CHAPTER XII.

YUBA—THE MINER’S TENT.

I could have made the trip by water, as there is steamboat communication between Sacramento and Marysville daily; but having sailed up the river as high as this place once before on a pleasure excursion, I preferred the land route for the sake of seeing the country. I was disappointed, however; for, as the distance between the two cities is a mere continuation of the Sacramento valley, I saw nothing materially different from the purlieus of the city I had left. The surface of the valley is remarkably level, and is sparsely timbered with scrubby oaks and other gnarled trees of uncommon form. Nor is there any thing of unusual interest to be seen in Marysville. Sacramento is its prototype, and it has been modeled after that city with scrupulous exactness. I never saw two places more alike.

By means of the same conveyance that carried us to Marysville, we resumed our northern journey early in the morning of the succeeding day, and by twelve o’clock we reached the place of our destination. We were now on Long Bar, a popular mining place, divided and watered by the Yuba. Two miles beyond is Park’s Bar, which I had visited on a previous occasion; but this was the first time I had ever entered the mines for the purpose of digging gold. Now, however, I had come to try my luck, and to see what the gnomes and fairies would do for me.

Once fairly started in a miner’s life, I could not completely steel myself against the extravagant hopes which seemed to float in the very atmosphere of the mines. Wild and extravagant fancies would in spite of me obtrude themselves upon what I thought a well-balanced mind. Nor were these reveries by any means unnatural, unreasonable though they might be. Thousands of miners have, from time to time, indulged hopes equally impalpable and transitory. I was standing over deposits of gold, and who could tell how large they were, or how easily they might be found? Who knew but that I should dig from these hills more wealth than was ever locked up in the vaults of the Rothschilds?

I had supplied myself with abundance of provisions, a pair of good blankets, and every needful mining implement. Being in what is called surface diggings, that is, on a spot where the gold lies near the surface of the earth, I could perform all the necessary manipulations myself. I noticed that those around did not delve deeper than from three to four feet in this place. It did not pay to go lower; and whether it paid to dig at all, will be seen hereafter. My implements consisted of a pick, a spade, a pan, a bucket, a cradle and a wheelbarrow. The cradle, though rudely made and of rude material, was a very good one, and I have since regretted that I did not keep it and bring it with me, as it would have answered a domestic purpose quite as well as a more costly one. The modus operandi of single-handed mining may be described in a few words. The earth is loosened with the pick, thrown into the wheelbarrow with the spade, rolled to the river, emptied into the cradle, washed by pouring water over it from the bucket, and carefully rocked until the gold is separated from the dirt. The clods of earth, during this process of washing, slowly dissolve, or are suspended in the water, whereupon the gold, (if there is any,) being heaviest, sinks to the bottom. All the contents of the cradle are then turned out, except a thin layer at the bottom, which is supposed to contain the precious metal. The next and last process is to scoop this layer into the pan, and wash and rewash it until the dirt is entirely separated from the gold. A sieve, or rather a piece of punctured or perforated sheet-iron, which catches the larger stones and other insoluble substances, is fixed about midway the depth of the cradle. The gold is generally found in small particles about the size of grains of sand, sometimes not half so large, sometimes much larger. The size of the grains, as well as the quantity, depends very much upon the locality. No lumps larger than a small pea were obtained from this bar.

Fearing that I might make a fortune immediately, and return to the city without learning how the gold gleaners live, I determined not to commence operations until I had scrutinized the whole bar, tents, miners, mining and all. Indeed it was necessary for me to converse with some of the miners, in order to acquaint myself with their laws respecting claims, dams and water. All surface diggings, when marked out, or laid off in small plats, are called bars; and these bars are known by distinctive names, as, for instance, Rocky Bar, Steep Bar, Sandy Bar, &c. The name is not always derived from a peculiarity of the place. Frequently they are called by the names of the men who first discovered gold on them, as Brown’s Bar, Hall’s Bar, Drake’s Bar; and sometimes they take their names from an important event that occurred at or near them at the time they were opened, as Highwayman’s Bar, Rioter’s Bar, Murderer’s Bar. Among the more fanciful names that designate localities in various parts of the mines are the following: Whiskey Bar, Humbug Creek, One Horse Town, Mississippi Quarters, Mad Ox Ravine, Mad Mule Canon, Skunk Flat, Woodpecker Hill, Jesus Maria, Yankee Jim’s Diggings, Death Pass, Ignis Fatuus Placer, Devil’s Retreat, Bloody Bend, Jackass Gulch, Hell’s Half Acre.

Every Bar is governed by such laws as the majority of the miners see fit to enact, not by written or published documents, but by verbal understanding. All the mines are public property, that is, they belong to the United States government, which, in its suicidal liberality, exercises comparatively no jurisdiction over them. So far as the general government is concerned, Chinese marauders and foreign cut-throats have the same rights and privileges guaranteed to them, in this matter, as American citizens. Besides the enormous sums of money that the federal government paid for California, it did a great deal of hard fighting, and now has to keep a body of troops stationed there to prevent the Indians from desolating the country; but aliens, who bear no part of the burden, and who refuse to become permanent settlers or citizens, are permitted, nay, encouraged, to come in on an equal footing. No tax is levied upon them. They are protected from the Indians by our soldiery, and share all the benefits with the native citizens; yet they are not required to aid in defraying the common expenses. It can hardly be doubted that this is bad policy? Would it not be bad management in a father, after having bought a farm, to let strangers come in and carry off the fruits of the soil, to the detriment and impoverishment of his own children? If so, then our government, as a general mother, is doubly culpable.

Almost every Bar is governed by a different code of laws, and the sizes of the claims vary according to locality. In one place a man may hold twice, thrice, or even quadruple the number of feet that are allowed him in another. One fourth of an acre is an average-sized claim. The discoverer of new diggings is awarded a double or triple share, or only an equal part, as a majority of those on the ground shall determine. Two claims cannot be held by one person at the same time, except by purchase. If a man lets his claim go unworked a certain number of days, say five, eight or ten, he forfeits it, and any other person is at liberty to take possession of it. When a miner wishes to quit his claim only for a few days, he stacks his tools upon it, notifies two or three adjoining neighbors of his intention, and goes where he pleases. If he returns within the time prescribed by the laws of the Bar, he is entitled to resume his claim; but if he is absent a day longer, it falls to the first person, without a claim, who may happen to find it. There is more real honesty and fairness among the miners than any other class of people in California. Taken as a body, they are a plain, straight-forward, hard-working set of men, who attend to their own business without meddling in the affairs of others; and I have found as guileless hearts amongst them as ever throbbed in mortal bosom. Genuine magnanimity or nobleness of soul, when found at all in California, must be sought among the miners—especially among those who are farthest removed from the contaminating influences of idlers and gamblers.

