With something of the grateful feeling which prompted the memorable
exclamation of Sancho Panza, "Blessings on the man who first invented
sleep!" we have laid down these pleasant volumes. Blessings on the man
who invented books of travel for the benefit of home idlers! the Marco
Polos, the Sir John Mandevilles, and the Ibn Batutas of old time, and
their modern disciples and imitators! Nothing in the shape of travel
and gossip, by the way, comes amiss to us, from Cook's voyages round
the earth to Count De Maistre's journey round his chamber. When the
cark and care of daily life and homely duties, and the weary routine
of sight and sound, oppress us, what a comfort and refreshing is it to
open the charmed pages of the traveler! Our narrow, monotonous horizon
breaks away all about us; five minutes suffice to take us quite out of
the commonplace and familiar regions of our experience: we are in the
Court of the Great Khan, we are pitching tents under the shadows of
the ruined temples of Tadmor, we are sitting on a fallen block of the
Pyramids, or a fragment of the broken nose of the Sphynx, dickering
with Arab Shieks, opposing Yankee shrewdness to Ishmaelitish greed
and cunning: we are shooting crocodiles on the white Nile, unearthing
the winged lions of Ezekiel's vision on the Tigris--watching the
night-dance of the Devil-worshipers on their mountains, negotiating
with the shrewd penny-turning patriarch of Armenia for a sample from
his holy-oil manufactory at Erivan, drinking coffee at Damascus, and
sherbet at Constantinople, lunching in the vale of Chaumorng, taking
part in a holy _fête_ at Rome, and a merry Christmas at Berlin. We
look into the happiness of traveling through the eyes of others, and,
for the miseries of it, we enjoy _them_ exceedingly. Very cool and
comfortable are we while reading the poor author's account of his
mishaps, hair-breadth escapes, hunger, cold, and nakedness. We take
a deal of satisfaction in his moscheto persecutions and night-long
battles with sanguinary fleas. The discomforts and grievances of his
palate under the ordeal of foreign cooking were a real relish for us.
On a hot morning in the tropics, we see him pulling on his stocking
with a scorpion in it, and dancing in involuntary joy under the
effects of the sting. Let him dance; it is all for our amusement. Let
him meet with what he will--robbers, cannibals, jungle-tigers, and
rattlesnakes, the more the better--since we know that he will get
off alive, and come to regard them so many god-sends in the way of
book-making.
The volumes now before us are not only seasonable as respects the
world-wide curiosity in regard to California--the new-risen empire on
the Pacific--abounding, as they do, in valuable facts and statistics,
but they have in a high degree that charm of personal adventure and
experience to which we have referred. Bayard Taylor is a born tourist.
He has eyes to see, skill to make the most of whatever opens before
him under the ever-shifting horizon of the traveler. He takes us along
with him, and lets us into the secret of his own hearty enjoyment.
Much of what he describes has already become familiar to us from the
notes of a thousand gold-seekers, who have sent home such records as
they could of their experiences in a strange land. Yet even the well
known particulars of the overland route across the Isthmus become
novel and full of interest in the narrative of our young tourist.
The tropical scenery by day and night on the river, the fandango at
Gorgona, and the ride to Panama through the dense dark forest, with
death, in the shape of a cholera-stricken emigrant, following at their
heels, are in the raciest spirit of story-telling. The steamer from
Panama touched at the ancient city of Acapulco, and took in a company
of gamblers, who immediately set up their business on deck. At San
Deigo, the first overland emigrants by the route of the Gila river,
who had reached that place a few days before, came on board, lank and
brown as the ribbed sea-sand, their clothes in tatters, their boots
replaced with moccasins, small deerskin wallets containing all that
was left of the abundant stores with which they started--their
hair and beards matted and unshorn, with faces from which the rigid
expression of suffering was scarcely relaxed. The tales of their
adventures and sufferings the author speaks of as more marvelous than
anything he had ever heard or read since his boyish acquaintance with
Robinson Crusoe and Ledyard. Some had come by the way of Santa Fe,
along the savage Gila hills--some had crossed the Great Desert, and
taken the road from El Paso to Sonora--some had passed through Mexico,
and, after beating about for months in the Pacific, had run into San
Deigo and abandoned their vessel--some had landed weary with a seven
months' voyage round Cape Horn--while others had wandered on foot
from Cape St. Lucas to San Deigo, over frightful deserts and rugged
mountains, a distance of nearly fifteen hundred miles, as they were
obliged to travel.
