path: root/75851-0.txt

*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75851 ***





                       [Illustration: NONANTUM.]




                     INCIDENTS ON LAND AND WATER,

                                  OR

                   Four Years on the Pacific Coast.

                       BEING A NARRATIVE OF THE

         BURNING OF THE SHIPS NONANTUM, HUMAYOON AND FANCHON,
             TOGETHER WITH MANY STARTLING AND INTERESTING
                      ADVENTURES ON SEA AND LAND.

                                  BY

                           MRS. D. B. BATES.


                            EIGHTH EDITION.


                                BOSTON.
                       PUBLISHED FOR THE AUTHOR.
                                 1860.


      Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year 1857, by
                           MRS. D. B. BATES,
in the Clerk’s Office of the District Court of the District of Massachusetts




                             TO MY MOTHER,

                        WHOSE CHERISHED MEMORY,

               WHILE WANDERING FAR FROM YOUTHFUL SCENES

           HAS OFTEN PROVED A TALISMAN IN THE HOUR OF NEED;

             THE RECOLLECTION OF WHOSE DISINTERESTED LOVE,

        HAS GIVEN ME COURAGE TO MEET AND BRAVE SEVEREST TRIALS;

                THIS VOLUME IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED

                            BY THE AUTHOR.




INTRODUCTION.


Kind Reader! This simple unembellished history of portions of my life’s
experience requires no preface. Its deficiencies, I trust, will save it
from unjust criticisms; if justly deserved, may they be in all lenity
bestowed, modified by sympathy, and kindness for the humble historian.




CONTENTS.


CHAPTER I.                                                          Page.

My Childhood’s Home,                                                  11


CHAPTER II.

The Departure,                                                        12


CHAPTER III.

Fire on board Ship Nonantum at Sea,                                   17


CHAPTER IV.

The Falkland Islands,                                                 23


CHAPTER V.

A South Sea Rookery,                                                  39


CHAPTER VI.

Departure from the Falklands, and second fire off Cape Horn,          45


CHAPTER VII.

Third fire at sea. Burning of the Ship Fanchon on the Coast of
Peru,                                                                 57


CHAPTER VIII.

The Desolate Beach,                                                   68


CHAPTER IX.

Arrival and Residence at Payta,                                       73


CHAPTER X.

Arrival at Panama and visit Taboga,                                   82


CHAPTER XI.

Arrival at San Francisco. Extensive Conflagration. Its Consequences,
etc., etc.,                                                           96


CHAPTER XII.

Leave San Francisco for Marysville,                                  111


CHAPTER XIII.

Situation and Climate of Marysville. Peep at the Country, Inhabitants,
etc.,                                                                125


CHAPTER XIV.

Hotel Keeping and Life in a Canvas Shanty,                           137


CHAPTER XV.

Description of an Indian Rancheria and its Occupants,                149


CHAPTER XVI.

A Conflagration. Hotel Keeping resumed. Marysville Inundated,        156


CHAPTER XVII.

A Journey up the Sacramento Valley. Descriptions of things
seen and heard,                                                      163


CHAPTER XVIII.

Trip to French Corral. Mountain Scenery. Mountain Ball, etc.,        169


CHAPTER XIX.

Journey to Park’s Bar. Experience in Mining. Fatal results
of Gambling,                                                         192


CHAPTER XX.

Visit to Gen. Sutter’s residence. Description of the grounds.
The Pleasant Surprise, or the Musical Miner. Good Fortune
of a Lady in California. Emigrant Wagons. Belles of the
Plain. Interesting and Ludicrous Incident. The English
Gold Diggers. Loss of Life,                                          205


CHAPTER XXI.

The Orphan Child. Delights of Stage-Coaching in California.
The Hen that laid the Golden Eggs,                                   222


CHAPTER XXII.

Execution of a man in Marysville. The petty theft the results
of bad Influence. Accident at the Mines. “Obstinate as a
Mule.” Mysterious Disappearance of Dunbar. Cold Blooded
Murder. Disinterested Benevolence,                                   232


CHAPTER XXIII.

Hardships of the Mountain Settlers during the winter of 1852.
A Brother’s Experience,                                              254

CHAPTER XXIV.

Peculiarities of John Chinaman. Conflagration in Marysville,         263


CHAPTER XXV.

Farewell to Marysville. Departure. Arrival at San Francisco.
Leave San Francisco for Home,                                        271


CHAPTER XXVI.

Incidents of the passage. Burial at Sea,                             275


CHAPTER XXVII.

Arrival at Panama. Description of Hotels. Walks about the
city. The Battlement,                                                283


CHAPTER XXVIII.

Crossing the Isthmus. Grave by the road-side. The beautiful
Valley of Obispo. Take the cars for Aspinwall,                       291


CHAPTER XXIX.

Embark for Home, on board the North Star. A distressed family,       307


CHAPTER XXX.

Arrival at New York,                                                 314


CHAPTER XXXI.

Incidents illustrative of Morals in California,                      315


CHAPTER XXXII.

Conclusion,                                                          334




INCIDENTS ON LAND AND WATER.




CHAPTER I.


In the town of Kingston, in the State of Massachusetts, not many miles
distant from that ancient and time-honored bay whose waters years ago
kissed the prow of the “May Flower” as she approached a sterile and
inhospitable shore, is situated the home of my childhood.

The dear old homestead, the scene of so many fond recollections, had
descended from father to son for generations. The storms of many winters
had beaten upon its roof; time had left its impress without, in the
shape of moss-covered shingles; but within, all was youthful joy and
gladness. Not a link in that family circle had been severed. In love and
affection were we nurtured.

Although years have intervened since those sunny days of childhood, how
often, while sojourning in distant lands, would memory recall with
undimmed freshness the gladsome spring-time of youth. Happy days! too
speedily do they fly, leaving, often, nought but the recollection of
them to cheer us in our toilsome march. Early in life, I was united to
one whose home was on the deep. Then came the sad partings from loved
friends, to follow for many consecutive years the fortunes of my husband
by sea and land. There were sad departures and joyful returns.




CHAPTER II.


On the 27th of July, 1850, I sailed from Baltimore in the ship
_Nonantum_, of Boston, (Bates, master,) bound to San Francisco. In the
ship’s hold was stowed one thousand and fifty tons of coal; the
between-decks were filled with provisions for the steamers plying
between Panama and the El Dorado of the West. The coal with which we
were laden was taken from the Cumberland mines, brought directly to
Baltimore in open iron cars, subject to frequent showers of rain on the
way, and deposited in that condition in the ship.

With bright hopes and glowing anticipations we left our native land.
Well was it that no prophetic visions presaged the future that awaited
us. We were wholly unconscious at the time of the remarks uttered by the
spectators assembled upon the wharf, to the effect that coal was a
dangerous cargo to take upon so long a voyage.

By the lessons taught by the bitter experiences of that memorable year,
many shipmasters have duly profited. Now, they stow their coal in casks,
or in small quantities, have it dry when placed on board, and give it
sufficient ventilation.

The ship’s crew consisted of the usual complement of sailors, first and
second officers, carpenter, cook, and steward; also two boys, who
particularly attracted my attention. They were pleasant little fellows,
who, being possessed of a mania for the sea, had left their homes to
seek their fortunes upon the treacherous deep. Many times during the
voyage had they occasion to bless the captain’s wife for a bite of
something good from the cabin table, slyly given to them, and in secret
eaten.

This was not my first voyage. To me the cabin of a wave-tossed vessel,
and a trip across the deep green ocean, was never monotonous or
disagreeable, never being afflicted with that unpleasant nausea termed
“sea-sickness,” so much to be dreaded, judging from the appearance and
descriptions received. The separation from earth’s homes and loved
hearts are all calculated to elevate the mind, and centre the soul’s
best affections upon pure and holy objects. How often, hour after hour,
have I sat gazing upon the boundless expanse of water, contrasting in my
mind the utter insignificance of human power and skill, compared with
the majesty of the Almighty Maker of the ocean and the land.

Moonlight nights at sea are my especial delight. How I love to gaze upon
the illimitable deep, and watch each ripple gleaming and sparkling in
the broad and trackless pathway like myriads of diamonds beneath the
effulgent beams of the glorious orb of night! Almost imperceptibly, a
holy calm pervades my being, and absorbs all other faculties. With what
reluctant feelings, on such evenings as these, would I resign my seat
upon deck, even after the night was far spent.

Before leaving Baltimore, my husband had purchased a beautiful
Newfoundland dog, of the largest species; to which, on account of the
remarkable sagacity he displayed, I became very much attached. In my
daily promenade upon deck, he was ever by my side. Whenever a sail was
discovered in the distance, he would place his huge fore-paws on the
ship’s rail, and send his loud, hoarse bark reverberating far over the
swelling wave.

Then I had two goats on board to furnish milk, not being sailor enough
to drink the strong coffee made on ship-board. They were very playful,
and once a day were allowed the liberty of the deck, which they readily
improved by racing and frolicking about, in which they were joined by
Dash.

In pleasant weather, when off the coast of Brazil, I have sat for hours
on the ship’s rail fishing for albatross, one of the largest and most
formidable of the South Sea birds, as they majestically sailed along in
the wake of the ship, watching the bait (a piece of pork fastened to the
hook, and a small bit of board attached to the line to float it,) so
temptingly displayed. After swallowing it, and finding themselves
captured, there was no struggling to free themselves, but, as you hauled
in the line, they would sail gracefully along in all their native beauty
and dignity. The assistance of the two boys was required in bringing
them to the deck, where, after freeing them from the hook, (which, the
boys always assured me, did not hurt them in the least,) they would
survey the scene around them with a sort of contemptuous glance, as
though they disdained their captors and the deception used to allure
them from their native element. The goats, when freed from their
inclosures, would advance towards them, rear themselves on their
hind-legs, and shake their heads in defiance of the monster bird; while
it, in turn, would snap its tremendous bill with such force, you could
hear it ring from one part of the ship to the other; but they would
never encounter one another except by threatening gestures. When we
became satisfied with admiring our prisoner, two sailors would each
grasp a wing, raise him to the side of the ship, give him a toss, and
away he would soar; then light gracefully upon the water at a little
distance, and view what I suppose he thought to be a huge monster which
had held him in his grasp.

Another amusement was taking a dish of crumbs, and, by throwing over a
handful, call a flock of cape-pigeons to the ship’s side. Each one eager
to secure his share, they would dive far down into the clear water to
get those that were sinking. Sometimes, to deceive them, I would throw
over a bone that would sink rapidly. Down they would all go after it out
of sight; then appear again, chattering,--scolding, I called the
incessant noise they kept up. This bird resembles our tame pigeon, with
the exception of being a little larger.

Flocks of “Mother Carey’s chickens” were occasionally following in our
wake. Those tiny little things, ever on the wing, often excited my
sympathy. About this time, the faithful dog I had learned to love so
well sickened, and daily grew worse. Every remedy we could devise was
called into requisition, but availed nought. One night, after I had
retired, he dragged himself to my berth, placed his nose close to my
face, and whined and moaned piteously. I afterwards thought it prophetic
of evil in the future. Upon making my appearance upon deck the next
morning, there lay the noble animal dead. Poor old Dash! the remembrance
of thee and thy many virtues will live long on memory’s leaf.




CHAPTER III.


Days and weeks passed on, until we were in the latitude of the Rio de la
Plata. So mild and pleasant had been the weather, that I was half
inclined to believe this voyage indeed was to be an exception to all
previous ones; although often, when expressing myself delighted with the
continuance of such lovely weather, the exuberance of my feelings would
be somewhat checked by repeated assurances from my husband that I should
see it “rough enough” off Cape Horn to compensate for all previous
calms.

Suddenly the aspect of affairs changed, and we encountered a terrific
storm, the bare recollection of which almost makes me shudder. The
ship’s cabin was a house upon deck; and, as the storm increased in
violence, the angry waves dashing higher and higher as each successive
blast lashed the mighty deep, fears were entertained that the house
would be forcibly detached from the deck. Heavy shutters were fastened
against the windows as a protection to the glass against the storm,
thereby rendering the cabin dark as night. A lantern was kept burning
through the day, as well as by night. Owing to the violent motion of the
ship, I was compelled, for the most part of the time, to keep my berth,
to prevent being dashed against the cabin walls. I very reluctantly
consented to confine myself to my state-room, but not, however, until I
had received some severe bumps. So violent and sudden were those jerks,
that, unless one was very much guarded, they would be thrown very
unceremoniously from their seat.

Oh, it was terrible to lie so many hours listening to the roaring of the
storm without! I wished very much to get a glimpse of the ocean when
lashed into such fury, but there was no aperture whereby I could gratify
my curiosity. I had only to pray, and listen alone. My husband was
constantly on deck, taking neither refreshment nor sleep. I wondered not
at his anxiety, although I knew not then the imminent danger impending
from fire as well as water; for, the second morning after the
commencement of the storm, smoke had been discovered between decks. The
alarming truth instantly flashed upon our minds. The gas that originated
from the coal had generated fire. Orders were immediately given to get
up provisions and water sufficient to last until we could be released
from our awful situation. While thus engaged, several of the men were
rendered senseless from the effects of the gas. They next proceeded to
close the hatches, and caulked every seam tightly, in the hope of
arresting the progress of the fire it was impossible to extinguish.

Captain B---- shaped his course for the nearest land--the Falkland
Islands, which were eight hundred miles distant. During this time, the
severity of the gale was such, it compelled me to remain in the cabin;
and for three days I remained in ignorance of our perilous situation.
During this interval, the air in the cabin was ever impregnated with a
strong odor of tar. This was accounted for to me in this light,--the
cook was boiling tar, as they were obliged to make use of a great deal
at such times. That, of course, looked very reasonable, and served the
purpose of concealment from me of the fire. It is true the countenances
of my husband and officers bore unmistakable traces of anxiety; but this
I readily attributed to the violence of the gale, which threatened every
moment to engulf us.

I also noticed the steward caulking some of the seams in the pantry.
Upon inquiry, he gave me to understand it was necessary to use this
precaution, to prevent any liquids he should chance to spill from
running down on the cargo,--a foolish excuse, to be sure; but, however,
it proved effective. But, when the gas and smoke escaped through seams
which were apparently water-tight, and made its appearance in the cabin,
concealment was no longer possible.

Upon learning the sad truth, for a time all fortitude and self-control
forsook me. I thought of my dear old home far away, in its quiet
seclusion; of the loved ones wont to assemble there to talk and pray for
the safety of the absent one. I felt I should never more behold them,
and that they would ever remain in ignorance of our fate. After the
first moments of despair, Hope again asserted her empire. Repinings, I
reasoned, were useless. The Almighty hand which formed the channels of
the deep had power, I knew, to preserve us, and guide us, amidst storm
and darkness, to our homes and havens of rest. The greatest
consternation prevailed among the crew. At times the gale would abate,
only to be renewed with increased violence. We were soon obliged to
vacate the cabin, which was filled to suffocation with gas; and, for
five consecutive days and nights, I remained in a chair which was lashed
to the deck. It was quite cold, and often I was drenched with the water
and spray that would dash at short intervals across the deck. Never can
I forget those dreary days of suffering that I sat gazing from the
narrow deck upon the boundless expanse of tossing, foam-crested billows.
As far as eye could reach, no friendly sail appeared to which we could
look for safety; nothing was seen but the sweeping surge, as it came
roaring and dashing on, threatening to overwhelm us. In such an hour man
learns of God, and witnesses proof of his grandeur and power in every
dashing wave; he sees nature in one of its grandest aspects.

If possible, the nights exceeded in anxiety the days; impenetrable
darkness surrounded us, relieved only by sheets of white foam dashing
over the bows, as the doomed ship madly plunged into the angry waters.
When one sea more powerful than another would strike her, causing her to
tremble in every timber, I would grasp my chair, shut my eyes, and think
we were fast being engulfed in the sea. Oh, those nights of agony!
Never, through all the vicissitudes of after life, will one thought, one
feeling, then endured, fade from the volume of memory.

Each day the ship was getting hotter; gas and smoke were escaping at
every seam. We constantly feared an explosion, as the natural
consequence of so much confined gas. What a solace to me, in those days
of trial, was the trust, the implicit confidence, I felt in that mighty
Guardian Power that is ever around and about us, and in whose protection
we are forever safe!

On the twelfth day after fire was first discovered, we made the Falkland
Islands. As we approached the Volunteer Rocks, which make off two miles
from land, gloomy and forbidding as were their appearance, I hailed them
as harbingers of safety. Truly it must have been the sunshine, the
grateful happiness of the heart, which clothed those barren rocks with
imaginary beauty--I had almost said reverence.




CHAPTER IV.


The entrance to the outer bay is called Port William. About twenty miles
up this bay, an English colony is established. The entrance to Port
William is designated by a tall flag-staff. At the time of our arrival,
it was blowing a close-reefed-topsail breeze, directly down the bay;
and, as night was approaching, the captain deemed it advisable to select
the most sheltered situation at hand, and anchor until morning.

Formerly, this colony was located up Berkley’s Sound, and called Port
Louis. It has since been removed to its present site, and styled Port
Stanley. The Falkland Islands are situated in the South Atlantic Ocean,
where the mariner guides his course at night by the sacred constellation
of the Southern Cross, and between the parallels of 51 deg. and 53 deg.
south, and extending from 57 deg. to nearly 62 deg. west. The only two
of considerable size are the East and West Falkland. These are separated
by a channel. Around these islands are numerous rocks, whose distance
from the shores, where tides run strongly, and winds are violent as well
as sudden, renders it rather difficult to navigate. In approaching land,
and particularly when entering a harbor, a good look-out should be kept
for fixed kelp, which grows upon every rock covered by the sea, and not
far below the surface. Lying upon the water, the leaves and stalk serve
as well as a buoy to warn of hidden danger. A region more exposed to
storms, both in summer and winter, it would be difficult to mention.
High winds are prevalent, and very violent at times. During the summer,
a calm day is an extraordinary event. Generally speaking, the nights are
less windy than the days. Altogether, the appearance of these lonely
isles of the South are dismal and uninviting in the extreme. Moorland
and black bog extend in nearly every direction; although there are
valleys affording coarse, excellent grass, upon which thousands of wild
cattle subsist. Some tracts of land, I was informed, at the southern
part of the island, were low, level, and abundantly productive of
excellent herbage. Many years since, the French and Spanish left, at
different times, cattle and horses upon the isle. They have multiplied
and increased, until they now estimate the number at a hundred thousand
head that are roaming wild over the hills.

The ship being safely moored, I entreated my husband to take me on
shore. After much persuasion, he consented. A boat was lowered, in
which, after much difficulty, I was placed. This was effected by tying a
rope around my waist, and lowering me down the ship’s side; then
watching an opportunity when the boat was in a right position, to “lower
away.” This method was of necessity adopted, the sea being so rough, I
lacked the courage to leave the ship the usual way. When my feet were
placed once more on _terra firma_, I inwardly resolved never again to
return on ship-board. We wandered from the shore to the top of a small
eminence, from whence, at a little distance, we descried a shanty.

We approached, and, judging from the writing found upon the walls, it
had been the resort of sailors thrown upon that inhospitable coast. In
it was a sort of stone fire-place, on which the sailors placed some
dried heather found in the hut, which, when ignited, threw out a ruddy
blaze that sent its cheering beams directly to the heart. On our way to
the hut, we noticed several perforations in the earth. One of the
sailors, desirous of investigating the origin of these holes, thrust his
hand into one of them, but instantly withdrew it with a smothered oath,
and an expression evincing acute pain. Immediately, out rushed a
penguin, displaying unmistakable symptoms of a fight. Every hole
contained a penguin, secreted there for the purpose of incubation. The
sailors, of course, exasperated that a brother shipmate should receive
such treatment as a reward for his prying curiosity, routed the whole
posse of penguins, and a regular hand-to-hand battle ensued; for to the
penguins can never be imputed one particle of cowardice, when the call
for action is the defence of her eggs or young. Victory was, of course,
conceded to the strongest party. But not always does “might make right.”

Nothing could be seen in any direction inland but barren hills; yet,
cheerless as was the prospect on shore, no entreaty, or even command, of
my husband, could induce me to return to that burning ship. Here was a
sad dilemma for my husband to be placed in. A sense of duty called him
on board; yet he could not leave me on shore all night without a
protector. Finally, at the intercession of the mate, who volunteered to
take good care of the ship, he reluctantly consented to remain with me,
although he spent the greater part of the night watching the ship.

Next morning, as we were about to repair to the boat,--for, upon
reflection, I concluded that to be the only way by which the settlement
could be reached,--a horseman appeared in the distance, riding at a
furious pace directly for us. As he approached, and reined in his
jet-black steed in front of our party, I certainly never beheld such a
perfect specimen of equestrian grace and manly beauty.

Springing from his horse, he accosted us in a language unintelligible to
all except “Old Tom,” as he was designated by his shipmates. He proved
to be one of a class of men denominated guachos, who are employed in
lassoing and bringing in wild cattle. Tom soon acquainted him with every
particular concerning us; whereupon he insisted that the capitan’s
señora should go with him to his ranch, about four miles distant, where
every attention would be lavished by his señora to render me comfortable
until I could proceed to the settlement. Tom interpreted the
invitation, which, of course, I declined accepting, feeling a reluctancy
to go with him alone. Discovering my hesitancy, he endeavored to remove
all objections by bestowing several flattering encomiums upon my
personal appearance, which were certainly ill-starred, and served only
to increase my unwillingness to go with him unattended. It was at length
decided that the second mate should accompany me.

Our Spanish friend laughed at the idea of my being afraid to mount his
spirited horse, and even objecting to be seated in front of him--the
manner in which they often ride with señoritas. He mounted his horse
alone; while Mr. Wood and myself walked by his side. My husband returned
to the ship. We found it very tiresome travelling over the bogs, with
the wind blowing almost a gale. After panting and puffing, and being
obliged several times to stop and recover breath, we reached the top of
a little eminence; and there, sure enough, was the veritable ranch. It
looked so pleasant and home-like about the little cottage, that in vain
I endeavored to repress those outgushings of the heart engendered by the
sight of objects which recalled vividly to mind home, and all the warm
and kindly associations connected therewith.

A lovely little Spanish woman met us at the door, and, after exchanging
a few words with her husband, she embraced me affectionately, led me to
a pleasant little room looking out upon the bay, and placed a loaf of
bread and pitcher of milk on a table by my side. She seemed really
grieved because I could not swallow one mouthful. My feelings were fast
gaining the ascendency. So much sympathy as she expressed, by her
gestures and tender offices, completely won my affections.

I had taken very little food after learning the ship was on fire, and,
with feelings all the while wrought to such a state of excitement, the
revulsion well-nigh prostrated me. In the meantime, word had reached the
settlement that there was a ship in distress outside, and a number of
the most popular men of the place had started to render any necessary
assistance. Sometime after noon, they reached the Spaniard’s house,
where we were, and learning of Mr. Wood the particulars, took him into
the boat, and, with the exception of three of them, proceeded to meet
the ship. It was blowing so hard, they would be compelled to beat the
ship up the bay, which would, of course, occupy some time.

Mr. Hamlin, the physician, the surveyor-general, and the clergyman, (the
three who remained,) proposed taking the sail-boat belonging to the
Spaniard, and take me at once to the colony; and, as their ladies were
English, it would be pleasanter than to remain where I was.

Therefore, I bade adieu to my beautiful Spanish friend, and about
sundown reached the narrow entrance to the inner harbor. Two large
wooden men stand on each side of the entrance, pointing towards the
town. Passing through, you find yourself in one of the nicest,
land-locked harbors in the world, where ships of the largest tonnage can
lie in safety.

The town is built at the base of the hills, which rise gradually from
this beautiful basin. How far away from the busy, bustling world seemed
this little hamlet! and how quiet and serene, I thought, must pass the
lives of those dwelling upon this remote isle! The sun was shedding his
last golden rays upon the surrounding hill-tops, before retiring to his
hesperian couch. While inanimate nature was welcoming me to this haven
of rest, how inexpressibly lonely I felt at heart, surrounded by
strangers! No doubt they would extend a friendly greeting; but, oh, how
my heart yearned for the warm welcome of some home-friend!

Mr. Hamlin took me to his house, where I was cordially received by his
amiable lady, and nothing was omitted that could in any way contribute
to my comfort, or serve to dispel those home-sick feelings which
naturally acquired the ascendency. That night, sleep was a stranger to
my pillow. I shall ever remember Mrs. Hamlin with feelings of affection.
No kind mother could have bathed my aching head more tenderly. Oh, there
is a magnetic power in kindness! Kind words are always winning, whether
from friend or stranger.

Late in the afternoon, the ship appeared at the entrance. After dropping
anchor, my husband called a survey, opened her hatches, and found her to
be so badly on fire, they decided to run her ashore, and scuttle her. He
selected a spot which happened to be opposite the little grave-yard.
Slowly and majestically was she wafted to her place of rest. Never more
would she gallantly breast old ocean’s wave. With tearful eyes I watched
her motions. She had been my home so long, I loved her as such. They cut
holes in her side, and sank her in depth of water sufficient to cover
the fire. For two days she was enveloped in steam, which precluded all
possibility of gaining the deck. After the fire was extinguished, they
stopped the holes, and worked the pumps incessantly, without
diminishing in the least the depth of water in the ship. She had
bilged; her beams and stancheons were burnt off; and her lower deck had
fallen in. She was condemned and sold at auction. It was our intention
to go directly home, as soon as an opportunity presented. The isolated
situation of the island prevented its being visited often, especially by
ships homeward-bound; therefore, our stay there might be indefinitely
protracted. There were about four hundred inhabitants in this remote
colony, consisting of English, Spanish, and French. The people were
under the immediate jurisdiction of a governor, who ruled with despotic
power. The governor, clergyman, doctor, governor’s secretary,
surveyor-general, and lawyer, are appointed by the queen, and receive a
salary of four hundred pounds sterling per year, with the exception of
the governor, who has eight hundred. These, with their families, also
Lloyd’s agent, and _the_ merchant, constitute the gentry, as they style
themselves. The governor lives in princely style. To be seated in his
reception-room, one would imagine himself in some English palace.
Everything has been transported from England--both house and furniture.
All the frame-buildings on the island were brought either from England
or the main-land. Those of the poorer class were mere huts, constructed
of peat and stone. Peat is also used by them for fuel. Those only who
receive a salary can indulge in the luxury of a coal fire.

There is not a tree on the island, with the exception of a few apologies
for the same in the governor’s garden. They, upon being transplanted
into such ungenial soil, had assumed a stinted, sickly appearance.

The governor was a stern, austere-looking personage, greatly to be
feared, and seldom loved. One little incident, that came under my own
immediate perception, I will relate. It will serve, in a measure, to
illustrate his arbitrary propensities. His household consisted of
himself, wife, and two sons. The eldest was an imbecile, and so
perfectly child-like in his disposition, that he readily won the
sympathy of all the inhabitants. The youngest was a wild, head-strong
sort of a chap, about fourteen years of age. For him they had employed a
young governess, whom they brought with them from England. This young
lady they treated more like a menial than as a companion for their
children. They looked upon the young instructress as one born to labor
and endure, seemingly unconscious that there were as deep fountains of
sorrow and love in her heart as there was in those who were fostered in
wealth and luxury. One evening, there was a social gathering at the
house of Mr. W----; and, of course, Miss T----, being an accomplished
and intelligent young person, was present. Upon preparing to leave,
early in the evening, (as she was required to be in by nine o’clock,)
Mr. W---- proposed to accompany her, as her path lay near the barracks,
where were always assembled a drunken, riotous set. Next morning, he
received a note from the governor, requesting his immediate presence.
Mrs. W---- felt quite alarmed at the thought of her husband incurring
the displeasure of his majesty. Upon appearing before this august
personage, he received a severe reprimand for so far forgetting his
station as a gentleman as to escort home one whom he considered as a
dependent upon his bounty, and also assured him, if he was guilty of the
like offence again, he should consider him deficient in all that
constituted a gentleman.

The governor’s wife boasted of being a descendant of the “fair maid of
Perth.” I have no reason to doubt the tie of consanguinity, although she
certainly had not inherited any of the personal attractions of her
lovely progenitor.

They were all very kind to us, showing every respect and attention.
Doubtless, I often shocked them with my Yankee provincialisms. Every
family of note had magnificent side-boards, stored with the choicest
kinds of liquors and cordials. It was considered a breach of etiquette
to refuse to partake of the good cheer set before you. What would our
American ladies at the present day think of having such an array set
before them, when making their accustomed calls? Yet it is universally
practised here.

To diminish our expenses, we concluded to go to housekeeping. My husband
rented the only vacant building in the place, a miserable, barn-like
shanty, for which he paid the exorbitant sum of thirty dollars per
month. Thither we moved ourselves: we had little else to move. Nearly
every one contributed some article of domestic use. Our larder was
supplied with wild-fowl and beef, also a species of fish which are taken
from the numerous streams which intersect the country. They are
designated trout, but do not in appearance or flavor resemble our own
speckled trout, which by epicures are considered such a nice treat. No
kind of vegetables could be procured at any price. The inclemency of the
weather, even in summer months, precludes the growth of the most hardy
kind. Cold storms of hail and sleet are of frequent occurrence in
summer. One gentleman, by inclosing a piece of ground with a high peat
wall to shelter it from the cold winds, had managed, by dint of great
exertion, to raise a few cabbages.

Often, when seated at my window, my attention had been attracted towards
a lovely little girl, with soft dark eyes, and long auburn ringlets
hanging in rich profusion over her shoulders. She was usually
accompanied by a tall, dignified, melancholy-looking individual, who, I
afterwards learned, stood in the relation of father. His very
countenance, which was seldom irradiated by a smile, bore traces of
ineffable sorrow. They would spend hours in sailing around the bay in a
fancy yacht, which he kept moored opposite our house. Upon inquiry, I
learned that for some time the gossiping and wonder-loving portion of
the community had been kept in constant agitation regarding the mystery
that surrounded Mr. Montague (for by that name was he known) and his
family. He kept himself aloof from all society; and the only servant he
kept had never been known to speak an intelligible word to any one. She
seemed devotedly attached to her master, and guarded little Myrtie with
watchful tenderness. Myrtie came to my door one day, bringing me a
basket of nice little fish, and gracefully presented them, saying that
she often amused herself by fishing. After that, she became a daily
visitor. Daily my interest in that child increased. She was wonderfully
endued with intellectual powers for one of her years. One day, she said
to me, “Do you know why I brought you those fish? and what brings me
every day to see you?” I told her I did not. Said she, “I do so love to
look in your face! It makes me feel happy. I always think of some one I
loved well, and called mamma. It seems such a long time ago,--so _very_
long,--I sometimes think it was a dream. But, since you came here, I can
remember more. I can recollect she looked like you; and, when you smile,
you look as she used to, when she would kiss me, and call me her little
darling. Oh, I remember how I cried when a tall, dark-looking man
snatched me from my mamma’s arms,--how she looked, as she ran screaming
after us!

“I never saw her again. Then old ‘Nurse Bell’ took care of me. We sailed
on the water a long, long time before we came here.” Her papa, she said,
“was very kind, and she loved him; but she could love him better, if he
would talk more about mamma.” When she asked him to tell her _all_
about her, he would shake his head, look very gloomy, and say, “Your
mamma is in heaven.” Her father was her only instructor, and she was far
advanced in her studies. He also taught her music: she played and sang
sweetly. For once I felt inclined to pardon the inquisitive; for they
certainly had food for idle speculation. Dear little Myrtie! often have
I sighed when thinking of your lonely situation, uncheered by the
presence of that guardian angel of childhood--a mother--on whom you
could bestow that wealth of affection concentrated in an almost _too_
confiding and sensitive heart.

The winter preceding our arrival at the islands had been one of unusual
inclemency. Communication with the main-land was entirely cut off before
the winter’s supply of hay and grain had been procured. In consequence,
the cattle suffered incredibly. The snow, for two months, lay upon the
ground to the depth of two feet. All the sustenance the cattle could
obtain was insufficient to keep off starvation. They were often found
dead, thirty and forty in heaps together.

When the English first established this colony, they intended to export
hides, tallow, seal-skins, and seal-oil. As yet, they have shipped no
tallow. Sealing is carried on to a considerable extent.

England’s convicts, when banished to the sunny isle of Australia, are
not as deserving of the sympathy of the philanthropist as are those old
pensioners, to the number of thirty, who, with their families, have been
induced, by the promises held out to them, and which they have found, to
their sorrow, can never be fulfilled, to leave merry England, for a home
on these barren islands.




CHAPTER V.


The feathered tribes are very numerous on these islands of Southern
hemisphere. Of penguins, there are four kinds--the king penguin, the
macaroni, the jackass, and the rookery. The first of these is much
larger than a goose; the other three are smaller, differing in
appearance in several particulars. They all walk upright, with their
legs projecting from their bodies in the same direction with their
tails. When fifty or more of them are seen in file, they appear, at a
distance, like a company of soldiers. They carry their heads high, with
their wings drooping like two arms. The breast-feathers are delicately
white, with a line of black running across the crops. Seen at a
distance, they have the appearance of little men, with a white bosom,
black neckerchief, and short breeches. Their gait on land, however, is
very awkward--rather more so than that of a sailor just returned from a
long voyage.

When tamed, the penguin becomes quite tractable. A lady at the isle had
domesticated and made quite a pet of a king penguin, which she, however,
proposed to relinquish for the sum of thirty dollars. She had taught him
to sit at table with her. A sip of coffee he seemed to enjoy with much
gusto; and if, perchance, she attempted to raise the cup to her lips
before first presenting his majesty with a draught, he would, quick as
thought, with a blow from one of his “hands,” dash the cup to the floor.
He followed her about the house as a child follows its mother; and she
assured us he was a great deal of company for her when alone.

Another sea-fowl peculiar to the islands is the upland-goose, which is
about the size of our domestic goose. Their plumage is rich and glossy:
that of the gander is dazzlingly white. The down is equal to that of the
swan. The teal are also found here, and far surpassing in beauty those
of this country. Their bills and feet are blue; their wings of a golden
green. The ducks are similar to those found in the United States; but
the manner of going a-ducking very dissimilar,--no lying in wait half a
day before getting a good shot. You might take your gun and shoot them
down, and dozens will come to ascertain the cause of the report.

Previous to our arrival, three other vessels had put into the harbor in
distress, and had been condemned. The crews of these vessels were
constantly out gunning. I would see them often returning over the hills,
laden with those beautiful white geese, looking like so many swans. A
Dutch captain, whose vessel had been condemned, was very contentedly
pursuing the “even tenor of his way,” bringing in the game, while “mine
frow” was as industriously manufacturing feather beds. Never having
heard them say anything about getting away, I presume they are yet at
the old vocation.

A moral philosopher and naturalist would be highly interested in
contemplating, for days, the operations of a South Sea rookery,
observing the order and regularity with which everything is conducted.
When a sufficient number of penguins, albatross, etc., are assembled on
shore, they proceed to the execution of the grand object for which they
left their native element. First, they trace a well-defined
parallelogram, of requisite extent to accommodate the whole
fraternity,--perhaps from one to four or five acres. One side runs
parallel with the water’s edge, and is left open for egress and regress.
They then commence picking up the stones, and depositing them outside
the lines; thus creating quite a little wall on three sides. Within this
wall they form a pathway, several feet in width, which would not suffer,
in regard to smoothness, compared with any fashionable promenade in our
city parks. This path is for the sentinels to patrol at night. They next
lay out the whole in little squares, formed by narrow paths which cross
each other at right angles. At each intersection of these paths, an
albatross constructs her nest; while in the centre of each square is a
penguin’s nest.

Although the penguin and albatross profess such sincere attachment for
one another, they not only form their nests in a different manner, but
the penguin will rob her friend’s nest, whenever an opportunity
presents; being ambitious, I suppose, to produce a large family. The
penguin’s nest is formed by an excavation in the earth; while that of
the albatross is formed by throwing up a mound of earth, eight or ten
inches high; on the summit of which she can scrutinize the proceedings
of her nearest neighbors and best friends.

The camp of the rookery is in continual motion; penguins passing through
the different paths, on their return from aquatic excursions, eager to
caress their mates after a temporary absence; while the latter are
passing out in quest of refreshment and recreation. At the same time,
the air is almost darkened by an innumerable number of albatross
hovering over the rookery, continually lighting, and meeting their
companions; while others are rising, and shaping their course for the
sea. To see these creatures of the ocean so faithfully discharge the
duties assigned them by the great Creator; to witness their affectionate
re-unions, their numerous acts of tenderness and courtesy to each other,
the reflection naturally arises, that, if there was only as much harmony
and genuine affection between wedded pairs of the human family, the
connubial state would then indeed be “all that we dream of heaven.”

We had remained at the islands about a month, when the ship Humayoon,
from Dundee, (McKenzie, master,) bound to Valparaiso, laden with coal,
tar, and liquors, put into port to procure water and beef. The captain
formed an acquaintance with my husband, and, after learning the
particulars of our situation, very kindly offered us a passage to
Valparaiso; from whence we could, in all probability, arrive home sooner
than by remaining where we were. After having procured the necessaries
required, I expected the captain would at once proceed on his voyage;
but, being perfectly independent, as he was sole owner of the fine ship
and cargo, he protracted his stay at the settlement day after day,
thereby gratifying the mirth-loving portion of the community by
assembling them at different times on ship-board, to join in the merry
dance. He had on board several musical instruments, which he was taking
out to dispose of; and, being possessed of extraordinary musical
talents, the people were perfectly delighted and entranced with
specimens of his skill. He had a perfect passion for Scotch airs, which,
all conceded, never before sounded half so enlivening. But pleasures,
however transporting, unhappily cannot last. No chain, be it of gold, or
pearl, or flowers, can bind the stubborn wings of Time, and bid him
loiter on his way. On the morning of the 25th of November, he weighed
anchor, and turned her bows towards the entrance.

I cast a last, sad, lingering look at the old Nonantum, and bade adieu
to kind friends, whom, probably, I should never meet again on the
journey of life, although they would be often remembered. During my
sojourn at the islands, although I found kind friends, I passed many a
gloomy hour. As the season approached which, from time immemorial, in
dear old New England, has been observed as a day of thanksgiving and
prayer,--a day, of all others, when severed families assemble under the
paternal roof, to meet once again the loved friends of their youth, to
tread again the paths hallowed by childhood’s earliest
recollections,--the anniversary of such a day, while in this remote
region, crowded my memory with reminiscences of the past, pleasurable,
from the associations which they recalled, and painful, from the
position which I then occupied.




CHAPTER VI.


Once more I found myself on board a good ship, bounding gayly over the
blue waters. Captain McKenzie possessed, in an eminent degree, the
ability of rendering his passengers perfectly at home and happy. His
crew were composed entirely of Scotchmen; and, every evening, the echo
of their merry Scotch songs were wafted far over the deep sea. Captain
McKenzie proposed teaching to me the Spanish language, being a perfect
linguist himself. He found me far more tractable in that than in
learning to take a glass of his “good Scotch whiskey,” as he termed it,
to which I had taken a mortal aversion, and for which he entertained a
decided preference.

He was a skilful navigator, and, on his voyages around Cape Horn,
invariably passed through the Straits of Le Maire, which separate Staten
Land from Terra del Fuego, and, by “hugging the land,” escape some of
the severe blows so prevalent in that region. He having been on several
exploring expeditions in those waters, I experienced a degree of
security I should not otherwise have felt in approaching so near to huge
and jagged rocks, that for ages had reared their frowning heads, as if
in defiance of old ocean’s roar. We passed the veritable Cape Horn
(situated on Hermit Island) in such close proximity, one could
distinctly discern the barren soil. While I stood gazing at the
conical

[Illustration: BURNING OF THE HUMAYOON.]

mount, said the captain, “You have now seen what many an old navigator
in these waters never beheld, they keep so far south.” I assured him one
sight was sufficient for a life-time; that the remembrance of the
wildness and grandeur of that ocean scene would never be obliterated
from the pages of memory.

