Ha.? 
 
 CORNELL 
 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 GIFT OF 
 
 Albert & Charles Hull 
 Memorial Endowment 
 
Cornell University Library 
 F 864 H28 
 
 California '46 to '88: '?|y,,,,|f3l?ji||'i|||iffii 
 
 3 1924 028 920 201 
 
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 DATE DUE 
 
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Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of tiiis book is in 
 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924028920201 
 
^AAcj:^;;;. 
 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 '46 to '88 
 
 •S'4. 
 
^. 
 
 ^'"Z 
 
 -iZ; 
 
v. V . .. 
 
 JACOB WRIGHT HARI,AN 
 
l^/fcj^:;: 
 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
 '46 to '88 
 
 
 BY 
 JACOB WRIGHT HARLAN 
 
 jft. 
 "iff 
 
 Now go • • * and note it in a book.— Isaiah, kxx: 8 
 
 i^'<. 
 *,<» 
 
 SAN FRANCISCO 
 THE BANCROFT COMPANY 
 
 1888 
 
F 
 
 Copyright, iSSS 
 
 By Jacob Wright Hari,an 
 
 1^ efl'fi'ov^ 
 
 
 m » "^ 
 
TO 
 
 GENERAi, JOHN c. fr:§;mont 
 
 MY CHIBF IN DAYS OF YORB 
 
 THIS STORY 
 IS RESPECTFUIvLY INSCRIBED 
 
PREFACE. 
 
 "T is usual for a bookmaker to present himself 
 to his readers by something in way of preface. 
 This might not be needed in the present case were 
 it not that this writer deems it well to apologize for 
 his boldness as an unlettered man, in trying to write 
 a book at all, and also to crave that his frequent use 
 of the first personal pronoun singular may not be 
 set down to vanity, but rather to the fact of its being 
 convenient for stating, briefly, matters pei-sonal to 
 himself, and of his own memory and experience. 
 
 To old Pioneers in the American settlement of 
 California some parts of the following record may 
 appear incorrect, and some may be too familiar or 
 unimportant to be interesting ; but let each fact be 
 taken as a link in a chain of a California life, and its 
 value, though small, may be acknowledged. 
 
 It has appeared to this writer that every fact 
 relating to the early settlement of California should 
 be recorded and treasured up ; in fact, that it is the 
 duty of every Pioneer to put in writing his early 
 California experience. 
 
 The acquisition of California; the discovery and 
 development of its mineral riches; the outpouring 
 
 (71 
 
8 PREFACE. 
 
 from older societies of the army of young men who 
 at once occupied the new country and forced it into 
 world-wide importance, form the chief romance of 
 this century. 
 
 This Earth has become a much smaller affair than 
 it was in 1840 to 1850. Railroad and Telegraph are 
 every day making it smaller. There is no place on 
 its surface for another California, such as was the 
 California of those golden days. Golden not alone 
 in the wealth yielded by the soil, but in the better 
 wealth of the youth and health and pluck and 
 energy of the founders of the present well ordered 
 State. 
 
 It has been only by much persuasion that this 
 writer has been induced to appear in print. Job, 
 that old ranchero, wished that his " adversary had 
 written a book." He, perhaps, had been having some 
 hard experience with newspaper men or reviewers 
 of his day — if there were any 
 
 This Pioneer hopes that he is nobody's adversary, 
 and that no critic may find it worth while to dissect 
 this little story. Yet, if it be found worthy of notice, 
 he trusts that it may be treated with charity, and 
 the writer himself with whatever belongs to good 
 humor and good fellowship. 
 
 H. 
 
CALirOR:^IA, 
 
 '46 TO '88. 
 
 CHAPTER I. 
 
 !)F Americanism dates from a long way back. 
 James Harlan, my grandfather's great 
 grandfather, was an English Quaker, and came to 
 America with William Penn. My grandfather, 
 George Harlan, emigrated to Kentucky, and there 
 died. My father's mother was Mary Wright, also of 
 English descent. My mother, Malinda Matinlee, 
 was of Scottish descent, and both she and my father 
 were natives of Kentucky. He was a Quaker and 
 she a Presbyterian. Shortly after their marriage 
 my parents moved to Wayne County, Indiaaia, and 
 I was born there on October 14th, 1828. I had one 
 brother and two sisters older than myself, and one 
 sister younger. My mother died when I was two 
 years old, and my father afterwards married a widow 
 named Adney. With this marriage I first learned 
 that life is a rather serious business. My stepmother 
 
 (U) 
 
12 CALIFOENIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 at once started in to train me according to her ideas, 
 and she kept me dancing to the music of her switch 
 till after I was ten years old. 
 
 In 1832 we moved to Kosciusko County, Indiana, 
 and settled on Turkey Creek, near Tippecanoe, 
 where General Harrison had his battle with Tecum- 
 seh. White people were very few in number and 
 there were many Indians, chiefly Potawattomies and 
 Miamis, who gave us very little trouble. I, as a boy 
 of five or six years old, and being much among them, 
 learned many of their words and ways. Even yet I 
 remember their way of counting, and, in fact, I 
 became quite a little Indian. The Indians, of what- 
 ever tribe they may be, have many characteristics 
 in common, and this early familiarity with them 
 has on various occasions been of much service to 
 me. When I was about eight years old white people 
 who had settled in the neighborhood got together 
 and built a log school house. It had a large fire- 
 place and chimnej'^ for winter fires. Benches and 
 desks were made of slabs, split out and somewhat 
 smoothed with the ax, and for a window there was 
 a hole cut in the logs and covered with paper. 
 There was no sawed lumber then in that country. 
 People all lived in log cabins. To this " People's 
 College" I was sent to be educated. Our teacher was 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 88. 13 
 
 an old man named Thomas Moore. If any of my 
 schoolmates are yet alive and should read this, their 
 memory will be refreshed as to his big shell bark 
 hickory switch that hung in the chimney corner, 
 above his old greasy black hat. The use of this 
 switch formed an important part of Moore's plan of 
 educating youth. His system consisted chiefly in 
 forcing knowledge into the pupils' heads by beating 
 them on their nether end. 
 
 When I first went to this school I was as ignorant 
 of books aa any Indian. My father bought me a 
 Webster's spelling-book. My sister ■ put a cover on 
 it and gave me a thumb paper to protect the book 
 from dirty hands, and my brother, Bill, and I 
 were packed off to our first school experience. I 
 tried to learn and paid strict attention. I had got 
 up to words of two syllables, and had not yet been 
 whipped; but Bill got whacked every day, as did 
 most of the other scholars. For a few mistakes 
 Moore would give a scholar a dig in the ribs with 
 his elbow, and it took but little more to bring down 
 the full force of the dreaded shell-bark switch. Bill 
 was a mischievous fellow and was willing to suffer 
 at any time if he could get me into a scrape. He 
 and I sat beside each other. The old hat was in its 
 usual place on the floor. It had a hole in the crown 
 
14 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 and two mice were playing hide and seek, popping 
 in and out of this liole. Bill called my attention to 
 this play and made me laugh out loudly. Old Moore 
 grabbed his switch and then grabbed me. Why did 
 I laugh ? I told him of the mice and their hide-and- 
 seek game, which Bill had shown me. He waled 
 us both. Me rather lightly, but Bill got it oven 
 more severely than was usual. I continued at this 
 school for three months and mastered the whole of 
 Webster's spelling-book. I then graduated and 
 never had more schooling. I was needed at home 
 to do chores and help about the house. 
 
 My father's second wife had always been a hard 
 stepmother to me. She appeared to become more 
 severe as I grew older. Our final difficulty was one 
 morning at the breakfast table. She gave coffee to 
 all the others and to me she gave the whey from 
 sour milk. I asked for some coffee, which she refused 
 me, saying whey was good enough for me and that 
 she would teach me manners and to take what was 
 given me. Accordingly she struck me on the head 
 with the broom-handle and knocked me out of my 
 seat. I fell backward on the floor. I was up in time 
 to avoid a second blow and jerked the broom from 
 her, but was prevented from taking my turn by my 
 father, who stepped in at that moment. After in- 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. IB 
 
 quiring into the matter, he said it was clear that hia 
 wife and I could not live under the same roof. He 
 then took me to the house of his brother Elijah, to 
 whom he bound me to serve till I should be 21 years 
 old, when I was to receive $200 and a horse, saddle 
 and bridle. I soon found that I was out of the fry- 
 ing pan only to be in the fire. My uncle's family 
 consisted of his wife, one son, John, about six 
 months older than myself, and two girls. He had a 
 fine farm of some 250 acres. He was the hardest 
 of masters for us boys, who could not help ourselves. 
 The manner in which he worked us two boys made 
 him notorious in all that part of Kosciusko County. 
 Prom 1838 to 1844 he would call us at 4 a. m. or 
 sooner, and, sick or well, we had to turn out and go 
 to work and continue at it till 8 and 9 p. m. We 
 had no time for schooling in winter or summer. In 
 summer we planted and hoed corn, cradled grain 
 and did all sorts of out-door farm work. In winter 
 we cut wood, split rails and tramped out grain — 
 there were no threshing machines then in that 
 country. My uncle seldom hired any help except 
 in harvest and often not then when he could make 
 us do the work. At last this proved too much for 
 John and he sickened and died. I myself was but 
 little better off. I worked my last day for this uncle 
 
16 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 on the County road, in a marsh, hauling stone. At 
 night, on starting for home, he ordered me to get up 
 on the wagon, I tried to do so but dropped upon the 
 ground and could not rise. He picked me up, took 
 me home on the wagon and put me to bed. He 
 sent for the doctor, who said my illness was con- 
 sumption, the result of overwork and undue ex- 
 posure to cold. I continued to get worse, and my 
 uncle sent me to Laporte, Ind. There Dr. Teegar- 
 den, a water-cure doctor, treated me till 1845, when 
 he declared that my lungs were about all gone and 
 that I could not possibly live much longer. Then I 
 returned to my uncle who appeared to feel badly at 
 seeing me looking so ill. 
 
CHAPTER II. 
 
 jp^^^ r this time my uncle's motlier — my grand- 
 ^M» mother — was at his house, lying at the 
 point of death. She was 87 years of age. She 
 was always very good to me ; in fact, she was 
 about the only one who had treated me with 
 kindness. My middle name "Wright" was her 
 maiden name, which she herself caused to 
 be given me. She was a sincere and consistent 
 Christian woman. One day she called me to her bed- 
 side and said to me : "The doctors have given you 
 " up and say you are soon to die. Don't you believe 
 " them. I know that I myself will not live to see an- 
 " other Sunday or go again to church, which I love 
 " so much, but I believe and know that you are not 
 " going to die as they say, but v/ill recover your 
 " health and live. Since you have been sick I have 
 " continued to pray for your recovery, and I feel 
 " that the Lord will favorably regard my prayers." 
 Her words seemed to give me new life and hope, 
 as I held her feeble hand I bowed my head aud 
 kissed her my final farewell. She died thortly 
 afterward on that night. A few days afterward I 
 
 Cal. 2 (17) 
 
18 CALIFORNIA, '46 xo '88. 
 
 had a remarkable dream which made a deep im- 
 pression on me. I dreamed that my health was 
 completely restored and that I traveled over an ex- 
 tensive country of mountain and plain. I was 
 standing on a high hill looking down upon fertile 
 valleys below, which were beautiful with fine houses, 
 orchards and farms. It appeard like a true Garden 
 of Eden, and in my dream I felt that this was the 
 country in which my life was to be passed. It may 
 seem to savor of weakness and superstition, but I 
 confess that this dream made a strong impression 
 upon me, and in after years I have thought that I 
 recognized in this beautiful State of California somo 
 of the very scenes which were then shown me. 
 
 How this came to be pictured to the imagination 
 of an uncultured boy is a matter which I cannot 
 explain. I am not the only one to whom such things 
 have happened. I recall one instance which hap- 
 jjened within the knowledge of one of my intimate 
 friends. In this case the party, when also an inex- 
 perienced youth, dreamed of traveling over a rough 
 mountain range and at last coming out at the mouth 
 of a wild pass, where in a beautiful valley there was 
 a collection of neat houses and jDretty gardens and 
 orchards; a small church or schoolhouse, a tavern 
 a store, a large blacksmith and wagon shop, and the 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 'SS. !9 
 
 clear spring-water from the mountain above pouring 
 out from a rough bark spout into tlie large trough 
 at the tavern door. He had been bred in a level 
 country and knew but little of the mountains; ^-et 
 when ht! afterward became a ^lethodist preacher, 
 and was on his first circuit with a veteran circuit 
 rider, on issuing from a wild pass in the Alleghany 
 mountains, the whole scene was presented to him 
 nearly as he had dreamed it years before. I have 
 heard of many such cases. I cannot explain them. 
 Let others do so if they can. 
 
CTTArTEU III. 
 
 {■^^T SHOBT tiiw? aCter tin's my imolo sent nio to 
 ey^" hi!^ brother, my Undo (Tourgo, who lived in 
 Michigan and had a family ooi\sisting of his wifo and 
 six- cliildron. Thoy all i-ot'oivod luc with great kind- 
 ness and took the best of eare of me; in I'lwt, except 
 my relations with my grandmother, which I have 
 dcseribinl, this was about the first real sympathetic 
 kindness that had )el been extended to me. 
 
 My father had died in lS4,'i. After he had bound 
 me out to my Ihicle Elijah, he appeared to take but 
 little interest in me. By his second wife he had 
 five children. His widow, with this family anil a 
 debt hanging iner the farm, had enough to do to 
 make Inith ends meet, and we of the family of my 
 father's first wife found lliat we had to de]iend 
 nptm ourselves. At least, 1 found il so, and that I 
 had to depend on my own eiforts in order to gain a 
 livelihood. 
 
 8onie time after my going to live with my Ihiclo 
 CuHirgo he sent his son Joel and me to Niles, Mich- 
 igan, with a load of wheat. Joel and 1 were of 
 about the same age. He was an excellcr.t fellow 
 
 (20) 
 
CALIFORNIA, 'IS to 'SS. 21 
 
 and we were good friends. When at Niles wo re- 
 ceived from a friend of his father, Hasting's Work on 
 California and Oregon. I believe my uncle had 
 known Hastings, who had left Jilichigan in 1844. 
 When we had read the book, my uncle declared that 
 as soon as harvest was over and his grain sold, he 
 would sell his farm and leave for California. Ac- 
 cordingly, these sales having been made and neces- 
 saries provided for the journey, we all started on 
 our pilgrimage toward the Pacific Coast, on October 
 14th, 1845 — my birthday. 'Our party consisted of 
 fourteen persons, viz.: My uncle and his wife, bis 
 wife's mother, then ninety years of age and blind, 
 his two small children, his two married daughters 
 and their husbands, Ira and John Van Gordau, my 
 two sisters, Sarah and JNIalinda, his nephew,, G. W. 
 Harlan, some others, and myself. 
 
 We had eleven wagons, ten of our teams being of 
 oxen, and one of horses. At that time there was 
 very little movement from that jsart of the country 
 toward California. It was sometimei difficult to 
 make people believe that that country was our des- 
 tination. At Joliet, 111., for instance, we were 
 camped and had a large fire, for it was frosty. An 
 Irishman drove up with a team and asked where 
 we were going. One of our party said, " to Califor- 
 
22 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 
 
 nia;" upon which he got into a rage and swore 
 that he would not be made game of, and he threat- 
 ened violence to our whole company. Some of our 
 boys ran him off, and he escaped. He was not the 
 only one who doubted our being bound for the 
 Northwest coast. In passing through Hancock 
 County, 111., we met with an accident which de- 
 tained us for a week. My uncle's son, Elisha, fell 
 out of the wagon and a wheel passed over his body. 
 A doctor who was called, in trying to bleed the boy, 
 cut an artery, and the poor little fellow came near 
 bleeding to death. In about a week he got well 
 enough to travel. 
 
 Our stay in Hancock County gave us some ex- 
 perience of the Mormons. Nauvoo was not far off. 
 A short time before we encamped here, several for- 
 aging parties — I think they called them " destroy- 
 ing angels " — were sent out by the Mormon leaders 
 to gather corn belonging to the Gentiles. The Gen- 
 tiles objected to having their corn thus taken, and 
 the result was a fight in which the Gentiles lost 
 seven men and the Mormons more. Near where we 
 were camped was a well into which the Gentiles had 
 thrown the bodies of seventeen saints who had been 
 killed in the fight. The house of the farmer on 
 whose land we were encamped was full of holes of 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 'SS. 23 
 
 bullets which had been fired into it during the en- 
 gagement. At this time the Mormons had been 
 driven out of Missouri, where their killing of many 
 citizens, their wounding of Gov. Boggs of that State 
 and their other rascalities had made them odious. 
 When we were near them in Hancock Count}', we 
 learned that they had determined to leave Nauvoo; 
 that their first intent was to go to Vancouver's 
 Island, but their prophet and president had changed 
 this, having had a revelation that they must go to 
 Salt Lake, and there found a great people, who would 
 in time wipe all Gentiles off from the face of the 
 earth. This short experience of the Mormons I af- 
 terwards found useful when I had contact witli many 
 of them on the Pacific Coast. I have always found 
 that when they have felt safe in doing so they have 
 been ready to act in hostility to the Gentile. It may 
 be that I err, but I believe that but for the discovery 
 of gold and the consequent coming of so many people 
 to California, the Mormons would have taken Cali- 
 fornia. 
 
 When I first arrived in Yerba Buena — now 
 San Francisco — the Mormons were strong there. 
 If one needed a laborer to do a piece of work, 
 the chance was that a Mormon would be on 
 hand to do it. If one wished to have his clothes 
 
24 CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. 
 
 washed, a Mormon woman would be the washer- 
 woman. When a ball was given to Com. Stock- 
 ton, at LeidesdorfF's house, at the corner of Kearny 
 and Clay streets, the majority, if not all, of 
 the females were Mormon women. All this was 
 happily swamped and lost in the flood of immigra- 
 tion, which the discovery of gold directed to Califor- 
 nia, and the Mormons had to take a back seat. 
 
CHAPTER IV. 
 
 TQuincy, 111., we remained a few hours to 
 rest our teams, and to buy some necessary 
 things, and we came near being taken for saints. 
 Our wagon covers were painted to make them wa- 
 ter-proof, and each had its driver's name painted 
 on it. A green-looking Sucker came gawking along 
 spelling these names. When ho came to John Van 
 Gordan's wagon, he began to spell, and got as far as 
 V-a-n, Van, when he shouted, "Vancouver's Island!" 
 
 "Why, that's where the Mormons are going. 
 
 These fellows are Mormons," which was not a very 
 safe or pleasant accasation at the time and place. 
 John, however, corrected his spelling and his no- 
 tions by treating him to a kind of cyclone in the 
 shape of a strong application of a big ox-whip, and 
 we had no trouble. 
 
 We crossed the Mississippi at Hannibal, and at 
 Brunswick we met Mr. Clark, who had lost much of 
 his property in a great flood, which had done much 
 damage to the latter place. When told that we were 
 bound for California, he vowed he would go too, 
 which he did. He settled in San Francisco, and 
 
 (25) 
 
26 CALIFORNIA, '4G to 'SS. 
 
 gave to " Clark's Point," the name -which it bears 
 to-day. 
 
 We wintered at Lexington, La Fayette County, 
 Missouri. We had not been long there, when a 
 steamboat arrived, bringing one hundred and fifty 
 Sac and Fox Indians from Iowa, who were on their 
 way to a reservation in Kansas Territory. ■ Two of 
 Black Hawk's sons were among them, fine-looking 
 fellows. One, we found, weighed two hundred and 
 fifty the other two hundred and fifteen pounds. 
 My uncle made a contract with the agent to move 
 them to Wesport, on the boundary between Missouri 
 and Kansas Territory. It took all our teams to haul 
 their effects, their children and those who could not 
 walk. 
 
 We started on Christmas day and had travelled 
 about five miles when there came on a severe snow 
 storm. In a short time the road became covered so 
 that we lost our way and we had to camp on a small 
 creek among shrub oaks. We had attended to our 
 animals and prepared for supper and were warming 
 ourselves at the camp fire when John Van Gordan, in 
 pulling a pistol from his pocket accidentally dis- 
 charged it, and shot my cousin G. W. Harlan who 
 was stooping over the fire. The ball entered his 
 right hip and passed upward. He cried out that he 
 
CALIFORNIA, '4S to 'S8. C7 
 
 was killed and fell backward. This caused much 
 confusion among the Indians. They were all on 
 their feet in an instant. No interpreter was present 
 to explain to them the cause of the shooting and 
 matters were serious, as there were some seventy -five 
 armed Indian warriors all under great excitement. 
 Finally one of those sons of Black Hawk came for- 
 ward. He could speak some English, and being 
 informed about the accident he explained it to the 
 Indians and pacified thei:n. He then called the 
 Indian medicine man, who carefully traced the course 
 of the ball which he found under the right nipple, 
 and said that by proper treatment the young man 
 would get well. Next day a doctor came with an 
 ambulance and took George back to Lexington. The 
 rest of us with our Indian freight went on to West- 
 port, and returning by way of Independence we 
 found our patient rapidly getting well. 
 
CHAPTER V. 
 
 I URING this winter, through the care and kind 
 treatment of my uncle and his family, I had 
 much improved in health. They always had prevent- 
 ed my doing any hard work which they thought 
 would injure me. With returning health and strength 
 I began to think it time for me to do something to- 
 ward my own maintenance. Much hemp was raised 
 in the part of Missouri, where we were wintering, 
 and I found a chance to earn wages in braking 
 hemp. My uncle at first objected to my engaging 
 in this, but finally said I might go at it, and he 
 would watch me lest it might injure ne. Far diff'er- 
 ent this from his brother's conduct toward me. 
 
 One morning in January I began work, for a 
 farmer who had 400 slaves, a few of whom were 
 nearly as white as any of us. The slave that I chose 
 as my teacher in this new kind of work was named 
 Jacob, the same as myself, and was of fairer com- 
 plexion, than I, having reddish hair and blue eyes. 
 Pie told me that his mother was a slave and a quad- 
 roon, and his father was his master. He also told 
 me that three very pretty girls with his same com- 
 plexion and who were in his mother's house, were his 
 
 (28) 
 
CALIFO?v"^IA, '40 TO 'S8. 29 
 
 sisters, his master's daughters, and were the special 
 servants of "Missus". The house in which this con- 
 traband family of "Massa" lived was much superior 
 to the houses of the rest of the slaves. It was a 
 comfortable log house, lined and neatly kept. The 
 other slaves lived in common log-cabins. Jake made 
 a wide distinction between his family and the other 
 slaves. He called the latter "niggers." 
 
 Aside from this the master was a very good man, 
 and kind to his slaves. Sometimes, however, when 
 a slave would behave badly, Jake said, master would 
 sell him to Louisiana people and the negro would 
 not be heard of again. 
 
 The master's next neighbor had a large force of 
 slaves and was very different in his treatment of 
 them. This man, one night, came home drunk 
 from town, and meeting one of his slaves, an old 
 man, cursed him as good for nothing and killed him. 
 My uncle found this to be true, as the murderer was 
 arrested and fined $50, as punishment for doing it. 
 He was a white "gentleman" and old Sam was only 
 a "nigger." I learned also that Jake's ma'ster was 
 permitting him to buy his freedom. His value was 
 set at $1500, and Jake had already made and 
 paid $1200, and would pay the balance in three 
 years. 
 
30 CALIFORNIA, '-iO to '83. 
 
 At first the work was very severe upon me, and I 
 did not get through with a very great quantity of 
 hemp. The " master," at the end of my first day, 
 weighed my quantity and found it to be only forty - 
 seven pounds. Jake being an old hand, his quan- 
 tity was found' to be two hundred pounds. The 
 " master" then said to mo that I had earned thirty- 
 seven and one-half cents, but that Jake had earned 
 one dollar and fifty cents, of which Jake's share was 
 fifty cents ; that in this way Jake was buying his 
 freedom ; that he hated to lose him, and could have 
 sold him on the previous Saturday for two thousand 
 dollars, but he preferred to let him buy his freedom 
 in this way, and afterwards to let him work for 
 wages as a free man. 
 
 On the succeeding Saturday I attended the slave 
 auction. There was quite a large number of buyers. 
 The slaves were in an' enclosure, men, women, and 
 children together, and they were sold off rapidly, 
 without regard, evidently, to the separating of mem- 
 bers of families. To me it looked very cruel and it 
 affected me deeply. The last slave that was sold 
 was a young girl. The auctioneer said : " Gentle- 
 "tlemen, this girl is the last that we can offer you 
 " to-day, and I want you to bid up quickly on her. 
 '• You can see that in form, color, and beauty she 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 TO "SS. 31 
 
 "cannot be surpassed in La Fayette County. Her 
 " age is seventeen years and eight months, and she 
 " is an excellent servant." One of the bidders de- 
 sired that her mouth be opened, that ho might see 
 her teeth. She was caused to do this, and a most 
 beautiful set she had. Then the bidding went on ; 
 $400, $500, $600, $800, and so on until she was 
 knocked down at $2,500. Her buyer asked how 
 much negro blood she had, and was told that she 
 had about one-eighth. 
 
 I never went to any more slave sales. The whole 
 thing looked abominable to me. I came away with 
 feelings of sadness and disgust. 
 
 I continued working among the hemp until 
 Spring, and became quite handy at it. I earned 
 enough to pay for my full outfit for the journey, 
 and had forty dollars left. About my best invest- 
 ment was in a dapple grey nlule, which afterwards 
 proved a good friend when such a friend was much 
 needed by me. 
 
CHAPTER VI. 
 
 ilTH the opening of Spring we made ready to 
 
 ^' start, " and a very important part of our 
 preparation was the marrying of two couples of our 
 young folks, the natural result of a winter's close 
 contact in camp. 
 
 Our first destination was Indian Creek, in Kan- 
 sas, which was the place of rendezvous of California 
 and Oregon emigrants. Here we found about live 
 hundred wagons, two-thirds of which were bound 
 for Oregon. 
 
 On April 5, 1846, we had a grand time. About 
 five hundred people came from Missouri to see us 
 off and bid us God-speed. Rev. Mr. Dunleavy, one 
 of the emigrants, preached a sermon. He was quite 
 eloquent, and his discourse had a powerful efiect 
 upon us all. 
 
 On April 6 we bade adieu to the " States " and 
 started for our land of promise. The California 
 emigration moved together for three days, Ex-Gov. 
 Boggs, of Missouri, being captain; then we were di- 
 vided into two parties. He went on in command of 
 one-half. The other half, in which w£.s our party > 
 
CALIFORNIA, 'iO to 'SS. 33 
 
 then elected Judge Moran, of ^lissouri, as captain. 
 They wished to elect my uncle, but he refused the 
 command. For some time everything went on 
 smoothly enough. In our company there was a 
 preacher — for such he claimed to be — named In- 
 man. He thought that he was not recognized, but 
 several of us knew him to be no preacher at all, but 
 a man who had been imprisoned in Kosciusko 
 County, Ind., for being a horse thief, and had 
 broken jail and escaped by crawling through a 
 stove-pipe hole in the roof. He became very wroth 
 at our captain, because, as he said, the latter did not 
 preserve proper discipline. He complained about 
 this mostly to the young men, appearing afraid to 
 approach the captain or my uncle. We young folks 
 decided to gratify his ambition, and have some fun 
 as well. At night our camp was made by drawing 
 all the wagons into a circle, and after supper we 
 held a meeting of some 30 or 40 youngsters. We 
 had speeches and a great show of enthusiasm. 
 Finally, it was moved and unanimously voted that 
 Captain Moran had failed in his duty, by not keep- 
 ing proper discipline, and that he should be turned 
 out of office. Then Inman was nominated, and he 
 was elected with a tremendous hurrah. The oLJer 
 men, startled by the noise, ran out to see what was 
 
34 CALIFORNIA, 'id to 'SS. 
 
 up. I called my uncle and the captain aside and 
 explained it to them. I begged them not to inter. 
 fere with our fun, and told them that we boys had 
 elected Inman to-night and to-morrow night we 
 would put him out. The boys lifted him up and 
 carried him in procession all about the camp, with 
 great shouting and applause. 
 
 Next morning, Inman ordered every team to be 
 ready to start at 6 a. m., and that anj'^ who were not 
 then ready should be left behind, and not allowed to 
 join the company again. Accordingly all were 
 ready at the appointed time except one old man 
 named Pyle, whose oxen had strayed away, and could 
 not be readily found. The order was to march in four 
 platoons. Four wagons should start together, keep- 
 ing twenty feet apart. Then four more should move in 
 the same manner, and so on till all were under way. 
 
 My uncle had eighty head of two-year old cattle, 
 and he was ordered to keep them half a mile to the 
 rear. Inman rode back and forth all day giving or- 
 ders, and was on the run most of the time, so that 
 some time before we got to camp his horse gave out, 
 when he was far in the rear seeing if the loose cat- 
 tle were nearer than the half mile. Before he could 
 get to the front again the older men had camped 
 and turned their stock loose to graze. He was in a great 
 
CALIFORXIA, 4G to SS. So 
 
 rage at this, but could not help himself. That night 
 he called a meeting of the young men, and stated his 
 grievances to them, and asked their views and their 
 advice. Just then old man Pyle came into camp, 
 and said Inman had done him great wrong and had 
 endangered the lives of himself and family, by mak- 
 ing him camp half a mile away from the rest of us 
 without any protection from the Sioux, who would 
 like nothing better than to kill him and his wife and 
 daughters. These dr^ughters were nice pretty girls, 
 and some of the young men had already begun to 
 cast sheep's eyes in their direction; so the old man's 
 talk made quite a sensation, and young Billy Mc- 
 Dcnald moved that Inman should be forthwith 
 turned out of office and Captain Moran reinstated. 
 I seconded the motion, and it was carried unani- 
 mouslj'. Inman was wrothy at me for this. As I 
 got down from my wagon Inman was standing be- 
 side his wife, across the corral, armed with bowie 
 knife and rifle. As he aimed at me, I thought I 
 could see right down the barrel. He pulled the trig- 
 ger, but his gun snapped. I quickly brought my 
 rifle to bear on him, but my uncle knocked it up- 
 ward as I fired, and my ball only cut a groove on the 
 top of Inman's head. There was much excitement 
 in camp, and some j-oungmen wanted to hmch him, 
 \)ut the wisdom of the older men prevented this. 
 He was ordered to leave camp, and we got rid of him. 
 
CHAPTER VII. 
 
 1^ proceeded very happily till we reached the 
 South Platte. Every night we young folks 
 had a dance on the green prairie. Our musician 
 was usually a young fellow named Frank Kellogg> 
 who played the fiddle pretty well, but from time to 
 time, as our musician, we would get Ann Eliza Fow- 
 ler. She was a young lady who afterwards became 
 my wife, and in playing the fiddle she could just 
 knock the hind-sights off Frank or any one in the 
 train. 
 
 On the Platte we stayed a week, laying in a stock 
 of buffalo meat. We encamped about two miles 
 from a buffalo lick, to which thousands of those ani- 
 mals came to lick the salt with which the earth was 
 impregnated. July 4th found us filled with buffalo 
 meat and patriotism, and after our usual dance, we 
 youngsters drew up in line to fire a salute, which 
 was done without other loss of killed or wounded 
 than a young fellow named Bill Richardson, who, in 
 order to make greater noise, had overloaded his yager 
 rifle and got knocked a rod or so out of line, hia 
 rifle flying forty feet away. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '4C to '88. 37 
 
 The lick was very large, extending for several 
 miles. In hunting we would divide into squads of 
 five or six, and when the animals came to the lick 
 M'e would fire at them. In this way we killed 
 twenty-two on our first day's hunt. We cut the 
 meat into thin slabs about as large as a common- 
 sized shingle, and dried it in the sun. One morn- 
 ing we came upon a bull much bigger than any that 
 we had yet seen. He was a monster in size and in 
 fierceness. My rifle was larger in the bore than any 
 of the rest, and it fell to 'me to shoot him. There 
 were several others with him, and for some little 
 time I could. not get a fair shot at him. Finally I 
 got a bead on a vital spot on him and fired. He 
 fell, but was on his feet again in an instant. He 
 saw me, and immediately charged me. I ran for 
 my life, expecting every moment to be lifted on his 
 horns. At last, when my breath and strength were 
 gone, I stumbled on a buff'alo chip, and fell head- 
 long. Turning my head, I saw that my bull had 
 fallen about two rods behind me. I immediately 
 rose and cut his throat, and received the congratu- 
 lations of my companions. I did not wholly escape 
 damage, however. My hands and knees were full of 
 thorns of the prickly pear, which was abundant on 
 the prairie, and in my eagerness to bag that bi^' bull 
 
33 CALIFORNIA, 'i6 to 'S8. 
 
 I had not observed that I was laying in a stock of 
 thorns, which would give me much acute suffering. 
 
