Sacramento--Fort Sutter--Nomadic Indians--Marysville--Shasta
City--Adventure with a Bear--Weaverville--The Miners--The
Rocky Mountains--Eureka--Return to San Francisco.
I spent a year at San Francisco, and, during that time, paid a visit
to Sacramento, which is the second large city of California. The
steamer took me there in a single day, and gave me an opportunity of
admiring the river scenery. The city of Sacramento stands in the midst
of a flat and fertile district, somewhat resembling the cultivated
plains of France. The buildings, like those of San Francisco, are
built partly of wood, or brick, and partly of stone.
Here commerce is less active, and the heat more oppressive, than in
the city I had just left. The surrounding marshes infect the air with
pestilential vapours, and when the river overflows its banks, the
country all around becomes one immense sheet of water. The gold
diggers at one time poured by thousands into this unhealthy district;
but the mortality amongst them was so rapid that, after the first
brief harvest, they were glad to leave it.
For those who wish to go direct to Marysville by land, there is a
comfortable stage-coach; but the roads are bad, and the jolting is
terrible. When we had traversed about twenty miles of the road, we
came upon Fort Sutter, which is inhabited by a tribe of Indians.
Looking out from the windows of a stage-coach, and seeing these wild
bands spurring across the plains, one is forcibly impressed by the
contrast between savage and civilized life. Their complexion is tawny,
their eyes large and black, and their expression, when not indicative
of discontent, is innocent and wondering as that of a child. Their
hair is straight and abundant, and black as jet, and grows down within
half an inch of the eyebrows. Their dress consists of skins and
quaintly-embroidered stuffs; on their necks and arms they wear an
abundance of necklaces and bracelets, made of shells, glass-beads, and
buttons. Notwithstanding all this finery, they are far from cleanly in
their habits. They dwell in little dome-shaped huts, built up with
clay and boughs of trees, and entered by a small opening near the
ground. Here they crowd together, men, women, children, and dogs, and
feed upon the produce of the chase and the river. Amongst other fish,
they catch an abundance of fine salmon, which they dry for winter
consumption.
These Indians never eat fresh meat; but, when it is putrid, either
boil or grill it. They grow a kind of grain which they shell out into
wooden bowls, work into a paste, and bake as bread. With this, they
likewise eat grasshoppers and various other insects.
The traveller who pursues the road to Marysville, is tolerably certain
to meet with more than one troop of aborigines. They have been driven
into these desert regions before the advancing footsteps of
civilization, and, although many of them, drawn thither by curiosity
and that love of gain so common to all mankind, have ended by
embracing the habits and occupations of the new comers, many others
have, nevertheless, remained in open warfare, and several American
expeditions have already been undertaken against them.
After eight hours of travelling, in the course of which we had forded
several rivers, and encountered the worst roads I ever remember to
have traversed, we arrived at Marysville.
With the exception of some few brick houses, Marysville is constructed
entirely of wood. Situated on the enchanting banks of the Yuba, this
city resembles an immense market-place, and does in fact supply all
the villages and diggings round about. The heat here, however, is even
more overwhelming, and the fever still more fatal, than at
Sacramento.
It was in this city, and at the very hotel where I alighted in company
with the rest of my stage-coach companions, that I met with an
adventure which very nearly cost me my life. We were dining in company
with a lady and her husband. Just as we had finished, and were about
to leave the house, we heard an extraordinary commotion in the room
overhead. The master of the hotel, in answer to our enquiries, replied
that it was only a party of gentlemen who had met to dine upstairs.
Being by this time tolerably well used to American manners, we were by
no means surprised, but merely hastened our preparations, in order to
get away before these revellers became more uproarious. It was a fine
night, and we were anxious to pursue our journey by moonlight. Already
the sound of broken plates and glasses foretold a serious ending to
the riot. We waited to pay our bill, and suffered for our honesty. At
the very moment when the master of the hotel was counting out our
change, the door upstairs flew open, and the staircase was all at once
filled by a drunken and vociferating crowd. We endeavoured to escape;
but the fight had already begun. The combatants were all armed with
revolvers, and in another instant I found myself separated from my
companions. All at once a shot was fired, a ball whistled past my ear,
and a second shot took effect upon a stranger who fell wounded at my
feet. Distracted with fear, I ran I knew not whither, and was met by
my friends, who believed me to have been injured, and were hastening
to my help. The assassin, it seemed, had singled out a gentleman who
ran for shelter down the passage where I was standing. Pursued and
fired at, he nevertheless effected his escape; but the first shot
passed within an inch of my head, and the second lodged in the left
shoulder of an unoffending bystander.
