Chapter 37 Autobiography of James P Beckwourth Moving West 1856

 James Pierson Beckwourth (1798-1866)

The Life & Adventures of James P. Beckwourth

Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, & Chief of the Crow Nation of Indians.

Written from his own Dictation by T. D. Bonner. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square. 1856.

CHAPTER 37

Mistakes regarding the Character of the Indian.—Extent of the Western Tribes.—Their Character.—How a War against them should be conducted.—Reflections.—Closing Address to the Indian Heroine.

As an American citizen, a friend of my race, and a sincere lover of my country, and also as one well acquainted with the Indian character, I feel that I can not properly conclude the record of my eventful life without saying something for the Red Man. It should be remembered, when judging of their acts, that they consider the country they inhabit as the gift of the "Great Spirit," and they resent in their hearts the invasion of the immigrant just as much as any civilized people would, if another nation, without permission, should cross their territory. It must also be understood, that the Indians believe the buffalo to be theirs by inheritance, not as game, but in the light of ownership, given to them by Providence for their support and comfort, and that, when an immigrant shoots a buffalo, the Indian looks upon it exactly as the destruction by a stranger of so much private property.

With these ideas clearly in the mind of the reader, it can be understood why the Indian, in destroying a cow belonging to white people, or stealing a horse, considers himself as merely retaliating for injuries received, repaying himself, in fact, for what he has lost. For this act on the part of the Red Man, the United States troops are often turned indiscriminately upon his race; the innocent generally suffer, and those who have raised the storm can not understand of what crime they can be guilty.

But if the government is determined to make war upon the Western tribes, let it be done intelligently, and so effectually that mercy will temper justice. To attempt to chastise Indians with United States troops is simply ridiculous; the expense of such campaigns is only surpassed by their inefficiency. The Indians live on horseback, and they can steal and drive off the government horses faster than it can bring them together. The Indians having no stationary villages, they can travel faster, even with the incumbrance of their lodges, women, and children, subsisting themselves on buffalo slain on the way, than any force, however richly appointed, the country could send against them. An army must tire out in such a chase before summer is gone, while the Indians will constantly harass it with their sharp-shooters, and, should several powerful tribes unite — not an unusual occurrence — many thousand men would make no impression.

It should also be recollected by our officers sent to fight in the Rocky Mountains, that the Indians have a mode of telegraphing by the aid of robes and mirrors, and thus, by having their spies stationed at convenient distances, they convey intelligence of the movements of their enemies at great distances and in a very few minutes, thus informing villages whether it would be best to retreat or not. Some tribes telegraph by fires at night, and by smoke in the daytime. An officer might hear of a band of warriors encamped at a certain place; he immediately makes a forced march, and when his troops arrive at their destination, those sarne warriors may be many miles in his rear, encamped on his trail.

A village of three hundred lodges of Crows or Cheyennes could, within thirty minutes after receiving an order to move, have all their lodges struck, the poles attached to the horses, and their men, women, and children going at full speed, and could thus outstrip the best dragoons sent in their pursuit.

I have seen enough of Indian treaties and annuities to satisfy me that their effects for good are worse than fruitless. The idea formed by the Indians is that the annuities are sent to them by the great white chief because he is afraid of them, and wishes to purchase their friendship. There are some of the tribes — a very few — who would keep a treaty sacred; but the majority would not be bound by one, for they can not understand their nature. When caught at a disadvantage, and reduced to enter into a compact, they would agree to any proposals that were offered; but when the controlling power is withdrawn, and they can repeat their depredations with apparent impunity, no moral obligation would restrain them, and the treaty that was negotiated at so much cost to the country proves a mere delusion.

The officer having charge of an expedition against the Indians should rightly understand which band of a tribe he is commissioned to punish. The Siouxs, for instance, which, a few years ago, could raise thirty thousand warriors, are divided into many bands, which, at times, are hundreds of miles apart. One band of that tribe may commit a depredation on the emigrant road, and the other bands not even have heard of it they do not hold themselves amenable for the misdeeds of another body totally distinct from them in social relations, and to inflict chastisement upon them in such a case would be a manifest injustice. But in a case of extreme danger all these bands coalesce.

Other tribes have the same divisions into distinct bands, and many are hence led into the belief that each band is a tribe. The Siouxs range over a territory upward of a thousand miles in extent from north to south, and their country embraces some of the most beautiful spots in the world, as well for natural scenery as for extreme productiveness of soil. The Crows have but one band proper, although they are generally divided into two villages, as being a more convenient arrangement to afford pasture for their immense herds of horses, and also to hunt the buffalo. But these two villages are seldom more than three hundred miles apart, generally much nearer; they come together at least once a year, and have frequent accidental coalitions in the course of their wanderings. They speak the Grovan language, from which nation they are an offshoot.

The Pawnees are probably the most degraded, in point of morals, of all the Western tribes; they are held in such contempt by the other tribes that none will make treaties with them. They are a populous nation, and are inveterate against the whites, killing them wherever met. A treaty concluded with that nation at night would be violated the next morning. Those who engage in warfare with the Western Indians will remember that they take no prisoners except women and children. It has generally been believed that the Siouxs never kill white men, but this is a mistake; they have always killed them. I have seen white men's scalps in their hands, and many still fresh hanging in the smoke of their lodges.

The Western Indians have no hummocks or everglades to fight among, but they have their boundless prairies to weary an army in, and the fastnesses of the Rocky Mountains to retreat to. Should a majority of those powerful nations coalesce in defense against one common enemy, it would be the worst Indian war — the most costly in blood and treasure that the national government has ever entered into. The coalition tribes could bring two hundred and fifty thousand warriors against any hostile force, and I know I am greatly within the limits of truth in assigning that number to them.

If it is the policy of government to utterly exterminate the Indian race, the most expeditious manner of effecting this ought to be the one adopted. The introduction of whisky among the Red Men, under the connivance of government agents, leads to the demoralization and consequent extermination, by more powerful races, of thousands of Indians annually. Still, this infernal agent is not effectual; the Indians diminish in numbers, but with comparative slowness. The most direct and speedy mode of clearing the land of them would be by the simple means of starvation — by depriving them of their hereditary sustenance, the buffalo. To effect this, send an army of hunters among them, to root out and destroy, in every possible manner, the animal in question. They can shoot them, poison them, dig pit-falls for them, and resort to numberless other contrivances to efface the devoted animal, which serves, it would seem, by the wealth of his carcass, to preserve the Indian, and thus impede the expanding development of civilization.

To fight the Indians vi et armis, the government could employ no such effectual means as to take into its service five hundred mountaineers for the space of one year, and any one tribe of Indians that they should fall foul of could never survive the contest. Such men, employed for that purpose, would have no encumbrance from superfluous baggage to impede them in a pursuit or a retreat over their illimitable plains. The mode of life of a mountaineer just fits him for an Indian fighter, and if he has to submit to privation, and put up with an empty commissariat, he has the means of support always at hand. He is so much an Indian from habit that he can fight them in their own way: if they steal his horses, he can steal theirs in return; if they snatch a hasty repose in the open air, it is all he asks for himself, and his health and spirits are fortified with such regimen. It is only by men possessing the qualities of the white hunter, combined with Indian habits, that the Indians can be effectually and economically conquered.

I have now presented a plain, unvarnished statement of the most noteworthy occurrences of my life, and, in so doing, I have necessarily led the reader through a variety of savage scenes at which his heart must sicken. The narrative, however, is not without its use. The restless youthful mind, that wearies with the monotony of peaceful every-day existence, and aspires after a career of wild adventure and thrilling romance, will find, by my experience, that such a life is by no means one of comfort, and that the excitement which it affords is very dearly purchased by the opportunities lost of gaining far more profitable wisdom. Where one man would be spared, as I have been, to pass through the perils of fasting, the encounters with the savage, and the fury of the wild beasts, and still preserve his life, and attain an age of near threescore, it is not too much to say that five hundred would perish, with not a single loved one near to catch his last whispered accent, would die in the wilderness, either in solitude, or with the fiendish savage shrieking in revolting triumph in his ear.

I now close the chapter of my eventful life. I feel that time is pressing; and the reminiscences of the past, stripped of all that was unpleasant, come crowding upon me. My heart turns naturally to my adopted people. I think of my son, who is the chief; I think of his mother, who went unharmed through the medicine lodge; I think of Bar-chee-am-pe, the brave heroine. I see her, tearful, watching my departure from the banks of the Yellow Stone. Her nation expects my return, that I may be buried with my supposed fathers, but none looks so eagerly for the great warrior as

PINE LEAF, THE INDIAN HEROINE.

I've seen her in her youthful years;

Her heart was light and free,

Her black eyes never dimm'd with tears,

So happy then was she.

When warriors from the fight return'd,

And halted for display,

The trophies that the victors won

She was first to bring away.

I've seen her kiss her brother's cheek

When he was called to go

The lurking enemy to seek,

Or chase the buffalo.

She loved him with a sister's love

He was the only son;

And "Pine Leaf" prized him far above

The warriors' hearts she'd won.

I've seen her in her mourning hours

That brother had been slain

Her head, that oft was decked with flowers,

Now shed its crimson rain;

Her bleeding head and bleeding hand

Her crimson, clotted hair

Her brother's in the spirit land,

And hence her keen despair.

I've heard her make a solemn vow

"A warrior I will be

Until a hundred foes shall bow,

And yield their scalps to me;

I will revenge my brother's death —

I swear it on my life,

Or never, while I draw a breath,

Will I become a wife."

I've seen her on her foaming steed,

With battle-axe in hand,

Pursuing at her utmost speed

The Black Foot and Shi-an.

I've seen her wield her polished lance

A hundred times and more,

When charging fierce in the advance

Amid the battle's roar.

I've seen her with her scalping-knife

Spring on the fallen foe,

And, ere he was yet void of life,

Make sure to count her coo.

I've seen her, at full speed again,

Oft draw her trusty bow,

Across her arrow take good aim,

And lay a warrior low.

I've heard her say, "I'll take my shield,

My battle-axe, and bow,

And follow you, through glen or field,

Where'er you dare to go;

I'll rush amid the blood and strife

Where any warrior leads:"

Pine Leaf would choose to lose her life

Amid such daring deeds.

I've heard her say, "The spirit land

Is where my thoughts incline,

Where I can grasp my brother's hand,

Extended now for mine.

There's nothing now in this wide world

No ties that bid me stay;

But, a broken-hearted Indian girl,

I weep both night and day.

" He tells me in my midnight dreams

I must revenge his fall,

Then come where flowers and cooling streams

Surround their spirits, all.

He tells me that the hunting-ground,

So far away on high,

Is filled with warriors all around

Who nobly here did die.

"He says that all is joy and mirth

Where the Great Spirit lives,

And joy that's never known on earth

He constantly receives.

No brother to revenge his wrongs —

The war-path is my road

A few more days I'll sing his songs,

Then hie to his abode."

I've heard her say, "I'll be your bride;

You've waited long, I know;

A hundred foes by me have died,

By my own hand laid low.

'Tis for my nation's good I wed;

For I would still be free

Until I slumber with the dead;

But I will marry thee."

And when I left the heroine,

A tear stood in her eye

As last I held her hand in mine,

And whispered a good-by.

"Oh, will you soon return again?"

