A Dusky Albatross
Whales—Sunshine—The Pacific Ocean and Tom Moore—Wormy Bread and Impure Water—A Pilot—Arrival in the Harbor of San Francisco—The City—Dismantled Ships—My last Visit to the Bark—Statement and Counter Statement—Angry Remonstrance—Mr. Spring and his two Journals—Final Adieu to the James W. Paige.
Whales—Sunshine—The Pacific Ocean and Tom Moore—Wormy Bread and Impure Water—A Pilot—Arrival in the Harbor of San Francisco—The City—Dismantled Ships—My last Visit to the Bark—Statement and Counter Statement—Angry Remonstrance—Mr. Spring and his two Journals—Final Adieu to the James W. Paige.
W
We beat all day to the north against a head wind, and made but slow progress. We strove to wear away the tedium of the day by looking at the land, and watching the birds and the whales, of which last a considerable number were seen near the ship, sometimes three or four together. We saw one of these monstrous animals plunge down into the water, throwing his tail above the surface as he made his plunge, and in a moment after, come up again with such force and rapidity as to carry his ponderous body entirely into the air. Such an immense body, as it came down again into the water, could not fail to produce a great commotion. This act of leaping out of the water seemed to be performed in a similar manner to that of the sturgeon and smaller fish in our rivers and lakes. They frequently came close to the ship, playing by its sides, plunging down on one side, and coming up on the other. Among the birds, were a number I had not seen before, and several Brown Pelicans.
The weather was cold, but after a dark, foggy morning, the sun came out, and the sky continued unclouded during the day. This was very cheering, for we had had scarcely an hour's sunshine during many weeks. What a contrast between the Pacific Ocean as I find it, and the pictureI had formed of it. I had even associated it with unclouded skies and genial warmth, with mild breezes and gently undulating waters. I had dreamed of it as "The Blue Summer Ocean," in which Moore might have found "The Bright Little Isle," of which he so sweetly sings in one of his sweetest songs. And there is many an isle scattered over this great waste of waters, which would almost answer to Moore's description,
"Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers,"
"Where a leaf never dies in the still blooming bowers,And the bee banquets on through a whole year of flowers,"
many a spot, which air, climate, soil, vegetable productions, and beautiful scenery have rendered as perfect elysiums, as nature, unassisted by art, can produce.
But leaving Moore, poetry, sunshine, and every pleasant thought, let us once more come back to the unwholesome realities of the bark. In addition to the many luxuries with which our palates had been regaled during the voyage, we had for several weeks past been feasting on wormy bread—not myself, but my fellow-passengers. My disgust at hard-bread had become so intense, that I could not swallow it, good or bad. I think I must have starved had I been confined to it. But being on good terms with the stewards and cooks, I had found means to obtain an extra allowance of soft-tack, sufficient for my urgent wants. Few of the passengers were so fortunate. One of them, finding no escape from the wormy hard-bread, strove to make a little sport out of it, by declaring that these living vermin had imparted to the bread a peculiarlivelyflavor, which was very palatable.
Then, again, as the supply of water we had taken in at Talcahuana, became exhausted, we were obliged to resort to the old stock from Frankfort. Some of this was so excessively filthy, and had acquired such a nauseous, such aputrid taste and smell, that several of the passengers who were far from being troubled with weak stomachs, actually vomited on drinking it. Even boiling it, and making tea or coffee with it would not purify it. But we had better water on board, and after many remonstrances and altercations with the captain, we got it.
September 7.We took a pilot on board in the morning. He brought a paper or two, which we read with great interest, and it will be readily believed that we were most eager in our inquiries for news.
Among other objects that attracted our attention as we approached the harbor, was a great sand bank stretching a mile along the coast, and extending a considerable distance inland. It was the largest bed of sand I had ever seen, and was a very fair specimen of a miniature desert. Several large rocks scattered along the coast presented a lively appearance, from the multitude of sea birds that covered them; and one of them attracted our particular notice, being perforated with a hole, sufficiently large, I thought, to admit the passage of a boat through it.
We now ascertained that the place where we so narrowly escaped shipwreck, was near Monterey, about sixty miles south of San Francisco.
We entered the harbor in the afternoon, and anchored about a mile from the city. And thus ended the voyage of the James W. Paige, one hundred and fifty-eight days from the day we set sail from Frankfort.
A large fleet of boats surrounded the ship as soon as we anchored, and I took passage in one of them in company with several others, and after passing through a wilderness of ships, steamers, and dismantled hulks, we landed in the city. Our first business on landing was at the Post-Office, where I was made happy by the reception of a package of letters informing me that all my friends were alive and well.
We then sought a hotel, and, what we least expected in California, the first one we tried was a temperance house, the "United States Temperance House." After tea I took a walk with J. Tyler up Telegraph Hill, whence we had a fine view of the city and harbor. On our return we went into several gambling-saloons. These were large rooms, richly furnished, and supplied with large tables, loaded with heaps of glittering gold and silver, to be staked in the various games, for which each table was appropriated. Hundreds of people crowded into these saloons, many of them with no other motive than mere curiosity, but others with the foolish hope of filling their pockets from those tempting heaps of coins.
A peculiar feature in the harbor of San Francisco at this time, and one that struck me very forcibly on our first approach, was the great number of dismantled ships that lay thickly scattered around it. These ships had a very old, ruinous, antiquated appearance, and at first sight, gave me an impression, that this new-born city had been inhabited for ages, and was now going to ruin. Most of them have their lower masts standing, and supported by a few ropes and chains. A large portion of them had been deserted by their crews on the first outbreak of the gold excitement, and were recklessly left to their destruction, while men and officers rushed blindly and wildly to the mines. These ships have, however, been made subservient to a valuable purpose, having been converted into store-ships by the merchants. Some of them had doors cut in their sides, with short flights of steps from the water. Some were run aground near the shore, and wharfs and streets were built around them, where, with houses erected on them they could scarcely be distinguished from the surrounding stores.
