The Great Stampede
The rush of people to the Pacific coast after the gold discovery may
well be called a stampede. The terrible overland journey, over thousands
of miles of Indian country, across high mountains and wide stretches
of desert, was often undertaken with poor cattle, half the necessary
supplies of food, and but little knowledge of the route. On the other
hand, those who preferred going by water would embark in any vessel,
however unsafe, sailing from Atlantic ports to the Isthmus.
In New York the excitement was especially great. Every old ship that
could be overhauled and by means of fresh paint made to look seaworthy
was gayly dressed in bunting and advertised to sail by the shortest and
safest route to California. The sea trip is thus described by an elderly
gentleman who made the journey when a boy of ten:--
“Together with the news of the discovery of gold came also reports of a
warm, sunny land which winter never visited, where life could be spent
in the open air,--a favorable spot where sickness was almost unknown.
It was, I think, as much on account of my mother’s health as to make his
fortune that my father decided to go to California. The water route was
chosen as being easier for her.
“The saying good-by to our relatives had been hard; but by the time we
were three miles from home we children ceased to grieve, so interested
were we in new sights and experiences.
“I had never seen salt water until that morning in New York, when we
boarded the gayly trimmed brig, the Jane Dawson, which was to carry us
to the Isthmus. To my sister and myself it was a real grief that our
vessel had not a more romantic name. We decided to call it the Sea
Slipper, from a favorite story, and the Sea Slipper it has always been
to us.
“On the deck there were so many unhappy partings that we became again
downhearted, a feeling which was intensified in the choppy seas of the
outer bay to the utter misery of mind and body. We got ourselves somehow
into our berths, where, with mother for company, we remained for many
hours. Finally the sea grew calmer and we were just beginning to enjoy
ourselves when off Cape Hatteras a severe storm broke upon us. The
vessel pitched and rolled; the baggage and boxes of freight tumbled
about, threatening the lives of those who were not kept to their berths
by illness.
“Although I was not seasick I dared not go about much. One night,
however, growing tired of the misery around me, I crawled over to the
end of the farther cabin, which seemed to be deserted. Presently the
captain and my father came down the stairs and I heard the officer say
in a hoarse whisper. ‘I will not deceive you, Mr. Hunt; the mainmast is
down, the steering gear useless, the crew is not up to its business,
and I fear we cannot weather the night!’ I almost screamed aloud in my
fright, but just then a long, lanky figure rose from the floor where it
had been lying. It was one of the passengers, a typical Yankee.
“‘See here, captain,’ he said, ‘my chum and I are ship carpenters,
and the other man of our party is one of the best sailors of the
Newfoundland fleet; just give us a chance to help you, and maybe we
needn’t founder yet awhile.’ The chance was given, and we did not
founder.
“Some days later we anchored in the harbor of Chagres. There were many
vessels in the bay, and a large number of people waiting to secure
passage across the Isthmus. They crowded around the landing place of the
river canoes and fought and shouted until we children were frightened
at the uproar, and taking our hands mother retired to the shade of some
trees to wait.
“It was almost night when father called to us to come quickly, as he had
a boat engaged for us. It lay at the landing, a long canoe, in one end
of which our things were already stored. Some men who were friends of
father’s and had joined our party stood beside it with revolvers in
hand watching to see that no one claimed the canoe or coaxed the boatmen
away. Mother and Sue were quickly tucked beneath the awning, the rest
of us tumbled in where we could, and at once our six nearly naked negro
boatmen pushed out the boat and began working it up the stream by means
of long poles which they placed on the bottom of the river bed, thus
propelling us along briskly but with what seemed to me great exertion.
“To us children the voyage was most interesting. On either side the
banks were covered with such immense trees as we had never dreamed of.
The ferns were more like trees than plants, and the colors of leaves
and flowers so gorgeous they were dazzling. The fruits were many and
delicious, but our father was very careful about our eating, and would
not allow us to indulge as we desired.
“The night came on as suddenly as though a great bowl had been turned
over us. For an hour or more we watched with delight the brilliant
fireflies illuminating all the atmosphere except at the end of the boat,
where the red light of a torch lit the scene. After we had lain down for
the night the moon rose and I could not enough admire the beauty of the
tropical foliage, with the silvery moonlight incrusting every branch and
leaf.
“The second day we left the boats and took mules for the rest of the
journey. To my delight I was allowed an animal all to myself. Sue rode
in a chair strapped to the back of a native, and our luggage was taken
in the same manner, the porters carrying such heavy loads that it did
not seem possible they could make the journey.
