The Project Gutenberg eBook, The Adventures of Two Alabama Boys, by H. J. Crumpton and Washington Bryan Crumpton This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. Title: The Adventures of Two Alabama Boys Author: H. J. Crumpton and Washington Bryan Crumpton Release Date: February 2, 2015 [eBook #48142] Language: English Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 ***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE ADVENTURES OF TWO ALABAMA BOYS*** E-text prepared by Julia Neufeld and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org) Note: Images of the original pages are available through Internet Archive. See https://archive.org/details/adventuresoftwoa00crum Transcriber's note: This table of contents has been created and added by the transcriber for the reader's convenience. Inconsistencies have been preserved (example: Chapter I and Chapter Two). Dedication Foreword. Part One Part Two Chapter I Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six Part Three Introduction Preface to Letters of the Second Trip Chapter II Chapter Three THE ADVENTURES OF TWO ALABAMA BOYS young boys W. B. CRUMPTON H. J. CRUMPTON "The Boys" as they looked then The Adventures of Two Alabama Boys In Three Sections By H. J. and W. B. Crumpton Part One The Adventures of Dr. H. J. Crumpton, of Piedmont, California, in his efforts to reach the Gold Fields in 1849 Part Two The Adventures of Rev. W. B. Crumpton, going to and returning from California, including his Lecture, "The Original Tramp, or How a Boy Got through the Lines to the Confederacy" Part Three To California and Back after a Lapse of Forty Years Montgomery, Ala. The Paragon Press 1912 Copyright 1912 by W. B. Crumpton T Printed at the Paragon Press Dedication We dedicate the little booklet to our children. Maybe others will be interested also. We are certain there are important lessons here for young people, who are in earnest. For the frivolous and thoughtless there is nothing. "The Boys." Foreword. HE ADVENTURES OF TWO ALABAMA BOYS was prepared some years ago with the view of putting it in book form; but "The Boys" have been so very busy the publication has been delayed. SECTION ONE contains the adventures of Dr. H. J. Crumpton, a native of Wilcox county, but since '49 a citizen of California, now residing on a beautiful spot in Piedmont, a suburb of the city of Oakland. These incidents which he relates, his baby brother, the writer of these lines, heard when he was a scrap of a boy. They made a profound impression on his youthful mind, and he has ever cherished the hope that some day he might see them in print. They were prepared at my earnest solicitation. I feel sure it was no easy task to dig up from memory almost forgotten incidents and put them in shape for the reader. At this writing, though he is advanced in years, past eighty-four, the good wife writes: "He is smart and active as ever—walks fifteen miles and it doesn't feaze him." One of the most noted buildings in San Francisco is that of the Society of California Pioneers, of which Society he is an honored member and a Vice-President. His opinion of politics one can discover by a letter to the writer. He says: "I am forced to the conclusion, after serving in the Legislature of my adopted State several terms and in a local municipality, that politics is a filthy pool." An opinion shared by a good many others. Some are said to be born politicians; but I am sure none were born in the Crumpton family. Every one of the name I have ever known, felt great interest in all public questions and had opinions about them, but office seeking has not been to their liking. A family trait is, an undying love for the old haunts. This caused the old Forty Niner, when he possessed the means to do so, to purchase the old farm of his father, fulfilling in part, no doubt, a dream of his youthful days. Though in the land of the enemy he was loyal to the South during the war between the States, proving his faith by his works when he invested much of his means in Confederate Bonds. The Confederacy failing, of course this was a clear loss to him. Just at the breaking out of the Civil War, he returned to California to look after his interests there and to see what had become of me. If the reader will turn to my letters which follow, he will get the connection. He failed to tell a most interesting event in his history: When a miner, he often took on his knee a wee-bit of a girl, Mattie by name, the daughter of William Jack, a sturdy old Scotch-Irishman, from Beloit, Wis. She called him "sweetheart," and he often took her pledge to be his wife some day. Sure enough, the old bachelor waited, and little Mattie has been for many years the mistress of his home. In one of the most cozy cottages of Sausalito, nestling against the mountain, with the Bay and the City of San Francisco at its front, it was my pleasure to visit the little family some years ago. It had been forty years since I had seen my brother. In her father's home in 1862, near Beloit, I had spent two months delightfully, while stealthily preparing to make my way through the lines to the Confederacy. I know it was in his heart to tell of his wife and his charming daughter, Clara, the light and joy of the home; but the burden of writing was too much, and abruptly he gave up the job. I am glad indeed the Adventures begin with something of the family history. He is the only member of the family remaining who knows anything about it (there are only two of us now). I am mortified that I failed to find out some of the facts from my father, who was so long with me in his old age. My brother, after his adventurous life in the mines, served his adopted State in the Legislature and later settled down, after graduation, to the practice of medicine, a profession he seemed to have a liking for from his boyhood. At this writing he is a citizen of Piedmont, California. He is hale and hearty and says that in 1915, when the Panama Canal is opened, he is going to visit the States again and bring his wife. Every foot of the route across the Isthmus will be familiar, as he crossed it several times, one