[Illustration: OLIVE OATMAN.]
CAPTIVITY
OF THE
OATMAN GIRLS:
BEING AN
Interesting Narrative of Life
AMONG THE
APACHE AND MOHAVE INDIANS.
CONTAINING
AN INTERESTING ACCOUNT OF THE MASSACRE OF THE OATMAN FAMILY, BY THE
APACHE INDIANS, IN 1851; THE NARROW ESCAPE OF LORENZO D. OATMAN;
THE CAPTURE OF OLIVE A. AND MARY A. OATMAN; THE DEATH, BY
STARVATION, OF THE LATTER; THE FIVE YEARS’ SUFFERING AND
CAPTIVITY OF OLIVE A. OATMAN; ALSO, HER SINGULAR RECAPTURE
IN 1856; AS GIVEN BY LORENZO D. AND OLIVE A.
OATMAN, THE ONLY SURVIVING MEMBERS OF THE
FAMILY, TO THE AUTHOR,
R. B. STRATTON.
TWENTIETH THOUSAND.
New-York:
PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR,
BY CARLTON & PORTER, 200 MULBERRY-STREET.
FOR SALE BY INGHAM & BRAGG, 67 SUPERIOR-ST., CLEVELAND, O.
1858.
Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
LORENZO D. OATMAN,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court
of the Northern District of the
State of California.
PREFACE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
During the year 1851 news reached California, that in the spring of
that year a family by the name of OATMAN, while endeavoring to reach
California by the old Santa Fe route, had met with a most melancholy
and terrible fate, about seventy miles from Fort Yuma. That while
struggling with every difficulty imaginable, such as jaded teams,
exhaustion of their stores of provisions, in a hostile and barren
region, alone and unattended, they were brutally set upon by a horde
of Apache savages; that seven of the nine persons composing their
family were murdered, and that two of the smaller girls were taken into
captivity.
One of the number, LORENZO D. OATMAN, a boy about fourteen, who was
knocked down and left for dead, afterward escaped, but with severe
wounds and serious injury.
But of the girls, MARY ANN and OLIVE ANN, nothing had since been heard,
up to last March. By a singular and mysteriously providential train of
circumstances, it was ascertained at that time, by persons living at
Fort Yuma, that one of these girls was then living among the Mohave
tribe, about four hundred miles from the fort. A ransom was offered
for her by the ever-to-be-remembered and generous Mr. GRINELL, then a
mechanic at the fort; and through the agency and tact of a Yuma Indian,
she was purchased and restored to civilized life, to her brother and
friends. The younger of the girls, MARY ANN, died of starvation in 1852.
It is of the massacre of this family, the escape of LORENZO, and the
captivity of the two girls, that the following pages treat.
A few months since the author of this book was requested by the
afflicted brother and son, who barely escaped with life, but not
without much suffering, to write the past history of the family;
especially to give a full and particular account of the dreadful and
barbarous scenes of the captivity endured by his sisters. This I have
tried to do. The facts and incidents have been received from the
brother and sister, now living.
These pages have been penned under the conviction that in these facts,
and in the sufferings and horrors that befell that unfortunate family,
there is sufficient of interest, though of a melancholy character,
to insure an attentive and interested perusal by every one into
whose hands, and under whose eye this book may fall. Though, so far
as book-making is concerned, there has been brought to this task no
experience or fame upon which to base an expectation of its popularity,
yet the writer has sought to adapt the style to the character of the
narrative, and in a simple, plain, comprehensive manner to give to
the reader facts, as they have been received from those of whose sad
experiences in adversity these pages give a faithful delineation. In
doing this he has sought plainness, brevity, and an unadorned style,
deeming these the only excellences that could be appropriately adopted
for such a narrative; the only ones that he expects will be awarded.
It would be but a playing with sober, solemn, and terrible reality
to put the tinselings of romance about a narrative of this kind. The
_intrinsic_ interest of the subject-matter here thrown together, must
have the credit of any circulation that shall be given to the book.
Upon this I am willing to rely; and that it will be sufficient to
procure a wide and general perusal, remunerating and exciting, I have
the fullest confidence. As for criticisms, while there will, no doubt,
be found occasions for them, they are neither coveted nor dreaded. All
that is asked is, that the reader will avail himself of the _facts_,
and dismiss, as far as he can, the garb they wear, for it was not woven
by one who has ever possessed a desire to become experienced or skilled
in that ringing, empty style which can only charm for the moment, and
the necessity for which is never felt but when real matter and thought
are absent.
That all, or any considerable portion, of the distress, mental and
physical, that befell that unfortunate family, the living as well
as dead, can be written or spoken, it would be idle to claim. The
desolation and privation to which little MARY ANN was consigned while
yet but seven years old; the abuse, the anguish, the suffering that
rested upon the nearly two years’ captivity through which she passed
to an untimely grave; the unutterable anguish that shrouded with the
darkness of despair five years of her older sister; the six years of
perpetual tossing from transient hope to tormenting fears, and during
which unceasing toil and endeavor was endured by the elder brother,
who knew at that time, and has ever since known, that two of his
sisters were taken into captivity by the Indians; these, all these are
realities that are and must forever remain unwritten. We would not, if
we could, give to these pages the power to lead the reader into all
the paths of torture and woe through which the last five years have
dragged that brother and sister, who yet live, and who, from hearts
disciplined in affliction, have herein dictated all of what they have
felt that can be transferred to the type. We would not, if we could,
recall or hold up to the reader the weight of parental solicitude or
heart-yearnings for their dear family that crowded upon the last few
moments of reason allowed to those fond parents, while in the power
and under the war-clubs of their Apache murderers. The heart’s deepest
anguish, and its profoundest emotions have no language. There is no
color so deep that pen dipped therein can portray the reality. If what
may be here found written of these unspoken woes shall only lead the
favored subjects of constant good fortune to appreciate their exempted
allotment, and create in their hearts a more earnest and practical
sympathy for those who tread the damp, uncheered paths of suffering and
woe, then the moral and social use prayed for and intended in these
pages will be secured.
YREKA, 1857. R. B. STRATTON.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
Since issuing the first edition of the “CAPTIVITY OF THE OATMAN GIRLS,”
which obtained a rapid and quick sale, the author has been in the
northern part of the state, busy with engagements made previous to its
publication, and which he considered he had ample time to meet, and
return before another edition would be called for, if at all. But in
this he was mistaken. Only two weeks had elapsed before orders were in
the city for books, that could not be filled; and that but a few days
after the whole edition was bound. The first five thousand was put out
as an experiment, and with considerable abridgment from the original
manuscript as at first prepared. Considerable matter referring to the
customs of the Indians, and the geography and character of the country,
was left out to avoid the expense of publishing. Could we have known
that the first edition would have been exhausted so soon, this omitted
matter might have been re-prepared and put into this edition, but the
last books were sold when the author was five hundred miles from
his present home, and on returning it was thought best to hurry this
edition through the press, to meet orders already on hand. We trust the
reader will find most, if not all, of the objectionable portions of the
first edition expunged from this; besides the insertion in their proper
places of some additions that were, without intention, left out of the
former one. He will also find this printed upon superior paper and
type; and in many ways improved in its appearance.
We must remind the reader, that in preparing a work like the present
there is an utter impropriety in resorting to any other than the
plainest matter-of-fact style. This book is not a romance. It is not
dependent upon an exorbitant fictitiousness of expression for enlisting
the attention or interest of the sober reader. The _scene_ is a
reality. The _heroes_ of the tale are living. Let those, if any there
are, to whom _reality_ is a serious obstacle to engaged and sustained
attention and interest, and whose morbidly created taste, has given
a settled disrelish for marvels _in the facts_, while it unceasingly
clamors for miracles of the fancy; to whom plain things, said in a
plain way, have no attraction, whose reading heaven is a mountain of
epithet on flashing epithet piled--let such lay aside the book.
