One day, two days passed. It was the morning of the 12th day of September, 1846. William was bidding farewell to his wives and his children; when Emeline sobbed anew:
"Oh, my beloved! Let not Augustus go to the battle today. He is but a child: think, William! he is only fourteen. Each day he has followed you, taking his gun on his shoulder to fight the wicked enemy and to brave a dreadful death. Let him stay with me!"
Even as she spoke, the thunder of the cannonade shook the city; and William sprang away to hasten to his post, while Augustus gave a ringing cry and fled from the house.
The two women and the little girls were left alone—Emeline and her younger sister wife, the loving Drusilla, and Caroline and Martha— white and trembling.
Hours elapsed, during which these good women were praying as they toiled.
The sounds of the battle waging around the city neither distracted them from devotion nor domestic duty.
Gradually there came a lull; and a momentary hope sprang up in their hearts. But even while the precious thought was taking form, a rattle of musketry shook the window panes; and a moment later the deep boom of a siege gun—shaking the houses from chimney to cellar—told that the struggle was renewed in all its fierceness.
When this grim messenger dispelled their hope with his harsh voice, Emeline pressed her hands to her bosom and sank upon the floor. As she dropped she cried:
"Drusilla, my friend, this instant has widowed us and has taken from this house its only son. I feel the dread fact her in my heart!"
The younger wife and the two little girls hastened to the side of Emeline, and there they knelt, weeping and moaning. The premonition seemed too real to be disputed.
While the women and children were rocking back and forth in their agony of apprehension, a hurried knock was heard at the door; and, without waiting for a response, a brother soldier of William stalked into the room. He saw the piteous sight; and all his gallant hardihood gave way. Mingling his heavy tears with the rain from gentler eyes, he sobbed:
"My sister, our Savior help you! Brother Anderson is dead! God's will be done!"
The spirit of courage sustained Emeline, and she cried:
"Where is our husband? Alive he was ours—and we will have his clay now life is ended. Call my boy to bring his father's body home. God's will be done!"
While the grief-shaken soldier was replying, another breathless messenger burst in, saying between his gasps of haste and sorrow:
"Your boy is dead! Oh, Sister Anderson, he fell a martyr—brave, manly, beyond his years—he took a soldier's part: he has met a soldier's fate."
Did this last blow send Emeline swooning? No: in such a crisis a noble, religious soul is exalted beyond the reach of earthly mourning.
Calmly she spoke:
"I will go forth and find our dead—my murdered boy and our martyred husband—Drusilla. Do you prepare couches for their home-coming."
But Drusilla was herself a heroine:
"No, my sister," she said, "your duty is at home. Often your life has been threatened by this mob. They will watch our husband's body, and if you appear you too will be sacrificed. I am not known as Captain Anderson's wife. I will go out and secure the bodies of our dear ones, while you shall remain with these fatherless babes of yours—of ours."
Drusilla rushed from the house as she spoke. Emeline would have followed; but one of her husband's comrades had remained to restrain her, and besides, her little daughters clung at her skirts, determined to prevent her going forth.
So Emeline stayed at the stricken house, preparing for that last solemn home-coming of her soldier spouse and son. While she toiled to fit a bed for the dear forms—now stilled through earthly time—she recalled from her memory that the anniversary of her wedding day was but six days past; and in another fortnight she would be 34 years old— already, in her early prime, she was the widow of a martyr and the mother of a murdered patriot.
Drusilla went abroad through the smoky streets of Nauvoo, escorted by one of the heroic defenders, to the east side of the city. There, resting where he had fallen against a wall, was the bleeding body of her husband. Bravely this fair young woman took from her own shoulders a cloak and laid it across the mangled form.
She breathed a prayer, beseeching strength and courage; and then she sought the place where lay Augustus, the slain son. Tenderly, as if he had been her own boy or brother, she spread her apron over his face.
Then she followed the procession which escorted the bodies of these martyrs to their home.
Who shall speak the agony of the ensuing hours! Two bodies, beloved in life, beloved still in death, were resting in that stricken house. While Emeline and Drusilla, and the little daughters, all robbed of their defenders, wept and moaned in a torture such as seldom comes to womankind.
As she sobbed and prayed, Emeline took from the bosom of her husband a tiny, blood-stained packet. It contained a little flower of hair, Drusilla's, her own and Will's; and also those slips of paper—the hand and heart. The morning when Will first went out to battle, she and Drusilla had pressed this packet upon him and bade him wear it in his bosom.
Poor, disappointed creatures! What can the love of women avail against the hate of men? Nothing.
Emeline pressed the moist hair flower into Drusilla's hand; but the heart and hand, crimson-flecked now, she placed next her own heart. They had been the sign of love in youth and rosy life; they should be cherished to remind her of the immortality which death can bring.
