ON THE SUMMIT OF THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS—CROSSING THE BACKBONE OF THE NORTH AMERICAN CONTINENT—REVIEW OF THE JOURNEY—GRAVES OPENED BY WOLVES—MUTILATED BODIES—AN UNPARALLELED JOURNEY OF HARDSHIP—THE PROSPECT AHEAD—A MATTER OF LIFE AND DEATH—START DOWN THE PACIFIC SLOPE—DESCENDING THE CLIFFS WITH WAGONS—ONE VEHICLE SLIPS AND IS REDUCED TO KINDLING WOOD AND SCRAP IRON—INTO A NEW CLIMATE—CHANGE IN THE CHARACTER OF VEGETATION—WILD HORSES AND CATTLE—ATTACKED BY WILD CATTLE—SEVERAL MEN HURT AND ONE MULE GORED TO DEATH—A NUMBER OF CATTLE KILLED—SUPPLY OF BEEF—REACH THE SAN PEDRO RIVER—TRAVELING THROUGH A HEAVY GROWTH OF MESQUIT AND CHAPPARAL—APPROACH THE MEXICAN GARRISONED TOWN OF TUCSON—NEWS OF APPROACH OF A LARGE AMERICAN ARMY SENT TO THE MEXICANS—ORDER ISSUED BY COLONEL COOKE.
AT the camp at Dry Lake, which we reached between November 20 and 25, we laid over a day, and a party was sent ahead to cut a road over the divide. I was too weak for four or five days to take much interest in what passed; and in the meantime the command reached and crossed the divide, or summit of the Rocky Mountains—the backbone of the North American continent—where the waters are divided, flowing on either side to the Atlantic and Pacific respectively.
For eighteen hundred miles the Mormon Battalion members had made a hard and weary march. Starting from Nauvoo, on the Mississippi River—the "father of waters"—as exiles, they had passed over a lovely country, yet at a season of the year when travel was difficult, to the Missouri River. At the latter point the battalion was mustered into service, and moved over an excellent country two hundred miles to Fort Leavenworth; thence through what is now the state of Kansas, passing over a goodly land to the Great Plains, a timberless country, where water is scarce. There they began to be footsore and leg-weary, and to suffer severely from heat and thirst. Soon they came to the desert, and for nine days tried cooking their shortened rations over "buffalo chip" fires, with fuel even scarcer than it was poor; often having very little water, and that brackish, so that men and hearts began to grow weak and ill.
At this point in the long journey they commenced passing the open graves of soldiers, many of whom laid down their lives in the advance companies. Their graves were open for the reason that wolves had dug up the dead bodies and devoured the flesh from the bones; the blankets in which the bodies were wrapped were torn to shreds, while in some instances the carcass still hung together, except that the fingers and toes had been eaten off by wild beasts. The road was also strewn with dead horses and cattle, so that as the battalion advanced the gruesome sights became more frequent and therefore excited less comment. And in turn the battalion contributed a share of dead to the lonely graves of the plains.
Then, on the sandy roads, there was the rough order to put the shoulder to the wheel and help the jaded teams; and the battalion waded creeks and rivers with quicksand bottoms, or lifted or pulled at ropes in lowering or raising their wagons over rough and precipitous places—in what appeared at that time a rough and worthless country, which may not have changed greatly since.
At times they were called forward to tramp sand roads for teams, and then to return and pull at ropes or push at wagons which, without assistance, the teams could not control. Then when Santa Fe was passed the journey was proceeded upon with reduced rations, down the difficult country along the Rio Grande del Norte. Onward the struggle continued, over sandy deserts and through a rough, mountainous region, where the hardships were intense, and where there seemed no eye to pity and no hand to pass even a drop of water to moisten the parching tongue. It was not human capability, it was the divine power that sustained them in such extremities as they had to endure.
It was thus the renowned Mormon Battalion toiled and struggled on their journey to the summit of the lofty Rocky Mountain range—the crest of the continent—a journey whose details of privation, and peril, and patient courage, cannot be told in human words, and never can be realized except by those who experienced it. So many lofty mountain spurs had been crossed, that the final ascent seemed quite gradual.
Leaving now this general survey of the past, I recall that from the lofty eminence we had reached on our march, the descent was very abrupt and difficult, through the rugged defiles to the west. But with the battalion it was a case of life and death. That was no place to remain, there was no earthly help at hand, no way to life open but to trust in God and persevere in the onward movement. So with the pick-axe and crow-bar we commenced to clear the most feasible road down by chopping away the shrubbery and brush and removing that and the rocks.
After much of the baggage had been taken down the mountain one way by pack animals, long ropes and guy-ropes were attached to the wagons and the descent with them began by another way. The wagons were lowered for a distance of half a mile or so, men standing as best they could on the mountain side, letting the vehicle down gradually, then holding it till other men could get a fresh footing and lower it still further. Thus one by one the wagons were let down in safety, all but one. By some mishap that got adrift from the men, and to save their lives they had to let it go until there was nothing of it but scrap-iron and kindling-wood. As there was already an abundance of the latter around us, no one was desirous of descending to the rugged depths of the ravine to secure even a relic of that terrible descent.
It was thought by our commander and guides that it would require from six to eight days to make the descent, but thanks to the tact and skill of some of our men who had been accustomed to frontier life, the work was done in two days, and we were again where the wagons could stand on partially level ground.
In a very brief space of time we found ourselves plunged into a warm climate, where we could not see any plant or shrub that we had been acquainted with before. There was some small, scrubby ash, sycamore and black walnut, but everything, even to the rocks, had a strange appearance. We also had entered the land of wild horses and cattle, which roamed the hills by thousands. The wild cattle became excited at the rumbling wagons, and gathered thickly along our way.
At last the muskets commenced to rattle, partly through fear, and partly because we wanted beef. Finally a herd of wild cattle charged our line, tossed some men into the air, pierced others with their horns, knocking some down, and ran over others, attacking one light wagon, the hind end of which was lifted clear from the road. One large bull plunged into a six-mule team, ran his head under the off-swing mule, throwing him entirely over the near one and thrusting his horn into the mule's vitals, injuring our animal so it had to be left on the ground, where it expired in a few minutes. There were several men and mules roughly used and bruised, just the number I do not now recall. The attacking party lost twenty or twenty-five of their number killed, with many others badly or slightly wounded.
We had plenty of beef for a few days, and might have secured much more. I never understood the reason why we were not allowed to lay by and "jerk" an abundance of meat for the subsequent use of the command, but the stop was not permitted. Many of the men felt greatly disappointed and indignant because we were denied the privilege of availing ourselves of this splendid opportunity of replenishing our scanty rations. We were half starving at the time, and perhaps if we had been allowed to lay by a few days we would have gorged ourselves to our injury. It may be that would have been more serious than to have stormed, as some did, at being ordered to march on. It is possible this was the view taken by our commander, though we never knew.
Continuing our advance to lower levels, the climate was mild and pleasant. Our course was northwesterly until we passed a deserted ranch called San Bernardino, in what is now Arizona, and followed down the San Pedro River. I think this was the south fork of the Gila River. There was some good country along this lovely stream. It was there we first saw the mescal and mesquit, the former being the plant from which the Mexicans distil their whisky (pulque), the latter a tree somewhat resembling the black locust, but growing with a very spreading habit, making it difficult to travel among. In many places it had to be cut down and cleared away before we could proceed. There was another scrubby tree-growth which the Spaniards call chapparal. This brush grew very thick in places, so that in cutting it away travel became very tedious.
Here the guides told Colonel Cooke that if we followed along the stream it would be a hundred miles farther than if we cut across the bend, but if we took the latter route we would have to pass through a Mexican fortified town, where a body of soldiers had been left to guard it as an outpost. At that time it was impossible for us to learn the strength of the place; but it was thought that we might get some supplies of provisions and some animals. At the same time there was considerable risk that we would have to fight, and perhaps get defeated, in which case it would be not only a loss of property but of life as well.
On December 12 and 13 we followed down the San Pedro, our course being nearly due north, near the base of a mountain extending towards the Gila River. The guide, Leroux, with others, returned from an exploration of the table-land to the west, leading to Tucson. They found a party of Apache Indians and some Mexicans distilling mescal, and learned from them that the Mexican garrison at Tucson numbered about two hundred men. The interpreter with the guides, Dr. Foster, had thought it proper to go to Tucson, and Leroux told the Mexicans to inform the commander at Tucson that an American army was approaching en route to California; that the advance guard numbered about three hundred and sixty men, and if it stopped to drill it would give time for the main army to come up; that the strength of the main army could be judged by the size of its vanguard; and that if Foster did not rejoin the advance guard by a given time it would be understood that he was a prisoner at Tucson. Upon learning what had been done and said, Colonel Cooke issued the following order:
"Headquarters Mormon Battalion, Camp on the San Pedro, Dec. 13, 1846. Thus far on our course to California we have followed the guides furnished us by the general. These guides now point to Tucson, a garrison town, as on our road, and assert that any other course is one hundred miles out of the way, and over a trackless wilderness of mountains, rivers and hills. We will march then to Tucson. We came not to make war on Sonora, and less still to destroy an important outpost of defense against Indians. But we will take the straight road before us and overcome all resistance, but shall I remind you that the American soldier ever shows justice and kindness to the unarmed and unresisting? The property of individuals you will hold sacred; the people of Sonora are not our enemies.
" "By order of Lieutenant Colonel Cooke. P. C. Merrill, Adjutant.""
"ON THE TRAIL TO TUCSON—EXCITEMENT IN THE TOWN—MEET MEXICAN SOLDIERS—OUR NUMBERS OVERRATED BY THE INDIANS—MEXICAN COMMANDER UNDER ORDERS TO OPPOSE US—COLONEL COOKE ANNOUNCES HIS WISH TO PASS ON WITHOUT HOSTILITIES—ARREST OF CORPORAL CASSADURAN, SON OF THE MEXICAN COMMANDER AT TUCSON, AND OTHER MEXICANS WHO ARE HELD AS HOSTAGES FOR THE RETURN OF OUR INTERPRETER—THE INTERPRETER IS LIBERATED—AN ARMISTICE PROPOSED—SURRENDER OF TUCSON DEMANDED—MEXICAN PRISONERS RELEASED—SURRENDER IS REFUSED—COLONEL COOKE ORDERS THE BATTALION TO PREPARE FOR BATTLE—ADVANCE TOWARD THE TOWN—FLIGHT OF THE MEXICANS—AT THE GATES OF TUCSON—OUR LINE OF BATTLE—ADDRESS BY COLONEL COOKE—WE ENTER THE TOWN, AND PASS THROUGH TO CAMP—PURCHASES OF WHEAT, CORN, ETC.—THE BATTALION NEARLY STARVED—NIGHT ALARM OF A MEXICAN ATTACK—DIFFICULTIES OF GETTING INTO LINE—NO ENEMY IN SIGHT—START ACROSS THE GILA DESERT—AGONY ON THE BURNING SANDS AND ALKALI FLAT—-STRENGTHENED BY THE DIVINE BLESSING—REACH THE GILA RIVER.
ON the 14th the battalion ascended to the plateau, traveling up hill for eight or nine miles, when it struck the trail leading to Tucson. Colonel Cooke selected fifty men, with whom he pushed forward. Passing the vanguard, he soon reached water, where he found four or five Mexican soldiers cutting grass. Their arms and saddles were on their horses near by, easily accessible to our men. But these had no wish to molest them, and the Mexicans appeared to pay little attention to us.
The colonel learned from a Mexican sergeant that rumors of a large force of American troops coming had reached Tucson, and great excitement prevailed in the town. Of course the colonel, who was possessed of generalship as well as a stern sense of discipline, took no pains to disabuse the Mexicans' minds, and thus possibly expose our little army to unnecessary peril. Indians who had seen us from a distance had overestimated largely our numbers, and thus served to impress the people of Sonora with the accuracy of the statement made by the guides.
The colonel also learned from the Mexican sergeant that the commander of the garrison had orders from the governor not to allow any armed force to pass through the town without resistance. A message was therefore sent to the commander by this same sergeant, saying that the people need not be alarmed, as we were their friends and would do them no harm, as we wished merely to purchase supplies and pass on.
The next day we traveled about twelve miles, passing a distillery, and camped without water. The battalion marched in front of the wagons, to protect the provisions. Here a new (to us) species of cactus proved very troublesome. It was jointed, and when an animal rubbed against the thorns it broke loose at the joints, and sections about three inches long would stick fast to the animal. The same variety of cactus is found in southern Utah.
