CIVILIZED LIFE IN A LARGE AND YOUNG CITY--WHAT A REDSKIN WOULD
THINK OF IT--A CHANDELIER AND A BONFIRE--THE OLD FRIEND--THE
WELL-KNOWN PIPE--TOO OLD TO KILL--SPITTED--THE WHITE MAHALA--AGAIN
IN CO-OPERATION WITH THE GOVERNMENT--THREE MORE INDIAN MURDERS
--OUR INDIAN RECRUIT--"SHOOT HEAP, BUT NO GUN"--"A CONVARTED RED
DEVIL."
The following winter was passed by me in San Francisco. It was for the
first time since I had joined Captain Crim in crossing the Plains, that
I had trodden the streets of a large city. All seemed to me so new, so
busy, so thickly populated, that, for a few days, it appeared to me like
the real Wilderness, while I looked back on the mountains, the forests,
the cañons, and the desert I had left, as my actual world.
My feelings partially realized those of the savage, when for the first
time he treads in the active marts of trade, and their equally laborious
wealth or poverty.
Mingling with his wonder at the thronged and toiling stores, the
superficial wealth everywhere apparent, the spars and masts of the huge
shipping, the numerous spires, the sloping-eyed and high cheek-boned
Chinese, the buzz of countless life surging around him, the clanging
bells from the churches, haply the decorated volunteers stepping out to
the voice of drum and trumpet, with the elegantly dressed women, the
inanely simpering dandies, and blear-eyed spectacled old men, who have
been working on and on without pause or cessation for scores of
years--there cannot but rise in him a feeling of contempt for all he
sees before him.
He may not but contrast his own chainless and unfettered existence with
that walled-in life whose passions are merely, so it would appear to
him, things of routine; whose enjoyments seem to him meaningless
shadows; whose loves and hates would count in his eye as nothing; and
whose range, from the cradle to the grave, is to him narrower than the
glad gallop of a single day on which he sights his game, or spots his
enemy.
But what have I to do with such thoughts as these? My white friend
cannot realize them--nor can my red enemy even read them. The first will
consequently laugh at me for indulging in, while the last will never
hear of my having entertained, any such reflections.
Moreover, after the first week of my sojourn in San Francisco, they
gradually wore away. In my early life, which had been for so many years
almost forgotten, I had been upon the stage, had dealt in pop-corn, and
had proven my skill as a detective. If I could now find no occasion to
employ one of the last-named class, I could in any case purchase and eat
the second when it came in my way, and gaze upon that which was enacted
on the first, either laughingly or applausively. So, by degrees, the
old-time fancies came back, and I began to believe there might be some
delight in civilization after all. I saw a few friends, and, as I was
not without money, made many new. Some of these have been really
friends, and some of them--well! it would be useless to sum up their
characters, as they were not the red devils I had latterly been brought
in contact with. Possibly, none of them would have felt any pleasure in
making my body serve as a living chandelier, by way of a prelude to
lighting a bonfire with my person as the central faggot. Yet, very
certainly, they would have cleaned me out of all I had about me, without
the slightest compunction, not even allowing me to retain the price of
one meal.
Amongst my old friends, I met Captain Crim, then a wealthy horse-dealer,
dwelling on the Mission, and one whose word would have been good for
thousands.
After our first interview, we dined together; and when I had given him a
rough sketch of my adventurous life after he had left me at Susanville,
we had a long talk over the events attending my first appearance on the
Plains under my engagement with him. Many of the incidents which had
occurred during it had almost been forgotten by me until he recalled
them, and three or four of them were solemnized by a hearty roar of
laughter upon my part, in which my old Captain joined with a will.
However, all pleasures must end. It was thus with my visit to the
capital of the West.
After the first week of my stay in San Francisco, there is no doubt but
that I began to enjoy the novelty of complete civilization thoroughly.
Neither can there be any doubt but that complete civilization as
thoroughly enjoyed me. In truth, in some three months it literally
cleaned me out. An offer was made me of a brief engagement on the stage.
