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The Infamous Black Bird Southern Oregon History, Revised


George Hunter
Through Oregon to mine for gold on Humbug in 1852; fighting the Rogue River Indians in 1853. The Southern Oregon section of George Hunter's 1887 memoir, Reminiscences of an Old Timer.


    I remained with Mr. Francis [in Portland in 1852] overnight, had breakfast and felt better. Finding that there were fifty strong emigrants for every work to be had in Portland (which was then but a village), I "struck out" through the timber on the Lafayette road, hoping to obtain work, and eventually find my folks. I had not traveled more than ten or twelve miles when a chill came on me, and when the fever raised, that follows a chill, I laid down by the road. When I got able to resume my journey I was confused and took the wrong end of the road. Passing a house near a swale, I asked an elderly woman who was out near the road how far it was to Lafayette, she said: "you are not going toward Lafayette, but to Portland;" and she asked me if I had not passed there some time previous. I replied that I thought not, that I had come from Portland, and was on my way up the valley. She said "you are going toward Portland now, and it was you that passed here some time since, are you sick?" I told her I had been having the chills, and was then just getting over one.
    She said: "I thought you were not well when you passed here before, and had a mind to call to you." I thanked her, and turned to proceed in the right direction, when she said: "No, no! You must come right in, and have something to eat, and take a rest. My husband will be home soon from Oregon City, and, as he is quite a doctor, he will cure you." On telling her that I had no money, and was looking for something to do to earn a living till I could find my people,she said: "Poor boy!--you can't work or travel when you are sick; so, come right in and get well, and we will find you work when you are able to do anything." So I stopped with her; and I must say that my own mother could not have been more kind to me than was this noble woman. Her husband came home in due time, and gave me the necessary medicines. (The name of this family was Merrill.) I stayed there ten or twelve days.
    After a day or two, I found that Mr. Merrill had quite "a patch" of potatoes, and that he wanted them dug. So I dug, ate, and chilled; ate, chilled, and dug by turns, till the chills and fever were broken up, then I dug and ate. At digging I got tired, but at eating I could have put in the entire day, if my stomach would have permitted; at any rate, I "put in my best licks" as long as any of the family were at the table, and quit just as hungry as I commenced. Finally, the old lady told me to come in and get a lunch between meals, as she knew that emigrants never got enough to eat during the first few months after crossing the plains.
    Potatoes being dug (and "grub" running short), I left this pleasant family and started on up the valley, making a few rails here and doing odd jobs there to pay my board. From place to place I trudged on through the Willamette Valley and Umpquas, hearing nothing of my father or the family. At last I got in with a pack train, and worked my way to Jacksonville, in Rogue River Valley. From there I footed it up the valley and over the Siskiyou Mountains to Yreka, in Siskiyou County, California, arriving there on the last of December, 1852, just as it began snowing. The snow had soon fallen so deep that for six or seven weeks pack trains could not cross the mountains. This new mining camp (Yreka) was poorly provided with supplies--in fact, there was scarcely enough provisions, except beef, to last two weeks. Here I stopped some weeks, living on "beef straight" without salt. Salt sold at a dollar an ounce, and then only upon a certificate from a doctor in cases of chronic diarrhea.
    Here I fell in with an uncle, by the name of Martin Fisher, he having married my father's eldest sister. Fisher was one of the most powerful men I ever knew, being over six feet in height and well proportioned. He was an old frontiersman of the Western Atlantic States, a great hunter, and a bold, daring man. Uncle and I made our home with an emigrant family, while here, who were as poor as ourselves, and beef the only provision to be had for love or money; and if there had been ever so much "grub" in camp, our "stock in trade" would have been composed largely of love, for we were confoundedly short of the metallic substance.
    We hearing there was any amount of game at the head of Shasta Valley, near the foot of Mt. Shasta, some forty miles distant, procured guns and ammunition, and in company with our emigrant friend, started for the hunting grounds. Our friend had a couple of small mules on which we carried our blankets. He went about twenty-five miles with us, then returned to his family after we had arranged with him to come out in a few days after our venison and other game. He could easily find us, as we would keep up a smoke after the first day or two.
    There was little or no snow in this valley, till we reached the juniper timber at its head. These junipers are a species of the cedar, and as they stand, from a distance, much resemble our old orchards "back in the States." The boughs crowning their low tops form a perfect thatch, so thick that the hardest rain storms scarcely penetrate through to the sandy soil beneath.
    Upon reaching these friendly junipers, we spread our blankets under the one that would afford us the best shelter.
    The snow here was about ten inches deep. Fisher said "you build a fire and arrange camp, and I'll look around and see if there are any deer near by." He struck out, and I commenced gathering dry twigs to start a fire, thinking we would have to pass a hungry night, for we had nothing with us to eat, depending entirely on our guns to supply our wants.
    While I was thus occupied, a jack rabbit jumped up some twenty steps distant. To pick up my rifle was but the work of a second, and as its sharp crack rang out, assuring me that here at least was "supper for two," a score or more of his kind bobbed up their mule-like ears, seeming to say, "get your breakfast as well;" acting on this suggestion, I soon had three or four of the long-eared gents stretched out before the fire, which was now burning famously.
    These rabbits are very large, weighing from eight to twenty pounds. Our mode of cooking them was to roast them, by hanging them on short sticks before the fire. While I was engaged in this pleasant duty, thinking I certainly would "have the brag" on my uncle when he returned, I heard his gun fire. "There," thought I, "more rabbit!" (The reader will see that by this time I had rabbit on the brain.) Again and again Fisher's gun spoke, and, knowing him to be a "dead shot," at each report would think, "more rabbit;" for I had rabbit so firmly fixed on my mind, that nothing else could have found room to enter it, especially while the fragrant smell of the cooking one filled my nostrils--appealing to my empty stomach.
    Imagine my surprise when my uncle came in a few minutes later, carrying a fine deer, and told me he had two more lying a few hundred yards out, assuring me that deer were plenty here, and that they were not wild, as they had probably never before been hunted with guns. We soon carried in the other two deer, and by the time Fisher had dressed his deer, my rabbit was cooked to perfection. After supper we laid our tired bodies under the juniper, and were soon in the "land of nod," dreaming of family, friends, deer and "jasack rabbits." Next morning we went out and killed several fine deer, as we did on each succeeding day.
    Coming into camp one evening, three or four days after our arrival, we observed a dense smoke curling above the trees some distance away. This assured us that our friend had come out and was trying to find our whereabouts. We gathered a lot of green juniper boughs and placed them on the fire, which made a dense smoke, and within an hour we heard his welcome shout. He had seen our signal, and hastened to join us.
    When he saw the amount of game we had hanging around our camp, he was more than pleased.
    We spent a pleasant night together, and in the morning packed his mules with venison and started him back to his family, he promising to return within a week, unless the snow went off the mountains so that pack trains could come in. Our luck continued good, and when he came to us the second time, believing we had sufficient venison to last till pack trains could cross the mountains, we returned with him to Yreka.
    Hearing that there was no snow in the Sacramento Valley, and that there were plenty of provisions at Shasta City (an older mining camp) near the head of that valley, some hundred and twenty-five or fifty miles distant from Yreka and across two ranges of mountains, Fisher and I determined to try for "Shasta City, warm weather and grub;" so, leaving Yreka "we hoofed it" through Scotts Valley to the foot of Scotts Mountain where we found about fifty miners, who had been trying from day to day to break a trail over the mountain and had succeeded as far as the summit, but feared to go further as there they sunk to their waists in snow, and, knowing that it was still deeper on the south side and the mountain much steeper, if they should fail to get through they couldn't get back again. Upon inquiry we learned that it was only sixteen miles across to the "Mountain House" on the other side, and of this distance the trail was broken for seven or eight miles. Fisher determined to try it so I concluded to cast my lot with him, as also did an old miner called "Grizzly" (I never knew any other name for him); I was called "Buckeye" for some years, because I came from Ohio. Nearly all the miners, hunters and scouts were nicknamed, or went by their first names, as "Jack" or "Bill" with other embellishments added to suit friends or enemies as occasion presented itself, in the early and venturesome mining days, and the settling up of the Pacific States and Territories.
    Snowshoes and their use were not known to the miners in those days. But, early one morning we three, led by Fisher, started up the mountain, reaching the summit about 11 o'clock. Thus far the trail was partly broken; but now came the "tug of war." For me to say how deep the snow was would be out of the question, as we never touched bottom.
    We found that the parties who had thus far broken the trail had gone a short distance down the mountain, became scared, and struggled back, having to throw away their blankets and clothing. I unrolled a bundle of these blankets, and found a case of ivory-handled razors. These I stuck in my pocket. Fisher, seeing this, asked: "What are you going to do with those razors?" (Bear in mind, I had no beard then.) I replied: "I am going to cut the throat of the first man that gives out or says 'go back.'" Little did I imagine what was before us when I said this.
    After resting a few moments, we boldly pushed on, "injun file," Fisher leading, "Grizzly" next, and "Buckeye" following. We, like the others, soon found it necessary to throw away our blankets and clothing, and reduce ourselves to "light marching order," for we were sinking to our armpits in the snow at every move. Within an hour I took the lead, as I was but a boy, and the lightest of the party. The others weighed over two hundred each. For the rest of the day we rolled and pushed ourselves down the mountain.
    At night we tried to build a fire, wood being plenty; but our matches were wet from melted snow; so we had to travel on, or freeze. On down the mountain we went, till we struck Trinity Fiver, which, like all other mountain streams, ran like a milltail.
    The mountain spurs frequently came to the water's edge, and, as we couldn't climb over them, we were forced to wade the river. We joined hands, so that if one slipped, the others could support him, and into the water we went. It came up to our hips, and was by no means warm. Three times during that night we were forced to wade that stream, for we could only walk on level or descending ground.
    About 10 o'clock the next day we came to the long looked-for house; but lo! the snow had broken its back, and only the gable end protruded, warning us that we had not yet reached a place of rest or refreshment, both of which we so sorely needed.
    We afterward learned that the proprietors of this house had retreated down the river some sixteen miles, to "Verry's ranch," earlier during the storm, their provisions having given out.
    During all of this time we had nothing to eat, and for weeks previous had lived on poor beef "straight," which accounts, to some extent, for the slow time we made. To say the least, the sight of that broken and snow-covered house was a gloomy one, indeed.
    As none of us had ever traveled the trail before, we knew not how far we yet had to walk before finding a place of rest and help. One thing was as as sure as fate: to stop meant death. So after a few minutes' look at the wreck, we resumed our weary tramp, wet, cold and hungry. In this mountain valley the snow was about eight feet deep, and had commenced melting, so that every gulch formed a small lake on reaching the level bottom land; hence, for the rest of the day, we had it snow, ice and water, snow, water and ice, and night coming on, we had it duplicated.
    About eight o'clock the next morning, after wading some hundreds of yards through snow, water and ice, Fisher and "Grizzly" laid down by a tree and said it was of "no use," they were "give out," and couldn't go a foot further. God knows, we had had weary work for many hours past. I scolded, begged, and probably swore some, to get them to try it a little further, but of no use; move they would not. To say that this was a time to try a boy's soul would be putting it mild.
    There I stood in snow six feet deep, surrounded by mountains, in a strange land, not knowing how far I was from help, with two given-out comrades--one a beloved uncle--after having breasted the snow, ice and water for fifty-odd hours without anything to eat.
    Even now it makes my heart tremble as I look back and think of myself as I stood there, scolding, begging and swearing by turns, to get these loved comrades again to their feet. At last I had to move on or freeze myself; so, with tears trickling down my cheeks, I started on alone. After getting some hundreds of yards away, and being about to pass out of sight, I turned to take a last look at them. This look was too much for me, and I returned to them. As I was approaching, I caught uncle Fisher's eye (he had become somewhat rested), and thought of the razors I found on the mountain, and of what I had said at the time. I jerked the case out of my pocket, pulled one of the razors out of it, and with as fierce a look as I could assume, I stepped up to Fisher, flourishing the razor.
    This joke proved too much for him; with a sickly laugh he staggered to his feet, and helped me get "Grizzly" up and force him along; we hadn't made more than four hundred yards further than I had been, when I saw a smoke curling up from among the trees. This welcome sight caused me to raise a joyous yell which was answered, and in a few moments I saw twenty or thirty men coming as fast as they could to meet us. Seeing us staggering (if the road had been sixty yards wide we couldn't have stayed in it, frozen and benumbed as we were) , they took hold of us and assisted us as though we were babies, pouring in a stream of questions, "Where'e ye from?" "How long have ye been on the trip?" "Are ye froze?" "Is Yreka an' all them northern camps snowed in an' starved to death?" All these questions I had to answer, as my comrades were too far gone to make intelligent answers.
    I was apparently all right, till the warm air from the house struck me as the door was opened, then I gave way and fell as one dead. Being young and light they held my feet and hands in snow water till the frost was extracted (as I was afterwards told), thus probably preventing me from being a cripple for life, for my hands and feet were badly frozen, as were those of both the others, but they being such large men were not so easily managed. "Grizzly" had both his legs amputated just below the knees, and Fisher went home as I afterwards learned a cripple for life.
    When I came to myself, my hands and feet were bundled up in cloths.
    Some two weeks afterwards I started on to Shasta City, in company with the packers who had been snowed in at Verry's ranch, leaving Fisher and "Grizzly" to come on when able. Fisher returned home to Iowa as soon as he got able. I never heard exactly what became of "Grizzly," only that he got well, minus his feet.
    There were some two hundred mules, laden with general merchandise and provisions for Yreka, frozen to death or starved at Verry's ranch, leaving their owners with aparejos and cargoes cooped up for weeks as above described.
    As the snow melted off, with warm winds, these packers and miners started for Weaverville, French Gulch and other places, I in their company, with hands and feet bundled up in rags and pieces of blankets.
    My feet and hands were very raw yet, but I managed to make six, eight, or ten miles a day, until at last one evening I reached Shasta City.
    Shasta City in the spring of '53 was surrounded by flourishing mining camps. On my arrival there, I sought out a hotel called the "Kossuth House," which was kept by a Dutchman. Approaching the proprietor, I told him I had no money, but wanted supper, bed and breakfast. Without looking up, he said there had been so many emigrants there broke during the last fall and winter that he couldn't keep any more. This was about my first experience in bumming.
