THE GOLD HUNTERS




                       OUTING ADVENTURE LIBRARY

                           THE GOLD HUNTERS

                          By J. D. BORTHWICK

              A First-Hand Picture of Life in California
                   Mining Camps in the Early Fifties

                               EDITED BY
                            HORACE KEPHART

                 [Illustration: OUTING PUBLISHING CO.]

                               NEW YORK
                       OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY
                                MCMXVII


                          Copyright, 1917, by
                       OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY

                        _All rights reserved._




INTRODUCTION


California under Spanish and Mexican rule was a lotus-land of lazy,
good-natured, hospitable friars, of tame and submissive Indian
neophytes, of vast savannas swarming with half-wild herds, of orchards
and gardens, vineyards and olive groves. There was no mining, no
lumbering, no machinery, no commerce other than a contraband exchange of
hides and tallow for clothing, merchandise and manufactures. There was
no art, no science, no literature, no news, save at rare intervals, from
the outer world. One day was like another from generation to generation.
Everyone was content with his mode of life or ignorant of any other. War
never harassed the Franciscans’ drowsy realm, nor ever threatened,
beyond a few opéra bouffe affairs that began and ended in loud talk and
bloodless gesticulation.

Under the old Spanish law, foreign commerce was prohibited and foreign
travelers were excluded from California. But Boston traders managed to
evade it by collusion with local officials; and strangers did enter the
land; sailors and merchants of divers nationalities came across seas and
settled along the coast, while hunters and trappers crossed overland
from the States. Generally they were welcomed and encouraged to
establish themselves in California, though in defiance of the Mexican
government. The foreigners, being for the most part men of enterprise
and energy, were respected and became influential. Many of them married
into native California families, were naturalized, and acquired large
estates. Among the Americans was John A. Sutter, formerly a Swiss
military officer, who, in 1839, was permitted to build a fortified post
on the present site of Sacramento. He received a large grant of land
around it, and became a Mexican official.

As a result of the Mexican war, California was ceded to the United
States on the 2d of February, 1848. Nine days earlier an event occurred
that was destined to fix upon this splendid province the fascinated gaze
of all the world. On the 24th of January, at Colonel Sutter’s mill, near
the present Coloma, a workman named James W. Marshall discovered gold.

Within a few months amazingly rich placers were found in river bars,
creeks and gulches, of this and the surrounding region. During the first
year or two of discovery it was not unusual for a miner to wash or dig
up a hundred ounces of gold in a day. Some lucky strikes were made of
five to ten times this amount, and nuggets were picked up of from $1,000
to $20,000 value. Within a few hundred yards of a populous town, a man
stubbed his toe against a protruding rock; glaring in wrath at the
stumbling-block, he was thunderstruck at the sight of more gold than
quartz. A market gardener, abusing his sterile soil for producing
cabbages that were all stalk, was quickly placated by finding gold
adhering to their roots; the cabbage-patch was successfully worked for
years, and pieces of gold of many pounds weight were taken from it.
Stories went abroad of places where the precious metal was blasted out
in chunks, of ledges so rich that it could be picked out of the fissures
with a bowie-knife, of men digging up gold as they would potatoes, and
of a competence being amassed by a few hours’ work with a tin spoon.

For two or three months the tales that came from the diggings were
received with incredulity; but when larger and larger shipments of the
yellow metal kept coming to the coast there was a wild stampede for the
gold-fields. “Settlements were completely deserted; homes, farms and
stores abandoned. Ships deserted by their sailors crowded the bay at San
Francisco (there were five hundred of them in July, 1850); soldiers
deserted wholesale, churches were emptied, town councils ceased to sit;
merchants, clerks, lawyers and judges and criminals, everybody, flocked
to the foothills. Soon, from Hawaii, Oregon and Sonora, from the Eastern
States, the South Seas, Australia, South America and China came an
extraordinary flow of the hopeful and adventurous. In the winter of ’48
the rush began from the States to Panama, and in the spring across the
plains. It is estimated that 80,000 men reached the coast in 1849, about
half of them coming overland; three-fourths were Americans.” By 1851 the
number of actual miners had risen to about 140,000. From across the
Atlantic there came Britons, Germans, Frenchmen, Italians, others
speaking strange tongues, until the mines of California were likened to
so many towers of Babel, and pantomime often took the part of speech.

Never before had there been brought together, in a far quarter of the
earth, a body of men of so varied trades and professions all massed in a
twinkling to one common pursuit. Social distinctions vanished at a
touch. Soft-handed lawyers and clergymen wielded pick and shovel
side-by-side with born navvies, cooked their own meals and washed their
own clothes. No honest labor lowered the dignity of a gentleman, since
that gentleman needs must wait upon himself and provide for himself with
the work of his own hands. Out of this common necessity grew, as it were
over-night, a natural democracy in which all men met each other on an
equal footing. No deference was paid save to conspicuous ability of such
sort as was useful in the work at hand.

The popular notion of a miner is that of a rude and reckless fellow who
“works one day with a tin pan and gets drunk the next.” There were,
indeed, many of this ilk in the gold-diggings; but in the main, the
miners of ’49 were a picked and superior class of men. It was not as if
a bonanza had been struck within easy reach of the riffraff of the
nations. California, by the shortest route, was two thousand miles from
any well populated part of America, five thousand from a European port.
The journey thither was expensive, and most of the men who undertook it
were such as had accumulated, by their own industry, a good “stake” at
home. They were adventurers, to be sure; but what is an adventurer? One
who hazards a chance, especially a chance of danger. That is the spirit
which starts almost any enterprise that demands courage, determination
and self-reliance. Beyond this, the argonauts were notably capable and
intelligent men, as their works soon proved. An unbiased observer said
of them: “Perhaps in no other community so limited could one find so
many well-informed and clever men--men of all nations who have added
the advantages of traveling to natural abilities and a liberal
education.” Most of them were charged with spontaneous and persistent
energy. Immediately, as by an electric shock, the California of dreaming
friars and lazy vaqueros was tossed aside and an amazing industry
whirred into action.

When San Francisco was laid in ashes, not a day was wasted in
lamentation. Before the débris had fairly cooled the work of rebuilding
was started with a rush. Soon the sand-hills were leveled, and rocks
were blasted out to make room for a greater city. Brick buildings rose
where there had been nothing but shanties or canvas tents. Foundries
were built and shops were fitted with machinery brought half around the
world. To provide rapid transit to the mines, large river steamers, of
the same model as those used on the Hudson, were bought in New York,
and, incredible as it may seem, these toplofty and fragile craft were
navigated around South America, by way of the Straits of Magellan, and
most of them came safe into the Golden Gate. (The author of this book
declares his belief that a premium of 99 per cent. would not have
insured them at Lloyd’s for a trip from Dover to Calais.) The mines
themselves were as so many ant-hills swarming with hurrying workers.
Where water was scarce, canals were dug, or flumes were run for miles
along mountain sides and carried over gorges or valleys by viaducts;
even a large river was borne half a mile by an aqueduct high above its
native bed. So rapid was the development of the country that, as our
author says, California became a full-grown State while one-half the
world still doubted its existence.

Gold mining, of course, was a gamble; while some “struck it rich” many
others worked hard for nothing. So gambling was in the very air. And so
long as common labor commanded at least five dollars a day, so long as
ships by the hundred lay idle at their docks because sailors would
rather take their chances in the mines than a steady wage of two or
three hundred dollars a month, there was bound to be reckless
extravagance and wild dissipation. Most of the miners were young men,
too active, ebullient, vivacious, for quiet amusements in their hours of
leisure. There was no home life nor anything to suggest it. In 1850 only
two per cent. of the population of the mining counties were women, and
probably most of these were of loose character. There was no standard of
respectability to be lived up to. So long as a man did not interfere
with the rights of others, he was perfectly free, if he chose, to go to
the devil in his own way. Against the toil and hardships of the
mining-field, against the gloom of disappointment or the wild elation of
success, human nature demanded a counterpoise of some sort--and the only
places in all the wide land where the miner could find comfort, luxury,
gaiety, were the saloons and gambling-houses.

There being no sheriffs or policemen worthy the name, every man went
armed, prepared at an instant’s notice to redress his own real or
fancied grievances. Shootings and stabbings were frequent, though in
much less number actually than such conditions might be expected to
provoke--most men think twice before stirring up trouble in a company
where everybody carries a loaded gun and knows how to use it. Formal
law was powerless, through corrupt or inefficient officers, to keep in
check the many scoundrels and desperadoes that infested the cities and
the diggings; so the miners themselves administered summary justice by
means of extemporized courts, and for high crimes were prompt to inflict
the highest punishment after the verdict of Judge Lynch. It is
undeniable that, in a pioneer society, such rough-and-ready justice was
a necessity and that its effects were salutary.

Yet when the first fever of excitement had passed away, when the richest
placers were exhausted, when men settled down from prospecting and
“rushes” to the steady work of mining on a business basis, it is
wonderful how quickly the social order changed for the better. Miners
returning to San Francisco after a year’s absence scarcely recognized
the place. Substantial buildings of brick and stone were replacing the
tinder-boxes that had been swept away by one “great fire” after
another--dressed granite for some of them was even imported from China!
Streets that had been rubbish-heaps and quagmires were orderly and
clean. A large number of respectable women had arrived in California,
and their influence was immediately noticeable in the refinement of
dress and decorum of the men. Places of rational amusement had sprung
up--clubs, reading-rooms, theaters--which replaced in great measure the
gambling-houses. In very many instances a quiet domestic life had
supplanted the old-time roistering in saloons. Few, if any, cities ever
showed such rapid progress in manners and morals as well as in material
things.

Many narratives have been published by men who participated in the
stirring events of early California. From among them I have chosen,
after long research, one written by a British artist, Mr. J. D.
Borthwick, and issued in Edinburgh in 1857. The original book is now
rare and sought for by collectors of western Americana. It is here
reprinted in full, with certain errors corrected. I do not know of
another story by an actual miner that is so well written and so true to
that wonderful life in the Days of Gold.

                                                        HORACE KEPHART.

October, 1916.




CONTENTS


                                                                    PAGE

INTRODUCTION                                                           5

CHAPTER

I. ON TO THE GOLD FIELDS                                              15

II. ACROSS THE ISTHMUS                                                38

III. A CITY IN THE MAKING                                             53

IV. LIFE AT HIGH SPEED                                                73

V. OFF FOR THE MINES                                                  99

VI. LOOKING FOR GOLD                                                 116

VII. INDIANS AND CHINAMEN                                            130

VIII. MINERS’ LAW                                                    146

IX. GOLD IS WHERE YOU FIND IT                                        160

X. URSUS HORRIBILIS                                                  173

XI. ON THE TRAIL                                                     185

XII. SITTERS FOR PORTRAITS                                           195

XIII. ON THE WAY TO DOWNIEVILLE                                      208

XIV. THE REASON FOR LYNCH LAW                                        216

XV. GROWING OVER NIGHT                                               227

XVI. A BAND OF WANDERERS                                             241

XVII. CHINESE IN THE EARLY DAYS                                      252

XVIII. DOWN WITH THE FLOOD                                           262

XIX. A BULL AND BEAR FIGHT                                           271

XX. A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD                                               286

XXI. IN LIGHTER MOOD                                                 297

XXII. SONORA AND THE MEXICANS                                        306

XXIII. BULL FIGHTING                                                 316

XXIV. A CITY BURNED                                                  325

XXV. THE DAY WE CELEBRATE                                            333

XXVI. FRENCHMEN IN THE MINES                                         342

XXVII. THE RESOURCEFUL AMERICANS                                     353




The Gold Hunters




CHAPTER I

ON TO THE GOLD FIELDS


About the beginning of the year 1851, the rage for emigration to
California from the United States was at its height. All sorts and
conditions of men, old, young, and middle-aged, allured by the hope of
acquiring sudden wealth, and fascinated with the adventure and
excitement of a life in California, were relinquishing their existing
pursuits and associations to commence a totally new existence in the
land of gold.

The rush of eager gold-hunters was so great that the Panama Steamship
Company’s office in New York used to be perfectly mobbed for a day and a
night previous to the day appointed for selling tickets for their
steamers. Sailing vessels were despatched for Chagres almost daily,
carrying crowds of passengers, while numbers went by the different
routes through Mexico, and others chose the easier, but more tedious,
passage round Cape Horn.

The emigration from the Western States was naturally very large, the
inhabitants being a class of men whose lives are spent in clearing the
wild forests of the West, and gradually driving the Indian from his
hunting-ground.

Of these western-frontier men it is often said, that they are never
satisfied if there is any white man between them and sundown. They are
constantly moving westward; for as the wild Indian is forced to retire
before them, so they, in their turn, shrinking from the signs of
civilization which their own labors cause to appear around them, have to
plunge deeper into the forest, in search of that wild border-life which
has such charms for all who have ever experienced it.

To men of this sort, the accounts of such a country as California,
thousands of miles to the westward of them, were peculiarly attractive;
and so great was the emigration, that many parts of the Western States
were nearly depopulated. The route followed by these people was
overland, across the plains, which was the most congenial to their
tastes, and the most convenient for them, as, besides being already so
far to the westward, they were also provided with the necessary wagons
and oxen for the journey. For the sake of mutual protection against the
Indians, they traveled in trains of a dozen or more wagons, carrying the
women and children and provisions, accompanied by a proportionate number
of men, some on horses or mules, and others on foot.

In May, 1851, I happened to be residing in New York, and was seized with
the California fever. My preparations were very soon made, and a day or
two afterwards I found myself on board a small barque about to sail for
Chagres with a load of California emigrants. Our vessel was little more
than two hundred tons, and was entirely devoted to the accommodation of
passengers. The ballast was covered with a temporary deck, and the whole
interior of the ship formed a saloon, round which were built three tiers
of berths: a very rough extempore table and benches completed the
furniture. There was no invidious distinction of cabin and steerage
passengers--in fact, excepting the captain’s room, there was nothing
which could be called a cabin in the ship. But all were in good spirits,
and so much engrossed with thoughts of California that there was little
disposition to grumble at the rough-and-ready style of our
accommodation. For my own part, I knew I should have to rough it in
California, and felt that I might just as well begin at once as wait
till I got there.

We numbered about sixty passengers, and a nice assortment we were. The
majority, of course, were Americans, and were from all parts of the
Union; the rest were English, French, and German. We had representatives
of nearly every trade, besides farmers, engineers, lawyers, doctors,
merchants, and nondescript “young men.”

The first day out we had fine weather, with just sea enough to afford
the uninitiated an opportunity of discovering the difference between the
lee and the weather side of the ship. The second day we had a fresh
breeze, which towards night blew a gale, and for a couple of days we
were compelled to lay to.

The greater part of the passengers, being from the interior of the
country, had never seen the ocean before, and a gale of wind was a
thing they did not understand at all. Those who were not too sick to be
able to form an opinion on the subject, were frightened out of their
senses, and imagined that all manner of dreadful things were going to
happen to the ship. The first night of the gale, I was awakened by an
old fool shouting frantically to the company in general to get up and
save the ship, because he heard the water rushing into her, and we
should sink in a few minutes. He was very emphatically cursed for his
trouble by those whose slumbers he had disturbed, and told to hold his
tongue, and let those sleep who could, if he were unable to do so
himself.

It was certainly, however, not very easy to sleep that night. The ship
was very crank, and but few of the party had taken the precaution to
make fast their luggage; the consequence was, that boxes and chests of
all sizes, besides casks of provisions, and other ship’s stores, which
had got adrift, were cruising about promiscuously, threatening to smash
up the flimsy framework on which our berths were built, and endangering
the limbs of any one who should venture to turn out.

In the morning we found that the cook’s galley had fetched way, and the
stove was rendered useless; the steward and waiters--landlubbers who
were only working their passage to Chagres--were as sick as the sickest,
and so the prospect for breakfast was by no means encouraging. However,
there were not more than half-a-dozen of us who could eat anything, or
could even stand on deck; so we roughed it out on cold beef, hard bread,
and brandy-and-water.

The sea was not very high, and the ship lay to comfortably and dry; but,
in the evening, some of the poor wretches below had worked themselves up
to desperation, being sure, every time the ship laid over, that she was
never coming up again. At last, one man, who could stand it no longer,
jumped out of his berth, and, going down on his knees, commenced
clapping his hands, and uttering the most dismal howls and groans,
interspersed with disjointed fragments of prayers. He called on all
hands to join him; but it was not a form of worship to which many seemed
to be accustomed, for only two men responded to his call. He very kindly
consigned all the rest of the company to a place which I trust none of
us may reach, and prayed that for the sake of the three righteous
men--himself and the other two--the ship might be saved. They continued
for about an hour, clapping their hands as if applauding, and crying and
groaning most piteously--so bereft of sense, by fear, that they seemed
not to know the meaning of their incoherent exclamations. The captain,
however, at last succeeded in persuading them that there was no danger,
and they gradually cooled down, to the great relief of the rest of the
passengers.

The next day we had better weather, but the sick-list was as large as
ever, and we had to mess again on whatever raw materials we could lay
our hands on--red-herrings, onions, ham, and biscuit.

We deposed the steward as a useless vagabond, and appointed three
passengers to fill his place, after which we fared a little better--in
fact, as well as the provisions at our command would allow. No one
grumbled, excepting a few of the lowest class of men in the party, who
had very likely never been used to such good living ashore.

When we got into the trade-winds we had delightful weather, very hot,
but with a strong breeze at night, rendering it sufficiently cool to
sleep in comfort. The all-engrossing subject of conversation, and of
meditation, was of course California, and the heaps of gold we were all
to find there. As we had secured our passage only as far as Chagres, our
progress from that point to San Francisco was also a matter of constant
discussion. We all knew that every steamer to leave Panama, for months
to come, was already full, and that hundreds of men were waiting there
to take advantage of any opportunity that might occur of reaching San
Francisco; but among our passengers there were very few who were
traveling in company; they were mostly all isolated individuals, each
“on his own hook,” and every one was perfectly confident that he at
least would have no trouble in getting along, whatever might be the fate
of the rest of the crowd.

We added to the delicacies of our bill of fare occasionally by killing
dolphins. They are very good eating, and afford capital sport. They come
in small shoals of a dozen or so, and amuse themselves by playing about
before the bows of the vessel, when, getting down into the martingale
under the bowsprit, one takes the opportunity to let drive at them with
the “grains,” a small five-pronged harpoon.

The dolphin, by the way, is most outrageously and systematically
libeled. Instead of being the horrid, big-headed, crooked-backed monster
which it is generally represented, it is the most elegant and
highly-finished fish that swims.

For three or four days before reaching Chagres, all hands were busy
packing up, and firing off and reloading pistols; for a revolver and a
bowie-knife were considered the first items in a California outfit. We
soon assumed a warlike appearance, and though many of the party had
probably never handled a pistol in their lives before, they tried to
wear their weapons in a negligé style, as if they never had been used to
go without them.

There were now also great consultations as to what sort of hats, coats,
and boots, should be worn in crossing the Isthmus. Wondrous accounts
constantly appeared in the New York papers of the dangers and
difficulties of these few miles of land-and-river travel, and most of
the passengers, before leaving New York, had been humbugged into buying
all manner of absurd and useless articles, many of them made of
india-rubber, which they had been assured, and consequently believed,
were absolutely necessary. But how to carry them all, or even how to use
them, was the main difficulty, and would indeed have puzzled much
cleverer men.

Some were equipped with pots, pans, kettles, drinking-cups, knives and
forks, spoons, pocket-filters (for they had been told that the water on
the Isthmus was very dirty), india-rubber contrivances, which an
ingenious man, with a powerful imagination and strong lungs, could blow
up and convert into a bed, a boat, or a tent--bottles of “cholera
preventive,” boxes of pills for curing every disease to which human
nature is liable; and some men, in addition to all this, determined to
be prepared to combat danger in every shape, bade defiance to the waters
of the Chagres river by buckling on india-rubber life-preservers.

Others of the party, who were older travelers, and who held all such
accoutrements in utter contempt, had merely a small valise with a few
necessary articles of clothing, an oil-skin coat, and, very probably, a
pistol stowed away on some part of their person, which would be pretty
sure to go off when occasion required, but not before.

At last, after twenty days’ passage from New York, we made Chagres, and
got up to the anchorage towards evening. The scenery was very beautiful.
We lay about three-quarters of a mile from shore, in a small bay
enclosed by high bluffs, completely covered with dense foliage of every
shade of green.

We had but little time, however, to enjoy the scenery that evening, as
we had scarcely anchored when the rain began to come down in true
tropical style; every drop was a bucketful. The thunder and lightning
were terrific, and in good keeping with the rain, which is one of the
things for which Chagres is celebrated. Its character as a sickly
wretched place was so well known that none of us went ashore that night;
we all preferred sleeping aboard ship.

It was very amusing to watch the change which had been coming over some
of the men on board. They seemed to shrink within themselves, and to
wish to avoid being included in any of the small parties which were
being formed to make the passage up the river. They were those who had
provided themselves with innumerable contrivances for the protection of
their precious persons against sun, wind, and rain, also with
extraordinary assortments of very untempting-looking provisions, and who
were completely equipped with pistols, knives, and other warlike
implements. They were like so many Robinson Crusoes, ready to be put
ashore on a desert island; and they seemed to imagine themselves to be
in just such a predicament, fearful, at the same time, that
companionship with any one not provided with the same amount of rubbish
as themselves, might involve their losing the exclusive benefit of what
they supposed so absolutely necessary. I actually heard one of them
refuse another man a chew of tobacco, saying he guessed he had no more
than what he could use himself.

The men of this sort, of whom I am happy to say there were not many,
offered a striking contrast to the rest in another respect. On arriving
at Chagres they became quite dejected and sulky, and seemed to be
oppressed with anxiety, while the others were in a wild state of delight
at having finished a tedious passage, and in anticipation of the novelty
and excitement of crossing the Isthmus.

In the morning several shore-boats, all pulled by Americans, came off to
take us ashore. The landing here is rather dangerous. There is generally
a very heavy swell, causing vessels to roll so much that getting into a
small boat alongside is a matter of considerable difficulty; and at the
mouth of the river is a bar, on which are immense rollers, requiring
good management to get over them in safety.

We went ashore in torrents of rain, and when landed with our baggage on
the muddy bank of the Chagres river, all as wet as if we had swum
ashore, we were immediately beset by crowds of boatmen, Americans,
natives, and Jamaica niggers, all endeavoring to make a bargain with us
for the passage up the river to Cruces.

The town of Chagres is built on each side of the river, and consists of
a few miserable cane-and-mud huts, with one or two equally
wretched-looking wooden houses, which were hotels kept by Americans. On
the top of the bluff, on the south side of the river, are the ruins of
an old Spanish castle, which look very picturesque, almost concealed by
the luxurious growth of trees and creepers around them.

The natives seemed to be a miserable set of people, and the few
Americans in the town were most sickly, washed-out-looking objects, with
the appearance of having been steeped for a length of time in water.

After breakfasting on ham and beans at one of the hotels, we selected a
boat to convey us up the river; and as the owner had no crew engaged, we
got him to take two sailors who had run away from our vessel, and were
bound for California like the rest of us.

There was a great variety of boats employed on the river--whale-boats,
ships’ boats, skiffs, and canoes of all sizes, some of them capable of
carrying fifteen or twenty people. It was still raining heavily when we
started, but shortly afterwards the weather cleared up, and we felt in
better humor to enjoy the magnificent scenery. The river was from
seventy-five to a hundred yards wide, and the banks were completely
hidden by the dense mass of vegetation overhanging the water. There was
a vast variety of beautiful foliage, and many of the trees were draped
in creepers, covered with large flowers of most brilliant colors. One
of our party, who was a Scotch gardener, was in ecstasies at such a
splendid natural flowershow, and gave us long Latin names for all the
different specimens. The rest of my fellow-passengers were a big fat man
from Buffalo, two young Southerners from South Carolina, three New
Yorkers, and a Swede. The boat was rather heavily laden, but for some
hours we got along very well, as there was but little current. Towards
the afternoon, however, our two sailors, who had been pulling all the
time, began to flag, and at last said they could go no further without a
rest. We were still many miles from the place where we were to pass the
night, and as the banks of the river presented such a formidable
barricade of jungle as to prevent a landing, we had the prospect of
passing the night in the boat, unless we made the most of our time; so
the gardener and I volunteered to take a spell at the oars. But as we
ascended the river the current became much stronger, and darkness
overtook us some distance from our intended stopping-place.

It became so very dark that we could not see six feet ahead of us, and
were constantly bumping against other boats coming up the river. There
were also many boats coming down with the current at such a rate, that
if one had happened to run into us, we should have had but a poor
chance, and we were obliged to keep shouting all the time to let our
whereabouts be known.

We were several times nearly capsized on snags, and, as we really could
not see whether we were making any way or not, we came to the
determination of making fast to a tree till the moon should rise. It
was now raining again as heavily as ever, and having fully expected to
make the station that evening, we had taken no provisions with us. We
were all very wet, very hungry, and more or less inclined to be in a bad
humor. Consequently, the question of stopping or going ahead was not
determined without a great deal of wrangling and discussion. However,
our two sailors declared they would not pull another stroke--the
gardener and myself were in favor of stopping--and as none of the rest
of our number were at all inclined to exert themselves, the question was
thus settled for them, although they continued to discuss it for their
own satisfaction for some time afterwards.

It was about eight o’clock, when, catching hold of a bough of a tree
twelve or fifteen feet from the shore, we made fast. We could not
attempt to land, as the shore was so guarded by bushes and sunken
branches as to render the nearer approach of the boat impossible.

So here we were, thirteen of us, with a proportionate pile of baggage,
cramped up in a small boat, in which we had spent the day, and were now
doomed to pass the night, our miseries aggravated by torrents of rain,
nothing to eat, and, worse than that, nothing to drink, but, worse than
all, without even a dry match wherewith to light a pipe. If ever it is
excusable to chew tobacco, it surely is on such an occasion as this. I
had worked a good deal at the oar, and from the frequent alterations we
had experienced of scorching heat and drenching rain, I felt as if I
could enjoy a nap, notwithstanding the disagreeableness of our
position; but, fearing the consequences of sleeping under such
circumstances in that climate, I kept myself awake the best way I could.

We managed to get through the night somehow, and about three o’clock in
the morning, as the moon began to give sufficient light to let us see
where we were, we got under way again, and after a couple of hours’ hard
pulling, we arrived at the place we had expected to reach the evening
before.

It was a very beautiful little spot--a small natural clearing on the top
of a high bank, on which were one or two native huts, and a canvas
establishment which had been set up by a Yankee, and was called a
“Hotel.” We went to this hotel, and found some twenty or thirty
fellow-travelers, who had there enjoyed a night’s rest, and were now
just sitting down to breakfast at a long rough table which occupied the
greater part of the house. The kitchen consisted of a cooking-stove in
one corner, and opposite to it was the bar, which was supplied with a
few bottles of bad brandy, while a number of canvas shelves, ranged all
round, constituted the dormitory.

We made up for the loss of our supper by eating a hearty breakfast of
ham, beans, and eggs, and started again in company with our more
fortunate fellow-travelers. The weather was once more bright and clear,
and confined as we were between the densely wooded and steaming banks of
the river, we found the heat most oppressive.

We saw numbers of parrots of brilliant plumage, and a great many monkeys
and alligators, at which there was a constant discharge of pistols and
rifles, our passage being further enlivened by an occasional race with
some of the other boats.

The river still continued to become more rapid, and our progress was
consequently very slow. The two sailors were quite unable to work all
day at the oars; the owner of the boat was a useless encumbrance; he
could not even steer; so the gardener and myself were again obliged
occasionally to exert ourselves. The fact is, the boat was overloaded;
two men were not a sufficient crew; and if we had not worked ourselves,
we should never have got to Cruces. I wanted the other passengers to do
their share of work for the common good, but some protested they did not
know how to pull, others pleaded bad health, and the rest very coolly
said, that having paid their money to be taken to Cruces, they expected
to be taken there, and would not pull a stroke; they did not care how
long they might be on the river.

It was evident that we had made a bad bargain, and if these other
fellows would not lend a hand, it was only the more necessary that some
one else should. It was rather provoking to see them sitting doggedly
under their umbrellas, but we could not well pitch them overboard, or
put them ashore, and I comforted myself with the idea that their turn
would certainly come, notwithstanding their obstinacy.

After a tedious day, during which we had, as before, deluges of rain,
with intervals of scorching sunshine, we arrived about six o’clock at a
native settlement, where we were to spend the night.

It was a small clearing, with merely two or three huts, inhabited by
eight or ten miserable-looking natives, mostly women. Their lazy
listless way of doing things did not suit the humor we were in at all.
The invariable reply to all demands for something to eat and drink was
_poco tiempo_ (by-and-by), said in that sort of tone one would use to a
troublesome child. They knew very well we were at their mercy--we could
not go anywhere else for our supper--and they took it easy accordingly.
We succeeded at last in getting supper in instalments--now a mouthful of
ham, now an egg or a few beans, and then a cup of coffee, just as they
would make up their minds to the violent exertion of getting these
articles ready for us.

About half-a-dozen other boat-loads of passengers were also stopping
here, some fifty or sixty of us altogether, and three small shanties
were the only shelter to be had. The native population crowded into one
of them, and, in consideration of sundry dollars, allowed us the
exclusive enjoyment of the other two. They were mere sheds about fifteen
feet square, open all round; but as the rain was again pouring down, we
thought of the night before, and were thankful for small mercies.

I secured a location with three or four others in the upper story of one
of these places--a sort of loft made of bamboos about eight feet from
the ground, to which we climbed by means of a pole with notches cut in
it.

The next day we found the river more rapid than ever. Oars were now
useless--we had to pole the boat up the stream; and at last the patience
of the rest of the party was exhausted, and they reluctantly took their
turn at the work. We hardly made twelve miles, and halted in the
evening at a place called Dos Hermanos where were two native houses.

Here we found already about fifty fellow-travelers, and several parties
arrived after us. On the native landlord we were all dependent for
supper; but we, at least, were a little too late, as there was nothing
to be had but boiled rice and coffee--not even beans. There were a few
live chickens about, which we would soon have disposed of, but cooking
was out of the question. It was raining furiously, and there were sixty
or seventy of us, all huddled into two small places of fifteen feet
square, together with a number of natives and Jamaica negroes, the crews
of some of the boats. Several of the passengers were in different stages
of drunkenness, generally developing itself in a desire to fight, and
more particularly to pitch into the natives and niggers. There seemed a
prospect of a general set-to between black and white, which would have
been a bloody one, as all the passengers had either a revolver or a
bowie-knife--most of them had both--and the natives were provided with
their _machetes_--half knife, half cutlass--which they always carry, and
know how to use. Many of the Americans, however, were of the better
class, and used their influence to quiet the more unruly of their
countrymen. One man made a most touching appeal to their honor not to
“kick up a muss,” as there was a lady “of their own color” in the next
room, who was in a state of great agitation. The two rooms opened into
each other, and were so full of men that one could hardly turn round,
and the lady of our own color was of course a myth. However, the more
violent of the crowd quieted down a little, and affairs looked more
pacific.

We passed a most miserable night. We lay down as best we could, and were
packed like sardines in a box. All wanted to sleep; but if one man
moved, he woke half-a-dozen others, who again in waking roused all the
rest; so sleep was, like our supper, only to be enjoyed in imagination,
and all we could do was to wait intently for daylight. As soon as we
could see, we all left the wretched place, none of us much improved in
temper, or in general condition. It was still raining, and we had the
pleasure of knowing that we should not get any breakfast for two or
three hours.

We had another severe day on the river--hot sun, heavy rains, and hard
work; and in the afternoon we arrived at Gorgona, a small village, where
a great many passengers leave the river and take the road to Panama.

Cruces is about seven miles farther up the river, and from there the
road to Panama is said to be much better, especially in wet weather,
when the Gorgona road is almost impassable.

The village of Gorgona consisted of a number of native shanties, built,
in the usual style, of thin canes, between any two of which you might
put your finger, and fastened together, in basket fashion, with the long
woody tendrils with which the woods abound. The roof is of palm leaves,
slanting up to a great height, so as to shed the heavy rains. Some of
these houses have only three sides, others have only two, while some
have none at all, being open all round; and in all of them might be
seen one or more natives swinging in a hammock, calmly and patiently
waiting for time to roll on, or, it may be, deriving intense enjoyment
from the mere consciousness of existence.

There was a large canvas house, on which was painted “Gorgona Hotel.” It
was kept by an American, the most unwholesome-looking individual I had
yet seen; he was the very personification of fever. We had here a very
luxurious dinner, having plantains and eggs in addition to the usual
fare of ham and beans. The upper story of the hotel was a large loft, so
low in the roof that one could not stand straight up in it. In this
there were sixty or seventy beds, so close together that there was just
room to pass between them; and as those at one end became tenanted, the
passages leading to them were filled up with more beds, in such a manner
that, when all were put up, not an inch of the floor could be seen.

After our fatigues on the river, and the miserable way in which we had
passed the night before, such sleeping accommodation as this appeared
very inviting; and immediately after dinner I appropriated one of the
beds, and slept even on till daylight. We met here several men who were
returning from Panama, on their way home again. They had been waiting
there for some months for a steamer, by which they had tickets for San
Francisco, and which was coming round the Horn. She was long overdue,
however, and having lost patience, they were going home, in the vain
hope of getting damages out of the owner of the steamer. If they had
been very anxious to go to California, they might have sold their
tickets, and taken the opportunity of a sailing-vessel from Panama; but
from the way in which they spoke of their grievances, it was evident
that they were home-sick, and glad of any excuse to turn tail and go
back again.

We had frequently, on our way up the river, seen different parties of
our fellow-passengers. At Gorgona we mustered strong; and we found that,
notwithstanding the disadvantage we had been under of having an
overloaded boat, we had made as good time as any of them.

A great many here took the road for Panama, but we determined to go on
by the river to Cruces, for the sake of the better road from that place.
All our difficulties hitherto were nothing to what we encountered in
these last few miles. It was one continual rapid all the way, and in
many places some of us were obliged to get out and tow the boat, while
the rest used the poles.

We were all heartily disgusted with the river, and were satisfied, when
we arrived at Cruces, that we had got over the worst of the Isthmus; for
however bad the road might be, it could not be harder traveling than we
had already experienced.

Cruces was just such a village as Gorgona, with a similar canvas hotel,
kept by equally cadaverous-looking Americans.

In establishing their hotels at different points on the Chagres river,
the Americans encountered great opposition from the natives, who wished
to reap all the benefit of the travel themselves; but they were too many
centuries behind the age to have any chance in fair competition; and so
they resorted to personal threats and violence, till the persuasive
eloquence of Colt’s revolvers, and the overwhelming numbers of American
travelers, convinced them that they were wrong, and that they had better
submit to their fate.

One branch of business which the natives had all to themselves was
mule-driving, and carrying baggage over the road from Cruces to Panama,
and at this they had no competition to fear from any one. The luggage
was either packed on mules, or carried on men’s backs, being lashed into
a sort of wicker-work contrivance, somewhat similar to those used by
French porters, and so adjusted with straps that the weight bore
directly down on the shoulders. It was astonishing to see what loads
these men could carry over such a road; and it really seemed
inconsistent with their indolent character, that they should perform, so
actively, such prodigious feats of labor. Two hundred and fifty pounds
weight was an average load for a man to walk off with, doing the
twenty-five miles to Panama in a day and a half, and some men carried as
much as three hundred pounds. They were well made, and muscular though
not large men, and were apparently more of the Negro than the Indian.

The journey to Panama was generally performed on mules, but frequently
on foot; and as the rest of our party intended to walk, I determined
also to forego the luxury of a mule; so, having engaged men to carry our
baggage, we set out about two o’clock in the afternoon.

The weather was fine, and for a short distance out of Cruces the road
was easy enough, and we were beginning to think we should have a
pleasant journey; but we were very soon undeceived, for it commenced to
rain in the usual style, and the road became most dreadful. It was a
continual climb over the rocky beds of precipitous gullies, the gully
itself perhaps ten or twelve feet deep, and the dense wood on each side
meeting overhead, so that no fresh air relieved one in toiling along. We
could generally see rocks sticking up out of the water, on which to put
our feet, but we were occasionally, for a considerable distance, up to
the knees in water and mud.

The steep banks on each side of us were so close together, that in many
places two packed mules could not pass each other; sometimes, indeed,
even a single mule got jammed by the trunk projecting on either side of
him. It was a most fatiguing walk. When it did not rain, the heat was
suffocating; and when it rained, it poured.

There was a place called the “Half-way House,” to which we looked
forward anxiously as the end of our day’s journey; and as it was kept by
an American, we expected to find it a comparatively comfortable place.
But our disappointment was great, when about dark, we arrived at this
half-way house, and found it to be a miserable little tent, not much
more than twelve feet square.

On entering we found some eight or ten travelers in the same plight as
ourselves, tired, hungry, wet through, and with aching limbs. The only
furniture in the tent consisted of a rough table three feet long, and
three cots. The ground was all wet and sloppy, and the rain kept
dropping through the canvas overhead. There were only two plates, and
two knives and forks in the establishment, so we had to pitch into the
salt pork and beans two at a time, while the rest of the crowd stood
round and looked at us; for the cots were the only seats in the place,
and they were so rickety that not more than two men could sit on them
at a time.

More travelers continued to arrive; and as the prospect of a night in
such a place was so exceedingly dismal, I persuaded our party to return
about half a mile to a native hut which we had passed on the road, to
take our chance of what accommodation we could get there. We soon
arranged with the woman, who seemed to be the only inhabitant of the
house, to allow us to sleep in it; and as we were all thoroughly soaked,
every sort of waterproof coat having proved equally useless after the
few days’ severe trial we had given them, we looked out anxiously for
any of the natives coming along with our trunks.

In the meantime I borrowed a towel from the old woman of the shanty; and
as it was now fair, I went into the bush, and got one of our two
sailors, who had stuck by us, to rub me down as hard as he could. This
entirely removed all pain and stiffness; and though I had to put on my
wet clothes again, I felt completely refreshed.

Not long afterwards a native made his appearance, carrying the trunk of
one of the party, who very generously supplied us all from it with dry
clothes, when we betook ourselves to our couches. They were not
luxurious, being a number of dried hides laid on the floor, as hard as
so many sheets of iron, and full of bumps and hollows; but they were
dry, which was all we cared about, for we thought of the poor devils
sleeping in the mud in the half-way house.

The next morning, as we proceeded on our journey, the road gradually
improved as the country became more open. We were much refreshed by a
light breeze off the sea, which we found a very agreeable change from
the damp and suffocating heat of the forest; and about mid-day, after a
pleasant forenoon’s walk, we strolled into the city of Panama.




CHAPTER II

ACROSS THE ISTHMUS


On our arrival we found the population busily employed in celebrating
one of their innumerable _dias de fiesta_. The streets presented a very
gay appearance. The natives, all in their gala-dresses, were going the
rounds of the numerous gaudily-ornamented altars which had been erected
throughout the town; and mingled with the crowd were numbers of
Americans in every variety of California emigrant costume. The scene was
further enlivened by the music, or rather the noise, of fifes, drums,
and fiddles, with singing and chanting inside the churches, together
with squibs and crackers, the firing of cannon, and the continual
ringing of bells.

The town is built on a small promontory, and is protected, on the two
sides facing the sea, by batteries, and, on the land side, by a high
wall and a moat. A large portion of the town, however, lies on the
outside of this.

Most of the houses are built of wood, two stories high, painted with
bright colors, and with a corridor and veranda on the upper story; but
the best houses are of stone, or sun-dried bricks plastered over and
painted.

The churches are all of the same style of architecture which prevails
throughout Spanish America. They appeared to be in a very neglected
state, bushes, and even trees, growing out of the crevices of the
stones. The towers and pinnacles are ornamented with a profusion of
pearl-oyster shells, which, shining brightly in the sun, produce a very
curious effect.

On the altars is a great display of gold and silver ornaments and
images; but the interiors, in other respects, are quite in keeping with
the dilapidated uncared-for appearance of the outside of the buildings.

The natives are white, black, and every intermediate shade of color,
being a mixture of Spanish, Negro, and Indian blood. Many of the women
are very handsome, and on Sundays and holidays they dress very showily,
mostly in white dresses, with bright-colored ribbons, red or yellow
slippers without stockings, flowers in their hair, and round their
necks, gold chains, frequently composed of coins of various sizes linked
together. They have a fashion of making their hair useful as well as
ornamental, and it is not unusual to see the ends of three or four
half-smoked cigars sticking out from the folds of their hair at the back
of the head; for though they smoke a great deal, they never seem to
finish a cigar at one smoking. It is amusing to watch the old women
going to church. They come up smoking vigorously, with a cigar in full
blast, but, when they get near the door, they reverse it, putting the
lighted end into their mouth, and in this way they take half-a-dozen
stiff pulls at it, which seems to have the effect of putting it out.
They then stow away the stump in some of the recesses of their “back
hair,” to be smoked out on a future occasion.

The native population of Panama is about eight thousand, but at this
time there was also a floating population of Americans, varying from two
to three thousand, all on their way to California; some being detained
for two or three months waiting for a steamer to come round the Horn,
some waiting for sailing vessels, while others, more fortunate, found
the steamer, for which they had tickets, ready for them on their
arrival. Passengers returning from San Francisco did not remain any time
in Panama, but went right on across the Isthmus to Chagres.

The Americans, though so greatly inferior in numbers to the natives,
displayed so much more life and activity, even in doing nothing, that
they formed by far the more prominent portion of the population. The
main street of the town was densely crowded, day and night, with
Americans in bright red flannel shirts, with the universal revolver and
bowie-knife conspicuously displayed at their backs.

Most of the principal houses in the town had been converted into hotels,
which were kept by Americans, and bore, upon large signs, the favorite
hotel names of the United States. There were also numbers of large
American stores or shops, of various descriptions, equally obtruding
upon the attention of the public by the extent of their English signs,
while, by a few lines of bad Spanish scrawled on a piece of paper at the
side of the door, the poor natives were informed, as mere matter of
courtesy, that they also might enter in and buy, if they had the
wherewithal to pay. Here and there, indeed, some native, with more
enterprise than his neighbors, intimated to the public--that is to say,
to the Americans--in a very modest sign, and in very bad English, that
he had something or other to sell; but his energy was all theoretical,
for on going into his store you would find him half asleep in his
hammock, out of which he would not rouse himself if he could possibly
avoid it. You were welcome to buy as much as you pleased; but he seemed
to think it very hard that you could not do so without giving him at the
same time the trouble of selling.

Although all foreigners were spoken of as _los Americanos_ by the
natives, there were among them men from every country in Europe. The
Frenchmen were the most numerous, some of whom kept stores and very good
restaurants. There were also several large gambling saloons, which were
always crowded, especially on Sundays, with natives and Americans
gambling at the Spanish game of monte; and, of course, specimens were
not wanting of that great American institution, the drinking saloon, at
the bars of which a brisk business was done in brandy-smashes,
whisky-skins, and all the other refreshing compounds for which the
Americans are so justly celebrated.

Living in Panama was pretty hard. The hotels were all crammed full; the
accommodation they afforded was somewhat in the same style as at
Gorgona, and they were consequently not very inviting places. Those who
did not live in hotels had sleeping-quarters in private houses, and
resorted to the restaurants for their meals, which was a much more
comfortable mode of life.

Ham, beans, chicken, eggs, and rice, were the principal articles of
food. The beef was dreadfully tough, stringy, and tasteless, and was
hardly ever eaten by the Americans, as it was generally found to be very
unwholesome.

There was here at this time a great deal of sickness, and absolute
misery, among the Americans. Diarrhœa and fever were the prevalent
diseases. The deaths were very numerous, but were frequently either the
result of the imprudence of the patient himself, or of the total
indifference as to his fate on the part of his neighbors, and the
consequent want of any care or attendance whatever. The heartless
selfishness one saw and heard of was truly disgusting. The principle of
“every man for himself” was most strictly followed out, and a sick man
seemed to be looked upon as a thing to be avoided, as a hindrance to
one’s own individual progress.

There was a hospital attended by American physicians, and supported to a
great extent by Californian generosity; but it was quite incapable of
accommodating all the sick; and many a poor fellow, having exhausted his
funds during his long detention here, found, when he fell sick, that in
parting with his money he had lost the only friend he had, and was
allowed to die, as little cared for as if he had been a dog.

An American characteristic is a weakness for quack medicines and
specifics, and numbers of men here fell victims to the national mania,
chiefly Yankees and Western men. Persons coming from a northern climate
to such a place as Panama, are naturally apt at first to experience some
slight derangement of their general health, which, with proper
treatment, is easily rectified; but these fellows were all provided
with cholera preventive, fever preventive, and boxes of pills for the
prevention and the cure of every known disease. The moment they imagined
that there was anything wrong with them, they became alarmed, and dosed
themselves with all the medicines they could get hold of, so that when
they really were taken ill, they were already half poisoned with the
stuff they had been swallowing. Many killed themselves by excessive
drinking of the wretched liquor which was sold under the name of brandy,
and others, by eating ravenously of fruit, green or ripe, at all hours
of the day, or by living, for the sake of economy, on gingerbread and
spruce-beer, which are also American weaknesses, and of which there were
several enterprising Yankee manufacturers.

The sickness was no doubt much increased by the outrageously filthy
state of the town. There seemed to be absolutely no arrangement for
cleanliness whatever, and the heavy rains which fell, and washed down
the streets, were all that saved the town from being swallowed up in the
accumulation of its own corruption.

Among the Americans en route for California were men of all
classes--professional men, merchants, laborers, sailors, farmers,
mechanics, and numbers of long gaunt Western men, with rifles as long as
themselves. The hotels were too crowded to allow of any distinction of
persons, and they were accordingly conducted on ultra-democratic
principles. Some faint idea of the style of thing might be formed from a
notice which was posted up in the bar-room of the most fashionable
hotel. It ran as follows: “Gentlemen are requested to wear their coats
at table, if they have them handy.” This intimation, of course, in
effect amounted to nothing at all, but at the same time there was a
great deal in it. It showed that the landlord, being above vulgar
prejudices himself, saw the necessity, in order to please all his
guests, of overcoming the mutual prejudices existing between broadcloth
and fine linen, and red flannel with no linen,--sanctioning the wearing
of coats at table on the part of the former, by making a public request
that they would do so, while, of the shirt-sleeve gentlemen, those who
_had_ coats, and refused to wear them, could still glory in the
knowledge that they were defying all interference with their individual
rights; and in behalf of the really coatless, those who could not call a
coat their own, the idea was kindly suggested that that garment was only
absent, because it was not “handy.”

As may be supposed, such a large and motley population of foreigners,
confined in such a place as Panama, without any occupation, were not
remarkably quiet or orderly. Gambling, drinking, and cockfighting were
the principal amusements; and drunken rows and fights, in which pistols
and knives were freely used, were of frequent occurrence.

The 4th of July was celebrated by the Americans in great style. The
proceedings were conducted as is customary on such occasions in the
United States. A procession was formed, which, headed by a number of
fiddles, drums, bugles, and other instruments, all playing “Yankee
Doodle” in a very free and independent manner, marched to the place of
celebration, a circular canvas structure, where a circus company had
been giving performances. When all were assembled, the Declaration of
Independence was read, and the orator of the day made a flaming speech
on the subject of George III. and the Universal Yankee nation. A
gentleman then got up, and, speaking in Spanish, explained to the native
portion of the assembly what all the row was about; after which the
meeting dispersed, and the further celebration of the day was continued
at the bars of the different hotels.

I met with an accident here which laid me up for several weeks. I
suffered a good deal, and passed a most weary time. All the books I
could get hold of did not last me more than a few days, and I had then
no other pastime than to watch the humming-birds buzzing about the
flowers which grew around my window.

As soon as I was able to walk, I took passage in a barque about to sail
for San Francisco. She carried about forty passengers; and as she had
ample cabin accommodation, we were so far comfortable enough. The
company was, as might be expected, very miscellaneous. Some were
respectable men, and others were precious vagabonds. When we had been
out but a few days, a fever broke out on board, which was not, however,
of a very serious character. I got a touch of it, and could have cured
myself very easily, but there was a man on board who passed for a
doctor, having shipped as such: he had been physicking the others, and I
reluctantly consented to allow him to doctor me also. He began by giving
me some horrible emetic, which, however, had no effect; so he continued
to repeat it, dose after dose, each dose half a tumblerful, with still
no effect, till, at last, he had given me so much of it, that he began
to be alarmed for the consequences. I was a little alarmed myself, and
putting my finger down my throat, I very soon relieved myself of all his
villainous compounds. I think I fainted after it. I know I felt as if I
were going to faint, and shortly afterwards was sensible of a lapse of
time which I could not account for; but on inquiring of some of my
fellow-passengers, I could find no one who had so far interested himself
on my account as to be able to give me any information on the subject.

I took my own case in hand after that, and very soon got rid of the
fever, although the emetic treatment had so used me up that for a
fortnight I was hardly able to stand. We afterwards discovered that this
man was only now making his _début_ as a physician. He had graduated,
however, as a shoemaker, a farmer, and I don’t know what else besides;
latterly he had practised as a horse-dealer, and I have no doubt it was
some horse-medicine which he administered to me so freely.

We had only two deaths on board, and in justice to the doctor, I must
say he was not considered to have been the cause of either of them. One
case was that of a young man, who, while the doctor was treating him for
fever, was at the same time privately treating himself to large doses,
taken frequently, of bad brandy, of which he had an ample stock stowed
away under his bed. About a day and a half settled him. The other was a
much more melancholy case. He was a young Swede--such a delicate,
effeminate fellow that he seemed quite out of place among the rough and
noisy characters who formed the rest of the party. A few days before we
left Panama, a steamer had arrived from San Francisco with a great many
cases of cholera on board. Numerous deaths had occurred in Panama, and
considerable alarm prevailed there in consequence. The Swede was
attacked with fever like the rest of us, but he had no force in him,
either mental or bodily, to bear up against sickness under such
circumstances; and the fear of cholera had taken such possession of him,
that he insisted upon it that he had cholera, and that he would die of
it that night. His lamentations were most piteous, but all attempts to
reassure him were in vain. He very soon became delirious, and died
raving before morning. None of us were doctors enough to know exactly
what he died of, but the general belief was that he frightened himself
to death. The church-service was read over him by the supercargo, many
of the passengers merely leaving their cards to be present at the
ceremony, and as soon as he was launched over the side, resuming their
game where they had been interrupted; and this, moreover, was on a
Sunday morning. In future the captain prohibited all card-playing on
Sundays, but throughout the voyage nearly one-half of the passengers
spent the whole day, and half the night, in playing the favorite game of
poker, which is something like brag, and at which they cheated each
other in the most barefaced manner, so causing perpetual quarrels,
which, however, never ended in a fight--for the reason, as it seemed to
me, that as every one wore his bowie-knife, the prospect of getting his
opponent’s knife between his ribs deterred each man from drawing his
own, or offering any violence whatever.

The poor Swede had no friends on board; nobody knew who he was, where he
came from, or anything at all about him; and so his effects were, a few
days after his death, sold at auction by order of the captain, one of
the passengers, who had been an auctioneer in the States, officiating on
the occasion.

Great rascalities were frequently practised at this time by those
engaged in conveying passengers, in sailing vessels, from Panama to San
Francisco. There were such numbers of men waiting anxiously in Panama to
take the first opportunity that offered of reaching California, that
there was no difficulty in filling any old tub of a ship with
passengers; and, when once men arrived in San Francisco, they were
generally too much occupied in making dollars, to give any trouble on
account of the treatment they had received on the voyage.

Many vessels were consequently despatched with a load of passengers,
most shamefully ill supplied with provisions, even what they had being
of the most inferior quality; and it often happened that they had to
touch in distress at the intermediate ports for the ordinary necessaries
of life.

We very soon found that our ship was no exception. For the first few
days we fared pretty well, but, by degrees, one article after another
became used up; and by the time we had been out a fortnight, we had
absolutely nothing to eat and drink, but salt pork, musty flour, and bad
coffee--no mustard, vinegar, sugar, pepper, or anything of the sort, to
render such food at all palatable. It may be imagined how delightful it
was, in recovering from fever, when one naturally has a craving for
something good to eat, to have no greater delicacy in the way of
nourishment than gruel made of musty flour, _au naturel_.

There was great indignation among the passengers. A lot of California
emigrants are not a crowd to be trifled with, and the idea of pitching
the supercargo overboard was quite seriously entertained; but,
fortunately for himself, he was a very plausible man, and succeeded in
talking them into the belief that he was not to blame.

We would have gone into some port for supplies but, of such grub as we
had, there was no scarcity on board, and we preferred making the most of
it to incurring delay by going in on the coast, where calms and light
winds are so prevalent.

We killed a porpoise occasionally, and ate him. The liver is the best
part, and the only part generally eaten, being something like pig’s
liver, and by no means bad. I had frequently tasted the meat at sea
before; it is exceedingly hard, tough, and stringy, like the very worst
beefsteak that can possibly be imagined; and I used to think it barely
eatable, when thoroughly disguised in sauce and spices, but now, after
being so long under a severe salt-pork treatment, I thought porpoise
steak a very delicious dish, even without any condiment to heighten its
intrinsic excellence.

We had been out about six weeks, when we sighted a ship, many miles off,
going the same way as ourselves, and the captain determined to board
her, and endeavor to get some of the articles of which we were so much
in need. There was great excitement among the passengers; all wanted to
accompany the captain in his boat, but, to avoid making invidious
distinctions, he refused to take any one unless he would pull an oar. I
was one of four who volunteered to do so, and we left the ship amid
clamorous injunctions not to forget sugar, beef, molasses, vinegar, and
so on--whatever each man most longed for. We had four or five Frenchmen
on board, who earnestly entreated me to get them even one bottle of oil.

