Golden Dreams and Leaden Realities

by George Payson

This bar was much larger and higher than Mormon Island, with many trees scattered over it; but its surface remained unbroken, and the merry dash of the miner's rocker was nowhere heard. Near the lower end a natural dam had formed a romantic little pond, with pebbly beaches running down between the bushes into the water, where we saw the fish glancing beneath the surface. A more commodious and delightful spot for a miner's encampment could hardly be devised. The slender pines were admirably fitted for a log house—the solitude was like enchantment, and what could be pleasanter than to sit in some shady nook, and fish all the long, lazy summer's day in those fairy waters?

But imperious necessity compelled us to shut our eyes to all these features of delight, and to look simply at the amount of gold that might be expected to reward our labour.

We selected a spot at the upper end of the bar, as most likely to contain the precious metal, and at once set vigorously to work throwing out, like two rampant antlions, the paving-stones and gravel that came tumbling back upon us in the most vexatious manner. Occasionally Number Four filled a pan half full of earth, and carried it down to the river to wash out. The first trial gave nothing, the second a little more, and at length we were so fortunate as to obtain a panful that yielded the incredible sum of three cents. We rested an hour at noon to eat our salt beef and biscuit, and again resumed our labours, but with no better success; we returned to the attack the next morning, and at another part of the bar; but three cents was the best it could do for us, and we finally abandoned it in sore disgust.

Oh, that second scientific miner! and, oh, that "promising formation!" Promising! yes, it was promising, but it lied consumedly.

In the afternoon, we met a number of our fellow-passengers who were mining in the vicinity. The account they gave of the Coloma diggings was not such as to induce us to remain any longer in the place, and we determined to return to Mormon Island, without any further explorations; the more especially, as we were somewhat tired of paying nine dollars a day for such board and lodging as I have described. As Number Four, however, preferred to wait till the next morning, I set out alone at half-past four, expecting to finish my journey by moonlight. To avoid the exquisite torture inflicted by my boots, I cut off the tops of an old pair I picked up in the street—drew them up over my feet like a napkin by a string passed through the four corners—and thus, with my boots in my hand, shuffled along with that awkward waddle peculiar to all the webfooted tribe. No one would have had the slightest difficulty in following my trail, which, besides the elephantine footprint, was marked at regular intervals, as by mile-stones, by the little piles of dust and gravel I had emptied out of these gouty appendages. This answered very well for several miles, but by the time I reached Weaver Creek, the soles of my feet had become so sore that I was obliged to resume my boots. The sun set soon after, but I still proceeded very comfortably by aid of the moon, though the deep shadows of the hills and trees sometimes hid the road completely from view. About nine I came suddenly upon a piece of bog that ran directly across the road, and which I had no recollection of seeing on my way up; at the same moment, as ill luck would have it, the moon dipped very ill-naturedly beneath the horizon, thus depriving me of her light just when I could worst do without it.

While I was bewildering myself more and more in my vain attempts to find a passage, a Will-o'-the-wisp-ish sort of light, dancing about at no great distance, attracted my attention. I was greatly pleased, on coming up with it, to find it of a more friendly character; a man was looking after his cattle, and told me, in answer to my inquiries, that the road here turned at right angles, and that the black shadow I saw at a little distance was the Green Spring House, where it will be recollected we had rested on our way to Coloma.

I should have remained at Green Spring all night, but unfortunately I had left my blankets behind me, and had no desire to make the acquaintance of the strange bedfellows one was sure to encounter in a California inn. I stopped accordingly only long enough to obtain a glass of water; the bar-keeper scowled because I did not ask for brandy; and having at length, with some difficulty, found the road, which ran just before the door, I again set forward. I at first proceeded very slowly, stooping from time to time to make out my course by the shimmer of the wheel-tracks; but becoming tired of this species of locomotion, I pushed on more rapidly, and soon lost the road altogether.

Fearing at length that I might be going in the wrong direction, I pulled out my pocket-compass and a box of matches; and having ascertained the position of the north star, determined to steer my course as at sea, without turning to the right hand or the left. But after what seemed many weary miles, no signs of life appearing, I began to think I had passed the island, and was now perhaps half way down to Sacramento. I knew, however, that the river was on my right; I supposed it could not be far distant, and that, if I once succeeded in reaching it, I should have no difficulty in determining my true position. There never was a greater blunder—for more than an hour I toiled on, over hill and valley, stopping now and then to catch the far-off roar of the river, or any other sound that might prate of my whereabouts. Suddenly I heard a dog bark far down the stream, and then the lowing of a cow. These cheerful sounds gave me courage. I pressed on, and soon saw below, the black-and-white water gliding under the ghostly starlight, along its rocky channel. I scrambled down, nearly breaking my neck in my eagerness, by tumbling over a bank some ten feet high; and sitting on a lump of granite I dipped my cocoanut again and again into the stream, and drained it with as feverish relish as if I had been scorching beneath the sun of Sahara.

Finding it impossible to make my way along the craggy shore, I again ascended the high ground, when I waded for a long time through a deep sea of hemlock. Emerging from this I wandered on, by trees, and rocks, and hills—nothing civilised, nothing moving but the coati and the hare that "from my path fled like a shadow." I stopped and hallooed, though half frightened at the sound of my own voice, but echo was the only answer. On I went, further and further into the big blackness of the night, feeling my way, as it were, by continued shouts, as a blind man pokes his way with a cane. My efforts were at length successful.