The Gila emigrants spoke with horror of the Great Desert west of the
Colorado--a land of drought and desolation--vast salt plains and hills
of drifting sand; the trails which they followed sown white with bones
of man and beast. Unburied corpses of emigrants and carcasses of mules
who had preceded them, making the hot air foul and loathsome. Wo to
the weak and faltering in such a journey! They were left alone to die
on the burning sands.
On the Sonora route, one of the party fell sick, and rode on behind
his companions, unable to keep pace with them for several days, yet
always arriving in camp a few hours later. At last he was missing.
Four days after, a negro, alone and on foot, came into camp and told
them that many miles back a man lying by the road had begged a little
water of him, and urged him to hurry on and bring assistance. The next
morning a company of Mexicans came up, and brought word that the man
was dying. But his old companions hesitated to go to his relief. The
negro thereupon retraced his steps over the desert, and reached the
sufferer just as he expired. He lifted him in his arms; the poor
fellow strove to speak to his benefactor, and died in the effort.
His mule, tied to a cactus, was already dead of hunger at his side.
A picture commemorating such a scene, and the heroic humanity of
the negro, would better adorn a panel of the Capitol, than any
battle-piece which was ever painted.
There is a graphic account of the author's first impressions of San
Francisco. "A furious wind was blowing down through a gap in the
hills, filling the streets with dust. On every side stood buildings
of all kinds, began or half-finished, with canvas sheds open in front
and covered with all kinds of signs, in all languages. Great piles of
merchandise were in the open air, for lack of storehouses. The streets
were full of people of as diverse and bizarre a character as their
dwellings: Yankees of every possible variety, native Californians
in serapes and sombreros, Chilians, Sonorians, Kanakas from Hawaii,
Chinese with long tails, Malays armed with everlasting creeses, and
others, in their bearded and embrowned visages, it was impossible to
recognize any especial nationality." "San Francisco by day and night"
is the title of one of the best chapters in the book.
Our author made a foot journey to Monterey during the sitting of the
Convention which formed the State Constitution. He gives a pleasing
account of the refined and polite society of this ancient Californian
town; and makes particular mention of Dona Augusta Ximeno, a sister
of one of the Californian delegates to the Convention, Don Pablo de
la Guerra, as a woman whose nobility of character, native vigor and
activity of intellect, and instinctive refinement and winning grace
of manner, would have given her a complete supremacy in society, had
her lot been cast in Europe or the United States. Her house was the
favorite resort of the leading members of the Convention, American
and Californian. She was thoroughly versed in Spanish literature, and
her remarks on the various authors were just and elegant. She was,
besides, a fine rider, and could throw the lariat with skill, and
possesses all those bold and daring qualities which are so fascinating
when softened and made graceful by true feminine delicacy.
He describes the native Californians as physically and morally
superior to the Mexicans of other States. They are, as a class,
finely built, with fresh, clear complexions. The educated class very
generally are and appear well satisfied with the change of affairs,
but the majority still look with jealousy on the new comers, and are
not pleased with the new customs and new laws. The Californians in the
Convention seemed every way worthy of their position. General Vallejo
is a man of middle years, tall, and of commanding presence--with the
grave and dignified expression of the old Castilian race. With him
were Cavarrubias, the old Secretary of the Government, Pico, Carvillo,
Pedrorena, La Guerra, and a half-blood Indian member, Dominguez,
who, together with many of the most respectable and wealthy citizens
of California, is now excluded from voting by a clause of the
Constitution, which denies that privilege to Indians and negroes. This
unjust exception--a blot on an otherwise admirable Constitution--was
adopted after a warm debate, and against fierce opposition. The
attempt to prohibit free people of color from inhabiting the State
failed by a large majority. _The clause prohibiting slavery passed by
the vote of every member._
The account of the close of the Convention is sufficiently amusing.
The members met and adjourned, after a brief session, and their hall
was immediately cleared of forum, seats, and tables, and decorated
with pine boughs and oak garlands. At eight in the evening, it
was thrown open for a ball. Sixty or seventy ladies, and as many
gentlemen, were present. Dark-eyed daughters of Monterey and Los
Angelos and Santa Barbara, with Indian and Spanish complexions,
contrasted with the fairer bloom of belles from the Atlantic side of
the Nevada. There was as great a variety of costume as of complexion.