Drones and sluggards—things in the shape of men, who are too lazy to work for an honest living—are the chief authors of the horrible crimes that have rendered this country so odious and despicable. They are the persons who are always creating disturbances; cheating, robbing and murdering; and there is such a legion of them that no place is exempt from their presence. Wherever there is money they may be seen skulking around it; and if they cannot filch it from the rightful owner by intrigue or artifice, they will do it by more violent measures. They lurk behind the poor drudging miner, even in the farthest gorges of the mountains, and there butcher him, that they may avail themselves of his hard-earned treasures. An incident of this nature, which terminated most admirably, occurred near this place but a few days before my arrival. A highwayman met a miner in an unfrequented place, and, with a cocked pistol pointing towards him, demanded, “Your gold this instant, sir, or your life!” “Hold! you shall have it,” exclaimed the miner, when quickly thrusting his hand into his breast pocket, as if feeling for his purse, he drew his own revolver and shot the would-be assassin dead upon the spot.

While reconnoitering the bar, I made excuses to call on several miners who happened to be in their tents. As for the tents themselves, though nearly all of the same size, they differ very much in appearance and quality. A great many are made of duck or white canvas; while others are built of stunted saplings, which grow sparsely throughout the mining region. Those constructed of the latter material are about the size and shape of a common hog-pen, with a stick and mud chimney, which very frequently has a headless whiskey barrel stuck in the top for a funnel. These are the best and most comfortable domicils about the mines; and it is only when miners, or a combination of miners, have large claims, which afford them steady employment for a considerable length of time, that they are enabled to build them. There being no planks, boards, slabs, nor other sawn or hewn timbers, the poles are covered with brush or coarse cloth, and sometimes with raw-hides. The ground is the floor in all cases. No chimney nor whiskey-barrel flue graces the gable-end of the canvas tent; it is merely a temporary shelter from the scorching rays of the sun and the chilling dews of the night. Until the miner is successful enough to secure a good claim and build himself a hovel, of course he is compelled to sleep under the roof which canopied Adam and Eve, and he must take his chances of the tarantula and of the assassin.

The interior of the miner’s tent corresponds to its exterior. Spread upon the ground, on one side, we see a pair of rumpled blankets, upon which he sleeps. They are thoroughly saturated with mud and dust, and have never been shaken, switched nor sunned since their place was assigned them. Scattered here and there, about the edges of the blankets, lie several of Paul de Kock’s and Eugene Sue’s yellow-backed novels, whose soiled margins and dog-eared leaves give evidence that they are not allowed to go unread. Something less than half a dozen packs of cards are within reach, while three or four old stumps or chunks of wood, employed as substitutes for chairs, occupy random positions about the floor. In one corner is a keg of brandy or whiskey, and in another the cooking apparatus and provisions. As for tables, delft-ware, knives and forks, or any thing of that kind, there are none. The miner always carries his pistol and bowie knife by his side day and night, and with the latter weapon, aided by his fingers, he reduces his food to convenient morsels.

His cooking utensils consist of a frying-pan and a pot, neither of which, except in rare instances, is ever washed. The pot is mostly used for boiling pork and beans, and the old scum and scales that accumulate on the inside from one ebullition serve as seasoning to the next. Pork and beans are two of the principal articles of diet with miners, partly because they are comparatively cheaper than other provisions, and partly on account of their being so nutritious and wholesome. The beans, especially, are very fine; they are imported from Chili, and are superior to any I ever saw in the Atlantic States. By boiling as much at one time as the pot will hold, the miner generally saves himself the trouble of preparing these articles of food oftener than twice a week. When cooked to suit him, he sets the pot on one side, leaving the contents in it uncovered; this is his pantry, and out of it he makes his meals from time to time, until all is consumed, when he replenishes it with a fresh supply of the same kind. Flap-jacks are very frequently used in lieu of bread. They are a combination of flour and water, fried in such grease as can be extracted from the pork; or, if the miner has no pork, he bakes them as he would other thin cakes of dough. If he is not too far removed from a depot of general provisions, he will probably keep a bottle of molasses, which may be seen by the side of the frying-pan, unstopped, and containing an amount of flies and ants nearly equal to that of the saccharine juice. These entrapped insects do not seem to come within the scope of his observation, as he never attempts to clear his bottle of them. He is not very squeamish about his diet.

It is but seldom that the miner suspends labor on Sunday if his claim is a rich one; but if it is poor, he usually lets it rest on that day, while he does his washing and mending. I have already said that he carries his bowie-knife and revolver with him day and night. There is scarcely an exception to this rule; ninety-nine out of every hundred are thus armed, and this accounts for the fatal result of almost every altercation. No matter what it is that occasions disputes between men, whether slight misunderstandings or grave difficulties, few words are bandied before they appeal to their weapons, and the life of one or the other is sure to be lost in the fracas,—sometimes both are killed. This barbarous practice of carrying deadly weapons is not alone confined to the miners; you rarely find a merchant, mechanic, lawyer doctor, or man of any other calling in California, who does not keep them concealed about him. By a calculation, based upon fair estimates, I learn that since California opened her mines to the world, she has invested upwards of six millions of dollars in bowie-knives and pistols—pretty playthings to give to her children!

Having surveyed and examined the bar, and all that pertained to it, to my satisfaction, I constructed a small canvas tent, and the next day began to search the earth in quest of gold. Though I was not reared in idleness, this was my first lesson in real hard labor. Here, in the summer season, the thermometer ranging from 90 to 105 degrees of Fahrenheit in the shade, mining, when diligently and assiduously prosecuted, is certainly the most toilsome employment in the world. I imagine that the tillage of sugar-fields is pastime compared with it, and that the African slaves who gather coffee in Brazil, have no adequate conception of hardwork.

For three months I applied myself to my tools and claim with all the energy of my nature—digging, shoveling and rocking, with the snarls of grizzly hears to lull me to sleep at night, and the howls of hungry wolves to regale my ears at the break of day. With all this wear and tear of body and mind, my account-current of proceeds and expenditures stood, at the expiration of that time, giving myself no credit for either loss of time or physical exhaustion, just ninety-three and three-quarter cents—balance on hand! This was building a palace with a vengeance! A net profit of ninety-three and a quarter cents in three months, being “two and six-pence” per month, or a fraction over a cent a day.

Hope, however, did not forsake me, and besides that, (shall I confess it?) I felt a sort of malignant satisfaction that I was not alone in my disappointments. I found consolation in the misfortune of others! When I looked around me, and saw scores of dirty, hungry, ragged, long-haired miners, who had toiled and labored like plantation negroes, on this and other bars, for more than two years, and who could not command as much as five dollars to save their lives, it buoyed me up, and made me better satisfied with my own ill-luck. The feeling that thus manifested itself may have been worthy of censure, but I am sure it was natural, for no energetic or enterprising man likes to see his neighbor out-do him, or surpass him in the acquisition of wealth—especially if their chances and opportunities have always been the same. If I had not been unsuccessful myself, I should not have chuckled over the corresponding misfortunes of others; but, to be candid, feeling that my devotion and application to business entitled me to a reasonable share of prosperity, I had but little sympathy for my fellow-miners, who, being no more worthy of reward than myself, failed in their efforts to excel me. I said I had but little sympathy for them. I had some. It grieved me to see so many stout, athletic men undergoing so many privations and discomforts, wasting their time in unprofitable schemes, only to be at last subjected to the most galling disappointments.

