Entered, according to Act of Congress, in the year one thousand
eight hundred and fifty-one, by
Leonard Woods,
In the Office of the Clerk of the District Court of the Southern
District of New York.

PREFACE.

Having so long been a miner, and acquainted with all his privations and sufferings; having experienced his elation at success and his depression at failure; having passed through the trying season of acclimation, and lain once beneath a lone oak, expecting, as he looked up to the stars shining clear above him, there to end his days; having rocked the gold-digger’s cradle, wielded his pick and spade, messed and slept with miners, he is prepared to present a correct view of his subject for those who have friends at the mines.

He considers that it will be proper to present incidents of travel on his journey to California, in connection with the more important object, both to afford a view of the dangers and difficulties of the earlier emigrants to this country, and also to maintain the unity of his plan.

He hopes to make this little volume useful to those who are, or who expect to be, engaged in the arduous employments of mining. If any shall be encouraged to perseverance—especially if any young men who shall be thus thrown into circumstances where immorality and vice are so prevalent, and to which many give themselves up too easy victims, shall be put upon their guard, his best wishes will have been accomplished. He recalls, with sadness, the case of a merchant of education and refinement, who left a large circle of friends and a young family. With bright hopes he started for the gold placers. Disheartened by several failures, depressed at his separation from his family, he sought in the social cup to forget his sorrows and disappointments. Within three months from the time he arrived in the country he became a subject of mania a potu, and died in the streets of San Francisco. The path of vice in California lies not through the ordinary influences of life; it leads not, as elsewhere, through a long course. It lies rather on an inclined plane, and speedily runs down into despair and ruin.

I intend to make this volume a miner’s manual, in which he may find important directions relating to the various mining operations.

Another motive with the writer is the desire to induce all who are doing well enough, who are living within their means and laying by a little, to remain satisfied at home. The question is often asked, Who should go to the mines? It is very sure that a man with a family depending upon his daily efforts should not go. He should not exhaust his slender means, and run himself in debt, with the hope of making himself independent in one or two years. Let such a one, who is inclined to do this, picture to himself his wife struggling alone with poverty or sickness, his children left without a father’s presence and love to guide and protect, and himself a homeless wanderer, subjected to the privations, hardships, and sickness incident to such a vagrant life.

Let the young man go, if he will, who has no family depending upon him—who has a strong constitution, and stronger moral courage; who is sober and persevering; who has little prospect of making a comfortable living at home, and who can make up his mind to spend five years from it, and to enjoy as few comforts as did Diogenes. To such a one there may be some comfort in even a miner’s life. He has not, like the man of family in a similar condition, to experience how much the heart can bear and not break—to live only in the future, while he

His is not the history of an exile heart. He may enjoy the rest of the laboring man beneath God’s own glorious canopy. The hardships which he endures in this, the gold-age of his life, may make him more satisfied with his situation when he returns home, while the troubles which once annoyed him will not there be experienced.

Daniel B. Woods.

Philadelphia, July 1, 1851.

SIXTEEN MONTHS

AT

THE GOLD DIGGINGS.

CHAPTER I.

GEOGRAPHY AND HISTORY.

The channel which forms the entrance into this singular country from the Pacific is two miles in width and three in length, and is opposite, under the same parallel of latitude, to the Straits of Gibraltar. After passing through this channel, the lowest of the series of bays, that of San Francisco, opens broadly before you, dotted with several islands clothed with verdure, and rocks white with their coating of guano, around and upon which hover and settle immense flocks of sea-fowls. Above the ranges of hills, in the east, rises the distant Sierra, crowned till July with its winter snows. The bay opposite the city is twelve miles wide, and, with the bays above, contains anchorage ground sufficient to accommodate every vessel, from the ship of war down to the schooner, in the whole world. In the north, the bay contracts into a narrow passage, and opens soon into a second spacious bay, ten miles in diameter. Still another strait connects this bay with a third, containing numerous islands, and receiving, at its head, the waters of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin. These, with the Colorado, are the principal rivers of California.

The mountain ranges may be briefly described. Fifty miles from the barren and sandy shore of the Pacific, and running parallel with it, is the coast-range, well defined, but not so elevated as the other more remarkable range. This is the Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Range, which bears its lofty peaks, covered even into summer with snow, far into the sky. This range is one hundred and fifty miles farther inland, and also runs parallel with the coast.

Within all this lies the available portion of California, which consists of several fertile valleys, among which I shall notice particularly those of San Juan, and of the Sacramento and San Joaquin. The former is of limited extent, being not more than twenty miles long by twelve wide, but of great fertility. This may be regarded as the garden of California. There can not be found a more salubrious or more equable climate in any part of the world. It is said to resemble that of Andalusia, in Spain. This valley is situated between the coast-range and the Pacific, and extends from the Bay of San Francisco north and south.

The valley of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin lies between the coast-range and the Sierra Nevada. It may be considered as one continuous valley, the two rivers uniting their waters at the head of the bays. It extends in length from about the forty-first parallel of latitude, three hundred miles to the delta of the Sacramento, and thence to the head waters of the San Joaquin. Over this whole region is found scattered the evergreen oak, resembling the trees of an old apple-orchard, and upon the ridges grows the red-wood. A fine growth of pine is found among the mountains.

All the tributaries of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin rise among the Sierra Nevada. It is of importance to have the position of these well understood. The first branch worthy of note in descending the Sacramento is called Feather River. Bear Creek and the Yuba are streams emptying into this river. The American River is another branch of the Sacramento, fed by those streams named North, Middle, and South Forks. In proceeding south up the San Joaquin, the Stanislaus is the first river of note. The next branch is the Tuolumne, and then the Merced—the Rio de los Mercedes of Old California, and abbreviated into Mercey by the miners. Higher up are the Marepoosa, King’s, and some smaller rivers. All these are rapid, clear mountain streams, containing abundant supplies of the finest salmon. The Sacramento and the San Joaquin have no tributaries on the lower or western side.

