Chapter XIV

JOE BELLOW--STOCKTON--A BEAR TRAPPER--BEAR AND BULL FIGHTS--AN
UNEASY BEAR--CALIFORNIAN INNS--NATURAL ROADS--GOOD DRIVING--I KILL
A FLEA--SONORA--THE EVENING COMMENCES--FRENCH EMIGRANTS--A DRINKING
BAR--NUMBER EIGHTY--A CORRAL AND A MORAL.

_September, 1851._

So many reports had reached San Francisco at this time of the discovery, in various parts of the mining regions, of auriferous veins of quartz of immense wealth, that all that portion of the population who were in waiting for something to turn up had already departed for the mountains in search of gold rock.

Although not exactly belonging to this class, it was my destiny to hear from one Joe Bellow an account of a certain mineral district, a portion of which, it appeared, had been showered by Fortune into his lap. His description was resistless. His natural volubility, trained as it had been by his professional duties as an auctioneer, overcame all obstacles that I could raise, and I succumbed to his earnest entreaty that I would visit the mine in question and feast my eyes, as he had feasted his, on the glittering wealth which nature had here exposed to view, and of which he extracted a specimen from his pocket of the most satisfactory description.

The mine was situated in the vicinity of Sonora, the chief town of the southern mines; and as, independently of my curiosity to inspect it, I wished to visit that section of the country, we started at four o’clock one evening in a small river boat called the “Jenny Lind,” bound to Stockton, a town situated on the San Joaquin River.

On starting from San Francisco for the mines, it was but natural to bid adieu to cleanliness and comfort for the time being, and, having so fortified myself, I was better able to withstand the intolerable filth of the “Jenny Lind.” She has since “blown up,” which is about the only thing that could have purified her.

At daylight we arrived at Stockton, which I shall allude to more fully by and by, and at once landed and secured our places in the stage then about to start for the town of Sonora.

The stage coach was of American manufacture, and of the class known as “Concord” coaches. It carried nine inside and two out. Our driver was a colonel, and his name was Reed. He was one of the best of whips, and, as proprietor of the line by which we were now travelling, he was making money very fast. Having been forestalled in the box seat by a very hairy miner, I completed, in company with Mr. Joe Bellow, the complement inside, after paying the gallant colonel an “ounce” for passage money. This was a “reduced fare,” occasioned by an opposition having lately made its appearance on the Sonora road; the bare mention of this emulative vehicle raised the colonel’s “dander.” With a crack of the whip we started at a good pace, behind four well-built, active beasts, not over-groomed, or “turned out” very expensively as to harness, but famous goers, and good for ten miles an hour over the plain.

Lines of stages now traverse the country in every direction, and there is scarcely a canvass mining village that is debarred from communication in this way with the principal towns. The horses used by these lines are of the best quality, for a Yankee stage driver knows wherein true economy lies; but the capital required to start a line is very considerable, and as soon as the profits begin to “tumble in pretty freely,” as Colonel Reed remarked, up starts an opposition; for stage-driving is a favourite speculation! Our inside passengers consisted of a young Canadian woman, who travelled under the protection of an ill-looking dog, a kind of Irish Yankee, who was very quarrelsome and bumptious, and carried his revolver in a very prominent position. We had two or three miners, who, as a matter of course, brought their rifles and blankets with them into the coach, and who squirted their juice at passing objects on the road with astonishing accuracy. We had, however, one decided character. This was a man who, as he gratuitously informed us, was professionally a bear hunter, bear trapper, and bear fighter; who, in fact, dealt generally in grizzly bears. When he shot bears--and it appeared he lived in the mountains--he sold the meat and cured the skins; but when he was fortunate enough to trap a fine grizzly alive, a rich harvest generally awaited him. The grizzly was immediately transferred, bound head and foot, to a large and strong cage; and this, being mounted on the bed of a waggon, the animal was despatched to some large mining town in the vicinity, where notice was given, by means of handbills and posters, that “on the Sunday following the famous grizzly bear, ‘America,’ would fight a wild bull, &c., &c. Admission, five dollars.”

