THE PAST (1849-1850_
The "Ikenberry train" disbanded soon after reaching the first mining camps, although various travelers stayed together in their explorations. John Waters and his brother, William, stopped at the beautifully-named Mud Springs, as did several others of the "London boys," including me and Nick, at least for a time. John had broken his leg on the trip, so could not actively mine, at first. However, he could drive a wagon, and he kept busy going into the bigger city of Sacramento, to bring back supplies for us, and to sell to others. It paid as much as - probably more than - mining. The Waters boys were not planning to return to Iowa, and they took a step toward permanent California residency by building the first actual house in Mud Springs. There were various shelters of the more temporary kind, but this was a real - albeit very rustic - building.
As you might imagine, the mining camps were wild and rough places. The population was nearly 100 per cent male, many suffering from gold fever - more like gold "mania!" - and far removed from the niceties and constraints of "civilization." There were no churches or schools, but there were makeshift saloons and gambling places everywhere. Fights and gun-play were common, as was crime of all manner. There was also racial strife, "Yankee" miners (like us) resenting the presence of Mexicans and Indians seeking the same thing we were, and forcefully trying to evict them.
There was no "law and order," as we think of it here in the States, but the mining camps often organized to address the most flagrant excesses. The worst were usually considered horse stealing and claim jumping, the latter being trespassing in an area already claimed by some other miner. Violators in those realms often received swift attention. I observed one example shortly after we arrived at Mud Springs. A man was brought before the camp "council" on a charge of stealing a horse. There was no question that he was riding a stolen horse. I don't think anyone asked him how he came to be in possession of the said steed, the council quickly found him guilty, and within an hour he had a rope around his neck, and was soon swinging dead from the branch of a nearby tree. It was my first view of "frontier justice," but not my last. I still cringe at the decisiveness with which it is wielded.
As I implied, the mining camps were essentially all-male communities. Most camps of any size or permanence had a few women around to "entertain" the men. Other than that, some miners had brought their wives or daughters with them. I still feel anger at men who would leave their womenfolk alone all day long - among hundreds of men starved for any kind of female attention. If they weren't completely besotted with their personal quest, they would have found safe lodging for their women in Sacramento, or other civilized place. In my mind, this was even worse than leaving their families alone and near penniless in the East while they went on their trek for gold. There were incidents, some of them quite unpleasant, and completely preventable. It still makes my blood boil when I think of the general male treatment of the female of the species!
***
My partners, John and William Waters, were kin to two other "London boys," Dave and Asa McCully, the sister Hannah Waters being the wife of Asa McCully. I mention them here because I had quite a bit to do with the McCullys in later years, but mostly because they showed that a rush to seek one's fortune can be made with careful planning, intelligence, and compassion.
The McCullys - four brothers and a sister - were born in New Brunswick, Canada. They came to the United States with their parents in the early 1830s, settling first in Ohio, then moving on west to Henry County, Iowa, in 1842. The McCullys were obviously good business men, and Dave and Asa often paired up in a variety of enterprises, from farming, to selling farm equipment, to operating a stagecoach line. When the news of the gold find in California reached Iowa, I suspect all four McCully brothers were as excited and interested as anyone else. However, they carefully planned what they were going to do. They decided that only two of the brothers would go West, leaving the other two to care for all four families. (John Starkey - of Fort Laramie "infamy" - a brother-in-law of Dave McCully - left his family safely with the rest of the "clan," also.)
Now, that was my model of how men should care for their womenfolk. The McCully boys became my heroes. I don't mean to imply that they weren't as rough and tough as any other man - more so, than many others - but their toughness did not interfere with their family responsibilities.
***
For obvious reasons, I left the following story out of what I told Annie and our brood. It was important to me, but not for the most obvious reasons. Here's what happened.
Some of the "London boys" gave me a birthday present of a visit to a prostitute. I'm sure they had no idea that it would be my first time - with anyone. It was just a friendly man-to-man gesture on their part.
The woman - older than me, but not by a lot - maybe 35 - was in a room in a hotel. She was still pretty, in a haggard way. She was very business-like, and we had transacted our "business" in just a few minutes. It was interesting - to have a woman assist you - but not much different than what happens to a young man, sometimes all by himself, when he sleeps and dreams in a confining position. I was pretty sure I had paid for a little more time, so I asked her why she pursued that particular occupation. As you might guess, she thought I was about to give her a lecture on morality.
