Now came a report to Marysville that rich diggings had been discovered
at a place designated French Corral, which was about fifty miles from
Marysville. This intelligence (as it ever does in California) caused
hundreds of people, of all classes and professions, to rush
simultaneously to the spot where gold was so gratuitously deposited. My
husband was desirous of going too; and, possibly, he might establish a
boarding-house there, if the prospect bid fair. So one morning, about a
week after the tide of emigration had commenced flowing so rapidly, we
started, and foolishly too, in a one-horse buggy. It was reported there
was a good wagon-road leading directly to the place.
But what would be called a good wagon-road there, would be considered
utterly impassable here. Neither my husband nor myself had ever
travelled in the mountains; if we had ever done so, no doubt we should
have possessed wisdom enough to have taken the journey upon
mules--decidedly the best mode of conveyance in the Sierra Nevada
region. Early one morn in the month of June, we left the town of
Marysville, long before the inhabitants had awakened from their drowsy
slumbers, and pursued our course in a north-easterly direction,
following the course of the Yuba, crossing and recrossing it several
times during the day. About twenty miles from town, we struck the low
hills (as they are termed) of the vast and gigantic Sierra Nevada range.
Low hills! thought I. I should call them mountains, and higher ones,
too, than I had ever dreamed of travelling over. Recollect, kind reader,
I had been reared away down on Cape Cod, where there are only a few
slight elevations, justly denominated sand-banks. After reaching the top
of a high hill, (I suppose I must call it so, but it would suit my ideas
better to say mountain,) the wheels were chained, preparatory to a
descent. How my heart beat, and how I wished myself back again, before
we reached the base! It was one of my pet horses that drew us, and I
knew he was perfectly gentle; but oh, how I pitied him!
How entirely different was the scenery now from that enjoyed when
traversing the beautiful valley of the Sacramento a short time previous!
and yet in what close proximity these different sections lay! I could
scarcely realize that I had not travelled thousands of miles, to reach a
country so very dissimilar. After one becomes accustomed to mountain
travel, I know not to which of these decidedly dissimilar landscapes the
lover of nature would yield the palm. After overcoming in part the
emotions of fear, I was perfectly entranced at beholding the lofty
mountains towering far above us, their sides and summits timbered with
large pines, firs, and cedars. And then how quiet and lovely looked
those little valleys, so hidden and enclosed from the world, completely
hemmed in by the grand and sublime elevations of nature’s most
magnificent handiwork! Oh, what dark and gloomy-looking defiles were
disclosed to view!--fit rendezvous for the sanguinary assassin, or the
dark-skinned treacherous savage. An involuntary shudder ran through my
frame, as we wended our way through these silent mountain recesses.
I half-expected, every moment, to hear the whizzing of an Indian arrow
past my ear, or the sharp click of the murderer’s revolver. We were well
armed, for it was dangerous to travel in those mountains unarmed. But I
very much doubted my ability, so far as regarded courage, to use any
weapon, (except woman’s weapon,) even in self-defence. Often, as you
enter one of these little valleys, your eyes will be greeted with the
sight of a little shanty. Sometimes they call these mountain-glens
corrals; and certainly they are corralled in by almost impervious
barriers. One, in particular, arrested my attention. This valley was of
an emerald green. Through it ran a clear, gurgling mountain-stream, the
music of its waters inviting the weary wayfarer to sip of the
health-promoting beverage. (I regret to add, at that time in California
the health-inspiring properties of pure, unadulterated cold water were
seldom tested.) Several cattle and mules were nibbling the green grass.
But the prettiest feature of all, in my estimation, was an intelligent,
bright-eyed little woman, seated just outside the door, under the shade
of a magnolia, with a smiling, rosy little baby in her arms. I was out
of the buggy in an instant, and had the little darling in my arms. There
we obtained refreshments. There was quite a history connected with this
bright-eyed woman, which I afterwards learned, and will relate, if my
readers will pardon the episode. It may perhaps interest them as much in
the recital as it did me.
