A Backward Glance at Eighty Part 2

They proceeded leisurely down the east side of the bay, stopping the second day nearly opposite the entrance. It seemed a likely place for a townsite, and they honored the water-dipping discoverer by calling it Bucksport. Then they went on, crossing the little stream now named Elk River, and camping near what was subsequently called Humboldt Point.

They were disappointed that no river of importance emptied into so fine a bay, but they realized the importance of such a harbor and the value of the soil and timber. They were, however, in no condition to settle, or even to tarry. Their health and strength were impaired, ammunition was practically exhausted, and there were no supplies. They would come back, but now they must reach civilization. It was midwinter and raining almost constantly. They had little idea of distance, but knew there were settlers to the south, and that they must reach them or starve. So they turned from the bay they had found to save their lives.

The third day they reached a large river flowing from the south, entering the ocean a few miles south of the bay. As they reached it they met two very old Indians loaded down with eels just taken from the river, which the Indians freely shared with the travelers. They were so impressed with them and more that followed that they bestowed on the magnificent river which with many branches drains one of the most majestic domains on earth the insignificant, almost sacrilegious name of _Eel_!

For two days they camped, consuming eels and discussing the future. A most unfortunate difference developed, dividing the little group of men who had suffered together so long. Gregg and three others favored following the ocean beach. The other four, headed by Wood, were of the opinion that the better course would be to follow up Eel River to its head, crossing the probably narrow divide and following down some stream headed either south or east. Neither party would yield and they parted company, each almost hopeless.

Wood and his companions soon found their plan beset with great difficulties. Spurs of the mountains came to the river's edge and cut off ascent. After five days they left the river and sought a mountain ridge. A heavy snowfall added to their discomfiture. They killed a small deer, and camped for five days, devouring it thankfully. Compelled by the snow, they returned to the river-bed, the skin of the deer their only food. One morning they met and shot at five grizzly bears, but none were killed. The next morning in a mountain gully eight ugly grizzlies faced them. In desperation they determined to attack. Wood and Wilson were to advance and fire. The others held themselves in reserve--one of them up a tree. At fifty feet each selected a bear and fired. Wilson killed his bear; Wood thought he had finished his. The beast fell, biting the earth and writhing in agony. Wilson sensibly climbed a tree and called upon Wood to do likewise. He started to first reload his rifle and the ball stuck. When the two shots were fired five of the bears started up the mountain, but one sat quietly on its haunches watching proceedings. As Wood struggled with his refractory bullet it started for him. He gained a small tree and climbed beyond reach. Unable to load, he used his rifle to beat back the beast as it tried to claw him. To his horror the bear he thought was killed rose to its feet and furiously charged the tree, breaking it down at once. Wood landed on his feet and ran down the mountain to a small buckeye, the bear after him.

He managed to hook his arm around the tree, swinging his body clear. The wounded bear was carried by its momentum well down the mountain. Wood ran for another tree, the other bear close after him, snapping at his heels. Before he could climb out of reach he was grabbed by the ankle and pulled down. The wounded bear came jumping up the mountain and caught him by the shoulder. They pulled against each other as if to dismember him. His hip was dislocated and he suffered some painful flesh wounds.

His clothing was stripped from his body and he felt the end had come, but the bears seemed disinclined to seize his flesh. They were evidently suspicious of white meat. Finally one disappeared up the ravine, while the other sat down a hundred yards away, and keenly watched him. As long as he kept perfectly still the bear was quiet, but if he moved at all it rushed upon him.

Wilson came to his aid and both finally managed to climb trees beyond reach. The bear then sat down between the trees, watching both and growling threateningly if either moved. It finally tired of the game and to their great relief disappeared up the mountain. Wood, suffering acutely, was carried down to the camp, where they remained twelve days, subsisting on the bear Wilson had killed.

Wood grew worse instead of better, and the situation was grave. Little ammunition was left, they were practically without shoes or clothing, and certain death seemed to face them. Wood urged them to seek their own safety, saying they could leave him with the Indians, or put an end to his sufferings at any time. Failing to induce the Indians to take him, it was decided to try to bind him on his horse and take him along on the hard journey. He suffered torture, but it was a day at a time and he had great fort.i.tude. After ten days of incredible suffering they reached the ranch of Mrs. Mark West, thirty miles from Sonoma. The date was February 17th, one hundred and four days from Rich Bar.