The writer does not disclaim literary taste. Such a taste it is
confidently felt is not herein violated. For _its display_ these pages
are not intended. These remarks are here penned for the reason that
in a few instances, instead of an open criticism, founded upon the
reading of the book, there has been a construing of the frank avowal
of the _real intention_ of this book, made in a former preface, into a
confession of a literary weakness in the composition of this work. The
writer for the last eleven years has been engaged in public speaking,
and though moving contentedly in an humble sphere, is not without
_living_ testimonials to his _diligence_ and _fidelity_, at least
in application to those literary studies and helps to his calling
which were within his reach. With a present consciousness of many
imperfections in this respect, he is nevertheless not forbidden by a
true modesty to say, that in a laudable ambition to acquire and command
the _pure English, from the root upward_, he has not been wholly
negligent nor unsuccessful; nor in the habit of earnest and particular
observation of men and things has he been without his note-book and
open eyes.
During the years spoken of he has seldom appeared before the public
without a carefully written compendium, and often a full manuscript of
the train of thought to be discoursed upon.
But still, if his attainments were far more than are here claimed, it
would by some be judged a poor place to use them for the feasting of
the reader of a book of the nature of this record of murder, wailing,
captivity, and horrid separations.
The notices in the papers referred to have, no doubt, grown from a
habit that prevails to a great extent, of writing a notice of a new
book from a hasty glance at a preface. Hence, he who can gyrate in a
brilliant circle of polished braggadocio in his first-born, is in a
fair way to meet the echo of his own words, and be “_puffed!_”
But, unpretending as are these pages, the author, in his own behalf,
and in behalf of those for and of whom he writes, is under many
obligations to the press of the State. In many instances a careful
perusal has preceded a public printed notice by an editor; and with
some self-complacency he finds that such notices have been the most
flattering and have done most to hasten the sale of these books.
The author, still making no pretensions to a serving up of a repast for
the literary taste, yet with confidence assures the reader that he will
find nothing upon these pages that can offend such a taste.
Let it be said further, that the profits accruing from the sale of this
work are, so far as the brother and sister are concerned, to be applied
to those who need help. It was with borrowed means that Mr. Oatman
published the first edition, and it is to secure means to furnish
himself and his sister with the advantages of that education which has
been as yet denied, that the narrative of their five years’ privation
is offered to the reading public. Certainly, if the eye or thought
delights not to wander upon the page of their sufferings, the heart
will delight to think of means expended for the purchase of the book
that details them.
SAN FRANCISCO, 1857.
PREFACE TO THE THIRD EDITION.
The second edition of this book (six thousand copies) was nearly
exhausted in the California and Oregon trade within a few months
after its publication. Numerous friends and relatives of Mr. and Miss
Oatman, who had received copies of the work from friends in California,
wrote to the writer, and also to the Oatmans, urgently requesting its
publication for circulation in the Atlantic and Western States.
They had read the book, and loaned it to neighbors and friends, until
each copy numbered a considerable circle of readers, and an almost
unanimous opinion had been expressed that the book would meet with
a large and ready sale if it could be put into the market at prices
ruling on this side of the continent.
In behalf of those for whose special benefit the book is published, the
writer can but feel grateful for the large sales that in a few weeks
were effected in California. Eleven thousand were sold there in a short
time, and the owner of the book has deeply regretted that it was not
stereotyped at the first.
Recently, to meet demands for the book already existing, especially in
some of the Western States, where the Oatman family were well known,
it was resolved to publish the book in New-York, in an improved style,
and with the addition of some incidents that were prepared for the
California issue, but omitted from the necessity of the case.
The reader will find the book much improved in its intrinsic interest
by the addition of these geographical, traditional, and historic
items. The matter added is chiefly of the peculiar traditions and
superstitions of the tribes who were the captors and possessors of Miss
Oatman. Three new illustrations are also added, and the old ones newly
drawn and engraved. Every plate has been enlarged, and the work done in
a much improved and more perfect style.
The reader will find this book to be a record of _facts_; and these
are of the most thrilling, some of them of the most horrid nature. Of
all the records of Indian captivities we feel confident none have
possessed more interest than this. Numerous have been the testimonies
from California readers that it exceeds any of kindred tales that
have preceded it. The Oatman family were well and favorably known
in portions of Illinois and Pennsylvania, and a large circle of
acquaintances are waiting, with much anxiety, the issue from the
press of this narrative of the tragical allotment that they met after
starting for the Colorado in 1850. Seven of their number have fallen by
the cruelties of the Indian; two, a brother and sister, are now in this
city.
There are sketches and delineations in this volume touching the region
lying to the West and Southwest, as also of the large aboriginal tribes
that have so long held exclusive possession there, which, in these
times of the unparalleled westward-pushing propensities of our people,
are clothed with new and startling interest day by day.
In the purchase of this book the reader will add to his private or
family library a volume whose chief attraction will not be merely
in the detail of horrors, of suffering, of cruel captivity, which
it brings to him; but one which his children will find valuable for
reference in the years they may live to see, and which are to be
crowded, doubtless, with an almost total revolution in the humanities
that people the region lying between the Pacific and Texas, and between
Oregon and Mexico. These dark Indian tribes are fast wasting before the
rising sun of our civilization; and into _that history_ that is yet
_to be written_ of their past, and of their destiny, and of the many
interlacing events that are to contribute to the fulfilling of the wise
intent of Providence concerning them and their only dreaded foe, the
white race, facts and incidents contained in this unpretending volume
will enter and be appreciated.
R. B. STRATTON.
NEW-YORK, _April, 1858_.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I.
The first Encampment--The Oatman Family--Their checkered
Allotment up to the Time of their Emigration--Mr. Oatman--His
Ill-health--Proposes to join the Party organized to form an
American Colony near the Gulf of California, in 1849--The 10th
of August--Discord in Camp, owing to the religious Prejudices of
a few--First Danger from Indians--The Camanche Band--Two Girls
taken for “Injins”--The Grape Dumpling--Mexican Settlements--The
Hunt for Antelopes, and its tragical End--Charles refuses to fight
“Injins” with Prayer--Moro--Scarcity of Provisions--Discontent
and Murmurings--Mr. Lane--His Death--Loss of Animals by the
Apaches--Mrs. M. in the Well--Santa Cruz and Tukjon--Some of the
Company remain here--Pimole--The only traveling Companions of
the Oatman Family resolve to remain--Mr. Oatman, in Perplexity,
resolves to proceed PAGE 21
CHAPTER II.
Mr. and Mrs. Oatman in Perplexity--Interview with Dr.
Lecount--Advises them to proceed--They start alone--Teams
begin to fail--The Roads are bad--The Country rough and
mountainous--Compelled to carry the Baggage up the Hills by
Hand--Overtaken by Dr. Lecount on his way to Fort Yuma--He promises
them Assistance from the Fort--The next Night the Horses of Dr.
Lecount are stolen by the Apaches--He posts a Card, warning Mr.
Oatman of Danger, and starts on Foot for the Fort--Reach the Gila
River--Camp on the Island late at Night--Their dreary Situation,
and the Conversation of the Children--The Morning of the 29th of
March--Their Struggle to ascend the Hill on the 29th--Reach the
Summit about Sunset--The Despondence and Presentiments of Mr.
Oatman--Nineteen Apaches approach them Profess Friendliness--The
Massacre--Lorenzo left for dead, but is preserved--The Capture of
Olive and Mary Ann 61
CHAPTER III.
Lorenzo Oatman--Conscious of most of the Scenes of the Massacre--The
next Day he finds himself at the Foot of a rocky Declivity,
over which he had fallen--Makes an Effort to walk--Starts for
Pimole--His Feelings and Sufferings--Is attacked by Wolves--Then
by two Indians, who are about to shoot him down--Their subsequent
Kindness--They go on to the Place of Massacre--He meets the
Wilders and Kellys--They take him back to Pimole--In about one
Month gets well, and starts for Fort Yuma--Visits the Place of
Massacre--His Feelings--Burial of the Dead--Reflections--The
two Girls--Their Thoughts of Home and Friends--Conduct of their
Captors--Disposition of the Stock--Cruelty to the Girls to hurry
them on--Girls resolve not to proceed--Meet eleven Indians,
who seek to kill Olive--Reasons for--Apaches defend her--Their
Habits of Fear for their own Safety--Their Reception at the
Apache Village--One Year--The Mohaves--Their second coming among
the Apaches--Conversation of Olive and Mary--Purchased by the
Mohaves--Avowed Reasons--Their Price--Danger during the Debate 90
CHAPTER IV.
