A Trip to California in 1853

He mounted one of them and rode away to round some of the cattle which were straying. When Bart first started off, they did not care, but when they saw him circle away from the main herd, they evidently thought that he was running away with it, and one of them jumped on the other pony, fixed an arrow to his bow and started in pursuit. By yelling as loud as we could, we attracted the attention of Bart and motioned for him to circle back to camp. By keeping a circle, he kept out of shooting distance of the bow, and arrived in camp safe, but somewhat frightened over his experience. The Indians got on their ponies and left.

Two or three days after this incident, a chief and about twenty of his tribe, came to us and after a pow-wow, they sat down in a row and uncle understanding the maneuver, had as many of the men sit down facing them, as there were Indians. The chief lit his tomahock pipe, took a puff, passed it to uncle, who did the same. The order pursued, was that the chief would hand it to one of the Indians; the pipe would be returned to him, and he would hand it to uncle, who would give it to one of the men, who would return it to uncle, and uncle would give it back to the chief. The order was maintained until all the men and Indians had a puff at the pipe. When the program was over, the chief arose and said, "How!" and he and the Indians took their departure. This was the "pipe of peace" and meant that they would do us no harm, and we were not to harm them. Evidently this visit was to clear up the misunderstanding concerning the pony incident.

A rule had been made and understood by the men that there was to be no quarreling or fighting in the camp. It is unfortunate in camp life, especially on a trail far west, to have enmity in the camp. Tom Brooks, who was one of the cooks, was a crabbed fellow. James Greek was an orphan boy, who had made his home with uncle for several years, and who one day killed a big buffalo.

In order to preserve the meat, it was put through a process of jerking, which was to cut it into strips to be dried by the sun or by heating. We had made a scaffold by putting forked sticks in the ground and by laying sticks across in them, had made a platform about the fire. After the fire became a bed of charcoal, the meat was laid on the cross sticks to roast and dry.

James, who was a good natured chap of eighteen years of age, and having killed the buffalo, helped himself to a piece of the meat. Tom Brooks ordered him to put the meat back, which he refused to do, Tom jumping onto him and beat him, until his face was black with the beating. The sympathy of the camp was with Jim and Tom lost the respect of the camp by his bullying disposition. Uncle was restrained from taking a hand in the matter, as he could not afford to lose any of his helpers.

One day when uncle and aunt rode ahead to pick out a camping place, he had instructed us to drive the cattle to the left side of the trail as we were nearing alkali water, which was unfit for the stock to drink. He had given us wrong instructions, for instead of driving them away from the danger, we drove them to where they drank the injurious water. As a result, we lost, with what we had killed for beef, about 250 head of cattle. If the sheep drank any of the water, they were not affected.

In the herd of cattle we had left, were forty or fifty milk cows, some of them fresh and we had plenty of milk. The boys all milked except Wm. Nailor, who could not, but had made arrangements with the other boys to take his place and he would do some of their work in exchange.

One day, Nailor, who was in the rear of the train, came in late for dinner. It was customary for every one to have a cup of milk for dinner, and he held out his cup to Tom, the cook, for his milk. Tom, after the others had eaten, poured the milk out on the ground and said to Nailor, "No man who wont milk, can drink milk."

Nailor replied that he had made arrangement for others to milk in his place and that it was none of Tom's business. Angry words followed and Tom took a run at Nailor, butting him in the stomach. Nailor was knocked down, and in falling, his head struck the wheel of a wagon, cutting a gash in his scalp. This ended the fight and Tom, after this, was meaner than ever, as he had whipped Nailor, who had some reputation as a fighter.

It has been over sixty years since these events took place, but I distinctly remember another of the mean tricks of the cook. Tom had a way of cutting out of a side of bacon, the best part, leaving the balance for the family. My aunt spoke to him about it and with an oath, he told my aunt to attend to her own business. Such insolence was endured for the time being, but later Tom paid the penalty, the story of which will be told later.

I remember at one place where we camped late at night, that when we awoke the next morning, we discovered two graves side by side. Near the graves was an endgate of a wagon on which was cut with a knife, the words, "Do not camp here."

Evidently it was a dangerous place to camp on account of the Indians and the graves were mute testimony of that fact. The graves were lined with large rocks or bowlders, and over the top there were also rocks to protect the bodies from wolves. However, the wolves had dug down on one side deeper than the graves and dislodged some of the rocks and got the bodies. Some of the human bones were on the ground where the wolves left them after picking off the flesh.

