Victoria--The Rush there from California--Contrast to San Francisco
under Similar Circumstances--The Assiniboines see the Wonders
of Victoria--Start for Cariboo--Mr. O’B. and the Assiniboine
are Reconciled--The Former re-establishes his Faith--Farewell
to the Assiniboine Family--Salmon in Harrison River--The
Lakes--Mr. O’B.’s Triumph--Lilloet--Miners’ Slang--The
“Stage” to Soda Creek--Johnny the Driver--Pavilion Mountain--
The Rattlesnake Grade--The Chasm--Way-side Houses on the Road
to the Mines--We meet a Fortunate Miner--The Farming Land of
the Colony--The Steamer--Frequent Cocktails--The Mouth of
Quesnelle--The Trail to William’s Creek--A Hard Journey--Dead
Horses--Cameron Town, William’s Creek.
Victoria is very beautifully situated on the shores of a small rocky
bay--an indentation in the promontory which is formed by the sweeping
round of the sea into the land-locked harbour of Esquimalt. The site
was originally chosen by Sir James (then Mr.) Douglas, Governor of the
Hudson’s Bay Company’s territories west of the Rocky Mountains, for
the establishment of head-quarters, in place of Fort Vancouver, when
Oregon passed into the possession of the United States in the year
1844. Fourteen years afterwards, when the news of the discovery of gold
on the Fraser caused such excitement in California, the only buildings
were the Company’s Fort, and one or two houses inhabited by their
employés. In the course of a few weeks 30,000 people were collected
there, waiting for the flooded Fraser to subside, and allow them to
proceed to the diggings. Amongst this immense assemblage of people--
the majority of them the most desperate and lawless of the Californian
rowdies--Governor Douglas, without the aid of a single soldier or
regular police-force, preserved an order and security which contrasted
most forcibly with the state of things in San Francisco and Sacramento
under similar circumstances. The city wore a very thriving aspect when
we visited it, and could already boast of several streets. The whole
traffic to and from British Columbia passing through it, has rapidly
enriched its merchants, and handsome brick stores are fast replacing
the original wooden buildings.
We had by no means relinquished our intention of visiting Cariboo,
although we had failed to reach it by the direct route we had
originally projected. At Victoria we were more than 500 miles distant;
winter was fast approaching, and there was therefore no time to be
lost in setting out. We stole a day or two, however, to introduce
the friends we delighted to honour--Mr. and Mrs. Assiniboine, and
their son--to the wonders of civilisation to be found in Victoria.
To this end, we clothed them in gorgeous apparel, seated them in a
“buggy” drawn by a pair of fast-trotting horses, and mounting the box
ourselves, drove them in state to Esquimalt. They sat inside with great
gravity, occasionally remarking on the difference between bowling
along a capital road at the rate we were going, and advancing only
two or three miles a day, by hard labour, through the forest. Having
shown them a live Admiral, and a 100-pounder Armstrong on board
H.M.S.S. _Sutlej_, and completed the round of sights by showing them
the principal stores and the theatres, we left The Assiniboine to take
notes of what he had seen in a diary of hieroglyphics, which he had
instituted for the record of the wonders of Victoria.
On the 29th of September we put a pair of socks, a flannel shirt, and
toothbrush apiece into our blankets, rolling them into a pack, miners’
fashion, inserted our legs into huge jack boots, “recommended for the
mines,” and went on board the steamer _Otter_, for New Westminster.
The Assiniboine family accompanied us on their way back to Kamloops,
where they were to winter, intending to re-cross the mountains in the
spring by the Kootanie Pass. They were rather reluctant to leave their
new-found pleasures behind them, having been especially fascinated by
the ballet, and the delicacies provided for them by the pastry-cook.
