Individual Details

1 Jun 1850, Great Salt Lake County, Utah Territory, pg 75B.
Oliver Duncan, 22 (1827-28) born TN, groom
George Duncan, 17, (1832-333), herds boy, was in same household, which consisted of 17 people. Head of household was Brigham Young.

July 1852, El Dorado Co., CA, pg. 5, line 45;
G. W. [indexed P W at ancestry] Duncan, 20, miner, born Illinois, last residence Illinois
Oliver ?? Duncan, 15, miner, born Illinois, last residence Illinois.

1 Jun 1860, P.O. Visalia, Twp. No. 2, Tulare Co., CA, pg. 21;
Dwelling No. 152: George Dunkin, 28 (1831-32), born IL, farmer, real estate of $2500, personal of $375
Dwelling No. 153: Oliver Duncan, 24 (1835-36), born IL, farmer, real estate of $700, personal of $1750.
Dana Lamb, male, 30 (1829-30), born Vermont, labourer.

1 Jun 1870, Tule River Twp., Tulare Co., CA, pg 271;
George W. Duncan, 37 (1832-33), raising stock, born IL; Real estate of $800, personal property of $6, 000
Lorinda Duncan, 27 (1842-43), born MO
G. Grant Duncan, 5 (1864-65) born CA
Ida Duncan, 4 (1865-66) born CA
Ellen Duncan, 3 (1866-67), born CA
Eva Duncan, 1 (1868-69) born CA
George Farces, 14, born Texas, at home, attended school within the year
Next to brother William and his family.

1 Jun 1880, Tule River Township, Tulare Co., CA, pg 108B,
G.W. Duncan, 47 (1832-33) born IL both parents born U.S. Farmer
L.A. Duncan, 37 (1842-43) born MO, both parents born IN
G. G. Duncan, 15 (1864-65) born CA, father born IL, mother born MO
I.E. Duncan, 14 (1865-66) born CA, father born IL, mother born MO
M.E. Duncan, 13 (1866-67) born CA, father born IL, mother born MO
L. E. Duncan, 11 (1868-69) born CA, father born IL, mother born MO
A. M. Duncan, 10 (1869-70) born CA, father both IL mother born MO
V.M. Duncan, 8 (1871-72) born CA father born IL mother born MO
L. E. Duncan, 4 (1875-76) born CA, father born IL, mother born MO.

GEORGE W. DUNCAN REMEMBERS

San Jose, Calif., Dec. 3, 1903

My father was born near Culpeper courthouse in Virginia. When still a small boy, his father moved to Nashville, Tennessee and secured a home adjoining that great soldier and patriot, Andrew Jackson, with and under whom my father and all of his brothers had service. One of the older brothers lay behind the cotton bales at New Orleans. My fathers' initials were W. A. for William A.. I think my grandfather's name was John. He was of Scotch descent. How long my father lived in Tennessee or how old he was when he left there, I cannot say. He married a lady of his own name, but who was not a relative. Her name being Dolly Duncan before and after marriage. I think they were married in Indiana, but cannot give the date.

I was born In Franklin County, Ill., the 15th of Sept. 1832. My earliest recollection beginning in St. Clair County, Illinois In the vicinity of Belleville, a little hamlet of a few scattered houses at that time. When I was about six or seven years of age, my father moved to Missouri and happened to settle where a few Mormon families lived. The Militia, supposing my father to be a Mormon also, drove off his stock, robbed his house and completely broke him. A brother of his came from Illinois in the dead of winter and helped him move back to Illinois. I shall not attempt to describe the hardships, trials, suffering etc. of that journey freezing cold and in deep snow, but it is printed in my memory and makes a dark and sorrowful picture.

We settled again in the vicinity of Belleville. After spending a few uneventful years in Illinois, my father again started Westward and moved into Iowa. There we spent one season in the vicinity of Keosockway, not far from the Des Moines River. This was in 1846. My father and mother both died late that fall or early in the spring of 1847 (I am not sure which but think It was the fall) after having moved to Council Bluffs. My only sister Hulda, the youngest of the family, and I went to live with our uncle who helped us back to Illinois. In a year or two, I began to fully realize the saying: "What is home without a mother". Although with my dear mother for only a few short years, the training and teaching she gave me has been my safety valve and sheet anchor all through my life. My father was a man who gave his children good advice, both in precept and example. He was a kind, affectionate husband and father. He was 6 ft. 1-1/2 inches in height and well formed. He had a kind and benevolent look but still he was of sterner material than any mother (as fathers usually are) but I am proud of his memory till this day.

The Spring of 1847 found me starting westward with a train of emigrants. If my memory serves me right, I was in my fifteenth year. The first day out from Council Bluffs, a young man was shot by an Indian. We buried him at the Elk Horn River. It was a very sad spectacle to me, young as I was, and I thought sadly of what we faced ahead. At the same place the next season, on my way west again, we had a fight with the Indians. We thought there were two or three of them killed, but they got into the brush and got away, so we could not tell for sure. We thought from the way some of them tumbled, they were down to stay.They were carried off however. Two of our men were shot, but not killed. I got ahead of my story so will now return to my first trip across the plains. Our road lay across a beautiful, rolling country; rich in all that was necessary to make a great state where now towns and cities abound and also many railroads. A few days' travel brought us to the North Platte River, a broad, shallow stream flowing to the east out of the Rocky Mountains. The rich, fertile and well timbered land of the Grand Island, Neb., was many miles long and formed by the Platte River flowing on either side of it. This was where we had our last wood until we had traveled three hundred miles farther. We were in the buffalo country, and for a distance of three hundred miles, buffalo chips were our fuel. The ladies at first objected to handling them without gloves, and would not carry them in their aprons, but this soon wore off and everybody went for chips as soon as camp was made. A corral was formed of the wagons and the stock put inside at night. Log chains were stretched
across the entrance and fastened to the wagon wheels. Two or more guards or pickets were placed around the corral, as the case required. One night when camped near the river bank, the stock took fright as we supposed from the Indians. They made a dash for the outside, tipping over wagons as they went with sleeping people inside. They ran off a ten foot bank into the river. By working their way down stream, they soon found a place where they got up the bank, so away they went across the level plain toward the hills. Well, pandemonium reigned the balance of the night in camp.The cattle were
finally rounded up and brought in by daylight. Buffalo were plentiful everywhere and occasionally one was killed, treating all of the train to fresh meat. An antelope was brought in occasionally for a change.

After many weeks of travel by the slow progress of ox teams, we came to the eastern spurs of the Rocky Mountains where the natural scenery began to improve. We found game plentiful - deer, antelope, bear,sage hens, mountain hare and Rocky Mountain sheep. There were a great many rattlesnakes and wolves in great variety. The Sioux nation of Indians, at that time, were friends of the whites. They were a fine looking race of people and muscular with many of them over six feet tall. They were clean looking and well dressed in skins and rode fine looking horses. We rested a day or two at Fort Laramie. It was then a French trading post, the principal items for trade being buffalo robes and furs. We paid for them in coffee, sugar, tobacco, beads and Indian trinkets. The bow and arrow was the Indian's principal weapon of defense at that time. We witnessed the killing of buffalo by some Sioux who offered their services for the benefit of cur train. We saw one well-aimed arrow pass through a buffalo and fall to the ground on the other side having passed between the ribs on either side. Sometimes a well aimed arrow would. bring one down immediately, and again it would require several. A two or three year heifer's hide, nicely dressed, made an article of bedding unequalled for beauty and comfort.

Chimney Rock, one of nature's freaks, stands solitary and alone some miles away from any hills on the level plain adjoining the Platte.Perhaps 50 ft. in diameter and near 100 ft. height. No one was able to climb to the top of it. As we journeyed on into the mountains, what scenery unfolded before our eyes. There were beautiful valleys, well watered with running streams and an abundance of timber and fine grass. The country was called "Black Hills" at that time. It has been great cattle country for many years. At one of our camping places on a beautiful stream called then River a la Prele, there was a natural bridge over which twenty horsemen could ride abreast. There was a fine arch beneath. As we entered the mountains, the river narrowed and became a beautiful stream.

