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From One Place To Another

It was less than fifty years from Columbus' landing to the day when a dying De Soto explored the Mississippi River. Yet, in this short span of time, the world began to move. There were uncharted seas for a Vespucius and a Magellan to sail and lands unknown to white men for Ponce de Leon, Cartier and Cortez to see. Whether these ambitious expeditions were the result of material greed or just plain curiosity is not the point. What is important is that wherever there is a frontier there will be men, even if they have to walk to get there. And many of them did.

Alvar Nunez Cabeza de Vaca was one. With three other survivors of an ill-fated Spanish expedition to Florida in 1528, he managed to escape across the Gulf of Mexico and for eight years wandered among the tribes of what later became New Mexico and Arizona. Pack on back, he walked the great grasslands, came to the desert escarpments, looked down on butte and mesa, waterless seas of cacti and brittle brush. Wherever he went he found that red men had walked before him. And on the high plains of Texas he must have noticed that buffalo had walked before them.

It was the buffalo that were the real road engineers of the Great Plains. Centuries before the first Spaniard set foot in America buffalo had marked their routes from watercourse to watercourse across a world of grass as flat as the ocean. They had established for themselves, and those who followed, the "superhighways" of their day. Secondary roads and detours were designed by deer and antelope. Indians made good use of all these pathways in their constant search for game.

All the native tribes of North America, except the Eskimos, engaged in some form of inter-group trade. And most of these tribes had to wander far and wide just in their normal food-gathering activities. Gettin from one place to another, then, was a necessity of Indian life long before Cabeza de Vaca walked the West - and long before the three tiny ships captained by Columbus touched the coast of San Salvador.

In 1540, Francisco de Coronado set out with his entourage from Compostela, a town some hundred and fifty miles south of the later-day Mexican resort city of Mazatlan, his purpose was twofold: to find wealth in the fabled "Seven Cities of Cibola" and to impress his religion on the aborigines. To hasten the former and to add a powerful persuasion to the latter he was accompanied by a magnificent military array of foot and horse, as well as a multitude of friendly Indians. According to the records which have been preserved 559 horses were listed as being part of his parade of officers and lancemen, while upwards of a thousand horses and mules were catalogued as beasts of burden. Although Coronado captured the seven Zuni pueblos of New Mexico in midsummer of that year, he found no fabled wealth. Hoping that other cities whose wealth had been mistakenly attributed to these might lie ahead, he plodded eastward across the Rio Grande and then northward into the plains of Kansas only to be disappointed again.

For the next half-century New Mexico and Arizona simmered in the desert sun, undisturbed by conquistadores. A few priests eager to save the souls of red-skinned pagans disappeared forever in the desolate country, and at least five feeble expeditions ventured unsuc cessfully northward, but it was not until 1598 that Don Juan de Onate established a permanent Spanish foothold in what would be the southwestern United States.

Onate was very different from the earlier conquistadores. Unlike Cortez, Cabeza de Vaca and Coronado he was not Spanish-born, nor did he need to look to Spain to finance his projects. A true Mexican "senor," or lord, his wife was a granddaughter of Cortez, and his father had founded the prosperous city of Guadalajara. Inheriting great wealth Don Juan de Onate also inherited his people's spirit of conquest, as well as the persistent idea that perhaps the real "Seven Cities of Cibola" did stand somewhere in the unexplored north.

So it was that this Mexican grandee and 400 soldiers, 130 of them with their families, set off from Zacatecas for the 700-mile march across roadless deserts to the Rio Grande (at El Paso). The column drove 7,000 head of livestock. Horses, mules and burros served as mounts and pack animals. In addition baggage was transported on eighty-three crude two-wheeled carts called carretas.

In all probability Juan de Onate left his carretas near the future site of El Paso, for the way ahead along the river was rough and he traveled another 300 miles into the heart of the pueblo country before settling at two adjoining Indian villages, which would be pointed out to tourists 350 years later as the quaint and devout mission of San Juan. From here Onate made expeditions east and west seeking the "Seven Cities" but all to no avail. The date and manner of his death remain a mystery. His immigrants soon moved to the site of another Indian pueblo which became known as Santa Fe, capital for other Spanish settlers who followed.

The Spaniards brought many things to these Indians besides Christianity. Among them was the wheel and the know-how for building carretas so important to later generations of Pueblo Indians. The carreta was a simple vehicle, not too difficult to make. At rest it resem bled a woodpile and in motion it sounded much like a pig caught by the ear. Sometimes lubricants were used to eliminate the howling of the wooden axles, but, in the main, the nerve-shattering sound would precede the vehicle, serving as both a warning and identification. The carreta rolled on rimless wheels made from a slice cut from an oak log, through which an eight-inch hole for the axle was chiseled at a reasonable approximation of the center. Sometimes the wheels were made of sections crisscrossed in a rather helter-skelter fashion and secured by pegs. The crate or box that formed the body was usually held together by pegs and thongs.

