Pioneering Women

Louise Amelia Knapp Smith Clappe, "Shirley Letters," published in Pioneer, 1854-1855
(excerpted from the Original Text at the "California as I Saw It" collection at American Memory).

Eliza Gregson, "Memory" c. 1890
(excerpted from the Original Text at the "California as I Saw It" collection at American Memory).





Louise Amelia Knapp Smith Clappe, "Shirley Letters," 1854-1855

Clappe wrote these letters in 1851-1852 to her sister in Massachusetts. Clappe was then living in California with her husband, Fayette Clappe, a medical doctor caring for miners in various gold mining camps there. A few years later, she edited the letters and published them in the magazine Pioneer.


September 13, 1851

{1}I CAN easily imagine, dear M. [her sister, Molly], the look of large wonder which gleams from your astonished eyes when they fall upon the date of this letter. I can figure to myself your whole surprised attitude as you exclaim, "What, in the name of all that is restless, has sent 'Dame Shirley' to Rich Bar? How did such a shivering, frail, home-loving little thistle ever float safely to that far-away spot, and take root so kindly, as it evidently has, in that barbarous soil? Where, in this living, breathing world of ours, lieth that same Rich Bar, which, sooth to say, hath a most taking name? And, for pity's sake, how does the poor little fool expect to amuse herself there?" . . . .

{2}You already know that F. [her husband, Fayette], after suffering for an entire year with fever and ague, and bilious, remittent, and intermittent fevers, --this delightful list varied by an occasional attack of jaundice, --was advised, as a dernier ressort, to go into the mountains. A friend, who had just returned from the place, suggested Rich Bar as the terminus of his health-seeking journey, not only on account of the extreme purity of the atmosphere, but because there were more than a thousand people there already, and but one physician, and as his strength increased, he might find in that vicinity a favorable opening for the practice of his profession, which, as the health of his purse was almost as feeble as that of his body, was not a bad idea.

{3}Finding his health so almost miraculously improved, F. concluded, should I approve the plan, to spend the winter in the mountains. I had teased him to let me accompany him when he left in June, but he had at that time refused, not daring to subject me to inconveniences, of the extent of which he was himself ignorant. When the letter disclosing his plans for the winter reached me at San Francisco, I was perfectly enchanted. You know that I am a regular nomad in my passion for wandering. Of course my numerous acquaintances in San Francisco raised one universal shout of disapprobation. Some said that I ought to be put into a strait-jacket, for I was undoubtedly mad to think of such a thing. Some said that I should never get there alive, and if I did, would not stay a month; and others sagely observed, with a profound knowledge of the habits and customs of the aborigines of California, that, even if the Indians did not kill me, I should expire of ennui or the cold before spring. One lady declared, in a burst of outraged modesty, that it was absolutely indelicate to think of living in such a large population of men, where, at the most, there were but two or three women. I laughed merrily at their mournful prognostications, and started gayly for Marysville, . . . .

{4}You have no idea of the hand-to-mouth sort of style in which most men in this country are in the habit of living. Of course, as usual with them, the person who had charge of the house was out of provisions when we arrived. Luckily, I had dined a couple of stages back, and as we intended to leave on the following day for Marysville, I did not mind the scanty fare. The next morning friend P. contrived to gather together three or four dried biscuits, several slices of hard salt ham, and some poisonous green tea, upon which we breakfasted. . . .

{5}[As the Clappes were leaving again, the author fell from her mule.] F., of course, was sadly frightened, but as soon as I could clear my mouth and throat from dirt, which filled eyes, nose, ears, and hair, not being in the least hurt, I began to laugh like a silly child, which had the happy effect of quite reassuring my esposo. But such a looking object as I was, I am sure you never saw. It was impossible to recognize the original color of habit, hat, boots, or gloves. F. wished me to go back, put on clean clothes, and make a fresh start; but you know, M., that when I make up my mind to it, I can be as willful as the gentlest of my sex; so I decidedly refused, and, the road being very lonely, I pulled my veil over my face, and we jogged merrily onward, with but little fear of shocking the sensibilities of passing travelers by my strange appearance.

{6}As F. feared another edition of my downfall, he would not allow the mules to canter or trot; so they walked all the way to Marysville, where we arrived at midnight. . . . .

{7}Every one that we met congratulated us upon not having encountered any Indians, for the paths which we followed were Indian trails, and it is said they would have killed us for our mules and clothes. A few weeks ago a Frenchman and his wife were murdered by them. I had thought of the circumstances when we camped, but was too sick to care what happened. They generally take women captive, however; and who knows how narrowly I escaped becoming an Indian chieftainess, and feeding for the rest of my life upon roasted grasshoppers, acorns, and flowerseeds? By the way, the last-mentioned article of food strikes me as rather poetical than otherwise. . . . .