“To my sister and me, the city of Panama was amazingly beautiful, with
its pearl oyster shells glittering on steeple and bell tower, and the
dress of the people as magnificent as the costumes described in the
‘Arabian Nights.’ In Panama we waited a long time for a steamer. The
town was crowded and many people were ill. My mother was constantly
helping some one until my father forbade her to visit any stranger,
because cholera had broken out and many were dying.
“It was a joyful morning when we boarded the steamer California, steamed
out on the blue Pacific, and headed northward. We had more comfortable
quarters and better food than when on the Atlantic; but never on the
steamer did we feel the sense of grandeur and power that came to us on
the brig when, with white sails all set, she rushed like a bird before
the wind.
“Toward the close of the voyage there was so much fog that our captain
did not know just whereabouts we were, and for that reason kept well out
to sea. One morning there came a rap at the stateroom door, and a loud
voice cried, ‘Wake up, we shall be in San Francisco in less than an
hour.’ What a time of bustle followed! The sea was rough. Sue and I
fell over each other and the valises in our eagerness to get dressed. I,
being a boy, was out first. The sun was shining as though it was making
up for the days it was hidden from us. The water was blue and sparkling,
the air warm and delightful after the cold, foggy weather.
“We were steaming due east, and almost before I knew it we had passed
through Golden Gate and were in the quiet water of the bay. By the time
mother and Sue were on deck, we were nearing the wharf. I thought then
that San Francisco was rather disappointing in its looks, with its
unpainted houses of all kinds of architecture, and the streets like
washouts in the hills, but soon I learned to love it with a faithfulness
which was felt by many of the pioneers and will end only with life.”
Such were some of the hardships and discomforts endured by those
who traveled to California by water during the period of the gold
excitement. Yet those who made the journey by land often suffered even
more.
The first immigrant train to California started in 1841.
It brought among its members a young man named Bidwell, afterward United
States representative from California. Describing this journey in the
Century Magazine (Vol. 41), Mr. Bidwell says:--
“The party consisted of sixty-nine persons. Each one furnished his own
supplies of not less than a barrel of flour, sugar, and other rations in
proportion. I doubt whether there was a hundred dollars in money in the
whole party, but all were anxious to go.
“Our ignorance of the route was complete. We knew that California lay
west, and that was all. Some of the maps consulted and supposed to be
correct showed a lake in the vicinity of where we now know Salt Lake to
be, that was three or four hundred miles in length, with two outlets,
both running into the Pacific Ocean, either apparently larger than the
Mississippi River. We were advised to take along tools to make canoes,
so that if we found the country too rough for our wagons, we could
descend one of these rivers to the Pacific.” It was two years later that
Fremont, the pathfinder and roadmaker of the West, surveyed the great
Salt Lake and made a map of it. The Bidwell party after many hardships
reached California in safety.
The unhappy Donner party, also home seekers, made the journey in 1848.
They lost their way and became snow-bound in the mountains. A number of
them died from cold and starvation, but the remainder were rescued by
relief parties sent out from Sutter’s Fort. Their sufferings were
too terrible to be told, and yet they started with fair hopes and as
excellent an outfit as any party that ever crossed the plains. The
following is from an account of the journey written by one of their
number for the Century Magazine (Vol. 42):--
“I was a child,” says Virginia Reed Murphy, “when we started for
California, yet I remember the journey well. Our wagons were all made to
order, and I can say truthfully that nothing like the Reed family wagon
ever started across the plains. The entrance was on the side, and one
stepped into a small space like a room, in the center of the wagon. On
the right and left were comfortable spring seats, and here was also a
little stove whose pipe, which ran through the top of the wagon, was
prevented by a circle of tin from setting fire to the canvas. A board
about a foot wide extended over the wheels on either side, the full
length of the wagon, thus forming the foundation of a large roomy
second story on which were placed our beds; under the spring seats were
compartments where we stored the many things useful for such a journey.
Besides this we had two wagons with provisions.
“The family wagon was drawn by four yoke of choice oxen, the others by
three yoke. Then we had saddle horses and cows, and last of all my pony.
He was a beauty, and his name was Billy. The chief pleasure to which I
looked forward in crossing the plains was to ride on my pony every day.
But a day came when I had no pony to ride, for the poor little fellow
gave out. He could not endure the hardships of ceaseless travel. When I
was forced to part with him, I cried as I sat in the back of the wagon
watching him become smaller and smaller as we drove on until I could not
see him any more. But this grief did not come to me until I had enjoyed
many happy weeks with my pet.
