(p. 193)
BOOK IV
(p. 194)
‘Sometimes his religion seemed to me
Self-taught, as of a dreamer in the woods,
Who to the model of his own pure heart
Shaped his belief as grace divine inspired,
Or human reason dictated with awe.’
WORDSWORTH’S ‘Excursion.’
(p. 195)
A MINING SETTLEMENT
RUMOURS are reaching California that a great rival to her has started up in the far South: – that in Australia have been found gold-fields equal to hers. So flattering are the accounts, both of the richness of the mines and of the condition of society in them, it being said to consist not of men only, but of whole families, that Herbert is strongly tempted thither. The experience he has gained will be most valuable there, and he feels a yearning to be among his own countrymen again. He determines, however, to try one more winter in the Sierra Nevada, in company with an English doctor, with whom he has fraternised, who has lived long in South America, and has for the last year been mining in California.
Herbert and his new companion ‘make tracks ‘from the Bay straight for a far distant settlement, near the source of the Yuba. It is called Downieville, and is surrounded by diggings of extraordinary richness. Lying at the bottom, as it were, of a tremendous well, so steep and lofty are the mountains which immediately close it in, it is difficult of access even on foot. American energy and ingenuity however contrive to supply a considerable population with food. By lashing trees to their waggons, and making their oxen pull back up the hill in order to retard their downward progress, the feat of carriage is safely performed. Certainly it is a rich spot, – yielding
(p. 196)
its gold in no tiny specks, but in beautiful large lumps. But the ground is all occupied, and the two new comers can only look enviously on as they walk among the claims and see in one hole a couple of sailors picking out eight or ten pounds weight a day, and in another men not overstating their gains at a hundred dollars for every hour they choose to work.
Herbert and the doctor at once commence a search among the neighbouring ravines for similar spots. While thus engaged Herbert does not omit to make a few notes illustrative of the state of society in the settlement. People generally are too well off to steal; they all possess something of their own, and can therefore respect the property of others. Violence is more common, arising out of quarrels over drink and gambling. One day, however, a man is taken before the Justice for stealing sundry pairs of boots. He is found guilty, and adjudged to restore the stolen property, and by way of fine, to ‘treat all hands.’
Whereupon the officers of the court, accompanied by his Worship and the whole crowd present, adjourn to the nearest tavern (which by a singular coincidence happens to belong to the Justice in question), and, together with the culprit, drink at his expense. He gets so laughed at that he probably will never steal again, few things being harder to bear than ridicule. Such is the moral that circulates with the liquor through the jovial assemblage. Indeed they enjoy the joke so much, and are so desirous of exhibiting their detestation of thieving, that they stop and drink several times on the same score. The Justice himself becomes somewhat excited; so much so, that it does not occur to him that he may be inflicting
(p. 197)
a far heavier fine than the prisoner can pay. When at last the score is reckoned up and payment required, not only is the money not forth coming, but the man also is missing, having taken advantage of the general engrossment to slip out, and pack up his wardrobe, and make the best of his start to escape over the hills and far away! Unfortunate Justice, who better than thyself can now tell how hard to bear is ridicule? to say nothing of the fine which thou hast inflicted upon – thine own pocket!
Perhaps it would be well if judges were more frequently to taste the effects of their own sentences. The comedy over, but a short interval passes before the curtain rises for a tragedy.
There is a party of Mexicans in Downieville, one of whom, a woman, receives some bitter provocation from an American. In her fury she stabs him, so that he dies. So great was the provocation that some admit that had the murder been committed by an American it would have merited little reprobation. But the Mexicans are in bad odour throughout the country. And the friends of the dead man are furious, and work up the rest until it is determined to hang her. Herbert begs the Justice to use his influence to save her. ‘It would cost him his place,’ he says.
‘But you know perfectly well that they are going to hang her for being a Mexican.’
‘May be, but I advise you not ‘to say that outside.’
‘At any rate you can get it postponed until the people cool down?’
‘Can’t be done. They keep from work, and guard
(p. 198)
her day and night, and there will be hardly a sober man in the place until it is over.’
Herbert talks to a few others, among them to a candidate who happens to be present canvassing for his election to the legislature. They admit the justice of his remonstrances, but remind him that in the United States everything is decided by the majority, and the majority can do no wrong. He finds it difficult to convince them that justice is altogether independent of majorities; that might does not make right, and so forth.
‘May be, but here the majority govern. You have only got to get them to think with you.’
Entering into a general conversation with the crowd in a saloon, he ventures to urge its postponement for a week, that justice might be done in cool blood: other-wise it will be mere revenge, of which they may be ashamed when too fate. Being recognised as a ‘Britisher’ his interference rather enrages them than otherwise. And his attempt ends in his learning that the American populace, in spite of their pretensions, have no more real conception of true liberty than the members of an English trades’ union. They cannot imagine it possible for a majority of the people to act tyrannically. To make it tyranny, they think it must be the act of one or a few.
He was a consistent American therefore who had said to Herbert in Central America on seeing a priest walking in the streets in his canonicals; –
‘There, Sir, he couldn’t do that in New York. Ours is a free country, and the majority won’t allow it.’
(p. 199)
‘A free country, indeed!’ was the rejoinder; ‘where a man can’t wear what clothes he pleases.’
The appointed time arrives. The poor Mexican is brought to the place of execution. Her dark eyes flash round exultingly on the crowd as she declares in broken English, that she would do the same again to any man who should treat her in the same way.
Taking her long black hair in her hands, she holds it up carefully at arm’s length so as to allow the rope to he adjusted beneath it, and then allows it to hang its whole length downwards, and so dies without an effort. .
