goldfields

When we moved to Chico 25 years ago, our youngest daughter started Kindergarten at Neal Dow School. I wondered who Neal Dow was and why he had a school named after him. He must have been some prominent Chicoan. When I found out that he was a former mayor of Portland, Maine, I was definitely puzzled.

The answer lies with Annie Bidwell and the Prohibition movement. Annie greatly admired Neal Dow of Maine and his uncompromising stance against alcohol. I don’t know when the subdivision containing Neal Dow Ave. was developed, but I assume it was during her lifetime. Only Annie would name a street after a prominent prohibitionist.

According to Wikipedia:

Neal Dow (March 20, 1804 – October 2, 1897) was an American prohibition advocate and politician. Nicknamed the “Napoleon of Temperance” and the “Father of Prohibition”, Dow was born into a Quaker family in Portland, Maine, in 1804. From a young age, he was active in the cause of prohibition, which saw alcohol as the cause of many of society’s problems and sought to ban it. In 1850, Dow was elected president of the Maine Temperance Union, and the next year was elected mayor of Portland. Soon after, largely due to Dow’s efforts, the state legislature banned the sale and production of alcohol in what became known as the Maine Law. As mayor of Portland, Dow enforced the law with vigor and called for increasingly harsh penalties for violators. In 1855, his opponents rioted and he ordered the state militia to fire on the crowd. One man was killed and several wounded, and when public reaction to the violence turned against Dow, he chose not to face the voters for reelection.

Dow was later elected to two terms in the state legislature, but retired after a financial scandal. He joined the Union Army shortly after the outbreak of the American Civil War in 1861, eventually attaining the rank of brigadier general. He was wounded at the siege of Port Hudson and later captured. After being exchanged for another officer in 1864, Dow resigned from the military and devoted himself once more to prohibition. He spoke across the United States, Canada, and Great Britain in support of the cause. In 1880, Dow headed the Prohibition Party ticket for President of the United States. He gained very few votes, but continued to write and speak on behalf of the prohibition movement for the rest of his life. Dow died in Portland in 1897 at the age of 93.

Neal Dow was an early advocate of temperance and a founding member of the Maine Temperance Society. As a Civil War brigadier general and Prohibition Party candidate for President, his life had certain parallels with that of John Bidwell. It’s no surprise that Annie Bidwell admired him.

Did he ever visit Chico on a speaking tour? I can’t find any evidence that he did in the newspapers or the diaries of John and Annie. Annie may well have met him and heard him speak while she was in the East. She certainly would not have missed a chance to meet the “Napoleon of Temperance.”

Between Bidwell Mansion and Chico High School is a street named Frances Willard Avenue. It’s a short residential street in the area known as Mansion Park, and runs two blocks west of The Esplanade and one block east.

Frances Willard was an educator, reformer, and prominent member of the women’s rights movement of the 19th century. She was nationally known and respected as founder and long-time president of the Women’s Christian Temperance Union. Annie Bidwell considered her both a dear friend and a visionary leader.

Frances Willard was born in 1839, the same year as Annie Bidwell. She was the first dean of women at Northwestern University. After leaving her post at the university she devoted herself to the cause of temperance and women’s suffrage. Elected president of the WCTU in 1879, she continued in as its leader until her death in 1898.

Her slogan was “Do Everything” and she carried it out in a tireless program of promotion, publication, lectures, lobbying, and education. Although prohibition of alcohol was her main focus, she and the W.T.C.U. also stood for labor reform (the 8-hour day), prison reform, and Christian socialism.

I cannot find any indication that she ever visited Chico, even though she made a lecture tour to California in 1883. Annie certainly would have met with her in San Francisco or Sacramento while she lectured in those cities, but the newspapers that I’ve checked don’t report any visit or lecture in Chico.

In his diary entry for May 17, 1892 John Bidwell noted “Wife was in Chicago today and took tea with Miss Willard.”

