Perils of Gold-Rush California, Bowie Knives Among Them

When gold was discovered in California, footloose fortune-seeking men from all over the world converged on that undeveloped territory. Great Britain had only terminated Australia's status as a penal colony a year before, and many Australians, among them ex-convicts, flocked to the port of San Francisco. Perhaps out of concern that the land down under might quickly depopulate, an article appeared in the Hobart, Tasmania Courier on August 1, 1849, exaggerating the perils of California:

A WORD OF ADVICE CONCERNING THE NEW GOLD REGIONS.

Mr. Ross Cox, the author of the amusing adventures on the Columbia River, writes as follows to a friend in Ireland touching California, a country in which he is well acquainted:--"I am strongly opposed to any of our countrymen proceeding to California. If the country were in a settled state, and that law and order prevailed, their knowledge, sobriety, and industry might undoubtedly soon realise their dreams; but the contrary is notoriously the fact. The territory has been only lately acquired by the United States, and there is no protection for either life or property in it. I know the reckless and daring character of the American back woodsmen; many of them have made their way to the golden valley of the Sacramento. They are all dead shots with the rifle, and when that fails, their close quarters with the bowie knife generally prove fatal. Every native of our islands who should think of going thither should be armed with a rifle, a brace of pistols, a dirk, and a couple of bowie knives. They should go in bands of from 60 to 100--appoint a captain and subalterns--keep watch and ward--study all species of fighting, offensive and, defensive—make themselves perfect masters of the rifle, and provide a good commissariat, with chests for their treasure, etc. Such parties may succeed, but I have no hesitation in saying that straggling adventurers or small isolated parties, ignorant of the country, and of the mode of fighting or robbing practised there, will be shot down like deer or prairie hens."

It's a wonder that anyone made it out of there alive! Actually, the facts suggest that gold-rush era California was not such a dangerous place as long as one stayed out of saloons, avoided mean drunks and psychos, and didn't flash your cash, pick fights, or act like a sore loser in poker games. In other words, observe the Rule of the Three Stupids:

Don't go to stupid places. 
Don't hang out with stupid people.
Don't do stupid things.

A Man Averse to Compromise

In The Argonauts of California (1890), author Charles Warren Haskins gives accounts of some of the rough types who frequented the saloons in mining towns:

One of these brave frontier ruffians made his stopping place and home at a way station, or bar-room, located upon the emigrant road a few miles from Hangtown, and was very frequently in the habit of accosting miners and strangers who had occasion to stop at the place, in a very rough and barbarous manner. He would draw a weapon, and ask if they had said their prayers and were ready to die, getting, of course, his whiskey free as a compromise, upon condition of putting up his weapons. Upon one occasion, however, he struck a customer, a regular old-fashioned, Jacksonian Democrat from Kentucky, who did not believe in compromising. As the latter stood at the bar enjoying his beverage, the border ruffian approached him with an immense bowie knife raised above his head, and inquired if the stranger had said his prayers that morning, at the same time making a motion as if to strike. The old Kentuckian remarked that he had not, as he had done all his praying in his younger days, and enough, he reckoned, to last him the rest of his life, at the same time drawing his pistol from his belt, and sending a ball crashing through the brain of the desperado. No inquest, as the coroner did not think it was necessary.

An Unwelcome Visitor

Joseph Goldsborough left a diary of his overland journey to California in 1849-1850. His cabin was visited by a man named White, who was a member of another group of travelers. Goldsborough was disturbed by the presence of White, who seemed mentally ill and was armed with a bowie knife.

At dusk White returned to our lodge, said the oldest son of Elliot struck him, and he was afraid for his life, with them, and wished to sleep by our fire. I told him we had no room, but I could fix him comfortably in a wagon. “Well,” he said, “let me cook my supper here.” I told him to go ahead. He held in his hand a very large and sharp Bowie-knife, took a seat near my left, and commenced mincing up a piece of the ox-meat, on a small piece of board, on his knee. He minced the meat very slowly, chopping it over and over, very fine, and ever and anon, looking askance at me from under his slouched hat, and feeling the edge of his large bloody blade. Now and then he'd pause, and barely cut at all, -- seem'd absorbed in meditations. - Evidently deeply abstracted in mind. He thus sat about hour, cutting up his meat. During this queer performance, I cautiously put a pistol in my bosom, and moved off a little from him. He then put the minced beef in a small tin-kettle of water, & set it on the fire, after which he put a handful of wet ground coffee, from an old dirty handkerchief, in another small tin kettle, with water, and sat that also on the fire to cook. He then laid his knife very carefully on the chair at his right, dropped his chin on his hands, with his elbows on his knees, and asked me many questions, without looking at me at all . . . [He] kept us up quite late, asking information we could not give, muttering inarticulate sentences, mingled with oaths & imprecations . . . . I intimated our desire to retire, several times, and at last had to tell him, he must go, and I would conduct him to a wagon. . . . I then closed out frail house as well as I could, and set a chair with tin ware in it, at the entrance so that it could not be entered without alarming us. We slept on our arms.

Bowie Knife vs. Pistol: A Gold Rush Incident

The following story was published in 1855:

MURDER IN CALIFORNIA. This day, a murder took place in Tuolumne county, Cal., at Cherokee Camp, by which William Rice was killed by one Lewis Carley. It appears that the parties had been shooting at a mark and drinking fighting-whiskey. A quarrel arose, and Carley, who was known as Grizzly, advanced on Rice with his gun and a large bowie-knife. Rice, who had a loaded gun in his hand at the time, told him to keep off, or he would shoot him. Carley continued to advance, and Rice snapped his gun at him. Carley then knocked Rice's gun aside with his own, and also knocked him down and got on him, and with his knife inflicted several wounds, one in the region of the heart, another between the seventh and eighth ribs, one on the left side of the bend, and several flesh-wounds. Mr. John Mallory ran to the assistance of Rice, and struck Carley with his fist. The latter then left Rice and ran after Mallory, and was in the act of stabbing him, when Mr. A. Ripley ran up and knocked Carley down with a gun. He was then bound and kept in custody till the sheriff arrived.

This story not only provides us with another data point in the knife vs. gun debate, but acquaints us with the handy term "fighting-whiskey." According to David Maurer's Kentucky Moonshine, "In areas where both illicit and licit whiskey are available, moonshine is quaintly described as "fighting whiskey," while legal liquor is referred to as "courting whiskey."