The time had now come, however, for other thoughts and considerations. A change of location seemed to be necessary. The profits of mining did not warrant longer continuance at this place. It occurred to me that the sum of ninety-three and three-quarter cents was but indifferent remuneration for three months’ herculean labor. I wished to have nothing to do with this lying equivalent, so handing it over, with my compliments, to a poor, needy, hungry-looking neighbor, I shook the dust from my feet and departed, after the manner of Lot when he left Sodom, not deigning to look behind—not for fear, however, of being turned into a pillar of gold.

CHAPTER XIII.

STOCKTON AND SONORA.

The San Joaquin valley, in the midst of which this city is situated, would probably be the best agricultural land in the State, if the water could be drained from it; but in its present low and boggy condition, it is utterly unfit for cultivation. It takes its name from the low-banked river which meanders through it, and is as level as a garden. No vegetable production is found upon it, except the tule, a tall, pithy species of rush or calamus, which bears a more striking resemblance to the flag than to any thing else of Atlantic growth. This tule, which grows as thick as it can stand, and from six to eight foot in height, is an annual plant; and in the fall of the year, if fire be communicated to it during the night, when there is a light breeze stirring, it burns with an indescribable splendor. I have said that this aquatic weed is the only natural product of the valley; this is true, as regards all that part which is perfectly level, and which presents the appearance of a vast meadow; but as we approach the Coast Range on the south-west, or the Sierra Nevadas on the north-east, we come to slightly elevated knolls, upon which we find clumps of gnarled oaks. These trees all lean towards the east, as if bowing their heads in adoration, having grown in this reverential posture while under the influence of the winds from the west.

This valley affords another evidence of the unfavorable condition of the country. It shows conclusively that even the most valuable parts of the State are encumbered with insurmountable impediments. The bottom lands, which are mainly relied upon for agricultural purposes, are too wet to till, and too low to drain; while the uplands are so dry and sterile that neither grains, plants nor fruits can be raised upon them. There is either too much moisture or none at all. It is a land of mountains and mud-holes. Still, there are some extensive plains and valleys which might be successfully cultivated, if the seasons were adapted to them; but the absence of rain during the summer renders them of little or no value to the farmer. It is very probable, however, that in the progress of time, as the other members of the confederacy become burdened with population, the more eligible parts of this State will be settled and, by means of irrigation, made tolerably productive; but when California is thus peopled and converted into a place of permanent habitation, it will be by the force of destiny, rather than by any attractions it can offer to immigrants. They may make it their home as a dernier resort, but they will not do it as a matter of choice. So long as there is any unappropriated territory in other parts of the Union, California will not be in demand.

We shall find but few things deserving attention in the city of Stockton, having already examined its archetypes, San Francisco and Sacramento. It is due to this place to remark that, notwithstanding all its Peter Funk and Cheap John establishments, it sustains a better character than any other city in the State. Though it has its share of groggeries and gambling-houses, and is, in most respects, fitted out in true California style, it is not infested with so many drones and desperadoes as are usually met with in neighboring towns. I am well acquainted with many of its citizens and know them to be estimable men—not too lazy to work, nor too sour to laugh at a merry thing.

Sonora is an inland town, situated in the midst of one of the richest mineral regions in the southern part of the State. A stage-coach affords the most convenient and expeditious means of reaching this place, which lies about fifty miles to the south-east. Starting early in the morning, we travel as last as a dare-devil driver can make four horses convey us—frequently meeting and overtaking numerous pack trains, pedestrians and ox-teams, passing to and fro between the mines and Stockton. A part of the country over which our road leads us, is a somewhat elevated plain, which, being entirely destitute of trees and other vegetable products, presents a most dreary and uninviting prospect. We see nothing around us but the naked earth. There is no accommodation for either bird or beast—no resting-place for the one, nor food for the other. The pack-trains, pedestrians and ox-teams, constitute the only animal life in view; and as we see them plodding along over this barren waste, our memories are refreshed with vivid recollections of those stories, which we read in former days, of caravans crossing the great desert of Sahara.

It is a fact worthy of being here recorded, as illustrative of the success of the miners, that we shall observe a larger number returning on foot than we find going. I was amused one day, while on my way to the regions of hidden treasure, when meeting a ragged, hairy, Esau-looking pedestrian, he hailed me with “Hallo.” “How are you?” answered I. “Which way?” asked he. “To the mines,” replied I. “Well, my friend,” said he, “you will excuse me for speaking plainly; this is a free country and I presume you are at liberty to go to the mines or to the d—l, just as you please; but, mark my words, if you are going to the mines to dig, I’ll be d—d if you don’t rue the act.” “May-be not,” remarked I. “Very well,” he added, “you’ll see. By the time you delve and toil two long years, under the broiling sun as I have done, and have seen others do, without making a decent living, you’ll perceive the truth of what I tell you.”

Steadily pursuing our course, about twelve o’clock we came to the Stanislaus River, a small tributary stream of the San Joaquin. Here we stop to change horses and get dinner, there being a sort of bastard hotel near the brink of the river. Numerous Indians, naked and hungry, could be seen prowling about this place, or seated in squads, partaking of a mess of worms, young wasps, grasshoppers, or any other similar dainty to which their good stars may lead them. It was a long time before the savage creatures would tolerate the presence of the white man amongst them; but they have been so repeatedly routed in battle, that they have now given up open hostility and are comparatively peaceable; still they secretly cherish the most implacable enmity to our race, and improve every opportunity to dispatch us when they can do so without being detected. They gain nothing, however, by these covert misdeeds; for our people, understanding their insidious conduct, retaliate by deliberately shooting them down whenever they come in their way. What the white man’s life is valued at by the Indian, is probably not known; but the white man hurls the Indian into eternity with as much nonchalance as though he were a squirrel.

Having appeased our appetites and secured the services of a fresh team, we cross the river and resume our journey. As we advance towards the place of our destination, the face of the country changes, from level plains to rugged slopes and woodlands. In the forenoon our road, though disagreeably dusty, was both smooth and straight, but now it winds over rocky glades, hills and gullies; and as the wheels of our vehicle mount and descend the rough impediments, we are jarred and shaken without mercy. Approaching still nearer the end of our journey, we have to contend with a more difficult and uneven surface; but being in charge of a very skillful driver, we are drawn safely over every rock and crag.

