THE FRASER RIVER STAMPEDE.
On the 21st day of March, 1858, the schooner Wild Pidgeon arrived at
Steilacoom and brought the news that the Indians had discovered gold on
Fraser River; had traded several pounds of the precious metal with the
Hudson Bay Company, and that three hundred people had left Victoria and
vicinity for the new eldorado. And, further, the report ran, the mines
were exceedingly rich.
The next day there came further reports from the north, that the
Bellingham Bay Company's coal mines had been compelled to suspend work,
as all their operatives but three had started for the mines, that many
of the logging camps had shut down, and all the mills were running on
short time from the same cause.
The wave of excitement that ran through the little town upon the
receipt of this news was repeated in every town and hamlet of the
whole Pacific Coast, and continued around the world, sending thither
adventurous spirits from all civilized countries of the earth.
But when the word came the next week that one hundred and ten pounds
of gold had actually been received in Victoria, and that hundreds of
men were outfitting, the virulence of the gold fever knew no bounds,
and everybody, women folks and all, wanted to go, and would have
started pell-mell had there not been that restraining influence of
the second sober thought of people who had just gone through the mill
of adversity. My family was still in the block house we had built
during the war in the town of Steilacoom. Our cattle were peacefully
grazing on the plains a few miles distant, but there remained a
spirit of unrest that one could not fail to observe. There had been
no Indian depredations for two years west of the Cascade Mountains,
but some atrocious murders had been committed by a few renegade white
men, besides the murder of Leschi under the forms of law that had but
recently taken place. The Indians just over the mountains were in a
threatening mood, and in fact soon again broke out into open warfare
and inflicted heavy punishment on Steptoe's command, and came very near
annihilating that whole detachment.
The close of the Indian war of 1855-6 had engendered a reckless spirit
among what may be called the unsettled class that to many of the more
sober minded was looked upon as more dangerous than the Indians among
us. In the wake of the United States army paymaster came a vile set of
gamblers and blacklegs that preyed upon the soldiers, officers and men
alike, who became a menace to the peace of the community, and, like
a veritable bedlam turned loose, often made night hideous with their
carousals. The reader need not feel this is an overdrawn picture, for
it is not. We must remember the common soldiers of the United States
army fifty years ago were very different from our army of the present
time. At least such was the case with the forces stationed at Fort
Steilacoom at the time of which I am writing.
An illustration: Having drifted into a small business conducted in
our block house at Steilacoom, in an unguarded moment I let a half
dozen of the blue-coats (as the soldiers were then universally called)
have a few articles on credit. These men told their comrades, who came
soliciting credit but were refused, when some drunken members of the
party swore they would come strong enough to take the goods anyway,
and actually did come at night thirty strong, and having been refused
admission, began breaking down the door. A shot through the door that
scattered splinters among the assembled crowd served as a warning that
caused them to desist, and no damage was done, but the incident serves
to illustrate the conditions prevailing at the time the gold discovery
was reported. Pierce County contributed its contingent of gold seekers,
some of the desperadoes and some of the best citizens. One Charles
McDaniel, who killed his man while gone, returned to plague us;
another, one of our merchants, Samuel McCaw, bundled up a few goods,
made a flying trip up Fraser River, came back with fifty ounces of
gold dust and with the news the mines were all that had been reported,
and more, too, which of course added fuel to the burning flame of the
all-prevalent gold fever. We all then believed a new era had dawned
upon us, similar to that of ten years before in California that changed
the world's history. High hopes were built, most of them to end in
disappointment. Not but there were extensive mines, and that they were
rich, and that they were easily worked, but, how to get there was the
puzzling question. The early voyagers had slipped up the Fraser before
the freshets that came from the melting snows to swell the torrents of
that river. Those going later either failed altogether and gave up the
unequal contest, or lost an average of one canoe or boat out of three
in the persistent attempt. How many lives were lost never will be known.