    I was leaving the house when a man that was sitting by the stove, about as full of whiskey as an owl, stepped forward, and catching me by the arm roughly said: "What's the matter with your hands and feet, that they are bundled up so." I wasn't in a humor to be "shook around," so I replied "froze," and tried to "shake loose" from him, when he said "hold, pardy, don't cork yourself," and led me to a chair. Seating me he proceeded to undo the wraps from one of my feet; taking a hasty look he, tenderly as he could in his condition, tied it up again, asking, "is your other foot and hands like that?" I replied "much the same, and now if your curiosity is satisfied I will move on" "Not much, Mary Ann," said he, laying his hand heavily on my shoulder.
    He then went to the bar and asked the proprietor what his bill was; being told he pulled out a purse of dust and had the amount weighed out. Then turning to the others in the room he said, "fellers did you see this boy's foot?" They all said "yes." He then said, "any man that would eat a meal or take a drink with a s---- of a b---- that has refused a meal to a boy in that fix ought to go straight to hell or poor diggings!"
    All agreed, paid their bills and left the house. This man was a gambler and miner named Jack Moore; nearly all the miners in those days were addicted to "sporting."
    Moore asked me where I was from, I replied "Yreka." "Are you one of the three that broke the trail over Scotts Mountain?" "Yes, I'm the boy 'Buckeye'" (the news of our trip had been received there and published). He said "bully boy, come along with me and we'll find some grub, you bet your sweet life." Tired and worn out as I was, I saw that I had "fell upon my feet,"' as this man Moore was well dressed, and everybody seemed to respect him. I followed him to the "Empire Hotel" kept by an old sea captain and ex-prize fighter named Sam Francis. Moore went into the bar room and said "Sam, can you give me and my boy board and room?" Then, turning, he told those assembled my story and my reception at the "Kossuth House."
    Sam said, "bet yer life, Moore, best in the house, if you'll let me have half of Buckeye."
    This being settled to the satisfaction of Moore and Francis, I was taken to a room and fed. A doctor was called in, who dressed my feet and hands, and looked to my welfare until my recovery.
    By these two big-hearted men, Moore and Francis, I was cared for and fed, and in every way made as much of, as though I had been a brother.
    I mention this as an incident of California life, and the warm-heartedness of those "rough and ready" pioneers.
    When I got well, I was furnished with a letter to a friend of Moore, on "Jackass Flat," where I went, and through his management got a good claim, out of which I had the good fortune to make in a few weeks $1,600 for my share. After settling with Moore's friend, I returned to Shasta City and tried to settle with Moore and Francis, or pay them, but every time I offered to divide or pay them, they would take a drink, and before ten o'clock they couldn't have told gold dust from Chile beans. Next morning, seeing they would not take anything from me, I started back to Yreka, and to hunt up the rest of our family, as I had plenty of money with which to do so; but at Yreka I fell in with three young men, Dan Allen, Joe Draper and Jim Carwile, whom I had known in Iowa.
    The last-named party we called "Auger Jim," because he slept in a twist, with his head and heels together. He told me he had seen my father in the Willamette Valley, and that the folks were all well, but Father thought I was dead from starvation on the plains.
    After consulting with these friends, I concluded to stop at or near Yreka until I could get an answer to a letter from my uncle, Samuel Meek, of Ohio (which would take about a year), believing that my father would write to him, giving his address in Oregon, and he in turn would send it to me.
    So, in company with the three, I engaged in prospecting on Humbug Creek, near Yreka, I furnishing the funds, they the experience. But at the end of a few months, I had the experience, and none of us the funds.
    At last I received a letter from Ohio, telling of father's family and their address, which made my mind easy on their account.
    About this time we were joined by a man named Scarbrough, and we finally struck very "good pay" on Old Humbug Creek. Here we worked till the water gave out in the fall, when we went prospecting on a smaller stream over the mountain about ten miles away. Striking a small prospect, we named this "Young Humbug," and a flat near by we called "Bark House."
    We had to pack our provisions over the mountain on our backs, which called one or more of us over to Old Humbug every few days for supplies. We usually carried fifty or sixty pounds to the man.
    Our temporary camp we built facing a log, by driving two forked sticks into the ground some fifteen feet apart, laying a pole across them, shedding one side with fir poles and thatching over them with fir boughs. This made a good shelter.
    We had brought some fresh beef with us on our first trip, and, after forming our camp, hung it up in a tree near by. The next morning we found the tree all right, minus the beef. After a short investigation, we found by footprints in the soft sand that the robbery was committed by a large grizzly. A few days later some of our company, going over to Humbug and returning with supplies, brought some beef with them and hung it in the same tree, but a little higher. Dan Allen and myself concluded to watch for the return of the bold robber; and, after putting out our camp fire, we took our rifles and revolvers, wrapped a blanket around us, and laid down by the log in front of the camp, "Auger Jim," Draper, and Scarbrough going to bed in the brush tent, saying to us that we had also better go to bed in the tent, as it was not at all likely that the grizzly would return. We thought different, and our judgment proved correct.
    After arranging our mode of attack, in case he should return, we laid down to rest, Allen keeping watch. I being young, soon fell sound asleep. Sometime in the night I was woke up by Allen shaking me and whispering in my ear: "Wake up Buckeye, he's here." After I succeeded in getting my eyes open I saw by the light of the bright moon the grizzly upon his hind legs, rearing up against the tree trying to reach the beef. On taking a look at him, and as I had heard of their strength and ferocity when attacked (he being an immense brute--looking the size of an ordinary smoke house), I became somewhat "shaky" and felt my valor oozing out at my fingers' ends. I whispered to Allen "shall we shoot him?" He said, "yes, of course." With fear and trembling, I leveled my gun across the log as Allen had already done. Upon his touching my foot, we fired together. The bear was probably twenty feet from us. At the crack of the guns he gave an angry "snort." (This noise resembles the "snort" of a horse when at play he stops running, throws his head high in the air, and forces the breath from his lungs through his nostrils, so producing a sound similar to the angry snort of a grizzly.) As the sound of the guns and "snort" of bear died out, we heard a smashing behind us and back of our brush tent. My first thought was "another grizzly." Grasping my revolver and whirling around I saw Jo Draper scrambling up a small white fir tree that stood just behind our tent. When I first saw him he was fully fifteen feet up the tree and making time that would not have disgraced an Ohio gray squirrel. As the grizzly had disappeared, we all turned our attention to Draper, in the tree. Just imagine a man climbing a tree, in shirt and drawers, said tree a perfect thistle of small, sharp dead limbs, hard to describe to anyone that has never seen one of our white firs. On Jo's again reaching the ground he somewhat resembled the map of Mexico, after that country had been interviewed by Generals Taylor and Scott.
    To say that we slept more that night would be preposterous, and only an old-timer can fully realize the comical remarks of first one and then another, accompanied by peals of laughter that made the surrounding mountains ring with our merriment at Draper's expense. One would say: "Jo, where's the rest of your drawers," another "Jo, I have an extra shirt, you can have it," and again "there is plenty of balsam on your tree for your scratches." Some of the party allowed that a rag-picker would make a "stake" if he only could get to Draper's fir tree.
    Next morning we followed the trail of the grizzly, which was easily traced by the blood; we found him dead some miles below the camp.
    This was one of the largest grizzly bears I ever saw and would have weighed fully 1,500 pounds.
    After working a short time on this creek, the prospect being poor, we returned to Old Humbug and "divided up," I selling out to Carwile, Draper and Allen. I then went in partnership with a young man by the name of Len Study, and commenced prospecting a high bar on the north fork, by running a drift or tunnel.
    We had been at work six weeks or two months without raising a color, and, as the bedrock raised toward the mountain, we were of the opinion that there was no "pay" in the bar. As we had left our blankets at Round Town, Study said to me one morning, "If you will go and get our blankets today, I will run the drift a few feet further, and if the bedrock keeps raising, we will move to some other place to prospect." So I started down the creek for the blankets, some ten miles distant.
    On my return about 4 o'clock in the afternoon, as I came within hearing, I heard Study whistling. This being the first whistle I had heard from him for a month, it naturally excited my curiosity to know what had put him in such fine spirits.
    On reaching the cabin I found Study busy preparing supper, and asked him what had put him in such good humor? He showed me seven or eight dollars in specimens, which he said he had panned out of dirt taken from the drift that evening, and that he had no doubt but we had "struck it," and in the near future we would be rich and respectable.
    After much talk and speculation as to the probable richness of the strike, we wrapped ourselves in our blankets and were soon dreaming of rich diggings, big nuggets, home and relatives.
    In my dreams that night I had from my claim amassed an immense fortune, returned to my poor relatives, and by every way possible strove to impress upon their dull minds that I was a superior being, made of very different mud, and that my blood was bluer, and even my hair had assumed a finer texture (since I had made a raise) than could be found among any of my brothers, sisters, cousins, second cousins, or, in fact, among any of the tribes that had been honored by an alliance with Buckeye, the man of brains, whose gigantic intellect had enabled him to carry blankets while his partner struck a bonanza.
    But, alas! I awoke at the sound of Study's voice: "Buckeye! beefsteak and coffee, smoking hot!"
    After breakfast we repaired to the drift, and during the day run it back four or five feet by seven feet in width, running off the top dirt down to the cement or pay. This latter we cleaned to the bedrock, which we found formed a deep crevice or channel, it being some three or four feet lower than the other portion of the rock. The bedrock was soft slate, and easily dug up for six or eight inches in depth.
    After we had cleaned as deep as we thought necessary, I took a pan of the soft, shell rock, and panned it out. Getting several dollars, we dug it deeper, and until we were satisfied there was no more gold.
    We dumped the dirt over a steep bank into the bed of the creek, where we had our long tom and rocker set. (A long tom was used for washing the dirt, as was a rocker; the former was made the same as sluices--that is, three planks nailed together, forming a trough two inches wider at one end than the other; the last box bulged at the lower end to two or three times its former width, and was sloped similar to a sled runner; the last four feet were bottomed with sheet iron, punched thickly with half-inch holes. Under this was placed what was called a "riffle-box," the same width of the one above, and six or eight feet long. Across its bottom was fastened slats that would form riffles when the box was placed at the proper angle. These riffles would catch and retain all heavy substances, such as gold, black sand, etc., while the lighter sand and pebbles would pass over and into the tailrace.)
    This is as near as I can describe a primitive "long tom," used in early mining days.
    The sluicebox soon took its place, as it was found that the punched iron and riffle-box were superfluous, and only adding labor, as riffles placed in the sluices answered every purpose, and would save more gold, fine and coarse, and required less labor to handle them.
    But to our cleanup for the day, it did not require more than an hour to wash the dirt drifted that day.
    That evening, upon our panning out the riffle-box, and putting it with nuggets picked up while cleaning the bedrock, and out of the sluices, upon weighing all, we found we had taken out of the drift that day over $900. The largest nugget found weighed $279. This was the largest nugget and out of the richest pocket ever found on the bar.
    That night Study's whistle rang out more joyous than ever. We were soon in our blankets, and again dreaming of happy homes, pretty girls and sweet babies. The early dawn of the next morning found us at work in our drift. We soon found that this crevice (an old channel) was, where we struck it, not more than five feet wide. As soon as we were assured of this fact, we turned our drift at right angles up the bar. For a week or so we run this drift, trying to follow the channel, taking out from two to twelve ounces per day. (This dust was worth $19 to $20 per ounce, but we always reckoned it at $16 per ounce in those days.)
    As we proceeded up the bar, the channel or "pay streak" widened out, and paid less to the foot. Within two weeks we got clear off the "pay," and were some weeks in finding it again. Having found it, we continued on good "pay," and after some time we commenced "breasting" and "timbering." We had breasted out a space about twenty by thirty feet, I drifting and Study wheeling. (He had to run his wheelbarrow down the drift some fifty feet, then turn at a right angle, and go to the creek bank or front edge of the bar.)
    One day, while I was working in the back part of the drift, and just after Study had passed out, the caps on the timbers gave way, and as the dirt above was loose and full of large boulders, it soon caved in, bringing the grass roots from thirty feet above. At the first crack of the timbers, I sprang back to the furthest part of my drift, knowing I could not run out, as it was caving between me and the outlet or mouth of the drift. To sit down with my back to the solid bank, and put out my candle, so as not to consume the fresh air, was my first thought. But I soon had fresh air enough, for as the dirt and rock came tumbling all around me from above, I could soon gaze up and out at the mountains above; but, alas! I was covered to my waist with dirt and rock, which held me like a vise; a large rock had fallen onto the dirt above and slid down the slope made by the cave, till it finally rested against my breast. Study, hearing the noise made by the breaking timbers, ran into the main drift and up to where it was caving, then seeing that he could not get to me, he ran out again, and, hearing my shouts for help, which sounded from above him, he was soon gazing down upon me from the top of the bar, while I sat wedged in by dirt and rock. Seeing that he could not do anything alone in time to save my life, he ran swiftly down to the next claim and soon returned with a dozen hardy miners, who made a hasty survey of my situation, then cut some logs and pushed them down at the edge or side of the sloping dirt. Two of them cautiously slid down and got one of these short logs across in front of me, with one end resting against either of the solid banks, thus forming a breastwork in front of me, to prevent the dirt from sliding down and covering me completely up. Then more men came down, and, working the rocks away from my breast, commenced sinking logs in front of me. They added logs and dug for some hours before they succeeded in releasing me from my perilous position.
    I had often heard the expression, "a mighty tight squeeze," but I never realized its full force before that day. I had received several bruises, from which I did not recover sufficiently to resume work for some time; and for years afterward I suffered more or less from these bruises.
    The boys would probably have allowed me to remain buried, but being of a religious turn of mind, they concluded it would be best to save me till a minister could be found, to say a few "appropriate words" to wring the hearts of my relatives and friends, which hearts would be already broken and bleeding.
----
    Humbug society was exclusive--exclusively male. There was not a white woman or child on the creek at the time of which I am writing, nor had there been.
    We used to amuse ourselves by assembling in some one of the little towns, to wit: The Forks, Round Town, Howlets, Free Town or Jacksons, and listening to speeches--we had some well-educated young lawyers among us--also by singing, etc., sometimes making up original songs on local and other topics.
    The following are some verses which were sung at one of our meetings.
"AN ODE TO HUMBUG."
"Ye miners attend, I will sing you a song,
My brothers, my fellows, bold, dauntless and strong!
Who develop gold's fountains, and send it in streams
Through the world, that all mankind may bask in its beams.
Others boast about 'freedom,' yet, who is so free,
So full of wild notions, so wandering as we?
For we work and we rest, and we sit at our ease,
We rise up and lie down--do just as we please.
   
