CARRYING GOLD

The Mendocino Beacon, Mendocino, CA

Kelley House Museum Column

Mendocino City: Carrying Gold

—Dateline: May, 31, 2012
 

The moon was waning on October 11, 1884, about half-full at the end of a dusty Indian Summer day. It matters, because the Mendocino Beacon reports the Sanderson stage got ambushed at 3 in the morning. The stage had left Cloverdale some six hours earlier, and stopped to change horses in Yorkville and Boonville. Wells Fargo estimates stagecoaches managed between 5 and 12 miles an hour, depending on the terrain. The climb to Yorkville could easily have taken three hours and the descent to Boonville a couple more. Six hours seems fair. According to the Beacon, the coach was three miles out of Boonville when things got out of hand.

Why no one was riding shotgun is hard to say. Generally, when the Express box carried gold and silver, Wells Fargo hired a guard. Perhaps, because a shot-gunner signaled money, they mixed it up sometimes, in hopes of keeping the bandits off-guard. Maybe no one was available that night, or maybe JL Sanderson, who had only opened his Daily Mail & Stage Line in June, didn't know any better.

In any event, the Rev. Drum’s wife, Mary, was riding up top with the driver that night. She and the Reverend, who preached at Mendocino’s Presbyterian Church, had been at a synod in San Francisco. They’d stayed in a fancy hotel, ridden the new fangled cable car, and left San Francisco at 5 in the morning, paying $9.50 each to ferry to Petaluma then ride the train to Cloverdale. Sanderson’s stage was the last leg of a arduous journey.

The coach was filled with locals. Mrs. John Murray had taken her twenty-year old daughter, Susie, to San Francisco, perhaps to buy sundries for her trousseau. The Murrays ran one of the oldest businesses in Mendocino—the pharmacy and general merchandizing store on Main Street. Mrs. Murray had emigrated from County Clare as a child, and still spoke with the lilt of her Irish roots. Her youngest, eight-year-old, Carl, traveled with them and seems to have been high that night on the adrenaline of adventure. Mrs. Klein was aboard too, traveling unaccompanied.

Things got off to a challenging start when the bandits ordered the driver to throw down the Express box. He protested. If he threw the box, his lead horses would bolt, and endanger his passengers who were mostly women and children. Did they really want that on their conscience?

One of the bandits dutifully climbed up top and got the box. The other got Rev. James Drum out of the coach and robbed him of three dollars. Unimpressed, the Reverend mocked the poor fellow. “Should of robbed me on my way to the Synod,” he teased, “before I spent my money.”

The bandits grew increasingly flustered. They didn’t know whether to insist the women disembark. Such a transaction involved physical contact, hands had to help the ladies down. They opted to negotiate through the open stage door, pressing Mrs. Klein to hand over $5, but returning the money when she fretted she needed it to pay for breakfast. They didn’t fare any better with Susie Murray. When they asked her to turn over her riches, she directed them to speak with her mother on the matter.

“Overcome your scruples,” she told her mother. “Give them your purse.”

No fool, Mrs. Murray “bustled about” nervously, trying to find it. “Don’t you have it?” she asked Susie, her voice giving way to that sweet Irish lilt.

“Why no, Mama.” Susie probably sounded flummoxed and afraid. “But do find it and give it to them before they kill us.”

Young Carl, seated near the door, told the Beacon one of the robbers kept losing his bandana. “It kept slipping down his face,” giving Carl a good look. Young Murray would grow up to write for the Beacon. He reported that the bandits started arguing. “They didn’t want to let the women win,” the Beacon explains, “but were a little fainthearted.” Apparently, after considerable discomfort and confusion, the bandits cut their losses and ordered Rev. Drum back onto the stage. They secured all of three dollars from those sharp-witted Mendocino pioneers.

I write fiction, historical fiction, and there’s an advantage to that. As author, I can bend the facts to fit my fancy. I say this, because piecing together Mendocino’s stagecoach history invites speculation. The “facts” are like dots on a big blank page. My job is to draw the lines between them as best I can—without changing history. It’s a delicate balance, a challenge to be sure; but the archives at the Kelley House Museum are rich with resources that make the venture both possible and fascinating. Stop by sometime if you want to research a history mystery, or just browse through fascinating artifacts and photos.