbines lying
across their saddles before them. They had some pretty sharp, hot words,
and it looked as if they both were pretty nearly warmed up to the
shooting point. Once the Lieutenant moved his right hand a little, and
the Captain was quick to see it, shouting;--"Let your gun alone or I
will make a hole through you," at the same time grasping his own and
pointing it straight at the other officer. During all this time the
Captain's lady stood in the tent door, and when she saw her favorite had
the drop on the Lieutenant she clapped her delicate, little hands in a
gleeful manner:--"Just look at the Captain! Ain't he spunky?" and then
she laughed long and loud to see her lord show so much military courage.
She seemed more pleased at the affair than any one else. I don't know
exactly what the others thought, but I never could believe that the lady
and the Captain were ever married.
The Lieutenant was no coward, but probably thinking that prudence was
the better part of valor, refrained from handling his gun, and the two
soon rode away in opposite directions.
We passed a lone rock standing in the river bottom on the Sweetwater,
which they named Independence Rock. It was covered with the names of
thousands of people who had gone by on that road. Some were pretty
neatly chiseled in, some very rudely scrawled, and some put on with
paint. I spent all the time I could hunting Mr. Bennett's name, but I
could not find it anywhere. To have found his name, and thus to know
that he had safely passed this point would have been a little
re-assuring in those rather doubtful days. Some had named the date of
their passing, and some of them were probably pretty near the gold
fields at this time.
All along in this section we found alkali water near the road, some very
strong and dangerous for man or beast to use. We traveled on up the
Sweetwater for some time, and at last came to a place where the road
left the river, and we had a long, hard hill to pull up. When we reached
the top of this we were in the South Pass of the Rocky Mountains, the
backbone of the American continent. To the north of us were some very
high peaks white with snow, and to the south were some lower hills and
valleys. The summit of the mountains was not quite as imposing as I
expected, but it was the summit, and we were soon surely moving down the
western side, for at Pacific Springs the water ran to the westward,
toward the Pacific coast. The next day we came to the nearly dry bed of
the river--the Big Sandy. The country round about seemed volcanic, with
no timber, but plenty of sage brush, in which we were able to shoot an
occasional sage hen. The river bed itself was nothing but sand, and
where there was water enough to wet it, it was very miry and hard
traveling over it. There are two streams, the Big Sandy and Little
Sandy, both tributaries to Green River, which we soon reached and
crossed.
It was a remarkable clear and rapid stream and was now low enough to
ford. One of the Government teams set out to make the crossing at a
point where it looked shallow enough, but before the lead mules reached
the opposite shore, they lost their footing and were forced to swim. Of
course the wagon stopped and the team swung round and tangled up in a
bad shape. They were unhitched and the wagon pulled back, the load was
somewhat dampened, for the water came into the wagon box about a foot.
We camped here and laid by one day, having thus quite a little chance to
look around.
When we came to the first water that flowed toward the Pacific Coast at
Pacific Springs, we drivers had quite a little talk about a new scheme.
We put a great many "ifs" together and they amounted to about this:--If
this stream were large enough; if we had a boat; if we knew the way: if
there were no falls or bad places; if we had plenty of provisions; if we
were bold enough set out on such a trip, etc., we might come out at some
point or other on the Pacific Ocean. And now when we came to the first
of the "ifs," a stream large enough to float a small boat; we began to
think more strongly about the other "ifs".
In the course of our rambles we actually did run across the second "if"
in the shape of a small ferry boat filled up with sand upon a bar, and
it did not take very long to dig it out and put it into shape to use,
for it was just large enough to hold one wagon at a time. Our military
escort intended to leave us at this point, as their route now bore off
to the north of ours. I had a long talk with the surgeon who seemed well
informed about the country, and asked him about the prospects. He did
not give the Mormons a very good name. He said to me:--"If you go to
Salt Lake City, do not let them know you are from Missouri, for I tell
you that many of those from that State will never see California. You
know they were driven from Missouri, and will get revenge if they can."
Both the surgeon and the captain said the stream came out on the Pacific
Coast and that we had no obstacles except cataracts, which they had
heard were pretty bad. I then went to Dallas and told him what we
proposed doing and to our surprise he did not offer any objections, and
offered me $60 for my pony. He said he would sell us some flour and
bacon for provisions also.
We helped them in crossing the river, which was somewhat difficult,
being swift, with boulders in the bottom but we got all safely over and
then made the trade we had spoken of. Dallas paid me for my pony and we
took what flour and bacon he would let go. He gave us some ropes for
head and stern lines to our boat and a couple of axes, and we laid
these, and our provisions in a pile by the roadside. Six of us then gave
up our whips. Mr. S. McMahon, a driver, hesitated for some time, but
being pressed by Dallas for a decision, at last threw down his whip and
said:--"I will go with the boys." This left Dallas with only one driver,
but he took a whip himself, and with the aid of the children and his
wife who drove the two-horse wagon, they got along very well. I paid for
such provisions as we had taken, as the rest of the fellows had almost
no money.
So we parted company, the little train slowly moving on its way
westward. Our military captain, the soldier boys, and the gay young lady
taking the route to Oregon, and we sitting on the bank of the river
whose waters flowed to the great Pacific. Each company wished the other
good luck, we took a few long breaths and then set to work in earnest to
carry out our plans.
CHAPTER VIII
About the first thing we did was to organize and select a captain, and,
very much against my wishes, I was chosen to this important position.
Six of us had guns of some sort, Richard Field, Dallas's cook, was not
armed at all. We had one regular axe and a large camp hatchet, which was
about the same as an axe, and several very small hatchets owned by the
men. All our worldly goods were piled up on the bank, and we were alone.
An examination of the old ferry boat showed it to be in pretty good
condition, the sand with which it had been filled keeping it very
perfectly. We found two oars in the sand under the boat, and looked up
some poles to assist us in navigation. Our cordage was rather scant but
the best we could get and all we could muster. The boat was about twelve
feet long and six or seven feet wide, not a very well proportioned
craft, but having the ability to carry a pretty good load. We swung it
up to the bank and loaded up our goods and then ourselves. It was not a
heavy load for the craft, and it looked as if we were taking the most
sensible way to get to the Pacific, and almost wondered that everybody
was so blind as not to see it as we did.
This party was composed of W.L. Manley, M.S. McMahon, Charles and Joseph
Hazelrig, Richard Field, Alfred Walton and John Rogers. We untied the
ropes, gave the boat a push and commenced to move down the river with
ease and comfort, feeling much happier than we would had we been going
toward Salt Lake with the prospect of wintering there.
At the mouth of Ham's Fork we passed a camp of Indians, but we kept
close to the opposite shore to avoid being boarded by them. They
beckoned very urgently for us to come ashore, but I acted as if I did
not understand them, and gave them the go-by.
As we were floating down the rapid stream it became more and more a
rapid, roaring river, and the bed contained many dangerous rocks that
were difficult to shun. Each of us had a setting-pole, and we ranged
ourselves along the sides of the boat and tried to keep ourselves clear
from the rocks and dangers. The water was not very deep and made such a
dashing noise as the current rushed among the rocks that one had to talk
pretty loud to be heard. As we were gliding along quite swiftly, I set
my pole on the bottom and gave the boat a sudden push to avoid a
boulder, when the pole stuck in the crevice between two rocks, and
instead of losing the pole by the sudden jerk I gave, I was the one who
was very suddenly yanked from the boat by the spring of the pole, and
landed in the middle of the river. I struck pretty squarely on my back,
and so got thoroughly wet, but swam for shore amid the shouts of the
boys, who waved their hats and hurrahed for the captain when they saw he
was not hurt. I told them that was nothing as we were on our way to
California by water any way, and such things must be expected.