Arriving in Sonora between sundown and dark, we repair to a public house, and bespeak supper and lodgings for the night. The best hotel in the place is a one-story structure, built of unhewn saplings, covered with canvas and floored with dirt. It consists of one undivided room, in which the tables, berths and benches are all arranged. Here we sleep, eat and drink. Four or five tiers of berths or bunks, one directly above another, are built against the walls of the cabin, by means of upright posts and cross-pieces, fastened with thongs of raw-hide. The bedding is composed of a small straw mattress about two feet wide, an uncased pillow stuffed with the same material, and a single blanket. When we creep into one of these nests, it is optional with us whether we unboot or uncoat ourselves; but it would be looked upon as an act of ill-breeding, even in California, to go to bed with one’s hat on. Having once resigned ourselves into the arms of Morpheus, we are not likely to be disturbed by the drunken yells and vociferations of night-brawlers, now that we have become accustomed to such things. The noisy curses of the rabble will have no more effect upon us than the roaring water-fall or the mill-wheel has upon the miller. Night glides away, morning dawns, and we rise from our bunks to battle with another day. On the outside of the tavern, whither we betake ourselves to wash, are a tub of water, a basin and a towel, for all the guests; but as only one person can perform his ablutions at a time, it will be necessary for us to form ourselves in a line, and take our turn—the first comers being entitled to the front places. We are now ready to replenish the inner man. The bar is convenient for those who wish to imbibe. Breakfast is announced. We seat ourselves at the table. Before us is a reasonable quantity of beans, pork and flapjacks, served up in tin plates. Pea tea, which the landlord calls coffee with a bold emphasis, is handed to us, and we help ourselves to such other things as may be within reach.

No matter what kinds or qualities of viands are set before us, so that there be sufficient, for our stomachs have become so well tempered by this time that we feast upon them with as much gusto as if we were dining in a French restaurant. Neither spices, sauces nor seasonings are necessary to accommodate them to the palate. Our appetites need no nursing. Honest hunger disdains such dyspeptic accompaniments as the contents of cruets and casters. The richest condiments are the poorest provisions.

Our fast is broken—we are satisfied. The proprietor of the hotel, with his two male assistants, begins to clear off the table. Women have no hand in these domestic affairs. There is not a female about the establishment. All the guests, owners and employees are men. The dishes are washed, the blankets straightened in the berths; and while the cook is preparing dinner, some of the tavern-loungers seat themselves around the table, to take a friendly game of euchre, whist, seven-up, laugh-and-lay-down, old-maid, commerce or matrimony, while others saunter off to the gambling houses, of which there are about half a dozen in the place, to play at roulette, monte, faro, poker, twenty-one, all-fours or lansquenet. Such is hotel life in California, especially in the country towns and throughout the mining region.

Frequently several of the guests are fuddled, and as there are no partitions or apartments in the building, by which one person or set of persons may be separated from another, they are a most prolific source of annoyance to their sober neighbors. I recollect one occasion particularly, when, fatigued by a long day’s journey, I stopped at one of these mountain taverns in the hope of enjoying a comfortable night’s rest. Soon after eating my supper, which consisted of the standard dish, pork and beans, I crept into one of the farthest bunks, annoyed by the blackguardism and segar fumes of a group of drunken card-players, who occupied a table near the centre of the room. These swaggering inebriates, noisy as they were, did not prevent me from sleeping, as I had become habituated to witnessing such nocturnal carousals; but towards midnight, in came a wild, blustering lunatic, who had lost his reason about a week before, yelling and screaming as if a legion of fiends were after him. He was bare-footed, bare-headed and bare-legged, having no clothing upon his person, except a shirt; and I understood afterwards that he had been roaming about the place four or five days and nights in this condition. Making some inquiry concerning his history, I learned that he was a lawyer by profession, that he had formerly figured as an able and influential member of the Maine Legislature, and that, becoming embarrassed in his financial affairs, he left his family and emigrated hither in the hope of retrieving his fortune. Shortly after his arrival, not finding employment for his talent as a counselor, he determined to seek the favor of the mines; but his efforts in that quarter proved unavailing. For nearly a year he had toiled vigorously and incessantly, but to no purpose. He could not discover the hidden treasure which he sought. Disappointed and chagrined at the result, he resigned himself to the bottle. The remembrance of his dependent and far distant family, coupled with the mischievous influence of ardent spirits, increased and sharpened his mental suffering; his mind began to vacillate—his reason lost its equilibrium, and we now find him a raving maniac. More than half naked, friendless and forlorn, he wanders about the streets and through the woods, day and night—a poor, miserable, crazy vagabond. Why, it may be asked, was there not some public provision made for the removal and security of this pitiable nuisance? Simply because it was in California. Here, where there is nothing as it should be, this unhappy man was allowed to run at large. No one cared for him. He was supposed to be harmless, and was, therefore, permitted to live. If he had inflicted any bodily injury upon any one, he would probably have been shot or stabbed, and that would have been the end of the drama. Cases of this or a similar character are to be met with almost every day. I only mention this as a single instance.

To give a faint idea of the precocity and waywardness of youth in this country, I will relate a bloody incident which occurred at another hotel, where I had put up for a night’s lodging. In this case the landlord, a short, lean Massachusetts Yankee, was married and had his family with him. His eldest son, Ned, had not seen his ninth year. Nevertheless, this boy had learned to gamble. Whether his father or mother had instructed him in the art, or whether he had been tutored by the blacklegs frequenting the hotel, I am unable to say; but it was very evident that his parents cared very little about the matter, for they permitted him to play cards in their own house, and seemed to pride themselves upon his proficiency. Indeed, he was so dexterous in his manner of shuffling and dealing, and so quick to perceive the course and probable result of the game, that he was known throughout the neighborhood as the gambling prodigy. It may be questioned whether Hoyle himself was so conversant with diamonds, hearts, clubs and spades at so early an age.

Supper was now over, and the tables were surrounded with players. Little Ned had his place amongst them. I watched him more than an hour. He handled the cards with so much grace, skill and agility, and seemed to be so perfectly familiar with every branch of the game, that I could not withhold my admiration. As the night advanced, the parties became involved in a quarrel. Some one accused Ned of unfairness in changing the position of certain cards. Violent oaths and maledictions followed this accusation. Inflamed with anger, and assuming a menacing attitude, Ned denounced his accuser (a full grown man, three times as large and four times as old as himself,) as “a pusillanimous liar and scoundrel,” and added, “G-d d—n you, I’ll shoot you!” By this time the excitement had reached a high pitch. Things began to wear an alarming aspect. Several persons took sides in the matter, some for Ned and some against him. A general row seemed to be inevitable. Ned had the largest number of friends; but his enemies were clamorous and obstinate in their assertions that he had departed from the rules of the game, and declared in positive terms that he was a disciplined cheat.