This day a corporal, the son of Cassaduran, commander of the Mexican post at Tucson, and three Mexican soldiers were met with. They showed no signs of fear until Colonel Cooke ordered them arrested, when they seemed terribly frightened. On arriving at our camp, the corporal was questioned by the commander as to Dr. Foster. He said (and it proved to be true) that Foster was under guard, but had been requested earnestly to come with them, and had refused. He had feigned indignation at being arrested, lest the Mexicans should be suspicious as to our numbers and should get reinforcements and fight us. As he anticipated, his conduct inspired them with terror.
One of the Mexican prisoners was released and sent to the garrison with two of the guides, one of whom took a note to the commander of the post, demanding Foster's release and stating that the other three Mexicans were held as hostages. About midnight, Dr. Foster was brought into camp by two officers, one of whom was authorized to arrange a special armistice.
Colonel Cooke sent a proposition to the Mexican commander that he deliver up a few arms as a guaranty of surrender, and that the inhabitants of Tucson would not fight against the United States, unless released as prisoners of war. The Mexican prisoners also were released. Our camp at this time was about sixteen miles from Tucson; and on our advance the following day, when a few miles out, a cavalryman met us with a note from Captain Cassaduran, declining the proposition to surrender. We were thereupon ordered to load our muskets and prepare for an engagement. We had not traveled far, however, before two other Mexicans met us, with the news that the garrison at Tucson had fled, and had forced most of the inhabitants to leave the town. They also had taken two brass pieces of artillery with them. A little later in the day, about a dozen well armed men, probably soldiers in citizens' dress, met and accompanied the battalion to Tucson. But before passing through the gates a halt was ordered.
That morning, when we were striking camp for the march into Tucson, Dr. Sanderson opened up again by remarking that "every d—d man who could stand alone ought to fall into line." Our first move was to form ranks with everything in proper order to make an assault or receive a charge. Then we moved out in line of battle. When within three or four miles of the fort a stop was made, we were faced to the right, and the command came to forward march, double-quick time. At that the whole column moved on a smart trot. Some of us, at least, thought we were advancing upon an enemy that had been discovered by the commander; but when we had gone pell-mell over cobblerock and gullies, through brush and cactus, for a distance of nearly three quarters of a mile, we received the command to halt. Then came orders to left face, file left, march. This move brought us back into the road, where we filed to the right and marched on to the fort.
At the gates of the fort. Colonel Cooke made a brief speech, stating that the soldiers and citizens had fled, leaving their property behind and in our power; that we had not come to make war on Sonora; and that there must not be any interference with the private property of the citizens.
We then marched through the town, where a few aged men and women and some children brought us water and other small tokens of respect. We made no halt in the village, which had contained some four or five hundred inhabitants, of which number all but about a hundred had fled. Our stop was made about half a mile down stream from the place.
In the town we made purchases of wheat, corn, beans and peas, which we parched or boiled. We were so near starved that we could not wait for this food to be more than half cooked before we ate it. There was no general supply purchased at Tucson, but each man or mess obtained as much as could be with the scanty means on hand.
On the night of December 17, Albern Allen and his son Rufus C. Allen had been placed on picket guard above Tucson, with orders that if any body of men, say ten or more, appeared, an alarm was to be fired, and the guards were to run into camp. Sometime between midnight and two o'clock a body of Mexicans put in an appearance, and the alarm was given as ordered. The bugle sounded at the colonel's quarters, and soon Lieutenant George Oman, who was officer of the day, rushed through the camp, shouting, "Beat that drum; if you cannot beat the drum, beat the fife!" The drum-major, R. D. Sprague, obeyed the order, and hit the drum. Immediately the stern voice of the colonel shouted to cease that music. In less time than it takes to tell it, lights sprang up through the camp. Then came the sharp command from the colonel, "Dust those fires!" and the flames went out; the adjutant rushed through the camp with orders to the officers to form their companies into line, the men were commanded to fall in, and all was rustle and bustle.
The writer had been up relieving his stomach of half-boiled wheat, corn and peas, and had just got settled back in bed when the alarm was fired, so he heard all that was going on. As we all slept in our pantaloons, the first thing I thought of in that country of prickly pears was my boots; and while reaching for these and bumping heads with comrades, some of the men whose muskets were used for uprights for the tent thought these the first articles in the emergency and seized them, the tent coming down and the ridge-pole making another bump on heads. At the same time we were all trapped in the fallen tent, which was pinned down tight. I was trying to get the left boot on the right foot, and my footwear being rather small I had no easy job. All being caught in the tent-trap, the thought came how easy it would be for a body of Mexican cavalry in a charge to cut us to pieces, and we soon burst through the tent and fell into line.
For the first time in the whole march the writer brought up the rear in getting to his place, and received a rebuke from the officer in command, George P. Dykes. Right here, however, in that brief experience, I learned a lesson I have never forgotten, namely, order in dressing and undressing. We had been in the habit of putting our clothing anywhere and each throwing his on top of another's, if convenience appeared to suggest it, so that in the dark it was difficult for each to get into his own raiment. I realized then how important it was to have "a place for everything and everything in its place;" hence to put every article of wearing apparel down so that in the darkest hour of night I knew where to place my hand on it, and when armed always to have my weapons in the best possible order and where the hand might be laid on them without any mistakes.
Notwithstanding all the confusion, it seemed to me we were in line of battle in very short order, awaiting an attack of Mexican cavalry. There was a few minutes' breathless silence after we were ready for the assault, and no enemy appearing, reconnoitering parties were sent out to ascertain the true situation. We were held in readiness an hour or more, then learning that everything was quiet, were permitted to retire to our tents, but not without some apprehension of danger until the dawn of day, which came bright and peaceful, and we began our march out on what was known as the Ninety-five Mile Desert, which lay between us and the Gila River.
After the first day's march on that awful stretch of barren waste, we began to straggle along, and before the Gila was reached the command was scattered along on the clay beds and sand strips for twenty miles. We traveled night and day, not stopping at any one place more than six hours.
The command was in a most deplorable condition on this journey. Many were the men that lay down by the wayside without a hope that they would live to reach water, and often thinking that they were behind the command. But after they had rested for a few hours and perhaps dozed long enough to dream that they died on the desert, and that the wolves that were howling around were dragging their emaciated carcasses over the sands or perchance in the alkali pools, so strongly impregnated with poisonous stuff that it would consume, in a short time, the flesh if not the bones also, then the thought of home and loved ones would come; and what was sometimes last, though not the least, would be the memory of the promises which the servants of God had made when we left the dear ones of home. Then the worn and weary soldier would stagger to his feet, survey the surroundings, and perhaps would catch sight, in the distance, of some comrade who was staggering and reeling onward toward the setting sun, and would follow in his path.
So the almost dead soldier would go on, his feet playing pit-a-pat as they dragged past each other, until his limbs would refuse to carry him farther, and down he would go and repeat the agonizing experience of a few hours previous. He would also chew a buckshot or two to induce moisture in his parching tongue, and would offer an earnest prayer from his humble soul—a further exertion which he would not have brought his wearied mind to do if it had not been for the confidence he placed in the promises of God, made through His faithful servants.
Thus, dear reader, the renowned Mormon Battalion passed forward across the great Gila Desert, almost without a human reason to hope that they would reach the goal, and only able to accomplish their aim through divine grace. When they succeeded in reaching the banks of the river, their clothes were so tattered and torn that it was with difficulty they could cover their nakedness.
ON THE GILA RIVER—PIMA INDIAN VILLAGE—WELCOME GIFTS FROM THE PIMAS—AMONG THE MARICOPA INDIANS—ASLEEP ON THE TRAIL—VISIT PROM A BEAR—LOSS OF PROVISIONS THROUGH AN ATTEMPT TO FLOAT A QUANTITY DOWN THE GILA—HARD TRAVELING—CROSSING THE COLORADO RIVER—GLOOM IN THE CAMP—LOWER AND UPPER CALIFORNIA—TERRIBLE MARCH OVER THE TIERRA CALIENTE, OR HOT LANDS—DIGGING WELLS FOR BRACKISH WATER—ADVANCE GUARD REACH A MOUNTAIN SPRING—WATER CARRIED BACK TO REVIVE THE FAINTING TROOPS—LAST SPOONFUL OF FLOUR USED—DIVIDING THE RATIONS—IN THE CANYONS OF THE SIERRA NEVADA—HEWING ROADS THROUGH ROCKS AND BRUSH—FEEDING ON LIVE ACORNS AND GREEN MUSTARD—NEWS OF VICTORIES BY UNITED STATES TROOPS IN CALIFORNIA—PREPARING TO ENGAGE THE RETIRING MEXICAN ARMY—FIRST HOUSE SEEN IN CALIFORNIA—BEEF WITHOUT SALT—TRADE FOR ACORN MUSH—HEAVY STORM AND FLOOD IN CAMP—A FEW POUNDS OF FLOUR SECURED—DANCING IN MUD AND WATER—RECEIVE ORDERS TO GO TO LOS ANGELES—DISCOVER A BODY OF TROOPS IN LINE OF BATTLE—ADVANCE TO THE ATTACK—SUPPOSED FOE PROVES TO BE FRIENDLY INDIANS—PRESENCE OF THE MORMON BATTALION PREVENTS AN INTENDED ATTEMPT BY MEXICANS TO RETAKE CALIFORNIA, ALSO AN UPRISING OF CALIFORNIANS AGAINST THE UNITED STATES—ON A BATTLEFIELD WHERE GENERAL KEARNEY HAD FOUGHT—RELICS OF THE ENCOUNTER—PROPHECY OF PRESIDENT BRIGHAM YOUNG AND ITS FULFILLMENT—SOURCE OF HIS INSPIRATION.
WHERE we reached the Gila River it was a lovely stream, four or live rods wide; but the country was covered with alkali grass and mesquit brush. We rested part of a day, then proceeded down the river eight or ten miles, coming to a Pima Indian village. The Pima Indians were superior to any that we had fallen in with heretofore. They were an agricultural people, peacefully inclined, and kind and loving toward each other. Those in the village appeared the picture of good health. They came and went by twos, the males and females keeping each sex, to themselves. They seemed the most affectionate people I had ever met; happy and innocent in appearance—a large and handsome class of persons. Each Indian was wrapped in a large home-made blanket.
The Pimas had corn, wheat, pumpkins, beans, and, I think, peas. Some of the Indians noted our wretched and starved condition, and cut up a lot of pumpkins—as we cut them for cows. These they boiled, and handed to the soldiers as the latter passed by and took the proffered food in anything they could get to hold the steaming hot vegetables. The men were indeed thankful for these favors, although they came from Indians.
It was between the 20th and 25th of December when we left the Pima Indian village, and passed down the Gila River to a broad, open, fertile valley in the Maricopa Indian country. At the Maricopa Indian villages we met many fine specimens of the native inhabitants. We traded brass buttons for food. One brass button had more purchasing power than a five dollar gold piece.
It was some five or six days before we passed out of the Maricopas' farming country. There was a large bend in the river, and we traveled three days over a rough, sandy country before we came to the stream again. On this march we camped without water. The writer was one of those who stood guard around the stock. The feed was so scarce that we were kept running all night. I was so completely worn out next day that at about eleven a.m. I sought rest by dropping out of the command and hiding from the rearguard behind a clump of brush that grew on a sand knoll. No sooner had I laid down than I fell into a sound slumber, oblivious to all danger.
When the writer awakened from that sleep the rearguard had passed on long before; the sun had changed position so that the drowsy soldier felt perfectly lost, but gradually he came to realize that it was three or four o'clock p.m. Some six or eight feet from where he had been lying he found fresh bear tracks, telling him of the wild beast that had been viewing him while wrapt in slumber. He hurried forward on the trail, and reached camp just as the night guards were being posted and his comrades were becoming greatly concerned for his safety.
Our route lay down the river, through deep sand and mesquit brush, where we had not only to chop and clear away the brush, but had to push and pull the wagons until our souls as well as our bodies were worn out. We gathered mesquit and a kind of pod to feed our mules. We were six days traveling sixty miles, to the crossing of the Colorado River, or Red River, as it was called by some.
The reader will not wonder that on reaching this point a mountain of gloom rested upon the whole command, causing the men almost to despair as they, on the 10th day of January, 1847, stood on the banks of the swift-flowing Colorado—the stream being half a mile wide at that place—with no alternative but to wade across, pulling and pushing at the wagons, then to cut and burn their way out, through the thick brush on the bottom land, to the bench or bluff that opened out on a barren desert, known to the Mexicans as Tierra Caliente, or the Hot Lands.
