Where shall I begin You will say in childhood days. Very well, then. I shall say that I was born in Morgantown [Morganton], Burke County, North Carolina, on the 12th day of February, A.D. 1809.
Just like all other children I wanted nourishment, which was supplied abundantly by my dear mother. It was while I was thus being cared for that smallpox gave the people a scare, and we were vaccinated, and, as a memorial of the fact, I have carried the mark on my left arm ever since. In the fall of 1811, when I was about two and one-half years old, I was brought to Kentucky. The next thing I remember was going to school when I was a wee boy with all the childish ways common to the very young. I wanted to be free and out at play, and felt I was a prisoner. I learned but little at that school, but when older I learned as fast as the common run, and became more diligent in my studies than most of the scholars, and thus began to take first rank. My father perceiving that I was fond of books and doing fairly well, sent me to live with Uncle Blevins in Middletown, Ky., to go to school to a Mr. Banks, a man good in word and deed. He was a son-in-law of the Rev. Blackburn, a Presbyterian, of Louisville, Ky. I was well pleased to stay with my kind Uncle and Aunt Amelia, who were very good to me.
What may I say of my early associates with whom I played and attended school for so many years? There is scarcely one left; the grim monster, death, has cut them down, and they have been put away by kind and loving hands in the cold mother earth, there to remain until the resurrection morn. I am so thankful to the Lord that I am blessed with health and strength in this the ninety-first year of my age, and am permitted to leave to kindred and friends an account of myself and life’s work while pilgrimaging through this world, ever beset with snares and temptations on the right hand and on the left; with its joys and sorrow, its disappointments and perplexities. This is the fate of all mortals, but thanks be to the Lord, that though subject to these besetments, there is a hope a promise of a happy home on high, beyond the scenes of mortality, among the righteous gone before to the promised inheritance of the saints in glory, made sure by the word of the Lord of Life and Light. O, that we may all be ready when the summons comes to lay our armor down and enter into the joys of the Lord.
When about seventeen years of age, I attended for one term a school in Jefferson County taught by Thomas Elliott, a fine teacher of Greek and Latin. Two sons of Col. Anderson and one of Levi Tyler were students there at that time. A short time after returning home my father asked me how I would like to study medicine with Dr. Hiram Barton Weathers, who then lived in Floydsburg, Ky. He seemed to have been favorably impressed with me, and told my father that he would make a physician of me provided I should stay in his office for two years. I was well pleased with the arrangement and was soon in his office poring over his books and compounding medicine. Dr. Weathers married Miss Susan Cates, a most excellent and beautiful lady, and a sister of Owen G. Cates, a former Geological Surveyor of Kentucky. During the war of 1812, Dr. Weathers, though but a boy, was permitted to go with the medical corps, and saw and learned much which impressed him with a desire to become a physician and surgeon. He consummated this desire after diligent study at the Transylvania Medical School in Lexington, Ky. I was his only assistant in several important surgical operations; among them the removal of the entire mammary gland of a lady, and removing caries of the thigh bone of many years standing; the work was skillfully done and radical cures effected.
After I had been with him about one year he removed to Shepherdsville, Ky., remained there six months, then went to Plum Creek, near Jack Allen’s where he still resided at the expiration of my two years study with him. In 1829-1830 I attended medical college in Lexington, Ky. After returning home I set up my shingle in the old home town, and having laid in a supply of medicines, read my books while patiently awaiting a call. I made no effort to get practice, but did strive to conduct myself so that I might be esteemed worthy of confidence and patronage. I did not expect to do much practice while Dr. Robert Miller, a clever, honorable man and a kind-hearted, good physician, who had been at the place for several years, continued in business; yet I recall some cases that fell to my lot, one being a visit to see Jane Snyder, and another to her father, Harry Snyder, afterwards my father-in-law. I seemed to hit the nail on the head, as they both made quick recoveries.
Close confinement and hard study had now made me a dyspeptic, and had considerably weakened me. I then realized that it was necessary for me to lay aside my books and take more exercise. Another subject, which was the cause of much anxious thought, was the fact that I was engaged to Sarah Eddings Snyder. I did not know whether it was expedient at the present time to fulfill my promise to the girl I loved, but after a conference this matter was settled, and on the 11th day of November, 1830, we were married at the home of her father, Harry Snyder, in Oldham County by Benjamin Allen, one of the best men we ever knew. A great many people were present to witness the nuptials and partake of a bountiful repast of good things.
The next day we repaired to my father’s house near by, where there was another feast and the company a crowd of neighbors and friends. Mary Shirley, a daughter of Lewis Shirley, stood up with the bride and Strother Barbee, a son of Esquire Barbee, and a brother of Anderson Barbee an old school-mate of mine, was my best man.
We made our home with my father and Mr. Snyder that winter, but early in the spring moved to Shelby County, Kentucky, and located at Washburn’s Cross Roads, about four miles below Christiansburg, an equivalent distance from Shelbyville and Newcastle. I was able to do a fair amount of practice at that place, and no doubt would have done well had I remained there, but Mr. Snyder, his brother John Snyder, Jonathan Hardin, Abraham Kellar and Abraham Souther had gone to Illinois, taking with them my wife’s oldest brother, Albert G. Snyder, as surveyor, and had all entered land near and adjoining each other on the east side of Little Okaw River, about twenty miles southeast of Decatur and on the great emigrant road from Terre Haute to Springfield. They had pick and choice of all the land they desired at one dollar and twenty-five cents an acre. Albert had done the surveying and then remained there to build a house and have some prairie fenced and ploughed. The others had done the same and in the fall were ready to take their families with them to the New West.