 In the afternoon of this day Ave witnessed a grand 
 sight. Luckily we had just got into camp, when 
 there came toward us a baud of fully one thousand 
 buffalos, running with great swiftness, and reckless 
 of any obstacle which might be in their way. The 
 ground fairly trembled under their tread. About 
 one hundred mounted Sioux, armed with bows and 
 arrows, were pursuing them. Four or five Indians 
 would run up to a fat cow, and shoot arrows into 
 her until she would fall dead. We saw them kill 
 about a dozen in this manner. If our camp had 
 happened to be in the course of their stampede, 
 none of us could have escaped. 
 
 Having laid in our stock of buffalo meat, we pro- 
 ceeded to Fort Laramie. Here we found encamped 
 a large body of Sioux. About five hundred of their 
 warriors had just returned from a fight with the 
 Pawnees. We were told that they had killed about 
 one hundred and fifty of their enemies, and had 
 lost about eighty of their own warriors in the fight. 
 They had also taken a great many ponies. When 
 we were there these Sioux had their war dance. 
 They were all in war paint, and danced around a big 
 fire, with the Pawnee scalps in their hands. The 
 
CALIFORNIA, "40 TO 'SS. 39 
 
 one who had taken the most scalps received greatest 
 honor. They were hideous to behold. 
 
 We had some fear that these savages would steal 
 our animals, but the white men at the fort assured 
 us that we need have no fear of their doing so. We 
 made some presents to the old chief, which pleased 
 him much, and he told us through an interpreter 
 that our stock was safe, and that we need not guard 
 it. We found this to be true, and lost no animals 
 by those Indians. 
 
CHAPTER VIII. 
 
 ^^ROM Laramie we kept on to Fort Bridger, where 
 ^ we halted for three days. Here we met a man 
 named L. W. Hastings, who had written the book 
 which I have mentioned. He had just come from 
 California, and professed to know all about the 
 proper way to get there. He got all the emigrants 
 together, and recommended that we leaye the old 
 trail and make a cut off from Bridger to pass round 
 the south end of Salt Lake, and strike the Humboldt 
 river one hundred and fifty miles above its sink. 
 He said we would thus save three hundred miles of 
 travel, it being that much nearer than the way by 
 Fort Hall. There was a difference of opinion among 
 our chief men. Governor Boggs and his company, 
 our captain, Judge Moran, and some others were in 
 favor of the Fort Hall route, but my uncle and old 
 man Pyle, and James F. Reid, and George Conner 
 were in favor of the cut-off recommended by Hast- 
 ings. 
 
 While at this place I got me a complete suit of 
 buckskin, which with moccasins and my orna- 
 menting myself with some Indian paint, made our 
 
 (4D) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 41 
 
 young folks take mo for Captain Bridger's half-breed 
 son. I paid for my frolic rather dearly, as it took 
 no little time and trouble to get the paint off. While 
 here, also, an old mountaineer named Bill Williams 
 came to us to buy a rifle. He examined nearly 
 every rifle in camp. Mine was a good one — the 
 same with which 1 killed that big buffalo. With 
 him this rifle failed to pass inspection. He declared 
 that the only good piece in our whole company was 
 John Van Gordan's. I told Williams that the latter 
 was an unlucky gun, and that with it John had shot 
 and nearly killed my cousin, and also had clipped a 
 piece off the ear of another of our company, and 
 that if he bought it he would get killed with it. 
 He said to me : " See here, young man, I have 
 hunted and trapped in these mountains for sixtj' 
 years, and you need not think, for all of your buck- 
 skin dress, that you can teach me anything about a 
 rifle. Just get back under your wagon and keep on 
 mending j^our moccasins, and let me alone." So I 
 said no more to him. He then stepped off one hun- 
 dred and fifty yards, and put up a mark, came back 
 and carefully examined the rifle, and asked John 
 his price. John said $20. Willhims paid him that 
 sura, and then heavily loaded the gun to see, as he 
 said, how she would carry for that distance. He 
 
42 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 aimed at his mark and fired. The rifle burst at the 
 breech. A piece of the barrel ten inches long was 
 split out. the stock torn to pieces. The lock flew 
 across the, corral fifty feet, and wounded me slightly 
 on the leg. I ran across the corral and found old 
 Williams lying flat on his back, and with his legs 
 and body full of splinters. I helped him up, and 
 after Bridger had restored him with some whiskej', 
 he cried out that since he had hunted and trapped 
 in the mountains he had been wounded a hundred 
 times, and been struck by lightning twice, and that 
 nothing, not even a mean rifle, could kill him. 
 
CHAPTER IX. 
 
 iC/i? journey from Fort Bridger to Salt Lake was 
 both difficult and disagreeable, especially when 
 we had to travel throu .li the sage-brush and grease- 
 wood. When we had come to within a half mile of 
 the lake we halted at " Weber canon," a pass which 
 for about a half mile seemed impracticable. Our 
 four head men held a council. R:-id and Donner 
 declared it to be impossible for us to get through. 
 Mj' uncle and old man Pyle felt sure that we could ; 
 so there was a split. Reid and Donner turned, and 
 trailed back for three days, and then crossed the 
 mountains. We woiked six days building a road, 
 and got through on the seventh day. This put 
 Reid and Donner ten days behind us. If they had 
 helped us we would have got through on the fourth 
 day. We then continued on round the south end of 
 the lake, crossing the river Jordan, a small stream, 
 which runs out of Utah lake into Salt Lake. We 
 passed many beautiful springs, but on trial the 
 water was found to be saltish, and we were distressed 
 by want of good water till we reached a range of 
 mountains, where we laid in a supply of fresh water 
 
 (43) 
 
44 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 
 
 for the ninety-mile desert. "We started on our • pas- 
 sage over this desert in the early morning, trailed 
 all day and all night, and all next day and next 
 night, and on the morning of the third day our 
 guide told us that water was still twenty-five miles 
 distant. Our teams were so exhausted that they 
 could not haul the wagons. We had to unyoke 
 them and drive them to the water, and then back 
 again to fetch the wagons. William Fowler here 
 lost ■ his seven yoke of oxen. The man who was 
 in charge of them went to sleep, and the cattle 
 turned back and recrossed the desert — or perhaps 
 died there. Thus he was left with his two wagons, 
 and no teams to haul them. It was a hard case, as 
 he had a large family with him. He had married 
 my sister, Malinda, . after we left Fort Bridger. 
 Then he had his mother, a half brother, and three 
 sisters, one of whom was a Mrs. Hargrave (wife of 
 John Hargrave, who died and was buried here), 
 and her four small children. Also he had with him 
 two brothers named Musgrave, one of whom was 
 his stepfather. The rest of our company helped 
 him with teams, and he managed to keep with us. 
 
 After having passed the desert, we found it neces- 
 sary to rest our animals for three days, they were so 
 exhausted and spirit-broken. On arriving at the 
 
CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. . 43 
 
 Humboldt river we found that Governor Bogg's 
 party was some seventy miles in advance of us, 
 the Fort Hall route being the better after all. My 
 uncle searched all our wagons, and found that we 
 had not half enough of provisions to take us 
 through. He ordered me to mount my mule, whicli 
 I had bought with the money earned in hemp-break- 
 ing; to take with me Tom Smith; to go on quickly in 
 advance to Sutter's Fort, in California ; to get twelve 
 head of Spanish cattle, and a supply of provisions, 
 and to meet him and the party on the east side of 
 the Sierra Nevada. He gave us a little flour and 
 bacon to last till we should overtake Governor Boggs' 
 party, and a letter to Sutter stating the condition of 
 our company. 
 
 The Indians on the Humboldt were at this 
 time hostile and very troublesome, killing the 
 emigrants, and stealing their stock whenever they 
 could get a chance. We managed to work our 
 way down to the sink of the Humboldt without 
 being attacked. A short time before we intended 
 to camp, Smith having fallen a little behind, ran 
 forward to me and said that some Indians had shot 
 arrows at him. He was much frightened. I made 
 him go back with me, and presently we saw some 
 twenty Indians, who started to run. Tom and I 
 
46 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 both fired, and brought down two of them. We 
 then rode around a point of willows, and having 
 watched them for a while, we mounted, and after 
 eight or ten miles' travel, we camped, eat our sup- 
 per, and slept for two or three hours. We were 
 awakened by the snorting of the mules. On the 
 frontier a mule is better than any watch-dog. If an 
 Indian, or a bear, or wolf approaches one's camp, 
 the mule is sure to give the alarm. So we were up 
 in an instant, with our rifles ready. The night was 
 clear and bright, and we could plainly see a party 
 of Indians a short distance off. There were thirty 
 or forty of them, and they had no brush or other 
 means of hiding or lying in ambush. I told my 
 companion to be of good courage, and keep cool, 
 and that we must advance toward the savages and 
 fire upon them. We did so, and shot two more of 
 them. Tom had two pistols, and I had three. 
 These we also fired at them, and they all ran off in 
 a general stampede. From the number of our shots, 
 they doubtless thought that we had been reinforced. 
 We immediately reloaded our arms, saddled up, and 
 went forward. Having travelled about half a mile, 
 we found a board sticking by the side of the trail 
 warning the emigrants that the Indians were hostile 
 and dangerous. It stated that on the previous day 
 
CALIFORNIA, 46 to '88. 'i? 
 
 Governor Boggs' party had a severe fight with the 
 Indians ; that one man named Salley was killed in 
 the fight, and Ben Lippincott badly wounded ; that 
 they had killed about forty Indians ; that the sav- 
 ages fought with poisoned arrows, tipped with the 
 venom of the rattlesnake ; that many Indians had 
 concentrated at this point to steal stock, and mur- 
 der emigrants, and that they had buried Salley in 
 the road, and run the wagons over the grave to con- 
 ceal it. Notwithf^tanding these precautions, a few 
 rods past this notice we found poor Salley's body. 
 The savages had found the grave, dug him up, 
 scalped him, and mutilated his body in a cruel 
 manner. 
 
oiiArrER X. . 
 
 ?%E had now to begin another desert journey, 
 there being forty miles of desert from the 
 sink of the Humboldt to the Truckeo river. Wo 
 started curly in the morning and traveled all day. 
 At night wo encamjiud at seven miles distance from 
 tliij Truckee, at some brackish springs called Htoum- 
 boat Springs. The grass was fair, and we found 
 some wagons and people of Gov. Boggs' party. One 
 of the men of this party named Savage lioro lost his 
 wife. She died that night and was buried next 
 moining. Our seven miles hence to the Truckeo 
 Avas very dillicult, being all the way through deep 
 sand. About noon wo arrived at tJiat river, and 
 there overtook Gov. Boggs' company in camp at- 
 tending to their wounded. To us, this overtaking 
 our old friends seemed like coming home. We re- 
 ported to Gov. Boggs the condition of our company 
 and alwut our difficulties on the Hastings cut 'off, 
 and a'io about the secession from us of Reid and 
 Dohner at the Weber cafion. Also, wo told him of 
 our experience with the savages on our road. He 
 
 commended us highly, saying that our march down 
 
 mi 
 
CALIFOUNIA, '4G to '88. 49 
 
 the Humboldt through a country swarming with 
 hostile savages, and our successful encounters with 
 them, were most daring and showed true courage. 
 In fact, he made heroes of us. He examined his 
 wagons and found that he could spare our company 
 700 pounds of flour and some bacon, which I re- 
 ceived, and hired a man named Bonsell to watch 
 these jirovisions till our party should arrive. I gave 
 him one of my pistols for his protection. He was a 
 giant and as brave as a lion. He guarded these pro- 
 visions alone for about two weeks, when our party 
 reached him. I also got what I thought was enough 
 flour ■ and bacon to take us to Sutter's Fort, and 
 thanking the Governor for his great kindness we 
 started on our way to that place. When wo camped 
 on the second night I found that Tom had lost his 
 bacon, so I had to divide with him, and soon there 
 was none left. For the last three days we had only 
 a little flour and water. When we arrived at John- 
 son's rancho, forty miles from Sutter's Fort, and 
 heard the cocks crowing, and saw the pastures cov- 
 ered with fat cattle and horses, and with the view of 
 the grand Sacramento valley spread out before us, I 
 was reminded of my dream, which I have described, 
 and of my grandmother's having foretold on her 
 death-bed that T should be cured of my consumption 
 
 Cal. 1 
 
CO CALIFORNIA, '4G to 'SS. 
 
 and be a well man. I traded my mule to Johnson 
 for a pinto horse, and got from him some dried beef, 
 but we found the latter to be so spoiled that not- 
 withstanding our hunger we could not stomach it, 
 and we threw it away. 
 
 Having arrived at the Fort, I presented my uncle's 
 letter to Capt. Sutter, and explained to him the con- 
 dition of our company and what we needed. He 
 said he could not help us with cattle, as he had none 
 of the kind which were suitable. He gave us 
 enough provisions to take us back to our company, 
 and also a letter to Capt. Cordua, who lived where 
 Marysville now is, requesting that gentleman to fur- 
 nish us with twelve head of cattle, and he (Sutter) 
 Avould be responsible for them. On our presenting 
 this letter to Cordua, he caused Nye, his vaquero, to 
 rodeo the cattle and pick us out twelve of his choice 
 oxen; and I have never seen a dozen finer cattle 
 than he chose for us. I afterwards became intimate 
 with Nye. He married a daughter of Mr. Graves. 
 Next morning, when I went to get my horse to take 
 the cattle from the corral and start back with them, 
 I was astounded by Tom Smith's saying to me, 
 "Jake, I am not going back again across those 
 mountains. I can get twenty-five dollars a month 
 to enlist with the recruiting officer, and join Fre- 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 88. 51 
 
 mont's force and go with him to fight the Spaniards." 
 I asked him what he supposed I could do without 
 his help. He answered with an oath that he did not 
 care what I should do,, and that the company might 
 all die before he would go back. For a time his 
 answer stupefied me. I went to Capt. Cordua and 
 told him how my comrade was treating me. Cordua 
 declared that he ought to be shot. I answered that 
 it would not do in this way to give Tom his deserts, 
 as he had in our company a sister and her husband 
 and their two children, and it would bring misery upon 
 them. Cordua then made me turn my horse out, 
 and gave me a fresh horse and two Indians to help 
 me. Cordua was a German, and one of the best 
 and most charitable men that I ever met. 
 
CHAPTER XL 
 
 i N my return eastward over the mountains, I 
 reached J'ohnson's rancho on the first night,, 
 and encamped there. Next day I started early, and 
 drove till dusk, as I wished to tire the cattle so that 
 they would lie down and give me a chance to sleep. 
 They would rest for two or three hours, and then 
 try to go back home to their former range. I did 
 not unsaddle my horse, but lay with my rope in my 
 hand, and slept, as it were, with one eye open. My 
 Indians slept soundly all night. I could then speak 
 no Spanish, and could not give them orders. So 
 thev left me to do the greater part of the work. 
 
 On the third day I met Stanton and Pike of the 
 Reid and Conner party. They w£re going to Sut- 
 ter's Fort for provisions, and told me that the Don- 
 ner party was over one hundred miles behind my 
 company. I told them what a Judas Tom Smith 
 was, and asked them if they were going to return 
 and save the lives of the members of their company 
 as I was doing for mine. Stanton declared that he 
 would do so, or die in the attempt. The poor man 
 kept his word, and died in doing as he had prom- 
 ised. At Bear valley, on the west side of the moun- 
 
 (52) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 53 
 
 tains, we met a part of Governor Boggs' party, and 
 camped with them. I told them of the beautiful 
 land where I had been, and left them next morning 
 full of desire to get there. 
 
 Upon the second bench of the mountains, about 
 two miles from this camp, one of my largest steers 
 suddenly became possessed of some evil spirit, and 
 ran back to where we had passed the night. I tried 
 every way to turn him and get him to go up the 
 mountain with the rest, but without success. The 
 parties with whom I had stayed the night previous 
 were still in camp, and told me that if I would kill 
 him they would buy the beef. I did so. The two Ind- 
 ians and I took what meat we needed, and that party 
 paid me $80 for the rest. We crossed the mountain 
 range without much further trouble, and met our 
 company just beginning to come up with their teams 
 so worn out that they could hardly walk. When my 
 uncle saw me coming with such a fine lot of oxen, 
 he ran to me, caught my hands in his, and wept fo^- 
 joy. He assembled, the whole company, and told 
 them that they should never forget the service 
 which I had done them, but hold me in gratitude 
 and respect during their whole lives. We yoked 
 the Spanish cattle to the wagons, and got over the 
 mountains with little trouble. 
 
54 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 A few miles before we reached Johnson's rancho 
 we met Stanton with two Indians, returning with 
 supplies for the Reid and Conner party, and at night 
 we encamped at that rancho, full of thanks, which 
 ■we rendered where it was due, for our delivery from 
 desert and mountain, and our happy arrival in our 
 land of promise. The next morning, October 25, 
 1846, heavy rain fell. This rainfall must have been 
 that, which in the shape of snow" stopped the Don- 
 ner party on the east side of the Sierra. In the 
 midst of the storm a man appeared riding slowly 
 down the mountain toward our camp. On his 
 reaching us, we recognized James F. Reid. He was 
 nearly worn out with fatigue and suffering. We 
 entertained and restored him as we best could. 
 Reid gave us a full account of what had happened 
 to the party of him and Conner after they left us 
 at Weber canon. He and Conner deeply regretted 
 their not having stayed with us and helped us to 
 build the road through that pass. He now saw that 
 if they had done so, he and their whole party would 
 have been safe through all their difficulties, as we 
 were. He told us that after leaving us they went 
 back some two days' travel, turned to the south- 
 west, and crossed over a low depression in the 
 Wahsatch range. They had a very hard time in 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 lo '88. oo 
 
 getting into Salt Lake valley, which they entered 
 fifty miles south of where we did. In crossing the 
 desert they were obliged to unyoke their cattle, drive 
 them to water, and then return to bring on the v.-ag- 
 ons as we had done. 
 
 Reid's cattle got away like those belonging to 
 Fowler of our company, and ho thus lost sixteen 
 head, leaving him with only a cow and a calf. The 
 rest of the jDarty furnished him with teams, and 
 they all succeeded in reaching the Humboldt river. 
 Here they took an inventory of their provisions, 
 and found it necessary to put the whole i^arty on 
 short allowance, which must continue till Stanton 
 could return from Sutter's Fort with supplies. This, 
 together with their other troubles, made every one 
 very irritable. They found the rocky ford of the 
 Humboldt to be so difficult that they were obliged 
 to double the teams in crossing, yoking six oxen to 
 each wagon. Reid was absent hunting game, and 
 Elliott was driving his team. During the work of 
 crossing John Snyder and Elliott were c[uarrelling, 
 and nearly fighting, when Reid returned from hunt- 
 ing. Snyder was whipping his own team very 
 severely, and Reid remonstrated with him for his 
 cruelty. Snyder answered abusively, and said Reid 
 and he might settle the dispute at once. Reid told 
 
5G CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 him to wait till they got up the hill, but Snyder 
 struck him on the head with the butt end of his ox- 
 whip, and repeated his blows several times, drawing 
 blood. Mrs. Reid ran toward them to stop the 
 trouble, when Snyder struck her also. This so 
 stirred Reid's Scotch-Irish blood, and enraged him 
 so, that drawing his hunting-knife, he gave Snyder 
 a thrust with it. The knife entered Snyder's left 
 breast, cutting two ribs, entering the left lung, and 
 inflicting a mortal wound, of which he died in about 
 fifteen minutes. The whole company were much 
 excited by this occurrence. Some of the members 
 were for lynching Reid, and a wagon-tongue was 
 put up, and other preparations made to hang him; 
 but finally, after much discussion, it was determined 
 not to hang him, but to make him leave the party 
 without any food. He thereupon took his gray 
 racing mare, bade his family farewell, and overtook 
 us at Johnson's rancho, as I have stated. Reid told 
 IIS he was bound for Sutter's Fort, and would return 
 at once. He did not do so, however, but went to 
 San Jose, and returned later. 
 
CHAPTER XII. 
 
 S to what afterwards happened to this Don- 
 -^ ner party, my information has been derived 
 from the common report among us emigrants, and 
 from conversations which I have had with many of 
 those who were so fortunate as to escape. Stanton 
 got back to them in safety, but the amount of pro- 
 visions which he was able to convey was soon con- 
 sumed. The party was camped near a lake which 
 we then knew as " Truckee Lake," but is now known 
 as '•' Donner Lake." They there built cabins and 
 were all snowed in. Some said that the snow was 
 twenty feet deep. They lived upon their starving 
 cattle until the snow buried them. After this they 
 had no meat, but cooked and ate hides and bones 
 and offal of cattle, whose flesh had been previously 
 consumed. They were suffering all the pains of 
 • starvation, and at last the flesh of those who died 
 was eaten by the starving survivors. In that way, 
 only, could they save their lives. Stanton took sup- 
 plies to them through the deep snow twice. The 
 last time he tried to return with a party of the 
 strongest of those in the Donner camp, and two In- 
 dians Avho had gone over with him, but he became 
 
58 CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. 
 
 snow-blind and died. The rest followed the two In- 
 dians who knew the way. One night the Indians 
 slipped off and left them witliout other guide than the 
 bloody tracks of the Indians' frozen feet. When the 
 party got out of the snow they overtook the Indians, 
 one of whom was already dead, and the other died 
 within an hour after. This party all escaped except 
 Stanton and one or two others, and the two Indians. 
 
 Stanton was a true hero. He endured all these 
 labors and privations, and gave his life in order to 
 aid and save this Donner party, not one member of 
 which was of kin to him. 
 
 At last a relief party was sent by Oommodore 
 Sloat. There were seven men in this party. I 
 knew most of them personally. There was Moul- 
 trey. Glover, the brothers Rhodes, Joo Still, Ned 
 Copymire, and another whoso name I forget. They 
 started from Johnson's rancho, stopping at the snow 
 line to make snow shoes. They then left their mules 
 and all the provisions which they could not carry, 
 and, with what they could carry on their backs, they 
 made the journey of seventy miles over the snow to 
 the Donner camps. The snow upon which they 
 traveled was sometimes over fifteen feet deep. When 
 they came near the camps they cried out to the sur- 
 vivors, and all who were able to jnove rushed out of 
 
CALIFORXIA, '46 To '88. 53 
 
 the cabins. Moultrey told us that they were in a 
 dreadful condition and reduced almost to skeletons. 
 He said that some wept and others prayed and re- 
 turned thanks for this partial relief. They told the 
 relief party of their months of suffering, with death 
 constantly present with them. In some of the cab- 
 ins the dead were lying unburied, and in many 
 cases the flesh had been cut from them for food. 
 Ten were already dead, and others were in a dying 
 condition and too weak to eat. So it was thought 
 best to take care of those who were still strong enough 
 to be capable of recovery. The relief party had to 
 guard the provisions from the poor starving souls. 
 They distributed the food here and at the Donner 
 family's camp, which was some distance off, retain- 
 ing barely enough to supply the returning party. 
 They formed this party of about twenty persons, 
 mostly women and children, choosing those who 
 were strong enough to get over the mountains. 
 Many of the weak cried and begged to go also, but 
 it was impossible to take them. Having passed over 
 the mountains they arrived safely at Sutter's Fort. 
 On the west side they met James F. Reid, with fif- 
 teen men, going with provisions to relieve those who 
 from necessity had been left in the camps. Eeid 
 and his party were delayed for several days by a 
 severe snow storm, and when they reached the camps 
 they found that three more of the sufferers had died. 
 
CHAPTER XIII. 
 
 ^8 I have stated, after Stanton died bis party 
 did not all get safely out of the mountains. 
 They had nearly as bad a time as those who staid 
 at the Donner camps. They got lost and were four 
 days without food, and a fierce snow storm came on. 
 They resolved that one of their number must be 
 killed and his flesh used for food to save the lives of 
 the rest. They cast lots to determine which one 
 should be killed, and it fell upon Pat Dolan. He 
 was a great favorite, and when it came to killing him 
 not one of the party could do it. Just then F. W. 
 Graves, who was of the party, became very sick 
 and felt that he was about to die. He had three 
 daiaghters with him. He called them and the rest 
 of the company to him and told, them that after his 
 death they might eat his flesh ; that they must do 
 so or they, also, would surely die ; that there would 
 be no impropriety in their doing so, as it was justifi- 
 able in Order to save their lives. Another of them, 
 a young man named Foster, and also Mr. Fosdick, 
 died and were eaten. It was a hard case, and a 
 dreadful thing to think of or to do, but I judge it to 
 
 (60) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 lo 'SS. 01 
 
 be justifiable, as it was tlieir only resource, after 
 having eaten their moccasins and every other ani- 
 mal substance that they could find. While in this 
 condition of hunger Mr. Eddy killed a deer, which 
 was at once completely consumed. They again got 
 into a desperate condition of hunger, when of a sud- 
 den they came upon Stanton's two Indians, as has 
 been stated, and they got out of the snow and were 
 saved. 
 
 A fourth relief party afterward crossed to the 
 Donner camps, and found only L. Keeseburg alive. 
 He has been a noted character in connection with 
 these dreadful disasters and sufferings. He was a 
 German by birth ; a strong, good-looking man, 
 about six feet high, and when I knew him in his 
 health he weighed about one hundred and eighty 
 pounds. When this last relief arrived they found a 
 horrible state of things. Bodies and parts of bodies 
 in every condition of mutilation and decay lay scat- 
 tered about. This party was believed to have gone 
 over the mountains as much for gain as for charity 
 to any who might still be surviving. Donner was 
 reputed to be rich, and to have valuable goods in 
 his wagons, and also a considerable sum of money j 
 and it was known that one Halloran, who died on 
 the desert, had left his money to Donner. This. 
 
62 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 party could find no money in any of the cabins or 
 tents. They concluded that the Donner tents had 
 been robbed. Keeseburg was not at the lake camps 
 when the party arrived ; but they found his track 
 leading to the Donner camp, and afterward tracked 
 him back to the lake camp. They tried to force him 
 to tell whether he had taken this money, and if so, 
 what he had done with it. With a rope round his 
 neck, they choked him, and threatened to hang him 
 till he was dead, and at last he confessed that Mrs. 
 Donner had intrusted him with $531 in gold and 
 silver, and had charged him to give it to any of 
 her family who might survive. 
 
CHAPTER XIV. 
 
 'KEPT a hotel in Calistoga, Gal., in 1871. Keese- 
 burg lived close by. I had become well ac- 
 quainted with him on the way to California, partic- 
 ularly when we were on the " Hastings' Cut-off." At 
 Calistoga we renewed our acquaintance. I saw him, 
 and spoke to him frequently, and had good oppor- 
 tunity to learn whatever he would tell about him- 
 self in connection with that Donner camp. He 
 said that when Fallon and his party came to the 
 camp, where he was sole survivor, they treated him 
 from the very first with great cruelty, and as a crim- 
 inal. Of the whole of that party, Mr. Tucker was 
 the only one who in any way befriended or pro- 
 tected him. He declared to me that the members 
 of this party showed by their actions thai, they were 
 in pursuit of gain, and had not come from any 
 motive of charity. They obtained many valuable 
 packages of goods from the Donner camp consist- 
 ing of silks, delaines, and calicoes, besides other 
 things of value. Each man would carry a package 
 a little way, then lay it down, and return for another, 
 and in this way they went over the snow three 
 
 (63) 
 
64 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 times. Keeseburg said that, in his weak state he 
 could not keep up with them, but generally man- 
 aged to get to their camp at night. He told me 
 about finding the dead body of his little girl. He 
 was dragging himself along far behind the others, 
 and stopped to rest himself at a place which had 
 been used as a camping-ground by one of the pre- 
 vious relief parties. He had with him some coffee, 
 and having filled his little coffee-pot with snow, he 
 set it on a fire wliich he had made, and sat waiting 
 for the melted snow to boil. As he sat there he ob- 
 . served a, little piece of calico which was uncovered 
 by snow. Half thoughtlessly, partly from idle curi- 
 osity, he took hold of the cloth and pulled it. It did 
 not come easily, and he gave it a strong pull. A 
 heavy substance came toward him. It was the dead 
 body of his little girl, who had been taken to cross 
 the mountains by the previous relief party, and had 
 died and been buried in the snow which, having 
 somewhat melted, thus uncovered a part of her 
 dress. This was the first information that he had re- 
 ceived of his child's death. His residence in that 
 dreary camp, and the dreadful necessities to which 
 he and others had been reduced, had rendered him 
 callous to death and suff'ering, but this brought 
 home to him that he was yet a man, and with the 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 65 
 
 affections and weaknesses and responsibilities of a 
 human being. 
 
 Another story wliieli he told me was not of so 
 melancholy a character, fie said that just as they 
 were getting out of the snow he was sitting alone in 
 camp. All the others were away hunting. He was 
 feeling glad that his escape from his suffering was 
 so near. Of a sudden he was startled by a snuffing, 
 growling noise, and, looking around, there was a big 
 grizzly bear within a few feet of him. Keeseburg 
 knew that he was too weak to escape, and so kept 
 perfectly quiet where he sat. He was expecting 
 every moment to be grabbed by the monster, when 
 suddenly there was the sharp report of a rifle and 
 the bear fell dead. Mr. Foster, one of the party, 
 had chanced to be returning to camp, and seeing 
 the bear he had crept up and killed it. 
 
 On arriving at Sutter's Fort, some of this party 
 publicly reported that Keeseburg had murdered Mrs. 
 Donner. Sutter acted like a friend to him, and ad- 
 vised him to bring an action against them for slan- 
 der, which he did, against Fallon, Ned Copymire, 
 and some others. The case was tried before Alcalde 
 Sinclair and a jury, and Keeseburg gained the case, 
 the jury giving him the nominal damages of one 
 dollar. 
 
 Cal. 5 
 
C6 CALIFORl^IA, '40 to '88. 
 
 I have never believed, and I have not known any 
 of the old emigrants to believe, the stories which 
 have been told on this subject. For instance, Fal- 
 lon's story about J lis finding in Keeseburg's cabin 
 two kettles full of fresh human blood. He did not 
 attempt to j^rove this at the trial before Alcalde Sin- 
 clair, and how could blood have been taken from 
 the poor, starved, dead bodies ? Keeseburg had no 
 cause to murder Mrs. Donner. He had enough to 
 eat without killing her. She had been dead for so 
 much time before Fallon arrived that her blood 
 could not have been fresh, but must have already 
 been coagulated and stale, and her body does not 
 appear to have been in any manner mutilated. 
 Keeseburg told me that she never eat of the human 
 flesh, but preferred to die of hunger, although he, 
 himself, offered her some, and urged her to eat it to 
 save her life. His being forced to disgorge the $531 
 was the ugliest thing in his whole conduct, but he 
 assured me that Mrs. Donner had intrusted him 
 with that money, and charged him to deliver it to 
 the surviving members of her family. When I 
 knew Keeseburg on the desert, I observed him to be 
 a man, I may say, of much eccentricity. He kept 
 himself greatly to himself, and his unsociable ways 
 made him unpopular with his fellow emigrants. I 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 67 
 
 have thought him to have been predisposed to de- 
 rangement of mind, and surely his dreadful suffering 
 and experience at the starved camps might have un- 
 settled almost anyone's mind. When I again became 
 intimate with him, in Calistoga, his mind continually 
 dwelt on the occurrences in that camp. In our con- 
 versations he would always recur to them. He looked 
 upon himself as a man predestined to misfortune. 
 He would recall the fact that, in his business relations 
 with Sutter, Brannan, Gen. Vallejo and others, no 
 man could question his honesty and integrity. Sev- 
 eral times he had acquired a considerable amount 
 of property, but had lost it by no fault or act of his 
 own. Once, in Sacramento City, from being rich 
 he was ruined by the great flood, and again, in the 
 same place, he was made a poor man by the fire of 
 1852, which destroj'cd nearly the whole of that city. 
 I have known several men who have become more 
 or less insane from allowing their minds to dwell 
 ■continually on some one subject — some real or fan- 
 cied grievance. Such I believe to have been the 
 case with Dr. Powers, whom I will mention hereaf- 
 ter in this book, and I believe that Keeseburg be- 
 came unsettled in the same way. Ho said that the 
 treatment which, from the first, he received from 
 Pallon and some of his party made him refuse to 
 
68 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 tell them anything, till they choked hiW into it with 
 a rope around his neck. He declared that he would 
 have faithfully executed the trust with which Mrs. 
 Donner encharged him. That he respected her 
 greatly, and never did an evil thing in regard to 
 her. He said she was a true, good woman, and 
 might have got out with one of the first relief par- 
 ties, but she refused to leave her husband and stayed, 
 to die with him. I have never believed in the truth 
 of the terrible charges which were brought against 
 this man, and I know that many of the old emi- 
 grants who, perhaps, knew the facts of his case bet- 
 ter than myself, would give him the same verdict 
 as myself — Not guilty. 
 