Still within these interior limits last described lies a comparatively narrow belt of land, difficult of access, guarded by a thousand dangers and privations, yet possessing all the extraordinary and magical influence of Aladdin’s cave, and realizing our boyhood’s dreams when we filled our hats with the shining coins. This—the heart of the country—is the true, the mysterious California—the shrine at which tens of thousands of weary and exile pilgrims do homage, and where already great multitudes have left their bones. This is California—the country lately an uninviting wilderness, where the Indian and the bear disputed possession, now, all along its streams, upon its bars, in its gulches and ravines, covered with the tented home of the miner, while its hill sides echo back ten thousand eager voices, the din of innumerable picks and shovels, and the scraping and grating sounds of a thousand cradles incessantly rocked, emptied, and refilled.

Let us attempt a description.

Between the Sierra Nevada on the east, and the Sacramento and San Joaquin on the west, and at about twenty-five miles distance from both, are the foot or lower hills of the Nevada. These foot-hills embrace, or rather constitute, the gold region. They are perfectly defined upon the lower side, where they rise abruptly from the level plain below. Upon the upper side they are irregular, often running up toward the mountains, and rising to an elevation of three or four thousand feet. This belt of land is five hundred miles in length and fifty in width. It is traversed by the tributaries of the Sacramento and the San Joaquin which have been mentioned. These streams, rising in the Sierra Nevada, and flowing west, cut their channels through these foot-hills. They also receive, in their progress, the arroyos from a thousand springs, which burst out over all this enchanted region. These creeks and rivulets, sometimes gliding smoothly along to their meeting, and sometimes becoming impetuous mountain torrents, form the world-renowned ravines and gulches of the California gold diggings. During the prevalence of some great freshet, or other cause sufficient to produce such an effect, these streams are sometimes pushed out of their former channels, which instead are filled up, sometimes to the depth of thirty or even forty feet, with a loose foreign soil. Such placers constitute many and the most important of the “dry diggings,” which sometimes spread themselves out over valleys to some considerable extent, and were doubtless formed by washings from the hills in the vicinity.

The “river diggings” include the bars and auriferous portions of the channels of the tributaries of the Sacramento and San Joaquin, during their passage through the foot-hills.

Though the broad belt of ground which has been here described is named the gold region, it is by no means to be supposed that the precious metal is found equally distributed over its surface, as if it had rained down, or been thrown broadcast by some volcanic action over the whole country. The placers where the auriferous dust is found are, in comparison with the whole extent of the country so named, exceedingly limited. The miner often travels many miles over this region—he wanders for days along its river banks and over its bars, and turns aside into some of its numerous ravines—he often pauses to examine spots which appear to him favorable, and with his pick, shovel, and knife—always his companions—digs his fifty holes, testing each with his pan, without success. And even when he comes to the favored bar or placer from which many pounds of gold may have been taken, there is perhaps one chance in fifty in favor of his collecting any considerable amount of gold. Upon these very localities thousands of industrious miners barely make their living. The hopeful miner eagerly hastens, with high expectations, to the diggings. He chooses his bar, and marks off a claim; this he faithfully “prospects,” then abandons it for another and another, till he comes to the conclusion that the whole business is a lottery.

The primitive formations prevailing through the gold diggings are the soft granite and the talcose slate. The superstrata are various, and depend upon the formations in the hills adjoining. The first in importance, as being intimately combined with the gold, is the quartz. This is found in broken fragments, from the fine pebbles to the huge masses, over the whole surface of the country. It is often seen crowning the hill-tops, and sometimes is found in veins in the valleys. There can be no doubt that the quartz and the gold were formed in combination.

This is now so universally admitted as not to require to be substantiated. It is also placed beyond a doubt that the gold of the mines has been attrited, and taken to the various deposits by the action of water; and the gold is found in coarser or finer particles, according as it is exposed to a greater or less degree of this action. In some cases, the gold has been found running in veins, more or less rich, through the quartz, and so closely combined that they must be reduced to powder before they can be separated. With but few exceptions, however, the working of these veins has not proved profitable.

Perhaps there is no part of my whole subject so difficult to be described as the climate of California. One cause of this is, that it is so different in various parts of the state, and in the same part during the various seasons. In general there are two seasons—a wet and a dry. The first commences about the middle of October, and continues to the first or middle of April. It must not be supposed that there is rain continually during this season. My journal exhibits the following statistical results:

In October, 1849, it rained two days—the 9th and 10th.

In November, 1849, it rained fourteen days—cloudy three days.

In December, 1849, it rained eight days—cloudy three days, and snow one day.

In January, 1850, it rained seventeen days—cloudy one day, and snow three days.

In February, 1850, it rained four days—cloudy three days, and snow three days.

In March, 1850, it rained nine days—cloudy three days, and snow one day.

In April, 1850, it rained one day—April 5th.

During the months of October, November, and December, 1849, and of January, 1850, the mean average temperature indicated by the thermometer was as follows:

At sunrise, 36°.

At noon, 50°.

Lowest at sunrise, 23°.

Highest at sunrise, 48°.

Lowest at noon, 40°.

Highest at noon, 50°.

In February, 1850, in the morning, 36°.

In February, 1850, at noon, 62°.

In March, at morning, 39°.

In March, at noon, 58°.

The Hon. T. Butler King estimates, in his report to government, that the soil west of the Sierra Nevada covers an area of between fifty and sixty thousand square miles, and is capable of supporting a population equal to that of Ohio or New York at the present time. A large portion of this land, although fertile, can not be cultivated, owing to the drought. The portion of the soil capable of irrigation is comparatively small, and lies upon the rivers and streams.