That night, it came on to blow tremendously. Next morning, we found
ourselves eighty miles from land, and, horror of horrors, the ship on
fire! My heart refused to give credence to the startling report, until
my eyes beheld it. Our worst fears were too soon confirmed by the flames
darting upwards, and igniting the hatch the men were vainly endeavoring
to caulk; for fear had paralyzed their faculties. When that burnt and
fell in, the flames shot upward almost to the top-mast-head. The
combustible nature of the cargo caused the fire to increase with
wonderful rapidity. The long-boat was launched, and I was placed
therein, with my pet-goat; for I would not leave her behind: the other I
had given to Myrtie. After several ineffectual attempts to get at some
bread and water, the fire and smoke drove them all in confusion to the
boat. They pulled off a short distance, and we gazed in sadness and
silence upon what was so recently our happy home, now a burning wreck.
The calmness of despair pervaded my whole being: all was comprehended at
a glance,--eighty miles from land, and that an inhospitable coast,
inhabited only by savages; without bread or water; in an open boat,
exposed to the inclemency of Cape Horn weather! People on the land,
seated by their pleasant firesides, imagine they can understand our
feelings at that time; but it is impossible. Even when danger, in its
most appalling form, threatens on the land, there is generally some
avenue of escape open. But at sea, with nought but a frail plank between
you and a watery grave,--and that so fragile, one dash of those mighty
waves might annihilate it,--oh, the horror of such a situation can
_never_ be conceived!

All at once, the joyful cry of “Sail, ho!” was shouted from our midst;
and, far away, I could descry a speck upon the ocean. Nearer and nearer
it came, until, when within about a mile of us, she “hove to,” and
lowered away a boat, which came bounding over the water to our relief.
This ship proved to be the Symmetry, of Liverpool, Captain Thompson,
bound to Acapulco, and laden with coal. How that word rang in my ears!
It seemed to me every ship that floated was coal-laden. We repaired at
once on board the Symmetry. Capt. McKenzie requested, as a favor, that
Capt. Thompson would “lay by” until the Humayoon was burned down. Now
that we could view her from a place of safety, it was a scene to rivet
the attention of all beholders. Flying about, at the mercy of the wind
and waves, the flames bursting out her sides (the liquor was stowed aft)
and stern, the blue flames wreathed and flashed higher and higher. Soon
the main and mizen-mast began to totter: they swayed to and fro for
about ten minutes, when they fell with a crash over the side. Soon the
fore-mast fell; and all that remained of the fine ship Humayoon lay a
burning mass upon the water.

Captain Thompson now made sail, and soon the remains of that noble ship
which, only twelve days previously, had borne us from our island
retreat, was obscured from our view. Her commander dropped a tear to her
memory, and retired in silence to the cabin.

Captain Thompson was accompanied by his wife and family. I was pleased
at the idea of enjoying for a season, however brief, the society of a
female friend. Capt. Thompson had previously informed us that our stay
on board the Symmetry must of necessity be prolonged no farther than
such a time as he could speak some ship. His inability to accommodate
us longer than was actually necessary was owing to a scarcity of
provisions, his own ship’s crew being then on an allowance. He had been
seven months from Liverpool. He had put into Rio on the way, where, on
account of severe indisposition, he had remained several weeks. While
there, his crew had nearly all deserted him. When ready for sea, he
shipped any he could get; and a sorry set he had. Part of them had
mutinied, and were confined; and the other half carried the principles
of revolt, too apparent to be mistaken, in their dark countenances.

Night had now spread its sable mantle over the world of waters; the
bright constellations were reflected in the deep; and the noble ship,
with majestic and graceful motion, was cleaving a pathway for herself
through the rapidly heaving billows. My thoughts, as my eyes wandered
over the waste of waters, were busy with the past and present,--for the
future I could only hope. But a few months had intervened since leaving
Baltimore; and yet how much intense anxiety, actual suffering, and
harrowing suspense, were crowded into that short space! One day on board
a burning ship, with no hope of escape; then a port of safety in view;
then on board another ship, with every prospect of a speedy termination
of our eventful voyage; then, again, assailed by fire, and obliged to
seek safety in an open boat, far from land; and then transferred to a
place of temporary safety,--for what could we expect but a recurrence of
those awful scenes, while on board a coal-laden ship? “What,” thought I,
“will be the end? Shall I ever be permitted to reach in safety the land
of my birth?” I dared not entertain a hope seemingly so fallacious. As
time progressed, I was often reminded, by painful contrast, of the
fleeting happiness enjoyed on board the Humayoon. _There_ a spirit of
harmony and love seemed to pervade the whole ship’s company. The reverse
of this at sea is disagreeable in the extreme; and the truth of this
assertion was never more clearly demonstrated than on board the
Symmetry. In lieu of heart-stirring songs and happy faces, gloomy
frowns, and curses “not loud but deep,” met the ear at every turn;
anarchy and discord went hand in hand. Daily I scanned the ocean in
search of a sail, anticipating a happy change, yet dreading what I most
desired; for had not experience taught me that whatever we most
earnestly desire, when attained, often proves the source of the keenest
misery? At the expiration of thirteen days, the anxiously expected sail
appeared. Mentally I prayed it might be an American; for with my own
countrymen there exists a congruity of thought and feeling which renders
their society more congenial. As she neared us, we perceived, to our
great joy, that she was a large American ship. In answer to Captain
Thompson’s signal, she hove to. He then sent a boat to ascertain if we
could be transferred to her. She proved to be the Fanchon, of
Newburyport, Captain Lunt, bound to San Francisco, laden with coal,
which she took in at Baltimore. We became acquainted with Captain Lunt
while at Baltimore. The Nonantum had sailed three weeks in advance of
the Fanchon. The Nonantum had gone to her last resting-place; and here,
on the broad Pacific, we met the Fanchon, in all her pristine
architectural beauty, unharmed, and yet laden with Cumberland coal. Upon
Capt. Lunt learning that we were on board the Symmetry, he came with all
possible haste in his own boat to convey us to the Fanchon.

In the interim, Captain McKenzie had effected a compromise with Captain
Thompson, to the effect that he would sail as near to the port of
Valparaiso as would render it safe and feasible for Captain McKenzie and
crew to embark in their long-boat, and arrive at their destined port.
How well they succeeded, future events will promulgate.

I should judge, the two ships lay about a mile apart. Soon after we
welcomed Captain Lunt on board the Symmetry, the heavens became suddenly
overcast; and, as appearances betokened a squall, it was thought
advisable for me to depart instantly with Captain Lunt; while my husband
should collect what effects we had preserved from the Humayoon and my
goat, and come in the ship’s boat. Thinking and hoping we should reach
the Fanchon before the squall struck, they watched us with intense
anxiety from the ships. When little more than mid-way between the ships,
it came. Drenched with spray, and clinging to my seat, I dared not
express my terror other than by looks. “Do not be alarmed,” said Capt.
Lunt. “There is no danger to be apprehended. We shall soon reach the
Fanchon; and, when once on her deck, all trouble and danger will flee
away.” By such cheering words, he endeavored to divert my thoughts from
our by no means enviable situation. My heart almost ceased its
pulsations as we bounded over the white-crested billows. How intently
were we watched by those on board the Symmetry! When we would disappear
from their view in the trough of the sea, Mrs. Thompson would exclaim,
“They are gone! they are lost!” and, when we appeared on the top of some
mighty wave, would the fervent exclamation, “Thank God, they are safe!”
ascend from every heart. By some mischance or other, in attempting to
get alongside, we were swept towards the ship’s stern. She was plunging
and rolling terribly. “My God, we are under the stern!” was the hasty
ejaculation borne to my ears; and there, towering high above us over our
frail boat, was the noble ship, threatening instant destruction. It was
but momentary. By almost superhuman exertion, the boat’s crew succeeded
in placing our frail bark beyond the reach of imminent danger; and, as
the ship dashed down into the bosom of her native element, we were
beyond her reach, but not far enough to escape the tumultuous dashing of
the waters, which for an instant caused me to doubt my being in the
boat. The second attempt to reach her side was crowned with success. A
rope was thrown from the ship, which was caught by those in the boat. It
required the united exertions of all to keep the boat from being dashed
to pieces against the ship’s side. It seemed almost an impossibility for
me to ascend the side of the ship unassisted; but so I must go, if I
went at all, and that right

[Illustration: TRANSFER FROM THE SHIP SYMMETRY TO THE FANCHON.]

speedily. I could scarcely retain an upright position in the boat; and
yet, as the ship rolled towards us, my instructions were to jump and
catch the man-ropes, and cling hold until she careened the other way,
and then to climb the steps as quickly as possible. The water was
boiling and surging between the ship and the boat in such a manner as to
intimidate a much _larger_ female than myself. Captain Lunt was to give
the word when to jump; and, when “Now is your time! now is your time!”
came thundering in my ears, all my innate fortitude deserted me; I was
powerless to move. Captain Lunt, rightly conjecturing that, unless moved
by some sudden impulse of resentment, I should never gain the deck,
looked and spoke his feelings of disapproval so palpably, (he afterwards
assured me it cost him no small effort to conceal his genuine feelings,)
that I felt I would make an attempt, “live or die, sink or swim.” When
next the word was given, it was promptly obeyed. I jumped, caught one of
the ropes with both hands, and clung with the tenacity of one whose only
hope of preservation depended upon a firm grasp. I was all the time
cheered by the cry of “Hold on; you are safe!” In a moment I had clasped
the other rope, ascended the steps, and was placed upon deck by the
mate. I could recollect nothing more distinctly, until I found myself
in a beautiful cabin, attended by an old man, judging from his silvered
locks; yet his fresh and healthy appearance gave evidence that, although
“Father Time” had whitened his hair, he had made but few inroads upon a
healthy constitution. He was the steward--an old and devoted servant to
the captain, in whose employ he had been for seventeen years. He was a
native of England. His words of consolation to me were, “God bless your
dear little heart!” accompanied by a pat on my shoulder; “may you never
be in such a situation again. Lord bless you! The sight of one of my
girls in a like situation would well-nigh break my heart.” Soon my
husband arrived in safety. Captain Lunt made sail, and, long before the
shades of evening descended, the Symmetry was scarcely discernible. The
Fanchon was far her superior, as regarded sailing qualities and
symmetrical proportions. All the symmetry the other could boast of lay
in the name. I wished her success, and a safe arrival at her destined
port. She had been my home for thirteen days; and, although there were
many disagreeable incidents connected with our stay on board, yet she
had appeared to render assistance, when our hopes were at the lowest
ebb. Under these considerations, I bade her adieu as an old friend. The
cupidity of her captain may be illustrated by the fact of his presenting
a bill of one hundred and fifty dollars to my husband, as he was about
leaving the ship. There was no alternative but to pay it, situated as we
were. For this mean act he was published. The news reached the ear of
his employer, who quickly refunded the amount, and also discharged him
from his employ. Once again we met the Symmetry, before the termination
of this never-to-be-forgotten voyage. When and where, time and future
pages will explain.




CHAPTER VII.


Our home on board the Fanchon was all the most fastidious could desire.
Captain Lunt was possessed of all those gentlemanly attributes which are
calculated to win the possessor friends, and respect from all with whom
he associates. Ever joyous and light-hearted, the salutary effects
produced by the exercise of these excellent properties seemed to
pervade the hearts of all subject to his control. He also being a
judicious disciplinarian, the greatest neatness and order imaginable
prevailed throughout the ship. Our fancied security--our sanguine
expectations that our troubles from fire at sea were at an end--our
hopes of a safe and speedy termination of our voyage--all these
heart-cheering feelings were sustained and strengthened by reiterated
assurances from Captain Lunt that there was no danger whatever of the
Fanchon’s burning, she was so well ventilated. In fact, he attributed
the destruction of the other ships to want of proper ventilation.
Besides, he argued, that if there had been the least probability of its
taking fire, it would have done so long ago. We all conceded his
arguments were decidedly conclusive; and, for a few days, anxiety, fear,
suspense, and all the attendant train of harrowing reflections, were
strangers to my bosom. But as frail and fleeting as are all the
evanescent joys of earth were my hopes. On the 25th of December, in the
evening, as we sat conversing of the day, and the manner in which they
were celebrating it at our far distant homes, and vainly wishing that,
by another Christmas, our places in the family circle would not be
vacant, a puff of air was wafted into the cabin, so strongly
impregnated with gas as to render the conviction certain in my mind,
that the coal was on fire. I speedily gave utterance to my fears, which
met with a responsive “Pshaw! you have inhaled and smelt gas so often,
it has become accessory to your very being.”

They failed, however, in eradicating from my mind the impression that
the coal was on fire. Upon retiring for the night, the thought of being,
for the third time, on board a burning ship, so harassed me as to
completely banish slumber from my pillow. Next morning, the captain
instituted a search throughout the ship, which proved, beyond a doubt in
his mind, there could be no fire. We were now about twelve hundred miles
from land, with a fair wind, on the direct course for San Francisco.

Things remained in this state for two or three days. I cannot affirm
that the minds of _all_ were perfectly free from apprehension; yet, as
strict watch was kept, and nothing except that disagreeable smell of gas
was apparent to confirm my fears, I felt a little more at rest. The
third day, as Capt. Lunt was watching one of the large ventilators on
deck, he saw something having the appearance of smoke escaping
therefrom. He sprang down between decks--there was no appearance of
smoke or fire whatever; raised the lower hatch--all appeared as usual.
He then ordered the second mate to dig down into the coal, and soon
proofs beyond a doubt were too apparent. The coal was so hot, it could
not be taken in the hand. The whole body of coal, two or three feet
below the surface, was red hot. The same preparations for a life on
board a burning ship were again repeated that it had been my fortune
twice previously to witness. In this instance, we had not to contend
with the elements of wind and water as well as fire; for the ocean, at
times, was as smooth and transparent as a glass. For a time, Captain
Lunt shaped his course for the Galapagos Islands, what wind there was
being favorable to waft us in that direction; and, our distance from the
islands and the main-land being nearly equal, he was undecided for some
time which port would be our destination. Being within the tropics, the
weather was exceedingly pleasant--almost too much so for our benefit.

For several days in succession, it would remain perfectly calm. The
nights were beautifully serene; not a cloud, or the slightest film of
vapor, appeared on the face of the deep blue canopy of the heavens. The
moon, and countless starry host of the firmament, exhibited their
lustrous splendor in a perfection of brilliancy unknown to the
night-watchers in the humid regions of the Atlantic. The ship would be
lying listlessly upon the surface of the unbroken waste of waters, while
our minds were constantly agitated between hope and fear,--hope, that
each morn, as the golden orb of day appeared rising from old ocean’s
bosom, that, ere she bid us farewell at eve, some welcome sail would
come to the rescue; and fear, as each returning day numbered
disappointed hopes, and increased the heat on ship-board, that we were
indeed a doomed crew.

At night, signal-lights were kept burning, in the hope of attracting the
attention of some vessel which might be passing. For days look-outs were
stationed aloft, and more than once were our ears gladdened with the
joyful cry of “Sail, ho!” which as often proved a vain illusion. The
strained vision and anxious solicitude of those on the look-out caused
them to imagine they saw that which they vainly desired to behold.

I was induced, by the entreaties and advice of my husband, seconded by
those of Captain Lunt, to adopt gentlemen’s apparel. Considering the
danger and exposure we might be subjected to, should we be compelled to
remain any length of time in the boats,--to which, unless relief
arrived from some other source, we should resort to soon,--it was not,
everything considered, a bad idea, which might never have been carried
into effect had Capt. Lunt been as large in stature as my husband.
Accordingly, from the captain’s wardrobe was selected a pair of black
pants, a green hunting-coat, black satin vest, bosom, and collar worn à
la Byron, and a purple velvet smoking-cap. Arrayed in this garb, I was
scarcely recognizable by my friends on board. Days came and passed, and
yet no relief appeared. Daily, convincing proofs appeared to warn us of
the slow but sure destruction of the ship, in the form of gas and smoke,
which were escaping through every seam. The beautiful paint-work and
gilding of the cabin assumed the darkest hue; everything on board seemed
shrouded in the sable habiliments of mourning. Slowly and gradually we
neared the land; and, after three weeks of intense suspense and
solicitude, the exulting cry of “Land, ho!” was echoed far and near. It
was an uninhabited part of the coast of Peru--a small bay, or, rather,
indenture made in at this place, called the Bay of Sechura. Into this
bay the ship was guided; and, when about two miles from shore, she was
brought to an anchor, at about four o’clock, P.M. As soon as the
wished-for haven appeared, I hastened to my state-room, and doffed my
male attire, supremely happy to exchange what I had so reluctantly
adopted, and what each succeeding day of usage rendered still more
distasteful. Rest assured, O ye of the opposite sex, that I, for one,
will never attempt to appropriate to myself the indispensables, or the
love of lordly power which usually accompanies them, but leave _you_ in
undisputed possession of your rights!

Long before we reached our anchorage, the roaring of the surf, as it
dashed upon the lonely beach, sounded like a mournful dirge to our ears.
There appeared to be a short stretch of sandy beach, circumscribed by
high and jutting rocks. Around us, on either side, were innumerable
breakers, threatening destruction as we approached nearer; yet we heeded
not our dangerous proximity to sunken rocks, but the noble ship bounded
gayly over the waters, unmindful of the destiny awaiting the doomed.

In the distance could be discerned the Andes Mountains, rearing their
lofty heads in silent grandeur, and seeming to penetrate the blue dome
of the o’er-arching heavens. Immediately upon bringing the ship to an
anchor, preparations were made to effect a landing in the boats.
Captain Lunt and my husband deposited their nautical instruments and
charts, and some few articles of clothing, in a chest which they had
rendered as nearly water-proof as possible, and consigned it to one of
the boats. We threw overboard all the spare spars upon deck, and
everything that would float. We had no provisions or water to take on
shore, and had been refreshed with none through the day. There was one
pig on board that had left Baltimore in the ship, and one hen. These,
together with my pet-goat, the sailors took under their own immediate
protection, and succeeded in landing them on the beach. The pig, in the
height of his terror, beat an instantaneous retreat into one of the
numerous caves, or recesses, situated at the base of perpendicular
cliffs, which rose nearly two hundred feet, and presented an effectual
barrier to any attempt that might be made to scale them. I recollect
distinctly my sensations on leaving the ship in a boat; how intently I
watched the foaming surf we were fast approaching, and which had already
engulfed the boat in advance; then an indistinct recollection of roaring
and splashing of water,--of voices heard above the din of all, giving
directions,--of being dragged, minus bonnet and shawl, through the
surf

[Illustration: BURNING OF THE FANCHON ON THE COAST OF PERU.]

upon the sandy beach. Of my very unceremonious introduction within the
precincts of the province of Peru, I have no very pleasing
recollections. After removing everything off the ship’s deck, they ran
her still nearer in, and scuttled her; but the fire had made such
progress, it was impossible to save her. In two hours after we left her
deck, she burst out into a sheet of flame. The fire caught to the sails,
which were spread to the breeze, and she was a sheet of fire to the
mast-heads. Here, in this lonely bay, lay the fine ship Fanchon, and
burnt to the water’s edge. Nothing could exceed the almost awful
profoundness of the solitude by which we were surrounded--a silence
broken only by the roaring and crackling of the flames, as they wreathed
and shot far upward, illuminating the midnight darkness, and casting the
reflection of their fiery glare far out over the lonely deep,--and the
deep roar of the eternally restless waves, as they dashed in rapid
succession upon the beach at our feet. It is quite impossible to convey
by language an adequate conception of the solemn magnificence of this
midnight scene. The burning ship in the foreground, the light from which
revealed the sublime altitude of the mountains in the background, whose
barren heads seemed to pierce the sky, every object distinctly
daguerreotyped; the rocks on either hand, laved for ages by the white
sea-foam; the bald and inaccessible cliffs in close proximity, in the
rear; and twenty-six human beings (myself numbering the only female)
standing upon the narrow beach, viewing silently the work of
destruction, rapidly progressing, which deprived us of a home, and the
necessary sustenance required to support life,--only a skilful artist,
with his pencil and brush, could do justice to the picture here drawn.
By three o’clock that night, nought remained to mark the spot--where, a
few hours previous, lay the gallant ship--but a smoking hulk.

I sank into an unquiet slumber superinduced by exhaustion, fairly cried
myself to sleep, and rested my weary limbs upon a couch of beach-sand.
Next morning, we discovered several rafts (or, as they are there
denominated, balsas) coming into the bay. They were covered with
Indians--a sort of mongrel race, who live principally upon their balsas,
scarcely ever visiting the shore except to procure water and potatoes.
They subsist mostly upon raw fish. They speak the Spanish language. They
anchored their crafts outside the surf, then dove into the water, and
swam to the shore. They were nearly in a state of nudity. Their
demeanor was entirely pacific. They advanced towards us with hands
extended, in token of friendship. They had been attracted to the spot by
the light from the burning ship, and had assembled in considerable
numbers, doubtless in the hope of obtaining pillage, as they rather
demurred in rendering any assistance, unless stimulated by a promise of
compensation. For “mucha pesos,” they agreed to furnish us with water
and sweet potatoes while we remained upon the beach. They peremptorily
refused to take us to Payta,--the nearest settlement, which was fifty
miles distant,--thinking, doubtless, it would be a more profitable
speculation for them to protract our stay upon the beach, until, at
least, the “pesos” were all gone. I was constrained to offer my pet-goat
to them, in exchange for water: she had long since ceased to furnish
milk. Poor thing! after having encountered so many fiery trials, she was
but a wreck of her former self. Much as I regretted to part with her, I
felt it to be a duty I owed her, for past favors received, to mitigate
her woes as far as it lay in my power. With a last, sad, lingering look
at her mistress, and a despairing farewell bleat, she was dragged away.
The natives informed us we were fifteen leagues from any fresh water;
thereby giving us to understand that we were very dependent mortals.
They then departed, promising to come on the morrow with a fresh supply.
Their balsas are constructed of very buoyant, porous logs, bound
together in the form of a raft; then another layer, transverse the
former. In the centre, it is raised still higher.




CHAPTER VIII.


Here indeed was a new phase of existence, gloomy enough in anticipation,
yet far preferable to the dangerous scenes in which it had heretofore
been my fortune to participate. The sailors pitched four small tents;
two for themselves, and two for the officers. These served for a shelter
at night; but, during the day, when the sun shone with an almost
scorching fervency of heat, unmitigated by a single cloud on the face of
the sky, it was almost impossible to remain in them. To augment our
troubles, the fleas were so numerous and so blood-thirsty, that for a
few days I was in perpetual motion. When once they made a lodgment in
our clothing, it was useless to attempt to exterminate them; and _they_
never capitulate. At night, upon retiring, our only preparation was to
spread a blanket upon the sand, and lie down upon it. In the morning, we
would find ourselves almost imbedded in the loose beach-sand; for, upon
the dry part of the beach, it was quite deep. I would rise, and shake my
head to dislodge the quantity of sand there collected. My hair was
hanging unconfined over my shoulders, having lost comb, hair-pins, and
bonnet. I would walk down to the shore of the Pacific,--an ample
wash-bowl, certainly,--and perform my ablutions, dispensing, of
necessity, with all the modern appurtenances of a lady’s toilet.

Captain Lunt proposed to send to the American Consul at Payta for
assistance to remove us from the beach. His mate, Mr. McCrelles, of
Belfast, Maine, volunteered to go, accompanied by four of the sailors.
The next day after our arrival there, they embarked on their voyage to
obtain the relief we so much needed. Their directions were, to keep
close in shore; and, with God’s blessing, they would arrive at Payta,
and assistance would reach us at the expiration of a week. We watched
the little boat until she looked like a speck upon the water; and, with
many an unuttered prayer for her safe arrival, we turned our thoughts
landward,--I to amuse myself by selecting the most beautiful shells I
could find: they were very numerous among the rocks at each extremity of
the beach. I was never lonely: I found companions in my own thoughts;
and they were oftentimes pleasanter than the gayer ones of the world
would have been, for they whispered of home and loved friends.

There was the skeleton of a whale perfect, and entirely exposed. How
long the remains of this huge aquatic monster had been bleaching under
the scorching rays of that tropical sun, we had no means of
ascertaining.

The Indians faithfully kept their promise, and each succeeding day they
visited us with a plentiful supply of water and potatoes; the bill of
fare varied occasionally by the introduction of some very offensive
fowl, which they positively asserted were “esta bueno.” An amusement in
which I often indulged was to chase innumerable crabs, with which the
beach was literally covered in the mornings. They would, upon the first
intimation of pursuit, disappear instantly into their holes in the hard
sand. By remaining perfectly quiet for some time, they would again
assemble in numbers, which the least movement on my part would again put
to flight. They would make greater progress running sideways than I
could any way; therefore, I never caught one.

The pig remained secreted in his cavernous retreat, which no entreaties
on our part could induce him to vacate. Not until driven to the last
extremity by the pangs of hunger, did he venture to reconnoitre from the
aperture. After viewing his companions in distress for a little time, he
gained sufficient courage to eat potatoes from my hand. After that, he
became quite domesticated, and, with the hen, used to share the sailors’
tent with them at nights.

During this time, I was unconsciously assuming the dark and swarthy hue
of the native women, from being constantly exposed to the scorching
glare of a tropical sun. My habiliments, too, were becoming exceedingly
soiled, from constant use both by night and day.

The love and spirit of adventure had, from earliest infancy, been
strongly implanted in my nature; and, during this voyage, certainly,
this predilection for thrilling adventure had been amply gratified. Yet,
had not the fiery ordeal through which it had pleased the God of love to
bring me been for good, it would have been averted.

A week had now elapsed since the departure of the boat. Intently we
scanned the ocean, in the hope of descrying the anxiously expected sail.
Nights, at the hour of twilight, I would seat myself upon the rocks to
indulge in the reveries which that most fitting hour for reflection
usually calls up. The mind feels a soothing influence as the light of
day fades gradually from sight. At such times memory is busy with the
past--the distant home, the loved friends there assembled. I often
wandered in this way through the spirit-land of old times. One night I
was startled by the exultant cry of “A sail! a sail!” Being fearful lest
some casualty had befallen the boat, and she had never reached Payta,
Captain Lunt deemed it advisable to make signals, in the hope of
attracting attention. She kept on her way, apparently unmindful of the
signals which she could not but have seen, as the captain had sent up a
rocket, which he had preserved in the water-proof chest. Darkness now
hid her from our view; and we sat down, wondering that no answering
signal had been displayed to our call for succor.

We repaired to our tent with our minds illy reconciled to passing
another night victims to the insatiable fleas, whose cry still was,
Blood, blood. All at once we heard the clanking of chains letting go an
anchor. All rushed out, and there lay a dark object in the offing. Soon
we heard the splash of oars; and in a short time Mr. McCrellis, his
countenance beaming with smiles, stood in our midst. He was accompanied
by Captain Hillman, originally of New Bedford. His bark had been
chartered by the American consul to come to our rescue. The next morning
we bade farewell to rocks, and sand, and fleas, and repaired on board
the bark, where, for the first time since leaving the Fanchon, I caught
a glimpse of my sun-burned, swarthy countenance. The poisonous bite of
the fleas had contributed their share towards imparting to my skin the
appearance of a person suffering from measles, small-pox, and erysipelas
combined.




CHAPTER IX.


As you enter the harbor of Payta from sea, the town presents a most
uninviting appearance. It is built at the base of sand hills. The houses
have the appearance of mud huts; the roofs covered with tile. Upon a
nearer approach, not a green thing can be discovered except the
balconies of some of the finer houses. The consul, tired, as he said, of
eternally seeing sand hills and sand-colored dwellings, had relieved the
monotony of the scene by substituting green paint wherever an
opportunity presented. At this time the town numbered about four
thousand inhabitants. They came to an anchor some distance from the
shore, and were soon surrounded by boats. The English, French, and
American consuls came on board, each equally desirous of giving us a
home, and contributing in any way to render our stay with them as
pleasant as possible. We repaired to the house of the American
consul--Mr. Ruden, of New York, who has a mercantile house established
there. This house is very spacious, constructed upon the Spanish plan of
architecture, and constructed wholly after the manner of South American
houses. The whole front of the lower part is appropriated to business.

A wide and pleasant balcony surrounds the entire house at the second
story. Large windows, and still larger doors, open upon this balcony,
and render it an airy and delightful residence. From this balcony you
have a fine view of the harbor, dotted with ships of almost every
nation. In addition--and not a very pleasant auxiliary, to be sure--are
multitudes of natives constantly sea-bathing, and frolicking in the
water. I often wondered if some of them were not really amphibious. Mr.
Ruden’s household consisted of himself and four gentlemen belonging to
the firm. All his servants were male natives, and he employed quite a
number, with a major domo to superintend them. Upon entering the
spacious parlor, my attention was attracted to the portrait of a lady
with such a pleasant expression of countenance that I hoped the original
was not far distant. In this, however, I was disappointed. It was a
portrait of Mr. Ruden’s mother, a resident of New York city. Mr. Ruden
was a bachelor; thus again was I deprived of female companionship.
Eighteen years of his life had been passed in South America, where he
had amassed quite a fortune.

I often availed myself of the use of Mr. Ruden’s library. In this room
was suspended a hempen hammock, in which I enjoyed many a delightful
siesta. The bedsteads were all of polished brass, and very beautifully
curtained with bright-colored satin. Some of them cost as high as one
thousand dollars. The pillow-slips and counterpanes were solid
embroidery, executed by the delicate hands of the lovely Spanish
señoritas. They were placed on the beds over a lining of pink or blue
cambric, thereby displaying to great advantage the fine needle-work.
Even the toilet-towels were embroidered at each end a quarter of a yard
in depth, and then fringed. We breakfasted at ten o’clock, and dined at
five, P.M. At nine, P.M., a servant would bring us a most excellent cup
of tea, which we generally enjoyed seated upon the balcony. Through the
day we were regaled with all the delicious fruits indigenous to a
tropical clime, among which were several kinds I had never before
tasted--the palta and cherrymoyer. The first-named is shaped something
like cucumber, and is eaten with pepper and salt. The flavor of the
cherrymoyer is perfectly delicious. This fruit is about the size of the
largest kind of Baldwin apple, and very pulpous. The fruit, together
with the water, and all the vegetables consumed in Payta, and all with
which the shipping is supplied, is transported across a desert of
sixteen miles in width, upon mules’ backs, from a town called Piura--a
perfect garden of Eden, through which flows a pellucid river. When the
ladies of Payta visit Piura to refresh themselves with a sight of the
beautiful in nature, they are transported in a palanquin, which is
rested upon the shoulders of natives. On the desert there is not a tree
or shrub to mark one’s course. It is deep sand, from which footprints
are quickly erased. A pocket-compass is indispensable in crossing.

There was a church near to Mr. Ruden’s house, which I often
frequented--at the matin hour, and again at vespers--to get a view of
the lovely brunettes, who, with heads uncovered, were kneeling in every
direction, upon soft mats brought every day by a servant, following in
close proximity to the señora or señorita. I admire their style of
beauty. The clear olive complexion; the soul and sympathy which beam
from their dark, lustrous eyes; their long, black, glossy hair; their
natural ease, grace, and warmth of manner; the lip so full of sentiment
and love, that, if the eyes were closed, the face would retain its
exquisite expression; their vivacity of manner in conversation--_all_
unite to form a lovely and fascinating woman.

The walls of the churches are hung with coarse paintings, and engravings
of the saints, etc., etc. The chancel is decorated with numerous images
and symbolic ornaments used by the priests in their worship. Gold paper
and tinsel in barbaric taste are plastered without stint upon nearly
every object that meets the eye. When, on festive occasions, the church
is lighted, it presents a very glittering appearance. The tastes and
predilections of the priests are totally unlike what one would suppose
their sacred offices would instigate. I have seen a priest leave the
church, walk directly to his house, take two fighting-cocks, one under
each arm, and repair to the scene of cock-fighting, and there spend
hours in betting.

While at Payta, the United States sloop-of-war Vincennes, Commander
Hudson, arrived in port. The officers frequently dined with Mr. Ruden.
By invitation of Captain Hudson, we all dined on board the Vincennes. We
were welcomed alongside by a salute of twenty-one guns--a compliment
usually conferred upon a consul when he visits ships of the line. We
spent the afternoon most agreeably; and the refined hospitality,
courteous manners, intelligent and interesting conversation of our host,
made us regret the rapidly fleeing moments. It was a beautiful moonlight
eve when we left the Vincennes in the captain’s barge, rowed by those
men-of-war sailors, dressed with such uniform neatness. Not a ripple
disturbed the placid and glossy surface of the water. At night so pure
is the atmosphere, that the moon gives a light sufficiently powerful
for the purposes of the reader or student who has good eyesight. There
is no necessity of burning the “midnight oil;” nature here lights the
lamp for the bookworm. So phosphorescent is the water, that every dip of
the oars is followed by a stream of light resembling fire. When we were
at Payta, we were informed that no rain had fallen during the preceding
seven years. We met there a friend from whom we had parted on the broad
Pacific, never expecting to meet again--Captain McKenzie. Yes! the
pleasant Scotch captain we left on board the Symmetry. Captain Thompson
had faithfully fulfilled the stipulation to leave them near the port of
Valparaiso. From thence he had taken passage in an English steamer bound
to Panama, and from there he would cross the isthmus, proceed to New
York, and from there to England. The steamer touched at Payta to remain
an hour, and Captain McKenzie stepped on shore to have a view of the
town. Nearly the first persons he saw were Captain Lunt and my husband.
When he parted from us last, we were bound to San Francisco. Judge,
then, of his astonishment at meeting them there. He knew at once some
unforeseen calamity had driven them from their course. From previous
events his thoughts naturally reverted to fire; and his first
exclamation was, “My God! you have been burnt out again!” Too true. All
was then explained. There they met, at a port neither of them intended
to visit--the three captains who had lost their ships by fire. He paid
me a passing visit at the house, then departed on his way to his distant
home, to gladden the anxious hearts of wife and children. I have never
seen or heard from him since. But, whenever my thoughts revert to him,
the recollection is always flavored with old Scotch whiskey.

The bark Carbargo, Captain Barstow, was loading at Payta for Panama. The
captain was a native of Pembroke, Mass., and, being acquainted with our
friends at home, felt quite an interest in our welfare. He very kindly
offered to give us a passage to Panama. Upon his assuring me he had not
a cargo of coal, but mules, sheep, and fowl instead, I felt I might
safely trust myself once more on board another vessel. It was a lovely
day we bade good-bye to Mr. Ruden and other friends, with whom we had
passed many pleasant hours during a four weeks’ sojourn at Payta. I had
changed somewhat in my personal appearance since first I beheld those
everlasting sand-hills. My wardrobe, too, had been replenished. I was
really a gainer by my temporary stay at Payta, and departed with a
lighter heart. Hope seemed to whisper of a cloudless to-morrow. How
wisely ordered, how characteristic of our natures, to hope on, hope
ever! When Hope deserts her throne, we are, indeed, like a lost mariner
without chart or compass.

Here we are again on ship-board; and I have no better business, all
these long summer days, than to watch those thirty large mules, ranged
along the deck, fifteen on a side, their heads facing the vessel’s rail,
with just a path between the rows. They were the finest-looking mules I
ever saw. The South American mule is larger, as a general thing, than
the Mexican mule. The captain anticipated realizing a handsome sum for
them. They were in excellent order, and were blessed with such nice long
tails, which is considered quite an acquisition. One morning early, I
heard such a loud talking on deck, and in no very pleasant tones either,
I conjectured something awful had happened. I soon ascertained the cause
of the clamor. One of the mules had broken his fastening in the night,
and, not being discovered, had the extreme audacity to deprive nearly
all his brother mules of their dearly prized appendages, eating the
hair square off, up to the fleshy part of their tail. It appears they
invariably practise this habit whenever they can get them in a position
where they can make no resistance. The sheep were between decks. The
heat must have been almost insupportable. They would gather round the
wind-sail with their noses up, panting terribly. It was not an agreeable
cargo; yet I had no fears of spontaneous combustion, although I
afterwards learned there was coal in for ballast.




CHAPTER X.


Upon arriving in the harbor of Panama, we came to an anchor about two
miles from the city. Ships scarcely ever go nearer on account of rocks.
It is not a very good harbor for vessels to lie in with safety, it is so
open. At anchor close by us was the ship Marianna, of San Francisco,
Captain Rossiter. He recognized my husband as an old acquaintance,
invited us on board his ship, where he was enjoying the society of his
wife and an interesting little child. Captain Rossiter informed us he
was going to take his ship down to Taboga, an island which lies about
ten miles from Panama. The P. M. S. S. Co. have a depot there. All the
steamers, when in port, lie there. The shipping frequent this place to
get a supply of water, which gushes in clear rivulets down the sides of
the mountains. A little steamer plies constantly between Taboga and
Panama for the accommodation of passengers, who are constantly flocking
from the miasma-infected city of Panama, to inhale the health-breathing
zephyrs of this island retreat. The shore is very bold. Ships of the
largest tonnage lie within a stone’s throw of the shore. Nearly all the
washing is carried from the city, and here cleansed in the running
streams by the native women, and spread upon the bushes to dry. At this
time there were three hotels there, and quite a number of native
populace. Since the time I allude to, they have been visited by a
destructive fire. It has been rebuilt, however. We spent one happy week
here. Daily Mrs. Rossiter and myself wandered up and down the mountain’s
side, protected from the sun’s rays by the umbrageous foliage which
formed a complete net-work above our heads. Here grew the cocoa-nut and
pine-apple. The monkeys chattered and swung from branch to branch above
our heads. The parrot and paroquet screamed at us from their leafy
habitations. Birds of beautiful plumage were carolling their sweetest
notes, giving to these sylvan mountain-slopes a truly vivifying
appearance. Here, thought I, in company with loved ones, could I dream
away a happy existence. The impersonations of romance and solitude could
scarcely find a more congenial abode than this beautiful and sequestered
isle. At the expiration of this memory-treasured week, which was,
indeed, an oasis in the waste over which I had been wafted, we returned
to an anchor at Panama. That night I was suddenly and severely attacked
with what was conceded to be, by all, Panama fever of the most malignant
kind. The next day I was carried on shore, through the city, to a house
outside the city gates, owned by a gentleman from New Orleans. For the
use of one furnished room and board, the sum of forty dollars per week
was required. It was a large, barn-like dwelling. Nearly all the rooms
were rented to Spaniards. The partitions which divided the house into
apartments only extended to a height sufficient to conceal the occupants
from one another, without in the least obviating the noise and
disturbance naturally occurring from so many living under one roof.
Even this tenement, rough as it was, far exceeded, in point of
cleanliness and healthy location, the crowded, and at that time filthy,
hotels of the city. Ours was a corner room in the second story, fronting
the street. Large doors, very much resembling barn-doors, opened from
two sides of the room upon a balcony, that indispensable appendage to
all the dwellings situated in tropical climes. Every breath of air which
fanned my burning brow seemed wafted from a heated furnace. For days I
lay a victim to that consuming fever, part of the time in blissful
unconsciousness. I say blissful, because my thoughts wandered to my
distant home, and I was relieved, for the time being, from the agonizing
thoughts that in intervals of reason obtruded themselves upon me. I was
attended by no physician. Captain Rossiter administered dose after dose
of calomel, until my system was completely prostrated. Well was it for
me that my knowledge of the Spanish language was so limited; otherwise I
might have been shocked by the language of some of the inmates of the
house. Every footfall, every loud word, echoed and reverberated through
that hollow building, sending, at each recurrence, a pang of agony
through my burning brain. Fear, too, would assert her sway when left
alone, as I oftentimes was. For nearly two weeks the fever raged
incessantly; after which time, I gradually convalesced.

When raised by pillows in my bed, I had a view of the street leading to
the rear gates of the city, and day after day could I see the silent
dead borne to their last resting-place. At that time, Panama was crowded
with Americans waiting to be conveyed to the gold-studded placers of
California. Alas! many of the number never reached the goal they so
ardently desired, and for which they had sacrificed their own happiness,
and that of those dearer to them than aught else except gold, the yellow
dust of temptation. Truly it may be said to be “the root of all evil,”
when it allures thousands from their peaceful homes, to meet an untimely
death. Reflections such as these had a decided tendency to depress still
more my already despondent heart. My recovery, at times, was considered
doubtful. It was too sickly to entertain the idea of remaining there
longer than was absolutely necessary. I was too weak to attempt to cross
the Isthmus; therefore, all hope of returning home was abandoned.