"You have some nerve, taking advantage of my service, and then condemning me for it!"
"No, no, you misunderstand. I have no problem with what you do. I just wondered what you get out of it."
"Money." She laughed, but not prettily. "Well, my boss gets most, but I get some."
"No, that's not what I meant. I'm sorry to put it like that. It's
all new to me - I suspect you guessed that it was the first time ever for me -
and I'm just curious. It seems like it's all about giving the man a little
satisfaction, but do you feel anything? Is it interesting to you, personally?
I suspect she gave me an odd look.
Wouldn't you? "It's just business," she replied, finally. "There
isn't time for anything else, and the men who see me here aren't interested in
anything else. You pay for a ride, and that's what you get."
I'm sure I was embarrassed - as I should have been! - but I was still more interested than I was put off. "I'm sorry to muddle this up so badly. What I'm asking is, do women feel - can women feel - anything like a man feels in this situation?"
Now, I'm sure she must have given me a very long, odd look. I remember her words. "What's this about, then? Are you writing a book, or something?"
Now, I was confused, but I really had started this for a reason, and I wanted to go on, if she'd let me. "I do have a good reason. I'd like to explain it to you, if I can."
It seemed like she relented a bit, or at least I had her interested. "Do you have any money?"
I didn't know how to respond. "You want me to pay you to listen to me?"
"No, of course not." Then, she stopped. "Well, in a way, yes. Your time with me is up, and I can't just keep talking to you. There are others waiting their turn, and my boss doesn't let me take time off. If you paid me for another half-hour, then we could keep talking. Those waiting won't be happy, but they'll get their turns eventually, and my boss doesn't care who pays, as long as somebody does."
This was turning a little odd, but I really did want to keep talking. I fished in my jeans, and found enough to pay for the next half-hour. She took the money, went out of the room for a few minutes, then returned. "Okay, what's this all about?"
Now that I had to explain myself, it got more difficult to do. "Besides my mother and sisters, I've only known two women - girls, actually - at all well. One was my best friend all through school - more than fifteen years - but I never considered we might get married."
"How did she feel?" the woman interrupted.
"I think she thought we would make a great marriage. So do I - now - but I was too stupid to see it at the time, and I suspect it is too late, now. The other girl was one I did have married thoughts about. It never went far, because she got married to someone else.
"So, what I'm saying is that I don't really know anything about what goes on between a man and his wife, except for having babies together. How it's always seemed to me is that the man gets pleasure, while the woman gets to carry a child until its birth, and then care for it until it's old enough to be on its own. I was my mother's first-born. She was still having and raising babies when I was old enough to create life, myself.
"I want to have a family, but I don't want my wife to spend her whole life just raising children. When we're alone, I want us to enjoy each other, if that's possible. I don't want to be just a taker. I want to give, too, if there is something that I can give. Is there?"
She took a moment before she replied. "Well, that's a new one on me - a man asking a whore how to make a woman feel good! Don't get me wrong. I think it's wonderful. I think you're amazing to want to know. It's just a surprise, is all."
"So, is the anything you can tell me?"
She took another moment to think. "The answer is yes, women can feel quite a lot. The problem is that few women realize it, and we've been taught not to feel. When we do get feelings, we get scared or worried because we're pretty sure that women are just supposed to get married and then help their husbands however they need to be helped."
"I'm glad to know that. My question now is, what do I actually do to help my wife - to help us experience something together?"
"It's probably going to take some talking and convincing. You know you're not talking about doing anything illegal or immoral, but remember that the whole idea may be entirely new to her. Then, even after you convince her of your loving and honorable intentions, you have to be prepared to take a lot of time. Even when we're ready, women are usually slower to respond than are men. Believe me, the wait will be worth it, for both you and her. I suspect neither of you will want to hurry, once you get started. As far as what you actually do...
"Well, we don't have much time, but I can give you a quick lesson."
To my great surprise, she opened her robe to let me view her whole body. Our first business had been done with only the actual necessities being barely uncovered, so this was suddenly my first view of a woman's breasts and her other areas. She took my hands in hers, and guided mine over her breasts, showing me how and where to touch. Then she moved my hands lower, and showed me that a lot of a woman's sensations were not inside, but outside. Again, she directed me on the best ways to touch.
