SAN FRANCISCO AND THE YOSEMITE VALLEY.
I think we never felt more dirty or forlorn in our lives than on that
bright morning when, crossing the bay in one of the palatial Oakland
ferry steamers, sitting in the deck saloon, we were surrounded by a
crowd of smartly-dressed "Frisco" ladies, particularly humiliated by the
appearance of two of our fellow-travellers in the cars, in fresh morning
toilettes. A bitter east wind was blowing in our teeth, and raising the
muddy waters of the bay into "white horses," and the town with its
straight lines running perpendicularly up the hill, showing the division
of the streets into regular blocks, looked bleak and grey under the
wintry sky.
We could not help being struck by the wonderful precision with which they
run these enormous ferry-boats into a dock, fitted with exact nicety to
their dimensions, rarely "bumping" against the floating piles, which,
however give slightly to a pressure on either side as required.
As your foot is set on the wharf, an army of hotel "touts" besiege
you, ready to devour you and your small hand-baggage, and it is with
difficulty, and only after some display of firmness and decision, that
you are allowed to select the natural choice of a first visit to San
Francisco--the Palace Hotel. Rejecting the omnibus or large yellow coach,
we took a carriage, to be as quickly as possible installed in a charming
suite of rooms; all our possessions, from which we have been so long
separated, once more gathered around us--luxury again after the four days
of heat and discomfort in "the cars."
We have all heard so much, and for so long of "The Palace," that it is
hard to be disenchanted. When the hotel was first built, it _was_ a
marvel of magnificence, but since then others as beautiful, as gigantic,
as costly, have sprung up, by the side of which its celebrity is paling.
The arches and white pillars repeat themselves seven times one above the
other, round the four sides of the covered courtyard, and when lighted in
the evening by the single pendant electric light, form a very brilliant
and pretty sight. The attendance, as might be expected, is only moderate,
increasing the feeling ever present of being only a unit among the host
of visitors. You have the option of the American or European system, and
there is an excellent restaurant, but the courtyard, the piazza, the long
corridors leading to the ladies' entrance and waiting-rooms, are filled
with groups of men lounging and hanging about; it is, in fact, a general
meeting-place for the citizens, which renders it unpleasant for ladies.
The rooms are not numbered according to floors, but the hotel is divided
into blocks, called according to the street towards which it faces, and
each block, with its separate lift and numbering, forms a house of itself.
It may be mentioned in passing that the proprietor, Mr. Sharon, is at
present defendant in a tremendous divorce case, which has been occupying
the court and local press for the last eighty days; the leading counsel
on either side is a "colonel" for the petitioner, and a "general" for the
respondent. We spent the afternoon in wandering about among the splendid
stores, and in re-hatting C., who was much reduced by the loss of one hat
in the early days of our travels, and by the collapse of the remainder
in the railway accident. At first surprised by the beautiful furs and
sealskin paletots of the ladies we met in the streets, we soon understood
the wisdom of their winter wraps when at four o'clock we were driven home
by the cold wind, and raw sea fog, hanging about the city.
_Sunday, August 24th. Palace Hotel, San Francisco._--We arrived in church
in time for the second lesson, having met with a shake of the head, and
in one case an honest confession "that he never went to church," in
answer to our inquiries for Trinity Church.
We made an unsuccessful attempt to reach Cliff House by the Cable Cars
in the afternoon. An expedition there is the favourite Sunday amusement.
You go out, over the bleak downs, along the edge of the cliffs, to the
small hotel, where a few seals are to be seen disporting themselves on
the rocks beneath, sounding their monotonous "bark" or call. The wind
was blowing in our faces, and the mist driving before us, and at last,
as we seemed about to penetrate into a cloud which had descended on the
further hill, we called a halt, as we were passing a return car. We had
seen part of one of the pretty suburbs that are San Francisco's greatest
attractions, where the villas of her Bonanza or railway kings centre--men
whose fortunes were made in the gold beds of the tributaries to the San
Joaquin and Sacramento rivers, barely forty years ago. Then San Francisco
was but a village of shanties which they called "Yerba Buena" or good
hut, and the "hoodlum" element predominated, traces of which are still to
be found but too frequently in many of the low quarters of the city. Not
so very long ago it was necessary to carry a revolver about. It was worn
daily as a matter of course, and an unintentional raising of the hand to
the place where it was secreted might prove fatal, causing an opponent to
draw his under suspicion, and in supposed self-defence.
There are many evident traces of the quick rise to wealth that has
been the ordinary lot of the inhabitants of the city. You notice it
particularly in the extraordinary number of jewellers' stores, and the
display of diamonds, in the expensive upholsterers, with their superb if
gaudy furniture, in the marvellous curios of Chinese and Japanese art,
that here find a ready sale.
Disgusted with the climate of San Francisco, we fully expected to be
told the usual story about "phenomenal weather." Every one has observed
how exceptional the weather generally is when they happen to visit a
certain place. But no, we found it is the rule here for the bright, sunny
mornings to change to cold wind and sea fog in the afternoon throughout
the summer months. During the winter the climate is warm and equable,
and it therefore possesses the advantage of having no great extremes
throughout the year.