The Journey of three hundred and fifty Miles to the Mohave
Valley--The Means of Subsistence during the Time--The Conduct of
the Mohaves compared with the Apaches--Arrive at the Valley--The
Village--The Chief’s Residence--Their Joy at the Return of Topeka,
their Daughter--The Greeting of the new Captives--One Year of Labor
and Suffering--The Overflowing of the Colorado--Their Dependence
upon it--Their Habits--Cultivation of the Soil--Scarcity of
Provisions--Starvation--Mary Ann--Her Decline--Olive’s Care, Grief,
and Efforts to save her Life--Dies of Famine--Many of the Indian
Children die--Burial of Mary Ann--The Sympathy and Sorrow of the
Chief’s Wife--The great Feast--The killing of the two Captives as a
Sacrifice 160
CHAPTER V.
The Mohaves--Their Sports--An Expedition of Hostility against
the Cochopas--Its Design--Tradition concerning it--The
Preparation--Their Custom of sacrificing a Prisoner on the Death
in War of one of their own Number--The Anxiety of Olive--They
depart--Their Return--The Fruit of the Expedition--The Five Cochopa
Captives--Nowereha--Her Attempt to escape--Her Recapture and
horrid Death--The Physicians--Evil Spirits--The Mohave Mode of
Doctoring--The Yumas--“Francisco,” the Yuma Indian--Hopes of Escape
216
CHAPTER VI.
Lorenzo Oatman--His Stay at Fort Yuma--Goes with Dr. Hewit to San
Francisco--His constant Misery on Account of his Sisters--Dark
Thoughts--Cold Sympathy--Goes to the Mines--Resolves to go to Los
Angeles to learn, if possible, of his Sisters--His earnest but
fruitless Endeavors--The Lesson--Report brought by Mr. Roulit of
two Captives among the Mohaves--The false Report of Mr. Black--Mr.
Grinell--Petitions the Governor--Petitions Congress--The Report of
the Rescue of Olive--Mr. Low 238
CHAPTER VII.
Francisco goes over the River, and spends the Night--Persuades
some of the Sub-Chiefs to apply again for Permission to let
Olive go free--His Threats--The Chiefs return with him--Secret
Council--Another General Council--Danger of a Fight among
themselves--Francisco has a Letter from the Whites--Olive
present--Francisco gains Permission to give her the Letter--Its
Contents--Much alarmed--Speeches of the Indians--Advice to kill
their Captive--Determine to release her--Daughter of the Chief goes
with them--Their Journey--At Fort Yuma 251
Illustrations.
PAGE
Portrait of Olive Oatman 2
Map 20
First Night’s Encampment 24
The Massacre Vide 85
Lorenzo returning to the Place of Massacre 99
Lorenzo attacked by Coyotes and Wolves 102
Lorenzo rescued by friendly Indians 105
The Captives at the Indian Camp-Fire 119
Attempt to shoot Olive and Mary Ann 129
Reception of the two Girls at the Apache Village 133
Indian skulking to hear the Conversation of the Girls 155
Death of Mary Ann at the Indian Camp 195
Horrid Death of the Indian Captive 229
Olive at the Indian Council 258
Arrival of Olive at Fort Yuma 273
Portrait of Lorenzo Oatman Vide 278
[Illustration]
CAPTIVITY OF THE OATMAN GIRLS.
CHAPTER I.
The first Encampment--The Oatman Family--Their checkered
Allotment up to the Time of their Emigration--Mr. Oatman--His
Ill-health--Proposes to join the Party organized to form an
American Colony near the Gulf of California, in 1849--The 10th
of August--Discord in Camp, owing to the religious Prejudices of
a few--First Danger from Indians--The Camanche Band--Two Girls
taken for “Injins”--The Grape Dumpling--Mexican Settlements--The
Hunt for Antelopes, and its tragical End--Charles refuses to fight
“Injins” with Prayer--Moro--Scarcity of Provisions--Discontent
and Murmurings--Mr. Lane--His Death--Loss of Animals by the
Apaches--Mrs. M. in the Well--Santa Cruz and Tukjon--Some of the
Company remain here--Pimole--The only traveling Companions of
the Oatman Family resolve to remain--Mr. Oatman, in Perplexity,
resolves to proceed.
The 9th of August, 1850, was a lovely day. The sun had looked upon
the beautiful plains surrounding Independence, Missouri, with a full,
unclouded face, for thirteen hours of that day; when, standing about
four miles south of westward from the throbbing city of Independence,
alive with the influx and efflux of emigrant men and women, the reader,
could he have occupied that stand, might have seen, about one half
hour before sunset, an emigrant train slowly approaching him from the
city. This train consisted of about twenty wagons, a band of emigrant
cattle, and about fifty souls, men, women, and children. Attended by
the music of lowing cattle, and the chatter of happy children, it was
slowly traversing a few miles, at this late hour of the day, to seek
a place of sufficient seclusion to enable them to hold the first and
preparatory night’s camp away from the bustle and confusion of the town.
Just as the sun was gladdening the clear west, and throwing its golden
farewells upon the innumerable peaks that stretched into a forest
of mountains gradually rising until they seemed to lean against the
sun-clad shoulders of the Rocky Range, imparadising the whole plain and
mountain country in its radiant embrace, the shrill horn of the leader
and captain suddenly pealed through the moving village, a circle was
formed, and the heads of the several families were in presence of the
commander, waiting orders for the camping arrangements for the night.
Soon teams were detached from the wagons, and with the cattle (being
driven for commencement in a new country) were turned forth upon the
grass. Rich and abundant pasturage was stretching from the place of
their halt westward, seemingly until it bordered against the foot-hills
of the Indian territory in the distance.
Among the fifty souls that composed that emigrant band, some were total
strangers. Independence had been selected as the gathering-place of
all who might heed a call that had been published and circulated for
months, beating up for volunteers to an emigrant company about seeking
a home in the Southwest. It was intended, as the object and destination
of this company, to establish an American colony near the mouth of the
Gulf of California. Inducements had been held out, that if the region
lying about the juncture of the Colorado and Gila Rivers could thus be
colonized, every facility should be guaranteed the colonists for making
to themselves a comfortable and luxuriant home.
After a frugal meal, served throughout the various divisions of the
camp, the evening of the 9th was spent in perfecting regulations for
the long and dangerous trip, and in the forming of acquaintances, and
the interchange of salutations and gratulations.
Little groups, now larger and now smaller, by the constant moving
to and fro of members of the camp, had chatted the evening up to
a seasonable bedtime. Then, at the call of the “crier,” all were
collected around one camp-fire for the observance of public worship,
which was conducted by a clergyman present. Into that hour of earnest
worship were crowded memories of the home-land and friends _now_
forever abandoned for a settlement in the “far-off Southwest.” There
flowed and mingled the tear of regret and of hope; there and then
rose the earnest prayer for Providential guidance; and at that hour
there swelled out upon the soft, clear air of as lovely an evening
as ever threw its star-lit curtain upon hill and vale, the song of
praise and the shout of triumph, not alone in the prospect of a home
by the Colorado of the South, but of glad exultation in the prospect
of a home hard by the “River of Life,” which rose to view as the
final termination of the journeyings and toil incident to mortality’s
pilgrimage.
[Illustration: FIRST NIGHT’S ENCAMPMENT.]
Now the hush of sleep’s wonted hour has stolen slowly over the entire
encampment, and nothing without indicates remaining life, save the
occasional growl of the ever-faithful watch-dog, or the outburst of
some infant member of that villa-camp, wearied and worn, and overtasked
by the hurry and bustle of the previous day.
