him in an equivocal position, they will triumphantly declare that they
have "got the dead-wood on him." And they are everlastingly "going nary
cent" on those of whose credit they are doubtful. There are many
others, which may be common enough everywhere, but as I never happened
to hear them before, they have for me all the freshness of originality.
You know that it has always been one of my pet rages to trace cant
phrases to their origin; but most of those in vogue here would, I
verily believe, puzzle Horne Tooke himself.
LETTER _the_ SEVENTH
[_The_ PIONEER, _August_, 1854]
_The_ NEW LOG-CABIN HOME _at_ INDIAN BAR
SYNOPSIS
Change of residence to Indian Bar. Whether to go to the new camp on
muleback over the hill, or on foot by crossing the river. The
water-passage decided upon. An escort of Indian Barians. Magnificence
of scenery on the way. Gold-miners at work. Their implements. "The
color". The Stars and Stripes on a lofty treetop. A camp of tents and
cabins. Some of calico shirts and pine boughs. Indian Bar described.
Mountains shut out the sun. The "Humbolt" (spelled without the _d_ on
the sign) the only hotel in the camp. A barroom with a dancing-floor. A
cook who plays the violin. A popular place. Clinking glasses and
swaggering drinkers. "No place for a lady". The log-cabin residence.
Its primitive and makeshift furnishings-The library. No churches,
society, etc. "No vegetables but potatoes and onions, no milk, no eggs,
no _nothing_."
Letter _the_ Seventh
_The_ NEW LOG-CABIN HOME _at_ INDIAN BAR
_From our Log Cabin_, INDIAN BAR,
_October_ 7, 1851.
You will perchance be surprised, dear M., to receive a letter from me
dated Indian instead of Rich Bar, but, as many of F.'s most intimate
friends reside at this settlement, he concluded to build his log cabin
here.
Solemn council was held upon the ways and means of getting "Dame
Shirley" to her new home. The general opinion was, that she had better
mount her fat mule and ride over the hill, as all agreed that it was
very doubtful whether she would be able to cross the logs and jump the
rocks which would bar her way by the water-passage. But that obstinate
little personage, who has always been haunted with a passionate desire
to do everything which people said she could _not_ do, made up her
willful mind immediately to go by the river. Behold, then, the "Dame"
on her winding way, escorted by a deputation of Indian Barians, which
had come up for that important purpose.
It is impossible, my sister, for any power of language, over which _I_
have command, to convey to you an idea of the wild grandeur and the
awful magnificence of the scenery in this vicinity. This fork of the
Feather River comes down very much as the water does at Lodore, now
gliding along with a liquid measure like a river in a dream, and anon
bursting into a thousand glittering foam-beads over the huge rocks,
which rise dark, solemn, and weird-like in its midst. The crossings are
formed of logs, often moss-grown. Only think how charmingly picturesque
to eyes wearied with the costly masonry or carpentry of the bridges at
home! At every step gold-diggers, or their operations, greet your
vision, sometimes in the form of a dam, sometimes in that of a river
turned slightly from its channel to aid the indefatigable gold-hunters
in their mining projects. Now, on the side of a hill, you will see a
long-tom, a huge machine invented to facilitate the separation of the
ore from its native element; or a man busily engaged in working a
rocker, a much smaller and simpler machine used for the same object;
or, more primitive still, some solitary prospector with a pan of dirt
in his hands, which he is carefully washing at the water's edge to see
if he can "get the color," as it is technically phrased, which means,
literally, the smallest particle of gold.
As we approached Indian Bar the path led several times fearfully near
deep holes, from which the laborers were gathering their yellow
harvest, and Dame Shirley's small head swam dizzily as she crept
shudderingly by.
The first thing which attracted my attention as my new home came in
view, was the blended blue, red, and white of the American banner
undulating like a many-colored snake amid the lofty verdure of the
cedars which garland the brown brow of the hill behind our cabin. This
flag was suspended on the Fourth of July last by a patriotic sailor,
who climbed to the top of the tree to which he attached it, cutting
away the branches as he descended, until it stood among its stately
brethren a beautiful moss-wreathed liberty-pole, flinging to the face
of heaven the glad colors of the Free.
