WAGON WHEELS OVER THE SIERRAS

The Sacramento Bee, August 5, 1939

A long about the time the Mexican regime in California was fading, and the world's stage was being set for the acquisition of California by the United States; when Alvarado, Micheltorena, Pio Pico, and Castro were quarreling among themselves and worrying over the increasing numbers of Americans who crossed the mountains and entered the country through various Pacific ports, Mal C. Jackson was born on March 7, 1845, at Slabtown, Jackson County, Iowa, to Harry James and Catherine Mary Jackson. Mal Jackson, who will be 95 years old next March, now sits on his porch at 3931 Second Avenue and describes bits of the life he lived when the West was young. When gold was discovered, Mal, with four brothers and four sisters, lived the normal life of a farm boy on the American frontier and did his share in the closely-knit, self-sustaining community that was his father's farm.

As California's story unfolded, even the folk in such isolated places as Slabtown heard that winter's harshness was unknown, that fabulous wages were paid, that lands were unbelievably for title and fairly easy to acquire in golden California. Iowa had winters whose snows were early and deep. Mal and his brothers, as they became older, grew to hate the annual task of stripping ice-caked corn from frozen stalks. They were leaders in an "on to California" campaign that finally won over their parents, their three uncles, Sam and Henry Kennedy and Jerry Sisson, and a number of Slabtown friends and neighbors. A group decided to go to California. It was March of '61 when the Jackson party started westward. Even with fifteen-year-old ruts of pioneer wagons carved deep in prairie turf, the journey was not one to be taken without ample preparation. Jackson is one of the few living men who actually witnessed and participated in the launching of a covered wagon train.

"In the Fall of '60, we began to plan how many wagons, horses, and cattle we would need for our family and hired help and finally concluded that two wagons with six yoke of oxen each, one four-horse wagon, and a carryall for the women and children would be sufficient," he said. Throughout the winter, an air of excitement permeated Slabtown. At the Jackson farm, hogs were killed at Christmas time, and the hams, bacons, shoulders, and long pokes of home-made sausage were cured and smoked. Water-tight wagon boxes, which could serve as boats in fording rivers, were built and all equipment was put in order. There had to be meat for thirteen people over a period of six months, so, when March arrived, the shoulders, hams, and sausage were cut in slices, ready for frying, and packed into wooden kegs -- a layer of lard and a layer of meat.

Resplendent was the caravan that left Slabtown on March 15th of '61. There were nine wagons, twenty-six head of cattle, and fifteen people. It was called the Red Horn Train, for the outer horn of each ox was painted red, the harness of each outside horse was decorated similarly, and on the sides of the wagons was blazoned the name.

The party encountered the various hardships and inconveniences of wagon travel. In the prairie country, where settlements bore promise of becoming fine cities, cattle were fed with corn that cost 10 cents a bushel and corn fodder that cost nothing at all. Eggs could be had for 50 cents a tubful. In those days, before the railroad, prairie dwellers had no market excepting at Chicago, to which point they drove their corn on the hoof, in the form of hogs and cattle. Free feed was available -- and plentiful -- west of Green River. In Indian country, the train followed the usual precautions, forming a circle of wagons at each camp for protection in event of an attack. No hostile Indians appeared, although a boy in the company, staying behind to nurse an ailing cow, was found on the following morning, his body full of arrows. On the Laramie plains, young Jackson encountered stage coaches and his description casts new light upon this phase of pioneer transportation. First of all, the overland stage was not, as generally conceived, a lone vehicle in the wilderness, pitting the speed of its horses, the skill of its driver, and the vigilance of its guard against the Indians.

"There were always three stage coaches," declares Jackson, "and each had a driver and a guard. In addition, each coach had two 'whippers,' armed with rifles and long lashes, whose duty it was to start the coaches at each relay station and then accompany the convoy as outriders, 'touching up' the mules with long lashes when occasion required. Little Spanish mules, the likes of which are seldom ever seen anymore, were used to haul the stages," he continued. "They were wild, unmanageable animals, full of fight and mean as poison. The stage stations were twenty miles apart and at each of them were big log barns and corrals. The fresh relays of mules were kept in stalls, the sides of which were just a little higher than the mules' bellies, to facilitate harnessing. When a relay was to be made ready for an approaching group of stages, stable hands would throw harnesses on eighteen mules, and as soon as the men started tightening up belly bands, the mules would almost kick the end out of their stalls."

