CHAPTER VI

CALIFORNIA FROM SAN DIEGO TO SAN FRANCISCO

_San Diego. November 6, 1849._ We started for Los Angeles at ten this morning, leaving behind Havens, Sloat, Watkinson, Lee, Snider, Perry, Dr. Trask, Steele, Bachman, Stevens and Cree, to follow by boat; Cree remained at my request to take care of Stevens, who is seriously ill, and Bachman is not strong enough to march further.

The road from San Diego is a pleasant one; northwest over a few moderate hills brings the traveller to the edge of a large bay, which from its appearance seems to be shallow; to the west, mountains, not the Coast Range, and a few miles along this bay, a beautiful "hollow" rather than valley, opens, and after six or eight miles leads to some steep and disagreeable hills, where our first night from San Diego will be passed. I did not regret leaving San Diego, except for the kindness received there (it is a miserable Mexican town) and our own rather forlorn condition. About forty men continue with me, half of us on foot, the other half scarcely much better, as our animals are woefully jaded, but we could not stop, for we are even worse off for funds than for mounts, as we have only about four hundred dollars, for all our expenses, for over six hundred miles. But our outlay will be small, for with all the assistance of the officers, which has been most liberally given, we have only secured half rations of flour and pork; we are so accustomed to doing without sugar and coffee, that we scarcely care for it.

_November 7th._ We were off at daylight according to custom, and followed the trail over hill and hollow, with an occasional valley. At times the ocean was in full view, its soft blue horizon line melting into the clear, cloudless sky. To our right, high over the Mission of St. Louis del Rey, smiled, glistening in snowy purity, the highest peaks of the Snowy Mountains, Sierra Nevada. The soil is black loam, and the bottoms still blacker, but on this day's travel much of the soil has been salt.

Seeing a few ducks alight at a little lake, almost like a running stream, I went after them, and found some hundreds of gadwalls, and bald-pates, and in half an hour had sufficient for all our company, which I need not tell you we enjoyed, though not cooked at Baltimore "à la Canvasback."

Hundreds of California marmots are seen daily, at a distance looking like a common squirrel, so much so that the men all call them squirrels; their color varies very much, being every shade of grey and reddish brown.

The Mission of Luis Rey,[37] as it is now called, now in the possession of the Americans, is kept by an old Mexican; it presents, as you get the first view of it going north, one of the most impressive scenes I can recall; its long row of low, but regular arches, the façade whitewashed, and the church at the east end, with many outlying buildings covered with red tiles, the whole standing in a broad valley running eastward for miles, until the view ends in the snowy peaks of the Sierra Nevada, compels the traveller to pause and to admire.

As we stood looking at all this, from a hill higher than the one on which we were, swooped a California vulture, coming towards us until, at about fifty yards, having satisfied his curiosity, though not mine, he rose in majestic circles high above us, and with a sudden dash took a straight line, somewhat inclining downwards, towards the mountains across the valley and was lost to sight, from actual distance.

The garden of the Mission has been beautiful, and we found it still well stocked with vines, olives, figs, etc., but the same desolation is visible everywhere through this country of splendid soil, which here is rather sandy. There is still lack of wood and water, irrigation has been universal.

The Missions seem to have been divided into the residence, with beautiful gardens, the church, the stock farm and the grain-growing lands, and all have possessed much comfort if not considerable wealth. Naturally those who lived in them wished to isolate themselves from the world, and to surrender the pleasures and ambitions found there, for the advancement of their religion, or, at least, were willing to do so.

_November 9th._ I have already seen the nucleus of an American rancho, in this country, which is lonely rather than desolate. We have passed many fine old Missions, at least six or seven, but though in the midst of beautiful land, with hundreds of horses and cattle, and many herds of sheep and goats, the indolence of the people has left all decaying, and they live in dirt and ignorance, and merely vegetate away this life in listlessness, except for the occasional excitement of a trade in horses, or a game of monte. We have had many melons, late in the season as we are; they are pulled and put up as the French do pears, and keep fresh for many weeks.