CHAPTER XV. 
 
 HA VE several times mentioned Mr. Pyle as 
 " old man Pyle." He was one of the seniors 
 of our emigrant company. He and his family all 
 arrived in California safely. His daughters were 
 among the young ladies with whom we young men 
 used to dance on the prairies, and who enlivened our 
 otherwise tedious journey. His son, Edward, mar- 
 ried one of the daughters of Mr. Graves, whom I 
 have previously mentioned. Edward was an inti- 
 mate friend of mine. The family settled in San 
 Jose. One day, in looking for a stray mare," he 
 found her in a corral among some horses belongi-ng 
 to a Mexican known as Mariano ; at least, I never 
 knew him by any other name. A son of this Mexi- 
 can lassoed the horse upon which young Pyle was 
 riding, and threw it down, breaking its leg. The 
 father then told his son to also lasso Pyle and kill 
 him, or they would have to pay for the horse. The 
 young man was mounted, and lassoed Pyle by the 
 neck, starting his horse on the gallop, and dragging 
 Pyle for about a mile toward a small creek that runs 
 into the Guadalupe river. While dragging his vic- 
 
 (69) 
 
70 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 tim, he looked back and saw the face distorted and 
 the tongue protruding, which horrified him, but he 
 went on, and threw the body into the dry bed of tlie 
 creek. Then he went and reported what lie had 
 done to his father, who went back with him, taking 
 with them a bow and arrows. When they arrived 
 at the place where the young Mexican had thrown 
 the body, they found Pyle alive and sitting on a 
 heap of drift-wood. He begged for his life, but 
 they barbarously murdered and mutilated him, and 
 shot a number of arrows into his dead bod}' — prob- 
 ably to make it appear that Indians had done the 
 deed. The old Mexican died soon after, and thus 
 escaped earthly punishment. The son ran away to 
 Lower California, but his conscience so troubled 
 him that in a few months he returned and confessed 
 the whole matter. He said that the appearance of 
 his victim's countenance never left him by day or 
 night, and he wished to die. He was condemned in 
 Alcalde Burton's court in San Jose, and hanged; 
 that being, I believe, the first occasion of the inflic- 
 tion of capital punishment in San Jose. 
 
 Another man with whom I became well acquainted 
 during our troubles in the mountains was John 
 Stark. He went from California over to " starved 
 camp " in the same relief party with McCutcheon 
 
CALIPORNIA, '46 to 'S8. 71 
 
 and stone, and the old mountaineer, Greenwood. 
 When they got over to the camp they deliberated 
 whether they should stay with the sufferers till 
 another relief party should come, or take those who 
 were able to travel and convey them across the 
 mountains over the snow. All but Stark agreed on 
 the latter course. He refused, and said that he 
 would not abairdou those people; that the rest might 
 go if they liked, but he would stay with them. So 
 he alone remained. To him many owed their lives. 
 I think there was no man then in California who 
 possessed the qualities of intelligence, determina- 
 tion, and at the same time, physical strength and 
 courage in the same degree with John Stark. I 
 believe he was stronger than any two of us, and as 
 the common saying is, " he would do to tie to." 
 What he did was done with so much good humor 
 and willingness that his help was doubly agreeable 
 to those who received it. It was said that in jiass- 
 ing over the mountain snows he would carry a great 
 part of the jjrovisions and blankets, and sometimes 
 also some of the weaker children. The latter he 
 would take forward a little way, and return for 
 others. He would cheer and encourage them and 
 the rest, and would laugh and say they were so 
 wasted and light that he believed if there was room 
 
72 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 on his back he could carry them all. While at the 
 camp young James F. Breen's feet had been both 
 frozen and burned, and he and Jonathan Graves, 
 then little boys, were thus carried hj Stark the 
 greater part of the way over the mountains. On 
 arriving at Satter's Fort a surgeon was sought to 
 amputate James' disabled feet. Fortunately for 
 him, no doctor was at hand, and nature and youth 
 effected the cure, in which, jDrobably, professional 
 skill would have failed. 
 
 Stark was of a Virginia family, which settled in 
 Kentucky in Daniel Boone's time. In fact, I believe 
 one of his family married a near relative of that 
 noted pioneer. The family moved over to Wayne 
 county, Indiana, where John was born in 1817, as 
 was I myself eleven years afterward. Stark was a 
 large, powerful man, weighing some two hundred 
 and twenty pounds. He made his California home 
 in Napa county, of Avhich he was sheriff for sev- 
 eral terms, and also represented that county in the 
 state legislature. He died suddenly near Calistoga 
 in 1875 of heart disease. His death was instan- 
 taneous, and occurred when he was at work pitch- 
 ing hay from a wagon. He left a large familj',most 
 or all of whom yet live in that county. Like Stan- 
 ton, he was a true hero, and endured all the hard- 
 
CALIFORNIA, '40 to '88. 73 
 
 ships incident to the rescue of the sufferers at 
 *' starved camp " without being connected by any 
 family tie with any of them. In fact, I believe ho 
 was not even personally acquainted with any of 
 them until he rendered them that great service. 
 
 Probably about twenty members of the Reid and 
 Donner party yet survive. James F. Reid lived in 
 San Jose, where he was much respected till his 
 death, on Nov. 24th, 1874. His wife died at the 
 same place on July 24th, 1861. 
 
 In dismissing this matter of the "starved camp" 
 tragedy, I cannot but again advert to the fact that 
 if Reid and Donner had stayed with Mr. Pyle and 
 my uncle, and helped us to make the road through 
 Weber canon, they Avould have got through in safe- 
 tj, and both they and we, by arriving at the moun- 
 tains so many days earlier, would have escaped 
 many other troubles which afflicted us. Hastings 
 was not to blame in this. He told Reid and Donnisr 
 that he did not know the route which they wished to 
 take, having never been over it. The blunder of all 
 of us lay in our leaving the Fort Hall road, which 
 was a well known and an easier route, and this is an 
 illustration of the truth of the adage, 
 
 "While you have a, highway 
 Never take a bye way. 
 E'en tho' it be a nigh way." 
 
CHAPTER XVI. 
 
 ^ERHAPS I owe apology to the reader for the 
 foregoing long story about the Eeid and 
 Conner unfortunates, but I was so intimately ac- 
 quainted with many of them, and there is so much 
 to say about them, that I find it even diflBcult to 
 avoid saying more. 
 
 To return to my own narrative. After arriving 
 at Johnson's rancho, as I have stated, heavy rain 
 fell. On Oct. 26th the rain ceased and Capt. Cordua 
 met us, as agreed upon, to receive pay for his oxen 
 which I had received from him, and which had en- 
 abled our company to successfully pass the moun- 
 tains. My uncle retained these animals and gave 
 Cordua American oxen for them, with which Cordua 
 was well pleased. He reported that the two Indians 
 who had been sent to help me drive the cattle over 
 to the east side of the mountains had gone home in 
 safety, and had brought back to him the horse 
 which he had lent me to use in place of my own. 
 My uncle then directed me to go by way of Sutter's 
 Fort and Yerba Buena to the Missions of Santa 
 Clara and San Jos6, in order to engage house room 
 
 (74) 
 
CALIFOENIA, '46 to '88. 75 
 
 at one of those Missions, in which the company 
 could live during the coming winter. I consented 
 to go, if ho would send another man with me. 
 Therefore, he detailed John Van Gordan, his son- 
 in-law, to accompany me. Here is where I missed my 
 horse, which I had left at Cordua's. We both had 
 to go on foot, and we were well loaded. John car- 
 ried his two pairs of blankets, his pistol and rifle. I 
 bore one pair of blankets, a buffalo robe, and my 
 rifle and brace of pistols. Our first night's camp 
 was on Feather River, " Rio de las Plumas," as the 
 Spaniards called it, and they named it well. The 
 whole country was covered with wild geese and 
 brants. When they rose and flew, the whole sky ap- 
 peared to be darkened by them. John joked about 
 it, and said the birds might attack us and eat us, 
 but we had been through too much of rough expe- 
 rience to be scared by a lot of geese. 
 
 Arriving at the Fort, Capt. Sutter bade us stay- 
 there all night, and said the next day he would give 
 us a passage to Yerba Buena in his launch. While 
 waiting at the fort we were astonished to se^ how 
 the young Indians were fed. There was a mill at 
 the fort for grinding, or rather crushing, the grain. 
 This, without being sifted or bolted, was boiled till 
 it formed a kind of mush, which was poured into a 
 
73 CALIFOKTSriA, '40 to '88. 
 
 long trough. There were eomo seventy or eighty 
 young Indians, aged from three to eight or nine 
 years, and these got down on their kncos beside the 
 trough and lapped the mush, like so many dogs. 
 To me, it was an odd and not very pleasant 
 sight. 
 
 Next morning wo set sail on the launch, which 
 was the only craft which at that time ran on the 
 Sacramento river. When wo arrived at Suisun Bay 
 the wind died away and we lay becalmed all night. 
 The atmosphere seemed made of raosquitos, which 
 rose in clouds from the tulos. I felt that I was be- 
 ing relieved of a goodly portion of my blood. If 
 anyone ever passes the night among those swarms 
 of insects, and does not remember it all his life, he 
 must have a thick hide and a short memory. 
 
 We landed at Yerba Buena on Oct. 24th. Since 
 then the name has been changed to San Francisco. 
 At that time, what is now a great city was a little, 
 dirty looking village of, probably, 100 houses. About 
 a dozen vessels were lying in the harbor. We 
 were not charmed wit?i the apfjearance of the place, 
 and we liked it the loss from our being hungry, and 
 John having but half a dollar, and I, as the boys say, 
 " nary red." We went to a small bakery and bought 
 the half dollar's worth of bread. In going about I met 
 
CALirOPA'IA, '46 T-j 'SS. 77 
 
 James Savage, of whom I have spoken as having 
 lost his wife on the Humboldt desert. In our talk 
 he learned that we were flat broke, and that we had 
 to go to Santa Clara Mission. He said that he 
 needed a pistol, and offered me .$2.30 for one of 
 mine. I gladly sold it to him, and thanked him be- 
 sides. We then set off on our journej'. On arriv- 
 ing at the Mission Dolores, we met Daniel Murphy, 
 who was gathering horses for Fremont. He told us 
 that he could giA-e us horses to ride on, but he had 
 no saddles. Finally, he some way got an old saddle 
 tree for me, and John not being able to get one, had 
 to ride bare back. In this way we traveled until 
 we arrived at San Francisquito creek, where wo 
 halted for the night, at Secundino Robles' rancho. 
 The men of this rancho had all gone to the war and 
 the house was full of women, who made supper for 
 us all. We were twelve in number. We had tor- 
 tillas, frijoles, and carne seca, stewed up, with chile 
 Colorado. 'Slj readers may translate these terms 
 for themselves. To me, it was all very delicious till 
 I helped myself to what I thought was a dish of 
 tomatoes. It was pure chile — red pepper. It was 
 fire itself. I was burning all the way down and 
 up and every other way. I jumped from the table 
 and ran for the creek. Finally, by copious use of 
 
78 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 the cold water, I quenched the heat, and went back 
 to the house to find all the women laughing at me. 
 
 After supper a Spaniard took to playing on the 
 guitar, and set Dan Murphy and his men to dancing 
 and waltzing with the women of the house, which 
 they kept up till two or three o'clock in the morn- 
 ing, when John and I fell asleep. Next morning 
 we were too sore to ride without saddles ; so went 
 on foot the rest of the distance to Santa Clara, 
 where we found a number of emigrants, who had 
 come by way of Fort Hall. We then continued 
 around the head of San Francisco bay to the San 
 Jose mission. When about where Milpitas now is 
 our odd appearance attracted the observation of a 
 large body of wild Spanish cattle. They appeared 
 curious to investigate John with his blankets on his 
 back, and me with the buffalo robe heaped up on 
 mine. The cattle charged us on the run, and we 
 also ran. I climbed a tree quickly, but John was 
 very tired, and was slow about it. They came near 
 catching him, when I cried out to him to shoot and 
 scare them away. He did so, and killed one of 
 them, and the rest were frightened by the report 
 and fled. On arriving at the mission of San Jos^ 
 we met Henry C. Smith and his brother, N. B. 
 Smith, from San Jose, Mich.; also Mr. Mendenhall. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 79 
 
 ■who afterward laid out the town of Livermore, Ala- 
 meda county. 
 
 Smith gave us our first introduction to the fruit of 
 the cactus — tunas, as the Spaniards call them. He 
 gave some to John and me without telling us of the 
 thorns which are upon them, and on trying to eat 
 them our mouths were filled with those thorns. The 
 pain was great ; worse than that of the red pepper, 
 and Smith never forgot the left-handed blessing 
 which we gave him for playing us such a shabby 
 trick. 
 
CHAPTER XVII. 
 
 \E returned to the pueblo of San Jose, and 
 John determined to stay there till our 
 friends should come from Sutter's Fort. He died 
 there soon afterward. At San Jose I met L. W. 
 Hastings, whom I have mentioned as the man who 
 advised us to leave the Fort Hall road and take the 
 new cut-off recommended by him. I told him of 
 our troubles, and the Reid and Donner calamities, 
 which resulted from following his advice. Of course 
 he could say nothing but that he was very sorry, 
 and that he meant well. He had just finished rais- 
 ing a company of eighty-seven mounted riflemen to 
 join Fremont, and they were ready to march south- 
 ward. He asked me to join his company, saying 
 that he had one man who had been with him for 
 one month and had a month's pay due him ; that 
 this man was sick, and could not go, and that if I 
 would take his place the man would give me that 
 month's pay, and that from the time of my joining 
 I would get $25 per month. I reflected that I had 
 done all that my uncle had required me to do, and 
 I was free to do what I thought best for myself. So 
 
 (80) 
 
CALIFOEN'IA, '46 to 'SS. 81 
 
 I enlisted with Hastings on the above terms. He 
 then told me to go the corral and clioose my horse 
 from a band, which he had there. In the corral I 
 observed a fine dapple gray horse, which I thought 
 would just suit me, and I told the vaquero who was 
 in charge of the band to lasso him for me, which 
 he did. The vaquero helped me to saddle him, and 
 tie on my buffalo re be and blanket behind the sad- 
 dle. I led him out of the corral in front of the 
 company. As I did so, and was preparing to mount, 
 I heard the vaquero grumbling that this horse . was 
 the very devil, and that surely I would be thrown 
 and hurt. I mounted with my rifle in front of me. 
 The captain told me to give him the spur, and then 
 we had a circus. With the first plunge my rifle 
 flew to a good distance, and in falling the stock was 
 broken in two. He continued to buck, charging 
 right through the company, which parted to right 
 and left to let him pass. One of the strings which 
 tied on my blanket and buffalo robe parted, and let 
 them hang down on one side by his flank. He kept 
 on buck -jumping till he tired himself out without 
 throwing me. "When I at last got him stopped, Cap- 
 tain Hastings rode up and asked if I was hurt. I 
 answered that I did not know, but my neck felt a 
 little loose, and I did not know but that it might be 
 
 CaL. 6 
 
82 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '8S. 
 
 slightly broken. He laughed, and praised my horse- 
 manship, saying that many of the company had 
 tried to ride that horse and had got thrown ; that 
 he was glad to enlist so good a horseman. I thanked 
 him for all this, but said that if it was agreeable to 
 him I would try another horse, which I did. The 
 captain gave me a new rifle, and I went with the 
 company to the mission of San Juan Bautista. 
 Here we met Captain Burris' company retreating 
 from the native Californian force, with which they 
 had been fighting on the Salinas plains near where 
 the town of Salinas now is. Captain Burris had 
 been killed in the fight with six others of his com- 
 pany, two of whom had crossed the plains with me. 
 Several others had been badly wounded by the 
 lance. In this fight Burris was outnumbered, hav- 
 ing abotit sixty men, while the native Californians 
 numbered over one hundred and fifty. 
 
 On our arrival the natives dispersed or retired. 
 Lieutenant Thompson took the place of Burris as 
 captain. On the next day we took up our march 
 for Monterey to join Fremont's battalion, which, 
 with our arrival, was completed, and consisted of 
 five hundred and forty officers and privates. Of the 
 field officers I only remember by name Colonel Fre- 
 mont and Major Eeading, who was paymaster, and 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. - 83 
 
 Major Russell, who was Fremont's aid-de-camp, and 
 also had some charge of the arms and ammunition. 
 The force may have been a few less, as some were 
 away on detached duty. 
 
 The captains I knew better than the field officers. 
 Company A was the best company in the battalion. 
 It was composed of Fremont's old overlanders and 
 trappers, and was commanded by Captain Owens, 
 who had been with him during his explorations in 
 the mountains. If I remember rightly, this company 
 also acted as guard of the artillery ; then Captain 
 Ford, company B ; Captain Swift, company C ; Cap- 
 tain Sears, company D ; Captain Grigsby, company 
 E ; Captain Hastings, company F ; Captain Thomp- 
 son, company G ; Captain Truckee, company H. 
 
 I was in F company under Captain Hastings. H 
 company was made up mostly of Oregon Indians, 
 the chief, Truckee, being in command, but with him 
 were also some white officers, whose names I do not 
 recall. 
 
CHAPTER XVIII. 
 
 %^ Y first impression of Fremont was not quit© 
 favorable. I had been always under older 
 men, and he seemed to me to be too young to com- 
 mand in such a piece of work as that which he had un- 
 dertaken. Afterward I learned that he was more of a 
 man than I at first supposed. His age was twenty- 
 six or twenty-seven years. He was rather spare- 
 built, weighing, perhaps, one hundred and fifty 
 pounds, and his height might be about five feet nine 
 inches. His complexion was fair, with keen blue 
 eyes, and Romanish nose, and brown hair parted in 
 the middle like a woman's. His carriage was erect, 
 and not without dignity. On the whole, I learned 
 to like the colonel as a commander, and from what 
 little I knew of him, also as a man. 
 
 Major Russell I knew better than any of the offi- 
 cers except Hastings. I had known the former on 
 the " Hastings ' cut-oflf " from Fort Bridger to Salt 
 Lake. He was about fifty years old, and was a large, 
 portly gentlemen. He was of rather dark com- 
 plexion, and what hair he had was gray. He was a. 
 good talker. He came from Callaway county, Mis-. 
 
 (84) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 85 
 
 ■souri, but, I think, was a Kentuckian. When 1 
 knew him in the desert he had no wagons, but trav- 
 eled with pack-mules. 
 
 The ofScer that I thought to be more of a man 
 than any in the whole force was Major Reading. If 
 I had had my choice I would rather have gone with 
 him into positions of danger and difficulty than 
 with Fremont or any. of them. His age at that 
 that time must have been about twenty-nine years. 
 He was a strong, lithe man, weighing, perhaps, one 
 hundred and seventy-five or one hundred and eighty 
 pounds, and over six feet high. He was of dark 
 complexion, with black hair and eyes, and a sharp, 
 keen look, which seemed to go through one. He 
 Was a good frontierman, and physically and other- 
 wise he looked as if he could stand any strain that 
 might be put upon him. In his manners he was 
 very polite and formal, and I have heard persons 
 tell queer yarns about the ceremonies, and scrap- 
 ings, and bowings which passed between him and 
 Colonel Mason, when he carried to the latter a chal- 
 lenge to fight a duel with Fremont. Mason was 
 noted as a first-class wing-shot, and would have rid- 
 dled Fremont with his double-barreled gun and 
 buckshot, but it was said that Reading found 
 that Fremont could not have hit the side of a hay- 
 
86 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 stack. If I remember rightly, Mason at first ac- 
 cepted the challenge, but afterward found that his 
 official position would not permit him to fight, and 
 so declined. I understood that some regular office rs 
 were much disgusted at his refusal to fight Fremont. 
 
 We remained at Monterey two days, and then 
 marched for Los Angeles. Provisions were rather 
 scarce, and before we reached the San Miguel mis- 
 sion we were living solely on beef. Each day twelve 
 beeves were killed, and every man roasted his ration 
 at the camp-fire. This caused us all to have a keen 
 craving for bread. 
 
 The day before we reached this mission I was de- 
 tailed, with twenty-four others, to go forward and 
 spy out the mission and its surroundings. When 
 we got there our captain demanded bread from an 
 Englishman named Reid, who lived there, and was 
 married to a Spanish woman. They had no bread, 
 but Reid told us to take some of his wheat and 
 grind it for ourselves in a big coffee-mill. We did 
 so, aud his wife made us a quantity of tortillas, , 
 which we enjoyed as only men can who have been 
 for many days on an exclusive meat diet. 
 
 After our meal we overheard a man — I believe a 
 Frenchman — cursing the Americans and their flag. 
 Our interpreter took him to our captain to explain 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 87 
 
 his conduct, when he swore and declared that he 
 would curse them, and that he did not fear any or 
 all of them. The captain then arrested him for 
 his violent language and conduct, and his encour- 
 aging hostility in the natives. He was tried by 
 court martial, and sentenced to receive twenty-six 
 lashes with a reata. An Oregon half-breed (French 
 and Indian) gave him a few stripes, when the doc- 
 tor interceded for him, and he was let off from 
 further punishment on his promising to behave 
 better in future, and let the Americans and their 
 flag alone. Here we had no beef or bread, but a 
 change of diet, our breakfast being roast mutton! 
 
 At Santa Margarita, in the morning, two Indians 
 were stopped in passing through our camp, driving 
 an ox team yoked to a cart with solid wooden wheels. 
 One of these Indians was standing up driving the 
 oxen with a long goad with a sharp spike in its end. 
 This was a more effective persuader than our ox 
 whips, and made the steers travel up like a horse 
 team. The other Indian was sitting down in the 
 cart. They were stopped and examined, and upon 
 the person of the one who was sitting was found a 
 letter written by Totoy Pico to a person in Monterey, 
 whose name I forget, asking information about Fre- 
 mont ; whither our force was marching, and what 
 
88 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 were our numbers ; and stating other matters, which 
 showed that Totoy Pico had turned traitor, he hay- 
 ing previously surrendered, and taken an oath of 
 allegiance to the United States, and that this Indian 
 was a spy. As such, he was tried and sejitenced to 
 be shot. Ten men were chosen from the different 
 companies to shoot him. Five of the rifles were 
 loaded with ball and five without ball, none of the 
 party knowing whether his rifle was loaded with 
 ball or was blank. Then the Indian was told that 
 these men were going to shoot him, and he answered 
 " Bueno." He was then shown a tree, and told to 
 go to it, and turn his back to it, and face the firing 
 party. He obeyed, and walked up to the tree with 
 entire coolness and indifi'erence. He was then tied 
 firmly to the tree with a reata and shot. I did not 
 like the shooting of this Indian. He might have 
 been a spy, but the poor devil should have been 
 kept a while, and then let go, and I was glad that I 
 was not one of those detailed to kill him. It was 
 said that he had been fairly educated at the mission 
 of San Luis Obispo, and could read and wi'ite bet- 
 ter than many of ourselves. 
 
CHAPTER XIX. 
 
 ^ROM this place twenty-five men were detailed 
 to go to Totoy Pico's residence to capture him, 
 and bring him to San Luis Obispo. Accordingly 
 they went to his house, which was about twenty- 
 miles off, and searched it, at first without success. 
 His Avife and daughters declared that he was not at 
 home, and that they did not know where he was. 
 The searching party was about to give up looking 
 for him, when a trap door was found under a bed. 
 This on being opened was found to lead down to a 
 small cellar, in which Mr. Pico was found squatted 
 in a dark corner. He was arrested and brought to 
 camp, his wife and daughters being permitted to 
 accompany him. He was put under guard for the 
 night, and next day was tried and sentenced to be 
 shot at three o'clock p. m. of that day. 
 
 This sentence caused great consternation among 
 the Spanish people of the mission. The priest and 
 Mrs. Pico and her daughters came to Colonel Fre- 
 mont, and on their knees begged and prayed that 
 Pico's life be spared. I saw them as they came and 
 went> and their weeping and distress would have 
 
 (89) 
 
W CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 
 
 melted the hardest heart. Meanwhile Pico was 
 pleading his own case. He said that if Fremont 
 would spare his life and trust him he could and 
 would put speedy end to the war in California ; that 
 Andres Pico, the native Californian general, was his 
 c lusin, and that if he should be permitted to go to^ 
 the mission of San Fernando, where that general 
 was with his forces, he would so arrange that the 
 whole native army would surrender to Fremont, and 
 stop the war. Fremont agreed to this, and Pico's, 
 life was spared. 
 
 The next day, before we marched, the priest made 
 a complaint that the church had been robbed, and a 
 little golden image of Christ had been stolen. The 
 whole force was ordered to form in single rank that 
 the officers should search every man, and that th& 
 person upon whom the image might be found should 
 be shot; but the stolen image could not be found. 
 Then it was ordered that whoever had stolen it 
 should not be shot, but should be drummed out of 
 the force in disgrace. Finally, it was discovered 
 that a man named Smith of Captain Grigsby's com- 
 pany was the culprit. His manner had made him 
 suspected from the first, and under pressure he con- 
 fessed, and went with some of his company officers 
 and dug the image out of ground, where he had 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 91 
 
 buried it. He was accordingly drummed out of tlie 
 company. The image was duly restored to the 
 priest, who received it most thankfully, and with 
 great rejoicing of all his flock at the mission. Some 
 of us heretics thought it was too great a fuss to be 
 made about what appeared to us to be but a doll. 
 "We then proceeded on our march with the addition 
 to Fremont's staff of Totoy Pico, who rode beside 
 our colonel, dressed in finest Spanish style, and with 
 his serape, sombrero, and silver-mounted saddle and 
 spurs, and his fine horsemanship attracted the ad- 
 miration of the whole command. 
 
 On our arrival at the Santa Inez mountain rain 
 fell in torrents, so that it was almost impossible to 
 get the artillery over. The horses and pack animals 
 mired down, and a large number of them that gave 
 out and could go no farther were left to die. 
 
 After passing the summit we found the descent 
 very difficult. What with steepness and slipperi- 
 ness it took an expert person to get down without 
 falling. In fact the descent of many of us was by 
 sliding down on our posteriors. Among the rest 
 who came down by force of their own gravity was 
 Major Russell,who, as I have said, was a portly, heavy 
 man, and was always nice and careful of his person 
 and dress. He was still on the mountain, and we 
 
92 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 boys, who had slid down, watched with much curi- 
 osity to see how he with his nice uniform would 
 make the downward passage. He was coming down 
 slowly and dignifiedly when all of a sudden there 
 was a slip and a stagger, his feet flew from under 
 him, and down he came with railroad speed, and 
 was unable to put on the brakes and stop till he 
 landed within fifty feet of the camp, puffing and 
 blowing and covered with mud, to the great admi- 
 ration and fun of us young men. Nevertheless, 
 aHhough we used to laugh about some of the 
 major's peculiarities, we respected him. He was a 
 gentleman. 
 
CHAPTER XX. 
 
 ' FTER pas&ing this mountain our animals 
 were in such a condition that Fremont gave 
 orders that the whole force must dismount and 
 march on foot. In fact many of the men had no 
 riding animals, so many horses had died. Fremont 
 set the example, and marched on foot himself for 
 some time, as also did his staff dnd the other offi- 
 cers, and we privates liktd them the better for it. 
 
 On that night we had a good camping ground. 
 Many Spanish scouts had been seen hovering around 
 our line of march, and we were all ordered to sleep 
 on our arms as, to all appearance, there was risk of 
 our being attacked. The night was dark and cloudy 
 and double guards were posted. About midnight 
 the whole camp was aroused by the report of the 
 riile of one of the outside sentinels. In a moment 
 the whole force was up and in order for attack or 
 defense. By this time we were under pretty good 
 discipline. On examination the alarm proved to bo 
 without cause; the sentinel who fired was rather 
 green but a very good fellow. He stated that he was 
 sure that a man rode up near him in the dark, that 
 
 (93) 
 
94 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 he hailed this man three times without getting an 
 answer, upon which ho fired and thought he had 
 killed the intruder. On examining into the canse 
 of all this alarm it was found that he had killed a 
 jackass. Pie was not punished otherwise than by 
 being laughed at and teased, as it was so dark it was 
 thought that it might be difficult to distinguish be- 
 tween the human donkey and the other kind. 
 
 Next day we arrived at Santa Barbara and camped 
 a short distance out of that town. Men and ani- 
 mals were much tired from the hard work and 
 marching of the preceding few days. A strong 
 guard was set and strict orders given that no one 
 go to town, or outside our lines. I had a comrade 
 named David Williamson. Ho was by trade a cabi- 
 net maker. He came from Cincinnati, Ohio, and 
 had crossed the plains with my uncle. Wo slept 
 together iti camp and were very intimate. He was 
 about thirty years old and I only eighteen — so that 
 he had some influence over me. When we were in 
 camp near Santa Barbara, he suggested that we pass 
 the guards and go to the town. I did not care to 
 visit the little adobe place and refused, saying that 
 it would be a breach of orders, and the sentinels 
 would likely kill us. However, he persuaded me, 
 and we started for the town. When we came to 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 88. 95 
 
 the first sentinel Dave told him we were sent to get 
 some firewood, and he told the second sentinel the 
 same. They let us pass, and then our road was clear, 
 and we made a run for the town. Fortunately, for 
 us, we met an old Englishman who had a Spanish 
 wife. He said we were in much danger, that 
 there were native soldiers in the town who would 
 kill us if we should be taken, but that he would hide 
 us in his house till those soldiers should go away. 
 
 Our old protector told us that there were two hun- 
 dred of these soldiel'S who were watching every 
 move made by Fremont's force. They left Santa 
 Barbara about midnight, and then the old English- 
 man told us to get back to our camp as fast as jJossi- 
 ble, as the Spaniards might return. This we did, 
 passing the guards as before, and as we lay down in 
 our blankets I told Dave that next time he wanted to 
 break orders he must go himself without me. Next 
 morning I believe I was the most tired man in the 
 force. Even gun fire did not waken me, and Dave 
 had to shake me well to rouse me. That morning 
 about two hundred fresh horses were driven into 
 camp, so that we all got mounted again. 
 
