Transcribed by Janet Monti.

    From the Atlantic to the Pacific on foot in the old caravan days is a story left for but few to tell. Only here and there is spared a pioneer to tell the nation how the trail he trod has become a railroad, the opening in which he camped, a city.
    Among the band of fortune hunters who went from the Pine Tree State [Maine] to the western gold fields was Hiram Franklin Weymouth, hearty and hale and active at the age of seventy-six, living in comfort in the town of New Portland. Mr. Weymouth kindly consented to relate to the Journal the story of his life as a pioneer and gold digger with its hardships, dangers and thrilling escapades.
    Mr. Weymouth was the son of a trader and farmer of Freeman, Maine, who was a soldier in the War of 1812. His grandfather was an early settler of the town of Freeman. Hiram's early days were spent on the farm and in the store and he knew no idle moments. He attended the common schools of the town and continued in the high school, leaving off at the age of sixteen, when he was engaged to teach school in Kingfield. He followed this occupation for three years, teaching in the towns of Kingfield, Phillips and New Portland. In those days school teaching was a difficult profession but Mr. Weymouth's physical strength, stern manner, and thorough education combined, won for him an unusual degree of success.
    Following this for ten years until he was twenty-one, Mr. Weymouth worked in Boston in company with his brother in the lead pipe business and then came home to prepare for his western journey.
    "It was in September, 1851," began Mr. Weymouth. "I was twenty and my brother ten years older. Like many young lads then, who were full of life and ambition, we got the western fever. Horace Greeley was saying, 'Young man, go west,' and we were bound that we should go with the rest. Bent on making fortunes, but intending sometime to return home, I with my brother Levi said goodbye to our folks and set out. We had an uncle in Port Byron, Illinois, and that was our first destination. Our uncle was a farmer and miller, and we hoped that he might help us in our search for the golden opportunity to get rich.
    "At this time, ten years before the war, the Maine Central Railroad extended only as far as Readfield Corner. To Readfield we went, on that bright September morning, with merry hearts. We took with us our personal belongings and the fourteen hundred dollars we had saved from previous earnings, with which to get a start. At Readfield we took the train for Buffalo, N.Y. Reaching there we went to the head of Lake Michigan and took the boat across the lakes to Chicago.
    "The Chicago of today would not be recognized as the Chicago I saw. It was then a city of twenty-four thousand inhabitants. The sidewalks were all made of boards, and I remember how as I walked on them the low bilgewater came up through the cracks between the boards. There was only one railroad out of the city. That was the line to the Galena lead mines, with a thirty-mile branch road to Aurora.
    "We proceeded to Aurora, after looking over the new western city, and from there took a stage to Port Byron, a ride of four days. The memory of that trip on the stage coach will always stay with me. To you today that old stage coach would be an object of great curiosity. It was the first one of the kind I had ever seen. it was hung on through-braces and covered with dark cloth. it was so high from the ground that it seemed frightful to ride in it. The seats were plain boards. It would accommodate, I better say seat, seven. The coach was drawn by four horses. There were no roads. The trails were rough, and altogether it required an iron constitution to endure that ride.
    "Our companions on the journey were a German family.
    "The trails were unfenced and not a bridge spanned the streams. The fording was dangerous, too. Several times on the journey the horses became mired in the creeks and then we all got out and into the water up to our shoulders and helped the horses draw out the coach. Our clothes were a sight. These little occurrences were not pleasant but they were incident to traveling in the West in those days, and all pioneers experienced the same things.
    "Most interesting of all were the places where we lodged. The hotels were made of logs, crude and unfinished. Our fare was always fried meat, potatoes, bread and sauerkraut. We had to sleep in bunks made out of sticks, put across, and rest our heads on pillows of straw. Between the bunks, sheets were suspended for curtains.
    "In this way we reached Port Byron on the Mississippi. It was then a mere hamlet of some twenty houses; now its inhabitants number ten thousand! We walked three miles to the ranch of our uncle and found a welcome awaiting us.
    "The rolling prairies, large herds and rude log houses were a pleasing sight to our eyes that had longed for this scene. We were well pleased with the West and saw prospects for making money. At once we began with our little capital the business of buying and selling cattle among the farmers. Within two or three weeks we had handled fifty head of cattle, making a liberal profit.