Reader, we now wish you to go with us into that camp, and receive an
introduction to an interesting family consisting of father, mother, and
seven children; the oldest of this juvenile group a girl of sixteen,
the youngest a bright little boy of one year. Silence is here, but
to that household sleep has no welcome. The giant undertaking upon
which they are now fairly launched is so freighted with interest to
themselves and their little domestic kingdom, as to leave no hour
during the long night for the senses to yield to the soft dominion
of sleep. Besides, this journey now before them has been preceded by
lesser ones, and these had been so frequent and of such trivial result
as that vanity seemed written upon all the deep and checkered past,
with its world of toil and journeyings. In a subdued whisper, but with
speaking countenances and sparkling eyes, these parents are dwelling
upon this many-colored by-gone.
Mr. Oatman is a medium-sized man, about five feet in height, black
hair, with a round face, and yet in the very prime of life. Forty-one
winters had scarcely been able to plow the first furrow of age upon
his manly cheek. Vigorous, healthy, and of a jovial turn of mind,
predisposed to look only upon the bright side of everything, he was
happy; of a sanguine temperament, he was given to but little fear, and
seemed ever drinking from the fresh fountains of a living buoyant hope.
From his boyhood he had been of a restless, roving disposition, fond of
novelty, and anxious that nothing within all the circuit of habitable
earth should be left out of the field of his ever curious and prying
vision.
He had been favored with rare educational advantages during his
boyhood, in Western New-York. These advantages he had improved with a
promising vigilance until about nineteen years of age. He then became
anxious to see, and try his fortune in, the then far away West. The
thought of emigrating had not been long cogitated by his quick and
ready mind, ere he came to a firm resolution to plant his feet upon one
of the wild prairies of Illinois.
He was now of age, and his father and mother, Lyman and Lucy Oatman,
had spent scarcely one year keeping hotel in Laharpe, Illinois, ere
they were joined by their son Royse.
Soon after going to Illinois, Royse was joined in marriage to Miss
Mary Ann Sperry, of Laharpe. Miss Sperry was an intelligent girl of
about eighteen, and, by nature and educational advantages, abundantly
qualified to make her husband happy and his home an attraction. She
was sedate, confiding, and affectionate, and in social accomplishments
placed, by her peculiar advantages, above most of those around her.
From childhood she had been the pride of fond and wealthy parents; and
it was their boast that she had never merited a rebuke for any wrong.
The first two years of this happy couple was spent on a farm near
Laharpe. During this time some little means had been accumulated by an
honest industry and economy, and these means Mr. Oatman collected, and
with them embarked in mercantile business in Laharpe.
Honesty, industry, and a number of years of thorough business
application, won for him the esteem of those around him, procured a
comfortable home for his family, and placed him in possession of a
handsome fortune, with every arrangement for its rapid increase. At
that time the country was rapidly filling up; farmers were becoming
rich, and substantial improvements were taking the place of temporary
modes of living which had prevailed as yet.
Paper money became plenty, the products of the soil had found a ready
and remunerative market, and many were induced to invest beyond their
means in real estate improvements.
The banks chartered about the years 1832 and 1840, had issued bills
beyond their charters, presuming upon the continued rapid growth of the
country to keep themselves above disaster. But business, especially
in times of speculation, like material substance, is of a gravitating
tendency, and without a basis soon falls. A severe reverse in the
tendency of the markets spread rapidly over the entire West during the
year 1842. Prices of produce fell to a low figure. An abundance had
been raised, and the market was glutted. Debts of long standing became
due, and the demand for their payment became more imperative, as the
inability of creditors became more and more apparent and appalling.
The merchant found his store empty, his goods having been credited to
parties whose sole reliance was the usual ready market for the products
of their soil.
Thus, dispossessed of goods and destitute of money, the trading portion
of community were thrown into a panic, and business of all kinds came
to a stand-still. The producing classes were straitened; their grain
would not meet current expenses, for it had no market value; and with
many of them mortgages, bearing high interest, were preying like
vultures upon their already declining realities.
Specie was scarce. Bills were returned to the banks, and while a great
many of them were yet out the specie was exhausted, and a general crash
came upon the banks, while the country was yet flooded with what was
appropriately termed “the wild-cat money.” The day of reckoning to
these spurious money fountains suddenly weighed them in the balances
and found them wanting. Mr. Oatman had collected in a large amount
of this paper currency, and was about to go South to replenish his
mercantile establishment, when lo! the banks began to fail, and in a
few weeks he found himself sunk by the weight of several thousands into
utter insolvency.
He was disappointed but not disheartened. To him a reverse was the
watchword for a renewal of energy. For two or three years he had
been in correspondence with relatives residing in Cumberland Valley,
Pennsylvania, who had been constantly holding up that section of
country as one of the most inviting and desirable for new settlers.
In a few weeks he had disposed of the fragments of a suddenly shattered
fortune to the greatest possible advantage to his creditors, and
resolved upon an immediate removal to that valley. In two months
preparations were made, and in three months, with a family of five
children, he arrived among his friends in Cumberland Valley, with a
view of making that a permanent settlement.
True to the domineering traits of his character, he was still resolute
and undaunted. His wife was the same trusting, cheerful companion as
when the nuptial vow was plighted, and the sun of prosperity shone full
upon and crowned their mutual toils. Retired, patient, and persevering,
she was a faithful wife and a fond mother, in whom centered deservingly
the love of a growing and interesting juvenile group. She became
more and more endeared to her fortune-taunted husband as adverse
vicissitudes had developed her real worth, and her full competence to
brave and profit by the stern battles of life.
She had seen her husband when prospered, and flattered by those whose
attachments had taken root in worldly considerations only; she had
stood by him also when the chilling gusts of temporary adversity had
blown the cold damps of cruel reserve and fiendish suspicion about his
name and character; and
“When envy’s sneer would coldly blight his name,
And busy tongues were sporting with his fame,
She solved each doubt, and clear’d each mist away,
And made him radiant in the face of day.”
They had spent but a few months in Pennsylvania, the place of their
anticipated abode for life, ere Mr. Oatman found it, to him, an unfit
and unsuitable place, as also an unpromising region in which to rear a
family. He sighed again for the wide, wild prairie lands of the West.
He began to regret that a financial reversion should have been allowed
so soon to drive him from a country where he had been accustomed
to behold the elements and foundation of a glorious and prosperous
future; and where those very religious and educational advantages--to
him the indispensable accompaniments of social progress--were already
beginning to shoot forth in all the vigor and promise of a healthful
and undaunted growth. He was not of that class who can persist in
an enterprise merely from pride that is so weak as to scorn the
confession of a weakness; though he was slow to change his purpose,
only as a good reason might discover itself under the light and
teachings of multiplying circumstances around him.
He resolved to retrace his steps, and again to try his hands and skill
upon some new and unbroken portion of the State where he had already
_made_ and _lost_. Early in 1845 these parents, with a family of five
children, destitute but courageous, landed in Chicago. There, for one
year, they supported with toil of head and hand (the father was an
experienced school teacher) their growing family.
In the spring of 1846 there might have been seen standing, at about
five miles from Fulton, Ill., and about fifteen from New-Albany, alone
in the prairie, a temporary, rude cabin. Miles of unimproved land
stretched away on either side, save a small spot, rudely fenced, near
the cabin, as the commencement of a home. At the door of this tent, in
April of that year, and about sunset, a wagon drawn by oxen, and driven
by the father of a family, a man about thirty-seven, and his son, a
lad about ten years, halted. That wagon contained a mother--a woman of
thirty-three years--toil-worn but contented, with five of her children.
The oldest son, Lorenzo, who had been plodding on at the father’s side,
dragged his weary limbs up to the cabin door, and begged admittance for
the night. This was readily and hospitably granted. Soon the family
were transported from the movable to the staid habitation. Here they
rested their stomachs upon “Johnny cake” and Irish potatoes, and their
weary, complaining bodies upon the soft side of a white oak board for
the night.
Twenty-four hours had not passed ere the father had staked out a
“claim;” a tent had been erected; the cattle turned forth, were
grazing upon the hitherto untrodden prairie land, and preparations
made and measures put into vigorous operation for spring sowing.