 Among these horses was one beautiful black stal- 
 lion with mane and tail nearly reaching the ground, 
 and gallant carriage. He was the model of a per- 
 
OG CALIFORNIA. '40 to '88. 
 
 foct horse. Ficmont at onco foil in lovo with him, 
 and ordered his vaquoro to hrc^uk him U> Hiiddlo. 
 This vaquoro was a first rate rider and horse hroaker. 
 Ho had uevcr hoen known to bo thrown from a horse. 
 He was half Indian, and Fremont set f!;reat store by 
 him. Wo all watched him as ho prepared to inount. 
 He lassoed the horse, then after some trouble in get- 
 ting close up to his head tho viicjnero got a blind 
 over his eyes — the Spaniards call it a" tapojo," and 
 it is a broad piece of leather, usually made to slide 
 up and down on tho check strap of tho hoad stall — 
 then he got the saddle on and well girthed, and ho 
 mounted. He raised the tajiojo from tho horse's 
 eyes; then the animal jumped high up in tlie air, 
 and came down with a slam and a plungo as if ho 
 would go down into tho earth. He continued plung- 
 ing and buck-jumping for inore than a mile all 
 around and through the camp witliout unseating 
 his rider. There was a large tree close to I'^rcmont's 
 tent, the horse ran under it, a limb struck the 
 vaquoro on tho breast and ho fell upon the ground 
 dead. Among the Spanish Californians tlioro were 
 many excellent riders, but even among them I have 
 seen few horsemen equal to this njan. From the 
 colonel down, his death was laraojitcd by tho wliolo 
 force. His body was decently buried, ami Ji'rcnjont 
 ordered tho horse to be turned loose with tho wild 
 mares. 
 
CHAPTER XXI. 
 
 ^HE battalion proceeded to the mission of San 
 '"- Buenaventura, where we encamped, and next 
 morning about two hundred native cavalry made 
 their appearance in the Santa Clara Valley. It 
 was supposed that this was the advanced guard of 
 the whole native force ; they approached us to about 
 the distance of half a mile. Major Russell rode 
 towards them and Captain Truckee followed him 
 closely. The Spaniards let them approach, perhaps, 
 half way between them and us, and then made a 
 rush for our two officers. Old Truckee fired his rifle 
 at them and ran toward our camp. Major Russell 
 spurred his horse to his swiftest speed in tlie same 
 direction, but they would both have been lanced had 
 not Fremont caused a cannon to be fired at the 
 pursuers who thereupon halted and turned back. 
 Major Russell lost his hat and galloped into camp 
 with his bald head shining like a billiard ball. 
 We boys in the ranks enjoyed all this as great fun. 
 
 We marched on to near the mission of San Fer- 
 nando, where we were within three quarters of a 
 mile of General Andres Pico's forces posted at the 
 
 Cal. 7 (97) 
 
98 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 mission, and eight hundred strong. A halt was 
 then ordered, and Fremont, and his aids, and Totoy 
 Pico went forward half way and there met General 
 Pico and some of his ofl&cers in full view of both 
 forces. They met with much ceremony, and re- 
 mained consulting about three hours, and then 
 returned to their respective forces, and Fremont 
 announced, in a general order, that the enemy had 
 surrendered, peace was made, and no more fighting 
 would take place. We were then ordered to march 
 to Los Angeles and from there to the San Gabriel 
 mission, where we would remain until discharged 
 from service. 
 
 On arriving at this mission a grand reception was 
 given to Fremont and his officers by the Spanish 
 officials and their friends. There was a grand sup- 
 per and dancing and waltzing and music and goings 
 on till early in the morning. We privates, of course, 
 took no part in the dancing and waltzing. Our fun 
 came in various other shapes. Here we learned 
 about General Kearny's arrival in California from 
 New Mexico, and of his fight at San Pascual with a 
 native Oalifornian force, comnianded by this same 
 General Andres Pico, and that he had lost many men 
 and officers in killed and wounded — the General 
 himself being severely wounded. When they 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 99 
 
 arrived they Avere not aware that General Pico had 
 already surrendered and yielded up California to 
 the United States. With this force came Kit Car- 
 son. He wore his mountaineer dress and looked as 
 savage as any wild Indian, yet he was a very quiet, 
 sociable gentleman. He gave us much entertaining 
 information about his adventurous life. 
 
 Fremont and his officers had headquarters at Los 
 Angeles. Here a difficulty arose between him and 
 General Kearny. "\Ve understood that Kearny 
 was disgusted about Fremont's having made peace 
 without consulting him ; Fremont being an officer 
 of inferior rank. Matters got pretty hot between 
 them, but all their controversy has been fuUj- venti- 
 lated in works of greater pretension than this little 
 account of mine. 
 
CHAPTER XXn. 
 
 , E went into quarters at San Gabriel mission 
 iu the beginning of January 1847, and the 
 men had a great time gambling and drinking with 
 the Spanish men, and carousing ^d frolicing with 
 the women. I kept pretty well aloof from all this; 
 I didn't like it. 
 
 On March 1st, four hundred men were paid off 
 and discharged. I also wished to be discharged, but 
 Fremont wished to retain one hundred men at the 
 mission, and I was informed that I was to be one of 
 them. I went to him and spoke to him about it. 
 He spoke very kindly to me. He said he wished 
 one company to remain for six weeks or two 
 months longer; that he had received a good account 
 of me from my company officers, and he wished me 
 to stay to the last; that he would discharge the rest 
 of my company and transfer me to Captain Swift's. 
 company which would remain. Of course I felt 
 highly complimented, and said I would remain as. 
 he desired. 
 
 While here I went to a Spanish rancho under in- 
 vitation from a man that lived there. He was an, 
 
 UOO) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 101 
 
 Englishman, a sailor, and spoke Spanish fluently. 
 I knew little or no Spanish. We had dianer 
 cooked in true Spanish style, far better than my 
 meal at the Robles rancho, with its pepper and gar- 
 lic. Beyond anything, however, that I saw at this 
 place I admired the girls. They were beauties. I 
 got the sailor to tell them how I admired them, and 
 how I would likeao associate with them, etc., if I 
 could only speak their language. They laughed, 
 and answered that it would be easy for me to learn; 
 and that I would soon be able to speak if I would 
 come and see them often, which I promised to do, 
 an old lady adding that the best way to learn Span- 
 ish was to get una diccionaria, which my sailor ex- 
 plained by saying that the old lady recommended 
 me to get a female dictionary — a Spanish girl — and 
 learn from her. I was not ready for that, and 
 made no reply. In fact, I was somewhat bashful, 
 and quite dumbfounded, and the girls were evi- 
 dently inclined to make fun of me. After a great 
 deal of talk, most of which I did not understand, it 
 was time to ga. So we mounted our horses and 
 said adios to the ladies, and were about to start, 
 when I found that I had not put on my spurs, which 
 were lying on the ground near the door. In my 
 vanity I wished to show what a good horseman I 
 
102 CALIFOROTA, '46 to '88. 
 
 was, and reached down to pick up the spurs from 
 the ground. But, alas, for my horsemanship. I 
 fell off and landed on the ground, flat on my back. 
 As I got up I found the girls laughing as hard as 
 they could at me. I never was more mortified in 
 my life. I never went back to that place. 
 
 During this time several of General Kearny's 
 men used to come to our camp. Some of them had 
 been in the war in Mexico, and one of them gave 
 me a poem, which struck me as being very beauti- 
 ful. I do not know who made it, but at all events, 
 it suited my taste, and even at this present writing 
 I have not forgotten it as he used to give it. It 
 is as follows : 
 
 The moon shone but dimly 
 
 Upon the battle-plain. 
 A gentle breeze fanned softly 
 
 O'er the features of the slain. 
 The guns had hushed their thunder. 
 
 The drums in silence lay. 
 Then came the senorita, 
 
 The Maid of Monterey. 
 
 She cast a look of anguish 
 
 On the dying and the dead, 
 And made her lap a pillow 
 
 For those who mourned and bled. 
 Now here's to that bright beauty, 
 
 Who drives death's pangs away, 
 The meek-eyed senorita, 
 
 The Maid of Monterey. 
 
CALIFOKKIA, '46 to '88. 103 
 
 Although she loved hfer country, 
 
 And prayed that it might live, 
 Yet for the foreign soldier 
 
 She had a tear to give. 
 And when the dying soldier 
 
 In her bright gleam did pray 
 He blessed this senorita, 
 
 The Maid of Monterey. 
 
 She gave the thirsty water. 
 
 And dressed each bleeding wound 
 A fervent prayer she uttered 
 
 For those whom death had doomed. 
 And when the bugle sounded, 
 
 Just at the dawn of day. 
 They blessed this senorita, 
 
 The Maid of Monterey. 
 
CHAPTER XXIII. 
 
 \HILE I stayed at the mission, after the dis- 
 charge of the four hundred men, I had 
 but little to do, and had time to observe the native 
 Californian mode of cultivating the soil. They 
 were plowing and sowing wheat, barley, beans, corn, 
 pepper, potatoes, tobacco, and other vegetables. 
 What interested me most was the rudeness of their 
 farming tools. The plow was a forked stick or tree- 
 crotch about twelve feet long. The upright limb 
 was the handle, and the lower limb was the land- 
 side, and the point where the two limbs joined was 
 shod with a sharp point of iron something like a 
 cultivator tooth, and six inches or more in breadth. 
 Attached to this plow was a pair of oxen, yoked not 
 with the American ox-bow and yoke, but their yoke 
 was a single piece of wood, cut to fit the back of the 
 oxen's heads, and fastened to the horns with straps 
 of raw hide. Two men managed this machine. 
 One held the upright limb of the fork, and so 
 guided the plow, and the other drove the oxen with 
 a long goad having a sharp iron point, which he 
 stuck into the animals and made them pull the 
 
 (IM) 
 
CALIFOENIA, '46 to '88. 105 
 
 plow rapidly. With this plow the ground was only 
 scratched a little, some of it not even that, hut the 
 soil was new and very rich, and in this way they 
 managed to raise fine crops. 
 
 When I first saw the Californian ox yoke it ap- 
 peared to me to be a very rude and imperfect thing; 
 hut, after I had seen it in use, I changed my opinion 
 of it. To me it was extraordinary to see the loads 
 which the active Californian oxen could move with 
 this yoke. In time, I came to the same conclusion 
 with a very intelligent native ranchero, who said 
 that other things being equal he could with his oxen, 
 so yoked, haul as heavy a load as any ox team could 
 with our bow yoke. He said that for a long journey 
 like that across the plains, he would prefer the 
 American yoke as giving the animals more free- 
 dom, but for a dead pull ho preferred his own yoke. 
 I myself have seen the native cattle yoked in 
 Spanish style haul loads which it would have troub- 
 led our cattle to move when yoked in our way. 
 
 I remained stationed at San Gabriel mission till 
 April 13, 1847, when orders were given that we 
 should all mount and go to Los Angeles to receive 
 our discharge — no unwelcome nevv's to me. Col- 
 onel Fremont's headquarters were at Los Angeles, 
 and Major Reading gave us our discharge and our 
 
106 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 pay. We received from him $20 each, in cash, and 
 for the rest of the pay due to us we received govern- 
 ment scrip. My scrip amounted on its face to 
 $148.78. 
 
 I then bade farewell to Major Reading, as did all 
 the soldiers. We all liked him, and respected him 
 as a thorough gentleman. From this scrip I was 
 destined to receive but little benefit. On my arrival 
 in the north I gave all my papers, including this 
 scrip, to my uncle, George Harlan, for safe keeping. 
 He died in 1850, and his executor drew my money 
 from the United States government in 1854. From 
 this executor I never received the money thus ob- 
 tained, nor have I received any account of it. In 
 fact, I never knew how the matter stood till April 
 1887, when I received from the treasury department 
 at Washington information that my pay had been 
 drawn by the executor as above stated. The exec- 
 utor was then dead, and I remained without remedy. 
 Many of the volunteers, I doubt not, were careless 
 as I was, and may have died without claiming pay- 
 ment .on their scrip. But I believe that all who 
 have made proper application have been paid from 
 the appropriation made for that purpose. 
 
 There was much talk among us privates as to Fre- 
 mont's reason for discharging the greater part of 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 107 
 
 nis battalion, and retaining the company that 
 stayed. Some of the men said that he did so in 
 order to have some force which he could depend 
 upon in case his difficulties with General Kearny 
 should have gone to extremities. For that matter, 
 I believe that he might have depended upon nearly 
 all of his battalion, particularly upon the rank and 
 file. Few or none of us cared a fig for Kearny or 
 his regular officers. We rather despised the regu- 
 lars, with their clumsy, 'smooth bore muskets, and 
 as to the Mormon battalion, it would have fared 
 badly if brought face to face with our western 
 rifles. In case of trouble we would have stuck to 
 our colonel through thick and thin. 
 
 Having been paid off, most of us started for the 
 upper country, and on arriving at Santa Ynez moun- 
 tains, we there found the bones of our one hundred 
 and fifty horses, which we had left mired in the mud. 
 It made me sad to look at them. 
 
CHAPTER XXIV. 
 
 |i UR march northward was very pleasant. The 
 rains had ceased, and the whole country was 
 beautiful with green grass, wild oats, and flowers. 
 The oak trees were all covered with their fresh 
 leaves ; the birds singing, and cattle and horses in 
 thousands on the rich pastures. It seemed that if 
 there should be necessity to establish another gar- 
 den of Eden, California would be the right place for 
 such an institution. 
 
 On arriving at the mission of San Jose, I sepa- 
 rated from my comrades, most of whom I have 
 never seen since. I was welcomed to the home of 
 my uncle, George Harlan, where I remained for a 
 few days. He had lost his v/ife, my aunt Elizabeth, 
 shortlj' after their arrival at that mission. Also 
 John Van Gordan was dead, as I have already said. 
 He died shortly after I left San Jose with the troops. 
 
 It was necessary for me to get work and work was 
 not easy to get. Gold had not yet been discovered, 
 and but little was doing; wages being only eight and 
 ten dollars per month. I determined to go to the 
 redwood forest on the cast side of the San Antonio 
 
 (108) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 109 
 
 range of hills to eastward of the present site of East 
 Oakland, and there try to make shingles. I was 
 entirely unacquainted with this kind of work, yet I 
 could but try it, so I hired Richard Swift and went 
 to work. We cut down a very large redwood tree 
 and worked it up into fifteen thousand shingles, 
 which occupied us one month. I then had them 
 hauled to San Antonio landing, now East Oakland, 
 and shipped them on a flat boat to San Francisco, 
 where I sold them to William A. Leidesdorff for five 
 dollars a thousand. I then paid Swift his wages and 
 all expenses and had fifty dollars left. In this way 
 I first became acquainted with Mr. Leidesdorff. He 
 was a native of the Danish island of Santa Cruz, 
 W. I., and, I believe, had a slight dash of negro 
 blood in his veins. He had a hotel on the south- 
 west corner of Clay and Kearny streets, opposite 
 the plaza, and was the most enterprising business 
 man in the town. 
 
 At this time there were four stores, or principal 
 mercantile houses, in San Francisco. Melius & 
 Howard were on the corner of Sacramento and 
 Montgomery streets; Robert Parker was on Clay 
 street between Kearny and Montgomery streets; D. 
 L. Ross was on the corner of Montgomery and 
 Washington streets; and William H. Davis and 
 
no CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 Hiram Grimes were on the corner of Montgomery 
 and Jackson streets. That is as nearly as, in my 
 memory, I can locate the places of those merchants. 
 The town had begun to grow a little; its population 
 might be about three hundred. Lumber was scarce 
 and not easily to be got. It had all to be sawed by 
 whip-saws, as there were then no saw-mills in the 
 country. Most of the lumber came from the red- 
 woods in the San Antonio hills — back of what ia 
 now East Oakland. Lumber sold in San Francisco 
 at about fifteen dollars per thousand feet. 
 
 After disposing of my shingles, Leidesdorff asked 
 me if I would take a contract to fence in sixteen 
 fifty vara lots in San Francisco belonging to Com- 
 modore Sloat, Commodore Stockton, Colonel Fre- 
 mont, and some others. The fence was to consist of 
 two rails, with mortised posts, and a space of three 
 feet between the rails. He said their object was to 
 prevent squatters from occupying the lots, and that 
 he would pay me fifty dollars for fencing each lot. 
 I thought well of this, and we entered into a written 
 agreement on the above terms, in which there was 
 no limit of time mentioned for the completion of 
 the work. 
 
 I went to San Jose and found David Williamson, 
 that had nearly got us both captured at Santa Bar- 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. Ill 
 
 bara. He was working in Oliver's grist-mill and 
 earning two dollars and a half a day. I showed 
 him my contract and told him what I had done, and 
 asked him to be my partner in the work. At first 
 he hesitated, saying that he was in good employ- 
 ment, earning certain wages, and that my job might 
 be a failure. I said, "All right, David; we will see," 
 and I mounted and rode off; but present^ he called 
 me back and said he would join me. We then hired 
 Swift and went to the redwoods, where we cut down 
 trees and split them into posts and rails. I then 
 bought two yoke of oxen and a wagon, and hired 
 my cousin Joel Harlan to help me to haul the stuff 
 to San Antonio for shipment to San Francisco. 
 While we were hauling, Williamson was in the city 
 mortising the posts, and as soon as we got them all 
 over to the city, I went there with the team to finish 
 the work. There was then no way to take wagons 
 and teams across the bay, from what is now Oakland 
 to San Francisco, except by San Jos6. 
 
 We had our tent on the sand hills on Market 
 street' on the lot where the Palace hotel now stands. 
 It was nearly all sand hills about there at that time, 
 with shrub oak bushes all over the neighborhood. 
 We had no tea or coffee, but yerba buena grew in 
 plenty under the bushes. We made tea of it and 
 
112 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 drank nothing else. I believe that it is more whole- 
 some than coffee or China tea. Then we had beef 
 and slap-jacks. One day a cargo of syrup came 
 from the Sandwich Islands; the casks were brought 
 ashore in lighters and rolled upon the beach out of 
 the way of the tide, there being no wharf then. In 
 rolling the casks the top burst from one of them, 
 and the men set it up on end and left it there. 
 David got syrup by the bucketful, and we had plenty 
 to the end of our job. 
 
 We began this work on July 6th and finished it 
 on September 20, 1847, to the satisfaction of Leides- 
 dorff, who duly paid us as agreed. After paying all 
 expenses we had five hundred dollars to divide, and 
 we went to our camp, sat down on our blankets in 
 the deep sand, and made our division. David de- 
 clared that it was the best strike he had ever made 
 and he was going back to Cincinnati. I tried to get 
 him to stay in California, but he was set on going 
 back, and shortly afterward, Capt. Thompson having 
 gathered a band of wild horses to take to the states, 
 David went with him. One of Thompson's men 
 killed him on the way back, and David died shortly 
 after reaching home. 
 
CHAPTER XXV. 
 
 p^gFTER this I went to the mission of San Jose, 
 ^LAs and on the way, at Buri Buri, I sold my 
 wagon and two yokes of oxen for two hundred and 
 fifty dollars, making a profit of one hundred dollars, 
 besides the service which I had from them. My 
 capital at this time was five hundred and twenty 
 dollars and two good saddle horses, and I lacked 
 three weeks of being nineteen years of age. 
 
 Having rested for a short time at my uncle's at 
 the San Jose mission, I went to the head of Napa 
 valley to visit my youngest sister and her husband, 
 William Fowler, who lived near where Calistoga now 
 is. I was also attracted thither by the fact that 
 thereabouts lived a certain young lady that I had 
 admired very much when we had our dances on the 
 green prairies. 
 
 William Fowler and his father and brother came 
 to Oregon in 1843 and thence to California in 1844. 
 The father was a Scotchman who came to New York 
 when quite young. He married in Albany, N. Y., 
 and went to Belville, Illinois. He was an excellent 
 carpenter and builder, and built the court house 
 
 Cal. 8 (U3) 
 
114 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 there. Afterwards he lived for a time in Henry 
 county, Missouri, and then went to Oregon and Cali- 
 fornia as I have said. Shortly after his arrival in 
 California he and his two sons and William Har- 
 grave, who had come with them, were employed by 
 General Vallejo at two dollars and a half a day each. 
 
 In 1845 he and his son Henry bought a league of 
 land at the head of Napa valley, including the pres- 
 ent site of Calistoga. William Fowler Jr., was then 
 sent back to Missouri to bring out the rest of the 
 family, and thus it was that he became a member 
 of our company. I have already told how he lost his 
 teams on the desert in the Salt Lake country. 
 
 While young Willliam Fowler was absent in 1845- 
 6, his father and brother continued to work for Gen- 
 eral Vallejo, saved money, and bought cattle and 
 horses and wild mares, so that when William re- 
 turned with the family their land was well stocked. 
 They had built two log houses and a large corral, 
 and thus the family was at once housed in comfort. 
 
 Boy-like, I had fallen dead in love with one or 
 both of those two Fowler girls. For a good while I 
 didn't exactly know what was the matter with me. 
 Just as General Grant says in his book, that when 
 he was in the same fix, he by and by found out what 
 was the matter with him, when he fell in love; so by 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 115 
 
 and by I found out what was the matter with me, 
 and I simplified my case by centering my affection 
 upon one of them, and then I became the most lost 
 poor devil that ever fell into the same quandary. 
 My sister and her husband lived with the Fowler 
 family and I soon found that, woman like, she had 
 divined what was in my mind, and had been putting 
 in an occasional good word for me in my absence. 
 Then there was another matter which was interest- 
 ing to me. In the family lived also the other unmar- 
 ried sister and the widow of the Hargrave who had 
 died, as I have stated, at Salt Lake while we were 
 coming to California. So with the usual charity of 
 those who get into my condition, and, may be, like 
 the fox in the fable, I thought it would be well for 
 my uncle to put in for the widow as I was doing for 
 her sister. On my return to the San Jose mission, 
 I made a dead set at my uncle on this matter. He 
 laughed and said very little, but I could see that the 
 proposition hit him in the right place, as was proved 
 by the result, for he qu'etly went off to Napa, and 
 in less than a month he came back with the widow 
 as his wife. Then he became the benevolent match- 
 maker, and advised his son Joel and me to go at 
 once and each marry one of the girls. Of course I 
 was ready, and Joel shortly got to be so too. He 
 
116 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 made much fua about it, calculating what the re- 
 lationship would be; that he would be his father's 
 brother-in-law. He said it would take a Philadel- 
 phia lawyer to determine what the relationship of 
 their children might be. 
 
 These questions did not trouble me. I was stay- 
 ing with my cousin, G. W. Harlan, who was married 
 to my sister, Sarah, (another matrimonial conipli- 
 cation). He had a hotel on the road from San Fran- 
 cisco to Santa Clara, about ten miles north of the 
 latter place. In about two months I could stand it 
 no longer. So, without saying a word to any one, I 
 mounted one of my three good saddle horses and 
 led the other two, changing from one to the other, 
 and thus made quick time to the Napa country. 
 
 When I came in sight of the houses of the Fow- 
 ler family all my courage Isft me. It was as if those 
 houses were a battery, and I had to charge and cap- 
 ture it in the face of heavy fire — but then the gar- 
 rison. One of them I was bound to take. So I 
 tied my horses, and marched up and knocked at the 
 door. It was opened by my intended, and as our 
 eyes met I saw in a flash that I was all right there. 
 I saw that Lhe was as glad to see me as I was to see 
 her,and we then and there came to an understanding. 
 Still the course of our true love was not entirely 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. " 117 
 
 smooth. The mother was quite favorable to our 
 engagement, but then there was her father, the 
 stern old Scotchman. What of him ? 
 
 I was puzzled to know how to approach him. I 
 was but little more than a boy. My face was as 
 smooth as a woman's, except a little fuz like the 
 down on a young gosling. I coveted the beards 
 that I saw on the faces of older men. But the 
 thing had to be done. So I mounted my best horse, 
 and started for the old man. I had to ride forty 
 miles, and no grass grew under that horse's feet on 
 that day. 
 
CHAPTER XXVI. 
 
 ^R. Fowler was still engaged with General 
 Vallejo, and seldom came to the rancho. 
 His son managed that. On arriving at Sonoma, I 
 hitched my horse, and inquired at General Vallejo's 
 house where I could find Mr. Fowler. A young 
 Spanish lady directed me to where he was engaged 
 in building a house for the General. I walked over 
 to where he was working, and saluted him as 
 politely as I could. He returned my salute rather 
 stiffly, but kept on working. I was quite put out by 
 his firm, stifi" Scotch manner. Then mustering a 
 little courage, I told him that I had come to him on 
 important business. He laid down his plane, and 
 dryly said " What is your business 7 " I told him 
 that I was the brother of his son William's wife. 
 He immediately thawed, saying that he had heard 
 of me from his son, William, and remarked, " You 
 are the boy that came over the mountains and took 
 back the cattle to your emigrant company, and so 
 saved them from starving." I answered that I was 
 the person. Then I told him what I had come for 
 in very few words. He said : " Well, I know you 
 
 (118) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 110 
 
 " quite well by reputation, and I like you for your 
 " pluck and perseverance, but, my boy, you and my 
 " girl are both too young to marry." I answered 
 that that was so, but that the difficulty would soon 
 cure itself by our marrying, and growing older after- 
 ward. He gave a kind of grim smile, and delighted 
 me by saying, " Well, I approve of it ; you have my 
 " consent." Then, after a pause, he said : " Under- 
 " stand me, you must take care of yourselves, and 
 " not depend upon me for much help." I answered 
 that I was young and strong, and not afraid of work, 
 and could well take care of the girl and myself too. 
 Then he asked when we wished to be married, and 
 I told him on next 22d of November. Then said 
 he : " You must see Governor Boggs. Ee is alcalde 
 " here, and lives in the house next General Vallejo's, 
 " and you had better see Ben Mitchell and Mr. 
 " Griffiths, and arrange with them, so that the 
 " young folks that come with you may have places 
 " to stay at." I told him that I knew those gentle- 
 men, and had known them well on the plains. I 
 then thanked the old gentleman and went off, the 
 happiest youngster alive, at that moment. I was on 
 the road very early next mornin.', returning to re- 
 port to the young lady the successful result of my 
 interview with her father 
 
120 CALIFORNIA, '46 t3 '88. 
 
 On November 22d we went to Sonoma, accom- 
 panied by the family, and perhaps a dozen others. 
 We all went to Goverxior Boggs' alcalde office, and 
 he tied our knot in a jiffy. On my asking him what 
 the fee was, he said it was nothing; but he enjoined 
 upon us to act as good citizens, and to have a big 
 family, and help to people the country, which was 
 in need of American population. I believe we 
 obeyed him pretty well. The old gentleman, my 
 father-in-law, accompanied us back to the rancho. 
 He appeared well pleased, and was completely 
 thawed out. 
 
 Shortly afterward, however, Mr. Fowler and I had 
 a slight misunderstanding. I was building a house, 
 and had it nearly finished. It was situated in a 
 nice hollow at the foot of St. Helena mountain. I 
 believe that it is called "Jake's Hollow "J;o this day 
 from my name. 
 
 Henry Fowler, who managed the rancho, told me 
 this was public land, but old Mr. Fowler said it was 
 part of the Mexican grant, under which he held 
 title. I determined not to have trouble with him 
 about it, but to leave the place and go to San Fran- 
 cisco. I could get nothing for my house, which had 
 cost me more than I could well spare, but I must 
 not stay there. So I left. 
 
CALIFOENIA, '46 to '88. 121 
 
 When the public survey of that rancho was made, 
 and the lines fixed, it was found that Jake's Hollow 
 was not within the rancho boundaries. So Henry 
 was right when he told me to build my house there, 
 and his father was wrong. It was then too late for 
 me to claim any of the land, and I am informed 
 that Mr. M. M. Estee owns it to-day. I was glad to 
 leave that place, as I did not at all like their treat- 
 ment of me about that claim and house. 
 
CHAPTER XXVII. 
 
 DETERMINED to establish a livery stable in 
 San Francisco. William Fowler wished to 
 join me in this. He had seven saddle horses, and 
 two work horses, and a wagon. I had three horses, 
 and I bought five more. I judged that fifteen 
 horses would be enough to start on. They were all 
 saddle horses, and had never been in harness, but 
 in those days every one rode on horseback. Buggies 
 and buggy horses were not so much in demand as 
 now. So to San Francisco we went, and commenced 
 business. 
 
 Engaging in livery stable business in San Fran- 
 cisco at the end of 1847 was not a very sure specu- 
 lation, but we determined to try it. On arriving 
 there the first thing to do was to find a proper loca- 
 tion, and chance directed me to one. On passing 
 the Plaza I met George McDougal, brother of the 
 afterward Governor John McDougal. We knew on© 
 another, and I asked him where I could get a lot. 
 He referred me to one, which was for sale by Wil- 
 liam McDonald, the auctioneer, corner of Clay and 
 Kearny streets, opposite Leilesdorff's hotel. Mc- 
 
 (122) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. 123 
 
 Dougal introduced me to him, and I found that his 
 lot was on the corner of Union and Dupont streets, 
 and that he demanded one hundred and fifty dol- 
 lars for it. I agreed to buy it, provided that he 
 would take seventy-five dollars down and my note 
 at six months for the remaining seventy-five dollars. 
 To this he agreed, and I secured the lot. We rented 
 a house near by on Union street for our families, 
 and thon Fowler's skill as a carpenter enabled us to 
 build a stable for the horses quickly. I then bought 
 fifteen American saddles from Davis & Grimes, and 
 we were ready for customers. 
 
 In the harbor were eight whale-ships and ten 
 merchant vessels, and hide-ships, and one man-of- 
 war, the Ohio. LeidesdorfF was a friend that I 
 could always count on, and as he kept the only 
 hotel in the place, he could aid us greatly in our 
 enterprise. I asked him to send me all the custom 
 that he could, and he answered, " To be sure, I will, 
 " my boy, I'll do all I can for you." He was a 
 friend worth having. 
 
 On the first day there was a general rush for 
 horses. The sailors all wanted to ride, and I let out 
 all the horses for the half day at two dollars each. 
 On mounting, they all started for the Presidio at 
 full gallop, running races, and displaying some of 
 
124 CALIFORNIA, '46 10 '88. 
 
 the most astonishing horsemanship that I had ever 
 seen. 
 
 Before noon my riders came back, and I was 
 ready to hire the horses to a new batch of mariners 
 for the afternoon, who also paid me two dollars each 
 for their half day. To be sure, the horses suffered 
 some, but they were California horses, and could 
 stand it. The antics of those horse-marines were a 
 sight to be seen. It did not appear to be much 
 matter to them whether they were in the saddle or 
 pitched forward on their horses' necks or backward 
 on the horses' rumps. I didn't care. They made 
 a great sensation in the litile town, and were a first- 
 rate advertisment for our stable. On this first day 
 we took in sixty dollars. At hard labor I could 
 not have earned that sum in less than two months, 
 and I saw at once that I had struck the key-note in 
 the. money-earning way. At the end of three weeks 
 I bought Fowler out, and managed the stable alone 
 from that time till March 1848. 
 
 At this time my uncle came to visit me, and see- 
 ing how well I was getting along, he asked me to 
 take as a partner his son, my cousin, Joel. I was 
 not anxious to take a partner. I could manage the 
 business well myself, and as Leidesdorff declared, 
 there were few men in San Francisco making money 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 125 
 
 as fast a« I was; but Joel was my friend as well as 
 relative, and his father had been even more than a 
 father to me. His desire and request were like a 
 law to me. So Joel and I became partners, and 
 agreed together very well. 
 
CHAPTER XXVIII. 
 
 UR horse business was not to be of long dura, 
 tion. In Goloma lived Peter Wimmer, who 
 had married my father's sister. I always knew him 
 as Uncle Peter. He had crossed the plains with ua 
 in 1846, and had remained at Sutter's fort. About 
 the first of April, 1847, 1 received a letter from him 
 which changed all my plans. In that letter he told 
 me that, some time before, Captain Sutter had made 
 a contract with him and J. W. Marshall, they agree- 
 ing to build for the captain a &d,w-mill at Coloma on 
 the south fork of the American river. 
 
 Uncle Peter had four children, three boys and a 
 little girl — my cousins. While the mill-race waa 
 being dug, the children found it to be a place which 
 they liked to play in, and one day, while thus play, 
 ing, little John Wimmer, the second oldest boy, found 
 a piece of gold of the value of about eight dollars. 
 It was briglit and pretty, and he ran to the house 
 and showed it to his father and Marshall. It was 
 washing day and, at Marshall's suggestion, the nug- 
 get was put into the wash-kettle among the boiling 
 suds. After some little time it was found to be 
 
 (126) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 127 
 
 untarnished and Marshall said it must be gold, and 
 he took it to Sutter's fort where it was tested and 
 found to be truly gold. 
 