We had a long pull, as the stranger was in no hurry to heave-to for us;
and on coming up to her, we found her to be a Scotch barque, bound also
for San Francisco, without passengers, but very nearly as badly off as
ourselves. She could not spare us anything at all, but the captain gave
us an invitation to dinner, which we accepted with the greatest
pleasure. It was Sunday, and so the dinner was of course the best they
could get up. It only consisted of fresh pork (the remains of their last
pig), and duff; but with mustard to the pork, and sugar to the duff, it
seemed to us a most sumptuous banquet; and, not having the immediate
prospect of such another for some time to come, we made the most of the
present opportunity. In fact, we cleared the table. I don’t know what
the Scotch skipper thought of us, but if he really could have spared us
anything, the ravenous way in which we demolished his dinner would
surely have softened his heart.

On arriving again alongside our own ship, with the boat empty as when we
left her, we were greeted by a row of very long faces looking down on us
over the side; not a word was said, because they had watched us with the
glass leaving the other vessel, and had seen that nothing was handed
into the boat; and when we described the splendid dinner we had just
eaten, the faces lengthened so much, and assumed such a very wistful
expression, that it seemed a wanton piece of cruelty to have mentioned
the circumstance at all.

But, after all, our hard fare did not cause us much distress: we got
used to it, and besides, a passage to California was not like a passage
to any other place. Every one was so confident of acquiring an immense
fortune there in an incredibly short time, that he was already making
his plans for the future enjoyment of it, and present difficulties and
hardships were not sufficiently appreciated.

The time passed pleasantly enough; all were disposed to be cheerful, and
amongst so many men there are always some who afford amusement for the
rest. Many found constant occupation in trading off their coats, hats,
boots, trunks, or anything they possessed. I think scarcely any one went
ashore in San Francisco with a single article of clothing which he
possessed in Panama; and there was hardly an article of any man’s
wardrobe, which, by the time our voyage was over, had not at one time
been the property of every other man on board the ship.

We had one cantankerous old Englishman on board, who used to roll out,
most volubly, good round English oaths, greatly to the amusement of some
of the American passengers, for the English style of cursing and
swearing is very different from that which prevails in the States. This
old fellow was made a butt for all manner of practical jokes. He had a
way of going to sleep during the day in all sorts of places; and when
the dinner-bell rang, he would find himself tied hand and foot. They
sewed up the sleeves of his coat, and then bet him long odds he could
not put it on, and take it off again, within a minute. They made up
cigars for him with some powder in the inside; and in fact the jokes
played off upon him were endless, the great fun being, apparently, to
hear him swear, which he did most heartily. He always fancied himself
ill, and said that quinine was the only thing that would save him; but
the quinine, like everything else on board, was all used up. However,
one man put up some papers of flour and salt, and gave them to him as
quinine, saying he had just found them in looking over his trunk.
Constant inquiries were then made after the old man’s health, when he
declared the quinine was doing him a world of good, and that his
appetite was much improved.

He was so much teased at last that he used to go about with a naked
bowie-knife in his hand, with which he threatened to do awful things to
whoever interfered with him. But even this did not secure him much
peace, and he was such a dreadfully crabbed old rascal that I thought
the stirring-up he got was quite necessary to keep him sweet.

After a wretchedly long passage, during which we experienced nothing but
calms, light winds, and heavy contrary gales, we entered the Golden Gate
of San Francisco harbor with the first and only fair wind we were
favored with, and came to anchor before the city about eight o’clock in
the evening.




CHAPTER III

A CITY IN THE MAKING


The entrance to San Francisco harbor is between precipitous rocky
headlands about a mile apart, which have received the name of the Golden
Gate. The harbor itself is a large sheet of water, twelve miles across
at its widest point, and in length forty or fifty miles, getting
gradually narrower till at last it becomes a mere creek.

On the north side of the harbor falls in the Sacramento, a large river,
to which all the other rivers of California are tributary, and which is
navigable for large vessels as far as Sacramento city, a distance of
nearly two hundred miles.

The city of San Francisco lies on the south shore, nearly opposite the
mouth of the Sacramento, and four or five miles from the ocean. It is
built on a semicircular inlet, about two miles across, at the foot of a
succession of bleak sandy hills, covered here and there with scrubby
brushwood. Before the discovery of gold in the country, it consisted
merely of a few small houses occupied by native Californians, and one or
two foreign merchants engaged in the export of hides and horns. The
harbor was also a favorite watering-place for whalers and men-of-war
cruising in that part of the world.

At the time of our arrival in 1851, hardly a vestige remained of the
original village. Everything bore evidence of newness, and the greater
part of the city presented a makeshift and temporary appearance, being
composed of the most motley collection of edifices, in the way of
houses, which can well be conceived. Some were mere tents, with perhaps
a wooden front sufficiently strong to support the sign of the occupant;
some were composed of sheets of zinc on a wooden framework; there were
numerous corrugated iron houses, the most unsightly things possible, and
generally painted brown; there were many imported American houses, all,
of course, painted white, with green shutters; also dingy-looking
Chinese houses, and occasionally some substantial brick buildings; but
the great majority were nondescript, shapeless, patchwork concerns, in
the fabrication of which sheet-iron, wood, zinc, and canvas seemed to
have been employed indiscriminately; while here and there, in the middle
of a row of such houses, appeared the hulk of a ship, which had been
hauled up, and now served as a warehouse, the cabins being fitted up as
offices, or sometimes converted into a boarding-house.

The hills rose so abruptly from the shore that there was not room for
the rapid extension of the city, and as sites were more valuable as they
were nearer the shipping, the first growth of the city was out into the
bay. Already houses had been built out on piles for nearly half-a-mile
beyond the original high-water mark; and it was thus that ships, having
been hauled up and built in, came to occupy a position so completely out
of their element. The hills are of a very loose sandy soil, and were
consequently easily graded sufficiently to admit of being built upon;
and what was removed from the hills was used to fill up the space gained
from the bay. This has been done to such an extent, that at the present
day the whole of the business part of the city of San Francisco stands
on solid ground, where a few years ago large ships lay at anchor; and
what was then high-water mark is now more than a mile inland.

The principal street of the town was about three-quarters of a mile
long, and on it were most of the bankers’ offices, the principal stores,
some of the best restaurants, and numerous drinking and gambling
saloons.

In the Plaza, a large open square, was the only remaining house of the
San Francisco of other days--a small cottage built of sun-dried bricks.
Two sides of the Plaza were composed of the most imposing-looking houses
in the city, some of which were of brick several stories high; others,
though of wood, were large buildings with handsome fronts in imitation
of stone, and nearly every one of them was a gambling-house.

Scattered over the hills overhanging the town, apparently at random, but
all on specified lots, on streets which as yet were only defined by rude
fences, were habitations of various descriptions, handsome wooden houses
of three or four stories, neat little cottages, iron houses, and tents
innumerable.

Rents were exorbitantly high, and servants were hardly to be had for
money; housekeeping was consequently only undertaken by those who did
not fear the expense, and who were so fortunate as to have their
families with them. The population, however, consisted chiefly of single
men, and the usual style of living was to have some sort of room to
sleep in, and to board at a restaurant. But even a room to oneself was
an expensive luxury, and it was more usual for men to sleep in their
stores or offices. As for a bed, no one was particular about that; a
shake-down on a table, or on the floor, was as common as anything else,
and sheets were a luxury but little thought of. Every man was his own
servant, and his own porter besides. It was nothing unusual to see a
respectable old gentleman, perhaps some old paterfamilias, who at home
would have been horrified at the idea of doing such a thing, open his
store in the morning himself, take a broom and sweep it out, and then
proceed to blacken his boots.

The boot-blacking trade, however, was one which sprang up and flourished
rapidly. It was monopolized by Frenchmen, and was principally conducted
in the Plaza, on the long row of steps in front of the gambling saloons.
At first the accommodation afforded was not very great. One had to stand
upon one foot and place the other on a little box, while a Frenchman,
standing a few steps below, operated upon it. Presently arm-chairs were
introduced, and, the bootblacks working in partnership, time was
economized by both boots being polished simultaneously. It was a curious
sight to see thirty or forty men sitting in a row in the most public
part of the city having their boots blacked, while as many more stood
waiting for their turn. The next improvement was being accommodated with
the morning papers while undergoing the operation; and finally, the
boot-blacking fraternity, keeping pace with the progressive spirit of
the age, opened saloons furnished with rows of easychairs on a raised
platform, in which the patients sat and read the news, or admired
themselves in the mirror on the opposite wall. The regular charge for
having one’s boots polished was twenty-five cents, an English
shilling--the smallest sum worth mentioning in California.

In 1851, however, things had not attained such a pitch of refinement as
to render the appearance of a man’s boots a matter of the slightest
consequence.

As far as mere eating and drinking went, living was good enough. The
market was well supplied with every description of game--venison, elk,
antelope, grizzly bear, and an infinite variety of wild-fowl. The harbor
abounded with fish, and the Sacramento river was full of splendid
salmon, equal in flavor to those of the Scottish rivers, though in
appearance not quite such a highly-finished fish, being rather clumsy
about the tail.

Vegetables were not so plentiful. Potatoes and onions, as fine as any in
the world, were the great stand-by. Other vegetables, though scarce,
were produced in equal perfection, and upon a gigantic scale. A beetroot
weighing a hundred pounds, and that looked like the trunk of a tree, was
not thought a _very_ remarkable specimen.

The wild geese and ducks were extremely numerous all round the shores of
the bay, and many men, chiefly English and French, who would have
scorned the idea of selling their game at home, here turned their
sporting abilities to good account, and made their guns a source of
handsome profit. A Frenchman with whom I was acquainted killed fifteen
hundred dollars’ worth of game in two weeks.

There were two or three French restaurants nearly equal to some of the
best in Paris, where the cheapest dinner one could get cost three
dollars; but there were also numbers of excellent French and American
houses, at which one could live much more reasonably. Good hotels were
not wanting, but they were ridiculously extravagant places; and though
flimsy concerns, built of wood, and not presenting very ostentatious
exteriors, they were fitted up with all the lavish display which
characterizes the fashionable hotels of New York. In fact, all places of
public resort were furnished and decorated in a style of most barbaric
splendor, being filled with the costliest French furniture, and a
profusion of immense mirrors, gorgeous gilding, magnificent chandeliers,
and gold and china ornaments, conveying an idea of luxurious refinement
which contrasted strangely with the appearance and occupations of the
people by whom they were frequented.

San Francisco exhibited an immense amount of vitality compressed into a
small compass, and a degree of earnestness was observable in every
action of a man’s daily life. People lived more there in a week than
they would in a year in most other places.

In the course of a month, or a year, in San Francisco, there was more
hard work done, more speculative schemes were conceived and executed,
more money was made and lost, there was more buying and selling, more
sudden changes of fortune, more eating and drinking, more smoking,
swearing, gambling, and tobacco-chewing, more crime and profligacy,
and, at the same time, more solid advancement made by the people, as a
body, in wealth, prosperity, and the refinements of civilization, than
could be shown in an equal space of time by any community of the same
size on the face of the earth.

The every-day jog-trot of ordinary human existence was not a fast enough
pace for Californians in their impetuous pursuit of wealth. The longest
period of time ever thought of was a month. Money was loaned, and houses
were rented, by the month; interest and rent being invariably payable
monthly and in advance. All engagements were made by the month, during
which period the changes and contingencies were so great that no one was
willing to commit himself for a longer term. In the space of a month the
whole city might be swept off by fire, and a totally new one might be
flourishing in its place. So great was the constant fluctuation in the
prices of goods, and so rash and speculative was the usual style of
business, that no great idea of stability could be attached to anything,
and the ever-varying aspect of the streets, as the houses were being
constantly pulled down, and rebuilt, was emblematic of the equally
varying fortunes of the inhabitants.

The streets presented a scene of intense bustle and excitement. The
side-walks were blocked up with piles of goods, in front of the already
crowded stores; men hurried along with the air of having the weight of
all the business of California on their shoulders; others stood in
groups at the corners of the streets; here and there was a drunken man
lying groveling in the mud, enjoying himself as uninterruptedly as if he
were merely a hog; old miners, probably on their way home, were loafing
about, staring at everything, in all the glory of mining costume,
jealous of every inch of their long hair and flowing beards, and of
every bit of California mud which adhered to their ragged old shirts and
patchwork pantaloons, as evidences that they, at least, had “seen the
elephant.”

Troops of newly arrived Frenchmen marched along, en route for the mines,
staggering under their equipment of knapsacks, shovels, picks, tin
wash-bowls, pistols, knives, swords, and double-barrel guns--their
blankets slung over their shoulders, and their persons hung around with
tin cups, frying-pans, coffee-pots, and other culinary utensils, with
perhaps a hatchet and a spare pair of boots. Crowds of Chinamen were
also to be seen, bound for the diggings, under gigantic basket-hats,
each man with a bamboo laid across his shoulder, from each end of which
was suspended a higgledy-piggledy collection of mining tools, Chinese
baskets and boxes, immense boots and a variety of Chinese “fixins,”
which no one but a Chinaman could tell the use of,--all speaking at
once, gabbling and chattering their horrid jargon, and producing a noise
like that of a flock of geese. There were continuous streams of drays
drawn by splendid horses, and loaded with merchandise from all parts of
the world, and horsemen galloped about, equally regardless of their own
and of other men’s lives.

Two or three auctioneers might be heard at once, “crying” their goods
with characteristic California vehemence, while some of their neighbors
in the same line of business were ringing bells to collect an
audience--and at the same time one’s ears were dinned with the discord
of half-a-dozen brass bands, braying out different popular airs from as
many different gambling saloons. In the midst of it all, the runners, or
tooters, for the opposition river-steamboats, would be cracking up the
superiority of their respective boats at the top of their lungs,
somewhat in this style: “One dollar to-night for Sacramento, by the
splendid steamer Senator, the fastest boat that ever turned a wheel from
Long wharf--with feather pillows and curled-hair mattresses, mahogany
doors and silver hinges. She has got eight young-lady passengers
to-night, that speak all the dead languages, and not a colored man from
stem to stern of her.” Here an opposition runner would let out upon him,
and the two would slang each other in the choicest California
Billingsgate for the amusement of the admiring crowd.

Standing at the door of a gambling saloon, with one foot raised on the
steps, would be a well-dressed young man, playing thimblerig on his leg
with a golden pea, for the edification of a crowd of gaping greenhorns,
some one of whom would be sure to bite. Not far off would be found a
precocious little blackguard of fourteen or fifteen, standing behind a
cask, and playing on the head of it a sort of thimblerig game with three
cards, called “French monte.” He first shows their faces, and names
one--say the ace of spades--as the winning card, and after
thimblerigging them on the head of the cask, he lays them in a row with
their faces down, and goes on proclaiming to the public in a loud voice
that the ace of spades is the winning card, and that he’ll “bet any man
one or two hundred dollars he can’t pick up the ace of spades.”
Occasionally some man, after watching the trick for a little, thinks it
is the easiest thing possible to tell which is the ace of spades, and
loses his hundred dollars accordingly, when the youngster pockets the
money and his cards, and moves off to another location, not being so
soft as to repeat the joke too often, or to take a smaller bet than a
hundred dollars.

There were also newsboys with their shrill voices, crying their various
papers with the latest intelligence from all parts of the world, and
boys with boxes of cigars, offering “the best Havana cigars for a bit
a-piece, as good as you can get in the stores for a quarter.” A “bit” is
twelve and a half cents, or an English sixpence, and for all one could
buy with it, was but little less useless than an English farthing.

Presently one would hear “Hullo! there’s a muss!” (_Anglicé_, a row),
and men would be seen rushing to the spot from all quarters.
Auction-rooms, gambling-rooms, stores, and drinking-shops would be
emptied, and a mob collected in the street in a moment. The “muss” would
probably be only a _difficulty_ between two gentlemen, who had referred
it to the arbitration of knives or pistols; but if no one was killed,
the mob would disperse, to resume their various occupations, just as
quickly as they had collected.

Some of the principal streets were planked, as was also, of course, that
part of the city which was built on piles; but where there was no
planking, the mud was ankle-deep, and in many places there were
mudholes, rendering the street almost impassable. The streets were the
general receptacle for every description of rubbish. They were chiefly
covered with bits of broken boxes and casks, fragments of hampers, iron
hoops, old tin cases, and empty bottles. In the vicinity of the
numerous Jew slop-shops, they were thickly strewed with old boots, hats,
coats, and pantaloons; for the majority of the population carried their
wardrobe on their backs, and when they bought a new article of dress,
the old one which it was to replace was pitched into the street.

I often wondered that none of the enterprising “old clo” fraternity ever
opened a business in California. They might have got shiploads of old
clothes for the trouble of picking them up. Some of them doubtless were
not worth the trouble, but there were always tons of cast-off garments
kicking about the streets, which I think an “old clo” of any ingenuity
could have rendered available. California was often said to be famous
for three things--rats, fleas, and empty bottles; but old clothes might
well have been added to the list.

The whole place swarmed with rats of an enormous size; one could hardly
walk at night without treading on them. They destroyed an immense deal
of property, and a good ratting terrier was worth his weight in gold
dust. I knew instances, however, of first-rate terriers in Sacramento
City (which for rats beat San Francisco hollow) becoming at last so
utterly disgusted with killing rats, that they ceased to consider it any
sport at all, and allowed the rats to run under their noses without
deigning to look at them.

As for the other industrious little animals, they were a terrible
nuisance. I suppose they were indigenous to the sandy soil. It was quite
a common thing to see a gentleman suddenly pull up the sleeve of his
coat, or the leg of his trousers, and smile in triumph when he caught
his little tormentor. After a few weeks’ residence in San Francisco, one
became naturally very expert at this sort of thing.

Of the last article--the empty bottles--the enormous heaps of them,
piled up in all sorts of out-of-the-way places, suggested a consumption
of liquor which was truly awful. Empty bottles were as plentiful as
bricks--and a large city might have been built with them.

The appearance of the people, being, as they were, a sort of world’s
show of humanity, was extremely curious and diversified. There were
Chinamen in all the splendor of sky-blue or purple figured silk jackets,
and tight yellow satin continuations, black satin shoes with thick white
soles, and white gaiters; a fan in the hand, and a beautifully plaited
glossy pigtail hanging down to the heels from under a scarlet skull-cap,
with a gold knob on the top of it. These were the swell Chinamen; the
lower orders of Celestials were generally dressed in immensely wide blue
calico jackets and bags, for they really could not be called trousers,
and on their heads they wore enormous wicker-work extinguishers, which
would have made very good family clothes-baskets.

The Mexicans were very numerous, and wore their national costume--the
bright-colored sérape thrown gracefully over the left shoulder, with
rows of silver buttons down the outside of their trousers, which were
generally left open, so as to show the loose white drawers underneath,
and the silver-handled bowie-knife in the stamped leather leggins.

Englishmen seemed to adhere to the shooting-coat style of dress, and the
down-east Yankees to their eternal black dress-coat, black pantaloons,
and black satin waistcoat; while New Yorkers, Southerners, and
Frenchmen, came out in the latest Paris fashions.

Those who did not stick to their former style of dress, indulged in all
the extravagant license of California costume, which was of every
variety that caprice could suggest. No man could make his appearance
sufficiently _bizarre_ to attract any attention. The prevailing fashion
among the rag-tag and bobtail was a red or blue flannel shirt,
wide-awake hats of every conceivable shape and color, and trousers
stuffed into a big pair of boots.

Pistols and knives were usually worn in the belt at the back, and to be
without either was the exception to the rule.

The few ladies who were already in San Francisco, very naturally avoided
appearing in public; but numbers of female toilettes, of the most
extravagantly rich and gorgeous materials, swept the muddy streets, and
added not a little to the incongruous variety of the scene.

To a cursory visitor, auction-sales and gambling would have appeared two
of the principal features of the city.

The gambling-saloons were very numerous, occupying the most prominent
positions in the leading thoroughfares, and all of them presenting a
more conspicuous appearance than the generality of houses around them.
They were thronged day and night, and in each was a very good band of
music, the performers being usually German or French.

On entering a first-class gambling-room, one found a large
well-proportioned saloon sixty or seventy feet long, brilliantly
lighted up by several very fine chandeliers, the walls decorated with
ornamental painting and gilding, and hung with large mirrors and showy
pictures, while in an elevated projecting orchestra half-a-dozen Germans
were playing operatic music. There were a dozen or more tables in the
room, each with a compact crowd of eager betters around it, and the
whole room was so filled with men that elbowing one’s way between the
tables was a matter of difficulty. The atmosphere was quite hazy with
the quantity of tobacco smoke, and was strongly impregnated with the
fumes of brandy. If one happened to enter while the musicians were
taking a rest, the quiet and stillness were remarkable. Nothing was
heard but a slight hum of voices, and the constant clinking of money;
for it was the fashion, while standing betting at a table, to have a lot
of dollars in one’s hands, and to keep shuffling them backwards and
forwards like so many cards.

The people composing the crowd were men of every class, from the highest
to the lowest, and, though the same as might be seen elsewhere, their
extraordinary variety of character and of dress appeared still more
curious from their being brought into such close juxtaposition, and
apparently placed upon an equality. Seated round the same table might be
seen well-dressed, respectable-looking men, and, alongside of them,
rough miners fresh from the diggings, with well-filled buckskin purses,
dirty old flannel shirts, and shapeless hats; jolly tars half-seas over,
not understanding anything about the game, nor apparently taking any
interest in it, but having their spree out at the gaming-table because
it was the fashion, and goodhumoredly losing their pile of five or six
hundred or a thousand dollars; Mexicans wrapped up in their blankets
smoking cigaritas, and watching the game intently from under their
broad-brimmed hats; Frenchmen in their blouses smoking black pipes; and
little urchins, or little old scamps rather, ten or twelve years of age,
smoking cigars as big as themselves, with the air of men who were quite
up to all the hooks and crooks of this wicked world (as indeed they
were), and losing their hundred dollars at a pop with all the
nonchalance of an old gambler; while crowds of men, some dressed like
gentlemen, and mixed with all sorts of nondescript ragamuffins, crowded
round, and stretched over those seated at the tables, in order to make
their bets.

There were dirty, squalid, villainous-looking scoundrels, who never
looked straight out of their eyes, but still were always looking at
something, as if they were “making a note of it,” and who could have
made their faces their fortunes in some parts of the world, by “sitting”
for murderers, or ruffians generally.

Occasionally one saw, jostled about unresistingly by the crowd, and as
if the crowd ignored its existence, the live carcass of some wretched,
dazed, woebegone man, clad in the worn-out greasy habiliments of quondam
gentility; the glassy unintelligent eye looking as if no focus could be
found for it, but as if it saw a dim misty vision of everything all at
once; the only meaning in the face being about the lips, where still
lingered the smack of grateful enjoyment of the last mouthful of whisky,
blended with a longing humble sigh for the speedy recurrence of any
opportunity of again experiencing such an awakening bliss, and forcibly
expressing an unquenchable thirst for strong drinks, together with the
total absence of all power to do anything towards relieving it, while
the whole appearance of the man spoke of bitter disappointment and
reverses, without the force to bear up under them. He was the picture of
sottish despair, and the name of his duplicates was legion.

There was in the crowd a large proportion of sleek well-shaven men, in
stove-pipe hats and broadcloth; but, however nearly a man might approach
in appearance to the conventional idea of a gentleman, it is not to be
supposed, on that account, that he either was, or got the credit of
being, a bit better than his neighbors. The man standing next him, in
the guise of a laboring man, was perhaps his superior in wealth,
character, and education. Appearances, at least as far as dress was
concerned, went for nothing at all. A man was judged by the amount of
money in his purse, and frequently the man to be most courted for his
dollars was the most to be despised for his looks.

One element of mixed crowds of people, in the States and in this
country, was very poorly represented. There were scarcely any of the
lower order of Irish; the cost of emigration to California was at that
time too great for the majority of that class, although now the Irish
population of San Francisco is nearly equal in proportion to that in the
large cities of the Union.

The Spanish game of monte, which was introduced into California by the
crowds of Mexicans who came there, was at this time the most popular
game, and was dealt almost exclusively by Mexicans. It is played on a
table about six feet by four, on each side of which sits a dealer, and
between them is the bank of gold and silver coin, to the amount of five
or ten thousand dollars, piled up in rows covering a space of a couple
of square feet. The game is played with Spanish cards, which are
differently figured from the usual playing-cards, and have only
forty-eight in the pack, the ten being wanting. At either end of the
table two compartments are marked on the cloth, on each of which the
dealer lays out a card. Bets are then made by placing one’s stake on the
card betted on; and are decided according to which of those laid out
first makes its appearance, as the dealer draws card after card from the
top of the pack. It is a game at which the dealer has such advantages,
and which, at the same time, gives him such facilities for cheating,
that any one who continues to bet at it is sure to be fleeced.

Faro, which was the more favorite game for heavy betting, and was dealt
chiefly by Americans, is played on a table the same size as a monte
table. Laid out upon it are all the thirteen cards of a suit, on any of
which one makes his bets, to be decided according as the same card
appears first or second as the dealer draws them two by two off the top
of the pack.

Faro was generally played by systematic gamblers, who knew, or thought
they knew, what they were about; while monte, from its being apparently
more simple, was patronized by novices. There were also roulette and
rouge-et-noir tables, and an infinite variety of small games played with
dice, and classed under the general appellation of “chuck-a-luck.”

I should mention that in California the word gambler is not used in
exactly the same abstract sense as with us. An individual might spend
all his time, and gain his living, in betting at public gaming-tables,
but that would not entitle him to the distinctive appellation of a
gambler; it would only be said of him that he gambled.

The gamblers were only the professionals, the men who laid out their
banks in public rooms, and invited all and sundry to bet against them.
They were a distinct and numerous class of the community, who followed
their profession for the accommodation of the public; and any one who
did business with them was no more a “gambler” than a man who bought a
pound of tea was a grocer.

At this time the gamblers were, as a general thing, the best-dressed men
in San Francisco. Many of them were very gentlemanly in appearance, but
there was a peculiar air about them which denoted their profession--so
much so, that one might frequently hear the remark, that such a person
“looked like a gambler.” They had a haggard, careworn look (though that
was nothing uncommon in California), and as they sat dealing at their
tables, no fluctuation of fortune caused the slightest change in the
expression of their face, which was that of being intently occupied with
their game, but at the same time totally indifferent as to the result.
Even among the betters the same thing was remarkable, though in a less
degree, for the struggle to appear unconcerned when a man lost his all,
was often too plainly evident with them.

The Mexicans showed the most admirable impassibility. I have seen one
betting so high at a monte table that a crowd collected round to watch
the result. After winning a large sum of money, he finally staked it all
on one card, and lost, when he exhibited less concern than many of the
bystanders, for he merely condescended to give a slight shrug of his
shoulders as he lighted his cigarita and strolled slowly off.

In the forenoon, when gambling was slack, the gamblers would get up from
their tables, and, leaving exposed upon them, at the mercy of the
heterogeneous crowd circulating through the room, piles of gold and
silver, they would walk away, seemingly as little anxious for the safety
of their money as if it were under lock and key in an iron chest. It was
strange to see so much apparent confidence in the honesty of human
nature, and--in a city where robberies and violence were so rife, that,
when out at night in unfrequented quarters, one walked pistol in hand in
the middle of the street--to see money exposed in such a way as would be
thought madness in any other part of the world. But here the summary
justice likely to be dispensed by the crowd, was sufficient to insure a
due observance of the law of _meum_ and _tuum_.

These saloons were not by any means frequented exclusively by persons
who went there for the purpose of gambling. Few men had much inducement
to pass their evenings in their miserable homes, and the gambling-rooms
were a favorite public resort, the music alone offering sufficient
attraction to many who never thought of staking a dollar at any of the
tables.

Another very attractive feature is the bar, a long polished mahogany or
marble counter, at which two or three smart young men officiated, having
behind them long rows of ornamental bottles, containing all the numerous
ingredients necessary for concocting the hundred and one different
“drinks” which were called for. This was also the most
elaborately-decorated part of the room, the wall being completely
covered with mirrors and gilding, and further ornamented with china
vases, bouquets of flowers, and gold clocks.

Hither small parties of men are continually repairing to “take a drink.”
Perhaps they each choose a different kind of punch, or sling, or
cocktail, requiring various combinations, in different proportions, of
whisky, brandy, or gin, with sugar, bitters, peppermint, absinthe,
curaçao, lemon-peel, mint, and what not; but the bar-keeper mixes them
all as if by magic, when each man, taking his glass, and tipping those
of all the rest as he mutters some sentiment, swallows the compound and
wipes his moustache. The party then move off to make way for others, the
whole operation from beginning to end not occupying more than a couple
of minutes.




CHAPTER IV

LIFE AT HIGH SPEED


A most useful quality for a California emigrant was one which the
Americans possess in a pre-eminent degree--a natural versatility of
disposition and adaptability to every description of pursuit or
occupation.

The numbers of the different classes forming the community were not in
the proportion requisite to preserve its equilibrium. Transplanting
oneself to California from any part of the world involved an outlay
beyond the means of the bulk of the laboring classes; and to those who
did come to the country, the mines were of course the great point of
attraction; so that in San Francisco the numbers of the laboring and of
the working classes generally, were not nearly equal to the demand. The
consequence was that laborers’ and mechanics’ wages were ridiculously
high; and, as a general thing, the lower the description of labor, or of
service, required, the more extravagant in proportion were the wages
paid. Sailors’ wages were two and three hundred dollars per month, and
there were hundreds of ships lying idle in the bay for want of crews to
man them even at these rates. Every ship, on her arrival, was
immediately deserted by all hands; for, of all people, sailors were the
most unrestrainable in their determination to go to the diggings; and
it was there a common saying, of the truth of which I saw myself many
examples, that sailors, niggers, and Dutchmen, were the luckiest men in
the mines: a very drunken old salt was always particularly lucky.

There was a great overplus of young men of education, who had never
dreamed of manual labor, and who found that their services in their
wonted capacities were not required in such a rough-and-ready,
every-man-for-himself sort of place. Hard work, however, was generally
better paid than head work, and men employed themselves in any way,
quite regardless of preconceived ideas of their own dignity. It was one
intense scramble for dollars--the man who got most was the best man--how
he got them had nothing to do with it. No occupation was considered at
all derogatory, and, in fact, every one was too much occupied with his
own affairs to trouble himself in the smallest degree about his
neighbor.

A man’s actions and conduct were totally unrestrained by the ordinary
conventionalities of civilized life, and, so long as he did not
interfere with the rights of others, he could follow his own course, for
good or for evil, with utmost freedom.

Among so many temptations to err, thrust prominently in one’s way,
without any social restraint to counteract them, it was not surprising
that many men were too weak for such a trial and, to use an expressive,
though not very elegant phrase, went to the devil. The community was
composed of isolated individuals, each quite regardless of the good
opinion of his neighbors; and, the outside pressure of society being
removed, men assumed their natural shape, and showed what they really
were, following their unchecked impulses and inclinations. The human
nature of ordinary life appeared in a bald and naked state, and the
natural bad passions of men, with all the vices and depravities of
civilization, were indulged with the same freedom which characterizes
the life of a wild savage.

There were, however, bright examples of the contrary. If there was a
lavish expenditure in ministering to vice, there was also munificence in
the bestowing of charity. Though there were gorgeous temples for the
worship of mammon, there was a sufficiency of schools and churches for
every denomination; while, under the influence of the constantly
increasing numbers of virtuous women, the standard of morals was
steadily improving, and society, as it assumed a shape and a form, began
to assert its claims to respect.

Although employment, of one sort or another, and good pay, were to be
had by all who were able and willing to work, there was nevertheless a
vast amount of misery and destitution. Many men had come to the country
with their expectations raised to an unwarrantable pitch, imagining that
the mere fact of emigration to California would insure them a rapid
fortune; but when they came to experience the severe competition in
every branch of trade, their hopes were gradually destroyed by the
difficulties of the reality.

Every kind of business, custom, and employment, was solicited with an
importunity little known in old countries, where the course of all such
things is in so well-worn a channel, that it is not easily diverted. But
here the field was open, and every one was striving for what seemed to
be within the reach of all--a foremost rank in his own sphere. To keep
one’s place in the crowd required an unremitted exercise of the same
vigor and energy which were necessary to obtain it; and many a man,
though possessed of qualities which would have enabled him to
distinguish himself in the quiet routine life of old countries, was
crowded out of his place by the multitude of competitors, whose
deficiency of merit in other respects was more than counterbalanced by
an excess of unscrupulous boldness and physical energy. A polished
education was of little service, unless accompanied by an unwonted
amount of democratic feeling; for the extreme sensitiveness which it is
otherwise apt to produce, unfitted a man for taking part in such a
hand-to-hand struggle with his fellow-men.

Drinking was the great consolation for those who had not moral strength
to bear up under their disappointments. Some men gradually obscured
their intellects by increased habits of drinking, and, equally
gradually, reached the lowest stage of misery and want; while others
went at it with more force, and drank themselves into _delirium tremens_
before they knew where they were. This is a very common disease in
California: there is something in the climate which superinduces it with
less provocation than in other countries.

But, though drunkenness was common enough, the number of drunken men one
saw was small, considering the enormous consumption of liquor.

The American style of drinking is so different from that in fashion in
the Old World, and forms such an important part of social intercourse,
that it certainly deserves to be considered one of the peculiar
institutions of the country.

In England a man reserves his drinking capacities to enhance the
enjoyment of the great event of the day, and to increase the comfortable
feeling of repletion which he experiences while ruminating over it.
Dinner divides his day into two separate existences, and drinking in the
forenoon suggests the idea of a man slinking off into out-of-the-way,
mysterious places, and boozily muddling himself in private with quart
pots of ale or numerous glasses of brandy-and-water.

With Americans, however, the case is very different. Dinner with them
forms no such comfortable epoch in their daily life: it brings not even
the hour of rest which is allowed to the laboring man--but it is one of
the necessities of human existence, and, as it precludes all other
occupations for the time being, it is despatched as quickly as possible.
They do not drink during dinner, nor immediately afterwards. The most
common excuse for declining the invitation of a friend to “take a
drink,” is “Thank you, I’ve just dined.” They make the voyage through
life under a full head of steam all the time; they live more in a given
time than other people, and naturally have recourse to constant
stimulants to make up for the want of intervals of _abandon_ and repose.
The necessary amount of food they eat at stated hours, but their
allowance of stimulants is divided into a number of small doses, to be
taken at short intervals throughout the day.

So it is that a style of drinking, which would ruin a man’s character in
this or any other country where eating and drinking go together, is in
the States carried on publicly and openly. The bars are the most
favorite resort, being situated in the most frequented and conspicuous
places; and here, at all hours of the day, men are gulping down fiery
mouthfuls of brandy or gin, rendered still more pungent by the addition
of other ingredients, and softened down with a little sugar and water.

No one ever thinks of drinking at a bar alone: he looks round for some
friend whom he can ask to join him; it is not etiquette to refuse, and
it is expected that the civility will be returned: so that the system
gives the idea of being a mere interchange of compliments; and many men,
in submitting to it, are actuated chiefly by a desire to show a due
amount of courtesy to their friends.

In San Francisco, where the ordinary rate of existence was even faster
than in the Atlantic States, men required an extra amount of stimulant
to keep it up, and this fashion of drinking was carried to excess. The
saloons were crowded from early morning till late at night; and in each,
two or three bar-keepers were kept unceasingly at work, mixing drinks
for expectant groups of customers. They had no time even to sell cigars,
which were most frequently dispensed at a miniature tobacconist’s shop
in another part of the saloon.

Among the proprietors of saloons, or bars, the competition was so great,
that, from having, as is usual, merely a plate of crackers and cheese on
the counter, they go to the length of laying out, for several hours in
the forenoon, and again in the evening, a table covered with a most
sumptuous lunch of soups, cold meats, fish, and so on,--with two or
three waiters to attend to it. This was all free--there was nothing to
pay for it: it was only expected that no one would partake of the good
things without taking a “drink” afterwards.

This sort of thing is common enough in New Orleans; but in a place like
San Francisco, where the plainest dinner any man could eat cost a
dollar, it did seem strange that such goodly fare should be provided
gratuitously for all and sundry. It showed, however, what immense
profits were made at the bars to allow of such an outlay, and gave an
idea of the rivalry which existed even in that line of business.

Another part of the economy of the American bar is an instance of the
confidence placed in the discretion of the public--namely, the mode of
dispensing liquors. When you ask for brandy, the bar-keeper hands you a
tumbler and a decanter of brandy, and you help yourself to as much as
you please: the price is all the same; it does not matter what or how
big a dose one takes: and in the case of cocktails, and such drinks as
the bar-keeper mixes, you tell him to make it as light, or stiff, as you
wish. This is the custom even at the very lowest class of grogshops.
They have a story in the States connected with this, so awfully old that
I am almost ashamed to repeat it. I have heard it told a thousand times,
and always located in the bar of the Astor House in New York; so we may
suppose it to have happened there.

A man came up to the bar, and asking for brandy, was handed a decanter
of brandy accordingly. Filling a tumbler nearly full, he drank it off,
and, laying his shilling on the counter, was walking away, when the
bar-keeper called after him, “Saay, stranger! you’ve forgot your
change--there’s sixpence.” “No,” he said, “I only gave you a shilling;
is not it a shilling a drink?” “Yes,” said the bar-keeper; “selling it
retail we charge a shilling, but a fellow like you taking it wholesale
we only charge sixpence.”

The American bar-keeper is quite an institution of himself. He is a
superior class of man to those engaged in a similar capacity in this
country, and has no counterpart here. In fact, bar-keeping is a
profession, in which individuals rise to eminence, and become celebrated
for their cocktails, and for their address in serving customers. The
rapidity and dexterity with which they mix half-a-dozen different kinds
of drinks all at once is perfectly wonderful; one sees nothing but a
confusion of bottles and tumblers and cascades of fluids as he pours
them from glass to glass at arm’s length for the better amalgamation of
the ingredients; and in the time it would take an ordinary man to pour
out a glass of wine, the mixtures are ready, each prepared as accurately
as an apothecary makes up a prescription.

The bar-keepers in San Francisco exercised their ingenuity in devising
new drinks to suit the popular taste. The most simple and the best that
I know of is a champagne cocktail, which is very easily made by putting
a few drops of bitters in a tumbler and filling it up with champagne.

The immigration of Frenchmen had been so large that some parts of the
city were completely French in appearance; the shops, restaurants, and
estaminets, being painted according to French taste, and exhibiting
French signs, the very letters of which had a French look about them.
The names of some of the restaurants were rather ambitious--as the
Trois Frères, the Café de Paris, and suchlike; but these were second
and third-rate places; those which courted the patronage of the upper
classes of all nations, assumed names more calculated to tickle the
American ear,--such as the Jackson House and the Lafayette. They were
presided over by elegantly dressed _dames du comptoir_, and all the
arrangements were in Parisian style.

The principal American houses were equally good; and there was also an
abundance of places where those who delighted in corn-bread, buckwheat
cakes, pickles, grease, molasses, apple-sauce, and pumpkin pie, could
gratify their taste to the fullest extent.

There was nothing particularly English about any of the eating-houses;
but there were numbers of second-rate English drinking-shops, where John
Bull could smoke his pipe and swig his ale coolly and calmly, without
having to gulp it down and move off to make way for others, as at the
bars of the American saloons.

The Germans too had their lager-beer cellars, but the noise and smoke
which came up from them was enough to deter any one but a German from
venturing in.

There was also a Mexican quarter of the town, where there were
greasy-looking Mexican _fondas_, and crowds of lazy Mexicans lying
about, wrapped up in their blankets, smoking cigaritas.

In another quarter the Chinese most did congregate. Here the majority of
the houses were of Chinese importation, and were stores, stocked with
hams, tea, dried fish, dried ducks, and other very nasty-looking Chinese
eatables, besides copper pots and kettles, fans, shawls, chessmen, and
all sorts of curiosities. Suspended over the doors were brilliantly
colored boards, about the size and shape of a headboard over a grave,
covered with Chinese characters, and with several yards of red ribbon
streaming from them; while the streets were thronged with long-tailed
Celestials, chattering vociferously as they rushed about from store to
store, or standing in groups studying the Chinese bills posted up in the
shop windows, which may have been play-bills,--for there was a Chinese
theatre,--or perhaps advertisements informing the public where the best
rat-pies were to be had. A peculiarly nasty smell pervaded this
locality, and it was generally believed that rats were not so numerous
here as elsewhere.

Owing to the great scarcity of washerwomen, Chinese energy had ample
room to display itself in the washing and ironing business. Throughout
the town might be seen occasionally over some small house a large
American sign, intimating that Ching Sing, Wong Choo, or Ki-chong did
washing and ironing at five dollars a-dozen. Inside these places one
found two or three Chinamen ironing shirts with large flat-bottomed
copper pots full of burning charcoal, and, buried in heaps of dirty
clothes, half-a-dozen more, smoking, and drinking tea.

The Chinese tried to keep pace with the rest of the world. They had
their theatre and their gambling rooms, the latter being small dirty
places, badly lighted with Chinese paper lamps. They played a peculiar
game. The dealer placed on the table several handfuls of small copper
coins, with square holes in them. Bets were made by placing the stake
on one of four divisions, marked in the middle of the table, and the
dealer, drawing the coins away from the heap, four at a time, the bets
were decided according to whether one, two, three, or four remained at
the last. They are great gamblers, and, when their last dollar is gone,
will stake anything they possess: numbers of watches, rings, and such
articles, were always lying in pawn on the table.

The Chinese theatre was a curious pagoda-looking edifice, built by them
expressly for theatrical purposes, and painted, outside and in, in an
extraordinary manner. The performances went on day and night, without
intermission, and consisted principally of juggling and feats of
dexterity. The most exciting part of the exhibition was when one man,
and decidedly a man of some little nerve, made a spread eagle of himself
and stood up against a door, while half-a-dozen others, at a distance of
fifteen or twenty feet, pelted the door with sharp-pointed bowie-knives,
putting a knife into every square inch of the door, but never touching
the man. It was very pleasant to see, from the unflinching way in which
the fellow stood it out, the confidence he placed in the infallibility
of his brethren. They had also short dramatic performances, which were
quite unintelligible to outside barbarians. The only point of interest
about them was the extraordinary gorgeous dresses of the actors; but the
incessant noise they made with gongs and kettle-drums was so discordant
and deafening that a few minutes at a time was as long as any one could
stay in the place.

There were several very good American theatres, a French theatre, and an
Italian opera, besides concerts, masquerades, a circus, and other public
amusements. The most curious were certainly the masquerades. They were
generally given in one of the large gambling saloons, and in the
placards announcing that they were to come off, appeared conspicuously
also the intimation of “No weapons admitted”; “A strong police will be
in attendance.” The company was just such as might be seen in any
gambling room; and, beyond the presence of half-a-dozen masks in female
attire, there was nothing to carry out the idea of a ball or a
masquerade at all; but it was worth while to go, if only to watch the
company arrive, and to see the practical enforcement of the weapon
clause in the announcements. Several doorkeepers were in attendance, to
whom each man as he entered delivered up his knife or his pistol,
receiving a check for it, just as one does for his cane or umbrella at
the door of a picture-gallery. Most men drew a pistol from behind their
back, and very often a knife along with it; some carried their
bowie-knife down the back of their neck, or in their breast; demure,
pious-looking men, in white neckcloths, lifted up the bottom of their
waistcoat, and revealed the butt of a revolver; others, after having
already disgorged a pistol, pulled up the leg of their trousers, and
abstracted a huge bowie-knife from their boot; and there were men,
terrible fellows, no doubt, but who were more likely to frighten
themselves than any one else, who produced a revolver from each
trouser-pocket, and a bowie-knife from their belt. If any man declared
that he had no weapon, the statement was so incredible that he had to
submit to be searched; an operation which was performed by the
doorkeepers, who, I observed, were occasionally rewarded for their
diligence by the discovery of a pistol secreted in some unusual part of
the dress.

Some of the shops were very magnificently got up, and would not have
been amiss in Regent Street. The watchmakers’ and jewelers’ shops
especially were very numerous, and made a great display of immense gold
watches, enormous gold rings and chains, with gold-headed canes, and
diamond pins and brooches of a most formidable size. With numbers of men
who found themselves possessed of an amount of money which they had
never before dreamed of, and which they had no idea what to do with, the
purchase of gold watches and diamond pins was a very favorite mode of
getting rid of their spare cash. Laboring men fastened their coarse
dirty shirts with a cluster of diamonds the size of a shilling, wore
colossal gold rings on their fingers, and displayed a massive gold chain
and seals from their watch-pocket; while hardly a man of any consequence
returned to the Atlantic States without receiving from some one of his
friends a huge gold-headed cane, with all his virtues and good qualities
engraved upon it.

A large business was also done in Chinese shawls, and various Chinese
curiosities. It was greatly the fashion for men, returning home, to take
with them a quantity of such articles, as presents for their friends. In
fact, a gorgeous Chinese shawl seemed to be as necessary for the
returning Californian as a revolver and bowie-knife for the California
emigrant. There was one large bazaar in particular where was exhibited
such a stock of the costliest shawls, cabinets, workboxes, vases, and
other articles of Chinese manufacture, with clocks, bronzes, and all
sorts of drawing-room ornaments, that one would have thought it an
establishment which could only be supported in a city like London or
Paris.

Some of the streets in the upper part of the city presented a very
singular appearance. The houses had been built before the grade of the
different streets had been fixed by the corporation, and there were
places where the streets, having been cut down through the hills to
their proper level, were nothing more than wide trenches, with a
perpendicular bank on either side, perhaps forty or fifty feet high, and
on the brink of these stood the houses, to which access was gained by
ladders and temporary wooden stairs, the unfortunate proprietor being
obliged to go to the expense of grading his own lot, and so bringing
himself down to a level with the rest of the world. In other places,
where the street crossed a deep hollow, it formed a high embankment,
with a row of houses at the foot of it, some nearly buried, and others
already raised to the level of the street, resting on a sort of
scaffolding, while the foundation was being filled in under them.

The soil was so sandy that the hills were easily cut down, and for this
purpose a contrivance was used called a Steam Paddy, which did immense
execution. It was worked by steam, and was somewhat on the principle of
a dredging-machine, but with only one large bucket, which cut down about
two tons of earth at a time and emptied itself into a truck placed
alongside. From the spot where the Paddy was thus walking into the hills
a railway was laid, extending to the shore, and trains of cars were
continually rattling down across the streets, taking the earth to fill
up those parts of the city which were as yet under water.

Two or three years later, in ’54, when an alteration was made in the
grade of some of the streets, large brick and stone houses were raised
several feet, by means of a most ingenious application of hydraulic
pressure. Excavations were made, and under the foundation-walls of the
houses were inserted a number of cylinders about two feet in height, so
that the building rested entirely on the heads of the pistons. The
cylinders were all connected by pipes with a force-pump, worked by a
couple of men, who in this way could pump up a five-story brick building
three or four inches in the course of the day. As the house grew up,
props were inserted in case of accidents; and when it had been raised as
far as the length of the pistons would allow, the whole apparatus was
readjusted, and the operation was repeated till the required height was
obtained. I went to witness the process when it was being applied to a
large corner brick building, five stories high, with about sixty feet
frontage each way. The flagged sidewalk was being raised along with it;
but there was no interruption of the business going on in the premises,
or anything whatever to indicate to the passer-by that the ground was
growing under his feet. On going down under the house, one saw that the
building was detached from the surrounding ground, and rested on a
number of cylinders; but the only appearance of work being done was by
two men quietly working a pump amid a ramification of small iron pipes.
The apparatus had of course to be of an immense strength to withstand
the pressure to which it was subjected, and the utmost nicety was
required in its adjustment, to avoid straining and cracking the walls;
but numbers of large buildings were raised most successfully in this way
without receiving the slightest injury.

The hackney carriages of San Francisco were infinitely superior to those
of any other city in the world. One might have supposed that any old cab
which would hold together would have been good enough for such a place;
but, on the contrary, the cabs--if cabs they could be called--were large
handsome carriages, lined with silk, and brightly painted and polished,
drawn by pairs of magnificent horses, in harness, which, like the
carriages, was loaded with silver. They would have passed anywhere for
showy private equipages, had the drivers only been in livery, instead of
being fashionably dressed individuals in kid gloves. A London cabby
would have stared in astonishment at an apparition of a stand of such
cabs, and also at the fares which were charged. One could not cross the
street in them under five dollars. The scale of cab-fares, however, was
not out of proportion to the extravagance of other ordinary expenses.
The drivers probably received two or three hundred dollars a month
(about £700 a year), and the horses alone were worth from a thousand to
fifteen hundred dollars each.

None of the private carriages came at all near the hacks in splendor.
They were mostly of the American “buggy” character, and were drawn by
fast-trotting horses. The Americans have a style and taste in driving
peculiarly their own; they study neither grace nor comfort in their
attitudes; speed is the only source of pleasure; and a “three-minute
horse”--that is to say, one which trots his mile in three minutes--is
the only horse worth driving; while anything slower than a “two-forty
(2_m._ 40_s._) horse” is not considered really fast.

A great many very fine horses had been imported from Sydney, but these
were chiefly used in drays and under the saddle. The buggy horses were
all American, and had made the journey across the plains. The native
Californian horses are small, with great powers of endurance, but are
generally not very tractable in harness.

On the arrival of the fortnightly steamer from Panama with the mails
from the Atlantic States and from Europe, the distribution of letters at
the post-office occasioned a very singular scene. In the United States
the system of delivering letters by postmen is not carried to the same
extent as in this country. In San Francisco no such thing existed as a
postman; every one had to call at the post-office for his letters. The
mail usually consisted of several wagon-loads of letter-bags; and on its
being received, notice was given at the post-office at what hour the
delivery would commence, a whole day being frequently required to sort
the letters, which were then delivered from a row of half-a-dozen
windows, lettered A to E, F to K, and so on through the alphabet.
Independently of the immense mercantile correspondence, of course every
man in the city was anxiously expecting letters from home; and for hours
before the appointed time for opening the windows, a dense crowd of
people collected, almost blocking up the two streets which gave access
to the post-office, and having the appearance at a distance of being a
mob; but on coming up to it, one would find that, though closely packed
together, the people were all in six strings, twisted up and down in all
directions, the commencement of them being the lucky individuals who had
been first on the ground, and taken up their position at their
respective windows, while each new-comer had to fall in behind those
already waiting. Notwithstanding the value of time, and the impatience
felt by every individual, the most perfect order prevailed: there was no
such thing as a man attempting to push himself in ahead of those already
waiting, nor was there the slightest respect of persons; every new-comer
quietly took his position, and had to make the best of it, with the
prospect of waiting for hours before he could hope to reach the window.
Smoking and chewing tobacco were great aids in passing the time, and
many came provided with books and newspapers, which they could read in
perfect tranquillity, as there was no unnecessary crowding or jostling.
The principle of “first come first served” was strictly adhered to, and
any attempt to infringe the established rule would have been promptly
put down by the omnipotent majority.

A man’s place in the line was his individual property, more or less
valuable according to his distance from the window, and, like any other
piece of property, it was bought and sold, and converted into cash.
Those who had plenty of dollars to spare, but could not afford much
time, could buy out some one who had already spent several hours in
keeping his place. Ten or fifteen dollars were frequently paid for a
good position, and some men went there early, and waited patiently,
without any expectation of getting letters, but for the chance of
turning their acquired advantage into cash.

The post-office clerks got through their work briskly enough when once
they commenced the delivery, the alphabetical system of arrangement
enabling them to produce the letters immediately on the name being
given. One was not kept long in suspense, and many a poor fellow’s face
lengthened out into a doleful expression of disbelief and
disappointment, as, scarcely had he uttered his name, when he was
promptly told there was nothing for him. This was a sentence from which
there was no appeal, however incredulous one might be; and every man was
incredulous; for during the hour or two he had been waiting, he had
become firmly convinced in his own mind that there must be a letter for
him; and it was no satisfaction at all to see the clerk, surrounded as
he was by thousands of letters, take only a packet of a dozen or so in
which to look for it: one would like to have had the post-office
searched all over, and if without success, would still have thought
there was something wrong. I was myself upon one occasion deeply
impressed with this spirit of unbelief in the infallibility of the
post-office oracle, and tried the effect of another application the next
day, when my perseverance was crowned with success.

There was one window devoted exclusively to the use of foreigners, among
whom English were not included; and here a polyglot individual, who
would have been a useful member of society of the Tower of Babel,
answered the demands of all European nations, and held communication
with Chinamen, Sandwich Islanders, and all the stray specimens of
humanity from unknown parts of the earth.

One reason why men went to little trouble or expense in making
themselves comfortable in their homes, if homes they could be called,
was the constant danger of fire.

The city was a mass of wooden and canvas buildings, the very look of
which suggested the idea of a conflagration. A room was a mere
partitioned-off place, the walls of which were sometimes only of canvas,
though generally of boards, loosely put together, and covered with any
sort of material which happened to be most convenient--cotton cloth,
printed calico, or drugget, frequently papered, as if to render it more
inflammable. Floors and walls were by no means so exclusive as one is
accustomed to think them; they were not transparent certainly, but
otherwise they insured little privacy: a general conversation could be
very easily carried on by all the dwellers in a house, while, at the
same time, each of them was enjoying the seclusion, such as it was, of
his own apartment. A young lady, who was boarding at one of the hotels,
very feelingly remarked that it was a most disagreeable place to live
in, because, if any gentleman was to pop the question to her, the report
would be audible in every part of the house, and all the other inmates
would be waiting to hear the answer she might give.

The cry of fire is dreadful enough anywhere, but to any one who lived in
San Francisco in those days it must ever be more exciting and more
suggestive of disaster and destruction of property than it can be to
those who have been all their lives surrounded by brick and stone, and
insurance companies.

