USA > California > San Bernardino County > Ingersoll's century annals of San Bernadino County, 1769-1904 : prefaced with a brief history of the state of California : supplemented with an encyclopedia of local biography and portraits of many of its representative people > Part 40
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J. W. SMITH, Foreman."
"The foregoing report was adopted, all the members of the Grand Jury being present.
W. A. CONN."
The county auditor, J. M. Greenwade, made a vigorous reply to this report and a lively war was waged for sometime between the county officials and the citizens, represented by the Grand Jury.
SAN BERNARDINO'S STOCK COMPANY.
The Palmy Days of the Theater and the Play Writers in San Bernardino.
In the year 1859, the San Bernardino Dramatic Association was organ- ized to furnish the people of the town with amusement. It started out with twelve active members, John Brown, president and ex-officio treasurer ; W. T. Hughs. secretary; C. F. Williams, stage manager and artist; N. C. Fordham, F. C. Margetson and J. M. Greenwade, committee of arrange- ments.
Its first performance which was entirely original and based upon local history scored a great hit. The title alone is explanatory: "How to Raise the Wind, or, A New Way to Pay Old County Debts." The dramatis per- sonae ran thus: Ist. Thomas, the President; 2nd, Cornelius, the Dane ; 3rd, Henry, the Saddler; 4th, Reuben, the Vice-Comes; 5th, Mordecai, the Treasurer : 6th, Talipes, the Just : 7th, Justice personified. Scene-The County Clerk's Office.
This specimen of the composition, with the extract from the report of
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the Grand Jury, for the same year, will give an idea of the subject dealt with :
"To longer sit, we now refrain, Till funding time doth come again, What if the county goes to crash ? Won't we be near to swipe the cash? Need we care what the people say? 'Tis ours to tax-and theirs to pay- The funds for us to Mordecai."
Out of this association grew a regularly organized theatrical club and the theater of San Bernardino, which flourished during 1862-63. Of this club, George Mattison, who had previously acted in light,comedy, and Mrs. Minerva O. Kelting, who had served her apprenticeship on Brigham Young's stage in Salt Lake, were the bright particular stars. Mrs. John Miller, Dave Tays, Ed Peacock, William Cave, Harry Payne and De la M. Woodward, were also members.
It was at first intended as a business venture. A plain stage with a drop curtain was fitted up in an upper room of the Miller Hotel-later the Southern Hotel. Afterwards the theater was removed to the Kelting build- ing, a one-story frame building on the southeast corner of Third and D . streets, which would seat about two hundred. Candles were used for light- ing the stage and the room. Colored effects were produced by using colored bottles to set the candles in-usually green. Sometimes colored mosquito netting was hung before the stage for the same purpose. The stage proper- ties were mostly borrowed-some people in the town kept their carpets loose so that they might be used on the stage when necessary. The hall was seated with benches. Ed Peacock painted some brilliant stage settings. The advertising was done by posters which were written or printed by hand, as there was no printing press in the town at this time. "Billing" the town in this way was a tedious and expensive process.
The first play rendered in the theater by this company was, "The Dead Shot," a melo-dramatic love story; "Good-for-Nothing Nan," "Rough Dia- monds," "Bombastes-Furiosa," "Box and Cox," were other plays that were given. Mrs. Kelting was very versatile and took many parts, but was especially good in comedy ; some of the other members of the company developed considerable talent also.
For nearly two years this theater was open every Saturday night and was usually well filled. As a business venture the play-house was a failure. as the proceeds did not more than pay the expenses, and the actors never received any reward for their services. But they kept up the company for the sake of the amusement. And such a diversion must have been greatly
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appreciated in the dearth of society and amusement of the little frontier town.
THE FIRST AND THE LAST MAY DAY PICNIC.
On May Ist, 1858, occurred the first of what proved to be a long series of May day picnics. For twenty-one years, the people of San Bernardino annually gathered for their May day picnic and the occasion was always one of the most enjoyable of the year. The old pioneers and their children look back with many pleasant memories to these happy days.