Finally, however, Ned’s friends took upon themselves all the responsibility of his behaviour, and the war of loud invectives and imprecations was now waged more by the adherents of the original disputants than by those disputants themselves. The bandying of gross epithets attracted the attention of a large crowd. Serious consequences were apprehended. The occasion was pregnant with mischief. One of the desperadoes jerked a bowie-knife from his pocket, and was about to plunge it into the body of his antagonist, when another drew a revolver and shot him. A few struggles—a few groans, and the fallen man had ceased to live. But the injury was not confined to him alone. As the ball passed through the breast of the man at whom it was aimed, it lodged in the shoulder of an innocent spectator, inflicting a severe but not mortal wound. And now was enacted one of those awful scenes of retribution for which California is so notorious. The man who had just committed the homicide was seized by the mob, and, amid loud cries of “hang him! hang him!” led out to a tree and there summarily executed according to the prompt sentence of the excited multitude. It was a season of dreadful uproar and commotion. The man who was shot had not been dead half an hour before his murderer was suspended by the neck between heaven and earth. Thus we have seen the blood of two men shed in the quarrel of a stripling, who had not attained half the age of manhood, but who already was a reckless and abandoned little gambler. If we deemed it necessary, we might cite other instances of a similar character. Suffice it to say that this boy, Ned, may be taken as a fair sample of the rising generation in California. Of course, they are not all exactly like him, any more than two persons are exactly alike any where else; but the same unlimited freedom is extended to them all: they are allowed to do just as they please. What else can be expected? Is it to be supposed that parents who put no restraint upon themselves will govern their children with propriety? If the father is an habitual gambler, drunkard and desperado, will not the son be so too?

The truth is, there is no attention paid to the moral, mental or physical discipline of youth in this country. They are left to their own will and inclination, to grow up, like the plants and weeds in a neglected garden, without culture or training. Surrounded as they are with so many examples of depravity, what sort of men and women are they likely to he? It is probable that the world has never reared such a horde of accomplished scamps and vagabonds, male and female, as will soon emerge from the adolescent population of the Eureka State. The signs of the times warrant this conclusion. How can it be otherwise when they are familiar with every vice, and strangers to every virtue? It matters not how strict or careful the parents themselves may be, it is impossible for them to shield their children from the baneful influences of the neighborhood; and a man might as well think of raising a healthy and stalwart family in the midst of a malarious swamp, as to think of rearing decent sons and daughters in California. The boys persuade themselves that they are men before they are half matured; and their superiors are either too little concerned about it, or too deeply engrossed in business to teach them better. As a consequence of this precocious manliness, they give themselves up to all the pernicious habits and indulgences of older reprobates.

A few words now in regard to this town of Sonora. It is built upon the slope of a long hill, and contains about four thousand inhabitants. Only one street traverses it. Unlike most other towns, its length is very much disproportioned to its breadth. As well as I remember, it is something over a mile long, and only about one hundred yards wide; so that the single street which passes through it affords an ample avenue for the intercourse and business operations of the people. The houses, or, more properly speaking, the shanties, are built close together, and open on the street, in city style. Indeed, it is here called a city, and is governed by a mayor and common council. In fact, every collection of houses in this country, every hamlet, every village, every town, is called a city. No matter if there be only half a dozen houses in a place, it is termed a city, always taking the name of the locality upon which it is built, as Collusi city, Stanislaus city, Marin city. I have visited two or three of these California “cities” that contained but a couple of frail tenements each, and four or five old bachelor inhabitants.

Before it was ascertained which were the natural or most suitable and convenient parts of the State for city sites and trading posts, there was a wonderful deal of finesse practiced by a set of land-speculators. Scattering themselves over the country, they laid claim to certain eligible plats, which, according to their stories, Nature had formed expressly for capitals and queen cities. Large maps, margined with laudatory remarks, setting forth the peerless advantages of this place and that, were committed to oily-tongued agents for general circulation. The people were informed that such a place was destined to become a metropolis, that all the surrounding mountains, hills, valleys and plains were bound to become tributary to it, that the great system and machinery of the world could not move on harmoniously without it, and that those who secured the first choice of lots would at once be in possession of a lordly fortune. This, as a matter of course, was all sheer humbug; nevertheless, in California, where humbug mingles with every transaction of life, and where people are ever ready to lay hold of any scheme that promises money, it had the desired effect.

Many persons had confidence in these projects, and made investments in them. Besides several individual cases of which I might speak, I am acquainted with a company of men who laid out more than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars in this questionable species of property;—to-day their investment is not worth two cents on the dollar. It was perfectly amusing sometimes to witness the working of these bastard enterprises. The authors and agents of the plan, having their topographic charts and every thing in readiness, would bustle about among the people, pointing out and explaining the favorable and commanding situation of the place, assuring them that the attention of the whole country was now directed to it, and giving the most exasperated accounts of the demand for lots. In this way they would soon get up a great excitement, (it requires but a small matter to excite the people in California.) In a few instances, as many as seventy or eighty persons have been known to purchase interests in one of these bubble cities, and, laying aside all other business, flock to it without delay. Three weeks afterwards, there would probably be only one or two men on the ground, and no marks or vestiges of a city, except, perhaps, a few deserted cloth tents. It must be admitted that the projectors of these ephemeral cities made money at the expense of their victims.

The Americans were the principal operators in these speculative movements; but I know several Germans, who, though proverbially cautious in the matter of dollars and cents, were likewise drawn into them. In one particular case, two worthy representatives of the Faderland bought four lots, each forty-five by one hundred and thirty-seven feet, for thirteen thousand dollars, which they afterwards offered to me at ninety-five per cent. discount! I would not have taken the whole or any part of the plot at the rate of six dollars an acre.

I have alluded, parenthetically, to the excitability of the Californians. This is a remarkable trait in their character. The least thing of unusual occurrence fires their fancy and sets them in motion. If a terrier catches a rat, or if a big turnip is brought to market, the people cluster together and scramble for a sight with as much eagerness and impetuosity as a party of children would scramble after a handful of sweetmeats. If, in these hasty gatherings, one man happens to tread on the toes of another, it only requires one minute for the injured party to shoot the offender, two minutes for some body else to stab the shooter, and three minutes for the whole crowd to hang the stabber.

While in and about Sonora, we may have an opportunity of inspecting all the various systems of mining that are carried on in California. The whole earth, for some distance around, is literally turned upside down, or inside out. On the left, they are using the common single-hand rocker; on the right, sluicing; and in another place, sinking deep shafts. We shall here find a great many Mexican miners, who make deep pits and excavations in the hills, and who are generally very successful in their operations. These delving countrymen of Santa Anna seem to have a peculiar tact for discovering the veins of gold. But they do not confine themselves much to surface diggings. They have a greater propensity for holes. Sometimes they will go forty or fifty feet into the earth without finding an atom of the precious metal; but it is very seldom that they mistake their ground; they keep going, either in a perpendicular, horizontal or meandering direction, until they strike the ore. Except in working quartz veins, machinery has been but little employed, as yet, in developing the mineral resources of the State; but I am inclined to the opinion that it might be advantageously applied in gathering the gold in whatever form it may exist.

A part of the preceding chapter was devoted to observations upon the habits of life and personal appearance of the miner; but I neglected to mention his peculiar characteristic or appendage: this is the long hair upon his head and face. He neither shaves nor shears; he has no use for either razors or scissors. The tonsorial art is, in his estimation, a most reprehensible and unmanly innovation. Looking upon it as one of the fashionable foibles of society, he disavows all connection with it. He believes that Nature is not apt to make mistakes, that all things were created about right, that hair was placed upon man’s head and face to harmonize with the other organs of his body, that it has its distinct and peculiar offices to perform, and that if it is cut, the whole animal economy will be more or less enervated. Such is something of the faith of the miner upon this interesting subject, which has of late been such a theme of discussion among the mustachioed and non-mustachioed world.

