"What in the d—— are you making such a hullabaloo for, at this time o' night?" said a gruff voice coming out of the darkness. I looked in the direction of the sound, and saw, close at my elbow where I wondered I had not seen it before, a large wagon covered with white cotton. Approaching somewhat nearer, I became aware of a head, to which apparently the voice belonged, projecting tortoise-like from the end of the wagon. In answer to my inquiries, the head, that in spite of its first salutation, seemed a very good sort of a head, informed me pleasantly enough that Mormon Island was only a mile below, and that I could not fail to hit it. As I turned away, I heard a woman's voice, sounding smothered out of the cart's belly, say, "poor fellow;" and I blessed her with all her sisterhood.
About three in the morning, Capt. Bill suddenly awaking, was dreadfully startled to perceive a tall figure standing at his feet. He instantly aroused his companion, who, sitting up on end with most courageous trembling, began fumbling under his head for a pistol, while he boldly demanded "who's there?" No answer being returned, his finger already pressed the fatal trigger, and another moment would have ended my adventures before they had well begun, if I had not made haste to relieve their fears by the assurance that I was not the bloody thief and murderer they had been so quick to imagine.
I have been the more particular in describing this little bit of travel, as it was our first experience of the varieties of California life, and a fitting introduction to what was to follow. California at that time was an almost unbroken wilderness, with a few villages scattered at long intervals on the principal rivers, and a single house here and there along the roads. The forests were supposed to be infested by wild beasts and more savage Indians, and on this very occasion I was startled more than once by hearing the dead branches by the road side snapping under the tread of some heavy animal, which I boldly maintained, gainsay it who will, must have been a grizzly of the first magnitude; though I will allow that no animal more formidable than a coati was ever seen in that neighbourhood.
[CHAPTER X.]
The next day was our first Sunday in the mines. It had not come any too soon. Through the long sultry hours I lay stretched on my blankets, watching the coquettish play of the leaves drawn on the camera obscura of our canvass walls, and dreaming, oh! how dreamily! of all we had left behind. At noon, Number Four made his appearance, not at all fatigued by his journey; and, as it was probable that we should now remain some time at Mormon Island, we determined to remove to a pleasanter locality. We selected for this purpose the hill on which the second scientific miner and his party had pitched their tent, and by Monday night were snugly settled in our new quarters.
Having, as before, hung our tent on the north side of an evergreen oak, we strewed the floor with pine twigs, and a species of coarse hummocky grass that grew in great abundance on the rocky hill sides. Our narrow bedsteads, hastily constructed of rough poles, resting on low crotches driven into the ground, were made to fit into the circumference of the tent, so that I could only sleep on my right side, and Tertium could only sleep on his left, and there was no turning over except by changing beds. A barrel of biscuit, a half barrel of sugar, together with sundry bags of beans, and rice, and pork, filled all the centre of the tent, leaving only room enough to get in and out.
The hill, on which we had thus encamped, and where we remained several months, rose directly from the river, and was agreeably shaded by white and evergreen oaks, not standing close together or in clumps, but at almost as regular intervals as the trees in an orchard, which at a short distance they closely resembled. In front, looking down the river, and towards the sunsetting, was the sleepy little village, with its scattering suburbs of tents, peeping out among the hills, and now and then, a heavy baggage-wagon, attended by a party of impatient miners, slowly creeping down the Sacramento road beyond—the river more to the right winding round the rocky island, swarming with men like a great ant-hill—and, far beyond all, and forming a fitting back-ground to the picture, a hill of surpassing beauty, rising in successive terraces, as sharp and regular as if formed by art, to a height of several hundred feet.
Five or six parties were encamped in our neighbourhood, and on the summit of the hill, a hundred yards behind us, was a large tent, occupied as a store by the same enterprising individual to whom we had sold our tinware at Sacramento.