CHAPTER XVI
A BAND OF WANDERERS
I RETURNED to Downieville the next day, and as the weather was now getting rather cold and disagreeable, and I did not wish to be caught quite so far up in the mountains by the rainy season, I began to make my way down the river again to more accessible diggings.
On leaving, I took a trail which kept along the bank of the river for some miles, before striking up to the mountain ridge. Immediately below the town the mountain was very steep and smooth, and round this wound the trail, at the height of three or four hundred feet above the river. It was a mere beaten path—so narrow that two men could not walk abreast, while there was hardly a bush or a tree to interrupt one’s progress in rolling down from the trail to the river.
When trains of pack-mules met at this place, they had the greatest difficulty in passing. The “down train,” being of course unloaded, had to give way to the other. The mules understood their own rights perfectly well. Those loaded with cargo kept sturdily to the trail, while the empty mules scrambled up the bank, where they stood still till the others had passed. It not unfrequently happened, however, that a loaded mule got crowded off the trail, and rolled down the hill. This was always the last journey the poor mule ever performed. The cargo was recovered more or less damaged, but the remnants of deceased mules on the rocks down below remained as a warning to all future travelers. It was only a few days before that a man was riding along here, when, from some cause, his mule stumbled and fell off the trail. The mule, of course, went as a small contribution to the collection of skeletons of mules which had gone before him; and his rider would have shared the same fate, had he not fortunately been arrested in his progress by a bush, the only object in his course which could possibly have saved him.
The trail, after passing this spot, kept more among the rocks on the river side; and though it was rough traveling, the difficulties of the way were beguiled by the numbers of miners’ camps through which one passed, and in observing the different varieties of mining operations being carried on. For miles the river was borne along in a succession of flumes, in which were set innumerable water-wheels, for working all sorts of pumps, and other contrivances for economizing labor. The bed of the river was alive with miners; and here and there, in the steep banks, were rows of twenty or thirty tunnels, out of which came constant streams of men, wheeling the dirt down to the riverside, to be washed in their long toms.
At Goodyear’s Bar, which is a place of some size, the trail leaves the river, and ascends a mountain which is said to be the worst in that part of the country, and for my part I was quite willing to believe it was. I met several men coming down, who were all anxious to know if they were near the bottom. I was equally desirous to know if I was near the top, for the forest of pines was so thick, that, looking up, one could only get a glimpse between the trees of the zigzag trail far above.
About half-way up the mountain, at a break in the ascent, I found a very new log cabin by the side of a little stream of water. It bore a sign about as large as itself, on which was painted the “Florida House”; and as it was getting dark, and the next house was five miles farther on, I thought I would take up my quarters here for the night. The house was kept by an Italian, or an “Eyetalian,” as he is called across the Atlantic. He had a Yankee wife, with a lot of children, and the style of accommodation was as good as one usually found in such places.
I was the only guest that night; and as we sat by the fire, smoking our pipes after supper, my host, who was a cheerful sort of fellow, became very communicative. He gave me an interesting account of his California experiences, and also of his farming operations in the States, where he had spent the last few years of his life. Then, going backwards in his career, he told me that he had lived for some years in England and Scotland, and spoke of many places there as if he knew them well. I was rather curious to know in what capacity such an exceedingly dingy-looking individual had visited all the cities of the kingdom, but he seemed to wish to avoid cross examination on the subject, so I did not press him. He became intimately connected in my mind, however, with sundry plaster-of-Paris busts of Napoleon, the Duke of Wellington, Sir Walter Scott, and other distinguished characters. I could fancy I saw the whole collection of statuary on the top of his head, and felt very much inclined to shout out “Images!” to see what effect it would have upon him.
In the course of the evening he asked me if I would like to hear some music, saying that he played a little on the Italian fiddle. I said I would be delighted, particularly as I did not know the instrument. The only national fiddle I had ever heard of was the Caledonian, and I trusted this instrument of his was a different sort of thing; but I was very much amused when it turned out to be nothing more or less than a genuine orthodox hurdy-gurdy. It put me more in mind of home than anything I had heard for a long time. At the first note, of course, the statuary vanished, and was replaced by a vision of an unfortunate monkey in a red coat, while my friend’s extensive travels in the United Kingdom became very satisfactorily accounted for, and I thought it by no means unlikely that this was not the first time I had heard the sweet strains of his Italian fiddle. He played several of the standard old tunes; but hurdy-gurdy music is of such a character that a little of it goes a great way; and I was not sorry when a couple of strings snapped—to the great disgust, however, of my friend, for he had no more with which to replace them.
Hurdy-gurdy player or not, he was a very entertaining, agreeable fellow. I only hope all the fraternity are like him (perhaps they are, if one only knew them), and attain ultimately to such a respectable position in life, dignifying their instruments with the name of Italian fiddles, and reserving them for the entertainment of their particular friends.