"Beginning at a stump in the bank of said creek (Squalecum), about 20
feet above the bridge near the mouth of said creek; thence running due
west 240 feet; thence due south 60 feet; thence due east 240 feet;
thence due north 60 feet to the place of beginning." Such is the
description of a tract of land as recorded on the book of records of
deeds for the county of Whatcom, bearing date of June 25th, 1858. On
that date I was in Whatcom, and saw the sights and acted my part as one
of the wild men of the north country, received a deed for the land as
described from Edward Eldridge, who then resided on his claim adjoining
the town of Whatcom, and where he continued until his death. No public
surveys had up to that time been made, and so, to describe a lot I
was purchasing of Mr. Eldridge, what more durable monument could we
select than the big stump of one of those giants of the monster forests
fronting on Bellingham Bay.
Going back a little in my story to the receipt of the news of
the discovery on the Fraser and Thompson Rivers, each succeeding
installment of news that came to Steilacoom more than confirmed the
original report. Contingents began to arrive in Steilacoom from Oregon,
from California, and finally from "the States," as all of our country
east of the Rocky Mountains was designated by pioneers. Steamers great
and small began to appear with more or less cargo and passenger lists,
which we heard were as nothing compared to what was going on less than
a hundred miles to the north of us. These people landing in Whatcom in
such great numbers must be fed, we agreed, and if the multitude would
not come to us to drink the milk of our dairies and eat the butter,
what better could we do than to take our cows to the multitude where we
were told people did not hesitate to pay a dollar a gallon for milk and
any price one might ask for fresh butter.
But, how to get even to Whatcom was the "rub". All space on the
steamers was taken from week to week for freight and passengers, and
no room left for cattle. In fact, the movement of provisions was so
great that at one time we were almost threatened with a veritable
famine, so close had the stock of food been shipped. Finally, our
cattle, mostly cows, were loaded in an open scow and taken in tow
along side of the steamer (Sea Bird, I think it was), where all went
smoothly enough until we arrived off the head of Whidby Island, where
a chopped sea from a light wind began slopping over into the scow and
evidently would sink us despite our utmost efforts at bailing. When
the captain would slow down the speed of his steamer all was well, but
the moment greater power was applied, over the gunwales would come the
water. The dialogue that ensued between myself and the captain was more
emphatic than elegant and perhaps would not look well in print, but he
dare not risk let go of us or run us under without incurring the risk
of heavy damages and probable loss of life. But I stood by my guns
(figuratively), and would not consent to be landed, and so about the
20th of June, tired and sleepy, we were set adrift in Bellingham Bay,
and landed near the big stump described as the starting point for the
land purchased later.
But our cows must have feed, must be milked, and the milk marketed, and
so there was no rest nor sleep for us for another thirty-six hours.
In fact, there was but little sleep for anybody on that beach at the
time. Several ocean steamers had just dumped three thousand people on
the beach, and the scramble still continued to find a place to build a
house or stretch a tent, or even to spread a blanket, for there were
great numbers already on hand landed by previous steamers. The staking
of lots on the tide flats at night, when the tide was out, seemed to be
a staple industry. Driving of piles or planting of posts as permanent
as possible often preceded and accompanied by high words between
contestants came to be a commonplace occurrence. The belief among these
people seemed to be that if they could get stakes or posts to stand on
end, and a six-inch strip nailed to them to encompass a given spot of
the flats, that they would thereby become the owner, and so the merry
war went on until the bubble burst.
A few days after my arrival four steamers came with an aggregate of
over two thousand passengers, many of whom, however, did not leave
the steamer and took passage either to their port of departure, San
Francisco, Victoria, or points on the Sound. The ebb tide had set in,
and although many steamers came later and landed passengers, their
return lists soon became large and the population began to diminish.
Taking my little dory that we had with us on the scow, I rowed out
to the largest steamer lying at anchor surrounded by small boats so
numerous that in common parlance the number was measured by the acre,
"an acre of boats." Whether or not an acre of space was covered by
these craft striving to reach the steamer I will not pretend to say,
but can say that I certainly could not get within a hundred feet of
the steamer. All sorts of craft filled the intervening space, from
the smallest Indian canoe to large barges, the owners of each either
striving to secure a customer from a hapless passenger, or, having
secured one, of transferring his belongings to the craft.
There were but a few women in this crowd, but ashore, quite too many,
a large majority of whom (those on the ground will remember) were too
much like their arch representative, "Old Mother Damnable," well and
truly named. But I draw the veil.