This was almost the end. Emeline's brave boy, Will Anderson, who had given her his fidelity in childhood, had bestowed upon his country his fidelity in manhood. To the oppressed of his countrymen he had extended the help of his stronghand; in their defense hishearthad been pierced by a bullet. He and his son, Augustus, were buried at Nauvoo.
A time of anxious toil ensued; for even through the darkest tragedy runs a thread of the commonplace. And in the midst of the anxious commotion and labor Emeline and Drusilla became separated. They never met again in this life; and from that hour Drusilla's history is to this writer unknown.
Emeline Anderson lived to emigrate to Utah and to receive the blessings of this fair land. She accepted through the remainder of this life the name of a worthy man, and she reared a third daughter. She carried with her until the hour of her death the tear-stained, blood-stainedheart and hand; and when she was no more, these hallowed shreds of paper passed into the possession of her children.
This is a life sketch. Those of the characters who have gone seem now not to have been torn away by the rude hand of death, but to have faded gently into the past, leaving their looks, their love, their loyalty for their descendants.
By O. B. Huntington.
DESCRIPTION OF THE ROUTE—OBJECT OF THE JOURNEY—CONFRONTED BY INDIANS—DISCOVERY OF RUBIES—MORE INDIANS VISIT CAMP—AN INSPIRED SUGGESTION—THE INDIANS BECOME FRIENDLY.
On the 18th of September, 1854, I started for Carson Valley, by the advice and consent of Brigham Young, and in the employ of Colonel E. J. Steptoe of the U. S. army.
I went south of the Great Salt Lake and across the then unknown deserts where now are many towns, villages and cities, the settlement of which was hastened some years by that trip of exploration.
The city of Genoa, immediately under the shadow of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, consisting of about a dozen or fifteen houses, was the only actual settlement between Grantsville and Hangtown, California, a distance of one thousand miles by the wagon road over the Goose Creek Mountains, which are one hundred miles north of Salt Lake City; and to find a shorter road so as to save this one hundred miles and to avoid the mountains was the object of my journey.
At the time of which I write this great mountain country of five hundred miles in each direction from Salt Lake City, was an almost unknown wilderness, a country inhabited only by Indians and wild game, excepting the few settlements of this people; and the country was but little explored, except so far as the wants of the people made it necessary.
Colonel Steptoe was sent by the United States government, with two companies of the U. S. army, as a military governor to take the place of Brigham Young. This was a very quiet, secret movement of our nation to establish a new form of republican government over this people; but thanks to that overruling, inspirational power of God that has so often turned the hearts of men, and the good, honest sense of Col. Steptoe, who, when he had spent eight or nine months with this people, declined the dishonorable and unrepublican office of military governor of Utah. He said that no man but Brigham Young could govern this people, "and if he stepped into Governor Young's place, Brigham Young would still govern the people." He therefore decided to leave for California as early in the Spring of 1855 as he could, and in order to find a new route through south of the Lake he sent an exploring party through to Carson and back that Fall, late as it was.
He applied to Brigham Young for suitable persons for so arduous and hazardous an undertaking. I was chosen as one and was furnished an interpreter (my nephew, C. A. Huntington), and an Indian guide, a young man by the name of Natsab, a son of the Indian chief who was ruler in Salt Lake Valley when we first settled the country—these two were designed to return with me. Besides these was Col. John Reese, now living in Salt Lake City, and he was an excellent companion. His home was in Carson Valley, which at that time was a part of Utah Territory, and he had two men with him, one Willis and a man by the name of Davis, who had been to California, made a raise, returned to the States and was now making his way west again with a very fleet race-horse in hope of opening another "stake" by gambling.
My outfit consisted of six animals to ride and pack, a quantity of goods to use as presents in making peace with the savages we might pass on the way, a good compass to guide us on cloudy days in the deserts and a good quantity of provisions and bedding.
When we had got about two or three miles from Salt Lake City we found eleven men, formerly of Col. Steptoe's outfit of teamsters, camp-followers, etc., who, knowing of our search for a short route to California, determined to sail under the "Mormon" flag as far as Carson.
I had no objections, because their numbers would lend us an appearance of strength among the native tribes. They were rather poorly mounted, armed and provisioned, which latter condition occasioned me eventually some annoyance and suffering, compelling the whole company to live on horseflesh during two hundred and fifty miles of the journey; and during one day and night we were without even that.
For some time nothing of importance occurred on our way, except that we had one horse shot accidentally and one of our strangers lost a mule in a night march across a mud desert.
On the 28th of September, as we were passing through a large valley of meadow land with scattering bunches of tall wheat grass and stools of greasewood, an Indian, naked except for a covering about his loins, with gun in hand, stood before us suddenly and stopped our movements. After a very short and unedifying oration he fired his gun in the air, and instantly there arose an Indian from behind every bunch of grass and greasewood all around us until there was quite an army in view, and we saw it was necessary to talk in persuasive tones and our orders were enforced with many presents, in giving which the interpreter was very expert. The Indians guided us to some very fine springs of water and small ponds not far distant, where we distributed quantities of tobacco, pipes, paints, calico, etc.