The next day after this I went on shore and sighted a couple of
antelope, one of which I shot, which gave us good grub, and good
appetites we already had. As near as we could estimate we floated about
thirty miles a day, which beat the pace of tired oxen considerably. In
one place there was a fringe of thick willows along the bank, and a
little farther back a perpendicular bluff, while between the two was a
strip of fine green grass. As we were passing this we scared up a band
of elk in this grass meadow, and they all took a run down the river like
a band of horses. One of them turned up a small ravine with walls so
steep he could not get out, so we posted a guard at the entrance, and
three of us went up the canon after him, and after the others had each
fired a shot, I fired the third and brought him down. This was about the
finest piece of Rocky Mountain beef that one could see. We took the
carcass on board and floated on again.
Thus far we had a very pleasant time, each taking his turn in working
the boat while the others rested or slept. About the fifth day when we
were floating along in very gently running water, I had lay down to take
a rest and a little sleep. The mountains here on both sides of the river
were not very steep, but ran gradually for a mile or so. While I was
sleeping the boat came around a small angle in the stream, and all at
once there seemed to be a higher, steeper range of mountains right
across the valley. The boys thought the river was coming to a rather
sudden end and hastily awoke me, and for the life of me I could not say
they were not right, for there was no way in sight for it to go to. I
remembered while looking over a map the military men had I found a place
named Brown's Hole, and I told the boys I guessed we were elected to go
on foot to California after all, for I did not propose to follow the
river down any sort of a hole into any mountain. We were floating
directly toward a perpendicular cliff, and I could not see any hole any
where, nor any other place where it could go. Just as we were within a
stone's throw of the cliff, the river turned sharply to the right and
went behind a high point of the mountain that seemed to stand squarely
on edge. This was really an immense crack or crevice, certainly 2000
feet deep and perhaps much more, and seemed much wider at the bottom
than it did at the top, 2000 feet or more above our heads. Each wall
seemed to lean in toward the water as it rose.
We were now for some time between two rocky walls between which the
river ran very rapidly, and we often had to get out and work our boat
over the rocks, sometimes lifting it off when it caught. Fortunately we
had a good tow line, and one would take this and follow along the edge
when it was so he could walk. The mountains seemed to get higher and
higher on both sides as we advanced, and in places we could see quite a
number of trees overhanging the river, and away up on the rocks we could
see the wild mountain sheep looking down at us. They were so high that
they seemed a mile away, and consequently safe enough. This was their
home, and they seemed very independent, as if they dared us fellows to
come and see them. There was an old cottonwood tree on bank with marks
of an axe on it, but this was all the sign we saw that any one had ever
been here before us. We got no game while passing through this deep
canon and began to feel the need of some fresh provisions very sorely.
We passed many deep, dark canons coming into the main stream, and at one
place, where the rock hung a little over the river and had a smooth
wall, I climbed up above the high water mark which we could clearly see,
and with a mixture of gunpowder and grease for paint, and a bit of cloth
tied to a stick for a brush, I painted in fair sized letters on the
rock, CAPT. W.L. MANLEY, U.S.A. We did not know whether we were within
the bounds of the United States or not, and we put on all the majesty we
could under the circumstances. I don't think the sun ever shone down to
the bottom of the canon, for the sides were literally sky-high, for the
sky, and a very small portion of that was all we could see.
Just before night we came to a place where some huge rocks as large as
cabins had fallen down from the mountain, completely filling up the
river bed, and making it completely impassible for our boat. We unloaded
it and while the boys held the stern line, I took off my clothes and
pushed the boat out into the torrent which ran around the rocks, letting
them pay the line out slowly till it was just right. Then I sang out
to--"Let go"--and away it dashed. I grasped the bow line, and at the
first chance jumped overboard and got to shore, when I held the boat and
brought it in below the obstructions. There was some deep water below
the rocks; and we went into camp. While some loaded the boat, others
with a hook and line caught some good fish, which resembled mackerel.
While I was looking up toward the mountain top, and along down the rocky
wall, I saw a smooth place about fifty feet above where the great rocks
had broken out, and there, painted in large black letters, were the
words "ASHLEY, 1824." This was the first real evidence we had of the
presence of a white man in this wild place, and from this record it
seems that twenty-five years before some venturesome man had here
inscribed his name. I have since heard there were some persons in St.
Louis of this name, and of some circumstances which may link them with
this early traveler.
When we came to look around we found that another big rock blocked the
channel 300 yards below, and the water rushed around it with a terrible
swirl. So we unloaded the boat again and made the attempt to get around
it as we did the other rocks. We tried to get across the river but
failed. We now, all but one, got on the great rock with our poles, and
the one man was to ease the boat down with the rope as far as he could,
then let go and we would stop it with our poles and push it out into the
stream and let it go over, but the current was so strong that when the
boat struck the rock we could not stop it, and the gunwale next to us
rose, and the other went down, so that in a second the boat stood
edgewise in the water and the bottom tight against the big rock, and the
strong current pinned it there so tight that we could no more move it
than we could move the rock itself.
This seemed a very sudden ending to our voyage and there were some very
rapid thoughts as to whether we would not safer among the Mormons than
out in this wild country, afoot and alone. Our boat was surely lost
beyond hope, and something must be done. I saw two pine trees, about two
feet through, growing on a level place just below, and I said to them
that we must decide between going afoot and making some canoes out of
these pine trees. Canoes were decided on, and we never let the axes
rest, night or day till we had them completed. While my working shift
was off, I took an hour or two, for a little hunting, and on a low
divide partly grown over with small pines and juniper I found signs, old
and new, of many elk, and so concluded the country was well stocked with
noble game. The two canoes, when completed were about fifteen feet long
and two feet wide, and we lashed them together for greater security.
When we tried them we found they were too small to carry our load and
us, and we landed half a mile below, where there were two other pine
trees--white pine--about two feet through, and much taller than the ones
we had used. We set at work making a large canoe of these. I had to
direct the work for I was the only one who had ever done such work. We
worked night and day at these canoes, keeping a big fire at night and
changing off to keep the axes busy. This canoe we made twenty-five or
thirty feet long, and when completed they made me captain of it and into
it loaded the most valuable things, such as provisions, ammunition, and
cooking utensils. I had to take the lead for I was the only skillful
canoeist in the party. We agreed upon signals to give when danger was
seen, or game in sight, and leading off with my big canoe we set sail
again, and went flying down stream.
This rapid rate soon brought us out of the high mountains and into a
narrow valley when the stream became more moderate in its speed and we
floated along easily enough. In a little while after we struck this
slack water, as we were rounding a point, I saw on a sand bar in the
river, five or six elk, standing and looking at us with much curiosity.
I signaled for those behind to go to shore, while I did the same, and
two or three of us took our guns and went carefully down along the bank,
the thick brush hiding us from them, till we were in fair range, then
selecting our game we fired on them. A fine doe fell on the opposite
bank, and a magnificent buck which Rogers and I selected, went below and
crossed the river on our side. We followed him down along the bank which
was here a flat meadow with thick bunches of willows, and soon came
pretty near to Mr. Elk who started off on a high and lofty trot. As he
passed an opening in the bushes I put a ball through his head and he
fell. He was a monster. Rogers, who was a butcher, said it would weigh
five hundred or six hundred pounds. The horns were fully six feet long,
and by placing the horns on the ground, point downwards, one could walk
under the skull between them. We packed the meat to our canoes, and
staid up all night cutting the meat in strips and drying it, to reduce
bulk and preserve it, and it made the finest kind of food, fit for an
epicure.
