Historical Accounts
of Sonoma County and it's Residents
Cyrus Alexander
James Woods, Church Work in California 1850-1860
The first church over which I was installed by the Presbytery, as permanent Pastor, was at Healdsburg in the Spring of '60. I had organized the church two years previous, and supplied it a good deal, up to the period of my installation. The first time I visited Healdsburg was--as a son of the Emerald Isle would say--before it had existence. It was then known as Heald's Store. Harmon Heald had established a store there, and had for a partner H. M. Wilson, now a wealthy and leading citizen. The only other buildings were Mr. Heald's residence, a black-smith shop and saloon. A few months subsequent I visited the place again, and preached in a new building, partly finished, to be used as a hotel. By this time, scattering houses began to be erected upon both ends of the locality, known as Heald's Store. The first name by which the village was designated, was Stringtown. Mr. Heald laid his land out into town lots, and Healdsburg soon grew with astonishing rapidity.
A few miles from Healdsburg, in Alexander valley, on Russian River, lived Mr. Cyrus Alexander. He had been an Elder in my church at Santa Rosa, and when I organized the church at Healdsburg, he transferred his connection to that church. He was a man of large wealth, and had a generous, liberal heart. The Presbyterian church on the Plaza, in Healdsburg, was very largely a gift from him. The Alexander Academy, in Healdsburg, was a donation from him to the Benicia Presbytery. He was one of the few men of great wealth, whom I ever met, that was sufficiently satisfied with his riches, as not to toil and strive for more. He deemed it his duty to take care of the property which Providence had placed in his hands. Hence he was provident and economical. At the same time he was very generous and liberal.
His early life was one of adventure and romance. When twenty-one, he left his native home in Pennsylvania, and sought the wilds of the Rocky Mountains, as a trapper of wild animals. Adventure and fortune were the prompting motives of his rough, perilous life. Furs then commanded a high price. Fortunes were sometimes rapidly accumulated by traffic in them. John Jacob Astor commenced the accumulation of his vast fortune by dealing in furs. Before young Alexander's ardent eye, the star of hope burned brightly, for he anticipated the gratification of his love of adventure, and of riches. Amid the mountain wilds, he would encounter the bear, the panther, and the wildcat; and when the perils would thicken around him, his courage would rise, and his spirits glow. And just as the mountain eagle loves to breast the dark tempest, and beat back, with strong wing, the whelming cloud, so would he exult amid the wildest tempests of peril which might break upon him.
In the company of several others of the same daring and hope, they took their way into the desert wilds of the mountains. They had not been in the mountains many months, till adverse fortune met them. While the star of their destiny seemed burning bright, hope buoyant, and their hearts light as the mountain air around them, suddenly the shadow of a dark cloud gathered over them. A horde of wild savages dashed in upon them. They escaped barely with their lives and guns. Their horses, blankets and provisions were all captured. They were a thousand miles away from the abodes of civilized man, and there was no other alternative than to start on a journey of a thousand miles towards the settlement. Amid snow, and hail, and sleet, without blankets or food, they toiled on their weary way. Fortunately, with their guns, they occasionally found a bird or some small game for food. Day after day, the weary little band toiled on their gloomy journey. Day by day the star of hope which had cheered them on, became more and more dim, and the cloud of gloom grew into a deeper darkness. At length, when despair began to gather blackness upon their path, they descried a group of horsemen upon the opposite hill. For a time, sickening horror seized upon them, for they supposed the horsemen were hostile savages. But what was their almost overpowering joy, when they discovered that it was another hunting party who had providentially met them. But for this, the whole company must have perished, amid the snows and sleet of the mountain blasts and wintry storms.
After remaining several years in the mountains, trapping for furs--satisfied with adventure, and finding no wealth, young Alexander found his way into California in 1833. On one occasion, while going down the Colorado river, with nine others in a boat, they were all upset. All could swim except Alexander, and all were drowned except him. He clung to the upset boat. The others struck off for the shore, but were overpowered by the strong current, and sunk to a watery grave. The boat floated down the river a long distance and struck on a bar, and he waded to the shore.