    "In fall after the corn had been harvested, we hired a cornfield for our cattle. Here we made a large rick of hay, which we had bought to feed the cattle from. It was made pointed and enclosed in a fence so that at the base it would serve as a protection to the animals in wind and storm. Every day we went to our herd to see that they were safe, well fed and watered. The work was new to us, and in contrast to the slow methods of the East we took delight in it. In this way we carried our stock through the winter in safety.
    "One of the first questions I was asked when I became known in Port Byron was, 'Can you teach school?' In those days everyone who came from the East was supposed to be educated. I told them I could. In February of that winter I was engaged to have charge of a school in Coe township.
    "My first task was to get my certificate from the superintendent. There was a superintendent for each county. I had to go to Rock Island, eighteen miles away, on horseback. The superintendent inquired about my experience and recommendations and when I handed him a recommendation I had carefully preserved and taken with me from home, he gave me a certificate without another question.
    "Coe township had just been settled. Its settlers comprised almost every nationally, Yankee, Irish, Dutch, German and French. The places of abode, with the exception of one brick house, were all log houses or shacks without floors.
    "The schoolhouse itself had just been built, and I was to teach the first term of school held in the settlement. The schoolhouse was in the middle of the township. It sat out on the rolling prairie on a slight elevation. It was a crude affair made of rough logs. Inside there were benches for the scholars but not a single desk. I had a desk, made of boards. That was a luxury, by a special dispensation of Providence, I suppose.
    "The first day of school was more interesting than novel. While it was one of the most difficult days of my life, as I look back upon it, it is pleasant to recall. As I entered the schoolhouse, there were my pupils, fifty-five of them. A dozen nations were represented, from America to Sweden, and I guess most every state then in the Union. There was a good-natured-looking Irish lad and then a thick-set Pennsylvania Dutchman; here an honest-faced German and there a light-haired Swede. They came from a radius of two and a half miles.
    "When I undertook to organize the school I had my trouble. Each pupil brought the books he had used in the place from whence he had migrated and found a score of different texts. Besides this every family had its peculiarities, and had been accustomed to its peculiar method of instruction. Johnnie wanted to stand up and spell and Mary insisted on remaining seated. Patrick flew in a rage because I wanted him to sit in the seat next Elizabeth, who wore a big bow of orange ribbon.
    "I must leave you to imagine the multitude of troubles I had to contend with. At the beginning I selected the best books the pupils brought and, discarding the rest, organized the classes. Then I had to install into their minds the necessity of order in the room. The boys were rough, as the West had taught them to be. They were not vicious but uncouth. If they wanted to do anything at first they did it without asking permission. If one boy wanted something of another, he reached over and cuffed him with his book. But I got them out of these habits at last and the school prospered. The pupils were all eager to learn.
    "One family of children continued to come to school in such an unclean condition that one day I sent them home to be washed. After that there was distinct improvement in this direction.
    "Perhaps the next interesting part of my teaching was the way in which I was provided with board and lodgings. I was to receive a dollar a day and my board. In those days in Illinois the system of public schools was rather undeveloped, and in the remote settlement it was the custom of the teacher to board around at the houses of the school children's parents. So I, too, boarded around. The length of my stay at each place depended upon the number of pupils that household sent. If one child only were sent I stayed only a couple of days, and if five were sent perhaps I would stay two weeks.
    "They were hospitable people and would entertain in cordial Western style in the best way they could, but the best was usually an uncivilized way. The fare of course was poor. I ate off the same table with the family. The Germans fed well on sauerkraut and the Swedes gave me soup. The soup was always eaten from an immense pan placed in the middle, each helping himself with a big spoon. I being a teacher was given a bowl from which to eat my soup. I was usually given a bed-room in which to sleep, but the family always slept in hit-or-miss confusion in the main room, accompanied by a melee of cats and dogs. For fuel some of the settlers used to heap corn on the big open fire. The houses were just sheathed and it was frightfully cold. Oh, how I suffered!
    "At this time mining in California was at its height. We heard glowing stories of the abundant gold there and how scores of fortunes were made daily. Although we were making money in Illinois, that was nothing compared with the possibilities in California and we simply couldn't stay. We had the gold fever.