Starting on again, the river lost more and more of of its rapidity as it
came out into a still wider valley, and became quite sluggish. We picked
red berries that grew on bushes that overhung the water. They were sour
and might have been high cranberries. One day I killed an otter, and
afterward hearing a wild goose on shore, I went for the game and killed
it on a small pond on which there were also some mallard duck. I killed
two of these. When I fired, the ones not killed did not fly away, but
rather swam toward me. I suppose they never before had seen a man or
heard the report of a gun. On the shore around the place I saw a small
bear track, but I did not have time to look for his bearship, and left,
with the game already killed, and passed on down through this beautiful
valley.
We saw one place where a large band of horses had crossed, and as the
men with them must have had a raft, we were pretty sure that the men in
charge of them were white men. Another day we passed the mouth of a
swollen stream which came in from the west side. The water was thick
with mud, and the fish, about a foot long, came to the top, with their
noses out of water. We tried to catch some, but could not hold them. One
night we camped on an island, and I took my gun and went over toward the
west side where I killed a deer. The boys hearing me shoot, came out,
guns in hand, thinking I might need help, and I was very glad of their
assistance. To make our flour go as far as possible we ate very freely
of meat, and having excellent appetites it disappeared very fast.
It took us two or three days to pass this beautiful valley, and then we
began to get into a rougher country again, the canons deeper and the
water more tumultuous. McMahon and I had the lead always, in the big
canoe. The mountains seemed to change into bare rocks and get higher and
higher as we floated along. After the first day of this the river became
so full of boulders that many times the only way we could do was to
unload the canoes and haul them over, load up and go ahead, only to
repeat the same tactics in a very short time again. At one place where
the river was more than usually obstructed we found a deserted camp, a
skiff and some heavy cooking utensils, with a notice posted up on an
alder tree saying that they had found the river route impracticable, and
being satisfied that the river was so full of rocks and boulders that it
could not be safely navigated, they had abandoned the undertaking and
were about to start overland to make their way to Salt Lake. I took down
the names of the parties at the time in my diary, which has since been
burned, but have now forgotten them entirely. They were all strangers to
me. They had taken left such heavy articles as could not be carried on
foot. This notice rather disconcerted us, but we thought we had better
keep on and see for ourselves, so we did not follow them, but kept on
down the rocky river. We found generally more boulders than water, and
the down grade of the river bed was heavy.
Some alders and willows grew upon the bank and up quite high on the
mountains we could see a little timber. Some days we did not go more
than four or five miles, and that was serious work, loading and
unloading our canoes, and packing them over the boulders, with only
small streams of water curling around between them. We went barefoot
most of the time, for we were more than half of the time in the water
which roared and dashed so loud that we could hardly heard each other
speak. We kept getting more and more venturesome and skillful, and
managed to run some very dangerous rapids in safety.
On the high peaks above our heads we could see the Rocky Mountain sheep
looking defiantly at us from their mountain fastnesses, so far away they
looked no larger than jack rabbits. They were too far off to try to
shoot at, and we had no time to try to steal up any nearer for at the
rate we were making, food would be the one thing needful, for we were
consuming it very fast. Sometimes we could ride a little ways, and then
would come the rough-and-tumble with the rocks again.
One afternoon we came to a sudden turn in the river, more than a right
angle, and, just below, a fall of two feet or more. This I ran in
safety, as did the rest who followed and we cheered at our pluck and
skill. Just after this the river swung back the other way at a right
angle or more, and I quickly saw there was danger below and signaled
them to go on shore at once, and lead the canoes over the dangerous
rapids. I ran my own canoe near shore and got by the rapid safely,
waiting for the others to come also. They did not obey my signals but
thought to run the rapid the same as I did. The channel here was
straight for 200 yards, without a boulder in it, but the stream was so
swift that it caused great, rolling waves in the center, of a kind I
have never seen anywhere else. The boys were not skillful enough to
navigate this stream, and the suction drew them to the center where the
great waves rolled them over and over, bottom side up and every way. The
occupants of our canoe let go and swam to shore. Fields had always been
afraid of water and had worn a life preserver every day since we left
the wagons. He threw up his hands and splashed and kicked at a terrible
rate, for he could not swim, and at last made solid ground. One of the
canoes came down into the eddy below, where it lodged close to the
shore, bottom up. Alfred Walton in the other canoe could not swim, but
held on to the gunwale with a death grip, and it went on down through
the rapids. Sometimes we could see the man and sometimes not, and he and
the canoe took turns in disappearing. Walton had very black hair, and as
he clung fast to his canoe his black head looked like a crow on the end
of a log. Sometimes he would be under so long that we thought he must be
lost, when up he would come again still clinging manfully.
McMahon and I threw everything out of the big canoe and pushed out after
him. I told Mc. to kneel down so I could see over him to keep the craft
off the rocks, and by changing his paddle from side to side as ordered,
he enabled me to make quick moves and avoid being dashed to pieces. We
fairly flew, the boys said, but I stood up in the stern and kept it
clear of danger till we ran into a clear piece of river and overtook
Walton clinging to the overturned boat; McMahon seized the boat and I
paddled all to shore, but Walton was nearly dead and could hardly keep
his grasp on the canoe. We took him to a sandy place and worked over him
and warmed him in the sun till he came to life again, then built a fire
and laid him up near to it to get dry and warm. If the canoe had gone on
20 yards farther with him before we caught it, he would have gone into
another long rapid and been drowned. We left Walton by the fire and
crossing the river in the slack water, went up to where the other boys
were standing, wet and sorry-looking, say-that all was gone and lost.
Rogers put his hand in his pocket and pulled out three half dollars and
said sadly:--"Boys, this is all I am worth in the world." All the
clothes he had were a pair of overalls and a shirt. If he had been
possessed of a thousand in gold he would have been no richer, for there
was no one to buy from and nothing to buy. I said to them: "Boys, we
can't help what has happened, we'll do the best we can. Right your
canoe, get the water out, and we'll go down and see how Walton is." They
did as I told them, and lo and behold when the canoe rolled right side
up, there were their clothes and blankets safe and sound. These light
things had floated in the canoe and were safe. We now tried by joining
hands to reach out far enough to recover some of the guns, but by
feeling with their feet they found the bottom smooth as glass and the
property all swept on below, no one knew where. The current was so
powerful that no one could stand in it where it came up above his knees.
The eddy which enabled us to save the first canoe with the bedding and
clothes was caused by a great boulder as large as a house which had
fallen from above and partly blocked the stream. Everything that would
sink was lost.
We all got into the two canoes and went down to Walton, where we camped
and staid all night for Walton's benefit. While we were waiting I took
my gun and tried to climb up high enough to see how much longer this
horrible canon was going to last, but after many attempts, I could not
get high enough to see in any direction. The mountain was all bare rocks
in terraces, but it was impossible to climb from one to the other, and
the benches were all filled with broken rocks that had fallen from
above.
By the time I got back to camp, Walton was dry and warm and could talk.
He said he felt better, and pretty good over his rescue. When he was
going under the water, it seemed sometimes as if he never would come to
the top again, but he held on and eventually came out all right. He
never knew how he got to shore, he was so nearly dead when rescued.