When the stages rolled up and the traces had been fastened to the double trees, the "whippers" held the heads of the foremost mules until the driver could be lashed to his seat. At the driver's command, "let'um go!" the whipper's ponies leaped alongside the frantic mules, while cracking lashes spurred the little long-eared animals to top speed. The Jackson party completed the journey to California without untoward incident, and arrived in Sacramento on September 15, 1861. "I had my first meal in Sacramento in the brick building at Nineteenth and J streets where the Western Pacific railroad now has its offices. It was the home of my uncle, Frank F. Taylor, who was an attorney here," said Jackson. The Red Horn Train continued from Sacramento to a point between Elk Grove and Florin, where the Jackson family developed a fine farm. Later in the fall, when heavy rains fell, a levee broke near Thirty-first and B streets and the American River poured into homes on Third and M streets.

"There's no such water now," he continued. "When I first came here, all a person had to do to get water was to drill a nine-foot hole with a hand auger and put up a windmill. Now a person has to dig a twenty-seven-foot well and install a pump and a motor. I believe that early lumbering and hydraulic mining made a big difference in the valley's water supply.”

Jackson's trip to Sacramento did not end his acquaintance with wagon travel. "The Washoe boom was at its height, and I guess the road between Sacramento and Virginia City was one of the busiest thoroughfares the world has ever seen. There were wagons of all sorts and descriptions. Droves of turkeys and hogs, flocks of sheep, herds of cattle destined for the mining camps of Nevada, trailed over the mountains. There were plenty of traffic accidents. I remember one time when a fellow with a six-horse team and a load of stoves let his outfit get away from him, and it plunged 500 feet below the road. He saved a couple of horses and got out of the country because he didn't have the money to make good the loss of the stoves.

"At convenient intervals along the road from Sacramento to Virginia City were hotels and stables for the accommodation of men and teams. Most of the places had parking space for fifty or a hundred wagons, and the first to arrive occupied those places. The late arrivals left their wagons along the road. On many occasions, the drivers whose outfits were in this roadside queue would have to get up during the night and move their horses and wagons to permit an overland stage to pass. There are some of the stopping places whose names I can't recall, but it seems to me that we traveled from Sacramento to White Rock Springs station, Clarkesville, Pleasant View, Diamond Springs, Placerville, Camino, Sportsman's Hall, Pacific House, Fresh Pond, Riverton, Kyburg, American River Station, Twin Bridges, Strawberry, Phillips Station, where there was a hotel, a store, and big stables. Beyond the summit was Myers Station, kept by a man named Cello, where there was a blacksmith shop, a dairy, and a store. Glenbrook was at the upper end of Lake Tahoe and from this point, the road led to Carson Valley, Carson City, and Virginia City.

"We were just amateur teamsters. We had hay and grain from the farm to sell, and the Washoe mines offered the best market. Hay and grain were worth from $50 to $75 a ton, and we hauled from six to eight tons on our outfit. We drove from six to eight horses to a wagon, skinning 'em with reins. There were outfits on the road with huge wagons hauled by teams with from twelve to twenty head of horses. These were driven with a jerk line, and it certainly was pretty to see those teams haul the big wagons round sharp curves on the narrow mountain roads. Everybody who had built a piece of the road charged a toll to use it, and toll charges from Sacramento to Virginia City amounted to $18.

"There was plenty of excitement on that old road," Jackson chuckled. "One stage driver was always bragging about how he couldn't be robbed, but one day, near Phillips station, a fellow stepped alongside his team, pointed a pistol at him and said. 'I understand you can't be robbed.'

" 'I couldn't,' said the driver, 'If it wasn't for that so and so behind the tree who is helping you.'

"Well sir, that bandit turned to see who was behind the tree, and the driver knocked him cold with his whip.

