not a drop of rain fallen during the entire summer, and the earth, six
feet below, is as dry as on the surface; one cannot move without being
enveloped in dust; and vegetation is as crisp as if it had just been
taken from the oven. There has been no haze to shield the earth from the
sun, and at night the stars have twinkled with unwonted brilliancy; but
now the sun has grown dim and pale, and the stars have fled to their
hiding-place. Miners are admonished that it is time to prepare for an
untried winter, and on every hand is evinced a disposition not to be
taken unawares. Here on the side of the mountain is a habitation, three
logs high, covered with canvas, the crevices well “mudded,” all the
light used being admitted through the door. There is a cave, walled and
roofed with rocks, the canvas closing the entrance being the only
indication that it is a tenement. An army tent is also seen, which is
well secured, as if in momentary expectation of the approaching blast;
dirt has been thrown well over the foot, to prevent the winds from
searching out the occupant. In front is a tree, under which is a
camp-kettle and frying-pan, and near are a few dying embers, the smoke
curling up and mingling with the foliage. It seemed hard that one
accustomed to the luxury of a comfortable home, should be doomed to
spend the winter in this forlorn condition. Climbing up the side of the
mountain, are seen mules heavily laden with provisions and mining
utensils, which are destined to some favorite spot in the mountain
gorges. Trade begins to improve, miners are laying in their supplies for
the winter, and merchants find their stocks exhausted, and are driven to
town to replenish. The sun assumes a peculiar color, and where it is
reflected in the water is a “royal” purple. Its rays had become very
dim, and on the 27th of October the deluge burst upon us.
General Winchester and company had just placed their quicksilver
machine, and commenced successful operations on the bar, but one night
destroyed their works, carrying one of their machines, laden with
twenty-five pounds of quicksilver, a distance of three miles, destroying
it, and emptying its valuable contents into the river. The rise of the
river was so rapid that those on the opposite side, when it commenced to
rain, found it impossible to recross six hours after. The scene was most
terrific; the mountain on either side of the river, rose almost
perpendicularly, and the torrents rushed down, undermining huge rocks,
which, after making a few leaps, would come in contact with others of
equal dimensions, when both, with one terrific bound, would dash into
the chasm below.
Mining operations were, for the time, suspended, and miners, many of
whom were destitute of even the protection of a tent, were hovering
about their fires in a most desponding mood; many were entirely
destitute of means, and cooking, perhaps, their last day’s supply. Teams
were constantly arriving with miners fresh from the States, who would
descend the mountain
[Illustration: G. V. COOPER DEL.
ON STONE BY J. CAMERON
LITH. of G. W. LEWIS III NASSAU ST. N. Y.
LOOKING DOWN THE BIG CANON.]
with high hopes, having been so fortunate as to fall in with some one
who had directed them to this particular spot. They were generally well
supplied with provisions, and notwithstanding the drenching rain, one
hour after their advent would find them busily engaged with the pan and
pick-axe.
The store I occupied was made by driving stakes into the ground, and
inclosing with common unbleached muslin; the roof flat, covered with the
same material. It had answered a good purpose during the summer, but for
the rainy season, I am not prepared to say it was exactly the thing. I
do not know that the rain fell faster inside than out, but some of my
neighbors insinuated that it did. I could keep tolerably dry by wearing
an India rubber cap, _poncho_, and long boots, with the aid of a good
umbrella, in short, this was my regular business suit. For a bed, I had
a scaffold made of poles, on which I had a hammock stuffed with grass
and straw, using a pair of blankets as covering. In order to keep my bed
dry I had a standard at the head and foot, on which was a pole running
“fore and aft,” serving as a ridge-pole, over which was thrown an India
rubber blanket. On going to bed I would throw up one corner of my India
rubber blanket, holding my umbrella over the opening, and after taking
off my boots, I would crawl in feet first, throw back the rubber to its
place, then tying my umbrella to the head standard I was in bed. My
friends, Fairchild, Tracy, Jones, and Dean were not so fortunate. They
would lay down on the ground in their blankets, and in one hour would be
drenched to the skin; in this condition they were obliged to spend the
balance of the night. Jones (formerly of the Cornucopia, New York) had a
severe cough, his lungs being much affected, and he thought he was fast
declining with the consumption. After becoming drenched and chilled his
cough would set in, which, together with his distressing groans, would
render night hideous, and cast a gloom over the most buoyant spirit. On
rising in the morning, the bottle was our first consolation; it would
elevate our spirits, and drive the chilly sensation from our limbs. A
few large sticks had been thrown together and set on fire, around which
would be seen a dozen strange-looking specimens of humanity, one with a
red flannel shirt, part of a glazed cap, and torn unmentionables;
another with a woolen-blanket, that could boast of having secured, on
the previous night, what rain had fallen in its immediate vicinity;
another with an India rubber _poncho_ and a hat that had been used both
sides out, and, as if to assume a ferocious appearance, it had adopted
the color of the grizzly bear. All hovering around the fire, some with
pieces of pork on the ends of sticks, others with something in a
frying-pan, covered with a tin plate; one is stirring flour and water
together, while his companion is trying to turn the cakes; about every
other one is disposed to go into the fire.
