The Project Gutenberg eBook, Discovery of the Yosemite, by Lafayette Houghton Bunnell

L. H. Bunnell

DISCOVERY OF THE YOSEMITE,
AND
THE INDIAN WAR OF 1851,
WHICH LED TO THAT EVENT.
BY
LAFAYETTE HOUGHTON BUNNELL, M.D.,
OF THE MARIPOSA BATTALION, ONE OF THE DISCOVERERS,
LATE SURGEON THIRTY-SIXTH REGIMENT
WISCONSIN VOLUNTEERS.
THIRD EDITION—REVISED AND CORRECTED.
FLEMING H. REVELL COMPANY,
NEW YORK: CHICAGO: 30 Union Square: East. 148 and 150 Madison St.

Entered according to Act of Congress in the year 1880-1892, by
L. H. BUNNELL,
In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington.

DEDICATION.
TO THE
HON. CHARLES H. BERRY,
THIS BOOK,
IN REMEMBRANCE OF KINDLY SUGGESTIONS,
IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED.

By Courtesy of the Publishers.

MAP OF THE YO SEMITE NATIONAL PARK

SITUATED IN TUOLUMNE, MARIPOSA, FRESNO, AND MONO COUNTIES, STATE OF CALIFORNIA.

COMPRISING 42 TOWNSHIPS, COVERING AN AREA OF ABOUT 1,500 SQUARE MILES, BEING APPROXIMATELY 960,000 ACRES OF LAND; LESS 36,111 ACRES CONTAINED IN THE “YO SEMITE VALLEY GRANT.” ABOUT 700,000 ACRES OF THE “YO SEMITE NATIONAL PARK” IS MOUNTAINOUS, WELL WATERED, AND HEAVILY TIMBERED WITH PINE, FIR, SPRUCE, HEMLOCK, TAMARACK, OAK, CEDAR, MADROÑA, LAUREL, SEQUOIAS, AND MOUNTAIN MAHOGANY. 260,000 ACRES COMPOSED OF MOUNTAIN VALLEYS, MEADOWS, LAKES, STREAMS, E.T.C.

Copyrighted 1892

INTRODUCTION.

The book here presented is the result of an attempt to correct existing errors relative to the Yosemite Valley. It was originally designed to compress the matter in this volume within the limits of a magazine article, but this was soon found to be impracticable; and, at the suggestion of Gen. C. H. Berry, of Winona, Minnesota, it was decided to “write a book.”

This, too, proved more difficult than at first appeared.

Born in Rochester, New York, in 1824, and carried to Western wilds in 1833, the writer’s opportunities for culture were limited; and in this, his first attempt at authorship, he has found that the experiences of frontier life are not the best preparations for literary effort. Beside this, he had mainly to rely upon his own resources, for nothing could be obtained in the archives of California that could aid him. It was not deemed just that California should forget the deeds of men who had subdued her savages, and discovered her most sublime scenery. Having been a member of the “Mariposa Battalion,” and with it when the Yosemite was discovered, having suggested its name, and named many of the principal objects of interest in and near the valley, it seemed a duty that the writer owed his comrades and himself, to give the full history of these events. Many of the facts incident thereto have already been given to the public by the author at various times since 1851, but these have been so mutilated or blended with fiction, that a renewed and full statement of facts concerning that remarkable locality seems desirable.

While engaged upon this work, the writer was aided by the scientific researches of Prof. J. D. Whitney, and by the “acute and helpful criticism” of Doctor James M. Cole of Winona, Minnesota.

Since the publication of the second edition of this book, and an article from the author’s pen in the Century Magazine for September, 1890, numerous letters of approval from old comrades have been received, and a few dates obtained from old official correspondence that will now be introduced.

In addition to what may properly belong to this history, there have been introduced a few remarks concerning the habits and character of the Indians. This subject is not entirely new, but the opinions expressed are the results of many years acquaintance with various tribes, and may be useful.

The incidental remarks about game will probably interest some. To the author, the study of nature in all its aspects has been interesting.

The author’s views regarding the gold deposits and glaciers of the Sierras are given simply as suggestions.

His especial efforts have been directed to the placing on record events connected with the discovery of the Yosemite, for description of its scenery he feels to be impossible. In reverent acknowledgment of this, there are submitted as a prologue, some lines written while contemplating the grandeur of his subject.

WONDER LAND.

Hail thee, Yosemite, park of sublimity!
Majesty, peerless and old!
Ye mountains and cliffs, ye valleys and rifts.
Ye cascades and cataracts bold!
None, none can divine the wonders of thine,
When told of the glorious view!
The wild world of light—from “Beatitude’s” height,
Old “Rock Chief,”[1] “El Capitan” true!

Thy head proud and high! white brow to the sky!
Thy features the thunderbolts dare!
Thou o’erlookest the wall would the boldest appal
Who enter Yosemite’s “Lair.”[2]
Fair “Bridal Veil Fall!” the queen over all,
In beauty and grace intertwined!
Even now from thy height water-rockets of light
Dart away, and seem floating in wind!

And thou, high “Scho-look!” proud “Ah-wah-ne!” invoke
To receive from “Kay-o-pha”[3] a boon!
That flowing from pines, in the region of vines,
May temper the heat of bright noon.
“Nevada” and “Vernal,” emblems eternal
Of winter and loveliest Spring,
No language so bold the truth can unfold—
No pen can thee offerings bring!

And yet dare I say, of the cool “Vernal Spray,”
In the flash of the bright sun’s power,
I welcome thy “ring,”[4] though a drenching it bring,
The smile of a god’s in the shower!
And thou, “Glacier Fall,”[5] from thy adamant wall,
And winter-bound lakes at thy head—
Thy nymphs never seen, except by the sheen
So fitful from “Mirror Lake’s” bed.

Ye North and South Domes,[6] “Ten-ie-ya’s” lake homes,
“Cloud’s Rest,” and high “Tis-sa-ack” lone;
Mute “Sentinel,” “Brothers,” ye “Starr King,” ye others—
Oh! what of the past have ye known?
To you has been given the mission from heaven
To watch through the ages of earth!
Your presence sublime is the chronicled time,
From the æon the world had birth!

VIEW OF THE YOSEMITE.

Looking up the valley from a height of about 1,000 feet above the Merced River, and above sea level 5,000 feet, giving some faint idea of the beauty, grandeur and magnitude of this magnificent work of nature.

DISCOVERY OF THE YOSEMITE.

CHAPTER I.

Incidents leading to the discovery of the Yosemite Valley—Major Savage and Savages—Whiskey, wrangling and War—Skinned Alive—A brisk Fight—Repulse—Another Fight, and Conflagration.

During the winter of 1849-50, while ascending the old Bear Valley trail from Ridley’s ferry, on the Merced river, my attention was attracted to the stupendous rocky peaks of the Sierra Nevadas. In the distance an immense cliff loomed, apparently to the summit of the mountains. Although familiar with nature in her wildest moods, I looked upon this awe-inspiring column with wonder and admiration. While vainly endeavoring to realize its peculiar prominence and vast proportions, I turned from it with reluctance to resume the search for coveted gold; but the impressions of that scene were indelibly fixed in my memory. Whenever an opportunity afforded, I made inquiries concerning the scenery of that locality. But few of the miners had noticed any of its special peculiarities. On a second visit to Ridley’s, not long after, that towering mountain which had so profoundly interested me was invisible, an intervening haze obscuring it from view. A year or more passed before the mysteries of this wonderful land were satisfactorily solved.

During the winter of 1850-51, I was attached to an expedition that made the first discovery of what is now known as the Yosemite Valley. While entering it, I saw at a glance that the reality of my sublime vision at Ridley’s ferry, forty miles away, was before me. The locality of the mysterious cliff was there revealed—its proportions enlarged and perfected.

The discovery of this remarkable region was an event intimately connected with the history of the early settlement of that portion of California. During 1850, the Indians in Mariposa county, which at that date included all the territory south of the divide of the Tuolumne and Merced rivers within the valley proper of the San Joaquin, became very troublesome to the miners and settlers. Their depredations and murderous assaults were continued until the arrival of the United States Indian commissioners, in 1851, when the general government assumed control over them. Through the management of the commissioners, treaties were made, and many of these Indians were transferred to locations reserved for their special occupancy.

It was in the early days of the operations of this commission that the Yosemite Valley was first entered by a command virtually employed to perform the special police duties of capturing and bringing the Indians before these representatives of the government, in order that treaties might be made with them. These wards of the general government were provided with supplies at the expense of the public treasury: provided that they confined themselves to the reservations selected for them.

My recollections of those early days are from personal observations and information derived from the earlier settlers of the San Joaquin valley, with whom I was personally acquainted in the mining camps, and through business connections; and also from comrades in the Indian war of 1850-51. Among these settlers was one James D. Savage, a trader, who in 1849-50 was located in the mountains near the mouth of the South Fork of the Merced river, some fifteen miles below the Yosemite valley.

At this point, engaged in gold mining, he had employed a party of native Indians. Early in the season of 1850 his trading post and mining camp were attacked by a band of the Yosemite Indians. This tribe, or band, claimed the territory in that vicinity, and attempted to drive Savage off. Their real object, however, was plunder. They were considered treacherous and dangerous, and were very troublesome to the miners generally.

Savage and his Indian miners repulsed the attack and drove off the marauders, but from this occurrence he no longer deemed this location desirable. Being fully aware of the murderous propensities of his assailants, he removed to Mariposa Creek, not far from the junction of the Agua Fria, and near to the site of the old stone fort. Soon after, he established a branch post on the Fresno, where the mining prospects became most encouraging, as the high water subsided in that stream. This branch station was placed in charge of a man by the name of Greeley.

At these establishments Savage soon built up a prosperous business. He exchanged his goods at enormous profits for the gold obtained from his Indian miners. The white miners and prospecting parties also submitted to his demands rather than lose time by going to Mariposa village. The value of his patrons’ time was thus made a source of revenue. As the season advanced, this hardy pioneer of commerce rapidly increased his wealth, but in the midst of renewed prosperity he learned that another cloud was gathering over him. One of his five squaws assured him that a combination was maturing among the mountain Indians, to kill or drive all the white men from the country, and plunder them of their property. To strengthen his influence over the principal tribes, Savage had, according to the custom of many mountain men, taken wives from among them, supposing his personal safety would be somewhat improved by so doing. This is the old story of the prosperous Indian trader. Rumor also came from his Indian miners, that the Yosemites threatened to come down on him again for the purpose of plunder, and that they were urging other tribes to join them.

These reports he affected to disregard, but quietly cautioned the miners to guard against marauders.

He also sent word to the leading men in the settlements that hostilities were threatened, and advised preparations against a surprise.

At his trading posts he treated the rumors with indifference, but instructed the men in his employ to be continually on their guard in his absence. Stating that he was going to “the Bay” for a stock of goods, he started for San Francisco, taking with him two Indian wives, and a chief of some note and influence who professed great friendship.

This Indian, Jose Juarez, was in reality one of the leading spirits in arousing hostilities against the whites.

Notwithstanding Juarez appeared to show regard for Savage, the trader had doubts of his sincerity, but, as he had no fears of personal injury, he carefully kept his suspicions to himself. The real object Savage had in making this trip was to place in a safe locality a large amount of gold which he had on hand; and he took the chief to impress him with the futility of any attempted outbreak by his people. He hoped that a visit to Stockton and San Francisco, where Jose could see the numbers and superiority of the whites, would so impress him that on his return to the mountains his report would deter the Indians from their proposed hostilities.

The trip was made without any incidents of importance, but, to Savage’s disappointment and regret, Jose developed an instinctive love for whiskey, and having been liberally supplied with gold, he invested heavily in that favorite Indian beverage, and was stupidly drunk nearly all the time he was in the city.

Becoming disgusted with Jose’s frequent intoxication, Savage expressed in emphatic terms his disapprobation of such a course. Jose at once became greatly excited, and forgetting his usual reserve, retorted in abusive epithets, and disclosed his secret of the intended war against the whites.

Savage also lost his self-control, and with a blow felled the drunken Indian to the ground. Jose arose apparently sober, and from that time maintained a silent and dignified demeanor. After witnessing the celebration of the admission of the State into the Union—which by appointment occurred on October 29th, 1850, though the act of admission passed Congress on the 9th of September of that year—and making arrangements to have goods forwarded as he should order them, Savage started back with his dusky retainers for Mariposa. On his arrival at Quartzberg, he learned that the Kah-we-ah Indians were exacting tribute from the immigrants passing through their territory, and soon after his return a man by the name of Moore was killed not far from his Mariposa Station. From the information here received, and reported murders of emigrants, he scented danger to himself. Learning that the Indians were too numerous at “Cassady’s Bar,” on the San-Joaquin, and in the vicinity of his Fresno Station, he at once, with characteristic promptness and courage, took his course direct to that post. He found, on arriving there, that all was quiet, although some Indians were about, as if for trading purposes. Among them were Pon-wat-chee and Vow-ches-ter, two Indian chiefs known to be friendly. The trader had taken two of his wives from their tribes.

Savage greeted all with his customary salutation. Leaving his squaws to confer with their friends and to provide for their own accommodations, he quietly examined the memoranda of his agent, and the supply of goods on hand. With an appearance of great indifference, he listened to the business reports and gossip of Greeley, who informed him that Indians from different tribes had come in but had brought but little gold. To assure himself of the progress made by the Indians in forming a union among themselves, he called those present around him in front of his store, and passed the friendly pipe. After the usual silence and delay. Savage said: “I know that all about me are my friends, and as a friend to all, I wish to have a talk with you before I go back to my home on the Mariposa, from which I have been a long distance away, but where I could not stop until I had warned you.

“I know that some of the Indians do not wish to be friends with the white men, and that they are trying to unite the different tribes for the purpose of a war. It is better for the Indians and white men to be friends. If the Indians make war on the white men, every tribe will be exterminated; not one will be left. I have just been where the white men are more numerous than the wasps and ants; and if war is made and the Americans are aroused to anger, every Indian engaged in the war will be killed before the whites will be satisfied.” In a firm and impressive manner Savage laid before them the damaging effects of a war, and the advantages to all of a continued peaceful intercourse. His knowledge of Indian language was sufficient to make his remarks clearly understood, and they were apparently well received.

Not supposing that Jose would attempt there to advocate any of his schemes, the trader remarked, as he finished his speech: “A chief who has returned with me from the place where the white men are so numerous, can tell that what I have said is true—Jose Juarez—you all know, and will believe him when he tells you the white men are more powerful than the Indians.”

The cunning chief with much dignity, deliberately stepped forward, with more assurance than he had shown since the belligerent occurrence at the bay, and spoke with more energy than Savage had anticipated. He commenced by saying: “Our brother has told his Indian relatives much that is truth; we have seen many people; the white men are very numerous; but the white men we saw on our visit are of many tribes; they are not like the tribe that dig gold in the mountains.” He then gave an absurd description of what he had seen while below, and said: “Those white tribes will not come to the mountains. They will not help the gold diggers if the Indians make war against them. If the gold diggers go to the white tribes in the big village they give their gold for strong water and games; when they have no more gold the white tribes drive the gold-diggers back to the mountains with clubs. They strike them down (referring to the police), as your white relative struck me while I was with him.” (His vindictive glance assured Savage that the blow was not forgotten or forgiven.) “The white tribes will not go to war with the Indians in the mountains. They cannot bring their big ships and big guns to us; we have no cause to fear them. They will not injure us.”

