This Proud Land: The Golden Jezebel (1965, sound)

She's sure quiet and peaceful now compared to the old days. Seems like she's sleeping. Dreaming. Sort of waiting. There were those who called her Utopia. Some called her the mother lode. And there were those who called her Jezebel. Those who knew her best, they called her Jezebel. Jezebel, the sorceress, who lured Israel into the worship of false gods and idols, was now about to drive men mad once again by the worship of another false god, gold. On January 24th, 1848, she discovered California. And as she looked down upon this golden land of plenty, with its rich valleys and snow-capped mountains, she laughed and stabbed a finger at a river of gold, the south fork of the American River. In 10 brief and violent years, 200,000 courageous men and women were to answer her call. First a whisper, then a shout, then a challenge. Gold! Gold in California! Some wooed and won her, and fortune was theirs, if only briefly. Some she spurned and ruthlessly destroyed. She watched them die and laughed, and men all over the world heard her call them to worship the golden calf. Gold in California! Gold! The Jezebel. [Music] The stage was set, the actors cast. All she needed now was a bang-up publicity man to get the whole shebang started. And she found him. His name was Marshall, James Wilson Marshall. He was to serve her well till she no longer needed him. Then she left him to die alone, in poverty and ruin. Marshall thought he was clearing out the mill race of Captain John A. Sutter's lumber mill on the south fork of the American River, but Jezebel knew better. [Music] It looked like gold, but who could tell for sure? It might be wise to show it to Captain Sutter down in New Helvetia. 23-karat gold it was. That little nugget was destined to trigger an emigration the likes of which the world had never seen before and would never see again. San Francisco emptied almost overnight. Crews jumped ship and stumbled up the trail toward the American River, gold and Jezebel. Gold! Gold! Gold! The once prosperous fort at New Helvetia built by Captain Sutter was now an empty, silent shell. Sutter watched in helpless, heartbroken agony. But in the 49er well, there was no sadness, no heartbreak, no doubt. He was off to see the elephant, to make his fortune. There was a mountain of gold up there in the Sierra and he meant to get his share of it. Why, in less than a week he'd be gathering nuggets off the ground like he was picking up fresh, faded potatoes. Yes, it was a glorious time in history and brave men were on the move. From the east they came by the thousands, in wagon trains, in companies formed, and some came alone. Some came by sea, around the horn to San Francisco by Yankee Clipper, 6 months of raging, shattering seas, living on spoiled pork and wormy bread, dying of smallpox, cholera, and scurvy. But even as death's rattle was full in their throats, they could hear Jezebel calling, calling, forever calling. Some debarked in Panama and crossed the isthmus. The trails were choked with the sick and the dying as disease struck them down and fever burned them up, but there was fever in the heart of the 49er, too, gold fever. There was gold in California and he must keep his rendezvous with Jezebel. But most of them, they gathered on the banks of the wide Missouri, at Independence, Westport Landing, and Saint Joe. For weeks now they'd camped here at Saint Joe on the east bank of the Missouri. This was the day they'd been waiting for, waiting for spring and the long grass. At dawn they'd head their wagons west, and stretching out before them was 2,200 miles of wilderness, of brain-searing heat, oven-like deserts, and parched, arid plains, and an almost steady diet of sour beans and rancid pork, of stagnant water, and screaming hot lead. But on the night before the big day, they dreamed of home, of loved ones left behind. My darling, tomorrow we start on a great adventure. [Music] Already I miss you and the babies. [Music] Some found time to pray. [Music] Some found time to play. [Music] Some prepared for tomorrow. [Music] And some slept and dreamed of California and the golden Jezebel. [Music] Wagons west! Ho! As the great day dawned, an army of innocents, unschooled and untaught in the ways of the west, began to move across the wide Missouri to blaze a glorious trail into history. [Music] The great adventure had begun. Spirits were high and it was fun just to be alive. Already they'd traveled 10 miles. That left only 2,190 miles to Eldorado. The way was gentle across the broad Kansas plains. There were giants in those days, strong, youthful, the very best the world had to offer. The end of another day, and while the tired 49ers slept and dreamed, the sentries were ever alert, ever watchful, ever cautious. Somewhere out there were the crow and the coyote, and they, too, were ever alert, ever watchful, always waiting. The next morning they moved on across northeastern Kansas toward the crossing of the Big Blue River. They'd made good time and the Big Blue was just over that rise. The stock scents for water ahead. God was in his heaven and all was right with the world. But was it God or Satan himself? Straight down the river came a screaming, boiling specter, a Kansas twister, destroying and obliterating everything in its path. Would it spend itself in a cloudburst, or would it smash the train and destroy all of its people in its furious, raging race across the plains? The next moment would tell. It was over. They'd met Jezebel for the first time and they'd beat her. But Jezebel had taken her toll. A little girl, Louisa, aged three. A tiny grave would mark the trail, and a mother's and a father's heart would never really leave the Big Blue River. Sleep well, little darling. Sleep well. May 20, 1849. Our morale is