Protected by a kind Providence, he fell in with the Fitch family, and for his labor and fidelity, received a large tract of land on Russian river, Sonoma county. In a few years after the discovery of gold, he became immensely wealthy. Unlike many, who in their early years, led a roving, adventurous, perilous life, Mr. Alexander was always sober, sedate, and retiring. He was never profane, intemperate, or in any way immoral. He was not, until recent years, a professor of religion, but had a native element of intellect and heart, that produced an external deportment as correct as any Christian. In '56, he made a public profession of religion and joined the Presbyterian Church.
A few years before he died, he received a shock of paralysis that shattered his strong frame, so that it soon became evident that the earthly tabernacle would ere long crumble into the dust. As it often happens to those who have been remarkably strong, he lingered on until the mind became enfeebled with the body, and at times he did not recognize his most familiar friends. But when he left this world, he undoubtedly entered into that rest that remaineth for the people of God. He is now where paralysis can never touch the soul; where the mountains of glory afford him happier bliss than he ever dreamed he could enjoy on the mountains of earth. He was the best friend I have ever had. To him under Providence I am indebted for a quiet home, where I can spend the evening of life serenely beneath shady bowers; under my own vine and fig-tree, where none can molest and make me afraid. Next to my own parents or kindred, I never expect to retain so cherished and grateful a memory of any one, as of Cyrus Alexander.
A Trip Across the Plains and Early Life in California
By Amanda Ellen Faught
Contributed by James Wesley Rawles
In the month of April, 1850, after considerable thinking and planning, my father, William Faught, with my brother, James, and a party of about six or seven other men decided to make a trip across the plains to California. In those days the only means of travel was by wagons drawn by horses and oxen, and provisions for the whole trip had to be carried with them.
The week before they left was full of excitement in the neighborhood, as well as in our home. Everybody for miles around gathered at our house to hear my father tell his plans and to watch his preparations to start for the new country. My father wanted to leave very quietly, without saying good-bye to anyone, and especially to his own children, as he said he could not stand to do so. But the night before he started there was no sleep in our house, and early in the morning, about daylight, we heard him talking with mother, telling her good-bye, and leaving messages for all of us. I was ten years old at that time, and can remember plainly how we felt, almost as though he was leaving never to return, as he was starting on a long and very dangerous trip, and we had no way of hearing from him until long after his arrival in California, his first letter being received just about one year from the time he left. It had come around the horn by by steamer and then be carried by ponies to where we lived. After that we would hear from him once in six months. We were living at that time about four miles from Drakesville, Iowa, and when my father had his wagons all packed and ready to start, he drove to Drakesville to see Uncle Willis Faught, and from there took his final leave and began his trip across the plains, which took him just six months.
On the way they saw many Indians, but had no serious trouble with them. On one occasion they narrowly escaped an attack by my father unconsciously giving them a sign in response to one from them, which proved to be a Masonic sign and was instantly recognized by the Indians, who, it seems, were Masons. The chief approached my father and in broken English said: You heap good man; you go. He instantly signaled the Indians, who were dancing the war dance and making the peculiar yells which mean trouble, and everything became quiet and peaceful. The chief then ordered them to go on across the river, which they were glad to do. The cause of this outbreak, it seems, was some injury done to them by a previous train, and they were ready to avenge themselves upon any white man, no matter how innocent. My father always felt that Masonry saved their lives, and as soon as possible joined the Masonic Order and remained a true Mason until death.
Arriving in California, they went directly to Sonoma County and took a claim of 160 acres about four miles from Petaluma, afterwards known as Liberty and Iowa districts, our home being just between the two districts. He remained in California about three years, visiting the miners in Placer County, where he left his teams and returned with my brother, Jim, and John Laughlin in October, 1853. They crossed this time with pack mules and made the trip in about the same length of time. He was welcomed home as a hero from the war, and our house became the center of attraction for miles and miles around. We were crowded night and day with relatives, friends and strangers, listening to my father's wonderful tales of the golden west, and preparations were soon begun for another trip to take his family and any relatives and friends who cared to join our party, which has to leave in the spring of 1854.
