LIEUTENANT EDWARD FlTZGERALD BEALE of the U. S. Navy should be as famous as Paul Revere, who warned that the British were coming, or Lieutenant Andrew Rowan, who carried that famous message to Garcia. But Beale had no Longfellow to write “Listen, my children, and you shall hear of the midnight ride of Paul Revere,” no Elbert Hubbard to publish in a score of languages “Rowan . . . there is a man whose form should be cast in deathless bronze.”
The forgotten man of American history, Lieutenant Beale won a gruelling cross-continent race just 101 years ago to deliver to the Atlantic seaboard the most electrifying news of the last century—the discovery of gold in California. Details of that hair-raising exploit, unfortunately, lie hidden among the yellowed columns of century-old newspapers and on the brittle pages of official documents in the National Archives and the Library of Congress.
Lieutenant Beale reached the end of his 4,000-mile journey on a muggy Saturday evening, September 16, 1848, in Washington, D. C. He was 26 years old then, sun- browned, square-jawed, an acting lieutenant in the U. S. Navy.
In his scuffed saddlebags he carried two sets of official dispatches. One was for the Secretary of State from Thomas O. Larkin, United States consul at Monterey, California. The other was addressed to the Secretary of the Navy from Commodore Thomas ap Catesby Jones, commander-in-chief of the Pacific squadron. But what was to make people in Washington, Philadelphia, and New York gasp with amazement was a small vial of gold, the first tangible evidence to give credence to the astonishing rumors that had been rippling out of California.
Beale, who later was to play an important, if not widely known, role in the development of the West, had spanned the North American continent by native schooner, horseback, and sloop-o’-war in the incredible time of 47 days to set a new record. He had bested a rival Army dispatch bearer by more than a month. His dispatches and gold samples opened a thrilling new chapter of American history.
Somehow the drama of this Army-Navy gold dust derby has been neglected by historians and novelists alike. Beale is more often remembered as the “Hero of San Pasqual,” when he and Kit Carson stole through Mexican lines in July, 1846, to summon aid to a besieged General Kearny. This bit of heroism is quoted by the same historians who overlook his key role in carrying the official news of California gold. As a matter of fact, the Army courier is sometimes given this credit. But there is evidence to show that it was Lieutenant Beale, the Navy officer, not his Army rival, who arrived in Washington first. And the story has a satisfyingly romantic ending in that Beale had a jeweler fashion half the gold into a wedding ring for his fiancée.
“Ned” Beale, a handsome, husky young man, was descended from seafaring folk on both sides of the family. His father was a Navy paymaster who served under Macdonough in the Battle of Lake Champlain. His mother was the daughter of the famous Commodore Truxtun of the Constellation.
As a youngster in Washington, D. C., young Ned grew up in an atmosphere of bitter politics. One day he and a lad named Evans attempted to settle a political question with their fists. As the boys swung at one another, a tall figure strode between them, grabbed young Beale by the collar and demanded; “What’s this all about?”
Breathlessly Ned answered that he was for Andrew Jackson, and that Evans had expressed a low, unseemly opinion of the President’s opinions and personality.
“I am Jackson,” said the tall man. “I never forget men who are willing to fight for me. Of course I do not want them to do it all the time.”
Several years later President Jackson appointed the 14-year old youth a midshipman in the Navy. He was soon ordered to the Independence in Philadelphia. Beale’s mother made him a wonderful blue coat with the great polished buttons of the immortal Truxtun, five times as large as buttons then in style. During his first day aboard the school ship, young Beale again got into a fight, this time over his coat. His physical courage and loyalty were two attributes to mark his entire life.
In 1845, Beale was sent with secret dispatches to Commodore Stockton who was en route to California in the Congress. This was the beginning of a career of message carrying which was to take the young naval officer to England, the Sandwich Islands, and across the continent many times; to develop a close friendship with the great Kit Carson; and finally to bring about Beale’s selection to carry the first official news of the California gold discovery.
Although gold had been picked up in small amounts for many years in California and the brown-robed Franciscan missionaries are said to have known of its existence, the official discovery of gold is credited to James Wilson Marshall. Helping Captain John Sutter build a sawmill near Sacramento, Marshall noticed yellow flakes in the mill race on January 24, 1848. The secret remained closely guarded for about six weeks, but soon the news began to leak. Many San Franciscans remained skeptical until Sam Brannan, a newspaper editor who had just returned from the mines, ran through the streets holding aloft a bottle of glittering particles and bellowing at the top of his- lungs, “Gold! Gold! Gold! From the American River!”
As far as can be determined, the first printed account of the discovery appeared in the San Francisco Californian on March 15, 1848:
GOLD MINE FOUND—In the newly made raceway of the Saw Mill recently erected by Captain Sutter, on the American Fork, gold has been found in considerable quantities. One person brought thirty dollars worth to New Helvetia, gathered there in a short time. California, no doubt, is rich in mineral wealth, great chances here for scientific capitalists. Gold has been found in almost every part of the country.