time partly on foot, before the railroad was completed. W. B. CRUMPTON. Montgomery, Ala. Part One [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] M By H. J. Crumpton The Adventures of Dr. H. J. Crumpton of Piedmont, California, in his efforts to reach the Gold Fields in 1849 Recollections of the family life; Arrival in Alabama; Moves to town; Changes vocation; Becomes a printer; The Mexican War; Starts on his wanderings; The gold excitement; Starts for the Far West; New acquaintances; Another start West; Strikes out all alone; A plunge in the overflow; Falls in with the military; Strikes hands with old friends; Food scarce; Confronted by Indians; Alone again; Reaches California; Loses his oxen; In God's country at last; Gets a job; Takes sail; Hears sad tidings; No pay for services; At Oro City; In the mines; At rough-and-ready; Starts back home; In a wreck; On the Panama; In New Orleans; Finds his brother; Detained in Mobile; Business complications; Back to the mines; Returns to Alabama; Opinion about slavery. decoration Part One Y DEAR Brother Wash: You asked me to prepare some notes on the wanderings of an Alabama Boy. To do this from memory after such a lapse of time will be somewhat inaccurate and prosy, I fear. RECOLLECTIONS OF THE FAMILY LIFE. Our parents were married about 1816. Mother was Miss Matilda Smith Bryan and father Henry T. Crumpton. Both sprang from honorable, well-to-do people from revolutionary sires, who were soldiers of distinction under General Francis Marion. Our maternal grandfather was Rev. Richard Bryan, a Methodist preacher. Our parents started married life in Walterboro, Colleton District, S. C., where were born to them Mary, Richard Alexander, Maranda Ann, Henry Thomas, Hezekiah John, (myself, born Sept. 18, 1828), and William Zachariah; the balance of the ten children, afterwards born in Alabama were James Henderson, Martha Matilda, Jane Eliza, and Washington Bryan, yourself, the baby. All have now passed into the life beyond except you and me. In Walterboro our father developed into something of a plunger in the financial world; made several successful deals, later formed a partnership—the other fellow furnishing experience, our progenitor the "dough." They invested in the purchase and driving of cattle to supply the Charleston beef market. They succeeded well, always re-investing original capital and profit in another and bigger lot, finally meeting a calamity by the drowning of the whole herd in attempting to cross a swollen stream, Broad River, perhaps at its mouth and perhaps from not knowing of the ebb and flow of the tide, though living within forty miles of the coast. With a feeling of disgust, following this financial collapse, our father sought new environment, and by the aid of kins folk loaded up family and household belongings in 1832 and struck out through the wilderness for Alabama, across Georgia through the Chickasaw and Choctaw nations, before the removal of those and other friendly tribes was completed to the territory now forming part of the State of Oklahoma. ARRIVAL IN ALABAMA. After a dreary trip, we safely landed at the delightful home of grandmother Bryan near "Fort Rascal," now Pleasant Hill, Dallas Co. We afterwards moved to old Cahaba, where our father succeeded well in business. The arrival of a steamboat was quite an event, occurring maybe once a month; everybody turned out. They had a crude way of loading cotton. A bale was carelessly turned loose and rolled over our brother Henry, who sustained injuries from which he died. This was such a shock for poor mother, it was determined best to have a change of scenes. Our family removed from old Cahaba to Farmersville, a little hamlet in Lowndes county. One thing about our stay there is vividly remembered. A dear, good old soul, named Ingram, was my school teacher in the log-cabin school house. He didn't know much and didn't try to fool anybody; but he was a great stickler for what he called "etiket"—was bent on teaching his children good manners. Just about all of Friday was devoted to this stunt. It was quite a relief, after we got rid of our bashfulness. The previous four days, twelve hours each, with our prosy studies, put us in good shape for a change on Friday. The dear old fellow managed to work in more or less change of program from time to time; but one inflexible feature was to send one of the girls out of one of the side doors, then detail some boy to go out the other, to escort her back and introduce her to each one of the whole school, an ordeal to which every boy and girl had to be subjected. Some regarded this as a hardship, but to this degenerate son of Adam 'twas always a roaring farce and as good as a circus! Our family about this time came into possession of quite an inheritance, which was added to the proceeds from sale [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] of the effects at Cahaba, and invested in a fine body of land, about the junction of Grindstone and Bear Creeks, in Wilcox county. Our charming new home was built on high ground on Dogwood Level, a little way from the farm, where we had a spring of fine water and plenty of good air. By this time three of us boys were big enough to work and strong, willing workers we were. With no experience and not always guided in our farming, we got along better than neighbors to the manner born, and were learning and doing fairly well. It was perhaps the mistake of a lifetime to accept an offer to sell the whole outfit, at figures far in advance of cost or apparent present value, to people who knew a good thing when they saw it—the Maxwells—a noble acquisition to that then border settlement. MOVED TO TOWN. We moved to the county seat, Barbersville, now Camden, and went into the hotel business. We furnished a good table, clean house, clean beds, was popular and crowded from the start—lots of old family friends from far and near, called for entertaining whom it would have been an outrage on Southern hospitality to tender, or accept compensation. In this way all profits were "chawed up"—a mighty poor way to run a hotel. But we older boys were pretty good