"All the banks of the city with 'papers' abound,
Their 'checks' maybe forged, or their 'issues' unsound;
We have banks, but the cashiers will not run away,
leaving drafts all unpaid, and 'the devil to pay'--
For our steel picks are 'checks,' and the 'oro' we pull,
And our 'long toms' and 'rockers' receipt them in full,
Mother Earth is our bed, with her carpets of green,
Our pillow some rock, which the rain has washed clean.
   
"We have rifles, revolvers, no locks, bolts or bars,
For our coverings the sky with her beautiful stars.
Should the wild red man's arrow whizz near us in sleep,
We start all at once, though our slumbers be deep;
We muster, we rally! and soon make him feel
That the arms of a white man are 'thunder and steel.'
So, early next morning we watch the sun rise--
Come, get up, my brave fellows! our path we despise.
   
"We climb the bold rocks, where your railroad's a fool,--
It is not worth the hoof of my sure-footed mule.--
Even Humbug--a name that all classes despised--
Has now altered its meaning, and highly is prized.
Ask the girls of Yreka, who will say half their joys,
Yes, and more, is afforded by bold Humbug boys.
   
"Now, exult, my brave fellows! the time 's drawing near,
When our arms will encircle our bright-blushing 'dears;'
We'll kiss them, protect them from danger and cold,
And fill up their aprons with oceans of gold.
Oh, what do we toil for, if it is not for this--
A bright home, a sweet smile, a hug and a kiss?
It 's a true miner's motto--so, come, brothers, come!
The harder we dig, we'll the sooner get home."
These were offered by "BUCKEYE."           
    The winter of 1853 closed in on us, and the snow fell deep in those mountains.
    Study and I were "drifting" under a high bar when, returning to our cabin one night, we found sitting in front of our door two Indian girls. (The snow was then five or six feet deep on the creek, and much deeper on the mountains.) These girls were aged about ten and fifteen years respectively, as well as we could judge. But there being no Indians nearer than Klamath, some thirty miles away, and as neither Study nor myself could understand their language, we were at a loss to know what they wanted, or where they came from. Finally, after considerable signmaking, we learned that they were starving and nearly perishing with the cold, and that they wanted to stop with us for the night. We took them in, warmed and fed them, and gave them blankets to sleep in. They had stayed with us three or four days, when one night while we were cooking supper, six or eight Indians appeared at our door, looking somewhat sullen. The youngest girl, upon hearing them speak, went to the head man and talked to him in a rapid manner. At last the Indians looked pleased, shook hands with Study and I, and signified a wish to stay overnight with us, which we allowed them to do.
    I found that one of them was a young chief named "William," and that he could talk a little English. By words and signs I learned that these girls had been sent out in company with some older squaws for some deer that the Indians had killed, and that these two, getting separated from the other squaws, became lost,
and in wandering about had crossed the divide, and come down Humbug to our cabin.
    Sometime during the next spring, as some of the miners were passing down the creek, they discovered wearing apparel hanging on the bushes near a cabin, that indicated the presence of a woman and child. The news spread rapidly from the head to the mouth of the creek, and the next Sunday there appeared before that cabin no less than a hundred miners, dressed in their gorgeous woolen shirts and patched pants. (It was not uncommon in those days to see an old miner passing through our towns with a pick, shovel and pan on his back, and as you gazed at his retreating form, you would read, "Albany Mills Superfine, 50 lbs." in large letters, on the patch on the seat of his pants.) These miners had selected a spokesman for the occasion in the person of "Old Uncle Gilbert." The boys surrounded the cabin, and "Uncle Gilbert," mounting a convenient stump, loudly hailed the inmates of the cabin. A gentleman--all miners were gentlemen in those days--making his appearance, "Uncle Gil" thus addressed him:
    "Honored Sir.--Do not for a moment be alarmed at this demonstration, for I assure you these gentlemen are quiet, peaceable miners, who were once partially civilized. Many of us have been in the mines one, two or three years, without having had the pleasure of gazing upon a woman or a child.
    "A day or two ago, in passing here, some of us noticed, hanging upon those bushes, garments that denoted the presence of a woman and child--that is to say, unless we have forgotten the garments worn in our childhood, and those of our mothers and sisters. Upon being informed of the suspicions of the brothers regarding this cabin and its inmates, we at once called a mass meeting, and resolved to proceed as a committee of the whole, to investigate, being reassured by the wisest of us, that our mothers were women, and that, singular as it may appear to you, we were once children.
    "Now, my dear sir, allow me in behalf of my fellow miners and myself, to tender to you and yours a hearty welcome to Humbug and the surrounding camps.
    "Be assured that we congratulate ourselves on this most welcome addition to our community, believing it will prove a benefit to each of us, inasmuch as it will remind us of home and mother.
    "My dear sir, you can be assured that your wife and child will be sacred objects to us, and while they cast their lots among us rough and somewhat uncouth miners, will be as safe from insult or danger as they would be within the limits of the capital of our country, surrounded by an army of police.
    "Again, we bid you welcome to Humbug, and may God bless you, your wife and child."
    At the close of this address, the gentleman brought to the door a most beautiful woman and child and responded to "Uncle Gil's" remarks in a most happy manner.
    Then went up such a ringing shout as was never before heard in those rough and craggy mountains, and we imagined that old "Mount Craggy" gave back a joyous smile as it certainly never bore a more imposing appearance than it assumed as it towered above us, on this, the day of the welcome of the first white woman and child to old Humbug.
    On one of my visits to Yreka I was prevailed upon by an acquaintance to make a trip or two with H. P. French's saddle-express train. On our return one trip we camped on a bottom, well up on the Sacramento River. We had several passengers, and some express matter. The "Digger" (or Pit River) Indians would steal horses and mules, run them into the hills and kill and eat them, and frequently they would attack small parties on the trails. So it was our custom, when traveling through this country, to keep a guard with our stock at night.
    This night French watched until one or two o'clock, when he woke me up; we had tied our mules to some trees that stood around our camp and fringed a small bottom that was covered with ryegrass which was nearly the height of a man.
    Taking a shotgun, I sleepily went to a tree and took my stand to watch for the rest of the night. The moon was shining brightly, and the wind came in spurts.
    Soon after taking my stand I glanced over the bottom, when I thought I saw a "Digger'' raise his head, but a short distance from me, and then sink down. This woke me up thoroughly, and I watched closely; soon again he raised and, as it appeared to me, took a hasty look and sank down again. This was kept up at short intervals till I fancied I could see his long black hair when he raised. I watched this performance till I was sure that I could see his features. At last I determined to put a stop to his coming into camp--as he seemed to be coming nearer every time he raised up--so raising my gun, on his again making his appearance, I let drive a barrel of buckshot at him. All was clear to me before the echo died out. I, in my sleepy condition, had seen a black stump in the grass, which was nearly as high as the grass, and at each, spurt the wind blew the grass down, and thus exposed the top of the stump. When the wind died down the grass would straighten up again and hide the stump from sight; this being repeated every few minutes, I had gazed at it till my imagination had led me to shoot at it.
    When French and some of our passengers rushed up I was sitting by the tree, laughing heartily at my scare. They asked what was the matter, and I told them I had shot a Digger! They asked where? I said "there" (pointing to the stump), Just then the wind blew the grass down, and as the grass straightened up in a moment, hiding the stump, French jerked out his pistol as he said" What are you laughing at you fool? It is a Digger;" and he was about to fire when I said, "Hold on French! I have killed that stump myself." But it was some time before any of them would believe it was only a stump, it appeared so natural. Finally we went out to it, and found that I had peppered it pretty well with buckshot.
    I had failed to make a good Digger, but succeeded in being relieved from guard duty, as one of the passengers took my post, laughingly saying he thought he could kill as many stumps as I had. I didn't demur, as I much preferred my blankets to standing by a tree, watching for Diggers, when I was liable to get an arrow for my reward, as many a more watchful man had while standing guard on these trails.
    We had with us a young man by the name of Crosby, a finely educated lawyer. [John D. Crosby, in some accounts called "Jim Crosby" or "Cosby."]
    I mention him, as his name will appear later in these reminiscences, and to more fully portray early mining life in California and the kind of material the early pioneers and miners were composed of.
    The Fourth of July coming around, many of us assembled at "Round Town." After toasting each other we induced Watson (the hotel man) to give us a supper worthy of the occasion, then selected Crosby to deliver an oration.
    Crosby had come to California some two years before, he had tried the lumber business at Humboldt Bay, and related his lumbering experience as follows:
    "I bought an ax on credit, and repairing to the woods tackled an immense redwood tree, having seen how others did it. I scaffold up above the spurs, mounted the scaffold, and, full of enthusiasm, fell to work dealing giant blows. Finding after some time that I had not yet penetrated through the bark, I became desperate and putting forth more strength down came the scaffold and the mighty blow aimed at the stubborn bark fell upon my foot. The noise of my fall brought to my assistance a man who kindly bound up my wound, and told me he had been chopping on the other side of the same tree for some days, and certainly had a prior right. This caused me to reflect, and after mature thought I concluded that a man who had no more judgment than to commence chopping on a tree without first going around it and ascertaining whether or no there was a prior claimant, would not prove a success as a lumber man, and as I had not paid for the ax, and didn't possess the dust with which to perform that honorable duty I would seek other diggings. So I tenderly laid the ax at the foot of the tree, and after assuring my newly made acquaintance, that inasmuch as he had rendered me so great a favor, I would relinquish my claim in and to the premises. I got in with a pack train, and made my way to Yreka, and finally to Humbug. Here I have tried mining but find it uphill work, for I wasn't cut out for a miner."
    So, on this morning of the Fourth, we fixed Crosby up with a "brand new" woolen shirt, tied a big, red handkerchief around his neck, put him on an extemporized platform, and I will say that I never heard a finer effort in this line than he made on this occasion. One thing is sure, from that date commenced his success as an attorney.
    As before, we miners had settled all of our difficulties by arbitration, pistol, or knife, this speech of his aroused our ambition, and we resolved to take a step in the way of civilization. So, a day or two afterward, we called a meeting, elected a Justice of the Peace, and proceeded to persecute each other in a more civilized manner. The result was, more trouble, more shooting, and less dust in our purses.
    The justice was affable, and always ready to receive and welcome "visitors," rendering his decision in the most approved style, to wit: against the miner who had the longest purse. From this date commenced the ''advance of civilization" on Old Humbug. But Crosby was full of paying business, and he and his friends were happy. This inspired our "local bard" to perpetrate the following
"MINER'S LAMENT.
"Air--'Jeannette and Jeannot.'
"Oh, I'm going far away from my creditors just now,
And I have not got the dust to pay--they're kicking up a row;
There's no chance for speculation, and these mines ain't worth a dam,
And I'm none of those unlucky 'coves' that work for Uncle Sam.
   