This original announcement was followed on April 1, 1848, by a booster edition of the California Star which, even then, extolled the salubrious climate and the fruitful land. On an inside page the discovery of gold was casually mentioned. Approximately 2,000 copies of this edition of the Star were sent to the Mississippi Valley by mule team, delivery “guaranteed in sixty days.” One copy evidently found its way to New York for the Herald Tribune, in its August 19, 1848 edition, presented an article closely paralleling the Star story. Considerable suspicion exists that a skillful Herald Tribune desk man re-wrote the Star article.
These three newspaper yarns, plus word- of-mouth rumors and personal letters from friends, set the East coast a-buzzing. It was declared on good authority that a group of sailors in San Francisco had deserted their ships and had earned from $2,000 to $5,000 apiece in a few days digging at the mines. A man named Wilson is said to have found $2,000 in gold dust “almost in his backyard.” Three Frenchmen removed a stump in the road and found $5,000 in dust and nuggets in the cavity left by the roots.
Were such stories true? Had gold really been discovered in California? Or was this just another of the will-o’-the-wisps that had danced tantalizingly before the name of California for more than three centuries?
Top-ranking Army and Navy officers in California, which had just been wrested from Mexico, decided to find out and report to their superiors in Washington, D. C. If a rich gold strike had been made, this land of long seacoasts, vast inland valleys, rugged forests, sky-touching mountains, and formidable deserts might be worth many times in value what the Mexican War had cost.
One of the Navy’s special agents in California at that time was Thomas O. Larkin, also United States consul at Monterey, then the capital of the territory. He had lived in California since 1831 and his word and judgment were considered to be reliable. On June 1, 1848, he sat down and wrote to the Secretary of State:
Sir ... I have to report to the State Department one of the most astonishing excitements and state of affairs now existing in this country, that perhaps has ever been brought to the notice of the government. On the American Fork of the Sacramento and Feather Rivers, another branch of the same, and adjoining lands, there has been, within the present year, discovered a placer, a vast tract of land containing gold in small particles. This gold, thus far, has been taken on the bank of the river, from the surface to eighteen inches in depth, and is supposed deeper, and to extend over the country . . .
I have seen several pounds of this gold, and consider it very pure, worth, in New York, seventeen to eighteen dollars per ounce ... I shall within a few days visit this mine and make another report to you . . .
Larkin subsequently visited Sutter’s Ranch and upon his return wrote, on June 28, 1848, a much more complete description of the mines and how the discovery had affected California. He added:
I have the pleasure of enclosing a paper of this sand and gold which I, from a bucket of dirt and stones, in a half hour, standing at the edge of water, washed out myself. The value of it may be two or three dollars.
Larkin’s dispatches were sent via Navy mail from Monterey to La Paz, the little Mexican seaport town near the tip of Lower California. La Paz then served as a base for the Pacific Squadron, commanded by Commodore Thomas ap Catesby Jones, a crusty old sea dog who had seen considerable action at the Battle of New Orleans.
A short while previously, Beale had been attached to Commodore Jones’ flagship, the Ohio, as an acting lieutenant. According to Stephen Bonsai, Beale’s only biographer, the young naval officer was a talented cartoonist. One day he put on paper a caricature of the Commodore telling the ship’s doctor a long-winded story about the capture of New Orleans. Commodore Jones heard about it and ordered Beale detached from the Ohio to command a company ashore at Mazatlan. Bonsai writes, “some of the officers saw in Beale’s subsequent selection to carry dispatches and news of gold across Mexico further evidence of the Commodore’s hostility.”
But there is valid reason to believe that Commodore Jones was well aware of the historical importance of Larkin’s dispatches. In fact, one of his letters to the Secretary of the Navy stated that Beale had “volunteered” to cross the country “at his own expense.” But the salty old commodore, after “a little reflection and considering the nature of those communications,” decided to send Beale to Washington, D. C., as a special Navy courier instead of trusting the slow and uncertain regular mail.
Late in July, 1848, Commodore Jones called Lieutenant Beale into his cabin aboard the Ohio.
“I’m ordering you to Washington with Larkin’s dispatches,” he said. “How soon can you leave?”
“At once, sir,” Beale replied with a grin.
“Good! Colonel Mason of the Army is planning to send a courier also. Never let it be said that the Army beat the Navy in anything. I’ve picked you for this job because you’re as much at home on the trail as the teakwood deck. In fact, I sometimes think you’re a blasted landlubber at heart. What about some gold to take back with you?”
“I already have some dust and nuggets of my own that I traded for quinine.”
