Posts Tagged ‘William Henry Harrison’

By the Bullet and the Bowl

October 12, 2011

“By the Bullet and the Bowl.”
From the New York Tribune.

In 1840 the Whig party elected Wm. H. Harrison President. He was inaugurated in 1841, March 4th. One month afterward he died, and his office fell to John Tyler.

How “Tyler too” carried out the principles under which he was chosen, the world too well remembers. He added a new and disgraceful verb to the language — to Tylerize has ever since been synonymous with partisan treachery.

In 1844, through the efforts of the Birney Abolitionists, Henry Clay was defeated — Polk elected, with Dallas for his Vice; Texas was annexed, the area of slavery was extended by nearly 300,000 square miles, and all was lovely.

In 1848, Zachary Taylor, a moderate Whig, and Millard Fillmore, not much of anything, were chosen President and Vice. Taylor did not suit the Southern drivers; he had a stupid way of acting honestly and straightforward — and so, within a brief period, he fell under the malarious vapors of Washington, and died, Fillmore succeeding, and duly Tylerized.

Next we had the Herald’s “poor Pierce,” who has not, to this day ceased from expressing his boundless servility to the slave whips of his southern masters. He was “sound” and served out his term in peace — the water was good.

In 1856, Mr. Buchanan, fully as sound as Pierce, was raised to the Executive chair, and under his administration — as in that of his predecessor — Washington was free from malaria — that is, Democrats; but when the new Republican party began to gain strength, and it was possible that they might become the ruling power of Congress, the water of Washington suddenly grew dangerous, the hotels (particularly the National) became pest houses, and dozens of heretics from the Democratic faith grew sick almost unto death. This singular phenomenon re-appeared from time to time until the great outbreak after the election of Lincoln. Then the wells and springs of the capital came into the care of loyal soldiers, and the water persistently remained healthy. This continued, in spite of the prayers of the faithless, for four years; there was not a “sick” congressman after Davis and his followers left.

But when the struggle of 1864 was over, and the water of the capital flowed clearly, there came a change in the tactics of the poisoners; a single bullet sufficed to restore their hopes. Abraham Lincoln passed away; Andrew Johnson supervened, and — like every other President elevated to the main office, from Aaron Burr to himself — he too, Tylerized, swallowed himself with the dexterity of an East India juggler, and came out from his contortions the branded property of Howell Cobb and his crowd of unregenerated rebels. Urged by the sentiment of a betrayed people, the House of Representatives recently put the recreant Executive on trial.

The trial was over, the hour for voting approached, when we had a return of that bad water, and two or three senators — Republicans, mind you — are prostrated with sudden illness.

What does it mean?

Why does it happen that whenever the current sets against the monster demon of slavery (and never at any other time) we find the air, water, and the whisky of Washington full of poison?

Why does it happen that when some great deed for freedom is on the point of accomplishment (and never on any other occasion), we find Presidents, previously in rugged health, instantaneously sent to their graves, and traitors always on hand to take their places?

Why is it now, just as we should have the vote upon the great question of impeachment, and when — up to the latest moment — it had been universally believed that Johnson would be convicted, why, we ask, do we hear at this critical moment of the dangerous illness of some of the most firm and conspicuous advocates of impeachment?

Is there any thing of chances that can explain these remarkable Ku-klux coincidences?

Alton Daily Telegraph (Alton, Illinois) Jun 3, 1868

Become the ‘Life Guards’ of Your Country!

March 30, 2010

TORY COMPLIMENTS TO GENERAL HARRISON.

“Harrison is a Federalist.” — Just what might be expected of the disciple of Jefferson.

“Harrison is a Coward and a Granny.” — What else could we expect the favorite pupil of that old Coward and Granny, Wayne, to be.

“Harrison was beaten at Tippecanoe.” — Yes, and the Indians ran away and killed themselves in a frolic.

“Harrison was not at the Battle of the Thames.” — Just so, and Proctor surrendered to a ghost.

“Harrison lives in a log cabin, and should be called the Log-Cabin Candidate.” — Fool that he was, not to take, when he had the opportunity, enough of the people’s money to build a fine house, and live RESPECTABLY in his old age. No Tory would have been so silly.