In other countries, when a fire occurs and a large amount of property is
destroyed, the loss falls on a company--a body without a soul, having no
individual identity, and for which no one, save perhaps a few of the
shareholders, has the slightest sympathy. The loss, being sustained by
an unknown quantity, as it were, is not appreciated; but in San
Francisco no such institution as insurance against fire as yet existed.
To insure a house there would have been as great a risk as to insure a
New York steamer two or three weeks overdue. By degrees, brick buildings
were superseding those of wood and pasteboard; but still, for the whole
city, destruction by fire, sooner or later, was the dreaded and
fully-expected doom. When such a combustible town once ignited in any
one spot, the flames, of course, spread so rapidly that every part,
however distant, stood nearly an equal chance of being consumed. The
alarm of fire acted like the touch of a magician’s wand. The vitality of
the whole city was in an instant arrested and turned from its course.
Theatres, saloons, and all public places, were emptied as quickly as if
the buildings themselves were on fire; the business of the moment,
whatever it was, was at once abandoned, and the streets became filled
with people rushing frantically in every direction--not all towards the
fire by any means; few thought it worth while to ask even where it was.
To know there was fire somewhere was quite sufficient, and they made at
once for their house or their store, or wherever they had any property
that might be saved; while, as soon as the alarm was given, the engines
were heard thundering along the streets, amid the ringing of the
fire-bells and the shouts of the excited crowd.

The fire-companies, of which several were already organized, were on the
usual American system--volunteer companies of citizens, who receive no
pay, but are exempt from serving on juries and from some other citizens’
duties. They have crack fire-companies just as we have crack regiments,
and of these the fast young men of the upper classes are frequently the
most enthusiastic members. Each company has its own officers; but they
are all under control of a “chief engineer;” who is appointed by the
city, and who directs the general plan of operations at a fire. There is
great rivalry among the different companies, who vie with each other in
making their turn-out as handsome as possible. They each have their own
uniform, but the nature of their duties does not admit of much finery in
their dress; red shirts and helmets are the principal features in it.
Their engines, however, are got up in very magnificent style, being most
elaborately painted, all the iron-work shining like polished steel, and
heavily mounted with brass or silver. They are never drawn by horses,
but by the firemen themselves. A long double coil of rope is attached to
the engine, and is paid out as the crowd increases, till the engine
appears to be tearing and bumping along in pursuit of a long narrow mob
of men, who run as if the very devil himself were after them.

Their _esprit de corps_ is very strong, and connected with the different
engine-houses are reading-rooms, saloons, and so on, for the use of the
members of the company, many of these places being in the same style of
luxurious magnificence as the most fashionable hotels. On holidays, and
on every possible occasion which offers an excuse for so doing, the
whole fire brigade parade the streets in full dress, each company
dragging their engine after them, decked out in flags and flowers, which
are presented to them by their lady-admirers, in return for the balls
given by the firemen for their entertainment. They also have fielddays,
when they all turn out, and in some open part of the city have a trial
of strength, seeing which can throw a stream of water to the greatest
height, or which can flood the other, by pumping water into each other’s
engines.

As firemen they are most prompt and efficient, performing their perilous
duties with the greatest zeal and intrepidity--as might indeed be
expected of men who undertake such a service for no hope of reward, but
for their own love of the danger and excitement attending upon it,
actuated, at the same time, by a chivalrous desire to save either life
or property, in trying to accomplish which they gallantly risk, and
frequently lose, their own lives. This feeling is kept alive by the
readiness with which the public pay honor to any individual who
conspicuously distinguishes himself--generally by presenting him with a
gold or silver speaking-trumpet (that article being in the States as
much the badge of office of a captain of a fire-company as with us of a
captain of a man-of-war), while any fireman who is killed in discharge
of his duties is buried with all pomp and ceremony by the whole
fire-brigade.

Two miles above San Francisco, on the shore of the bay, is the Mission
Dolores, one of those which were established in different parts of the
country by the Spaniards. It was a very small village of a few adobe
houses and a church, adjoining which stood a large building, the abode
of the priests. The land in the neighborhood is flat and fertile, and
was being rapidly converted into market-gardens; but the village itself
was as yet but little changed. It had a look of antiquity and
completeness, as if it had been finished long ago, and as if nothing
more was ever likely to be done with it. As is the case with all
Spanish-American towns, the very style of the architecture communicated
an oppressive feeling of stillness, and its gloomy solitude was only
relieved by a few listless unoccupied-looking Mexicans and native
Californians.

The contrast to San Francisco was so great that on coming out here one
could almost think that the noisy city he had left but half an hour
before had existence only in his imagination; for San Francisco
presented a picture of universal human nature boiling over, while here
was nothing but human stagnation--a more violent extreme than would have
been the wilderness as yet untrodden by man. Being but a slightly
reduced counterpart of what San Francisco was a year or two before, it
offered a good point of view from which to contemplate the miraculous
growth of that city, still not only increasing in extent but improving
in beauty and in excellence in all its parts, and progressing so rapidly
that, almost from day to day, one could mark its steady advancement in
everything which denotes the presence of a wealthy and prosperous
community.

The “Mission,” however, was not suffered to remain long in a state of
torpor. A plank road was built to it from San Francisco. Numbers of
villas sprang up around it,--and good hotels, a race-course, and other
attractions soon made it the favorite resort for all who sought an
hour’s relief from the excitement of the city.

At the very head of the bay, some sixty miles from San Francisco, is the
town of San José, situated in an extensive and most fertile valley,
which was all being brought under cultivation, and where some farmers
had already made large fortunes by their onions and potatoes, for the
growth of which the soil is peculiarly adapted. San José was the
headquarters of the native Californians, many of whom were wealthy men,
at least in so far as they owned immense estates and thousands of wild
cattle. They did not “hold their own,” however, with the more
enterprising people who were now effecting such a complete revolution in
the country. Their property became a thousandfold more valuable, and
they had every chance to benefit by the new order of things; but men who
had passed their lives in that sparsely populated and secluded part of
the world, directing a few half-savage Indians in herding wild cattle,
were not exactly calculated to foresee, or to speculate upon, the
effects of an overwhelming influx of men so different in all respects
from themselves; and even when occasions of enriching themselves were
forced upon them, they were ignorant of their own advantages, and were
inferior in smartness to the men with whom they had to deal. Still,
although too slow to keep up with the pace at which the country was now
going ahead, many of them were, nevertheless, men of considerable
sagacity, and appeared to no disadvantage as members of the
legislature, to which they were returned from parts of the State remote
from the mines, and where as yet there were few American settlers.

San José was quite out of the way of gold-hunters, and there was
consequently about the place a good deal of the California of other
days. It was at that time, however, the seat of government; and,
consequently, a large number of Americans were here assembled, and gave
some life to the town, which had also been improved by the addition of
several new streets of more modern-looking houses than the old mud and
tile concerns of the native Californians.

Small steamers plied to within a mile or two of the town from San
Francisco, and there were also four-horse coaches which did the sixty
miles in about five hours. The drive down the valley of the San José is
in some parts very beautiful. The country is smooth and open--not so
flat as to appear monotonous--and is sufficiently wooded with fine oaks;
but towards San Francisco it becomes more hilly and bleak. The soil is
sandy; indeed, excepting a few spots here and there, it is nothing but
sand, and there is hardly a tree ten feet high within as many miles of
the city.




CHAPTER V

OFF FOR THE MINES


I remained in San Francisco till the worst of the rainy season was over,
when I determined to go and try my luck in the mines; so, leaving my
valuables in charge of a friend in San Francisco, I equipped myself in
my worst suit of old clothes, and, with my blankets slung over my
shoulder, I put myself on board the steamer for Sacramento.

As we did not start till five o’clock in the afternoon, we had not an
opportunity of seeing very much of the scenery on the river. As long as
daylight lasted, we were among smooth grassy hills and valleys, with but
little brushwood, and only here and there a few stunted trees. Some of
the valleys are exceedingly fertile, and all those sufficiently watered
to render them available for cultivation had already been “taken up.”

We soon, however, left the hilly country behind us, and came upon the
vast plains which extend the whole length of California, bounded on one
side by the range of mountains which runs along the coast, and on the
other side by the mountains which constitute the mining districts.
Through these plains flows the Sacramento river, receiving as
tributaries all the rivers flowing down from the mountains on either
side.

The steamer--which was a very fair specimen of the usual style of New
York river-boat--was crowded with passengers and merchandise. There were
not berths for one-half of the people on board; and so, in company with
many others, I lay down and slept very comfortably on the deck of the
saloon till about three o’clock in the morning, when we were awakened by
the noise of letting off the steam on our arrival at Sacramento.

One of not the least striking wonders of California was the number of
these magnificent river steamboats which, even at that early period of
its history, had steamed round Cape Horn from New York, and now, gliding
along the California rivers at the rate of twenty-two miles an hour,
afforded the same rapid and comfortable means of traveling, and
sometimes at as cheap rates, as when they plied between New York and
Albany. Every traveler in the United States has described the river
steamboats; suffice it to say here, that they lost none of their
characteristics in California; and, looking at these long, white,
narrow, two-story houses, floating apparently on nothing, so little of
the hull of the boat appears above water, and showing none of the lines
which, in a ship, convey an idea of buoyancy and power of resistance,
but, on the contrary, suggesting only the idea of how easy it would be
to smash them to pieces--following in imagination these fragile-looking
fabrics over the seventeen thousand miles of stormy ocean over which
they had been brought in safety, one could not help feeling a degree of
admiration and respect for the daring and skill of the men by whom such
perilous undertakings had been accomplished. In preparing these
steamboats for their long voyage to California, the lower story was
strengthened with thick planking, and on the forward part of the deck
was built a strong wedge-shaped screen, to break the force of the waves,
which might otherwise wash the whole house overboard. They crept along
the coast, having to touch at most of the ports on the way for fuel; and
passing through the Straits of Magellan, they escaped to a certain
extent the dangers of Cape Horn, although equal dangers might be
encountered on any part of the voyage.

But besides the question of nautical skill and individual daring, as a
commercial undertaking the sending such steamers round to California was
a very bold speculation. Their value in New York is about a hundred
thousand dollars, and to take them round to San Francisco costs about
thirty thousand more. Insurance is, of course, out of the question (I do
not think 99 per cent. would insure them in this country from Dover to
Calais); so the owners had to play a neck-or-nothing game. Their
enterprise was in most cases duly rewarded. I only know of one
instance--though doubtless others have occurred--in which such vessels
did not get round in safety: it was an old Long Island Sound boat; she
was rotten before ever she left New York, and foundered somewhere about
the Bermudas, all hands on board escaping in the boats.

The profits of the first few steamers which arrived out were of course
enormous; but, after a while, competition was so keen that for some time
cabin fare between San Francisco and Sacramento was only one dollar; a
ridiculously small sum to pay, in any part of the world, for being
carried in such boats two hundred miles in ten hours; but, in
California at that time, the wages of the common deck hands on board
these same boats were about a hundred dollars a-month; and ten dollars
were there, to the generality of men, a sum of much less consequence
than ten shillings are here.

These low fares did not last long, however; the owners of steamers came
to an understanding, and the average rate of fare from San Francisco to
Sacramento was from five to eight dollars. I have only alluded to the
one-dollar fares for the purpose of giving an idea of the competition
which existed in such a business as “steamboating,” which requires a
large capital; and from that it may be imagined what intense rivalry
there was among those engaged in less important lines of business, which
engrossed their whole time and labor, and required the employment of all
the means at their command.

Looking at the map of California, it will be seen that the “mines”
occupy a long strip of mountainous country, which commences many miles
to the eastward of San Francisco, and stretches northward several
hundred miles. The Sacramento river running parallel with the mines, the
San Joaquin joining it from the southward and eastward, and the Feather
river continuing a northward course from the Sacramento--all of them
being navigable--present the natural means of communication between San
Francisco and the “mines.” Accordingly, the city of Sacramento--about
two hundred miles north of San Francisco--sprang up as the depot for all
the middle part of the mines, with roads radiating from it across the
plains to the various settlements in the mountains. In like manner the
city of Marysville, being at the extreme northern point of navigation of
the Feather river, became the starting-place and the depot for the
mining districts in the northern section of the State; and Stockton,
named after Commodore Stockton, of the United States Navy, who had
command of the Pacific squadron during the Mexican war, being situated
at the head of navigation of the San Joaquin, forms the intermediate
station between San Francisco and all the “southern mines.”

Seeing the facilities that California thus presented for inland
navigation, it is not surprising that the Americans, so pre-eminent as
they are in that branch of commercial enterprise, should so soon have
taken advantage of them. But though the prospective profits were great,
still the enormous risk attending the sending of steamboats round the
Horn might have seemed sufficient to deter most men from entering into
such a hazardous speculation. It must be remembered that many of these
river steamboats were despatched from New York, on an ocean voyage of
seventeen thousand miles, to a place of which one-half the world as yet
even doubted the existence, and when people were looking up their
atlases to see in what part of the world California was. The risk of
taking a steamboat of this kind to what was then such an out-of-the-way
part of the world, did not end with her arrival in San Francisco by any
means. The slightest accident to her machinery, which there was at that
time no possibility of repairing in California, or even the extreme
fluctuations in the price of coal, might have rendered her at any moment
so much useless lumber.

In ocean navigation the same adventurous energy was manifest. Hardly had
the news of the discovery of gold in California been received in New
York, when numbers of steamers were despatched, at an expense equal to
one-half their value, to take their place on the Pacific in forming a
line between the United States and San Francisco _via_ Panama; so that
almost from the commencement of the existence of California as a
gold-bearing country, steam-communication was established between New
York and San Francisco, bringing the two places within twenty to
twenty-five days of each other. It is true the mail line had the
advantage of a mail contract from the United States government; but
other lines, without any such fostering influence, ran them close in
competition for public patronage.

The Americans are often accused of boasting--perhaps deservedly so; but
there certainly are many things in the history of California of which
they may justly be proud, having transformed her, as they did so
suddenly, from a wilderness into a country in which most of the luxuries
of life were procurable; and a fair instance of the bold and prompt
spirit of commercial enterprise by which this was accomplished was seen
in the fact that, from the earliest days of her settlement, California
had as good means of both ocean and inland steam-communication as any of
the oldest countries in the world.

Sacramento City is next in size and importance to San Francisco. Many
large commercial houses had there established their headquarters, and
imported direct from the Atlantic States. The river is navigable so far
by vessels of six or eight hundred tons, and in the early days of
California, many ships cleared directly for Sacramento from the
different ports on the Atlantic; but as the course of trade by degrees
found its proper channel, San Francisco became exclusively the emporium
for the whole of California, and even at the time I write of, sea-going
vessels were rarely seen so far in the interior of the country as
Sacramento.

The plains are but very little above the average level of the river, and
a levee had been built all along the front of the city eight or ten feet
high, to save it from inundation by the high waters of the rainy season.
With the exception of a few handsome blocks of brick buildings, the
houses were all of wood, and had an unmistakably Yankee appearance,
being all painted white turned up with green, and covered from top to
bottom with enormous signs.

The streets are wide, perfectly straight, and cross each other at right
angles at equal distances, like the lines of latitude and longitude on a
chart. The street nomenclature is unique--very democratic, inasmuch as
it does not immortalize the names of prominent individuals--and
admirably adapted to such a rectangular city. The streets running
parallel with the river are numbered First, Second, Third Street, and so
on to infinity, and the cross streets are designated by the letters of
the alphabet. J Street was the great central street, and was nearly a
mile long; so the reader may reckon the number of parallel streets on
each side of it, and get an idea of the extent of the city. This system
of lettering and numbering the streets was very convenient, as, the
latitude and longitude of a house being given, it could be found at
once. A stranger could navigate all over the town without ever having
to ask his way, as he could take an observation for himself at the
corner of every street.

My stay in Sacramento on this occasion was limited to a few hours. I
went to a large hotel, which was also the great staging-house, and here
I snoozed till about five o’clock, when, it being still quite dark, the
whole house woke up into active life. About a hundred of us breakfasted
by candlelight, and, going out into the bar-room while day was just
dawning, we found, turned out in front of the hotel, about
four-and-twenty four-horse coaches, all bound for different places in
the mines. The street was completely blocked up with them, and crowds of
men were taking their seats, while others were fortifying themselves for
their journey at the bar.

The coaches were of various kinds. Some were light spring-wagons--mere
oblong boxes, with four or five seats placed across them; others were of
the same build, but better finished, and covered by an awning; and there
were also numbers of regular American stage-coaches, huge high-hung
things which carry nine inside upon three seats, the middle one of which
is between the two doors.

The place which I had intended should be the scene of my first mining
exploits, was a village rejoicing in the suggestive appellation of
Hangtown; designated, however, in official documents as Placerville. It
received its name of Hangtown while yet in its infancy from the number
of malefactors who had there expiated their crimes at the hands of Judge
Lynch. I soon found the stage for that place--it happened to be one of
the oblong boxes--and, pitching in my roll of blankets, I took my seat
and lighted my pipe that I might the more fully enjoy the scene around
me. And a scene it was, such as few parts of the world can now show, and
which would have gladdened the hearts of those who mourn over the
degeneracy of the present age, and sigh for the good old days of
stage-coaches.

Here, certainly, the genuine old mail-coach, the guard with his tin
horn, and the jolly old coachman with his red face, were not to be
found; but the horses were as good as ever galloped with Her Majesty’s
mail. The teams were all headed the same way, and with their stages,
four or five abreast, occupied the whole of the wide street for a
distance of sixty or seventy yards. The horses were restive, and pawing,
and snorting, and kicking; and passengers were trying to navigate to
their proper stages through the labyrinth of wheels and horses, and
frequently climbing over half-a-dozen wagons to shorten their journey.
Grooms were standing at the leaders’ heads, trying to keep them quiet,
and the drivers were sitting on their boxes, or seats rather, for they
scorn a high seat, and were swearing at each other in a very shocking
manner, as wheels got locked, and wagons were backed into the teams
behind them, to the discomfiture of the passengers on the back-seats,
who found horses’ heads knocking the pipes out of their mouths. In the
intervals of their little private battles, the drivers were shouting to
the crowds of passengers who loitered about the front of the hotel; for
there, as elsewhere, people will wait till the last moment; and though
it is more comfortable to sit than to stand, men like to enjoy their
freedom as long as possible, before resigning all control over their
motions, and charging with their precious persons a coach or a train, on
full cock, and ready to go off, and shoot them out upon some remote part
of creation.

On each wagon was painted the name of the place to which it ran; the
drivers were also bellowing it out to the crowd, and even among such a
confusion of coaches a man could have no difficulty in finding the one
he wanted. One would have thought that the individual will and
locomotive power of a man would have been sufficient to start him on his
journey; but in this go-ahead country, people who had to go were not
allowed to remain inert till the spirit moved them to go; they had to be
“hurried up;” and of the whole crowd of men who were standing about the
hotel, or struggling through the maze of wagons, only one half were
passengers, the rest were “runners” for the various stages, who were
exhausting all their persuasive eloquence in entreating the passengers
to take their seats and go. They were all mixed up with the crowd, and
each was exerting his lungs to the utmost. “Now then, gentlemen,” shouts
one of them, “all aboard for Nevada City. Who’s agoin’? only three seats
left--the last chance to-day for Nevada City--take you there in five
hours. Who’s there for Nevada City?” Then catching sight of some man who
betrays the very slightest appearance of helplessness, or of not knowing
what he is about, he pounces upon him, saying, “Nevada City, sir?--this
way--just in time,” and seizing him by the arm, he drags him into the
crowd of stages, and almost has him bundled into that for Nevada City
before the poor devil can make it understood that it is Caloma he wants
to go to, and not Nevada City. His captor then calls out to some one of
his brother runners who is collecting passengers for Caloma--“Oh
Bill!--oh Bill! where the ---- are you?” “Hullo!” says Bill from the
other end of the crowd. “Here’s a man for Caloma!” shouts the other,
still holding on to his prize in case he should escape before Bill comes
up to take charge of him.

This sort of thing was going on all the time. It was very ridiculous.
Apparently, if a hundred men wanted to go anywhere, it required a
hundred more to despatch them. There was certainly no danger of any one
being left behind; on the contrary, the probability was, that any
weak-minded man who happened to be passing by, would be shipped off to
parts unknown before he could collect his ideas.

There were few opposition stages, excepting for Marysville, and one or
two of the larger places; they were all crammed full--and of what use
these “runners” or “tooters” were to anybody, was not very apparent, at
least to the uninitiated. But they are a common institution with the
Americans, who are not very likely to support such a corps of men if
their services bring no return. In fact, it is merely part of the
American system of advertising, and forcing the public to avail
themselves of certain opportunities, by repeatedly and pertinaciously
representing to them that they have it in their power to do so. In the
States, to blow your own horn, and to make as much noise as possible
with it, is the fundamental principle of all business. The most eminent
lawyers and doctors advertise, and the names of the first merchants
appear in the newspapers every day. A man’s own personal exertions are
not sufficient to keep the world aware of his existence, and without
advertising he would be to all intents and purposes dead. Modest merit
does not wait for its reward--it is rather too smart for that--it
clamors for it, and consequently gets it all the sooner.

However, I was not thinking of this while sitting on the Hangtown stage.
I had too much to look at, and some of my neighbors also took up my
attention. I found seated around me a varied assortment of human nature.
A New Yorker, a Yankee, and an English Jack-tar were my immediate
neighbors, and a general conversation helped to beguile the time till
the “runners” had succeeded in placing a passenger upon every available
spot of every wagon. There was no trouble about luggage--that is an
article not much known in California. Some stray individuals might have
had a small carpet-bag--almost every man had his blankets--and the
western men were further encumbered with their long rifles, the barrels
poking into everybody’s eyes, and the butts in the way of everybody’s
toes.

At last the solid mass of four-horse coaches began to dissolve. The
drivers gathered up their reins and settled themselves down in their
seats, cracked their whips, and swore at their horses; the grooms
cleared out the best way they could; the passengers shouted and
hurrahed; the teams in front set off at a gallop; the rest followed them
as soon as they got room to start, and chevied them up the street, all
in a body, for about half a mile, when, as soon as we got out of town,
we spread out in all directions to every point of a semicircle, and in
a few minutes I found myself one of a small isolated community, with
which four splendid horses were galloping over the plains like mad. No
hedges, no ditches, no houses, no road in fact--it was all a vast open
plain, as smooth as a calm ocean. We might have been steering by
compass, and it was like going to sea; for we emerged from the city as
from a landlocked harbor, and followed our own course over the wide wide
world. The transition from the confinement of the city to the vastness
of space was instantaneous; and our late neighbors, rapidly diminishing
around us, and getting hull down on the horizon, might have been bound
for the uttermost parts of the earth, for all we could see that was to
stop them.

To sit behind four horses tearing along a good road is delightful at any
time, but the mere fact of such rapid locomotion formed only a small
part of the pleasure of our journey.

The atmosphere was so soft and balmy that it was a positive enjoyment to
feel it brushing over one’s face like the finest floss silk. The sky was
clear and cloudless, the bright sunshine warmed us up to a comfortable
temperature; and we were traveling over such an expanse of nature that
our progress, rapid as it was, seemed hardly perceptible, unless
measured by the fast disappearing chimney tops of the city, or by the
occasional clumps of trees we left behind us. The scene all round us was
magnificent, and impressed one as much with his own insignificance as
though he beheld the countries of the earth from the summit of a high
mountain.

Out of sight of land at sea one experiences a certain feeling of
isolation: there is nothing to connect one’s ideas with the habitable
globe but the ship on which one stands; but there is also nothing to
carry the imagination beyond what one does see, and the view is limited
to a few miles. But here, we were upon an ocean of grass-covered earth,
dotted with trees, and sparkling in the sunshine with the gorgeous hues
of the dense patches of wild flowers; while far beyond the horizon of
the plains there rose mountains beyond mountains, all so distinctly seen
as to leave no uncertainty as to the shape or the relative position of
any one of them, and fading away in regular graduation till the most
distant, though clearly defined, seemed still to be the most natural and
satisfactory point at which the view should terminate. It was as if the
circumference of the earth had been lifted up to the utmost range of
vision, and there melted into air.

Such was the view ahead of us as we traveled towards the mines, where
wavy outlines of mountains appeared one above another, drawing together
as they vanished, and at last indenting the sky with the snowy peaks of
the Sierra Nevada. On either side of us the mountains, appearing above
the horizon, were hundreds of miles distant, and the view behind us was
more abruptly terminated by the Coast Range, which lies between the
Sacramento river and the Pacific.

It was the commencement of spring, and at that season the plains are
seen to advantage. But after a few weeks of dry weather the hot sun
burns up every blade of vegetation, the ground presents a cracked
surface of hard-baked earth, and the roads are ankle-deep in the finest
and most penetrating kind of dust, which rises in clouds like clouds of
smoke, saturating one’s clothes, and impregnating one’s whole system.

We made a straight course of it across the plains for about thirty
miles, changing horses occasionally at some of the numerous wayside
inns, and passing numbers of wagons drawn by teams of six or eight mules
or oxen, and laden with supplies for the mines.

The ascent from the plains was very gradual, over a hilly country, well
wooded with oaks and pines. Our pace here was not so killing as it had
been. We had frequently long hills to climb, where all hands were
obliged to get out and walk; but we made up for the delay by galloping
down the descent on the other side.

The road, which, though in some places very narrow, for the most part
spread out to two or three times the width of an ordinary road, was
covered with stumps and large rocks; it was full of deep ruts and
hollows, and roots of trees spread all over it.

To any one not used to such roads or to such driving, an upset would
have seemed inevitable. If there was safety in speed, however, we were
safe enough, and all sense of danger was lost in admiration of the
coolness and dexterity of the driver as he circumvented every obstacle,
but without going one inch farther than necessary out of his way to save
us from perdition. He went through extraordinary bodily contortions,
which would have shocked an English coachman out of his propriety; but,
at the same time, he performed such feats as no one would have dared to
attempt who had never been used to anything worse than an English road.
With his right foot he managed a brake, and, clawing at the reins with
both hands, he swayed his body from side to side to preserve his
equilibrium, as now on the right pair of wheels, now on the left, he cut
the “outside edge” round a stump or a rock; and when coming to a spot
where he was going to execute a difficult maneuver on a piece of road
which slanted violently down to one side, he trimmed the wagon as one
would a small boat in a squall, and made us all crowd up to the weather
side to prevent a capsize.

When about ten miles from the plains, I first saw the actual reality of
gold-digging. Four or five men were working in a ravine by the roadside,
digging holes like so many grave-diggers. I then considered myself
fairly in “the mines,” and experienced a disagreeable consciousness that
we might be passing over huge masses of gold, only concealed from us by
an inch or two of earth.

As we traveled onwards, we passed at intervals numerous parties of
miners, and the country assumed a more inhabited appearance. Log-cabins
and clapboard shanties were to be seen among the trees; and occasionally
we found about a dozen of such houses grouped together by the roadside,
and dignified with the name of a town.

For several miles again the country would seem to have been deserted.
That it had once been a busy scene was evident from the uptorn earth in
the ravines and hollows, and from the numbers of unoccupied cabins; but
the cream of such diggings had already been taken, and they were not now
sufficiently rich to suit the ambitious ideas of the miners.

After traveling about thirty miles over this mountainous region,
ascending gradually all the while, we arrived at Hangtown in the
afternoon, having accomplished the sixty miles from Sacramento city in
about eight hours.




CHAPTER VI

LOOKING FOR GOLD


The town of Placerville--or Hangtown, as it was commonly
called--consisted of one long straggling street of clapboard houses and
log cabins, built in a hollow at the side of a creek, and surrounded by
high and steep hills.

The diggings here had been exceedingly rich--men used to pick the chunks
of gold out of the crevices of the rocks in the ravines with no other
tool than a bowie-knife; but these days had passed, and now the whole
surface of the surrounding country showed the amount of real hard work
which had been done. The beds of the numerous ravines which wrinkle the
faces of the hills, the bed of the creek, and all the little flats
alongside of it, were a confused mass of heaps of dirt and piles of
stones lying around the innumerable holes, about six feet square and
five or six feet deep, from which they had been thrown out. The original
course of the creek was completely obliterated, its waters being
distributed into numberless little ditches, and from them conducted into
the “long toms” of the miners through canvas hoses, looking like
immensely long slimy sea-serpents.

The number of bare stumps of what had once been gigantic pine trees,
dotted over the naked hillsides surrounding the town, showed how freely
the ax had been used, and to what purpose was apparent in the extent of
the town itself, and in the numerous log-cabins scattered over the
hills, in situations apparently chosen at the caprice of the owners, but
in reality with a view to be near to their diggings, and at the same
time to be within a convenient distance of water and firewood.

Along the whole length of the creek, as far as one could see, on the
banks of the creek, in the ravines, in the middle of the principal and
only street of the town, and even inside some of the houses, were
parties of miners, numbering from three or four to a dozen, all hard at
work, some laying into it with picks, some shoveling the dirt into the
“long toms,” or with long-handled shovels washing the dirt thrown in,
and throwing out the stones, while others were working pumps or baling
water out of the holes with buckets. There was a continual noise and
clatter, as mud, dirt, stones, and water were thrown about in all
directions; and the men, dressed in ragged clothes and big boots,
wielding picks and shovels, and rolling big rocks about, were all
working as if for their lives, going into it with a will, and a degree
of energy, not usually seen among laboring men. It was altogether a
scene which conveyed the idea of hard work in the fullest sense of the
words, and in comparison with which a gang of railway navvies would have
seemed to be merely a party of gentlemen amateurs playing at working
_pour passer le temps_.

A stroll through the village revealed the extent to which the ordinary
comforts of life were attainable. The gambling-houses, of which there
were three or four, were of course the largest and most conspicuous
buildings; their mirrors, chandeliers, and other decorations, suggesting
a style of life totally at variance with the outward indications of
everything around them.

The street itself was in many places knee-deep in mud, and was
plentifully strewed with old boots, hats, and shirts, old sardine-boxes,
empty tins of preserved oysters, empty bottles, worn-out pots and
kettles, old ham-bones, broken picks and shovels, and other rubbish too
various to particularize. Here and there, in the middle of the street,
was a square hole about six feet deep, in which one miner was digging,
while another was baling the water out with a bucket, and a third,
sitting alongside the heap of dirt which had been dug up, was washing it
in a rocker. Wagons, drawn by six or eight mules or oxen, were
navigating along the street, or discharging their strangely-assorted
cargoes at the various stores; and men in picturesque rags, with large
muddy boots, long beards, and brown faces, were the only inhabitants to
be seen.

There were boarding-houses on the _table-d’hôte_ principle, in each of
which forty or fifty hungry miners sat down three times a day to an
oilcloth-covered table, and in the course of about three minutes
surfeited themselves on salt pork, greasy steaks, and pickles. There
were also two or three “hotels,” where much the same sort of fare was to
be had, with the extra luxuries of a table-cloth and a superior quality
of knives and forks.

The stores were curious places. There was no specialty about
them--everything was to be found in them which it could be supposed that
any one could possibly want, excepting fresh beef (there was a butcher
who monopolized the sale of that article).

On entering a store, one would find the storekeeper in much the same
style of costume as the miners, very probably sitting on an empty keg at
a rickety little table, playing “seven up” for “the liquor” with one of
his customers.

The counter served also the purpose of a bar, and behind it was the
usual array of bottles and decanters, while on shelves above them was an
ornamental display of boxes of sardines, and brightly-colored tins of
preserved meats and vegetables with showy labels, interspersed with
bottles of champagne and strangely-shaped bottles of exceedingly green
pickles, the whole being arranged with some degree of taste.

Goods and provisions of every description were stowed away promiscuously
all round the store, in the middle of which was invariably a small table
with a bench, or some empty boxes and barrels for the miners to sit on
while they played cards, spent their money in brandy and oysters, and
occasionally got drunk.

The clothing trade was almost entirely in the hands of the Jews, who are
very numerous in California, and devote their time and energies
exclusively to supplying their Christian brethren with the necessary
articles of wearing apparel.

In traveling through the mines from one end to the other, I never saw a
Jew lift a pick or shovel to do a single stroke of work, or, in fact,
occupy himself in any other way than in selling slops. While men of all
classes and of every nation showed such versatility in betaking
themselves to whatever business or occupation appeared at the time to
be most advisable, without reference to their antecedents, and in a
country where no man, to whatever class of society he belonged, was in
the least degree ashamed to roll up his sleeves and dig in the mines for
gold, or to engage in any other kind of manual labor, it was a very
remarkable fact that the Jews were the only people among whom this was
not observable.

They were very numerous--so much so, that the business to which they
confined themselves could hardly have yielded to every individual a fair
average California rate of remuneration. But they seemed to be proof
against all temptation to move out of their own limited sphere of
industry, and of course, concentrated upon one point as their energies
were, they kept pace with the go-ahead spirit of the times. Clothing of
all sorts could be bought in any part of the mines more cheaply than in
San Francisco, where rents were so very high that retail prices of
everything were most exorbitant; and scarcely did twenty or thirty
miners collect in any out-of-the-way place, upon newly discovered
diggings, before the inevitable Jew slop-seller also made his
appearance, to play his allotted part in the newly-formed community.

The Jew slop-shops were generally rattletrap erections about the size of
a bathing-machine, so small that one half of the stock had to be
displayed suspended from projecting sticks outside. They were filled
with red and blue flannel shirts, thick boots, and other articles suited
to the wants of the miners, along with Colt’s revolvers and
bowie-knives, brass jewelry, and diamonds like young Koh-i-Noors.

Almost every man, after a short residence in California, became changed
to a certain extent in his outward appearance. In the mines especially,
to the great majority of men, the usual style of dress was one to which
they had never been accustomed; and those to whom it might have been
supposed such a costume was not so strange, or who were even wearing the
old clothes they had brought with them to the country, acquired a
certain California air, which would have made them remarkable in
whatever part of the world they came from, had they been suddenly
transplanted there. But to this rule also the Jews formed a very
striking exception. In their appearance there was nothing at all
suggestive of California; they were exactly the same unwashed-looking,
slobbery, slipshod individuals that one sees in every seaport town.

During the week, and especially when the miners were all at work,
Hangtown was comparatively quiet; but on Sundays it was a very different
place. On that day the miners living within eight or ten miles all
flocked in to buy provisions for the week--to spend their money in the
gambling-rooms--to play cards--to get their letters from home--and to
refresh themselves, after a week’s labor and isolation in the mountains,
in enjoying the excitement of the scene according to their tastes.

The gamblers on Sundays reaped a rich harvest; their tables were
thronged with crowds of miners, betting eagerly, and of course losing
their money. Many men came in, Sunday after Sunday, and gambled off all
the gold they had dug during the week, having to get credit at a store
for their next week’s provisions, and returning to their diggings to
work for six days in getting more gold, which would all be transferred
the next Sunday to the gamblers, in the vain hope of recovering what had
been already lost.

The street was crowded all day with miners loafing about from store to
store, making their purchases and asking each other to drink, the
effects of which began to be seen at an early hour in the number of
drunken men, and the consequent frequency of rows and quarrels. Almost
every man wore a pistol or a knife--many wore both--but they were rarely
used. The liberal and prompt administration of Lynch law had done a
great deal towards checking the wanton and indiscriminate use of these
weapons on any slight occasion. The utmost latitude was allowed in the
exercise of self-defence. In the case of a row, it was not necessary to
wait till a pistol was actually leveled at one’s head--if a man made
even a motion towards drawing a weapon, it was considered perfectly
justifiable to shoot him first, if possible. The very prevalence of the
custom of carrying arms thus in a great measure was a cause of their
being seldom used. They were never drawn out of bravado, for when a man
once drew his pistol, he had to be prepared to use it, and to use it
quickly, or he might expect to be laid low by a ball from his adversary;
and again, if he shot a man without sufficient provocation, he was
pretty sure of being accommodated with a hempen cravat by Judge Lynch.

The storekeepers did more business on Sundays than in all the rest of
the week; and in the afternoon crowds of miners could be seen dispersing
over the hills in every direction, laden with the provisions they had
been purchasing, chiefly flour, pork and beans, and perhaps a lump of
fresh beef.

There was only one place of public worship in Hangtown at that time, a
very neat little wooden edifice, which belonged to some denomination of
Methodists, and seemed to be well attended.

There was also a newspaper published two or three times a week, which
kept the inhabitants “posted up” as to what was going on in the world.

The richest deposits of gold were found in the beds and banks of the
rivers, creeks, and ravines, in the flats on the convex side of the
bends of the streams, and in many of the flats and hollows high up in
the mountains. The precious metal was also abstracted from the very
hearts of the mountains, through tunnels drifted into them for several
hundred yards; and in some places real mining was carried on in the
bowels of the earth by means of shafts sunk to the depth of a couple of
hundred feet.

The principal diggings in the neighborhood of Hangtown were surface
diggings; but, with the exception of river diggings, every kind of
mining operation was to be seen in full force.

The gold is found at various depths from the surface; but the dirt on
the bed-rock is the richest, as the gold naturally in time sinks through
earth and gravel, till it is arrested in its downward progress by the
solid rock.

The diggings here were from four to six or seven feet deep; the layer of
“pay-dirt” being about a couple of feet thick on the top of the
bed-rock.

I should mention that “dirt” is the word universally used in California
to signify the substance dug, earth, clay, gravel, loose slate, or
whatever other name might be more appropriate. The miners talk of rich
dirt and poor dirt, and of “stripping off” so many feet of “top dirt”
before getting to “pay-dirt,” the latter meaning dirt with so much gold
in it that it will pay to dig it up and wash it.

The apparatus generally used for washing was a “long tom,” which was
nothing more than a wooden trough from twelve to twenty-five feet long,
and about a foot wide. At the lower end it widens considerably, and on
the floor there is a sheet of iron pierced with holes half an inch in
diameter, under which is placed a flat box a couple of inches deep. The
long tom is set at a slight inclination over the place which is to be
worked, and a stream of water is kept running through it by means of a
hose, the mouth of which is inserted in a dam built for the purpose high
enough up the stream to gain the requisite elevation; and while some of
the party shovel the dirt into the tom as fast as they can dig it up,
one man stands at the lower end stirring up the dirt as it is washed
down, separating the stones and throwing them out, while the earth and
small gravel falls with the water through the sieve into the
“ripple-box.” This box is about five feet long, and is crossed by two
partitions. It is also placed at an inclination, so that the water
falling into it keeps the dirt loose, allowing the gold and heavy
particles to settle to the bottom, while all the lighter stuff washes
over the end of the box along with the water. When the day’s work is
over, the dirt is taken from the “ripple-box” and is “washed out” in a
“wash-pan,” a round tin dish, eighteen inches in diameter, with shelving
sides three or four inches deep. In washing out a panful of dirt, it has
to be placed in water deep enough to cover it over; the dirt is stirred
up with the hands, and the gravel thrown out; the pan is then taken in
both hands, and by an indescribable series of maneuvers all the dirt is
gradually washed out of it, leaving nothing but the gold and a small
quantity of black sand. This black sand is mineral (some oxide or other
salt of iron), and is so heavy that it is not possible to wash it all
out; it has to be blown out of the gold afterwards when dry.

Another mode of washing dirt, but much more tedious, and consequently
only resorted to where a sufficient supply of water for a long tom could
not be obtained, was by means of an apparatus called a “rocker” or
“cradle.” This was merely a wooden cradle, on the top of which was a
sieve. The dirt was put into this, and a miner, sitting alongside of it,
rocked the cradle with one hand, while with a dipper in the other he
kept baling water on to the dirt. This acted on the same principle as
the “tom,” and had formerly been the only contrivance in use; but it was
now seldom seen, as the long tom effected such a saving of time and
labor. The latter was set immediately over the claim, and the dirt was
shoveled into it at once, while a rocker had to be set alongside of the
water, and the dirt was carried to it in buckets from the place which
was being worked. Three men working together with a rocker--one digging,
another carrying the dirt in buckets, and the third rocking the
cradle--would wash on an average a hundred bucketfuls of dirt to the man
in the course of the day. With a “long tom” the dirt was so easily
washed that parties of six or eight could work together to advantage,
and four or five hundred bucketfuls of dirt a day to each one of the
party was a usual day’s work.

I met a San Francisco friend in Hangtown practising his profession as a
doctor, who very hospitably offered me quarters in his cabin, which I
gladly accepted. The accommodation was not very luxurious, being merely
six feet of the floor on which to spread my blankets. My host, however,
had no better bed himself, and indeed it was as much as most men cared
about. Those who were very particular preferred sleeping on a table or a
bench when they were to be had; bunks and shelves were also much in
fashion; but the difference in comfort was a mere matter of imagination,
for mattresses were not known, and an earthen floor was quite as soft as
any wooden board. Three or four miners were also inmates of the doctor’s
cabin. They were quondam New South Wales squatters, who had been mining
for several months in a distant part of the country, and were now going
to work a claim about two miles up the creek from Hangtown. As they
wanted another hand to work their long tom with them, I very readily
joined their party. For several days we worked this place, trudging out
to it when it was hardly daylight, taking with us our dinner, which
consisted of beefsteaks and bread, and returning to Hangtown about dark;
but the claim did not prove rich enough to satisfy us, so we abandoned
it, and went “prospecting,” which means looking about for a more likely
place.

A “prospector” goes out with a pick and shovel, and a wash-pan; and to
test the richness of a place he digs down till he reaches the dirt in
which it may be expected that the gold will be found; and washing out a
panful of this, he can easily calculate, from the amount of gold which
he finds in it, how much could be taken out in a day’s work. An old
miner, looking at the few specks of gold in the bottom of his pan, can
tell their value within a few cents; calling it a twelve or a twenty
cent “prospect,” as it may be. If, on washing out a panful of dirt, a
mere speck of gold remained, just enough to swear by, such dirt was said
to have only “the color,” and was not worth digging. A twelve-cent
prospect was considered a pretty good one; but in estimating the
probable result of a day’s work, allowance had to be made for the time
and labor to be expended in removing top-dirt, and in otherwise
preparing the claim for being worked.

To establish one’s claim to a piece of ground, all that was requisite
was to leave upon it a pick or shovel, or other mining tool. The extent
of ground allowed to each individual varied in different diggings from
ten to thirty feet square, and was fixed by the miners themselves, who
also made their own laws, defining the rights and duties of those
holding claims; and any dispute on such subjects was settled by calling
together a few of the neighboring miners, who would enforce the due
observance of the laws of the diggings. After prospecting for two or
three days we concluded to take up a claim near a small settlement
called Middletown, two or three miles distant from Hangtown. It was
situated by the side of a small creek, in a rolling hilly country, and
consisted of about a dozen cabins, one of which was a store supplied
with flour, pork, tobacco, and other necessaries.

We found near our claim a very comfortable cabin, which the owner had
deserted, and in which we established ourselves. We had plenty of
firewood and water close to us, and being only two miles from Hangtown,
we kept ourselves well supplied with fresh beef. We cooked our “dampers”
in New South Wales fashion, and lived on the fat of the land, our bill
of fare being beefsteaks, damper, and tea for breakfast, dinner, and
supper. A damper is a very good thing, but not commonly seen in
California, excepting among men from New South Wales. A quantity of
flour and water, with a pinch or two of salt, is worked into a dough,
and, raking down a good hardwood fire, it is placed on the hot ashes,
and then smothered in more hot ashes to the depth of two or three
inches, on the top of which is placed a quantity of the still burning
embers. A very little practice enables one to judge from the feel of the
crust when it is sufficiently cooked. The great advantage of a damper
is, that it retains a certain amount of moisture, and is as good when a
week old as when fresh baked. It is very solid and heavy, and a little
of it goes a great way, which of itself is no small recommendation when
one eats only to live.

Another sort of bread we very frequently made by filling a frying-pan
with dough, and sticking it upon end to roast before the fire.

The Americans do not understand dampers. They either bake bread, using
saleratus to make it rise, or else they make flapjacks, which are
nothing more than pancakes made of flour and water, and are a very good
substitute for bread when one is in a hurry, as they are made in a
moment.

As for our beefsteaks, they could not be beat anywhere. A piece of an
old iron-hoop, twisted into a serpentine form and laid on the fire,
made a first-rate gridiron, on which every man cooked his steak to his
own taste. In the matter of tea I am afraid we were dreadfully
extravagant, throwing it into the pot in handfuls. It is a favorite
beverage in the mines--morning, noon, and night--and at no time is it
more refreshing than in the extreme heat of mid-day.

In the cabin two bunks had been fitted up, one above the other, made of
clapboards laid crossways, but they were all loose and warped. I tried
to sleep on them one night, but it was like sleeping on a gridiron; the
smooth earthen floor was a much more easy couch.




CHAPTER VII

INDIANS AND CHINAMEN


Within a few miles of us there was camped a large tribe of Indians, who
were generally quite peaceable, and showed no hostility to the whites.

Small parties of them were constantly to be seen in Hangtown, wandering
listlessly about the street, begging for bread, meat, or old clothes.
These Digger Indians, as they are called, from the fact of their digging
for themselves a sort of subterranean abode in which they pass the
winter, are most repulsive-looking wretches, and seem to be very little
less degraded and uncivilizable than the blacks of New South Wales.

They are nearly black, and are exceedingly ugly, with long hair, which
they cut straight across the forehead just above the eyes. They had
learned the value of gold, and might be seen occasionally in
unfrequented places washing out a panful of dirt, but they had no idea
of systematic work. What little gold they got, they spent in buying
fresh beef and clothes. They dress very fantastically. Some, with no
other garment than an old dress-coat buttoned up to the throat, or
perhaps with only a hat and a pair of boots, think themselves very well
got up, and look with great contempt on their neighbors whose wardrobe
is not so extensive. A coat with showy linings to the sleeves is a great
prize; it is worn inside out to produce a better effect, and pantaloons
are frequently worn, or rather carried, with the legs tied around the
waist. They seemed to think it impossible to have too much of a good
thing; and any man so fortunate as to be the possessor of duplicates of
any article of clothing, puts them on one over the other, piling hat
upon hat after the manner of “Old clo.”

The men are very tenacious of their dignity, and carry nothing but their
bows and arrows, while the attendant squaws are loaded down with a large
creel on the back, which is supported by a band passing across the
forehead, and is the receptacle for all the rubbish they pick up. The
squaws have also, of course, to carry the babies; which, however, are
not very troublesome, as they are wrapped up in papoose-frames like
those of the North American Indians, though of infinitely inferior
workmanship.

They are very fond of dogs, and have always at their heels a number of
the most wretchedly thin, mangy, starved-looking curs, of dirty brindle
color, something the shape of a greyhound, but only about half his size.
A strong mutual attachment exists between the dogs and their masters;
but the affection of the latter does not move them to bestow much food
on their canine friends, who live in a state of chronic starvation;
every bone seems ready to break through the confinement of the skin, and
their whole life is merely a slow death from inanition. They have none
of the life or spirit of other dogs, but crawl along as if every step
was to be their last, with a look of most humble resignation, and so
conscious of their degradation that they never presume to hold any
communion with their civilized fellow-creatures. It is very likely that
canine nature cannot stand such food as the Indians are content to live
upon, and of which acorns and grasshoppers are the staple articles.
There are plenty of small animals on which one would think that a dog
could live very well, if he would only take the trouble to catch them;
but it would seem that a dog, as long as he remains a companion of man,
is an animal quite incapable of providing for himself.

A failure of the acorn crop is to the Indians a national calamity, as
they depend on it in a great measure for their subsistence during the
winter. In the fall of the year the squaws are busily employed in
gathering acorns, to be afterwards stored in small conical stacks, and
covered with a sort of wicker-work. They are prepared for food by being
made into a paste, very much of the color and consistency of opium. Such
horrid-looking stuff it is, that I never ventured to taste it; but I
believe that the bitter and astringent taste of the raw material is in
no way modified by the process of manufacture.[1]

As is the case with most savages, the Digger Indians show remarkable
instances of ingenuity in some of their contrivances, and great skill in
the manufacture of their weapons. Their bows and arrows are very good
specimens of workmanship. The former are shorter than the bows used in
this country, but resemble them in every other particular, even in the
shape of the pieces of horn at the ends. The head of the arrow is of the
orthodox cut, the three feathers being placed in the usual position; the
point, however, is the most elaborate part. About three inches of the
end is of a heavier wood than the rest of the arrow, being very neatly
spliced in with thin tendons. The point itself is a piece of flint
chipped down into a flat diamond shape, about the size of a diamond on a
playing-card; the edges are very sharp, and are notched to receive the
tendons with which it is firmly secured to the arrow.

The women make a kind of wicker-work basket of a conical form, so
closely woven as to be perfectly water-tight, and in these they have an
ingenious method of boiling water, by heating a number of stones in the
fire, and throwing a succession of them into the water till the
temperature is raised to boiling point.

We had a visit at our cabin one Sunday from an Indian and his squaw. She
was such a particularly ugly specimen of human nature that I made her
sit down, and proceeded to take a sketch of her, to the great delight of
her dutiful husband, who looked over my shoulder and reported progress
to her. I offered her the sketch when I had finished, but after admiring
herself in the bottom of a new tin pannikin, the only substitute for a
looking-glass which I could find, and comparing her own beautiful face
with her portrait, she was by no means pleased, and would have nothing
to do with it. I suppose she thought I had not done her justice; which
was very likely, for no doubt our ideas of female beauty must have
differed very materially.

Not many days after we had settled ourselves at Middletown, news was
brought into Hangtown that a white man had been killed by Indians at a
place called Johnson’s Ranch, about twelve miles distant. A party of
three or four men immediately went out to recover the body, and to
“hunt” the Indians. They found the half-burned remains of the murdered
man; but were attacked by a large number of Indians, and had to retire,
one of the party being wounded by an Indian arrow. On their return to
Hangtown there was great excitement; about thirty men, mostly from the
Western States, turned out with their long rifles, intending, in the
first place, to visit the camp of the Middletown tribe, and to take from
them their rifles, which they were reported to have bought from the
storekeeper there, and after that to lynch the storekeeper himself for
selling arms to the Indians, which is against the law; for however
friendly the Indians may be, they trade them off to hostile tribes.

It happened, however, that on this particular day a neighboring tribe
had come over to the camp of the Middletown Indians for the purpose of
having a _fandango_ together; and when they saw this armed party coming
upon them, they immediately saluted them with a shower of arrows and
rifle-balls, which damaged a good many hats and shirts, without wounding
any one. The miners returned their fire, killing a few of the Indians;
but their party being too small to fight against such odds, they were
compelled to retreat; and as the storekeeper, having got a hint of their
kind intentions towards him, had made himself scarce, they marched back
to Hangtown without having done much to boast of.

When the result of their expedition was made known, the excitement in
Hangtown was of course greater than ever. The next day crowds of miners
flocked in from all quarters, each man equipped with a long rifle in
addition to his bowie-knife and revolver, while two men, playing a drum
and a fife, marched up and down the street to give a military air to the
occasion. A public meeting was held in one of the gambling-rooms, at
which the governor, the sheriff of the county, and other big men of the
place, were present. The miners about Hangtown were mostly all
Americans, and a large proportion of them were men from the Western
States, who had come by the overland route across the plains--men who
had all their lives been used to Indian wiles and treachery, and thought
about as much of shooting an Indian as of killing a rattlesnake. They
were a rough-looking crowd; long, gaunt, wiry men, dressed in the usual
old-flannel-shirt costume of the mines, with shaggy beards, their faces,
hands, and arms as brown as mahogany, and with an expression about their
eyes which boded no good to any Indian who should come within range of
their rifles.

There were some very good speeches made at the meeting; that of a young
Kentuckian doctor was quite a treat. He spoke very well, but from the
fuss he made it might have been supposed that the whole country was in
the hands of the enemy. The eyes of the thirty States of the Union, he
said, were upon them; and it was for them, the thirty-first, to avenge
this insult to the Anglo-Saxon race, and to show the wily savage that
the American nation, which could dictate terms of peace or war to every
other nation on the face of the globe, was not to be trifled with. He
tried to rouse their courage, and excite their animosity against the
Indians, though it was quite unnecessary, by drawing a vivid picture of
the unburied bones of poor Brown, or Jones, the unfortunate individual
who had been murdered, bleaching on the mountains of the Sierra Nevada,
while his death was still unavenged. If they were cowardly enough not to
go out and whip the savage Indians, their wives would spurn them, their
sweethearts would reject them, and the whole world would look upon them
with scorn. The most common-sense argument in his speech, however, was,
that unless the Indians were taught a lesson, there would be no safety
for the straggling miners in the mountains at any distance from a
settlement. Altogether he spoke very well, considering the sort of crowd
he was addressing; and judging from the enthusiastic applause, and from
the remarks I heard made by the men around me, he could not have spoken
with better effect.

The Governor also made a short speech, saying that he would take the
responsibility of raising a company of one hundred men, at five dollars
a day, to go and whip the Indians.

The Sheriff followed. He “cal’lated” to raise out of that crowd one
hundred men, but wanted no man to put down his name who would not stand
up in his boots, and he would ask no man to go any further than he would
go himself.

Those who wished to enlist were then told to come round to the other end
of the room, when nearly the whole crowd rushed eagerly forward, and
the required number were at once enrolled. They started the next day,
but the Indians retreating before them, they followed them far up into
the mountains, where they remained for a couple of months, by which time
the wily savages, it is to be hoped, got properly whipped, and were
taught the respect due to white men.

We continued working our claim at Middletown, having taken into
partnership an old sea-captain whom we found there working alone. It
paid us very well for about three weeks, when, from the continued dry
weather, the water began to fail, and we were obliged to think of moving
off to other diggings.

It was now time to commence preparatory operations before working the
beds of the creeks and rivers, as their waters were falling rapidly; and
as most of our party owned shares in claims on different rivers, we
became dispersed. A young Englishman and myself alone remained,
uncertain as yet where we should go.

We had gone into Hangtown one night for provisions, when we heard that a
great strike had been made at a place called ’Coon Hollow, about a mile
distant. One man was reported to have taken out that day about fifteen
hundred dollars. Before daylight next morning we started over the hill,
intending to stake off a claim on the same ground; but even by the time
we got there, the whole hillside was already pegged off into claims of
thirty feet square, on each of which men were commencing to sink shafts,
while hundreds of others were prowling about, too late to get a claim
which would be thought worth taking up.