The gloom of the passage, and the male attire which I habitually wore,
had aided to mislead the would-be murderer. After all, I had a narrow
escape of it.
It may not be out of place, at this point, to describe my costume, and
to explain the motives by which I was led to adopt it. I wore a gray
felt hat, a travelling paletot, and Hessian boots, such as were then
the fashion in California. To these boots were attached a pair of
Mexican spurs, useful for the mule-riding which is so frequent a mode
of transit in these parts. Besides all this, I wore doeskin gloves, a
leather belt made to carry gold, and a poignard. This dress is not
only picturesque, but necessary; for the country is savage and
unsettled, and, in moments of danger, the woman who is thus attired
can better escape or defend herself than if she were encumbered with
the garments peculiar to her sex. Up to the present moment I had
never ceased congratulating myself on the success of my charming
disguise; but this adventure, I must confess, somewhat diminished my
confidence in my own temerity.
As may be conjectured by the preceding anecdote, the Americans, when
intoxicated, are the maddest and most dangerous of human beings. They
drink little wine; but, during their orgies, are much given to brandy,
whisky, gin, absinthe, and other strong liquors. Their blood once
inflamed, even the most peaceable among them become quarrelsome and
sanguinary, and commit murders which, in their reasonable moments,
inspire even themselves with horror.
Shasta City is a small settlement lying towards the north of
California, and consists of a single street of wooden houses situated
at some little distance from Sierra-Nevada. This town was formerly the
market which supplied certain rich diggings of the neighbourhood, long
since exhausted. Instead, however, of being consequently deserted,
Shasta City still flourishes in virtue of its situation. It is a
halting-place for stage-coaches, and a station for the sale or hire of
mules, without which it would be impossible to traverse the dangerous
bridle-paths of the Rocky Mountains. Passing through this city, we
beheld one of those great social disasters so common to California.
Even at the moment of our arrival a great fire broke out, and in less
than an hour the greater part of the city was consumed. Still more
melancholy was it, towards evening, to see the unhappy inhabitants
wandering amid the smoking ruins in search of the friends and fortunes
they had lost.
Leaving Shasta City, and turning towards the north, as if bound for
Oregon, the traveller passes through a mountainous country infested
with enormous tawny bears, one of which alarmed me as I never wish to
be alarmed again. I was riding somewhat in the rear of my companions.
My mule was jogging slowly on, and, what with the fatigue of perpetual
travelling, and the extreme heat of the day, I was more than half
asleep. All at once, about twenty feet in advance, I beheld a huge
bear peeping out at me from a cleft in the rocks, and swaying his head
to and fro with the most tranquil and self-possessed air imaginable.
The reins fell from my hands; the colour rushed to my face; I was
paralyzed with terror, and had no voice to cry for help. The bear,
however, content with the impression he had made, amused himself by
rolling over and over in the middle of the road, without taking any
notice of either me or my mule. A turn in the road now luckily brought
me in sight of my companions. Their presence gave me courage, and,
unwilling to prolong this exciting _tete-a-tete_, I put spurs to my
mule, galloped rapidly on, and in another moment was indulging in a
glowing description of the dangers through which I had passed.
Not far from Weaverville, where it was our intention to halt, we came
upon Trinity River, on the banks of which many bloody battles have
been fought between the Indians and Americans. Kneeling on the backs
of our mules, we forded the stream, and landed among the rich pastures
which clothe the table-lands all round about the city. Weaverville is
the most northerly city of California, and lies amid a circle of
mountains, the summits of which are covered with perpetual snow.
Grouped together at the feet of these pine-clad mountains, the pretty
wooden houses of Weaverville have a certain tranquil and pastoral
effect, not unlike many an Alpine village. The air here is pure,
fevers are unknown, and the whole place presents a delightful contrast
to the unhealthy activity of San Francisco and Sacramento. The
transport of letters and gold is carried on by an express postal
service; and the auriferous riches of the district attract a
considerable influx of visitors.
