The Daily Novel

Chapter 14 – Winter March

From E.S. Patterson interview, University of California Local History Archive Project 1932:

“My next oldest brother, Samuel, came to my mother with Paw-Paw and my oldest brother Oliver, who was to go with the men…”

“No!” said Isabella, passionately, “I won’t have it! Samuel is a boy, he is not old enough….”

“Izzy, Izzy, Izzy,” Old Hitchcock chided his daughter, “Don’t shame the lad in front of the others. He’s sixteen and well grown, two years older than Michael Sullivan….”

“Michael is going with his brother, and so would I be,” Samuel pleaded.

“John Sullivan is a man grown, and Oliver is barely more than a boy himself,” Isabella stormed. She dropped the armload of bedding she was carrying from the wagon just inside the doorway of the tiny cabin, and folded her arms, “And you are not too big for me to turn you over my knee….”

“Yes, ma-am….no, ma-am. I am too big for you to do that,” Samuel stammered, bravely. “I’ve been taller than you since mid-summer. Haven’t you noticed? And you’ve been saying at every meal, seems like I eat as much as a man, anyway. So, why can’t I go with the men, seeing as that would leave you all the more?”

“Got you there, Izzy.” Old Hitchcock seemed hugely amused.

She spun on her heel and stormed up to the campfire, where John was trying to warm the inkbottle sufficiently to thaw the ink inside, so as to be able to write a new entry. Given that there was not a shred of privacy in the camp, he already knew what the disputation was about and had been hoping that he would not be drawn into it.

“Doctor Townsend!” Isabella demanded, “Tell him! Tell Samuel he may not go with the men!!”

“Why not?” John asked, reasonably. “It can’t be that he is too young, for Michael is even younger, and he is going. Moreover, he would be going with Oliver… and his grandfather no less… and Captain Stephens and myself as well. Surely you can assume that we would all be most responsible guardians…”

“Men!” cried Isabella in frustration. “You all stick together!”

John sighed and re-corked his inkbottle, putting it in his pocket. Not a good time for a full account of the building of the winter camp and the decision to split the party once again. He stood and offered her his arm.

“Mrs. Patterson… may we speak privately on this matter? Please?”

She took his elbow, and he walked her a little way, to the edge of the winter camp, where they had been felling and trimming trees. Inadvertently, they had cleared a vista, looking out on the folds of snowy forest falling away to the west. He stopped at the place where they could see it all, the trackless lands along the unnamed river.

“Look at it, Mrs. Patterson,” he said, quietly. “It’s where we’re going, tomorrow.”

“So you are, but I don’t want Samuel going with you!” She kept her voice low, but her eyes were full of passionate tears.

“But is it not where Mr. Patterson is…Samuel and Oliver’s father? You set out on this journey so that you and the children could rejoin him. He was going ahead of you all, so he could settle on a good prosperous farm, and then you would join him, as soon as it was all done, and so you shall. Why not send both of them ahead, Isabella? It’s only a short journey, compared to the road that we have already traveled. Captain Stephens and I can send word from Sutter’s establishment, and they will be safe in the care of their father.”

“But I want to keep him safe!” Isabella lost her attempt to keep her voice low, and John took her hands in his. “Samuel is a child. What more can this journey now demand of me? We have spent so much…Goldenrod and all the oxen, now our wagon and everything that we brought with us, perhaps the lives of my boys!? I cannot endure that. I cannot.”

“Not that,” John sighed.”Not that last sacrifice, not after all that. You cannot keep him safe, Isabella, not when he is of an age to think for himself. Let him go with us.”

“No,” And her tears brimmed over, but John continued, relentlessly.

“Listen to me, Isabella. He cannot be rolled up in cotton-wool and protected, as you protect Sadie…and as you try to protect Eddie, that little imp. Listen to me. Our children at a certain age, they crave to be respected, to have responsibility, to be treated by the rest of us as if they are adults, worthy of our regard and company. We must let them have this.

“We must let them have this, because if they do not have this in a good way, they will become distracted and look for it in a bad way. They will become careless and idle and seek for low company and low pleasures…just because they want so much to be worthy and responsible. Samuel yearns for that…let him have it, Isabella. Let him go, and let him see that he can be a man…a brave and responsible man. It is a couple of years before he can be that in truth…but it will do him good, I think.”

“Is that what you told yourself when you let Moses stay at the lake with your wagon?” Isabella said harshly.