The heroine did say;

"Yes, when the green grass decks the plain,"

I said, and came away.

THE END.

Chapter 36 Autobiography of James P Beckwourth Moving West 1856

 James Pierson Beckwourth (1798-1866)

The Life & Adventures of James P. Beckwourth

Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, & Chief of the Crow Nation of Indians.

Written from his own Dictation by T. D. Bonner. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square. 1856.

CHAPTER 36

Discovery of Beckwourth's Pass.—No pecuniary Reward for public Services. —Transformation. — A new Character. — Emigrants at Home and at their Journey's End.—Description of the Happy Valley.—Interesting Reminiscence.

THE next spring I engaged in mining and prospecting in various parts of the gold region. I advanced as far as the American Valley, having one man in my company, and proceeded north into the Pitt River country, where we had a slight difficulty with the Indians. We had come upon a party who manifested the utmost friendship toward us; but I, knowing how far friendly appearances could be trusted to, cautioned my partner on no account to relinquish his gun, if the Indians should attempt to take it. They crowded round us, pretending to have the greatest interest in the pack that we carried, until they made a sudden spring, and seized our guns, and attempted to wrest them from our grasp. I jerked from them, and retreated a few steps; then, cocking my gun, I bade them, if they wished to fight, to come on. This produced a change in their feelings, and they were very friendly again, begging caps and ammunition of us, which, of course, we refused. We then walked backward for about one hundred and fifty yards, still keeping our pieces ready should they attempt further hostilities; but they did not deem it prudent to molest us again.

While on this excursion I discovered what is now known as "Beckwourth's Pass" in the Sierra Nevada. From some of the elevations over which we passed I remarked a place far away to the southward that seemed lower than any other. I made no mention of it to my companion, but thought that at some future time I would examine into it farther. I continued on to Shasta with my fellow-traveler, and returned after a fruitless journey of eighteen days.

After a short stay in the American Valley, I again started out with a prospecting party of twelve men. We killed a bullock before starting and dried the meat, in order to have provisions to last us during the trip. We proceeded in an easterly direction, and all busied themselves in searching for gold; but my errand was of a different character: I had come to discover what I suspected to be a pass.

It was the latter end of April when we entered upon an extensive valley at the northwest extremity of the Sierra range. The valley was already robed in freshest verdure, contrasting most delightfully with the huge snow-clad masses of rock we had just left. Flowers of every variety and hue spread their variegated charms before us; magpies were chattering, and gorgeously-plumaged birds were caroling in the delights of unmolested solitude. Swarms of wild geese and ducks were swimming on the surface of the cool crystal stream, which was the central fork of the Rio de las Plumas, or sailed the air in clouds over our heads. Deer and antelope filled the plains, and their boldness was conclusive that the hunter's rifle was to them unknown. Nowhere visible were any traces of the white man's approach, and it is probable that our steps were the first that ever marked the spot. We struck across this beautiful valley to the waters of the Yuba, from thence to the waters of the Truchy, which latter flowed in an easterly direction, telling us we were on the eastern slope of the mountain range. This, I at once saw, would afford the best wagon-road into the American Valley approaching from the eastward, and I imparted my views to three of my companions in whose judgment I placed the most confidence. They thought highly of the discovery, and even proposed to associate with me in opening the road. We also found gold, but not in sufficient quantity to warrant our working it; and, furthermore, the ground was too wet to admit of our prospecting to any advantage.

On my return to the American Valley, I made known my discovery to a Mr. Turner, proprietor of the American Ranch, who entered enthusiastically into my views; it was a thing, he said, he had never dreamed of before. If I could but carry out my plan, and divert travel into that road, he thought I should be a made man for life. Thereupon he drew up a subscription-list, setting forth the merits of the project, and showing how the road could be made practicable to Bidwell's Bar, and thence to Marysville, which latter place would derive peculiar advantages from the discovery. He headed the subscription with two hundred dollars.

When I reached Bidwell's Bar and unfolded my project, the town was seized with a perfect mania for the opening of the route. The subscriptions toward the fund required for its accomplishment amounted to five hundred dollars. I then proceeded to Marysville, a place which would unquestionably derive greater benefit from the newly-discovered route than any other place on the way, since this must be the entrepôt or principal starting-place for emigrants. I communicated with several of the most influential residents on the subject in hand. They also spoke very encouragingly of my undertaking, and referred me, before all others, to the mayor of the city. Accordingly, I waited upon that gentleman (a Mr. Miles, and brought the matter under his notice, representing it as being a legitimate matter for his interference, and offering substantial advantages to the commercial prosperity of the city. The mayor entered warmly into my views, and pronounced it as his opinion that the profits resulting from the speculation could not be less than from six to ten thousand dollars; and as the benefits accruing to the city would be incalculable, he would insure my expenses while engaged upon it.

I mentioned that I should prefer some guarantee before entering upon my labors, to secure me against loss of what money I might lay out.

"Leave that to me," said the mayor; "I will attend to the whole affair. I feel confident that a subject of so great importance to our interests will engage the earliest attention."

I thereupon left the whole proceeding in his hands, and, immediately setting men to work upon the road, went out to the Truchy to turn emigration into my newly-discovered route. While thus busily engaged I was seized with erysipelas, and abandoned all hopes of recovery; I was over one hundred miles away from medical assistance, and my only shelter was a brush tent. I made my will, and resigned myself to death. Life still lingered in me, however, and a train of wagons came up, and encamped near to where I lay. I was reduced to a very low condition, but I saw the drivers, and acquainted them with the object which had brought me out there. They offered to attempt the new road if I thought myself sufficiently strong to guide them through it. The women, God bless them! came to my assistance, and through their kind attentions and excellent nursing I rapidly recovered from my lingering sickness, until I was soon able to mount my horse, and lead the first train, consisting of seventeen wagons, through "Beckwourth's Pass." We reached the American Valley without the least accident, and the emigrants expressed entire satisfaction with the route. I returned with the train through to Marysville, and on the intelligence being communicated of the practicability of my road, there was quite a public rejoicing. A northern route had been discovered, and the city had received an impetus that would advance her beyond all her sisters on the Pacific shore. I felt proud of my achievement, and was foolish enough to promise myself a substantial recognition of my labors.

I was destined to disappointment, for that same night Marysville was laid in ashes. The mayor of the ruined town congratulated me upon bringing a train through. He expressed great delight at my good fortune, but regretted that their recent calamity had placed it entirely beyond his power to obtain for me any substantial reward. With the exception of some two hundred dollars subscribed by some liberal-minded citizens of Marysville, I have received no indemnification for the money and labor I have expended upon my discovery. The city had been greatly benefited by it, as all must acknowledge, for the emigrants that now flock to Marysville would otherwise have gone to Sacramento. Sixteen hundred dollars I expended upon the road is forever gone, but those who derive advantage from this outlay and loss of time devote no thought to the discoverer; nor do I see clearly how I am to help myself, for every one knows I can not roll a mountain into the pass and shut it up. But there is one thing certain: although I recognize no superior in love of country, and feel in all its force the obligation imposed upon me to advance her interests, still, when I go out hunting in the mountains a road for every body to pass through, and expending my time and capital upon an object from which I shall derive no benefit, it will be because I have nothing better to do.

In the spring of 1852 I established myself in Beckwourth Valley, and finally found myself transformed into a hotel-keeper and chief of a trading-post. My house is considered the emigrant's landing-place, as it is the first ranch he arrives at in the golden state, and is the only house between this point and Salt Lake. Here is a valley two hundred and forty miles in circumference, containing some of the choicest land in the world. Its yield of hay is incalculable; the red and white clovers spring up spontaneously, and the grass that covers its smooth surface is of the most nutritious nature. When the weary, toil-worn emigrant reaches this valley, he feels himself secure; he can lay himself down and taste refreshing repose, undisturbed by the fear of Indians. His cattle can graze around him in pasture up to their eyes, without running any danger of being driven off by the Arabs of the forest, and springs flow before them as pure as any that refreshes this verdant earth.

When I stand at my door, and watch the weary, way-worn travelers approach, their wagons holding together by a miracle, their stock in the last stage of emaciation, and themselves a perfect exaggeration of caricature, I frequently amuse myself with imagining the contrast they must offer to the tout ensemble and general appearance they presented to their admiring friends when they first set out upon their journey.

We will take a fancy sketch of them as they start from their homes. We will fancy their strong and well-stored wagon, bran-new for the occasion, and so firmly put together that, to look at it, one would suppose it fit to circumrotate the globe as many times as there are spokes in the wheels; then their fat and frightened steers, so high-spirited and fractious that it takes the father and his two or three sons to get each under the yoke; next, the ambitious emigrant and his proud family, with their highly-raised expectations of the future that is before them: the father, so confident and important, who deems the Eastern States unworthy of his abilities, and can alone find a sufficiently ample field in the growing republic on the Pacific side; the mother, who is unwilling to leave her pleasant gossiping friends and early associations, is still half tempted to believe that the crop of gold that waits their gathering may indemnify her for her labors; so they pull up stakes, and leave town in good style, expecting to return with whole cart-loads of gold dust, and dazzle their neighbors' eyes with their excellent good fortune.

The girls, dear creatures! put on their very best, as all their admiring beaux assemble to see them start, and to give them the last kiss they will receive east of the Nevada Mountains; for their idea is that they will be snatched up and married the moment they step over the threshold into California by some fine young gentleman who is a solid pile of gold, and they joyously start away, in anticipation of the event, their hats decked with ribbons, their persons in long-flowing riding-dresses, their delicate fingers glittering with rings, and their charming little ankles incased in their fashionable and neatly-laced gaiters.

At the close of day, perhaps amid a pelting rain, these same parties heave wearily into sight: they have achieved the passage of the Plains, and their pleasant Eastern homes, with their agreeable, sociable neighbors, are now at a distance it is painful to contemplate. The brave show they made at starting, as the whole town hurraed them off, is sadly faded away. Their wagon appears like a relic of the Revolution after doing hard service for the commissariat: its cover burned into holes, and torn to tatters; its strong axles replaced with rough pieces of trees hewn by the wayside; the tires bound on with ropes; the iron linchpins gone, and chips of hickory substituted, and rags wound round the hubs to hold them together, which they keep continually wetted to prevent falling to pieces. The oxen are held up by the tail to keep them upon their legs, and the ravens and magpies evidently feel themselves ill treated in being driven off from what they deem their lawful rights.

The old folks are peevish and quarrelsome; the young men are so headstrong, and the small children so full of wants, and precisely at a time when every thing has given out, and they have nothing to pacify them with. But the poor girls have suffered the most. Their glossy, luxuriant locks, that won so much admiration, are now frizzled and discolored by the sun; their elegant riding-habit is replaced with an improvised Bloomer, and their neat little feet are exposed in sad disarray; their fingers are white no longer, and in place of rings we see sundry bits of rag wound round, to keep the dirt from entering their sore cuts. The young men of gold, who looked so attractive in the distance, are now too often found to be worthless and of no intrinsic value; their time employed in haunting gaming-tables or dram-shops, and their habits corrupted by unthrift and dissipation.

I do not wish to speak disparagingly of my adopted state, and by no means to intimate the slightest disrespect to the many worthy citizens who have crossed the Plains. I appeal to the many who have witnessed the picture for the accuracy of my portraiture. So much good material constantly infused into society ought to improve the character of the compound, but the demoralizing effects of transplantation greatly neutralize the benefits.