{7}[At the next day's stop,] a herd of Indians, consisting of about a dozen men and squaws, with an unknown quantity of papooses, --the last naked as the day they were born, --crowded into the room to stare at us. It was the most amusing thing in the world to see them finger my gloves, whip, and hat, in their intense curiosity.

{8}On this occasion I was more than ever struck with what I have often remarked before, --the extreme beauty of the limbs of the Indian women of California. Though for haggardness of expression and ugliness of feature they might have been taken for a band of Macbethian witches, a bronze statue of Cleopatra herself never folded more beautifully rounded arms above its dusky bosom, or poised upon its pedestal a slenderer ankle or a more statuesque foot, than those which gleamed from beneath the dirty blankets of these wretched creatures. There was one exception, however, to the general hideousness of their faces. A girl of sixteen, perhaps, with those large, magnificently lustrous, yet at the same time soft, eyes, so common in novels, so rare in real life, had shyly glided like a dark, beautiful spirit into the corner of the room. A fringe of silken jet swept heavily upward from her dusky cheek, athwart which the richest color came and went like flashes of lightning. Her flexible lips curved slightly away from teeth like strips of cocoanut meat, with a mocking grace infinitely bewitching. She wore a cotton chemise, --disgustingly dirty, I must confess, --girt about her slender waist with a crimson handkerchief, while over her night-black hair, carelessly knotted beneath the rounded chin, was a purple scarf of knotted silk. Her whole appearance was picturesque in the extreme. She sat upon the ground with her pretty brown fingers languidly interlaced above her knee, "round as a period," (as a certain American poet has funnily said of a similar limb in his Diana,) and smiled up into my face as if we were the dearest friends.

{9}I was perfectly enraptured with this wildwood Cleopatra, and bored F. almost beyond endurance with exclamations about her starry eyes, her chiseled limbs, and her beautiful nut-brown cheeks. . . . .

{10}[Fayette] only laughs at what he is pleased to call my absurd interest in these poor creatures; but you know, M., I always did “take” to Indians, though it must be said that those who bear that name here have little resemblance to the glorious forest heroes that live in the Leatherstocking tales, and in spite of my desire to find in them something poetical and interesting, a stern regard for truth compels me to acknowledge that the dusky beauty above described is the only even moderately pretty squaw that I have ever seen.

{11}[Writing of the mules they rode on,] it is the prettiest sight in the world to see these cunning creatures stepping so daintily and cautiously among the rocks. Their pretty little feet, which absolutely do not look larger than a silver dollar, seem made on purpose for the task. They are often perfect little vixens with their masters, but an old mountaineer, who has ridden them for twenty years, told me that he never knew one to be skittish with a woman. The intelligent darlings seem to know what a bundle of helplessness they are carrying, and scorn to take advantage of it.

September 15, 1851

{12}I BELIEVE that I closed my last letter by informing you that I was safely ensconced--after all the hairbreadth escapes of my wearisome, though at the same time delightful, journey--under the magnificent roof of the “Empire,” [in Rich Bar, California]. . . . .

{13}[The hotel had been built by gamblers to be brothel, but] To the lasting honor of miners be it written, the speculation proved a decided failure. Yes! these thousand men, many of whom had been for years absent from the softening amenities of female society, and the sweet restraining influences of pure womanhood, --these husbands of fair young wives kneeling daily at the altars of their holy homes to pray for their far-off ones, --these sons of gray-haired mothers, majestic in their sanctified old age, --these brothers of virginal sisters, white and saintlike as the lilies of their own gardens, --looked only with contempt or pity on these, oh! so earnestly to be compassionated creatures. These unhappy members of a class, to one of which the tenderest words that Jesus ever spake were uttered, left in a few weeks, absolutely driven away by public opinion. The disappointed gamblers [who had built the hotel for more than $8000] sold the house to its present proprietor for a few hundred dollars.

From our Log Cabin, INDIAN BAR, October 7, 1851

{14}YOU WILL perchance be surprised, dear M., to receive a letter from me dated Indian instead of Rich Bar, but, as many of F.'s most intimate friends reside at this settlement, he concluded to build his log cabin here.

{15}Solemn council was held upon the ways and means of getting “Dame Shirley” to her new home. The general opinion was, that she had better mount her fat mule and ride over the hill, as all agreed that it was very doubtful whether she would be able to cross the logs and jump the rocks which would bar her way by the water-passage. But that obstinate little personage, who has always been haunted with a passionate desire to do everything which people said she could not do, made up her willful mind immediately to go by the river. Behold, then, the “Dame” on her winding way, escorted by a deputation of Indian Barians, which had come up for that important purpose. . . . .

