CHAPTER XVIII

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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