Here, with that same elasticity of mind and prudent energy that had
inspired his earliest efforts for self-support, Mr. Oatman commenced
to provide himself a home, and to surround his family with all the
comforts and conveniences of a subsistence. Before his energetic and
well-directed endeavors, the desert soon began to blossom; and beauty
and fruitfulness gradually stole upon these hitherto wild and useless
regions. He always managed to provide his family with a plain, frugal,
and plenteous support.
Four years and over Mr. and Mrs. Oatman toiled early and late,
clearing, subduing, and improving. And during this time they readily
and cheerfully turned their hands to any laudable calling, manual
or intellectual, that gave promise of a just remuneration for their
services. Although accustomed, for the most part of their united life,
to a competence that had placed them above the necessity of menial
service, yet they scorned a dependence upon past position, as also that
pride and utter recklessness of principle which can consent to keep up
the _exterior_ of opulence, while its expenses must come from unsecured
and deceived creditors. They contentedly adapted themselves to a manner
and style that was intended to give a true index to their real means
and resources.
It was this principle of noble self-reliance, and unbending integrity,
that won for them the warmest regards of the good, and crowned their
checkered allotment with appreciative esteem wherever their stay had
been sufficient to make them known.
While the family remained at this place, now called Henly, they toiled
early and late, at home or abroad, as opportunity might offer. During
much of this time, however, Mr. Oatman was laboring under and battling
with a serious bodily infirmity and indisposition.
Early in the second year of their stay at Henly, while lifting a stone,
in digging a well for a neighbor, he injured himself, and from the
effects of that injury he never fully recovered.
At this time improvements around him had been conducted to a stage
of advancement that demanded a strict and vigilant oversight and
guidance. And though by these demands, and his unflagging ambition,
he was impelled to constant, and at times to severe labors, yet they
were labors for which he had been disabled, and from which he should
have ceased. Each damp or cold season of the year, after receiving this
injury to his back and spine, would place him upon a rack of pain,
and at times render life a torture. The winters, always severe in
that section of the country, that had blasted and swept away frailer
constitutions about him, had as yet left no discernible effects upon
his vigorous physical system. But now their return almost disabled him
for work, and kindled anew the torturing local inflammation that his
injury had brought with it to his system.
He became convinced that if he would live to bless and educate his
family, or would enjoy even tolerable health, he must immediately seek
a climate free from the sudden and extreme changes so common to the
region in which he had spent the last few years.
In the summer of 1849 an effort was made to induce a party to organize,
for the purpose of emigration to that part of the New-Mexican Territory
lying about the mouth of the Rio Colorado and Gila Rivers. Considerable
excitement extended over the northern and western portions of Illinois
concerning it. There were a few men, men of travel and information,
who were well acquainted with the state of the country lying along the
east side of the northern end of the Gulf of California, and they had
received the most flattering inducements to form there a colony of the
Anglo-Saxon people.
Accordingly notices were circulated of the number desired and of the
intention and destiny of the undertaking. The country was represented
as of a mild, bland climate, where the extremes of a hot summer and
severe winter were unknown. Mr. Oatman, after considerable deliberation
upon the state of his health, the necessity for a change of climate,
the reliability of the information that had come from this new
quarter, and other circumstances having an intimate connection with
the welfare of those dependent upon him, sent in his name, as one who,
with a family, nine in all, was ready to join the colony; and again he
determined to attempt his fortune in a new land.
He felt cheered in the prospect of a location where he might again
enjoy the possibility of a recovery of his health. And he hoped that
the journey itself might aid the return of his wonted vigor and
strength.
After he had proposed a union with this projected colony, and his
proposition had been favorably received, he immediately sold out. The
sum total of the sales of his earthly possessions amounted to fifteen
hundred dollars. With this he purchased an outfit, and was enabled to
reserve to himself sufficient, as he hoped, to meet all incidental
expenses of the tedious trip.
In the spring of 1850, accompanied by some of his neighbors, who had
also thrown their lots into this scheme, he started for Independence,
the place selected for the gathering of the scattered members of the
colony, preparatory to a united travel for the point of destination.
Every precaution had been taken to secure unanimity of feeling,
purpose, and intention among those who should propose to cast in their
lot with the emigrating colony. All were bound for the same place;
all were inspired by the same object; all should enter the band on an
equality; and it was agreed that every measure of importance to the
emigrant army, should be brought to the consideration and consultation
of every member of the train.
It was intended to form a new settlement, remote from the prejudices,
pride, arrogance, and caste that obtain in the more opulent and less
sympathizing portions of a stern civilization. Many of the number
thought they saw in the locality selected many advantages that
were peculiar to it alone. They looked upon it as the way by which
emigration would principally reach this western gold-land, furnishing
for the colony a market for their produce; that thus remote they could
mold, fashion, and direct the education, habits, customs, and progress
of the young and growing colony, after a model superior to that under
which some of them had been discontentedly raised, and one that should
receive tincture, form, and adaptation from the opening and multiplying
necessities of the _experiment in progress_.
As above stated, this colony, composed of more than fifty souls,
encamped on the lovely evening of August 9, 1850, about four miles from
Independence.
The following are the names of those who were the most active in
projecting the movement, and their names are herein given, because they
may be again alluded to in the following pages; besides, many of them
are now living, and this may be the first notice they shall receive of
the fate of the unfortunate family, the captivity and sufferings of
the only two surviving members of which are the themes of these pages.
Mutual perils and mutual adventures have a power to cement worthy
hearts that is not found in unmingled prosperity. And it has been the
privilege of the author to know, from personal acquaintance, in one
instance, of a family to whom the “Oatman Family” were bound by the tie
of mutuality of suffering and geniality of spirit.
Mr. Ira Thompson and family.
A. W. Lane and family.
R. and John Kelly and their families.
Mr. Mutere and family.
Mr. Wilder and family.
Mr. Brinshall and family.
We have thus rapidly sketched the outlines of the history of the Oatman
family, for a few years preceding their departure from the eastern
side of the continent, and glanced at the nature and cast of their
allotment, because of members of that family these pages are designed
mainly to treat. This remove, the steps to which have been traced
above, proved their last; for though bright, and full of promise and
hope, at the outset, tragedy of the most painful and gloomy character
settles down upon it at an early period, and with fearfully portentous
gloom, thickens and deepens upon its every step, until the day, so
bright at dawn, gradually closes in all the horror and desolation of
a night of plunder, murder, and worse than murderous and barbarous
captivity. And though no pleasant task to bring this sad afterpart
to the notice of the reader, it is nevertheless a tale that may be
interesting for him to ponder; and instructive, as affording matter
for the employment of reflection, and instituting a heartier sympathy
with those upon whose life the clouds and pangs of severe reverses and
misfortunes have rested.
Ere yet twilight had lifted the deepest shades of night from plain and
hill-side, on the morning of the 10th of August, 1850, there was stir
and bustle, and hurrying to and fro throughout that camp. As beautiful
a sunrise as ever mantled the east, or threw its first, purest glories
upon a long and gladdened West, found all things in order, and that
itinerant colony arranged, prepared, and in march for the “Big Bend”
of the Arkansas River. Their course at first lay due west, toward
the Indian territory. One week passed pleasantly away. Fine weather,
vigorous teams, social, cheerful chit-chat, in which the evenings were
passed by men, women, and children, who had been thrown into their
first acquaintance under circumstances so well calculated to create
identity of interest and aim, all contributed to the comfort of this
anxious company during the “first week upon the plains,” and to render
the prospect for the future free from the first tint of evil adversity.
At the end of a week, and when they had made about one hundred miles,
a halt was called at a place known as the “Council Grove.” This place
is on the old Santa Fé road, and is well suited for a place of rest,
and for recruiting. Up to this time naught but harmony and good feeling
prevailed throughout the ranks of this emigrant company. While tarrying
at this place, owing to the peculiarities in the religious notions and
prejudices of a few restless spirits, the first note of discord and
jarring element was introduced among them.