{16}As we approached Indian Bar the path led several times fearfully near deep holes, from which the laborers were gathering their yellow harvest, and Dame Shirley's small head swam dizzily as she crept shudderingly by. . . . .

{17}This Bar is so small that it seems impossible that the tents and cabins scattered over it can amount to a dozen. There are, however, twenty in all, including those formed of calico shirts and pine boughs. With the exception of the paths leading to the different tenements, the entire level is covered with mining-holes, on the edges of which lie the immense piles of dirt and stones which have been removed from the excavations. There is a deep pit in front of our cabin, and another at the side of it, though they are not worked, as, when "prospected," they did not "yield the color." . . . .

{18}[The Clappe's cabin was near the hotel in Indian Bar, where] the clinking of glasses, and the swaggering air of some of the drinkers, remind us that it is no place for a lady, so we will pass through the dining-room, and, emerging at the kitchen, in a step or two reach our log cabin. Enter, my dear; you are perfectly welcome. Besides, we could not keep you out if we would, as there is not even a latch on the canvas door, though we really intend, in a day or two, to have a hook put onto it. . . . .

{19}The sides are hung with a gaudy chintz, which I consider a perfect marvel of calico-printing. The artist seems to have exhausted himself on roses. From the largest cabbage down to the tiniest Burgundy, he has arranged them in every possible variety of wreath, garland, bouquet, and single flower. . . . . A curtain of the above-described chintz (I shall hem it at the first opportunity) divides off a portion of the room, behind which stands a bedstead that in ponderosity leaves the Empire couches far behind. . . . .

{20}My toilet-table is formed of a trunk elevated upon two claret-cases, and by draping it with some more of the blue linen neatly fringed, it really will look quite handsome, and when I have placed upon it my rosewood workbox, a large cushion of crimson brocade, some Chinese ornaments of exquisitely carved ivory, and two or three Bohemian-glass cologne-stands, it would not disgrace a lady's chamber at home. . . . .

{21}The wash-stand is another trunk, covered with a towel, upon which you will see, for bowl, a large vegetable-dish, for ewer, a common-sized dining-pitcher. Near this, upon a small cask, is placed a pail, which is daily filled with water from the river. I brought with me from Marysville a handsome carpet, a hair mattress, pillows, a profusion of bed-linen, quilts, blankets, towels, etc., so that, in spite of the oddity of most of my furniture, I am, in reality, as thoroughly comfortable here as I could be in the most elegant palace. . . . .

{22}An ingenious individual in the neighborhood, blessed with a large bump for mechanics, and good nature, made me a sort of wide bench, which, covered with a neat plaid, looks quite sofa-like. A little pine table, with oilcloth tacked over the top of it, stands in one corner of the room, upon which are arranged the chess and cribbage boards. There is a larger one for dining purposes, and as unpainted pine has always a most dreary look, F. went everywhere in search of oilcloth for it, but there was none at any of the bars. At last, "Ned" the Humboldt Paganini, remembered two old monte-table covers which had been thrown aside as useless. I recived them thankfully, and, with my planning and Ned's mechanical genius, we patched up quite a respectable covering. To be sure, the ragged condition of the primitive material compelled us to have at one end an extra border, but that only agreeably relieved the monotony. I must mention that the floor is so uneven that no article of furniture gifted with four legs pretends to stand upon but three at once, so that the chairs, tables, etc., remind you constantly of a dog with a sore foot.

{23}At each end of the mantelpiece is arranged a candlestick, not, much to my regret, a block of wood with a hole in the center of it, but a real britanniaware candlestick. The space between is gayly ornamented with F.'s meerschaum, several styles of clay pipes, cigars, cigarritos, and every procurable variety of tobacco, for, you know, the aforesaid individual is a perfect devotee of the Indian weed. If I should give you a month of Sundays, you would never guess what we use in lieu of a bookcase, so I will put you out of your misery by informing you instantly that it is nothing more nor less than a candle-box which contains the library, consisting of a Bible and prayerbook, Shakespeare, Spenser, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Lowell's Fable for Critics, Walton's Complete Angler, and some Spanish books, --spiritual instead of material lights, you see.