Take a family from their peaceful and happy homes in a community where good morals are observed, and the tone of society exercises a salutary influence over the thoughts of both old and young, and put them in such a place as this, where all is chaotic, and the principles that regulate the social intercourse of men are not yet recognized as law, and their dignity of thought and prestige of position is bereft from them. They have to struggle among a greedy, unscrupulous populace for the means of living; their homes have yet acquired no comfort, and they feel isolated and abandoned; and it is even worse upon the children; all corrective influence is removed from them, and the examples that surround them are often of the most vicious and worst possible description. All wholesome objects of ambition being removed, and money alone substituted as the reward of their greed, they grow up unlike their fathers; and it is only those in whom there is a solid substratum of correct feeling that mature into good citizens and proper men.

The girls, too, little darlings, suffer severely. They have left their worthy sweethearts behind, and can not get back to them; and those who now offer themselves here are not fit to bestow a thought upon. Every thing is strange to them. They miss their little social reunions, their quilting-parties, their winter quadrilles, the gossip of the village, their delightful summer haunts, and their dear paternal fireside. They have no pursuits except of the grosser kinds, and all their refinements are roughed over by the prevailing struggle after gold.

Much stock is lost in crossing the Plains, through their drinking the alkali water which flows from the Sierra Nevada, becoming impregnated with the poisonous mineral either in its source or in its passage among the rocks. There are also poisonous herbs springing up in the region of the mineral water, which the poor, famishing animals devour without stint. Those who survive until they reach the Valley are generally too far gone for recovery, and die while resting to recruit their strength. Their infected flesh furnishes food to thousands of wolves, which infest this place in the winter, and its effect upon them is singular. It depilates their warm coats of fur, and renders their pelts as bare as the palm of a man's hand. My faithful dogs have killed numbers of them at different times, divested entirely of hair except on the extremity of the nose, ears, and tail. They present a truly comical and extraordinary appearance.

This general loss of cattle deprives many of the poor emigrants of the means of hauling their lightened wagons, which, by the time they reach my ranch, seldom contain any thing more than their family clothing and bedding. Frequently I have observed wagons pass my house with one starveling yoke of cattle to drag them, and the family straggling on foot behind. Numbers have put up at my ranch without a morsel of food, and without a dollar in the world to procure any. They never were refused what they asked for at my house; and, during the short space that I have spent in the Valley, I have furnished provisions and other necessaries to the numerous sufferers who have applied for them to a very serious amount. Some have since paid me, but the bills of many remain unsettled. Still, although a prudent business man would condemn the proceeding, I can not find it in my heart to refuse relief to such necessities, and, if my pocket suffers a little, I have my recompense in a feeling of internal satisfaction.

My pleasant valley is thirty-five miles at its greatest breadth. It is irrigated by two streams, with their various small tributaries. These form a junction about ten miles from my house up the valley, which, as you remount it, becomes the central fork of the Feather River. All these streams abound with trout, some of them weighing seven or eight pounds. In the main one there are also plenty of otter. Antelopes and deer are to be found the entire year, unless the winter is unusually severe, when they cross the mountains to the eastern slope. Grizzly bears come and disappear again, without asking leave of any man. There are wolves of every species, together with foxes, hares, rabbits, and other animals. Of the feathered tribe, we have wild geese, ducks, sage-hens, grouse, and a large variety of smaller birds. Service-berries and cherries are the only kinds of fruit that grow from nature's cultivation.

The growth of timber about the valley is principally pitch-pine, although there is a considerable intermixture of cedar. I have never yet sown any grain, but I have cultivated a small kitchen-garden, and raised cabbages, turnips, and radishes of great size. I have never known the snow to fall to a greater depth than three feet, and when the storms are over it dissolves very rapidly, notwithstanding the elevation is many thousand feet above the level of the Pacific. The snow clings to the mountain peaks that overlook the valley to the eastward the year round, and as it is continually melting and feeding the streams, it keeps the water icy cold all the summer through. About a mile and a half distant from my house there is a large sulphur spring, and on the eastern slope, in the desert, there are copious hot springs, supplying the traveler with boiling water for his coffee without the cost of fuel.

The Truchy rises on the summit of the Sierra Nevada, opposite the head-waters of the Yuba, and runs in an easterly direction until it loses itself in Pyramid Lake, about fifty miles east of this valley. This lake is a great natural curiosity, as it receives not alone the waters of the Truchy, but numerous other streams, and has no visible outlet; its surcharge of water probably filtering into the earth, like St. Mary's River, and some others I have met with. There is no place in the whole state that offers so many attractions for a few weeks' or months' retirement; for its charms of scenery, with sylvan and piscatorial sports, present unusual attractions. During the winter season my nearest neighbors are sixteen miles away; in the summer they are within four miles of my house, so that social broils do not much disturb me.

There is a pleasant historical incident associated with St. Mary's River, which, as it can be familiar to but few of my readers, I will relate here. The St. Mary's River is known to most persons as the River Humboldt, since that is the name that has been since conferred upon it, in honor of the distinguished European traveler. I prefer the former name, as being more poetical, though less assuming. An Indian woman, the wife of a Canadian named Chapineau, who acted as interpreter and guide to Lewis and Clarke during their explorations of the Rocky Mountains, was suddenly seized with the pains of labor, and gave birth to a son on the banks of this mysterious river. The Redheaded Chief (Clarke) adopted the child thus rudely issued into the world, and on his return to St. Louis took the infant with him, and baptized it John Baptist Clarke Chapineau. After a careful culture of his mind, the boy was sent to Europe to complete his education. But the Indian was ineffaceable in him. The Indian lodge and his native mountain fastnesses possessed greater charms than the luxuries of civilized life. He returned to the desert and passed his days with his tribe. Mary, the mother of the child, was a Crow, very pleasing and intelligent, and may have been, for aught I know, connected with some of my many relatives in that tribe. It was in honor of this event, and to perpetuate her memory, that the river received its original name, St. Mary's, and, as such, is still known to the mountaineers.

Chapter 35 Autobiography of James P Beckwourth Moving West 1856

 James Pierson Beckwourth (1798-1866)

The Life & Adventures of James P. Beckwourth

Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, & Chief of the Crow Nation of Indians.

Written from his own Dictation by T. D. Bonner. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square. 1856.

CHAPTER 35

Departure for California.—Meeting with the Apaches.—Hostile Threats.—Trouble with the Utahs.—Most terrible Tragedy.—Society in California.—Adventures with Grizzly Bears.

THE last dispatches I bore from Fort Leavenworth were addressed to California, and I had undertaken to carry them through. At Santa Fé I rested a week, and then, taking an escort of fifteen men, I started on my errand. On our arrival at the village of Abbeger, we found a large party of Apaches, who were in the midst of a drunken carousal. We encamped inside the corral, that being as safe a place as we could select. Little Joe, an Apache Chief, inquired of me what I was going to do with these whites.

"I am going to take them to California," I told him. "No," said he, "you shall never take them nearer to California than they are now."

"Well, I shall try," said I.

He held some farther conversation with me of a denunciatory character, and then left me to return to the liquor-shop.

Foreseeing what was likely to result if more liquor was obtained, I visited every place in town where it was kept, and informed every seller that, if another drop was sold to the Indians, I would hang the man that did it without a minute's delay; and I would have been as good as my word, for they were all Mexicans, and I had felt no great liking for them since the awful tragedy at Taos.

"But the priest—" began one or two, in expostulation.

But I cut them short. "I'll hang your priest just as soon as any of you," I said, "if he dares to interfere in the matter."

I suppose they intended to urge that their priest had authorized them to sell liquors to the Indians. My interdict stopped them, for there was no more sold while I was there.

The next day I saw Little Joe in one of the low saloons; the stimulus of the liquor had left him, and he had what topers call the horrors. He begged me to let him have one dram more, but I refused.

"Whisky," I said, "puts all kinds of nonsense into your head; you get drunk, and then you are ripe for any mischief."

When he had become perfectly sober, he came to me, and again asked if it were true that I intended taking those whites to California with me.

I told him that it was perfectly true.

"Well," said Joe, "if you attempt it we will kill your whole party, and you with them. You will never listen to us: your ears are stopped. We all love you, but we have told you many times that we hate the whites, and do not want you to lead them through our hunting-grounds, and show them our paths; but you will not listen to us. And now, if you undertake to pass through that cañon, we will, without fail, kill you all."

"Well," I replied, I shall certainly go, so you had better get your warriors ready."

We packed our animals, and I directed my men to travel slowly while I went through the cañon. If I wished them to advance, I would climb up and show myself to them as a signal for them to rush through, and reach me as soon as possible. I then went on all alone, as I knew that, if I encountered Indians in the cañon, they would not kill me by myself. I passed through without meeting any, and I signaled to the men to come on; they soon joined me, and we issued upon the open prairie. Here we discovered three hundred Apaches, each man leading his war-horse. We numbered eighteen, two of whom were Mexicans. They did not offer to attack us, however, and we continued our route unmolested, although they kept on our trail for twenty miles. A little before dark we rested to take supper, starting again immediately after the meal was finished. We saw no more of the Apaches.

The following afternoon a Utah came to us. I asked him where his village was. He did not know, he said, as be had been away some time. I was going out to shoot game at the time, and I took the Indian with me, lending him a gun belonging to one of my men. I had killed two or three wild turkeys, when my Indian, discovering deer some distance off, went in pursuit. I returned to the camp, but the fellow had not arrived. When we started in the morning he had not shown himself. The second day after the disappearance of the Indian with my gun, I was some distance in advance of the party, when, on ascending a hill, I saw a large party of Utahs ahead. They were looking down, and examining the trail very closely, to see if we had passed. This convinced me that the Indian fugitive had lied to me; that he knew well where his village was, and had, no doubt, been sent out from it as a spy. We held on our way till we came up with them, and, it being then about noon, we halted to take a long rest. The Indians soon came flocking round us, but I gave strict orders to the men to keep a good look-out, and upon no account to let them touch the fire-arms. They swarmed round the camp, entering it one at a time, and I determined to make the first troublesome advance an excuse for getting rid of them.

We packed up, and moved on through the whole mass of Indians, but they did not venture an attack, although it had been their intention to do so if they could have got any advantage over us through our negligence. They were embittered against the whites at that time, on account of a severe whipping that had been recently inflicted upon two of their warriors by Chouteau, who had just passed through them, for a theft from his camp. To receive a whipping, especially at the hands of a white man, is looked upon by them as a lasting infamy, and they would prefer death to the disgrace. The next morning they overtook us again, and the Indian returned me my gun. I mollified them with a few trifling presents, and they finally left us on apparently good terms.

The next hostile country that lay upon our road was that of the Navajo tribe. They followed us through their whole strip of territory, shouting after us, and making insulting gestures; but they took the precaution to keep out of gun-shot range, and I did not think it worth my while to chastise them.

The next tribe on our route was the Pi-u-ches, which is also the last before you reach Pueblo in California. The first Pi-u-ches that we came across were an Indian and his squaw engaged in digging roots. On seeing us approach, the Indian took to his heels, leaving the squaw to take care of herself. I rode up to her and asked where her village was. She pointed in the direction of it, but I could not see it. The next one that I saw stooped and concealed himself in the grass immediately he found himself observed; but I rode up to him, and made him show himself, not wishing to have him think that he could escape our notice so easily. He accompanied me for a short distance, until another of the tribe shouted to him from a hill, and he then left me.