Some resolved to return, but the more sober (and such seemed in the
majority) persisted in the resolve to accomplish the endeared object of
the undertaking. Owing to their wise counsels, and moderate, dignified
management, peace and quiet returned; and after a tarry of about one
week’s duration, they were again upon their journey. From Council Grove
the road bore a little south of west, over a beautiful level plain,
covered with the richest pasturage; and in the distance bordering on
every hand against high, picturesque ranges of mountains, seeming like
so many huge blue bulwarks, and forming natural boundaries between the
abodes of the respective races, each claiming, separately and apart,
the one the mountain, the other the vale.
The weather was beautiful; the evenings, cool and invigorating,
furnishing to the jaded band a perfect elysium for the recruiting of
tired nature, at the close of each day’s sultry and dusty toil. Good
feeling restored, all causes of irritation shut out, joyfully, merrily,
hopefully, the pilgrim band moved on to the Big Bend, on the Arkansas
River. Nothing as yet had been met to excite fear for personal safety;
nothing to darken for a moment the cloudless prospect that had inspired
and shone upon their first westward movings.
“It was our custom,” says Lorenzo Oatman, “to lay by on the Sabbath,
both to rest physical nature, and also, by proper religious services,
to keep alive in our minds the remembrance of our obligations to our
great and kind Creator and Preserver, and to remind ourselves that we
were each travelers upon that great level of time, to a bourne from
whence no traveler returns.”
One Saturday night the tents were pitched upon the hither bank of
the Arkansas River. On the next morning Divine service was conducted
in the usual manner, and at the usual hour. Scarcely had the service
terminated ere a scene was presented calculated to interrupt the
general monotony, as well as awaken some not very agreeable
apprehensions for their personal safety. A Mr. Mutere was a short
way from the camp, on the other side of the river, looking after the
stock. While standing and gazing about him, the sound of crude, wild
music broke upon his ear. He soon perceived it proceeded from a band of
Indians, whom he espied dancing and singing in the wildest manner in a
grove near by. They were making merry, as if in exultation over some
splendid victory. He soon ascertained that they were of the Camanche
tribe, and about them were a number of very beautiful American horses
and mules. He knew them to be stolen stock, from the saddle and harness
marks, yet fresh and plainly to be seen. While Mr. Mutere stood looking
at them his eye suddenly fell upon a huge, hideous looking “buck,”
partly concealed behind a tree, out from which he was leveling a gun at
himself. He sprang into a run, much frightened, and trusted to leg bail
for a safe arrival at camp.
At this the Indian came out, hallooed to Mutere, and made the most
vehement professions of friendship, and of the absence of all evil
design toward him. But Mutere chose not to tarry for any reassurance
of his kindly interest in his welfare. As soon as Mutere was in
camp, several Indians appeared upon the opposite side of the river,
hallooing, and asking the privilege of coming into camp, avowing
friendliness. After a little their request was granted, and about a
score of them came up near the camp. The party soon had occasion to
mark their folly in yielding to the request of the Indians, who were
not long in their vicinity ere they were observed in secret council
a little apart, also at the same time bending their bows and making
ready their arrows, as if upon the eve of some malicious intent. “At
this,” says L. Oatman, “our boys were instantly to their guns, and
upon the opposite side of the wagon, preparing them for the emergence.
But we took good care to so hide us, as to let our motions plainly
appear to the enemy, that they might take warning from our courage
and not be apprised of our fears. Our real intention was immediately
guessed at, as we could see by the change in the conduct of our new
enemy. They, by this time, lowered their bows, and their few guns,
and modestly made a request for a cow. This roused our resolution,
and the demand was quickly resisted. We plainly saw unmistakable
signs of fear, and a suspicion that they were standing a poor show
for cow-beef from that quarter. Such was the first abrupt close that
religious services had been brought to on our whole route as yet. These
evil-designing wretches soon made off, with more dispatch evidently
than was agreeable. A few hours after they again appeared upon the
opposite bank, with about a score of fine animals, which they drove
to water in our sight. As soon as the stock had drank, they raised a
whoop, gave us some hearty cheering, and were away to the south at a
tremendous speed. On Monday we crossed the river, and toward evening
met a government train, who had been out to the fort and were now on
their return. We related to them what we had seen. They told us that
they had, a day or two before, come upon the remnant of a government
train who were on their way to the fort, that their stock had been
taken from them, and they were left in distress, and without means of
return. They also informed us that during the next day we would enter
upon a desert, where for ninety miles we would be without wood and
water. This information, though sad, was timely. We at once made all
possible preparations to traverse this old ‘Sahara’ of the Santa Fé
road. But these preparations as to water proved unnecessary, for while
we were crossing this desolate and verdureless waste, the kindly clouds
poured upon us abundance of fresh water, and each day’s travel for this
ninety miles was as pleasant as any of our trip to us, though to the
stock it was severe.”
While at the camp on the river one very tragical (?) event occurred,
which must not be omitted. One Mr. M. A. M., Jun., had stepped down
to the river bank, leisurely whistling along his way, in quest of a
favorable place to draw upon the Arkansas for a pail of water. Suddenly
two small girls, who had been a little absent from camp, with aprons
upon their heads, rose above a little mound, and presented themselves
to his view. His busy brain must have been preoccupied with “Injins,”
for he soon came running, puffing, and yelling into camp. As he went
headlong over the wagon-tongue, his tin pail as it rolled starting a
half-score of dogs to their feet, and setting them upon a yell, he
lustily, and at the topmost pitch of voice, cried, “Injins! Injins!” He
soon recovered his wits, however, and the pleasant little lasses came
into camp with a hearty laugh that they had so unexpectedly been made
the occasion of a rich piece of “fun.”
From the river bend or crossing, on to Moro, the first settlement
we reached in New Mexico, was about five hundred miles. During this
time nothing of special interest occurred to break the almost painful
monotony of our way, or ruffle the quiet of our _sociale_, save an
occasional family jar, the frequent crossing of pointed opinions, the
now-and-then prophecies of “Injins ahead,” etc., except one “Grape
Dumpling” affair, which must be related by leaving a severe part
untold. At one of our camps, on one of those fine water-courses that
frequently set upon our way, from the mountains, we suddenly found
ourselves near neighbors to a bounteously burdened grape orchard. Of
these we ate freely. One of our principal and physically talented
matrons, however, like the distrustful Israelites, determined not to
trust to to-morrow for to-morrow’s manna. She accordingly laid in a
more than night’s supply. The over-supply was, for safe keeping,
done up “brown,” in the form of well-prepared and thoroughly-cooked
dumplings, and these deposited in a cellar-like stern end of the “big
wagon.” Unfortunate woman! if she had only performed these hiding
ceremonies when the lank eye of one of our invalids, (?) Mr. A. P., had
been turned the other way, she might have prevented a calamity, kindred
to that which befell the _ancient_ emigrants when they sought to lay by
more than was demanded by immediate wants.
Now this A. P. had started out sick, and since his restoration had been
constantly beleaguered by one of those dubious blessings, common as
vultures upon the plains, a voracious appetite, an appetite that, like
the grave, was constantly receiving yet never found a place to say,
“Enough.” Slowly he crawled from his bed, after he was sure that sleep
had made Mrs. M. oblivious of her darling dumplings, and the rest of
the camp unheedful of his movements, and, standing at the stern of the
wagon, he deliberately emptied almost the entire contents of this huge
dumpling pan into his ever-craving interior.
It seems that they had been safely stored in the wagon by this
provident matron, to furnish a feast for the passengers when their
travels might be along some grapeless waste; and but for the unnatural
cravings of the unregulated appetite of A. P., might still have
remained for that purpose. It was evident the next day that the
invalid had been indulging in undue gluttony. He was “sick again,”
and, to use his own phrase, “like all backsliders, through worldly or
stomach prosperity and repletion.”
Madam M. now seized a stake, and thoroughly caned him through the camp,
until dumpling strength was low, very low in the market.
After crossing the big desert, one day, while traveling, some of
our company had their notions of our personal safety suddenly
revolutionized under the following circumstances. A Mr. J. Thompson
and a young man, C. M., had gone one side of the road some distance,
hunting antelope. Among the hills, and when they were some distance
in advance of the camp, they came upon a large drove of antelopes.