It was decided to take passage at once for San Francisco. We remained
one month at Panama. During the last two or three days of our stay, I
walked a short distance each day. One of our walks we extended as far as
the burying-ground. What a shunned and desolate spot was that American
burial-ground at Panama,--a mere necessary receptacle of lifeless flesh
and crumbling bones,--not even a stone raised to mark the last
resting-place of the many loved friends who had breathed their last sigh
in a strange land, and by strangers been consigned to mother earth! A
little piece of board was sometimes reared, with the name, age, and
place of residence, marked thereon; but often this little mark of
respect and affection had been displaced by mules, numbers of which are
constantly grazing among the graves. No inclosure protects these often
nameless mounds; straggling bushes struggle with rank and choking weeds
that overtop them. The whole place bears a deserted, forsaken
aspect--untrodden by the feet of memory and love. It is within sight of
the bay, whose waters, as they eternally dash against the shore, seem to
be chanting a requiem for the departed. The evening before we left
Panama, our attention was attracted by what we conceived to be a
torch-light procession, issuing from the city gate. Upon a nearer
approach, it proved to be a funeral cortege. First came several
horsemen bearing torches; these were followed by a band of music,
playing very lively, heart-stirring strains; then came an open bier,
carried by natives, upon which was borne the lifeless remains of a sweet
little cherub, a lovely Spanish child--lovely even in death. It seemed
to be in a sitting posture. In each hand was placed a wax candle;
wreaths of flowers entwined its angelic brow, and were strewn in rich
profusion upon the bier. Innumerable wax tapers were inserted around the
outer edge of the bier, which shed an ethereal halo upon the little form
of clay, which had so recently been the pride and joy of fond parents.
Then followed another company of equestrians and pedestrians. It had the
appearance of some joyous festive scene rather than a funeral
procession. And, truly,

    “Why should we mourn for the child early called
     From the sin and the suffering of this darkened world?
     Though ties of affection may early be riven,
     Why wish back on earth the dear loved one in heaven?”

Oh, how I suffered, while at Panama, for a draught of cold water, to
allay that feverish, burning thirst which seemed to be consuming the
very life-blood in my veins! By the time they could get the clear, cool
water from the gurgling rivulets of Taboga to Panama, it would be tepid,
and I would turn from it in disgust. Often, in my hours of delirium,
would I fancy myself at home, travelling again the little school path. I
would arrive at the running brook which wandered through green meadows,
and was spanned by a rustic bridge, over which, for twelve happy years,
our little feet had skipped each day, on the way to and from school.
Then I would fancy myself leaning far over the grassy brink--so far, I
could touch my lips to the transparent surface, and imbibe draught after
draught of the sparkling liquid. Pleasing hallucination! too quickly
dispelled by returning reason. In my lucid moments, I was ever thinking
of the old well at home, and wishing for _one_ drink from the
“moss-covered bucket.” I felt it would save my life, when all else
should prove abortive. One who has never been prostrated by fever in a
burning tropical clime, when it was utterly impossible to obtain ice or
cool water, can scarcely conceive of the torture and agony endured.
Every breath of air is a simoom to the sufferer. My principal sustenance
was the banana and plantain.

We took passage in the steamer Republic for San Francisco. The price of
our tickets at that time were six hundred dollars. The Republic was
commanded by Captain William Hudson, a son of the commander of the
sloop-of-war Vincennes. He was a lieutenant in the navy, but was then
enjoying a furlough of four years, which he improved by taking charge of
the Republic.

I saw nothing of the city of Panama except what met the eye in passing
through its narrow streets,--more properly, lanes,--bounded on either
side by high, prison-looking buildings, with iron bars in lieu of
window-sashes. Plenty of naked natives, all eager to carry us on board
in their bungoes (boats),--a noisy, wrangling set they were,--assembled
there upon the beach. Immediately upon reaching the steamer, I repaired
to my state-room, and, in an exhausted state, was assisted into my
berth. I remained in this situation through all the hurry and bustle
incident to the departure of an ocean steamer, but then was fated to be
disturbed in a manner I little dreamed of. A lady came to the
state-room, and very unceremoniously demanded my berth, saying her
ticket, which she had purchased in New York, called for it. Here was a
dilemma! The ticket calling for that berth had been sold twice. Captain
Hudson was called to the rescue. He decided I should not be removed. He
had previously been informed of the series of accidents that had
befallen us on our eventful voyage, and declared, laughingly, that,
unless routed by fire, I should not be molested. He offered to provide
the lady from New York with another room; which she obstinately refused
to occupy, vehemently averring that she would lie upon the cabin-floor,
and prosecute the company for practising such duplicity. This threat she
put in execution upon her arrival at San Francisco, and received
compensation to the amount of several thousand dollars.

Upon getting out to sea, my recovery was visibly accelerated by the
invigorating sea-breezes and cheerful companionship of our
fellow-voyagers. I made many pleasant acquaintances, and formed
friendships which have endured to the present,--not the fashionable
friendship of an hour, which dishonor the name, but attachments that
have stood the test of adversity and misfortunes. The steamer Republic
had on board four hundred passengers. Thirty out of this number were
ladies,--the largest number which, at that time, had been taken on board
any one steamer to San Francisco. There were but very few of them
accompanied by their husbands; the remainder were going to meet their
liege lords, from whom they had been separated, some two years and
longer. It was very amusing to listen to the various conjectures
advanced as to the probability of their being recognizable, after being
for so long a time strangers to the hair-clipping propensity of the
razor. In those early days of California hair-producing memory, when the
passion for gold-hunting completely absorbed all other faculties, but
very little time or attention was expended upon their persons.

The steamer put into Acapulco to coal up. The harbor reminded me
somewhat of Port Stanley, although it is not quite so completely
land-locked. The natives swam off to the ship in numbers; while the
passengers amused themselves by throwing over pieces of money, which, as
it was sinking, they dove after, and obtained with surprising dexterity.
They appeared again upon the surface, in an incredibly short space of
time, with their dark countenances illumined by a grin, illustrative of
much delight, holding high the hand, and displaying the rescued coin.
Then they would deposit it quickly in their mouths, and be in readiness
for another dive. The most successful one was easily detected by his
protuberant cheeks. To deceive, one of the passengers threw over a
button. Upon discovering the deception practised, no enticement could
afterwards induce them to dive after what fell from his hand. Their
discriminating powers must be very acute to recollect the countenance of
that gentleman among so many strange faces. We remained nearly one day
at Acapulco, which most of the passengers improved by wandering through
the town and its suburbs.

Not having recovered my health sufficiently to endure a tiresome tramp,
I only saw that part of the town in immediate proximity to the harbor. I
was very favorably impressed, however. It was the cleanest, neatest,
most cheerful-looking Spanish town I had ever beheld. Shops of every
description met the eye, almost bewildering the senses with the
multifarious display. The cafés at every corner sent out a cheering
welcome to the olfactory organ; the bazaar was thronged with people
displaying fruit in all its stages, sufficient, if partaken of, to
prostrate the whole ship’s company; and the incomprehensible jargon of
the venders reminding one of (as some express it) “bedlam let loose.”
Sometimes one feels half inclined to purchase, if for nought else than
to win one of those irresistible smiles from the señorita in attendance.

Upon entering the harbor, the first thing that met my eye was the ship
Symmetry, which came to our deliverance off Cape Horn. She had, after a
tedious voyage, reached her destination. Capt. Thompson recognized us
from the deck of the Symmetry, and came on board to see me. He informed
me his crew were all in the lock-up, and there he intended to keep them,
to ensure better behavior in future. He looked really care-worn, from
continued and incessant trials. I pitied him more than I liked him. We
wondered at his coming to see us. I never saw him more.

Soon we were again steaming our way along the coast to San Francisco.
One night, we were all startled from our slumbers by the quick ring of
the fire-bell, and the wild shout of “Fire! fire!” ringing loud and
clear from the deck. Oh, what a rushing and screaming with the ladies!
what terrified looks, as they crowded and pushed one another up the
stairs, in mad haste to gain the deck! It was a scene of terrible
confusion; in the midst of which I stopped to put on shoes and
stockings. I say not this to boast of more self-possession or calmness
in moments of peril than naturally belongs to the sex; but, having been
so often subjected to the fiery ordeal during that eventful year, I had
learned to expect it as a matter of course, and was not so startled or
unprepared by the recurrence of such an event as those more favored,
who had recently left pleasant homes, and had encountered nought but
sunshine. It appeared one of the waiters had gone to the engineer’s room
(which was upon deck) to draw alcohol from a cask. It ignited by a spark
from the lamp; the cask exploded, and set fire to the room. The boy
rushed out in terror, rang the bell, and cried “Fire!” at the top of his
voice. One of the engineers, who was in bed at the time, was severely
burned. The greatest confusion prevailed for awhile, after the
passengers gained the deck _en masse_. Some sprang to the boats,
attempting to cut away the lashings, and were only deterred from
committing this dastardly act through fear of having a bullet put
through their heads. Several amusing and ludicrous incidents transpired
also. One man took his umbrella in one hand, and carpet-bag in the
other, and was caught in the act of jumping overboard. A Jew, who had on
board goods to the amount of several thousand dollars, was offering them
to any one for a bid of three hundred dollars, and cash down. The old
adage, “the ruling passion strong in death,” was here verified.

It was pronounced at once by all the ladies, that I must be the “Jonah;”
and really I began to think there might be some truth in the assertion.




CHAPTER XI.


The last of April, 1851, after an eventful and tedious voyage, we
approached the entrance to the harbor of San Francisco, appropriately
denominated the “Golden Gate.” The entrance is about a mile and a half
in breadth. The waters of the bay appear to have opened for themselves a
passage through the elevated ridge of hills next to the shore of the
Pacific, which rise abruptly on either side of the opening. There is
always depth of water sufficient to admit ships of the largest size; and
so completely land-locked and protected from the winds is the harbor,
that vessels can ride at anchor in perfect safety, in all kinds of
weather. The harbor is sufficient to accommodate all the navies in the
world. As the emigrant approaches California from the ocean, Monte
Diabolo is the first land by which the eye is greeted. It is situated in
Contra Costa county, sixty or seventy miles distant from Sacramento, in
a south-westerly direction. According to the best information obtained,
the altitude of this mountain is about five thousand feet above the
level of the sea. It stands at the north-western termination of the
inner coast range, disjointed and isolated, and, like most of its bleak
and sterile companions, is rent by deep fissures and yawning chasms,
which give it the appearance rather of a cluster of small mountains than
one ponderous pile. But little is yet known of the geological history of
Monte Diabolo, or the “Mountain of the Devil.” San Francisco is situated
on the south side of the entrance, fronting on the bay, about six miles
from the ocean. The bay, from the city of San Francisco due east, is
about twelve miles in breadth. A range of high hills bounds the view on
the opposite side. Between them and the shore is a broad and fertile
plain, called the Contra Costa. Quite a little village had sprung up
there, on the shore of the bay, when I last saw the place, called
Oakland.

Yerba Buena (sweet herb) is an island in the bay, and almost directly
fronting the city of San Francisco, a mile or so distant. There are
several small islands in the bay. Opposite San Francisco, on the north
side of the bay, is a place called Sausolito where, at an early period
in the history of San Francisco, vessels repaired, preparatory to
sailing, to take in their water. Now, water-boats are plying between
Sausolito and the city, affording ample remuneration for the toil. On
the righthand side of the bay, as you are approaching the city, is
situated the Presidio of San Francisco. It consists of several blocks of
adobe buildings, covered with tiles. The walls of most of the buildings
are crumbling for the want of care in protecting them from annual rains.

At a distance of a mile and a half from the entrance to the bay, are the
remains of an old fort. It is fast going to decay, daily threatening a
complete ruin. The guns are dismounted, and some of them are half
decomposed from exposure to the weather. When I passed through the
Golden Gate for the last time, there was in process of erection a
fortification on one of the bluffs commanding the entrance. Outside, lay
the wreck of the clippership Golden Fleece; the ceaseless motion of the
waves chanting a requiem over her remains.

At San Francisco, during the summer and autumnal months, the wind blows
directly from the ocean, rendering the temperature cool enough in the
afternoon for woollen clothing, in midsummer. The mornings are usually
calm and pleasantly warm. About sunset, the wind dies away, and the
nights are comparatively calm. In winter months, the wind blows in soft,
balmy breezes from the southeast; the thermometer rarely sinking below
50 deg. When the winds blow from the ocean, it never rains. When they
blow from the land it is lowery, and resembles that of the month of May,
in the same latitude on the Atlantic coast. The coolness of the climate,
and briskness of the air, are confined to particular localities on the
coast; and this description is not applicable to the interior of the
country, or even to other places on the coast.

Such a hurry, such a bustle, so much excitement! We are nearing the
wharf at San Francisco. What crowds of men assembled upon the pier,
ready to rush on board as soon as the steamer is made fast! I almost
envied those who were going to meet loved friends. We knew none, to give
us a cheerful greeting, in that city of strangers.

Mrs. B----, a lady who was accompanied by her husband, and myself seated
ourselves upon deck, to witness the meetings. So many joyful tears were
shed, such heartful embraces! Fathers caressing little ones they had
never before seen; they in turn frightened half out of their wits at
finding themselves in the arms of such frightful objects. Sometimes we
could scarcely repress the tears at witnessing some affecting scene; at
others, constrained to laugh outright at some really ludicrous sight.
One delighted husband said, “Why don’t you kiss me, Bessy?” She stood
gazing at this hirsute representation of her better half in utter
astonishment; then timidly ejaculated, “I can’t find any place.” “Oh!”
said Mrs. B----, sportively, “they will all get a kiss but you and me.”
Almost instantly a gentleman sprang to her side, cordially greeting her,
and even bestowing a kiss. I was almost stupefied at such audacity, for
at first she seemed not to recognize him. Soon the air of astonishment,
and even of alarm, resigned its place upon her countenance to the glad
smile of recognition. He was an old friend, whom she had not seen for
years. He thought he recollected her countenance; then the sound of her
voice confirmed his preconceptions. I felt greatly relieved when I found
it was not the custom in California for the gentlemen to kiss all the
ladies they fancied, whether acquainted or not.

My husband and myself, by invitation of the captain, concluded to remain
on board that night. He insisted upon our occupying his room in his
absence, as business called him ashore. “Everything,” said he, “is at
your disposal, except my tooth-brush.”

Next morning, upon going ashore, my husband met a cousin of ours, who
was residing in Happy Valley. He came immediately on board, and
insisted upon our going at once to his house. This cordial invitation we
at once accepted. Mr. B----had emigrated to California in 1849, and
there married.

How unique to me seemed everything in San Francisco, when first I paced
its sandy streets leading to Happy Valley! They were building up the
water-lots rapidly. The old ship Niantic, of Boston, seemed quite up
town. Upon the deck of this condemned ship was reared quite an imposing
edifice, bearing the signature of the Niantic Hotel. Streets were
extended far beyond it, bayward. The interstices between some of these
streets were not yet filled. I grow dizzy even now, thinking about it.
In our haste to reach Happy Valley, and avoid, as far as lay in our
power, those interminable sand-hills, it was proposed to cross one of
those interstices on a hewn timber, which, at least, must have been
nearly one hundred feet, and at a height of twelve feet, I should think,
from the green slimy mud of the dock. I succeeded pretty well, until
about halfway over, when, finding myself suddenly becoming very dizzy, I
was obliged to stop, get down on my knees, and hold on to the timber. I
was afraid to proceed, lest I should fall into the mud and water below,
and, for the same reason, unable to retrace my steps. After much crying
on my part, and coaxing and scolding on the part of the gentleman, I
succeeded in reaching the terminus of the timber. That was my
introduction into the town of San Francisco in 1851.

Upon leaving, three years afterwards, I traversed that same locality. It
had become the richest business part of the city. There were nicely
paved walks, bounded on either side by massive granite and brick
structures, an ornament to the city--the pride and the glory of the
energetic pioneers, representatives from every state in the Union.

Very soon after our arrival occurred the largest conflagration ever
recorded in the annals of San Francisco. The memorable fire of the 3d of
May, 1851, will ever be remembered by all residents of the place at that
time with feelings of pain and commiseration. Oh! it was a night of
intense suffering to hundreds of human beings. We were startled from our
slumbers between the hours of eleven and twelve, by the to me familiar
cry of “Fire!” My first thought, upon awakening, was, “I am on terra
firma, I can run.” Fires, at that time of paper-and-cloth-architectural
memory, raged with astonishing rapidity. Whole streets were swept away
in less time than it would occupy to relate the events arising from the
sad catastrophe. We were in Happy Valley, situated at that time at the
extreme end of the town, towards Rincon Point. The fire originated as
far in an opposite direction. Therefore people were all rushing towards
Happy Valley, as a place offering protection.

The streets were full of drays, rushing along with breakneck speed, to
deposit goods and all kinds of merchandise in any possible place of
safety. What rich bales of silk, and fine clothing, were tumbled
topsy-turvy into hastily made excavations in the innumerable sand-hills
around the valley. Some were depositing valuables in the few (what were
then supposed to be) fire-proof buildings, which had been erected at
considerable expense. Often buildings were on fire before the inmates,
in their consternation, could find an article of clothing; and they
would rush into the crowded street in their night-clothes, nearly
distracted with the deafening shouts of the excited multitude. The wind
seemed to blow fiercely. The insatiable flames came roaring and rushing
onward, darting its thousand-forked tongues of fire far up into the
midnight sky. The fire companies, what few there were, were prompt and
energetic in action; but even _they_ were driven from their posts of
duty, and their life-sacrificing efforts rendered abortive.

In one instance, a company, with their engine, were driven to the verge
of a wharf by the fiery pursuer. Mrs. B---- and myself were standing
upon the door-step, witnessing with trembling hearts its nearer approach
and nearer. It was heart-rending to witness the distress of delicate
women, driven from their homes at midnight, with no protection from the
chilly winds but their night-clothes, lamenting, not their own fate, but
the uncertain fate of those near and dear to them, who were combatting
with the fiery elements for the preservation of life and property. Oh,
it was a sad spectacle! Yet, even amid it all, might be seen some
heartless person divesting himself of his own soiled apparel, to be
replaced with new, purloined from some pile of ready-made clothing. How
much of value, that night, the dishonest ones appropriated to their own
use!

Still nearer came the flames, until only one block of buildings
separated them from the Oriental Hotel. That once on fire, and no human
power could save Happy Valley. All the engines were brought to play upon
this block, which was owned by Macondry, and by him occupied as a
warehouse. The bravely-fought struggle was viewed with varying emotions
of hope and fear. At length the never-ceasing powers of man conquered.
They succeeded in arresting the progress of the fire king, and the
little hamlet of Happy Valley was preserved. At early dawn, we visited
the scene of the fire. It would require a more graphic description than
could ever emanate from pen of mine to do justice to the scene of
destruction there presented. Lifeless bodies, literally burned to a
cinder, wholly unrecognizable by nearest relatives, lay near to the
walls of the half-demolished brick structure. They had fled to this
building as a place of safety, thinking it to be, what all considered
it, fire-proof. The flames raged around it with unresisting fury: the
heat became very intense. The occupants vainly endeavored to effect an
egress. One poor fellow rushed to remove the heated bolts, and actually
burned all the flesh from his hands before effecting his object. Then he
was seen to rush frantically forth into the flames, stagger, turn, and
run a little way in an opposite direction--then fall. He was dragged
from the flames by some daring, humane hand, and his life preserved;
although he was maimed and crippled, and rendered blind, for life. I
saw the poor being afterwards, and heard him relate the painful story.
The scenes I witnessed that day might wring tears from a heart of stone.
Men who, a few short hours before, were worth thousands and hundreds of
thousands, now sat weeping over the ashes of their once splendid
fortunes. Some who were not possessed of sufficient self-command and
fortitude to meet and brave life’s severest trials, had sought
consolation for every woe in the intoxicating cup; others sat, the
images of mute despair, their grief too profound to permit a tear or
sigh to escape as a mitigation of their deep-seated sorrow; some had
already commenced fencing in their lots, although the smouldering ashes
emitted an almost suffocating heat. These hasty proceedings were at that
time expedient, to prevent their lots from being jumped; for these were
the days of squatter memory, when possession was nine-tenths of the law.
We were in pursuit of Mr. and Mrs. B----. With her I had formed a close
intimacy on board the steamer. Her husband, previous to the fire, was
established in a lucrative business, but who had now shared the fate of
all. Where was Mrs. B---- and her little daughter Nelly? They were
obliged to run in their night-clothes. Mr. B---- deposited two or three
trunks of their most valuable clothing in one of those fire-proof
buildings, and, of course, they were burnt, leaving them nothing which
they could call their own out of their once abundant supply. Mrs.
B----that night sought and found protection at an hospital kept by a
friend of hers, a doctor from New York. The building was situated upon
the summit of one of the many hills which surround the city, and about a
mile from where she had lived. This distance she ran, without even shoes
or stockings, almost dragging her little girl along, who was so
terrified as to be almost incapable of supporting herself. After
learning her whereabouts, I hastened to see her, and found her, where
she was obliged to remain for the time being, in bed. I supplied her
with a few articles of clothing from my limited wardrobe; but she being
a much taller person than myself, we were really at a loss how to make
her appear respectable, unless she would consent to make her debut in
Bloomer costume. “Necessity is indeed the mother of invention;” and,
after some crying, and a good deal more laughing, we had her equipped
for a promenade. Then Nelly was released from “durance vile;” but it
would have puzzled wiser heads than ours to have designated her costume.
Poor child! how she lamented the fate of all the nice things which she
had brought from home! This was her first great grief. The proposition
was made to us from Mr. and Mrs. B----, to go to housekeeping in company
with them, and take boarders. No time was to be lost: after a fire in
California was the time for immediate action. That day we found an
unoccupied house, a little over the ridge of the hills.

The owner of this domicile had gone to the States; the agent for which
was also absent in the mines. Therefore, our husbands had the audacity
to take quiet possession; and, before night, we were duly installed in
our new house. Perhaps some of my readers may have the curiosity to know
how we so readily furnished our intended boarding-house, while nearly
the entire city was in ruins. Well, in the house we found two bedsteads,
with a miserable straw bed upon each; quite a good cooking-stove, with a
few appurtenances attached; a pine table, constructed of unplaned
boards; and old boxes, in lieu of chairs. Dishes, knives and forks, and
spoons, we had picked up from the heterogeneous mass of half-consumed
rubbish upon the former site of Mr. B----’s store. But, at such a time
as that, if one could get anything to eat, he never stopped to see if
his fork was blessed with one prong or three; and, if the knife was
minus a handle, it was just as well, provided the blade was good. And
then, too, a person was not particular about enjoying the luxury of both
cup and saucer, if at any time there were more people than dishes. The
next day, our husbands secured us as many boarders as we could
accommodate with meals: a lodging they sought elsewhere.

We were to receive twelve dollars per week for board. Don’t laugh: that
was cheap board, when you take into consideration the exorbitant price
of provisions. For butter we paid one dollar and a half per pound; beef
steak, twenty-five cents per pound; and all else in proportion.
Vegetables were sold by the pound, and dearly sold, too. I never
prepared a meal, but what I thought of the old woman who had but one
kettle in which to cook everything. We made coffee in the tea-kettle
mornings; and, at night, made tea in the same.

There was a well of water at some distance from the house, near the foot
of the hill; and, oh, what a deep one it was! The bucket, which would
contain two pailfuls, had to be drawn to the top by a windlass. The
united exertions of Mrs. B---- and myself were scarcely sufficient to
bring it to the top. Oh, how we have laughed, and tugged, and laughed,
until we could tug no longer, over that old well! Our husbands were
busily engaged at the store-lot clearing and fencing it, and erecting a
temporary building, to be in readiness to receive a fresh supply of
goods which was daily expected to arrive, and which, fortunately for Mr.
B----, had had a longer passage than usual. Our boarding-house in San
Francisco will never be forgotten; and, when reverted to, will
invariably call up a smile, even if we are entertaining those provoking
imps, the blues. Many times since, I have met some of those boarders at
the tables of fashionable hotels; in which case, I was sure to receive
some compliment in reference to the good dinners they had eaten from the
old pine table, minus the tablecloth. The proceeds derived from keeping
this boarding-house was decidedly insufficient remuneration for the
amount of physical labor expended. We concluded, therefore, to seek our
fortunes in some inland town, and nearer the mines, and perhaps at the
mines.




CHAPTER XII.


About seven weeks from the time of our arrival in San Francisco, we
found ourselves on board one of the river steamers bound to Marysville.
I parted with regret from Mrs. B----. We had lived, and laughed, and
suffered together _so_ long, it was hard to separate. We met once
afterwards, for she travelled many weary miles to visit me. Little
Nelly, too--how I loved that child! I can see her now, in imagination,
with her sparkling eyes and rosy cheeks, tugging along a handful of
burnt wood for “mother to cook with.” Those were hard days for Nelly and
Mrs. B----. Since then, Mr. B---- has amassed a splendid fortune. I
wonder if Nelly will ever forget those days in which she was sent out
gleaning sticks of wood and pieces of burnt boards, with which to make
the kettle boil.

The upper division of the bay of San Francisco is called the Suisun.
Situated upon the strait connecting the two divisions, is the town of
Benicia, on the north, and the pleasant little hamlet of Martinez, on
the south side. How sunny and pleasant looked the valleys bordering on
the bay! the luxuriant growth of wild oats therein affording excellent
pasturage for the numerous herds of wild cattle roaming over the
country. Soon we found ourselves entering the noble Sacramento. The
river, at intervals, is fringed with timber, chiefly oak, sycamore, and
willows. Grape-vines, and a variety of shrubbery, ornament its banks.
The quiet, peaceful stillness which pervades all nature, as you are
ascending this stream, has an ineffable charm, a sort of fascination, to
the beholder. The boat stopped a short time at Sacramento city. How very
low and flat the town appeared, in point of locality, compared with San
Francisco,--not a single hill to relieve the eye! It presented one
feature peculiar to all California towns at that day--a great deal of
canvas pre-eminently conspicuous, in the shape of buildings, with signs
attached, competing, in point of size, with the buildings which they
graced.

In some places the river is nearly half a mile in width. It makes some
very graceful bends. The land bordering on this magnificent stream is
very low, and subject to inundations, which is a serious impediment to
the advancement of agriculture, to which the soil is admirably adapted.
Three years afterwards, when sailing down this majestic stream, I
witnessed with delight many spots of this riverside wilderness, made to
“blossom as the rose” by the indomitable energy and unconquerable
enterprise, in opposition to every discouragement, of the successful
pioneers. I often wished, as some spot lovelier than another met the
eye, that it had been my lot to have found a home in just such a sunny
spot, far away from the noisy strife of the busy, bustling world. But I
must not tarry too long on thy bosom, noble Sacramento, but leave thy
allurements and beauties to be chronicled by some abler pen than mine,
and hasten up stream to the point where Feather River, one of the
largest tributaries of the Sacramento, unites her limpid waters with
those of her sister river.

With the name of Feather River the early Anglo-Californian associates
the commingled sentiments of many a pleasure and pain. The rich tributes
of gold which rewarded his toil could not compensate for the saddened
yearnings of the heart. All that he loved on earth were far away from
him; his condition was hazardous in the extreme; no friend, perhaps, was
near with a solace; and, but for the inspiriting unction of a constantly
indulged hope, even the _future_ would have been desolate and dreary.

The steamer turns her prow to the right, and is gracefully cutting her
way through the waters of Feather River. I kept constantly upon deck to
inhale the balmy air, and to look out upon the lively and ever-changing
landscape. Sometimes the trees would crowd the bank to the very brink;
some gracefully bending to kiss the water; some rearing their stately
heads high above, but stretching their wide arms over its margin; all
faithfully mirrored far down in its glassy depth, though sometimes the
reflections were partially obliterated, and sometimes, for a moment, the
_whole_ was shivered into trembling fragments by the transient breeze
that swept the surface too roughly, and the widely extended ripple from
the wake of the steamer.

There were on board several distinguished persons, who proposed a visit
to Capt. Sutter’s ranch. This delightful residence is situated on the
left bank of Feather River, as you are proceeding up stream. Visitors of
distinction are landed at the foot of his garden. The steamer runs in
close proximity to the bank fronting his dwelling. They usually give him
a salute after landing visitors. Sometimes an answering salute is given
from a mounted cannon standing in the centre of his garden. Near to it
is erected a tall flag-staff. The dwelling-house is constructed of adobe
brick, representing the Dutch style of architecture. It is completely
embowered with shrubbery, and creeping, flowering vines. A more definite
description of the grounds adjoining will be given hereafter, when I
shall have visited the place, and from personal observation endeavor to
interest the reader by delineating the beauties surrounding this lovely
retreat of the noble-hearted old general. Captain Sutter, or, rather,
General Sutter, as he is now titled, is a native of Switzerland, and was
at one time an officer in the French army.

He emigrated to the United States, and was naturalized. From thence,
after a series of romantic incidents, he located himself in California,
in the midst of numerous and hostile tribes of Indians. With a small
party of men, which he originally brought with him, he succeeded in
defending himself until he erected his fort. Several times, when
besieged by hostile foes, he has subsisted upon grass alone for many
days.

The land bordering upon Feather River is more elevated than that
bordering upon the Sacramento. Soon, far ahead, is discernible the
dividing line in the water, where the muddy waters of the Yuba River
mingle with the deep, blue, translucent current of Feather River.

The banks of the Yuba, at its junction with Feather River, are romantic
in the extreme. There is a thick growth of trees bestudding the banks,
and dipping gracefully into the stream; the branches of the taller
uniting overhead, and forming a leafy canopy, almost entirely excluding
the rays of the sun from the smoothly gliding current. The beautiful
weeping-willows fringing the margin, the creeping vines twining their
tendrils around the trunks of the trees, and the variety of shrubbery,
give it a decidedly tenebrious appearance, and keep the eye of the
traveller, who gazes from the deck of some one of the numerous steamers
plying the stream, constantly occupied in tracing the variety of
features which this and similar views are constantly presenting.

A short distance above the cove-shaped entrance to the Yuba River, and
at the head of steamboat navigation, is situated the town of Marysville.
At the time I first saw it, the sun was just gilding the tops of the
little canvas stores surrounding the plaza. This little square seemed
literally swarming with people, who had gathered around the landing.
Some had resorted thither from motives of idle curiosity, to gaze at the
people as they stepped ashore, hoping, perhaps, to recognize the form
and features of some friend from their far-off homes. Others were drawn
to the spot in the hope of acquiring accessions to their already
well-filled hotels. The draymen, too, were on the spot, ready to take
your baggage anywhere and everywhere. Their importunities were as
unceasing as those of our hackmen at city depots and steamboat wharfs.
Their style of conveyance was rather more primitive than comfortable.
However, I was seated upon my trunk on a dray, ready to be drawn to any
one of the first-class houses, which were enumerated as follows: the
United States, Oriental, Tremont, St. Charles, etc. My husband decided
that we should go the United States, and thither we were accordingly
taken.

I was perfectly delighted with the appearance of this little inland
city. Every little collection of canvas stores and dwellings in
California were denominated cities. Marysville, at that time, boasted of
several large frame buildings, among which were the above-mentioned
hotels. It was ranked the third city in regard to size and improvements
in Upper California.

It is useless to attempt to convey to the minds of any, except those who
were pioneers to California, the unique appearance of those little
bustling, business localities, in convenient proximity to mining
districts. Such trains of pack-mules as were constantly departing (so
heavily laden, I pitied the poor beasts from my heart) on their long and
tedious journeys to far-distant mining regions. There, too, is seen the
swarthy Mexican vaquero, mounted on his fleet Californian steed,
galloping through the street, “all booted and spurred;” and oh, what
spurs!--enough to make one cringe when they see them driven so
mercilessly into the reeking sides of the poor beast. Then the mule and
horse auctions at the corners of the streets, drawing together a
motley-looking set of fellows, rough and uncouth in appearance, but
possessing, nevertheless, noble hearts, ready hands, and, I have no
doubt, well-filled purses, with which to assist a fellow-sufferer. I
lived long enough in California to learn from experience never to judge
a person by his apparel. The coarsest garb often covered the warmest
hearts; the most sun-burned, heavily-bearded physiognomy often concealed
the most intellectual features; for all classes had flocked
indiscriminately to the gold regions of California.

On the night of our arrival, there was a travelling theatre to open for
the first time in Marysville; and a mounted horseman was galloping
through the streets, announcing, at the top of his voice, the programme
of the evening’s performance. After supper, being somewhat fatigued from
the journey up river, I retired, but not to sleep. Such a din and
confusion as was kept up in the street! A bowling alley and gambling
house on the opposite side of the way each contributed their share to
the babel-like confusion, that seemed to reign triumphant. Our room was
situated in the front part of the building, the only access to which was
from the balcony; and the only way of admitting any air into the room
was by leaving open the door, which served the double purpose of window
and door. Sometime in the night, we were aroused by some person moving
about the room. I was terribly frightened, thinking, of course, it was
some robber or assassin. My husband accosted the intruder with “Halloa!
what do you want here?” The reply was, “I am coming to bed! what
business have _you_ in my bed? Come, vamos!” and, in the mean time, he
was making preparations to strike a light. Said my husband, “There is a
lady here; _we_ occupy this room. Now leave instanter, or I will assist
you.” He started to the door, muttering, “I will see the landlord about
this; if there was not a lady here, I would see who the room belonged
to.” As soon as he left, my husband shut and locked the door, and we
were left unmolested, to smother until morning.

It seemed, upon inquiry, that our room had been previously occupied by
two brothers. Upon our arrival, the house being crowded, and one of the
brothers absent for a few days, the landlord had proposed to the
remaining one to resign his double bed for a single one, in order to
accommodate us. The absent brother returned late in the night, and the
bar-keeper, through negligence or ignorance, omitted to inform him of
the change; and thereby I was frightened half out of my wits at this
midnight intrusion.

Ladies were very scarce in Marysville; at this time there were not more
than half a dozen, at the most, who were deserving of the appellation.
Comparatively speaking, there were no children. I had lived there more
than a year before the merry voice of childhood gladdened my ears. There
were no churches, no school-houses. All were intent upon the one great
object that had lured them so far from their native land. There were
assembled representatives from every clime and country on the face of
the globe. The European, the Asiatic, the African, the Anglo-Saxon, the
Sandwich-Islander, all, whose general interests and pursuits were so
varied, had here convened for one and the same purpose--to get gold. No
law was acknowledged except Lynch law; and the penalty for offences, so
summarily enforced by the vigilance committees, served admirably to keep
in check the murderous, villanous propensities of too many of the
refugees from justice from all parts of the world. Alas! many of them
had found a shelter in the almost inaccessible fastnesses of the
mountains, remote from the regular settlements, and beyond the reach of
organized vigilance committees. In the solitary recesses of the Sierra
Nevada were little clusters of men, with nothing but the trees, and
perhaps a little canvas tent, for shelter, and _no_ protection but their
own strength and vigilance, possessed of large amounts of gold, where
there was no eye to see, and no agent to pursue, the guilty. It was not
strange, where the temptation was so great, that robbers and assassins
were ever ready to pounce upon the unwary.

Board at the United States Hotel at that time was four dollars per diem
for the single person; therefore, with our limited means, we could
remain here but a short time. The Tremont Hotel had been recently
erected, and I learned the proprietors would like to find an American
lady to superintend the domestic department. I presented myself, and
obtained the situation. I was to receive one hundred and twenty-five
dollars per month. In the interim, my husband was looking about,
undetermined what business to engage in. We stopped at the Tremont five
weeks, at the expiration of which time, my husband rented the Atlantic
Hotel, and thither we removed. This was in July. The heat was intense,
the thermometer ranging from 90 to 110 deg., not only day after day, but
week after week. How I watched in vain for a cloud in the horizon! but
not one appeared for months, to mitigate the scorching fervency of the
heat.

While stopping at the Tremont, I witnessed what to me was a novel sight;
and if, kind reader, you will pardon the digression, I will endeavor to
relate, in a manner which I hope will interest, the method of taming a
wild horse. The first I saw was an unusual collection of people, and in
their midst a horse blindfolded, with a Mexican vaquero in the act of
mounting. When once seated on the back of these wild, fleet animals of
the plains, it is next to an impossibility to unhorse them. From the
nature of their pursuits and amusements, they have brought horsemanship
to a degree of perfection challenging admiration, and exciting
astonishment. All things being in readiness, the blinder was removed.
The horse, for the first time in his life feeling the weight of man upon
his back, with distended nostrils, eyes glaring like orbs of fire, and
appearing to protrude from their sockets, gave a succession of fierce
snorts, performed sundry evolutions which would have puzzled the master
of a gymnasium to have imitated, and then dashed off at a furious rate,
seemingly determined to free himself from his captor, or die in the
attempt. It was an exciting and cruel sport to witness. The reeking
sides of the poor beast were covered with foam and blood, which had been
drawn by driving those merciless spurs into the flesh. Both horse and
rider would disappear for a few moments in some distant part of the
town, then reappear again, dashing madly on. Finally, the horse, in
passing the Tremont Hotel, which was all thrown open in front to admit
air, sprang, quick as a flash, upon the piazza, and dashed madly into
the bar-room. In making his ingress so suddenly, the Mexican’s head had
been forcibly struck against the top of the door, and he fell stunned to
the floor. The inmates of the bar-room, numbering about twenty, fled in
every direction. The bar-keeper, a very corpulent person, made his
egress through a small back window--_so_ small, that, upon ordinary
occasions, he would never have had the presumption to attempt it, as it
was actually endangering his life by so suddenly thrusting his portly
figure through so small an aperture; but now, out of two evils, he was
constrained to choose the least. The horse, finding himself in
undisputed possession of the room, stood for an instant surveying
himself in an extensive mirror suspended behind the long marble slab.
Then, prompted by an irresistible desire to become better acquainted
with the image reflected in the glass, or possessing the principles of
teetotalism to such an extent that he was bent upon immediate
annihilation, he dashed furiously at the bar, upsetting it, and dashing
the splendid mirror into a thousand pieces, demolishing the elegant
cut-glass decanters, while the contents ran profusely upon the floor. He
also dashed to pieces several large arm-chairs, valued at twelve dollars
apiece. Then he passed through a side-door into a large saloon,
traversed that without doing any material damage; and, when in the act
of leaving the house, the Mexican, who had, in the meantime, recovered
his senses and his feet also, sprang with surprising agility upon his
back, and the race for freedom again commenced; but this time not of
long duration. The horse, reduced almost to prostration, yielded to the
superior power of man, and was taken, more dead than alive, to a stable,
rubbed down, placed in a stall, fed, and petted; and, from the hour in
which he unwillingly relinquished a life of freedom, never more to roam
with a wild herd over broad plains and flowery vales, he was a gentle,
submissive slave. The wild horse is gracefully formed, with flowing tail
and mane; but I never saw one very fat--they race their flesh off. The
man who owned the horse readily paid the expenses of refitting the
bar-room. The amount of property he destroyed was at that time estimated
at a thousand dollars.




CHAPTER XIII.


The Sierra Nevada Mountains and the coast range run nearly parallel with
the shores of the Pacific. The first are from one hundred to two hundred
miles from the Pacific, and the last from fifty to sixty. The valley
between them is the most fertile portion of California. Marysville is
situated in this valley, about twenty miles in a south-westerly
direction from the low hills of the Sierra Nevada; which form, as it
were, the lower steps of an immense gigantic flight, terminating upon
the summit of a range of mountains which would not suffer in comparison
with any of transatlantic existence.

North of the city of Marysville is a plain of several miles in extent.
This flat expanse is dotted with evergreen oaks, the shape and foliage
of which, previous to minute examination, present an exact resemblance
of the apple-tree. When it was impossible to procure apples at any
price, or even after they were as low as fifty cents apiece, when
enjoying a walk upon the plains I would be constrained, in opposition to
my knowledge to the contrary, to look under the trees, wishing I could
only find _one_ apple, it would have tasted so sweet.

In a westerly direction from Marysville are situated the Butte
Mountains, which present a singular appearance. They constitute one of
the sublimest features of California scenery, rising as they do abruptly
from the level plain which extends for miles around them. There are
three high elevations, which, seen from a distance, might be aptly
compared to three mountain islands, rising from the surface of the
ocean. It is said that, standing on the top of the Butte Mountains in a
clear day, with a telescope in hand, Monte Diabolo can be plainly seen:
the space lying between is nearly three hundred miles. Feather River
forms the western boundary to the city limits. The Yuba River opposite
the plazza is wider than at any other place. When bank-full, I should
judge it to be nearly three hundred yards in width. In the dry season,
it is fordable for teams; and there is also a ferry across the river.
The most of the city at first was built around the plazza, which is less
elevated than the plain which extends back. Since then, owing to
frequent inundations of the plazza, from which residents sustained
material damage, they have removed most of the business houses to the
upper part of the city. Marysville, I think, following the course of the
river, is about two hundred miles, and perhaps two hundred and fifty,
from San Francisco. The first rains there usually fall in November, and
last until May. As soon as the ground becomes moistened, the grass, and
other hardy vegetation, springs up; and, by the middle of December, the
landscape is arrayed in a robe of fresh verdure; the plains, which,
during the dry season, had assumed the appearance of the streets, now
present a perfect carpet of green, as far as the eye can see. Beautiful
flowers spring up spontaneously in every direction, gladdening the
vision with their variegated and gorgeous colors, and, I wish I could
add, rendering the air redolent with perfume; but, although so beautiful
to the sight, they possess very little fragrance, if any.