hustlers, earned enough to help along, tiding over and in the education of the younger children. My first stunt in that direction was starting an express and stage line. Carried passengers and freight between our town and Bridgeport, nearest landing on the Alabama River. My outfit was a one-horse affair with a highly prized annex —an undersized black cur, "Beaver,"—worthless in the estimation of everyone, other than his affectionate owner. About this time, two enterprising young men from New England started a general store at the landing. On a return trip from the East to buy goods, one of them brought with him a large Newfoundland dog—the first one in those parts, which he "sicked" onto Beaver. Owing to the difference in size, results were quick and one-sided. Seeing me crying in affectionate, helpless distress, the fellow had the heartless bad taste to exultingly ask: "What do you think of that, young man?" My response between sobs was: "You, a big man, made a big dog lick a little boy's little dog. By and by, I will be as big as you and will then do to you what has been done today to my Beaver." Years afterwards, when, perhaps, as the first successful Californian to return, the people of dear old Camden tendered me quite an ovation, he of the dog fight, among them, was loud in expressing welcome and personal admiration, which made it deucedly bad taste in me to allude to the old thing, by saying: "If now the attempt was made to execute the promised retaliation, it would show a malicious, revengeful spirit, without in any way changing what occurred in the long ago, so please consider the incident closed," and so it was with a snap. CHANGE OF VOCATION. Maybe the dog fight prompted a change of vocation to that of mail carrier, on horse back or mule back, the route extending from Cahaba down the river by Cambridge[A] to Prairie Bluff, across the river and up by old Canton, to Camden, Bells Landing, Claiborne, thence to Stockton, in Baldwin county, and serving intervening post offices. It required six days to make a round trip with the seventh day off, Thursday, either at Stockton or the other end. At Stockton, as a government attaché one had the privilege to go on the mail boat to Mobile and return after a stay of five hours—quite a treat for a country boy. Whereas, a day off at the other end involved an extra ride of ten miles to Selma and return, because the contractor lived there, and thus saved the keep of boy and horse in Cahaba. The post office at Cambridge was in the home of a planter, C. M. Cochran, H. J. C. carried the mail into that home many a time, about the time the other Alabama boy was born. Into that home the latter entered in 1870 and took the baby daughter of the old post master to be his wife. The post office has been long known as Crumptonia.—W. B. C. With an ambition to do faithful and efficient service, reckless risks were some times taken. I once got into Flat Creek, when the old worn-out mule was unable to stem the stiff current. We were carried down stream toward the river not far away. A friendly overhanging grape-vine gave me a stopping place and not far below the mule lodged in a submerged tree-top. My lusty yells brought the good Samaritan. When about to swim out to rescue me, he was disgusted when told to first save the mule and mail. This he did in good shape; meantime, I did my own swimming. The water was emptied out of the mail bag, the bag thrown across the saddle, the mule mounted, and away we went for a bridge several miles up the stream. Maybe it was not the same old mule which about a year afterwards laid down and died suddenly, some eight miles from our terminal point, Cahaba. Slinging saddle, bridle, and mail bag over my shoulder, the balance of the trip was made on foot and the mail delivered on time. When next pay day came around, the old contractor placed his own value on the mule and took same out of my wages. My job was thrown up immediately and suit commenced for the amount due, but tiring of the law's delay, the case was allowed to lapse, and the wretch allowed the comfort of having beaten a boy out of hard earned wages. Doubtless he has long since passed to the beyond. He was outwardly a devout and sanctimonious man; if one were sure he is now enjoying a state of heavenly bliss, it would more than justify a belief in universal salvation. BECOMES A PRINTER. My next work was an apprentice in a printing office—a fine school for a boy with an ambition to learn. Those capable of judging soon began to credit me with quick, accurate work. 'Twas a misfortune perhaps, and entailed following hardships to have an early ambition for something beyond—commenced "reading medicine"—generally in hours stolen from sleep or out-door exercise and sunshine. [20] [21] [22] [23] [A] [24] [25] MEXICAN WAR. When the war with Mexico commenced, brothers William and Richard went as volunteers, the latter on a very short enlistment, and afterwards wrote he had declined further service in the ranks, having secured employment more lucrative in the quartermaster's employment. Although not exactly fair thus to leave the old folks alone with a number of younger children, I left for Memphis, Tenn., soon after the other boys went to Mexico and matriculated as a student in a medical college. I paid my way by working between times in a printing office. There I remained for two years and made fine progress. I was still under age, and on some account I concluded there would be but little honor in attaining a degree from that school, so I determined for a time to suspend further efforts in that direction. I was growing up thin and cadaverous looking, longing for out-door life, so I left Memphis with a view of joining brother Richard on the Rio Grande frontier. Upon my arrival at New Orleans, May 1848, peace was declared with Mexico. Concluding that our brothers and all other American troops would come home soon, I returned to our home in Camden. William came before a great while, but Richard wrote he had joined a Major Graham's party soon to leave the Rio Grande frontier to take possession of this recently acquired territory, California, as