Our party consisted of nineteen wagons, oxen and horses, and about twenty-five people; among them were Uncle Willis and Aunt Ellen Faught, Mollie (Mary Jane Goodman), Cass (Cass Ann Gilman) and Sallie Faught (Mrs. Sarah E Tucker), John and Matilda Laughlin, Uncle Jabe, Aunt Rena (Lurena Faught), Armstrong, Job and (Louis) Cass Faught, William, Elizabeth (Nancy Faught's daughter by her first marriage), Frank Benton, Jane and Anise Dalton, Nan Carter, Thomas, Polly (Faught), Samantha and Bill Van Winkle, my father and mother (William and Nancy), brother Jim, William, Jeff, sister Nancy, and myself. If any others were along, I have forgotten their names. We left Drakesville April 19th, 1854, which happened to be my birthday, went to Uncle Willis Faught's, where the party all gathered, and from there we started on our trip to the New World, it seemed to us.
Our provisions consisted of all kinds of dried meats - ham, bacon, salt pork - dried fruits, rice, and meals of all kinds, eggs packed in salt, the salt being feed to our cattle on the way. We also drove cows, so had milk, cream and butter, the butter being made by putting cream in the churns in the morning and simply allowing it to stand. The constant motion of the wagons churned it into butter. We also had tea, coffee, sugar, all kinds of spices, dried beans, and plenty of flour to make bread, which we backed in ovens over camp-fires. We lived well and had very little sickness in our train. Our only sick person, I remember, was Nan Carter, who had a very severe case of Erysipelas and we had to take turns watching and nursing her day and night. I will never forget my turn at night. We were crossing the desert and it was a beautiful bright moonlight night, so I could see all around me and could imagine ourselves attacked by all kinds of wild animals as well as Indians, and it seemed to me the night would never end. In the morning we crossed the river and were in much pleasanter country.
During the trip across the desert we would often stop and camp for a few days to rest our teams, and the men would give the oxen and horses a drink of water in small canteens, as my father said, to encourage them. If they became too tired they would lie down and refuse to go on. My father understood how to care for his teams and we lost none on the way. Indians often came around our wagons and camps and begged for food, principally sugar - they were very fond of sweets. We always gave them a little to keep them friendly, but could not spare much as we had a long trip ahead and no way of renewing our supplies.
My father saw large Indians, called the Flatfoots, walk across the rivers, only sinking down a short distance. Uncle Willis Faught was very anxious to bring an Indian boy to California with him and finally persuaded a handsome young Indian to come with him. He stayed about three days with us, and one morning, Indian boy and Uncle Willis' best gun had disappeared. He decided not to adopt an Indian boy.
We carried lots of guns and ammunition on our train and occasionally killed wild game, although it was scarce along the trail, having been frightened away by previous trains. We would see buffaloes in the distance, but never killed any. We girls walked a great deal on the trip and often wandered a long ways ahead of the trains, coming to rivers and, taking off our shoes and stockings, would wade and play in the water for a long time. This was going on for some time before my father knew of it. One evening he called us all around the camp-fires and told us of the danger of our being carried off by Indians, and it wasn't necessary to repeat his warning - we stayed close to the wagons after that - and sometimes were allowed to ride on the horses, but I always feel and say that I walked to California.
My father would often fish in the rivers and I remember one day of seeing him come to camp with a pole on his shoulder and two fish - speckled trout - on each end, that reached almost to the ground, and my father was over six feet tall.
We usually traveled from ten to fifteen miles a day, varying according to the kind of country we were passing through. On the mountain roads we had to go very slowly, resting our teams very often, and when we reached a nice grassy place, would stop and let our horses and cattle eat green food, and it was an interesting sight to watch them, after so many weary miles of travel across dry and barren country.
We were shown a tree where the Indians had hung and skinned a innocent white man because of some supposed injury done them. When death occurred on the plains, the corpse was rolled in a blanket and put in a rough wooden box and buried in the road to prevent the Indians from discovering the grave and digging into it for blankets and clothes, which was their custom.
