Part 18 (2/2)

”Mr. Beckwith, I wish to say a few words to your friend, Mr.

Drannan, in behalf of myself and the other officers present.” Jim told him to go ahead, which he did, telling how faithful I had been and what valuable services I had rendered both to him and the emigrants. He went on and made quite a lengthy speech, in conclusion of which he said: ”Mr. Drannan, as a slight token of our appreciation of your services while with us, I now present to you this pair of gla.s.ses,” whereupon he handed me a fine pair of field gla.s.ses which he took from his overcoat pocket, ”and here are two navy revolvers that Capt. Mills and Lieut. Harding wish to present to you as a token of their friends.h.i.+p.”

This took me wholly by surprise, as I had not expected anything of the kind, and I was so dumbfounded that all I could say was to thank them for the presents, the thought never having entered my head that my services had been so highly appreciated by the officers of those four companies.

Col. Elliott said that in case he should go out on the plains the following summer, which in all probability he would, he wanted me to go with him without fail. I promised him that I would, provided I was in the country when he started out.

After Col. Elliott had closed his remarks and taken his seat, Jim Beckwith arose and made quite a speech in his plain, rude language, addressing his remarks princ.i.p.ally to Col. Elliott, in which he said: ”Colonel, I would not have recommended this boy to you so highly if I had not been with him long enough to know that when he starts in to do a thing he goes at it for all there is in him, and, as I told you, he has been with Kit Carson ever since he was a boy, and I knowed that if he didn't have the everlasting grit in him, Kit Carson wouldn't have kept him around so long. I am very glad indeed, Colonel, that he has filled the bill, and now the Injun fightin' is all over for this season and 'twill be some time before we all meet again, if we ever do. I have nothing of value to present to you, but such as I have is as free as the water in the brook.”

At this he produced a gallon jug of whiskey, set it on the table, gave us some gla.s.ses and told us all to help ourselves. This wound up the evening's exercises, and after each had tipped the gla.s.s about three times we broke up the lodge and each went on his way rejoicing.

Before the Colonel left that night he told me that we would divide the captured horses the next morning. I told him that all I wanted was the five horses that I had captured from the five Indian scouts when I first started in to scout for him, but the next morning [Transcriber's note: unreadable text] out when the horses were brought in and made the division. There were sixty-three of them, and he left fifteen to my share.

I stayed at Jim Beckwith's for about two weeks, and his carpenters having the houses completed, we saddled up four horses and took them to Hangtown. It was a distance of twenty miles to Hangtown, which at that time was one of the loveliest mining towns in California. There were between four and five thousand inhabitants in and around the place. During the day it appeared dead, as there was scarcely a person to be seen on the streets; but at night it would be full of miners, who, it seemed, came to town for no other purpose than to spend the money they had earned during the day.

This winter pa.s.sed off, apparently, very slowly, being the most lonesome winter I had put in since I struck the mountains.

Along about the middle of February our groceries were running short and Jim went to Hangtown for supplies. On his return he brought me a letter from Col. Elliott, asking me to come to San Francisco at once.

I asked him what he thought of it, and he told me by all means to go.

I told him I would have to stop in San Francisco and buy me a suit of clothes before going out to the fort to see Col. Elliott. He thought this was useless, saying: ”Your buckskin suit that Kit Carson gave you is just what you want for a trip like that.”

I thought that if I wore such a suit in civilization the people would make light of me, and I hated the idea of being the laughing stock for other people.

Jim said: ”It is Col. Elliott you are going to see, and he would rather have you come that way than any other.”

I took my suit down and looked at it, and it was a fine one of the kind. I had never worn it since Uncle Kit's wedding, so it was practically new. I decided to wear it, and the next morning I started for San Francisco, Jim accompanying me to Hangtown to take the horses back to his ranche.

At Hangtown I took the stage for Sacramento, which, by the way, was the first time I had ever ridden in a stage-coach.

We started from Hangtown at five o'clock in the morning and at twelve o'clock that night the driver drew rein at the American Exchange Hotel in Sacramento. The coach was loaded down to its utmost capacity, there being nine pa.s.sengers aboard. The roads were very rough at this season of the year--being the latter part of February--and I would rather have ridden on the hurricane deck of the worst bucking mustang in California than in that coach.

This hotel was kept at that time by a man named Lamb.

That night when the proprietor a.s.signed the pa.s.sengers to their respective rooms he asked us if we wished to take the boat for San Francisco the next morning. I told him that I did, whereupon he asked me if I wanted my breakfast. I told him that I did, saying that I didn't want to go from there to San Francisco without anything to eat. This caused quite a laugh among the bystanders; but I did not see the point, for at that time I did not know that one could get a meal on a steamboat, for I had never been near one.

Just as I stepped on the boat next morning, a man rushed up to me with a ”h.e.l.lo there! how are you?” as he grasped me by the hand.

Seeing that I did not recognize him, he said: ”I don't believe you know me.” I told him that he had one the best of me. He said: ”You are the boy scout that was with Capt. Mill last summer, and you rode in my wagon.” Then I recognized him. His name was Healey, and at the time was running a restaurant in San Francisco, and he insisted on my going to his place when I got to the city, which invitation I accepted. His establishment was known as the Miners'

Restaurant.

Mrs. Healey and her little daughter, eleven years old, knew me as soon as I entered the door, and were apparently as glad to see me as though I had been a relative of the family.

The next morning when I offered to settle my bill they would not take a cent, but requested me while in the city to make my home with them.

That day I went out to the Fort, which was three miles from the city, and on arriving there the first man I met was Lieut.

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