A Mountain Storm--Delay of Supplies--Clams and Ipecac--Arrival of
Train--A Cute Indian--Indian Sagacity--A Dangerous Weapon--Capture of
Indian Village--An Eloquent Chief--Woman’s Rights _versus_ Squaw’s
Wrongs--A Disturbed Family--A Magnificent Sunrise--On a Slippery
Slope--Sentiment and Poetry--Arrival at the Fresno.
A mountain storm raged with such violence as to stampede the mules
of the pack-train while the escort were encamped on the South Fork.
The mules were not overtaken until they reached the foot-hills of the
Fresno. In the meantime, while impatiently awaiting their return, our
rations gave out. In order to somewhat appease our hunger, Dr. Black
distributed his hospital stores among us. There were some canned fruits
and meats, and several cans of oysters and clams. The southerners of
the command waived their rights to the clams, but cast lots for the
oysters. Thinking we had a prize in the clams, we brought to bear our
early recollections of Eastern life, and compounded a most excellent
and, what we supposed would be, a most nourishing soup. Our enjoyment,
however, of this highly prized New England dish was of short duration;
for from some cause, never satisfactorily explained by Dr. Black, _or
other eminent counsel_, our Eastern mess, as if moved by one impulse
of re-gurgitation, _gave up their clams_. Fortunately for us our
supplies arrived the next morning; for the game procurable was not
sufficient for the command. Major Savage sent Cow-chitty, a brother
of Pon-wat-chee, the chief of the Noot-choo band, whose village we
surprised before we discovered the valley, as chief of scouts. He was
accompanied by several young warriors, selected because they were
all familiar with the Sierra Nevada trails and the territory of the
Pai-utes, where it was thought probable the expedition would penetrate.
Captain Boling had in his report to Major Savage, complained of
the incapacity of Sandino as guide, and expressed the opinion that
he stood in awe of Ten-ie-ya. By letter, the Major replied, and
particularly advised Captain Boling that implicit confidence could
be placed in Cow-chitty and his scouts, as the sub-chief was an old
enemy of Ten-ie-ya, and was esteemed for his sagacity and wood-craft,
which was superior to that of any Indian in his tribe. Captain Boling
had improved in health and strength, and concluded to venture on
his contemplated expedition over the mountains. He at once ordered
preparations to be made. A camp-guard was detailed, and a special
supply train fitted out. All was ready for a start in the morning.
During the evening Captain Boling consulted our new guide as to what
trail would be best to follow to the Mono pass and over the mountains.
Cow-chitty had already learned from our Po-ho-no scouts and those of
his own tribe, the extent of our explorations, and had had a long talk
with Sandino as well as with Ten-ie-ya. The mission Indian and the
old chief tried to make the new guide believe that the Yosemites had
gone over the mountains to the Monos. Indian-like, he had remained
very grave and taciturn, while the preparations were going on for the
expedition. Now, however, that he was consulted by Captain Boling, he
was willing enough to give his advice, and in a very emphatic manner
declared his belief to the Captain that Ten-ie-ya’s people were not far
off; that they were either hiding in some of the rocky cañons in the
vicinity of the valley, or in those of the Tuolumne, and discouraged
the idea of attempting the expedition with horses. Although this
did not coincide with the views of our Captain, the earnestness of
Cow-chitty decided him to make another attempt in the near vicinity
before crossing the mountains. The horses and supply-train were
accordingly left in camp, and we started at daylight on foot, with
three days’ rations packed in our blankets. We left the valley this
time by way of the Py-we-ack cañon, and ascended the north cliff trail,
a short distance above “Mirror Lake.” Soon after reaching the summit,
Indian signs were discovered near the trail we were on. The old trail
up the slope of the cañon, was here abandoned, and the fresh trail
followed up to and along the ridges just below the snow line. These
signs and the tortuous course pursued, were similar to the tracks
followed on our trip up Indian Cañon, and were as easily traced until
we reached an elevation almost entirely covered with snow from five to
ten feet deep, except on exposed tops of ridges, where the snow had
blown off to the north side or melted away.
