A Lost Age in California History
The Change Wrought by the Discovery of Gold
The Start from Johnson's Ranch
A Bucking Horse
A Night Ride
Lost in the Mountains
A Terrible Night
A Flooded Camp
Crossing a Mountain Torrent
Mule Springs
A Crazy Companion
Howlings of Gray Wolves
A Deer Rendezvous
A Midnight Thief
Frightening Indians
The Diary of the First Relief Party.
California, at this time, was sparsely settled, and it was a fearful
undertaking to cross the snowy mountains to the relief of the
storm-bound emigrants. A better idea of the difficulties to be
encountered by the various relief parties can not be presented than
by quoting from the manuscript of George W. Tucker. This gentleman
was sixteen years old at the time of the occurrences narrated, and his
account is vouched for as perfectly truthful and reliable. This sketch,
like the remainder of this book, treats of an epoch in California
history which has been almost forgotten. The scene of his adventures is
laid in a region familiar to thousands of miners and early Californians.
Along the route over which he passed with so much difficulty, scores of
mining camps sprung up soon after the discovery of gold, and every
flat, ravine, and hill-slope echoed to pick, and shovel, and pan, and
to voices of legions of men. Truly, his narration relates to a lost, an
almost unremembered era in the history of the famous mining counties,
Placer and Nevada. In speaking of the first relief party, he says:
"We mounted our horses and started. The ground was very soft among
the foothills, but we got along very well for two or three miles after
leaving Johnson's ranch. Finally, one of our packhorses broke through
the crust, and down he went to his sides in the mud. He floundered and
plunged until the pack turned underneath his body. He then came out of
the mud, bucking and kicking; and he bucked and kicked, and kicked and
bucked, till he cleared himself of the pack, pack-saddle and all, and
away he went back to the ranch. We gathered up the pack, put it upon the
horse Eddy was riding, and the party traveled on. Eddy and myself were
to go back to the ranch, catch the horse, and returning, overtake them.
We failed to find the horse that day, but the next morning an Indian got
on my horse, and, about nine o'clock, succeeded in finding the missing
animal. My horse, however, was pretty well run down when he got back.
Eddy and myself started about ten o'clock. We had to travel in one day
what the company had traveled in two days. About the time we started it
commenced clouding up, and we saw we were going to have a storm. We went
on until about one o'clock, when my horse gave out. It commenced raining
and was very cold. Eddy said he would ride on and overtake the company,
if possible, and have them stop. He did not overtake them until about
dark, after they had camped.
"My horse could only go in a slow walk, so I walked and led him to keep
from freezing. The rain continued to increase in volume, and by dark it
was coming down in torrents. It was very cold. The little stream began
to rise, but I waded through, though sometimes it came up to my armpits.
It was very dark, but I kept going on in hopes I would come in sight of
the camp-fire. But the darkness increased, and it was very difficult to
find the road. I would get down on my knees and feel for the road with
my hands. Finally, about nine o'clock, it became so dark that I could
not see a tree until I would run against it, and I was almost exhausted
dragging my horse after me. I had lost the road several times, but found
it by feeling for the wagon-ruts. At last I came to where the road made
a short turn around the point of a hill, and I went straight ahead until
I got forty or fifty yards from the road. I crawled around for some time
on my knees, but could not find it. I knew if the storm was raging in
the morning as it was then, if I got very far from the road, I could not
tell which was east, west, north, or south, I might get lost and perish
before the storm ceased, so I concluded to stay right there until
morning. I had no blanket, and nothing on me but a very light coat and
pair of pants. I tied my horse to a little pine tree, and sitting down,
leaned against the tree. The rain came down in sheets. The wind blew,
and the old pine trees clashed their limbs together. It seemed to me
that a second deluge had come. I would get so cold that I would get up
and walk around for a while. It seemed to me I should surely freeze.
Toward morning I began to get numb, and felt more comfortable, but that
was the longest and hardest night I ever experienced.