"There's Jack Taylor swearing vengeance--oh, he says he'll give me 'fits,'
And the Sheriff, he is after me with his pockets full of writs;
And every time I turn I am sure to get a 'dun,'
So the best thing I think I can do is for to 'cut and run.'
   
"When I came into these mines for to help to turn the stream,
I got credit on the strength of that glorious golden dream;
But when we got it done, oh, it proved to be a sham,
And we who dammed the river by our creditors were damned.
   
"There's that durned unlucky fellow that wrote home about the gold,
Oh, he'd ought to be in the place the Bible says ain't cold;
For he wrote about the specimens and lumps of gold so big,
But he never said a word about how hard we had to dig.
   
"Now I'm going far away, and I don't know where to go;
'Twon't do for me to go home again; they'd laugh at me, I know;
For when I came away--oh! I said I'd 'make my pile,'
But if they could only see me now--should rather think they'd smile."
    More about Crosby hereafter.
    Later in the season Study and myself concluded to go to "Scott's Bar," on Scott's River, on a prospecting tour, as the water had given out on our claims; so we "laid over" our claims till winter, and started.
    We, with three other miners, commenced to sink a shaft on what was called "Poor Man's Bar," some two miles below Scott's Bar. This "Poor Man's Bar" had been prospected to some extent before, but as it was very deep and full of large boulders, it was very costly work to sink a shaft there, and all who had tried it had failed, which was why it was called "Poor Man's Bar." The five of us sunk a shaft sixteen feet square and about twenty feet deep, to the bedrock, having to blast many boulders in doing so. We were about four weeks at it, and when we reached bedrock we found that the rock pitched or sloped to the river. We got some eight or ten dollars in small specimens out of a crevice, and, as the rainy season was coming on, and Study and I had very good, paying ground, we concluded to return to Humbug, which we did, as will appear further on.
    We left this bar, and, as we afterward learned, the other three men, in company with another man, sunk another shaft at the edge of the one we had sunk, and running twenty feet toward the river. Reaching bedrock, they cleaned up about $20,000 out of a shaft 16x20 feet, and then sold their claim for a large sum of money to some capitalists, who subsequently flumed the river and took out an immense amount of money.
    This "Poor Man's Bar" proved to be one of the richest bars in Northern California, and furnished further evidence of the truth of the old adage, "a fool for luck," etc.
    At least, I am poor, and blessed with babies, while the men we left went home to the States, full of wealth, and blessing the day they stuck to "Poor Man's Bar" on Scott's River.
    Study and I on hearing how near we had been to a. large fortune, would, while sitting in our lonely log cabin during the evenings, talk of our luck and indulge in a few remarks in regard to luck-fools, etc.
    After a few weeks on "Scott's Bar" we concluded to prospect down Scott's River, and up Klamath to the mouth of Humbug, and on home.
    The distance proved farther than we had contemplated, and as we carried our "outfits," consisting of blankets, pick, pan, shovel and "grub," on our backs, our provisions got low, and we were pushing on up the Klamath River, when one evening, as we were approaching the Humbug trails, we were suddenly surrounded by Indians, who didn't appear to be at all friendly disposed. They "escorted" us to their camp, where a rabble surrounded us and gave every sign of hostility. We had only our "navy" revolvers with us, which would have availed us but little in case of the attack we were satisfied they were meditating; at this moment a young girl came forward and taking a close look at us called to another and older one, she in turn scanned our faces closely, talking rapidly to the surrounding Indians. A painted and ugly-looking Indian came forward and taking a good look at us, asked in broken English and Chinook if we knew the two squaws. We now recognized them as being the two we had fed during the snow storm of the past winter, and they had already recognized us. The Indian said, "good," then left us for a short time, returning with his face clear of paint he said we need fear no danger, as the Indians would not molest us. He conducted us to his lodge and gave us plenty of such food as he had. (They baked their bread in the hot embers, and no better or sweeter bread can be baked by any other mode.)
    We stayed all night and had breakfast with this Indian (who proved to be Chief William) and told him if he would let us across the river in his canoe, we would find our way over the mountain to Humbug. But he persisted in escorting us with eight or ten of his braves across the river and to the summit of the mountain, within five or six miles of Humbug City. He then said, "go quick," "heap bad Injun," "plenty kill 'em white man," "no stop, go!" We had been satisfied from the first that there was something wrong and that we were in imminent danger, but had not supposed that "William's" tribe had as yet gone on the war path. However, upon being told to go, we "stood not on the order of going" but went at once after thanking him, for he refused to take pay.
    On our arrival at Humbug, we found the miners "up in arms," and organizing a company of volunteers to go to Jacksonville, in the Rogue River Valley, Oregon, seventy-five miles north, a courier having brought in word that the Rogue River, Shasta and Klamath Indians had "broke out," and were killing, pillaging, and burning everything before them; and it was believed that the Indians who had just escorted us had killed eight or ten men at the mouth of Humbug a few days before.
    We afterward learned that William's band of Klamaths joined "Old Sam's" and "John's" band of Rogue River Indians, and fought with them throughout the "Rogue River war" of 1853.
    I joined Captain Rhodes' company of "Humbug boys," as also did John Scarbrough, one of my former partners; and we proceeded to Jacksonville, as did Captain Goodall's company of "Yreka boys" and seven or eight soldiers from Fort Jones, under Colonel Aldrich (if my memory don't fail me as regards the name). [Captain Bradford Ripley Alden.] Reaching Jacksonville without adventure, we went into camp near Table Rock on Rogue River.
    From here, twenty-one men, including Crosby and myself, John Alban (Greasy John), "Grizzly," and others, whose names I have forgotten, were sent out as scouts. We were each armed with a "muzzle-loading" rifle, a brace of Colt's "navy" revolvers, and a knife--except Crosby, who had a patent gun with two cylinders, which he could fire sixteen times without reloading. We crossed the mountain to Evans Creek, twenty miles distant, where we "struck the trails" of Indians.
    We followed these trails up the creek some miles, until we were satisfied that the Indians had very recently passed up into the mountains.
    We knew their fighting qualities, Old John's and Sam's bands of "Rogue Rivers" being said to be the bravest Indians and the most stubborn fighters in the Northwest. That the reader may form some idea of their bravery, I will here relate that when one of these renowned chiefs was being taken to the military prison at Alcatraz, near San Francisco, on an ocean steamer, he actually captured the vessel, having no other weapon than a capstan bar; and held the deck for some time before he was overpowered, then as he lay on the deck in irons, he said, grating his teeth, that if he had had one of his warriors to assist him, he would have kept the "hyas kanim" (big canoe). Then many of the brave (?) white men on board wanted to hang him, but the captain told them that an Indian who could do what that one had was too brave a man to suffer such an ignominious death. This is told as a fact, and I have no doubt of its truthfulness. [See the Chief John page for more accurate accounts.]
    But to my story: we returned down the creek a few miles and being hungry made a stop, to let our horses graze awhile, and to partake of such provisions as we had with us.
    Some of us picketed our horses and others "hobbled" theirs on the creek bottom, which was covered with luxuriant grass. We then fell to work in our own interest, and after satisfying our appetites, stretched ourselves on the grass under a few pine trees that grew in the bend of the creek, to rest, while our horses fed. The bottom here was three or four hundred yards wide and the creek running through it was fringed on each side with willows and other brush. From the willows to the foot of the hills, or mountain spurs, was level prairie. The foothills were studded with sugar and "bull pine" trees, and were clear of underbrush. The bend in the creek where we rested was in something the shape of a horseshoe, and our shade trees stood near the center of this bend.
    While resting here, some lying down, others sitting up talking, our horses quietly grazing, none of us suspecting any danger, or that there was an Indian within miles of us, we were suddenly saluted with a volley, and the unearthly yells of hundreds of Indians from the bushes which almost surrounded us. Our horses stampeded, and scattered excepting one that was being held by one of the boys. This he immediately mounted, and "struck out," for our camp on Rogue River. The first glance showed us that we must retreat to the foothills; this we did as fast as we could, assisting our wounded along, leaving our dead as they lay.
    Reaching the timber, we found that seven of our comrades had been killed and that seven more were so badly wounded that they could not stand up after we got them there.
    The one on the horse we believed--and it was soon proved--had escaped and gone after the rest of the company. Our wounded had retained their arms and ammunition.
    The Indians first proceeded to mutilate our dead after their most inhuman fashion, cutting, stabbing and gashing, all the while yelling in the most fiendish manner that the mind of man could conceive. Then, after securing our animals, they swung around on to the mountain above us, so as to work down on us from tree to tree. A few well-directed shots had convinced them that it would not be a healthy undertaking to follow us across the bottom. These movements on their part gave us sufficient time to select our fighting ground. This we made on the first high ground out of gunshot of the bushes along the creek. As good fortune would have it, a log lay across the narrow ridge. Behind this log we laid our wounded, among whom was "Greasy John," severely wounded in the hip. "Grizzly" had fallen and was one of the dead; Crosby fell by the log with the wounded, being, as I supposed at the time, more dangerously wounded than any of the others.
    The Indians gave us but a short time to prepare for them. We all realized upon reaching the friendly trees that we must stop here and fight it out, or leave our wounded comrades to the tender mercies of these inhuman fiends, and even then, in all likelihood, be overtaken and killed in detail ourselves.
    Our only thought was to stand by our comrades, and fight for them and ourselves to the bitter end.
    Those that were able to fight could command two rifles and four revolvers each, as we could use those of our wounded as well as our own. Some of our wounded comrades could load our revolvers when emptied, as a ball that fitted one, would fit all.
    Our respite was short. The Indians, armed with guns, bows and arrows--few of them had revolvers at the time--soon came down on us, jumping from tree to tree for cover, all the time firing and making the mountains re-echo their blood-curdling war-whoop. They seemed determined to "finish us up" there and then, at all hazards. They charged down to within a few yards of our log and trees, but here they met such a withering fire from our Colt's revolvers, that those who were able were only too anxious to retreat to a more respectful distance, and for awhile contented themselves with firing on us from trees behind which they had taken cover. On this first charge there were but five of us on our feet--Crosby lying by the wounded as dead. "Greasy John" and one or two others would from time to time raise on their elbows or to a sitting position, and over their log fire a few well-aimed shots, then sink back faint and exhausted, soon revive, reload, struggle to a position and blaze away until their strength failed. This they repeated during the entire fight. The wounded would load our revolvers and pitch them to us as fast as we emptied them, when we were being pressed by these charges.
    About this time Crosby raised to his feet, having got over his "scare" (as he afterwards acknowledged, for he had lain unhurt all the time). There he stood, his face flushed, his eyes flashing with daring and his repeating rifle firmly grasped, and as his glance took in the position of the five who were stationed around the wounded, under such cover as was most convenient, and our poor and wounded comrades, who in different positions were either engaged in reloading pistols, or helping one another dress their wounds, using pieces of torn shirts or drawers for bandages; then at the few "good Indians," that had fallen so near our log that their friends dare not attempt to remove them, all this time standing in open view amid the firing, and while friendly voices were calling to him to "take cover," his voice rang out clear as a bell and above all other sounds, as he started up the comical song, "Jordan is a hard road to travel." In all my life, I have heard but few voices that could equal his for power and sweetness, and as he leisurely walked to a tree he sang:
"I looked to the east, and I looked to the west,
And I saw a chariot coming
With four bay horses running their best,
To tote you to the other side of Jordan."
    Then his gun sprang to his shoulder, there was a flash, a report, and an Indian's "heel flew up."
    Again "his joyous voice rang out clear and sweet:
"Haul off your jacket,
Roll up your sleeves,
For Jordan is a hard road to travel I believe;"
to the accompaniment of cracking rifles and pistols, our defiant shouts, and the hellish yells of the infuriated Indians; then flash, bang!--another Indian called for. Then, as
"Adam and Eve in the garden of Eden,
Viewing the beauties of nater"--
Bang!--
"The devil stuck his head
    Through a gooseberry bush,
And I hit 'im a whack with a tater.*
And again the trusty rifle would speak its warning, notifying the Indians that we had been reinforced by a giant.
    To try to describe this man, as he jumped from tree to tree, firing, singing, and by turns calling to us to fire "slow and sure," that our friend would soon come back with the rest of the company, would be a difficult undertaking. "Save your bullets, boys," he would say, "till you have a dead thing, then sling 'em in."
    As the Indians would at intervals attempt, in various ways, to get to us under cover, Crosby's voice would again ring out: "Haul off your jacket," etc. This song he continued to sing, from time to time, for hours, to the strange accompaniments described. The "chords were jarring" but they beat none at all.
    Some time after he had come up to the fighting point, and while resting a moment, one of the fingers of his left hand was shot clean off at the second joint. Coming to the tree that I stood behind, he pulled the handkerchief from his neck and one from his pocket, and said, as he looked at the blood spurting from the artery, "Buckeye, tie that up," and again commenced his song, "Jordan is a hard road to travel."
    Suffice it to say, that for some four or five long, weary hours (long they certainly were to us six surrounded men), we struggled to save ourselves and wounded comrades from these inhuman fiends. It would require a more able pen than an old-timer's to portray the scene. At every respite we would gaze at our wounded, then across the flat at the dead, and wonder how much longer we could hold out; then, at the warning of Crosby or some other watchful comrade, we would turn to repulse another attack. "Greasy John" would load a revolver, then grit his teeth and say: "I wouldn't care a d--n if they hadn't shot me" (where it will make riding uncomfortable).
    At last we heard a cheering far above the Indians on the mountain, which assured us that the long looked-for help was at hand. The ground was not to the liking of the Indians for a general fight. So they at once decamped, being warned by the shouts of our advancing friends or by their own lookouts. In a few moments there came dashing among us some dozen or so old miners who had rode their horses till they fell dead or gave out in climbing the mountain, then outstripping the rest on foot, rushed over and down the mountain, the sweat streaming from every pore. In all my life I never saw a more completely given-out lot of men than these, the first to reach us, were on their arrival. They cried, hugged, and patted us on the back by turns. But few words were said until the rest of the command arrived. Then after examining the ground fought over, looking at our dead and caring as best we could for the wounded, came questions from all quarters regarding the fight. All wished to know how the boy "Buckeye" stood fire. I was accorded the praise of having saved the party in the first and most desperate charge, the others saying that I stood uncovered, shooting right and left, apparently as cool as though I was shooting at pigeons. But all agreed that it was Crosby's cool fighting, cheering words, and above all his joyous song during all the other desperate charges, that saved the devoted few from despair and final destruction.
    I mention these facts to show how a scare will act on different persons.
    Crosby always said that when we retreated across the flat to the timber and fell by the log, he was frightened to death, and only recovered after the first charge was repulsed, while all agreed that I had fought like a lion at bay, and probably saved the outfit at first. But I myself was proudly conscious (?) that if I fought at all, it was from instinct, and as a scared boy--for I certainly was as badly, and probably worse scared than Crosby--and had no recollection of helping "Greasy John" across the flat, as they all said I did, nor anything else during the first charge, or until Crosby raised and commenced his song. The facts in the case are, that I was scared into a man, while Crosby came out of his scare and coolly fought and sung into one.
    We afterward learned that our friend who got away had rode as fast as he could to Table Rock and given the alarm, telling our boys that we were all killed, or soon would be, but to hurry to our assistance. This was all-sufficient to call forth their utmost energies, and as soon as a man caught a horse, he galloped away regardless of orders or command, using his own judgment, and straining every nerve to reach us first, regardless of danger; and here a struggle commenced, which lasted for twenty-odd miles, each striving to be the first to the rescue.
    After all of the company came in, we encamped where we were for the night, putting out our guards. Next morning we took up our march to our former camp on Rogue River, carrying with us our dead and wounded. The dead we buried upon our arrival with the honors of war, our wounded we left in the care of the hospitable citizens of Jacksonville, where nearly all the settlers of the valley had assembled for mutual protection.
    We remained in camp here for several days, collecting and killing beeves, and "jerking" the meat. This latter is done by cutting beef into thin slices or strips, it is then salted a little and the strips hung on sticks over a slow fire to dry. When thoroughly dried, it was put up in convenient packages for transportation. This required several days, as we thought best to prepare for a long trail, knowing that the Indians would fight only on their chosen ground.
    While collecting and preparing provisions for the expedition, we amused ourselves by running foot races, jumping and wrestling. We had a man with us by the name of Lout Price, from Cottonwood, California, who outran every one that tested his speed, as I had all that had been pitted against me.
    About this time, General Joseph Lane, accompanied by a Mr. Armstrong, a wealthy gentleman from the Willamette Valley, came to the command. The former took command of the volunteers.
    It is hardly necessary for me to say that General Lane commanded the Indiana volunteers in the Mexican War, and the Oregon volunteers in 1850, against these same Indians (Rogue Rivers). He was then delegate to congress from Oregon Territory, afterward senator, on the admission of Oregon, and, finally, a candidate for the vice-presidency on the ticket with John C. Breckinridge.
