"BUT ALL COMES RIGHT IN THE END."
From this point on to Carson River the route was continuously strewn
with the carcasses of stock that had perished there, some of them years
before. Owing probably to the dry climate and the fact that the greater
part of the desert was covered with alkali and crystalized soda, the
bodies of these animals remained perfect, as they had fallen. The sand
glistening in their eyes gave them a very lifelike appearance. At
intervals could be seen wagons, all complete except the cover, with two
to four yoke of cattle lying dead, with the yokes on their necks, the
chains still in the rings, just as they fell and died, most of them with
their tongues hanging from their mouths.
Daylight came just as we got to the loose sand. The moment the sun rose
above the horizon its influence could be seen and felt, and in an hour
or two several cattle-teams had perished near us. First one ox would
drop as though he were shot, and in a few minutes others would sink
down, and almost before the owner could realize the condition of things,
a part or the whole of his team would lie dead.
For the want of vegetables or acid of some kind, I had been troubled for
a week or so with an attack of scurvy in my mouth, the gums being
swollen because of the alkali dust. This not only caused me pain and
misery, but created a strong and constant desire for something sour.
While riding past an ox team I noticed a jug in the front end of the
wagon. Upon inquiry of the driver, I found that the jug contained
vinegar. I offered him a silver dollar for a cupful, but he refused to
part with any of it, saying that he might need it himself before he got
through. He was afoot on the off side of the wagon, where the jug was
setting. I was sort of crazy mad and drawing my revolver, I rode around
the rear of the wagon, thinking I would kill the fellow and take his jug
of vinegar. But when he began to run for his life around the front yoke
of cattle I came to my senses and hastened away from his outfit.
We could now see a few scattering, tall trees outlining the Carson
River, also long mountain spurs reaching almost out into the sand,
covered with a short growth of pine timber. In leaving the sand about 11
o'clock A. M. I noticed a large open tent near by. I rode up and into the
tent, and, looking about, saw among other things one bottle of gherkin
pickles about one quart of them. I asked the price. It was five dollars,
and I paid it gladly as the owner passed the bottle over to me. I saw in
that bottle of pickles my day of deliverance and salvation, and drawing
my long knife from my bootleg soon drew the cork and filled my fevered
mouth with pickles. I assure my readers that I can taste those gherkins
to this day. The proprietor, who evidently thought that I was a "little
off," brought me to a sense of realization by telling me that his tent
was not a mule stable and that I had better get out. His voice and
expression made me feel that I might be in danger of losing my pickles,
so I waited not on ceremony, but beat a hasty and complete retreat.
We had now finished the desert which, with all its events and
experiences, was already behind us. We had travelled more than one
thousand miles with no tree in sight, and our feelings can easily be
imagined when, in looking a short distance ahead, we saw a clump of
trees--real trees, green trees, shade-giving trees. We instantly became,
as it were, initiated into the tree-worshipping sect. We were soon, men
and beasts, within the cooling shade, and the packs stripped from the
poor, tired animals, when they were led into the shallow water of the
Carson, where they drank and bathed to their heart's content, and were
then turned loose into a stretch of good grass.
We couldn't treat ourselves as well as we had treated our animals, for
we had only a bite of hardtack crumbs, which we washed down with some of
the "elixir of life" from our canteens. But we stretched ourselves
underneath the friendly trees and, just letting loose of everything,
slept until nearly noon the next day.
The vicinity in which we camped seemed to have been pre-empted by a
number of parties, who lived in tents and sold provisions to the
immigrants. The settlement was called "Ragtown."
After coming out of our long sleep and taking in the situation of our
whereabouts we were soon ready to take up our westward march, which, in
two days, brought us to the first real house we had seen since leaving
the Missouri. This house was known as "Mormon Station." It was a
good-sized story and half building, with a lean-to on one side and a
broad porch on the other, along which was a beautiful little stream of
cold, clear water. Cups were hanging on the porch columns for the use of
immigrants. There were also long benches for them to sit and rest on.
Connected with this house was a stock ranch and a cultivated farm of
sixty acres, mostly all in vegetables. Within was a large store of
supplies. Well, we didn't stop long for compliments, for our mouths were
watering for some of those onions, lettuce, cabbage, new potatoes,
pickles, steak and bacon, etc. We laid in a generous supply of the whole
thing, including soft and hard bread and a bucket of milk. We also got a
new coffeepot, as our old one had neither spout nor handle.
