Silas Weston

Silas Weston was a most unusual man by anyone’s standards. From broker to bookkeeper, lamp salesman to explorer, teacher to accountant to merchant to photographer, he changed professions like other men changed hats. A native of Francestown, New Hampshire and longtime resident of Providence and Cranston, he traveled to California, the Azores Volcanoes and back, wrote two books about his journeys and raised four children, one of whom would become a legendary American athlete. He fought valiantly for the Union in the Civil War, and died a year after it ended in a saloon on Friend Street, South Providence -- of typhoid fever contracted while serving time in a Confederate prison in Andersonville, Georgia. At the time of his death, all of his earthly possessions were valued and sold for a sum of $300.

As best as can be determined, Silas Weston was a late bloomer, the kind of man who does not really begin to live until he turns 40 -- or in Silas’s case, 48. For the first 47 years of his life, Silas Weston did nothing remarkable or of note. He was born on March 9, 1804 to James and Betsey Weston of Francestown, New Hampshire, one of their five sons and two daughters. He moved from Francestown to Providence, Rhode Island when he was 24 years old, and married a woman six years his junior, Maria D. Gaines. Their marriage produced four children: Ellen M. (born on Sept. 20, 1832), Edward Payson (born March 15, 1839), Mary Anna Jane (born December 30, 1840) and Emmons B. Weston (born in 1846).

Perhaps due to restlessness, perhaps due to economic necessity or personal reasons, the Westons rarely stayed at the same address for more than a couple years. In the 35 years that the family lived in Providence, the Westons moved no less than 12 times. For their first two years in Providence, the Westons lived in a small but comfortable home at 12 George Street. Silas taught at the 3rd District Public School downtown, and Maria presided over the household while he was at work, making sure that all things domestic were kept in order. Two years later, the couple moved to 150 Benefit Street. In 1832 Silas became the principal of his school, and by this time Maria had given birth to her firstborn, Ellen. The young family moved to 13 Benevolent Street, where they lived for the next four years.

In 1836, Silas, Maria and 4-year-old Ellen moved down the hill and across the Woonasquatucket River to 115 Pine St. In 1841, after Edward Payson and Mary Anna Jane were born, Silas Weston switched professions. At the age of 37, he opened a variety store at the corner of Pine and Parsonage Streets, and tended his shop for the next four years. In 1847, after the birth of his youngest son Emmons, Silas returned to his former career in education, as an instructor at a public school at 271 Broad Street. By this time the Westons had moved to 120 Lockwood Street

While Silas taught his pupils at school, his wife Maria stayed home and cared for their four young children. A remarkably talented woman, Maria did not let her considerable domestic duties stop her from publishing two long poems, The Fatal Excursion and Susan’s Visit; or, a Week Spent in the Country, and a short story, Luzette; or, Good Brought out of Evil, in 1847. Appreciably didactic and moral in nature, her works expressed her personal sense of religious devotion. She penned each under a pseudonym -- “Maria”.

The next year, encouraged by the warm reception of her previous works, Maria published her first novel: The Weldron Family; or, Vicissitudes of Fortune. Advertised on the title page as “A Story of Real Life in New England,” Maria’s book traced the lives of several generations of Weldrons, a family descended from one of the original Pilgrims aboard the Mayflower. 

Two years after the book was published, in 1850, the Westons moved to 19 Foster Street. 

By September of 1852 the adventurer in Silas Weston had grown restless. As much as he loved his wife and children and as much as he enjoyed teaching, he imagined what it would be like to leave Rhode Island and travel for a while. He daydreamed of ships bound for exotic locales, sails billowing in the wind, gliding over a sparkling sea of brilliant blue. He longed to follow a trail or climb a mountain or backpack through the wilderness. He missed the hills and woods of New Hampshire, but craved more excitement than his hometown could offer him. He wanted to meet new people and surround himself with new experiences.

He decided to indulge his dreams. He would do what other men had been doing by the thousands ever since that fateful day, January 24, 1848, when James W. Marshall had discovered gold in the American River at Sutter’s Mill. With Marshall’s famous words ringing in his ears - “Boys, I believe I have found a gold mine!” – the 48-year-old father of four packed his bags and bought a $500 ticket for a steamer headed for the legendary gold mines of California. 