At the earnest solicitation of Mr. Snyder and his most excellent wife, I concluded to go with them. I speedily settled up my business, secured some finely bred short-horn cows, traded my saddle mare for a jennet, a yearling and a suckling colt, and then came to Oldham County to be ready to cross the Ohio River, westward bound, which they did in October, 1831. Mr. Snyder had sold his farm and was living on the Asher place, a farm belonging to my father. His second son, William Morgan Snyder, was taken very ill of bilious fever and as a consequence was unable to make the trip with the main party. His mother and his brothers and his sisters remained behind to assist me in caring for him. In the spring, the young man having become strong again, Mr. Snyder returned to take his family to their new home. I was provided with a two-horse jersey wagon and team, and into this we crowded bed and bedding, medicines, etc., and besides took with us my wife’s sister, Judith. We were ready when the word was given and away we went through Indiana till we reached Terre Haute, crossing the line about ten miles west of that place on the 25th of October. Heavy rains were falling and we decided to stop here to recuperate ourselves and our stock. Here, for two or three days, we remained with Shrader, a native of Oldham County, with whom Mr. Snyder was acquainted.
We left Kentucky with about forty head of cattle, three yoke of large oxen, some horses and a large, heavy wagon. When we had rested ourselves and stock again started for Okaw, but my wife and I were not permitted to accompany the others farther than the Little River, where we camped the night after leaving Mr. Shrader’s house. On that night, October 28th, our first child was born in the home of Nathanial Wayne. Sending our jersey wagon forward, we remained two weeks with Mr. Wayne, at which time we were furnished with a conveyance and reached our destination in safety, to find a sixteen-foot log cabin, in which six men, my wife and babe and little Judith Snyder were to pass the winter. A two story house of hewn logs containing two rooms of about eighteen or twenty feet square had been put up but not completed until the arrival of Shelton Whitley, a carpenter, who came with us. A large barn was built for our cattle, and large ricks of prairie hay and about forty acres of corn fodder provided for their winter food. This corn fodder being frost-bitten caused all the cattle but three to die of dry murrain. I lost my fine cows.
We remained here until the early spring, when we moved to a farm about three miles south of Decatur, the county seat of Macon County, near where the Decatur and Shelbyville road crossed the great Terre Haute and Springfield road, then day after day lined with emigrants seeking homes farther towards the West. Our farm contained 160 acres, 80 of which were in timber. All the land was very fertile and about thirty acres were fenced and cultivated. On the farm were a hewn log house, eighteen by twenty feet, with a wooden chimney and a puncheon floor; a small meat house and a stable. In this log house we passed our happiest days, and here was born our second child, Mary Elizabeth, in May 1834. I rented this farm to Uncle Henry Wood in 1833, and went to Decatur where I remained about a year, and then returned to the farm, remaining there until the next spring, when I sold out and moved to Manchester, in Morgan County, where I could get more practice. I did a great amount of riding and was extremely successful, not losing an adult during a stay of twenty-one months. At this place I bought a lot and erected a frame dwelling and a brick office of two rooms. Mother Snyder having died, Mr. Snyder with his two little boys and three small girls had moved to Decatur. I concluded, as did my wife, that we would move back to Decatur and be with her people. Her uncle, Richard Oglesby, had moved there; her brother, Albert G. Snyder, who had married Bettie, a daughter of Abram Kellar, in connection with his father-in-law had opened a dry goods and grocery store; Willis Oglesby, who married Mildred Snyder, was also there, so we were all near together again, which was very pleasant. Charles Bryan, who married Jane Snyder, my wife’s sister, and Mr. Harry Snyder had started a tan-yard. I owned a lot on the public square on which I expected to build some time. I brought with me four good horses, but soon sold two of them for two hundred dollars. I bought a cottage on Main street and we lived there for some time. I sent East and purchased drugs, medicines, paints, glass, etc., and opened the first drug store in Decatur. I employed the County Recorder Jo. Stephens, to attend to the business while I was calling on my patients. I was post-master of Decatur during Van Buren’s term of office, so I was kept very busy. Dr. Redick having been elected to the Legislature, left for several months and gave me full swing. The “Tyler Grip,” so called, and bilious pneumonia were very prevalent and kept me busy. During the summer and fall of 1837 there was a great deal of sickness, and Dr. Cressy, Reed and I had more calls than we could respond to promptly. That fall Dr. Redick died at the residence of Col. Wallace, his father-in-law. Three members of the medical profession – Drs. King, banes and Rodgers – soon came to fill his place. Dr. Rodgers remained one year and left; he was a good Christian gentleman and a fair physician, as was Dr. Banes, who lived there several years and then returned to Tennessee, my native State. [Banes' native state]
Some of my friends were very anxious that I should represent them in the Legislature, and were permitted to put me before the people for that honorable post. A convention was held and I was beaten by two or three votes because I would not consent to cut up Macon and given them two new counties. My defeat was not regretted, as it resulted in something better for me. The next year a Probate Judge was to be elected, and again I was brought out by the Democrats against Judge Isaac Pugh, a strong Whig. I defeated him by about one hundred and thirty votes, but resigned the third year because it interfered with my practice. There were only two appeals taken from my docket up to the Circuit Court, and as both decisions were sustained by Judge Treet, of Springfield, I felt complimented. I left a record of which I had no reason to complain. Being a fair scribe, I did my own clerical work and took a pride in seeing how nicely the books were kept.