    "A party of twenty-one of us, all strong young men, at once began preparations to depart. My brother and I sold our cattle and left our notes and real estate which we had bought on Rock River in the hands of a friend in Port Byron and, joining the party, set out on March 29, 1852. Little did I know the hardship and danger I was going into. There was something fascinating about the thought of a journey to the Pacific in a caravan, and there still is, but such an undertaking in those days called for the sternest and most courageous qualities within a man's soul. It is not within my power to describe to you the conditions of the West a half century ago. You today cannot understand what such a journey meant.
    "We had seven wagons, three men to each. Each wagon was drawn by three yoke of oxen and four horses. You may be interested to know how our caravan wagons were made. They were in the shape of a boat, for crossing the numerous deep and dangerous unbridged creeks. The body was water tight, ten inches high with lifts above. It was turned up at the ends. Over the top were poles covered with white cloth. In our wagons we carried our baggage and provisions. Our food consisted of bacon, sea bread, crackers and beans, only the most concentrated sorts.
    "The first day we went eighteen miles to Rock Island to take the Mormon Trail, so called because it was the route the Mormons took in their westward flight after being driven out of Nauvoo, at the time when Brigham Young fled to Salt Lake City.
    "At Rock Island we crossed the Mississippi to Davenport in Iowa. Our course lay across that state to Council Bluffs. Iowa was then very sparsely settled. Sometimes we found a settler who would give us a chance to sleep and cook our food, but more often we camped on the trail where night overtook us. We crossed the Des Moines River at Raccoon Forks. One house comprised the settlement. The place is now Fort De Moines and is a city.
    At Raccoon Forks we left the Mormon Trail and took the buffalo trail. All caravans took this trail because the buffalo, with animal instinct superior to human reason, had chosen favorable places and traveled in a route that frequently touched springs of water. The trail consisted of three smooth and well-trod hoof-paths running side by side, and it made a good road on which to drive.
    "Our animals were heavily laden and we of course walked. Every night we lay down with aching bones. After a month we reached the Nebraska line, at Council Bluffs. Council Bluffs, the place where Lewis and Clark took council as to the best way to go on, then contained one hundred inhabitants; now it has more than one hundred and fifty thousand. At Council Bluffs we gave five dollars a wagon to have our caravan poled across the Missouri River in a flatboat.
    "Where the city of Omaha now stands there was then a little Indian village of the tribe of Pottawotomies.
    "At the Elkhorn River we made use of our wagons as boats for the first time. The river was too deep to ford and there were no flatboats. We took off the wagon bodies and poled them across with the running gear and provisions, swam our cattle and horses across and went on.
    "As we came on one trail well into the territory of Nebraska, my attention was arrested by the appearance in the distance of three strange mounds built upon the prairie. Curiosity prompted us to investigate. On the top of each mound was set a pole called a 'totem pole,' covered with strange carvings of pictures and characters. We knew this must be the work of Indians. The largest mound was some five feet in height and fifteen in circumference. Digging into this we came soon to an open vault, and in amazement drew back at the sight of a human form. There alone was seated upright the body of an Indian chief in his war paint and feathers. He faced the west. Around him were his bow and arrows, tomahawk and kettles. He was in for the journey to the happy hunting grounds. The presence of the air soon caused the flesh to drop from the bones. We replaced the earth and journeyed on.
    "We were now approaching the land of Indians, but those near we knew to be friendly, so we took no precautions against them. The Platte River we crossed and followed up its course. Soon we reached a grove of cottonwood trees. Looking up we saw strange objects suspended from the limbs. We learned that the Pawnee Indians lived there and that these objects in the treetops were dead bodies sewed up in skins. This was the way the Pawnees disposed of their bodies.
    "A little farther on we found another tribe of Indians, who had still another way of disposing of the dead. We camped near their village and one night we were awakened by the most unearthly, hair-raising yells and shrieks I ever heard. We hurried out and, approaching in the direction of the sounds, saw a big bonfire. The Indians were howling and dancing about it, and on the fire a dead body was being burned.