Those who had claims, immediately surrounding that of the lucky man who
had caused all the excitement by letting his good fortune be known, were
very sanguine. Two Cornish miners had got what was supposed to be the
most likely claim, and declared they would not take ten thousand dollars
for it. Of course, no one thought of offering such a sum; but so great
was the excitement that they might have got eight hundred or a thousand
dollars for their claim before ever they put a pick in the ground. As it
turned out, however, they spent a month in sinking a shaft about a
hundred feet deep; and after drifting all round, they could not get a
cent out of it, while many of the claims adjacent to theirs proved
extremely rich.

Such diggings as these are called “coyote” diggings, receiving their
name from an animal called the coyote, which abounds all over the plain
lands of Mexico and California, and which lives in the cracks and
crevices made in the plains by the extreme heat of summer. He is half
dog, half fox, and, as an Irishman might say, half wolf also. They howl
most dismally, just like a dog, on moonlight nights, and are seen in
great numbers skulking about the plains.

Connected with them is a curious fact in natural history. They are
intensely carnivorous--so are cannibals; but as cannibals object to the
flavor of roasted sailor as being too salt, so coyotes turn up their
noses at dead Mexicans as being too peppery. I have heard the fact
mentioned over and over again, by Americans who had been in the Mexican
war, that on going over the field after their battles, they found their
own comrades with the flesh eaten off their bones by the coyotes, while
never a Mexican corpse had been touched; and the only and most natural
way to account for this phenomenon was in the fact that the Mexicans, by
the constant and inordinate eating of the hot pepperpod, the _Chili
colorado_, had so impregnated their system with pepper as to render
their flesh too savory a morsel for the natural and unvitiated taste of
the coyotes.

These coyote diggings require to be very rich to pay, from the great
amount of labor necessary before any pay-dirt can be obtained. They are
generally worked by only two men. A shaft is sunk, over which is rigged
a rude windlass, tended by one man, who draws up the dirt in a large
bucket while his partner is digging down below. When the bed rock is
reached on which the rich dirt is found, excavations are made all round,
leaving only the necessary supporting pillars of earth, which are also
ultimately removed, and replaced by logs of wood. Accidents frequently
occur from the “caving-in” of these diggings, the result generally of
the carelessness of the men themselves.

The Cornish miners, of whom numbers had come to California from the
mines of Mexico and South America, generally devoted themselves to these
deep diggings, as did also the lead-miners from Wisconsin. Such men were
quite at home a hundred feet or so under ground, picking through hard
rock by candlelight; at the same time, gold mining in any way was to
almost every one a new occupation, and men who had passed their lives
hitherto above ground, took quite as naturally to this subterranean
style of digging as to any other.

We felt no particular fancy for it, however, especially as we could not
get a claim; and having heard favorable accounts of the diggings on
Weaver Creek, we concluded to migrate to that place. It was about
fifteen miles off; and having hired a mule and cart from a man in
Hangtown to carry our long tom, hoses, picks, shovels, blankets, and pot
and pans, we started early the next morning, and arrived at our
destination about noon. We passed through some beautiful scenery on the
way. The ground was not yet parched and scorched by the summer sun, but
was still green, and on the hillsides were patches of wild-flowers
growing so thick that they were quite soft and delightful to lie down
upon. For some distance we followed a winding road between smooth
rounded hills, thickly wooded with immense pines and cedars, gradually
ascending till we came upon a comparatively level country, which had all
the beauty of an English park. The ground was quite smooth, though
gently undulating, and the rich verdure was diversified with numbers of
white, yellow, and purple flowers. The oaks of various kinds, which were
here the only tree, were of an immense size, but not so numerous as to
confine the view; and the only underwood was the mansanita, a very
beautiful and graceful shrub, generally growing in single plants to the
height of six or eight feet. There was no appearance of ruggedness or
disorder; we might have imagined ourselves in a well-kept domain; and
the solitude, and the vast unemployed wealth of nature, alone reminded
us that we were among the wild mountains of California.

After traveling some miles over this sort of country, we got among the
pine trees once more, and very soon came to the brink of the high
mountains overhanging Weaver Creek. The descent was so steep that we had
the greatest difficulty in getting the cart down without a capsize,
having to make short tacks down the face of the hill, and generally
steering for a tree to bring up upon in case of accidents. At the point
where we reached the Creek was a store, and scattered along the rocky
banks of the Creek were a few miners’ tents and cabins. We had expected
to have to camp out here, but seeing a small tent unoccupied near the
store, we made inquiry of the storekeeper, and finding that it belonged
to him, and that he had no objection to our using it, we took possession
accordingly, and proceeded to light a fire and cook our dinner.

Not knowing how far we might be from a store, we had brought along with
us a supply of flour, ham, beans, and tea, with which we were quite
independent. After prospecting a little, we soon found a spot on the
bank of the stream which we judged would yield us pretty fair pay for
our labor. We had some difficulty at first in bringing water to the long
tom, having to lead our hose a considerable distance up the stream to
obtain sufficient elevation; but we soon got everything in working
order, and pitched in. The gold which we found here was of the finest
kind, and required great care in washing. It was in exceedingly small
thin scales--so thin, that in washing out in a pan at the end of the
day, a scale of gold would occasionally float for an instant on the
surface of the water. This is the most valuable kind of gold dust, and
is worth one or two dollars an ounce more than the coarse chunky dust.

It was a wild rocky place where we were now located. The steep
mountains, rising abruptly all round us, so confined the view that we
seemed to be shut out from the rest of the world. The nearest village or
settlement was about ten miles distant; and all the miners on the Creek
within four or five miles living in isolated cabins, tents, and
brush-houses, or camping out on the rocks, resorted for provisions to
the small store already mentioned, which was supplied with a general
assortment of provisions and clothing.

There had still been occasional heavy rains, from which our tent was but
poor protection, and we awoke sometimes in the morning, finding small
pools of water in the folds of our blankets, and everything so soaking
wet, inside the tent as well as outside, that it was hopeless to attempt
to light a fire. On such occasions, raw ham, hard bread, and cold water
was all the breakfast we could raise; eking it out however, with an
extra pipe, and relieving our feelings by laying in fiercely with pick
and shovel.

The weather very soon, however, became quite settled. The sky was always
bright and cloudless; all verdure was fast disappearing from the hills,
and they began to look brown and scorched. The heat in the mines during
summer is greater than in most tropical countries. I have in some parts
seen the thermometer as high as 120 degrees in the shade during the
greater part of the day for three weeks at a time; but the climate is
not by any means so relaxing and oppressive as in countries where,
though the range of the thermometer is much lower, the damp suffocating
atmosphere makes the heat more severely felt. In the hottest weather in
California, it is always agreeably cool at night--sufficiently so to
make a blanket acceptable, and to enable one to enjoy a sound sleep, in
which one recovers from all the evil effects of the previous day’s
baking; and even the extreme heat of the hottest hours of the day,
though it crisps up one’s hair like that of a nigger, is still light and
exhilarating, and by no means disinclines one for bodily exertion.

We continued to work the claim we had first taken for two or three weeks
with very good success, when the diggings gave out--that is to say, they
ceased to yield sufficiently to suit our ideas: so we took up another
claim about a mile further up the creek; and as this was rather an
inconvenient distance from our tent, we abandoned it, and took
possession of a log cabin near our claim which some men had just
vacated. It was a very badly built cabin perched on a rocky platform
overhanging the rugged pathway which led along the banks of the creek.

A cabin with a good shingle-roof is generally the coolest kind of abode
in summer; but ours was only roofed with cotton cloth, offering scarcely
any resistance to the fierce rays of the sun, which rendered the cabin
during the day so intolerably hot that we cooked and ate our dinner
under the shade of a tree.

A whole bevy of Chinamen had recently made their appearance on the
creek. Their camp, consisting of a dozen or so of small tents and brush
houses, was near our cabin on the side of the hill--too near to be
pleasant, for they kept up a continual chattering all night, which was
rather tiresome till we got used to it.

They are an industrious set of people, no doubt, but are certainly not
calculated for gold-digging. They do not work with the same force or
vigor as American or European miners, but handle their tools like so
many women, as if they were afraid of hurting themselves. The Americans
called it “scratching,” which was a very expressive term for their style
of digging. They did not venture to assert equal rights so far as to
take up any claim which other miners would think it worth while to work;
but in such places as yielded them a dollar or two a day they were
allowed to scratch away unmolested. Had they happened to strike a rich
lead, they would have been driven off their claim immediately. They were
very averse to working in the water, and for four or five hours in the
heat of the day they assembled under the shade of a tree, where they sat
fanning themselves, drinking tea, and saying “too muchee hot.”

On the whole, they seemed a harmless, inoffensive people; but one day,
as we were going to dinner, we heard an unusual hullaballoo going on
where the Chinamen were at work; and on reaching the place we found the
whole tribe of Celestials divided into two equal parties, drawn up
against each other in battle array, brandishing picks and shovels,
lifting stones as if to hurl them at their adversaries’ heads, and every
man chattering and gesticulating in the most frantic manner. The miners
collected on the ground to see the “muss,” and cheered the Chinamen on
to more active hostilities. But after taunting and threatening each
other in this way for about an hour, during which time, although the
excitement seemed to be continually increasing, not a blow was struck
nor a stone thrown, the two parties suddenly, and without any apparent
cause, fraternized, and moved off together to their tents. What all the
row was about, or why peace was so suddenly proclaimed, was of course a
mystery to us outside barbarians; and the tame and unsatisfactory
termination of such warlike demonstrations was a great disappointment,
as we had been every moment expecting that the ball would open, and
hoped to see a general engagement.

It reminded me of the way in which a couple of French Canadians have a
set-to. Shaking their fists within an inch of each other’s faces, they
call each other all the names imaginable, beginning with _sacré cochon_,
and going through a long series of still less complimentary epithets,
till finally _sacré astrologe_ caps the climax. This is a regular
smasher; it is supposed to be such a comprehensive term as to exhaust
the whole vocabulary; both parties then give in for want of ammunition,
and the fight is over. I presume it was by a similar process that the
Chinamen arrived at a solution of their difficulty; at all events,
discretion seemed to form a very large component part of Celestial
valor.




CHAPTER VIII

MINERS’ LAW


The miners on the creek were nearly all Americans, and exhibited a great
variety of mankind. Some, it was very evident, were men who had hitherto
only worked with their heads; others one would have set down as having
been mechanics of some sort, and as having lived in cities; and there
were numbers of unmistakable backwoodsmen and farmers from the Western
States. Of these a large proportion were Missourians, who had emigrated
across the plains. From the State of Missouri the people had flocked in
thousands to the gold diggings, and particularly from a county in that
state called Pike County.

The peculiarities of the Missourians are very strongly marked, and after
being in the mines but a short time, one could distinguish a Missourian,
or a “Pike,” or “Pike County,” as they are called, from the natives of
any other western State. Their costume was always exceedingly old and
greasy-looking; they had none of the occasional foppery of the miner,
which shows itself in brilliant red shirts, boots with flaming red tops,
fancy-colored hats, silver-handled bowie-knives, and rich silk sashes.
It always seemed to me that a Missourian wore the same clothes in which
he had crossed the plains, and that he was keeping them to wear on his
journey home again. Their hats were felt, of a dirty-brown color, and
the shape of a short extinguisher. Their shirts had perhaps, in days
gone by, been red, but were now a sort of purple; their pantaloons were
generally of a snuffy-brown color, and made of some woolly home-made
fabric. Suspended at their back from a narrow strap buckled round the
waist they carried a wooden-handled bowie-knife in an old leathern
sheath, not stitched, but riveted with leaden nails; and over their
shoulders they wore strips of cotton or cloth as suspenders--mechanical
contrivances never thought of by any other men in the mines. As for
their boots, there was no peculiarity about them, excepting that they
were always old. Their coats, a garment not frequently seen in the mines
for at least six months of the year, were very extraordinary
things--exceedingly tight, short-waisted, long-skirted surtouts of
homemade frieze of a greyish-blue color.

As for their persons, they were mostly long, gaunt, narrow-chested,
round-shouldered men, with long, straight, light-colored,
dried-up-looking hair, small thin sallow faces, with rather scanty beard
and moustache, and small grey sunken eyes, which seemed to be keenly
perceptive of everything around them. But in their movements the men
were slow and awkward, and in the towns especially they betrayed a
childish astonishment at the strange sights occasioned by the presence
of the divers nations of the earth. The fact is, that till they came to
California many of them had never in their lives before seen two houses
together, and in any little village in the mines they witnessed more of
the wonders of civilization than ever they had dreamed of.

In some respects, perhaps, the mines of California were as wild a place
as any part of the Western States of America; but they were peopled by a
community of men of all classes, and from different countries, who
though living in a rough backwoods style, had nevertheless all the ideas
and amenities of civilized life; while the Missourians, having come
direct across the plains from their homes in the backwoods, had received
no preparatory education to enable them to show off to advantage in such
company.

And in this they labored under a great disadvantage, as compared with
the lower classes of people of every country who came to San Francisco
by way of Panama or Cape Horn. The men from the interior of the States
learned something even on their journey to New York or New Orleans,
having their eyes partially opened during the few days they spent in
either of those cities en route; and on the passage to San Francisco
they naturally received a certain degree of polish from being violently
shaken up with a crowd of men of different habits and ideas from their
own. They had to give way in many things to men whose motives of action
were perhaps to them incomprehensible, while of course they gained a few
new ideas from being brought into close contact with such sorts of men
as they had hitherto only seen at a distance, or very likely had never
heard of. A little experience of San Francisco did them no harm, and by
the time they reached the mines they had become very superior men to the
raw bumpkins they were before leaving their homes.

It may seem strange, but it is undoubtedly true, that the majority of
men in whom such a change was most desirable became in California more
humanized, and acquired a certain amount of urbanity; in fact, they came
from civilized countries in the rough state, and in California got
licked into shape, and polished.

I had subsequently, while residing on the Isthmus of Nicaragua, constant
opportunities of witnessing the truth of this, in contrasting the
outward-bound emigrants with the same class of men returning to the
States after having received a California education. Every fortnight two
crowds of passengers rushed across the Isthmus, one from New York, the
other from San Francisco. The great majority in both cases were men of
the lower ranks of life, and it is of course to them alone that my
remarks apply. Those coming from New York--who were mostly Americans and
Irish--seemed to think that each man could do just as he pleased,
without regard to the comfort of his neighbors. They showed no
accommodating spirit, but grumbled at everything, and were rude and
surly in their manners; they were very raw and stupid, and had no genius
for doing anything for themselves or each other to assist their
progress, but perversely delighted in acting in opposition to the
regulations and arrangements made for them by the Transit Company. The
same men, however, on their return from California, were perfect
gentlemen in comparison. They were orderly in their behavior; though
rough, they were not rude, and showed great consideration for others,
submitting cheerfully to any personal inconvenience necessary for the
common good, and showing by their conduct that they had acquired some
notion of their duties to balance the very enlarged idea of their
rights which they had formerly entertained.

The Missourians, however, although they acquired no new accomplishments
on their journey to California, lost none of those which they originally
possessed. They could use an ax or a rifle with any man. Two of them
would chop down a few trees and build a log cabin in a day and a half,
and with their long five-foot-barrel rifle, which was their constant
companion, they could “draw a bead” on a deer, a squirrel, or the white
of an Indian’s eye, with equal coolness and certainty of killing.

Though large-framed men, they were not remarkable for physical strength,
nor were they robust in constitution; in fact, they were the most sickly
set of men in the mines, fever and ague and diarrhœa being their
favorite complaints.

We had many pleasant neighbors, and among them were some very amusing
characters. One man, who went by the name of the “Philosopher,” might
possibly have earned a better right to the name, if he had had the
resolution to abstain from whisky. He had been, I believe, a farmer in
Kentucky, and was one of a class not uncommon in America, who, without
much education, but with great ability and immense command of language,
together with a very superficial knowledge of some science, hold forth
on it most fluently, using such long words, and putting them so well
together, that, were it not for the crooked ideas they enunciated, one
might almost suppose they knew what they were talking about.

Phrenology was this man’s hobby, and he had all the phrenological
phraseology at his finger-ends. His great delight was to paw a man’s
head and to tell him his character. One Sunday morning he came into our
cabin as he was going down to the store for provisions, and after a few
minutes’ conversation, of course he introduced phrenology; and as I knew
I should not get rid of him till I did so, I gave him my permission to
feel my head. He fingered it all over, and gave me a very elaborate
synopsis of my character, explaining most minutely the consequences of
the combination of the different bumps, and telling me how I would act
in a variety of supposed contingencies. Having satisfied himself as to
my character, he went off, and I was in hopes I was done with him, but
an hour or so after dark, he came rolling into the cabin just as I was
going to turn in. He was as drunk as he well could be; his nose was
swelled and bloody, his eyes were both well blackened, and altogether he
was very unlike a learned professor of phrenology. He begged to be
allowed to stay all night; and as he would most likely have broken his
neck over the rocks if he had tried to reach his own home that night, I
made him welcome, thinking that he would immediately fall asleep without
troubling me further. But I was very much mistaken; he had no sooner
lain down, than he began to harangue me as if I were a public meeting or
a debating society, addressing me as “gentlemen,” and expatiating on a
variety of topics, but chiefly on phrenology, the Democratic ticket, and
the great mass of the people. He had a bottle of brandy with him, which
I made him finish in hopes it might have the effect of silencing him;
but there was unfortunately not enough of it for that--it only made him
worse, for he left the debating society and got into a bar-room, where,
when I went to sleep, he was playing “poker” with some imaginary
individual whom he called Jim.

In the morning he made most ample apologies, and was very earnest in
expressing his gratitude for my hospitality. I took the liberty of
asking him what bumps he called those in the neighborhood of his eyes.
“Well, sir,” he said, “you ask me a plain question, I’ll give you a
plain answer. I got into a ‘muss’ down at the store last night, and was
whipped; and I deserved it too.” As he was so penitent, I did not press
him for further particulars; but I heard from another man the same day
that when at the store he had taken the opportunity of an audience to
lecture them on his favorite subject, and illustrated his theory by
feeling several heads, and giving very full descriptions of the
characters of the individuals. At last he got hold of a man who must
have had something peculiar in the formation of his cranium, for he gave
him a most dreadful character, calling him a liar, a cheat, and a thief,
and winding up by saying that he was a man who would murder his father
for five dollars.

The natural consequence was that the owner of this enviable character
jumped up and pitched into the phrenologist, giving him the whipping
which he had so candidly acknowledged, and would probably have murdered
him without the consideration of the five dollars, if the bystanders had
not interfered.

Very near where we were at work, a party of half-a-dozen men held a
claim in the bed of the creek, and had as usual dug a race through which
to turn the water, and so leave exposed the part they intended to work.
This they were now anxious to do, as the creek had fallen sufficiently
low to admit of it; but they were opposed by a number of miners whose
claims lay so near the race that they would have been swamped had the
water been turned into it.

They could not come to any settlement of the question among themselves;
so, as was usual in such cases, they concluded to leave it to a jury of
miners; and notice was accordingly sent to all the miners within two or
three miles up and down the creek, requesting them to assemble on the
claim in question the next afternoon. Although a miner calculates an
hour lost as so much money out of his pocket, yet all were interested in
supporting the laws of the diggings; and about a hundred men presented
themselves at the appointed time. The two opposing parties then, having
tossed up for the first pick, chose six jurymen each from the assembled
crowd.

When the jury had squatted themselves all together in an exalted
position on a heap of stones and dirt, one of the plaintiffs, as
spokesman for his party, made a very pithy speech, calling several
witnesses to prove his statements, and citing many of the laws of the
diggings in support of his claims. The defendants followed in the same
manner, making the most of their case; while the general public, sitting
in groups on the different heaps of stones piled up between the holes
with which the ground was honeycombed, smoked their pipes and watched
the proceedings.

After the plaintiff and defendant had said all they had to say about it,
the jury examined the state of the ground in dispute; they then called
some more witnesses to give further information, and having laid their
shaggy heads together for a few minutes, they pronounced their decision;
which was, that the men working on the race should be allowed six days
to work out their claims before the water should be turned in upon them.

Neither party was particularly well pleased with the verdict--a pretty
good sign that it was an impartial one; but they had to abide by it, for
had there been any resistance on either side, the rest of the miners
would have enforced the decision of this august tribunal. From it there
was no appeal; a jury of miners was the highest court known, and I must
say I never saw a court of justice with so little humbug about it.

The laws of the creek, as was the case in all the various diggings in
the mines, were made at meetings of miners held for the purpose. They
were generally very few and simple. They defined how many feet of ground
one man was entitled to hold in a ravine--how much in the bank, and in
the bed of the creek; how many such claims he could hold at a time; and
how long he could absent himself from his claim without forfeiting it.
They declared what was necessary to be done in taking up and securing a
claim which, for want of water, or from any other cause, could not be
worked at the time; and they also provided for various contingencies
incidental to the peculiar nature of the diggings.

Of course, like other laws they required constant revision and
amendment, to suit the progress of the times; and a few weeks after this
trial, a meeting was held one Sunday afternoon for legislative
purposes. The miners met in front of the store to the number of about
two hundred; a very respectable-looking old chap was called to the
chair; but for want of that article of furniture he mounted an empty
pork-barrel, which gave him a commanding position; another man was
appointed secretary, who placed his writing materials on some empty
boxes piled up alongside of the chair. The chairman then, addressing the
crowd, told them the object for which the meeting had been called, and
said he would be happy to hear any gentleman who had any remarks to
offer; whereupon some one proposed an amendment of the law relating to a
certain description of claim, arguing the point in a very neat speech.
He was duly seconded, and there was some slight opposition and
discussion; but when the chairman declared it carried by the ayes, no
one called for a division, so the secretary wrote it all down, and it
became law.

Two or three other acts were passed, and when the business was
concluded, a vote of thanks to the chairman was passed for his able
conduct on the top of the pork-barrel. The meeting was then declared to
be dissolved, and accordingly dribbled into the store, where the
legislators, in small detachments, pledged each other in cocktails as
fast as the storekeeper could mix them. While the legislature was in
session, however, everything was conducted with the utmost formality,
for Americans of all classes are particularly _au fait_ at the ordinary
routine of public meetings.

After working our claim for a few weeks, my partner left me to go to
another part of the mines, and I joined two Americans in buying a claim
five or six miles up the creek. It was supposed to be very rich, and we
had to pay a long price for it accordingly, although the men who had
taken it up, and from whom we bought it, had not yet even prospected the
ground. But the adjoining claims were being worked, and yielding
largely, and from the position of ours, it was looked on as an equally
good one.

There was a great deal to be done, before it could be worked, in the way
of removing rocks and turning the water; and as three of us were not
sufficient to work the place properly, we hired four men to assist us,
at the usual wages of five dollars a-day. It took about a fortnight to
get the claim into order before we could begin washing, but we then
found that our labor had not been expended in vain, for it paid
uncommonly well.

When I bought this claim, I had to give up my cabin, as the distance was
so great, and I now camped with my partners close to our claim, where we
had erected a brush house. This is a very comfortable kind of abode in
summer, and does not cost an hour’s labor to erect. Four uprights are
stuck in the ground, and connected with cross pieces, on which are laid
heaps of leafy brushwood, making a roof completely impervious to the
rays of the sun. Sometimes three sides are filled in with a basketwork
of brush, which gives the edifice a more compact and comfortable
appearance. Very frequently a brush shed of this sort was erected over a
tent, for the thin material of which tents were usually made offered but
poor shelter from the burning sun.

When I left my cabin, I handed it over to a young man who had arrived
very lately in the country, and had just come up to the mines. On
meeting him a few days afterwards, and asking him how he liked his new
abode, he told me that the first night of his occupation he had not
slept a wink, and had kept candles burning till daylight, being afraid
to go to sleep on account of the rats.

Rats, indeed! poor fellow! I should think there were a few rats, but the
cabin was not worse in that respect than any other in the mines. The
rats were most active colonizers. Hardly was a cabin built in the most
out-of-the-way part of the mountains, before a large family of rats made
themselves at home in it, imparting a humanized and inhabited air to the
place. They are not supposed to be indigenous to the country. They are a
large black species, which I believe those who are learned in rats call
the Hamburg breed. Occasionally a pure white one is seen, but more
frequently in the cities than in the mines; they are probably the hoary
old patriarchs, and not a distinct species.[2]

They are very destructive, and are such notorious thieves, carrying off
letters, newspapers, handkerchiefs, and things of that sort, with which
to make their nests, that I soon acquired a habit, which is common
enough in the mines, of always ramming my stockings tightly into the
toes of my boots, putting my neckerchief into my pocket, and otherwise
securing all such matters before turning in at night. One took these
precautions just as naturally, and as much as a matter of course, as
when at sea one fixes things in such manner that they shall not fetch
way with the motion of the ship. As in civilized life a man winds up
his watch and puts it under his pillow before going to bed; so in the
mines, when turning in, one just as instinctively sets to work to
circumvent the rats in the manner described, and, taking off his
revolver, lays it under his pillow, or at least under the coat or boots,
or whatever he rests his head on.

I believe there are individuals who faint or go into hysterics if a cat
happens to be in the same room with them. Any one having a like
antipathy to rats had better keep as far away from California as
possible, especially from the mines. The inhabitants generally, however,
have no such prejudices; it is a free country--as free to rats as to
Chinamen; they increase and multiply and settle on the land very much as
they please, eating up your flour, and running over you when you are
asleep, without ceremony.

No one thinks it worth while to kill individual rats--the abstract fact
of their existence remains the same; you might as well wage war upon
mosquitoes. I often shot rats, but it was for the sport, not for the
mere object of killing them. Rat-shooting is capital sport, and is
carried on in this wise: The most favorable place for it is a log cabin
in which the chinks have not been filled up, so that there is a space of
two or three inches between the logs; and the season is a moonlight
night. Then when you lie down for the night (it would be absurd to call
it “going to bed” in the mines), you have your revolver charged, and
plenty of ammunition at hand. The lights are of course put out, and the
cabin is in darkness; but the rats have a fashion of running along the
tops of the logs, and occasionally standing still, showing clearly
against the moonlight outside; then is your time to draw a bead upon
them and knock them over--if you can. But it takes a good shot to do
much at this sort of work, and a man who kills two or three brace before
going to sleep has had a very splendid night’s shooting.




CHAPTER IX

GOLD IS WHERE YOU FIND IT


We worked our claim very successfully for about six weeks, when the
creek at last became so dry that we had not water enough to run our long
tom, and the claim was rendered for the present unavailable. It, of
course, remained good to us for next season; but as I had no idea of
being there to work it, I sold out my interest to my partners, and,
throwing mining to the dogs, I broke out in a fresh place altogether.

I had always been in the habit of amusing myself by sketching in my
leisure moments, especially in the middle of the day, for an hour or so
after dinner, when all hands were taking a rest--“nooning,” as the
miners call it--lying in the shade, in the full enjoyment of their
pipes, or taking a nap. My sketches were much sought after, and on
Sundays I was beset by men begging me to do something for them. Every
man wanted a sketch of his claim, or his cabin, or some spot with which
he identified himself; and as they offered to pay very handsomely, I was
satisfied that I could make paper and pencil much more profitable tools
to work with than pick and shovel.

My new pursuit had the additional attraction of affording me an
opportunity of gratifying the desire which I had long felt of wandering
over the mines, and seeing all the various kinds of diggings, and the
strange specimens of human nature to be found in them.

I sent to Sacramento for a fresh supply of drawing-paper, for which I
had only to pay the moderate sum of two dollars and a half (ten
shillings sterling) a sheet; and finding my old brother-miners very
liberal patrons of the fine arts, I remained some time in the
neighborhood actively engaged with my pencil.

I then had occasion to return to Hangtown. On my arrival there, I went
as usual to the cabin of my friend the doctor, which I found in a pretty
mess. The ground on which some of the houses were built had turned out
exceedingly rich; and thinking that he might be as lucky as his
neighbors, the doctor had got a party of six miners to work the inside
of his cabin on half shares. He was to have half the gold taken out, as
the rights of property in any sort of house or habitation in the mines
extend to the mineral wealth below it. In his cabin were two large
holes, six feet square and about seven deep; in each of these were three
miners, picking and shoveling, or washing the dirt in rockers with the
water pumped out of the holes. When one place had been worked out, the
dirt was all shoveled back into the hole, and another one commenced
alongside of it. They took about a fortnight in this way to work all the
floor of the cabin, and found it very rich.

There was a young Southerner in Hangtown at this time, who had brought
one of his slaves with him to California. They worked and lived
together, master and man sharing equally the labors and hardships of the
mines.

One night the slave dreamed that they had been working the inside of a
certain cabin in the street, and had taken out a great pile of gold. He
told his master in the morning, but neither of them thought much of it,
as such golden dreams are by no means uncommon among the miners. A few
nights afterwards, however, he had precisely the same dream, and was so
convinced that their fortune lay waiting for them under this particular
cabin, that he succeeded at last in persuading his master to believe it
also. The master said nothing to any one about the dream, but made some
pretext for wishing to become the owner of the cabin, and finally
succeeded in buying it. He and his slave immediately moved in, and set
to work digging up the earthen floor, and the dream proved to be so far
true that before they had worked all the ground they had taken out
twenty thousand dollars.

There were many slaves in various parts of the mines working with their
masters, and I knew frequent instances of their receiving their freedom.
Some slaves I have also seen left in the mines by their masters, working
faithfully to make money enough wherewith to buy themselves. Of course,
as California is a free State, a slave, when once taken there by his
master, became free by law; but no man would bring a slave to the
country unless one on whose fidelity he could depend.

Niggers, in some parts of the mines, were pretty numerous, though by no
means forming so large a proportion of the population as in the Atlantic
States. As miners they were proverbially lucky, but they were also
inveterate gamblers, and did not long remain burdened with their
unwonted riches.

In the mines the Americans seemed to exhibit more tolerance of negro
blood than is usual in the States--not that negroes were allowed to sit
at table with white men, or considered to be at all on an equality, but,
owing partly to the exigencies of the unsettled state of society, and
partly, no doubt, to the important fact that a nigger’s dollars were as
good as any others, the Americans overcame their prejudices so far that
negroes were permitted to lose their money in the gambling rooms; and in
the less frequented drinking-shops they might be seen receiving drink at
the hands of white bar-keepers. In a town or camp of any size there was
always a “nigger boarding-house,” kept, of course, by a darky, for the
special accommodation of colored people; but in places where there was
no such institution, or at wayside houses, when a negro wanted
accommodation, he waited till the company had finished their meal and
left the table before he ventured to sit down. I have often, on such
occasions, seen the white waiter, or the landlord, when he filled that
office himself, serving a nigger with what he wanted without apparently
doing any violence to his feelings.

A very striking proof was seen, in this matter of waiting, of the
revolution which California life caused in the feelings and occupations
of the inhabitants. The Americans have an intense feeling of repugnance
to any kind of menial service, and consider waiting at table as quite
degrading to a free and enlightened citizen. In the United States there
is hardly such a thing to be found as a native-born American waiting at
table. Such service is always performed by negroes, Irishmen, or
Germans; but in California, in the mines at least, it was very
different. The almighty dollar exerted a still more powerful influence
than in the old States, for it overcame all pre-existing false notions
of dignity. The principle was universally admitted, and acted on, that
no honest occupation was derogatory, and no questions of dignity
interfered to prevent a man from employing himself in any way by which
it suited his convenience to make his money. It was nothing uncommon to
see men of refinement and education keeping restaurants or roadside
houses, and waiting on any ragamuffin who chose to patronize them, with
as much _empressement_ as an English waiter who expects his customary
coppers. But as no one considered himself demeaned by his occupation,
neither was there any assumption of a superiority which was not allowed
to exist; and whatever were their relative positions, men treated each
other with an equal amount of deference.

After being detained a few days in Hangtown waiting for letters from San
Francisco, I set out for Nevada City, about seventy miles north,
intending from there to travel up the Yuba River, and see what was to be
seen in that part of the mines.

My way lay through Middletown, the scene of my former mining exploits,
and from that through a small village, called Cold Springs, to Caloma,
the place where gold was first discovered. It lies at the base of high
mountains, on the south fork of the American River. There were a few
very neat well-painted houses in the village; but as the diggings in
the neighborhood were not particularly good, there was little life or
animation about the place; in fact, it was the dullest mining town in
the whole country.

The first discovery of gold was accidentally made at this spot by some
workmen in the employment of Colonel Sutter, while digging a race to
convey water to a saw-mill. Colonel Sutter, a Swiss by birth, had, some
years before, penetrated to California, and there established himself.
The fort which he built for protection against the Indians, and in which
he resided, is situated a few miles from where Sacramento City now
stands.

I dined at Caloma, and proceeded on my way, having a stiff hill to climb
to gain the high land lying between me and the middle fork of the
American River. Crossing the rivers is the most laborious part of
California traveling; they flow so far below the average level of the
country, which, though exceedingly rough and hilly, is comparatively
easy to travel; but on coming to the brink of this high land, and
looking down upon the river thousands of feet below one, the summit of
the opposite side appears almost nearer than the river itself, and one
longs for the loan of a pair of wings for a few moments to save the toil
of descending so far, and having again to climb an equal height to gain
such an apparently short distance.

Some miles from Caloma is a very pretty place called Greenwood Valley--a
long, narrow, winding valley, with innumerable ravines running into it
from the low hills on each side. For several miles I traveled down this
valley: the bed of the creek which flowed through it, and all the
ravines, had been dug up, and numbers of cabins stood on the hillsides;
but at this season the creek was completely dry, and consequently no
mining operations could be carried on. The cabins were all tenantless,
and the place looked more desolate than if its solitude had never been
disturbed by man.

At the lower end of Greenwood Valley was a small village of the same
name, consisting of half-a-dozen cabins, two or three stores, and a
hotel. While stopping here for the night, I enjoyed a great treat in the
perusal of a number of late newspapers--among others the _Illustrated
News_, containing accounts of the Great Exhibition. In the mines one was
apt to get sadly behind in modern history. The express men in the towns
made a business of selling editions of the leading papers of the United
States, containing the news of the fortnight, and expressly got up for
circulation in California. Of these the most popular with northern men
was the _New York Herald_, and with the southerners the _New Orleans
Delta_. The _Illustrated News_ was also a great favorite, being usually
sold at a dollar, while other papers only fetched half that price. But
unless one happened to be in some town or village when the mail from the
States arrived, there was little chance of ever seeing a paper, as they
were all bought up immediately.

I struck the middle fork of the American River at a place called Spanish
Bar. The scenery was very grand. Looking down on the river from the
summit of the range, it seemed a mere thread winding along the deep
chasm formed by the mountains, which were so steep that the pine trees
clinging to their sides looked as though they would slip down into the
river. The face of the mountain by which I descended was covered with a
perfect trellis-work of zigzag trails, so that I could work my way down
by long or short tacks as I felt inclined. On the mountain on the
opposite side I could see the faint line of the trail which I had to
follow; it did not look by any means inviting; and I was thankful that,
for the present at any rate, I was going downhill. Walking down a long
hill, however, so steep that one dare not run, though not quite such
hard work at the time as climbing up, is equally fatiguing in its
results, as it shakes one’s knees all to pieces.

I reached the river at last, and crossing over in a canoe, landed on the
“Bar.”

What they call a Bar in California is the flat which is usually found on
the convex side of a bend in a river. Such places have nearly always
proved very rich, that being the side on which any deposit carried down
by the river will naturally lodge, while the opposite bank is generally
steep and precipitous, and contains little or no gold. Indeed, there are
not many exceptions to the rule that, in a spot where one bank of a
river affords good diggings, the other side is not worth working.

The largest camps or villages on the rivers are on the bars, and take
their name from them.

The nomenclature of the mines is not very choice or elegant. The rivers
all retain the names given to them by the Spaniards, but every little
creek, flat, and ravine, besides of course the towns and villages which
have been called into existence, have received their names at the hands
of the first one or two miners who have happened to strike the diggings.
The individual pioneer has seldom shown much invention or originality
in his choice of a name; in most cases he has either immortalized his
own by tacking “ville” or “town” to the end of it, or has more modestly
chosen the name of some place in his native State; but a vast number of
places have been absurdly named from some trifling incident connected
with their first settlement; such as Shirt Tail Cañon, Whisky Gulch,
Port Wine Diggins, Humbug Flat, Murderer’s Bar, Flapjack Cañon, Yankee
Jim’s, Jackass Gulch, and hundreds of others with equally ridiculous
names.

Spanish Bar was about half a mile in length, and three or four hundred
yards wide. The whole place was honeycombed with the holes in which the
miners were at work; all the trees had been cut down, and there was
nothing but the red shirts of the miners to relieve the dazzling
whiteness of the heaps of stones and gravel which reflected the fierce
rays of the sun and made the extreme heat doubly severe.

At the foot of the mountain, as if they had been pushed back as far as
possible off the diggings, stood a row of booths and tents, most of them
of a very ragged and worn-out appearance. I made for the one which
looked most imposing--a canvas edifice, which, from the huge sign all
along the front, assumed to be the “United States” Hotel. It was not far
from twelve o’clock, the universal dinner-hour in the mines; so I
lighted my pipe, and lay down in the shade to compose myself for the
great event.

The American system of using hotels as regular boarding-houses prevails
also in California. The hotels in the mines are really boarding-houses,
for it is on the number of their boarders they depend. The transient
custom of travelers is merely incidental. The average rate of board per
week at these institutions was twelve or fifteen dollars, and the charge
for a single meal was a dollar, or a dollar and a half.

The “United States” seemed to have a pretty good run of business. As the
hour of noon (feeding time) approached, the miners began to congregate
in the bar-room; many of them took advantage of the few minutes before
dinner to play cards, while the rest looked on, or took gin cocktails to
whet their appetites. At last there could not have been less than sixty
or seventy miners assembled in the bar-room, which was a small canvas
enclosure about twenty feet square. On one side was a rough wooden door
communicating with the _salle à manger_; to get as near to this as
possible was the great object, and there was a press against it like
that at the pit door of a theatre on a benefit night.

As twelve o’clock struck the door was drawn aside, displaying the
banqueting hall, an apartment somewhat larger than the bar-room, and
containing two long tables well supplied with fresh beef, potatoes,
beans, pickles, and salt pork. As soon as the door was opened there was
a shout, a rush, a scramble, and a loud clatter of knives and forks, and
in the course of a very few minutes fifty or sixty men had finished
their dinner. Of course many more rushed into the dining-room than could
find seats, and the disappointed ones came out again looking rather
foolish, but they “guessed there would be plenty to eat at the second
table.”

Having had some experience of such places, I had intended being one of
the second detachment myself, and so I guessed likewise that there
would be plenty to eat at the second table, and “cal’lated” also that I
would have more time to eat it in than at the first.

We were not kept long waiting. In an incredibly short space of time the
company began to return to the bar-room, some still masticating a
mouthful of food, others picking their teeth with their fingers, or with
sharp-pointed bowie-knives, and the rest, with a most provokingly
complacent expression about their eyes, making horrible motions with
their jaws, as if they were wiping out their mouths with their tongues,
determined to enjoy the last lingering after-taste of the good things
they had been eating--rather a disgusting process to a spectator at any
time, but particularly aggravating to hungry men waiting for their
dinner.

When they had all left the dining-room, the door was again closed while
the table was being relaid. In the meantime there had been constant
fresh arrivals, and there were now almost as many waiting for the second
table as there had been for the first. A crowd very quickly began to
collect round the door, and I saw that to dine at number two, as I had
intended, I must enter into the spirit of the thing; so I elbowed my way
into the crowd, and secured a pretty good position behind a tall
Kentuckian, who I knew would clear the way before me. Very soon the door
was opened, when in we rushed pell-mell. I labored under the
disadvantage of not knowing the diggings; being a stranger, I did not
know the lay of the tables, or whereabouts the joints were placed; but
immediately on entering I caught sight of a good-looking roast of beef
at the far end of one of the tables, at which I made a desperate
charge. I was not so green as to lose time in trying to get my legs over
the bench and sit down, and in so doing perhaps be crowded out
altogether; but I seized a knife and fork, with which I took firm hold
of my prize, and occupying as much space as possible with my elbows, I
gradually insinuated myself into my seat. Without letting go the beef, I
then took a look round, and had the gratification of seeing about a
dozen men leaving the room, with a most ludicrous expression of
disappointment and hope long deferred. I have no doubt that when they
got into the bar-room they guessed there would be lots to eat at table
number three; I hope there was. I know there was plenty at number two;
but it was a “grab game”--every man for himself. If I had depended on
the waiter getting me a slice of roast beef, I should have had the
hungry number threes down upon me before I had commenced my dinner.

Good-humor, however, was the order of the day; conversation, of course,
was out of the question; but if you asked a man to pass you a dish, he
did do so with pleasure, devoting one hand to your service, while with
his knife or fork, as it might be, in the other, he continued to convey
the contents of his plate to their ultimate destination. I must say that
a knife was a favorite weapon with my _convives_, and in wielding it
they displayed considerable dexterity, using it to feed themselves with
such things as most people would eat with a spoon, if eating for a
wager, or with a fork if only eating for ordinary purposes.

After dinner a smart-looking young gentleman opened a monte bank in the
bar-room, laying out five or six hundred dollars on the table as his
bank. For half an hour or so he did a good business, when the miners
began to drop off to resume their work.




CHAPTER X

URSUS HORRIBILIS


I made inquiries as to my route, and found that the first habitation I
should reach was a ranch called the Grizzly-Bear House, about fifteen
miles off. The trail had been well traveled, and I had little difficulty
in finding my way. After a few hours’ walking, I was beginning to think
that the fifteen miles must be nearly up; and as I heard an occasional
crack of a rifle, I felt pretty sure I was getting near the end of my
journey.

The ground undulated like the surface of the ocean after a heavy gale of
wind, and as I rose over the top of one of the waves, I got a glimpse of
a log cabin a few hundred yards ahead of me, which, seen through the
lofty colonnade of stately pines, appeared no bigger than a rat-trap.

As I approached, I found it was the Grizzly-Bear House. There could be
no mistake about it, for a strip of canvas, on which “The Grizzly-Bear
House” was painted in letters a foot and a half high, was stretched
along the front of the cabin over the door; and that there might be no
doubt as to the meaning of this announcement, the idea was further
impressed upon one by the skin of an enormous grizzly bear, which,
spread out upon the wall, seemed to be taking the whole house into its
embrace.

I found half-a-dozen men standing before the door, amusing themselves by
shooting at a mark with their rifles. The distance was only about a
hundred yards, but even at that distance, when it comes to hitting a
card nailed to a pine-tree nine times out of ten, it is pretty good
shooting.

Before dark, four or five other travelers arrived, and about a dozen of
us sat down to supper together. The house was nothing more than a large
log cabin. At one end was the bar, a narrow board three feet long,
behind which were two or three decanters and some kegs of liquor, a few
cigars in tumblers, some odd bottles of champagne, and a box of tobacco.

A couple of benches and a table occupied the center of the house, and
sacks of flour and other provisions stood in the corners. Out in the
forest, behind the cabin, was a cooking-stove, with a sort of awning
over it. This was the kitchen; and certainly the cook could not complain
of want of room; but, judging from our supper, he was not called upon to
go through any very difficult maneuvers in the practice of his art. He
knocked off his rifle practice about half an hour before supper to go
and light the kitchen fire, and the fruits of his subsequent labors
appeared in a large potful of tea and a lot of beefsteaks. The bread was
uncommonly stale, from which I presumed that, when he did bake, he baked
enough to last for about a week.

After supper, every man lighted his pipe, and though all were
sufficiently talkative, the attention of the whole party became very
soon monopolized by two individuals, who were decidedly the lions of the
evening. One of them was a man from Illinois, who had been in the
Mexican war, and who no doubt thought he might have been a General
Scott, if he had only had the opportunity of distinguishing himself. He
commented on the tactics of the generals as if he knew more of warfare
than any of them; and the awful yarns he told of how he and the American
army had whipped the Mexicans, and given them “particular hell,” as he
called it, was enough to make a civilian’s hair stand on end. Some of
his hearers swallowed every word he said, without even making a wry face
at it; but as he tried to make out that all the victories were gained by
the Illinois regiment, in which he served as full private, two or three
of the party, who knew something of the history of the war, and came
from other States of the Union, had no idea of letting Illinois have all
the glory of the achievements, and disputed the correctness of his
statements. Illinois, however, was too many for them; he was not to be
stumped in that way; he had a stock of authentic facts on hand for any
emergency, with which he corroborated all his previous assertions. The
resistance he met with only stimulated him to greater efforts, and the
more one of his facts was doubted, the more incredible was the next;
till at last he detailed his confidential conversations with General
Taylor, and made himself out to be a sort of a fellow who swept Mexicans
off the face of the earth as a common man would kill mosquitoes.

He did not have all the talking to himself, however. One of the men who
kept the house was a bear-hunter by profession, and he had not hunted
grizzlies for nothing. He had tales to tell of desperate encounters and
hairbreadth escapes, to which the adventures of Baron Munchausen were
not a circumstance. He was a dry stringy-looking man, with light hair
and keen gray eyes. His features were rather handsome, and he had a
pleasing expression; but he was so dried up and tanned by exposure and
the hard life he led, that his face conveyed no idea of flesh. One would
rather have expected, on cutting into him, to find that he was composed
of gutta-percha, or something of that sort, and only colored on the
outside. He and Illinois listened to each other’s stories with silent
contempt; in fact, they pretended not to listen at all, but at the same
time each watched intently for the slightest halt in the other’s
narrative; and while the Illinois man was only taking breath during some
desperate struggle with the Mexicans, the hunter in a moment plunged
right into the middle of a bear-story, and was half eaten up by a
grizzly before we knew what he was talking about; and as soon as ever
that bear was disposed of, Illinois immediately went on with his story
as if he had never been interrupted.

The hunter had rather the best of it; his yarns were uncommonly tough
and hard of digestion, but there were no historical facts on record to
bring against him. He had it all his own way, for the only witnesses of
his exploits were the grizzlies, and he always managed to dispose of
them very effectually by finishing their career along with his story. He
showed several scars on different parts of his gutta-percha person which
he received from the paws of the grizzlies, and he was not the sort of
customer whose veracity one would care to question, especially as
implicit faith so much increased one’s interest in his adventures. One
man nearly got into a scrape by laughing at the most thrilling part of
one of his best stories. After firing twice at a bear without effect,
the bear, infuriated by the balls planted in his carcass, was rushing
upon him. He took to flight, and, loading as he ran, he turned and put a
ball into the bear’s left eye. The bear winked a good deal, but did not
seem to mind it much--he only increased his pace; so the hunter, loading
again, turned round and put a ball into his right eye; whereupon the
bear, now winking considerably with both eyes, put his nose to the
ground, and began to run him down by scent. At this critical moment, a
great stupid-looking lout, who had been sitting all night with his eyes
and mouth wide open, sucking in and swallowing everything that was said,
had the temerity to laugh incredulously. The hunter flared up in a
moment. “What are you a-laafin’ at?” he said. “D’ye mean to say I lie?”

“Oh,” said the other, “if you say it was so, I suppose it’s all right;
you ought to know best. But I warn’t laafin’ at you; I was laafin’ at
the bar.”

“What do you know about bars?” said the hunter, “Did you ever kill a
bar?”

The poor fellow had never killed a “bar,” so the hunter snuffed him out
with a look of utter contempt and pity, and went on triumphantly with
his story, which ended in his getting up a tree, where he sat and
peppered the bear as it went smelling round the stump, till it at last
fell mortally wounded, with I don’t know how many balls in its body.

The grizzlies are the commonest kind of bear found in California, and
are very large animals, weighing sometimes sixteen or eighteen hundred
pounds.[3]

Hunting them is rather dangerous sport, as they are extremely tenacious
of life, and when wounded invariably show fight. But unless molested
they do not often attack a man; in fact, they are hardly ever seen on
the trails during the day. At night, however, they prowl about, and
carry off whatever comes in their way. They had walked off with a young
calf from this ranch the night before, and the hunter was going out the
next day to wreak his vengeance upon them. A grizzly is well worth
killing, as he fetches a hundred dollars or more, according to his
weight. The meat is excellent, but it needs to be well spiced, for in
process of cooking it becomes saturated with bear’s grease. In the
mines, however, pomatum is an article unknown, and so no unpleasantly
greasy ideas occur to one while dining off a good piece of grizzly bear.

About ten o’clock, at the conclusion of a bear story, there was a
general move towards one corner of the cabin where there were a lot of
rifles, and where every man had thrown his roll of blankets. The floor
was swept, and each one, choosing his own location, spread his blankets
and lay down. Some slept in their boots, while others took them off, to
put under their heads by way of pillows. I was one of the latter number,
being rather partial to pillows; and selecting a spot for my head, where
it would be as far from other heads as possible, I lay down, and
stretching out my feet promiscuously, I was very soon in the land of
dreams, where I went through the whole Mexican campaign, and killed more
“bars” than ever the hunter had seen in his life.

People do not lie abed in the morning in California; perhaps they would
not anywhere, if they had no better beds than we had; so before daylight
there was a general resurrection, and a very general ablution was
performed in a tin basin which stood on a keg outside the cabin,
alongside of which was a barrel of water. Over the basin hung a very
small looking-glass, in which one could see one eye at a time; and
attached to it by a long string was a comb for the use of those
gentlemen who did not travel with their dressing-cases.

Some of the party, the warrior among the number, commenced the day by
taking a gin cocktail, the hunter acting as bar-keeper, while his
partner the cook, who had been up an hour before any of us, chopping
wood and lighting a fire, was laying the table for breakfast.

Breakfast was an affair of but very few moments, and as soon as it was
over, I set out in company with three or four of the party, who were
going the same way.

We crossed the north fork of the American River at Kelly’s Bar, a very
rocky little place, covered with a number of dilapidated tents. We had
the usual mountains to descend and ascend in crossing the river, but on
gaining the summit we found ourselves again in a beautiful rolling
country. Not far from the river was a very romantic little place called
Illinoistown, consisting of three shanties and a saw-mill. The pine
trees in the neighborhood were of an enormous size, and were being fast
converted into lumber, which was in great demand for various mining
operations, and sold at 120 dollars per thousand feet. We fared
sumptuously on stewed squirrels at a solitary shanty in the forest a few
miles farther on.

These little wayside inns, or “ranches,” as they are usually called in
the mines, are generally situated in a spot which offers some
capabilities of cultivation, and where water, the great desideratum in
the mountains, is to be had all the year. The owners employ themselves
in fencing-in and clearing the land, and by degrees give the place an
appearance of comfort and civilization. One finds such places in all the
different stages of improvement, from a small tent or log cabin, with
the wild forest around it as yet undisturbed, to good frame houses with
two or three rooms, a boarded floor, and windows, and surrounded by
several acres of cleared land under cultivation.

Oats and barley are the principal crops raised in the mountains. In some
of the little valleys a species of wild oats, which makes excellent hay,
grows very luxuriantly. In passing through one such place, where the
grasshoppers were in clouds, we found a number of Indian squaws catching
them with small nets attached to a short stick, in the style of an
angler’s landing-net. I believe they bruise them and knead them into a
paste, somewhat of the consistency of potted shrimps; it may be as
palatable also, but I cannot speak from experience on that point. My
companions, as we traveled on, branched off one by one to their
respective destinations, and I was again alone when I got to the ranch
where I intended to pass the night. It was somewhat the same style of
thing as the Grizzly-Bear House, but the house was larger, and the
accommodation more luxurious, inasmuch as we had canvas bunks or shelves
to sleep upon.

I went on next day along with a young miner from Georgia, who was also
bound for Nevada. We dined at a place where we crossed Bear River; and a
villainous bad dinner it was--nothing but bad salt pork, bad pickled
onions, and bad bread.

On resuming our journey, we were joined by a man who said he always
liked to have company on that road. Several robberies and murders had
been committed on it of late, and he very kindly pointed out to us, as
we passed it, the exact spot where, a few days before, one man had been
shot through the head, and another through the hat. One was robbed of
seventy-five cents, the other of eight hundred dollars.

It was a very romantic place, and well calculated for the operations of
the gentlemen of the road, being a little hollow darkened by the
spreading branches of a grove of oak trees; the underwood was thick and
very high, and as the trail twisted round trees and bushes, a traveler
could not see more than a few feet before or behind him. We had our
revolvers in readiness; but I was not very apprehensive, as three men,
all showing pistols in their belts, are rather more than those ruffians
generally care to tackle.

We arrived at Nevada City between five and six o’clock, when I took a
look round to find the most likely place for a good supper, being
particularly ravenous after the long walk and the salt-pork dinner. I
found a house bearing the sign of “Hotel de Paris,” and my choice was
made at once. As I had half an hour to wait for supper, I strolled about
the town to see what sort of a place it was. It is beautifully situated
on the hills bordering a small creek, and had once been surrounded by a
forest of magnificent pine trees, which, however, had been made to
become useful instead of ornamental, and nothing now remained to show
that they had existed but the numbers of stumps all over the hillsides.
The bed of the creek, which had once flowed past the town, was now
choked up with heaps of “tailings”--the washed dirt from which the gold
has been extracted--the white color of the dirt rendering it still more
unsightly. All the water of the creek was distributed among a number of
small troughs, carried along the steep banks on either side at different
elevations, for the purpose of supplying various quartz-mills and long
toms.

The town itself--or, I should say, the “City,” for from the moment of
its birth it has been called Nevada City--is, like all mining towns, a
mixture of staring white frame houses, dingy old canvas booths, and log
cabins.

The only peculiarity about the miners was the white mud with which they
were bespattered, especially those working in underground diggings, who
were easily distinguished by the quantity of dry white mud on the tops
of their hats.

The supper at the Hotel de Paris was the best-got-up thing of the kind I
had sat down to for some months. We began with soup--rather flimsy
stuff, but pretty good--then _bouilli_, followed by _filet-de-bœuf_,
with cabbage, carrots, turnips, and onions; after that came what the
landlord called a “god-dam rosbif,” with green peas, and the whole wound
up with a salad of raw cabbage, a cup of good coffee, and cognac. I did
impartial justice to every department, and rose from the table
powerfully refreshed.