During this period I was induced to build a two-story house for a hotel on my lot on the public square to accommodate the business where my interests lay, and was joined in the venture by Landa Herrald, who had been in that business for a number of years. He was to furnish half the capital and take charge of the hotel when completed, but about the time the frame was up he informed me that he could not comply with his contract and wished to sell what interest he had in it; so rather than have some one else secure his interest, I reluctantly agreed to take upon myself the construction and completion of the whole building. This involved me in debt and was the worst investment I ever made. The rate of interest was high, State Bank money was below par, times were hard, the people unable to pay their debts, a bankrupt law in full force and many availing themselves of it; all these things conspired to so embarrass me financially that I never recovered from it. After the building was completed I moved into it and lived in it for several years, keeping my drug store in one part of it. My sons, John Henry and Marcus Edward, were born here. After the death of Uncle Richard Oglesby we took his wife to live with us at this place. She was a kind, Christian woman, highly esteemed by all. When Uncle Willis Oglesby moved here he brought with him most of the children of Col. Jacob Oglesby, who had died of cholera in Oldham County, Ky., about the year 1832. Their names were Amanda, who became the wife of Henry Prather; Ophelia, whose first husband was a Mr. Adamson, and second husband Jasper Peddlecord, both nephews of Mr. Prather; Richard J. Oglesby was the third, who having inherited from his father a fondness for military life went as first lieutenant in a company to join E.D. Baker’s regiment in Springfield, and thence went to Mexico. After his return from the Mexican war he attended law school in Louisville, Ky., where he graduated. He made a trip to Europe, returned and was made a General in the Civil war; was Governor of Illinois for three terms and a United States Senator for one term.
Mr. Snyder, who had married a Mrs. Edna Carr, and who had been living in the country for several years, now wished to take charge of my house and run it as a hotel. He hand indorsed my paper for about nine hundred dollars, and rather than see him suffer loss, I deeded the property to him. It had cost me over two thousand dollars. At this time nearly all my family were sick. My son Richard died and it seemed that more of us would soon go the same way. I determined to take my family to Kentucky and remain there until we should recover our health. We were quartered at my father’s, where there was plenty of room and servants.
The next spring I went to Ballardsville and boarded with Major Knightly. There I practiced until fall, when I had to go back in order to be with my wife and children. I then decided to remain in Kentucky, and formed a partnership with Dr. Freeman and soon had a good practice. While here at the old home of my youngest son, Joseph Albert was born. On February 19th, 1848, my wife was taken suddenly ill with a serious attack of typhoid fever. I called in Dr. Freeman and Dr. Bemis, of Middletown, and was told that there was no hope of recovery, and she died about the seventh day. After the funeral services, conducted by Bro. Samuel Helm, she was laid away in the family grave yard, where now stands a modest marble stone to mark the spot where lies all that is mortal of a most excellent wife, an ever kind and affectionate mother, Christian and friend. She like her father and mother, possessed many traits of character to commend her to the love, esteem and respect of all who mingled with her in the busy scenes of life’s work.
This was a sad bereavement to me and irreparable loss to the seven children left behind. Who in all the earth can fathom the height, depth and breadth of a mother’s love, care and affection for her children in infancy, youth and manhood? She made the good confession and was baptized into the body of Christ, near our home by Joseph Hostetter, an able preacher of the Word. Arrangements were made to hold a meeting in Decatur, and at the appointed time the same brother was on hand, and soon there were about fifty confessions, and it was agreed that we should all meet in Decatur to worship and attend to the ordinance of the Lord’s supper. In this way the first church in Decatur was established. I could say much more about this church and the many able ministers who so powerfully set forth the claims of the Messiah for our acceptance, but time and space will not permit. Suffice it to say that many able preachers served that church, and many were brought into the fold. When I left Illinois the church was in charge of Rev. John Tyler, father of B.B. and Joseph Tyler; the one preaching in New York City, the other in Columbus, Ohio, both being able preachers.
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Wild deer, turkeys and prairie chickens were plentiful, and to be had by going after them properly equipped. It was my delight to take a hunt in the fall when the first snow fell. If I was successful the first day, I was satisfied; if not, I kept on trying until I did succeed, but I did not allow the sport to interfere with my business. One day while on a hunt I shot a very large buck, and as he bled so freely and lay down so often in the snow, I left him as it was near night thinking I would find him dead next morning. The next day Mr. Sawyer and I went to where I had left his trail, and just then three does ran from a hazel thicket to a distance or about one hundred yards and stopped in another thicket; in an instant we had dismounted. I could see nothing but the head of one looking at us; of course my rifle went up and when it cracked she fell in her tracks. Mr. Sawyer, although a good hunter and a fine shot, failed to shoot, so I had him to put my doe before me on my horse and I went home leaving him to find the big buck or capture a doe. At another time I shot one and it was bleeding profusely and lying down so often that I thought it would soon be mine, when suddenly a large, black timber wolf ran in just before me and never allowed that deer to lie down as far as I followed. Although I was the means of procuring the feast for that wolf, I received no thanks for it. That kind of wolf was not numerous, but there were a great many prairie wolves. The latter are of a reddish gray color, somewhat larger than a fox and very fleet of foot. They prey upon lambs, pigs, prairie chickens, and in fact, upon anything that will furnish them with a good meal. I captured several with the assistance of my grey-hounds, the only dog that could overtake them. There were also many badgers, which burrow in the ground. They are savage fighters considering their size, and it takes a fighting dog to be able to kill one. They were harmless, but were exterminated simply because they were useless.
