James E. Birch-California’s Stagecoach King
James Birch stood out among the crowd of passengers and well-wishers assembled on the pier at Vallejo Street wharf in San Francisco. Thursday, August 20, 1857, was a beautiful, warm, sunny day as the 491 passengers began to board the steamship SS Sonora on the first leg of their journey to New York City, with a stop and isthmus crossing in Panama. The handsome 29-year-old sported a new, hand-tailored three-piece suit from Brooks Brothers and top hat. His was a much-recognized figure and name throughout the young state. In the summer of 1849, he came to California by wagon train with a satchel of clothes and a well-used rawhide horsewhip. Raised in New England by a family of meager means, Birch earned a living as a stagecoach driver. The previous two years he drove a stage for Otis Kelton, a stable man in Providence, Rhode Island. The 21-year-old left behind his recent fiancé, Julia Chase and Kelton’s half-sister, with a promise to return a wealthy man and build her the mansion of her dreams.
Birch arrived in the new, rapidly expanding city of Sacramento, and the hub of the gold rush. Hundreds of wild-eyed would-be miners were arriving each day by steamer up the Sacramento River, or by horseback and foot. Instead of heading to the gold fields, Birch observed the chaotic frenzy and hatched a plan to put his skills to use.
With a buckboard and four horses, Birch launched the first stagecoach line between Sacramento and Coloma, the home of Sutter’s Mill where the first gold was found the year before. Birch was the driver and the cost for the 50-mile one way trip was two ounces of gold or $32 per person. Business was brisk and within a few months Birch added more stages and drivers. Within two years Birch expanded his stage lines to reach the most active mines in the motherload country. He also added telegraph lines along his routes.
And then in November of 1851, at the peak of his thriving business, he sold it all to some of his key employees. Birch, now 24, returned to Swansea, Massachusetts, married Julia, and built her a mansion as he had promised.
Birch Mansion, Swansea, Mass (Photo courtesy of www. BuildingsofNewEngland.com, June 12, 2020)
The lure of seemingly boundless business opportunities tugged at Birch, and he returned, alone, to Sacramento in early 1853. He bought back some of his stage lines to Nevada City and the mining camps of Grass Valley and Rough and Ready that were still turning out millions in gold. However, several competing stage companies had been established during his absence, and they were eating away at one another’s profits. Bold action was required, and Birch took it.
By the end of the year, Birch persuaded his competitors to join him and merge their businesses into the California Stagecoach Company. Birch, the largest shareholder, was elected President, and his friend and previous competitor, Frank Shaw Stevens, Vice President. The company now had a monopoly over most of the horse and mule drawn transportation business in northern California with additional routes extending south to the Central Valley and Los Angeles.
While Birch ran the growing company, he made several trips back to Swansea by steamship to see his wife. By 1855, the Birch led company boasted 80 Concord coaches—the “Cadillac” of stagecoaches—125 Concord wagons, and 1,100 horses running 24 routes and covering 1,500 miles per day.
The California Stagecoach Company employed hundreds of teamsters, all of them tough, colorful and striking figures with their buckskin vests and trousers and sporting their broad-billed beaver-skin hats with the front brims tied back against their foreheads. Of particular note was Charley Parkhurst, aka “One-Eye Charley,” for his unmatched skill in driving a team of six horses over tough terrain at break-neck speed. Charley got his nickname when, reshoeing one of his horses, it kicked him in the face and took out his eye. A black patch covered that eye socket for the rest of his life.
Charley, born in 1812 and raised in an orphanage on the East Coast, was also quite proficient with his side arm and rifle, always at the ready to ward off bandits who notoriously targeted the stagecoaches with their famous call “Throw down the box.” It was during one attempted robbery that Charley shot and killed Sugarfoot, a notorious highwayman.