The products of this state are various. The climate and soil are well suited to the cultivation of wheat, rye, barley, and oats, the last of which grows spontaneously over the whole length of the sea-coast, and for many miles into the interior. Irish potatoes, turnips, onions, and beets are produced in great perfection. The various fruits are cultivated with facility.

It is not the design of this work to give a history of California previous to the discovery of its gold. But it may be proper, in connection with the geography of the country, to present a brief history of the mines and the operations of the miners.

In the spring of the year 1848, Mr. Sutter employed two men to make an exploring tour along the branches of the American River, where it passes through the foot-hills already described, to find a growth of pine timber, and a suitable site for a mill for sawing it into boards. The site and the timber were found upon the south branch of that river. Little dreamed those day-laborers, as they broke ground for their rude mill, in that solitary wilderness, that the results of that day’s labor would give employment to thousands and tens of thousands of such implements as they then used; that the one spadeful of red dirt, at which they gazed so intently, at the bottom of which a few yellow bits of shining dust appeared, was soon to exert a mysterious, a profound influence upon the commerce, the welfare, the destinies of the whole human family. An influence was about to go forth from that narrow ditch which would return again, and bring with it an innumerable multitude, thronging from every quarter of the world, overcoming all difficulties, bringing with them their houses and supplies, and spreading themselves over the hills and valleys of this country. That moment was an epoch in the world’s history. It was the discovery of GOLD; and, which is of far more importance, it was the planting of the Anglo-saxon upon the shores of the Pacific.

At this time California contained but fifteen thousand people. The belt of gold country was comparatively uninhabited, and entirely without supplies of provisions, except such as might be procured by the rifle of the hunter, and as entirely destitute of shelter. In a few weeks after the 1st of June, 1848, it is estimated that there were five thousand miners. As they came generally without provisions, these commanded an exorbitant price. At the time Rev. Alcalde Colton visited the mines, which was some time after the discovery, flour sold for $4 the pound, sugar and coffee at $4, a tin pan $6, laudanum $1 the drop, rum $20 a quart, and picks sold at $18 each. It was not until the summer and fall of 1849 that the American emigration began to arrive. They came across the plains, through Mexico, by the Isthmus, and around the Horn; and before the winter it was calculated that there were fifty thousand engaged in this business. During this season the miners extended themselves along many of the streams and through many of the ravines of the gold region. The provisions were scanty and unsuitable. Very few vegetables, and little fresh meat, were to be purchased at any price. Flour and pork were the staples, which were sold at $1 the pound till the rainy season commenced, when they sold for $2. A few bottles of pickles which reached the mines were sold at $6 and $8 the bottle. In the winter good boots brought $96, and ordinary $32 and $64.

The year 1850 opened more favorably in the supplies furnished at the mines. It was estimated by Mr. King, who wrote at that time, that during the year there would be one hundred thousand miners employed. Many of them had built themselves comfortable log or stone houses—provisions were more abundant, and at lower rates. Vegetables, fresh meats, and fish were constantly supplied, many of them from the vicinity of the mines.

It will be perceived that the statistics which I have prepared of the profits of mining differs essentially from other published tables. I have only to say in defense of my own, that they are the result of the most careful observation and inquiry during sixteen months’ residence in the mines. They are furnished by individuals most of whom have given their names and residences in connection with the results of their labors. The table presents the average profits in their most favorable aspect, being furnished by a class of industrious and persevering miners. The winter averages of fifty-six miners in the best of the southern diggings is $3 26 for each day to each miner.

The summer averages were based upon the operations of mining companies located upon the most profitable bars of the Tuolumne, and furnished in every case but one by the secretaries of those companies. The table gives the result of thirty-five thousand eight hundred and seventy-six working days, which was bullion valued at $113,633 95, or an average of $3 16 for each day’s labor to each man.

Hon. T. Butler King, in his report to government, gives the average as $16 per diem. It is a question of some importance which of these is the correct estimate. Let us present the aggregate amount of gold taken out of all the California mines during the year, according to both estimates. According to that of Senator King, and allowing the year to have three hundred and thirteen working days, the one hundred thousand miners would give the sum total of $500,800,000, or over half a billion dollars yearly, while the average sum would be $5008 to each miner. The other estimate would average $1004 73, and present the total profits of the mines for the year as $100,473,000. One would think that the rest of the world should be satisfied with having picked from the pockets of this old California miser who has hoarded his treasures so long, nearly a hundred million of dollars in one year! Half a billion! that would be taking too much!

Not only is the digging of gold the most uncertain of all employments, it is also one in which science and all past experience are at fault. No rules can be given, no evidences furnished for finding the concealed veins or opening the rich deposits. The miner is not sure of his gold till he holds it in his hand, and then it seems very difficult for him to hold on to it. One of our coins is very properly denominated the eagle, since it seems endued with wings, and is so apt to fly away.

CHAPTER II.

VOYAGE TO CALIFORNIA.

We must take our readers with us, first to the theatre of Tampico, where we went, not as spectators, but as actors upon its boards. The first night after our arrival we appeared upon its stage, performing our parts in the celebrated farce, the California Gold Diggers—a play which has since been performed a thousand times, and with unabated interest. To explain myself, our quarters, while in the city, were in the old theatre, the various rooms of which we occupied as sleeping and eating apartments.

This city is pleasantly located upon an elevated promontory, being almost an island, having the River Panuco on the one side, and a lake upon the other. It contains about seven thousand inhabitants, many of whom are Americans. There are several large plazas or public squares, and some pleasant houses. The American consul, Captain Chase, took us to the spot where his heroic wife raised the American flag, and maintained it in spite of the threats of the Mexicans.