After making our purchases we selected our camping-site and proceeded to
make ourselves comfortable, after disposing of the stock in grass up to
its eyes. We were going to have a supper fit for the gods, and everybody
became busy. The boss coffee-maker attended strictly to his business,
and some others cut and sliced an onion that was as large as a plate,
covering it with salt and pepper and vinegar, which we ate as a
"starter." We had an elegant supper and appetites to match. After supper
some of the men went back to the store and laid in a supply of fresh
bread and steak for breakfast. They brought back some pipes and tobacco,
and for a long time we sat around our campfire smoking and reciting many
experiences incident to our journey across the continent. With pangs of
hunger and thirst appeased, our pipes filled to the brim and the smoke
therefrom curling and twisting itself into cloud-banks, we were a
supremely happy lot, and with the poet was ready to sing:
"The road is rough and the day is cold,
And the landscape's sour and bare,
And the milestones, once such charming friends,
Half-hearted welcomes wear.
There's trouble before and trouble behind,
And a troublesome present to mend,
And the road goes up and the road goes down,
_But it all comes right in the end._"
We decided to remain in this place another day, thereby giving ourselves
and the stock time to secure the rest which we so greatly needed. It was
during our stay here that in loading my rifle for a duck the stock broke
in two. In making this little book, I cannot pass the incident by
without a few parting words in memory of my faithful old friend and
protector.
In make and style the gun was known as a Kentucky rifle, with curled
maple stock the entire length of the barrel, underneath which was a
"patch box," set lock, and a brass plate. Since we began to pack I had
carried it continually on my shoulders, exposed to weather and elements,
hot air and desert heat, until the varied exposures had so weakened it
that it broke while being loaded. I had carried it on my shoulders for
such a long time that my shirt and vest became worn through, and the
brass plate, heated by the scorching sun, did a remarkable piece of
pyro-sculpture by burning into my bare shoulders a pair of shoulder
straps that continued with me more than a year.
Carson valley, through which our route lay, seemed to be twenty or more
miles wide when we first entered it, but it narrowed as it continued
toward the Sierras until it became not more than a mile in width at the
point where it pushed itself far into the mountain range. Upon the
morning of our departure, we were early astir, and, turning to the
right, left the valley that had been to us a Mecca of rest and
replenishment, and entered the Dark Canon, which is but a few rods
wide, with perpendicular sides of rock so high that daylight seemed to
be dropped down from overhead. Through this canon flowed a rushing,
roaring torrent of water, and as the bed of the canon is very steep and
made up mostly of round stones and boulders ranging in size from a
marble to a load of hay, one can imagine something of the difficulties
we had to encounter during the first four miles of our ascent.
In addition to the well-nigh impassable track, was the most deafening
and distracting accumulation of noises ever heard since the time of
Babel. The water as it roared and rushed and dropped itself from boulder
to boulder, the rattling and banging of empty wagons, the cracking of
the drivers' whips, the shouting of the men, and the repetitions and
reverberations of it all as the high walls caught them up and tossed
them back and forth on their way to the exit, gave an impression that
the canon was engaged in grand opera with all stops open.
After spending one entire day here we emerged into what is known as Hope
Valley, and its name in no wise belied its nature. In its quietude we
took a new hold of ourselves, remaining in camp within its enclosure
during the night. The valley is a large estuary or basin upon the first
great bench of the range. Its center seemed to consist of a quagmire, as
one could not walk far out on it and stock could not go at all.
Some of us took our knives and 'twixt rolling and crawling on our
stomachs, got to where the grass was and cut and brought in enough to
bait our horses and mules.
We started again at daylight next morning, and as the roads were fairly
good we made twelve miles, which brought us to the shore of Mountain
Lake. The weather here was cold during the night, the water near the
edge of the lake freezing to the thickness of window glass. We were
among quite heavy timber of pine and fir. This place might be called the
second point in line of ascent. About one-half mile distant was the
region of perpetual snow, in full sight, toward which we climbed and
worked most assiduously, the line being very steep and the trail
exceedingly zigzagged. Resting-places were only to be had on the upper
side of the great trees. It was here that a four mule team, hitched to a
splendid carry-all, got started backward down the mountain, the driver
jumping from his seat. The whole outfit going down the mountain end over
end and brought up against a large tree, the vehicle completely wrecked.
The mules landed farther down.
Arriving at the snow line, we found grass and even flowers growing and
blooming in soil moistened by the melting snow. The notch in the summit
of the mountains through which we had to pass was four miles distant
from this point. The trail leading up was of a circular form, like a
winding stair, turning to the left, and the entire distance was
completely covered with snow, or more properly ice crystals as coarse as
shelled corn, which made the road-bed so hard that a wheel or an
animal's foot scarcely made an impression on it.
We reached the summit about noon, August 7th, where we halted to rest
and, as did Moses, "to view the landscape o'er." Looking back and down
upon the circular road we could plainly see many outfits of men,
animals, and wagons, as they slowly worked their way up and around the
great circle which we had just completed.