But my first week's repugnance, when my pockets were not empty, had with
their emptiness deepened into a strong disgust. Shaking off the dust
from the soles, not of my feet, but my boots, in the spring, I again
turned my face towards Honey Lake.
It need scarcely be affirmed that my little wife was glad enough to see
me again. Without imputing to her any lack of affection, it may,
however, be assumed that the Rangers were almost as pleased as she was,
at my reappearance in Susanville. Brighton Bill, as I afterwards heard,
said:
"Now, Hi'm blowed hif we shan't 'ave ha little fun. Mose his has good ha
Cap for ha lark, has ha Hingun skrimmage."
Whether so or not, the boys rallied round me at once, and, greatly to my
wife's disgust, commenced a series of plannings and plottings for the
occupation of the ensuing summer and winter.
This year was commemorated by a very heavy emigration to Idaho by the
way of Susanville, Surprise Valley, and Peuabla Mountain. General
Wright, who was on his way to the vicinity of the latter, for the
purpose of prospecting with a party of some twelve men, had been
specially recommended to me, and tarried with me for some four or five
weeks.
After this, he had started in the direction of Peuabla. For a
considerable length of time no news came back to us, in any way, of his
party. Naturally, this, at first, caused small uneasiness on our parts.
Neither the Pony Express nor the Telegraph have yet penetrated every
part of the great but sparsely settled West. In consequence of this, the
lack of constant intelligence scarcely argued that the receipt of news
must unmistakably be unpleasant, if not disastrous.
However, I chanced to be out with a party of the Rangers, on our way to
the Humboldt River. We were near Black Rock, when we happened to meet an
old Pah-ute Indian with several squaws, possibly or not, his own
property. There was an appearance of a sort of Mormon respectability
about the wrinkled red-skin, which at the moment impressed me, to a
certain extent, favorably. Feeling this, I stepped up to him for the
purpose of speaking. Judge what my astonishment was, when, drawing near
him, to notice that he was smoking a pipe which I positively remembered
as having been in the possession of the General.
There could not be the slightest mistake in this fact.
It was much too costly a pipe to have come into the possession of any
Indian, save as a present, or by the more usual means in which the
red-skin may acquire such property. My readers will very readily
understand what such means are. Wright had himself told me how highly he
valued this pipe. It had been presented to him by a dear friend, who was
at this time dead. There must necessarily have been but small
probability that it should have been a voluntary gift to the old
Pah-ute.
Taking it at once from him, I demanded "where" he "got it."
"Me heap find em," was his leisurely reply. "Injin no steal 'em."
By this time, Bill Dow and several of the other Rangers had joined us.
Dow also had happened to notice the pipe in the General's possession.
With an angry imprecation, he exclaimed:
"Yer lie, yer red devil!" Then turning to me, he said: "Mose! as sure as
God's in Heaven, that 'ere cuss has had a hand in killing Wright, for
sartin. I reckon we'd jist better go over to Pabla, and look arter his
party. Not, Cap! as I wants to dictate to yer. Only knowing as how the
Gineral was a real friend of your'n, I thought, perhaps--"
"Thought!" I cried out, "Dow, when you know you are right."
"I'm dead sartin of it," he muttered between his teeth.
The aged Pah-ute had, while this was passing, been regarding me with
that stoical indifference of feature which is so characteristic of the
red man. Looking fixedly at him, I said:
"If you were not an old fellow, I would at once kill you. But if
anything has gone wrong with the General or his party, see that you
never again allow yourself to come within sight of me."
Immediately after this, we started for Summit Lake, and passing it, went
down the cañon as far as the Puabla. On the following day about noon, we
came to a cabin which had very evidently been occupied by Wright and his
companions. It was now empty. The small cañon in which this rough cabin
stood was filled with cottonwood trees and a dense growth of small
underbrush. As we were examining the place, I came upon the first
fragmentary testimony of the dark tragedy which had branded this spot
with an ineffaceable stain. This was the leg of a man, which had been
hewn off just below the knee. While I was yet looking at it, Arnold
called out in a tremulously hollow voice, which at once indicated from
how intensely nervous an agitation he must be suffering:
"Come here, Mose."