The company were nearly all French miners, among whom was a young
Frenchman whom I had known in San Francisco, and whom I hardly
recognized in his miner’s costume.

We passed the evening together in some of the gambling-rooms, where we
heard pretty good music; and as there were no sleeping quarters to be
had at the house where I dined, I went to an American hotel close to it.
It was in the usual style of a boarding-house in the mines, but it was a
three-decker. All round the large sleeping apartment were three tiers of
canvas shelves, partitioned into spaces six feet long, on one of which I
laid myself out, choosing the top tier in case of accidents.

Next door was a large thin wooden building, in which a theatrical
company were performing. They were playing Richard, and I could hear
every word as distinctly as if I had been in the stage-box. I could even
fancy I saw King Dick rolling his eyes about like a man in a fit, when
he shouted for “A horse! a horse!” The fight between Richard and
Richmond was a very tame affair; they hit hard while they were at it,
but it was too soon over. It was one-two, one-two, a thrust, and down
went Dick. I heard him fall, and could hear him afterwards gasping for
breath and scuffling about on the stage in his dying agonies.

After King Richard was disposed of, the orchestra, which seemed to
consist of two fiddles, favored us with a very miscellaneous piece of
music. There was then an interlude performed by the audience, hooting,
yelling, whistling, and stamping their feet; and that being over, the
curtain rose, and we had Bombastes Furioso. It was very creditably
performed, but, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, it did not
sound to me nearly so absurd as the tragedy.

Some half-dozen men, the only occupants of the room besides myself, had
been snoring comfortably all through the performances, and now about a
dozen more came in and rolled themselves on to their respective shelves.
They had been at the theater, but I am sure they had not enjoyed it so
much as I did.




CHAPTER XI

ON THE TRAIL


In this part of the country the pine trees are of an immense size, and
of every variety. The most graceful is what is called the “sugar pine.”
It is perfectly straight and cylindrical, with a comparatively smooth
bark, and, till about four-fifths of its height from the ground, without
a branch or even a twig. The branches then spread straight out from the
stem, drooping a good deal at the extremities from the weight of the
immense cones which they bear. These are about a foot and a half long,
and under each leaf is a seed the size of a cherrystone, which has a
taste even sweeter than that of a filbert. The Indians are very fond of
them, and make the squaws gather them for winter food.

A peculiarity of the pine trees in California is that the bark, from
within eight or ten feet of the ground up to where the branches
commence, is completely riddled with holes, such as might be made with
musket-balls. They are, however, the work of the woodpeckers, who, like
the Indians, are largely interested in the acorn crop. They are
constantly making these holes, in each of which they stow away an acorn,
leaving it as tightly wedged in as though it were driven in with a
sledge-hammer.

There were several quartz veins in the neighborhood of Nevada, some of
which were very rich, and yielded a large amount of gold; but, generally
speaking, they were so unscientifically and unprofitably worked that
they turned out complete failures.

Quartz mining is a scientific operation, of which many of those who
undertook to work the veins had no knowledge whatever, nor had they
sufficient capital to carry on such a business. The cost of erecting
crushing-mills, and of getting the necessary iron castings from San
Francisco, was very great. A vast deal of labor had to be gone through
in opening the mine before any returns could be received; and, moreover,
the method then adopted of crushing the quartz and extracting the gold
was so defective that not more than one half of it was saved.

There is a variety of diggings here, but the richest are deep diggings
in the hills above the town, and are worked by means of shafts, or
coyote holes, as they are called. In order to reach the gold-bearing
dirt, these shafts have to be sunk to the depth of nearly a hundred
feet, which requires the labor of at least two men for a month or six
weeks; and when they have got down to the bottom, perhaps they may find
nothing to repay them for their perseverance.

The miners always calculate their own labor at five dollars a day for
every day they work, that being the usual wages for hired labor; and if
a man, after working for a month in sinking a hole, finds no paydirt at
the bottom of it, he sets himself down as a loser of a hundred and fifty
dollars.

They make up heavy bills of losses against themselves in this way, but
still there are plenty of men who prefer devoting themselves to this
speculative style of digging, in hopes of eventually striking a rich
lead, to working steadily at surface diggings, which would yield them,
day by day, sure though moderate pay.

But mining of any description is more or less uncertain, and any man
“hiring out,” as it is termed, steadily throughout the year, and
pocketing his five dollars a day, would find at the end of the year that
he had done as well, perhaps, as the average of miners working on their
own hook, who spend a considerable portion of their time in prospecting,
and frequently, in order to work a claim which may afford them a month’s
actual washing, have to spend as long a time in stripping off top-dirt,
digging ditches, or performing other necessary labor to get their claim
into working order; so that the daily amount of gold which a man may
happen to be taking out, is not to be taken in itself as the measure of
his prosperity. He may take a large sum out of a claim, but may also
have spent as much upon it before he began to wash, and half the days of
the year he may get no gold at all.

There were plenty of men who, after two years’ hard work, were not a bit
better off than when they commenced, having lost in working one claim
what they had made in another, and having frittered away their time in
prospecting and wandering about the country from one place to another,
always imagining that there were better diggings to be found than those
they were in at the time.

Under any circumstances, when a man can make as much, or perhaps more,
by working for himself, he has greater pleasure in doing so than in
working for others; and among men engaged in such an exciting pursuit as
gold-hunting, constantly stimulated by the success of some one of their
neighbors, it was only natural that they should be loath to relinquish
their chance of a prize in the lottery, by hiring themselves out for an
amount of daily wages which was no more than any one, if he worked
steadily, could make for himself.

Those who did hire out were of two classes--cold-blooded philosophers,
who calculated the chances, and stuck to their theory unmoved by the
temptations around them; and men who had not sufficient inventive energy
to direct their own labor and render it profitable.

The average amount of gold taken out daily at that time by men who
really did work, was, I should think, not less than eight dollars; but
the average daily yield of the mines to the actual population was
probably not more than three or four dollars per head, owing to the
great number of “loafers,” who did not work more than perhaps one day in
the week, and spent the rest of their time in bar-rooms, playing cards
and drinking whisky. They led a listless life of mild dissipation, for
they never had money enough to get very drunk. They were always in debt
for their board and their whisky at the boarding-house where they lived;
and when hard pressed to pay up, they would hire out for a day or two to
make enough for their immediate wants, and then return to loaf away
their existence in a bar-room, as long as the boarding-house keeper
thought it advisable to give them credit. I never, in any part of the
mines, was in a store or boarding-house that was not haunted by some men
of this sort.

Other men, with more energy in their dissipation, and old sailors
especially, would have periodical bursts, more intense but of shorter
duration. After mining steadily for a month or two, and saving their
money, they would set to work to get rid of it as fast as possible. An
old sailor went about it most systematically. For the reason, as I
supposed, that when going to have a “spree,” he imagined himself to have
come ashore off a voyage, he generally commenced by going to a Jew’s
slop-shop, where he rigged himself out in a new suit of clothes; he
would then go the round of all the bar-rooms in the place, and insist on
every one he found there drinking with him, informing them at the same
time (though it was quite unnecessary, for the fact was very evident)
that he was “on the spree.” Of course, he soon made himself drunk, but
before being very far gone he would lose the greater part of his money
to the gamblers. Cursing his bad luck, he would then console himself
with a rapid succession of “drinks,” pick a quarrel with some one who
was not interfering with him, get a licking, and be ultimately rolled
into a corner to enjoy the more passive phase of his debauch. On waking
in the morning he would not give himself time to get sober, but would go
at it again, and keep at it for a week--most affectionately and
confidentially drunk in the forenoon, fighting drunk in the afternoon,
and dead-drunk at night. The next week he would get gradually sober,
and, recovering his senses, would return to his work without a cent in
his pocket, but quite contented and happy, with his mind relieved at
having had what he considered a good spree. Four or five hundred dollars
was by no means an unusual sum for such a man to spend on an occasion
of this sort, even without losing much at the gaming-table. The greater
part of it went to the bar-keepers for “drinks,” for the height of his
enjoyment was every few minutes to ask half-a-dozen men to drink with
him.

The amount of money thus spent at the bars in the mines must have been
enormous; the system of “drinks” was carried still further than in San
Francisco; and there were numbers of men of this description who were
fortunate in their diggings, and became possessed of an amount of gold
of which they could not realize the value. They only knew the difference
between having money and having none; a hundred dollars was to them as
good as a thousand, and a thousand was in their ideas about the same as
a hundred. It did not matter how much they had saved; when the time came
for them to reward themselves with a spree after a month or so of hard
work, they made a clean sweep of everything, and spent their last dollar
as readily as the first.

I did not remain in Nevada, being anxious to get down to the Yuba before
the rainy season should set in and put a stop to mining operations on
the river.

Foster’s Bar, about thirty miles off, was the nearest point on the Yuba,
and for this place I started. I was joined on leaving the town by a
German, carrying his gun and powder-horn: he was a hunter by profession,
as he informed me, having followed that business for more than a year,
finding ready sale for his game in Nevada.

The principal kinds of game in the mountains are deer, quail, hares,
rabbits, and squirrels. The quails, which are very abundant, are
beautiful birds, about the size of a pigeon, with a top-knot on their
head; they are always in coveys, and rise with a whirr like partridges.

My hunting companion was at present going after deer, and, intending to
stop out till he killed one, he carried his blanket and a couple of
days’ provisions.

I arrived about noon at a very pretty place called Hunt’s Ranch. It was
a large log house, with several well-cultivated fields around it, in
which a number of men were at work. At dinner here there was the most
extensive set-out of vegetables I ever saw in the country, consisting of
green peas, French beans, cauliflower, tomatoes, onions, cucumbers,
pumpkins, squash, and watermelons. It was a long time since I had seen
such a display, and not knowing when I might have another opportunity, I
pitched into them right and left.

I was lighting my pipe in the bar-room after dinner, when a man walked
in whom I recognized at once as one of my fellow passengers from New
York to Chagres. I was very glad to see him, as he was one of the most
favorable specimens of that crowd; and according to the custom of the
country, we immediately ratified our renewed acquaintance in a brandy
cocktail. He was returning to his diggings about ten miles off, and our
roads being the same, we set out together.

He gave me an account of his doings since he had been in the mines, from
which he did not seem to have had much luck on his side, for most of the
money he had made he had lost in buying claims which turned out
valueless. He had owned a share in a company which was working a claim
on the Yuba, but had sold it for a mere trifle before it was ascertained
whether the claim was rich or not, and it was now yielding 150 dollars a
day to the man.

We crossed the Middle Yuba, a small stream, at Emery’s Bridge, where my
friend left me, and I went on alone, having six or seven miles to go to
reach my resting-place for the night.

I was now in a region of country so mountainous as to be perfectly
impassable for wheeled vehicles. All supplies were brought to the
various trading posts from Marysville on trains of pack-mules.

“Packing,” as it is called, is a large business. A packer has in his
train from thirty to fifty mules, and four or five Mexicans to tend
them--mule-driving, or “packing,” being one of the few occupations to
which Mexicans devote themselves; and at this they certainly do excel.
Though generally a lazy, indolent people, it is astonishing what
activity and energy they display in an employment which suits their
fancy. They drive the mules about twenty-five miles a day; and in
camping for the night, they have to select a place where there is water,
and where there is also some sort of picking for the mules, which, in
the dry season, when every blade of vegetation is burned up, is rather
hard to find.

I came across a train of about forty mules, under charge of four or five
Mexicans, just as they were about to unpack, and make their camp. The
spot they chose was a little grassy hollow in the middle of the woods,
near which flowed a small stream of beautifully clear water. It was
evidently a favorite camping ground, from the numbers of signs of old
fires. The mules seemed to know it too, for they all stopped and
commenced picking the grass. The Mexicans, who were riding tough little
Californian horses, immediately dismounted and began to unpack, working
with such vigor that one might have thought they were doing it for a
wager.

Two men unpack a mule together. They first throw over his head a broad
leathern belt, which hangs over his eyes to blind him and keep him
quiet; then, one man standing on each side, they cast off the numerous
hide ropes with which the cargo is secured; and when all is cast loose,
each man removes his half of the cargo and places it on the ground.
Another mule is then led up to the same spot, and unpacked in like
manner; the cargo being all ranged along the ground in a row, and
presenting a very miscellaneous assortment of sacks of flour, barrels of
pork or brandy, bags of sugar, boxes of tobacco, and all sorts of
groceries and other articles. When all the cargoes have been unpacked,
they then take off the _aparejos_, or large Mexican pack-saddles,
examining the back of each mule to see if it is galled. The pack-saddles
are all set down in a row parallel with the cargo, the girth and
saddle-cloth of each being neatly folded and laid on the top of it. The
place where the mules have been unpacked, between the saddles and the
cargo, is covered with quantities of rawhide ropes and other lashings,
which are all coiled up and stowed away in a heap by themselves.

Every mule, as his saddle is taken off, refreshes himself by rolling
about in the dust; and when all are unsaddled, the bell-horse is led
away to water. The mules all follow him, and are left to their own
devices till morning.

The bell-horse of a train of mules is a very curious institution. He is
generally an old white horse, with a small bell hung round his neck. He
carries no cargo, but leads the van in tow of a Mexican. The mules will
follow him through thick and thin, but without him they will not move a
step.

In the morning the mules are hunted up and driven into camp, when they
are tied together in a row behind their pack-saddles, and brought round
one by one to be saddled and packed. To pack a mule well, considerable
art is necessary. His load must be so divided that there is an equal
weight on each side, else the mule works at great disadvantage. If his
load is not nicely balanced and tightly secured, he cannot so well pick
his way along the steep mountain trails, and, as not unfrequently
happens, topples over and rolls down to some place from which no mule
returns.




CHAPTER XII

SITTERS FOR PORTRAITS


I arrived about dusk at a ranch called the “Grass Valley House,”
situated in a forest of pines. It was a clapboard house, built round an
old log cabin which formed one corner of the building, and was now the
private apartment of the landlord and his wife. I was here only six
miles from Foster’s Bar, and set out for that place in the morning; but
I made a mistake somewhere, and followed a wrong trail, which led me to
a river, after walking six or seven miles without meeting any one of
whom I could ascertain whether I was going right or not. The descent to
the river was very steep, and as I went down I had misgivings that I was
all wrong, and should have to come up again, but I expected at least to
find some one there who could put me right. After scrambling down the
best way I could, and reaching the river, I was disappointed to find
nothing but the remains of an old tent; there was not even a sign of any
work having been done there. The river flowed among huge masses of rock,
from which the banks rose so steep and rugged that to follow the course
of the stream seemed out of the question. I thought, however, that I
could distinguish marks here and there on the rocks, as if caused by
traveling over them, and these I followed with considerable difficulty
for about half a mile, when they stopped at a place where the blackened
rocks, the remains of burned wood, and a lot of old sardine-boxes,
showed that some one had been camped. Here I fancied I could make out a
trail going straight up the face of the hill, on the same side of the
river by which I had come down. It looked a hard road to travel, but I
preferred trying it to retracing my steps, especially as I judged it
would be a shorter way back to the house I had started from.

I got on very well for a short distance, but very soon lost all sign of
a trail. I was determined, however, to make my way up, which I did by
dint of catching hold of branches of trees and bushes; and on my hands I
had to place my greatest dependence, for the loose soil was covered with
large stones, which gave way under my feet, and which I could hear
rolling down far below me. Sometimes I came to a bare face of rock, up
which I had to work my passage by means of the crevices and projecting
ledges. It was useless to consider whether more formidable obstacles
were still before me; my only chance was to go ahead, for if I had
attempted to go down again, I should have found the descent rather too
easy, and probably have broken my neck. It was dreadfully hot, and I was
carrying my blankets slung over my shoulder, which, catching on trees
and rocks, impeded my progress considerably; and though I was in pretty
good condition for this sort of work, I had several times to get astride
of a tree and take a spell.

At last, after a great deal of scrambling and climbing, my shins barked,
my clothes nearly torn off my back, and my eyes half scratched out by
the bushes, completely blown, and suffocated with the heat, I arrived
at a place where I considered that I had got over the worst of it, as
the ascent seemed to become a little more practicable. I was dying of
thirst, and would have given a very long price for a drink of water; but
the nearest water I expected to find was at a spring about five miles
off, which I had passed in the morning. I could not help thinking what a
delightful thing a quart pot of Bass’s pale ale would be, with a lump of
ice in it; then I thought I would prefer a sherry cobbler, but I could
not drink that fast enough; and then it seemed that a quart pot of ale
would not be enough, that I would like to drink it out of a bucket. I
quaffed in imagination gigantic goblets, one after another, of all sorts
of delicious fluids, but none of them did me any good; and so I
concluded that I had better think of something else till I reached the
spring.

The rest of the mountain was not very hard traveling, and when once on
the top of the range, I struck off in a direction which I thought would
hit my old trail. I very soon got on to it, and after half an hour’s
walking, I found the spring, where, as the Missourians say, “you may
just bet _your_ life,” I did drink.

It was about three o’clock, and I thought my safest plan was to return
to the house I had started from in the morning, about six miles off,
where, on my arrival, I learned that I had been misled by an Indian
trail, and had traveled far out of the right direction. It was too late
to make a fresh start that day, so I was doomed to pass another night
here, and in the evening amused myself by sketching a train of
pack-mules which had camped near the house.

I was just setting off in the morning, when two or three men, who had
seen me sketching the evening before, came and asked me to take their
likenesses for them. As they were very anxious about it, I made them sit
down, and very soon polished them all off, improving so much on their
personal appearance, that they evidently had no idea before that they
were such good-looking fellows, and expressed themselves highly
satisfied. As I was finishing the last one, an old fellow came in, who,
seeing what was up, was seized with a violent desire to have his sweet
countenance “pictur’d off” likewise, to send to his wife. It struck me
that his wife must be a woman of singular taste if she ever wished to
see his face again. He was just about the ugliest man I ever saw in my
life. He wanted to comb his hair, poor fellow, and make himself look as
presentable as possible; but I had no mercy on him, and, making him sit
down as he was, I did my best to represent him about fifty per cent.
uglier than he really was. He was in great distress that he had not
better clothes on for the occasion; so, to make up for caricaturing his
features, I improved his costume, and gave him a very spicy black coat,
black satin waistcoat, and very stiff stand-up collars. The fidelity of
the likeness he never doubted, being so lost in admiration of his dress,
that he seemed to think the face a matter of minor importance
altogether.

I did not take many portraits in the mines; but from what little
experience I had, I invariably found that men of a lower class wanted to
be shown in the ordinary costume of the nineteenth century--that is to
say, in a coat, waistcoat, white shirt and neckcloth; while gentlemen
miners were anxious to appear in character, in the most ragged style of
California dress.

I went to Foster’s Bar after dinner with a man who was on his way there
from Downieville, a town about thirty miles up the river. He told me
that he and his partner had gone there a few months before, and had
worked together for some time, when they separated, his partner joining
a company which had averaged a hundred dollars a day to each man ever
since, while my friend had bought a share in another company, and, after
working hard for six weeks, had not, as he expressed it, made enough to
pay for his grub. Such is mining.

Foster’s Bar is a place about half a mile long, with the appearance of
having slipped down off the face of the mountains, and thus formed a
flat along the side of the river. The village or camp consisted of a few
huts and cabins; and all around on the rocks, wherever it suited their
convenience, were parties of miners camping out.

I could only see one place which purported to be a hotel, and to it I
went. It was a large canvas house, the front part of which was the
bar-room, and behind it the dining-room. Alongside of the former an
addition had been made as a sleeping apartment, and here, when I felt
inclined to turn in about ten o’clock, I was accommodated with a cot.

A gambling-room in San Francisco is a tolerably quiet place, where
little else is heard but good music or the chinking of dollars, and
where, if it were necessary, one could sleep comfortably enough. But a
gambling-room in a small camp in the mines is a very different affair.
There not so much ceremony is observed, and the company are rather more
apt to devote themselves to the social enjoyment of drinking,
quarrelling, and kicking up a row generally. In this instance the uproar
beat all my previous experience, and sleeping was out of the question.
The bar-room, I found, was also the gambling-room of the diggings. Four
or five monte tables were in full blast, and the room was crowded with
all the rowdies of the place. As the night wore on and the brandy began
to tell, they seemed to be having a general fight, and I half expected
to see some of them pitched through the canvas into the sleeping
apartment; or perhaps pistols might be used, in which case I should have
had as good a chance of being shot as any one else.

I managed to drop off asleep during a lull in the storm; but when I
awoke at daylight, it was only then finally subsiding. I found that some
man had broken a monte bank, and, on the strength of his good fortune,
had been treating the company to an unlimited supply of brandy all
night, which fully accounted for the row; but I did not fancy such
sleeping quarters, and made up my mind to camp out while I remained in
those diggings.

I selected a very pretty spot at the foot of a ravine, in which was a
stream of water; and, buying a tin coffee-pot and some tea and sugar, I
was completely set up. There was a baker and butcher in the camp, so I
had very little trouble in my cooking arrangements, having merely to
boil my pot, and then raking down the fire with my foot, lay a steak on
the embers.

The weather was very hot and dry; but it was getting late in the season,
and I generally awoke in the morning like the flowers the Irishman sings
about to Molly Bawn, “with their rosy faces wet with dew.” At least as
far as the dew is concerned--for a rosy face is a thing not seen in the
mines, the usual color of men’s faces being a good standard leathery
hue, a very little lighter than that of a penny-piece--all rosiness of
cheek, where it ever existed, is driven out by the hot sun and dry
atmosphere.

I found camping out a very pleasant way of living. With my blankets I
made a first-rate awning during the day; and if I could not boast of a
bed of roses, I at least had one of dahlias, for numbers of large
flowers of that species grew in great profusion all round my camp, and
these I was so luxurious as to pluck and strew thickly on the spot where
I intended to sleep.

I remained here for about three weeks; and for two or three mornings
before I left, I woke finding my blankets quite white with frost. On
such occasions I was more active than usual in lighting my fire and
getting my coffee-pot under a full head of steam; but as soon as ever
the sun was up, the frost was immediately dispelled, and half an hour
after sunrise one was glad to get into the shade.

On leaving Foster’s Bar, I went to a place a few miles up the river,
where some miners were at work, who had asked me to visit their camp.
The river here flowed through a narrow rocky gorge (a sort of place
which, in California, is called by its Spanish name a “cañon”), and was
flumed for a distance of nearly half a mile; that is to say, it was
carried past in an aqueduct supported on uprights, being raised from its
natural bed, which was thus laid bare and rendered capable of being
worked. It was late when I arrived, and the party of miners had just
stopped work for the day. Some were taking off their wet boots, and
washing their faces in the river; others were lighting their pipes or
cutting up tobacco; and the rest were collected round the fire, making
bets as to the quantity of gold which was being dried in an old
frying-pan. This was the result of their day’s work, and weighed four or
five pounds. The banks of the river were so rough and precipitous that,
for want of any level space on which to camp, they had been obliged to
raise a platform of stone and gravel. On this stood a tent about twenty
feet long, which was strewed inside with blankets, boots, hats, old
newspapers, and such articles. In front of the tent was a long rough
table, on each side of which a young pine tree, with two or three legs
stuck into it here and there, did duty as a bench, some of the bark
having been chipped off the top side, by way of making it an easy seat.
At the foot of the rocks, close to the table, an immense fire was
blazing, presided over by a darky, who was busy preparing supper; for
where so many men messed together, it was economy to have a professional
cook, though his wages were frequently higher than those paid to a
miner. A quarter of beef hung from the limb of a tree; and stowed away,
in beautiful confusion, among the nooks and crannies of the rocks, were
sacks, casks, and boxes containing various articles of provisions.

Within a few feet of us, and above the level of the camp, the river
rushed past in its wooden bed, spinning round, as it went, a large
water-wheel, by means of which a constant stream of water was pumped up
from the diggings and carried off in the flume. The company consisted of
eight members. They were all New Yorkers, and had been brought up to
professional and mercantile pursuits. The rest of the party were their
hired men, who, however, were upon a perfect social equality with their
employers.

When it was time to turn in, I was shown a space on the gravelly floor
of the tent, about six feet by one and a half, where I might stretch out
and dream that I dwelt in marble halls. About a dozen men slept in the
tent, the others lying outside on the rocks.

My intention was from this camp to go on to Downieville, about forty
miles up the river; but I had first to return to Foster’s Bar for some
drawing-paper which I had ordered from Sacramento.

On my way I passed a most romantic little bridge, formed by two pine
trees, which had been felled so as to span a deep and thickly wooded
ravine. I sat down among the bushes a short distance off the trail, and
was making a sketch of the place, when presently a man came along riding
on a mule. I was quite aware that I should have a very suspicious
appearance to a passer-by, and I was in hopes he might not observe me. I
had no object in speaking to him, especially as, had I hailed him from
my ambuscade, he might have been apt to reply with his revolver.

Just as he was passing, however, and when all I could see of him was his
head and shoulders, his eyes wandered over the bank at the side of the
trail, and he caught sight of my head looking down on him over the tops
of the bushes. He gave a start, as I expected he would, and addressed me
with “Good morning, Colonel.” My promotion to the rank of colonel I most
probably owed to the fact that he thought it advisable, under the
circumstances, to be as conciliatory as possible until he knew my
intentions. I saw a good deal of the same man afterwards, but he never
again raised me above the rank of captain. I replied to his salutation,
and he then asked the very natural question, “What are ye a-doin’ of
over there?” I gave an account of myself, which he did not seem to think
altogether satisfactory, but, after making some remark on the weather,
he passed on.

About an hour later, when I arrived at Foster’s Bar, I found him sitting
in a store with some half-dozen miners, to whom he had been recounting
how he had seen a man concealed in the bushes off the trail. He
expressed himself as having been “awful skeered,” and said that he had
his pistol out, and was thinking of shooting all the time he was
speaking to me. I told him I had mine lying by my side, and would have
returned the compliment, when, by way of showing me what sort of a
chance I should have stood, he stuck up a card on a tree at about twenty
paces, and put six balls into it one after another out of his heavy navy
revolver. I confessed I could not beat such shooting as that, and was
very well pleased that he had not taken it into his head to make a
target of me.

It seemed that he was an express carrier, and as his partner had been
robbed but a few days before, very near the place of our meeting, his
suspicions of me were not at all unreasonable.

I was very desirous of seeing a friend of mine who was mining at a place
about twenty miles off, so, having hired a mule for the journey, I set
off early next morning, intending to return the same night. My way was
through a part of the country very little traveled, and the trails were
consequently very indistinct, but I got full directions how to find my
way, where to leave the main trail, which side to take at a place where
the trail forked, where I should cross another, and so on; also where I
should pass an old cabin, a forked pine tree, and other objects, by
which I might know that I was on the right road.

The man who gave me my directions said he hardly expected that I would
be able to keep the right trail. I had some doubts about it myself, but
I was determined to try at all events, and for seven or eight miles I
got along very well, knowing I was right by the landmarks which I had
passed.

The numbers of Indian trails, however, branching off to right and left
were very confusing, being not a bit less indistinct than the trail I
was endeavoring to follow. At last I felt certain that I had gone wrong,
but as I fancied I was not going far out of the right direction, I kept
on, and shortly afterwards came upon a small camp called Toole’s
Diggings. I was told here that I had only come five miles out of my way;
and after dining and getting some fresh directions, I set out again.
Having ridden for nearly an hour, I came to an Indian camp, situated by
the side of a small stream in a very dense part of the forest. At first
I could see no one but some children amusing themselves with a swing
hung from a branch of an oak tree, but as I was going past, a number of
Indians came running out from their brush huts. They were friendly
Indians, and had picked up a few words of English from loafing about the
camps of the miners. The usual style of salutation to them is, “How d’ye
do?” to which they reply in the same words; but if you repeat the
question, as if you really wanted to know the state of their health,
they invariably answer “fuss-rate.” Accordingly, having ascertained that
they were all “fuss-rate,” I mixed up a little broken English, some
mongrel Spanish, and a word or two of Indian, and made inquiries as to
my way. In much the same sort of language they directed me how to go;
and though they seemed disposed to prolong the conversation, I very
quickly bade them adieu and moved on, not being at all partial to such
company.

I followed the dim trail up hill and down dale for several hours without
seeing a human being, and I felt quite satisfied that I was again off my
road, but I pushed on in hopes of reaching some sort of habitation
before dark. At last, in traveling up the side of a small creek, just as
the sun was taking leave of us, I caught sight of a log cabin among the
pine trees. It seemed to have been quite recently built, so I was pretty
sure it was inhabited, and on riding up I found two men in it, from whom
I learned that I was still five miles from my destination. They
recommended me to stop the night with them, as it was nearly dark, and
the trail was hard enough to find by daylight.

I saw no help for it; so, after staking out the mule where he could pick
some green stuff, I joined my hosts, who were just sitting down to
supper. It was not a very elaborate affair--nothing but tea and ham.
They apologized for the meagerness of the turn-out, and especially for
the want of bread, saying that they had been away for a couple of days,
and on their return found that the Indians had taken the opportunity to
steal all their flour.

We made the most of what we had, however, and putting a huge log on the
fire, we lighted our pipes, and my entertainers, producing two violins,
favored me with a selection of nigger melodies.

They had been mining lately at the place which I had been trying to
reach all day, and in the course of conversation I found that I had had
all my trouble for nothing, as the man whom I was in search of had a few
days before left the diggings for San Francisco.

The next morning I returned to Foster’s Bar, my friends putting me on a
much shorter trail than the roundabout road I had traveled the day
before.




CHAPTER XIII

ON THE WAY TO DOWNIEVILLE


From Foster’s Bar I set out for Downieville. On leaving the river, I had
as usual a long hill to climb, but once on the top, the trail followed
the backbone of the ridge, and was comparatively easy to travel. It was
the main “pack-trail” to Downieville, and, being traveled by all the
trains of pack-mules, was nearly ankle-deep in dust. The soil of the
California mountains is generally very red and sterile, and has the
property of being easily converted into exceedingly fine dust, as red as
brick-dust, or into equally fine mud, according to the season of the
year. At the end of a day’s journey in summer, the color of a man’s face
is hardly discernible through the thick coating of dust, which makes him
look more like a red Indian than a white man.

The scenery was very beautiful. The pine trees were not too numerous to
interrupt the view, and the ridge was occasionally so narrow that, on
either hand, looking over the tops of the trees down below, there was a
vast panorama of pine-clad mountains, on one side gradually diminishing,
till, at a distance of forty or fifty miles, they merged imperceptibly
into the plains, which, with the hazy heated atmosphere upon them,
looked like a calm ocean; while, on the other side, one mountain ridge
appeared above another, more barren as they became more lofty, till at
last they faded away into a few hardly discernible snowy peaks. It was a
pleasing change when sometimes a break occurred in the ridge, and the
trail dipped into a dark shady hollow, and, winding its way through the
dense mass of underwood, crossed a little stream of water, and, leading
up the opposite bank, gained once more the open ground on the summit. I
traveled about fifteen miles without meeting any one, and arrived at
Slate Range House, a solitary cabin, so called from being situated at
the spot where one begins to descend to Slate Range, a place where the
banks of the river are composed of huge masses of slate. I dined here,
and shortly afterwards overtook a little Englishman, whose English
accent sounded very refreshing. He had been in the country since before
the existence of gold was discovered; but from his own account he did
not seem to have profited much in his gold-hunting exploits from having
had such a good start.

I stopped all night at Oak Valley, a small camp, consisting of three
cabins and a hotel, and in the morning I resumed my journey in company
with two miners, who had a pack-horse loaded with their mining tools,
their pots and pans, their blankets, and all the rest of it. The horse,
however, did not seem to approve of the arrangement, for, after having
gone about a couple of miles, he wheeled round, and set off back again
through the woods as hard as he could split, the pots and pans banging
against his ribs, and making a fearful clatter. My companions started in
chase of their goods and chattels; but thinking the pair of them quite a
match for the old horse, and not caring how the race turned out, I left
them to settle it among themselves, and went on my way.

I met several trains of pack-mules, the jingling of the bell on the
bell-horse, and the shouts of the Mexican muleteers, generally
announcing their approach before they came in sight. They were returning
to Marysville; and as they have no cargo to bring down from the mines,
the mules were jogging along very cheerily; when loaded, they relieve
their feelings by grunting and groaning at every step.

The next place I came to was a ranch called the “Nigger Tent.” It was
originally a small tent, kept by an enterprising nigger for the
accommodation of travelers; but as his fortunes prospered, he had built
a very comfortable cabin, which, however, retained the name of the old
establishment.

In the afternoon I arrived at the place where the trail leaves the
summit of the range, and commences to wind down the steep face of the
mountain to Downieville. There was a ranch and a spring of deliciously
cold water, which was very acceptable, as the last ten miles of my
journey had been uphill nearly all the way, and the heat was intense,
but not a drop of water was to be found on the road.

I overtook two or three miners on their way to Downieville, and went on
in company with them. As we descended, we got an occasional view between
the pine trees of the little town far down below us, so completely
surrounded by mountains that it seemed to be at the bottom of an immense
hole in the ground.

I had heard so much of Downieville, that on reaching the foot of the
mountain I was rather disappointed at first to find it apparently so
small a place, but I very soon discovered that there was a great deal
compressed into a small compass. There was only one street in the town,
which was three or four hundred yards long; indeed, the mountain at
whose base it stood was so steep that there was not room for more than
one street between it and the river.

This was the depot, however, for the supplies of a very large mining
population. All the miners within eight or ten miles depended on
Downieville for their provisions, and the street was consequently always
a scene of bustle and activity, being crowded with trains of pack-mules
and their Mexican drivers.

The houses were nearly all of wood, many of them well-finished two-story
houses, with columns and verandas in front. The most prominent places in
the town were of course the gambling saloons, fitted up in the usual
style of showy extravagance, with the exception of the mirrors; for as
everything had to be brought seventy or eighty miles over the mountains
on the backs of mules, very large mirrors were a luxury hardly
attainable; an extra number of smaller ones, however, made up for the
deficiency. There were several very good hotels, and two or three French
restaurants; the other houses in the town were nearly all stores, the
mining population living in tents and cabins, all up and down the river.

I put up at a French house, which was kept in very good style by a
pretty little Frenchwoman, and had quite the air of being a civilized
place. I was accommodated with half of a bedroom, in which there was
hardly room to turn round between the two beds; but I was so accustomed
to rolling myself in my blankets and sleeping on the ground, or on the
rocks, or at best being stowed away on a shelf with twenty or thirty
other men in a large room, that it seemed to me most luxurious quarters.
The _salle à manger_ was underneath me, and as the floor was very thin,
I had the full benefit of all the conversation of those who indulged in
late suppers, whilst next door was a ten-pin alley, in which they were
banging away at the pins all night long; but such trifles did not much
disturb my slumbers.

There was no lack of public amusements in the town. The same company
which I had heard in Nevada were performing in a very comfortable little
theater--not a very highly decorated house, but laid out in the orthodox
fashion, with boxes, pit, and gallery--and a company of American
glee-singers, who had been concertizing with great success in the
various mining towns, were giving concerts in a large room devoted to
such purposes. Their selection of songs was of a decidedly national
character, and a lady, one of their party, had won the hearts of all the
miners by singing very sweetly a number of old familiar ballads, which
touched the feelings of the expatriated gold-hunters.

I was present at their concert one night, when, at the close of the
performance, a rough old miner stood up on his seat in the middle of the
room, and after a few preliminary coughs, delivered himself of a very
elaborate speech, in which, on behalf of the miners of Downieville, he
begged to express to the lady their great admiration of her vocal
talents, and in token thereof begged her acceptance of a purse
containing 500 dollars’ worth of gold specimens. Compliments of this
sort, which the Scotch would call “wiselike,” and which the fair
cantatrice no doubt valued as highly as showers of the most exquisite
bouquets, had been paid to her in most of the towns she had visited in
the mines. Some enthusiastic miners had even thrown specimens to her on
the stage.

Downieville is situated at what is called the Forks of the Yuba River,
and the town itself was frequently spoken of as “The Forks” in that part
of the country. It may be necessary to explain that, in talking of the
forks of a river in California, one is always supposed to be going up
the river; the forks are its tributaries. The main rivers received their
names, which they still retain, from the Spaniards and Indians; and the
first gold-hunting pioneers, in exploring a river, when they came to a
tributary, called one branch the north, and the other the south fork.
When one of these again received a tributary, it either continued to be
the north or south fork, or became the middle fork, as the case might
be.

If a river was never to have more than two tributaries, this would do
very well, but the river above Downieville kept on forking about every
half-a-mile, and the branches were all named on the same principle, so
that there were half-a-dozen north, middle, and south forks.

The diggings at Downieville were very extensive; for many miles above it
on each fork there were numbers of miners working in the bed and the
banks of the river. The mountains are very precipitous, and the only
communication was by a narrow trail which had been trodden into the
hillside, and crossed from one side of the river to the other, as either
happened to be more practicable; sometimes following the rocky bed of
the river itself, and occasionally rising over high steep bluffs, where
it required a steady head and a sure foot to get along in safety.

One spot in particular was enough to try the nerve of any one but a
chamois hunter. It was a high bluff, almost perpendicular, round which
the river made a sweep, and the only possible way of passing it was by a
trail about eighty feet above the river. The trail hardly deserved the
name--it was merely a succession of footsteps, sometimes a few inches of
a projecting rock, or a root. Two men could pass each other with
difficulty, and only at certain places, by holding on to each other; and
from the trail to the river all was clear and smooth, not a tree or a
bush to save one if he happened to miss his footing. At one spot there
was an indentation in the precipice, where the rock was quite
perpendicular: to get over this difficulty, a young pine tree was laid
across by way of a bridge; it was only four or five inches in diameter,
and lay nearly a couple of feet outside of the rock. In passing, one
only rested one foot on the tree, and with the other took advantage of
the inequalities in the face of the rock; while looking down to see
where to put one’s feet, one saw far below, between his outstretched
legs, the most uninviting jagged rocks, strongly suggestive of sudden
death.

The miners had given this place the name of Cape Horn. Those who were
camped on the river above it, were so used to it that they passed along
with a hop, step, and a jump, though carrying a week’s provisions on
their backs, but a great many men had fallen over, and been instantly
killed on the rocks below.

The last victim, at the time I was there, was a Frenchman, who very
foolishly set out to return to his camp from Downieville after dark,
having to pass this place on the way. He had taken the precaution to
provide himself with a candle and some matches to light him round the
Cape, but he was found dead on the rocks the next morning.




CHAPTER XIV

THE REASON FOR LYNCH LAW


A few weeks before my arrival there, Downieville had been the scene of
great excitement on one of those occasions when the people took on
themselves the administration and execution of justice.

A Mexican woman one forenoon had, without provocation, stabbed a miner
to the heart, killing him on the spot. The news of the murder spread
rapidly up and down the river, and a vast concourse of miners
immediately began to collect in the town.

The woman, an hour or two after she committed the murder, was formally
tried by a jury of twelve, found guilty, and condemned to be hung that
afternoon. The case was so clear that it admitted of no doubt, several
men having been witnesses of the whole occurrence; and the woman was
hung accordingly, on the bridge in front of the town, in presence of
many thousand people.

For those whose ideas of the proper mode of administering criminal law
are only acquired from an acquaintance with the statistics of crime and
its punishment in such countries as England, where a single murder
excites horror throughout the kingdom, and is for days a matter of
public interest, where judicial corruption is unknown, where the
instruments of the law are ubiquitous, and its action all but
infallible,--for such persons it may be difficult to realize a state of
things which should render it necessary, or even excusable, that any
number of irresponsible individuals should exercise a power of life and
death over their fellow men.

And no doubt many sound theories may be brought forward against the
propriety of administering Lynch law; but California, in the state of
society which then existed, and in view of the total inefficiency, or
worse than inefficiency, of the established courts of justice, was no
place for theorizing upon abstract principles. Society had to protect
itself by the most practical and unsophisticated system of retributive
justice, quick in its action, and whose operation, being totally
divested of all mystery and unnecessary ceremony, was perfectly
comprehensible to the meanest understanding--a system inconsistent with
public safety in old countries--unnecessary, in fact, where the
machinery of the law is perfect in all its parts--but at the same time
one which men most naturally adopt in the absence of all other
protection; and any one who lived in the mines of California at that
time is bound gratefully to acknowledge that the feeling of security of
life and person which he there enjoyed was due in a great measure to his
knowledge of the fact that this admirable institution of Lynch law was
in full and active operation.

There were in California the élite of the most desperate and consummate
scoundrels from every part of the world; and the unsettled state of the
country, the wandering habits of the mining population, scattered, as
they were, all over the mountains, and frequently carrying an amount of
gold on their persons inconvenient from its very weight, together with
the isolated condition of many individuals, strangers to every one
around them, and who, if put out of the way, would never have been
missed--all these things tended apparently to render the country one
where such ruffians would have ample room to practice their villainy.
But, thanks to Lynch law, murders and robberies, numerous as they were,
were by no means of such frequent occurrence as might have been
expected, considering the opportunities and temptations afforded to such
a large proportion of the population, who were only restrained from
violence by a wholesome regard for the safety of their own necks.

And after all, the fear of punishment of death is the most effectual
preventive of crime. To the class of men among whom murderers are found,
it is probably the only feeling which deters them, and its influence is
unconsciously felt even by those whose sense of right and wrong is not
yet so dead as to allow them to contemplate the possibility of their
committing a murder. In old States, however, fear of the punishment of
death does not act with its full force on the mind of the intending
criminal, for the idea of the expiation of his crime on the scaffold has
to be preceded in his imagination by all the mysterious and tedious
formalities of the law, in the uncertainty of which he is apt to flatter
himself that he will by some means get an acquittal; and even if
convicted, the length of time which must elapse before his ultimate
punishment, together with the parade and circumstance with which it is
attended, divests it in a great measure of the feelings of horror which
it is intended to arouse.

But when Lynch law prevails, it strikes terror to the heart of the
evil-doer. He has no hazy and undefined view of his ultimate fate in the
distant future, but a vivid picture is before him of the sure and speedy
consequence of crime. The formalities and delays of the law, which are
instituted for the protection of the people, are for the same reason
abolished, and the criminal knows that, instead of being tried by the
elaborate and intricate process of law, his very ignorance of which
leads him to over-estimate his chance of escape, he will have to stand
before a tribunal of men who will try him, not by law, but by hard,
straightforward common-sense, and from whom he can hope for no other
verdict than that which his own conscience awards him; while execution
follows so close upon sentence, that it forms, as it were, but part of
the same ceremony: for Californians were eminently practical and
earnest; what they meant to do they did “right off,” with all their
might, and as if they really meant to do it; and Lynch law was
administered with characteristic promptness and decision. Sufficient
time, however, or at least what was considered to be sufficient time,
was always granted to the criminal to prepare for death. Very frequently
he was not hanged till the day after his trial.

An execution, of course, attracted an immense crowd, but it was
conducted with as little parade as possible. Men were hung in the
readiest way which suggested itself--on a bough of the nearest tree, or
on a tree close to the spot where the murder was committed. In some
instances the criminal was run up by a number of men, all equally
sharing the hang-man’s duty; on other occasions, one man was appointed
to the office of executioner, and a drop was extemporized by placing the
culprit on his feet on the top of an empty box or barrel, under the
bough of a tree, and at the given signal the box was knocked away from
under him.

Not an uncommon mode was, to mount the criminal on a horse or mule,
when, after the rope was adjusted, a cut of a whip was administered to
the back of the animal, and the man was left suspended.

Petty thefts, which were of very rare occurrence, were punished by so
many lashes with a cowhide, and the culprit was then banished from the
camp. A man who would commit a petty theft was generally such a poor
miserable devil as to excite compassion more than any other feeling, and
not unfrequently, after his chastisement, a small subscription was
raised for him, to help him along till he reached some other diggings.

Theft or robbery of any considerable amount, however, was a capital
crime; and horse-stealing, to which the Mexicans more particularly
devoted themselves, was invariably a hanging matter.

Lynch law had hitherto prevailed only in the mines; but about this time
it had been found necessary to introduce it also in San Francisco. The
number of murders and robberies committed there had of late increased to
an alarming extent; and from the laxity and corruption of those
intrusted with the punishment and prevention of crime, the criminal part
of the population carried on their operations with such a degree of
audacity, and so much apparent confidence in the immunity which they
enjoyed, that society, in the total inefficiency of the system which it
had instituted for its defense and preservation, threatened to become a
helpless prey to the well-organized gang of ruffians who were every day
becoming more insolent in their career.

At last human nature could stand it no longer, and the people saw the
necessity of acting together in self-defence. A Committee of Vigilance
was accordingly formed, composed chiefly of the most prominent and
influential citizens, which had the cordial approval, and the active
support, of nearly the entire population of the city.

The first action of the Committee was to take two men out of jail who
had already been convicted of murder and robbery, but for the execution
of whose sentence the experience of the past afforded no guarantee.
These two men, when taken out of the jail, were driven in a coach and
four at full gallop through the town, and in half an hour they were
swinging from the beams projecting over the windows of the store which
was used as the committee rooms.

The Committee, during their reign, hanged four or five men, all of whom,
by their own confessions, deserved hanging half-a-dozen times over.
Their confessions disclosed a most extensive and wealthy organization of
villainy, in which several men of comparatively respectable position
were implicated. These were the projectors and designers of elaborate
schemes of wholesale robbery, which the more practical members of the
profession executed under their superintendence; and in the possession
of some of these men there were found exact plans of the stores of many
of the wealthiest merchants, along with programs of robberies to come
off.

The operations of the Committee were not confined to hanging alone;
their object was to purge the city of the whole herd of malefactors
which infested it. Most of them, however, were panic-struck at the first
alarm of Lynch law, and fled to the mines; but many of those who were
denounced in the confessions of their brethren were seized by the
Committee, and shipped out of the country. Several of the most
distinguished scoundrels were graduates from our penal colonies; and to
put a stop, if possible, to the further immigration of such characters,
the Committee boarded every ship from New South Wales as she arrived,
and satisfied themselves of the respectability of each passenger before
allowing him to land.

The authorities, of course, were greatly incensed at the action of the
Vigilance Committee in taking from them the power they had so badly
used, but they could do nothing against the unanimous voice of the
people, and had to submit with the best grace they could.

The Committee, after a very short but very active reign, had so far
accomplished their object of suppressing crime, and driving the scum of
the population out of the city, that they resigned their functions in
favor of the constituted authorities; at the same time, however,
intimating that they remained alert, and only inactive so long as the
ordinary course of law was found effectual.

From that time till the month of May, 1856, the Vigilance Committee did
not interfere; and to any one familiar with the history of San Francisco
during this period, it will appear extraordinary that the people should
have remained so long inactive under the frightful mal-administration
of criminal law to which they were subjected.

The crime which at last roused the people from their apathy, but which
was not more foul than hundreds which had preceded it, and only more
aggravated, inasmuch as the victim was one of the most universally
respected citizens of the State, was the assassination, in open day and
in the public street, of Mr. James King, of William, by a man named
Casey.

The causes which had gradually been driving the people to assert their
own power, as they did on this occasion, differed very materially from
those which gave birth to the Vigilance Committee of ’51, when their
object was merely to root out a gang of house-breakers.

To explain the necessity of the revolution which took place in San
Francisco in May, ’56, would require a dissertation on San Francisco
politics, which might not be very interesting; suffice it to say, that
the power of controlling the elections had gradually got into the hands
of men who “stuffed” the ballot-boxes, and sold the elections to whom
they pleased; and the natural consequences of such a state of things led
to the revolution.

In the _Alta California_ of San Francisco of the 1st of June [1857] is a
short article, which gives such a complete idea of the state of affairs
that I take the liberty to transcribe it. It was written when the
Vigilance Committee, having, a day or two before, hanged two men, were
still actively engaged making numerous arrests; and it is remarkable
that just at this time the authorities actually hung a man too.

The _Alta_ announces the fact in the following article:--

“A man was executed yesterday for murder, after a due compliance with
all forms of law.

“That he had been guilty of the crime for which he suffered there can be
no doubt; and yet it is entirely probable that, but for the
circumstances which have occurred in San Francisco within the past three
weeks, he never would have paid to the offended law the penalty affixed
to his crime.

“It is a very remarkable fact in the history of this execution, that the
condemned man, at the time of the murder of Mr. King, was living only
under the respite of the Governor, and that that respite was obtained
through the active interposition of Casey, who little dreamed that he
would suffer the death-penalty before the man whom he had labored to
save.

“This is the third execution only, under the forms of law, which has
ever been had in San Francisco since it became an American city. Murder
after murder has been committed, and murderer after murderer has been
arrested and tried. Those who were blessed with friends and money have
usually succeeded in escaping through the forms of law before a
conviction was reached. Those who failed in this respect have, with the
exceptions we have stated, been saved from punishment through the
unwarranted interference of the executive officer of the State. So
murder has enjoyed in San Francisco almost a certain immunity from
punishment; and the consequence has been that it has stalked abroad
high-handed and bold. Over a year ago, we understood the district
attorney to state, in an argument before a jury in a murder case, that,
since the settlement of San Francisco by the American people, there had
been twelve hundred murders committed here. We thought at the time the
number stated was unduly large, and think so still; but it has been
large enough, beyond doubt, to give us the unenviable reputation we have
obtained abroad.

“And yet, in spite of these facts, but three criminals have suffered the
death-penalty awarded to the crimes of which they have been guilty.
These were all friendless, moneyless men. A sad commentary this on that
motto, ‘Equal and exact justice to all,’ which we delight to blazon over
our constitution and laws.

“Was it not time for a change--time, if need be, for a revolution which
should inaugurate a new state of things--which should give an assurance
that human life should be protected from the hand of the gentlemanly and
moneyed assassin, as well as from the miserable, the poor, and the
friendless? Such a revolution has been made by the people, and it has
been the inauguration of a new and bright era in our history, in which
an assurance has been given that neither the technicalities of a badly
administered law, nor the interference of the Executive, can save the
murderer from the punishment he justly merits. It has been brought about
by the very evils it is intended to remedy. Had crime been punished here
as it should have been--had the law done its duty, Casey would never
have dared to shoot down the lamented King in broad daylight, with the
hope that through the forms of law he would escape punishment. There
would have been no necessity for a Vigilance Committee, no need of a
revolution. Let us hope that in future the law will be no longer a
mockery, but become, what it was intended by its founders to be, ‘a
terror to evil-doers.’”

The number of murders here given is no doubt appalling, but it is apt to
give an idea of an infinitely more dreadful state of society, and of
much greater insecurity of life to peaceable citizens than was actually
the case.

If these murders were classified, it would be found that the frequency
of fatal duels had greatly swelled the list, while, in the majority of
cases, the murders would turn out to be the results of rencontres
between desperadoes and ruffians, who, by having their little
difficulties among themselves, and shooting and stabbing each other, and
thus diminishing their own numbers, were rather entitled to the thanks
of the respectable portion of the community.

It is very certain that in San Francisco crime was fostered by the
laxity of the law, but it is equally reasonable to believe that in the
mines, where Lynch law had full swing, the amount of crime actually
committed by the large criminally disposed portion of the community,
consisting of lazy Mexican _ladrones_ and cutthroats, well-trained
professional burglars from populous countries, and outcast desperadoes
from all the corners of the earth, was not so great as would have
resulted from the presence of the same men in any old country, where the
law, clothed in all its majesty, is more mysterious and slow, however
irresistible, in its action.




CHAPTER XV

GROWING OVER NIGHT


Without having visited some distant place in the mountains, such as
Downieville, it was impossible to realize fully the extraordinary extent
to which the country had, in so short a time, been overrun and settled
by a population whose energy and adaptive genius had immediately seized
and improved every natural advantage which presented itself, and whose
quickly acquired wealth enabled them to introduce so much luxury, and to
afford employment to so many of those branches of industry which usually
flourish only in old communities, that in some respects California can
hardly be said to have ever been a new country, as compared with other
parts of the world to which that term is applied.

The men who settled the country imparted to it a good deal of their own
nature, which knows no period of boyhood. The Americans spring at once
from childhood, or almost from infancy, to manhood; and California, no
less rapid in its growth, became a full-grown State, while one-half the
world still doubted its existence.

The amount of labor which had already been performed in the mines was
almost incredible. Every river and creek from one end to the other
presented a busy scene; on the “bars,” of course, the miners were
congregated in the greatest numbers; but there was scarcely any part of
their course where some work was not going on, and the flumes were so
numerous, that for about one-third of their length the rivers were
carried past in those wooden aqueducts.

The most populous part of the mines, however, was in the high
mountain-land between the rivers, and here the whole country had been
ransacked, every flat and ravine had been prospected; and wherever
extensive diggings had been found, towns and villages had sprung up.

Young as California was, it was in one respect older than its parent
country, for life was so fast that already it could show ruins and
deserted villages. In out-of-the-way places one met with cabins fallen
into disrepair, which the proprietors had abandoned to locate themselves
elsewhere; and even villages of thirty or forty shanties were to be seen
deserted and desolate, where the diggings had not proved so productive
as the original founders had anticipated.

Labor, however, was not exclusively devoted to mining operations. Roads
had in many parts been cut in the sides of the mountains, bridges had
been built, and innumerable saw-mills, most of them driven by steam
power, were in full operation, many of them having been erected in
anticipation of a demand for lumber, and before any population existed
around them. Every little valley in the mountains where the soil was at
all fit for cultivation was already fenced in, and producing crops of
barley or oats; and canals, in some cases forty or fifty miles long,
were in course of construction, to bring the waters of the rivers to
the mountain-tops, to diggings which were otherwise unavailable.

Life for the most part was hard enough certainly, but every village was
a little city of itself, where one could live in comparative luxury.
Even Downieville had its theater and concerts, its billiard-rooms and
saloons of all sorts, a daily paper, warm baths, and restaurants where
men in red flannel shirts, with bare arms, spread a napkin over their
muddy knees, and studied the bill of fare for half an hour before they
could make up their minds what to order for dinner.

I was sitting on a rock by the side of the river one day sketching, when
I became aware that a most ragamuffinish individual was looking over my
shoulder. He was certainly, without exception, the most tattered and
torn man I ever saw in my life; even his hair and beard gave the idea of
rags, which was fully realized by his costume. He was a complete
caricature of an old miner, and quite a picture by himself, seen from
any point of view.