    He was a brave and generous frontiersman, self-made, full of resources, and always equal to an emergency. It is said of him that he saved his command in Mexico with his cigar. His command, being encamped, were surprised by a large force of Mexican cavalry. His cannon were ready loaded with grapeshot, but there was no fire with which to "touch them off." Lane saw that these guns must be used to hold the Mexicans in check till his men could form to repulse the charge, or the whole command would be captured. So, as fast as the guns were trained, General Lane would "touch them off" with his lighted cigar, and in this way he saved his command.
    General Lane was Oregon's best friend, wielded more influence in congress than any other man in his day, and it was indeed a "cold day" for the Pacific states and territories, when they lost the strength and influence of this noble old veteran.
    Our officers concluded to send scouts to Evans Creek, to ascertain what route the Indians had taken after our fight. Past experience having taught us that horses were of no use in scouting these mountains, Lout Price was selected to perform this dangerous duty, as he was believed to have more mountain experience, and to be the fleetest of foot of any. (Many thought I could "hold him level" in a long race, but up to this we had never tested our speed, and I guess each of us feared to test the matter.) When I learned that Price had been selected to perform this mission, I requested the privilege of accompanying him, and he gladly seconded my request. After some opposition from older men, my request was granted, for they all knew I was endowed with great endurance.
    Having received our instructions and provided ourselves with a little of the "jerked" beef, we shook hands with our most intimate acquaintances and were set across the river, when we pushed out, up and over the mountain to the scene of our former battle.
    Thence slowly and cautiously we made our way up Evans Creek, keeping near to or within the bushes that fringed its banks, using every precaution possible to prevent being ambushed or surprised. We could discern no "sign" indicating that Indians had been there since our fight. Toward evening we found it necessary to cross a bald ridge to another small creek that emptied into the one we had been following up.
    After a short rest, we started up a long gentle slope to cross this low elevation. Arriving at the summit, to our surprise we discovered the Indian lodges not more than three hundred yards distant on the other creek. As we took in this sight we were made aware that the Indians had discovered us, about the same time we saw them!
    They "raised the yell" and started for us. We didn't think it necessary to stop to "count noses," but whirled, and struck for Evans Creek and the brush at our best pace. Now was the time to test our speed. But we did not think it wise to stop to arrange a wager--rather run for glory, Evans Creek and the brush; knowing that our only hope of safety was in reaching the friendly bushes before the Indians could get within rifle shot. We dropped our pouches of "jerked" beef, and as we only carried our revolvers and knives, we were in "light running order." Then commenced a race to save our hair, and a more equal one of five or six hundred yards was scarcely ever made, as we strained every nerve. We ran side by side, and as I looked at Price, I thought "you are a good one for not leaving me." Price afterward said he thought the same of me--as we approached the brush Price "panted out" to me, "go up the creek, and hide in the thick underbrush, I'll go downstream. Lay low until dark, then take for the mountains and for camp."
    It being nearly dark and as I didn't think we would be long separated, I acted on Price's orders, believing we could better elude our pursuers.
    On getting well into the brush I crawled up the creek a short distance, making as little noise as possible, and "cached" myself. I could hear Price crashing down through the brush, making as much noise as would a yoke of stampeded oxen, and at once divined his motive, it was to draw the Indians after him and give me an opportunity to escape, as he had confidence in his own ability to outwit and elude his pursuers. I could hear the Indians yelling on his trail, the sounds growing fainter as they passed from my place of concealment.
    At dark I could not hear anything of Price, or the Indians, so I worked my way slowly and cautiously across the creek and toward the mountains, creeping and stopping every few feet to listen at every crack of a twig, or flutter of a disturbed bird. I would grasp my revolver in one hand and with the other feel if my hair was in any way loose. After what seemed to me an interminable time, I came to the edge of the brush, on the opposite side of the creek, then I had to cross a flat some two hundred yards wide to reach the timber at the foot of the mountain. This flat I crossed by crawling in the most cautious manner possible; feeling before me to see that there were no obstructions that might cause me to make sufficient noise to attract the attention of any hostile who might be prowling around, or left near on the watch.
    Upon gaining the timber and mountain I felt comparatively safe, and if Price had only been with me I should have been as happy as a clam at high tide, but as he was not I must do the best I could.
    I studied the lay of the mountains, and the course of the creek, being far above where I had ever crossed before. I knew I would have many spurs and gulches to cross, as I dared not venture down Evans Creek for fear of running onto the Indians. So I slowly pursued my lonesome way, striving to keep parallel with the creek, till I reached the place we had before crossed at, or still better find Price, being satisfied he had eluded his pursuers as I had mine.
    On I went in total darkness for hour after hour. Finally, becoming tired out (as I was continually falling over logs and brush, and getting scratched and bruised), I found a large tree and sat down at its foot to await the rising of the moon, or till daylight. It was dreary and lonely waiting, "but the longest night must come to a close," and this, like all others, at last came to an end. The moon came up toward morning, and shed sufficient light for me to discern my way across the mountains and back to camp, where I arrived about 10 o'clock in the morning, to find the camp in commotion. Price had got in the night before, and, relating our adventures, was severely censured for (as they would have it) "forsaking the boy." He assured them that I would "turn up all hunkey," saying, "he was as 'cool as a cucumber'; and while we were running he could have left me easily, but would not. I left him in the brush near night, and he wouldn't dare cross the mountains from where he was, it was so dark; but after daylight he will come in, you can bet your lives."
    He wouldn't tell them that he had left me in order to decoy the Indians after himself, and thus secure my safety. I verily believe they would have hung this brave and generous man if I hadn't put in an appearance during the day. But, upon my appearing on the bank of the river and hailing for a canoe, there went up a glad shout, and I assure you I didn't have to wait long for a boat. Once in camp, I was fed and questioned: and, when I gave my version of our adventure and Price's generous action, all were ready to "shake," and beg his pardon for the naughty things they had said.
    Afterward, at different times, many of our friends strove to have us pitted against each other in a race, but each of us preferred to let the question rest, and remained of the opinion that the other ran that day to keep up, and was too brave to leave a comrade in peril.
    The command now being well supplied with "jerked beef," and everything being in readiness, we removed across Rogue River and on to Evans Creek, where we camped that night. Next morning we followed the trails of the Indians, which led us high up into the mountains. These trails we followed for some days, when Bob Metcalfe, Lout Price, and myself, who had been acting as scouts, upon gaining the summit of a high ridge, heard the barking of coyote dogs in the canyon below. This assured us that we had at last brought these wily savages to bay, and closer inspection satisfied us that they had selected their position for a struggle.
    General Lane was notified, and was soon on the ridge overlooking the canyon. The command coming up, the order was given to dismount, then leaving the horses in care of a guard, General Lane ordered a charge down the mountain, himself leading, swinging his hat and hurrahing for the man who fired the first shot.
    The Indians had set fire to the dead pitch pine trees and dry brush surrounding their camp, so we had literally to fight in fire and smoke. We reached them in a few moments and there ensued a hand-to-hand struggle which lasted a few minutes.
    General Lane was wounded in the same arm in which he had before received a Mexican ball. His friend, Mr. Armstrong, was killed (shot through the head) [sic]. My partner, John Scarbrough, while fighting by my side, was shot through the heart. He fell, then jumping to his feet said "I'm killed, write!" then fell dead without a struggle (he had a wife and six children in Indiana). The Colonel in command of the seven or eight "regulars" was shot through the shoulder and several others fell dead or badly wounded. I broke off my gun stock in striking an Indian, but this made it all the more handy while in close quarters.
    The Indians soon learned that close quarters wouldn't do for them, so they scattered and fought from behind trees in the midst of the smoke and fire. As my gun was broken and the boys were playing on them at long range in Indian fashion, I went back a short distance and found General Lane sitting on a log with his arm undressed and bleeding. As I approached he asked why I was not down with the "boys?" I showed him my gun barrel, and as he knew how it got broken he gave me his shotgun and ammunition saying "break that in the same way if you get the chance." I took it, and our men having formed a skirmish line across the canyon below them and were working up on either side from tree to tree and slowly crowding the enemy from their cover, I advanced up the left side of the canyon till I reached a large sugar pine tree, where I found Tom Hayes (an old soldier of the Mexican War) behind it. He told me he thought we were the farthest up on the left flank so I stopped with him, and was peering into the dense smoke which hovered over the little flat that the Indians occupied. I was able to see but a short distance. Hayes would load his rifle, aim, fire, take a hasty look, and load and fire again. I couldn't see what he was shooting at; finally he remarked that he must have got the sights of his fine target gun moved, and said try my gun and see what ails it. I said that he couldn't see an Indian from where we were.
    He said "yes I do! come on this side of the tree, and look over that big log in front of the big tree," pointing as he spoke. Watch close and you'll see an Indian come up after he has reloaded, he is shooting at the boys below, and hasn't discovered us." (The continuous firing by Whites and Indians, accompanied by their shouts and yells and the barking of the coyote dogs created such a din, that one could scarcely hear the other's voice, much less could you tell by the report what direction a shot was fired from.)
    I gave Tom my shotgun and taking his rifle closely watched the tree he had pointed out to me. I soon saw something rising from behind the log and close to the tree Tom had pointed out, and as it continued to rise I could see through the smoke that it was an Indian, I waited till he raised his gun to shoot, then taking a quick aim at his shoulder I fired, at the crack of the gun he uttered a fierce yell and jumping high in the air (his gun going off as he went up) he fell over the log toward us alighting on his head and shoulders. Someone had made a "good Indian" of that fellow sure. This was too much for Hayes, he sprang out from the tree swinging his hat and shouting at the top of his voice, but he came back faster than he went and with a different cry. The Indians had now discovered our position and a stream of bullets poured at our tree, one of the first passing through Hayes' wrist, breaking both bones. Seeing that it was getting too hot for us where we were, and that Hayes had got a "furlough" and was ready for the pension rolls of his country, we beat a hasty retreat to our comrades below. Fighting continued for some hours when the Indians called to Metcalfe (who had a squaw for a wife) for quarter. After a while General Lane instructed Metcalfe to tell them to come into camp on the ridge where our horses were left and he would treat with them. This they did, giving up their arms. There were two or three hundred warriors alive, but scarcely a dozen of them were without wounds of a more or less serious nature received in one or the other of our two skirmishes.
    We all noted throughout the fighting above all other sounds the shoutings of old chief John, giving his orders and ''medicine cries."
    We encamped for the night on the ridge, the Indians bringing us water from the canyon.
    The next morning we buried our dead on the battlefield, then constructed litters on which to carry our wounded out of the mountains. This we did by lashing poles to the sides of horses, one horse in front of the other, then stretching a blanket from one pole to the other between the horses, thus forming a cot or litter, upon which we laid those of our wounded who were not able to ride on horseback. All being ready, we took up our line of march over the rough route we had come; much of the way we had to clear a trail of brush and trees with our hatchets to enable the horses carrying the litters to pass. We were several days in reaching Jacksonville, where some of our wounded died soon after. The Indians soon came in and made a treaty of peace with General Lane. We were discharged and returned to our several homes and occupations.
    General Lane afterward secured the passage through congress of a bill allowing each of the volunteers one dollar per day for the time served, and a 160-acre land warrant. I gave my land warrant to Mother, when I next saw her.
    I returned to Humbug and joined my partner, Study, in mining, for some months.
    About this time an incident occurred at Yreka that I deem worthy of note.
    There arrived on the "flats" two boys, aged respectively seventeen and nineteen years. They stopped in a mining cabin about a mile from town. Before obtaining work or finding "paying diggings" they were both stricken with fever. The eldest died, and the other lay in a critical condition before the facts became known to the public.
    One evening a miner came to town and related the circumstances in a gambling saloon, when a sporting woman named "Swan," who was bucking at monte at the time, sprang upon a gambling table, grabbed a hat from the head of one of the dealers and threw into it a handful of money from her purse, saying, "Swan is sorry so much," naming the amount, which was a large sum to contribute, "Boys how much are you sorry?" It would be needless for me to tell an old-timer that the boys were all "sorry." Swan moved from table to table and from saloon to saloon until she was satisfied with the amount collected, then, in company with a doctor and others, she repaired to the cabin, and assisted in preparing the remains for a decent burial. She then caused the other young man to be taken to her own house where she nursed him till he was able to travel, then presenting him with a check for some two thousand dollars--purchased with the money donated--and a ticket for his return to New York. She said, "take this and go home, you have had enough of California life."
    Poor woman! She sleeps in a comparatively unknown grave, where she was laid by the rough hands of warm-hearted miners.
    Hearing that the Modocs and Pit River Indians at or near Klamath lake were killing emigrants who were coming in on that route, I joined a scouting party that was organized by Ben Wright, the noted Indian fighter and scout. Lout Price and "Greasy John" (now recovered from his wound) were of the party.
    We had many skirmishes with these Indians, but sustained no serious loss, until one day our brave friend, "Greasy John" (Alban), started alone on a scout along the margin of a tule lake. He not returning that night, we went in search of him the next morning, and found his body lying in a "pothole" or sink, riddled with bullets. But he left proof of his valor, for beside him lay his gun, pistol and knife, showing that after firing his last shot, he had broken the tubes off both the former and then broke the knife, to prevent the redskins from using them against his friends.
    Noble John! He sleeps with his broken weapons beside him in an unknown grave, where he fell, but his memory is enshrined in the heart of many an old miner.
    We returned to Humbug soon after this, and Study and myself resumed mining.
    That winter I received a letter from my uncle, Samuel Meek, informing me of the whereabouts of my father and the rest of the family, and of their good health. During the next spring my father moved to Yreka with the family.
    Sometime during the summer of 1854, while Allen, Study, Draper, Carwile, myself and others were coming across the Yreka flats, we saw a man coming to meet us. Allen asked me, "Isn't that Bill Adams coming there?" Allen had known him in the States. I replied that I thought it was. He then asked if I thought I was able to collect my pay for helping him drive his cattle over the Cascade trails? "I'll try it at any rate," said I. On meeting, Adams shook hands with Allen, Draper, and Carwile, but didn't seem to recognize me, as I was then "several sizes" larger than I was when he refused to pay me the five dollars. Allen inquired of him if he knew that boy (pointing to me). He replied that my face was familiar, but he couldn't "place me."
    I then stepped up and asked him if he had such a thing as a five-dollar piece in his "breeches?" If so, he would please "fork over," for I had waited long enough for it. He recognized me, and said he didn't think I earned it. I replied: "That makes no difference; I told you when I last saw you, that if we ever met again when I was well and able you would pay me with interest. Now we have met, and I am well, so fork over the dust." He saw that I "meant business," and said, "Well! I'll give it to you rather than have a fuss over it." So he handed me five dollars. I said, "Now the interest!" "How much?" he asked. I said I thought two-and-a-half would be about the proper thing; this he paid me without a word.
    I then said, "Now I propose to 'strife' with you, and you'd better arrange yourself!" Seeing my revolver he thought I was going to shoot him, but I took off my belt and handed it to Allen, telling him to do likewise. He seeing that there was no other doctor in the place, "squared off" and at it we went! I soon found that I had a larger contract on my hands than I had bargained for; but I "stayed with him" till he "sung out." Allen told me I had done well; but I was not in a condition to ornament a ballroom or the dress-circle of a first-class theater for some days after.
    Allen met him some months afterward, gave him another licking, and he fearing, I suppose, that he would eventually get one from Carwile and Draper as well, left the diggings. I never met him afterwards.
    About this time I and one George L. Willey struck "pay" in a deep bar on Humbug. For a short time we got good "pay" ($20 to $30 per day), but getting off the "pay streak," we worked some weeks without getting the "color." Willey becoming discouraged, proposed to sell out, and rather than have a stranger for a partner, I bought his interest myself.
    According to our mining laws we had to "represent our claims" at least one day in each week, so leaving word with Jackson ("Whiskey Jackson" for short) to hire a man for me as soon as he could, I continued in the claim alone. I soon found the "pay streak" again, and was taking out big money, when on going to work one morning I found a notice posted on a tree on one of my claims to the effect that George L. Willey (the same man I had bought it of) had "located this ground."
    Miners now seemed to be "falling from grace;" that is to say, they were not the gentlemen they were the year before (in my opinion).
    For me to say that I tore down that notice and swore a very little is touching it light enough.