To Savage’s extreme surprise, he then boldly advocated an immediate war upon the whites, assuring his listeners that, as all the territory belonged to the Indians, if the tribes would unite the whole tribe of gold-diggers could be easily driven from their country; but, if the gold-diggers should stay longer, their numbers will be too great to make war upon, and the Indians would finally be destroyed. In his speech Jose evinced a keenness of observation inconsistent with his apparent drunken stupidity. Savage had thought this stupidity sometimes assumed. He now felt assured that the chief had expected thereby to learn his plans. To the writer there seems to be nothing inconsistent with Indian craft, keenness of observation and love of revenge in Jose’s conduct, though he was frequently drunk while at “the bay.” While Jose was speaking other Indians had joined the circle around him. Their expressions of approval indicated the effects of his speech. During this time Savage had been seated on a log in front of the store, a quiet listener. When Jose concluded, the trader arose, and stepping forward, calmly addressed the relatives of his wives and the Indians in whom he still felt confidence. The earnest and positive speech of the cunning chief had greatly surprised him; he was somewhat discouraged at the approval with which it had been received; but with great self-possession, he replied, “I have listened very attentively to what the chief, who went with me as my friend, has been saying to you. I have heard all he has said. He has told you of many things that he saw. He has told you some truth. He has told of many things which he knows nothing about. He has told you of things he saw in his dreams, while “strong water” made him sleep. The white men we saw there are all of the same tribe as the gold-diggers here among the mountains. He has told you he saw white men that were pale, and had tall hats on their heads, with clothing different from the gold-diggers. This was truth, but they are all brothers, all of one tribe. All can wear the clothing of the gold-diggers; all can climb the mountains, and if war is made on the gold-diggers, the white men will come and fight against the Indians. Their numbers will be so great, that every tribe will be destroyed that joins in a war against them.”

Jose observing the effects of these statements, excitedly interrupted Savage by entering the circle, exclaiming: “He is telling you words that are not true. His tongue is forked and crooked. He is telling lies to his Indian relatives. This trader is not a friend to the Indians. He is not our brother. He will help the white gold-diggers to drive the Indians from their country. We can now drive them from among us, and if the other white tribes should come to their help, we will go to the mountains; if they follow after us, they cannot find us; none of them will come back; we will kill them with arrows and with rocks.” While Jose was thus vociferously haranguing, other Indians came into the grounds, and the crisis was approaching. As Jose Juarez ended his speech, Jose Rey, another influential chief and prominent leader, walked proudly into the now enlarged circle, followed by his suite of treacherous Chow-chillas, among whom were Tom-Kit and Frederico. He keenly glanced about him, and assuming a grandly tragic style, at once commenced a speech by saying: “My people are now ready to begin a war against the white gold-diggers. If all the tribes will be as one tribe, and join with us, we will drive all the white men from our mountains. If all the tribes will go together, the white men will run from us, and leave their property behind them. The tribes who join in with my people will be the first to secure the property of the gold-diggers.”

The dignity and eloquent style of Jose Rey controlled the attention of the Indians. This appeal to their cupidity interested them; a common desire for plunder would be the strongest inducement to unite against the whites.

Savage was now fully aware that he had been defeated at this impromptu council he had himself organized, and at once withdrew to prepare for the hostilities he was sure would soon follow. As soon as the Indians dispersed, he started with his squaws for home, and again gave the settlers warning of what was threatened and would soon be attempted.

These occurrences were narrated to me by Savage. The incidents of the council at the Fresno Station were given during the familiar conversations of our intimate acquaintanceship. The Indian speeches here quoted are like all others of their kind, really but poor imitations. The Indian is very figurative in his language. If a literal translation were attempted his speeches would seem so disjointed and inverted in their methods of expression, that their signification could scarcely be understood; hence only the substance is here given.

The reports from Savage were considered by the miners and settlers as absurd. It was generally known that mountain men of Savage’s class were inclined to adopt the vagaries and superstitions of the Indians with whom they were associated; and therefore but little attention was given to the trader’s warnings. It was believed that he had listened to the blatant palaver of a few vagabond “Digger Indians,” and that the threatened hostilities were only a quarrel between Savage and his Indian miners, or with some of his Indian associates. Cassady, a rival trader, especially scoffed at the idea of danger, and took no precautions to guard himself or establishment. The settlers of Indian Gulch and Quartzberg were, however, soon after startled by a report brought by one of Savage’s men called “Long-haired Brown,” that the traders’ store on the Fresno had been robbed, and all connected with it killed except himself. Brown had been warned by an Indian he had favored, known as Polonio-Arosa, but notwithstanding this aid, he had to take the chances of a vigorous pursuit.

Brown was a large man of great strength and activity, and as he said, had dodged their arrows and distanced his pursuers in the race. Close upon the heels of this report, came a rumor from the miners’ camp on Mariposa creek, that Savage’s establishment at that place had also been plundered and burned, and all connected with it killed. This report was soon after corrected by the appearance of the trader at Quartzberg. Savage was highly offended at the indifference with which his cautions had been received at Mariposa, and by the county authorities, then located at Agua-Fria. He stated that his wives had assured him that a raid was about to be made on his establishment, and warned him of the danger of a surprise. He had at once sought aid from personal friends at Horse Shoe Bend—where he had once traded—to remove or protect his property. While he was absent, Greeley, Stiffner and Kennedy had been killed, his property plundered and burned, and his wives carried off by their own people. These squaws had been importuned to leave the trader, but had been faithful to his interests. The excitement of these occurrences had not subsided before news came of the murder of Cassady and four men near the San Joaquin. Another murderous assault was soon after reported by an immigrant who arrived at Cassady’s Bar, on the upper crossing of the San Joaquin. His shattered arm and panting horse excited the sympathies of the settlers, and aroused the whole community. The wounded man was provided for, and a party at once started for the “Four Creeks,” where he had left his comrades fighting the Indians.

The arm of the wounded man was amputated by Dr. Lewis Leach, of St. Louis, Mo., an immigrant who had but just come in over the same route. The name of the wounded man was Frank W. Boden. He stated that his party—four men, I believe, besides himself—had halted at the “Four Creeks” to rest and graze their horses, and while there a band of Indians (Ka-we-ahs) came down from their village and demanded tribute for crossing their territory. Looking upon the demand as a new form of Indian beggary, but little attention was paid to them. After considerable bantering talk, some tobacco was given them, and they went off grumbling and threatening. Boden said: “After the Indians left we talked over the matter for a while; none regarded the demand of the ‘Indian tax-gatherers’ but as a trivial affair. I then mounted my horse and rode off in the direction in which we had seen some antelopes as we came on. I had not gone far before I heard firing in the direction of our halting-place.

“Riding back, I saw the house near which I had left my comrades was surrounded by yelling demons. I was discovered by them at the same instant, and some of them dashed toward me. Seeing no possibility of joining my party, I turned and struck my horse with the spurs, but before I could get beyond range of their arrows, I felt a benumbing sensation in my arm, which dropped powerless. Seeing that my arm was shattered or broken, I thought I would give them one shot at least before I fell into their hands. Checking my horse with some difficulty, I turned so as to rest my rifle across my broken arm, and took sight on the nearest of my pursuers, who halted at the same time.”

At this point in his story the hardy adventurer remarked with a twinkle of satisfaction in his bright, keen eye: “I never took better aim in my life. That Indian died suddenly. Another dash was made for me. My horse did not now need the spurs, he seemed to be aware that we must leave that locality as soon as possible, and speedily distanced them all. As soon as the first excitement was over I suffered excruciating pain in my arm. My rifle being useless to me, I broke it against a tree and threw it away. I then took the bridle rein in my teeth and carried the broken arm in my other hand.”

The party that went out to the place of attack—Dr. Thomas Payn’s, now Visalia, named for Nat. Vice, an acquaintance of the writer—found there the mangled bodies of Boden’s four companions. One of these, it was shown by unmistakable evidence, had been skinned by the merciless fiends while yet alive.

These men had doubtless made a stout resistance. Like brave men they had fought for their lives, and caused, no doubt, a heavy loss to their assailants. This, with their refusal to comply with the demand for tribute, was the motive for such wolfish barbarity.

It now became necessary that some prompt action should be taken for general protection. Rumors of other depredations and murders alarmed the inhabitants of Mariposa county. Authentic statements of these events were at once forwarded to Governor John McDougall, by the sheriff and other officials, and citizens, urging the immediate adoption of some measures on the part of the State for the defense of the people. Raids upon the miners’ camps and the “Ranch” of the settlers had become so frequent that on its being rumored that the Indians were concentrating for more extensive operations, a party, without waiting for any official authority, collected and started out to check the ravages of the marauders that were found gathering among the foothills. With but limited supplies, and almost without organization, this party made a rapid and toilsome march among the densely wooded mountains in pursuit of the savages, who, upon report of our movements, were now retreating. This party came up with the Indians at a point high up on the Fresno. In the skirmish which followed a Lt. Skeane was killed, William Little was seriously wounded and some others slightly injured.

This engagement, which occurred on January 11th, 1851, was not a very satisfactory one to the whites. The necessity of a more efficient organization was shown. The Indians had here taken all the advantages of position and successfully repulsed the attack of the whites, who withdrew, and allowed the former to continue their course.

Some of the party returned to the settlements for supplies and reinforcements, taking with them the wounded.

Those who remained, reorganized, and leisurely followed the Indians to near the North Fork of the San Joaquin river, where they had encamped on a round rugged mountain covered with a dense undergrowth—oaks and digger pine. Here, protected by the sheltering rocks and trees, they defiantly taunted the whites with cowardice and their late defeat. They boasted of their robberies and murders, and called upon Savage to come out where he could be killed. In every possible manner they expressed their contempt. Savage—who had joined the expedition—became very much exasperated, and at first favored an immediate assault, but wiser counsels prevailed, and by Captain Boling’s prudent advice, Savage kept himself in reserve, knowing that he would be an especial mark, and as Boling had said, his knowledge of the Indians and their territory could not very well be dispensed with. This course did not please all, and, as might have been expected, then and afterwards disparaging remarks were made.

The leaders in exciting hostilities against the whites were Jose Juarez and Jose Rey. The bands collected on this mountain were under the leadership of Jose Rey, who was also known by his English name of “King Joseph.” The tribes represented were the Chow-chilla, Chook-chan-cie, Noot-chu, Ho-nah-chee, Po-to-en-cie, Po-ho-no-chee, Kah-we-ah and Yosemite. The number of fighting men or warriors was estimated at about 500, while that of the whites did not exceed 100.

It was late in the day when the Indians were discovered. A general council was held, and it was decided that no attack should be made until their position could be studied, and the probable number to be encountered, ascertained. Captain Kuy-ken-dall, Lieutenants Doss and Chandler, and others, volunteered to make a reconnoissance before night should interfere with their purpose.

The scouting party was not noticed until on its return, when it was followed back to camp by the Indians, where during nearly the whole night their derisive shouts and menaces in broken Spanish and native American, made incessant vigilance of the whole camp a necessity. A council was again called to agree on the plan to be adopted. This council of war was general; official position was disregarded except to carry out the decisions of the party or command. The scouts had discovered that this rendezvous was an old Indian village as well as stronghold.

The plan was that an attack should be undertaken at daylight, and that an effort should be made to set fire to the village, preliminary to the general assault. This plan was strongly advocated by the more experienced ones who had seen service in Mexico and in Indian warfare.

Kuy-ken-dall, Doss and Chandler, “as brave men as ever grew,” seemed to vie with each other for the leadership, and at starting Kuy-ken-dall seemed to be in command, but when the assault was made, Chandler’s elan carried him ahead of all, and he thus became the leader indeed.

But thirty-six men were detached for the preliminary service. Everything being arranged the attacking party started before daylight. The Indians had but a little while before ceased their annoyances around the camp. The reserve under Savage and Boling were to follow more leisurely. Kuy-ken-dall’s command reached the Indian camp without being discovered. Without the least delay the men dashed in and with brands from the camp fires, set the wigwams burning, and at the same time madly attacked the now alarmed camp. The light combustible materials of which the wigwams were composed were soon in a bright blaze. So rapid and so sudden were the charges made, that the panic-stricken warriors at once fled from their stronghold. Jose Rey was among the first shot down. The Indians made a rally to recover their leader; Chandler observing them, shouted “Charge, boys! Charge!!” Discharging another volley, the men rushed forward.

The savages turned and fled down the mountain, answering back the shout of Chandler to charge by replying, “Chargee!” “Chargee!” as they disappeared.

The whole camp was routed, and sought safety among the rocks and brush, and by flight.

This was an unexpected result. The whole transaction had been so quickly and recklessly done that the reserve under Boling and Savage had no opportunity to participate in the assault, and but imperfectly witnessed the scattering of the terrified warriors. Kuy-ken-dall, especially, displayed a coolness and valor entitling him to command, though outrun by Chandler in the assault. The fire from the burning village spread so rapidly down the mountain side toward our camp as to endanger its safety. While the whites were saving their camp supplies, the Indians under cover of the smoke escaped. No prisoners were taken; twenty-three were killed; the number wounded was never known. Of the settlers, but one was really wounded, though several were scorched and bruised in the fight. None were killed. The scattering flight of the Indians made a further pursuit uncertain. The supplies were too limited for an extended chase; and as none had reached the little army from those who had returned, and time would be lost in waiting, it was decided to return to the settlements before taking any other active measures. The return was accomplished without interruption.

CHAPTER II.

The Governor of California issues a Proclamation—Formation of the Mariposa Battalion—The Origin and Cause of the War—New Material Public Documents—A Discussion—Capt. Walker—The Peace Commissioners’ Parley and the Indians’ Pow-wow—The Mysterious Deep Valley—Forward, March!

The State authorities had in the meantime become aroused. The reports of Indian depredations multiplied, and a general uprising was for a time threatened.

Proclamations were therefore issued by Gov. McDougall, calling for volunteers, to prevent further outrages and to punish the marauders. Our impromptu organization formed the nucleus of the volunteer force in Mariposa county, as a large majority of the men at once enlisted. Another battalion was organized for the region of Los Angelos. Our new organization, when full, numbered two hundred mounted men. This was accomplished in time, by Major Savage riding over to the San Joaquin, and bringing back men from Cassady’s Bar.

The date from which we were regularly mustered into the service was January 24th, 1851. The volunteers provided their own horses and equipments. The camp supplies and baggage trains were furnished by the State. This military force was called into existence by the State authorities, but by act of Congress its maintenance was at the expense of the general government, under direction of Indian commissioners. Major Ben McCullough was offered the command of this battalion, but he declined it. This position was urged upon him with the supposition that if he accepted it the men who had once served under him would be induced to enlist—many of the “Texan Rangers” being residents of Mariposa county.

Major McCullough was at that time employed as Collector of “Foreign Miners’ Tax,” a very lucrative office. As a personal acquaintance, he stated to me that the position was not one that would bring him honor or pecuniary advantages. That he had no desire to leave a good position, except for one more profitable.