We will now glance back through many years to the innocent days of
childhood--to this lady’s pleasant home on the banks of the lovely
Connecticut. Not far from the shores of the Sound, which receives its
limpid waters, stood a quaint, old-fashioned farm-house; and _there_ she
passed the spring-time of youth. On an adjacent farm dwelt another happy
family. Not a day passed but the children of these respective families
had met, and raced and tumbled about, in all the wild joy of freedom and
of health; now paddling on the smooth surface of the glassy river, or
scrambling among thorns and briers in those old woods, after violets and
nuts knowing no restraint, or recognizing none, save their parents’
love. When she was about twelve years of age, her father conceived the
idea of emigrating to the Western wilds.
Then those children, who had lived, and loved, and played together so
long, must separate. The heroine of my story, and a lad a few years her
senior, belonging to the other family, had, almost unconsciously, as it
were, conceived and cherished an almost undying friendship for each
other; the strength and ardor of which the parents little suspected.
After an interchange of many little love-tokens, the lad placed a hair
ring, of curious workmanship, upon the girl’s finger, with the solemn
injunction never to part with it, and that, when he grew to be a man, he
would seek her for his bride; and so they parted. Upon their arrival in
the Western country, the father located himself, with his family, at or
near Nauvoo city. Subsequently, he joined the Mormons, and resided many
years at this place. About the time the tide of emigration commenced
flowing to the golden shores of the Pacific, he put in execution the
secretly cherished plan of removing with his family to Great Salt Lake
city.
In vain our heroine--now grown to a lovely and interesting woman--sought
to deter her father from consummating this long-cherished plan of
removal to the city of Zion. We can conjecture how much she was
influenced in adopting such a course by the knowledge which she had
recently obtained that the lover of her youth, to whom she had, in
defiance of oft-repeated solicitations to the contrary, ever proved
faithful, was about to seek her for a fulfilment of his boyish pledge.
Her father was inexorable: he was determined upon going, and his
favorite daughter must accompany them. The mother’s pleadings, too,
could not be resisted. They started. The mother’s health, previously
enervated, after six weeks’ toilsome travel across the plains, began
visibly to decline. With intense anxiety, each succeeding day, they
watched the paling cheek and tremulous motions of the wife and mother.
Their worst fears were realized. One calm, still, moonlight eve, they
consigned to a lonely grave the remains of the loved one. She had
emigrated to her last peaceful home. Never more would she be called upon
to resume her toilsome march across the plains of this sublunary sphere.
The family now consisted of the widowed husband, the daughter, and a
little girl, the offspring of a younger daughter, who had deceased
several years previous to this last emigration, and, being a widow, had
bequeathed her only child to its grand-parents. Little Rosa was a
joyous, light-hearted child, possessed of strong affections. The rich
wealth of love she had bestowed upon the grandmother had often caused
the tears of that fond parent to flow at the thought of the bitter
sorrow in store for the little darling, when she should have departed to
her long home.
The grief of the child under this affliction was deep and lasting.
Never more was her sweet voice heard in unison with the feathered
songsters, carolling her sweetest songs all the live-long day. Whenever
they encamped, she would wander forth, and gather the prairie-roses, of
which she begged her aunt to make for her a pillow. Upon this little
pillow of roses every night she rested her tired head, covered with
flaxen curls. One night, she complained of being unusually tired, and
said, “Oh, aunty, where is my rosy pillow? That will cure me.” In the
morning, they found her in a raging fever, from which she never
recovered. In two weeks from the time, she wept inconsolably at the
grave of her grandmother; she had gone to join her in the spirit-land.
They laid her in her little grave, with the pillow of roses under her
head, and resumed their gloomy march.
In less than one week from this second bereavement, while fording a
river, the father lost his life. Thus was the daughter left alone, the
last of her family. She continued her journey with the company, and
arrived safely at Salt Lake city. Here another trial awaited her. She
had not been long there, before the great prophet, Brigham Young,
selected her to swell the list of his spiritual wives, of whom at that
time there were about thirty. Her heart revolted at the idea of such a
destiny, and she resolved upon speedy flight. A company of emigrants,
bound to California, were encamped a short distance from the city.