HIGHER STILL AND HIGHER
MEANWHILE Herbert and his companion are laboriously arriving at the conviction that all the good ground in that vicinity is occupied. The doctor has proved a capital fellow for the kind of life, working like a horse when there is anything to be done, and smoking like a factory chimney at all other seasons. He does a little doctoring too; and having due appreciation of the superiority of his own British qualifications over those of all Americans whatever, does not fail to demand ample remuneration for the exercise of his skill. To patients who remonstrate with him on the exorbitance of his charge, he loves to reply, ‘Think what my medical
(p. 200)
education cost; that has to be paid for!’ which from one canny Scotchman elicits the retort, ‘Certainly, doctor, that’s only fair; but not all at once.’
Disappointed in the diggings, and little pleased with the people, they determine to strike out into a new country. Discoveries of amazing richness are reported, some two hundred miles away, near the boundaries of Oregon, and but few persons have as y et reached the spot. The journey thither is a formidable one; that is, it would be to any but gold-hunters. But this pursuit seems to endow its devotees with a power of despising dangers and subduing difficulties, altogether unimaginable to ordinary stay-at-home mortals; physical difficulties; at least: as for moral ones, people at home are probably quite as ready to surmount any such that may lie in the way of their making money. A fixed idea is apt to blind its possessor to everything except itself. Not without method, however, do the two adventurers go about their purpose. There are no maps, but they know the general conformation of the mountain-ranges; that the rivers all run in parallel lines from the main range of the Sierra Nevada, which lies in a tolerably straight course between north and south, projecting at right angles and equal intervals long lines of hills, between which run the rivers towards the western ocean. The place of their destination is high up on the northernmost of these streams, within the Californian territory. Starting therefore from their present position, their journey must be parallel to the main mountain-range, but right across the great ridges and their intervening rivers. hew rugged and steep these ridges may be, or how rapid and deep the rivers, or how many and fierce
(p. 201)
the Indian tribes by the way, they know not. But the ridges they will surmount; the precipices they will scale or go round; the rivers they will ford or swim; and the Indians they will avoid, parley with, or, if need be, fight. So, with two stout horses carrying a month’s supply of provisions, consisting mainly of dried meat, flour, rice, and such things as are most compact and lightest, packed on their saddles, Herbert and the doctor, armed with knives and pistols, climb the steep hill at the back of Downieville while the morning” is still dark. For Downieville is a dangerous place for men to be seen leaving; and those suspected of having money are sometimes followed and attacked.
The rising sun greets them while breathing their horses on the hill-top after an ascent of some four thou-sand feet. Here the hills appear broken into a confused collection of ridges in which no regular plan is apparent, and making it impossible long together to follow any set direction. Looking down upon them are two mountains that, from their height and peculiar form, will serve as landmarks through many a long day’s journey. One is called the Saddle Mountain, from the shape of its summit, and the other ‘Los Dedos,’ the fingers, from its resemblance to a hand pointing upwards. There is no forest here to impede their view or their progress. AH is rough broken rock, as bare as on the day when it first emerged from the abyss, with the exception of a few stunted shrubs. There is no trail of white man or red. Their destination lies due north; and the sun rising on the right hand alone indicates their course.
No sooner up than down again. Each leading his horse, they cross the ridge and commence a rapid de
(p. 202)
scent. At the bottom, at the same depth as that from which they had already started that morning, is a stream, which their horses are able to ford. They then commence climbing the most promising parts of the mountain before them. In places it is very steep, so that they can only get their horses up by carrying their picket-ropes forwards, planting themselves behind jutting rocks, and fairly hauling them up. Much of the ground is covered with loose angular rocks, which turn over when stepped upon; and sometimes the brush is so thick as to be almost impenetrable. Herbert, in his letter home, describes this part of their route to be like passing over the tops of houses, climbing down the sides, crossing the streets, and climbing up the opposite side.
The first evening they come upon a charming little hollow in the summit of a mountain, circled round the edges with a bank of snow, and richly carpeted with grass in the centre, and flowers growing at the very edge of the snow. Here they bivouack under some dry pines, (to one of which they set fire, first ascertaining that they all incline from them. The fire soon spreads from one to the other; and during the night they are guarded from the presence of obnoxious Grislys by nine tall columns of flame. In the morning, however, there is ice all around them. Reaching one of the southern branches of the Feather river, they encamp in a fine valley, well grassed and somewhat too well watered, for the doctor gets a severe attack of fever and ague. This necessitates a pause, and while the doctor is alternately burning and shivering, Herbert prospects the country round, but finds nothing more exchangeable than granite. While here, the hopes they have built upon the new
(p. 203)
diggings meet with a sudden dash for they fall in with men coming from the very spot for which they are bound, who report that the new gold-field is so limited in extent that a thousand men have hunted through the whole neighbourhood and found nothing, and that the road is, if possible, worse than that which they have already passed over. They decide, therefore, to go no farther in that direction, but to follow up the stream on which they are, to its source, prospecting as they go; and then, if nothing be found to induce them to stay, to mount the main range of the Sierra Nevada, and travel along the ridge back to the Yuba, hoping thus to avoid the break-neck country already traversed. They are able to purchase fresh beef of the men they have met. This, cut into strips and dried in the sun, furnishes provision for some time. A week sees the doctor able to travel again. Their steeds also are thoroughly renovated, and they start up the stream. Though disappointed in the immediate object of their expedition, they are by no means depressed; for is not the whole mountain-range before them, in which it is generally supposed that the gold has its origin? There is certainly some reason for the belief, for experience has already shown that the lumps in which gold is found are larger and larger the farther up in the hills it is sought for; and it is almost an article of faith with miners, as well, writes Herbert, as with seekers for truth, that if they only go far enough they will find the solid parent mass from which, with hammer and chisel, they can cut off as much as they desire.