The furnishing of such a company as ours with all the horses and mules necessary for a journey of about eight hundred miles was not to be accomplished at once. On the morning of the 8th of March, and the fifteenth day after our arrival, we were mounted on “mustangs,” a small and hardy horse, peculiarly adapted to the mountains over which we were to travel, our provisions and clothing being on the backs of mules. All being ready, we slowly filed out from the hacienda of Mr. Laffler, a large farmer from Ohio, who was under contract to supply us with animals to Mazatlan. We had spent some days here preparing for the march, and amusing ourselves in spearing fish, and in shooting deer and alligators, being ourselves likewise the sport of innumerable swarms of musquitoes, ticks, fleas, and jiggers. This latter insect, though very small, is the occasion, at times, of great inconvenience and suffering. These tropical insects handled us so cruelly, that we were compelled to write, eat, and sleep with gloves. To avoid them at night, I encased myself in a bag, made of cotton, which I drew up over my whole body, then bringing it around my head. This arrangement proved so much to my advantage that I continued it during the whole time of my absence.

Upon the march, a Caballero, mounted upon his mule, took the lead, followed by the whole train of draught mules and the attendants. Then came the guide and the company, sometimes drawn up, under our military captain, in regular order of march, and sometimes extended out over the trail as far as the eye could reach. We were advised to keep well together, and never to dispense with the night-guard, on account of the guerillas, who would ever be on the watch for an opportunity to attack us.

For several days our march lay across the level plains of the Tierra Caliente, the region of perpetual spring, and clothed with verdure. Having reached the foot-hills of the Sierra Madre, or Andes of Mexico, one day’s travel brought us up into the temperate region. This was the lower table-land. The landscape was no longer gay with flowers, but abounded in immense forests. Here were found the varieties of the musquite, the stately cypress, and the banyan. The whole undergrowth was a thorny thicket, in which the prickly pear and the cactus predominated. After traveling a day over this region, we came to a valley, into which we descended, and where, in the midst of a fertile country, we entered Villa de Vallee. This town contains a cathedral in ruins, which, like those of many of the towns of Mexico, were partially destroyed at the time of the revolution, and have never since been repaired. One of the wings was occupied as a chapel, while the residence of the Padre was in a kind of shed behind.

A letter from Bishop Kendrick, of Philadelphia, which he kindly sent me as I was about leaving home, procured me every attention here. This general letter of introduction, written in the Latin language, gained for me much valuable information from the priests of Mexico. The assistance, and in some cases the protection, which it secured to our whole company, can not be overrated. It is as follows:

Padre Calisti endorsed this letter in Spanish.

The houses of Villa de Vallee were of one story, and generally made of mud-bricks dried in the sun. The people seemed all poor and very indolent, the women, as is the case through Mexico, being far superior to the men in industry and intelligence. We remained here several days to have our animals shod, a necessary preparation for crossing the mountains. The day before we left, the padre invited me to dine with him.

After the animals were made ready, we proceeded over the plains toward the mountains, some of the peaks of which we could see. Before we reached these we crossed the Tomwin River at a small town where we passed the night. The place for the entertainment of travelers was near the banks of the river, and late in the afternoon we walked out to the stream, where were gathered men, women, and children, floundering and bathing in the water. Nor was it long before several of our company were joining in their wild and gleeful sports.

For some time reports of a revolution in the country about us reached our ears, and hearing from some villagers that, if we kept on our course, we should meet the insurgents the next day, we concluded to turn aside at once into the mountains, though we should thus be compelled to ascend by a path which is seldom attempted. We were three days in climbing the mountains and clambering over the rocks—such as I hope not to see again. Its precipices were fearful. We would sometimes wind our way up or down the face of a mountain by paths cut in the side, over which a person might be let down many hundred feet by ropes. It was a volcanic country, and its conical peaks were surrounded for miles with scoria and pumice-stone, which tore the shoes from the feet of our animals, rendering it almost impossible to travel. This was a country fitted for the ladrones and guerillas. And the frequent crosses planted by the path told of murders which had been committed here, and where the traveler was, if so disposed, to offer up prayers for the repose of the souls of the murdered. We were cautioned to be on our guard, and to maintain a constant watch at night. But, notwithstanding such cautions, we were often tempted, for the sake of avoiding the dust, to travel in advance of the train. In company with a gentleman who was armed as well as myself, I started on, not expecting to meet our companions again till we halted for the night. We were about three miles in advance of the train, and, as we rode around the angle of a large rock near the path, six or seven men, who were lying there apparently watching for us, started suddenly to their feet and sprung to our side. Our guns were fortunately in our hands, and in a position that we could use them; we were also armed with revolvers and knives at our belts. Seeing that we were not intimidated by their violent gestures, but were calm and ready, they soon dropped behind us, and after a time disappeared. These robbers never attack travelers if every chance is not in their favor. A small party of five persons belonging to our company were placed in greater danger even than ours. They were traveling some days before us, and not far from this same spot. They had been warned at the last town that a party of twenty guerillas had gone out early in the morning for the purpose of attacking them. As they rode slowly on, they came in sight of the robbers, who had chosen well their positions, and were waiting for them. Five of the twenty-one robbers were stationed in the path, while the others were divided up into small gangs on each side and in the rear. All these were mounted but one, who was employed as a runner between the different parties. The Americans halted, newly capped their rifles and revolvers, and slowly proceeded on their way. With pale faces, but undaunted hearts, they rode up to the Mexicans, who, as they came on, retired and allowed them to pass. When they reached the summit of a hill a half mile distant, and looked back, the robbers were still in the same position. The knowledge, on their part, of the certainty, in case of an encounter, of the death of some of their number, daunted them.