A bull and bear fight is, of all exhibitions of this description, the most cruel and senseless. The bear, cramped in his limbs by the strict confinement that his strength and ferocity have rendered necessary, is placed in the arena; and attached to him by a rope is a bull, generally of fine shape and courage, and fresh from the mountains. Neither animal has fair play, and indeed, in most instances, each one avoids the other. The bull’s power of attack is weakened by the shortness of the tether, whilst the bear, as above mentioned, has scarcely the free use of his muscles.

The bull invariably commences the attack, and the immense power of the bear’s fore-arm is then exemplified; for, raising himself on his hams, he meets the coming shock by literally boxing the bull’s ears; but this open-handed blow saves his entrails, and the bull swerves half stunned, whilst his horns graze Bruin’s skin. But if the bull approaches in a snuffing, inquisitive kind of manner, the bear will very probably seize his enemy’s nose and half suffocate him in his grip. The fight generally ends without much damage on either side, for the simple reason that neither of the combatants means mischief.

I was sleeping one night at Campo Seco, a mining village in the southern mines, the houses of which were, for the most part, composed of canvass, the “balance,” as they say here, being of muslin. The camp was very full, as on the day previous, Sunday, a long-expected fight had come off between a grizzly bear and a cinnamon bear. I had heard that, after an uninterrupted embrace between the two of about four hours, the grizzly had been declared the victor, which was not so extraordinary, considering that he weighed about 1200 lbs., and that you could not have driven a tenpenny nail through his hide, whilst the cinnamon’s weight was quoted at 400 lbs. I was “putting up” with an acquaintance who kept a store in a small canvass house, and he having, with true mining generosity, opened a bale of new red blankets for my temporary accommodation, I was soon asleep. About daylight I was awoke by what I imagined to be the moaning of a man in pain, and the occasional disturbance of the canvass wall nearest my sleeping-place satisfied me as to the locality. The moaning soon became deeper, and occasionally the canvass yielded to some heavy weight that pressed against it. Presently was heard a smash of crockery and a tremendous roar; upon which my host started up, and, placing a revolver in my hand and seizing his rifle, he rushed out of the tent, vociferating, “Come on.” Following him into the adjoining room, which formed his kitchen and occasionally a stable for his old mule, my eyes at once lit upon the cinnamon bear, whom my host had provided with lodging at the nightly charge of one dollar. The bear was fortunately chained to a strong stake in the centre of the hut, otherwise, “all smarting, with his wounds being cold,” he looked, judging from as much of his eyes as one could distinguish in his swollen face, as if it would be grateful to him to set-to with something as much smaller than himself as he was smaller than his late antagonist. Upon an after inspection of his chain I ascertained that its length would have admitted his gratifying this desire on my carcase, had he tumbled through the canvass partition which had separated us for the night.

The weather being at this time fine and the roads in good order, we passed, throughout the whole length of our journey, innumerable waggons laden with winter provisions for the mines; and droves of mules--patient little brutes, some as small as donkeys, staggering under barrels of liquor and cases as big as themselves; each drove led, as a matter of course, by an old white mare with a bell.

As we neared the Stanislaus River, distant thirty miles from Stockton, every one inside became sociable, except the Irishman, whose jealousy had been aroused to a fearful pitch by J. Bellow, who entertained the fair Canadian in French, a language unknown to her protector. During our journey J. B. had not been inactive, having already disposed, conditionally, of sundry bags of sugar to the miners, and a box or two of German cigars to the bear hunter; samples of these articles having been extracted from his capacious pocket. Crossing the river Stanislaus at a fordable spot, we pulled up at a large wooden house, and alighted to dine and wash off the dust with which we were covered.

The immense traffic carried on on the roads that lead to the mining regions affords an extensive field for the profitable management of houses of entertainment. These may be encountered at almost every mile throughout the whole country, and they vary in size from a wooden two-story house to the very smallest kind of canvass shanty.

