After a few days’ repose at the Soldier’s House, as the post at the Dalles is called, the three friends, who had again joined company, boated down the Columbia. This was a rather amusing part of their expedition. The boat was manned by a Maltese sailor and a man who had been a soldier in the American army. The only passenger besides themselves was a big officer of the Yankee Mounted Rifles, a regular “heavy,” and awful braggadocio, who boasted continually of himself, his corps, his army and its campaigns. What were the Peninsular campaigns to the Mexican war? Talk of Waterloo! Look at Chepultapec. Wellington could not shine in the same crowd with General Scott. All this vastly amused the Englishmen. What was less amusing was the utter ignorance of seamanship displayed by the soldier-skipper, who, as part owner of the boat, assumed the command. They were nearly swamped by his clumsiness, and Mr. Coke, who has served in the navy, was obliged to take the rudder. The rudder broke, the wind freshened, the river was rough, the boat drifted into the surf and narrowly escaped being dashed to splinters on the rocks. They drew her up high and dry on the beach, lit a fire and waited for the storm to blow over. Wrangling ensued. The Yankee, who had got drunk upon his passengers’ whisky, swore that, soldier though he was, he knew as much about boat-sailing as any midshipman or post-captain in the British navy. The “heavy” backed him, and the military skipper swore he would be taught by none, and wound up with the stereotyped Yankee brag, that “his nation could whip all creation.”
“We had been laughing so much at his boasting that he doubtless thought himself safe in accompanying the remark with an insolent look of defiance. But what was his surprise when the parson, usually a most pacific giant, suggested that if Fred would take the Maltese, I the amphibious captain, he himself would with great pleasure thrash the mounted rifle, and so teach the trio to be more civil and submissive for the future. Whatever the other two might have thought, the ‘heavy’ was by no means inclined to make a target of his fat ribs for the sledge-hammer blows of Julius’s brawny arms; and with a few remarks upon the folly of quarreling in general, and of fighting on the present occasion in particular, not forgetting to remind us of ‘one original stock,’ ‘Saxon race,’ etc., the good-natured ‘plunger’ effected an armistice, which was sealed and ratified with the remains of the whisky-bottle.”
After his recent severe experience, it seemed unlikely that Mr. Coke would soon regret life in the prairies, with its painful alternations of bitter cold and parching heat; its frequent privations, hunger, thirst, fatigue, restive mules, hard labor, and scanty rest. During a seven weeks’ passage between Fort Vancouver and the Sandwich Islands, on board the Mary Dare, a wretched little coal-tub of a brig, he and his companions actually found themselves vaunting the superior comforts of their late land-journey. Confined by constant wet weather to a cabin twelve feet by eight, without a mattress to lie on, but with a superabundance of fleas, rats and cockroaches, they blessed the hour when they first caught sight of the palm-crowned shores of the Sandwich group. Mr. Coke’s account of his stay at the Hawaiian court is lively enough, but of no particular interest; and the sort of thing has been much better done before by Herman Melville and others. After the adventurous journey across the Rocky Mountains, this part of the book reads but tamely, and we are not sorry to get Mr. Coke back to North America. He and Fred landed at San Francisco. A long letter which he wrote thence, after a month’s stay in the country, is here reprinted, having originally been inserted in the Times newspaper by the friend to whom it was addressed. He adds some further particulars and characteristic anecdotes. His account of the diggings, both wet and dry, but especially of the latter, fully confirms the mass of evidence already adduced as to their incalculable richness.
“The quartz rock,” he says, “which is supposed to be the only permanent source from which gold will eventually be derived, extends north and south for more than a degree and a half of latitude. At Maripoosa, a society, possessing several ‘claims,’ have established, at a great expense, machinery for crushing the rock. They employ thirty men, whom they pay at the rate of 100 dollars each a month. This society is now making a clear gain of 1500 dollars a-day. This will show you what is to be expected when capital sets to work in the country.”
Some of the sketches at table-d’hôtes and gambling-tables are extremely natural and spirited. Mr. Coke and Fred, whilst at San Francisco, lived at El Dorado, the best hotel there; four meals a-day, dinner as good as at Astor’s at New York, venison, grizzly-bear, Sandhill-crane, and other delicacies; cost of board and lodging eight dollars a-day—not dear for California. At the dinner-table they made some queer acquaintances; amongst others a certain Major M., whose first mark of good-will, after his introduction to them by a judge, (judges and majors swarm at San Francisco) was to offer to serve as their friend in any “difficulty” into which they might get. The judge suggested that the two English gentlemen might probably have no need of a “friend” in that sense of the word. The Major’s reply will be our last extract.
“ ‘Sir,’ said the Major, ‘they are men of honor; and as men of honor, you observe, there is no saying what scrapes they may get into. I remember—it can’t be more than twenty years ago—a brother officer and I were opponents at a game of poker. That officer and I were most intimately acquainted. Another bottle of champagne, you nigger, and fill those gentlemen’s glasses. Very fine that, sir—I never tasted better wine,’ said the Major, as he turned his mustaches up, and poured the gooseberry down. ‘Where was I, Judge? Ah! precisely—most intimate acquaintance, you observe—I had the highest opinion of that officer’s honor—the highest possible opinion,’ with an oath. ‘Well, sir, the luck was against me—I never won a hand! My partner couldn’t stand it. ’Gad, sir, he did swear. But my friend—another slice of crane, nigger, and rather rare; come, gentlemen, help yourself, and pass the bottle—that’s what I call a high old wine, you observe. Where was I, Judge? Ah! just so.—Well, my friend, you observe, did not say a word; but took it as coolly as could be. We kept on losing; they kept on winning; when, as quick as greased lightning, what do you think my partner did, sir? May I be stuck, forked end up, in a ’coon hole, if he didn’t whip out his knife and chop off three of my friend’s fingers. My friend, you observe, halloo’d loud enough. ‘You may halloo,’ says my partner, ‘but if you’d had a full, sir, you’d have lost your hand,’ (an oath.) My intimate friend, you observe, had been letting his partner know what cards he had by putting out a finger for each one; and having the misfortune, you observe, to hold three when my partner found him out, why, sir, you observe, he lost three of his fingers.’ ”
Between his roguish friend and his ruffianly partner, the Major felt himself in a dilemma how to act.
“ ‘I think,’ said the Judge, ‘I have heard the story before; but, excuse me, I do not see exactly what relation it bears to these gentlemen, and your offer to serve them.’ ‘That,’ said the Major, ‘if you will give me time, is exactly what I am coming to.—Nigger, bring me a dozen cigars.—The sequel is soon told. Considering my duty as an officer, a friend, and a gentleman, I cut my friend, and shot my partner for insulting him; and if, you observe, these gentlemen shall honor me with their friendship, I will be most happy to do the same by them.’ ”
Whilst deprecating the good offices of this Yankee O’Trigger in the shooting or cutting line, Mr. Coke and his companion availed of him as a guide to an adjacent faro table, where the gallant Major lost eight hundred dollars with infinite coolness, drank a cocktail, buttoned his coat, and walked away.
As matter of mere amusement, Mr. Coke’s last chapter is his best. It is crammed with diverting stories of “smart” Yankees and other originals whom he encountered in California. The whole book, although in parts a little drawn out, does him credit, and will doubtless be extensively read and well liked. For various classes it has features of attractive interest. The emigrant, the gold-seeker, the sportsman, the mining speculator, the lover of adventure for mere adventure’s sake, will all derive pleasure from its pages, and occasionally glean from them a hint worth remembering.