CHAPTER XVIII.

Victoria—The Rush there from California—Contrast to San Francisco under Similar Circumstances—The Assiniboines see the Wonders of Victoria—Start for Cariboo—Mr. O’B. and the Assiniboine are Reconciled—The Former re-establishes his Faith—Farewell to the Assiniboine Family—Salmon in Harrison River—The Lakes—Mr. O’B.’s Triumph—Lilloet—Miners’ Slang—The “Stage” to Soda Creek—Johnny the Driver—Pavilion Mountain—The Rattlesnake Grade—The Chasm—Way-side Houses on the Road to the Mines—We meet a Fortunate Miner—The Farming Land of the Colony—The Steamer—Frequent Cocktails—The Mouth of Quesnelle—The Trail to William’s Creek—A Hard Journey—Dead Horses—Cameron Town, William’s Creek.

Victoriais very beautifully situated on the shores of a small rocky bay—an indentation in the promontory which is formed by the sweeping round of the sea into the land-locked harbour of Esquimalt. The site was originally chosen by Sir James (then Mr.) Douglas, Governor of the Hudson’s Bay Company’s territories west of the Rocky Mountains, for the establishment of head-quarters, in place of Fort Vancouver, when Oregon passed into the possession of the United States in the year 1844. Fourteen years afterwards, when the news of the discovery of gold on the Fraser caused such excitement in California, the only buildings were the Company’s Fort, and one or two houses inhabited by their employés. In the course of a few weeks 30,000 people were collected there, waiting for the flooded Fraser tosubside, and allow them to proceed to the diggings. Amongst this immense assemblage of people—the majority of them the most desperate and lawless of the Californian rowdies—Governor Douglas, without the aid of a single soldier or regular police-force, preserved an order and security which contrasted most forcibly with the state of things in San Francisco and Sacramento under similar circumstances. The city wore a very thriving aspect when we visited it, and could already boast of several streets. The whole traffic to and from British Columbia passing through it, has rapidly enriched its merchants, and handsome brick stores are fast replacing the original wooden buildings.

We had by no means relinquished our intention of visiting Cariboo, although we had failed to reach it by the direct route we had originally projected. At Victoria we were more than 500 miles distant; winter was fast approaching, and there was therefore no time to be lost in setting out. We stole a day or two, however, to introduce the friends we delighted to honour—Mr. and Mrs. Assiniboine, and their son—to the wonders of civilisation to be found in Victoria. To this end, we clothed them in gorgeous apparel, seated them in a “buggy” drawn by a pair of fast-trotting horses, and mounting the box ourselves, drove them in state to Esquimalt. They sat inside with great gravity, occasionally remarking on the difference between bowling along a capital road at the rate we were going, and advancing only two or three miles a day, by hard labour, through the forest. Having shownthem a live Admiral, and a 100-pounder Armstrong on board H.M.S.S.Sutlej, and completed the round of sights by showing them the principal stores and the theatres, we left The Assiniboine to take notes of what he had seen in a diary of hieroglyphics, which he had instituted for the record of the wonders of Victoria.