There seems to be a certain hour of the day for every traveller in California to breakfast, dine, or sup; and should he not arrive at a roadside house at one of these specified hours, he will get no meal; and could the traveller by any possibility be present at each and every hostel at the same moment, he would find a stereotyped bill of fare, consisting, with little variation, of a tough beefsteak, boiled potatoes, stewed beans, a nasty compound of dried apples, and a _jug of molasses_. He would then sit down at the summons of a bell in company with all the tagrag and bobtail of the road who might have congregated for the repast in question: and, if inclined to follow the custom of the country, he would, with the point of his knife, (made blunt for this purpose) taste of the various condiments, butter included, that were ranged before him, and, selecting as many of these as were suited to his taste, he would pile them on his plate, demolish them with relish, and depart on his way in peace. Travel where you will in California, you may rest assured that of the foregoing will your meal be composed, and in nearly such a manner must you eat it.

Dinner over, we mounted a strong spring waggon in exchange for our covered coach, which had too much top hamper for the mountain trail we had before us. We had now six horses, all American, good sound cattle, that had come to California across the plains, and were well broken in to crossing gulches and mud-holes. We were soon in a different style of country. Hitherto we had been crossing a level track across the Stockton plain, interrupted by an occasional dive into a dry gulch; now we commenced at once to ascend the hilly country which first indicates the approach to the mining regions. The road to Sonora, as indeed to most places in this country, has never been laid out by Government, but is, in fact, a natural trail or path marked out by the first pioneer waggons that passed that way, deviated from, from time to time, as experience indicated a shorter cut; receiving no assistance from the hand of man, and encountering a vast number of obstacles from the hand of nature.

For instance, we arrive at a part, that, skirting the base of a hill, presents a rapid declination to the left, which is a very hard and rocky-looking ravine. Colonel Reed exclaims, as he places his foot on the break, which works from the box, “Hard up to the right!” upon which the insiders loll their heads and bodies out on that side of the vehicle to preserve its equilibrium. We had to “hard up” a great many times either to one side or the other, during which time J. Bellow always considered it necessary to assist the fair Canadian; whereupon the Irishman looked fierce and talked large, but finally one of the miners told him, in a quiet but unmistakeable manner, that “if he didn’t ‘dry up’ he’d chuck him out of the stage.” Whereupon the Irishman did dry up for the rest of the journey; and shortly after arriving at Sonora we heard of his being detected attempting to pass off _bogus_, or imitation gold dust, and he narrowly escaped being lynched by the mob. In the course of the afternoon I obtained the box seat, and engaging the colonel at once on the subject of horseflesh, I soon obtained from him a great amount of useful knowledge on the subject of American stock, of which I am a great admirer. As we neared Sonora, the colonel’s attention was almost entirely occupied by his team, for in many places the trail led through deep gulches, into which previous volcanic eruptions had showered an infinity of small cindery rocks, which, close enough together to prevent wheels getting through them, were just sufficiently high to capsize the cart if the wheels went over them. We arrived at the summit of a “used up” crater, and, having a long descent of this description before us, the inside passengers were ordered out; the break was put on, worked by the colonel’s leg on the box. I held on according to orders. We slided down in famous style, first over on one side then the other, the colonel occasionally addressing his team with “D---- you, don’t touch one of them!” meaning the rocks, through which we were picking our way. But, near the bottom of the hill, we got our off-wheels into a _mud-hole_ and declined gently on that side, a fine specimen of volcanic formation preventing the waggon from going over altogether. The colonel, without hesitation, made all his passengers hang their weights to the near side of the waggon, and, sitting on my lap, with a crack of the whip he started the whole concern, and sent it flying and swaying from side to side to the bottom of the hill. Here we pulled up, and the colonel, relieving me from his weight, observed, in extenuation of what might otherwise have appeared a liberty, “that he was obliged to be a little _sarcy_ on this road.”

Fleas are very prevalent in the southern mines, and my first introduction to the species was in this wise. The colonel turned suddenly to me, his hands being occupied with his ribbons, with “I guess there’s a flea on my neck;” and I perceived on the instant that there was a large, broad-shouldered insect, refreshing himself on the place indicated, in apparent oblivion of all around. As in duty bound as box seat, I pulled him off and put him to death, the colonel remarking as he nodded his thanks, that he generally had three or four of the “darned cattle put through” in that fashion during the journey.

