GOLD DISCOVERED--"CALIFORNIA IS OURS"--NURSING THE SICK THE U.S.
MILITARY POST--BURIAL OF AN OFFICER.
In the year 1848, while the settlers and their families were
contentedly at work developing the resources of the country, the
astounding cry, "Gold discovered!" came through the valley like a
blight, stopping every industry in its wake.
Excited men, women, and children rushed to town in quest of
information. It was furnished by Alcalde Boggs and General Vallejo, who
had been called away privately two weeks earlier, and had just returned
in a state of great enthusiasm, declaring that gold, "in dust, grains,
and chunks had been discovered at Coloma, not more than a day's journey
from Sutter's Fort."
"How soon can we get there?" became the all-absorbing problem of eager
listeners. The only hotel-keeper in the town sold his kettles and pans,
closed his house, and departed. Shopkeepers packed most of their
supplies for immediate shipment, and raised the price of those left for
home trade. Men and half-grown boys hardly took time to collect a
meagre outfit before they were off with shovel and pan and "something
big to hold the gold." A few families packed their effects into
emigrant wagons and deserted house and lands for the luring gold
fields.
Crowds from San Francisco came hurrying through, some stopping barely
long enough to repeat the maddening tales that had started them off to
the diggings with pick and shovel. Each new rumor increased the exodus
of gold-seekers; and by the end of the first week in August, when the
messenger arrived with the long-hoped-for report of the ratification of
the treaty of peace, and General Mason's proclamation officially
announcing it, there were not enough men left in the valley, outside of
the barracks, to give a decent round of cheers for the blessing of
peace.
Grandpa brought the news home, "California is ours. There will be no
more war, no more trouble, and no more need of soldiers."
Yet the women felt that their battles and trials had just begun, since
they had suddenly become the sole home-keepers, with limited ways and
means to provide for the children and care for the stock and farms.
Discouragement would have rendered the burdens of many too heavy to
carry, had not "work together," and "help your neighbor," become the
watchwords of the day. No one was allowed to suffer through lack of
practical sympathy. From house to house, by turns, went the strong to
help the weak to bridge their troubles. They went, not with cheering
words only, but with something in store for the empty cupboards and
with ready hands to help to milk, wash, cook, or sew.
Grandma was in such demand that she had little time to rest; for there
was not a doctor nor a "medicine shop" in the valley, and her parcels
of herbs and knowledge of their uses had to serve for both. Nights, she
set her shoes handy, so that she could dress quickly when summoned to
the sick; and dawn of day often marked her home-coming.
Georgia and I were led into her work early, for we were sent with
broths and appetizers to the sick on clearings within walking
distances; and she would bid us stay a while at different houses where
we could be helpful, but to be sure and bring careful reports from each
home we entered. Under such training, we learned much about diseases
and the care of the suffering. Anon, we would find in the plain wooden
cradle, a dainty bundle of sweetness, all done up in white, which its
happy owner declared grandma had brought her, and we felt quite repaid
for our tiresome walk if permitted to hold it a wee while and learn its
name.
[Illustration: MISSION SAN FRANCISCO SOLANO, LAST OF THE HISTORIC
MISSIONS OF CALIFORNIA]
[Illustration: RUINS OF THE MISSION AT SONOMA]
We were sent together on these missions, in order that we might help
each other to remember all that was told us; yet grandma had us take
turns, and the one whom she commissioned to make the inquiries was
expected to bring the fuller answers. Sometimes, we played on the way
and made mistakes. Then she would mete out to us that hardest of
punishments, namely, that we were not to speak with each other until
she should forgive our offence. Forgiveness usually came before time
to drive up the cows, for she knew that we were nimbler-footed when she
started us off in happy mood.
Each cow wore a bell of different tone and knew her own name; yet it
was not an easy task, even in pleasant weather, to collect the various
strings and get them home on time. They mixed, and fed with neighbors'
cattle on the range, and hid themselves behind clumps of trees and
other convenient obstructions. Often grandma would get her string in by
the main trail and have them milked before we could bring up the
laggards that provokingly dawdled along, nibbling stray bunches of
grass. When late on the road, we saw coyotes sneaking out for their
evening meal and heard the far-away cry of the panther. But we were not
much afraid when it was light enough, so that imagination could not
picture them creeping stealthily behind us.