All the people here ride well, and fast, many without saddles; these latter tie a rope, or if they have it, a surcingle, buckle that around the body of the horse, and stick both knees under it, so that it is a great assistance to them. The gallop is the usual gait at which they travel. The continual absence of wood gives an appearance to all the hills, of old fields, but many of the valleys are truly beautiful; fine sycamores, oaks and cottonwoods along the water making everything look refreshing to a degree that none can realize but those who have been for weeks exposed to sun and rain, keen winds and cold nights, without woods for shelter or fire; in cooking we have often had to keep up a fire with weeds, some men attending to this, while the others fried our meat, made coffee, and what we _called_ bread.

_Los Angeles._ This "city of the angels" is anything else, unless the angels are fallen ones. An antiquated, dilapidated air pervades all, but Americans are pouring in, and in a few years will make a beautiful place of it. It is well watered by a pretty little river, led off in irrigating ditches like those at San Antonio de Bexar. The whole town is surrounded to the south with very luxuriant vines, and the grapes are quite delightful; we parted from them with great regret, as fruit is such a luxury to us. Many of the men took bushels, and only paid small sums for them.

The hills to the north command the whole town, and will be the place for the garrison.

San Pedro, twenty-seven miles south-west, is the port, and is _said_ to have a good harbor. All the country round is rolling, and in many places almost mountainous. Before you get to the Coast Range the soil is most of it very good, and the cattle are fine; wild mustard grows everywhere, to the height of five feet or more; in the richest soil attaining seven and eight feet, and we have twice cooked our meal with no fuel but the stalks of this weed.

We have had great trouble with our mules for want of grass, and the poor things wandered miles, and we lost some few, and had difficulty in getting the others. After long consultations we decided to divide, eleven of us to bring on the mules and take the valley of the Tulare for our route; the rest of the company under Henry Mallory going up in the barque Hector for thirty dollars each, as our mules are utterly broken down, and we want to get them through to San Francisco if we can. So much for our splendid outfit, so much for the plans of our Military Commander. But let it pass, and I will try to describe our route.

[_No date._] Leaving Los Angeles at one o'clock, with forty-six mules and ten men, I making the eleventh, and two of the number being my true friends Browning and Simson, we passed eastward of the town, and followed the little river of the same name, and camped on the best grass we had had, and with so good a beginning, expected to have the same for our poor animals for the rest of our journey, and in some degree recruit them and heal their sore backs.

[_No date._] Today our ride of about eighteen miles was over a plain of rather poor soil, and we found the rancho; it was formerly the Mission of San Fernando.[38] Like most of the others, it has a long portico and arches; a few pictures of the Virgin and some images of the saints are still standing, but, from an artistic point of view, they are poor trash. The garden is still most luxuriant, and many grapes are grown here, and wine made, as well as other liquors distilled. It looked like sacrilege to me to see the uses made of sacred places but so the changes appear to be in these countries; dilapidation immediately follows the removal of the priests. Great dislike was manifested to the Americans here, and they would neither give nor sell any of the fruits they had in such abundance, grapes and melons wasting on the ground.

Leaving this rancho we camped five miles further on our way, up an arroyo, in tall, rush-like grass, where we had only bad water, being so charged with sulphur and various salts as to be undrinkable. The hills are of a friable, whitish clay and sandstone, and after a very steep ascent, we gradually descended into a beautiful valley to the rancho San Francisco, and encamped in sight of it with good water, and plenty of wood. In the morning Rhoades killed the first black-tailed deer that any of the party has secured. We found it very good meat, and quite enjoyed it, after the continuance of beef we have had since our arrival on this side of the great divide, as at the rancho we can usually buy fine, young cattle for from eight to twelve dollars.

[_No date._] We now commenced the regular ascent of the Coast Range, the mountains at first were sandy loam and sandstone; we had no grand views, even of distance, and we lost two of our mules from fatigue. Our descent was rapid for some miles, and brought us to the gorge leading to the dividing ridge, where was a rapid torrent, about up to our knees, and as we followed it scenes of the wildest description presented themselves. Sometimes it looked as if our further progress was completely at an end, and again a turn at right angles showed us half a mile more of our road. The rocks here are shelly sandstone, looking at first sight, at a distance, like slate. The tops of all the mountains are covered with snow, and the wind from the northwest was blowing so hard as to bring our tired mules to a standstill, as the puffs struck them.