He was but a short distance in advance of me; and when I arrived where
he was standing, let me own that I frankly regretted not having cut the
throat of the wrinkled old ruffian whose possession of the General's
pipe had placed me on the track of this most dastardly and savage
murder--aye! and the throats of all the squaws who were with him, too.
Had I not, in my own person, had a sufficient experience of the
gentleness of these she-devils? Could I doubt that it had been also
displayed in the atrocious massacre of General Wright and the
unfortunate men who had accompanied him?
I shall, of course, be asked for the full particulars of this ferocious
butchery. Let me be as brief as I can in penning the details, which
almost sicken me while I recall them.
We found the General actually spitted, a pointed stake having been
forced lengthwise from behind through his body, and protruding beneath
his chin. This stake had then been placed upon two crotched limbs of
trees, above a fire, of which nothing but the dead embers now remained.
As far as we could make out, there were no other marks of violence on
the charred shape of the victim. He must have been killed by the
terrible torture of thrusting this stake through his entrails. The
remainder of his party had been literally cut into pieces. Arms, hands,
heads, feet, legs, thighs, and bodies had been hewn apart, and were
scattered around in the brush. Nor was there more than one of the
victims who might have been slain before they were subjected to this
inch by inch torture. Only a single wound by a bullet could be found by
us, on any of these mutilated fragments of what had once been life.
And these brutal devils are the race that the Government of the United
States demand should be dealt gently with by its children. I should
refrain from denouncing them, perhaps, when the barbarities I had twice
experienced at their hands are remembered by me. But in such a case as
the present one, where my memory has no individual suffering to give it
edge and bitterness, I may surely be permitted to express my opinions.
This, the more specially, when I know that these opinions are shared in
by every settler who has had some two or three years' practical dealing
with the falsehood, rascality, treachery, blood-thirstiness, and
demon-like barbarity, which, almost invariably, in every instance,
characterize the Western Indian.
What, let me fearlessly ask, could in any way have been the natural
result of the hesitation of the Government at Washington, to operate
efficiently for the protection of its own children?
These men had, undoubtedly, the right to claim such a protection. Any
other country to which they might have belonged, would have given it to
them. It has, however, been consistently refused, or accorded them in a
way which renders it worse than useless. They have, consequently, been
compelled to rely upon themselves for protection, it being carried out
after their own fashion. Necessarily, this fashion has varied. But, in
no case, could it take a shape other than of the struggle ever-existent
between the conflicting parties, when law has become paralyzed, or
neglects to put in a satisfactory appearance. For many years, legal
restraint had been overridden in San Francisco. At length, the condition
of society resulting from this became unbearable. It was then that the
citizens of the capital of the young and vigorous West took the matter
into their own hands, independently of the State authorities. A
vigilance committee sprung from their actual necessity, and, in a short
space of time, daily crime was reduced to the ordinary ratio it bears in
civilization. Even in the great Eastern metropolis, during the past two
or three years, a similar necessity has been proclaimed, and a like
exertion of the popular will has been predicted by some of the leading
New York journals. There, however, law seems recently to have awakened
from its long slumber, and, if consistently active and severe, will
repress the lawlessness of passion or criminality.
But where there is no law, save on sparsely rare occasions, as is
sufficiently evidenced on the mountains, and in the valleys and plains
bordering on California, the action of vigilance committees, or some
restraint as sharp and certain, is a paramount necessity.
How can it be wondered at, while crime of the nature of the
last-mentioned, and others which I have recounted, are of well-nigh
yearly occurrence, that it should have exerted, on the part of those
exposed to its visitation--without the interference of national
protection except at rare intervals--the determination to repress it,
bloodily and mercilessly, as the instances in which it develops its own
atrocity and pitilessness, too evidently require?