{24}There, my dainty Lady Molly, I have given you, I fear, a wearisomely minute description of my new home. How would you like to winter in such an abode? in a place where there are no newspapers, no churches, lectures, concerts, or theaters; no fresh books; no shopping, calling, nor gossiping little tea-drinkings; no parties, no balls, no picnics, no tableaus, no charades, no latest fashions, no daily mail (we have an express once a month), no promenades, no rides or drives; no vegetables but potatoes and onions, no milk, no eggs, no nothing? Now, I expect to be very happy here. This strange, odd life fascinates me. As for churches, "the groves were God's first temples," "and for the strength of the hills, the Swiss mountains bless him"; and as to books, I read Shakespeare, David, Spenser, Paul, Coleridge, Burns, and Shelley, which are never old. In good sooth, I fancy that nature intended me for an Arab or some other nomadic barbarian, and by mistake my soul got packed up in a Christianized set of bones and muscles. How I shall ever be able to content myself to live in a decent, proper, well-behaved house, where toilet-tables are toilet-tables, and not an ingenious combination of trunk and claretcases, where lanterns are not broken bottles, bookcases not candle-boxes, and trunks not wash-stands, but every article of furniture, instead of being a makeshift, is its own useful and elegantly finished self, I am sure I do not know. However, when too much appalled at the humdrummish prospect, I console myself with the beautiful promises, that "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof," and "as thy days, so shall thy strength be," and trust that when it is again my lot to live amid the refinements and luxuries of civilization, I shall endure them with becoming philosophy and fortitude.


From our Log Cabin, INDIAN BAR, November 21, 1852

{25}I SUPPOSE, Molly dear, --at least, I flatter myself, --that you have been wondering and fretting a good deal for the last few weeks at not hearing from Dame Shirley. The truth is, that I have been wondering and fretting myself almost into a fever at the dreadful prospect of being compelled to spend the winter here, which, on every account, is undesirable. . . . .

{26}[The gold having been played out, the camp disbanded.] Of course the whole world (our world) was, to use a phrase much in vogue here, "dead broke." The shopkeepers, restaurants, and gambling-houses, with an amiable confidingness peculiar to such people, had trusted the miners to that degree that they themselves were in the same moneyless condition. Such a batch of woeful faces was never seen before, not the least elongated of which was F.'s, to whom nearly all the companies owed large sums.

. . . .

{27}We were to have departed on the 5th of November, and my toilet-table and wash-hand-stand, duly packed for that occasion, their occupation also gone, have remained ever since in the humble position of mere trunks. To be sure, the expressman called for us at the appointed time, but, unfortunately, F. had not returned from the American Valley, where he had gone to visit a sick friend, and Mr. Jones was not willing to wait even one day, so much did he fear being caught in a snowstorm with his mules.

. . . .

{28}F. has just entered, with the joyful news that the expressman has arrived. . . . Of course I shall be obliged to leave my trunks, merely taking a change of linen in a carpet bag. We shall leave to-morrow, whether it rain or snow, for it would be madness to linger any longer.

{29}My heart is heavy at the thought of departing forever from this place. I like this wild and barbarous life. I leave it with regret. The solemn fir-trees, whose "slender tops are close against the sky" here, the watching hills, and the calmly beautiful river, seem to gaze sorrowfully at me as I stand in the moonlighted midnight to bid them farewell. Beloved, unconventional wood-life; divine Nature, into whose benign eyes I never looked, whose many voices, gay and glad, I never heard, in the artificial heart of the busy world, --I quit your serene teachings for a restless and troubled future. Yes, Molly, smile if you will at my folly, but I go from the mountains with a deep heart-sorrow. I took kindly to this existence, which to you seems so sordid and mean. Here, at least, I have been contented. The "thistle-seed," as you call me, sent abroad its roots right lovingly into this barren soil, and gained an unwonted strength in what seemed to you such unfavorable surroundings. You would hardly recognize the feeble and half-dying invalid, who drooped languidly out of sight as night shut down between your straining gaze and the good ship Manilla as she wafted her far away from her Atlantic home, in the person of your now perfectly healthy sister.





Eliza Gregson, "Memory" c. 1890

Gregson wrote this memoir about her life as a pioneering woman about fifty years after the fact. Among her experiences was meeting survivors of the Donner Party (eighty-seven pioneers traveling from Illinois to California who were trapped for months by a blizzard in the Sierra Nevadas -- only forty-six survived). She was also on hand at Sutter's Mill when gold was discovered near there, setting off the Gold Rush of 1849. Note that this transcription of the original manuscript reproduces the idiosynchratic spelling and grammar of the original. Information added by editors is provided in square brackets ("[ ]"). The online edition from which the following is excerpted includes more editorial details.

 

{1}in the spring of 1839 my father paid our passage in New York. & we came across the occain my Aunts family with us. & we settled in the town of pawtucket R.I. & we lived there untill I was 19 years old when a young englishman [James Gregson] who used to live neighbors to us when I was a little child came to see us. in the spring of 1843 & we were maried the next 20 of october.