The next morning Walton was so well we started on. We were now very
poorly armed. My rifle and McMahon's shotgun were all the arms we had
for seven of us, and we could make but a poor defence if attacked by man
or beast, to say nothing of providing ourselves with food. The mountains
on each side were very bare of timber, those on the east side
particularly so, and very high and barren. Toward night we were floating
along in a piece of slack water, the river below made a short turn
around a high and rocky point almost perpendicular from the water. There
was a terrace along the side of this point about fifty feet up, and the
bench grew narrower as it approached the river. As I was coming down
quite close under this bank I saw three mountain sheep on the bench
above, and, motioning to the boys, I ran on shore and, with my gun in
hand, crept down toward them, keeping a small pine tree between myself
and the sheep. There were some cedar bushes on the point, and the pines
grew about half way up the bank. I got in as good a range as possible
and fired at one of them which staggered around and fell down to the
bottom of the cliff. I loaded and took the next largest one which came
down the same way. The third one tried to escape by going down the bend
and then creeping up a crevice, but it could not get away and turned
back, cautiously, which gave me time to load again and put a ball
through it. I hit it a little too far back for instant death, but I
followed it up and found it down and helpless, and soon secured it. I
hauled this one down the mountain, and the other boys had the two others
secure by this time. McMahon was so elated at my success that he said:
"Manley, if I could shoot as you do I would never want any better
business." And the other fellows said they guessed we were having better
luck with one gun than with six, so we had a merry time after all. These
animals were of a bluish color, with hair much finer than deer, and
resembled a goat more than a sheep. These three were all females and
their horns were quite straight, not curved like the big males. We cut
the meat from the bones and broke them up, making a fine soup which
tasted pretty good. They were in pretty good order, and the meat like
very good mutton.
We kept pushing on down the river. The rapids were still dangerous in
many places, but not so frequent nor so bad as the part we had gone
over, and we could see that the river gradually grew smoother as we
progressed.
After a day or two we began to get out of the canons, but the mountains
and hills on each side were barren and of a pale yellow caste, with no
chance for us to climb up and take a look to see if there were any
chances for us further along. We had now been obliged to follow the
canon for many miles, for the only way to get out was to get out
endwise, climbing the banks being utterly out of the question. But these
mountains soon came to an end, and there was some cottonwood and willows
on the bank of the river, which was now so smooth we could ride along
without the continual loading and unloading we had been forced to
practice for so long. We had begun to get a little desperate at the lack
of game, but the new valley, which grew wider all the time, gave us hope
again, if it was quite barren everywhere except back of the willow
trees.
We were floating along very silently one day, for none of us felt very
much in the mood for talking, when we heard a distant sound which we
thought was very much like the firing of a gun. We kept still, and in a
short time a similar sound was heard, plainer and evidently some ways
down the stream. Again and again we heard it, and decided that it must
be a gun shot, and yet we were puzzled to know how it could be. We were
pretty sure there were no white people ahead of us, and we did not
suppose the Indians in this far-off land had any firearms. It might be
barely possible that we were coming now to some wagon train taking a
southern course, for we had never heard that there were any settlements
in this direction and the barren country would preclude any such thing,
as we viewed it now. If it was a hostile band we could not do much with
a rifle and a shot gun toward defending ourselves or taking the
aggressive. Some of the boys spoke of our scalps ornamenting a spear
handle, and indulged in such like cheerful talk which comforted us
wonderfully.
Finally we concluded we did not come out into that wild country to be
afraid of a few gunshots, and determined to put on a bold front, fight
if we had to, run away if we could not do any better, and take our
chances on getting scalped or roasted. Just then we came in sight of
three Indian lodges just a little back from the river, and now we knew
for certain who had the guns. McMahon and I were in the lead as usual,
and it was only a moment before one of the Indians appeared, gun in
hand, and made motions for us to come on shore. A cottonwood tree lay
nearly across the river, and I had gone so far that I had to go around
it and land below, but the other boys behind were afraid to do otherwise
than to land right there as the Indian kept his gun lying across his
arm. I ran our canoe below to a patch of willows, where we landed and
crawled through the brush till we came in sight of the other boys, where
we stood and waited a moment to see how they fared, and whether our red
men were friends or enemies. There were no suspicious movements on their
part, so we came out and walked right up to them. There was some little
talk, but I am sure we did not understand one another's language, and so
we made motions and they made motions, and we got along better. We went
with them down to the tepee, and there we heard the first word that was
at all like English and that was "Mormonee," with a sort of questioning
tone. Pretty soon one said "Buffalo," and then we concluded they were on
a big hunt of some sort. They took us into their lodges and showed us
blankets, knives, and guns, and then, with a suggestive motion, said all
was "Mormonee," by which we understood they had got them from the
Mormons. The Indian in the back part of the lodge looked very pleasant
and his countenance showed a good deal of intelligence for a man of the
mountains. I now told the boys that we were in a position where we were
dependent on some one, and that I had seen enough to convince me that
these Indians were perfectly friendly with the Mormons, and that for our
own benefit we had better pass ourselves off for Mormons, also. So we
put our right hand to our breast and said "Mormonee," with a cheerful
countenance, and that act conveyed to them the belief that we were
chosen disciples of the great and only Brigham and we became friends at
once, as all acknowledged. The fine-looking Indian who sat as king in
the lodge now, by motions and a word or two, made himself known as Chief
Walker, and when I knew this I took great pains to cultivate his
acquaintance.
I was quite familiar with the sign language used by all the Indians, and
found I could get along pretty well in making him understand and knowing
what he said. I asked him first how many "sleeps" or days it was from
there to "Mormonee." In answer he put out his left hand and then put two
fingers of his right astride of it, making both go up and down with the
same motion of a man riding a horse. Then he shut his eyes and laid his
head on his hand three times, by which I understood that a man could
ride to the Mormon settlement in three sleeps or four days. He then
wanted to know where we were going, and I made signs that we were
wishing to go toward the setting sun and to the big water, and I said
"California." The country off to the west of us now seemed an open,
barren plain, which grew wider as it extended west. The mountains on the
north side seemed to get lower and smaller as they extended west, but on
the south or east side they were all high and rough. It seemed as if we
could see one hundred miles down the river, and up to the time we met
the Indians we thought we had got through all our troublesome navigation
and could now sail on, quietly and safely to the great Pacific Ocean and
land of gold.
When I told Chief Walker this he seemed very much astonished, as if
wondering why we were going down the river when we wanted to get west
across the country. I asked him how many sleeps it was to the big water,
and he shook his head, pointed out across the country and then to the
river and shook his head again; by which I understood that water was
scarce, out the way he pointed. He then led me down to a smooth sand bar
on the river and then, with a crooked stick, began to make a map in the
sand. First he made a long crooked mark, ten feet long or so, and
pointing to the river to let me know that the mark in the sand was made
to represent it. He then made a straight mark across near the north end
of the stream, and showed the other streams which came into the Green
river which I saw at once was exactly correct. Then he laid some small
stones on each side of the cross mark, and making a small hoop of a
willow twig, he rolled it in the mark he had made across the river, then
flourished his stick as if he were driving oxen. Thus he represented the
emigrant road. He traced the branches off to the north where the
soldiers had gone, and the road to California, which the emigrants took,
all of which we could see was correct. Then he began to describe the
river down which we had come. A short distance below the road he put
some small stones on each side of the river to represent mountains. He
then put down his hands, one on each side of the crooked mark and then
raised them up again saying e-e-e-e-e-e as he raised them, to say that
the mountains there were very high. Then he traced down the stream to a
place below where we made our canoes; when he placed the stone back from
the river farther, to show that there was a valley there; then he drew
them in close again farther down, and piled them up again two or three
tiers high, then placing both fists on them he raised them higher than
the top of his head, saying e-e-e-e-e-e and looking still higher and
shaking his head as if to say:--"Awful bad canon", and thus he went on
describing the river till we understood that we were near the place
where we now were, and then pointed to his tepee, showing that I
understood him all right. It was all correct, as I very well knew and
assured me that he knew all about the country.
