by Fred Rosen
Born in 1810, Jim Porter was something of a freak in Kentucky. While the average man’s height was five-six, he rose a full seven-eight. The best-known and most easily recognizable character in early Louisville history, Porter was so famous that Charles Dickens said of him, “He was a lighthouse among lamp posts.” He ran the Big Gun Tavern, which is where McNeil saw him in 1849. But he wasn’t 8 feet tall, as McNeil reported.
Porter lied to everyone about his height. He was really seven-eight; eight feet just sounded better. It made him that much more spectacular as a freak. The idea was that while people gazed at him, he made money selling them liquor. Porter, whatever his height, was soon left behind as the steamer continued downriver.
“We found a crowd of gamblers on the steamer, who, like the Devil, are going to and fro on the earth seeking whom they may devour. Considering them turkey buzzards, which is a grade lower than eagles, we avoided them with some difficulty, as they tried hard to get us into their clutches, judging correctly that we had plenty of the silver rocks and gold paving stones at the commencement of our journey.
“We observed one of them fleece a lieutenant in the army out of $50, the latter rising calmly from the table observing that he had paid a big sum for a little amusement, when he ought to have had sense enough to know that he had been cheated, and courage enough to have chastised the gambling robber.
“At Paducah, in Kentucky, a gentleman came on board to see the adventurers who were going to California, and observed, with a very long face—much longer than a flour barrel—that we had experienced our last of comfort and civilization, as our difficulties and privations were commencing, and that we had better return and be satisfied with the little which Providence had placed in our hands, which would be a great treasure if enjoyed with a contented mind. I admired him for his philanthropic feeling, but considered his philosophy unsound, for I believed that that same Providence was influencing us to seek the gold regions.”
McNeil had a very liberal religious view.
“The Lord says that the gold and silver are His, and he does not wish them to remain hidden and unemployed in the earth. While philosophers and religionists are constantly crying for gold to extend their respective schemes, it is certainly no sin to dig it out of the earth to spread it. The more gold there is circulating in the world, the more will it fall into the hands of philosophers and christians for the spread of christianity and philosophy. Although much of it will be expended in scenes of dissipation, we have the faith to believe that it will ultimately fall into the right hands.”
Throughout the country, Americans of all denominations were asking this question in their churches: What was God’s hand in the Gold Rush? Philosophy, of course, is fine, and meditation is wonderful, but in the end, greed and the determination to find a better life in this life won out. McNeil’s practical view of the gold discovery was no different from that of most of his pious countrymen.
“Some preachers have asserted from the pulpit—one in Lancaster particularly, whose name I do not wish to mention—that the straightest way to California is the nearest road to hell; but, as fanaticism never can be right, I must believe that the discovery of California gold will be a general blessing to the earth, aiding in extending religion, philosophy, and commerce—not only benefiting the public generally, but shining gladness into many a private circle.
“I shall blame Uncle Sam a great deal more than I blame the preachers, if he is too hasty in selling the California gold lands in lots to speculators—to rich speculators, who are too wealthy already, that they may place it beyond the reach of our poorer classes, who, as true republicans, should have the full advantage of a republican government. I move that Uncle Sam keep those lands out of the market for several years, that the bone and sinew of our country may have opportunities to increase their little store.”
McNeil did not know that his childhood neighbor William Tecumseh Sherman had already done exactly that.
“They [the gold argonauts] have not the talent and genius to fill high offices, and thereby fill their pockets, but, as their genius lies in their hands, let them employ it in digging for gold. Our government should bless all its constituents, both rich and poor. The rich for many years have had chances for filling their pockets—let the poor now have a chance!”
There it was! The class differences in the United States were finally not only being acknowledged, but also discussed. McNeil was simply stating what many were thinking: that the United States should not be a country of rich and poor, that there had to be something better. There had to be opportunity for the poor to aspire to a better life for themselves and their children. In the gold fields, under dint of their own labor, all men were equal.
McNeil in his travels cast his eye on everything around him.
“I must relate an occurrence, proving that the Western loafers are as expert in strategy as the loafers of the East—yea, even as the celebrated Beau Hickman who flourished at Washington City, whose exploits in the loafing line would fill a volume.”
Well, maybe not a volume, but certainly a paragraph. Robert S. “Beau” Hickman boasted to one and all that he never worked a day in his life. Born to a respected Virginia family in 1813, Hickman was a gentleman loafer. Never known to work for his living, he made money through racetrack bets and various filmflammery. Yet McNeil saw somebody in the West to rival Hickman’s loafing proficiency.
“A little below Red River, at what is called the Cut-off, about nine o’clock at night, a pistol was fired on an island, and the person who fired it swung a burning brand around his head as a signal that he wished a passage. On rounding to, it proved to be a solitary island, without a living soul except the person wishing a passage, who brought on board what appeared to be a trunk.
“He was a Frenchman, who could not, or pretended he could not speak English. When pay time arrived he coolly observed that he had not a cent in the world, adding that the captain of a boat, for no cause, had landed him on the solitary island. On examining what appeared to be his trunk, it was discovered to be a bundle of old blankets and clothes formed into that shape, proving that he could square his trunk if he could not square his account.”