In 1848, the entire population of California totaled approximately 15,000. But by 1852 the population had skyrocketed to 225,000. California had gone from largely ignored frontier territory to object of global interest and destination of choice in a matter of months. When California was admitted into the Union as the 31st state on Sept. 9, 1850, it became the emblem of President James Polk’s vision of “Manifest Destiny,” and Americans gloried in their beautiful nation that now stretched from coast to coast. 

The path that Silas Weston followed to California was a path well traveled by the time he sailed from Providence in 1852. 

By the time his ship steamed into the San Francisco Bay eight months later in the spring of 1853, Silas exploded off the gangplank in his eagerness to begin his quest for gold. He and eleven of his fellow shipmates traveled north from San Francisco to Sacramento City, where they intended to launch their expedition. After hiring two teamsters to transport their mining tools, provisions and other baggage, Silas and his companions took their departure from Sacramento for the Auburn mines on April 10, 1853. 

As his party journeyed through the sometimes flat, sometimes hilly terrain, Silas Weston observed all of their doings with a touch of humor and a keen eye for detail. Most nights he could be seen sitting off by himself at the side of the camp, scribbling furiously in the small, battered notebook that he had brought along with him. Seated on a stone or the ground and using a small trunk turned upside down in his lap as a desk, Silas faithfully recorded many of the amusing and interesting happenings of the trip. 

“The portion of country this afternoon passed is flat and contains many small rivers, sloughs and low places which the recent rains have much swollen,” he wrote on the way to Auburn, California. “But this obstacle was made only an occasion of amusement by the frolicsome ones. As we reached these streams and pools each ascertained the best fordable point, displaced his shoes and stockings and once or twice pants also, then hastened splash-dash through the water.”

On April 13, Silas and his companions reached the tiny encampment known as Auburn, an hour or two south of the mines. Dinner being an individual affair, Silas lamented his wife’s culinary skills as he attempted to cook for himself, something he had rarely done in the past. After a near disaster (when his pot of porridge toppled over into the fire), Silas spread his blanket under one of the baggage wagons. Finding the ground too damp for his taste, he sought shelter in one of the meager shanties set up inside the encampment. As his companions spent the night there in tents or out on blankets under the stars, thanks to the kindness of the shanty’s owner, Silas snored contentedly on a bench inside. 

The next day, Silas’s party rose early and commenced their first trip to the mines. Upon reaching there, Silas wrote, “We were not a little surprised when we first beheld the “diggings,” as they are familiarly called, for the earth in almost every direction appeared as if it had been rent asunder by an earthquake.”

After pitching their tents and setting up their things, Silas and his friends watched the diggings proceed and picked up tips from the experienced miners. Some of the miners still used tin pans to separate the gold from the dirt and gravel that concealed it in the riverbed. After steadily rolling the pan back and forth, the miners would see the dirt and water wash over the side, leaving only (if they were lucky!) a sandy, gold bearing residue. Most of the miners, however, had graduated to using cradles to pan for gold. Relying essentially upon the same rocking motion as the less effective pans, cradles mimicked the action of natural streambeds, carrying handfuls of earth and water through boxes or troughs lined with small barriers that would catch the heavier particles of gold as they flowed by. 

For the next four weeks, Silas and his companions worked diligently alongside the Auburn miners, savoring the feel of the great outdoors and the tremendous anticipation of discovery that began each new day. Silas wrote proudly, “With a becoming industry we have plied our hands…we have become adept in the art of mining -- that we can rock the cradle not only gracefully, but scientifically. Our success, however, has been inconsiderable, having obtained only from three to eight dollars value per day.” 

As they mined for gold, Silas’s party kept on a strict alert for danger. They had heard stories of the ferocious grizzly bears that roamed the area, some weighing more than 1,100 pounds, able to tear a man to shreds in a matter of minutes. Although not naturally aggressive, once provoked, these grizzlies were known to fight till the bitter end, never stopping until they or their opponent lay dead. 