I became much interested in my new found friend, and had him continue
his map down the river. He showed two streams coming in on the east side
and then he began piling up stones on each side of the river and then
got longer ones and piled them higher and higher yet. Then he stood with
one foot on each side of his river and put his hands on the stones and
then raised them as high as he could, making a continued e-e-e-e-e-e as
long as his breath would last, pointed to the canoe and made signs with
his hands how it would roll and pitch in the rapids and finely capsize
and throw us all out. He then made signs of death to show us that it was
a fatal place. I understood perfectly plain from this that below the
valley where we now were was a terrible canon, much higher than any we
had passed, and the rapids were not navigable with safety. Then Walker
shook his head more than once and looked very sober, and said "Indiano"
and reaching for his bow and arrows, he drew the bow back to its utmost
length and put the arrow close to my breast, showing how I would get
shot. Then he would draw his hand across his throat and shut his eyes as
if in death to make us understand that this was a hostile country before
us, as well as rough and dangerous.
I now had a description of the country ahead and believed it to be
reliable. As soon as I could conveniently after this, I had a council
with the boys, who had looked on in silence while I was holding the
silent confab with the chief. I told them where we were and what chances
there were of getting to California by this route, and that for my part
I had as soon be killed by Mormans as by savage Indians, and that I
believed the best way for us to do was to make the best of our way to
Salt Lake. "Now" I said, "Those of you who agree with me can follow--and
I hope all will."
McMahon said that we could not understand a word the old Indian said,
and as to following his trails, I don't believe a word of it, and it
don't seem right.
He said he had a map of the country, and it looked just as safe to him
to go on down the river as to go wandering across a dry and desolate
country which we knew nothing of. I said to McMahon--"I know this sign
language pretty well. It is used by almost all the Indians and is just
as plain and certain to me as my talk is to you. Chief Walker and his
forefathers were borne here and know the country as well as you know
your father's farm, and for my part, I think I shall take one of his
trails and go to Salt Lake and take the chances that way. I have no
objections to you going some other way if you wish to and think it is
best". McMahon and Fields concluded they would not follow me any
farther.
I then went to Chief Walker and had him point out the trail to
"Mormonie" as well as he could. He told me where to enter the mountains
leading north, and when we got part way he told me we would come to an
Indian camp, when I must follow some horse tracks newly made; he made me
know this by using his hands like horse's forefeet, and pointed the way.
Some of the young men motioned for me to come out and shoot at a mark
with them, and as I saw it would please them I did so and took good care
to beat them every time too. Then they wanted to swap (narawaup) guns
with me which I declined doing. After this the Chief came to me and
wanted me to go and hunt buffalo with them. I told him I had no horse,
and then he went and had a nice gray one brought up and told me I could
ride him if I would go. He took his bow and arrow and showed me how he
could shoot an arrow straight through a buffalo just back of his short
ribs and that the arrow would go clear through and come out on the other
side without touching a bone. Those fellows were in fine spirit, on a
big hunt, and when Walker pointed out his route to me he swung his hand
around to Salt Lake.
They all spoke the word buffalo quite plainly. I took his strong bow and
found I could hardly pull it half way out, but I have no doubt he could
do as he said he could. I hardly knew how to refuse going with him. I
asked him how long it would be before he would get around his long
circuit and get to Salt Lake, to which he replied by pulverizing some
leaves in his hands and scattering them in the air to represent snow,
which would fall by the time he got to "Mormonee". I shivered as he said
this and by his actions I saw that I understood him right.
I told him I could not go with him for the other boys would depend on me
to get them something to eat, and I put my finger into my open mouth to
tell him this. I think if I had been alone I should have accepted his
offer and should have had a good time. I gave them to understand that we
would swap (narawaup) with them for some horses so he brought up a pair
of nice two year-old colts for us. I offered him some money for them, he
did not want that, but would take clothing of almost any kind. We let
them have some that we could get along without, and some one let Walker
have a coat. He put it on, and being more warmly dressed than ever
before, the sweat ran down his face in streams. We let them have some
needles and thread and some odd notions we had to spare. We saw that
Walker had some three or four head of cattle with him which he could
kill if they did not secure game at the time they expected.
McMahon and Field still persisted they would not go with us and so we
divided our little stock of flour and dried meat with them as fairly as
possible and decided we would try the trail. When our plans were settled
we felt in pretty good spirits again, and one of the boys got up a sort
of corn-stalk fiddle which made a squeaking noise and in a little while
there was a sort of mixed American and Indian dance going on in which
the squaws joined in and we had a pretty jolly time till quite late at
night. We were well pleased that these wild folks had proved themselves
to be true friends to us.
The morning we were to start I told the boys a dream I had in which I
had seen that the course we had decided on was the correct one, but
McMahon and Field thought we were foolish and said they had rather take
the chances of going with the Indians, or going on down the river. He
seemed to place great stress on the fact that he could not understand
the Indians.
Said he:--"This Indian may be all right, and maybe he will lead us all
into a dreadful trap. They are treacherous and revengeful, and for some
merely fancied wrong done by us, or by some one else of whom we have no
control or knowledge, they may take our scalps, wipe us out of existence
and no one will ever know what became of us. Now this map of mine don't
show any bad places on this river, and I believe we can get down easily
enough, and get to California some time. Field and I cannot make up our
minds so easily as you fellows. I believe your chances are very poor."
The boys now had our few things loaded on the two colts, for they had
fully decided to go with me, and I was not in the least put back by
McMahon's dire forebodings. We shook hands with quivering lips as we each
hoped the other would meet good luck, and find enough to eat and all
such sort of friendly talk, and then with my little party on the one
side and McMahon and Field, whom we were to leave behind, on the other,
we bowed to each other with bared heads, and then we started out of the
little young cottonwoods into the broad plain that seemed to get wider
and wider as we went west.
The mountains on the northern side grew smaller and less steep as we
went west, and on the other hand reached down the river as far as we
could see. The plain itself was black and barren and for a hundred miles
at least ahead of us it seemed to have no end. Walker had explained to
us that we must follow some horse tracks and enter a canon some miles to
the northwest. He had made his hands work like horses' feet, placing
then near the ground as if following a trail, We were not much more than
a mile away when on looking back, we saw Chief Walker coming towards us
on a horse at full speed; and motioning for us to stop. This we did,
though some of the boys said we would surely be marched back and
scalped. But it was not for that he came. He had been watching us and
saw that we had failed to notice the tracks of the horses he told us
about so he rode after us, and now took us off some little distance to
the right, got off his horse and showed us the faint horse tracks which
we were to follow and said "Mormonie". He pointed out to us the exact
canon we were to enter when we reached the hills; and said after three
"sleeps" we would find an Indian camp on top of the mountain. He then
bade us good bye again and galloped back to his own camp.
We now resumed our journey, keeping watch of the tracks more closely,
and as we came near the spurs of the mountain which projected out into
the barren valley we crossed several well marked trails running along
the foot hills, at right angles to our own. This we afterwards learned
was the regular trail from Santa Fe to Los Angeles. At some big rocks
further on we camped for the night, and found water in some pools or
holes in the flat rocks which held the rain.
Reading people of to-day, who know so well the geography of the American
continent, may need to stop and think that in 1849 the whole region west
of the Missouri River was very little known, the only men venturesome
enough to dare to travel over it were hunters and trappers who, by a
wild life had been used to all the privations of such a journey, and
shrewd as the Indians themselves in the mysterious ways of the trail and
the chase. Even these fellows had only investigated certain portions
best suited to their purpose.
