The following is an account of my Great Great Grandfather's trip to the California gold fields in 1852 from Grant County, Wisconsin to Shasta City, California.
ACROSS THE PLAINS WITH THE GOLD
SEEKERS
Written at the solicitation of
the Wabaunsee County Historical Society
By William Horne
(Born June 30, 1833, died Sept.
27, 1915.)
William H. Horne (possibly his marriage photo c. 1857)
bout the year 1836 my father and his family, consisting of my mother,
my infant bother Jacob,
who grew up and lived for many years in Wabaunsee county, and myself, a three year old boy, emigrated from
Germany to America. The family located for a few years in Illinois, and then
moved to Grant County, the southwestern county of Wisconsin, where in a few
years my father died. A few years thereafter my mother married again, my
stepfather’s name being George Hefner. The family continued to live in Grant
county, Wisconsin, until after the discovery of gold in California. Some of the
western pioneers — settlers in the neighboring territory to us — had gone the
year before across the plains by ox team in quest of their fortune, to be made
by gold digging. Reports coming back from the gold fields were exiting, and my
stepfather caught the gold fever so bad that he determined to leave home for
California the next spring (1850). He went then, entrusting our mother to the
care of us boys. I was then past seventeen years old, Jakie about fourteen, and
a younger brother about six or seven. This younger brother Louis died in the
army during the Civil War.
Gold coin from 1849
n the spring of 1850, and before
my stepfather left, I was satisfied I had the gold fever myself pretty bad, but
I did not dare say anything about it around home for a while, and yet I began
planning to get ready to start in a year or two. In the summers of 1850 and
1851 I took contracts to break, and broke 200 acres of prairie with five yoke of old oxen our family owned. In part pay for this work I managed to take three yoke of young oxen, which I broke myself and claimed as my own. Such cattle were pretty cheap then.
A Yoke of Oxen
ow in the autumn of 1851 I needed
my mother’s consent to cross the plains to the gold fields the next spring, and
had partially arranged with companions to make the trip with me. It was usual
for three or four persons to unite to go with a wagon and three or four yoke of
oxen. Three yoke were enough, though some went with four. I had agreed with two
companions, who understood that I must get my mother’s consent. These were a
cousin of mine, Fred Horne,
aged about 35 years, and an ex-Mexican war veteran named Charles Pickett, both
neighbors, and whom my mother knew to be honest and worthy people. I told my
mother my intentions for the next spring, my arrangements with my companions
and who they were, and that I had the three yoke of oxen and that in our
arrangements the oxen were to remain mine at the end of the journey, and that
we jointly were to contribute the wagon and provisions and camping outfit. I
told her that I did not ask much help from her, and that if she tried to
prevent my going I would sell the oxen and get the money for them and join some
other outfit and go. She made no objections to my going beyond saying she
feared the other boys—my brothers—could not be helpful enough at home.
fter this Fred Horne and Charles
Pickett frequently came to our house, and preparations for the trip across the
plains went forward. We planned to start early, as we knew the trip to be
ordinarily an all summer’s journey, and that the trip started as late as in the
spring as May 15th might find us stranded in the late fall in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains.
n March 21, 1852, I having passed
my nineteenth birthday on the 29th of June in the previous year, my companions
and I, with our ox teams and fully equipped for the trip, crossed the
Mississippi river at Dubuque, Iowa, en route for Shasta, California, and a
narrative of our experiences on the trip made 59 years ago this summer (1911)
is here attempted.
rom Dubuque we crossed the state
of Iowa, aiming at Council Bluffs
, then also known as Camsville, 320 miles distant, and arriving there we found
collected a large number of ox teams in charge of gold seekers, and they were
waiting because it was claimed by them that the grass was not started to have
sufficient grazing. We also laid over there with them about two weeks,and then, as the grass was still
Kanesville. Aka Council Bluffs Crossing at the Missouri
River
too scanty to start, it was agreed by the company and a
train boss, or road pilot, to whom the others looked as being the big chief of
the expedition, that if nearly all the company in charge of teams would buy and carry
A California Trail Wagon Train
along from 15 to 20 bushels of corn to help support the cattle, the
expedition might start in a day or two, and that all those who would not buy
corn must start with some later expedition. Nearly all immediately bought the
required amount of corn there in Council Bluffs, and on the fifth of May our
expedition crossed the Missouri river on a hand ferry boat, a caravan of about
80 wagons with three or four yoke of oxen to the wagon. We followed the trend
of the Platte River, and while passing through the Pawnee Indian
country about 70 or 80 Pawnee bucks and squaws closely followed our train and
gathered up the droppings of our cattle and washed the corn out of it and ate
it.
