California illustrated

by J. M. Letts

Chapter Twenty-first.

DANGEROUS NAVIGATION—A TRIP OVER THE FALLS—A NIGHT FROM HOME—SAILOR HOSPITALITY—SCARCITY OF PROVISIONS—A HAZARDOUS ALTERNATIVE—A WAYWARD BOY—PREPARATIONS FOR LEAVING THE INTERIOR—DISTRIBUTION OF EFFECTS—OUR TRAVELING SUIT—START FOR SAN FRANCISCO—FAREWELL—THREE INDIVIDUALS UNDER A FULL HEAD OF STEAM—ARRIVAL AT THE “HALF-WAY TENT”—POOR ACCOMMODATIONS—A MORNING WALK AND POOR BREAKFAST—WADING LAGOONS—WILD GEESE—ARRIVAL AT THE AMERICAN RIVER—OUR TOILET, AND ENTRY INTO SACRAMENTO CITY.

The river had become much swollen, and burst through among the rocks with the greatest fury. The rumbling of the rocks and stone as they were hurled from their beds, was incessant and almost deafening. Many of my friends lived on the opposite side of the river, and I had purchased a boat for their accommodation. The only place where a boat could be rowed across with safety, was above a fall occasioned, in part, by a dam. The water here was extremely rapid, but by heading well up stream, could be crossed in safety. Tracy generally volunteered to do the ferrying, but when I was disengaged I would do it myself.

On one occasion, a party of six wished to cross, and I went down with them, paddled out into the stream, and as the boat came in contact with the strongest current, it swung around, when one of the passengers becoming frightened, applied a paddle on the upper side which aimed the boat for the fall, leaving no alternative but to go over. The fall was several feet, and below it huge masses of rock; the roaring of the water was terrific, almost deafening, and it was night. We were swept along with the velocity of an arrow, and as we came to the brink I discovered the limbs of a tree, which had floated down and caught. Being in the stern of the boat, I rose up and as it was about to break over, jumped and caught to the limb, my companions going over with the boat. My situation was the most perilous imaginable. I was in the middle of the stream on the very brink of the precipice, the water up to my shoulders, and the stones tumbling from beneath my feet; my only support being the limb, to which I clung as if for life. It required almost superhuman effort to keep from being swept from my hold by the strength of the current. After feeling a little more secure, I felt below the surface and found another limb to which I clung, taking one step in the direction of the shore; after groping about, I found another and the last. I had now almost gained the upper side of a rock which rested on the brink just below the surface of the water. It was a crisis; it was extremely doubtful whether I could throw myself with sufficient force to catch the upper side of the rock. If I missed, the chances of life were against me, as I had no doubt some, if not all of my companions had already found a watery grave. It was no time for deliberation, and straining every nerve, I made one desperate struggle and gained the rock. I still had fifteen feet of the strength of the current to overcome, but by dexterous movements I succeeded in reaching the shore.

I immediately went in search of my friends; fortunately, we had two sailors with us, Billy and Charley, before spoken of. The boat ended over in passing down. Charley and Billy found their way to the shore, but Mr. Byram was dashed along among the rocks, apparently lifeless. They rushed in again and succeeded in dragging his body to the shore; we then hurried on to learn the fate of the others. On reaching the bend of the river we found the boat drifted against the rock, they clinging to its sides; they threw the hawser, and we drew the boat to the shore. Mr. Byram recovered, and we congratulated ourselves upon the auspicious termination of the adventure. They had been purchasing a quantity of provisions—flour, sugar, coffee, &c., all of which were “turned over” to tempt the appetite of the fishes.