Several American officers were there in their uniform. In one group
might be seen Captain Sutter's soldierly moustache and clear blue eye;
in another, the erect figure and quiet, dignified bearing of Vallejo.
Don Pablo de la Guerra, with his handsome aristocratic features, was
the floor manager, and gallantly discharged his office. Conspicuous
among the native members, were Don Miguel Pedrorena and Jacinto
Rodriguez, both polished and popular gentlemen. Dominguez. the Indian,
took no part in the dance, but evidently enjoyed the scene as much
as any one present. The most interesting figure was that of the Padre
Ramirez, who, in his clerical cassock, looked until a late hour. "If
the strongest advocate of priestly decorum had been present," says our
author, "he could not have found it in his heart to grudge the good
old padre the pleasure which beamed in his honest countenance."
The next day the Convention met for the last time. The parchment
sheet, with the engrossed Constitution, was laid upon the table, and
the members commenced affixing their names. Then the American colors
were run up the flagstaff in front of the Hall, and the guns of the
fort responded to the signal. The great work was done. California, so
far as it depended on herself, was a State of the great Confederacy.
All were excited. Captain Sutter leaped up from his seat, and swung
his arm over his head. "Gentlemen!" he cried, "this is the happiest
hour of my life. It makes me glad to hear the cannon. This is a great
day for California!" Recollecting himself, he sat down, the tears
streaming from his eyes. His brother members cheered. As the signing
went on, gun followed gun from the fort. At last the _thirty-first_
was echoed back from the hills. "That's for California!" shouted a
member, and three times three cheers were given by the members. An
English vessel caught the enthusiasm, and sent to the breeze the
American flag from her mast-head. The day was beautiful; all faces
looked bright and happy under the glorious sunset, "Were I a believer
in omens," writes our tourist on the spot, "I would augur from the
tranquil beauty of the evening--from the clear sky and sunset hues of
the bay--more than all, from the joyous expression of every face--a
glorious and happy career for the 'STATE OF CALIFORNIA!'"
Our author visited several of the most important "diggings," and his
account of their location, productiveness, &c., does not materially
differ from the descriptions which have become familiar to all our
readers. It is evident from his statements, that with good health
and perseverance, any reasonable expectation of wealth on the part of
the miners may be realized, in a few months or years, according to
the richness of the "diggings," or the ease with which they may be
worked. What, however, has interested us more than the gold-product
of California, is the confirmation which our traveler gives to the
statements of Fremont and King, relative to the richness of its soil,
and its great agricultural capacities. The valleys of the Sacramento
and San Joaquim alone are capable of supporting a population of
two millions, if carefully cultivated. The deep, black, porous soil
produces the important cereal grains, although on the seaboard the air
is too cool for the ripening of Indian corn. Enormous crops of wheat
may be obtained by irrigation, such as was successfully practiced
by the great Jesuit missions; and, without it, from forty to fifty
bushels to the bushel of seed have been raised. Oats of the kind grown
on the Atlantic grow luxuriantly and wild, self-sown on all the hills
of the coast, furnishing abundant supplies for horses. Irish potatoes
grow to a great size, and all edible roots cultivated in the States
are produced in perfection, without irrigation.
The climate of San Francisco is unquestionably disagreeable; the
cold, fierce winds which sweep over the bay, and they alternating with
extreme heats, are prejudicial to health and comfort. Inland, however,
in the beautiful valleys of San Jose and Los Angelos, the climate is
all that can be desired. The heat during the summer months is indeed
great, but its dryness renders it more endurable than the damp
sultriness of an Atlantic August. At Los Angelos, latitude 34° 7',
long. W. 118°, and forty miles from the ocean, the mean monthly
temperature of ten months was as follows: June 73 deg., July 74,
August 75, September 75, October 69, November 59, December 60.
Our author describes with a poet's enthusiasm the atmospheric effects
of the Californian sunsets. Fresh from his travels in Italy, and with
the dust of that Pincian hill still on his sandals from whence Claude
sketched his sunsets, he declares that his memory of that classic
atmosphere seems cold and pale, when he thinks of the splendor of
evening on the bay and mountains of San Francisco.