The officers, chosen by the men, recommended to and commissioned by Governor McDougall, were James D. Savage, as Major; John J. Kuy-ken-dall, John Boling, and William Dill, as Captains; M. B. Lewis, as Adjutant; John I. Scott, Reuben T. Chandler, and Hugh W. Farrell, as First Lieutenants; Robert E. Russell, as Sergeant Major; Dr. A. Bronson, as Surgeon, and Drs. Pfifer and Black as Assistant Surgeons. A few changes of Lieutenants and subordinate officers were afterward made.

Upon the resignation of Surgeon Bronson, Dr. Lewis Leach, was appointed to fill the vacancy.

While writing up these recollections, in order to verify my dates, which I knew were not always chronologically exact, I addressed letters to the State departments of California making inquiries relative to the “Mariposa Battalion,” organized in 1851. In answer to my inquiry concerning these known facts, the following was received from Adj. General L. H. Foot. He says: “The records of this office, both written and printed, are so incomplete, that I am not aware from consulting them that the organization to which you allude had existence.” It is a matter of regret that the history of the early settlement of California is, to so great an extent, traditionary, without public records of many important events. It is not deemed just that the faithful services of the “Mariposa Battalion,” should be forgotten with the fading memory of the pioneers of that period. There is in the State, an almost entire absence of any public record of the “Indian war,” of which the discovery of the Yosemite valley was an important episode.

Until the publication of Mr. J. M. Hutching’s book, “In The Heart of The Sierras, Yo Semite, Big Trees, etc.,” which contains valuable public documents, the author of “Discovery of The Yosemite” was, as stated on page 30, unable to obtain any official records concerning the operations of the Mariposa battalion, or of the events which preceded and caused the Indian War of 1851. Now that Mr. Hutching’s persistent industry has brought light from darkness, I interrupt my narrative to make clear the origin of the war, and to justify the early Pioneers engaged in it. As a sample, also, of many obstructions encountered, I insert a few extracts from letters relating to the “Date of Discovery,” furnished the Century Magazine.

The attack made upon Savage on the Merced river in 1850, had for its object plunder and intimidation, and as an invasion of Ten-ie-ya’s territory was no longer threatened after the removal of Mr. Savage to the Mariposa, the Yo Semities contented themselves with the theft of horses and clothing, but a general war was still impending, as may be seen by reference to page 31 of “In The Heart of The Sierras,” where appears: Report of Col. Adam Johnston, a special agent, to Gov. Peter H. Burnett, upon his return from Mariposa county to San Jose, then the Capital of California, and which I here present: San Jose, January 2, 1851. Sir: I have the honor to submit to you, as the executive of the State of California, some facts connected with the recent depredations committed by the Indians, within the bounds of the State, upon the persons and property of her citizens. The immediate scene of their hostile movements are at and in the vicinity of the Mariposa and Fresno. The Indians in that portion of your State have, for some time past, exhibited disaffection and a restless feeling toward the whites. Thefts were continually being perpetrated by them, but no act of hostility had been committed by them on the person of any individual, which indicated general enmity on the part of the Indians, until the night of the 17th December last. I was then at the camp of Mr. James D. Savage, on the Mariposa, where I had gone for the purpose of reconciling any difficulty that might exist between the Indians and the whites in that vicinity. From various conversations which I had held with different chiefs, I concluded there was no immediate danger to be apprehended. On the evening of the 17th of December, we were, however, surprised by the sudden disappearance of the Indians. They left in a body, but no one knew why, or where they had gone. From the fact that Mr. Savage’s domestic Indians had forsaken him and gone with those of the rancheria, or village, he immediately suspected that something of a serious nature was in contemplation, or had already been committed by them.

The manner of their leaving, in the night, and by stealth, induced Mr. Savage to believe that whatever act they had committed or intended to commit, might be connected with himself. Believing that he could overhaul his Indians before others could join them, and defeat any contemplated depredations on their part, he, with sixteen men, started in pursuit. He continued upon their traces for about thirty miles, when he came upon their encampment. The Indians had discovered his approach, and fled to an adjacent mountain, leaving behind them two small boys asleep, and the remains of an aged female, who had died, no doubt from fatigue. Near to the encampment Mr. Savage ascended a mountain in pursuit of the Indians, from which he discovered them upon another mountain at a distance. From these two mountain tops, conversation was commenced and kept up for some time between Mr. Savage and the chief, who told him that they had murdered the men on the Fresno, and robbed the camp. The chief had formerly been on the most friendly terms with Savage, but would not now permit him to approach him. Savage said to them it would be better for them to return to their village—that with very little labor daily, they could procure sufficient gold to purchase them clothing and food. To this the chief replied it was a hard way to get a living, and that they could more easily supply their wants by stealing from the whites. He also said to Savage he must not deceive the whites by telling them lies, he must not tell them that the Indians were friendly; they were not, but on the contrary were their deadly enemies, and that they intended killing and plundering them so long as a white face was seen in the country. Finding all efforts to induce them to return, or to otherwise reach them, had failed, Mr. Savage and his company concluded to return. When about leaving, they discovered a body of Indians, numbering about two hundred, on a distant mountain, who seemed to be approaching those with whom he had been talking.

Mr. Savage and company arrived at his camp in the night of Thursday in safety. In the mean time, as news had reached us of murders committed on the Fresno, we had determined to proceed to the Fresno, where the men had been murdered. Accordingly on the day following, Friday, the 20th, I left the Mariposa camp with thirty-five men, for the camp on the Fresno, to see the situation of things there, and to bury the dead. I also dispatched couriers to Agua Fria, Mariposa, and several other mining sections, hoping to concentrate a sufficient force on the Fresno to pursue the Indians into the mountains. Several small companies of men left their respective places of residence to join us, but being unacquainted with the country they were unable to meet us. We reached the camp on the Fresno a short time after daylight. It presented a horrid scene of savage cruelty. The Indians had destroyed everything they could not use or carry with them. The store was stripped of blankets, clothing, flour, and everything of value; the safe was broken open and rifled of its contents; the cattle, horses and mules had been run into the mountains; the murdered men had been stripped of their clothing, and lay before us filled with arrows; one of them had yet twenty perfect arrows sticking in him. A grave was prepared, and the unfortunate persons interred. Our force being small, we thought it not prudent to pursue the Indians farther into the mountains, and determined to return. The Indians in that part of the country are quite numerous, and have been uniting other tribes with them for some time. On reaching our camp on the Mariposa, we learned that most of the Indians in the valley had left their villages and taken their women and children to the mountains. This is generally looked upon as a sure indication of their hostile intentions. It is feared that many of the miners in the more remote regions have already been cut off, and Agua Fria and Mariposa are hourly threatened.

Under this state of things, I come here at the earnest solicitations of the people of that region, to ask such aid from the state government as will enable them to protect their persons and property. I submit these facts for your consideration, and have the honor to remain,

Yours very respectfully,
Adam Johnston.

To his excellency Peter H. Burnett.

The report of Col. Johnston to Gov. Burnett had the desired result, for immediately after inauguration, his successor, Gov. McDougal, on January 13, 1851, issued a proclamation calling for one hundred volunteers, and this number by a subsequent order dated January 24th, 1851, after receipt of Sheriff James Burney’s report, bearing the same date of the governor’s first call for one hundred men, was increased to “two hundred able bodied men, under officers of their own selection.”

To insure a prompt suppression of hostilities, or a vigorous prosecution of the war, on January 25th, 1851, Gov. McDougal appointed Col. J. Neely Johnson of his staff a special envoy to visit Mariposa county, and in an emergency, to call out additional forces if required, and do whatever seemed best for the interests and safety of the people endangered.

Col. Adam Johnston, before leaving for San Jose, had, as he reported, “dispatched couriers to Agua Fria, Mariposa, and several other mining sections, hoping to concentrate a sufficient force on the Fresno to pursue the Indians into the mountains. Several small companies of men left their respective places of residence to join us, but being unacquainted with the country they were unable to meet us.”

The same apparent difficulties beset Sheriff Burney, as he was able to collect but seventy-four men, but want of knowledge of the country was not the sole cause of delay. The Indians of the mountains at that time having been accustomed to the occupation for many years of despoiling the Californians, were the most expert bare back riders and horse thieves in the world, and when many of us who had horses and mules herding in the valley ranches of the foot-hills and Merced bottoms, sent for them to carry us into the distant mountains of the Fresno, where we had heard the Indians were concentrating, our messengers in many instances found the animals stolen or stampeded, and hence the delay in most instances, though some of the mining population who had arrived in California by water, never seemed able to guide themselves without a compass, and would get lost if they left a beaten trail. As for myself, I could scarcely become lost, except in a heavy fog or snow storm, and upon two occasions in the mountains was compelled to leave my comrades, who were utterly and wilfully lost, but who, finding me the most persistent, finally called to me and followed out to well known land marks.

It will appear by the letter of Major Burney that “The different squads from the various places rendezvoused not far from this place (Agua Fria), on Monday, 6th, and numbered but seventy-four men.” I was at Shirlock’s Creek on the night before, Jan. 5th, 1851, and had promised to join the Major in the morning; but when the morning came, my animals were gone, stolen by Indians from my Mexican herdman.

Mr. C. H. Spencer had sent his servant “Jimmy,” to Snelling’s ranche, on the Merced River, for his animals, and after a delay of perhaps two or three days, they were brought up for use. Mr. Spencer kindly loaned me a mule for temporary use, but upon his having his saddle mule stolen a few nights after, I gave back his mule and bought a fine one of Thos. J. Whitlock, for whom Whitlock’s Creek was named. I had previously been able to start with a small squad on the trail of Major Burney and his brave men, but met some of them returning after the fight, among whom I remember, were Wm. Little, shot through the lungs, but who finally recovered, a Mr. Smith, known as “Yankee Smith,” sick, as he said, “from a bare-footed fool exposure in the snow,” and Dr. Pfifer, who had been given the care of the wounded and sick men. There were several others unknown to me, or whose names I have now forgotten.

The different accounts I received from the men engaged in the fight, were so conflicting, that in referring to it in previous editions, on page 25, I could only say that it “was not a very satisfactory one to the whites.” I could only state the general impression received from Mr. Little’s account, which was that the men had been unnecessarily exposed to cold and danger, and that only by the dash and bravery of the officers and men engaged in the affair were they able to withdraw into a place of temporary safety, until joined by re-inforcements.

Indian fighting was new to most of the men engaged, and, like the soldiers on both sides at the outbreak of the Rebellion, they had been led to expect a too easy victory.

But we have now the report of Major Burney to Gov. McDougal, and also a letter from Mr. Theodore G. Palmer, of Newark, New Jersey, to his father, written five days after the battle, and which has been kindly placed at my disposal. Military men will readily perceive and enjoy the entire artlessness and intended truthfulness of Mr. Palmer’s letter, as well as his modest bravery. The two letters read in connection with that of Col. Adam Johnston, are most valuable in fixing dates and locations for any one with a knowledge of the topography of the country, and of the events they narrate. They set at rest forever the absurd claim that the first battle of the Indian War of 1851 was fought in the Yosemite valley, for the battle was fought on a mountain. Mr. Hutchings, to whose industry so much is due, has strangely overlooked the fact, that the reference to “Monday 6th,” in Major Burney’s letter, could only have reference to Monday, January 6th, 1851, the month in which the letter was written, and not to December, 1850, as given by Mr. Hutchings, in brackets. The 6th of December, 1850, occurred on a Friday; on Tuesday, December 17, 1850, the three men were killed on the Fresno river station of James D. Savage; on Friday, December 20th, 1850, they were buried; on Monday, January 6th, 1851, Major Burney, sheriff of Mariposa County, assembled a strong posse to go in pursuit of the Indian murderers, and coming up with them on a mountain stronghold on Jan. 11th, 1851, destroyed their villages, and then retreated down the mountain some four miles to a plain in the Fresno valley, where he erected a log breastwork for temporary defense. Nothing but the most vivid imagination, coupled with an entire ignorance of the region of the Yosemite, could liken the two localities to each other. The Hetch Hetchy valley of the Tuolumne river and some of the cliffs of the Tuolumne and of the King’s river, bear a general resemblance to some of the scenery of the Yosemite, but when the Yosemite valley itself has been seen, it will never be forgotten by the visitor.

Major Burney’s Letter to Gov. McDougal.

Agua Fria, January 13, 1851.

Sir: Your Excellency has doubtlessly been informed by Mr. Johnston and others, of repeated and aggravated depredations of the Indians in this part of the State. Their more recent outrages you are probably not aware of. Since the departure of Mr. Johnston, the Indian agent, they have killed a portion of the citizens on the head of the San Joaquin river, driven the balance off, taken away all movable property, and destroyed all they could not take away. They have invariably murdered and robbed all the small parties they fell in with between here and the San Joaquin. News came here last night that seventy-two men were killed on Rattlesnake Creek; several men have been killed in Bear Valley. The Fine Gold Gulch has been deserted, and the men came in here yesterday. Nearly all the mules and horses in this part of the State have been stolen, both from the mines and the ranches. And I now, in the name of the people of this part of the State, and for the good of our country, appeal to your Excellency for assistance.

In order to show your Excellency that the people have done all that they can do to suppress these things, to secure quiet and safety in the possession of our property and lives, I will make a brief statement of what has been done here.

After the massacres on the Fresno, San Joaquin, etc., we endeavored to raise a volunteer company to drive the Indians back, if not to take them or force them into measures. The different squads from the various places rendezvoused not far from this place on Monday, 6th, and numbered but seventy-four men. A company was formed, and I was elected captain; J. W. Riley, first lieutenant; E. Skeane, second lieutenant. We had but eight day’s provisions, and not enough animals to pack our provisions and blankets, as it should have been done. We, however, marched, and on the following day struck a large trail of horses that had been stolen by the Indians. I sent forward James D. Savage with a small spy force, and I followed the trail with my company. About two o’clock in the morning, Savage came in and reported the village near, as he had heard the Indians singing. Here I halted, left a small guard with my animals, and went forward with the balance of my men. We reached the village just before day, and at dawn, but before there was light enough to see how to fire our rifles with accuracy, we were discovered by their sentinel. When I saw that he had seen us, I ordered a charge on the village (this had been reconnoitered by Savage and myself). The Indian sentinel and my company got to the village at the same time, he yelling to give the alarm. I ordered them to surrender, some of them ran off, some seemed disposed to surrender, but others fired on us; we fired and charged into the village. Their ground had been selected on account of the advantages it possessed in their mode of warfare. They numbered about four hundred, and fought us three hours and a half.

We killed from forty to fifty, but cannot exactly tell how many, as they took off all they could get to. Twenty-six were killed in and around the village, and a number of others in the chaparrel. We burned the village and provisions, and took four horses. Our loss was six wounded, two mortally; one of the latter was Lieutenant Skeane, the other a Mr. Little, whose bravery and conduct through the battle cannot be spoken of too highly. We made litters, on which we conveyed our wounded, and had to march four miles down the mountain, to a suitable place to camp, the Indians firing at us all the way, from peaks on either side, but so far off as to do little damage. My men had been marching or fighting from the morning of the day before, without sleep, and with but little to eat. On the plain, at the foot of the mountain, we made a rude, but substantial fortification; and at a late hour those who were not on guard, were permitted to sleep. Our sentinels were (as I anticipated they would be) firing at the Indians occasionally all night, but I had ordered them not to come in until they were driven in.