“Harrison, while he lived in Cincinnati, begat three Indian children at Prairie du Chien.” — Rather an unusual feat for a Granny. He must have gone as far and as often “a courtin” as the Ohio Fund Commissioners went “to raise the wind;” and he must have been more successful.

“Who ever heard of Harrison? Who is he?”

Of him, Col. Johnson, (Vice President) thus spoke in the House of Representatives whilst a member of that body:

“Of the career of Gen. Harrison I need not speak — the history of the West is his history. For forty years he has been identified with its interests, its perils, and its hopes.

Universally beloved in the walks of peace, and distinguished by his ability in the councils of his country, he has been yet more illustriously distinguished in the field. During the late war, he was longer in actual service than any other General Officer; he was, perhaps, oftener in action than any one of them, and never sustained a defeat.

But the Whigs must not quote him any more, for the Tories mean to cast him off. — His name is disagreeable to the British, with whom the Tories are in great feathers.

“Harrison abused Maj. Croghan.” It is true that Croghan said he did not; but then Croghan was a coward, and dared not resent ill-treatment from his superior officer.

We have not room for any more of these pretty things this week; but we intend to keep our readers informed of all the slanders that the malignity of the Tories prompt them to publish against the Father of the West.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Feb 4, 1840

An Eloquent Record.

WILLIAM H. HARRISON was born in Virginia on the 9th February, 1773.

In 1791, when 19 years of age, he was appointed by Washington an Ensign in our infant army.

In 1792, he was promoted to the rank of Lieutenant; and in 1793, joined the legion under Gen. Wayne; and in a few days thereafter, was selected by him as one of his aids.

On the 24th of August, 1794, he distinguished himself in the battle of the Miami, and elicited the most flattering written approbation of Gen. Wayne.

In 1795, he was made a Captain, and placed in the command of Fort Washington.

In 1797, he was appointed by President Adams, Secretary of the North Western Territory and ex officio Lt. Governor.

In 1798, he was chosen a delegate to Congress.

In 1801, he was appointed Governor of Indiana, and in the same year, President Jefferson appointed him sole commissioner for treating with the Indians.

In 1809, he was re-appointed Governor of Indiana by Madison.

On the 7th Nov. 1811, he gained the great victory of TIPPECANOE.

On the 11th September, 1812, he was appointed by Madison Commander-in-chief of the North Western Army.

On the 1st May, 1812, the siege of Fort Meigs commenced; lasted five days, and was terminated by the brilliant and successful sortie of Gen. Harrison.

On the 31st July, 1812, the battle of Fort Stephenson occurred.

On the 5th October, 1813, he gained the splendid victory of the THAMES, over the British and Indians under Proctor.

In 1814, he was appointed by Madison one of the Commissioners to treat with the Indians, and in the same year, with his colleagues, Gov. Shelby and General Cass, concluded the celebrated treaty of Greenville.

In 1815, he was again appointed such Commissioner, with Gen. M’Arthur and Mr. Graham, and negotiated a treaty at Detroit.

In 1816, he was elected a member of Congress.

In January, 1818, he introduced a resolution in honor of Kosciusko, and supported it in one of the most feeling, classical, and eloquent speeches ever delivered in the House of Representatives.

In 1819, he was elected Senator in Congress, and was appointed, in 1825, Chairman of the Military Committee in place of Gen. Jackson who had resigned.

In 1827, he was appointed Minister to Columbia, and in 1829, wrote his immortal letter to Bolivar, the deliverer of South America.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Feb 4, 1840

Another Tory Compliment to General HARRISON.

“Harrison, while a member of the Senate of Ohio, voted to sell poor white men into slavery.” — that is, he voted to have men who were convicted of small crimes, and of whom the costs of conviction could not otherwise be collected, compelled to WORK them out. — What a monster! If such were the law, the sufferings of jail-birds would be intolerable. Instead of spending a few weeks in jail, with a plenty to eat and nothing to do, they would have to work to pay the expense of their punishment. Why! thieves and leg-treasurers should all rise as one man and oppose Harrison for that vote!