At length we reached the summit of the table-land, eight thousand feet above the level of the sea, which spread out a vast plain before us, from which many lofty volcanic peaks sprung up, attaining to an elevation of fourteen thousand feet.

Excepting in the valleys, there is but little vegetation upon these plateaus. And we could not imagine where the supplies for the markets of the cities could be obtained. For several days our path lay through palm and palmetto groves. The parasol shade of their small tops was no shelter from the heat of the sun at noon, but rather increased its intensity. And the whole day long would come, screaming over us, the never-ending flocks of parrots. Their cry, to a weary traveler, is almost intolerable. The cactus, Mexico’s national flower, and emblazoned upon her coat of arms, and stamped upon her coin, is found here in a thousand varieties. The beautiful flower itself is often three feet in height. After leaving these palm groves, we entered upon a very barren and desolate region. It was a desert of sand and dust, almost without water. Our mules would raise such a cloud of dust, especially if there was any wind, as to be nearly suffocating. The great elevation to which we had attained caused the most disagreeable sensations. On lying down at night, or rising in the morning, there would be a painful giddiness. The skin became parched and dry, and the spirits were oppressed. While traveling over this region, we were overtaken one day by a dust storm, which was as novel as it was oppressive. It was near night. We saw before us, which after a time spread out all around us, many wild whirlwinds which extended up into the sky, carrying with them apparently solid conical masses of clouds. We counted upward of sixty cones formed and forming at the same time. As the sun was setting, these extended at the top, opening something in the form of an umbrella, the cones still continuing to play up their heaving masses into its expanding bosom, which presented a most unearthly and terrific appearance. It was the blackness of darkness, which suddenly became illuminated by the lurid flashes of lightning darting through it, and forming a picture of that wrath which, we may suppose, broods and bursts over the bottomless pit. Suddenly its edges closed down around us, snatching away the remaining light of day, and shrouding us in darkness, like that of Egypt, through which we groped, calling and shouting to each other, yet not able to see a yard before us.

Again a rush was heard, which came nearer and more near, filling us with dread, till it struck us with the suddenness of a blow. It was as though all those cones had drawn closer and closer together, till they were piled into one consolidated mountain of dust, pressed down by the mass in the air upon our heads. For a time all our efforts to see or to speak were vain. We could hardly breathe. If we moved at all, it was by setting our backs against the elements and pushing with all our strength. There was not a drop of rain; it was a storm of dust—a sirocco. Fortunately for us, we were near the meson, which we entered after being half an hour exposed to its fury, and as it was abating. Every thing was penetrated by it, and it seemed as though water could not clean our eyes or our throats.

In the mesons, the various apartments for travelers, the stables, the eating-room, and all the offices, are built around a spacious paved court, upon which all the windows and doors open. A large gate forms the entrance, which is closed and bolted at night. The rooms for travelers, often twenty feet square, are entirely unfurnished. He is to supply his own bed and bedding, which he spreads out upon a floor which seems never to have been swept. For his meals he must go to the fonda, and order what he may choose or what they may have. One dish at a time is spread upon the bare table, which is often furnished with plates, but not often with knives, forks, or spoons. A variety of soups, made hot with red pepper, and a slice of bread, forms the first course. Then follows rice, with thin Indian cakes. Sometimes squash fried in lard is added. A favorite dessert is the Mexican custard, made of rice or chocolate. Coffee, wine, or pulque, a drink made of the maguey, closes the entertainment. There are distilleries in the country where the pulque is converted into a most hateful species of whisky.

In the morning the horses and mules are led out into the court, every preparation is made, and the travelers take their leave, throwing behind them their hasty adieus. These mesons in city and country are very filthy, and much infested with vermin. In one instance we saw a number of Tarantulas—the venomous black spider of the tropics—hanging upon the walls of our room after we had slept upon its floor.

On the 22d of March we entered San Luis Potosi. This is a large city, possessing considerable wealth. It is near the silver mines, and contains a mint.

We saw here, for the first time, a stage-coach. It was up for the city of Mexico, distant about three hundred miles, which journey is accomplished in six days, at an expense of $25 for a seat. The coach consists of a large unwieldy frame, upon which is swung the body, which is comparatively small.

The ignorance of the Mexicans is equal to their superstition. We were amused at an instance afforded us in the case of a schoolmaster. While describing to him the modes of traveling in America, we told him about the steamers, at which he was not much surprised, having heard of them before; but when we told him of the rail-road, he listened with the same incredulity with which the King of Siam heard the missionaries describe ice; but when we told him of the telegraph, he slowly arose, wrapped his serapi around him, and moved off, without deigning us a word or a look.

We were present at a cock-fight, one of the favorite amusements of the Mexicans in general, and of Santa Anna in particular. A low fence inclosed the pit, within which were the attendants exhibiting the game cocks, and the owners who were taking the bets of the spectators. Among these were several padres, always known by their peculiar dress. The crowd around exhibited no excitement. Gambling with the Mexicans is a regular pursuit, and not a means of diversion or excitement. There was no difference in their appearance, whether they were at church or at their cock-fights. After all the betting was done, long steel spears, made very sharp, and three inches in length, were fastened upon the legs of the cocks, and they were pitted to fight. In the first encounter, one cock thrust his spear into the breast of the other, which died very soon after. In the second, two fine cocks were pitted, and more interest than usual was felt and deeper betting elicited. In less than half a minute, one was lying dead, the spear of the other being thrust so far through his head that it was with difficulty withdrawn.

In one of our rambles through the city, we were accosted in the most remarkable manner by a well-dressed and beautiful sigñorita. She was seated at a window of one of the houses of the wealthy. As we caught her piercing black eye, she smiled a cordial greeting, to which one of the party responded by a respectful “Buenos dias, sigñorita!” Her reply was a terrible oath, and a most obscene expression in English, and yet there was that about her manner and tone which denoted that she meant to say that which was very civil and kind. We were told, when relating the incident afterward to an Englishman residing in the city, that some American soldiers very basely amused themselves, while pretending to teach the sigñoritas our language, by making them repeat just the expressions we had heard, and other similar ones, as forms of polite salutation.