The first festivities were planned and arranged by the new teachers, Mr. and Mrs. Robbins, who had taken charge of the city schools in January. Mrs. Robbins, now Mrs. Crafts, of Redlands, describes the day thus: "A queen, king and bishop had been chosen, with flower girls and attendants. At nine o'clock the children assembled at the school house, full of eager expectations. The pretty queen, Laura Brown, clad in a white satin dress, daintily trimmed, the flower girls all in pure white, the king with his crown and the bishop with the insignia of his office, led the procession and the rest fell in line. The picnic was held in a grove of sycamores, then standing at the point where the Tippecanoe station on the motor road is now located. On reaching the grounds, the queen was crowned with due ceremony, the flower girls scattered their flowers and sang a song composed for the occasion by Prof. Robbins, and appropriate exercises were gone through with. A May pole and a swing added to the enjoyment and at twelve o'clock a dinner, such as only the pioneer women knew how to serve, was partaken of by all."
The Last May Day Picnic.
On May Ist, 1902, the Pioneer Society, with the children and grand- children of many of those who had enjoyed the first May day picnic, gath - ered at Urbita Springs to celebrate the day in memory of that first picnic, forty-four years past. Mrs. Crafts was chosen queen of the day, and the crown was placed upon her head by John Brown, Jr., who had several times performed the same service as bishop, when a boy, and with the same words composed by her husband, Prof. Robbins, for the ceremony. The old songs were sung and the old games repeated and an old time picnic dinner was enjoyed. It was a beautiful and fitting memorial of the happy days that so many of those present recalled as among the pleasantest memories of their youth.
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SOME BEAR STORIES.
The Death of Christobal Slover.
John Brown, Sr., thus related the story of the death of Christobal Slover : Slover mountain near Colton, derived its name from Christobal Slover, who settled there about 1842.
A party of free trappers, of whom I was one, erected an adobe fort on the Arkansas river in Colorado, for protection and as headquarters during the winter season. We called it "Pueblo," and the city of Pueblo now stands upon that ground. Into this fort Christobal Slover came one day with two mules loaded with beaver skins. He was engaged to help me supply the camp with game and during the winter we hunted together, killing buffalo, elk, antelope and deer.
Slover was a quiet, peaceable man, very reserved. He would heed no warning and accept no advice as to his methods of hunting. His great am- bition was to kill grizzlies-he called them "Cabibs." He would leave our camp and be gone for weeks at a time without anyone knowing his where- abouts, and at last he did not return at all and I lost sight of him for several years.
When I came to San Bernardino county in 1849, I found him in his cabin at Slover mountain. His head was now white but his heart was full of affection and he took me to his home and made me welcome to all that he had. He had married a Mexican woman with whom he seemed happy ; but his chief pleasure in life was still the pursuit of the grizzly. When no one else would go with him, he went alone into the mountains, although his friends warned him of the danger.
One day he went with a companion up the left fork of the Cajon Pass, almost to the summit. There they came across a large grizzly and Slover fired at close range. The bear fell, but soon rose and walked away and lay down in some bushes. Slover, after recharging his rifle began approaching the monster, in spite of the objections of his friend. As the old man ap- proached the animal it gave a sudden spring full upon him. That ended his bear hunting. The other man came down the mountain and told the tale and a party went back. They found Slover still alive but insensible. He was carried down to Sycamore Grove on a rude litter and there died. The bear had done its work thoroughly. The scalp was torn from his head, his legs and one arm broken, the whole body bruised and torn. He was taken to his home and buried, but the spot of his burial was not marked, and now, though I have taken great pains to locate the grave, I have never been able to find it. Like the tomb of Moses the place is forgotten.
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A Bear Adventure.
In the Guardian of June 6th, 1874, appears this story :
"A few days ago, while Mr. G. W. Bayley, of this town, was camping in Coldwater canon, Temescal valley, he unintentionally became the hero of rather an exciting and dangerous adventure. While hunting Mr. Bayley became belated and lost his way. At last he stumbled upon a blind trail. While following it he suddenly came upon several animals, that, at first sight, he took to be hogs. He continued to advance, but the hogs, very impolitely, held the pass. Mr. Bayley at last stopped still, upon which two of the larger animals advanced and upon their nearer approach Mr. Bayley found to his horror that they were bear. Here was a dilemma. His gun was not loaded and he was out of ammunition. The bears advanced, fol- lowed by their cubs. Bayley did some quick thinking. To run was sure destruction-to go forward-the same. With admirable presence of mind, he picked up two stones, struck them together and raising his voice to its loudest pitch, shouted long and loud. The bears paused in wonder; their wonder soon became alarm and then a panic-they turned tail, and followed by their cubs bolted for the brush. Undoubtedly Mr. Bayley's happy pres- ence of mind saved his life."
