I RETURN TO GRANDMA--WAR RUMORS AT THE FORT--LINGERING HOPE THAT MY
MOTHER MIGHT BE LIVING--AN INDIAN CONVOY--THE BRUNNERS AND THEIR HOME.
The Spring of 1848 was at hand when my brother-in-law said to me,
"Grandma Brunner wants you to come back to her; and if, you would like
to go, I'll take you to the Fort, as soon as the weather changes, and
leave you with the people who are getting ready to move north and are
willing to take you with them to Sonoma, where grandma now lives."
The storm was not over, but the day was promising, when my bundle of
clothes was again on the pommel of the saddle, and I ready to begin my
journey. I was so excited that I could hardly get around to say
good-bye to those who had gathered to see me off. We returned by the
same route that we had followed out on that warm June day, but
everything seemed different. The catkins on the willows were forming
and the plain was green with young grass.
As we neared the Fort we passed a large camp of fine-looking Indians
who, I was told, were the friendly Walla-Wallas, that came every spring
to trade ponies, and otter, and beaver-skins with Captain Sutter for
provisions, blankets, beads, gun caps, shot, and powder.
A large emigrant wagon stood near the adobe house where my new
brother-in-law drew rein. Before dismounting, he reached back, took me
by the arm and carefully supported me as I slid from the horse to the
ground. I was so stiff that I could hardly stand, but he led me to the
door where we were welcomed by a good-natured woman, to whom he said,
"Well, Mrs. Lennox, you see I've brought the little girl. I don't think
she'll be much trouble, unless she talks you to death."
Then he told her that I had, during the ride, asked him more questions
than a man six times his size could answer. But she laughed, and
"'lowed" that I couldn't match either of her three boys in asking
questions, and then informed him that she did not "calculate on making
the move until the roads be dryer and the weather settled." She
promised, however, that I should have good care until I could be handed
over to the Brunners. After a few words with her in private Perry
McCoon bade me good-bye, and passed out of my life forever.
I was now again with emigrants who had crossed the plains in 1846, but
who had followed the Fort Hall route and so escaped the misfortunes
that befell the Donner Party.
Supper over, Mrs. Lennox made me a bed on the floor in the far corner
of the room. I must have fallen asleep as soon as my head touched the
pillow, for I remember nothing more until I was awakened by voices, and
saw the candle still burning and Mrs. Lennox and two men and a woman
sitting near the table. The man speaking had a shrill voice, and his
words were so terrifying that I shook all over; my hair felt as though
it were trying to pull itself out by its roots; a cold sweat dampened
my clothes. I was afraid to move or to turn my eyes. Listening, I tried
to remember how many Indians he was talking about. I knew it must be a
great many, for it was such a long word. After they went away and the
house was dark, I still seemed to see his excited manner and to hear
him say:
"Mrs. Lennox, we've got to get out of here right away, for I heard tell
at the store before I come up that there's bound to be an Injun
outbreak. Them savages from Sonora are already on their way up, and
they'll kill and scalp every man, woman, and child they can ketch, and
there's nothing to keep them from ketching us, if we stay at this here
little fort any longer."
I lay awake a long while. I did not dare call out because I imagined
some of those Indians might have got ahead of the rest and be sneaking
up to our house at that very moment. I wondered where I could hide if
they should climb through the window, and I felt that Georgia would
never know what had become of me, if they should kill and scalp me.
As soon as Mrs. Lennox stirred in the morning, I ran to her and had a
good cry. She threatened all sorts of things for the man who had caused
me such torture, and declared that he believed everything he heard. He
did not seem to remember how many hundred miles away Sonora was, nor
how many loaded cannon there were at the Fort. I felt better satisfied,
however, when she told me that she had made up her mind to start for
Sonoma the next day.
After breakfast her younger boys wanted to see the Walla-Wallas, and
took me along. A cold breath from the Sierra Nevadas made me look up
and shiver. Soon Captains Sutter and Kern passed us, the former on his
favorite white horse, and the latter on a dark bay. I was delighted to
catch a glimpse of those two good friends, but they did not know it.
They had been to see the Indian ponies, and before we got to the big
gate, they had gone in and the Walla-Wallas were forming in line on
both sides of the road between the gate and the front of the store.
Only two Indians at a time were allowed to enter the building, and as
they were slow in making their trades, we had a good chance to see them
all. The men, the boys, and most of the women were dressed in fringed
buckskin suits and their hands and faces were painted red, as the Sioux
warriors of Fort Laramie painted their cheeks.