Accompanied by the son of the gentleman for whom I was driving, I went to the river one day for a bath. I cautioned him not to enter the deepwater as he could not swim. When my back was turned, he did just that. As I turned around, oh horrors, my comrade was gone. I jumped in after him, seized him by the hair and took him to shore and worked lively with him. I can assure you until I got his lungs empty of water, in an hour or two, I had the great satisfaction of taking him back to camp.

One morning when gathering up the cattle preparatory to starting, a huge grizzly bear was startled from his lair in a willow thicket. He charged the enemy without any hesitation and seemed to almost fly.With his bearship close behind, he swam out into the river. Fortunately, Mr. Grizzly changed his tactics and swam back to land. It seemed he wanted a good square fight and thought he could better accomplish it on land rather then by naval warfare. As it all occurred in sight of camp, others went to the rescue with guns, but he fought bravely until killed. All felt relieved when the fierce beast was dead.

At one place near the river, the train stopped where there was a fine stone coal deposit. They erected a forge and shod all the oxen that were tender of foot. I have no doubt that the same bed of coal was located many years since, and made the locators rich men. In a few days more of travel, we left the Platte and camped near the Sweet Water River. It was a broad valley near Independence Rock so named by Fremont while on his way to California. It stands away from all other hills and rocks and covers perhaps an acre of ground and is about sixty feet high. It has a very fair room near the top, perhaps 30 ft. by 60 ft. in which there was writing in all colors, some even with fire coal, the names of hundreds of people. Near by was a soda lake, many acres of pure crude soda from one to two feet thick. This soda was usable in bread making and there was a fortune in it, for some enterprising person.

Our road from there lay along the Sweet Water River. On this river, we found one of natures wonders. It cut through a solid rock mountain known then as "Devil's Gate". If I remember correctly, its perpendicular walls are 200 feet high on either side and probably 50 feet wide for about 3/4 of a mile. Nothing of interest transpired then for many days. We were now coming to high elevated country. It began opening out into high plateaus and long open ridges. We could see many miles in all directions. We had now left the Sweet Water River and were nearing the south pass into the Rocky Mountains. The feed was still good, and occasionally we got a pretty good view of Pike's Peak in Colorado, one of the great landmarks of the west. When we finally reached the great "Saddle or Backbone" that divides the waters of the Atlantic and Pacific oceans, the only way we knew it was by a change in the course of the streams. (Now known as The Continental Divide). There was a wagon train ahead of us that our train wished to communicate with. I don't remember whether I was called on to go, or volunteered, but at any rate I went accompanied by another young fellow. We pursued the train, but failed in our expectations to overtake it the first day. How it was or why we took a buffalo robe with us, I have no recollection, but it was lucky that we did as we got into snow before night.

Our road was hidden and we were lost. We had nothing to eat. Knowing that it was useless to try to travel, we lay down, rolled up in our buffalo robe and made the best of our circumstances. quite early the next morning, we were traveling again. The snow was about six to eight inches deep. We had neither matches nor gun with us. A gun would have been very acceptable for the big mountain wolves came prowling around distressingly close before day. In the afternoon of the following day, two very tired and hungry boys overtook the train.About this time, we learned that some empty wagons were going back drawn by horses. They had gone west in the early part of the season.I will now say that it was a Mormon train that I was with, and the empty wagons were those of the pioneer Mormons returning with their teams for service the next season, having been through to Salt Lake and returning. The returning train was soon met so I bid "good bye"? to the family I had traveled with and we headed east for the Missouri River. The name of the people I had. traveled with was Cherry. They were excellent people. Kindness and friendship counted for much with me after my parents were gone. A kind word or act was long remembered.I parted with my friends very reluctantly, but I had done my duty faithfully and was treated nicely and kindly by the family.

After leaving, nothing of note happened until a few days before we reached Ft. Laramie. One morning, just before breakfast, we were expecting the horses to be brought in by the horsemen. All of a sudden we were startled by the screams and yells of what seemed to be 1,000 Indians. They were a war party of the Crow or Osage tribes who had been after their Indian enemies of another tribe, we learned later. They ran off a good share of our stock, which they refused to return. A few of our horses dashed into the corral as they ran near it in their flight. This writer caught the rope of one horse as he ran near the camp, and with pistol in one hand and the rope in the other, succeeded in getting him into the corral. It seemed as though the Indians would hurl their lances through me from their antics, but finally they gave it up and went on. The captain seemed to be badly scared, but the next in command was as brave as a lion and his bravery saved us enough horses to move our wagons. The rest of the journey of 600 miles or over was made mostly on foot. There were perhaps 300 to 350 Indians (possibly more) that claimed they thought the horses were those of their enemy, but nevertheless they kept a good share of them and we were not strong enough to retake them, as there were only thirty of us. When we got back to Ft. Laramie, our flour was gone and none could be gotten there. We had to face the music and take the 500 mile or more trip without bread. Well, we felt blue to say the least, but buffalo were plentiful and we knew we would not starve. After a few days, bread was almost forgotten, strange as it may seem. Buffalo meat and meat fryings will agree with almost any stomach. The French traders and mountaineers would shoot a buffalo and as soon as the skin was removed sufficiently, began eating the warm tallow. The hump rib of a buffalo is a dainty dish and good enough for the palate of a king. We feasted hundreds of times on hump rib, roasted on buffalo chips. We sang songs and cracked jokes around our camp fires at night and were a happy, jolly lot of fellows in the best of health and spirits.

After traveling a few days, down the Platte River, we found ourselves one evening just at camping time near a large Sioux Indian camp. We headed directly for their camp and had not gone far until they began stringing out to meet us and gave us a hearty welcome. Many of the younger ones riding in our wagons to camp. The chief told our captain to turn all of our stock over to his young men, that they would tend them through the night and bring them up in the morning. We all slept soundly that night without guard duty, being the guests of our Indian friends. How sad it seemed a few short years later, from my observation, that their love was turned to deadly hatred for the whole white race. Fraudulent treatment, whisky and disease had done their work. Hundreds had died from smallpox and cholera, these things following in the wake of our higher civilization. Has the Indian been benefited by contact with our race? This is still an open question.

Well, to return to my narrative all being in readiness, there was much hand shaking and many good byes, with many kind wishes and much waving as we pulled out, hoping to meet such friends every day. We frequently saw immense herds of buffalo running away up into the thousands. Nothing worthy of note transpired until we got back to Ft. Kearney at Grand Island. A friend and myself both secured work and stopped there through the winter. It was already late in the fall and the winter set in early. We had not been there very long until Col. Fremont and party come along from California on his way to the eastern states. He stopped at Ft. Kearney a few days and had a jolly time with the officers; took them out and showed them how to kill and dress buffalo. It was said that after he had one down, he could skin and cut it up in five minutes. These animals always went south in the fall, but a few stragglers, generally old bulls, would remain behind and often would starve before the next season. One day in winter, a herd of these old fellows traveling in toward the river, with the Fort in direct line of march, seemed to take in the situation and made a dash for the parade ground right through the middle of the Fort. They ran in a close body and seemed to be watching the maneuvers of the enemy on either side, as the opening was not much more than 250 yards wide. There was a lively cross fire while they were running through, and there seemed just as good a chance to kill a man as anything else. However, when the smoke all cleared away, the field of action presented its usual appearance and the herd had made good their escape to the Island. Deer were also plentiful on the Island, so venison was no rarity. The winter spent here was a very cold one and my feet got badly frost bitten.

When the winter weather wore away and Spring set in, we were off for Council Bluffs. We arrived in due time without anything worthy of note happening on the way. We found many people already making preparations for their trip westward to the promised land. My uncle that I have spoken of before as going to Missouri to assist my father back to Illinois, was now there and I thought it the proper thing to drive one of his teams out west for him that season. When the feed was sufficiently grown and all preparations made, I bade adieu to Council Bluffs, Iowa and set my face to the west again. This trip was not as interesting or exciting as the first. A day or two of travel brought us to the Elk Horn River where we had our second brush with the Indians that I have previously described. It occurred either the second or third day out end we supposed it to be the Omaha tribe in each instance.

