By Alton Pryor

James Beckwourth was the son of a black slave woman and a white Revolutionary War army officer.  He was born in Fredericksburg, Virginia, on April 6, 1798. 

While his deeds and adventures easily matched those of Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, Davy Crockett and Daniel Boone, his story was nearly lost to history.

One writer said, “Probably no man ever lived who had met with more personal adventure involving danger to life”.

Beckwourth was wise in the ways of Indians and learned to speak their language.  He was a crack shot with a rifle and was said to never waste a bullet.  He also was adept with a bowie knife and a tomahawk.

After living with the Indians for several years, Beckwourth became bored of his life among the Crow and Blackfoot tribes.  In 1837, he became chief scout for General John C. Fremont.

Later, while wandering and prospecting in the Pit River Country of northern California, Beckwourth saw a distinct difference in the elevation of the mountains in the distance.  There was one spot in the formation that appeared much lower than any others.

The following spring, he led a prospecting party of twelve men, heading in the direction of the gap in the mountains.  The group entered upon an extensive valley at the northwest extremity of the Sierra range.

The verdant valley was colored by many varieties of wildflowers.  There were chattering magpies as well as handsome plumaged birds.  Wild geese and ducks were swimming on the surface of a cool crystal stream.                                                                                     

Herds of deer and antelope were abundant.  Their boldness indicated to Beckwourth that they had never heard the shot of a rifle.  He became convinced that he and his party were probably the first men to set foot in the area.

The group crossed the valley and reached the waters of the Yuba.  Further on, they came to the waters of the “Truchy” (Beckwourth’s obvious misspelling of the Truckee River).

He noticed the “Truchy” was flowing in an eastward direction, convincing him that he and his party were on the eastern slope of the Sierra mountain range.  He was soon convinced that this might be the best route for a wagon road over the Sierras.

Back in Marysville, he convinced the mayor and other citizens that this route could be a boon for the town.  The wagon route would make Marysville the principal starting place for emigrants who would otherwise have gone to Sacramento.

Marysville’s mayor assured Beckwourth that he would be handsomely rewarded if he could develop such a route.  The reward, he suggested, might be as much as six thousand to ten thousand dollars.

When Beckwourth guided the first wagons down a ridge into Marysville, the citizens began a wild celebration.  The event became so wild in its frenzy that part of the town was burned to the ground.

This was a devastating event for Beckwourth, for with the fire went also his hopes of a monetary reward. 

The mayor, while congratulating Beckwourth on his feat in opening the pass, informed the trailblazer that the fire had made it beyond his power to pay him any money.

With the exception of two hundred dollars subscribed by some liberal-minded citizens of Marysville, Beckwourth’s only reward was the naming of the trail in his honor. 

“The Beckwourth Trail” still exists, beginning just a few miles from what is now Reno, Nevada. 

The trail he discovered was later used by thousands of pioneers and gold seekers on their way to California.  The trail was a lower pass over the mountains that proved to be far safer for emigrants than the Donner Trail. 

Even with his disappointment over not receiving the money he had been promised, Beckwourth loved the area through which his trail traversed.  He established his War Horse Ranch in the upper Feather River Valley, where he built a hotel and trading post.

His would be the first stop for emigrants using the trail on their way to the gold fields.  It became a prosperous operation for Beckwourth, but created tension among other settlers.  They did not like seeing a black man being more successful than themselves.

Instead of facing more racial resentment, Beckwourth returned to Denver, where he died in 1866.

Legend has it that the Crow Indians honored him at a farewell feast to urge him to stay with them and lead them to greatness again.  He refused and it is said the Crows poisoned him to keep his body and powerful spirit within their land.

 

Image Files – Pryor – Beckwourth
Beckwourth seated – USDA Forest Service
Beckwourth portrait – National Park Service
Beckowurth Cabin – Reno Gazette Journal Janaury 11, 2005