I had accompanied our guide in advance of the command, but observing
that our course was a zig-zag one, some times almost doubling on our
trail, I stopped and told the guide to halt until the Captain came
up. He had been following the ridges without a sign of a trail being
visible, although he had sometimes pointed to small pieces of coarse
granite on the rocky divides, which he said had been displaced by
Ten-ie-ya’s scouts. That in going out or returning from their camps,
they had kept on the rocky ridges, and had avoided tracking the snow or
soft ground, so as to prevent the Americans from following them. As we
stopped, he called me a little out of hearing of those with me, and by
pantomime and a few words indicated his belief in the near presence of
Indians.
When the Captain came up he said: “The hiding-place of the Yosemites
is not far off. If they had crossed the mountains their scouts would
not be so careful to hide their trail. They would follow the old trail
if they came to watch you, because it is direct, and would only hide
their tracks when they were again far from the valley and near their
rancheria.” This was, in part, an answer to Captain Boling’s inquiry
as to why we had left the old trail, and gone so far out of our way.
I explained to him what Cow-chitty had stated, and pointed out what
the guide or scout said was a fresh trail. The Captain looked tired
and disheartened, but with a grim smile said: “That may be a fresh
Indian track, but I can’t see it. If left to my own feelings and
judgment, I should say we were on another wild-goose chase. If the
guide can see tracks, and thinks he has got ’em this time, I reckon
it is better to follow on; but if there is any short-cut tell him to
give us some landmarks to go by; for I find I am not as strong as I
thought. Let us take another look at this _fresh_ trail, and then
you may get Cow-chitty’s idea as to the probable course this trail
will take further on.” As we moved up the trail a little farther, the
expert scout pointed out more fresh signs, but Captain Boling failed to
discern a trail, and gave up the examination, and as he seated himself
for a momentary rest, said: “I reckon it is all right, Doc. The Major
says in his letter that I can bet on Cow-chitty every time. But I can’t
see any more of a trail on this rocky ridge than I can see the trail of
that wood-pecker as he flies through the air, but I have some faith in
instinct, for I reckon that is what it is that enables him to follow a
trail that he imagines should be there. We shall have to trust him to
follow it, and let him have his own way as you would a fox-hound; if he
don’t, puppy-like, take the back track, or run wild with us over some
of these ledges.” Old Ten-ie-ya was now appealed to for information
concerning the fresh signs, but he only reiterated his former statement
that his people had gone over the mountains to the Monos, and the signs
he said were those of Tuolumne Indians. Captain Boling had taken the
old chief along with us on this trip, hoping to make him of some use,
if not directly as guide, indirectly; it was thought he might betray
his people’s hiding-place. But the Captain was disappointed in this,
for no finished gamester ever displayed a more immovable countenance
than did Ten-ie-ya when questioned at any time during the expedition. A
cord had again been placed around his waist to secure his allegiance,
and as we were about to move ahead once more, he very gravely said that
if we followed the signs, they would take us over to the Tuolumne.
Before this Sandino had professed to agree with Ten-ie-ya, but now he
carefully withheld his own opinions, and as carefully rendered his
interpretations. He feared Cow-chitty more than Ten-ie-ya; and he was
frequently seen to cross himself while muttering his prayers. Spencer
and myself re-assured the timid creature, and made him quite happy
by telling him that we would guard him against the “Gentiles,” as he
called the natives.
I explained to Cow-chitty our inability to follow the tracks as he
did over the bare granite. This flattered him, and he then pointed
out his own method of doing so, which was simple enough with one of
keen sight. It consisted entirely in discovering fragments of stone
and moss that had been displaced, and broken off and scattered upon
the ground. The upper surface of the broken fragments of stone were
smooth and bleached, while the under surface was dark or colored. It
was impossible to walk over these stony ridges without displacing
some of the fragments, and these the quick eye of Cow-chitty was sure
to discover. Cow-chitty was pleased when told of Captain Boling’s
appreciation of his sagacity, and honored by the confidence the
Captain began to show him. He expressed his gratification by being
more communicative than he had been before. He said, “These signs tell
me that the Yosemite scouts have been watching all the movements of
the Americans, and the trails that will take you to their camps. They
will not look for you on this trail. They are watching for you from
the ridges nearer the valley. We will not have to go far to find their
camps. This trail will lead us to the head of the Py-we-ack, where the
Pai-ute or Mono trail crosses into the upper valley of the Tuolumne;
and if we don’t find them at the lake, we will soon know if they have
crossed the mountains.”