We were soon back to Grand Island, Neb., and when the chip country was reached again, we had the same sport repeated. The ladies' fingers were too dainty to touch the dirty chips at first, but before leaving the chip country, they could handle them barehanded and bring them in by aprons full: But such is life. The ladies are not alone in making vain and foolish pretensions.

Slowly we traveled over the route taken the season before. One day while traveling along about 1/2 mile from the Platte River, a herd of buffalo, that were feeding near that stream, started in the direction of our train which happened to be pretty well strung out. On they came and headed for the biggest opening in the train. They seemed pretty well excited on passing through, as well as ourselves and teams. One fine saddle horse, completely saddled and bridled, ran after them and was lost, we saw him no more. At another time, a large body of mounted Indians charged down from the hills and formed in a line across our road. Orders were given for all to have their guns ready. The captain went forward alone to meet them and see if it was peace or war. An Indian brave rode forward and they met for a parley. He spoke good English and had been educated in the east, but did not like civilized life. He said we were in the heart of their hunting ground and did not want us to unnecessarily scare the buffalo, but to kill what we wanted near the road for food. After making them a few presents of sugar, tobacco and trinkets, they rode away. At another time, while the train was moving, an accident happened which turned our joys into sudden sorrow and weeping. A bright little eight or nine year girl fell while getting out of the wagon and the wheel passed over her breast. In less than two minutes she was dead. What a sudden calamity it was to her family. I shall never forget their grief, it was heart rendering. With saddened hearts, we gathered around the little grave and placed her there to rest until that great day when the dear Lord shall speak to those in their graves. Not only this dear child, but all of our dear ones from Adam down, will hear that sweet voice and come forth.

The daily routine of traveling and camping, repeating the same thing over day after day and week after week, become quite monotonous and irksome. In due time we reached Laramie and rested a day or two.Slowly we traveled along the Platte River to the point where we left it, and again entered the "Sweet water Country". Daily toll and perseverance finally brought us into the South Pass country again. The season was well advanced and nights were getting cold. My thoughts began again turning east to the Missouri River. I was now waiting for the first opportunity to return. It was reported by someone from the front that a returning train would be along In a few days. On the day it was expected, my arrangements having been made in advance, I set my things out by the side of the road watching our train leave and waiting for the other train to arrive. Well, I was simply a lucky boy again. If a band of those mountain Indians had come along, they would have either lifted my scalp or taken me along with them. I had neither matches nor provisions with me, and now when thinking of the act at this time of life, I regard it as the most foolish act ever committed while traveling out west. Well, we hurried along down to the Missouri River country as fast as our teams were able to travel. Of course we had our usual supply of wild meat cooked over the fine campfires of chips. We sang and talked of home: fathers, mothers, sisters, brothers and sweethearts, but the boy's heart sank within him when listening to such endearing conversation. You might say, he was alone in the world,without home and friends. I spent that winter in the town of Western in Missouri and found a family of my acquaintance there. I had known them some years before. The man of the family, his brother in law (a single man) and myself all took positions as teamsters in a sutler's train for Oregon in the Spring. The sutlers were the store keepers for the government, taking supplies to the soldiers at Fort Hall. In the spring, before getting started, the cholera was brought up the Missouri River on steamboats from the lower Mississippi River. It struck the town of Western where I was staying and carried off a great many but my friends and myself escaped the disease. We were glad indeed when the time arrived for us to start out on the plains,thinking we would be clear of the deadly scourge, and so we were. Not so for the train just ahead of us, for they took it with them by some unaccountable means. It was no uncommon sight to see fresh graves of the dead with the person's personal effects beside it. Hat, boots,blankets, valise and all of his worldly possessions lay beside the grave and perhaps part of the body exposed by hungry wolves. No person in our train would have touched an article, had it been worth thousands of dollars. Just think what a harvest of death was sown for the Indians roaming over the plains. Finally the graves were less frequent and after many days they ceased altogether. I assure you, we felt a great sense of relief. I have been in many close places, but never escaped one with a more thankful heart than this one. How the train was able to keep going ahead was the wonder to us and we were thankful we did not overtake them.

Our starting point on this trip was Fort Leavenworth, Kansas. Our route led us to the Platte River somewhere in the vicinity of Fort Kearney on the south side of the river. We crossed over to the north side and took the emigrant road on up to Fort Laramie; from there into the South Pass country. I was guide for the train, so rode ahead each day with one of the owners to show him the best place to camp. You will recollect, I had already been over the country four times and knew it well. We had to camp one night unavoidably in the area of alkali water. Our oxen found it in the night, and next morning it was a sorrowful sight to see many of our faithful animals lying dead. It was now a difficult task for us to move our train, but managed to get through the South Pass and on down to "Peg Leg Smith's" fort on Bear River where we borrowed all the oxen we wanted to take on to Fort Hall. There I saw the great western pioneer and Indian fighter "Peg Leg Smith". He had been in these mountains many years at that time and had become wealthy trading with the Indians. Almost every train that passed his fort got more or less accommodations. He loaned his oxen to us without accepting any pay. Where he got them, or what he did with them we never learned. He lost his leg in an Indian fight. In fact he had broken it, so crawled away and hid in the brush for two or three days. He then cut it off below the knee by himself. I don't recall whether he said his friends found him or whether he crawled two or three miles back to camp. He made his wooden leg himself and was very proud of it.

Somewhere on the western slopes of mountains we passed was a place called "'Thousand Spring Valley". There may have been more or possibly less, they were too numerous to count. They were more like deep wells beyond our longest ropes and well stocked with fish. These wells were buried springs with very cold water and measuring from a few feet to twenty or thirty feet in diameter. Some flowed and some did not. Our course of travel from Smith's fort was on down Bear River to a point almost due north of Salt Lake. Our road turned to the north up a broad, fertile valley which lead to the Snake River (then eastern Oregon). Fort Hall was situated on this stream, now in Idaho. Colonel John Porter, "Fitz John", who figured quite conspicuously in our late Civil War, but not with much credit to himself, was in command of the troops. We overtook his command at Snake River about two hundred and twenty or two hundred and thirty miles north of Salt Lake City, Utah. The Dalles was his destination on the west side of the Cascade range of mountains. As it was late in the season, he thought it best to erect winter quarters and wait until the next season. Five miles above old Fort Hall on the Snake River, he built new Fort Hall where we wintered. The whip saws were brought out and men were put to work cutting cottonwood trees. The only kind of lumber on the river. It did very well if nailed up while green, but if left on the ground to dry any length of time, it began twisting and rolling over till it might possibly be missing when needed. Still, in the face of many difficulties, the quarters were finally finished and the soldiers and employees were comfortably quartered for the winter. Our cattle were taken to Grass Valley about 100 miles northeast of Salt Lake in the hills and turned loose for the winter. A Mormon family with three young ladies came up to the Fort and spent the winter. One of the young ladies married a soldier boy while there and you don't often see a finer looking couple than they made. There was a great to do over the wedding out in that wild country. The horses were well stabled and kept at the Fort. There were many deserters from the Fort during the winter and of course they took the best horse when they left. We met some of them in Sacramento, California over a year later and they gave an interesting experience of their flight and trip into California. The Snake River valley has been famed for many years for its wealth and fertility of soil, and rich gold mines have been found in the adjacent hills. My uncle (before spoken of) was then domiciled in Salt Lake Valley and was going to California in the spring. I made up my mind. to go with him, so the first opportunity that offered itself in the spring found us bound for the West. The Quarter master of Fort Hall, Lieut. Russell, had formed. a strong attachment for me and I for him. He urged me to stay with him and goon to the Dalles. He would have raised my wages and given me almost any easy position I would have asked for. I have regretted many times in my life leaving him. He was one officer whose head did not seem to take the second growth after he began wearing shoulder stripes. Well, he made me a very fine present when we parted and his memory is just as green in my mind as it was fifty years ago. My uncle was gone when we reached Salt Lake Valley, so the next thing was to find a party coming on through that might bring me. The season wore on and the party was not found, so there was nothing left to do, but to reconcile myself to wintering there.