a part of the rich spoils of war. Upon learning this, my purpose was at once declared to join him as soon as possible, though having next to nothing financially to go on. This was before the finding of gold there had been announced to us. A man, Kilpatrick by name, from Clark county, had been quite sick in Camden, under treatment of Dr. Bryant. More as a nurse than a half-baked doctor, he had been cared for by me also, for which there was quite a sum due. Announcing to him my purpose, and asking payment for amount due, he, like others, was shocked at so desperate an undertaking, but said my claim would be paid as soon as he could obtain money from home. This emergency was soon bridged over by his giving me a check on his folks for the amount. STARTS ON HIS WANDERINGS. So I packed my belongings into a pair of old saddle-bags, which was sent down the river to Mobile. I collected every cent due me in Camden and struck out across country for Kilpatrick's home in Clark county on foot. In those days it was rare to see a decent appearing white chap thus traveling. White folks looked askance and suspicious, and the darkies wondered. It was a comfort to hear a darky say to her companions: "Yander boy haint no po' white trash." She didn't know how scantily filled was my purse. The Kilpatricks treated me like a prince, paid me liberally for services to afflicted relative, urged me to stay with them longer, and bade me Godspeed in my desperate undertaking. Resuming my tramp, it was not far to the Tombigbee, where a steamboat picked me up and in due time landed me in Mobile, where my first care was to hunt up my old saddle-bags. I forgot to pay the consignee, who perhaps thought me a rich planter's son, whose cotton crop he hoped to handle later on. THE GOLD EXCITEMENT. By this time the great gold discoveries were known the world over. At New Orleans I saw a circular sent out from Fort Smith, Ark., "Ho, for California Gold Mines!" It went on to say that an expedition was fitting out at that point, soon to start overland. After some mistakes enroute, I reached Ft. Smith, perhaps in Oct. 1848, to be informed that the expedition was only in its incipiency, not to leave there until the following spring, which was just as well for me, as most of my scanty funds had been used up. I was fortunate indeed in finding work. I was never idle a day, so that within six months, I accumulated quite a little sum. I suppose I had the appearance of being an undersized country boy; but everybody soon saw a quick willingness to do diligently any task given me. 'Twas soon my good fortune to fall in with John F. Wheeler, an old Georgian, who had married a Cherokee—an intelligent, educated woman. They had a number of children, mostly girls, all well behaved. He owned the Fort Smith Herald, put me to work, took me into his family, a delightful, cheerful home. When spring opened, mostly through him, terms were made for my transportation with dear old Charley Hudspeth, who showed the affection of a father for his son. STARTS FOR THE FAR WEST. We left Fort Smith April 12th, 1849, traveled westerly up the Canadian river through the territory of the Choctaws and other of those friendly tribes, who had been moved from Georgia, Alabama and other Southern States. Thence our route of travel was westerly up that river through the present territory of Oklahoma, up onto broad open plains to Sante Fe, Albuquerque, thence down the Rio Grande to near El Paso, thence to Tucson, to the Pimo villages, down the Gila to the Colorado, where Fort Yuma now is, thence across the Great American Desert, and so through arable California to Los Angeles, to San Pedro, thence by Barque Hector, by sea, to San Francisco. Some little distance from Ft. Smith, our route of travel was mostly through low valley lands with a number of rather large streams, with considerable rain, hence our progress was rather slow. After going about 150 miles, my leg became seriously injured from a horse floundering in the mud. This injury in such surroundings grew rapidly more serious. Two reputable medical men in the train gave me kind treatment and rather gloomy prognostications, hinting at the possibilities of amputation. Though they knew no more than this half-baked doctor, everything tended to make me despondent. Just then a young man, whose wealthy father lived in Ft. Smith, and who knew of the friendship of old John Wheeler [26] [27] [28] [29] [30] [31] and family for me, said: "Young fellow, you are in a bad fix. You had better return and let those Wheeler girls and their mother take care of you and you'll soon be as good as new—don't say you can't stand the trip—you can ride horse- back. There is one of my best horses, saddle, bridle and lariat; take them and deliver them to my father at Ft. Smith." Others thought well of this scheme, which rekindled a tender feeling for one of the half-breed Cherokee girls and made me feel homesick. So it did not take much persuasion to start me on the back out trip, dear old Charlie Hudspeth having refunded all I had paid him. Soon afterwards I was taken in for the night by a Choctaw family. Though full blooded Indians, they were intelligent, well-to-do people, who treated me with royal hospitality. I made myself solid with them by saying my people knew their's well and were always on friendly terms with them before removal from Southern States. When they were told of my having lived with the Wheeler family, though the latter were Cherokees, they made me feel very much at home. There was a continuous rain and they prevailed on me to remain until its subsidence—which was not for several days— and had the effect to overflow a large stream nearby. Remembering some of my bad luck in high water when a mail carrier, I determined not to take any chances now—happy indeed in having so good a stopping place. Cleanliness and rest worked wonders in my injured leg within the few days thus waterbound. NEW ACQUAINTANCES. There came along a pack train bound for California and camped on the opposite side of the stream. Tired waiting the subsidence of the flood they hired the Indians to help them across. The