We encamped that night upon the prairie. At dusk we observed the smoke of camp-fires in every direction, and shortly we were visited by hundreds of Indians, who entirely hemmed us in; but, on their finding that we were not Mexicans, they did not offer to molest us. They were hostile on account of the continual abductions of their squaws and children, whom the Mexicans employ as domestic slaves, and treat with the utmost cruelty.

We reached our destination in safety, and I delivered my dispatches. I was now inactive for some time again, and occupied my leisure in rambling about the environs of Monterey. I then engaged in the service of the commissariat at Monterey, to carry dispatches from thence to Captain Denny's ranch, where I was met by another carrier. On my road lay the mission of St. Miguel, owned by a Mr. Reed, an Englishman; and, as his family was a very interesting one, I generally made his home my resting-place. On one of my visits, arriving about dusk, I entered the house as usual, but was surprised to see no one stirring. I walked about a little to attract attention, and no one coming to me, I stepped into the kitchen to look for some of the inmates. On the floor I saw some one lying down, asleep, as I supposed. I attempted to arouse him with my foot, but he did not stir. This seemed strange, and my apprehensions became excited; for the Indians were very numerous about, and I was afraid some mischief had been done. I returned to my horse for my pistols, then, lighting a candle, I commenced a search. In going along a passage, I stumbled over the body of a woman; I entered a room, and found another, a murdered Indian woman, who had been a domestic. I was about to enter another room, but I was arrested by some sudden thought which urged me to search no farther. It was an opportune admonition, for that very room contained the murderers of the family, who had heard my steps, and were sitting at that moment with their pistols pointed to the door, ready to shoot the first person that entered. This they confessed subsequently.

Thinking to obtain farther assistance, I mounted my horse and rode to the nearest ranch, a distance of twenty-four miles, where I procured fifteen Mexicans and Indians, and returned with them the same night to the scene of the tragedy. On again entering the house, we found eleven bodies all thrown together in one pile for the purpose of consuming them; for, on searching further, we found the murderers had set fire to the dwelling, but, according to that Providence which exposes such wicked deeds, the fire had died out.

Fastening up the house, we returned immediately back to the ranch from which I had started with my party, making seventy-two miles I rode that night. As soon as I could obtain some rest, I started, in company with the alcalde, for St. Louis Obispo, where, it was believed, we could get assistance in capturing the murderers. Forty men in detached parties, moving in different directions, went in pursuit. It was my fortune to find the trail, and with my party of six men I managed to head off the suspected murderers so as to come up with them in the road from directly the opposite direction from Reed's house. When I came opposite, one of the men sang out, "Good-day, señors." I replied, but kept on riding in a lope.

The bandits, thrown entirely off their guard, insisted upon entering into conversation; so I had a fair opportunity of marking them all, and discovering among them a horse belonging to the unfortunate Reed. I then rode to Santa Barbara, a distance of forty miles, and, with a party of twenty men, started boldly in pursuit. After much hard travel, we finally came upon the gang, encamped for the night. Without a moment's hesitation, we charged on them, and gave a volley of rifles, which killed one, and wounded all the others, save an American named Dempsey. The villains fought like tigers, but were finally mastered and made prisoners.

Dempsey turned state's evidence. He stated that, on the night of the murder, his party stopped at Reed's; that Reed told them that he had just returned from the mines, whereupon it was determined to kill the whole family and take his gold, which turned out to be the pitiful sum of one thousand dollars. After the confession of Dempsey, we shot the murderers, along with the "state's evidence," and thus ended the lives of two Americans, two Englishmen, and ten Irishmen, they having committed the most diabolical deed that ever disgraced the annals of frontier life.

I continued in this service of carrying dispatches some four months, varying my route with an occasional trip to San Francisco. At this time society in California was in the worst condition to be found, probably, in any part of the world, to call it civilized. The report of the discovery of gold had attracted thither lawless and desperate characters from all parts of the earth, and the government constituted for their control was a weaker element than the offenders it had to deal with. The rankest excesses were familiar occurrences, and men were butchered under the very eyes of the officers of justice, and no action was taken in the matter. What honest men there were became alarmed, and frequently would abandon the richest placers for the mere security of their lives, and leave a whole community of rowdies to prey upon each other. Disorder attained its limit, and some reactionary means would naturally be engendered as a corrective to the existing evils. The establishment of "Vigilance Committees" among the better order of citizens operated as a thunderbolt upon the conniving civil officers and the rank perpetrators of crime. Scores of villains were snatched from the hands of these mock officers, and summarily strung up to the limb of the nearest tree. Horse and cattle thieves had their necks disjointed so frequently that it soon became safe for a man to leave his horse standing in the street for a few moments, while he stepped into a house to call upon his friend, and that widely-practiced business was quickly done away with.

Such sudden justice overtook murderers, robbers, and other criminals, that honest people began to breathe more freely, and acquired a sense of security while engaged in their ordinary pursuits. The materiel for crime still existed, and is yet present in California to an alarming extent; but order may be considered as confirmed in the supremacy, though inevitably many social evils still exist, which time alone will remedy.

In the month of April, 1849, the steamship California touched at Monterey, she being the first steam-vessel that had visited there from the States. I, with a party of fifteen others, stepped on board, and proceeded as far as Stockton, where we separated into various parties. I left with one man to go to Sonora, where we erected the first tent, and commenced a business in partnership. I had carried a small lot of clothing along with me, which I disposed of to the miners at what now seems to me fabulous prices. Finding the business thus profitable, I sent my partner back to Stockton for a farther supply, and he brought several mules laden with goods. This lot was disposed of as readily as the first, and at prices equally remunerative. This induced us to continue the business, he performing the journeys backward and forward, and I remaining behind to dispose of the goods and attend to other affairs. Sonora was rapidly growing into a large village, and our tent was replaced with a roomy house. I had a corps of Indians in my employ to take charge of the horses left in my care by miners and other persons, sometimes to the number of two hundred at once. I also employed Indians to work in the mines, I furnishing them with board and implements to work with, and they paying me with one half of their earnings. Their general yield was from five to six ounces a day each man, a moiety of which they faithfully rendered to me. Among my earliest visitors was a party of eighteen United States dragoons, who came to me to be fitted out with citizen's clothing, as they had brought to a sudden period their service to their country. It was an impossible thing at that time to retain troops in California, for the produce of the mines held out a temptation to desert that none seemed able to resist, as more gold could be dug sometimes in one day than would pay a private for a year's service in the army; even officers of considerable rank not unfrequently threw aside epaulette and sash, and shouldered the pick to repair to the diggings.

While at Sonora I learned that Colonel Fremont was at Mariposa, and I made a journey over there for the purpose of seeing him. I was disappointed in my expectation, and started to return home again. While proceeding quietly along, having left the main road and taken up a hollow, I perceived two men approaching me from the opposite direction, running at the top of their speed, and a crowd of Indians after them in pursuit. When they came up, they shouted to me to turn and fly for my life, or the Indians would certainly massacre me. I bade them stop, and quiet their fears. Seeing my self-possession, notwithstanding the near approach of the Indians, they at length halted, and approached close to me for protection against their pursuers. I then commanded the Indians to stand, telling them that they were my men. They said they were not aware of that, or they should not have chased them. The Indians I was acquainted with; they had been frequently to my house to invite me to their village. They wished to purchase goods of me, and had promised me a mule-load of gold dust if I would only supply them with what they were in need of. I accompanied them to their village, but my two rescued companions were not admitted into their lodges. They then renewed their promise of the mule-load of gold dust if I would bring out the goods they wanted. I never went to them, although it was remiss in me, for they had a great quantity of gold dust. I left after a brief visit, and rejoined the two men. They could not sufficiently express their gratitude to me for their deliverance, as they considered my opportune appearance alone saved their lives.

Becoming tired of my business in Sonora, for inactivity fatigued me to death, I disposed of my interest in it for six thousand dollars, and went on to Sacramento City with the money in my pocket. From this place I traveled on to Murderer's Bar, which lies on the middle fork of the American River; here I found my old friend Chapineau house-keeping, and staid with him until the rainy season set in. Thence I proceeded to Greenwood Valley to establish my winter quarters, but I was seized with an attack of inflammatory rheumatism, and I had a nice time of it that winter. Before I was able to get about, I was called on by the inhabitants to go several miles to shoot a grizzly bear, and as I was unable to walk the distance, several of them volunteered to carry me. The bear was in the habit of walking past a row of cabins every morning on his return to his den, he having issued forth the preceding night to procure his evening meal. They had fired several shots at Bruin as he passed, but he had never deigned to pay any attention to the molestation. I mounted a horse, and rode some distance along his customary path, until I came to a tree which offered a fair shelter to await his approach. I placed my back against it as a support while I awaited his coming, the neighbors drawing off to a safe distance to witness the sport. By-and-by Grizzly came in sight, walking along as independently as an alderman elect. I allowed him to approach till he was within twenty paces, when I called out to him; he stopped suddenly, and looked around to ascertain whence the sound proceeded. As he arrested himself, I fired, and the ball entered his heart. He advanced ten or fifteen paces before he fell; the observers shouted to me to run, they forgetting in their excitement that I had not strength to move. The bear never stirred from where he fell, and he expired without a groan. When dressed, he weighed over fourteen hundred pounds. The grizzly bear is a formidable animal, and has acted a prominent part among the settlers of California. They are seldom known to attack a man unless wounded; in that case, if a tree is by, the hunter had better commence climbing. They are very plenty from the Sierra Nevada to the coast range of mountains. I have, in the course of my sojourn in the country, killed a great many of them, and met with some singular adventures.

On one occasion, while I was with the Crow Indians, there was a man of the name of Coe who was trapping in one of the neighboring streams, and I became alarmed for his safety, as Black Foot parties were skulking about in all directions, and were sure to kill him if they should find his camp. I found Coe, and told him my fears. He instantly gathered up his traps, and, mounting his horse, started toward me. When within fair gun-shot, an old bear sprang from a thicket, and landed upon the flanks of his horse, applying his teeth to the roots of the poor animal's tail, and holding him as if in a vice. Coe leaned over his horse's neck, and cried out,

"Shoot, Jim! shoot quick!"

I could not help laughing to have saved my life, as he turned from side to side, though his situation was a critical one. I soon got in a favorable position, and put a ball in the animal's head, just behind the ear, when he liberated the horse and his rider, falling on his back apparently stone dead.

There is a story, remembered by the mountaineers, of a person named Keyere. He was a man who never exceeded one hundred pounds in weight, but was clear grit, what little there was of him. He went out one day alone, and his horse came back in the evening without his rider, and we thought that the Indians had made sure of poor Keyere's scalp. The next morning a small party of us started on the horse's trail, and found Keyere lying beside a large dead grizzly bear. Keyere was horribly mutilated and insensible, but still alive, and must have soon died if no one had come to his rescue.

