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.