Thither she secretly directed her steps, told her story, was admitted
into the company, and conveyed to California. Upon her arrival there,
she was engaged as an assistant in a hotel, where she remained nearly a
year.
One night, the occupants of this hotel were aroused by the appalling cry
of “Fire!” in their midst. The building was in a blaze. Every one was
rushing to obtain egress. At such a time, woe to those prostrated upon a
bed of sickness! The shrieks of a sick man arrested the rapid steps of
this woman, flying for safety from the devouring element. Many had
rushed past, unmindful of his call for succor, intent only on
self-preservation; but the kind heart of woman could not resist this
touching appeal to her sympathies. She caught him in her arms, (for he
was reduced to a mere skeleton, from intense suffering,) and rushed
forth, just in time to escape the falling timbers. By the assistance of
another person, the sick man was conveyed to comfortable quarters, where
every attention was rendered him by the lady who had preserved his life
on that eventful night. Owing to extreme excitement in his then weak
state, a violent delirium ensued, which continued for many days. None
knew the sufferer, or from whence he came. Upon his restoration to
reason, as his kind nurse was proffering to him a glass of water, he
suddenly sank back upon his pillow in a fainting fit. When consciousness
was once more restored, he could only point to a hair ring upon the
lady’s finger, and articulate her name. Thus these lovers met, after a
separation of nearly eighteen years. An explanation ensued, by which she
learned that he had traced and followed her across the plains to Salt
Lake city. There he lost all clue to her whereabouts. Disappointed and
sick at heart, he pursued his way to California; went to the mines, and
worked awhile, and was there taken sick. He managed to get to the hotel
the day preceding the fire. The rest may be imagined by the situation in
which I described her, as first seen by me upon entering that lovely
valley. Truly, truth is stranger than fiction; and romance dwindles into
insignificance, when contrasted with thrilling realities.
Now I will proceed on our journey. I regretted to leave that beautiful
spot, so rural, so retired, so far from the busy haunts of man. It had
such a serene aspect, it seemed to me to be one of the sweetest havens
of rest that God ever provided for life’s weary pilgrim. We travelled on
until we reached another valley, equally as rich in nature’s adornments;
but its verdant soil had been recently saturated with the blood of three
prospecting miners. Their bodies had been found pierced with arrows,
besides being cut and mangled in a horrible manner. Some Indians near by
were suspected of committing the murder. Consequently a number of miners
had assembled, and, in order to intimidate the tribe, had taken three
Indians, and hung them on the limb of a tree near by the scene of the
murder. As we approached, we noticed with some anxiety the unusual
collection of so many miners. Very soon the occasion of such an
assemblage became apparent. There, on a single limb, were suspended the
dead bodies of three Indians. One glimpse was sufficient. I can see them
now, their swarthy, distorted visages emblematic of revenge and
treachery.
Finally we came to a little mountain town called Bridgeport. It
consisted of three little shanties and a toll-bridge, which spanned the
Yuba River. The setting sun was just gilding the tops of the surrounding
mountains, as we halted in front of one of the dwellings to inquire the
distance to French Corral. They informed us it was about five miles.
They told us there was a pretty high mountain just beyond, and advised
us to discontinue our journey for that night. They seemed so
particularly solicitous for us to remain all night, their shanty was so
filthily dirty, and they themselves were such savage, hirsute-looking
objects, that I entreated my husband to go on. I thought, out of two
evils, we were choosing the least by proceeding. I came to a different
conclusion, however, before we reached our destination. My husband paid
one dollar and a half toll, and we crossed a high bridge, under which
rolled the Yuba. At this place, it was a rapidly rushing stream. It went
foaming and dashing over innumerable rocks which intercepted its
progress, overleaping every barrier, acknowledging no superior power.