We followed the headwaters of the North Platte, which flowed to the east, and leaving this river, we soon arrived at the headwaters of the Sweet River, whose waters flow westward into the Green River and on through the Columbia River to the Pacific. If you will take your atlas and find Fort Laramie on the Platte River, and follow it until you come to Casper, and then skirt the Rattlesnake hills on the north, you will reach the Sweet Water River near what is now called Independence Rock and Slit Rock.

The Sweet River Mountains will be on your south and the Wind Mountains on the north, as you cross between, through South Pass along the banks of the beautiful river Sweet Water. We saw the Chimney Rock which stood out by itself like a chimney after the house had burned. I think that it must be what is now called Independence Rock, which name is very appropriate. Also there was the Court House Rock, called that because of the rooms in it as if someone had cut rooms into the soft rock. There was the Devil's Gate, which was a massive ridge of rock, through which the river, some time in the dim past, had apparently drilled, and through the ages, disposed of the rock above, until a deep and straight-faced canyon greeted the "Path Finder" of other centuries.

We camped here for a day and others of the camp discovered a beautiful pool of water jutting out from the river. The water was clear as crystal and we could see in the water the most beautiful fish that I had ever seen. They were spotted or speckled and all about the same size – about twenty inches long. They were the speckled trout so much prized by the anglers of today.

We took one of uncle's wagon covers, tied a log chain to one side along the edge; tied a rope on the other side; got some tent poles and tied them to the end of the cover. We were going to seine this pool of water, when uncle came down to where we were and wanted to know what we were doing. We told him that we were going to seine the pool and catch some of those fine fish.

He said, "You can't catch fish with a wagon cover. You will only tear my cover to pieces and catch no fish. I don't want my cover torn up. I will need it."

We told him we would not hurt his wagon cover, but he forbade us using it. We told him that we had it fixed and we were going to make one haul any how, and show him we could catch fish with a wagon cover. Uncle got out of humor, but we did that once as we pleased. We went in with our seine at the upper end of the pool and dragged down to the lower end, where there was a nice gravel riffle, a nice place to pull out on the side. We boys had seined with uncle John's wagon cover in Elkrun in Ohio, and we understood the business. In the first haul, we had a lot of the finest kind of fish and uncle's wagon cover was not damaged.

Uncle was so surprised to see such a lot at one drag, that he told the men to unyoke the oxen, and that they could dress and fry fish the rest of the day. We caught all the fish they all wanted and as many as they wanted to take along.

CHAPTER III

AMONG THE FOOT HILLS AND TROUBLESOME INDIANS

If you will take your atlas, and look on the map of Wyoming, at the base of the Wind Mountains, the most rugged group of the Rockies, you will find South Pass, with the headwaters of the Sweetwater River, cutting a canyon through it. Going westward from this point and following the Sweetwater River, we came to the headwater, which was called Atlantic Springs. A few hundred yards beyond, we came to the Pacific Springs. This small strip of land is the water shed or dividing point between the two oceans. The water which bubbles up from the Atlantic Springs, races eastward through the rocky canyon of the Sweetwater and to the Platte and from the Platte to the Missouri, thence the Mississippi, uniting with the waters of the Ohio, Illinois, Tennesse and Cumberland, the Monongahela, of the Allegheny Mountains, finally reaching Gulf of Mexico and the Atlantic Ocean.

But should you follow the course of the sparkling water that gushes from the Pacific Springs, you would course along the Big Sandy to the Green River, which cuts its way through the sand and rocks of that rough and tumble country of northern Utah and northwestern Colorado. Launch your boat on the turbulent waters and drift, if you were not capsized, in southern Utah, you would come to Colorado River and then soon in the shadows of the most wonderful canyons which scar Mother Earth, the Cataract, Marble and Grand Canyons, of world renown. These livid seething waters find rest in the bosom of the great Pacific.

We trailed westward across the Pacific Springs toward the Bear River which flowed south to Bear Lake in the northern part of Utah. We were on what was called Fremont and Carson route. This lead southwest to Salt Lake City. When northeast of Salt Lake City, we came to what was called the Truckey route. This route left Salt Lake City to our left. We were behind all the other trains and it had been reported that the Mormons had killed a whole train of men, women and children, for plunder and had laid it onto the Indians. Old Brigham Young had sent what he called his "Destroying Angels" and had murdered all of them and took all the stock and wagons. We decided to take the Truckey route and keep away from Brigham Young and his "destroying angels."

