Lorenzo Oatman—His Stay at Fort Yuma—Goes with Dr. Hewit to San Francisco—His constant Misery on Account of his Sisters—Dark Thoughts—Cold Sympathy—Goes to the Mines—Resolves to go to Los Angeles to learn if possible of his Sisters—His earnest but fruitless Endeavors—The Lesson—Report brought by Mr. Roulit of two Captives among the Mohaves—The false Report of Mr. Black—Mr. Grinell—Petitions the Governor—Petitions Congress—The Report of the Rescue of Olive—Mr. Low.
We now ask the reader to trace with us for a few pages, a brief account of the movements and efforts (mainly by her brother) by which this scene had been waked up in the captive home of Miss Olive, and that had extended this new opening for her rescue. In chapter third we left Lorenzo disabled, but slowly recovering from the effect of his bruises, at Fort Yuma. Of the kindness of Dr. Hewit we there spoke.
We here give a narrative of the winding, care-thorned course of the boy of scarce fifteen years, for the next five years, and the ceaseless toil and vigilance he exercised to restore those captive sisters; as we have received the items from his own mouth. It is worth the painstaking that its perusal will cost, showing as it does, a true affection and regard for his kindred, while the discretion and perseverance by which his promptings were guided would do honor to the man of thirty.
He was at Fort Yuma three months, or nearly that time. Dr. Hewit continued to watch over him up to San Francisco, and until he went East, and then provided for him a home. Besides, he did all in his power to aid him in ascertaining some traces of his sisters. At the fort Lorenzo knew that his sisters were captives. He entreated Commander Heinsalman, as well as did others, to make some effort to regain them, but it was vain that he thus pleaded for help. The officers and force at the fort were awake to the reasonableness and justice of his plea. Some of them anxiously longed to make a thorough search for them. They were not permitted to carry the exposed family bread and needed defense, but had been out and seen the spot where they had met a cruel death, and now they longed to follow the savage Apache to his hiding-place, break the arm of the oppressor, and if possible, rescue the living spoil they had taken. The short time of absence granted to Lieutenant Maury and Captain Davis, though well filled up and faithfully, could not reach the distant captives.
At times this brother resolved to arm himself, and take a pack of provisions and start, either to accomplish their rescue or die with them. But this step would have only proved a short road to one of their funeral piles. In June of this year the entire force was removed from the fort to San Diego, except about a dozen men to guard the ferrymen. On the 26th of June, with Dr. Hewit, Lorenzo came to San Francisco. After Dr. Hewit had left for the States he began to reflect on his loneliness, and more deeply than ever upon his condition and that of his sisters. Sometimes he would stray upon the hills at night in the rear of the city, so racked with despair and grief as to determine upon taking his own life, if he could not secure the rescue of the captives. He found the stirring, throbbing life of San Francisco beating almost exclusively to the impulses of gold-hunting. Of acquaintances he had none, nor did he possess any desire to make them.
“Often,” he says, “have I strolled out upon these sidewalks and traveled on until I was among the hills to which these streets conducted me, to the late hour of the night, stung by thinking and reflecting upon the past and present of our family kingdom.” He was given employment by the firm in whose care he had been left by Dr. Hewit. He soon found that tasks were assigned him in the wholesale establishment beyond his years and strength. He seriously injured himself by lifting, and was compelled to leave. “This I regretted,” he says, “for I found non-employment a misery.”
Every hour his mind was still haunted by the one all-absorbing theme! His sisters, his own dear sisters, spirit of his spirit, and blood of his blood, were in captivity. For aught he knew, they were suffering cruelties and abuse worse than death itself, at the hands of their captors. He could not engage steadily in any employment. Dark and distressing thoughts were continually following him. No wonder that he would often break out with utterances like these: “O my God! must they there remain? Can there be no method devised to rescue them? Are they still alive, or have they suffered a cruel death? I will know if I live.”
He had no disposition to make acquaintances, unless to obtain sympathy and help for the one attempt that from the first he had meditated; no temptation to plunge into vice to drown his trouble, for he only lived to see them rescued, if yet alive.
Thus three years passed away, some of the time in the mines and a portion of it in the city. Frequently his sadness was noticed, and its cause kindly inquired after, upon which he would give an outline of the circumstances that had led to his present uncheered condition. Some would weep and manifest much anxiety to do something to aid him in the recovery of his lost kindred; others would wonder and say nothing; others—strangers!—were sometimes incredulous, and scoffed. He knew that the route by which he had reached this country was still traveled by emigrants, and he resolved upon going to Los Angeles with the hope that he might there obtain some knowledge of the state of things in the region of Fort Yuma. Accordingly, in October of 1854, he started for that place, and resolved there to stay until he might obtain some traces of his sisters, if it should take a whole lifetime. He found there those who had lately passed over the road, and some who had spent a short time at the stopping-places so sadly familiar to him. He inquired, and wrote letters, and used all diligence (as some persons now in that region, and others in San Francisco can bear witness) to accomplish the one end of all his care. He worked by the month a part of the time to earn a living, and spent the remainder in devising and setting on foot means to explore the region lying about Fort Yuma and beyond. Thus, in the most miserable state of mind, and in utter fruitlessness of endeavor, passed away almost a year. During the spring of 1855 several emigrants came by this trail. Of them he could learn nothing, only that they had heard at Fort Yuma of the fate of the “family of Oatmans.”
One company there was who told him of a Mr. Grinell, a carpenter at Fort Yuma, who had told them that he knew of the massacre of the Oatman family, and of the captivity of the girls, and that he intended to do all in his power to recover them. He said that their brother, who was left for dead, was now alive, and at Los Angeles; that a letter had been received at the fort from him concerning his sisters, and that he should exert himself to find them out and rescue them. This Mr. Grinell also stated that he had come to Fort Yuma in 1853, and had been making inquiries of the Yumas ever since concerning these captive girls. Beyond this, no ray of light broke upon the thickening gloom of that despairing brother. He tried to raise companions to attend him in the pursuit of them to the mountains. At one time names were registered, and all preparations made by a large company of volunteers, who were going out for this purpose, but a trivial circumstance broke up the anticipated expedition and frustrated the whole plan. And at other times other kindred plans were laid, and well-nigh matured, but some unforeseen occasion for postponement or abandonment would suddenly come up. He found friends, and friends to the cherished ambition of his heart, in whom flowed the currents of a true and positive sympathy, and who were ready to peril life in assisting him in the consummation of his life-object. And often he found this concealed under the roughest garb, while sometimes smooth words and a polished exterior proffered no means of help beyond mere appearance.