A disease at this time manifested itself, the symptoms of which were of
a peculiar nature. It was called the “land scurvy,” and was caused by a
want of proper vegetable diet. The blood of the system became thick and
turgid, and diminished in quantity; there was but little circulation at
the extremities, or near the surface of the body, the fleshy parts
becoming almost lifeless; the gums became black and not unfrequently the
teeth would fall out, the gums having so entirely wasted away. The
malady became fearfully prevalent, and no remedy could be obtained;
vegetables were not to had, there were none in the country. There had
been a few, a very few, potatoes in the market, at prices varying from
four shillings each to a dollar and a half per pound, but the supply was
too scanty to arrest the disease, and many had become almost entirely
disabled.
On the 28th of October, a man from Illinois fell a victim to this
dreadful malady, and on the 29th, it was our painful duty to bear him to
that lonely hill and consign him to the tomb. A board was placed at his
head, on which was cut his brief epitaph. What a strange commentary upon
the vicissitudes of human life. He was once an infant, fondled and
caressed by an affectionate mother, a youth counseled by a doting
father, and embraced and loved by sisters and brothers. He grew to
manhood, pledged his hand and heart to the one he loved, combatted,
perhaps, with adversity, and finally bade farewell to his own offspring,
to die a stranger in a strange land.
Chapter Twenty-first.
DANGEROUS NAVIGATION--A TRIP OVER THE FALLS--A NIGHT FROM
HOME--SAILOR HOSPITALITY--SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS--A HAZARDOUS
ALTERNATIVE--A WAYWARD BOY--PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING THE
INTERIOR--DISTRIBUTION OF EFFECTS--OUR TRAVELING SUIT--START FOR
SAN FRANCISCO--FAREWELL--THREE INDIVIDUALS UNDER A FULL HEAD OF
STEAM--ARRIVAL AT THE “HALF-WAY TENT”--POOR ACCOMMODATIONS--A
MORNING WALK AND POOR BREAKFAST--WADING LAGOONS--WILD
GEESE--ARRIVAL AT THE AMERICAN RIVER--OUR TOILET, AND ENTRY INTO
SACRAMENTO CITY.
The river had become much swollen, and burst through among the rocks
with the greatest fury. The rumbling of the rocks and stone as they were
hurled from their beds, was incessant and almost deafening. Many of my
friends lived on the opposite side of the river, and I had purchased a
boat for their accommodation. The only place where a boat could be rowed
across with safety, was above a fall occasioned, in part, by a dam. The
water here was extremely rapid, but by heading well up stream, could be
crossed in safety. Tracy generally volunteered to do the ferrying, but
when I was disengaged I would do it myself.
On one occasion, a party of six wished to cross, and I went down with
them, paddled out into the stream, and as the boat came in contact with
the strongest current, it swung around, when one of the passengers
becoming frightened, applied a paddle on the upper side which aimed the
boat for the fall, leaving no alternative but to go over. The fall was
several feet, and below it huge masses of rock; the roaring of the water
was terrific, almost deafening, and it was night. We were swept along
with the velocity of an arrow, and as we came to the brink I discovered
the limbs of a tree, which had floated down and caught. Being in the
stern of the boat, I rose up and as it was about to break over, jumped
and caught to the limb, my companions going over with the boat. My
situation was the most perilous imaginable. I was in the middle of the
stream on the very brink of the precipice, the water up to my shoulders,
and the stones tumbling from beneath my feet; my only support being the
limb, to which I clung as if for life. It required almost superhuman
effort to keep from being swept from my hold by the strength of the
current. After feeling a little more secure, I felt below the surface
and found another limb to which I clung, taking one step in the
direction of the shore; after groping about, I found another and the
last. I had now almost gained the upper side of a rock which rested on
the brink just below the surface of the water. It was a crisis; it was
extremely doubtful whether I could throw myself with sufficient force to
catch the upper side of the rock. If I missed, the chances of life were
against me, as I had no doubt some, if not all of my companions had
already found a watery grave. It was no time for deliberation, and
straining every nerve, I made one desperate struggle and gained the
rock. I still had fifteen feet of the strength of the current to
overcome, but by dexterous movements I succeeded in reaching the shore.