He then proposed that Captain Boling send out scouts to intercept
and capture the Yosemite scouts, who might be below us watching the
valley. This being interpreted to Captain Boling, he at once adopted
the suggestion of the scout. He selected three of our best runners,
and directed Cow-chitty to select three of his. These were sent out
in pairs--an Indian and a white man. The scouts were placed under
direction of the sub-chief, who followed the trail, and indicated to
the Captain the most direct route for the main body to follow. In
health Captain Boling was athletic and ambitious on the march. He had
now, however, over-estimated his strength, and suffered considerably
from fatigue; but the halt afforded him a rest that very much refreshed
him. I traveled with him during the remainder of the march, so as to
be near him as interpreter, and took charge of Ten-ie-ya. The Captain,
Ten-ie-ya, Sandino and myself traveled together. Our march was more
leisurely than in the earlier part of the day. This allowed Captain
Boling to somewhat recover from his fatigue.
On an ascending spur that ran down to the Py-we-ack, we found
Cow-chitty quietly awaiting our approach. As we halted, he pointed out
to Captain Boling a dim circle of blue smoke, that appeared to eddy
under the lee of a large granite knob or peak, and said, “Rancheria.”
Old Ten-ie-ya was standing in front of me, but exhibited no interest in
the discovery. As I lowered my line of vision to the base of the cliff,
to trace the source of the smoke, there appeared the Indian village,
resting in fancied security, upon the border of a most beautiful
little lake, seemingly not more than a half mile away. To the lake I
afterwards gave the name of Ten-ie-ya. The granite knob was so bare,
smooth and glistening, that Captain Boling at once pointed it out, and
selected it as a landmark. He designated it as a rallying point for his
men, if scattered in pursuit, and said that we should probably camp
near it for the night.
While the Captain was studying the nature of the ground before us,
and making his arrangements to capture the village, our scouts were
discovered in full chase of an Indian picket, who was running towards
the village as if his life depended upon his efforts. In the excitement
of the moment Captain Boling ordered us to double-quick and charge,
thinking, as he afterwards said, that the huts could not be much more
than half a mile away. Such a mistake could only originate in the
transparent air of the mountains. The village was fully two miles or
more away. We did, however, double-quick, and I kept a gait that soon
carried Ten-ie-ya and Sandino, with myself, ahead of our scattering
column. Finding the rope with which I held Ten-ie-ya an encumbrance in
our rapid march, I wound it round his shoulder and kept him in front of
me. While passing a steep slope of overlapping granite rock, the old
chief made a sudden spring to the right, and attempted to escape down
the ragged precipice. His age was against him, for I caught him just
as he was about to let himself drop from the projecting ledge to the
ground below; his feet were already over the brink.
I felt somewhat angered at the trick of the old fellow in attempting to
relieve himself from my custody, and the delay it had occasioned me;
for we had taken the most direct although not the smoothest course.
I resumed our advance at a gait that hurried the old sachem forward,
perhaps less carefully and more rapidly than comported with the dignity
of his years and rank. I was amused at the proposition of one of the
“boys” who had witnessed the transaction, to “shoot the old devil, and
not be bothered with him any more.” I of course declined this humane
proposition to relieve me of further care, and at once became the
chief’s most devoted defender, which observing, he afterwards told
Captain Boling that I was “very good.” As we reached the more gently
descending ground near the bottom of the slope, an Indian came running
up the trail below us that led to the Rancheria. His course was at an
acute angle to the one pursued by us toward the village, which was
now but a few rods off. I ordered Sandino to cut him off and capture
him before he should reach the camp. This was accomplished with great
energy and a good degree of pride.