The Frenchman was trying to con a free ride downriver from Captain Logan.
“The circumstance created much laughter and some pity among the cabin passengers. It is well that this loafer fell into the hands of Captain Logan, who, instead of cruelly thrusting him upon another desert island, concluded to give him a free passage to New Orleans, considering it more in the light of a good joke than anything else.
“So while one captain voluntarily took French leave of the Frenchman, the other would not benevolently permit the Frenchman to take French leave of him. Although at the lowest notch of poverty, the Frenchman was as gay as a lark. Certainly the French and the Irish are the gayest people in the world in misfortune.”
With the latter statement, the shoemaker from Lancaster shows how nativist influence in the country that looked on Irish immigrants as third-class citizens could affect even the most humble of men. Lumping the French in with the Irish was another attempt to dehumanize a nation that the United States had always looked on as an untrustworthy ally.
“About one hundred and sixty miles north of New Orleans the South America ran into trouble. At about 10 o’clock at night, a tremendous storm from the south forced the Mississippi’s high waves over the hurricane deck. That exposed us to two fatal dangers, explosion of the boilers and wreck of the vessel in a spot where escape was impossible.
“When the Captain became alarmed, we thought it time for us to be somewhat uneasy as well. If the storm was fatal, the loss would be great in life and property, as the passengers in the cabin and on deck, and the crew, amounted to about one hundred and seventy-five, and we had a very valuable freight on board. But few had the courage to swear, and many had the wisdom to pray, who afterwards were the foremost in drinking and gambling, like the person in a storm at sea who prayed to the good Devil as
well as to the good Lord that he might be sure of safety.
“In fact, those storms coming from the Gulf of Mexico are not to be laughed at by the most courageous, as they sometimes extend their ravages almost to the sources of the Mississippi and the Missouri rivers, and then branch off to play a few tricks in Illinois, Indiana, and Ohio.”
McNeil is referring to the hurricanes and tropical storms that during the fall months in particular come in off the Gulf of Mexico and drift north, sometimes losing power, sometimes picking it up, always leaving devastation in their midst. People in the United States of the middle Nineteenth Century were fully aware of the ferocious power of those storms, but they could not predict when they would arrive, which constantly put life and property in jeopardy.
Sailors knew the power of the storms intimately, and Captain Logan was no exception.
“To preserve our vessel from being broken asunder by the mountain billows or whelmed beneath the raging waves, the captain caused the steamer to be anchored near a high shore, so that we might be some what shielded from the raging storm, where we remained until morning.”
The following morning saw the storm abate. The sun came out in true gulf style; the air became moist and hot. Captain Logan took the opportunity of good weather to his advantage. The South America needed to be serviced after its trip through the hurricane, so it anchored in Baton Rouge for five hours while repairs were made. While awaiting the repairs, McNeil and party played tourist. They found it at the nearby residence of General Zachary Taylor, or rather President Taylor.
“Of course, he was absent, but he had left his glorious mark on the place, everything being good and in its place according to regimental rule.”
Riding back to the steamer in a hansom cab, the party from Lancaster got their sea legs again. It gave McNeil a chance to compose his thoughts about their trip thus far.
“During our passage, the Mississippi river was unusually high, in some places running over the levees, and occasionally over the highest of them. These levees, or artificial embankments, formed to shield the farms from the water, commence somewhere about eight hundred miles above New Orleans, and are erected and repaired during the winter by gangs of slaves.
“It is supposed by some authors that the channel of that river is gradually filling from the floating mud and drifting trees conjoining and forming a solid bottom, so that as the descending water is the same in quantity, it must eventually rush over the highest levees that can be formed, and flood all that portion of Louisiana along the river, especially New Orleans.”
It was a matter the Army Corps of Engineers eventually looked into. Repairing, building and maintaining Louisiana levees became one of its essential jobs. As for McNeil, it was time to sail once again.
“On the 20th of February, we arrived at New Orleans, and sojourned at the Planter’s Hotel, conducted by Chandler, who is the most accommodating and most reasonable host I have met in all my travels. To be a little jovial, we soon found that the inhabitants of New Orleans are the most patriotic people in the United States—that is, they have Fourth of July every Sunday, closing the stores on the occasion that the people may have a better opportunity for frolicking, frequenting the horse-race ground, the cockpit, the gambling establishments, soldier parades and engine company celebrations, circuses and theatres; carrying on balls, and sending up blazing sky rockets and balloons at night.”
This was the New Orleans barely thirty-five years after the corsair Jean Lafitte, the hero of the Battle of New Orleans, held sway. The city was still as gay and as corrupt as ever. The miners could dawdle if they wanted, and lose everything they had in the city’s whorehouses and opium dens, or they could continue on and hope to strike it rich.