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After my wife’s death my infant boy was placed in the care of my kind sister, Mrs. Conyers, who cared for it about six months, when it was brought to my father’s house, where we were all staying, and taken care of by my older daughters. I was engaged in the practice of medicine at this time, 1848, 1850, and was doing a fair business, and doing all I could for the comfort and happiness of my dear children.
Dr. Freeman, an honorable man, a good physician and surgeon, and I were in partnership, that is, we had a common stock of medicine in one office, but each received pay for whatever service he rendered. This co-operation ended pleasantly and I ever after highly esteemed Dr. Freeman for his fair dealing and kindness.
The gold fever was now raging and I took it. With father’s approbation I set about procuring an outfit to take me to California. A company of eight, consisting of Woodson Oglesby, Jacob Griffith who had been in the Mexican war, William and Christopher Fields, William Souther, John Kalfus, William Russell, of Shelby County, Kentucky, who joined us in Missouri, and myself were formed to make this journey across the rivers, plains and mountains. Each man had two good mules and four were hitched to each wagon.
On May 2, 1850, we went to Louisville and took a steam-boat for St. Louis. At that place we purchased the provisions for our journey, and then took another steamer for Lexington, Missouri, where we began our overland journey for Lone Jack neighborhood in a border county, where we remained until the grass grew sufficiently high to sustain our animals. At this place we were joined by another company of eight men gotten together by Captain Easley a pioneer settler and hunter. We all started together for the Pacific coast. Out on the vast prairie among Indians, over rivers, onward we moved. After having crossed the Blue W----- and Kansas Rivers we were nearing the Platte a distance of about 340 miles, just above Fort Kearney from this point we traveled up on the south side of the Platte to Fort Laramie, then garrisoned by United States troops, where we had some blacksmithing done. The distance traveled was about 640 miles to this fort. Now as you would like to know what was seen and done on this trip, I shall devote part of these pages to telling you. We saw many Indians some tutored and some not, but all looking like savages. We passed through the Pottawatomie Mission where they were being schooled. After we passed through this mission we met some of the warriors of this tribe returning from the pursuit of some hostile Indians who had been committing depredations upon some of their tribe. We saw a few buffaloes and antelopes. Captain Easley killed one of the latter and brought it into camp. The meat is very sweet and tender, even better than venison. Antelopes are much like deer, but smaller; the male antelope has no antlers.
After a day’s travel we would put our wagons in a circle, picket our mules by tying them to a stake driven into the ground with a lariat, or rope, about thirty feet in length, thus allowing them to graze on a circle sixty feet in diameter, our tents were then put up and two guards selected to watch our mules, one in the first part, the other in the latter part of the night. One night while I was on guard the mules were very much frightened, probably by some wild animal that was prowling about. I ran to the point here the mules had broken loose and fired into the darkness with no effect, save to arouse my companions who quickly secured our frightened mules.
The next scene worthy of mention was high up on the Platte River, where we got among the buffaloes crossing that stream. Thousands had crossed and the foot-hills, as far as the eyes could see, were covered with them. Several of them were killed by members of our party. I shot an old buffalo in the head with my fine old rifle (father’s target gun). I cut some of the steak from the carcass and took it to our wagon; it was coarse and dark and was not good like the sucking calf that was killed and brought in by Captain Easley. I need not tell you of the little and big jackrabbits and the sage hens that we saw. The latter very abundantly, and is so firmly rooted in the ground that we often tied our mules to it. One evening we had two rabbits and a sage hen to be cooked for our supper. Woodson Oglesby, one of the very nicest men in our company made up the dough for bread and rolled out some very thin to drop in, that we might have a extra dish, but lo and behold! that sage hen spoiled the whole mess, and destroyed our fondest hopes. It was so bitter and strong of sage no one could eat it. The sage hen is of the color of sage leaves and about the size of a guinea hen.
Still up the Platte we traveled passing the forks, then up the south fork until we reach the place where the great emigrant trail crosses it, when we sent two of our company across to ascertain its depth and show us where to come out on the opposite side. One returned to pilot us over. We had to raise our wagon beds as high up as we could and fasten them to the standards to save our provisions from damage. I think this stream at this crossing is from one to two miles wide and has a floating, quick-sand bottom. I drove our four mule team across, and I had to keep them moving briskly to keep them from sinking. Again we moved on crossing another stream called Sweetwater, the water of which was said to be poisonous. On and up an almost imperceptible grade we went until we reached the south pass of the Rocky Mountains. A day or two before we reach the summit, we travel over the best gravel road I ever saw, more solid than any turnpike over which I ever traveled. While on this great elevation, we saw a heavy, dark cloud drifting toward us, while the sun was seen shining on the top of it, which seemed to be smooth and level, while underneath, it looked dark, ragged and threatening. When near the mountain, the wind struck it and carried it south after having poured out a heavy shower that made the road quite wet a short distance ahead. So I was once above the clouds, for in descending from the summit we go down a steep high mountain into a valley, or low plain really lower than the last ascent. The night after our safe descent, we were treated to a surprise, for next morning there were several inches of snow on the ground. For once we did not remain to breakfast on the spot where we spent the night, but were up and off in double quick time, until we could find grass for our mules. Before we got out of the snow, we saw where a bear had crossed the trail, making its way to a small grove of timber on our left. Just at this time an old mountaineer, who was on the bear’s trail, came up and said he thought he would get it in that little grove.