{2}so from being a weaver in the cotton factory & my husaband a blacksmith & boiler maker, we turned our thoughts westword, We lived at his fathers house in philidelphia that winter & in the spring of 1844 we started leaveing all behind with just 18 dollers in 10 cents peices. Oh what a big lot of money to travle to illinois with we were young and detirmined to make a liveing away from the cotton shops. my husaband was not very stout & I thought that his trade was more than [he] could stand many years longer & that was the main spring to our proceedings.

{3}Well there was to much fever & auger [ague, or fever with chills] & we could not stand that. we could make a good living if we could only keep from shaking. so missfortuns seldom come alone. We had a sweet little babe born to us on the 26 of septembe[r] 1844. only to stay 3 months & then he died & we laid him away in the grave hopeing to meet again when our time on earth is past. again to[o] my father & mother had not lived agreeable & my mother & two Brothers & sister came to [Rock Island County] illinoise in the fall of 1844 & we all lived in a cabbin where there was holes in the sides that you could throw you hat through if you wished to. was it any wonder that we were sick or that our babe died. but there was no help for it. we were geting poorer every day.

{3}so in the spring of 1845 we made what preparations we could all of us together & started for oragon. there was a great deal of talk about that country that we could get homes if we would settle on the land & that there was a big lot of land for A man, & A lot I forget how much for his wife & for each child if they would settle there Well we thought that was a good thing & away we started very poorly suplied in April 1845. it was estamated that it would take us 6 months so we accordingly laid in provisions enough for the trip. that is we thought we had but we were mistaken. We had 3 yoak of good cattle & one good wagon for 6 persons [Eliza Gregson, her husband, her mother (Ann Marshall), and her siblings (John, Henry, and Mary Ann Marshal)] & our party took one passenger in at bloomington [Burlington] Iowa & we had one tent & as few things as possable.

{4}We had as good traveling as could be expected for people that was fresh from the city & as green as the grass in the feilds. from my childhood I allways loved to milk so sometimes we used to milk the cows as they [were] feeding on the [grass] along the road. that was before we left the settlements after that we fared rather hard. for traveling made us very hearty.

. . .

{5}when we were a little this side of fort hall on snake river [near present-day Pocatello, Idaho] the provisions being rather low & the cattle being poor, myself & hussband we left our little party & got in with a man by the name of [Elijah] bristow I did the cooking & washing & my husband drove the team into Callnia our cattle was giving out so we had to cut the wagon down & make a cart of it & throw away some of our goods things began to look very scaly just then.

{6}We traveled on a day or so & came across a party of emagrants bound for Callifornia & they were looking for recurits [recruits] so we joined their company wich was about 40 wagons in all[.] they had an old man by the name of Greenwood for A pilot for the road was new & was but little known to any but the trapers. it was on this road the indians were very bad. When we came to marys river [the Humboldt] they began to molest us. Sometimes when we were in camp in the evening our cattle would come runing into the Corrail with arrows sticking in their sides & most of them died one evening a pretty young hefeir came in with 2 or 3 arrows in her flesh so that she died & a doctor [Carter] in the company put some stricknine in the heifers meat & left it for the indians to eat, 3 or 4 of the boys remained to watch & they saw the indians come & take it away I expect they had A Joly time of it.

. . . .

{7}[After arriving in California, the Gregson's eventually settled near Sutter's Fort, working for John Sutter.] So in the latter part of April 1846 we returned to the fort & my husaband worked for Capt Sutter somtimes in the blacksmith shop & sometimes diging ditches for they had no fences around the farm. & there was no work for woman excepting a little cooking & very little at that. & our cloathes we had to patch untill the original peice could scarcely be found. our men worked for 1 dollar per day. & common dress goods $1 per yard. so it took $8 to buy 1 dress & our food was very coarse flour & sometimes pretty good beef no coffee or tea or sugar or Milk or butter. the flour being unbolted acted on us the same as medicen & making very bad work.

. . . .

{8}now to show how the indians did with a thief the house we lieved in was two or three oo [two or three hundred] yards south of the fort. one day while I was sitting doing little or nothing I heard some very loud yells I went for to see what was the matter & there was about 9 or 10 indians. & they had caught a large coyotay & they had skined him alive. & although it was a very hot day in July the poor thing would shiver as if he was freezing. & every time he would shiver the indians would dance & through up their hands & yell with all their might. there was a few white persons watching. I suppose the Mr Coyoty had been stealing their beef.

{9}during the harvest time the Capt employed the wild digers [Digger Indians] & they would come in gangs of 50 togather & as naked as they were born. they cut the grain with sickles & Butcherknives. & they were fed on boiled bran sometimes a few beef bones thrown in their food was put into long wooden troughs & laid on the ground & the indians would sit on each side of the trough & scupe their mess with thier hands. & it was laughable to see them When it was two hot they would shake their hands.