We took him to camp, and nursed him with all possible care. When he recovered sufficiently to tell his tale, his story was received with shouts of laughter, and was rehearsed as a wonderful joke from camp to camp. Keyere stated that, when he saw the grizzly, he got from his horse to shoot him, but unfortunately only wounded the animal. The bear (so Keyere says) caught hold of him, and commenced a regular rough-and-tumble fight; finally Keyere got a good lick at the bear's head, knocked him down with his fist, and then attempted to run away. The bear, however, was too quick, when Keyere, becoming desperate, seized the beast by the tongue, drew his knife, and stabbed the creature to the heart!

Improbable as is the tale, it was a singular fact, that, when Keyere was found, his knife was up to the maker's name in the bear's side, and the body showed the effects of other severe stabs; but whether a man weighing ninety pounds could knock down the best of boxers, weighing twelve hundred, the reader can decide; but Keyere ever told the same tale, and became known far and near as the man that whipped the grizzly in a stand-up fight. Probably no man ever recovered who received so many wounds as did Keyere in this unequal combat.

Chapter 34 Autobiography of James P Beckwourth Moving West 1856

 

 James Pierson Beckwourth (1798-1866)

The Life & Adventures of James P. Beckwourth

Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, & Chief of the Crow Nation of Indians.

Written from his own Dictation by T. D. Bonner. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square. 1856.

CHAPTER 34

Affairs at Santa Fé.—Insurrection at Taos.—Discovery of the Plot.—Battle at the Cañon.—Battles at Lambida, at Pueblo, and at Taos. —A Mexican Woman redeemed from the Indians.—Return to Santa Fé.

ON my arrival at Santa Fé I found affairs in a very disturbed state. Colonel Doniphan had just gained the battle of Brasito, and was carrying all before him in that section of the country. He had forwarded orders to Santa Fé for a field battery, in order to make a demonstration against Chihuahua. Major Clarke was intrusted with the duty of conveying the artillery to the colonel. Scarcely had he departed when we received intelligence of an insurrection in Taos. The information was first communicated by an Indian from a village between Santa Fé and Taos, who reported to General Price that the Mexicans had massacred all the white inhabitants of that place, and that a similar massacre was contemplated in Santa Fé, of which report full information could be obtained by the arrest of a Mexican who was then conveying a letter from the priest in Taos to the priest in Santa Fé. A watch was immediately set upon the priest's house, and a Mexican was seen to enter. The guard approached the door to arrest the man as he issued, but he, being apprised of the action of the authorities, left the house by another door, and escaped.

At night there came a violent rapping at my gate, and on going to open it I perceived my friend, Charles Towne, who, on being admitted, clasped me round the neck, and gave vent to uncontrolled emotion. Perceiving that something alarming had occurred, I invited him into the house, spread refreshments before him, and allowed him time to recover himself. He then informed me that he had escaped almost by a miracle from Taos, where all the American residents had been killed. He was a resident, there, having married a girl of New Mexico, and his wife's father had apprised him that he had better effect his escape, if possible, for if he was caught he would be inevitably massacred. His father-in-law provided him with a good horse, and he retreated into the woods, where, after considerable risk and anxiety, he providentially eluded the assassins.

On receiving this alarming information, I lost no time in repairing to the head-quarters of General Price, accompanied by my informant, who related the above particulars. General Price immediately adopted the most effective measures. He assembled his officers, and instructed them to set a close watch upon the house of every Mexican in the city, and to suffer no person to pass in or out; he also ordered that every American should hold himself in readiness for service during the night. Before morning several of the most influential Mexican citizens were placed under arrest. In searching them, important conspiracies were brought to light. Correspondence, implicating the most considerable residents, was read, and a plot was detected of subjecting Santa Fé to the same St. Bartholomew massacre as had just been visited upon Taos. The city was placed under martial law, and every American that could shoulder a musket was called into immediate service. All the ox-drivers, mule-drivers, merchants, clerks, and commissariat-men were formed into rank and file, and placed in a condition for holding the city. Then, placing himself at the head of his army, four hundred strong, General Price marched toward Taos. On arriving at Canjarra, a small town about twenty miles from Santa Fé, we found the enemy, numbering two thousand Mexicans and Indians, were prepared to give us battle. The enemy's lines were first perceived by our advanced guard, which instantly fell back upon the main body. Our line was formed, and an advance made upon the enemy, the mountaineer company, under Captain Saverine, being placed in charge of the baggage. As soon as battle was begun, however, we left the baggage and ammunition wagons to take care of themselves, and made a descent upon the foe. He fled precipitately before the charge of our lines, and we encamped upon the field of battle. The next day we advanced to Lamboda, where the enemy made another stand, and again fled on our approach. We marched on until we arrived at Taos, and the barbarities we witnessed there exceeded in brutality all my previous experience with the Indians. Bodies of our murdered fellow-countrymen were lying about the streets, mutilated and disfigured in every possible way, and the hogs and dogs were making a repast upon the remains. Among the dead we recognized that of Governor Bent, who had been recently appointed by General Kearney. One poor victim we saw, who had been stripped naked, scalped alive, and his eyes punched out: he was groping his way through the streets, beseeching some one to shoot him out of his misery, while his inhuman Mexican tormentors were deriving the greatest amusement from the exhibition. Such scenes of unexampled barbarity filled our soldiers' breasts with abhorrence: they became tiger-like in their craving for revenge. Our general directed the desecrated remains to be gathered together, and a guard to be placed over them, while he marched on with his army in pursuit of the barbarians.

Late in the afternoon we arrived at Pueblo, where we found the enemy well posted, having an adobe fort in their front. No attack was attempted that evening, and strict orders were issued for no man to venture out of camp.

In the evening I was visited by a man, who informed me that he had a brother at Rio Mondo, twelve miles distant, whom, if he was not already killed, he wished to save from massacre. I determined to rescue him, if possible, and, having induced seven other good and trusty mountaineers to aid me in the attempt, we left the camp unperceived, and proceeded to the place indicated. On our arrival we found two or three hundred Mexicans, all well armed; we rode boldly past them, and they dispersed, many of them going to their homes. We reached the door of the Mexican general Montaja, who styled himself the "Santa Anna of the North," and captured him. We then liberated the prisoner we were in quest of, and returned to Taos with our captive general. At Taos we found our forces, which had retired upon that place from Pueblo, after having made an unsuccessful attempt to dislodge the enemy. We informed our general of our important capture, and he affected great displeasure at our disobedience of orders, although it was easy to see that, in his eyes, the end had justified the means. The following morning a gallows was erected, and Montaja was swung in the wind. The correspondence that had been seized in Santa Fé had implicated him in some of the blackest plots, and we thought that this summary disposal of his generalship would relieve us from all further danger from his machinations.

Having procured artillery to bombard the enemy's position, our commander returned to Pueblo. We cannonaded in good earnest, but the pieces were too small to be of much service; but we cut a breach with our axes half way through the six-foot wall, and then finished the work with our cannon. While engaged in this novel way of getting at the enemy, a shell was thrown from a mortar at the fort; but our artillerymen, not being very skillful in their practice, threw the shell outside the fort, and it fell among us. A young lieutenant seized it in his hands, and cast it through the breach; it had not more than struck before it exploded, doing considerable damage in the fort. We then stormed the breach, which was only big enough to admit one man at a time, and carried the place without difficulty.

The company of mountaineers had fallen back midway between the fort and mountain, in order to pick off any Mexican who should dare to show himself. We killed fifty-four of the defenders as they were endeavoring to escape, upon the person of one of whom, an officer, we found one hundred and sixty doubloons. Some of the enemy fired upon us from a position at one corner of the fort, through loop-holes; and while look ing about for a covert to get a secure shot at them, we discovered a few of the enemy hidden away in the brush. One of them, an Indian, ran toward us, exclaiming, "Bueno! bueno! me like Americanos." One of our party said, "If you like the Americans, take this sword, and return to the brush, and kill all the men you find there."

He took the proffered sword, and was busy in the brush for a few minutes, and then returned with his sword-blade dripping with gore, saying, " I have killed them."

"Then you ought to die for killing your own people," said the American, and he shot the Indian dead.

The battle lasted through the whole day, and a close watch was set at night to prevent the escape of those yet occupying the fort. The assault was renewed the following morning, and continued during that day also. Toward night several white flags were raised by the enemy, but were immediately shot down by the Americans, who had determined to show no quarter. On the third morning all the women issued from the fort, each bearing a white flag, and kneeled before the general to supplicate for the lives of their surviving friends. The general was prevailed upon, and gave orders to cease firing. The enemy lost severely through their disgraceful cowardice. Our company lost but one man through the whole engagement. Nine of the most prominent conspirators were hanged at Taos, and seven or eight more at Santa Fé. It was about this time that the report reached us of the butchery of Mr. Waldo, with eight or ten other Americans, at the Moro.

After the insurrection was suppressed I started again for Fort Leavenworth. On my way back from the fort I again fell in with Black Shield and his Apaches. I  said to him, "You told me false. You said that you would meet me at the Eagle's Nest, but when I went there you were not to be found. I had to throw the powder away that I brought for you, and run for my life; for the whites discovered my errand, and were close at my heels."

"I know it, my friend," said the Black Shield. "We saw your kegs there, but the whites had taken all the powder out. I am sorry they came upon you so suddenly, for we had to run as well as you."

The second day after we left the Apaches we discovered an object in the distance which I at first took for a stump, but still thought it singular that there should be a stump where there were no trees near. As we approached the object moved, and we at length discovered it to be a man of the name of Elliott Lee, who had been wounded by the Apaches three or four days previously, and had not tasted food since. He had belonged to a party of seventeen or eighteen mountaineers, on their way to Santa Fé. They had stopped to rest on the bank of a creek, and were suddenly set upon by the Indians. Several of the party were killed, among whom was my friend Charles Towne, and all the rest were more or less severely wounded. Some few had succeeded in getting away, notwithstanding their wounds; but Mr. Lee had been shot in the thigh, and was unable to crawl along. When we picked him up he was delirious, and his wound was greatly swollen and inflamed. We gave him food, and carried him along with us, until we fortunately carne up with his wagons. We then gave him into the keeping of his friends, and proceeded on our way.

On my arrival home I disposed of all my property in Santa Fé, and started to buy horses of the Indians to dispose of to the discharged troops. I had arrived within a short distance of my ranch, when I met a man who advised me to conceal myself. Two rewards had been offered for my apprehension: one of a thousand dollars by Colonel Price, and another of five hundred dollars by Mr. Kissack, Quarter-master. I was accused of confederating with rebels and Indians, and assisting them in stealing horses from the whites, and leading the hostile bands in their warfare upon the American troops.

I listened to his information, and was astonished at the invention. "That is news indeed," I said. "But they shall not have the profit all to themselves; I will immediately go and deliver myself up, and obtain the rewards."

"I advise you, as a friend, not to go," rejoined my interlocutor, "for they will assuredly hang you directly they lay hands upon you."

"Well, hang or not hang," I answered, " I am resolved to go, for I have not been a month absent from Santa Fé, and I can give account of every day and night I have since spent."

At the time I met with my informant, I had an order from Captain Morris, of the United States Army, in my pocket, authorizing me to pick up all the government horses that I might find in my rambles, and bring them in; but up to the time that I was informed of the charges against me, I had found but one horse, the property of Captain Saverine, and it I had restored to the owner. Accordingly, I returned without delay to Taos, where I saw Colonel Willock, who was lieutenant under Colonel Price. Him I acquainted with my determination to proceed to Santa Fé, to deliver myself up for the rewards that were offered for my apprehension, but he urgently requested me not to go. He was about to start with an expedition against the Apaches, and wished to engage me as spy, interpreter, and guide. He promised to forward an exculpatory letter to Santa Fé that should set me all right with the authorities. The letter was sent, but not delivered, as the messenger was shot on the way.