September 8.I went on board the bark for my baggage. The captain, mate, and a large portion of the passengers were ashore. On going into the after house, my eye accidentally caught a letter which was addressed to Captain Jackson, expressing great thankfulness for his kind and gentlemanly treatment of the passengers, and charging the blame of disputes and quarrels to the passengers. It was written by Mr. Johnson and signed by Mr. Spring and several others, who were well aware of its utter falsity. Knowing that it was intended to counteract the numerous statements, which would be made at home prejudicial to Captain Jackson, I seized a pen and wrote a certificate, as near as I can remember, in the following words:
BarkJames W. Paige, Sept. 8, 1852.Whereas, a paper highly laudatory of Captain Jackson has been circulated for signatures on board this bark, a regard for truth impels us to say, that the conduct if Captain Jackson during the voyage just ended has been highly arbitrary, ungentlemanly, insulting and abusive, and that even the female passengers have, in many instances, been subjected to the grossest abuse from him." During the few moments I was engaged in getting signatures to this paper, Mr. Spring, who was standing near, overheard me read it. It gave him great offense, and he remonstrated very strongly with me against the terms in which it was expressed. He said I had virtually charged him and others with falsehood, and urged me to withdraw or modify my statement. I refused to do either; and this good man, with whom I had had the most friendly relations during the voyage, now quivered with passion, while he intimated that a prosecution for libel would be instituted against me. Mr. Spring was liable to the charge of duplicity in signing that paper, so full of flattery and falsehood; and his chief occupationduring the voyage was marked by a singularity, to say the least of it, not quite compatible with a strict regard for truth. He had kept a journal of the voyage, and noted the occurrences of each day much more carefully and minutely than I did. He often read passages from his journal to the passengers, and it was well known that his opinion of the captain coincided with that of a large majority of the company. He had been several times chosen on committees to remonstrate with Captain J. on our treatment and fare. But towards the latter part of the voyage it was observed that a friendly understanding had grown up between him and the captain, which gave rise to many conjectures as to the cause. But whatever may have been the cause, the effect of this newly formed friendship was a revision of Mr. Spring's journal, or, more properly speaking, a rejection of it, and the writing of a new one, in which every thing offensive to Captain Jackson, and all occurrences of an unpleasant nature, in which the captain had acted a part, were omitted, and only the more agreeable transactions and events were recorded; in fact, changing the true and unvarnished record of the voyage, which he had made with so much labor, for a smooth and sunny picture, which, though it might not be chargeable with actual falsehood in its details, would, nevertheless, convey to the reader a grossly false impression of the character of Captain Jackson, and the annoyances and vexations attending the voyage. This revision of his journal cost him much time, though not so much as might, on first thought, have been expected. So many occurrences were necessarily omitted, that for every sheet he had at first written, a page now sufficed. His original journal, which I would have given a dollar to possess, he threw overboard. His new one was to be forwarded to a paper in Calais, Me., for publication.
BarkJames W. Paige, Sept. 8, 1852.
Whereas, a paper highly laudatory of Captain Jackson has been circulated for signatures on board this bark, a regard for truth impels us to say, that the conduct if Captain Jackson during the voyage just ended has been highly arbitrary, ungentlemanly, insulting and abusive, and that even the female passengers have, in many instances, been subjected to the grossest abuse from him." During the few moments I was engaged in getting signatures to this paper, Mr. Spring, who was standing near, overheard me read it. It gave him great offense, and he remonstrated very strongly with me against the terms in which it was expressed. He said I had virtually charged him and others with falsehood, and urged me to withdraw or modify my statement. I refused to do either; and this good man, with whom I had had the most friendly relations during the voyage, now quivered with passion, while he intimated that a prosecution for libel would be instituted against me. Mr. Spring was liable to the charge of duplicity in signing that paper, so full of flattery and falsehood; and his chief occupationduring the voyage was marked by a singularity, to say the least of it, not quite compatible with a strict regard for truth. He had kept a journal of the voyage, and noted the occurrences of each day much more carefully and minutely than I did. He often read passages from his journal to the passengers, and it was well known that his opinion of the captain coincided with that of a large majority of the company. He had been several times chosen on committees to remonstrate with Captain J. on our treatment and fare. But towards the latter part of the voyage it was observed that a friendly understanding had grown up between him and the captain, which gave rise to many conjectures as to the cause. But whatever may have been the cause, the effect of this newly formed friendship was a revision of Mr. Spring's journal, or, more properly speaking, a rejection of it, and the writing of a new one, in which every thing offensive to Captain Jackson, and all occurrences of an unpleasant nature, in which the captain had acted a part, were omitted, and only the more agreeable transactions and events were recorded; in fact, changing the true and unvarnished record of the voyage, which he had made with so much labor, for a smooth and sunny picture, which, though it might not be chargeable with actual falsehood in its details, would, nevertheless, convey to the reader a grossly false impression of the character of Captain Jackson, and the annoyances and vexations attending the voyage. This revision of his journal cost him much time, though not so much as might, on first thought, have been expected. So many occurrences were necessarily omitted, that for every sheet he had at first written, a page now sufficed. His original journal, which I would have given a dollar to possess, he threw overboard. His new one was to be forwarded to a paper in Calais, Me., for publication.
I obtained twenty-five signatures to my paper in a few minutes, and then, gathering up my baggage, I bade a final adieu to the James W. Paige with a regret, which I think was remarkable only for its minuteness.
Our voyage is ended, but not quite our book. Many incidents of an unpleasant nature, which had occurred on the voyage, have been omitted, and the omission has somewhat shortened the book. The following extracts from the continuation of my journal through a long sojourn on the Pacific Coast, are appended as a substitute for the rejected passages.
Nature's beauty
Scenes in Sacramento.