Now the command entered upon another soul-trying march. The route from the crossing of the Colorado was over the northeast corner of Lower California, some sixty miles above the Gulf of California, then into the south-eastern part of Upper California. The stronger men, with a little extra ration, preceded the main army, to dig wells in the desert.
No sooner was the almost hopeless march commenced than men began to lag behind, so that when the advance guard came to a halt at any part of the journey, others were miles behind. The first day we came to a well that General Phil. Kearney and his men had dug, but it had caved in so badly that it was almost as much work to clean it as to dig a new one; and when it was cleaned, our men dug another. The water was scant and brackish. We remained at that point only until the rear of the command caught up, then proceeded on our way, stopping but a short time in any one place, until we reached Cariza, a splendid spring near the base of the Sierra Nevada range of mountains. The first men to reach water filled kegs and canteens, lashed them to the stouter animals, and hastened back to succor and revive the famishing men who were bringing up the rear.
On that terrible march many of the weaker men despaired of ever reaching water. We passed several, who, with sunken and glazed eyes and blackened mouths and looking as ghastly as death, stammered to us as we passed them: "Goodby, I shall never live to reach water. I cannot go a step farther, but shall die on this spot." Poor fellows! I verily believe that if they had not been resuscitated by the water that was carried back, their words would have been painfully true before the rising of another sun.
If it had not been for some fresh mules and beef cattle that we met on this tedious march, we never could have got through with the wagons, and possibly would have lost some men, as our flour had given out and we were reduced so near to starvation as to eat every particle of the worn-out beef ox; even the tender part of the horns and hoofs, and the intestines, were broiled on the coals and eaten, without water to wash them.
In our mess, the last spoonful of flour was made into a thin gravy by stirring it into some water where some of our glue-like beef had been boiled. This so-called gravy was divided among the men by spoonfuls, then the pan was scraped with a table knife and wiped into a spoon, and with the point of the same knife it was divided into seven parts. Each man watched the division; and I do not believe there was one man out of the seven but would have fought for his share of that spoonful of pan-scrapings. Nor do I believe there was one of them who would have robbed his comrades. For the last three or four hundred miles we had been in the habit of cooking the food, and dividing it into seven equal parts. Then one man would turn his back, and the cook or the one who made the division would touch each morsel and say, "Who shall have that?" whereupon the one whose back was turned would say, so and so, calling each messmate by name, until all had been "touched off," as we used to call it.
From our camp at the spring we passed into the canyons of the Sierra Nevada. The days had been excessively hot on the desert, and it was very cold and frosty in the mountains at night. We soon came to where the canyons were too narrow for our wagons; then with crowbar and pickaxe and sledge we went at the jagged rocks until the pass was sufficiently widened, and with our shoulders to the wheels or by tugging at ropes we got our train to the summit.
It was while passing through this range of mountains that we first saw live-oak acorns. They were bitter as wormwood; yet we ate considerable quantities of them, and as we descended the western slope they became very abundant, and served for a change. As we passed down to the valleys we found green mustard, which was boiled and eaten without pepper or salt.
About this time one of our guides or interpreters brought word from the governor of San Diego that several battles had been fought by the California troops and United States forces, and that we might meet a large Mexican army retreating to Sonora. In consequence of receiving this news, Colonel Cooke ordered a drill. We had secured a few beef cattle and some fresh mules, and with this increase of strength and the prospect of engaging the Mexicans we were spurred on from one mountain summit to another, pushing and pulling the wagons—a business we were well versed in, from oft repeated lessons.
At Warner's Ranch, we came to the first house we had seen in California. Mr. Warner hailed from the state of Massachusetts. From him the colonel purchased two or three fat beeves. The beef was good, yet we had nothing to eat with it, not even pepper or salt for seasoning, and it did not satisfy the cravings of hunger. We rested a day at the ranch, and some of us wandered off up the creek in hopes of finding wild fruit or game. We came to a small camp of Indians who were engaged in hulling and leaching live-oak acorns, then pounding them to a pulp in stone mortars; this was boiled to a thick mush in home-made earthen pots. The writer bantered one of the old ladies for about three or four quarts of that cold-ochre mush, by offering her the belt that held his pantaloons in place. She accepted the offer, and he, being without proper utensil to receive his purchase, substituted his hat for a pan, and the mush was scooped into it. Then when he found himself in the dilemma of his pantaloons threatening to desert him, he seized the alternative of holding up that portion of his attire with one hand, and carrying his hat and its contents in the other, and proceeded to camp, where his purchase was divided and devoured as a sweet morsel.
From Warner's Ranch we traveled over low hills and camped on a little narrow flat between two hills. In the night it came on to rain terribly, and the flat was so flooded that we awoke to find ourselves half-side deep in water. At dawn one of the boys crawled out of the water and wet blankets, and crowed; for he had learned that the men who had been sent back to recover some flour which had been left in the boat had come in with about four hundred pounds. Soon every man in camp had heard the glad tidings of the arrival of this expedition, about which there had been much anxiety.
In a short time the writer was called on by the orderly sergeant of his company, D, to go with him and receive the portion of flour to be issued to the company. At the door of the tent where the flour was being divided we met Col. Cooke, who was sitting with his head down, as if in deep study. Some of the boys had found a riddle that had fared better than its owner, and near by one of them struck up the tune of "Leather Breeches Full of Stitches," or some similar lively air. Immediately a number of men formed a couple of French fours and began dancing in water half to their shoe tops. The colonel caught the sound, started up, and inquired what it was. Some one replied, "Oh, nothing, only the boys are dancing and making merry over the prospect of getting a little flour." The colonel shrugged his shoulders and remarked, "I never saw such a d—d set of men before in my life. If they can get out somewhere so they can dry their clothes and have a little flour they will be as happy as gods!"
Doubtless the colonel could call to mind often having seen us stagger into camp, and perhaps could remember a dozen or so of us rush to where his mule was being fed corn mixed with beans, which the well-fed mule would object to by throwing his head first one way, then the other, scattering the half-chewed corn and beans in the sand, where the hungry soldiers would pick it from, rub it in their hands, and eat it raw; for to the famishing soldier beans are not so objectionable.
I am reminded at this point in my narrative that three croaking ravens had followed the command nearly all the way from Santa Fe, for the bits that escaped the soldier's eye. Surely if it had not been for the ravens' keener vision they would have left in disgust, and would have given us a very hard name. Even the wolf might have told his fellows not to follow such a greedy lot, which did not leave a bone till it was pounded and boiled and re-boiled till it could not be scented, and if perchance a bit was found it was too hard for even wolves' teeth.
From this camp we moved to the west under orders from General Kearney to go to Los Angeles. While on the march toward that point, just as we emerged from a canyon, we heard the drum and fife in an open valley. Soon we saw a military force forming in line of battle, and as we drew nearer we discovered their spears or lances gleaming in the sunlight, and officers dashing up and down the lines giving commands. Our advance guard slowed up, and we were ordered to form in line of battle. Every officer took his place, the command dressed in proper order, and, as we advanced, comrades looked into each other's faces as if to say, "How do you feel about it?" One asked Alexander Stephens the question, and received a prompt reply, "First-rate. I had as lief go into battle as not. If we must die, the sooner the better, for it seems that we must be worn till we starve and die anyhow. I do not fear death a particle." Others were heard to say as much, and although the ashy look of death shone in many faces, from the privations undergone, I do not think there was a tremor in any heart, or a single man who showed the white feather.
As we drew near the force in our path, there was a dead silence, as if awaiting the order to wheel into line and open fire, for we were within rifle range. Just then two of the opposite party came out on horseback to meet us. The colonel sent two of our interpreters forward, and the command was halted. Soon our guides returned and stated that the supposed foe was a band of Indians which had had a battle with Mexicans in the vicinity a few days before, and the Indians had returned to bury their dead. They had taken us for enemies, but their fears were turned into joy on discovering that we were American soldiers.
With all our bravery, there was a sigh of relief when we heard the news that our supposed enemies were friends. It was now late in the day. and both parties went into camp within a short distance of each other. Friendly visits back and forth were made that evening. The Indians were dressed in Spanish costume and were armed the same as the Mexicans; as I remember them they displayed bravery, and some skill in Mexican military tactics.
Next day we proceeded on our way, and passed down a dry wash, the bottom of which was mostly lined with a whitish cobblestone, upon which the feet of some comrade showed blood at every step for a hundred yards or more. I cannot now recall the man's name. We continued our march from that place, and afterwards learned that the Mexicans had intended to make an effort to regain California, but the timely arrival of the battalion prevented any attempt to execute the movement.
So far as I can remember, it was between January 23 and 27, 1847, that we passed over a battlefield where General Kearney and his little command had fought and beaten the Mexicans. There lay broken swords and firearms, and dead horses and mules; and there also were the graves of the slain, while all around the blood-stained soil was plainly within our view, fixing the scene upon our memory.
Here came to our minds the words of President Brigham Young, in his farewell address to the battalion, in which he said: "You are now going into an enemy's land at your country's call. If you will live your religion, obey and respect your officers, and hold sacred the property of the people among whom you travel, and never take anything but what you pay for, I promise you in the name of Israel's God that not one of you shall fall by the hand of an enemy. Though there will be battles fought in your front and in your rear, on your right hand and on your left, you will not have any fighting to do except with wild beasts."
Here I pause and ask: Who on earth dare to make, of himself, such a promise, under the circumstances and in the name that this promise had been made? And yet over three hundred men who heard it could stand up after they had filled the time of their enlistment, and before high heaven and all the world could bear testimony to the literal fulfillment of those words spoken eight months before, in the camp in Missouri Valley, two thousand miles distant. I ask the honest reader: From whence came such foresight, if not from the Eternal God, the Creator of the heavens and the earth, and all things therein? To Him we ascribe all honor and glory, power and praise, for our success in that great, wonderful and unparalleled march of twenty-five hundred miles made by infantry. Who shall say that God had not made bare His arm in support of that ever memorable Mormon Battalion? But as yet the whole task of the battalion had not been completed.
ORDERED TO SAN DIEGO—FIRST VIEW OF THE PACIFIC OCEAN—RUMORS OF THE ENEMY—COMPLIMENTARY ORDER, BY LIEUT. COL. COOKE, ON THE ACHIEVEMENTS OF THE MORMON BATTALION—REPORTED HOSTILITY OF COL. FREMONT TO GEN. KEARNEY—LIVING ON BEEF ALONE—OBTAIN SOME FLOUR—ROUTINE OF THE CAMP—ORDERED TO LOS ANGELES—DAMAGE BY AN EARTHQUAKE—WILD HORSES AND CATTLE DRIVEN INTO THE SEA—ARRIVAL AT LOS ANGELES—RUMORS OF AN ATTACK—CONSTRUCTING A FORT—GUARDING CAJON PASS—SURROUNDED BY WILD CATTLE—TAKE REFUGE IN A RAVINE—COL. FREMONT ARRESTED—SITE OF SAN BERNARDINO—GETTING OUT A LIBERTY POLE—BRUSH WITH THE INDIANS—CLEARING LOS ANGELES OF DOGS—WICKEDNESS IN THE TOWN—BRUTALITY OF BULL FIGHTS, HORSE RACING, ETC.—ALWAYS READY FOR AN ATTACK—FIRST RAISING OF THE STARS AND STRIPES ON A LIBERTY POLE IN CALIFORNIA.
ORDERS had been received changing our destination from Los Angeles to San Diego, passing by way of the Mission San Luis del Rey. When we reached the San Diego Mission we passed it by and camped between it and the town. It was en route to this place that we came in sight of the waters of the great Pacific Ocean, a view that was most pleasurable to us, and which we hailed with shouts of joy, as we felt that our long march of starvation was about over. We were now drawing five pounds of fair beef, without salt or pepper.
Another day's march, and we had completed the journey over the nation's highway across the continent. We were allowed one day at San Diego, when we were ordered back to the San Luis del Rey Mission. There was some disappointment, but the order to return was obeyed without murmuring. It was thought we would meet the enemy, as it was said there was a force of about eighteen hundred Californians, under General Flores, lurking in the mountains northwest of San Luis del Rey Mission, but we did not see them. At the Mission we were required to do fatigue duty, as it was called, which included cleaning up the place, it having been neglected a long time. At this place the following was issued by Col. Cooke:
"HEADQUARTERS, MISSION OF SAN DIEGO, January 30, 1847.
