United States Coast & Geodetic Survey benchmark (1872) on a Chumash mortar stone, Santa Barbara County.
“The reverence attached to the artifacts of history is a thing men feel.
One could even say that what endows any thing with significance is solely the history in which it has participated.”
–Cormac McCarthy, The Crossing
If we consider the context of the times when this benchmark was placed sometime in 1872, it takes on a different meaning than might be conveyed at first glance.
What appears light hearted and cool because it’s old, an innocuous artifact of America’s past, may exude a far heavier and solemn feel when placed within the frame of history.
At first its insensitive placement may seem only sloppy and thoughtless.
I know many people who couldn’t care less about history and have no interest whatsoever in artifacts. They look on with utter indifference if shown such.
It’s not implausible that the people who set this benchmark held no appreciation for the mortar stone and were blind to its cultural value and significance.
However, when considered in context it seems that this benchmark may actually have been set with purposeful disdain.
I tend to think it was placed for reasons beyond mere need of a stone to attach it to, in a precise location, as per institutional necessity.
The general area at large where this stone resides beside the Santa Ynez Mountains offers exposed outcrops here and there and other boulders, too.
Other options existed and it appears that discretion could have been exercised. This seems all the more plausible when we look at other benchmarks in the region.
Other examples illustrate that use of existing stone in the field was not even necessary to satisfy the mandate of official government business.
At least one benchmark in the Santa Ynez Mountains was placed rather crudely and less permanently by comparison.
See Craig R. Carey: Kennedy Ridge and the East Camino Cielo, Redux.
Carey shows a benchmark fitted into cement, apparently whipped up on-site and filled to form at the time of installation.
Consider the historic atmosphere when this benchmark was set.
The savages were in the way; the miners and settlers were arrogant and impatient; there were no missionaries or others present with even the poor pretense of soul saving or civilizing.
It was one of the last human hunts of civilization, and the basest and most brutal of them all.
—Hubert Howe Bancroft (1963)
That’s Bancroft writing about California during the Gold Rush era. (Source: National Park Service)
Peter Burnett, first governor of California (1849-51), spoke of this conflict in the first State of the State speech:
“That a war of extermination will continue to be waged between the races until the Indian race becomes extinct must be expected. While we cannot anticipate this result but with painful regret, the inevitable destiny of the race is beyond the power or wisdom of man to avert.
When considered within the context of his entire address, it seems clear Burnett was not calling for a war of extermination, but giving voice to the existing violence and mass killings of the time, which seemed intractable.
The sentiment he expressed was similar to the rising tensions of the same period that, despite numerous efforts to reign them in, spun out of control and exploded into the Civil War.
California entered the Union as a non-slave, free state by way of the Compromise of 1850. The compromise preceded the Kansas-Nebraska Act (1854).
These attempts to dial back rising hostilities between anti-slavery and pro-slavery factions only served to precipitate the outbreak of vicious fighting, which came to be known as Bleeding Kansas (1854-61), and which was a prelude to the Civil War.
Stolen: Chumash
“When the movie was over, I called my wife, nine hours ahead in Italy.
‘I should come home,’ she said.
‘No, I’m okay,’ I said. ‘Come on, you’re in Rome. What are you seeing today?’
‘The Vatican.’
‘You can’t leave now. You have to go and steal something. It will be revenge for every Indian. Or maybe you can plant an eagle feather and claim that you just discovered Catholicism.’
‘I’m worried.’
‘Yeah, Catholicism has always worried me.’
‘Stop being funny.’
—Sherman Alexie, War Dances (2010)
Legacy of conquest, Santa Barbara County backcountry graffito, Condor National Forest. The artistic rendering was cleverly drawn over a faded sign instructing us to “not destroy your American heritage.” I do not believe, by and large, that land was stolen, and I would present a lengthy, intellectually rigorous and well-reasoned, heavily footnoted argument to the contrary. But many fellow Americans do hold that opinion sincerely and deeply.
The early 1870s figure significantly in the history of the American Indian Wars.
By 1871, the Comanche—who had nearly exterminated rival tribes such as the Apache and Tonkawa—had halted the seemingly unstoppable march of Manifest Destiny dead in its tracks, and began to push the lines of the American frontier backwards.
“The western frontier was an open and bleeding wound, and the Comanches, more than anyone else, were responsible. What was once the vanguard of America’s westward migration had become a smoking ruin littered with corpses and charred chimneys.”
“The fall of 1871 marked a profound shift in the white man’s thinking,” S.C. Gwynne writes in, “Last Days of the Comanches”, an article published in Texas Monthly (2010).
This marked the beginning of the end of the Comanche’s powerful reign.
Santa Barbara County frontcountry
In 1872, after many years of violence, the United States Army attacked the Modoc Indians of Northern California in what became the fiercest, most costly battle of the American Indian Wars fought in the state.
The Modoc War of November 29, 1872 to June 1, 1873 was widely reported throughout the country and even into Europe.
In the conflict, some 50 to 70 Modoc warriors, backed by their families in women and children, fought as many as 1,000 Army soldiers.
Under siege, out-numbered, out-gunned and hungry the deft warriors were armed with an intimate knowledge of the volcanic homeland they were defending.
Their skills and use of the sharp and ragged, cave-filled lava flows served as force multipliers and the Modoc leveraged this advantage to put on a stunning show of martial prowess against the soldiers.
The Army never succeeded in taking the Modoc in battle, who were hole up in a volcanic stronghold, and the war settled into a stalemate.
On April 11, 1873, the Modoc assassinated Brigadier Gen. Edward Canby during peace talks, the highest ranking United States military official ever taken by any Native Americans.
It seems unlikely that federal agents working on the coast survey in California were unaware of the intensity and extent of fighting happening across the country at that time.
In light of the historic atmosphere within which it was placed, it appears that this United States Coast & Geodetic Survey benchmark from 1872, a medal of American civilization, if you will, was fixed in place as a mark of triumphant domination.
This gives the benchmark a different meaning altogether than most others in Santa Barbara County.
* * *
California Truth and Healing Council; Voices of Native Americans via video trailer. Governor’s Office of Tribal Affairs
The Modoc War, a video presentation.
S. C. Gwynne, Empire of the Summer Moon: The Rise and Fall of the Comanches, the Most Powerful Tribe In American History
Craig R. Carey, Hiking and Backpacking Santa Barbara & Ventura Counties: A Complete Guide to the Trails of Southern Los Padres National Forest