A Pawnee Indian Camp
efore getting through this Pawnee
country we had to cross a creek over a bridge which I understand the U.S.
government had built. This creek we believed to be impassable otherwise for a
great distance, and when we came to the place of the bridge we found the plank
removed from the bridge and carried a short distance to the west side of the
creek. More than a few Pawnees were about there, and when we had to stop a few
representatives of the Indians came to us and said, as I was informed, that we
had no right to go through their country without their consent, and that they
wanted pay for the privilege they were now ready to give us to go further. They
said they asked 25 of our oxen and all the corn we had left in our wagons. The
oxen we could not well have spared, but the corn we had left we could spare, as
the grazing for our cattle was now sufficient. We held a kind of council among
us and all agreed to offer the Pawnees all the corn we had—and the aggregate in
the 80 wagons was no small quantity—and also a cow which someone in the train had
found and which some earlier train had probably lost. They accepted this offer
and allowed us to put the plank on the bridge and go on.
fter this we had no more trouble
with the Indians. The Sioux never troubled us. We went forward and arrived at
Ft. Laramie—except
that the fort was on the opposite side of the river—and that on the
Fort Laramie, Wyoming. Across the North Platte River
morning before we reached the fort an incident happened that detached the three
lead wagons from the train—my wagon being ahead of all. This happened because
quite a few of the wagons in the train contained women and children; and such
wagons, or some of them, were invariably slow in getting ready to start with
the train in the morning. It was customary, after plenty of time was allowed
our oxen to graze in the morning and for everyone to have their breakfasts, for
the train master to give a call which meant to yoke up your oxen. This was
always punctually done by the teams in the forward half of the train unless the
drivers felt they did not need to be in a hurry because of the fact that the
women passengers on his wagon would not be ready when the team was yoked up.
The order to yoke up had been given and the drivers were yoking up, and the train
boss rode up to my wagon, which was one of the most forward ones, and told me
that he assigned my wagon to lead the train that day, and he designated a
couple other teams that could easily drop in behind me to fall in after me, but
we were not to pull out until he gave the signal from back along the line when
everybody was about ready. After waiting for the signal to pull out probably
five minutes, it came, and I pulled out in the lead, and the nearby wagons fell
in behind as directed, and the whole train seemed to us to have started, and so
far as we could see it had. We had driven probably a quarter of a mile when the
train boss came riding up to near the front and signaled us (the front teams)
to stop.
e had anticipated such an
occurrence every day, and when we saw the wagon boss riding forward this time
the drivers and occupants of the wagons behind me (there were no women in them)
called to me in an undertone, “go on, go on,” and I did not stop, for I felt
the same disgust they felt. All the wagons behind the forward three stopped at
the signal, but we three drove on. The train boss, seeing that we were ignoring
him, rode after us until he was sure that we meant to free ourselves of the
delays of his management, when he told us to “go to h---“ and turned back. One
of our party replied to him that we wanted to get to California sometime. The
boss went back and we went on, and after a day or two the rear division of the
original train never came in sight of us again. I had a guide book of the
overland route, and I believe every wagon had one, and except that my wagon was
aiming for Shasta, and one other misadventure, we ought not have got lost.