I concluded to accompany the colonel, and aid him to the extent of my ability in the object of his expedition. We started with a small battalion of volunteers for the Apaches. The first day in camp, the common soldier's fare was spread for dinner, which at that time I felt but little appetite for. I informed the colonel that I would go out and kill an antelope.

"Why," said he, "there is not an antelope within ten miles around; the soldiers have scoured the whole country without seeing one."

I told him I felt sure I could find one, and took up my rifle and was about to start.

"Hold on!" cried the colonel; I will go with you, and will further engage to pack on my back all you kill." We started, and kept on the road for about half a mile, when I discovered the tracks of three antelopes which had just crossed our path, and gone in the direction of a hill close by. The colonel did not see the tracks, and I did not point them out to him. We passed on a few rods farther, when I suddenly stopped, threw my head back, and began to sniff like a dog scenting his prey.

"What the dickens are you sniffing so for?" asked the colonel.

"I am sure that I smell an antelope," said I.

"You smell antelope!" and the colonel's nostrils began to dilate; "I can smell nothing."

"Well, colonel," I said, "there are antelopes close by, I know, for my smellers never yet deceived me; and now," added I, "if you will start carefully up that hollow, I will go up on the other side, and I am confident that one of us will kill one."

I knew that if the animals were in the hollow they would start at the approach of the colonel, and most probably in my direction, and thus afford me an opportunity of getting a shot at one. I proceeded cautiously along, until, raising my head over a knoll, I saw the three antelopes which had crossed us. Two had already lain down, and the third was preparing to do so, when I sent a leaden messenger which brought him down involuntarily.

The colonel shouted to inquire what I had shot at. "Antelope," I answered; and he came running at his best speed. There was the very beast, beyond all dispute, to the utter astonishment of the colonel, who regarded for some moments first the game and then the hunter

"And you smelled them!" he pondered; "well, I must confess, your olfactory nerves beat those of any man I ever yet fell in with. Smell antelope! Humph! I will send my boy to carry him in."

"But that was not the bargain, colonel," I said; "you engaged to pack in on your back all I should kill. There is your burden; the distance is but short."

But the colonel declined his engagement. We finally hung the antelope on a tree, and the colonel, on our return to camp, dispatched his servant to fetch it in. He never could get over my smelling antelope, and we have had many a hearty laugh at it since.

The following morning, at daylight, I took five or six men with me, and proceeded on my duty as spy, while the colonel moved on with the troops, we returning to camp every evening at dusk. We frequently saw signs of Indians, but we could make no discovery of the Indians themselves. We continued our chase for nearly a month; our coffee and sugar had given out, and our provisions were getting low; the soldiers could kill no game, and there was a general disposition, especially among the officers, to return.

In leaving the camp, as usual, one morning, I directed the colonel to a camping-ground, and started on my search. Late in the afternoon, I discovered what I supposed to be a large party of Indians moving in our direction. I ran with all possible speed to communicate the information; but, in ascending a small point of land which was in my way, I found a strange encampment of United States troops lying before me. I knew it was not Colonel Willock's command, for these had tents, wagons, and other appointments, which we were unprovided with. When I was first perceived, some of the men pointed me out to their companions; "There's Beckwourth! there's Jim Beckwourth!" I heard whispered around. I found it was a detachment commanded by Colonel Edmondson, who had just returned from Santa Fé with a re-enforcement, having been defeated in an engagement with the Apaches some time previously. When the colonel saw me, he inquired of me my errand.

"I have come after horses," I replied, en plaisantant; " but I see you have none."

"Beckwourth," said a Captain Donohue, "I have been defending your character for a long time, and I now want you to clear up matters for yourself."

I found I was not in very good savor among the parties present, owing to a mistake in my identity made by one of the soldiers during their late engagement with the Indians. It was supposed I had entered their camp, hurled my lance through a soldier, and challenged another out to fight, telling him he was paid for fighting, and it was his duty to engage me. This suspicion, added to flying reports of evil doings, which derived their origin in the Crow village from my adventure with Fitzpatrick, had associated me in the soldiers' minds with all the horse-raids and white massacres they heard rumors of, and I was regarded by them all as a desperate, lawless character, who deserved hanging to the first tree wherever met.

At this moment two men came running toward the camp at full speed, shouting, "To arms! to arms!" as though the whole Apache nation were behind them.

"Where is your party?" asked Colonel Edmondson of me.

"Coming yonder, sir," I replied, pointing in the direction of the two approaching heralds; for I supposed it was Colonel Willock's command they had seen, and whom, in their fright, they had mistaken for Indians.

Immediately there was a bustle of preparation to receive the coming foe: muskets were snatched up, and the men fell into line; but in a few moments the real character of the approaching company was ascertained, and the colonel advanced to greet them. At the junction of the two parties, both engaged on the same errand, matters were discussed by the two colonels, and it was resolved to abandon the expedition, for it was manifest that the Indians were too much on the alert to be taken. I was dispatched to Santa Fé with a letter to Colonel Price from Colonels Edmondson and Willock, while they resolved to march back with their detachments, Colonel Edmondson to Santa Fé, and Colonel Willock to Taos.

The morning following I again set out for Fort Leavenworth, having for companion M'Intosh, who, by the way, was a Cherokee, and known as such to the Indians whom we fell in with on the road. We reached the fort without any accident, and delivered our dispatches safe. On our return we overtook Bullard and Company's trains of wagons, which were on their way to Santa Fé with supplies for the army. Bullard and his partner proposed to leave their charge and go-in with us, if I thought we would be able to keep up with them. I answered that we would try and keep their company as far as possible, but that they would be at liberty to proceed at any time that they considered we retarded them. They went with us as far as the Moro, two days' ride from Santa Fé, where we were compelled to leave them, as they were tired out, and had already detained us two full days.

My next engagement in the service of Uncle Sam was a trip to Chihuahua to convey dispatches; but, previous to starting, Captain Morris wished to engage me as guide in an expedition against the Utah Indians; so, preferring the latter service, I transferred my trust to my brave and faithful friend, M'Intosh, and accompanied Captain Morris. The expedition consisted of ninety men: the object was a treaty of peace with the Utahs. We succeeded in finding the Indians; but, as they supposed our only object was to fight, it was some time before we could get up to them. We at length surprised them in a gap in the mountain, when we succeeded in taking a number of prisoners, among whom were some chiefs. We explained our object; they, then frankly informed us where their village was; we all repaired to it, and concluded terms of peace. Our approach greatly alarmed the village at first, for they knew that, in conjunction with the Apaches, they had been guilty of many depredations, although it had been their policy to throw all the blame of the mischief upon their allies. Our mission performed, we returned to Taos.

I remained some weeks inactive. Taos was convulsed with continual alarms from reports that Cortez was approaching against us with a great force. The troops were all away at Santa Fé; though, had he visited us, we could have improvised a warm reception. We had a small piece of cannon, with plenty of grape and canister, with which we could have swept the streets. We tried its effect one day, just to satisfy the curiosity of the Mexicans: we put in a heavy charge of grape-shot, and discharged it down the street. The tawny Mexicans were wonder-stricken: they thought an army would stand but a poor chance before such a volcanic belching of iron missiles.

Poultry in the vicinity of Taos became exceeding scarce: it was a rare matter to hear a cock crow. When we did by chance hear the pleasing sound, we would listen for the repetition of it, in order to learn from which direction it proceeded. We would then visit the tell-tale's quarters after dark, as we could obtain our poultry cheaper at night than in the day-time. Orders had been issued to take nothing from the enemy without paying for it, which orders were evidently based upon the assumption that we had money to pay with. Those without money did not feel themselves bound by the injunction. The authorities that issue similar commands in future would do well to insert some clause binding on the moneyless, otherwise these orders are all moonshine.

From Taos I proceeded to Santa Fé. I again started, for the last time, to Fort Leavenworth; M'Intosh, having safely returned from Chihuahua, again accompanying me. When we arrived at the Wagon Mound we heard shots fired, and immediately after met a train of mule-teams approaching at their quickest pace. The drivers advised us to return, as they had been attacked by the Apaches, and if we proceeded we could not escape being killed. I thought that my companion and I knew the Indians better than the mule-drivers did, and we bade them good-by and started on. We intended to avoid the Indians by making a circuit away from where we expected they would be, but in so doing we came directly upon the village. We staid all night with them, were well treated, and resumed our journey in the morning. We met a party of Americans who had been attacked by the Camanches, and lost one horse, but we saw no more Indians until we reached the fort.

Many times wonder has been expressed how I could always travel the road in safety while other men were attacked and killed. The only way in which I could account for the marvel was that I knew how to act the "wolf," while the others did not. Of all the dispatches I ever carried, I never lost one; while numbers who have undertaken to bear them lost, not alone the dispatches, but their lives; for, whenever they fell in with the Indians, they were sure to be killed. The Indians knew perfectly well what my business was. They knew that I was conveying orders backward and forward from the great white chief to his war chiefs in New Mexico. They would frequently ask me what the orders were which I had with me. Sometimes I would tell them that the great chief at Washington was going to send on a great host of warriors to rub them all out. They would laugh heartily at the supposition, for they conceived that all the American forces combined would hardly be a circumstance before them. I promised to apprise them when the white warriors were to advance against them, which promise they confidently relied upon. I had to say something to keep on good terms with them, and answer their inquiries to satisfy them, and then proceed with my business. The war between the great white chief and the great Mexican chief interested the Indians but little, though their conviction was that the Mexican chief would be victorious. Their sympathy was with the latter, from motives of self-interest. They were now able to go at any time and drive home all the horses, cattle, and sheep that they wanted, together with Mexican children enough to take care of them. If the white chief conquered, they supposed he would carry all the horses, cattle, and sheep home with him, and thus leave none for them.

The Camanches and Apaches have a great number of Mexicans, of both sexes, among them, who seldom manifest much desire to return home. The women say that the Indians treat them better than they are treated at home. I never met but one exception to this rule, and that was a young Mexican woman captive among the Camanches. She told me that her father was wealthy, and would give me five thousand dollars if I could procure her restoration. I bought her of the chief, and conveyed her to my fort, whence I sent information to her father to acquaint him where he could find his daughter. In a few days her father and her husband came to her. She refused to have any thing to say to her husband, for she said he was a coward. When the Indians attacked the village, he mounted his horse and fled, leaving her to their mercy. Her father proffered me the promised sum, but I only accepted one thousand dollars, which returned me a very good profit on the cost of the goods I had given to the Indians for her ransom. The woman returned home with her father, her valorous husband following them. Shortly after this I returned to Santa Fé.

Chapter 33 Autobiography of James P Beckwourth Moving West 1856

 James Pierson Beckwourth (1798-1866)

The Life & Adventures of James P. Beckwourth

Mountaineer, Scout, Pioneer, & Chief of the Crow Nation of Indians.

Written from his own Dictation by T. D. Bonner. New York: Harper & Brothers, Publishers, Franklin Square. 1856.