At this place we passed the night; but in the morning the Indians were all gone, which to men acquainted with Indian natures, indicated hostile intentions, and we therefore traveled cautiously to the west side of the valley, where we nooned at a little creek which came down out of a great range of mountains lying to the east of us, running north and south as far as we could see. Here Mr. Davis said was as good a prospect for gold as any place he had seen in California. We dug a little dirt and washed it out and found several rubies, one very large and fine. We therefore called the place Ruby Valley.
We soon moved on south a few miles; but feeling forebodings of evil, stopped about 2, p.m., on a fine, grassy place near a spring and sent Mr. Davis ahead to reconnoitre the country, which was mostly clear and open to the end of the valley, about twelve miles distant. He rode cautiously about five miles when, on looking over his left shoulder, he saw an Indian on foot running towards the road behind and dropping into the grass as Davis looked around. He instantly wheeled his horse and sped for camp. Just as he started back an Indian on horseback started from some willows near by to cut off his retreat, but that racehorse outran the Indian pony, although the latter had the advantage.
When these facts were known in camp every man prepared for the worst. We had chosen an open piece of ground where we could not be surprised in daylight. We were preparing an early supper so as to have it over before any surprise might be undertaken. Just as we were sitting down to eat, seven Indians on horseback rode slowly towards our camp, came past our horses which were grazing near and dismounted near our fires. We saluted them kindly with "how-de-do," and they replied. They were all dressed in coats, pants, overcoats, caps, etc, and rode well shod horses, excepting one short, thick-set Indian, about twenty-three years old, who wore buckskin pants, a hickory shirt, a Panama hat and with his hair cut short and straight around his neck; he was very wide between the eyes, rode a very large mare without a saddle. He came to my mess where I, my nephew and Natsab were just sitting down to eat, and shook hands.
We sat with guns and pistols in our laps. I told all our company to be very careful, as this one could talk English. The interpreter tried to talk with him, but to no effect until he spoke in the Snake language, when he answered some. They were observing our actions, habits, etc., and making their calculations how and when to take our scalps. I felt that under the Panama hat was a dreadful chief for blood and plunder, and that he could talk English; and I was right in my judgment or feelings.
As soon as the interpreter and I were done eating, we walked around the horses after cautioning the men. While driving the animals a little nearer camp he asked me if I had noticed a secret sign, a strange motion, the Indian made as he shook hands with us, and he showed it to me, stating that he believed these Indians were of the tribe and party who had done so many murders on the Humboldt, among the California gold seekers, and that he believed they were banded with whites by secret oaths, signs and pass-words. Immediately after he told this I felt a strange but bright sensation come over my mind and I could see with my heart, or my spirit could see without my eyes. I told him we would leave the horses and go quickly to camp, where he should go up to that Indian (the chief), give him the same sign he had given us, and that we would then be safe among them.
He did this and the effect was astonishing. The Indian shook hands and hugged him heartily.
I gave further instructions to the interpreter what to say about a certain man whom we knew lived on the Humboldt River, where so much murdering had been done, and with whom I went to school in Nauvoo. Every word had its effect as I anticipated, and the chief understood that this man who lived on the Humboldt, and whom very many believed to be the cause of all the murdering done there for money and plunder, was our friend from boyhood; but the opposite might be said to be nearly true, as we held no sympathy in common, although we had been boys together. The chief called that man his "daddy," meaning father.
INDIANS' STRATAGEM TO GET ONE OF OUR HORSES— PROCEED ON OUR WAY—HOW INSPIRATION IS RECEIVED—AN ILLUSTRATIVE INCIDENT.
We will now leave these few Indians and seventeen white men, all in peaceful, friendly chat, and go back to the 15th of September, 1854— three days before we left Salt Lake City.
On the corner of East Temple Street, just two blocks south of the Temple site was a cottonwood log, on which two young men were sitting in earnest conversation. One was about twenty-four years old, a very tall, muscular man, not less than six feet, two inches in height, with black eyes, set wide apart under a heavy forehead and over high cheek bones. The whole countenance indicated a cruel and heartless disposition. The other young man was just twenty years old, medium height, with a well formed body, small, sharp, twinkling blue eyes, regular features and a rather large head.
They had been quarreling; and when they arose from the log it was agreed that the one whocrossed the other's path should die!
The older man was to start for his lone log house on the Humboldt, about sixty miles from Ruby Valley, in a week or two, by way of Goose Creek Mountains; and the young man was to start just three days from that time for Carson Valley, as Indian interpreter for a U. S. exploring company, traveling west from Salt Lake City. When we told "Bloody Chief," for such was the name of the chief who visited our camp, that we were special friends to the bad young man we thought not of the terrible consequences that might result from that deceitful stratagem to save our lives then. We told the Indians frankly that we were coming back in a little more than one moon, but did not tell them there would be but three of us.