When I attempt, dear M., to describe one of these spots to you, I
regret more than ever the ill health of my childhood, which prevented
my attaining any degree of excellence in sketching from nature. Had it
not been for that interruption to my artistic education, I might, with
a few touches of the pencil or the brush, give you the place and its
surroundings. But, alas! my feeble pen will convey to you a very faint
idea of its savage beauty.
This Bar is so small that it seems impossible that the tents and cabins
scattered over it can amount to a dozen. There are, however, twenty in
all, including those formed of calico shirts and pine boughs. With the
exception of the paths leading to the different tenements, the entire
level is covered with mining-holes, on the edges of which lie the
immense piles of dirt and stones which have been removed from the
excavations. There is a deep pit in front of our cabin, and another at
the side of it, though they are not worked, as, when "prospected," they
did not "yield the color."
Not a spot of verdure is to be seen on this place, but the glorious
hills rising on every side, vested in foliage of living green, make
ample amends for the sterility of the tiny level upon which we camp.
The surrounding scenery is infinitely more charming than that of Rich
Bar. The river, in hue of a vivid emerald, as if it reflected the hue
of the fir-trees above, bordered with a band of dark red, caused by the
streams flowing into it from the different sluices, ditches, long-toms,
etc., which meander from the hill just back of the Bar, wanders
musically along. Across the river, and in front of us, rises nearly
perpendicularly a group of mountains, the summits of which are broken
into many beautifully cut conical and pyramidal peaks. At the foot and
left of these eminences, and a little below our Bar, lies Missouri Bar,
which is reached from this spot by a log bridge. Around the latter the
river curves in the shape of a crescent, and, singularly enough, the
mountain rising behind this bend in the stream outlines itself against
the lustrous heaven in a shape as exact and perfect as the moon herself
in her first quarter. Within one horn of this crescent the water is a
mass of foam-sparkles, and it plays upon the rocks which line its bed
an everlasting dirge suggestive of the "grand forever" of the ocean.
At present the sun does not condescend to shine upon Indian Bar at all,
and the old settlers tell me that he will not smile upon us for the
next three months, but he nestles lovingly in patches of golden glory
all along the brows of the different hills around us, and now and then
stoops to kiss the topmost wave on the opposite shore of the Rio de las
Plumas.
The first artificial elegance which attracts your vision is a large rag
shanty, roofed, however, with a rude kind of shingles, over the
entrance of which is painted, in red capitals, ("to what base uses do
we come at last,") the name of the great Humboldt spelt without the
_d_. This is the only hotel in this vicinity, and as there is a really
excellent bowling-alley attached to it, and the barroom has a floor
upon which the miners can dance, and, above all, a cook who can play
the violin, it is very popular. But the clinking of glasses, and the
swaggering air of some of the drinkers, remind us that it is no place
for a lady, so we will pass through the dining-room, and, emerging at
the kitchen, in a step or two reach our log cabin. Enter, my dear; you
are perfectly welcome. Besides, we could not keep you out if we would,
as there is not even a latch on the canvas door, though we really
intend, in a day or two, to have a hook put onto it.
The room into which we have just entered is about twenty feet square.
It is lined over the top with white cotton cloth, the breadths of
which, being sewed together only in spots, stretch gracefully apart in
many places, giving one a bird's-eye view of the shingles above. The
sides are hung with a gaudy chintz, which I consider a perfect marvel
of calico-printing. The artist seems to have exhausted himself on
_roses_. From the largest cabbage down to the tiniest Burgundy, he has
arranged them in every possible variety of wreath, garland, bouquet,
and single flower. They are of all stages of growth, from earliest
budhood up to the ravishing beauty of the "last rose of summer." Nor
has he confined himself to the colors usually worn by this lovely
plant, but, with the daring of a great genius soaring above nature,
worshiping the ideal rather than the real, he has painted them brown,
purple, green, black, and blue. It would need a floral catalogue to
give you the names of _all_ the varieties which bloom upon the calico,
but, judging by the shapes, which really are much like the originals, I
can swear to moss-roses, Burgundies, York and Lancaster, tea-roses, and
multifloras.
A curtain of the above-described chintz (I shall hem it at the first
opportunity) divides off a portion of the room, behind which stands a
bedstead that in ponderosity leaves the Empire couches far behind. But
before I attempt the furniture let me finish describing the cabin
itself.