{10}there was a few white wimen besides myself. . . . the summer is past again & on the second day of Sepber there was a weding at the fort the mans name was Wyman & the girls was Amearci Kelsey. and on the third day Ann E Gregson was born.

. . . .

{11}[James Gregson left home to serve in the Mexican War (1846-1848).] Well he went & left me & my little girl about six weeks old. to do [the] best I could. I got along pretty well untill nearly Christmass with nothing to do only take care of the little one, the worst of it [was] I had very little to eat & I got so thin in flesh that I could scarsely carry the few cloaths that were on my back. I was nursing a fat cross baby & had very little norishments. . . .

{12}Well at that time we could hear nothing from the seat of war one day there came A man with letters to Captain sutter & Cap Kern stateing there had been a battle with the spanierds on the salines [Salinas] plains & there was 4 Armercans killed & 7 wounded. with no names [mentioned] We few women where very uneasy about this time. for we did not [know] weather we were widows or not.

. . . .

{13}Well the winter passes away & early in the year 47 the startling news arives at the fort that some emigrants [members of the Donner party] had just come in from the sirranaveds [Sierra Nevada] almost starved to death. & that they had left a large party starving in the mountains. So what was to be done there was but a few people at the fort. & old Captain Sutter sent out his vacquars [vaqueros] that is the indians that he had trained he sent them out to bring in about 12 head of the fatest [steers] & they did as they were told. they killed the beefs & barbaqued the meat & packed it on the best mules that was to be found & started them off.

. . . .

{14}there was but a few white women but we did all in our power for them. in two or 3 weeks back again some of them came. the mules allmost all dead & 3 or 4 indians besides white people. & they wanted more food for the starving ones that could not come. I shall never forget the looks of those people for the most part of them were crazey & their eyes danced & sparkled in their heads like stars. among the first lot that came out were 18. 5 girls & wemen the rest were men. the[re] were only two men survived a Mr fowler & Mr Edey. & 4 of the females were named Graves the youngest one was about 11 years old & one maried lady Mrs Fosdick her husband died & she buried him in the snow.

{15}praphs I might as well speak a little more about Mrs fosdick. the wemen would take the lead over the snow & beat the track for the men to walk in. but for all that the men sunk down & died. the wemen even led them by the hand & made the camp fires & gave them food one morning Mrs fosdicks husband was dieing he tried to travel but did not succeed & the rest of the party could not stop for him to die. So she told them I will stay with him untill he dies You go I will overtake you in about 2 hours she was seen coming with her husbands black silk Neckercheif around her neck She told them he is dead. Fowler said can we have him to eat. She said you cannot hurt him now. so some of them went back & brought some of his flesh & cooked it. So speak about womens rights say they are weak & ought to have no rights.

{16}the second party that came out were Mrs reeds family & one servant women & a part of the two donners familys. Jake & Gorge donner the[y] were two brothers with their wifes & children. of the gorge donner family there was 5 girls elithey [Elitha] & Leah [Leanna] & frances and gorgeana [Georgia] & Elza [Eliza]. of jake donners family two sons I was gorge donner & one girl named Mary donner. poor girl both her feet were frozen & they were in shocking condition the flys had blown them & there was maggots in them & she suffered a great deal. there was a doctor at the fort he came & put some medesien on them but her feet was ruined another women by the name of Kesburg [Mrs. Keseberg] she left one dead baby in the camp & started with one little girl 2 years old it died & she had to bury it in the snow. She left her husband behind I shall speak of him

{17}{They left old Mr & Mrs [George and Tamsen] Donner with no one else but Keysburg [Lewis Keseberg] whose cabin was about 8 miles this west side of the nevada line. The old man Donner was too sick to travel and one of his hands were very sore. Mrs Donner would not leave her husband. So they left her some beef and promised to return for them in a short time. Mr. & Mrs. Jake Donner died in a short time after the arrival of rescueing party to them. In due time the men went out again and the weather was getting milder and the snow not so deep in the mountains. The first camp was Keysburgs they found him in his cabin cooking his supper of human flesh. they followed the tracks to the other camp but found no one, but the foot prints of Mrs Donner where she had apparently been cutting meat from a steer which had been buried in the snow, showing, plainly that she had not died from starvation. returning to Keysburgs camp, they asked him where is Mrs Donner? He said she died and he cut her flesh up and had it in a box and her husbands too for there was the sore hand. There were boxes filled with human flesh all cut and packed in butcherly style. The next thing where was her money, for Mr & Mrs Donner had about $800.00 dollars it was not to be found Keysburg denied any knowledge of any money.}so that one man by the name of big Ofallen [William O. Fallon] put a rope around his neck & strung him up to a tree two or three times untill he was black in the face. & then he told where there was $500 but would tell no more. so they brought him down to the fort. where he & his wife stayed that winter.