CHAPTER 33

The Californian Revolution.—Rifle Corps.—Position of the two Armies.—Colonel Sutter.—Cannonade.—Flight of Sutter.—His Return.—Trial and subsequent Release.

THE Upper Californians, on account of their great distance from the Mexican government, had long enjoyed the forms of an independent principality, although recognizing themselves as a portion of the Mexican Republic. They had for years past had the election of their own officers, their governor inclusive, and enjoyed comparative immunity from taxes and other political vexations. Under this abandonment, the inhabitants lived prosperous and contented; their hills and prairies were literally swarming with cattle; immense numbers of these were slaughtered annually for their hides and tallow; and, as they had no "Armies of Liberation" to support, and no costly government to maintain in extravagance, they passed their lives in a state of contentment, every man sitting under his own vine and his own fig-tree.

Two years prior to my arrival all this had been changed. President Santa Anna had appointed one of his creatures, Torrejon, governor, with absolute and tyrannical power; he arrived with an army of bandits to subject the defenseless inhabitants to every wrong that a debasing tyranny so readily indulges in. Heavy taxes were imposed for the support of the home government, and troops were quartered to the great annoyance and cost of the honest people. The lives of the inhabitants were continually in danger from the excesses of the worthless vagabonds who had been forced upon them; their property was rifled before their eyes, their daughters were ravished in their presence, or carried forcibly to the filthy barracks. The people's patience became at length exhausted, and they determined to die rather than submit to such inflictions. But they were ignorant how to shake off the yoke: they were unaccustomed to war, and knew nothing about political organizations. However, Providence finally raised up a man for the purpose, General José Castro, who had filled the office of commander under the former system, but who had been forced to retire into privacy at the inauguration of the reign of terror. He stepped boldly forth, and declared to the people his readiness to lead them to the warfare that should deliver their country from the scourge that afflicted them, he called upon them to second his exertions, and never desert his banner until California were purified of her present pollution. His patriotic appeal was responded to by all ranks. Hundreds flocked to his standard; the young and the old left their ranches and their cattle-grounds, and rallied round their well-tried chief.

There was at that time quite a number of Americans in the country, and, according to their interests and predilections, they ranged themselves upon opposing sides. Our present worthy and much-respected citizen, General Sutter, was at that time, if I mistake not, a colonel in the forces of the central government, and at the outbreak of the revolution he drew his sword for Santa Anna, and entered into active service against the rebels in Pueblo de Angeles.

There was an American, long resident in the country, named J. Roland, who sought my co-operation in the popular cause. He said that every American who could use a rifle was a host against the invaders, and besought me to arm in defense, and to influence my men likewise to espouse the cause. I replied to his solicitations by promising him my active co-operation, and also that I would represent his arguments to the men living with me. Accordingly, I informed my people that I intended to shoulder my rifle in the defense of life and property, and they were unanimous in their resolution to accompany me. Hence there were thirteen riflemen instead of one. We shortly after received an accession of sixty more good frontiersmen, and mustered ourselves for service. The company elected me captain, but I declined the office. Mr. Bell finally assumed the command, with the promise of my unflinching support in extremities. Our company steadily increased in number until we had one hundred and sixty men, including native Californians, who joined us with rifles.

General Castro's first movement was against Pueblo. He entered the place at the head of his forces, and took the fort, arsenal, with all the government arms, ammunition, and stores, with the slight loss of one officer wounded. This enabled the rebels to arm themselves, and he was shortly at the head of a small but well-appointed army. The general highly extolled the rifle battalion, and he looked upon it as a powerful support.

Castro then took a detachment of rebel troops, and proceeded northward to reconnoitre the enemy's position, our main body also moving in the direction of the enemy as far as Monterey, where were the governor's head-quarters. On first hearing the intelligence of the outbreak, the governor had put his forces in motion, and issued orders to shoot the rebels wherever met, and destroy their property of whatever kind. General Castro, having proceeded as far as Santa Barbara, a distance of ninety-six miles, and having obtained full information concerning the movements of the governor, returned and joined the main body. During his expedition he captured five Americans in the Mexican service. He disarmed them, telling them that he had no disposition to injure Americans, and that he would return their arms as soon as he had expelled the enemies of the people.

Our forces were concentrated in a large open prairie, the enemy being stationed at no great distance, likewise on the prairie. I ascended, one morning, the summit of a mountain, which would afford me a fair view of the enemy's camp, just to discover their numbers and strength of position. On my road I encountered two Americans, who were serving in the capacity of spies to the enemy. I accosted them, and expressed surprise to see them in the service of such an old rascal as Torrejon, and recommended them to join the popular cause; but they seemed to have an eye to the promised booty of the rebels, and my arguments could not influence them. I dispatched one of them with a letter to Gant, an American who held the commission of captain in the governor's army, offering him, as we did not wish to fight against our American brethren, to withdraw all the Americans from the rebel ranks, if he would do the same on the side of the governor, and leave the Mexicans and Californians, who were most interested in the issue, to measure their strength. Some Germans who were with us also made the same proposal to Colonel Sutter. Our messenger conveyed the dispatches, and delivered the German's letter to Colonel Sutter, who read both that and our letter to Captain Gant. He returned for answer that, unless the Americans withdrew from the insurgent army immediately, he would shoot us every one by ten o'clock the next morning. This embittered us the more against the barbarity of the opposing power, and we resolved to make their leaders, not excepting Setter, feel the effects of our rifles as soon as they placed themselves within range.

On the following morning a weak and ineffective cannonade commenced on both sides. We lay low, awaiting the enemy's charge. As their riflemen had not shown themselves, and we were desirous to obtain a sight of them, myself, with seven or eight others, advanced cautiously in search of them. On our way we discovered a small cannon which the enemy had loaded and was about to discharge upon our ranks. Had there been a gunner among them, it must have done us great injury. We advanced within a few yards of the piece, and had raised ourselves up to shoot the artillerymen, when one of our party arrested our aim by suddenly exclaiming, "Don't shoot! don't shoot!" He then pointed out the enemy's riflemen carefully emerging from a hollow, with the intention of stealing upon our flank and saluting us with a volley of lead.

I laid down my rifle, and hailed them to halt. I recognized a number of mountaineers among them, with some of whom I had intimate acquaintance, and I urged them to adopt the cause of the people, for the side they had now espoused was one no American should be seen to defend. They heard me through, and all, or nearly all the Americans were persuaded by my arguments, and returned with me to join our battalion. This assured us of victory. The cannonade was perfectly harmless: some of the balls pass ed three hundred feet over our heads; others plowed up the prairie as near to their ranks as ours. All the damage we received was one wagon shivered to pieces, and a horse killed under Colonel Price, which animal had been captured by us at Pueblo, and was now serving in the rebel forces with the same rank he had held under government.

The desertion of the riflemen seriously affected the enemy's prospects of victory. Ten o'clock had passed, and Colonel Sutter had not put his threat into execution. The enemy finally retired from the field, and marched in the direction of Pueblo. I took a party, and ascended a mountain to watch the progress of the retiring foe; we staid out some hours, with the view to learn where they encamped. While thus employed, a courier, sent from our commander, brought us orders to return immediately. We instantly obeyed, and found the army gone, with only one man remaining to direct our steps. On coming up with our forces, we found that our colonel had made a movement which cut off all retreat from the enemy, and which must bring him to an engagement, or an unconditional surrender. In the morning, I again took a party with me, and mounted an eminence to reconnoitre the enemy's position. We approached to within five hundred yards of their camp, where we shot a bullock, which we quietly proceeded to dress. While we were thus engaged, I perceived an officer approaching from the enemy's camp to ascertain who we were. I took my rifle, and dodged among the bushes, eager to get a shot at him; but, before I could do so, one of my men prematurely fired, and missed his mark. The officer had dismounted in order to get a nearer view of us, and this admonitory shot warned him back into camp. Myself and another advanced to within fifty rods of it, and boldly seized the officer's horse, and they did not fire a shot at us. We saw their camp was hemmed in on all sides. Our artillery was placed in battery, matches lighted, and men in position — all was ready for action. The enemy, perceiving their desperate condition, sent a flag of truce for a negotiation. Articles of capitulation were eventually drawn up and signed, to the effect that the governor and his forces should immediately lay down their arms, and leave for Acapulco as soon as their embarkation could be accomplished. Accordingly, they laid down their arms, and marched under escort to the Embaradara, distant twenty miles from Pueblo. The governor was not permitted to return to Monterey, but his lady was sent for to the Embaradara, where she rejoined her husband, and they quit the country together.

Colonel Sutter, on the day of embarkation, left his detachment of naked Indians with the army, and proceeded, as we supposed, to his fort on the Sacramento; but he returned the next day, and gave himself up to us. His force of Indians were very well drilled, but would have been far better employed in raising cabbages on his farm than in facing rebel riflemen on the battle-field. A trial was held upon the colonel, which resulted in his full acquittal, with the restoration of all his property fallen into our hands, such as cannon and other military effects, by the surrender of the government forces. The Americans, in jest probably, seemed very desirous to have the prisoner shot, which produced great alarm in his mind, and recalled to his recollection his recent threat to shoot all the Americans in our army.

Our countrymen were almost carried on the shoulders of the Californians, in gratitude for their participation in the revolution; for, although the victory had been a bloodless one, they attributed their easily-won success to the dread inspired by the name of their American confederates.

After seeing the departure of the government troops, the rebel army returned to Pueblo, where they elected Colonel Pico governor; Colonel, now General Castro, commander of the forces; and filled other less important offices. Fandangoes, which were continued for a week, celebrated our success; and these festivities over, the insurgents returned to their various homes and occupations.

Some few weeks after, a small proportion of the inhabitants sought to displace our newly-elected chiet magistrate, and appoint some other in his place. I was sent for during the night to guard the governor's palace with my corps of rifles, and we succeeded in capturing the leading conspirators, who were tried and sent to Acapulco in irons. I had a quarrel with the alcalde shortly after this service, and he put me in irons for cursing him. As soon as the governor heard of my misfortune, he had me immediately discharged from confinement.

I now resumed my business, and dispatched my partner, Mr. Waters, after a fresh supply of goods; but, before he had time to return, fresh political commotions supervened. There still seemed to exist in the minds of the majority a strong hankering for the domination of Mexico, notwithstanding they had so recently sided with the Revolutionists in shaking off the yoke of the national government. Among other causes of excitement, too, the American adventurers resident there had raised the "Bear Flag," and proclaimed their intention of establishing an independent government of their own. This caused us to be closely watched by the authorities, and matters seemed to be growing too warm to be pleasant.

In the midst of this gathering ferment, news reached us from Mazatlan of the declaration of war between the United States and Mexico, and I deemed it was fully time to leave. Colonel Fremont was at that juncture approaching from Oregon with a force, if combined with the Americans resident there, sufficient to conquer the whole country, and I would have liked exceedingly to join his forces, but to have proceeded toward him would have subjected me to mistrust, and consequent capture and imprisonment. If I looked south the same difficulties menaced me, and the west conducted me to the Pacific Ocean.

