MIGRATION ON A LARGE SCALE.
On the Pacific Coast there is felt every spring a kind of unrest—men of
all classes feel as if they should go somewhere. This feeling is
particularly strong among miners, and they look about to see if some
region cannot be thought of into which they may make a prospecting raid.
Others feel like going up into the mountains, or some wild and far-away
region, on general principles—just to be rambling and seeing something
new and picturesque. To desire to be on the move when spring opens
appears to be natural to all mankind—to be a sort of animal instinct
implanted in the human race, and an instinct probably never wholly
eradicated by the influences of even the most refined civilization.
With the opening of spring, our Indians and all savage tribes of people
are on the move. Even among wild animals the same migratory instinct is
to be observed. Bear, deer, elk, and other animals that have wintered in
the valleys, move up into the mountains, when the snow has disappeared
under the warmth of the returning sun. The spring unrest is doubtless
now much less strong within us, than at that remote period when we
sported tails, yet we still retain in some degree this instinct of our
former savage state; it is still in us, and at each return of the season
for breaking up camp and moving out of winter quarters it takes
possession of us. In the older settled communities, the people may not
think of wandering to any great distance, but even there the farmer
feels best when he is rambling in his farthest fields, and his wife
prefers working in her garden and roving in the open air, to remaining
in her house.
No doubt in the dim and distant ages of the past—when we still retained
our caudal appendages—spring was a stirring season with the race. There
was then a general awakening of the tribes. Knowing nothing, at that
time, of the means by which we might provide artificial warmth, when the
rigors of winter began to be felt we all left the mountains. Descending
into the deepest and most sheltered valleys, we there hibernated, as
best we might, in the mouths of caves and in sunny nooks among the
hills, till the spring sun again warmed us into life. When it was judged
time to be on the move toward the mountains, the sagacious elders
probably took up their position on some prominent ledge of rock above
the sheltering ravine in which the winter had been passed, and addressed
the assembled tribe. What a glad chorus of yelps applauded the sage
chatterings of the orators, and what a wildly exultant waving of tails
was there when it was known all were to migrate “to fresh woods and
pastures new!”
The discovery of the silver mines in Nevada gave all an excellent
opportunity of gratifying their migratory instincts, and miners and men
of all classes and all trades and professions flocked over the Sierras,
in the spring of 1860.
At first they came on foot, driving donkeys or other pack-animals before
them, or on horseback, riding where they could and leading their horses
where the snow was soft, but soon sleighs and stages were started, and
in some shape floundered through with their passengers. Saddle trains
for passengers were started, however, before vehicles of any kind began
to run, and the snow passed over was in many places from thirty to sixty
feet in depth.
At first there was not sufficient shelter for the newcomers, and they
crowded to overflowing every building of whatever kind, in all the towns
along the Comstock range. But houses were rapidly being built in all
directions, and the weather soon became warm enough to allow of camping
out in comfort almost anywhere; men who had rolled up in their blankets
and slept on the snow, high up on the frosty Sierras, did not much mind
sleeping in the open air on the lower hills.
The newcomers from California not only prospected in the neighborhood of
Virginia, Gold Hill, Silver City, and all the hills surrounding these
towns and the Comstock, but scouted out in all directions to the
distance of from fifty to one hundred miles. They generally went in
parties of from five or six to a dozen or more men, and when they
traveled any great distance, were mounted, and had pack animals with
them, to carry their provisions and tools.
The excitement in regard to the mines discovered and being worked, those
newly found and those yet to be found—in regard to town sites, mill
sites and all manner of property in the new land—was at its greatest
height, when that occurred which for a time paralyzed every industry,
and alike brought business and prospecting to a stand. A Pony rider—the
mail was then being carried across the Plains and over the Sierras to
California by Pony Express—came in and reported that the Piute Indians,
till then friendly toward the whites, had burned Williams’ Station, on
the Carson River, thirty-one miles below Dayton, and had murdered two or
three men whom they found in charge.