low. Perhaps the sight of new faces will lift us from our doldrums. Fort Kearny, in the south-central part of what is now Nebraska. Here the sight of the Star-Spangled Banner of the United States of America shot a tingle of pride through each and every one of them. That flag was their flag. They would rest here under the protection of that flag for the night and face tomorrow with courage and faith. Yes, they were young and strong and magnificently foolhardy. They followed the Platte to Ash Hollow in Nebraska Territory. The grass was good, the water fresh and clear. An abandoned trapper's cabin was their post office. They left notes and letters here. Eastward bound trains picked them up and carried them toward home and families. A 49er's hopes, his dreams, and his love were all sealed up in a letter. In western Nebraska, they watched a landmark grow slowly closer. Bets were made as to how high she was. Some said she was 80 ft tall, some judged 7 or 800 ft. Chimney Rock, they called it. Like the finger of God, it pointed up into the heavens, beckoning, encouraging, and showing the weary 49er the way. On the 3rd day of June, they crossed the north fork of the Platte River. And now the eternal winds began to whip into a man's soul. The stock began to grow lame. The water was brackish and filled with slime. And always there was that wind whistling and screaming into a man's brain, whittling at his nerves, testing him, eager to destroy him. June 20th, 55 days out of St. Joe. Some folks were born, [Music] and some folks died. And some folks slept restlessly and dreamed of the golden Jezebel. [Music] [Applause] Close to the Nebraska-Wyoming border was Scotts Bluff and Mitchell Pass. A pass that would put man and beast alike to the test. Towering, arid, and rough, a hot, rugged terrain, straining animals to the limit of their endurance, breaking their hearts with sheer exhaustion. A hopeless fear began to steal over them. Each day the trail was worse, and their strength less. Slowly and painfully they pressed on toward Laramie, 50 odd miles away. These are the wagon ruts, since worn deep by a hundred thousand wheels. But these stouthearted and courageous 49ers, they were the first. They showed the way. Fort Laramie in the Wyoming Territory. [Music] The last place to take on supplies and leave letters, to hear news of Eldorado, and to enjoy the security and safety of the flag of the United States of America until they reach Fort Bridger, some 400 miles and 6 weeks away. Only memories now, but proud memories, memories that will never fade, must never fade. [Applause] 20 miles west of Laramie, they took a last regretful look at the life-giving Platte River, and started across the bleak, arid, and Indian-infested country that led through the Laramie Mountains and to the Sweetwater River and Independence Rock, 100 miles to the west. The scouts watched for Sioux and sighted buffalo. And for the moment, the threat of the Sioux was forgotten. [Applause] But the Sioux were still out there somewhere, out of sight, but never out of mind. The signs were clear and plentiful. There were some who decided they'd go no farther. They found their home, and the trail ended for them in a burned-out cabin and a shallow grave. [Music] Sunday, July 15th, 70 days out of St. Joe. The Cheyenne picked up where the Sioux left off. They followed, watching and waiting. But the 49er kept his faith. He clung to two things, the Bible and the gun. A strange alliance, a singular kinship between God and sudden death. The Bible and the gun. And as the strain began to tell, tempers grew thin. There were times when God was forsaken and the gun exploded in sudden death. And justice was swift, sure, and terrible. July 29th, 84 days of heartbreaking, backbreaking travel. But there in the distance stood Independence Rock in the Wyoming Territory. And there they found the clear, fresh Sweetwater River. And here they camped and rested and sang their praises to God. [Music] Just a few miles to the west was Devil's Gate, and beyond, 100 miles to the west, to the south, was a South Pass of the formidable Rocky Mountains. The Indians seemed friendly enough here, but who could tell what hatred and violence lay just beneath the surface. They'd watch them close. And the great chief Washakie watched them in amazement and wondered at these foolhardy men. He pitied them and let them pass. South Pass, Wyoming, 7,550 ft in height, yet so gentle was the incline that the 49er had the feeling he was still on the Kansas plains. He pushed his stock too hard, too fast. Deceptively gentle, deceptively deadly. And at last they came to Fort Bridger, the southeastern corner of Wyoming. [Music] Founded by Jim Bridger in 1843, here the 49er rested and took on supplies. Much of the history of the west was made here. Restless, courageous men walked this ground, if only briefly. For them there were always new mountains to climb, new rivers to cross, and a new and savage wilderness to be explored. Jim Bridger, Jedediah Smith, John Fremont, Kit Carson, George Custer, Peter Skene Ogden, Brigham Young. They were all here. Perhaps they still walk here, dreaming of new frontiers and new wilderness to conquer. Dog-weary, the 49ers slept a deep and dreamless sleep. Down Echo and Immigration Canyons, they followed the trail blazed by Brigham Young. [Music] They were 110 days out of St. Joe when they passed the Great Salt Lake and headed slowly toward the blinding brumes of the Great Salt Desert. A blistering, blinding hell stretched 60 miles ahead of them. No water, no shade, and a white-hot sun shriveled their bodies and ate into their brains. They posted sentries, but of what use were they? Who could live here? Who could threaten, except maybe death itself? [Music] In hopeless despair, they stumbled on. But they held fast to the