The rim of his old brown hat seemed ready to drop down on his shoulders
at a moment’s notice, and the sides, having dissolved all connection
with the crown, presented at the top a jagged circumference, festooned
here and there with locks of light brown hair, while, to keep the whole
fabric from falling to pieces of its own weight, it was bound round with
a piece of string in lieu of a hat-band. His hair hung all over his
shoulders in large straight flat locks, just as if a handkerchief had
been nailed to the top of his head and then torn into shreds, and a long
beard of the same pattern fringed a face as brown as a mahogany table.
His shirt had once been red flannel--of course it was flannel yet, what
remained of it--but it was in a most dilapidated condition. Half-way
down to his elbows hung some shreds, which led to the belief that at one
time he had possessed a pair of sleeves; but they seemed to have been
removed by the action of time and the elements, which had also been busy
with other parts of the garment, and had, moreover, changed its original
scarlet to different shades of crimson and purple. There was enough of
his shirt left almost to meet a pair of--not trousers, but still less
mentionable articles, of the same material as the shirt, and in the same
stage of decomposition. He must have had trousers once on a time, but I
suppose he had worn them out; and I could not help thinking what
extraordinary things they must have been on the morning when he came to
the conclusion that they were not good enough to wear. I daresay he
would have put them on if he could, but perhaps they were so full of
holes that he did not know which to get into. His boots at least had
reached this point, and to acknowledge that they had been boots was as
much as a conscientious man could say for them. They were more holes
than leather, and had no longer any title to the name of boots.

He was a man between thirty and forty, and, notwithstanding his rags,
there was nothing in his appearance at all dirty or repulsive; on the
contrary, he had a very handsome, prepossessing face, with an air about
him which at once gave the idea that he had been used to polite society.
I was, consequently, not surprised at the style of his address. He
talked with me for some time, and I found him a most amusing and
gentlemanly fellow. He was a German doctor, but it was hard to detect
any foreign accent in his pronunciation.

The claim he was working was a mile or two up the river, and his
company, he told me, was one of the greatest curiosities in the country.
It consisted of two Americans, two Frenchmen, two Italians, two
Mexicans, and my ragged friend, who was the only man in the company who
spoke any language but his mother tongue. He was captain of the company,
and interpreter-general for the crowd. I quite believed him when he said
it was hard work to keep them all in order, and that when he was away no
work could be done at all, and for that reason he was now hurrying back
to his claim. But before leaving me he said, “I saw you sketching from
the trail, and I came down to ask a favor of you.”

There is as much vanity sometimes in rags as in gorgeous apparel; and
what he wanted of me was to make a sketch of him, rags and all, just as
he was. To study such a splendid figure was exactly what I wanted to do
myself, so I made an appointment with him for the next day, and begged
of him in the meantime not to think of combing his hair, which, indeed,
to judge from its appearance, he had not done for some time.

I found afterwards that he was a well-known character, and went by the
name of the Flying Dutchman.

I passed by his claim one day, and such a scene it was! The Tower of
Babel was not a circumstance to it. The whole of the party were up to
their waists in water, in the middle of the river, trying to build a
wing-dam. The Americans, the Frenchmen, the Italians, and the Mexicans,
were all pulling in different directions at an immense unwieldy log, and
bestowing on each other most frightful oaths, though happily in unknown
tongues; while the directing genius, the Flying Dutchman, was rushing
about among them, and gesticulating wildly in his endeavors to pacify
them, and to explain what was to be done. He spoke all the modern
languages at once, occasionally talking Spanish to a Frenchman, and
English to the Italians, then cursing his own stupidity in German, and
blowing them all up collectively in a promiscuous jumble of national
oaths, when they all came to a stand-still, the Flying Dutchman even
seeming to give it up in despair. But after addressing a few explanatory
remarks to each nation separately, in their respective languages, he
persuaded them to try once more, when they got along well enough for a
few minutes, till something went wrong, and then the Tower-of-Babel
scene was enacted over again.

What induced the Flying Dutchman to form a company of such incongruous
materials, and to take so much trouble in trying to work it, I can’t
say, unless it was a little of the same innocent vanity which was
apparent in his exaggerated style of dress.

There was a considerable number of Frenchmen in the neighborhood of
Downieville, but they kept very much to themselves. So very few of them,
even of the better class, could speak English, and so few American
miners knew anything of French, that scarcely ever were they found
working together.

In common intercourse of buying and selling, or asking and giving any
requisite information, neither party was ever very much at a loss; a few
words of broken English, a word or two of French, and a large share of
pantomime, carried them through any conference.

When any one capable of acting as interpreter happened to be present,
the Frenchman, in his impatience, was constantly asking him “_Qu’est ce
qu’il dit?_” “_Qu’est ce qu’il dit?_” This caught the ear of the
Americans more than anything else, and a “Keskydee” came at last to be a
synonym for a “Parleyvoo.”

The “Dutchmen” in the mines, under which denomination are included all
manner of Germans, showed much greater aptitude to amalgamate with the
people around them. Frenchmen were always found in gangs, but “Dutchmen”
were usually met with as individuals, and more frequently associated
with Americans than with their own countrymen. For the most part they
spoke English very well, and there were none who could not make
themselves perfectly intelligible.

But in making such a comparison between the Germans and the French, it
would not be fair to leave unmentioned the fact that the great majority
of the former were men who had the advantage of having lived for a
greater or less time in the United States, while the Frenchmen had
nearly all immigrated in shiploads direct from their native country.

About thirty miles above Downieville is one of the highest mountains in
the mines. The view from the summit, which is composed of several rocky
peaks in line with each other, like the teeth of a saw, was said to be
one of the finest in California, and I was desirous of seeing it; but
the mountain was on the verge of settlement, and there was no camp or
house of accommodation nearer to it than Downieville. However, the
Frenchman in whose house I was staying told me that a friend of his, who
was mining there, would be down in a day or two, and that he would
introduce me to him. He came down the next day for a supply of
provisions, and I gladly took the opportunity of returning with him.

The trail followed the river all the way, and was very rough, many parts
of it being nearly as bad as “Cape Horn.” The Frenchman had a pack-mule
loaded with his stock of provisions, which gave him an infinity of
trouble. He was such a bad packer that the cargo was constantly
shifting, and requiring to be repacked and secured. At one spot, where
there was a steep descent from the trail to the river of about a hundred
feet, the whole cargo broke loose, and fell to the ground. The only
article, however, which rolled off the narrow trail was a keg of butter,
which went bounding down the hill till it reached the bottom, where at
one smash it buttered the whole surface of a large flat rock in the
middle of the river. The Frenchman climbed down by a circuitous route to
recover what he could of it, while I remained to repack the cargo.
Without further accident we arrived about dark at my companion’s cabin,
where we found his partners just preparing supper;--and a very good
supper it was; for, with only the ordinary materials of flour, ham, and
beef, it was astonishing what a very superior mess a Frenchman could get
up.

After smoking an infinite number of pipes, I stretched out on the floor,
with my feet to the fire, and slept like a top till morning, when,
having got directions from the Frenchman as to my route, I set out to
climb the mountain. The cabin was situated at the base of one of the
spurs into which the mountain branched off, and was about eight miles
distant from the summit.

When I had got about half-way up, I came in sight of a quartz-grinding
establishment, situated on an exceedingly steep place, where a small
stream of water came dashing over the rocks. In the face of the hill a
step had been cut out, on which a cabin was built, and immediately below
it were two “rasters”[4] in full operation.

These are the most primitive kind of contrivances for grinding quartz.
They are circular places, ten or twelve feet in diameter, flagged with
flat stones, and in these the quartz is crushed by two large heavy
stones dragged round and round by a mule harnessed to a horizontal beam,
to which they are also attached.

The quartz is already broken up into small pieces before being put into
the “raster,” and a constant supply of water is necessary to facilitate
the operation, the stuff, while being ground, having the appearance of a
rich white mud. The Mexicans, who use this machine a great deal, have a
way of ascertaining when the quartz is sufficiently ground, by feeling
it between the finger and thumb of one hand, while with the other they
feel the lower part of their ear; and when the quartz has the same soft
velvety feel, it is considered fine enough, and the gold is then
extracted by amalgamation with quicksilver.

A considerable amount of work had been done at this place. The quartz
vein was several hundred yards above the “rasters,” and from it there
was laid a double line of railway on the face of the mountain, for the
purpose of bringing down the quartz. The loaded car was intended to
bring up the empty one; but the railway was so steep that it looked as
if a car, once started, would never stop till it reached the river, two
or three miles below.

The vein was not being worked just now; and I only found one man at the
place, who was employed in keeping the two mules at work in the
“rasters.” He told me that the ascent from that point was so difficult
that it would be dark before I could return, and persuaded me to pass
the night with him, and start early the next morning.

The nights had been getting pretty chilly lately, and up here it was
particularly so; but with the aid of a blazing fire we managed to make
ourselves comfortable. I lay down before the fire, with the prospect of
having a good sleep, but woke in the middle of the night, feeling it
most bitterly cold. The fact is, the log cabin was merely a log cage,
the chinks between the logs having never been filled up, and it had come
on to blow a perfect hurricane. The spot where the cabin stood was very
much exposed, and the gusts of wind blew against it and through it as if
it would carry us all away.

This pleasant state of things lasted two days, during which time I
remained a prisoner in the cabin, as the force of the wind was so great
that one could scarcely stand outside, and the cold was so intense that
the pools in the stream which ran past were covered with ice. The cabin
was but poor protection, the wind having full play through it, even
blowing the tin plates off the table while we were at dinner; and heavy
gusts coming down the chimney filled the cabin with smoke, ashes, and
burning wood. Two days of this was rather miserable work, but with the
aid of my pencil and two or three old novels I managed to weather it
out.

The third day the gale was over, and though still cold, the weather was
beautifully bright and clear. On setting out on my expedition to the
summit of the mountain, I had first to climb up the railway, which went
as far as the top of the ridge, where the quartz cropped out in large
masses. From this there was a gradual ascent to the summit, about four
miles distant, over ground which was stony, like a newly macadamized
road, and covered with wiry brushwood waist-high. This was rendered a
still more pleasant place to travel over by being infested by grizzly
bears, whose tracks I could see on every spot of ground capable of
receiving the impression of their feet. At last I arrived at the foot of
the immense masses of rock which formed the summit of the mountain, and
the only means of continuing the ascent was by climbing up long slides
of loose sharp-cornered stones of all sizes. Every step I took forward,
I went about half a step backward, the stones giving way under my feet,
and causing a general commotion from top to bottom. On reaching the top
of this place, after suffering a good deal in my shins and shoe-leather,
I found myself on a ledge of rock, with a similar one forty or fifty
feet above me, to be gained by climbing another slide of loose stones;
and having spent about an hour in working my passage up a succession of
places of this sort, I arrived at the foot of the immense wall of solid
rock which crowned the summit of the mountain. To reach the lowest point
of the top of the perpendicular wall above me, I had some fifteen or
twenty feet to climb the best way I could, and the prospect of any
failure in the attempt was by no means encouraging, as, had I happened
to fall, I should have been carried down to the regions below with an
avalanche of loose rocks and stones. Even as I stood studying how I
should make the ascent by means of the projecting ledges, and tracking
out my course before I made the attempt, I felt the stones beginning to
give way under my feet; and seeing there was no time to lose, I went at
it, and after a pretty hard struggle I reached the top. This, however,
was not the summit--I was only between the teeth of the saw; but I was
enabled to gain the top of one of the peaks by means of a ledge, about a
foot and a half wide, which slanted up the face of the rock. Here I sat
down to enjoy the view, and certainly I felt amply repaid for all the
labor of the ascent, by the vastness and grandeur of the panorama around
me. I looked back for more than a hundred miles over the mountainous
pine-clad region of the “Mines,” where, from the shapes of some of the
mountains, I could distinguish many places which I had visited. Beyond
this lay the wide plains of the Sacramento Valley, in which the course
of the rivers could be traced by the trees which grew along their banks;
and beyond the plains the coast range was distinctly seen.

On the other side, from which I had made the ascent, there was a sheer
precipice of about two hundred feet, at the foot of which, in eternal
shade, lay heaps of snow. The mountains in this direction were more
rugged and barren, and beyond them appeared the white peaks of the
Sierra Nevada. The atmosphere was intensely clear; it was as if there
were no atmosphere at all, and the view of the most remote objects was
so vivid and distinct that any one not used to such a clime would have
been slow to believe that their distance was so great as it actually
was. Monte Diablo, a peculiarly shaped mountain within a few miles of
San Francisco, and upwards of three hundred miles[5] from where I stood,
was plainly discernible, and with as much distinctness as on a clear day
in England a mountain is seen at a distance of fifty or sixty miles.

The beauty of the view, which consisted chiefly in its vastness, was
greatly enhanced by being seen from such a lofty pinnacle. It gave one
the idea of being suspended in the air, and cut off from all
communication with the world below. The perfect solitude of the place
was quite oppressive, and was rendered still more awful by the
occasional loud report of some piece of rock, which, becoming detached
from the mass, went bounding down to seek a more humble resting-place,
The gradual disruption seemed to be incessant, for no sooner had one
fragment got out of hearing down below, than another started after it.
There was a keen wind blowing, and it was so miserably cold, that when I
had been up here for about an hour, I became quite benumbed and chilled.
It was rather ticklish work coming down from my exalted position, and
more perilous a good deal than it had been to climb up to it; but I
managed it without accident, and reached the cabin of my
quartz-grinding friend before dark.

Here I found there had arrived in the meantime three men from a ranch
which they had taken up in a small valley, about thirty miles farther up
in the mountains. There were no other white men in that direction, and
this cabin was the nearest habitation to them. They had come in with six
or seven mule-loads of hay for the use of the unfortunate animals who
were kept in a state of constant revolution in the “rasters”.




CHAPTER XVI

A BAND OF WANDERERS


I returned to Downieville the next day, and as the weather was now
getting rather cold and disagreeable, and I did not wish to be caught
quite so far up in the mountains by the rainy season, I began to make my
way down the river again to more accessible diggings.

On leaving, I took a trail which kept along the bank of the river for
some miles, before striking up to the mountain ridge. Immediately below
the town the mountain was very steep and smooth, and round this wound
the trail, at the height of three or four hundred feet above the river.
It was a mere beaten path--so narrow that two men could not walk
abreast, while there was hardly a bush or a tree to interrupt one’s
progress in rolling down from the trail to the river.

When trains of pack-mules met at this place, they had the greatest
difficulty in passing. The “down train,” being of course unloaded, had
to give way to the other. The mules understood their own rights
perfectly well. Those loaded with cargo kept sturdily to the trail,
while the empty mules scrambled up the bank, where they stood still till
the others had passed. It not unfrequently happened, however, that a
loaded mule got crowded off the trail, and rolled down the hill. This
was always the last journey the poor mule ever performed. The cargo was
recovered more or less damaged, but the remnants of deceased mules on
the rocks down below remained as a warning to all future travelers. It
was only a few days before that a man was riding along here, when, from
some cause, his mule stumbled and fell off the trail. The mule, of
course, went as a small contribution to the collection of skeletons of
mules which had gone before him; and his rider would have shared the
same fate, had he not fortunately been arrested in his progress by a
bush, the only object in his course which could possibly have saved him.

The trail, after passing this spot, kept more among the rocks on the
river side; and though it was rough traveling, the difficulties of the
way were beguiled by the numbers of miners’ camps through which one
passed, and in observing the different varieties of mining operations
being carried on. For miles the river was borne along in a succession of
flumes, in which were set innumerable water-wheels, for working all
sorts of pumps, and other contrivances for economizing labor. The bed of
the river was alive with miners; and here and there, in the steep banks,
were rows of twenty or thirty tunnels, out of which came constant
streams of men, wheeling the dirt down to the riverside, to be washed in
their long toms.

At Goodyear’s Bar, which is a place of some size, the trail leaves the
river, and ascends a mountain which is said to be the worst in that part
of the country, and for my part I was quite willing to believe it was. I
met several men coming down, who were all anxious to know if they were
near the bottom. I was equally desirous to know if I was near the top,
for the forest of pines was so thick, that, looking up, one could only
get a glimpse between the trees of the zigzag trail far above.

About half-way up the mountain, at a break in the ascent, I found a very
new log cabin by the side of a little stream of water. It bore a sign
about as large as itself, on which was painted the “Florida House”; and
as it was getting dark, and the next house was five miles farther on, I
thought I would take up my quarters here for the night. The house was
kept by an Italian, or an “Eyetalian,” as he is called across the
Atlantic. He had a Yankee wife, with a lot of children, and the style of
accommodation was as good as one usually found in such places.

I was the only guest that night; and as we sat by the fire, smoking our
pipes after supper, my host, who was a cheerful sort of fellow, became
very communicative. He gave me an interesting account of his California
experiences, and also of his farming operations in the States, where he
had spent the last few years of his life. Then, going backwards in his
career, he told me that he had lived for some years in England and
Scotland, and spoke of many places there as if he knew them well. I was
rather curious to know in what capacity such an exceedingly
dingy-looking individual had visited all the cities of the kingdom, but
he seemed to wish to avoid cross examination on the subject, so I did
not press him. He became intimately connected in my mind, however, with
sundry plaster-of-Paris busts of Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington, Sir
Walter Scott, and other distinguished characters. I could fancy I saw
the whole collection of statuary on the top of his head, and felt very
much inclined to shout out “Images!” to see what effect it would have
upon him.

In the course of the evening he asked me if I would like to hear some
music, saying that he played a little on the Italian fiddle. I said I
would be delighted, particularly as I did not know the instrument. The
only national fiddle I had ever heard of was the Caledonian, and I
trusted this instrument of his was a different sort of thing; but I was
very much amused when it turned out to be nothing more or less than a
genuine orthodox hurdy-gurdy. It put me more in mind of home than
anything I had heard for a long time. At the first note, of course, the
statuary vanished, and was replaced by a vision of an unfortunate monkey
in a red coat, while my friend’s extensive travels in the United Kingdom
became very satisfactorily accounted for, and I thought it by no means
unlikely that this was not the first time I had heard the sweet strains
of his Italian fiddle. He played several of the standard old tunes; but
hurdy-gurdy music is of such a character that a little of it goes a
great way; and I was not sorry when a couple of strings snapped--to the
great disgust, however, of my friend, for he had no more with which to
replace them.

Hurdy-gurdy player or not, he was a very entertaining, agreeable fellow.
I only hope all the fraternity are like him (perhaps they are, if one
only knew them), and attain ultimately to such a respectable position in
life, dignifying their instruments with the name of Italian fiddles, and
reserving them for the entertainment of their particular friends.

I was on my way to Slate Range, a place some distance down the river,
but the next day I only went as far as Oak Valley, traveling the last
few miles with a young fellow from one of the Southern States, whom I
overtook on the way. He had been mining, he told me, at Downieville, and
was now going to join some friends of his at a place some thirty miles
off.

At supper he did not make his appearance, which I did not observe, as
there were a number of men at table, till the landlord asked me if that
young fellow who arrived with me was not going to have any supper, and
suggested that perhaps he was “strapped,” “dead-broke”--_Anglicé_,
without a cent in his pocket. I had not inferred anything of the sort
from his conversation, but on going out and asking him why he did not
come to supper, he reluctantly admitted that the state of his finances
would not admit of it. I told him, in the language of Mr. Toots, that it
was of no consequence, and made him come in, when he was most
unceremoniously lectured by the rest of the party, and by the landlord
particularly, on the absurdity of his intention of going supperless to
bed merely because he happened to be “dead-broke,” getting at the same
time some useful hints how to act under such circumstances in future
from several of the men present, who related how, when they had found
themselves in such a predicament, they had, on frankly stating the fact,
been made welcome to everything.

To be “dead-broke” was really, as far as a man’s immediate comfort was
concerned, a matter of less importance in the mines than in almost any
other place. There was no such thing as being out of employment, where
every man employed himself, and could always be sure of ample
remuneration for his day’s work. But notwithstanding the want of excuse
for being “strapped,” it was very common to find men in that condition.
There were everywhere numbers of lazy, idle men, who were always without
a dollar; and others reduced themselves to that state by spending their
time and money on claims which, after all, yielded them no return, or
else gradually exhausted their funds in traveling about the country, and
prospecting, never satisfied with fair average diggings, but always
having the idea that better were to be found elsewhere. Few miners
located themselves permanently in any place, and there was a large
proportion of the population continually on the move. In almost every
place I visited in the mines, I met men whom I had seen in other
diggings. Some men I came across frequently, who seemed to do nothing
but wander about the country, satisfied with asking the miners in the
different diggings how they were “making out,” but without ever taking
the trouble to prospect for themselves.

Coin was very scarce, what there was being nearly all absorbed by the
gamblers, who required it for convenience in carrying on their business.
Ordinary payments were made in gold dust, every store being provided
with a pair of gold scales, in which the miner weighed out sufficient
dust from his buckskin purse to pay for his purchases.

In general trading, gold dust was taken at sixteen dollars the ounce;
but in the towns and villages, at the agencies of the various San
Francisco bankers and express companies, it was bought at a higher
price, according to the quality of the dust, and as it was more or less
in demand for remittance to New York.

The express business of the United States is one which has not been many
years established, and which was originally limited to the transmission
of small parcels of value. On the discovery of gold in California, the
express houses of New York immediately established agencies in San
Francisco, and at once became largely engaged in transmitting gold dust
to the mint in Philadelphia, and to various parts of the United States,
on account of the owners in California. As a natural result of doing
such a business, they very soon began to sell their own drafts on New
York, and to purchase and remit gold dust on their own account.

They had agencies also in every little town in the mines, where they
enjoyed the utmost confidence of the community, receiving deposits from
miners and others, and selling drafts on the Atlantic States. In fact,
besides carrying on the original express business of forwarding goods
and parcels, and keeping up an independent post-office of their own,
they became also, to all intents and purposes, bankers, and did as large
an exchange business as any legitimate banking firm in the country.

The want of coin was equally felt in San Francisco, and coins of all
countries were taken into circulation to make up the deficiency. As yet
a mint had not been granted to California, but there was a Government
Assay Office, which issued a large octagonal gold piece of the value of
fifty dollars--a roughly executed coin, about twice the bulk of a
crown-piece; while the greater part of the five, ten, and twenty dollar
pieces were not from the United States Mint, but were coined and issued
by private firms in San Francisco.

Silver was still more scarce, and many pieces were consequently current
at much more than their value. A quarter of a dollar was the lowest
appreciable sum represented by coin, and any piece approaching it in
size was equally current at the same rate. A franc passed for a quarter
of a dollar while a five-franc piece only passed for a dollar, which is
about its actual worth. As a natural consequence of francs being thus
taken at 25 per cent. more than their real value, large quantities of
them were imported and put into circulation. In 1854, however, the
bankers refused to receive them, and they gradually disappeared.

There was wonderfully little precaution taken in conveying the gold down
from the mountains, and yet, although nothing deserving the name of an
escort ever accompanied it, I never knew an instance of an attack upon
it being attempted. On several occasions I saw the express messenger
taking down a quantity of gold from Downieville. He and another man,
both well mounted, were driving a mule loaded with leathern sacks,
containing probably two or three hundred pounds’ weight of gold. They
were well armed, of course; but a couple of robbers, had they felt so
inclined, might easily have knocked them both over with their rifles in
the solitude of the forest, without much fear of detection. Bad as
California was, it appeared a proof that it was not altogether such a
country as was generally supposed, when large quantities of gold were
thus regularly brought over the lonely mountain-trails, with even less
protection than would have been thought necessary in many parts of the
Old World.

From Oak Valley I went down to Slate Range with an American who was
anxious I should visit his camp there. After climbing down the mountain
side, we at last reached the river, which here was confined between huge
masses of slate rock, turning in its course, and disappearing behind
bold rocky points so abruptly, that seldom could more of the length than
the breadth of the river be seen at a time.

An hour’s scrambling over the sharp-edged slate rocks on the side of the
river brought us to his camp, or at least the place where he and his
partners camped out, which was on the bare rocks, in a corner so
over-shadowed by the steep mountain that the sun never shone upon it. It
was certainly the least luxurious habitation, and in the most wild and
rugged locality, I had yet seen in the mines. On a rough board which
rested on two stones were a number of tin plates, pannikins, and such
articles of table furniture, while a few flat stones alongside answered
the purpose of chairs. Scattered about, as was usual in all miners’
camps, were quantities of empty tins of preserved meats, sardines, and
oysters, empty bottles of all shapes and sizes, innumerable ham-bones,
old clothes, and other rubbish. Round the blackened spot which was
evidently the kitchen were pots and frying-pans, sacks of flour and
beans, and other provisions, together with a variety of cans and
bottles, of which no one could tell the contents without inspection; for
in the mines everything is perverted from its original purpose, butter
being perhaps stowed away in a tin labeled “fresh lobsters,” tea in a
powder canister, and salt in a sardine-box.

There was nothing in the shape of a tent or shanty of any sort; it was
not required as a shelter from the heat of the sun, as the place was in
the perpetual shade of the mountain, and at night each man rolled
himself up in his blankets, and made a bed of the smoothest and softest
piece of rock he could find.

This part of the river was very rich, the gold being found in the soft
slate rock between the layers and in the crevices.

My friend and his partners were working in a “wing dam” in front of
their camp, and the river, being pushed back off one half of its bed,
rushed past in a roaring torrent, white with foam. A large water-wheel
was set in it, which worked several pumps, and a couple of feet above it
lay a pine tree, which had been felled there so as to serve as a bridge.
The river was above thirty feet wide, and the tree, not more than a foot
and a half in diameter, was in its original condition, perfectly round
and smooth, and was, moreover, kept constantly wet with the spray from
the wheel, which was so close that one could almost touch it in passing.
If one had happened to slip and fall into the water, he would have had
about as much chance of coming out alive as if he had fallen before the
paddles of a steamer; and any gentleman with shaky legs and unsteady
nerves, had he been compelled to pass such a bridge, would most probably
have got astride of it, and so worked his passage across. In the mines,
however, these “pine-log crossings” were such a very common style of
bridge, that every one was used to them, and walked them like a
rope-dancer: in fact, there was a degree of pleasant excitement in
passing a very slippery and difficult one such as this.




CHAPTER XVII

CHINESE IN THE EARLY DAYS


While at this camp, I went down the river two or three miles to see a
place called Mississippi Bar, where a company of Chinamen were at work.
After an hour’s climbing along the rocky banks, and having crossed and
recrossed the river some half-dozen times on pine logs, I at last got
down among the Celestials.

There were about a hundred and fifty of them here, living in a perfect
village of small tents, all clustered together on the rocks. They had a
claim in the bed of the river, which they were working by means of a
wing dam. A “wing dam,” I may here mention, is one which first runs
half-way across the river, then down the river, and back again to the
same side, thus damming off a portion of its bed without the necessity
of the more expensive operation of lifting up the whole river bodily in
a “flume.”

The Chinamen’s dam was two or three hundred yards in length, and was
built of large pine trees laid one on the top of the other. They must
have had great difficulty in handling such immense logs in such a place;
but they are exceedingly ingenious in applying mechanical power,
particularly in concentrating the force of a large number of men upon
one point.

There were Chinamen of the better class among them, who no doubt
directed the work, and paid the common men very poor wages--poor at
least for California. A Chinaman could be hired for two, or at most
three dollars a day by any one who thought their labor worth so much;
but those at work here were most likely paid at a still lower rate, for
it was well known that whole shiploads of Chinamen came to the country
under a species of bondage to some of their wealthy countrymen in San
Francisco, who, immediately on their arrival, shipped them off to the
mines under charge of an agent, keeping them completely under control by
some mysterious celestial influence, quite independent of the accepted
laws of the country.

They sent up to the mines for their use supplies of Chinese provisions
and clothing, and thus all the gold taken out by them remained in
Chinese hands, and benefited the rest of the community but little by
passing through the ordinary channels of trade.

In fact, the Chinese formed a distinct class, which enriched itself at
the expense of the country, abstracting a large portion of its latent
wealth without contributing, in a degree commensurate with their
numbers, to the prosperity of the community of which they formed a part.

The individuals of any community must exist by supplying the wants of
others; and when a man neither does this, nor has any wants of his own
but those which he provides for himself, he is of no use to his
neighbors; but when, in addition to this, he also diminishes the
productiveness of the country, he is a positive disadvantage in
proportion to the amount of public wealth which he engrosses, and
becomes a public nuisance.

What is true of an individual is true also of a class; and the Chinese,
though they were no doubt, as far as China was concerned, both
productive and consumptive, were considered by a very large party in
California to be merely destructive as far as that country was
interested.

They were, of course, not altogether so, for such a numerous body as
they were could not possibly be so isolated as to be entirely
independent of others; but any advantage which the country derived from
their presence was too dearly paid for by the quantity of gold which
they took from it; and the propriety of expelling all the Chinese from
the State was long discussed, both by the press and in the Legislature;
but the principles of the American constitution prevailed; the country
was open to all the world, and the Chinese enjoyed equal rights with the
most favored nation. In some parts of the mines, however, the miners had
their own ideas on the subject, and would not allow the Chinamen to come
among them; but generally they were not interfered with, for they
contented themselves with working such poor diggings as it was not
thought worth while to take from them.

This claim on the Yuba was the greatest undertaking I ever saw attempted
by them.

They expended a vast deal of unnecessary labor in their method of
working, and their individual labor, in effect, was as nothing compared
with that of other miners. A company of fifteen or twenty white men
would have wing-dammed this claim, and worked it out in two or three
months, while here were about a hundred and fifty Chinamen humbugging
round it all the season, and still had not worked one half the ground.

Their mechanical contrivances were not in the usual rough
straightforward style of the mines; they were curious, and very
elaborately got up, but extremely wasteful of labor, and, moreover, very
ineffective.

The pumps which they had at work here were an instance of this. They
were on the principle of a chain-pump, the chain being formed of pieces
of wood about six inches long, hinging on each other, with cross-pieces
in the middle for buckets, having about six square inches of surface.
The hinges fitted exactly to the spokes of a small wheel, which was
turned by a Chinaman at each side of it working a miniature treadmill of
four spokes on the same axle. As specimens of joiner-work they were very
pretty, but as pumps they were ridiculous; they threw a mere driblet of
water: the chain was not even encased in a box--it merely lay in a
slanting trough, so that more than one half the capacity of the buckets
was lost. An American miner, at the expenditure of one-tenth part of the
labor of making such toys, would have set a water-wheel in the river to
work an elevating pump, which would have thrown more water in half an
hour than four-and-twenty Chinamen could throw in a day with a dozen of
these gimcrack contrivances. Their camp was wonderfully clean: when I
passed through it, I found a great many of them at their toilet, getting
their heads shaved, or plaiting each other’s pigtails; but most of them
were at dinner, squatted on the rocks in groups of eight or ten round a
number of curious little black pots and dishes, from which they helped
themselves with their chopsticks. In the center was a large bowl of
rice. This is their staple article, and they devour it most voraciously.
Throwing back their heads, they hold a large cupful to their wide-open
mouths, and, with a quick motion of the chopsticks in the other hand,
they cause the rice to flow down their throats in a continuous stream.

I received several invitations to dinner, but declined the pleasure,
preferring to be a spectator. The rice looked well enough, and the rest
of their dishes were no doubt very clean, but they had a very dubious
appearance, and were far from suggesting the idea of being good to eat.
In the store I found the storekeeper lying asleep on a mat. He was a
sleek dirty-looking object, like a fat pig with the hair scalded off,
his head being all close shaved excepting the pigtail. His opium-pipe
lay in his hand, and the lamp still burned beside him, so I supposed he
was already in the seventh heaven. The store was like other stores in
the mines, inasmuch as it contained a higgledy-piggledy collection of
provisions and clothing, but everything was Chinese excepting the boots.
These are the only articles of barbarian costume which the Chinaman
adopts, and he always wears them of an enormous size, on a scale
commensurate with the ample capacity of his other garments.

The next place I visited was Wamba’s Bar, some miles lower down the
river; and from here I intended returning to Nevada, as the season was
far advanced, and fine weather could no longer be depended upon.

The very day, however, on which I was to start, the rain commenced, and
came down in such torrents that I postponed my departure. It continued
to rain heavily for several days, and I had no choice but to remain
where I was, as the river rose rapidly to such a height as to be
perfectly impassable. It was now about eighty yards wide, and rushed
past in a raging torrent, the waves rolling several feet high. Some of
the miners up above, trusting to a longer continuance of the dry season,
had not removed their flumes from the river, and these it was now
carrying down, all broken up into fragments, along with logs and whole
pine trees, which occasionally, as they got foul of other objects,
reared straight up out of the water. It was a grand sight; the river
seemed as if it had suddenly arisen to assert its independence, and take
vengeance for all the restraints which had been placed upon it, by
demolishing flumes, dams, and bridges, and carrying off everything
within its reach.

The house I was staying in was the only one in the neighborhood, and was
a sort of half store, half boarding-house. Several miners lived in it,
and there were, besides, two or three storm-stayed travelers like
myself. It was a small clapboard house, built on a rock immediately over
the river, but still so far above it that we anticipated no danger from
the flood. We were close to the mouth of a creek, however, which we one
night fully expected would send the house on a voyage of discovery down
the river. Some drift-logs up above had got jammed, and so altered the
course of the stream as to bring it sweeping past the corner of the
house, which merely rested on a number of posts. The waters rose to
within an inch or two of the floor; and as they carried logs and rocks
along with them, we feared that the posts would be carried away, when
the whole fabric would immediately slip off the rocks into the angry
river a few feet below. There was a small window at one end through
which we might have escaped, and this was taken out that no time might
be lost when the moment for clearing out should arrive, while axes also
were kept in readiness, to smash through the back of the house, which
rested on _terra firma_. It was an exceedingly dark night, very cold,
and raining cats and dogs, so that the prospect of having to jump out of
the window and sit on the rocks till morning was by no means pleasant to
contemplate; but the idea of being washed into the river was still less
agreeable, and no one ventured to sleep, as the water was already almost
up to the floor, and a very slight rise would have smashed up the whole
concern so quickly, that it was best to be on the alert. The house
fortunately stood it out bravely till daylight, when some of the party
put an end to the danger by going up the creek, and removing the
accumulation of logs which had turned the water from its proper channel.

After the rain ceased, we had to wait for two days till the river fell
sufficiently to allow of its being crossed with any degree of safety;
but on the third day, along with another man who was going to Nevada, I
made the passage in a small skiff--not without considerable difficulty,
however, for the river was still much swollen, and covered with logs and
driftwood. On landing on the other side, we struck straight up the face
of the mountain, and soon gained the high land, where we found a few
inches of snow fast disappearing before the still powerful rays of the
sun.

We arrived at Nevada after a day and a half of very muddy traveling, but
the weather was bright and clear, and seemed to be a renewal of the dry
season. It did not last long, however, for a heavy snowstorm soon set
in, and it continued snowing, raining, and freezing for about three
weeks,--the snow lying on the ground all the time, to the depth of three
or four feet. The continuance of such weather rendered the roads so
impracticable as to cut off all supplies from Marysville or Sacramento,
and accordingly prices of provisions of all kinds rose enormously. The
miners could not work with so much snow on the ground, and altogether
there was a prospect of hard times. Flour was exceedingly high even in
San Francisco, several capitalists having entered into a flour-monopoly
speculation, buying up every cargo as it arrived, and so keeping up the
price. In Nevada it was sold at a dollar a pound, and in other places
farther up in the mountains it was doled out, as long as the stock
lasted, at three or four times that price. In many parts the people were
reduced to the utmost distress from the scarcity of food, and the
impossibility of obtaining any fresh supplies. At Downieville, the few
men who had remained there were living on barley, a small stock of which
was fortunately kept there as mule-feed. Several men perished in the
snow in trying to make their escape from distant camps in the mountains;
two or three lost their lives near the ranch of my friend the Italian
hurdy-gurdy player, while carrying flour down to their camps on the
river; and in some places people saved themselves from starvation by
eating dogs and mules.

Men kept pouring into Nevada from all quarters, starved out of their own
camps, and all bearing the same tale of starvation and distress, and
glad to get to a place where food was to be had. The town, being a sort
of harbor of refuge for miners in remote diggings, became very full; and
as no work could be done in such weather, the population had nothing to
do but to amuse themselves the best way they could. A theatrical company
was performing nightly to crowded houses; the gambling saloons were kept
in full blast; and in fact, every day was like a Sunday, from the number
of men one saw idling about, playing cards, and gambling.

Although the severity of the weather interrupted mining operations for
the time, it was nevertheless a subject of rejoicing to the miners
generally, for many localities could only be worked when plenty of water
was running in the ravines, and it was not unusual for men to employ
themselves in the dry season in “throwing up” heaps of dirt, in
anticipation of having plenty of water in winter to wash it. This was
commonly done in flats and ravines where water could only be had
immediately after heavy rains. It was easy to distinguish a heap of
thrown-up dirt from a pile of “tailings,” or dirt already washed, and
property of this sort was quite sacred, the gold being not less safe
there--perhaps safer--than if already in the pocket of the owner. In
whatever place a man threw up a pile of dirt, he might leave it without
any concern for its safety, and remove to another part of the country,
being sure to find it intact when he returned to wash it, no matter how
long he might be absent.




CHAPTER XVIII

DOWN WITH THE FLOOD


I had occasion to return to San Francisco at this time, and the journey
was about the most unpleasant I ever performed. The roads had been
getting worse all the time, and were quite impassable for stages or
wagons. The mail was brought up by express messengers, but other
communication there was none. The nearest route to San Francisco--that
by Sacramento--was perfectly impracticable, and the only way to get down
there was by Marysville, situated about fifty miles off, at the junction
of the Yuba and Feather rivers.

I set out one afternoon with a friend who was also going down, and who
knew the way, which was rather an advantage, as the trails were hidden
under three or four feet of snow. We occasionally, however, got the
benefit of a narrow path, trodden down by other travelers; and though we
only made twelve miles that day, we in that distance gradually emerged
from the snow, and got down into the regions of mud and slush and rain.
We stayed the night at a road-side house, where we found twenty or
thirty miners starved out of their own camps, and in the morning we
resumed our journey in a steady pour of rain. The mud was more than
ankle-deep, but was so well diluted with water that it did not cause
much inconvenience in walking, while at the foot of every little hollow
was a stream to be waded waist-high; for we were now out of the mining
regions, and crossing the rolling country between the mountains and the
plains, where the water did not run off so quickly.

When we reached the only large stream on our route, we found that the
bridge, which had been the usual means of crossing, had been carried
away, and the banks on either side were overflowed to a considerable
distance. A pine tree had been felled across when the waters were lower,
but they now flowed two or three feet over the top of it--the only sign
that it was there being the branches sticking up, and marking its course
across the river.

It was not very pleasant to have to cross such a swollen stream on such
a very visionary bridge, but there was no help for it; so cutting sticks
wherewith to feel for a footing under water, we waded out till we
reached the original bank of the stream, where we had to take to the
pine log, and travel it as best we could with the assistance of the
branches, the water rushing past nearly up to our waists. We had fifty
or sixty feet to go in this way, but the farther end of the log rose
nearly to the surface of the water, and landed us on an island, from
which we had to pass to dry land through a thicket of bushes under four
feet of water.

Towards evening we arrived at a ranch, about twenty miles from
Marysville, which we made the end of our day’s journey. We were
saturated with rain and mud, but dry clothes were not to be had; so we
were obliged to pass another night under hydropathic treatment, the
natural consequence of which was that in the morning we were stiff and
sore all over. However, after walking a short distance, we got rid of
this sensation--receiving a fresh ducking from the rain, which continued
to fall as heavily as ever.

The plains, which we had now reached, were almost entirely under water,
and at every depression in the surface of the ground a slough had to be
waded of corresponding depth--sometimes over the waist. The road was
only in some places discernible, and we kept to it chiefly by steering
for the houses, to be seen at intervals of a few miles.

About six miles from Marysville we crossed the Yuba, which was here a
large rapid river a hundred yards wide. We were ferried over in a little
skiff, and had to pull up the river nearly half a mile, so as to fetch
the landing on the other side. I was not sorry to reach _terra firma_
again, such as it was, for the boat was a flat-bottomed, straight-sided
little thing, about the size and shape of a coffin, and was quite
unsuitable for such work. The waves were running so high that it was
with the utmost difficulty we escaped being swamped, and all the
swimming that could have been done in such a current would not have done
any one much good.

From this point to Marysville the country was still more flooded. We
passed several teams, which, in a vain endeavor to get up to the
mountains with supplies, were hopelessly stuck in the mud at the bottom
of the hollows, with only the rim of the wheels appearing above water.

Marysville is a city of some importance: being situated at the head of
navigation, it is the depot and starting-point for the extensive
district of mining country lying north and east of it. It is well laid
out in wide streets, containing numbers of large brick and wooden
buildings, and the ground it stands upon is ten or twelve feet above the
usual level of the river. But when we waded up to it, we found the
portion of the town nearest the river completely flooded, the water
being nearly up to the first floor of the houses, while the people were
going about in boats. In the streets farther back, however, it was not
so bad; one could get along without having to go much over the ankles.
The appearance of the place, as seen through the heavy rain, was far
from cheering. The first idea which occurred to me on beholding it was
that of rheumatism, and the second fever and ague; but I was glad to
find myself here, nevertheless, if only to experience once more the
sensation of having on dry clothes.

I learned that several men had been drowned on different parts of the
plains in attempting to cross some of the immense pools or sloughs such
as we had passed on our way; while cattle and horses were drowned in
numbers, and were dying of starvation on insulated spots, from which
there was no escape.

I saw plenty of this, however, the next day in going down by the
steamboat to Sacramento. The distance is fifty or sixty miles through
the plains all the way, but they had now more the appearance of a vast
inland sea.

It would have been difficult to keep to the channel of the river, had it
not been for the trees appearing on each side, and the numbers of
squatters’ shanties generally built on a spot where the bank was high
and showed itself above water, though in many cases nothing but the roof
of the cabin could be seen.

On the tops of the cabins and sheds, on piles of firewood, or up in the
trees, were fowls calmly waiting their doom; while pigs, cows, and
horses were all huddled up together, knee-deep in water, on any little
rising ground which offered standing-room, dying by inches from
inanition. The squatters themselves were busy removing in boats whatever
property they could, and at those cabins whose occupants were not yet
completely drowned out, a boat was made fast alongside as a means of
escape for the poor devils, who, as the steamer went past, looked out of
the door the very pictures of woe and dismay. We saw two men sitting
resolutely on the top of their cabin, the water almost up to their feet;
a boat was made fast to the chimney, to be used when the worst came to
the worst, but they were apparently determined to see it out if
possible. They looked intensely miserable, though they would not own it,
for they gave us a very feigned and uncheery hurrah as we steamed past.

The loss sustained by these settlers was very great. The inconvenience
of being for a time floated off the face of the earth in a small boat
was bad enough of itself; but to have the greater part of their worldly
possessions floating around them, in the shape of the corpses of what
had been their live stock, must have rather tended to damp their
spirits. However, Californians are proof against all such
reverses,--they are like India-rubber, the more severely they are cast
down, the higher they rise afterwards.

It was hardly possible to conceive what an amount of rain and snow must
have fallen to lay such a vast extent of country under water; and though
the weather was now improving, the rain being not so constant, or so
heavy, it would still be some time before the waters could subside, as
the snow which had fallen in the mountains had yet to find its way down,
and would serve to keep up the flood.

Sacramento City was in as wretched a plight as a city can well be in.

The only dry land to be seen was the top of the levee built along the
bank of the river in front of the town; all the rest was water, out of
which rose the houses, or at least the upper parts of them. The streets
were all so many canals crowded with boats and barges carrying on the
customary traffic; watermen plied for hire in the streets instead of
cabs, and independent gentlemen poled themselves about on rafts, or on
extemporized boats made of empty boxes. In one part of the town, where
the water was not deep enough for general navigation, a very curious
style of conveyance was in use. Pairs of horses were harnessed to large
flat-bottomed boats, and numbers of these vehicles, carrying passengers
or goods, were to be seen cruising about, now dashing through a foot or
two of mud which the horses made to fly in all directions as they
floundered through it, now grounding and bumping over some very dry
spot, and again sailing gracefully along the top of the water, so deep
as nearly to cover the horses’ backs.

The water in the river was some feet higher than that in the town, and
it was fortunate that the levee did not give way, or the loss of life
would have been very great. As it was, some few men had been drowned in
the streets. The destruction of property, and the pecuniary loss to the
inhabitants, were of course enormous, but they had been flooded once or
twice before, besides having several times had their city burned down,
and were consequently quite used to such disasters; in fact, Sacramento
suffered more from fire and flood together than any city in the State,
without, however, apparently retarding the growing prosperity of the
people.

I arrived in Sacramento too late for the steamer for San Francisco, and
so had the pleasure of passing a night there, but I cannot say I
experienced any personal inconvenience from the watery condition of the
town.

It seemed to cause very little interruption to the usual order of things
in hotels, theaters, and other public places; there was a good deal of
anxiety as to the security of the levee, in which was the only safety of
the city; but in the meantime the ordinary course of pleasure and
business was unchanged, except in the substitution of boats for wheeled
vehicles; and the great source of consolation and congratulation to the
sufferers from the flood, and to the population generally, was in
endeavoring to compute how many millions of rats would be drowned.

On arriving in San Francisco the change was very great--it was like
entering a totally different country. In place of cold and rain and
snow, flooded towns, and no dry land, or snowed-up towns in the
mountains with no food, here was a clear bright sky, and a warm sun
shining down upon a city where everything looked bright and gay. It was
nearly a year since I had left San Francisco, and in the meantime the
greater part of it had been burned down and rebuilt. The appearance of
most of the principal streets was completely altered; large brick stores
had taken the place of wooden buildings; and so rapidly had the city
extended itself into the bay that the principal business was now
conducted on wide streets of solid brick and stone warehouses, where a
year before had been fifteen or twenty feet of water. All, excepting the
more unfrequented streets, were planked, and had good stone or plank
side-walks, so that there was but little mud notwithstanding the heavy
rains which had fallen. In the upper part of the town, however, where
the streets were still in their original condition, the amount of mud
was quite inconceivable. Some places were almost impassable, and carts
might be seen almost submerged, which half-a-dozen horses were vainly
trying to extricate.

The climate of San Francisco has the peculiarity of being milder in
winter than in summer. Winter is by far the most pleasant season of the
year. It is certainly the rainy season, but it only rains occasionally,
and when it does it is not cold. The ordinary winter weather is soft,
mild, subdued sunshine, not unlike the Indian summer of North America.
The San Francisco summer, however, is the most disagreeable and trying
season one can be subjected to. In the morning and forenoon it is
generally beautifully bright and warm: one feels inclined to dress as
one would in the tropics; but this cannot be done with safety, for one
has to be prepared for the sudden change in temperature which occurs
nearly every day towards the afternoon, when there blows in off the sea
a cold biting wind, chilling the very marrow in one’s bones. The cold
is doubly felt after the heat of the fore part of the day, and to some
constitutions such extreme variations of temperature within the
twenty-four hours are no doubt very injurious, especially as the wind
not unfrequently brings a damp fog along with it.

The climate is nevertheless generally considered salubrious, and is
thought by some people to be one of the finest in the world. For my own
part, I much prefer the summer weather of the mines, where the sky is
always bright, and the warm temperature of the day becomes only
comparatively cool at night, while the atmosphere is so dry, that the
heat, however intense, is never oppressive, and so clear that everything
within the range of vision is as clearly and distinctly seen as if one
were looking upon a flat surface, and could equally examine each
separate part of it, so satisfactory and so minute in detail is the view
of the most distant objects.

Considering the very frequent use of pistols in San Francisco, it is a
most providential circumstance that the climate is in a high degree
favorable for the cure of gunshot wounds. These in general heal very
rapidly, and many miraculous recoveries have taken place, effected by
nature and the climate, after the surgeons, experienced as they are in
that branch of practice, had exhausted their skill upon the patient.




CHAPTER XIX

A BULL AND BEAR FIGHT


The long tract of mountainous country lying north and south, which
comprises the mining districts, is divided into the northern and
southern mines--the former having communication with San Francisco
through Sacramento and Marysville, while the latter are more accessible
by way of Stockton, a city situated at the head of navigation of the San
Joaquin, which joins the Sacramento about fifty miles above San
Francisco.

My wanderings had hitherto been confined to the northern mines, and
when, after a short stay in San Francisco, business again led me to
Placerville, I determined from that point to travel down through the
southern mines, and visit the various places of interest _en route_.

It was about the end of March when I started. The winter was quite over;
all that remained of it was an occasional heavy shower of rain; the air
was mild and soft, and the mountains, covered with fresh verdure, were
blooming brightly in the warm sunshine with many-colored flowers. In
every ravine, and through each little hollow in the high lands, flowed a
stream of water; and wherever water was to be found, there also were
miners at work. From the towns and camps, where the supply of water was
constant, and where the diggings could consequently be worked at any
time of the year, they had expanded themselves over the whole face of
the country; and in traveling through the depths of the forests, just as
the solitude seemed to be perfect, one got a glimpse in the distance,
through the dark columns of the pine trees, of the red shirts of two or
three straggling miners, taking advantage of the short period of running
water to reap a golden harvest in some spot of fancied richness. This
was the season of all others to see to the best advantage the grandeur
and beauty of the scenery, and at the same time to realize how widely
diffused and inexhaustible is the wealth of the country. Inexhaustible
is, of course, only a comparative term; for the amount of gold still
remaining in California is a definite quantity becoming less and less
every day, and already vastly reduced from what it was when the mines
lay intact seven years ago; but still the date at which the yield of the
California mines is to cease, or even to begin to fall off, seems to be
as far distant as ever. In fact, the continued labor of constantly
increasing numbers of miners, instead of exhausting the resources of the
mines, as some persons at first supposed would be the case, has, on the
contrary, only served to establish confidence in the permanence of their
wealth.

It is true that such diggings are now rarely to be met with as were
found in the early days, when the pioneers, pitching, as if by instinct,
on those spots where the superabundant richness of the country had
broken out, dug up gold as they would potatoes; nor is the average yield
to the individual miner so great as it was in those times. Subsequent
research, however, has shown that the gold is not confined to a few
localities, but that the whole country is saturated with it. The mineral
produce of the mines increases with the population, though not in the
same ratio; for only a certain proportion of the immigrants betake
themselves to mining, the rest finding equally profitable occupation in
the various branches of mechanical and agricultural industry which have
of late years sprung up; while the miner, though perhaps not actually
taking out as much gold as in 1849, is nevertheless equally prosperous,
for he lives amid the comforts of civilized life, which he obtains at a
reasonable rate, instead of being reduced to a half-savage state, and
having to pay fabulous prices for every article of consumption.

The first large camp on my way south from Hangtown was Moquelumne Hill,
about sixty miles distant, and as there were no very interesting
localities in the intermediate country, I traveled direct to that place.
After passing through a number of small camps, I arrived about noon of
the second day at Jacksonville, a small village called after General
Jackson, of immortal memory. I had noticed a great many French miners at
work at I came along, and so I was prepared to find it rather a
French-looking place. Half the signs over the stores and hotels were
French, and numbers of Frenchmen were sitting at small tables in front
of the houses playing at cards.

As I walked up the town I nearly stumbled over a young grizzly bear,
about the size of two Newfoundland dogs rolled into one, which was
chained to a stump in the middle of the street. I very quickly got out
of his way; but I found afterwards that he was more playful than
vicious. He was the pet of the village, and was delighted when he could
get any one to play with, though he was rather beyond the age at which
such a playmate is at all desirable. I don’t think he was likely to
enjoy long even the small amount of freedom he possessed; he would
probably be caged up and shipped to New York; for a live grizzly is
there a valuable piece of property, worth a good deal more than the same
weight of bear’s meat in California, even at two dollars a pound.

From this place there was a steep descent of two or three miles to the
Moquelumne River, which I crossed by means of a good bridge, and, after
ascending again to the upper world by a long winding road, I reached the
town of Moquelumne Hill, which is situated on the very brink of the high
land overhanging the river.

It lies in a sort of semicircular amphitheater of about a mile in
diameter, surrounded by a chain of small eminences, in which gold was
found in great quantities. The diggings were chiefly deep diggings,
worked by means of “coyote holes,” a hundred feet deep, and all the
ground round the town was accordingly covered with windlasses and heaps
of dirt. The heights at each end of the amphitheater had proved the
richest spots, and were supposed to have been volcanoes. But many hills
in the mines got the credit of having been volcanoes, for no other
reason than that they were full of gold; and this was probably the only
claim to such a distinction which could be made in this case.

The population was a mixture of equal proportions of French, Mexicans,
and Americans, with a few stray Chinamen, Chilians, and suchlike.

The town itself, with the exception of two or three wooden stores and
gambling-saloons, was all of canvas. Many of the houses were merely
skeletons clothed in dirty rags of canvas, and it was not difficult to
tell what part of the population they belonged to, even had there not
been crowds of lazy Mexicans vegetating about the doors.

The Indians, who were pretty numerous about here, seemed to be a
slightly superior race to those farther north. I judged so from the fact
that they apparently had more money, and consequently must have had more
energy to dig for it. They were also great gamblers, and particularly
fond of monte, at which the Mexicans fleeced them of all their cash,
excepting what they spent in making themselves ridiculous with stray
articles of clothing.

But perhaps their appreciation of monte, and their desire to copy the
costume of white men, are signs of a greater capability of civilization
than they generally get credit for. Still their presence is not
compatible with that of a civilized community, and, as the country
becomes more thickly settled, there will be no longer room for them.
Their country can be made subservient to man, but as they themselves
cannot be turned to account, they must move off, and make way for their
betters.