The four who started to follow the beach had experiences no less trying.

They found it impossible to accomplish their purpose. Bold mountains came quite to the sh.o.r.e and blocked the way. They finally struck east for the Sacramento Valley. They were short of food and suffered unutterably. Dr. Gregg grew weaker day by day until he fell from his horse and died from starvation, speaking no word. The other three pushed on and managed to reach Sacramento a few days after the Wood party arrived at Sonoma.

While these adventurous miners were prosecuting the search for the mythical harbor, enterprising citizens of San Francisco renewed efforts to reach it from the ocean. In December, 1849, soon after Wood and his companions started from the Trinity River, the brig "Cameo" was dispatched north to search carefully for a port. She returned without success, but was again dispatched. On this trip she rediscovered Trinidad. Interest grew, and by March of 1850 not less than forty vessels were enlisted in the search.

My father, who left Boston early in 1849, going by Panama and the Chagres River, had been through three fires in San Francisco and was ready for any change. He joined with a number of acquaintances on one of these ventures, acting as secretary of the company. They purchased the "Paragon," a Gloucester fishing-boat of 125 tons burden, and early in March, under the command of Captain March, with forty-two men in the party, sailed north. They hugged the coast and kept a careful lookout for a harbor, but pa.s.sed the present Humboldt Bay in rather calm weather and in the daytime without seeing it. The cause of what was then inexplicable is now quite plain. The entrance has the prevailing northwest slant. The view into the bay from the ocean is cut off by the overlapping south spit. A direct view reveals no entrance; you can not see in by looking back after having pa.s.sed it. At sea the line of breakers seems continuous, the protruding point from the south connecting in surf line with that from the north. Moreover, the bay at the entrance is very narrow. The wooded hills are so near the entrance that there seems no room for a bay.

The "Paragon" soon found heavy weather and was driven far out to sea.

Then for three days she was in front of a gale driving her in sh.o.r.e. She reached the coast nearly at the Oregon line and dropped anchor in the lee of a small island near Point St. George. In the night a gale sprang up, blowing fiercely in sh.o.r.e toward an apparently solid cliff. One after another the cables to her three anchors parted, and my father said it was with a feeling of relief that they heard the last one snap, the suspense giving way to what they believed to be the end of all. But there proved to be an unsuspected sandspit at the base of the cliff, and the "Paragon" at high tide plowed her way to a berth she never left. Her bones long marked the spot, and for many years the roadstead was known as Paragon Bay. No lives were lost and no property was saved. About twenty-five of the survivors returned to San Francisco on the "Cameo,"

but my father stayed by, and managed to reach Humboldt Bay soon after its discovery, settling in Uniontown in May, 1850.

The glory of the ocean discovery remained for the "Laura Virginia," a Baltimore craft, commanded by Lieutenant Dougla.s.s Ottinger, a revenue officer on leave of absence. She left soon after the "Paragon," and kept close in sh.o.r.e. Soon after leaving Cape Mendocino she reached the mouth of Eel River and came to anchor. The next day three other vessels anch.o.r.ed and the "General Morgan" sent a boat over the river bar. The "Laura Virginia" proceeded north and the captain soon saw the waters of a bay, but could see no entrance. He proceeded, anchoring first at Trinidad and then at where Crescent City was later located. There he found the "Cameo" at anchor and the "Paragon" on the beach. Remaining in the roadstead two days, he started back, and tracing a stream of fresh-looking water discovered the mouth of the Klamath. Arriving at Trinidad, he sent five men down by land to find out if there was an entrance to the bay he had seen. On their favorable report, Second Officer Buhne was instructed to take a ship's boat and sound the entrance before the vessel should attempt it. On April 9, 1850, he crossed the bar, finding four and a half fathoms. Buhne remained in the bay till the ship dropped down. On April 14th he went out and brought her in. After much discussion the bay and the city they proposed to locate were named Humboldt, after the distinguished naturalist and traveler, for whom a member of the company had great admiration.

Let us now return to L.K. Wood, whom we left at the Mark West home in the Sonoma Valley, recovering from the serious injuries incident to the bear encounter on Eel River. After about six weeks of recuperation, Wood pushed on to San Francisco and organized a party of thirty men to return to Humboldt and establish a settlement. They were twenty days on the journey, arriving at the sh.o.r.e of the bay on April 19th, five days after the entrance of the "Laura Virginia." They were amazed to see the vessel at anchor off Humboldt Point. They quietly drew back into the woods, and skirting the east side of the bay came out at the Bucksport site.

