TOUR TO THE GOLD MINES.—LOSS OF HORSES.—FIRST NIGHT IN THE WOODS.—ARRIVAL AT SAN JUAN.—UNDER WAY.—CAMPING OUT.—BARK OF THE WOLVES.—WATCH-FIRES.—SAN JOSÉ.—A FRESH START.—CAMPING ON THE SLOPE OF A HILL.—WILD FEATURES OF THE COUNTRY.—VALLEY OF THE SAN JOAQUIN.—BAND OF WILD HORSES.
Wednesday, Sept. 20. A servant of James McKinley, Esq., led to my door this morning a beautiful saddle-horse, with a message from his master, desiring me to accept the animal as a token of his regard. The gift was most opportune, as I was on the eve of a trip to the gold mines. To guard against contingencies I purchased another, and, to prevent their being stolen, placed them both in the government corral, where a watch is posted night and day. My companions on the trip were to be Capt. Marcy, son of the late secretary of war, Mr. Botts, naval storekeeper, and Mr. Wilkinson, son of our ex-minister to Russia.
Having procured a suitable wagon, we freighted it lightly with provisions, articles of Indian traffic, tools for working in the mines, cooking utensils, and blankets to sleep in. To this we attached four mules, but little used to the harness, and of no great power, but they were the best that could be got at the time. The whole was put under the charge of a man who was half sailor and half teamster, and not much of either. Thus accoutred, the team was sent ahead, and we were to follow the next day.
Thursday, Sept. 21. The hour for starting having arrived, I sent my man to the government coral for my horses. He returned in a few moments with the intelligence that a party of the volunteers had broken into the coral during the night, and carried off ten horses, and among them both of mine! There was no time now for ferreting out thieves, or hunting stolen animals. Our wagon was on the way, and my companions were mounted and waiting. I hurried to Mr. S——, who I knew had a fine horse in his yard, and offered him two hundred dollars for the animal, but he declined parting with him. My only resource now was with Mr. T——, who had three horses in his coral, but they were off a long journey the night before. I struck a bargain at a hundred dollars for one of them, and throwing on my saddle, was under way in a few minutes.
My horse held out pretty well for twenty miles, and then suddenly broke down. We were on the plain of the Salinas, and there was but little prospect of my being able to procure a substitute. But just at this crisis the mail rider hove in sight, with a horse in lead. I arranged with him for the spare animal, transferred my saddle to him, and with a farewell to my wearied steed, started again. We had directed our wagoner to proceed to San Juan, and expected to overtake him at that place before dark. But night set in while we were eight or ten miles distant, and it was a night of Egyptian darkness. We lost our way, and brought up in the woods. To proceed was impossible; so we dismounted, tied our horses together, felt for some dry leaves, and fired them with a lucifer which had been given us by a traveller an hour before.
With brush and bits of bark we managed to sustain our fire, but our prospect for the night was rather gloomy—without a drop of water, without any food, without an overcoat or blanket to cover us, with heavy thunder over head, and the wolves barking around. But we divided ourselves into four watches; one was to keep up the fire while the other three slept, and each take his turn in feeding the flame. My watch came first, and it was the longest two hours I ever experienced. Every old snag I drew to the fire seemed to exhaust the little strength that remained. My eyelids would fall, and it seemed impossible to lift them. I heard the wolves bark, but it was like a noise in one’s dream. But my relief came at last, and throwing myself down close to the fire, I slept too sound even for the thunder. It was the cold dim gray of advancing morn when I awoke. A ride of an hour brought us to San Juan, where we found our baggage-wagon at a stream, the mules tethered, and whistling a piteous welcome to our steeds, and the driver blowing into a bundle of reeds and straw, from which a slender thread of smoke was rising into the chill atmosphere.
San Juan is thirty-four miles from Monterey; the only buildings are a gigantic church and the contiguous dwelling—once occupied by the priests and their Indian neophytes. The sanctuary remains; but the priests are gone, and the Indians are on the four winds, save those over whom the pine sings its requiem. We broke our long fast on hard bread, broiled pork, and coffee without milk. The sun was high when our mules were harnessed, and the crack of the driver’s whip told that we were on the way. A few miles brought us to the foot of a hill; when half-way up our mules balked, and the wagon began to travel backward. We blocked the wheels, and tried to cheer and force them on; but a mule has that peculiar virtue which is insensible alike to flatteries and frowns. Still we coaxed, and whipped, and cheered, but in vain—there stuck our old wagon, fast as a thunder-cloud on a mountain’s bluff. We had to turn lighters, and carry the greater part of the load, by hand, to the top of the hill. One of the mules whistled out in seeming derision; while his fellow looked sorry, as if smitten with compunction. This delay consumed several hours, and the sun was far down his western slope when we reached a few shanties on a plain covered in spots with the surviving verdure of the year: here we camped for the night. One tethered the animals; two brought wood and water; and one turned cook. We made our supper by the light of our watch-fire, smoked our cigars, and turned down upon the earth, with our saddles for our pillows. A blanket served to protect each from the dews and the night air. How little man wants here! His palace seems to tower in idle grandeur, between a cradle and a coffin.
Friday, Sept. 22. Day glimmered over the hills and we were up; the gathered brands of our watch-fire kindled again under our camp-kettle. Our breakfast was soon dispatched, our mules in harness, our blankets stowed, and we were on the way. Ten miles farther, and my third horse, which I had procured at San Juan, began to give out, and I was thrown upon my feet, till relieved by the opportune arrival of a gentleman with a spare horse, which I purchased at his own price, leaving my own to shift for himself. When on my feet, my thoughts ran bitterly back to the two fine horses with which I had expected to leave Monterey. We are the least forgiving when we feel most the need of that of which we have been robbed.
Our road lay through a level plain, into which the spur of a mountain range had thrown its bold terminus. Doubling this, we wound into a deep cove, where wild oats waved, and a copious spring gushed from a cleft of the rock. It was yet two hours to sunset; but the next stream lay ten miles ahead, and we decided to camp where we were. Our horses and mules were turned into the ample cove untethered; and in half an hour we had gathered sufficient wood for a strong fire through the night. We were near the rancho of Mr. Murphy, and the kind old gentleman called, and invited us to his house; but we deemed it more prudent to stay by our animals. Our supper of hard bread, broiled pork, and coffee was quickly prepared, and as quickly disposed of. The shadows of eve fell fast; we arranged our watches for the night; and each, in his blanket wound, composed himself to sleep. Mine was the mid-watch: I found the camp-fire bright, and the cliffs around lit with its rays. I numbered the animals to see that none had strayed, and then sat down to watch the motions of a wolf, who was reconnoitering our camp, with step as soft and low—
“As that of man on guilty errand bent.”