I immediately went in search of my friends; fortunately, we had two
sailors with us, Billy and Charley, before spoken of. The boat ended
over in passing down. Charley and Billy found their way to the shore,
but Mr. Byram was dashed along among the rocks, apparently lifeless.
They rushed in again and succeeded in dragging his body to the shore; we
then hurried on to learn the fate of the others. On reaching the bend of
the river we found the boat drifted against the rock, they clinging to
its sides; they threw the hawser, and we drew the boat to the shore. Mr.
Byram recovered, and we congratulated ourselves upon the auspicious
termination of the adventure. They had been purchasing a quantity of
provisions--flour, sugar, coffee, &c., all of which were “turned over”
to tempt the appetite of the fishes.
Their encampment was a mile above, and as it was impossible to recross
the river here, I went with them, in hopes of being able to ferry over
in a small boat they owned, but on arriving, found it had been carried
away by the freshet. The evening was chilly; I was drenched; I had left
things in an unsafe condition at the store, and as my friends imagined
me drowned, I determined to return and endeavor to recross in my own
boat. On arriving I turned it on the side as far as possible, to relieve
it of the water inside, then tying the hawser to my arm, I stepped on
board. I was carried down with the greatest velocity for some distance,
when I brought up against a rock. I was again in motion, and again sided
against a rock with such force that the water burst over filling my
boat. There was now no alternative but to try to reach the shore, which,
after sundry cold baths, I succeeded in doing.
It was now late, and the night was extremely dark. One mile below were
two sailor friends, and I resolved to reach their encampment. The first
part of the route lay over a rocky promontory, overhanging the river. I
passed over this by clinging to the shrubs and points of rocks.
Occasionally one of the latter would leap from its bed, and with one
terrific bound, disappear in the water below. On gaining the other side,
I found the route easy, and soon gained the point of destination. I
received a welcome from Tom and George (before spoken of) that sailors
only know how to give. Tom cut wood, built a fire against a rock, and I
was soon comfortably incased in a sailor’s suit, mine hanging by the
fire, George, in the meantime, boiling the tea-kettle, frying pork and
toasting bread, and I was soon invited into the tent to partake of their
hospitalities. Tom assisted me in the morning; I reached my tent at
noon. To Tom, George, Charley, and Billy, (the latter has since
died)--may fortune crown their efforts, and friendship always smile!
The mining districts soon became almost destitute of provisions, and the
country impassable in consequence of the immense fall of rain. There was
a reported scarcity of flour, and it rose in one day, at San Francisco,
from $16 to $40 per barrel, and in the mines from 30 cents to $1.50 per
pound. I had laid in a good supply at a low price, but after this was
exhausted the only way in which I could keep a supply, was to buy out
those who were about to return to town. There was an almost universal
desire to leave the mines, and but few remained excepting those who were
from necessity compelled to. Some were preparing to return to the
States; the number, however, was few. We had formed strong attachments,
having participated in so many vicissitudes, and the thought of
separating gave rise to gloomy reflections, particularly to those who
were to remain. The supply of provisions had become so entirely
exhausted, that many had resolved upon the hazardous alternative of
going into the mountains, and wintering on the food procured with their
rifles. At the head of the list was my friend Tracy. Nothing could
induce him to go to town; he had as great an aversion to civilization as
his friend Jim. He had left his home when a boy, and was probably never
heard of by his parents; the connection was entirely severed, and he
looked upon his rifle as his only true friend and reliance.
