Chapter Seven Landing in California, like much of the long and tedious voyage from New York, was anything but routine. Due to a navigational miscalculation—“one of those accidents so provoking,” lamented Sherman—the Lexington sailed approximately forty miles north of Monterey before her master navigator finally discerned the ship’s true location. Little would the error have mattered if the Pacific had lived up to its name; but before the Lexington could retrace her course, a storm boiled up. “We then began to beat south against a head wind,” reported Sherman, “which gradually increased into a gale.” The ship was buffeted about for several days. He wrote Ellen that one night “we lay into a gale which would have done credit to Cape Horn.” Sherman knew, “while cursing that unfortunate observation on the north star,” that otherwise the ship would have been “snugly anchored [at Monterey Bay] before the storm arose.”1
When the mighty winds at last abated, the Lexington headed into the bay, much to the relief of everyone on board. Coming out to meet her in a smaller vessel was Lieutenant Henry Wise, master of the U.S. frigate Independence, whose assignment was to guide the Lexington to her anchorage. Once aboard, Wise quickly briefed all the men who cared to listen. Wise’s version of the state of affairs in California proved rather alarming. He reported that the Californians were in rebellion; that General Stephen W. Kearny, after marching from Santa Fe, had fought a battle at San Pasqual in which he lost several officers and men; that fighting was going on at Los Angeles; that the whole country harbored guerrillas who opposed the Americans; and that the naval fleet under Commodore Robert F. Stockton was far down the coast at San Diego—much too far away to render any assistance.2
“We imagined that we should have to debark and begin fighting at once,” remembered Sherman. “Swords were brought out, guns oiled and made ready, and everything was in a bustle when the old Lexington dropped her anchor . . . after a voyage of one hundred and ninety-eight days from New York.” As quartermaster and commissary, Sherman anticipated that he would be very busy. Supplying the troops and supervising the disbursement of money constituted major responsibilities. He also significantly observed that “nothing could [have been] more peaceful in its looks than Monterey” when the Lexington reached her anchorage.3
Sherman’s assessment was correct. The appearance of Monterey proved not in the least deceptive. The town looked peaceful because it was peaceful, and the Lexington’s landing was totally unopposed. Henry Wise’s report had greatly exaggerated the extent of guerrilla activity and the number of Californians in rebellion. Fighting in Los Angeles posed no immediate concern because of its great distance from Monterey, and naval forces at San Diego were of no need or value at Monterey anyway. The earlier news garnered in Valparaíso, that the war in California had passed them by, seemed to be confirmed. Sherman would write: “I fear that I leaped the mark in search of [military] glory by coming to California, but such is the cast of fortune, and all must abide by its decrees.” Beyond doubt some soldiers, unlike Sherman, rejoiced to know that apparently fortune’s decrees had exempted them from the fighting. As fate decreed, Company F would be the Third Artillery’s only unit never to see action in the war.4
Sherman found that fact hard to take. Never once engaged in combat, while his West Point peers were winning military laurels in Mexico, proved keenly disappointing and even embarrassing to a man of Sherman’s abilities, ambition and dedication to the armed services of his country. Convinced that the Mexican conflict was the only chance for military achievement in his day, Sherman didn’t get beyond his disillusionment over failing to get into that action until more than a decade later, when the Civil War presented an unexpected and even greater military opportunity. Several of his letters, penned during the California years, clearly convey how deeply he felt his loss and how difficult it was for him to cope with that reality.
He learned of exciting campaigns being waged hundreds of miles to the south. He heard of Zachary Taylor’s battle at Buena Vista, of Winfield Scott’s capture of Veracruz, the battle of Cerro Gordo and the advance of Scott’s army as far as Puebla. “These brilliant scenes nearly kill us,” he grieved, “who are . . . deprived of such precious pieces of military glory.” Probably his disappointment in missing the war colored his general attitude toward California. He told Ellen, “I do not like California as a country. It is dry and barren notwithstanding some of the glowing accounts.” California’s “garden spots,” were only “beautiful and fertile in contrast to the dry parched-up hills that envelope them.” Some officers were purchasing property, but Sherman “wouldn’t give two counties of Ohio, Kentucky or Tennessee for the whole of California.”5
Months later he seemed still dominated by a pessimistic mind-set, mourning his loss of any chance for military fulfillment. “I am so completely banished that I feel I am losing all hope, all elasticity of spirit,” he wrote. Asserting that he felt ten years older than when he sailed for California, he told Ellen that he no longer experienced a desire for exercise as he did in former days. Then he got to the crux of the matter: “To hear of the war in Mexico and the brilliant deeds of the army, of my own regiment, and my own old associates, everyone of whom has gained honors, and I out here in California, banished from fame, from everything that is dear and no more prospect of ever getting back than one of the old adobe houses that mark a California ranch!” In late August of 1848, Sherman confided to Ellen, “I have felt tempted to send my resignation to Washington and I really feel ashamed to wear epaulettes after having passed through a war without smelling gunpowder, but God knows I couldn’t help it.”6
Sherman was compelled to conclude that his career as a soldier had reached a dead end. Such an outcome proved truly bitter, especially when contrasted with the grand euphoria he had experienced upon learning that at last there was a war on. He had embarked for California with youthful spirit and anticipation, eager to know “the glorious thing called war,” and dreaming of military laurels. But upon reaching California, the life that enveloped and even in a sense ensnared him bore little resemblance to his cherished hopes and expectations, and soon proved barren of any meaningful opportunities for advancement in his chosen profession.