" "Lieutenant Colonel commanding congratulates the battalion on its safe arrival on the shores of the Pacific Ocean, and the conclusion of its march of over two thousand miles. History may be searched in vain for an equal march of infantry; nine-tenths of it through a wilderness, where nothing but savages and wild beasts are found, or deserts where, for want of water, there is no living creature. There, with almost hopeless labor, we have dug deep wells, which the future traveler will enjoy. Without a guide who had traversed them, we have ventured into trackless prairies, where water was not found for several marches. With crowbar and pickaxe in hand, we have worked our way over mountains, which seemed to defy aught save the wild goat, and hewed a passage through a chasm of living rock more narrow than our wagons. To bring these first wagons to the Pacific, we have preserved the strength of the mules by herding them over large tracts, which you have laboriously guarded without loss. The garrison of four presidios of Sonora, concentrated within the walls of Tucson, gave us no pause; we drove them out with their artillery; but our intercourse with the citizens was unmarked by a single act of injustice. Thus marching, half naked and half fed, and living upon wild animals, we have discovered and made a road of great value to our country.
" "Arrived at the first settlement of California, after a single day's rest, you cheerfully turned off from the route to this point of promised repose, to enter upon a campaign, and meet, as we believed, the approach of the enemy; and this, too, without even salt to season your sole subsistence of fresh meat. Lieutenants A.J. Smith and George Stoneman of the First Dragoons, have shared and given valuable aid in all these labors.
" "Thus, volunteers, you have exhibited some high and essential qualities of veterans. But much remains undone. Soon you will turn your strict attention to the drill, to system and order, to forms also, which are all necessary to the soldier. By order of Lieutenant-Colonel P. St. George Cooke.
"[Signed.] "P. C. Merrill, Adjutant."
It is stated by Sergeant Daniel Tyler, in his "History of the Mormon Battalion," that February 4th was the date of the reading of the order. Its spirit and tone were an agreeable surprise to us, as the general tenor of the colonel's course had been so different, apparently, that we did not look for him to do the battalion justice. Yet if he had been less stern and decisive, it would have been worse for us. We had stern realities to deal with, consequently like means were necessary to overcome the obstacles we had to contend with. It required push and vim to enable the battalion to perform the heroic deeds demanded of it, and a sympathy that would have caused the men to shrink back instead of seeing that every one stood to his post of duty would have been a fatal error. After all, Col. P. St. George Cooke was a good military commander, maintaining excellent military discipline; and for one the writer feels to say, Peaceful be his sleep.
It was about the 4th or 5th of February when we got back to the mission, and the order given, with others, was made known. The other orders included such directions as to trim the hair so that none came below the tip of the ear, and shave the beard all but the mustache.
We were informed that we had no right to think in acting for ourselves—that the government paid men to think for us, and it was our duty to obey orders. We were allowed very little time in which to wash our rags and hunt down the insects that had waged a continuous warfare on us all the way from Albuquerque or the Rio Grande del Norte to the coast; yet we turned on the creeping foe, and never relented till we routed him, nor showed any quarter till the last one was gone. We also had to repel an attack from the nimble flea in great numbers, in which we realized that this impudent insect did not care where he hit.
While we were still living on beef alone, without pepper or salt, we were ordered out on squad drill, which seemed to continue about eight hours per day. The reason given for this was the supposed threatened attack from eight hundred Californians in the mountains; and further, the rumors that Col. John C. Fremont, with eight hundred or a thousand men, claimed it was his right, and not Gen. Kearney's, to dictate to the United States forces in California. In fact, it was reported that Col. Fremont was in open hostility to Gen. Kearney, who was military governor of California by orders from Washington. Under these circumstances, we were kept in constant readiness, not knowing the moment we would be called into active service.
Our training daily was one hour for each pound of beef issued, the beef costing less than a cent a pound to the government. Sergeant Tyler says our rations were five pounds a day, and I say it was not half enough, for we were ravenously hungry all the time. If the reader doubts this, let him try the ration for a little while, and doubt will disappear.
About February 25 we obtained bolted flour and some other supplies of provisions that had been brought from the Sandwich Islands, by Major Sward, to San Diego, and thence to San Luis del Rey by mule team. In the meantime we had received a small amount of unbolted flour, brought by Lieutenant Oman and a small detachment of the battalion sent out for the purpose. Then the beef rations were reduced; so that during the whole twelve months' service we did not once have issued to us the full rations allowed by the government to the American soldier—if we had full rations in one thing, another was lacking. Either the government made a great saving from regulations in feeding us, or a steal put money into some contractors' pockets.
Day after day the duties of soldier were performed, drilling, out on detached duty, or marching here, there and everywhere, early and late, by day and by night, just to suit the fancy of some of our officers, and not always upon real occasion for the movements. It would seem that in many respects the soldier's life is much like a faithful wife's; and in others much unlike a woman's work. Like hers, in that the task seems never done, busy all day and up at every hour of night in response to calls of first one child, then another, or even to the exploits of some mischievous cat, her rest broken and her life worn away; unlike hers, in that she usually has a dry shelter, regular meals, and a place to lie down when she can rest, while the soldier in time of war never knows where he will make his bed at night, often is without food and drink, having to move at the word of command over deserts, rocks, mountains, plains and rivers—a stranger to the locality he may call his home. But the toils of both are necessary, she to rear the nation's pride and strength—a soldier in the right; he to protect her and himself, to defend their country's rights and avenge her wrongs.
Returning to the narrative of garrison duty, it appeared to me the hours of drill were more than Sergeant Tyler's account will admit of; but I shall not dispute with him, as I write from memory. I do recall that roll call came at daylight, sick call at 7:30 a.m., breakfast call at 8:40, drill at 10 a.m. and 3 p.m. roll call at sundown, tattoo at 8:30, and taps at 9 p.m., after which lights must be out except in case of sickness. All must be silent then, as the men are supposed to have retired for the night.
On or near the 20th of March, companies A, C, D and E took up their journey to the Puebla de Los Angeles. We traveled over a hilly country, where there were numerous herds of cattle and bands of horses. In some places we passed down to and along the sandy beach around big bluffs over which, so we were told, the Californians, some years previously, had driven thousands of horses and cattle to rid the country of them, as they had overrun the place so that all were suffering for food. This story seemed confirmed by the great amount of bones that we saw among the rocks and sands at the foot of deep declivities along the seashore.
On the way to Los Angeles we passed a stone church that had been badly shaken; the walls had been good mason work, but now were mostly broken down. We were told that an earthquake did the damage, and that some three hundred people had been killed. On by the San Gabriel River we went, arriving at Los Angeles in about four days' march from where we had started out. We marched into the main street and stacked our arms as if to say, "We have possession here."
Most of the citizens stood aloof, looking as if the cause they had supported was lost, but soon the merchants brought out buckets of whisky and wine, which they set before the command, inviting us to help ourselves. Some accepted the invitation rather freely, while others refrained from touching the beverages. We returned to the river at night, and camped. In a day or two we were marched about two miles up the stream, and above the town, where we again ran out of provisions and had to go hungry; nor did we break our fast till 11 a.m. next day.
At this time the air was full of alarming rumors. A revolt of Californians was talked of; then it was Fremont who was said to be in rebellion against General Kearney's authority; and again, a powerful band of Indians was ready to pounce down upon us. It was not very unexpectedly, therefore, that we received orders to occupy the most commanding point overlooking the town. Soon after this we learned that a supply of provisions for the command had been landed at San Pedro, about twenty-one miles distant, and teams and wagons were sent at once, under an escort of soldiers, the writer being one. We returned next day, heavily loaded.
About this date, the command began the erection of a fort, or rather began to throw up earthworks. Lieutenant Rosecranz was ordered with a small detachment to Cajon Pass, a narrow opening in the Sierra Nevada range, about eighty miles east of us. The object was to guard the pass against the advance of any foe, for, as has been said, there were many rumors of impending danger. In a short time, Lieutenant Pace, with twenty-nine officers and men of the battalion—the writer being one of the number—received orders to relieve the detachment of Lieutenant Rosecranz. Pace's command had just reached the Rosecranz party, finding the latter in the act of striking camp, when a dispatch came by pony express ordering us to return as well.
On our march out, the wild cattle, which were there by thousands, became excited and began to bellow and crowd toward us. We could see them for miles coming on the run. They closed in quickly until we were surrounded by them on three sides, with a deep gulch or very brushy ravine on the fourth. We retreated in double-quick time to this gulch, and were compelled to remain in what shelter it afforded until the next day, before we could pass on in safety.
The unsettled state of the country kept us constantly busy. Our fort was pushed to completion, and we having obtained what artillery Colonel Fremont had, the twelve or fifteen pieces now in our possession were placed in proper position for defense. Everything was made as complete as could be, and the warclouds began to give way. Fremont had been placed under arrest for insubordination or rebellion, I do not recall which, and this contributed to the peace of the country.
A Spaniard was hired to haul a liberty pole from San Bernardino Canyon, a distance of eighty miles, and as he dared not undertake the journey without a military escort, Corporal Lafayette Shepherd and fourteen men, among whom the writer was included, were sent to protect the Spaniard and help get the pole down to the fort. On that trip we camped on the present site of San Bernardino City, then a wild and lonely wilderness, with not a house or farm in sight. At that time the country abounded in wild cattle, bear, and other wild animals.
Just where we came out on the plain we camped for the night, and in the morning our Spanish friend went out into the hills to see if he could kill a deer. Soon he came upon a party of Indians jerking beef, and he shot into their camp. They came out, returned his fire, and gave him chase. We were getting breakfast when he dashed into our camp, shouting that the Indians were upon us, and for us to get our guns. Of course, we complied, and were ready in short order, but as no Indians came, the Spaniard insisted that we go in and rout them, as they were killing the citizens' cattle, and our commander had given a promise of protection from this. Hastily we saddled our mules and started, expecting every moment to meet the Indians, who were on foot. We found no one before we came to the campfires, around which was strewn considerable beef. Soon we discovered the Indians fleeing up the mountain, and on our jaded mules we gave chase, but when we reached the summit the Indians were going up the opposite ridge. We dismounted and poured a few volleys into the brush above them. They did not fire back. I do not think any harm was done. They were fleeing for their lives and did not show any opposition to us, and we had no desire to harm them, but simply to demonstrate to the Californians that as United States soldiers we were ready to protect them and their property, as was promised by our officers.
We hastened back to the fort with our charge, the logs in the rough being about fifty feet each, the two making a pole between ninety and ninety-five feet long when completed, which was done by the members of the battalion at the fort.
Another event about this period was an order by Colonel Cooke for a detail of good marksmen and trusty men to go through the town and shoot or bayonet all the dogs to be found in the streets. The colonel had notified the town authorities of his intention. Accordingly the detail was made and ammunition issued. The writer was one of the trusted marksmen. We sallied forth in the town of Los Angeles, where the dogs were more numerous than human beings, and commenced our disagreeable and deadly work. Muskets rattled in every street and byway, dogs barked and howled in every direction, and women and children wept to have the animals spared. But military orders had to be obeyed, for the dog nuisance had become intolerable. After that, there were sanitary orders sent forth, and the streets were cleared of the dogs and a great amount of bones and other rubbish.
With all this cleaning up, there still was tolerated the greater nuisances of liquor drinking, gambling, the most lewd and obscene conduct that could be imagined, Sabbath breaking by horse racing, cock and bull righting, men righting and knifing one another—indeed, the Sabbath was the greater day for all these vices.
Bull fighting was carried on inside of a square of one to four acres surrounded by one-story adobe flat-roofed houses, on which spectators would climb, and thus have an excellent view of the whole exhibition of cruelty and bravado and jeopardy to life. Numbers of the wildest and most ferocious bulls were taken, and were brought into the arena one at a time. The animal was turned loose, and a man would tease him into fury with a sharp lance. A horseman would charge and make thrust after thrust at the maddened bull, striving to pierce him just behind the horns, the aim being to cut the pith of the spinal column at that point. If this were done, the animal would fall dead on the spot. As a general thing, the bull was more apt to gore the rider's horse, and give the rider himself a very close call; but a number of very expert horsemen were kept in readiness to lasso the bull or cast a blanket over his eyes and thus blindfold him until his tormentor got out of danger. In this cruel sport many horses were sacrificed, and sometimes the riders as well. It was not an unusual thing for a hundred or more of these wild bulls to be collected at a time, and the bloody sport to be kept up three or four days and perhaps more. Sometimes a grizzly bear would be captured and turned loose with a wild bull, the death of one and perhaps both being the result. The whole populace seemed to enjoy this cruel sport, shouting and screaming thereat all the day long. Males and females, of all ages and conditions, met on a common level to witness this wild and reckless amusement.