As we came out into the plain or valley a few squalls of hail and rain came on, and we were glad to camp near some cottonwoods, not deeming it prudent to be under them, as their limbs had already, some of them, yielded to the mountain gusts and fallen.

[_No date._] _Tulare Valley._ One more day brought us to this great valley, and the view from the last hill looking to northwest was quite grand, stretching on one hand until lost in distance, and on the other the snowy mountains on the east of the Tulare valley. Here, for the first time, I saw the Lewis woodpecker, and Steller's jay in this country. I have seen many California vultures and a new hawk, with a white tail and red shoulders. During the dry season this great plain may be travelled on, but now numerous ponds and lakes exist, and the ground is in places, for miles, too boggy to ride over, so we were forced to skirt the hills. This compelled us sometimes to take three days when two should have been ample. Our journeys now are not more than twenty miles a day, and our nights are so penetrating and cold, that four blankets are not too many.

[_No date._] Our morning's ride, as we had anticipated, was pleasant after the hills, but not directly on our course, as the late rains had made the soil, always soft, impassable for our mules, from the mud. We wound round the mountains for about twenty-five miles, to the first Indian village we had seen, though we had passed several single huts. Being far ahead of the train, I had time to look at their household style of living, and saw them grinding their acorns, and fanning grass and other seeds, so as to prepare their winter's food. They appear to make a sort of pulp of the acorn by grinding it in a most simple mill of stone, using two kinds as convenience or ownership suggests. One, a standing mill, and the other a kind of mortar and pestle style, the mortar being formed by continual use of the same place, until from two to six inches deep, and if the large stone is favorable, from ten to twelve holes are seen in the same one.

These Indians were friendly and seemed pleased to see Americans coming into the country, and I have no doubt but that their condition will be greatly ameliorated by the change from savage to half-civilized life.

We saw one company already installing themselves in this beautiful valley, where they hope to make permanent homes.

[_No date_.] For two days heavy rolling hills of black soil, clay and gravel with an occasional arroyo of sand, made our journey tedious, but we gradually arrived in better country for travelling, but less grass, and, as we neared the San Joaquin River, immense herds of antelope and elk were seen, so wild that it was difficult to approach them.

[_No date_.] This is our second day on the San Joaquin River, and we have secured a fine elk and an antelope, three geese and two Sandhill cranes (I am sure different from ours) so that we have feasted luxuriously. Many thousand geese are seen daily, and we are travelling on cheerfully, making our twenty-five miles with ease, and camping by half-past four or five o'clock. After supper we sit round our camp fires for an hour or so, and then turn in for the night, to be ready for the early start on the morrow.

The nights here are in great contrast to the days, and are exceedingly cold, for all the icy mountains send their damp air down, as the sun sinks behind them.

Following down the San Joaquin southwest and west, we came to the river of the lakes, and stood off northwest (its general course) for nearly two days, but were so impeded in our progress by the bull-rushes that we turned aside to a clump of trees, where we expected to find water and grass; but not succeeding, returned to the river, about eight miles, and with great difficulty reached the edge of it for water at dusk—cold, tired, and regretting our lost time. We resolved, nevertheless, to steer off from the rushes next day. This is the locality from which, I suppose, the valley takes its name, "tulare" meaning "rush," this plant taking here the place of all others.

[_No date_.] Today I ran on to a herd of about a thousand elk; so close was I that I could see their eyes perfectly; these elk must be greatly harassed by the wolves, which are very numerous, and so bold at night that we have had several pieces of meat, and a fine goose stolen from over my tent door. Their long, lonely howl at night, the cries of myriads of wild geese, as well as Hutchinson's goose (which is very abundant) and the discordant note of the night heron, tell the melancholy truth all too plainly, of the long, long distance from home and friends.

There is no trail but that of wild horses and elk, all terminating at some water-hole, not a sign of civilization, not the track of a white man to be seen, and sometimes the loneliness and solitude seem unending.

