Spring was now rapidly advancing. The air, except during rainy weather, was the most delightful that can be imagined, and far warmer than in corresponding latitudes on the Atlantic; the mercury standing at noon on the 25th of March, at 82° in the shade. Flowers of the greatest beauty and variety sprung up, as if by magic, in a single night; there were here no masses of snow and ice whose gradual thaw keeps back the tardy, lingering spring long after the sun has passed the equator; he looked upon the earth with gladsome eye, and every ray was the birth of a flower.
As we lay in our tent, in listless idleness, through the sultry hours of noon, the uninterrupted buzzing of the flies that already heralded the approach of summer, fell on the ear like the murmur of a brook over its pebbly bed, or the sighing of the wind among the trees; no sight, no unassisted effort of the imagination could recall so delightfully the varied pleasures of that delicious season—closed blinds, open windows, watered streets, white dresses, ices, and fruits, and new-made hay. But we did not go to California for any such purpose as this; it was another shine and another glitter than of sun or flowers that we had come so far to seek; we could not turn them into coin, nor bottle them up for future enjoyment.
Accordingly the second week in April we prepared, with many misgivings, to leave our present comfortable, and even luxurious quarters, to encounter the hardships and privations of a nomadic life among more rude and uncivilised regions. The difficulty attending the choice of a location, and the doubt that clouded the whole undertaking, inclined St. John to remain where we were; but this counsel was overruled by a majority of the company, and after some hesitation we fixed upon the Middle Fork of the American River as the scene of our summer campaign.
[CHAPTER XIV.]
We left Mormon Island early Monday morning, leaving the trees that had supported the ridge-pole of our tent—the heavy fortification around it—and the rude but not inelegant bedsteads where we had slept so many months, still standing in their original position, but looking weird and fantastic now that the tent which had harmonized them so well was at length removed. It reminded me of Eothen's amiable shrinking from giving up again to the desert the little spot of sand that had borne, even for a single night, the print of London boots and patent portmanteaux—and I threw backward many an involuntary glance towards the bit of earth we had so long rescued from the wild, and which seemed now to reproach us for the desertion.
We packed the most valuable of the articles we left behind us in a large cask, as the safest storehouse we could find, and left it in charge of Number Four till our return. We carried with us our tent, bedding, tools, cooking utensils, and a quantity of provisions; and to transport all this baggage we employed the same individual of whom we bought our claim in the bank, and who since that time had been engaged in a sort of peddling between Sacramento and different parts of the mines. Besides our own goods the judge, for so he was called, had agreed to carry nearly as many more for two other parties who lived in a ravine a mile up the river, and were now travelling in the same direction. On arriving at their houses, which were covered with thatch quite down to the ground, and presented a very picturesque appearance, we found they had made few preparations for departure, and the wagon was consequently obliged to wait several hours. St. John, who had been unwell for nearly a week, had now a violent sick headache, and all the symptoms of a bilious fever; and we tried to persuade him to remain behind a day or two, till his health should be somewhat restored, and he could travel with safety; but he insisted that he should feel better after we had once started, and I finally consented to walk on with him in advance.
After a brisk walk of several miles, we found we had taken the wrong turning, and retracing our steps, we struck into a by-path that we concluded would lead us into the Coloma road, and then hurried on faster than ever, in hopes of overtaking our companions, who we doubted not had entered the path before us. It had been drizzling undecidedly all the morning, but the rain now poured down in torrents, and even an India-rubber coat with which St. John was provided proved but an insufficient protection. We came at last, however, into the right road, and stopping at the first house, or rather skeleton, as there was nothing of it but the frame, we endeavored to learn if our wagon had yet passed.
They could tell us nothing, so we crouched down on the wet floor, and looked enviously at the warm matron that was frying some beef over a cook-stove, the only sight of comfort anywhere to be found. Some parties of miners who joined us, one after the other, looked wringing wet and intensely unhappy. Little puddles collected round their feet, as round a guttered candle, or a dripping umbrella. They slapped their hats forcibly against the posts to free them from the superabundant moisture, and put them back flabbily on to their lank hair. They made no attempt at conversation except by whistling, and the rain took all the tune out of that as effectually as the stiffening out of a dickey.