The Indians here have the reputation of being blood thirsty savages who
took delight in murder and torture, but here, in the very midst of this
wild and desolate country we found a Chief and his tribe, Walker and his
followers who were as humane and kind to white people as could be
expected of any one. I have often wondered at the knowledge of this man
respecting the country, of which he was able to make us a good map in
the sand, point out to us the impassable canon, locate the hostile
indians, and many points which were not accurately known by our own
explorers for many years afterward. He undoubtedly saved our little band
from a watery grave, for without his advice we had gone on and on, far
into the great Colorado canon, from which escape would have been
impossible and securing food another impossibility, while destruction by
hostile indians was among the strong probabilities of the case. So in a
threefold way I have for these more than forty years credited the lives
of myself and comrades to the thoughtful interest and humane
consideration of old Chief Walker.
In another pool or pond near the one where we were camped I shot a small
duck. Big sage was plenty here for fuel and we had duck for supper. Our
party consisted of five men and two small ponies only two years old,
with a stock of provisions very small including that the old chief had
given us. We started on in the morning, following our faint trail till
we came to the canon we had in view, and up this we turned as we had
been directed, finding in the bottom a little running stream. Timber
began to appear as we ascended, and grass also. There were signs of deer
and grouse but we had no time to stop to hunt, for I had the only gun
and while I hunted the others must lie idly by. We reached the summit at
a low pass, and just above, on the north side of the higher mountains
were considerable banks of snow. Following the Chief's instructions we
left the trail and followed some horse tracks over rolling hills, high
on the mountain side. We found the Indian camp exactly as the Chief had
described, consisting of two or three lodges. The men were all absent
hunting, but the women were gathering and baking some sort of a root
which looked like a carrot. They made a pile of several bushels and
covered it with earth, then made a fire, treating the pile some as a
charcoal burner does his pit of coal. When sufficiently cooked they beat
them up and made the material into small cakes which were dried in the
sun. The dried cakes were as black as coal and intended for winter use.
These roots before roasting were unfit for food, as they contained a
sort of acrid juice that would make the tongue smart and very sore but
there was a very good rich taste when cooked. The woman pointed to our
horses and said "Walker", so we knew they were aware that we got them of
him, and might have taken us for horse thieves for aught I know. As it
was not yet night when we came to the camp, we passed on and camped on a
clear mountain brook where grew some pine trees. After a little some of
the Indians belonging to the camp we had passed came in, bringing some
venison, for which we traded by giving them some needles and a few other
trinkets. I beat these fellows shooting at a mark, and then they wanted
to trade guns, which I declined. This piece of meat helped us along
considerably with our provisions, for game was very scarce and only some
sage hens had come across our trail. One day I scared a hawk off the
ground, and we took the sage hen he had caught and was eating, and made
some soup of it.
After being on this trail six or seven days we began to think of killing
one of our colts for food, for we had put ourselves on two meals a day
and the work was very hard; so that hunger was all the time increasing.
We thought this was a pretty long road for Walker to ride over in three
sleeps as he said he could, and we began also to think there might be
some mistake somewhere, although it had otherwise turned out just as he
said. On the eighth day our horse-tracks came out into a large trail
which was on a down grade leading in a northward direction. On the ninth
day we came into a large valley, and near night came in sight of a few
covered wagons, a part of a train that intended going on a little later
over the southern route to Los Angeles but were waiting for the weather
to get a little cooler, for a large part of the route was over almost
barren deserts. We were very glad to find these wagons, for they seemed
to have plenty of food and the bountiful supper they treated us to was
the very thing we needed. We camped here and told them of the hardships
we had passed through. They had hired a guide, each wagon paying him ten
dollars for his service. Our little party talked over the situation
among ourselves, and concluded that as we were good walkers we must
allow ourselves to be used in any way so that we had grub and concluded
as many of us as possible would try to get some service to do for our
board and walk along with the party. John Rogers had a dollar and a half
and I had thirty dollars, which was all the money we had in our camp. We
found out we were about 60 miles south of Salt Lake City. Some of the
boys next day arranged to work for their board, and the others would be
taken along if they would furnish themselves with flour and bacon. This
part of the proposition fell to me and two others, and so Hazelrig and I
took the two colts and started for the city, where they told us we could
get all we needed with our little purse of money. We reached Hobble
Creek before night, near Salt Lake where there was a Mormon fort, and
were also a number of wagons belonging to some prospecting train. There
seemed to be no men about and we were looking about among the wagons for
some one to inquire of, when a woman came to the front of the last wagon
and looked out at us, and to my surprise it was Mrs. Bennett, wife of
the man I had been trying to overtake ever since my start on this long
trip. Bennett had my entire outfit with him on this trip and was all the
time wondering whether I would ever catch up with them. We stayed till
the men came in with their cattle towards night, and Bennett was glad
enough to see me, I assure you. We had a good substantial supper and
then sat around the campfire nearly all night telling of our experience
since leaving Wisconsin. I had missed Bennett at the Missouri River. I
knew of no place where people crossed the river except Council Bluff,
here I had searched faithfully, finding no trace of him, but it seems
they had crossed farther up at a place called Kanesville, a Mormon
crossing, and followed up the Platte river on the north side. Their only
bad luck had been to lose a fine black horse, which was staked out, and
when a herd of buffaloes came along he broke his rope and followed after
them. He was looked for with other horses, but never found and doubtless
became a prize for some enterprising Mr. Lo. who was fortunate enough to
capture him. Hazelrig and I told of our experience on the south side of
the Platte; why we went down Green River; what a rough time we had; how
we were stopped by the Indians and how we had come across from the
river, arriving the day before and were now on our way to Salt Lake to
get some flour and bacon so we could go on with the train when it
started as they had offered to haul our grub for our service if we could
carry ourselves on foot.
Mr. Bennett would not hear of my going on to Salt Lake City, for he said
there must be provisions enough in the party and in the morning we were
able to buy flour and bacon of John Philips of Mineral Point Wis. and of
Wm. Philips his brother. I think we got a hundred pounds of flour and a
quantity of bacon and some other things. I had some money which I had
received for my horse sold to Dallas, but as the others had none I paid
for it all, and told Hazelrig to take the ponies and go back to camp
with a share of the provisions and do the best he could. I had now my
own gun and ammunition, with some clothing and other items which I had
prepared in Wisconsin before I started after my Winnebago pony, and I
felt I ought to share the money I had with the other boys to help them
as best I could. I felt that I was pretty well fixed and had nothing to
fear.
Mr. Bennett told me much of the trip on the north side of the Platte. He
said they had some cholera, of which a few people died, and related how
the outer if not the inner nature of the men changed as they left
civilization, law and the courts behind them. Some who had been raised
together, and lived together all their lives without discord or trouble,
who were considered model men at home and just the right people to be
connected with in such an expedition, seemed to change their character
entirely out on these wild wastes. When anything excited their
displeasure their blood boiled over, and only the interference of older
and wiser heads on many occasions prevented bloodshed. Some dissolved
the solemn contract they had made to travel together systematically and
in order and to stand, by, even unto death, and when they reached the
upper Platte, the journey only half over, talked of going back, or
splitting up the outfit and join others they had taken a fancy to. Some
who could not agree upon a just division of a joint outfit, thinking one
party was trying to cheat, would not yield but would cut their wagons in
two lengthwise just for spite so that no carts could be made and the
whole vehicle spoiled for both parties. The ugly disagreements were many
and the cloven foot was shown in many ways. Guns were often drawn and
pointed but some one would generally interfere and prevent bloodshed.
