ON THE WAY TO DOWNIEVILLE
From Foster’s Bar I set out for Downieville. On leaving the river, I had
as usual a long hill to climb, but once on the top, the trail followed
the backbone of the ridge, and was comparatively easy to travel. It was
the main “pack-trail” to Downieville, and, being traveled by all the
trains of pack-mules, was nearly ankle-deep in dust. The soil of the
California mountains is generally very red and sterile, and has the
property of being easily converted into exceedingly fine dust, as red as
brick-dust, or into equally fine mud, according to the season of the
year. At the end of a day’s journey in summer, the color of a man’s face
is hardly discernible through the thick coating of dust, which makes him
look more like a red Indian than a white man.
The scenery was very beautiful. The pine trees were not too numerous to
interrupt the view, and the ridge was occasionally so narrow that, on
either hand, looking over the tops of the trees down below, there was a
vast panorama of pine-clad mountains, on one side gradually diminishing,
till, at a distance of forty or fifty miles, they merged imperceptibly
into the plains, which, with the hazy heated atmosphere upon them,
looked like a calm ocean; while, on the other side, one mountain ridge
appeared above another, more barren as they became more lofty, till at
last they faded away into a few hardly discernible snowy peaks. It was a
pleasing change when sometimes a break occurred in the ridge, and the
trail dipped into a dark shady hollow, and, winding its way through the
dense mass of underwood, crossed a little stream of water, and, leading
up the opposite bank, gained once more the open ground on the summit. I
traveled about fifteen miles without meeting any one, and arrived at
Slate Range House, a solitary cabin, so called from being situated at
the spot where one begins to descend to Slate Range, a place where the
banks of the river are composed of huge masses of slate. I dined here,
and shortly afterwards overtook a little Englishman, whose English
accent sounded very refreshing. He had been in the country since before
the existence of gold was discovered; but from his own account he did
not seem to have profited much in his gold-hunting exploits from having
had such a good start.
I stopped all night at Oak Valley, a small camp, consisting of three
cabins and a hotel, and in the morning I resumed my journey in company
with two miners, who had a pack-horse loaded with their mining tools,
their pots and pans, their blankets, and all the rest of it. The horse,
however, did not seem to approve of the arrangement, for, after having
gone about a couple of miles, he wheeled round, and set off back again
through the woods as hard as he could split, the pots and pans banging
against his ribs, and making a fearful clatter. My companions started in
chase of their goods and chattels; but thinking the pair of them quite a
match for the old horse, and not caring how the race turned out, I left
them to settle it among themselves, and went on my way.
I met several trains of pack-mules, the jingling of the bell on the
bell-horse, and the shouts of the Mexican muleteers, generally
announcing their approach before they came in sight. They were returning
to Marysville; and as they have no cargo to bring down from the mines,
the mules were jogging along very cheerily; when loaded, they relieve
their feelings by grunting and groaning at every step.
The next place I came to was a ranch called the “Nigger Tent.” It was
originally a small tent, kept by an enterprising nigger for the
accommodation of travelers; but as his fortunes prospered, he had built
a very comfortable cabin, which, however, retained the name of the old
establishment.
In the afternoon I arrived at the place where the trail leaves the
summit of the range, and commences to wind down the steep face of the
mountain to Downieville. There was a ranch and a spring of deliciously
cold water, which was very acceptable, as the last ten miles of my
journey had been uphill nearly all the way, and the heat was intense,
but not a drop of water was to be found on the road.
I overtook two or three miners on their way to Downieville, and went on
in company with them. As we descended, we got an occasional view between
the pine trees of the little town far down below us, so completely
surrounded by mountains that it seemed to be at the bottom of an immense
hole in the ground.
I had heard so much of Downieville, that on reaching the foot of the
mountain I was rather disappointed at first to find it apparently so
small a place, but I very soon discovered that there was a great deal
compressed into a small compass. There was only one street in the town,
which was three or four hundred yards long; indeed, the mountain at
whose base it stood was so steep that there was not room for more than
one street between it and the river.
This was the depot, however, for the supplies of a very large mining
population. All the miners within eight or ten miles depended on
Downieville for their provisions, and the street was consequently always
a scene of bustle and activity, being crowded with trains of pack-mules
and their Mexican drivers.
The houses were nearly all of wood, many of them well-finished two-story
houses, with columns and verandas in front. The most prominent places in
the town were of course the gambling saloons, fitted up in the usual
style of showy extravagance, with the exception of the mirrors; for as
everything had to be brought seventy or eighty miles over the mountains
on the backs of mules, very large mirrors were a luxury hardly
attainable; an extra number of smaller ones, however, made up for the
deficiency. There were several very good hotels, and two or three French
restaurants; the other houses in the town were nearly all stores, the
mining population living in tents and cabins, all up and down the river.