I confess myself, in fact, a convert to his notions. To say that the whiskers or the hair should never be trimmed, would be as much as to say that the finger-nails should never be pared; while to say that the beard or the hair should be cut close to the skin, would be the same as saying that the finger-nails should be pulled out by the roots. If we shave the chin and the cheeks, why not the head, the hands and the arms? How comes it that hair is less tolerable on the side of the face than on the back of the hand? The Chinaman shaves his head all over, except a small spot on the crown, about twice the size of a dollar, and we laugh at him for doing so; but may it not be questioned which is the greater object of derision, a bald head or a beardless face? We are also in the habit of ridiculing young ladies because they lace or compress their waists, but would it not be equally becoming in them to sneer at us for disfiguring our faces? What would we think of the belles, if they were to get in the habit of wearing false whiskers? Would we not characterize the introduction of such a fashion as a silly and whimsical innovation? But is it any more ridiculous or censurable in a woman to make her face masculine, than it is in a man to make his feminine?

That the beard is a protection against sore throats, coughs, colds, asthma, and other ailments, every California miner will be willing to testify. It is said that the English colliers, who have long suffered from hemorrhage of the lungs, have evaded the disease altogether by discontinuing the use of the razor. Yet the newspapers inform us that the clerks in the Bank of England are not allowed to wear mustachios, under penalty of dismission.

As I have heretofore remarked, mining in California is one of the most precarious of all occupations. Yet it is the country’s only source of wealth, and if the laborer fails in it, he cannot betake himself to other pursuits. If he cannot make money by digging, shoveling and rocking, he cannot make it at all. Now and then, it is true, the miner meets with unanticipated good luck; but when such a thing occurs it is blazoned from Dan to Beersheba, whereas no mention is ever made of the thousands of unfortunate, poverty-stricken dupes, who, though equally industrious and deserving, scarcely defray their expenses.

I may refer to the case of an old man, who, for some time, was engaged in mining operations at this place, and with whom I became acquainted soon after my arrival here. Sixty years had left their traces upon his face, and his snowy beard and silver locks increased his venerable air. For a man of his age, he was remarkably vigorous; and as he was somewhat above the usual height, and well proportioned, with a kind heart that beamed through his intelligent features, he must have been, in his younger days, a noble specimen of a man. Even at the time of which we speak, he was a fine looking man, old in years but young in spirit, whole-souled, free from every species of hypocrisy, plain-spoken, full of courage and resolution, yet sincere and guileless as a child. Though I never saw him have on a clean shirt, though his whole garb was besmeared with mud and soiled with perspiration; though his hoary locks hung about his breast and shoulders in unrestrained length and unlimited profusion; and though he was nothing now but a poor, penniless old miner—yet, convinced that he had those excellent qualities within, which constitute the great and good man, I should have felt proud to call him father.

We will let this venerable sexagenarian tell his own story. I indite his own words, as nearly as I recollect them. Said he, during conversation one evening, after we had both quit work, “Some men would esteem themselves wealthy, if they were worth as much money as I was deprived of by bad legislation in Congress, a while previous to my departure for this country. Soon after the enactment of the tariff law of 1842, one of my neighbors and myself invested eighty thousand dollars in the manufacture of iron, in the State of Pennsylvania. Our business succeeded beyond our expectations; and in order to supply the increasing demands for our products, we found it necessary to employ additional force and capital, build new forges, and otherwise enlarge the sphere of our operations. Every examination of our affairs developed new evidences of prosperity, and our hearts glowed with gratitude to those sterling patriots and sagacious statesmen, Clay, Webster and others, through whose eloquent influence we were then harvesting the fruits of a protective tariff. But this thriving state of things was not of long continuance. In 1846 the tariff act of ’42 was repealed; and that repeal was the death-blow to our manufacturing interests. The duty on iron was reduced so low that it was impossible for us to compete with the importations from Europe. We became embarrassed, made an assignment, and finally, by sacrificing every thing we had in the shape of property, extricated ourselves from all liabilities. After this stroke of misfortune, having a wife and three daughters, who were partly dependent upon me for support, I concluded to come to California, believing, from the flattering accounts which I had seen published, that money was more easily accumulated here than in the Atlantic States. It is now almost two years since I arrived in San Francisco. Going to the northern mines first, I worked there something over twelve months; but finding it a difficult matter to pay expenses, I came south, and settled at this place. I fear I have not bettered my condition. During the last seven or eight months I have labored faithfully upon this bar, but have not been in possession of as much as twenty-five dollars clear money at any one time. I confess I am utterly disappointed in California. It has been grossly, shamefully misrepresented. I have tried it to my satisfaction. Now I would be glad to return to my home in Pennsylvania, but I have no means to convey me. And there is my poor family, my beloved wife and daughters—what will become of them? May heaven provide for them, for I am unable.”

As the good old man uttered these last words, the tears trickled down his cheeks, and he could say no more. Had it not been that I disdained to moisten California soil with such precious drops, I believe my eyes would have rained too; for the clouds began to gather about them, and I had to use no little precaution to keep them dry. It was certainly no sign of a white-livered man, to shed tears in a case of this kind; on the contrary, it was, at least in my opinion, a mark of goodness; and my estimation of the old gentleman was heightened, on account of the tender regard he manifested towards his family. He had lately received a most soothing and affectionate letter from one of his daughters, urging him by all means to return home on the first opportunity, and promising to exert herself to the utmost to make him happy. Handing the letter to me, he remarked that I might read it if I felt so disposed. A peculiar thrill electrified my whole system as I laid hold of the delicately penned missive. I was but little acquainted with that kind of literature, yet there was a charm about it, and I devoured its contents with avidity. It was a rare souvenir—beautifully written, well worded, and faultless in orthography.

CHAPTER XIV.

VOYAGE TO CALIFORNIA VIA CAPE HORN.

From the pier of Wall street, New York, on Friday, January 31st, seven passengers, myself amongst the number, embarked for San Francisco, on board the clipper ship Stag-Hound, under command of Capt. Josiah Richardson. The wind blowing from the north-east afforded us a favorable opportunity for standing out from land; of this, however, we did not avail ourselves until about 4 o’clock in the afternoon; for, although our vessel was towed out early in the morning, and every thing seemed to be in readiness for our final departure, yet, through some unavoidably delay, we were obliged to cast anchor off Staten Island, where it became necessary for us to remain until the time above mentioned. We then weighed anchor, set sail, and in a few minutes our noble ship was gliding over the blue waves with swan-like grace.