ur three wagons continued on
along the Platte, and from a place called the Devil’s Gate we followed the Sweetwater to its head, and were above the timber line. Here the ground was frozen hard in July, when we were there. While passing over this frozen ground we had to bake our bread
The Devil’s Gate beyond Independence Rock
in trenches. We dug in the frozen ground, as our bread pans would not
bake well in coals on the surface. We were on this frozen ground two days
before we could get beyond it. Proceeding, we crossed the Little Sandy and Big
Sandy rivers and came to what our guide book described as a desert 55 miles
wide and without water or grass. Before entering this desert we gave our
cattle a good rest, intending to cross by one continuous drive. We started into
it at four o’clock one afternoon, and at midnight we stopped to make some
coffee and rest the cattle a little. We drank the coffee and gave each steer a
gallon of water, and started forward. We got over the desert and to Green River
about sundown the next day. Here for two days we rested the cattle. The Mormons
had a ferry, controlled by rope, across Green River, and we had to pay $7 a
wagon to cross on it, while the cattle had to swim. Going forward from here we
came to the Bear River Mountains, which we crossed. We found the descent so
steep that we had to take one wagon down before we could start to take another
down. We locked both hind wheels and tied a rope to the rear axle, and all the
spare men of the three wagons pulled back while the driver governed the cattle.
Bear River Mountains
oing on, we came to Bear River,
where we found the mosquitoes so bad that the cattle could not eat and we could
build no fire. We tied our cattle to the wagons to hold them and let them fight
the mosquitoes, while we covered up and stayed all night without the cattle
getting anything to eat. A white steer that belonged to me looked altogether
black in his covering of mosquitoes. We moved on from here a few days and came
to a strong ebbing and flowing spring near the Bear River, where we camped over
Sunday. A few Ute Indians, about a dozen families, were camped there when we
arrived. This spring had a perpendicular outlet, and flowed with such force as
to throw out stones as large as our heads, which we threw into it at its ebb.
While we were resting here over Sunday, we noticed our Indian friends with all
their families, women and children, go into the Bear River valley, each
carrying a stick. We watched them to see what they were about and we watched as
they turned to the level valley land we saw that they were driving something.
We could not see from our distance what they were driving, so we went to them
and saw that they were
Wingless Grasshopper
driving large wingless grasshoppers, many
of which were as large as a man’s thumb. They drove them into a large hole that
had some water in it, and then they gathered weeds and grass and trash, which
they threw into the hole and set fire to it. This killed the grasshoppers and
then the Indians began to eat them. I think they had 8 or 10 bushels of them.
A River Crossing
e left this place the next
morning, and the next considerable stream we came to was the Snake River. We
went down this river a couple of days, and our trail crossed over it about 25
times in one day’s travel. After we left the Snake River we crossed a little
divide, and struck the head of Humbolt,
and followed this river down about 80 miles, and there we met a company of
civil engineers or surveyors coming toward us. They had just laid out from the
west end of the route a new trail to Shasta City, and they furnished me with a
chart, as a guide book, on a sheet of paper of this new route. This new route
was called Noble cutoff.
My wagon, with myself and two companions took this
Noble’s Emigrant Trail Route
new
route from here. The other two wagons continued on the trail toward Sacramento
City. We did not realize the risk we were assuming, and so for 300 miles we
three comrades pushed on alone through an Indian country across the Sierra
Nevada mountains—a whole month’s travel. I have often thought over this
fool-hardy venture and as often concluded that I would never take such a risk
again of being killed by the Indians for all of California.
When we had traveled this route about 25 miles we came to a place called Black
Rock Springs,
and at this point the new route intersected the route taken by the ‘49ers. Here
a great train of the gold seekers of ’49 were snowed in and could get no
further, and all would have perished as did their cattle and some of the
people, had not some territorial officers in California heard of their plight,
and soldiers with mules were sent there to break a trail for them to walk out
and go on foot.
Black Rock Desert, Nevada. West of Winnemucca
ere was one of the most
sensational scenes I ever witnessed. Many hundreds of the carcasses of the dead
cattle, though dead nearly three years, lay around, many with the hides still
covering the bones. In the dry climate of that region they had merely dried up,
rather than decayed. The ox yokes lay all around, and there stood hundreds of
abandoned wagons. Inside and outside these wagons were great quantities of
carpenter tools, blacksmith tools, and other implements. The misfortune of
these people resulted from their starting too late to get across the mountains
before the snows of the coming winter set in. They did not know anything of the
character of the trail, and many of the wagons were too large and too heavily
loaded and they had thus all retarded the progress of the train. From this
place, Black Rock Springs, our route was entirely based on the chart the
surveyors had given us.
e set out early the next morning
on this new route, and stopped for the first day at a place nine miles out,
where there was a small lake.
