gathered from the garden, our friends went in to, or rather _out_ to,
the kitchen fire (two or three stones are generally the extent of this
useful apartment in the mines) to assist in preparing the
breakfast--and _such_ a breakfast! If "Tadger could do it when it
chose," so can we miners. We had--but what did we _not_ have? There
were oysters which, I am sure, could not have been nicer had they just
slid from their shells on the shore at Amboy; salmon, in color like the
red, red gold; venison with a fragrant spicy gusto, as if it had been
fed on cedar-buds; beef cooked in the Spanish fashion,--that is, strung
onto a skewer and roasted on the coals,--than which I never tasted
better; preserved chicken; and almost every possible vegetable bringing
up the rear. Then, for drinkables, we had tea, coffee, and chocolate;
champagne, claret, and porter, with stronger spirits _for_ the stronger
spirits. We lacked but one thing. That was ice; which we forgot to
bring from the Bar. As, only four miles from our cabin, the snow never
melts, that is a luxury we are never without, and, indeed, so
excessively warm has been the season, that without it, and the milk
which has been brought us daily from a rancho five miles from here, we
should have suffered. I must say that even though we had no ice, our
mountain picnic, with its attendant dandies in their blue and red
flannel shirts, was the most charming affair of the kind that I ever
attended.
On our return we called to see Yank's cub, which is fast rising into
young grizzly-bearhood. It is about the size of a calf, very
good-natured, and quite tame. Its acquirements, as yet, are few, being
limited to climbing a pole. Its education has not been conducted with
that care and attention which so intelligent a beast merits, but it is
soon, I hear, to be removed to the valley and placed under teachers
capable of developing its wonderful talents to the utmost.
We also stopped at a shanty to get a large gray squirrel which had been
promised to me some days before; but I certainly am the most
unfortunate wretch in the world with pets. This spiteful thing, on
purpose to annoy me I do believe, went and got itself drowned the very
night before I was to take it home. It is always so.
I never had two humming-birds,
With plumage like a sunset sky,
But one was sure to fly away,
And the other one was sure to die.
I never nursed a flying-squirrel,
To glad me with its soft black eye,
But it always ran into somebody's tent,
Got mistaken for a rat and killed!
There, M.; there is poetry for you. "Oh, the second verse doesn't
rhyme."--"Doesn't?"--"And it ain't original, is it?" Well, _I_ never
heard that rhyme was necessary to make a poet, any more than colors to
make a painter. And what if Moore _did_ say the same thing twenty years
ago? I am sure any writer would consider himself lucky to have an idea
which has been anticipated but _once_. I am tired of being a "mute
inglorious Milton," and, like that grand old master of English song,
would gladly write something which the world would not willingly let
die; and having made that first step, as witness the above verses, who
knows what will follow?
Last night one of our neighbors had a dinner-party. He came in to
borrow a teaspoon. "Had you not better take them all?" I said. "Oh,
no," was the answer; "that would be too much luxury. My guests are not
used to it, and they would think that I was getting aristocratic, and
putting on airs. One is enough; they can pass it round from one to the
other."
A blacksmith--not the learned one--has just entered, inquiring for the
Doctor, who is not in, and he is obliged to wait. Shall I write down
the conversation with which he is at this moment entertaining me? "Who
writ this 'ere?" is his first remark, taking up one of my most precious
books, and leaving the marks of his irreverent fingers upon the clean
pages. "Shakespeare," I answer, as politely as possible. "Did
Spokeshave write it? He was an almighty smart fellow, that Spokeshave,
I've hear'n tell," replies my visitor. "I must write hum and tell our
folks that this 'ere is the first carpet I've seen sin' I came to
Californy, four year come next month," is his next remark. For the last
half-hour he has been entertaining me with a wearisome account of the
murder of his brother by an Irishman in Boston, and the chief feeling
which he exhibits is a fear that the jury should only bring in a
verdict of manslaughter. But I hear F.'s step, and his entrance
relieves me from the bore.
I am too tired to write more. Alas, dear M. this letter is indeed a
stupid one--a poor return for your pregnant epistles. It is too late to
better it. The express goes at eight in the morning. The midnight moon
is looking wonderingly in at the cabin window, and the river has a
sleepy murmur that impels me irresistibly bedward.