May, 1853.California in early times offered innumerable scenes partaking of the ludicrous and the horrible, and a person in search of either, might have his taste and his curiosity gratified at almost any moment. The Horse Market in Sacramento was the great resort of every imaginable description of characters, and such a scene of uproar and confusion as it presented at a public sale is utterly indescribable. There were some fine sycamores standing there before the Great Fire which destroyed the greater portion of the city. They had been found very useful for suspending thieves and robbers in the days of lynch law. After the fire, the trees were felled, and the stumps afforded excellent stands for the auctioneers. At one of the public sales of horses I saw four auctioneers stationed upon these stumps. The full strength of their lungs was called into exercise, and they were vociferating in their loudest tones, each one striving to outdo the others in noise, and all extolling the various merits of their respective animals with an eloquence peculiar to horse-jockeys, while their assistants, mounted on the horses, were riding around with a speed and a carelessness that threatened death to half the multitude that thronged the streets.
While this scene was enacting, a fight was taking place in a neighboring gambling-house between two combatants who were seen rushing from the house followed by an excited multitude. One of the duelists, bruised and bloody, was retreating from the other, who followed close upon him, dealing repeated blows, which the poor fellow sometimes turned to parry, while hastening to make his escape. The crowd followed on, shouting like demons, and increasing in numbers at every step. "Oh, that is dreadful!" exclaimed a horror-struck young man, who had but recently arrived in California, and had not been initiated in its manners and customs. The throng of excited brutes at length came to a stand; the chase and the battle were ended; the victory was won, and the defeated combatant was taken to a surgeon who seemed to be the only one benefitted by the affray, and who exclaimed in a tone of charming sensibility: "Let them fight to their hearts' content, if they will only employ me to repair their broken heads!"
Scarcely was this affair ended, when a loud shout was heard down the street, and we beheld a stampede of Spanish cattle followed by several herdsmen on horseback, who rushed along with furious speed, swinging their coiled lassos as they went, now striving to turn the drove of wild cattle, and now retreating before them as they pressed forward unchecked by horses or riders; now dashing along side by side with a single ox, whose speed nearly equalled the fleetness of the horse; and now in the midst of the drove, which seemed scarcely to make room for them. However, after much shouting, hallooing, and racing, the cattle were turned back, and the exciting scene was over.
But again another shout, and a team of oxen was seen running away with a wagon in which was seated the teamster. After running a considerable distance, the teamster,watching a favorable opportunity, leaped nimbly from his wagon, and headed his oxen, who, stopping suddenly, broke the rigging attached to the yoke, and letting the tongue of the wagon fall to the ground, brought oxen and wagon together in a heap.
All this for one hour's sport in one locality in Sacramento. What sort of amusements they were enjoying at the same time in other parts of the city I did not learn.
Cattle Stealing in Contra Costa.
August 17, 1854.My neighbor, Mr. R., has lost an ox. It was stolen; and a horse stolen also. Another neighbor, Mr. A., has lost three valuable oxen in the same way.
The great facilities for concealing oxen, horses, and other property in the innumerable deeply secluded valleys and hiding-places that occur in every direction in the mountainous country, which, commencing at these Redwoods, extend to the valley of the San Joaquin, offer too many inducements to the numerous idlers and vagabonds that prowl about the land to be visited; and consequently theft, robbery, and I may almost add, murder, are but every day occurrences. No man who owns a horse, an ox or swine, can feel secure of them for a moment when out of sight. These thieves are often associated in large gangs, and consist of both Americans and Mexicans; and so great is the number of their accomplices in some of the villages, that when one of their number is detected, means are immediately furnished him to escape. The very officerwho is commissioned to secure him, is not unfrequently a party concerned in the thefts. Many of the butchers are supposed to be leagued with the thieves, and, by purchasing their stolen property at low prices, they thus share the profits with them.
August 23.Justice has at last overtaken two of the cattle thieves. Suspicion had for some time past rested on some butchers at San Antonio, and they were watched, and detected in the act of slaughtering in the night some cows and oxen that had just been stolen. Messengers were immediately sent many miles around the country to notify the inhabitants to assemble for the trial of the felons. The people of the Redwoods, who had suffered severely from the depredations of the thieves, turned out almosten masse. The house of the butchers was the place appointed for the trial. Passing by that place at the time, I had the curiosity to stop for a moment, and was surprised to observe a strange hesitation and faltering among the people assembled. A long discussion ensued as to the proper mode of conducting the trial, which ended in turning the thieves over to the legal authorities. This, under the existing state of things, was nearly equivalent to giving them their liberty; and it was resolved by a number of determined fellows, that they should not so easily escape. They were taken before a justice for examination, and their guilt fully proved. But they asked for an adjournment of the trial till the next day, for the alleged purpose of getting some witnesses, but in fact, to give their friends and associates an opportunity to rescue them. The adjournment was granted, and they were taken to a hotel and put under a guard, of which Andrews, from whom they had stolen the oxen, was the head. In the course of the day, a party proceeded to the house and corral of the thieves, and burned them to the groundwith all their contents. Not an article was appropriated to their own use by these avengers of their own wrongs. It was justice, not plunder, they sought. Valuable saddles, harnesses and furniture, were all sacrificed.
There was a gathering of the friends of the thieves in the night, but they were driven off by the boys from the Redwoods, who had stationed themselves around the house. These men now began to see that they must act, and act promptly too, or the whole business would prove but a farce, and the guilty villains would escape. They therefore dispatched horsemen to the Redwoods to summon the people again to come and assist in the execution of the two principal criminals. Before morning, a sufficient number had arrived to carry out their plans, and they proceeded to action. A number of them went to the house where the prisoners were confined, and in defiance of the proprietor, who was supposed to be confederate with the thieves, they rushed to the room, and seized one of them, whom they hurried away. It was a scene of great confusion and terror. The guard made a show of resistance, but it was only a show. They fired several shots, but were careful to elevate their revolvers above the heads of their assailants; the balls lodged in the ceiling, and nobody was killed or wounded. The affair had doubtless been preconcerted between Andrews and the assailing party. They hastened the guilty thief to an oak a few rods distant, having at the outset fastened a rope to his neck; and scarcely a moment had elapsed ere he was dangling from a branch. They then returned to the house, and seizing another of the thieves, hurried him away as before. The fellow was in an agony of fear and horror, begged most piteously for his life, protested his innocence, and offered to make important disclosures if they would spare him. All this would not have saved him had it notbeen discovered by one of the party when they arrived at the tree, that this was not the man they intended to execute. He was therefore led back more dead than alive, having endured far more suffering and horror than his more hardened confederate, whom he saw hanging from the tree, and who had paid the penalty which he so narrowly escaped. The intended victim was then taken to the place of execution, and immediately suspended beside his dead comrade.
