So, when the stars began to pale in the eastern sky, we were astir, and with the earliest ray of dawn set off like true pilgrims bound to drink of some holy spring on May morning. For the first two miles our path lay across quiet meadows, which as yet are only sprinkled with blossom. We found no cowslips, but washed our faces in Californian May-dew, which we brushed from the fresh young grass and ferns. Soon, they tell me, there will be violets, cowslips, and primroses. We passed by the orchard of the first settler in the valley; his peach and cherry trees were laden with pink and white blossoms, his strawberry-beds likewise promising an abundant crop.
It was a morning of calm beauty, and the massive grey crags all around the valley lay “like sleeping kings” robed in purple gloom, while the pale yellow light crept behind them, the tall pines forming a belt of deeper hue round their base.
About two miles above the Great Yo-semité Falls, the valley divides into three branches—canyons, I should say, or, more correctly cañons. The central one is the main branch, through which the Merced itself descends from the high Sierras, passing through the Little Yo-semité Valley, and thence rushing down deep gorges, and leaping two precipices of 700 and 400 feet (which form the Nevada and the Vernal Falls), and so entering the Great Valley, where for eight miles it finds rest.
The canyon which diverges to the right is that down which rushes the South Fork of the Merced, which bears the musical though modern name of Illillouette. It rises at the base of Mount Starr King, and enters the valley by the graceful falls which bear this pretty name.
At the point where we left the main valley to turn into the Tenaya Fork, the rock-wall forms a sharp angle, ending in a huge columnar mass of very white granite 2,400 feet in height. The Indians call it Hunto, which means one who keeps watch; but the white men call it Washington Column.
Beside it, the rock-wall has taken the form of gigantic arches. The lower rock seems to have weakened and crumbled or split off in huge flakes, while the upper portions remain, overhanging considerably, and forming regularly arched cliffs 2,000 feet in height. I cannot think how it has happened that in so republican a community these mighty rocks should be known as the Royal Arches, unless from some covert belief that they are undermined, and liable to topple over. Their original name is To-coy-œ, which describes the arched hood of an Indian baby’s cradle—a famous nursery for giants.
The perpendicular rock-face beneath the arches is a sheer, smooth surface, yet seamed with deep cracks as though it would fall, were it not for the mighty buttresses of solid rock which project for some distance, casting deep shadows across the cliff. As a test of size, I noticed a tiny pine growing from a crevice in the rock-face, and on comparing it with another in a more accessible position, I found that it was really a very large, well-grown tree.
Just at this season, when the snows on the Sierras are beginning to melt, a thousand crystal streams find temporary channels along the high levels till they reach the smooth verge of the crags, and thence leap in white foam, forming temporary falls of exceeding beauty. Three such graceful falls at present overleap the mighty arches, and, in their turn, produce pools and exquisitely clear streams, which thread their devious way through woods and meadows, seeking the river of Mercy.
So the air is musical with the lullaby of hidden waters, and the murmur of the unseen river rippling over its pebbly bed.
Turning to the right, we next ascended Tenaya valley, which is beautifully wooded, chiefly with pine and oak, and strewn with the loveliest mossy boulders. Unfortunately, the number of rattlesnakes is rather a drawback to perfect enjoyment here. I have so long been accustomed to our perfect immunity from all manner of noxious creatures in the blessed South Sea Isles, that I find it difficult at first to recall my wonted caution, and to “gang warily.” However, to-day we saw no evil creatures—only a multitude of the jolliest little chip-munks, which are small grey squirrels of extreme activity. They are very tame, and dance about the trees close to us, jerking their brush, and giving the funniest little skips, and sometimes fairly chattering to us!