On the morning of September 30th, the same seven Indians came into our camp without a gun, pistol, bow or arrow. All were merry and jolly, and traded everything they could, and ran foot-races. They wanted to run horses, but ours had too long a journey before them to admit of racing. The main object and effort of the Indians was to get that race-horse, but they did not succeed. They escorted us about eight miles on our way and told us all they could of the country ahead in the direction we wanted to go. They showed us a great deal of gold and silver coin, jewelry and pocket-knives, which they doubtless obtained by killing people on the Humboldt.
We left the valley at the south end, passing over a low divide and through a narrow, rocky canyon, full of scattering cedar trees, making as nice a place for ambush as an Indian could ask for the massacre of whites.
Many incidents occurred worthy of note in a mere narrative; but as I design to show the inspiration of the Lord in our preservation, I shall only give so much of our journey as is necessary to bring you to the circumstances in an easy and natural way. All of God's works are done in a natural way; and He applies a law in one instance which would not do in another. The inspiration of God to different men and to the same man in different ways is a matter upon which I desire to enlarge some little. Sometimes an idea is received in the mind that is foreign to anything that ever existed there before. The person follows that idea, which is so new and to him unusual, and develops a wonderful piece of machinery or a principle in philosophy, manufacturing or something otherwise useful to man. That idea came as other ideas, he will say; but I am of the opinion that it is the inspiration of God that brings out of chaos the very useful inventions and discoveries—this is the simplest form of inspiration.
Another man is perhaps laboring, as usual, in the field and is suddenly inclined in his feelings to go to his house. Perhaps he tries to smother the feeling, but finally yields and reaches home just in time to extinguish a fire that would certainly have consumed his house if he had not gone just as he did.
The inspiration of the Holy Ghost which is given to all who obey the gospel by baptism and the laying on of hands of the Elders, was promised by the Lord to every one that earnestly and sincerely repents of his sins and obeys the gospel, and "it shall guide him into all truth."
I will tell you, my young friends, how that Holy Ghost will guide you. If, when you are made clean from sin by baptism, you do not willingly enter again into sin, pray often, keep the Sabbath day holy, always try as earnestly as you can to be a peacemaker, help every institution of Zion, cheerfully obey every call of the Lord through those who have the authority from God to call, and live lives of purity in every way, that Holy Ghost will be in you all the time and influence you in all your thoughts, words and actions, bring to your mind things forgotten when you need them, and suggest to your mind principle and doctrine, when really necessary, that has never been taught you in this life, but which you knew before you came to this world.
I will mention another incident of inspiration in my own experience, different from the one already related concerning the secret sign among the Indians.
In 1867, I had a friend who was going to San Bernardino, California, and was to start on the second day after the following conversation between us:
"Oliver, come and go to California with me."
"I cannot."
"Yes you can; you can go as well as not."
"I have nothing to leave for the support of my family during the Winter;" (I having been sick for five or six months, and unable to earn anything.)
"I'll lend you what money you want," said he.
"Well, I cannot go, and there is no use thinking or taking about it," I finally replied.
That evening I was going home and thinking of my family affairs, but nothing about going with my friend. A voice, sounding as though it was about a foot from my left ear, whispered:
"Go with Hyrum to California."
The voice was as distinct as any I ever heard, and I half turned to see if anyone was there, but saw no one; and after debating a short time in my mind decided that I must not refuse, and I said mentally, "Well, I will."
The next day I saw Hyrum and told him I would go with him and I wanted fifty dollars to leave with my wife. He handed me the money and I started with him on the following morning.
My health improved all the way there. I worked at carpenter work all Winter and returned in the Spring, a sound, healthy man.
Other advantages and information gained while gone, prove to me that I was inspired or told to go and do the very thing that was necessary for my present salvation. It was a very important mission to me; and how important no mortal but myself knows.
OUT OF PROVISIONS—LIVE ON HORSE FLESH— ARRIVAL AT CARSON—START BACK FOR HOME—DESCRIPTION OF THE JOURNEY —AIDED BY RED MEN—MEET WITH MORE INDIANS—OUR MANNER OF DEALING WITH THEM.
Three days after leaving our newly-made friends, the Indians, we were on a hard desert, where in one place we crossed a field of crystallized mineral of some kind, which had the appearance of ice, and rode our horses safely over it. That night, on the same desert, one of the fattest horses in the company failed and was left just before we had crossed the desert, and it was nearly morning when we camped. At daylight I sent for the horse to eat, as we were then out of provisions.
The uninvited increase of the company had very small rations at starting, and when their food was exhausted I fed them until there was nothing left to eat for any of us, then we killed the horse and lived on its flesh for one week.