Deep gullies that intersect the country, and which during the dry summer
appear as if they never saw a drop of water, now become the channels of
rapidly rushing streams. So much do they resemble rivers, that I heard
one novice, who made his first appearance at this season, inquire,
pointing to one of these sloughs, “Do they catch salmon in that river?”
Some of them are deep and miry. Teamsters, who have attempted to ford
them, have sometimes lost their lives in the attempt. When these sloughs
are very much swollen by heavy rains, all communication with the country
back is cut off. The season for sowing grain commences as soon as the
ground is sufficiently moistened to permit of ploughing, and continues
until March. There were some fine ranches along the banks of the Yuba.
The bottom lands are very rich and productive, yielding an excellent
harvest of wheat, oats, and barley. Vegetables grow to an enormous
size, and surpass in flavor any I ever before tasted. I never dreamed of
seeing water-melons grow to such a size as I saw them here. Recollect,
now, I only state facts. I saw one water-melon sell for twelve dollars:
it was sold by the pound. It was the first year any had ever been raised
in Upper California. Mr. Briggs, who raised them, told me that that
year, from the sale of his melons alone, he realized twenty thousand
dollars. Is it to be wondered at that miners who had been subsisting
one, two, and perhaps three years, upon pork and beans, and ham, varied
occasionally by a repast of flap-jacks and molasses, and once in a great
while get a sight of a potato, should be eager to possess themselves of
a water-melon, at any price? No one except those who were miners in the
early days of gold-hunting can conceive of the hardships, the sacrifices
of the necessaries of life, and sometimes of life itself, they were
subjected to--perhaps nearly starving, with thousands of dollars’ worth
of gold-dust in their possession. What will not a man suffer for gold?
The first winter I passed in California proved to be the rainiest I ever
afterwards experienced; yet that would scarcely compare with the winter
of 1849.

I must confess I never before saw it rain (I should say pour) so
unceasingly for such a length of time,--a week, perhaps, every day and
night, and sometimes longer; then the sun would shine out quite warm for
a week; then rain again. The mud in the streets was perfectly awful to
behold, but much more awful to find yourself sinking into the miry
depths. The rain in the valley was snow in the mountains; and, forty
miles from Marysville, the snow might be ten feet deep or more, while in
the city it would be sufficiently warm to sit with the windows open.
When the dry season commences, then farewell to green grass, bright
flowers, and everything pertaining to the beautiful, and prepare
yourself to be suffocated with dust and sand, debilitated by the
oppressive heat, and devoured by myriads of fleas. All this, and much
more, you must endure, if you remain in Marysville through the summer.
But, if not engaged in business, you can flee away to the mountains, and
in some sequestered vale enjoy the lovely scenery, the cool spring
water, inhale the invigorating mountain air, and, for exercise, climb to
the summits of the mountains, timbered with large pines, firs, and
cedars, with a smaller growth of magnolia, manzanita, hawthorn, etc.,
etc. Notwithstanding the heat is so intense during the dry season, the
atmosphere is so pure that meat, when left exposed to the sun, never
spoils; and, after one of those excessively hot days, the nights are
extremely pleasant and comfortable. I never saw a night in California
when I was deprived of refreshing slumber on account of the heat and
oppressive atmosphere. I have known laboring men at work there digging
cellars, when the thermometer in the place where they were at work would
rise to 125 deg.; and yet those people could endure to work there, day
after day, when, to work in such hot days in our climate, and with the
sun striking directly on their heads, would have caused sickness, or
even death.

It seemed so strange to me, after one of those hot days, not to see any
appearance of a shower, not the slightest film of vapor in all the vast
azure vault.

Some of the smaller houses were constructed of zinc. A lady who occupied
one positively averred that the sides of the house were so hot, that she
had only to place her dough, when she was going to bake bread, in close
proximity to the wall, where the heat was sufficient to cook it. These
zinc shanties were all abandoned before the summer was half spent. They
were positively more like ovens than dwellings.

There is but little disease in the country arising from the climate. On
some of the rivers, where vegetation is rank, and decays in autumn, the
malaria produces chills and fever, which sometimes, when neglected too
long, proves fatal.

The soil and climate of California is peculiarly adapted to the culture
of the grape. The delicious richness and flavor of the California grapes
nothing of the fruit kind can equal. The cactus grows spontaneously in
California, and some of the inclosures are hedged in by this plant,
which grows to an enormous size, and makes an impervious barrier against
man and beast. The stalks of some of the plants are of the thickness of
a man’s body, and grow to the height of fifteen feet. One of the most
serviceable of the California plants is the soap-plant. The root, which
is the saponaceous portion of the plant, resembles the onion, and
possesses the quality of cleansing linen equal to any soap.

The wild animals of California are the wild horse, elk, black-tailed
deer, antelope, grisly bear, beaver, otter, cayote, hare squirrel, and a
variety of other small animals. The interior lakes and rivers swarm with
myriads of wild geese, ducks, and other birds; the pheasant and
partridge are numerous in mountains.

For salubrity I do not think there is any climate in the world superior
to that of California. I have known people in the country who have been
exposed much of the time to great hardships and privations, sleeping
most of the time in the open air, and never suffering the first pangs of
disease, or the slightest indications of ill-health. California is rich
in mineral productions of all kinds.

Wheat, barley, and other grains, can be produced in the valleys without
irrigation. Oats grow spontaneously, and with such rankness as to be
considered a nuisance upon the soil. I have seen acres of these growing
so high as to almost hide the cattle feeding among them. The oats grow
to the summits of the hills, but not so tall as in the valleys. All the
variety of grasses which cover the country are heavily seeded, and, when
ripe, are as fattening to the stock as the grains with which we feed our
stock in this country. Nearly all the fruits of temperate and tropical
climates can be produced in perfection in California.

The Californians do not differ materially from the Mexicans, from whom
they are descended. The native Californian is almost constantly on
horseback, and, as horsemen, excel any I have seen in other parts of the
world. The Californian saddle is the best that has ever been invented
for the horse and rider. It is scarcely possible to be unseated by any
ordinary casualty. The bridle-bit is clumsily made, but so constructed
that the horse is compelled to obey the rider, upon the slightest
intimation; the spurs are of immense size. With his horse and trappings,
serape and blankets, a piece of beef, and he is content, as far as
personal comforts are concerned. His amusements consist of the fandango,
game of monte, horse-racing, and bear and bull-fighting; and a very
exciting sport among them is the lassoing of wild cattle. They are
trained to the use of the lasso (riata, as it is here called) from their
infancy. A vaquero, mounted on a trained horse, and provided with a
lasso, proceeds to the place where the herd is grazing. Selecting an
animal, he soon secures it by throwing the noose of the lasso over the
horns, and fastening the other end around the pommel of the saddle.
During the first struggles of the animal for liberty, which usually are
very violent, the vaquero sits firmly in his seat, and keeps his horse
in such a position that the fury and strength of the beast are wasted,
without producing any other result than his own exhaustion. The animal,
soon ascertaining that he cannot release himself from the rope, submits
to be pulled along to the place of execution. Arriving here, the vaquero
winds the lasso around the legs of the animal, and throws him to the
ground, where he lies perfectly helpless and motionless. Dismounting
from his horse, he then takes from his leggin his butcher-knife, which
he always carries with him, and sticks him in the throat. The daring
horsemanship, and the dexterous use of the lariat, usually displayed on
these occasions, are worthy of admiration.

The native Californian ladies lack the clear, olive complexion so much
admired in the pure Castilian; but they are equally as animated in
conversation, and their dark eyes flash with all the intelligence and
passion characteristic of the Spanish woman. There are few things more
beautiful than their manner of salutation.

Among themselves, they never meet without embracing; but to men and
strangers on the street they lift the right hand to near the lips,
gently inclining the head toward it, and, gracefully fluttering their
fingers, send forth their recognition with an arch beaming of the eye
that is _almost_ as bewitching as a kiss. They dance with much ease and
grace: the waltz appears to be a favorite with them. Smoking is not
prohibited in these assemblies, nor is it confined to the gentlemen.
The cigarita is freely used by the señoras and señoritas; and they puff
it with much gusto while threading the mazes of the cotillon, or
swinging in the bewitching waltz. The cigarita is not without its powers
of fascination in the lips of a lovely woman, even rivalling the use of
the fan as an appliance of coquetry.

In Marysville were assembled women from all parts of the world; and I
assure you it was an interesting study to watch the different natures,
dispositions, tastes, pursuits, manners, and customs of these fair
representatives of distant climes. But among them all, the Yankee women
stand preëminent, so far as regards principle, industry, and economy,
and, as a general thing, are as often sought after for companions for
life by the opposite sex as those who can claim preëminence in mere
personal attractions, and are destitute of the more sterling attributes,
so essential to prosperity and happiness through the varied phases of
real life.




CHAPTER XIV.


I will now give you a sketch of our hotel-keeping in California. My
husband rented the Atlantic Hotel, which was not a very spacious one,
for two hundred and twenty-five dollars per month. For our cook we paid
two hundred and fifty per month, our steward one hundred and
twenty-five, and for all other assistance in a similar proportion.

The house was always filled to its utmost capacity; and the prospect of
future success was flattering in the extreme, provided I had strength
given me to sustain the weight of care and labor necessarily devolving
upon me. Often, on account of exorbitant demands from servants,--demands
which could not reasonably be granted,--I would be compelled to work
early and late, for days and weeks in succession. Not having been
accustomed to living and working in such excessive heat, my system
became debilitated; I felt my strength gradually yielding to excessive
weakness; and, in a little less than three months from the time we went
to the Atlantic, I was seized with a fever. For weeks I lay very sick.
My physician pronounced my recovery hopeless unless removed from the
hotel, where, of necessity, so much confusion prevailed. Consequently, I
was removed to a little canvas shanty, which my husband had previously
purchased, placed upon a straw bed, and for more than two months I was
confined to that pallet of straw.

The dimensions of the lot upon which this shanty was erected were one
hundred and sixty by eighty feet. It was represented to be an excellent
location, destined to be soon in the heart of a big city. My husband
paid four hundred dollars for the place; and, as an evidence of the
sudden and enormous rise of real estate in California, where there was
the least prospect of a city rushing into existence,--for in that
country cities have no state of infancy,--I will here add, that, three
years afterwards, this same lot, with the addition of a better building,
though not an expensive one, was valued at twelve thousand dollars, and
could have been disposed of quickly for that sum. During the two months
that I was prostrated by sickness, my sufferings were intense, both
physical and mental. Doctors at that time were charging five and eight
dollars a visit. The state of the country was such, it was almost
impossible to procure the comforts of life, unless one was possessed of
a fortune. Eggs were seven dollars per dozen; milk, one dollar per
quart; and, for six weeks, I was not allowed to eat any thing except
boiled milk. Our income had ceased when we sold out the hotel. Every day
my disorder was growing worse, and our funds were growing less. The
sides of our little shanty were constructed of rough clapboards, not
very nicely matched; in some places, you could put your hand through the
interstices. The roof was canvas, and miserably old at that. The front
part of this domicile could boast of a few boards, which served as an
apology for a floor. Old boxes and trunks served in lieu of chairs. When
I was able to sit up, there was no chair to sit in. My husband procured
one at Sacramento,--quite an inferior cane-seated rocking-chair,--for
which he paid the exorbitant sum of twelve dollars. That was the first
and only chair which ever graced our miserable abode. My bed and even
pillows were of straw; and oh, how hard they seemed to my poor and
emaciated frame! for I was reduced to a mere skeleton. At times, when
the fever raged, how grateful I should have been for one drop of cold
water. All the water with which the city was supplied was taken from the
Yuba River. It was quite warm, and rendered far from clear by the
mining operations which were carried on at the bars above. The painful
sickness which chained me for so many weeks to a sick bed was
superinduced by drinking too freely of this muddy water.

In close proximity to our dwelling was a second-class boarding-house,
from which, especially at night, issued discordant sounds of noisy
revelry, mingled with angry bickerings. All this was peculiarly trying
to one whose nerves were wrought to the utmost tension. When nights I
would be left alone for hours together, I suffered inconceivably from
fright. When my husband would go out, he would lock the door upon the
outside; for I was too feeble to rise from the bed without assistance,
and far too timid to remain alone with the doors unfastened. Every fresh
burst of uproarious mirth or frightful anger issuing from the contiguous
building would send a thrill of horror through my veins. Oh, how my
thoughts, during those lonely nights, would wander to my home! How my
heart yearned for the soothing words and kind attentions, so
soul-cheering when emanating from the sympathetic bosoms of
disinterested and tender friends! All this was denied me. I had formed
no female acquaintances in this place. There was no one to come and
smooth my hard pillow, or utter cheering, consoling words. The present
was dark and dreary, with no bright star beaming through the murky
horizon of the future. One day I was no less pleased than surprised at
the appearance of a lady in my room, whose benevolent, pleasant
countenance plainly implied peace, hope, and happiness. She introduced
herself as Mrs. S----, recently from Cincinnati. Her residence being
near, she had accidentally heard of my situation, and had visited me for
the express purpose of rendering any assistance in her power. No kind
mother could have been more attentive to the wants of a loved child,
than was Mrs. S----to mine through the remainder of my sickness. She had
her own family to attend to; yet every day she found time to visit me,
and minister kindly to my wants. How anxiously I watched for her coming!
and when I would hear her light footstep, and listen to the gentle
accents of her sweet voice, I could only acknowledge her presence but by
tears. She was a messenger of peace and love, a truly pious and
exemplary woman, and, during my residence in Marysville, ever remained
my firmest friend. She prospered in Marysville; and may kind Providence
_ever_ shower His richest blessings upon this truly Christian lady!

About this time the country was unusually agitated. The villanies
practised and murders committed by an organized band of cut-throats, of
whom the notorious mountain robber, Joaquin, was the chief, had excited
the horror, and aroused the vengeance, of the entire populace of Upper
California. No effort had been spared to capture him, dead or alive;
but, with the perfect adroitness of an accomplished scamp, he ever
eluded and bid defiance to pursuit by mounting some one of the many
fleet steeds at his command, and fleeing to the almost inaccessible
fastnesses of the mountains. His path was ever stained with human blood.
A reward of one thousand dollars for the apprehension of Joaquin,
offered by Governor Bigler, was still further increased by the sum of
three thousand added to it by the Chinese. These people are industrious,
economical, and timid. It was ever the policy of Joaquin and his
associates to prey with particular severity upon the Chinese. Frequent
thefts were committed in their camps; and, when resistance was
attempted, they were butchered with a heartless cruelty, becoming the
sanguinary nature of the murderer and outlaw. When suddenly surprised,
he would boldly face his enemies, and receive their bullets on his
breast, which glanced or were flattened by a coat of steel worn
underneath his clothing.

All Spanish countries have their guerillas and ladrones; but a feature
of this kind, precipitated into American communities, and attended with
such unparalleled atrocities, without the power of the people to avenge,
was something astonishingly rare indeed. California was not the place of
his birth, and he could not, therefore, have had any national jealousies
because of the occupancy of the country by the Americans. He seemed to
murder merely for the love of the sport, and to rob because it was a
life of excitement, requiring great risk in its accomplishment, and
yielding large profits when attended with good luck. But his career of
villany was limited; and, when he least expected it, he was seized upon
to expiate his crimes by an ignominious death. But I am anticipating.
One night, I was excessively alarmed by an unusual commotion about the
town. Ringing of bells, galloping of horses, groups of people rushing
past, talking fiercely,--all conspired to confirm the belief in my mind,
that the vigilance committee were about to execute summary punishment
upon some guilty offender. I awoke my husband: he dressed himself as
quickly as possible, and issued forth to ascertain the occasion of so
much noise. Locking the door after him, he walked away to join the
throng of people collected around a large hardware store at the corner
of the street. He was gone so long, I feared some accident had befallen
him. What agonizing doubts I was a prey to while lying in suspense in
that little shanty! It was a long time before he returned. He finally
came with the intelligence that Joaquin, with several of his
accomplices, were encamped about three miles out from Marysville, at a
place called the Sonorian Camp; and that Sheriff Buchanan, in attempting
to surprise and capture him, had been shot.

A few days previous to this, the citizens of Marysville and vicinity had
been horribly shocked by the announcement in their midst of a cruel
murder, perpetrated on the road between Hansonville and Marysville. A
citizen of Marysville had carried a load of goods to Hansonville, and
disposed of them for the sum of fifteen hundred dollars. On his return,
he was pursued and overtaken by some Mexicans, supposed to be of
Joaquin’s band, lariated and drawn from his wagon, and mangled in a
horrible manner. On the same day, a passenger wagon was intercepted, and
every passenger murdered; even the horses’ throats were cut. And now
this last deed had aroused the spirit of revenge in the breast of every
one capable of carrying arms.

The particulars of the affair were these: That night, a little Mexican
boy, who resided at the Sonorian Camp, prompted by feelings of revenge
for a punishment that day received, came to the sheriff, and revealed
Joaquin’s place of concealment. Buchanan, eager, doubtless, of achieving
unparalleled renown by capturing this notorious robber chieftain, with a
select few hastened to the spot designated by the boy. In their march,
they were compelled to step over a fallen tree lying immediately in
their path. They had no sooner planted their feet upon the trunk of the
tree, when a dozen armed men sprang to confront them, and discharged
their revolvers in their faces. The consternation of the sheriff and his
party was universal. Those of the number who were not so disabled as to
prevent escape, beat a hasty retreat. Among these was Buchanan. He had
not fled many paces, when he received a mortal wound, as he supposed,
which brought him to the ground. He was dragged along by his companions
to the Sonorian Camp, where a litter was procured, upon which he was
transported to his home in town. Three or four hundred of the
inhabitants armed themselves with fire-arms from the hardware store
above alluded to, and proceeded to the ambuscade of the terrible robber
chief. My husband departed with the troop, previously locking me into
the little shanty; for I dared not remain for an instant, in such
exciting times, with the door unfastened. For fear he would not return
in the morning before the heat became too oppressive for me to bear, he
raised a window in the room, and dropped the curtain. Then I was alone,
a prey to my gloomy fancies. Every noise I heard, I fancied was from
some terrible Mexican effecting an entrance through the window, and, in
imagination, could already discern the swarthy, murderous visage, and
detect the sharp, glittering blade of the assassin’s knife. The memory
of that night, even now, is accompanied with a shudder. Soon daylight
began to dawn, and with the shades of night vanished all my fears. I was
so weakened by sickness, that, like a child, who is naturally prone to
superstition and fear when alone in the dark, the sufferings I endured
that night were similar. The forenoon crept on apace, and yet that band
of armed men had not returned, I knew, by the silence which reigned in
the streets. As I lay, wishing my husband would return, the
window-curtain parted suddenly, and one of the ugliest-looking faces
was thrust into the room I ever beheld. At first, I was nearly
paralyzed with terror; then, recovering my faculties, I exclaimed, at
the top of my voice, “Vamos! vamos!” Knowing him to be Spanish by his
look, I addressed him in his own language; yet, feeling that was not
sufficiently expressive, I added, by way of effect, a few English
invectives, which fell _very_ harmlessly upon his uncomprehending ear. I
have often since been amused at the recollection of the amount of
courage displayed in words, when I was so entirely helpless and
imbecile, as far as action was required. He very leisurely reconnoitred
the apartment, cast a look commingled of scorn and pity upon me, turned
upon his heel, and disappeared. What was the object of this visit of
espionage, I never could conjecture. About noon, my husband returned.
The party had been unsuccessful in the pursuit; had caught glimpses of
the retreating party several times, but they had finally eluded pursuit.
The people returned chagrined and discomfited to their homes, to hear,
in a week, of other murders still more atrocious. The sheriff was alive
at noon, but no hopes were entertained of his recovery, as the ball, to
all appearance, had entered his side, and passed out at the breast. His
friends stood around the bed, momentarily expecting him to breathe his
last; still he lived on. His physician concluded to probe the wound, and
found that the ball, upon entering, had struck a rib, glanced and
followed the rib around, and passed out in front. In a few days he
recovered his health, resumed his official duties, and continued them
long after that.

Oh, how happy I felt when I could walk out once more! Distinctly do I
recollect the first day I left the shanty for a walk. I went the
distance of a square to visit my kind friend Mrs. S----. Upon my return,
I found a dear brother whom I had not seen for two years and more. Oh,
the joy of that meeting! Words would inadequately express my feelings.
Only one month had elapsed since he bade adieu to home and friends,
laden with so many messages of love; and now here he was, beside me,
repeating what father, mother, brothers, sister, had said such a short
time ago. It seemed as if I had been transported to the dear old home;
had met the family assembled around the hearth-stone, and together we
had spoken sweet words of counsel and of love. The night succeeding his
arrival, we sat and conversed together until daylight began to dawn, we
had so much to say--_I_ so many questions to ask; _he_ so much to
relate. He was very much shocked to see me looking so much like a wreck
of my former self. Sickness and trouble--yes, _such_ trouble as rankles
deepest in the heart of a wife, compared with which, death would have
been joy--was fast doing its work.




CHAPTER XV.


Soon after my brother’s arrival, I received a visit from my esteemed
friends, Mr. and Mrs. B---- and Nelly. During their stay, we visited
Yuba city, situated about half a mile from Marysville, on the opposite
bank of Feather River. It may not be amiss to state, that Yuba city,
with the exception of three or four houses, has been removed to
Marysville. There is, however, an Indian rancheria existing there, which
draws many visitors to the spot. We started, one bright morning, in a
two-horse team, to visit the rancheria. It was proposed to ford the
stream. Accordingly, we started for the ford. The banks of the river are
quite precipitous; and, as we descended the steep slope, and saw the
wide, rolling river below, we felt (Mrs. B---- and myself) as though we
would rather never see an Indian rancheria than stem the swiftly
rushing current; but soon down we went with such a rush, we could not
tell where we were until the water around our feet caused us to suspect
we were really sinking. The river proved to be higher than our driver
anticipated, or the wagon not as high, and by the means we reached the
opposite bank a wetter, if not a wiser party.

An Indian rancheria consists of a number of huts, constructed of a
rib-work or frame of small poles, or saplings of a conical shape,
covered with grass, straw, or tule, a species of rush, which grows to
the height of five or six feet. The huts are sometimes fifteen feet in
diameter at their bases, and the number of them grouped together vary
according to the number of the tribe which inhabit them. The Indians are
generally well made, and of good stature, varying from five feet four
inches to five feet ten, with strong muscular developments. Their hair
is long, black, and coarse; and their skin is a shade lighter than that
of a mulatto. It is universally conceded that the California Indians
possess but few, if any, of those nobly daring traits of character which
have distinguished the savage tribes of the Atlantic States, from the
days of King Philip down to the notorious Billy Bowlegs.

The extreme indolence of their nature, the squalid condition in which
they live, the pusilanimity of their sports, and the general imbecility
of their intellects, render them rather objects of contempt than
admiration. They are deficient in all those manly arts which have given
measurable immortality to the Cherokees. They have none of the invention
of the Sioux, Pottawatamies, or other north-western Indians, and are
outwitted by the cunning even of the “Tontos,” whose own self-applied
vernacular assigns no higher rank in aboriginal tradition than that of
_fools_.

They place entire dependence on nature’s bounty for support. If the crop
of acorns fails, or the mountain streams send not forth their usual
schools of fish,--snails, worms, roots, and insects, furnish food with
which they appease the gnawings of hunger. There is a kind of grass in
the valleys the Indians eat, that is pleasant to the taste and
nutritious. In the season of this grass, I have seen numbers of them all
out feeding like cattle. The children all go naked. This grass has a
tendency to increase their ordinary dimensions; and you will often hear
it remarked, as one makes his appearance, “There comes a little
grass-fed.” We saw them making their acorn bread (parn they call
bread). To render it short and rich, they mashed up angle-worms, and put
in it. After baking it,--which they did by making an excavation in the
earth, and building a fire therein; when the earth was sufficiently
heated, they scraped out the ashes, put in the bread, and covered it
over with hot ashes,--they generously insisted upon our eating a piece.
The keenness of our appetites was considerably repressed, however, by
witnessing the several employments of the tribe. One old squaw was
relieving her husband’s head of a score of vermin, which she ate with an
apparent relish. She practised, however, the principle of
self-abnegation to perfection, by occasionally tossing some of the
finest-looking ones down his throat, for which he smacked his thanks
with apparent zest. The hair on the heads of the chiefs is all drawn up,
and tied in a knot on the top of the head, and ornamented with feathers.
The squaws’ heads look like pitchmops; the hair is very thick, coarse,
and black, and cut square round the head. No part of the forehead is
visible; the hair falls to the eye-brows. They have jet-black eyes; and
some of them have a decidedly pleasant expression with the eye. The
little babies are beauties. Their mothers learn them to swim, as soon as
an old duck does her young. They build little pens at the brink of the
river, so that the current cannot carry them down stream, put them in,
and keep them there half the time. They are really amphibious. They have
a cruel custom of piercing the ears of their infants, and inserting
sticks the size of the little finger. During the process of thus
beautifying their infants, the whole side of the head and face is
terribly swollen, and the child must suffer inconceivably; but better
for them to die in the operation than to live in opposition to the
prevailing mode.

The longevity of the race is proverbial. We saw some who looked more
like mummies than living beings. They bring them out of the huts, and
set them in the sun, days; and there we saw them sitting, their eyelids
drooping so you could not perceive the eyeball, limbs perfectly
motionless, and so shrivelled and black as to be absolutely repulsive to
the sight. Some of their limbs are affected with a loathsome cutaneous
disease.

When one of their number dies, they consume the body by fire, grind the
bones to ashes; then the near relations mix these ashes with pitch, and
daub their heads and faces with it, as a badge of mourning. During this
process, and for several consecutive days and nights, they keep up a
loud hooting and howling, and render night hideous with their mournful
lamentations. They have large gatherings sometimes at their rancherias,
to celebrate some event; then dancing and singing, loud shouting and
howling, is continued without intermission the whole night. During these
orgies, the noise made by them is such as to prevent sleep, although a
quarter of a mile distant. Their council-chamber is of sufficient
capacity to accommodate three hundred persons; the entrance to which is
an aperture of just sufficient size to admit a man’s body when bent
double. In the centre of the roof is another small aperture; and, except
by these two openings, no air or light can be admitted. They perform
their singular dances in this place. Often Americans go there to witness
these sports; but a few moments’ confinement in such a close place
generally suffices. From their burrowing propensities, these Indians
have derived the name of “Diggers.”

Their mode of costume almost defies description, it is so omnifarious.
Sometimes they imitate the style adopted by our first parents in
Paradise. The women are especially delighted to get on a man’s shirt, in
which they will parade the streets apparently as pleased with themselves
as any fashionable belle when sporting the most costly fabric. I was
once exceedingly amused at the sight of an Indian and his squaw
promenading the street, dressed à la mode. He sported a pair of boots,
and an old, faded piece of calico over his shoulders, as an apology for
a serape. She was dressed in a red flannel shirt, over which she had
drawn an old black satin sack, which some one had given her, or which
she had stolen. Over their black heads was elevated a shattered
umbrella, and her arm was placed within his. Immediately in advance of
them were walking a very fashionably dressed gentleman and lady. The
countenances of the “Digger” and his mehala (an appellation given to the
squaws) were illuminated with a grin expressive of much delight,
entertaining, no doubt, the satisfactory belief that they were equally
as much admired by observers as those in advance of them, whose motions
and walk they were vainly endeavoring to imitate. They are inveterate
gamblers; but I think it would puzzle wiser heads than mine to
understand their games. They appear to place some value upon money, with
which they gratify their gambling propensities. They flock in numbers
into the back yards of hotels, and greedily devour all the offal
destined to be thrown to the hogs. Sometimes you can induce them to cut
a few sticks of wood; but, as a general thing, they are too indolent to
exert themselves much.

The rivers abound in excellent salmon, which the Indians spear in great
numbers, and dispose of in the towns. They are the finest I ever tasted.
Some of them are three and four feet long, and weigh fifty pounds or
more. It is amusing to see the Indians spearing them. They stand in the
river on rocks or shoal places, looking intently into the water with the
spear elevated, waiting, perfectly motionless, for a sight at one.
Instantly the spear descends, and, as sure as it does, it buries itself
in the body of the fish. Their aim is unerring.




CHAPTER XVI.


At this time my husband was engaged in transporting goods to the towns
above Marysville. He kept his horses in a shed at the rear of our
dwelling. One night we were aroused by the cry of “Fire!” Upon opening
my eyes, the room was as light as day. It appeared as if the whole city
was in a blaze. The flames were rapidly spreading. Those light wood and
canvas buildings offered but slight resistance to the fiery element. Our
first thought was of the horses and wagon, as they were of more value
than the house, or all it contained. They were given into my charge,
with instructions to lead them away out on the plains, and hold them
there, while they remained to throw what few things we possessed into
the wagon, and drag it off. The most valuable article in the house was
my side-saddle, for which was paid the sum of sixty-five dollars. That,
in their haste, was forgotten, and left in the house. I had petted those
horses so much, they would follow me anywhere. They stood perfectly
quiet beside me, apparently watching with me the progress of the fire. I
expected, of course, our little shanty had shared the fate of half the
buildings of the place. After the fire had subsided, we returned to
town; and there, sure enough, stood the little house unharmed, while all
on the opposite side of the street lay a heap of ruins. In one week from
that time, very nearly the same scene was enacted over again.

This time, too, the canvas shanty welcomed us back again to town. Had it
been of any value, perhaps it would have shared the fate of its
neighbors; but, valueless as it was, it looked better to me upon my
return than a mass of smoking ruins in lieu. What oversights a person
will commit when alarmed, or agitated by the cry of “Fire!” One of these
nights I dressed myself hastily, put on my dress (which fastened in
front) hind-side before, and fastened every hook securely. Of course, I
never discovered my mistake until I returned to the house. Soon after
this, my brother left for the mines. When the rainy season commenced,
our house was a poor protection from the rain. It ran through the canvas
roof as through an old sieve. We soon vacated it, and went to the
Oriental Hotel. This building my husband rented for the sum of six
hundred dollars per month, furniture included. It was a spacious new
building, at that time the finest in the place. Our expenses were
eighteen hundred dollars per month. We employed three cooks. To our head
cook we gave three hundred per month, and all the other domestics in a
like proportion. To one little boy, not much higher than the table, who
was employed to wait upon the cooks, clean knives and forks, bring in
wood, etc., we paid the exorbitant sum of sixty-five dollars per month.
Notwithstanding our expenses were so much, the net profits were ample.
We had twenty and twenty-five dollars per week for board. The house was
always crowded. While we were at the Oriental Hotel, the city was
inundated. Oh, that was indeed a gloomy time! A vast amount of property
was destroyed, and some lives lost. The sudden melting of the snow in
the mountains swelled the mountain streams to rushing torrents. The most
intense excitement prevailed in Marysville, as the Yuba River, swollen
to its utmost capacity, was still rapidly rising. What a wildly rushing,
roaring, foaming mass of water came thundering on! Higher and yet higher
it came, until the plaza was fairly submerged. Trucks were rushing to
and fro, laden with merchandise being conveyed to the upper part of the
city. Many objected to leaving their houses, thinking the water would
abate, until they were obliged to make their egress through the windows,
and in boats were taken to dry land. The Oriental fronted on quite high
land. At the back was a large basement, where was situated the culinary
department, also the servants’ apartments. All this part of the building
was entirely submerged, and the water lacked but a few inches of being
to the first floor. Night was coming on, and the water was still rising.
Fear and anxiety sat enthroned upon the countenances of all. A short
time previous to this, there had been erected on the plaza two brick
blocks. The water undermined the foundation of these buildings, and that
night they fell with a terrible crash. It is almost impossible to convey
to the minds of those not present any correct idea of the gloomy aspect
of affairs during the inundation. Towards morning, the waters ceased to
rise any higher, yet did not subside in the least. A man residing on a
ranch about five miles above Marysville, in attempting to save some
cattle from drowning, was swept from his horse by the force of the
current, and was borne down stream with astonishing rapidity. He managed
to keep his head above water, but was unable to clutch at anything
whereby he might save himself. As he neared the landing at Marysville,
all the latent energy of his being was aroused to save his life, as that
would be his last chance. There was a large steamer lying there, made
fast to the big tree on the plaza. Any one who has visited Marysville
will recollect this venerable tree. Some of the earliest pioneers to
this place recognize it as an old friend, under whose protecting arms
they have for many nights sought a shelter. With almost superhuman
exertions, he caught hold of one of the paddle-wheels of the steamer,
and maintained his position until rescued by some people who had seen
him struggling in the water.

Feather River, too, overflowed her banks, and, in a south and westerly
direction from Marysville, nothing could be seen but one unbroken sheet
of water. Many of the smaller houses were washed down stream. One
couple, living on a ranch twenty miles from Marysville, on the bank of
Feather River, and far from any other habitation, were driven for safety
to the top of a table. As the water rose higher, they were obliged to
rise higher. It was a little bit of a shanty. They knocked a hole
through the roof, and crept out thereon. They soon found they must vamos
from there; so they embarked in some sort of a craft (tub or barrel),
and paddled off to a little island. After congratulating themselves upon
their miraculous escape, they found they were not the only occupants of
this island retreat: a big grisly bear had preceded them. Not relishing
such close companionship as he seemed inclined to offer, they quickly
beat a retreat to a large tree, and, seated in its topmost branches,
carefully guarded by “Old Bruin,” they passed twenty-four gloomy hours.
When assistance arrived from a neighboring ranch, in the shape of a boat
well manned, it was Bruin’s turn to beat a retreat, which he did. The
frightened, hungry couple were released from their perilous situation.

My brother had returned from the mines, and was living upon a ranch on
the banks of the Yuba. He swam his horse quite a distance to save a
woman and child. When he arrived at the shanty, they were perched upon a
table, calmly awaiting their fate.

The boats were sailing in every direction about the city; and all
through the night could be heard the shrill cry of “Boat, ahoy!”
resounding far over the waters. All night long, on the opposite side of
the Yuba, sat a Spaniard on the ridge-pole of his house, at one end,
while, at the other end, was a big rat, each anxiously expecting relief.

Very gradually the waters began to subside; but it was a week before the
city was passable at all. One small house which was washed down stream,
and lodged some distance below, the owner afterwards recovered; and,
after placing it upon its original site, he corralled it, for fear of a
similar accident.

We kept the Oriental four or five months; but the numerous cares
devolving upon me were too wearing for my constitution. Could I have
been relieved from so much anxious solicitude, we should have remained
in the house longer. Now the rainy season was nearly over, we returned
to our little shanty.




CHAPTER XVII.


About this time, in company with my brother, I took a journey a distance
of eighty miles up the Sacramento River. The whole distance, the route
lay through the most beautiful valley of which imagination can conceive.
It was the season for flowers, and in every direction the most beautiful
floral blossoms met the eye. Oh, the beautiful ranches (farms we should
call them) that were situated on the banks of this magnificent stream!
We passed some fields of wheat, containing five hundred acres in one
inclosure. We forded numerous streams which intercepted our course. We
saw herds of antelope bounding gracefully from our path. To some we got
sufficiently near to see their clear, bright, shining eyes. Their
graceful symmetry of form, their agile, sylph-like motions, all combine
to render them one of the most beautiful animals in the country. The
fawn of the American deer, if captured before the pretty white spots
upon its sides have disappeared, will follow its captor anywhere, if he
will first carry it a little while in his arms. They are the perfection
of grace, innocence, and confidence. Probably there is no wild animal
more susceptible of domestication, when taken young, than the American
deer.

We saw, too, the elk, in large numbers. Once, as we were approaching a
stream, there were several drinking therefrom. As soon as they perceived
us, they reared aloft their heads, surmounted by huge and stately
antlers, and dashed away with the velocity of the wind. As we neared a
ranch belonging to Mr. N----, everything bespoke the wealth and
prosperity of the ranchholder. He possessed a herd of one thousand
horses. That day they were corralled, for the purpose of branding those
not already bearing the owner’s mark. This seems to me a cruel process,
yet an unavoidable one there, where so many different people’s stock are
running together over the plains. They blindfold the beast, and chain it
to a post deeply imbedded in the earth. Then the blacksmith takes the
branding-iron, bearing the owner’s stamp, heats it red hot, and applies
it quickly to the shoulder or haunch of the animal. How the seared hair
and hide smoke! and how the poor creature plunges and rears with fright
and pain! I have too much sympathy for the poor brutes ever to be a
ranchholder, or the wife of one. We dined at the ranch of Mr. L----,
whose waving fields of grain, with other appurtenances, revealed in a
measure the extent of his wealth.

We travelled on through elysian valleys, until we reached our
destination. The only objection a person could have to a residence in
these sunny vales is the annoyance one is subjected to from myriads of
musquetoes, which, at certain seasons, swarm the country. I have seen
laborers at work in the fields with green veils tied to their hats, and
drawn down over their faces, and fastened about their necks. When we
reached our destination (the ranch of Mr. S----), I was very much
fatigued; but that, in a measure, was dispelled by the hearty welcome I
received from Mrs. B---- (Mr. S----’s daughter), an interesting lady
from New York, who arrived in the country at the time I did. Her father
was a very wealthy ranchholder.

Their dwelling-house was constructed of adobe brick. It was only one
story high, but more than sixty feet long. Mr. S---- employed a host of
Indians upon his ranch. The beautiful gardens and extensive fields of
grain furnished convincing proofs of the enterprise, industry, and
energy of the proprietor. Nineteen years’ salutary training had, in a
measure, eradicated the indolent propensities inherent to the Digger
race. Mr. S---- had been a resident in California, and on that ranch,
for nineteen long years. What caused him to leave his family and native
land, to seek a home in the wilds of California, is unknown to me. But
so he did. When he left his home, Mrs. B----, the daughter then with
him, was a babe scarcely six months old. During those long years of
separation, the wife knew not the whereabouts of her husband, or of his
existence even. His little children grew to man’s and woman’s estate in
the interim, never dreaming they had a father in California. Some were
old enough to recollect him before his self-banishment from their
presence; but they soon learned to speak of him as one gone to the
spirit-land.

One chill autumn eve in 1850, might have been seen a man a little past
the meridian of life, whose silvered locks and furrowed cheeks gave
evidence of past griefs, of sufferings that had roughly stirred the
deep fountains within,--else the surface would not have been so deeply
channelled,--standing irresolutely before the door of a neat mansion in
New York city. Conflicting emotions of pleasure and of pain were rapidly
crossing each other upon his countenance; and well they might, for he
was standing, after an absence of nineteen years, at the door of his own
house, desiring, yet scarcely daring, to enter. He summoned courage to
ring; the door opened, and he crossed the threshold of his
home,--confronted his wife--how changed from the young and blooming
woman he left so long ago! yet, the instant their eyes met, the
recognition was mutual. The little Bessy he left a babe, was all the
child remaining at home. He remained with his wife and child that
winter; but there existed a yearning for his home in California, that he
vainly endeavored to conquer. He must return. Would his wife and child
go with him? The daughter would, for she manifested unusual affection
for her father, so recently found. The wife preferred to remain behind.
In the spring, father and daughter left New York for the home in
California. They were unavoidably detained at Panama. While there, the
daughter became acquainted with a young gentleman from her native city.
He proposed, was accepted, and they were united at Panama, before
proceeding on their voyage. And here they were domesticated, away in the
interior of California. They appeared to be enjoying as much happiness
as ever falls to the lot of mortals. How pleasant it seemed to enter
that adobe building, and find everything arranged with a neatness and
regularity eliciting admiration. Mrs. B---- performed no household
duties herself. She had five or six well-trained Indian women for house
servants, who labored hard for no other remuneration than their food and
raiment. The last-mentioned stipulation, however, was easily complied
with, as they require but very little clothing--just as much as decency
requires, and no more.

Mrs. B---- is a lovely woman, well qualified to grace the most refined
and intelligent society. There was a novelty and charm connected with
their residence in that remote place, which rendered life peculiarly
pleasant. The extensive tract of land which Mr. S. possessed (since the
confirmation of the ranch titles) has rendered him immensely wealthy.
Immediately upon our arrival, our horses were allowed to revel in the
luxuries of wild oats. They were actually up to their eyes in acres of
the nutritious grain. After the business which had led us to that
remote place had been ratified; we started on our homeward journey, with
much more extended views of the agricultural resources of California
than we had hitherto enjoyed. Soon after this, my brother left for
distant mines.




CHAPTER XVIII


Now came a report to Marysville that rich diggings had been discovered
at a place designated French Corral, which was about fifty miles from
Marysville. This intelligence (as it ever does in California) caused
hundreds of people, of all classes and professions, to rush
simultaneously to the spot where gold was so gratuitously deposited. My
husband was desirous of going too; and, possibly, he might establish a
boarding-house there, if the prospect bid fair. So one morning, about a
week after the tide of emigration had commenced flowing so rapidly, we
started, and foolishly too, in a one-horse buggy. It was reported there
was a good wagon-road leading directly to the place.