Despite his disillusionment, Sherman demonstrated a remarkable resilience, strongly sustained by a capacity for long hours of work, a high-energy level and a lifestyle of near incessant activity. Limited opportunities for military accomplishment did not stop Sherman from making the most of his time in California. And what a time it was! He participated in the origins of a magnificent state—one characterized by myriad variations of geography, climate, resources and people, the whole creating an immeasurable potential for wealth and power. Above all, Sherman was present when gold was discovered, witnessing the far-reaching impact of that precious metal as the word went forth across the North American continent and around the globe. The experience taught him fundamental lessons about life itself, as he viewed deplorable changes wrought in the lives and values of men and women, many of whom quickly succumbed to raw, irrational, even barbaric impulses of greed. He beheld a society dramatically transformed, in an amazingly short period of time. It was not a pretty sight.
SOON AFTER SHERMAN arrived in the future Golden State, he began venturing forth to examine his surroundings. Years later he wrote that “Ord and I, impatient to look inland, got permission and started for the mission of San Juan Bautista.” Mounted on horses and with their carbines handy, Sherman and his friend traveled some thirty-five miles from Monterey and made the acquaintance of several people. Being at the mission on a Sunday, he said that Ord, “who was somewhat of a Catholic,” entered the church, attracting the attention of all, with his clanking spurs and American uniform.7
Then in late April, Sherman got an opportunity to see much more of the country. General Kearny decided to make a trip to Los Angeles and take Sherman along as his aide. Sherman was quite pleased. Although Kearny had received two lance wounds in the fight at San Pasqual, when Sherman saw the general soon afterward, he wrote Ellen that “nevertheless his face wore that smile so characteristic of him. He has always been a favorite model of mine and I was peculiarly glad to see him.” In the highly publicized controversy between Kearny and John C. Frémont, the so-called Pathfinder of the West, about who exercised supreme power in California, Sherman favored Kearny, as might have been expected. Sherman thought, like most of the army officers, that “if anyone else had put on such airs” as the Pathfinder, defying Kearny and claiming to be the rightful governor of California even though the general outranked him, he would have been dealt with harshly. Sherman attributed Frémont’s stature to the influence of his powerful father-in-law, Senator Thomas Hart Benton of Missouri. Also Frémont commanded volunteers rather than regular soldiers, a factor predictably stirring Sherman’s ire. Frémont’s volunteers, Sherman stated, caused much disorder across the countryside, having “committed many excesses.” There is evidence that Sherman also did not like Frémont personally. Neither did he care for Robert Stockton, the naval officer who initially positioned himself with Fremont against Kearny. He wrote Ellen, speaking of Stockton, that “the Grandioso . . . is a great blatherscythe [who] talks too much and does too little,” as well as engaging in various “California acts of foolishness.” He did not cite any examples of this “foolishness.”
Sherman was excited about the trip to Los Angeles. It would enable him “to see all the country [between Monterey and Los Angeles] and be thrown in contact with men who are to influence this new country.” As usual, he was seizing the chance to meet important people. The one drawback was the mode of transportation to Los Angeles: traveling by sea on the old Lexington. Returning to Monterey, however, would likely be on horseback, an adventure eagerly anticipated, when he could explore a great deal of territory that he had never visited before.8
Sailing down the coast with a welcome fair wind, the Lexington soon anchored at Los Angeles. Sherman recalled that General Kearny held to his arm as they ascended a steep path up the bluff from the landing, where horses awaited them. Once more at home on horseback, Sherman enjoyed the twenty-mile ride across the plain from the sea to Los Angeles, a trip of about three hours. While the general and Sherman rode, the accompanying infantry followed on foot. “We spent several days very pleasantly at Los Angeles,” he later wrote, “then, as now, the chief pueblo of the south, famous for its grapes, fruits, and wines.” One day he rode up a high ridge, seeking a vantage point from which to examine the entire valley. The view was impressive and he estimated that the space of ground cultivated in vineyards probably stretched about five miles in length, by a mile in width, a portion of which encompassed the town itself. “The climate was so moderate,” he observed, “that oranges, figs, pomegranates, etc., were generally to be found in every yard or inclosure.”9
Although he savored the time spent in Los Angeles, Sherman was not unhappy when his departure date arrived. As General Kearny sailed for Monterey, Sherman set out by land, with about forty troops, some mounted on mules and others on horses. Averaging approximately thirty miles per day, he relished “the best kind of opportunity for seeing the country.” At night everyone slept on the ground in the open air. He marveled at how “sparsely populated indeed” was the region, as he encountered only a few families living at the various missions.10
Throughout the years in California Sherman seized every chance to explore the countryside, certainly in part because of his wide-ranging interests and curiosity, but probably also simply to keep his mind occupied. One of his passions was hunting. Writing Ellen that he kept about forty horses grazing some seven miles from Monterey, in the Carmel Valley, under a guard, he said he rode out frequently, spent the night and then hunted alone in the morning. Again he told her: “I have my horse and gun and am in the hills all the time when not on duty. . . . I want to kill a grizzly bear, the terror of the land.” For a time, Sherman’s quest to bring down a grizzly apparently became a near obsession. “I was out all the day before yesterday tramping over the mountains to get a shot at a grizzly,” he wrote in another letter. He said he finally spotted one, “but the fellow made tracks and I pursued till I was exhausted and sick. . . . My poor horse no doubt hopes I will continue so till he can recover his spirits in the wild oats pasture that he enjoys during my confinement.” The chances are that Sherman never felled “the terror of the land.” If he did, he failed to mention the kill in any of his many surviving letters to Ellen, and it seems highly unlikely that he would have kept silent about a triumph sought with such gusto.11