_Monday, August 25th. San Francisco._--A morning of indecision, angry
agents, each "touting" for their route, a hurrying about from one office
to the other.
The question under consideration was an expedition to the Yosemite
Valley. A telegram from New York confirmed the date of the 30th as the
arrival of the mails and the departure of the Pacific Mail Steamboat, the
_Australia_, for New Zealand. This left us exactly four days in which
to carry out the expedition, one and a half to go into the valley, the
afternoon there, and two days to come out again. I confess now that it
is all over, that it was a mad idea to think it practicable. Five years
ago I had heard my first description of this wonderland, and been seized
with an unreasoning desire to see it. All through the continent I had
been hurrying and pushing on, particularly towards the last, chafing
feverishly against the delays caused by our mishaps on the railways;
fearful lest time should fail us at the last for the Yosemite Valley.
Was it to be so after all? It was just possible. My earnest entreaties
prevailed, and we went.
Miller, generally considered the popular agent, and supported by the
powerful influence of the chief clerk of the Palace, drew us out
programme No. 1, returning us to San Francisco on Saturday morning
in time to catch the steamer. Walton, the rival agent, drew us out
programme No. 2, which possessed the advantage of bringing us back on
Friday evening, the day before the departure of the steamer. Miller
said Walton was underhorsed and undertimed; Walton read us out a letter
from an Englishman praising his route and saying he had found Miller
"an unmitigated liar." We went to Miller's office, and as we turned
the corner were pounced upon by Walton. This might have lasted out the
day had we not trenched matters, by deciding to go into the valley by
Miller's route, and come out by Walton's, who solemnly promised to stake
his reputation on bringing us back on the Friday evening. I packed all
our luggage in the morning in readiness to be sent down to the wharf,
arranged our cabin boxes for the voyage, and, taking only hand-bags, we
started on the expedition.
Mr. Lee, a fellow-traveller, and with whom we became friendly during the
long day spent together in the Desert at Grand Junction, came with us;
to add greatly to our pleasure by his uniform Irish cheerfulness and
imperturbable good temper, under the most trying circumstances.
The first stage of the journey was made in the train, sleeping in the
Pullman Car, which was slipped at 11 p.m. and left standing on the rails
all night. At 4 a.m. the next morning, we hurried across in the grey dawn
to the inn opposite for breakfast. We looked critically at the coach and
team of six horses that were standing ready at the door. The vehicle
perhaps might be more properly described as a large red _char-à-banc_
swung on leathern straps, with a cover overhead. Later on in the morning
we blessed that cover, not only for its grateful protection from the sun,
but for the support that its upright iron stanchions afforded us. We
clung to them convulsively, for to say that we jolted and bumped would
be to give no adequate idea of the violent exercise we went through. We
collided with one another, and slipped up and down the seat, we were
thrown up in the air to come down again with a thud that jarred the
whole system. In vain we grasped the front seat, or clung round the iron
standards, planting the feet firmly on the footboard, determined not to
go up with the next bound of the coach. It was all to no purpose, and by
the end of the first hour we were sore and aching, looking at each other
in blank dismay, with the knowledge of the seventy miles' coaching to be
gone through that day. I remember that it was our shoulder-blades that
suffered most, and that it was impossible to keep the air cushions we
tried, as a relief, in their place. It was not the pitching of the coach,
though we often saw it rise up above the leaders and then descend till
the wheelers were visible again, that we dreaded, but the large stones
over which the wheels passed with a relentless jar which communicated
itself to the whole nervous system.
But the most trying thing of all was the dust, which under the
twenty-four hoofs of our six horses, rose in clouds around us. Sometimes
for a moment we were so enshrouded as to be invisible to each other,
and then as it cleared off, and we drew breath freely again, mouth and
nostril were full of the fine sand which we tasted and smelt. It was,
too, of a peculiar red colour, imparting its ruddy tinge to everything we
wore; in fact, our things never recovered that expedition, and for long
afterwards, notwithstanding the vigorous brushings, which I gave with
an unstinting hand on our return, we used to detect its traces and say,
"Some of the Yosemite dust!" A soft woollen shawl which we had with us,
absorbed such an immense quantity, that it even now responds to a gentle
shake by giving forth a little cloud of dust. We used to arrive each
night at our destination enshrouded in a film of the same, and there was
difficulty amongst the passengers in claiming their small hand-baggage
from amongst a pile of dust-smothered luggage.