Horse racing took place on the principal streets. One popular part of this pastime was to secure an old male chicken; this was buried all but the head in a hole in the street, the soil being packed in as tight as could be and have the bird live. An Indian stood by to rebury the fowl as fast as the horsemen resurrected him by seizing him by the head when riding past at full speed. The aim was to swoop down, seize the cock's head, pull the bird out of the hole, and hold to the head to the end of the contest, which was indulged in by a dozen or more. When one rider tore the bird from the hole all the others would charge on him and try to capture it. The possessor would strike right and left, to hold his prize, until the poor fowl was torn to pieces. Often the bird fell to the ground alive, was buried again, and some one else would lead in the dash for it. Just before the rider reached the fowl, a horseman on either side would lash the horse unmercifully, so that the rider could not slow up to get a better chance at the exposed head. This game would be continued till some one carried the fowl's head to the end in triumph.
It was said that a scheme existed to draw the attention of the Americans during the most exciting of these sports, and then raid our camp; but if this ever was thought of it failed, for with us everything was kept in readiness for an emergency, and sometimes we lay at night with loaded muskets and fixed bayonets. Besides, we had become very proficient in military tactics, and every man had learned well his duty as a soldier.
The fort having been completed, and every reasonable anticipation for surprise in the return of the Mexican forces or for an uprising having been cut off, on the morning of the Fourth of July, 1847, the Stars and Stripes was hoisted on the pole in triumph, and floated in the breezes from the Pacific Ocean—I think the first time that glorious banner waved from a liberty pole in California, although Commodore Sloat had raised the American flag at Monterey on July 7, 1846.
TERM OF ENLISTMENT EXPIRES—BATTALION MEMBERS PREPARING TO RETURN TO THEIR FAMILIES—ONE COMPANY RE-ENLISTS—AN INSOLENT SPANIARD—PISTOL SNAPPED IN THE WRITER'S FACE—ALMOST A DEATHBLOW—DESPERATE FIGHT STOPPED BY BYSTANDERS—SERIOUS TROUBLE WITH ANOTHER SPANIARD—LEARN THE LESSON TO AVOID THOSE WHO GAMBLE OR DRINK INTOXICANTS—SPANISH CHARACTER—CLASS OF CALIFORNIA'S INHABITANTS IN 1847—CONDITION OF THE COUNTRY—APPEARANCE OF THE TOWNS AND VILLAGES—DIFFICULTY IN SECURING AN OUTFIT FOR MEMBERS OF THE BATTALION TO JOURNEY EASTWARD.
THE members of the Mormon Battalion had been purchasing horses and mules and a general outfit for a return to our friends at the close of our term of enlistment, which was drawing nigh. At the same time, Col. Stephenson, of the New York volunteers, and other commissioned officers, were making strenuous efforts to have us re-enlist for another twelve months, or six months at least, telling us they had authority to impress us if they chose, but they preferred to have us come as volunteers. It had been reported that although the Californians had been whipped, there was not concord, and that as soon as the Mormon Battalion left the country the Californians would revolt and make an effort to overthrow United States supremacy; but while we remained there was no fear.
Now, as there were many of the battalion who had spent all their wages—ninety-six dollars for their year's service—it may have appeared to them that the only thing to do was to re-enlist. Horses could be purchased cheaply, and provisions were not high, but some money was needed. Consequently, one company re-enlisted under Capt. Davis of company E, while the rest of the command were busy preparing for their journey east to meet the Saints somewhere, they knew not just where.
Comparatively few of our command had acquired sufficient knowledge of the Spanish language to do their own trading, and these acted as interpreters for their comrades. The writer happened to be one of the few who had made some success in picking up the language. On one occasion, when hunting the town and adjacent country for such articles as we needed in our outfit, he became fatigued and went into a cafe for a cup of coffee. On entering the restaurant he found, besides the landlord, three or four good-appearing Spaniards, who soon began to question him about the United States and its people. Their questions were being answered in a courteous manner, when the attendant, who was a tall, fine-looking Spaniard, interposed with the remark that America was a fine country, but her soldiers were cowards and babies. The writer was alone, and scarcely knew how to treat the insult; besides, there was a possibility that it was intended as a joke. Therefore, he felt that it would be improper to be too abrupt in replying, and said, quietly, that America was a good country and her soldiers were the bravest of the brave.
At that moment the Spanish-Californian stepped back and brought out an American hat that had been cut through on the side by some sharp instrument. Said he: "Here is one's hat—I killed him in battle. He was a great baby." Reaching back, he brought out a dragoon's sword and a holster, with two iron-mounted U. S. pistols. His eyes flashed, and he mimicked the dying soldier, saying all the Americans were cowards. My blood was up, and I taunted him by asking him how it was, if the Americans were such cowards and babies, and fled from the Spaniards on the battlefield, that the Americans had taken the country. Pointing to the Stars and Stripes floating over the fort on the hill, I said, "That shows where the brave men are; it is the Californians who are cowards and babies." In an instant a pistol was snapped in my face, and I saw the fire roll from the flintlock. Quick as a flash, I caught a heavy knife that was handy, leaped on to the counter, and was bringing the weapon down on the head of my assailant, when both of us were seized by bystanders, and were disarmed. I started for camp, but was dragged back to compromise the affair. When I re-entered the room the proprietor was priming his weapon with mustard seed. He said it was all fun, and we should make up. The spectators were anxious to settle, and offered to treat. Some of the Spaniards expressed regret at the occurrence. The matter was dropped, though I never was convinced that that Spanish attendant did not have murder in his heart.
On another occasion I had an unpleasant experience with another Spaniard. It was when I was on guard duty at the prison in Los Angeles. A very large, well dressed Spaniard came across the street from a drinking saloon and gambling den. He wore a large sombrero worth about eight dollars. He had been gambling and drinking, but was not drunk. Said he, "I have lost all my money, and I want to leave this hat with you for four dollars. If I do not bring the money back, you may keep the hat; it is worth eight dollars, and will sell for that any day." His offer was rejected, when he showed some displeasure, again urging the loan, and promising to bring the money back in a short time. Finally he prevailed, left the hat and took the money.
In two or three hours the Spaniard returned, saying he wanted his sombrero, at the same time promising to bring the money next day. Of course this proposition was rejected, whereupon he showed considerable temper, but at last said it was all right, he would find the money; and added, "Come over to the saloon and have a drink of wine, and we will be good friends." Thinking that would settle the matter, I complied with his request. He had on a long Spanish sarapa, or blanket, and as we neared the door he stepped ahead, leaned over the counter, and said something to the bartender. As I entered the door I was again asked for the hat, and he in turn was requested to hand over the money. He grew angry, threatened, and finally challenged me to fight. As I squared off to meet his impending assault, the Spaniard drew a large bowie knife for a thrust at me, but was stopped by some bystanders. I was at the time nineteen years of age, and my young blood was thoroughly aroused. I rushed for my musket, which was loaded and had bayonet fixed, and with the hurting end foremost I was quickly back at the saloon, forcibly declaring my readiness for the conflict. The bystanders closed in and called for peace, the four dollars was soon raised, and the sombrero found its way back into the hands of its angry owner, who displayed considerable effect of the liquor he had been drinking. But I learned an impressive lesson, namely, to avoid the companionship of men who drink intoxicants or who follow games of chance for a livelihood. Even if a man does not indulge himself, those who do are liable to ask favors, and if these are not granted the next thing is insult, which often ends in bloodshed, or did in those days in California. In illustration of the light estimate of human life, I can recall a man's foot being kicked about the street, and no more notice being taken of it than if it were an animal's.
As to Spanish character, the writer can say from a close acquaintance that when the Spaniards are sober and friendly, they are very friendly, hospitable and polite, being very good company; in fact, we seldom met with a more wholesouled and agreeable people. Yet it is doubtful if there are any people who will resent an insult quicker and more seriously than they will. They are brave and manly; yet those who are of mixed blood, such as the Greasers, are low, degraded, treacherous and cruel. In California there were a few of the higher class, many more of a medium kind, and still more of the lower class; so that in summing up the total of California's inhabitants in 1846-7, the country was only half civilized and thinly inhabited.
At that time the country was wild, being overrun with wilder horses, cattle, sheep and goats. In places, wild oats and mustard abounded, in many sections the mustard being as high as a man's head when on horseback, and so dense that a horse could be forced only a few feet through it. In the foothills and mountains wild game was very abundant, consisting of elk, deer, bear, and smaller game. Along the water courses and on the lakes waterfowl was plentiful. There were millions of acres of uncultivated land, as good as any on the globe. The climate is scarcely equalled anywhere. The chief products of the soil then were wheat, barley, beans, peas, apples, peaches, plums, apricots, pears, dates, figs, olives, grapes, black pepper, spices, and many fruits not named here. These all seemed to grow very near to perfection, especially when properly cared for. The greater part of the labor was performed by native Indians, and that too with the most primitive tools. The buildings were low, being one-story adobe, with flat roofs covered with cement, or a natural tar that exuded from the earth; sometimes tile was used, but I do not remember seeing one brick building or shingle roof in all the land.
Under the conditions which existed, it was no easy matter for a hundred and fifty men to get an outfit together to travel over the mountains east, as that number of the battalion intended to do; but having commenced before we were discharged from service—say some time in June—to purchase our horses, saddles, and everything necessary for a pack train, we were partly prepared for the journey when the day came for us to be mustered out.
MORMON BATTALION MUSTERED OUT OF SERVICE—ONE HUNDRED AND FIFTY MEMBERS ORGANIZE TO RETURN EAST TO THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS—START ON THE JOURNEY—DIFFICULTIES OF THE ROUTE—DEALING WITH WILD HORSES AND CATTLE—STAMPEDE OF A PACK ANIMAL—CHASE INTO AN INDIAN CAMP—LOST ALL NIGHT IN A SWAMP—SUFFERING ON THE DESERT FOR LACK OF WATER—ARRIVE NEAR SUTTER'S FORT—ON THE SITE OF SACRAMENTO—PARTY DECIDE TO REMAIN OVER FOR THE YEAR, AND OBTAIN EMPLOYMENT—MEET CAPT. J. A. SUTTER AND JAMES W. MARSHALL—PROPOSITION TO CAPT. SUTTER—ENGAGED TO WORK ON A SAWMILL—PROCEEDINGS AT THE MILLSITE—MILL STARTED UP—THE WRITER ENGAGED TO DIRECT INDIANS LABORING AT THE TAIL RACE—CONVERSATION WITH MR. MARSHALL—MARSHALL TALKS ABOUT FINDING GOLD—HE AND THE WRITER MAKE A SEARCH FOR GOLD, BUT FINDING NONE, DEFER THE INVESTIGATION TILL NEXT MORNING—MARSHALL'S FAITH IN HIS BEING SUCCESSFUL IN DISCOVERING THE PRECIOUS METAL.
ON the 16th of July, 1847, the close of the Mormon Battalion's term of enlistment, we were called into line, and an officer passed along as in ordinary inspection. Then, without further ceremony, he said. "You are discharged." I do not think one-half of the command heard him, he spoke so low. Some of us thought he may have felt ashamed because of his conduct toward us on our march to Santa Fe. He was the little bigot, Lieutenant A. J. Smith.
Thus we bade adieu to United States military authority and returned to the ranks of civil life. One hundred and fifty of us organized ourselves into hundreds, fifties and tens, and were soon on our way to meet our friends somewhere, as we supposed, in the Rocky Mountains east; and still we did not know just where. We sought information as best we could, and the most that we could learn was that by following under the base of the Sierra Nevada range six hundred miles we would come to Sutter's Fort, where we could obtain further information as to the best route to where we supposed we would find our friends.
It was about the 20th of July when the first company moved out on the intended journey; and in three or four days the remaining hundred followed. We passed Gen. Pico's ranch about twenty miles northward, and from there crossed over a mountain so high and steep that it made our heads swim, and it was with difficulty that we could sit on our horses. In places, it was impossible for us to dismount, for lack of room. Two mules lost their footing and fell twenty-five or thirty feet before they could regain a foothold, and it was very hard work to get them back on the trail. We traveled some eighteen or twenty miles from Pico's ranch to Francisco ranch, where we joined the fifty who had preceded the main body, and were waiting for us to come up.