Unceasingly it rolled on its course, its waters mingling with those of
her sister rivers, and _all_ tending to one point, viz., the broad
Pacific.
Directly after crossing the Yuba, we commenced the toilsome ascent of
the highest mountain we had yet encountered. At the commencement of the
ascent, my husband alighted to walk up the mountain, and I was to drive
up. The poor horse started with all the energy he possessed, in the
hope, I suppose, of speedily gaining the top. I quickly lost sight of my
husband, who was trudging on in the vain hope of overtaking me. Soon I
began to perceive evident signs of exhaustion in the horse. I tried to
stop him, but could not. The buggy drew back so, that, if he attempted
to stop, it drew him back too. And oh, what an awful road it was! Deep
gullies worn by streams of water, which had flowed down when the snow
had melted, deep enough to hide myself in! I tried several times to get
the carriage crosswise the road, but could not, on account of those
gullies and huge rocks.
I was fearful, every moment, the horse would fall, from utter
exhaustion. He was covered with white foam, and his tongue was extended
from his mouth. I screamed for my husband at the top of my voice; but he
was puffing and blowing far down the mountain. I finally contrived to
get the carriage wedged in between two rocks. I then got out, and went
to the relief of the horse. Poor fellow! I thought he was dying, for
some time. When my husband appeared in sight, his appearance betokened
about as great exhaustion as the horse. After a good rest, we all
proceeded up, I on foot too. Three or four times I threw myself on the
ground in utter exhaustion. We could not proceed as leisurely as we
would, had night not been so close upon us. The summit was reached; and
what a magnificent view greeted my wondering vision! The road wound
round the mountain near the top. The sides of the mountain had been cut
down, and a very good level road formed, of just sufficient width for
only one carriage to pass round at a time. A horn, which is found at
each termination of this narrow pass, is loudly sounded by travellers,
before entering on the road, as a warning of their approach. The
distance from this road down an almost perpendicular descent was one
thousand feet; and at the base of the mountain rolled the foaming waters
of the Yuba River. Yet from that dizzy height it had the appearance of a
white ribbon no wider than your hand. The outside wheels of the buggy
ran within three feet of the edge of the precipice. Nothing could induce
me to ride (even with our gentle horse) in such close proximity to the
frightful chasm. My husband jumped in and rode around, while I went
plodding along, almost ankle-deep in the red sand. Presently I heard
voices behind. I turned to look, and there, a few paces behind me, were
two dark, swarthy, bewhiskered individuals, each mounted on a fine
mule, and one of them was leading a spare mule. What to do I did not
know. There I was, alone, wallowing in the sand, my bonnet off, hair
dishevelled, face the color of vermilion, and dress the color of the
sand. Who or what I was, or how I came there on foot, I suppose was
beyond their comprehension.
When they overtook me, one said, “Good evening, madam; this is a hard
road to travel over Jordan.” To this I made no reply. Said the other,
“Wont you ride? you look tired.” I told him there was a carriage waiting
for me just round the mountain. So they rode on. Soon I found my husband
waiting for me. I quickly accepted his invitation to ride, for I feared
meeting with other adventures, which might not terminate so pleasantly.
We travelled on, expecting to reach the corral every moment. There were
no more such high elevations on our route as the last we had surmounted;
but there were a plenty high enough, I assure you.
But for the brilliant rays of the queen of night, we should have been
compelled to encamp in the mountains. Nothing could exceed the grandeur
and sublimity of these mountain-glens and cañons, walled in by those
grand and lofty mountains, and lighted by the brilliant and powerful
rays of the moon, and the sparkling radiance of the starry host,
glittering like so many diamonds in the deep-blue canopy of the heavens.
Their desolation is mellowed; an air of purity and holiness seems to
pervade those silent places, which leads the imagination to picture them
as grand saloons of nature, fashioned by the hand of the Almighty for
the residence of pure and uncontaminating substances, and not for the
doomed children of passion, want, care, and sorrow.