    I returned to my cabin, got my revolver, and going back to my claims found Willey at work starting a drift, I asked him what he was doing, and he told me he had located that ground, "Didn't I pay you for this ground?" I asked. "Yes," said he, "but you have forfeited it by not representing it!" I pulled my pistol and told him that if lie didn't leave in a minute he would be in a poor condition to "represent" anything. He left, and called a miners' meeting, at which I proved that I had authorized and requested Jackson to hire a man for me, and that I had been doing all in my power to conform to the miners' laws. The claim was awarded to me and Willey was warned not to molest me in my rights again; but I was not yet rid of him.
    Some days later I went to Jackson's "deadfall." (All the stores were called "deadfalls" by us, for they all sold whiskey as well as miners' supplies; Jackson sold beef in addition.). As I was passing under a shed roof I saw Willey and a miner named Hill talking. Willey had a drifting pick, with which he was amusing himself by picking at a log over his head. I spoke to Hill as I passed, and he asking some question, I stopped and turned toward him. At this instant Willey struck me on the head with the pick, and if Hill had not noticed the movement and partially arrested the blow these reminiscences would not have been written, by me at least. The blow knocked me back against a keg of ax and pick handles. In a second I had jerked out one of them and before I got on my feet, I struck and "caught" Willey on the jaw. Others interfering, we were both carried or assisted to our cabins for "repairs," he with a broken jaw and I with a broken head.
    Some weeks after we had got well we met on the trail, I going down and he coming up. He being a more powerful man than I, I thought I would pass him without a word if he would allow me to do so, but when he came up to me he smiled, as much as to say, "How is your head?" That settled it; I hit him on the nose, and then came the "tug of war." I "got in" one or two more on his face, when he grabbed me up, and laying me down on the trail, was doing a first-class job in the way of polishing my upper works, when some vaqueros came along and pulled him off. I returned to my cabin for "more repairs." I had got a great deal the worst of that "racket."
    Later on we had an election or "miners' meeting" at Round Town, and as I was going down in company with some friends I met Willey coming out of a saloon; his eyes said to me, "Well, how do you feel since our last meeting?" My answer was a "biff" in his face and we went for each other again. I could outstrike him, and got in some good ones, but at last he "muzzled" me and again laid me down and--well, he licked me.
    My friends told me I was a fool to fight such a man with my fists, and I thought so, too, but I had been the aggressor the most of the time.
    Again I met him in "shooting McGee's" saloon in Yreka. I was standing at the bar in company with many others. Study had just poured out a big glass of brandy and I was lighting a cigar when someone crowded in beside me and called for drinks; turning, I saw it was Willey. I snatched Study's glass and saying some appropriate (?) words dashed the brandy into his face. Then we "had it" again, but either the brandy had failed to help his eyesight, or I did better dodging than I had done before, for he was unable to get hold of me and I was putting a "mansard roof" on him fast when he said, "that will do!" I was glad he said it for I hadn't been at all sure of the result.
    I relate the above incident only to prove, that a little brandy properly used will sometimes help a poor fellow out of a tight place.
    Again I must call the attention of the reader to the fact that I am writing wholly from memory, and without a single reference. But every circumstance herein related actually occurred, though I am liable to ''jump a cog" as regards the real order and date of the happening; for a lapse of thirty-five years obliterates dates in my memory.
    On one of our visits to Yreka, Study and I heard that some Mexicans had lassoed a grizzly up in Shasta Valley, ten or twelve miles distant from Yreka, and were bringing him to town for the purpose of having a bear fight. Everyone who could get a horse or mule had gone to see the sport. Study and I rushed around, and finally procured a horse for myself and an old mule for Study. A venerable mule he was! Probably the one that was in the ark with Noah, that is, if that good old man carried any of these long-eared gentry to amuse Shem, Ham and Japhet on the tedious voyage. (Mules' hind legs are nice things to have among children--bad children.) All animals were represented in the ark, to perpetuate their species and qualifications. This being the case, a mule or a railroad man must have had a berth on board, for a railroad man can do more kicking to the square inch than any other animal on God's green earth--unless it be a mule. Away we went, kicking, damning and whipping (for it takes all the above-named persuasion to induce an old mule to a faster gait than a shambling trot--especially damning). Arriving at the scene of action, the grizzly and the. Spaniards were surrounded by a hundred or more men on horseback. They had stopped for awhile to arrange matters with his bearship. The Spaniards had cut a small juniper tree, lopped the limbs, making a drag, worked the bear on to it, and with rawhide ropes or riatas hitched to the tree and the horns of their saddles, were slowly pulling him along. Now and then the bear would get off the boughs, and they would have to work him back again.
    For some time we couldn't get a view of either Spaniards or bear, but all at once the crowd gave away on our side, and we got sight of the bear. Study's mule saw him just as he gave a "snort." This settled it. "Old Noah" (the mule) whirled and started for Yreka, and at every jump he would let off a "Yah-he! Yah-he!" Of course everyone present "raised the yell," and this only lent speed to the mule. Study "sat him" like a Trojan, and sawed his mouth, but having only a snaffle bit, he might as well have pulled at Mount Shasta as at old "Noah's" mouth. This being a level country, we could see Study and his mule for miles, Study's coattails and hair flying straight out, and the mule keeping up his "music."
    When I got to town that evening, I asked Study where "Noah" stopped. "In the stable," he replied.
    Just compare Sheridan's ride on his black horse, from "Winchester, twenty miles away," with Study's ride on his "mool," from a grizzly, "only ten miles from town." Sheridan was eulogized--Study was "chaffed;" Sheridan was well treated--Study "stood the treats."
    About this time a dozen or more miners and sports concluded to go into the mountains for a hunt. So, having provided themselves with a generous supply of provisions (not forgetting the vinegar keg), they started out, and finding a convenient spot, pitched their camp, selecting their cook for the time. This "cook" was a jovial, witty fellow. Hunting commenced, grizzly was their ambition. After several days, some having brought in a grouse or two, others a deer, but none having reported a grizzly, it became the cook's turn to go out, and as he loaded his gun, he said: "You fellers don't know how to hunt grizzlys. I'm going out today, and you bet your boots I'll fetch one to camp." Off he started. He had got but a short distance from camp when, in passing through a "patch" of manzanita brush, he run onto a she-grizzly. Madam Grizzly "made a dive for him," he dropped his gun and "lit out" for camp. As he neared the camp (Mrs. Grizzly only a few yards behind him), he cried out, "Here we come, damn our brave souls!" It is needless to say that her majesty received a warm reception, and stayed at the camp. So did the cook. He said that was the only grizzly he ever lost, and he didn't propose to experiment with them any more.
    I continued mining on Humbug, and near Yreka, till the summer of 1855, when my father concluded to send the family back to the Willamette Valley, and as he could not go with them at the time, I escorted them.
    Hiring two four-mule teams, and a two-horse family carriage we started. There were in our party the two teamsters, myself and a young man, in poor health, who was going to the Willamette, my mother, three sisters and a brother who was six or seven years old. I had a saddle horse along, and my oldest sister (a young lady of sixteen years) generally rode him. All went well, after we crossed the summit of the Siskiyou Mountains (the dividing line between Oregon and California). We met some ox teams loaded with apples going to Yreka. We bought some of their fruit, and pushed on through Rogue River Valley. We had got some distance below Jacksonville, near "Coyote" Evans' ferry, when a friend of mine by the name of Green Linville rode up to us, his horse reeking with sweat, and after speaking pleasantly to my mother he made me know that he wished to speak to me in private, so I told sister to get into the carriage and drive, as I wished to talk with Mr. Linville awhile!
    I mounted the horse and we dropped behind the wagons out of hearing. Linville asked me if I was aware that the Rogue River Indians had again gone on the war path. I told him no! he said "they have! they killed the men with the apple teams shortly after you passed them, I heard at Jacksonville that you were on the road with your family, so I came on as fast as I could to warn you."
    We consulted on the situation, and concluded that as the Indians would not think we had heard of the outbreak, it would be as well for us to go on as to turn back, and probably better, as our turning back would be proof of our having heard of the trouble; so we determined to go on at all hazards, but not to let the teamsters or family know of the danger menacing us, as long as we could help it.
    I told Linville I couldn't asked him to accompany us on so hazardous an expedition. He replied, "You need not, for I shall go without asking, and won't leave you till the folks are in a place of safety."
    I well knew this man's bravery and determination and was only too glad to have his company, but felt that it would be only a sacrifice on his part if we were attacked.
    That evening after a hard drive we crossed the river and camped by a log corral, three or four miles below the mouth of Evans Creek, a favorite camping place of the Indians.
    After feeding the stock, getting supper, and seeing that everything was secure, Linville and I laid down near Mother's bed (the weather being fine, we all slept out of the wagons) . We had concluded to rest our stock this night and make a hard drive for the Umpqua Canyon next day (some forty miles over Cow Creek and Crab Creek hills--a rough road).
    We had also determined to go up to the mouth of Evans Creek, as soon as all was quiet and we could get away, to make a reconnaissance and see if there were any Indians there, and if so, how they appeared. I lay until I thought all were asleep except Linville; I cautiously raised up and was about to crawl off so as not to awake Mother, but it was "no go;" she spoke to me, so I laid down again. After awhile I tried it again, but with a worse result than before, for Mother said "What is the matter with you? You usually sleep like one of the Seven Sleepers, but tonight you are starting up as though you feared something?'' I replied, "Oh pshaw, Mother, give us a rest; I thought I heard the horses making a noise," and down I laid again, resolved to be more careful in my next attempt.
    After waiting till we were sure Mother was asleep, Linville and I crawled out of camp, and as soon as we were out of hearing walked rapidly until we got within a few hundred yards of Evans Creek. We were already aware of the presence of Indians at the old camping ground, for we had heard the beating of sticks and drums (these "drums" are made by stretching wet deer skins over hoops and letting them dry; they beat on them as an accompaniment to their weird singing) . Cautiously creeping forward, we laid behind some brush and watched their movements; they were having a big dance and were painted up; everything went to show that this was a war dance. We lay there watching them until near morning, then quietly went back to our camp.
    Before daylight we had the teamsters up, the mules and horses harnessed and hitched up, and were ready to start as soon as it was light enough to see to drive.
    We had told the teamsters that we feared the Indians were about to go on the war path and we had better go as far as Jump-off Joe Creek for breakfast. This creek received its name from an incident that occurred some years before. Some Oregonians were passing through this country, on their way to California, when one of the party called Joe being out after a lost horse, the Indians got after him. He ran for camp and friends, but on coining to this creek he found himself on top of a bluff some twenty feet high; here he hesitated, the Indians were close after him, and there being no other chance for his escape, his friends seeing his danger cried, "Jump off, Joe; jump off, Joe" Off Joe jumped and came down all right, and soon joined his friends, thus saving his "har." From this incident this creek took the name of Jump-off Joe.
    As soon as it was sufficiently light we were about to start, when Mother declared she could not think of starting without having a cup of coffee, for she would have the sick headache all day if she went without it. Whilst I was trying to argue the case with her we saw thirty or forty Indians mounted upon ponies coming from Evans Creek. Mother seeing them said as she climbed into the carriage, "George, you fear those Indians, and that is why you were so wakeful last night." I said, "You are right, Mother; those Indians are on the war path, but they think we don't know it; so keep the children quiet, and don't let the Indians see that we are afraid of them, and we may escape!" She said not a word, as the Indians were close at hand, but stayed in the carriage with the children.
    The Indians on coming up appeared friendly--asked where we were going? We told them to the Willamette, they then asked for tobacco, and I divided a piece with the head man. They started on and we followed, as they were going the same road that we were. They would go a short distance, then stop to consult, and we would come up and pass them. I generally stopped back with them until the teams passed (they generally stopped at small streams to drink and smoke); when the teams got a short distance ahead, I would gallop up to the wagons. When the Indians overtook and passed us again, I would ride a short distance with them and then drop back to the teams again. This proceeding was repeated several times during the day.
    Finally my eldest sister, becoming tired of the wagons, got on to my horse for a short ride while the Indians were behind us. But as they came up, they made such demonstrations that she became frightened and got into the carriage.
    They at one time tangled up our lead mule team as it was crossing a bridge. I passed in among them and drove their ponies off the bridge laughing all the while. This was all sport (?) so far, but the villains were only awaiting an opportunity to make sure of us without alarming the few settlers who kept wayside inns or hotels along the road. As we passed them, Linville or I would manage to warn them of the danger, but to no purpose, for like rumors were current every week or two, and they paid no attention to our warnings.
    When we got to Cow Creek, near the Umpqua Canyon, we stopped, turned out our teams, and made preparations to camp for the night. The Indians came up and asked us if we were going to stay there all night. We told them yes. In a short time they started on, saying they were going to camp a mile or so below.
    As soon as they were out of sight, I told the teamsters we would hitch up and drive through the canyon during the night.
    But as we had already driven some forty miles that day over a rough and rugged road, our stock was tired, and the teamsters refused to hitch up their mules, declaring there was no danger, and it was only a "scare"--they didn't believe the Indians were on the war path.
    I tried to reason with them, showing our utter inability to protect the family in case of an attack, and told them that Linville and I had planned, long before reaching Cow Creek, to go into camp there, and let the Indians pass us, believing we were going to stay there all night; for, if they knew that we were going to attempt to go through the canyon that night, after traveling as far as we had that day, they would never allow us to escape; that our plans had worked well thus far, and if we remained where we were, I didn't believe there would be one of us left to tell the tale.
    Still they refused to move an inch.
    Linville stopped the argument by picking up a shotgun and saying that if they didn't hitch up and push on through the canyon, he would save the Indians some trouble, for the teams should go, "danger or no danger." This argument proved effectual, as I had in the meantime got hold of another gun. So we hitched up, and pushed on into the canyon.
    This canyon is some ten miles long, and separates what is known as the "Cow Creek country" from the South Umpqua.
    In the days of which I am writing, this canyon was a terror to teamsters. It used to take three or four days to get a wagon through it. To give the reader some idea of what this canyon was at that time, I will relate a story that was current in early days.
    Some packers, while passing through this canyon, found a hat lying on the ground. One of them raised it up and found a man's head under it. The head exclaimed, "Put that hat back, there is a d----d good mule under me yet!"
    I don't vouch for the literal truth of the above, but it was not uncommon to see a whole pack train mired down, the packers unloading and carrying the cargoes to less miry ground, then helping the horses or mules out and repacking them, only to repeat the performance many times while going through this pass.
    Lieutenant Joe Hooker, later known as "Fighting Joe Hooker," afterward expended some $90,000 of government money in building a military road through this pass, and, contrary to the general rule, he did a first-class job for the money expended.
    All through that long, weary night we moved on, over rocks and through mud and water. Toward daybreak we came out at what is now Canyonville--then there was only a "hotel" there. Men, women and children were "give out," as were our mules and horses. Stripping off saddles and harness, we sank down on our blankets to rest, and slept till we were awakened about ten o'clock by a horseman, who came dashing through the canyon. He stopped and told us that the Indians had killed everybody between Jacksonville and the other end of the canyon, and burned all the houses.
    This report was nearly true, as there were only two or three exceptions--one, a Mrs. Niday, and another, Mrs. Harris, with her wounded child.
    These two brave women, after their husbands had fallen dead, seized their guns and defended their homes. How it happened that the Indians allowed these two women to escape, after fighting them for hours, none can tell--but they did.
    This was the commencement of the Rogue River Indian war of 1855-6.
    [If Hunter's account is accurate, it couldn't have taken place on the day of the Breakout of October 9, 1855. He couldn't have avoided seeing the death and burned cabins along the road.]
    We had had a "close call," and I must confess that I was scared worse and for a longer period than at any other time in my life, as during the entire trip from Evans ferry to the mouth of the canyon, I had fully realized that the least thing that would indicate to the Indians that we knew they meant mischief would have precipitated a fight, and as we only had one rifle, a shotgun and three revolvers among five men and one of them sick, hampered with the women and children as we were, there would have been no other alternative than to make the best fight we could with no hope of rescue from any quarter.
    After resting a day and reluctantly taking leave of Linville we continued on our way to the Willamette.
    Linville, I afterward learned, returned to Jacksonville and took part in the war that followed. At its close he returned to Yreka and thence back East.
    Generous, brave Linville, if you are still living and chance to read the poorly worded account of that day and night in the Cow Creek hills and Umpqua Canyon, you will realize that an old-timer never forgets a friend who stood by him in the hour of his greatest peril and need.
George Hunter, Reminiscences of an Old Timer, San Francisco 1887, pages 17-108