Two days after killing the horse we were on another desert and traveled until far into the night, for we could see no end to the desert; and since living on horseflesh for food we crowded the animals to make the best time possible to get where better food could be had, and more water, for we found water scarce and both men and beasts were in a suffering condition. About 2 o'clock in the morning a stop was made to rest the animals, for they had neither food nor water for over twenty-four hours. The saddles were removed and the animals were turned loose in the desert, where neither bush, stick nor grass could be seen. Being loosened, the animals all began feeding on something, though we could see nothing. We set out a guard, as usual. In the morning we found the horses feeding on a weed or grass of a wine color, about four inches high, covering in area about eight acres, and nowhere else did we ever see any more of that kind of feed.
We reached Carson on the 15th of October. We could not start back until word could be got to and from San Francisco. It was getting late in the season and we soon began to feel uneasy about the Winter snows we might encounter, but I had thought of this all the way and took such notes of the route as would enable me to recognize the way again even if the mountains should be covered with snow. I kept what sailors would call a "log book," in which was written a regular description of every landscape— certain shaped mountains here, a grove of cedars there, etc.; and at every turn of the road, consulted the compass, noting the various directions, and had some certain land-marks at each turn, with estimates of distances between points.
While not otherwise engaged in Genoa, as it is now called, I made a map of the road we had traveled, noting every watering-place, desert, mountain, grove of timber, plot of grass, etc., not forgetting to mark my distances as well as the points of compass.
While at Genoa, Natsab, the Indian, left me one night and started home on foot and alone and made his way in safety. It was a week before I found which way he had gone, and feared much that the Indians there had killed him. I saw him after I arrived home and asked his reason for leaving me without notice. He said he was afraid we would have to stay all Winter; and that if I had known he was going to leave I would stop him and make him stay too, and that was too long to live among the whites; he would have got sick and perhaps died.
At last the word came from San Francisco, and a man also to go with us to Salt Lake, which was very acceptable. Col. Reece resolved to fit up two men besides himself and accompany me one or two hundred miles, just to explore the country; for of the route we were to take nothing was known by white men, and we were all enthusiastic to search the unexplored regions.
On November 2, 1854, I started for home, with five animals for my own outfit of myself and the interpreter. Our through friend and partner for the trip back, Mr. Kinsey, had two horses, thus making seven well-loaded animals for three men to take care of. One large mule carried a keg of water as a reserve for times of distress. We each carried a canteen of water on our saddles as we rode; and several times our riding horses would, when our canteens were only partly full so that the water would sound as the motion of their bodies shook them, turned and hunted for the water and whinnyed coaxingly for a little sup of the water they had carried so long.
Carson River, at which point Mr. Davis overtook us, sinks or empties into a lake of its own, which is about twenty miles across. Around the lake is a very flat and large extent of country, wet and marshy, which affords great quantities of a grass known as "bayonet grass;" this yields tufts or bunches of black, rich seed that the Indians manage to cut and dry and then thresh or pound out the seed for their Winter's bread. We saw many large-sized stacks of the remains of their threshing at their threshing-floors, which were mostly inaccessible to horses, being on small, dry places in the midst of the sodded marshes that yield the grass.
After passing around the south end of the lake we crossed a low divide and entered a new valley some thirty miles from the lake. Where we entered this new desert valley was among rolling hills of sand blown up by the wind, some perhaps twenty feet high and covering from a half to a full acre of ground. In passing among these hills and valleys I saw the heads of two Indians who had not yet seen us. I took in the whole situation at a glance: a large alkali desert was before us in which was no water, while that we had in store was small and poor. Those Indians were not there without water being near, and if we could get them we could perhaps induce them to find or show us water. Our horses in the sand made no noise traveling, so we started at our best speed and soon overtook those whom we wanted as guides. They took us to water, though very reluctantly, and indeed not until they understood that they must do so.
We would never have found the water of ourselves; for the spring was in the top of a little elevation that covered perhaps five acres in the center of a valley. The spring was round and perhaps five feet across. It gave a rapid supply of water, but had no visible outlet. The Indians had fenced it with tall greasewood brush stuck in the ground as thick as they could put it, except at an opening about eight inches wide which would permit rabbits to enter, where they were trapped. A pit about two and one-half feet deep was dug in this opening and a strong, wiry sand-grass was fastened on either side of the hole so that the ends would overlap at the center of the hole or pit, making apparent smooth floor. When a rabbit jumped on it went down into the pit, which had no water in it. The grass readily sprang back to its place and was prepared for another rabbit. This continued until the pit was full, for it was so narrow and deep there was no chance to jump out. Three similar pits, at a distance from the spring, was prepared for antelope.
We camped here, used the greasewood for cooking supper and refreshed our horses. We kept the Indians all night with us so they could not notify others, who would perhaps prove dangerous. It was the intention to take them a day on the journey, but they escaped when we were not watching them. We traveled, after getting a full supply of water, all that day, all night and until 2 o'clock in the afternoon of the next day without any rest, except that got by stopping to eat and drink and tend the animals. This long journey was necessary in order to find grass and water.