We began our journey by crossing over a flat plain, and our curiosity
was excited by a wooden aqueduct running parallel with the road. We kept
it in sight for many miles, and never really lost it throughout the
whole day, passing it again late in the afternoon. It was a plane or
wooden trough, constructed on a slight incline, filled with a stream of
water, flowing at the rate of five miles an hour, and down which lumber
was floated a distance of seventy miles. This ingenious contrivance is
the means of utilizing much of the splendid timber that lies rotting
in the mountain forests, useless because of the enormous labour and
expense of transporting it to the abode of man. Several experiments were
necessary before the "flume" was perfected, the V shape being adopted,
as it was found in the square troughs that the lumber in floating down
would be driven transversely, and so occasion a block. We presently
exchanged the prairie-like plain for a more hilly country abounding in a
stunted undergrowth of dwarf oak, cork, myrtle, and ilex trees, freely
interspersed with large masses of rock, in such isolated positions, that
we could not help wondering how they ever came there. The blue range of
mountains that we were to cross later in the afternoon were becoming
more distinct. At a very early hour in the morning the sun had become
powerful; we were hungry after our five o'clock breakfast, depressed at
the prospect before us, and by eleven o'clock, when we made our first
halt to change horses, we had reached a pitch of great misery.
There were some tame rattlesnakes shedding their skins outside the inn,
and we were able to get a large cornucopia of sweet white grapes to
refresh us.
The Californian coach-drivers are famed for their skilful driving; they
are hardly worked with four days a week, driving continuously seventy
miles, but they receive high pay, ranging from seventy to eighty dollars
a month. It is nice to watch their care and interest in the horses;
knowing the peculiarities of each one, husbanding their strength, and
frequently stopping to water them from the iron pail that clanks in the
boot behind. They are well known on the road, and it is amusing to hear
their various merits discussed. They need to be careful and experienced
men when you think of the sharp corners turned at a hand gallop, and
the roads, which for the most part are made overhanging the precipice.
More danger might be feared from the footpads, or "road agents" as they
are called, who have frequently stopped the coach and robbed the mails.
This occurred only last year, and no traces have ever been found of the
robbers.
Another three hours of growing discomfort brought us to Coarse Gold
Gulch, where we rested for luncheon. We were received by the German
daughters of the house in the cool trellised verandah covered with vines,
with long feather brooms, and the outer layer of dust was prudently
removed before we were allowed to enter the house. We waited a weary
while for the coach returning from the valley, and when it did arrive it
was comforting to see others in a condition as bad as ourselves; to hear
that we had got over the most scorching and dusty bit of road; to be told
of the glories of the valley by those still under its influence; and to
be given advice on the best way of spending our one afternoon there.
We discovered at once a passenger booked like ourselves for the
_Australia_, Mr. Davidson, of Edinburgh, who proved, in our subsequent
journeyings together, such a pleasant and intelligent travelling
companion.
We began gently ascending again, when we continued our journey, for the
most part through a shady ravine, till we crossed what was apparently an
outlying spur, and began the tedious climb of the larger range. At times
the horses seemed hardly to make any progress, and they crawled along
with the coach lumbering and creaking after them. Then for the first time
we saw specimens of the Sequoia Gigantea, that wonderful genus peculiar
to California. Presently we were passing through miles of its forests,
their purple and pink-streaked stems, straight and slim, reaching to
an enormous height before striking out into long branching arms, which
interlace to form a feathery network against the sky. This closely packed
array of mighty giants, stretching away into long vistas of upright stems
in the dim distance, gives one a feeling of being surrounded by conscious
though inanimate beings; they give a feeling of strength in repose,
increased by the stillness and silence of all around; for the wheels move
noiselessly over the thick carpet of fir needles, and there is only a
rustling murmur of the breeze in the pines overhead.
There are no singing birds here, and the only sign of animal life is a
ground squirrel darting across the road, and scampering up the nearest
tree.
Here and there we emerged into sunlight from the cool depths of the
forest, to see the range of mountains forming part of the great Coast
Range, looking thin and hazy in the warm afternoon sun. Fire had wrought
destruction amongst many of the trees, leaving charred and blackened
stumps, decaying into curious and weird forms, Sometimes the trunks and
branches, scathed by the fire, remain a beautiful silver grey; in others
the trunks would be completely hollowed, and yet still able to support an
immense framework above. In one case I remember a pine was burnt through
at the base, hollowed out so as to form a perfect V shape.
There appear to be two theories as to the origin of these forest fires;
some say that the trees fire themselves in the fall from extreme dryness;
the other, which would seem the more probable, that the mischief
originates from a spark of the woodman's pipe, or perhaps a brand left
burning from the camper's fire. There is no doubt that this is sometimes
the cause of the terrible devastation wrought, and it is no uncommon
thing to see far away the blue wreaths of smoke curling up from the very
heart of a forest that betokens one of these conflagrations.
It is very difficult to convey any idea of the gigantic height of the
sequoias by simple measurement or figures, but I know that many of them
took root in the ravine so far below, that we in the coach overhanging
the precipice, and leaning over, could not trace their origin; whilst
the tops would just be on a level with the road. But all this time we
were toiling upwards, and the shades of evening were beginning to close
around us in gloom, surrounded as we were by the dark pines. We reached
the top about 6 p.m. Just one view of a grand, white mountain, with dark,
purple shadows lying on its jagged peak touched with a few last rays of
light, and we began a mad rush, wild and headlong, down into the valley
in the gathering darkness. The horses swung round the zigzag turns at a
gallop, the leaders all but over the precipice to allow of room for the
remaining four, and for the coach to graze round the corner. Ten, twelve,
fifteen miles an hour, the speed gradually increasing, until, breathless
and unconscious, save of flying through the air, you gave up at last the
anxious watch on the horses, and resigned yourself to the care of the
driver.
