THE VARIOUS NAMES OF LAKE TAHOE
We have already seen that Frémont, the discoverer of Lake Tahoe, first
called it Lake Bonpland, after Humboldt's scientific co-traveler.
That name, however, never came in general use. When the great westward
emigration began it seemed naturally to be called by its Indian name,
Tahoe.
In _Innocents Abroad_ Mark Twain thus petulantly and humorously
expresses his dislike of the name, Tahoe, and sarcastically defines
its meaning.
"Sorrow and misfortune overtake the legislature that still
from year to year permits Tahoe to retain its unmusical
cognomen! Tahoe! It suggests no crystal waters, no picturesque
shores, no sublimity. Tahoe for a sea in the clouds; a sea
that has character, and asserts it in solemn calms, at times,
at times in savage storms; a sea, whose royal seclusion is
guarded by a cordon of sentinel peaks that lift their frosty
fronts nine thousand feet above the level world; a sea
whose every aspect is impressive, whose belongings are all
beautiful, whose lonely majesty types the Deity!
"Tahoe means grasshoppers. It means grasshopper soup. It
is Indian, and suggestive of Indians. They say it is
Pi-ute--possibly it is Digger. I am satisfied it was named
by the Diggers--those degraded savages who roast their dead
relatives, then mix the human grease and ashes of bones with
tar, and 'gaum' it thick all over their heads and foreheads
and ears, and go caterwauling about the hills and call it
_mourning_. _These_ are the gentry that named the
Lake.
"People say that Tahoe means 'Silver Lake'--'Limpid
Water'--'Falling Leaf.' Bosh! It means grasshopper soup, the
favorite dish of the Digger tribe--and of the Pi-utes as well.
It isn't worth while, in these practical times, for people to
talk about Indian poetry--there never was any in them--except
in the Fenimore Cooper Indians. But _they_ are an extinct
tribe that never existed. I know the Noble Red Man. I have
camped with the Indians; I have been on the warpath with them,
taken part in the chase with them--for grasshoppers; helped
them steal cattle; I
have roamed with them, scalped them, had them for breakfast. I
would gladly eat the whole race if I had a chance.
"But I am growing unreliable."
With all due deference to the wisdom--as well as the humor--of Mark
Twain as applied to Lake Tahoe, I emphatically disagree with him as to
the Indians of the Tahoe region, and also as to the name of the Lake.
Tahoe is quite as good-sounding a name as Como, Lucerne, Katrine or
Lomond. A name, so long as it is euphonious, is pleasing or not, more
because of its associations than anything else. The genuine Indian,
as he was prior to the coming of the white man, was uncorrupted,
uncivilized, unvitiated, undemoralized, undiseased in body, mind and
soul, a nature-observer, nature-lover and nature-worshiper. He was
full of poetic conceptions and fired with a vivid imagination that
created stories to account for the existence of unusual, peculiar or
exceptional natural objects, that, in brilliancy of conception, daring
invention, striking ingenuity and vigor of detail _surpass_, or
at least equal, the best imaginative work of Kipling or _Mark Twain
himself_. It seems to me that his--the Indian's--name for this
Lake--Tahoe--is both euphonious and full of poetic and scientific
suggestion. It is poetic in that it expresses in a word the unequaled
height and purity of so large a body of water, and scientific in that
it is truthful and accurate.
But Frémont, the discoverer, evidently did not ask or seek to know its
Indian name. As stated elsewhere he erroneously conceived it to be the
headquarters of one of the forks of the American river, flowing into
the Sacramento, and he so depicts it on his map, giving to it the two
names "Mountain Lake" or "Lake Bonpland." But neither of these names
was acceptable and they practically dropped out of sight.
When the first actual determination of Tahoe's outlet through the
Truckee River was made is not definitely known, but its approximate
location was well enough established in 1853 to enable the official
map-maker of the new State of California to depict it with reasonable
accuracy, and, for some reason, to name it Lake Bigler, after John
Bigler, the third Governor of California.