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Feb 11, 1840

Valley Forge (Image from http://www.sonofthesouth.net)

A VOICE OF ’76.

The Newburgh Gazette brings us the following eloquent letter from the last of the “Life Guards of Gen. Washington.” Let the freemen of America heed the honest warning of this venerable patriot. Let all who are able to enlist for the war adopt the advice of this aged veteran, and enroll themselves as the Life guards of the country. —Alb. Adv.

To the Descendants of Revolutionary Soldiers:

An old soldier of the Continental Army asks for the last time to speak to his countrymen. During the suffering services of the Revolution I was in sixteen engagements, and was one of the little band who volunteered under Sullivan to destroy the “Six Nations of Indians.” I was one of that small company selected as the Life Guard of Gen. Washington — but two of us are now living. I was at the tough siege of Yorktown, at Valley Forge, Monmouth, and in thirteen other hard battles, and saw Cornwallis surrender to our old General. My service ceased only with the war.

After all this hardship and suffering, in the street when I go out in my old age to see the happiness I have helped to give you, I am pointed at as a British Tory — yes, a British Tory — I have said nothing when I have been told so, but have silently thought that my old General would never have picked out a Tory to form one of his Life Guard, nor would a Tory have suffered what I suffered for you. This abuse has been shamefully heaped upon one of your old soldiers because he is what he was when the war broke out, and what Washington told us we must always be when he shook HANDS with us as we all were going home.

I was a Whig in the Revolution, and have been one ever since, and am one now. As a Whig I enlisted for the whole WAR was in favor with the other whigs of Thomas Jefferson, went with the party for James Madison, was in favor of the last war, and to be consistent in my last vote, must give it for Gen. Harrison. He is a brave man, and was never known wherever he has been to take a penny from his neghbor or the Government, that was not fairly his own. — We have trod over the same ground fighting for liberty. His father, 9he was one of us in the Revolution) signed our Independence roll, and then we all went out together to fight for it, and we proved it was true.

It really appears to me that this cannot be the same government that our old soldiers helped Washington to put up here. We fought to have a government as different from any in Europe as we could make it. — Well, we done it, and until lately things have gone on smoothly and Europe was beginning to get ashamed of the way she made slaves of her subjects by making them work and toil for seven poor cents a day with a Standing Army over them to force them to it. But our President now tells the people that things have gone wrong since the Old War and that there are twenty-two miserable Governments in Europe where the Kings wear crowns, the rich people wear silks, and the poor people rags, that we must fashion after them if we want to be happy and prosperous! —

We had English laws here once and they were the best in Europe, but we could’nt stand them and we put them under our feet. We used to work for mere nothing then, and we cannot do it again. Working for a few cents a day may do for slaves, but not for freemen whose liberty cost more blood, than liberty ever cost before, why, the very first thing that started the old war, was the Standing Army, that the King kept quartered upon us, we told him that we wanted no soldiers over us in time of peace, but he refused to mind us, and I saw Lord Cornwallis surrender up a part of them to honest George Washington. Our President now proposes to have a standing force — what for? — Beware.

Thom’s Jefferson never asked for armed men to re-elect him, or elevate his successor. James Madison asked for them only, in the time of the late war, and warned the people when he left his office, to be careful about keeping soldiers in time of peace.

Our streets are filled with idle men who were active laborers once, when employment was to be had. The men of enterprise who once employed them have been ruined by government. And now these honest, but unemployed laborers are told by the government, that when they go to work again, they must do it for a few cents a day — that labor must be as cheap here, as it is among the slaves of Cuba, or the slaves of Europe. Ambition and ignorance on the part of our Government have shut up our shops and stores, scuttled our ships, filled our streets with idleness and bankruptcy, and given no encouragement to the farmer as he looks at his grain. Are not these things so?