It was truly a magnificent sight, as we headed off so smoothly and so majestically from the shore, and made our way out farther and farther upon the dark blue deep; we spent the greater part of the evening promenading the quarter-deck, and admiring the enchanting scene. But our reverie and conversation were not altogether undisturbed by melancholy thought. We had just started upon a long, uncertain and monotonous voyage. Old associations had been broken up. We had bid adieu to our native homes, our nearest relations and dearest friends, probably for three or four years—possibly for ever. All before us then was an unknown world—an untrodden path, and phantom-faces of doubt and fear would loom up from the obscurity of the future.

The next morning I began to feel symptoms of that most intolerable of all sensations, seasickness. Of this malady I had some little experience once before, while on my way from Philadelphia to New York via Cape May; but I never entertained the least idea that it was half so depressing as I now found it. For three weeks and more I could scarcely eat a mouthful. It really seemed to me at times that eating was the most abominable occupation men could engage in; and when I looked upon dishes of which I had often freely partaken before coming on board the vessel, I either found it difficult to reconcile myself to the opinion that I was not dreaming, or came well nigh detesting myself for having ever been addicted to so gross a habit.

The monotony of our daily life was without variety for the next four or five days. The wind had been somewhat favorable, and we were making good progress until the evening of the fifth day, when suddenly the wind changed and we shortly after found ourselves in the midst of as nice a hurricane as ever sunk a ship or leveled a forest. The wind howled and shrieked in such a manner that I could compare it with nothing earthly; the sea, too, had assumed, by this time, a most formidable appearance; the rain was falling in perfect torrents—the lightning flashed incessantly, and such deafening thunder-peals mortal man never heard before. It appeared as if the elements, for the last five days or so, had been nursing their wrath for this particular occasion, and were determined that we, poor devils of passengers, should be made thoroughly acquainted with the comforts of a crowded ship in a tornado at sea.

The poor affrighted passengers (myself among the rest) despaired of the ship long before the severest part of the tempest was felt, and prayers and promises were offered up without stint for our salvation, by many that never prayed before and I suppose have never done so since. When morning dawned it seemed as if the fury of the storm increased—sea and sky were apparently as one; every thing, and every body appeared helpless, hopeless, panic-stricken. Most of our canvas had been taken in or closely furled, yet the ship dashed along with the speed of a race-horse. Things that were not well secured rolled about in the greatest disorder and confusion. The heavy seas which she had already shipped, and the still heavier ones she was then shipping, increased, if possible, the consternation inspired by the awful scene. In fact, things began to wear such a threatening aspect, that a speedy change of some sort was looked forward to with the greatest anxiety, not only by the passengers, but by the captain and crew, when, to complete our terrors, topgallant-masts, royals, and main-top-mast, with their appendages, came down with a crash that was heard above the howling of the storm. By this time the day had been spent, and night considerably advanced,—with fear and trembling we retired to our state-rooms, doubting whether we should ever be permitted to see the light of another day. For myself, I suppose I was quite as indifferent about the matter as any one else; for, when a person gets to be as much under the influence of nausea as I was at the time, any change is desirable, even though it carry him to the bottom of the deep. The night passed, and we found that the storm was beginning to abate, so that, in about forty-eight hours thereafter, its violence had entirely ceased, and fine weather attended us across the equator.

The loss of our masts, in this severe gale, at once threw a damper on our high hopes of a quick passage; but, fortunately for us, we had extra masts on board; and, through the indefatigable exertions and perseverance of our vigilant captain, we succeeded in getting all the wreck cleared away and jury-masts rigged. The shattered timbers and torn sails opened an unusually large field of labor for our carpenter and sail-maker. We kept on our course, which had been very nearly south-east ever since we started, until we passed the Cape Verde Islands, about four degrees to the west, when we steered due south, and crossed the equator between twenty-nine and thirty degrees west longitude.

The next interesting event that happened to us occurred off the coast of Brazil, in latitude 22° 25´—longitude 38° 29´, Sunday, March 2d. It was about six o’clock in the morning, and I had just left my state-room and gone on deck to take a bath, when a sailor by my side, pointing over the starboard bow, cried out, “Boat ahoy! boat ahoy! with men in it.” In an instant, as if by electricity, the news was conveyed to every ear on board, and, at the same time, the starboard rail was lined fore and aft with anxious sailors and half-dressed passengers. As we drew near them, (they had been rowing towards us all the while as hard as they could pull,) they commenced waving their hands and handkerchiefs, beckoning to us and calling out in an unintelligible language, as if imploring us to receive them on board. At the time, the sea was running moderately high, and we were gliding along at the rate of five or six knots per hour, so that in a few minutes we had them directly astern of us; but we were not so destitute of humanity as to pass them by and leave them to certain death. Our sympathies were quickly and enthusiastically aroused in their behalf, and as soon as our captain could get his ship under proper command, he hove her to and waited for them to row along side. Pretty soon they came close under the lee of our vessel, and their weather-beaten features and nautical garb at once gave evidence that they were not unacquainted with the life of sea-faring men.

A rope was thrown to them and they were all able to pull themselves on board by it, except one, whom we afterwards ascertained to be their captain,—he, poor fellow, was so much exhausted that he could not help himself, and we were obliged to hoist him in. Their story was the next thing to be learned; for, as yet, not a word they said had been understood. This difficulty was removed, however, as soon as we got our men collected; for, among our polyglot assemblage of men, representing nearly forty different nations, we quickly found an interpreter in the person of an old Swede, whose translation of their story was, in substance, as follows:—They were Swedes and belonged to the Russian brig Sylphide, which had been to Rio and taken in a cargo of eighteen hundred and twenty-five bags of coffee, with which they had set sail for Helsingfors, Finland,—when five days out from Rio, a severe storm, or rather squall, came upon them, and so completely and suddenly wrecked their vessel, that they had barely time to escape in one of the little boats with their lives—not even having an opportunity to procure so much as a bottle of water or a mouthful of food. So precipitate and unexpected was the calamity which thus overtook them, that they had to quit their brig without any preparation whatever, and abandon their carpenter, who happened to be in his berth sick at the time, to a watery grave.

They had been out three days and nights in this condition, with nothing to eat or drink, save the legs of their captain’s boots, which they said they had been chewing to sustain life. Exposed as they were to the burning rays of a tropical sun, without any thing to eat or drink, it is not reasonable to suppose that they would have lived more than three days longer at farthest, if we had not picked them up, or if they had not been otherwise providentially relieved. We received the captain in our own cabin, and at our own table, and entertained him as hospitably and agreeably in every way as it was possible for us to do. His men went before the mast, and proved a very acceptable addition to our crew, especially in doubling Cape Horn, for they could endure the cold much better than our own seamen. That day, in commendation of the act we had performed in the morning, our captain,—who, by the by, was a very exemplary and devout scion of an orthodox Yankee house,—read, during divine service, the parable of the Good Samaritan.

