Pen pictures from the garden of the world, or Santa Clara county, California, Part 8

Author: Foote, Horace S., ed
Publication date: 1888
Publisher: Chicago : The Lewis Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 844

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"The snow was so light and frosty that it would not bear us up, therefore we were not able to go out at all except to cut wood for the fire; and if that had not been near at hand I do not know what we should have done. None of us had ever seen snow-shoes, and of course had no idea how to make them, but finally Foster and Montgomery managed to make something they called a snow-shoe. I was only a boy and had no more idea of what a snow-shoe looked like than a Louisiana darkey. Their method of con- struction was this: Taking some of our wagon bows, which were of hickory and about half an inch thick,

PEN PICTURES FROM THE "GARDEN OF THE WORLD."

they bent them into an oblong shape forming a sort of hoop. This they filled with a network of rawhide. We were now able to walk on the snow to bring in our wood, and that was about all there was to do. There was no game. We went out several times but never saw anything. What could we expect to find in ten feet of snow? It would sometimes thaw a little during the day and freeze at night, which made a crust on the snow sufficiently thick to bear the weight of a coyote, or a fox, and we used sometimes to see the tracks of these animals, but we were never fortunate enough to get a sight of the animals them- selves.

"We now began to feel very blue, for there seemed no possible hope for us. We had already eaten about half our meat, and with the snow on the ground get- ting deeper and deeper each day, there was no chance for game. Death, the fearful, agonizing death by starvation, literally stared us in the face. At last, after due consideration, we determined to start for California on foot. Accordingly we dried some of our beef, and each of us carrying ten pounds of meat, a pair of blankets, a rifle and ammunition, we set out on our perilous journey. Not knowing how to fasten snow-shoes to our feet made it very fatiguing to walk with them. We fastened them heel and toe, and thus had to lift the whole weight of the shoe at every step, and as the shoe would necessarily sink down somewhat, the snow would crumble in on top of it, and in a short time each shoe weighed about ten pounds.

"Foster and Montgomery were matured men, and could consequently stand a greater amount of hardship than I, who was still a growing boy with weak muscles and a huge appetite, both of which were being used in exactly the reverse order designed by nature. Consequently, when we reached the sum- mit of the mountain about sunset that night, having traveled a distance of about fifteen miles, I was scarcely able to drag one foot after the other. The day had been a hard one for us all, but particularly painful to me. The awkward manner in which our snow-shoes were fastened to our feet made the mere act of walking the hardest kind of work. In addi- tion to this, about the middle of the afternoon I was seized with cramps. I fell down with them several times, and my companions had to wait for me, for it was impossible for me to move until the paroxysm had passed off. After each attack I would summon all my will power and press on, trying to keep up with the others. Toward evening, however, the at-

tacks became more frequent and painful, and I could not walk more than fifty yards without stopping to rest.

"When night came on we cut down a tree and with it built a fire on top of the snow. We then spread some pine brush for our beds, and after eating a little of our jerky and standing round our fire in a vain attempt to get warm, we laid down and tried to sleep. Although we were thoroughly exhausted, sleep would not come. Anxiety as to what might have been the fate of those who had preceded us, as well as uncertainty as to our fate, kept us awake all night. Every now and then one of us would rise to replenish the fire, which, though it kept us from freez- ing, could not make us comfortable. When daylight came we found that our fire had melted the snow in a circle of about fifteen feet in diameter, and had sunk to the ground a distance also of about fifteen feet. The fire was so far down that we could not get to it, but as we had nothing to cook, it made but little difference. We ate our jerky while we deliberated as to what we should do next. I was so stiff that I could hardly move, and my companions had grave doubts as to whether I could stand the journey. If I should give out they could afford me no assistance, and I would necessarily be left to perish in the snow. I fully realized the situation, and told them that I would re- turn to the cabin and live as long as possible on the quarter of beef that was still there, and when it was all gone I would start out again alone for California. They reluctantly assented to my plan, and promised that if they ever got to California and it was possible to get back, they would return to my assistance.