In addition to the dangers of the wild, the miners also watched carefully for any sign of the native California Indians that inhabited the region. The hostility of many white settlers towards the Indians had fueled the fires of resentment, and a series of massacres on both sides had already broken out. A teamster from Kelly’s Bar (a village of tents eight miles from Auburn on the American River) had been ambushed by several Indians and shot near death with arrows through the head, shoulder and thigh. Luckily for the teamster, a group of travelers happened upon the scene and the Indians fled. Seeking revenge, an expedition of 22 miners from Kelly’s Bar, armed with bowie knives, short-guns and six barreled revolvers, had stormed the perpetrators’ village in the early hours of the morning, taking it by surprise. Sparing not even the women and children, the miners had returned with their trophies of victory -- small bundles of bows and arrows with scalps dangling beneath. 

Most recently, in an encampment not far from Auburn, miners had killed two Indians in a skirmish. Fearful of retaliation, Silas wrote, “We are kept in constant fear, especially nights, lest the red man should pierce us with arrows, which are usually sharply pointed with glass or stone; or with uplifted tomahawk and drawn scalping knife make a precipitate descent, such as is known only in Indian warfare…and destroy us.”

On May 4, Silas’s encampment experienced an Indian scare of its own. A few minutes past midnight, an Indian crept up silently behind one of the tents in the camp. One of the tent’s occupants happened to still be up. As soon as he spotted the intruder, the man roused his two tent mates with a frantic yell and grabbed his rifle. He dashed out of the tent and fired at the Indian, who by this time was running for the woods. The miner’s two friends, carrying revolvers of their own, rushed out a moment later and the three commenced a wild, futile chase after the fleeing Indian. As the Indian retreated into the darkened woods with the fleetness of a deer, his long black hair streaming behind him, the three men chased him in vain, firing their pistols and wearing nothing but their shirts. The Indian easily outdistanced the miners and disappeared into the night, leaving the whole camp in an uproar behind him. 

On May 16, 1853, a little more than a month after they had first arrived in Auburn, Silas and his friends threw down their shovels and packed their bags for Sacramento. Finding that the actual amounts of gold they had collected were severely less than expected, they decided that a change of venue would be the best solution. Some of the men were so discouraged that they wanted to 

admit defeat and head home, but others of their party soon convinced them that they had traveled too far at too great a sacrifice to give up so soon. With renewed spirits the party boarded the steamer “Linda” in Sacramento and sailed up the Sacramento River to Marysville, a town 70 miles away, where they would try their luck once again.

After arriving in Marysville, Silas and his company engaged teamsters to transport their baggage and equipment. Anxious to set off as soon as possible, they left the town that very day and began the long journey into the mountains nearby.

The land that they passed through afforded them much pleasure as they trekked amidst its grassy, wooded slopes. As the group walked on, they caught glimpses of deer, elk and antelopes leaping and bounding through the trees, only to scamper off swiftly at the sight of them. Above their heads, flocks of wild geese flew in their famous “V” formations, and in the valleys, entire herds of wild horses and cattle grazed on the thick carpets of grass beneath their feet. 

But even as they marveled at the beauty of the land and animals, they remained on the lookout for danger. Numerous grizzlies roamed about, and even though their teamsters assured them that the bears rarely harmed anyone unless provoked first, Silas and his companions still dreaded meeting them in a chance encounter. Silas wrote, “We each carried well loaded arms, so as to ‘give ‘em some,’ as the juveniles sometimes say, if any [bear] should attempt to molest us.”

After a few days later, Silas and his party finally reached their destination: Stingtown, a settlement situated at the foot of the Sierra Nevadas on the south fork of the Feather River, 125 miles northeast of Sacramento. Their task? To divert one portion of the river from its natural course into an outlet of their choosing, leaving them free to examine its silt-laden riverbed for any traces of gold. For the next three months, Silas and his friends labored to build a channel of sufficient dimensions to receive the water, thus draining the river into their manmade reservoir. The volume of water that they moved measured roughly 40 feet in width by 6 feet in depth by 700 feet in length. 

For all their work, however, Silas and his company were poorly rewarded. “We have toiled to no purpose,” Silas wrote dejectedly at the completion of the project. “Our fond anticipations have been sadly disappointed -- the bottom of the river has been examined, and the valued treasure is not there. This is a hard case, for most of us have spent nearly all of our money, and the disappointment came when each expected to obtain sufficient, not only to replenish his own pocket, but also to make a remittance to the States.” 