The warm sunshine soon melted the snow and we found grass for our stock, halted, cooked and ate a meal and were soon on the road again. On and on we moved, now to see large ledges, yes, acres of naked rock on right and left scattered about over the plains. This is the favorite home of the wild mountain goat which we have seen but never have been able to capture any of them. They are crafty and hard to capture. If you get after one, it will strike out for one of these rocky fields, and right over it he will go, jumping form rock to rock without making a false leap, and down on the other side, then away to another rock before the man can ride around to get a shot at him.
We have seen no Indians since we left the Platte, but as we went on westward we came to a camp of the redmen their squaws and little ones at the bend of the Bear River. They had come down from the head waters of the Columbia River on a hunting expedition. They were of Flathead tribe. I suppose most of the men were out on a hunt, for though we stayed there several days, we saw but few of them. There were a white man, his wife and a Cherokee Indian with them, with whom one of our company traded and got a good American horse that carried him into Sacramento City, where he sold him for about ninety dollars. Now, having a chest of medicine with me which I desired to take to the end of the journey, I was surprised and troubled to learn that here we would leave our wagons and make the remainder of the trip on pack mule. I scarcely knew what to do, but decided finally that I would not cut up our wagon, but get ready too, and go as a majority favored so doing. Fortunately Captain Miles, of Missouri, who had been out in California in 1849, came up with his ox team on his return trip, and to him the wagon was given. He agreed to bring my chest of medicine on to California, which he did like a good man. I lost all in a fire in Nevada where I had left it with a friend of mine, and by that means lost almost one hundred dollars worth of medicine.
Further on we reached what was called Hodgpeth’s cut-off which caused us to leave Salt Lake City about seventy miles to our left as we journeyed on to the head of the Humboldt River which is about three hundred and forty miles in length when it sinks or comes to an end in the great basin east of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Our route was down the north side until we reached the sink, when, having supplied ourselves with fresh water, we struck out to cross the parched desert where there was no fresh water to be had for a distance of about ninety miles. After our evening meal we took the trail for the Carson River where we found a plentiful supply of fresh water. The sand was so deep for a part of the way that one of my mules, that had been poisoned by drinking alkaline water gave out. I gave him something to eat and left him behind. I was sorry to do so, but all was rushing at break-neck speed and I was compelled to do so or be left by myself. There is not a tree of any size growing on the Humboldt River as it rolls on draining a great basin and gathering volume until near the end where its surface is covered with thousands of whirlpools which seem to suck in the water. What becomes of this water is a mystery. There is one thing that is significant and that is, that near the sink there is a volume of water issuing from the ground that is hot enough to cook an egg. It ebbs and flows as the ocean tides, I am told. This water I think is fresh and can be used for culinary purposes, but all the water down here where the river is from one two miles wide and very salty. On we go towards the Sierra Nevada Mountains and at length begin their ascent. After climbing two or three miles we are on their summit far above the tops of the pine trees which are to be seen every where on these mountains. The north sides of these mountains are covered with snow all the year, and on the slopes one can enjoy scenery that is grand and magnificent. This is the highest place I was ever on out there, and was several hundred miles from Sacramento City with pine forest all the way. Here we took a pack trail and passed a beautiful lake of clear water about five miles in length situated upon this high tableland. Where we came to where its waters fell over a precipice and dashed down through and among the rocks and on to feed the larger streams. We cross here on a pontoon bridge that had been placed there by packers, the span was about thirty feet, and the water above about ten feet deep and so clear that we could see many mountain trout on the bottom.
As a company, our camp was on the American River which empties into the Sacramento River at Sacramento City. At the ferry of the American River we cooked and ate our last meal, and then the separation took place. Several went into the city, and some of them falling in with Richard J. Oglesby, a forty-niner, concluded to go south with him where he was mining, and the next morning moved off with their mules to be placed on a ranch. The others left, two by two, leaving me and Joe Griffith, who had joined us on the plains, to shift the best we could. I had gone into the city that night also, and was called upon to make a speech to a crowd who wanted to know of the suffering and the destitution of the emigrants, that they might send out relief parties with provisions, etc., to meet them. Of course I told them what I knew.
The next morning, Joe Griffith and I cleaned the platter, and mounting our animals road into town and offered them for sale. We then secured a meal of good things and were ready for some other move.
There were no gold mines near Sacramento City, and we did not know in what direction to strike out, but providentially, as we were walking down the street we met a man carrying a wagon whip in his hand. I knew him, hailed him, and took him by the hand, but he did not know who I was until I told him. He was James Taylor, of Decatur, Illinois, and a partner of Esq. Henry Prather and he was down hauling provisions up to Nevada City where they were sold by Mr. Prather an acquaintance and friend of mine. We were informed of the rich gold mines up there and soon made ready to accompany him a distance of eighty miles to Nevada City at the forks of Deer Creek, in Nevada County, where already several thousand men were at work taking out the yellow metal. It took us two days to make the trip. One morning before we left camp a large, almost nude Digger Indian strolled up and looked into our wagon, but soon struck out again over the hills. After a little prospecting for gold, we bought a claim up on Deer Creek for which we paid two hundred dollars. Providing food, we went to work in earnest and averaged about eight dollars a day as long as our claim lasted. The only sickness that I had while in California was while working in these diggings. I laid by at Mr. Prather’s store where he was very kind to me, and in a week or two was well again and throwing the sand and gravel out of the way to get at pay dirt. One of our party who had so unceremoniously left us at Sacramento came begging us to take him in as a partner, saying he was out of funds and would have starved had he not fallen in with a generous hearted German. We let him have an interest in the claim.