Without quite entertaining such an idea, it is little wonder that the hopes of the two travellers are raised on reaching a mountain of quartz, so white and massive
(p. 204)
as to appear like snow at a little distance; for gold is always found associated with quartz. It forms the matrix in which the precious metal was originally formed, – the mould in which it was cast.
Before commencing any search for gold, the first thing to be found is grass and water. A small sheltered hollow, studded with immense masses of milk-white rock, affords all that is needed in these respects; and a careful search is commenced in the mountain-side, and ravines, and all places in which gold ordinarily lodges. It proves however a barren mountain, too isolated in its white purity to produce even the divine metal, and leading Herbert to suspect that, even in the mineral system, duality is necessary to fruitfulness; all the quartz in which he has found gold containing also from in the form of pyrites, and being often exquisitely coloured by it. These damp, grassy hollows prove unwholesome sleeping places. Fever and ague again make their appearance; and this time Herbert is the victim. During a week’s inactivity the magic bark of Peru accomplishes its work, and the travellers set themselves towards the last great rise of the Sierra Nevada. Their stock of pro-visions is so far diminished that they can both ride, whenever the country admits of riding; and they begin somewhat anxiously to think that it will he well to look out for a replenishment, in the shape of some venison. Once on the top of the mountain, a week’s journey ought to take them back into a more settled district. The idea of retracing their steps is not for a moment entertained; such is the invincible charm of mystery and adventure. Indeed Herbert is amused by noting of himself how the same peculiarity of disposition which
(p. 205)
impels him to uncontrolled excursiveness of thought, seems to govern also his actual career. ‘Character,’ says Emerson, ‘is destiny.’ No doubt, when once formed. But how about the destiny that precedes and determines the character? What Herbert specially marks in his own case is the precise unison between the two parts of his nature – the physical and the mental. He fancies he discerns in this some proof that what is called man’s higher or spiritual nature, is but a result of his physical organism; or, at least, that the two are so closely connected and interdependent that their separate existence is by no means imaginable to us. As the summer has seen him plunging into the remotest reaches of thought, in search of absolute and unattainable truth, with no guide or safeguard but his own perceptions, – so the fall of the year find shim wandering in the wildest and most terrible wilderness of the New World; leaving the places of certain, though limited, remuneration, in search of the uncertain and unlimited: with no know-ledge of the country, beyond a vague theory of its formation, and no guide or compass beyond the sun and stars. ‘For once,’ he thinks, ‘l am but doing as I have been taught. For what else do they who reject the certain though limited pleasures of this life, for the uncertain and unlimited ones of another?’
(p. 206)
A DESCENT
IT is near sundown when the wanderers reach the summit of the mountain. They find themselves in a large basin, crowded with vegetation, groves of trees with thick underwood, and plenty of grass and water, and abundant tracks of deer and other animals. No signs of Indians have been seen for so long that they deem themselves secure from molestation from that quarter, and are therefore unconcerned about the tremendous blaze made by some dozen dry pines to which their fire extends. Next morning, while riding slowly across the basin, a herd of deer appear feeding under the trees some two hundred yards o ff. Herbert gives his rein to the doctor, cautioning him not to move, and, pistol in hand, (for they had deemed rifles too cumbrous in the rough country they expected to traverse), advanced stealthily from tree to tree until within shot. He had made his selection and was in the act of taking aim, when a shout from the doctor called his attention to two Indians who were approaching in a menacing altitude from another direction. The startled deer at once take themselves off, and he hastens towards the doctor and the horses to be in readiness for flight or action. Seeing the two white men quietly awaiting them, the Indians, who were armed with bows and spears, paused about fifty paces distant, and made signs to Herbert, who was still on foot to advance and meet one of them half way, the
(p. 207)
doctor and the other Indian remaining where they were; a natural precaution against treachery. So Herbert went forward to hold a colloquy with the Indian. Knowing that a confident bearing would be interpreted as a conviction of certain superiority, he walks straight up to the savage smiles at him, and shakes hands, not doubting that he has heard that such is the custom of the whites, and asks if he is hungry. Was there ever a red-skin that was not hungry near the hour of sunrise? ‘Come along and have something to eat then.’ So the two Indians seeing it is peace, which is evidently a great relief to their minds, as it no doubt is to the rest of the party, come up to the doctor, and fall to upon some bread and boiled beans, and take a pull at the doctor’s pipe, and through excess of courtesy or timidity, even pretend that they like it. They have some words in common with the other tribes, and so are tolerably intelligible to Herbert. It appears that last night’s fire attracted their attention and-astonishment, and being in the’ midst of their favourite hunting-ground, had excited the anger of the whole tribe. Suspecting the presence of a hostile tribe, they had sent out small parties in different directions to reconnoitre, agreeing to meet at the place of the fire. Their rancheria was on the western side of the mountain, and they advise the intruders to cross over and descend into the valley on the other side before the rest of the tribe come up. Herbert intimates that they have come there with no desire to frighten away the game, but merely to travel along the ridge towards the white men’s settlements.
The manifest anxiety of the Indians to get rid of them appears too real to be assumed, and they ascribe it
(p. 208)
to a desire to prevent a common with the rest of the tribe, the issue of which their ignorance of the white man’s resources renders doubtful. They therefore signify to the Indians their intention of quitting the mountain, and, desirous of concealing their exact route, caution them not to follow them.
