JOHNSON HISTORY FAMILY MANUSCRIPTS

OUR PIONEER MOTHER
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CHAPTER IV

OWENS RIVER - CALIFORNIA

      In the spring of 1866 my husband went to Owens River, California, to see what work he could find. There were a few settlers in this part of the country and the prospect looked good, so he returned to El Dorado where he bought provisions that would last us a year, and enough grain for the spring planting. We moved to Owens River. There we bargained for a ranch, buying a Quit Claim deed to the land. There was a shanty on the place and the ranch was fenced. We put in our crops immediately.
      One day a big herd of cattle was being driven by the place. These cattle had never been in a corral and were frightened at the sight of a man on horseback.
      My husband traded his best span of mules for eight cows and their calves. We could not drive them into the corral, so the two of us on horseback surrounded them. My husband on a third horse would jump off, catch a calf and tie it down, then he would catch another and so on until all the calves were all tied. We then loaded them in the wagon and unloaded them into a strong pen inside the corral. Then we tried to drive the cows into the corral, but could not, so we went away leaving the gate open.
      The cows began circling around, coming closer and closer to their calves. Everything was so very still. We dared not speak or let a child cry. The moments were tense; - then, the cows all went in, timid and frightened. As the last one entered, my husband jumped out of a grass overgrown ditch and closed the gate.
      Two of us went into the corral on horses and separated one cow from the others and Neils lassoed her and tied her up. We did this till all the cows were tied; then we got off our horses and quietly approached them and touched them, and gently patted them, then milked them and fed the calves the milk. We left the cows tied during the night, with the calves loose in the pen. In the morning we again milked the cows and let them loose in the corral. When milking time came in the evening we had to tie the cows again. My husband, Hanna, and I were very gently with them. We moved quietly and spoke in soft voices, and in course of time the cows became quiet and gentle, except one which would hook and kick and even bite. We always had to tie her head and her feet when we milked her. When it was time to untie her we had to go outside the fence and reach in. We had to unfasten her head first, for if we would untie her feet first she would kick and never allow us to get near her head. After a time she broke her leg, so we killed her and sold the meat to the Indians.
      That year we made five hundred dollars worth f butter. We packed it in barrels and carried it to the mines near Mono Lake, and to Independence, where we sold it.
      We bought seven more cows from a herd which was being driven through the country. They were footsore and tired out, but otherwise in good condition. One steer was so footsore he would no leave the yard. My husband decided to drive him away, so he took an iron rod from the wagon endgate and faced the weary animal. He struck with such force that the rod swung out of his hands and as he was whirled around the steer horned him at the seat of his trousers and tossed him away. I ran out to help and the steer took after me, and would have hooked me; perhaps, have gored me, but he ran against a rope tied from the wagon to the fence. We killed and sold him to the Indians. The others were allowed to range. Someone stole two of them, and finally we sold the others.
      The next spring, 1867, we made and sold at Independence, four hundred dollars worth of butter. A woman who wished to bring discredit upon our butter, because she too made butter, kept saying untruthful things about it, but her husband told her that she must be more careful in making hers, for it was dirty. Ever after that, this woman was called "Dirty Butter."
      Men often wore buckskin pants, and when we had the skins I would make the pants for anyone who ordered them. I would cut out the pants and sew them by hand with a three-sided needle. One time my husband wished to sell a pair to a young man, but he said, "No, I do not want a pair for i have no wife to wash them for me." He evidently knew nothing of buckskin, for no woman could handle a pair of wet buckskin pants, and besides such pants were never washed.
      On May 24, 1867, at Owens River, California, another little son was born to us. Charles Willden Johnson. We were twenty-five miles from any neighbor, so my husband and I cared for our baby alone.

ELIZABETH LAKE

      For fear there would come a time when there would be trouble over irrigation water, we decided to leave Owens River. So in the fall of 1867 we sold out everything but four horses and a wagon for a thousand dollars.
      We started on our way to Los Angeles. A terrible storm came up so we stopped at Elizabeth lake. We were wet through, and no dry clothes to change into so we had to wear our wet ones. The baby, Charles, had croup and there was no dry place where I could put him.
      We found a big deserted house and moved in, where we hurriedly got our little stove set up and made a fire of old scraps and trash left in the house. We remained here a number of days, until the stormy weather was partially ended.
      One day, while we were in this house, Christina had a knife in her hand. An older sister in taking it away from her, drew it through her closed fingers and her thumb was almost cut off. We were very much afraid of blood-poisoning, but the wound healed nicely, though the scar remained.

SAN FRANCISQUITO CANYON

      When we left Elizabeth lake it was still somewhat stormy and the creeks were full of water. As we drove down San Francisquito Canyon we came to a ditch about four feet deep and two feet wide that was cut across the road by the rushing waters.
      We were all in the wagon, - father, mother and five children. The old fashioned lantern, with its three-sided glass chimney was hanging from one of the front bows. The tub of dishes was on top of the other household goods.
      The horses objected to crossing the ditch, but Neils "rushed" them and they jumped across, but the wagon went down as the banks caved in. The front wheels were on the bank with the back ones in the ditch. the dishes came tumbling down upon us, but no harm was done. The glass in the lantern was broken and some of the children were cut.
      In an hour or two, after much digging, we managed to get the wagon out, and thankfully continued our journey.

SAN FERNANDO

      We arrived in San Fernando that evening. We had supper, then put our supplies under the wagon and slept in the wagon.
      During the night the Mexicans stole all our food, so for breakfast there was nothing. We went to a nearby house to see about getting food. The house was occupied by a Negro and his Mexican wife. We disliked to eat here, for the people did not look very clean and the house was dirty, but there seemed nothing better anywhere.
      They gave us breakfast for fifty cents each. We had tortillas, the Spanish word for pancakes, and frijoles, the Mexican name for red beans. We also had burned coffee for our meal. We bought tortillas and frijoles for lunch and went on our way.