“Excellent. You will shove off as soon as the flag secretary has completed my dispatches to the Secretary of the Navy. And remember this: get to Washington, D. C., before that Army courier!”
Highest-ranking Army officer in California during that summer was Colonel Richard B. Mason, who was also acting governor of the territory. Like Larkin, he had made a special tour of the Sacramento Valley and was preparing to send to Washington Lieutenant Lucian Loesser of the Third Engineers. Lieutenant Loesser was to carry not only Colonel Mason’s dispatches, but also a tea caddy containing 16 samples of gold from various mines and $3,000 worth of dust purchased with Army funds.
Lieutenant Beale got off to a head start on August 1, 1848. He laid out a 1,000-mile course straight through the heart of Mexico. It meant crossing two great mountain ranges and the jungles of the tierra caliente on both coasts. But it was the shortest and fastest route. At Vera Cruz, he planned to catch a fast ship for an American port. Lieutenant Loesser was delayed until August 17 when Colonel Mason completed his report. The Army courier determined to take a ship to Panama, cross the isthmus, and then continue by water to Washington. Thus we find the paradox of the Navy officer travelling a good part of his journey by land, the Army officer almost all the way by sea.
It took Beale five days to cross the Gulf of California from La Paz to the Navy’s auxiliary base at Mazatlan. There he hired a small native goleta to carry him 150 miles down the coast to San Bias where his inland trek would get under way.
When the Mexican governor of San Bias heard his plans, he said to Beale, “Señor, an American like yourself could not travel a dozen miles in Mexico without being robbed and murdered.”
“Why?” asked Beale.
“The troops of Mariano Paredes have deserted and turned bandit. These ladrones are desperate, señor, and would not hesitate to kill you for the horse you ride.”
But Beale knew that risks had to be taken. He set about to make himself look as much like a Mexican as possible. Years on the sea and the desert had browned his face the color of saddle leather. To complete the disguise, he bought a red flannel shirt, a sombrero, four six-barrelled revolvers, and a bowie knife to slip in his boot.
Beale and a Mexican guide left San Bias on August 12 to cross the rain-swollen barrancas en route to Tepic. They were held up once by three highwaymen. But Beale’s six-shooters blazed and the bandits fled. Recognizing the possibility that he might be killed before reaching Washington, the first thing Beale did upon arrival in Tepic was to open his dispatches, make copies and mail them to the American minister at Mexico City.
This taken care of, Beale pushed on, with Commodore Jones’s admonition ringing in his ears, “Get to Washington, D. C. before that Army courier.” He and the guide rode day and night, pausing only long enough to snatch momentary sleep when a fresh horse was saddled. On the outskirts of Guadalajara, just before dusk one night, they encountered another group of mounted men.
“These are bad men, señor,” said the guide. “There are too many of them for us to fight.”
“Right,” said Beale. “You lead the way and I’ll follow.”
They touched spurs to their horses and galloped in the opposite direction. Bullets whined through the gloom, but none found their mark. Later Beale and his guide doubled back to the trail and found the ground stained with fresh blood. A party of eleven men, they were told afterwards, had been murdered by the gang.
From Guadalajara to Mexico City, the greatest threat to the young American Navy officer and his faithful Mexican guide was a raging tropical storm that pelted down in all its fury. The two swam swollen streams, rode around uprooted trees, dodged avalanches of rocks and mud, and picked their way at night by vivid flashes of lightning.
Eight days out of San Bias they reached Mexico City, a distance of 725 miles, literally caked in mud. If there had been a lingering doubt about Beale’s resemblance to a Mexican, it had been dissipated long ago. He was not recognized when he stumbled into the courtyard of the American Legation in Mexico City, but his credentials proved who he was.
“You must stay here until you’re rested,” Nathan Clifford, the American minister, insisted. “A hot bath, clean clothes, and good food are what you need. While you’re resting, I’ll prepare my own dispatches for the Secretary of the State which I hope you will be so kind as to include in the official pouch.”
On the morning of the third day, chafing at the time lost, Beale and his guide were again in the saddle, galloping toward Vera Cruz. This was easier going and, as Beale retraced Cortez’ old route of march, he made the astonishing time of 275 miles in 48 hours, pausing only 10 minutes at a time for sleep and new horses. He met with ladrones only once during this stretch of the journey and escaped by riding down the face of an almost unscalable cliff.
When the pair reached Vera Cruz, the mind of the Mexican guide had become almost unhinged by the dangers and vicissitudes of the perilous journey. He had to be returned to Mexico City under guard.
Four days after Beale arrived in Vera Cruz, he found transportation to the United States in the sloop-of-war Germantown. It was a tedious and uninteresting cruise north, and Beale paced the decks in his impatience. But finally the ship reached Mobile, Alabama.