The water is beautifully clear now, and is full of fine-looking fish; the large salmon of these rivers is a very sharky-looking fellow and may be fine eating, but as yet we have not been fortunate enough to get one, though several have been shot by Hudson and Simson as they lay in the shallows. The average width of the river here (that is, two days' journey from the mountains) is about eight yards, but as the snows are high up on the mountains, no doubt a great portion of the water is absorbed by the sandy soil it runs through.

Among the oaks the long acorns of two shapes, a good deal like nuts in taste, but still astringent to a disagreeable degree, are plentiful, and we eat a good many of them both roasted and raw, by way of variety, though objecting to the flavor. I have seen one or two nearly three inches long. Out of these acorns the Indians make their "payote," a kind of paste, which they dry, and then put into water in flakes, no doubt to allow the acrid matter to escape.

[_No date_.] _Stockton._ For the last five days we have passed over vast plains of sandy soil and all the recollections of the desert would come upon us, but for our nightly returns to the river. Passing two small rivers, we came to the Stanislaus, and went down it to the ferry, having once tried, unsuccessfully, to cross it. We had to pay a dollar each for about twenty yards, and went on our way to Stockton.

This mushroom town of skeleton houses and tents, with every class of dwelling from log cabin with rush roof, to the simple blanket spread to shelter the hardy miner, is situated like Houston, Texas, on an elevated flat, so level, that the water lying after every shower, makes the mud as deep as I ever saw it on the rich levees of Louisiana in winter. I find the climate much the same as that in Louisiana, but without the beautifully luxuriant vegetation of that country, and from all accounts it is quite as healthy, except that the high mountains here give a pleasant retreat in summer from the diseases incident to that season.

I left the men at the "French Camp," the first prairie out of the water, five miles to the south-west, and came into Stockton, with Hudson and Boggs and a pack mule to take out provisions for those at the camp. We went into the "Exchange Hotel," which might better be called the "Exchange of Blacklegs." Such a crowd as the bar-room of this hotel presents nightly, cannot be found except where all nations meet. Cards were being played for stakes every where, and the crowd around added to the picture, which once seen is difficult to forget. The tall, raw-boned Westerner, bearded and moustached like his Mexican neighbor beside him, the broad-headed German and sallow Spaniard, French, Irish, Scotch, I know not how many nationalities are here represented. I saw even two Chilians with their cold, indifferent air, all mixing together, each man on his guard against his fellow-man. The tight fitting jacket and flowing sarape touch each other, all blending into weirdness in the dim light of a few candles, would that I had time and opportunity to sketch some of the many scenes I beheld.

Having bought what we required we made our way back to camp through the dark dismal night, wind blowing and rain falling in torrents.

[_No date_.] Today we went up to Stockton again, the approach is through mud and mire, or rather water, reminding one of that at Houston from the south; the mud, if anything, more disagreeable to walk through. One wonders at the way in which men stay here day after day, gambling going on incessantly. Of course, the sharpers and experts get all the money, the poor dupes continue to put down gold-dust, even though every boat that leaves takes away professional card-players, and _they_ have to return to the mines to dig. The craze for the mines is beyond all credence; mechanics refuse sixteen dollars a day, to go to the mines where half an ounce is the regular gain, though sometimes ten times that amount.

[_No date_.] We leave tomorrow for San Francisco; today I made a sketch of the east suburb of the town, and as a proof of the good intentions of the people to be honest, and keep up good principles, a gallows is the chief object in the foreground. It was erected to execute a man for murder and robbery.

A party here got up a club called the "Hounds," at first as a patrol, and were of real service, but later bad habits crept in, such as knocking up any bar-keeper at any hour of the night and making "a night of it." For some time they paid for this on the following day, always saying as they went out "To the charge of the Hounds," but at last the "charge" became the last of the matter; eventually thefts were committed, and the thief was convicted by a regular jury, and sentenced. The day for his execution came, and he felt assured that he would be rescued by his friends, and probably would have been, but for the arrival of a ship-load of emigrants, who, on being informed of the fact, marched out, fully armed, to see the law carried into effect.