    "At this point we encountered buffaloes in plenty. From a point called 'Lone Tree' for 300 miles up the North Platte River was the territory known as the buffalo range. And you ought to have seen the buffalo grass. It was all buffalo grass. There was not a single twig or tree of any kind.
    "The first buffalo herd I saw made a great impression on me. There were some 250 in the drove, all on their way to the river for water. They met us on the trail and we had to stop and let them go by. They ran in the shape of a triangle. The bulls as leaders were at the head, the cows on the sides and the calves on the incide for their protection. It seemed as if those buffaloes must have exercised human reason to place themselves as they did. All the droves I ever saw ran in the same way.
    "That night I went out to shoot a buffalo for food. I saw the drove at rest, lying down promiscuously, and slowly crept up. At my first shot the animals arose, and at my second began to move about. In a twinkling the calves were in the center of the drove, the cows next and the bulls in the front, and drove ran away. I got my one buffalo, but the rest got safely away.
    "I did not like the meat. It was coarse and stringy. There was only one piece on the shoulders and the tongue that was fit to eat.
    "As we journeyed up the range we found plenty of deer and antelope. The antelope were especially fine to eat, but shy and hard to shoot. The drove always kept one animal out for a sentinel, and he would whistle when danger approached. There was one way in which we could shoot them. We had to creep up as near as we could and raise a handkerchief up above the grass with a rifle. The animals would see it and run away, but owing to their curiosity would soon return and stand a little nearer the signal. This was repeated until an antelope was so near that he could be shot. The antelope is now extinct. [No, it isn't.]
    "For miles and miles across the buffalo range we had not a twig of wood to build a fire with which to cook the food, but we devised a substitute by making used of the dried droppings of the buffaloes. 
    "We reached Fort Laramie on the 3rd of July, having been three months on the road and having traveled a distance of about a thousand miles. At Fort Laramie our hearts rejoiced at the sight of white men again. A company of United States troops were stationed there to fight the Indians.
    "After passing Fort Laramie our trail followed the Platte River in its bend to the southwest until it reached the spot where the Du Loup River enters it. The land here was the disputed territory among the several neighboring tribes. In our trail suddenly we came to a piece of land that looked like a bone yard. Human bones were lying in heaps and strewn about in all directions. It was indeed a gruesome spectacle, and I confess it made the cold chills run down my back and perhaps my hair started up a little. We were at loss to understand the meaning of these bones, but afterwards we learned how they came there. It seems that while the territory was being held by the Pottawotomies, in 1847, the Sacs, Sioux and Foxes fell upon them and murdered the whole village, and the heaps of bones were left to tell the tale."
Lewiston Journal Magazine, Lewiston, Maine, September 22, 1906, pages 1-2


    "From this time on we were in danger of the Indians. The tribes were on every hand, and while they were not usually disposed to kill, they would do so unhesitatingly if necessary in order to steal a horse or an ox.
    "By day we kept a watch out, and every night it was necessary to stand guard. We drove our wagons up in the form of a circle to serve as a stockade. The oxen we drove inside of this enclosure, but the horses we tethered just outside. For several yards on all sides we cut down every bit of brush and brushes so that no Indian could steal up, under cover, and take us by surprise. We divided the night into two watches and took turns on guard.
    "One night our guard gave the alarm. We hastened to our feet and beheld a band of Indians bearing down upon us. Not knowing what was their errand and hoping they came in peace we thought it best not to begin battle and did not fire. They came near and by signs made us understand that they wanted an ox for allowing us to go through their territory. We of course could not spare an animal and refused their request. The Indians proceeded to take their ransom by force. There were armed with bows and arrows and at a little distance fired into our midst. We at once returned with our rifles, at which the savages fled in terror.
    "In the skirmish two of our men had been struck with arrows. The points of the arrows had been made with sharp stones set in cement. The cement was of such a character that the warm blood had softened it, and when we removed the arrow shafts the points remained in the flesh, so deeply embedded that we could not get them out. The wounds were not dangerous but were very painful and disabled two of our number for the rest of the journey.