The two Indians remain rooted to the spot until the horsemen are hidden behind a dense thicket. Certain that they can no longer be observed, Herbert and the doctor then change their course, and proceed along the edge of the mountain until they can obtain a view of the country beyond. Clear of the trees, they behold a vast plain stretching out from the base of the range and extending on each side farther than the eye can reach; a sea of grass it seems at that height, unbroken by tree or rock. If obliged to descend, they can make good travelling in the valley by keening near the foot of the hills. But hoping to elude the Indians, they continue along just below the brow for some distance, intending to return and pursue their way along the top when out of their immediate territory.
They are thus but a short way down the hill-side when they perceive that they are being watched from above. Vain hope, to outwit the wild man on his own ground. No doubt it is the same pair with whom they have already spoken, and who have since invisibly dogged every step of their way. But these have been joined by two others. Without betraying that they have discovered the Indians, Herbert and the doctor change their course for a more downward one, until hidden in an almost impenetrable thicket of brushwood. Here they pause and hold counsel. On the rough and tangled
(p. 209)
ridge they are evidently at the mercy of the savages, for there the speed of their horses can avail them nothing. While in the plain the greater distance will be compensated by greater ease in travelling; and if attacked, they will at least be able to rim away. So the resolve is taken to descend into the vast valley below, and follow the base of the mountain until they judge themselves opposite the head of the Yuba, and then remount the ridge and follow the stream down to the settlements.
The first thing to be done, therefore, is to reach the bottom. At present the descent is gradual enough, but it is impossible to say what precipices await them lower down. Already much care is necessary in leading their horses among the sharp rocks, and thorny bushes, and fallen trees, that encumber the mountain-side, for should one of them become lamed their predicament is indeed an awkward one. Indeed it is beginning to look bad enough now, for the spur of the mountain by which they are descending, instead of sloping gradually into the valley, ends abruptly in a hideous precipice while they are scarcely half way down. From the brink of the cliff they can see another spur which promises a safe descent if they can reach it. To do this it is necessary to retrace their path for a little way, and then clamber along the mountain-side for about a quarter of a mile. With much toil about half this distance is accomplished, when farther progress is arrested by the ravine that divides the two spurs. Down this rushes a torrent, making vast noise and splash as it leaps over the perpendicular rock far overhead, and dashes down among a huge tangled mass of trees fallen and stripped, and inextricably knotted together with the thorny growth of many season,
(p. 210)
the whole forming an impenetrable barrier. On the farther side the rock continues its perpendicular front, but along the base of it runs a narrow ledge which seems to open out after a little into easier ground. By climbing over the fallen trees they get on this ledge and find the path passable enough if they can only get their horses over to it. Just below their standing-ground the ravine is crossed by the trunk of a pine some three feet in diameter, the root of which rests on the ledge opposite, and the end slopes clown to their own side, reaching it about ten yards below them. Herbert walks back over this log after exploring the path. The bark is all off, and the surface is sound, and white, and slippery, but it yields beneath his tread as if rotten inside. If they can only get the horses over they can get on well enough, and this log is the only bridge. With the spade and pick-axe carried for mining, he tests the trunk and finds the wood sufficiently soft for working. The doctor joins him, and in about an hour a broad strip of the outer surface is removed, and the brown rotten interior partially scooped out or trodden down, so as to form a trough reaching right across the gulf. The noise of the torrent has probably concealed the sound of their working from the savages who are no doubt accumulating above them. After some trouble one of the horses is induced to step upon the log, Herbert going first leading him by the rein, and the doctor steadying him by holding the tail. Their united weight tries the strength of the bridge rather severely, but the thin outer shell being of a tubular form and therefore not likely to break, only suggests to Herbert a joke about their being in ‘many straits’ together, which he propounds for the doctor’s
(p. 211)
encouragement. Approaching the centre the vibrations increase, and the chasm below assumes an exceedingly uncomfortable aspect. It is impossible to turn back, and there is nowhere to go to if they could. So, pausing a moment, Herbert uncoils the rope from the animal’s neck and goes forward with it to the end, and then draws the poor horse towards him. Seeing all go well the doctor steps back, and the log, relieved of the weight of the two men, proves equal to its work; and the two horses are safety landed on the desired ledge, which soon opens upon a gradually sloping spur, affording an easy descent into the valley. here the horses are allowed to fill themselves with rich, sweet grass, while their riders, less fortunate, for they have sacrificed the principal portion of their day’s allowance in order to propitiate the Indians, content themselves with a few mouthfuls of bread and meat, and resolve to ride some twenty miles farther before stopping for the night, so as to be quite clear of the tribe in the mountain. They can both ride now, for the horses have little else to carry. The delays caused by the sickness, first of one, and then of the other, have made sad havoc with the stock of provisions; and now that they have left the mountain there is not the same chance of meeting with deer, or getting within pistol-shot of them. On camping for the night they take stock of their provisions, and are dismayed to find how small the quantity has become. By limiting their daily ration to about six ounces apiece, they will hold out for eight or ten days. Before going to sleep they cook enough to last two days, making this time a very small fire indeed. The doctor gets into a state of consternation on finding how low his supply of tobacco has
(p. 212)
got, and the discovery is also made that in coming through the brush the package containing ammunition has been torn open, and nearly all the powder has run out. Half a dozen charges may remain, certainly not more.
THE OTHER SIDE
NOTHING occurs to interrupt the night’s rest; and the rising sun reveals a large lake, reaching almost to the foot of the hills, and melting away in the distance. Pursuing their onward course, they make a detour towards the lake; for they have fish-hooks and lines, and a piece of water of that size cannot be without fish. The ground over which they are riding is covered with long grass, and to their surprise, they go two or three miles out into the plain without reaching the water. At some distance ahead it seems to bend towards the hills again; so they resume their course, in order to get round its extremity. Reaching the foot of the hills, they ascend a little way, so as to overlook the valley. The lake is there sure enough, covered with a thin blue mist, and far beyond a line of hills is dimly visible above it. By night they have gone some forty miles, but still without being able to get close to the lake. Herbert assuages his hunger as they ride along by chewing the ears of the tall grass; and the doctor, in order to make the remnant
(p. 213)
of his tobacco last as long as possible, sucks at his empty pipe.