About half or three-quarters of a mile before coming to the water our animals began to crowd ahead—pull on the bit—which surprised us all, as there were no signs of water, such as willows, trees or grass, in sight to attract our attention, nothing but the smooth desert of small, short desert brush, with occasional fields of sage brush. Suddenly our animals stopped at a little, swift-running brook not more than two or three feet wide.
Here we rested, watered and prepared for our journey. Towards evening we moved about two miles to some low sand hills, which generally afford an excellent grass called sand-grass. The next day we spent in trying to get more easterly over the mountains, but failed.
The second day after watering we would gladly have passed through the range of mountains by a canyon; but thinking it impossible, had started on north again nearly a mile, when someone called behind us. On looking around we saw two Indians running towards us. We waited until they came up. They then enquired where we were going, and on being told, said we would all die if we continued in that direction for it was three days' travel to water. They led us to water in the mountains and stayed with us that night and were well pleased with their newly-made friends, but not more so than we were; for they seemed more like kind old friends, and in the parting got their full share of presents.
On that camp ground I set the compass, but to my surprise one end of the needle dropped down and remained thus. Move the needle where I would it did the same. We were on a mountain of iron and probably some magnetic ore was near.
The next day was the 12th of November, 1854, and by favor of one of these good red men we got through the mountains to a fine, large spring creek, and there camped. Now, who can deny the hand of the Lord and His power in sending these natives with softened hearts to call us from certain death and kindly bring us through to these beautiful springs? None of us did; even the Gentiles with us acknowledged His hand in that act of the savage Indian.
The next morning, Col. Reece, with his two men, left us and turned south to explore three or four days in that direction and then turn westward on their course home. During this journey he made the very important discovery of the Reece River and country now so profitable to the State of Nevada.
We continued our course east one day and a half, and then struck the southern extremity of our outward route, which was a very plain trail at that place and was just at the foot of a long slope approaching a high, rocky, rugged mountain, over which we had to pass.
Indians and snow-storms were alike a dread to us to encounter; and the former were now before us when within about half a mile of the mouth of a very narrow, rocky canyon. They had the advantage of us, for they were nearest the rocks that overhung the road and were on the run in a half bent posture when first seen on the side of the mountain, but they straightened and sprang to the race right manfully when once in sight, until they were safe among the rocks, where they took positions of safety, only exposing their heads.
We approached slowly, all the while consulting as to what was the best policy to pursue. We did not want to go around the mountain to the south, for of the distance we knew nothing, and to fight we were afraid; for numbers and position were against us, there being only four of us and seven we could see of them. Speaking of four of us reminds me that when eighty miles from Genoa, a man by the name of Davis came to us from California, having heard of the exploring party going to Salt Lake. He had a very large herd of sheepen routefor California, which was obliged to Winter in Utah, and being anxious to join it he was willing to take chances with us.
The most feasible plan now was to make friends of them with presents. This being decided upon we concluded to try it, and if it failed we must try to force a passage. We consoled ourselves with the saying, "a coward cornered is the worst man in the world to fight." By some means, however, we expected, by the help of the Lord, to get through.
After talking and preaching to the natives half an hour or more the interpreter allured them down near us—so near that presents, small articles we had on our persons, were given them by one of us while the other three guarded against any treacherous surprise. They were then told to go with us to the top of the mountain, where we would camp for the night and we would there give them more valuable articles which were on the horse. They finally consented and told us to go on ahead; but feeling safer with their backs to us than ours to them we succeeded in having them take the lead. They were strong, fierce, desperate-looking men, and we did not care to give them any advantage over us, so we kept our eyes on them and our hands on our guns, even after we had camped at a nice spring in a large opening in the top of the mountain.
Our greatest safety against these and other Indians that might be lurking around, was to take their bows and arrows into our possession, which we did very quietly after giving the promised gifts. They looked rather sorry at seeing themselves entirely in our power.
For our future safety I thought it best to teach our neighbors a lesson in gun tactics, for we felt sure their knowledge of guns was limited to hearsay, they were so very wild and unacquainted with white men. My plan was as follows: I went into a narrow ravine well out of sight, cut a couple of leaves out of my memorandum book, doubled them, shot a hole through the center and then cut them in two. One of these I secretly gave to Mr. Kinsey. The interpreter and I then got into high words. The Indians wanted to know what we were talking about. He told them that I thought I could beat him shooting. They manifested much interest in the matter. I took a leaf from my book, folded and cut it exactly like the first and put it in the split of a stick about three feet long, gave this to Mr. Kinsey, all in plain view of the natives, and he put it up about one third of a mile off, but exchanged papers on the way and substituted the one with a hole in the center.
The interpreter shot with a dragoon revolver and sent an Indian for the mark. He came back on the run and talking as hard as he could. The Indians all joined in the talk but superstitiously avoided touching the paper.