This may not be very good morality, but it is the way of the world, and
the aborigines of California are not likely to share a better fate than
those of many another country. And though the people who drive them out
may make the process as gradual as possible by the system of Indian
grants and reservations, yet, as with wild cattle, so it is with
Indians, so many head, and no more, can live on a given quantity of
land, and, if crowded into too small a compass, the result is certain
though gradual extirpation, for by their numbers they prevent the
reproduction of their means of subsistence.

At the time of my arrival in Moquelumne Hill, the town was posted all
over with placards, which I had also observed stuck upon trees and rocks
by the roadside as I traveled over the mountains. They were to this
effect:--

                          “WAR! WAR!! WAR!!!

                   The celebrated Bull-killing Bear,
                            GENERAL SCOTT,
     will fight a Bull on Sunday the 15th inst., at 2 P.M.,
                          at Moquelumne Hill.

     “The Bear will be chained with a twenty-foot chain in the middle of
     the arena. The Bull will be perfectly wild, young, of the Spanish
     breed, and the best that can be found in the country. The Bull’s
     horns will be of their natural length, and ‘_not sawed off to
     prevent accidents_.’ The Bull will be quite free in the arena, and
     not hampered in any way whatever.”

The proprietors then went on to state that they had nothing to do with
the humbugging which characterized the last fight, and begged
confidently to assure the public that this would be the most splendid
exhibition ever seen in the country.

I had often heard of these bull-and-bear fights as popular amusements in
some parts of the State, but had never yet had an opportunity of
witnessing them; so, on Sunday the 15th, I found myself walking up
towards the arena, among a crowd of miners and others of all nations, to
witness the performances of the redoubted General Scott.

The amphitheater was a roughly but strongly built wooden structure,
uncovered of course; and the outer enclosure, which was of boards about
ten feet high, was a hundred feet in diameter. The arena in the center
was forty feet in diameter, and enclosed by a very strong five-barred
fence. From the top of this rose tiers of seats, occupying the space
between the arena and the outside enclosure.

As the appointed hour drew near, the company continued to arrive till
the whole place was crowded; while, to beguile the time till the
business of the day should commence, two fiddlers--a white man and a
gentleman of color--performed a variety of appropriate airs.

The scene was gay and brilliant, and was one which would have made a
crowded opera-house appear gloomy and dull in comparison. The shelving
bank of human beings which encircled the place was like a mass of bright
flowers. The most conspicuous objects were the shirts of the miners,
red, white, and blue being the fashionable colors, among which appeared
bronzed and bearded faces under hats of every hue; revolvers and
silver-handled bowie-knives glanced in the bright sunshine, and among
the crowd were numbers of gay Mexican blankets, and red and blue French
bonnets, while here and there the fair sex was represented by a few
Mexican women in snowy-white dresses, puffing their cigaritas in
delightful anticipation of the exciting scene which was to be enacted.
Over the heads of the highest circle of spectators was seen mountain
beyond mountain fading away in the distance, and on the green turf of
the arena lay the great center of attraction, the hero of the day,
General Scott.

He was, however, not yet exposed to public gaze, but was confined in his
cage, a heavy wooden box lined with iron, with open iron bars on one
side, which for the present was boarded over. From the center of the
arena a chain led into the cage, and at the end of it no doubt the bear
was to be found. Beneath the scaffolding on which sat the spectators
were two pens, each containing a very handsome bull, showing evident
signs of indignation at his confinement. Here also was the bar, without
which no place of public amusement would be complete.

There was much excitement among the crowd as to the result of the
battle, as the bear had already killed several bulls; but an idea
prevailed that in former fights the bulls had not had fair play, being
tied by a rope to the bear, and having the tips of their horns sawed
off. But on this occasion the bull was to have every advantage which
could be given him; and he certainly had the good wishes of the
spectators, though the bear was considered such a successful and
experienced bull-fighter that the betting was all in his favor. Some of
my neighbors gave it as their opinion, that there was “nary bull in
Calaforny as could whip that bar.”

At last, after a final tattoo had been beaten on a gong to make the
stragglers hurry up the hill, preparations were made for beginning the
fight.

The bear made his appearance before the public in a very bearish manner.
His cage ran upon very small wheels, and some bolts having been slipped
connected with the face of it, it was dragged out of the ring, when, as
his chain only allowed him to come within a foot or two of the fence,
the General was rolled out upon the ground all of a heap, and very much
against his inclination apparently, for he made violent efforts to
regain his cage as it disappeared. When he saw that was hopeless, he
floundered half-way round the ring at the length of his chain, and
commenced to tear up the earth with his fore-paws. He was a grizzly bear
of pretty large size, weighing about twelve hundred pounds.

The next thing to be done was to introduce the bull. The bars between
his pen and the arena were removed, while two or three men stood ready
to put them up again as soon as he should come out. But he did not seem
to like the prospect, and was not disposed to move till pretty sharply
poked up from behind, when, making a furious dash at the red flag which
was being waved in front of the gate, he found himself in the ring face
to face with General Scott.

The General, in the meantime, had scraped a hole for himself two or
three inches deep, in which he was lying down. This, I was told by those
who had seen his performances before, was his usual fighting attitude.

The bull was a very beautiful animal, of a dark purple color marked with
white. His horns were regular and sharp, and his coat was as smooth and
glossy as a racer’s. He stood for a moment taking a survey of the bear,
the ring, and the crowds of people; but not liking the appearance of
things in general, he wheeled round, and made a splendid dash at the
bars, which had already been put up between him and his pen, smashing
through them with as much ease as the man in the circus leaps through a
hoop of brown paper. This was only losing time, however, for he had to
go in and fight, and might as well have done so at once. He was
accordingly again persuaded to enter the arena, and a perfect barricade
of bars and boards was erected to prevent his making another retreat.
But this time he had made up his mind to fight; and after looking
steadily at the bear for a few minutes as if taking aim at him, he put
down his head and charged furiously at him across the arena. The bear
received him crouching down as low as he could, and though one could
hear the bump of the bull’s head and horns upon his ribs, he was quick
enough to seize the bull by the nose before he could retreat. This
spirited commencement of the battle on the part of the bull was hailed
with uproarious applause; and by having shown such pluck, he had gained
more than ever the sympathy of the people.

In the meantime, the bear, lying on his back, held the bull’s nose
firmly between his teeth, and embraced him round the neck with his
fore-paws, while the bull made the most of his opportunities in stamping
on the bear with his hind-feet. At last the General became exasperated
at such treatment, and shook the bull savagely by the nose, when a
promiscuous scuffle ensued, which resulted in the bear throwing his
antagonist to the ground with his fore-paws.

For this feat the bear was cheered immensely, and it was thought that,
having the bull down, he would make short work of him; but apparently
wild beasts do not tear each other to pieces quite so easily as is
generally supposed, for neither the bear’s teeth nor his long claws
seemed to have much effect on the hide of the bull, who soon regained
his feet, and, disengaging himself, retired to the other side of the
ring, while the bear again crouched down in his hole.

Neither of them seemed to be very much the worse of the encounter,
excepting that the bull’s nose had rather a ragged and bloody
appearance; but after standing a few minutes, steadily eyeing the
General, he made another rush at him. Again poor bruin’s ribs resounded,
but again he took the bull’s nose into chancery, having seized him just
as before. The bull, however, quickly disengaged himself, and was making
off, when the General, not wishing to part with him so soon, seized his
hind-foot between his teeth, and, holding on by his paws as well, was
thus dragged round the ring before he quitted his hold.

This round terminated with shouts of delight from the excited
spectators, and it was thought that the bull might have a chance after
all. He had been severely punished, however; his nose and lips were a
mass of bloody shreds, and he lay down to recover himself. But he was
not allowed to rest very long, being poked up with sticks by men
outside, which made him very savage. He made several feints to charge
them through the bars, which, fortunately, he did not attempt, for he
could certainly have gone through them as easily as he had before broken
into his pen. He showed no inclination to renew the combat; but by
goading him, and waving a red flag over the bear, he was eventually
worked up to such a state of fury as to make another charge. The result
was exactly the same as before, only that when the bull managed to get
up after being thrown, the bear still had hold of the skin of his back.

In the next round both parties fought more savagely than ever, and the
advantage was rather in favor of the bear: the bull seemed to be quite
used up, and to have lost all chance of victory.

The conductor of the performances then mounted the barrier, and,
addressing the crowd, asked them if the bull had not had fair play,
which was unanimously allowed. He then stated that he knew there was not
a bull in California which the General could not whip, and that for two
hundred dollars he would let in the other bull, and the three should
fight it out till one or all were killed.

This proposal was received with loud cheers, and two or three men going
round with hats soon collected, in voluntary contributions, the required
amount. The people were intensely excited and delighted with the sport,
and double the sum would have been just as quickly raised to insure a
continuance of the scene. A man sitting next to me, who was a
connoisseur in bear-fights, and passionately fond of the amusement,
informed me that this was “the finest fight ever fit in the country.”

The second bull was equally handsome as the first, and in as good
condition. On entering the arena, and looking around him, he seemed to
understand the state of affairs at once. Glancing from the bear lying on
the ground to the other bull standing at the opposite side of the ring,
with drooping head and bloody nose, he seemed to divine at once that the
bear was their common enemy, and rushed at him full tilt. The bear, as
usual, pinned him by the nose; but this bull did not take such treatment
so quietly as the other: struggling violently, he soon freed himself,
and, wheeling round as he did so, he caught the bear on the
hind-quarters and knocked him over; while the other bull, who had been
quietly watching the proceedings, thought this a good opportunity to
pitch in also, and rushing up, he gave the bear a dig in the ribs on the
other side before he had time to recover himself. The poor General
between the two did not know what to do, but struck out blindly with his
fore-paws with such a suppliant pitiable look that I thought this the
most disgusting part of the whole exhibition.

After another round or two with the fresh bull, it was evident that he
was no match for the bear, and it was agreed to conclude the
performances. The bulls were then shot to put them out of pain, and the
company dispersed, all apparently satisfied that it had been a very
splendid fight.

The reader can form his own opinion as to the character of an exhibition
such as I have endeavored to describe. For my own part, I did not at
first find the actual spectacle so disgusting as I had expected I
should; for as long as the animals fought with spirit, they might have
been supposed to be following their natural instincts; but when the bull
had to be urged and goaded on to return to the charge, the cruelty of
the whole proceeding was too apparent; and when the two bulls at once
were let in upon the bear, all idea of sport or fair play was at an end,
and it became a scene which one would rather have prevented than
witnessed.

In these bull-and-bear fights the bull sometimes kills the bear at the
first charge, by plunging his horns between the ribs, and striking a
vital part. Such was the fate of General Scott in the next battle he
fought, a few weeks afterwards; but it is seldom that the bear kills the
bull outright, his misery being in most cases ended by a rifle-ball when
he can no longer maintain the combat.

I took a sketch of the General the day after the battle. He was in the
middle of the now deserted arena, and was in a particularly savage
humor. He seemed to consider my intrusion on his solitude as a personal
insult, for he growled most savagely, and stormed about in his cage,
even pulling at the iron bars in his efforts to get out. I could not
help thinking what a pretty mess he would have made of me if he had
succeeded in doing so; but I regarded with peculiar satisfaction the
massive architecture of his abode; and, taking a seat a few feet from
him, I lighted my pipe, and waited till he should quiet down into an
attitude, which he soon did, though very sulkily, when he saw that he
could not help himself.

He did not seem to be much the worse for the battle, having but one
wound, and that appeared to be only skin deep.

Such a bear as this, alive, was worth about fifteen hundred dollars. The
method of capturing them is a service of considerable danger, and
requires a great deal of labor and constant watching.

A spot is chosen in some remote part of the mountains, where it has been
ascertained that bears are pretty numerous. Here a species of cage is
built, about twelve feet square and six feet high, constructed of pine
logs, and fastened after the manner of a log cabin. This is suspended
between two trees, six or seven feet from the ground, and inside is hung
a huge piece of beef, communicating by a string with a trigger, so
contrived that the slightest tug at the beef draws the trigger, and down
comes the trap, which has more the appearance of a log cabin suspended
in the air than anything else. A regular locomotive cage, lined with
iron, has also to be taken to the spot, to be kept in readiness for
bruin’s accommodation, for the pine log trap would not hold him long; he
would soon eat and tear his way out of it. The enterprising
bear-catchers have therefore to remain in the neighborhood, and keep a
sharp lookout.

Removing the bear from the trap to the cage is the most dangerous part
of the business. One side of the trap is so contrived as to admit of
being opened or removed, and the cage is drawn up alongside, with the
door also open, when the bear has to be persuaded to step into his new
abode, in which he travels down to the more populous parts of the
country, to fight bulls for the amusement of the public.




CHAPTER XX

A MOUNTAIN OF GOLD


The want of water was the great obstacle in the way of mining at
Moquelumne Hill. As it stood so much higher than the surrounding
country, there were no streams which could be introduced, and the only
means of getting a constant supply was to bring the water from the
Moquelumne River, which flowed past, three or four thousand feet below
the diggings. In order to get the requisite elevation to raise the
waters so far above their natural channel, it was found necessary to
commence the canal some fifty or sixty miles up the river. The idea had
been projected, but the execution of such a piece of work required more
capital than could be raised at the moment; but the diggings at
Moquelumne Hill were known to be so rich, as was also the tract of
country through which the canal would pass, that the speculation was
considered sure to be successful; and a company was not long after
formed for the purpose of carrying out the undertaking, which amply
repaid those embarked in it, and opened up a vast extent of new field
for mining operations, by supplying water in places which otherwise
could only have been worked for two or three months of the year.

This was only one of many such undertakings in California, some of which
were even on a larger scale. The engineering difficulties were very
great, from the rocky and mountainous nature of the country through
which the canals were brought. Hollows and valleys were spanned at a
great height by aqueducts, supported on graceful scaffoldings of pine
logs, and precipitous mountains were girded by wooden flumes projecting
from their rocky sides. Throughout the course of a canal, wherever water
was wanted by miners, it was supplied to them at so much an inch, a
sufficient quantity for a party of five or six men costing about seven
dollars a day.

I remained a few days at Moquelumne Hill in a holey old canvas hotel,
which freely admitted both wind and water; but in this respect it was
not much worse than its neighbors. A French physician resided on the
opposite side of the street in a tent not much larger than a sentry-box,
on the front of which appeared the following promiscuous announcement,
in letters as large as the space admitted--

                         “PHARMACIEN DE PARIS.
                         DRUGS AND MEDICINES.
                                BOTICA.
                           DOCTOR--DENTISTE.
                              COLD CREAM.
                         DESTRUCTION TO RATS.
                           MORT AUX SOURIS.”

From Moquelumne I went to Volcano Diggings, a distance of eighteen
miles, but which I lengthened to nearly thirty by losing my way in
crossing an unfrequented part of the country where the trails were very
indistinct.

The principal diggings at Volcano are in the banks of a gulch, called
Soldiers’ Gulch, from its having been first worked by United States’
soldiers, and were of a peculiar nature, differing from any other
diggings I had seen, inasmuch as, though they had been worked to a depth
of forty or fifty feet from the surface, they had been equally rich from
top to bottom, and as yet no bed-rock had been reached. It was seldom
such a depth of pay-dirt was found. The gold was usually only found
within a few feet of the bottom, but in this case the stiff clay soil
may have retained the gold, and prevented its settling down so readily
as through sand or gravel. The clay was so stiff that it was with
difficulty it could be washed, and lately the miners had taken to
boiling it in large boilers, which was found to dissolve it very
quickly.

To mineralogists I should think that this is the most interesting spot
in the mines, from the great variety of curious stones found in large
quantities in the diggings. One kind is found, about the size of a man’s
head, which when broken appears veined with successive brightly-colored
layers round a beautifully-crystallized cavity in the center, the whole
being enveloped in a rough outside crust an inch in thickness. The
colors are more various and the veins closer together than those of a
Scotch pebble, and the stone itself is more flinty and opaque.
Quantities of lava were also found here, and masses of limestone rock
appeared above the surface of the ground.

This place lay north of Moquelumne Hill, and might be called the most
southern point of the northern mines.

Between the scenery of the northern mines and that of the south there
is a very marked difference, both in the exterior formation of the
country, and in the kind of trees with which it is wooded. In both the
surface of the country is smooth--that is to say, there is an absence of
ruggedness of detail--the mountains appear to have been smoothed down by
the action of water; but, both north and south, the country as a whole
is rough in the extreme, the mountain sides, as well as the table-lands,
being covered with swellings, and deeply indented by ravines. An acre of
level land is hardly to be found. The difference, however, exists in
this, that in the north the mountains themselves, and every little
swelling upon them, are of a conical form, while in the south they are
all more circular. The mountains spread themselves out in hemispherical
projections one beyond another; and in many parts of the country are
found groups of eminences of the same form, and as symmetrical as if
they had been shaped by artificial means.

There is just as much symmetry in the conical forms of the northern
mines, but they appear more natural, and the pyramidal tops of the pine
trees are quite in keeping with the outlines of the country which they
cover; and it is remarkable that where the conical formation ceases,
there also the pine ceases to be the principal tree of the country.
There are pines, and plenty of them, in the southern mines, but the
country is chiefly wooded with various kinds of oaks, and other trees of
still more rounded shape, with only here and there a solitary pine
towering above them to break the monotony of the curvilinear outline.

As might be expected from this circular formation, the rivers in the
south do not follow such a sharp zigzag course as in the north; they
take wider sweeps: the mountains are not so steep, and the country
generally is not so rough. In fact, there is scarcely any camp in the
southern mines which is not accessible by wheeled vehicles.

Besides this great change in the appearance of the country, one could
not fail to observe also, in traveling south, the equally marked
difference in the inhabitants. In the north, one saw occasionally some
straggling Frenchmen and other European foreigners, here and there a
party of Chinamen, and a few Mexicans engaged in driving mules, but the
total number of foreigners was very small: the population was almost
entirely composed of Americans, and of these the Missourians and other
western men formed a large proportion.

The southern mines, however, were full of all sorts of people. There
were many villages peopled nearly altogether by Mexicans, others by
Frenchmen; in some places there were parties of two or three hundred
Chilians forming a community of their own. The Chinese camps were very
numerous; and besides all such distinct colonies of foreigners, every
town of the southern mines contained a very large foreign population.
The Americans, however, were of course greatly the majority, but even
among them one remarked the comparatively small number of Missourians
and such men, who are so conspicuous in the north.

There was still another difference in a very important feature--in fact,
the most important of all--the gold. The gold of the northern mines is
generally flaky, in exceedingly small thin scales; that of the south is
coarse gold, round and “chunky.” The rivers of the north afford very
rich diggings, while in the south they are comparatively poor, and the
richest deposits are found in the flats and other surface-diggings on
the highlands.

In the north there were no such canvas towns as Moquelumne Hill. Log
cabins and frame houses were the rule, and canvas the exception; while
in the southern mines the reverse was the case, excepting in some of the
larger towns.

It is singular that the State should be thus divided by nature into two
sections of country so unlike in many important points; and that the
people inhabiting them should help to heighten the contrast is equally
curious, though it may possibly be accounted for by supposing that
Frenchmen, Mexicans, and other foreigners, preferred the less
wild-looking country and more temperate winters of the southern mines,
while the absence of the Western backwoodsmen in the south was owing to
the fact that they came to the country across the plains by a route
which entered the State near Placerville. Their natural instinct would
have led them to continue on a westward course, but this would have
brought them down on the plains of the Sacramento Valley, where there is
no gold; so, thinking that sunset was more north than south, and knowing
also there was more western land in that direction, they spread all over
the northern part of the State, till they connected themselves with the
settlements in Oregon.

In the neighborhood of Volcano there is a curious cave, which I went to
visit with two or three miners. The entrance to it is among some large
rocks on the bank of the creek, and is a hole in the ground just large
enough to admit of a man’s dropping himself into it lengthways. The
descent is perpendicular between masses of rock for about twenty feet,
and is accomplished by means of a rope; the passage then takes a
slanting direction for the same distance, and lands one in a chamber
thirty or forty feet wide, the roof and sides of which are composed of
groups of immense stalactites. The height varies very much, some of the
stalactites reaching within four or five feet of the ground; and there
are several small openings in the walls, just large enough to creep
through, which lead into similar chambers. We brought a number of pieces
of candle with us, with which we lighted up the whole place. The effect
was very fine; the stalactites, being tinged with pale blue, pink, and
green, were grouped in all manner of grotesque forms, in one corner
giving an exact representation of a small petrified waterfall.

Coming down into the cave was easy enough, the force of gravity being
the only motive power, but to get out again we found rather a difficult
operation. The sides of the passage were smooth, offering no
resting-place for the foot; and the only means of progression was to
haul oneself up by the rope hand over hand--rather hard work in the
inclined part of the passage, which was so confined that one could
hardly use one’s arms.

At the hotel I stayed at here I found very agreeable company; most of
the party were Texans, and were doctors and lawyers by profession,
though miners by practice. For the first time since I had been in the
mines I here saw whist played, the more favorite games being poker,
euchre, and all-fours, or “seven up,” as it is there called. There were
also some enthusiastic chess-players among the party, who had
manufactured a set of men with their bowie-knives; so what with whist
and chess every night, I fancied I had got into a civilized country.

The day before I had intended leaving this village, some Mexicans came
into the camp with a lot of mules, which they sold so cheap as to excite
suspicions that they had not come by them honestly. In the evening it
was discovered that they were stolen animals, and several men started in
pursuit of the Mexicans; but they had already been gone some hours, and
there was little chance of their being overtaken. I waited a day, in
hopes of seeing them brought back and hung by process of Lynch law,
which would certainly have been their fate had they been caught; but,
fortunately for them, they succeeded in making good their escape. The
men who had gone in chase returned empty-handed, so I set out again for
Moquelumne Hill on my way south.

I was put upon a shorter trail than the one by which I had come from
there; and though it was very dim and little traveled, I managed to keep
it: and passing on my way through a small camp called Clinton, inhabited
principally by Chilians and Frenchmen, I struck the Moquelumne River at
a point several miles above the bridge where I had crossed it before.

The river was still much swollen with the rains and snow of winter, and
the mode of crossing was not by any means inviting. Two very small
canoes lashed together served as a ferry-boat, in which the passenger
hauled himself across the river by means of a rope made fast to a tree
on either bank, the force of the current keeping the canoes bow on.
When I arrived here, this contrivance happened to be on the opposite
side, where I saw a solitary tent which seemed to be inhabited, but I
hallooed in vain for some one to make his appearance and act as
ferryman. There seemed to be a trail from the tent leading up the river;
so, following that direction for about half a mile, I found a party of
miners at work on the other side--one of whom, in the obliging spirit
universally met with in the mines, immediately left his work and came
down to ferry me across.

On the side I was on was an old race about eighteen feet wide, through
which the waters rushed rapidly past. A pile of rocks prevented the boat
from crossing this, so there was nothing for it but to wade. Some stones
had been thrown in, forming a sort of submarine stepping-stones, and
lessening the depth to about three feet; but they were smooth and
slippery, and the water was so intensely cold, and the current so
strong, that I found the long pole which the man told me to take a very
necessary assistance in making the passage. On reaching the canoes, and
being duly enjoined to be careful in getting in and to keep perfectly
still, we crossed the main body of the river; and very ticklish work it
was, for the waves ran high, and the utmost care was required to avoid
being swamped. We got across safe enough, when my friend put me under
additional obligations by producing a bottle of brandy from his tent and
asking me to “liquor,” which I did with a great deal of pleasure, as the
water was still gurgling and squeaking in my boots, and was so cold that
I felt as if I were half immersed in ice-cream.

After climbing the steep mountain side and walking a few miles farther,
I arrived at Moquelumne Hill, having, in the course of my day’s journey,
gradually passed from the pine-tree country into such scenery as I have
already described as characterizing the southern mines.

I went on the next morning to San Andres by a road which wound through
beautiful little valleys, still fresh and green, and covered with large
patches of flowers. In one long gulch through which I passed, about two
hundred Chilians were at work washing the dirt, panful by panful, in
their large flat wooden dishes. This is a very tedious process, and a
most unprofitable expenditure of labor; but Mexicans, Chilians, and
other Spanish Americans, most obstinately adhered to their old-fashioned
primitive style, although they had the example before them of all the
rest of the world continually making improvements in the method of
abstracting the gold, whereby time was saved and labor rendered tenfold
more effective.

I soon after met a troop of forty or fifty Indians galloping along the
road, most of them riding double--the gentlemen having their squaws
seated behind them. They were dressed in the most grotesque style, and
the clothing seemed to be pretty generally diffused throughout the
crowd. One man wore a coat, another had the remains of a shirt and one
boot, while another was fully equipped in an old hat and a waistcoat:
but the most conspicuous and generally worn articles of costume were the
colored cotton handkerchiefs with which they bandaged up their heads. As
they passed they looked down upon me with an air of patronizing
condescension, saluting me with the usual “wally wally,” in just such a
tone that I could imagine them saying to themselves at the same time,
“Poor devil! he’s only a white man.”

They all had their bows and arrows, and some were armed besides with old
guns and rifles, but they were doubtless only going to pay a friendly
visit to some neighboring tribe. They were evidently anticipating a
pleasant time, for I never before saw Indians exhibiting such boisterous
good humor.

A few miles in from San Andres I crossed the Calaveras, which is here a
wide river, though not very deep. There was neither bridge nor ferry,
but fortunately some Mexicans had camped with a train of pack-mules not
far from the place, and from them I got an animal to take me across.




CHAPTER XXI

IN LIGHTER MOOD


If one can imagine the booths and penny theaters on a race-course left
for a year or two till they are tattered and torn, and blackened with
the weather, he will have some idea of the appearance of San Andres. It
was certainly the most out-at-elbows and disorderly looking camp I had
yet seen in the country.

The only wooden house was the San Andres Hotel, and here I took up my
quarters. It was kept by a Missourian doctor, and being the only
establishment of the kind in the place, was quite full. We sat down
forty or fifty at the table-d’hôte.

The Mexicans formed by far the most numerous part of the population. The
streets--for there were two streets at right angles to each other--and
the gambling-rooms were crowded with them, loafing about in their
blankets doing nothing. There were three gambling-rooms in the village,
all within a few steps of each other, and in each of them was a Mexican
band playing guitars, harps and flutes. Of course, one heard them all
three at once, and as each played a different tune, the effect, as may
be supposed, was very pleasing.

The sleeping apartments in the hotel itself were all full, and I had to
take a cot in a tent on the other side of the street, which was a sort
of colony of the parent establishment. It was situated between two
gambling-houses, one of which was kept by a Frenchman, who, whenever his
musicians stopped to take breath or brandy, began a series of doleful
airs on an old barrel-organ. Till how late in the morning they kept it
up I cannot say, but whenever I happened to awake in the middle of the
night, my ears were still greeted by these sweet sounds.

There was one canvas structure, differing but little in appearance from
the rest, excepting that a small wooden cross surmounted the roof over
the door. This was a Roman Catholic church. The only fitting up of any
kind in the interior was the altar, which occupied the farther end from
the door, and was decorated with as much display as circumstances
admitted, being draped with the commonest kind of colored cotton cloths,
and covered with candlesticks, some brass, some of wood, but most of
them regular California candlesticks--old claret and champagne bottles,
arranged with due regard to the numbers and grouping of those bearing
the different ornamental labels of St. Julien, Medoc, and other favorite
brands.

I went in on Sunday morning while service was going on, and found a
number of Mexican women occupying the space nearest the altar, the rest
of the church being filled with Mexicans, who all maintained an
appearance of respectful devotion. Two or three Americans, who were
present out of curiosity, naturally kept in the background near the
door, excepting two great hulking fellows who came swaggering in, and
jostled their way through the crowd of Mexicans, making it evident, from
their demeanor, that their only object was to show their supreme
contempt for the congregation, and for the whole proceedings. Presently,
however, the entire congregation went down on their knees, leaving these
two awkward louts standing in the middle of the church as
sheepish-looking a pair of asses as one could wish to see. They were
hemmed in by the crowd of kneeling Mexicans--there was no retreat for
them, and it was extremely gratifying to see how quickly their bullying
impudence was taken out of them, and that it brought upon them a
punishment which they evidently felt so acutely. The officiating priest,
who was a Frenchman, afterwards gave a short sermon in Spanish, which
was listened to attentively, and the people then dispersed to spend the
remainder of the day in the gambling-rooms.

The same afternoon a drove of wild California cattle passed through the
camp, and as several head were being drafted out, I had an opportunity
of witnessing a specimen of the extraordinary skill of the Mexican in
throwing the lasso. Galloping in among the herd, and swinging the
_riata_ round his head, he singles out the animal he wishes to secure,
and, seldom missing his aim, he throws his lasso so as to encircle its
horns. As soon as he sees that he has accomplished this, he immediately
wheels round his horse, who equally well understands his part of the
business, and stands prepared to receive the shock when the bull shall
have reached the length of the rope. In his endeavors to escape, the
bull then gallops round in a circle, of which the center is the horse,
moving slowly round, and leaning over with one of his fore-feet planted
well out, so as to enable him to hold his own in the struggle. An
animal, if he is not very wild, may be taken along in this way, but
generally another man rides up behind him, and throws his lasso so as to
catch him by the hind-leg. This requires great dexterity and precision,
as the lasso has to be thrown in such a way that the bull shall put his
foot into the noose before it reaches the ground. Having an animal
secured by the horns and a hind-foot, they have him completely under
command; one man drags him along by the horns, while the other steers
him by the hind-leg. If he gets at all obstreperous, however, they throw
him, and drag him along the ground.

The lasso is about twenty yards long, made of strips of rawhide plaited,
and the end is made fast to the high horn which sticks up in front of
the Mexican saddle; the strain is all upon the saddle, and the girth,
which is consequently immensely strong, and lashed up very tight. The
Mexican saddles are well adapted for this sort of work, and the Mexicans
are unquestionably splendid horsemen, though they ride too long for
English ideas, the knee being hardly bent at all.

Two of the Vigilance Committee rode over from Moquelumne Hill next
morning, to get the Padre to return with them to confess a Mexican whom
they were going to hang that afternoon, for having cut into a tent and
stolen several hundred dollars. I unfortunately did not know anything
about it till it was so late that had I gone there I should not have
been in time to see the execution: not that I cared for the mere
spectacle of a poor wretch hanging by the neck, but I was extremely
desirous of witnessing the ceremonies of an execution by Judge Lynch;
and though I was two or three years cruising about in the mines, I
never had the luck to be present on such an occasion. I particularly
regretted having missed this one, as, from the accounts I afterwards
heard of it, it must have been well worth seeing.

The Mexican was at first suspected of the robbery, from his own folly in
going the very next morning to several stores, and spending an unusual
amount of money on clothes, revolvers, and so on. When once suspected,
he was seized without ceremony, and on his person was found a quantity
of gold specimens and coin, along with the purse itself, all of which
were identified by the man who had been robbed. With such evidence, of
course, he was very soon convicted, and was sentenced to be hung. On
being told of the decision of the jury, and that he was to be hung the
next day, he received the information as a piece of news which no way
concerned him, merely shrugging his shoulders and saying, “_’stá
bueno_,” in the tone of utter indifference in which the Mexicans
generally use the expression, requesting at the same time that the
priest might be sent for.

When he was led out to be hanged, he walked along with as much
nonchalance as any of the crowd, and when told at the place of execution
that he might say whatever he had to say, he gracefully took off his
hat, and blowing a farewell whiff of smoke through his nostrils, he
threw away the cigarita he had been smoking, and, addressing the crowd,
he asked forgiveness for the numerous acts of villainy to which he had
already confessed, and politely took leave of the world with “_Adios,
caballeros._” He was then run up to a butcher’s derrick by the
Vigilance Committee, all the members having hold of the rope, and thus
sharing the responsibility of the act.

A very few days after I left San Andres, a man was lynched for a robbery
committed very much in the same manner. But if stringent measures were
wanted in one part of the country more than another, it was in such
flimsy canvas towns as these two places, where there was such a
population of worthless Mexican _canaille_, who were too lazy to work
for an honest livelihood.

I went on in a few days to Angel’s Camp, a village some miles farther
south, composed of well-built wooden houses, and altogether a more
respectable and civilized-looking place than San Andres. The inhabitants
were nearly all Americans, which no doubt accounted for the
circumstance.

While walking round the diggings in the afternoon, I came upon a Chinese
camp in a gulch near the village. About a hundred Chinamen had here
pitched their tents on a rocky eminence by the side of their diggings.
When I passed they were at dinner or supper, and had all the curious
little pots and pans and other “fixins” which I had seen in every
Chinese camp, and were eating the same dubious-looking articles which
excite in the mind of an outside barbarian a certain degree of curiosity
to know what they are composed of, but not the slightest desire to
gratify it by the sense of taste. I was very hospitably asked to partake
of the good things, which I declined; but as I would not eat, they
insisted on my drinking, and poured me out a pannikin full of brandy,
which they seemed rather surprised I did not empty. They also gave me
some of their cigaritas, the tobacco of which is aromatic, and very
pleasant to smoke, though wrapped up in too much paper.

The Chinese invariably treated in the same hospitable manner any one who
visited their camps, and seemed rather pleased than otherwise at the
interest and curiosity excited by their domestic arrangements.

In the evening, a ball took place at the hotel I was staying at, where,
though none of the fair sex were present, dancing was kept up with great
spirit for several hours. For music the company were indebted to two
amateurs, one of whom played the fiddle and the other the flute. It is
customary in the mines for the fiddler to take the responsibility of
keeping the dancers all right. He goes through the dance orally, and at
the proper intervals his voice is heard above the music and the
conversation, shouting loudly his directions to the dancers, “Lady’s
chain,” “Set to your partner,” with other dancing-school words of
command; and after all the legitimate figures of the dance had been
performed, out of consideration for the thirsty appetites of the
dancers, and for the good of the house, he always announced, in a louder
voice than usual, the supplementary finale of “Promenade to the bar, and
treat your partners.” This injunction, as may be supposed, was most
rigorously obeyed, and the “ladies,” after their fatigues, tossed off
their cocktails and lighted their pipes just as in more polished circles
they eat ice-creams and sip lemonade.

It was a strange sight to see a party of long-bearded men, in heavy
boots and flannel shirts, going through all the steps and figures of the
dance with so much spirit, and often with a great deal of grace, hearty
enjoyment depicted on their dried-up sunburned faces, and revolvers and
bowie-knives glancing in their belts; while a crowd of the same
rough-looking customers stood around, cheering them on to greater
efforts, and occasionally dancing a step or two quietly on their own
account. Dancing parties such as these were very common, especially in
small camps where there was no such general resort as the
gambling-saloons of the larger towns. Wherever a fiddler could be found
to play, a dance was got up. Waltzes and polkas were not so much in
fashion as the lancers which appeared to be very generally known, and,
besides, gave plenty of exercise to the light fantastic toes of the
dancers; for here men danced, as they did everything else, with all
their might; and to go through the lancers in such company was a very
severe gymnastic exercise. The absence of ladies was a difficulty which
was very easily overcome, by a simple arrangement whereby it was
understood that every gentleman who had a patch on a certain part of his
inexpressibles should be considered a lady for the time being. These
patches were rather fashionable, and were usually large squares of
canvas, showing brightly on a dark ground, so that the “ladies” of the
party were as conspicuous as if they had been surrounded by the usual
quantity of white muslin.

A _pas seul_ sometimes varied the entertainment. I was present on one
occasion at a dance at Foster’s Bar, when, after several sets of the
lancers had been danced, a young Scotch boy, who was probably a runaway
apprentice from a Scotch ship--for the sailor-boy air was easily seen
through the thick coating of flour which he had acquired in his present
occupation in the employment of a French baker--was requested to dance
the Highland fling for the amusement of the company. The music was good,
and he certainly did justice to it; dancing most vigorously for about a
quarter of an hour, shouting and yelling as he was cheered by the crowd,
and going into it with all the fury of a wild savage in a war-dance. The
spectators were uproarious in their applause. I daresay many of them
never saw such an exhibition before. The youngster was looked upon as a
perfect prodigy, and if he had drunk with all the men who then sought
the honor of “treating” him, he would never have lived to tread another
measure.




CHAPTER XXII

SONORA AND THE MEXICANS


From Angel’s Camp I went on a few miles to Carson’s Creek, on which
there was a small camp, lying at the foot of a hill, which was named
after the same man. On its summit a quartz vein cropped out in large
masses to the height of thirty or forty feet, looking at a distance like
the remains of a solid wall of fortification. It had only been worked a
few feet from the surface, but already an incredible amount of gold had
been taken out of it.

Every place in the mines had its traditions of wonderful events which
had occurred in the olden times; that is to say, as far back as
“’49”--for three years in such a fast country were equal to a century;
and at this place the tradition was, that, when the quartz vein was
first worked, the method adopted was to put in a blast, and, after the
explosion, to go round with handbaskets and pick up the pieces. I
believe this was only a slight exaggeration of the truth, for at this
particular part of the vein there had been found what is there called a
“pocket,” a spot not more than a few feet in extent, where lumps of gold
in unusual quantities lie imbedded in the rock. No systematic plan had
been followed in opening the mine with a view to the proper working of
it; but several irregular excavations had been made in the rock
wherever the miners had found the gold most plentiful. For nearly a year
it had not been worked at all, in consequence of several disputes as to
the ownership of the claims; and in the meantime the lawyers were the
only parties who were making anything out of it.

On the other side of the hill, however, was a claim on the same vein,
which was in undisputed possession of a company of Americans, who
employed a number of Mexicans to work it, under the direction of an
experienced old Mexican miner. They had three shafts sunk in the solid
rock, in a line with each other, to the depth of two hundred feet, from
which galleries extended at different points, where the gold-bearing
quartz was found in the greatest abundance. No ropes or windlasses were
used for descending the shafts; but at every thirty feet or so there was
a sort of step or platform, resting on which was a pole with a number of
notches cut all down one side of it; and the rock excavated in the
various parts of the mine was brought up in leathern sacks on the
shoulders of men who had to make the ascent by climbing a succession of
these poles. The quartz was then conveyed on pack-mules down to the
river by a circuitous trail, which had been cut on the steep side of the
mountain, and was there ground in the primitive Mexican style in
“rasters.” The whole operation seemed to be conducted at a most
unnecessary expenditure of labor; but the mine was rich, and, even
worked in this way, it yielded largely to the owners.

Numerous small wooden crosses were placed throughout the mine, in niches
cut in the rock for their reception, and each separate part of the mine
was named after a saint who was supposed to take those working in it
under his immediate protection. The day before I visited the place had
been some saint’s day, and the Mexicans, who of course had made a
holiday of it, had employed themselves in erecting, on the side of the
hill over the mine, a large cross, about ten feet high, and had
completely clothed it with the beautiful wild-flowers which grew around
in the greatest profusion. In fact, it was a gigantic cruciform nosegay,
the various colors of which were arranged with a great deal of taste.

This mine is on the great quartz vein which traverses the whole State of
California. It has a direction northeast and southwest, perfectly true
by compass; and from many points where an extensive view of the country
is obtained, it can be distinctly traced for a great distance as it
“crops out” here and there, running up a hillside like a colossal stone
wall, and then disappearing for many miles, till, true to its course, it
again shows itself crowning the summit of some conical-shaped mountain,
and appearing in the distant view like so many short white strokes, all
forming parts of the same straight line.

The general belief was that at one time all the gold in the country had
been imbedded in quartz, which, being decomposed by the action of the
elements, had set the gold at liberty, to be washed away with other
debris, and to find a resting-place for itself. Rich diggings were
frequently found in the neighborhood of quartz veins, but not invariably
so, for different local causes must have operated to assist the gold in
traveling from its original starting-point.

As a general rule, the richest diggings seemed to be in the rivers at
those points where the eddies gave the gold an opportunity of settling
down instead of being borne further along by the current, or in those
places on the highlands where, owing to the flatness of the surface or
the want of egress, the debris had been retained while the water ran
off; for the first idea one formed from the appearance of the mountains
was, that they had been very severely washed down, but that there had
been sufficient earth and debris to cover their nakedness, and to modify
the sharp angularity of their formation.

I crossed the Stanislaus--a large river, which does not at any part of
its course afford very rich diggings--by a ferry which was the property
of two or three Englishmen, who had lived for many years in the Sandwich
Islands. The force of the current was here very strong, and by an
ingenious contrivance was made available for working the ferry. A stout
cable was stretched across the river, and traversing on this were two
blocks, to which were made fast the head and stern of a large scow. By
lengthening the stern line, the scow assumed a diagonal position, and,
under the influence of the current and of the opposing force of the
cable, she traveled rapidly across the river, very much on the same
principle on which a ship holds her course with the wind abeam.

Ferries or bridges, on much-traveled roads, were very valuable property.
They were erected at those points on the rivers where the mountain on
each side offered a tolerably easy ascent, and where, in consequence, a
line of travel had commenced. But very frequently more easy routes were
found than the one first adopted; opposition ferries were then started,
and the public got the full benefit of the competition between the rival
proprietors, who sought to secure the traveling custom by improving the
roads which led to their respective ferries.

In opposition to this ferry on the Stanislaus, another had been started
a few miles down the river; so the Englishmen, in order to keep up the
value of their property and maintain the superiority of their route, had
made a good wagon-road, more than a mile in length, from the river to
the summit of the mountain.

After ascending by this road and traveling five or six miles over a
rolling country covered with magnificent oak trees, and in many places
fenced in and under cultivation, I arrived at Sonora, the largest town
of the southern mines. It consisted of a single street, extending for
upwards of a mile along a sort of hollow between gently sloping hills.
Most of the houses were of wood, a few were of canvas, and one or two
were solid buildings of sun-dried bricks. The lower end of the town was
very peculiar in appearance as compared with the prevailing style of
California architecture. Ornament seemed to have been as much consulted
as utility, and the different tastes of the French and Mexican builders
were very plainly seen in the high-peaked overhanging roofs, the
staircases outside the houses, the corridors round each story, and other
peculiarities; giving the houses--which were painted, moreover, buff and
pale blue--quite an old-fashioned air alongside of the staring white
rectangular fronts of the American houses. There was less pretence and
more honesty about them than about the American houses, for many of the
latter were all front, and gave the idea of a much better house than the
small rickety clapboard or canvas concern which was concealed behind it.
But these façades were useful as well as ornamental, and were intended
to support the large signs, which conveyed an immense deal of useful
information. Some small stores, in fact, seemed bursting with
intelligence, and were broken out all over with short spasmodic
sentences in English, French, Spanish, and German, covering all the
available space save the door, and presenting to the passer-by a large
amount of desultory reading as to the nature of the property within and
the price at which it could be bought. This, however, was not by any
means peculiar to Sonora--it was the general style of thing throughout
the country.

The Mexicans and the French also were very numerous, and there was an
extensive assortment of other Europeans from all quarters, all of whom,
save French, English, and “Eyetalians,” are in California classed under
the general denomination of Dutchmen, or more frequently “d--d
Dutchmen,” merely for the sake of euphony.

Sonora is situated in the center of an extremely rich mining country,
more densely populated than any other part of the mines. In the
neighborhood are a number of large villages, one of which, Columbia,
only two or three miles distant, was not much inferior in size to Sonora
itself. The place took its name from the men who first struck the
diggings and camped on the spot--a party of miners from the state of
Sonora in Mexico. The Mexicans discovered many of the richest diggings
in the country--not altogether, perhaps, through good luck, for they
had been gold-hunters all their lives, and may be supposed to have
derived some benefit from their experience. They seldom, however,
remained long in possession of rich diggings; never working with any
vigor, they spent most of their time in the passive enjoyment of their
cigaritas, or in playing monte, and were consequently very soon run over
and driven off the field by the rush of more industrious and resolute
men.

There were a considerable number of Mexicans to be seen at work round
Sonora, but the most of those living in the town seemed to do nothing
but bask in the sun and loaf about the gambling-rooms. How they managed
to live was not very apparent, but they can live where another man would
starve. I have no doubt they could subsist on cigaritas alone for
several days at a time.

I got very comfortable quarters in one of the French hotels, of which
there were several in the town, besides a number of good American
houses; German restaurants, where lager beer was drunk by the gallon;
Mexican fondas, which had an exceedingly greasy look about them; and
also a Chinese house, where everything was most scrupulously clean. In
this latter place a Chinese woman, dressed in European style, sat behind
the bar and served out drinkables to thirsty outside barbarians, while
three Chinamen entertained them with celestial music from a drum
something like the top of a skull covered with parchment and stuck upon
three sticks, a guitar like a long stick with a knob at the end of it,
and a sort of fiddle with two strings. I asked the Chinese landlord, who
spoke a little English, if the woman was his wife. “Oh, no,” he said,
very indignantly, “only hired woman--China woman; hired her for
show--that’s all.” Some of these Chinamen are pretty smart fellows, and
this was one of them. The novelty of the “show,” however, wore off in a
few days, and the Chinawoman disappeared--probably went to show herself
in other diggings.

One could live here in a way which seemed perfectly luxurious after
cruising about the mountains among the small out-of-the-way camps; for,
besides having a choice of good hotels, one could enjoy most of the
comforts and conveniences of ordinary life; even ice-creams and
sherry-cobblers were to be had, for snow was packed in on mules thirty
or forty miles from the Sierra Nevada, and no one took even a cocktail
without its being iced. But what struck me most as a sign of
civilization, was seeing a drunken man, who was kicking up a row in the
street, deliberately collared and walked off to the lock-up by a
policeman. I never saw such a thing before in the mines, where the
spectacle of drunken men rolling about the streets unmolested had become
so familiar to me that I was almost inclined to think it an infringement
of the individual liberty of the subject--or of the citizen, I should
say--not to allow this hog of a fellow to sober himself in the gutter,
or to drink himself into a state of quiescence if he felt so inclined.
This policeman represented the whole police force in his own proper
person, and truly he had no sinecure. He was not exactly like one of our
own blue-bottles; he was not such a stoical observer of passing events,
nor so shut out from all social intercourse with his fellow-men. There
was nothing to distinguish him from other citizens, except perhaps the
unusual size of his revolver and bowie-knife; and his official dignity
did not prevent him from mixing with the crowd and taking part in
whatever amusement was going on.

The people here dressed better than was usual in other parts of the
mines. On Sundays especially, when the town was thronged with miners, it
was quite gay with the bright colors of the various costumes. There were
numerous specimens of the genuine old miner to be met with--the miner of
’49, whose pride it was to be clothed in rags and patches; but the
prevailing fashion was to dress well; indeed there was a degree of
foppery about many of the swells, who were got up in a most gorgeous
manner. The weather was much too hot for any one to think of wearing a
coat, but the usual style of dress was such as to appear quite complete
without it; in fact, a coat would have concealed the most showy article
of dress, which was a rich silk handkerchief, scarlet, crimson, orange,
or some bright hue, tied loosely across the breast, and hanging over one
shoulder like a shoulder belt. Some men wore flowers, feathers, or
squirrel’s tails in their hats; occasionally the beard was worn plaited
and coiled up like a twist of tobacco, or was divided into three tails
hanging down to the waist. One man, of original ideas, who had very long
hair, brought it down on each side of the face, and tied it in a large
bow-knot under his chin; and many other eccentricities of this sort were
indulged in. The numbers of Mexican women with their white dresses and
sparkling black eyes were by no means an unpleasing addition to the
crowd, of which the Mexicans themselves formed a conspicuous part in
their variegated blankets and broad-brimmed hats. There were men in
_bonnets rouges_ and _bonnets bleus_, the cut of whose mustache and
beard was of itself sufficient to distinguish them as Frenchmen; while
here and there some forlorn individual exhibited himself in a black coat
and a stove-pipe hat, looking like a bird of evil omen among a flock of
such gay plumage.




CHAPTER XXIII

BULL FIGHTING


A company of Mexican bull-fighters were at this time performing in
Sonora every Sunday afternoon. The amphitheater was a large well-built
place, erected for the purpose on a small hill behind the street. The
arena was about thirty yards in diameter, and enclosed in a very strong
six-barred fence, gradually rising from which, all round, were several
tiers of seats, shaded from the sun by an awning.

I took the first opportunity of witnessing the spectacle, and found a
very large company assembled, among whom the Mexicans and Mexican women
in their gay dresses figured conspicuously. A good band of music
enlivened the scene till the appointed hour arrived, when the
bull-fighters entered the arena. The procession was headed by a clown in
a fantastic dress, who acted his part throughout the performances
uncommonly well, cracking jokes with his friends among the audience, and
singing comic songs. Next came four men on foot, all beautifully dressed
in satin jackets and knee-breeches, slashed and embroidered with bright
colors. Two horsemen, armed with lances, brought up the rear. After
marching round the arena, they stationed themselves in their various
places, one of the horsemen being at the side of the door by which the
bull was to enter. The door was then opened, and the bull rushed in, the
horseman giving him a poke with his lance as he passed, just to waken
him up. The footmen were all waving their red flags to attract his
attention, and he immediately charged at one of them; but, the man
stepping gracefully aside at the proper moment, the bull passed on and
found another red flag waiting for him, which he charged with as little
success. For some time they played with the bull in this manner, hopping
and skipping about before his horns with so much confidence, and such
apparent ease, as to give one the idea that there was neither danger nor
difficulty in dodging a wild bull. The bull did not charge so much as he
butted, for, almost without changing his ground, he butted quickly
several times in succession at the same man. The man, however, was
always too quick for him, sometimes just drawing the flag across his
face as he stepped aside, or vaulting over his horns and catching hold
of his tail before he could turn round.

After this exhibition one of the horsemen endeavored to engage the
attention of the bull, and when he charged, received him with the point
of his lance on the back of the neck. In this position they struggled
against each other, the horse pushing against the bull with all his
force, probably knowing that that was his only chance. On one occasion
the lance broke, when horse and rider seemed to be at the mercy of the
bull, but as quick as lightning the footmen were fluttering their flags
in his face and diverting his fury, while the horseman got another lance
and returned to the charge.

Shortly afterwards the footmen laid aside their flags and proceeded to
what is considered a more dangerous, and consequently more interesting,
part of the performances. They lighted cigars, and were handed small
pieces of wood, with a barbed point at one end and a squib at the other.
Having lighted his squibs at his cigar, one of their number rushes up in
front of the bull, shouting and stamping before him, as if challenging
him to come on. The bull is not slow of putting down his head and making
at him, when the man vaults nimbly over his horns, leaving a squib
fizzing and cracking on each side of his neck. This makes the bull still
more furious, but another man is ready for him, who plays him the same
trick, and so they go on till his neck is covered with squibs. One of
them then takes a large rosette, furnished in like manner with a sharp
barbed point, and this, as the bull butts at him, he sticks in his
forehead right between the eyes. Another man then engages the bull, and,
while eluding his horns, removes the rosette from his forehead. This is
considered a still more difficult feat, and was greeted with immense
applause, the Mexican part of the audience screaming with delight.

The performers were all uncommonly well made, handsome men; their tight
dresses greatly assisted their appearance, and they moved with so much
grace, and with such an expression on their countenance of pleasure and
confidence, even while making their greatest efforts, that they might
have been supposed to be going through the figures of a ballet on the
stage, instead of risking death from the horns of a wild bull at every
step they executed. During the latter part of the performance, being
without their red flags, they were of course in greater danger; but it
seemed to make no difference to them; they put a squib in each side of
the bull’s neck, while evading his attack, with as much apparent ease as
they had dodged him from behind their red flags. Sometimes, indeed, when
they were hard pressed, or when attacked by the bull so close to the
barrier that they had no room to maneuver round him, they sprang over it
in among the spectators.

The next thing in the program was riding the bull, and this was the most
amusing scene of all. One of the horsemen lassoes him over the horns,
and the other, securing him in his lasso by the hind-leg, trips him up,
and throws him without the least difficulty. By keeping the lassoes
taut, he is quite helpless. He is then girthed with a rope, and one of
the performers, holding on by this gets astride of the prostrate bull in
such a way as to secure his seat, when the animal rises. The lassoes are
then cast off, when the bull immediately gets up, and, furious at
finding a man on his back, plunges and kicks most desperately, jumping
from side to side, and jerking himself violently in every way, as he
vainly endeavors to bring his horns round so as to reach his rider. I
never saw such horsemanship, if horsemanship it could be called; nor did
I ever see a horse go through such contortions, or make such spasmodic
bounds and leaps: but the fellow never lost his seat, he stuck to the
bull as firm as a rock, though thrown about so violently that it seemed
enough to jerk the head off his body. During this singular exhibition
the spectators cheered and shouted most uproariously, and the bull was
maddened to greater fury than ever by the footmen shaking their flags
in his face, and putting more squibs on his neck. It seemed to be the
grand climax; they had exhausted all means to infuriate the bull to the
very utmost, and they were now braving him more audaciously than ever.
Had any of them made a slip of the foot, or misjudged his distance but a
hairbreadth, there would have been a speedy end of him; but fortunately
no such mishap occurred, for the blind rage of the bull was impotent
against their coolness and precision.

When the man riding the bull thought he had enough of it, he took an
opportunity when the bull came near the outside of the arena, and hopped
off his back on to the top of the barrier. A door was then opened, and
the bull was allowed to depart in peace. Three or four more bulls in
succession were fought in the same manner. The last of them was to have
been killed with the sword; but he proved one of those sulky,
treacherous animals who do not fight fair; he would not put down his
head and charge blindly at anything or everything, but only made a rush
now and then, when he thought he had a sure chance. With a bull of this
sort there is great danger, while with a furiously savage one there is
none at all--so say the bull-fighters; and after doing all they could,
without success, to madden and irritate this sulky animal, he was
removed, and another one was brought in, who had already shown a
requisite amount of blind fury in his disposition.

A long straight sword was then handed to the _matador_, who, with his
flag in his left hand, played with the bull for a little, evading
several attacks till he got one to suit him, when, as he stepped aside
from before the bull’s horns, he plunged the sword into the back of his
neck. Without a moan or a struggle the bull fell dead on the instant,
coming down all of a heap, in such a way that it was evident that even
before he fell he was dead. I have seen cattle butchered in every sort
of way, but in none was the transition from life to death so
instantaneous.