Having sold out my stock, Mr. Fairchild, Mr. Jones, and myself had
resolved to start on the 17th of November for San Francisco, Mr. F. and
myself destined for home. The only preparation necessary was to
distribute our surplus effects among our friends; at this particular
time it afforded more pleasure to give than to receive. Nothing was
movable, hardly ourselves; the earth had become so thoroughly saturated,
we would either of us have been loth to accept a new suit of clothes,
ragged as we were. We each reserved a pair of pantaloons, a flannel
shirt, glazed cap, and stogy boots. These, in connection with our
blankets, constituted our outfits. Our firearms we found it difficult to
dispose of; they were entirely useless, and our friends accepted them
merely as an act of courtesy. My revolver, I had carried across the
Isthmus, and kept during my stay in California, and when I disposed of
it, it had not had the honor of being charged.
On the morning of the 17th my successor took possession of the store,
and we were preparing to start, the rain pouring down a deluge. Our
friends had all collected to bid us farewell, and to give into our
charge letters to their friends. It was a gloomy morning, and a feeling
of sadness appeared to steal over the minds of those we were about to
leave. Having contracted with a gentleman who was to leave two days
after, to deliver a package for me at Sacramento City, we filled our
bottles with “Monongahela,” and putting a certain quantity where the
effects would be more immediately felt, bade farewell to all, and
started up the mountain. We were soon hailed by Tracy and Dean, who were
not yet reconciled to parting with us, and who accompanied us a mile to
the top of the mountain. We here came to a halt, and took the hands of
our friends for the last time. We were all most sensibly affected, and
although we had become inured to hardships and privations of every
description, we could not, on this occasion, restrain our tears.
It was about 2 P.M. when we resumed our journey, and we had resolved to
walk to the “half-way tent,” twenty-two miles distant. We were obliged
to wade through mud to the tops of our boots, and on one occasion Jones
sunk so deeply into the mud that we were obliged to pry him out. The
first two miles found us much fatigued, and we were obliged to consult
our bottles for relief; the next two found us running under a full head
of steam, our walking beams in the finest working order. There was an
evident disposition to try our relative speed, and the probability is
that we never attained a higher rate than on this particular occasion.
We did not meet any one on the road, but we met a number of trees, and
although entire strangers, we made ourselves as familiar as though we
had been acquainted with them for years; I hope they do not remember
what we said to them. We thought Fairchild made too much lee-way; Jones
had so much freight on deck that he rolled about tremendously; I found
it difficult to keep on an even keel, and was so heavily laden forward,
that it was almost impossible to support the “figure-head.” We all,
however, made good time, considering the depth of water we drew. Sunset
(it did not rise that day) found half our journey performed, and
three-fourths of our _fuel_ consumed; we did not let the engines stop,
but steamed on, the paddles frequently throwing mud into the faces of
the passengers. About 9 P.M., one of the vessels was noticed to careen,
but it righted, and we kept on until half-past ten, when we arrived at
the half-way tent.
If I was ever glad to put into port, it was at this time, and _we_
certainly put in in “stress of weather.” We found the tent full, and
when we called for supper were told that there was nothing to eat,
except a piece of salt beef which was in the barrel. We ordered this
cooked, and made a supper of brandy and beef. We now looked about for a
place to sleep, but were obliged to spread our blankets on the wet
ground. If I ever felt the necessity of a place on the dry dock, it was
at this time; our clothes were wet with rain and perspiration, and now
we were cold and stiff, and the thought of laying down for the night in
the mud, was dreadful. There was no alternative, and we submitted with
the best possible grace.
The “tent” was kept by Mr. Wilkin (or Wilky,) assisted by his amiable
lady. They were from Scotland, having been in the United States about
seven years, most of which time they had lived in their wagon or a tent;
part of the time they had lived on the extreme frontier of Missouri,
after which they crossed over to Salt Lake, then into Oregon, and
finally down to California. They had spent the summer in the mines, and
after the commencement of the rainy season had started for Sacramento
City with a six-mule team. After much toil they reached this point when
two of the mules were “mired,” the others strayed, leaving them no
alternative but to remain for the winter. They constructed temporary
accommodations for travelers, and since my return to New York I met them
at the Irving House, and was happy to learn that they were most
bountifully rewarded for their detention. We rose the next morning, had
our bottles refilled, and, as we had no particular appetite for salt
beef, we resolved to walk ten miles to breakfast. Our motive powers had
rusted during the night, and we found it almost impossible to move, but
our bottle, like quack medicines of the present day, was a universal
panacea; we applied it in this case with success. We were soon making as
good time as on the previous day, but it was soon apparent that Jones
must either bend on “studding-sails,” or fall behind; he chose the
latter alternative, and before 9 o’clock, A.M., he was “hull down.” We
arrived at the “blue tent” at 10, A.M., and ordered breakfast, but we
had the consolation of learning from the worthy host that he had nothing
to eat. This was just what we had had for supper the previous night, and
informed him that we wished something a little better for breakfast. He
had flour, which was full of worms, and _we had warm biscuit for
breakfast_.