I could not, of course, shoot better than that and therefore did not try; besides, it was getting dark.
The following morning, which was the 17th of November, one of the natives volunteered to go with us, saying that he "lived over that way." He ran on foot by the side of our horses all day and we rode most of the time on the gallop.
That night, about 1 o'clock, the Indian ran away from the guard— one man with gun in hand—and got clear with his life and two blankets that were not his.
In the morning we found his tracks in the trail ahead of us and we were satisfied that evil was designed against us. We were but a day-and-a-half's ride from the south end of Ruby Valley, and two and one-half days' ride from the north end, where most of the Indians were.
That day, at noon, we came to water on a high ridge, from which I could see a canyon pass through the mountains at the north end of Ruby Valley, which lay north by north-east from us, and the south end nearly east, leaving a great angle or elbow for us to make, which was an object to save. From one place only on this high ridge could be seen this low place in the distant mountains; and as soon as my eyes rested on it the idea was given me that we could get through that pass and save a great distance, and what else it might save I did not know, unless it was our hair. I at once informed the men of the gap in the mountains and my idea that it was best to travel that way; they agreed with me. We turned our horses that way and every one of us felt right sure then that in the plan was our safety.
We traveled that afternoon and until perhaps 12 o'clock in the night and camped on a creek at the foot of the gap, probably ten miles from the top, where we made neither light nor noise.
PREMONITIONS OF DANGER—LEARN OF AN ATTEMPT TO KILL US—AN INDIAN'S ADVICE—UNDECIDED ABOUT WHAT COURSE TO TAKE—APPEAL TO THE LORD—PRAYER ANSWERED—REACH HOME IN SAFETY.
Early in the morning of the 19th we were in motion, fearing that that day might bring the greatest trial of our lives. Right on the divide we met about fifteen old men, women and children, but none that could draw the bow in battle were there. The interpreter, who was well versed in Indian policies and tactics, said:
"There, boys, that tells the story—not a warrior here and these are sent off out of danger."
We came out into the valley about 2 o'clock very still, slow and cautious, but saw no signs of life near. We had to ride hard so that, if possible, we might get across the valley unobserved. We succeeded, and just as the sun was setting we reached a little basin or valley among low hills on our old trail, where there was a fine spring of water. We looked carefully all over the country behind us as we left the valley, but saw no signs of life except many smokes.
Our hearts nearly came to a standstill as we turned the ridge down into the little basin, at the sight of seven Indians on the run for the water. We had to have the right of water even if necessary to fight for it; and we started on the run. The ground was so open that we could see no point of advantage the Indians could gain by getting to water first, so we rode more leisurely and we came together at the spring.
As they appeared in every motion to be friendly, we dismounted, threw off our saddles and packs as though we were at home, never forgetting to keep our eyes open and revolvers handy. The first thing to test their friendship was to smoke—if they would smoke with us they would talk, and if they would talk we could be friends and learn something.
When the oldest man had smoked, he asked in astonishment how we got there.
The interpreter said: "We rode here on our horses."
"Yes," said the old man, "I saw you do that; but what road did you come?"
He was told, and replied:
"That is the only way you could come."
"Why?"
Then he went on to tell us that the Indian, Natsab, who ran away in Carson, had passed there telling when he thought we would be along. The Bloody Chief we saw in the valley going out came all through the valley, calling the men to the rocky canyon that leads out of the valley and there they thought to kill us all and divide the spoils, expecting the whole seventeen men to return.
"Why didn't you go?" was asked.
The old man fumbled among his rags and pulled out a piece of tobacco about one and one-half inches square and said, "I showed him that tobacco and told him you gave me it, and I could not fight you as long as that lasted."
"What it that had all been gone?" was asked.
The old man had as mild and pleasant eyes as I ever saw in an Indian's head, and he raised them with as much honesty and simplicity as a child, after looking in the fire a minute, and said:
"I don't know what I would have done."
His heart seemed to correspond with his eye.
The six men with him were his sons and sons-in-law. He kept them from going to fight us. His camp was about a mile from the spring. After talking awhile we tried the "long shot" game on them and found the paper shot through the center as before. We wanted to impress all Indians with the belief that when they fought us, the farther off they could get the safer they would be.
Then we smoked again and all had lunch. The Indians got lots of gifts, the whites none. Then came the good old man's last advice and council:
"I do not know whether they will get track of you before morning or not; but theywillget on your track," said the mild-eyed man. "You must not let the sun see you here. To-morrow when the sun looks down from behind the top of that mountain you must be a long way from here. Ride hard all day; and when night comes, don't stop riding, but ride hard all night, and in the morning you will be in the Goshute land and they will not follow you there. They have long been wanting your meat, and when they find only your tracks they will ride like the wind."
