goldfields

In another story in Recollections of a ’49er ( 2006, edited by Scott Lawson), Ed McIlhany (who was not the modest or retiring type) tells another tale of derring-do on the trail:

The winter was nearly over and I got word from the boys [in Onion Valley] as soon as I possibly could to come in with a train of goods.

Ed put together his train of pack mules loaded with goods and started for the valley. Unbeknownst to him, his partners and the men at a rival store had made a bet about whose goods would get there first. He got to Little Grass Valley to find hundreds of mules lined up on the trail ahead of him.

The mules in advance of me had stopped because the drivers were afraid to undertake the crossing of the river and the valley. I remarked, “You better be careful how you bet, as drinks are high and it may cost you a good deal of money.”

McIlhany scouted out the trail, which was still mostly covered with snow:

There was a large tree that had been cut down and the log crossed the stream. It had been leveled off on top and then chopped across with an ax so the foot would not slip and some limbs left on the tree for banisters to hold on to. I examined the crossing carefully and found that on the opposite side 100 yards from the river I could see a little ground where the old path was.

He went back to his mule train, had his men tighten up the loads, and moved out.

. . . as the mules came up we let them take the log very carefully not to make a rush. They commenced crossing nicely. Most of the mules were over. I had one loaded with sheet iron [!!!]. She lost her footing and plunged into the river. I jumped in immediately, the boss following me, and supported the pack on either side and landed her safely at the ford, where she could get out easily.

The balance of the mules all landed safely across the log. Just then there was a tremendous cheer and the waving of hat at the ranch. (pp. 89-92)

Needless to say, McIlhany was first to reach the goal. He sold all his goods in a day and started back for more. And he won the bet. But that poor mule, loaded down with sheet iron!

Ed McIlhany packed plenty of flour, bacon, beans, and whisky in his day, but he also occasionally carried some very unusual items, as in the following story:

A man came to me in Marysville and wanted a large billiard table packed into Rich Bar on the North Fork of the Feather River. There was no wagon road, but I knew the route well. I made a bargain with him to pack the table there for him.

I loaded up forty-nine mules with flour and a large bay mare mule, one of my strongest and gentlest mules, to pack the billiard table. It was a large old-fashioned table. I unscrewed the legs from the table and I put two fifty-pound sacks of flour on either side of the top of the packsaddle, putting the table on top of the flour to balance it and lashed it tightly.

I finally reached the top of the mountain; the way then descended six miles down to the bar, with a winding trail. My men watched the mule carefully to see that she did not bruise the table, which was wrapped. I finally reached the store with the table. The mule was wet with perspiration and was trembling like a leaf . . .

He paid me $450.00 in gold dust for landing the table there safely. The table was put up immediately in his store, where he had both goods and a bar besides this table, and the boys commenced playing on the table at a dollar a game.

I packed with me my own bed and I slept on the ground at my camp, which was close to the store, feeding my mules on barley that night. I was up early in the morning and the men were still playing billiards and the proprietor told me that they had been playing all night. He said, “I will soon have that costly billiard table paid for.”

(Recollections of a 49er, 96-97.)

I am amazed at the strength and agility of mules. They can pack anything! And I’ll bet the man who ordered the table made his money back in no time.

When Edward Washington McIlhany went home to his family in the East in December 1856, he took with him a pack of stories to tell. From his Recollections it’s not hard to tell that he enjoyed recounting his adventures. Here is one of them:

Sitting around the campfire one night there were six of us concluded to try to kill a bear. We were all anxious to kill one. There was a very large pine tree that had been cut down about fifty yards from where the beeves were butchered. [They had butchered some beef cattle with plans to pack the meat to mining camps, and they knew the entrails would attract bears.]

The limbs had been cut off of this tree for fires. We made our plan; five of us, each with a rifle, were to get behind that log. It was arranged that I should give the word when to fire. It was a pretty night and very quiet. We got all arranged with our rifles pointing over the log, waiting for the bears to come.

Finally we heard them coming down the mountain. They were making a kind of growling noise. The hillside was not very steep. They came to the place where they had been in the habit of eating. They followed the scent of the entrails to where it was and they commenced eating.

There were three of them. Two would eat and one would sit up and watch; then that one would get down and eat and another one would sit up. I whispered to the boys that just so soon as another one stood up, I would give the word to fire. This was all done in a whisper. One of the men had a double-barreled rifle. Finally one bear sat up and I gave the word to fire.

The report was loud, but so closely together that it seemed that there was only one rifle discharged. Almost instantly all of us ran to this log cabin and climbed up on top of it. One man said, “What did you run for?” Others said, “We ran because you did.” The dog heard the shot and smelled the bear. He broke loose from his man and ran. The man, instead of running to the log cabin, climbed a tree that was close by and went up about thirty feet and was perched there, looking on. I remarked, “Boys, I hear that dog after the bear; we have crippled one. Let us run quickly and try to rescue the dog, as I would not have him killed for all the bear in California.”

We jumped off the cabin, grabbed a revolver or two, and one of the men an axe, having one rifle still loaded. We ran up the mountain 300 or 400 yards and found the bear and the dog rolling over and fighting together. The bear had the dog hugged up in his forepaws and we were afraid to shoot for fear of killing the dog. Thomas slipped up with his axe and gave the bear a blow on the head which stunned him. Another powerful blow on the skull killed him. I immediately examined the dog, and to my delight found that he was uninjured.

In our delight at having killed the first bear, we all took off our hats and yelled.

(Recollections of a ’49er, 70-71)

In the spring of 1850, after he had recovered from scurvy, Ed McIlhany relocated with his friends further up the Feather River at American Bar. They found a promising claim and decided to build a “race” to channel the water a quarter of a mile to their diggings. The weather was hot and the work was wearying, so McIlhany hired a substitute at $8.00 a day and went into mule-packing. He preferred being on the move.