W. F. Holcomb's Bear Story.
When we first located in Holcomb Valley, Jo Caldwell, a big, good- natured fellow, a kind of leader in our company, said to me one day at din- ner, "Bill, take your gun and go and see if you can't get a bear."
"Well," I said, "suppose you go and try your luck." He only laughed ; for he had once been knocked down and run over by a grizzly-and he didn't hunt bear.
After dinner I started out and had only reached the lower valley- about four hundred rods distant, when I saw four bear out in the open valley and so busy digging for mice and gophers, that I was able with but little difficulty to approach them. I took careful aim and brought down one of them. The others immediately gathered around the wounded one in a great rage and fighting among themselves. Three more shots as fast as I could reload and shoot and all was over. The four bear lay dead within a few feet of each other.
I returned to camp within half an hour after I left it and met Jo Cald- well, who called, "Well, Bill -- what did you kill?" "Oh, nothing, I answered -- except four bear."
"Is that all!" said he, "why I could do better than that with a club."
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A Desperate Struggle With a Bear.
"About five weeks ago, James O'Conner, a some time resident of San Bernardino, had a desperate, and nearly, to him, fatal fight with a grizzly in the San Jacinto mountains. It seems that, while hunt- ing, he encountered a monster grizzly, which, startled at his near approach, instantly attacked him. O'Conner shot and hit his bear- ship, but not fatally, for the bear, more ferocious than at first, rushed on him, and striking him in the ribs, several of which he broke, knocked him down and seized his arm, which he crushed fearfully. At this juncture, O'Conner's dog, a little white half-breed bull-dog, which he got from Mr. McCall, of this town, appeared on the scene, and catching the bear by the hind leg, hung on to it with true bull-dog pertinacity. The bear let go O'Connor to attend to the dog, when O'Conner, though brusied and bleed- ing, poured another shot into the monster, but failed as before to strike him vitally. The bear now turned from the dog to the man, knocking the latter down and lacerating his scalp fearfully. With one blow of his paw he all but scalped the gallant mountaineer, besides tearing him fearfully about the shoulders, and mashing his left arm into a shapeless mass. O'Conner now, knowing his knife the last chance, drew it, and with his fast failing strength plunged it in the bear's body, who thereupon took flight."-San Bernardino Guardian, Sept. 7, 1874.
"Some hunters were witness to a desperate fight in the San Jacinto mountains, the other day, between a mountain lion and a bear. The fight is described as terrific. The superior strength of the bear easily enabled him to throw his antagonist down, but the latter used his paws and jaws so fearfully that the bear could not keep him under. Both animals were cov- ered with blood. They fought till both were exhausted, when the lion dragged himself off to the jungle, leaving the bruno in possession of the field, This victory was short-lived, however; he had barely time to congratulate himself, when a Henry bullet tore through his heart, ending his joys, sorrows, and victories. Alas! what a moral may be drawn from the unfortunate bruno."-San Bernardino Argus, 1873.
STORY OF A SAN BERNARDINO PIONEER. Hand-to-Hand Fight With a Grizzly.
Prominent among the names of the gold hunters of California stands that of John W. Searles. It is prominent, not alone because he made a suc- cess of his prospecting, but because he was one of the most experienced hun- ters of the grizzly bear the state has seen. It has been some years-more than a score -- since Mr. Searles hunted the king member of the bear family,
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for he has been too busily engaged in the borax business to spend time in the mountains. Moreover, his last encounter with one of the tribe was of a nature to cool the ardor even of such a sportsman as he. John R. Spears, the New York Sun correspondent who recently visited Death Valley, gives the following account of Bear-hunter Searles :
"I had heard that Mr. Searles was the hero of a terrible bear fight, and so when, in my journey over the deserts of California, I reached the San Bernardino Borax Mining Company's works, of which he is superintendent and chief owner, I took the first occasion to ask him about it," writes John R. Spears in the New York Sun. "He smiled through his bushy beard and eye- brows, and turning to a desk took a two-ounce bottle from a drawer and held it up. There were twenty-one pieces of broken bones and teeth in this bottle. Then he took an old Spencer rifle from a corner of the office and passed that to me. There were not only a number of dents in the stock, but one plainly noticeable in the top of the barrel. The bones and teeth in the bottle had been crushed from the lower jaw of Mr. Searles by the bite of a grizzly bear, while the dents in the rifle were made by the grizzly's teeth also.