While these executions were taking place, many friends of the thieves gathered round, uttering threats and denunciations, but a dozen rifles and revolvers were leveled at them, and they were intimidated into silence.
These executions caused great excitement at the time, and much discussion ensued in the papers respecting them. But the community very generally acquiesced in the necessity of the measure, though every one regretted it. Complaint was made to the grand jury of the county against several of the leaders of the lynching party, but no bill of indictment was found against them for want of evidence. Many of the people of Oakland were highly exasperated at the audacity of the Redwoods boys, and threatened to go and hang them to their own trees. But this served rather to amuse the boys than to frighten them.
A few weeks after these executions, word was brought to the Redwoods that a poor man had been robbed of some oxen in Oakland through the villainy of one of the officials in that city. A company quickly assembled and marched down to the city, determined to have justice done the poor man, and hang the officer if circumstances required it. They had not forgotten the threats of the Oaklanders to hang them, and determined to put their courage to the test. The case was investigated by the mayor of the city, and the mob resolved to await his decision. But much time was occupied in the investigation,and they grew impatient and clamorous. Meanwhile many of them paraded through the streets, uttering defiance to the citizens. "Here is a target," said a brawny, black-bearded Kentuckian, (the same I had encountered in the Redwoods, and who sold me a vulture,) as he strode along with a rusty rifle on his shoulder, and struck his breast. "Here is a target for the Oakland sharp-shooters. Let 'em try it if they dare." "I'm from the Redwoods," roared out another. "Where is your Oakland company to hang me?" "What are you after?" asked a spectator of one of the boys. "Justice," he replied. "But how are you going to obtain it?" "By the halter, if the money isn't paid pretty soon," he replied with an oath.
The affair was approaching a crisis. The mayor's investigation had been protracted, and the clamors and shouts of the mob often reached his ears, when at last he found it necessary to acknowledge that the proceedings of the officer were illegal, that the city was liable for the value of the cattle, and in order to appease the mob, he pledged his individual word for the payment of the money. The party then returned triumphantly to their homes in the Redwoods, and thus the affair ended.
Felling Trees in the Redwoods.
January 30, 1854.On an excursion to-day I stopped on the way to see two trees felled. When the reader is told that I had passed more than six months in the Redwoods, and had seen the trees fall around me almost every day, he will suppose that such scenes would lose their novelty for me. It is, however, a scene of noordinary sublimity to behold one of those monster trees, nearly as high as the Bunker Hill Monument, fall to the ground, and it is a sight which I never tire of seeing.
I speak of them as beingnearlyas high as the Bunker Hill Monument, because I have seen none of the largest and tallest trees, they having been felled before I arrived here. But a comparison with the monument will serve to give a better idea of their great height than a statement in figures. Imagine then one of them, such as have grown here, and such as are still standing in other forests,—imagine one placed beside the monument, and towering fifty or even seventy-five feet above it, and you will have a conception of the grandeur of these magnificent forests.
The two trees whose fall I was about to witness stood side by side half way up a steep acclivity. One of them had been cut off, and stood leaning against the other.
Two men were at work on the latter tree. I seated myself on a stump at the foot of the hill, and awaited the result. Presently a sharp snap or crackle announced that the tree was about yielding to the efforts of the axe-men, and they stopped and looked up. It stood, however, and they continued to ply their axes. Soon there came another loud crackle, and the two trees began to sway in the direction the axe-men had intended. They now retreated to a secure place, while the trees, moving slowly and majestically at first, but with an accelerated motion, came sweeping down, accompanied with a loud and protracted crash as the fibres of the uncut portion were torn asunder, and striking the ground with a force that made it tremble, and with a noise like the booming report of a heavy cannon. Each tree was broken into several pieces, which came rolling like mighty giants down the hill, tumbling over each other, and strewing the ground with large fragments torn from their sides and ends, while every branch was strippedfrom the trunks. They landed at last at the foot of the hill, and within a rod of the stump on which I sat, and sent forward a thick and suffocating cloud of dust, from which I hastened to make my escape.
"Ah! we would go a great many miles in Massachusetts to see such a sight as this;" said one of the axe-men, a young man from that state, "But we can never see any thing like it there."
Solitude.
December, 1853.An important change has been in progress for some time past in the Redwoods. Three or four months ago I was surrounded by a deep, dense forest, in which was a busy population at work. But this industry fast swept away the forest, and as the timber grew scarce, they began to remove to other places. They continued to go until our society was reduced to ten men, living in a little cluster of four cabins. But even this colony has taken a sudden resolution to migrate, and this morning the last man went, and I am left alone. So now, nothing remains for me but to go too, which I shall do as soon as I can determine where.
As for a portion of my departed neighbors—brutal, lawless scoundrels—I am heartily glad they are gone. But I had one good friend, whose absence I deeply regret. From the first moment I came into the woods until we shook hands and parted this morning, Mr. Wakefield has stood by me, a kind, benevolent, warm-hearted, steadfast friend. His disinterested kindness, his anxiety for my welfare, and my success in business, his watchfulness oftwo or three bitter foes, with whom I have had to contend, and his timely warnings of dangers, have entitled him to my warmest gratitude.
Well, here I am in the depths of a California forest, shut up in a lonely cabin on a winter night, scribbling my diary for the amusement of my daughter, rejoicing in the departure of my foes, and deploring the absence of my friends. And while I ponder on the perfect solitude that surrounds me, I find myself almost unconsciously repeating from Kirk White:
"It is not that my lot is low,That bids this silent tear to flow;It is not grief that makes me moan;It is that I am all alone."