" We did not say much at parting. Our hearts were too full for that. There was simply a warm clasp of the hand accompanied by the familiar word, ' Good-by,' which we all felt might be the last words we should ever speak to each other. The feeling of lone- liness that came over me as the two men turned away I cannot express, though it will never be forgotten, while the, ' Good-by, Mose,' so sadly and reluctantly spoken, rings in my ears to-day. I desire to say here that both Foster and Montgomery were brave, warm- hearted men, and it was by no fault of theirs that I was thus left alone. It would only have made mat- ters worse for either of them to remain with me, for the quarter of beef at the cabin would last me longer alone, and thus increase my chances of escape. While our decision was a sad one, it was the only one that could be made.

" My companions had not been long out of sight

PEN PICTURES FROM THE "GARDEN OF THE WORLD."

before my spirits began to revive, and I began to think, like Micawber, that something might 'turn up.' So I strapped on my blankets and dried beef, shouldered my gun, and began to retrace my steps to the cabin. It had frozen during the night and this enabled me to walk on our trail without the snow-shoes. This was a great relief, but the exertion and sickness of the day before had so weakened me that I think I was never so tired in my life as when, just a little before dark, I came in sight of the cabin. The door-sill was only nine inches high, but I could not step over it without taking my hands to raise my leg. * * As soon as I was able to crawl around * the next morning I put on my snow-shoes, and, tak- ing my rifle, scoured the country thoroughly for foxes. The result was as I had expected-just as it had always been-plenty of tracks, but no fox.

"Discouraged and sick at heart, I came in from my fruitless search and prepared to pass another night of agony. As I put my gun in the corner, my eyes fell upon some steel traps that Captain Stevens had brought with him and left behind in his wagon. In an instant the thought flashed across my mind, 'If I can't shoot a coyote or fox, why not trap one.' There was inspiration in the thought, and my spirits began to rise immediately. The heads of the two cows I cut to pieces for bait, and, having raked the snow from some fallen trees, and found other sheltered places, I set my traps. That night I went to bed with a lighter heart, and was able to get some sleep.

"As soon as daylight came I was out to inspect the traps. I was anxious to see them and still I dreaded to look. After some hesitation I commenced theexamina- tion, and to my great delight I found in one of them a starved coyote. I soon had his hide off and his flesh roasted in a Dutch oven. I ate this meat, but it was horrible. I next tried boiling him, but it did not im- prove the flavor. I cooked him in every possible manner my imagination, spurred by hunger, could suggest, but could not get him into a condition where he could be eaten without revolting my stomach. But for three days this was all I had to eat. On the third night I caught two foxes. I roasted one of them, and the meat, though entirely devoid of fat, was delicious. I was so hungry that I could easily have eaten a fox at two meals, but I made one last me two days.

"I often took my gun and tried to find something to shoot, but in vain. Once I shot a crow that seemed to have got out of his latitude and stopped on a tree near the cabin. I stewed the crow, but it was difficult for me to decide which I liked best, crow or coyote.

I now gave my whole attention to trapping, having found how useless it was to hunt for game. I caught, on an average, a fox in two days, and every now and then a coyote. These last-named animals I carefully hung up under the brush shed on the north side of the cabin, but I never got hungry enough to eat one of them again. There were eleven hanging there when I came away. I never really suffered for something to eat, but was in almost continual anxiety for fear the supply would give out. For instance, as soon as one meal was finished I began to be distressed for fear I could not get another one. My only hope was that the supply of foxes would not become exhausted.

"One morning two of my traps contained foxes. Having killed one, I started for the other, but, before I could reach it, the fox had left his foot in the trap and started to run. I went as fast as I could to the cabin for my gun, and then followed him. He made for a creek about a hundred yards from the house, into which he plunged and swam across. He was scram- bling up the opposite bank when I reached the creek. In my anxiety at the prospect of losing my breakfast, I had forgotten to remove a greasy wad that I usually kept in the muzzle of my gun to prevent it from rust- ing, and when I fired, the ball struck the snow about a foot above reynard's back. I reloaded as rapidly as possible, and as the gun was one of the old-fashioned flint-locks that primed itself, it did not require much time. But, short as the time was, the fox had gone about forty yards when I shot him. Now the problem was to get him to camp. The water in the stream was about two and a half feet deep and icy cold. But I plunged in, and, on reaching the other side, waded for forty yards through the snow, into which I sank to my arms, secured my game, and returned the way I came. I relate this incident to illustrate how much affection I had for the fox. It is strange that I never craved anything to eat but good fat meat. For bread or vegetables I had no desire. Salt I had in plenty, but never used. I had just coffee enough for one cup, and that I saved for Christmas.