"When I first started teaming, I bored holes in a two-by-four, just the size of a twenty-dollar gold piece, and fitted it across the bolster of my wagon. I carried money home like that a few times, and then some darned fool found out and started talking about it, so from then on I just carried enough money to meet expenses and sent express money orders home by mail. I can give you a good idea of the amount of traffic on that road. I remember one day when I saw 400 outfits in a string. They were building a new road at Oglevie grade through Pleasant Valley. The new road met the old one near the Pacific House. It had been raining all night and the new road, besides being soft, was full of stumps and timber. I was on a return trip, and even downhill and empty, the going was pretty tough. The up teams always had the right of way, and before we got over the new stretch of road, we met a string of fifty teams, struggling uphill through the mud. We had to pull over to the side and let them pass. Before this batch got into the clear, another group had arrived, and when we finally got back on to that road again, 400 outfits had gone by.

"Once I went down from Glenbrook to Lake House in a snow storm. There were a lot of big bugs from Johnston, Silver City, and Virginia City who had come to the hotel to a party. There was plenty of drinking and before the evening had advanced very far, the gambling started. The tables were covered with money, but I didn't watch the play. Men gambling for big stakes in those days were just as apt as not to shoot you just for looking over the shoulders. Well, the next morning, there were three corpses in the hotel of men who had been shot that night over the gambling tables. I'll never forget the meals they used to serve at those mountain hotels. They were the most wonderful meals you ever saw."

Mal left his father's farm when a young man to manufacture windmills, and this enterprise threw him into business contact with Leland Stanford, Collis P. Huntington, Mark Hopkins, and practically all of Sacramento's business men. "There was a time," he said, "when every farm in Sacramento Valley had from two to twenty Jackson windmills on it."

When the Southern Pacific railroad was constructed, Jackson was one of the carpenters who worked on the bridge at Brighton, and when soil from the American River was hauled to the site of California's new Capitol, in the late '60s, half a dozen teams of Jackson's horses were among the 150 outfits engaged in hauling dirt. One of the most famous drivers of the '60s was "White Headed Jimmie," the remainder of whose name Mr. Jackson cannot recall. "He had fourteen of the prettiest mules I ever laid eyes on," reminisced Jackson. Another famous skinner was Nick of the Woods Pritchard, who lived in Oak Park until a few years ago. "That man could do anything with a team," said Jackson.

The years rest lightly on Mal Jackson's shoulders. "I still walk over to McClatchy Park each day and sit and gab with a few of the old timers. I can't see as well as I could a few years ago, but my health is good and I get around pretty well."

Among his other accomplishments, Jackson claims to be the oldest steady patron of the California State Fair. "I missed the one in '61 -- we got here a little too late, but I've been to every one of them since." Mal Jackson grinned when asked how last year's fair compared with the one he saw at the old pavilion in '62. He chuckled and said: "In my mind's eye, the old one was the biggest and best. Remember I was just a young fellow, and it was the first state fair I had ever seen, and I had my girl with me.”