Citizens are still living both in Nevada and California who well
remember when the Lake held this name, and the majority of people
undoubtedly used it until 1862. Officially, also, it was known as Lake
Bigler in 1862, for in the Nevada _Statutes_ there is recorded
an Act approved December 19, 1862, authorizing certain parties to
construct a railroad "to be known as the _Lake Bigler and Virginia
Railroad Co_., to commence at a point on the Kingsbury-McDonald
road known as the Kingsbury and McDonald Toll House, thence along the
southern and eastern shores of _Lake Bigler_, and in most direct
practical route, to the divide between Virginia City and Washoe Valley
on east side Washoe Lake, over and through the most practical pass
to Virginia City," and a further right to construct branch road from
Virginia to Carson City, Nevada.
In 1861, however, while Downey was Governor of California (he having
been elected Lieut. Governor, and taking the office on the resignation
of Governor Latham in January 1860), an attempt was made to change the
name from Bigler to the fanciful one of Tula Tulia, but fortunately it
failed and the old name remained in general use.
But in 1862 another effort was made in an entirely different direction
and this time with success. It was brought about through the work
of William Henry Knight, still living in Los Angeles, who has kindly
furnished the following account:
In the year 1859 I was the youngest member of an overland company
which crossed the plains and mountains from St. Joseph, Mo., to
California. Our train was in three divisions and consisted of
about twenty persons, and forty horses and mules.
One morning in the middle of August we left our camp at the
eastern base of the double summit of the Sierra Nevadas and
began our ascent. Mounted on my faithful steed, Old Pete, I
pushed on in advance of the caravan, in order to get the first
view of the already famous mountain lake, then known as Lake
Bigler. The road wound through the defile and around the
southern border of the Lake on the margin of which we camped
for two days.
As I approached the summit I turned from the main road and
followed a trail to the right which led to the top of a
bare rock overlooking the valley beyond and furnishing an
unobstructed view.
Thus my first view of that beautiful sheet of water was from a
projecting cliff 1000 feet above its surface, and it embraced
not only the entire outline of the Lake with its charming bays
and rocky headlands but also the magnificent forests of giant
pines and firs in which it was embosomed, and the dozen or
more lofty mountain peaks thrusting their white summits into
the sky at altitudes varying from 8000 to 11,000 feet above
sea level.
The view was, indeed, the most wonderful combination of
towering mountains, widespreading valley, gleaming lakes,
umbrageous forests, rugged buttresses of granite, flashing
streams, tumbling waterfalls, and overarching sky of deepest
cerulean hue--all blended into one perfect mosaic of the
beautiful, the picturesque, and the majestic, that mortal eye
ever rested upon.
No imagination can conceive the beauty, sublimity and
inspiration of that scene, especially to one who had for weary
months been traversing dusty, treeless and barren plains. The
contrast was overwhelming. Tears filled my eyes as I gazed
upon the fairy scene. I recall the entrancing picture to-day,
in all its splendid detail, so vividly was it photographed
upon my brain.
Since that hour I have crossed the continent ten times, over
various railway routes, visited most of the States of the
Union, and seven foreign countries, heard the testimony of
others whose travels have been world-wide, and I doubt if
another scene of equal enchantment exists on the face of the
globe.
In 1861, two years after my visit to Tahoe, I gathered the
data for compiling the first general map of the Pacific
States, which embraced the region from British Columbia to
Mexico, and from the Rocky Mountains to the coast. It was
ready for the engraver in February, 1862. I had instructed
the draughtsman, V. Wackenreuder, afterward connected with
the State Geological Survey, to omit the name of Lake Bigler,
which was on contemporary maps.
I invited John S. Hittell, editor of the _Alta
California_, a leading San Francisco daily, and Dr.
Henry DeGroot, writer on the _Evening Bulletin_ and
correspondent of the able _Sacramento Union_, to come
round to Bancroft's publishing house and inspect the map.
Dr. DeGroot had just returned from a visit to the Comstock
silver mines in the Washoe district of Western Nevada. He
suddenly turned to me and said: "Why, Knight, you have left
off the name of Lake Bigler." I remarked that many people had
expressed dissatisfaction with that name, bestowed in honor of
a Governor of California who had not distinguished himself by
any signal achievement, and I thought that now would be a good
time to select an appropriate name and fix it forever on that
beautiful sheet of water.