A meeting was held, at which it was decided to purchase forty or fifty beef cattle, which was done at not to exceed four dollars per head. The course of our journey from this time was northward. The country where we were traveling was a wilderness of hill and dale, deep gorges, and brush, so that the first two days we lost ten or fifteen head of beef cattle. It was decided to make sure of the remainder by slaughtering and jerking or curing the beef, and next morning there came a battle with the cattle, which had become wild and ferocious, plunging at the men on horseback everywhere, so we had to shoot them down as best we could. After stopping two or three days to jerk the beef, we proceeded on our journey.
Many of our horses were bronchos, or wild, when we purchased them, and gave us much trouble. The packs would get loose and turn under the animals, which would run and kick, scattering things as they went. One day Alexander Stephens, William Garner and I had a horse stampede with its burden. I gave pursuit, and as I had no thought of anything but capturing the animal, I chased it about three miles, right into an Indian camp. The Indians must have seen me coming and fled. Their fires were burning, pots boiling, and camp equipage laid around. From appearances there must have been fifteen to twenty families; their tracks were thick and fresh. The runaway horse seems to have been so excited that, like its pursuer, it ran in among the camp before observing the danger; then it turned and I secured it with a lasso. At that moment I recognized the peril of my own position, in the possibility of being ambushed by Indians. It may be needless to state that I got out of that place in a hurry; although I had lost sight of the camp and was confused for a little time till I found my trail.
Upon returning, I met my two comrades, who had had all they could do to take care of the other pack animals, and were very anxious about me. It was getting late in the day, and the company had passed out of sight. We followed as fast as we could, but darkness overtook us and we soon found ourselves wandering in the bullrushes and marshes of the east end of Tulare Lake. Turn which way we would we could not find any trail out. At last we found a spot more solid than the surroundings; we halted and felt around in the darkness; every way we went it was mud and water. The night was so dark that we could not see each other or the horses, and finally we tied the animals together so we could hold them, took off the pack, and waited around till daylight. I do not think either of us slept fifteen minutes that night. We had nothing to make a fire with, and if we had, it would not have been wise to have attracted savage Indians with one. Early in the morning we prepared to seek a way out, and to our surprise, discovered close by a bullrush boat which an aged Indian was pushing through the rushes. The boat had been made by twisting and braiding the rushes together, and reminded us of what the prophet says about embassadors going forth in vessels of bullrushes. We could not learn from whence the Indian came or whither he was going, nor yet his errand. We bade him good day, and soon found the trail of our company. After going three or four miles, we met some of our men who had been sent in search of us; they had passed the night in great anxiety concerning our safety. Thankfully we reached the camp to have a bite of food and proceed on our journey, grateful that we yet had our hair on the top of our heads, where the darkey says; "the wool ought to grow."
Our journey took us over cold mountain streams, some of which we forded, carrying our baggage on our heads and making from three to five trips each way; others we built rafts for, by tying dry logs together with our lash-ropes, piling them with baggage, and drawing them over or pushing them with poles, the men swimming their horses and often themselves. These streams were quite numerous. Among those I remember were the Tulare, the San Joaquin River, and others. The crossing of these streams was hard on man and beast, the water being cold close to the mountains, and the work hazardous owing to the rapid currents and boulders in the channels of the rivers. On this journey we were two days on dry plains, and suffered almost to death; some of our horses became so thirsty that their eyes turned white as milk and blind as bats; they staggered against anything they came to. Some of the men gave out entirely, and if it had not been for some of the stronger men and horses that pushed forward and then returned to aid the others, many of the latter never would have been able to have reached camp. Men had their tongues swollen and eyes sunken and glazed; some could not drink water when it was brought to them, until their lips and mouths had been bathed and some of the liquid poured into their throats. Fortunately for the writer, he was one of the stronger ones who went ahead and returned to his comrades the last day on the desert; the scene was terrible beyond the powers of description.
Fully five hundred and fifty miles of that journey was made without seeing a house, or a white woman or child. There were many Indians and their ranches, but the savages gave us no particular trouble. We pressed forward till August 26, when we came to the American River, two miles above Sutter's Fort and about a mile and a half from the Sacramento River, at the point where the city of Sacramento now stands. The locality was then a forest of cottonwood timber and undergrowth.
When we reached the vicinity of Sutter's Fort a consultation was held, at which it was decided that most of the party would remain until next year, and obtain employment where they could. Captain John A. Sutter and James Marshall contemplated building a gristmill and also a sawmill, but had no skilled workmen to perform the task. Accordingly, a committee was appointed from our number, who informed Captain Sutter that we had among us carpenters, blacksmiths, wheelwrights, millwrights, farmers and common laborers; that we were in need of horses, cattle, and a general outfit for crossing the mountains early the next summer, and that if we could not get all money for our pay we would take part in supplies for our journey; the committee also inquired what the prospect for employment was. Captain Sutter gave the committee encouragement, and asked them to call on him again in two or three days.
The result was, that between August 29 and September 5, from forty to sixty of us called on Captain Sutter. Some were employed to work on the gristmill; others took contracts on the mill race. The race was seven or eight miles long, and was also intended for irrigation.
Between the 8th and the 11th of September, Alexander Stephens, James Berger and the writer started for the site that had been selected by Mr. Marshall for the sawmill; we were the first Mormons to arrive at the place. Peter L. Wimmer and family and William Scott had preceded us a few days, having two wagons loaded with tools and provisions; the teams were oxen, and were driven by two of Captain Sutter's civilized Indians. Some weeks after we went up, Henry W. Bigler, Azariah Smith, William Johnston, and Israel Evans, members of the Mormon Battalion, came to the camp.
Upon our arrival at the millsite, work was begun in earnest. The cabin was finished, a second room being put on in true frontier style. While some worked on the cabin, others were getting out timbers and preparing for the erection of the sawmill. The site was at a point where the river made considerable of a bend, just in the bank of what appeared to be an old river bed, which was lowered to carry the water from the mill.
Between January 15th and 20th, 1848, the mill was started up. It was found that it had been set too low, and the tail race would not carry off the water, which would drown or kill the flutter wheel. To remedy this defect, several new pieces of timber were needed, and all hands were put to work within ten or fifteen rods of the tail race, getting out the timbers.
Part of the time I was engaged in directing the labors of a gang of Digger Indians, as I had picked up sufficient of their dialect to make them understand me clearly. It had been customary to hoist the gates of the forebay when we quit work in the evening, letting the water through the race to wash away the loosened sand and gravel, then close them down in the morning. The Indians were employed to dig and cast out the cable rock that was not moved by the water.
On January 23, I had turned away from the Indians and was with the white men. Mr. Marshall came along to look over the work in general, and went to where the tail race entered the river. There he discovered a bed of rock that had been exposed by the water the night before, the portion in view in the bottom of the race being three to six feet wide and fifteen to twenty feet long. Mr. Marshall called me to him as he examined the bed of the race, and said: "This is a curious rock; I am afraid it will give us trouble." Then he probed a little further, and added: "I believe it contains minerals of some kind, and I believe there is gold in these hills."
At this statement I inquired, "What makes you think so?" He answered that he had seen blossom of gold, and upon my asking where, he said it was the white quartz scattered over the hills; on my inquiring further as to what quartz was, he told me it was the white, flint-like rock so plentiful on the hills. I said it was flint rock, but he said no, it was called quartz in some book he had read, and was an indication of gold. He sent me to the cabin for a pan to wash the sand and gravel, and see what we could find. I went to a cabin which had been built near the millsite by Alexander Stephens, Henry W. Bigler, James Berger, Azariah Smith, William Johnston and myself, and in which we were doing our own cooking. I brought the pan and we washed some of the bedrock that we had scaled up with a pick. As we had no idea of the appearance of gold in its natural state, our search was unsuccessful.
Mr. Marshall was determined to investigate further, but it was no use that night. He rose and said: "We will hoist the gates and turn in all the water that we can tonight, and tomorrow morning we will shut it off and come down here, and I believe we will find gold or some other mineral here."
ARRIVAL OF MEMBERS OF THE MORMON BATTALION AT SUTTER'S FORT OPENS THE WAY FOR THE DISCOVERY OF GOLD IN CALIFORNIA—JAMES W. MARSHALL OUT EARLY ON JANUARY 24, 1848—"HE IS GOING TO FIND A GOLD MINE"—REGARDED AS A "NOTIONAL" MAN—"BOYS, I HAVE GOT HER NOW!"—TESTING THE SCALES OF METAL—"GOLD, BOYS, GOLD!"—FIRST PROCLAMATION OF THE GREAT GOLD DISCOVERY—SECOND AND THIRD TESTS—ALL EXCITEMENT—THREE OR FOUR OUNCES OF GOLD GATHERED—AGREE TO KEEP THE DISCOVERY SECRET—FIND THE PRECIOUS METAL FARTHER DOWN THE STREAM—HOW THE SECRET LEASED OUT—MORE DISCOVERIES—FIRST PUBLICATION OF THE NEWS MADE IN A MORMON PAPER—WASHING OUT THE METAL—FIRST GOLD ROCKER—GATHERING GOLD—PART TAKEN BY MR. MARSHALL, THE MORMONS AND CAPTAIN SUTTER IN THE DISCOVERY—MISFORTUNES OF SUTTER AND MARSHALL—ACCOUNT OF THE GOLD DISCOVERY CERTIFIED TO BY SEVERAL EYE WITNESSES.
IT is my understanding that when Captain Sutter and Mr. Marshall were contemplating the erection of the two mills, an apparently insurmountable obstacle confronted them in the inability to get and pay for the skilled labor necessary for portions of the work. This obstacle was removed by the proposition our committee had made to Captain Sutter at the first interview; and in the two or three days' time asked in August, 1847, by the captain, a decision was reached to go ahead. Therefore, if it had not been for the opportune appearance of the mustered-out members of the Mormon Battalion, the sawmill would not have been built that winter, nor would the discovery of gold have been made at that time. But for the action of those Mormons in connection with the enterprise proposed by Captain Sutter and Mr. Marshall, in offering the desired class of labor upon the terms they did, the state of California might have waited indefinitely to have been developed and to be christened the Golden State, and the entrance to the bay of San Francisco might never have received the title of the Golden Gate.
Resuming the narrative of my association with Mr. Marshall on the afternoon of January 23rd, I will state further that each of us went our way for the night, and did not meet again till next morning. I thought little of what Marshall had said of finding gold, as he was looked on as rather a "notional" kind of man; I do not think I even mentioned his conversation to my associates. At an unusually early hour in the morning, however, those of us who occupied the cabin heard a hammering at the mill. "Who is that pounding so early?" was asked, and one of our party looked out and said it was Marshall shutting the gates of the forebay down. This recalled to my mind what Mr. Marshall had said to me the evening before, and I remarked, "Oh, he is going to find a gold mine this morning."
A smile of derision stole over the faces of the parties present. We ate our breakfast and went to work. James Berger and myself went to the whipsaw, and the rest of the men some eight or ten rods away from the mill. I was close to the mill and sawpit, and was also close to the tail race, where I could direct the Indians who were there.
This was the 24th day of January, 1848. When we had got partly to work, Mr. Marshall came, with his old wool hat in his hand. He stopped within six or eight yards of the sawpit, and exclaimed, "Boys, I have got her now!" Being the nearest to him, and having more curiosity than the rest of the men, I jumped from the pit and stepped to him. On looking into his hat I discovered ten or twelve pieces or small scales of what proved to be gold. I picked up the largest piece, worth about fifty cents, and tested it with my teeth; as it did not give, I held it aloft and exclaimed, "Gold, boys, gold!" At that, all dropped their tools and gathered around Mr. Marshall. Having made the first proclamation of the very important fact that the metal was gold, I stepped to the work bench and put it to the second test with the hammer. As I was doing this it occurred to me that while en route to California with the Mormon Battalion, we came to some timber called manzanita. Our guides and interpreters said the wood was what the Mexicans smelted their gold and silver ores with. It is a hard wood and makes a very hot fire, and also burns a long time. Remembering that we had left a very hot bed of these coals in the fireplace of the cabin, I hurried there and made the third test by placing the metal upon the point of an old shovel blade, and then inserted it in among the coals. I blew the coals until I was blind for the moment, in trying to burn or melt the particles; and although these were plated almost as thin as a sheet of note paper, the heat did not change their appearance in the least. I remembered hearing that gold could not be burned up, so I arose from this third test, confident that what had been found was gold. Running out to the party still grouped together, I made the second proclamation, saying, "Gold, gold!"
