FOOTNOTES:

An Indian

The Yosemite Falls.

May 29, 1859.A rude dug-out having been brought up the river, I crossed over in it, and walked to the foot of the fall. A dense spray prevents a near approach to the fall, which comes down in a perpendicular descent, until within a hundred feet of the bottom, when it strikes a projecting rock, and dashes off in a shower of spray. I speak of the lower fall only, for the cataract is divided into three portions, the upper portion coming down perpendicularly; the middle portion being a wild rapid, in a deep, dark, and fearful canyon, in which the stream falls four hundred feet, and then drops down six hundred feet further to the base of the great wall, making an aggregate of more than half a mile.

The view upward from the foot of the fall is particularly impressive. The middle fall of four hundred feet, is entirely hid from the sight, and such is the immense height of the whole, that the space occupied by this middle fall seems dwindled to a few feet, and the spectator can scarcely realize that such a fall does, indeed, exist. But the view of the fall from this near approach is more than impressive, it is sublime; and the spectator finds himself overwhelmed with a feeling of intense awe, as he looks upward and beholds the foaming, roaring water pouring down, as it were, from the very depths of heaven,

"So wild and furious in its sparkling fall,Dashing its torrents down, and dazzling all;Sublimely breaking from its glorious height,Majestic, thundering, beautiful and bright."

I have alluded to the influence of the wind upon the upper portion of the fall. It often reminds me of the writhings of an immense serpent, when two or three opposingcurrents of air are blowing it from side to side. Sometimes a blast of wind sways it wholly out of its accustomed course, with the exception of a few hundred feet of its uppermost portion, and lays bare nearly the whole surface of the rock which it covers in its undisturbed descent, but hiding for a minute another portion. Now large clouds of spray are thrown out from one side, and then from the other, still forever falling; now the whole fall is spread out to twice, or thrice, its usual width, and the next moment, as the wind subsides, it becomes straightened and narrowed to its usual proportions. These continued changes add exceedingly to the beauty, and even grandeur, of the fall, and one never wearies of beholding it as it pours, crashing and roaring, down its enormous wall of rock.

"Roar, roar, thou waterfall! lift up thy voiceEven to the clouded regions of the skies:Thy brightness and thy beauty may rejoice,Thy music charms the ears, thy light the eyes,Joy-giving torrent! sweetest memoryReceives a freshness, and a strength from thee."

The Domes.

The rounded summits of many of the mountains of the Yosemite Valley, which gives them a domelike appearance, constitutes one of its peculiarities. The North and South Domes have been often described and painted. Situated on opposite sides of the lower Valley at its eastern extremity, and forming portions of its two great walls, they are not the least of its most prominent objects. Indeed, the South Dome is the highest point around the Valley, and rises to an altitude of nearly five thousand feet above the plain.

A tremendous disruption of this mountain is apparent on its western face, where it has been cleft from its summit, perpendicularly down to a depth of two thousand feet, and the western portion thrown off and hurled down the mountain, at whose base it lies in fragments, a huge heap, a mountain of itself.

What a sublime, a terrifying spectacle would here have presented itself to a spectator standing on the North Dome and looking across the Valley, to behold a part of the mountain before him two thousand feet in depth, starting from its foundation, breaking away from the firmer portion, and falling, rolling, grinding, crashing, down the mountain side, with the roar and shaking of a terrible earthquake, and dashing into millions of fragments, until it reached the plain, three thousand feet below its starting point. I can imagine what overwhelming emotions would seize him as he beheld the mountain falling, and in dread and horror thinking the end of the world was approaching, and that the mountain on which he stood might fall next.

This is a region of wonders. They meet us at every step. The Valley itself is a vast aggregate of wonders. There was a time when it was elevated to a level with the walls that now surround it, when the Merced flowed along at a height of two or three thousand feet above its present bed, and before the Yosemite and all these falls were created.

It is an interesting question, How came the Valley lowered to its present depth? Without a very deep investigation of the subject, I have formed an opinion in opposition to that of many persons, who attribute it to an earthquake; that at some remote period a deluge occurred here, and that the Valley was formed by the torrents that swept through it, carrying away the earth, and leaving the bare walls in their present wild desolation, with the newly created cataracts pouring down their sides.

Farewell to the Yosemite.