Four men remained to hold it. The others pushed on to the head of the bay, where they had enjoyed their Christmas dinner. This they considered the best place for a town. For three days they were very busily engaged in posting notices, laying foundations for homes, and otherwise fortifying their claims. They named the new settlement Uniontown. About six years afterward it was changed to Arcata, the original Indian name for the spot. The change was made in consideration of the confusion occasioned by there being a Uniontown in El Dorado County.

And so the hidden harbor that had long inspired legend and tradition, and had been the source of great suffering and loss, was revealed. It was _not_ fed by the Trinity or any other river. The mouth of the Trinity was _not_ navigable; it did not boast a mouth--the Klamath just swallowed it. The Klamath's far-northern mouth was a poor affair, useless for commercial purposes. But a great empire had been opened and an enormously serviceable harbor had been added to California's a.s.sets.

It aided mining and created immense lumber interests.

Strange as it may seem, Humboldt Bay was not discovered at this time.

Some years ago a searcher of the archives of far-off St. Petersburg found unquestionable proof that the discovery was made in 1806, and not in 1849-50. Early in the nineteenth century the Russian-American Company was all-powerful and especially active in the fur trade. It engaged an American captain, Jonathan Winship, who commanded an American crew on the ship "Ocean." The outfit, accompanied by a hundred Aleut Indians, with fifty-two small boats, was sent from Alaska down the California coast in pursuit of seals. They anch.o.r.ed at Trinidad and spread out for the capture of sea-otter. Eighteen miles south they sighted a bay and finally found the obscure entrance. They entered with a boat and then followed with the ship, which anch.o.r.ed nearly opposite the location of Eureka. They found fifteen feet of water on the bar. From the large number of Indians living on its sh.o.r.es, they called it the Bay of the Indians. The entrance they named Resanof. Winship made a detailed sketch of the bay and its surroundings, locating the Indian villages and the small streams that enter the bay. It was sent to St. Petersburg and entered on a Russian map. The Spaniards seem never to have known anything of it, and the Americans evidently considered the incident of no importance.

Humboldt as a community developed slowly. For five years its real resources were neglected.

[Ill.u.s.tration: HUMBOLDT BAY--FROM RUSSIAN ATLAS THE HIDDEN HARBOR--THRICE DISCOVERED Winship, 1806. Gregg, 1849. Ottinger, 1850.]

It was merely the shipping point from which the mines of the Trinity and Klamath rivers were supplied by mule trains. Gradually agriculture was developed, and from 1855 lumber was king. It is now a great domain.

The county is a little less than three times the size of the state of Rhode Island, and its wealth of resources and its rugged and alluring beauty are still gaining in recognition.

Its unique glory is the world-famous redwood belt. For its entire length, one hundred and six miles of coast line, and of an average depth of eight miles, extends the marvelous grove. Originally it comprised 540,000 acres. For more than sixty years it has been mercilessly depleted, yet it is claimed that the supply will not be exhausted for two hundred years. There is nothing on the face of the earth to compare with this stand of superb timber. Trees reach two hundred and fifty feet in height, thirty feet in diameter, and a weight of 1,250,000 pounds.

Through countless centuries these n.o.ble specimens have stood, majestic, serene, reserved for man's use and delight. In these later years fate has numbered their days, but let us firmly withstand their utter demolition. It is beyond conception that all these monuments to nature's power and beauty should be sacrificed. We must preserve accessible groves for the inspiration and joy of those who will take our places.

The coast highway following down one of the forks of the Eel River pa.s.ses through the magnificent redwood belt and affords a wonderful view of these superb trees. Efforts are now being made to preserve the trees bordering the highway, that one of the most attractive features of California's scenic beauty may be preserved for all time. California has nothing more impressive to offer than these majestic trees, and they are an a.s.set she cannot afford to lose.

CHAPTER III

NINE YEARS NORTH

Uniontown (now Arcata) had enjoyed the early lead among the Humboldt Bay towns. The first consideration had been the facility in supplying the mines on the Trinity and the Klamath. All goods were transported by pack-trains, and the trails over the mountains were nearer the head of the bay. But soon lumber became the leading industry, and the mills were at Eureka on deep water at the center of the bay, making that the natural shipping point. It grew rapidly, outstripping its rival, and also capturing the county-seat.