You know they are, and I have no motive in saying what may be false — I am too far advanced for office, or any thing else but death — it will soon be here. — My little pension, and I thank you for it, will soon stop, and I go home with the rest of the Life Guards. —

There is but one remedy only for the safety of the country I have saved. Put other men to stand at the tiller, and round the cables, and you will soon be back on the old Constitutional track. Gen. Harrison is honest, he never deceived you, and he never lost a battle, and the People wont let him lose this. Accept my advice, and you all have my blessing — my advice is, that all of you become the Life Guards of your country, and my blessing is that your old age may have less fears for liberty than mine.

BENJAMIN EATON.
One of the two surviving Life Guards of George Washington.

NEWBURGH, N.Y. Aug. 28, 1840.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) Oct 6, 1840

Nathan Hale

From the Newburgh New York Telegraph.
Gratitude, Gallantry and Feeling.

To record the incidents connected with the “old soldiers” of Washington — those few falling leaves of the tree of the revolution — is ever pleasing. But few of them remain. In a few brief years, the “last soldier of the revolution” will have died.

The following little incident, interesting and touching in its way, occurred here last week during the visit of that highly disciplined and soldier-like corps, the National Greys, of New York city.

One of their numerous marches, in the neighbourhood of our village, to receive the well-deserved hospitality of our citizens, was to Ettrick Grove, the beautiful seat of Mr. Hale, a mile below the village, taking in their way “Washington’s Head Quarters,” to which the company wished to pay a last visit before departure. The entire march was over consecrated ground. — Washington himself had known and traversed every foot of it — in the neighbourhood was the ground where the army was stationed, and in the ravine below, was the revolutionary cannon foundry, traces of which are still visible.

These were all pointed out, as also the remaining portion of the house (now Mr. Hale‘s kitchen) to which Washington was invited to an entertainment, in order to his betrayal by a band of conspirators against his life and his country’s hopes. These several reminiscences had each its interest; but the crowning incident of the march, and the one likely to live long in recollection was this:

On the outward march of the company, at a little distance in advance in the porch of a cottage, was observed the bowed and bleached head and wasted form of one of those immortals on earth, who shared the toils of war with Washington — it was BENJAMIN EATON, the last but one (Robert Blair, also of this village,) of Washington’s Life Guard.

The fact being announced to the officers of the corps, they eagerly advanced, in person, while the company uncovered, and thus all testified, in passing, their respect for the noble old Roman. On their return, the old soldier was escorted out, supported on either side by the Captain and Lieutenant, and the corps passed in review before him, uncovered, and with as profound respect and nice observance of military order as the old soldier in other days would have passed in review before his venerated Washington.

He was then escorted to the front and introduced personally to each member of the corps — and as each seized him by the hand and uttered the heart-felt “God bless you, General,” the gathering tear in the eye of each young soldier told the glow of gratitude and patriotism enkindled in his bosom. It was a moment and a scene to excite deep feeling. The eye of the veteran, dimmed by age, brightened again with pride and joy. The scenes and the forms of other days seemed reanimated and again brought to his view. But it was a transient vision, and came but for a moment to gladden the veteran’s heart.

Recollection but too soon recalled the realities of the present; and he was heard to murmur, “Alas! I have lived to be useless to myself and to the world!”

He told them, however, as a parting advice of an old soldier, to “remember their Great Commander.” He said he had been present in sixteen battles of the Revolution, and amid the dangers of them all had sought aid from above in prayer for himself, his country and his companions; and was himself a living witness, with the frosts of eighty-two winters upon his head, that these prayers were not in vain.

Benjamin Eaton has seen much service, and his country owes him much. He was in the battles and shared the dangers of Lexington, Monmouth, Flatbush, Brandywine, Harlaem Heights, &c., and served under the gallant Sullivan, in 1779, in his expedition against the “Six Nations” of Indians. Poor in every thing but spirit and merit, he has lived for years upon that evidence of coldest ingratitude — a pension of ninety-six dollars!!

Title    Hazard’s United States Commercial and Statistical Register, Volume 1
Editor    Samuel Hazard
Publisher s.n., 1840
pg 256

Benjamin Eaton - Rural Valley Cemetery

October 16, 1842.
Benjamin Eaton, said to have been the last survivor of Washington’s Life Guard, died at Cuddeback, Orange Co., N. Y., aged 85.
He joined in the pursuit at Lexington, and served till 1779, with an absence of only 20 days.