But what would be called a good wagon-road there, would be considered
utterly impassable here. Neither my husband nor myself had ever
travelled in the mountains; if we had ever done so, no doubt we should
have possessed wisdom enough to have taken the journey upon
mules--decidedly the best mode of conveyance in the Sierra Nevada
region. Early one morn in the month of June, we left the town of
Marysville, long before the inhabitants had awakened from their drowsy
slumbers, and pursued our course in a north-easterly direction,
following the course of the Yuba, crossing and recrossing it several
times during the day. About twenty miles from town, we struck the low
hills (as they are termed) of the vast and gigantic Sierra Nevada range.
Low hills! thought I. I should call them mountains, and higher ones,
too, than I had ever dreamed of travelling over. Recollect, kind reader,
I had been reared away down on Cape Cod, where there are only a few
slight elevations, justly denominated sand-banks. After reaching the top
of a high hill, (I suppose I must call it so, but it would suit my ideas
better to say mountain,) the wheels were chained, preparatory to a
descent. How my heart beat, and how I wished myself back again, before
we reached the base! It was one of my pet horses that drew us, and I
knew he was perfectly gentle; but oh, how I pitied him!

How entirely different was the scenery now from that enjoyed when
traversing the beautiful valley of the Sacramento a short time previous!
and yet in what close proximity these different sections lay! I could
scarcely realize that I had not travelled thousands of miles, to reach a
country so very dissimilar. After one becomes accustomed to mountain
travel, I know not to which of these decidedly dissimilar landscapes the
lover of nature would yield the palm. After overcoming in part the
emotions of fear, I was perfectly entranced at beholding the lofty
mountains towering far above us, their sides and summits timbered with
large pines, firs, and cedars. And then how quiet and lovely looked
those little valleys, so hidden and enclosed from the world, completely
hemmed in by the grand and sublime elevations of nature’s most
magnificent handiwork! Oh, what dark and gloomy-looking defiles were
disclosed to view!--fit rendezvous for the sanguinary assassin, or the
dark-skinned treacherous savage. An involuntary shudder ran through my
frame, as we wended our way through these silent mountain recesses.

I half-expected, every moment, to hear the whizzing of an Indian arrow
past my ear, or the sharp click of the murderer’s revolver. We were well
armed, for it was dangerous to travel in those mountains unarmed. But I
very much doubted my ability, so far as regarded courage, to use any
weapon, (except woman’s weapon,) even in self-defence. Often, as you
enter one of these little valleys, your eyes will be greeted with the
sight of a little shanty. Sometimes they call these mountain-glens
corrals; and certainly they are corralled in by almost impervious
barriers. One, in particular, arrested my attention. This valley was of
an emerald green. Through it ran a clear, gurgling mountain-stream, the
music of its waters inviting the weary wayfarer to sip of the
health-promoting beverage. (I regret to add, at that time in California
the health-inspiring properties of pure, unadulterated cold water were
seldom tested.) Several cattle and mules were nibbling the green grass.
But the prettiest feature of all, in my estimation, was an intelligent,
bright-eyed little woman, seated just outside the door, under the shade
of a magnolia, with a smiling, rosy little baby in her arms. I was out
of the buggy in an instant, and had the little darling in my arms. There
we obtained refreshments. There was quite a history connected with this
bright-eyed woman, which I afterwards learned, and will relate, if my
readers will pardon the episode. It may perhaps interest them as much in
the recital as it did me.

We will now glance back through many years to the innocent days of
childhood--to this lady’s pleasant home on the banks of the lovely
Connecticut. Not far from the shores of the Sound, which receives its
limpid waters, stood a quaint, old-fashioned farm-house; and _there_ she
passed the spring-time of youth. On an adjacent farm dwelt another happy
family. Not a day passed but the children of these respective families
had met, and raced and tumbled about, in all the wild joy of freedom and
of health; now paddling on the smooth surface of the glassy river, or
scrambling among thorns and briers in those old woods, after violets and
nuts knowing no restraint, or recognizing none, save their parents’
love. When she was about twelve years of age, her father conceived the
idea of emigrating to the Western wilds.

Then those children, who had lived, and loved, and played together so
long, must separate. The heroine of my story, and a lad a few years her
senior, belonging to the other family, had, almost unconsciously, as it
were, conceived and cherished an almost undying friendship for each
other; the strength and ardor of which the parents little suspected.
After an interchange of many little love-tokens, the lad placed a hair
ring, of curious workmanship, upon the girl’s finger, with the solemn
injunction never to part with it, and that, when he grew to be a man, he
would seek her for his bride; and so they parted. Upon their arrival in
the Western country, the father located himself, with his family, at or
near Nauvoo city. Subsequently, he joined the Mormons, and resided many
years at this place. About the time the tide of emigration commenced
flowing to the golden shores of the Pacific, he put in execution the
secretly cherished plan of removing with his family to Great Salt Lake
city.

In vain our heroine--now grown to a lovely and interesting woman--sought
to deter her father from consummating this long-cherished plan of
removal to the city of Zion. We can conjecture how much she was
influenced in adopting such a course by the knowledge which she had
recently obtained that the lover of her youth, to whom she had, in
defiance of oft-repeated solicitations to the contrary, ever proved
faithful, was about to seek her for a fulfilment of his boyish pledge.
Her father was inexorable: he was determined upon going, and his
favorite daughter must accompany them. The mother’s pleadings, too,
could not be resisted. They started. The mother’s health, previously
enervated, after six weeks’ toilsome travel across the plains, began
visibly to decline. With intense anxiety, each succeeding day, they
watched the paling cheek and tremulous motions of the wife and mother.
Their worst fears were realized. One calm, still, moonlight eve, they
consigned to a lonely grave the remains of the loved one. She had
emigrated to her last peaceful home. Never more would she be called upon
to resume her toilsome march across the plains of this sublunary sphere.
The family now consisted of the widowed husband, the daughter, and a
little girl, the offspring of a younger daughter, who had deceased
several years previous to this last emigration, and, being a widow, had
bequeathed her only child to its grand-parents. Little Rosa was a
joyous, light-hearted child, possessed of strong affections. The rich
wealth of love she had bestowed upon the grandmother had often caused
the tears of that fond parent to flow at the thought of the bitter
sorrow in store for the little darling, when she should have departed to
her long home.

The grief of the child under this affliction was deep and lasting.
Never more was her sweet voice heard in unison with the feathered
songsters, carolling her sweetest songs all the live-long day. Whenever
they encamped, she would wander forth, and gather the prairie-roses, of
which she begged her aunt to make for her a pillow. Upon this little
pillow of roses every night she rested her tired head, covered with
flaxen curls. One night, she complained of being unusually tired, and
said, “Oh, aunty, where is my rosy pillow? That will cure me.” In the
morning, they found her in a raging fever, from which she never
recovered. In two weeks from the time, she wept inconsolably at the
grave of her grandmother; she had gone to join her in the spirit-land.
They laid her in her little grave, with the pillow of roses under her
head, and resumed their gloomy march.

In less than one week from this second bereavement, while fording a
river, the father lost his life. Thus was the daughter left alone, the
last of her family. She continued her journey with the company, and
arrived safely at Salt Lake city. Here another trial awaited her. She
had not been long there, before the great prophet, Brigham Young,
selected her to swell the list of his spiritual wives, of whom at that
time there were about thirty. Her heart revolted at the idea of such a
destiny, and she resolved upon speedy flight. A company of emigrants,
bound to California, were encamped a short distance from the city.
Thither she secretly directed her steps, told her story, was admitted
into the company, and conveyed to California. Upon her arrival there,
she was engaged as an assistant in a hotel, where she remained nearly a
year.

One night, the occupants of this hotel were aroused by the appalling cry
of “Fire!” in their midst. The building was in a blaze. Every one was
rushing to obtain egress. At such a time, woe to those prostrated upon a
bed of sickness! The shrieks of a sick man arrested the rapid steps of
this woman, flying for safety from the devouring element. Many had
rushed past, unmindful of his call for succor, intent only on
self-preservation; but the kind heart of woman could not resist this
touching appeal to her sympathies. She caught him in her arms, (for he
was reduced to a mere skeleton, from intense suffering,) and rushed
forth, just in time to escape the falling timbers. By the assistance of
another person, the sick man was conveyed to comfortable quarters, where
every attention was rendered him by the lady who had preserved his life
on that eventful night. Owing to extreme excitement in his then weak
state, a violent delirium ensued, which continued for many days. None
knew the sufferer, or from whence he came. Upon his restoration to
reason, as his kind nurse was proffering to him a glass of water, he
suddenly sank back upon his pillow in a fainting fit. When consciousness
was once more restored, he could only point to a hair ring upon the
lady’s finger, and articulate her name. Thus these lovers met, after a
separation of nearly eighteen years. An explanation ensued, by which she
learned that he had traced and followed her across the plains to Salt
Lake city. There he lost all clue to her whereabouts. Disappointed and
sick at heart, he pursued his way to California; went to the mines, and
worked awhile, and was there taken sick. He managed to get to the hotel
the day preceding the fire. The rest may be imagined by the situation in
which I described her, as first seen by me upon entering that lovely
valley. Truly, truth is stranger than fiction; and romance dwindles into
insignificance, when contrasted with thrilling realities.

Now I will proceed on our journey. I regretted to leave that beautiful
spot, so rural, so retired, so far from the busy haunts of man. It had
such a serene aspect, it seemed to me to be one of the sweetest havens
of rest that God ever provided for life’s weary pilgrim. We travelled on
until we reached another valley, equally as rich in nature’s adornments;
but its verdant soil had been recently saturated with the blood of three
prospecting miners. Their bodies had been found pierced with arrows,
besides being cut and mangled in a horrible manner. Some Indians near by
were suspected of committing the murder. Consequently a number of miners
had assembled, and, in order to intimidate the tribe, had taken three
Indians, and hung them on the limb of a tree near by the scene of the
murder. As we approached, we noticed with some anxiety the unusual
collection of so many miners. Very soon the occasion of such an
assemblage became apparent. There, on a single limb, were suspended the
dead bodies of three Indians. One glimpse was sufficient. I can see them
now, their swarthy, distorted visages emblematic of revenge and
treachery.

Finally we came to a little mountain town called Bridgeport. It
consisted of three little shanties and a toll-bridge, which spanned the
Yuba River. The setting sun was just gilding the tops of the surrounding
mountains, as we halted in front of one of the dwellings to inquire the
distance to French Corral. They informed us it was about five miles.
They told us there was a pretty high mountain just beyond, and advised
us to discontinue our journey for that night. They seemed so
particularly solicitous for us to remain all night, their shanty was so
filthily dirty, and they themselves were such savage, hirsute-looking
objects, that I entreated my husband to go on. I thought, out of two
evils, we were choosing the least by proceeding. I came to a different
conclusion, however, before we reached our destination. My husband paid
one dollar and a half toll, and we crossed a high bridge, under which
rolled the Yuba. At this place, it was a rapidly rushing stream. It went
foaming and dashing over innumerable rocks which intercepted its
progress, overleaping every barrier, acknowledging no superior power.
Unceasingly it rolled on its course, its waters mingling with those of
her sister rivers, and _all_ tending to one point, viz., the broad
Pacific.

Directly after crossing the Yuba, we commenced the toilsome ascent of
the highest mountain we had yet encountered. At the commencement of the
ascent, my husband alighted to walk up the mountain, and I was to drive
up. The poor horse started with all the energy he possessed, in the
hope, I suppose, of speedily gaining the top. I quickly lost sight of my
husband, who was trudging on in the vain hope of overtaking me. Soon I
began to perceive evident signs of exhaustion in the horse. I tried to
stop him, but could not. The buggy drew back so, that, if he attempted
to stop, it drew him back too. And oh, what an awful road it was! Deep
gullies worn by streams of water, which had flowed down when the snow
had melted, deep enough to hide myself in! I tried several times to get
the carriage crosswise the road, but could not, on account of those
gullies and huge rocks.

I was fearful, every moment, the horse would fall, from utter
exhaustion. He was covered with white foam, and his tongue was extended
from his mouth. I screamed for my husband at the top of my voice; but he
was puffing and blowing far down the mountain. I finally contrived to
get the carriage wedged in between two rocks. I then got out, and went
to the relief of the horse. Poor fellow! I thought he was dying, for
some time. When my husband appeared in sight, his appearance betokened
about as great exhaustion as the horse. After a good rest, we all
proceeded up, I on foot too. Three or four times I threw myself on the
ground in utter exhaustion. We could not proceed as leisurely as we
would, had night not been so close upon us. The summit was reached; and
what a magnificent view greeted my wondering vision! The road wound
round the mountain near the top. The sides of the mountain had been cut
down, and a very good level road formed, of just sufficient width for
only one carriage to pass round at a time. A horn, which is found at
each termination of this narrow pass, is loudly sounded by travellers,
before entering on the road, as a warning of their approach. The
distance from this road down an almost perpendicular descent was one
thousand feet; and at the base of the mountain rolled the foaming waters
of the Yuba River. Yet from that dizzy height it had the appearance of a
white ribbon no wider than your hand. The outside wheels of the buggy
ran within three feet of the edge of the precipice. Nothing could induce
me to ride (even with our gentle horse) in such close proximity to the
frightful chasm. My husband jumped in and rode around, while I went
plodding along, almost ankle-deep in the red sand. Presently I heard
voices behind. I turned to look, and there, a few paces behind me, were
two dark, swarthy, bewhiskered individuals, each mounted on a fine
mule, and one of them was leading a spare mule. What to do I did not
know. There I was, alone, wallowing in the sand, my bonnet off, hair
dishevelled, face the color of vermilion, and dress the color of the
sand. Who or what I was, or how I came there on foot, I suppose was
beyond their comprehension.

When they overtook me, one said, “Good evening, madam; this is a hard
road to travel over Jordan.” To this I made no reply. Said the other,
“Wont you ride? you look tired.” I told him there was a carriage waiting
for me just round the mountain. So they rode on. Soon I found my husband
waiting for me. I quickly accepted his invitation to ride, for I feared
meeting with other adventures, which might not terminate so pleasantly.
We travelled on, expecting to reach the corral every moment. There were
no more such high elevations on our route as the last we had surmounted;
but there were a plenty high enough, I assure you.

But for the brilliant rays of the queen of night, we should have been
compelled to encamp in the mountains. Nothing could exceed the grandeur
and sublimity of these mountain-glens and cañons, walled in by those
grand and lofty mountains, and lighted by the brilliant and powerful
rays of the moon, and the sparkling radiance of the starry host,
glittering like so many diamonds in the deep-blue canopy of the heavens.
Their desolation is mellowed; an air of purity and holiness seems to
pervade those silent places, which leads the imagination to picture them
as grand saloons of nature, fashioned by the hand of the Almighty for
the residence of pure and uncontaminating substances, and not for the
doomed children of passion, want, care, and sorrow.

About ten in the evening, we made our descent into the valley bearing
the name of French Corral. We were perfectly astonished at beholding
such a collection of canvas houses--large frame boarding-houses and
hotels, brilliantly lighted gambling-saloons without number, and Spanish
dance-houses, French cafés, drinking-saloons, etc., etc.

It may not be amiss to state here the manner of building frame-houses,
when the time occupied in building was two days for a private dwelling,
four days for a hotel, and six days for a church. The last mentioned,
however, was not often raised. A building would boast of a very slight
frame, not boarded, but split clapboard nailed on to the frame, and the
outside was finished. Upon the inside, in lieu of laths and plastering,
bleached or unbleached cotton cloth is stretched smoothly and tightly,
and fastened to the frame. This cloth is then papered over, and it looks
as nice as paper upon plastering. The ceiling overhead is nice bleached
cloth, sewed together neatly, and stretched so tightly there is not a
wrinkle observable. For partitions a frame is raised, and each side of
this frame is cloth and paper, leaving a hollow space between the two
partitions of cloth, about three or four inches in width. These
partitions look as firm and solid as they do made the usual way; but
they afford but a slight hindrance to the passage of sounds. These
deceptive partitions have been accessory to the diffusion of many a
momentous secret.

Begging pardon for this digression, I will proceed with the description
of this speedily-rushed-into-existence mining town. We were directed to
the California Hotel, as one capable of rendering the best
accommodations. Thither we accordingly went, and received a hearty
reception. Every attention benighted, tired travellers could reasonably
require, was cheerfully conferred. Next morning, we rose from our
couches of straw, rather lame, to be sure, but anxious, nevertheless, to
reconnoitre the town. We first repaired to the mines. There were over
one thousand miners at work in a gulch surrounded by towering mountains,
which shot up almost perpendicularly over their heads. The frosts of
spring tarry latest in those gulches, and the genial rays of the winter
sun penetrate but occasionally to cheer the miner in his arduous toil.

It is difficult, after all the descriptions he may read, for any one who
has not been in the mines to obtain any correct idea of the manner in
which they are worked, or of the difficulties and singular vicissitudes
in life to which the miner is exposed. If the miner be dependent upon
others for his water by paying for it weekly, success demands that he
should be an early riser. Before the first dawn of light breaks upon the
sky above him, he opens his eyes, rolls over on his hard bed, stretches
his stiffened limbs, and, feeling about for his boots, places his hand
upon something resembling an icicle, into which his feet are thrust, and
the labors of the day commenced. He kindles his fire, (that is, if he
boards himself,) fills and sets on the coffeepot, fries his “flap-jacks”
and his pork, or warms up his beans, and the morning repast is prepared.
It is then quickly eaten; and, by the time it is daylight, the miner is
beside his tom. The water is let on, and in half an hour’s time he is
standing ankle-deep in it, while, every few minutes, a dash of it is
accidentally sprinkled upon his back. A hard day’s work of this kind is
not unfrequently closed by the paltry reward of one, two, or three
dollars, to be divided between the last named number of men. And this
approximates, more nearly than all other histories, to the truth of
mining. The “big strikes” are always heard of first, because the good
news is published, while the bad is deemed worthy of no such
distinction. From this cause thousands of people meet with
disappointment, and write back to their Atlantic friends, reviling a
country the noblest for its climate, soil, and business advantages, of
any under the broad canopy of heaven.

The success of the miner depends a great deal upon luck. He may be
industrious, economical, possessed of good morals, labor perseveringly
for months, and sometimes years, and still be poor, as far as the
acquisition of gold is concerned; while, perhaps, an unprincipled
spendthrift in a few months may realize a fortune. A claim, too, may
prospect rich, and yet, upon working it, yield scarcely sufficient to
defray the expenses. Sometimes, also, adjoining claims which prospect
alike may prove, one rich, and the other poor. I knew one fellow who had
worked three weeks upon his claim, and had not realized enough to pay
his board. He became disheartened, and sold out to a “green-horn,” who,
in the interval of six weeks, took out over three thousand dollars’
worth of the yellow metal. I knew another, too, who labored hard three
years in the country, without any more than defraying his expenses, when
he was fortunate enough to strike a “pocket,” from which he took out
twenty thousand dollars. But here I am digressing again.

We found, upon walking about the town, that nearly every other building
was a boarding-house. So much competition had reduced board to twelve
dollars per week, which would not pay, considering the fact of having to
pay six cents per pound freight for the transportation of provisions
from Marysville; so my husband relinquished the idea of opening a house
there, and decided to return to Marysville on the following day. That
night, there was to be a grand ball at the Corral; and Mrs. R----, the
wife of the gentleman who kept the house where we stopped, was very
anxious for me to accompany her to witness the proceedings. Accordingly,
in the course of the evening, we stepped in, as silent spectators of the
festive scene. I was rather surprised at beholding such a recherché
assemblage. By the appearance of the company, I should not have
suspected that we were, figuratively speaking, in the bowels of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. A long artificial bower had been constructed,
under which were spread the tables, loaded with delicious viands. There
were turkeys, which at that period could not be purchased for less than
twenty-five dollars apiece; and pigs, too, which were equally as scarce
in the market. There were jellies and East India preserves temptingly
displayed, also the refreshing ice-cream. Beautiful bouquets graced the
tables. These flowers had been gathered in close proximity to snow.
Sixteen miles distant, farther up in the mountains, was plenty of ice
then; and there was a Frenchman at the Corral--from whom the place
derived its name--who kept quite a number of cows; so that ice and cream
were very easily obtained.

Here, fifty miles from the settlements, were convened a collection of
gentlemen and ladies, who had come, some ten, some twenty, and some
thirty miles, to join in the merry dance. I saw two Bostonians there. It
was a select company: all gamblers were excluded.

After having regaled ourselves with some refreshments, which the polite
and gentlemanly host insisted upon our partaking, we took our leave,
as, the ensuing morning early, we were to start on our homeward
journey.

It is a peculiar feature of the climate in California, that, as soon as
the snow disappears from the earth, the flowers spring up spontaneously.
There is no frost in the ground, and the heavy body of snow lying
thereon serves to keep it warm. While at the Corral, I was presented
with an elegant bouquet, which a gentleman told me he gathered between
two snow-banks, in such close proximity to each other, that, with his
arms extended, he could reach the snow on either side. The rising sun,
next morning, found us at the top of that high mountain, very near the
spot where he bade us adieu on our journey up.

Neither ourselves nor the horse were as fatigued as when we made the
ascent; therefore, it did not appear half as formidable; yet I preferred
being upon my feet. It was really frightful to look at the horse and
buggy. The wheels were both chained: yet how the poor horse had to brace
his feet at every step! It was on this same mountain, the following
August, as a party of emigrants, who travelled across the plains, were
descending in an ox-team, the wagon pitch-poled, distributing the
contents (which consisted of a woman and two or three children,
cooking-stove, and many other household utensils) in every direction.

When we reached Bridgeport, we were accosted by the toll-gatherer with
“Well, I reckon as how you had a right smart heap of trouble that night,
afore you reached the top of the mountain. I allowed you would be for
turning back; but I have always heard say, them Yankee women never would
give up beat.” How he knew I was a Yankee, was beyond my comprehension;
for he did not hear me speak, as I recollect of. Must be my countenance
was the index of the nation to which I belonged; and I believe it does
speak Yankee as well as my tongue; for I was never taken for anything
else, except once----.

We met with no adventure particularly worth relating on our homeward
journey. When we descended again to the foot of the hills, they really
seemed clipped of nearly one-half their altitude since I had passed over
them. I was also surprised at the wonderful amount of courage I had
acquired during the trip. Now I laughed at travelling over those hills I
before had cried at. That night, the little canvas house received within
its walls a tired couple. Not long after this did it afford us a home.
My husband sold it, and we went to the Tremont Hotel, where I remained
during the remainder of my stay in Marysville.




CHAPTER XIX.


Soon after this, I took a journey, in company with several ladies and
gentlemen from San Francisco, to a mining locality, called Park’s Bar,
situated about twenty miles from Marysville. After leaving the plain,
our route lay through a thick growth of what is there termed chaparell.
It resembles, at a distance, the hawthorn. So dense is this growth of
bushes, it affords grand lurking-places for the assassin. Many a poor
miner, as he has trudged along, with his blankets upon his back, perhaps
well laden with the shining dust, has at this place been pounced upon,
and relieved of his burden, and perhaps his life, by some one of the
many desperadoes who infest the country.

A gentleman of the company related an incident which occurred, as a
friend of his was once travelling this particular locality. He was
driving a mule-team very leisurely along, in close communion with his
thoughts, when, all at once, he was startled from his reverie by the
sudden halting of his mules. Upon looking up, there, close in advance of
the mules, were two huge grisly bears, amusing themselves with their
cubs. His heart was in his mouth in an instant. How could he compete
with two such formidable antagonists, should they simultaneously attack
him? His mules betrayed the terror they were suffering by one long,
continuous bray, in which they were speedily joined by their no less
frightened driver. This horrid din, suddenly bursting upon this bruin
coterie, had the desired effect. They instantly disappeared in the
surrounding chaparell; while the teamster pursued his way with all
possible dispatch, congratulating himself upon having escaped, at least,
a very _feeling_ embrace. While speaking of this graminivorous animal,
allow me to add, that I was acquainted with a family who had in their
possession a cub, so tame that he used to play about the floor with the
children as harmlessly as a pet-kitten. He was prized so highly, they
had declined several tempting offers to part with him. Some hunters had
shot his mother, and were dragging her off, when this little cub ran
after them, sprang upon its dead mother, and evinced the strongest
symptoms of affection. Thus it was easily captured.

About mid-day, we arrived at our destination--quite a little town,
picturesquely situated upon the banks of the Yuba. Those little mountain
towns are, to me, invested with a charm, a novelty, that is perfectly
bewitching. After refreshing ourselves at a hotel in the vicinity, we
repaired to the mining ground, as we laughingly remarked, to prospect.
Some of the miners were so very gallant as to offer us the use of their
pans, at the same time assuring us that they would allow us all the gold
dust we were lucky enough to pan out. It was considered rich diggins at
this spot; therefore, the vision of a heap of gold dust incited us at
once to doff our lace sleeves and fancy fixings, and enter zealously
upon this to us novel method of obtaining that coveted metal. Oh, it was
back-aching work, I assure you!

Since that one half hour’s work in the mines, how much sympathy I have
felt for the gold-digger! The thought at once obtruded itself, that if
some of the wives of these poor miners whom I had known could but
realize one half of the toil and hardships their husbands endure in the
acquisition of wealth, or of even a competency, by the use of the pan
and shovel, they would not be half so lavish in their expenditures. It
was excessively warm; there was not a breath of air stirring; the sun
was shining down with more than tropical fervor, while its rays were
reflected in ten thousand directions from the sides of the hills, until
the atmosphere glowed and glimmered like the air in a furnace.

Although the earth was yielding at the rate of ten cents to the panful,
we very soon came to the conclusion, that we had rather suffer the
privations incident to poverty than toil longer in that burning heat;
so, wiping the perspiration from our vermilion countenances, we repaired
to the hotel; from whence, after a short rest, I sallied forth to visit
several female acquaintances of mine who resided at the Bar. They were
ladies who, upon their first arrival in the country, had boarded with us
awhile, until their husbands could provide a suitable abode for them in
the mines.

I found one of them, a Mrs. Q----, suffering excessively from a terrible
fright she had received the night previous. The facts were these: They
kept a boarding-house, where they accommodated about forty persons. In
the night, they were both awakened by a noise in their room. Before they
could move, and even before her husband could grasp a revolver which lay
loaded under his pillow, the figure of a man, masked, and holding a
sharp, glittering knife in his hand, was standing over them. The knife
was held within an inch of her throat, while the threat was uttered,
that if her husband moved so much as an inch, his wife’s life would pay
the penalty. Such a threat was, of course, effective. There they lay,
while three other burglars entered the room, and commenced pilfering. A
trunk was opened, from whence they abstracted one thousand dollars in
gold dust. Next followed her jewelry, and her gold watch, a parting
present from her mother. Her husband’s watch, and several other articles
of value, was seized upon; with all of which they decamped. The sentinel
still stood over the wife, while she had fainted from fright. After
waiting until his co-workers in villany were fairly off, he told him, if
he raised the alarm until the lapse of so many minutes after his
departure, that a ball, from an unseen and unerring hand, would be the
forfeiture. He then vamosed. The alarm, however, was instantly given;
every inmate in the house were aroused; but no trace of the robbers was
ever discovered. It was weeks, and even months, before Mrs.
Q---- recovered from the shock she that night received.

I felt in hopes the party would conclude to remain over night at the
bar; but, as there was a bright moon, they decided upon a moonlight
drive to Marysville. I must confess myself so much of a coward that I
liked not to travel through those gloomy-looking cañons and ravines at
night, even were the way illumined by brilliant Luna’s beams. I fancied
the shadows of the trees assumed the form of the lurking assassin, ready
for a spring. We met with no adventure on the way home, and our ears
were assailed with no more horrible sounds than the bark of the cayotes
that prowled along on our track. These animals partake of the nature of
the wolf, and are very cowardly. They are a great pest in California.
The burial-ground, situated about a mile from Marysville, was often
frequented by these animals; bodies were often found exhumed and
partially devoured by them.

During my residence in California, situated as I was most of the time in
a hotel, I had ample opportunity to study human nature in all its varied
phases. Scenes of misery, too, I witnessed, enough to fill a volume,
were they all recorded. Scenes of gayety and splendor also diversified
the way. I attended one wedding in Marysville, the cost of which was
currently estimated at two thousand dollars. The bride was a fair widow
of thirty, (and wealthy withal,) whose husband had deceased five months
previously.

People in our staid, matter-of-fact, puritanical towns, can have but a
faint conception of the ever-varying, ever-changing scenes, pertaining
to a life in California, where fortunes are made and lost in a day;
friends die, and are forgotten soon, in the constant whirl of excitement
which surrounds one. People who, when I first arrived in California,
were considered immensely rich in this world’s goods, long before I left
were reduced to penury. The motto there is, “Nothing risked, nothing
gained.” They will perhaps invest all they possess in some great
speculation, (always bound to succeed,) and lose the whole. Then, again,
vice versa.

What shocked me more than all else in California was, to see the poor,
sick, and often penniless people, brought to the hotels (there were no
hospitals in Marysville at that time) to die; and then, when the soul
had taken its flight to the spirit-land, to see the hearse drive to the
door, take the body, which had been deposited in a rough box without the
usual apparelling for the grave, and start off to the place of interment
alone! Not one solitary mourner to follow the remains, or drop the tear
of affection at the grave of one who, perhaps, in some far-distant
home, had many “loving friends, and true,” who were anxiously waiting
and watching for his return.

One day there were two brothers, brought by their father to the Tremont
Hotel. They were sick with a fever. After a week of intense suffering,
they died, and the lone father followed them to their last
resting-place. A few days subsequent to this event, he was attacked with
the same fever which had proved fatal to his sons. He soon felt
convinced that he, too, must die. When the proprietor of the house asked
him if he had friends in the Atlantic states, to whom he wished word to
be conveyed, “No,” said he; “I am the last of my race. I have no friend
living to mourn for me.” He even declined naming the place of his birth.
In a few days after that, he lay beside his boys.

At another time, the mangled form of a young and intelligent-looking man
was brought to a hotel. He had been crushed in a horrible manner by the
falling of a large rock where he was at work. His head and chest alone
remained uninjured. A younger brother accompanied him to the hotel, and
remained as his nurse. Every night he used to slip quietly from his
suffering brother’s room, and repair to the gambling-houses, and there
stake and lose large sums, which had been obtained at the price of his
brother’s life. The poor sick man, unable to raise a finger, his back
turned towards the door, and therefore not knowing his brother was
absent, would call repeatedly the brother’s name, begging him for a
glass of water. After a while, all would be still. No one suspected he
was dying there alone nights.

One night, I heard the call so long continued, and so plaintively
uttered, I could endure it no longer. I rose, dressed myself, and
repaired to the sufferer’s room. I found him all alone. “I wish, madam,”
he said, “you would waken Jack. He sleeps so soundly, I never can arouse
him in the night. I call until I am fearful of awakening the occupants
of the surrounding rooms, and then I desist. But now I think I am
dying.” I told him his brother’s bed was vacant. He seemed very much
distressed at his brother’s absence. Search was immediately instituted.
He was found at a gambling-table, betting. He was summoned to the
bedside of his brother. After a while, the sick man revived. He lingered
through the next day. At night, his physician enjoined his brother to
remain constantly with him, as it was not probable he would survive
until morning. The passion for gambling had gained such an ascendency
over the young brother’s better feelings, that, some time during the
silent watches of the night, he had deserted his dying brother! In the
morning, the poor sufferer was found a corpse. He had died alone! What
struggles, what agonizing thoughts, were his, what words passed his
dying lips, none save his Maker knew.

The brother had passed the night in one of the many dens of infamy that
abounded, and which shed, and still do, a withering blight over the fair
and sunny valleys of the richest country the sun ever shone upon. See,
in this case, what a pernicious influence those gilded saloons of vice
have upon the unstable mind of youth. Here were two brothers, who had
been reared by fond parents in the fear and admonition of the Lord.
Through their childhood they had loved one another; and together they
had repaired to a distant land to seek their fortunes. The younger,
whose mind was more vacillating, had by degrees yielded to the song of
that siren, Vice, until she had lured him to her haunts, causing him to
forget home, friends, and even a dying brother, to follow in the train
of the tempter.

My prayers are, and ever have been, with the vigilance committees of
California. May the blessing of God attend them, and prosper all their
undertakings and endeavors to uproot and exterminate those hot-beds of
vice, those quick-sands in the ocean of life, upon which the bark of
many a promising youth, of many a young husband, and of many a
middle-aged father, has been irrecoverably wrecked.

Go into the villages and towns throughout the Atlantic States, and in
how many will you not find one, at least, who has been a heart-sufferer
from the effects of those dens of sin and iniquity, which, until the
organization of the vigilance committee, threw open their gilded doors,
even in the glare of noon-day, to allure the weak-minded and
unsuspecting! And even the strong-minded have sometimes fallen a prey to
their seductive wiles. How many homes have been rendered desolate, how
many families disunited and severed, how many hearts as well as fortunes
broken, by the prevalence of that one great sin, gambling! and it has
been an almost universal vice in California.

How many enterprising and ambitious men have I known who emigrated with
their happy wives to California, their hearts buoyant with bright
anticipations of the future! Success for awhile crowned all their
undertakings; but, alas! those gorgeously furnished drinking-saloons
which meet the eye at every turn proved too enticing for frail human
nature to resist. The first temptation yielded to, and how easily the
downward course is pursued, which terminates in total depravity!

The young wife, neglected by her husband, her brilliant hopes
crushed,--unless she be possessed of a strong mind, and has friends
there to guide and guard her,--rather than return alone to the home of
her childhood, gradually loses her self-respect, and finally swells the
list of those we blush to name.

Those upon whom the sun of prosperity has ever shone, know not how
bitterly painful is the first clouding over of youth’s sweet
visions--the first crushing blight of confidence and love--the first
consciousness that life is not so fair and bright, nor friends so kind
and true, as we have pictured them. Not from observation wholly do I
asseverate these statements--by sad experience have these sentiments
become deeply imbedded in my heart. I have known, and felt, and suffered
_all_, in my short life. But, when the wife’s cup of misery is full to
overflowing, and she returns to the home of her youth, expecting to
receive the sympathy she so justly deserves, and which is so readily
proffered by those encircling her own hearth-stone, how poignant to her
sensitive and lacerated feelings are the baneful, whispered slanders
which are borne to her ears! and emanating, too, from the lips of those
she once considered friends, and who, had adversity not overtaken her,
would still have been fawning sycophants for favor.

Oh, ye slanderers! pause in your career; for it is one of the most
heinous sins that the instigator of all evil ever conceived, and from
which every pure heart will turn with loathing and disgust. If the
professed slanderer ever has any moments of serious reflection, how
severe must be the accusations of that faithful monitor within; for to
how many, in the course of their life-time, have they cast their
poisoned arrows, dipped in the foul extract of their own hearts, which,
while it _kills_ not those to whom it is aimed, rankles deeply in a
sensitive heart, causing tears of agony to flow! Then there are always
plenty of the lovers of gossip abroad to catch and retail slander;
plenty ready to believe an evil report, without taking the trouble to
investigate. Thus many an innocent heart has palpitated keenly, upon
receiving manifest slights from a source whence they had a right to
expect nought but kindness.




CHAPTER XX.


One bright morning, toward the latter part of the month of September, I
left Marysville for a drive to General Sutler’s residence, situated
about eight miles below Marysville. You cross Feather River at Yuba
city, and follow the banks of this lovely stream, the scene varied and
beautified by nature’s incomparable adornments, until the picturesque
mansion of the affable and dignified general greets the eye. The road
leads to the back entrance of the spacious, square court-yard, which is
surrounded by a range of buildings on three sides. Several large and
stately trees rear their umbrageous branches far above the roofs of the
adobe buildings, which, from their sylvan retreat, peep out a ready
welcome to the tired stranger. The grounds around the dwelling are
tastefully and beautifully adorned with numerous parterres, some of
which are inclosed with hedges of cactus. Here I saw the first
cultivated rose that had greeted my eye since leaving New England. How
the sight of those roses carried me back to the neat New England homes,
embowered with honey-suckle and roses! It was actually fragrant with
home, and home associations. On one side of the gardens extended a
flourishing vineyard, the products of which amply repaid the labor
expended thereon.

We were invited by the general to enter his pleasant-looking domicile,
which invitation we cheerfully accepted. We were regaled with grapes, as
luscious, I dare say, as the forbidden fruit which tempted the occupants
of paradise. The wines proffered,--the produce of the vines of
California,--having attained age, were pronounced of an excellent
quality in substance and flavor. Sweet music, discoursed by one of the
general’s sons, enhanced the pleasure of this often-remembered visit.

The Indians in the immediate vicinity are devoted to the general’s
service; while the only remuneration they ask or expect is their food.
His house servants are all the female Diggers. The general’s family
carriage is drawn by two sleek-looking mules; and the driver’s box is
occupied by a Digger Indian, in costume á la fancy. Mrs. Sutter
generally denies herself to all visitors; but the regret generated by
her absence speedily vanishes in the presence of the affable, courteous
general, who ever welcomes his visitors with a cordiality inseparable
from the man, whose integrity never bent to wrong or pusillanimous
expediency, and who, armed intellectually with the panoply of justice,
has courage to sustain it, under all and any circumstances.

We arrived back to Marysville just as the red orb of day touched the rim
of the western horizon, covering it all with crimson and gold, and
filling the world with a flood of evening glory.

I was often amused, while sojourning at the Tremont, by witnessing the
transformations effected by a change of apparel on the inhabitants of
the mountains, when they made temporary visits to the valleys. One day,
a weary and care-worn-looking miner entered the bar-room of the hotel.
Nought of his countenance was visible save his eyes and nose; for over
his brow was drawn a soiled Kossuth hat; while the lower part of his
face was entirely concealed by an abundant growth of hair. He deposited
his blankets upon the floor, advanced to the bar-keeper, and inquired
for the proprietor of the house. To him this soiled and
travelled-stained miner delivered up thousands for safe keeping. He
seated himself in the gentlemen’s parlor, eyeing intently for some
moments an open piano. Upon his advancing toward it, and seating himself
upon the music-stool, a smile, bordering on derision, involuntarily
passed from one to another of the occupants of the room. The smile,
however, was speedily changed to looks of astonishment, when, after
running his fingers hastily over the keys, music such as we sometimes
hear in our dreams, but _very_ seldom in every-day life, gushed upon
their astonished senses. The air was “Sweet Home.” He accompanied the
instrument with a voice of surpassing melody, which penetrated to the
ladies’ rooms, and brought them en masse to the stairs, where they
remained almost spell-bound, while he played and sang piece after piece,
seemingly engrossed by heart-awakening memories of other days and other
lands, and wholly unconscious of the presence of listeners who had
gathered around him. As he was about midway in the execution of that
plaintive song, “Katy Darling,” he suddenly ceased, became aware of the
attention he was attracting, caught up his old, greasy hat, and vamosed.

When next he appeared in their midst, the metamorphosis was so complete
as to utterly prevent recognition, had he not again seated himself at
the piano. He remained several weeks at the hotel, and often delighted
us with specimens of his musical talent. He was considered by
connoisseurs as the greatest performer upon the piano in all California.

I never saw a miner without thinking how little one could judge, by the
present appearance, of his origin or past life, for there were those
laboring in the gold mines of California who had held important offices
of trust in the Atlantic states. The sons of wealthy southern planters,
too, were there, laboring as hard as their fathers’ slaves at home, but
reaping a far richer harvest of gold. People who at home never performed
any manual labor, there would not hesitate to stand in water up to their
knees for days and weeks together, if, by so doing, they could heap high
their coffers.