At this juncture all was excitement. We repaired to the lower end of the tail race, where we found from three to six inches of water flowing over the bed of rock, in which there were crevices and little pockets, over which the water rippled in the glare of the sunlight as that shone over the mountain peaks. James Berger was the first man to espy a scale of the metal. He stooped to pick it up, and found some difficulty in getting hold of it, as his fingers would blur the water, but he finally succeeded. The next man to find a piece was H. W. Bigler; he used his jack-knife, getting the scale on the point of the blade, then, with his forefinger over it placed it in his left hand.
As soon as we learned how to look for it, since it glittered under the water in the rays of the sun, we were all rewarded with a few scales. Each put his mite into a small phial that was provided by Marshall, and we made him the custodian. We repeated our visits to the tail race for three or four mornings, each time collecting some of the precious metal until we had gathered somewhere between three and four ounces.
The next move was to step and stake off two quarter sections, beginning at the mill, one running down the river and the other up. Then we cut and hauled logs and laid the foundation of a cabin on each of them; one was for Sutter, the other for Marshall. This matter being finished, Mr. Marshall was prepared to dictate terms to us, for every tool and all the provisions in that part of the country belonged to Sutter and Marshall. They had full control, and we were depending on the completion of the mill for our pay. Marshall said that if we would stay by him until the mill was completed and well stocked with logs, he would supply us with provisions and tools, and would grant us the first right to work on their gold claims. We all assented to his proposition, and also agreed that we would not disclose the secret of the gold discovery until we learned more about it and had made good our claims. Not having the remotest idea of the extent of the gold deposits, we pushed the mill as rapidly as possible; for as yet we had not received one dollar's pay for our four months' labor.
Soon there came a rainy day, when it was too wet to work. H. W. Bigler thought it a good day to hunt ducks, so he put on an old coat, and was gone all day. When he returned, we said, "Where are your ducks?"
He said, "Wait a while, I will show you; I have got them all right."
Finally he drew an old cotton handkerchief from his pocket; in the corner of it he had at least half an ounce of gold tied up. For a while all were excited, and he was asked a great many questions like the following: "Did you find it on Sutter's claim along the river?" "How far is it from here?" "All in one place?" "Is there any more?" "How did you get it, you had no pick or shovel?" "Can you find the place again?"
He replied that he had found it down below Sutter's claim, along the river where the bedrock cropped out along the bank, and in little rills that came down the hills to the river, indeed, everywhere that he found the bedrock cropping out.
Then you found it in more than one place?
Yes, more than a dozen.
It was now proposed that we keep this discovery a secret, as the discovery in the race had been kept. So the mill work was pushed with vigor to completion. But in the meantime Marshall had felt it his duty to inform his partner of the discovery. Accordingly, he wrote a letter stating the facts, and sent me out to find a strange Indian who would take it to Captain Sutter, fearing that if he sent it by someone who was acquainted with the circumstances the secret might leak out. About this time Wm. Johnston found that he had some urgent business below and must go there, and did so; he went to the gristmill and along the camps on that mill race. Then somehow or other the bag came untied and our old cat and all the kittens ran out, and to the camps they went, until everybody heard of the gold discovery. But, like all great truths, people were slow to believe the story.
In a short time, however, Sidney S. S. Willis and Wilford Hudson, whose curiosity had been aroused, began to feel that they would like a little venison; and with that for an excuse they took their guns and set out on foot, having been assured that by following up the river they would come to the sawmill, which they succeeded in doing the first day. I think it was only a thirty-five miles journey. I believe they stayed one day and two nights with us; then, after a thorough examination of the bedrock, sand and gravel, and the surroundings, they gathered a few specimens, among which was one nugget worth about five dollars—the largest by long odds that had been discovered up to that time.
As Willis and Hudson passed back on their way home, they discovered a small ravine or creek in which there was some of the same kind of bedrock which they had seen at the mill race, and by picking around in the sand and gravel they discovered quite a rich prospect. That was just above what was afterwards called Mormon Island, about twelve or fifteen miles above the gristmill, and about the same distance below the sawmill. Then they returned to the mill, told their story, and showed the specimens to the boys. Some of these went to Sutter's Fort, to a little grocery store kept by a Mormon named Smith, who came around Cape Horn to California by the ship Brooklyn. The story of the find was told, and specimens exhibited to Smith, who wrote to Samuel Brannan. The latter was publishing a paper in San Francisco at the time; and from that press the news went forth to the world. Brannan was a Mormon Elder, and the press was owned by a company of Mormons who had sailed from New York around Cape Horn, and were presided over by Samuel Brannan.
From one hundred to one hundred and fifty Mormons flocked to Mormon Island; then people from every part of the United States followed, and the search for gold commenced in earnest. With jack, butcher, and table knives, the search was made in the crevices, after stripping the soil from the bedrock with pick and shovel. Next, we conceived the idea of washing the sand and fine gravel in tin pans, but these were scarce and hard to get hold of. Alexander Stephens dug out a trough, leaving the bottom round like a log. He would fill that with sand and gravel that we scraped off the bedrock, and would shake it, having arranged it so as to to pour or run water on the gravel; finally he commenced to rock the trough, which led to the idea of a rocker. His process caused the gold to settle at the bottom; then he arranged the apparatus on an incline so that the gold would work down and also to the lower end of the trough. At short intervals he would turn what was collected into a tub of water, and at night it would be cleaned and weighed on a pair of wooden scales that Stephens made also, using silver coins for weights, counting the silver dollar equal to one ounce of gold. This rocker led to the renowned gold rocker; I am under the impression that Stephens made the first rocker ever used in California.
The next and last process that we used in gathering gold was to spread a sheet on the sandy beach of the river, placing some big rocks on the corners and sides to keep it well stretched. We then would fill in the rich dirt on the upper edge, and throw on water to wash the dirt down into the river, leaving the gold on the sheet. Occasionally we took up the sheet and dipped it into a tub of water, washing the gold off the sheet into the tub. At night we would clean up our day's work, averaging from twelve to fifteen dollars each. Our best paying dirt was carried on our shoulders from Dry Gulch, fifteen to sixty rods to where we could find water to wash it. We made buckskin pouches or wallets to carry the gold in; it was not dust, nor yet nuggets, but small scales.
Sutter's capital and enterprise and Marshall's shrewd sagacity have been given the credit of the great gold discovery in California. The facts are, that James W. Marshall discovered the first color; in less than an hour six Mormons found color as well, and within six weeks Mormons had discovered it in hundreds of places that Mr. Marshall had never seen, the most notable of which was Mormon Island, to where the first rush was made, and from where the news was spread to the world. As to Sutter's enterprise and capital, he furnished the graham flour and mutton, wheat and peas, black coffee and brown sugar, teams and tools, while we, the members of the Mormon Battalion, did the hard labor that discovered the metal. It is also true that we were in Sutter's employ at that date, and that we did not get paid for our labor. I worked one hundred days for the firm, and never received a farthing for it. I heard a number of other men say they never got their pay. It was our labor that developed the find, and not Marshall's and Sutter's, and we were never paid for it; when we went for a settlement we were told by Captain Sutter that he could not settle with us, for his bookkeeper had gone to the mines, and his books were not posted. He cursed Marshall and the mines, and declared that he was a ruined man; that the discovery was his ruin, for it had drawn off his laborers and left everything to go to rack, and that he was being robbed.
I do not wish it to be understood that I charge Sutter and Marshall with being dishonorable, for I do not. I think they were honorable men in a business way. The fact is, they were completely overrun with all classes of people, and were confused, so that the people took advantage of them, their business was undermined, and there was a general collapse of their affairs and of every industry and business. The cry was, "Gold! Gold! More Gold! Away to the gold fields!" Every other enterprise was sacrificed in the rush for gold.
With due respect to Captain John A. Sutter and James W. Marshall, to whom the world has given the credit for the great gold find, I believe that if they had been taken out and shot to death the day of the discovery, they would have suffered less, and would have met their Maker just as pure, if not more honored in this world, than to have lived and endured what they did. As far as I am concerned, I say peace to their remains, for on this earth they have been greatly wronged, if I have read their history correctly. Like a lynching scrape where there is an outburst of the people, it is very difficult to find those who are responsible for the crime. Regarding the wrongs did these men, it seemed as if the whole population of that locality picked on them.
I will add here, that my account of the gold discovery in California was submitted in 1893 to the following members of the party who were at the place in January, 1848, and who were the only survivors within my reach at the time: Orrin Hatch and William S. Muir, Woods Cross, Davis County; George W. Boyd, and H. D. Merrill, Salt Lake City; and Israel Evans, Lehi, Utah County, Utah. They united in giving me a certificate that they knew this account to be a true and correct statement of the discovery of gold in California, at Sutter's mill race.
PREPARE TO LEAVE CALIFORNIA—SNOW IN THE MOUNTAIN—CAUSES A WAIT TILL THE LAST OF JUNE—DISCOVER A RICH GOLD PROSPECT—LEAVE IT TO MAKE THE JOURNEY OVER THE MOUNTAINS—NO REGRETS AT ABANDONING THE MINES IN ANSWER TO THE CALL OF DUTY—CAMP ORGANIZED IN PLEASANT VALLEY—START ON THE TRIP—THREE MEMBERS OF THE PARTY AHEAD, LOOKING OUT THE ROUTE, FOUND MURDERED MY INDIANS AT TRAGEDY SPRINGS—COVERING THE BODIES—STAMPEDE OF ANIMALS—GUARDING AGAINST HOSTILE INDIANS—CROSSING THE DIVIDE IN SNOW—THE WRITER FOOLED—TAKE TWO INDIANS PRISONERS—CUTTING A ROAD—HORSES STOLEN BY INDIANS—PURSUIT TO CAPTURE THEM—IN CARSON VALLEY—ALONG HUMBOLDT RIVER—AT STEAMBOAT SPRINGS—OVER THE DESERT—MEMBER OF THE PARTY WANTS TO KILL INDIANS—THE WRITER'S EMPHATIC OBJECTION—INDIANS WOUND STOCK—ADDISON PRATT AS A LUCKY FISHERMAN—WRITER TRADES WITH AN INDIAN—THE RED MAN'S TRICK—WRITER PURSUES HIM INTO THE INDIAN CAMP—ESCAPE FROM DANGER—JOURNEY TO BEAR RIVER—HOT AND COLD WATER SPRINGS—REACH BOX ELDER—VIEW THE GREAT SALT LAKE—ARRIVE AT OGDEN, WHERE CAPTAIN BROWN AND SOME SAINTS HAD SETTLED—JOURNEY TO THE MORMON CAMP ON WHAT IS NOW PIONEER SQUARE, SALT LAKE CITY—HEARTILY WELCOMED BY RELATIVES AND FRIENDS—REJOICING AND THANKSGIVING.
IN June, 1848, some thirty-seven members of the Mormon Battalion rendezvoused at a flat some six or eight miles from Coloma, California, near where the first gold discovery was made. This assemblage was preparatory to crossing the Sierra Nevada mountains at or near the head of the American River; for we had learned that it was next to impossible to take wagons at this time of the year by what was called the Truckee route, and as we had become accustomed to pioneer life it was thought we could find a better route, so it was proposed to open up one by the way stated. We had been successful in getting a few hundred dollars each from the mines, and had fitted ourselves out with wagons and ox teams, seeds and tools; for our protection on the journey we bought of Captain Sutter two brass Russian cannon, one a four pounder and the other a six-pounder.
Some of the company, eight or ten, had pitched camp at the site selected, and were waiting for others who were tardy in getting their outfit. Early in May, a party consisting of David Browett, Ira J. Willis, J. C. Sly, Israel Evans, Jacob M. Truman, Daniel Allen, Henderson Cox, Robert Pixton, and, I think, J. R. Allred, went out about two or three days ahead, and found the country covered with deep snow, so that at that time it was impracticable to go forward with the wagons; the party therefore returned to the main camp, and waited till the last of June. During this wait, David Browett, Daniel Allen and Henderson Cox, being anxious to be moving, started a second time to search out the route, and were surprised at night and all were killed by Digger Indians. They had been gone some eight or ten days before the main body got together, and about twenty days before we started. Alexander Stephens and I, it seems to me, and some two or three others, did not join the party, as I remember, until June 29.