"It is not that my lot is low,That bids this silent tear to flow;It is not grief that makes me moan;It is that I am all alone."
I had a cat. She has been with me all day; but now, when the society of any domestic animal would be some relief against the tedium of this deep loneliness, even she has left me and instead of the purring of a gentle house cat, I am for a moment startled by the dismal howling of a wild animal outside of my cabin. I am unfortunately possessed of an unsocial disposition; I love solitude, but I have at last found a solitude more profound than I have a taste for.
A Collector of Natural Curiosities.
July 30, 1854.In company with a young man in San Francisco, who had been informed of my taste for the odd and curious productions of nature, I visited a man who had made a considerable collection of objects of Natural History. We found him in a small room in a second story, with his boxes and trunks all packedpreparatory to a removal. But on announcing the object of our visit, he seemed much pleased, and though I remonstrated with him against the trouble it would cost him, he proceeded at once to unpack his treasures and spread them before us. But before I speak of them let me describe the man. He was a Norwegian, but having resided several years in the United States, he spoke pretty good English. He was about forty years of age, sprightly and active, with a sparkling eye, and a face covered with a very thick red beard that hung down upon his breast. He was naturally intelligent, though his faculties wanted cultivation. He had never studied Natural History, and did not know a single specimen in his collection by its scientific name. He had passed much time at sea, I do not know in what capacity, but it had afforded him time and opportunity to make a valuable collection.
The first curiosity he exhibited was a family of young mice which he had bottled the day before. Next he produced a bottle containing a little shapeless mass apparently folded up in a bleached tobacco-leaf, and challenged me to tell him the name of it. "A young bat," said I. "Ha!" he exclaimed, "you are the first man that has guessed it." Then he set out bottle after bottle of snakes, some of them very rare and beautiful. These reptiles had the greatest attractions for him, and they composed the largest and most valuable portion of his collection. Then a fine variety of lizards, and a considerable collection of coleopterous insects, among which were some very large and brilliant specimens. Next he produced a Bible, whose pages he had embellished with a variety of butterflies; and lastly, several boxes filled with sea-shells and corals, pieces of crystalized quartz, some specimens of gold in quartz, a copper ball nearly an inch in diameter, which he had found in the mountains, and many other specimens inmineralogy, which he had collected in the mines. He gave me several shells and crystals, and in return I promised him some bones and feathers of the California Vulture and other birds from my cabinet.
He had one live snake which he intended to bottle after it had shed its skin, which it was about to do. This snake was kept in a wooden box; and, while we were engaged in examining his preserved congeners, finding the door of his prison open, he resolved to take an airing on the balcony. Here he was accidentally discovered by the next door neighbors, who gave our friend timely notice. He immediately gave chase, and found his snakeship ensconced among some boxes and other rubbish. Seizing him by the tail, he brought him in writhing and twisting about his hand and arm, darting out his red forked tongue, flashing fire from his eyes, and betraying a total absence of those blandishments with which an ancestor of his once induced a pretty woman to sin. Some one present asked the man if he was not afraid the snake would bite him. "No," he answered, "no snake can bite me." I did not ask him if he was a serpent-charmer, but have been told that he was.
The only ornithological specimens he possessed were the skeleton head and a wing bone of an albatross. He had not learned the art of preserving the skins of birds, and I promised to give him a little instruction if I had time and opportunity. I told him how I had been thwarted in my intention to make a collection in my voyage round Cape Horn by the captain of the ship, and he seemed to struggle for words to express his scorn and contempt for such an ignorant and superstitious ship-master.
His principal collection was in Philadelphia. He had been offered a high price for it, but no amount of money would induce him to sell it.
After a visit of more than two hours, which I engaged to repeat soon, we shook hands and parted. I have seldom seen a man display so much enthusiasm in an occupation which he followed solely for his amusement.
I took occasion some weeks after this, while making another visit at San Francisco, to renew my acquaintance with my Norwegian friend. He had recently received a very fine snake, with which he was highly pleased. I admired his enthusiasm. "O," said he in the course of our conversation, "there is nothing in nature so beautiful as a snake." I remarked that this new specimen was certainly a very handsome one. "O it is splendid, it is most magnificent." We passed an hour very pleasantly together, and parted with much reluctance. I have never seen him since.
A Pair of Rattlesnakes.
September 12, 1854.My account of the Norwegian snake-collector, naturally recalls a little experience of my own in the same line. A fellow in the Redwoods, near which I was then tarrying, brought me at different times, two splendid rattlesnakes, which I bought and placed in a long box with a glass front, through which I could observe all their motions. It may, perhaps, excite a smile, when I state that by constant familiarity with these reptiles, I had acquired a sort of affection for them, that would have prompted me to defend them from harm, though I never saw one of the species at large, but I made no war upon him, except in one instance in which the snake began the battle, and I fought in self-defense, andhappily won the victory. An Indian enriches himself with the scalp of his defeated enemy, and I know not but I might have followed his example in this instance had it been possible, but in the absence of a scalp-lock I was obliged to content myself with such a trophy, as his other extremity afforded, his rattle.
These two reptiles became my pets, and afforded me much amusement. I do not think that I was "charmed" by that wonderful power which is often attributed to the serpent family. There was no "fascination in their eyes," though we often sat and gazed at each other during several minutes. But I liked to watch their motions, and study their habits; to see them thrust out their long, dark, forked tongues as I approached their prison, or erect their tails and shake their rattles when disturbed. I liked to behold their spotted bodies, flattened as they lay quietly stretched on the floor of their cage, but swollen and distended when aroused by a sense of danger; or to see their fangs as they sometimes opened their mouths, as if in the act of gaping. I was amused with a habit they had of slowly stretching themselves at full length along the box, and then suddenly drawing themselves back again. And most of all, I was amused to see them on a cold morning folded together into a coil, from the center of which their flattened heads protruded, and rested side by side upon their bodies, looking, despite their venomous natures, the very picture of affection and of innocence, and affording a lesson, which many a rational biped might study with profit.