On the 29th of September we put a pair of socks, a flannel shirt, and toothbrush apiece into our blankets, rolling them into a pack, miners’ fashion, inserted our legs into huge jack boots, “recommended for the mines,” and went on board the steamerOtter, for New Westminster. The Assiniboine family accompanied us on their way back to Kamloops, where they were to winter, intending to re-cross the mountains in the spring by the Kootanie Pass. They were rather reluctant to leave their new-found pleasures behind them, having been especially fascinated by the ballet, and the delicacies provided for them by the pastry-cook. Mr. O’B. remained in Victoria, re-establishing, under the worthy clergymen of that city, the faith which had been staggered by his over-dose of Paley. He had signalised his return to Christianity by shaking hands with his ancient enemy, The Assiniboine, and the two buried their former animosities for ever; for they are little likely to meet again. At New Westminster we bade good-bye to the Assiniboine family, who went forward to Yale, whilst we took steamer by the Harrison River to Douglas, in order to see the rival route by the Lakes and Lilloet. In spiteof The Assiniboine’s cool confession that it had been his design at first to desert us at Jasper House, when he had solemnly promised to go through to the end, he had served us so well, and led us so ably in a time of doubt and hardship, that we were sincerely sorry to part with him and his family. They sailed up the Fraser, and we stood watching them out of sight, wondering whether any of the odd chances of life would ever bring us across them again. We heard before leaving Victoria that, on his arrival at Kamloops, the man was employed as a shepherd by Mr. McKay, and expected to return to Fort Pitt in the following year, with a goodly string of horses. In the shallows of the Harrison River we saw many thousands of spent salmon wriggling and flopping about, half-stranded, and pursued by a number of Indians, who were engaged in spearing them. Passing through Douglas and Pemberton by the lakes and portages between them, we struck the Fraser again at Lilloet, about 265 miles from New Westminster, and 300 from Victoria. The scenery on this route, especially on Lakes Anderson and Seton, is exceedingly wild and grand. Mountains rise abruptly from the shores of the lakes on each side, steep, rugged, and barren; and when we saw them their beauty was increased by the brilliant tints of the American autumn. At various places on our way to Lilloet we heard of our friend Mr. O’B., who had followed this route on his journey down from Kamloops, instead of the one by Yale. He hadfound favour with every one, for he knew the history family, friends, property, and expectations of each, and the latest news of the neighbourhood from which they came. At a certain town on the road, a number of new-found friends and admirers, with whom he was spending a social evening, observing the astonishing facility with which he imbibed his native whisky, determined to see him under the table, and plied him vigorously. But if their heads were hard, Mr. O’B.’s was harder, and although he had not tasted any intoxicating liquor for two years, and drank glass for glass with his entertainers without shirking, he proved invincible. One after another the conspirators subsided helpless on the floor, while Mr. O’B. remained sitting, smiling and triumphant, and calmly continued to smoke his pipe, superior and alone!

The town of Lilloet is situated on a grand plateau, one of the terraces of the Fraser, which are here more than ordinarily extensive and well-marked. The place was full of miners, on their way down to Victoria for the winter. Drinking and card-playing went on until long after midnight, amid a constant string of oaths and miners’ slang. Our ears became familiarised with such phrases as “bully for you,” “caved in,” “played out,” “you bet,” “you bet your life,” “your bottom dollar” or “your gumboots on it,” “on the make,” “on the sell,” “a big strike,” “can’t get a show,” “hit a streak,” and so on. We slept in a double-bedded room, and towards morning there was a tremendous crash, and Miltonheard an angry growling proceeding from Cheadle, whose bed had come down with a run. At daybreak we were aroused by a number of fellows outside our door laughing, and shouting, “Who is this —— fellow putting on frills?” In a weak and absent moment Cheadle had mechanically put his boots outside the door, as if expecting them to be cleaned, and this had properly excited their derision.

(Larger)THE “RATTLESNAKE GRADE.”(Seepage 356.))Pavilion Mountain, British Columbia; Altitude, 4,000 feet.

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THE “RATTLESNAKE GRADE.”

(Seepage 356.))

Pavilion Mountain, British Columbia; Altitude, 4,000 feet.

We now abandoned the idea of travelling forward on horseback, for we were assured by several persons who had just arrived from Cariboo that it would be impossible to take horses into William’s Creek on account of the snow, which had begun to fall before they left the mines. We therefore took our places in the “stage” running from Lilloet to Soda Creek on the Fraser, 175 miles distant. A steamer plies between the Creek and the Mouth of Quesnelle, a distance of sixty miles, and from thence a pack trail runs to Richfield, in William’s Creek, the centre of the Cariboo mines. The “stage” was a light open wagon, and besides ourselves and one other passenger, carried nearly a ton of freight. But we started with a team of five horses, two wheelers and three leaders, and for the first day went along famously. “Johnny,” the driver, was a capital whip, and quite a character. He was a regular Yankee, and his Californian hat of hard felt, with a low steeple crown, and immensely broad brim, gave him a ludicrous appearance in our eyes. He was like all his race, a most unquiet spirit, always engaged in talking to us or the horses, chewing, spitting, smoking, and drinking, and at the last he was especially great; not a house did he pass without two or three drinks with all comers. But in justice to Johnny, who was a very good fellow in his way, it must be stated that he assured us that he was generally a “total abstainer,” but occasionally drank for a change, and then “went in for liquor bald-headed.” He was in the latter phase during our brief acquaintance.