The day before starting from the gold diggings on our journey was kind of an off-day, in which the writer had some spare time and wandered off from camp, with pick and shovel, up into a dry gulch, where he soon struck a very rich prospect of gold, about a quarter of a mile from water. This was about 11 o'clock a.m. By sundown he had carried the rich dirt down in his pantaloons, and washed out forty-nine dollars and fifty cents in gold; yet kind reader, strange as it may appear, he, with his partners, hitched up and rolled out the next morning, and joined the main camp at what we called Pleasant Valley, but now, I think, known as Dutch Flat. I have never seen that rich spot of earth since; nor do I regret it, for there always has been a higher object before me than gold. We had covenanted to move together under certain conditions, and those conditions existing we were in honor bound to move the next day. We did move, leaving that rich prospect without ever sticking a stake in the gulch, but abandoning it to those who might follow. Some may think we were blind to our own interests; but after more than forty years we look back without regrets, although we did see fortunes in the land, and had many inducements to stay. People said, "Here is gold on the bedrock, gold on the hills, gold in the rills, gold everywhere, gold to spend, gold to lend, gold for all that will delve, and soon you can make an independent fortune." We could realize all that. Still duty called, our honor was at stake, we had covenanted with each other, there was a principle involved; for with us it was God and His kingdom first. We had friends and relatives in the wilderness, yea, in an untried, desert land, and who knew their condition? We did not. So it was duty before pleasure, before wealth, and with this prompting we rolled out and joined our comrades in Pleasant Valley.
At our camp in Pleasant Valley we organized with Jonathan Holmes as president, and with captains of tens. Then there were chosen eight or nine vaqueros or herdsmen, to take charge of all the loose stock from 4 a.m. till 8 p.m.; but in the main the herdsmen were the chief pioneers for the camp. I remember only a few of them: W. Sidney, S. S. Willis, Israel Evans, Jacob M. Truman, Wesley Adair and James S. Brown.
The date of our start from Pleasant Valley I cannot now recall, further than that it was between the 25th of June and the 1st of July. We made slow progress, for the road was very rough. About six of us rode ahead, and looked out and marked the route. We would go ahead half the day, and then return to meet the train, often finding them camped, the men working the road, cutting the timber, rolling rock, and digging dugways, or mending wagons. Sometimes we had to lay over a day or two to make the road passable.
Thus we pushed forward on our journey till we came to a place we called Tragedy Springs, for near a beautiful spring at this place we found the remains of the three brethren who had preceded us, they having been murdered by Indians, and buried in a shallow grave. We first found bloody arrows, then stones with blood on them, then the nude bodies, partly uncovered; these were recognized by Daniel Allen's purse of gold near by. Our feelings cannot be described through the medium of the pen, therefore I must leave these to the reader's imagination. We built a wall of rough rock around the grave, then covered it with flat stones to protect the bodies from wild beasts. This was the best we could do, for the bodies were so decomposed that we could not do more. The names of the deceased and manner of death, with proper dates, were cut in a large tree that stood near by.
The night we came to Tragedy Springs was very dark, and our camp being in a dense forest of large trees, the darkness was intensified. Guards were at their posts around stock and camp, when suddenly, from some cause we never knew, the stock stampeded. This raised a great excitement, and before it subsided one of our cannon was discharged; as it belched forth its stream of fire, and the sound of the explosion echoed in forest and hills, the animals were stampeded still worse, only a few horses that had been securely tied remaining. We were compelled to lay by for two days to get things together, but we finally did so, recovering all our stock.
We made another start, going to a place we called Leek Springs, because of there being so many leeks growing wild. We had to stop over and mark our way among rocky ridges. Thence we moved on, musket in one hand, or in a handy place to the teamster, with his goad or whip in the other hand, the train moving in close order and constantly on the alert for an attack by man or beast.
We ascended a very high spur of the Sierra Nevada range, on the south side. When we reached the summit the wind blew as if it were the middle of November. As we crossed over we came to a large snowdrift; on the north side of the mountain our wagons rolled over the snow as if on marble pavement, but when we came to where the sun had shone in the latter part of the day, our wagons went down to the hub, and four were capsized and some of them badly broken. The others succeeded in reaching the bottom in safety. It took us till after dark to pick up the pieces and get them together to be ready to start the next morning.
We all gathered around the campfire and discussed the subject of standing guard, when the writer remarked that there was no need of guards—that he would agree to take care of all the Indians that would come around that night, for it was so cold and disagreeable that he supposed no human being would come there from choice. Just then someone inquired what an object on a rock was. Some said it was an owl, others that it was an Indian. Two or three of us took our guns and sallied forth to settle the dispute finding to our surprise two Indians with feathered headdresses on, and with long bows, and quivers full of arrows. They were within easy bowshot of us. The party had the laugh on the writer for once.
We took the Indians prisoners, disarmed them, and prepared a place for them to sleep, after giving them their supper. The writer was one called on to guard them, and he promptly complied. The Indians made good company, though they were very nervous, and we had to threaten them frequently to keep them from making a break for liberty. At midnight the guards were changed, and at dawn we made ready to descend to the camp below, arriving there just as the Indians moved off; we had released our prisoners. The Indians soon began to come in from every quarter, all armed. We moved in close order, every man well armed. The savages numbered three to our one; they flanked us and we could see them on every hand, in threatening attitude. In this situation we had to chop and roll logs out of the way, move rock, and make dugways, lifting at and holding wagons to keep them from turning over. Consequently, our progress was slow, and the journey very hazardous. Finally, when we had worked our way carefully along the difficult route, passing over the summit of the great Sierras, which divide the waters of the great deserts from those which flow to the Pacific Ocean, the threatening red men slunk out of sight, and we found a rough camping place, where we lay all night upon our arms, but nothing came to alarm us.
We continued down the canyon and came to a more open country, camping by a river bend where there was good feed, water, and fuel. We had begun to feel more safe from the red men, yet that night they stole in past our guards and took some of our saddle horses which were tied within four or five rods of our wagons. The Indians escaped, and were detected only by our guards hearing them cross the river; this was about 4 a.m. Early in the morning we learned more definitely our loss, and eight or ten of us gave pursuit, following the trail across a sandy country and over the foothills, ultimately succeeding in the recovery of all our horses but one, and for that we captured an Indian pony that had the distemper, as we discovered after it had been turned into our herd. That was one of the hardest day's rides that the writer remembers in all his experiences, for we put our horses through all they could live for. Every moment we were liable to ambush, for the Indians divided into three parties and we did the same. One of our party supposed he had killed an Indian, or certainly wounded him, just as he entered into the thick brush.
It was late the next day when we resumed our journey, and that night we camped in Carson Valley, where we looked on an extensive plain or desert. Being unable to discern any evidences of water, we turned to the north, just under the base of the mountains, traveling over a very hard route, until we came to the Truckee River, where we entered the old emigrant road. We followed that road till we came to the sink of the Humboldt, then called St. Mary's River. The distance was said to be forty-five miles; be that as it may, we were twenty-four hours covering it, and I do not think we had any rest or sleep during the whole trip.
We passed the wonderful Hot or Steamboat Springs. I remember seeing a dog run up to one of them as if to lap the water, and as he did so his feet slipped into the edge of the pool. He was so surprised at the heat that he gave one yelp of pain and jumped into the middle of the spring, stretched out his legs, and never gave another kick. In a very short time the hair was all scalded off him. The incident reminded me of the story of a Dutchman who, when he came to a hot spring, ordered his teamster to drive on, as hell could not be more than a mile away. We did not feel to blame the Dutchman, if the springs were like this; for, from the surroundings, hades did not appear to be far off, and we passed on without any desire to linger about the dreadful place. It was about 4 a.m. when, as we approached the Humboldt River, our horses and cattle hoisted their heads, began to sniff, and broke into a trot; from that they started into a run, and we had enough to do to keep up with them till they reached the water.
We had a short rest, and resumed our journey, for there was no food for our stock, and the water was brackish, so we traveled eight or ten miles and camped for the night. As the grazing was still short, we made a very early start, and were soon joined by two Indians, who remained with us all day and were very friendly. When we camped they stopped with us, and as we had been told the place was a dangerous one for Indians, the presence of these two caused a suspicion that they were spies, and probably would signal their fellows when to attack the train.
We had been in camp only a short time when a white horse was led in. The animal had a slight wound on his wethers and a mark of blood some six inches down on his shoulder. This wound had been caused by the horse rolling on some burned willow stumps, one of the men having seen him roll; and there were on the animal the black marks from the charred wood. Yet some of the camp insisted that the wounds were from Indian arrow's. At this time some one came up from the river and caused a flame of excitement by saying he had seen an Indian skulking in the brush, although he admitted that it might have been a bird or a wild animal, for, while he saw something move, he was not in a position to say just what it was. The discussion now waxed hot, and one man leveled his gun at one of the Indians, declaring he would shoot him. The writer was standing near by and caught the gun to prevent such an act, and was in turn threatened with being shot, when the trouble was stopped by others interfering.
That night, when the camp was called together as usual, for prayers and consultation, and prayers had been said, the same man who had threatened to shoot the Indian moved that we lay by the next day, hunt down all the Indians we could find, and by killing rid the country of the "d—d black rascals." This startling proposition seemed to stun the senses of the men for a moment, for no such spirit had invaded the camp before, our motto being peace on earth, good will to man. The proposition was so repugnant to the writer's feelings that he made his maiden speech in strongly opposing the motion, declaring that if such a cruel step were taken he would be a swift witness against all who engaged in the wicked and savage action; he also asserted that he would inform on them at the earliest opportunity, for as yet the Indians in that vicinity had done us no harm, and it was as much murder to kill one of them as to kill a white man. Others sided with the writer and the matter was dropped.
We passed on up the river until we came to near the narrows or canyon. There some of our stock was wounded by Indian arrows. I do not recall just how many were injured or died from their wounds. The Indians who did the damage kept out of our sight.
I must mention Elder Addison Pratt, who joined us at Sutter's Fort, as he was returning from a five years' mission to the Society Islands, in the South Pacific Ocean. He was a great fisherman, and it was along this part of the route that he used to catch the little speckled trout in such numbers as to attract both our admiration and our gratitude. He would go where no one else would ever think of finding fish, and would meet with wonderful success. In fact, some of the party were so astonished at his good luck that they declared he could catch fish in a cow track. He was a good, jolly soul, and made the best of everything.
Our train journeyed on in peace till we came to Goose Creek, where the writer traded a mare to an Indian, for a mule. The red man was given several articles for the difference. He sauntered around for a little while, then mounted the mule, and away he went, taking the articles with him. The writer pursued alone for four or five miles, and first thing he knew was too near the Indian camp to turn back, so he rushed in among them, dismounted, changed the mare for the mule, and rode off. The Indians looked surprised and frightened, and made no resistance. I never realized the hazard I had taken till the danger was over; then I was glad to rejoin my fellow-travelers.
We crossed Goose Creek Mountains and again struck out into the trackless desert, pioneering our own way, rolling the rocks and cutting the road. We reached the Malad, a very difficult stream to cross, but we succeeded in getting over without serious damage. From there our route lay to the Bear River, which we crossed in safety by blocking up our wagon boxes. I think the crossing was made just above where Bear River City is now located. From there we traveled southward under the base of the mountains to where we found two springs, one of hot water and the other of very cold water, within a very few feet of each other; they flowed in the same gulch or ravine. Along this route we had naught but an Indian trail to guide us. When we reached Box Elder we thought it the finest place we had seen since leaving Carson Valley.
While in California we had learned that the Latter-day Saints had settled near the south end of the Great Salt Lake; and as we had been in sight, from the mountains, of the north end of the lake for some days, we began to feel that we were nearing a place of rest. We journeyed on till we came to the Ogden and Weber rivers, where we found that Captain James Brown, of company C of the Mormon Battalion, and a few of the Saints had settled; the country looked very wild. We still pursued our way southward, till we reached the present site of Salt Lake City, entering the Sixth Ward Square—now Pioneer Square—where the Saints had built houses and a stockade. I think the date of our arrival at this place was the 28th of September, 1848.
We were heartily welcomed, by relatives and friends, after our long and tedious march of near four thousand miles, and our more than two years' absence from those we loved and who loved us. Our meeting and greeting were far more joyous and precious than the glittering gold we had left behind. Neither our friends nor ourselves had any regrets for our having left the gold fields when we remembered our marching away, over two years before, to the tune of "The Girl I Left Behind Me," for we were so very glad to find her again, no matter if it were in a desert. We all rejoiced, and gave thanks to God for His protecting care and our safe return to the bosom of friends.