 While Marshall was gone to the fort the little boys 
 picked up about four ounces more of gold, so that 
 when Captain Sutter came up to the saw-mill to see 
 for himself, which he immediately did. Uncle Peter 
 showed him this second discovery of the boys and 
 satisfied him that a most valuable source of wealth had 
 been found. Then Sutter and Marshall and Wim- 
 mer, calling the Coloma Indians together, entered 
 into an agreement or lease with them, by which 
 they leased from the Indians twelve miles square. 
 The Indians were to be paid in flour, meat, clothes, 
 blankets, knives and ornaments, and the captain 
 paid them at once for the coming year. 
 
 Five men were working on the mill. I knew them 
 well, their names were, Stevens, Brown, Barger, 
 Johnson and Smith. They were Mormons. A.tany 
 rate they had been in the Mormon battalion and 
 they, of course, spread the news of this discovery 
 among the Mormons, producing great excitement 
 among them as well as among the gentiles. The 
 Mormons shortly found gold twenty miles down the 
 river at " Mormon diggings," and were taking it 
 out in large quantities. All this and more Avas told 
 
128 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 me in uncle Peter's letter. I am aware that this 
 discovery has been described in various ways. I 
 here give its history, in substance, as Mr. Wimmer 
 wrote it to me. It upset all my business plans. 
 I caught the gold fever at once, and notified 
 my wife and my partner, Joel, that it was time to 
 give up livery stable keeping and go to the mines. 
 My plan was not to dig but to make money by trad- 
 ing. It was arranged that Joel should take our 
 horses and put them on pasture on Squire Elam 
 Brown's rancho, near where Lafayette is now in 
 Contra Costa county, while I should get a stock of 
 goods suitable for a store or trading-post at the 
 mines; Joel was a doubting Thomas, and did not 
 understand how we were going to start a store with 
 five hundred dollars, which was our whole money 
 capital. 
 
 I was determined to try, and got Joel off with the 
 horses. Then I went to Mr. Leidesdorff. When I 
 had told him my plan he said that it was a good 
 move, and directed me to go to the different stores 
 and buy what I needed, and he would see the mer- 
 chants and be responsible for it. He did so, and 
 got me extensive credit. I bought my goods from 
 Howard & Melius, Robert Parker, D. L. Ross, Davis 
 & Grimes, and Dickson & Hay. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 129 
 
 I laid in a necessary stock of groceries, flour, 
 bacon, beans and liquors; also dry-goods, shoes, 
 boots, shovels, picks, tin pans, kettles of various 
 kinds, and ammunition. My experience on the 
 plains and in the mountains enabled me to choose 
 just such a stock as a miner's camp would need. 
 My purchases on that day amounted to four thou- 
 sand five hundred dollars, for all of which Leides- 
 dorff made himself responsible. 
 
 Captain Sutter's launch had arrived from the 
 Sacramento river, and next morning I had all my 
 goods on board of her before Joel got back from 
 Contra Costa. Oh his return we immediately sailed 
 for our new field of adventure. 
 
 Arriving at Sacramento, we hired two ox teams to 
 haul our goods to Coloma. On passing Sutter's fort 
 we met Samuel Brannan. He wished me to stop at 
 the fort and become his partner. He had just 
 started a store there, and wished me to buy goods in 
 San Francisco, while he would attend to selling them 
 up there. He declared that we were sure to make a 
 fortune in one year. I told him that I could not 
 join him, being already in partnership with Joel. 
 He said he had observed me to be an active business 
 man and to be trusted, and he needed just such a man 
 as his partner. I could not do it, and we separated. 
 
 CaL. 9 
 
CHAPTER XXIX. 
 
 T Coloma there was no lumber of which we 
 could build a store-house. Uncle Peter let 
 me have a small building with three rooms, which 
 accommodated my wife and myself. Joel and I 
 built a log cabin at the foot of a large pine tree, 
 which, I believe, is still standing, and opened our 
 store. Everything that we had was in demand at 
 great price. Provisions and supplies soon became 
 scarce with the great incoming of miners, and they 
 came to us to make purchases, with their buckskin 
 sacks well lined with gold. The mines were very 
 rich. 
 
 In buying our goods at San Francisco I obtained 
 them at fair wholesale prices, but little above the 
 prices demanded before there was any word of gold 
 discovery. When we sold them at the mines prices 
 had gone up considerablj'. For example, we there 
 sold flour at $1 jDer pound; sugar, 75 cts.; beans, 50 
 cts.; bacon, 75 cts.; coffee, $1.50; tea, $3; pilot bread, 
 $1.25; dried beef, $1; whiskey, $8 per bottle; boots, 
 $25 per pair, and coarse ones at that, as also were 
 the shoes costing $12 per pair; common blankets, 
 
 (ISO) 
 
CALrFOIfNIA, '46 to '88. 131 
 
 $32 per pair; picks, $16, that is, one ounce of gold; 
 shovels, $16; tin pans, like milk pans, $8, and other 
 articles in like price. It must be noted, however, 
 that the prices very much increased when the great 
 influx of miners came in, and those of many of the 
 above articles became nearly doubled. The miners 
 were getting plenty of gold, and they never ques- 
 tioned the prices which we demanded for our goods. 
 One day in August I suggested to Joel to go and 
 try his luck at mining over on the middle fork of 
 the American river. He went, found a very rich 
 place, and returned that night with sixteen hundred 
 dollars. Next day his claim was covered with 
 miners, who jumped it while he was gone. He had 
 neglected to observe a miner's rule, which provided 
 that on absenting one's self from a claim, the miner 
 must leave a tool in the hole as an evidence of owner- 
 ship, or the claim could lawfully be taken by another. 
 On the same day I also struck a rich mine. The 
 Indians of whom there were many, came to our 
 store wishing to buy scrapes. We had a bolt 
 of cheap carpet, of rather gay colors, which just 
 suited them. I cut off enough for one serape, 
 made a hole in the middle of it, and put it 
 on the chief. He was delighted and as proud as a 
 peacock. The other Indians then made a rush for 
 
132 CALIFOKNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 serapes. They had much fine gold which they car- 
 ried in vulture or goose quills. They .were not 
 stingy; each Indian on getting his serape gave me 
 all the gold that he had. When the carpet was all 
 sold many more wanted serapes. I uselessly wished 
 for another bolt. Just then my eye rested an a bolt 
 of coarse pilot-cloth. From this I cut a serape ; 
 took from the chief the former serape and put the 
 cloth one over his head. It took better than the 
 others, and I sold it all in the same way. When the 
 Indians had gone I weighed the gold dust got from 
 them, and found that those two bolts had brought 
 us twelve hundred dollars. A good day, that was ! 
 
 The next day an odd thing happened. A jolly, 
 good-natured miner came to the store with his buck- 
 skin sack full of much gold. He took a number of 
 drinks of whisky during the day, made some pur- 
 chases, among other things, a bottle full to take to 
 his camp. The price was eight dollars a bottle 1 
 He shouldered his purchases, and went up the hill 
 about two hundred yards, and there the drinks over- 
 came him, and he lay down and fell asleep. His 
 sleep was not to be undisturbed. Toward morning 
 a big grizzly bear came to him, and with his paws 
 rolled the man over, and continued rolling him 
 down hill almost to the store. Then the bear went 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 133 
 
 to the groceries and tore them all to pieces, and 
 scattered them about. Just then I was going from 
 my house to the store to open it at day dawn. At 
 first I could not make out what the bear was doing, 
 but on seeing m-e he ran away up the mountain, 
 out of sight. On being aroused, the man said he 
 had felt something pushing him about, but was too 
 sleepy to mind it. I went with him up hill to his 
 sleeping place. His rifle was leaning against the tree, 
 but his fifty dollars' worth of groceries was entirely 
 destroyed. 
 
CHAPTER XXX. 
 
 ^^^ BOUT the middle of August my former cap- 
 
 '^As tain, L. W. Hastings, opened a store oppo- 
 site ours, and a Mr. Von Pfister opened another 
 near the saw-mill. At this time lay uncle was at 
 Coloma with his family. His daughter, the widow 
 of John Van Gordan, was with him, now married 
 to Henry C. Smith, the man who had played us the 
 shabby trick at the San Jose mission. He began by 
 filling the former husband's mouth full of cactus 
 thorns and continued his game by getting spliced 
 to the widow. 
 
 My first child was born at Coloma on September 
 9, 1848. He and the gold discovery came along 
 nearly together, and I lacked one month of being 
 twenty years old. 
 
 On October 22d we sold out our store, stock, and 
 business to Captain Hastings, and immediately were 
 ready to leave for San Francisco. On the night of 
 the 23d a vile murder was committed just in front 
 of the store. The murdered man was a brother of 
 the Von Pfister who had started the store near the 
 saw-mill, and had just arrived at Coloma with a 
 
 I13i) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 135 
 
 stock of goods. He encamped at night just opposite 
 the store, and had gone to bed with a bowie-knife 
 and pistol under his head. While he was sleeping, 
 a miner named Pete Raimond came and waked him 
 and asked for liquor. Von Pfister answered that 
 he had none ; that he had just arrived with dry- 
 goods, and had no liquors in his camp. Pete then 
 went to our store and found it closed. He Uien 
 went to Hastings' store, but Hastings drove him off, 
 and threatened that he would treat him to a charge 
 of buckshot if he came back. Pete then returned 
 to Von Pfister's, took the bowie knife from under the 
 pillow, and ran it into Von Pfister's heart. The 
 wounded man screamed, ran over to my house, and 
 fell dead at my door, with the knife still sticking in 
 his body. My wife heard the scream and awakened 
 me. I ran out just as Von Pfister fell. I laid hold 
 of Pete, who said he had killed him. 
 
 Hastings and some forty or fifty miners came and 
 seized Pete, who acknowledged the killing, and said 
 that he wanted whisky, and could not get any, which 
 made him mad, and he then killed the man with 
 his own knife. It was then debated among us 
 whether Pete should be shot, or hanged, or sent to 
 the alcalde at Sutter's Fort. Hastings, my two 
 uncles, my cousins, Joel and G. W. Harlan, H. C. 
 
135 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 Smith, Ira Van Gordan, Thomas Broder, and my- 
 self voted to liang him forthwith ; but a majority 
 opposed this, and voted to send him to the fort, 
 whicli was done, and there he was put into a cell, 
 with a guard to watch him. That night he es- 
 caped, joined two others as bad as himself, and went 
 off to the south country. When the three arrived at 
 the mission of San Miguel the old Englishman, 
 Reid, was still living there. It was he who gave us 
 wheat, and whose wife made us tortillas when we 
 were with Fremont. The old man had been in the 
 mines, and had made four thousand dollars, and 
 Pete knew it. Just as the three ruffians arrived, an 
 old Spanish midwife came to nurse Reid's wife who 
 was about to be confined. Pete and his two com- 
 panions then murdered Reid, his wife, and two 
 daughters, and the old nurse. A negro living there 
 escaped, and raised an alarm among the Spanish 
 people. Runners were sent to Santa Barbara, San 
 Buenaventura, and other places with reports of the 
 murders. The assassins managed to get to the 
 " Rincon," but were there met and surrounded by a 
 body of mounted Spaniards. Pete and another 
 fought for life, and were riddled with bullets. The 
 third ran into the ocean, and was drowned. 
 
CHAPTER XXXI. 
 
 )N our way from the fort to Sacramento we 
 encountered the severest north wind that I 
 have ever experienced in California, and which I 
 mention because it had a bad effect on one member of 
 our family. My uncle's mother-in-law was ninetj'- 
 three years old, and had been quite blind for fifteen 
 years. She had come with us, travelling in a sort 
 of bed or couch, which had been made for her in 
 Michigan, and had stood the journey across the con- 
 tinent as well as any of us ; but that north-easter 
 was too much for her. When we arrived at Sacra- 
 mento the poor old lady was dead. 
 
 I arranged with my cousin, G. W. Harlan, to live 
 at his Fremont hotel in Santa Clara county during 
 this winter of '48 and '49, and thither I went with 
 my family. I did very little that winter but hunt 
 and keep the house in wild game, which was of 
 every sort, and plentiful. 
 
 One morning I went to shoot some little cotton- 
 tail rabbits. I had only a light single-barrel fowl- 
 ing-piece and fine shot. Just as I raised the gun to 
 shoot a rabbit a big California lion jumped between 
 
 (137) 
 
138 CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. 
 
 me and my game. He landed in a little open place 
 not more than eight feet from me. He showed no 
 fear, but I must say that I felt something very like 
 it. We looked straight into one another's eyes. His 
 looked green and devilish, and he showed his teeth 
 and growled, and moved his tail just as a cat does 
 when it has a mouse. For some time we sat look- 
 ing at each other, when of a sudden he squatted 
 closer to the ground, and I saw that he meant busi- 
 ness. So I fired my charge of fine shot straight 
 into his head. At that distance the shot acted like 
 a bullet, and he was dead. With difficulty I got 
 him to the hotel, and always went better armed 
 afterward. 
 
 I have spoken about the bears various times, but 
 we had another beast nearly as bad. The coast 
 range was covered with timber and thick chamisal, 
 which harbored many wolves — not coyotes, but the 
 true mountain gray wolf — and they were bold, even 
 to coming to the out-houses of the hotel and taking 
 the pigs, ai:d when a pack of them got together a 
 man had but little chance with them. I had seen 
 many of them in the mountains in coming to Cali- 
 fornia, and knew them well. Upon the whole, I 
 resolved to let my landlord cousin kill his own 
 game. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '43 to '88. 139 
 
 On March 6, 1849, my cousin, George, and my- 
 self being in San Jose, we saw three men hanged, 
 and three others whipped. The cause of their exe- 
 cution was their liaving robbed and tried to mur- 
 der a German, who was returning from the mines. 
 He had three thousand five hundred dollars, and 
 some way the robbers knew it. He had camped at 
 a slough three miles west from Slocumb's ferry, 
 which was the lowest ferry on the San Joaquin 
 river. Shortly after he had camped, three men 
 also camped about a mile from him, and before sun- 
 down these were joined by three more men. These 
 men had followed the German to rob him. Three 
 of them went to do the job, and the other three 
 stayed in camp. The plan was to rob him, but not 
 kill him. After they got his money and his gun, 
 one of them named Mat. Fred said, "a dead man 
 tells no tales," and shot him. He fell as if dead, 
 but when the thieves were gone he got up, and 
 wounded as he was, walked fifteen miles to Liver- 
 more's rancho. Livermore took care of him, and 
 sent to San Jos^ and notified alcalde Dimmick, who 
 took steps to capture the robbers. Livermore's 
 son, who bore his father's message to the alcalde, 
 got to San Jose in advance, and they carelessly rode 
 into the town, and wore taken. They were tried 
 
140 CALIFORNIA, '46 to "88. 
 
 by the alcalde and a jury, and found guilty of rob- 
 bery and attempt to murder, and the three who did 
 the robbing and shooting were sentenced to be 
 hanged, and the other three, as accomplices, were 
 sentenced to receive one hundred and thirty lasbe's 
 We saw the three hanged, but did not see the whip- 
 ping. We saw the men after they had been 
 whipped, and from their condition I concluded that 
 if it had been my case I would have preferred to be 
 hanged. Being hanged is a miserable way to get 
 out of this life, and I resolved never again to see 
 more of it, or of whipping either. Fate or some- 
 thing else ordered it otherwise, however. 
 
CHAPTER XXXII. 
 
 T this time I resolved upon a change of base, 
 and to return to store-keeping ; this time 
 at Sonora, Tuolumne county. I bought a wagon 
 and a good ox team for one thousand dollars, and 
 my cousin, George Harlan, wishing to join me, he 
 paid for one-half of the outfit. On March 21, '49, 
 we started for the southern mines. 
 
 We crossed the San Joaquin river at Bonsell's 
 ferry. Bonsell was the man that I got to guard our 
 provisions on the Truckee, as I have before stated. 
 In many ways Bonsell was a good man, but he was 
 a terrible fellow when hostile. He had justfinished 
 hanging six men from the limb of a tree. The bod- 
 ies had been cut down but a few minutes before our 
 arrival. The men were hanged for having stolen 
 one hundred and thirty head of cattle from Liver- 
 more. I asked Bonsell how much would be the fer- 
 riage for our wagon and two yoke of oxen. He 
 said his regular price was $150, but to me as an old 
 friend it would be $100. I paid him the latter sum 
 all in silver. He took it in his big hand, and in 
 careless manner threw it into an open flour barrel 
 
 (141) 
 
142 CALIFORNIA, '46 t> '88. 
 
 that stood beside his tent, and was nearly full of sil- 
 ver coin. I remarked to him that it was rather un- 
 safe to leave his money in that way for any one to 
 help himself. He pointed over his shoulder with 
 his thumb to the limb from which the six bodies 
 had just been cut down, and said that limb was his 
 remedy ; that about a month previous he had 
 hanged three other men for horse-stealing ; that 
 evil-doers had got to knowing him, and there was 
 no danger of their taking money or anything else 
 from him. 
 
 We crossed and encamped for the night. In the 
 morning my saddle-horse was missing. Bonsell 
 had offered me three hundred dollars for him the 
 night before, which I refused. I hunted for him a 
 long time, but without finding any trace of him. 
 He was lost. So without him we went on to Knight's 
 ferry on the Stanislaus river, where Captain Grant 
 was stationed, although wliat good was accomplished 
 by him or any soldiers being at such a, place was 
 not very apparent to us. The captain was absent, 
 and did not make his appearance while we were 
 there. The ferry-boat was u little skiff that would 
 hold about five or six persons, and our wagon had to 
 be taken apart and carried over piece-meal. It was 
 attempted to tow the wagon-body over by fastening 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 143 
 
 it to the boat with a tow-line. A young Irishman 
 named Brannan got iato it to steer it, hut he at 
 once swamped it. Below the ferry were dangerous 
 rapids, and the river was now in high freshet. The 
 bed and boat were swept down to near the rapids — 
 Brannan screaming for help. His life was not 
 worth a penny when the men in the boat caught 
 the wagon-bed and saved it and him. This cross- 
 ing occupied the whole day. When asked what was 
 his price for ferriage the ferry-man demanded two 
 hundred dollars, which we paid, he coolly saying 
 that he worked his ferry to accommodate the pub- 
 lic, and not for any purpose of gain. 
 
 At this place happened about the only occasion 
 of raj being cheated in a horse trade. I have been 
 at a loss to account for the fact that, in horse-trading, 
 men who otherwise appear to be fair dealers will 
 almost inevitably become liars and cheats and 
 swindlers. A horse is an honest kind of animal. 
 It is odd that in buying, selling, or swapping him 
 men should act like thieves. For myself, I do not 
 plead guiltj^ to this. I have often traded in horse- 
 flesh, and although I have left much to the judgment 
 of the other trading party, I can plead " not guilty " 
 to any unfair or dishonest game. At this place I 
 had my experience, and with a friend ! As we were 
 
144 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 about ready to start, John Pyle rode into our camp. 
 He was a son of Mr. Pyle, whom I have often men- 
 tioned in this book. He and I had always been 
 friends. In the course of conversation I told him 
 of my losing my horse at the San Joaquin crossing, 
 upon which he said that that horse had come to his 
 ranch on the same night upon which I had lost him, 
 and was then there; to get there the animal had run 
 twenty miles. He proposed to give me the horse 
 which he was riding for mine, my horse being well 
 worth three hundred dollars. I assented to this, 
 put my saddle on the horse, and rode forward in 
 advance of the team for two or three miles. When 
 I left the open plain and entered the timbered 
 country, I noticed that my new horse stepped very 
 high. I let him walk without guidance, and shortly 
 he ran his head against a tree, and then jumped 
 back and nearly threw me. I examined his eyes. 
 They were queer-looking, and very green. I then 
 tried him by moving my hand back and forward 
 before his eyes, and I found him to be quite blind. 
 I waited there till the team came, and George asked 
 me how I liked my new riding animal. I said that 
 I had used him as yet too little to judge, but told 
 him to mount and try the horse, and give me his 
 opinion. He mounted and rode on ahead, I driving 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 145 
 
 the oxen. At camping time I asked his opinion, 
 and he said the horse had run against a tree, and 
 nearly broke his (George's) leg. He ended by cry- 
 ing out, " By jolly, Jake, your new horse is as blind 
 as a stone." I said, " Why, you don't mean to s jy 
 that John Pyle would treat me that way ? " but he 
 said the horse was as blind as a worm, and neither 
 John Pyle nor I could ever make him see. I had 
 neglected to act on the maxim of horse men, — 
 "Never buy a horse from your friend." George and 
 I laughed it off between us, and I made a big of 
 the whole affair. 
 
CHAPTER XXXIII. 
 
 ) 27 arriving at where Columbia now is we met a 
 trader named Lunt, who had just closed his 
 business, and was about to leave. He offered us his 
 log store-house to live in. We thanked him, and so 
 did our wives, unloaded our effects, and were about 
 to unyoke our oxen when he said he would like to 
 buy our team. I asked what he would give, and he 
 said two thousand dollars. George said, "How will we 
 get back ?" I remarked, " We will buy pack-inules;" 
 so we let him have the team, and he weighed out the 
 two thousand dollars in gold-dust, took our ox-whip, 
 and off he went. I have never seen him but once 
 since. The next day we went prospecting. I had 
 never worked a day in the mines. It was a new 
 business for me, but George had worked- at mining 
 from their iirst discovery. We went over to Mor- 
 mon gulch. George went up the creek, I went down. 
 At every place that I thought a good one, somebody 
 was digging. I walked on, and looked at the miners 
 taking out gold by the thousands, but no place suited 
 me. I went to where three men were digging in a 
 bank by the creek. One of them asked me if I 
 
 (146) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 147 
 
 would buy their claim, saying that they would sell 
 it for two hundred dollars. I gave them that sum, 
 and began digging. They showed me how to wash 
 the dirt in a tin pan. I had. worked about two 
 hours when George came up, and remarked, " Hillo, 
 Jake, have you struck it ? " " Struck it ? " saU I, 
 " no, I haven't, but I have bought three fellows out, 
 and paid them two hundred dollars, and I don't be- 
 lieve there is any gold here. I have worked two 
 hours, and haven't seen the color." He took his 
 pick, dug a pan of earth, and washed it out, and had 
 a nice lot of gold in his pan. " 0, it is all right," 
 said he, " I will go halves with you." "Agreed," 
 said I; " I was about to leave it as a bad bargain." 
 We continued to work this claim for some three 
 weeks, and took out over two thousand dollars. We 
 then left it, and mined in various places, and got a 
 considerable quantity of gold-dust. 
 
 On the 25th of April we went out prospecting 
 toward Sonora. In our absence about twenty 
 Indians came to our cabin, and one of them, 
 who could talk English, told the women that 
 these Indians were bad ones, who had come to 
 kill them. The bad Indians were down in the 
 creek, about fifty yards from the house. He 
 said he did not want them to kill the women and 
 
148 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 children, but they said they would do so, so he had 
 come up to tell them. He then led the way, and 
 showed them where we were working. When they 
 got to us, and told us of the fright they had, and 
 both of them tired out packing their babies, it put 
 both of us men into a very dangerous and fighting 
 mood. We had fifteen thousand dollars in the cabin; 
 neither one had any arms; we each had a horse. 
 Mine was a very good one. I told George to stay 
 with the women, and I would go to Sonora, and get 
 a rifle and two pistols, and then we would clean the 
 devils out. I went to Sonora to a gentleman that 
 kept a store there, who let me have what I wanted. 
 I went back to the cabin as fast as my horse could 
 run, but when I got there the Indians had left, ex- 
 cept the one that saved the lives of our wives and 
 babies. I gave him presents, and made him happy. 
 We then bought six mules, one of which had never 
 been broken, and packed them with our effects. 
 
 Among our bedding was a feather bed, and w& 
 put it on the wild mule. When all was ready I told 
 George to hold the wild mule's rope, while I pulled 
 the blind off his eyes. The mule commenced buck- 
 ing, and jerked George's feet from under him. He 
 fell on the top of his head, and nearly broke his neck. 
 The mule continued bucking, and got his hindfoot. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 149 
 
 into the feather bed. The wind was blowing a nice 
 breeze at the time, and the air was soon full of fly- 
 ing feathers. It was like a snow-storm. Moral: 
 Never pack a feather bed on a wild mule! We went 
 to Stockton, and there an Old sea-captain bought our 
 mules and horses. We made a fair profit on them; 
 my blind horse brought one hundred and fifty dollars. 
 
CH'APTER XXXIV. 
 
 lAPTAIN WEBER had just laid out the city of 
 Stockton. I had been acquainted with him 
 since 1846. When I arrived there I asked him to 
 sell me two lots on Main street. He gave me my 
 choice at three hundred and twenty-seven dollars 
 for each lot, and I bought them. 
 
 At this time there were only four houses in 
 Stockton, but there was a number of tents in which 
 people lived. Here also I met A. Caldwell, the man 
 who shot the jackass in Fremont's battalion, and 
 from him I bought the half of a fifty-vara lot situ- 
 ated on the corner of Vallejo and Dupont streets in 
 San Francisco. I paid him three thousand five 
 hundred dollars for this lot, and afterwards sold one 
 half of it to George Harlan. 
 
 When I had last been in San Francisco, I had 
 paid the merchant from whom I had bought the 
 goods, and had paid William McDonald seventy-five 
 dollars, the last payment for the lot which I had 
 bought from him. This was on Saturday, June 8, 
 1851. I paid him on the porch of Leidesdorff's 
 hotel, and he said that he had been quite sick, and 
 
 '1501 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. ]51 
 
 that if I would return on Monday (the 10th) he 
 would make me a deed of the lot. I went on that 
 Monday morning, and McDonald was dead ! I then 
 employed Jesse B. Hart as my lawyer. He brought 
 suit to perfect my title. Julius K. Rose was appointed 
 i.dministrator of McDonald's estate, and by an order 
 of court I got a deed of the lot. It was not till 1857, 
 when I lost this lot, that I realized what a calamity 
 McDonald's death was to me. 
 
 On coming back from the southern mines I stayed 
 at the San Jose mission for a while and there got 
 acquainted with various new-comers to Califotnia, 
 who have since been prominent in Alameda county. 
 Among them the two brothers Huff, James B. Larue, 
 who afterwards laid out the town of San Antonio, 
 now part of East Oakland; also E. L. Beard, a man 
 of ability, who afterwards became a sort of ruler in 
 the country about the San Jose mission, and, indeed, 
 of some celebrity in a wider field. I also there met 
 John M. Horner,' a very good man, and of great 
 energy and industry. I had known him in 1847, 
 when he came to San Francisco with Samuel Bran- 
 nan and his ship-load of Latter-day saints. Horner 
 was, I believe, a Mormon at one time, but I suspect 
 that latterly he left off all that ■ kind of nonsense. 
 I remember an occasion some years later, during 
 
152 CALIFORNIA, '46 to 'S8. 
 
 court week at San Leandro, when, in conversation, 
 Horner was asked about Mormon polygamy. He 
 said that he was aware that some Mormons had 
 more wives than one, but he was satisfied that it 
 would not do for him to suggest any such thing in 
 his family, as there was a wife already there who 
 would make a very warm climate in the house at 
 the mere imagining of it, and besides, one wife was 
 as many as he could manage. Horner made much 
 money in raising vegetables in those early years. 
 There were hardly any fresh vegetables then to be 
 had. When we look back and think of potatoes at 
 a dollar a pound, and a man buying a single big one 
 that weighed a pound for that sum, or of a single 
 big cabbage, for which, so late as the fall of '49, a 
 golden ounce had been paid, forming the chief dish 
 at a ceremonious dinner at the St. Francis hotel, we 
 may understand how Horner made much money 
 when he engaged in vegetable-raising on the rich 
 lands about the mission of San Jose. 1 believe he 
 did not keep much of it to the end of his life, the 
 more is the pity, for he deserved good fortune. 
 
 I remained at the San Jose mission for a couple 
 of months, and then Joel and I returned to San 
 Francisco and to our livery stable business. He 
 had meanwhile married my wife's sister, so that our 
 relationship was a step nearer than before. 
 
CHAPTER XXXV. 
 
 ' AN FRANCISCO had changed much since I 
 !'had left it with the gold fever upon me. The 
 news of the discovery of the gold had spread 
 throughout the world, and people from every civil- 
 ized nation — and some uncivilized ones — were 
 crowding in. Much of what I had considered desert 
 sand-hills had become occupied by permanent 
 houses. Still, there were few houses south of Cali- 
 fornia street. All that part was high hills of loose 
 sand, covered with oak and other bushes, and yerba 
 buena. The tents, which had been numerous 
 had given place to comfortable houses. 
 
 In those days some of the most comfortable habi- 
 tations at San Francisco were on board of ships in 
 the harbor. When ships arrived, their crews invari- 
 ably deserted, and went to the mines. No contract 
 could hold the sailors. It was both difficult and ex- 
 pensive to find persons to take charge of vessels thus 
 deserted. They were usually in charge of men too 
 sick and weak, or too lazy, to take part in the active 
 enterprise of that day. Some of the owners of ships 
 who had families, fitted up the cabins nicely and 
 
 (153) 
 
154 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 lived there very comfortably. One of the foreign 
 consuls lived thus. He had a large vessel, which he 
 used as astoreship, charging heavy storage on goods 
 placed on board in his care, and thus getting a good 
 income. His wife had on deck a nice little glass 
 house, full of flowers and pretty plants. 
 
 When I was first keeping my stable in the city I 
 did not believe in the permanent increase of its size 
 and importance. I knew Dr. Leavenworth very 
 well, and he advised me to get some fifty-vara lots, 
 in granting which he was doing a land-ofl&ce busi- 
 ness. He was alcalde and made the grants, and the 
 price which he was getting when he and I spoke of 
 it was ten dollars and a half per fifty-vara lot. He 
 told me that to get such lots and hold on to them 
 would be the surest and easiest road to wealth, I 
 did not believe it. I had had no experience as to 
 the growth of cities. I had never seen anything of 
 the kind bigger than a little country town, and I 
 thought that people were fools to be buying little 
 spots of sand' hill, and calling them city lots. By 
 following Alcalde Leavenworth's advice I could have 
 become a very wealthy man, but I lacked faith, and 
 was no prophet any more than many another man 
 who had the same chances that I had, and neglected 
 them. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '43 to '88. 155 
 
 In '49 and '50 and '51 there ■was much gambling 
 going on in San Francisco. From about the middle 
 of the block facing the plaza, on Washington street, 
 down to Kearny street, and along Kearny to Clay 
 street, there was an uninterrupted row of gambling- 
 houses, where all sorts of games of chance were 
 played, and many thousands of dollars changed 
 hands every night. Then, on Clay street, a little 
 above Kearny, and fronting on the plaza, was the 
 , Ward house, afterward the Bryant house, when kept 
 by old Bryant, the gambler. He was one of the 
 kings of the gamblers. It was said that he thought 
 nothing of staking one hundred .ounces on a single 
 card, but he kept at it too long for his own good, 
 and became poor. His greatest loss, which finally 
 ruined him, was said to be the expenses which he 
 incurred in trying to beat Colonel Jack Hays in 
 running for the office of sheriff. Every night these 
 gambling-houses were crowded with people. The 
 winter of '49 and '50 was very wet. Bachelors' 
 quarters in San Francisco were not usually very 
 nice. These houses were quite comfortable, well 
 lighted, and even for people who did not gamble 
 were places of nightly resort where any one would 
 be sure to meet his friends, listen to the music, 
 gamble if he liked, and drink if he felt like it. And 
 
156 CALIFORNIA, '43 to '88. 
 
 many felt like it, entirely too much. The large 
 building still standing on the northeast corner of 
 Clay and Kearny streets was the place of many a 
 wild frolic. This house was built in the summer of 
 1850. The upper part was for a long time occupied 
 as a court-room and for county offices. The lower 
 part was for some time one very large room, in 
 which masquerade balls were held. A person, on 
 entering on such occasions, was required to deposit 
 his pistol or other arms with the door-keepers, 
 which was not fair, as the gamblers and sports 
 usually entered wito their fighting tools. The place 
 was always crowded. Gambling tables were placed 
 all along one or two sides of the hall, where money 
 changed hands actively. Everyone wore his hat 
 and nearly all smoked cigars. The female dancers 
 were not of the most respectable class, but were 
 richly dressed in fancy costumes, with much jewelry 
 and many of them with the wide hoop of solid gold 
 in place of a belt around the waist. The on-lookers 
 would stand so as to leave a circular alley, and in 
 this the dancers would come wheeling around in all 
 sorts of fantastic figures and posturings not allow- 
 able in respectable society. As to the men who 
 danced and frolicked, many a one alive to-day 
 would not like to have his name given — grave and 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 'S8. 157 
 
 sedate white-haired gentlemen as they now are. 
 Then in front, in the day time, was a row of boot- 
 blacks, nearly all Frenchmen, who would shine 
 one's boots for a quarter dollar. One of them was a 
 count, or some such thing, who used to sing at his 
 work like an actor on the stage; and Charlie Ell- 
 eard's little black racing nag would come and put 
 up his fore feet on the step and have them polished, 
 just like anyone else, then trot off down Clay street 
 to Charlie's fancy drinking house, march up to the 
 counter, get his piece of sponge cake, and off by the 
 back door to his stall in the yard. Queer things 
 we old pioneers used to do, and jolly times we had 
 in those days, when we were young and pretty. I 
 saw a little of it, but was too busy and too regular 
 and moral a young man to indulge much in such 
 games. Looking back on all this, I sometimes 
 wonder that we were all so orderly, as, in fact, we 
 were, considering that so many were here brought 
 together, and were living without any restraint upon 
 their actions from family ties, or the proprieties of 
 older society. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVI. 
 
