goldfields

John Steele left California in June 1853, after almost three years as a gold miner. His intention was to land at Acapulco and journey to Mexico City, and then to the Gulf where he could take another ship to the States. He wanted to see something of the country and people, and practice his Spanish. But the day he left San Francisco the papers announced that a military coup in Mexico City had thrown the country into a revolution. It was not a good time to tour Mexico. He took the Nicaragua route instead.

In the introduction to his narrative Steele writes:

Returning to Wisconsin, the author spent some time in study, and was engaged in teaching in southwest Missouri when the Civil War began; joined the Union Army, and at the close of the war became a minister in the Methodist Episcopal church; and is now a member of the West Wisconsin Conference.

This journal, written without thought of publication, has been laid aside through all the busy intervening years. Recently, having occasion to refer to it, the author was impressed with the fact that here was faithfully delineated the everyday life and experience of the average miner, and under conditions which only California, in that early day, could furnish. (p. 117-118)

He spent the last dozen years of his life in Lodi, Wisconsin, where his account was published in 1901 as a 90-page pamphlet. It has become a classic of California Gold Rush literature.

Here are the various incidents, just as they happened: ludicrous, solemn, serious, tragic, inexpressibly sad, but always interesting. (p. 118)

John Steele died in Lodi on October 6, 1905.

On June 18, 1853, John Steele received a letter from an old friend, Edward D., who was studying at the University of Wisconsin (founded in 1848). Many of Steele’s friends had left the goldfields; he was feeling lonely and he wanted to further his education. It was time to go home. But his adventures in California were not yet over.

He bid farewell to Capitan Juan, the headman of the Indian village, and a few other friends. He took the stage to Sacramento and then a steamboat to San Francisco, where

. . . . an incident was added to my experience, which emphasized the adage, “Eternal vigilance is the price of liberty,” and other things. (p. 327)

He had been accompanied on both the stagecoach and the steamboat by a burly stranger who seemed to know that he had been for some time in the mines and was now going home. The man was friendly and suggested a hotel they could stay at, but Steele had already chosen the Atlantic Hotel near Long Wharf as his stopping place. The stranger agreed that it was a good place and followed him there. He also tried to get Steele to join him in a drink, but Steele refused. You may recall that he was a temperance man and did not drink alcohol.

The next day Steele went to buy his return ticket home.

It was early in the forenoon and on a thronged street when I again met the stranger. We recognized each other, and in passing he unawares crowded me against a door, which was on a level with the sidewalk, and with a sudden push thrust me inside.

Instead of the usual revolver, I carried two single shooters in a place prepared inside my coat; and with my right hand trying to prevent his shutting the outer door, with my left hand I cocked one, drew it, but just then saw another man, standing in a side door, and as I raised the pistol he disappeared and shut the door.

In an instant I drew the other pistol with my right hand, when the man who had pushed me in disappeared through a door on the opposite side and it was shut.

Bewildered, I stood for a moment with a cocked pistol in either hand, and on regaining presence of mind, saw that the room was only about six feet square, but containing three doors. Coming in from the street there was a door on the right and left, through which the men had disappeared. (p. 329)

Steele went back out the front door, and meeting a policeman, tried to get him to arrest the man who had assaulted him. The policeman brushed him off. So Steele went on his way, congratulating himself that he was still alive and “in possession of my liberty, passage and expense money.”

Steele had a few choice words for law enforcement (or the lack thereof) in San Francisco.

The city government at that time was entirely in the hands of the saloon element, gamblers, and thugs. Up to this time more than twelve hundred murders had been known and registered, and there were reasons to believe twice that number had been committed; and yet not a criminal had been brought to justice. Policemen, police courts, officers of all grade were implicated in crime, even to Judge Terry of the United States District Court. (p. 330)

It’s no wonder John Steele felt it necessary to carry two pistols to protect himself against thieves and murderers. He could have ended up a corpse in doorway.

In Camp and Cabin with John Steele — part 6

Early in the spring of 1852 John Steele left the diggings in northern California and set out to explore the coast region between San Francisco and Monterey. He met up with Don Jesus Chico, a Californio whom he had once helped to round up some cattle, and Don Jesus invited him to go on a cattle drive with his son to Los Angeles. Seeing this as an excellent opportunity to see the state and learn Spanish, Steele readily accepted. Learning Spanish would come in handy.

In May 1852 he returned to his old diggings, a place called Downing’s Ravine.

