CHAPTER IV.
AN INFERNAL CITY.
A few days after my arrival in Carson the sky darkened, and we soon had a specimen of the spring weather of this region. To say that it stormed, snowed, and rained would be ridiculously tame in comparison with the real state of the case. The wind whistled through the thin shanties in a manner that left scarcely a hope of roof or frame standing till night. Through the crevices came little hurricanes of snow-drift mixed with sand; each tenement groaned and creaked as if its last hour had come; the air was bitterly cold; and it seemed, in short, as if the vengeance of Heaven had been let loose on this desolate and benighted region.
Next day the clouds gradually lifted from the mountain tops, and the sun once more shone out bright and clear. The snow, which now covered the valley, began to disappear; the lowing of half-starved cattle, in search of the few green patches visible here and there, gave some promise of life; but soon the portentous gusts of wind swept down again from the cañons; dark clouds overspread the sky, and a still more violent storm than on the preceding day set in, and continued without intermission all night. By morning the whole face of the country was covered with snow. A few stragglers came in from Woodford's, who reported that the trail to Placerville was covered up to the depth of six or eight feet, and was entirely impracticable for man or beast. Apprehensions were felt for the safety of the trains on the way through, as nothing could be heard from them. A large party had started out to open the trail, but were forced back by the severity of the weather. The snow-drifts were said to vary from twenty to thirty feet in depth.
Here was a pretty predicament! To be shut up in this desolate region, where even the cattle were dying of starvation, with seven or eight thousand human mouths to be fed, and the stock of provisions rapidly giving out, was rather a serious aspect of affairs. I do not know that actual starvation could have resulted for some time, certainly not until what cattle were alive had been killed, and soup made of the dead carcasses that covered the plain. Even before resorting to the latter extremity there were horses, mules, burros, and dogs on hand, upon which the cravings of hunger might be appeased for a month or so; and in the event of all these resources giving out, should the worst come to the worst, the few Digger Indians that hung around the settlements might be made available as an article of temporary subsistence.
In this extremity, when considerable suffering, if not absolute starvation, stared us in the face, the anxiety respecting the opening of the trails became general. Groups of men of divers occupations stood in the streets, or on every little rise of ground in the neighborhood, speculating upon the chances or peering through the gloom in the hope of discerning the approach of some relief train. The sugar was gone; flour was eighty dollars a sack, and but little to be had at that; barley was seventy-five cents a pound, and hay sixty cents; horses were dying for want of something to eat; cigars were rapidly giving out; whisky might stand the pull another week, but the prospect was gloomy of any thing more nourishing.
In this exciting state of affairs, when every brain was racked to devise ways and means of relief, and when hope of succor was almost at an end, a scout came running in from the direction of the Downerville trail with the glorious tidings of an approaching mule train. The taverns, billiard saloons, groggeries, and various stores were soon empty—every body rushed down the street to have assurance made doubly sure. Cheer after cheer burst from the elated crowd when the train hove in sight. On it came—at first like a row of ants creeping down the hillside; then nearer and larger, till the clatter of the hoofs and the rattling of the packs could be heard; then the blowing of the tired mules; and at last the leader, an old gray mule, came staggering wearily along heavily packed. A barrel was poised on his back—doubtless a barrel of beef, or it might be pork, or bacon. The brand heaves in sight. Per Baccho! it is neither beef, pork, nor bacon, but whisky—old Bourbon whisky! The next mule totters along under two half barrels. Speculation is rife. Every man with a stomach and an appetite for wholesome food is interested. Pigs' feet perhaps, or mackerel, or, it may be, preserved chicken? But here is the mark—brandy; by the powers! nothing but brandy! However, here comes the third with a load of five-gallon kegs—molasses beyond question, or lard, or butter? Wrong again, gentlemen—gin, nothing but gin. On staggers a fourth, heavily burdened with more kegs—sugar, or corn-meal, or preserved apples, I'll bet my head. Never bet your head. It is nothing but bitters—Mack's Bitters! But surely the fifth carries a box of crushed sugar on his back, he bears himself so gayly under his burden. And well he may! That box contains no more sugar than you do, my friend; it is stuffed choke-full with decanters, tumblers, and pewter spoons. But there are still ten or fifteen mules more. Surely there must be some provisions in the train. Nobody can live to a very protracted period of life on brandy, whisky, gin, Mack's Bitters, and glass-ware. Alas for human expectation! One by one the jaded animals pass, groaning and tottering under their heavy burdens—a barrel of rum; two boxes of bottled ale; six crates of Champagne; two pipes of California wine; a large crate of bar fixtures; and a dozen boxes of cigars—none of them nutritious articles of subsistence.
As if to enhance our troubles, the party in charge of the train had been nearly starved out in the mountains, and now came in the very lankest and hungriest of the crowd. If they were thirsty, it was their own fault; but none of them looked as if they had suffered in that respect.