The suggestion met with favor, and several names were
proposed--Washington, Lincoln, then war President, Frémont, an
early explorer, and other historic names. I asked Dr. DeGroot
if he knew what the native Indians called the Lake.
He drew a memorandum from his pocket and read over a list of
Indian names local to that region, and exclaimed: "Here it is;
they call it 'Tahoe,' meaning 'big water,' or 'high water,' or
'water in a high place.' The word rhymes with Washoe."
I did not quite like the name at first mention, but its
significance was so striking that I asked if they--Hittell
and DeGroot--would favor its adoption and back it up with the
support of their newspapers, and they agreed to do so.
They advocated the adoption of the new name in their
respective journals, the country papers almost unanimously
fell into line, I inserted it on the map which bore my
name--William Henry Knight--as compiler, and which was
published by the Bancroft house in 1862.
I immediately wrote to the Land Office at Washington,
reported what I had done, and the sentiment that prevailed in
California, and requested the Federal official to substitute
the name of Tahoe for Bigler on the next annual map to be
issued by his office, and in all the printed matter of the
Department of the Interior thereafter. This was done.
But a curious thing happened. Nevada was under a territorial
government appointed by the Democratic administration of
President Buchanan. The Territorial Legislature was in session
when the subject was agitated by the California newspapers. A
young statesman of that body, thirsting for fame, rose to
his feet and in vociferous tones and with frenzied gestures,
denounced this high-handed action of California in changing
the name of that Lake without consulting the sister
commonwealth of Nevada, as, according to the map, half of
that noble sheet of water was in Nevada, and such action would
require joint jurisdiction. But his impassioned words were
wasted on the desert air of the Sagebrush State. He could not
muster enough votes to enact his indignation into a law,
and the calm surface of Lake Tahoe was unruffled by the
tempestuous commotion raging in legislative halls at Carson
City.
It was thus that the beautiful, euphonious, and significant
name of "Tahoe" was first placed on my own map, and
subsequently appeared on all other maps of the State, because
it was universally accepted as a fitting substitute for the
former name of "Bigler." A traveled writer refers to the Lake
and the name selected in these terms:
"Thus it was that we went to Lake Tahoe, the beautiful 'Big
Water' of the Washoe Indians--Tahoe with the indigo shade of
its waters emphasized by its snow-capped setting. The very
first glance lifts one's soul above the petty cares of the
lower valleys, and one feels the significance of the Indian
title--'Big Water'--not referring to size alone, but to the
greatness of influence, just as the all-pervading Power is the
'Big Spirit.'"
One would naturally think that there had been changes enough. But
no! In spite of the fact that the Federal government had accepted the
change to Tahoe, and that the popular usage had signified the general
approval of the name, the Hon. W.A. King, of Nevada County, during the
Governorship of Haight, in California, introduced into the assembly
a bill declaring that Lake Bigler should be "the official name of
the said lake and the only name to be regarded as legal in official
documents, deeds, conveyances, leases and other instruments of writing
to be placed on state or county records, or used in reports made by
state, county or municipal officers."
Historian Hittell thus comments on this: "The bill, which appears to
have been well modulated to the taste and feelings of the legislature,
went through with great success. It passed the Assembly on February
1, the Senate on February 7; and on February 10 it was approved by
the Governor. It remains a monument, if not to Bigler, at least to the
legislature that passed it; while the name of the Lake will doubtless
continue to be _Tahoe_ and its sometime former designation of
_Bigler_ be forgotten."
Now if Mark Twain really objected to the name Tahoe why did he not
join the Biglerites and insist upon the preservation of that name?
On the Centennial Map of 1876 it was named "Lake Bigler or Lake
Tahoe," showing that some one evidently was aware that, officially, it
was still _Lake Bigler_.
And so, in fact, it is to this date, as far as _official_ action
can make it so, and it is interesting to conjecture what the results
might be were some malicious person, or some "legal-minded stickler
for rigid adherence to the law," to bring suit against those whose
deeds, titles, leases, or other documents declare it to be Lake Tahoe.