They make no fire that night, but sup upon a small cake of flour which had been baked over-night; and for breakfast they warm up a small quantity of beans. The horses, however, feed gloriously. Two or three hours on their backs makes their riders feel as if they had not breakfasted at all; and it is determined to make an early noon, and try the effect of boiling a small quantity of grass. They have never heard of anybody eating grass since the days of Nebuchadnezzar; but it seems to have agreed with him: why should it not agree with them? What is all grain but a species of grass, with merely altered proportions of ear and stalk? And really, when boiled and the water is poured off, it looks much like spinach, and with a little salt, is not so very insipid to the taste. The discovery puts them in good spirits; but a few hours’ riding reminds them that even horses cannot with impunity change to a grass diet, and long before supper-time arrives, both Herbert and the doctor are forced to the conclusion that the experiment is a decided failure. They determine, however, to try it again after a day or two, with the addition of oak leaves, or bark, to make it more astringent. The next day, after riding a few miles, they perceive a smoke rising from among the trees. There are trails in the grass, showing the neighbourhood of some tribe; and, too hungry to hesitate, they ride up in hope of finding some Indians, and getting fish from them. But they find the fire abandoned, and no signs to indicate what has been cooked by it.
The next day a couple of shots are thrown away after
(p. 214)
some deer, there being no cover to allow a near approach. Towards sunset, when selecting a spot for camping, a grouse or ‘prairie hen’ gets up in front of Herbert. Drawing his pistol from the holster, he fires at it. The bird flies about a hundred yards and drops head foremost, evidently dead. Doctor shouts joyously in anticipation of his supper, and rides to pick it up. There is a good deal of brushwood about, and they hunt for it until quite dark, and at length have to he down with nothing more than their ordinary morsel – ‘five teaspoonsful of boiled beans each.’ At dawn the search is renewed, but with no better success. They are so hungry that the disappointment is fell most bitterly.
The valley now begins to get narrowed by the closing in of the farther range of hills. All appearance of the great lake has vanished, and they ride on in doubt as to whether it was real l y a lake or only a mirage that had deceived them. it is about ten o’ clock when something appears, moving in the distance before them. Coming nearer, it proves to be a man on horseback, – a solitary horseman, who does not shun them. It must be a white man, and they are getting somewhere at last.
No; it is an Indian, with a bow in his hand, a splendid-looking fellow, who rides up close without hesitation, and commences to chat in a very unintelligible dialect. He is clad in a deer-skin, thrown with careless elegance over his shoulders. His rein is a strip of the same material. Without any saddle, he sits his horse in easy and graceful manner, and now and then gallops off a little way in search of game; occasionally drawing up his arrow nearly to the head, as if to keep his arm in practice.
The native bow of California is a very handy one for
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use on horse-back, being only tome thirty inches long; the wood of the country not affording length for the ordinary long bow.
In this manner he guides them through a difficult swamp to his rancheria. here, dwelling in bush huts, they find a small family of Indians, consisting of a couple, – old, almost blind, and wrinkled as baboons, – and three fine young men, with their wives and children. The men come out boldly, while the women and children peer curiously through the bushes at the strangers. The old man examines the blankets and clothes, and takes especial pleasure in stroking the panther-skin covers of Herbert’s holsters, with which he appears greatly impressed; turning away at last with a broad, satisfied grin of delight upon his face, as if indicating that having seen a white man he can now depart in peace. The usual present of fish-hooks and string is made, the Indians showing their comprehension of their use by immediately putting them into their own mouths, and making as if they had hooked themselves.
The whole family are so friendly that the two wanderers determine to rest with them, and recruit themselves, provided they can get some food from them. On signifying their need, the Indians produce some swamp-roots from a heap in one of the huts, intimating that when roasted they are very good. remembering their recent experience, Herbert and the doctor examine and taste them somewhat distrustfully, and at length determine to cook them. There is no fire in the camp, so they begin to collect some sticks, which the Indians no sooner see than they despatch two of the children, who run towards the hill, and soon return with dry
(p. 216)
brushwood, which they lay before their guests, and with the rest of the family stand round to watch their proceedings, evidently anticipating a vast difficulty in lighting the requisite fire. Making a small pile of broken twigs, and placing some dry leaves beneath, Herbert draws forth a small tin box, and takes out a match. At this point the interest becomes intense. Drawing the match sharply over the rough side of the box, a slight report is heard, and the match appears in a blaze, which being applied to the dry leaves, the fire is kindled. The excitement now is general. The children caper about, and the men rim to the huts and report to the old couple and the women the wonderful ease with which the white men have made fire. The roasted roots are bitter, but by no means bad. On asking for something more substantial, the Indians consult together, and intimate that by the time the sun gets low they hope to procure something else. Two of them take their bows and arrows, and are absent all the afternoon, during which the doctor dresses the hand of the third man, which is much swollen by a large thorn being deeply buried in it. The production of a pocket-case of surgical instruments is the signal for much curiosity, and the whole tribe manifests a degree of awe at the prowess of the mighty medicine-man of the pale faces, as he inspects the wound, solemnly commands the patient to lie down and look the other way, and directs Herbert to hold the arm still while he makes an incision with a lancet, and then with a minute pair of tweezers draws forth the often ding thorn, and exhibits it to the admiring spectators. The Indian bears the pain of the operation, which must have been considerable, with fortitude, but cannot help
(p. 217)
wincing under the terrible squeeze with which the doctor expels the last drop of blood and matter that exudes from the wound. Rarely does man look happier than the poor patient as he sits bathing his hand in cold water until all pain is gone, assured that now he will soon be quite well, and able to join his brothers in the chase. The whole party share in his joy, running for-ward to meet and tell the hunters, as they return with their spoil, consisting of a number of field-mice, and a couple of squirrels, which they place at their guests’ disposal. Somewhat to the surprise of the Indians, they take only the squirrels. The matches are again in requisition; this time the entire family crowding round to witness the magic process of ignition. The whole of the game is then roasted in the embers, and the party I ca s I merrily together. Next morning the travellers take leave of the kind-hearted savages with mutual regret, conferring on them unbounded wealth by giving them a small stock of matches, having shown them how to ignite them on a flat stone, and explained that they must be kept dry.