Their encampment was a mile above, and as it was impossible to recross the river here, I went with them, in hopes of being able to ferry over in a small boat they owned, but on arriving, found it had been carried away by the freshet. The evening was chilly; I was drenched; I had left things in an unsafe condition at the store, and as my friends imagined me drowned, I determined to return and endeavor to recross in my own boat. On arriving I turned it on the side as far as possible, to relieve it of the water inside, then tying the hawser to my arm, I stepped on board. I was carried down with the greatest velocity for some distance, when I brought up against a rock. I was again in motion, and again sided against a rock with such force that the water burst over filling my boat. There was now no alternative but to try to reach the shore, which, after sundry cold baths, I succeeded in doing.

It was now late, and the night was extremely dark. One mile below were two sailor friends, and I resolved to reach their encampment. The first part of the route lay over a rocky promontory, overhanging the river. I passed over this by clinging to the shrubs and points of rocks. Occasionally one of the latter would leap from its bed, and with one terrific bound, disappear in the water below. On gaining the other side, I found the route easy, and soon gained the point of destination. I received a welcome from Tom and George (before spoken of) that sailors only know how to give. Tom cut wood, built a fire against a rock, and I was soon comfortably incased in a sailor’s suit, mine hanging by the fire, George, in the meantime, boiling the tea-kettle, frying pork and toasting bread, and I was soon invited into the tent to partake of their hospitalities. Tom assisted me in the morning; I reached my tent at noon. To Tom, George, Charley, and Billy, (the latter has since died)—may fortune crown their efforts, and friendship always smile!

The mining districts soon became almost destitute of provisions, and the country impassable in consequence of the immense fall of rain. There was a reported scarcity of flour, and it rose in one day, at San Francisco, from $16 to $40 per barrel, and in the mines from 30 cents to $1.50 per pound. I had laid in a good supply at a low price, but after this was exhausted the only way in which I could keep a supply, was to buy out those who were about to return to town. There was an almost universal desire to leave the mines, and but few remained excepting those who were from necessity compelled to. Some were preparing to return to the States; the number, however, was few. We had formed strong attachments, having participated in so many vicissitudes, and the thought of separating gave rise to gloomy reflections, particularly to those who were to remain. The supply of provisions had become so entirely exhausted, that many had resolved upon the hazardous alternative of going into the mountains, and wintering on the food procured with their rifles. At the head of the list was my friend Tracy. Nothing could induce him to go to town; he had as great an aversion to civilization as his friend Jim. He had left his home when a boy, and was probably never heard of by his parents; the connection was entirely severed, and he looked upon his rifle as his only true friend and reliance.

Having sold out my stock, Mr. Fairchild, Mr. Jones, and myself had resolved to start on the 17th of November for San Francisco, Mr. F. and myself destined for home. The only preparation necessary was to distribute our surplus effects among our friends; at this particular time it afforded more pleasure to give than to receive. Nothing was movable, hardly ourselves; the earth had become so thoroughly saturated, we would either of us have been loth to accept a new suit of clothes, ragged as we were. We each reserved a pair of pantaloons, a flannel shirt, glazed cap, and stogy boots. These, in connection with our blankets, constituted our outfits. Our firearms we found it difficult to dispose of; they were entirely useless, and our friends accepted them merely as an act of courtesy. My revolver, I had carried across the Isthmus, and kept during my stay in California, and when I disposed of it, it had not had the honor of being charged.

On the morning of the 17th my successor took possession of the store, and we were preparing to start, the rain pouring down a deluge. Our friends had all collected to bid us farewell, and to give into our charge letters to their friends. It was a gloomy morning, and a feeling of sadness appeared to steal over the minds of those we were about to leave. Having contracted with a gentleman who was to leave two days after, to deliver a package for me at Sacramento City, we filled our bottles with “Monongahela,” and putting a certain quantity where the effects would be more immediately felt, bade farewell to all, and started up the mountain. We were soon hailed by Tracy and Dean, who were not yet reconciled to parting with us, and who accompanied us a mile to the top of the mountain. We here came to a halt, and took the hands of our friends for the last time. We were all most sensibly affected, and although we had become inured to hardships and privations of every description, we could not, on this occasion, restrain our tears.