We sojourned for some time in this peaceful locality, which seemed as
if it had never been visited by adversity or sorrow. Strolling one day
in the outskirts of the town, I came upon a desolate-looking spot, in
the midst of which stood two black crosses, such as are seen in the
French cemeteries. They occupied the very spot upon which the
foundations of a building were yet visible. Naturally curious, I
hastened to enquire the history of these funereal emblems, and heard
in reply the following narrative:--
During the first or second year which followed the discovery of gold
in California, there existed no form of regular government. Those
miners, therefore, who first penetrated into the regions of
Weaverville, were obliged, in a measure, to take the law into their
own hands, and protect themselves and their property. Here they lived
in a state of the most complete independence, subject to no taxation,
and relying for safety upon their own courage and fire-arms. Soon the
American Government recognized the necessity of organizing a political
jurisdiction for the greater safety of those masses which were
crowding, day by day, to the gold-fields of the new State. A system of
taxation was forthwith imposed upon all the cities of California, and,
amongst other measures, it was decreed that every digger should
purchase the right of exercising his vocation. These new laws met, of
course, with much opposition, and the sheriff who was despatched from
San Francisco to Weaverville, found his office by no means safe or
pleasant.
Amongst some of the first gold-seekers who penetrated to these
mountainous districts, was an Irishman, who had here built his house,
and established himself and family. Being summoned to open his door,
in order that the sheriff might take an inventory of his goods, he
declared himself ready to defend his domestic liberties with his life,
and refused to admit any law-officer whatever, without some more
convincing guarantee of his authority. Exasperated by this resistance,
the sheriff, who was a man of savage temper and indomitable energy,
and who had served in many an expedition against the Indians, replied
only by a shot from his revolver. The unhappy gold-digger fell dead
across the threshold of his door, and his wife, in trying to defend
him, shared his fate. Henceforth, the new taxes were raised and paid
without opposition. As for the Irishman's house, it was razed to the
ground, and those two black crosses serve to perpetuate the spot where
the victims were buried.
The greater proportion of Californian gold-diggers is Irish; and, at a
distance of about three miles from Weaverville, there lies a little
town called Sidney, which is exclusively colonized by these people.
During my stay in this district, I took advantage of an opportunity to
visit some Indian prisoners, who had not long since been taken, and
who were kept upon a piece of waste ground at some little distance
from the city. Here they had built themselves huts, and dwelt as they
might have dwelt in their native forests. They had been captured
during an expedition which was lately undertaken to avenge the murder
of an American merchant, and were here expiating the crimes of others.
Amongst them was one man so old and decrepit, that it seemed as if he
could scarcely live from one day to another. Turning slowly towards
me, he uncovered his chest, and displayed a large and deep wound, from
which the ball had not yet been extracted. Some few steps farther on
lay a young Indian woman. A thick blanket was wrapped about the upper
part of her body, and she wore a petticoat of fine matting, beyond
which her lovely little feet alone were visible. Her wrist was broken
by a pistol shot. Prostrate and motionless, she lay like a dead
creature. Her face alone glowed with a kind of savage heroism, and her
great black glittering eyes met mine steadily and coldly, as if she
were insensible to pain.
Two savage dogs, of the species called _coyotes_, had followed the
prisoners into captivity. These dogs live, like the Indians, in wild
and wandering bands. They have short legs, smooth tan-coloured skins,
and muzzles fringed like that of the fox. They abound in the desert
country round about Oregon, and, unless impelled by hunger, rarely
venture in the neighbourhood of the towns. Timid by nature, they fly
at sight of man. Amongst the prisoners I observed several women, who
were attending to their children, and cooking their food, after the
manner of civilized nations. The men of these nomadic tribes leave all
household matters to the women.
The children were playing happily together amid their sorrowful
elders. The heads of two of the number had been lately shaved, in
token of mourning. Their faces had also been blackened, according to
the Indian custom, and I was told that their parents had been killed
in the late attack. In this part of California it is only the women
who are tattooed, and the men never shave their heads, excepting for
the loss of a near relative.
We gave these Indian prisoners some game, a couple of gray squirrels,
and three doves, all of which, in California, are accounted delicious
dainties. Our offerings were received with good will, and the women,
in return, presented us with some necklaces of shells.
Weaverville is the centre of a great mining district, and its commerce
chiefly consists of provisions, household utensils, and tools used in
the diggings. The land thereabouts is of a reddish hue and of a
particularly auriferous quality. There are few spots which do not
yield some profit to the pickaxe and cradle of the miner. Provided
with these, he unearths and washes the nuggets. The first blow of the
pickaxe, and the washing of the first cradleful furnishes him with an
estimate of his harvest for the day; since he has only to measure his
gains by the speed of his labour. It was attempted, at an immense cost
of money and time, to turn the course of Trinity river, and convey a
canal through the heart of the diggings; but the project was too
gigantic, and the works were at length abandoned for want of capital.