Mr. Lee, seeing my terrified face, tried to reassure me by saying, "I
have perfect confidence in the driver, and in the horses, but hope the
vehicle will hold together,"--words that were hardly uttered, when
convulsively the driver was seen straining at the reins, and trying to
pull up suddenly. One of the powerful brakes had given way, and the
horses, feeling the coach at their heels, were preparing to rush madly
round the corner we were just coming to, when they were checked--and
we were saved. The wheel after that had to be dragged with a chain and
straps, and we walked down the remainder of the way, a relief to our
overstrained nerves; but the driver looked crestfallen on arriving at
Clarke's without the usual flourish round the circular drive, pulling up
the steaming horses at the exact arch in the verandah opposite the door.
We slept in the valley that night, guarded by the mountains on every
side, with the sound of a gurgling stream in our ears, dimly seen by the
light of the crescent moon.
_Wednesday, August 27th._--We were off at six the next morning (which
meant getting up at five), ascending the mountains, and soon many feet
above our last night's resting-place in the valley, looking at the lovely
blue mist wreathing and curling up the opposite mountains, out of the
dark shadows of the pine forests. We had a still, quiet morning among
the giant forest trees and shady glades. Down their gullies trickled
sparkling streams, burrowing underground and then flowing out again,
forming tiny cascades over a few rocks and sprinkling the surrounding
ferns with dewdrops. Some of them were so hidden that we only heard
a rustling amongst the green bed by which we traced their course.
Everything in nature could not help looking lovely on that bright morning
with the keen freshness of the early day yet in the air, and the sunlight
peeping through the dark pines, to play in golden cobwebs on the brown
carpet below; but again we missed all sign of life in the absence of
singing birds, and the stillness became almost oppressive. One of the
most beautiful things in these forests are the bright green mosses, that
hang like lichens from the branches of the trees, looking most vivid
against those that are blackened by the fire. The fir cones that lie on
the ground in hundreds are remarkable for their perfect formation and
great length, frequently attaining to a foot or more.
All the morning we alternated in a slow and tedious progress up-hill, and
one of the quick rushes downhill, when we would accomplish in half an
hour the same distance that it had taken us three hours before to mount.
But about twelve o'clock we emerged from the forest on to a level winding
road, overhanging a terrible precipice on the one side, from which was
a view unequalled in beauty and extent in all California. And this is
saying something; for throughout these two days' drives we had been
enjoying a series of superb and magnificent mountain scenes, that taken
singly would alone have been worth coming to see. But here was something
that surpassed them all. The valley at our feet was so deep that the eye
became giddy in following the downward line of the vertical precipice of
rock. You followed the upward slope of dark green mountains rising on
either side of the entrance of the valley, till you gradually let the eye
float away and away over the blue lines that each indicated a separate
mountain range growing fainter as they reached the horizon. This was the
great Sierra Nevada Range.
A more frantic and perilous rush than usual, over a rough, shingly road,
somewhat damped our keen look-out and eager expectation for the first
sight of the longed-for Valley, till we drew up point blank opposite a
sign board,--"Inspiration Point."
This is the most memorable incident in a visit to Yosemite, for in this
first comprehensive glance you take an impression of the Valley, _the
one_ which is to remain always with you, and for all time.
I think this Valley ought to be counted as one of the wonders of the
world, and that this Inspiration Point ought to have a world-wide fame;
to see it should be counted as much an event in a man's life as "to see
Naples and die."
I hope we were not like the gentleman "who had written largely and
felicitously on many subjects," but who exclaimed as he reached this
point, "My God! self-convicted as a spendthrift in words, the only terms
applicable to this spot I have wasted on minor scenes," but I know that
we felt awestruck and stunned for a moment by the beauty before us. We
were on a platform that projected, so that we saw ourselves hanging
over the precipice, just midway between the valley which seemed some
immeasurable distance below, and those strangely human rocks above. Six
miles long, but at no part broader than one mile, the Valley is simply
formed of a cleft or gorge in one of the peaks of the Sierra Nevada. It
is full of gigantic sequoias, dwarfed into ordinary fir-trees when seen
from this tremendous height.
We traced the green waters of the Merced, whose source is in the
imperishable fields of ice and snow, of some far-away peak, in its
wayward wanderings, through the centre of the flat valley.
But the grandeur and sublimity of the valley lie above us in those
marvellous configurations, those fanciful phantoms and wayward fancies
placed there by nature. For centuries and centuries since the foundation
of the world, they have stood there alone in their solemn glory, unseen
by civilized eye, unknown until some thirty years ago.
[Illustration: The Sentinel, Yosemite Valley.
Page 77.]
Facing us there is El Capitan, called by the Indians Totokohula, or great
chief of the valley, the most matchless piece of masonry in the world.
The Twin Brothers are there, the Three Graces, the Sentinel Rock, the
Cathedral with its graceful Spires, the Bridal Veil, the Dome, and the
Half Dome.