However, let me avoid the appearance of defending what I believe to be
the righteous exertion of a spirit of self-protection, and leave it to
the unbiassed judgment of my readers.
Burying the fragments of the bodies of the poor victims, or as many of
them as we could find after a long and sorrowful search, in as decent a
manner as we could, we resumed our way to the Humboldt. Here we located
some six miles above Lancaster, on this river, and met with no very
great success in our search for the precious metals. While here, an
Indian from above Gravelly Ford, known by us as Shoshonee John, came in
to our party. He could talk very fair English, and had been driven from
his tribe in consequence of his openly professed friendly feeling to the
whites. After a brief discussion among the boys, he was permitted to
remain with us, until we started on our return. This was some time in
August, in 1865.
We had reached the back of Granite Creek Station, which was then kept by
Allen Simmons, from Oroville, and a man of the name of Bill Curry, when
we fell in with some eight or ten Mahalas, with their papooses or
children.
One of the Mahalas was a white woman. She had been taken by the Bannocks
when she was no more than twelve years of age, in 1851. All her
relatives and companions had been killed by them. Only herself had been
spared. She was now married to a red-skin, by whom, she told us, she had
five children. On our asking her to leave her captors, with the tears
standing in her eyes, she refused to do so. She said that she knew of no
friends who would receive her. What, she did not attempt to disguise
that she considered as the disgrace of her present life, would, as she
felt, preclude her from all white friendship. In consequence of this,
she avowed herself determined to remain. On being further questioned,
she told us that we were the first white men she had seen since the
period of her capture. I then asked her, if she had heard of the
horrible massacre of General Wright and his party. Bursting into tears,
she affirmed that it had been "the work of Smoke-creek Sam, and the
wretches who were with him."
Her grief and disgust at this were so marked and unmistakable, that I
had no hesitation in asking her to tell us how and where we might find
this scoundrel and his gang of ruffians. Without the slightest
hesitation, she did so. Indeed, from the sudden flash in her eyes, and
the rush of color to her tanned, yet still smooth cheeks, I felt
convinced she experienced a bitter delight in believing that we might
punish him. It is generally impossible for the necessity of life, or
even for love, to blot out the ties of blood. She might be compulsorily
a Mahala, yet was still, at heart, a white woman.
Again I endeavored to induce her to quit her present mode of life, but,
unhesitatingly, although sadly, she refused to abandon the red-skin with
whom her existence had been for so many years linked, and his and her
children.
At Granite Station, Al. Simmons gave us additional information
respecting Smoke-creek Sam. He had a few days before surprised a party
of Chinamen, between the Peuabla mountain and Owyhee River. Some sixty,
in all of them, had been murdered by the gang. This had been effected,
in a similar way to the cruel mode of death by which General Wright had
perished.
Pushing on, therefore, to the military station at Smoke Creek, we
detailed the circumstances of these bloody outrages to Captain Smith,
who was then in command of it.
His horror at hearing of the last, and being made acquainted with the
details of the first, by those who had seen the remains of the murdered
party, was as thorough, almost, as ours had been. An arrangement with
him was, in consequence, speedily concluded, by which we were to proceed
to Susanville, and, after giving our horses and ourselves a few days'
rest, return to the station. Thence we were to start, in company with
himself and men, to inflict, if possible, a well-deserved and
retributory punishment on Smoke-creek Sam and his gang.
On arriving at the station, we found a party of three or four men from
the Humboldt, who had preceded us by a few hours.
They had brought the intelligence that a party of Indians had visited
Granite Creek on the day before. The station, as they informed us, had
been burned to the ground. Al. Simmons, Bill Curry, and another man, had
been killed. When A. R. Le Roy, who had joined the Rangers previous to
our leaving the Humboldt River, heard this, he was fearfully excited.
Al. Simmons had been one of his dearest friends, and the news of this
additional murder increased not only his rage, but that of all of us.