The road, well made and smooth, and in many places eighteen feet wide, crosses the Fraser by a ferry a short distance beyond Lilloet, and then winds along steep hill-sides up the valley of the Fraser to the north for twenty miles. At Pavilion Valley it turns to the north-east, to the foot of Pavilion Mountain, where it ascends 1,500 feet by a rapid zigzag. Here our team, now reduced to four, were quite unequal to the task before them, and we clambered up the steep on foot. From the top we had a good view to the south-east, and the curious formation of the hill-side opposite attracted our attention. Near the top of the hill was a hollow, and the surface below a succession of waving swells, growing larger and larger towards the bottom. It seemed as if the hollow was an extinct crater, from which the molten lava had long ago flowed down in a billowy stream, and as if this, arrested at the instant of its passage, had now become the grass-grown slope before us. We had no time to go across and examine it carefully, but continued our way over the grassy table-land on the top of Pavilion Mountain,for six or eight miles. The road then went up rapidly, and brought us to the top of the famous “Rattlesnake Grade.” We found ourselves on the brink of a precipitous descent of 2,000 feet, and in full view below saw the road following the configuration of the hill, with the numberless windings and zigzags which had given rise to its name. Cut out of the mountain side, and resting for several feet of its width on overhanging beams, it was not broad enough to allow two vehicles to pass in safety, except at the points of the turns, nor was there any railing to guard the edge of the precipice.

Every one immediately volunteered to ease the poor horses by walking down, but Johnny negatived the proposition at once, and drove us down at a furious rate, the heavily-laden wagon swinging round the sharp turns in a most unpleasant manner. The giving way of the break, or of a wheel, or the pole, must have been fatal; but all held together, as of course it was likely to do, and we reached the bottom safely.

(Larger)A WAY-SIDE HOUSE—ARRIVAL OF MINERS.(Seepage 359.)

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A WAY-SIDE HOUSE—ARRIVAL OF MINERS.

(Seepage 359.)

(Larger)A WAY-SIDE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.(Seepage 359.)

(Larger)

A WAY-SIDE HOUSE AT MIDNIGHT.

(Seepage 359.)

After leaving Clinton, where the road from Yale comes in, the road began to ascend, and on the right we passed an extraordinary chasm. Commencing by a gradual depression at the northern end, it became a deep fissure in the rocks about a quarter of a mile in length, ending abruptly in the valley to the south. The depth of the gulf is some 400 or 500 feet, and its width about the same. The sides of the chasm were perpendicular and smooth, as if the rocks had been split asunder. The road still went up, and after a few miles we reached table-land,with a barren sandy soil, thickly covered with small spruce, and intersected by numerous lakes. The accommodation along the road was everywhere miserable enough, but after leaving Clinton it became abominable. The only bed was the floor of the “wayside houses,” which occur every ten miles or so, and are named the “Fiftieth” or “Hundredth Mile House,” according to the number of the nearest mile-post. Our solitary blankets formed poor padding against the inequalities of the rough-hewn boards, and equally ineffectual to keep out the cold draughts which whistled under the ill-fitting door of the hut. A wayside house on the road to the mines is merely a rough log hut of a single room; at one end a large open chimney, and at the side a bar counter, behind which are shelves with rows of bottles containing the vilest of alcoholic drinks. The miners on their journey up or down, according to the season—men of every nationality—Englishmen, Irishmen, and Scotchmen, Frenchmen, Italians, and Germans, Yankees and niggers, Mexicans and South Sea Islanders—come dropping in towards evening in twos and threes, divest themselves of the roll of blankets slung upon their backs, and depositing them upon the floor, use them as a seat, for the hut possesses few or none. The next thing is to have a “drink,” which is proposed by some one of the party less “hard up” than his friends, and the rest of the company present are generally invited to join in.