At 175 pounds and exceptionally strong, Charley chewed tobacco and drank whisky with the best of them. He was one of the few teamsters that didn’t sport a handle-bar mustache or beard. Turns out, he was a she. It was only after Charley died in 1879 and his doctor was preparing his body for burial, that it was discovered Charley was a well-formed woman whose real name was Charlotte Darkey Parkhurst. Charley ran away from the orphanage before reaching 10 and found it easier to make a way in the world as a man.
By early 1855, Birch relinquished control of the day-to-day operations of the company to Frank Stevens and headed home to Swansea. Birch missed his wife, to be sure, and he also wanted to be home in time for the birth of their first child. Frances Birch was born March 8, 1855, but their baby girl tragically died one week later.
While grieving the loss of their child, Birch became aware of another business opportunity. In those days, most mail was delivered to the west coast by steamship. Deemed inadequate for the ever-expanding population in the West, the U.S. Postal Service and Congress began to explore in earnest the improvement of mail delivery over land. Although railroads became the solution, the first transcontinental railroad wasn’t completed until 1869. Over the next year, Birch leaned on the political capital he had accumulated in California to snag some of this new business. He also made several trips to scout the proposed routes in preparation of his bids.
In October of 1856, Birch and Julia welcomed a healthy boy, Franklin Stevens Birch, named after his business partner, Frank Shaw Stevens.
Birch’s reputation and success with his stagecoach business was instrumental in Congress awarding him in June of 1857 the first-ever contract to deliver mail over the 1,500-mile route between San Antonio, Texas and San Diego: Twice monthly, each way, for an annual fee of $150,000. The contract was for four years.
The San Francisco and Los Angeles newspaper editors were jealous of San Diego receiving overland mail before them and insultingly referred to Birch’s new company as the “Jackass Mail.” However, Birch’s teamsters used strong, intelligent mules of the highest quality to pull his mail wagons, and as Birch’s associate George Giddings exclaimed, “The only ‘jackasses’ are those editors.”
Birch decided to headquarter this new business in New York City, but first rushed back to California by steamship to arrange the details for the initial mail deliveries. The first load of mail left San Antonio on July 18 and arrived 34 days later in San Diego on August 21; an astonishingly fast time in those days. Unfortunately, Birch never received the good news.
On August 20, Birch was on the dock in San Francisco to board the Sonora and head back East to set up his new headquarters in New York. Birch’s good friend and general superintendent of the California Stage Company, John Andrews, was on the dock to see his friend off and surprised him with a gift for his ten-month-old son. It was a handsome silver cup made by San Francisco jeweler, John W. Tucker, and engraved with the inscription “John to Frank.” Birch was delighted and as soon as he settled into his first-class stateroom, he carefully rewrapped the cup and placed it in his trunk. He couldn’t wait to show the cup to his wife and baby boy.
Most of the passengers, many of whom were miners, carried their gold with them on the ship. And they brought aboard a lot of gold, in addition to the 15 tons of the precious metal bound for the east coast banks. But not James Birch. Upon arriving in San Francisco two weeks earlier, he sent $60,000 of gold bars to his wife via the steamship Illinois.
The passengers disembarked the Sonora at Panama City, travelled across the isthmus by railcar, and boarded the SS Central America captained by Wm. Lewis Herndon. Bound for New York City, the ship was struck and disabled by a massive hurricane off the east coast of Florida on September 10. The male passengers and crew desperately tried over the next 36 hours to bail the tremendous amounts of sea water that flooded into the ship. By the afternoon of September 12 all hopes of saving the ship were dashed. Fortuitously, Captain Hiram Burt and the brig Marine crossed paths with the floundering Central America and bravely assisted with rescuing the 60 women and children and 49 male passengers and crew.
For more fascinating details of the hurricane, rescues and some of the brave passengers and crew, please take a look at these stories.