I put up at a French house, which was kept in very good style by a
pretty little Frenchwoman, and had quite the air of being a civilized
place. I was accommodated with half of a bedroom, in which there was
hardly room to turn round between the two beds; but I was so accustomed
to rolling myself in my blankets and sleeping on the ground, or on the
rocks, or at best being stowed away on a shelf with twenty or thirty
other men in a large room, that it seemed to me most luxurious quarters.
The _salle à manger_ was underneath me, and as the floor was very thin,
I had the full benefit of all the conversation of those who indulged in
late suppers, whilst next door was a ten-pin alley, in which they were
banging away at the pins all night long; but such trifles did not much
disturb my slumbers.
There was no lack of public amusements in the town. The same company
which I had heard in Nevada were performing in a very comfortable little
theater--not a very highly decorated house, but laid out in the orthodox
fashion, with boxes, pit, and gallery--and a company of American
glee-singers, who had been concertizing with great success in the
various mining towns, were giving concerts in a large room devoted to
such purposes. Their selection of songs was of a decidedly national
character, and a lady, one of their party, had won the hearts of all the
miners by singing very sweetly a number of old familiar ballads, which
touched the feelings of the expatriated gold-hunters.
I was present at their concert one night, when, at the close of the
performance, a rough old miner stood up on his seat in the middle of the
room, and after a few preliminary coughs, delivered himself of a very
elaborate speech, in which, on behalf of the miners of Downieville, he
begged to express to the lady their great admiration of her vocal
talents, and in token thereof begged her acceptance of a purse
containing 500 dollars’ worth of gold specimens. Compliments of this
sort, which the Scotch would call “wiselike,” and which the fair
cantatrice no doubt valued as highly as showers of the most exquisite
bouquets, had been paid to her in most of the towns she had visited in
the mines. Some enthusiastic miners had even thrown specimens to her on
the stage.
Downieville is situated at what is called the Forks of the Yuba River,
and the town itself was frequently spoken of as “The Forks” in that part
of the country. It may be necessary to explain that, in talking of the
forks of a river in California, one is always supposed to be going up
the river; the forks are its tributaries. The main rivers received their
names, which they still retain, from the Spaniards and Indians; and the
first gold-hunting pioneers, in exploring a river, when they came to a
tributary, called one branch the north, and the other the south fork.
When one of these again received a tributary, it either continued to be
the north or south fork, or became the middle fork, as the case might
be.
If a river was never to have more than two tributaries, this would do
very well, but the river above Downieville kept on forking about every
half-a-mile, and the branches were all named on the same principle, so
that there were half-a-dozen north, middle, and south forks.
The diggings at Downieville were very extensive; for many miles above it
on each fork there were numbers of miners working in the bed and the
banks of the river. The mountains are very precipitous, and the only
communication was by a narrow trail which had been trodden into the
hillside, and crossed from one side of the river to the other, as either
happened to be more practicable; sometimes following the rocky bed of
the river itself, and occasionally rising over high steep bluffs, where
it required a steady head and a sure foot to get along in safety.
One spot in particular was enough to try the nerve of any one but a
chamois hunter. It was a high bluff, almost perpendicular, round which
the river made a sweep, and the only possible way of passing it was by a
trail about eighty feet above the river. The trail hardly deserved the
name--it was merely a succession of footsteps, sometimes a few inches of
a projecting rock, or a root. Two men could pass each other with
difficulty, and only at certain places, by holding on to each other; and
from the trail to the river all was clear and smooth, not a tree or a
bush to save one if he happened to miss his footing. At one spot there
was an indentation in the precipice, where the rock was quite
perpendicular: to get over this difficulty, a young pine tree was laid
across by way of a bridge; it was only four or five inches in diameter,
and lay nearly a couple of feet outside of the rock. In passing, one
only rested one foot on the tree, and with the other took advantage of
the inequalities in the face of the rock; while looking down to see
where to put one’s feet, one saw far below, between his outstretched
legs, the most uninviting jagged rocks, strongly suggestive of sudden
death.
The miners had given this place the name of Cape Horn. Those who were
camped on the river above it, were so used to it that they passed along
with a hop, step, and a jump, though carrying a week’s provisions on
their backs, but a great many men had fallen over, and been instantly
killed on the rocks below.
The last victim, at the time I was there, was a Frenchman, who very
foolishly set out to return to his camp from Downieville after dark,
having to pass this place on the way. He had taken the precaution to
provide himself with a candle and some matches to light him round the
Cape, but he was found dead on the rocks the next morning.