June 30, 1859.Early in the morning and before breakfast, Camerer,—a German friend,—and I, were on our way. As we went down the beautiful Valley, we often stopped to gaze at the stupendous scenes we were about to leave; and never before had they looked so grand, and glorious. Lingering, loitering, talking, and discussing the several points of interest, time passed rapidly, and the sunbeams soon began to gild the summits of the mountains, the lofty rock of Tutocanula catching his first rays. A hundred birds strained their little throats and poured out their sweetest strains of melody, as if to bid us farewell, and cheer us on our way.

As the scenes with which we had been so long familiar, now passed again in review before us; the Yosemite, the Sentinel, the Cathedral Rocks, Tutocanula, the Bridal Veil; each claimed for the hundredth, and last time, our attention and admiration. "O," exclaimed my German friend, when the necessity of hastening our journey occurred to us, "O, it is very hard to get out of this Valley."

We at length arrived at the end of the plain, and began to ascend the mountain. Half way up the height we came to a spot from which we had so fine a view, that we resolved to stop and sketch it. This was a general view of the Valley, and its surrounding walls, and of course, it was my last sketch. Having accomplished this task, we hastened forward, scarcely looking around us, until we reached an elevation whence we were about to take our last look. But we had loitered too long by the way, and had little time to spare. Stopping, therefore, but for a minute, and filled with emotions such as Adam and Eve may be supposed to have felt when,

"They, hand in hand, with wandering steps and slow,Through Eden took their solitary way,"

we cast one sad look at the scene behind us, and bade a sorrowful and final adieu to the wonderful Yosemite Valley.

The California Vulture.

February 9, 1854.In a walk some days since through the Redwoods, I encountered an old man by the side of the road engaged in making shingles. He was a very coarse-looking fellow with a dark complexion and a black, bushy beard, that more than half covered his face, giving an additional grimness to his rough, harsh features. He was an old Kentucky rifleman, and, as I learned to-day, a first-rate marksman. He had shot a Vulture some time before, and it was lying near his cabin, half decayed. Some quills were scattered over the ground, and I picked up two or three of them, when he ordered me in the rudest manner to leave them. I then offered to buy some of them, but he would neither sell nor give them away. He wanted them for himself.

While I stood there another man joined us, and asked the name of the bird. "A Turkey Buzzard," said the old man. I disputed him, and endeavored to point out the difference between this bird and the Turkey Buzzard. But he would not be convinced. He had seen thousands of them in Kentucky, though he admitted they were smaller there than here. I replied that he might with equal propriety say that a Raven was a large Crow, or a Crow a large Blackbird. But he did not admit the analogy of the two cases, and the birdwasa Turkey Buzzard and nothing more. So I left him in the enjoyment of his own opinion.

To-day I passed his cabin again, and he accosted me with considerable civility. A sort of grim smile played over his harsh features, his manners were wonderfully softened, and the gruff old savage seemed to have been suddenly transformed into a half civilized being. He had shot two Vultures yesterday, though one of them, which he had only wing-tipped, and tied to a stake, had escaped. He was willing to sell me the remaining bird, and the payment of five bits made me its owner.

On further conversation with him, I found that he possessed a taste for birds and other natural curiosities, and had some preparations for preserving specimens. He showed me some birds and a horned toad which he had preserved.

I skinned my bird, and left it with the Kentuckian, while I continued my walk. But this walk furnished me with nothing further to record except a word or two concerning the habits of these same Vultures. I saw six or eight of them perched on trees, sitting in perfect idleness and scarcely moving. I believe Audubon says that they are very shy and difficult to approach. But Audubon had never seen one. A man was cutting up a fallen tree near one of the birds, but without disturbing him. Another one sat on a branch of a low tree, which I approached. When I arrived within less than gunshot distance, he half spread his wings and stood up, as if preparing to fly. But after a minute's hesitation he folded his pinions again, and seemed to have come to the conclusion that there was no danger from a man with only a stick in his hand. As I continued to approach the tree on which he stood, he thrust his head down below his body, and turned it about most whimsically, while he kept his keen eye fastened on me as though he were quizzing me; but still he showed no disposition to fly. I now began to shout at him, and toswing my cap, and i' faith, it seemed as if my noise and gesticulations served rather to amuse than to frighten him. Then I threw my cane up in the air towards him, but he only gave his head an extra cant, and continued peering at me with such an impudent, derisive, no-ye-don't sort of a look, that I almost expected to see him raise his thumb to his nose, and shake his fingers at me. Finding him thus firmly resolved not to be driven from his position, I left him, fully believing that if a man wishes to hunt California Vultures, their shyness will be no obstacle to his success.