These reptiles never quarreled. Place two foxes in a cage, and they will fight from day to day, until one or the other is killed. Even two birds of many species will destroy each other, when confined together. But here was an instance of perfect harmony. In truth they had nothingto quarrel about. They seemed to have no wants except that of liberty, the love of which they probably possessed in common with every other animal. They could fast without hunger or thirst. I placed fresh meat and water in their cage, but they never tasted of either. I threw several lizards in to them, but they allowed them to run over the cage, and even over their bodies unmolested. Still they do eat, though individuals have been known to live many months and even years without tasting food. White in his Natural History of Selbourne, says: "The serpent-kind eat, I believe, but once a year, or, rather, but only just at one season of the year."
But my pets were doomed to a tragical end, which it pains me record. Two old men, who had no fondness for beautiful things in animated nature, nor a taste for any thing else but whiskey and tobacco, got charmingly drunk one day, and being bent on mischief, they broke into my room during my absence, and seized my snakes, took them into the street where they had kindled a fire for the occasion, and with much ceremony and mock solemnity, offered them up to their god, whoever he might be, as a burnt sacrifice. The loss of those snakes was a source of great annoyance and vexation to me, and I earnestly and devoutly prayed that in every fit of delirium-tremens which those old sinners should bring upon themselves during the remainder of their worthless lives, they might be haunted by the ghosts of those murdered innocents.
A Queer Fellow.
April 18, 1860.Mr. Van Wee was one of the queerest compounds of oddity, with whom it was my fortune to meet in my travels. He kept a hotel at Oak Bottom, ten miles from Shasta. Two Irish women, sisters,were his housekeepers and servants. Many a lively scene was enacted about his establishment, and scarcely a day passed without bringing some extraordinary excitement. One day there was a great uproar in and around the house occasioned by the arrival of a skunk on a visit to the chickens. The dogs barked, the hens cackled, the women screamed, and Van Wee flew round wild with excitement, his gun was brought to him, the intruder chased into the stable and shot, and quiet was restored.
Next day two valuable dogs, very useful for barking at travelers and eating superfluous food, which would otherwise be thrown to the pigs and lost, strayed away or were stolen. A boy and an Irish woman were sent off on horseback after them, and great was the rejoicing in the afternoon on the safe return of dogs, horses, boy and woman.
On the morning of the third day I was surprised to learn that there had been a wedding in the house, and that Mr. Van Wee, in obedience to a sudden impulse had married one of his housekeepers. The wedding had been very private, so much so, that the sister of the bride was not aware that such an event was in contemplation until the hour before its consummation.
This Van Wee, as I have said before, is a queer fellow. He hates the liquor business, but keeps a bar, drinks with all his friends—and they are numerous—and gets mellow every day. He is, or rather was, a Know-Nothing in politics, and hates all foreigners of whatever nation, although his father and mother are Dutch, and his wife is Irish. An infidel in religion, he read me a chapter from Tom Paine's Age of Reason. He contributes freely to churches, and is hospitable to clergymen of whatever creed. He receives a great many rudely expressed, but hearty congratulations from his friends, whom he treats, drinks with, swears at, blackguards, and invites to see "the gal," whoreceives her friends in the kitchen, while attending to her duties over the stove, with her gown pinned up in true Irish style. His affection for his wife continues unabated, notwithstanding he has been married three days,—this was when I last saw him,—and he betrays it in many acts of coarse kindness; calls her Biddy, ridicules her nation and her religion, damns her priests and feeds them all.
He has sent invitations to all his friends, far and near, men, women and children, to assemble at his house, next week for a grand jollification in commemoration of his wedding. Long may he flourish.
A Sandwich Island Woman
AND HER YANKEE HUSBAND.
Red Woods, Contra Costra, Dec. 16, 1854.I have made acquaintance with a Kanaka woman, the only one I have ever seen. She is known by the name of Hannah, is eighteen years of age, was married five years ago to a Yankee sailor, and left her native island for a home in California. She is short and thick, with a complexion darker than that of our Indians, has a broad nose and wide mouth, her countenance partaking of a mixture of the Indian and the Negro. She is kind and affectionate, lively and excitable, quick and passionate, simple and guileless. Her mind is uncultivated, and she is grossly vulgar and profane in her language, and disgustingly filthy in her person and dress. She is very temperate,drinking no strong liquors, but smokes cigars. She is honest and trusty, faithful to discharge all debts she may contract, and to fulfil all her engagements. She is a simple-minded child of nature, and I am often amused with her child-like talk.
This morning she was very inquisitive, and made many inquiries about my home and family. I showed her a daguerreotype of my daughter. She examined it with much curiosity and in silence for several minutes, when she broke out in a shower of questions, ejaculations and remarks, which could not but amuse me.
"Dat you little gal? Don to see dranfader? Petty woman, brack hair. Dot a rin on her han. (Ring on her finger.) What you gal name? How old you gal? Very petty. You gal, he no come to Californy? You no want to see you gal? Petty dress." And then she asked me about my father, mother, sister, brothers, and every thing relating to them, until she got a pretty full account of my family.
Hannah is a good rider, and often figures on horseback in a very long blue calico riding-dress, a man's straw hat with a narrow brim, and tied with a string under the chin, and a woolen jacket belonging to her husband. Our circus riders might learn some useful lessons from Hannah's equestrian feats.
Mr. Joseph Tracy, or as he is more familiarly called, Kanaka Joe, is a sailor from Maine, has seen much of the world, was on board the Princeton steamship at the time of the explosion of the great gun, by which several gentlemen of John Tyler's cabinet were killed, and has spent considerable time in the Sandwich Islands, whither he intends to return after he shall have made his fortune in California. Joe is a still, quiet, peaceable fellow, though quick to resent an insult, and can fight beautifully whennecessary. He has a sailor's high notions of honor and a sailor's deep passion for drink. He is fond of reading withal, has quite a taste for the yellow-covered literature, talks learnedly of books, and often philosophizes very wisely, and has no mean opinion of his own literary taste and scientific attainments. Joe is very fond of his Kanaka wife, though he flogs her occasionally in the heat of passion, repenting of it immediately after. As Joe's improvident habits are not conducive to a rapid accumulation of riches, the time of his return to his island-home may be considered somewhat uncertain.