“Perhaps it was,” John answered honestly “Perhaps it was. He has already chosen his task. Let him go, Isabella. Let him go and do it, show us all that he can rise to what is expected. We will see that he comes to no harm. Let him go with us, Isabella.”

He knew he had won when her shoulders dropped, even before she looked down at their hands and replied, wearily, “As you ask, then, Doctor. I will let Samuel go with Oliver…but you will promise me on everything that you think holy that you and Captain Stephens will keep him safe until their father comes for them.”

“We’ll keep Samuel and all the boys as safe as it is possible to keep them.” John raised her hands and bowed over them. “Thank you…I know that Samuel will thank you, and so will Mr. Patterson, when the boys rejoin him.”

Isabella smiled then, a little. “Tell him…” her voice quavered a little, “when you see Mr. Patterson…tell him that I am longing to see him again, and that he must come for us as soon as possible.”

“If I am sure of anything,” John answered, “It is that nothing will keep him from riding to your rescue…on a white charger, no less, and with one of your handkerchiefs as a favor. Would you like to give me one of yours, so I can take it to him, as a token of your affections?”

As he had hoped, Isabella laughed outright and answered, “That would not be necessary. He is a very dear man to me, but not, I fear, the knight-errant sort.”

“Then let us go tell Samuel to make up a pack. I imagine that he has been on pins and needles, watching us talk.”

From E.S. Patterson interview, University of California Local History Archive Project 1932:

“Ma was persuaded to let Samuel go with Oliver and the men. They each put on two sets of clothes and their heavy coats, and Ma packed a little food for them. They both carried a roll of blankets, and Ma made them take some extra socks and asked Paw-Paw and Doctor Townsend to promise to send word to Pa’s holdings…”

From Dr. Townsend’s Diary:

“Fifth of December, 1844.” We shall depart on the morrow, having done everything possible to prepare. Snow fell heavily last night, burying the stock of meat fairly deep, as well as a great stack of fire wood which Murphy and his boys thought fit to provide, among other comforts. James Miller and Young Martin have built some rough furnishings (beds and chairs, etc) for the cabin, so that all within may sleep in some comfort, and James Murphy has diverted himself in his usual manner by whittling toys from odd bits of wood. I perceived that he had a small box full of them, and when I asked his purpose, he replied that it would be Christmas in three weeks, and he intended to leave the collection with his brother-in-law, so that each child would have a gift on Christmas morning.

We take nothing but what we can carry, a bedroll and rifle and ammunition each, since we have only my horse, Mr. Hitchcock’s two mules, and three of Greenwood’s ponies left to us. I must leave my writing desk, although my journal, pen, and ink will fit easily into my coat pockets. I must leave most of my medical implements and supplies behind also, in Mrs. Patterson’s care.  We leave, trusting our Savior for a safe journey and swift return.”

Angeline Morrison Letter #3
3rd December,1844
Writ from Sutter’s Fort
New Helevetia, California

Dearest Angeline:
My last letter was writ to you from Ft. Hall as we were about to leave the established trail and venture into the desert, following a small river into the desert sink, from where we hoped to find passage over the mountains. We were successful in this venture, although it cost us much toil.

My dearest husband was taken ill from sunstroke whilst crossing the desert, which distress’d me very much, but he recovered fully. Our party followed a fortuitous river up into the mountains that divide the desert from California like a great wall. With much difficulty and labor, our party brought our wagons along this river, well up into the mountains, but we were caught by winter.

Fearing that we might become stranded, Capt. Stephens call’d for a meeting, at a place where two tributaries met. Knowing not which way might prove a more straight path, it was decided to send out a small party on horseback to follow the southward bending fork, in hopes of an easy crossing. We drew lots, among the fit and strong, and without young children to care for.

You will be amazed, my dear Angeline, to know that my health is so much recovered that I was among six chosen for this desperate venture. Six of us set out on 15th November; besides myself, Helen, John, and Daniel Murphy, and two hired men, Francis Deland, whom my dearest hired in St. Joseph all these months ago to drive our wagon, and Oliver Magnent, who was in the employ of Joseph Foster.

We each took our blankets and some little food, hoping to be able to hunt. Miss Helen and I were allowed a change of clothes each and a piece of canvas to sleep under. The men each bore a rifle and ammunition. We also had two extra horses, to bear packs, as it was hoped we could move rapidly and if necessary, bring back help and supplies upon reaching safety.