This was the grand feat of the day, and was thought to have been most
beautifully performed. The spectators testified their delight by the
most vociferous applause; the Mexican women waved their handkerchiefs,
the Mexicans cheered and shouted, and threw their hats in the air, while
the _matador_ walked proudly round the arena, bowing to the people amid
a shower of coin which his particular admirers in their enthusiasm
bestowed upon him.

I one day, at some diggings a few miles from Sonora, came across a young
fellow hard at work with his pick and shovel, whom I had met several
times at Moquelumne Hill and other places. In the course of conversation
he told me that he was tired of mining, and intended to practice his
profession again; upon which I immediately set him down as either a
lawyer or a doctor, there are such lots of them in the mines. I had the
curiosity, however, to ask him what profession he belonged to,--“Oh,” he
said, “I am a magician, a necromancer, a conjuror!” The idea of a
magician being reduced to the level of an ordinary mortal, and being
obliged to resort to such a matter-of-fact way of making money as
digging gold out of the earth, instead of conjuring it ready coined out
of other men’s pockets, appeared to me so very ridiculous that I could
not help laughing at the thought of it. The magician was by no means
offended, but joined in the laugh; and for the next hour or more he
entertained me with an account of his professional experiences, and the
many difficulties he had to encounter in practicing his profession in
such a place as the mines, where complete privacy was so hard to be
obtained that he was obliged to practice the most secret parts of his
mysterious science in all sorts of ragged canvas houses, or else in
rooms whose rickety boarded walls were equally ineffectual in excluding
the prying gaze of the unwashed. He gave me a great insight into the
mysteries of magic, and explained to me how he performed many of his
tricks. All the old-fashioned hat-tricks, he said, were quite out of the
question in California, where, as no two hats are alike, it would have
been impossible to have such an immense assortment ready, from which to
select a substitute for any nondescript head-piece which might be given
to him to perform upon. I asked him to show me some of his
sleight-of-hand tricks, but he said his hands had got so hard with
mining that he would have to let them soften for a month or two before
he could recover his magical powers.

He was quite a young man, but had been regularly brought up to his
profession, having spent several years as confederate to some magician
of higher powers in the States--somewhat similar, I presume, to serving
an apprenticeship, for when I mentioned the names of several of his
professional brethren whose performances I had witnessed, he would say,
“Ah, yes, I know him; he was confederate to so-and-so.”

As he intended very soon to resume his practice, he was on the look-out
for a particularly smart boy to initiate as his confederate; and I
imagine he had little difficulty in finding one, for, as a general
thing, the rising generation of California are supernaturally smart and
precocious.

I met here also an old friend in the person of the Scotch gardener who
had been my fellow-passenger from New York to Chagres, and who was also
one of our party on the Chagres River. He was now farming, having taken
up a “ranch” a few miles from Sonora, near a place called Table
Mountain, where he had several acres well fenced and cleared, and
bearing a good crop of barley and oats, and was busy clearing and
preparing more land for cultivation.

This Table Mountain is a very curious place, being totally different in
appearance and formation from any other mountain in the country. It is a
long range, several miles in extent, perfectly level, and in width
varying from fifty yards to a quarter of a mile, having somewhat the
appearance, when seen from a distance, of a colossal railway embankment.
In height it is below the average of the surrounding mountains; the
sides are very steep, sometimes almost perpendicular, and are formed, as
is also the summit, of masses of a burned-looking conglomerate rock, of
which the component stones are occasionally as large as a man’s head.
The summit is smooth, and black with these cinder-like stones; but at
the season of the year at which I was there, it was a most beautiful
sight, being thickly grown over with a pale-blue flower, apparently a
lupin, which so completely covered this long level tract of ground as to
give it in the distance the appearance of a sheet of water. No one at
that time had thought of working this place, but it has since been
discovered to be immensely rich.

A break in this long narrow Table Mountain was formed by a place called
Shaw’s Flats, a wide extent of perfectly flat country, four or five
miles across, well wooded with oaks, and plentifully sprinkled over with
miner’s tents and shanties.

The diggings were rich. The gold was very coarse, and frequently found
in large lumps; but how it got there was not easy to conjecture, for the
flat was on a level with Table Mountain, and hollows intervened between
it and any higher ground. Mining here was quite a clean and easy
operation. Any old gentleman might have gone in and taken a turn at it
for an hour or two before dinner just to give him an appetite, without
even wetting the soles of his boots: indeed, he might have fancied he
was only digging in his garden, for the gold was found in the very roots
of the grass, and in most parts there was only a depth of three or four
feet from the surface to the bedrock, which was of singular character,
being composed of masses of sandstone full of circular cavities, and
presenting all manner of fantastic forms, caused apparently by the
long-continued action of water in rapid motion.




CHAPTER XXIV

A CITY BURNED


While I was in Sonora, the entire town, with the greater part of the
property it contained, was utterly annihilated by fire.

It was about one o’clock in the morning when the fire broke out. I
happened to be awake at the time, and at the first alarm I jumped up,
and, looking out of my window, I saw a house a short distance up the
street on the other side completely enveloped in flames. The street was
lighted up as bright as day, and was already alive with people hurriedly
removing whatever articles they could from their houses before the fire
seized upon them.

I ran downstairs to lend a hand to clear the house, and in the bar-room
I found the landlady, _en deshabille_, walking frantically up and down,
and putting her hand to her head as though she meant to tear all her
hair out by the roots. She had sense enough left, however, not to do so.
A waiter was there also, with just as little of his wits about him; he
was chattering fiercely, _sacré_ing very freely, and knocking the chairs
and tables about in a wild manner, but not making a direct attempt to
save anything. It was ridiculous to see them throwing away so much
bodily exertion for nothing, when there was so much to be done, so I set
the example by opening the door, and carrying out whatever was nearest.
The other inmates of the house soon made their appearance, and we
succeeded in gutting the bar-room of everything movable, down to the bar
furniture, among which was a bottle labelled “Quisqui.”

We could save little else, however, for already the fire had reached us.
The house was above a hundred yards from where the fire broke out, but
from the first alarm till it was in flames scarcely ten minutes elapsed.
The fire spread with equal rapidity in the other direction. An attempt
was made to save the upper part of the town by tearing down a number of
houses some distance in advance of the flames; but it was impossible to
remove the combustible materials of which they were composed, and the
fire suffered no check in its progress, devouring the demolished houses
as voraciously in that state as though they had been left entire.

On the hills, between which lay the town, were crowds of the unfortunate
inhabitants, many of whom were but half dressed, and had barely escaped
with their lives. One man told me he had been obliged to run for it, and
had not even time to take his gold watch from under his pillow.

Those whose houses were so far distant from the origin of the fire as to
enable them to do so, had carried out all their movable property, and
were sitting among heaps of goods and furniture, confusedly thrown
together, watching grimly the destruction of their houses. The whole
hillside was lighted up as brightly as a well-lighted room, and the
surrounding landscape was distinctly seen by the blaze of the burning
town, the hills standing brightly out from the deep black of the
horizon, while overhead the glare of the fire was reflected by the smoky
atmosphere.

It was a most magnificent sight, and, more than any fire I had ever
witnessed, it impressed one with the awful power and fury of the
destroying element. It was not like a fire in a city where man contends
with it for the victory, and where one can mark the varied fortunes of
the battle as the flames become gradually more feeble under the efforts
of the firemen, or again gain the advantage as they reach some easier
prey; but here there were no such fluctuations in the prospects of the
doomed city--it lay helplessly waiting its fate, for water there was
none, and no resistance could be offered to the raging flames, which
burned their way steadily up the street, throwing over the houses which
still remained intact the flush of supernatural beauty which precedes
dissolution, and leaving the ground already passed over covered with the
gradually blackening and falling remains of those whose spirit had
already departed.

There was an occasional flash and loud explosion, caused by the
quantities of powder in some of the stores, and a continual discharge of
firearms was heard above the roaring of the flames, from the numbers of
loaded revolvers which had been left to their fate along with more
valuable property. The most extraordinary sight was when the fire got
firm hold of a Jew’s slop-shop; there was then a perfect whirlwind of
flame, in which coats, shirts, and blankets were carried up fifty or
sixty feet in the air, and became dissolved into a thousand sparkling
atoms.

Among the crowds of people on the hillside there was little of the
distress and excitement one might have expected to see on such an
occasion. The houses and stores had been gutted as far as practicable of
the property they contained, and all that it was possible to do to save
any part of the town had already been attempted, but the hopelessness of
such attempts was perfectly evident.

The greater part of the people, it is true, were individuals whose
wealth was safe in their buckskin purses, and to them the pleasure of
beholding such a grand pyrotechnic display was unalloyed by any greater
individual misfortune than the loss of a few articles of clothing; but
even those who were sitting hatless and shoeless among the wreck of
their property showed little sign of being at all cast down by their
disaster; they had more the air of determined men, waiting for the fire
to play out its hand before they again set to work to repair all the
destruction it had caused.

The fire commenced about half-past one o’clock in the morning, and by
three o’clock it had almost burned itself out. Darkness again prevailed,
and when day dawned, the whole city of Sonora had been removed from the
face of the earth. The ground on which it had stood, now white with
ashes, was covered with still smoldering fragments, and the only objects
left standing were three large safes belonging to different banking and
express companies, with a small remnant of the walls of an adobe house.

People now began to venture down upon the still smoking site of the
city, and, seeing an excitement among them at the lower end of the town,
I went down to see what was going on. The atmosphere was smoky and
stifling, and the ground was almost too hot to stand on. The crowd was
collected on a place which was known to be very rich, as the ground
behind the houses had been worked, and a large amount of gold having
been there extracted, it was consequently presumed that under the houses
equally good diggings would be found. During the fire, miners had
flocked in from all quarters, and among them were some unprincipled
vagabonds, who were now endeavoring to take up mining claims on the
ground where the houses had stood, measuring off the regular number of
feet allowed to each man, and driving in stakes to mark out their claims
in the usual manner.

The owners of the houses, however, were “on hand,” prepared to defend
their rights to the utmost. Men who had just seen the greater part of
their property destroyed were not likely to relinquish very readily what
little still remained to them; and now, armed with pistols, guns, and
knives, their eyes bloodshot and their faces scorched and blackened,
they were tearing up the stakes as fast as the miners drove them in,
while they declared very emphatically, with all sorts of oaths, that any
man who dared to put a pick into that ground would not live half a
minute. And truly a threat from such men was one not to be disregarded.

By the laws of the mines, the diggings under a man’s house are his
property, and the law being on their side, the people would have
assisted them in defending their rights; and it would not have been
absolutely necessary for them to take the trouble of shooting the
miscreants, who, as other miners began to assemble on the ground,
attracted by the row, found themselves so heartily denounced that they
thought it advisable to sneak off as fast as possible.

The only buildings left standing after the fire were a Catholic and a
Wesleyan church, which stood on the hill a little off the street, and
also a large building which had been erected for a ball-room, or some
other public purpose. The proprietor of the principal gambling-saloon,
as soon as the fire broke out and he saw that there was no hope for his
house, immediately made arrangements for occupying this room, which,
from its isolated position, seemed safe enough; and into this place he
succeeded in moving the greater part of his furniture, mirrors,
chandeliers, and so on. The large sign in front of the house was also
removed to the new quarters, and the morning after the fire--but an hour
or two after the town had been burned down--the new saloon was in full
operation. The same gamblers were sitting at the same tables, dealing
monte and faro to crowds of betters; the piano and violin, which had
been interrupted by the fire, were now enlivening the people in their
distress; and the bar-keeper was as composedly as ever mixing cocktails
for the thirsty throats of the million.

No time was lost by the rest of the population. The hot and smoky ground
was alive with men clearing away rubbish; others were in the woods
cutting down trees and getting out posts and brushwood, or procuring
canvas and other supplies from the neighboring camps.

In the afternoon the Phœnix began to rise. Amid the crowds of workers on
the long blackened tract of ground which had been the street, posts
began here and there to spring up; presently cross-pieces connected
them; and before one could look around, the framework was filled in with
brushwood. As the ground became sufficiently cool, people began to move
down their goods and furniture to where their houses had been, where
those who were not yet erecting either a canvas or a brush house, built
themselves a sort of pen of boxes and casks of merchandise.

The fire originated in a French hotel, and among the ashes of this house
were found the remains of a human body. There was merely the head and
trunk, the limbs being entirely burned off. It looked like a charred and
blackened log of wood, but the contour of the head and figure was
preserved; and it would be hard to conceive anything more painfully
expressive of intense agony than the few lines which so powerfully
indicated what had been the contorted position of the head, neck, and
shoulders of the unfortunate man when he ceased to move. The coroner
held an inquest as soon as he could raise a jury out of the crowd, and
in the afternoon the body was followed to the grave by several hundred
Frenchmen.

This was the only death from the fire which was discovered at the time,
but among the ruins of an adobe house, which for some reason was not
rebuilt for several weeks afterwards, the remains of another body were
found, and were never identified.

As for living on that day, one had to do the best one could with raw
materials. Every man had to attend to his own commissariat; and when it
was time to think about dinner, I went foraging with a friend among the
promiscuous heaps of merchandise, and succeeded in getting some boxes of
sardines and a bottle of wine. We were also fortunate enough to find
some hard bread, so we did not fare very badly; and at night we lay down
on the bare hillside, and shared that vast apartment with two or three
thousand fellow-lodgers. Happy was the man who had saved his
blankets,--mine had gone as a small contribution to the general
conflagration; but though the nights were agreeably cool, the want of a
covering, even in the open air, was not a very great hardship.

The next day the growth of the town was still more rapid. All sorts of
temporary contrivances were erected by the storekeepers and
hotel-keepers on the sites of their former houses. Every man was anxious
to let the public see that he was “on hand,” and carrying on business as
before. Sign-painters had been hard at work all night, and now huge
signs on yard-wide strips of cotton cloth lined each side of the street,
in many cases being merely laid upon the ground, where as yet nothing
had been erected whereon to display them. These canvas and brush houses
were only temporary. Every one, as soon as lumber could be procured, set
to work to build a better house than the one he had lost; and within a
month Sonora was in all respects a finer town than it had been before
the fire.




CHAPTER XXV

THE DAY WE CELEBRATE


On the 4th of July I went over to Columbia, four miles distant from
Sonora, where there were to be great doings, as the latter place had
hardly yet recovered from the effects of the fire, and was still in a
state of transition. So Columbia, which was nearly as large a town, was
to be the place of celebration for all the surrounding country.

Early in the forenoon an immense concourse of people had assembled to
take part in the proceedings, and were employing themselves in the
meantime in drinking success to the American eagle, in the numerous
saloons and bar-rooms. The town was all stars and stripes; they
fluttered over nearly every house, and here and there hung suspended
across the street. The day was celebrated in the usual way, with a
continual discharge of revolvers, and a vast expenditure of powder and
squibs and crackers, together with an unlimited consumption of brandy.
But this was only the overflowing of individual enthusiasm; the regular
program was a procession, a prayer, and an oration.

The procession was headed by about half-a-dozen ladies and a number of
children--the teachers and pupils of a school--who sang hymns at
intervals, when the brass band which accompanied them had blown
themselves out of breath. They were followed by the freemasons, to the
number of a hundred or so, in their aprons and other paraphernalia; and
after them came a company of about the same number of horsemen, the most
irregular cavalry one could imagine. Whoever could get a four-legged
animal to carry him, joined the ranks; and horses, mules, and jackasses
were all mixed up together. Next came the hook and ladder company,
dragging their hooks and ladders after them in regular firemen fashion;
and after them came three or four hundred miners, walking two and two,
and dragging, in like manner, by a long rope, a wheelbarrow, in which
were placed a pick and shovel, a frying-pan, an old coffee-pot, and a
tin cup. They were marshalled by half-a-dozen miners, with long-handled
shovels over their shoulders, and all sorts of ribbons tied round their
old hats to make a show.

Another mob of miners brought up the rear, drawing after them a long tom
on a pair of wheels. In the tom was a lot of “dirt,” which one man
stirred up with his shovel, as if he were washing, while a number of
others alongside were hard at work throwing in imaginary shovelfuls of
dirt.

The idea was pretty good; but to understand the meaning of this gorgeous
pageant, it was necessary to be familiar with mining life. The pick and
shovel in the wheelbarrow were the emblems of the miners’ trade, while
the old pots and pans were intended to signify the very rough style of
his domestic life, particularly of his _cuisine_; and the party of
miners at work around the long tom was a representation of the way in
which the wealth of the country is wrested from it by all who have stout
hearts and willing hands, or stout hands and willing hearts--it amounts
to much the same thing.

The procession paraded the streets for two or three hours, and proceeded
to the bull-ring, where the ceremonies were to be performed. The
bull-ring here was neither so large nor so well got up as the one at
Sonora, but still it could accommodate a very large number of people. As
the miners entered the arena with their wheelbarrow and long tom, they
were immensely cheered by the crowds who had already taken their seats,
the band in the meantime playing “Hail Columbia” most lustily.

The Declaration of Independence was read by a gentleman in a white
neckcloth, and the oration was then delivered by the “orator of the
day,” who was a pale-faced, chubby-cheeked young gentleman, with very
white and extensive shirt-collars. He indulged in a great deal of
buncombe about the Pilgrim Fathers, and Plymouth Rock, the
“Blarney-stone of America,” as the Americans call it. George the Third
and his “red-coated minions” were alluded to in not very flattering
terms; and after having exhausted the past, the orator, in his
enthusiasm, became prophetic of the future. He fancied he saw a distant
vision of a great republic in Ireland, England sunk into insignificance,
and all the rest of it.

The speech was full of American and local phraseology, but the richness
of the brogue was only the more perceptible from the vain attempt to
disguise it. Many of the Americans sitting near me seemed to think that
the orator was piling up the agony a little too high, and signified
their disapprobation by shouting “Gaas, gaas!” My next neighbor, an old
Yankee, informed me that, in his opinion, “them Pilgrim Fathers were no
better than their neighbors; they left England because they could not
have everything their own way, and in America were more intolerant of
other religions than any one had been of theirs in England. I know all
about ’em,” he said, “for I come from right whar they lived.”

In the middle of the arena, during the ceremonies, was a cage containing
a grizzly bear, who had fought and killed a bull by torchlight the night
before. His cage was boarded up, so that he was deprived of the pleasure
of seeing what was going on, but he could hear all that was said, and
expressed his opinion from time to time by grunting and growling most
savagely.

After the oration, the company dispersed to answer the loud summons of
the numerous dinner-bells and gongs, and in the afternoon there was a
bull-fight, which went off with great _éclat_.

It was announced in the bills that the celebrated lady bull-fighter, the
Señorita Ramona Perez, would despatch a bull with the sword. This
celebrated señorita, however, turned out to be only the chief _matador_,
who entered the arena very well got up as a woman, with the slight
exception of a very fine pair of mustaches, which he had not thought it
worth while to sacrifice. He had a fan in his hand, with which he half
concealed his face, as if from modesty, as he curtseyed to the audience,
who received him with shouts of laughter--mixed with hisses and curses,
however, for there were some who had been true believers in the
señorita; but the infidels were the majority, and, thinking it a good
joke, enjoyed it accordingly. The señorita played with the bull for
some little time with the utmost audacity, and with a great deal of
feminine grace, whisking her petticoats in the bull’s face with one
hand, whilst she smoothed down her hair with the other. At last the
sword was handed to her, which she received very gingerly, also a red
flag; and after dodging a few passes from the bull, she put the sword
most gracefully into the back of his neck, and, hardly condescending to
wait to see whether she had killed or not, she dropped both sword and
flag, and ran out of the arena, curtsying, and kissing her hand to the
spectators, after the manner of a ballet-dancer leaving the stage.

It was a pity the fellow had not shaved off his mustache, as otherwise
his acting was so good that one might have deluded oneself with the
belief that it was really the celebrated señorita herself who was
risking her precious life by such a very ladylike performance.

I had heard from many persons of two natural bridges on a small river
called Coyote Creek, some twelve miles off; and as they were represented
as being very curious and beautiful objects, I determined to pay them a
visit. Accordingly, returning to M’Lean’s Ferry on the Stanislaus, at
the point where Coyote Creek joins that river, I traveled up the Creek
for some miles, clambering over rocks and winding round steep
overhanging banks, by a trail so little used that it was hardly
discernible. I was amply repaid for my trouble, however, when, after an
hour or two of hard climbing in the roasting hot sun, I at last reached
the bridges, and found them much more beautiful natural curiosities
than I had imagined them to be.

Having never been able to get any very intelligible account of what they
really were, I had supposed that some large rocks rolling down the
mountain had got jammed over the creek, by the steepness of the rocky
banks on each side, which I fancied would be a very easy mode of
building a natural bridge. My idea, however, was very far from the
reality. In fact, bridges was an inappropriate name; they should rather
have been called caves or tunnels. How they were formed is a question
for geologists; but their appearance gave the idea that there had been a
sort of landslip, which blocked up the bed of the creek for a distance
of two or three hundred feet, and to the height of fifty or sixty above
the bed of the stream. They were about a quarter of a mile apart, and
their surface was, like that of the hills, perfectly smooth, and covered
with grass and flowers. The interiors were somewhat the same style of
place, but the upper one was the larger and more curious of the two. The
faces of the tunnel were perpendicular, presenting an entrance like a
church door, about twelve feet high, surrounded by huge stony
fungus-like excrescences, of a dark purple-and-green color. The waters
of the creek flowed in here, and occupied all the width of the entrance.
They were only a few inches in depth, and gave a perfect reflection of
the whole of the interior, which was a lofty chamber some hundred feet
in length, the straight sides of which met at the top in the form of a
Gothic arch. At the further end was a vista of similarly arched small
passages, branching off into darkness. The walls were deeply carved into
pillars and grotesque forms, in which one could trace all manner of
fanciful resemblances; while at the base of some of the columns were
most symmetrically formed projections, many of which might be taken for
fonts, the top of them being a circular basin containing water. These
projections were of stone, and had the appearance of having congealed
suddenly while in a boiling state. There was a beautiful regularity in
the roughness of their surface, some of the rounded forms being deeply
carved with circular lines, similar to the engine-turning on the back of
a watch, and others being rippled like a shirt of mail, the rippling
getting gradually and regularly finer, till at the top the surface was
hardly more rough than that of a file. The walls and roof seemed to have
been smothered over with some stuff which had hardened into a sort of
cement, presenting a polished surface of a bright cream-color, tinged
here and there with pink and pale-green. The entrance was sufficiently
large to light up the whole place, which, from its general outline, gave
somewhat the idea of a church; for, besides the pillars, with their
flowery ornaments, the Gothic arches and the fonts, there was at one
side, near the entrance, one of these stone excrescences much larger
than the others, which would have passed for a pulpit, overhung as it
was by a projection of a similar nature, spreading out from the wall
several feet above it.

The sides of the arches forming the roof did not quite meet at the top,
but looked like the crests of two immense foaming waves, between which
were seen the extremities of numbers of pendants of a like flowery form.

There was nothing rough or uncertain about the place; every part seemed
as if it were elaborately finished, and in strict harmony with the
whole; and as the rays of the setting sun fell on the water within the
entrance, and reflected a subdued light over the brilliant hues of the
interior, it looked like a gorgeous temple, which no art could improve,
and such as no human imagination could have designed. At the other end
of the tunnel the water emerged from a much smaller cave, which was so
low as not to admit of a man crawling in.

The caves, at each end of the other tunnel, were also very small, though
the architecture was of the same flowery style. The faces of it,
however, were extremely beautiful. To the height of fifty or sixty feet
they presented a succession of irregular overhanging projections,
bulging out like immense mushrooms, of which the prevailing hue was a
delicate pink, with occasional patches of bright green.

In any part of the Old World such a place would be the object of a
pilgrimage; and even where it was, it attracted many visitors, numbers
of whom had, according to the established custom of snobhood,
acknowledged their own insignificance, and had sought a little
immortality for their wretched names by scratching them on a large
smooth surface by the side of the entrance to the cave.

While I was there, an old Yankee miner came to see the place. He paid a
very hurried visit--he had not even time to scratch his initials; but he
was enthusiastic in his admiration of this beautiful object of nature,
which, however, he thought was quite thrown away in such an
out-of-the-way part of creation. It distressed him to think that such a
valuable piece of property could not be turned to any profitable
account. “Now,” said he, “if I had this here thing jist about ten miles
from New York City, I’d show it to the folks at twenty-five cents a
head, and make an everlastin’ pile of money out of it.”




CHAPTER XXVI

FRENCHMEN IN THE MINES


The only miners on the Creek were Frenchmen, two or three of whom lived
in a very neat log cabin, close to the tunnel. Behind it was a small
kitchen-garden in a high state of cultivation, and alongside was a very
diminutive fac-simile of the cabin itself, which was tenanted by a
knowing-looking little terrier-dog.

The whole establishment had a finished and civilized air about it, and
was got up with a regard to appearances which was quite unusual.

But of all the men of different nations in the mines, the French were
most decidedly those who, judging from their domestic life, appeared to
be most at home. Not that they were a bit better than others able to
stand the hard work and exposure and privations, but about all their
huts and cabins, however roughly constructed they might be, there was
something in the minor details which bespoke more permanency than was
suggested by the generality of the rude abodes of the miners. It is very
certain that, without really expending more time or labor, or even
taking more trouble than other men about their domestic arrangements,
they did “fix things up” with such a degree of taste, and with so much
method about everything, as to give the idea that their life of toil
was mitigated by more than a usual share of ease and comfort.

A backwoodsman from the Western States is in some respects a good sort
of fellow to be with in the mountains, especially where there are
hostile Indians about, for he knows their ways, and can teach them
manners with his five-foot-barrel rifle when there is occasion for it;
he can also put up a log cabin in no time, and is of course up to all
the dodges of border life; but this is his normal condition, and he
cannot be expected to appreciate so much as others, or to be so apt at
introducing, all the little luxuries of a more civilized existence of
which he has no knowledge.

An old sailor is a useful man in the mines, when you can keep brandy out
of his reach; and, to do him justice, there is method in his manner of
drinking. He lives under the impression that all human existence should
be subdivided, as at sea, into watches; for when ashore he only
lengthens their duration, and takes his watch below as a regular matter
of duty, keeping below as long as the grog lasts; after which he comes
on deck again, quite refreshed, and remains as sober as a judge for two
or three weeks. His useful qualities, however, consist in the
extraordinary delight he takes in patching and mending, and tinkering up
whatever stands in need of such service. He is great at sweeping and
scrubbing, and keeping things clean generally, and, besides, knows
something of tailoring, shoemaking, carpentering; in fact, he can turn
his hand to anything, and generally does it artistically, while his
resources are endless, for he has a peculiar genius for making one thing
serve the purpose of another, and is never at a loss for a substitute.

But whatever the specialties and accomplishments of individuals or of
classes, the French, as a nation, were excelled by no other in the
practice of the art of making themselves personally comfortable. They
generally located themselves in considerable numbers, forming small
communities of their own, and always appeared to be jolly, and enjoying
themselves. They worked hard enough while they were at it, but in their
intervals of leisure they gave themselves up to what seemed at least to
be a more unqualified enjoyment of the pleasures of the moment than
other miners, who never entirely laid aside the earnest and careworn
look of the restless gold-hunter.

This enviable faculty, which the Frenchmen appeared to possess in such a
high degree, of bringing somewhat of the comforts of civilized life
along with them, was no doubt a great advantage; but whether it operated
favorably or otherwise towards their general success as miners, is not
so certain. One would naturally suppose that the more thoroughly a man
rested from mental or bodily labor, the more able would he be for
renewed exertions; but at the same time, a man whose mind is entirely
engrossed and preoccupied with one idea, is likely to attain his end
before the man who only devotes himself to the pursuit of that object at
stated intervals.

However that may be, there is no question that, as miners, the French
were far excelled by the Americans and by the English--for they are
inseparably mixed up together. There are thorough-going Americans who,
only a year or two ago, were her Majesty’s most faithful subjects, and
who still in their hearts cherish the recollection. The Frenchmen,
perhaps, possessed industry and energy enough, if they had had a more
practical genius to direct it; but in proportion to their numbers, they
did not bear a sufficiently conspicuous part, either in mining
operations, or in those branches of industry which have for their object
the converting of the natural advantages of a country to the service of
man. The direction of their energies was more towards the supplying of
those wants which presuppose the existence of a sufficiently wealthy and
luxurious class of consumers than towards seizing on such resources of
the country as offered them the means of enriching themselves in a
manner less immediately dependent on their neighbors.

Even as miners, they for the most part congregated round large camps,
and were never engaged in the same daring undertakings as the
Americans--such as lifting half a mile of a large river from its bed, or
trenching for miles the sides of steep mountains, and building lofty
viaducts supported on scaffolding which, from its height, looked like a
spider’s web; while the only pursuits they engaged in, except mining,
were the keeping of restaurants, estaminets, cafés chantants,
billiard-rooms, and such places, ministering more to the pleasures than
to the necessities of man; and not in any way adding to the wealth of
the country by rendering its resources more available.

Comparing the men of different nations, the pursuit they were engaged
in, and the ends they had accomplished, one could not help being
impressed with the idea that if the mines had been peopled entirely by
Frenchmen--if all the productive resources of the country had been in
their hands--it would yet have been many years before they would have
raised California to the rank and position of wealth and importance
which she now holds.

And it is quite fair to draw a general conclusion regarding them, based
upon such evidences of their capabilities as they afforded in
California; for not only did they form a very considerable proportion of
the population, but, as among people of other nations, there were also
among them men of all classes.

In many respects they were a most valuable addition to the population of
the country, especially in the cities, but as colonizers and subjugators
of a new country, their inefficiency was very apparent. They appeared to
want that daring and independent spirit of individual self-reliance
which impels an American or Englishman to disregard all counsel and
companionship, and to enter alone into the wildest enterprise, so long
as he himself thinks it feasible; or, disengaging himself for the time
being from all communication with his fellow-men, to plunge into the
wilderness, and there to labor steadily, uncheered by any passing
pleasure, and with nothing to sustain him in his determination but his
own confidence in his ability ultimately to attain his object.

One scarcely ever met a Frenchman traveling alone in search of diggings;
whereas the Americans and English whom one encountered were nearly
always solitary individuals, “on their own hook,” going to some distant
part where they had heard the diggings were good, but at the same time
ready to stop anywhere, or to change their destination according to
circumstances.

The Frenchmen were too gregarious; they were either found in large
numbers, or not at all. They did not travel about much, and, when they
did, were in parties of half-a-dozen. While Americans would travel
hundreds of miles to reach a place which they believed to be rich, the
great object of the Frenchmen, in their choice of a location, seemed to
be, to be near where a number of their countrymen were already settled.

But though they were so fond of each other’s company, they did not seem
to possess that cohesiveness and mutual confidence necessary for the
successful prosecution of a joint undertaking. Many kinds of diggings
could only be worked to advantage by companies of fifteen or twenty men,
but Frenchmen were never seen attempting such a combination.
Occasionally half-a-dozen or so worked together, but even then the
chances were that they squabbled among themselves, and broke up before
they had got their claim into working order, and so lost their labor
from their inability to keep united in one plan of operation.

In this respect the Americans had a very great advantage, for, though
strongly imbued with the spirit of individual independence, they are
certainly of all people in the world the most prompt to organize and
combine to carry out a common object. They are trained to it from their
youth in their innumerable, and to a foreigner unintelligible,
caucus-meetings, committees, conventions, and so forth, by means of
which they bring about the election of every officer in the State, from
the President down to the policeman; while the fact of every man
belonging to a fire company, a militia company, or something of that
sort, while it increases their idea of individual importance, and
impresses upon them the force of combined action, accustoms them also to
the duty of choosing their own leaders, and to the necessity of
afterwards recognizing them as such by implicit obedience.

Certain it is that, though the companies of American miners were
frequently composed of what seemed to be most incongruous
materials--rough, uneducated men, and men of refinement and
education--yet they worked together as harmoniously in carrying out
difficult mining and engineering operations, under the directions of
their “captain,” as if they had been a gang of day-laborers who had no
right to interfere as to the way in which the work should be conducted.

The captain was one of their number, chosen for his supposed ability to
carry out the work; but if they were not satisfied with his
performances, it was a very simple matter to call a meeting, at which
the business of deposing, or accepting the resignation of the
incompetent officer, and appointing a successor, was put through with
all the order and formality which accompanies the election of a
president of any public body. Those who would not submit to the decision
of the majority might sell out, but the prosecution of a work undertaken
was never abandoned or in any way retarded by the discordance of opinion
on the part of the different members of the company.

Individuals could not work alone to any advantage. All mining operations
were carried on by parties of men, varying in number according to the
nature of their diggings; and the strange assortment of dissimilar
characters occasionally to be found thus brought into close relationship
was but a type of the general state of society, which was such as
completely to realize the idea of perfect social equality.

There are occasions on which, among small communities, an overwhelming
emotion, common to all, may obliterate all feeling of relative
superiority; but the history of the world can show no such picture of
human nature upon the same scale as was to be seen in the mines, where,
among a population of hundreds of thousands of men, from all parts of
the world, and from every order of society, no individual or class was
accounted superior to another.

The cause of such a state of things was one which would tend to produce
the same results elsewhere. It consisted in this, that each man enjoyed
the capability of making as much money as his neighbor; for hard labor,
which any man could accomplish with legs and arms, without much
assistance from his head, was as remunerative as any other
occupation--consequently, all men indiscriminately were found so
employing themselves, and mining or any other kind of labor was
considered as dignified and as honorable a pursuit as any other.

In fact, so paramount was this idea, that in some men it created an
impression that not to labor was degrading--that those who did not live
by actual physical toil were men who did not come up to the scratch--who
rather shirked the common lot of all, “man’s original inheritance, that
he should sweat for his poor pittance.” I recollect once arriving in the
middle of the night in San Francisco, when it was not by any means the
place it now is, and finding all the hotels full, I was compelled to
take refuge in an establishment which offered no other accommodation to
the public than a lot of beds--half-a-dozen in a room. When I was paying
my dollar in the morning for having enjoyed the privilege of sleeping on
one of these concerns, an old miner was doing the same. He had no coin,
but weighed out an ounce of dust, and while getting his change he seemed
to be studying the keeper of the house, as a novel and interesting
specimen of human nature. The result showed itself in an expression of
supreme contempt on his worn and sunburnt features, as he addressed the
object of his contemplation: “Say now, stranger, do you do nothin’ else
but just sit thar and take a dollar from every man that sleeps on them
beds?”

“Yes, that’s my business,” replied the man.

“Well, then,” said the miner after a little further reflection, “it’s a
d--d mean way of making your living, that’s all I can say.”

This idea was natural enough to the man who so honestly expressed it,
but it was an exaggeration of that which prevailed in the mines, for no
occupation gave any man a superiority over his neighbors; there was no
social scale in which different classes held different positions, and
the only way in which a man could distinguish himself from others was by
what he actually had in him, by his own personal qualities, and by the
use he could make of them; and any man’s intrinsic merit it was not
difficult to discover; for it was not as in countries where the whole
population is divided into classes, and where individuals from widely
different stations are, when thrown together, prevented, by a degree of
restraint and hypocrisy on both sides, from exhibiting themselves
exactly as they would to their ordinary associates. Here no such
obstacle existed to the most unreserved intercourse; the habitual veil
of imposition and humbug, under which men usually disguise themselves
from the rest of the world, was thrown aside as a useless inconvenience.
They took no trouble to conceal what passed within them, but showed
themselves as they were, for better or for worse as the case might
be--sometimes, no doubt, very much for the worse; but in most instances
first impressions were not so favorable as those formed upon further
acquaintance.

Society--so to call it--certainly wanted that super-fine polish which
gives only a cold reflection of what is offered to it. There was no
pinchbeck or Brummagem ware; every man was a genuine solid article,
whether gold, silver, or copper: he was the same sterling metal all the
way through which he was on the surface; and the generous frankness and
hearty goodwill which, however roughly expressed, were the prevailing
characteristics of the miners, were the more grateful to the feelings,
as one knew that no secondary or personal motive sneaked beneath them.

It would be hard to say what particular class of men was the most
numerous in the mines, because few retained any distinguishing
characteristic to denote their former position.

The backwoodsman and the small farmer from the Western States, who
formed a very large proportion of the people, could be easily recognized
by many peculiarities. The educated man, who had lived and moved among
gentlemen, was also to be detected under any disguise; but the great
mass of the people were men who, in their appearance and manners,
afforded little clue to their antecedents.

From the mode of life and the style of dress, men became very much
assimilated in outward appearance, and acquired also a certain
individuality of manner, which was more characteristic of what they now
were--of the independent gold-hunter--than of any other order of
mankind.

It was easy enough, if one had any curiosity on the subject, to learn
something of a man’s history, for there was little reserve used in
alluding to it. What a man had been mattered as little to him as it did
to any one else; and it was refreshing to find, as was generally the
case, that one’s preconceived ideas of a man were so utterly at variance
with the truth.

Among such a motley crowd one could select his own associates, but the
best-informed, the most entertaining, and those in many respects the
most desirable, were not always those whose company one could have
enjoyed where the inseparable barriers of class are erected;--and it is
difficult to believe that any one, after circulating much among the
different types of mankind to be found in the mines, should not have a
higher respect than before for the various classes which they
represented.




CHAPTER XXVII

THE RESOURCEFUL AMERICANS


After a month or two spent on the Tuolumne and Merced rivers, and in the
more sparsely populated section of country lying still farther south, I
returned to Sonora, on my way to San Francisco.

Here I took the stage for Stockton--a large open wagon, drawn by five
horses, three leaders abreast. We were well ballasted with about a dozen
passengers, the most amusing of whom was a hard, dried-up man, dressed
in a greasy old leathern hunting-shirt, and inexpressibles to match, all
covered with tags and fringes, and clasping in his hand a long rifle,
which had probably been his bosom-friend all his life. He took an early
opportunity of informing us all that he was from Arkansas; that he came
to “Calaforny” across the plains, and having been successful in the
diggings, he was now on his way home. He was like a schoolboy going home
for the holidays, so delighted was he with the prospect before him. It
seemed to surprise him very much that all the rest of the party were not
also bound for Arkansas, and he evidently looked upon us, in
consequence, with a degree of compassionate interest, as much less
fortunate mortals, and very much to be pitied.

We started at four o’clock in the morning, so as to accomplish the sixty
or seventy miles to Stockton before the departure of the San Francisco
steamer. The first ten or twelve miles of our journey were consequently
performed in the dark, but that did not affect our speed; the road was
good, and it was only in crossing the hollows between the hills that the
navigation was difficult; for in such places the diggings had frequently
encroached so much on the road as to leave only sufficient space for a
wagon to pass between the miners’ excavations.

We drove about thirty miles before we were quite out of the mining
regions. The country, however, became gradually less mountainous, and
more suitable for cultivation, and every half-mile or so we passed a
house by the roadside, with ploughed fields around it, whose occupant
combined farming with tavern-keeping. This was all very pleasant
traveling, but the most wretched part of the journey was when we reached
the plains. The earth was scorched and baked, the heat was more
oppressive than in the mountains, and for about thirty miles we moved
along enveloped in a cloud of dust, which soaked into one’s clothes and
hair and skin as if it had been a liquid substance. On our arrival in
Stockton we were of a uniform color all over--all identity of person was
lost as much as in a party of chimney-sweeps; but fortunately the
steamer did not start for an hour, so I had time to take a bath, and
make myself look somewhat like a white man before going on board.

The Stockton steamboats, though not so large as those which run to
Sacramento, were not inferior in speed. We steamed down the San Joaquin
at about twenty miles an hour, and reached San Francisco at ten o’clock
at night.

San Francisco retained now but little resemblance to what it had been in
its earlier days. The same extraordinary contrasts and incongruities
were not to be seen either in the people or in the appearance of the
streets. Men had settled down into their proper places; the various
branches of business and trade had worked for themselves their own
distinct channels; and the general style of the place was very much the
same as that of any flourishing commercial city.

It had increased immensely in extent, and its growth had been in all
directions. The barren sandhills which surrounded the city had been
graded down to an even slope, and were covered with streets of
well-built houses, and skirted by populous suburbs. Four or five wide
streets, more than a mile in length, built up with solid and uniform
brick warehouses, stretched all along in front of the city, upon ground
which had been reclaimed from the bay; and between these and the upper
part of the city was the region of fashionable shops and hotels, banks
and other public offices.

The large fleet of ships which for a long time, while seamen’s wages
were exorbitantly high, lay idly in the harbor, was now dispersed, and
all the shipping actually engaged in discharging cargo found
accommodation alongside of the numerous piers which had been built out
for nearly a mile into the bay. All manner of trades and manufactures
were flourishing as in a place a hundred years old. Omnibuses plied upon
the principal thoroughfares, and numbers of small steamboats ran to the
watering-places which had sprung up on the opposite shore.

The style of life had improved with the growth of the city, and with the
increased facilities of procuring servants and house-room. The ordinary
conventionalities of life were observed, and public opinion exercised
its wonted control over men’s conduct; for the female part of creation
was so numerously represented that births and marriages occupied a space
in the daily papers larger than they require in many more populous
places.

Female influence was particularly observable in the great attention men
paid to their outward appearance. There was but little of the
independent taste and individuality in dress of other days; all had
succumbed to the sway of the goddess of fashion, and the usual style of
gentleman’s dress was even more elaborate than in New York. All classes
had changed, to a certain extent, in this respect. The miner, as he is
seen in the mines, was not to be met with in San Francisco; he attired
himself in suitable raiment in Sacramento or Stockton before venturing
to show himself in the metropolis.

Gambling was decidedly on the wane. Two or three saloons were still
extant, but the company to be found in them was not what it used to be.
The scum of the population was there; but respectable men, with a
character to lose, were chary of risking it by being seen in a public
gambling-room; and, moreover, the greater domestic comfort which men
enjoyed, and the usual attractions of social life, removed all excuse
for frequenting such places.

Public amusements were of a high order. Biscaccianti and Catherine
Hayes were giving concerts, Madame Anne Bishop was singing in English
opera, and the performances at the various theaters were sustained by
the most favorite actors from the Atlantic States.

Extravagant expenditure is a marked feature in San Francisco life. The
same style of ostentation, however, which is practiced in older
countries, is unattainable in California, and in such a country would
entirely fail in its effect. Extravagance, accordingly, was indulged
more for the purpose of procuring tangible enjoyment than for the sake
of show. Men spent their money in surrounding themselves with the best
of everything, not so much for display as from due appreciation of its
excellence; for there is no city of the same size or age where there is
so little provincialism; the inhabitants, generally, are eminently
cosmopolitan in their character, and judge of merit by the highest
standard.

As yet, the influence of California upon this country [England] is not
so much felt by direct communication as through the medium of the
States. A very large proportion of the English goods consumed in the
country find their way there through the New York market, and in many
cases in such a shape, as in articles manufactured in the States from
English materials, that the actual value of the trade cannot be
accurately estimated. The tide of emigration from this country to
California follows very much the same course. The English are there,
very numerous, but those direct from England bear but an exceedingly
small proportion to those from the United States, from New South Wales,
and other countries; and the latter, no doubt, possessed a great
advantage, for, without undervaluing the merit of English mechanics and
workmen in their own particular trade, it must be allowed that the same
class of Americans are less confined to one speciality, and have more
general knowledge of other trades, which makes them better men to be
turned adrift in a new country, where they may have to employ themselves
in a hundred different ways before they find an opportunity of following
the trade to which they have been brought up. An English mechanic, after
a few years’ experience of a younger country, without losing any of the
superiority he may possess in his own trade, becomes more fitted to
compete with the rest of the world when placed in a position where that
speciality is unavailable.

California has afforded the Americans their first opportunity of showing
their capacity as colonists. The other States which have of late years
been added to the Union, are not a fair criterion, for they have been
created merely by the expansion of the outer circumference of
civilization, by the restlessness of the backwoodsman unaided by any
other class; but the attractions offered by California were such as to
draw to it a complete ready-made population of active and capable men,
of every trade and profession.

The majority of men went there with the idea of digging gold, or without
any definite idea of how they would employ themselves; but as the wants
of a large community began to be felt, the men were already at hand
capable of supplying them; and the result was, that in many professions,
and in all the various branches of mechanical industry, the same degree
of excellence was exhibited as is known in any part of the world.

Certainly no new country ever so rapidly advanced to the same high
position as California; but it is equally true that no country ever
commenced its career with such an effective population, or with the same
elements of wealth to work upon. There are circumstances, however,
connected with the early history of the country which may not appear to
be so favorable to immediate prosperity and progress. Other new
countries have been peopled by gradual accessions to an already formed
center, from which the rest of the mass received character and
consistency; but in the case of California the process was much more
abrupt. Thousands of men, hitherto unknown to each other, and without
mutual relationship, were thrown suddenly together, unrestrained by
conventional or domestic obligations, and all more intently bent than
men usually are upon the one immediate object of acquiring wealth. It is
to be wondered that chaos and anarchy were not at first the result of
such a state of things; but such was never the case in any part of the
country; and it is, no doubt, greatly owing to the large proportion of
superior men among the early settlers, and to the capacity for
self-government possessed by all classes of Americans, that a system of
government was at once organized and maintained, and that the country
was so soon entitled to rank as one of the most important States of the
Union.

The consequences to the rest of the world of the gold of California it
is not easy to determine, and it is not for me to enter upon the great
question as to the effect on prices of an addition to the quantity of
precious metals in the world of £250,000,000, which in round numbers is
the estimated amount of gold and silver produced within the last eight
years.[6] It seems, however, more than probable that the present high
range of prices may, to a certain extent, be caused by this immense
addition to our stock of gold and silver. But the question becomes more
complicated when we consider the extraordinary impetus given to commerce
and manufactures by this sudden production of gold acting simultaneously
with the equally expanding influence of Free Trade. The time cannot be
far off when this important investigation must be entered upon with all
that talent which can be brought to bear upon it. But this is the domain
of philosophers, and of those whose part in life it is to do the
deep-thinking for the rest of the world. I have no desire to trespass on
such ground, and abstain also from fruitlessly wandering in the endless
mazes of the Currency question.

There are other thoughts, however, which cannot but arise on considering
the modern discoveries of gold. When we see a new country and a new home
provided for our surplus population, at a time when it was most
required--when a fresh supply of gold, now a necessary to civilization,
is discovered, as we were evidently and notoriously becoming so urgently
in want of it, we cannot but recognize the ruling hand of Providence.
And when we see the uttermost parts of the earth suddenly attracting
such an immense population of enterprising, intelligent, earnest
Anglo-Saxon men, forming, with a rapidity which seems miraculous, new
communities and new powers such as California and Australia, we must
indeed look upon this whole Golden Legend as one of the most wondrous
episodes in the history of mankind.


THE END.




                 _OUTING PUBLISHING COMPANY--NEW YORK_

                       OUTING ADVENTURE LIBRARY

                            [Illustration]

                       Edited by Horace Kephart


Here are brought together for the first time the great stories of
adventure of all ages and countries. These are the personal records of
the men who climbed the mountains, penetrated the jungles, explored the
seas and crossed the desert; who knew the chances and took them, and
lived to write their own tales of hardship, endurance and achievement.
The series will consist of an indeterminate number of volumes--for the
stories are myriad. The whole will be edited by Horace Kephart. Each
volume answers the test of these questions: Is it true? Is it
interesting? The entire series is uniform in style and binding. Among
the titles now ready or in preparation are those described on the
following pages. Price $1.00 each, net. Postage 10 cents extra.

IN THE OLD WEST, by George Frederick Ruxton. The men who blazed the
trail across the Rockies to the Pacific were independent trappers and
hunters in the days before the Mexican war. They left no records of
their adventures and most of them linger now only as shadowy names. But
a young Englishman lived among them for a time, saw life from their
point of view, trapped with them and fought with them against the
Indians. That was George Frederick Ruxton. His story is our only
complete picture of the Old West in the days of the real pioneers, of
Kit Carson, Jim Bridger, Bill Williams, the Sublettes, and all the rest
of that glorious company of the forgotten who opened the West.

CASTAWAYS AND CRUSOES. Since the beginning of navigation men have faced
the dangers of shipwreck and starvation. Scattered through the annals of
the sea are the stories of those to whom disaster came and the personal
records of the way they met it. Some of them are given in this volume,
narratives of men who lived by their hands among savages on forlorn
coasts, or drifted helpless in open boats. They range from the South
Seas to the Gulf of St. Lawrence, from Patagonia to Cuba. They are
echoes from the days when the best that could be hoped by the man who
went to sea was hardship and man’s-sized work.

CAPTIVES AMONG THE INDIANS. First of all is the story of Captain James
Smith, who was captured by the Delawares at the time of Braddock’s
defeat, was adopted into the tribe, and for four years lived as an
Indian, hunting with them, studying their habits, and learning their
point of view. Then there is the story of Father Bressani who felt the
tortures of the Iroquois, of Mary Rowlandson who was among the human
spoils of King Philip’s war, and of Mercy Harbison who suffered in the
red flood that followed St. Clair’s defeat. All are personal records
made by the actors themselves in those days when the Indian was
constantly at our forefather’s doors.

FIRST THROUGH THE GRAND CANYON, by Major John Wesley Powell. Major
Powell was an officer in the Union Army who lost an arm at Shiloh. In
spite of this, four years after the war he organized an expedition which
explored the Grand Canyon of the Colorado in boats--the first to make
this journey. His story has been lost for years in the oblivion of a
scientific report. It is here rescued and presented as a record of one
of the great personal exploring feats, fitted to rank with the exploits
of Pike, Lewis and Clark, and Mackenzie.

ADRIFT IN THE ARCTIC ICE-PACK, by Dr. Elisha Kent Kane. Dr. Kane was
connected with one of the numerous relief expeditions which went north
in the middle of the last century, sailing from New York early in the
spring of 1849. They found themselves caught in the ice of Lancaster
Sound early in the fall and spent the entire winter driving to and fro
across the Sound frozen fast in the ice-pack. Dr. Kane’s narrative gives
the most vivid and accurate account that has ever appeared of ship life
during an arctic winter. He contributes many important observations as
to ice and weather conditions. His picture of the equipment and
provisions makes rather strange reading in the light of our modern
development for exploration purposes.

THE LION HUNTER, by Ronalyn Gordon-Cumming. The author was an Englishman
who was among the first of the now numerous tribe of sportsmen writers.
Going out to South Africa in the early half of the last century he found
a hunting field as yet untouched; antelope roamed the plains like cattle
on a western range and lions were almost as numerous as coyotes in the
old cattle days. In the course of his wanderings with the handful of
natives, he penetrated the far interior of Africa and finally
encountered Livingston. His account of his experiences with dangerous
game armed only with the old-fashioned muzzle-loaded rifles makes the
exploits of modern sportsmen seem almost puny in their safety.

HOBART PASHA, by Augustus Charles Hobart-Hampden. Recollections of one
of the most remarkable men of the 19th century. He served in the English
Navy from 1835-1863, after which he engaged in blockade running in the
interest of the Confederacy, in the prosecution of which he had many
close shaves but was never caught. He then entered the Turkish navy,
built it up and fought against the Russians. The whole book is filled
with thrilling adventures and narrow escapes.

ADVENTURES IN MEXICO, by George Frederick Ruxton. This volume describes
Ruxton’s second visit to America, but this time he landed at Vera Cruz,
from where he went to Mexico City and thence north to the American
border. Mexico was then at war with the United States, bandits roamed
over the country right up to the gates of the capital, and Indians
infested the northern part. Still he made the journey of 2,000 miles,
often alone, experiencing many exciting adventures.

WILD LIFE IN THE ROCKY MOUNTAINS, by George Frederick Ruxton. A
continuation of Ruxton’s ADVENTURES IN MEXICO, from Chihuahua north. In
the course of his journey he had to pass through treeless deserts, where
he suffered much from lack of water; spent the winter in the Rocky
Mountains and finally crossed the United States boundary.

*THE GOLD HUNTER, by J. D. Borthwick. He was an English artist who
joined the rush of treasure seekers to California in 1851. It is a
lively description of the voyage via Panama, of San Francisco from its
days of the bowie-knife and top-boots to its development into an orderly
community, of life (and death) in “the diggings” and of the motley
gathering of all nationalities in town and camp, their toil, sports,
virtues, crimes and shifting fortunes. The book covers the period from
1851-1856.

GREAT DIVIDE, THE, by Earl Dunraven. Sport and travel in the Upper
Yellowstone in the summer of 1874 with George Kingsley and Texas Jack.
Stalking the wapiti and bighorn, encounters with grizzlies, camp life at
its best and worst, Indians and frontiersmen, the joys of wild life and
the pathos of it, the crest of the continent and the vales of
“Wonderland,” all are depicted by the Earl of Dunraven.

LIFE AMONG THE APACHES, by John C. Cremony. He was interpreter of the
United States Boundary Commission and served against the Indians as
Major of a California regiment during the Civil War. His personal
encounters with the Apaches were of the most desperate nature.


Typographical errors corrected by the etext transcriber:

absinthe, curaçoa=> absinthe, curaçao {pg 72}

they got the length=> they go to the length {pg 78}

Kadiak Island, Alaska=> Kodiak Island, Alaska {pg 178 fn 3}


FOOTNOTES:

[1] Usually the tannin was extracted by placing the acorn flour in some
sort of filter and letting water percolate through it.--ED.

[2] Albino freaks.--ED.

[3] The grizzlies of early California were larger than those of
the Rocky Mountains, but estimates of their weight were commonly
exaggerated. The largest bear of any species of which there is record
was one killed by J. C. Tolman, in October, 1889, at the head of
English Bay, on Kodiak Island, Alaska. The skin, when moderately
stretched on the ground, was 13 ft. 6 in. long by 11 ft. 6 in. wide;
length of head, 20 in.; breadth, 12 in.; length of hind foot, 20 in.;
breadth, 12 in.; weight of carcass with entrails and blood removed,
1,656 lbs.; estimated live weight, a little over a ton.--ED.

[4] Arrastres.--ED.

[5] Under two hundred miles in an air line.--ED.

[6] An over-estimate: probably about $500,000,000.--ED.