The Yosemites had already discovered our approach, but too late for
any concerted resistance or for successful escape, for Lt. Crawford at
the head of a portion of the command, dashed at once into the center
of the encampment, and the terror-stricken Indians immediately threw
up their bare hands in token of submission, and piteously cried out
“pace! pace!” (peace, peace). As I halted to disarm the scout captured
by Sandino, I was near enough to the camp to hear the expressions of
submission. I was compelled to laugh at the absurd performances of
Sandino, who to terrify his prisoner, was persistently holding in
his face an old double-barreled pistol. I was aware the weapon was a
harmless one, for one hammer was gone, and the other could not be
made to explode a cap. I took the bow and arrows from the frightened
savage, and as Captain Boling came up I reported the capture, telling
him at the same time of the surrender of the village or Rancheria to
Lt. Crawford. Seeing some of the Indians leaving the camp, and running
down the lake to a trail crossing its outlet, the Captain and the men
with him sprang forward through the grove of pines near the crossing,
and drove them back. No show of resistance was offered, neither did any
escape from us.
While Captain Boling was counting his prisoners and corralling them
with a guard, I, by his previous order, restrained Ten-ie-ya from any
communication with his people. The chief of this village was a young
man of perhaps thirty years of age. When called upon by the Captain to
state how many were under his command, he answered that those in the
encampment were all that was left; the rest had scattered and returned
to the tribes they sprung from. Ten-ie-ya seemed very anxious to answer
the interrogations made to the young chief, but Captain Boling would
not allow his farther interference, and jokingly told me to send him
over among the women who were grouped a little aside, as he was now
about as harmless. I acted upon the suggestion, and upon his being told
that he had the liberty of the camp if he made no further attempts to
escape, the old fellow stepped off briskly to meet his four squaws,
who were with this band, and who seemed as pleased as himself at their
re-union.
Captain Boling felt satisfied that the answer given by this
half-starved chief, and the few braves of his wretched looking band,
were as truthful as their condition would corroborate. Finding
themselves so completely surprised, notwithstanding their extreme
vigilance, and comparing the well kept appearance of their old chief
with their own worn out, dilapidated condition, they with apparent
anxiety expressed a willingness for the future to live in peace with
the Americans. All hopes of avoiding a treaty, or of preventing their
removal to the Reservation, appeared to have at once been abandoned;
for when the young chief was asked if he and his band were willing
to go to the Fresno, he replied with much emotion of gesture, and as
rendered by Sandino to Spencer and myself: “Not only willing, but
anxious;” for, said he: “Where can we now go that the Americans will
not follow us?” As he said this, he stretched his arms out toward the
East, and added: “Where can we make our homes, that you will not find
us?” He then went on and stated that they had fled to the mountains
without food or clothing; that they were worn out from watching our
scouts, and building _signal-fires_ to tire us out also.
They had been anxious to embroil us in trouble by drawing us into the
cañons of the Tuolumne, where were some Pai-utes wintering in a valley
like Ah-wah-ne. They had hoped to be secure in this retreat until the
snow melted, so that they could go to the Mono tribe and make a home
with them, but that now he was told the Americans would follow them
even there, he was willing, with all his little band, to go to the
plains with us. After the young chief had been allowed full liberty of
speech, and had sat down, Ten-ie-ya again came forward, and would have
doubtless made a _confession of faith_, but his speech was cut short
by an order from Captain Boling to at once move camp to a beautiful
pine grove on the north side of the outlet to the lake, which he had
selected for our camping-place for the night. By this order he was able
to have everything in readiness for an early start the next morning.
There was an abundance of dry pine, convenient for our camp fires, and
as the night was exceedingly cold, the glowing fires were a necessity
to our comfort. The Indians were told to pack such movables as they
desired to take with them, and move down at once to our camp-ground.