Perhaps one of the most interesting things I saw while traveling through the Bear River country in southern Utah, was a lava bed, about fifty or sixty feet high and I judge about two hundred feet wide at the base. At the crest, the lava was bubbling out as clear as water and running down the side of the mound, it would cool and turn into rock, forming a rocky mound. I saw three such mounds of lava or rock, which had been formed this way. The soil in the Bear River bottom was rich, black soil, and I thought what a pity it was that it should be covered with these mounds of lava.

There was a grave at the foot of this mound with a head board, on which we were informed that the deceased had drunk of the lava water and had died in a few minutes and that the water was poison.

We came across what was called Soda Springs and the water was as fine as any I had ever drank, and it came out of the ground foaming, a veritable natural soda water fountain. We also saw the Steam Boat Springs, which gushed from a hole in the basin of rock. The water was boiling hot and it bubbled and sizzled like boiling water on a stove. It would boil for a short time and then the steam would shoot up about fifteen feet high. Below this spring and near the river, was a strip of rocks about twenty feet wide, that seemed to be in motion with heat. The water in the river was so hot we could not hold our hands in it for two or three rods along the banks.

Down the river and off to one side, we came to Bear Rock. This rock was cut up with great crevices and if a man or beast had fallen into one of them, they would have disappeared from view in the bowels of the earth. I threw a rock into one of them and heard it rattling down into the depths until the sound gradually died away in what appeared to be bottomless. This serrated rock appeared to be about three miles across and it was the most dangerous place we had encountered. It had to be crossed as it was the path of the trail. A road had been made by wedging rock in the crevices and by means of picks, the way had been smoothed down so we were able to get across without serious accident.

While near Bear River, James Bailey and John Teril were driving a cow whose feet were so worn that she could not keep up with the rest of the drove. The boys would drive her along slowly and arrive late in the evening at the camp. She was a big red cow and uncle hated to lose her, but one evening she laid down and the boys could not whip her up and they had to come to camp without her. The next morning uncle sent Jim and I after her. As we came in sight of her, an awful sight came to our view. A pack of wolves were around her, snarling and gnashing on all sides. The cow was making a desperate struggle to keep off the ravenous wolves. When we saw the condition, we rode as fast as we could and the wolves took to the tall grass. We found the hind quarter of the cow bleeding and in some places the flesh was stripped off to the bone. There was nothing to do but to put her out of her misery, which I did with a shot from my gun.

Jim held my horse and I went near enough to the grass to shoot at them as they ventured out of the grass. I could not tell whether I killed any of them or not as they would leap back in the grass. I had in mind to go nearer to the grass to see the result of my shots, when Jim called to me and said, "Wash, come quick. Get on your horse, the grass is alive with them."

When I got on my horse, I could see on both sides of the trail the grass all in motion with the cat like movements of the wolves. We could not see them, but the waving grass showed that it was full of them. We put spurs to our horses and when we got to a safe distance, we stopped and looked back. The wolves had come out of the grass and were pilled upon the cow, resembling a small hay stack.

One day soon after this, when we had made a noon stop, an Indian chief, who could talk our language, told us that his men, while hunting, had found a white man who was nearly starved to death, and that he had carried him to his lodge. Uncle and some more of the men went with him to see if he was strong enough to be taken along. They found him too weak to be moved. After a council between uncle and the chief, it was decided to leave him there and the chief promised to look after him and when he was strong enough, that he would put him on a pony and send him to Salt Lake City. I believe the man was left in good hands and that the chief was a man of his word.

We were now coming to the desert country of Nevada and our cattle had been without water for a day, when we came to what is known as Poison Water. To get across this little stream, we put the cattle in bunches of twelve and whipped them across, not letting them stop to drink. We got all of our stock across without being poisoned. After we got across, on the side of the hill, we saw the awful effects of the poison water, as there were hundreds of dead cattle and rods at a time, we could step on dead cattle without stepping on the ground.

After we got back on the Freemont and Carson route and were making for the headwaters of the Humbolt River, we found some fair grass land for the stock. We followed the Humbolt River for many miles until we came to the Humbolt Sink. At first it was as smooth as a rock for some distance, but later we dropped off into sand and it was the worst travelling I ever saw. The sand was so light and fine, that one foot would go down until I would set the other foot on top of the sand and pull that foot out, before I could step one foot ahead of the other. It was about the same sort of motion and as slow as treading water. We were three days and nights crossing that desert.