Sherman’s social calendar also kept him occupied. Not long after arriving in Monterey he attended a play that made a very favorable impression. He wrote several paragraphs telling Ellen about The Temptation and Fall of Man, commenting about the actors and actresses, particularly noting Dolores Gomez, who “played the part [of Eve] to perfection.” He thought the sets were well conceived, especially the Garden of Eden, which was “executed with great taste. . . . The whole [production] struck me forcibly, especially the good taste that marked the stage, the dresses and the performance.” Years later, when he had attended a great many productions, some in the most impressive theaters of America and Europe, he still remembered that Monterey presentation.12
And Sherman seems seldom to have missed a chance to attend a party in California. Clearly he became familiar with the fandango occasions, where he delighted in observing the fairer sex. “The women are like all other Spanish women, the prouder the more Castilian blood they can boast of.” He observed that “some are pretty, and all dance and waltz well,” although he claimed they “scorn the vulgar accomplishments of reading and writing.” Two months after arriving in California, he informed Ellen that he had attended several lively Spanish-American dances. He seemed fascinated by the popular custom of breaking a cascarone over the head of a preferred member of the opposite sex. He said that they were “eggshells filled with essences, a gold leaf and spangles mixed with [clips of] colored papers, which they break over the heads of favorites.” Sherman experienced a number of fandangos, “beginning before sundown and ending after daylight.” By midnight “every head was bespangled and besmeared with cologne.”13
Nearly a year later Sherman was still enjoying the fandango circuit, and telling Ellen more about the etiquette of the merrymaking. “It is polite to avoid a Cascarone, but when a gentleman gets a Cascarone on his head he is bound to return it, which is sometimes quite difficult when the ladies are skilled in dodging.” At a recent gathering, he declared, “there were upwards of four hundred Cascarones broken among a party of not over twenty-five persons.” Then, revealing a culturally open-minded attitude, he concluded that “the customs of Monterey are as sensible as the customs of other places, and must be respected.”14
Among other local customs of particular interest, Sherman observed the funeral of a little girl, about nine years of age. He stood on the piazza of the Government House while the funeral procession slowly passed. He wrote that several women carried the neat and delicately decorated bier on which the small and beautiful child lay. Behind the bier followed a crowd, “not silently two by two, but gaily . . . and with a band of music.” He noted that “guns were fired from the houses which they passed, and upon inquiry, finding that such was the custom . . . , we got out several pistols and fired a perfect salvo, of rejoicing that the child had gone to heaven. Such is custom.” Observing that in some communities there would be a year of mourning, Sherman stated, “I like this custom best, and want no one to weep my exit or to let it detain them one minute from any occupation or pleasure.”15
Sherman’s appreciation of selected local customs should not be interpreted to mean that he respected the Californians generally. Far from it. His primary description of the Mexican Californians was “lazy,” the same word he chose for the Portuguese in Rio and the Chileans in Valparaíso. Though acknowledging that some Californians were “famous horsemen,” he also wrote Ellen that the “lazy devils” do not like “our ways, our institutions, our restlessness.” He charged that “our internal taxes, our labors all are too complicated for their lazy brains, and lazy hands.” He declared they were so lacking in ambition that all they want is “a good horse, a lasso, a glazed hat and tassels, a flashy serapa, slashed pantaloons tipped with velvet and corded with bright silk ties, and a pair of spurs as big as a plate.” Thus provisioned, the typical male happily consumed “his greasy platter of beans and mutton.” Having been accustomed, for example, to living with no fireplaces in warmer country to the south, he said they still thought they needed none when they moved farther north. “If you were to transplant a Mexican from his native city to Canada,” Sherman alleged that the man “would not think of warming his house by artificial heat. Many a night have I shivered in a big cold adobe house,” he wrote. Mexicans in California “are bad enough, but in Mexico,” he concluded, “they are far worse.”16
Sherman’s attitude toward the California women was much more favorable than his opinion of the men. He told Ellen that “the women are better, kinder, and more industrious.” He admired their work ethic. “They . . . wash all the clothes, grind all the corn on a stone by rubbing another over it, plant . . . patches of onions and red peppers, and do all the cooking.” He found their appearance pleasing, remarking that “some of them are quite pretty, amiable, and have good minds which, if cultivated, would make them above the average.”17
Perhaps Sherman’s appreciation of the California females stemmed from a basic preference for the company of women. Earlier he held the Spanish women of St. Augustine in higher esteem than the men. The belles of Mobile and Charleston generally received higher marks than had the males. Even the young women of the backcountry in northeast Alabama merited an approving nod from Sherman. This pattern involves more than a young man’s sexual libido. That is a part of it, to be sure. But years after the Civil War when Sherman was older, in his mid-fifties and sixties, he still sought the company of women whenever he got the chance.
Was Sherman sexually intimate with any women other than his wife? The milieu of his relationships with women—established over the years via his letters, as well as through various social activities, such as parties, dinners, dances, weddings and the theater—strongly suggests that he simply liked and preferred associations with the opposite sex. This, of course, is not to deny that one or more relationships might have developed beyond the platonic. The foregoing does not mean that he experienced any difficulties in relating to men. From his first years at West Point, where he certainly proved popular with other cadets, as well as throughout his life, he readily connected with men of both military and civil standing. This was true of peers, as well as of officers of superior rank, businessmen and politicians with greater authority than he and those who served under him. Following the Civil War, no general on either side was held in higher esteem by the men whom he had commanded. There is no question that Sherman got on quite well with men, but always he liked associating with women.