The Last Moments Aboard the Central America
As Chief Engineer George Ashby prepared to launch what turned out to be the last lifeboat to the brig Marine, Billy Birch (no relation), a well-known member of the San Francisco Minstrels, called out to Ashby to take him on board. Ashby yelled back for Billy to get James Birch so he could also board. Billy found Birch in his stateroom packing some clothes and what looked like a cup. By the time they arrived back on deck, Ashby had already taken off with the last of the women and children and a few male passengers and crew. James dropped his satchel, calmly lit a cigar, and watched Ashby and his boat go in and out of sight behind huge waves. He then went to look for George Dawson.
George Dawson
Dawson, 35, was a tall, well-built African American on his way home to Rochester, New York to visit relatives. Since he was a boy, Dawson worked mostly as a sailor in the Caribbean and Atlantic Oceans. Dawson had been in California since 1856, and most recently was working as a porter at the St. Nicholas Hotel in Oroville, about 70 miles north of Sacramento. He bunked with his fellow passengers in steerage.
Oroville was one of the regular stops on Birch’s stagecoach lines and it’s possible the men knew each other. Birch found Dawson on the main deck and pulled him aside. Handing him the cup, Birch said “Dawson, I’ve assessed the situation and I don’t like my chances of surviving this. You’re much stronger and have a better chance of making it.” Dawson protested, “But sir, you’re younger than me. And I can’t swim!” Birch was insistent. “If you survive Dawson, please take this cup to Mrs. Birch in Swansea. I’m sure she will be most grateful.” The men shook hands and Birch walked away. Dawson placed the cup inside his shirt.
The men had by this time abandoned their valiant efforts to bail the ship of the water that was slowly dragging the Central America ever lower in the sea. The steamer had sunk so far as to burst the second cabin floor from its fastenings and force it up to the first cabin. Dawson was now focused on survival. He went to the forward deck and assisted some men with assembling a make-shift raft. They cut out a section of the hurricane deck and lashed it with ropes.
Alexander Grant-The Man Who Couldn’t Be Drowned
One of the men building the deck was Alexander Grant, 25, a fireman who worked the ship’s boilers. Grant nodded to Dawson. This was neither man’s first encounter with a shipwreck.
In fact, it was Grant’s fourth. Grant was born in the Gut (or strait) of Canco in Nova Scotia in 1831 and instantly fell in love with the sea. He was the best swimmer in his province and unfazed by cold water. It was said no boy or man could stay as long in deep water as he. That strength would be tested many times.
As a fifteen-year-old working on a schooner in the Bay of Fundy near Fall River, Massachusetts, his ship was wrecked on a hidden reef and he narrowly escaped with his life.
In September of 1854 Grant was working as a fireman on the American steamer Arctic. The ship left Liverpool bound for New York City with 233 passengers, including 58 women and 23 children, and 174 crew. Most of the passengers were Americans returning home from summer holidays in Europe. About 70 miles off the coast of Newfoundland, in a dense fog, the Arctic collided with the steel-hulled French merchant ship Vesta. The bow of the Vesta opened a huge hole in in the Arctic below the water line. The Arctic’s captain, James Luce, tried to make a run for land, but the water pouring in below decks drowned the boilers and silenced the engines.
The Arctic carried the legal minimum six lifeboats with a seating capacity for only half of those onboard. The scene turned chaotic. As women and some male passengers desperately attempted to bail the ship, several of the crew members and some of the stronger male passengers commandeered the lifeboats. One of the boats carrying about 20 women and children was dumped as it was being lowered throwing all of them into the sea. Crew members jumped into the emptied boat. Four hours after the collision, the Arctic went down in the frigid waters of the north Atlantic.
Of the 407 on board, 320 perished: 109 crew members, and 212 passengers including all of the 80 women and children. Among those lost were the wife and two children of the ship’s owner, Edward Knight Collins, and Captain Luce’s 11-year-old son, Willie.
Alexander Grant and another shipmate went down with the ship. They clung to a piece of wreckage for over two days without any food or water. Suffering from hypothermia, the two were among those rescued by a passing ship, the Cambria, and put ashore in Quebec.