On reaching Downing’s Ravine and learning that smallpox was prevalent among the miners, fearing exposure and attack [of the disease], I immediately returned to Sacramento for the purpose of being vaccinated, and remained until it became effective. (p. 249)

Upon his return to Downing’s Ravine he met up with the chief of the local native tribe. He calls them the Columbia Indians. Now that he knew Spanish he could converse with Captain Juan, who told him that smallpox in the village had killed one person and other were sick. Steele explained vaccination to him.

I showed him my arm, telling him I had no fear, for after a person was vaccinated smallpox would not make him very sick, and taking some of the virus from my arm, I vaccinated the chief and his son, who happened to be with him.

Having in my cabin a hawk’s wing, I took a quill, and filling it with the virus from my arm, went with him to the village and vaccinated quite a number, showed them how, and advised them to vaccinate every one, old and young. (p. 250)

In Steele’s day, the hollow spine of a feather from a large bird, a quill, could be used as a pipette. Quills were used for writing with ink, but they were also used to carry small amounts of liquid or powder, gold dust, and in this case, pus from a smallpox inoculation.

John Steele didn’t hesitate to get vaccinated, and he did the kind and neighborly thing in helping Captain Juan and his village to get vaccinated too. We should all be like John Steele.

By the way, if you are enjoying these extracts from the account of John Steele, you can read it for yourself online. Free!

The book is available at Google Play or at archive.org. Just search by title in the search bar (not the Wayback Machine, which is for webpages).

It’s a short book, but one of the best forty-niner accounts that I know. It was originally published in 1901, when Steele was 69 years old. He died in 1905.

I have been using the Lakeside Classics edition, and that’s the one that my page numbers refer to. Archive.org has both the original edition (left), and the Lakeside Classics edition, which was published in 1928.

In Camp and Cabin with John Steele — part 5

After leaving the mining camp of “Mr. Lawson” (Peter Lassen), John Steele and his buddy John Donnelley started back to Downieville by way of the American Ranch, where they knew they could get food. I had no idea where American Ranch was, but my friend David Brown knows:

American Ranch was founded by H. John Bradley at the site of modern downtown Quincy. There is a plaque noting the location on Main Street. American Valley, the valley in which Quincy is located, recalls the ranch name. Accounts differ as to exactly when the ranch, which catered to travelers, was founded. Bradley had ambitions for the area akin to Bidwell’s, albeit on a smaller scale. He promoted the community which grew around the ranch and had a leading role in the partition of Plumas County from Butte in 1854 and Quincy becoming its county seat.

As a heavy snow storm came up, the men arrived at two over-crowded cabins. There was no room for them, but a kindly prospector gave them the use of a tent, where they could enjoy “the unusual luxury of sleeping with our boots off.” (p. 190) The storm continued through the night and by morning they awoke to find themselves under a snowdrift. They went to one of the cabins to see if they could get breakfast.

Some two hundred men were sheltering in this “unfinished hotel,” and it was noon before they could get their meal. For three dollars each in gold dust they got “a cup of coffee, a slice of fried bacon, and a piece of bread broken from a cake which had been taken hot from before the fire; but it was all delicious beyond expression.”

The storm continued for several days and some of the men had nothing else to do but drink. Steele encountered a drunk who insisted that he drink with him.

I tried to move away, when he exclaimed, “Hold on, you think I’m drunk, and are ashamed to drink with me, but I’ll make you do it”; and seizing a bottle, poured a quantity of liquor in two glasses that stood on the bar, pushed one toward me, and, at the same time producing a revolver, remarked, “There now, take that glass of liquor, or the contents of this pistol.” He evidently meant, drink or die.

“Wait a moment, “said I, “my partner can explain this.”

Donnelley was called. “Here is Mr. Donnelly, my partner; we crossed the plains together. He knows whether I ever drink with any one; now, Mr. Donnelley, did you ever see me drink with any one?”

“No sir, I never did.”

“Did you ever hear me give a reason for not drinking?”

“I’ve heard you say you were pledged against it.”

Now turning to the man, who had put up his pistol, I said, “A gentleman like you would not ask anyone to break his word.”

“Of course not, and here’s my hand on it.”

So we shook hands, and the affair was settled; but I was more than glad of being pledged against drinking. (p. 193)

A young man to make Annie Bidwell and Frances Willard proud. Young John Steele might have been a member of the Sons of Temperance, a fraternal society dedicated to abstinence.