I left my wounded men there, with enough of my company to defend the little fort, and returned to this place for provisions and recruits. I send them to-day re-inforcements and provisions, and in two days more I march by another route, with another re-inforcement, and intend to attack another village before going to the fort. The Indians are watching the movements at the fort, and I can come up in the rear of them unsuspectedly, and we can keep them back until I can hear from Your Excellency.

If Your Excellency thinks proper to authorize me or any other person to keep this company together, we can force them into measures in a short time. But if not authorized and commissioned to do so, and furnished with some arms and provisions, or the means to buy them, and pay for the services of the men, my company must be disbanded, as they are not able to lose so much time without any compensation.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,
James Burney.

In a subsequent letter of Major Burney, addressed to Hon. W. J. Howard, occurs the following passage:

“The first night out you came into my camp and reported that the Indians had stolen all your horses and mules—a very large number; that you had followed their trail into the hill country, but, deeming it imprudent to go there alone, had turned northward, hoping to strike my trail, having heard that I had gone out after Indians. I immediately, at sunset, sent ten men (yourself among the number) under Lieutenant Skeane—who was killed in the fight next day—to look out for the trail, and report, which was very promptly carried out.”

Page 35, “In Heart of S. and Legislative Journal” for 1851, page 600.

It is only required of me to say here that re-inforced by such leaders of men as Kuykendall, Boling, Chandler and Doss, there was no delay, and the campaign was completed at “Battle Mountain,” a water shed of the San Joaquin.

I now introduce a letter of great value, to me, as it fixes the date of the first battle, and disproves assertions made in the Century Magazine:

Hart’s Ranch, California, January 16th, 1851.

My Dear Father: When I wrote my last letter to you I had fully determined to take a Ranch near Pacheco’s Pass, as I informed you, but before three days had passed the report of Jim Kennedy’s murder on the Fresno was confirmed, and I started for the mountains in pursuit of the Indians who were committing depredations all through the country and had sworn to kill every white man in it. Four hundred men had promised to go, but at the appointed time only seventy-seven made their appearance. With these we started under the command of Major Burney, Sheriff of Mariposa County, guided by Mr. Jas. D. Savage, who is without doubt the best man in the world for hunting them out.

From his long acquaintance with the Indians, Mr. Savage has learned their ways so thoroughly that they cannot deceive him. He has been one of their greatest chiefs, and speaks their language as well as they can themselves. No dog can follow a trail like he can. No horse endure half so much. He sleeps but little, can go days without food, and can run a hundred miles in a day and night over the mountains and then sit and laugh for hours over a camp-fire as fresh and lively as if he had just been taking a little walk for exercise.

With him for a guide we felt little fear of not being able to find them.

On Friday morning about ten o’clock, our camp again moved forward and kept traveling until one that night, when “halt! we are on the Indians,” passed in a whisper down the line. Every heart beat quicker as we silently unsaddled our animals and tied them to the bushes around us. Commands were given in whispers and we were formed in a line. Sixty were chosen for the expedition, the balance remaining behind in charge of camp.

Savage said the Indians were about six miles off; that they were engaged in a feast. He pointed out their fires, could hear them sing and could smell them, but his eyes were the only ones that could see; his ears alone could hear, and his nose smell anything unusual. Still, there was such confidence placed in him that not one doubted for an instant that everything was as he said.

About two o’clock we started in Indian file, as still as it was possible for sixty men to move in the dark, for the moon had set. For three long hours did we walk slowly and cautiously over the rocks and bushes, through the deepest ravines and up steep and ragged mountain, until within a half mile of the enemy.

Here every one took off his boots, when we again pushed forward to about two hundred yards from the camp. Another halt was called to wait for daylight, while Savage went forward to reconnoitre. He succeeded in getting within ten paces of the Rancharia, and listened to a conversation among them in which his name was frequently mentioned. He found that it was a town of the Kee-chees, but that there were about one hundred and fifty of the Chow-chil-la warriors with them and several of the Chu-chan-ces. Had he found only the Kee-chees as he expected, we were to surround the Rancharia and take all prisoners, but the presence of so many Chow-chil-las, the most warlike tribe in California, made a change of plan necessary.

Daylight by this time began to appear. We had been lying in our stocking-feet on the ground on the top of a mountain within a few paces of the snow for more than an hour, almost frozen by the intense cold, not daring to move or speak a word.

It was not yet light enough to see the sight of our rifles, when an Indian’s head was seen rising on the hill before us. For a moment his eyes wandered, then rested on us, and with a yell like a Coyote he turned for the Rancharia. Never did I hear before such an infernal howling, whooping and yelling, as saluted us then from the throats of about six hundred savages, as they rushed down the hill into the gim-o-sell bushes below.

Our huzzahs could, however, hardly have sounded more pleasant to them, as when finding we were discovered, we charged on their town. Fifty rifles cracked almost instantaneously; a dozen Indians lay groaning before their huts, and many supposed we had undisturbed possession. Our firing had ceased and we were looking around for plunder, when a rifle fired from the bushes below, struck a young Texan, Charley Huston, standing by my side. He fell with a single groan, and we all supposed him dead. My first impression was that I was shot, for I plainly heard the ball strike and almost felt it. This was a surprise that almost whipped us, for not knowing that the Indians had fire-arms, we were only expecting arrows. Before that shot was fired, I had always entertained the idea that I could run about as fast as common men (and I was one of the first in the charge), but by the time I had collected my wandering senses, I was nearly alone; the majority of the party some thirty paces ahead, and running as if they never intended to stop.

Captain Burney and Mr. Savage were on top of the hill using every exertion to make the company halt and form. He had partly succeeded, when a pistol ball struck a man in the face, he fell, but raising himself up said, “if we stay here we will be all shot” and a break was made for the trees.

Still some few remained in rank and others slowly answered to the orders to form, when our Second Lieutenant fell mortally wounded. He was carried off, and every man took his tree.

The Indians had again possession of their Rancharia, and of a slight eminence to the left, and were sending showers of bullets and arrows upon us from three sides. These two points had to be gained even if it cost half our men. Leaving then, enough to guard our present position, the rest of us charged on the hill, took it, stormed the Rancharia, took and burnt it, and returned to our former position with only one man wounded, Wm. Little, shot through the lungs.

The close fighting was now over, for we could not give chase and were forced to lie behind trees and rocks and pick out such as exposed themselves. It was about half past ten when, finding it useless to remain longer, litters were made for the wounded and we started for camp. Then again we had warm work, for all down the pass, the Indians had stationed themselves to fire on us, forcing us to charge on them several times, for while we were in plain sight, they were completely hid behind the gim-o-sell brush.

In our march back, the rear guard was kept at work about as hard as at any time during the morning, but not a single man was hurt, and only one mule was killed.

We moved our camp that night, six miles lower down, where we laid the foundations of a fort and left thirty men to guard it and take care of the wounded.

The rest of us started below the next morning, after burying Lieutenant Skeane, who died in the night.

The Indians acknowledged to eleven men killed, though fifty killed and wounded would be a moderate estimate. Our loss was seven wounded—two mortally (as we then supposed, but Mr. Little finally recovered.—Author.)

The force of the Savages consisted of, as near as could be ascertained, four hundred warriors. We burned a hundred wigwams, several tons of dried horse and mule meat, a great number of bows and arrows, and took six mules.

Several amusing incidents occurred during the fight and others of the most heroic bravery on the part of the Indians. One old squaw was wounded accidentally at the first charge, and was unable to get off. One of our men was going to finish her with his knife, but seeing it was a woman he left her. No sooner had he gone than she picked up a bow and lodged three arrows in another man. I believe she was not touched after that.

The whole body of Indians seemed bent on killing Mr. Savage, partly because he would not be their chief and lead them against the whites, and partly because he was, they knew, our greatest dependence as guide, and their particular dread. To kill him, many of them sacrificed their own lives. They would come one at a time and, standing in open ground, send arrows at him until shot down; and one old chief who used to cook for Savage, would ask him after every shot where he had hit him. They would talk to him to find out where he was, and as soon as he would answer, the balls and arrows would fly thick around his head: but he escaped unhurt; but as he said, worse frightened than he ever was before. He did not fancy such partiality.

A large party has started on a second expedition, but I believe I am perfectly satisfied with Indian fighting.

T. G. Palmer.

Note.—It will have been observed that especial reference has twice been made to Gim-o-sell brush, a shrub that grows only on warm slatey soil, on Southern exposures, sought by Indians for winter quarters, and not on the granite cliffs and mountains of the Yosemite. I had not thought it necessary to draw upon nature for testimony, but a new generation has sprung into existence, and the eternal hills may speak to them.

The mining camp or village of Agua Fria, at the date of the organization of the battalion, was the county seat of Mariposa County, and the residence of the Sheriff, Major James Burney. Whittier’s Hotel was the head-quarters for enlistment. Finding the number called for incomplete, while yet in daily expectation of the arrival of the mustering officer, James D. Savage made a rapid ride to the San Joaquin diggings, and returned with men enough to complete the organization.

We were formally reported for duty, and went into camp about two miles below Agua Fria, on about the 10th of Feb., 1851, but when mustered in, the rolls were dated to include service from Jan. 24th, 1851, the date of the last order of enlistment. An informal ballot was taken to show the preference of the men for officers to command us, Major Burney having previously declined, and when that had been demonstrated, other aspirants were withdrawn by their friends, a formal ballot was taken and a regular organization of three companies completed. The Governor was duly notified of our proceedings, and in a few days the commissions were received by our respective officers.

After a few days in camp on Agua Fria Creek, we moved down to a camp in the foot hills, known afterwards as Lewis Ranch, where we had abundant grass and good water, and there was established our head-quarters, while waiting for Col. J. Neely Johnson and the U. S. Indian Commission, as stated in this chapter.

After instructions were given us by Col. Johnson, and the Commission had exhausted its eloquence upon the “Children of the Great Father at Washington,” and had started for the Fresno, we were allowed to go in pursuit of some very sly marauders who had stolen into our camp in the night, loosened and run off some of our animals, and taken some others herded in the foot hills, but no extended operations were allowed, as Major Savage ordered us to be in readiness for a campaign against the Yosemities, when the first big storm should come, that would prevent their escape across the Sierra Nevada. After a few days’ delay the storm did come with continued violence, as recorded.

In view of the facts and dates here given how absurd the statement that we did not go to the Yosemite “until about the 5th or 6th of May, 1851.” Our idleness in camp from Feb. 10th and the patient indulgence of the Commissioners, while waiting for the results of our first operations, surpass belief.

And now I reluctantly notice an error of statement by Mr. Julius N. Pratt in the Century Magazine for December, 1890.

Had the usual courtesy been extended of allowing me to see and answer Mr. Pratt’s erroneous impressions in the same number, I am convinced that he would have kindly withdrawn his article. I am led to this belief, not alone from letters received, but from the internal evidence of an upright character conveyed by Mr. Pratt’s graphic account of “A Trip to California by way of Panama in 1849,” in the Century for April 1891.

The Century Magazine is a most powerful disseminator of truth, or error, and though I cannot hope for a complete vindication through this volume, its readers shall have the facts of “The Date of Discovery” set before them, “for a truthful regard for history” and my own self-respect require it.

In the Century Magazine for September, 1890, page 795, is an article from my pen which gives the date of discovery of the Yosemite as March, 1851. Mr. Pratt, in the December number following, assumes, with “a truthful regard for history,” that I was in error, and gives about “January 10th, 1851, as the approximate, if not exact date of discovery.” Many of the men whom Mr. Pratt supposed to have been the discoverers, were, or became, my own comrades. When Mr. Pratt’s article appeared, I at once sent a reply, but it received no recognition.

Knowing that Mr. Theodore G. Palmer, of Newark, New Jersey, was in the only engagement occurring with Indians in Mariposa county at the time given by Mr. Pratt as the date of his supposed discovery of the Yosemite, I wrote, requesting Mr. Palmer to call on the editor of the Century in my behalf.

In a letter of January 9th, 1891, Mr. Palmer wrote: “It is the unexpected which always happens, and your communication to the Century in response to Pratt’s ‘California,’ was never received. Mr. Johnson, the associate editor, received me very pleasantly. He assured me that although he sent you an advance copy of Pratt’s article, nothing had been received in the office from you since in reply, and he presumed you had given up the case in default.

“I so completely satisfied him that Mr. Pratt is in error, that he requested me to express my reasons in the Century, and to assure you that any communication from you will always have respectful attention.”

On January 24th, 1891, Mr. R. W. Johnson, associate editor, wrote me, saying: “Since telling your friend, Mr. Palmer, that we had not received an article from you in reply to Mr. Pratt, we have discovered the manuscript. We have in type a short note from Mr. Palmer which will be acceptable to you.”

A few days after Mr. Johnson kindly sent me the proof. On March 12th, 1891, Mr. Johnson wrote me: “Mr. Pratt, after examination of the subject, has written us a short letter, withdrawing his contention of your claim to the discovery of the Yosemite, the publication of which we trust will be satisfactory to you and also to Mr. Palmer. Will you now tell us whether there is anything in this new claim that Walker was the discoverer of the Valley?”

I at once saw that if Mr. Pratt’s retraction was published there would be no need of the publication of Mr. Palmer’s communication. About this time a letter of earlier date, January 28, 1891, was sent me by Mr. Palmer, received from Mr. Pratt, in which the latter gentleman says: “I enclose a letter which seems to prove that the party about which I wrote to the Century was not your party. One went to the North fork, the other (yours) to the South.” That statement left no base whatever for Mr. Pratt’s imaginary “fight at the Yosemite, and thus of the discovery,” for the North Fork affair was not a battle at all, but “a scare” on a fork which enters the Merced river thirty-five miles below the Yosemite, and as for the battle fought on the 11th of January, 1851, by Major Burney’s company, in which Mr. Palmer was engaged, it was not fought on the South fork or in any valley, but upon a high mountain of the Fresno river.

Mr. Palmer now felt that his note to The Century was too long delayed, and wrote asking for its withdrawal or its publication. Mr. R. U. Johnson replied: “The Century is made up two months in advance,” but that he intended inserting it in the April number, &c. Mr. Palmer added in his letter to me, “I think he will.”

The matter had now become not only interesting, but amusing to me; for very soon Mr. Palmer wrote, “whether my answer to Pratt will be published or not, is doubtful. I infer (from a letter) that Pratt will not rest quiescent under my contradiction.” Again Mr. Palmer wrote, enclosing copy of letter to Mr. Johnson of March 14th, 1891, answering Mr. Johnson’s Statement, “that Mr. Pratt, while being convinced of his injustice to Dr. Bunnell and being ready himself to withdraw his former statement, takes issue with you as to the identity of the two parties,” and then Mr. Johnson asks, “would it not be just as well and more effective if we were simply to print from Mr. Pratt that he is ‘pleased to withdraw all contention of the claim made by Dr. Bunnell that he was the original discoverer?’” Let me here say, in passing, that I never made such a claim.