Captain Luce also survived. He was rescued by another ship after floating on a piece of wreckage for two days. The French ship Vesta remained afloat and managed to limp into St. James, Newfoundland.
At the time, the wreck of the Arctic and the loss of 320 souls was the worst peacetime maritime disaster in American history. That “record” would be significantly eclipsed almost three years to the day later.
The next year Grant was the fireman on the steamer Crescent City that wrecked on a reef in the Bahamas. Fortunately, the ship remained afloat on the reef for the two days before their rescue. Hundreds of hungry sharks were anxiously awaiting the ship to go down . George Dawson was also working on that ship and that’s where the two first met. Both escaped with their lives. Yet here they were, aboard another steamship.
Grant was looking forward to seeing his wife and young child at their home in New York City.
Captain Herndon was on the hurricane deck, or what was left of it, with his trumpet in hand. The men tossed the raft over the side of the ship and some of them jumped aboard. Dawson hesitated, deciding not to abandon ship until the Captain gave the order. He pulled the cup from his shirt, tore off a piece of his sleeve, and tied the cup secure to a loop in the waist of his pants. He also put on his life preserver.
The Central America was then swamped by two enormous waves. As the steamer plunged, Dawson grabbed hold of the gangway near the pilot house and was dragged down into the sea headfirst. He let go after descending twenty feet or so and swallowing copious amounts of seawater. His life preserver propelled him back to the surface. As he looked for a piece of wreckage, another man grabbed Dawson’s neck from behind. Dawson pulled the man’s arms off his neck, breaking one of them in the struggle. The man slipped under the surface and did not reappear. Before he, too, drowned, Dawson quickly found three pieces of broken deck and clung on for dear life. He reached down under the water with one hand—the cup remained securely tied to his waist.
James Birch’s Last Moments
Billy Birch found James back in his stateroom and asked him to join Billy and some others building a raft on the forward deck. Billy was still kicking himself. If he hadn’t gone back to fetch James, he could have been on Ashby’s lifeboat. They got as far as the smokestack when the first of the two gigantic waves struck the ship. Billy and James managed to avoid being washed overboard and moved on to the forward deck. James was wearing a heavy coat but no life preserver. Another passenger offered one to him, but Birch refused. “There is no chance to preserve life by such means. I would perish from the cold floating upon the water and only prolong my misery. I prefer to meet my fate at once.” Birch lit another cigar and turned away.
A fellow first-class passenger, Ansel Easton, was ultimately successful in convincing Birch to take off his coat and put on a life preserver. As soon as he did, the second wave broke over the ship and Birch, Easton and the rest of the men were swept into the boiling sea.
Dawson’s Miraculous Survival and Rescue
After a couple of hours in the water, Dawson saw a familiar face, Aaron Holcomb, a fellow African American in charge of the saloon on the Central America. Holcomb and the many others who floated near Dawson spoke words of encouragement to one another. James Birch was not one of them. At about 1 a.m. Sunday morning, having spent 5 hours in the water, Dawson saw the lights of a ship coming towards him, at one point as close as 100 feet. Dawson and others cried out for help. Although some were rescued, including Holcomb, Billy Birch and Ansel Easton, Dawson and many others, on account of the darkness and heavy seas, were missed. Dawson could only watch in despair as the ship sailed out of sight. The ship was the Norwegian bark Ellen, captained by Anders Johnsen, that plucked 49 men from the water.
When dawn broke Sunday morning, Dawson saw what he thought was a boat a short distance off. He at once made for it by kicking his legs and clawing the water with one arm while holding his precious boards under the other. It was farther away than it appeared, but he finally reached it. It wasn’t a ship, but instead the raft he helped build. Eleven men were crammed on top including Alexander Grant, George Buddington, the 3rd Engineer, Patrick Carr, fireman, John Banks, Patrick Evans and John Kinnelty, ash men, and another African American, Richard Gilbert, who worked as a messman in the officers’ quarters.The men refused Dawson’s request to climb aboard, the raft already several inches under water from the eleven men it supported. Dawson was permitted to grab hold of a rope trailing in back of the raft and, with the precious pieces of board tucked under his other arm, was carried behind.