The news that the Piutes were on the war path, and had begun killing and
burning, spread like wild-fire through the several towns and settlements
of the country. It was determined that the murderous redskins should be
punished. There was a call for volunteers in all the towns, and the call
was promptly responded to everywhere.
The news of the burning of Williams’ Station, and the murders there,
reached Virginia City, May 8th, 1860, and May 9th a party of 105 men,
volunteers from the several towns, under command of Major Ormsby, of
Carson City, marched down the Carson River for the purpose of overtaking
the Indians, and inflicting upon them a proper chastisement.
As I am not writing a history of Nevada I shall leave a detailed account
of the “Indian war” to be given by some future writer. I shall but
briefly sketch this first and last Indian trouble in Nevada, not
attempting to give the names of more than a few of the men who were
prominent participants in the battles at Pyramid Lake.
The men under Major Ormsby were poorly armed, badly mounted, and almost
wholly unorganized. The majority of the men thought that there would not
be much of a fight. They thought they should probably have a bit of a
skirmish with the Indians, kill a few of them, capture a lot of ponies,
and on the whole have rather a good time. Major Ormsby and a few of the
leading men and old settlers doubtless knew the Indians better, but most
of the recent arrivals from California who volunteered on the occasion
thought it would turn out a sort of pleasure excursion. They were
wofully disappointed. Finding no Indians at Williams’ Station on his
arrival there, Major Ormsby and command marched toward Pyramid Lake,
known to be the headquarters of the Piute tribe in that region of
country, and distant less than two days’ march.
On the morning of the 12th of May, on the Truckee River, at a point
about three miles from Pyramid Lake, they found a party of Indians
occupying a strong position on a rocky hill. They attacked these
Indians, who retreated after firing a few shots, falling back along the
sides of a ravine.
As the Indians fell back they continued a scattering fire. The whites
charged into the ravine in pursuit. They had proceeded some distance
when a body of two or three hundred Indians suddenly confronted them,
pouring into their ranks in quick succession several deadly volleys.
On the side of the whites many men and horses fell at this spot. The
volunteers were staggered by this sudden onslaught, and made but a
feeble reply to the fire of the enemy. At this critical juncture it was
observed that the Indians were gathering in the ravine behind them, when
a precipitate retreat was made for a piece of woods on the river. The
Indians hotly pursued them, firing as they advanced. At the edge of the
wood the whites dismounted and tried to make a stand, but the Indians
gathered from all sides, pouring in a rapid and galling fire, killing
several men and horses. The men were then ordered to mount for another
charge. While this was being done the Indians rushed forward, firing and
yelling, throwing the whites into a confusion which ended in a
precipitate and disorderly retreat.
Many men had no horses, and these fell an easy prey to the elated and
victorious savages who pursued the whites a distance of fifteen or
twenty miles, even overtaking and killing men who were tolerably well
mounted.
The trail of the retreating volunteers was strewn with dead bodies,
saddles, guns, knives, pistols, and blankets, thrown away when the chase
became desperate, and every man was trying to save his own life. Of the
105 men who went into the fight 76 were killed and a few wounded,
slightly, who managed to escape.
Among the killed was Major Ormsby, the commander of the expedition, an
old resident in the country; and Henry Meredith, a young lawyer from
Nevada City, California, a man well-known and highly esteemed on the
Pacific Coast. At the first volley fired by the Indians, in the cañon
into which the command had been entrapped, Meredith was wounded and fell
from his horse, but rose on one knee and fired three shots from his
revolver as the foe advanced upon him.
When the survivors of this slaughter reached Virginia City and told the
news of the defeat, the excitement was intense. In all the towns it
began to be feared that the Indians, elated by their victory, would come
in and sweep everything before them. It was said that there were 500
warriors in the fight at Pyramid Lake and it was supposed that the
Piutes could muster 5,000 men. Dispatches were sent to California for
regular troops, and as the news spread men volunteered and companies
were formed in Sacramento, Nevada City and Downieville, California. Men
also volunteered again in the several Washoe towns, and soon an army of
several hundred men, regulars and volunteers, was in the field for the
effectual putting down of the savages.
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