{18}one day old Mrs Lenox we thought we would like to see the maneater I told the old lady you go in first & I will follow. during the conversation Mrs Lenox asked him how human flesh tasted & he said it was better than chicken & several times that winter his wife would arrouse the people by screaming murder at midnight she said that he wanted to kill her. Kesburg got offended at the folks for saying that he killed Mrs Donner & he sued them at law. during the examination he said that he got 4 pounds of tallow out of her. once he called one of the little donner girls to come to him but she answered him no you killed my mother he stayed about the fort for some time afterwards I saw but very little of him

{19}{So the spring of 1847 came and the war being ended, the soldiers began to come back again, and we women would watch for any news, at last they returned, and some of the friends that I had been with all winter went to San Francisco. But we stayed at the fort, and Gregson and Mr. Lenox engaged with Capt Sutter to go upon Bear river and get out Mill-stones for him, which they did.

{20}I wanted to move to Yerba Buena as it was then called, but my wishes were not considered and we then with Lenox's, moved to the tan yard on the American river and stayed that summer, and in the latter part of the summer Gregson along with most of the people, was taken down with the Sacramento fever, which came very near taking his life, so near that the doctor came in for his pay, and we gave him all [the] cows and horses we had for money we had none. The doctor thought my husband would die in a few short hours My mind was in a terrible state for what could I do. The fever was raging and he was delerious. I sat down and thought and I asked the old lady Lenox, is there nothing I can get for him I must do something or he will die, and you are a western woman can not you tell me of something some herbs? she answered no. Then I went out in the fields. I could find nothing no not even a blade of grass. All that there was, was some cow manure and it came to me, the cows have eaten up all the grass and herbs, why not the manure make a good medicine. So I took some of it wrapped it up in a cloth and boiled it then I filled a pint bowl full and took it to him. When he saw it he said, You want to poison me. I told him no see me drink. with that he took the bowl with both hands and drank it all and went to sleep.} slept 3 or 4 hours but the fever was gone [and he] himself [was] as weak as an infant.

. . . .

{21}[In December, 1847] Sutter engaged my husband and I to go to Coloma. My husband to be the blacksmith for a saw mill which was being built by Capt Sutter and James Marshall. Myself to cook for the hands which were about 15 men. . . .

{22}The Indians that were about had never seen a white child, and it was soon noised abroad that there was a white child on the place and the Indians came from a distance of 40 miles to see her. They would come to the door and look and then they would cover their faces with their hands, and were very much astonished at the sight.} they even went so far as to pinch her shoulders & pull her hair to see if she was a real human they were very fond of her one squaw wanted me to swap babes with her.

{23}after a week or two we heard that the mineral that was taken out of the tailrace of the sawmill [was gold] & the hands would occasanale bring in a little gold dust

{24}after a while I got tired of seeing nothing but squaws & I wanted to see a white woman again so they took me and my child about 15 miles to a place I think it was the dimond springs to see Mrs Wimmer & her family I stayed two days & nights & then returned home. [Well I found her camping out and Sleeping in the wagon. she was very glad to see me and we did not sleep very much, but put in the time talking while I stayed, which was two days and nights, and then I returned home.

. . . .

{25}somewheres about this time old James Marshall & J gregson went prospecting for gold a little further up the river than they had been and they found plenty of scale gold my husband asked Marshall to divide with him. he very quickly answered no you are working for me. Very well says gregson I will work no more & I shall gather gold for myself which he did now the people were coming in from all parts of the of Call & chili & by & by the oragononians commencing to arive early in the gold excitement Mr Gregson made the first pick & afterwards made a good many picks & drills for the miners. & the men stopt working on the mill every thing was gold crazy run away sailors and solders came into the mines my mother & two brothers & my sister came to hunt for gold. my sisters husband had deserated & she did not know where he was at that time. Somwhere, about July or august he came into the place where we were living & we were hideing him for fear of him being arested. at this time Mrs Wimmers little boy was born & we had to bring him out to light as there was no other Doctor.

{26}in 1848. goods began to arive in the mines & every kind was very high prised flour $1 per pound. Coffee $10 per pound tea $18 per pound & other things in proporsion eggs $18 per dozen. $1. yard for common calico. We wemen folks took in all the sewing such as makeing overalls We could make $10 per day.

{27}there was several families camped arround us & there was a store started. & another house built covered with canvas also some houses built down on the flat close by the Mill & the wemen folks got plenty of sewing to do but salt & bad living so long began to tell on my husband & little girl they were both taken sick & no one knew what was the matter my husband was scarcely able to walk & on the 25 of september my daughter Mary Ellen was born that same day my other daughter was taken down sick & did not walk for 7 months afterwards: & there I was with two sick ones & myself not able to help either one of them. We paid Doctor tenent $300 but he did not know anything. so that was all the same as thrown away. after staying there untill the latter end of October 1848 the doctors told my husband that he must leave that part of the country or he would die. . . .

