[Note: This picks up the narrative of Eleanor Brittain Knowlton again after nearly five months. The reason is simple. Not having read the memoir before, I belatedly discovered that while my sister had transcribed the manuscript from photos of the original handwritten text, she had only made it part way through editing it. And when I reached the end of her edits, it became to unwieldy for me to proceed. But this appears to be an excellent use of Gemini, Google’s AI-powered assistant. I copied the next section of text and submitted it to Gemini with a request to edit. It appears to have done a good job, and hopefully it will enable me to resume posting Eleanor’s story, a bit at a time.]

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MEMOIRS OF MY GREAT-GREAT GRANDMOTHER,
ELEANOR HOWARD (THOMAS) BRITTAIN KNOWLTON
November 1834 – August 1908

Leaving the Brittain’s Ranch (Spring 1867)

We stopped all night at D. A. Brittain’s. The next morning, my husband, D. L. Brittain, said we had better go. I had to drive, as the eldest girl was fond of riding horseback and rode some every day.

Our wagon and horses were all gotten ready. The children and their father bid Cousin Dave goodbye. He came around to bid me goodbye and gave five dollars to each of the three girls. Then he said, “Here is a present for you,” and gave me a hundred dollars and a nice horse. My husband said that was too much. He said that the horse was for me, so he tied it to the side of our other horses, and I drove three instead of two. The new horse soon got so he led behind and was no trouble. Now our daughter could ride Polly, and when she was tired, her father could drive. Then I could ride until he was tired of driving. Polly was used to being tied by the right side of the hack horses, so we got along all right with our extra horse and found him to be a nice, gentle animal for everything except as a saddle horse.

We did not have a man to go with us, so we had to put up at farmhouses so that our horses could be taken care of. The country is more settled than what we have passed through. We will now strike out for a friend’s place by the name of Young, whom I got acquainted with in the fall of 1866.

Flashback to the Fall of 1866: Confronting Mr. Mitchell

(The following story took place the previous year, when the narrator first met the Youngs.)

I had left Mr. Brittain at Dr. Gratten’s water cure in Stockton for treatment. I was going to a man’s place by the name of Mitchell to stop until my husband had what water treatment he wanted. Mitchell lived on the Copperopolis Road, about 12 miles from Stockton, and he owed us about a thousand dollars which he had borrowed from Mr. Brittain in Nevada. When it was reported that Mr. Brittain was shot by robbers, Mitchell left Nevada, claiming to have failed in business. We did not know where he was until we located him while traveling.

Mr. Brittain told me not to drive too late in the day and to put up at some good farm where the horses could have good care. I came to one place that looked just as I would like to stop. The man spied us closely and finally said he did not accommodate travelers. So I went on to the next place.

A gentleman came out in front of the house, and I asked him if I could stop overnight. He hesitated for a moment and finally said his wife was sick, but he hated to turn a woman and children away. As it was getting late, he finally said he could not.

I now thought I would try to see if Masonry is any good, as the place showed the owner was well-to-do. I told him, “My husband is sick at Stockton, and I am going to a man’s farm to stop there until he comes, but I cannot get there until tomorrow.” I got no answer. Then I asked him if he could read my medal. He asked me if I could. I told him I could. He then told me to read. I said, “You read.” He read, then I read. He then told the children and me to get out and had the horses taken care of. The next morning, I asked for my bill, and he said nothing and invited me to call always when passing.

The next place I stopped to get a night’s lodging was Mitchell’s. He, like the rest, said he could not entertain me and claimed he had no woman at the place—just him, his two little boys, and some hired men. I told him I could camp and sleep in my wagon; I only wanted my horses taken care of. He then said I could stay if I would do my own cooking and could stay in the house using my own bedding.

We got out and went in the house. Our horses were cared for and our hack was driven inside. I got supper and made myself at home as much as I could. The children were posted not to talk and to avoid questions. After supper was over, he asked me where I was going. I told him I was going south. He asked me if I was a widow. I told him I was not.

Nothing more was said until the next morning after breakfast. He wanted to know if I wanted my team brought out. I told him no, I thought I would stay over until the next day, as my husband was in Stockton at a water cure. He asked for my name. I told him. He knew then who I was and said no more, but slipped his good suit of clothes and a pair of fine boots out and hid them in an old outbuilding.

That afternoon, he said I would have to go somewhere else, that his place was mortgaged and he would have to give it up.

I told him, “If you will give me money to travel on to Southern California, and enough to live on through the winter and take care of a sick husband, I will leave. Otherwise, I will stay or go wherever you go. You know you owe Mr. Brittain and you are able to pay.”

He said he would have to go on the highway.

“Well, that is all right,” I said. “I will go with you. You will make a good hand at pilfering, and I will conceal the booty. I will cook up something tomorrow and get ready.”

He went away then and did not come home until after three men came driving mule teams. I asked one of Mitchell’s little boys whose teams they were, and he said they were his father’s and they were hauling copper from Copperopolis. The child told me, “His father said he did not have anything. He has this place and these teams and lots of things. My mother is in the asylum. My father put her on a wagon and would make her go. He won’t let us children go to see her, but when I get older, I will.”

The next morning, Mitchell had taken one of my horses and gone. The teamsters said he had gone to Stockton. I gave one of them a letter to put in the office, telling Mr. Brittain to pay no attention to Mitchell. My husband later told me that Mitchell had been there to see him and told him he would have to get some other place for me. Mr. Brittain told him I was capable of taking care of myself while he was gone.

That day, I went to a nice house not far away to find out something about Mitchell and to tell the gentleman who lived there why I was stopping at Mitchell’s. He advised me to stay on and said he would be of any assistance if he could. I think this man had the mortgage on the place; he seemed so nice. His name was Philip Fitzgerald. I told him my mother was a Miss Elizabeth Ann Fitzgerald before she married a lawyer, James Thomas of Tennessee. He then told me he was a cousin of my mother’s, put his hand in his vest pocket, and gave me twenty dollars. I refused it, but he insisted I take it and told me that Mitchell would give me something to get me to go.

I went back to Mitchell’s. He came late in the afternoon and seemed somewhat blue. I was trying to be as cheerful as I could. He finally asked me what I was going to do.

I told him, “I am going to stay here, or go when you go, until you give me money to go south on, enough to buy food for the family and horses, and as much more as you can give me. And then you must renew the note which my husband holds against you.”

So he gave me three hundred dollars, a silver watch, and a glass-eyed mare, a very pretty animal. He said, “I hate to give her up; she was my little girl’s riding pony.”

“Well, it is too bad,” I said, “but she can be my little girl’s pony. She likes to ride.”

He gave all this to me and promised to give me the renewed note when Mr. Brittain came. I wrote to Mr. B. to come, and I told him what I had gotten and for him to get the note. So he did, and we left. I have never seen Mitchell since.

Resuming the 1867 Journey

(The author now returns to her story from the spring of 1867.)

Well, I had left my cousin D.A. Brittain’s around the first of April 1867, en route to Mr. Young’s. We were all well, but the one extra horse was somewhat of a bother. However, we had one drowned and one stolen before Cousin Dave gave me this one. We intended to buy pack horses when we got to Lake County, and as we could make good use of him in the Clear Lake mountains for a pack horse, I persisted in keeping him. Mr. Brittain wanted to sell or give away our extra horse, but as for Polly, no money would have caused me to let her go.

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