Mr. O’B. remained in Victoria, re-establishing, under the worthy
clergymen of that city, the faith which had been staggered by his
over-dose of Paley. He had signalised his return to Christianity by
shaking hands with his ancient enemy, The Assiniboine, and the two
buried their former animosities for ever; for they are little likely
to meet again. At New Westminster we bade good-bye to the Assiniboine
family, who went forward to Yale, whilst we took steamer by the
Harrison River to Douglas, in order to see the rival route by the Lakes
and Lilloet. In spite of The Assiniboine’s cool confession that it
had been his design at first to desert us at Jasper House, when he
had solemnly promised to go through to the end, he had served us so
well, and led us so ably in a time of doubt and hardship, that we were
sincerely sorry to part with him and his family. They sailed up the
Fraser, and we stood watching them out of sight, wondering whether any
of the odd chances of life would ever bring us across them again. We
heard before leaving Victoria that, on his arrival at Kamloops, the
man was employed as a shepherd by Mr. McKay, and expected to return to
Fort Pitt in the following year, with a goodly string of horses. In the
shallows of the Harrison River we saw many thousands of spent salmon
wriggling and flopping about, half-stranded, and pursued by a number
of Indians, who were engaged in spearing them. Passing through Douglas
and Pemberton by the lakes and portages between them, we struck the
Fraser again at Lilloet, about 265 miles from New Westminster, and 300
from Victoria. The scenery on this route, especially on Lakes Anderson
and Seton, is exceedingly wild and grand. Mountains rise abruptly from
the shores of the lakes on each side, steep, rugged, and barren; and
when we saw them their beauty was increased by the brilliant tints of
the American autumn. At various places on our way to Lilloet we heard
of our friend Mr. O’B., who had followed this route on his journey
down from Kamloops, instead of the one by Yale. He had found favour
with every one, for he knew the history family, friends, property,
and expectations of each, and the latest news of the neighbourhood
from which they came. At a certain town on the road, a number of
new-found friends and admirers, with whom he was spending a social
evening, observing the astonishing facility with which he imbibed his
native whisky, determined to see him under the table, and plied him
vigorously. But if their heads were hard, Mr. O’B.’s was harder, and
although he had not tasted any intoxicating liquor for two years, and
drank glass for glass with his entertainers without shirking, he proved
invincible. One after another the conspirators subsided helpless on the
floor, while Mr. O’B. remained sitting, smiling and triumphant, and
calmly continued to smoke his pipe, superior and alone!
The town of Lilloet is situated on a grand plateau, one of the
terraces of the Fraser, which are here more than ordinarily extensive
and well-marked. The place was full of miners, on their way down to
Victoria for the winter. Drinking and card-playing went on until long
after midnight, amid a constant string of oaths and miners’ slang.
Our ears became familiarised with such phrases as “bully for you,”
“caved in,” “played out,” “you bet,” “you bet your life,” “your bottom
dollar” or “your gumboots on it,” “on the make,” “on the sell,” “a big
strike,” “can’t get a show,” “hit a streak,” and so on. We slept in a
double-bedded room, and towards morning there was a tremendous crash,
and Milton heard an angry growling proceeding from Cheadle, whose
bed had come down with a run. At daybreak we were aroused by a number
of fellows outside our door laughing, and shouting, “Who is this ----
fellow putting on frills?” In a weak and absent moment Cheadle had
mechanically put his boots outside the door, as if expecting them to be
cleaned, and this had properly excited their derision.
[Illustration: THE “RATTLESNAKE GRADE.”
(_See page 356._)
Pavilion Mountain, British Columbia; Altitude, 4,000 feet.]
We now abandoned the idea of travelling forward on horseback, for we
were assured by several persons who had just arrived from Cariboo that
it would be impossible to take horses into William’s Creek on account
of the snow, which had begun to fall before they left the mines. We
therefore took our places in the “stage” running from Lilloet to Soda
Creek on the Fraser, 175 miles distant. A steamer plies between the
Creek and the Mouth of Quesnelle, a distance of sixty miles, and from
thence a pack trail runs to Richfield, in William’s Creek, the centre
of the Cariboo mines. The “stage” was a light open wagon, and besides
ourselves and one other passenger, carried nearly a ton of freight. But
we started with a team of five horses, two wheelers and three leaders,
and for the first day went along famously. “Johnny,” the driver, was a
capital whip, and quite a character. He was a regular Yankee, and his
Californian hat of hard felt, with a low steeple crown, and immensely
broad brim, gave him a ludicrous appearance in our eyes. He was like
all his race, a most unquiet spirit, always engaged in talking to us
or the horses, chewing, spitting, smoking, and drinking, and at the
last he was especially great; not a house did he pass without two or
three drinks with all comers. But in justice to Johnny, who was a very
good fellow in his way, it must be stated that he assured us that he
was generally a “total abstainer,” but occasionally drank for a change,
and then “went in for liquor bald-headed.” He was in the latter phase
during our brief acquaintance.