Soon after reaching the raft, Dawson and the others spotted the Ellen about 5 miles away, too far to signal her. She remained in sight until mid-morning when the Ellen disappeared over the horizon. Later that morning Banks, 19, died from exhaustion and having swallowed too much sea water over the prior 15 hours as wave after wave continued to break over the raft. Before nightfall, three more died of similar causes. All four were rolled off the raft.
The raft was now sufficiently lightened to allow Dawson to climb on top. Throughout the day on Sunday, several men wearing life preservers floated past them. Many of them asked whether they had anything on the raft to eat or drink, and the answer was always “No.” Some of the men on the raft talked a little about the chances of rescue. Grant shared some of his stories of surviving wrecks. They’d been in the ocean over 24 hours, and their sufferings for want of water became more acute.
Over the course of the long night, four more died and were rolled off the raft: Buddington, 27, Carr, 28, Evans, 18, and Gilbert, 35. Four out the 12 remained: Grant, Dawson, Kinnelty and another passenger whose name was not recalled.
On Tuesday, their 4th day in the water, they saw another man floating near the raft on a large, wide, plank. He looked a great deal better off than the four on the flimsy raft. They talked a bit about how they were getting along. The man said he preferred to stay on his piece of wreckage rather than get on the raft. A strong wind and rising heavy sea came up around sunset and carried the man away from the raft. They never saw him after that.
That night Kinnelty, 18, became increasingly delirious and deranged. By morning he and the other passenger died. Now, it was just Grant and Dawson. Both were exhausted and dehydrated but resolved to do the best they could to survive.
On the 5th day since the wreck, a dog fish weighing several pounds jumped on the raft. Dawson grabbed the fish while Grant slammed its head with the butt of his knife. However, the fish’s skin and meat were so tough they could barely cut it or eat it. They hardly satisfied themselves by slowly chewing small bites made all the more difficult with the inability to muster any saliva. The next day, Thursday, it was more tender and the men were able to eat a little more of it.
Their raft floated near a man who was supporting himself on a small plank. He swam to the raft and was helped aboard. His first name was Frank and wore a large ring on his finger with the initials F. B. A semblance of a smile creased Dawson’s salt-streaked face as he ran his finger across the “Frank” inscribed on the silver cup. Frank was in bad shape and worse off than Grant and Dawson. He became delirious and his rants and cries were incomprehensible. Despite efforts to comfort and quiet him down, Frank collapsed on the raft and died.
Dawson’s own condition had become so intolerable that he too was very near the point of giving up. He pleaded, “Mr. Granty—for God’s sake, Aleck, look out and see if you can see anything!” Grant got to his knees and squinted over the cloudless horizon. After a few minutes he did a double take and, with a thin, raspy voice called out, “Dawson! I see a boat. And what looks like an oar raised with some piece of cloth attached to it!”
Grant was a strong swimmer and it was quickly decided he would swim for the boat. Grant stripped down to his underwear, Dawson tied a life preserver around Grant’s waist, and he took off for the boat. Grant recalled, “The boat was maybe three miles away. I cannot say how long I was swimming before I finally reached the boat, but before I got to her I saw there was a man sitting down and trying to row the boat toward me. On reaching the boat I recognized the man was Mr. John Tice, one of Central America’s engineers. He was in one of the steamer’s lifeboats that carried rescuees to the brig Marine. The boat was in good shape and still had three of its oars. Tice floated by it a few days after he was swept overboard.