The design doubtless came from the Old World, and its appearance in the American West can be traced back to at least the i600's. The California pioneer, John Bidwell, in his reminiscences of the days before the gold rush, wrote, "I have seen the families of the wealthiest people go long distances in such carts." By this he meant thirty miles in one day. However, the backs of sturdy horses and tough burros and mules continued to provide the mainstay of travel and transportation in the West with the establishment of the presidio, or garrison, and mission and rancho life.

The routes over which most traffic moved were called caminos reales, which could be interpreted literally as royal roads but which were actually nothing more than crude bridle trails. One such casually defined path, El Camino Real in California, later called U. S. High way ior, formed links in the chain of Spanish coastal missions and garrisons. Over this historic trail traveled the padres and rancheros, traders, adventurers, soldiers and officials most of whose names are forgotten. Remembered would be Father Junipero Serra and Captain Gaspar de Portola, who were the founders of Alta California in 1769, and Father Eusebio Kino, the "Padre on Horseback."

Another royal road, the Chihuahua-Santa Fe Trail, emerged as an important trader's route as did the so-called Old Spanish Trail which connected Santa Fe with California. Civilization moved along these trails, although the trickle was not yet a torrent. That would come later when the covered wagon and the iron horse found their way westward. Nevertheless, whether on horseback, by burro or mule or riding shank's mare, men were marching toward the Pacific and the race for the West was on.

At the conclusion of the War with Mexico in 1848, the bell tolled for the end of dominant Spanish influence in the American West. Gradually the glamour of the conquistadores was dissipated by the new Anglo-Saxon settlers from the East.

To these strangers, the carreta, although useful for hauling produce to and from local markets, failed when called upon to satisfy the requirements of heavier commerce. By and large commercial operators moved their goods from place to place by pack train.

Although horses, llamas, burros, dogs and even camels served as pack animals in the New World; the outstanding favorite was the mule. During the period of Spanish influence in the Southwest, the Mexican mule was used, but later this breed was largely replaced by the American variety, most of which seemed to come from Missouri. Though a mule's disposition was uncertain, he was sure-footed, tough and, next to his cousin the "mountain canary," or burro, was best equipped to exist on scant desert forage.

Choosing a mule was a procedure something like the one described in the old Etruscan proverb about selecting a wife: "Close your eyes and put your trust in God." But there were rules of thumb - the mule should be sturdy-legged, sure-footed, muscular and bright-eyed. It should have sharp teeth, a swishy tail and sound skin; in short, it should be tough, strong, healthy and spirited. Many a muleteer learned to his dismay, and relatively temporary discomfort, that these very same qualities could also make the beast a formidable adversary. It was better, mule drivers generally agreed, if a sort of rapport could be established between man and animal. An American mountaineer once wrote that to do this one had to "live on the intimate terms of brother-explorer with your mule" and be thoughtful of his welfare. This meant feed the animal well, keep it properly shod, prevent galling and stay away from behind him.

The success of the mule as a beast of burden depended as much on the skill of the arriero, or muleteer, as it did on the animal himself. Mexicans made better muleteers. They understood their beast and he understood them. And Mexicans knew the art of packing and unpacking. One British observer said they were the best muleteers in the world.

In loading a mule the first step was to blindfold the animal. Like belling the cat, this was the major part of the battle. Afterward, a broad, thick pad across the animal's back served as a cushion for a "saw-buck" or "cross-buck" saddle. Some packers preferred an aparajo, which was two rectangular leather bags stuffed with straw and lashed together. This arrangement, similar to outsized saddlebags, was contoured to fit the mule's back. After being properly placed and cinched, the load could be lashed on top of either the "saw-buck" or aparajo. A breeching or crupper and a breast strap prevented longitudinal movement.

Loads were carefully balanced and articles of heaviest weight were placed nearest the animal's side while the lighter items rode on top. As protection a tarpaulin was sometimes wrapped around the finished load and held in place by a diamond hitch. Thus arranged a mule could carry up to two hundred pounds, although packers were inclined to exaggerate their figures. But, whatever the load it usually included about fifty pounds of fodder.

If loaded properly, the mule generally made no protest, but if he felt that he had been mistreated, he registered resentment in one of several ways. He could lie down in passive resistance, or he could take to his heels, jolting his load across the wild and rocky hillsides.