My next mining company was in company with Captain J.B. Ford, of Louisville, Kentucky, who solicited me to join him on a mining tour. He was a man among men, a high-toned honorable gentleman and as reliable and industrious as any one could be. I saw him in Louisville a few years after my return. He with his son, J.B. Ford Jr., were in the steamboat business and ran one that was named “J.B. Ford.” We mined together for several months and made some money and would have made more, but for lack of water. We were operating in dry diggings and gathering up dirt ready to be washed when the rainy season commenced, in September, and which continued until April. Of course all this rain filled up all the streams and there is water everywhere, and the deep snows on the Pacific slope of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, as it comes rushing, surging down through the gorges and canyons finds its way by the three Yuba Rivers to the Feather and Sacramento Rivers, and into the gulf at San Francisco. One summer I mined on the South Yuba and the melting of the snow during the day caused it to rise about three feet daily.
During the summer or dry season there is neither thunder nor lightning, and no clouds to obscure the sun. Summer or winter the climate is pleasant. In seven years I never saw ice one-eighth of an inch thick.
Again a company of eight went up about forty miles to where we struck camp, built a house, and dug a race to turn the waters of a creek in order to work its bed. This took us some time for it was one or two hundred yards long. Here we did a great amount of work and ate up a quantity of costly provisions, and took out about twenty-five dollars. Then our money all gone, we were in a worse fix than ever. While here two of our party went out on a hunt and brought in two nice black tailed deer, which was excellent meat and a treat to us. That night a mountain lion came within about eighty yards of our cabin and set up a tremendous howl. I have no doubt that he was afraid of us, as all living creatures are said in the Good Book to fear man. So after tramping around in the snow a while he returned again up the mountain through the shrubbery to his lair. One of our men took his rifle and followed the trail some distance, but he thought there might be danger in going further, so he returned. There was danger, sure enough, for a man who had suddenly come face to face with a grizzly bear in the chaparral that is everywhere on these mountains, was attacked and would have been killed and devoured, had it not been that his brother, nearby came to his rescue and drew the savage animal’s attention from him; then it made for the new comer but failed to reach him. The brother was badly bruised and made a cripple for life. The Grizzly bear is the most powerful and ferocious animal that roams the mountains of California, and woe to the man or dog that comes within reach of one, especially if it is wounded. With one sweep of its forearm it will kill dogs as fast of you set them on. One weighing over twelve hundred pounds was trapped in a pen made of logs, then placed in an iron cage and sent to Nevada, where it was kept some time and sent to San Francisco. I have seen two others of that specie, but not so large; also two Cinamon Bears, so called on account of their color. Enough has been said of bears, so we will speak again of mining.
Having made nothing that summer we were ready to shift to other places and try it again. Just then several inches of snow fell and a packer and miner who had two mules and a horse found he would have to take them to the valley. This was my chance to get away; and so three of us started, and none too soon for it snowed until it got so deep that one mule gave out, and farther on the horse gave out. We pressed on and up the mountain, the snow getting deeper and deeper; when night compelled us to call a halt, and build a fire, cook some supper, spread out our Buffaloe robe and blanket, lay ourselves, down, trust the Lord and wait the mornings dawn. In the morning we put our pack on the only mule left, and two of us had to go before it to break the way so it could travel, as the snow was over three feet deep. Our elbows cut into the snow as we passed along. Finally we descended into the valley, where everything was covered with water, and stock grazing. Then we were thankful and stopped at the blue tent kept by William Lindsey of Kentucky, got something to eat, stayed until next morning and then went to Nevada City. There I saw William Watkins a friend of mine whom I had doctored on the plains and in California. He and another man had a good claim, and I bought a third interest in it; they were taking about eight dollars a day apiece. After I joined them we each took out sixteen dollars a day. Here was where I did the best mining while there, but we were not long in working it out; I sent some of this home, I think two hundred dollars; that is, I sent a check to father, and he cashed it in Louisville.
I mined in other places, with some success visiting other mining sections, saw the quartz rock being crushed to get out the gold that was in its virgin purity, which was paying richly. Many others sank shafts into the ground and then dig under and timbered up and elevated the pay dirt with a windlass. In all I spent about four years in prospecting and mining. The next business in which I was engaged was the practice of medicine and assisting Dr. C.T. Overton in attending to the postoffice in Nevada City as deputy postmaster. For this service I received one hundred dollars a month, and if the government would allow it, I would get that sum. He made application, consulted John J. Crittenden, senator from Kentucky, but to no purpose. There for months I did faithful service, for the mails were heavy, and twice a month the Atlantic mail brought about two thousand letters, besides other mail which had all to be handled and delivered to the thousands here in the mines and up in the mountains. Express men would come down from away up in the mountains with long lists of names, then we would have to look over and find the letters addressed to each one of these for which we were paid twenty-five cents each. The postage at that time was twenty-five cents and the express men charged the same or more. This made letters cost something, but those people were glad to hear from their loved ones left behind and cheerfully paid that and would have paid more if necessary. I have seen and heard much anxiety expressed by men to hear from home and friends and no wonder for I felt that way too. Thanks to our government and the fast ocean mail steamers for this service which cheered the hearts of many men on the Pacific slope. Dr. Overton put up private boxes in the office for which he charged fifty cents a month for each name and this paid in advance, which brought him in a good sum of money and after months of service he concluded he would sell them to me, his good bed and bedding and take steamer for home to see his beautiful young wife and that little baby girl he had left behind. The office was left in my charge and I became acting postmaster. I paid him for all his private property and attended the office and would have made a good thing of it, had it not been that a new postmaster was appointed, and I held the place only about three months, and then was cheated out of what I paid the doctor for his private boxes. He promised faithfully he would pay me two hundred dollars for all; but never did, and told me he never would. He was worthless and unworthy the confidence placed in him as a man, and a Kentuckian of a fine family.