LETTER _the_ TWENTY-FIRST
[_The_ PIONEER, _October_, 1855]
DISCOMFORTS _of_ TRIP _to_ POLITICAL CONVENTION
SYNOPSIS
Visit to the American Valley. Journey thither. Scenes by the way.
Political convention. Delegates from Indian Bar. Arrival at Greenwood's
Rancho, headquarters of Democrats. Overcrowded. Party proceed to the
American Rancho, headquarters of Whigs. Also overcrowded. Tiresome ride
of ladies on horseback. Proceed to house of friend of lady in party. An
inhospitable reception, but the author entertains herself. Men of party
return to American Rancho. Inroad upon the eatables. Landlord aghast,
but pacified by generous orders for drinkables. California houses not
proof against eavesdroppers. Misunderstandings and explanations
overheard by the author. Illness of hostess. Uncomfortable and
miserable night, and worse quarters. Handsome riding-habit, etc., of
the hostess. Table-service, carpeting, chests of tea, casks of sugar,
bags of coffee, etc., "the good people possessed everything but a
house". "The most beautiful spot I ever saw in California". Owner
building house of huge hewn logs. The author returns to the American
Rancho. Its primitive furniture, etc. Political visitors. The
convention. Horse-racing and gambling. The author goes to Greenwood's
Rancho. More primitive furniture and lack of accommodations. Misplaced
benevolence of Bostonians. Should transfer their activities to
California.
Letter _the_ Twenty-first
DISCOMFORTS _of_ TRIP _to_ POLITICAL CONVENTION
_From our Log Cabin_, INDIAN BAR,
_October_ 16, 1852.
Since I last wrote you, dear M., I have spent three weeks in the
American Valley, and I returned therefrom humbled to the very dust when
thinking of my former vainglorious boast of having "seen the elephant."
To be sure, if having fathomed to its very depths the power of mere
existence, without any reference to those conventional aids which
civilization has the folly to think necessary to the performance of
that agreeable duty, was any criterion, I certainly fancied that I had
a right to brag of having taken a full view of that most piquant
specimen of the brute creation, the California "elephant." But it seems
that I was mistaken, and that we miners have been dwelling in perfect
palaces, surrounded by furniture of the most gorgeous description, and
reveling in every possible luxury. Well, one lives and learns, even on
the borders of civilization. But to begin at the beginning, let me tell
you the history of my dreadful pleasure-tour to the American Valley.
You must know that a convention had been appointed to meet at that
place for the purpose of nominating representatives for the coming
election. As F. had the misfortune to be one of the delegates, nothing
would do but I must accompany him; for, as my health had really
suffered through the excitements of the summer, he fancied that change
of air might do me good. Mrs. ----, one of our new ladies, had been
invited to spend a few weeks in the same place, at the residence of a
friend of her husband, who was living there with his family. As Mr.
---- was also one of the delegates, we made up a party together, and,
being joined by two or three other gentlemen, formed quite a gay
cavalcade.
The day was beautiful. But when is it ever otherwise in the mountains
of California? We left the Bar by another ascent than the one from
which I entered the Bar, and it was so infinitely less steep than the
latter, that it seemed a mere nothing. You, however, would have fancied
it quite a respectably hill, and Mr. ---- said that so fearful did it
seem to him the first time he went down it, that he vowed never to
cross it but once more,--a vow, by the way, which has been broken many
times. The whole road was a succession of charming tableaux, in which
sparkling streamlets, tiny waterfalls, frisky squirrels gleaming amid
the foliage like a flash of red light, quails with their pretty gray
plumage flecked with ivory, dandy jays, great awkward black crows, pert
little lizards, innumerable butterflies, and a hundred other
Plumed insects, winged and free,
Like golden boats on a sunny sea,
were the characters, grouped in a frame of living green, curtained with
the blue folds of our inimitable sky.