Arcata struggled valiantly, but it was useless. Her geographical position was against her. In an election she shamelessly stuffed the ballot box, but Eureka went to the legislature and won her point.

Arcata had the most beautiful location and its people were very ambitious. In fruitless effort to sustain its lead, the town had built a pier almost two miles in length to a slough navigable to ocean steamers.

A single horse drew a flat car carrying pa.s.sengers and freight. It was the nearest approach to a railroad in the state of California at the time of our arrival on that lovely morning in 1855.

We disembarked from the ancient craft and were soon leisurely pursuing our way toward the enterprising town at the other end of the track. It seemed that we were met by the entire population; for the arrival of the steamer with mail and pa.s.sengers was the exciting event of the month.

The station was near the southwest corner of the plaza, which we crossed diagonally to the post-office, housed in the building that had been my father's store until he sold out the year before, when he was elected to the a.s.sembly. Murdock's Hall was in the second story, and a little way north stood a zinc house that was to be our home. It had been shipped first to San Francisco and then to Humboldt. Its plan and architecture were the acme of simplicity. There were three rooms tandem, each with a door in the exact middle, so that if all the doors were open a bullet would be unimpeded in pa.s.sing through. To add to the social atmosphere, a front porch, open at both ends, extended across the whole front. A horseman could, and in fact often did, ride across it. My brother and I occupied a chamber over the post-office, and he became adept in going to sleep on the parlor sofa every night and later going to bed in the store without waking, dodging all obstructing objects and undressing while sound asleep.

We were quite comfortable in this joke of a house. But we had no pump; all the water we used I brought from a spring in the edge of the woods, the one found by the Gregg party on the night of Christmas, 1849. The first time I visited it and dipped my bucket in the sunken barrel that protected it I had a shock. Before leaving San Francisco, being a sentimental youth and knowing little of what Humboldt offered, I bought two pots of fragrant flowers--heliotrope and a musk-plant--bringing them on the steamer with no little difficulty. As I dipped into the barrel I noticed that it was surrounded by a solid ma.s.s of musk-plants growing wild. The misapprehension was at least no greater than that which prompted some full-grown man to ship a zinc house to the one spot in the world where the most readily splitting lumber was plentiful.

One of the sights shown to the newcomer was a two-story house built before the era of the sawmill. It was built of split lumber from a single redwood tree--and enough remained to fence the lot! Within a stone's throw from the musk-plant spring was a standing redwood, with its heart burned out, in which thirteen men had slept one night, just to boast of it. Later, in my time, a shingle-maker had occupied the tree all one winter, both as a residence and as a shop where he made shingles for the trade.

We had a very pleasant home and were comfortable and happy. We had a horse, cows, rabbits, and pigeons. Our garden furnished berries and vegetables in plenty. The Indians sold fish, and I provided at first rabbits and then ducks and geese. One delicious addition to our table was novel to us. As a part of the redwood's undergrowth was a tall bush that in its season yielded a luscious and enormous berry called the salmon-berry. It was much like a raspberry, generally salmon in color, very juicy and delicate, approximating an inch and a half in diameter.

Armed with a long pole, a short section of a b.u.t.t limb forming a sort of shepherd's crook, I would pull down the heavily laden branches and after a few moments in the edge of the woods would be provided with a dessert fit for any queen, and so appropriate for my mother.

California in those early days seemed wholly dependent on the foreign markets. Flour came from Chile, "Haxall" being the common brand; cheese from Holland and Switzerland; cordials, sardines, and prunes from France; ale and porter from England; olives from Spain; whiskey from Scotland. Boston supplied us with crackers, Philadelphia sent us boots, and New Orleans furnished us with sugar and mola.s.ses.

The stores that supplied the mines carried almost everything--provisions, clothing, dry goods, and certainly wet goods. At every store there was found an open barrel of whiskey, with a convenient gla.s.s sampler that would yield through the bunghole a fair-sized drink to test the quality. One day I went into a store where a clever Chinaman was employed. He had printed numerous placards announcing the stock. I noticed a fresh one that seemed incongruous. It read, "Codfish and Cologne Water." I said, "What's the idea?" He smilingly replied, "You see its place? I hang it over the whiskey-barrel. Some time man come to steal a drink. I no see him; he read sign, he laugh, I hear him, I see him."