Mr. Palmer very properly objects to becoming the “scapegoat” for me or any one else, and replying to Mr. Johnson, says: “Whether my letter is printed or not, is a matter of entire indifference to me, (personally) ... it was only at your desire, and to please Dr. Bunnell, that I wrote the little I did. I left you under the impression that you desired to get at the exact facts and would be glad to rectify the injustice done to the doctor by the publication of Mr. Pratt’s communication.... I believe that the publication of my letter would not only gratify him, but also place the Century right upon the record, where it surely desires to stand.”

Mr. Palmer could say no more, but to his great chagrin, but not surprise, on March 17th, he received a letter of thanks from the associate editor of the Century, in which Mr. Johnson says: “Please accept our thanks for your letter of the 14th, and for your obliging attitude in the matter.” Whether any retraction from Mr. Pratt will ever appear in the Century is now, in view of the long delay, a matter of great indifference to me.[7]

Now a few facts in regard to the Discovery of the Yosemite Valley by Capt. Joseph Reddeford Walker, for whom Walker’s river, Lake and Pass were named. It is not a new claim, as supposed by Mr. R. U. Johnson, but appears in the Peoples Encyclopædia and was set up in the San Jose Pioneer soon after Capt. Walker’s death, and answered by me in the same paper in 1880.

I cheerfully concede the fact set forth in the Pioneer article that, “His were the first white man’s eyes that ever looked upon the Yosemite” above the valley, and in that sense, he was certainly the original white discoverer.

The topography of the country over which the Mono trail ran, and which was followed by Capt. Walker, did not admit of his seeing the valley proper. The depression indicating the valley, and its magnificent surroundings, could alone have been discovered, and in Capt. Walker’s conversations with me at various times while encamped between Coultersville and the Yosemite, he was manly enough to say so. Upon one occasion I told Capt. Walker that Ten-ie-ya had said that, “A small party of white men once crossed the mountains on the north side, but were so guided as not to see the valley proper.” With a smile the Captain said: “That was my party, but I was not deceived, for the lay of the land showed there was a valley below; but we had become nearly bare-footed, our animals poor, and ourselves on the verge of starvation, so we followed down the ridge to Bull Creek, where, killing a deer, we went into camp.”

The captain remained at his camp near Coultersville for some weeks, and disappeared as suddenly as he came. He once expressed a desire to re-visit the region of the Yosemite in company with me, but could fix no date, as he told me he was in daily expectation of a government appointment as guide, which I learned was finally given him.

Captain Walker was a very eccentric man, well versed in the vocal and sign languages of the Indians, and went at his will among them. He may have visited the Yosemite from his camp before leaving. I was strongly impressed by the simple and upright character of Captain Walker, and his mountain comrades spoke in the highest praise of his ability. Fremont, Kit Carson, Bill Williams, Alex Gody, Vincenthaler (not Vincent Haler, as erroneously appeared in the March number of the Century), Ferguson and others, all agreed in saying that as a mountain man, Captain Walker had no superior.

Rev. D. D. Chapin, of Maysville, Kentucky, formerly rector of Trinity Church, San Jose, and of St. Peter’s Church, San Francisco, as well as editor of Pacific Churchman, kindly called my attention to a seeming neglect of the claim for Captain Walker as the discoverer of the Yosemite. All that I have ever claimed for myself is, that I was one of the party of white men who first entered the Yosemite valley, as far as known to the Indians.

The fact of my naming the valley cannot be disputed. The existence of some terribly yawning abyss in the mountains, guarded at its entrance by a frightful “Rock Chief,” from whose head rocks would be hurled down upon us if we attempted to enter that resort of demons, was frequently described to us by crafty or superstitious Indians. Hence the greater our surprise upon first beholding a fit abode for angels of light. As for myself, I freely confess that my feelings of hostility against the Indians were overcome by a sense of exaltation; and although I had suffered losses of property and friends, the natural right of the Indians to their inheritance forced itself upon my mind.

The Mariposa Battalion, was assigned by Governor McDougall to the duty of keeping in subjection the Indian tribes on the east side of the San Joaquin and Tulare valleys, from the Tuolumne river to the Te-hon Pass. As soon as the battalion was organized, Major Savage began his preparations for an expedition. There was but little delay in fitting out. Scouting parties were sent out, but with no other effect than to cause a general retreat of the Indians to the mountains, and a cessation of hostilities, except the annoyances from the small bands of thieving marauders. No Indians were overtaken by those detachments, though they were often seen provokingly near. When about to start on a more extended expedition to the mountains, Major Savage received an order from the Governor to suspend hostile operations until he should receive further instructions. We learned at about the same time through the newspapers, as well as from the Governor’s messenger, that the United States Commissioners had arrived in San Francisco. Their arrival had for some time been expected.

Up to this period the Indian affairs of California had not been officially administered upon. Public officers had not before been appointed to look after the vast landed estates of the aboriginal proprietors of this territory, and to provide for their heirs. After some delay, the commissioners arrived at our camp, which was located about fifteen miles below Mariposa village. Here the grazing was most excellent, and for that reason they temporarily established their head-quarters. These officials were Colonels Barbour and McKee, and Dr. Woozencroft. They were accompanied by Col. Neely Johnson, the Governor’s aid, and by a small detachment of regulars. The commissioners at once proceeded to make a thorough investigation into the cause of the war, and of the condition of affairs generally. Having secured the services of some of the Mission Indians, these were sent out with instructions to notify all the tribes that the commissioners had been directed by the President to make peace between them and the white settlers; and that if they would come in, they should be assured protection.

The so-called Mission Indians were members of different tribes who had been instructed in the belief of the Catholic Church, at the old Spanish Missions. These Indians had not generally taken part in the war against the white settlers, although some of them, with the hostiles, were the most treacherous of their race, having acquired the vices and none of the virtues of their white instructors.

During this period of preliminaries a few Indians ventured in to have a talk with the commissioners. They were very shy and suspicious, for all had been more or less implicated in the depredations that had been committed. Presents were lavishly distributed, and assurances were given that all who came in should be supplied with food and clothing and other useful things. This policy soon became generally known to the Indians.

Among the delegations that visited the commissioners were Vow-ches-ter,[8] chief of one of the more peaceful bands, and Russio, a Mission Indian from the Tuolumne, but who in former years had belonged to some of the San Joaquin tribes. These chiefs had always appeared friendly, and had not joined in the hostile attitude assumed by the others. At the outbreak on the Fresno, Vow-ches-ter had been temporarily forced into hostilities by the powerful influence of Jose Rey, and by his desire to secure protection to his relative, one of Savage’s squaws. But with the fall of Jose Rey, his influence over Vow-ches-ter declined, and he was once more left free to show his friendship for the whites. As for Russio, his intelligent services were secured as peace-maker and general Indian interpreter by the commissioners, while a much less competent Mission Indian, Sandino, served in the capacity of interpreter during expeditions into the mountains.

Having been assured of safety, these two chiefs promised to bring in their people and make peace with the whites. All that came in promised a cessation, on the part of their tribes, of the hostilities begun, for which they were rewarded with presents.

Vow-chester when questioned, stated “that the mountain tribes would not listen to any terms of peace involving the abandonment of their territory; that in the fight near the North Fork of the San Joaquin, Jose Rey had been badly wounded and probably would die; that his tribe were very angry, and would not make peace.” We had up to this time supposed Jose Rey had been killed at “Battle Mountain.” Russio said: “The Indians in the deep rocky valley on the Merced river do not wish for peace, and will not come in to see the chiefs sent by the great father to make treaties. They think the white men cannot find their hiding places, and that therefore they cannot be driven out.” The other Indians of the party confirmed Russio’s statements. Vow-chester was the principal spokesman, and he said: “In this deep valley spoken of by Russio, one Indian is more than ten white men. The hiding places are many. They will throw rocks down on the white men, if any should come near them. The other tribes dare not make war upon them, for they are lawless like the grizzlies, and as strong. We are afraid to go to this valley, for there are many witches there.”

Some of us did not consider Vow-chester’s promise of friendship as reliable. We regarded him as one of the hostile mountain Indians. He, however, was never again engaged in hostilities against the whites. I afterwards learned that Vow-chester and Savage had once professed a strong friendship for each other. The trader at that time had taken a bride who was closely allied to the chief. After the destruction of Savage’s trading posts, in which Vow-chester had taken an active part in procuring a forcible divorce and division of property (though the murders were ascribed to the Chow-chillas), all forms of friendship or relationship had ceased. At this interview no sign of recognition passed. After listening to this parley between the Commissioners and the Indians, I asked Major Savage, who had been acting as interpreter, if he had ever been into the deep valley the Indians had been speaking of. He at first replied that he had, but on a subsequent conversation he corrected this statement by saying, “Last year while I was located at the mouth of the South Fork of the Merced, I was attacked by the Yosemites, but with the Indian miners I had in my employ, drove them off, and followed some of them up the Merced river into a canon, which I supposed led to their stronghold, as the Indians then with me said it was not a safe place to go into. From the appearance of this rocky gorge I had no difficulty in believing them. Fearing an ambush, I did not follow them. It was on this account that I changed my location to Mariposa creek. I would like to get into the den of the thieving murderers. If ever I have a chance I will smoke out the Grizzly Bears (the Yosemites) from their holes, where they are thought to be so secure.”

No peace messengers came in from the mountain Indians, who continued to annoy the settlers with their depredations, thieving from the miner’s camps, and stealing horses and mules from the ranches. While we were awaiting the action of the commissioners, we lost some horses and mules, which were stolen from the vicinity of our camp. After the commissioners had decided upon the measures to be adopted, our battalion was ordered into line and we were then officially informed by Col. Johnson, that our operations as a military organization, would henceforth be under the direction of the United States Commissioners. That by their order we were now assigned to the duty of subduing such Indian tribes as could not otherwise be induced to make treaties with them, and at once cease hostilities and depredations. “Your officers will make all reports to the commissioners. Your orders and instructions will hereafter be issued by them.” The colonel then complimented the soldierly appearance of the battalion (very customary in later years) and then said: “While I do not hesitate to denounce the Indians for the murders and robberies committed by them, we should not forget that there may perhaps be circumstances which, if taken into consideration, might to some extent excuse their hostility to the whites. They probably feel that they themselves are the aggrieved party, looking upon us as trespassers upon their territory, invaders of their country, and seeking to dispossess them of their homes. It may be, they class us with the Spanish invaders of Mexico and California, whose cruelties in civilizing and christianizing them are still traditionally fresh in their memories,” etc. In conclusion the colonel said: “As I am about to leave, I will now bid you ‘good bye,’ with the hope that your actions will be in harmony with the wishes of the commissioners, and that in the performance of your duties, you will in all cases observe mercy where severity is not justly demanded.”

Colonel Johnson gave us a very excellent little speech; but at that time we were not fully impressed with the justness of the remarks which had been made from kindness of heart and sincerely humane feelings. Many of us had lost—some heavily—by the depredations of the Indians. Friends and relatives had been victims of their atrocities. Murders and robberies had been committed without provocations then discernible to us. Many of us would then have been willing to adopt the methods of the old Spanish missionaries, who, it was said, sometimes brought in their converts with the lasso. However, these orders and the speech from Col. Johnson were received with cheers by the more impatient and impulsive of the volunteers, who preferred active service to the comparative quiet of the camp.

The commissioners selected a reservation on the Fresno, near the foot-hills, about eighteen or twenty miles from our camp, to which the Indian tribes with whom treaties had been made were to be removed, and at this locality the commissioners also established a camp, as head-quarters.

The deliberative action on the part of the commissioners, who were very desirous of having the Indians voluntarily come in to make treaties with them, delayed any active co-operation on the part of our battalion until the winter rains had fully set in. Our first extended expedition to the mountains was made during the prevailing storms of the vernal equinox, although detachments had previously made excursions into the country bordering upon the Sierras. This region, like parts of Virginia, proved impassable to a mounted force during the wet season, and our operations were confined to a limited area.

It was at last decided that more extended operations were necessary to bring in the mountain tribes. Although there was no longer unity of action among them, they refused to leave their retreats, and had become even suspicious of each other. The defeat of Jose Rey, and the desertion of the tribes who had made, or had promised to make, treaties with the commissioners, and had ceased from all hostile demonstrations, had caused jealousies and discontent to divide even the most turbulent bands. For the extended operations of the battalion among the mountains, it was decided that Major Savage, with the companies of Captains Boling and Dill, should make expeditions which would require him to traverse the regions of the San Joaquin and Merced rivers. Captain Kuy-ken-dall with his company were to be detached to operate for the same purpose in the regions of the Kings and Kah-we-ah rivers. The Indians captured were to be escorted to the commissioners’ camp on the Fresno. Notwithstanding a storm was gathering, our preparations were cheerfully made, and when the order to “form into line” was given, it was obeyed with alacrity. No “bugle call” announced orders to us; the “details” were made quietly, and we as quietly assembled. Promptly as the word of command “mount,” was given, every saddle was filled. With “forward march,” we naturally filed off into the order of march so readily assumed by mounted frontiersmen while traveling on a trail.

We left our camp as quietly and as orderly as such an undisciplined body could be expected to move, but Major Savage said that we must all learn to be as still as Indians, or we would never find them.

This battalion was a body of hardy, resolute pioneers. Many of them had seen service, and had fought their way against the Indians across the plains; some had served in the war with Mexico and been under military discipline.

Although ununiformed, they were well armed, and their similarities of dress and accoutrements, gave them a general military appearance.

The temperature was mild and agreeable at our camp near the plain, but we began to encounter storms of cold rain as we reached the more elevated localities.

Major Savage being aware that rain on the foot-hills and plain at that season of the year indicated snow higher up, sent forward scouts to intercept such parties as might attempt to escape, but the storm continued to rage with such violence as to render this order useless, and we found the scouts awaiting us at the foot of a mountain known as the Black Ridge. This ridge is a spur of the Sierra Nevada. It separates the Mariposa, Chow-chilla, Fresno and San Joaquin rivers on the south from the Merced on the north. While halting for a rest, and sipping his coffee, Savage expressed an earnest desire to capture the village he had ascertained to be located over the ridge on the south fork of the Merced. He was of the opinion that if it could be reached without their discovery of us, we should have no fighting to do there, as that band would surrender at once rather than endanger their women and children, who would be unable to escape through the snow. Toward this village we therefore marched as rapidly as the nature of the steep and snow-obstructed trail would permit us to travel. An Indian that answered to the name of “Bob,” an attaché of the Major, serving as guide. Climbing up this steep black mountain, we soon reached the region of snow, which at the summit, was fully four feet deep, though the cold was not intense. By this time, night was upon us. The trail led over the ridge at a point where its tabled summit was wooded with a forest of pines, cedars and firs, so dense as almost to exclude the light of the stars that now and then appeared struggling through the gloom.

We laboriously followed our guide and file leader, but this trail was so indistinctly seen in the darkness, that at intervals deep mutterings would be heard from some drowsy rider who missed the beaten path. As we commenced the descent of the ridge, the expressions became more forcible than polite when some unlucky ones found themselves floundering in the snow below the uncertain trail. If left to their own sagacity, a horse or mule will follow its leader; but if a self-willed rider insists upon his own judgment, the poor animal has not only to suffer the extra fatigue incurred by a mis-step, but also the punishment of the spur, and hear the explosive maledictions of the master. The irritating responses of his comrades that “another fool has been discovered,” was not then calculated to sooth the wrath that was then let loose.