Miss Willard (she never married) died of influenza in 1898. Annually after her death the Chico branch of the W.T.C.U. held a memorial service in her honor in Bidwell Mansion. The Chico newspaper for February 22, 1907 reported that:

Memorial Exercises in honor of the memory of Frances E. Willard were held at the Bidwell mansion yesterday afternoon, under the auspices of the W.C.T.U. After a period of devotional exercise a program appropriate to the occasion was rendered.

So it is not surprising that when Mansion Park was developed as a residential district, Annie named its primary street after the woman she so admired. There may be other Willard Avenues in the U.S., but as far as I know there is only one with the full name of Frances Willard.

On this date 175 years ago, John Bidwell and most of the rest of the Bidwell-Bartleson Party reached the home of John Marsh near Mount Diablo.  They were at last in California and they knew it. The long journey was finished and a new chapter of adventure would begin.

Thursday, 4th. Left the river in good season and departing gradually from its timber came into large marshes of bulrushes. We saw large herds of elk and wild horses grazing upon the plain. . . . Finally we arrived at Marsh’s house, which is built of unburnt bricks, small and has no fireplace — wanting a floor and covered with bulrushes. In fact it was not what I expected to find; a hog was killed for the company. We had nothing else but beef; the latter was used as bread, the former as meat.

After the skimpy rations of the past few months, the men hungered for fat meat, and the pork was welcome, even if it came in a beef and pork “sandwich.” Bidwell might have been hoping for bread too. He liked bread and missed it. But he had no complaints about the food Marsh gave them that first night.

Map courtesy of the John Marsh Historic trust

Considering the glowing reports of California that Marsh had sent back east, Bidwell was surprised at the primitive conditions he was living in. A small adobe house with a dirt floor and no fireplace–hardly what Bidwell had envisioned. He was accustomed to cooking over a fireplace indoors, but in California the cooking was generally done outside in the courtyard.

To the right is a map of John Marsh’s Rancho. The adobe is at the bottom, by the creek. Take out the big house, the barns, and the garden to get an idea of what Marsh’s home looked like in 1841.

Dr. Marsh welcomed the company. “He seemed delighted to see us and was very communicative and even enthusiastic.” He had known a few of the men in the company back in Missouri. Now, their journey ended, they sat around telling their stories and exchanging news.

The journey was over, but the adventure would continue. John Bidwell was now embarking on a new life, the life of a Californian. He would spend the next 59 years in his new home state.

Tuesday, 2nd.  Capt. B. with his 7 remained to take care of the meat he had killed — while the rest of the Company went on. We passed some beautiful grapes, sweet and pleasant.  . .  Behold! This morning Jones, who left the camp to hunt on the 23rd ult. came to the camp. They (he and Kelsey) had arrived in the plains several days before us, and found an Indian, who conducted them to Marsh’s house, but he brought bad news; he said there had been no rain in California for 18 months, and the the consequence was, there was little breadstuff in the country. Beef, however, was abundant and of the best quality.

Thomas Jones and Andrew Kelsey (younger brother of Benjamin Kelsey) had gone on ahead to search for settlements, and came back with the exciting news that they had been lead by an Indian to the ranch of Dr. John Marsh. This was good news indeed, for Marsh was the man who had set the movement in motion. His letters to Missouri, read by Bidwell and many others, had painted a glowing picture of the healthful climate and fertile soil of California. It was Marsh who had enticed them across half a continent to  this new land. Now they were about to meet the man himself.

John Marsh in 1852

Bidwell might have been worried though, by that mention of drought. As a farmer, he was looking for a place to raise wheat, livestock, and produce. Without reliable rainfall, how could that happen?

November. Monday, 1st. The Company tarried to kill game; an abundance of wild fowl and 13 deer and antelopes were brought in. My breakfast, this morning, formed a striking contrast with that of yesterday which was the lights of a wolf.

“Lights of a wolf” being the lung of a coyote.