Thinking we might see the Missouri River or some eastern town from our
great altitude, we looked far out to the east; but the fact was we could
see but a very little way as compared with our view on the plains. On a
point high up on the rocks I spied a flag, which proved to be a section
from a red woolen shirt. Upon going to it I found in a small cavity in
the highest peak a bottle having upon its label the inscription, "Take a
drink and pass on."
We went down to the edge of the timber on the California side and spent
a night on the hard snow. We had wood for fire, snow for water, and pine
boughs for beds, but no feed for our hungry beasts. Having laid in a
good supply of provisions at Mormon Station, among which was a big sack
of hard bread, we gave the animals a ration apiece of the same,
promising them something better as soon as it could be had. This was our
first night in California, having heretofore been travelling, since
leaving the Missouri River Valley, in the Territory of Nebraska, except
as we passed through a little corner of Oregon, near Ft. Hall.
After an early breakfast, we left the region of snow and went down among
the timber and into a milder atmosphere. We passed through a place
called Tragedy Springs, whose history, we afterwards learned, was
indicated by its name. Leek Springs was the name of our next stopping
place, which, from its appearance, evidently a favorite resort of all
who passed that way. It so happened, however, that we were the only
parties camping there that night. Realizing that we were very near our
journey's end, we made these last evenings together as pleasant and as
restful as possible. I remember this evening in particular, also the
following morning, when, upon bestirring ourselves, we found that our
sack of hard bread had been eaten and the sack torn to pieces. The
frying pan had been licked clean, and things generally disturbed. Upon
investigation we soon found that the camp had been invaded by two
grizzly bears. They had walked all around us while we slept, evidently
smelling of each one, as was indicated by the large, plain tracks which
they had left, not only in the camp, but across the road also as they
took their departure.
During the day we had opportunity to buy some hay for our stock, and at
night we made ourselves at home among the heaviest white pine timber I
ever saw. To test the size of the trees, we selected one that was
representative of more than half the trees in that vicinity, and four of
us joined hands and tried to circle the tree, but could not. They were
so large and so near together that it seemed as though more than
one-half of the ground and air was taken up by them. They had only a few
stub branches for a top. Their bodies were as straight and as smooth as
a ship's mast, and so tall that in looking at them one usually had to
throw one's head back twice before seeing their tops.
The western slope of the Sierras was much more gradual in its descent
than on the eastern side, the former reaching from the summit to the
Valley of the Sacramento, about one hundred miles, while the ascent on
the eastern side, from the leaving of Carson Valley, is about
twenty-four miles.
The travel along here was quiet and easy, and as we had reason to
believe that we were in close proximity to the gold mines, we were
constantly looking out for them. We found a sort of restaurant on the
hillside, where we treated ourselves to sardines and vinegar, coffee and
crackers; and a little later we came upon some men actually engaged in
gold-digging, the first we had ever seen. The place was called Weber
Creek Diggings. There were several Chinamen in the group, who, with
their broad bamboo hats and their incessant chatter, were certainly a
great curiosity to us.
We passed on and soon came to Diamond Spring Diggings, where we spent
the night under an immense lone tree. The ground was rich with gold
here, and if we had gone to digging and washing the very spot on which
we slept we could all of us have made a snug fortune; but it was not for
us to get rich so quickly.
This was our last night together, Hangtown, or Placerville, Eldorado
County, as it is to-day, being but a few miles distant. We reached
Hangtown in time for breakfast, after which we all rode up the dividing
ridge, from the top of which we looked down upon the busiest town and
richest mining district in that country.
The hill was long and steep, and thereby hangs a tale. The saddle had
worked up on my mule's shoulders, which I had not noticed, my mind being
so wholly given to our new surroundings. In a second of time, and with
no admonition whatever, that mule kicked both hind feet into the air,
and I was made to turn a complete somersault over his head landing on
the flat of my back just in front of him. He stopped and looked at me
with a malicious smile in his eye, as much as to say: "We will now quit
even." The breath was knocked out of me. The boys picked me up and
brushed the dirt off, but I never mounted the mule again. We closed our
social relations right there. To think he should be so ungrateful as to
treat me in that way after I had watched over him with so much care and
tenderness! We had swam many a stream together; I had even divided my
bread with him; I had reposed so much confidence in him that many a
night had I slept with the loose end of his lariat tied to my wrist.
When we returned to town I sold both my mule and pony.
After we had treated ourselves to a bath, shave, haircut, and some new
clothes we started out to prospect for individual interests, and became
separated. Two of the company I have never seen since we parted that
afternoon, August 10, 1852.