"In the morning, when it became light enough so that I could see two or
three rods, I got up, but my legs were so numb that I could not walk. I
rolled around until I got up a circulation, and could stand on my
feet. Leaving my horse tied to the tree, I found the road, went about a
hundred yards around the point of a hill, and saw the camp-fire up in a
little flat about a quarter of a mile from where I had spent the night.
Going up to camp, I found the men all standing around a fire they had
made, where two large pines had fallen across each other. They had laid
down pine bark and pieces of wood to keep them out of the water. They
had stood up all night. The water was running two or three inches deep
all through the camp. When I got to the fire, and began to get warm, my
legs and arms began to swell so that I could hardly move or get my hands
to my face.
"It never ceased raining all that day nor the next night, and we were
obliged to stand around the fire. Everything we had was wet. They had
stacked up our dried beef and flour in a pile, and put the saddles and
pack saddles over it as well as they could, but still it got more or
less wet. The third morning it stopped raining about daylight, and the
sun came out clear and warm. We made scaffolds and spread our meat all
out, hung up our blankets and clothing on lines, and by keeping up fires
and with the help of the sun, we managed to get everything dry by night.
The next morning we packed up and started on until we came to a little
valley, where we found some grass for our horses. We stayed there that
night. The next day we got to Steep Hollow Creek, one of the branches
of Bear River. This stream was not more than a hundred feet wide, but it
was about twenty feet deep, and the current was very swift. We felled a
large pine tree across it, but the center swayed down so that the water
ran over it about a foot deep. We tied ropes together and stretched them
across to make a kind of hand railing, and succeeded in carrying over
all our things. We undertook to make our horses swim the creek, and
finally forced two of them into the stream, but as soon as they struck
the current they were carried down faster than we could run. One of them
at last reached the bank and got ashore, but the other went down under
the tree we had cut, and the first we saw of him he came up about twenty
yards below, heels upward. He finally struck a drift about a hundred
yards below, and we succeeded in getting him out almost drowned. We then
tied ropes together, part of the men went over, and tying a rope to each
horse, those on one side would force him into the water, and the others
would draw him across. We lost a half day at this place. That night we
climbed a high mountain, and came to snow. Camped that night without any
feed for our horses. The next day, about noon, we reached Mule Springs.
The snow was from three to four feet deep, and it was impossible to go
any farther with the horses. Unpacking the animals, Joe Varro and Wm.
Eddy started back with them to Johnson's Ranch. The rest of us went
to work and built a brush tent in which to keep our provisions. We set
forks into the ground, laid poles across, and covered them with cedar
boughs. We finished them that evening, and the next morning ten of
the men fixed up their packs, consisting of dried beef and flour, and
started on foot, each one carrying about seventy-five pounds. They left
Billy Coon and myself to watch the provisions until they returned. I
have never been in that country since, but I think Mule Springs is on
the opposite side of Bear River from Dutch Flat.
"After the men had all gone, I amused myself the first day by getting
wood and cutting cedar limbs to finish our camp with. My companion,
Billy Coon, was partially insane, and was no company at all. He would
get up in the morning, eat his food, and then lie down and sleep for
two or three hours. He would only talk when he was spoken to; and all he
knew was to sleep and eat. I got very lonesome, and would sit for
hours thinking of our situation. Sixty miles from any human habitation!
Surrounded with wild Indians and wild beasts! Then, when I would look
away at the snow-capped peaks of the Sierra, and think that my father
and the rest of the men where there, toiling under the heavy loads which
they carried, I became still more gloomy. When night would come, the
big gray wolves that had collected on the mountains facing to the south,
where the snow had melted off, would set up their howlings. This, with
the dismal sound of the wind roaring through the tall pine trees, was
almost unendurable. To this day, when I am in pine timber, and hear the
wind sighing through the tree-tops, I always think of the Donner Party
and of those lonely days in the mountains.