With so many teams and waggons on so narrow a trail, there is occasionally much disputing for the right of way. Men carry arms on the road as a general rule; but very seldom use any worse weapon than their tongues in these disputes. In a very awkward descent we found the road entirely and unnecessarily blocked up by a waggon, drawn by eight yoke of oxen. The Colonel at a glance recognised a teamster with whom he had previously had many words on the same subject, and he opened fire by ordering him to his own side of the road; to which the teamster sulkily acquiesced after some delay, our driver, as he passed, threatening him with a “lamming” on the next convenient occasion; to which the teamster replied by a promise of blowing the top of the colonel’s head off; which so incensed the colonel, that he forgot himself, and rising in his seat, solemnly assured the driver of the ox team, that at some future period nothing should deter him from “spiking” him; to which the driver replied with such a shout of derision, that, believing as I do in the colonel, I have no doubt that before this the teamster has met his fate, and is a _spiked_ man. The colonel felt very “ugly” for some minutes after this, but soon recovered his equanimity of temper. And here I shall take leave of him, for we now approach Sonora; the sun was disappearing behind the red wood trees that capped the surrounding mountains; we began to pass rapidly through mining villages and mining populations, of which more anon, and after dashing through several bad places, in which, as the colonel remarked, the best driver might get _mired_, or stuck in the mud, the town of Sonora appeared in sight; and dashing in at full gallop, we pulled up at the principal hotel.

It was dark when we entered Sonora; and as the habits of the people here are nocturnal, the evening may be said to have commenced as we alighted. It certainly had commenced, for Greenwich Fair might be spoken of as a sober picture of domestic life, compared to the din and clamour that resounded through the main street of Sonora. On either side were gambling houses of large dimensions, but very fragile structure, built of a fashion to invite conflagration, though offering little of value to the devouring element when the invitation was accepted, which it was about every other night or so. In most of these booths and barns the internal decorations were very glittering; chandeliers threw a brilliant light on the heaps of gold that lay piled on each monté table, whilst the drinking bars held forth inducements that nothing mortal is supposed to be able to resist. On a raised platform is a band of music, or perhaps some Ethiopian serenaders, or if it is a Mexican saloon, a quartet of guitars; and in one house, and that the largest, is a piano, and a lady in black velvet who sings in Italian and accompanies herself, and who elicits great admiration and applause on account of the scarcity of the fair sex in this region.

Each gambling house is full; some are crowded, and the streets are full also, for it is Saturday, a night on which the miners flock into Sonora, with the avowed intention of purchasing necessaries for the ensuing week, and returning the same night; but, seduced by the city’s blandishments, they seldom extricate themselves from its temples of pleasure until very early on the ensuing Monday morning, when they return to their _camps_ and _long toms_,[15] and soothe their racking headaches by the discovery of chunks of gold.

The Mexican population preponderates in Sonora and its vicinity, and nearly everything is stamped with their nationality. The gambling tables are surrounded by them; and, dirty fellows as they are, they are very picturesque at a distance with their slouch hats and long serapes. The American population, between whom and the Mexicans a rooted hatred exists, call the latter “greasers,” which is scarcely a complimentary sobriquet, although the term “greaser camp,” as applied to a Mexican encampment, is truthfully suggestive of the filth and squalor the passing traveller will observe there. Sonora has a large French population, and to this Gallic immigration is attributable the city’s greatest advantages; for where Frenchmen are, a man can dine, which is very important. The “_Trois Frères Provençaux_,” has its namesake here, where good cooking and excellent light wines are at all times to be relied on; but where Frenchmen are, there are also good bakers; and there is, moreover, a great deal of singing and gaiety, and good humour, which is a pleasant contrast to the coarser hilarity of a generally very drunken population.