Here my two companions and I came to the conclusion that we could take our
wagon no further and must abandon it, because the sage brush was so low, so
thick and so heavy that we could hardly draw our wagon over them. We cut up our
wagon box and made pack saddles from it for our oxen, and this caused us a
day’s delay. The next day we packed our oxen (we had lost one and had five
left) and only four of these were gentle enough to break into this new service
easily. The fifth was a wild, unbreakable beast and would not submit to the
pack saddle, bucking and on this account we had to leave some things behind
that we wished to take along. One of these things was a feather bed my mother
had given me, and Mr. Pickett, seeing that I was going to leave this, asked if
I would consent to his taking it on the steer without a pack saddle. I told
him, “certainly.” So we caught the steer and strapped it on him so we thought
the sage brush would not interfere with it, but the steer when turned loose
fought the light burden with his horns and got it out of position, and tore it
and strewed our new route with feathers for much of the day’s travel.
rom this lake where we abandoned
the wagon the first camping place on our new chart and route was 21 miles
distant, and we had to start pretty early to make it, and even then we failed
to reach the place as expected. We hoped to reach this camping place in 11
hours travel but when we had traveled that long we were on a salt plain with
the salt an inch thick. We were very thirsty and had seen no water on the way.
e could not stop, and went on
until six o’clock, and now my cousin, Fred Horne, was exhausted and could go no
further. We knew our companion was all in when he told us so. This made our
situation very embarrassing. We had to leave him and move on to reach a
mountain in sight and distant about a mile, which indicated water by a little
greenness about its base.
ickett and I, with the cattle,
went forward, and about night we got to a place where the new trail went up a
mountain. Pickett said he could go no further and that he was going to lie down
there, and that he was so near dead that he did not expect to get up again.
Pickett and the cattle lay down there, and I took my canteen and went up the
trail. The moon was nearly full, and there was twilight yet, so I could see
some. It was about a mile to the top of this mountain by the trail, and
elevation I judge was about 1000 feet.
rom there, by the remaining
twilight and the moonlight, I imagined I could see green timber not far to the
left, and if this were so, there would probably be water there, so I abandoned
the trail and went in that direction. The distance, however, was about a mile,
and the timber was there and a dry run, but no water. I followed this run quite
a piece until I came in sight of an opening or canyon between two mountains,
and was now so much exhausted myself as to make up my mind to go there and if I
found no water by the time I got there I would lie down and possibly go no
further. The distance to this place proved to be about half a mile and there I
found a pretty little lake
of snow water as cold as ice. Here, too, was the station 21 miles from where we had started in the
morning. I judge it was considerably later than ten o’clock when I reached this
lake of water, because being very tired
and carrying a heavy rifle and groping in the semi-darkness over much of the
distance I had to go very slow in places.
immediately satisfied my thirst by taking many
little drinks of this invigorating water, during which time I got about five
minutes rest, and then I filled my canteen and started back to Pickett and the
cattle, saddened now by the thought of Fred Horne, whom we had left
exhausted a few miles further back. My
trip back to Pickett was slow, and I judge it was nearly one o’clock when I got
back to him. I gave him a drink, but did not let him drink all the water
because Fred Horne might come up to us there. We got so roused contemplating
the situation that we lost all desire for sleep, and it could not have been far
from daylight when we decided to eat a bite of breakfast and then I take
Pickett and the cattle to the lake, where they could rest, while I would try to
find Fred, if he had not come up to us by that time. We did this, and now about
six o’clock in the morning and I then left Pickett and the cattle at the lake
and started back with my gun to where, in the early part of the night, I
reached the top of the mountain and made the digression from the trail that led
me to the lake. I traveled back to this point over the route I had gone along
in the night, and missed meeting Fred on his way to overtake us by not
following the trail from the lake back. Here I discharged my gun four times,
assured that Fred, who had his gun with him, would answer by discharging it if
he heard mine. I heard no response, and Fred was probably at the station at the
time. So I went back to the station to make a better understanding with Pickett
for a more continued absence which I might make a further search for Fred, but
we were reunited and happy.
have hundreds of times since then thought over
this incident and our perplexity at the time. None of us three men thought
otherwise than that we could, with our pack oxen, travel over a trail marked
for plainsmen, go 21 miles in about 12 hours, or that an extra hour or two
would signify much to us; but here we realized it with alarm. Walking all the
way ourselves and wearing ourselves out crowding the oxen forward, we hardly
made an average rate of a mile and a quarter an hour during the 17 hours to get
from station to station, without seeing water while passing over a salt plain,
and carrying a heavy rifle. This wore my comrades out; Fred five miles from our
destination and Pickett two and a half miles from it, but our weariness and
confusion taught us some things that might be useful for the future. We fully
realized here that we three were going to California alone, and over a route no
gold seeker had ever passed, and that we were still far east of the Sierra
Nevada mountains.