"Hundreds have gazed enraptured upon these natural wonders, and return
again and yet again to drink their fill of Nature's handiwork; and
looking 'from Nature up to Nature's God,' thank Him that He has traced
with Almighty hand so many pictures of wondrous and unspeakable grandeur
and beauty. In the course of years, countless beholders will feel their
souls expand to the dimensions of their Almighty Architect as they gaze
upon this incomparable valley."
We drove down over a road invisible from the valley, and stopped just
on the bridge under which flows the stream from the "Bridal Veil." The
Indians gave it the name of "Pohono," or Spirit of the Evil Wind. You
can almost see the single drops falling against the side of the dark
rock, as the spray-like foam, far more beautiful than the "Staubbach" in
Switzerland, comes over the left side of the Cathedral Rock. It falls in
an unbroken sheet, 630 feet, then dashing from the _débris_ of rocks some
200 feet more, flows in a succession of tiny cataracts. The fancifully
pretty name came from the body of water, which, when falling lightly over
the cliff, is swayed to and fro by the pressure of the wind striking the
long column, often giving to it the appearance of a fluttering veil. I
thought it the most beautiful object in the valley.
There are several small inns, but we stopped at Barnard's, which lies
immediately under the Falls which give their name to the Valley. A
hurried consultation with the landlord resulted in the decision to go up
to Glacier Point, which has the most extensive and complete view of all
the different points of interest in the valley. The ascent was to take
us three hours, when it would be possible for us to drive afterwards to
Mirror Lake in time to see the sunset. We started immediately on a pony
and two mules (Mr. Lee being of the party) up the steep trail, preceded
by the guide, who turned out to be surly, useless, and disobliging. The
sun glared fiercely in our eyes, blurring out the view of the valley
below. I tried with ill-success the shelter of a sun-umbrella, the pony
shying violently, and turning round on the narrow path to look me in the
face. We became impatient with the slow progress, and weary of urging on
the animals, and at last, by dint of persistent questioning, I found out
from the guide that Glacier Point was six miles from the valley, or about
six hours' expedition there and back! Mirror Lake disappeared entirely
from our programme, and we even began to think of contenting ourselves
with Union Point. We reached there at 4.30, having taken two hours for
the four miles, and the guide assured us we must allow the same time for
returning. After some discussion the matter was finally settled for us,
by looking at the soft haze about the sun, and seeing that the brightness
of the afternoon was passing away. We decided to give up Glacier Point,
and be contented with the less extensive, though I can hardly believe
less beautiful, view.
At Union Point we were 2200 feet up, and on the platform immediately
facing us stood the beautiful Agassiz Column, a spiral fragment of rock
raised up on end. There was a great solemnity and grandeur in the silence
and stillness of the valley below. We were above the hum and stir of
life, away from mankind, from the petty aims and ambitions of the world
beneath us, left alone with the grand mountains. The evening shadows,
with their soft blue lights, fell on the surrounding points even as we
looked, and the valley itself lay in shadow below. Immediately above and
inclining down towards us were the Three Brothers, their Indian name
signifying "mountains playing leap-frog," giving the truest description
of their triple zigzag peaks. We knew that on the other side of the
rock, only 200 feet lower down, there was a similar formation--the
Three Graces, or the sweet "Wakwahlena" of the Mona dialect. We saw the
Sentinel or Watch Tower of the Indians, a mass of perpendicular granite
tapering into a peak that seemingly points its summit _into_ the sky, and
which for ever stands watching, keeping guard over the valley. Again,
on the same side, the beautiful Cathedral Spires were just to be seen
tapering to a height of 500 feet above the massive roof of the Cathedral
Rock, which is itself a piece of unified granite of 2660 feet in height.
These spires are the most graceful specimens of natural masonry and
architecture in the valley, and at times when the wind soughs and moans
amongst the crevices, and round about the spires, they say you can hear
the deep tones as of some minor organ wailing "The Miserere of lost
souls."
[Illustration: The Cathedral Spires, Yosemite Valley.]
Turning away from this side and looking on the other, in the far distance
we saw the Dome; and a very perfectly rounded dome it is. It seems to
be made up of prodigious concentric plates of granite, on one side
suggesting the formation of what are called, the "Royal Arches." But
towering so far above it, that it is completely dwarfed by comparison, is
the half dome, the "Goddess of the Valley," the most remarkable formation
amongst the many that are in this valley of marvels. It is a symmetrical
dome of bare rock, scarred and worn with the storms that gather and play
about its mighty head--"storm-written hieroglyphics,"--they have rightly
been called, rising 4737 feet above the valley, the valley itself being
4000 feet above the level of the sea. But instead of sloping away on
both sides, this dome, on the left, is cut completely away, and descends
in an absolutely vertical line of 1800 feet or more, thus producing a
perfect half dome. Some great convulsion of Nature seems to have split
it directly in two, and the western half has disappeared, no one knows
where. The valley is here narrowed to its smallest limit, and this tends
to add to the stupendous majesty of this "imperfect" dome. To give some
idea of its vast height, it is not once, nor twice, nor thrice, but
fifteen times the height of St. Peter's at Rome--all rock, nothing but
rock! "And God's hand built it--not in masses of slow-mounting masonry,
gaining adventurously and toilsomely, foot by foot, and pushing its
scaffolding ever higher to keep command of the work, and straining its
enginery to swing aloft the chiselled and ponderous blocks to their
place--but with one lift, without break of course, or any gradation
of rising completeness, the Supreme Builder set the domed mountain in
its place, foundation wall, and top-stone--one sublime integral whole,
unprofaned by craftsmen's tools, untrod by foot of man."