A Party.
January, 1855.Señor Moraga was one of those land owners, whose domains, over which immense droves of wild cattle roamed, extended over many a league of rich land, until the advent of the Americans, who lawlessly despoiled them of large numbers of their cattle, and who introduced many expensive habits among them, which they were but too ready to adopt; when necessity compelled them to part with large tracts of their lands to the greedy foreigners, and their estates dwindled down to insignificant ranches. Señor Moraga, though shorn of many thousand acres, had still a large and exceedingly valuable estate remaining.
I received an invitation to attend a party at his house on New Year's eve, 1855. I set out on foot in the evening, which was lighted up by a moon approaching the full, that often breaking forth from masses of dark clouds, which had been pouring down a plentiful supply of rain during the day, enabled me to follow a trail that led up the valleyand over the mountain ridge, on the opposite side of which stood Moraga's residence. It was a fine evening, and I—I scarcely knew why—was in a mood to enjoy it. It may have been the breaking up of the storm and the appearance of the clouds and the sky, which resembled more nearly the moonlight views we have in New England than any thing I had beheld for many a long month; or it may have been the pleasing anticipation of the novelties I was about to witness and enjoy during the evening, though what they were I had not been informed and could hardly imagine. But whatever may have been the cause, my spirits were buoyant, and my thoughts busy and pleasant.
I arrived at Moraga's at an early hour. His house overlooked a beautiful valley, and commanded a fine view of the hills beyond. It was built of adobes, and the walls were several feet thick. A broad piazza extended along the front, affording a pleasant shade in summer. I entered by a broad door-way, a capacious room well finished, and handsomely papered and painted. There was neither stove nor fire-place in it, nor any furniture, with the exception of chairs and a small time-piece. In this room the gentlemen were assembled, and this was the hall in which we were to pass the evening. In a smaller room on the left, I saw two neat-looking beds, one of which was furnished with handsome figured, white muslin curtains. There were also chairs, tables, and a looking-glass in the room. This room I observed was occupied by the family, and the lady guests. The only other room I saw was that in which we took supper, and was like the rest, finished in a style of considerable neatness.
And now for the company. First comes Señor Moraga, the father of our host and owner of the estate, an old man of seventy, short, thick, corpulent and coarse-featured, but sprightly, active and polite. Then his sons, José andFrancisco, between thirty and forty years of age, swarthy men with very good features, black hair, whiskers and mustaches. They were very gentlemanly in their deportment. There were several Mexicans, some of whom were tolerably polished in their manners, and others as uncouth as the Indians with whom they associated. But the greater part of the company consisted of Americans, rough men from the Redwoods, who, however, deported themselves with a considerable degree of propriety.
Next come the ladies, who, by all the laws of gallantry, should have been mentioned first. And foremost among them was Doña Maria, our hostess, and the lady of José Moraga. She was a large, corpulent woman with a fairer complexion and better features than most Mexican women I had seen, and she was said to be of pure Castilian blood. Her black, glossy hair was arranged in the usual Spanish style, in two braids that hung down her back. She was dressed in a black silk that fitted well her capacious person. She had several daughters, whose personal attractions I cannot extol, but who were very pretty dancers. There were two old women, very ugly, whose names I did not learn. I observed a considerable number of Indian women in the house, and there was no lack of pappooses among them. I was pleased with the little imps, and they did not reject my overtures for a frolic occasionally, and were not disinclined to be on familiar terms with me. They constituted, indeed, a very amusing part of the evening's entertainment.
Two musicians had been employed for the occasion. Their instruments were a violin and a guitar. Dancing was the principal amusement.
The ladies entered the room and seated themselves without ceremony, the musicians struck up a lively tune, and one of the gentlemen arose and waved his handkerchieftowards a lady, whereupon she arose and moved moderately over the floor, and while her feet, hid by her long dress, drummed out almost every note of the music, her body seemed to glide along without any apparent exertion, neither rising nor falling, as if she were carried along by invisible machinery, or was floating over the floor without touching it. While she was thus moving along in this peculiar dance, one of the gentlemen seized his neighbor's hat—all the gentlemen wore their hats except when dancing—and placed it on the young lady's head. She still continued to dance without appearing to pay the slightest attention to this apparently uncivil act. She soon, however, took her seat and displaced the hat, holding it in her hand. Another and another of the ladies were called, or rather motioned up, who each performed the same dance, and each was similarly crowned with a hat or a handkerchief, and sometimes with several of each. Doña Maria was also called to the floor. She executed the dance with superior grace, and with greater success than the girls in collecting hats and handkerchiefs. All this was carried on with great merriment on the part of the young fellows, but with the greatest apparent gravity and seriousness on that of the ladies. I was at a loss to know the meaning of this strange performance, or if it had any meaning at all, until my ownsombrerowas suddenly snatched from my head, and placed on that of a young señorita. I was then informed that each article thus seized and appropriated must be redeemed by a payment in money to the fair one on whom it had been bestowed, and that half a dollar was the sum agreed on by general assent. In this way, considerable sums of money are sometimes gathered by the ladies from a company of liberal young men, who enjoy the sport of thus victimizing each other. This amusement was called up repeatedly inthe course of the evening, and some of the young men paid a pretty handsome tax for the sport. I saw Doña Maria at one time with three hats crowded on her head, and at least half a dozen handkerchiefs on her shoulders. Besides the tax thus collected, an assessment of two dollars each was levied on us to pay for the music.
Besides the singular dance I have just described we had cotillions and waltzes. In the first, the fat Doña Maria was the most graceful dancer, but in the waltzes—Doña Maria did not waltz—several of the girls performed very prettily. But foremost among them was Francisco's daughter, Juana, and another young lady whose name I did not learn, who waltzed with much ease and grace, and who prided themselves on tiring out, not only the other dancers, but even the musicians. My head grew giddy as I sat and saw those two girls twirling about the room.
