The nights here are in great contrast to the days, and are exceedingly cold, for all the icy mountains send their damp air down, as the sun sinks behind them.
Following down the San Joaquin southwest and west, we came to the river of the lakes, and stood off northwest (its general course) for nearly two days, but were so impeded in our progress by the bull-rushes that we turned aside to a clump of trees, where we expected to find water and grass; but not succeeding, returned to the river, about eight miles, and with great difficulty reached the edge of it for water at dusk—cold, tired, and regretting our lost time. We resolved, nevertheless, to steer off from the rushes next day. This is the locality from which, I suppose, the valley takes its name, "tulare" meaning "rush," this plant taking here the place of all others.
[No date.] Today I ran on to a herd of about a thousand elk; so close was I that I could see their eyes perfectly; these elk must be greatly harassed by the wolves, which are very numerous, and so bold at night that we have had several pieces of meat, and a fine goose stolen from over my tent door. Their long, lonely howl at night, the cries of myriads of wild geese, as well as Hutchinson's goose (which is very abundant) and the discordant note of the night heron, tell the melancholy truth all too plainly, of the long, long distance from home and friends.
There is no trail but that of wild horses and elk, all terminating at some water-hole, not a sign of civilization, not the track of a white man to be seen, and sometimes the loneliness and solitude seem unending.
The water is beautifully clear now, and is full of fine-looking fish; the large salmon of these rivers is a very sharky-looking fellow and may be fine eating, but as yet we have not been fortunate enough to get one, though several have been shot by Hudson and Simson as they lay in the shallows. The average width of the river here (that is, two days' journey from the mountains) is about eight yards, but as the snows are high up on the mountains, no doubt a great portion of the water is absorbed by the sandy soil it runs through.
Among the oaks the long acorns of two shapes, a good deal like nuts in taste, but still astringent to a disagreeable degree, are plentiful, and we eat a good many of them both roasted and raw, by way of variety, though objecting to the flavor. I have seen one or two nearly three inches long. Out of these acorns the Indians make their "payote," a kind of paste, which they dry, and then put into water in flakes, no doubt to allow the acrid matter to escape.
[No date.] Stockton. For the last five days we have passed over vast plains of sandy soil and all the recollections of the desert would come upon us, but for our nightly returns to the river. Passing two small rivers, we came to the Stanislaus, and went down it to the ferry, having once tried, unsuccessfully, to cross it. We had to pay a dollar each for about twenty yards, and went on our way to Stockton.
This mushroom town of skeleton houses and tents, with every class of dwelling from log cabin with rush roof, to the simple blanket spread to shelter the hardy miner, is situated like Houston, Texas, on an elevated flat, so level, that the water lying after every shower, makes the mud as deep as I ever saw it on the rich levees of Louisiana in winter. I find the climate much the same as that in Louisiana, but without the beautifully luxuriant vegetation of that country, and from all accounts it is quite as healthy, except that the high mountains here give a pleasant retreat in summer from the diseases incident to that season.
I left the men at the "French Camp," the first prairie out of the water, five miles to the south-west, and came into Stockton, with Hudson and Boggs and a pack mule to take out provisions for those at the camp. We went into the "Exchange Hotel," which might better be called the "Exchange of Blacklegs." Such a crowd as the bar-room of this hotel presents nightly, cannot be found except where all nations meet. Cards were being played for stakes every where, and the crowd around added to the picture, which once seen is difficult to forget. The tall, raw-boned Westerner, bearded and moustached like his Mexican neighbor beside him, the broad-headed German and sallow Spaniard, French, Irish, Scotch, I know not how many nationalities are here represented. I saw even two Chilians with their cold, indifferent air, all mixing together, each man on his guard against his fellow-man. The tight fitting jacket and flowing sarape touch each other, all blending into weirdness in the dim light of a few candles, would that I had time and opportunity to sketch some of the many scenes I beheld.
Having bought what we required we made our way back to camp through the dark dismal night, wind blowing and rain falling in torrents.