Sierra Nevada Range from the East
e rested at this station until
well in the afternoon, and had intended to stay until the next day, but we came
to the conclusion that it was not safe to stay there because our party was so
small and we knew there were Indians about. So about three o’clock in the
afternoon we loaded up our oxen and went on up the little creek or rivulet that
fed the lake (our trail led that way). These mountain streams have the feature
of having more water in them up stream than downstream. We camped on this
stream that night, having traveled only a few miles. This was a beautiful
little creek with many salmon trout in it.
ext morning we started off again
still going up the creek, and all at once came to where a spur of the mountain
butted out right against the creek, and we had to pass over this spur. When we
got on top we saw that the creek had turned away from us, and here there was a
fork in the trail with nothing to indicate to us which trail we should take. It
was now four o’clock and we unfortunately chose the wrong trail and followed it
until just before sunset, when we came to what we concluded was the crater of
an extinct volcano.
After we had passed over this we came to some box elder trees and expected to
find evidence of a creek or water there. There was only a dry creek with no
water, and while we were consulting about what to do Pickett said in a low
tone, “I saw an Indian’s head bob down behind that rock over there,” and
indicating the rock. I said, “Let’s go to him,” and we all started directly
towards the rock. Two Indians jumped up from behind the rock and started to run
off. We stopped and called to them, and one of the party who had a tin cup made
signs to indicate that we wanted water. They stopped and let us come up to
them, and by signs and motions we understood them to try to tell us that water
was to be found by going up on a nearby mountain and down the other side. We agreed
to give each of the Indians half of a double blanket if they would pilot us to
the water. They accepted and piloted us over and down the mountain, and there
we came to Honey River.
Susan River, California near Honey Lake
e traveled all night and part of
the next day getting to it, and our cattle had become so thirsty before
reaching it that when they were yet a mile from it they started to go so fast
that we could hardly keep up with them and when they got to the river they went
right into it. The water was deep and we got everything wet that the cattle
carried, but our supply of goods was so small and of such a character that it
did not do much damage. For some time our provisions had been only rice,
coffee, hardtack and dried beef, but we had enough left to do us until we hoped
to reach Shasta City.
ur two Indian pilots stayed with
us at Honey River until after breakfast. They relished our coffee greatly, but
our dried beef was too salty for them. After we had taken several hours of rest
and sleep, we decided as a precaution against treacherous Indians to move to
another place before night. So in the afternoon we started off up the river,
and about sunset of that day we were at the foot of the Sierra Nevada
Mountains. We camped there for the night, and that night water froze in a
bucket half an inch thick. We had struck our trail again when we reached the
Honey River.
fter we had camped here half an
hour, 25 naked Indians came to visit us and took possession of our bed for the
night, and we had to either sit up or lie on the ground. We did not dare
disturb them. At daylight we got breakfast and made coffee for all those
Indians. They drank it all and ate the coffee grounds up clean. They did not
disturb us further, and we packed up and started on. I have often wondered why
it was the Indians suffered us to camp over night and then move on unmolested
in this country. We were always courteous toward them and this may have been
the reason for our immunity. We assumed too much risk. Our escape from death or
robbery was a surprise to all with whom I ever talked who had preceded us over
the plains and mountains
ext morning we started up the
Sierra Nevada Mountains, or principal Rocky mountain range. Here we had a trail
we could not get away from, and it took us about two days to get to the top.
The descent on the west slope was much more gradual. The distance down was
nearly 100 miles, heavily timbered with pine timber. When we were pretty well
through this pine timber, or nearly down as I supposed, we lost the right
trail, by taking the plainest trail – an Indian trail that led to a nice spring
of water, and from this spring trails ran in every direction but the right way.