Others were honest and law abiding to the last degree beyond law and
churches, and would act as harmoniously as at home, obeying their chosen
captain in the smallest particular without any grumbling or dissension,
doing to every one as they would be done by. These were the pride of the
train. The trains were most of them organized, and all along the river
bottom one was hardly ever out of sight of some of the wagons, all going
west. Buffalo and antelope were plenty and in great droves, followed
always by wolves great and small, who were on the lookout for crippled
or dead animals with which to fill their hungry stomachs. Buffalo meat
was plenty and much enjoyed while passing this section of the road and
this opportunity of replenishing, enabled the stock to last them over
more desolate regions where game was scarce.
After Bennett had told his stories, and I had related more of our own
close escapes I began to ask him why he went this way which seemed to be
very circuitous and much longer than the way they had first intended to
go. He said that it was too late in the season to go the straight-road
safely, for there was yet 700 miles of bad country to cross and do the
best they could it would be at the commencement of the rainy season
before the Sierra Nevada mountains could be reached and in those
mountains there was often a snow fall of 20 feet or more, and anyone
caught in it would surely perish. If they tried to winter at the base of
the mountains it was a long way to get provisions, and no assurance of
wild game, and this course was considered very hazardous for any one to
undertake. This they had learned after consulting mountaineers and
others who knew about the regions, and as there was nothing doing among
the Latter Day Saints to give employment to any one, it was decided best
to keep moving and go the southern route by way of Los Angeles. No
wagons were reported as ever getting through that way, but a trail had
been traveled through that barren desert country for perhaps a hundred
years, and the same could be easily broadened into a wagon road.
After days of argument and camp-fire talks, this Southern route was
agreed upon, and Capt. Hunt was chosen as guide. Capt. Hunt was a
Mormon, and had more than one wife, but he had convinced them that he
knew something about the road. Each agreed to give him ten dollars to
pilot the train to San Bernardino where the Mormon Church had bought a
Spanish grant of land, and no doubt they thought a wagon road to that
place would benefit them greatly, and probably gave much encouragement
for the parties to travel this way. It was undoubtedly safer than the
northern mountain route at this season of the year. It seemed at least
to be a new venture for west-bound emigrant trains, at least as to
ultimate success, for we had no knowledge of any that had gone through
safely.
Some western people remembered the history of the Mormons in Illinois
and Missouri, and their doings there, feared somewhat for their own
safety now that they were so completely under their power, for they knew
the Mormons to be revengeful and it was considered very unsafe for any
traveler to acknowledge he was from Missouri. Many a one who had been
born there, and lived there all his life, would promptly claim some
other state as his native place. I heard one Mormon say that there were
some Missourians on the plains that would never reach California. "They
used us bad," said he, and his face took on a really murderous look.
These Mormons at Salt Lake were situated as if on an island in the sea,
and no enemy could reach any adjoining state or territory if Brigham
Young's band of destroying angels were only warned to look after them.
At a late hour that night we lay down to sleep, and morning came clear
and bright. After breakfast Mr. Bennett said to me:--"Now Lewis I want
you to go with me; I have two wagons and two drivers and four yoke of
good oxen and plenty of provisions. I have your outfit yet, your gun and
ammunition and your two good hickory shirts which are just in time for
your present needs. You need not do any work. You just look around and
kill what game you can for us, and this will help as much as anything,
you can do." I was, of course glad to accept this offer, and thanks to
Mr. Bennett's kind care of my outfit, was better fixed then any of the
other boys.
We inquired around among the other wagons as to their supply of flour
and bacon; and succeeded to getting flour from Mr. Philips and bacon
from some of the others, as much as we supposed the other boys would
need, which I paid for, and when this was loaded on the two colts
Hazelrig started back alone to the boys in camp. As I was so well
provided for I gave him all my money for they might need some, and I did
not.
The wagons which composed the intended train were very much scattered
about, having moved out from Salt Lake at pleasure, and it was said to
be too early to make the start on the southern route, for the weather on
the hot, barren desert was said to grow cooler a little later in the
season, and it was only at this cool season that the south west part of
the desert could be crossed in safety. The scattering members of the
train began to congregate, and Capt. Hunt said it was necessary to have
some sort of system about the move, and that before they moved they must
organize and adopt rules and laws which must be obeyed. He said they
must move like an army, and that he was to be a dictator in all things
except that in case of necessity a majority of the train could rule
otherwise. It was thought best to get together and try a march out one
day, then go in camp and organize.
This they did, and at the camp there was gathered one hundred and seven
wagons, a big drove of horses and cattle, perhaps five hundred in all.
The train was divided into seven divisions and each division was to
elect its own captain. Division No. 1 should lead the march the first
day, and their men should take charge of the stock and deliver them to
the wagons in the morning, and then No. 1 should take the rear, with No.
2 in the lead to break the road. The rear division would not turn a
wheel before 10 o'clock the next day, and it would be about that time at
night before they were in camp and unyoked. The numbers of animals
cleaned out the feed for a mile or two each side of the camp and a
general meeting was called for the organization of the whole. Mr. L.
Granger got up so he could look over the audience and proceeded to
explain the plan and to read a preamble and resolutions which had been
prepared as the basis for government. I remember that it begun
thus:--"This Organization shall be known and designated as the Sand
Walking Company, and shall consist of seven divisions etc," detailing
the manner of marching as we have recited. Capt J. Hunt was chosen
commander and guide, and his orders must be obeyed. All possible trouble
that we could imagine might come was provided against in our written
agreement, and all promised to live up to it.
CHAPTER IX.
We moved off in good style from this camp. After a day or two and before
we reached what is called Little Salt Lake, an attempt was made to make
a short cut, to save distance. The train only went on this cut off a day
or two when Capt. Hunt came back from the front and said they had better
turn back to the old trail again, which all did. This was a bad move,
the train much broken and not easy to get them into regular working
order again. We were now approaching what they called the Rim of the
Basin. Within the basin the water all ran to the north or toward Great
Salt Lake, but when we crossed the rim, all was toward the Colorado
River, through which it reached the Pacific Ocean. About this time we
were overtaken by another train commanded by Capt. Smith. They had a map
with them made by one Williams of Salt Lake a mountaineer who was
represented to know all the routes through all the mountains of Utah,
and this map showed a way to turn off from the southern route not far
from the divide which separated the waters of the basin from those which
flowed toward the Colorado, and pass over the mountains, coming out in
what they called Tulare valley, much nearer than by Los Angeles.
This map was quite frequently exhibited and the matter freely discussed
in camp, indeed speeches were made in the interest of the cut-off route
which was to be so much shorter. A clergyman, the Rev. J.W. Brier, was
very enthusiastic about this matter and discoursed learnedly and
plausibly about it. The more the matter was talked about the more there
were who were converted to the belief that the short road would be the
best. The map showed every camp on the road and showed where there was
water and grass, and as to obstacles to the wagons it was thought they
could easily be overcome. A general meeting was called for better
consideration of the question. Capt. Hunt said: "You all know I was
hired to go by way of Los Angeles, but if you all wish to go and follow
Smith I will go also. But if even one wagon decides to go the original
route, I shall feel bound to go with that wagon."
A great many were anxious to get the opinion of Capt. Hunt on the
feasibility of the new route for he was a mountain man and could
probably give us some good advice. He finally consented to talk of it,
and said he really knew no more then the others about this particular
route, but he very much doubted if a white man ever went over it, and
that he did not consider it at all safe for those who had wives and
children in their company to take the unknown road. Young men who had no
family could possibly get through, and save time even if the road was
not as good as Los Angeles road. But said he "If you decide to follow
Smith I will go will go with you, even if the road leads to Hell."