I began to look around for employment, which was soon found and settled down to business. There were quite a number of people here that I was acquainted with and had traveled with on the plains. One family in particular I will mention was named "Free". They were sent out of Missouri on account of their religion when my father went. As stated earlier, he had been robbed of everything. It was pleasant to meet these old friends.

Brigham Young was then in the height of his power and glory. His word was law in spiritual as well as temporal affairs. The saints would go to him for counseling for almost every conceivable thing. That was a test of their loyalty, or seemed to be. You would frequently see some old grey beard in the company of a young woman wending their way to Brigham's to get "sealed". The job was not just right unless the self proclaimed prophet officiated. I felt a degree of disgust that I could not conceal and one day, in the presence of three or four of them, expressed a little of my thoughts. One of them came to me soon in a rather private friendly way and said: "Young man, if you intend staying here this winter, let me advise you to hold your tongue". Well, it made an impression from the way he spoke and the man's look that stayed with me. Two men were talking one day in rather an undertone and one said to the other: "What did you do with that fellow the other day?" The reply was: "He took a swim in Jordan". There were men there that would cut a man's throat, I firmly believe at Brigham's bidding, and smile to see him die. A Professor Collins was also wintering here, on his way to California. He was a graduate of either Yale or Harvard, I don't now recollect which. He taught high school for them through the winter which I attended with much profit to myself. I did not go the full term as I volunteered with two other fellows to take the United States mail back to Missouri. Thinking back, I don't think that Brigham wanted us to get through with the mail, but his word was law, although the Postmaster was an appointee of the President. He said we must go on the Mormon wagon road leading east through the high mountains. We got our mules into snow 15 to 20 feet deep and our only hope was to tramp a trail for them and then also tramp a place to make camp. We floundered around in the snow about a week and
then turned back. There ware two other routes we could have gone if we had had his permission. The school was pretty well advanced, so employment was looked at in another direction. Prof. Collins came on through the next season with his wife. They originated the female seminary of Stockton, California of they were proprietors and principals for many years.

The winter was not nearly as severe as I had expected. That great body of salt water must have a temporizing influence on the air. I was told that the winters were not near so cold as in the western states. The climate of Salt Lake Valley, Utah is exceptionally healthful and the scenery is unsurpassed by any yet seen by this writer. The lake is truly a wonderful body of water fed on the north by Bear River and on the south by the Jordan River with some other streams flowing from the east but still it has no outlet. It is so strong of salt that one cannot sink. There is no insect or animal life in the water. There is no danger of drowning, if you keep your head out of the water to avoid strangling. Your system absorbs so much salt in bathing an hour or so that you enjoy a good drink of fresh water from nearby springs when you get out of the water. There is an island in the lake with mountains on it with plenty of running water. This was where the church cattle were kept which meant Brigham Young's private property. I came to the conclusion that he was the Church and also Governor of Utah by appointment of the President He was also prophet, priest and king, and I don't know what else, unless It was a ladies' man.

I hardly know what to say of this unique figure and shall make it a point to say nothing unjust or unkind. I shall only speak of matters and things just as I saw them at that time. It goes without saying, he was more than an average man in many respects. He was full of energy and unending toil for the interests and benefits of his people. Stop now and think a minute!! The interests of his people were his interest of one tenth (1/10th) of all their labors and products and was rigidly exacted. This sufficed In a few years to make him a very wealthy man. I don't say that all was appropriated by him, but it required little observation to convince one that he had the "lion's share," at all times. He lectured and berated his people from the pulpit on their shortcomings and mis-deeds. A man who had stolen a calf or anything else was warned to desist and make reparation in pain of punishment. He would not name the person, but call out to him,crying: "I see you sitting over there, you know who you are". He seemed to see or know all that was transpiring in and around the city. We might say he carved an empire out of a desert and that his control of men and circumstances was wonderful.

What shall I say on the other side of his character, as seen and understood by me? He was a very avaricious man with an over-whelming estimate of his own ability. He seemed to think the whole territory was his by right of possession and declared in high sounding words that the name of the territory was and should be "Dessert", permanently. From my point of view, his misdeeds were many and dark and perhaps are left buried with him. One will judge him on that great day with a judgment true and divine. If a man felt a little lonely and felt as though one or two more wives would add to the
pleasures of the household, if Brother Brigham said "YES", the matter was settled, no matter what opposition from her parents or guardian, for his word was law. Outsiders or gentiles, as they termed them, had no cause for complaint on that score, as long as his people were satisfied with his rule. But on the other hand, there was just cause for complaint in many cases. The fact of a Man being a Mormon doesn't make him a whit better, if he was good before. But if he is truly a good man, it probably will not make him a bad one. He will not be bettered by the change, as the Mormon church is like other churches in regard to having members who are good people and those who are not. The rule holds good in all denominations of religion. The betterment is heart work and Is within one's self. No church organization will take any one to heaven.The leopard never changes his spots, consequently, I place no credence in the statement that polygamy has ceased in Utah. In fact, their missionaries don't deny it here in San Jose, California in 1903. The best evidence of this is found in fact of the strong efforts of the Mormon people in electing a polygamist to Congress, to the United States Senate and clamoring for his induction into office. So long as the doctrine of transmigration of souls is taught and believed in by professing Mormons, just so long will polygamy be taught and practiced, for they are inseparably connected. You see there is always scarcity of bodies, and souls are supposed to be clamoring for bodies. I feel sometimes as if I should shut my eyes to this modern abomination, but what I have seen and heard from the heart broken and sorrowful dupes that had been persuaded to take the step, leads me to denounce it from the housetops. I have seen the "great man" going to the theatre with twelve or thirteen of his wives with him, some favorite was on his arm and the balance trailing behind in pairs mute and solemn as a sphinx. Was the hindmost happy? Was the foremost favored one happy? No! No! The green eyed monster lurked in every heart. To Hades with such happiness. I cannot pass from this subject without mentioning a few more facts from personal observation. Brigham was not possessed of high moral courage and I saw him thoroughly tested on one occasion. There was sudden grave danger of his train being annihilated by Indians at one time,while crossing the plains. Brigham was not visible until the danger was past, then he rushed out, pistol in hand, and fired into air. It was a very foolish and dangerous operation and was the only weapon fired. Many, however, stood their ground, guns in hand, while the danger was present. Heber C. Kimball was a man of brave, noble and generous spirit and saved the train by his cool bravery. He had the heart of a lion and the soul of a prince. The people seemed very kind and especially so among themselves, manifesting in a very marked degree, a brotherly feeling not nearly so noticeable in other religious denominations. Perhaps it might have been caused from their almost complete isolated condition. At the same time, the leaders seemed to be very much opposed to any influx of Gentiles; they were not wanted. The people seemed to be very much attached to Brigham and it appeared as if he had them completely hypnotized. It might have been through fear of him, as I have said before. He was all powerful and I was told his great power was in the priesthood. This power enabled him to draw on a man's purse or anything else he might desire, even to his good looking daughter. Much of this information was told to me by one of Brigham Young's son in laws. What I have written is not intended to please or offend anyone, but to give a faint view of things as they existed at that time.

Finally my much longed for opportunity presented itself for coming onto California, and on August 10, 1851 I took a position in one of Mr.Ben Holliday's trains for California . I well remember the pleasure it afforded me to leave a one man power country. All being in readiness, the start was made on the above date and the first day's travel took us about 15 miles north of the city. There were two trains; one drawn by oxen and the other by mules. I was with the mule train. In the evening, after camp was made, the captain came to me and asked: "Young man, I hear you can cook". I replied: "Yes sir, I have had some experience in that line". He asked me to cook a sample supper and he would call around to inspect it. The supper was cooked and the inspector came. After looking it over and tasting the bread in particular he said: "Yes, you are a cook. Now here is plenty of sugar, coffee, flour, bacon and beans, so help yourself and treat the men right". The position relieved me of all guard duty and gave me time to sleep if I liked during the day, or ride out a mile or two and hunt for game as we traveled on. I flattered myself by thinking I made friends of all the men, for I never heard a word of complaint from any of them all the way west to Sacramento, California. It was truly a parting with friends when we separated. Mr. Holliday was a gentleman, truly he was one of nature's noblemen. Not one in ten thousand could compare with him in noble manly looks. He was always kind and polite to all and always had a pleasant word. I may have occasion to speak of him later on. Our course lay to the North for the first two or three days until we crossed Bear River, then we gradually turned westward. We were now in a new country to me, and something new was presented each day, but nothing of special interest. I may as well pass over the time taken in reaching the Humbolt River in Nevada. From that point,we had nearly 50 miles of desert to cross. We rested the animals a day as there was plenty of grass and water. We started into the desert a little before sundown and at midnight the trains halted and the animals were fed and a meal given to the men with hot coffee.