In the spring following; Dr. Overton returned with his wife and little girl to make California his permanent home. I had again been mining, and as soon as he saw me he proposed that we go in partnership in the practice of medicine, to this I consented, and we were soon in an office waiting to see who would need our services.
For months we were there and did a considerable business, but there was not as much clear money made as we expected. Just at that time provisions were high; flour had to be brought from Chili, and potatoes from Oregon. I had to pay eighteen dollars a week at my hotel. We learned more about scurvy with which many were afflicted than we ever knew before. The worst case of inflammatory rheumatism I ever attended was there. The population was necessarily transient, there today and gone tomorrow, whether debts were paid or not, and we often lost by that process. I thought much of the Doctor and his wife who had now bought a home and were snugly domiciled in it, and seemed to be in the full enjoyment of the blessings of life, health and friends.
Twice the City of Nevada was almost swept off the face of the earth by fire; the last time five men lost their lives, three of them by refusing to leave their fire proof brick stores, which did not prove to be fire proof, and had they been such they would not have been life-proof in so great a conflagration. There was but one grocery store left in the city. I was there and assisted my honored friend Judge Beckner of Kentucky in removing his fine furniture from his house to a place of safety. His wife was a Dudley and a relative of that noted family of Kentucky, some of whom I personally know. Dr. Benjamin Winslow Dudley one of the most noted surgeons west of the Allegheny mountains was Professor of Anatomy and Surgery in the Medical College in Lexington, Ky., when I attended that institution in 1829-30. I saw him perform a very important operation for stone in the bladder, which he said was the eightieth case successfully performed. I learned from him that by all means get the system of the individual in as healthy condition as possible, even if it takes weeks before a capital surgical operation, so that healing of the wound will take place by first intention.
Now we return to California incidents, I could tell you of many other things seen in California but must hurry on to say that the time having come for me to leave the Golden State and start for my old Kentucky home, I made ready and took the stage for Sacramento where we went on a steamboat, plying the Sacramento River to San Francisco, being jostled about all night in the stage without sleep. Soon after we got on the boat I became sick and vomited but was soon all right again and that was the last of my sickness while on land, nor was I sick on the sea and for this I was thankful, but many of my acquaintances were very seasick. I had provided myself with some Seidlitz powders and some Cognac Brandy as prophylactics and was always ready when meal time came to do my share of that kind of business while out on the deep blue sea among the foaming white caps and raging billows where the whales congregate and the porpoises leap out and in to the briny deep and like the wild geese follow their leader in great droves. I saw them sporting and spouting up great volumes of water, seemingly about eighty feet high and four or five feet in diameter. At a distance of about ten miles from us there were three of these, and farther on we saw five more of the sea-oily monsters of the deep performing this mighty work, when we saw three whale ships making for them. It was a sight never to be forgotten so grand, so sublime. If the column of water thrown up by the sperm whale seemed to be as large as described, at a distance of ten miles, how large was it and how high in reality, and how far off were those that threw up a column of only ten inches in diameter? Please tell me if you can, as I do not know. I saw a large black whale lying up on the surface sunning itself, I suppose, and floating on the waves. They are much larger than the sperm, but are not sought after as the others by whalers. Soon after our ship was fairly out on the beautiful, deep blue sea.
On and on our noble vessel plows the deep, about seven hundred passengers have laid their bodies down in their bunks for a night’s rest. All is quiet. Suddenly a fire alarm is heard and the vessel is filled with smoke and many, aroused from their slumbers, roll out pretty badly frightened, then the men at their posts cry aloud; “The fire is out,” and all are safe. Then again all quiet down. The fire had caught in the stone coal near the mouth of the furnace and was soon put out by a stream from their hose. This caused the smoke. On we go to Acapulco, on the coast of Mexico, there to take in a supply of fresh water and beef cattle. This is a beautiful port and it was very interesting to see the natives bring the long-horned steers to the ship, and the crew windless them up on the deck out of the water by a rope around their horns only. One of the natives, as the ship began to move, leaped from it, head foremost, into the foaming sea, and like a duck, popped up near the craft to which the beeves were attached. His comrades reaching down caught him by the hand and lifted him on deck again. Their occupation is to supply all vessels with fresh beef, water and tropical fruits. From the dispatch with which this is done, I have no doubt that it pays them well.
Now the steam is up, the sails unfurled and we are destined for Panama, where under a tropical sun and a clear sky in June we cast anchor in that ancient renowned harbor where stands the old town, Panama. Our vessel came to a standstill at a pier and being evening, and too late to cross by rail to Colon, we remained on ship board until early next morning when we went on land, and at the depot entered a car, took our seats and were again traveling at good speed through a level, rich, timbered country with here and there a patch of ground cleared and a cabin near by, its tenants, the blackest of free negroes, who have lived here the Lord knows how long, but never progressed in art or civilization; and if left to themselves, never will. They seem indolent and careless and live off of the fruits that grow so abundantly here, bananas, oranges, lemons, pineapples, nuts and other things such as melons etc., that are had with scarcely any cultivation.