With short halts and repeated burrowings in the deep, damp snow, the South Fork of the Merced was at length reached about a mile below what is now known as Clark’s, or Wah-wo-na, from Wah-ha wo-na, a Big Tree. We here made a halt, and our weary animals were provided with some barley, for the snow was here over a foot deep. The major announced that it was but a short distance below to the Indian village, and called for volunteers to accompany him—it might be for a fight or perhaps only a foot-race—circumstances would determine which. The major’s call was promptly and fully answered, although all were much fatigued with the tedious night march. The animals were left, and a sufficient number was selected to remain as a reserve force and camp guard. At daylight we filed away on foot to our destination, following the major who was guided by “Bob.”

CHAPTER III.

March Down the South Fork—Capture of an Indian Village—Hungry Men—An able Surgeon—Snow Storms—Visit of Ten-ie-ya, Chief of the Yosemites—Commander’s Dilemma—Unique Manner of Extrication—Approaching the Valley—First View—Sensations Experienced—A Lofty Flight Brought Down.

There was a very passable trail for horses leading down the right bank of the river, but it was overlooked on the left bank by the Indian village, which was situated on a high point at a curve in the river that commanded an extensive view up and down. To avoid being seen, the Major led us along down the left bank, where we were compelled, at times, to wade into the rushing torrent to avoid the precipitous and slippery rocks, which, in places, dipped into the stream. Occasionally, from a stumble, or from the deceptive depths of the clear mountain stream, an unfortunate one was immersed in the icy fluid, which seemed colder than the snow-baths of the mountain. With every precaution, some became victims to these mischances, and gave vent to their emotions, when suddenly immersed, by hoarse curses, which could be heard above the splash and roar of the noisy water. These men (headed by Surgeon Bronson) chilled and benumbed, were sent back to the camp to “dry their ammunition.”(?) After passing this locality—our march thus far having alternated in snow and water—we arrived, without being discovered, in sight of the smoke of their camp-fires, where we halted for a short rest.

Major Savage gave some orders to Captain Boling which were not then understood by me. On again resuming our march, the Major, with “Bob,” started at a rapid step, while the others maintained a slow gait.

I followed the Major as I had been accustomed during the march. I soon heard an audible smile, evidently at my expense. I comprehended that I had somehow “sold” myself, but as the Major said nothing, I continued my march. I observed a pleased expression in the Major’s countenance, and a twinkle of his eyes when he glanced back at me as if he enjoyed the fun of the “boys” behind us, while he increased his speed to an Indian jog-trot. I determined to appear as unconscious, as innocent of my blunder, and accommodate my gait to his movements. My pride or vanity was touched, and I kept at his heels as he left the trot for a more rapid motion. After a run of a mile or more, we reached the top of a narrow ridge which overlooked the village. The Major here cast a side glance at me as he threw himself on the ground, saying: “I always prided myself on my endurance, but somehow this morning my bottom fails me.” As quietly as I could I remarked that he had probably been traveling faster than he was aware of, as “Bob” must be some way behind us. After a short scrutiny of my unconcerned innocence, he burst into a low laugh and said: “Bunnell, you play it well, and you have beaten me at a game of my own choosing. I have tested your endurance, however; such qualifications are really valuable in our present business.” He then told me as I seated myself near him, that he saw I had not understood the order, and had increased his speed, thinking I would drop back and wait for the others to come up, as he did not wish to order me back, although he had preferred to make this scout alone with “Bob,” as they were both acquainted with the band and the region they occupy. While we were resting “Bob” came up. The Major gave him some direction in an Indian dialect I did not understand, and he moved on to an adjoining thicket, while the Major and myself crawled to the shelter of a bunch of blue brush (California lilac), just above where we had halted.

After obtaining the desired information without being seen, Bob was sent back to Captain Boling to “hurry him up.” While awaiting the arrival of our command, I, in answer to his inquiries, informed the Major that I had come to Detroit, Michigan, in 1833, when it was but little more than a frontier village; that the Indians annually assembled there and at Malden, Canada, to receive their annuities. At that time, being but nine years of age, and related to Indian traders, I was brought in contact with their customers, and soon learned their language, habits and character, which all subsequent attempts to civilize me had failed entirely to eradicate. This statement evidently pleased the Major, and finding me familiar with frontier life, he continued his conversation, and I soon learned that I was acquainted with some of his friends in the Northwest. I have related this incident because it was the beginning of an intimate friendship which ever afterward existed between us.

On the arrival of Captains Boling and Dill with their respective companies, we were deployed into skirmish line, and advanced toward the encampment without any effort at concealment. On discovering us the Indians hurriedly ran to and fro, as if uncertain what course to pursue. Seeing an unknown force approaching, they threw up their hands in token of submission, crying out at the same time in Spanish, “Pace! pace!” (peace! peace!) We were at once ordered to halt while Major Savage went forward to arrange for the surrender. The Major was at once recognized and cordially received by such of the band as he desired to confer with officially. We found the village to be that of Pon-wat-chee, a chief of the Noot-chü tribe, whose people had formerly worked for Savage under direction of Cow-chit-ty, his brother, and from whose tribe Savage had taken Ee-e-ke-no, one of his former wives. The chief professed still to entertain feelings of friendship for Savage, saying that he was now willing to obey his counsels. Savage, in response, lost no time in preliminary affairs.

He at once told the chief the object of the expedition, and his requirements. His terms were promptly agreed to, and before we had time to examine the captives or their wigwams, they had commenced packing their supplies and removing their property from their bark huts. This done, the torch was applied by the Indians themselves, in token of their sincerity in removing to the Reservations on the Fresno.

By the Major’s orders they had at once commenced their preparations for removal to a rendezvous, which he had selected nearly opposite this encampment, which was accessible to horses. This plateau was also the location designated for our camp. This camp was afterwards used by an employé at the agency, whose name was Bishop, and was known as Bishop’s Camp. It is situated on an elevated table, on the right side of the valley of the South Fork.

While the Indians were preparing for their transfer to the place selected, our tired and hungry men began to feel the need of rest and refreshments. We had traveled a much longer distance since the morning before than had been estimated in expectation of a halt, and many of the men had not tasted food since the day before.

John Hankin told Major Savage that if a roast dog could be procured, he would esteem it an especial favor. Bob McKee thought this a capital time to learn to eat acorn bread, but after trying some set before him by “a young and accomplished squaw,” as the Major cynically termed her, concluded he was not yet hungry enough for its enjoyment.

A call was made for volunteers to go back to bring up the reserve and supplies, but the service was not very promptly accepted. McKee, myself and two others, however, offered to go with the order to move down to the selected rendezvous. Three Indians volunteered to go with us as guides; one will seldom serve alone. We found the trail on the right bank less laborious to travel than was expected, for the snow had mostly disappeared from the loose, sandy soil, which upon this side of the river has a southwesterly exposure. On our arrival in camp preparations were begun to obey the order of the Major. While coffee was being prepared Doctor Bronson wisely prescribed and most skillfully administered to us a refreshing draught of “Aqua Ardente.”

After a hasty breakfast, we took to our saddles, and taking a supply of biscuits and cold meat, left the train and arrived at the new camp ground just as our hungry comrades came up from the Indian village. The scanty supplies, carried on our saddles, were thankfully received and speedily disposed of. The Indians had not yet crossed the river. We found that we had traveled about twelve miles, while our comrades and the captives had accomplished only three.

From this camp, established as our headquarters, or as a base of operations while in this vicinity, Major Savage sent Indian runners to the bands who were supposed to be hiding in the mountains. These messengers were instructed to assure all the Indians that if they would go and make treaties with the commissioners, they would there be furnished with food and clothing, and receive protection, but if they did not come in, he should make war upon them until he destroyed them all.

Pon-wat-chee had told the Major when his own village was captured, that a small band of Po-ho-no-chees were encamped on the sunny slope of the divide of the Merced, and he having at once dispatched a runner to them, they began to come into camp. This circumstance afforded encouragement to the Major, but Pon-wat-chee was not entirely sanguine of success with the Yosemites, though he told the Major that if the snow continued deep they could not escape.

At first but few Indians came in, and these were very cautious—dodging behind rocks and trees, as if fearful we would not recognize their friendly signals.

Being fully assured by those who had already come in, of friendly treatment, all soon came in who were in our immediate vicinity. None of the Yosemites had responded to the general message sent. Upon a special envoy being sent to the chief, he appeared the next day in person. He came alone, and stood in dignified silence before one of the guard, until motioned to enter camp. He was immediately recognized by Pon-wat-chee as Ten-ie-ya, the old chief of the Yosemites, and was kindly cared for—being well supplied with food—after which, with the aid of the other Indians, the Major informed him of the wishes of the commissioners. The old sachem was very suspicious of Savage, and feared he was taking this method of getting the Yosemites into his power for the purpose of revenging his personal wrongs. Savage told him that if he would go to the commissioners and make a treaty of peace with them, as the other Indians were going to do, there would be no more war. Ten-ie-ya cautiously inquired as to the object of taking all the Indians to the plains of the San Joaquin valley, and said: “My people do not want anything from the ‘Great Father’ you tell me about. The Great Spirit is our father, and he has always supplied us with all we need. We do not want anything from white men. Our women are able to do our work. Go, then; let us remain in the mountains where we were born; where the ashes of our fathers have been given to the winds. I have said enough!”

This was abruptly answered by Savage, in Indian dialect and gestures: “If you and your people have all you desire, why do you steal our horses and mules? Why do you rob the miners’ camps? Why do you murder the white men, and plunder and burn their houses?”

Ten-ie-ya sat silent for some time; it was evident he understood what Savage had said, for he replied: “My young men have sometimes taken horses and mules from the whites. It was wrong for them to do so. It is not wrong to take the property of enemies, who have wronged my people. My young men believed the white gold-diggers were our enemies; we now know they are not, and we will be glad to live in peace with them. We will stay here and be friends. My people do not want to go to the plains. The tribes who go there are some of them very bad. They will make war on my people. We cannot live on the plains with them. Here we can defend ourselves against them.”

In reply to this Savage very deliberately and firmly said: “Your people must go to the Commissioners and make terms with them. If they do not, your young men will again steal our horses, your people will again kill and plunder the whites. It was your people who robbed my stores, burned my houses, and murdered my men. If they do not make a treaty, your whole tribe will be destroyed, not one of them will be left alive.” At this vigorous ending of the Major’s speech, the old chief replied: “It is useless to talk to you about who destroyed your property and killed your people. If the Chow-chillas do not boast of it, they are cowards, for they led us on. I am old and you can kill me if you will, but what use to lie to you who know more than all the Indians, and can beat them in their big hunts of deer and bear. Therefore I will not lie to you, but promise that if allowed to return to my people I will bring them in.” He was allowed to go. The next day he came back, and said his people would soon come to our camp; that when he had told them they could come with safety they were willing to go and make a treaty with the men sent by the “Great Father,” who was so good and rich. Another day passed, but no Indians made their appearance from the “deep valley,” spoken of so frequently by those at our camp. The old chief said the snow was so deep that they could not travel fast, that his village was so far down (gesticulating, by way of illustration, with his hands) that when the snow was deep on the mountains they would be a long time climbing out of it. As we were at the time having another storm Ten-ie-ya’s explanation was accepted, but was closely watched.

The next day passed without their coming, although the snow storm had ceased during the night before. It was then decided that it would be necessary to go to the village of the Yosemites, and bring them in; and in case they could not be found there, to follow to their hiding-places in the deep cañon, so often represented as such a dangerous locality. Ten-ie-ya was questioned as to the route and the time it would take his people to come in; and when he learned we were going to his village, he represented that the snow was so deep that the horses could not go through it. He also stated that the rocks were so steep that our horses could not climb out of the valley if they should go into it. Captain Boling caused Ten-ie-ya’s statements to be made known to his men. It was customary in all of our expeditions where the force was divided, to call for volunteers. The men were accordingly drawn up into line, and the call made that all who wished to go to the village of the Yosemites were to step three paces to the front. When the order to advance was given, to the surprise of Captains Boling and Dill, each company moved in line as if on parade. The entire body had volunteered. As a camp-guard was necessary, a call was then made for volunteers for this duty. When the word “march” was again repeated, but a limited number stepped to the front. Captain Boling, with a smile on his good-natured face, said: “A camp-guard will have to be provided in some way. I honor the sentiment that prompted you all to volunteer for the exploration, and I also appreciate the sacrifice made by those who are willing to stay; but these are too few. Our baggage, supplies and Indian captives must be well guarded. I endeavored to make the choice of duty voluntary, by representing the difficulties that might reasonably be expected, and thus secure those best suited for the respective duty of field and camp. I am baffled, but not defeated, for I have another test of your fitness; it is a foot-race. You know it has been represented to us by Ten-ie-ya that the route to his village is an extremely difficult one, and impassable for our horses. It may not be true, but it will be prudent to select men for the expedition who have proved their endurance and fleetness. I now propose that you decide what I have found so difficult.”

This proposition was received with shouts of laughter, and the arrangements for the contest were at once commenced, as it afforded a source of frolicsome amusement. A hundred yards were paced off, and the goal conspicuously marked. A distance line was to determine who should constitute the camp-guard. I doubt if such boisterous hilarity and almost boyish merriment was ever before seen while making a detail from any military organization.

The Indians were at first somewhat alarmed at the noisy preparations, and began to be fearful of their safety, but on learning the cause of the excitement, they, too, became interested in the proceedings, and expressed a desire to participate in the race. Two or three were allowed to join in as proxies for the “heavy ones” who concluded not to run, though willing to pay the young Indians to represent them in the race, provided they came out ahead. One young Indian did beat every man, except Bob McKee, for whom he manifested great admiration. Many anxious ones ran bare-footed in the snow. The Indian’s motions were not impeded by any civilized garments; a modest waist cloth was all they had on. In subsequent races, after a long rest, several of our men demonstrated that their racing powers were superior to the fastest of the Indian runners. Captain Boling’s racing scheme brought out the strong points of the runners. Enough were distanced in both companies to secure an ample camp-guard. The envious guard raised the point that this method of detail was simply a proof of legs, not brains. It was reported in camp that Captain Boling had kept a record of the speedy ones which he had filed away for future use in cases where fleetness of foot would be required for extra duties.

Preparations were made for an early start the next morning. The officer to be left in charge of the camp was instructed to allow the Indians all liberty consistent with safety, and to exercise no personal restraint over them unless there should be an evident attempt to leave in a body; when, of course, any movement of the kind was to be defeated. The Major said: “I deem the presence of the women and children a sufficient hostage for the peaceful conduct of the men, but do not allow any of them to enter our tents, or we may lose possession.”

This last injunction was to guard against annoyance from vermin. The pediculi of the Indian race have an especial affinity for them. White people have but little to fear from Indian vermin except the temporary annoyance that is experienced from some species that infest animals and birds. They do not find the transfer congenial, and soon disappear. This fact may not be generally known, but I believe it to be a normal arrangement for the exclusive comfort of the Indian.