A Scene in the Lassen Wilderness
he place was devoid of timber for
several acres, as pine timber does not grow near water, and while discussing
what to do an Indian wearing a U.S. soldier’s cap, but otherwise naked, and
three other naked Indians and two Indian boys came up to us and acted friendly,
and one of them offered us some roasted roots to eat. I took one and ate it and
it tasted much like sweet potato. We hired the father of these two Indian boys
by offering to each of the boys half of a double blanket, to pilot us to our
trail again. The other accepted and the boys went ahead faster than we could go
with our nearly worn out cattle. In half a day the boys got us through to Cow
creek and waited until we came up. They gave us our direction by pointing down
Cow creek, and here we were only half a mile from a camp of white cloth tents.
There were a couple hundred of them in plain sight and we could see people
moving about, but could not tell what they were or could be. While we were
trying to make them out we heard a rooster crow in that direction, and we were
satisfied that it was a camp of whites. We went down the creek toward the camp,
which was on the opposite side, and there we stopped, and proceeded to arrange
our camp for the night. Pickett crossed the creek to the camp to see if he
could but something to eat different from our dried beef. He came back in a
little while with a piece of pickled pork, some sugar and coffee. He learned that
the U.S. government was building a fort there – Fort Reding.
he men had told him that we must
not camp where we had stopped, as it was not safe there on account of the
Indians, as the Indians were bad in that country, and an officer had invited us
to cross the creek and camp with them. We did not act on this invitation
promptly and were much inclined not to accept it at all, because we were so
ragged and dirty. The soles of my shoes were worn completely off under the
balls of my feet, the tops of my shoes were torn open and the leather curled
up, my clothes were worn through and we had had no haircuts nor shaves on the
whole trip. After a little while an officer with six men came over to us and
told us we must come into their camp, and we went. Next morning the officer
gave us each a soldier’s ration for breakfast. The officers also told us that
there was no grazing for our cattle at Shasta, and that we could leave them
with the government herd at the post to graze, and when we wanted them we could
come and get them, and it would cost us nothing. We left our cattle at the post
and set out for Shasta City, 40 miles distant. We hoped to make it in one day, but did not quite do it. However, we got to
Shasta City
a place called Lower
Springs,
only five miles short of Shasta, where there was a mining camp. There was a
store, a bakery, two saloons and some miners’ cabins here.
ere I saw the first gold dust I
ever saw. The miners had just finished their day’s work and were coming home,
and they showed us the fruits of the day’s labor in their prospecting pans.
They said we must not camp where we had stopped (under a large burr oak tree
outside the camp) on account of the Indians. We did not believe there was any
danger and told them we had come alone 300 miles – through this bad Indian
country and had not been molested. We did not act on the advice of the miners,
but soon afterward the baker, who was German, the store keeper and one of the
saloon keepers came to us and told us the Indians would kill us if we stayed
there, and the baker said we could sleep in his bakery building. We slept in
the bakery but the fleas greatly disturbed our rest. Next day we went to
Shasta. Here I found my stepfather and on the next day I started in to work digging and washing gold. On the day before I had time
Panning for Gold
to learn this trade by watching how
the miners did it, and my stepfather assisted me in getting started. Mining
claims were to be had for the selection of them, and a pan and a few days
supply of provisions was all the assistance one needed to become a gold digger.
My first day at mining here produced me an ounce of gold. This was on August 6,
1852.
The S.S. Golden Gate
remained in California, not all the time at
Shasta, however, until March 15, 1858, when I left San Francisco on the steamer Golden Gate for home. We crossed the isthmus on the
Panama railroad.
It was the first railroad I had ever seen. The fare across for the 49 miles was
$50.
I got home in April, 1858. I had made lots of money in California, but did not
manage well to save it. When I was 21 years of age I had 50 pounds weight in
gold, worth $10,000. In 1853, the year after I got to California, I sent home
$2,000 in gold. This got home all right. Two weeks later I sent $1,200 more,
but the last shipment was lost.
The Wreck of the S.S. Golden Gate in 1862
The End
William Horne at about 70 years old
Compiled and
transcribed, with illustrations and
endnotes added by Troy Dockins, a great great grandson of William Horne
2013