"My life was more miserable than I can describe. The daily struggle for life and the uncertainty under which I labored were very wearing. I was always worried and anxious, not about myself alone, but in regard to the fate of those who had gone forward. I would lie awake nights and think of these things, and revolve in my mind what I would do when the supply of foxes became exhausted. The quarter of beef I had not touched, and I resolved to dry it, and, when the foxes were all gone, to take my gun, blankets, and

PEN PICTURES FROM THE "GARDEN OF THE WORLD."

dried beef and follow in the footsteps of my former companions.

"Fortunately, I had a plenty of books, Dr. Town- send having brought out quite a library. I used often to read aloud, for I longed for some sound to break the oppressive stillness. For the same reason, I would talk aloud to myself. At night I built large fires and read by the light of the pine knots as late as possible, in order that I might sleep late the next morning, and thus cause the days to seem shorter. What I wanted most was enough to eat, and the next thing I tried hardest to do was to kill time. I thought the snow would never leave the ground, and the few months I had been living here seemed years.

"One evening, a little before sunset, about the last of February, as I was standing a short distance from my cabin, I thought I could distinguish the form of a man moving towards me. I first thought it was an Indian, but very soon I recognized the familiar face of Dennis Martin. My feelings can be better imagined than de- scribed. He relieved my anxiety about those of our party who had gone forward with the wagons. They had all arrived safely in California and were then in camp on the Yuba. They were all safe, although some of them had suffered much from hunger. Mrs. Patterson and her children had eaten nothing for four- teen days but rawhides. Mr. Martin had brought a small amount of provisions on his back, which were shared among them. All the male portion of the party, except Foster and Montgomery, had joined Captain Sutter and gone to the Micheltorena war. Dr. Townsend was surgeon of the corps. My sister, Mrs. Townsend, hearing that Mr. Martin was about to return to pilot the emigrants out of the wilderness, begged him to extend his journey a little farther and lend a helping hand to l'er brother Moses. He con- sented to do so, and here he was. Being a Canadian, he was accustomed to snow-shoes, and soon showed me how to fix mine so I could travel with less than half the labor. He made the shoe a little narrower, and fastened it to the foot only at the tor, thus mak- ing the heel a little heavier, so that the shoe would drag on the snow instead of having to be lifted at every step."

The next morning after Martin's arrival at the cabin he and Schallenberger started to return. Schallen- berger's scanty diet and limited exercise rendered this a rather trying journey for him. But they arrived safely at the emigrants' camp, which, during Martin's absence, had been moved two days' journey down the hills. At this camp was born to Mr. and Mrs. Martin

Murphy a daughter, the first white child born in California. She was named Elizabeth, and afterwards married Mr. William Taaffe.

To make this history complete, we must return to the party which, separating from the wagons at the forks of the Truckee, followed the main stream. They continued up the river to Lake Tahoe, and were the first white people to look upon that beautiful body of water. Here they crossed the river, keeping on the west side of the lake for some distance, and then struck across the hills to the headwaters of the Ameri- can River, which they followed down to the valley. This route was exceedingly rough, much more so than the one up the Truckee on the other side. The American River was wider and deeper than the Truckee, and fully as crooked. They were compelled to cross it many times, and frequently their horses were compelled to swim, and the current was so swift as to make this a very hazardous undertaking. Mrs. Townsend rode an Indian pony, which was an ex- cellent swimmer. She would ride him across the river and then send him back by one of the boys for Ellen Murphy. Once this pony lost his feet. He had crossed the river several times and was nearly worn out. John Murphy had ridden him back to get a pack saddle, and on returning, the pony fell. John, though an excellent swimmer, had a narrow escape from drowning. The water was running with the force of a mill race, while the bed of the stream was full of huge rocks, against which he was dashed and disabled from swimming. The party on the banks were paralyzed with terror as he was swept down the raging torrent. Recovering themselves, they hurried down the stream, expecting at every step to see his mangled body thrown upon the shore. But John had not lost his head in his deadly peril. Watching his opportunity, as he was swept under a willow tree which grew on the bank, he seized the overhanging branches and held on with a death grip until he was rescued. The ice-cold water and the mauling he had received from the rocks rendered him unconscious. A warm fire restored him to his senses, but it was many days before he fully recovered from the shock caused by his involuntary bath.