Two of the Indians rim before them on the trail along the valley, every now and then discharging an arrow at some small bird, which, though they shoot with marvellous precision, generally contrives to get out of the way before the arrow reaches it, as if too well acquainted with the missile to care to wait for it. Presently they approach a small pool surrounded by reeds. Motioning to the riders to keep back, the Indians creep through the rushes to the edge, and letting fly at the same moment, one of them shoots a duck through the body, and the other shoots one through the head. These they
(p. 218)
present to their white friends, and before parting with them endeavour to dissuade them from continuing their present course, and energetically point over the hills to the west. Not comprehending their object, and judging that they must go yet farther before they reach that part of the mountain which is opposite to the settlements, Herbert and the doctor continue along the valley. The two Indians, on seeing this, insist on accompanying them, still pointing to the hills on the right. At length, finding all their remonstrances vain, they pause, and with looks of deep dejection and sorrow stand watching them until out of sight.
LOST
ON waking next morning the travellers are surprised to find a strange horse and mule feeding beside their own. The doctor thinks that the mule, being the fattest, may afford them a supply of meat, but is met by the objection that their owners are probably not far off and will resent any such appropriation. Presently two Indians are seen approaching to take the animals. They betray un-bounded astonishment at the sight of the white men. With some trouble they are induced to come near, and after receiving a small present they return with their animals. Having, as they hope, propitiated the tribe through these two emissaries, Herbert and the doctor
(p. 219)
soon follow in the same direction. They have gone about two miles when they are met by some forty Indians, the largest and fiercest-looking savages they have vet seen, all devoid of clothing, and armed with bows and spears. They at once close round the travellers and examine them, and everything they have, making signs that they want them. A gift of fish-hooks and string seems only to whet their appetite.
Not liking the looks of the savages, who keep increasing in number, the two horsemen trot on at a smart pace, accompanied by the whole troop; some seizing their bridles, and all whooping and leaping over the rocks and bushes as they rush along in full career, until they come in sight of the rancheria. Then they set up a yell, which is responded to by the rest of the tribe, who are awaiting their return. They evidently consider Herbert and the doctor as captives conducted in triumph to their village. There is still a space of two or three hundred yards between the two bodies when this occurs to Herbert. They may be acting only as a guard of honour to the strangers, but the appearance of their escort is by no means prepossessing. So Herbert desires the two Indians who are running at his horse’s head to fall back. They only grasp the bridle more tightly, and he calls out to the doctor, who is close behind him, to put spurs to his horse and get clear of their present escort before they can effect a junction with the party in front. Doctor says,
‘All right! but which way?’
‘Straight ahead! through the village and along the valley, for they will soon catch us if we turn into the hills!’
(p. 220)
Then suddenly snatching his bridle out of the Indians’ hands, Herbert plunges his spurs into his horse’s sides, leaps clear of them, and gallops on. The doctor does the same, and presently the whole troop is felt behind, with the exception of two, who still rim on before at a tremendous pace. As they reach the village the whole tribe swarm out like bees, and while the men are nocking their arrows and looking for a signal from the other party, and the women are screaming and pulling their children out of the way, they dash through, leaping over or capsizing whatever hinders, until they find themselves entirely clear. Glancing round they see the savages all standing talking excitedly, and looking after them, evidently in high dudgeon, but not attempting to pursue them farther. They scarcely d raw rein for the next ten miles, and then they pause to recruit their good steeds. It is plain now why their friends of yesterday were so anxious to change the direction of their journey, and they congratulate themselves on escaping so serious a danger.
SAVED
A CAREFUL estimate of the distance they have ridden, shows that it is now time to leave the valley and steer westwards. On turning to the right, to carry out his intention, the doctor declares that by the position of the gun they must be going in exactly the wrong direction.
(p. 221)
‘How so?’ asks Herbert: ‘it is noon, and by leaving the sun to the lei I we must be going to the west.’ The doctor is very positive, and at length relieves his comrade’s perplexity as to the cause of the divergence of opinion by saying, ‘Well, do as you like, but I am quite sure that for the lat twelve years I have always considered that the sun at noon is due north, and consequently – ’
‘Oh, I see,’ cries Herbert, c you think yourself still in South America instead of at forty degrees north latitude.’
After the hilarity that followed the discovery of the doctor’s blunder, and the suggestion that it would be a good thing if people who differed could always as easily comprehend each other’s standpoint, they commence to scale the mountain. The first ascent is long and steep, and so weakened are they by want of food, that they can hardly drag themselves up. Towards evening they look for a camping ground. Down in a hollow appears a patch of grass and water, but the only way to it is over large slabs of granite, smooth and polished, down which the horses slide with their feet close together. After much difficulty and risk they reach the bottom in safety. A hare runs across their path, and Herbert fires at it their last charge but one. Wounding it in the leg, he flings himself off his horse to catch it, but it is still too nimble, and escapes. The horses again feed magnificently on rich green grass that reaches to their backs, so that they can stand and fill themselves without stirring. After measuring out their five teaspoonsful of beans, the travellers lie down to sleep; the doctor for the first time showing despondency. It is not food he cares for, but
(p. 222)
tobacco. So long as that lasted he didn’t care; and his pipe now has lost the very flavour of tobacco. As for perishing in the mountains, he says he does not so much mind that. lie is not responsible. Herbert is guide, and that is his business. And as for singing, Horace talked nonsense when he said ‘Cantabit vacuus.’ He defies an empty man to sing.