Our gallant Company C, officered by Captain Bartlett and Lieutenants
Stoneman and Stone, was ordered to another post early in August; and
its departure caused such universal regret that no one supposed Company
H, under Captain Frisbie, could fill its place. Nevertheless, that
handsome young officer soon found his way to the good-will of the
people, and when Captain Joe Hooker brought him out to visit grandma's
dairy, she, too, was greatly pleased by his soldierly bearing. After he
mentioned that he had heard of her interest in the company which had
been called away, and that he believed she would find Company H
equally deserving of her consideration, she readily extended to the new
men the homelike privileges which the others had enjoyed. Thus more
friends came among us.
Notable among mine was the old darkey cook at headquarters, from whom
Georgia and I tried to hide, the first time she waddled out to our
house. She searched us out, saying:
"Now, honeys, don't yo be so scared of dis ole Aunt Lucy, 'cos she's
done heared Captain Hooker tell lots 'bout yos, and has come to see
yos."
Her face was one great smile, and her voice was so coaxing that she had
little difficulty in gaining our favor, the more so, as upon leaving,
she called back, "I's surely g'wine ter make dat little pie and cake
I's promised yos, so yos mustn't forgit to come git it."
On one occasion, when I was sent to the post on an errand, she had no
pie or cake; but she brought out a primer and said thoughtfully, "I's
g'wine ter give yo dis A-B-C book, 'cos I want yo should grow up like
quality folks."
Its worn leaves showed that its owner had studied its first few pages
only; and when I replied, "Grandma says that I must not take everything
that is offered me," she chuckled and continued:
"Lawd, honey, yo needn't have no 'punctions 'bout takin' dis yer book,
'cos I couldn't learn to read nohow when I was a gal, and I's too ole
to now. Now, I wants yo to be nice; and yo can't, lessen yo can read
and talk like de Captain done tole me yo mudder done."
I was delighted with the book, and told her so, and hugged it all the
way home; for it had a beautiful picture near the back, showing a
little girl with a sprinkling pot, watering her garden of stocks,
sweet-williams, and hollyhocks. Her hair was in four long curls, and
she had trimming on her dress, apron, and long pantalets. I was also
impressed by the new words which I had heard Aunt Lucy use,
"'punctions," and "quality folks." I repeated them over and over to
myself, so that I should be able to tell them to Georgia.
Our last visit to Aunt Lucy must have been prearranged, for as she
admitted us, she said, "I's mighty glad yos done come so soon, 'cos I
been 'specting yos, and mus' take yos right in to de General."
I had never seen a general, and was shy about meeting one, until after
she assured me that only cowards and bad men feared him.
We walked down the corridor and entered a large room, where an elderly
gentleman in uniform sat writing at a table. Aunt Lucy stopped beside
him, and still holding each by the hand, bowed low, saying, "General
Smith, I's brung der two little Donner gals in to see yo, sah"; then
she slipped out.
He was as courteous to us as though we were grown ladies, shook hands,
asked how we felt, begged us to be seated, and then stepped to a door
and called, "Susan! Susan!" I liked the name. A sweet voice answered,
"Coming!"
Presently, a pretty dark-eyed Southern lady appeared, who called us
"honeys," and "dear little girls." She sat between us, joining with her
husband in earnest inquiries about our stay in the mountains and our
home with grandma. Georgia did most of the talking. I was satisfied
just to look at them and hear them speak. At the close of our visit,
with a knowing look, she took us to see what Aunt Lucy had baked.
The General and she had recently come to pay a last visit to a sick
officer, who had been sent from San Francisco with the hope that our
milder climate would prolong his life. They themselves stayed only a
short time, and their friend never left our valley. The day he died,
the flag swung lower on the staff. Soldiers dug his grave on the
hillside north of town, and word came from army headquarters that he
would be buried on the morrow at midday, with military honors. Georgia
and I wanted to know what military honors were, and as it came time for
the funeral, we gathered with others on the plaza, where the procession
formed. We were deeply impressed.
The emigrants uncovered and bowed their heads reverently, but the
soldiers in line, with guns reversed, stood erect and motionless as
figures in stone, while the bier of the dead was being carried through
open ranks to the waiting caisson. The coffin was covered with a flag,
and upon it lay his chapeau, gauntlets, sash, and sword. His boots,
with their toes reversed, hung over the saddle of a riderless horse,
led behind the caisson. The solemn tones of fife and muffled drum led
the way through the town, past the old Mission bells and up the
hillside. Only soldiers stood close around the grave and heard what was
read by the officer who stood at its head, with an open book in one
hand and a drawn sword in the other. Three times the file of soldiers
fired a volley over the grave, then the muffled drum sounded its
farewell taps, and the officers, with their men and the funeral
caisson, returned to their quarters in silent order.