We departed from our loved ones with much anguish, Mr. Murphy and my own dearest husband being most particularly affected. I leave any further description of our tender farewells to your imagination, my dear Angeline, as it causes my own tears to flow again when I reflect on them.

We ascended the southward turning canyon with no impediment caused by snow; indeed I was pleasantly surprised at the swiftness of our passage, since we did not have to clear a way for wagons. At the end of two days, we came out on the shores of a magnificent lake, verily an ocean, as blue as a sapphire in a setting of mountains. We could not see to the end of it, but the water itself was as clear as glass. We crossed along the northern shore of it, feeling such a medley of emotions as my pen is feeble to describe—such awe and wonder at this marvel, well mix’d with apprehension of being caught in another storm and mir’d deep in snow.

After some little distance, we found an easy pass over the rim of mountains and followed it westward, leaving behind the marvelous lake. Finding another watercourse flowing west, we descended from the mountains, fleeing the approach of a storm that covered them with impenetrable clouds for many days.

The watercourse became a broad river, as we traveled; within some days we had left the snow behind and were traversing a country of gentle hills, very lightly wooded, and rich with game. To the inexpressible delight of the men, they were able to hunt…and to my own and Miss Helen’s delight, we were able to set aside certain of our heavy garments, and revel in what seemed like the balmy zephyrs of spring.

We were forced to cross the river at one point, and John Murphy’s horse was o’erthrown by the swift current. His rifle was nearly lost, and himself carried some distance by the current, until he was able to catch hold of an overhanging branch. He was drenched thoroughly and nearly drown’d, although we were all wetted to some degree. We made camp immediately on the shore and built a large bonfire to dry our clothing, before proceeding farther.

Wondrously, after some two weeks or twenty days of travel following the river, we came to some houses; the dwellings of a Mr. St. Clair. While astonished at our appearance—think on it: six very tired and travel-worn strangers appearing out of the mountains as if by magic—we were received with much kindness, altho’ Mr. St. Clair and his family and friends expressed great concern upon hearing that we were emissaries of a larger party still maroon’d in the mountains.

They conducted us down to Captain Sutter’s establishment on the confluence of two great rivers in this valley, where we were very kindly received. He is the great magnate in these parts: Miss Helen and myself were given rooms in his own house, and her brothers and the other men quartered suitably near by.

You would be astonished, my dearest Angeline, at Captain Sutter’s vast establishment, for he keeps a very great estate, in a vast square fortress built out of unbaked clay bricks on top of a low hill overlooking the rivers and the territory around. There are a dozen brass cannon on the walls and in the bastions, and a troop of Indian soldiers, turned out in blue drill pantaloons and white shirts, of which Capt. Sutter is very proud.

Being informed by a messenger from Mr. St. Clair of our circumstances, we were conducted into Captain Sutter’s office immediately upon our arrival.  He is a gentleman of many parts, and considerable charm, and received us very warmly, with every protestation of concern at hearing of the plight of our party.

But although we all and severally begged for his assistance in organizing a relief party,  Miss Helen even burst into showers of tears, to no avail. Capt. Sutter firmly demurred, although he seemed much moved, saying that winter storms make the mountains impassible, and any such attempt would only be to condemn the rescuers to an ugly fate.

We had hoped so much from our flying journey across the mountains to rescue our family and friends, and were so gratified by a successful completion; you will know that our distress was very great. Capt. Sutter seem’d most downcast, and sympathetic to our spirits, and encouraged us to hope that the party may have also been able to transport themselves closer to safety by their own efforts. He counseled patience and offered us indefinite hospitality, saying that our lov’d ones may yet appear as we have done, and that winter has only now descended with full force upon the high mountains.

So we must wait, at least for a little while. It still seems very strange to me, having become accustomed to the trail for the last eight months, to live inside a house and sleep in a proper bedstead, and eat meals at a proper table. Civilization fits uneasily, still, like a garment I have not worn for some considerable time.

Every day, Miss Helen and I, and sometimes her brothers Johnny or Daniel take our ponies and ride a little way along the river, by Capt. Sutter’s wheat fields and pasturelands; we look at the distant mountains and watch for a while, hoping to see our dear ones. Each day we ride back, very low in spirits, and then we say to each other, “Perhaps tomorrow we’ll see them.”