During the summer of 1848, Sherman enjoyed the most pleasant accommodations of his years in California. “I have been living very comfortably in the family of Doña Augustias,” he wrote Ellen in late August. Sherman characterized her as “the very first lady of Monterey and in fact of California.” She was “very kind and intelligent.” Also he remarked that “her pretty little daughter Manuelita makes a good sister.” As for Doña Augustias’s husband, Don Manuel Jimeno, Sherman reported that the man “passes most of his time on his ranch about forty miles away, so that I am a species of guardian to the family.” Sherman thought his fortunate circumstances were too good to last long. It is hardly surprising that rumors eventually surfaced alleging that Sherman had become involved in a romantic attachment with Doña Augustias.18
In the winter of 1849, Ellen wrote Cump suggesting he should seek a more robust young woman for his wife. If he were to marry a California lady, Ellen promised that she would welcome her genuinely and warmly to the family in Ohio. Expressing serious concern about her seemingly chronic poor health, Ellen said she doubted she herself possessed the necessary strength to make Sherman a good wife.
The psychology motivating Ellen’s message is thought provoking. Did she really believe that she should remain single because of her troublesome physical condition, which during this period kept her confined at times almost as if she were an invalid? Or was she responding, as best she knew how when they were so far apart, to Sherman’s rather frequent observations and laudatory remarks about the women with whom he came in contact? Whatever prompted her suggestion that he marry someone else, Sherman forthrightly discounted such a possibility, assuring her that he had no interest in any other woman. “My love for you,” he affirmed, “has never abated, and never wavered.” If Sherman ever considered turning to another during his long separation from Ellen, he wisely kept his thoughts to himself.19
FOR THE GREATER PART of his California tour, Sherman was under the command of Colonel Richard B. Mason, General Kearny having headed back east in the late spring of 1847. Mason was the most powerful man in California, serving as the military governor, and he made Sherman his assistant adjutant general. Sherman prepared the official reports that Mason sent to Washington, and whatever orders he issued for the Tenth Military District; he also served as the Colonel’s trusted advisor. Henry Halleck too became an important player during Mason’s tenure, acting as his foremost advisor for civil affairs. However, while Sherman’s new position entailed more influence, power and prestige, the duties constituted, as historian Basil Liddell Hart astutely observed, “perhaps less valuable experience . . . than when, on first landing [in California], he had acted as quartermaster and commissary of the force and thereby acquired a grounding in emergency supply problems.”20
Sherman was well pleased with his new commander. “Colonel Mason is an excellent man,” he told Ellen in an October 1847 letter. With the passage of time, Sherman’s positive appraisal grew ever more favorable. He considered Mason a man “of stern character, deemed by some harsh and severe, but in all my intercourse with him he was kind and agreeable. He had a large fund of good sense, and, during our long period of service together, I enjoyed his unlimited confidence.” Sherman characterized the colonel as “honest to a fault, [and] the very embodiment of the principle of fidelity to the interests of the General Government.” In his private as well as public expenditures, Mason was “extremely economical, but not penurious.” Of such a commanding officer, he predictably would approve, for the very same appraisal fit Lieutenant Sherman.21
Sherman’s respect for Mason was all the greater because he fully realized that California presented a very difficult challenge for any governor. “A bold, enterprising, and speculative set of men,” wrote Sherman, “who were engaged in every sort of game to make money,” populated the territory. He knew firsthand that the colonel was pressured by the numerous greedy and unscrupulous to use his position to gain wealth for himself, through supporting their untoward schemes in quest of a fortune. Colonel Mason resisted such temptation and, although making some bitter enemies, he faithfully discharged his duties. “He is entitled to all praise,” concluded Sherman, for having wisely controlled California, and prepared the way for the eventual establishment of a civil government.22
Mason clearly governed California with a strong military hand, which Sherman thoroughly approved. Sherman’s lack of patience with democratic-republican government, an attitude nascent in his late teens and early twenties, emerged full blown during the California years. Democratic-republican government, in Sherman’s judgment, too often proved excruciatingly slow in the formulation and implementation of law, and also frequently suffered from the ambitions and machinations of corrupt politicians. Sherman had been in California territory a little over a year when he wrote his brother John, “Military law is supreme here.” He declared that “we ride down” the few lawyers who appear, and have no laws “save the Articles of War and the Regulations of Police, and yet a more quiet community could not exist.”23
Sherman seemed to be needling John about the legal profession, which he delighted in doing from time to time. However, his comments also evidenced a pronounced respect for a hard-nosed military government that could act quickly and effectively. Regarding courts of law, Sherman assured John that the military governor would not establish any such institutions, “because the coming of lawyers to California is a bad omen.” Already, in his opinion, “the few lawyers” who had ventured to take up residence on the West Coast were more than enough.24