Bidwell tells it this way in his 1877 Dictation:

The eve of the next day found us surrounded by abundance. . . . It was about the first of November, and there was no time to delay if we were going to reach California that fall. Most of the party were ready and anxious to press forward. Captain Bartleson and his men thought otherwise. They said we hadn’t yet reached California, we probably still had a long distance to travel, that such a place as we were in could not be found everywhere and they were going to stop and lay in meat for the balance of the journey.

Leaving them in camp and crossing the Stanislaus River, we proceeded down the north side of the same and camped. Early the next day the news came that the Indians in the night had attacked them and stolen all their horse. We remained till they came up, carrying on their backs such things as they were able.

John Bidwell never did get on with Captain Bartleson, and I think there is a note of satisfaction here that once again, Bartleson was wrong and got what he deserved.

The Bidwell-Bartleson Party had sighted the valley, but were not yet in it the morning of October 31st.

When morning came the foremost of the party waited for the others to come up. They had found water in a stagnant pond, but what was better, they had killed a fat coyote, and with us it was anything but mule meat.  . . . Being in the rear, I did not reach it in time to get any of the coyote except the lights [lungs] and the windpipe. Longing for fat meat and willing to eat anything but poor mule meat and seeing a little fat on the windpipe, I threw it on the coals to warm it and greedily devoured it. (1877 Dictation)

That was his breakfast, but dinner would be another thing altogether. From the journal:

Sunday, 31st. Bore off in a N.W. direction to the nearest timber; day was warm, plain dry and dusty, reached timber, which was white oak and finally the river which we had left in the mts., joyful sight to us poor famished wretches!!! Hundreds of antelope in view! Elk tracks thousands! Killed two antelopes and some wild fowls; the valley of the river was very fertile and the young tender grass covered it like a field of wheat in May.

Somewhere near the present day town of Oakdale they came out of the foothills and down into the valley along the Stanislaus River, which they had followed off and on all down the western slope. They feasted on deer and antelope, and “ripe and luscious wild grapes.” Their horses feasted on the new grass just springing up from the fire-burnt ground. What a difference from morning to evening!

California Spring by Albert Bierstadt. An idealized, romantic view, but it conveys the beauty of the scene that lay before the emigrants.

Saturday, 30th. We had gone about 3 miles this morning, when lo! to our great delight, we beheld a wide valley! This we had entirely overlooked between us and the high mountains which terminated our view yesterday. Rivers evidently meandered through it, for timber was seen in long extended lines as far as the eye could reach. But we were unable to reach it today, and encamped in the plains. Here grew a few white oaks. Traveled today about 20 miles. Saw many tracks of elks. The valley was wonderfully parched with heat, and had been stripped of its vegetation by fire. Wild geese, fowls, etc. , were flying in multitudes.

So when did Bidwell and his companions enter the promised land of California? By present day borders they had already been in California for about two weeks, since they had started making their way into the Sierra Nevada in mid-October. Of course they had been in Mexican territory much longer than that, but the land they were traversing was more like the Great Empty Quarter of North America than part of a foreign nation. Although claimed by Mexico, the territory that later became the states of Utah and Nevada was only inhabited by Native Americans.

For the Mexicans, Alta California was a narrow strip of land along the Pacific coast. There had been little exploration and no settlement in the Central Valley. All the missions and ranchos lay between the Pacific Ocean and the Coastal Range. Bidwell and his friends had not reached the settled part of California yet, but at least they could see ahead of them a land where they would not starve to death.

They were in California at last, but they still didn’t know it.  Most of the men were sure that they would not reach California until they crossed another mountain range. How far they still had to go to get to California was hotly debated in the group, with some insisting that they could not get there before winter set in.

But still, if we have to pick a date for their entry into California, October 30 is as good as any. They could see California spread out before them, and it was everything they had been promised: a fertile land teeming with wild game, with a healthy climate and plenty of room for all. California at last!