The fireplace is built of stones and mud, the chimney finished off with
alternate layers of rough sticks and this same rude mortar. Contrary to
the usual custom, it is built inside, as it was thought that
arrangement would make the room more comfortable, and you may imagine
the queer appearance of this unfinished pile of stones, mud, and
sticks. The mantelpiece (remember that on this portion of a great
building some artists, by their exquisite workmanship, have become
world-renowned) is formed of a beam of wood covered with strips of tin
procured from cans, upon which still remain, in black hieroglyphics,
the names of the different eatables which they formerly contained. Two
smooth stones (how delightfully primitive!) do duty as fire-dogs. I
suppose that it would be no more than civil to call a hole two feet
square, in one side of the room, a window, although it is as yet
guiltless of glass. F. tried to coax the proprietor of the Empire to
let him have a window from that pine-and-canvas palace, but he, of
course, declined, as to part with it would really inconvenience
himself. So F. has sent to Marysville for some glass, though it is the
general opinion that the snow will render the trail impassible for
mules before we can get it. In this case we shall tack up a piece of
cotton cloth, and should it chance at any time to be very cold, hang a
blanket before the opening. At present the weather is so mild that it
is pleasanter as it is, though we have a fire in the mornings and
evenings, more, however, for luxury than because we really need it. For
my part, I almost hope that we shall not be able to get any glass, for
you will perhaps remember that it was a pet habit of mine, in my own
room, to sit by a great fire, in the depth of winter, with my window
open.
One of our friends had nailed up an immense quantity of unhemmed cotton
cloth--very coarse--in front of this opening, and as he evidently
prided himself upon the elegant style in which he had arranged the
drapery, it went to my heart to take it down and suspend in its place
some pretty blue linen curtains which I had brought from the valley. My
toilet-table is formed of a trunk elevated upon two claret-cases, and
by draping it with some more of the blue linen neatly fringed, it
really will look quite handsome, and when I have placed upon it my
rosewood workbox, a large cushion of crimson brocade, some Chinese
ornaments of exquisitely carved ivory, and two or three Bohemian-glass
cologne-stands, it would not disgrace a lady's chamber at home.
The looking-glass is one of those which come in paper cases for dolls'
houses. How different from the full-length psyches so almost
indispensable to a dressing-room in the States!
The wash-stand is another trunk, covered with a towel, upon which you
will see, for bowl, a large vegetable-dish, for ewer, a common-sized
dining-pitcher. Near this, upon a small cask, is placed a pail, which
is daily filled with water from the river. I brought with me from
Marysville a handsome carpet, a hair mattress, pillows, a profusion of
bed-linen, quilts, blankets, towels, etc., so that, in spite of the
oddity of most of my furniture, I am, in reality, as thoroughly
comfortable here as I could be in the most elegant palace.
We have four chairs, which were brought from the Empire. I seriously
proposed having three-legged stools. With my usual desire for symmetry,
I thought that they would be more in keeping; but as I was told that it
would be a great deal of trouble to get them made, I was fain to put up
with mere chairs. So you see that even in the land of gold itself one
cannot have everything that she desires. An ingenious individual in the
neighborhood, blessed with a large bump for mechanics, and good nature,
made me a sort of wide bench, which, covered with a neat plaid, looks
quite sofa-like. A little pine table, with oilcloth tacked over the top
of it, stands in one corner of the room, upon which are arranged the
chess and cribbage boards. There is a larger one for dining purposes,
and as unpainted pine has always a most dreary look, F. went everywhere
in search of oilcloth for it, but there was none at any of the bars. At
last, "Ned," the Humboldt Paganini, remembered two old monte-table
covers which had been thrown aside as useless. I received them
thankfully, and, with my planning and Ned's mechanical genius, we
patched up quite a respectable covering. To be sure, the ragged
condition of the primitive material compelled us to have at one end an
extra border, but that only agreeably relieved the monotony. I must
mention that the floor is so uneven that no article of furniture gifted
with four legs pretends to stand upon but three at once, so that the
chairs, tables, etc., remind you constantly of a dog with a sore foot.