While U.S. military law reigned supreme in California as long as the war with Mexico endured, government on the local level functioned under the alcaldes (mayors), much as it had in the days of the Mexican regime. Generally the system worked, with Colonel Mason serving basically as a vigilant overseer, ensuring that government by the alcaldes ran competently, fair-mindedly and nonabusively. Usually the alcaldes did operate acceptably, despite periodic rumors to the contrary. One notable instance of trouble occurred, however, and Sherman readily became involved in resolving the problem. In the little community of Sonoma, an alcalde by the name of John H. Nash, referred to as “an old man” by Sherman, refused to obey an order, issued by General Kearny just before he left California, that Nash must surrender his office. Because Nash’s election had come during the Frémont-Stockton era, Kearney deemed it invalid. In July 1847, after Nash had defied the order for weeks, Colonel Mason decided to enforce his predecessor’s decision. If California were truly under military law, then the alcalde had no right to defy an order of the military governor, whether Kearny or Mason. Sherman certainly wanted Nash removed, as an example that no one could trifle with military law. “I suggested to the Colonel,” Sherman wrote, “that the case being a test one, he had better send me up to Sonoma, and I would settle it quick enough.” With Mason’s consent, Sherman eagerly proceeded against the “rebellious” fellow, telling Ellen that Nash would profit from “a little military law.”25
Sherman laid careful plans, stealthily cooperating with the navy, which provided both round-trip sea transportation from Monterey and the necessary manpower. With the support of naval officer Louis McLane and eight sailors, Sherman led the clandestine force into Sonoma, intending to take Nash by surprise. Such a sizable contingent, merely for the purpose of apprehending “an old man,” might seem like overkill. However, Sherman’s intelligence, which at best was rather sketchy, indicated that Sonoma was a dangerous little village where most of the American residents sympathized with Nash. Sherman might need every man he had with him.26
Learning that Nash, who was a bachelor, was having dinner at the home of a lawyer friend, in the company of two women, Sherman quickly proceeded to take advantage of the man’s vulnerable situation. “Posting an armed sailor on each side of the house,” Sherman reported that “we knocked at the door and walked in.” He and McLane were armed with pistols and, just as they hoped, found the two couples seated at the dinner table. Sherman inquired if Nash were present, and one of the women pointed him out. Sherman informed the man that he was under arrest. Nash’s host vociferously objected “in theatrical style,” according to Sherman’s description, “and with loud words,” until Sherman told him to shut up or he would take him prisoner also. Heading back to the ship with Nash, Sherman was gone by the next morning.27
Nash experienced a rough trip to Monterey. “Poor old Mr. Nash,” remembered Sherman, “was half dead from sea-sickness and fear.” He said Nash worried that Colonel Mason “would treat him with extreme military rigor.” Nothing of the kind happened. The colonel dealt with him kindly, and Nash promised to surrender his office immediately and cause no more trouble. He proved true to his word. Sherman was pleased, viewing the successful operation, small though it had been, as a notable triumph for military law in California.28
AND THEN CAME the Gold Rush. “California is fast settling into its original and deserved obscurity,” Sherman ironically declared to his brother in a letter penned shortly before he learned about the discovery of the precious metal. His judgment about California’s “obscurity,” in retrospect, is amusing and obviously dead wrong. Later Sherman would write that the discovery of gold in California “revolutionized the whole country, and actually moved the whole civilized world.” In that appraisal he did not exaggerate.29
On a fateful Sunday morning in January 1848, a man by the name of James Marshall, employed by John Augustus Sutter on a sawmill project along the American River, found traces of gold in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. Sutter was a highly successful Swiss entrepreneur. He had built a substantial personal empire at the confluence of the Sacramento and American Rivers (eventually the site of the city of Sacramento), which he named New Helvetia. Americans simply called it Sutter’s Fort.
Sherman, in the course of performing his duties, came to know Sutter, who recounted to him how Marshall, “a half-crazy man at best,” walked in looking “strangely wild.” Inquiring if anyone was within hearing distance, Marshall even looked under a bed before he would say anything more. Finally he divulged the news to Sutter that he had discovered gold. Sutter said Marshall then laid before him “the pellicles of gold he had picked up in a ditch.” Sutter attempted to keep the discovery secret, fearful lest a gold rush overwhelm his business.
He instructed Marshall to go back to work at the mill and say nothing about his find to anyone. But Marshall, as Sherman phrased it, “could not keep out of his wonderful ditch,” and the news of what he had discovered leaked out. When other Sutter employees wanted to garner a share of the gold, Marshall threatened to shoot them if they tried. Rather than confront the man, they began “prospecting” farther downstream. From that point on, no one could suppress the scintillating news of gold in California.30
Sherman first learned about the gold in the spring of 1848, when two messengers from Sutter arrived at Colonel Mason’s office in Monterey. They told Sherman that they wanted to see the colonel, and he ushered them into Mason’s office. Within a short time Mason came to the door and summoned Sherman. The colonel then pointed to some mineral pieces the men had laid on his desk, and asked “What is this?” Sherman said he examined a couple of the larger objects and responded, “Is it gold?” Mason wanted to know if he had ever seen gold in its native state. He had, in north Georgia, and only a few years ago. Taking a piece in his teeth, Sherman thought “the metallic lustre was perfect.” He procured an axe and a hatchet and proceeded to beat the largest piece of the ore flat. He concluded, “beyond doubt,” that it was gold.31