They were ignorant at the time of their whereabouts, and the routed
game started directly toward the train; but, to the hunters, the train
seemed to be in directly the opposite direction. In the chase the
antelopes soon came in sight of the train, and several little girls
and boys, seeing them, and seeing their pursuers, ran upon a slight
elevation to frighten the antelopes back upon the hunters; whereupon,
by some unaccountable mirage deception, these little girls and boys
were suddenly transformed into huge Indians to the eyes of the hunters.
They were at once forgetful of their anticipated game, and regarding
themselves as set upon by a band of some giant race, began to devise
for their own escape. Mr. T., thinking that no mortal arm could rescue
them, turned at once, and with much perturbation, to the young man, and
vehemently cried out: “Charles, let us pray.” Said Charles, “No, I’ll
be d--d if I’ll pray; let us run;” and at this he tried the valor of
running. All the exhortations of the old man to Charles “to drop his
gun” were as fruitless as his entreaties to prayer. But when Mr. T. saw
that Charles was making such rapid escape, he dropped his notions of
praying, and took to the pursuit of the path left by the running but
unpraying Charles. He soon outstripped the young man, and made him beg
most lustily of the old man “to wait, and not run away and leave him
there with the Injins alone.”
The chagrin of the brave hunters, after they had reached camp by a long
and circuitous route, may well be imagined, when they found that they
had been running from their own children; and that their fright, and
the running and fatigue it had cost them, had been well understood by
those of the camp who had been the innocent occasion of their chase for
antelopes suddenly being changed into a flight from “Injins.”
When we came into the Mexican settlements our store of meats was
well-nigh exhausted, and we were gratefully surprised to find that at
every stopping place abundance of mutton was in market, fresh, and of
superior quality, and to be purchased at low rates. This constituted
our principal article of subsistence during the time we were
traversing several hundred miles in this region.
Slowly, but with unmistakable indications of a melancholy character,
disaffection and disorder crept into our camp. Disagreements had
occurred among families. Those who had taken the lead in originating
the project had fallen under the ban and censure of those who, having
passed the novelty of the trip, were beginning to feel the pressure
of its dark, unwelcome, and unanticipated realities. And, in some
instances, a conduct was exhibited by those whose years and rank,
as well as professions made at the outset, created expectation and
confidence that in them would be found benefactors and wise counselors,
that tended to disgrace their position, expose the unworthiness of
their motives, and blast the bright future that seemed to hang over the
first steps of our journeyings. As a consequence, feelings of discord
were engendered, which gained strength by unwise and injudicious
counsels, until their pestilential effects spread throughout the camp.
At Moro we tarried one night. This is a small Mexican town, of about
three hundred inhabitants, containing, as the only objects of interest,
a Catholic Mission station, now in a dilapidated state; a Fort,
well-garrisoned by Mexican soldiers, and a fine stream of water, that
comes, cool and clear, bounding down the mountain side, beautifying and
reviving this finely located village.
The next day after leaving this place we came to the Natural, or Santa
Fe Pass, and camped that night at the well-known place called the
Forks. From this point there is one road leading in a more southerly
direction, and frequently selected by emigrants after arriving at the
Forks, though the other road is said, by those best acquainted, to
possess many advantages. At this place we found that the disaffection,
which had appeared for some time before, was growing more and more
incurable; and it began to break out into a general storm. Several of
our number resolved upon taking the south road; but this resolution was
reached only as a means of separating themselves from the remainder
of the train; for the intention really was to become detached from
the restraints and counsels that they found interfering with their
uncontrollable selfishness. There seemed to be no possible method by
which these disturbing elements could be quelled. The matter gave rise
to an earnest consultation and discussion upon the part of the sober
and prudent portion of our little band; but all means and measures
proposed for an amicable adjustment of variances and divisions, seemed
powerless when brought in contact with the unmitigated selfishness
that, among a certain few, had blotted out from their view the one
object and system of regulation that they had been instrumental in
throwing around the undertaking at first.
We now saw a sad illustration of the adage that “it is not all gold
that glitters.” The novelty of the scene, together with every facility
for personal comfort and enjoyment, may suffice to spread the glad
light of good cheer about the first few days or weeks of an emigrating
tour upon these dreary plains; but let its pathway be found among
hostile tribes for a number of weeks; let a scarcity of provisions be
felt; let teams begin to fail, with no time or pasturage to recruit
them; let inclement weather and swollen streams begin to hedge up the
way; these, and more that frequently becomes a dreadful reality, have
at once a wonderful power to turn every man into a kingdom by himself,
and to develop the real nature of the most hidden motives of his being.
Several of those who had, with unwonted diligence and forbearance,
sought to restore quiet and satisfaction, but to no purpose, resolved
upon remaining here until the disaffected portion had selected the
direction and order of their own movements, and then quietly pursue
their way westward by the other route. After some delay, and much
disagreeable discussion among themselves, the northern route was
selected by the malcontents, and they commenced their travels apart.
The remainder of us started upon the south road; and though our animals
were greatly reduced, our social condition was greatly improved.
We journeyed on pleasantly for about one hundred miles, when we
reached Socoro, a beautiful and somewhat thrifty Mexican settlement.
Our teams were now considerably jaded, and we found it necessary to
make frequent halts and tarryings for the purpose of recruiting them.
And this we found it the more difficult to do, as we were reaching a
season of the year, and section of country, that furnished a scanty
supply of feed. We spent one week at Socoro, for the purpose of rest
to ourselves and teams, as also to replenish, if possible, our fast
diminishing store of supplies. We found that food was becoming more
scarce among the settlements that lay along our line of travel; that
quality and price were likewise serious difficulties, and that our
wherewith to purchase even these was well-nigh exhausted.
We journeyed from Socoro to the Rio Grande amid many and disheartening
embarrassments and troubles. Sections of the country were almost
barren; teams were failing, and indications of hostility among the
tribes of Indians (representatives of whom frequently gave us the most
unwelcome greetings) were becoming more frequent and alarming.
Just before reaching the Rio Grande, two fine horses were stolen
from Mr. Oatman. We afterward learned that they had been soon after
seen among the Mexicans, though by them the theft was attributed
to unfriendly neighboring tribes; and it was asserted that horses,
stolen from trains of emigrants, were frequently brought into Mexican
settlements and offered for sale. It is proper here to apprise the
reader, that the project of a settlement in New-Mexico had now been
entirely abandoned since the division mentioned above, and that
California had become the place where we looked for a termination
of our travel, and the land where we hoped soon to reach and find a
_home_. At the Rio Grande we rested our teams one week, as a matter
of necessary mercy, for every day we tarried was only increasing the
probability of the exhaustion of our provisions, ere we could reach
a place of permanent supply. We took from this point the “Cook and
Kearney” route, and found the grass for our teams for a while more
plentiful than for hundreds of miles previous. Our train now consisted
of eight wagons and twenty persons. We now came into a mountainous
country, and we found the frequent and severe ascents and declivities
wearing upon our teams beyond any of our previous travel. We often
consumed whole days in making less than one quarter of the usual day’s
advance. A few days after leaving the Rio Grande, one Mr. Lane died
of the mountain fever. He was a man highly esteemed among the members
of the train, and we felt his loss severely. We dug a grave upon one
of the foot hills, and with appropriate funeral obsequies we lowered
his remains into the same. Some of the female members of our company
planted a flower upon the mound that lifted itself over his lonely
grave. A rude stake, with his name and date of his death inscribed
upon it, was all we left to mark the spot of his last resting-place.
One morning, after spending a cool night in a bleak and barren place,
we awoke with several inches of snow lying about us upon the hills in
the distance. We had spent the night and a part of the previous day
without water. Our stock were scattered during the night, and our first
object, after looking them up, was to find some friendly place where we
might slake our thirst.