The prices of everything here are beyond belief;

Flour, $40.00 per barrel. Pork, 65.00 per barrel. Pilot bread, .20 per pound. India-rubber boots, 50.00 to $60.00. Flannel shirts, 6.00 to $8.00. Shot, .30 per pound. Powder, 1.00 to $1.50 per lb. Government tents, 40.00, at home $12.00. India-rubber, 100.00. Freight to the mines, .50 per pound.

and almost every other article in proportion; for cleaning my watch and putting on a new crystal, $16.00. Yet with these high prices scarcely one becomes rich. Board $3.00 to $6.00 a day, without lodging. Washing and ironing $6.00 a dozen.

We are in a forlorn condition, almost without clothes, and our mules broken down, yet wretched as we are no company coming by land has done better, and mine is only the second yet holding together. This shows how honorable the men are, for [with] wages from $5.00 to $10.00 per day, and mechanics (of which our company has several) [getting] from $10.00 to $16.00, these men stand by their contract.

[_No date_.] We none of us regret leaving Stockton, where we have been for four days delayed by the steamer, our ill-luck as regards waitings still follows us. We are going in the steamer Captain Southern. [?]

_San Francisco. December 23d._ The day we left Stockton we had one of the most violent gales I had seen for many a week, and our boat, a little steam side-wheeler, was so flat and so light that the strong wind from the south-east had us ashore twenty times in the first hour, on the banks of the slough which leads to the San Joaquin, the main stream leading to the upper bay, Suisun; finally anchors and all were dragged high on the bulrushes, and we were delayed two days more.

We reached San Francisco on Saturday night December 21st, and stayed in our blankets on the floor of the steamer until morning when we went off, on what is called "the long dock" into mud half-leg deep. We paid fifty cents for a cup of coffee and a bit of bread, and I went for my letters, but found none, so went off to hunt up my men, found them all right, and returned to Henry Mallory, who having received letters was able to set my anxieties about my family at rest; but I alone of all the company had no home news. I sat on the deck of the steamer, the most quiet place I could find, re-read my old letters, and went about my business with a heavy heart.

_San Francisco. December 25th 1849._ Christmas Day! Happy Christmas! Merry Christmas! Not that here, to me at any rate, in this pandemonium of a city. Not a _lady_ to be seen, and the women, poor things, sad and silent, except when drunk or excited. The place full of gamblers, hundreds of them, and men of the lowest types, more blasphemous, and with less regard for God and his commands than all I have ever seen on the Mississippi, [in] New Orleans or Texas, which give us the same class to some extent, it is true; but instead of a few dozen, or a hundred, gaming at a time, here, there are thousands, and one house alone pays one hundred and fifty thousand dollars per annum for the rent of the "Monte" tables.

Sunday makes no difference, certainly not Christmas, except for a little more drunkenness, and a little extra effort on the part of the hotel keepers to take in more money.

I spent the morning looking over my journal, and regret it has been kept so irregularly, yet, as I read it, and recall my experiences since last March, I wonder that I have been able to keep it at all. I dined with Havens, Mr. McLea, Lieut. Browning and Henry Mallory, and you may be sure home was in our thoughts all the time, even if other topics of conversation were on our lips. It seemed impossible for me to shake off my depression.

_December 26th._ I was not made more cheerful by finding that our agents had so conducted our affairs that instead of finding all our provisions and implements nicely stored, and in good order, waiting for us, I discovered that all that was most useful to us had been sold, and the balance lay about in the wet and mud, or was rotting, half dry for want of the requisite cover. The expenses had eaten up the money procured by the sales, or so we were told, and I found myself with forty men to take care of and in debt. I was on the point of breaking up the company, and letting every man shift for himself, but felt that it was neither brave nor honorable, so decided to make one more effort. I drew on my brother for one thousand dollars, borrowed all I could from the boys who had brought their own mules on with them, and concluded to take all who were not mechanics with me to the mines; the mechanics had, without exception, found work instantly at exorbitant prices. They were to keep half they made, and pay in the other half to the company. I have been offered thirty-five dollars a day to draw plans for houses, stores, etc., but though I never intended to go to the mines myself, I feel now for the sake of the men who stood by me, that I must stay by them. My paints and canvas have been left on the desert, my few specimens lost or thrown away; and lack of time, and the weakness produced by my two illnesses at Monterey and Parras, and the monotonous food, have robbed me of all enthusiasm; often I had to force myself to swallow the little I did, knowing I must if I was to get through at all.

