The weekly Shasta courier. [volume] (Shasta, Calif.) 1872-190?, 1873-05-03
The Capture Of Yosemite.

Aqua Fro, then new digglngs, and
every day or two some of our horses
were missing. We could follow their
trail toward the Mountains of the Mer-
ced as far as the Big Flats, above
where Mariposa now stands, and thence
were forced to return to camp well
assured the red skins were feasting
rlotously on or equine companions in
the almost impenetrable Businesses of
the mountains. AT last harrassed be-
yond endurance by the savages, we
formed company to follow to their lair
and rout or exterminate them. Well
armed we left camp, followed the trail
of our stolen horses and their captors,
and camped the first night out on a
little branch of the Chowchilla. Next
morning we were on the trail leading
far up the mountains. Step by step
and track by track, through the long,
weary day, we followed, and the setting
sun shone on us on the summit of the
high mountain overlooking the valley
of the Yosemite. We stood spell bound,
andin silence broken only by the ire
pressible CALCULATIONS of wonder and
awe, gazing on the sublime grandeur of
that magnificent solitude until the long,
deep shadows of twilight deepened into
the night and the audible I" See there 7"
restored us to consciousness of our pur-
pose. We looked and thousands of
feet below US, some two miles down
the valley, glimmered the camp-fres of
the Indians, admonishing us of the
close proximity of the game we were
seeking. A short, low-voiced consulta-
ton settled our plan of action. 1--WE
must surround that camp before day
light. In single file we slowly clam
bered down the rocks and through the
thick underbrush into the beautiful val
ley, In the darkness of the night and a
death-like stiffness, only broken by still
whispers, the grating of sliding foot
steps, the cracking of broken twigs,
-and the plaintive notes of the night
birds. In the later watches of the
night we were resting on our arms
around the Indian encampment. At
last the yellow morning light came
down over the Great Falls of the Mer-
ced, and the Indians began to emerge
from their wakiups, to build their fires
and roast choice bits of Our stolen
horses for their breakfast. Imagine
their establishment and rage when the
sharp, rafting report of our well-aimed
rifles gave them fatal token of our pres
ence. With yells that echoed and re-
echoed among those vaulted cliffs as
though all the demons of hell were
holding high concert there, the Indians
grasped their bows and arrows and
rushed to the conflict. But, alas for
them! the rifles, revolvers, and bowie
knives of the Avengers were too pow
ertul for bows and arrows to contend
against, and the battle was short, des-
perate, and bloody. The chief Yose-
mite (Grizzly Bear) covered with blood,
his bow broken by a bullet, forced to a
corner in the projecting cliffs, turned
like panther at bay on his pursuers
and tearing open his old hickory check
shirt to bare his bosom for the expect
ed bullet, said, "Shoot him, me. die,
bm my Uolce wiU wander IN these rocks
for ages after 1 am gone" He closed
this speech with yell which echoed
from crag to crag up the valley to the
Great Falls, and then returned over our
heads in succession of echoes to the
Canon belJw. With this last mighty
effort, the great Chief sunk helpless, as
though heart broken to the earth, and
was made captive.
Many have wept over Byron's fugi-
tive Moor waiting his last sigh from the
hills of Granada over the fower-covered
valleys of his native Spain, and exulted
over Millions discounted and amazed
Devil in his anguish awakening the
echoes of hell, but it was left for the
great Chief of the Yosemites to send
his very seul out to wander in everlast-
ing echoes among the cliffs that over
hung his beloved valley.-New North
Vest.