In the hands of experts such antics were rare, and once packed with blinds removed the mule would take his place in line behind the bell mare. Mules were trained to follow this white or gray mare that was chosen to be their leader; they would graze with her and in general respond to her wishes. The number of mules in a "string" varied from five to seventy-five, but the manner of operation would be generally the same. An average string might be managed by five or six arrieros one of whom would be the cargador, or boss.

In good weather mule-train driving involved arising before dawn, eating breakfast, and then watering and packing the mules. As the first daylight broke, the bell mare would be off down the trail, and one by one the mules would fall in behind her, the pace seldom exceed ing a walk. At midday there would be a break for feeding and watering the train, and nightfall would find the bell mare stopped and the mules circled awaiting their unloading. The men ate their supper in the crisp starlight, their chatter punctuated by the tinkling of the mare's bell as she grazed down the slope.

And in neat stacks, ready for the next morning's reloading, were the trade goods, cloth and clothing from eastern mills, sugar, flour and spices, hides and even, on occasion, pieces of furniture or a sheet iron stove. And atop it all might be a caballero's guitar.

In the late i830's the Swiss adventurer, John Augustus Sutter established the estate he called New Helvetia at the confluence of the American and Sacramento rivers he had no way of knowing what was to follow. The land grant of eleven square leagues he had obtained from the Mexican authorities at Monterey soon grew into a sort of empire supported by the traders, ranchers and farmers who came that way. But gold? A little of that precious metal had been found far to the south near Los Angeles, but not enough to excite anyone.

In 1847 Sutter, with the sole idea of expanding his operations, ordered James Marshall, one of his employees, to locate a site for a mill and to oversee its construction. Then one day (January 24, 1848) Marshall discovered gold in the tailrace of his mill. In spite of Sutter's desperate efforts to keep the discovery secret, the great news eventually leaked out. As the months passed, countless thousands of Argonauts invaded New Helvetia, trampled Sutter's crops, slaughtered his cattle, and left the once proud Swiss embittered, disillusioned and financially ruined.

From the Sacramento and the American, the gold seekers spread out over much of California and with the bustling exploitation came demands for more efficient transportation. The carreta was disappearing with the waning of Spanish influence and was being replaced by the four-wheeled wagon. Clumsy sailing ships soon made way for sleek Yankee clippers on the hazardous trip around South America, and inland the stagecoach offered a new form of passenger service. But with all the change that came out of the building of a new civilization in the West, two of the most ancient methods of transport still survived: the horse and the pack animal.

The persistence of a rancho economy in much of the Southwest made the riding pony virtually a necessity. It was astride a wiry mustang that the rancher made his visits to town and cared for his herds. Pack trains also remained indispensable. The miners who had overrun California's goldbearing hills depended on packers for food and supplies. The mining camp soon became a home away from home, and accordingly, supplies had to be brought in regularly-food and clothing, medicines and tools. But many other less pressing necessities of life made their precarious way up the valleys and along the ledges: mirrors for saloons, pianos and even billiard tables. Gold diggers had huge appetites and the money to satisfy them.

Most goods needed by the miners had to be imported from the "States," with San Francisco the chief port of entry. Crescent City and Eureka were also important ports, while Sacramento, Marysville, Stockton and other river ports that could be reached by steamboat grew into advanced transfer points. It was from these places that the packers would set out for the isolated mining camps in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada. And packing became big business, so big in fact that American capitalists soon relieved the Mexican of the work and worry of the pack trains. The hardy arriero, however, was retained to handle the mule trains, the philosophy being that, "if you want a thing done well, hire someone who knows how to do it."

By 1852, two years after California's admission to the union as a state, California had more than sixteen thousand mules valued at more than eight hundred thousand dollars, according to Governor John Bigler's reports on the census of that year, and these were concen trated in the mountain counties. Twenty-five hundred mules, for example, were required to handle the Marysville-Downieville freight; eighteen hundred mules operated out of Shasta and hundreds more trudged the trails of the Mariposa area. The high point in mule population of California came in 1855 when the total swelled to over thirty-one thousand.

Although packing in California retained much of the flavor of Old Mexico, some changes were inevitable under the new management. The Yankee insisted that casualness be replaced by precision and, in turn, an increase in freight volume. Staple food and clothing items were soon augmented by other types of freight and services. In one instance, a printing press weighing nearly 'four hundred pounds was carried into one of the mountain settlements. Before long, enterprising "pack-mule express" men began carrying special delivery mail and transporting gold from mine to city bank, thus assuming the functions of the conventional express companies which soon flourished in California and gained national importance. But until the construction of adequate roads made wagon-freighting and coaching possible between isolated mining communities, the packing business remained king in California.

Jay Monaghan. Transportation in the American West. The Book of the American West. Simon & Schuster New York, NY 1969.

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