On returning, I called for the skin of my bird which measured nine feet four inches from tip to tip of the wings, and three feet eleven inches in length.

My Skill at Rifle Shooting.

March 29, 1854.I went out to try my skill at rifle shooting. Saw a pair of Vultures in a tree on the heights in front of my house. I clambered up the hill and approached within a short distance of the birds, but the trunk of the tree, on the branches of which they stood, hid them from my view, and I made a short circuit, and crept behind a tree that brought me still nearer the Vultures. I now had one of them in full view, and was in a fair way to have him in my possession. I cocked my rifle for the fatal shot, brought it up to my face, and closed my left optic, preparatory to the death-dealing aim, when the foolish bird, as if he were actuated by a spirit of reckless daring, bravado and defiance, sidled out on the branch that held him, stood erect with his breast square before me, half expanded his broad wings, while hecast a glance of his keen eyes upon me, and seemed to say, "Here is your mark; now try your skill." I did so. The report of my rifle reverberated over the hills; the ball sped—I knew not whither—and the birds left their perch with a precipitancy, and flew away with a haste I have seldom witnessed. The smoke of the powder had scarcely cleared away ere they were seen performing their gyrations over a neighboring mountain. I made my way speedily, down the hill, and—sold my rifle.

Incident at a Camp-meeting.

I accepted an invitation from a friend to attend a Methodist camp-meeting, which was held in a grove about five miles distant from the Contra Costa Redwoods. The services did not vary much from similar services in New England. But a little incident occurred of such a novel character, and so singularly beautiful, that I record it for the benefit of Christians in other portions of the country. When the collection was about to be taken, the Presiding Elder, the Rev. Mr. Fulton, addressed the audience in these words: "At the last Presbyterian camp-meeting, the collection taken for the support of the ministry was, most unexpectedly to me, divided between all of us who had taken part in the services; and I was constrained to share it equally with my Presbyterian brethren. Such an act, the first of the kind I have ever known, was as gratifying as it was unexpected; and most happy am I to say, that we have this day an opportunity to reciprocate the favor, by sharing with the brother of that denomination now present, the collection to which we invite you to contribute."

The effect of this address upon the audience was manifested by the jingling of the coin which was poured into the hats from every quarter of the field.

With this little anecdote I take leave of the reader, remarking, however, that I passed nine years in California; resided in many of its principal cities; roamed over a large part of the northern portion of the State; visited most of the mines from Mariposa to Yreka; traveled across the State of Oregon and into Washington Territory; sailed up the Columbia River to the Cascades; visited a great number of places remarkable for their scenery; spent five weeks in the wonderful Yosemite Valley; lodged in a hollow of one of the "Big Trees" of Mariposa; listened to the mighty roar of the Geysers; walked round the beautiful Clear Lake, and paddled my canoe round the far-famed Lake Tahoe; clambered up the sides, and stood upon the highest pinnacles of Mount Shasta, and many other mountains of the Sierra Nevada range; and encountered people of all descriptions, characters, and nationalities. Reader, shall I give you a further account of my observations and adventures?

THE END.

FOOTNOTES:[A]R. H. Dana, Jr.

[A]R. H. Dana, Jr.

TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE:Inconsistencies in the author's use of hyphens have been left unchanged, as in the original text. Obvious printer errors have been corrected without comment. Otherwise, the author's original spelling, punctuation, hyphenation and use of accents have been left intact with the following exceptions:Page 44: The word "we" was added in the following phrase: "This morning, just as we were about to sail,"Page 148: Yosemite Fall was changed to Yosemite Falls to match Yosemite Falls in the Contents.Capitalisation and periods have been standardised in the Chapter Headings and the Contents so that these do not differ.

Inconsistencies in the author's use of hyphens have been left unchanged, as in the original text. Obvious printer errors have been corrected without comment. Otherwise, the author's original spelling, punctuation, hyphenation and use of accents have been left intact with the following exceptions:

Page 44: The word "we" was added in the following phrase: "This morning, just as we were about to sail,"

Page 148: Yosemite Fall was changed to Yosemite Falls to match Yosemite Falls in the Contents.

Capitalisation and periods have been standardised in the Chapter Headings and the Contents so that these do not differ.

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