After supper and pipes, and more “drinks,” eachunrolls his blankets, and chooses his bed for the night. Some elect to sleep on the counter, and some on the flour sacks piled at one end of the room, whilst the rest stretch themselves on the floor, with their feet to the fire. Occasionally a few commence gambling, which, with an accompaniment of drinking and blasphemy, goes on for the greater part of the night.

Descending from the high land, we came to the “Hundred Mile House,” at Bridge Creek. This is the commencement of a tract of country more fertile than any we met with, except that of the Delta of the Fraser; and yet the amount of good land is of but small extent. Here and there a rich bottom, a consolidated marsh, or the lowland on the banks of some stream, had been converted into a productive farm, and the low hills afford plenty of pasturage; but the whole of the rising ground is merely sand and shingle, and nothing but bunch-grass flourishes there. On the road we met a small bullock-wagon, escorted by about twenty armed miners on foot. This proved to contain 630 pounds weight of gold, the profits of a Mr. Cameron, the principal shareholder in the noted Cameron claim. This gold, worth about £30,000, had been amassed in the short space of three months, and represented probably less than one-half the actual produce of the mine during that time.

At Soda Creek we took the steamer for Quesnelle. Captain Done, the commander, was a jolly, red-faced, portly fellow, of exceeding hospitality.He invited us to his cabin—the only furnished room on board—and bringing out a box of cigars, and ordering a whole decanter full of “brandy cocktail” to be made at once, desired us to make ourselves happy. Every quarter of an hour we were called out by the nigger “bar-keep” to have a drink with the Captain and the “crowd,” as the general company is termed. A refusal would have, been considered grossly rude, and we had to exercise great ingenuity in evading the continual invitations. The only excuse allowed is that of having just had a meal, for a Yankee always drinks on an empty stomach, and never after eating; and American manners and customs rule in the mines. The steamer cost no less than 75,000 dollars, or £15,000; the whole of the machinery and boiler-plates having been brought 200 miles on the backs of mules.

At Quesnelle Mouth we slung our roll of blankets on our backs, and started on foot for William’s Creek. The road was very rough, a narrow pack-trail cut through the woods; the stumps of the felled trees were left in the ground, and the thick stratum of mud in the spaces between was ploughed into deep holes by the continual trampling of mules. The ground had been frozen, and covered with several inches of snow, but this had partially melted, and rendered the surface greasy and slippery. We stumbled about amongst the hardened mud-holes, and our huge jack-boots soon blistered our feet so dreadfully, that by the second day we were almost disabled. Fortunately we picked up a pair of“gumboots”—long boots of India-rubber, used by the miners for working in the water—which had been cast away by the road-side, and substituting these for our cumbrous riding-boots, struggled on less painfully afterwards. The trail, gradually ascending, passed along the sides of pine-clad hills closely packed together, and separated only by the narrowest ravines; we had indeed entered the same region of mountain and forest which we had formerly encountered on the upper part of the North Thompson. By the road-side lay the dead bodies of horses and mules, some standing as they had died, still stuck fast in the deep, tenacious mud. We passed a score of them in one day in full view; and hundreds, which had turned aside to die, lay hidden in the forest which shut in the trail so closely. Martens and wood-partridges were numerous, and a tall Yankee, from the State of Maine, who had joined our company, greatly distinguished himself, knocking them over with his revolver from the tops of the high pines in a manner which astonished us. As we approached William’s Creek, the ascent became more rapid and the snow deeper, for the frost at this height had been unbroken.

On the evening of the third day’s march we reached Richfield, sixty-five miles from the Mouth of Quesnelle; but, acting on the advice of our friend from Maine, walked on through Barkerville to Cameron Town, lower down the same creek, where the richest mines were being at this time worked. It was already dark, and we had a roughwalk of it—along the bottom of the narrow ravine through which runs William’s Creek, scrambling over “flumes,” logs, and heaps of rubbish for about two miles, before we doffed our packs at Cusheon’s Hotel. We had reached Cariboo at last, although by a much more roundabout way than we originally intended.

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