 )N returning to San Francisco I found that I 
 had sustained one great loss. Leidesdorff 
 was no longer there. Ho had been dead more than 
 a year. To me he had been a good friend, and, as 
 I have already told, he gave me means of making 
 my first stake in California. Also, it will be remem- 
 bered, that he became my security in a large amount 
 with the merchants in San Francisco when I got 
 the stock of goods to begin business in the mines. 
 He was a good and fair man, and a good citizen. 
 Instead of having his name given to the little street 
 which bears it, he deserved to have one of the chief 
 streets of the city named for him. 
 
 On January 1, 1850, I went to the mission of San 
 Jose, where Ira Van Gordan, my uncle's son-in-law, 
 was living. He had a fifty-vara lot on the corner of 
 Bush and Dupont streets, San Francisco. I stayed 
 all night with him, and in the morning before 
 starting back he asked me how much I would give 
 him for that lot. I said I would give him two thou- 
 sand dollars for it. He agreed, and I said, " Well, 
 get your papers, and we will go across to Lockwood's 
 office, and he will make out the deed from you to me." 
 
 (158) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 159 
 
 I had the money with me, and paid him, and 
 took the deed and went back to San Francisco that 
 day. I told Joel and our wives what I had done, 
 and they all laughed at me for paying such a price 
 for a lot on Bush street in the sand. I had never 
 seen the lot, so I thought I would go and take a 
 look at it. When I found it, with a sand hill about 
 forty feet high on it, and all covered over with scrub 
 oaks, I thought nobody but a fool would buy such a 
 lot. 
 
 Bush Street was the best named street in San Fran- 
 cisco; it was nothing but sand and scrubby oaks as 
 thick as the hair on a dog's back, and under the oaks 
 the sand was covered with yerba buena. I thought 
 they made a great mistake in changing the name of 
 the town from Yerba Buena to San Francisco when 
 there was nothing else to beautify those horrible 
 sand-hills. I went to the recorder's office to get my 
 deed recorded. I handed it to the clerk, and he 
 noted on it the time of its being filed, and went to 
 work recording it. 
 
 I turned round to go home, but he said I could 
 have it in half an hour, so I sat down to wait. 
 While I was waiting, in came Joice, Douglass, and 
 Doctor Coit. I was acquainted with Joice and 
 Douglass, but Dr. Coit I had never seen before. 
 
160 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 Douglass and Joice shook hands with me, and in- 
 troduced the doctor. They were all in partnership 
 in real estate business. Douglass asked if I knew 
 any lots near by for sale. I said, " Yes, I have one 
 on the corner of Dupont and Bush streets." He 
 said they would give three thousand dollars for it. 
 I began to have my eyes open a little. I said, "No, 
 "I don't want to sell it." I had learned enough 
 while I had been in San Francisco to prevaricate a 
 little. " Well," they asked, " would you take three 
 "thousand five hundred dollars? " This almost made 
 me tremble all over. I said " No." He then talked 
 with his partners, and offered me four thousand 
 dollars for it. That was a stunner. I then thought 
 I had struck a gold mine. I said, " Mr. Douglass, I 
 "told you I did not want to sell that lot, but seeing 
 "you are so anxious to buy it, I will let you have it 
 "for five thousand dollars." He then consulted with 
 his partners. The clerk said to me, " Here is your 
 deed; the recorder's fee is five dollars." I put the 
 deed in my pocket, paid the fee, and started for the 
 door, pretending I was in a hurry to get home. 
 Douglass then said, " We have consulted with each 
 " other, and have agreed that we can pay you four 
 " thousand five hundred dollars for your lot." For a 
 while I insisted on five thousand dollars, but soon 
 
CALIFORTSriA, '46 to '88. 161 
 
 found that I had drawn them to their limit. Finally 
 I accepted their offer. The deed was drawn then 
 and there. I executed and deliyered it, and they 
 paid me four thousand five hundred dollars and all 
 expenses. 
 
 When I got home the folks were at table eating 
 dinner, and were much inclined to quiz me about 
 my sand hill purchase. Nearly with one voice they 
 all cried out, asking how I liked it. I quietly an- 
 swered that I liked it well — so well that I had 
 brought it home with me in my sack. I then let 
 them feast their eyes on the gold itself, and told 
 them of the whole affair. They were content to stop 
 their quizzing, and go on eating. This is a speci- 
 men of how one could make money in those days. 
 I bought this lot on January 2d, and sold it on the 
 4th, with the profit above stated. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVII. 
 
 Y uncle, the father of Joel, came to the city 
 i? about March 15, 1850. He bought two 
 lots on Green street, between Stockton and Dupont 
 streets, from Henry Williams and others, and agreed 
 to pay seven thousand dollars for them. These lots 
 had some improvements on them. Afterwards he 
 could not make the payments, and Joel and I took 
 the property off his hands and paid the price to 
 Williams and his partners. The old gentleman had 
 brought to the city some fine cows, which he had 
 driven across the plains in 1846. There were few 
 such cows in California then. I suggested to Joel 
 that we should buy eight of these cows, and engage 
 in selling milk in connection with our livery busi- 
 ness. To this he agreed, and we bought the eight 
 cows for eight hundred dollars, and employed Chas. 
 Gough to sell the milk for us, paying him one hun- 
 dred and fifty dollars a month. 
 
 Gough fitted himself for this business with an old, 
 one-eyed, gray horse and a rather rough-looking 
 saddle. Upon the cabeza of the saddle he hung two 
 two-and-a-half-gallon tin cans, one on each side, and 
 
 (162) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 103 
 
 also three tin measures. When he started on his 
 milk-selling expedition, on his old skeleton of a 
 horse, and with his tin cans and measures jangling 
 about him, Gough was a comical sight. But it paid. 
 When he had exhausted the milk in his cans he 
 would return and fill up again. We did not water 
 the milk, but sold it strictly as it came from the 
 cows. On the evening of his first day when he re- 
 turned home he counted the money which he had 
 collected for the milk. It amounted to fifty dollars. 
 He had been selling the milk for four dollars a gal- 
 lon. This showed that we had struck into a new 
 road to money-making, and we followed it up. 
 
 It may seem strange to persons at this day that 
 such prices were paid for the now so plentiful an 
 article as milk. Elsewhere I have shown the round 
 prices which in the early golden days were paid 
 for other necessaries of life. In California it would 
 be quite reasonable to suppose milk to have 
 been plentiful and cheap. Not so, however. The 
 old rancheros used but little milk, and were very 
 careless about providing their households with the 
 wholesome product of the dairy. With their numer- 
 ous herds of cattle they milked but few cows — ou 
 some ranches hone at all. They may have had a 
 few churns, but in my time among them I never 
 
164 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 saw: any. I have known the women to sometimes 
 make a little not very good butter by beating up 
 some cream with the hand in a wide dish, but this 
 was rare. They had but few tame cows that could 
 be milked with any ease or comfort. 
 
 I guess none of my " young Californian " readers 
 ever saw an old Spanish Californian woman milk a 
 wild cow. She would do it like this. A vaquero 
 would lasso the cow by the horns, and pass the 
 reata round one hind fetlock, thus tying up the foot 
 and preventing kicking — for those wild cows were 
 vicious, and would kick and fight, in a very danger- 
 ous way. The cow being thus tied, the woman 
 would proceed to milk her, but the animal with this 
 treatment would be hostile and as mad as a hornet, 
 and would refuse to let down her milk. To remedy 
 this her calf would be at hand, and a helper — per- 
 haps an Indian boy — would hold the little animal 
 on the other side of the cow, and from time to time 
 let it suck a little. The cow would then let down 
 some of her milk for her calf, whose nose would be 
 pushed aside, and the milker would take the milk 
 let down for it ! 
 
 Any old-timer who used to be familiar with the 
 old ranchero ways must have seen this odd way of 
 circumventing a wild cow. Of course it was not 
 used in the milking of their few tame cows. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 166 
 
 In San Francisco there may have been a few milk 
 cows among the families living in the city, but the 
 price willingly paid for our milk shows that they 
 must have been very scarce. Our cows were very 
 finely bred milking animals, chosen by my uncle 
 with reference to their points of excellence as 
 milkers, but I have known native Californian cows, 
 when skillfully chosen and broken to dairy duty, to 
 be just as good as any, in quantity and quality of 
 milk, and in docility, too. 
 
 Mr. Robert Blakow, now deceased, formerly of 
 Alameda county, was second to none in California 
 in intelligence and skill as to the qualities of differ- 
 ent breeds of domestic animals. To the time of his 
 death he was extensively engaged in importing and 
 breeding fine stock. I have heard him express re- 
 gret that so little regard was paid to preserving the 
 native breed of animals, which were being wasted 
 and exterminated, or pushed aside and replaced by 
 others, in too many cases, not the most choice. He 
 said this of both horned and horse stock, and de- 
 clared that when the native animals were all gone 
 we would look back and regret that many of their 
 qualities had not been preserved. 
 
CHAPTER XXXVIII. 
 
 'N speaking of these animals I cannot refrain 
 from saying a word as to the native Californian 
 horse. In the far south of the state there may he 
 some few of them left. Here in the north there are 
 none. For service on the road there are good horses 
 —even fine ones, but for work across country in the 
 long day in and day out gallop, in the rodeo, and 
 fight with the wild bull, we have none of them left. 
 Who would trusL himself mounted on one of our 
 modern horses to lasso and overcome a wild steer on 
 a hillside of forty -five degrees of slope ? Yet on the 
 Californian horses, miscalled mustangs — which they 
 were not — the old Californian could do it, and tie 
 him hand and foot and kill him, or do whatever 
 might be required, and the horse would lean over 
 and keep the reata taut till the vaquero would dis- 
 mount and tie the beast's legs, and make it helpless. 
 Then, if it was desired to take the captive home 
 alive, the ranchero availed himself of the old tame 
 ox, which, being yoked to the prisoner by the in- 
 flexible Spanish yoke, would walk off home with 
 him to let his blood cool in the corral, and make the 
 flesh fit for food. 
 
 (166) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 1G7 
 
 We oldest Californians remember Colonel Fre- 
 mont's ride from Los Angeles to Monterej', and 
 back, on horses supplied to him by Totoy Pico. 
 None of our horses, and very few of our men, could 
 do it now. 
 
 I saw Colonel Fremont when he arrived at Los 
 Angeles from that ride, and was present when he 
 dismounted. Both he and his horse looked tired, 
 but in good condition. It was clear to me that 
 horse and man were of true grit, or they never 
 could have done it. I, myself, have done something 
 like it, although not for so great a distance — for in- 
 stance, when I rode from San Leandro, in Alameda 
 county, to Cholama valley, in San Luis county. 
 Colonel Fremont had the advantage of several 
 horses among which to make change when either of 
 them got tired. It was the common practice among 
 old Californians to journey in this way. They drove 
 the band before them, and when the ridden horse 
 got tired, they would lasso one of the loose ones and 
 ride him. The tired horses would get rested by 
 being allowed to run loose without carrying weight. 
 
 My ride to Cholama was on my Bannack Indian 
 horse without change. If there is one luxury more 
 pleasant than another, it is that enjoyed by the 
 tired rider when he shifts his saddle from his tired 
 
1G8 CALIFOKNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 horse and mounts a nice fresh one. This advantage 
 my old colonel had in his ride. 
 
 I knew a horse, a white Californian stallion, 
 belonging to a ranchero, the lands of whose 
 raiicho are within sight of the place where I now 
 write. His big black eyes and dark skin, round, 
 well-ribbed body, flat legs, hoofs black and like 
 flint, and tail nearly reaching the ground, and 
 spreading out like a fan, marked him as a horse 
 whose service should have been prized, but the 
 poor fellow had been deposed from his posi- 
 tion in the vianada, and his place filled by a very 
 fine, blooded, American stock horse. He thus be- 
 came the saddle-horse of a friend of mine, a fair 
 rider, weighing about one hundred and eiglity 
 pounds, and the two had many a contest, for neither 
 the horse nor the man liked to surrender — each had 
 some temper of his own, which it was not safe to 
 stir too rudely. 
 
 An extensive survey was in progress by a United 
 States surveyor, whereby to fix the exterior lines of 
 this rancho. These lines ran over a very rough 
 country. For about two weeks this horse had been 
 in the duties of the survey and in exploration. It 
 was severe service. On one evening it was found 
 necessary to send to San Francisco to the United 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 169 
 
 States Surveyor-general's office for additional instruc- 
 tions. This horse had been hard at work all day, and 
 was ridden rapidly home — eight miles — and put 
 into the stable. Before being cool enough to be fed 
 or watered, alarm was given that the manada, or 
 band of horses, wild mares, and colts — which num- 
 bered several hundred — had broken the hill-foot 
 fences, and was widely scattered on the plain among 
 the squatters' grain. This meant that every one of 
 these animals would be shot upon which a squatter 
 could draw a bead. It also meant that every avail- 
 able horse must be taken and ridden till the estrays 
 could be collected and driven for miles back into 
 the hill pastures. 
 
 It may be noted that then the whole plain of Ala- 
 meda county from San Pablo to near San Jose, 
 more than forty miles in length by two or three in 
 width, was one vast grain field, without fences, ex- 
 cept the hill-foot fence which kept the cattle up in 
 the rolling pasture lands. 
 
 This horse was taken and ridden by an American 
 weighing about one hundred and seventy-five 
 pounds. The wheat was standing breast high, and 
 the work of collecting a large drove of unbroken 
 horses, mares, and colts, scattered as they were over 
 an extensive space, was very severe, and continued 
 
170 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 till half-past two a. m. The stallion was returned in 
 worse condition than before. As day broke many 
 animals were observed dotted about among the 
 wheat fields, which had been missed in the dark. 
 Nearly every horse on the place was tired out with 
 the previous night's service. This one was again 
 taken by an Indian vaquero, a hard rider, and rid- 
 den as such fellows ride till after midday. On re- 
 turning, it was found necessary to send to a village 
 about fifteen miles distant. A young man, a son of 
 the ranchero, was sent, mounted on this same horse. 
 On that night some kind of celebration was being 
 held, and this young man attended it, leaving the 
 horse tied to the fence till about midnight. On 
 arriving at home the horse was put into the corral 
 without further care on the part of that rider, but 
 the man who had ridden him on the night before 
 arose from his bed and dried, watered, and fed him. 
 Meanwhile the person who was using the horse 
 on the survey had gone to San Francisco and re- 
 turned. He arose about daylight, found his stallion 
 well cared for, and in apparent good condition, and 
 knowing nothing of the hard work of the preceding 
 thirty-six hours, mounted and rode oif to the sur- 
 veyor's camp, the horse showing no mark of any 
 unusual service. What one of our horses to-day 
 would remain alive to the end of such a piece of 
 work ? 
 
CHAPTER XXXIX. 
 
 ^HA VE been running away from myself and our 
 milk business. When I get started in talk 
 about the animals, it is difficult for me to stop my- 
 self. 
 
 I continued in this business with my cousin Joel 
 till July 15, 1850. Then I bought him out, stopped 
 keeping livery stable, and confined myself to supply- 
 ing milk to my customers at the old price, four dol- 
 lars per gallon. 
 
 We paid Gough, who went to Baltimore to his 
 family. He told us that his particular wish was to 
 see his twin brother, who was so like him that their 
 father could not distinguish them apart. He said 
 nothing about whether their mother knew which 
 was which! 
 
 My net daily income was now forty dollars. I fed 
 my cows on corn meal which had got heated in the 
 ships in coming from the old states. I found it to 
 be good and wholesome for the milk stock. In this 
 trade I made money satisfactorily, and continued it 
 till October 14, 1850, when I sold out to a Mr- 
 Tucker for one hundred Mexican doubloons ($1,600). 
 
 (171) 
 
172 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 Eight more cows that I had bought in Napa I sold 
 to J. B. Larue for twelve hundred dollars. He paid 
 me one year later, but meanwhile had sold them for 
 cash, bought goods, and opened a store at San An- 
 tonio. That was his first start, and he afterwards 
 became rich. 
 
 I now determined to become a farmer. I was not 
 the man for that kind of business, but how many 
 deceive them;,elves into believing that they are. 
 Lawyers, doctors, preachers, to say nothing of men 
 of other trades, having made some ijioney, imagine 
 that they are going to make further fortune by till- 
 ing the earth, and how most of them fail! They 
 run into all manner of expenses following out their 
 ideas respecting agriculture. They sow their money 
 with their seed, and neither yields any crop. 
 
 My case was not so bad as those, but it was bad 
 enough. I bought a claim at the mission of San 
 Jose, and tried to be a farmer. My claim adjoined 
 the land of John M. Horner, of whom I speak else- 
 where. I ought here to state that my good old 
 uncle was now dead. He had died during the past 
 summer at my house in San Francisco, before I 
 moved from that city. He died in his forty-eighth 
 year. He was a great loss to me. By his kindness 
 and care he had saved me from death, and he had 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 173 
 
 been my sympathizing counselor and friend in all 
 my undertakings. He was a good man. Few have 
 been better. 
 
 In preparing for my farming venture I had occa- 
 sion to go to San Francisco. Asiatic cholera was 
 raging in the city at that time, as also in Sacramento 
 city, and many deaths occurred daily, particularly 
 in the latter city, where the disease was very fatal. 
 When returning home I traveled in company with 
 Dr. Townsend. He was a southern man, and lived 
 on a nice ranch near San Jose on the Coyote creek. 
 We stopped at the Angelo house at San Mateo and 
 dined, and fed our horses, and then went ouour 
 way. I soon became very sick with vomiting and 
 severe cramps, and the doctor told me that I had 
 the dread disease — the cholera. On arriving at the 
 Fremont house, which my cousin had sold to other 
 parties, I could go no further. Dr. Townsend could 
 not stay with me, but left some medicine for me, 
 with directions to the landlady to give it to me. He 
 shook hands with me, and gave me little comfort by 
 telling me that I might have one chance in a hun- 
 dred of getting well, or of seeing the sun rise again. 
 
 All night I lay awake thinking of my wife and 
 little boy, and in my cramps and vomiting I prayed 
 to God that my life might be spared to my family. 
 
174 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 About four A. M. I began to be somewhat relieved. 
 I arose and went to the door, and waited to see the 
 rising of the sun which the doctor had said I might 
 never see again. As the sun rose and I beheld his 
 splendor, I felt that I was cured. I dressed, got 
 breakfast, and was happy and thankful as a man 
 can be. I paid my bill and went on my way. On 
 arriving at San Jose almost the first person that I 
 met told me that Dr. Townsend and his wife had 
 died of cholera about an hour previously. I was 
 stunned by this news. Now he, and not I, was never 
 again to see the sun rise. 
 
 I arrived safely at home, and with my wife felt 
 assured that we were to be free from further trouble 
 from that disease. It was very fatal in San Josd. 
 Every one who could leave fled, and many thus 
 fleeing carried with them the seeds of disease and 
 suffering. 
 
CHAPTER XL. 
 
 f'N my farming enterprise I took in as partner 
 Wm. Campbell from Michigan. We put in a 
 crop of grain and vegetables at great expense to me, 
 but this year was the dryest that I have ever known 
 in California, save 1863 and 1864; we had scarcely 
 any crop. I lost all the money that I had, and re- 
 mained $700 in debt. In addition to this both my 
 wife and myself had a aevere spell of sickness. 
 
 So here I was on bed-rock again; or rather, I was 
 down below it. I sold my place to Henry Smith 
 and went to Guillermo Castro and to the widow 
 Barbara Soto, and tried to lease some land from 
 them. They owned all the land for miles around 
 the town of San Lorenzo, or Haywards, as it is now 
 called. But they refused to lease any to me or to 
 anyone. On the north side of San Lorenzo creek 
 there is a piece of excellent land, where formerly 
 lived a number of Indians, and which was, at the 
 time of which I write, claimed by Castro and by the 
 Estudillos of San Leandro. There was much doubt 
 among us Americans in that neighborhood of its 
 belonging to either. So I determined to get together 
 
 (176) 
 
176 CALIFORNIA, '46 tj '88. 
 
 a number of farmers and take up claims on this dis- 
 puted piece of land. I accordingly notified a num- 
 ber of my friends; we met together and formed an 
 association for the taking up of claims on this land. I 
 had the first choice, and selected the place after- 
 wards sold by me to Mr. E. T. Crane, and now be- 
 longing to him. The others took up their respective 
 claims, and we christened our place " Squatterville," 
 all agreeing to build houses at once. I immediately 
 commenced building on my claim. While I was at 
 this work Wm. H. Davis came and ordered me off. 
 He was one of the merchants from whom I had 
 bought the stock of goods when I went to Coloma. 
 He knew me well enough, and I reasoned with him 
 and told him that it was unsafe for him to meddle 
 with the squatters. In the end, after much talk, he 
 said I might stay for the present, and asked what I 
 would charge to plow for him 200 acres at San 
 Leandro. At a venture, I said would do it for $1800, 
 and he immediately agreed to pay me that sum for 
 the work and requested me to come to San Leandro 
 when I had finished my house and he would give 
 me a written contract, executed by himself and old 
 Mr. Estudillo. After Mr. Davis had gone I could 
 not but think that this did not look much like driv- 
 ing me off the land. My house was the first one 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 177 
 
 built, then Joel's and soon all the squatters were 
 housed. 
 
 I moved into my house on the first of November, 
 1851, and on the next day I went to San Leandro to 
 enter into the plowing contract. On meeting Mr. 
 DdVis he told me that John B. Ward and one of Mr. 
 Estudillo's daughters Avere about to be married, 
 the priest being there and everything ready. He 
 asked me to wait till the marriage should be over, 
 and invited me to be present at it. It was the first 
 ceremony that I had ever seen performed by a 
 Roman Catholic priest. 
 
 After the ceremony was over the papers were 
 duly executed, and I went home. I never saw old 
 Mr. Estudillo again, as he died shortly afterwards. 
 In this plowing work I took Joel into partnership 
 with me. We finished the job by the first day of 
 January, and then went back to our claim on the 
 San Lorenzo creek and put in our own crops. 
 
 Cal. 12 
 
 s^ 
 
CHAPTER XLI. 
 
 MUST trovhle the reader with a bear story. It 
 will show how recently those animals were in the 
 now thickly settled plain of Alameda county. On 
 May 1st Lew Wittenmeyer came to my house and re- 
 ported that a large grizzly bear was at Weeks' Land- 
 ing, near San Leandro, and asked me to go and 
 help to catch him. It was just to my hand, so I 
 mounted him on one of my horses and lent him my 
 rifle. I mounted my vaquero horse, Eaton, so that 
 Lew could do the shooting and I the lassoing. My 
 wife warned me to look out or Raton would jump 
 from under me, and the bear would kill me. I said 
 there was no danger. When we got near the Land- 
 ing the bear saw us coming, and mistrusted from 
 our looks that we meant business. He turned his 
 course and started back for the hills on a run, fol- 
 lowing a path that led to where the town of San 
 Leandro now is. I told Lew to keep on one side of 
 him, and I would follow the path and lasso him. I 
 ran up close to him and threw the lasso over his 
 head, but he pushed the lasso off and wheeled round 
 so quickly I could hardly get out of his way. My 
 
 (178) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 179 
 
 horse made a spring and nearly threw me off. The 
 bear then stood up on his hind feet and bade defi- 
 ance to us. I told Lew to shoot, and he shot him 
 in the throat — only a flesh wound. He then started 
 on a run again, as mad a bear as ever a bear could 
 be. I pursued him, and ran up the second time 
 and lassoed him. He turned round, the same as 
 before, and got so near the horse that he struck his 
 tail. This frightened Raton, and he jumped so 
 quick that he threw me on the horn of the saddle. 
 I thought my time had come, but fortunately I re- 
 gained my position. The bear then raised up on 
 his hind feet, and looked as though he could whip 
 any man, or beast, on earth. I told Lew to fire at 
 his heart. He did so, and killed him. We skinned 
 and cleaned him, and although he was ^ poor, he 
 weighed eight hundred pounds. We divided the 
 meat among the squatters. Lew gave me the skin 
 for the use of the rifle and horse. He or I will 
 never forget that bear. 
 
 A short time after this bear-killing frolic, Witten- 
 meyer and Cole, his partner, came to my house to 
 buy a patch of potatoes that I had planted in Feb- 
 ruary on some rich land near the creek. The frost 
 had bitten the tops off them, and the mustard had 
 grown over them twenty feet high — for on such 
 
180 CALIPOENIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 land the mustard-seed becomes a great tree, like 
 that mentioned in the scriptures. I told them that 
 I had no potatoes, as the frost had. killed all that I 
 had planted. They offered me a grey mare for the 
 crop as it lay in the ground. I had oflFered them 
 one hundred and fifty dollars for this mare, they 
 asking two hundred dollars. I told them that I did 
 not wish to cheat them, as the crop was a failure. 
 Then I thought I would examine the crop and see 
 what was of it, and afterwards treat with them. I 
 told them so, and that I would see them again about 
 it. Accordingly I went to the potato patch, and on 
 digging a little I found that, notwithstanding the 
 mustard, I had a very fine crop of potatoes, which 
 was matter of great surprise to me. The would-be 
 buyers had been prospecting it before they came to 
 me, and I resolved to keep the crop for myself. 
 After all expense of digging, sacking, and shipping 
 this crop to the city, and selling it for twenty-five 
 cents a pound, it netted me twelve hundred and 
 fifty dollars, and this from only one acre. Some 
 may say that this is a California story, but it is 
 true. The richness of that San Lorenzo land could 
 scarcely be equaled anywhere. The squatters of 
 those days thought it a poor crop of wheat which 
 did not yield thirty, forty, fifty sacks to the acre, or 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 181 
 
 even more, a sack -weighing over one hundred 
 pounds. On that same bottom land nearly adjoin- 
 ing my claim, one year, the oats stood over eight 
 feet high, and a friend of mine on carefully examin- 
 ing it found from forty to fifty stalks of oats from 
 single seeds. 
 
 During harvest I bought out Joel's interest in all 
 our crop and farming implements and machinery. 
 While I was threshing the barley crop a pitchfork 
 which had got off the handle was passed into the 
 thresher. In passing through the concave it broke 
 in pieces. Two pieces of the steel passed me, one 
 on each side of my head, and so closely that one of 
 my ears was slightly hurt. It was a close call for 
 me. 
 
CHAPTER XLII. 
 
 \N November 1, 1852, Judge A. M. Crane and 
 his brother, E. T. Crane, proposed to buy my 
 claim, crop, and all else that I had. They had just 
 come to California over the plains. They offered 
 three and a quarter cents a pound for my barley, 
 and this with the rest of my belongings came to 
 nine thousand three hundred dollars. I disliked to 
 sell the place. I knew that it would be difficult 
 to find another so good, but I was anxious to go 
 back and visit my relatives and the scenes that I 
 had been familiar with when a boy. So T sold my 
 place to these gentlemen. Judge Crane drew up a 
 deed, I executed it, and he paid me the nine thou- 
 sand three hundred dollars. I paid up my debts, 
 and had eight thousand five hundred dollars left. 
 
 I then took my wif.? and two children to Napa, 
 where Joel and Minerva were living. I intended 
 them to pass the winter there. My wife's mother 
 was there also. My wife consented to let me go, 
 and she would stay with her sister and Joel. He 
 went to the city with me to see me off. We got to 
 San Francisco on the 12th of November, 1852. 
 
 (182) 
 
CALIFORNIA. '46 to '8S. 183 
 
 There I met several of my acquaintances. Amongst 
 them was Lew. Wittenmyer, S. Huff, Sam. Street, a 
 wealthy farmer from near Niles, Michigan, return- 
 ing home; Henderson, one of our squatters; George 
 Harlan, my cousin; and Dr. Gephart from Niles, 
 Michigan, all bound for the Atlantic states. The 
 evening before the sailing of the " Golden Gate," 
 for that was the vessel we were going ou, and it was 
 her first trip, Joel and I were walking on Montgom- 
 ery street. I was several steps ahead. I met Char- 
 ley Gough. I said, " Hillo, Charley," and reached 
 out my hand to shake hands with him, but he drew 
 back. Then Joel came up, and said, " How do you 
 " do, Charley? " " I don't know either one of you," 
 said Gough. " The devil you don't ! " said Joel. 
 " You must have got rich since you peddled milk 
 " for Jake and me." He then explained that he 
 was Charley's twin brother, and told of Charley's 
 return to Baltimore after leaving us. They each 
 had a heavy sandy beard that came down ujDon the 
 breast. When Charley got back, before going to his 
 father's, he got shaved, went home, and told Harry 
 to go to the same shop and get shaved. When he 
 went in, the barber stared at him, and said, " I can 
 " take my oath that I shaved you half an hour ago. 
 " I never saw a man's beard grow so quick as that." 
 
184 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 Next morning I bade Joel farewell, and went aboard 
 the " Golden Gate." I bought a cabin ticket. So 
 did most of the rest of our party. As soon as all 
 were aboard, we were called to the steward's office 
 to draw for a ticket for seats at the first, second, and 
 third tables. I drew a ticket for the first table. I 
 had eaten no breakfast, and was hungry. The 
 beauty of the new vessel, and all her appointments, 
 and the fine table spread out before me, with every- 
 thing to eat, gave me a good appetite. I had never 
 been on a large vessel before, nor had I ever seen 
 any fine furniture, or anything of aristocratic splen- 
 dor. To speak the truth, I was a greenhorn. 
 
 I sat down to the table thinking I would eat the 
 best meal of all my life. I thought how nice and 
 blessed a thing it was to have plenty of money, and 
 be able during one's whole life to enjoy such food, 
 and live amid refinement and elegance, I be- 
 thought me that if my wife and children could be 
 with me I would be the happiest man in the world. 
 
 The steamer by this time had got about half way 
 down the harbor, and the water being a little rough 
 she began to roll and heave a little. Suddenly I 
 myself felt like heaving. Cold sweat started out 
 upon me. What had happened to me? I had a 
 qualm worse than any qualm of conscience. A 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 185 
 
 waiter tapped me on the shoulder, saying, " Excuse 
 " me, sir; you are seasick. Permit me to take you 
 "to your berth." It was worse than that. I was 
 going to die. I didn't want to have my wife there. 
 I would have given a thousand dollars to be where 
 she was, or anywhere else, except in that horrible, 
 heaving, rolling, pitching steamer. I became pro- 
 fane, and cursed the sea and all that were such fools 
 as to " go down to the sea in ships," or steamers 
 either. I was just as badly off all the way to New 
 York. 
 