The chapter on "Society in California" may prove of much practical
utility, and should be read by all who are smitten with the
gold fever. California is no place for the sick, the weak, the
self-indulgent, the indolent, the desponding. There must be a
willingness to work at anything and everything, and stout muscles to
execute the will. Our author estimates that nearly one-third of the
emigrants are unfitted for their vocation, "miserable, melancholy
men, ready to yield up their last breath at any moment, who left home
prematurely, and now humbly acknowledge their error." His own happy
constitution and buoyant health led him to look on the best side of
things, and to take the sunniest possible view of the condition of the
new country he was exploring, but occasionally he reveals incidentally
the reverse of the picture. Here is a sketch of a sick miner at
Sacramento City, which is enough to make even California "gold become
dim, and the fine gold changed."
"He was sitting alone on a stone beside the water, with his
bare feet purple with cold on the cold, wet sand. He was
wrapped from head to foot in a coarse blanket, which shook
with the violence of his chill, as if his limbs were about to
drop in pieces. He seemed unconscious of all that was passing;
his long, matted hair hung over his wasted face; his eyes
glared steadily forward with an expression so utterly hopeless
and wild, that I shuddered at seeing it. This was but one of a
number of cases, equally sad and distressing."
The hardy and healthy portion of the emigrants, under the stimulating
excitements of the novel circumstances of their situation, seemed to
revel in the exuberance of animal spirits. Each seemed to have adopted
the rule of the wise man: "Whatsoever thy hand findeth to do, that do
with all thy might." They speculated, dug, or gambled, with an almost
reckless energy. All old forms of courtesy had given place to hearty,
blunt good fellowship in their social intercourse. They reminded our
traveler of the Jarls and Norse sea-kings, and in the noisy and almost
fierce revelry of these bearded gold-hunters around their mountain
tires, he seemed to see the brave and jovial Berseckers of the middle
ages.
We cannot forbear quoting a paragraph in relation to the great
question of our time, "The Organization of Labor."
"In California, no model phalanxes or national workshops
have been necessary. Labor has organized itself, in the best
possible way. The dream of attractive industry is realized;
all are laborers, and equally respectable; the idler and the
gentleman of leisure, to use a phrase of the country, 'can't
shine in these diggings.' Rich merchandise lies in the open
street; and untold wealth in gold dust is protected only
by ragged canvas walls, but thefts and robbery are seldom
heard of. The rich returns of honest labor render harmless
temptations which would prove an overmatch for the average
virtue of New England. The cut-purse and pickpocket in
California find their occupation useless, and become
chevaliers of industry, in a better sense than the term has
ever before admitted of. It will appear natural," says our
author, "that California should be the most democratic country
in the world. The practical equality of all the members of
the community, whatever might be the wealth, intelligence,
or profession of each, was never before so thoroughly
demonstrated. Dress was no gauge of respectability and no
honest occupation, however menial in its character, affected
a man's standing. Lawyers, physicians, and ex-professors,
dug cellars, drove ox-teams, sawed wood, and carried baggage,
while men who had been army privates, sailors, cooks, or day
laborers, were at the head of profitable establishments, and
not unfrequently assisted in some of the minor details of
government. A man who would consider his fellow beneath
him, on account of his appearance or occupation, would have
had some difficulty in living peaceably in California. The
security of the country is owing in no small degree to this
plain, practical development of what the French reverence as
an abstraction, under the name of _Fraternité_. To sum up
all in three words, _Labor is respectable_. May it never
be otherwise while a grain of gold is left to glitter in
Californian soil!"
Our author returned by way of Mazatlan and the city of Mexico, meeting
with a pleasant variety of adventures, robbery included, on his
route. In taking leave of his volumes, we cannot forbear venturing
a suggestion to the author, that he may find a field of travel, less
known, and quite as interesting at the present time, in the vast
Territory of New Mexico--the valley of the Del Norte, with its old
Castilian and Aztec monuments and associations; the Great Salt Lake,
and the unexplored regions of the great valley of the Colorado,
between the mountain ranges of the Sierra Madre and the Sierra Nevada.
We know of no one better fitted for such an enterprise, or for whom,
judging from the spirit of his California narrative, it would present
more attractions.
[Footnote 2: Eldorado: Adventures in the Path of Empire. By Bayard
Taylor. New York. Putnam. 1850. Two volumes.]
* * * * *
MEYERBEER AND WEBER.--The Berlin papers are reviving the rumor that
Meyerbeer is to complete an opera which Weber left unfinished. This
time his share is defined to be, a new third act, three numbers in the
second, one number in the first, and an overture.
* * * * *