Chapter XXII (6)

“The ‘digging’ was in a deep valley, having an abrupt mountain
acclivity eight hundred feet high on one side, and on the other a
plain bounded by mountains. On the evening of our arrival we walked
along the bank of the river for two miles; on each side were diggers,
working at distances apart, or congregated together, according to the
richness of deposit. About twenty feet is the space generally allowed
to a washingmachine. The majority of diggers excavated close to the
bank; others partially diverted the river’s course to get at its bed,
which was considered the richest soil. At a bend of the river a
company of eighty were digging a fresh channel to turn its course; on
the sides of the mountain, in ‘gulches’ formed by torrents and
water-courses, men were likewise at work.”

After taking a survey of the diggings—“prospecting” as it is called in miner’s phrase—Mr Shaw and his comrade Mac fixed upon a likely spot to commence operations. With the assistance of the Chinese, who was a carpenter by trade, they quickly constructed a bush hut, and slept in it the first night of their arrival. The settlement consisted of numerous tents, accommodating from six to twelve men each, and of a few larger ones, serving as stores. At one of the latter, on the following morning, the partners opened an account for provisions and implements. Prices were exorbitant. A frying-pan, a saucepan, and two tin mugs, cost twelve dollars—L.2, 8s. Four-and-thirty pounds weight of coarse provisions (biscuit, salt-junk, &c.) cost fifty dollars! In short, twenty-two pounds sterling were expended for the merest necessaries before they could begin work, which they did in the following manner:—

“Commencing within a few feet of the water’s edge, I handled a pick
and spade, shovelling out the earth to Mac, whose shoulders were best
able to carry a burden; he delivered the soil to the Celestial, who
stood in the water shaking to and fro the rocker; he then handed the
auriferous sediment to the inspection of the sharp-eyed Malay boy, who
washed it in Mambrino’s helmet till nothing but pure gold dust
remained. For the first few days the arduous labour very sensibly
affected our limbs; but when we became more accustomed to our tools it
wore off. Unremitting labour from sunrise to sunset was necessary, our
very existence depending on the day’s produce. Indeed, but for the
excitement, and the hope of great gain, gold digging might be
pronounced the severest and most monotonous of all labour. We changed
our digging occasionally, but we generally obtained sufficient gold
dust to procure us the necessaries of life. Twenty-five dollars’ worth
was the most we ever secured in a day, and that only on one occasion:
from fifteen to eighteen dollars seemed to be the usual average of
daily findings, not only with us, but with most others; and our
station seemed to be considered by old hands as prolific as any
other.”