The party were twenty-one days in getting to the valley. They did not suffer for food, for they were soon out of the snow and in a game country. John and. Dan Murphy were excellent hunters, and there was no scarcity of meat. If game was scarce there was plenty of cattle roaming about, which made star- vation impossible, They followed the American River

PEN PICTURES FROM THE "GARDEN OF THE WORLD."

until they came to St. Clair's ranch, where they stopped for some time. Mr. and Mrs. St. Clair re- ceived them with a warm hospitality, which excited the liveliest feelings of gratitude in the hearts of the emigrants. These feelings were mingled with remorse when they thought of the number of St. Clair's calves that had been killed on the way down the river. They had, of course, intended to pay for them, but just at that time they had no money. The idea of accept- ing the hospitality of a man whose cattle they had killed, worked on their feelings until it nearly broke their hearts. The teachings of their father, the old patriarch, had kept their consciences tender, and they held many secret consultations as to what should be done in the premises.

They finally determined to confess. The lots cast for spokesman elected Dan Murphy, but it was agreed that all should be present to give him their moral support. Dan opened the interview by carelessly in- quiring who owned all those calves that they had en- countered coming down the river. St. Clair said he guessed they all belonged to him. "Well," said Dan, "there's a good bunch of them. What are calves about three months old worth in this country?" St. Clair told him. "Well," resumed Dan, "we killed some of them to eat, and we haven't got any money to pay you now, but if you will let us work out the price we will be very much obliged." The earnest- ness of the boys amused Mr. St. Clair very much, and when he told them that they were welcome to the calves they had killed, and as many more as they wanted to eat, they retired from the interview with a great load lifted from their consciences.

From St. Clair's they went down to Sutter's, arriv- ing there about the same time that the men from the wagons got in. Here they found great excitement. Micheltorena had been appointed by the Mexican Government as Governor of California, with both civil and military authority. The former officials, Alvarado and Vallejo, had resolved to resist his authority, and had joined with them General Castro. The native Californians were very jealous of the for- eigners, especially the immigrants from the United States. Taking advantage of this feeling, the revolu- tionists had roused the country and collected quite a formidable army. Whatever may have been the in- tention of the leaders, it was openly talked by the rank and file, that, after they had settled their difficulty with Micheltorena, they would drive the foreigners from the country. The Murphy party had not come two thousand miles across deserts and mountains to

be driven back into the hills without an effort in their own defense, and without hesitation they joined a company that Captain Sutter was raising for the as- sistance of Micheltorena, who held the legal com- mission as Governor of California. With this com- pany they went South, doing good service in the cam- paign as far as Santa Barbara. Here, there being no further necd of their services, they started to return to their women and children, whom they had left with the wagons on the Yuba.

Here was another instance of the indomitable cour- age of these men. The whole country had been roused against Micheltorena and the foreigners, and here was a handful of these same foreigners who had been ar- rayed against them in every movement from the Sacra- mento to Santa Barbara, now returning alone through this hostile country with no protection but their trusty rifles. The boldness of the act was only equaled by the skill which enabled them to make the return journey without firing a hostile gun. It seems as if the hand of Providence had upheld them through all their tribulations and dangers, and preserved them for some great destiny.