The morning was cold, with a fierce bleak wind setting in from the
north. Added to the pains of thirst, was the severity of the cold. We
found that the weather is subject, in this region, to sudden changes,
from one to the other extreme. While in this distressed condition some
of our party espied in the distance a streak of timber letting down
from the mountains, indicative of running living water. To go to this
timber we immediately made preparation, with the greatest possible
dispatch, as our only resort. And our half-wavering expectations were
more than realized; for after a most fatiguing trip of nearly a day,
during which many of us were suffering severely from thirst, we reached
the place, and found not only timber and water in abundance, but a
plentiful supply of game. Turkeys, deer, antelope, and wild sheep were
dancing through every part of the beautiful woodland that lured us from
our bleak mountain camp. As the weather continued extremely cold we
must have suffered severely, if we had not lost our lives, even, by the
severity of the weather, as there was not a particle of anything with
which to kindle a fire, unless we had used our wagon timber for that
purpose, had we not sought the shelter of this friendly grove. We soon
resolved upon at least one week’s rest in this place, and arrangements
were made accordingly. During the week we feasted upon the most
excellent wild meat, and spent most of our time in hunting and fishing.
Excepting the fear we constantly entertained concerning the Indians of
the neighborhood, we spent the week here very pleasantly. One morning
three large, fierce-looking Apaches came into camp at an early hour.
They put on all possible pretensions of friendship; but from the first
their movements were suspicious. They for a time surveyed narrowly our
wagon and teams, and, so far as allowed to do so, our articles of food,
clothing, guns, etc. Suspecting their intentions we bade them be off,
upon which they reluctantly left our retreat. That night the dogs kept
up a barking nearly the whole night, and at seasons of the night would
run to their masters, and then a short distance into the wood, as if
to warn us of the nearness of danger. We put out our fires, and each
man, with his arms, kept vigilant guard. There is no doubt that by this
means our lives were preserved. Tracks of a large number of Indians
were seen near the camp next morning; and on going out we found that
twenty head of stock had been driven away, some of which belonged to
the teams. By this several of our teams were so reduced that we found
extreme difficulty in getting along. Some of our wagons and baggage
were left at a short distance from this in consequence of what we here
lost. We traced the animals some distance, until we found the trail
leading into the wild, difficult mountain fastnesses, where it was
dangerous and useless to follow.
We were soon gathered up, and en route again for “Ta Bac,” another
Mexican settlement, of which we had learned as presenting inducements
for a short recruiting halt.
We found ourselves again traveling through a rich pasturage country,
abounding with the most enchanting, charming scenery that had greeted
us since we had left the “Big Bend.” We came into “Ta Bac” with better
spirits, and more vigorous teams, than was allowed us during the last
few hundred miles.
At this place one of our number became the unwilling subject of a most
remarkable and dampening transaction. Mrs. M., of “grape dumpling”
notoriety, while bearing her two hundred and forty of avoirdupois about
the camp at rather a too rapid rate, suddenly came in sight of a well
that had been dug years before by the Mexican settlers.
While guiding her steps so as to shun this huge-looking hole, suddenly
she felt old earth giving way beneath her. It proved that a well of
more ancient date than the one she was seeking to shun had been dug
directly in her way, but had accumulated a fine covering of grass
during the lapse of years. The members of the camp, who were lazily
whiling away the hours on the down hill-side of the well’s mouth, were
soon apprised of the fact that some _momentous_ cause had interfered
with nature’s laws, and opened some new and hitherto unseen fountains
in her bosom. With the sudden disappearance of Mrs. M., there came a
large current of clear cold water flowing through the camp, greatly
dampening our joys, and starting us upon the alert to inquire into
the cause of this strange phenomenon. Mrs. M. we soon found safely
lodged in the old well, but perfectly secure, as the water, on the
principle that two bodies cannot occupy the same space at the same
time, had leaped out as Mrs. M.’s mammoth proportions had suddenly laid
an imperative possessory injunction upon the entire dimensions of the
“hole in the ground.”
We found, after leaving Ta Bac, the road uneven; the rains had set
in; the nights were cold; and evidences of the constant nearness and
evil designs of savage tribes were manifested every few miles that we
passed over. Several once rich, but now evacuated, Mexican towns were
passed, from which the rightful owners of the soil had been driven by
the Apaches. At “Santa Cruz” we found a Mexican settlement of about
one hundred inhabitants, friendly, and rejoiced to see us come among
them, as they were living constantly in fear of the implacable Apaches,
whose depredations were frequent and of most daring and outrageous
character. Almost every day bands of these miscreant wretches were in
sight upon the surrounding hills waiting favorable opportunities for
the perpetration of deeds of plunder and death. They would at times
appear near to the Mexican herdsmen, and tauntingly command them
“to herd and take care of those cattle for the Apaches.” We found
the country rich and desirable, but for its being infested by these
desperadoes. We learned, both from the Mexicans and the conduct of the
Indians themselves, that one American placed them under more dread and
fear than a score of Mexicans. If along this road we were furnished
with a fair representation, these Mexicans are an imbecile, frail,
cowardly, and fast declining race. By the friendliness and generosity
of the settlers at this point, we made a fine recruit while tarrying
there. For a while we entertained the project of remaining for a year.
Probably, had it not been for the prowling savages, whose thieving,
murdering banditti infest field and woodland, we might have entered
into negotiations with the Mexicans to this effect; but we were now
en route for the Eureka of the Pacific Slope, and we thought we had
no time to waste between us and the realization of our golden dreams.
Every inducement that fear and generosity could invent, and that was
in the power of these Mexicans to control, was, however, presented and
urged in favor of our taking up a residence among them. But we had no
certainty that our small number, though of the race most their dread,
would be sufficient to warrant us in the successful cultivation of the
rich and improved soil that was proffered us. Nothing but a constant
guard of the most vigilant kind could promise any safety to fields of
grain, or herds of cattle.
We next, and at about eighty miles from Santa Cruz, came to Tukjon,
another larger town than Santa Cruz, and more pleasantly, as well as
more securely situated. Here again the same propositions were renewed
as had been plied so vehemently at the last stopping-place. Such were
the advantages that our hosts held out for the raising of a crop of
grain, and fattening our cattle, that some of our party immediately
resolved upon at least one year’s stay. The whole train halted here one
month. During that time, those of our party who could not be prevailed
upon to proceed, had arrangements made and operations commenced for a
year of agricultural and farming employment.
At the end of one month the family of Wilders, Kellys, and ourselves,
started. We urged on amid multiplying difficulties for several days.
Our provisions had been but poorly replenished at the last place, as
the whole of their crops had been destroyed by their one common and
relentless foe, during the year. With all their generosity, it was out
of their power to aid us as much as they would have done. Frequently
after this, for several nights, we were waked to arm ourselves against
the approaching Apaches, who hung in front and rear of our camp for
nights and days.
Wearied, heart-sick, and nearly destitute, we arrived at the Pimo
Village, on or about the 16th of February, 1851. Here we found a
settlement of Indians, who were in open hostility to the Apaches, and
by whose skill and disciplined strength they were kept from pushing
their depredations further in that direction. But so long had open and
active hostilities been kept up, that they were short of provisions
and in nearly a destitute situation. They had been wont to turn their
attention and energies considerably to farming, but during the last two
years, their habits in this respect had been greatly interfered with.
We found the ninety miles that divides Tukjon from Pimole to be the
most dismal, desolate, and unfruitful of all the regions over which our
way had led us as yet. We could find nothing that could, to a sound
judgment, furnish matter of contention, such as had been raging between
the rival claimants of its blighted peaks and crags.
Poor and desolate as were the war-hunted Pimoles, and unpromising as
seemed every project surveyed by our anxious eyes for relief, and a
supply of our almost drained stores of provisions, yet it was soon
apparent to our family, that if we would proceed further we must
venture the journey alone. Soon, and after a brief consultation, a full
resolution was reached by the Wilders and Kellys to remain, and stake
their existence upon traffic with the Pimoles, or upon a sufficient
tarrying to produce for themselves; until from government or friends,
they might be supplied with sufficient to reach Fort Yuma.
To Mr. Oatman this resolution brought a trial of a darker hue than any
that had cast its shadows upon him as yet. He believed that starvation,
or the hand of the treacherous savage, would soon bring them to an
awful fate if they tarried; and with much reluctance he resolved
to proceed, with no attendants or companions save his exposed and
depressed family.