I remember one morning my sister, Polly Van Winkle, got up from her seat at the table, the seat being an oxen yoke, and an old squaw instantly took her place. My father, who was a quick tempered man, was angry in a minute and picked up a large whip to strike her. Had he done so we would have no doubt been instantly massacred, but fortunately someone grabbed the whip in time to prevent trouble. It was necessary to be on guard continually, night and day, as it was impossible to tell when Indians were ready to attack a train. On my father's first trip they had an epidemic in cholera and one death, but we had nothing of that kind at all. My mother was quite sick with mountain fever, but soon recovered.
We crossed the line into California in August, 1854, and Aleck Laughlin was born in Woodland, Ca., just as we arrived in California. There was a great deal of rejoicing over the arrival of a baby in camp. We drove down the valley, camping all the way, until we reached my father's claim in October, 1854, and continued to camp during the winter, while the men went to the redwoods near Guerneville and hauled back lumber to build a house. It was a beautiful warm winter, very little cold weather, and we felt we had surely reached the land of eternal sunshine.
At that time Petaluma was only a small village. As near as I can remember there were two or three blacksmith shops, the American Hotel, a small dry goods store, one grocery store, kept by Messrs. Hill and Dodge. It was there we took our eggs, butter and produce and exchanged them for groceries. There were a few dwellings houses, among them the home of I. G. Wickersham. The only way to reach Petaluma at that time was by the Creek Route; later a small car ran up from Donahue, where the boat landed at that time. There were no gas, electric lights, water system, or telephone.
The William Hill who kept the grocery store was the same who afterwards owned the Hill Bank, and we were always firm friends until his death. Messrs. E. Denman and H. Meacham were there, living on ranches near Petaluma. About three years after I arrived in California, I became acquainted with James L. Dinwiddie, who had just returned from the mines in Placer county, where he and Charles H. Dillion, now Police Judge of Petaluma, were boys together. Mr. Dinwiddie, who was living in Petaluma then, came often to our house. We were married on November 11th, 1858. We then moved to Salmon Creek, near Tomales, Marin county. It was a dairy county, but not thickly settled as now. We often had trouble with bears and other wild animals carrying off our stock, and I well remember how frightened I would be when the men would take the guns and start off on a bear hunt. I can recall one man being killed, but the bears were great fighters when attacked.
We lived there about three to four years, then moved to Windsor, where we first met Mr. and Mrs. Sam West, who were near neighbors to us. A short time later my father and mother came there and lived in Mr. West's house, while they went to Nevada. From that time a warm friendship sprang up between our two families and has continued to grow stronger as the years have gone by, having always kept in close touch with each other and having passed through many bitter and sweet experiences together. Mrs. West, now Mrs. M.G.W. Stedman, and I still cling to that sacred tie of early friendship and we were always Uncle Jim and Aunt Mandy to her children.
After a few years we returned to Petaluma and took charge of the Revere House on Main Street, then one of the best hotels in the town, and owned by Mr. Stockdale. While living here the first railroad was built through Petaluma and when finished to Guerneville the whole town and country celebrated by going on a basket picnic to the redwoods. It was a day of great rejoicing and we all had a glorious time in the heart of the big trees. Before the railroad was built all produce from Petaluma had to be hauled by teams to the old haystacks, from where it was shipped to San Francisco. The jingle of bells on the teams could be heard night and day, as the road was thickly lined with them all the time.
The rest of the party who came to California with us scattered about Sonoma county. Uncle Willis, Uncle Jabe Faught, John Laughlin and Thomas Van Winkle all settled at the Mark West Creek. William Dalton and family moved to Petaluma and afterwards to a ranch near Petaluma. The first death in our family was my half-sister, Elizabeth Dalton, who was the first person buried at Liberty Cemetery. After her death, my mother took the four children, Frank, Benton, Anice, and Jane, and kept them three or four years, until William Dalton married again, when he took them to his home near Petaluma. None of the party who came with us ever settled very far from the spot where our faithful oxen landed us in October, 1854.An Illustrated History of Sonoma County, California
1889, Chicago, The Lewis Publishing CompanyContributed by James Wesley Rawles
Rawles of Mendocino County Genealogy
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