The Lennox boys took greatest interest in the little fellows with the
bows and arrows, but I could not keep my eyes from the young princess,
who stood beside her father, the chief. She was all shimmering with
beads. They formed flowers on her moccasins; fringed the outer seams of
her doeskin trousers and the hem of her tunic; formed a stripe around
her arm holes and her belt; glittered on a band which held in place the
eagle plume in her hair; dangled from her ears; and encircled her neck
and arms. Yet she did not seem to wear one too many. She looked so
winsome and picturesque that I have never forgotten the laughing,
pretty picture.
We started back over ground where my little sisters and I had wandered
the previous Spring. The people whom I remembered had since gone to
other settlements, and strangers lived in the old huts. I could not
help looking in as we passed, for I still felt that mother might not be
dead. She might have come down the mountain alone and perhaps I could
find her. The boys, not knowing why I lagged behind, tried to hurry me
along; and finally left me to go home by myself. This, not from
unkindness, but rather love of teasing, and also oblivion of the vain
hope I cherished.
Mrs. Lennox let me dry the dishes for her after the noon meal, then
sent me to visit the neighbor in the next house, while she should stow
her things in the wagon and get ready for the journey. I loved this
lady[15] in the next house as soon as she spoke to me, and I was
delighted with her baby, who reached out his little arms to have me
take him, and raised his head for me to kiss his lips. While he slept,
his mother sewed and talked with me. She had known my parents on the
plains, and now let me sit at her feet, giving me her workbox, that I
might look at its bobbins of different-colored thread and the pretty
needle-book. When I told her that the things looked a little like
mother's and that sometimes mother let me take the tiniest bit of her
wax, she gave me permission to take a tiny taste of that which I held
in my hand to see if it was like that which I remembered.
Only she, the baby, and I sat down to tea, yet she said that she was
glad she had company, for baby's papa was away with Captain Frémont,
and she was lonesome.
After I learned that she would have to stay until he came back, I was
troubled, and told what I had heard in the night. She assured me that
those in charge of the Fort heard every day all that was going on for
miles and miles around, and that if they should learn that fighting
Indians were coming, they would take all the white people and the good
Indians into the fort, and then shoot the bad ones with the cannon that
peeped through its embrasures.
The dainty meal and her motherly talk kept me a happy child until I
heard the footsteps of the Lennox boys. I knew they were coming for me,
and that I should have to sleep in that dark room where I had been so
afraid. Quickly slipping from my chair, under the table, and hiding
behind my new friend's dress skirt, I begged her not to let them know
where I was, and please, to let me stay with her all night. I listened
as she sent the boys back to tell their mother that she would keep me
until morning, adding that she would step in and explain matters after
she put her baby to bed. Before I went to sleep she heard me say my
prayers and kissed me good-night.
When I awoke next morning, I was not in her house, but in Mrs. Lennox's
wagon, on the way to Sonoma.
The distance between the Fort and Sonoma was only about eighty miles,
yet the heavy roads and the frequent showers kept us on the journey
more than a week. It was still drizzling when we reached the town and
Mrs. Lennox learned where the Brunners lived. I had been told that they
would be looking for me, and I expected to go to them at once.
As we approached the west bank of the creek, which winds south past the
town, we could see the branches on the trees in grandma's dooryard
swaying. Yet we could not reach there, because a heavy mountain storm
had turned a torrent into the creek channel, washed away the foot
bridge, and overflowed the low land. Disappointed, we encamped on high
ground to wait for the waters to recede.
Toward evening, Jakie gathering his cows on the opposite side, noticed
our emigrant wagon, and oxen, and as he drew nearer recognized Mrs.
Lennox. Both signalled from where they stood, and soon he descried me,
anxious to go to him. He, also, was disappointed at the enforced delay,
and returned often to cheer us, and to note the height of the water. It
seemed to me that we had been there days and days, when a Mission
Indian on a gray pony happened to come our way, and upon learning what
was wanted, signalled that he would carry me over for a Mexican silver
dollar. Jakie immediately drew the coin from his pocket and held it
between thumb and forefinger, high above his head in the sunshine, to
show the native that his price would be paid.
Quickly the Indian dismounted, looked his pony over carefully, cinched
the blanket on tighter, led him to the water's edge, and turned to me.
I shuddered, and when all was ready, drew near the deep flowing current
tremblingly, yet did not hesitate; for my loved ones were beyond, and
to reach them I was willing to venture.
The Indian mounted and I was placed behind him. By sign, he warned me
not to loosen my hold, lest I, like the passing branches, should become
the water's prey. With my arms clasped tightly about his dusky form,
and his elbows clamped over them, we entered the stream. I saw the
water surge up around us, felt it splash over me! Oh, how cold it was!
I held my breath as we reached the deepest part, and in dread clung
closer to the form before me. We were going down stream, drifting past
where Jakie stood! How could I know that we were heading for the safe
slope up the bank where we landed?