About three o’clock in the afternoon of the same day, a little circumstance came under my observation, which, though it may seem quite a trivial affair in the eyes of many, may nevertheless serve to illustrate in some degree the barbarity of man and his utter indifference in regard to the lives of inferior animals. The subject of the incident was a small land bird, very much resembling our hedge sparrow, which was discovered resting upon one of the larboard main braces. A gust or blast of wind had probably driven it out to sea, and it could not find its way back to the shore. It was so weak that it could scarcely fly, and looked as if it was almost dead. On seeing it, I ran below and got a few crumbs of bread and strewed them along over the life-boat nearest to it. But just at that moment, the Swedish captain, who had now begun to resuscitate, came up on deck; and spying the distressed little wanderer, he walked up as boldly and deliberately to the rope upon which it was sitting, as if it had been some noxious intruder, and shook it violently. Thus frightened, the bird flew off some distance from the ship, but soon returned and alighted in the very same place; again the captain shook the rope as he had done at first, and again the bird did just as it had done before. This same thing was repeated for the third time, when the wearied little creature, apparently disgusted with the brutality of the man, who but a few hours before was himself in a forlorn and helpless condition, dropped down upon the water, and was seen no more.

Keeping along down the South American coast, we passed between Patagonia and the Falkland Islands; and on the morning of the 21st of March were within twenty miles of Staten Land. This was the first land we had seen since leaving home, and we feasted our eyes upon it, until our ship bore us so far distant that it had dwindled down to a mere speck. When we were near enough to Staten Land, I could see with the aid of the captain’s spy-glass nothing but rugged and sterile mountains, the highest peaks of which were covered with snow, and presented quite a picturesque appearance. No vegetation nor living thing of any kind could be discerned. But a young Bostonian, whom we afterwards saw in Valparaiso, told us he passed so near the shore of some of the land lying at the southern extremity of Patagonia, that he could see the natives, who, he said, were a gigantic people, about eight feet high! He also said they ran along on the shore abreast of his vessel, whooping and yelling at him like a set of ferocious savages. On Sunday following we saw Cape Horn, the most notorious of all places upon the high seas for rough weather and contrary winds.

Up to this time we had been congratulating ourselves upon the auspicious season in which we had happened to reach the Cape, and upon the quick run we were going to make around it. Delightful weather and favorable winds had cheered us since leaving the latitude of the La Plata river, and we were in high hopes that we had just hit upon the right time to sail safely round the dangerous Cape in one or two days, instead of being kept there six or eight weeks, as is sometimes the case. But we were doomed to sad disappointment. Towards night that terror of all navigators, a downright Cape Horn tempest, assailed us, and for seven successive days and nights kept us almost completely submerged. During the whole of this time, the wind, which was so intolerably cold and piercing that it seemed to be charged with isicles, blew right in our teeth, and brought hail, sleet, rain or snow with it every hour. Owing to this hard and continued blowing of the wind, the size and power of the waves became perfectly appalling; indeed they ran so heavy and so high that each one looked like a little ocean of itself, and frequently they would strike the ship with such tremendous force that she quivered and groaned as if she were going to pieces; in fact, I often expected to see her shivered into fragments, and could hardly believe otherwise than that we were all destined to become food for the fierce monsters of the deep. We succeeded, however, in getting fairly around the Cape, much to the gratification of all, and especially to the relief of our worn-out seamen, who had been up working with all their might, day and night, for a whole week.

While in the neighborhood of the Cape, we saw great numbers of the albatross, gull, petrel, and other birds; by means of a fish-hook tied to the end of a long line, and baited with a piece of fat bacon, which we let out some eight or ten rods from the stern of the vessel, we caught several of a species which the sailors called the Cape Hen. On measuring one of them from the tip of its right wing to the tip of its left, I found it to be seven feet across. The albatross is about twice as large as the Cape Hen. Here, too, while in this latitude, we had our fairest views of the great Southern Cross and the Magellan Clouds, constellations of as much notoriety in the southern hemisphere, as the Pleiades and Belt of Orion are in the northern.

It seems that the Atlantic and Pacific oceans are ever at war with each other off Cape Horn, where their waters are continually coming into mad collision, as if no friendship existed between them. But we will now bid adieu to this aquatic battle field, this bleak, dreary region of storms and hurricanes, and look forward to a more congenial clime.

Finding our water was now beginning to give out, and that we should have to procure a fresh supply before we could reach San Francisco, we bent our course towards Valparaiso, upon the coast of Chili, south of the city and harbor to which we were then bound; and as we passed along up the shore, we had a most magnificent view, not only of its own long range of barren hills, but also of the lofty and towering heights of the Andes at the distance of one hundred and forty-five miles in the interior. To add to the grandeur of this spectacle on land, another now presented itself on the ocean around us, in the form of great whales—the first we had seen. We saw many of these huge creatures that day and the next; one of them came within two or three rods of the stern of the ship, and spouted the water with a noise something like that of a high pressure Mississippi steamboat.

We had scarcely dropped our anchor in the harbor of Valparaiso before we were surrounded with little boats filled with natives and foreigners, who had come out, as they said, to talk with us and to see our ship. From these men we learned that four days previously a severe earthquake had been felt, and that all the houses in the city had been more or less injured—a part of the city completely destroyed, and some few persons killed. It was also reported by some of them, that it had laid a great portion of Santiago, the capital, in ruins; but, as yet, no definite news had been received from any of the inland cities or towns; and it was not positively ascertained what amount of damage had been sustained in any place, save only here. Late that evening, about half an hour before sundown, we passengers made our entrance into the city; but it was then too late in the day to see or learn any thing of interest, so we returned directly to our own quarters aboard the ship, and waited in suspense for the coming morn.

Immediately after an early breakfast, Wednesday morning, we put off in a small boat for the shore, and were not a little surprised on arriving there to find every thing so new and so different from what we had supposed. Crowds of the natives, dressed in their peculiar costume, were collected upon the wharves, and were making a great hubbub with their clamorous tongues and noisy actions. They appeared to be an inoffensive, simple-hearted sort of people; but they were inexcusably ignorant, and abominably filthy.

Scarcely had we been in the city half an hour that morning, when I stepped into a barbershop to have the superfluous hair removed from my head and face. While in the very act of shaving me, the barber very suddenly sprang aghast from me towards the door; and the first thing I knew, the whole earth, houses and every thing around me, were quivering in the most terrific manner; but, fortunately for the timid, helpless creatures, the vacillation continued but a few seconds, and no very serious consequences resulted from it. Just at the moment the rumbling and quaking commenced, I could not for my life think what it was; but the barber seemed to understand it immediately, for he had been the unwilling spectator of a much more destructive earthquake only five days before; and consequently, he knew well enough what the matter was. On retiring from the shop, just as I entered the street, a similar shock was experienced, and instantaneously the whole population rushed headlong out of their houses into the thoroughfares, apparently in the greatest distress, and frightened half out of their wits. I observed several of the women particularly, who, upon running into the streets, immediately placed themselves in an attitude of prayer, by falling upon their knees, crossing their hands upon their breasts, and casting their eyes towards heaven. There was something really beautiful and touching in the unfeigned humility with which these awe-struck mortals resigned themselves to the will of Him who alone is able to convulse worlds, or command tranquillity throughout the universe.