Indians constructed a rude raft, on which the trappings and cargoes of the mules and their owners were placed and drawn with ropes across. The Indians, almost naked, were in the water steering the mules across—doing the job in splendid way. This pack train turned out to be a part of a large wagon train, several days in advance of them, whom, from the description, I knew were traveling near my old party. When it came to paying the Indians for their arduous ferry job, the packers did not have ready money enough and, like so many others when dealing with Indians, did not know the importance of being civil. The Indians were very indignant and did not believe that they were short of the ready. Things began to look serious. ANOTHER START WEST. My own physical condition was changing so rapidly for the better, my old enthusiasm for the westward trip only required a little to change my course in that direction; so, to relieve these fellows of their dilemma, I offered to advance the balance due the Indians and go along with them until we overtook their wagon train, when the amount due me should be refunded. This was readily agreed to and the Indians' claim amicably adjusted. The family with whom I had been stopping would accept no compensation for their kindness to me, so I bade them an affectionate adieu and departed. In due time, traveling with the packers, we overtook their wagon train; the amount due me was promptly repaid. My own old party was reported several days ahead. We were then beyond low, swampy land, onto broad, open plains on the border of the Kiowas, Comanches, and other warlike tribes of Indians. We were at a point where most of the teams had crossed from the South to the North side of the Canadian river. STRIKES OUT ALL ALONE. I chose to follow the track of the lesser number, who continued up on the southerly side of that great stream. I passed a number of detached small parties, but soon found myself beyond all in sight, and alone on broad, treeless plains, with now and then a clump of willows or a lone cotton tree, showing where the river was. Thus passed two anxious days. During the afternoon of the third day, several shallow ponds of water were crossed, some a quarter of a mile in extent, but only a few inches deep. A little after dark, I found quite a beaten track, showing a large number of wagons had recently passed; felt somewhat relieved, hoping soon to fall in with some one. A PLUNGE IN THE OVERFLOW. Perhaps about nine o'clock, I came to a body of water, which I mistook for another shallow pond, such as had been previously encountered, but in a little time I was in swimming water, in a strong, rapid current. The horse, as badly panic stricken as the rider, could not, or would not swim and was soon rolling down the current like a barrel. For some time I could not detach my feet from the little yankee stirrups. When released, I swam until able to stand a moment with head above water. The horse was out in the current and neighed pitifully for help. Swimming out to him and catching the bridle, we successfully landed on the same side we started in. Although it was a cool evening, instead of having my only coat on, it hung carelessly on the horn of the saddle, and my Alabama saddle bags and a pair of blankets were thrown loosely across the saddle with some provisions. All these floated down the river. With the lariat, which had fortunately been saved, the horse was picketed on the leeside of a bunch of willows. Covered with the wet saddle blanket, he fared fairly well in the luxuriant grass. To save myself from freezing, I cut with my big jack-knife a lot of willow twigs, and [32] [33] [34] [35] [36] piled them in a heap. Wiggling myself into the center of this, I found a perfect shield from the raw wind and never had a more comfortable, sound sleep all night. I was disgusted with myself in the morning to discover this was the crossing place of the Canadian river of the emigrants who had been traveling up the North side and that when striking their road the night before, 'twas my fate to take the wrong end and was on the back track to Fort Smith, when entering the river. FELL IN WITH THE MILITARY. I resumed a westerly course next morning. After traveling all day, badly scared by plenty of signs of hostile Indians, was overjoyed to see friendly camp-fires ahead, which proved to be a military escort which accompanied us to Santa Fe. They treated me hospitably, after hearing my tale of woe. Up to the time I got into the river, although I had some provisions, I had no relish for them, owing, I suppose, to my fear of Indians, and the uncertainty about the route of travel. I was well prepared now to fill up with the ample lay-out presented by my military entertainers. The incident was mentioned in their report to the Government of Captain Mercey's Santa Fe expedition from Fort Smith Spring of 1849. STRIKES HANDS WITH OLD FRIENDS. I rejoined my old party the next afternoon; was received with surprise and great enthusiasm. The horse and outfit was returned to his owner and dear old Charlie Hudspeth treated me as a returned lost son, sound and well every way, and fully reinstated me as one of the party. I was a general chore boy, looking up camping sites, starting fires, procuring wood and water, driving team, or looking out for stock; most of the time traveled on foot. While a mail carrier, I had learned to ride and stay on most any kind of a "critter." So while enroute, I rode everything placed in my charge, steer, cow, mule or bronco, thus I had many a lift when tired of tramping. We passed through safely the many warlike tribes before reaching New Mexico. By the time we reached Santa Fe, we realized it would take a much longer time to make the trip clear across than at first anticipated and that provisions would be short. FOOD SCARCE. We were disappointed, too, in not being able to replenish by purchase from the Mexicans—only in stinted quantities. We were disappointed also in seeing but few buffaloes, from which source we had expected to get all the additional meat we might require. At that time there were still millions roaming the