We had a dreary, sad looking panorama spread out before us. There were old wagons scattered in every direction, ox yokes and chains by the wagon load, tools of every conceivable kind lying around and hundreds of cattle skeletons lying everywhere. They had perished for need of water. we felt in luck to find no human skeletons and learned later the people made it through to Carson River, but only a few teams were able to reach the river. About 8 or 9 o'clock next morning while we were still 3 or 4 miles away, the ox teams became unmanageable and raised their gait into a run. They raised their heads and sniffed the air and fortunately the river bank had a gradual slope, for they did not slack up their gait till they were in the river. They drank long and deep and seemed reluctant to leave the river. The mules were more easily managed, but happy to drink. Out a few miles was a place called Ragtown where water was kept for sale. It was a hard looking place with hard looking people. People were scarce in Carson Valley and we did not see more than a dozen in the valley. A man named Reese had a little trading post near where the wagon road started up the Sierra Nevada mountains at whose place we rested a day.

The scenery was fine and I had never seen such grand pine trees before. Either the first or second night brought us to Lake Bigler (now called Lake Tahoe). We camped a few hundred yards back and found it difficult to reach the lake on account of immense pine trees having fallen in every direction. I would like to look upon its still calm bosom once more and see what the hand of man has wrought around its borders. It is a wonderful body of water, and a thing of beauty forever. In starting from the lake next day we soon found, ourselves on the down grade. Down, down and where were we to land? New visions of beauty constantly spread before us as we neared the broad Sacramento Valley. Our last camp out from Sacramento was 7 or 8 miles up on the American River. At this point, we were met by Mr. Sam Brannan of San Francisco who came to meet his sister, Mrs. Badlam with her two daughters and two sons from Boston. They had been on our train from Salt Lake City. Her oldest son, Alexander, has been a prominent business man in San Francisco for many years, and at one time he was a supervisor of that city. We broke camp next morning and soon found ourselves in Sacramento on October 10, 1851, just two months on the trail. The wagons and teams were taken charge of by Mr. Holliday who began selling them off at once. The men lingered in the city 2 or 3 days sight seeing. Chief among the sights was a Chinese laundry. The Chinamen were ironing with fire in the irons with long pig tails of hair hanging down their backs. They all seemed to talk at once and their eyes did not seem just right. It was to us, from the western wilds, what an elephant is to a small boy.

Some of us struck out for the mines, while others found employment of different kinds. I secured a job at chopping wood ten or twelve miles north east of Auburn, near Bear River, at $100.00 per month with bed and bedding free of charge. When I arrived at camp, I found near 50 men already there. I took hold with a will and energy but it was soon whispered around that the pay was uncertain. The men were getting out square timber for a. big mining flume. I sold my time to one of the men and left. I learned afterwards that the contractor failed to pay all but a few of his men.I went back to Sacramento and fell in with a young man whose father I was well acquainted with. I learned from him that his father was mining in El Dorado County near Mud Springs. It was arranged that we both go to his father, so early one morning late in October, we took the stage to Mud Springs. The road at that time run near Sutter's Fort about one and 1/2 miles east of the city. You will recollect that it was at Sutter's Sawmill on the American River that gold was first discovered. I visited the mill in either 1852 or 1853 and found the mill frame intact, but all of the machinery had been removed. If I remember correctly, the water was running in the old mill race. The mill with its history and the results that followed the discovery of gold, afforded much room for thought. But to return to our journey to the mines we soon came to the American River, a beautiful stream at that time before being polluted with mining debris. We followed it up to near the foot hills where our road turned in a south easterly direction into the hills.The stage stopped at a station for dinner which was $1.00.

Late in the evening, just before sundown, about 2 miles west of Mud Springs in the wild woods (it was heavily wooded then) two young fellows got off the stage and with blankets on their backs, started north through the deep woods. The sun soon dropped behind the western range of mountains and it was soon dark without a sign of life anywhere near us. We kept up our courage and hurried on as fast as we could without road or trail. We did not know where we were going but knew where we wanted to go. We finally entered what seemed to be the head or beginning of a small canyon and followed it down. It widened out and grew deeper the further down we went. We traveled on down this canyon for miles until about 9 o'clock at night, when all of a sudden a dim light appeared still farther down. We approached slowly and cautiously, not knowing where we were. It proved to be a little tent with two men inside, one was reading by a dim candle. We said hello to them which caused them quite a surprise. On coming out to meet us, we found that we had reached our goal. Our directions for finding the camp were not very definite, but still we were fortunate in the outcome. Some supper was given us and we slept on the ground rolled up in our blankets. We were up early next morning and after having breakfast, started out in search of gold. We were rewarded either the first or second day by finding a good mining claim. It was a long way from water and on a hillside, so we finally abandoned it. We learned later that it proved to be very rich and had to be worked while raining, something we were not told at the time. The young man, whose name was Henderson, and his father became partners so Mr. Lathrop (who had been Mr. Henderson's partner) and I went together. He was a fine, well educated old gentleman from Boston. We parted mutual good friends all around. Mr.Lathrop and I went a few miles away, took up a claim and rigged up for the winter. The rain soon set in and the sudden transformation in the appearance of the country was truly strange, but wonderfully pleasant to me. From a brown barren appearance, it changed into a scene of beauty, taking on a beautiful coat of green with flowers soon following. The weather was warm and pleasant and there was no snow. This to me was a paradise compared to what I had been used to. We laid in supplies for the winter and soon began mining. I found a pleasure and excitement in mining I had never experienced in any other business. Each night we cleaned up our day's work and had the shining metal before us. We had our gold scales that gave us the results of each day's findings. We made no big strike, but fair wages. One day while walking over some ground, near our claim (this ground had been worked one or two years before), suddenly something in a pile of tailings near me attracted my attention. I picked it up and found it to be a $21.00 slug. Such things did not happen every day but we found some very nice specimens on our claim. Spring finally came and our claim being pretty well exhausted, we dissolved our partnership.Mr. Lathrop, I think, went to or near Coloma. I never met him again. I remained in the vicinity and formed a partnership with some young men that had mined that winter on Weaver Creek, a few miles away.

We went on a prospecting trip up on Clear Creek, 12 or 14 miles east of Diamond Springs and found some pretty fair claims and began work. There were seven in our company and I must say something in reference to these gentlemanly, intelligent men. It has never been my good fortune to be associated with better men. First of all was my true friend, David Stansbury, a man of fine stature and commanding presence. He was a Kentuckian by birth and had graduated from one of the best colleges in his state. Next, a bright man, Mr. Seabaugh, an attorney from Missouri and afterwards, for many years, he was editor of the "Stockton Independent". I had the pleasure of meeting him while he was with the paper. Later on, he was employed for many years with the leading San Francisco newspapers. Mr. Kyle was an artist and from Missouri as were Mr. Johnston and Mr. Harrison. I was the youngest man in the company and they all seemed to take a protective interest in me. Often in memory, I go back to those early days and especially to the pleasant times spent in the company of those men with their bright and interesting conversations around our cabin fire of evenings and spare times. I was appointed the cook and given ample time to do the work.

