It was about 2 P.M. when we resumed our journey, and we had resolved to walk to the “half-way tent,” twenty-two miles distant. We were obliged to wade through mud to the tops of our boots, and on one occasion Jones sunk so deeply into the mud that we were obliged to pry him out. The first two miles found us much fatigued, and we were obliged to consult our bottles for relief; the next two found us running under a full head of steam, our walking beams in the finest working order. There was an evident disposition to try our relative speed, and the probability is that we never attained a higher rate than on this particular occasion. We did not meet any one on the road, but we met a number of trees, and although entire strangers, we made ourselves as familiar as though we had been acquainted with them for years; I hope they do not remember what we said to them. We thought Fairchild made too much lee-way; Jones had so much freight on deck that he rolled about tremendously; I found it difficult to keep on an even keel, and was so heavily laden forward, that it was almost impossible to support the “figure-head.” We all, however, made good time, considering the depth of water we drew. Sunset (it did not rise that day) found half our journey performed, and three-fourths of our fuel consumed; we did not let the engines stop, but steamed on, the paddles frequently throwing mud into the faces of the passengers. About 9 P.M., one of the vessels was noticed to careen, but it righted, and we kept on until half-past ten, when we arrived at the half-way tent.
If I was ever glad to put into port, it was at this time, and we certainly put in in “stress of weather.” We found the tent full, and when we called for supper were told that there was nothing to eat, except a piece of salt beef which was in the barrel. We ordered this cooked, and made a supper of brandy and beef. We now looked about for a place to sleep, but were obliged to spread our blankets on the wet ground. If I ever felt the necessity of a place on the dry dock, it was at this time; our clothes were wet with rain and perspiration, and now we were cold and stiff, and the thought of laying down for the night in the mud, was dreadful. There was no alternative, and we submitted with the best possible grace.
The “tent” was kept by Mr. Wilkin (or Wilky,) assisted by his amiable lady. They were from Scotland, having been in the United States about seven years, most of which time they had lived in their wagon or a tent; part of the time they had lived on the extreme frontier of Missouri, after which they crossed over to Salt Lake, then into Oregon, and finally down to California. They had spent the summer in the mines, and after the commencement of the rainy season had started for Sacramento City with a six-mule team. After much toil they reached this point when two of the mules were “mired,” the others strayed, leaving them no alternative but to remain for the winter. They constructed temporary accommodations for travelers, and since my return to New York I met them at the Irving House, and was happy to learn that they were most bountifully rewarded for their detention. We rose the next morning, had our bottles refilled, and, as we had no particular appetite for salt beef, we resolved to walk ten miles to breakfast. Our motive powers had rusted during the night, and we found it almost impossible to move, but our bottle, like quack medicines of the present day, was a universal panacea; we applied it in this case with success. We were soon making as good time as on the previous day, but it was soon apparent that Jones must either bend on “studding-sails,” or fall behind; he chose the latter alternative, and before 9 o’clock, A.M., he was “hull down.” We arrived at the “blue tent” at 10, A.M., and ordered breakfast, but we had the consolation of learning from the worthy host that he had nothing to eat. This was just what we had had for supper the previous night, and informed him that we wished something a little better for breakfast. He had flour, which was full of worms, and we had warm biscuit for breakfast.
We were again under way, and soon came out upon an open plain which extended to the American River, fifteen miles distant. This plain, although quite elevated, was covered with “lagoons,” or small lakes, all swarming with wild geese, ducks and brant. A finer opportunity for a sportsman could not well be imagined, but to us the lakes afforded but little amusement;
some of them we could go around, others we were compelled to wade through. The entire plain was dotted with covered wagons that had been loaded with provisions for the interior, but, in trying to cross, the teams had “mired” and the wagons been abandoned.
On arriving within sight of the ferry, we came to the margin of a lagoon that stretched away to the river, leaving us no alternative but to wade; the practicability of this could only be learned by sounding. This was not a time for deliberation, and taking my blankets, &c., on my shoulder, I waded in; after wading to my neck it grew more shallow, and my companion followed. We reached the ferry boat and were soon on the opposite bank of the river.
We were now within sight of Sacramento City, and as it was Sunday our first attention was bestowed upon our toilet. We sat down on the bank of the river, pulled off our boots, poured the water out of them, wrung out our socks, and after replacing these we took off our caps, brushed up our hair, imagined that our moustache curled, (we could not tell, for the river was too muddy to reflect our faces,) adjusted the skirt of our flannel, then throwing our chest out, with our head at an angle of about 23°, we stood in for the city, passing in at the head of J. street, which we found in fine navigable order, the water extending to the door-sills on either side.