The southern mines are much poorer than those of the north, and,
consequently, enjoy a smaller share of popularity. There are two
seasons favorable to the work; the one begins in November, during the
rainy season, and the other after the melting of the winter snows in
April or May. Were there more water in California, a larger amount of
gold would be found, and the diggers would suffer fewer miseries
during times of drought.
The profits of a gold-digger vary with the soil on which he works.
Some gain five piastres per diem, others ten, twelve, and upwards.
Some there are who, having chanced upon an unusually auriferous spot,
make fortunes rapidly; but those of whom we hear nothing are the
unlucky thousands, who, having abandoned their homes and families in
the hope of gain, arrive too late, and find only those lands which
have been exhausted by others. For such as these, despair and
starvation alone remain.
A travelling gold-digger presents a somewhat eccentric appearance. He
wears great leather boots, which reach considerably above his knees, a
coarse woollen shirt, and a felt hat beaten out of shape. To the left
of his belt hangs a bowie-knife, to the right a revolver. On his
shoulder he carries his pickaxe, on his back his bedding, and round
his neck his saucepan and miner's cradle.
Leaving Weaverville for Eureka, which lies still farther to the north
of California, we crossed a long chain of mountains, passable only by
mules. We frequently rode beside abysses so frightful that we dared
not look at them, and pursued sandy paths all seamed with serpent
tracks. In the midst of these vast solitudes, we came now and then
upon a party of muleteers. The tinkling music of the mule-bells, the
crackling of the dry leaves under foot, and the mysterious vapours by
which we were surrounded, all combined to add to the poetry of this
strange and solemn scene. In a church I have often vainly striven to
pray; but amid a nature such as this, prayer comes unbidden.
In consequence of the snow which had lately fallen, our journey was
more than usually tedious and difficult. We frequently beheld the
foot-tracks of the gray bear. Now and then we passed the carcasses of
animals which had been devoured, and came, more than once, upon fresh
blood-stains in the snow.
A few miles farther on, being quite overpowered by fatigue, we halted
at a hut which had been built by some Americans, amid the regions of
perpetual snow. We took them, at first, for brigands; but they were
simply inn-keepers, who sold us cutlets of bear ham for their weight
in gold. I had already tasted this dish at San Francisco, and found it
on both occasions delicious.
In the heart of these Oregon mountains lie table-lands, which in
summer are covered with the richest vegetation. They are, for the most
part, cultivated by emigrants from the interior of the United States.
The gathering together of these and other emigrant labourers, renders
Eureka still more important as a place of business, than either
Weaverville or Shasta City. It is a stopping-place, where travellers
pause to lay in stores of provision, and to make such purchases as are
necessary for the pursuit of either mining or agriculture. In
proportion, however, as the European and American population
increased, it became more and more incumbent upon the Eurekans, to
watch over their own personal safety. Driven from their
hunting-grounds, and forced to take refuge in the mountains, the
Indians cherished a profound hatred towards these new comers, and
Eureka became the scene of a harassing nocturnal warfare. When I
arrived at Eureka, the outrages which had lately taken place were the
theme of every tongue. Whole farms had been burnt, and whole families
massacred in the immediate neighbourhood of the city.
Eureka is but fifteen miles from Oregon, and we arrived there in the
month of November, A.D. 1853.
The houses, and even the chief hotel, are here built of wood. As
usual, wherever there are gold-diggings in the neighbourhood, there
are gaming-houses in the city. At the restaurant _La Fayette_, which
is the best conducted of these establishments, an excellent French
dinner may be had. For all this, and despite the general tendency
towards material comforts, it was difficult in 1853 to surround one's
self with many of the luxuries of life. Everybody, for instance, slept
upon straw-beds, and mattresses were unknown.
The frosts this winter were so severe, that scarcely a day passed but
I saw three or four frozen corpses brought into the town. As for our
bread and meat, we had to cut it with an axe and hammer.
The mines of Eureka are also highly productive; but here, as
elsewhere, the want of water is often sorely felt.
After staying in the city for twelve weeks, and having, by that time,
disposed of our merchandise to considerable advantage, my sister and I
returned to San Francisco. This fatiguing journey had tried us both
severely, and we now entertained serious thoughts of establishing
ourselves in business, and making our home in that city.