{28}[Consequently, the Gregsons headed for Sonoma.] every day that we got aw[a]y from the mines he got a little bit better & when we arived at Sonoma he could walk pretty well & he began to get well very fast. not so our oldest daughter her teeth droped out of her mouth & she was a poor sick child for some months during [which] I took in washing & ironing & sewing to help suport my family. the prise of every thing was very high Well so we worked along that winter as best we could I would sew untill 1 or 2 oclock in the night & in the day I would wash & take care of the two babes

{29}. . . . during the winter & spring of 1848 & 49 & all through that summer I took in washing & sewing to support my familly & I toiled as best I could. the reader of this must not suppose that I had no enjoyment or friends for Mr & Mrs Bruner [neighbors Christian and Mary Bruner, who were caring for survivors of the Donner Party] where very kind & got me employment so that we did not lack for food or cloaths, although it took all that I earned. again my husband returned from the mines sick. & in the fall of 49 my mother & sister Mary ann & two Brothers left the mines & came down to sonoma.

. . . .

{30}Well in the year 1850 my husband & my Brother henry came out to green valley in analey township. & they went to Capt Cooper & got a permit to settle on the ranch where we now reside. Mr Gregson & Henry marshall & John came out here in January 1850 & built a log cabbin & made some fences & got some potatoes . . . . on the 1 of May 1850 I started with Mr & Mrs [T.] Churchman with oxen in the wagons slow traveling We were 2 days & two nights . . . when we came to green valley it seemed almost like a paradise it was like a picture grass & clover & flowers in abundance the grass was as tall as myself.

{31}. . . . [In July 1850, Eliza Gregson was accidently shot through the shoulder while her husband was cleaning his gun.] it was 3 months before I was healed. & on the 24 of September our son William F was born I must not forget to say that all the neabours were very kind unto us during our misfortunes & sickness Well we did not raise much produce this year but still we did not starve quite

{32}in the winter of 49 & 50 I sold a roan horse for $100 With the proceeds I bought the flour to do us during the first year in Green Valley. I also brought a cat & kittins & we had one black horse old nig he was not a work horse so Gregson had to borrow some mony to buy a yoke of oxen so that he could haul rails to fence in some land & brake the sod so as to plant potatoes & some garden vegetabls

{33}1851 after a rather stormey winter [with] plenty of work [there was] nothing for both myself & husband provisions high cloaths high prised & very little coming in making everything hard on us, & to make matters worse we just began to get letters from his kinsfolks in the east then we learned that Mr & Mrs Gregson were both dead & the rest of the family scattered or maried & the youngest boy John gregson was in the Orphan Asiulm. Well richard gregson wanted to come out to Callna after a time father borrowed $300 to help him & he concluded that it was not enough & he never came & we had to foot the bill so what with one thing or another it kept us on the bed rock with plenty of work & but little pay. & fathers health not good if he went to work a day he would be taken down sick so we had to hire a good deal.

{34}& in 52 we had another boy born on the first of Sept so making one more to cloath & feed about this time old Johney Moor & gregson started a blacksmith shop on the hill Well it did for a while but the benifits were all on one side & we came out the losers

. . . .

{35}in the spring of 54 on the last day of May another daughter was born to us somewheres in the summer of 54 I [think] it was the neighbors began to want their claims surveyed. . . . We gregsons had been paying taxes for more land than we had inside our fence. . . . [but eventually] we was in possesione of our rights (160 acaers) We fenced in our ranch planted some Apple trees & grapevines & so this classes & all we can make goes on to the farm again

{36}Well nothing of importance transpiring only the common routine of business incdently to farming & such kind of work. such as ploughing & clearing planting out orchards & vineyards & raising stock & milking cows trying all ways to make a liveing & our girls & boys getting large enough to help us. so that we might be able to pay our debts

{37}& on the 5 of Oct 1856 our son Henry M was born in 56 our country about sonoma county begins to improve, towns springing up all over & the people building houses & leaveing old cabbins to be used for outhouses. & the people begin to talk county fairs & improve their stock. & farms improveing more & better fences & more usefull emplements to work with

{38}At healdsburg the first county fair we recieved a silver butter knife for the best butter.

{38}Well passing along we have another daughter born to us the 20 of March. 1858. caroline one more daughter born to us on the 29 of October 1862.

{39}there are but few persons that can write their history while they are alive sufice it to say all our children are maried & scatered over the land & myself & husaband are almost alone as we were 42 years ago.


Return to the History Department.