Captain Smith was by no means dilatory. His men were soon in their
saddles, after we had rejoined him, and we pushed on rapidly to Granite
Creek.
About one hundred yards west of the station, we found the body of
Simmons, lying on his face upon the ground. A small bullet-hole was just
outside of his heart. He must have been slain instantly. Myself and the
other boys felt his death as keenly as we had done anything, for some
time. Scarcely eight days since, we had been sitting with him, and
talking of the butchery of the Chinese; and now we saw that his life had
been sacrificed by the red devils as relentlessly, although in a less
cowardly manner. As for Le Roy, when he saw the body, he flung himself
on the ground beside it, and throwing his arms around the lifeless form
of his friend, burst into a savage flood of tears. Within the burned-up
timber of the station lay poor Curry, who had been slain there. The
third man had evidently attempted to escape by flight. But the Indians
had been too quick for him. Judging by their tracks, which were still
clearly visible, he had been pursued, overtaken, and brought back. Less
fortunate than the others, his death had not been so speedy. He had been
stretched upon the earth with his face downwards. His hands and feet had
been fastened by thongs to stakes driven into it. Brush and branches,
hewn from the trees, had been then heaped upon his body and set fire to.
It would be unnecessary to say, that had anything been wanting to
quicken our desire for retaliation, this must have done so. After
attending to a hurried burial, we took the trail, which led us evidently
in the direction the white Mahala had indicated to me, when I had asked
her to tell me where Smoke-creek Sam and his gang were generally to be
found.
Two days after, we camped for the night in a small valley in the
mountains above Black Rock.
This valley was some six miles, or more, distant from an almost level
piece of ground, to which the name of Soldier Meadows had been given.
After attending to the demands of our stomachs, for we had been on our
own legs or those of our horses since daybreak, I went out with some
other of the Rangers, as scouts, to discover if we were yet near the
red-skins. Possibly an hour and a half may have elapsed, when some
camp-fires were seen by me in the direction of the upper part of Queen's
River. Shoshonee John had accompanied me, and detected them as quickly
as I had done.
"Pah-ute Ingin!" he at once said.
"Or Smoke-creek Sam!" I could not help replying.
"All, heap same. Pah-ute as bad, only Smoky-creek Sam some worse."
Without pausing to discuss his exceeding Irish summary of the merits of
the original tribe, and those who had absconded or been expelled from
it, we immediately returned to our camp, being joined upon our way by
Butch' Hasbrouck, who had also detected the same camp-fires.
"How far off, Butch', did you believe the red-skins were?"
"Ten miles will bring yer to 'em."
"He right!" sententiously observed the Indian who had accompanied me.
My estimate of the distance agreed with theirs, and upon our reaching
the camp, the Rangers immediately took to their saddles, and Captain
Smith ordered his men to mount. While they were doing this the red-skin
addressed me, saying:
"Give Shoshonee John a gun, to help shoot heap Pah-utes."
"How do I know you will?"
The question was prompted by the knowledge I had acquired of the Indian
character. It seemed to me that if the petitioner had owned a gun at the
time about which he first joined us, he might, not improbably, have kept
out of our neighborhood. He, however, answered me promptly enough.
"Pah-ute Ingin heap shoot Shoshonee John when catch him. Shoshonee John
shoot him, too."
It might be so. But Harry Arnold and Ben Painter took the same view of
the case as I did, and the matter was compromised by Captain Smith
ordering him to be given a cavalry sabre. At the same time, Brighton
Bill, who had been listening, growled out:
"'E's ha convarted red devil. Hi'm blamed hif H'i wouldn't 'a given 'im
a rifle."
When within a mile or something more of the camp, a halt was ordered,
while some of us made a reconnoissance. Creeping up to their position,
we found the band must count heavily. It had encamped on the very edge
of the desert, which was here some forty miles across, without a single
bush or shrub growing upon it. It formed almost a dead level, and in the
dry season was so hard that a horse would scarcely leave the slightest
track by which scout or red-skin could have trailed it.