“Understanding that the steamship Maria Burt was about starting for Chagres (Panama), we employed our comrade Stambaugh to engage passage for us.” But Stambaugh had an angle. “He desired to place some of us in the steerage, while himself and a few select friends wished to occupy the cabin.” McNeil, Ewing, and most of the others turned the tables on Stambaugh, “by bringing all together into the cabin, wishing to bring all on a level both as to comforts and privations. Perhaps he thought some of us could not bear the cabin expenses—if so, he is excusable; but if any other motive impelled his movements, he is willing to have a burden on his heart which we would not have on ours for a considerable sum.
“Feb. 28th, we started from New Orleans in the Maria Burt bound for Chagres. Shortly after passing Balize in the Gulf, the vessel sprang a leak, and leaked so much that we returned with difficulty to New Orleans.”
McNeil and the Lancaster men were hoping to take the isthmus route, but now they were forced to improvise if they didn’t want to waste time waiting for another steamer to the isthmus. Instead, “We took passage in the steamship Globe going [through the gulf] to [port] Brazos in Texas.” The idea, now, would be to strike across northern Mexico by land; then up the Pacific Coast by boat. It was a way to save time by not having to go farther south, but it also meant a difficult trek across the desert of northern Mexico.
“On that vessel, we found Col. Webb’s company, consisting of one hundred men, bound for California. They were fine looking intelligent gentlemen, well calculated to be successful in such an expedition. Also, Simons’ New Orleans company, comprising forty stalwart adventurers, bound for the same promising land, our own company at that time consisting of twenty persons, all inspired by hope and joviality. But, in the course of ocean events, this hilarity was doomed to come to an end, when the mountainous billows of the Gulf commenced operating on the susceptible frames of the landsmen, all suffering from sea-sickness except myself and another person, which afflicted them until our vessel arrived at the Brazos on March 4th.”
Brazos was a small town consisting of about fifty houses at the mouth of the Rio Grande, from Fort Brown twenty-five miles by land, and sixty by water. There, forty men from Colonel Webb’s company caught cholera and died. The rest returned to New Orleans, “the very pictures of despair, without money and without health.” McNeil and his companions stayed on. Brazos was a place where argonauts could get fitted out with transportation for the journey west.
“I had before frequently advised my companions not to take so much provision and baggage with us, but was constantly opposed; but they found at last that the Shoemaker prophet was inspired for the occasion. At the Brazos, we purchased a wagon and six mules for the conveyance of our goods, and a horse for each, the horses costing from ten to fifty dollars.”
McNeil and company followed the coastline south until they got to Fort Brown, on the Rio Grande, in southwestern Texas, where “we were obliged to purchase an additional wagon and four mules. I tried there to pursuade [sic] them to sell the wagons and mules, and proceed on horses, but without effect. The others concluded to elect a captain, which I opposed, stating that if we could not rule ourselves for the good of the whole, and each take care of his own money, we were not fit for the journey to California, but I was not successful in my argument.
“We then elected for our captain, a Mr. Perkins of Cincinnati, an overbearing ignorant Englishman, who did not suit my strict republican principles.”
Mr. Perkins of Cincinnati was definitely the kind of stuffy, ignorant Englishman who could only be characterized as plain stupid. “Six of the mules Mr. Perkins of Cincinnati was permitted to purchase soon dropped dead. The company was then displeased with me, because I would not permit him to purchase one for myself.”
The shoemaker knew mule flesh.
“I selected and bought one which I rode safely and happily one thousand miles. On 8th of March, we started from Fort Brown for Reynosa [Mexico] 60 miles [west],” paralleling “the Rio Grande, experiencing much difficulty in keeping the road, and finding water for ourselves and mules. At Charcoal Lake, about half way, we hired a guide and interpreter, for $300, to take us through to Mazatlán, on the Pacific Ocean, one thousand miles from the Brazos.
“We remained at this lake thr
ee days. Although the water was so stagnant that the fish were lying dead upon its shores, we were obliged to cook and drink with it. We then proceeded to Reynosa, at which place we arrived on the 20th. Finding there that our complement of wagons would not conveniently carry our goods, obliging us to drag along at the rate of ten miles per day, we purchased another wagon and four mules, which I also opposed, but with the same want of success. I was actually enraged at the increase of our expenses.
“We had then about $1000 worth of wagons and mules, and were now obliged to pay a duty of $60 on each wagon on passing from Texas into Mexico, our personal baggage having already cost more than its value. Firmly believing that Perkins would wastefully spend all our money, if permitted to have his own way, we ejected him from his office, electing in his stead, to act as governors, a committee of three persons, viz: Stambaugh, Hart, and Perkins.”
And then, just as the argonauts from Lancaster, Ohio, were about get matters settled, cholera struck again.
8.
ACROSS THE MOUNTAINS AND THE OCEAN
Over the border was Mexico. The path from there to California was across the Sonora Desert. Even-before they got a chance to face those deprivations, disease struck McNeil’s party.
“The cholera appeared in our band, attacking Brown, of Alabama, who joined our company at Brazos, and Stambaugh, from Lancaster, but fortunately both recovered. So frightened was Brown, that he left our company and returned home.”
Brown was one of the lucky ones. Most victims of cholera died from severe diarrhea: the proper medical diagnosis would be dehydration.