The good fortune of a lady in California, which came under my especial
observation, I will here record. Upon the arrival at Marysville of one
of the up-river boats, a fine-looking lady, whose age might perhaps be
thirty or thereabouts, came to the Tremont Hotel, and desired an
interview with the proprietor. She informed him she was entirely
destitute of funds, as the journey from New York had been more expensive
than she had expected, and begged, as a favor, the loan of twenty
dollars. Could she obtain that amount, she intended to pursue her way to
Downieville, where she hoped and expected to find a friend and relative.
The proprietor accordingly proffered the required sum, although somewhat
doubtful of receiving it again, or even of seeing the recipient. The
next morning she resumed her journey; and the remembrance of this
fine-looking widow was obliterated by the occurrence of other and more
important affairs. Five or six weeks had elapsed, when, one day, she
astonished us all by appearing in our midst. Upon meeting the
proprietor, “Oh,” said she, “I have been _so_ successful! and now I have
come to liquidate old debts.” The nature of the success was this: She
arrived at Downieville, found the one of whom she was in pursuit, and he
built her a canvas house, procured her a cooking-stove, a long board
table, and some wooden benches, and she commenced keeping a
boarding-house. She soon had thirty or forty boarders, for each of which
she received twelve dollars per week. One day, as she was sweeping her
floor,--which, by the way, was nothing but the earth,--she saw something
glitter. Upon examination, it proved to be a lump of gold. She searched
farther, and found the earth was full of particles of gold. She
instantly summoned to her presence the friend who had assisted her in
locating herself in such rich diggings. They removed the table, benches,
and stove. Upon the last-named utensil a dinner was in progress; but who
would think of preparing a dinner, even if it were near the dinner
hour, should they suddenly find themselves in possession of such rich
diggings. This land, which she had appropriated to her own use, was
situated in a central part of the town of Downieville. It had never been
prospected, for the very reason that its appearance betokened nought to
impress the beholder with the idea that gold existed there in such
quantities.

That day they two took from the kitchen floor, as she termed it, five
hundred dollars, mostly in lumps. Every day witnessed similar success.
As soon as she could think of leaving her treasures for two days, she
hastened to Marysville to cancel her debts. Afterwards she became a
frequent visitor at the house. I became very well acquainted with her;
and one day she related the cause of her leaving home alone, to seek a
home in California. She was married very young, and in opposition to the
wishes of her parents. Unfortunately, her married life proved miserable
in the extreme. After a lapse of years, she returned penniless, with one
child, to the home of her youth, where she received a hearty welcome
from her father; but the gentle, loving mother, whom she had forsaken,
had gone long since to the spirit-land, and her place in the family
circle was occupied by another. That other regretted the daughter’s
return, and manifested her disapproval by unkindness to the child. At
one time, when the child was suffering intensely from sickness,
child-like he refused to take his medicine, whereupon the grandmother
struck him. In twenty-four hours after that, the boy was a corpse. After
the burial of her boy, the daughter never looked upon the step-mother
again. She told her father, that, if he would furnish her with means,
she would seek her fortune in California; and she did, in the manner
above related. She acquired a fortune; but the recollection of her boy,
at times, would come floating over the ocean of memory, overshadowing
all the bright hopes and sunny feelings of her heart.

It was a novel sight to me to watch the emigrant wagons, as they passed
through Marysville to their different destinations. How dusty and
travel-stained they appeared, after a four and five months’ journey
across those almost boundless prairies, after fording those mighty
streams, whose waters had been navigated by nought save the red man’s
canoe, effecting a passage through lonely cañons and over towering
mountains, enduring almost every hardship the human frame is capable of
sustaining, and finally had reached the desired goal!

How emaciated the cattle looked; and no wonder, for how many long and
weary miles they had travelled! I almost fancied those old oxen actually
smiled for joy at arriving at their destination; yet many of their
number had given out on the way, and their bones lay bleaching in the
sun.

A lady who had travelled across the plains told me how sad it made her
feel when she saw the cattle giving out on the way. Said she, “Those
dumb beasts would express so much sorrow in their faces when they began
to falter in their pace, they would look so wishfully into the face of
the teamster, and low so mournfully, I knew they understood their
situation.”

Notwithstanding the sufferings and hardships those emigrants endure
while on their “winding way,” all is forgotten when they reach the
settlements. Their swarthy, sun-burned faces are radiant with joy as
they pass along.

It is astonishing how much one of those wagons will hold. I saw one
passing with eight holes cut in the canvas on one side, and a child’s
face peeping out at every one of these holes. Besides the children it
contained, there were cats, dogs, beds and bedding, cooking-stove, tin
pans, and kettles.

Two emigrant wagons passed through town one day, each driven by two
beautiful-looking girls--beautiful, although browned by exposure to the
weather. In their hands they carried one of those tremendous, long
ox-whips, which, by great exertion, they flourished, to the evident
admiration of all beholders. Their surpassing beauty gained for them the
appellation of the “belles of the plains.” In two weeks from the time
they attracted so much attention, driving each three yoke of oxen
through town, they were married to gentlemen whom they had never seen
until they arrived in California, and who had never seen them until they
beheld them as teamsters.

I often saw ladies at the hotel who had resided eight and twelve months
at different bars far up in the mountains, where they were the only
females, and during all this time would not see a lady to speak to. You
can imagine how fast they would talk, upon getting where there were
plenty of their own sex.

I was quite amused at an incident related by one of those ladies, who
had been for eight months thus isolated from all society. Her husband
kept a boarding-house, where he accommodated about thirty miners, which
were all that worked at that place. A short time previous to the
occurrence of the scene here related, these miners had had some trouble
with a tribe of Indians whose rancheria was not far distant. They had
heard several times that they meditated an attack upon all the whites in
their vicinity, and for some time they had been upon their guard; but,
as they heard nothing from them, they had relaxed their watchfulness.
One day, when they were all at work in the mines, and this lady alone in
the house, instantaneously a deafening war-whoop rang in her ears. She
ran to the door, and saw, at a little distance from the house, about two
hundred painted Indians, armed with bows, arrows, and hatchets,
advancing at a rapid pace. She rushed from the house, frightened half to
death, (as she expressed her feelings,) and ran, screaming, to the spot
where the men were at work. They, hearing the war-whoop and her screams,
and seeing the whole tribe making such a rapid descent, naturally
supposed they were coming to exterminate them; and if so, flight was out
of the question. There was no alternative but to meet the foe, and fight
with picks and shovels; for their fire-arms were in the house, and the
Indians were between the house and where they were. They directed
Mrs.---- to flee across the river and into the woods on the opposite
side, and secrete herself as quickly as possible. The river was so deep,
the water so wild and dark-looking, and spanned by so narrow a timber,
that, upon any ordinary occasion, she would have hesitated a long time
before venturing across; but now, with the velocity of the wind almost,
she crossed the timber, and rushed with headlong speed for the woods.
Before reaching it, however, she passed several large excavations in the
earth; and, thinking one of these would afford her a grand hiding-place,
she jumped into it, and crouched down to await her fate. Said she, “It
would be impossible to describe my feelings while in this hole. I
expected every moment to see a dozen dark-skinned savages, glaring at me
with their murderous, blood-thirsty eyes. I could endure it no longer: I
must crawl out, and rush on. After great exertion, I got out, and, not
once daring to look around, made all haste for the woods.

“Reaching it, I would hide myself for a few moments, and then think,
‘They will surely find me here; I must find a better place than this;’
and then leave it in search of another. In this way I hid myself a dozen
times. Finally, I climbed up into the branches of a large tree, and
there remained, for how long I could not tell--the time seemed
interminable. Then I heard some one shouting. I was so terrified, I
could scarcely retain my seat. Soon I heard my own name called, and
recognized my husband’s voice. _He_ was alive, then, and all the others
were murdered! When he appeared in sight, he was laughing. I thought him
insane. Said he, “Come down from the tree; it is all right. I thought I
should never find you. I have been hunting these two hours.”

It seemed these Indians had started, in honor of some great occasion, to
visit a neighboring tribe. They had painted and armed themselves, as
they ever do when they start upon a journey to celebrate any great
event. Their object in raising such a war-whoop was, doubtless, a
sportive one; for they passed the miners with their countenances
illumined with a broad grin.

The lady, who was from the New England States, returned to her house
with some idea of the sufferings of the early New England settlers. It
was days before she recovered her usual equanimity.

Another lady told me that she was the first who arrived at Cañon Creek,
situated a hundred miles from Marysville, in the Sierra Nevada
Mountains; and that, when she arrived at the top of the mountain which
overlooked the ravine in which the miners were at work, they desisted
from their labors, gave three hearty cheers, and came to the place where
she was seated on a mule. Their delight was so great at seeing a live
woman in their midst, that they actually lifted the mule upon which she
was riding from his feet, and carried them both down the mountain. Those
miners, who had lived so long in their little cabins, secluded from the
world, deprived of the cheering presence of woman, knew then, if they
had never before known, how to appreciate the opposite sex.

As a specimen of the sort of accommodations a traveller is likely to
meet with in a journey through the more unsettled parts of the
mountains, I will describe a public-house on the trail (as it was
called) that I once had occasion to stop at. It was a little log shanty,
kept by a woman--of what color I was unable to determine, on account of
the dirt upon her person. She hailed from out West, somewhere. I think
it must have been far West, where the cleansing properties of soap and
water were not often tested. There was no floor in this shanty but the
earth, and even that looked as if it had never been swept. How could I
stay, and eat, and sleep in so much dirt? There was no alternative;
night was close at hand, and no other _public-house_ within many miles.
She prepared us a _good supper_, as she termed it, in which, I presume,
there was a good supply of dirt, although I did not stop to scrutinize
it very closely. After we had partaken of the cheer set before us, she
washed the dishes, turned round, and dashed the dish-water up in one
corner of the apartment, wiped her hands upon her dirty apology for a
dress, and sat down for a smoke. For sleeping accommodations, there were
berths built up against the side of this shanty. I wrapped my own
blankets around me, and crawled into one of them, where I remained until
daylight. Right glad was I when it appeared, and I hoped to leave her
domicile without being encumbered with any of her live stock; but in
this I was disappointed.

At one time there came down from the mountains the most comical-looking
old couple I ever beheld. They were English, and had emigrated to the
Western States ten years previous to the date of my story. They had been
in California two years, during which time they had never left the
mines. She worked mining with her husband. It was the commencement of
the rainy season when they left the mines; and all she had on, to
protect her from the weather, was a thin, faded calico gown--one which
she had brought from England ten years before; and it was the best
garment she possessed. Over her shoulders she wore a calico jacket, and
on her head an apology for a sun-bonnet. Her husband wore a Mackintosh,
which reached to his heels, and on his head an old hat, and oh, what a
hat! Altogether, they were the most forlorn-looking couple one would
wish to see. They carried penury in their very countenances. I pitied
her so, I gave her a gentleman’s dressing-gown, which had been left at
the hotel. It was rather soiled, to be sure; but then it was better than
anything which she had. When she went away, she wore it off. They had
started home to England, by the way of New York. When the bar-keeper
requested him to register his name, he made a cross; and she was as
ignorant as he. At night she asked me if I would give her a room with
good fastenings to the doors and windows, as they had a good deal of
gold dust with them. I inquired to know where it was, as they brought no
baggage with them, except a little bag, which she carried on her arm.
She said it was in belts around their waists. I told her, if it were
much, she had better deliver it up to the proprietor of the house for
safe keeping. Said she, “Oh, no, I would not lose sight of it for
anything! I have five thousand dollars in my belt, and my husband has
the same.” I advised her to send it by express to New York, as they
might be robbed on the way. She said they could not afford to pay the
percentage for its transportation, when they could carry it, and save
that money. So they started for New York by the way of Nicaragua.

I often thought of them after they left, and felt assured in my own mind
that they would lose their money before they arrived home. They were two
very simple people, and betrayed by their looks evident signs of fear of
robbery. The next news I heard of them was, that they were both drowned
at Virgin Bay, while going from the shore in a boat to get on board the
steamer. The particulars were these: The boat was loaded with
passengers; and, it being rather rough, they became frightened, and all
rushed to one side, and capsized her. This old couple, having so much
gold about their persons, sank immediately; while those who were not
burdened with gold were quickly picked up by other boats. Thus these two
old people, who had lived in poverty all their days, died rich,
clutching the treasures for which they had toiled so hard, and to obtain
which, they had denied themselves the comforts of life. The school of
poverty in which they had passed the greater part of their lives, had
fostered the spirit of covetousness to such a degree, that it was
finally the means of their losing their lives.




CHAPTER XXI.


While in California, I had charge, for a while, of a little girl, whose
mother had died just as the steamer upon which she was on board neared
the wharf at San Francisco. The father, mother, and two children were on
board the ill-fated Independence, which was wrecked, and then burnt, on
the coast of Old California.

When she commenced burning, the father hoped to save his family from the
flames by swimming with them to the shore. Being an expert swimmer, he
thought that, by taking one at a time, he might succeed in bringing them
all to the land. He suspended his wife over the ship’s side farthest
from the flames, wrapped the babe of ten months in a shawl, and
consigned it to the care of a passenger until his return, took the
little girl of four years in his arms, lowered himself into the water,
and commenced swimming for the shore. He clasped her little arms about
his neck, told her to hold on, shut her eyes and mouth, and she would
soon be on the land, and then he would return for mother and the baby.

Long before they reached the land, she was senseless. In the meantime,
the flames were increasing with such rapidity that it behooved the
father to hasten back, in order to save his wife from the devouring
element. He left the little girl senseless upon the beach, dove into the
foaming surf, and was several times borne back to the shore before he
could get beyond it. As he neared the burning wreck, the flames burst
out afresh, forcing the frightened passengers to leap into the angry
waters. The gentleman who held the babe threw it into the ocean to save
himself. In its descent, the shawl became detached from it, and the
child fell into the water a short distance from the mother, but beyond
her reach. In one of its little hands it held a toy; and, as it was
borne off on the top of a receding wave, its little plump arms were
raised, and the mother saw the white, dimpled hand firmly grasping the
toy. She could look no longer. Her babe was hastening on to swell the
angel-band in the courts of the blessed!

When her husband reached her, the flames were close around; her dress
had even been scorched. With her he started back to the shore. But very
few could have breasted the angry waters as he did; but he was impelled
by a motive which seemed to lend strength to his well-nigh exhausted
frame. He reached the shore with his wife. Some one had found the little
girl senseless, and had succeeded in restoring her to consciousness. The
body of the infant was afterwards washed ashore, with the toy grasped in
its hand. They made its little grave on the lonely beach, and placed it
therein.

For three or four days these shipwrecked passengers remained upon the
beach, their only nourishment being molasses and vinegar. They were then
taken on board a vessel, and carried to San Francisco.

The mother, weakened by exposure, and suffering from a hurt which she
received in her side while being suspended from the ship, breathed her
last just as she was nearing their destined port.

Little Rosa (her name was Rosa Taylor) often told me the sad story in
her artless, baby way. How impressive was her manner, when, seated in a
little chair by my side, her dimpled face upturned, her large, dark,
mournful eyes raised to mine, her rosy lips parted, to tell of the
dreadful shipwreck; of the baby brother being drowned; of her being so
hungry and cold on the beach; of her dear mother dying, and clasping her
so closely in her arms, when she said, “Be a good girl, Rosa, and love
your father; for he is all the one left to love you.” Then the dying
mother said, “Raise me up, and let me look upon the land once more.”
Then she lay back, and died.

Rosa staid with me three months, while her father was at the mines. Then
he came, and took her away to Oregon.

I must not forget to mention the delights of stage-coaching in
California. In the first place, the coaches are built of the strongest
materials to be obtained, and are sufficiently large to carry from
twenty to thirty persons. They are drawn by six large, beautiful horses.
In the dry season, when the rivers are low, large boats do not run to
Marysville, and most of the travel is effected by stages. I once rode to
Sacramento and back in one of those six-horse coaches, when the
passengers, inside and out, numbered twenty-eight. The thermometer stood
at 110 deg., and the dust was so dense as to almost suffocate one. We
were all obliged to _unpack_ ourselves, and walk over all the bridges
on the way; and then, so frail were these structures, that they trembled
and swayed as the empty coach was being drawn over.

By the time you arrive at the end of your journey, your eyes, nose, and
mouth are filled with dust, as well as your clothes. One day’s ride
ruins the clothes; but, if a person is blessed with a strong
constitution, he may possibly survive several consecutive days’ riding
in those crowded coaches. The roads between Marysville and Sacramento
are very level, it being a vast plain the whole way.

Journeying through the mountainous sections of the country in coaches,
is perfectly awful. The passengers are obliged to alight, and push
behind the vehicle, to assist the horses up every hill, and, when they
arrive at the summit, chain the wheels, all get in, and ride to the base
of the next mountain, in danger every moment of being overturned, and
having their necks broken. For thus working their passages they have to
pay exorbitant fares.

One night, about eleven o’clock, a lady came into the hotel, looking
more dead than alive. She was leading a little girl, of about seven
years of age, who was in the same plight as the mother. They were both
covered with bruises, scratches, and blood, with their garments soiled
and torn. They were coming from Bidwell’s Bar, a place about forty miles
above Marysville, in a stage-coach, in which were nine Chinamen. The
coach was all closed, as it was rather cool in the mountains in the
evening. All at once, they found themselves turning somersets. The coach
was overturned down a steep bank.

All the Chinamen, with their long cues reaching to their heels, were
rolling and tumbling about in the most ungraceful manner imaginable.
They were vociferating at the top of their voices in a language which,
if spoken calmly, and with the greatest mellifluence, is harsh and
disagreeable in the extreme. “And,” said she, “such a horrid din of
voices as rang in my ears, it was scarcely possible to conceive of;
which, together with the fright, was almost sufficient to deprive me of
reason.” The driver was seriously hurt, and so were some of the horses;
but the inside passengers escaped without having any limbs broken, but
their cues were awfully disarranged.

In the dry season, there were as many as a dozen coaches which left
Marysville every morning, and as many would arrive every evening.
Generally, they were all loaded to their utmost capacity.

In California, two-thirds of the population seem to be constantly
travelling (in search of new and rich diggins, I suppose). It was quite
amusing to listen to the rigmarole which each driver had over, as they
reined in their horses in front of the different hotels. The names of
the different localities along their routes, which they would sometimes
work into laughable doggerel, the cracking of their whips, and the jokes
cracked upon one another, were quite diverting.

At the time I was in Marysville, it was not safe to walk around in the
suburbs of the town, in a dark evening, unless armed. Late one evening,
as myself and husband were riding into town, we distinctly heard the
click of a revolver, and two reports followed in quick succession. The
balls whizzed past our ears, giving us no very agreeable sensation, I
assure you. There was no moon, but it was starlight. Whether we were
taken for people for whom some one was lying in wait, with the view of
plunder or murder, or for what those shots were fired, ever remained a
mystery to us. At any rate, it gave us such a fright, I never was caught
out there again after dark.

There was one house in Marysville which had been in process of erection
four years, and was not then completed. It was owned by a wealthy
Spaniard, originally from South America. I went, one day, to view this
curious structure. Under it were two regular dungeons, with heavy iron
doors, which could be doubly locked and barred. People conjectured they
were made for the purpose of holding his treasures, of which he was
reputed to possess hoards. The whole building was the most massive,
curious, complicated piece of architecture I ever beheld; and such an
air of mystery and gloom as pervaded the whole place! It was impossible
to elucidate the feelings one was sure to have, as they traversed those
dismal-looking rooms. The sight of so much solid masonry seemed
generative of the darkest designs. In one room were two very large, deep
wells. Some of the floors were constructed of stone. The grounds were to
be inclosed by a high wall. There were complicated wings, and high,
gloomy-looking turrets, projecting in every direction from the main
building. After being completed, it will present more the appearance of
a prison than a private residence.

Now, I will relate one hen story; not about a renowned Shanghai, but a
genuine, old-fashioned, yellow hen. Hens at that time, in California,
were among the things to be coveted: the meanest specimens were sold at
five dollars apiece. Some of the Spanish population kept quite a number
of fowl. A lady told me she wanted to purchase a male hen; that an old
Spaniard came to her house one day, who, she knew, had fowl to sell.
_She_ could not speak Spanish; neither could he English. She was very
much perplexed how to make him know that she wanted a crower. She used
every Spanish word she could think of with no success at all. Finally,
she sprang up in a chair, flapped her arms, and crowed with all her
might. That crow enlightened the Spaniard more than all her Spanish
vocabulary had done.

When I lived in the canvas shanty, a partition of cloth ran across the
centre of the building. On one side of the partition stood my bed, and
on the other my brother’s. An outer door opened into this room. One day,
an old yellow hen walked in very unceremoniously, hopped upon the bed,
and prepared to lay. Soon she jumped off, and left an egg. She conducted
the whole affair with the greatest secrecy, not even indulging in that
greatest luxury of all, cackling. Of course, I fed her, very glad indeed
of her egg, as they were fifty cents apiece. The next day, she came
again, and left another; and so she kept on, until she had laid twelve;
when she evinced symptoms of a desire to sit upon the nest. My brother
took her eggs, carried them out to a ranch, and exchanged them for those
that would be sure to hatch. He then placed them in a half barrel in the
corner of the room, and set the hen upon them. In due time she brought
out twelve little chicks. When they were about a month old, I sold them
for a dollar apiece. She then laid another litter of eggs, and was as
successful in raising another brood of chickens. Then, as we were going
to leave the shanty, I sold her, chickens and all, for twenty dollars.

After I had been living at the Tremont some time, I went to my room one
day, and there, on the window-seat, was perched the identical old hen
that I had sold. My window was open, and she had flown in. She appeared
delighted to see me, and evinced her delight by singing quite merrily.
She seemed determined to room with me, and I allowed her to remain until
I could go and find the one to whom I sold her. He had moved, and was
not to be found. Of course, the hen was mine again; but, situated as I
now was, I could not accommodate her with a room in the house, and for
which she seemed to have a decided predilection. I therefore placed her
to board out on a ranch. She continued to lay eggs and raise chickens,
until I realized, from the sale of them, forty-five dollars. I then sold
her again for five dollars, as she was getting rather old. In one week
after I sold her, she died, from _grief, I suppose, at being sold_. From
that old yellow hen I made quite a _pile_, as they say in California.




CHAPTER XXII.


I recollect the execution of one man in Marysville, which created quite
an excitement in town. One day my ears were assailed with the most
piercing shrieks. Upon inquiry, I learned that a man had been arrested
by the Vigilance Committee for stealing. A great crowd had collected in
the street in front of the committee’s rooms, among whom was the wife of
the man arrested; and hers were the shrieks which rent the air. Two
little children were following her, crying, “You shall not hang my
father! you must not kill him!” Finally the committee rendered him up
into the hands of the law. He had his trial, was condemned, and
sentenced to be hung. While he was in jail, awaiting his execution, a
lady in town gave a little party for her children. While they were
taking tea, she saw the two children of the doomed man going past. Pity
for the children, so soon to be left fatherless, incited her to call
them in, and seat them at the table spread with delicacies. After they
had partaken of the treat, and gone out to play, the girl who was
clearing the table missed one of the silver spoons. Something prompted
her to go to those two children to inquire for it. She thought the boy
betrayed signs of guilt. She took hold of his arm, and felt the spoon in
his jacket-sleeve. He cried bitterly, and said he did not want to steal,
but his mother told him if he did not, whenever he had an opportunity,
she would whip him severely. Perhaps the father had been stimulated to
commit thefts by similar threats from his wife; and certainly, if her
evil propensities had so far gained the ascendency as to cause her to
instil such principles into the minds of her children, to what evils
would she not resort, to gain her object?

The night previous to the day upon which he was to be executed, she made
an attempt to fire the city, in the hope, doubtless, that her
accomplices in guilt would effect his liberation while the attention of
the citizens would be directed to the fire. She was, however,
unsuccessful. Had the stable burnt which she attempted to fire, the
whole city would probably have been destroyed. The owner of the stable
had just returned from a journey, and was throwing some hay into the
rack for his horse. In, the meantime, she approached, ignited a bunch of
matches, and thrust them under the side of the building, directly
against this hayrack. It blazed up, which the man no sooner saw than he
caught a large blanket, threw it into the rack, and jumped down upon it.
By this means, the flames were extinguished, but not, however, without
quite severely scorching the man. She was carefully guarded after this.

The next day, she begged permission to visit her husband in his cell.
She was allowed to go, but not alone; but, somehow or other, she managed
(they supposed) to slip something into his hand, for, a short time after
the interview, when they went to take him to the gallows, they found him
insensible, whether from fear, or from something which he had taken,
they could not ascertain.

He was taken to the gallows, and the forms of execution enacted,
although he manifested no appearance of life whatever. While this last
act was being performed, it required six or seven women to hold the
wife. She was perfectly frantic.

Every day, for some time after, might be seen this woman, dressed in a
garb of the deepest mourning, holding each of her children by the hand,
and traversing the streets, apparently in great distress. It was thought
she made this public display of grief to excite sympathy. Soon after
this, she disappeared from the city.

It often made me feel sad, during my residence in California, to see the
people recently from the Atlantic states so hopeful and buoyant in
spirits, anticipating such rich harvests of gold, with which they would
return to their homes and families, I knew so well the sufferings and
hardships they would be likely to endure before they could return, if
they ever did. But I ever refrained from casting a shade of melancholy
over the bright future in prospective by prophetic warnings. I recollect
one gentleman in particular, who was so sanguine of success.

He departed for the mines, and, in three months from that time, was
brought back, crippled for life! While blasting rocks, he had one arm so
shattered that he was obliged to have it amputated above the elbow. Both
eyes were rendered sightless for life, and the other hand and arm very
much injured. What a pitiable-looking object he was! and how he begged
of the doctors to use every endeavor to save the remaining hand and arm!
He had a wife and three little children in the state of Maine, dependent
on him for a support. It was in vain the doctors tried, by extracting
piece after piece of splintered rock, to save the last hand. It was
amputated at the wrist. How philosophically he bore his sufferings! Not
a groan escaped his lips; but, by the workings of his countenance, one
could perceive his agony was extreme. Money was raised in Marysville
sufficient to defray his expenses home; and a fellow-townsman of the
sufferer volunteered to accompany him as nurse. I never heard aught
concerning him again.

I often amused myself for hours, studying, not human nature, but mule
nature. It is really astonishing to witness those pack-mules, and see
the wonderful knowledge they display by their manœuvres. In packing them
for a trip to the mountains, the Mexicans load them unmercifully. They
make them carry loads weighing from three hundred to three hundred and
fifty pounds, and strap the articles on so tightly that I should think
it would stop their breaths. The poor creatures will tremble under such
an unmerciful load, and sometimes I have seen them, after going a little
way, fall from exhaustion, and the weight of their load. Then those
cruel Mexicans would beat them, until the blood would run from their
noses; and, if they were very much reduced from previous hard usage,
they would die, with that heavy pack strapped to them. These pack-mules
have such a horror of going with their loads to the mountains, that,
after they are packed, and are waiting for the remainder of the train,
(these trains sometimes consist of fifty and sixty mules,) they will
endeavor to secrete themselves away behind some building or wagon, and
keep so very still and quiet, seemingly listening and hoping they may
not be found. By and by, when the old, cruel Mexican warns them of his
presence by a heavy slap with the piece of untanned hide he invariably
carries in his hand, accompanied with the expression of _hippa, mula!_
one can almost see a shade of the deepest despair cross the poor mule’s
countenance, as he joins the train, which is going to travel many weary,
tedious miles, over rough mountains, and through deep ravines.

These trains are led by a horse, with a bell attached to his neck. He
is designated the bellhorse; and these mules have such an affection for
him, that they will follow anywhere he goes. Generally, three or four
Mexicans accompany each train. When night overtakes them, they unpack
the animals, and form a sort of corral of the pack-saddles, which they
place in a circle around the goods, which they lay in piles, each load
beside the saddle upon which it belongs. The mules are turned out to
graze. In the morning, after giving them their breakfasts, at a signal
from the Mexicans, each mule places himself in a position to be packed
beside his own saddle; and, what is very singular, each mule knows his
own saddle, and never makes a mistake by placing himself beside his
neighbor’s.

When they return to the valley again, they are so delighted, that when
they get to within a mile or two of the town, they commence running, and
braying at the top of their voices. And then look out for the dust! Such
clouds of it as they will raise in passing a house, is almost
suffocating. You must hasten, and close the doors and windows, otherwise
the house will be filled.

“As stubborn as a mule,” is an old adage; and I have seen this maxim
verified oftentimes. I have seen them so obstinate, you might kill, but
never conquer. Perhaps it is this stubborn nature which some of them
(not all) possess, that causes the Mexicans to be so ugly to them. In
order to pack some of them, they are obliged to be chained and blinded.
What struggles I have seen between the Mexican and his mule! I have
heard them say, that a real malicious one would purposely run, so that
he could dash with great violence his pack against a rock or tree, and
smash it to pieces; then, if it contained ought eatable, devour it with
all haste before the driver could reach him. And many such “ugly capers”
are imputed to his muleship.

At one time, there was great excitement in the mountains respecting the
mysterious disappearance of a man named Dunbar, who kept a public-house
on the trail leading from Marysville to Onion Valley, on Slate Creek.
These public-houses, by the way, were nothing more than little shanties;
and the only servant generally employed about them was a cook.
Travellers who passed and repassed Dunbar’s house, and found no one
there but his cook, (a young man formerly from Lowell, Massachusetts,)
naturally inquired for Dunbar, and was told that he had gone to San
Francisco. Finally, the house was closed. Then suspicions were rife
that there had been foul play. About that time, as a hunter was passing
the deserted house, his dog ran into the corral, and began scratching in
the snow, and howling incessantly. His master in vain tried to call him
away. He then went to the spot, dug away the snow, and discovered a
man’s hand and arm protruding from the earth. He dug away the earth, and
there was the body of Dunbar, bent double, thus tied with a rope, and
stamped into that slight excavation.

The cook, very naturally, was the first person suspected of perpetrating
this horrid murder. He was traced to San Francisco and arrested, just as
he was stepping on board a steamer bound to Panama. He was accused of
the murder, appeared very much agitated, and finally confessed what he
knew about the affair. One night, two people came from a mining locality
near by to Dunbar’s house, and requested a night’s lodging. They
frequently came there, and passed the night. That evening, they played
cards with Dunbar; and, in the course of the evening, he had occasion to
go to a chest which stood in the room, and deposit some money. In this
chest was about five thousand dollars. Whether they saw it, or whether
he told them he had it, he (the cook) did not know.

One of the men came to him in the kitchen, and disclosed their
intentions of murdering Dunbar that night, and securing his money, which
they would share with him, if he would take an oath of eternal secrecy;
if not, his life would pay the forfeit. Fear compelled him to agree to
this proposal. Just then, Dunbar and the other villain came into the
kitchen, and advanced to the outer door; whereupon the other one caught
up an axe near by, and struck Dunbar a blow on the back of the head,
causing him to fall. Then followed another blow, which completed the
work of death. He was then buried as above described, and the money
taken possession of by the murderers. Said he, “They offered me a share
of their ill-gotten treasures; but no--I would not pollute my fingers by
receiving one dollar of their blood-stained gold. Dunbar was a friend to
me, and gladly would I have saved him from the horrid death which
awaited him, had it been in my power so to do; but I was paralyzed with
terror at the horrid revelation to which I had just listened. When they
departed, I should have hastened to some authority, and made instant
disclosure of the whole transaction; but was deterred from so doing by
the fear of being murdered by those fiends in human shape.

“I then determined to leave the country; which determination I was in
the act of putting into execution when arrested.

“I declare to you, I am innocent of all or any participation whatever in
the horrid affair.”

The two murderers were at once arrested. They had changed their place of
residence, but were soon ferreted out; and all three were sentenced to
be hung at Slate Creek. My brother was present at the execution. The two
murderers died as they had lived--hardened sinners--profaning and
blaspheming until the last.

The cook declared his innocence to the latest moment, and begged, even
after the rope was adjusted about his neck, to be allowed to write to
his wife. This boon was granted him. He then asked if he might make a
few remarks. He commenced; and so eloquently did he plead for pardon, so
heart-softening were his remarks, that, had not the mob been so
exasperated by previous horrid disclosures made by the two murderers, he
would and ought to have been pardoned. They had gone so far as to say,
“All who are in favor of hanging this man, go down the hill; and all who
are not, go up;” and, as the majority started to go down the hill, some
of the more ferocious ones caught the rope, and ran with it, jerking
him from the ground, and consummating a murder equally as cold-blooded
as the one for which that innocent man had been arraigned.

One more story of blood and murder I will relate, and then close the
calendar of murders. As I was sitting in the parlor, one day, I saw the
people in the street all running towards the front of the hotel. I
stepped out upon the balcony to ascertain the cause of this unusual
excitement, and beheld a sight that almost curdled the blood in my
veins. There lay the form of a man, dead. His clothes were saturated
with blood; his ghastly face upturned; and upon his death-stamped
features rested a look of mortal agony. It was the body of one well
known in our midst. He was coming from one of the mining bars above
Marysville, driving a mule-team, when he was accosted by a man whom he
overtook on the road with a request to give him a ride; which request he
accordingly granted. The stranger jumped into the wagon, and took a seat
behind the teamster. They conversed as they rode along, until they came
to an unfrequented part of the road, when the stranger suddenly plunged
a knife into the body of the teamster. It was a murderous blow, and
carried death in its unerring aim. He robbed the dying man of four
hundred dollars, which he had in his pocket, and then decamped. The man
was not instantly killed, but, before he breathed his last, was found by
a traveller, to whom he told the story, and also gave a description of
the murderer, who was afterwards taken and executed. The murdered man
left a wife and family to mourn his loss.

Many more murders, equally revolting, I might recount; but I have told
enough to give one an idea of the crime existing at that time in
California. I need not say, at that time; it still exists, and, I fear,
ever will. Vigilance committees may, for a while, intimidate the
blood-thirsty villains; but they can never rid the country of _all_
those pests of society who have there congregated to feast their evil
propensities upon the lives and property of the unwary and unsuspecting.

Early in the year 1849, an enterprising, energetic young man, left the
town of D----, situated in one of the Western States, to seek his
fortune in California. He was already in possession of a sum sufficient
to defray his expenses to those golden shores, which held forth so many
charms to an adventurous spirit, leaving but little remaining in his
purse upon his arrival.

Glittering visions of lumps of gold haunted his waking, as well as
sleeping, moments. He was restless and impatient, until he found himself
bounding gayly over the wild, heaving billows of the broad Atlantic.
Being an orphan, deprived, at an early age, of the watchful tenderness
of a mother’s love, the judicious precepts and examples of a father, he
had learned early in life the salutary lesson of self-reliance. No sad
yearnings filled his heart, as he paced the steamer’s deck on the eve of
departure. The delights and social joys of a pleasant home left behind,
the remembrance of a loving mother’s tearful farewell, rose not in his
mind, to cause the tear of affection and regret to bedew his cheek. He
was leaving none behind to mourn his departure. To him the future looked
bright and beautiful, as it ever does to the young, hopeful, and
aspiring heart, over which the chilling waves and bitter disappointments
of the cold, selfish world has never rolled.

There was one passenger on board, who, from his taciturn, repulsive
manner, had made no friends, and formed no acquaintances. A few days
before their arrival at Chagres, he was missed from his accustomed seat
at table. He no more paced the deck with that quick, uncertain tread,
ever accompanied with those nervous, stealthy glances bestowed on all
around, and which had occasioned so many remarks at his expense, by no
means flattering or complimentary. He was confined to his berth from
sickness.

They reached the isthmus of Panama. All were hastening to secure their
passage upon the steamer then waiting at Panama to convey them to their
destined port. Each and all were struggling for themselves. The party to
which the hero of my story had attached himself were toiling on their
“winding way,” when their attention was attracted to a hammock,
suspended between two trees, in which, to all appearance, lay a man in
the agonies of death. They hastened to his side, and discovered, to
their surprise, the repulsive stranger of steamer memory. In a feeble
voice, he besought them, in mercy, to take him along, and not leave him
to die alone! It appeared he had employed some natives to take him
across the isthmus. They had quarrelled among themselves, purloined the
last dollar from the sick man, (Mr. B----,) and vamosed, leaving him to
the fate which was inevitable, unless he was assisted and provided for
immediately. The hot fever-blood was coursing wildly through his swollen
veins; yet there was but one, in that company of men, whose heart was
touched by the appealing looks of the apparently dying man, or whose eye
moistened as the half-articulate words were gasped, “Oh! in God’s name,
leave me not here, to die alone!”

As some extenuation for the apparently heartless course pursued by all
that company of emigrants, (all except one,) I will state their relative
circumstances. They had purchased their tickets at an exorbitant price,
with perhaps the last dollar at their command. The steamer was waiting;
time was pressing; at such a day she was going to leave Panama, and, if
not there, they lost their passage. Panama was crowded with people,
waiting to get even a foothold upon the deck of any floating craft that
would bear them to the desired haven. The delay that must necessarily
accrue from assisting that suffering person would, in all probability,
cost them their passage, and they would be left penniless in a foreign
land.

The call of suffering humanity was counterbalanced by the whisperings of
self. They soliloquized, and hushed the breathings of conscience with
thoughts like these: “I must look to my own interest. No one would lend
a helping hand to raise _me_, if I were sinking. He did not make
friends with us when in health and prosperity; but now, when he is
dying, he calls for succor from those he formerly shunned. I cannot
assist him. He will probably die before night. I must hurry on.” So they
did hurry on, all except Mr. W----. _His_ heart was boiling over with
the “milk of human kindness.” Said he, “If I go on, and leave this man
to die alone, the image of his pale, sad face will be ever by my side.
The memory of my heartless conduct will cast a dark shade over my whole
future existence. I _cannot_ and I _will not_ be so soulless.”

In a softened voice he addressed the now nearly unconscious man, and,
taking the feverish hand in his, said he, “Cease your anxiety. I will
stay with you, and take care of you.” One by one, he saw all his company
depart; and he was alone with the sick one, in the unbroken solitudes of
a Granadian forest. He held a flask of water to the lips of the
sufferer, and bathed his fevered brow. This somewhat revived him. Hours
passed on, and they were still alone. Finally, two Carthaginians came
along, and were induced, by the promise of a liberal reward, to carry
the sick man to Panama. After a toilsome journey, which well-nigh proved
fatal to Mr. B----, they arrived at Panama, but were too late for the
steamer: she had been gone nearly a day. There was no alternative but to
wait until they could secure a passage upon another. Mr. W----’s funds
were fast dwindling away before the exorbitant demands of the Panama
“land-sharks.” Who, among those who were compelled to remain there days
and weeks, when the tide of emigration was rushing irresistibly on
towards the far-famed gold placers of California, can _ever_ forget the
merciless drain upon their purses?

When able to converse, the invalid informed Mr. W---- that he had a
valuable cargo on board a vessel then on her way around Cape Horn; and
that, upon her arrival at San Francisco, in part payment of the debt of
gratitude he owed to him, he (Mr. W----) should receive a share of the
profits derived from the sale thereof. He also spoke of a failure in
business which had occurred a short time previous to his departure; but
omitted to mention, however, the fact that he had acted very dishonestly
as regarded that failure, and also that he had been very unceremoniously
smuggled on board the steamer, to elude the vigilance of officers of
justice. He expected his wife to join him soon in California: perhaps
she might come on the next steamer.

They were detained in Panama four weeks, during which time he was
carefully nursed by Mr. W----. In the meantime, his wife arrived, with
money sufficient to purchase a ticket for her husband. Mr. W---- had not
the wherewithal to purchase one; therefore, he procured a situation as
waiter on board. Upon their arrival at San Francisco, as the ship was
not due for some two months, Mr. W---- concluded to proceed at once to
the mines.

Every day, at that time, might have been seen little companies of men,
with their blankets and tin pans strapped to their backs, commencing
their toilsome march into the interior. Far up those mighty streams they
wandered, and penetrated far into the solitary fastnesses of those
mountain gorges, where the foot of white man never trod before. Forming
one of a party of miners who followed the course of the American River,
was our friend W----. For three weary months they prospected in those
dreary wilds, camping out, rolling themselves in their blankets, with no
roof to shelter them from the night air. The twinkling stars, far, far
above them, peeping out a gentle good-night from the azure dome, were
like messengers of hope to those poor wayfarers. Sickness overtook them,
and death thinned their numbers. Out of a company of ten, but three
returned to San Francisco. One of those three was Mr. W----. Sick,
disheartened, and so emaciated he could scarcely support his feeble
frame, he dragged himself to the door of the only hospital in San
Francisco, and begged for admittance.

For many weeks he lay hovering at the portal of death’s mysterious door.
Finally, a strong constitution triumphed: this once, the destroying
angel was cheated of its prey. He recovered slowly, and, at the
expiration of many weeks, found himself treading the streets of San
Francisco, weak, penniless, and alone--alone, in a land of strangers. He
bethought himself of Mr. B----, made inquiries concerning him, and
ascertained that the ship had arrived which had contained his property;
that he had disposed of it at an immense profit, and had gone to reside
in Sacramento city. Slowly and painfully he dragged his weakened frame
to one of the piers from whence departed the up-river boats, and gained
a hearing with one of the captains, to whom he stated his situation. He
very kindly gave him a passage to “Sac’ city.” When landed upon the
Levee, it was mid-day. So weak was he that it was late in the afternoon
before he reached the residence of Mr. B----. Upon inquiring for that
gentleman, Mrs. B---- made her appearance. She did not recognize him at
first, so changed was he by sickness and poverty. Then, in cold,
heartless words, she expressed her sorrow at his unfortunate condition,
hoped he would get along without any more sickness, and coolly closed
the door in his face.