From: The New York genealogical and biographical record (Volume 102)
. (page 7 of 52)

Google Books LINK – You can read this book online.

Impelled by the Spirit of Adventure and the Temptations of Gain

April 3, 2009
St. Louis circa 1850 (image from /www.usgennet.org)

St. Louis circa 1850 (image from /www.usgennet.org)

Letter from a California Emigrant.
Correspondence of the Huron Reflector.

CALIFORNIA ENCAMPMENT,}
Indian Territory, April 28th, 1849.}

Mr. Editor: — Being one of the many thousands who, impelled by a spirit of adventure or the temptations of gain, have left their homes, their friends and acquaintances, all the blessing of civilization and the sweets of the domestic circle, for the distant shores of the Pacific, I propose through the columns of your paper to give our friends and your readers a brief account of what is passing before us from day to day, and what we have seen since leaving the Buckeye State.

With eleven of my travelling companions I left the village of Milan, March 29th. We reached Cincinnati Saturday of the same week; here we remained a few days to complete our outfits. Some 250 Californians from different parts of the country, chartered the steamer Albatross to take us direct to St. Joseph, and on Thursday, April 5th, at 6 P.M., amid the roar of cannon and the cheers of the multitude, we left the city.

Wm Henry Harrison Tomb (image from www.ohiohistorycentral.org)

Wm Henry Harrison Tomb (image from http://www.ohiohistorycentral.org)

We passed North Bend about two hours after leaving Cincinnati. It was a lovely evening. The moon seemed to shine with unusual splendor; the musicians of our company were on deck with their instruments. — What thoughts filled my mind as we passed this still, quiet, hallowed spot, under the soft rays of the full moon, and gazed upon the plantation and tomb of WM. HENRY HARRISON. His tomb is near the river, on the summit of a small hill, surrounded by a beautiful fence. The privilege of gazing upon this spot paid me well for my journey so far, and inspired me with an awe and reverence for all that is good and ennobling in man, that will last me to California at least. But to return to our boat.

Every soul on board was bound for California — not a female among us — and if this was a fair sample of what society is to be in California, we shall need no Revolvers or Bowie knives. There were a few noisy, lawless fellows, who, being away from the restraining influence of the ladies, were inclined to make a little too much noise at times; but we had, on the whole, a very quiet, gentlemanly, peacable set. Our passengers were mostly business men, of good information and principles, generally middle aged, but here and there the grey head might be seen, not yet satisfied with the riches of this world.

The passage down the Ohio was one of the pleasantest steamboat trips I ever experienced. The evening of the day after we left was particularly interesting. Not a cloud dimmed the sky. The moon was profuse with her soft pale light, as if conscious of her importance, and the effect she gave to the scene. The soft mild breeze from off the hills came over the waters laden with mixed odors from the blossoms of Spring. Our music is on deck, and what need we more? Nothing but a few of the fair sex, and hearts tuned in unison with all this that can offer acceptable praise to God the creator and giver.

We sometimes found ourselves pent up among the hills, seemingly in a small lake, with no apparent way of escape, but a passage soon opened for us and we found plenty of sailing ahead. Again we could trace the windings of the river until it disappeared far away among the hills which in the distance were hardly discernable from the dim, blue sky. Saturday P.M. we were nearing the mouth of the river; it is much broader than above, with here and there a small island which adds much to the beauty of the scenery. Viewed from a distance, these islands are really beautiful; they are conical shaped masses of green foliage, which seem to rest quietly upon the smooth surface of the waters. The scenery of the Ohio is the most fascinating I ever saw. But what gave zest and charm to all this, was the sudden transition from the cold, chilling embrace of the unyielding winter, to the opening, blooming Spring — the warmth and mildness of Summer. Everything was dressed in living green. The hills seemed to have put on their best uniform to cheer and gladden our descent upon the waters they seem appointed to guard, and deliver safe into the bosom of the great Mississippi. But I must hurry out of the Ohio. Saturday evening we reached Cairo. This place is in Illinois, at the junction of the Ohio and Mississippi; it is the most sunken, God-forsaken place I ever was in. Everything gave evidence of a recent inundation, which frequently occurs here. A very respectable house built for a Hotel with two or three disabled steamboats, used as wharf boats, complete the village. The idea of living in Cairo is revolting in the extreme. At 7 o’clock we bid adieu to the Ohio and entered the Mississippi. We reached St. Louis Monday, April 9th. We had barely time to go to the Post office. Here we unexpectedly met two of our company who had preceded us through Illinois to purchase mules for our journey. They had 16 mules, which added to our present stock made 172 mules on board.