The Indian took his dollar with a grunt of satisfaction, and Jakie bade
me wave to the friends I had left behind, as he put me on old Lisa's
back and hurried off to grandma, Leanna, and Georgia, waiting at the
gate to welcome me home.
Georgia had a number of patches of calico and other trinkets which she
had collected for me, and offered them as soon as we had exchanged
greetings, then eagerly conducted me about the place.
Grandma was more energetic and busier than at the Fort, and I could
only talk with her as she worked, but there was so much to see and hear
that before nightfall my feet were heavy and my brain was weary.
However, a good sleep under the roof of those whom I loved was all the
tonic I needed to prepare me for a fair start in the new career, and
grandma's assurance, "This be your home so long as you be good," filled
me with such gladness that, childlike, I promised to be good always and
to do everything that should be required of me.
Most of the emigrants in and around the Pueblo of Sonoma were Americans
from the western frontiers of the United States. They had reached the
province in the Summer or early Autumn of 1846, and for safety had
settled near this United States Army post. Here they had bought land
and made homes within neighboring distance of each other and begun life
anew in simple, happy, pioneer fashion. The Brunners were a different
type. They had immigrated from Switzerland and settled in New Orleans,
Louisiana, when young, and by toil and economy had saved the snug sum
of money which they brought to invest in California enterprises.
They could speak and read French and German, and had some knowledge of
figures. Being skilled in the preparation of all the delicacies of the
meat market, and the products of the dairy, they had brought across the
plains the necessary equipment for both branches of business, and had
already established a butcher shop in the town and a dairy on the
farm, less than a mile from it.
Jakie was busy and useful at both places, but grandpa was owner of the
shop, and grandma of the dairy. Her hand had the cunning of the Swiss
cheese-maker, and the deftness of the artist in butter moulding. She
was also an experienced cook, and had many household commodities
usually unknown to pioneer homes. They were thus eminently fitted for
life in a crude new settlement, and occupied an important place in the
community.
A public road cut their land into two unequal parts. The cattle corrals
and sheds were grouped on one side of the road, and the family
accommodations on the other. Three magnificent oaks and a weird,
blackened tree-trunk added picturesqueness to the ground upon which the
log cabin and outbuildings stood. The trim live oak shaded the adobe
milk-room and smoke-house, while the grand old white oak spread its
far-reaching boughs over the curbed well and front dooryard.
[Illustration: PLAZA AND BARRACKS OF SONOMA]
[Illustration: ONE OF THE OLDEST BUILDINGS IN SONOMA]
The log cabin was a substantial three-roomed structure. Its two outer
doors opened with latch strings and were sawed across just above the
middle, so that the lower sections might be kept closed against the
straying pigs and fowls, while the upper part remained open to help the
windows opposite give light and ventilation. The east end formed the
ample store-room with shelves for many stages of ripening cheese. The
west end served as sleeping apartment for all except Jakie. The large
middle room was set apart as kitchen and general living room.
Against its wall were braced the dear old clock and conveniences for
holding dishes, and the few keepsakes which had shared the wanderings
of their owners on two continents.
The adobe chimney, which formed part of the partition between the
living and the sleeping apartment, gave a huge fireplace to each. From
the side of the one that cheered the living room, swung a crane worthy
of the great copper cheese kettle that hung on its arm. In tidy rows on
the chimney shelf stood bottles and boxes of medicine, two small brass
kettles, and six bright candlesticks with hoods, trays, and snuffers to
match. On the wide hearth beneath were ranged the old-fashioned
three-legged iron pots, dominated by the large round one, used as a
bake oven. Hovering over the fire sat the iron tea-kettle, with its
slender throat and pointed lips, now warmed to song by the blazing
logs, now rattling its lid with increasing fervor.
A long table with rough redwood benches around it, a few
straight-backed chairs against the wall, and Jakie's half-concealed
bed, in the far corner, constituted the visible furnishings of this
memorable room, which was so spick and span in German order and
cleanliness, that even its clay floor had to be sprinkled in regular
spots and rings before being swept.
It was under the great oaks that most of the morning work was done.
There the pails and pans were washed and sunned, the meats chopped, the
sausage made, head-cheese moulded, ham and bacon salted, and the lard
tried out over the out-door fires. Among those busy scenes, Georgia
and I spent many happy hours, and learned some of our hardest lessons;
for to us were assigned regular tasks, and we were also expected to do
the countless little errands which save steps to grown people, and are
supposed not to tire the feet of children.
Grandma, stimulated by the success of her mixing and moulding, and
elated by the profit she saw in it, was often too happy and bustling to
remember how young we were, or that we got tired, or had worries of our
own to bear.