Imagine his feelings as he turned from that door, sick in body, and
sicker far at heart at this display of sordid selfishness and heartless
ingratitude. He crawled back again to the Levee, where he remained that
night, supperless, shelterless, and penniless. He again solicited a
passage to Marysville, where resided an acquaintance of his who kept a
hotel. To him he applied for a situation to work; for, sick as he was,
his independent spirit spurned the idea of begging. He was at once
engaged to wash dishes; for which service he received seventy-five
dollars per month. After serving awhile in this capacity, he was
promoted to steward, with an increase of salary. From this post he was
admitted as a partner; and, from that day, “Dame Fortune” lavished upon
him her richest gifts.

Just three years from the time he composed his wearied limbs for a
night’s rest, in the open air, on the banks of the Sacramento, he was
standing again upon the same spot, but under what different auspices!
Had prosperity changed his noble heart, that, a little more than three
years ago, listened and “wept for others’ woes”? Ah, no! the same
generous impulses governed his every action. His upright, honest
principles grew and strengthened with his fortune, instead of
deteriorating, as is oftentimes the case.

Curiosity prompted him to inquire after the welfare of Mr. B----. He
learned he was a houseless vagabond around the streets of San Francisco.
From affluence, he was reduced to a state of beggary. His wife had
proved faithless, and decamped with all the money she could get. In
endeavoring to drown his sorrow in the intoxicating cup, he had lost,
dollar by dollar, the remainder of his fortune. That for which he had
sacrificed honor, principle, and every trait which ennobles and exalts
man, had “taken to itself wings,” and the misguided man was bereft of
all which renders life a blessing. From this “ower true” tale may be
deduced a moral.




CHAPTER XXIII.


In the fall of 1852, my brother was in the mines, on the north fork of
the Yuba, about one hundred miles above Marysville. As the rainy season
was commencing, and knowing his claims to be on the river, where they
could not be worked except in the dry season, I was daily expecting him
to arrive in Marysville, as he had written to that effect; yet he came
not. Daily I heard accounts of large quantities of snow falling; and it
finally fell to such a depth, that all communication with the
settlements in the mountains was cut off before the winter’s supply of
provisions had been transported thither. Fears were entertained that the
mountain population would suffer incredibly for the want of food; and so
they did. Finally, a straggling, emaciated, exhausted party arrived in
town from Downieville, which is eighty miles distant from Marysville.

Fifty miles of the route they had traversed over snow, which lay to the
depth of ten and fifteen feet, and part of the time sinking, at every
step, up to their arm-pits in it. Two or three of their number had given
out and died on the way. The reports they brought were dismal in the
extreme. They said the entire male population would be obliged to leave
Downieville, and get to Marysville, if possible, or die in the attempt,
as there were only provisions enough in town when they left to supply
the women and children.

What anxiety I felt on my brother’s account, knowing that he must depend
upon Downieville for his supplies! No tidings whatever could I obtain of
him, and did not for four months. During this time, remnants of parties
were arriving, completely exhausted, and reporting great distress in the
mountains. At the expiration of that time, the express-men opened for
themselves a passage through the snow. Then I received a letter, stating
the following particulars:

He had made every preparation for leaving his log cabin as soon as there
was any appearance of snow, when one of his partners (he had two) was
violently seized with the mountain fever. Then came the first fall of
snow. What could they do? They could not leave him to die alone, and it
was impossible to move him. For one month he was constantly delirious.
He had no physician to attend him, and there he lay, day and night,
talking to his mother and friends at home, in happy unconsciousness of
his deplorable situation. The snow fell until it lay to the depth of
fifteen feet.

Downieville was twenty miles distant, and thither one of them must go to
obtain provisions; for they were entirely destitute of everything in the
eatable line, and almost destitute of money. They had sent their gold to
Marysville the day before the partner was taken sick, reserving only
sufficient to defray their expenses down.

My brother started to go to Downieville, previously assisting his
partner to tie the sick man on to his pallet of straw; for, in moments
of violent delirium, one person could not compete with him in strength.

In an exhausted state he reached Downieville, and found provisions very
scarce, and dear as gold dust. For ham he paid eighty cents per pound;
for flour, one dollar and a half per pound; and everything in a like
proportion. For one ten pounds of flour, which he bought during the
winter, he paid twenty-five dollars. He wanted to get some corn meal to
make gruel for the sick man, and succeeded in getting one pound, for
which he paid the exorbitant sum of two dollars.

With a back-load of provisions--which weighed sixty-one pounds, and cost
one hundred dollars--he started back. Several times, on the way, he
felt as if he should never live to reach the little cabin; but he
finally arrived there. “Oh,” said he, “what dreary days and nights we
passed in that log cabin, listening to the moanings of the sick man,
whom we were hourly expecting to breathe his last, surrounded and hemmed
in by impassable barriers of snow! We could not wile away the time
evenings by reading, for we had no oil or candles: a little grease in a
tin plate, with a rag in it, was all we had to light in case of
emergency. Our cabin was completely covered with snow. We kept a hole
open from the door up to the surface. Mornings, upon going out, the
foot-prints of large grisly bears would be all around in the snow, over
the top of the cabin. When we had consumed all the provisions which I
had taken up, we both started again for more, leaving the sick man
alone; but he was wholly unconscious, and never knew of our absence.
What little we could get this time was even higher than before; and the
climate had a tendency to give us such good appetites. We boiled those
ham bones until they were as white as polished ivory. For two or three
days we subsisted upon water-gruel.

“I then started again for Downieville, so hungry and faint, I thought I
should never reach there. I had no money; but a trader in Downieville,
who was acquainted with my circumstances, kindly offered to furnish me
with provisions, upon credit. As I was passing a hotel, I smelled the
dinner, and stepped upon the stoop, wishing--oh, how earnestly!--that I
had the wherewithal to procure a dinner. But I was ‘flat broke,’ as the
saying is there, when one is out of funds. Presently I was accosted by a
fellow who once mined with me in the country. Said he, ‘What is the
matter, Bryant? What makes you look so down-hearted? Are you flat
broke?’--‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and starving, besides.’--Not while I have the
color,’ said he, and put five dollars into my hand. With this I bought
myself a good dinner; and it was a wonder I survived it, for I assure
you I did eat some.

“Thus we lived on for four long, weary months. The fever settled in the
sick man’s toes, and they all decayed. Finally, he began to convalesce;
but it was six months from the time he was taken with the fever before
he was able to walk. How grateful he felt to us, who had almost
sacrificed our lives to stay by and nurse him! He would cry, and say,
‘If I am ever worth a fortune, you shall share it with me.’ Before I
left the country, he had been able to earn a little money. He came to
see me, and proffered the whole, as he said, to compensate, in a
measure, for my kindness to him. Of course, I refused to accept of one
dollar; for he then looked too feeble to work.

“During all these winter months, we never shot but one deer; and then we
feasted! The snow lay to such a depth, we could not go hunting; and game
was very scarce, too.

“The provisions which we consumed during three months amounted to five
hundred dollars, and then never had as much as would satisfy our
appetites at any one meal.”

My brother described the snow-slides in the mountains as grand and
frightful. A body of snow would commence rolling at the summit of a
mountain, collecting and increasing in size as it rolled, until it came
with such velocity, and in such a mass, that it would snap off large
trees in its descent as easily as if they had been whip-sticks. One
could hear the rushing, roaring sound it made, for miles. It is
necessary to build their cabins in such a position that they will not be
in danger of annihilation from these slides. Cabins have been swept
away, and the inmates killed, by snow-slides.

As soon as the rocks around the cabin began to get bare, they began to
crevice for gold. One night, while his partner was preparing supper, my
brother took out seventeen dollars (in little lumps) with a
crevicing-spoon.

A lady once told me, who had lived in the mountains, that every day,
after her housework was done up, she would take her crevicing-spoon, and
go out among the rocks searching for gold. She resided there one year,
and, during that time, had collected five hundred dollars in that way.

When the spring opened, my brother concluded to remain through the dry
season, and for eighteen months he was a dweller in those mountain
solitudes, and not once during that time visiting the valley. In his
rambles, one day, he found the skeleton of a human being. What sad
reflections the sight of those bones called up! He dug a grave, and
buried them.

The grisly bears were quite plenty around them; and one day, while they
were out mining, “Old Bruin” made a descent into their cabin, helping
himself to everything the place contained, and overturning tin pans,
pots, and kettles, and everything within his reach. He swallowed all
their butter, for which they had paid one dollar and a half per pound,
and marched off, no doubt delighted with the feast he had enjoyed at
the expense of the poor miners. When they returned, tired and hungry, to
their shanty, to prepare their frugal meal, they were struck with the
utmost consternation at beholding the havoc made within,--by whom, they
readily conjectured, for there were his large footprints, very
conspicuous. Then there was no alternative but to go, tired as they
were, to Downieville, (twenty miles,) and back up more provisions. Then
they baited old Bruin with a piece of meat, loaded their guns, and lay
in wait for him all day and night; but he never came again. Whether his
digestive organs were incapable of performing the necessary functions
after such an expensive feast, or whether he was so cunning as to
suspect they would watch for his return, they never knew.

At one time an old hunter came to their cabin with his dog, and reported
himself to be very expert at killing grislys. They took their guns, and
accompanied him. They soon routed an enormously large bear, whose roar
seemed to shake the earth. He first turned his attention to the dog,
which appeared terribly frightened, and ran away as fast as his legs
would carry him. Then he turned upon the brave hunters, who quickly
followed the example of the dog. They fled to some tall trees, upon
which there was not a limb for twenty or thirty feet from the base. They
exerted every faculty to shin up those naked trunks. My brother, who was
not a little frightened, thought that, at least, he was twenty feet from
the ground, when, upon looking down, he found he was not more than five.
How he redoubled his efforts! for the bear was making after them at a
furious rate. After clearing the field of his antagonists, and giving
two or three tremendous roars in honor of victory, he marched off into
the surrounding forest. After this, they were engaged in several more
successful bear-hunts.

At one time, he was mining on Cañon Creek, and had occasion to cross the
mountains to Slate Range. Many of these mountains are perennially
covered with snow. When travelling in the mountains, clothes more than
you have on your back are burdensome and unnecessary.

After going a short distance from the camp, he hung an overcoat on the
limb of a tree, set his carpet-bag at the foot of it, and buried what
gold he had with him at a short distance from the tree, carefully noting
the spot. He then pursued his journey. Upon arriving at his destination,
his mining operations detained him there eight months. When he
returned, he found his coat hanging upon the same limb; his carpet-bag
was unmolested; and he found his gold just as he had left it. Clothes,
in the mountains, are no temptation to a person’s cupidity, if he has a
suit on his back.

At one time, in company with two or three others, started to go from one
mining locality to another. They were obliged to camp out for four
nights upon the snow; and in some of the deep ravines, which were filled
by the sliding of the snow into them, they judged it to be at least
fifty feet in depth. Nights, they would roll themselves in their
blankets, and lie down upon the snow, with nought above them but the
blue dome of the star-lighted heavens, and sleep as soundly, and be
visited by dreams as sweet, as ever blessed their midnight slumbers in
nicely carpeted chambers, on beds of down.




CHAPTER XXIV.


Before I leave California, I must give you a sketch of John
Chinaman,--not the Johns in general, but a particular John, who lived in
the Tremont Hotel as a chamber servant for more than a year. He could
talk good broken English, was quick in his motions, and very neat. I
liked John better than any other of the chamber servants, he was so
faithful. Often I would be so amused at his remarks, that I would have
to stop, and laugh heartily. Then he would look _so_ perplexed, and say,
“What you laughee so for, Missa Bessa?” He invariably called the name
Bates, Bessa.

He had been in California four years, during all of which time he had
been out to service, never receiving less than one hundred dollars per
month. He had about three thousand dollars out at interest, for which he
received three per cent. a month. He was very penurious, never indulging
in any luxury, save most excellent tea, which he kept for his own
private use.

Sometimes, when I would be sick, he would come to my door, bringing a
cup of his tea, and say, “You drinkee this, Missa Bessa; make you well
quick.” He placed implicit faith in the healing properties of his tea.

His money, his tea, and his cue were his especial delight. Days when he
would have a great deal to do, engaging his time until late in the
evening, he would never retire, however tired he might be, without
first combing, oiling, and braiding his cue. This he kept coiled around
on the top of his head; and, instead of keeping the remaining portion of
his pate shaved, as they generally do, he allowed it to grow, and kept
it cut, after the fashion of the Americans. When he had his hat upon his
head, one would never suppose he had a cue. He was the best-looking
Chinaman I ever saw, and came from Ningpo.

Upon first arriving in California, he went as house servant to Senator
Gwin. Afterwards, he lived with a Mr. Peck. He would say sometimes,
“Only three very good ladees in Californee.”--“Who are those,
John?”--“Missa Gwina, Missa Pecka, and Missa Bessa. Missa Gwina, she one
very good ladee; she talkee, laughee, all day long, eat watermelon,
drink champagne; she one very good ladee.” John seemed to estimate the
qualifications of Mrs. Gwin by the quantity of good and expensive things
which she ate and drank. Watermelons were twelve dollars apiece, and
champagne ten dollars per bottle. Then he would say, “Missa Pecka one
very good ladee, but she too fatter. Missa Bessa, she no too fatter; she
too smallee, too sickee (sometimes I would have ill turns); she go home
to her mudder; me go too. She too smallee; I be her servant.” He seemed
very much attached to me, and was always ready and willing to wait upon
me.

One day, he was very unceremoniously rushed into matrimony. The
particulars of this hurried marriage were as follows: John was one day
passing along one of the streets occupied mostly by Chinese, when his
ears were assailed with horrid screams which issued from a building near
by. He burst in the door, which was fastened, and there found a Canton
Chinaman unmercifully beating one of his slaves, a young girl of about
sixteen years. John, who was very tender-hearted, could not bear to see
that; so he knocked down the Chinaman, took the girl, whom he never saw
until then, and ran with her to the hotel, and wanted me to secrete her
in my room. It appears there is an almost deadly feud existing between
the Canton and Ningpo Chinamen. As soon as the Canton Chinaman recovered
himself sufficiently to realize what had happened, he collected about
thirty of his partisans, and started to arrest John for assaulting him,
and carrying off his slave.

This was apprehended by the people at the hotel, who all felt very much
interested for John. They told him, in order to prevent the girl from
being taken back by her cruel master, he must marry her. Then he could
retain her as his wife; but could not be sustained in secreting away
another’s slave. To this arrangement John readily acquiesced, and was
hurried off to an esquire; an interpreter obtained,--for the bride elect
could not articulate one word of English,--and the ceremony commenced.
When John was asked if he would take that woman to be his wedded wife,
his reply was, “Yes, me takee her: me lovee her; she lovee me. Canton
Chinaman no get her, no whipee her. Me be good to her; take good care of
her. She be my little wife!” And he ran on with such a tirade, they
thought they should never check him.

They were married before her master found her; and therefore he never
recovered his slave. John had a small house in the back yard of the
hotel, and in it he placed his wife. She was not domestic at all, and
there she sat with her hands folded, when not engaged in embroidering.
And there I left them when I started for the States.

Most of the washing and ironing in California is performed by Chinamen.
They take the clothes to the rivers, and beat them on stones and boards,
which they place in particular positions. Their clothes-lines are
stretched all along the banks of the river. After the articles are dry,
they take them to their houses to iron. They starch every article, even
to sheets and pillow-slips. Their mode of ironing is entirely different
from anything I ever before saw. They have a copper vessel, shaped like
a sauce-pan, and large enough to hold about two quarts of coal. The
bottom of this vessel is very thick, and highly polished. They fill it
with burning coal; then take hold of the handle, and shove it back and
forth over the articles.

They have a dish of water standing beside them, to which they put their
mouths, and draw up such a quantity of the water, that their cheeks are
inflated to their utmost capacity. All the while they are shoving this
vessel back and forth, they are blowing the water out of their mouths,
which falls like spray upon the garment, and renders it of an equal
dampness. They iron very smoothly, and the clothes have a beautiful
polish. For ironing dresses, they have differently shaped sauce-pans.
They wear out the clothes very much beating them so; and it is almost
dangerous to stand in the vicinity of their washing resorts, the
shirt-buttons fly so like hail-stones.

There is a place, a little out from San Francisco, called Washerwoman’s
Bay, where the Chinamen take all the clothes from the city to wash. I
once took a walk out there; and, before I came in sight of the bay, I
heard the noise occasioned by the clothes being thrashed so
unmercifully. While I stood listening, not well assured of the cause of
that peculiar noise, a gentleman appeared, coming in the direction from
whence the sounds proceeded. I asked him what that noise was. Said he,
“You are in close proximity to Washerwoman’s Bay; and I would advise you
to go no farther, if you value your life; for the shirt-buttons are
flying so thick, and with such velocity, it is really dangerous to go
too near.”

A short time before I left Marysville, the city was visited by another
conflagration, which came very near destroying the Tremont Hotel. It
occurred between ten and eleven o’clock, one Sunday. The fire originated
in the square directly opposite the hotel; and, what wind there was
being fair to bring it directly to the house, the greatest consternation
prevailed. The ladies were all dressed to attend church. They commenced
packing their things, and throwing them out the doors and windows. The
proprietor ordered every woollen blanket in the house to be produced,
wet thoroughly, and then nailed them all over that part of the house
most exposed to the flames. One part of the building had a flat roof,
upon which barrels of water were kept standing, also a number of pails.
This roof was covered with people, passing and throwing water to prevent
ignition.

While this was going on outside, the people were rushing in, and
removing beds and furniture. In their haste to remove large pieces, they
tore down partitions, and otherwise injured the house; breaking out
windows, sash and all, to eject some piece of furniture. Individuals who
had been boarding in the house, and had not deposited their money in the
safe, ran to their trunks, took it out, and gave it to me for safe
keeping. I had my pockets so filled with gold and gold dust, it was
really burthensome to move about. The most valuable things were removed
out on the plains, and I stood guard over them; for they required strict
watching, there were so many standing round, ready to take anything they
could lay their hands upon. Several times the roof of the hotel was on
fire; but, by the strenuous exertions of the people, it was
extinguished. The flames were darting over and around it, yet the
building was preserved, at the risk, almost, of their own lives. The
proprietor’s face was scorched quite badly, as he was ever in the van;
and where the most danger was, there he was sure to be seen. The
building was saved; but what a looking house to return to! Every part
ran with mud and water; the partitions were demolished, and windows
broken; all the blankets which belonged upon the beds, wet and dirty on
the outside of the house. But they soon dried; and that night, by ten
o’clock, there were beds ready to accommodate a hundred persons. How we
all worked! I never recollect being so tired, before or since, as I was
that night. When I left Marysville, the old hotel was standing in all
its pristine beauty. It had withstood all the fires which had visited
Marysville during the space of three years; but I had only been at home
three months, when tidings reached me that it was burned to the ground.




CHAPTER XXV.


In the spring of 1854, I bade adieu to Marysville, and started for San
Francisco, preparatory to leaving for the Atlantic States. Three years
previously, I had entered Marysville, when it was a little town, built
mostly of canvas. Distinctly did I recollect my feelings at that time.
All those bright hopes and buoyant anticipations--how had they been
realized? Alas! as are too many of the frail hopes of earth, they had
been blasted and blighted in the bud. Now I left it a large city,
containing ten thousand inhabitants. Blocks of brick, fire-proof
buildings had been reared; churches also, whose spires seemed pointing
to that better land; and school-houses, whose doors were thrown open to
receive hundreds of happy children who had emigrated with their parents
to this inland city. And I left it now, a sadder and a wiser woman; for
there I had drunk deep draughts of sorrow, and had learned, by bitter
experience, the fallacy of placing implicit confidence in earthly
objects.

I was borne down those magnificent streams for the last time; yet every
object is distinctly daguerreotyped in my mind as I saw it then. Yes! I
bade all those scenes a final adieu; and would that I could have bade
farewell to heart-troubles also. But how tenaciously they will gather
around the fountain of memory, ever ready to spring to the surface, at
the mention of some name, or half-forgotten word either of kindness or
reproof! It was a bright May day, the last I passed in San Francisco. I
met there several of the tried, firm friends of other days; and
certainly I needed their support and protection then, if ever. Varying,
conflicting emotions crowded so thick and fast upon the tablets of the
brain, and so gained the ascendency over the power of self-control, that
it was impossible for me to support my trembling frame without
assistance, as I walked down the densely crowded wharf to get on board
the steamer that was to convey me from scenes of suffering to my
childhood’s happy home.

That day, three steamers left that wharf, within an hour of each other,
for the Atlantic States,--the “Uncle Sam,” the “Panama,” and the
“Cortez.” I went on board the “Uncle Sam.” She was the last to leave,
and was crowded with passengers: she had on board about eight hundred
people.

When the gun was fired,--the signal for departure,--as the echo
reverberated over the waters, I fancied it to be one unanimous farewell
emanating from the breasts of all on board,--a farewell to the sunny
vales and towering mountains, to the gold-studded placers and majestic
streams, the deep ravines and rocky cañons, of beloved California.

What different emotions swelled the bosoms of those persons who stood
gazing, perhaps for the last time, on that great emporium of the West!
Many perhaps, then on board, like myself, had threaded its sandy streets
when in its state of infancy; had viewed the scene from Telegraph Hill,
when nought but canvas shanties dotted the surface of those valleys,
surrounded by numerous sand-hills, which had since been levelled to make
room for elegant blocks of granite buildings, which reared their stately
proportions, the admiration of thousands, and an honor to the energetic
and enterprising projectors.

Some were returning, from a residence in that city and country, to their
Eastern homes, blessed with an abundance of the shining metal which had
lured them to its shores, and perhaps entirely destitute of all those
principles of virtue and honesty that ever shed a brilliant lustre over
the human mind, and give to the humble, indigent, and sorrow-stricken, a
passport to a happy home above.

The possession of wealth does not necessarily pervert the human heart;
and yet how often do we see the possessor utterly regardless of the
feelings of the worthy poor! Wealth too often takes the precedence of
intellect; and many times we have seen the gifted mind struggling
through years of poverty, uncheered by even an encouraging word from
the rich, and finally sink in obscurity into an early grave.




CHAPTER XXVI.


After passing out at the Golden Gate, all three of the steamers were
visible, each freighted with a rich cargo of human beings, and cleaving
for themselves a pathway through the blue waters. The “Uncle Sam” and
“Panama” were bound direct to Panama; the “Cortez” to San Juan.

The first night out on board a crowded steamer! Who that has experienced
it can _ever_ forget the confusion, the sea-sickness, the
dissatisfaction reigning among room-mates, the squalling of parrots, the
crying of babies, and all sorts of annoyances incident to the occasion?

For a person like myself, who was not sea-sick, and had no babies to
worry about, and had only to enact the part of a silent spectator, the
Babel-like confusion which reigned triumphant only served to divert my
mind from my own sad thoughts, and I began to study the characters of my
room-mates, through the science of physiognomy.

In our state-room, which opened upon the main deck, were three berths
and a sofa. My ticket called for the sofa, which was a nice, soft,
velvet one, and far preferable to a berth. My room-mates were an elderly
lady, and her married daughter, who had a babe eight months old. Then
there was an adopted daughter, about sixteen years of age, and a noisy
parrot. This elderly lady also had a son on board,--a great, over-grown
boy, who had taken a second-cabin passage, with the idea of lodging in
the room with his mother.

The back of the sofa could be lifted up, so as to form a sort of shelf
over the seat. This shelf, directly over the person who was lying upon
the sofa, would be decidedly disagreeable and uncomfortable. The mother
planned for that great boy to sleep upon this shelf, directly over me.
To this I, of course, objected, knowing that he had a berth provided for
him in the second cabin. Upon my objecting, the mother became determined
that he _should_ sleep there. I then appealed to the young man, asking
him if he thought it would be very agreeable to lodge in a little
state-room, with three ladies, a baby, and a parrot. He acknowledged it
would not, and refused to comply with his mother’s commands. Therefore,
I got rid of him; which by no means ingratiated me into favor with the
mother, who was very petulant indeed (owing to sea-sickness, I presume).
But, after she ascertained that I would not be imposed upon, (if I were
little,) she became quite affable, and lamented frequently that our
tickets did not call for one and the same room on the Atlantic side.

The married daughter was a very lady-like, genteel sort of a person,
totally dissimilar from her mother, and rather a victim to her (the
mother’s) dictatorial propensities. The adopted daughter was one of
those good-natured, immovable sort of persons, always pleasant, yet
doing about as she pleased, although receiving a severe reprimand every
five minutes in the day from the old lady. The baby was a little
darling, inheriting his mother’s gentle disposition. The parrot was not
a whit more quiet than its mistress. As soon as day began to break, he
would begin to scream, after this fashion: “Come to breakfast;” “Six
o’clock;” “Hot coffee;” “Mother! mother!” and such like expressions. If
it was amusing at first, it soon became very annoying. There was one
parrot on board so exceedingly profane and annoying, that its life was
several times threatened by the passengers who roomed in close proximity
to it. The woman to whom it belonged valued it above price. It could
speak the English and Spanish languages quite _fluently_. It used to sit
nights outside the woman’s room. One morning, she missed its usual
chatter, went upon deck, and it was nowhere to be found. Then what a
time! Every one was ignorant as to its whereabouts; but a close observer
might have detected a roguish twinkle lurking about the eyes of the mate
of the ship, as he sympathized with the lady in her bereavement.
Finally, the parrot was discovered, made fast to the mast-head of the
ship. It was so frightened, it did not resume its usual chatter that
day.

After we had been at sea a few days, the weather, which had been
agreeably cool, changed to oppressive heat. The air in those little
state-rooms was so confined and unhealthy, it behooved those who were
able, to rise early in the morning, and go upon deck to inhale the balmy
air. But, then, it was rather unpleasant to be hunted about as we were
by the sailors, who were washing down the decks. We would perch
ourselves upon something; and then, just as we were congratulating one
another upon securing a nice seat, swash would come the water in
torrents, compelling us to run for another seat, which would only afford
us a similar temporary lodgment. If we escaped without getting our feet
soaking wet, and our clothes somewhat draggled, we accounted ourselves
fortunate in the extreme. After the expiration of a week, how the new
faces began to appear! The decks began to get quite crowded. Some of
them looked as if they had not been enjoying themselves very well while
confined to their state-rooms. I had a great deal of sympathy for those
afflicted with that disagreeable nausea; yet I often received kind
wishes, to this effect: “How I do wish you could be sick, just for one
hour! You would not look so smiling, if you felt as badly as I do.” And
yet I was forced to smile, when looking at their wo-begone countenances.

There were two or three female cabin passengers very sick with fever;
and, oh, how they suffered, confined in a close state-room, with a
raging fever consuming their very vitals!

One of the greatest sufferers was a lady who had been brought on board
on a bed. She was dying of consumption. She was sick at home, and her
physician had recommended a voyage to California. Thinking she might
receive some benefit from a residence in that salubrious climate, her
husband had taken her there. She had not remained there long, before she
felt convinced that she must die. Then she begged--oh, how
earnestly!--to be taken home to see her darling babes once more. If she
could be spared to clasp their little forms in one fond embrace, she
could die happy. Her doom was sealed. Every day the hectic spot deepened
upon that ethereal face; the racking cough increased in hollowness of
sound; the fluctuating pulse grew fainter. She was fast hastening to
“that bourne from whence no traveller returns.”

The morning sun rose fair, but it shone upon a death-stamped
countenance--upon loving lips forever silent--upon the cold hand which
gave no returning pressure. She had passed away, with the names of her
darlings upon her lips.

As the sun was sinking into the western waters, the steamer’s course was
stayed. The body of the devoted wife and loving mother was borne upon
deck, covered by the American flag. Near by stood the bereaved husband,
whose heart seemed wrung with the keenest sorrow. The stillness of death
reigned on board that crowded steamer. In calm, serene accents, a
minister of Christ breathed forth an earnest, heart-felt prayer; and the
remains were launched into the bosom of the restless ocean. A splash,
and all was over. The waves which had parted to receive that form of
clay continued their ceaseless motion, and, by their ceaseless music,
seemed to be chanting a requiem over the mother’s grave, far, far down,
among the coral dells and pearly caves of old ocean’s unfathomed depths!

If the spirits of departed friends are conversant with our spirits, if
they are indeed ministering angels to those whom they loved while in the
flesh, the midnight slumbers of those motherless babes that night were
blessed and sanctified by the seraphic presence of the beatified mother.
In their infant dreams, it is the knowledge of her presence which causes
those radiant smiles to flit across their fair, innocent faces.

Dear children! Many a tear of sympathy was dropped at the thought of
their uncertain future, as the revolving wheels of the steamer carried
us farther and farther from their mother’s grave, which they could never
look upon!

In a little while, all was gayety and mirth, bustle and confusion,
singing and dancing, on board that floating structure. This being my
first voyage after the eventful fiery one, my feelings were constantly
agitated, thinking it possible a recurrence of those former scenes might
be enacted. There were some on board who were acquainted with the
history of my voyage out to California; and they had repeated the story
to their friends, until it had gained quite an extensive circulation
among the ship’s company.

One night, while seated in the door of my state-room, I was very much
amused at the remarks passed between two of the sailors, who were laying
down hose upon the deck, as was the usual custom, as a precaution
against fire. Says one, “Dick, what are you laying that extra hose for?”
“Why,” said he, “didn’t you know there is a woman on board who never
went to sea but what the ship she was on board of burnt before reaching
her destination?”--“There isn’t, though.”--“Yes, there is; and I haven’t
the least idea the Uncle Sam will ever reach Panama.”--“Have you seen
her? How does she look?”--“I don’t exactly know which one it is; but
they say she looks just like any other woman.” Thus the conversation
continued for some time, to my great amusement. But the spell was
broken; the startling cry of “Fire!” was not heard; and no event of
importance occurred, by which the nerves of the most sensitive could be
shocked.

We had two more burials at sea before reaching Panama. They were two
firemen, who dropped dead while at their posts of duty, during the
excessively hot weather.




CHAPTER XXVII.


After twelve days and some hours’ sail from San Francisco, the old,
walled city of Panama rose to view. The steamer’s gun was fired; she
dropped her anchor; and a fleet of boats and bungoes were seen
approaching. They neared and surrounded the ship. Most or all of them
were manned by swarthy-visaged, half-naked Carthaginians, and a mongrel
race of natives, whose appearance and gestures were equally as
repulsive.

Such a perfect Babel as that steamer’s deck presented! Some running to
and fro, looking for baggage, some bargaining and bantering with the
boatmen, boatmen fighting with one another for a berth next the
gangways, ladies screaming at the top of their voices, children bawling
in unison, and parrots joining in the chorus! Curses and oaths, singing
and shouting, filled up the intervals of this hurly-burly scene. I stood
agape with astonishment at witnessing the haste and recklessness with
which they rushed, helter-skelter, down the gangways, and tumbled (some
of them headlong) into the boats. More than one individual I saw
floundering in the water; and carpet-bags and valises were floating
about quite merrily.

The hideous-looking boatmen kept up a continual jargon and fighting with
one another; and perhaps, just as some person was going to step into a
boat, some native would give it a shove away, and the person, pressed
hard from behind, if not remarkably nimble, would get a ducking.

I was determined to wait until the last, rather than go with such a
rush; and I did wait, until the coast was clear. Then our party, which
consisted of four or five ladies and gentlemen, secured seats in a boat,
and bade good bye to the Uncle Sam. We had gone but a short distance
from the ship, when we heard the report of a gun booming over the water.
The steamer Panama, which left in company with us, had arrived. She had
about five hundred passengers on board; and, with the eight hundred who
had just left the Uncle Sam, the hotels in Panama would be likely to be
rather crowded. It behooved us to hasten, in order to secure a place on
the floor, if nowhere else.

As we neared the shore, the water was full of natives, who waded off
almost up to their necks, surrounded the boat, and arrested its
progress. The boatmen are agreed with the natives on the shore to manage
thus, in order to secure as many pieces of money as possible. No
entreaties or threats could induce the boatmen to budge one inch nearer
to the shore. There was no alternative but to place ourselves upon the
backs of these natives, and (as the expression is) ride post-back to the
shore. Before placing ourselves in this rather unladylike position,
there was much screaming, and laughing, and crying, and scolding; but it
all terminated in one general post-back ride to the shore. The natives
being so submerged, one could not judge well of their muscular
developments; and some of the more corpulent ladies were afraid to trust
their immense proportions on the back of a slender native, for fear of
being dropped. This accident did happen to some of them; and it was ever
accompanied with much laughing and joking at the sufferer’s expense.
Finally, we were all landed,--some in one shape, and some in another.
More than a dozen natives surrounded me, all holding their hands for a
bit, (ten cents,) each claiming the honor of having carried me on his
back to the shore. They all bore such a striking resemblance to one
another, and having on no garments by which they could be distinguished,
I was sorely troubled to know to whom I was indebted for my novel ride.
It was settled, however, to their satisfaction.

The natives took our trunks upon their backs, (not us, this time,) and
our party started for the Louisiana Hotel. When we arrived there, it was
literally jammed full; but, knowing we should fare no better by going
elsewhere, we crowded ourselves in with the multitude.

This was in the afternoon, and our appetites were considerably sharpened
by the rather scantily furnished tables which had been spread on board
the steamer for one or two days previous to our arrival.

Six or seven of us ladies were shown to a room on the second floor,
which overlooked the court-yard in the centre of the range of buildings.
Each story was surrounded by a balcony. Our room had no windows, but two
very extensive doors, which opened like folding-doors on to the balcony.
The partitions all through the house only ran two thirds of the height
to the ceiling; so there was plenty of ventilation and plenty of noise
circulating through the house. There was not a particle of paint or
paper in the whole building. The walls and partitions were of rough
boards, and these were all whitewashed. The great vaulted passages
leading through the house, and the great wide, worn staircases,
presented a cheerless and gloomy aspect. In our room were six or seven
cots, over which were thrown two sheets and a straw pillow to each cot.
This constituted the entire stock of furniture, if we except two old
rickety chairs and our trunks.

From the balcony opposite our door we could watch the proceedings in the
cook-room; and it was amusing to watch those half-naked natives knock
over the fowl, of which there were numbers in the back yard, about
half-divest them of their feathers, hurry them into a kettle, and by the
time they were well heated through, run with them to the tables, if they
were not met on the way there by the half-famished passengers, who would
snatch the half-cooked viands from their hands, and beat a hasty retreat
to their rooms.

In vain we waited to be summoned to supper. Finally, one of our party
made a descent upon the cooks, and procured the wherewith to appease, in
a measure, our hunger.

The Uncle Sam’s passengers had intended to get mules, and start that
night from Panama to cross the isthmus; and this could have been
accomplished, had not the natives been so shrewd. When they saw the
steamer Panama coming in directly after the Uncle Sam, they rightly
conjectured, that, if they kept their mules out of sight until all from
both steamers were landed, there would be such a demand for mules they
could get any price they saw fit to ask. Therefore, when mules were
called for by those of the passengers who reached the shore first, there
were none to be found. No entreaty or persuasion could induce them to
bring one forward; but we were told there would be plenty on the morrow.
That afternoon a party of us took a stroll around the city, visited the
oldest and largest cathedral in the place, walked upon the battlements
which surround this ancient and once flourishing city, but now, in many
places, wearing the aspect of decay and ruin. Some portions of the wall
were falling into ruins; but in some places it was sufficiently wide for
two carriages to drive abreast; but there were no vehicles there then.
There were the sentry-boxes, built at short intervals along the
battlements, which, in days gone by, had sheltered the wearied sentinel
during his nightly patrol.

I saw in some places the ruins of old churches and convents. Some
portions of the high stone walls would be standing, out of the sides of
which were growing bushes and small trees. The sight of those trees
growing out of high stone walls at once attracted my attention. For how
many ages must those old walls have been exposed to burning suns and
deluging rains, to have thus afforded sustenance for those scraggy
shrubs and trees! The stones were all moss-grown, and rank vines were
running in great profusion over the decaying ruins. An air of silent
desertion seemed to pervade those ruinous remains, which gave rise to
melancholy reflections. They forcibly reminded one of the mutability of
all things earthly. Just as the setting sun was casting its red beams
upon the high and narrow stained-glass windows of the rich old
cathedral, we were wandering under its vaulted roof, feasting our
astonished senses with a sight of the massive gold and silver ornaments
which were displayed in such rich profusion upon the walls. What an air
of mystery and gloom seemed to surround us! How our voices echoed and
reverberated in the far-off niches and recesses of this gloomy-looking
edifice. Several times I was startled by the appearance of some old
monk, with his cowl closely drawn, who would start from some niche in
the wall, where he had remained unperceived, and, without uttering a
word, hold out a silver plate, whereupon you were expected to deposit a
piece of money. When once more in the open air, I experienced a sense
of freedom from the feelings of mystery and gloom, which unavoidably
cluster around one while traversing those silent cathedrals.

We then repaired to the vestibule of a convent, not with the expectation
of gaining admittance, however. There was a wooden frame which turned in
the wall, after the manner of those yard-gates which turn upon a pivot,
and on which stood a pitcher of water and a glass. After drinking, a
person is expected to leave a piece of money beside the pitcher. Every
few moments, this frame is turned by an unseen hand; but, when the
pitcher and glass appear again, the money, if there had been any beside
it, had disappeared.

It being a moonlight evening, several of us ladies, accompanied by one
gentleman, started to prosecute our walk through some other parts of the
city. We passed through several streets, or, as they appeared to me,
lanes; but they looked _so_ gloomy! And, then, those old ruins seemed
such grand lurking-places for the revengeful Spaniard, with his
murderous stiletto, that we all frightened ourselves by such imaginings,
and ran back again to the hotel as quickly as possible.

What a night was that at Panama! So many returning Californians, and
some such wild ones, too! They seemed determined to make night hideous
with their singing and shouting. There was little sleep for any one in
Panama that night.




CHAPTER XXVIII.


As soon as daylight dawned, the natives began to swarm in the streets
with their mules, opposite to the hotels, and the people commenced
bargaining for the use of them.

The railroad was completed from Aspinwall to within eighteen miles of
Panama. Eighteen miles! When we came to traverse the route, it seemed
thirty, at least. As the rains had commenced, we were advised to travel
the Cruces route, as the Gorgorna route would be impassable on account
of the mud.

Some of the passengers who had before traversed the Cruces route advised
all the ladies to dispense with the side-saddle altogether, as it would
be utterly impossible for them to retain their seats, unless upon the
gentleman’s Spanish saddle. Most of us were provided with India-rubber
boots, and pants, and a large sombrero, as a protection for our heads.

The natives asked twenty dollars for the use of a good, plump-looking
mule, to take us to Obispo, at which place was the terminus of the
railroad; but one could get a miserable-looking animal, which, in all
probability, would die on the way, and leave you to prosecute the
remainder of your journey on foot, for twelve and fifteen dollars. For
my mule I paid twenty; and, many times during the journey, I had
occasion to congratulate myself for having secured such a gentle, kind,
serviceable little animal. I really became so attached to him during the
journey, that I parted from him with regret. Generally, the natives from
whom you hire your mules, and pay for them in advance, trot along with
the company, and are ready, upon your arrival, to take the animal.

There was great frolicking and laughing with the ladies while fixing
away on the mules. I shall never forget _my_ feelings when I found
myself seated astride my mule, arrayed in boots and pants, with my feet
firmly planted in the stirrups, ready for any emergency.

About five o’clock in the morning, I left the hotel, in company with
thirty or more of the passengers. They all travelled in parties of
thirty and forty together. Most of the children were carried across by
the natives. They were seated astride their necks, with their little
hands clasped across the natives’ foreheads; while they have hold of the
children’s legs in front. Those who have infants generally get some
gentleman to take them in front of him on the saddle.

One of our passengers (a widow lady, with two little children) was very
sick indeed when she arrived at Panama. She was advised to remain there
for the present; but, although she felt convinced that her days on earth
were numbered, she preferred to go on with the company. She was placed
in a hammock: each of her little children (one twelve months, and the
other three years) were carried on the backs of natives, who walked by
her side.

When only six miles out from Panama, she breathed her last-drawn sigh.
They stopped, dug a grave for the mother by the lonely way-side, and
deposited her remains therein. It was a sad spectacle. Well was it for
those little orphans that their extreme youth prevented them from
realizing the extent of their affliction.