Beneath the Half Dome, but hidden from us, lies the Mirror Lake, where on
a surface absolutely motionless, at sunset and at sunrise, are reflected
all the magnificent surroundings in perfection. Cloud's Rest is the
culminating mountain-top in this part of the valley.
And now, after we have been looking at these far-off points, our eyes
fall down to those nearer home, and we look opposite at El Capitan. We
follow upwards the lines that seem interminable in their length, from
the base to the brow of this wall of rock, this mass of immensity. "El
Capitan imposes on us by its stupendous bulk, which seems as if hewn from
the mountains on purpose to stand as the type of eternal massiveness."
"Wipe out the beautiful Merced with its snow-fed streams, let the fierce
summer heat dry up the waterfalls, blast as with a curse the whole
valley, El Capitan would still smite you with his austere silence." The
spire of Strasburg Cathedral, that masterpiece of Gothic architecture,
is 468 feet high, and still the compound height of seven such cathedrals
would not equal the height of this granite mass.
Over a recess in a dim corner, during the earlier months of the year,
pour the "Ribbon Falls," or "Virgin's Tears," (the "Long and Slender" of
the Indians), though in summer it dwindles down into what we saw it, a
single ribbon string.
Much the same may be said of the Yosemite Falls, from which the Valley
takes its name, signifying in Indian "large Grizzly Bear," which are very
beautiful from the months of March till July, when they likewise dwindle
into insignificance. These may also be said to be divided into three
distinct falls; with a perpendicular descent of 1500 feet, a 600 feet of
cataracts over a shelving rock, and a final fall of 400 feet ending in
spray and foam.
The great advantage of the further ascent to Glacier Point is that you
have the more complete view of the valley which includes the Vernal and
Nevada Falls, two very beautiful falls of 400 and 600 feet each, some
way up the Cañon of the Merced; the Sentinel Dome, which is a mile and a
half above the point; the Washington Column or "Watching Eye," and a very
far-reaching view over the further side of the valley--of the "little
Yosemite," and the higher peaks of the Sierra Nevada.
This view from Union Point proved our only hope of carrying away with
us some general idea of the wonderful formations of the valley in the
short space of time we could allow, and after trying, with some success,
I since think, to print them indelibly in our mind's eye, we turned our
thoughts towards the descent.
My pony had come down on his knees at a very early period of the
expedition, and I greatly mistrusted his powers of holding up down the
steep stony trail, not counting the discomfort of feeling the legs of the
animal sliding away in front, and subsiding behind, whilst simultaneously
being pitched forward at a _very_ inclined angle. I declined to ride
down the first and steepest part of the trail, and eventually it ended
in my running down the four miles, and resting at the bottom for half
an hour for the others to come up. We returned to Barnard's decidedly
crestfallen, and with very different feelings to those of pleasurable
excitement with which we had started out earlier in the afternoon. We
went to bed quite worn out after such a long day, but--there was to
be no sleep for us that night. Mosquitoes and the hardest beds I ever
slept on were small drawbacks when compared to the weekly ball that
was going on immediately underneath us. Every sound was heard through
the thin partitions, and we could only lie and listen to the Master of
the Ceremonies with his "Figure number one, and cross over, turn, face
partner, ladies' chain, sides," &c., the scraping of the fiddle, and the
shuffling of the feet.
Weary and dispirited, we left the valley the next morning at 6 a.m.,
taking our farewell view from the top of the mountain which we had
been winding up the side of for three hours. We had in the coach with
us Mrs. McCauley, who kept the inn at Glacier Point, and one of the
first inhabitants of the valley. She told us that there was general
complaint about the meagre compensation that Government had given to
the inhabitants since they had taken possession. The early settlers had
expended much toil on the formation of the first and most dangerous
trails to the principal points, charging some small fee. It was in
1864 that Congress granted the valley to the State of California, as
"the cleft or gorge in the granite peak of the Sierra Nevada," under
the express condition that it was to be kept for "the benefit of the
people, for their use, resort, and recreation, and especially to
hold them inalienable for all time." And so it always is in America,
parks, gardens, all places are kept and maintained for the _people_.
Congress has just taken possession of the comparatively newly discovered
Yellowstone Park, for the nation, preparatory to developing its wonders
and making it accessible "for the people." A guardian and commissioners
were appointed for the valley, who have since done wonders in making the
points of interest more approachable by new roads, bridges, and trails.