Silas himself had come to California in 1852 with $100 in his pocket; by the time he wrote those words his savings had dwindled to nothing. In fact, he was now $13 in debt. 

“Well, this is rather an unpleasant fix to be in, so far from home, among strangers, and far up among the Sierra Nevada Mountains, surrounded by savage Indians, and wild beasts into the bargain,” he lamented in his journal on August 14, 1853. 

Not long after that, Silas Weston decided to take his leave of the mines. 

When Silas returned to Providence in early 1854, the first thing he did was to market an account of his trip. Entitled “Life in the Mountains: or, Four Months in the Mines of California,” the 34-page booklet was published by his then 15-year-old son Edward Payson and sold for 15 cents a copy. A few months later, Silas released a second, revised edition. The newest version of his account contained an additional 12 pages of anecdotes, and boasted a shortened title: “Four Months in the Mines of California.”

After the publication of his books, Silas Weston took up accounting with a local firm located at 58 Broad Street. It was good to be home, he acknowledged, back with his wife and their four children. But the numbers and figures he dealt with day in, day out tired him dreadfully, and seemed so tame and boring compared to his daily adventures in California. 

After a mere 18 months at home, the adventurer in Silas stirred again. Once more, Silas Weston embarked on a journey of exploration and excitement, this time to the Island of Pico, one of the Azores Islands off the western coast of Spain. 

The ship Silas voyaged on, the Perseverance, docked in the harbor of Villa de Horta, the capital of the island of Fayal, 15 miles northwest of the Island of Pico, on July 6, 1855. After the company had gone ashore, Silas wrote furiously, trying to capture the sights and smells and feelings that he had experienced upon arrival in the town. He described the buildings and the history of Villa de Horta, and the bustling marketplace bursting with exotic fruits and vegetables, straw hats and beaded jewelry. He also recounted his interactions with the people who inhabited the island in lively detail.

“While the members of the company were preparing to go on shore, three of the natives came on board to pay us a visit, bringing with them a supply of fruit, coarse straw hats, and two or three other articles with they offered for sale. At first they were inclined to be high in their prices, but finding it no easy task to compete with true Yankee shrewdness, concluded to sell much lower, and soon found purchasers for nearly all they had…”

Of the native islanders, Silas wrote with fascination: “The common people always place whatever they carry upon the head. Towards night we noticed women and children tripping along in almost every direction, to and from the public wells, bearing upon their heads water for the night and morning. The vessels generally used were modeled like an old fashioned churn, each holding from two to ten gallons…Girls from the age of six, and even younger, to fourteen, thus transported loads so heavy that the sight astonished us, carrying them too without touching with their hands, as steadily as we could in our hands by our side. To prevent the water from slopping out, each placed in her vessel a tuft of grass or leaves, and presented quite a novel appearance while passing along barefoot.”

The American travelers passed the next few days pleasantly, amusing themselves in the town by day, and 

sleeping on the ship by night. Then, on Monday July 10, at 6 o’clock in the morning, they set off for a tour of the gigantic volcanic crater that lay in the middle of the island.

Called “Caldeira” in Portuguese, the crater spanned more than a mile wide and nearly ¼ of a mile deep. Silas and his friends were duly impressed. They reached the top of the crater around noon. Silas wrote, “As our climbing ended, very unexpectedly, we found ourselves upon the margin or rim of the mighty Caldeira, when the grand scene, as if by enchantment, suddenly burst upon our view! The mountain seemingly at once became inverted, its top pointing downwards. In a short time our first impressions subsided, and our minds were filled with astonishment and awe as we stood gazing into the yawning chasm.” 

Four days later, on Friday, July 14, Silas and his company were in for another of nature’s treats. They were to scale the Peak of Pico, the awe-inspiring mountaintop that dominated Fayal’s tropical horizon. A ¼ mile higher than the highest summit in New England, Mount Washington, the Peak of Pico rose impressively from its base, straight into the sky. 

Silas and his friends engaged a native guide, and set off for the top. They stopped occasionally to admire the view, but pushed on steadily, intent on reaching the peak before the end of the night. Even after the sun had set, they continued to trudge in the dark behind their guide, up the narrow mountain path leading towards their goal. In places the footpath became rough and stony, and they were forced to feel their way blindly as they moved along. Branches from the bushes that overhung the path scratched and clawed at their unprotected faces, but they forged on doggedly.