We spent two days in the city to give rest to our animals, and then proceeded on our way toward Guadalaxara. Between these two cities the country is more uneven. The scenery is often very beautiful. We received many cautions to be on our guard, as we were to pass through a part of the country where many depredations and murders had been committed. We were told of travelers who had been suddenly dragged from their horses by the lasso, and murdered. One day we witnessed an instance of the surprising skill of the Mexicans in the use of the lasso. One of the horses threw his rider, and went galloping off across the plain. In a moment a muleteer had spurred his mule forward in pursuit, coiling up his rope as he went. Presently the coil darted through the air, and fell with unerring aim over the head of the horse, bringing him at once to a pause.

The most beautiful city we saw in Mexico was Santa Maria de los Lagos. Its cathedral was grand, towering high above its houses, and, as we rode through the streets, was inviting, by its chimes, to vespers. This town appeared to be more thriving and prosperous than any we had seen. The remark has often been made that the views of the city and its environs, from the tower of the cathedral, are similar to those of Jerusalem. San Juan de los Lagos, another city a day’s journey from the former, was almost equal in beauty. Its cathedral was even more splendid. The first object which caught our attention, as we were crossing the plaza on which it fronted, was a woman creeping on her knees toward the steps of the cathedral, probably as a penance.

It was not without some apprehension, after having heard so much of guerilla parties, that we saw before us, the day after we left the last town, a company of armed men coming toward us. We were ordered to examine our arms, and have them ready for use. They proved to be government troops, which were marching to meet the insurgents in Tamaulipas county. At their head were several American deserters, but not Americans, who were leading along some females by the hand. We also met a company of “Volunteers,” who had just been “pressed” into service. They were chained together in gangs of ten or more, and were driven along—the most desperate-looking wretches.

On the 2d of April, 1849, we reached Guadalaxara. This is the second city in Mexico, and contains a population of 125,000. Some of the cathedrals have cost millions. Many of the public buildings and squares, and the palaces of the wealthy, are very beautiful. The interiors of the cathedrals glistened with their silver shrines, chandeliers, and railing. The rude floors were covered with kneeling worshipers. The tones of the bells are very clear and sonorous. This is probably owing to the large amount of silver used in their composition. This, like the city of Mexico, is very compact, the streets straight, broad, and well paved. The houses, with their heavy-grated windows upon the streets, and their huge door-ways in the centre, gave them the appearance of so many fortresses. It is behind these walls and gates that the Mexican is luxurious and extravagant. His house is most gayly furnished, nor does he spare any expense in procuring that which will please his fancy. The women never wear bonnets. The covering for the head is called the reboso. This is a kind of scarf, some six feet long and three wide, which covers the head, and is drawn closely down over the face, and then crosses in front. It is a very common practice with the Mexican women to smoke the cigarrito.

In this city we were first made rather painfully aware of a custom of the country, of uncovering the head while passing the front portal of the cathedral. Two or three stones, well aimed, removed the hats which our hands should have removed. The streets, as in the cities generally, are here cleaned by the convicts, who are chained and guarded by soldiers. As we were passing one of these gangs, I had fallen behind my companions, and was alone. One of the soldiers came to me, and, saying “Amigo” (friend), suddenly thrust his hand into my pocket. Supposing that he wanted tobacco, I told him I had none. While I was speaking, another soldier put his hand into a pocket on the other side.

Here we witnessed the procession of the Host. The priest, carrying the sacred emblems, rode in a carriage, followed by a band of music, and numerous attendants bearing a flag, upon which was painted the likeness of a lamb, about which were many persons bearing lighted lanterns. Then came a crowd of citizens. As the procession passed, all in the street knelt.

One among the many cathedrals we visited greatly interested us. It was filled with beautiful exotics, brought there from the gardens of the wealthy in honor of the approaching Easter holidays. As we were passing through the aisles, examining the flowers, a lady of rank and fortune, perceiving us, called a lad to her, whispering to him. He went out by a side door, but soon returned, followed by a venerable-looking priest, who addressed us in correct English. When he had read Bishop Kendrick’s letter, he gave us a cordial welcome, and led us into his library, one of the largest on the continent. This contained many of our own standard works, and was ornamented by the portraits of distinguished men, among which we noticed a splendid portrait of Washington. Assuring me we should want nothing to render our journey agreeable and safe, he sent an attendant to show us the paintings and treasures of the cathedral.

On the 4th of April we left Guadalaxara, having received notice from an officer of government that no travelers were permitted to enter or to leave the city during the Easter solemnities. In a few hours we entered the wild passes of a very picturesque and mountainous country. The first time for many days our road led us along over many fine mountain streams, and through forests, where we began to find our own pine and oak. “A song for the brave old oak” was heartily responded to by all. As night set in, we pitched our camp in a narrow defile, surrounded by high peaks, which we were to ascend on the morrow. The inhabitants seemed as wild as their country. Every hour our guides were coming to us with stories of recent robberies and murders, and committed upon the very spot, perhaps, where we then were. In one deep gorge of the mountains into which we were passing, we were told that three hundred armed guerillas awaited us. And, in another place, a few days previous, some government soldiers had met a large company of robbers, and had dispersed them, after shooting several of the most desperate. In corroboration of these stories, we suddenly came upon a scene so fearfully in keeping with our own excited state of feeling, and the wild character of the country around us, that we shall never lose the impression left upon our imaginations. In the midst of a field charred and blackened by a fire which had passed over it, stood out in bold relief a gallows, upon which were hanging three mangled and distorted bodies. There they had hung about six weeks, after having murdered twenty persons. Over the gallows, which was a painted one, were printed these words of warning: “Asi Castiga La Ley Al Ladron Y Al Asesino.”