The post departs very infrequently from here, when there is word of a ship in port at Yerba Buena or Monterey. Capt. Sutter promises that we well be informed at such a time. I will leave this letter unsealed until then, hoping to add a post-script that my dearest husband and Moses and the others are safely arrived.

Until then, with deepest fondness, Thy friend
Elizabeth

“Doc, I’m goddamn glad there’s no one there for me to say goodbye to,” Stephens murmured to John as they waited by the deserted wagons, on the morning they had decided to leave. John nodded; he had already said his farewells long since and days back, and this desperate trek with the men and boys could be the means of reuniting with Elizabeth, anyway. He had told Isabella to make free of whatever she might be able to use from those of his medical supplies being left behind, and she had nodded distractedly.

Hitchcock stood with them, with his two pack-mules stamping impatiently, and Old Greenwood and his sons, and the four hired men, who might once have sent yearning looks at Mary Sullivan, or Helen Murphy, once upon an evening when there was music around the campfire, but had no chance against the vigilance of assorted brothers…they were impatient to go, also. Dog nudged Stephens’s hand with her nose—oh, she was impatient too. Patrick Martin took each of his sons in a mighty bear-hug,

“Be off with you both then, lads. Don’t start anything you can’t finish.”

Isabella, her eyes filling with unshed tears, pulled Oliver’s coat straight and re-knotted the muffler around his neck. She did the same with Samuel and said fiercely, “You… give my love to your Pa, and tell him to hurry. Mind you pay attention to Doctor Townsend, for if I hear you ain’t been behaving, I can still bend you over my knee, you know!”

“No, you can’t Ma,” Samuel replied, and bending down to hug her, he tightened his arms around her and lifted her clean off her feet as he straightened up.

“Sauce!” she gasped, when he put her down again. “Go on with you, you big man, then. Go on!”

“Bye, Ma. Bye, squirt,” Oliver and Samuel chorused, and Oliver tousled Eddie’s head. “Take care of Ma, Johnnie. This leaves you the man of the house, then.” A hug each for Nancy, and another for Sadie, bewildered enough to have begun sucking her thumb again, and the two of them joined the waiting men.

Young Martin had the baby in his arms; he knelt in the snow with his boys around. John thought he might be telling them to look after their baby sister. Young Martin’s brother Jamie simply stood with his arms around Annie and his adored little Mary. John Sullivan and Michael, the youngest of all those making the trip, stood close by his sister and little brother. Mary Sullivan nodded calmly, as he spoke to her, obviously last-minute directions and instructions, in John Sullivan’s level-headed fashion.

“You should be away, now,” Patrick Martin rumbled finally in his gravelly Irish voice, to his old and good friend, Old Martin. “Before we’re all drowned in tears and used up half the day. Ne’er fear, James and I shall keep them all safe. Be away with you, then, while the day is young. We shall see you when we see you.”

Old Martin took Bernard by one arm and John by the other and said, “Martin…Son James…we’ll away, and be back before you know it. Take care of the children, my dears.” He came up to John and Stephens, saying “Let’s be gone from here, before I commence to wail like a banshee.”

And with that, they straggled off, Dog loping in the lead, dancing and leaping like a wild dervish, although there was many a mournful glance backward, as long as any could see the little straggles of smoke from the campfires and chimneys.

They followed the river, taking turns to walk in front, wading through the snow, and stamping it down for an easier path for the rest, leading the mules and Ugly Grey, and Greenwood’s ponies, marveling at how fast they could yet move, unburdened by wagons.

“At this great rate, we may be able to return in weeks,” Jamie Murphy commented happily, and it seemed to John that their spirits rose. The country was still very rough, and thick-wooded with trees. To bring out the wagons would still be a chore, but with fresh teams…and as long as the snow held off.

The animals fed on rushes that evening; although it seemed that the snow was not as deep on the ground as before, it was still too thick for them to paw it away from last year’s grass. But by the next day, the snow had diminished to a few rags in deep shade, or on a northern facing slope, and they moved even faster.

“Oh, ’tis a splendid country,” Old Martin rejoined. “Look at that grass, ‘tis nearly Christmas, and yet it’s as green as it ever was in Ireland.”

Scouting a little ahead, on the following day, John Greenwood and Dennis Martin shot a brace of fat deer, and they ate their fill of venison that night, at ease around the campfire.

“Oh, now ‘tis sublime, that!” Old Martin sighed, and tossed the last little bit of gristle and bone to Dog, who snapped it up eagerly. Dog had been very well fed on scraps and bones this evening.