I had but little time to deliberate. My people was at war with the country I was living in; I had become security to the authorities for the good behavior of several of my fellow-countrymen, and I was under recognizances for my own conduct. The least misadventure would compromise me, and I was impatient to get away. My only retreat was eastward; so, considering all things fair in time of war, I, together with five trusty Americans, collected eighteen hundred stray horses we found roaming on the Californian ranchos, and started with our utmost speed from Pueblo de Angeles. This was a fair capture, and our morals justified it, for it was war-time. We knew we should be pursued, and we lost no time in making our way toward home. We kept our herd jogging for five days and nights, only resting once a day to eat, and afford the animals time to crop a mouthful of grass. We killed a fat colt occasionally, which supplied us with meat, and very delicious meat too — rather costly, but the cheapest and handiest we could obtain. After five days' chase our pursuers relaxed their speed, and we ourselves drove more leisurely. We again found the advantage that I have often spoken of before of having a drove of horses before us, for, as the animals we bestrode gave out, we could shift to a fresh one, while our pursuers were confined to one steed.

When we arrived at my fort on the Arkansas, we had over one thousand head of horses, all in good condition. There was a general rejoicing among the little community at my safe arrival, the Indians also coming in to bid me welcome. I found my wife married again, having been deceived by a false communication. Her present husband had brought her a missive, purporting to be of my inditing, wherein I expressed indifference toward her person, disinclination to return home, and tendering her a discharge from all connubial obligation. She accepted the document as authentic, and solaced her abandonment by espousing her husband's messenger. My return acquainted her with the truth of the matter. She manifested extreme regret at having suffered herself to be imposed upon so readily, and, as a remedy for the evil, offered herself back again; but I declined, preferring to enjoy once more the sweets of single blessedness.

I left the fort on a visit to San Férnandez. I found business very dull there on account of the war, and great apprehensions were felt by my friends in regard to the result. Perceiving that was no very desirable place to remove to, I returned to my community. General Kearney was just then on his march to Santa Fé. I took a drove of my horses, and proceeded down the Arkansas to meet him on his route; for it was probable there might be an opportunity of effecting some advantageous exchanges. The general came up, and found me in waiting with my stock; we had been acquainted for several years, and he gave me a very cordial reception.

 "Beckwourth," said the general, you have a splendid lot of horses, really; they must have cost you a great sum of money."

"No, general," I replied, "but they cost me a great many miles of hard riding."

"How so?" he inquired.

"Why, I was in California at the time the war broke out, and, not having men enough at my command to take part in the fighting, I thought I could assist my country a little by starting off a small drove of the enemy's horses, in order to prevent their being used against us."

"Ah, Beckwourth, you are truly a wonderful man to possess so much forethought," and he laughed heartily. "However," added he, " trade them off as quickly as possible, for I want you to accompany me. You like war, and I have good use for you now."

I informed him that I was ready for service; and, accordingly, I sent all my remaining horses back to my plantation, and went on with the general to Santa Fé, which place submitted without firing a shot. The general sent me immediately back to Fort Leavenworth with dispatches. This was my service during the war. The occupation was a tolerably good one, and I never failed in getting my dispatches through. I enjoyed facilities superior to almost any other man, as I was known to almost all the Indians through whose country I passed.

My partner and I had purchased a hotel in Santa Fé, and we transacted a very profitable business there. My associate attended to the business of the hotel, while I carried dispatches, and Santa Fé was generally my starting-place. Many messengers lost their lives on the route, as at times there were dispatches to be sent, and I would not be at head-quarters to carry them. The distance from Santa Fé to Fort Leavenworth is nine hundred and thirteen miles. I have frequently made the trip in from twenty to twenty-five days; my shortest trip I accomplished in eighteen. I well knew that my life was at stake every trip that I made, but I liked the employment; there was continual excitement in it, indeed sometimes more than I actually cared about, more particularly when I fell in with the Pawnees. The service furnished an escort of fifteen or twenty-five men, but I always declined the company of troops, as I considered myself safer without them. If I had taken troops with me, it would have led to incessant fights with the Indians; and if they had seen me with white soldiers, they would have been very apt to kill me the first opportunity. Another thing: I did not think the United States regular troops good for any thing against the Indians, for I knew that the Camanches would stand and fight them almost man for man.

I chanced to fall in with Kit Carson one day, as I was about to start from New Mexico to Fort Leavenworth, and he proposed going with me, as he wished to learn my route. I was very much pleased with his proposal, as I thought that with Kit and his men I should go through strong handed. I told him that I should rest at Taos one day to get my horses shod, and that he could easily come up with me there, or on the road thither. I left with two men, and staid at Taos as appointed, but he failed to rejoin us. I rode on as far as my ranch; still he did not appear. I built a large fire before proceeding into the Indian country, thinking to attract him by the smoke, and thus bring him on to our trail, but I saw no more of him, and it was supposed he was lost until he eventually turned up in the City of Washington. We both had a narrow escape from Indians on that trip. I had, contrary to my usual practice, encamped one night in the prairie, and was to start in the morning, when we heard buffalo running close to our camp. On looking out, I saw a great number chased by the Pawnees, although the Indians were not yet in sight. We made all possible haste to the timber, threw our horses on their sides, gagged them and fastened them to the ground, and then secreted ourselves in the willows. The Indians flocked round, busied in their pursuit, and some of the buffaloes they dressed within gunshot of our secret camp. I thought that day the longest I had lived through, and I expect the poor animals thought so too, for they lay in one position the whole time, without food or water, and without being permitted to whisper a complaint. At night we made good our escape, and arrived at the fort without further difficulty.

When I was ready to return to Santa Fé, I could find no one willing to accompany me. The weather was intensely cold, and no inducement that I could offer was sufficient to tempt men to leave their comfortable fires, and encounter the perils of the Indians and Jack Frost in the prairies. Many men had been frozen to death on the route, and a general shudder ran through the company when I proposed the journey to them. I could have been furnished with soldiers in plenty, but I was unwilling to take them, as it imposed so much trouble on the road to stay to bury every man that perished with the hardships of the journey. Important dispatches had arrived from Washington which must go through, and I looked fruitlessly round for a man hardy enough to go with me. At length a boy — a Kentuckian — volunteered. He had followed the army to the fort, and had lived about the barracks until he had become well accustomed to the privations of a camp life. He was an intelligent lad, but, unfortunately, had a malformation of one of his feet, which seriously impeded his walking. However, I liked his "pluck" in proposing, and eventually consented to take him. I went with him to the sutler's store, and procured him the warmest clothing I could, and then bade him repair to my boarding-house, and stay there until I was ready to start.

When I was prepared for departure, I furnished him with a good horse, and, taking an extra one between us, we started on the long journey. I gave him particular directions that if he should become very cold he was to acquaint me, and I would stay and build a fire to warm him by wherever there was any wood; but the proposition he declined.

Three days after we reached the Arkansas, and encamped. Isaac was busied in preparing supper, while I walked to an eminence close by in order to survey the country. I perceived an immense number of Indians approaching directly toward us, and at not more than three or four hundred yards distance. I shouted to Isaac to catch the horses quickly and tether them, and I hastened back to the camp. He inquired what the matter was, and I told him there were a thousand Indians coming after us.

The approaching individuals belonged to the Camanche tribe, and numbered over a thousand warriors. They were in full speed. They dashed through the Arkansas with such precipitation that I thought they would throw all the water out of the channel and hurl it on to the bank. I ran in front of the advance, and challenged them to stop. They halted for a moment, and asked me who I was. I told them the Crow. Thereupon they grabbed me up like a chicken, and carried me into our little camp. They had nine white men's scalps, which, to appearance, were hardly yet cold, and they said they must kill my white boy, and his scalp would just make ten. I told them the boy was my nephew, and that they must not kill him — that great braves never killed boys. They then conversed among themselves a minute or two, and finally said, "He, being your nephew, may live. Tell him to make us some good black soup."

I foresaw that my coffee and sugar must suffer, for by black soup they meant coffee. I directed Isaac to set about making it, but to secrete a little for our selves, if he could do so unperceived. The Camanches have a great fondness for coffee, and I never fell in with them without having to part with all I had, and I sometimes imagined they preferred my coffee and sugar to my scalp.

The same day, just before dusk, while jogging steadily along, the boy discovered a small party of Pawnees. I hastily dismounted, and tied the heads of our three horses together, to prevent them running, and directed the boy to see that they did not move. I then took his gun and my own, and went away from the horses. As I was leaving, the boy inquired if he should fire too. I told him no, not unless I was killed, and then to defend himself as he best could. I took a secure position and fired. An Indian fell. I fired again, and killed a second. They cracked away at me, but did no harm. I reloaded, and fired again, until I had leveled five of them, they retreating at every discharge. When the fifth warrior fell, the whole party fell back to cry. I knew that, after they had cried for a few minutes, they would make a rush for revenge. Therefore I shouted to the boy to cut the animals loose, and mount in haste. He did so; I sprung on my horse instantly, and we flew away, leaving the mourners to their lamentations. At every foe I shot the boy would ejaculate, "Whoop! you fetched him; he's got his gruel," and other sayings, thereby displaying more bravery than many men would have shown under similar circumstances. Ever afterward he considered that we were a match for any number of Pawnees; and as for the Camanches, I could beat them off with "black soup."

We traveled on for several miles, and then encamped. In the morning I started along a ravine for our horses, which had strayed away. I returned toward the camp, where I found that they had taken themselves up another small ravine, and that I had passed them. While thus pursuing the stray animals, the boy came to acquaint me that he had seen a great number of Indians. I led the horses to the camp, and then mounted a little rise of ground, from whence I descried a large village. I did not know what tribe they belonged to, though I knew they were not Pawnees, for that tribe never visited this country except on war excursions. I took the boy, and walked with him up to the village, but their faces were all strange to me; nor did I like their appearance and movements. On perceiving one at a little distance wrapped in his robe, I thought he might possibly be a chief, and I approached him. He addressed me in Crow, "Ah! my friend, what brought you here?"

I replied that, as I was passing through, I had thought it well to call on him.

"I am glad to see you," said he; "enter my lodge; my warriors are bad to-day."

The Indians were Apaches, and the chief was named Black Shield, an old and intimate acquaintance.

He insisted on my spending the night in the village, which I consented to. He was perfectly rabid toward the whites, and stated his intention to manure the prairie with their bodies the forthcoming season he would not leave one in the country. I applauded his intention, telling him the whites were unable to fight. Seeing that I was on his side — that is, if my words made me so — he continued, "I have plenty of warriors, and plenty of guns and balls, but I am a little short of powder. When will you return?"

I informed him as nearly as I could calculate, but I added that my return was uncertain.

"Will you bring me some powder?" he inquired. "I will," I said; "but I shall return by way of the Eagle's Nest Hill."

"That is the very place I am going to from here," he rejoined; and, if I am not there myself, some of my warriors will be, and they can take it of you."

This afforded me no put-off, and I accordingly promised to furnish him with the powder. If the reader will indulge me in a witticism, I beg to assure him that I carried the powder to the old chief in a horn! In the morning he furnished me with meat enough to subsist us for a week, together with new moccasins, and sundry other articles. We then bade him adieu, and proceeded on our journey, arriving at Santa Fé without any farther noteworthy adventure.

On reaching my destination, I informed some of my friends of my promise to the Black Shield, and where they could find him to deliver the powder, to enable him to carry out his commendable resolution. A party started to meet him at the appointed spot; but in delivering the powder they managed to explode it, and he and his warriors only received the bullets, of which they already had plenty.