At each end of the mantelpiece is arranged a candlestick, not, much to
my regret, a block of wood with a hole in the center of it, but a real
britanniaware candlestick. The space between is gayly ornamented with
F.'s meerschaum, several styles of clay pipes, cigars, cigarritos, and
every procurable variety of tobacco, for, you know, the aforesaid
individual is a perfect devotee of the Indian weed. If I should give
you a month of Sundays, you would never guess what we use in lieu of a
bookcase, so I will put you out of your misery by informing you
instantly that it is nothing more nor less than a candle-box which
contains the library, consisting of a Bible and prayer-book,
Shakespeare, Spenser, Coleridge, Shelley, Keats, Lowell's Fable for
Critics, Walton's Complete Angler, and some Spanish books,--spiritual
instead of material lights, you see.
There, my dainty Lady Molly, I have given you, I fear, a wearisomely
minute description of my new home. How would you like to winter in such
an abode? in a place where there are no newspapers, no churches,
lectures, concerts, or theaters; no fresh books; no shopping, calling,
nor gossiping little tea-drinkings; no parties, no balls, no picnics,
no tableaus, no charades, no latest fashions, no daily mail (we have an
express once a month), no promenades, no rides or drives; no vegetables
but potatoes and onions, no milk, no eggs, no _nothing_? Now, I expect
to be very happy here. This strange, odd life fascinates me. As for
churches, "the groves were God's first temples," "and for the strength
of the hills, the Swiss mountains bless him"; and as to books, I read
Shakespeare, David, Spenser, Paul, Coleridge, Burns, and Shelley, which
are never old. In good sooth, I fancy that nature intended me for an
Arab or some other nomadic barbarian, and by mistake my soul got packed
up in a Christianized set of bones and muscles. How I shall ever be
able to content myself to live in a decent, proper, well-behaved house,
where toilet-tables are toilet-tables, and not an ingenious combination
of trunk and claret-cases, where lanterns are not broken bottles,
bookcases not candle-boxes, and trunks not wash-stands, but every
article of furniture, instead of being a makeshift, is its own useful
and elegantly finished self, I am sure I do not know. However, when too
much appalled at the humdrummish prospect, I console myself with the
beautiful promises, that "sufficient unto the day is the evil thereof,"
and "as thy days, so shall thy strength be," and trust that when it is
again my lot to live amid the refinements and luxuries of civilization,
I shall endure them with becoming philosophy and fortitude.
LETTER _the_ EIGHTH
[_The_ PIONEER, _September_, 1854]
LIFE _and_ CHARACTERS _at_ INDIAN BAR
SYNOPSIS
Ned, the mulatto cook and the Paganini of the Humboldt Hotel. A naval
character. His ecstasy upon hearing of the coming of the author to the
Bar. Suggestion of a strait-jacket for him. "The only petticoated
astonishment on this Bar". First dinner at the log cabin. Ned's
pretentious setting of the pine dining-table. The Bar ransacked for
viands. The bill of fare. Ned an accomplished violinist. "Chock," his
white accompanist. The author serenaded. An unappreciated "artistic"
gift. A guide of the Fremont expedition camps at Indian Bar. A
linguist, and former chief of the Crow Indians. Cold-blooded recitals
of Indian fights. Indians near the Bar expected to make a murderous
attack upon the miners. The guide's council with them. Flowery reply of
the Indians. A studious Quaker. His merciless frankness and regard for
truth. "The Squire," and how he was elected justice of the peace. Miners
prefer to rule themselves.
Letter _the_ Eighth
LIFE _and_ CHARACTERS _at_ INDIAN BAR
_From our Log Cabin_, INDIAN BAR,
_October_ 20, 1851.
Having seen me, dear M., safely enthroned in my beautiful log palace
with its outer walls all tapestried with moss, perhaps you would like a
description of the coronation-dinner!
You must know that "Ned," the Paganini of the Humboldt, (who, by the
way, is almost an historic, or, better perhaps, naval, character,
inasmuch as he was _cook_ on board of the Somers when her captain
performed his little tragedy, to the horror of an entire nation,) had
been in such a state of ecstasy ever since he had heard of the promised
advent of Mrs. ----, that his _proprietors_, as Ned grandly calls them,
had serious fears of being compelled to strait-jacket him.
"You see, sir," said Ned, "when the queen" (with Ned, as with the rest
of the world, "a substitute shines brightly as a queen until a queen be
by,"--and I am the only petticoated astonishment on this Bar) "arrives,
_she_ will appreciate my culinary efforts. It is really discouraging,
sir, after I have exhausted my skill in preparing a dish, to see the
gentlemen devour it with as much unconcern as though it had been cooked
by a mere bungler in our art"!