“Mr. Tice and myself immediately pulled the boat as fast as possible to Mr. Dawson and the raft, and took Mr. Dawson in. Frank’s body remained on the raft. Mr. Tice was in about the same shape as us, as we had all been without food or water from Noon of the Saturday before, and were completely exhausted , as we had been incessantly at work for some thirty-six hours before the ship went down, in trying to save her, and none of us had cared to eat but a very little during the whole of that time. After taking Dawson on board, we allowed the boat to drift with the wind, not being able to help ourselves if we had wished, and not knowing which way to pull.”
Dawson took Tice’s advice to tie his handkerchief about his head and keep it wet. The three of them were alive, but barely. On Friday and Saturday their sufferings were appalling. They had lost their sense of hunger and any desire for food, but their thirst created indescribable tortures.
On Sunday morning, September 19, a full week since their ship went down, the men’s spirits were lifted when they spotted a brig on the horizon. They took turns standing and waiving the oars in the air, but to no avail. The brig did not see them and sailed out of site after a couple of hours. The dwindling prospects for rescue only added to the nightmares of their condition. That night Dawson lay in the bottom of the boat, wishing that death would come and end his suffering. Adding to their misery, a rising sea broke over them every few minutes.
On Monday morning, the men were awakened with more water. Fresh water. It rained for a solid hour and the three were practically dancing with glee. Tice grabbed a pail used to bail sea water and captured some rain. Dawson untied the silver cup from his waist and did the same. And their good fortune continued. As they drank the delicious nectar, they caught sight of another brig. They could hardly trust their eyes and feared it a cruel mirage. But as it drew nearer, hope was rekindled in their hearts. They shouted with what little voice they had left, and enthusiastically waived their shirts to attract attention. Grant said, “She sees us!” as the brig bore down upon them. They grabbed the oars and with what little strength they had left, urged their boat toward her and, at last, sank down exhausted when their boat made contact with the brig Mary. Captain Colin Shearer instantly assessed their deplorable condition and ordered a sailor to jump down into their boat. He passed a rope around each as they were carefully pulled up on deck by other crew members. The Mary, based in Scotland, was on her way from Cuba to Cork, Ireland with a load of molasses. It was later determined that Dawson, Grant and Tice had been carried by the Gulf Stream current over 600 miles northeast of where the Central America went down.
Captain Shearer and crew bring Dawson, Tice and Grant aboard the Mary (Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper)
The three survivors were mere skeletons, their faces and bodies covered with open boils; their hands and feet swollen and blistered. They could scarcely move a hand or speak. A New York Times reporter recoiled when he saw Grant. “His large, manly face was white and almost fleshless, showing the bold outlines with ghastly distinctness, and his black, scarred lips looked as though in his agony he had frequently bit them through. His eyes wore a fixed, straining sleepless expression as though looking from the frail raft along the dreary horizon for a friendly sail.”
Captain Shearer and his crew cared for the men and kept them alive. A week later, he flagged down the bark Laura headed west for New York City with 400 German immigrants. The Laura took Grant, Tice and Dawson aboard and brought them to Castle Garden on the southern tip of Manhattan. Castle Garden was where immigrants were processed before Ellis Island.
After eight days and twenty hours of unfathomable suffering, they were alive and safe.
A total of 161 were saved by the Marine, Ellen and Mary: 101men, and all 32 women and 28 children. Captain Herndon and James Birch were not among them.
It cannot be known, and it is painful to wonder, how long those who were not saved remained alive in the relatively warm waters of the Gulf Stream, or how close they came to being rescued by the Ellen or other ships.
Dawson, Tice and Grant became instant celebrities. They were hounded by reporters and curiosity seekers who hungrily consumed the statements of their horrific ordeal. Growing weary of the attention, and still not recovered, Dawson reached out to a friend of his, Henry Sampson, who brought him to his house in New York City. Sampson was also working on the Crescent City with Grant and Dawson when it wrecked in the Bahamas in December of 1955.
When finally well enough to travel, Dawson made his way to Swansea, Mass and delivered the silver cup to Mrs. Birch just in time for her son, Franklin’s, first birthday. Mrs. Birch was overcome with grief and gratitude and handsomely rewarded Mr. Dawson for his honor and courage.