Our mine began to fail in a few months and we finally had to abandon it. We took our guns, provisions, blankets, picks and shovels and our panning equipment and went hunting and prospecting several miles backup in the high mountains. I have learned since coming to San Jose,that the country we hunted and prospected in is now settled and has a post office. Game was scarce, but gold seemed scarcer. One of the boys killed a deer however that gave us plenty of fresh meat. We continued on carrying our outfits (including the deer) on our backs and were considered gentlemen. Not so now days, for a man with his blanket on his back is called a tramp or hobo. The pleasant associations mentioned above were doomed not to last long after the failure of the mine. On our return to the mine, our company broke up and each went their way. I remained however, for the reason that I had loaned a hotel keeper, not far away, money to carry on his business and feared I would lose it if I left. The result was that I had to take over the hotel later on to secure myself. I took in a partner that had just come in across the plains and we opened up for business. My new partner's name was Robert McCoy. A family that had crossed the plains in the same train consisted of mother, two grown daughters and sons ten and twelve years old were hired for cooks and housekeepers. We started out all right and if the mines had continued good, we would have come out all right, but the opposite was the case. The mines failed and mining turned out poorly in that district so our business went down so much in a year that we closed up. Both of the young ladies married while at our place. One of them married Ben Thorn, who was sheriff of Calaveras County for 40 years without any break, and I think he still is at this time in 1903.

Many of the miners, old enough to think ahead and plan for the future,left the mines and went to the valley and secured land that has, in after years, made them rich and leading men. After the young lady married, I mentioned above, the family went to Green Valley in Sonoma County and settled. My partner, Robert McCoy, and I rented out our property and started out, not knowing just what we would do or where we would land. We took the stage for Sacramento and arrived the first day, but found the city had gone up in smoke 2 days before. There were no fire engines there in those days and no effective means for firefighting, so the city was swept out of existence except a few scattered buildings on the out skirts. It was a dismal appearing place but already people were planning to rebuild. Next day found us taking the stage for Stockton. We arrived quite early in the evening and found houses scattered over quite an area of territory, but not much of a town. We went to the Weber House for supper and had our first introduction to European style of serving meals. Both of us were thoroughly disgusted before we finished. We met a man who had team and wagon and was loaded and going to Angel's Camp, so we went with him. He proved to be the Postmaster as well as a merchant. On Washington Flat, about 2 1/2 miles above Angel's Camp, we met a family of people that I became very much attached to and regard them as very dear friends till this day. Their name was Richards and the old folks have long since passed away to their final rest. My wife and three younger children with myself visited the two younger members of the Richard family at their home near Angels a few years ago. We found them to be old and grey headed since I last saw them. My partner and I got work at good wages, and soon after secured a very fair claim and settled down to business. It was while mining on Washington Flat that I also became acquainted with Dr. Russell, a young and promising doctor living in Vallicito. Our acquaintance developed into a life long friendship and he was our family physician for many years in Tulare County. He became famous all over the state as a good surgeon.

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I forgot to mention in the proper place that Mr. Holliday brought a colored man with him to this state. For a small amount, he went back to Missouri for his own family. It was while I was in business in El Dorado County that he returned with both families. I had the pleasure of meeting Mr. Holliday again on his way in. He camped for the night at our place. The colored family were fine looking people and were traveling in the same style as the other family. Our place of business was on the Emigrant Road, 12 to 14 miles east of Diamond Springs.

Mr. Holliday originated the Sacramento Valley and Oregon Railways in the early 1850's, but later sold his franchise and rights to a company that I believe completed the work. He became a millionaire and finally settled In New York state until the time of his death. One of his daughters married a foreign nobleman.

There are two other names I remember with respect and should have mentioned in connection with my experiences in El Dorado County in 1852 and 1853 . One was Mr. John Swanson and the other Mr. J. W.Williams. They were among the early settlers of Tulare County. Mr.Swanson was a leading farmer for many years in that county, and Mr.Williams held many important offices. They both took part in the Indian War.

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I will now go back to the subject of Calaveras County again where I was mining with my partner Bob McCoy at Washington Flat. Our claim gave us fair wages and nothing more. After working it over, I took another claim with a Mr. Sloan who became my partner. McCoy and I were still partners, but he was working another claim. Our success was varied and we made no big strikes. Mr. Sloan was taken sick and died. He had the best medical skills we could get, but it proved to be ineffectual. He died among strangers but who had become friends, for he was a man loved and respected by all who knew him. When visiting at Angel's Camp a few years ago with my family, I hunted up his grave. Angel's was then a small place, but what changes had taken place during those 40 years, since he was laid to rest. At the time of our visit, it was a town of several thousand people and a large church building stood near my friend's grave. The tombstone had canted a little to one side, but otherwise the grave was in good condition. I shall not attempt to describe my thoughts while standing there and reflecting on the past. We gave him a Christian burial.

I remember there were 40 or 50 miners on the Flat and most all of their trade was given to Mr. M. O. Jones of Vallicito, a mining town about 5 miles to the southeast of Coyote Creek. Mr. Jones had done well mining and started a store which proved a great success. He delivered our supplies, although so many miles away, always pleasant and affable. These are qualities that always assure a success in business. His business grew till he became quite wealthy and 2 or 3 years later he moved to San Francisco and pursued the wholesale business and became very wealthy. I had the pleasure of meeting him frequently in the City, in later years, and also had the pleasure of a visit from him at my home in Tulare County.

There was no society in those early days outside of the leading cities. On Sundays the miners would go many miles for dinner where there was a family and a lady cook. We all thought of our mothers, sisters, cousins and sweethearts, and more polite men you never saw in the presence of ladies. We had our hotel rented and when the first rent came due, I started up to collect it. I went on foot and stopped the first night at Mokelumne Hill, the county seat of Calaveras County at that time. About 5 miles beyond and across the Mokelumne River was the little town of Rancherea. I was there quite early next morning and found the town in great excitement. The noted bandit, Joaquin Murietta, had raided the town the night I spent in Mokelumne Hill. The bullet holes showed for themselves in the buildings. If memory serves me right, there were 2 or 3 people killed. By daylight, he was many miles away with his booty. Before his notorious career began, his home was at or near Murphy's Camp, about 5 miles above Washington Flat. The state finally offered a big reward for him, dead or alive. It was then that Capt. Harry Love (an old Texas ranger) came to California, took the trail and never resting until his capture in the region of Fort Tejon was accomplished. He also got Murietta's Lieutenant, "Three Fingered Jack". Joaquin's head was exhibited by Capt. Love in many counties of the state.

I had frequently received letters from my friend, J. W. Williams, giving glowing accounts of Tulare County and urging me to come down there. In the fall of 1856, I had just turned 24, after having things all prepared and in readiness for traveling, I made the start. Mr. McCoy and I parted as brothers and we had been in partnership for 5 years without a clash. The miners on the Flat were a fine honorable group of fellows and I felt and when it came time to go. A young man named Joseph Parrent went with me on horseback with our blankets tied on behind us. My animal understood bucking to a degree that was very aggravating to me at least, but frequently afforded plenty of amusement to others. Usually when she began to buck, I began to look for a soft spot to land and was rarely disappointed in my calculations. Well, after all was in readiness, one fine morning we bade goodbye to all and rode away. It has passed out of my memory which route we traveled till we reached the valley where we stopped the first night. I will remember the grand view spread out before us on emerging from the hills. We were looking at the great San Joaquin and Tulare Valley. Eighty or ninety miles to the west lay the Coast Range of mountains and as far up and down the valley as the eye could see was one vast solitude: The home today of tens of thousands of happy and prosperous people. The valley now is interspersed with villages, towns and cities located on the ever onward railroad. As the years pass by, the population in this great garden spot of the world will quadruple. I refer to the great valley from north to south, Sacramento , San Joaquin and Tulare, as nature's best effort on the Pacific Coast. What a glorious prospect. I had never seen its equal before end never will again in this life at least. Nearly 200 miles of homes inviting man to come and partake of their treasures. We traveled slowly along down the valley, drinking in the beauty of nature and enjoying the feast. Bands of antelope frequently skipped across the road near us, or grazed quietly near by. I remember only 3 habitations after entering the valley until we reached Visalia. On the Chowchilla River there was a family living who kept a little way side stopping place, not to be considered a hotel. The family consisted of an aged husband and wife with two grown daughters and one son. We would have both liked very much to remain with them and become partners with them in the cattle business that they were just starting, but we were both backward and modest young fellows who made no propositions. The night was spent pleasantly I assure you, for it was really a treat to be in the presence of ladies. In the evening a little before sundown, while looking over the broad expanse of country around us, we noticed some antelope toward the hills on the east and they seemed to be coming toward the house. Soon we were sure they were and called the family's attention to the fact as we wanted guns to be ready for them. They advised us to wait awhile, as they frequently came right up in close shooting distance. We waited a few minutes and saw that they were coming directly to the house. My recollection on watching was that there were three of them. We sat there rather in amazement as they came on nearer and nearer until they came right up to the fence. They stopped a minute looking at the strangers, and when assured all was alright, hopped over the fence very nimbly and walked up to their masters to be caressed and to receive some little choice morsel of food that was given them each evening. They were pets the family had raised by hand and were lovely things to look at, with their large intelligent brown eyes. They were mild animals but were shy of strangers. They also had a tame elk that ran with their cattle.