About ten in the evening, we made our descent into the valley bearing
the name of French Corral. We were perfectly astonished at beholding
such a collection of canvas houses--large frame boarding-houses and
hotels, brilliantly lighted gambling-saloons without number, and Spanish
dance-houses, French cafés, drinking-saloons, etc., etc.
It may not be amiss to state here the manner of building frame-houses,
when the time occupied in building was two days for a private dwelling,
four days for a hotel, and six days for a church. The last mentioned,
however, was not often raised. A building would boast of a very slight
frame, not boarded, but split clapboard nailed on to the frame, and the
outside was finished. Upon the inside, in lieu of laths and plastering,
bleached or unbleached cotton cloth is stretched smoothly and tightly,
and fastened to the frame. This cloth is then papered over, and it looks
as nice as paper upon plastering. The ceiling overhead is nice bleached
cloth, sewed together neatly, and stretched so tightly there is not a
wrinkle observable. For partitions a frame is raised, and each side of
this frame is cloth and paper, leaving a hollow space between the two
partitions of cloth, about three or four inches in width. These
partitions look as firm and solid as they do made the usual way; but
they afford but a slight hindrance to the passage of sounds. These
deceptive partitions have been accessory to the diffusion of many a
momentous secret.
Begging pardon for this digression, I will proceed with the description
of this speedily-rushed-into-existence mining town. We were directed to
the California Hotel, as one capable of rendering the best
accommodations. Thither we accordingly went, and received a hearty
reception. Every attention benighted, tired travellers could reasonably
require, was cheerfully conferred. Next morning, we rose from our
couches of straw, rather lame, to be sure, but anxious, nevertheless, to
reconnoitre the town. We first repaired to the mines. There were over
one thousand miners at work in a gulch surrounded by towering mountains,
which shot up almost perpendicularly over their heads. The frosts of
spring tarry latest in those gulches, and the genial rays of the winter
sun penetrate but occasionally to cheer the miner in his arduous toil.
It is difficult, after all the descriptions he may read, for any one who
has not been in the mines to obtain any correct idea of the manner in
which they are worked, or of the difficulties and singular vicissitudes
in life to which the miner is exposed. If the miner be dependent upon
others for his water by paying for it weekly, success demands that he
should be an early riser. Before the first dawn of light breaks upon the
sky above him, he opens his eyes, rolls over on his hard bed, stretches
his stiffened limbs, and, feeling about for his boots, places his hand
upon something resembling an icicle, into which his feet are thrust, and
the labors of the day commenced. He kindles his fire, (that is, if he
boards himself,) fills and sets on the coffeepot, fries his “flap-jacks”
and his pork, or warms up his beans, and the morning repast is prepared.
It is then quickly eaten; and, by the time it is daylight, the miner is
beside his tom. The water is let on, and in half an hour’s time he is
standing ankle-deep in it, while, every few minutes, a dash of it is
accidentally sprinkled upon his back. A hard day’s work of this kind is
not unfrequently closed by the paltry reward of one, two, or three
dollars, to be divided between the last named number of men. And this
approximates, more nearly than all other histories, to the truth of
mining. The “big strikes” are always heard of first, because the good
news is published, while the bad is deemed worthy of no such
distinction. From this cause thousands of people meet with
disappointment, and write back to their Atlantic friends, reviling a
country the noblest for its climate, soil, and business advantages, of
any under the broad canopy of heaven.
The success of the miner depends a great deal upon luck. He may be
industrious, economical, possessed of good morals, labor perseveringly
for months, and sometimes years, and still be poor, as far as the
acquisition of gold is concerned; while, perhaps, an unprincipled
spendthrift in a few months may realize a fortune. A claim, too, may
prospect rich, and yet, upon working it, yield scarcely sufficient to
defray the expenses. Sometimes, also, adjoining claims which prospect
alike may prove, one rich, and the other poor. I knew one fellow who had
worked three weeks upon his claim, and had not realized enough to pay
his board. He became disheartened, and sold out to a “green-horn,” who,
in the interval of six weeks, took out over three thousand dollars’
worth of the yellow metal. I knew another, too, who labored hard three
years in the country, without any more than defraying his expenses, when
he was fortunate enough to strike a “pocket,” from which he took out
twenty thousand dollars. But here I am digressing again.