To me this is quite suggestive, when considered as evidence of a diversity of origin of the races. I have been very particular in my observations in this matter, and have compared my own with the experiences of others, and have been led to the conclusion that each separate race has parasites indigenous to that race, although the genus may be common to each.

This reluctant adaptability of these “entomological inconveniences” saved us from one of the curses of the ancient Egyptians, when contact was unavoidable.

As no information had been received from the camp of the Yosemites, after an early breakfast, the order was passed to “fall in,” and when the order “march” was given, we moved off in single file, Savage leading, with Ten-ie-ya as guide.

From the length of time taken by the chief to go and return from his encampment, it was supposed that with horses, and an early start, we should be able to go and return the same day, if for any cause it should be deemed desirable, although sufficient supplies were taken, in case of a longer delay.

While ascending to the divide between the South Fork and the main Merced we found but little snow, but at the divide, and beyond, it was from three to five feet in depth, and in places much deeper. The sight of this somewhat cooled our ardor, but none asked for a “furlough.”

To somewhat equalize the laborious duties of making a trail, each man was required to take his turn in front. The leader of the column was frequently changed; no horse or mule could long endure the fatigue without relief. To effect this, the tired leader dropped out of line, resigning his position to his followers, taking a place in the rear, on the beaten trail, exemplifying, that “the first shall be last, and the last shall be first.” The snow packed readily, so that a very comfortable trail was left in the rear of our column.

Old Ten-ie-ya relaxed the rigidity of his bronze features, in admiration of our method of making a trail, and assured us, that, notwithstanding the depth of snow, we would soon reach his village. We had in our imaginations pictured it as in some deep rocky canon in the mountains.

While in camp the frantic efforts of the old chief to describe the location to Major Savage, had resulted in the unanimous verdict among the “boys,” who were observing him, that “it must be a devil of a place.” Feeling encouraged by the hope that we should soon arrive at the residences of his Satanic majesty’s subjects, we wallowed on, alternately becoming the object of a joke, as we in turn were extricated from the drifts. When we had traversed a little more than half the distance, as was afterwards proved, we met the Yosemites on their way to our rendezvous on the South Fork.

As they filed past us, the major took account of their number, which was but seventy-two. As they reached our beaten trail, satisfaction was variously expressed, by grunts from the men, by the low rippling laughter from the squaws, and by the children clapping their hands in glee at the sight. On being asked where the others of his band were, the old Sachem said, “This is all of my people that are willing to go with me to the plains. Many that have been with me are from other tribes. They have taken wives from my band; all have gone with their wives and children to the Tuolumne and to the Monos.” Savage told Ten-ie-ya that he was telling him that which was not true. The Indians could not cross the mountains in the deep snow, neither could they go over the divide of the Tuolumne. That he knew they were still at his village or in hiding places near it. Ten-ie-ya assured the major he was telling him the truth, and in a very solemn manner declared that none of his band had been left behind—that all had gone before his people had left. His people had not started before because of the snow storm.

With a belief that but a small part of Ten-ie-ya’s band was with this party, Major Savage decided to go on to the Indian village and ascertain if any others could be found or traces of them discovered. This decision was a satisfactory one and met with a hearty approval as it was reported along the line.

This tribe had been estimated by Pon-wat-chee and Cow-chit-tee, as numbering more than two hundred; as about that number usually congregated when they met together to “cache” their acorns in the valley, or for a grand annual hunt and drive of game; a custom which secured an abundant supply for the feast that followed.

At other times they were scattered in bands on the sunny slopes of the ridges, and in the mountain glens. Ten-ie-ya had been an unwilling guide thus far, and Major Savage said to him: “You may return to camp with your people, and I will take one of your young men with me. There are but few of your people here. Your tribe is large. I am going to your village to see your people, who will not come with you. They will come with me if I find them.”

Savage then selected one of the young “braves” to accompany him. Ten-ie-ya replied, as the young Indian stepped forward by his direction, “I will go with my people; my young man shall go with you to my village. You will not find any people there. I do not know where they are. My tribe is small—not large, as the white chief has said. The Pai-utes and Mono’s are all gone. Many of the people with my tribe are from western tribes that have come to me and do not wish to return. If they go to the plains and are seen, they will be killed by the friends of those with whom they had quarreled. I have talked with my people and told them I was going to see the white chiefs sent to make peace. I was told that I was growing old, and it was well that I should go, but that young and strong men can find plenty in the mountains; therefore why should they go? to be yarded like horses and cattle. My heart has been sore since that talk, but I am now willing to go, for it is best for my people that I do so.”

The Major listened to the old Indian’s volubility for awhile, but interrupted him with a cheering “Forward march!” at which the impatient command moved briskly forward over the now partly broken trail, leaving the chief alone, as his people had already gone on.

We found the traveling much less laborious than before, and it seemed but a short time after we left the Indians before we suddenly came in full view of the valley in which was the village, or rather the encampments of the Yosemities. The immensity of rock I had seen in my vision on the Old Bear Valley trail from Ridley’s Ferry was here presented to my astonished gaze. The mystery of that scene was here disclosed. My awe was increased by this nearer view. The face of the immense cliff was shadowed by the declining sun; its outlines only had been seen at a distance. This towering mass

“Fools our fond gaze, and greatest of the great,
Defies at first our Nature’s littleness,
Till, growing with (to) its growth, we thus dilate
Our spirits to the size of that they contemplate.”

That stupendous cliff is now known as “El Capitan” (the Captain), and the plateau from which we had our first view of the valley, as Mount Beatitude.

EL CAPITAN.

(3,300 feet in height.)

It has been said that “it is not easy to describe in words the precise impressions which great objects make upon us.” I cannot describe how completely I realized this truth. None but those who have visited this most wonderful valley, can even imagine the feelings with which I looked upon the view that was there presented. The grandeur of the scene was but softened by the haze that hung over the valley,—light as gossamer—and by the clouds which partially dimmed the higher cliffs and mountains. This obscurity of vision but increased the awe with which I beheld it, and as I looked, a peculiar exalted sensation seemed to fill my whole being, and I found my eyes in tears with emotion.

During many subsequent visits to this locality, this sensation was never again so fully aroused. It is probable that the shadows fast clothing all before me, and the vapory clouds at the head of the valley, leaving the view beyond still undefined, gave a weirdness to the scene, that made it so impressive; and the conviction that it was utterly indescribable added strength to the emotion. It is not possible for the same intensity of feeling to be aroused more than once by the same object, although I never looked upon these scenes except with wonder and admiration.

Richardson, in his admirable work, “Beyond the Mississippi,” says: “See Yosemite and die! I shall not attempt to describe it; the subject is too large and my capacity too small.... Painfully at first these stupendous walls confuse the mind. By degrees, day after day, the sight of them clears it, until at last one receives a just impression of their solemn immensity.... Volumes ought to be and will be written about it.”

Mr. Richardson has expressed in graphic language the impressions produced upon nearly all who for the first time behold this wonderful valley. The public has now, to a certain degree, been prepared for these scenes.

They are educated by the descriptions, sketches, photographs and masterly paintings of Hill and Bierstadt; whereas, on our first visit, our imagination had been misled by the descriptive misrepresentations of savages, whose prime object was to keep us from their safe retreat, until we had expected to see some terrible abyss. The reality so little resembled the picture of imagination, that my astonishment was the more overpowering.

To obtain a more distinct and quiet view, I had left the trail and my horse and wallowed through the snow alone to a projecting granite rock. So interested was I in the scene before me, that I did not observe that my comrades had all moved on, and that I would soon be left indeed alone. My situation attracted the attention of Major Savage,—who was riding in rear of column,—who hailed me from the trail below with, “you had better wake up from that dream up there, or you may lose your hair; I have no faith in Ten-ie-ya’s statement that there are no Indians about here. We had better be moving; some of the murdering devils may be lurking along this trail to pick off stragglers.” I hurriedly joined the Major on the descent, and as other views presented themselves, I said with some enthusiasm, “If my hair is now required, I can depart in peace, for I have here seen the power and glory of a Supreme being; the majesty of His handy-work is in that ‘Testimony of the Rocks.’ That mute appeal—pointing to El Capitan—illustrates it, with more convincing eloquence than can the most powerful arguments of surpliced priests.” “Hold up, Doc! you are soaring too high for me; and perhaps for yourself. This is rough riding; we had better mind this devilish trail, or we shall go soaring over some of these slippery rocks.” We, however, made the descent in safety. When we overtook the others, we found blazing fires started, and preparations commenced to provide supper for the hungry command; while the light-hearted “boys” were indulging their tired horses with the abundant grass found on the meadow near by, which was but lightly covered with snow.

Mr. J. M. Hutchings has recently cited Elliott’s History of Fresno County and dispatches from Major Savage as proof that it was May 5th or 6th, 1851, that the Mariposa Battalion first entered the Yosemite. As a matter of fact, our adjutant was not with us when the discovery was made in March, nor was there ever but two companies in the Yosemite at any time, Boling’s and part of Dill’s. Captain Dill himself was detailed for duty at the Fresno, after the expedition in March, as was also the adjutant. In making out his report, Mr. Lewis must have ignored the first entry of the valley by the few men who discovered it, and made his first entry to appear as the date of the discovery. This may or may not have been done to give importance to the operations of the battalion. I have never seen the report.

CHAPTER IV.

Naming the Valley—Signification and Origin of the Word—Its proper Pronunciation: Yo-sem-i-ty—Mr. Hutchings and Yo-Ham-i-te—His Restoration of Yo-sem-i-te.

My devout astonishment at the supreme grandeur of the scenery by which I was surrounded, continued to engross my mind. The warmth of the fires and preparations for supper, however, awakened in me other sensations, which rapidly dissipated my excitement. As we rode up, Major Savage remarked to Capt. Boling, “We had better move on up, and hunt out the “Grizzlies” before we go into camp for the night. We shall yet have considerable time to look about this hole before dark.” Captain Boling then reported that the young guide had halted here, and poured out a volley of Indian lingo which no one could understand, and had given a negative shake of his head when the course was pointed out, and signs were made for him to move on. The Captain, not comprehending this performance, had followed the trail of the Indians to the bank of the stream near by, but had not ventured further, thinking it best to wait for Major Savage to come up. After a few inquiries, the Major said there was a ford below, where the Indians crossed the Merced; and that he would go with the guide and examine it. Major Savage and Captains Boling and Dill then started down to the crossing. They soon returned, and we were ordered to arrange our camp for the night. Captain Boling said the Merced was too high to ford. The river had swollen during the day from the melting of the snow, but would fall again by morning.

The guide had told the Major there was no other way up the valley, as it was impossible to pass the rocks on the south side of the stream. From this, it was evident the Major had never before seen the valley, and upon inquiry, said so. One of our best men, Tunnehill, who had been listening to what the Captain was saying, very positively remarked: “I have long since learned to discredit everything told by an Indian. I never knew one to tell the truth. This imp of Satan has been lying to the Major, and to me his object is very transparent. He knows a better ford than the one below us.” A comrade laughingly observed: “Perhaps you can find it for the Major, and help him give us an evening ride; I have had all the exercise I need to-day, and feel as hungry as a wolf.” Without a reply, Tunnehill mounted his little black mule and left at a gallop. He returned in a short time, at the same rapid gate, but was in a sorry plight. The mule and rider had unexpectedly taken a plunge bath in the ice-cold waters of the Merced. As such mishaps excited but little sympathy, Tunnehill was greeted with: “Hallo! what’s the matter, comrade?” “Where do you get your washing done?” “Been trying to cool off that frisky animal, have you?” “Old Ten-ie-ya’s Cañon is not in as hot a place as we supposed, is it?” “How about the reliability of the Indian race?” To all these bantering jokes, though in an uncomfortable plight, Tunnehill, with great good nature, replied: “I am all right! I believe in orthodox immersion, but this kind of baptism has only confirmed me in previous convictions.” The shivering mule was rubbed, blanketed, and provided for, before his master attended to his own comfort, and then we learned that, in his attempt to explore a way across the Merced, his mule was swept off its feet, and both were carried for some distance down the raging torrent.

BRIDAL VEIL FALL.

(630 feet in height.)

After supper, guards stationed, and the camp fires plentifully provided for, we gathered around the burning logs of oak and pine, found near our camp. The hearty supper and cheerful blaze created a general good feeling. Social converse and anecdotes—mingled with jokes—were freely exchanged, as we enjoyed the solace of our pipes and warmed ourselves preparatory to seeking further refreshment in sleep. While thus engaged, I retained a full consciousness of our locality; for being in close proximity to the huge cliff that had so attracted my attention, my mind was frequently drawn away from my comrades. After the jollity of the camp had somewhat subsided, the valley became the topic of conversation around our camp fire. None of us at that time, surmised the extreme vastness of those cliffs; although before dark, we had seen El Capitan looking down upon our camp, while the “Bridal Veil” was being wafted in the breeze. Many of us felt the mysterious grandeur of the scenery, as defined by our limited opportunity to study it. I had—previous to my descent with the Major—observed the towering height above us of the old “Rock Chief,” and noticing the length of the steep descent into the valley, had at least some idea of its solemn immensity.

It may appear sentimental, but the coarse jokes of the careless, and the indifference of the practical, sensibly jarred my more devout feelings, while this subject was a matter of general conversation; as if a sacred subject had been ruthlessly profaned, or the visible power of Deity disregarded. After relating my observations from the “Old Bear Valley Trail,” I suggested that this valley should have an appropriate name by which to designate it, and in a tone of pleasantry, said to Tunnehill, who was drying his wet clothing by our fire, “You are the first white man that ever received any form of baptism in this valley, and you should be considered the proper person to give a baptismal name to the valley itself.” He replied, “If whisky can be provided for such a ceremony, I shall be happy to participate; but if it is to be another cold water affair, I have no desire to take a hand. I have done enough in that line for to-night.” Timely jokes and ready repartee for a time changed the subject, but in the lull of this exciting pastime, some one remarked, “I like Bunnell’s suggestion of giving this valley a name, and to-night is a good time to do it.” “All right—if you have got one, show your hand,” was the response of another. Different names were proposed, but none were satisfactory to a majority of our circle. Some romantic and foreign names were offered, but I observed that a very large number were canonical and Scripture names. From this I inferred that I was not the only one in whom religious emotions or thoughts had been aroused by the mysterious power of the surrounding scenery.

As I did not take a fancy to any of the names proposed, I remarked that “an American name would be the most appropriate;” that “I could not see any necessity for going to a foreign country for a name for American scenery—the grandest that had ever yet been looked upon. That it would be better to give it an Indian name than to import a strange and inexpressive one; that the name of the tribe who had occupied it, would be more appropriate than any I had heard suggested.” I then proposed “that we give the valley the name of Yo-sem-i-ty, as it was suggestive, euphonious, and certainly American; that by so doing, the name of the tribe of Indians which we met leaving their homes in this valley, perhaps never to return, would be perpetuated.” I was here interrupted “Devil take the Indians and their names! Why should we honor these vagabond murderers by perpetuating their name?” Another said: “I agree with Tunnehill;——the Indians and their names. Mad Anthony’s plan for me! Let’s call this Paradise Valley.” In reply, I said to the last speaker, “Still, for a young man with such religious tendencies they would be good objects on which to develop your Christianity.” Unexpectedly, a hearty laugh was raised, which broke up further discussion, and before opportunity was given for any others to object to the name, John O’Neal, a rollicking Texan of Capt. Boling’s company, vociferously announced to the whole camp the subject of our discussion, by saying, “Hear ye! Hear ye! Hear ye! A vote will now be taken to decide what name shall be given to this valley.” The question of giving it the name of Yo-sem-i-ty was then explained; and upon a viva voce vote being taken, it was almost unanimously adopted. The name that was there and thus adopted by us, while seated around our camp fires, on the first visit of a white man to this remarkable locality, is the name by which it is now known to the world.