We got an early start in the morning with the road skirting the foothills as we went. We were now on the main road leading from Stockton further south to Fort Tejon and Los Angeles. I think it was on that day that we passed a lone adobe house on what I think was Mariposa Creek. There were a couple of men there who were keeping cattle. We spoke to them about something to eat but were told they were not in the hotel business. We rode on without exchanging any comments. They might have thought we were robbers, although we carried no arms. We thought them lacking in the first principles of civility. I don't recall whether we slept out that night or not, but the next night brought us to Jerry Brown's place, about one day's travel north of the San Joaquin River. Many old timers in that section will recollect Jerry Brown and his 500 pound wife. He told me she was a small woman when they came to California but the climate agreed with her so well, she grew till she tipped the scales at the 500 pound notch and did her own house work. The next night found us at Millerton on the south side of the San Joaquin River. There was a government fort there called Fort Miller, hence the name Millerton. A man on horseback had joined us the day before, riding from Stockton. He owned a store there so we all rode into the town together. This man's name was Mitchell. Some years afterwards he started a store at White River in Tulare County, but at the time period I write of, Millerton was also in Tulare County. It took in Inyo County on the east, the most of Kern County on the south. "Little Mitch" was known far and near and the store he started on White River is still there and operated by his sons. "Little Mitch'' has long since finished his earthly career. Such lovely farming country end grand homes there are today between the San Joaquin and Kings Rivers. We passed along near the foothills between these beautiful streams the next day.

We pass over thousands of opportunities in life blindly. Afterwards we see them plainly, sometimes realizing that we might have taken advantage of them becoming rich, perhaps millionaires. Perhaps after all, it is best as it is for where would the laboring man come from if we were all rich? There must be hewers of wood and drawers of water.

Well, night found us at Smith's Ferry on Kings River. Old timers will recollect this place and I think he gave his name to Smith's mountain, a few miles southeast of the river. There was a small settlement up the river a few miles where it left the hills, but as far as the eye could see to the north, south and west, not a single habitation. Next day brought us to the Four Creek country and the home of my old mining friend, Mr. John Swanson. It happened he was away on business In Los Angeles, so we visited with the family a couple days and then went onto the Tule River, area. Another old mining friend, J. W. Williams was living there at that time and found him interested in a wayside stopping place about 1/2 mile north of where Porterville now stands. His partner's name was Peter Goodhue and old timers in the area will recall he later became a supervisor.

Mr. Williams bought a span of horses from me when he moved down there. I will mention a little numerous history of one of the horses. Although I never was a horse jockey myself, the one I speak of was a horse I bought from an emigrant just in across the plains. He passed my hotel on Clear Creek in El Dorado County one day leading him with a small pack on his back and a little portfolio in his hand. He traveled on down a short distance where he made camp, and then came back to the hotel to sell me the horse. He said he was broke and needed some money to take him into the mines. The horse was very poor,but had clear eyes and clean limbs. I gave him his price of $60.00 without any dickering and the fellow went on his happy way. I don't think I ever saw an animal pick up weight faster and in a short time, he was in fine condition and pretty as a picture. When Mr.Williams decided on going to Tulare County, he gave me $150.00 for the horse. He took him down there and afterwards sold him to his partner, Mr. Goodhue, for $250.00. He was an experienced horseman and trained him in trotting. He could run his mile easily in 3 minutes. Well, Mr. Goodhue took him to the state fair in Sacramento and sold him for $500.00. This ends my horse trading story.

Mr. Williams was the first pioneer up Tule River with a wagon. He had been up and made some pine shakes near where the old Rand and Haughton Mill stood some years ago. He had blocked out a rough road barely passable for a wagon. He was just getting ready to go up for a load of shakes and as a matter of course, I went with him.

Joseph Parrent, the young man who rode down with me from Angel's Camp earlier, was quite an expert quartz miner and he went on to Kern River to examine some of the quartz leads in that locality. A few days satisfied him and he started on the return trip back to Angel's. He camped over night at White River and in getting up his animals in the morning for his start, noticed some good looking quartz. He stopped over that day and before nightfall had found the first lead ever found in or on the river. It was worked for many years and I think it is the lead that David B. James has been working of late years. My friend wrote for me to come at once and get a claim, but after looking the leads over, decided not to take one. There was only one settler (an old bachelor) on the river at that time, several miles below in the valley. Near where his discovery was made, the little town of White River now stands. It was at this little town that "Little Mitch", whom I have already mentioned, started his store. Mr. Parrent sold out in a short time and returned to Angel's Camp.

At the time I am writing about (the fall of 1856) there was less than a thousand inhabitants in Tulare County. There were not over thirty people on the Tule River. Three families and a few men engaged in the stock business, both cattle and horses. The principal business in the Four Creek country at that time was cattle raising. A few were engaged in farming and it was profitable too, with wheat selling at five cents per pound.

I am getting ahead of my story, and must return to the subject of my trip with Mr. Williams to the mountains east of Porterville. There was no road up Tule River so we had to go around through Frazier Valley and through a pass just south of the place now owned by Mr. L. L. Gill, then over the mountain just north of where the little town and post office of Globe now stands. We camped overnight in a nice little flat about 1 1/2 miles below the site that the town of Springville now occupies. A visitor came around in the night but did not call at our camp. We saw his tracks the next morning about 150 yards away. It was a very large grizzly bear judging from the size of his tracks. The animals are not dangerous except when hungry or disturbed. There was a fine acorn crop in the mountains that fall and the hills seemed to be full of bear, although they didn't bother us. The trails many and the trees were scratched and limbs broken in their efforts to get the acorns. We crossed the North fork of Tule River just above the town of Springville. This land we crossed over was to be, and has been my home for the past thirty years. How blind is man? How little we know of the future. There we raised our family and were pioneers as settlers and were also active in school matters. I am not a fatalist but still it often seems as though some men's destinies are written out in full, on the scroll of time with unerring certainty. I think the second night found us at the shake camp and the prospects around us were inspiring. The deep hush of the grand and solemn forest - God's true temple - undisturbed except for the distant drumming of the grouse or pheasant, or the screaming of some other bird near by. The mountain forest is full of inspiration for me. I do not look for inspiration in a gorgeous church or temple, listening to the tones of the pipe organ, for the songs of the birds and chatter of the chipmunks and squirrels, the long lonely howl of the wolf and the mad roar of a mountain stream is far sweeter music to my ears. Call me "A child of Nature" for I worship in her temples and find consolation there. Nature has stored in these mountains a bountiful supply of fuel; trees for lumber, fencing etc.,and a good supply of water to be diverted into the dry plains. This has been done and the desert has been made to blossom as the rose. Forages to come, with proper government protection and supervision, those grand mountains will continue to furnish materials for children and their children to make beautiful their homes.

Next morning we loaded our shakes and started on the trip back. All went well with us on our way down until we came to one of the river crossings. The wagon axle would barely pass over the boulders and it seemed impossible to miss them all. One of the front wheels struck one and threw Mr. Williams headlong over the dashboard and across the wagon tongue. Before I can tell you how I did it, I had caught him and had him back on the wagon. Mr. Williams often spoke of it in later years. He always said that only my prompt assistance and quick thinking saved him from being badly hurt or maybe killed. We got back the second day after starting down without further trouble.