When he had done talking, they all arose with a mild dignity, wrapped their remnants of blankets around them, turned their faces towards their home among the cedars and none looked around, except the mild-eyed man, who gave us a look of mingled pity and hope, then nodded his head towards their home, gave a motion of the hand and a prolonged sigh, as much as to say, "I'm going home to sleep."
The old man's advice to us was carefully followed. I examined my journal and notes of the country before we started. The whole day's travel was over a level country from one valley to another, with no high divide or hardly a separating hill; but at noon I found myself lost, in spite of all my care and even extra caution preparatory for such an important day. I could not find any lack of attention in myself and no responsibility was upon any other person in the matter—the route was very plain, and yet I had gone to the left of a mountain instead of to the right. I knew where we were, although there was no trail on either route, yet I knew we had taken the wrong side of the mountain. I was afraid of the result and questioned whether it would give our pursuers any advantage. Should we turn back or go ahead? was another question.
Our lives was the game we were playing for that day, and the responsibility of correct moves was upon me. The thought made me sweat like rain. I told all the men and asked them to ride slowly, very slowly, while I rode up the mountain to see if I could make any discovery. I rode to a good, secure place and there knelt upon the ground and, with my whole soul, asked God to show me what to do in this trying time of uncertainty.
I arose and mounted my horse, fully satisfied. I knew how it would terminate. An impression a feeling, some would call it, made me understand this: "Go on; you will come out all right;" that is, keep going as you are going, and you will come around to the right place, was what it meant.
Some might ask, How did you get that information? I can only tell you that it was spoken in those words to my soul. It was planted instantly in my understanding by the power of God. It was revealed to my spirit independent of the body.
I rode down and overtook my fellow-travelers in perfect cheer and told them that we would go on, we were going just right.
Just before sunset we came to the very water I had intended, in the morning, to reach, which was in a nice, grassy vale close by a large cedar grove, and on looking back on the route I designed to come, we saw, on a point of the mountain, three smokes near to each other, which among Indians means to rally to some appointed place. We all, Gentiles though two of the company were, acknowledged the hand of God in guiding us, as we thought, the wrong way.
Water, grass and rest our animals must have in order to carry us safely through the night. We could see the Indian smokes; they could see ours and very likely see us. We must make them think we were going to stay all night, so we drove the horses away from camp quite a distance and towards the Indians, gathered a good lot of wood, ate supper and waited impatiently for the mantle of night to be thrown over our movements.
As soon as I felt sure the Indians' keen eyes could not see our moves through the darkness, two men ran for the horses and drove them around so the fire would not show their forms. The other two men carried the saddles far back from the fire, where we hastily saddled and left the horses in care of one man while the other three went to the fire, put on all the wood and lazily passed and re-passed between the distant Indians and the fire, then mounted and rode with good speed from our comfortable fire and beautiful Antelope Spring. This place received its name, Antelope Spring, as follows: On approaching this place, as we went west, we saw a drove of antelope feeding just in the edge of the scattering cedars, and one antelope quite a little behind the rest, which one of our men prepared to shoot; but all the animals seeing us ran away. The one behind was thrown into a dreadful fright, and could not run with the others, while the man prepared to shoot. He resolved to be an antelope no longer, and with magical power threw off his antelope skin, and in the twinkling of an eye, stood up a tall Indian with bow and arrows in hand. He followed us to camp and there showed us all about the transformation.
We rode all night as fast as we could and at dawn came into a little gulch, where water was found. Here we turned our animals loose and all but two of us laid down and slept until sunrise. That morning was beautiful to us. We now felt ourselves out of danger and quietly pursues our journey homeward, without any other important event occurring. We reached home on the 25th of November, 1854.
This was an important event to us and our families and friends. One thing that made it more important to my wife and relatives was a report from a man who undertook to overtake us a day or two after we left Salt Lake City for Carson. He was a relic of the army, and failing to overtake us as soon as he expected, became faint-hearted from the forbidding and uninviting surroundings of a lone man among Indians and deserts, and turned back. He arrived safely in Salt Lake City and undoubtedly thought himself very fortunate in so doing; and to excuse himself beyond the possibility of reproach among his associates, he made up an inexcusable falsehood and told that he came to the place where the Indians had massacred every one of our party. The deed had just been done and the bodies lay mangled and stripped of clothing. He was obliged to make a hasty retreat to avoid being discovered and served the same.
On arriving in Salt Lake I delivered all U. S. property in my possession to Colonel Steptoe and as soon as possible made my official report in writing and got my release. In my report was given an outline of the road, which, however, he did not think practicable for his army in the following Spring. From my journal of the trip and the map, I formed what was called in those days a guide book, which was a minute account of the road, by which a stranger to the country could safely travel it without danger of being lost.
Our Delegate to Congress then was acquainted with this book, and as he was about to start for Washington by way of San Francisco, he offered to take the guide book and if he could sell it to Congress he would give me half the proceeds. In San Francisco he was offered $1000 for it, but would not let it go for that amount. I think he did not sell it, for I never received any money for it.