plains. Their habit was to start from Canada at the approach of winter, feeding Southward, wintering in Northern Texas, Mexico and Indian Territory, starting Northward, as spring approached, back to their Northern feeding grounds. In traveling down the Great Rio Grande Valley, a very rich country from Albuquerque to near El Paso, we were some times able to buy beans. Further on we found an abundance of muskeet—a wild locust which bore a sort of bean, fine food for man or beast. But we had to live on restricted rations for a long time. It was an unwritten law that women and children should eat all they wanted. Being a stunted, undersized boy, just taking on new growth, consequently requiring more than a fully developed man, it was a particular hardship not to be let in as a juvenile with the women. All of us soured. We grew crabbed and cross, forgetting what the Good Book says: "A soft answer turneth away wrath." There were bickerings and quarrels and bloodshed. Presuming on our escape from Indian depredations, we began to grow careless. After leaving the Rio Grande Valley, we camped one night without water,—disappointed in not reaching the Rio Mimbles. Next morning we started early without breakfast. Nearly every one on horse-back shoved out ahead. Soon there was a line of timber in sight, where we felt sure there was water. Having a small band of cattle under my charge, one of them was mounted, and the band crowded ahead. In a little while I was some distance ahead of the train of wagons when, as if springing out of the ground, three Apache Indians, splendidly mounted, confronted me. ALONE CONFRONTED BY INDIANS. My feelings might have found utterance as follows: "Well, boy, there is one chance in a thousand for you to get out of this alive—that one chance consists in concealing from them that you are scared nearly to death." Having picked up considerable Spanish during the short contact with the Mexicans, which the border tribes all speak fluently, they were invited to go into camp with me, that we had some nice presents for them, naming such things as were thought most acceptable to them. In the meantime I had dismounted from my steed and advanced to the one supposed to be the leader and offered to shake hands with him. After a little conversation with his fellows, he seized my hand, not so as to give me pain, but with a grip it would have been useless to pull away from had he willed it otherwise. Being right over me on his horse, he looked at me so piercingly that the effect was transmitted to the region of the stomach, where there was a death-like chilliness. My weight being less, perhaps, than 100 pounds, my uppermost thought was, how easy for him to lift me across his saddle and, with his comrades, fly away to the mountains and have a war dance while burning me at the stake. All this while he was telling how good he thought me. To my surprise the invitation was accepted, and we took up the line of march for camp, one of the yellow devils in the rear and one on each side of the little band of cattle and the badly scared boy who kept jabbering away, afraid to [37] [38] [39] [40] [41] [42] stop lest his knees would give way. They acted on my suggestion to go out and get some horses and mules and bring them in, as we wanted some and would give good prices. ALONE AGAIN. Being left alone by them, I was glad to pile down on the side of the road and wait for the wagon train and go to camp with them. No matter what their original purpose, these Indians never returned to our camp. Another and bigger band had just returned into the same mountain and doubtless were joined by my entertainers with a drove of stock stolen from the Mexicans; but a band of our troops followed and recovered the stock after a sharp fight. These border tribes had for all time gone on such forays according to their own sweet will and got away with the spoils before the poor Mexicans got ready to hit back. Through our late acquisition of territory, these Mexicans received protection from our troops. This the Indians resented, regarding the border settlements as their special preserves, the engagement referred to being the commencement of an interminable war. Our party escaped without trouble, but those behind us and poor Mexicans by the score were destroyed before the almost annihilation of all these border tribes. REACHES CALIFORNIA. After considerable privation, we finally reached California by crossing the Colorado river, where Fort Yuma now is, into the Great American Desert, where we found things more tolerable than anticipated. A large area of the so-called desert is far below the sea-level and there had been a vast inflow of fresh water the past season from the great Colorado river. A rank growth of green grass and other vegetation awaited our coming and deep pools furnished an abundance of pure, cool water. We at last reached settlements where we could replenish our stores and where there was plenty of game. LOST HIS OXEN. Soon after reaching the first settlement, a loose yoke of oxen was lost through my carelessness and I stopped behind to hunt them. I found them after looking thirty-six hours, just at dark the second night, and started with them, on foot, to overtake my party. I had nothing to eat during the time, traveled all night, and next morning at eight o'clock met two of my comrades starting back to hunt me. They had killed a fine, fat deer, and had a four quart bucket full of stewed venison with dumplings made of unbolted flour, a repast fit to set before a king. That layout was set before me and the void from a forty-eight hours' fast was soon filled. The boys stared at the almost empty pail, being told 'twas the first eaten since we parted two days before. IN GOD'S COUNTRY AT LAST. One was justified in feeling, under the circumstances, that at last he had found "God's Country." We now leisurely moved along and reached Los Angeles in due time, where our party broke up. Some sold off their stock; others drove on, or packed through to the southern gold fields; others took shipping for San Francisco. Having nothing to go farther on, it was necessary for me to