I was then asked to put my hands among the dark brown whiskers just beginning to turn gray. There were dents in the jawbone on both sides that seemed to half cut it off. About this time I noticed that Mr. Searles could not readily turn his head. He had plainly been pretty well chewed up.
It was on the 15th of March, 1870, in the mountains of Kern county, Cal. Some time before that Mr. Searles, with others, had gone off from the settle- ment of Visalia for a month of sport with the deer in the mountains. Thev were in a part of the country neither had visited, and so had taken a guide along who had professed to know the haunts of the game, but for some reason they did not have much luck at first. However, Mr. Searles event- ually saw a big buck upon a ledge and, getting a shot, knocked it over a precipice as it ran, and thus scored the first kill.
Going to the edge of the precipice to look over and see where the game had fallen, Mr. Searles saw two full-grown grizzly bears and a cub half grown in the cañon below. Thereat he managed to get around close to the animals, piled one of them dead across the dead body of its mate, and as the third fled down a precipitous trail, threw it hand-spring fashion end over end with a bullet in the base of its head. It was this remarkable bag of game that sent Mr. Searles into the fight that so nearly took his life.
If Mr. Searles wanted grizzlies, why, another part of the mountains was the place, the guide said. There were two there that had been killing cattle for a long time, and they were not only large, but bold and ferocious. That was the kind of bears that Searles was looking for in those days, and away the outfit went. They reached the spot and pitched camp, but because of foul weather did not see the grizzlies, nor have any fun to speak of. Meantime Searles had shot away about all of his cartridges and sent for more after the
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fashion of those days-by hanging his order on a bush beside the stage road. The order included an empty cartridge box, but the stage driver threw the box away and then got the wrong cartridges, but Searles found that he could hammer the cartridges through the lock after trimming the bullet carefully, though it took two blows of the hammer to fire a cartridge when in the barrel, so he kept on hunting.
Then came the day when, with four of the right or old cartridges in the magazine, and the rest of the whittled kind, he started out on horseback, although the brush everywhere was covered with snow. Four miles from camp he tied his horse and then went poking about afoot. So it happened that as he walked along the side of a gulch he saw through the brush a big grizzly lying in a bed. He could see no more than its nose, but aiming low he let drive and rolled the brute over, when two more bullets finished it.
Working his way down, Searles cut the beast's throat and stood beside it pressing with a foot on its breast to make the blood flow, when a noise was heard in the thicket hard by. Nothing could be seen, but Searles knew the sound, and after a time found the trail of another bear.
By this time the afternoon was wearing away, and Searles was wet to the skin from the moist snow that covered the brush, but he took after the bear with all the ardor of a youth who had never seen grizzlies. He event- ually located the beast in a chaparral thicket, and worked about it for some time before getting a sight. Then, all at once, to the very great surprise of the hunter, the bear rose up on its hind legs with its nose not two feet away. It was impossible, because of brush, for Searles to back off even a step ; the best he could do was to point the rifle across his body as near as he could guess toward the base of the beast's jaw and pull the trigger, hoping to send a ball into its brain. As the gun was discharged the bear pitched over on his fore feet, gasping and pawing at its eyes where the flame of the cartridge had burned the hair, but it was only a little hurt.
As quick as thought Searles threw a new cartridge into the barrel, raised the rifle, and pointing at the base of the bear's brain, pulled the trigger. No explosion followed. It was one of the whittled cartridges and was not sent home. With another wrench on the lever Searles tried again and failed. A third time he strove in vain to fire the gun, and then the beast rose up and turned on him open-jawed. Searles jammed his rifle into its jaws, but it brushed the weapon aside, threw him to the ground, and with one foot on his breast bit off his lower jaw. The next bite was in the throat, severing the windpipe and laying bare the artery as well as the jugular vein, and then it grabbed the flesh of the shoulder, laying bare the bones and cutting a blood vessel, from which the blood spurted up so that Searles, lying there, saw it stream in a curve above his face.