The hours dragged on, and by 11 o’clock that night, it became apparent that their party would not reach the top that night without a little rest. The company pitched their tents and agreed to rest until 2 a.m., when they would continue their ascent. Reminiscent of his days in California, Silas spread his blanket out on the ground and slept under the stars. 

At two o’clock the next morning, the party rose reluctantly, still exhausted and sleep deprived. They were determined, however, to reach the top. Just before dawn, as the first few rays of the sun peeked out above the horizon, Silas and his company reached the bottom of the top, the conical portion of the peak known as Piquinho. 

Looking up at the last leg of their journey to the peak, Silas and his friends were filled with a renewed sense of determination. Silas wrote, “As we cast our eyes up the steep [the mountain’s] top appeared to pierce the sky, and it seemed almost impossible that any mortal could ever reach it. But we had started upon a visit to the celebrated peak, and our motto on the occasions was upward, and soon we put ourselves in motion to commence the climbing process.”

Bearing strong poles of cane five feet in length, the travelers carefully climbed the rugged, uneven terrain. Their persistence was soon to pay off. Silas wrote in his notebook, “As we neared the top our task became increasingly difficult…but our strength held out, and, after having toiled about three hours, we arrived at the summit of the mountain, when an unlooked-for scene burst upon our view -- directly opposite in the distance, rising very abruptly from the eastern side of a large crater, we beheld another elevation five or six hundred feet higher, being a mountain upon a mountain. As we placed our feet upon the heights, the guide looked at us, pointed towards the top of the grand eminence and smiling, exclaimed, ‘Dare be Peak ob Pico!’”

Silas described the Peak of Pico in rapturous tones: “As we placed our feet upon the top of the mighty mountain and glanced our eyes around a moment…as we looked down the precipice, upon the white curling clouds many hundred feet below; as we cast our eyes beneath our feet and saw constantly issuing from between the rocks, hot steam or vapor, resembling thin, pale smoke…impressions were made upon our minds that will remain so long as life lasts.”

He concluded his account, “We had heard the sight described in glowing colors… but when we thus stood in mid-heaven, at the vast elevation of eight thousand feet above the ocean around, and beheld the reality, the stupendous scene so far exceeded what we had anticipated that it well nigh overwhelmed us…”

Two days later, about noon on Monday, July 17, 1855, the Perseverance sailed out of the harbor of Villa de Horta. Her passengers had stayed at the Western Islands for 11 days. 

After returning to Providence from his sea voyage, Silas Weston moved his family from their home at 19 Foster Street to 307 Broad Street and became a marketing agent for Helion lamps, the trademark product of the Helion lighting company. During this time, he once again marketed his travel writing. Published by his son Edward Payson, Weston’s “Visit to a Volcano; or, What I Saw at the Western Islands” ran 48 pages long and sold for 15 cents a copy.

In 1857, Silas Weston became a clerk for the Helion company, and remained so until 1860, when he became a broker for a financial firm on Westminster Street. During the interim three years, he and his family moved three more times. In 1859, he released an abbreviated version of his account of the Azores. Entitled “Visit to a Burning Mountain,” the 16-page, six-cent pamphlet was published by the other of his two sons, Emmons B. That same year, Maria D. Weston completed her second and third novels, Elfie Grafton and Kate Felton; or, a Peep at Realities. Published by her eldest son, Edward Payson, and sold only by subscription, Kate Felton was delivered to some 2,500 eager readers.

Meanwhile, across the nation, tension was building in regards to a particularly controversial subject: slavery. While tempers rose in every state and accusations flew left and right, the Congress of the United States had turned into a political hotbed of opposing interests. When Abraham Lincoln was elected as the 16th president of the United States, the scene had been set for the bloodiest military conflict in American history. 

On December 20, 1860, South Carolina succeeded from the Union. Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, 

Louisiana and Texas soon followed.

Then, at 4:30 a.m. on April 12, 1861, General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard directed his Confederate gunners to open fire on Fort Sumner, a federal outpost in the Charleston harbor. 

The American Civil War had begun.