We had another of those magnificent forest drives, looking over the
valleys and the mountain peaks of the Sierra Nevada from the opposite
side to that on which we had entered the valley; but the coach was of a
smaller build than the others we had been in; it was more than unusually
laden with passengers, and the heat was very great. We arrived cramped
and somewhat cross at Mrs. Crocker's, a Nottinghamshire woman, where we
found a charming luncheon provided in a cool, neat cottage.
In the afternoon we drove through the trunk of one of the monster trees,
"the Dead Giant," where there was room for the six horses and coach to
pass at a full trot, describing a slight curve of the road in passing
through the aperture, but it required the fine skilful driving that we
had, to do it.
[Illustration: Big Tree, California.]
Then we pictured to ourselves those marvellous groves of big trees near
the Yosemite, the Calaveras and Mariposa and south groves, wonders which
we had missed altogether, without which no description of the valley is
complete. I therefore give a rough outline gathered from those who have
seen them.
The discovery of this new tree of sequoia occasioned much excitement; at
first it was supposed to be of the species of Redwood or Wellingtonia,
but eventually it was given a genus of its own and called after a
Cherokee Indian, _Gigantea Sequoia_. It is limited exclusively to the
Sierra Nevada Range, as the Redwood is to the Sea Coast Range, and both
are Californian natives.
The Calaveras grove contains the most celebrated of these monarchs
of the forest; and nearly all have received names from numerous
hero-worshippers. They attain to a height varying from 250 to 300 feet,
and to a diameter of from 20 to 30 feet. Their age is assigned to be
from two to three thousand years, and this is judged from the number
of their concentric rings. So many of them are partially destroyed by
fire, that it has given rise to a theory that a thousand years ago there
must have been a terrible fire which raged among the sequoias alone; and
this is supported by the fact that sugar pines and other old trees now
side by side with these, show no signs of fire, proving that they had no
existence at the time.
On entering the grove the three leading generals of the Union Army,
Grant, Sherman, and McPherson, stand facing you; the "Pride of the
Forest," the "Miner's Cabin," blown down in a gale in November, 1860, and
the "Three Graces," a beautiful cluster, are quite near; others lie all
around, each known by its own name.
The "Mother" and the "Twins" are succeeded by the "Father of the Forest."
The "Father" long since bowed his head in the dust, yet how stupendous he
is even in his ruin! A hollow chamber or burnt cavity extends through the
trunk, large enough for a person to ride through, and near its base is a
never-failing spring of water.
There are "Richard Cobden," "John Bright," "Daniel O'Connell," the
"Sequoia Queen," and her "Maids of Honour," the "Old Maid," and the "Old
Bachelor," "Daniel Webster," "George Washington," and very many others,
and perhaps what is best of all to see, many other young sequoias growing
up with promise of the same gigantic proportions, that may be middle-aged
trees of their kind in about a thousand years.
In the south grove, extending for three miles and a half, there are 1300
trees. One of them still standing and growing has the interior portion so
burned out, that there is a room large enough to contain sixteen men on
horseback at the same time, and yet enough is left of the outer rim to
support the colossal proportions above. In this grove traces of the great
fire are most visible, and "Noah's Ark" and "Old Goliath," two of the
giants, are prone upon the ground. A limb alone of the latter measures
twelve feet in circumference, and, standing in the trunk, it is easy to
believe you are on the deck of some large ship; meantime the base is used
as a stable for horses.
The Mariposa grove is about two miles square, and is divided into an
upper and lower grove. "The Grizzly Giant" is its great sequoia, but
its upper part is much battered and torn away. Some who have seen these
groves concur in a feeling of disappointment about the size of the trees,
which is attributable to the two causes of their close proximity, and
isolation from other trees, there being no others to compare their height
with, and so few of the trees continue complete to the top, nearly all
being broken off or withered. But others are very beautiful, and one who
has seen them writes:--
"It is impossible for pen to convey or tongue to tell the feeling of
shadowy mystery that invites the gazer into the solemn and mighty forests
to enter and explore. Little by little the light before begins to pale
and dim, and the trunks to grow grander in proportion, the height vaster,
until at last one stands in reverence before the silent and ancient
monarchs themselves. It is twilight. No breeze whispers through the
branches of these forest gods, that climb seemingly to the zenith in
their search for space and light. All the eloquence that has stirred
and electrified the civilized world, fails utterly to hold spell-bound
and attentive the man, as does the mute appeal of these monsters to the
truth, 'I am the Lord thy God.' Yosemite is grand, terrific, beautiful,
but is stone. These--the trees--'live.' Their tops, as the ocean breeze
wafts through them, sigh a mournful requiem of the Ages they have
witnessed, of the suffering, the toil and the little recompense of man.
What stories could they tell of nations, peoples, cities, born and
decayed on this our continent before Columbus came from the rising sun to
people with a new race a long-lost world! Do they hold the future of our
nation, the destiny of our children, in the grasp of their knowledge, and
look mute and pityingly down upon a pride, a glory, that, like all other
prides and glories, pomps and circumstances, whether of nations or men,
shall surely fade?"