Our small troubles, however, were soon forgotten, when we could slip
away for a while to the lovely playhouse which Leanna had secretly made
for us in an excavation in the back yard. There we forgot work, used
our own language, and played we were like other children; for we owned
the beautiful cupboard dug in the wall, and the pieces of Delft and
broken glass set in rows upon the shelves, also the furniture, made of
stumps and blocks of wood, and the two bottles standing behind the
brush barricade to act as sentries in case of danger during our
absence.
One stolen visit to that playhouse led me into such disgrace, that
grandma did not speak to me the rest of the day, and told Jakie all
about it.
In the evening, when no one else was near, he called me to him. I
obeyed with downcast head. Putting his hand under my chin, and turning
my face up, he made me look straight into his eyes, as he asked,
"Who broke dat glass cup vat grandma left on die dinner table full of
milk, and telled you watch it bis Hendrik come to his dinner, or bis
she be done mit her nap?"
I tried to turn my eyes down, but he would not let me, and I faltered,
"The chicken knocked it off,--but he left the door open so it could get
in."
Then, he raised his other hand, shook his finger, and in awe-inspiring
tone continued: "Yes, I be sure die chicken do dat, but vot for you
tell grandma dat Heinrick do dat? Der debil makes peoples tell lies,
and den he ketch sie for his fire, und he vill ketch you, if you do dat
some more. Gott, who you mutter telled you 'bout, will not love you. I
will not love you, if you do dat some more. I be sorry for you, because
I tought you vas His little girl, and mine little girl."
Jakie must have spent much time in collecting so many English words,
and they were effective, for before he got through repeating them to
me, I was as heart-sore and penitent as a child could be.
After he had forgiven me, he sent me to grandma, later to acknowledge
my wrong to Hendrik, and before I slept, I had to tell God what a bad
child I had been, and ask Him to make me good.
I had promised to be very careful and to try never to tell another lie,
and I had been unhappy enough to want to keep the promise. But, alas,
my sympathy for Jakie led me into more trouble, and it must have been
on Sunday too, for he was not working, but sitting reverently under the
tree with his elbows upon a table, and his cheeks resting in the
hollows of his hands. Before him lay the Holy Scriptures from which he
was slowly reading aloud in solemn tones.
Georgia and I standing a short distance from him, listened very
intently. Not hearing a single English word, and not understanding many
of the German, I became deeply concerned and turning to her asked,
"Aren't you awful sorry for poor Jakie? There he is, reading to God in
German, and God can't understand him. I'm afraid Jakie won't go to
heaven when he dies."
My wise little sister turned upon me indignantly, assuring me that "God
sees everybody and understands everybody's talk." To prove the truth of
her statement, she rushed to the kitchen and appealed to grandma, who
not only confirmed Georgia's words, but asked me what right I had to
believe that God was American only, and could not understand good
German people when they read and spoke to Him? She wanted to know if I
was not ashamed to think that they, who had loved me, and been kind to
me would not go to Heaven as well as I who had come to them a beggar?
Then she sent me away by myself to think of my many sins; and I,
weeping, accepted banishment from Georgia, lest she should learn
wickedness from me.
Georgia was greatly disturbed on my account, because she believed I had
wilfully misrepresented God, and that He might not forgive me. When
Jakie learned what had happened, he declared that I had spoken like a
child, and needed instruction more than punishment. So for the purpose
of broadening my religious views, and keeping before me the fact that
"God can do all things and knows all languages," grandma taught me the
Lord's Prayer in French and German, and heard me repeat it each night
in both languages, after I had said it as taught me by my mother.
It was about this time, that Leanna confided to me that she was
homesick for Elitha, and she would go to her very soon. She said that I
must not object when the time came, for she loved her own sister just
as much as I did mine, and was as anxious to go to Elitha as I had been
to come to Georgia. She had been planning several weeks, and knew of a
family with which she could travel to Sutter's Fort. Later, when she
collected her things to go away, she left with us a pair of beautifully
knit black silk stockings, marked near the top in fine cross-stitch in
white, "D," and under that "5." The stockings had been our mother's.
She had knit them herself and worn them. Georgia gave one to me and
kept the other. We both felt that they were almost too sacred to
handle. They were our only keepsakes.
Later, Georgia found a small tin box in which mother had kept important
papers. Recently, when referring to that circumstance, Georgia said:
"Grandma for a long time had used it for a white-sugar box, and kept it
on a shelf so high that we could see it only when she lifted it down;
and I don't think we took our eyes from it until it was put back. We
felt that it was too valuable for us ever to own. One day, I found it
thrown away. One side had become unsoldered from the ends and the
bottom also was hanging loose. With a full heart, I grasped the
treasure and put it where we could often see it. Long afterwards, Harry
Huff kindly offered to repair it; and the solder that still holds it
together is also regarded as a keepsake from a dear friend."
[Footnote 15: Mrs. Andrew J. Grayson, wife of the well-known
ornithologist, frequently referred to as the "Audubon of the West."]