Magdalena is a pleasant town, situated among the mountains, on the banks of a beautiful lake. Here we saw the first of the dramatic street representations of the closing scenes in the life of our Savior. These consisted in enacting each day in their order the events recorded in Scripture. Most of the day and one entire night were devoted to these exhibitions, in which all the people participated. In Magdalena the procession paraded the streets during the night, with torches, and accompanied by a band performing solemn music. The image of the Savior, which was Spanish in its features, like all the sacred images of Mexico, had a bandage over the eyes, and was led away by a band of ruffians, as if for trial. At a distance the image of the Virgin Mary was borne along by weeping females. We saw nothing more—not again entering any town—till the third night, when we reached Tocotes. At this stage in the series the Savior was represented as borne by the centurions and soldiers to the tomb. The image was placed in a glass coffin strewed with flowers. This was borne by men. At a distance was the image of Mary led by women, her hands folded in an attitude of grief. The cathedral was decorated with a profusion of flowers, in the midst of which was the tomb. These tragical scenes were followed, at the close, by a fandango, which is a dance peculiar to the country. It is a lazy shuffle, accompanied by music upon the guitar, varied occasionally by a song, in the chorus of which all present join.

During one evening of Easter, soon after we had arrived at the meson, some one came rushing in, informing us that the guerillas had surrounded us. Seizing our arms, we hastened to the court, where all was confusion. There were thirty robbers outside the walls. They said that they were government soldiers, and loudly demanded admittance, asserting that they came from the alcalde. The proprietor told them they were ladrones, and refused to admit them. They left soon after, threatening to return. The alcalde came in much alarmed, and told us that they were robbers; that the troops of government never traveled during Easter, and if they did they were bound to report themselves to him. We mutually pledged ourselves, in case of an attack during the night upon the town or upon our quarters, to aid the citizens or they us, as the case might be. We made our preparations for defense, and slept with our arms at our sides. Nothing more was heard of the robbers. In the vicinity of Tocotes we crossed over a remarkable mountain. For several hours we were ascending by zigzag paths, each turn bringing us higher among the clouds. When we had reached the summit point, we were several thousand feet above many of our companions and all the mules, a distance of more than two miles by the road, but in a direct line not more than one quarter of a mile, for we could distinctly hear the loud talking of the company and the shouts of the mule-drivers. We looked over the edge of the precipice, and watched our companions as they wound their way slowly up. The view was very grand, though it produced a painful giddiness. Soon after ascending this mountain, our way led us through the crater of an old volcano. There were the pumice-stone, the scoria, and the charred and blackened rocks, as though they had but just issued, boiling and bursting, from the bowels of the earth. We could imagine that we smelt the sulphurous vapor and felt the volcanic heat arising from the pent-up fires below, so fresh did the whole field of desolation and ruin appear. And our imaginations were carried back to the fearfully terrific scenes which had been enacted here. The descent from the table-land down to the shores of the Pacific is abrupt and steep. On the 12th of April we reached San Blas, a dull and unhealthy sea-port. At this place, our company, which had hung together in fragments, was dissolved. Men alone are not social beings; and the numerous attempts to bind them together in California gold-mining associations are as vain as the attempt to make a rope of sand.

After some delay in making our preparations, we embarked at San Blas on the 12th of April, in the San Blasiña, a schooner of twenty-three tons—being thirty-six feet long and twelve wide—for San Francisco. In this miserable, unseaworthy craft, thirty-eight of us took passage. It was represented to us that the Pacific was so quiet that it would be safe to go up in open boats. Alas for our error! Yet it was only too common. In some instances, emigrants, in their extreme anxiety to proceed on their way, have embarked in whale boats at Panama, hoping to reach San Francisco. Our voyage to Mazatlan was most disagreeable. We were so cramped for room on deck, the hold being filled with bananas, that three of us slept in a canoe hewed from a log, which was made secure on deck. The portion of it which I occupied was two and a half feet long and three and a half wide. There I slept for eight nights. On the 20th of April we reached Mazatlan, after having been put upon an allowance of water, and the last day having no water at all. This is an important sea-port and a fine city. Though it possesses no public buildings of note, many of the dwelling houses are spacious and pleasant. Its fine bathing-ground forms its principal attraction. A small and inferior chapel is the only place of worship, while the amphitheatre for the bull-fights is a spacious inclosure, capable of accommodating many hundred persons. This “Plaza de los Toros,” as it is called, is an amphitheatre covering about one quarter of an acre. Around this the seats are arranged in tiers. On one side are the pens for the bulls, on the other the elevated seat of the manager, fancifully decorated. Large show-bills state the number and qualifications of the various animals, brute and human, to be brought forward, and invite all who are so disposed to be present. The Sabbath is generally the day selected for the spectacle, and on the morning of that day a procession of the valiant and brave, already equipped for the encounter, and accompanied by martial music, parade the streets. During the pauses in the music, a crier, in a loud voice, boasts the victories they expect to achieve. Many of the spectators are females. Nothing but unmingled disgust and loathing can be excited by the scene. It is a disgraceful and cowardly butchery, in which the poor animal has not even one chance of defense or escape.

A great number of Americans were waiting at this place for opportunities to go to San Francisco. Many of them had exhausted their means, and were engaging in various employments to raise money to take them through.

There are about seven millions of inhabitants in Mexico. The rich class are very wealthy, own most of the land in the country, and live in palaces in the cities. They are few in number. Among them may be classed a portion of the priests. The poor class constitute the great majority, seldom owning any property, and the larger proportion being abjectly poor.