When we entered our new home, we found the cloth--it was a piece left
of that which lined the room overhead--already laid. As it was unhemmed
and somewhat tattered at the ends, an imaginative mind might fancy it
fringed on purpose, though, like the poor little Marchioness with her
orange-peel and water, one would have to _make believe_ very hard.
Unfortunately, it was not wide enough for the table, and a dashing
border of white pine banded each side of it. Ned had invested an
unknown quantity of gold-dust in a yard of diaper,--awfully
coarse,--which, divided into four pieces, and fringed to match the
tablecloth, he had placed napkin-wise in the tumblers. He had evidently
ransacked the whole bar to get viands wherewith to decorate the various
dishes, which were as follows.
_First Course_
OYSTER SOUP
_Second Course_
FRIED SALMON CAUGHT FROM THE RIVER
_Third Course_
ROAST BEEF & BOILED HAM
_Fourth Course_
FRIED OYSTERS
_Vegetables_
POTATOES & ONIONS
_Pastry_
MINCE PIE, & PUDDING MADE WITHOUT EGGS OR MILK
_Dessert_
MADEIRA NUTS & RAISINS
_Wines_
CLARET & CHAMPAGNE
_Coffee_
I found that Ned had not overrated his powers. The dinner, when one
considers the materials of which it was composed, was really excellent.
The soup was truly a great work of art; the fried oysters dreamily
delicious; and as to the coffee, Ned must have got the receipt for
making it from the very angel who gave the beverage to Mahomet to
restore that individual's decayed moisture.
Ned himself waited, dressed in a brand-new flannel shirt and calico
ditto, his hair--he is a light mulatto--frizzled to the most intense
degree of corkscrewity, and a benign and self-satisfied smile
irradiating his face, such as _should_ illumine the features of a great
artist when he knows that he has achieved something, the memory of
which the world will not willingly let die. In truth, he needed but
white kid gloves to have been worthy of standing behind the chair of
Count d'Orsay himself. So grand was his air, so ceremonious his every
motion, that we forgot we were living in the heart of the Sierra
Nevada; forgot that our home was a log cabin of mere primitive
rudeness; forgot that we were sitting at a rough pine table covered
with a ragged piece of four-cent cotton cloth, eating soup with iron
spoons!
I wish, my funny little Molly, that you could have been here
clairvoyantly. It was one of those scenes, just touched with that fine
and almost imperceptible _perfume_ of the ludicrous, in which you
especially delight. There are a thousand minute shreds of the absurd
which my duller sense overlooks, but which never can hope to escape
your mirth-loving vision.
Ned really plays beautifully on the violin. There is a white man, by
the name of "Chock," who generally accompanies him. Of course, true
daughter of Eve that you are, you will wish to know "right off" what
Chock's _other_ name is. Young woman, I am ashamed of you! Who ever
asks for the _other_ name of Alexander, of Hannibal, of Homer? Suffice
it that he is Chock by himself,--Chock, and assistant violinist to
Paganini Vattal Ned.
Ned and one of his musical cronies--a white man--gave me a serenade the
other evening. As it was quite cold, F. made them come inside the
cabin. It was the richest thing possible, to see the patronizing and
yet serene manner with which Ned directed his companion what marches,
preludes, etc., to play for the amusement of that profound culinary and
musical critic, Dame Shirley.
It must be confessed that Ned's love of the beautiful is not quite so
correct as his taste in cooking and violin-playing. This morning a
gentle knock at my door was followed by that polite person, bearing in
triumph a small waiter, purloined from the Humboldt, on which stood in
state, festooned with tumblers, a gaudy pitcher, which would have
thrown Tearsoul and Lelie into ecstasies of delight. It was almost as
wonderful a specimen of art as my chintz hanging. The groundwork is
pure white, upon which, in bas-relief, are _executed_ two
diabolical-looking bandits, appallingly bewhiskered and mustached,
dressed in red coats, yellow pantaloons, green boots, orange-colored
caps with brown feathers in them, and sky-blue bows and arrows. Each of
the fascinating vagabonds is attended by a bird-of-paradise-colored
dog, with a crimson tail waggingly depicted. They are embowered beneath
a morning-glory vine, evidently a species of the Convolvulus unknown in
America, as each one of its pink leaves, springing from purple stems,
is three times the size of the bandit's head.