Van Horn and Dr. Perry will remain in San Francisco and the men who go up to the mines with me, are Havens, Layton, Hewes, Bloomfield, McGown, Lee, Watkinson, Jno. R. Lambert, Jos. Lambert, J. S. Lambert, Hutchinson, Damon, Jno. Stevens, Cree, Van Buren, Ayres, Hinckley, Jno. Stevenson, Black, Liscomb, Elmslie, E. A. Lambert, Dr. Trask, Steele, Weed, Henry Mallory, Mitchell, Walsh, Valentine, Simson, McCusker, Tone, Hudson, Pennypacker, Clement, Boggs, Lieut. Browning, with myself, thirty-eight in number.

_December 29th._ We left San Francisco in the same steamer we had travelled on from Stockton. The week's rain over, with the bay like a mirror, and a clear sky over all, it was an enchanting scene. I thought with gratitude of the kindness I had received from Messrs. Chittenden, Edmondson, McLea and many others; not only had they frequently made me their guest, but they had given me most valuable information and advice, in reference to my future proceedings.

As we moved off I could see the whole town situated on high hills facing the bay, to the southeast on one side, to the southwest on the other. I could almost fancy as we made our way to the open bay through the crowd of vessels, that I could hear the chink, chink of dollars as the gamblers put them down on the Monte tables, and a picture of the whole place, a regular Inferno, came before me as plainly as if I actually saw it. Every house, with rare exceptions, letting out their bar-rooms as well as all other available space, for gambling purposes, immense rents being paid for a mere shell of a house. In some of the hotels one hundred dollars a day was paid for space to place a single Monte table; but I will leave all this, and sail on over the beautiful bay towards the east, which sends the gold that makes this hell-hole of crime and dissipation.

Passing out of the mass of shipping to the left, opens out the pass to the ocean, and ahead of us, surrounded by beautiful hills, smooth but steep, green and velvety to look upon, a few tall redwoods ended the view to the south. The water was as smooth as a lake, and the moon rose on so calm a sheet that its reflection was a long, straight line of light, almost as brilliant as itself, and I sat late on the deck to admire it, and to think of all at home, but at last went down to the filthy cabin, wrapped myself in my blankets and lay down in a corner possibly a shade less dirty than the others.

We reached Stockton, and after a day in the mud I found my goods stored safely and all ready for packing, Mr. Starbuck to whom I had entrusted them having been most faithful. We went to the hotel for supper which was worth, perhaps, ten cents, but cost a dollar and a half each. After which, with Browning, Simson, Stevens, Bloomfield and some of the others, I took a look up and down the town. The gambling was going on as usual, the tables had changed hands in some instances, but the many are still sitting behind their "banks." A young English nobleman, who asked me to keep his name a secret, laughed and said: "We are all _bankers_ here." One young man, too young for such work, terrible at any age, I felt sorry to see; he had evidently been a winner to judge from the large amount before him, having a wall of gold dust ounce high and three rows deep, leaving a space of nearly a foot square inside, well filled with gold pieces of all stamps and countries, the 16, 8 and 4 of the Spanish, the eagles and half-eagles of the United States, sovereigns and half sovereigns of England, and others from apparently all over the world, lumps even of unalloyed gold, had all fallen into his hands today. He seemed quite alone; his candles were still burning, and he rested his cheek on a delicate, well formed hand, which looked as if it had not been made for the shovel and pick of the mines. He was a very handsome young fellow, I should judge from Virginia, with a profusion of half curling light hair and deep grey eyes. Suddenly he rose, looked about him, and said in a quivering voice: "Well, I came here to make my fortune, I've made it, there it is, but, Oh God, how can I face my mother." He burst into tears and dashed from the room, which for an instant was in absolute stillness. Two men came up, spoke to the banker [?] in low tones, swept the gold into two canvas bags and followed the youth, or so I presume.