After the surrender of Fort Sumner, Virginia, Arkansas, Tennessee and North Carolina left the Union and Lincoln called for troops to put down the rebellion. Five months later, in September of 1861, Silas Weston enlisted in the 3rd Rhode Island Regiment, Battery A, serving as a gunner of heavy artillery. Likewise, his son-in-law of two years, Charles B. Delanah (who married Silas’s daughter Ellen on January 20, 1859), joined the 1st Rhode Island Cavalry, Troop G. Silas’s youngest son, Emmons B., served in the US Navy as a 3rd class boy aboard the ships “Supply,” “Sabine,” “Massachusetts,” “Wissahickon” and “Princeton”. In 1864 Emmons left the Navy to join the 1st Rhode Island Regiment of Light Artillery, Battery G. 

Silas, Emmons and Charles Delanah fought bravely for the Union during their time in the service. Emmons B. Weston served in his regiment as a private for the remainder of the war and was mustered out of the service when the war ended in 1865. Both Silas and Charles were captured and taken to a Confederate prison in Andersonville, Georgia. Silas was released and returned to his regiment in the spring of 1863. Diagnosed with typhoid fever (which he had contracted during his imprisonment), Silas was honorably discharged from the military with a surgeon’s certificate on March 17, 1863, five days after the wedding of his second daughter Mary Anna Jane to Benjamin M. Curtis of Providence. Silas went home to his wife and family. But, his son-in-law was not so lucky. Six months and six days after he was captured, Sergeant Charles B. Delanah died of the same typhoid fever in the Andersonville prison on April 19, 1864. He was buried in Grace Church Cemetery as the first grave in the Weston family plot.

After his service in the Union army, Silas Weston returned to Providence and resumed his daily life. In his absence during the war, his wife Maria D. Weston had moved in with her eldest daughter Ellen Delanah and Ellen’s 4-year-old daughter Beulah Theodora at 321 Pine Street. 

After the death of Charles Delanah in 1864, Silas’ wife Maria remained at 321 Pine Street to comfort and aid her grown up daughter. In 1866 she penned her last two novels, Bessie and Raymond; or, Incidents Connected with the Civil War in the United States, and its sequel, Much that I Do Like, and More that I Don’t Like. Edward Payson published both books, and re-released 1,000 copies of his mother’s most popular work, Kate Felton. 

Instead of moving into their already crowded house, Silas Weston chose to board nearby at 3 Arcade Street, where he could visit his wife and daughter often but not be in the way. He spent the next two years working as a bookkeeper. In 1866, Silas took up photography as a hobby, and set up his own studio in a saloon on Friend Street in South Providence to take portraits of individuals and families for a small fee. He moved into the saloon, where he died on September 20, 1866 of the typhoid fever that he had contracted during his imprisonment in Georgia. He was 62 years old.

Maria D. Weston outlived her husband by 12 years, dying on August 7, 1878 at the age of 68. Both she and her husband were buried side by side in Grace Church Cemetery, next to their son-in-law, Charles Delanah. Their three oldest children survived them; their youngest, Emmons B., died young. At age 19, on November 13, 1865, he was “killed by accident at Liverpool, England,” according to the headstone that he shares with his father.

The Westons’ eldest daughter, Ellen, lived to be 78 years old, and was buried after her death in 1911 in the same grave as her husband. Their daughter Beulah, who died in 1884, is buried next to them.

The Westons’ younger daughter, Mary Anna Jane, died on January 10, 1927 at the age of 86. She was buried next to her husband Benjamin M. Curtis, who died on July 17, 1907, and her daughter Lillian M., who died on November 7, 1916, in North Burial Ground Cemetery on North Main Street in Providence.

The Westons’ eldest son Edward Payson made quite a name for himself as a world-famous pedestrian. He first joined the ranks of professional walkists (competitive walkers) when he set off from Portland, Maine, to Casco Bay in Chicago on October 29, 1867. Edward, 28, covered the distance of 1,326 miles in 25 days, 10 hours and 20 minutes. Exactly 40 years later to the day, he would beat his own record by 29 hours at the age of 68. By the time of his death, he had participated in over 1,000 athletic competitions, including two transcontinental events. At age 88, Edward Payson was struck by a taxicab, sustaining serious injuries. He never fully recovered, and died on May 13, 1929 in his New York City apartment.