Herbert remarks that it was Juvenal who made that observation, but they do not talk much as they ride along, and when they do talk it is all about food. For some nights past their dreams have all been of magnificent banquets, and in the mornings they compare notes as to what they have been feasting on in their sleep. One day while still upon the mountain, they come to a small heap of something white, or rather pale yellow, lying on the ground. To their astonishment it proves to be flour, which has evidently been spilt there months ago. Carefully scraping it u p, they obtain about a pound which is tolerably clean. In the evening they make it into a cake and proceed to eat it. It is so sour that Herbert cannot manage to swallow much of his share. The doctor is more fortunate and finishes it.
The ridge upon which they are travelling turns out to be only a spur of the main range, and they have to descend and cross a long stretch of low country where there is not a drop of water. Hitherto they have drunk freely at every spring, but now that they cannot fill the vacuum even with water, they learn that the pains of hunger are a trifle compared with those of thirst.
What is that large animal in the distance? Surely
(p. 223)
not an ox? If so, there must be not only water, but there is meat, and there may be men, white men.
It is an ox, thin and lame, and feeding near a river that flows eastwards: a river so large and rapid that they must be still far from its sources in the Sierra Nevada: – still on the wrong side of the mountain, and still very far from any white man’s abode.
Matters indeed look bad, for they know not where they are, and their whole stock of food does not weigh a pound. Herbert remembers having heard thee migrants speak of a river called the ‘Truckee’ which has to be crossed several times on the route from the western States to California.
If this is it, the great western train may pass some-where near them; and this ox may have been abandoned by some party as too lame to travel farther. Its shyness, on their attempting to approach it, shows that it has been alone for some time.
Making an enclosure by passing their ropes round some trees, they succeed in driving it in. Herbert makes a careful examination of his pistol. It is the last charge: and if that fails –
The poor beast is very quiet and eyes him wistfully, as, standing by a tree, he leans the barrel against it, and looks steadily along it, aiming at the curl on the forehead. The doctor says in a low tone, ‘Don’t shoot him there, the skull is too thick for a pistol-shot. Take him side-ways under the ear.’ Herbert shifts his position, bringing his aim to bear on the back of the head just below the root of the ear, and pulls the trigger. With a convulsive start the ox falls dead, and the two famine
(p. 224)
stricken wanderers speak not aw o rd, but look at each other with the aspect of men who have just escaped au imminent danger. The first steak proves too tough to be eaten: not unlikely, when the animal had lately come off” a journey of two thousand miles over rocky mountains and salt deserts. They will try stewing. The coffee-pot is filled with small pieces, and boiled for several hours. The meat is still uneatably tough, and indescribably nauseous for the want of salt. By turns they keep the pot simmering all night. In the morning they might as well have attempted to cat their boots. Chopping it up into very small pieces, and bruising it between stones, they are able to get enough down to keep body and soul together. With a large piece in their saddle-bags they follow up the course of the river, the water of which is so cold, and the current so rapid, that they are persuaded it can contain no fish. Soon, tracks become abundant, first of cattle, then of wheels; and presently they come upon a broad dusty road, with signs of recent travel. Then the remains of a fire, and a date upon a tree, telling that emigrants have rested there that morning. Yes, there is no doubt of it. There is a train of waggons upon the road, and but a little way in advance. Pressing on eagerly, they soon come up with a large party of men ‘nooning’ beneath some trees. They are all eating their mid-day meal, and eye the two wanderers somewhat coldly.
‘Can we buy food of you? for we are starving,’ they ask, eyeing, not the in e n, but the bread in their hands.
‘No, we are on short allowance ourselves,’ is the answer. ‘Where do you come from?’ At first they
(p. 225)
are incredulous that Herbert and the doctor are from the diggings, and have been wandering for more than a month in the mountains. They take them for emigrants who have pushed ahead of their party, on the chance of their being able to sponge upon those whom they might overtake. For there is great scarcity of food among all the emigrants that season.
Once assured that they have really come from the mines the emigrants show them no little kindness? Each man breaks off a small piece from the bread he is eating, and gives it to them. A little contribution of coffee is made from each pannikin. They are about thirty in number, so that Herbert and the doctor make the best meal they have had for many a day. And now the emigrants ply them with questions about the mines.
They have come nearly two thousand miles by land to dig for gold. There are some sixty thousand on the way. The amount of provisions necessary for the journey has generally been under-estimated, and famine and cholera have lined the road with graves. They are now at the gates of the golden hills. The whole region of California is before them. Any information which will enable them to get to work without delay on entering the country, will be most acceptable. Nay, if Herbert and the doctor will guide them to such a spot, they will gladly share their rations with them for the rest of the journey. Their desires being moderate, Herbert thinks he knows a locality which will suit them. So they journey on together, the doctor tending the sick and wounded, and happy in once more having something to put into his pipe. In ten days more, for bullock waggons travel slowly, the Sierra Nevada is crossed
(p. 226)
and Herbert has conducted them to a pleasant location near the lower Yuba, where he has before found gold in sufficient quantifies to yield four or five dollars a day. His friends are well pleased with the place, which is, how-ever, hardly rich enough to induce him to settle upon it also. But the first thing to do is to procure a supply of provisions, and recruit their wasted bodies. And this the doctor does with so much energy that he nearly kills himself with a colic.