There was no school in the town when we came. It troubled my mother that my brother and sister must be without lessons. Several other small children were deprived of opportunity. In the emergency we cleaned out a room in the store, formerly occupied by a county officer, and I organized a very primary school. I was almost fifteen, but the children were good and manageable. I did not have very many, and fortunately I was not called upon to teach very long. There came to town a clever man, Robert Desty. He wanted to teach. There was no school building, but he built one all by his own hands. He suggested that I give up my school and become a pupil of his. I was very glad to do it. He was a good and ingenious teacher. I enjoyed his lessons about six months, and then felt I must help my father. My stopping was the only graduation in my experience.

My father was an inveterate trader, and the year after our coming he joined with another venturer in buying the standing crop of wheat in Hoopa Valley, on the Trinity River. I went up to help in the harvesting, being charged with the weighing of the sacked grain. It was a fine experience for an innocent Yankee boy. We lived out of doors, following the threshers from farm to farm, eating under an oak tree and sleeping on the fragrant straw-piles. I was also the b.u.t.t of about the wildest lot of jokers ever a.s.sembled. They were good-natured, but it was their concerted effort to see how much I could stand in the way of highly flavored stories at mealtime. It was fun for them, besides they felt it would be a service to knock out some of the Boston "sissiness." I do not doubt it was. They never quite drove me away from the table.

In the meantime I had a great good time. It was a very beautiful spot and all was new and strange. There were many Indians, and they were interesting. They lived in rancherias of puncheons along the river. Each group of dwellings had a musical name. One village was called Matiltin, another Sava.n.a.lta. The children swam like so many ducks, and each village had its sweathouse from which every adult, to keep in health and condition, would plunge into the swiftly flowing river. They lived on salmon, fresh or dried, and on gra.s.s-seed cakes cooked on heated stones.

They were handsome specimens physically and were good workers. The river was not bridged, but it was not deep and canoes were plenty. If none were seen on the side which you chanced to find yourself, you had only to call, "Wa.n.u.s, matil!" (Come, boat!) and one would come. If in a hurry, "Holish!" would expedite the service.

The Indian language was fascinating and musical. "Iaquay" was the word of friendly greeting. "Aliquor" was Indian, "Waugee" was white man, "Chick" was the general word for money. When "Waugee-chick" was mentioned, it meant gold or silver; if "Aliquor-chick," reference was made to the spiral quill-like sh.e.l.ls which served as their currency, their value increasing rapidly by the length. [Footnote: In the Hawaiian Islands short sh.e.l.ls of this variety are strung for beads, but have little value.] There are frequent combined words. "Hutla" is night, "Wha" is the sun; "Hutla-wha" is the moon--the night-sun. If an Indian wishes to ask where you are going, he will say, "Ta hunt tow ingya?"

"Teena scoia" is very good. "Skeena" is too small. "Semastolon" is a young woman; if she is considered beautiful, "Clane nuquum" describes her.

The Indians were very friendly and hospitable. If I wanted an account-book that was on the other side of the river, they would not bother for a canoe, but swim over with it, using-one hand and holding the book high in the air. I found they had settled habits and usages that seemed peculiar to them. If one of their number died, they did not like it referred to; they wished for no condolence. "Indian die, Indian no talk," was their expression.

It was a wonder to me that in a valley connected with civilization by only a trail there should be found McCormick's reapers and Pitt's threshers. Parts too large for a mule's pack had been cut in two and afterwards reunited. By some dint of ingenuity even a millstone had been hauled over the roadless mountains. The wheat we harvested was ground at the Hoopa mill and the flour was shipped to the Trinity and Klamath mines.

All the week we harvested vigorously, and on Sunday we devoted most of the day to visiting the watermelon patches and sampling the product. Of course, we spent a portion of the day in washing our few clothes, usually swimming and splashing in the river until they were dry.

The valley was long and narrow, with mountains on both sides so high that the day was materially shortened in the morning and at night. The tardy sun was ardent when he came, but disturbed us little. The nights were blissful--beds so soft and sweet and a canopy so beautiful! In the morning we awoke to the tender call of cooing doves, and very soon lined up for breakfast in the perfectly ventilated out-of-doors. Happy days they were! Wise and genial Captain Snyder, Sonnichsen, the patient cook, Jim Brock, happy tormentor--how clearly they revisit the glimpses of the moon!