A Returning Gold Hunter

I was yesterday called upon by an old acquaintance who was just on the eve of starting for his home in the “Prairie State.” He was one of the many thousands who left for the western frontier in the spring of ’49. From the same neighborhood six others accompanied him. After surmounting all the various difficulties and hardships incident to a trip across the plains and mountains, the company reached the new El Dorado, where they soon made preparations to pursue the tedious and laborious vocation of gold-digging. Early in the spring of ’50, we hear of those young men being 150 miles up the Sacramento River, on the eve of visiting this city to obtain a supply of provisions. They had been successful beyond expectation in their gold-washing operations. Each one had five or six hundred dollars in his pocket, and with light and buoyant spirits, they launched out in canoes on the swift and foaming Sacramento to perform their errand of purchasing the comforts of life and perchance of receiving welcome tokens from their families and friends at home. But alas! Their fate was sealed. Ah, how seldom do we poor pilgrims know what “a day may bring forth. Man’s days are but few here below. He knows not when the Son of Man cometh.” Our jolly gold hunters were gliding along smoothly and pleasantly as they believed, not knowing that each pull of oar was fast hurrying them into an abyss which was certain destruction! On the evening of the second day of their embarkation – as the sun was fast sinking beneath the western horizon – the canoes which contained our little company were suddenly engulphed in one of those dreadful whirlpools which exist high up the Sacramento, and in a moment, all were drowning! Oh, God! Help, help!! But alas, there is no succor. That grim monster, DEATH, seized for his victims six out of the seven. By mere accident, one of them managed to crawl upon the bottom of a canoe, by which means he managed to escape with nothing except what he had on his back. When he reached the shore and cast his eyes back upon the dreadful scene from which he so miraculously escaped, his heart sunk within him and he was half resolved to cast himself in the foaming element and die with his companions. Truly this was a trying hour to our gold seeker: thousands of miles from home and friends, not a living soul for miles around; naught but the wild howl of the wolf to greet his ears – while beneath his feet rolled the laughing waves which so lately hurled his companions into eternity. This young man reached the settlements, went to work; has been engaged the principal part of the time ever since in mining – experiencing occasional attacks of illness from scurvy – and now is on his way home to Hennepin, Illinois, from whence the company had come. He has as much dust as will take him home, and about as much left as it cost him to get here. Truly, his riches consist in wisdom and not in gold. Written by Long Tom [Sacramento Daily Union, 3-21-1851. Submitted by Kathie Marynik.]

Sacramento Pioneer Association

The Sacramento Pioneer Association held its first meeting of seventy persons at James’ Hotel, J Street, between First and Second, on the evening of January 25, 1854, and on the 27^th of the same month adopted a Constitution. On the 3d of February following, officers consisting of a President, seven Vice Presidents, Recording Secretary, Corresponding Secretary, Treasurer, and seven Directors were elected. The expressed objectives of the society are to collect and preserve information connected with the early settlement and subsequent conquest of the country, and to perpetuate the memory of those whose sagacity, energy, and love of independence induced them to settle in the wilderness and become the germ of a new State. All who were in California prior to January 1, 1850, are eligible to membership. Any persons who have rendered distinguished or important services to the society or State may be admitted as honorary members. The society has 305 active members, 58 of whom joined the past year. During the year 9 deaths have occurred. The present officers are as follows: President, James McClatchy; First Vice President, C. H. Swift; Second Vice President, Charles H. Ross; Recording Secretary, J. Tingman; Corresponding Secretary, Dr. G. J. Phelan; Treasurer, N. L. Drew; Marshall, G. K. Van Heusen; Directors – Asa F. Andrews, Henry Montfort, Albert Leonard, Ulrich Bayer, Justin Gates, W. F. Knox, and Charles Winters.

Len Kidder, Oldest Pharmacist, Recalls First Pony Express

In the days when Len Kidder started as a druggist—and he’s the oldest registered pharmacist in Sacramento—it was customary for the “medicine mixer” to sleep on the job, usually with a shotgun by his side. That was because so many folks came for pills and drugs in the night. Daytimes, the druggist mixed paints, cut glass, did anything else required. Len, who celebrated his 87^th birthday February 15, was born in 1854 on the site of what now is the City plaza. Then the location was 20 feet below the present city street level. When John Sutter, Jr., deeded the lot to the city, Capt. N. A. Kidder, Len’s father, had to move his house to another section of the city.

Recalls Pony Express

In April, 1860, Len and another boy of 6 years saw the first Pony Express rider dash up dusty J street to the Express building. He remembers seeing Captain Sutter visiting with Captain Ebner on K Street as he returned from Hock farm. Captain Kidder was one of the first writers for The Sacramento Union, signing his articles “by an old Sea Captain.” The Kidder family has subscribed to The Union 90 years. Once, when Len got lost in the high weeds where he now lives (1209 17^th street), all the engine houses rang their bells to notify the town that Captain Kidder’s boy was lost. He was found on the premises of the Columbus brewery, 16^th and K streets.