“Never can I forget the morning when we bade farewell to our kindred and
friends. My father, with tears in his eyes, tried to smile as one
friend after another grasped his hand in a last farewell. My mother
was overcome with grief. At last we were all in the wagon, the drivers
cracked their whips, the oxen moved slowly forward, the long journey had
begun.
“The first Indians we met were the Caws, who kept the ferry and had to
take us over the Caw River. I watched them closely, hardly daring to
draw my breath, feeling sure that they would sink the boat in the middle
of the stream, and very thankful I was when I found that they were not
like the Indians in grandmamma’s stories.
“When we reached the Blue River, Kansas, the water was so high that
the men made rafts of logs twenty-five feet in length, united by cross
timbers. Ropes were attached to both ends and by these the rafts
were pulled back and forth. The banks of the stream being steep, our
heavy-laden wagons had to be let down carefully with ropes so that the
wheels might run into the hollow between the logs. This was a dangerous
task, for in the wagons were the women and children, who could cross the
rapid stream in no other way.
“After striking the great valley of the Platte the road was good, the
country beautiful. Stretching out before us as far as the eye could
reach was a valley as green as emerald, dotted here and there with
flowers of every imaginable color. Here flowed the grand old Platte--a
wide, shallow stream. This part of our journey was an ideal pleasure
trip. How I enjoyed riding my pony, galloping over the plain gathering
wild flowers! At night the young folks would gather about the camp
fire chattering merrily, and often a song would be heard or some clever
dancer would give us a jig on the hind door of a wagon.
“In the evening, when we rode into camp, our wagons were placed so as
to form a circle or corral, into which, after they had been allowed to
graze, the cattle were driven to prevent the Indians from stealing them.
The camp fire and the tents were placed on the outside of this square.
There were many expert riflemen in the party, and we never lacked game.
I witnessed many a buffalo hunt and more than once was in the chase
close behind my father. For weeks buffalo and antelope steaks were the
main article on our bill of fare, and our appetites were a marvel.” The
Reed family was the only one belonging to the Donner party, it is said,
who made the terrible journey without losing a member.
To the young people and men there was often much pleasure in crossing
the continent in a prairie schooner, as the white-covered emigrant wagon
was called; but to the women it was another matter, since they had to
ride constantly in a wagon, attend to the little children, and do the
cooking, often under great difficulties. Many of them learned to be
experts in camp cooking, requiring nothing more than a little hollow
in the hard ground for a range; or if there were plenty of stones, the
cooking place might be built up a little. Over this simple contrivance,
with the aid of a couple of iron crossbars, a kettle, a frying pan, and
coffee pot, many a delicious meal was easily and quickly prepared.
Mrs. Hecox, in the Overland Monthly, says: “I am sure the men never
realized how hard a time the women had. Of course the men worked hard
too, but after their day’s travel was over they sat around the camp
fire, smoked, and told stories, while the women were tending the
children, mending clothes, and making ready for the next day’s meals.
“After we crossed the Mississippi, it commenced raining, and for days we
splashed through the mud and slush. When we camped at night, we had
to wade about and make some kind of shelter for our fires, and I was
obliged to keep the children cooped up in the wagons. Here let me say
that I never heard an unkind word spoken among the women all the way
across the plain. The children were good, too, and never out of humor
either, unless some cross man scolded them.
“At one place a drove of buffalo ran into our train and gave us a bad
scare. I was in the wagon behind ours attending a sick woman when I
saw the drove coming. I knew the children would be frightened to death
without me, so I jumped from the wagon and ran, but I was too late.
Finding that I had no time to get into the wagon, I crawled under it,
where a wounded buffalo cow tried to follow me. I kicked her in the head
as I clung to the coupling pole, and somehow broke my collar bone.”
As soon as the grass began to get green in the spring of 1849, after
the news of the discovery of gold reached the States, the overland march
began. In white-covered emigrant wagons, in carts, on horses, mules,
even on foot, came the eager gold seekers. How poorly prepared were
many of them, it would be hard to believe. They were a brave and hardy
company of people, but they suffered much. It is estimated that at least
eight or ten thousand of the young, strong men died before the year was
over. Many of these deaths were due to overwork and exposure, to the
lack of the necessaries of life at the mines, also to the fact that
a great many of the gold seekers were clever, educated people, quite
unused to extreme poverty, and therefore lacking in the strength that
comes from self-denial.
Those who remained formed the best material for the making of the state.
To this class belonged those who endowed the two great universities
which are now the glory of California. For many years the highest
position in public life was held by men who came to the Golden State
over the plains or by the uncomfortable ocean route in the days of ‘49.