The scene was a busy one. The squaws and children exhibited their
delight in the prospect of a change to a more genial locality, and
where food would be plenty. While watching the preparations of the
squaws for the transfer of their household treasures and scanty stores,
my attention was directed to a dark object that appeared to be crawling
up the base of the first granite peak above their camp. The polished
surface of the gleaming rock made the object appear larger than the
reality. We were unable to determine what kind of an animal it could
be; but one of our scouts, to whom the name of “Big Drunk” had been
given, pronounced it a papoose, although some had variously called it
a bear, a fisher or a coon. “Big Drunk” started after it, and soon
returned with a bright, active boy, entirely naked, which he coaxed
from his slippery perch. Finding himself an object of curiosity his
fright subsided, and he drew from its hiding-place, in the bushes near
by, a garment that somewhat in shape, at least, resembled a man’s
shirt. “_The Glistening Rocks_” had rendered us all oblivious to the
color, and that was left undetermined. This garment swept the ground
after he had clothed himself with it. His ludicrous appearance excited
our laughter, and as if pleased with the attentions paid to him, the
little fellow joined heartily in the merriment he occasioned. It will
not be out of place to here relate the sequel of this boy’s history.
Learning that he was an orphan and without relatives, Captain Boling
adopted him, calling him “Reube,” in honor of Lt. Reuben Chandler, who
after Captain Boling was the most popular man in the battalion.
Some three or four years afterward, the boy, as if to illustrate the
folly of the Captain in trying to civilize and educate him, ran away
from his patron, taking with him two valuable, thorough-bred Tennessee
horses, much prized by the Captain; besides money, clothing and arms
belonging to the Captain’s brother-in-law, Col. Lane, of Stockton,
in whose charge Captain Boling had placed him, that he might have
the advantages of a good school. After collecting together all the
Indians found in this encampment; the total number was found to be but
thirty-five, nearly all of whom were in some way a part of the family
of the old patriarch, Ten-ie-ya. These were escorted to our camp, the
men placed under guard, but the women and children were left free.
This was accomplished before sun down, and being relieved of duty, a
few of us ran across the outlet of the lake, and climbing the divide
on the south side of the lake, beheld a sunset view that will long
be remembered. It was dark when we reached camp, and after a scanty
repast, we spread our blankets, and soon were wrapped in slumber sweet.
We were awakened by the cold, which became more uncomfortable as night
advanced, and finding it impossible to again compose ourselves to
sleep, Captain Boling aroused the camp, and preparations were made by
the light of the blazing camp-fires for an early start for the valley.
Desiring some clean, fresh water, I went to the lake as the nearest
point to obtain it, when, to my surprise, I found that the new ice
formed during the night and connecting the old ice with the shore of
the lake, was strong enough to bear me up. At a point where the old ice
had drifted near, I went out some distance upon it, and it appeared
strong enough to have borne up a horse. This was about the 5th of June,
1851. The change of temperature from summer in the valley to winter
on the mountains, without shelter, was felt by us all. After a hasty
breakfast, the word was passed to assemble, and we were soon all ready
for the order to march. All at once there was turmoil and strife in
camp, and what sounded to my ears very much like a Chinese concert.
Captain Boling was always a man of gallantry, and in this instance
would not allow the squaws to take the burden of the baggage. Hence the
confusion and delay. He ordered the Indians to carry the packs--burdens
they had imposed on their women. This order brought down upon him
the vituperations of the squaws and sullen murmurs from the “noble
red men;” as often happens in domestic interference, _the family was
offended_. Ten-ie-ya rose to explain, and waxed eloquent in his protest
against this innovation on their ancient customs.
As soon as the Captain was made aware of the old fellow’s object
in having “a talk,” he cut short the debate by ordering one of the
lieutenants to see that every Indian, as well as squaw, was properly
loaded with a just proportion of their burdens. The real object of the
Captain was to facilitate the return to the valley, by making it easy
for the squaws and children to accompany us through without delays.