They arrived at the wagons about the same time that Schallenberger was rescued by Dennis Martin from his perilous situation in the cabin by Donner Lake. About the time Schallenberger joined the wagons, with Martin, a man named Neil, who had been sent by Captain Sutter, with a supply of provis- ions and horses, arrived at the camp. The emigrants now were in a very cheerful frame of mind, being only one day's march from the plains, and the end of their year's journey in sight. The next day they pushed on, all mounted, some with saddles, some with pack-saddles, and some bare-back, and that night camped at the edge of the valley, on the banks of Bear River. This was the first of March, just one year from the time they left Missouri. They found Bear River full and still rising, from the melting snow in the mountains and the heavy rainfall of the season. There was no bridge or ferry, and an attempt was made to find a tree of sufficient length to reach across, but in vain. In this search for a tree Mr. Neil, who had gone down the stream, was cut off from the main- land by the rapidly rising waters, leaving him on a little island, which was soon submerged, and as he could not swim, he was compelled to climb a tree. His cries for help finally reached the ears of those in camp, and Schallenberger and John Murphy, each mounting a horse and leading a third one, swam into the foamingtorrent and brought him safely to the shore,

PEN PICTURES FROM THE "GARDEN OF THE WORLD."

Again the affairs of the emigrants began to assume a gloomy aspect. Bear River had overrun its banks until it was ten miles wide. The small supply of provisions sent in by Captain Sutter had been cx- hausted. Two deer had been killed, but this afforded scarcely a mouthful each to so large a party. There was no direction in which they could move except to return to the hills, and this would only be making their condition worse. Three days passed with no food. They could hear the lowing of the cattle across the river, and now and then could discern the grace- ful forms of herds of antelope on the other side of the water. Mr. Schallenberger relates an incident that occurred at this time. The Hon. B. D. Murphy was then a little chap only four years old. As Schal- lenberger was sitting on a wagon-tongue, whittling a stick and meditating on the hollowness of all earthly things, and especially of the human stomach, little Barney approached him and asked if he would lend him his knife. "Certainly," replied Schallenberger, "but what do you want to do with it?" " I want to make a toothpick," said Barney. The idea of needing a toothpick when none of the party had tasted food for three days was so ridiculous that Schallenberger for- got the emptiness of his stomach and laughed heartily.

There was a large band of wild horses belonging to Captain Sutter, which were ranging in the foot-hills on that side of the river where the emigrants' camp was located. The question of killing one of these had been seriously discussed. The proposition had been earnestly opposed by Martin Murphy, who had declared that it was not food fit for human beings, and that although in the last stages of starvation his stomach would revolt at such diet. The respect that the young men had for Mr. Murphy restrained them from committing equicide for some time. But at last it became a question of horse meat or starvation.

One morning Mr. Murphy rode back over the trail to see if he could find any trace of an ox that they had lost on the march, while Schallenberger and Dennis Martin went hunting for something to eat. Returning empty handed, it was decided to kill a horse. Accordingly, Neil drove the band as near camp as possible, and Schallenberger shot a fine, fat two-year old filly. Mr. Murphy did not arrive until the meat had been dressed and was roasting before the fire. He had been unsuccessful in his search and was delighted to find that the boys had succeeded. With his face glowing with pleasure in anticipation of the feast, he inquired, "Who killed the heifer?" The party pointed to Schallenberger, and Mr, Murphy,

patting him on the shoulder, exclaimed: "Good boy, good boy, but for you we might all have starved!" When the meat was cooked he ate of it, eloquently praising its juicy tenderness and fine flavor, which, he said, surpassed any meat he had ever tasted. About the time he had satisfied his appetite, his brother- in-law, James Miller, drew out the filly's mane from behind a log, exhibited it to Mr. Murphy, and asked him to see what queer horns they had taken from the heifer of which he had just been eating so heartily. Mr. Murphy's stomach immediately rebelled, and he returned to the ground the dinner which he had caten with so much relish, saying, when he had recovered from his paroxysm, that he thought he had detected a peculiarly bad taste about that meat. He never, by any artifice, could be induced to taste horse flesh again.

Soon after this, the waters receded sufficiently to allow the party to reach Feather River, where, near Hick's Farm, Captain Sutter had prepared a boat to ferry them across. Here the vaqueros brought them a fine fat cow, and, for the first time in many months, they had what Schallenberger called a "good square meal."

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Pen pictures from the garden of the world, or Santa Clara county, California, Part 8

Author: Foote, Horace S., ed Publication date: 1888 Publisher: Chicago : The Lewis Pub. Co. Number of Pages: 844

Author: Foote, Horace S., ed
Publication date: 1888
Publisher: Chicago : The Lewis Pub. Co.
Number of Pages: 844