We had intended to start very early in the morning, but, as usual on
such excursions, did not get off until about ten o'clock. Somebody's
horse came up missing, or somebody's saddle needed repairing, or
somebody's shirt did not come home in season from the washer-Chinaman
(for if we _do_ wear flannel shirts, we choose to have them clean when
we ride out with the ladies), or something else equally important
detained us. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when we reached
the valley and rode up to Greenwood's Rancho, which, by the way, was
the headquarters of the Democratic party. It was crowded to
overflowing, as our ears told us long before we came in sight of it,
and we found it utterly impossible to obtain lodgings there. This
building has no windows, but a strip of crimson calico, placed half-way
from the roof and running all round the house, lets in the _red_ light
and supplies their place. However, we did not stop long to enjoy the
pictorial effect of the scarlet windows,--which really look very
prettily in the night,--but rode straight to the American Rancho, a
quarter of a mile beyond. This was the headquarters of the Whigs, to
which party our entire company, excepting myself, belonged. Indeed, the
gentlemen had only consented to call at the other house through
compassion for the ladies, who were suffering from extreme fatigue, and
they were rejoiced at the prospect of getting among birds of the same
feather. There, however, we were informed that it was equally
impossible to procure accommodations. In this dilemma we could do
nothing but accept Mrs. ----'s kind invitation and accompany her to the
rancho of her friend, although she herself had intended, as it was so
late, to stop at one of the hotels for the night. We were so lucky as
to procure a guide at this place, and with this desirable addition to
the party, we started on.
I had been very sick for the last two hours, and had only kept up with
the thought that we should soon arrive at our journey's end; but when I
found that we were compelled to ride three miles farther, my heart sank
within me. I gave up all attempts to guide my horse, which one of the
party led, leaned my head on the horn of my saddle, and resigned myself
to my fate. We were obliged to walk our horses the entire distance, as
I was too sick to endure any other motion. We lost our way once or
twice, were exhausted with fatigue and faint with hunger, chilled
through with the cold, and our feet wet with the damp night-air.
I forgot to tell you that Mrs. ----, being very fleshy, was compelled
to ride astride, as it would have been utterly impossible for her to
have kept her seat if she had attempted to cross those steep hills in
the usual feminine mode of sitting a horse. She wore dark-gray
bloomers, and, with a Kossuth hat and feather, looked like a handsome
chubby boy. Now, riding astride, to one unaccustomed to it, is, as you
can easily imagine, more safe than comfortable, and poor Mrs. ---- was
utterly exhausted.
When we arrived at our destined haven, which we did at last, the
gentleman of the house came forward and invited Mr. and Mrs. ---- to
alight. Not a word was said to the rest of us, not even "Good evening."
But I was too far gone to stand upon ceremony. So I dismounted and made
a rush for the cooking-stove, which, in company with an immense
dining-table on which lay (enchanting sight!) a quarter of beef, stood
under a roof, the four sides open to the winds of heaven. As for the
remainder of the party, they saw how the land lay, and vamosed to parts
unknown, namely, the American Rancho, where they arrived at four
o'clock in the morning, some tired, I _guess_, and made such a fearful
inroad upon the eatables that the proprietor stood aghast, and was only
pacified by the ordering in from the bar of a most generous supply of
the drinkable, which, as he sells it by the glass, somewhat reconciled
him to the terrific onslaught upon the larder.
In the mean time behold me, with much more truth than poetry literally
alone in my glory, seated upon a wooden stool, with both feet perched
upon the stove, and crouching over the fire in a vain attempt to coax
some warmth into my thoroughly chilled frame. The gentleman and lady of
the house, with Mr. and Mrs. ----, are assembled in grand conclave, in
one room, of which the building consists, and as California houses are
_not_ planned with a view to eavesdroppers, I have the pleasure of
hearing the following spirited and highly interesting conversation.
There is a touching simplicity about it truly dramatic.
I must premise that Mrs. ---- had written the day before to know if the
visit, which her husband's friend had so earnestly solicited, would be
conveniently received at this time, and was answered by the arrival,
the next morning, for the use of herself and husband, of two horses,
one of which I myself had the pleasure of riding, and found it a most
excellent steed. Moreover, when Mr. ---- gave her the invitation, he
said he would be pleased to have one of her lady friends accompany her.
So you see she was "armed and equipped as the law directed."
Thus defended, she was ushered into the presence of her hostess, whom
she found reclining gracefully upon a very nice bed hung with
snow-white muslin curtains, looking--for she is extremely pretty,
though now somewhat pale--like a handsome wax doll.
"I am extremely sorry to find you unwell. Pray, when were you taken?
and are you suffering much at present?" commenced Mrs. ----, supposing
that her illness was merely an attack of headache, or some other
temporary sickness.