One amusing feature in this arrangement was, that long after the men
had been silenced, their squaws continued to murmur at the indignity
practiced on their disgraced lords. I have my doubts, even to this
day, whether the standard of women’s rights was ever again _waved_
among the mountain tribes after this “special order” was issued by our
good-hearted Captain.
In order to take the most direct route to the valley, Captain Boling
selected one of the young Yosemite Indians to lead the way with our
regular guide. Being relieved of the charge of Ten-ie-ya, I took my
usual place on the march with the guide. This position was preferred
by me, because it afforded ample opportunity for observation and time
for reflection; and beside, it was in my nature to be in advance.
The trail followed, after leaving the lake, led us over bare granite
slopes and hidden paths, but the distance was materially shortened. A
short distance below the bottom land of the lake, on the north side
of the cañon and at the head of the gorge, the smooth, sloping granite
projects like a vast roof over the abyss below. As we approached this,
our young guide pointed toward it.
By close observation I was able to discover that the trail led up its
sloping surface, and was assured by the guide that the trail was a
good one. I felt doubtful of the Captain’s willingness to scale that
rocky slope, and halted for him to come up. The Captain followed the
trail to its termination in the soil, and saw the cause of my having
halted. Upon the discoloration of the rock being pointed out as the
continuation of the trail, he glanced up the granite slope and said,
“Go on, but be watchful, for a slide into the gorge would bring as
certain death as a slide from that San Joaquin trail, which I have not
yet forgotten.” Some of the command did not fancy this any more than
they did the Ten-ie-ya trail down “Indian Cañon.” We all pulled off
our hoots and went up this slope bare-footed. Seeing there was no real
danger, the most timid soon moved up as fearless as the others. I, with
the advance, soon reached the soil above, and at the top halted until
the Indians and our straggling column closed up. As I looked about me,
I discovered, unfolding to my sight, one of the most charming views
in this sublimest scenery of nature. During the day before, we had
looked with astonishment on the almost boundless peaks, and snow-capped
mountains, to be seen from the Mt. Hoffman divide. But here some of the
same views appeared illuminated. In our ascent up the mountain, we had
apparently met the rising sun. The scene was one long to be remembered
for its brilliancy, although not describable.
Mr. Addison, in the _Spectator_, says: “Our imagination loves to be
filled with an object, or to grasp at anything that is too big for its
capacity. We are flung into a pleasing astonishment at such unbounded
views, and feel a delightful stillness and amazement in the soul.” Mr.
Addison has here expressed the feelings entertained by some of us, as
the view met our gaze while looking out to the east, the south and the
west. Although not sufficiently elevated to command a general outlook,
the higher ridges framing some of the scenery to the north and eastward
of us, the westerly view was boundless. The transparency of the
atmosphere was here extreme, and as the sun illumined the snow-clad and
ice-burnished peaks, the scene aroused the enthusiasm of the command to
a shout of glad surprise.
The recollections of the discomforts of the night were banished by
the glory of the morning as here displayed. Even the beauties of the
Yosemite, of which I was so ardent an admirer, were for the moment
eclipsed by this gorgeously grand and changing scene. The aurora that
had preceded the rising sun was as many-hued, and if possible more
glorious, than the most vivid borealis of the northern climes. But when
the sun appeared, seemingly like a sudden flash, amidst the distant
peaks, the climax was complete. My opportunities for examining the
mountain scenery of the Sierra Nevada above the immediate vicinity of
the Yosemite, were such as to only enable me to give a somewhat general
description, but the views that I had during our explorations afforded
me glimpses of the possibilities of sublime mountain scenery, such
as I had never before comprehended, although familiar with the views
afforded from some of the peaks of Mexico and of the Rocky Mountains.
I doubt even if the Yellow Stone, supreme in some of its attractions,
affords such varied and majestic beauty.
Looking back to the lovely little lake, where we had been encamped
during the night, and watching Ten-ie-ya as he ascended to our group, I
suggested to the Captain that we name the lake after the old chief, and
call it “Lake Ten-ie-ya.” The Captain had fully recovered from his
annoyance at the scene in camp, and readily consented to the name, but
added that I had evidently mistaken my vocation.