Some of the men worked on the railroad when being constructed by an English company.
Here we saw monkeys, parrots and other feathered songsters of the most beautiful plumage of the feathered species we ever looked at. I went on the morning train which had to make a second run to bring the remaining passengers, treasure, mail, etc. for New York.
Here we took an extra dinner, and were ready late in the evening to take the other mail steamer to New York. Everything aboard, off we sailed again, to plow the more tempestuous Atlantic, and anon a heavy wind storm strikes us and the great waves rolling high, beat against the sides of the vessel. Down go the hatches to keep out the briny fluid while we are being rocked in a great cradle, as it were. Nothing daunted, the sailors are up in the rigging doing their duty among the sails, as sailors only know how to do, when the Captain’s commands come. After awhile the storm abates and we are in calmer water. The wind having shifted from south to west struck the stern of the vessel and helped us to increase our speed. With sails set to the breeze, we needed only enough steam to keep the wheels in motion, for it was run by steam or sails, or both, if necessary. By steam it was able to run against the wind and storm and ride the great rolling billows lying in its course.
Out of the Carabean Sea we passed around Florida and saw and spoke to some vessels and on to New York, run up North River to the foot of Courtland street, where we disembarked. After securing lodging, we ate a good supper at a restaurant, and returned and slept on land again. We stayed a day and two nights in New York. I was on Broadway, and also further up in town, purchased a nice suit of clothes, etc. After purchasing a ticket for Louisville, I crossed over to Jersey City, taking a train; route running through Pennsylvania and Ohio to Cincinnati; stopped at a hotel that night and early next morning crossed the Ohio River to Covington, Lexington and on to Beards, Oldham County, Kentucky, to my home which was eighteen miles east of Louisville, Kentucky, where I found some of my children, all still alive, but separated. Some in Illinois, and some in Daviess County, Kentucky. Father having died [in 1856], the dear old home, for once in forty-five years, was left without tenant where once we worked, sported and congregated to enjoy the fruits of our labors and the company of relatives and friends; a sad reflection which admonishes us to the uncertainty and instability of all earthly things as time carries us on many are separated for a while from the loved ones, but may meet again to participate in each others joys and sorrows, but let death cut the golden cord and we are to see, meet and greet each other no more until the glorious resurrection morn. May it be the happy lot of us all to meet again in that blissful abode where the wicked cease from troubling and the weary are at rest, to part no more forever.
After staying awhile with kind relatives and friends, and having received some of my children, we left for Owensboro where some others were, and there remained until we visited relatives in the country and looked around for a home. One about sixteen miles from town, near Greenbrier church, was offered us, which was bought, and after buying a wagon, horses and provisions for a supply for ourselves and my two sons-in-law and families, we all moved to it, where we lived fairly well for a season. Now once more my children were all together, which was my heart’s desire; but after a time they left one by one, and the others with myself were left alone with my single daughter, Ann Clyde, as housekeeper. By and by she was married to Mr. J. Tanner, and left me to wind up matters, sell the farm, and make another move for the good of all. John went to school and studied medicine, James William went south as a soldier in the Confederate army, and I with my two youngest boys, Marcus E., and Joseph A. returned to the old home at Oldham, where I engaged in the practice of medicine, boarding and sending them to school that they might be better qualified for life’s work. Here I had quite a large practice. John H. read medicine with me and then attended the medical college of Cincinnati, Ohio, because there was no school that winter in Louisville. The civil war was going on, and the city was filled with federal soldiers. Here I remained until he took his second course in the Louisville medical school and graduated, when I married a cousin to my first wife, Lucy Taylor whose maiden name was Lucy Button, and although I owned a snug house and lot in the town and wished to live here, I was persuaded to go with her to her farm near the river, below Westport, where we lived until about a year after the war closed, when we moved to Hardinsburg, Shelby County, where I was kept busy for about eighteen months until James W. Speer had graduated and was located where he now resides in Alton, Anderson County, Kentucky, then we went back near her old home. Expressing a desire to visit my children in Daviess County, whom I had not seen for several years, she said I ought to go, and urged me to do so. I reluctantly went because her health was so poor, I disliked to leave her. She was a good, kind wife, mother and neighbor, and said others might say what they would about Dr. J.G. Speer, but he had done his whole duty. This I did as all the neighbors know, and was for peace.
Then some trouble came up and I went to Illinois where I had so long lived and engaged again in my professional calling. Soon her mother, then her married daughter, and last she died last before my return to Kentucky.
Doctors J.W. and J.H. Speer having located, married and settled down to business in Kentucky, and M.E. Speer having also married, I came again among old neighbors and friends and for sometime made my home with the last named. In the meantime Joseph Albert Speer had studied medicine, graduated and is with me in Illinois at Lovington, Moultrie County, engaged in our profession. My dear old mother was yet living and I stayed with her and nursed her as well as I could, at the old home place, where lived sister Susan Hinkle, that might in some measure requite her for the love, care and attention she had given me when helpless. She died in the Christian faith February 18, 1876, and was laid away to rest beside the honored father and husband, where a monument tells the sad story. Father died November 12, 1856.
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