What induced the Flying Dutchman to form a company of such incongruous materials, and to take so much trouble in trying to work it, I can’t say, unless it was a little of the same innocent vanity which was apparent in his exaggerated style of dress.
There was a considerable number of Frenchmen in the neighborhood of Downieville, but they kept very much to themselves. So very few of them, even of the better class, could speak English, and so few American miners knew anything of French, that scarcely ever were they found working together.
In common intercourse of buying and selling, or asking and giving any requisite information, neither party was ever very much at a loss; a few words of broken English, a word or two of French, and a large share of pantomime, carried them through any conference.
When any one capable of acting as interpreter happened to be present, the Frenchman, in his impatience, was constantly asking him “Qu’est ce qu’il dit?” “Qu’est ce qu’il dit?” This caught the ear of the Americans more than anything else, and a “Keskydee” came at last to be a synonym for a “Parleyvoo.”
The “Dutchmen” in the mines, under which denomination are included all manner of Germans, showed much greater aptitude to amalgamate with the people around them. Frenchmen were always found in gangs, but “Dutchmen” were usually met with as individuals, and more frequently associated with Americans than with their own countrymen. For the most part they spoke English very well, and there were none who could not make themselves perfectly intelligible.
But in making such a comparison between the Germans and the French, it would not be fair to leave unmentioned the fact that the great majority of the former were men who had the advantage of having lived for a greater or less time in the United States, while the Frenchmen had nearly all immigrated in shiploads direct from their native country.
About thirty miles above Downieville is one of the highest mountains in the mines. The view from the summit, which is composed of several rocky peaks in line with each other, like the teeth of a saw, was said to be one of the finest in California, and I was desirous of seeing it; but the mountain was on the verge of settlement, and there was no camp or house of accommodation nearer to it than Downieville. However, the Frenchman in whose house I was staying told me that a friend of his, who was mining there, would be down in a day or two, and that he would introduce me to him. He came down the next day for a supply of provisions, and I gladly took the opportunity of returning with him.
The trail followed the river all the way, and was very rough, many parts of it being nearly as bad as “Cape Horn.” The Frenchman had a pack-mule loaded with his stock of provisions, which gave him an infinity of trouble. He was such a bad packer that the cargo was constantly shifting, and requiring to be repacked and secured. At one spot, where there was a steep descent from the trail to the river of about a hundred feet, the whole cargo broke loose, and fell to the ground. The only article, however, which rolled off the narrow trail was a keg of butter, which went bounding down the hill till it reached the bottom, where at one smash it buttered the whole surface of a large flat rock in the middle of the river. The Frenchman climbed down by a circuitous route to recover what he could of it, while I remained to repack the cargo. Without further accident we arrived about dark at my companion’s cabin, where we found his partners just preparing supper;—and a very good supper it was; for, with only the ordinary materials of flour, ham, and beef, it was astonishing what a very superior mess a Frenchman could get up.
After smoking an infinite number of pipes, I stretched out on the floor, with my feet to the fire, and slept like a top till morning, when, having got directions from the Frenchman as to my route, I set out to climb the mountain. The cabin was situated at the base of one of the spurs into which the mountain branched off, and was about eight miles distant from the summit.
When I had got about half-way up, I came in sight of a quartz-grinding establishment, situated on an exceedingly steep place, where a small stream of water came dashing over the rocks. In the face of the hill a step had been cut out, on which a cabin was built, and immediately below it were two “rasters”[4] in full operation.