A LAST TRIAL
THE autumn being by this time far advanced, the two companions are no sooner fit for work than they seek a spot whereon to fix themselves for the winter. Herbert wrote but few notes of this winter’s operations. It seems to have been passed in extraordinary hard work, far up in the snowy ranges, sometimes by themselves, sometimes with the aid of hired men.
Tolerably successful, they return in the spring to the Bay, having narrowly escaped being robbed of their winter’s earnings at a road-side house.
On reaching San Francisco Herbert discovers that one of the houses in which he has deposited money has failed leaving him but little better off for the last season’s work. He finds also a letter from his father mentioning the Australian discoveries and the rapid development of
(p. 227)
that country in consequence, and offering him a small allowance if he will go the re and abandon his ‘vagabond ‘life. He reminds him also that his education and college testimonials will still be available, should he think proper to enter the ministry in that colony. Herbert writes a grateful acknowledgment, expressing his hope that he may still get on without burdening his family, and his satisfaction at knowing that his intention of going to Australia will meet with approbation at home; but he does not add that he is not ashamed to dig, but would rather starve than beg to be put into one of the priests offices that he may eat a piece of bread! That thought he reserves for his private notebook, from which also the following extracts will serve to indicate the stage and direction of his mind’s progress during that winter.
‘Necessity does not vanish from the universe before the supremacy of Will. God must act for the best. Of various courses he is not at liberty to select that which is least for his own “glory.” If at any period he has foreseen the whole future course of events, he can only carry it out without the change of one smallest item in the infinite programme. Although already realised in the divine imagination as exactly as if they had occurred, the events of eternity must yet be all re-enacted in their living reality. Surely, rather than this, it is easier to believe that the existing series of things is the actual first thought, or life of God. “Matter is mind precipitated? “otherwise to the infinite foreknowledge all is stale certainty: there is no trust, and no hope. Man is happier than God, for he does not know the future. (Does the charm of curves consist in this, that they prevent
(p. 228)
us from seeing all at once? for I entirely mistrust the association theory.)
* * * *
‘A species of fatalism may be found in music, or any other art. If the music be what we call good, each note and phrase follows its predecessor inevitably. There is no choice about it. Any other would seem forced and misplaced. Thus, all great works are evolutions from some simple theme, out of which they grow naturally and necessarily in a unique and concordant whole. As it is bad composition in which any change can be made that is not for the worse; so in the chain of circumstances from the beginning until now, no single event could have been otherwise without marring the effect and disposition of the whole universe.
* * * *
‘To be able to say that anything is imperfect involves a knowledge of the end for which it is designed. Do we know our own end?
‘ “For the glory of God,” says the theologian, and so far with truth. But he adds, “we do not fulfil that end as we might and ought.”
‘How does he know that? We cannot call a work divine, unless it is adapted to fulfil the divine purpose. The fact is that men imagine for themselves an end, and condemn the work for not answering the end they have imagined. Man’s God is man, not God. If the end of creation be the highest happiness of all its parts, and that happiness is only attainable through such a course of instruction or development as we find going on in the world, who dare say that man falls short of fulfilling the divine intention? Man’s idea of perfection is equilibrium,
(p. 229)
rest, annihilation. He would attain it at once, and cease.
* * * *
‘Is the initial chaos of human ignorance struggling towards the light, more blameable for its excesses and blunders than the primal chaos of the physical world?
* * * *
‘There is a uniformity in the divine method in nature; first, physical, then moral order, each evolved gradually out of primitive confusion. being required for further use, in the realisation of future perfectibility, the materials must not be destroyed. They are not faulty; they have only not yet reached the highest development of which they are capable. It is not part of the divine method to produce this at once. There is no real confusion; only an earlier stage of the process. Chaos is a fiction. We really mean by it a condition of things not adapted for man’s well-being. “Embryo” better expresses what is meant.
* * * *
‘By perfection, whether here or elsewhere, is only meant the adaptation of our nature to our conditions.
* * * *
‘One of the men working; for us this winter, a sober, staid New Englander from the State of Maine, is deeply impressed by the accounts he has received from home about a practice called “Spirit-rapping.” He tells the most wonderful stories of Communications received from the dead by the medium of knocks upon the table, and states that “quite a number” of Americans believe in their reality and divinity. The doctor scoffs most
(p. 230)
unmercifully at it all, and wonders how I can listen to such trash. He says it is “just like me; incredulous about what everybody else believes, and yet ready to swallow anything.” I know that this is a charge often brought against sceptics. But I think the inconsistency is only apparent. I can listen with a mind open to conviction to narratives of the wonders of Mesmerism, or even this new Spirit-rapping, because so long as they claim nothing beyond the limits of nature, their phenomena come within our legitimate sphere of inquiry. But directly I hear assertions regarding anything pretending to be supernatural, my whole reason rises against it as an impossible monstrosity. Nature, with me, including all that is.
* * * *
‘Talking with the doctor about the distribution of gold, which has long puzzled me, he says that he has no doubt one of the agents has been ice. The country was once probably much colder, either by difference in the earth’s climate, or from having been once at a greater elevation, and may have contained such glaciers as he has seen in the Cordilleras of the Andes, which by grinding against the sides of the hills detach the surface materials, and transport without farther attrition what-ever has been collected by the ice to the valleys below, and then, by melting, gently deposit it upon the surface of the soil. This is more probable than the common notion of the miners, that the gold has been thrown up from a volcano, and remains much where it has chanced to fall.’
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