A kind-hearted woman--although the roughest-looking one in the
company--volunteered to take charge of the babes until they arrived in
New York. Upon arriving at Obispo, a collection of two hundred dollars
was taken for the children. Often, since, I have thought of that lonely
grave by the way-side, with no stone, or even board, to mark the spot,
and upon which no tear of affection will ever fall. She buried her
husband in San Francisco, three weeks previous to her departure for the
Atlantic States. She was getting home by charity; and, being a delicate,
feeble woman, could not endure the fatigue of the journey. Deep-seated
sorrow had sapped the fountains of life, and she died among strangers,
far from friends and home.

Two others of our number died, and were buried on the way. One was a
gentleman whose mule had died, and he was footing it along, when he
suddenly fell, and expired. Probably his death was caused by disease of
the heart. One steerage passenger, who was walking across, died from
over-heating himself.

For the distance of six miles, our route lay over a good, paved road,
and we galloped along, exceedingly delighted with the scenery, our
mules, and the good road. “If this is crossing the Isthmus,” said one,
“I shall never believe again the horrid accounts I have heard
respecting the trip;” but, before the termination of the journey, she
thought the one-half had not been told. Soon the road became more
rugged, and we began to enter the rocky defiles, ascend the steep
mountain passes, and descend into dark, rocky ravines. The sun, which
had been shining with tropical fervency, now withdrew his rays, and the
rain descended in torrents. The deafening thunder seemed to shake those
old mountains to their very base. In an instant we were soaking wet;
for, oh, how it did pour! In a short time it was over, and the sun
shining bright and hot as ever. Two such showers as this we encountered
during that mule-back trip.

The scenery through the mountains almost defies description. There are
defiles through the solid rock, so narrow as to admit only one mule at a
time; while, on each side, the rocks rise to the height of fifteen,
twenty, and, in some places, thirty feet. These rocks are surmounted by
tall trees, whose dense foliage, blending overhead, completely excludes
the sight of the blue sky above.

Sometimes these narrow passes are so descending, as to render it almost
impossible to retain your seat upon the mule. In some places there are
regular stepping-stones, into each of which little little holes have
been worn by the mules’ feet, that so many times, and oft, have
traversed those dangerous passes. I could compare the descent to nought
but placing a mule at the top of a flight of stairs, getting upon his
back, and riding down.

Those mules are so careful and sure-footed, and so well accustomed to
travelling through those frightful places, that there is no necessity
whatever of guiding them. You have only to place the bridle over the
pommel of the saddle, (those Spanish saddles have a high pommel in
front,) and look out for yourself. In descending, we were obliged to
lean far back on the animal’s back, and grasp the crupper with all our
might. It seemed as if our safety depended solely upon the strength of
the crupper. How I cried sometimes, with fright! but then I was careful
not to let any one see me, and generally took the time for such
ebullition of feeling when it was raining hard, and the water would
unavoidably be coursing down my face.

How careful those mules were! That day I learned to love them. In going
down those rocky flights, they would hold their heads low down, then put
one foot over and plant it firmly in one of those little holes, then the
other in the same way, then bring their hind feet on to the same shelf,
then go down on to another, and so on to the bottom. Then perhaps
commence, and make an ascent equally as toilsome. They have nothing to
eat or drink on the way, and never once attempt to nip the herbage that
grows, in some places, by the way-side.

Once, as there were about fifty mules all in a line, ascending one of
those steep mountain passes, the one in advance, which was laden with
three large trunks, made a misstep, and fell. These animals are so
sure-footed that they never stumble except when giving out, and never
fall, unless to die. This one was very weak, and failing fast, but might
have succeeded in reaching the top of this dangerous pass, had not the
trunks swayed on one side, and hit the rocks, thereby causing him to
fall. When passing up those rocky flights, it is utterly impossible for
a mule to step backwards, off one of those shelves, without falling, and
as utterly impossible to turn the mule about, on account of the extreme
narrowness of the way. The fallen mule, in making desperate attempts to
rise with those heavy trunks lashed to him, as a natural consequence
kept falling back, thereby crowding hard upon those behind him. I was
seated on the fifth mule in the rear of the fallen one. Such a shouting
and bawling as there was with the natives, who were trying to
disencumber the poor beast of the trunks, and, at the same, prevent him
from throwing himself any farther back, as, by so doing, he would
endanger the lives of those behind him.

How firmly my little mule planted his feet upon the shelf he was on,
rounded himself into as small a compass as possible, and awaited his
fate. He seemed to comprehend the whole; and, by his looks, I fancied he
said, as a token of assurance to me, “I will die here rather than take
one step backwards.” Finally they disengaged the trunks from the animal,
and hoisted them up on to the banks above. As the mule was evidently
dying, they cut his throat, and lifted him up also. This scene detained
us more than an hour; for those natives seemed to make no progress
towards extricating the mule from his painful position, but were running
to and fro, bawling at the top of their voices, hunting ropes, and
ordering one another. The passengers who were far behind were calling
loudly to know what was the cause of the detention. Some were cursing
the tardy natives; the women were crying with fear; and, if a
daguerreotype view could have been taken of the scene, I think it would
have had a tendency to deter some from ever crossing the Isthmus of
Darien on mule-back.

Upon entering one of those defiles, the natives who are on foot (and
there are generally quite a number with each party) go in advance, and
keep up a loud shouting, to prevent any party which may be coming in an
opposite direction from entering, as it would be death to one or other
of the parties’ mules, should they meet. We occasionally passed over the
carcasses of mules in these places, which had been killed to afford
others a passage. We were so fearful that the natives would not make
noise enough, that we joined in the shouting, and felt truly grateful
when we emerged from the bowels of the earth.

The day previous to our arrival at Panama, the steamer Illinois arrived
at Aspinwall, with a load of passengers from New York for California. In
crossing, we all met at different points on the way.

Sometimes, upon arriving at a defile, we would hear a loud shouting
within; then we would halt, rein our mules out on each side of the way,
and await their egress. Some, upon emerging from the defile, looked very
much jaded and fatigued; others were laughing and joking. How earnestly
we eyed them, as they appeared one after another, thinking perhaps we
might see some friend or acquaintance from home.

Upon thus meeting, each party would accost the other with all the
freedom and familiarity of old acquaintances; and some of the remarks
which were passed were really laughable. Upon the back of one mule were
seated two persons, a young man and an elderly woman. At sight of them,
some of the gentlemen of our party hurrahed, which was answered by the
woman with a wave of her calash, (she wore one of those large
old-fashioned green ones,) and a “Hurrah for California!” “That is
right,” said one, addressing the young man, “take your mother with you;
if we had, we might have been spared much suffering.” And thus they
joked. Some who had been rather unsuccessful advised the emigrants to
turn back, even then. “Why?” said they, “is there not plenty of gold in
California?” “Yes, there is gold enough; but you may not be lucky enough
to get any of it.”

They gave us no encouragement as to the route over which they had
passed. All said, “Expect to find it as bad and worse than you can
possibly conceive of.” This was disheartening, I assure you.

Sometimes the trail would be quite passable, and then one could enjoy
the scenery. The tropical foliage is beautiful; and among the leaves
and branches were hopping birds of beautiful plumage, rendering the
woods vocal with their sweetest songs. Monkeys and parrots we saw in
abundance.

On the way we passed several hotels,--nothing more than canvas shanties,
with large signs attached, bearing the appellations of “Astor House,”
“St. Charles Hotel,” “Revere House,” etc. They were kept by Americans,
and at them one could procure plenty of fruit and liquors of all kinds;
but the wise ones were very abstemious, as a great deal of the sickness
on the isthmus is engendered by eating and drinking to excess in a
climate so excessively warm.

Oh, how tired we grew! and yet, at every hotel, the distance seemed to
increase rather than decrease.

Upon first entering the forests on the isthmus, my attention was
directed to what looked like ropes hanging from the trees. I soon found
them to be vines that had run up on the trees, out on the branches, and
were suspended therefrom in every direction. They were leafless, and the
color of a rope.

We crossed the Chagres River once only before reaching Obispo. How dark
and deep it looked, as we were going down a steep declivity directly
into it! We were assured it was quite shallow, and not dangerous to
ford; and that, if we allowed our mules to take their own course, we
should be carried safely across.

One young lady from Marysville was very much frightened, and kept
constantly asserting that she should be drowned, she knew. Upon reaching
the brink of the river, she suddenly reined in her mule, just as he was
going to step in. He became offended at such treatment, and shook her
off plump into the river. Such a screaming! You would have thought a
dozen women were in the river. She was brought out, and placed again
upon her mule, with instructions how to proceed, and was carried safely
over. The water was not up to our stirrups, in the deepest place; but it
looked black and deep, down in that dark ravine. I breathed more freely
when safely across.

Once we came to a little slough, over which was built a narrow bridge of
poles. I happened to be ahead at that place, and called to know whether
I should cross the bridge, or follow the trail through the slough, which
looked very miry. They told me to let the mule act his own pleasure. He
first tried the strength of the bridge by placing his foot upon it, and
feeling all about, as far as he could reach; then he turned, and went
down the trail to the slough, and there reconnoitred in the same way;
then he turned to the bridge again. I concluded he thought that the
safest way of crossing. Upon reaching it, he stopped, made one leap, and
cleared it at a bound, and came very near clearing himself of me, too. I
was wholly unprepared for such an emergency, and came very near losing
my equilibrium. All the other mules came leaping over except one, which,
I expect, was so far gone, he could not jump. He stepped upon the
bridge: it broke beneath his weight, and he fell. The lady was thrown
from his back; and, altogether, there was quite a scene.

After this, we met two gentlemen on mule-back, and of them we inquired
the distance to Obispo. The reply from one was, “I should think it was a
dozen miles, and the very worst road you ever travelled.”--“Oh, no,”
said the other, “not so bad as that. This is the gentleman’s first trip
to California. When he has crossed the Isthmus two or three times, he
will not get so quickly discouraged. It is about two miles to Obispo;
and rather a rough road, to be sure, but not worse than you have
passed, I presume.” How those cheering words revived my drooping
spirits! I felt (and every lady of the company, I presume, felt the
same) as if I could not retain my seat upon my mule but a little longer.
Every part of my body ached so hard, I could not tell where the pain was
most severe. If I had been placed upon the rack, and every joint drawn
asunder, I could not have been much lamer or sorer than I then was.

It was two o’clock in the afternoon, and we had been riding since five
in the morning, without once leaving our mules, over a road which, for
its rugged, uneven, and dangerous passes, beggars description.

Suddenly we heard the shrill whistle of a steam engine. Our lagging
spirits revived. We toiled on, and reached the top of an eminence which
overlooked the beautiful valley of Obispo; and there, far below us, we
beheld a scene calculated to inspire the most despondent with renewed
hope and courage. There was the terminus of the railroad; and on the
track were twelve long cars, headed by an engine, which was puffing and
blowing, and sending forth whistle after whistle, long, loud, and clear,
its echoes awakening the hitherto unbroken solitude of the primeval
forests of New Granada.

Those of the company who had sufficient life and strength remaining to
make any demonstration of joy, did so. As we descended the mountain, we
were perceived, and welcomed by firing of cannon and loud cheering.

Several hundred United States troops had arrived there, _en route_ for
California. They were all out on the plaza. Four or five large American
flags were floating upon the breeze from the roofs of large temporary
hotels which had been erected along the line of the railroad; and, as
fast as the road progressed, they were transported along to the
terminus. Here I saw a railroad for the first time since leaving
Baltimore, a lapse of four years.

When we arrived in the valley, and halted in front of the depot, I
suppose our forlorn, jaded appearance excited the sympathy of those
there assembled, for many stepped forward to assist us in dismounting.
They lifted us from our saddles, and placed us, not upon our feet,--for
not one of the ladies in the company could stand,--but flat upon the
ground in the mud.

One lady in particular--who rode nearly the whole way, holding her babe
on the saddle in front of her--fainted, the moment they lifted her from
her mule, and it was a long time before she recovered her consciousness.

Upon leaving Panama, she had consigned it to the care of a gentleman,
who was going to take it across the Isthmus on the saddle with himself;
but whose mule gave out, and fell with him. In endeavoring to save the
infant from injury, he received several severe contusions on his back
and head, from the effects of which he did not recover during the
journey to New York. This so frightened the mother, that she took the
babe herself; and, in consequence of thus exerting her strength to take
care of herself and child,--when those who had no child to attend to
could scarcely retain their seats,--she came very near dying.

After remaining a few moments in the mud, I made an attempt to walk. I
would go a few steps, and then fall; pick myself up again, take a few
more steps, and then tumble the other way. I attributed my inability to
walk partly to my India-rubber boots slipping on the muddy ground, and
partly to the benumbed and stiffened state of my limbs. While I was thus
staggering about in the vain endeavor to reach a hotel, a gentleman came
along, picked me up, and carried me to the desired haven.




CHAPTER XXIX.


Cars were in readiness to take us immediately to Aspinwall, where the
steamer North Star was waiting to convey us to New York. Many of the
gentlemen took passage in them; but the ladies were too exhausted to
think of proceeding farther that day; and, as the specie and baggage had
not all arrived, there was no danger of the North Star sailing until the
next night.

So we all retired, and did not rise again until the next morning. Our
accommodations at Obispo were similar to those at Panama--great rush,
nothing to eat, and not much to lie upon.

In the morning, as we were well-nigh famished, a gentleman of the party
invited a friend of mine and myself to breakfast with him, as he had
been to the trouble of purchasing something, and hiring it cooked
expressly for himself. The breakfast consisted of broiled chicken, fried
plantains, and eggs. That meal cost five dollars, and it was the only
one I had while at Obispo. That forenoon, our baggage arrived, and,
while out on the plaza, it was exposed to one of the hardest showers I
ever witnessed. Wo to the contents of those trunks which were not
water-proof!

I must not leave the beautiful valley of Obispo without descanting upon
its loveliness. It was inclosed by lofty hills, whose sides and summits
were clothed with the most beautiful tropical foliage. There grew the
tall palm-tree, laden with its milky fruit; the luscious pine-apple;
also bananas, and plantains in abundance.

There were, perhaps, twenty native bamboo-huts, thatched with the woven
fibre of the palm-leaf, scattered about the valley; around the doors of
which, and under the leafy shade of the lime and palmetto, lounged the
indolent natives, of both sexes. And why should they exert themselves,
when nature has so abundantly supplied their wants?

They appeared perfectly happy and contented in their ignorance. No
soaring aspirations for fame caused them to pass sleepless nights and
anxious days. They were slaves to no goddess of fashion; and, if they
had any pride, I cannot conceive to what point it tended, unless it was
an overweening desire to excel in roasting monkeys. Oh, this was a sunny
spot! I can see it, even now, in my mind’s eye, as it appeared when
viewed from the top of that mountain height, after a day of toilsome
travel. That old adage, “It is always the darkest just before day,” was
never more fully illustrated than when, after such a toilsome, dangerous
day’s ride as we had accomplished, that lovely, pleasant valley burst
upon our view. That last two miles of mule-back travel I shall never
forget. Whether it surpassed all other portions of the route in steep
and dangerous passes, or whether we were so completely worn out with
fatigue, that everything appeared more dark and gloomy than it really
was, I cannot say; but that old maxim kept ringing in my ears, and
cheering me on--“It is always the darkest just before day.” And,
certainly, I could not compare that sunshiny valley, at the terminus of
our route, to other than the brightest day that ever followed the
darkest night.

About four o’clock in the afternoon, we seated ourselves in the cars
bound to Aspinwall. Those cars on the Isthmus had cane seats and backs,
and were, therefore, not so comfortable for the sick, sore, and lame, as
if they had been otherwise.

We were borne over the track quite slowly, as the many short curves
which the road made prevented their going with greater speed. The
railroad seemed to follow the bed of the Chagres River. We crossed it
several times. The scenery was grand and sublime, commingled with the
beautiful. On one side of the track, perhaps, a towering mountain raised
its rocky sides far above us; while, on the opposite side, the eye might
wander far, far down a steep precipice, causing a shudder to run through
the frame at the thought of an accident occurring at such a spot.

How frightened the parrots, paroquets, and monkeys, must have been, when
the iron horse first startled those leafy solitudes with his fiery
snort! Never again will profound stillness reign triumphant along the
course of the Chagres River. Those feathered songsters, of brilliant
plumage, lured to its vine-clad banks by the gentle ripple of its tiny
waves, will fly, startled from their leafy coverts, at the approach of
the iron steed.

By and by, the town of Aspinwall appeared to view. The country all about
looked so sunken and marshy, as to impress the beholder at once with an
idea of its unhealthy location. It was quite a place, however, and at
that time seemed to be all alive with people. We passed from the cars
directly on board the steamer, as it was near night, and we wished to
get possession of our rooms before sailing. I ascertained the steamer
would not get away before midnight, as it was an almost endless task to
select the baggage, and get it on board.

Being very weary, I concluded to lie down, and get a nap in the first
part of the evening, in order to be awake, and be on deck, when we left
Aspinwall.

When next I opened my eyes, it was broad daylight. Aspinwall was far out
of sight, and we on the broad Atlantic.

Amid all the bustle and confusion preparatory to sailing, even firing of
guns, I had slept soundly. One lady, thinking I would like to see
Aspinwall by lamp-light, endeavored to awaken me; said she spoke my name
several times, and shook my arm, but still I slept on; and she left me
to the enjoyment of my dreams.

Upon going on deck, I met again all the Uncle Sam’s passengers, and saw
many strangers who had come on board at Aspinwall. On the North Star I
had only two room-mates, and was minus baby and parrot.

Now that I was on the Atlantic, I felt that the distance between home
and myself would be speedily annihilated. Nothing occurred worthy of
note during the passage; and, on the ninth day after leaving Aspinwall,
we made Sandy Hook. It is impossible to describe my sensations upon
nearing my native land, after an absence of four years. I was returning
_alone_, too, to the home of my youth. At times, my feelings were
overpowering.

When the health officer boarded us, I saw a sight that would have drawn
pity from the breast of the most obdurate. It appeared that at Aspinwall
there had been brought on board, and placed in the steerage, three sick
individuals, the remnant of a family of eight persons, who had left New
York for California a short time previous. On their arrival at the
Isthmus, the father and mother had sickened, and died. The six children
started to cross to Panama. They were robbed of all their money on the
way; and, ere they arrived at Panama, the two eldest brothers and one
sister died, leaving a young brother and two sisters, penniless and
sick. In this condition they were found by some good Samaritan, brought
back to Aspinwall, and placed on board the North Star. They were very
sick indeed--in fact, but just alive; but their sickness was not of an
infectious nature.

While preparations were being made to lower away a boat in which to take
them to the hospital, they were brought aft, and placed upon deck. One
look at those poor, sick, emaciated children of sorrow would so stamp
itself upon the pages of memory, that long afterwards their ghastly
countenances, with their sunken, hollow eyes, ashen lips, and shrivelled
forms, would present themselves in your day-dreams as well as your
night.

The eldest girl was about sixteen; the other might be fourteen, and the
boy twelve. Not two months since, they had left New York, a healthy,
happy family. Now the remaining three were brought back to die in the
hospital. The eldest girl died in the boat while being transported to
the hospital. The other two, I have no doubt, quickly followed her, as
they looked more like tenants of the tomb than aught else.

I must not forget to mention the fate of those two little orphans whose
mother was buried on the Isthmus. The kind-hearted lady who took them in
charge had faithfully fulfilled her mission. The children were well and
happy, in their guileless innocence. A collection was taken for them on
board the North Star, to the amount of three hundred dollars. This,
added to the two hundred previously taken, was delivered up to the lady
who had them in charge; and she was going with them to Cincinnati, at
which place a sister of the deceased mother resided, and to whom the
dying mother had bequeathed them.




CHAPTER XXX.


We neared the city of New York. Soon its domes, turrets, and spires,
became more distinct. We were fast nearing home. Home! How the mention
of that word sent a thrill to my heart! It is scarcely possible to
describe my feelings at that time; exuberant joy, mingled with sorrowful
reminiscences which came crowding thick and fast over the ocean of
memory, overshadowing all the bright hopes and sunny feelings of the
heart.

We reached the wharf late in the afternoon. It is needless to describe
the bustle incident to the arrival of an ocean steamer, crowded with
passengers. It is enough to say, that after being jammed, and jostled,
and crushed, to your infinite satisfaction, you find yourself on board a
hack, bound to one of the many hotels which intersperse the city.

The next day, I was too sick to start for home, completely prostrated by
excitement, I suppose. The next day, I left New York. The following
morning, I neared my native town. The station was reached; I left the
cars. I had purposely kept my arrival secret, the better to take them by
surprise.

In returning, after a long absence, to the home of our youth, we often
find ourselves disappointed. A part of the brightness is almost sure to
have passed away. Our eyes are changed, even if the things we look upon
remain the same. The persons we have loved too are sure to have altered,
and rarely for the better; for, if they be still on the bright side of
life, the rose-bud is generally more beautiful than the rose; and, if
they be on the autumnal side of the hill, we shall have to mark many a
leaf that has fallen, many a flower that has faded away.




CHAPTER XXXI.


Before laying aside my pen, I am constrained to say a word regarding the
moral tone of society as it existed in California as early as the years
1851 and 1852.

Recollect, kind reader, that the state of society in California at the
present day is as unlike what it was at the time alluded to above as are
the golden tints of the eastern sky ere the glorious orb of day bursts
upon the view, and the dark, portentous gloom which overspreads the
horizon, presaging a coming storm.

To what cause could be attributed this lack of morality; which seemed to
pervade the greater portion of the community at that early day, and
which necessarily dimmed the lustre of the brightest gem in God’s
magnificent footstool? Was it the atmospheric influence which surrounded
them? or were the evil propensities of their natures more forcibly
displayed for the very reason that they felt themselves beyond the reach
of all those conventional forms of society which, in our puritanical
country, serve to restrain, more or less, the inherent evil of our
natures?

Travellers who have wandered in the sunny regions of a tropical clime,
and have mingled with the inhabitants, can scarcely fail to perceive the
effect of that balmy, blissful atmosphere upon the human passions. Their
quick, impulsive natures, warm and generous hearts, overflowing with
love and affection; the bewitching naiveté of manner so characteristic
of the females has often proved a theme for the poet and historian.

California, although not situated within the tropics, many of its sunny
vales possess all the characteristics of soil and climate, and afford
to one all the delights pertaining to a residence in those genial
climes, and, at the time to which I refer, many of those captivating
females had found a home within its borders.

It is oftentimes the case that persons naturally pure, and possessed of
good principles, by constant intercourse with those whose nationalities
are less stringent with regard to morality, are almost unconsciously, as
it were, led to adopt customs, and imbibe sentiments that at first were
quite revolting to their natures.

Ever willing to place the best construction upon another’s conduct, I
would much rather infer that all of the evil which displays itself is
the result of a vacillating mind, unable to withstand temptation, rather
than of an innate desire to set at defiance the laws of God and man.

Persons from all classes were to be found in California,--the moral and
the immoral, the tempter and the tempted. Well may it call a blush to
the cheek of our own sex, when I assert that the immoral predominated,
as far as the female portion of the community were concerned. I have
been an unwilling observer of transactions, which, had they been related
to me, would have shaken my opinion somewhat respecting the veracity of
the narrator. Think of a town in California where the females numbered
more than two hundred, and from that number the pure, high-minded, and
virtuous could not have selected more than three or four with whom they
could have associated, and have derived a sweet pleasure in the
interchange of all those ennobling sentiments which shed such a halo of
loveliness around fair woman’s shrine.

Now, it is characteristic of my humble self to illustrate every subject
by relating some event which has come under my personal observation, and
which will, I think, serve to interest.

Among the first who emigrated from the city of Boston to the western El
Dorado were a mother and daughter.

The daughter, yet scarcely fifteen years of age, gave promise of extreme
loveliness. Carefully had that mother guarded her, lest a too early
acquaintance with the chilling realities of life should rob her young
and guileless heart of a portion of its pristine purity and undimmed
faith.

Of that mother’s early history but little was known; yet it was often
whispered by the gossiping ones that the remembrance of her own sad,
youthful experience had given that shade of melancholy, that tinge of
sadness, which at times shaded so deeply her yet fair brow. Whatever had
been her bitter trials and disappointments, it was evident to a casual
observer that the whole wealth of her affections, the deep, unfathomable
love of a mother’s heart were centred on the well-being of her only
child.

The better to acquire a competency, wherewith to surround the loved one
with all those appliances of comfort so desirable to a young and
beautiful girl, the mother determined to seek a home within the
precincts of the “Golden State.” Better, far better, had she immured
herself and child in the catacombs of Rome than thus to have launched
their frail bark upon the golden wave of a California sea.

The most ambitious votary of admiration there at that time must have
been satisfied, and even satiated, with the amount of homage, adulation,
and heartless flattery, which was poured into their too willing ears.
One can realize the danger likely to be incurred by placing a young,
lovely, and attractive female in a country where virtue was regarded by
the mass only as a name, and while she was yet too young to discriminate
between the respectful homage of sensible gentlemen and the
soul-sickening, hypocritical, despicable flatteries which often flow so
smoothly from under the moustache of the soulless, “vanity-puffed,
shallow-brained apology” for a man. One saw many of those specimens in a
day’s walk through the city of San Francisco, and also in her sister
cities.

Nightly they would convene in those gilded halls of iniquity, and pursue
their soul-killing avocation. To be sure, they nightly won their
thousands, little caring for the mental agony of their victims, whom
they had robbed of the last ounce of dust, which they had been months,
perhaps, accumulating, and which they had intended to have transmitted
to their families in their far distant homes. Wait patiently, wife and
little ones,--wait patiently for the father and husband to learn the
best and most effective lesson ever taught by that inexorable
schoolmaster, experience! If his first lesson is severe indeed, as a
general thing, he is not over anxious to risk a second recital, and the
absent wife may hope again to welcome his loved image to the now
sorrowful home.

These professed gamblers are never content with ruining those of their
own sex, but are ever on the alert and the watch for victims from among
the youthful, unsophisticated, and beautiful of the opposite sex; and
Lillie Lee was far too captivating to remain long in obscurity.

Notwithstanding the vigilance of her mother, she had formed an
acquaintance with one of the most enticing of the gambling brotherhood.
For weeks and months he had been gradually gaining a strong foothold
upon her affections, by practising all those insidious arts which too
often successfully entrap the uninitiated. He knew he was beloved, and,
knowing that, felt secure of his victim.

The affection bestowed upon that dissolute gamester was deserving a
better object. Upon the promise of a speedy marriage, she left her
mother’s roof; and together they fled to one of the interior towns.

Who can graphically describe that mother’s anguish, upon learning the
flight of her darling? Within a few hours of their departure, the
bereaved, heart-broken, and nearly frantic woman was on the track of the
seducer and his victim. She arrived about midnight at the town where the
fugitives had taken up their abode. After travelling nearly thirty-six
hours without once tasting food, or taking any rest, this grief-stricken
woman procured a suitable disguise, and, arming herself with a “Colt’s
revolver,” started on her mission of death.

Grief had rendered her frantic, and, in the desperation of the moment,
she had made a vow, and registered it on the tablet of a broken heart,
that she would avenge her daughter’s ruin by taking the life of her
seducer; forgetting, in the frenzy of excitement, that she was assuming
a power never intended to be usurped by the sinful children of earth.

She threaded her lonely way through the nearly deserted streets of that
inland city, never wavering in her murderous intentions, until she
paused at the entrance of one of those brilliantly lighted
gambling-saloons which spread their contaminating influence on all
around. She entered, expecting and hoping to find the object of pursuit
engaged in his nefarious vocation. She saw, however, only the usual
appurtenances of these houses of sin. Elegantly attired women, within
whose natures long since had expired the last flickering spark of
feminine modesty, were seated, dealing cards at a game of Faro or
Lansquenet, and, by their winning smile and enticing manner, inducing
hundreds of men to stake their all upon their tables. The stricken
mother passed through the crowd, but could nowhere see the object of her
search.

In this manner she visited all the houses of like reputation, with
similar success. By some means or other, she obtained a clue to their
whereabouts, reached the door of their room, and, in a disguised voice,
demanded admittance. After a long delay, the door was opened, and the
despoiled and despoiler met face to face. Quicker than thought, the
revolver was levelled at his breast, when a piercing shriek broke on the
stillness of the night, and the words, “Mother! oh, mother! in Heaven’s
name, desist!” burst, in tones of concentrated anguish, from the
affrighted girl. In an instant she had thrown herself between the
parties, and was imploring her mother to spare the life of him she
loved.

What power had changed that mother’s anger to grief too deep for
utterance? Was it the vivid recollection of a similar scene, enacted
long, long ago, in which she had participated? Did the form of her kind
and sainted mother rise before her? Yes; she beheld again, in fancy,
that calm, sad face, the memory of which had often disturbed her
midnight slumbers. These harrowing recollections of the
would-be-forgotten past were quite too overpowering. It was long before
she was restored to consciousness; and not until repeatedly assured by
that deeply dyed villain, that he would make ample restitution by
marrying her daughter, could she be persuaded to return to her hotel.
The earnest pleadings of the mother could not induce the infatuated girl
to separate from her lover. The mother returned to San Francisco.

Months flew by, scarcely heeded by the happy child. The long-deferred
marriage proved no source of grief to her. She _loved_, and was happy.
She had so much confidence in his honor, that she felt certain he would
marry her. Honor! what a desecration of the word, when used in
connection with such a fiend in human shape!

Perhaps he would have married her,--for he seemed happy only when in her
presence,--if he had not been indissolubly bound to another. Lillie had
yet to learn that stunning truth. It must be so; yet how he trembled,
and shrank from making a disclosure, which, he well knew, would chill
the very life-blood in her veins!

The wife of his youth, tired of living alone in her distant home, had
formed the determination to join her husband, and follow his fortunes in
the “Golden Empire.” Her decision was irrevocable. Even the time was
appointed when he should meet her at the bay. He felt, at times, like
flying with Lillie to parts unknown; for, depraved as he was, she, by
her artless, winning ways, and rich wealth of affection, had stirred
the long-dormant fountain of love in his bosom. Yes, now was coming his
hour of retribution; for he loved Lillie, and must leave her to the fate
that almost always attends the deeply erring. Time was pressing; he must
reveal all. It was done; and for hours she sat like one petrified. She
could only articulate, “Mother! mother! receive again your heart-broken
child!”

They left, that day, for San Francisco,--he, to meet his injured,
unloved wife; she, to be received in the arms of her wronged, but still
loving mother. Under the influence of a powerful narcotic, which had
been administered at her own option, she was conveyed to her mother’s
house; and there we will leave her for the present.

Behold how majestically that mammoth ocean steamer cuts her way through
the sparkling waters of the bay! Now she gracefully turns her prow
towards one of the piers, that is crowded with people. What varied
emotions fill the bosoms of those there assembled! Some are eagerly,
anxiously, expecting the loved wife, from whom they have been separated,
perhaps for years; others, dreading, fearing, to meet those whom they
have ceased to love, and wish they may never behold again. There were
many who had formed connections there that were hard to sever; and
among the last named we find Lillie’s lover. On the steamer’s deck stood
his wife, all eagerness to greet her husband after a two years’
separation.

The meeting once over, he felt he could sustain his part no longer.
Pitiable wife! Henceforth she must be content with a bountiful supply of
pocket money. She may revel in luxury, be surrounded with splendor, have
every wish gratified but the one yearning desire to possess her
husband’s love. That was denied to her. She felt the estrangement
keenly. What a miserable life was hers! Night after night, as her aching
head pressed her lonely pillow, she prayed that death might end her
sufferings.

Early morn, perhaps, would bring her husband home. Perchance his only
word of salutation would be, “Well, wife, last night I won two, three,
or four thousand dollars,” just as the case might be; for he was one of
those successful gamblers who are well versed in all the tricks used to
defraud the unwary. Yes, his coffers were heaped high with his
ill-gotten treasures! What cared the wife for riches, if she must ever
be treated with that cold, studied politeness, always so freezing to the
loving recipient?

Daily I was an unwilling witness to the inward struggles, the pent-up
grief, of the proud woman, for we both resided under one roof. She had
learned all, everything. Whispered rumors were borne to her ears; and
from some source she had learned where was bestowed the affection which
of right belonged to her.

In the interim, what had become of Lillie? Had she repented of her sin,
and chosen purity’s white robe, with which to deck her faultless figure?
Ah, no! She did not possess moral courage sufficient to brave the
heartless sarcasm, the keen reproach, of that class who are ever ready
to judge their fellow-mortals, and who ever forget that divine precept
which teaches us that “to err is human; to forgive, divine.” And then,
after taking the first step in wickedness, it is much easier to follow
on in the downward track, than it is to turn, and tread the flowery path
of purity, which leads to the mansion of happiness.

After the lapse of a few months, she returned to the inland city; “for,”
she remarked, “it is some pleasure to breathe the same atmosphere, to
traverse the same streets, and frequent the same places of resort as the
dearly loved.” She rushed recklessly into dissipation. Her extreme
beauty, and her adventurous, fearless course of conduct, won for her a
widely extended reputation.

One day she would appear in splendid Turkish costume, which admirably
displayed her tiny little foot encased in richly embroidered satin
slippers. Thus would she promenade the thronged thoroughfares of the
city, the observed of all observers. Again she might be seen, superbly
dressed after the fashion of that class of people denominated “fast
men.” How gracefully she held the ribbons, and with what dexterity she
managed her spirited horse, as she dashed madly on over the broad plains
which surrounded the city. In the use of the cigarita she equalled, in
point of fascination, the dark-eyed Spanish women.

I have seen her mounted on a glossy, lithe-limbed race-horse,--one that
had won for her many thousands on the course,--habited in a
closely-fitting riding-dress of black velvet, ornamented with a hundred
and fifty gold buttons, a hat from which depended magnificent sable
plumes, and, over her face, a short white lace veil of the richest
texture, so gossamer-like, one could almost see the fire of passion
flashing from the depths of her dark, lustrous eyes. She took all
captive. Gold and diamonds were showered upon her. Her ringing, musical
laugh seemed the signal at which trouble, care, and sorrow fled away and
hid themselves. Lillie was not soulless, or heartless either; but yet
the hilarity of despair seemed to have fast possession of her. Many a
tear has fallen at the thought of her sad future.

The unloved wife, finding that all efforts to reclaim her husband’s love
proved futile, decided to return to the home of her youth. She took
passage from San Francisco in a steamer upon which Lillie’s mother had
also secured her passage; for, despairing of ever reclaiming her
daughter, she was hastening to leave a country where so much existed to
remind her of her fallen child. Thus were these two sorrowing females
thrown together on ship-board; yet neither by word or look did they
recognize each other. The mother still cherished the same revengeful
feelings towards the seducer; and the proud wife rejected the idea of
allowing, even for a moment, the mother of one who unconsciously had
been instrumental in causing the sky of her existence to be shrouded in
dark, impenetrable gloom, to suspect that she was suffering from
unrequited affection.

The husband was happy again with Lillie, until about two years after his
wife’s departure, when he was unceremoniously hurried into the presence
of his Maker. He met his death by the glittering knife of one whom he
had defrauded of his last ounce of dust. The one to whom he had done the
greatest injury, the most irreparable wrong, wept bitter tears of
anguish over his unhonored grave.

There were many beautiful, depraved women in California who, previous to
leaving their homes in the Atlantic States, had lived virtuous lives;
many who had been the light and the life of the home circle--who had,
indeed, been an ornament to the society in which they moved. Some of
them were desirous of acquiring riches; and, hearing such glowing
accounts of fortunes so speedily amassed in California, and also being
possessed of an adventurous spirit, started, as they termed it, to seek
their fortunes. Some went with their husbands, some with their fathers,
some with their brothers, and too many went alone.

To such as had felt and known all the inconvenience arising from a
limited purse, and thought that if they were blessed with riches, or a
competency even, their happiness would be complete,--to such, I assert,
it was a dangerous country to go to, unless their principles were as
firm as the rocks of their native hills.

One beautiful young girl, in company with her brother, left a pleasant
home, situated in the heart of the “Old Granite State,” and together
they reached the El Dorado of the West. He repaired to the mines, after
having procured a lucrative situation for his sister as governess in a
wealthy Spanish family. Previous to leaving the States, she had been a
music teacher.

After awhile, she became tired of her rather monotonous life, and
conceived the idea of going to one of the interior cities, to see if she
could find something better to do. An offer was made of forty dollars an
evening, if she would sit at a Lansquenet table, and deal the cards. At
first she shrank with horror at the idea of thus appearing in a
gambling-house. Then she thought of her widowed mother at home, deprived
of all the comforts and luxuries so acceptable to the middle-aged and
feeble. Said she, “What an amount of money I can earn in this way,
wherewith to surround mother with every comfort, and yet not compromise
my honor in the least!” Mistaken girl! No woman could long remain
virtuous in one of those gilded saloons of vice, surrounded, as she must
necessarily be, by men who looked upon the opposite sex very much in the
same light as does the fishhawk, which soars above the surface of some
clear lake, ever ready to pounce upon, and bear off in its talons, any
one of the shining piscatory tribe that, more venturesome than another,
approaches too near to the boundaries of its native element.

The night approached on which Jennie was to make her debût in the
sporting world. With a palpitating heart, she repaired, in company with
her employer, to one of the most magnificent gambling establishments in
the city. Upon entering, the dazzling brilliancy of the surrounding
appurtenances, the delicious strains of magical music which burst upon
her ear, were perfectly enchanting; but, as she raised her eyes to the
walls, (from which depended numerous pictures, all calculated to excite
the grosser passions of man, and which were inclosed in magnificently
gilded frames,) she drank in at a glance her position, and fainted. She
was taken to her hotel, and left, for that night, to her own gloomy
reflections.

Oh, Jennie, if you had but listened to, and been guided by, the
spirit-influence of your Guardian Angel, who is ever near and ready,
unless obstinately resisted, to soothe the agitated, wavering heart,
and, by sweet, whispered breathings of divine counsel, is able to lead
the troubled soul to drink of the sweet waters of eternal happiness!

Next morning came the tempter; and, by increasing in amount the already
liberal sum proffered for her services, he gained from her a promise to
make a second attempt the ensuing evening. She went, and this time
succeeded in reaching the seat provided for her; but her head swam, her
step faltered; and well it might, for the licentious gaze of hundreds
rested admiringly upon her superb figure. Her transcendently beautiful
countenance was suffused with the blush of maidenly modesty; and that,
having been an unseen and unheard-of feature in such a place, was all
the more refreshing for its scarcity.

For some time she retained all her original purity; and then the angels
in heaven might have wept, when they saw the tempter secure of his
victim. She had launched her skiff upon the sea of immorality, freighted
with that priceless treasure, virtue; and, in exchange for which, it had
returned to her laden with gold, wherewith she could supply her dearly
loved mother’s every want. Thus she lived for months; not quite so
daring as Lillie, yet drinking sufficiently deep at the Lethean fount to
hush all the whisperings of conscience. She finally terminated her
profitable career of vice by marrying a wealthy, popular man in one of
the mountain towns,--one with whom she had lived on terms of the
greatest intimacy for months before their marriage.

She now moves in good society in one of our Eastern cities, surrounded
with all the appliances of wealth, in possession of the love of a
popular and respected husband. Who, among her numerous friends, would
stop to make inquiries of her past life? And, even if her fashionable
acquaintances knew of her past follies, I am rather inclined to think
they would “wink” at them rather than lose a _wealthy friend_. Such was
life as I saw it in California.




CHAPTER XXXII.


Now, kind friends, a few farewell words, and my story closes. On my ride
from the depot home, I passed the old, familiar trees; yet, thought I,
they have certainly grown smaller. And the brook, too--why, it was
almost dried up; and the hills, how they had diminished in size! I
insisted that some of them had been dug away.

There, before me, was the old homestead, the spot where my heart first
learned attachment; where my mind had first opened its eyes; where a
mother had tenderly nurtured me, from earliest infancy.

How sensibly the shadows of retrospection came creeping over my heart,
as I first drew in sight of that endeared place! The roofs and windows
looked familiar to my eye; the old trees waved their arms as of yore. I
reached the door, raised the latch, and was locked in the embrace of
father, mother, brothers. But the sister whom I had left there a
light-hearted girl, had gone to gladden and cheer another’s home. She
had pressed one darling babe to her bosom for a short space; then it had
winged its way to blissful realms above, and left the mother desolate.

Now, you have accompanied me on my eventful voyage to California, around
Cape Horn, on board burning ships; have sympathized with me in sorrow,
joyed with me in pleasure; crossed the Isthmus with me, astride a mule;
in fact, followed me through “dangers seen and unseen;” and, finally,
reached with me the “old homestead.” And, if you have been repaid for
the amount of time and patience expended, I am heartily glad of it; and,
if you have not, I hope I shall ever remain in “blissful ignorance” of
the loss. Good-by!


THE END.



*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 75851 ***