We found, upon walking about the town, that nearly every other building
was a boarding-house. So much competition had reduced board to twelve
dollars per week, which would not pay, considering the fact of having to
pay six cents per pound freight for the transportation of provisions
from Marysville; so my husband relinquished the idea of opening a house
there, and decided to return to Marysville on the following day. That
night, there was to be a grand ball at the Corral; and Mrs. R----, the
wife of the gentleman who kept the house where we stopped, was very
anxious for me to accompany her to witness the proceedings. Accordingly,
in the course of the evening, we stepped in, as silent spectators of the
festive scene. I was rather surprised at beholding such a recherché
assemblage. By the appearance of the company, I should not have
suspected that we were, figuratively speaking, in the bowels of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. A long artificial bower had been constructed,
under which were spread the tables, loaded with delicious viands. There
were turkeys, which at that period could not be purchased for less than
twenty-five dollars apiece; and pigs, too, which were equally as scarce
in the market. There were jellies and East India preserves temptingly
displayed, also the refreshing ice-cream. Beautiful bouquets graced the
tables. These flowers had been gathered in close proximity to snow.
Sixteen miles distant, farther up in the mountains, was plenty of ice
then; and there was a Frenchman at the Corral--from whom the place
derived its name--who kept quite a number of cows; so that ice and cream
were very easily obtained.
Here, fifty miles from the settlements, were convened a collection of
gentlemen and ladies, who had come, some ten, some twenty, and some
thirty miles, to join in the merry dance. I saw two Bostonians there. It
was a select company: all gamblers were excluded.
After having regaled ourselves with some refreshments, which the polite
and gentlemanly host insisted upon our partaking, we took our leave,
as, the ensuing morning early, we were to start on our homeward
journey.
It is a peculiar feature of the climate in California, that, as soon as
the snow disappears from the earth, the flowers spring up spontaneously.
There is no frost in the ground, and the heavy body of snow lying
thereon serves to keep it warm. While at the Corral, I was presented
with an elegant bouquet, which a gentleman told me he gathered between
two snow-banks, in such close proximity to each other, that, with his
arms extended, he could reach the snow on either side. The rising sun,
next morning, found us at the top of that high mountain, very near the
spot where he bade us adieu on our journey up.
Neither ourselves nor the horse were as fatigued as when we made the
ascent; therefore, it did not appear half as formidable; yet I preferred
being upon my feet. It was really frightful to look at the horse and
buggy. The wheels were both chained: yet how the poor horse had to brace
his feet at every step! It was on this same mountain, the following
August, as a party of emigrants, who travelled across the plains, were
descending in an ox-team, the wagon pitch-poled, distributing the
contents (which consisted of a woman and two or three children,
cooking-stove, and many other household utensils) in every direction.
When we reached Bridgeport, we were accosted by the toll-gatherer with
“Well, I reckon as how you had a right smart heap of trouble that night,
afore you reached the top of the mountain. I allowed you would be for
turning back; but I have always heard say, them Yankee women never would
give up beat.” How he knew I was a Yankee, was beyond my comprehension;
for he did not hear me speak, as I recollect of. Must be my countenance
was the index of the nation to which I belonged; and I believe it does
speak Yankee as well as my tongue; for I was never taken for anything
else, except once----.
We met with no adventure particularly worth relating on our homeward
journey. When we descended again to the foot of the hills, they really
seemed clipped of nearly one-half their altitude since I had passed over
them. I was also surprised at the wonderful amount of courage I had
acquired during the trip. Now I laughed at travelling over those hills I
before had cried at. That night, the little canvas house received within
its walls a tired couple. Not long after this did it afford us a home.
My husband sold it, and we went to the Tremont Hotel, where I remained
during the remainder of my stay in Marysville.