    "The De Loup River was one of the dangerous points on our route. The river was famous for its quicksands. It was shoal but treacherous. We did not dare trust to the cattle and horses to ford alone, and in order to guide them across we attached long ropes to the animals and ourselves entered the water to lead them hastily across. I shall never forget the peculiar sensation those shifting sands gave me. As I stood still suddenly my footing would be gone. By careful judgment and courage we got ourselves and our cattle and horses across in safety.
    "This was in the edge of Wyoming. Near here was a mighty rock, 50 feet high and 150 feet long. It was known as Independence Rock, because on its summit on the previous Fourth of July a couple were married. I mounted to the top of this rock and cut into it my name. I would give much to go there today and find my carving still preserved.
    "Our cattle became footsore from the continued journeying, and we found it necessary to dispose of all our surplus baggage and to couple up the wagons. Among the rest we destroyed some of our rifles. These we burned and bent their barrels so that the Indians would not find them and make use of them.
    "As we advanced the Rocky Mountains loomed up in the distance. The scenery was grand. Those rugged peaks as high as the sky in contrast to the rolling prairie were charming to the eye. We began the ascent and found it more difficult and dangerous than we had ever dreamed. Oftentimes along the pass we met a cliff so high and steep that we could not ascend it. Then we had to drive our animals around unencumbered and draw the wagons up with ropes by our own strength.
    "The life of the pioneer when he reached the Rockies depended upon his pluck and courage. Everyone must take responsibility and not fail in his duty. Before us hundreds of souls had been lost along that dangerous pass, a thousand miles from the Pacific and a thousand from civilization, and we knew it. We had elected a leader to have charge of the passage across and by obeying him we crossed in safety.
    "When we reached the Utah Valley and were proceeding on our journey from Bear Rock to Fort Hall, having rowed across the Bear River, one night we were overtaken by a large band of Indians. At first we were alarmed and prepared with our rifles to defend our lives and property but the old chief advanced as in peace and, dispelling our fears, told us by signs that his braves wanted to camp with us. These were the Shoshones and at that time they were at war with the Snakes. The chief pointed to his throat indicating that if we refused to allow them to conceal themselves in a flag-swamp near us, the Snakes would come and cut off their heads.
    "Beyond Fort Hall, which was in charge of the Hudson Bay Company at that time and settled by Scotch and half-breeds, we came to the forks of the trail. Here we found a barrel which served as a post office, only it was not within Uncle Sam's jurisdiction. It contained letters from travelers who had gone before telling things of value and interest to all who passed over the trail.
    "When we crossed Malheur and Burnt rivers, the salmon were so plentiful that it seems as if I might have walked across on top of the water. I never saw so many. For once on our journey we camped and had a feast. Indians too appreciated the good fish and several tribes inhabited the banks of the rivers.
    "Our trail led us through the Snake River and Grande Ronde valleys. The Grande Ronde is the most beautiful and picturesque spot I ever saw.
    "Here we came to the Cayuse tribe of Indians, known then as the most civilized in America. A missionary named Whitman came from Main in 1847 and taught them agriculture. Whitman himself was later murdered by the Indians at the instigation of a Roman Catholic priest who sought his position and finally the priest himself was killed as a rogue impostor.
    "We pushed on into Oregon, crossing the Snake River, passing the Cascades, Fort DeBoise and finally reaching Salem and the Willamette Valley, our destination, on the 16th day of August, having been three months and ten days in a caravan from Port Byron, Illinois. We sold our cattle and wagons and finding ourselves in good health my brother and I started for Jacksonville, in the Rogue River Valley, where the gold mines were.
    "As we crossed the Rogue River we found two men, [Davis] Evans and Howard, at work constructing a bridge. We were bound for the gold mines, but these builders offered us five dollars a day to help and we stayed with them. It was here that my brother was drowned and that I escaped a watery grave only by a hair.
    "The water where we were at work was deep, the shores lined with high bushy banks, and just below was a long, dangerous falls [rapids]. To say the least it was a precarious place in which to work. My brother and I and another man were attempting to get a log across to an island by means of a rope. The current struck the log, breaking the rope, and both our helper and I lost our balance and fell into the water. The water was deep, and just below was the falls. From above the heavy log was bearing down upon me. I was exhausted. I could see no way to save myself. My brother from the shore shouted to me: 'Hi, swim for those bushes opposite!' But I dared not swim across, fearing the log would strike and kill me. The current swept me down. Just at the falls the log overtook me. Instinctively I seized it with both arms. Then the thought came to me that my arms would be crushed on the rocks below and I quickly placed both hands on top of the log. Just as the log tipped to go down the falls I slipped my body down its length, and escaping the force of the water found myself in the smooth water below. Strong arms helped me to the shore, and I thanked God for my life.
