Life of a Pioneer: The Autobiography of James S. Brown. James S. Brown
was one called on to guard them, and he promptly complied. The Indians made good company, though they were very nervous, and we had to threaten them frequently to keep them from making a break for liberty. At midnight the guards were changed, and at dawn we made ready to descend to the camp below, arriving there just as the Indians moved off; we had released our prisoners. The Indians soon began to come in from every quarter, all armed. We moved in close order, every man well armed. The savages numbered three to our one; they flanked us and we could see them on every hand, in threatening attitude. In this situation we had to chop and roll logs out of the way, move rock, and make dugways, lifting at and holding wagons to keep them from turning over. Consequently, our progress was slow, and the journey very hazardous. Finally, when we had worked our way carefully along the difficult route, passing over the summit of the great Sierras, which divide the waters of the great deserts from those which flow to the Pacific Ocean, the threatening red men slunk out of sight, and we found a rough camping place, where we lay all night upon our arms, but nothing came to alarm us.
We continued down the canyon and came to a more open country, camping by a river bend where there was good feed, water, and fuel. We had begun to feel more safe from the red men, yet that night they stole in past our guards and took some of our saddle horses which were tied within four or five rods of our wagons. The Indians escaped, and were detected only by our guards hearing them cross the river; this was about 4 a.m. Early in the morning we learned more definitely our loss, and eight or ten of us gave pursuit, following the trail across a sandy country and over the foothills, ultimately succeeding in the recovery of all our horses but one, and for that we captured an Indian pony that had the distemper, as we discovered after it had been turned into our herd. That was one of the hardest day's rides that the writer remembers in all his experiences, for we put our horses through all they could live for. Every moment we were liable to ambush, for the Indians divided into three parties and we did the same. One of our party supposed he had killed an Indian, or certainly wounded him, just as he entered into the thick brush.
It was late the next day when we resumed our journey, and that night we camped in Carson Valley, where we looked on an extensive plain or desert. Being unable to discern any evidences of water, we turned to the north, just under the base of the mountains, traveling over a very hard route, until we came to the Truckee River, where we entered the old emigrant road. We followed that road till we came to the sink of the Humboldt, then called St. Mary's River. The distance was said to be forty-five miles; be that as it may, we were twenty-four hours covering it, and I do not think we had any rest or sleep during the whole trip.
We passed the wonderful Hot or Steamboat Springs. I remember seeing a dog run up to one of them as if to lap the water, and as he did so his feet slipped into the edge of the pool. He was so surprised at the heat that he gave one yelp of pain and jumped into the middle of the spring, stretched out his legs, and never gave another kick. In a very short time the hair was all scalded off him. The incident reminded me of the story of a Dutchman who, when he came to a hot spring, ordered his teamster to drive on, as hell could not be more than a mile away. We did not feel to blame the Dutchman, if the springs were like this; for, from the surroundings, hades did not appear to be far off, and we passed on without any desire to linger about the dreadful place. It was about 4 a.m. when, as we approached the Humboldt River, our horses and cattle hoisted their heads, began to sniff, and broke into a trot; from that they started into a run, and we had enough to do to keep up with them till they reached the water.
We had a short rest, and resumed our journey, for there was no food for our stock, and the water was brackish, so we traveled eight or ten miles and camped for the night. As the grazing was still short, we made a very early start, and were soon joined by two Indians, who remained with us all day and were very friendly. When we camped they stopped with us, and as we had been told the place was a dangerous one for Indians, the presence of these two caused a suspicion that they were spies, and probably would signal their fellows when to attack the train.
We had been in camp only a short time when a white horse was led in. The animal had a slight wound on his wethers and a mark of blood some six inches down on his shoulder. This wound had been caused by the horse rolling on some burned willow stumps, one of the men having seen him roll; and there were on the animal the black marks from the charred wood. Yet some of the camp insisted that the wounds were from Indian arrow's. At this time some one came up from the river and caused a flame of excitement by saying he had seen an Indian skulking in the brush, although he admitted that it might have been a bird or a wild animal, for, while he saw something move, he was not in a position to say just what it was. The discussion now waxed hot, and one man leveled his gun at one of the Indians, declaring he would shoot him. The writer was standing near by and caught the gun to prevent such an act, and was in turn threatened with being shot, when the trouble was stopped by others interfering.
That night, when the camp was called together as usual, for prayers and consultation, and prayers had been said, the same man who had threatened to shoot the Indian moved that we lay by the next day, hunt down all the Indians we could find, and by killing rid the country of the "d—d black rascals." This startling proposition seemed to stun the senses of the men for a moment, for no such spirit had invaded the camp before, our motto being peace on earth, good will to man. The proposition was so repugnant to the writer's feelings that he made his maiden speech in strongly opposing the motion, declaring that if such a cruel step were taken he would be a swift witness against all who engaged in the wicked and savage action; he also asserted that he would inform on them at the earliest opportunity, for as yet the Indians in that vicinity had done us no harm, and it was as much murder to kill one of them as to kill a white man. Others sided with the writer and the matter was dropped.
We passed on up the river until we came to near the narrows or canyon. There some of our stock was wounded by Indian arrows. I do not recall just how many were injured or died from their wounds. The Indians who did the damage kept out of our sight.
I must mention Elder Addison Pratt, who joined us at Sutter's Fort, as he was returning from a five years' mission to the Society Islands, in the South Pacific Ocean. He was a great fisherman, and it was along this part of the route that he used to catch the little speckled trout in such numbers as to attract both our admiration and our gratitude. He would go where no one else would ever think of finding fish, and would meet with wonderful success. In fact, some of the party were so astonished at his good luck that they declared he could catch fish in a cow track. He was a good, jolly soul, and made the best of everything.
Our train journeyed on in peace till we came to Goose Creek, where the writer traded a mare to an Indian, for a mule. The red man was given several articles for the difference. He sauntered around for a little while, then mounted the mule, and away he went, taking the articles with him. The writer pursued alone for four or five miles, and first thing he knew was too near the Indian camp to turn back, so he rushed in among them, dismounted, changed the mare for the mule, and rode off. The Indians looked surprised and frightened, and made no resistance. I never realized the hazard I had taken till the danger was over; then I was glad to rejoin my fellow-travelers.
We crossed Goose Creek Mountains and again struck out into the trackless desert, pioneering our own way, rolling the rocks and cutting the road. We reached the Malad, a very difficult stream to cross, but we succeeded in getting over without serious damage. From there our route lay to the Bear River, which we crossed in safety by blocking up our wagon boxes. I think the crossing was made just above where Bear River City is now located. From there we traveled southward under the base of the mountains to where we found two springs, one of hot water and the other of very cold water, within a very few feet of each other; they flowed in the same gulch or ravine. Along this route we had naught but an Indian trail to guide us. When we reached Box Elder we thought it the finest place we had seen since leaving Carson Valley.
While in California we had learned that the Latter-day Saints had settled near the south end of the Great Salt Lake; and as we had been in sight, from the mountains, of the north end of the lake for some days, we began to feel that we were nearing a place of rest. We journeyed on till we came to the Ogden and Weber rivers, where we found that Captain James Brown, of company C of the Mormon Battalion, and a few of the Saints had settled; the country looked very wild. We still pursued our way southward, till we reached the present site of Salt Lake City, entering the Sixth