find work. My employer was old Abel Stearnes, an old settler, a Scotchman, who had married into a noble Castilian family. He was well-to-do, a merchant. When asked what I could do, I replied: "O, anything." "Which means you are trained to nothing!" was his reply. I said: "Not exactly, I am a doctor." With a grunt he mumbled out "You are a h—— of a looking doctor!" GOT A JOB. Agreeing with him on that proposition, I replied: "Well, I don't expect to doctor you, but surely you can use me some way to your benefit and to mine." After thus tantalizing me and taking my measure, he called a peon, whom I found to be an easy boss, and I was placed beside himself digging and shoveling, took his gait, which was much more easy than the Southern darkey. Later on the old man came out and said: "Come in now, we are going to have dinner." This first invitation for a square meal within six months was embarrassing. In my thread-bare, unkempt condition, I felt myself unfit to dine with an elegant family. The old Don took in the situation and walked away, to reappear after perhaps an hour, renewing his invitation, as I supposed, to dine with the servants; but there was a retinue of them to wait on me, no one else at the table. 'Twas a magnificent spread, fit to set before royalty. Knowing very little about liquor of any sort, I did not understand the Don, when he said in setting a well-filled decanter before me: "Here is some fine old dry Sherry; help yourself, it won't hurt you." To verify his last assertion, he poured out a goblet full and tossed it down, smacked his lips, then poured out another for me, which was disposed of as per his request, to discover that there was nothing dry about the transaction except the half-starved immigrant. The servants were amazed, and in a quiet way, had fun among themselves to see the amount of provender absorbed, washed down by the dry liquid condiment. The wit of their party, a bright Indian girl, said in Spanish: "He is little and long with big room inside." They had their own fun, assuming my ignorance of the language, as they spoke in Spanish. This was the commencement of a pleasant stay with the family, as one of them. After a good clean-up and fresh raiment obtained, I did not shovel and pick with the peon any more. I was placed apparently on waiting orders at fair wages while apparently the old Don sized me up. Later on he was taken aback when he found that my purpose was to reach San Francisco as soon as possible. I hoped by being there to be sooner placed in communication with Brother Richard. He then told me he had purposed placing me in his large [43] [44] [45] [46] [47] [48] mercantile establishment, believing the young immigrant to be a trustworthy and competent employe, he wanted me to abandon all thought of San Francisco and the mines, by remaining with him, as more likely to trace our Brother from that point. When told that it was too late, that passage for San Francisco had already been secured on the Barque Hector, then at San Pedro, some twenty miles from Los Angeles, he paid me liberally for my services, gave me a fine pair of Mexican blankets and provisions for the trip. TO TAKE SAIL. Before declaring my plans and purposes to Don Abel, I had met in Los Angeles the owner of the barque, who offered to take me up to San Francisco on credit for part or all of the passage money. At the port of San Pedro, there were so many wanting to go that it was beyond the legal limit. All had to sign papers securing the owner against prosecution for violating the law. The owner turned out to be Capt. Alex Bell, brother to Col. Minter's wife, then living on Mush Creek, near Pleasant Hill, in Alabama. HEARS SAD TIDINGS. In signing my name, he asked: "Are you one of the Alabama Crumptons?" "Yes," was the reply. "Was Dick your brother?" "Yes." "He's dead, poor fellow; died with cholera at Camargo when about to start with Major Graham's party for the Coast." Seeing my distress and shock from such intelligence, he said: "Be of good cheer, my dear boy; Dick was a noble friend to me, I'll be a brother to you." Of course this was comforting. Bell, besides cleaning up quite a lot of money by his passengers, had bought a lot of produce on speculation, jerked beef, dried grapes and corn in the ear. Upon arrival in San Francisco and discharging the passengers, he bought two corn shellers, the only such machines on the coast, and put me to work with others shelling the corn. We did good work and were fed well, an important item for us who had been so long on short rations. The crew of the ship cleared out for the mines. A ship at anchor in port requires considerable work and attention to keep everything in shipshape, work landmen knew nothing about, but we consented to do as best we knew. It wasn't long, however, before the officers of the ship got overbearing and abusive. "D—n your eyes! Avast there!" etc. We struck and went ashore. NO PAY FOR SERVICES. There was quite a sum due me beyond payment of my passage money. This Bell refused to pay, except on condition that there was a return to the ship and the job finished. Refusing to do this, the balance was lost, although he promised to be a brother by proxy. Others sued and got their money. Three others and myself found a job burning charcoal and chopping cord wood from the scrub oaks on the adjacent hills. I remarked to my comrades that I knew nothing about such work. They said it was all right and they would give me a full show and do most of the hard work. It was a standoff, by my cooking and doing other camp duties and marketing our products. Thus we earned enough to get an outfit for the mines. AT ORO CITY. We went on a little sloop to Sacramento and from there up the river to where a man had laid out what he called Oro City. He hired us to clear out snags and sawyers, so as to make Bear river navigable down to its mouth into the Feather river, perhaps two miles below. He offered us $12.00 a day without keep, or $8.00 a day and keep, and a place to sleep in our blankets. To make a dead sure thing we accepted the $8.00 per day and keep. The old man had a nice family, a good, motherly