    Col. George Hunter is in Washington, trying to secure a pension of $77 a month for injuries received in the Nez Perce Indian war of '77.
"Local Reflections," East Washingtonian, Pomeroy, Washington, February 23, 1889, page 3


    I recently made the acquaintance of one of the best known men, not only in Washington, but in the whole country. His genial smile "adorns" the pension building where he is at present "captain of the watch," enjoying a little sunshine, I might say, after a checkered rough-and-tumble existence spent in the service of his country and his fellow man. His name is "Col. George Hunter," author of "Reminiscences of an Old Timer," "Timus or White Chief of the Palouses" (Indians). This latter is the position Mr. Hunter has filled for the last fourteen years, his experiences being minutely and graphically described, together with his whole life from the cradle to the present time. It took Col. Hunter two years to come from the state of Washington to Washington City, lecturing en route, and selling his book to pay his way, etc. He is here, however, more for business than pleasure. He is here in the interests of the "volunteers," whose services are well known, some of whom served with and under the command of Gen. O. O. Howard in 1877. He wants them  pensioned and taken care of. Col. Hunter was pensioned by the last Congress, it being nearly one of the last acts of President Cleveland's official life at the White House. Col. Hunter served in four Indian wars, from 1850 down. He has seen life in all its phases, even that of "lawmaker as well as lawbreaker" and "book maker," having served a number of terms as state senator in Washington before she became a state.
J. Hegarty, "Hegarty's Grist," Weekly Public Ledger, Memphis, Tennessee, February 25, 1890, page 3
Notes from the Courts.
    The will of the late Elizabeth A. Hunter was filed yesterday. It leaves all her property to her husband, Col. George Hunter, and makes him executor. The paper is dated February 21, 1895.
Washington Times Herald, Washington, D.C., June 5, 1895, page 1