There were 3 or 4 men camped on Tule River herding their cattle, one of them proposed a bear hunt which I readily accepted. We mounted our horses one evening just before sun down, and rode along the edge of the willows about a mile below where Plano now stands. Under one of those large black oak trees, just at the edge of the willows, we saw a huge grizzly bear sitting upright eating acorns. My companion proposed that I hold the horses and let him creep up and fire the first shot, as he had the largest gun. He kept well to the windward of Mr. Bear and got a favorable position and then let him have it. The bear rolled over 2 or 3 times then he jumped up and ran into the brush. We were lucky indeed, for my partner was out in the open without a shot, as our guns were both muzzle loaders. Mr. Grizzly did not see us and did not know where his trouble came from. Well, we were foolish enough to follow him into the thick brush. We finally came to our senses and turned back, mounted our horses and rode back to camp without any bear meat, wondering what the result would have been, had we found him in the willows.

I spent a few days looking at the country, a perfect Eden at that time, with feed and water in great abundance. Tule River ran clear, through or across the plains, emptying into Tulare Lake. This body of water was about 60 miles broad by 90 miles long, the home for thousands of water fowl and full of the finest fish with antelope and elk around its borders and bear in the tules. Now for some years past,that fine body of water has been entirely dry. Kings River, a grand mountain stream, emptied into the lake, but the hand of man has diverted, all these waters and streams for the interest of civilization. The very lake bottom of late years, has been turned with the plow which seems to be a fair illustration of the idea that the fittest alone can survive or remain. We must admit however, that the earth was intended for the home of man. I love nature and all of these acts, including the destruction of the forests, seem real vandalism from my point of view.

You will recall I spoke of my friend, John Swanson being absent and in Los Angeles when I called at his home after coming out of the mines. On his return, he wrote me to come over and see him, which I did after bidding good bye to my friend Mr. Williams and other new acquaintances. I will say here that last Fall (in the year 1902) I went to Tulare County on business and stopped over Sunday in Visalia. One of the first things I learned was that my dear old mining friend, J. W. Williams would be buried that day. I assure you, it was a shock to me, coming entirely unexpectedly as it did. While looking on his calm and quiet face for the last time, how vividly and how rapidly memory brought in review our early acquaintance and long friendship that was formed in the mines. Our lives and acts up to that time while the clods of the valley were shifting him out from earthly view, thoughts rose up in my mind which seemed to say: "Goodbye old friend, but not forever, for I too am nearing the silent land".

On going back to the Four Creek Country, my friend John Swanson and I spent several days riding over the country. There was so much of it and all seemed to be good that it was bewildering. Mr. Swanson had already taken claims and had quite a lot of fencing done. The fall was already well advanced and Mr. Swanson gave me a good lay to farm with him the coming season. I readily accepted and was soon busy to work preparing for crops. In the meantime, I had bought a claim with a few acres fenced and a house on it that I afterwards improved. I had the second peach orchard in the county. The pits from which the trees had grown, I brought back with me from Kelley's peach orchard near Columbia in Tuolumne County. I gave him $1.00 for a dozen large peaches and saved the pits. Old timers of 48 and 50 years ago will remember Kelley for his peach orchard at Columbia.

I found quite an amount of pleasure and pride in the thought that after so many years of wandering, I finally had a little spot of earth I could call home. I went to work, harder than I ever had before, for now it seemed that there was a future ahead of me. A little later on,after clearing the land and fencing, with the help of others, we brought a ditch of water onto my land. I built a barn, granary and fenced off several acres for gardening. I raised the first successful crop of potatoes in the county. My neighbor, Mr. J. C. McPherson, helped me dig them and we got 10 tons of first class potatoes beside saving 2 tons for seed. Mr. McPherson later on made Tulare County a very highly respected supervisor, a position he has since held in San Luis Obispo County for many years.

Towards spring, my crops were up and looking good, I began thinking of a business trip back up to Angel's Camp. I finally had everything in readiness, mounted my horse and rode away alone. I found the trip back very lonely, but got through without any mishap. I was glad to meet my old mining friends and acquaintances again, although none of them had gotten rich in my absence. A part of my mission back was to get my two brothers to leave the mines. The demoralizing effect was plainly visible on most all of the old miners. Mining at best is but a game of chance, and in a few years it unfits one for any other occupation. When I left, I had orders to bring back a school teacher. There was a young man there that I had previously met that was well qualified in both education and experience. The idea pleased him and all was soon arranged for him to come back with me. His name was J. E. McGowan and he was either the first or second teacher in the county. His school was, what I think is at the present time, called Kaweah District about 5 or 6 miles east of Visalia. He taught two or three terms and gave
satisfaction and then sent to his home in Pennsylvania for his family to join him. Here I got way ahead of my story again. One of my brothers, Oliver Duncan, came back with me but I am not sure at this time, whether William Duncan the other one did or not. We rigged up a two horse wagon and prepared a good camping outfit, and with all in readiness bade goodbye to our friends and pulled out for the land of promise.

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January 15, 1979

After reading this narrative, I think you will agree with me that George Washington Duncan was a. very brave, brilliant, compassionate man. He was my great uncle, being the brother of my grandfather Oliver Hazard Perry Duncan.

In his story, he mentions John Swanson as being his old mining friend. John Swanson was my great grandfather, as his daughter Matilda Swanson married Oliver H. P. Duncan.

My heartfelt thanks to Mildred Anderson Hayden, 50258 Road 420, Coarsegold, California, 93614 who supplied the narrative. She is one of the few grand children living of George W. Duncan.

This historical document was copied and typed by: Ethel E. Pratt Brown, Rt. 1, Box 113, Bull Shoals, Arkansas 72619. My mother Adah Irene Duncan Pratt was the daughter of Oliver and Matilda Duncan."

Birth	15 Sep 1832	Franklin Co., Illinois
Census	1850	Great Salt Lake Co., Utah Territory
Census	Jul 1852	El Dorado Co., California
Census	1 Jun 1860	Tulare Co., California
Marriage	9 Aug 1863	Tulare Co., California - Lorinda Anzaline FAUSET
Voting Register	27 Jul 1866	George Washington Duncan, 33, born IL, sheep raiser, Farmersville precinct. - Tulare Co., California
Census	1 Jun 1870	Tule River Twp., Tulare Co., California
Voting Register	5 Apr 1878	George Washington Duncan age 38, born IL, farmer in Porterville. - Tulare Co., California
Census	10 Jun 1880	Tule River Twp., Tulare Co., California
Voting Register	21 Aug 1888	George Washington Duncan, 55, born IL, Farmer, Res. Mt. View. - Tulare Co., California
Death	5 Jun 1911	Richmond, Contra Costa Co., California
Burial	Aft 5 Jun 1911	Reedley Cemetery, Fresno Co., California
Reference No		337

Spouse	Lorinda Anzaline FAUSET (1843 - 1926)
Child	George Grant DUNCAN (1864 - 1926)
Child	Ida Elmina DUNCAN (1866 - 1892)
Child	Matilda Ella DUNCAN (1867 - 1944)
Child	Lorinda Eva DUNCAN (1869 - 1954)
Child	Alice Maude DUNCAN (1870 - )
Child	Viola M. DUNCAN (1872 - 1959)
Child	Earl Edgar DUNCAN (1875 - 1875)
Child	Laura Eugenia DUNCAN (1876 - 1931)
Child	Eugene Manfred DUNCAN (1877 - 1878)
Child	Alpharetta Naomi DUNCAN (1880 - 1968)
Child	Ruby DUNCAN (1883 - )
Child	Laurence Hopeton DUNCAN (1885 - 1906)

Father	William A. DUNCAN (1803 - 1847)
Mother	Dolly H. DUNCAN (1811 - 1846)
Sibling	James Madison DUNCAN (1828 - )
Sibling	Oliver Hazard Perry DUNCAN (1836 - 1889)
Sibling	William Pekin DUNCAN (1840 - 1907)
Sibling	Hulda Caroline DUNCAN (1845 - 1921)