"Ah," groaned my lady, in a faint voice, "I have had a fever, and am
just beginning to get a little better. I have not been able to sit up
any yet, but hope to do so in a few days. As we have no servants, my
husband is obliged to nurse me, as well as to cook for several men, and
I am really afraid that, under the circumstances, you will not be as
comfortable here as I could wish."
"But, good heavens, my dear madam, why did you not send me word that
you were sick? Surely you must have known that it would be more
agreeable to me to visit you when you are in health," replied Mrs.
----.
"Oh," returned our fair invalid, "I thought that you had set your heart
upon coming, and would be disappointed if I postponed the visit."
Now, this was adding insult to injury. Poor Mrs. ----! Worn out with
hunger, shivering with cold, herself far from well, a new-comer, unused
to the makeshift ways which some people fancy essential to California
life, expecting from the husband's representations--and knowing that he
was very rich--so different a reception, and withal frank perhaps to a
fault, she must be pardoned if she was not as grateful as she ought to
have been, and answered a little crossly,--
"Well, I must say that I have not been treated well. Did you really
think that I was so childishly crazy to get away from home that I would
leave my nice plank house,"--it rose into palatial splendor when
compared with the floorless shanty, less comfortable than a Yankee
farmer's barn, in which she was standing,--"with its noble fireplace,
nice board floor, two pleasant windows, and comfortable bed, for this
wretched place? Upon my word, I am very much disappointed. However, I
do not care so much for myself as for poor Mrs. ----, whom I persuaded
to come with me."
"What! is there _another_ lady?" almost shrieked (and well she might,
under the circumstances) the horror-stricken hostess. "You can sleep
with me, but I am sure I do not know what we can do with another one."
"Certainly," was the bold reply of Mrs. ----, for she was too much
provoked to be embarrassed in the least. "Availing myself of your
husband's kind permission, I invited Mrs. ----, who could not procure
lodgings at either of the hotels, to accompany me. But even if I were
alone I should decidedly object to sleep with a sick person, and should
infinitely prefer wrapping myself in my shawl and lying on the ground
to being guilty of such a piece of selfishness."
"Well," groaned the poor woman, "Jonathan" (or Ichabod, or David, or
whatever was the domestic name of her better half), "I suppose that you
must make up some kind of a bed for them on the ground."
Now, M., only fancy my hearing all this! _Wasn't_ it a fix for a
sensitive person to be in? But, instead of bursting into tears and
making myself miserable, as once I should have done, I enjoyed the
contretemps immensely. It almost cured my headache, and when Mrs. ----
came to me and tried to soften matters, I told her to spare her pretty
speeches, as I had heard the whole and would not have missed it for
anything.
In the mean time the useful little man, combining in his small person
the four functions of husband, cook, nurse, and gentleman, made us a
cup of tea and some saleratus biscuit, and though I detest saleratus
biscuit, and was longing for some of the beef, yet, by killing the
taste of the alkali with onions, we contrived to satisfy our hunger,
and the tea warmed us a little. Our host, in his capacity of
chambermaid, had prepared us a couch. I was ushered into the presence
of the fair invalid, to whom I made a polite apology for my intrusion.
My feet sank nearly to the ankles in the dirt and small stones as I
walked across her room.
But how shall I describe to you the sufferings of that dreadful night?
I have slept on tables, on doors, and on trunks. I have reclined on
couches, on chairs, and on the floor. I have lain on beds of straw, of
corn-husks, of palm-leaf, and of ox-hide. I remember one awful night
spent in a bedbuggy berth, on board of a packet-boat on one of the
lakes. In my younger days I used to allow myself to be stretched upon
the Procrustes bed of other people's opinion, though I have got bravely
over such folly, and now I generally act, think, and speak as best
pleases myself. I slept two glorious nights on the bare turf, with my
saddle for a pillow and God's kindly sky for a quilt. I had _heard_ of
a bed of thorns, of the soft side of a plank, and of the bed-rock. But
all my _bodily_ experience, theoretical or practical, sinks into
insignificance before a bed of cobblestones. Nothing in ancient or
modern history can compare with it, unless it be the Irishman's famous
down couch, which consisted of a single feather laid upon a rock, and,
like him, if it had not been for the name of it, I should have
preferred the bare rock. They _said_ that there was straw in the
ticking upon which we lay, but I should never have imagined so from the
feeling. We had neither pillows nor sheets, but the coarsest blue
blankets, and not enough of them, for bedclothes; so that we suffered
with cold, to add to our other miseries. And then the fleas! Well, like
the Grecian artist who veiled the face whose anguish he dared not
attempt to depict, I will leave to your imagination that blackest
portion of our strange experiences on that awful occasion.