Saved in Flood of ‘62

It was Len who carried the first flag for the Native Sons of the Golden West parade in 1878 and he remembers watching Fourth of July services held under oak trees where Capitol Park now is situated. Circuses were held there also. During the flood of 1862, Captain Kidder, to save Len’s life, tied him to a raft at Second and S streets, not far from where the levee had broken at Third and R. Len remembers hearing the bugle calls on clear mornings from Camp Union at Sutterville. In the Civil War days, yhe lived at Third and S streets. He remembers seeing Mark Twain in 1866. Remembers seeing stages get stuck in the mud on L Street. As early as 1866, Len worked for Sweetland’s drugstore with Kirk of Kirk Geary Company, Goggins, Hahn and others.

[photo with caption: Leonard A. (Doc) Kidder, who lives with his sister, Mrs. George C. Sherman, and his brother, Bert Kidder, at 1209 17^th Street, is a scion of a pioneer Sacramento family.]

[next photo with caption: Capt. Nathaniel Kidder, widely known pioneer Sacramento businessman, came to this city in 1850 and died in 1891. He operated a general merchandise store opposite the plaza. This picture was taken in 1865.]

[Sacramento Union, 3-23-1941. Submitted by K. Marynik]

“Dad” Rivett Remembers Those Picnics at Grove

Can you remember the old China slough—the pavilion for fairs at Sixth and M streets, and later the new pavilion at 15^th and M—when Y Street was a canal—when R Street was the levee—when “wild” picnics were held at Richmond Grove, between 19^th and 20^th, Q and R streets—when the horse-drawn street car would make special trips out to East (McKinley) Park for extra events—when William Land met all trains, handling passengers tickets to his Western Hotel—when the First Baptist Church was on the alley corner of Fourth Street between K and L streets—when street cars ran only as far as 20^th Street, out K and O streets—when the land from 20^th to 23^rd streets, B to H streets, was the old race track (Boulevard Park)? Well, all of those interesting items are within the memory of Edgar “Dad” Rivett, 2720 Fifth Avenue, who came to Sacramento 69 years ago, and has lived here ever since.

Mother Arrived in ‘53

And he recalls a great deal of Sacramento’s earlier history; told to him by his mother, the former Sarah Cook, who first came to Sacramento in 1853 from Wales, to become the bride of John Rivett. For the journey, which took her 10 months, she was accompanied by her fiance’s sister, Jane Rivett, who married Andrew Hathaway of this city, proprietor of a carpet beating company, situated on the southwest corner of 12^th and O streets. John Rivett had a paint and paper hanging establishment, and at one time organized what is now the W. P. Fuller Paint company. However, due to ill health, he sold his part of the company and took a trip to the Sandwich Islands, now the Hawaiian Islands. At that time he had one son, Alfred.

Boat Hits Iceberg

He returned to Sacramento and on his second trip to the Sandwich Islands, his daughter, Cecelia, was born. Because his health continued to fail, Mr. Rivett was advised to return to his native England, which he did. For some reason or other (“Dad” Rivett being uncertain), Mrs. Rivett and the two children returned on a different boat—the John Gilpin, which hit an iceberg in mid-ocean and was wrecked. Luckily, another ship was sighted and the crew and passengers of the wrecked vessel transferred. Again in mid-ocdan, Mrs. Rivett and the children transferred to a passenger ship, bound for New York. Eventually they were landed in New York—and a few days later again set sail for England. While England, “Dad” Rivett was born, and five months later his father died. The family stayed in England until 1871, when they returned to America. Alfred and Edgar opened up a job printing shop in the rear of their home, between Seventh and Eighth streets on M.

Bought Union Route

From then on, Edgar had a series of jobs—he bought the old Sacramento Union route on the outskirts of town, which took him “way” out on Riverside and Freeport boulevards and to the end of J Street. Later, with William Gilkey, he had the entire city routes, but finally the routes were taken over by Ed McKee when Edgar went into the employ of the United States post office, delivering mail. In 1885, at a quiet wedding, he married Georgia McFarland, a former resident of Maine. His bride had been employed by Weinstock-Lubin Company at Fourth and K streets, and was one of the first Sacramento women to operate a typewriter. “Dad” Rivett spent 41 years in service with the post office—once took time out to run an electric street car—and was retired 10 years ago.

[Sacramento Union, 3-23-1941. Submitted by K. Marynik.]