At the time I proposed this name, the signification of it (a grizzly bear) was not generally known to our battalion, although “the grizzlies” was frequently used to designate this tribe. Neither was it pronounced with uniformity. For a correct pronunciation, Major Savage was our best authority. He could speak the dialects of most of the mountain tribes in this part of California, but he confessed that he could not readily understand Ten-ie-ya, or the Indian guide, as they appeared to speak a Pai-ute jargon.

Major Savage checked the noisy demonstrations of our “Master of Ceremonies,” but approvingly participated in our proceedings, and told us that the name was Yo-sem-i-ty, as pronounced by Ten-ie-ya, or O-soom-i-ty, as pronounced by some other bands; and that it signified a full-grown grizzly bear. He further stated, that the name was given to old Ten-ie-ya’s band, because of their lawless and predatory character.

As I had observed that the different tribes in Mariposa County differed somewhat in the pronunciation of this name, I asked an explanation of the fact. With a smile and a look, as if he suspected I was quizzing him, the Major replied: “They only differ, as do the Swedes, Danes and Norwegians, or as in the different Shires of England; but you know well enough how similar in sound words may be of entirely different meaning, and how much depends on accent. I have found this to be the greatest difficulty a learner has to contend with.”

After the name had been decided upon, the Major narrated some of his experiences in the use of the general “sign language”—as a Rocky Mountain man—and his practice of it when he first came among the California Indians, until he had acquired their language. The Major regarded the Kah-we-ah, as the parent language of the San-Joaquin Valley Indians, while that in use by the other mountain tribes in their vicinity, were but so many dialects of Kah-we-ah, the Pai-ute and more Northern tribes. When we sought our repose, it was with feelings of quiet satisfaction that I wrapped myself in my blankets, and soundly slept.

I consider it proper, to digress somewhat from a regular narrative of the incidents of our expedition, to consider some matters relative to the name “Yosemity.” This was the form of orthography and pronunciation originally in use by our battalion. Lieutenant Moore, of the U. S. A. in his report of an expedition to the Valley in 1852, substituted e as the terminal letter, in place of y, in use by us; no doubt thinking the use of e more scholarly, or perhaps supposing Yosemite to be of Spanish derivation. This orthography has been adopted, and is in general use, but the proper pronunciation, as a consequence, is not always attainable to the general reader.

Sometime after the name had been adopted, I learned from Major Savage that Ten-ie-ya repudiated the name for the Valley, but proudly acknowledged it as the designation of his band, claiming that “when he was a young chief, this name had been selected because they occupied the mountains and valleys which were the favorite resort of the Grizzly Bears, and because his people were expert in killing them. That his tribe had adopted the name because those who had bestowed it were afraid of ‘the Grizzlies’ and feared his band.”

It was traditionary with the other Indians, that the band to which the name Yosemite had been given, had originally been formed and was then composed of outlaws or refugees from other tribes. That nearly all were descendants of the neighboring tribes on both sides of “Kay-o-pha,” or “Skye Mountains;” the “High Sierras.”

Ten-ie-ya was asked concerning this tradition, and responded rather loftily: “I am the descendant of an Ah-wah-ne-chee chief. His people lived in the mountains and valley where my people have lived. The valley was then called Ah-wah-nee. Ah-wah-ne-chee signifies the dwellers in Ahwahnee.”

I afterwards learned the traditional history of Ten-ie-ya’s ancestors. His statement was to the effect, that the Ah-wah-ne-chees had many years ago been a large tribe, and lived in territory now claimed by him and his people. That by wars, and a fatal black-sickness (probably smallpox or measles), nearly all had been destroyed. The survivors of the band fled from the valley and joined other tribes. For years afterward, the country was uninhabited; but few of the extinct tribe ever visited it, and from a superstitions fear, it was avoided. Some of his ancestors had gone to the Mono tribe and been adopted by them. His father had taken a wife from that tribe. His mother was a Mono woman, and he had lived with her people while young. Eventually, Ten-ie-ya, with some of his father’s tribe had visited the valley, and claimed it as their birth-right. He thus became the founder of the new tribe or band, which has since been called the “Yosemite.”

It is very probable that the statement of Major Savage, as to the origin of the name as applicable to Ten-ie-ya’s band; was traditional with his informants, but I give credit to Ten-ie-ya’s own history of his tribe as most probable.

From my knowledge of Indian customs, I am aware that it is not uncommon for them to change the names of persons or localities after some remarkable event in the history of either. It would not, therefore, appear strange that Ten-ie-ya should have adopted another name for his band. I was unable to fix upon any definite date at which the Ah-wah-ne-chees became extinct as a tribe, but from the fact that some of the Yosemites claimed to be direct descendants, the time could not have been as long as would be inferred from their descriptions. When these facts were communicated to Captain Boling, and Ah-wah-ne was ascertained to be the classical name, the Captain said that name was all right enough for history or poetry, but that we could not now change the name Yosemite, nor was it desirable to do so. I made every effort to ascertain the signification of Ah-wah-ne, but could never fully satisfy myself, as I received different interpretations at different times. In endeavoring to ascertain from Ten-ie-ya his explanation of the name, he, by the motion of his hands, indicated depth, while trying to illustrate the name, at the same time plucking grass which he held up before me. From these “signs” I inferred that it must mean the deep grassy valley. Still, it may not mean that. Sandino was unable to give its true signification, saying by way of explanation that Ah-wah-ne was a name of the old tribe, that he did not know how to translate. Major Savage also said that Ten-ie-ya and a few of the old Indians in his band used words which he did not fully understand, and which the others could neither use nor explain.

The dialect of the Yosemites was a composite of that of almost every tribe around them; and even words of Spanish derivation were discovered in their conversations.

It is not uncommon for the mountain men and traders, to acquire a mixed jargon of Indian dialects, which they mingle with Spanish, French or English in their talk to an extent sometimes amusing. The Indians readily adopt words from this lingo, and learn to Anglicize Indian names in conversation with “Americans.” This, when done by the Mission Indians, who perhaps have already made efforts to improve the Indian name with Mission Spanish, tends to mislead the inquirer after “pure” Indian names.

The Mission Indians after deserting, introduced and applied Spanish names to objects that already had Indian designations, and in this way, new words are formed from corrupted Mission Spanish, that may lead to wrong interpretations. I learned from Russio, the chief interpreter, that sometimes more than one word was used to express the same object, and often one word expressed different objects. As an illustration of corrupted Spanish that passes for Indian, the words Oya (olla) and Hoya, may be taken. Oya signifies a water pot, and Hoya, a pit hole. From these words the Mission Indians have formed “Loya,” which is used to designate camp grounds where holes in the rocks may be found near, in which to pulverize acorns, grass seeds, &c., as well as to the “Sentinel Rock,” from its fancied resemblance to a water pot, or long water basket. Another source of difficulty, is that of representing by written characters the echoing gutteral sounds of some Indian words. While being aware of this, I can safely assert that Yosemite, is purer and better Indian than is Mississippi, (“Me-ze-se-be,” the river that runs every where; that is, “Endless river”) or many other names that are regarded as good if not pure Indian.[9]

Our interpreters were, or had been, Mission Indians, who rendered the dialects into as good Spanish as they had at command, but rather than fail in their office, for want of words, they would occasionally insert one of their own coining. This was done, regardless of the consequences, and when chided, declared it was for our benefit they had done so.

Attempts were made to supersede the name we had given the valley, by substituting some fancied improvements. At first, I supposed these to be simply changes rung on Yosemite, but soon observed the earnestness of the sponsors in advocating the new names, in their magazine and newspaper articles. They claimed to have acquired the correct name from their Indian guides, employed on their visits to the Yosemite.

In 1855 Mr. J. M. Hutchings, of San Francisco, visited the Yosemite, and published a description of it, and also published a lithograph of the Yosemite Fall. Through his energetic efforts, the valley was more fully advertised. He ambitiously gave it the name of Yo-Hamite, and tenaciously adhered to it for some time; though Yosemite had already crystalized.

The Rev. Doctor Scott, of San Francisco, in a newspaper article—disappointing to his admirers—descriptive of his travels and sojourn there, endeavored to dispossess both Mr. Hutchings and myself of our names, and named the valley Yo-Amite: probably as a peace offering to us both.

I did not at first consider it good policy to respond to these articles. I had no desire to engage in a newspaper controversy with such influences against me; but after solicitations from Mr. Ayers, and other friends, I gave the facts upon which were based editorials in the “California Chronicle,” “Sacramento Union,” the Mariposa and other papers.

By invitation of Mr. Hutchings, I had a personal interview with him in San Francisco, relative to this matter, and at his request furnished some of the incidents connected with our expedition against the Indians, as hereinbefore narrated. These he published in his magazine, and afterwards in his “Scenes of Wonder and Curiosity in California.”

This statement of facts was signed by myself, and certified to by two members of the State legislature—James M. Roan and George H. Crenshaw—as follows: “We, the undersigned, having been members of the same company, and through most of the scenes depicted by Doctor Bunnell, have no hesitation in saying that the article above is correct.”

Mr. Hutchings says: “We cheerfully give place to the above communication, that the public may learn how and by whom this remarkable valley was first visited and named; and, although we have differed with the writer and others concerning the name given, as explained in several articles that have appeared at different times in the several newspapers of the day, in which Yo-Hamite was preferred; yet as Mr. Bunnell was among the first to visit the valley, we most willingly accord to him the right of giving it whatsoever name he pleases.”

Mr. Hutchings then goes on to explain how he obtained the name Yo-Hamite from his Indian guide Kos-sum; that its correctness was affirmed by John Hunt, previous to the publication of the lithograph of the great falls, etc., and during this explanation, says: “Up to this time we have never heard or known any other name than Yosemite;” and farther on in a manly way says: “Had we before known that Doctor Bunnell and his party were the first whites who ever entered the valley (although we have the honor of being the first in later years to visit it and call public attention to it), we should long ago have submitted to the name Doctor Bunnell had given it, as the discoverer of the valley.”

After my interview with Mr. Hutchings—for I had never heard the word Yo-Hamite until it was published by him—I asked John Hunt, the Indian trader referred to, where he had got the word furnished to Mr. Hutchings. John, with some embarrassment, said, that “Yo-Hem-i-te was the way his Indians pronounced the name.” I asked what name? “Why, Yosemite,” said John. But, I replied, you know that the Indian name for the valley is Ah-wah-ne! and the name given by us was the name of Ten-ie-ya’s band? “Of course, (said John,) but my Indians now apply the word Yo-Hemite to the valley or the territory adjacent, though their name for a bear is Osoomity.” John Hunt’s squaw was called, and asked by him the meaning of the word, but confessed her ignorance. Mr. Cunningham was also consulted, but could give us no certain information; but surmised that the word had been derived from “Le-Hamite ‘The Arrowwood.’” Another said possibly from “Hem-nock,” the Kah-we-ah word for God. As to Yo-Amite, insisted on by Doctor Scott, I made no effort to find an interpretation of it.

CHAPTER V.

Date of Discovery—First White Visitors—Captain Joe Walker’s Statement—Ten-ie-ya’s Cunning—Indian Tradition—A lying Guide—The Ancient Squaw—Destroying Indian Stores—Sweat-houses—The Mourner’s Toilet—Sentiment and Reality—Return to Head-quarters.

The date of our discovery and entrance into the Yosemite was about the 21st of March, 1851. We were afterward assured by Ten-ie-ya and others of his band, that this was the first visit ever made to this valley by white men. Ten-ie-ya said that a small party of white men once crossed the mountains on the North side, but were so guided as not to see it; Appleton’s and the People’s Encyclopedias to the contrary notwithstanding.[10]

It was to prevent the recurrence of such an event, that Ten-ie-ya had consented to go to the commissioner’s camp and make peace, intending to return to his mountain home as soon as the excitement from the recent outbreak subsided. The entrance to the Valley had ever been carefully guarded by the old chief, and the people of his band. As a part of its traditionary history, it was stated: “That when Ten-ie-ya left the tribe of his mother and went to live in Ah-wah-ne, he was accompanied by a very old Ah-wah-ne-chee, who had been the great ‘medicine man’ of his tribe.”

It was through the influence of this old friend of his father that Ten-ie-ya was induced to leave the Mono tribe, and with a few of the descendants from the Ah-wah-nee-chees, who had been living with the Monos and Pai-Utes, to establish himself in the valley of his ancestors as their chief. He was joined by the descendants from the Ah-wah-ne-chees, and by others who had fled from their own tribes to avoid summary Indian justice. The old “medicine man” was the counselor of the young chief. Not long before the death of this patriarch, as if endowed with prophetic wisdom, he assured Ten-ie-ya that while he retained possession of Ah-wah-ne his band would increase in numbers and become powerful. That if he befriended those who sought his protection, no other tribe would come to the valley to make war upon him, or attempt to drive him from it, and if he obeyed his counsels he would put a spell upon it that would hold it sacred for him and his people alone; none other would ever dare to make it their home. He then cautioned the young chief against the horsemen of the lowlands (the Spanish residents), and declared that, should they enter Ah-wah-ne, his tribe would soon be scattered and destroyed, or his people be taken captive, and he himself be the last chief in Ah-wah-ne.

For this reason, Ten-ie-ya declared, had he so rigidly guarded his valley home, and all who sought his protection. No one ventured to enter it, except by his permission; all feared the “witches” there, and his displeasure. He had “made war upon the white gold diggers to drive them from the mountains, and prevent their entrance into Ah-wah-ne.”

The Yo-sem-i-tes had been the most warlike of the mountain tribes in this part of California; and the Ah-wah-ne-chee and Mono members of it, were of finer build and lighter color than those commonly called “California Digger Indians.” Even the “Diggers” of the band, from association and the better food and air afforded in the mountains, had become superior to their inheritance, and as a tribe, the Yosemites were feared by other Indians.

The superstitious fear of annihilation had, however, so depressed the warlike ardor of Ten-ie-ya, who had now become an old man, that he had decided to make efforts to conciliate the Americans, rather than further resist their occupancy of the mountains; as thereby, he hoped to save his valley from intrusion. In spite of Ten-ie-ya’s cunning, the prophecies of the “old medicine” man have been mostly fulfilled. White horsemen have entered Ah-wah-ne; the tribe has been scattered and destroyed. Ten-ie-ya was the last chief of his people. He was killed by the chief of the Monos, not because of the prophecy; nor yet because of our entrance into his territory, but in retribution for a crime against the Mono’s hospitality. But I must not, Indian like, tell the latter part of my story first.

After an early breakfast on the morning following our entrance into the Yosemite, we equipped ourselves for duty; and as the word was passed to “fall in,” we mounted and filed down the trail to the lower ford, ready to commence our explorations.