 When we got to near San Diego three men were 
 discovered on board that had not paid their fare. 
 Two of them were put to washing decks, the third 
 one to assist the fireman. When near Acapulco he 
 refused to work, and he was then put on deck, in 
 fair view of eight hundred steerage passengers and 
 four -hundred cabin passengers. A barrel with both 
 heads knocked out was put over him, and there he 
 stood, for two or three hours, and became so morti- 
 fied at twelve hundred people gazing at him that he 
 jumped overboard in front of the wheel, and that 
 was the last we saw of him. We stopped at Acapulco 
 to coal, and the captain gave orders that when the 
 cannon fired all must come aboard. When the 
 steamer started I went into the steerage to see if my 
 
186 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 friends were all on board, and to my surprise Sam 
 Street and Henderson were not on the vessel. I 
 went to Captain Patterson, and told him about my 
 two friends being left ashore. He said they would 
 have to wait for another vessel. Just as the steamer 
 was going out of the harbor I saw a small skiff with 
 four persons in it, two rowing with all their might. 
 I told the captain of it, who said that he would not 
 stop. I felt very sorry for them. I plead with the 
 captain, but " No " was his answer. As the steamer 
 was about to go out of sight of them, Street rose up 
 and gave the grand hailing sign of a master mason 
 in distress. The captain saw it, and immediately 
 stopped the vessel. When they came aboard I told 
 Street how I had tried to get the captain to stop for 
 them, and he would not. He then told me that he 
 was a mason, and that saved him. I said, if that is 
 one of the benefits of masonry, as soon as I get back 
 to California I will become a mason. I kent my 
 word. 
 
CHAPTER XLIII. 
 
 i N the night when we arrived at Panama I was 
 sleeping on a sofa in the dining-room. I felt 
 some person pulling at my pocket. I threw my 
 right hand in his face. Pie then retreated. I sent 
 a waiter after him, but he got into the steerage and 
 robbed a miner of $1,000. He was caught, the 
 money was restored to the miner, and the thief was 
 sent back to San Francisco for trial. He was one 
 of the three that stole aboard at that city. 
 
 We arrived in Panama on the 28th of November. 
 The natives were celebrating Independence Day. 
 Some of my friends tried hard to get in to see their 
 dancing and general performances, but the black 
 policeman, a Jamaica negro, told us they did not al- 
 low white people " in dar." 
 
 We hired mules, at twenty dollars apiece, to go to 
 Chagres river, twenty miles off. It was the worst 
 road I ever saw. The mules had worn holes in the 
 rocks belly deep. In many places the bridges 
 were built of logs, with brush and dirt thrown 
 on top. The dirt and brush were all washed 
 off, and the mules had to put one foot in the crack 
 
 (187) 
 
188 CALIFOBNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 between the logs and pull out the other. In that 
 way twelve hundred persons got to the Chagres 
 river; one man was murdered by the natives, one 
 woman and one child died by the way. 
 
 At Chagres river, I -think at Gorgona, there was 
 dinner for those who could eat. I paid my dollar 
 but could not eat a morsel. Everything was dirt — 
 the butter full of insects — nothing but dirt. "We 
 then had to pay $2.50 for boat passage down Chagres 
 river to the end of the railroad, by which we went 
 to Aspinwall for a dollar more, so that my expense 
 through from San Francisco to New York came to 
 $348.50. What a gold mine, and better, this was to 
 the company that owned all this and drew the 
 money! 
 
 From Aspinwall for New York we went in the 
 steamer Illinois, which stopped at Kingston, Ja- 
 maica, to coal. Most of the passengers went ashore 
 to look about and stretch their sea legs. In walk- 
 ing through the streets I must have looked like a 
 green Californian, if there is such a thing. A young 
 woman, dressed up in silk and lace, rushed up to 
 me — and she was pretty enough for anything. She 
 laid hold of me, and cried out, " Oh, my love, I have 
 " been looking for you a long time, and here you are 
 " at last! " I did not understand this kind of women, 
 
CALIFORNIA, '4G to '88. 189 
 
 and tried to get loose; but she held on to me, and 
 there stood my friends laughing at me as I was 
 blushing like a young girl. At last I got loose, and 
 I could not help thinking of a certain young woman 
 that I had left at Napa; who would have made sev- 
 eral practical remarks ixpon all this. 
 
 Here we came near being separated by an absurd 
 occurrence. In going about, two of my friends saw 
 one of the passengers steal a monkey, and called the 
 attention of the owner to the theft. A great hubbub 
 was raised about it, and on searching the steamer 
 one of the stow-aways, who had come aboard at San 
 Francisco without paying, was found with the 
 monkey in the coal bunter. Then the police tried 
 to detain my two friends as witnesses, which would 
 have kept them over to another steamer. After 
 much trouble and stratagem they escaped from the 
 police just as the plank was pulled in, and we left 
 the monkey question to be settled without them. 
 
 On December 12th we landed in New York. I 
 had never before seen a large city, and it looked to 
 me like a world. We stayed several days and looked 
 about a good deal. One thing was odd: in going to 
 Brooklyn I gave the ferryman a dime and he gave 
 me back eight copper cents, which to me looked like 
 rubbish. 
 
190 CALIFOENIA. '46 to '88. 
 
 In New York I bought the finest suit of clothes I 
 ever had for $65. I wanted to surprise my uncle 
 Elijah and his wife, and let them know that I was 
 still alive and a different sort of person from the 
 boy that they had nearly worked to death. We left 
 New York December 14th, and went by Dunkirk, 
 taking the Southern Michigan and Northern Indi- 
 ana Railroad. When we got to Goshen, Indiana, 
 Street and I separated, he going to Niles, Michigan, 
 and I to Leesburg, Kosciusko county, Indiana, where 
 I was raised. There being no railroad from Goshen 
 to Leesburg, I hired the finest double team in Gosh- 
 en and drove to my uncle Elijah's. When the fine 
 carriage drove up he was out at his barn. He saw 
 it, and came to the house. I had got out of the 
 carriage. He looked surprised to see such a fine 
 team and silver-mounted carriage, and a healthy 
 looking young man, twenty-four years old, dressed 
 more finely than any one he had ever seen before in 
 his life. Sucli was the appearance I tried to present, 
 and I know I succeeded. He asked the driver who 
 that gentleman was. The driver told him it was his 
 nephew from California. He did not know me even 
 then, but turned to me and asked if I was Jake. I 
 said, " Yes." He took hold of my right hand, and 
 burst out crying, and would not let go till we got 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 191 
 
 into tlie house. My aunt Betsy was sitting on a 
 lounge, and when uncle said, "Betsy, this is Jake," 
 she was perfectly electrified. The blood left her 
 face. She turned white, and tried to get up, but 
 could not move hand or foot. It frightened me. I 
 saw her condition — that she was overpowered. Uncle 
 released my hand; I took hold of hers and raised 
 her off the lounge upon her feet. She commenced 
 crying, and finally said, "Oh, if our son John 
 " was living and could see Jake now, how happy 
 " I would feel." I looked at him and her, both cry- 
 ing. I was prepared for this meeting, and knew the 
 time had come to make a lasting impression on their 
 minds. 
 
 I then told them both that they had killed John, 
 and nearly killed me, by working us both to death, 
 but, thank God, said I, when you thought I was at 
 death's door, which T was, the Lord came to me in 
 a dream, and showed me the beautiful land of 
 California, and inspired my grandmother to foretell 
 to me that I would get well and see the finest coun- 
 try on earth. I asked them • both if they remem- 
 bered that dream. They both said they did, 
 and had often talked about it. Even that very 
 morning they said they were talking about it and 
 me. Uncle said, " I told you, Betsy, that I believed 
 
192 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 " Jake would come soon and surprise us both, and 
 " here he is." They begged of me to forgive them, 
 and said that they did not know that hard work 
 would kill a boy. I told them that I did forgive 
 them, for we are ordered to forgive if we would be 
 forgiven, but I could not forget. From here I tele- 
 graphed to my brother-in-law, Captain P. T. Allen, 
 who had married my sister Martha in 1845. He 
 came at once to see me, and stayed about two weeks, 
 and then returned to Detroit, where he lived. My 
 sister Martha had died in 1847. The captain I 
 found to be an excellent and refined gentleman. I 
 then went to my father's place to see my stepmother 
 and her family. When I came within sight of the 
 old home I had to stop and suppress the thoughts 
 of what that home had been to me — the coldness 
 and lack of affection of my father, and my cruel 
 treatment on the part of the stepmother. I finally 
 had to laugh to myself at the recollection of our 
 final engagement at the breakfast table, when she 
 knocked me out of my seat with the broom. I had 
 never written to them anything about my coming. 
 It was a surprise to all of them. The children were 
 glad to see me, and my stepmother threw her arms 
 around my neck and cried like a baby, and asked 
 me to forgive her for what she had done to me. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 193 
 
 I told her the same as I said to my uncle and 
 aunt, "I forgive you, mother, and the Lord knows 
 " it, but I never can forget." I visited all the people 
 that I was acquainted with in 1845, and I was as 
 well treated by them as by my relatives. My only 
 brother, Jehu, I had not yet seen. He lived near 
 Laporte, Indiana. I went to see him and his family. 
 He had a wife and five children, and was not in 
 good circumstances. He had one hundred and sixty 
 acres of land, but all of heavy timber, and only ten 
 or twelve acres cleared. He was six years older 
 than I, being the eldest of my mother's children. 
 He and his wife rejoiced to see me. I bought Ids 
 interest in our father's farm, which gave him money 
 enough to relieve him of all encumbrances. I went 
 back to my father's place, and bought out all the 
 heirs of his estate, and bought ten acres back from 
 John Beck, a merchant of Leesburgh. 
 
 In this way I became the owner of the whole of 
 father's farm of one hundred and forty acres, on 
 Turkey Creek prairie. After I got the place all in 
 my hands, and my visit over, which was only one 
 month, I told my stepmother that I was about to 
 start back to California on Wednesday. This was 
 Oil Sunday. I told her to keep the place as long as 
 she lived, and after her death I wanted Sylvina, my 
 
194 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 half-sister, to have it, if she married a man that I 
 knew to be a good one. If she did not get such a 
 husband she could never have the place. Subse- 
 quently she got the husband that I liked, and I let 
 her have the place. I then bought three fine horses, 
 the best I could find in that part, and got ready to 
 start. George, my half-brother, wanted to go. He 
 had fits every full moon. He was twenty years old, 
 and weighed two hundred and eight pounds. His 
 mother was afraid he would fall off the horse and 
 get killed when in a fit, and did not want him to go 
 on that account. He begged of me to take him 
 along. I told my stepmother to let him go, and the 
 journey and the change in his way of living would 
 cure him, so that he would have no more fits. She 
 then consented to let him go, and I let him ride one 
 of my fine horses. He then wanted William Har- 
 lan, a cousin of him and me, to go, and I agreed 
 to take him also. William's father's name was 
 John; he was a brother of my father. 
 
CHAPTER XLIV. 
 
 ' WAS ready to start on January 6, 1853, a second 
 time across the plains to California, and I re- 
 joiced to turn my face again toward that blessed 
 land which contained my wife and children. I bade 
 farewell to all my relatives and friends, and partic- 
 ularly to my favorite half-sister Sylvina, whom I 
 again exhorted to be careful and diligent, and make 
 of herself a worthy woman, and get that husband 
 that I would approve of, and then she should have 
 father's farm, sure. She promised, and, as I have 
 said, she now lives on the farm with her husband 
 and family. 
 
 All these partings were very affecting, and ali 
 though the most of my immediate relatives had 
 never been very kind toward me, my parting from 
 them stirred me deeply. My cousin, G. W. Harlan, 
 was at Uncle Elijah's, ready to start for California 
 with Samuel Street. We went to Street's home, at 
 Niles, Michigan, and a beautiful home it was. He 
 gave us a kind reception, and next day, January 10, 
 1853, we all set out on horseback for Missouri, to 
 buy cattle to take with us to California. 
 
 (195) 
 
196 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 When we reached Springfield, 111., the Legislature 
 was in session. Street had a friend who was a mem- 
 ber of the State Senate and asked me to go with him 
 to the Senate chamber. While Street talked to his 
 Senator friend, I was passing in review the rest of 
 them. One Senator, a very tall, thin, sallow- 
 looking man got up and addressed the Senate. He 
 spoke very earnestly and, I thought, eloquently. I 
 thought to myself: "Old man, you are not very 
 " good-looking, but you are the best speaker that I 
 " ever heard." I asked Street's friend who that tall 
 man was that was speaking. He said it was Abra- 
 ham Lincoln, and that he was the ablest man in the 
 Senate. We stayed all night, and next morning my 
 brother and William took our horses to St. Louis ; 
 Street, G. W. Harlan and I took the cars to Alton, 
 on the Mississippi River, where we took the steam- 
 boat to St. Louis. There we had to draw our money 
 from Page, Bacon & Co. Street and George went to 
 the Bank to get their money. George had $5,000; 
 Street, $3,500; I had $7,000. They went before I 
 did. Bacon was in the bank, and told them they 
 could not get their money without some reliable 
 person to identify them. They knew nobody in St. 
 Louis. They came back to the hotel and told me 
 the trouble we were in. I said, " I will go and try 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to 'SS. 197 
 
 " him alone. May be he thinks, from your looks, 
 " that you' have robbed some one, and are no good." 
 I went to the bank and presented my check. Bacon 
 sa,id two men had just been in from California, and 
 wanted their money, but that he told them they had 
 to be identified. After some talk, and my telling 
 him who I was, he said, " From your appearance and 
 candor, I will let you have your money." I then told 
 him those two men were my friends, and were going 
 to buy cattle and go to California with me. He then 
 said, "you come with them and I will let them have 
 " their money." I did so, and they got their money 
 without further trouble. Nothing like being good- 
 looking and honest-like ! I think the chief reason 
 why Bacon would not let them have the money 
 without being identified, was that George Harlan 
 wore a Mexican serape which he had bought in 
 California, and as the weather was cold he had it on. 
 I had told him it made him look like a greaser, and 
 at the places where we stopped the women wondered 
 at his wearing a " bed quilt " on his shoulders. 
 
 At St. Louis we laid in our supplies, and I had 
 two strong wagons built. We shipped everything 
 to Kanesville, opposite Omaha, and left St. Louis on 
 January 20th, bound for southern Missouri. In St, 
 Clair County I bought 100 cows for $2,000. I had now 
 
198 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 306 head of very good cattle, six fine horses and an 
 excellent stallion. Everything was ready for a 
 start. On March 4th we crossed the Missouri river 
 at Independence, and went thence by way of Coon- 
 ville, Iowa, to Kanesville, where we were to recross 
 the Missouri. While preparing to cross we had 
 everything about a mile from town, at the place 
 of a man named Hogan, who had a log house and 
 entertained travelers. When we arrived at this 
 house, we found two men who had arrived before 
 us, one on foot and the other on horseback. Those 
 two had secured the only bed, so that we had to 
 spread our blankets on the floor before the fire. 
 One of our party wished to turn in with those two, 
 but the man that came on horseback objected. After 
 some rather hard talk, one of my men named Perry, a 
 Virginian, and a very tall, strong man, became very 
 angry and swore that he would get into that bed and 
 sleep there, and would kick out of bed any one who 
 would object to it. So, in he rolled behind the other 
 two. About two o'clock in the morning, the man who 
 had come on foot and was in bed with them got up 
 and went out, and Perry rolled into the middle of the 
 bed. In the morning, after breakfast, Hogan, the 
 landlord, came to me and said that the old man that 
 came on horseback had been robbed of $13.50, all 
 
CALIFORlSriA, '46 to '88. 199 
 
 the money he had, and that my man Perry or the 
 footman had done it, " For," said Hogan, " I sat up 
 " all night and nobody else could do it without my 
 "seeing it." I asked where the footman was, and 
 he said he had paid his bill of forty cents and 
 had gone with only ten cents left. I told him to saddle 
 a horse and go with me and we would search him. 
 He did so, and in about a mile we overtook the foot- 
 man. I accused him of the robbery. He denied it, 
 and declared that he had only ten cents. We 
 stripped him, but could find nothing but ten cents. 
 I asked him what he had in that cloth. He said 
 bread and bacon for a lunch. I examined his bread 
 and found nothing. I then looked his bacon over 
 carefully, and was going to give it to him, when a 
 thought struck me to cut it all to pieces. I took my 
 my knife and commenced operations when I struck 
 a half dollar. I then found the whole of the money, 
 $13.00; forty cents he gave for his lodging and ten 
 cents in his pocket, made the $13.50 stolen from the 
 old man. 
 
 The county was newly organized. "We took 
 him to a Justice of the Peace, who said they had no 
 jail, and he would hand him over to me; he did not 
 care if I killed him. Hogan and I took him back 
 to his house. I then told Perry to tie his hands to 
 
200 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 a limb of a fallen tree and cut a hickory withe and 
 give him on his naked back fifty lashes. He did so. 
 After he was whipped he shook hands with John 
 and me, and said he was following my train to steal 
 my fine stallion. I asked him if he would follow 
 me any further. He said "No; look at the blood in 
 " my shoes and see my back. I will never steal 
 " again." I told him to be sure and keep his word. 
 This was frontier justice. 
 
CHAPTER XLV. 
 
 I N May 1st, 1853, we crossed the Missouri river 
 ^ at Coonville into Nebraska Territory. When 
 we got to the Elkhorn river it was up to its highest 
 water-mark, and we had to make a ferryboat of a 
 wagon-bed. We got all over but the running gear 
 of the wagon. A German we called Dave got into 
 the bed with a boy named Mark, and Dave took 
 'hold of the tongue of, the wagon to steer the bed. I 
 cried out to him to let go that tongue or he would 
 upset the bed, and at that moment over it went; the 
 wagon sunk in forty feet of water. Dave caught 
 hold cf an ox yoke, and swam out. I threw a rope 
 and pulled him ashore. The bed was pulled ashore, 
 and Mark's foot had caught in a rope when the bed 
 was turned over. Mark was in it, drowned. I had 
 a ten and a five gallon keg of whisky. I put him 
 on the ten gallon keg, head downwards, and rolled 
 the barrel back and forth. The water ran out of 
 his mouth like pouring it out of a coffee pot. I had 
 a good camp-fire near the tent. I then had the 
 boys rub him with flannel and whisky, and in half 
 an hour he began to breathe after I blew my breath 
 
 (201) 
 
202 CALIFORNIA, 46 to '88. 
 
 into his mouth. He then soon revived. I told 
 Dave to get his duds out of the wagon and go back 
 to Omaha. I had to buy another wagon. Just be- 
 low my crossing, a hundred yards off, another train 
 was passing in the same manner and drowned one 
 man and two horses. 
 
 One of my kegs appeared to bo not quite full. 
 I asked my men (I had nine) if any of them had 
 been at the whisky. Joe Martin, a blacksmith, 
 said they had; that David had bored a gimlet hole in 
 the five gallon keg, and all of them but George, my 
 brother, had got straws and sucked it out. I then 
 gave them orders if any man touched that without 
 my permission I would expel him from the com- 
 pany. My brother George and I never tasted a 
 drop of it, and I was glad when it was gone. 
 
 After leaving the Elkhorn a day's travel we met 
 two hundred Omaha Indians returning from a buf- 
 falo hunt. I had two cows which gave out at that 
 time, so I camped and brother George and I went 
 back to get them. When we got near we saw 
 that the Indians had already killed the cows and 
 were eating them raw, guts, paunch, blood, and 
 everything except the bones and hides. They 
 looked like a set of wolves. They started to run 
 when they saw us coming. I motioned for them to 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 203 
 
 come back, and they did so. I pointed to one cow 
 which they had only commenced on when they saw 
 us coming. I laughed, and made signs to them to 
 pitch in and eat. They made a rush for the 
 entrails, and about a dozen got hold and ran with 
 them to keep others from getting a taste of such a 
 luscious morsel. They acted like a lot of poor, 
 starved hogs. 
 
 It rained and stormed most of the way coming 
 up the Platte river. One incident occurred with 
 two of my men one night while rain was pouring 
 down. They slept together in our tent. Bill said 
 to Tom, " I saw it rain in Missouri one time as it is 
 " raining now, and when the rain was over the 
 " ground was all covered with little fishes." Tom 
 swore he was a liar, and with that they sprung out 
 of bed and were pounding each other, when my 
 brother awoke me and said Tom and Bill were fight- 
 ing. I cried out to them, and they stopped and 
 went back to bed. That is the only difficulty I had 
 with any of them during the trip. I believe Bill 
 told the truth, as I have read and heard of small 
 fishes, frogs, and other things coming down with 
 the rain. These could not have grown in the air. 
 I believe they must have been scooped up from 
 ponds or water-courses by some water-spout or whirl- 
 wind, and then let fall upon the earth. 
 
204 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 As we were nearing Salt Lake I took erysipelas on 
 my right arm; it commenced swelling from two 
 small yellow blisters on the arm above the elbow. 
 I tied my handkerchief around close to the shoulder, 
 but the sw'elling continued all day. My arm and 
 hand were frightful to look at. I thought my time 
 had come. I rode ahead of the company, and all 
 day watched the progress of the swelling. I knew 
 how serious it was, and was troubled with the 
 thought of leaving unprotected my wife and children. 
 I prayed to the Lord to save my life, as he had done 
 so often before. There were no doctors near that I 
 knew of. My men were all afraid that I would die, 
 and leave them with the stock. I got so bad I told 
 them to encamp, and I lay down in the tent, thinking 
 it was my last day on earth. "While in that state of 
 mind my brother George came to me, and said that 
 a company had just driven up and encamped close by. 
 I told him to go as quickly as he could and tell them 
 how ill I was. He went, and came back with a man 
 and woman. The lady was an old maid, and was a 
 homoeopathic physician, and the man was her 
 brother-in-law. They had come from Chicago. She 
 said I had erysipelas, and it was a very bad case, 
 but I need not be alarmed, as she could cure me. 
 She then took a small lancet and lanced the blis- 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 205 
 
 ters, and gave me some small pills, the size of a pin. 
 head. She also made a poultice of bread and milk and 
 applied it to the part lanced. The gentleman's wife 
 came over, and they all sat up with me during the 
 night. I wanted them to go to their tent and get 
 some sleep, but they would not do it. Toward day 
 the swelling had gone down to less than one third of 
 what it was the night before. When morning came 
 the lady doctor said I was safe, and in a day or two 
 I would be well. The married sister brought me a 
 nice breakfast, which tasted good to me because it 
 was cooked by a woman. I oflfered that lady doctor 
 that morning one hundred dollars, but she would 
 not take a cent. I pleaded with her, and told her she 
 had saved my life, and I wanted to recompense her 
 for it; but it was useless, she would not accept any- 
 thing. I have never seen her since and do not know 
 who she was. 
 
CHAPTER XLVI. 
 
 ^^ BOUT 1st of August we got to the Soda springs 
 ^Ms and Steamboat springs in Bear valley, near 
 Salt lake. They are a great natural curiosity. The 
 soda springs issue out of a soft, limestone rock about 
 forty feet high, the soda water coming out all over 
 it and all around it. At the base there is another, 
 in the shape of a large, cast-iron, round oven. It ia 
 about four feet high, and the water boils up inside. 
 A tin cup was fastened there with a chain for em- 
 igrants to drink of it. 
 
 I camped there that night, and bought a Snake 
 Indian pony from a Mormon trader. He got the pony 
 from the Bannack Indians. I called him Banny, 
 and he was said to be the fastest horse they had in 
 those two tribes of Indians. He was of a blue color, 
 with white face, and all four of his legs white up to 
 the knees. He was the best saddle horse I ever 
 had or ever saw in my life. In a 500-yard race he 
 could outrun any horse that he was ever run against 
 in California, and he ran against many fast horses. 
 I paid $105 for him, and refused $500 many a time. 
 He was as well known in San Joaquin, Alameda, 
 
 (206) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 207 
 
 and Contra Costa counties as I was myself. This 
 noble horse lived to be thirty-two years old, 
 and then there was not a windgall or sprain or 
 blemish about him. He was a perfect horse for hia 
 size, and only weighed nine hundred pounds. 
 
 While camped here at Soda springs I told the 
 boys to grease the wagons, while I looked at Steam- 
 boat springs. Brother George wanted to show his 
 strength to the others; he got down under the 
 wagon, put his shoulders under the axletrea, and 
 lifted the wagon from the ground for greasing. He 
 tumbled over and had a fit, the first one he had had 
 since leaving home, six months before, when I told 
 his mother that if he obeyed me he would never 
 have another fit. The boys were frightened, as 
 when I came back he lay frothing at the mouth. I 
 threw some water in his face, and he soon recovered. 
 I then gave him a lecture that he will never forget 
 for disobeying me. When I started with him I 
 bought him a pipe and tobacco and put him to 
 smoking to take the surplus flesh off. I gave him 
 strict orders against overloading his stomach, and 
 not to lift or do anything that would cause the 
 blood to flow to his head. I had watched him in 
 his eating and drinking all the way and slept with 
 him, and knew if he obeyed me he would be a well 
 
208 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 man. That fit taught him a lessou, for he has 
 never had but one since, and that was brought on 
 in the same way, by lifting a heavy gate of mine in 
 my absence. I then gave him a second lecture, and 
 he has never had another fit, although thirty-four 
 years have rolled by. My promise to his mother in 
 his case I have fulfilled to the letter. 
 
 We got to the San Joaquin river, at Bonsel's 
 Ferry, with 187 head of cattle and six good horses, 
 including my stallion. During the journey I lost 119 
 head, mostly by eating poisonous weeds. Bonsell had 
 died of cholera in 1850. I bought a claim from Capt. 
 Harding for $3,500, oiie mile east of Bonseil's Ferry 
 and eleven miles from Stockton. I bought this place 
 the same day we got there, 27th September, 1853'. 
 We had been five months and twenty-one days on 
 the road from Omaha to Stockton. 
 
 Having bought this place, I went for my wife and 
 children, who were living with my cousin Joel at 
 his farm of 870 acres in San Ramon Valley. I 
 brought my family back with me to my claim on 
 the San Joaquin, and went to work to make a home 
 for us all. I planted a good orchard and fixed my 
 place up in good style. Sometime afterwards I traded 
 my claim with Mr. Garnet and another, giving 
 them in addition $2,500 in cattle, and they conveying 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 209 
 
 to ine the undivided one-half of the Slocum Ferry, 
 on the San Joaquin river. This is the lowest ferry on 
 that river. It is now called Johnson's Ferry and is 
 one and a half miles below the Bonsel Ferry and 
 eleven miles from Stockton. Leach owned the other 
 undivided half. The house had eight rooms, was 
 new and two stories high. 1 saw at once that I had 
 a good thing if I could buy Leach out, as the ferry 
 was paying well. Our receipts were twenty dollars 
 a day clear of all expenses. I rented fifty cows to 
 L. E. Morgan, near San Pablo, in Contra Costa 
 County, for one hundred and fifty dollars a month. 
 Leach and I bought 160 four-year old steers for 
 $9,600. I had forty-five of my own. We took them 
 to San Pablo and put them on stubble. I then 
 started a milk ranch on the creek east of San Pablo. 
 I took seventy-five cows to that ranch and hired 
 Sweet to make butter. In driving those seventy-five 
 cows from the ferry to San Pablo, on the San Pablo 
 creek, I was stopped by old Major Dowling, who 
 had an unfenced patch of wheat on both sides of the 
 public road. He ran up to me and said, putting 
 his right hand in his back pocket, " if you drive 
 " those cattle through here it is at the peril of your 
 "life." I was riding Banny, my pony that I have 
 described. I put my hand in my pocket and drew 
 
 Cal. 14 
 
210 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 a dirk knife. Banny jumped against him and threw 
 
 him down. He said: " for sake, don't kill 
 
 "me." He ran to his house and got his rifle, and 
 he and his brother came running out — the brother 
 having a pistol. I had a large navy revolver, and 
 as soon as they came out of their house I charged 
 upon them with my pistol pointed towards them. 
 Upon this, they both dropped their arms and ran 
 into the house and fastened the door. Davis and 
 Sweet and my brother George were with me; they 
 wished to help me, but I told them not to interfere 
 and get themselves into a scrape, as I alone was good 
 for those two men without any help. And I said 
 what was true, for the two Dowlings were bragging 
 cowards. This was on May 9th, 1856, and they 
 went off to San Pablo and had me arrested. I was 
 taken before Justice Clark, and just as I got into the 
 court-room, the report came that Casey had killed 
 James King of Wm. in San Francisco. It created 
 great excitement. I sent to Oakland and employed 
 S. B. McKee as my lawyer. He has since been 
 supreme judge. Before trial the Dowlings got scared 
 and paid all costs and charges and withdrew the 
 suit; they even paid McKee's fee, although he did 
 not come till the settlement had been made. I have 
 never been arrested except on this occasion. 
 
CHAPTER XLVII. 
 
 fA VING removed from San Francisco, I was 
 not a member of the Vigilance Committee, 
 as I certainly would have been if I had still been a 
 resident there. I have always approved of its objects 
 and its course. The evils existing in our society 
 were very great, and needed just such a remedy 
 since the laws had become practically inoperative 
 against evil-doers. I have been in contact with 
 such characters many times, and had much expe- 
 rience of them, and I know that at that time they 
 had the upper hand to such a degree, that it was 
 useless to think of applying any law to their case, 
 except that of fire-arms and the halter. 
 
 After this, I sold the cattle which I had bought 
 with Leach and forty-five head of my own to Samuel 
 B. Martin for twelve thousand, three hundred and 
 twenty dollars, and then I went back to the ferry and 
 bought Leach out for four thousand, five hundred 
 dollars Thus I owned the whole ferry, which cost 
 me ten thousand, five hundred dollars. My income 
 from' it was from four hundred to five hundred 
 dollars per month, and during the month when the 
 State fair was in Stockton I took in one thousand 
 dollars. 
 
 (2U) 
 
212 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 I had the finest team in San Joaquin County. 
 They were black horses that I had bought in Indiana. 
 John McMullen, Wash. Train's partner, oflfered me 
 one thousand dollars for them. I wanted to let him 
 have them, but I had told my wife that I never 
 would sell that team without her consent, and she 
 objected, so I kept them. I had one hundred and 
 twelve and a half dollars a month of income from 
 property in San Francisco. My total income was 
 from five hundred and fifty to six hundred dollars a 
 month. I also had three hundred head of cattle and 
 twenty-five head of horses. I was as popular a man 
 as there was in that county. Various times my 
 friends wanted to run me for ofl&ce, but I always, 
 refused to allow my name to be used in politics. 
 
 On July 15th, 1857, I received through the post- 
 office at Stockton a letter from a man signed Coon,, 
 who said he wanted possession of his lot on the 
 corner of Union and Dupont streets. I was thun- 
 derstruck. I went to the City and found one 
 Gavin, a searcher of records, who had bought the 
 lot for twenty dollars from John Kelley, a drunken 
 Irishman that came out in Stevenson's regiment. 
 The ground alone was bringing Joel aiid myself two. 
 hundred dollars per month. We had just paid 
 twenty-five hundred dollars for planking and grading 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 213 
 
 the streets and sidewalks. The record showed that 
 Wm McDonald had no title; it was in John Kelly. 
 I went to Murphy's Diggings, in Calaveras County, 
 and found Kelly, who said he only gave Gavin a 
 power of attorney to act for him. I told him he 
 gave a deed and that I had seen it on record. I then 
 wanted him to make me a second deed for three 
 thousand dollars. Judge Woods, a lawyer, said the 
 second deed would be worthless and I would lose 
 my money. I did not know what to do, but as soon 
 as I left, William Codington, of Murphy's Diggings, 
 gave Kelly five hundred dollars and took a second 
 deed and entered suit in the Fourth District Court, 
 before Judge Hager, and beat us out of that fine 
 property. Our opponent's attorney was Elisha Cook. 
 We had old Judge Shattuck and Alex. Campbell. 
 We paid them seven hundred dollars, and lost that 
 too. Codington and Gavin divided the money 
 between them, after selling the property for twelve 
 thousand dollars. 
 
 On October 20th, 1859, my health was bad, and 
 had been so for the past six months. I went to 
 Dr. Toland, Dr. Whitney and all the noted doctors 
 in the City, but none could cure me. The last one 
 was Doctor Hastings, who told me it was miasma in 
 my system, and to sell the ferry and get away from 
 
214 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 the low lands. I then traded the ferry for cattle, 
 and went to San Pablo to get my cows that Sweet 
 was milking. When I got there, he said the largest 
 grizzly bear that was ever seen by any of the old 
 Spanish settlers, had killed eleven head of my cows 
 and one of Davis and a fine . three-year old colt of 
 Victor Castro. Mine were all choice cows worth one 
 hundred dollars each. I told him he ought to have 
 let me know sooner. 
 