From Mobile to Washington, D. C., Beale travelled by stage-coach. Word of his daring dash from California preceded him like a quickening wind before a rain. At each town and hamlet that he passed through, crowds turned out to cheer him, to inquire about El Dorado, and ask to see the gold samples.
On September 16, just 47 days after he had left La Paz, Lieutenant Beale reached Washington, D. C.—a new cross-continent record. He presented his official dispatches to the Secretary of the Navy and the Secretary of State. Senator Benton of Missouri, an old friend, and Senator Foote of Mississippi, who had travelled part of the way to Washington with him, jointly introduced the young naval officer to the Senate. Before the assembled legislators he recounted the discovery of gold in California and his trip East with the news.
As the Senate listened in rapt attention, Beale told of the rich gold strike in California and how it had affected the lives of every man, woman, and child in the territory. He recounted how whole towns were being deserted as mechanics, storekeepers, carpenters, blacksmiths, and newspaper compositors left for the mines. Soldiers and sailors were deserting in large numbers.
“There is danger that California may starve because even the farmers have gone crazy with the gold fever,” he said. “And when more gold-seekers pour into California, the shortage of food will be even more serious. Would it not be profitable to send cargoes of flour, biscuit, and pickled meat ’round to the Pacific coast?”
Because the gold he had brought was his own, Beale carried it with him. He was besieged by friend and stranger alike to be allowed to heft the nuggets and finger the dust. When he visited Henry Aspinwall in New York City, crowds followed in the street and begged to see the yellow metal. Even that wily old showman P. T. Barnum, who knew a good thing, wrote to Lieutenant Beale from Philadelphia begging for permission to exhibit the California gold:
Mr. Harding of the Enquirer has just informed me that you have in your possession an 8 lb. lump of California gold. As I am always anxious to procure novelties for public gratification I write this to say that I should be glad to purchase the lump at its valuation if you will dispose of it and if not I should like to procure it for exhibition for a few weeks.
Beale, who loved the mountains, the desert, and the sea, soon tired of all this hullabaloo. He refused Barnum’s request, gave half his gold to the U. S. Patent Office in Washington, D. C., and had the rest wrought into a wedding ring for his fiancee and childhood sweetheart, Mary Edwards, daughter of Congressman Samuel Edwards of New Jersey. They were married in Chester, Pennsylvania, shortly afterwards.
Meanwhile, public attention had focused on Lieutenant Lucian Loesser, who arrived in Washington about the middle of November. The Army’s courier had waited impatiently in Monterey for the Lambayecana until August 30, 1848, and had sailed with her to Payta, Peru. There he had transferred to another vessel which took him back to Panama where he crossed the isthmus to Colon and caught a third ship bound for New Orleans.
There were still many doubters. “It glitters, it looks like gold, but it isn’t,” the skeptics said. They were put to complete rout, however, when President Polk, in his message to Congress on December 5, 1848, gave official recognition to the discovery of gold in California:
The accounts of the abundance of gold in that territory are of such an extraordinary character as would scarcely command belief were they not corroborated by authentic reports of officers in the public service, who have visited the mineral district, and derive the facts which they detail from personal observation. . . . The officer commanding our forces in California visited the mineral district in July last, for the purpose of obtaining accurate information on the subject. His report to the War Department of his examination, and the facts obtained on the spot, is herewith laid before Congress. . . . Information received from the officers of the Navy and other sources, though not so full and minute, confirm the accounts of the commander of our military force in California. . . .
The lid was really off. California was the golden magnet that drew adventurous men and women from all parts of the globe in the greatest gold rush that history has ever known. They headed west on foot, in covered wagons, and in sailing vessels. Thousands of them, intending to make a quick fortune in California, settled down to build a new state. In the year 1850 more than $41,000,000 in gold was dug and washed out of California soil, followed by $75,000,000 in 1851 and $81,000,000 in 1852.
Lieutenant Beale remained in the Navy until 1852 when he resigned his commission to join the firm of Stockton-Aspinwall, which held large investments in western mining, real estate, and transportation. Later on he was appointed Superintendent of Indian Affairs for California and Nevada, and developed a policy toward the Indians which endures today. In 1856 he sold Jefferson Davis, Secretary of War, on the scheme of importing camels from North Africa to use in the Southwestern deserts. He was appointed General in the Army and later U. S. Minister to Austria by an old friend of California days, President Ulysses S. Grant. He acquired the Fort Tejon ranch near Bakersfield, and became one of California’s largest landowners.
But in the later years of his rich and useful life, Edward Fitzgerald Beale always dwelt lovingly upon the days when he was the Navy’s No. 1 courier. He liked to be known as the man who carried news of the discovery of gold to Washington, D. C., and won the Army-Navy gold dust derby. History has not yet seen fit to bestow such distinction upon him.