Friday, 29th. Last night, the Indians stole a couple of our horses. About noon we passed along by several huts, but they were deserted as soon as we came in sight, the Indians running in great consternation into the woods. At one place the bones of a horse were roasting in a fire; they were undoubtedly the bones of the horses we had lost. Travelled no less than 9 miles today; the night was very cool and had a heavy frost. Although our road was tolerably level today, yet we could see no termination to the mountains–and one much higher than the others terminated our view. Mr. Hopper, our best and most experienced hunter, observed that, “If California lies beyond those mountains we shall never be able to reach it.”

Most of the Company were on foot, in consequence of the horses giving out, and being stolen by Indians, but many were much fatigued and weak for the want of sufficient provision; others, however stood it very well. Some had appetites so craving that they eat the meat of most of the mule raw, as soon as it was killed; some eat it half roasted, dripping with blood.

Weary and worn to the bone, barely living on the meat of their own pack animals, struggling down rocky canyons, the Company was in a desperate situation. With no map and no guide, they had not a clue where they were, and they could see no end to their journey.

Nancy Kelsey, who had started up into the Sierras riding a horse, with Baby Ann on her lap, was now walking. In her own recollection, taken down by a friend in 1893, she says, “I walked barefoot until my feet were blistered.”

As Bidwell explained in Echoes of the Past, “we were now on the edge of the San Joaquin Valley, but we did not even know that we were in California. We could see a range of mountains lying to the west–the Coast Range, but we could see no valley.” They discussed and debated their situation. Many in the party were convinced that they were not yet within five hundred miles of the Pacific Ocean. The mountains stretched as far as the eye could see, and greatly discouraged, they feared that they would never reach California alive.

Wednesday, 27th. It commenced raining about one o’clock this morning and continued till noon — threw away all our old clothes to lighten out packs . . .  I have since learned that the Indians in the mountains here prefer the meat of horses to cattle, and here in these gloomy corners of the mts. they had been accustomed to bring stolen horses and eat them. Here and there were strewed the bones of horses, so the design of the veteran Indian pilot is apparent in leading us into this rugged part of Creation.

(When Bidwell writes something like “I have since learned” it is an indication that he is rewriting his journal at a later date. The original journal is gone, and the only version is the one he expanded and copied out while at Fort Ross.)

When he got to California he learned from the Mexicans he met, or from Sutter, that the mountain Indians were known for rustling horses, all the way from the Central Valley to the coast. They drove off herds into the mountains and slaughtered them for meat. Traveling through the Sierras, the Bidwell-Bartleson Party had brought the horses to the Indians–-emaciated to be sure, but the Indians didn’t have to go down to the valley to get them.

The men noticed that each morning, after they left camp, Indians would descend on the spot where they camped and go through whatever was left behind. The men suspected their old Indian guide of duplicity, and when he left them, they were positive that his scheme all along had been to lead them to their deaths in the mountains and take everything they had. This conviction led to the only violent encounter the Company ever had with Native Americans.  Bidwell continues:

As we left this place one of the men, G. Cook, remained concealed to see if the old pilot was among the Indians, who always rushed in as soon as we left our encampments to pick up such things as were left. The old gentleman was at the head of this band, and as he had undoubtedly led us into this place to perish, his crime merited death — a rifle ball laid him dead in his tracks.

Bidwell here writes with the conviction of a justified victim, but in later accounts he seems to look back with regret. In 1877, when Bidwell dictated his recollections for Hubert Howe Bancroft, he says that Grove Cook remained behind “unknown to the others.” They heard a shot, and Cook told his story when he rejoined the group, but “we never knew whether the Indian was killed or not.” Was Bidwell trying to soften the incident?

When it came to relating the same events in 1889 for Echoes of the Past he leaves this incident out altogether. He explains that these Indians were known as the “Horse Thief Indians,” and relates how his party came across great quantities of horse bones left behind at the scene of a feast, but there is no mention of the shooting death of their guide. I suspect that by this time he was ashamed of the incident, and wished that they had handled the whole matter differently.