The long bar of a saloon is always actively engaged, and the bar-keeper must be prepared for all demands in all languages. Here he serves a Mexican group with _agua diente_; now he allays a Frenchman’s thirst with _absinthe_, in the pouring out of which he displays much art; again he attends with rapidity to the demands of four Americans, whose _orders_ embrace respectively, a “gin-cocktail,” a “brandy-straight,” a “claret sangaree,” and a “Queen Charlotte;” these supplied, he must respond with alacrity to the call of a cockney miner, whose demand is heard even above the surrounding din:

“Hain’t you got no hale hor porter?”[16]

J. Bellow expounded a great deal more than I have attempted to describe, before we had been many minutes at Sonora. As soon as we had bathed and freed ourselves from the dust with which we were covered, and which, perhaps from its having been ground off an auriferous soil, resembled a fine rich plate powder, we dined at a French restaurant and commenced our perambulations: not before J. B. had conducted me to his residence. This was situated in the main street, and was a small canvas house rather ostentatiously placed between two glittering saloons. The interior consisted of one large room, filled with stores and provisions, and another very small apartment in which J. B. slept. The front of the house was entirely occupied by black letters, more than a foot in length, which, so soon as you got far enough off to read them all at once, informed you that Joseph Bellow carried on the business of auctioneer. In one of the saloons, a very interesting and well-looking young girl was attending at a part of the bar where confectionary was sold. I should not have supposed her to have had black blood in her veins; but J. B. assured me that she had been a slave, and had been once sold at New Orleans at a very high price, which he mentioned, and I ascertained this to be true; she was free now, but freedom had come too late, I suspect, to bring much value with it to her. J. B. knew every miner in the place, and to each he had something to say, and with most he took something to drink. It was, “Well, Jones, how did those pickles suit you?” and if Jones disparaged the condiments in question, as he probably did, it was, “Well, let’s have a drink: allow me to introduce my friend, Mr. M----,” and if I had not managed to elude him, I should have had to shake hands with every man in Sonora on the first night of my arrival.

I had been directed to a place called Holden’s Hotel as a sleeping place. The lower floor formed the gambling saloon, in which were the Ethiopian serenaders already alluded to; the upper being converted, as I had understood, into sleeping apartments. On applying at the bar for a bed, I was requested to pay a dollar and enter my name on a slate opposite a vacant number; 80 it was. I wished to go to bed, and was directed to mount the staircase and find No. 80 for myself. On reaching the second storey, I found myself in a long and dimly lighted room of the same dimensions as that below, and round and about which were ranged about a hundred wooden stretchers, covered with canvas, and furnished each with one dark-blue blanket, and a small bag of hay to represent a pillow. It is satisfactory to me to remember, that, so far from expressing surprise, I displayed a stoicism that would have brought the blush through the vermilioned cheek of a Pawnee warrior; I wound my way through the settees, most of which were occupied, until I arrived at one on the head of which was a card bearing my number. A glance assured me that the bag of hay that rightfully belonged to me was there, but that the blanket was not. A momentary inspection further developed the fact, that on all the occupied stretchers were two or more blankets, whilst the unoccupied beds had been denuded of this covering. Having been educated as a midshipman, it is needless to say that to be in possession of _three_ blankets, for it was cold, and an extra bag of hay, was the work of a moment; and making myself as snug as I could in No. 80, I was soon asleep, notwithstanding that the chinking of the monté-bankers, and the noise of the crowd below, and the calls for brandy-smashes, and the chorus of the serenaders, were by no means “fainter in the distance;” and no wonder, for close to No. 80 there was a chink between two planks, so wide that I could see “Bones” lolling out his tongue at the public, as he accompanied the chorus to the popular song of “Charlestown Races.”

I awoke about daylight, very chilly, and found that my blankets had disappeared. The law of reprisal had been fairly enforced, and one cannot always be _wide-awake_. It was a comfort to me to reflect, that he who took the blankets, took the fleas that belonged to them; and as these creatures feed about daylight, _I had the best of it after all_. It was a capital idea of the landlord’s, to have all the blankets of the same colour, for as every man deposited his revolver under his head before retiring for the night, it prevented all possibility of the joke becoming serious.

As I have already observed, the Spaniards enclose their wild horses in a “corral.” Here, closely packed, the best horse kicks himself into the best place, and keeps it. These wholesale human dormitories are also called corrals, and the principle is much the same as regards the occupant; you must kick or get kicked--and indeed for that matter the whole world is conducted on much the same principle.