 There was a hunter named Bob Dykeman, known 
 on the San Joaquin as Hunter Bob. I told Bob I 
 would give him one hundred dollars if he would kill 
 that bear. I got two hounds of Mr. Medenhall, and 
 one morning, after the bear had killed another fine 
 colt of Victor Castro, I started with Bob and old 
 Davis, a North Carolina hunter, who said no bear 
 could scare him. 
 
 The hounds soon found the bear in a tributary 
 that runs into San Pablo creek. As they were chas- 
 ing him out of his bed, Davis went down into 
 the creek to get a drink of water. The bear was 
 above him about ten steps. Bob and I were on the 
 opposite side of the creek from the bear, which stood 
 in fair view, fighting the hounds. I told Bob to be 
 careful and not shoot one of the hounds, and to aim 
 for his heart. Bob took fair aim, and shot him 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 215 
 
 through the heart. He rolled down into the creek 
 and knocked old Davis down. The bear's dying 
 groans could be heard a mile off. I called to Davis 
 
 to run, but he said, " I can't get these old legs 
 
 " of mine to move." So the bear died at Davis' feet. 
 Bob and I ran down with our guns and knives to 
 save Davis, and when we got to him he was as white 
 a looking man as I ever had seen. He had hold of 
 his gun with both hands with the butt end on the 
 ground, trying to get up on his feet, and was so 
 frightened he could not move. 
 
 Bob cut the bear's throat with his hunting knife, 
 and told me that if I would give him that monster 
 of a bear he would take him for the hundred dollars. 
 I let him have the bear, and he skinned him and 
 sold the skin for thirty-five dollars, and then sold 
 the meat in Oakland. It weighed fifteen hundred 
 pounds. He got for the skin and meat one hundred 
 and fifty dollars. 
 
CHAPTER XLVIII. 
 
 MA Y as well say a little more about tlie bears, 
 as an old pioneer's account of early events in 
 California would be nothing without a number of 
 bear stories. 
 
 I have had several experiences with the grizzly — 
 G. B., Esq., as we used to call him. The California 
 Indian, as a general thing, was a very insignificant 
 being, and when we Americans settled here the 
 Spaniards had so cowed him that we seldom took 
 him into account. With G-. B., Esq., it was very 
 different. He was the real monarch of the mountain 
 and plain, and contact with him was a very serious 
 business. The native Californians were not very 
 well skilled in the use of firearms. When they 
 hunted the bear it was usually on horseback and 
 with the lasso, but a full grown grizzly is as strong 
 as a horse, and one horseman was but a poor match 
 for him. As I have described in my own case, when 
 lassoed by one man he would either strip the lasso 
 from his neck or leg, or he could lay hold of the 
 reata with his hands, just like a man, and haul 
 horse and rider up to him, and then it was a hard 
 
 (216) 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 217 
 
 case for the hunter. Major Reading, of whom I 
 write in this book, was nearly killed in some such 
 way, his horse being killed and his own heel nearly 
 torn off, and that, too, by a wounded bear. 
 
 Early in the '50's the Coast Range, and the in- 
 terior valleys, too, were numerously peopled with 
 grizzlies. In hunting our cattle we hardly ever 
 failed to encounter them. Sometimes they would 
 be cowardly and run, but more often they would 
 stand their ground and offer battle or make attack. 
 
 A respectable native Californian yet alive gives 
 his experience. It occurred when a rodeo was about 
 to be made on his father's rancho, in what is now 
 Santa Cruz county. When a rodeo was to take place 
 a ranchero would give notice to his neighbors, who 
 would assemble and collect all the cattle of their re- 
 spective ranchos, within specified rodeo boundiries, 
 and round them up at an appointed place on the 
 rancho of him giving the notice. Then each 
 ranchero, having seen that the young stock were 
 branded and marked with the mark and brand of 
 the owner, would separate what belonged to him 
 and take them home to his own rancho; the calves 
 and colts being recognized by their running with 
 their mothers. 
 
 This Californian was then a boy about thirteen 
 
218 CALIFORNIA, '46 TO '88. 
 
 years old. He was sent with two Indian servants of 
 his father to gather the stock, and on passing 
 through a hollow in the hills, where there were 
 clumps of redwood trees, they encountered a very 
 large grizzly. One of the Indians cried, " Let us 
 " lasso him," and spurred down the hill, throwing 
 the reata around the beast's neck. Just then, his 
 horse fell, and he fell close to the bear, which laid 
 hold of him. The Indian called in the Indian lan- 
 guage, " Oh, brother, he is killing me," upon which 
 the other Indian leaped from his horse, and with 
 ' his knife in hand got astride of the bear's back and 
 plunged the knife into him and killed him. In dy- 
 ing, however, the bear seized with his teeth the 
 hand which held the knife and so crushed it that it 
 was ruined and shrivelled up. The other man, who 
 was on the ground under the bear, was but little 
 hurt. 
 
 This Californian is a man of truth, and his story 
 should not be doubted. It may be judged that the 
 man who would, single handed, thus grapple with 
 one of those savage animals was no coward. 
 
 The priest of the church of Santa Cruz early in 
 the '50's was one whom I will call Padre Francisco. 
 On one occasion, having to pass over the Coast Range 
 to Santa Clara and San Francisco, he took a boy 
 
CALIFORNIA, '43 to '88. 219 
 
 with him — one of the Bolcoff boys — to take care of 
 the horses. They were oa horseback and went by a 
 trail which came out on the Santa Clara side of the 
 Coast Range, somewhere about New Almaden. On 
 the top of the mountain was a tasajera, or meat- 
 drying place, where some Californians were making 
 dried beef from the meat of wild cattle which were 
 then found on the mountain, and having no mark 
 or brand, belonged to him who could capture them. 
 This tasajera was a log house with no window but 
 only a low door, and the meat was hung on strips 
 of raw hide stretched across over a fire which 
 smouldered on the middle of the floor. 
 
 The plan of the padre was to start from the Santa 
 Cruz side late in the afternoon and stay all night at 
 this tasajera, and then ride down to Santa Clara 
 next morning. 
 
 Arriving at the cabin, the boy unsaddled the two 
 horses and led them off to drink and to be staked 
 out for the night. Padre Francisco put his saddle 
 blanket on the floor on the side of the fire away 
 from the door. He shut the door with an ox-yoke 
 which was there, and sat down on his blanket to 
 read his evening service. While sitting, thus em- 
 ployed, he observed that the door was pushed open, 
 the yoke falling on the floor. Thinking that the 
 
220 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 boy was coming in, he was on the point of telling 
 him to go out till the service was over, but, raising 
 his eyes, he saw through the smoke that his visitor 
 was a very large grizzly which had pushed the door 
 open and was entering reared up on his hind legs in 
 order to reach the meat which was hanging across 
 the upper part of the cabin, over the fire. Just then 
 their eyes met, and the L'adre said his visitor's eyes 
 were like sparks of fire. With instantaneous im- 
 pulse the Padre seized a burning brand from the 
 fire and thrust it into the bear's face, crying: "Ay! 
 " gran picaro tu." — Oh! you great rascal. The bear 
 was frightened out of his ferocity. He turned and 
 made a dive for the door, but missed it and took out 
 the whole corner of the cabin. Padre Francisco 
 declared that up to that moment he had no fear, but 
 when it was over he saw what a risky place it was 
 to pass the night in. So, he shut his book, called 
 the boy with the horses, saddled up and went to 
 Santa Clara that night. 
 
 These bear stories, I guess, are about as many as 
 my readers can stand. 
 
CHAPTER XLIX. 
 
 ' TOOK my cattle to Cholama Valley, in San 
 Luis Obispo County. 
 I hired my brother George to take care of these 
 cattle and built a good log house and corral. I then 
 returned to Alameda County and bought a squatter 
 claim adjoining the site of the present Alameda 
 County Infirmary. I paid my cousin G. W. Harlan 
 thirteen hundred dollars for it, and some time after- 
 ward I bought from the Estudillos fifty-eight and 
 three-fourths acres for seventy-five dollars per acre, 
 in the town of San Leandro. The Estudillos had 
 much dispute with Guillermo Castro about the greater 
 part of the land upon which we squatters settled, as 
 before stated. Castro claimed this land as belonging 
 to his Rancho of San Lorenzo, and the Estudillos 
 claimed it as belonging to their Rancho of San 
 Leandro. These squabbles between the Spanish 
 claimants proved very advantageous to us who held 
 possession. "We waited to see how the rancho titles 
 might be settled, and they could not molest us while 
 they were indulging in litigation with one another. 
 Finally, I found on examination, and by taking 
 
 (221) 
 
222 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 advice, that Castro was the owner of my land, 
 and I acknowledged his title to him and to his 
 attorney, R. Simson, and took a lease of my claim 
 which adjoined the present infirmary property. I 
 told him that I was not the man to steal any man's 
 real or personal property. Being convinced of 
 Castro's rights, I did the fair thing by recognizing 
 them. Of the Spanish Californians that I have 
 known, Guillermo Castro was about the best. He 
 was a white man as much as any of us. A spare, 
 wiry man, with brown eyes and hair, and physically 
 active and tough. He was a splendid horseman, 
 and I do not remember any man who was his supe- 
 rior in that respect. He was a very extravagant 
 man and spent his money freely and, as I thought, 
 foolishly. His rancho was over six square leagues, 
 or more than twenty-six thousand acres, and by his 
 extravagant ways he so involved it, that finally in 
 1860 or '61 he was forced to sell it to F. D. Atherton 
 and Mr. Grogan, realizing but a small sum, compar- 
 atively, over the mortgages with which he had 
 burdened it. He went to South America, and there 
 died. His son, Luis Castro, has been County Sur- 
 veyor of Alameda County for three or four successive 
 terms, and has given satisfaction as a careful and 
 honest ofiicial. 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 223 
 
 In acknowledging this title, and thus ceasing to 
 be one of them, I laid myself open to the enmity of 
 some of the squatters. Two of them, Dr. Powers 
 and C. P. Wray, were strong in denouncing my sur- 
 render, as they called it. I cared nothing for the 
 blame which they threw at me. I. could well take 
 care of myself, and I knew them both too well to 
 fear them. Wray had been squatted on the widow 
 Soto's rancho of San Lorenzo, which comprised the 
 plain lying between Haywards and the bay. He 
 was ejected from there, and then with his brother 
 squatted on a piece of the Estudillo land, which had 
 been sold to a respectable man, L. Knox. The latter 
 began to build his house and had the foundation 
 laid, when one day as I was passing I stopped there 
 for a short time with my herdsman. Presently 
 Wray rode up, dismounted from his horse, and be- 
 gan to destroy the structure,' throwing the timbers 
 about, and also injuring Proctor, the carpenter, by 
 throwing a carpenter's square at him. Knox then 
 got his double barreled gun and Wray drew a re- 
 volver. They were only about ten feet apart, and 
 both much enraged. I quickly placed myself be- 
 tween them and commanded them to keep the peace, 
 although the two men were so furious that it was 
 not the safest thing to do. Finally Knox's brother 
 
224 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 interfered, and caused the gun to be put away. I 
 turned to Wray and gave him a left handed bene- 
 diction, which did not make him the more friendly 
 to me. 
 
 Dr. Powers, whom I have mentioned, was one of 
 the meanest as well as the most uncompromising of 
 all the squatters upon the plain. He was determined 
 to get possession of a piece of land which was en- 
 closed by a fence which Mr. J. B. Ward had built. 
 An old man, a sort of Indian, occupied it for the 
 Estudillos. Powers coveted that .land, and stopped 
 at nothing to get hold of it. The word in the neigh- 
 borhood was that he dressed himself like a ghost 
 and scared the old Indian off the place and then 
 burned down the house, and also burned the fine 
 crop of barley which grew there. Powers then en- 
 tered and defied the Estudillos, and also, as the land 
 was claimed by Guillermo Castro, he defied the lat- 
 ter, and threatened to kill either of them or any one 
 acting for them. 
 
 As I have said before, I believe that by continu- 
 ally dwelling on the subject of land titles — thinking 
 of nothing else — Powers became a kind of mono- 
 maniac, and this insanity took a violent form. He 
 was always going to kill somebody. He threatened 
 the life of Mr. Ward, of Mr. Castro and some of his 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. * 225 
 
 sons, and of Mr. Simson (Castro's attorney), of his 
 neighbor Mr. Lemon, of myself, and of Mr. Clark, 
 the attorney of the Estudillos. He swore he would 
 kill Simson. if suit was brought to eject him (Powers) 
 from the land. Simson " didn't scare worth a cent," 
 but went to Powers' house and called him to account 
 for this, and notified him that on that day, or the 
 next, summons would be served upon him. Powers 
 backed down, and showed his cowardice, just as he 
 did to myself a short time previously. 
 
 I had brought from Cholama valley forty head of 
 beef cattle, all in fine condition, and had put them on 
 the one hundred and sixty acre claim which I had 
 bought from my cousin and which adjoined the land 
 squatted on by Powers. My claim was fenced in by 
 a good, strong three-board fence. One morning I 
 missed my cattle. I mounted, and followed their 
 trail through the pass which leads to Castro valley. 
 I overtook them at the creek, at the entrance to the 
 valley, near the house of Mr. Hughes, now belong- 
 ing to Mr. Strobridge. Powers was on horseback, 
 driving them. He was holding altercation with 
 Hughes about the cattle having broken Hughes' 
 gate, which was on the bridge of the creek. 
 
 On seeing that Powers was armed I drew and 
 cocked my revolver, and ordered him to turn the 
 
226 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 cattle about and drive them back to my place. I 
 had the drop on him, and he dared not make a hos- 
 tile move. Hughes was as mad as a hornet, and 
 called out to me to shoot the rascal. Hughes was a 
 leading Methodist, and I suppose he intended what 
 he said to be taken as praying, but it sounded to me 
 very much like cursing. I controlled myself and 
 did not shoot, but compelled Powers to drive my 
 cattle back and put them within my fence, whence 
 he had driven them. 
 
 As I have said, the land which we all squatted on 
 was partly claimed by Castro and by the Estudillos. 
 They settled their dispute, and then Simson, Castro's 
 attorney, sued the squatters. Among the rest Powers 
 was ejected, and then he was going to kill his own 
 lawyer who had defended him. He then went (I 
 believe at my suggestion) to the San Benito country, 
 squatted on more land than he could lawfully hold, 
 and made himself so obnoxious to the neighborhood 
 that some of the neighbors killed him. Knowing 
 Powers so well, I did not wonder at their killing 
 him, biit it was done with cruel attending circum- 
 stances which no man can approve. There have 
 already been three mis-trials of persons accused of 
 killing him, which, with the cloud of witnesses 
 cited each time, has been a grievous expense to that 
 county — more, I guess, than old Powers himself 
 could have been assessed at. 
 
CHAPTER L. 
 
 ^^' S the winter of 1861 and '62 was the wettest 
 *#.^ and stormiest which had been experienced 
 in California within the memory of the American 
 emigrants, so that of 1863 and '64 was the driest. 
 In both cases the cattle which were in the pastures 
 suffered greatly. I went to see to my cattle in Chol- 
 ama valley, in San Luis county. I found them doing 
 well. I branded and marked three hundred and 
 fifty calves, and had on my rodeo ground twelve 
 hundred head of cattle. Old Isaac Yoakum offered 
 me ten thousand dollars for them. I refused to 
 treat with him, to my great loss afterwards. I did 
 not like Yoakum much. He was a hard old nut, 
 and that was, probably, one reason why I was some- 
 what short with him and refused to sell to him. 
 Had I done so it would have saved me from much 
 misfortune and from going down hill as I after- 
 wards did. I was not a prophet to see into the 
 future. 
 
 While at my San Luis Obispo place I came very 
 near losing my life. I told my herdsman, Jacob 
 Kiefer, a Swiss, and Elijah, my half brother, to pre- 
 
 (227) 
 
228 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 pare to kill a beef. I was riding Banny, my old 
 favorite lasso horse. I lassoed a wild, three-year- 
 old Spanish cow, tied her head to the gate-post and 
 her hind feet to the gate-post of the partition fence 
 that ran through the center of the corral. I dis- 
 mounted in order to kill her with my hunting knife, 
 and just a I touched her throat the reata broke at her 
 head, and she ran at me with all the vengeance of a 
 grizzly bear. I ran for the partition gate, she after me, 
 hooking me in the back. Her hind feet were still 
 tied, and I thought if I got to the end of that reata 
 I was safe; but she came with such force that it 
 broke also. Then she was free to kill me, and I 
 knew it. Every act of my life went through my 
 mind like a streak of lightning. I called upon the 
 Lord to save me, for I knew He only had the power. 
 At that moment the cow had me against the posts 
 of the corral, my back all lacerated with her horns. 
 She put her horns under my thighs and raised me up 
 six feet, to the top of one high post. That, fortu- 
 nately for me, was rotten. I struck the post with 
 such force that it broke, and I went through the 
 aperture and fell outside the corral, about a rod off, 
 on my hands and face. That frightened the cow, 
 and she ran back and out of the corral. My brother 
 and Jack, as we called my herdsman, were on top of 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 229 
 
 the corral fence, looking on and unable to come to 
 my assistance. I was terribly mangled up, but soon 
 got well. I have never forgotten that narrow escape 
 from death. 
 
 I then bought a claim of one hundred and sixty 
 acres from Juan Tapia, seven miles below my place, 
 and told Jack if the feed got scarce to move the 
 stock thither. On June 6, 1864, I picked up the 
 San Francisco Evening Bulletin, and saw an article 
 stating that J. W. Harlan, a large stock raiser of 
 Cholama valley, San Luis Obispo county, had his 
 herdsman murdered by three Spaniards; that an old 
 Mexican sheep-herder, who saw the murder com- 
 mitted, was shot and set up by a tree and a cigarito 
 put in his mouth; that thirty-five of Harlan's horses 
 were run off; that his cattle were dying for lack of 
 feed and care, and that HoUister claimed to have a 
 grant on Harlan's stock ranch and had driven five 
 thousand head of sheep on it. 
 
 I took the paper home and read it to my wife. 
 We both wept most bitterly. I saddled Banny, and 
 rode eighty miles a day. When I reached my ranch 
 no pen can describe nor tongue tell the horrible 
 sight. I saw my fine Durham cattle lying dead, in 
 every direction and thirty-five head of my best sad- 
 dle horses stolen and run off. I got down on my 
 
230 CALIPOENXA, '46 to '88. 
 
 knees and cried, and prayed to the Lord to know 
 what this all meant and what I had done to cause 
 His wrath to be poured out against me in this man- 
 ner. I plead fervently that he would let me die on 
 the spot. I then arose from my prayer and felt re- 
 lieved and my full senses restored. 
 
 I notified my neighbors, who lived ten, fifteen, 
 and twenty miles from my ranch, and when they 
 heard of the commission of the great crime about 
 twenty of them went and arrested Apolinario, a 
 Spaniard who had cattle on the place which I had 
 bought; also three-fingered Jack, who was with Joa- 
 quin Murieta, and another of Joaquin's gang. They 
 had all the evidence they wanted to hang these 
 murderers, who had used short Spanish swords to 
 kill Jack. They had run him around a circuit of 
 one acre, and stabbed him nineteen times and 
 thrown him into a ditch. Apolinario's horse was a 
 bayo, shod all round. One shoe was half gone, and 
 they found his tracks to correspond with the tracks 
 where Jack was killed. Blood was found on their 
 horses and on their clothing. Juan Tapia's wife 
 saw them at her house, trying to wash the blood off 
 and she heard the screams of Jack as they were kill- 
 ing him. My neighbors were exposed to similar 
 outrages, and they resolved themselves into a kind 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '8S. 231 
 
 of vigilance committee, satisfied themselves of the 
 guilt of the arrested parties, and got everything 
 ready to hang them; but just then Sheriff Castro of 
 that county came Avith a force of about one hundred 
 men, mostly Spaniards, and took the assassins away 
 to the county town, where they were liberated. 
 
 John Cahill, one of my neighbors, had a brother, 
 William Cahill, who lived in San Jose. John had 
 some cattle on a claim about 15 miles from mine. 
 What were left of my stock were scattered all over 
 that country, and John said his brother would give 
 me for what they could find of my stock one thou- 
 sand dollars and two mares, which were with foal 
 by the stallion called " Gen. Taylor," and were valued 
 at five hundred dollars. I agreed to this, and we 
 went to San Jose to finish the bargain with the 
 brother there. He was pleased with the bargain, 
 and I rectived from them the two mares and agreed 
 to take a mortgage for the thousand dollars on the 
 brother's home property in San Jose, payable in 
 three months from that date. I took the mares and 
 went home, and it was agreed between us that I 
 should come on the Thursday following (this being 
 Saturday), when the necessary papers would be 
 ready for me. This delay was caused by the fact 
 that William Cahill was on the point of starting to 
 
232 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 the country, about New Almaden, with a hunting 
 party of his friends, who were waiting for him, and 
 he would be back on the Thursday mentioned. I 
 went home and returned on the next Wednesday to 
 San Jos^. On meeting John Cahill, he told me that 
 on that morning, as his brother was about to start 
 for home, in pulling his gun out of the wagon, both 
 barrels went. off and tore his heart and lungs to 
 shreds. The family had just returned from the 
 funeral, and Mrs. Cahill and her three daughters, all 
 in mourning, came crying and shook hands with 
 me, and I deeply regretted their greater loss than 
 mine. I stayed with John Cahill that night and 
 received his assurance that he Avould faithfully com- 
 plete our bargain and pay me the thousand dollars. 
 He was a man of his word, and did so by delivering 
 to me, on April 10th following, forty head of fat 
 steers in full settlement of our bargain. 
 
CHAPTER LI. 
 
 |iV February 13th, 1866, I received a telegram 
 from Henry Fowler stating that his father, — 
 my father-in-law — was dying, and that we should 
 come immediately. We went, and the old gentleman 
 lived a few days after our arrival, when he died at 
 the age of 87. He was a stern, but a good, 
 and thoroughly honest man, and was much respected 
 by those who knew him. 
 
 On July 1st, of the same year, I was afflicted with 
 the greatest misfortune of my life. My wife took 
 sick and became very ill. I called in two of the 
 leading physicians of Alameda County to treat her 
 case, but she lingered a few days and then left me. 
 At her death, she was within a few days of being 
 thirty-six years of age. Of all the losses that I 
 have suffered, this was the greatest. I felt that my 
 own grip on life was loosened and, in fact, since then 
 prosperity has seemed to have left me. She was a 
 good Christian woman, and was much respected and 
 loved, and was followed to her grave by the largest 
 number of people that I had yet seen at a funeral in 
 that neighborhood. It was a sad and severe blow 
 to me. 
 
 (233) 
 
234 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 On the day of the funeral I myself was taken 
 sick and remained so for three weeks, and, but for 
 my children, I would gladly have welcomed my end. 
 
 I still had some quite valuable real estate at San 
 Leandro and on October 14th, 1866, I gave George 
 Estabrook Smith a written contract to lay out and 
 sell all the upper portion of my land, in town lots, 
 at two hundred dollars per acre. I let him have 
 eighteen months to dispose of it. He had it surveyed 
 and a map drawn and recorded, and called it Har- 
 lan's Addition to the Town of San Leandro — three 
 streets running through it from the Hayward road 
 to Watkins Street. The first street on the North 
 was called Castro Street ; the second, Harlan Street ; 
 third, Estabrook Street. I told my children that 
 all I could give them was an education in the public 
 schools. 
 
 On the 20th of October, 1868, we had the heaviest 
 shock of earthquake that had ever been felt since 
 the American inhabitants had been in Califarnia. 
 It shook the Court-house down in San Leandro, 
 and killed J. W. Joselyn, a clerk for S. Huff, in the 
 Treasurer's office. C. E. Palmer was with him at 
 the time, and tried to pull him back as the building 
 was falling in front, but could not, and he was buried 
 in seven or eight feet of bricks. Palmer ran back 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 235 
 
 with deputy sheriff Borien and jumped out of the 
 "window. Joselyn was a member of the Masonic 
 Fraternity. I was Tyler of the Lodge No. 113, and 
 took charge of the remains till their burial in the 
 Oakland Masonic Cemetery. 
 
 I have now to tell how I lost my grip and went down 
 hill on the run, as many an old man and old Califor- 
 nian has done before me. I had a mortgage on my 
 homestead to secure the payment of three thousand 
 dollars. It was eating me up, and I sold the home- 
 stead for five thousand dollars, paid off the mort- 
 gage and my other debts, and had twenty-three 
 hundred dollars left. In January, 1872, I bought 
 out a hotel in Calistoga and tried hard to do well in it. 
 It was here that I again came into contact with 
 Keseburg, as I have already told. It took me a 
 little over a year to find out that I was not the man 
 to keep a hotel and that I was completely broken 
 up. So I left off hotel-keeping and went to work 
 near Livermore, for wages, on a farm. I thus 
 worked for eleven months at common farm work. 
 Then I preempted one hundred and sixty acres, 
 twelve miles north of Livermore, on a spur of the 
 Monte Diablo Range, two thousand feet above 
 sea level, and in the roughest part of that rough 
 country. Here I remained till September 1877. I 
 
236 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 was more alone than ever I had been in my life, 
 My neighbors — so to call them — ^lived far away from 
 me and were not of a very agreeable cast. I read 
 my bible through, from beginning to end, once 
 during each year of my hermitage in those hills. 
 That old book was the only company that I had. 
 At last, I felt that I could not stand it longer, so I 
 sold my claim to two Portuguese for fifteen hundred 
 dollars, paid my debts and had eight hundred dol- 
 lars left. Chance, however, made me a hermit again., 
 I had gone- to Tasajera Valley on some business, and 
 my horse got away and ran clear back to the claim 
 which I had just sold. In seeking him, I encountered 
 a Spanish woman named Garcia, whose husband had 
 been murdered, and had left a claim situated about 
 a mile and a half from my claim which I had just 
 sold. I bought this claim from the widow and 
 moved to it. Here I was not so lonely as before, 
 as my oldest son took up the adjoining claim and 
 thus became my nearest neigbor. I remained there 
 till the fall of '83, and then sold out to a man from 
 Nevada for fifteen hundred dollars, my son also 
 selling his claim for twenty-five hundred dollars. 
 
CHAPTER LII. 
 
 WAS now out of debt and with nine hundred 
 dollars in my pocket; and being one day in 
 Livermore I met James Beazel, an old friend, who, 
 in course of conversation, told me of an auction sale, 
 about to take place, of two houses and a lot, which 
 probably would be sold quite low. I went to the 
 sale and bought the property for eight hundred and 
 ten dollars, and I rented the property quite advan- 
 tageously. 
 
 Beazel was chairman of the town trustees, and he 
 influenced my appointment as steward of the 
 town and as policeman, for which service I received 
 thirty dollars a month, and I held my appointment 
 till the fall of '86, when my health failed and I was 
 nearly crippled with rheumatism and bronchitis. 
 These troubles continued to increase upon me; I 
 kept on doctoring myself, and being doctored with 
 no good result, till my money was about gone and I 
 was down on bed-rock, in the same condition in 
 which I was when I was a boy on the deserts of the 
 present State of Nevada. Then, however, I was 
 young and strong and full of energy; now I was, I 
 
 (237J 
 
238 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 may say, an old man and broken in health and, to 
 use a common but forcible expression, "flat broke." 
 A sad state of things for me. I got worse and 
 worse, and my friends advised me to go to the 
 county infirmary. This was the heaviest blow that 
 I had yet received; even the suggestion of it was 
 stunning to me. I got a permit and went to see the 
 infirmary. When I looked on the hundred and 
 eighty patients with all manner of ailments, some 
 on crutches and canes, and many looking like death 
 itself, I could not bring myself to it, and I turned and 
 left the place. Then I managed to go about to various 
 places, hoping to wear out my diseases and keep out 
 of the public institution. Shortly I found that in 
 my broken-down condition it was useless to shirk 
 becoming a patient at the charge of the county, and 
 I sought and obtained admission. 
 
 In the days of my prosperity no man could have 
 believed that I would come down to this, but on en- 
 tering the infirmary I found men who, but a few 
 years previously, would have been thought just as 
 unlikely subjects for public charity as I myself was, 
 and who were now, if possible, even worse off than I, 
 
 In the infirmary I found men of many nations, 
 and some queer characters; some — one particularly 
 — who had possessed far more property than ever I 
 
CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 239 
 
 did, and who in the flush times in Nevada was a 
 man of some mark and of wealth; but he, too, lost 
 his property and his health, and, like me, his grip 
 upon enterprise and prosperity. Numbers of others, 
 too, whose mutations of fortune had been as marked 
 as his and mine now lie on their lee shore, the 
 County Infirmary. Among the one hundred and 
 seventy-five patients in that institution at the time 
 of my stay there, I think not more than twenty 
 were of native American birth; the rest were made 
 up of every nation, almost, which sends emigrants 
 to America, and among all these could be found prob- 
 ably as many distinct diseases as there were patients. 
 
 I here learned much, even at my late day, of 
 character, and also of diseases and their treatment. 
 During my rather rough life from boyhood up I had 
 been forced to learn a good deal about the treat- 
 ment of usual diseases and wounds, but my experi- 
 ence in that Infirmary opened my eyes to varieties 
 of human ailments which I had never thought of 
 before. 
 
 One cause of disease, however, forced itself upon 
 my notice, which experience, in my own case as also 
 in that of many others, should have made apparent 
 to me long before. It was alcohol! In confidential 
 talk with patients they would often speak freely of 
 
240 CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 the cause of their illness, and in perhaps a majority 
 of cases their confession would be, " Too much 
 "whisky" — "Too much long spree and exposure;" 
 or one more reserved would perhaps word it, " I 
 don't know, but I think my disease began by my 
 drinking too much whisky." It was enough to 
 make a total abstinence man of the most confirmed 
 drunkard. I myself had indulged too freely, and I 
 believe my experience here cured me of all desire 
 for the stimulus of alcoholic drink. I signed no 
 pledge, but I believe I have done better. I have 
 solemnly vowed to keep my pledge which I have 
 made with myself, and I have sought for strength 
 and aid to keep that pledge where alone such 
 strength and aid can be obtained. 
 
CHAPTER LIII. 
 
 S)F military service with Fremont in the Mex- 
 ican war entitled me to receive a pension 
 from the Government. Up to this time I had not 
 applied for it, not having needed it; but now, in my 
 misfortune and inability to work, it behooved me to 
 seek it, small though the sum might be. I there- 
 fore made successful application through Mr. Ten- 
 ison of San Jose, and I have been in receipt of it 
 ever since. In the Infirmary I found some other 
 old veteran pioneers, and set them in the way of 
 getting their pensions likewise. 
 
 On the whole, although I have been no saint, still 
 I believe that, considering my lack of education and 
 careful training, and taking into consideration, too, 
 the kind of men with whom I have been in contact* 
 I don't think I have been so very bad a sinner. 
 
 In my transactions with men, and women too, I 
 have always tried to act fairly — to practice fair play 
 — and I think that, in this, I have nearly always 
 succeeded. In business I have tried to make as 
 good a bargain as possible, but always in fair, open 
 trade and without taking undue or dishonest advan- 
 tage of any one. 
 
 CaL. 16 (241) 
 
242 * CALIFORNIA, '46 to '88. 
 
 In another respect I may give myself credit. With 
 the aid of my good wife I have brought up and pre- 
 sented to the nation a large family of children — 
 native born — now grown up to man's and woman's 
 estate, who, so far, have proved themselves good, 
 and useful, and law-abiding citizens. 
 
 These items, and perhaps others which it might 
 be vanity to mention, I think should be placed on 
 the credit side of my life's account. Of the debtor 
 side of that account, I say nothing; let others do 
 that. Except wrong that I have done to myself, I 
 charge nothing to my own discredit, and I leave 
 unmentioned much wrong which has been done to 
 me by others. 
 
 So much for my past. Of my future — What? As 
 I have previously said, I am not a prophet.