We took our departure from Mazatlan on May 4th, having spent two weeks in litigation respecting the schooner, which resulted in favor of the passengers, and made us, the first time in our lives, ship-owners. The whole had been an unfortunate operation, and we had already paid more for our passage than the schooner was worth. The owners had lost the money which had been advanced to them, and were unable to comply with the terms of the contract, by putting the schooner in sailing order in Mazatlan. Papers were accordingly made out, giving us undisputed possession of twenty-three tons burden of shipping. Our captain, a very old man, had not been to sea for twenty years before this memorable voyage. I shall presently have to relate an account of the adroit manner in which he upset a boat-load of us to pass half an hour among the sharks and waves before we could get to land. Our mate was a Frenchman, and the only skillful sailor among us. He knew that we were proceeding on a wrong course, and as it was mutiny to put the vessel on a right course by daylight, as soon as it was dark enough he would put the “ship about,” so that what we lost in the day we gained in the night. The rest of the crew were sailors drafted from the passengers. We were again short of water, and having been unable to procure a supply along the coast, we anchored off San José, a small town near the cape. The captain requested me to accompany him on shore. The waves ran very high, and it was dangerous to attempt a landing, unless under the guidance of one who understood “surfing a boat.” After every third wave which breaks upon the shore, there is a lull, short indeed, but of sufficient length to permit a boat which follows instantaneously upon it to get beyond the reach of the first wave of the next series. The only method is to row nearly to the line where the waves show a long white crest before they break upon the shore, and then to rest upon the oars. As soon as the third wave has passed, the rowers must urge the boat promptly and vigorously in. If this one rule is neglected, the “swamping” of the boat must inevitably be the result. The captain explained this so accurately that we could not doubt his skill. We had four stout rowers, breathlessly awaiting the signal upon the brink of the breakers. But, unfortunately, the signal came between the second and third waves. We were a hundred yards from the landing. Suddenly we heard the warning roar, like the low tone of the distant thunder. I looked behind, and the wave was moving toward us like an impending wall, six feet above the boat. Suddenly it broke, showing the white crest rapidly extending itself along as far as the eye could reach. Its first approach tossed the boat, like a straw, on one side, and instantly the whole wave came toppling down upon us, burying the boat and three of those who were in it beneath the rushing tides. I had risen from my seat, and the wave struck me many feet toward the shore, crushing my hat over my face and eyes, so that some moments and several waves passed over me before I could again see. When I was able to look around me, the captain and one of my companions were swimming for land. The others were clinging to the keel of the boat, after having been buried beneath it till they were nearly strangled. Those who were swimming were soon on shore, the captain so completely exhausted that he sank down into the water, and was dragged back to the dry sand. In half an hour all were safe on the beach, grateful for so remarkable a deliverance. Our danger was greatly increased by the fact that the place was infested with sharks. The next day, as we were walking along the shore, two fish darted out of the water, and were instantly followed by two large sharks, which pursued them high upon the beach. We made several attempts to double the cape and proceed on our way, but were driven back each time by heavy head winds. In our third attempt we were becalmed, and spent the most of the day in rowing our schooner along, which we did at the rate of three miles an hour. After we had turned in, and were sleeping upon some water and provision casks in the hold, made level by laying down sticks of wood and boards between them, a severe gale sprang up, and drove us at a fearful rate from our course. The sails were rent, and flapped wildly in the wind. No one but the mate dared to approach them. He was at the helm, which he lashed down while he drew in and furled the refractory sails. Our danger was great, and during the long hours of that night there was little sleep among us. Eight, each unknown to the others, formed a resolution, that if we lived to reach the land, we would never again risk our lives in the San Blasiña. Near the close of the next day, we anchored in a narrow roadstead off the cape. The mate and many of the passengers went on shore, which was half a mile distant, taking the torn sails to be mended. The boat was also hauled up on the beach, and turned over to be caulked. It was near night of the following day, and we were all scattered over the beach and in the village, when alarm guns from the schooner arrested our attention. To our surprise, the vessel had changed her position, having dragged her only anchor. She was already nearly two miles distant, those on board having lost much time in ineffectual attempts to bring her back to anchorage. By the time the mate and a crew daring enough to venture out could be found, she was almost at sea, and already pitching about over the waves. Soon a dark, cloudy night obscured the schooner and the boat alike from our view. We kindled a large beacon-fire on the beach, and, wrapping ourselves in our blankets, anxiously awaited the return of our companions. In the morning the schooner was safely moored near the shore.

At this place our ship’s company was divided, a part being determined to proceed on their journey by sea, while another part intended to walk up to San Francisco, a distance of twelve hundred miles, over a barren country, and uninhabited except by Indians. Of these latter, a portion started by an almost imperceptible path, which led them toward the Atlantic coast, while the remaining four of us expected to proceed up the gulf coast. As we ascended the hills behind the village, we caught a last look of the schooner, already out some distance at sea. When we reached San José, to our joy we found the Scottish barque Collooney, Capt. Livingston, for San Francisco, anchored there, having put in for water. We were received on board, and on May 25th weighed anchor and were again on our way. The Collooney was from Panama, having on board two hundred passengers, with accommodations for twenty. At the time for meals, two assistant stewards, mounted upon the long boat near the two galleys, called over the names of the passengers belonging to their divisions. As his name was called, each one walked up if it was calm, and reeled up if it was rough, to the galleys, and received in a tin plate and dipper his allowance. It was a tedious voyage of thirty-five days from the cape to San Francisco. On several Sundays I was invited to preach upon the quarter-deck. On these occasions we were sometimes favored with original hymns from the pen of T. G. Spear, of Philadelphia, who was a passenger on board. I shall give a part of one of these as very appropriate.