What Sutter sought from Mason was a preemption to the land where the precious metal had been discovered. Of course the colonel had no authority to grant Sutter’s request. Claims to the land, which Sutter had acquired from the Indians and cited as evidence of ownership, were of no consequence because the United States did not recognize any Indian rights to the land. California was still a Mexican province anyway, simply held by the United States military forces as a conquered territory. U.S. law would not apply until the war ended, a treaty was signed and public surveys conducted. Mason instructed Sherman to prepare a letter, explaining to Sutter that the colonel, acting as the military governor of California, possessed no power to promise him a title to the land. The letter concluded with an assurance that since there were no settlements within forty miles of where Marshall had found gold, Sutter “was not likely to be disturbed by trespassers.” The colonel had no inkling of the “Gold Fever” about to sweep California.32
So rapidly did the rush develop that by late spring stories of fabulous gold discoveries were spreading throughout California. People left their jobs and poured into the gold country. New arrivals from the east joined them. Some soldiers deserted, despite the threat of the death penalty for desertion during wartime, and headed toward the mining area. The reports of gold came faster and faster, and the price of everything useful for mining, from mules and horses to tin pans and staples, began to rise. “Everybody was talking of Gold! Gold!” remembered Sherman, “until it assumed the character of a fever.” He wrote at the time that “the aged have called for their crutches,” noted that even children were infected by the addictive quest, and sarcastically remarked that “the lazy Californians are actually working”—for gold that is.33
Sherman admitted that he himself was also caught in the grip of gold, eager to see the mines with his own eyes. “I . . . at last convinced Colonel Mason,” he said, “that it was our duty” to examine the gold mine sites and “report the truth to our government.” He had a compelling point. Acting on the colonel’s orders, Sherman made the necessary preparations for the trip, selecting “four good soldiers” to accompany them, along with “a good outfit of horses and pack-mules.” The colonel’s black servant, Aaron, made the journey, too. On June 17, 1848, the party headed north. Arriving in San Francisco they found that most of the male inhabitants had left for the mines. Quickly pressing on, the group soon arrived at New Helvetia, where John A. Sutter “was monarch of all he surveyed,” exercising authority to punish “even unto death,” declared Sherman, “a power he did not fail to use.”34
There they stayed for the remainder of June and into July, making excursions to various mining sites. Sherman “began to see the full effect of the gold,” he wrote Captain Henry S. Turner, with whom he had become friends soon after arriving in California. Horses recently worth $15 or $20 were selling for $75 or $100. He gave several examples of the dramatically escalating prices. He also described Sutter and the lavish dinner the wealthy, influential Swiss hosted on July 4, in honor of the American presence. About fifty people, mostly Americans, together with a few foreigners and Californians, sat at large tables and Sutter presided. Colonel Mason sat on Sutter’s right and Sherman on his left. “The usual toasts, songs, speeches, etc., passed off,” wrote Sherman, “and a liberal quantity of liquor [was] disposed of, champagne, Madeira, Sherry, etc.; upon the whole a dinner that would have done credit in any frontier town.”
Sherman clearly relished the occasion and estimated that the affair must have cost fifteen hundred or two thousand dollars. He thought the balding, five-foot-six-inch Sutter had a “striking” personal appearance. Sherman credited the Swiss with fluency in several languages, including Indian tongues, and declared that he exercised “more control over the tribes of the Sacramento than any man living.” Sutter had “played a conspicuous part in the history of this country” since 1838, Sherman wrote, “and is likely to continue his onward career.”35
When Mason and Sherman returned to Monterey they knew they were facing a serious problem. “The sudden development of so much wealth has played the devil with the country,” Sherman declared. “Everybody has gone [to the mines], save women and officers. Our soldiers are deserting and we can’t stop it,” he lamented. “A tailor won’t work a day, nor a shoemaker, nor any other tradesman,—all have gone to the mines. The sailors desert their ships as fast as they come.” Colonel Mason had been attempting to send reports to Washington, but no ship captain had succeeded in getting a crew together to sail. Sherman had carefully prepared a letter and map that Mason, after making a few modifications, finally got off to Washington, along with gold samples, as reliable evidence for the government that gold had indeed been discovered. As Sherman wrote his brother: “This is not fiction; it is truth.”36
Then, further complicating the army’s difficulties in California, came news that the Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo had concluded the war with Mexico. Although the treaty had been signed by the State Department’s chief clerk, Nicholas P. Trist, on February 2, 1848, ratified by the U.S. Senate on March 10 and officially accepted by Mexico in May, word did not reach Colonel Mason’s office until late summer, arriving by overland courier from Baja California. The United States would pay Mexico $15 million and assume the damage claims of American citizens against Mexico, which totaled $3.25 million. For her part, Mexico agreed to recognize the Rio Grande as the boundary of Texas from the Gulf of Mexico to El Paso, and cede to the United States the vast territory of New Mexico and Upper California. This area encompassed almost a million square miles, or approximately one-half of Mexico. It comprised all of the future state of California, and large portions of the states of New Mexico, Arizona, Utah and Nevada.37
Sherman viewed Guadalupe Hidalgo with disgust. “Great Jehovah, what a treaty!” he exclaimed. “A conquering army, in the country of an enemy, making such terms! No wonder we could not impress the Mexicans with respect for us. . . . If we were at war,” he raged, “we should never have made apologies for it by paying fifteen millions.” There were other provisions of which he disapproved. “Every article of the treaty,” he indignantly exaggerated to Captain Turner, “is just such . . . as Mexico would have imposed on us had she been the conqueror.”