We had to have goods packed into the camp from Bidwell’s Bar, and I told the boys that I intended to go to packing instead of working there. They agreed to get me to buy the goods and pack them into the camp, using several mules that belonged to the company. (p. 60)

McIlhany transported goods not only for his company, but for other miners along the river. He added mules and built up a successful packing business. Meanwhile his friends finished their race, and were ready to turn the water into it.

That night the dam broke, gave way, and everything went rushing down the river. The boys had worked so hard and faithfully, that they abandoned the idea of building the dam again and they broke up and scattered to hunt for different mines. (p. 64)

Some of them ended up at Rich Bar. They made a deal with McIlhany to pack supplies in for them, in exchange for a fourth interest in their claim. McIlhany bought supplies, loaded up his mules, and started out up the steep and rocky road to Rich Bar. By the time he got there, his friends were gone; they had sold their claim and moved on.

But McIlhany found that he could always make money packing in supplies to miners. Eventually he built a store at Onion Valley (about 20 miles south of Quincy) and went into the mercantile business, bringing up goods from Marysville.

By that time the mountains were getting full of prospecting miners, coming in by the hundreds, going in every direction, with packs on their backs and some with one mule pack.  (p. 67)

He knew that the prices of goods were high at Rich Bar so he decided to load up his six mules and make trip to Rich Bar.

My load consisted of twenty gallons of whisky in two ten-gallon kegs each. The other five mules were loaded with 250 pounds each of sugar, coffee, bacon, rice, and potatoes and a few other things. Very soon there were buyers to buy my goods. I sold the whisky for $16.00 a gallon, which brought $320.00. The balance of the goods I sold for $2.00 a pound which gave me about $3000.00 in gold dust. (p. 69-70)

McIlhany made $2000-$3000 in gold dust every trip he made with his mules, and he soon had a thriving business. Stay tuned for more adventures of Ed McIlhany!

Painting of Bidwell’s Bar around 1854, painting attributed to Henry Rust Mighels. California State Library.

After Edward McIlhany got back to camp at Bidwell’s Bar at the end of that rainy November in 1849, he came down with a case of scurvy.

The doctor said it was caused from eating so much salt bacon on the Plains and getting wet that brought the disease out on me.

A diet consisting primarily of salt bacon, along with beans and biscuit, certainly would conduce to a case of scurvy. Doctors didn’t know that scurvy was caused by a deficiency of vitamin C, but they did know that a diet lacking in fruits and vegetables could bring it on.

McIlhany spent the winter months lying weakly in his tent. His companions “were making money all the time” digging gold, and they shared with Ed just as if he were working. The doctor, who charged an ounce of gold ($16) per visit, advised him to eat provisions such as “stewed dried apples, pickles, and acids” but the boys had run out of those commodities.

One pretty morning I felt better, got a stick, and I walked down the bank of the river not far from where all the stores were, and went to a stand kept by an old woman. I asked her if she had any dried apples to sell. She said no. She put her dried apples into pies to sell. I asked her the price of her pies and she told me two dollars. I stood there and ate the apples out and threw the crust away.

I then walked down to another store and looked up on the shelves and saw some bottles of pickles. They looked good so I selected a small bottle of cucumbers. They handed me the bottle. I examined it, asked them the price, they said $8.00. It was a half pint [one cup]. The pie and the half pint of pickles cost me $10.00. I returned to camp and when the boys came in from work I told them of my experience in going down to the store. They were delighted to see me out and were amused at my experience of buying fruit and pickles.

Ed McIlhany does not say any more about the scurvy or his recovery, but if he and his friends were smart, they would have gone looking for miner’s lettuce to add to their diet in the spring. It is an early and delicious green, something like spinach in texture. It certainly must have been a welcome addition to the miners’ limited diet.

Continuing the story of Edward McIlhany in the goldfields of Northern California:

We left the Major’s and in a few days reached Shasta, not too far from what was called the great Shasta Peak. The place was quite small and the mines were not very rich, so we did not remain long, as outlook for making money was poor. . . . We decided to return and camped at the Major’s ranch, where we told him that we were not satisfied at Shasta and had determined to go to his rich bar that he discovered.

We finally struck the Feather River seventeen miles below the bar. We forded the river where afterwards very rich mines were discovered, now called Oroville. Going up the east bank of the river we finally reached the bar and made camp on the hillside, about 200 yards from the river. There were quite a number camped there, mining, mostly using rockers and washing the gold dust out with pans. The diggings were very rich and there were new pockets and discoveries of gold up and down the river for several miles. We located our mining claims and finding the mines were rich, decided to locate for the winter. By that time it was getting late in the fall.

They set up camp and were soon taking out about $150 a day in gold. Things were looking good. But prices were high at Bidwell’s Bar and the group decided to send McIlhany down to Marysville to stock up on supplies for the winter. In Marysville they filled their wagon with all the mules could pull and started back to Bidwell’s Bar.

Only fifteen miles from their camp it began to rain, and it rained every day for a solid month while they waited, sopping wet, in their tent. When at last the skies cleared they hitched up the mules and after “a few days of very hard and tiresome work” (to go only fifteen miles) they reached camp, where their friends were still taking out $150 in gold a day.

Next time: Scurvy!

(I am indebted to Scott Lawson for his fine editing of Edward W. McIlhany’s story. Recollections of a ’49er: a quaint and thrilling narrative of a trip across the Plains and life in the California gold fields during the stirring days following the discovery of gold in the Far West, edited and annotated by Scott Lawson (2006) is available at the Plumas County Museum, or at your public library.)