We were again under way, and soon came out upon an open plain which
extended to the American River, fifteen miles distant. This plain,
although quite elevated, was covered with “lagoons,” or small lakes, all
swarming with wild geese, ducks and brant. A finer opportunity for a
sportsman could not well be imagined, but to us the lakes afforded but
little amusement;
[Illustration: G. V. COOPER DEL.
ON STONE BY J. CAMERON
LITH. of G. W. LEWIS 111 NASSAU ST. N. Y.
THE PLAINS NEAR SAC CITY
_in the Flowry Season._]
some of them we could go around, others we were compelled to wade
through. The entire plain was dotted with covered wagons that had been
loaded with provisions for the interior, but, in trying to cross, the
teams had “mired” and the wagons been abandoned.
On arriving within sight of the ferry, we came to the margin of a lagoon
that stretched away to the river, leaving us no alternative but to wade;
the practicability of this could only be learned by sounding. This was
not a time for deliberation, and taking my blankets, &c., on my
shoulder, I waded in; after wading to my neck it grew more shallow, and
my companion followed. We reached the ferry boat and were soon on the
opposite bank of the river.
We were now within sight of Sacramento City, and as it was Sunday our
first attention was bestowed upon our toilet. We sat down on the bank of
the river, pulled off our boots, poured the water out of them, wrung out
our socks, and after replacing these we took off our caps, brushed up
our hair, imagined that our moustache curled, (we could not tell, for
the river was too muddy to reflect our faces,) adjusted the skirt of our
flannel, then throwing our chest out, with our head at an angle of about
23°, we stood in for the city, passing in at the head of J. street,
which we found in fine navigable order, the water extending to the
door-sills on either side.
Chapter Twenty-second.
A DRY SUIT--RESTAURANTS--WAITERS AND CHAMPAGNE--TWO INDIVIDUALS
“TIGHT”--A $10 DINNER--MONTE-BANKS AND MUD--GAMBLING AND ITS
RESULTS--GROWTH OF SACRAMENTO CITY--UNPARALLELED PROSPERITY--A
REVULSION AND ITS CAUSE--THE FLOOD.
Our first want was a dry suit, consequently we were on the _qui vive_
for a clothing establishment; the first store we came to was unfinished,
the front being hung with blue jean. This we pulled aside, and found,
not only clothing, but an old acquaintance. I was soon in my dishabille,
and as soon in full dress. We now feel comfortable; but near by is a
restaurant, where they serve up beef and venison steak, chickens and
turkeys, with coffee, tea, and champagne, &c., &c. Do not be impatient,
dear reader, for only think what we had at our last supper and
breakfast. We soon found ourselves seated at a table at the Empire,
surrounded by three waiters, and I never saw waiters before that bore
such a strong resemblance to guardian angels. I could hardly tell the
difference. One hour after, _we_ were in the same position. _We_ were
refreshed; our waiters were jaded; our champagne bottles were standing
before us, with their mouths wide open; we were sitting down with ours
in the same condition. My companion would look at me and give a knowing
wink. I would wink knowingly at him. Then we would both laugh. We would
fill our glasses and wink and laugh again. We were at this particular
time rich and happy. We had money in our pockets, and felt that
community were largely indebted to us. When we were informed at the bar
that our bills were $10 each, we were surprised at the extreme
moderation of our host.
We now sallied forth into the street, and spent the afternoon and
evening in the most jovial manner, going the rounds of the
[Illustration: G. V. COOPER DEL.
ON STONE BY J. CAMERON
LITH. OF G. W. LEWIS 111 NASSAU ST. N. Y.
SACRAMENTO CITY,
_FROM THE FOOT OF J STREET_.]