Unimpressed that the United States was acquiring an enormous chunk of Mexican territory, Sherman complained because Mexico had not relinquished Baja California, a region where her government had exercised nothing more than “a shadow of an authority” for many years. He thought peace could not last long, since “the feeling of the Mexican people toward the Yankees is of such a hostile character.” The Mexicans, he declared, “deserve richly a better whipping than they got, and they will have to receive it before they are content.” Acknowledging Ellen’s sensitivities, which he characterized as “horrified at . . . war,” Sherman assured her that “you cannot imagine . . . the obstinate pride, egotism and nonsense [of the Mexicans.]”38
Regardless of Sherman’s disapproval of the peace treaty, and whether or not one sympathizes with his negative assessment of that document, he was certainly correct when he observed that “peace increases our difficulties.” The end of the war meant that the army’s volunteers had to be discharged. Hardly a hundred regular soldiers then remained in California, and they were making only seven dollars per month. “Of course they are deserting [to the gold country] as fast as they can,” Sherman reported, “and in a very short time there will not be a dozen left; and we officers will be alone . . . with heavy magazines and valuable stores unguarded.” (At one point a soldier who cooked for the officers deserted, carrying off Sherman’s prized double-barreled shotgun.) Peace also made California an American territory “in which the military officers can exercise no constitutional authority.” Thus, Sherman concluded in his August letter to Turner, “at a critical moment, all force, civil and military, is withdrawn, and the country filled with the hardest kind of a population of deserters and foreigners.”39
Actually, the “foreigners” were just beginning to appear in August 1848, relatively speaking. By 1849 people were coming to California from all over the world, as well as the eastern United States. During that year, according to the best estimates, more than 80,000 gold seekers, most having thrown caution to the wind, reached California. Only about half of them were Americans. A host of people came from Europe, some refugees from the failed revolutions that erupted across various European cities in 1848. A few were remarkable personages, like Lola Montez, lover of Duke Louis of Bavaria, who fled to California during the 1848 revolution in that country. The Gold Rush also attracted some of the first Chinese migrants to the U.S. Pacific coast. People came from South America and even from the far reaches of Australia.40
At the time gold was discovered, the population of California, excluding Native Americans, numbered about 14,000. Within four years, the count exploded to more than 220,000. San Francisco, an inconsequential village initially called Yerba Buena, leaped from a population of fewer than 500 to more than 20,000 inhabitants within a few months. Sherman poked a bit of fun at himself in his memoirs, recalling that an army acquaintance once advised him to invest in the little town of Yerba Buena. Sherman wrote: “I felt actually insulted that he should think me such a fool as to pay money for property in such a horrid place as Yerba Buena.” The population at the time, he said, “was estimated at about 400, of whom Kanakas (natives of the Sandwich Islands) formed the bulk.”41
Ninety-five percent of all the gold seekers were male. With an almost total absence of women (except for prostitutes), children and families, the society created by the men was unusually volatile and generally unsavory. Only a few of the adventurers became wealthy. Most of the “forty-niners” never struck it rich. Eventually they either returned home or, more often, stayed in California eking out a meager existence. There was also a class of men who made good money “prospecting” on the prospectors—that is, selling the gold seekers whatever they needed (or thought they needed), at greatly inflated prices. Sherman spoke the truth when he described the California atmosphere of the Gold Rush days as one of crazed excitement, greed and violence.42
While prices of just about everything skyrocketed, an army officer’s pay remained the same, and rapidly became inadequate. Not until 1850 did Congress increase the wage, and then by a mere two dollars per month. The situation was so distressing that Sherman formed a partnership with William Warner, a fellow officer, and Norman Bestor, a civilian, to run a store in Coloma. Each man invested five hundred dollars, according to Sherman, with Bestor in charge of the store. Sherman realized a profit of about 300 percent, which, along with trimming his expenses as much as possible, helped him to survive. His army pay was seventy dollars a month, and he declared that “no one would even try to hire a servant under three hundred dollars. Had it not been for the fifteen hundred dollars I had made in the store at Coloma, I could not have lived through the winter.”
Sherman also engaged in surveying, helping to organize a party to study the Sierra Nevada, in search of a possible railroad route through the massive barrier. William Warner was granted a leave of absence from the army in order to pick up extra money surveying. One of his clients was John Sutter, with whom he contracted to lay out the town of Sacramento. While working on the Sierra Nevada project, however, Warner was killed by Indians. Sherman wanted the guilty men punished, but the task proved impossible, particularly with the onset of a hard winter.43
While Sherman’s feelings about his friend are certainly understandable, many Native Americans in California suffered gravely as a result of the Gold Rush. It led, according to historian Alan Brinkley, “to an overt exploitation of Indians that resembled slavery in all but name.” Native Americans were apprehended for “loitering” and assigned to a term of “indentured” labor, and white vigilantes, calling themselves “Indian hunters,” sometimes killed them. “Conflicts over gold intersected with racial and ethnic tensions,” continued Brinkley, “to make the [California] territory an unusually turbulent place.”44
Although Sherman and his peers clearly found life more difficult as the gold seekers arrived by the tens of thousands, they did find time for occasional merrymaking. “The season [the winter of 1848–49] was unusually rainy and severe,” Sherman observed, “but we passed the time with the usual round of dances and parties.” Particularly notable was the commemoration of George Washington’s birthday. As was customary, Sherman said the army officers “celebrated the 22nd of February with a grand ball, given in the new stone school-house [in Monterey], which Alcalde Walter Colton had built. It was the largest and best hall then in California.” Sherman rated the ball “a really handsome affair, and we kept it up nearly all night.”45
But the periodic partying provided only limited relief from dull army duties, distasteful problems and disappointments. The winter of 1849 brought a change of command. In February Colonel Mason received orders to return to Washington. Sherman was very sorry to see him leave (Mason would die of cholera in St. Louis in the summer of 1850). Just before the colonel departed from California, he approved Sherman’s application for an extended leave, and he did it with a strongly worded endorsement. Perhaps Mason praised his lieutenant too highly. The new commander, Brigadier General Persifer F. Smith, declined to grant the leave. No doubt thinking that he could use such an able officer’s help in taking over his new command, he made Sherman his adjutant. Later, Smith did give Sherman a shorter leave.