With the Mississippi and the Missouri rivers I had not much sympathy, though some portions are very interesting; but their shores, except about here, are devoid of that soft, beautiful scenery of the Ohio. The ascension of the rapid, muddy Missouri was slow and tedious; its navigation is dangerous in the night — being full of drift and snags; we were frequently obliged to lay over all night. Safely and without accident we reached St. Joseph Monday, April 16th, seven days from St. Louis, 500 miles — and eleven days from Cincinnati, 1250 miles. The mules, after being closely confined upon the boat, were almost unmanageable when on shore, and they created much merriment in some and anger and impatience in others more particularly interested; but matters soon became settled, and we went into camp immediately, pitching our tent near the river. After securing our mules we adjourned to a Hotel for tea, and returned to our tent to lodge. The next morning we breakfasted in our tent. Never shall I forget our first meal; there were no dainty ones among us.

St. Joseph is a fine place of about 2,000 inhabitants. It is situated upon an elevation, and makes a fine appearance as approached from below; it is the center of trade for a large, populous and productive country.

There are about 2500 encamped here bound for California. The many estimates which have been made of the numbers that would pass over to California have all been too high; 6000 will probably include all emigrants from the different points on the Missouri. Saturday, April 20th, we struck our tent, packed our waggons, and prepared for crossing the river. We passed up the river 4 miles to a ferry; crossed, and passing down the river two miles encamped about 1 1/2 miles from the river at the foot of the bluffs which rise upon either side of the Missouri, where we now are. As we were to remain here until the grass would warrant our final departure for the west, we immediately commenced preparations for housekeeping. One of our number takes charge of the culinary department, some of the mules, and others of other matters. Our living is first rate: — Ham, Bacon, Potatoes, Bread, and Tea and Coffee, are the principal articles of food, which we devour with a relish and appetites which can only be enjoyed by persons in our situation. The potatoes and bread we obtain here, and must leave them here. When upon the plains it will be hard bread and bacon for breakfast, bacon and hard bread for dinner, and smoked pork and sea biscuit for tea; quite a variety. Beans are an article of food we take with us. We buy good beans in St. Joseph for 40 cents per bushel.

There are 12 of us, — (E.B. Atherton, Robert Smith, Samuel C. Wickham, John Norton, H. Allen, Snow Edison, M. Smith, Harry Page, G.C. Choate, Charles Goodrich, J. Gregory, and Wm. Jennings,) — 3 waggons and 16 mules.

Six lodge in the waggons, the remainder in the tent. We sleep upon mattrasses on the ground, with blankets for a covering. The weather is delightful — warm days but cool nights. Never did I enjoy the Spring season so much. I sleep so sound, rise early and feel invigorated by the fresh morning air. Oh, this is rural life in reality! There’s much of romance in all this. Leaving home and friends for a distant almost unknown country — dreams of wealth, of future ease and opulence — this camp life — these western wilds; — yes, this is full of beautiful romance, fascinating in the extreme; but for the stern realities, the coming results, the chagrin and disappointment, we need to nerve our hearts in preparation.

The flats of the Missouri and the bluffs nearest the river are covered with a stunted growth of timber, principally oak, standing very scattering, and the fire which the Indians are careful shall pass over their territory annually, sweeps the ground of leaves and everything like underbrush, and in this season springs up a luxuriant growth of grass. The land is very loose, rich and mellow. What a pity that land so rich and easily tilled, should remain uncultivated.

