The Young Captives A Narrative of the Shipwreck and Suffering of John and William Doyley
THE YOUNG CAPTIVES. [Illustration] Here is a picture of a fine large English ship, called the _Charles Eaton_, which was wrecked in the Southern Ocean. The crew, you see, have made a raft of some of the spars and planks of the ship, and having all got upon it, are about cutting loose from the wreck, with the hope that they may reach one of the distant islands. Poor men! they did indeed reach the island; but only to meet a more dreadful death than that threatened them by the waves. Overcome with fatigue and anxiety, they no sooner gained the shore, than they all, captain, crew, and passengers, threw themselves on the earth, and soon were fast asleep. In this helpless state, they were attacked by the cruel and blood-thirsty savages who inhabited the island, and all barbarously murdered, except two little boys, John and William Doyley. These children, sons of a gentleman and lady who had been passengers in the ill-fated ship, were kept in captivity by the savages for many years.
I lost no time in Stockton and headed for Milton in the foot-hills, just
across the western boundary of Calaveras County. The distance was
variously estimated by the natives at from twenty to forty miles -
Californians are careless about distances, as in other matters.
Subsequently I entered it in my note book as a long twenty-eight.
Eighteen miles out from Stockton, at a place called Peters, which is
little more than a railway junction, you leave the cultivated land and
enter practically a desert country, destitute of water, trees,
undergrowth and with but a scanty growth of grass. I ate my lunch at the
little store and noted with apprehension that the thermometer registered
104 degrees in the shaded porch. I am not likely to forget that pull of
ten miles and inwardly confessed to a regret that I had not taken the
train to Milton. Accustomed on "hikes" to a thirst not surpassed by
anything "east of Suez," I never before appreciated the significance of
the word "parched" - the "tongue cleaving to the roof of the mouth."
At Milton one enters the land of romance. What was even more appreciable
at the time, it marks the limit of the inhospitable country I had
traversed. Mr. Robert Donner, the proprietor of the Milton Hotel, told
me he once had "Black Bart" as his guest for over a week, being unaware
at the time of his identity. This famous bandit in the early eighties
"held up" the Yosemite stage time and again. In fact, he terrorized the
whole Sierra country from Redding to Sacramento. He was finally captured
in San Francisco through a clew obtained from a laundry mark on a pair
of white cuffs. For years, Mr. Donner cherished a boot left by the
THE YOUNG CAPTIVES. [Illustration] Here is a picture of a fine large English ship, called the _Charles Eaton_, which was wrecked in the Southern Ocean. The crew, you see, have made a raft of some of the spars and planks of the ship, and having all got upon it, are about cutting loose from the wreck, with the hope that they may reach one of the distant islands. Poor men! they did indeed reach the island; but only to meet a more dreadful death than that threatened them by the waves. Overcome with fatigue and anxiety, they no sooner gained the shore, than they all, captain, crew, and passengers, threw themselves on the earth, and soon were fast asleep. In this helpless state, they were attacked by the cruel and blood-thirsty savages who inhabited the island, and all barbarously murdered, except two little boys, John and William Doyley. These children, sons of a gentleman and lady who had been passengers in the ill-fated ship, were kept in captivity by the savages for many years.