"Where's DeLacy?" became a byword after weeks of earnest inquiry of the
uninitiated as to what was transpiring out at the front, where supposed
work was going on to construct a trail leading through the Cascade
Mountains to the mouth of Thompson River, that emptied into the Fraser
one hundred and fifty miles easterly from Whatcom. If a trail could be
constructed through the mountains from Whatcom, then the town would
at once bloom into a city, and the fortunes of townsite proprietors
would be made, and all might go to the mines whose spirit moved them.
It all looked very feasible on paper, but several obstacles not taken
into account by the impatient crowd defeated all their hopes. A fund
had been raised by subscription at the inception of the excitement to
send out parties to search for a pass, and W. W. DeLacy, an engineer
of considerable note, started out early in the season, and so far as I
know never came back to Whatcom.
Directly this party was sent out to search for a pass through the
mountains another party was set to work to follow and cut the trail.
All seemingly went well for awhile, and until there came no word to
the public from DeLacy. The trail workers were yet at work, but did
not know what was ahead of them. DeLacy had to them become a sort of
myth. The fact was he had failed to find a pass, and when he arrived
at a point that he thought was the summit, he had yet fifty miles or
more of the worst of the mountains ahead of him. Meanwhile, the trail
out from Whatcom for forty or fifty miles became well worn by men and
animals going and returning. I saw sixty men with heavy packs on their
backs start out in one company, everyone of whom had to come back after
floundering in the mountains for weeks. So long as there could be kept
up a hope that the trail would be cut through, just so long a complete
collapse of the townsite boom might be averted, and so DeLacy was kept
in the mountains searching for a pass which was never found.
About the time I landed in Whatcom, H. L. Yesler and Arthur A. Denny
headed a party to go through the Snoqualmie Pass, but they did not
reach the open country. W. H. Pearson, the intrepid scout, who won such
laurels with Governor Stevens in his famous ride from the Blackfeet
country, conducted a party of eighty-two persons, sixty-seven of whom
packed their bedding and food on their backs, through the Snoqualmie
Pass to the Wenatchee, where they were met by the Indians in such
numbers and threatening mood that nearly all beat a hasty retreat.
Simultaneous with the movement through the Snoqualmie Pass, like action
was set on foot to utilize the Natchess Pass, and large numbers must
have gotten through, as on August 7th the report was published that
fourteen hundred miners were at work on the Natchess and Wenatchee.
This report we know to be untrue, although it is possible that many
prospectors were on those rivers, and we know also some gold was taken
out, and more for many years afterwards. But the mines on these rivers
did not prove to be rich nor extensive.
At the same time efforts were made to reach the mines by crossing the
mountains further south. The people of Oregon were sure the best way
was to go up the Columbia River to The Dalles, and thence north through
the open country, and more than a thousand men were congregated at The
Dalles at one time preparing to make the trip northward.
All this while the authorities of British Columbia were not asleep,
but fully awake to their own interests. Soon Governor Douglass put
a quietus upon parties going direct from Puget Sound ports into the
Fraser River, and several outfits of merchandise were confiscated,
among which was one of McCaw and Rogers from Steilacoom. Another
effectual barrier was the prohibition from entering the country without
a miner's license, which could be obtained only at Victoria. In this
way the Whatcom game was blocked, with or without a trail, and the
population disappeared nearly as rapidly and more mysteriously than
it had come, and the houses that had been built were left tenantless,
the stakes that had been set were left to be swept away by tides or to
decay, and Whatcom for a time became only a memory to its once great
population.
It is doubtful if a stampede of such dimensions ever occurred where
the suffering was so great, the prizes so few and the loss of life
proportionately greater, than that to the Fraser in 1858. Probably not
one in ten that made the effort reached the mines, and of those who did
the usual percentage of blanks were drawn incident to such stampedes.
And yet the mines were immensely rich, and many millions of dollars
of gold value came from the find in the lapse of years, and is still
coming, though now nearly fifty years have passed.
While the losses to the people of the Puget Sound country were great,
nevertheless, good came out of the great stampede in the large
accession of population that remained after the return tide was over.
Many had become stranded and could not leave the country, but went to
work with a will, of whom not a few are still honored citizens of the
State that has been carved out of the Territory of that day.