As the bear pulled this mouthful of flesh clear of the bones its foot
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slipped and Searles rolled over. His coat was all in a hump on his back, and the bear bit into that once and then went away.
"What does a man think when a bear is tearing him to pieces?" was asked as Mr. Searles paused in his narrative.
"Twenty years in California to be killed at last by a -- - of a grizzly, is what I thought. I remember lying there and thinking so very well. I was disgusted," he replied.
He was as near dead as ever a live man was, but a part of his discomfort saved him. It was turning cold rapidly and the wet clothing began to freeze, and this sealed up the torn blood vessels. Then, in spite of his horrible con- dition, with his lower jaw dangling about his throat in shreds and his left arm useless-in spite of the most frightful pain-Mr. Searles managed to walk and crawl to his horse, to mount it, though it was a fractious beast, to ride four miles to camp, and to reach Los Angeles Hospital, a three days' journey away. He lived while the surgeons consulted over the best way to make him comfortable during the short time he had to live. When they talked about boring through sound upper teeth in order that they might wire the pieces of the lower jaw together and to the upper one, he even managed to kick one of them from the bedside half way to the other side of the room. Thereat they began to think he was not quite dead after all. Then one came who patched and pieced and sewed and plastered, and inspired hope, and in three weeks the old hunter was up and around, getting well in a way to astonish even the surgeon who had pulled him together.
LEGENDS OF ARROWHEAD.
It is natural that a figure so strongly marked, so distinctive in form and so plainly visible from many directions and from long distances, as in the "Arrowhead," should attract widespread attention and give rise to many legends concerning its supernatural origin. And this has been true of the sign known as the "Arrowhead" and blazed upon a mountain peak six miles to the northeast of the city of San Bernardino. The fact that the head of the ' gigantic arrow points directly to the cañon in which dozens of boiling hot springs rise from the ground has given added significance to its history in the eyes of the superstitious.
Indian Legend.
The primitive mind of the Indian always associates any unusual natural phenomena with the world of unseen spirits. It is said that the Coahuilla Indians, a peaceable and industrious tribe who populated the San Bernardino valley when the white man first entered it, related this story: Once they lived far to the eastward. Here they were much harassed by warlike neigh- bors, and at last were driven from their native habitat. Then their Good
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Spirit sent an arrow of fire, which like the Israelitish pillar of fire, guided them to the west and finally rested upon a mountain side above this beautiful and fertile valley, thus pointing out their new home.
The Mormon Legend.
As a matter of course, a Mormon story of a similar nature was told. According to this, Brigham Young had a vision of a mountain with a strange sign upon it. When the members of the Mormon Battalion told him of the San Bernardino valley and of the strange marking upon the mountain peak, he recognized his vision and knew that in this vicinity must be located his Pacific colony.
A Biblical Theory.
In 1881, a Citrus Fair was held at Riverside. A visiting member of the Press was so charmed with his surroundings that he advanced the theory that the San Bernardino valley had been the original Garden of Eden. When the Garden lost its pristine glory, the All-wise Architect stamped on a mioun- tain peak the only natural arrowhead mark to be found in the world, pointing to the lost Eden and indelibly marking the spot.
Another Indian Legend of the Arrowhead.
Long ago the Indians who inhabited the beautiful San Bernardino valley grew rich because of the fertile soil and the abundant streams that watered it. They were mighty in the land and they became selfish and proud and forgot the Great Spirit-the All-Ruler-who bestowed the abundance and the power. And the Great Father was displeased at their ingratitude and he sent out to this people a fierce, hot Spirit from the Sun-land, who drank their streams until they sank out of sight into the sand and drained their lakelets until only salt and bitter waters were left therein. Then the people gathered in council and built fast-fires and made offerings to appease the anger of their God. But the hot breath continued to devastate the earth and all green things dried into crisp deadness and the hot earth crumbled into ashes under their feet. The cattle and all animals perished and the Sun monster left only their bleaching bones behind. Then the people were seized with pestilence and with famine. And to all their prayers and their offerings for relief from this deadly heat monster, no answer came. In despair, the wailing Indians, kneeling with outstretched arms, offered to make any sac- rifice-even to their most precious life-if only this devouring monster might be satisfied.
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