“It’s a golden country. No mistake.” Stephens tossed her another bit, and Michael Sullivan produced the most resoundingly noisy belch. The Patterson boys giggled.

“Manners, lads, manners,” Old Martin chided them. “Pigs have none!”

“I think that was the first time in months that I ate my fill without calculating how little that would leave for the next meal,” John observed, idly.

“You also?” Old Martin lifted an eyebrow, “Faith an’ I thought I was the only one doing so. And now we are in the land of plenty, where the rivers are full of milk and honey, and the trees full of golden fruit, and we shall not have to consider every day how many miles we have made.”

“I’m glad it’s nearly over.” Oliver Patterson wiped his mouth on his shirtsleeve, and John said, “So am I. I think now if I had known of some of the difficulties….”

“Would you have stayed in St. Joseph, then, Doc?” Stephens asked.

“No, but I might have thought longer on leaving it,” John answered, and Old Martin said, “Doctor, when you’ve lived as long as I have, trust me, you’ll look back on it and forget all the hardships and weariness, and remember only the good times, fine company, and marvelous sights…and then you’ll wish it had lasted longer.”

“It’s lasted quite long enough for me, already,” John answered. “And we are still a little short of Sutter’s, at that. But you are probably right about time painting a fairer picture, in retrospect.”

In the next days, they descended into a gentler country of rounded hills lightly covered in fine spreading oak trees, and then into a valley so large that they could not see an end to it. The river they followed became broad and deep, flowing through lush meadows on either side. They spotted cattle grazing, fine fat cattle, and harvested fields.

At about midday, seven days after leaving the winter camp, they rounded a bend, and in the distance saw what appeared to be a great sprawling enclosure, a great wall with corner bastions, surrounding a number of taller buildings within. Smoke rose from many chimneys, and a banner flew from a tall staff, and the sound of a distant bugle hung on the air.

“That can be no other than Sutter’s establishment” Greenwood said with quiet satisfaction. “It is said that he keeps a greater state than the governor himself.”

“There is only one other sight that could be more welcome to me,” John answered honestly.

“But it is a grand one, none the less,” Old Martin marveled. “Sure, and he lives like a lord, with a village outside the gates. Should we walk up to the front door, think you, or go around to the back to the stables?”

“To the front,” John answered, and it seemed that they walked faster.

There were uniformed men patrolling the walls above, and the coming and going of men, horses, and wagons had beat out a road, a road that led between fine sturdy buildings, roofed with orange-red tile. They passed people going about their own business, who looked at them with a little curiosity—Indians mostly, but dressed like white folk, the men in simple trousers and shirts, and women in chemises, under gaily-patterned calico skirts and shawls.

The gates of Sutter’s fortress stood open, but as they approached, a man called down from the bastion overhead, “May I ask who you are, strangers, and inquire of your business here?”

“We are part of a wagon company who set out from Missouri, under Captain Stephens, some eight months ago,” John answered, raising his voice a little, “and we would need to speak to Captain Sutter….” but his interlocutor exclaimed, “Stay…sir! Oh, this is happy news…you are expected! Come in, come in! We had news of your party…. Wait a moment, let me come down.”

They entered though the gate, coming out into a great courtyard with a well in the center, all a-bustle with activity. A great arcade of structures lined the inside wall: stables and storehouses, workshops and stores. The smell of baked bread filled the air. A large house and several smaller held pride of place in the center, where a number of saddled horses were tied to hitching posts. One of them rather resembled Beau, and John’s heart rose at the sight.

A bearded young man emerged from a small doorway at the foot of the bastion, saying in much excitement, “Captain Stephens, is it? Martin Murphy and Doctor Townsend? I am John Bidwell, Captain Sutter’s foreman and assistant. We had much to do to reassure Mrs. Townsend, Doctor, she was most distraught…”

“They are here?!” Old Martin cried with much delight, “All of them with Helen and Daniel, and Johnny? They are here, and safe?”

Martin and James, and their brother Bernard slapped each other’s backs and crowed, “I knew it, those little scamps…anything to get out of chopping trees!”

“Yes, indeed, they rode in five days ago,” Bidwell answered, “and Captain Sutter….”

But John did not hear another word, for two women had come out of the big house and down the steps, and one of them was Helen Murphy, and the other was Elizabeth. And for the longest time, it was only the two of them, alone in Sutter’s busy courtyard, locked in each other’s arms.