As she guided my hand over her body, she talked quietly. "I had a lover, once. He was considerably older than me. I was about 15, my parents had both died recently, and I had nowhere to go. He took me in - certainly for his own pleasure, but also for mine. He would lay with me, sometimes for an hour or more, letting his hands wander over me as yours are doing now. He taught me not to be afraid, and to relax while he worked wonders. He talked and caressed until I felt like I might explode, which I eventually did." She pressed my hand down more firmly. "So, yes, the answer is that women can feel quite a lot."
As you might imagine, this "training" was causing some obvious reactions to my own body. She noticed and, in the last few minutes before our time was up, she took care of my need with considerably more tenderness and personal attention than she had shown the first time.
As I left, I thanked her for both, and for the information. My feelings of personal wellbeing lasted for some time. The lesson, I stored away in my brain for (hopefully) future use.
***
I should say something about California gold mining, as it is quite different from the hammering away at rock walls with pickaxes that we usually picture in the East. Here, you put a little dirt in a pan, swirl it around in the water to wash the lighter dirt away, then collect the little golden fragments remaining in the bottom of the pan. Alternatively, you build a sluice - which is a series of pan-like shelves - down which you divert water. You put dirt in the sluice, the running water washes away the loose dirt, leaving little gold flecks in each of the "pans." Well, that's a simplification, but actually not much of one. And I have to say, although I repeat that I do not have, and have never had, gold fever, the first time I saw those little gold flecks, it felt almost like a religious experience. I think if, in the Garden of Eden, Eve had tempted Adam with gold flecks, rather than an apple, he would have fallen even faster than he did.
I did a little panning, and collected some of my own gold, but I couldn't stay interested. I was happier just wandering around the camps, visiting with people and learning where they were from and why they were there (other than the obvious). This put a strain on my partnership with Nick, because he wanted to mine full-time, and (not having any remaining ties to Iowa) would probably stay in California indefinitely. When he told me he was thinking of entering into partnership with two other ardent miners, I had no objections. We had been excellent team mates on the trip, and neither of us had any complaints. When he sold our wagon and oxen at a significant profit, he returned to me all the money I had invested, and enough extra to help me pay my way home.
With Nick gone, I decided to find the McCully brothers - not for the purpose of mining with them, but just to see them in action. I had been hearing that they really had "struck it rich," and I wanted to see what that looked like.
I found them at work on the Cosumnes River, and quickly learned that the tales were true. They had tried several other areas, with some success, but this was by far the best. In their first three days, they and their two partners had each averaged about $8 in gold per day. In the next week, the average went up to about $16 per day. They moved to a new area, and in their very first pan, they had accumulated about a dollar's worth of gold. In three and a half hours of work, they had 10 1/2 ounces of the yellow flakes and kernels. At that location, each averaged about $50 per day for several weeks. (When we later sold our gold in New Orleans, they were paying $17.25 per ounce - $180 for those first three hour's work at the new location! In total, both Asa and Dave were returning home with $5,000 each. Not bad for three months' work.)
I was surprised (at least, when I first heard it) to learn that the McCullys and some of the other "London boys" were thinking about leaving California soon. We had been there less than three months, and it had taken almost two times that long to get there. Thinking about it from their perspective, it began to sound logical. They didn't yet know what their gold was worth, but clearly they were "rich." Their current claim seemed to be running out, and there was never a guarantee they would find another one anywhere near as profitable. While they tried, the extremely high prices for everything in California would be eating away at their profits. Why not start for home at the top of their game?
The idea of "going home" suddenly sounded very good to me. I hadn't thought about "family" much in the past few years, but I found I was thinking very wistfully about them, now. I wouldn't be going home a rich man, but I had never expected to, and I would have a little more in my pocket than I had when I first reached Iowa.
Besides, I was finding I didn't like California very much. Everyone talked about the mild winters, about how the soil and climate would grow just about anything (if you could get water to it), and how the hills in late winter and spring were amazingly green and beautiful, with lush grasses and magnificent wildflower displays. All that sounded appealing, but the California I had seen so far was a land of baked brown hills, empty stream beds, and torrid temperatures. I wasn't feeling the need to wait around to see the "other California."
In early November 1849, seven of us from "the Ikenberry party" were on our way down the river to San Francisco, to begin our journey home.
***
No matter how a "Forty-niner" reached California, the only logical way to leave was by sea. Even if one had wanted to repeat the grueling six-month overland trip, the seasons were wrong for it. There was little hope of crossing the snowy Sierra Nevada before June at the earliest, leaving barely enough time (barring any problems - a vain hope!) to reach Midwest locations before winter.