James Birch had chosen well indeed when he entrusted George Dawson with the silver cup on the SS Central America.
Postscript
What happened to Tice, Dawson and Grant?
John Tice, Alexender Grant, George Dawson and Captain Hiram Burt (Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Newspaper, October 17, 1857)
George Dawson returned to Oroville, California. By 1858 he was in Victoria, British Columbia. In September of 1860, three years after his miraculous rescue, he was reported drowned in the Gulf of Georgia while traversing by canoe from Victoria to the Fraser River.
John Tice was the Chief Engineer on the steamship Emily B. Sonder when she sank in the mid-Atlantic on December 10, 1878. Tice was among those lost. For the previous 21 years he made his home in Brooklyn, New York while he continued to serve as an engineer on steamships.
Alexander Grant was reunited with his young child and wife, Mary, who had given up all hope her husband had survived. She fainted when she saw him; out of shock he was still alive, or maybe at his dreadful appearance, and probably a little bit of both. Their home was in Brooklyn. When the Civil War broke out, Grant joined the U.S. Navy. After the war he continued to serve on steamships. According to ship records, in 1878 at the age of 46, he was, once again, aboard the steamship Crescent City, bound for New York City from Aspinwall, Panama. It has not yet been discovered how or when he died. My guess-it wasn’t at sea.
What happened to Mrs. James Birch, her son Franklin, and the silver cup?
After her husband’s death, Mrs. Birch travelled to California to settle her husband’s business affairs. She was assisted by James’ business partner, Frank Shaw Stevens. They married in 1858 in Sacramento and Frank helped raise the Birch’s son and namesake, Franklin. Mrs. Birch died in 1871 and is buried in Swansea, Massachusetts in the Birch family plot.
Franklin Stevens Birch married the lovely, wealthy socialite, Mary Eugenie Paris in 1880. Her father, Sherman Paris, and Frank Stevens were partners in the wholesale liquor business. Nine hundred guests attended the lavish celebration in Woodside, Mass. Franklin died of a stroke in Swansea at the age of 39. They did not have children.
The silver cup, along with James Birch’s commemorative California silver collection designed by Tiffany’s in New York, was donated in 1930 to the Department of Materials Science and Engineering at the University of California Berkeley.
References
Klare, “The Final Voyage of the Central America,” The Arthur H. Clark Company (1992)
David W. Shaw, “The Sea Shall Embrace Them-The Tragic Story of the Steamship Arctic, The Free Press (2002)
Mary and Col. Alfred Gallucci, “James E. Birch,” Sacramento County Historical Society (1958)
Stuart N. Lake, “Birch’s Overland Mail in San Diego County,” San Diego Historical Society Quarterly, April 1957, Volume 3, Number 2
Sylvia Eisner, “Swanzey Benefactor James Birch,” Swansea Historical Society
“Statement of George Dawson,” Chicago Tribune, October 9, 1857
“Statement of George Dawson,” The National Era (Washington D.C.), October 15, 1857
“Statement of Alexander Grant,” The National Era, October 15, 1857
“Statement of Alexander Grant,” Chicago Tribune, October 9, 1857
“Alexander Grant-The Man Who Couldn’t Be Drowned,” Beford Gazette (Beford PA), October 30, 1857
“Sufferings of Alexander Grant,” Trinity Journal (Weaverville, CA), November 14, 1857
“Here Lies Charley Parkhurst,” Watsonville Register-Pajaronian, July 7, 1953
“Charley Parkhurst-The Great Stage Driver Discovered to be a Woman,” Watsonville Register-Pajaronian, December 26, 1979
“Steamship Arctic is Lost,” New York Daily Herald, December 27, 1854
William H. Painter, “Loss of Honor: The Sinking of the Sidewheeler Arctic,” Historical Society of Old Yarmouth, May 2005
Ancestry.com
Christopher Ramirez
Steve Date
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