To return to that hot afternoon during which we went coaching on,
leaving the mountains behind us, and coming to a dead level country,
which was interesting from its being the scene of some of the earliest
of the Californian gold diggings. The ground was of a brilliant reddish
colour, and in some parts gulched and undermined in all directions.
These diggings are deserted now, but traces of the gold fever are left
in the numerous and scattered population,--men who came out expecting
sudden riches, remaining in the bitterness of disappointment to work
for daily bread. We had dinner about five o'clock at Priest's, and then
a long moonlight drive afterwards of twenty miles. We descended into
a valley to cross the Tuolumne river, coach and horses being driven
on to the ferry-boat, which was worked by a man by means of a rope
suspended in mid-air across the river. The heat in this valley was
intense, nor was it much better when we got up on to the open plain,
and galloped along with the shadow of the coach rolling round and round
after us in the moonlight; nor yet when we arrived at Chinese Camp, our
night's resting-place. We all spent a sleepless night in our small,
barely-furnished rooms, with insect companionship, and were glad when
the first streaks of daylight came, and we made another early start, in
the grey dawn this time, for it was 4 a.m. We had twenty-eight miles to
drive to catch the 10.50 train at Milton. It was pleasant after such a
bad night to feel the cool breeze of the early morning, and to know the
sun had risen behind the hill by the pinky tinge of the sky.
When we stopped for breakfast at Sonora, we found a Noah's Ark waiting
to receive us, in place of our coach, which went no further. It was an
ancient vehicle lined with greasy yellow leather, with neither door nor
window, but curtains that rolled up and down and did duty instead. The
way was through a baking piece of prairie, over a road "not" made with
hands, and we suffered very bitterly. It was a crowning misery, for
we felt that the expedition had been somewhat of a failure. Vainly we
strained our eyes across the dreary waste for miles around, in search of
what it seemed hopeless to find--a railway station. We did not breathe,
we panted breathlessly; we did not sit, we rolled helplessly, and C.
_quite_ felt, whilst I _almost_ did, that no Yosemite could be worth such
terrible misery. We were near to Milton before we saw it, and found the
station, and the train waiting. We were positively ashamed of the dust
that we brought into the railway carriage to the other passengers, and
certainly were not less so when we arrived at Stockton, and drove to the
hotel for luncheon; and a great deal more so when we came to Oakland
Ferry, and crossed in the ferry-boat, driving to the "Palace" once more.
We spent that evening in trying to remove some of the traces of our
expedition. The rooms seemed almost oppressively luxurious to us, the
fare sumptuous after our late experiences, and bed very like an earthly
paradise.
_Saturday, August 29th._--It was a beautiful sunny morning, and I wanted
to carry away with me a happier impression of San Francisco, and so
determined to go up Telegraph Hill for a bird's-eye view. The cable-car
accomplishes the almost perpendicular ascent in three minutes, and it is
so steep that you slip down on to your next-door neighbour unless you
hold on. I had a beautiful view of the town on either side; the broad,
muddy-coloured bay beneath, with the islands of Alcatraz and Angel; and,
beyond all, the Golden Gate, through which we should be passing that
afternoon.
I returned to the worry and fuss that seems an inevitable accompaniment
to the "going on board." I suppose it is partly that there is no fixed
time, and that you may go at any time in the morning, that there are
deck chairs to be thought of, and the luggage for the hold, and the
luggage that is "wanted in state-room" to be set specially apart. We
had a further cause for anxiety in some washing which a Chinaman (an
unauthorized washerman, it appeared) had walked off with, and which on
inquiry was not forthcoming. The bell-man had told us he would send
the washerman, and we naturally confided it to the first Chinaman who
appeared and asked for it. I gave it up for lost but the policeman
stationed in the courtyard of the Palace, ready to show strangers
through the Chinese quarters, spent the morning there searching for it,
and brought it forth at the last minute. I was sorry to be going away
from San Francisco without seeing one of the most interesting features
of the city, the Chinese quarter. In the length of three streets live
all the Chinese who swarm about the city. They inhabit cells burrowed
underneath the streets, below the level of the drainage, sleeping in
bunks placed one above the other. The sights and smells are sickening,
but the chief interest of Chinese Town lies in its theatres, temples,
gambling houses, restaurants, and opium dens. Wherever the Chinese goes,
with his toiling and long-suffering patience, there is the price of
labour immediately cheapened; and so strong is the feeling among the
lower classes against them that the State of California has been obliged
to pass a law forbidding the immigration of any Chinese labourer. Any
Chinaman on landing now has to go before a magistrate and prove that he
is a merchant, or in possession of property, and that he has come solely
for the purposes of trading.
We drove down to the Docks at one o'clock, and went on board the
_Australia_ at once.
It was the closing of the first era in our travels, to have thus
journeyed over the first of our great continents, to have seen the first
of our new worlds, and to have gained the knowledge of a new people with
their manners and customs. Though a little marred by the shortness of
time, we look back with very great pleasure to our seven weeks spent in
America and Canada.
We said our farewell to America as we sailed out of the Golden Gate,
regret tempered in leaving her shores by the excitement of going forth on
the ocean, in search of other lands and other peoples.