dreams they knew were real. Dreams of Eldorado and Jezebel. Today they reached the Humboldt River. Soon this life-giving water would disappear into the alkali dust of the most feared section of hell in the west, the Humboldt Sink. The dread alkali began to show up like frost upon the ground, the devil's frost. And as the sun gradually drew the life from a man, the Paiute silently watched and waited, waited for the chance to run off his stock. And the bone-tired, dehydrated sentries watched the watchers. They searched for signs of water, and there were none, only the baked alkali dust as far as the eye could see. They left a well-marked trail. A man had to travel light and keep moving. Keep moving. The Humboldt Sink in western Nevada, the last of the Humboldt River. Here it sank into the desert, and ahead, 40 parched, burning, alkali-stinking miles of alkali desert. Men went insane. They killed for no reason at all. There was no flag now to protect them, yet its colors still followed them. There was the red, the white, and the blue. [Music] Man and animal alike were mad for lack of water. Like animals, they dug for it, and it wasn't there. They prayed for it. Our Father, which art in heaven, hallowed be thy name. Thy kingdom come, thy [Music] Another white-hot day. Even at sunrise, the heat was enough to fry a man's brains and sear his eyes out of their sockets. Not a sign of life anywhere, just a big, empty, burning, oven. Empty except for tragic, simple little things left behind as the agonizing run for life began again. The third day on the desert, the stock scents water. Men shouted their thanks to God as they followed the thirsty stock up the deep sandy dunes. Alkaline. [Music] Oh God. My God, why hast thou forsaken me? They fought their crazy stock around the lake and pressed on. [Music] August 24, 1849. It's been almost 4 months since we left St. Joseph. If we don't come to water tomorrow, we will go no further. It will not be humanly possible. And Jezebel heard their prayers and laughed. But there was another who heard the prayer. And he looked down upon his children with pity and compassion. And in the morning, somehow the searing heat had gone out of the sun's rays. The terrain was changing now and there was no doubt that the smell of fresh water was in the nostrils of the animals. And there it was, the clear fresh water of the Carson River. Gone now is the crimson choking misery of the desert. The smell of the sage was sweet in the air and hope was strong in their hearts. The elephant was not far away now. They'd come over 2,000 miles to see the elephant and there it was, that towering saber-toothed range folks called the Sierra Nevada. Only 100 miles away lay Hangtown and a few miles to the north was the south fork of the American River, Sutter's Mill, and the end of the rainbow. With any kind of luck at all, they'd be there in 10 days. Before you knew it, they'd all be wealthy, even millionaires maybe. The weather was cool now and the mountain air bracing. Made a man feel that he could whip the world. A mountain paradise. And there were those who thought that they'd never leave this place. That this was as far as they'd go. But the thought was only fleeting. Peace and contentment failed alongside the thrill and excitement of the lust for gold, the lust for wealth, and the conquest of Jezebel. [Applause] The way grew rougher and the mountain was no longer a paradise. They fought time and the elephant. Seemed that beyond every mountain there was another mountain and beyond every pass, a solid wall of granite, steep, treacherous, impassable. [Music] Every foot they traveled was cruel, dangerous, and treacherous, straining men to the limit of their endurance. Already the 10 days had lengthened into 2 weeks and the summit was not yet in sight. September was nearing its end and there were disturbing signs of an early winter. As they began to descend the western slope, they left the snow behind. The chill left the air and the cold fear in their hearts disappeared. And then on September 27th, far below them, they saw Hangtown. Hosanna, hosanna, the great day was here. For five long and cruel months, they'd fought everything Jezebel could throw at them and they'd won. These were men, our pioneers, our 49ers. Mark Twain said of them, The very pick and choice of the world's glorious ones, erect, bright-eyed, quick-moving, strong-handed young giants, the strangest population, the finest population, the most gallant host that ever trooped down the startled solitudes of an unpeopled land. And at last they were here. In '48, it was called Old Dry Diggings. In '49, murderers hung from this tree like apples and Hangtown was its name. [Music] [Music] The temptation to stay here was great, but all this must wait. Just 8 miles to the north was Sutter's Mill, the south fork, and nuggets of gold as big as hens' eggs. All a man had to do was pick them up. But Jezebel had the last laugh. Every foot, every inch of ground along the river was already claimed. There was no room for them, no wealth. But Jezebel had given birth to a giant, the biggest gold strike of all time, a load of gold almost 200 miles long and 20 miles wide, enough gold for everybody in the whole world. And a man had room to look around and Jezebel gave him enough rope. Gave him his head. Some found her, looted and wandered. Some found her, looked into her eyes, looked into the very soul of her, and died. They're still here for those who want to hear, and those who want to see. They're all still here. All sleeping perhaps, but still here. And she's still here because way down deep there's still gold, millions of dollars of it, just waiting for the price to go up, for men to want it badly enough. And she'll be there to welcome them. 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