    "My rescue though was not without sorrow. My faithful brother and helpmate, on my failure to obey his command believed me to be helpless, had jumped in to save me and lost his own life in the heroic attempt.
    "My next work was packing mules for the miners. Our packing train was from Eugene City to Scottsburg, Coos Bay, Humboldt Bay, and Jacksonville. We carried stores, flour and everything the miners could wish. The pack saddles were made of boards, securely strapped on, loaded on the top and equally on the sides. At the time the Indians were giving much trouble. They had killed several packers. Our trails lay in secluded places. Many times I was fired upon by the natives, but luckily I was not injured.
    "'Starvation winter' is a black page in the history of Californian gold mining. The fall of '51 the traders laid in a heavy stock of provisions, thinking that in the winter the trails over the mountain would be impassable. Then the trail remained open and the traders lost. So in 1852 the traders laid in no extra supply, and this time, as the winter months came, the heavy snow blocked up the trail and the region about was without supplies.
    "That winter 5,000 men faced starvation and for weeks suffered severely from the famine. Had it not been for an acre of potatoes that was planted by a good settler, all the lives would have been lost. Some foods could not be bought at any price. The first flour we got sold for ten dollars a pound, sugar was a dollar a pound and I paid ten dollars for an ounce of salt. I suffered much from hunger. At last the sun melted the snow and the trail was open again.
    "I decided to wait no longer, but to hasten into the gold mines. I went up the Rogue River Valley, passed Klamath Valley, where General Canby was ambushed and murdered by Cap'n. Jack, seeing Mount Shasta and Fremont's Peak [Lassen Peak?], the famous volcano, and arrived at Greenhorn Creek.
    "For a time I worked mining for another, but in June I bought out a claim in Yreka, and as last my dreams were realized. I was in a gold mine seeking a fortune. My claim ran across the creek, and I eagerly hunted for gold. I worked hard and long and every night was tired as a dog, but my efforts were not fruitless. I found gold.
    "Once I picked up a piece worth thirty-two dollars, and in three hours I took out two pounds. Mining of course was uncertain business, but fortune favored me.
    "Near Yreka was a river called 'Jump-Off Joe' Creek. You may be interested to know how it got its name.
    "The packers were continually being killed by the Indians, who always made their attacks in dangerous places. A packer named Joe [McLoughlin] was attacked by a band of Indians and cornered by a deep ravine and creek. Escape seemed impossible and with a whoop the savages rushed upon him to take his scalp. The creek was many feet wide but Joe ran to jump it. The Indians supposed he would be dashed to pieces on the rocks below but in the mighty leap he reached the opposite bank and laughed at the Indians on the opposite side. [None of the many stories of Joe's jump--or accidental fall--are substantiated.]
    "I know the Indians were devils and yet not all 'good Injuns were dead Injuns.' One night I went to the chief of the tribe living on the Rogue River and asked to be carried across. He wanted me to wait until daylight and I slept in his wigwam in comfort and safety.
    "The next morning when I was talking with the old chief (I could talk their language), he asked me if there were any more whites left at home in the East. I pointed to the leaves of the trees and told him that I was missed from the number at home no more than one fluttering leaf that had fallen to the ground was missed from the whole foliage. With a sigh the withered old chief spoke:
    " 'Many people live where you come from. Red men are few.'
    "The next thrilling event of my mining days was the murder of John Caywood and the lynching of his murderer.
    "On Greenhorn Creek was a poor fellow who has lost his eyesight and Caywood undertook to raise money to send him home. Going to the town, Yreka, he got of the traders a large sum of money.
    "While there he met a Frenchman who was an old acquaintance of his. The Frenchman took pains to inquire when and by what route Caywood was going back to Greenhorn Creek. The latter told him.