    Col. George Hunter, of Starbuck, this state, who is over 70 years of age, was married in Washington, D.C., to a young lady of 24 years, about a week ago, his first wife having been dead only six months. Colonel Hunter is one of the pioneer Indian fighters of this region, and is well known all over Eastern Washington.
"State News," Washington Standard, Olympia, Washington, February 14, 1896, page 2


    The Farallon sailed last night for Dyea and Skagway with the following list of passengers: …F. J. Cronin …George Hunter, Mrs. George Hunter.…
Seattle Post-Intelligencer, May 3, 1898, page 12


George Hunter and wife, Washington.
Mr. Cronin, Washington.
"Hotel Arrivals: The New England," Seattle Post-Intelligencer, April 26, 1898, page 14


    Joe Surprenant arrived in town last night direct from Dawson City, and while he is not credited with bringing much gold out with him he looks in better health than he was in last July a year ago, when he started for the Klondike country. He came out to attend to some private business and expects to go back to Dawson again soon, as he has some claims that he expects to develop rich. He says that when he left Dawson all the Astoria boys were in good health and while not one was very prosperous, all had good claims and were in good health and spirits. The only bad news that he had to tell was of the death of Colonel George Hunter on December 23. Mr. Surprenant and McTavish attended his funeral. He was a brother of Mrs. Robert Carruthers and about 63 years of age. He had an excellent claim, which is being worked on shares by Frank Green for the widow.
"About the City," Astoria Daily Budget, Astoria, Oregon, February 4, 1899, page 4
Death of George Hunter in Alaska.
    Word has reached Washington of the death of George Hunter in Dawson City, December 25, 1898. Mr. Hunter was well known in this city, having served as captain of the watch in the pension office several years ago. In 1852 he went to the territory known as the Northwest, and for thirty years was a leader in all that the word implies, in Washington, Montana, Idaho and the Dakotas.
    Mr. Hunter served the government in several campaigns against hostile Indians, and as a prospector for gold had no equal in the Northwest. Perhaps the most noticeable trait in his character was his readiness to assist all whom he found in danger or distress, often risking his life to save a miner or a settler from the Indians or to rescue parties who were snowbound in the mountains.
    When word reached the United States that gold had been found in the Klondike Mr. Hunter could not resist the desire to join his old comrades in a journey to the land of gold. He perished, but his memory will survive to encourage others to imitate his devotion to his fellow men. He was a 33rd degree Mason. His daughter, Miss Bertha, who resides in this city, has just received information that her father was buried at Dawson City with appropriate Masonic ceremonies.
Evening Star, Washington, D.C., February 16, 1899, page 12
DIED AT DAWSON CITY.
George Hunter, Once Captain of Watch at the Pension Office.
    Information has just reached here of the death at Dawson City, on Christmas Day, of George Hunter, formerly of this city and at one time Captain of the Watch in the Pension Office. Mr. Hunter's life was an adventurous one, he having served in several Indian campaigns in the Northwest Territory, which has since been formed into the states of Washington, Montana, Idaho, and the Dakotas. When the news of the gold discoveries in the Klondike reached the United States, Mr. Hunter could not resist the old spirit of adventure which led him to penetrate the far West nearly fifty years ago, and started on the journey to the frozen north. He was a thirty-third degree Mason, and was buried at Dawson City, with appropriate Masonic rites. A daughter, Miss Bertha Hunter, resides in this city.
Washington Post, Washington, D.C., February 17, 1899, page 7
COL. GEORGE HUNTER
News Just Received of His Death in the Klondike.
    News has just been received of the death of Colonel George Hunter, a gentleman well known here, at Dawson City, Alaska, on December 23rd.
    Colonel Hunter was formerly a clerk in the pension office at Washington and he was dispatched to the Klondike on official business, and while there he became ill with heart disease, which finally resulted in death.
    Colonel Hunter married Miss Ella Cronin (sister of Mr. Pat Cronin) of this city, and was known here by a large circle of friends.
    He occupied a responsible position in the pension department, and his death is regretted by a large circle of friends.
August Chronicle, Augusta, Georgia, February 27, 1899, page 8
George Hunter Passes Away
    From the Daily Alaskan of January 26 we note the following concerning the death of Col. George Hunter, a brother of our esteemed fellow ciizen, John Hunter, of the Wallicut:
    "Col. George Hunter, the well-known Oregon pioneer and frontiersman, died suddenly on Wednesday, December 21st, 1898, at the cabin of his friend Thomas Leatham, in Dawson City. The Colonel was 63 years old and went to Dawson last June. Though old, he had all the vigor of a Westerner, and it was only lately that his strength appeared to be failing him. On the evening of the 21st, he conversed several hours both fluently and easily, and at last retired, complaining of feeling chilly. His young wife just before retiring became alarmed at his heavy breathing. In a few moments the brave old pioneer was dead, his death being attributed to heart failure
    The Colonel was well known among American plainsmen and frontiersmen, and once wrote a book on reminiscences which had a large sale. He crossed the plains at the age of 14, and engaged in Indian warfare soon afterwards under General Joe Lane of Oregon. He was afterwards a scout in important Indian campaigning. Ten years ago he went as far east as Washington, D.C., and obtained a position in the pension department of the government. Three years ago was married to Miss Ella Cronin, of Augusta, Georgia, the lady who is now left in Dawson. A child was born to them there, which died a short time ago. Mr. Hunter was a thirty-third degree Mason, and at the time of his death held the office of inspector general of Alaska and the Northwest Territory. He was well known all along the Pacific Coast, and his many friends will be pained to learn of his demise in that far land in the north.
Columbia Chronicle, Dayton, Washington, April 1, 1899, page 4.
DEATHS AND FUNERALS
HUNTER--At Dawson, Y.T., December 21, 1899 [sic] Col. George Hunter. Remains were shipped to Augusta, Ga., last night for interment by Bonney & Stewart.
Seattle Post-InTelligencer, July 4, 1901, page 8


    Mrs. George Hunter, of Dawson City, Alaska, is on a visit to her mother, Mrs. Cronin, where she will remain several weeks before returning to her home in the Klondike. Mrs. Hunter is receiving a cordial welcome in this, her old home.
"People You Know," Augusta Chronicle, Augusta, Georgia, July 14, 1901, page 2


  
Last revised May 5, 2026