After getting across this desert stretch, we came to the banks of the Carson River, which we were to follow for many miles to the borders of California. When we reached Carson River, we came to a trader's pound, constructed of wagon tires and log chains. It was about the size of an ordinary city lot. There were tires lengthwise and crosswise, hind wheel tires, front wheel tires and log chains, bound together in all kinds of shapes. There were tons of steel in that fence. We came across another pound on the Carson River, near the Sierra Nevada Mountains, built of logs. The logs were 100 feet or over in length and had notches cut in them. These logs were placed in two rows and were crossed by small logs resting in the notches. It was built high enough so that stock could not jump over.

One night when we were afraid the Indians would come in on us, a double guard was put on duty. Four men stood guard in the fore part of the night and four in the after part. The eight men to do duty were all the men in my mess. Uncle said that the bacon was getting low and that he wanted some one of our mess, to get up early and help kill a beef. I told him to have some of the men in the other mess to help, as we would be on guard duty all night. Uncle said, "All right."

The men of my mess had killed all the beeves and mutton up to that time. We did not care, nor did we think much about it, as one of our men was a butcher. The next morning uncle called for some one to get up and help him kill a beef. He called the second and third time, and no one got up and he said, "If no one will get up and help, you will do without meat."

Two of the men in my mess said, "If the other fellows will not help, we will."

I did not help as I was willing to do without meat rather than help after being on guard about all night. When I got up, I went over to the other camp to see what was the matter and why they would not help to kill the beef. They had all gone to look after the stock except John and Tom Brooks. Tom, the cook, did not have to help with the other work. I asked, "John, why did not you fellows get up this morning and help uncle?"

He looked at me, wrinkled up his face, swore and said as hateful as he could, "You will be a good deal prettier than you are, before I will help kill a beef."

"Johnny," I replied, "If you don't propose to do your part, you might get a dose you would not like so well."

I thought I would go back to my camp and say nothing more about it. I started off and had gone about a rod, when John said, "Now you go off to your own camp, or I will put Tom at you."

I turned around and looked at him and remarked, "You low lived insignificant scoundrel, you will put Tom at me?"

"Yes, and if you don't go to your own home, I will get at you," Tom cut in.

"You big necked, nigerfied, curly-headed villian, you will get at me?" I replied.

At that he came running toward me and as he came near, he ducked his head to butt me in the stomach. When I saw that, I ran backwards a little to kill the shock and I reached down and caught him in the cheek, gave him a jerk, and he fell on his back. He fell near the hind wheel of a wagon. He pulled himself up by holding to the wheel and I got him by the throat and pushed him back between the wheel and the bed, and beat his face and head like he did poor Jim Greek and gave him some for Nailor and some for abusing aunt, and some for jumping on to me. When I got through, he had a plenty and the great fighter was badly whipped and he had not given me a scratch.

This was the first fight I had ever had and I found out afterwards that he had told the boys, that if any of his mess helped kill the beef, they would have had him to whip first. Aunt saw the commotion and called for me to come to their camp fire and get my breakfast. She said, "I am going to give you the best breakfast you ever had on the plains, for whipping that low lived, good for nothing, Tom Brooks."

I ate breakfast with aunt – was the best meal on the plains and the only time I had eaten with her. Tom Brooks behaved after that.

One morning we missed a cow out of the herd. Several of us went to find her. We hunted for quite a while and finally all came back to camp with the exception of my brother, Crawford Bailey and Wint Crumley. There was a willow thicket along the river and they got out of sight of us. They had found the trail of the cow and followed it. The camp had moved on down the trail while George Bailey had taken his gun and went on foot to kill an antelope. While hunting on the side of the trail, he was surprised to see Crawford and Wint running their horses around a bend in the river. He made for the trail just in time to catch one of the horses by the tail and by that means, kept up with the fleeing men. The Indians who were after them, tried to cut them off, but when they came in sight of the camp, they gave up the chase and disappeared. The two boys had followed the track of the cow into a willow thicket and they came across the Indians with a cow's hide stretched across poles, scrapping it ready for tanning. The Indians saw them and gave chase, but the fleetness of the horses and George's lucky hold on the tail of the horse, saved their scalps.

A few nights after this incident, we had to drive late to get to where there was a good place to camp. It was dusk when we camped. We had to turn off to the right of the main trail and the river bent off to the north and I think it was a quarter of a mile from the main trail to where we camped. We had built our fires and were just ready to commence getting supper, when we heard the Indians begin holloing, "Show shony, show shony, humbugen, humbugen oss cawaw cawaw, cawowaw cawowaw cawowaw cawaw cawaw."