Supper was ready at an early hour. My friend, Francisco, did me the unexpected honor to lead me in and seat me at the head of the first table. Doña Maria sat at the opposite extremity of the table, and the other ladies, numbering from sixteen to twenty, occupied the sides. Myself was the only male. Our supper consisted of soup, baked meats, boiled chickens and bread, with wine in glass tumblers instead of tea or coffee. We were waited upon by our host, José, assisted by another gentleman. There was but little conversation among us, but we got along very pleasantly. I proposed a glass of wine with Doña Maria by signs, which she readily understood, and she drank her glass with much grace. Perceiving José to be rather inexpert at carving chickens, I offered my services, which he accepted. We afterwards drank a glass of wine together, and thus ended the ceremony of supper. The table was soon cleared and rearranged for another set of occupants.
Dancing was kept up pretty constantly, I did not join in it, but was for the most part a silent spectator. I found myself frequently, in the course of the evening, seated by the side of our hostess, who was disposed to make herself agreeable, and would, I doubt not, really have been so, had she understood my language, or I hers. As it was, I contrived to ask her a few questions, and found her quick to comprehend my signs. I inquired about her children, knowing that to be the subject, of all others, the most interesting to a mother. She pointed to those who were dancing, and to several that were seated. I asked her how many she had, and she held up her five fingers of one hand, and three of the other. "Ocho," said I. "Si, Señor, ocho," she replied with a smile, amused, perhaps, that I had learned one word of Spanish.
Francisco, also, with not a little pride, directed my attention to his daughters, who were dancing so merrily; and I could only express my admiration of them by exclaiming, "bueno; bueno!"
Thus pleasantly passed the evening until eleven o'clock, when giving my friendly entertainers a cordial shake of the hands, I bade themá Dios, and wended my way back again over the mountains to my lodgings. The company continued dancing till morning.
I have been thus particular in giving the details of this party, believing that whatever is peculiar in the manners and customs of any people may be interesting, and perhaps, not wholly useless to know. And having been myself much interested in the amusements of the evening, I cannot but hope that the reader will find something to please him in this account of them.
Indians and Their Costumes.
September 23, 1856.There was a company of Indians encamped in the vicinity of Oroville, for the purpose of gathering their harvest of acorns, which grew in great abundance there. They passed my temporary home every morning, men, boys, and women, furnished with sacks made of netting, earned by the men, and conical baskets for the women, and with a pole eight or ten feet long, with which to beat off the acorns. The pole had a short stick fastened to the butt end with strings, by means of which they suspended it to the limb of a tree when they ascended the trunk. The acorn is one of their most valuable articles of food, and they gather large quantities of them.
These Indians were more scantily clad than any I had ever seen, many of them having only a shirt, sometimes but a very ragged one; and in one instance I saw a tall brawny Indian, who was entirely destitute of even this scanty covering.
One day a woman with pretty good features, the wife of the chief, came to our house in company with other Indians. A large portion of her face was besmeared with pitch, and the locks over her forehead were matted with the same substance. I enquired the reason of this disfigurement, and was told that it was the Indian's badge of mourning, and that she had probably lost a relative. A few days after this call, she came again accompanied by her husband, the chief, who was superior in intelligence, as well as in rank, to his companions. He spoke a little English. The squaw had renewed the coat of pitch, and looked more hideously than before. I could see, however, in spite of the pitch, that she was a pretty woman, and inspite of the scantiness of her covering, that she was modest. Some remarks were made by one of the company present, in allusion to her besmeared face. Her husband understood them, and explained the custom in a word or two. "Indian's way," said he. "Lost little boy," pointing to his wife. We all understood him, and the eyes of the poor squaw moistened as she comprehended the subject of our conversation. The Indians are not destitute of natural affection.
Few hearts can witness unmoved the tears of a woman, though she be a wild and filthy Indian; and the feelings of this poor untutored savage were respected by our company, who refrained from any further allusion to the subject that brought painful recollections to her mind.
March 3, 1857.During a long walk to-day, I stopped to sketch some singular hills, consisting of two, and sometimes of three, plateaus or terraces, each terrace being supported by a layer of rock, resting on a stratum of clay, or soft sandstone, which, in many places was worn out a foot or two beneath the rock, and making a distinct dark line in the landscape.
Before sketching one of these hills, I ascended it and clambered up the rock, which varied from six to eight feet in height. Here, among some bushes, I saw a smoke arising, and on one of the shrubs hung an Indian's cap and his lance. I approached the spot, and suddenly found myself in the presence of a large, fat squaw, who lay basking in the sunshine, clad in the habiliments which nature had given her, with the addition of a very slight substitute, for that leafy garment which was once the fashion at a very remote period in the world's history. Two little dusky cherubs sat near her, and the partner of her joys and sorrows lay on the ground at a little distance, enjoying a comfortablesiesta. It was a charming picture of contentedindolence, and I have seen more than one lazy white man, who would have coveted their enjoyment.
I attempted to enter into conversation with the lady, and asked her if she had some baskets to sell. She made no reply, but, with becoming modesty, though with no affectation of haste, took up her blanket that lay near her, and half veiled her charms from my admiring gaze. Finding her disinclined to talk, I left her, descended the hill, made my sketch, and continued my walk.
March 6, 1875.With an Indian for a guide, I visited a fine water-fall in a solitary place among the mountains. On our return, my guide conducted me to a rancherie, consisting of half a dozen wigwams. As we approached them, the dogs barked, the children screamed, the old women drew on their blankets, and the naked girls retreated behind the cabins. An old man and an old woman sat quietly on their haunches, and a young man lay sick and squalid on the ground beside a bed of embers that were kept alive at his head. My guide sat down beside them without any ceremony, and they all preserved a profound silence during several minutes, as if they were offering up a silent prayer to the Great Spirit for the recovery of the invalid. At the end of this ceremony, they became talkative, the young man ate the remains of a lunch I had brought with me, and the old man begged two bits, (for these Indians, like all others, are inveterate beggars) when we proceeded on our journey.