The road, well made and smooth, and in many places eighteen feet wide,
crosses the Fraser by a ferry a short distance beyond Lilloet, and
then winds along steep hill-sides up the valley of the Fraser to the
north for twenty miles. At Pavilion Valley it turns to the north-east,
to the foot of Pavilion Mountain, where it ascends 1,500 feet by a
rapid zigzag. Here our team, now reduced to four, were quite unequal
to the task before them, and we clambered up the steep on foot. From
the top we had a good view to the south-east, and the curious formation
of the hill-side opposite attracted our attention. Near the top of
the hill was a hollow, and the surface below a succession of waving
swells, growing larger and larger towards the bottom. It seemed as if
the hollow was an extinct crater, from which the molten lava had long
ago flowed down in a billowy stream, and as if this, arrested at the
instant of its passage, had now become the grass-grown slope before us.
We had no time to go across and examine it carefully, but continued
our way over the grassy table-land on the top of Pavilion Mountain,
for six or eight miles. The road then went up rapidly, and brought us
to the top of the famous “Rattlesnake Grade.” We found ourselves on
the brink of a precipitous descent of 2,000 feet, and in full view
below saw the road following the configuration of the hill, with the
numberless windings and zigzags which had given rise to its name. Cut
out of the mountain side, and resting for several feet of its width on
overhanging beams, it was not broad enough to allow two vehicles to
pass in safety, except at the points of the turns, nor was there any
railing to guard the edge of the precipice.
Every one immediately volunteered to ease the poor horses by walking
down, but Johnny negatived the proposition at once, and drove us down
at a furious rate, the heavily-laden wagon swinging round the sharp
turns in a most unpleasant manner. The giving way of the break, or of a
wheel, or the pole, must have been fatal; but all held together, as of
course it was likely to do, and we reached the bottom safely.
[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE HOUSE--ARRIVAL OF MINERS.
(_See page 359._)
]
[Illustration: A WAY-SIDE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.
(_See page 359._)
]
After leaving Clinton, where the road from Yale comes in, the road
began to ascend, and on the right we passed an extraordinary chasm.
Commencing by a gradual depression at the northern end, it became a
deep fissure in the rocks about a quarter of a mile in length, ending
abruptly in the valley to the south. The depth of the gulf is some 400
or 500 feet, and its width about the same. The sides of the chasm were
perpendicular and smooth, as if the rocks had been split asunder. The
road still went up, and after a few miles we reached table-land,
with a barren sandy soil, thickly covered with small spruce, and
intersected by numerous lakes. The accommodation along the road was
everywhere miserable enough, but after leaving Clinton it became
abominable. The only bed was the floor of the “wayside houses,” which
occur every ten miles or so, and are named the “Fiftieth” or “Hundredth
Mile House,” according to the number of the nearest mile-post. Our
solitary blankets formed poor padding against the inequalities of
the rough-hewn boards, and equally ineffectual to keep out the cold
draughts which whistled under the ill-fitting door of the hut. A
wayside house on the road to the mines is merely a rough log hut of a
single room; at one end a large open chimney, and at the side a bar
counter, behind which are shelves with rows of bottles containing the
vilest of alcoholic drinks. The miners on their journey up or down,
according to the season--men of every nationality--Englishmen,
Irishmen, and Scotchmen, Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans, Yankees and
niggers, Mexicans and South Sea Islanders--come dropping in towards
evening in twos and threes, divest themselves of the roll of blankets
slung upon their backs, and depositing them upon the floor, use them as
a seat, for the hut possesses few or none. The next thing is to have a
“drink,” which is proposed by some one of the party less “hard up” than
his friends, and the rest of the company present are generally invited
to join in.