    "Caywood passed on horseback along the slope of the mountain, taking the lower trail. The Frenchman, as soon as Caywood was gone, hurried after, taking the trail over the top of the mountain. At a convenient place the Frenchman cut across to the other trail and when Caywood appeared shot and killed him. Two miners who happened to be near saw the murder and at once gave the alarm. The Frenchman in terror fled to town and gave himself up to the sheriff, who imprisoned him.
    "When the news reached us we were at dinner but no one stopped. Everyone with arms rushed to the town, which was already full of men. The three thousand miners meant business. They demanded the key to the jail and on its refusal broke in and seized the murderer. A justice was selected a jury and attorneys appointed. The trial was opened. The verdict was 'guilty.' Nearby was a pine tree. A suspended rope was tied around the Frenchman's neck. The murderer was placed on a horse and a horse was led away.
    "Those were stern days. The miners were not to be fooled with. Just previous to this lynching three murders had been committed among the miners and every murderer got free. The miners knew this sort of law and justice must not go on and they took the work of the courts into their own hands. The effect of this was salutary, for killing ceased at once. It was known that the miners meant business. They would never interfere to harm a fellow miner but when an outsider appeared he was at the mercy of the law of the miners.
    "A jury of miners always sat on disputes about claims arising among miners and without exception prompt justice was accorded to the disputants.
    "Gambling in those days was the principal amusement. Fortunes were won and lost in seconds. The law of the courts did not reach the gambling dens and men shot and killed unhesitatingly.
    "I happened to witness one shooting affair among the gamblers. Charlie Foster, a rough miner, was playing a Spaniard. The two were 'bucking' or betting when a certain card would turn up in the pack. Foster slyly stole out three aces from the pack and hid them up his sleeve. The fourth ace came up and the Spaniard, being led into the trap, bet that another ace would come up before a king. Foster won big stakes. The Spaniard mistrusted cheating and started to examine the pack. Foster drew his revolver and shot the Spaniard dead in his tracks.
    "Had the Spaniard been a miner the miners' court would have sat on the case and doubtless hung Foster, but since he was not, the miners did not interfere. No gambling quarrel was inquired into so long as no fellow miner was killed.
    "On the trail from Yreka to Trinity Bay was a big tree of considerable interest to me. At the base the inside had been burned out and we had an enclosure there that served as a large house where we stored our provisions when on our packing journeys. Nearby was a tree so large that the trail led through it and a coach and four horses could pass through.
    "In the spring of 1854 I became homesick. I was tired of the rough Western life, and besides there was a little girl back home who was dear to me. I sold out my claim for a thousand dollars and walked 125 miles over the mountains to Red Bluffs, where I took a boat for the Isthmus. Coming by way of Central America, I reached home in May. I married, and at first settled in Wilton, but in 1864 came here, where I have since lived."
    In the town where he resides, Mr. Weymouth has always been a leader. He has held at some time every town office except that of collector of taxes. For eighteen years he was on the board of selectmen, serving as chairman ten years. For the past three years he has been town treasurer. For nine years he has been president of the Carrabassett Creamery Company and for ten years president of the New Portland Mutual Fire Insurance Company. In '67-'68 he represented his district in the legislature.
    For Mr. Weymouth nature has done much. He has ability as a public speaker. His judgment is sound, and his opinions carry weight. He is a natural leader of men.
    In physical makeup Mr. Weymouth appears a typical son of the rocky farms of Northern Maine. His figure, six feet in height, still straight, and his broad shoulders do not betray the seventy summers and winters they have seen, and little evidence those years of hardship as pioneer and gold miner. Only the greatest endurance and strongest constitution could have withstood unharmed a journey on foot to the Pacific amid such troubles and dangers as were connected with Mr. Weymouth's migration to California.
    The house where Mr. Weymouth lives is the first framed structure ever built in New Portland. Its appearance has been somewhat changed by improvement but the same timbers remain. The farm itself consists of a most charmingly beautiful intervale, bordering on the south of the picturesque Carrabassett River, near East New Portland village.
Lewiston Journal Magazine, Lewiston, Maine, September 29, 1906, pages 2-3



Last revised November 15, 2024