wife and two grown daughters, who made it pleasant for us. We got along and gave satisfaction. We noticed, however, frequent half and sometimes whole days off when we were idle. Notwithstanding such loss of time, we did not complain at first, but grew restive and determined to resume our tramp to the mines. When coming to a settlement we fell far short of getting what we thought justly due. For Sunday we were charged $4.00 for a day's board and the same for each day laid off during the week and $2.00 for each half day that the old fellow failed to furnish work. After accepting these harsh terms, the wise guy of our party vouchsafed the following: "Well, old Rooster, although masquerading as an honest old Missouri farmer, in thus tricking us boys, had we stayed much longer, we'd have been in your debt. In this transaction you have out-yanked the shrewdest Yankee we have thus far met." IN THE MINES. We struck the mines at the mouth of Deer creek, where it empties in the Yuba river, and worked along the banks, finally settling in a comfortable camp where the splendid little mountain city, Nevada, has since grown up. We were lucky in soon having good returns for our work, beyond what the Oro City man had promised us, and so continued until the spring of 1850. Then we secured a promising layout on the upper South Yuba river, perhaps thirty miles away, and commenced active operations to turn the river as soon as the snow water subsided. Results were not satisfactory, blowing into the Yuba Dam all our previous earnings. I returned to Sacramento, lured thither by a $200.00 per month job offered me on my way up to the mines. [49] [50] [51] [52] [53] But the immigration of 1850 was arriving, and Sacramento was full of idle men, glad to work on any terms offered, so my traps were shouldered for a start back for the mines, where a new location was made. AT ROUGH-AND-READY. Met with good success during the following winter, in the spring of 1851 another change was made, to Auburn, then called Woods' Dry Diggings. Here I staid with good success until the fall of 1853. I determined to visit the old folks at home and to finish my medical studies at New Orleans. Accompanying me was my dear old mining partner, Tom Dixon, of Marengo county. STARTS BACK HOME. We started from our California home, Auburn, so as to have several days in San Francisco before the sailing of the Panama steamer. He found a Dr. A. S. Wright, who advertised himself as "Banker and Assayer," who offered Dix a bigger price than anyone else would give for his gold dust, provided he would take draft on New Orleans, payable in sixty days after sight. Besides the $3,000.00 thus disposed of, he had quite a little reserve, which he persisted in "toting" on his person —a source of worry and nervous anxiety, contributing to the general breakdown that followed. IN A WRECK. We left San Francisco in the crack steamship Winfield Scott with an opposition steamer racing us from the start via Nicaragua. At midnight, the second day out, our ship struck a rock and sank. There was a calm sea and plenty of time to save all hands and land them on an adjacent island, Aracapa, with a limited amount of provisions, which were doled out stintedly twice a day. There was rarely enough given out to go around. Out of 500 souls, perhaps as many as twenty-five would get nothing. Tom was nearly always one of them. My little allowance was always shared with him. When reproved for not rushing in with me to secure his share, he replied: "O, Kiah, I don't like to crowd." When assured he would have to go hungry, as I wouldn't divide any longer, he got a move on him and got there with the foremost. There was no water on the island, but the tanks of fresh water on the steamer remained intact and were brought on shore in boats. One day, when assisting in this work and undertaking to help myself to a drink, the cup was knocked from my lips by one of the crew, who said: "Let that water alone until I tell you to drink, you ——." After the fellow was pretty badly used up, the cup was refilled and drank with gusto, with no further molestation. One usually makes friends when showing pluck to resent such an outrage, and this fellow slunk like a whipped cur. When the affray was over, Dick was hard by gritting his teeth, with fists doubled up, just ready for war. ON TO PANAMA. After a ten days stay, we sailed pleasantly to Panama. We had hard experiences in crossing the Isthmus. The railroad had been completed but a few miles at its eastern terminus. As a large number of our comrades had determined to cross on foot, instead of paying a fabulous price for mule hire, we determined to be of the number. Much of my stuff was thrown away to make my pack as light as possible, but Dick was in love with all he had, which he wanted to take home as souvenirs, besides the gold dust strapped to his person. With his heavy load, he soon began to lag; first one article and then another was transferred from his shoulders to mine. He was almost heart broken when we were forced to lighten cargo from time to time, abandoning different things on the march, in order to keep up with our comrades. Upon my releasing him from his incubus of gold dust, he stepped rather spryly for a time. I kept him in front and pushed him along, bullied and scared him by fear of robbers, who we heard of attacking, robbing and some times killing others. Poor fellow, he was used up and collapsed upon reaching the steamer. He was abed most of the time until we reached New Orleans. IN NEW ORLEANS. Upon presentation of his $3,000.00 check, not on a bank, but on a respectable mercantile house, we were told that they knew nothing of the San Francisco Banker and Assayer. As the check was not due for sixty days, they explained the funds might be received with which to pay it. We passed over to Mobile after Dick rested a few days, where, fortunately, we found an old friend of his. It was a great relief to me, as poor Dick had been a burden. Besides the terrible ordeal of other vicissitudes through which we had just passed, was the worry of the probable loss of his $3,000.00 cheap-john chec...