After supper and pipes, and more “drinks,” each unrolls his blankets,
and chooses his bed for the night. Some elect to sleep on the counter,
and some on the flour sacks piled at one end of the room, whilst the
rest stretch themselves on the floor, with their feet to the fire.
Occasionally a few commence gambling, which, with an accompaniment of
drinking and blasphemy, goes on for the greater part of the night.
Descending from the high land, we came to the “Hundred Mile House,”
at Bridge Creek. This is the commencement of a tract of country more
fertile than any we met with, except that of the Delta of the Fraser;
and yet the amount of good land is of but small extent. Here and there
a rich bottom, a consolidated marsh, or the lowland on the banks of
some stream, had been converted into a productive farm, and the low
hills afford plenty of pasturage; but the whole of the rising ground
is merely sand and shingle, and nothing but bunch-grass flourishes
there. On the road we met a small bullock-wagon, escorted by about
twenty armed miners on foot. This proved to contain 630 pounds weight
of gold, the profits of a Mr. Cameron, the principal shareholder in the
noted Cameron claim. This gold, worth about £30,000, had been amassed
in the short space of three months, and represented probably less than
one-half the actual produce of the mine during that time.
At Soda Creek we took the steamer for Quesnelle. Captain Done, the
commander, was a jolly, red-faced, portly fellow, of exceeding
hospitality. He invited us to his cabin--the only furnished room on
board--and bringing out a box of cigars, and ordering a whole decanter
full of “brandy cocktail” to be made at once, desired us to make
ourselves happy. Every quarter of an hour we were called out by the
nigger “bar-keep” to have a drink with the Captain and the “crowd,” as
the general company is termed. A refusal would have, been considered
grossly rude, and we had to exercise great ingenuity in evading the
continual invitations. The only excuse allowed is that of having just
had a meal, for a Yankee always drinks on an empty stomach, and never
after eating; and American manners and customs rule in the mines. The
steamer cost no less than 75,000 dollars, or £15,000; the whole of the
machinery and boiler-plates having been brought 200 miles on the backs
of mules.
At Quesnelle Mouth we slung our roll of blankets on our backs, and
started on foot for William’s Creek. The road was very rough, a narrow
pack-trail cut through the woods; the stumps of the felled trees were
left in the ground, and the thick stratum of mud in the spaces between
was ploughed into deep holes by the continual trampling of mules.
The ground had been frozen, and covered with several inches of snow,
but this had partially melted, and rendered the surface greasy and
slippery. We stumbled about amongst the hardened mud-holes, and our
huge jack-boots soon blistered our feet so dreadfully, that by the
second day we were almost disabled. Fortunately we picked up a pair
of “gumboots”--long boots of India-rubber, used by the miners for
working in the water--which had been cast away by the road-side, and
substituting these for our cumbrous riding-boots, struggled on less
painfully afterwards. The trail, gradually ascending, passed along the
sides of pine-clad hills closely packed together, and separated only
by the narrowest ravines; we had indeed entered the same region of
mountain and forest which we had formerly encountered on the upper part
of the North Thompson. By the road-side lay the dead bodies of horses
and mules, some standing as they had died, still stuck fast in the
deep, tenacious mud. We passed a score of them in one day in full view;
and hundreds, which had turned aside to die, lay hidden in the forest
which shut in the trail so closely. Martens and wood-partridges were
numerous, and a tall Yankee, from the State of Maine, who had joined
our company, greatly distinguished himself, knocking them over with his
revolver from the tops of the high pines in a manner which astonished
us. As we approached William’s Creek, the ascent became more rapid and
the snow deeper, for the frost at this height had been unbroken.
On the evening of the third day’s march we reached Richfield,
sixty-five miles from the Mouth of Quesnelle; but, acting on the advice
of our friend from Maine, walked on through Barkerville to Cameron
Town, lower down the same creek, where the richest mines were being
at this time worked. It was already dark, and we had a rough walk of
it--along the bottom of the narrow ravine through which runs William’s
Creek, scrambling over “flumes,” logs, and heaps of rubbish for about
two miles, before we doffed our packs at Cusheon’s Hotel. We had
reached Cariboo at last, although by a much more roundabout way than we
originally intended.