["Voltigeur," Letter from Lander's Expedition, Alta California, September 10, 1860]

LETTER FROM LANDER'S EXPEDITION.

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[FROM OUR SPECIAL CORRESPONDENT.]

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HUMBUG VALLEY, September 4, 1860.

Peace with the Indians.

            The long war has ended, and the good knights are dusting for Sacramento as rapidly as six mule teams and a well applied black snake can send them.

            The bona fide Winnemucca, son of old Mr. and Mrs. Winnemucca, and great war chief of the Pah-Ute nation, has visited Col. Lander, acceded to terms proposed, accepted a few pounds of flour, and again sought the bosom of his dusky better half, in the mountains north of the Humboldt.

            The emigrant guard may now sleep peacefully at his post — as he generally does — prospectors can explore the hidden mysteries of the auriferous regions said to lie in the heart of the Pah-Ute hunting grounds, and the cattle of the settler may peacefully browse on the mountain, munch grass heretofore tabooed by the now relenting savage.

            All these desirable results have been accomplished by the treaty consummated with Winnemucca, who expresses no hatred towards the whites, but asserting only his right to defend his women from insult and his lands from invasion. He addressed the Colonel through an interpreter, in a speech of half an hour's duration, in genuine "Lo, the poor Indian" style, (vide Cooper's Novels, and Life of Osceola,) depicting his wrongs and sufferings, and palliating the atrocities committed by his tribe in revenge.

            In appearance he is all that romance could desire ; deep-chested, strong-limbed, with a watchful, earnest expression of countenance, indicative of graver thought and study than common to the aboriginal race. In the course of his conference with the Colonel he would suddenly break off the conversation, and, turning to his warriors, deliver an earnest and energetic harangue, evidently striving to impress upon their dull minds his own superior wisdom and foresight. His voice deep and sonorous could be heard at the distance of half a mile, the intonations raising and falling as gradually and solemnly as the measured strains of a church organ. By his tone, in fact, we knew him as the leader who attacked our party so daringly in Painter's Cañon, two months since. He, himself, acknowledged the truth of our surmise, and stated that he was at the time inciting the younger braves of his band to caution, and propitiating the Pah-Ute god of battle, in whose protection he seemed to repose the most implicit confidence. The party remained in our camp over night and the next day took their departure.

Winnemucca's Farewell.

            The Chief made no farewell until he had mounted his horse, then, riding up to the Col., he gracefully extended his hand, saying in English, "Good-bye, Captain," and went through the entire mess, with a word to each. As he took the hand of Mr. Snyder, the Commissary, whom he recognised as our standard-bearer in the late encounter with the Chief's party, be complimented him by ejaculating, "Pretty good boy, pretty good boy," and waving his feathered cap to the men, he galloped off. Altogether, he left a most favorable impression on the minds of all. The old mountaineers of the train pronounce him the finest specimen of the race between the Missouri River and the Sierras, unless it be Washke, the celebrated Chief of the Snakes.

Winnemucca and Gwin.

            Old Winnemucca, the Medicine Man of the Pah-Utes, is said to resemble strongly in physique that great and good man, W. M. Gwin. Like the subtle Mississippian, he has been unceasing in his efforts to retard the progress of California's pet enterprise, the Pony Express ; but the Pony still speeds over the desert, and the unappreciative public holds its two opponents in equal contempt and ridicule.

            The second day after our arrival in Honey Lake Valley, the entire camp were assembled, by order, to do honor to a brave man and true gentleman. Captain Weatherloe, of the Valley Rangers. The occasion was the presentation, by Superintendent Lander, in the name of himself and his officers, of a splendid Sharpe's rifle, accompanied by a letter testifying the donors' high appreciation of the captain's tried courage as a soldier, and worth as a citizen. Captain Weatherloe, although taken entirely by surprise — for the affair was gotten up but a few hours previous — returned his thanks in a neat, modest speech, and assured his friends that the weapon should never lose its prestige by falling into his hands. The rifle was manufactured to the order of Col. Lander, and it celebrated as one of the finest pieces of workmanship ever turned out of the Hartford establishment. Weatherloe has spent his life in the wilderness in almost constant conflict with the savage tribes on the frontier, and, in a country where every man is an Indian fighter, he is the Achilles of the host. Young Winnemucca has an especial reverence for his prowess, and always speaks of him as a "heap good white man."

A Puff for Jake and Buffalo Bob.

            And now that our nomadic life is drawing to a close, and the companions of my dangers by flood and field are soon to be scattered to the four quarters of the globe, while due credit has been awarded to the sub-officers of the expedition, the "indefatigable wagon master," the energetic assistant and the brain-tasked engineers, let me sing the praises of those more humble but equally useful attachés, "Buffalo Bob" and "Silver Sleeve Jake," our cooks. The former was unrivalled in slapjacks ; in duff he was good, but slapjacks were his forte. Solid, sour and slabby, in his hands they formed a powerful Douglas weapon, and but for the timely interference of the surgeon, several staunch Breckenridge men would have been lost to the cause.

            Jake was great on fancy dishes, stews, fries, hashes, soups, etc., the component parts of which no man knew, and no man cared to ask. Inundated with gravy, and spiced like the breezes that blow from Araby the Blest, Jake served up meat, iron-spikes, horse-hair and fine-tooth combs, indiscriminately, nobly disregarding the squeamish stomachs and tender teeth of the few fastidious who graced his mess.

            They solicited a notice, and they have it. Let their names, linked with that of the immortal Soyer, shine out as the brightest stars in the constellation of cooks.

            To-morrow we set out to cross the mountain, and on the 9th will camp at Marysville, where the Pacific Wagon Road Expedition closes its career. For four years the party have toiled — leveled mountains, bridged rivers, sunk tanks, and fought the Indians, and the result of their labors stands forth the model emigrant route of America. Crossing the Plains in '50, '52 and '54, was an undertaking as perilous and dread as Kane's trip to the North Pole. The most intense suffering and hardships stared the emigrant in the face, and women but seldom survived the journey. Now it is but a pleasant summer's tour, with just enough of discomfort to make one relish the more the luxuries of civilization.

            With the best wishes of the train for the interest the Alta has taken in our welfare,

I remain,

VOLTIGEUR.