[Illustration: LAKE TEN-IE-YA, ONE OF THE YOSEMITE FOUNTAINS.]
Noticing my look of surprise, he jokingly said that if I had only
studied divinity instead of medicine, I could have then fully gratified
my passion for christening. This, of course, brought out a general
guffaw, and thinking me annoyed, he said: “Gentlemen, I think the name
an appropriate one, and shall use it in my report of the expedition.
Beside this, it is rendering a kind of justice to perpetuate the name
of the old chief.”
When Ten-ie-ya reached the summit, he left his people and approached
where the Captain and a few of us were halting. Although he had been
snubbed by the Captain that morning, he now seemed to have forgotten
it, and his rather rugged countenance glowed with healthful exercise
in the sunlight. I had handled him rather roughly the day before, but
as he now evidently wished to be friendly, I called him up to us, and
told him that we had given his name to the lake and river. At first, he
seemed unable to comprehend our purpose, and pointing to the group of
Glistening peaks, near the head of the lake, said: “It already has a
name; we call it Py-we-ack.” Upon my telling him that we had named it
Ten-ie-ya, because it was upon the shores of the lake that we had found
his people, who would never return to it to live, his countenance fell
and he at once left our group and joined his own family circle. His
countenance as he left us indicated that he thought the naming of the
lake no equivalent for the loss of his territory.
I never at any time had real personal dislike for the old sachem.
He had always been an object of study, and I sometimes found in him
profitable entertainment. As he moved off to hide his sorrow, I pitied
him. As we resumed our march over the rough and billowy trail, I was
more fully impressed with the appropriateness of the name for the
beautiful lake. Here, probably, his people had built their last wigwams
in their mountain home. From this lake we were leading the last remnant
of his once dreaded tribe, to a territory from which it was designed
they should never return as a people. My sympathies, confirmed in my
own mind, a justness in thus perpetuating the name of Ten-ie-ya. The
Indian name for this lake, branch and cañon, “Py-we-ack” is, although a
most appropriate one, now displaced by that of the old chief Ten-ie-ya.
Of the signification of the name Ten-ie-ya, I am uncertain; but as
pronounced by himself, I have no doubt of its being pure Indian.
The whole mountain region of the water-sheds of the Merced and Tuolumne
rivers afford the most delightful views to be seen anywhere of
mountains, cliffs, cascades and waterfalls, grand forests and mountain
meadows, and the Soda Springs are yet destined to become a favorite
summer resort. Mr. Muir has well said that the “upper Tuolumne valley
is the widest, smoothest, most serenely spacious, and in every way the
most delightful summer pleasure park in all the High Sierras.”
Now that it has become a part of the new National Park surrounding the
old grant (see new map), and good trails reach it, wagon roads will
soon be extended into the very “heart of the Sierras.”
We reached our camp in the valley without accident. Captain Boling at
once gave orders to make preparations for our return to the Fresno. The
next day we broke camp and moved down to the lower end of the valley
near where we camped on the first night of our discovery, near the
little meadow at the foot of the Mariposa Trail.
At sunrise the next morning, or rather as the reflections on the cliffs
indicated sunrise, we commenced our ascent of the steep trail. As I
reached the height of land where the moving column would soon perhaps
forever shut out from view the immortal “Rock Chief,” my old sympathies
returned, and leaving the command to pursue its heedless way, I climbed
to my old perch where Savage had warned me of danger. As I looked back
upon El Capitan, his bald forehead was cooling in the breeze that swept
by me from the “_Summer land_” _below_, and his cheerful countenance
reflected back the glory of the rising sun. Feeling my own inferiority
while acknowledging the majesty of the scene, I looked back from Mt.
Beatitude, and quoting from Byron, exclaimed:
Yosemite!
“Thy vale(s) of evergreen, thy hills of snow
Proclaim thee Nature’s varied favorite now.”
We reached the Fresno without the loss of a captive, and as we turned
them over to the agent, we were formally commended for the success of
the expedition.