Smith also decided to set up headquarters in San Francisco, which brought still more change for Sherman. He did not like leaving his friends in Monterey, but as he wrote Ellen, “it was to my interest” to go with Smith. Nor did he adjust well to San Francisco, where “the rains were heavy and the mud fearful. I have seen mules stumble in the street, and drown in the liquid mud!” he claimed. He stated in his memoirs that “gambling was the chief occupation of the people,” and said that “preachers . . . forgot their creeds and took . . . to keeping gambling-houses.” He told Ellen, “This country is worse than ever. A house can not be rented for any price and men will not hire for twenty times the wages of any other country on earth. I really don’t see how our officers can stand it much longer.” Declaring “my hopes in life are all destroyed,” he said that when the Second Infantry Regiment arrived, scheduled for May, he would make “a great effort” to get away, and go to the gold mines himself.46
Interestingly, Sherman recalled observing General Smith in San Francisco, more than once, “take off his hat when meeting a negro, and on being asked the reason of his politeness, would answer that they were the only real gentlemen in California.” Sherman stated in his memoirs that “the fidelity of Colonel Mason’s boy ‘Aaron,’ and of General Smith’s boy ‘Isaac,’ at a time when every white man laughed at promises as something made to be broken, has given me a kindly feeling of respect for the negroes.” This statement is striking in view of Sherman’s racism, and calls to mind his actions during the Civil War, when he often shook hands and talked with blacks who appeared in his path, especially during the marches through Georgia and Carolina. Might he have been remembering Smith’s attitude toward blacks in California?
Unfortunately, when the Second Infantry Regiment arrived, it presented a serious problem: the prospect of mass desertion to the gold fields. Twenty-eight men boldly and defiantly deserted for the gold mines. If these soldiers were not apprehended, quite possibly the whole regiment might follow. At the time, Sherman happened to be in Monterey with General Smith, who was staying at the house of former consul Thomas Larkin, while Sherman occupied “my old rooms” at the home of Doña Augustias. Learning of the deserters, and armed with a musket, Sherman led a group of seven volunteers, all officers since the soldiers could not be trusted, in pursuit. About six miles out from town, he and three other officers who had forged ahead easily captured six of the men, who neither expected to be pursued nor heard the sound of approaching horses until Sherman and the others were right on them.
Ordering one of the officers to march the prisoners back to Monterey, Sherman and the rest continued the pursuit through the night. By dawn, then riding at a gallop, Sherman was closing in on most of the other deserters, who had stopped at an old adobe house. “I had the best horse, and was considerably ahead [of the other pursuers],” he remembered. Upon looking back, he could see some more officers coming up fast. Thus he did not hesitate, galloping toward the house, brandishing his musket. Rapidly dismounting, he captured two men outside the adobe dwelling and, gesturing with his cocked weapon, ordered them into the house, which was filled with deserters. “They naturally supposed that I had a strong party with me,” he wrote, and “when I ordered them to ‘fall in’ they obeyed.” The other officers arrived to find Sherman disarming his captives. As in Florida when confronting the Seminoles, Sherman demonstrated aggressive leadership, bravery, good military instincts and quick thinking. While it was a small affair, Sherman relished the challenge and excitement, and certainly acquitted himself well.47
But such a brief little triumph could not offset the bad news that continued to plague him. He was quite upset when he heard that Colonel Mason had been promoted to brigadier general in recognition of his service in California. While pleased for Mason, Sherman felt embarrassed that he himself, after his loyal service, had not been promoted, an action that the army often took in recognition of an able lieutenant working with a colonel who had been elevated to brigadier. Never seeing combat during the Mexican conflict had been deeply disappointing, and struggling to survive economically made things worse. For the army to overlook him when his colonel had been promoted seemed too much. Self-respect, he said, compelled him to resign. He did write a resignation letter, but General Smith refused to accept it.
Instead, the general spoke encouragingly. Assuring Sherman that a promotion had to come in the near future, Smith also promised that “on the first good opportunity” he would send Sherman east as a bearer of dispatches for Winfield Scott, the army’s commanding general. In the meantime, Sherman and the other officers were urged by Smith, who was very aware of their financial hardship, to use their spare time wisely, and “go into any business that would enable [them] to make money.” Sherman sought more work surveying, sometimes paid partly in money and partly in land. From selling lots, and his surveying fees, he made a few thousand dollars. Always a keen observer, he noted that “the mass of people were busy at gold and mammoth speculation,” while simultaneously “a set of busy politicians were at work to secure the prizes of civil government.” Among those named in the latter category was John C. Frémont.48
Finally, at the end of 1849, General Smith prepared the promised dispatches and ordered Sherman to deliver them in person to General Scott in New York City. Sherman also agreed to escort two sons of Doña Augustias, aged eleven and thirteen, to Georgetown College in Washington to pursue their education. “The Doña gave me a bag of gold-dust,” said Sherman, “to pay for their passage and to deposit at the college.” Traveling by the steamship Oregon, he left California on January 2, 1850. Instead of going around the Horn, he journeyed across Central America by mule, boat and steamer, resuming the water trek in the western Gulf of Mexico, again on a steamship. “We reached New York about the close of January,” he wrote, “after a safe and pleasant trip.” What a marked and welcome contrast with his journey to California on the old sailing vessel Lexington. It was almost exactly three years since he had arrived in California. After “cleaning up somewhat,” Sherman said he delivered his dispatches to General Scott’s office, “and was ordered to dine with him the next day.”49
Sherman remembered that “the general questioned me pretty closely in regard to things on the Pacific coast, especially the politics,” when he dined with Scott, his wife, daughter and son-in-law the following evening. No doubt the general, who hoped to become president, besides recognizing Sherman as a bright young officer, was aware, too, that Sherman had grown up in the household of the influential Thomas Ewing. Scott proved to be a pleasant host. He also told Sherman several stories about his “old army comrades” in the recent battles around Mexico City. As Sherman listened, he said “I felt deeply the fact that . . . my comrades had fought great battles, and yet I had not heard a hostile shot.” But in view of future developments, General Scott’s most remarkable statement of the evening came, as Sherman remembered, “when he startled me with the assertion that our ‘country was on the eve of a terrible civil war.’”50