"The third day after the men left I became so lonesome that I took
the gun and went down in the direction in which I had heard the wolves
howling. When I got down out of the snow, I found the deer had collected
there by the hundreds. I killed two deer; went up and got Billy Coon,
and we carried them up to camp. We hung one on each corner of our brush
tent, not more than six feet from our bed, and not more than four feet
from the fire. Next morning one of the deer was gone! I supposed the
Indians had found us out and stolen it; but when I looked for tracks I
found the thief had been a California lion. I tracked him two or three
hundred yards, but he had walked off with the deer so easily, I thought
he might keep it. That afternoon I went down to kill another deer, but
when I reached a point from which I could see down to the river, I saw
the smoke of an Indian camp. I was afraid to shoot for fear the Indians
would hear the gun, and finding out we were there, would come up and
give us trouble. I started back, and when in sight of camp I sat down
on a log to rest. While sitting there I saw three Indians coming up
the hill. I sat still to see what they would do. They came up to within
sight of the camp, and all crawled up behind a large sugar-pine tree,
and sat there watching the camp. I did not like their movements, so
thought I would give them a scare. I leveled the old gun at the tree,
about six feet above their heads, and fired away. They got away from
there faster than they came, and I never saw them afterwards."
"On the fifth day after the men left, three of them came back to the
camp. They informed me they had been three days in traveling from Mule
Springs to Bear Valley, a distance of twelve miles. These three had
found it impossible to stand the journey, but the other seven had
started on from Bear Valley. It was thought they could never get over to
Truckee Lake, for the snow was so soft it was impossible to carry their
heavy loads through from ten to thirty feet of it."
M. D. Ritchie and R. P. Tucker kept a diary of the journey of the first
relief party, which, thanks to Patty Reed, now Mrs. Frank Lewis, is
before us. It is brief, concise, pointed, and completes the narration of
Mr. George W. Tucker. Mr. Ritchie's diary reads:
"Feb. 5, 1847. First day traveled ten miles. Bad roads; often miring
down horses and mules. On the sixth and seventh traveled fifteen
miles. Road continued bad; commenced raining before we got to camp, and
continued to rain all that day and night very severe. Lay by here on the
eighth to dry our provisions and clothing."
"Feb. 9. Traveled fifteen miles. Swam the animals over one creek, and
carried the provisions over on a log."
"Feb. 10. Traveled four miles; came to the snow; continued about four
miles further. Animals floundering in snow, and camped at the Mule
Springs."
"Feb. 11. Mr. Eddy started back with the animals; left William Coon and
George Tucker to guard what provisions were left in camp; the other ten
men, each taking about fifty pounds, except Mr. Curtis, who took about
twenty-five pounds. Traveled on through the snow, having a very severe
day's travel over mountains, making about six miles. Camped on Bear
River, near a cluster of large pines."
"Feb. 12. Moved camp about two miles, and stopped to make snow-shoes;
tried them on and found them of no benefit; cast them away."
"Feb. 13. Made Bear Valley. Upon digging for Curtis' wagon, found the
snow ten feet deep, and the provisions destroyed by the bears. Rain and
snow fell on us all night."
By Curtis' wagon is meant a cache made by Reed and McCutchen, which will
be described in the next chapter.
"Feb. 14. Fine weather."
From this time forward, the journal was kept by Reasin P. Tucker.
"Feb. 15. Fine day. Three of our men decline going any further--W. D.
Ritchie, A. Brueheim, and James Curtis. Only seven men being left,
the party was somewhat discouraged. We consulted together, and under
existing circumstances I took it upon myself to insure every man who
persevered to the end, five dollars per day from the time they entered
the snow. We determined to go ahead, and camped to-night on Yuba River,
after traveling fifteen miles."
"Feb. 16. Traveling very bad, and snowing. Made but five miles, and
camped in snow fifteen feet deep."
"Feb. 17. Traveled five miles."
"Feb. 18. Traveled eight miles, and camped on the head of the Yuba; on
the pass we suppose the snow to be thirty feet deep."
The "pass" was the Summit. Relief was close at hand. Would it find the
emigrants?