What became of Mr. ----, our host, etc., on this dreadful night, was
never known. Mrs. ---- and I held council together, and concluded that
he was spirited away to some friendly haystack, but as he himself
maintained a profound silence on the subject, it remains to this hour
an impenetrable mystery, and will be handed down to posterity on the
page of history with that of the man in the iron mask, and the more
modern but equally insolvable riddle of "Who struck Billy Patterson?"
As soon as it was light we awoke and glanced around the room. On one
side hung a large quantity of handsome dresses, with a riding-habit,
hat, gauntlets, whip, saddle and bridle, all of the most elegant
description. On the other side, a row of shelves contained a number of
pans of milk. There was also a very pretty table-service of white
crockery, a roll of white carpeting, boxes of soap, chests of tea,
casks of sugar, bags of coffee, etc., etc., in the greatest profusion.
We went out into the air. The place, owned by our host, is the most
beautiful spot that I ever saw in California. We stood in the midst of
a noble grove of the loftiest and largest trees, through which ran two
or three carriage-roads, with not a particle of undergrowth to be seen
in any direction. Somewhere near the center of this lovely place he is
building a house of hewn logs. It will be two stories high, and very
large. He intends finishing it with the piazza all around, the
first-floor windows to the ground, green blinds, etc. He informed us
that he thought it would be finished in three weeks. You can see that
it would have been much pleasanter for Mrs. ---- to have had the
privilege of deferring her visit for a month.
We had a most excellent breakfast. As Mrs. ---- said, the good people
possessed everything but a house.
Soon after breakfast, my friends, who suspected from appearances the
night before that I should not prove a very welcome visitor, came for
me, the wife of the proprietor of the American Rancho having
good-naturedly retired to the privacy of a covered wagon (she had just
crossed the plains) and placed her own room at my disposal. Mrs. ----
insisted upon accompanying me until her friend was better. As she truly
said, she was too unwell herself to either assist or amuse another
invalid.
My apartment, which was built of logs, was vexatiously small, with no
way of letting in light, except by the door. It was as innocent of a
floor, and almost as thickly strewn with cobblestones, as the one which
I had just left; but then, there _were_ some frames built against the
side of it, which served for a bedstead, and we had sheets, which,
though coarse, were clean. Here, with petticoats, stockings, shoes, and
shirts hanging against the logs in picturesque confusion, we received
calls from senators, representatives, judges, attorney-generals,
doctors, lawyers, officers, editors, and ministers.
The convention came off the day after our arrival in the valley, and as
both of the nominees were from our settlement, we began to think that
we were quite a people.
Horse-racing and gambling, in all their detestable varieties, were the
order of the day. There was faro and poker for the Americans, monte for
the Spaniards, lansquenet for the Frenchmen, and smaller games for the
outsiders.
At the close of the convention the rancho passed into new hands, and as
there was much consequent confusion, I went over to Greenwood's, and
Mrs. ---- returned to the house of her friend, where, having ordered
two or three hundred armfuls of hay to be strewn on the ground, she
made a temporary arrangement with some boards for a bedstead, and fell
to making sheets from one of the innumerable rolls of cloth which lay
about in every direction, for, as I said before, these good people had
everything but a house.
My new room, with the exception of its red-calico window, was exactly
like the old one. Although it was very small, a man and his wife (the
latter was the housekeeper of the establishment) slept there also. With
the aid of those everlasting blue blankets I curtained off our part, so
as to obtain some small degree of privacy. I had _one_ large
pocket-handkerchief (it was meant for a young sheet) on my bed, which
was filled with good, sweet, fresh hay, and plenty of the azure
coverings, so short and narrow that, when once we had lain down, it
behooved us to remain perfectly still until morning, as the least
movement disarranged the bed-furniture and insured us a shivering
night.