On the route from near Salt Lake to this point we found the country to
grow more barren as we progressed. The grass was thinner, and sage brush
took the place of timber. Our road took us in sight of Sevier Lake, and
also, while going through the low hills, passed Little Salt Lake, which
was almost dry, with a beach around it almost as white as snow. It might
have had a little more the dignity of a lake in wet weather, but it was
a rather dry affair as we saw it.
At one point on this route we came into a long narrow valley, well
covered with sage brush, and before we had gone very far we discovered
that this was a great place for long eared rabbits, we would call them
Jack Rabbits now. Every one who had a gun put it into service on this
occasion, and there was much popping and shooting on every side. Great
clouds of smoke rolled up as the hunters advanced and the rabbits ran in
every direction to get away. Many ran right among the horses, and under
the feet of the cattle and under the wagons, so that the teamsters even
killed some with a whip. At the end of the valley we went into camp, and
on counting up the game found we had over 500, or about one for every
person in camp. This gave us a feast of fresh meat not often found.
It was on this trip that one of Mr. Bennett's ox drivers was taken with
a serious bowel difficulty, and for many days we thought he would die,
but he eventually recovered. His name was Silas Helmer.
It was really a serious moment when the front of the train reached the
Smith trail. Team after team turned to the right while now and then one
would keep straight ahead as was at first intended. Capt. Hunt came over
to the larger party after the division was made, and wished them all a
hearty farewell and a pleasant happy journey. My friend Bennett whose
fortune I shared was among the seceders who followed the Smith party.
This point, when our paths diverged was very near the place afterward
made notorious as Mountain Meadows, where the famous massacre took place
under the direction of the Mormon generals. Our route from here up to
the mountain was a very pleasant one, steadily up grade, over rolling
hills, with wood, water and grass in plenty. We came at last to what
seemed the summit of a great mountain, about three days journey on the
new trail. Juniper trees grew about in bunches, and my experience with
this timber taught me that we were on elevated ground.
Immediately in front of us was a canon, impassible for wagons, and down
into this the trail descended. Men could go, horses and mules, perhaps,
but wagons could no longer follow that trail, and we proposed to camp
while explorers were sent out to search a pass across this steep and
rocky canon. Wood and bunch grass were plenty, but water was a long way
down the trail and had to be packed up to the camp. Two days passed, and
the parties sent out began to come in, all reporting no way to go
farther with the wagons. Some said the trail on the west side of the
canon could be ascended on foot by both men and mules, but that it would
take years to make it fit for wheels.
The enthusiasm about the Smith cut-off had begun to die and now the talk
began of going back to follow Hunt. On the third morning a lone traveler
with a small wagon and one yoke of oxen, died. He seemed to be on this
journey to seek to regain his health. He was from Kentucky, but I have
forgotten his name. Some were very active about his wagon and, some
thought too much attention was paid to a stranger. He was decently
buried by the men of the company.
This very morning a Mr. Rynierson called the attention of the crowd and
made some remarks upon the situation. He said: "My family is near and
dear to me. I can see by the growth of the timber that we are in a very
elevated place. This is now the seventh of November, it being the fourth
at the time of our turning off on this trail. We are evidently in a
country where snow is liable to fall at any time in the winter season,
and if we were to remain here and be caught in a severe storm we should
all probably perish. I, for one, feel in duty bound to seek a safer way
than this. I shall hitch up my oxen and return at once to the old trail.
Boys (to his teamsters) get the cattle and we'll return." This was
decisive, and Mr. Rynierson would tarry no longer. Many others now
proceeded to get ready and follow, and as Mr. Rynierson drove out of
camp quite a respectable train fell in behind him. As fast as the
hunters came in and reported no road available, they also yoked up their
oxen and rolled out. Some waited awhile for companions yet in the
fields, and all were about ready to move, when a party came in with news
that the pass was found and no trouble could be seen ahead. About
twenty-seven wagons remained when this news came, and as their
proprietors had brought good news they agreed to travel on westward and
not go back to the old trail.
Mr. Bennett had gone only a short distance out when he had the
misfortune to break the axle of his wagon and he then went back to camp
and took an axle out of the dead man's wagon and by night had it fitted
into his own. He had to stay until morning, and there were still a few
others who were late in getting a start, who camped there also. Among
these were J.B. Arcane, wife and child; two Earhart brothers and sons
and some two or three other wagons.
When all was ready we followed the others who had gone ahead. The route
led at first directly to the north and a pass was said to be in that
direction. Of the Green River party only Rodgers and myself remained
with this train. After the wagons straightened out nicely, a meeting was
called to organize, so as to travel systematically. A feeling was very
manifest that those without any families did not care to bind themselves
to stand by and assist those who had wives and children in their party
and there was considerable debate, which resulted in all the family
wagons being left out of the arrangements.
A party who called themselves "The Jayhawkers" passed us, and we
followed along in the rear, over rolling hills covered with juniper
timber, and small grassy valleys between where there was plenty of water
and went well, for those before us had broken out the road so we could
roll along very pleasantly.
At the organization Jim Martin was chosen captain. Those who were
rejected were Rev. J.W. Brier and, his family, J.B. Arcane and family,
and Mr. A. Bennett and family, Mr. Brier would not stay put out, but
forced himself in, and said he was going with the rest, and so he did.
But the other families remained behind. I attended the meeting and heard
what was said, but Mr. Bennett was my friend and had been faithful to me
and my property when he knew not where I was, and so I decided to stand
by him and his wife at all hazards.
As I had no team to drive I took every opportunity to climb the
mountains along the route, reaching the highest elevations even if they
were several miles from the trail. I sometimes remained out all night. I
took Mr. Arcane's field glass with me and was thus able to see all there
was of the country. I soon became satisfied that going north was not
taking us in the direction we ought to go. I frequently told them so,
but they still persisted in following on. I went to the leaders and told
them we were going back toward Salt Lake again, not making any headway
toward California. They insisted they were following the directions of
Williams, the mountaineer; and they had not yet got as far north as he
indicated. I told them, and Mr. Bennett and others, that we must either
turn west, or retrace our steps and get back into the regular Los
Angeles road again. In the morning we held another consultation and
decided to turn west here, and leave the track we had been following.
Off we turned at nearly right angles to our former course, to the west
now, over a piece of table land that gave us little trouble in breaking
our own road. When we camped, the oxen seemed very fond of a white weed
that was very plenty, and some borrowed a good deal of trouble thinking
that perhaps it might be poison. I learned afterwards that this plant
was the nutritious white sage, which cattle eat freely, with good
results. We now crossed a low range and a small creek running south, and
here were also some springs. Some corn had been grown here by the
Indians. Pillars of sand stone, fifteen feet high and very slim were
round about in several places and looked strange enough. The next piece
of table land sloped to the east, and among the sage grew also a bunch
grass a foot high, which had seeds like broom-corn seeds. The Indians
had gathered the grass and made it in piles of one hundred pounds or so,
and used it for food as I found by examining their camps.
One day I climbed a high mountain where some pine grew, in order to get
a view of the country. As I neared its base I came to a flat rock,
perhaps fifty feet square. I heard some pounding noise as I came near,
but what ever it was, it ceased on my approach. There were many signs of
the rock being used as a camp, such as pine burrs, bones of various
kinds of animals, and other remains of food which lay every where about
and on the rock. Near the center was a small oblong stone fitted into a
hole. I took it out and found it covered a fine well of water ab