Last Tuesday two of my traveling companions with myself mounted our mules to reconnoiter for three or four miles, the road w were so soon to pass over. We passed along the foot of the bluffs by which we are encamped, and when we came to their termination, passing around we soon found ourselves ascending to the other side. We soon reached the summit, and such a view as lay spread out before us defies all description. I have read many accounts of these western plains and prairies, but never got a correct idea of them. We stood upon an eminence, and the whole world seemed spread out before us at one view. An almost endless succession of beautiful undulations, hill succeeding hill without limits, — bounded only by the walls of the clear blue sky. Such perfect uniformity of hill after hill which stretched far away in the distance until they seemed merged with the clear blue heavens. Oh what a scene! — it would challenge the admiration of the most unobserving. He that cannot love, admire and enjoy this, must be out with the world and himself. In the ravines a small shrub oak grows, but standing where we did, not a tree or a shrub marred the surface of this vast expanse. No plow ever disturbed this virgin soil — no harvest fields on these sunny slopes — no rolling of carriages — no hum and busy din of the city is to be heard here. The sun rises and sets upon these hills to cheer and gladden the savage as he follows his narrow winding trail from point to point in the peaceful possession of his princely domain, was well as upon the cities and haunts of civilization. What a pity that such a country should remain unenjoyed by civilized beings. I have seen much fine scenery in different mountainous portions of the United States, but this. There is such a uniformity in the hight of the hills, that the eye has an almost unbounded scope. Far, far away in the distance, might be seen here and there the curling column of smoke as it rose from the burning prairie beyond. After looking and looking and looking again, I returned to camp, reconciled only with the thought that this was but a foretaste of what I was soon to see and experience. Do you think, as some predicted before I left home, that I regret the step I have taken? Far otherwise. I long to be wending my way over this beautiful country which lays spread out so temptingly before me. How many there are, who, spending their lives in their village homes, know nothing of the beauties and glories of the west.

In our rambles about here, we have observed many Indian graves. These graves are covered with bits of wood about 2 feet long, one end resting upon the ground and meeting over the center of the grave, forming a steep roof. A grave we discovered yesterday is really an object of curiosity; it was covered as were all the others; at the head waved a white flag from a peeled pole about ten feet high. One foot from this pole is a round peeled post, six inches in diameter, 2 1/2 feet high. Upon this post are painted five figures of men — four without heads, arms extended, one of them holding a gun in one hand; these four figures probably represent the number of person the deceased has beheaded. The fifth figure, (probably representing the deceased person himself,) has a head, arms extended, bow and arrow in one hand, and a handful of scalps in the other. Behind the last figure are 18 straight lines, which we suppose represent the number of scalps the deceased has taken. Upon the flag is a cross. This is undoubtedly the resting place of some important personage. The grave is upon the summit of a hill under a fine oak tree; a circle of green sod about ten feet in diameter surrounds the grave; within this circle the ground is made smooth and hard; upon the covering of the grave was a tin can with fruit preserved in molasses. Some not enjoying these luxuries in a camp life, were inclined to pilfer this preserved fruit. — This I could not but rebuke. Ye passing strangers, touch not, disturb not the repose of the savage! let him rest quietly ‘neath the shade of the forest tree where his father placed him, that the roving mourners as they return annually to strew the flowers or spring over the graves of their loved ones, may not go away cursing the white man who had thus ruthlessly disturbed the resting place of their dead. Everything of this kind indicating the character, manners and customs of the Indian, is interesting to me, and I observe them closely. We shall soon see much more of the Indians. Their first village on our route is 14 miles from here. The Indians are now mostly off hunting the Buffalo.

gold-rush-camp

The feed we think sufficiently good to warrant our departure, and we have determined to leave next Monday, (April 30th.) There will be about 50 waggons in our trail, and 200 persons. Some have preceded us, and others will follow for some time to come. But I will no longer trespass upon your patience, and the room which might be devoted to a better purpose. Should I be so fortunate as to reach the end of my journey, you may again hear from A CALIFORNIA GOLD HUNTER.

Huron Reflector (Norwalk, Ohio) May 22, 1849