There were two ocean alternatives. The first was to sail all the way around South America, reaching New Orleans or one of the Atlantic seaports, after 18,000 miles and five-to-eight months aboard ship. Not only was that a tremendous commitment of time, it was often q quite dangerous voyage. Nevertheless, many opted for that way, and - before the Gold Rush - it was often the only way.
The preferred return was to reverse the route taken by many gold-seekers on their way to California in 1849 and 1850. In the reverse direction, one would go from San Francisco by ship to the west coast of Panama. Disembarking there, the narrow "isthmus" was crossed by pack train to the height of land, then by native canoe down the Chagres River to the Gulf of Mexico. The crossing was completed on a steamship bound for New Orleans. There could be delays on this trip - particularly, waiting for ships to arrive or depart - but with luck, one could travel from California back to "the States" in less than three months.
We chose the Panama route, and on November 20, 1849, we left San Francisco aboard the sailing ship "Edward Horton." It would be nice to say that our trip home went smoothly, and without a hitch. That was not to be. Part of it was the effect of hundreds of thousands of men, going to and coming from California, on a transportation system stressed to unimaginable limits. Part of it was Mother Nature in action - or rather, inaction, as she refused to allow the winds necessary to move sailing ships through the seas. It was also the result of human incompetence and outright fraud that endangered - and cost - human lives.
The owners of the "Edward Horton" had advertised it as being fully provisioned with the best foods, with luxury cabins if desired (for a steep extra fee), and a doctor on board to care for any physical needs. We had not been long at sea when we discovered there were no quality provisions. In fact, we were woefully short of food of any kind - certainly not enough to feed us adequately until Panama. The "luxury" cabins were a mirage, and the doctor seemed not to do much of anything, except dispense pills (I don't know what kind) at extremely high prices. As an extra worry, we found that the ship had no lifeboats of any kind, which could create a bit of a problem if we had to abandon ship for any reason. (Fortunately, that was not one of our problems.)
Things would have been serious for us, had we made the trip in the more "normal" time of a couple of weeks. Ours took much longer. The winds refused to blow - bad news for a sailing ship - and for days at a time, we barely moved. The heat and humidity increased whenever we were able to move south, and the sun beating down on the open ocean was impossible to escape. Passengers became sick from the weather and lack of adequate food, and five men died before we reached Panama.
As the days dragged on, and everyone's health and spirits deteriorated, the passengers were near to mutiny. Alas, what could we do? The captain and the ship owners were clearly to blame for our onboard conditions, but no one but God could make the wind blow. He seemingly chose not to intervene. We took out part of our frustrations by writing a letter to the American Counsel in Panama City, citing all the problems of the voyage. Most of the passengers signed it, and when we finally disembarked (after 51 day at sea!), it was presented to the authorities. I doubt that anything ever came of it. The Gold Rush had overloaded all the systems, and there just wasn't the time or the energy to look into all the complaints, questions, and criticisms.
Crossing the isthmus was slow and rough, and we all were suffering to some extent from our deprivations aboard ship, but we made it to Chagres without serious incident. We were able to board the steamship "Alabama" on January 27, 1850, and started across the Gulf of Mexico. Gale-force winds made the trip uncomfortable and a little scary, but we arrived safely at New Orleans on February 3rd.
One of our first chores there was to convert our gold dust to U. S. dollars. I think I have mentioned previously that both Asa and Dave McCully realized about $5,000 each. John Starkey had a large amount, also, but I don't know his total. The local newspaper the next day reported that, altogether, the "Alabama" had brought over $400,000 in gold to the city - $120,000 consigned to several local business houses, and perhaps $300,000 scattered among the 200 passengers. I was surprised - and pleased - to find that my little stash of gold dust cashed out at nearly $100. It would have been worth slightly more, but I kept out a little of the shiny stuff to show my family when I reached home.
After a day's stay at New Orleans, we started north up the Mississippi River. At Cairo, Illinois, I left the ship, while my friends continued upriver to St. Louis, and eventually home to New London. I repeated my return trip from the Mexican War - up the Ohio River to Pittsburgh, then over the Alleghenies. It was long, and sometimes delayed by winter conditions, but on March 1, 1950, I stood on the outskirts of Williamsburg, Pennsylvania. Two years ago, near that very spot, I had walked away from my best friend.
To the Writing It Down Homepage
Leave a comment: symbios@condortales.com