This is surely a most suggestive quotation. Here are three able-bodied men and a boy toiling, from daybreak till dusk, as hard as any journeyman stone-mason or railway navigator, to earn—what? a bare subsistence. For the privilege of doing this they had performed an immense journey, undergone cruel hardships and sufferings, and risked themselves in a climate which, for part of the year at least, is most unwholesome and pernicious. No matter that the nominal amount of their gains was ten times as much as they could have obtained in Europe, by digging or other unskilled labour; in a region where junk and biscuit averaged a dollar and a half a pound, this was of little advantage. “_We generally obtained sufficient gold dust to procure us the necessaries of life._” Without care for the morrow, the Celestial and the Malay might have been sure of that much by sticking to their berths as carpenter and boy on board the Mazeppa. Was it for no better than this that Mac, the second mate, had abandoned his ship, to the astonishment and disgust of the skipper, when the cargo was but half discharged? As yet, however, there were no signs of regret for the rash step taken. “_Excitement and hope of great gain_” kept up the hearts of the gold-diggers. In defiance of experience, they persisted, expectant of some sudden stroke of good luck. Such things _had_ been, certainly, but only when the gold store was first developed, and afterwards at very long intervals; and the few persons who have obtained what might be considered important amounts of the precious metal in California, have done so by barter with the Indians (who at first were willing enough to work and trade for gold) rather than by their own unassisted exertions. Mr Theodore Johnson and many other writers have deposed to this. Of course, there can be no doubt that large fortunes have been and will be amassed in California, but that is done by crafty and grasping traders, and by the unscrupulous keepers of the countless gamblingtables, who squeeze from the toiling miner his hard-earned dust and ingots. “The storekeeper, or the gaming-house keeper,” says Mr Shaw, “is the ravenous shark who swallows up all. The majority of gold-finders, if they avoid the demon of the hells, are at the mercy of the ogre of the store, who crams them first and devours them afterwards.” In a pamphlet now before us—the _Report on California_, dated from Washington, 22d March 1850, and addressed by the United States Government Agent, T. Butler King, to the Honourable John Clayton—we find statistics of the gains of the gold-diggers confirmatory of the passages we have quoted from Mr Shaw. The first discovery of the gold took place late in May or early in June 1848; authentic intelligence of it did not reach the States till late in the autumn—too late for emigration that year. “The number of miners,” says Mr King, “was consequently limited to the population of the territory—some five hundred men from Oregon, Mexicans or other foreigners who happened to be in the country, or came into it during the summer and autumn, and the Indians, who were employed by, or sold their gold to, the whites. It is supposed there were not far from five thousand men employed in collecting gold during that season.” One thousand dollars a head is considered a low estimate of what they amassed per man upon an average. The total amount—of about a million pounds sterling—which this would make, must, however, have been unequally divided. The Indians would take trifles in exchange for their gold, and no doubt many of the whites got together important sums. At the commencement of the dry season of 1849, foreigners came pouring in from all quarters, and by the month of July it is estimated that fifteen thousand men were at work in the mines—increased to twenty thousand by the beginning of September; that is to say, during the first half of that season which permits successful search for gold in the rivers. “Very particular and extensive inquiries respecting the daily earnings and acquisitions of the miners,” says Mr King, “led to the opinion that they averaged an ounce a-day. This is believed by many to be a low estimate; but from the best information I was able to procure, I am of opinion it approaches very near actual results.” With provisions, it must be borne in mind, at worse than famine prices, a slender breakfast—as recorded by Mr Johnson, who was there during this first half of the season of 1849—costing three dollars, and other things in proportion. During the last half of the same season, the American emigration had come in by land and sea, and Mr King calculates that there were forty or fifty thousand United States citizens in California, whose average gains, owing to their inexperience in mining, did not exceed eight dollars a-day per man. This was the period of Mr Shaw’s abode in the diggings, and the estimated rate very nearly tallies with the gains of himself and companions. A comparison of his narrative with that of other Californian adventurers inclines us to think that provisions, at least of some kinds, had rather fallen in price during the latter part of the 1849 season—at least in San Francisco and its vicinity, although up at the diggings, owing to monopoly and expense of carriage, there was probably but little difference. “Where I was,” he says, “on the setting-in of the winter season, the storekeeper paid four shillings for every pound-weight of goods, these being transported on mules to the settlement. Retailing almost everything at the rate of from _six to twelve shillings a pound_, the storekeepers gave credit; but the digger, unless he had a continuous supply of gold, soon fell into arrears.” As a specimen of the extravagant prices paid in particular cases, he mentions the arrival from the Sandwich Islands of two casks of potatoes, “a most welcome supply, as many, from eating salt provisions, were suffering from scurvy. These potatoes had a rapid sale _at four shillings a-piece_, and were eaten raw, like apples!” This is a match for Mr Johnson’s story of the boxes of raisins which were sold, also as anti-scorbutics, for their weight in gold dust.

To revert, however, to Mr Shaw’s adventures. Gradually were disclosed to him the various advantages of gold digging, and he experienced the amenities of American enlightenment. “Prospecting” one morning for a likely spot, he and Mac had just pitched upon one, remote from any other diggers, when down came three Americans, and coolly took possession of the ground. “They were very indifferent about giving an explanation, merely saying that we were within their limits, and they ‘guessed we had better remove.’ As it would have been a matter of contest _vi et armis_, we beat a retreat.” A small thing produced a deadly encounter at the diggings. The company of eighty men, already mentioned, who had been excavating a channel to divert the river’s course, and get at its bed, where they hoped to find a great accumulation of gold, at last completed their work. The stream, dammed up, and driven into the new cutting, overflowed the banks, and flooded other people’s diggings.

“Indemnification was asked, but refused; the inundated diggers,
therefore, commenced digging in the old river-bed, exclusively
appropriated for those who belonged to the company; when a murderous
attempt to eject them ensued: knives and picks, rifles and pistols,
were freely used. The company, being strongest, were triumphant;
though not before deadly wounds had been inflicted on both sides. I
viewed the barbarous encounter from an eminence; at its termination,
when I visited the field of battle, I was horror-struck at the
sanguinary atrocities which had been committed. Some men lay with
their entrails hanging out; others had their skulls smashed with the
pickaxe, and bodies lopped with the axe; whilst a few lay breathing
their last, seemingly unscathed, but shot to death with bullets.”

The prospect of gain should be very great, to compensate civilised men for the disgust and many disagreeables inevitable from the proximity of Americans of a certain stamp. None appreciate the better qualities of our Transatlantic cousins more highly than ourselves. It has been our good fortune to meet with Americans who would do honour to any nation. We willingly believe that such men are numerous in the United States. But we regard with aversion a class of Americans which we much fear is both large and increasing—that restless, reckless, offensive class, who lay down for others laws which they themselves disregard; who use license and exact submission; and who, themselves childishly susceptible, affect astonishment when others take umbrage at their encroachments. These are the men who fill the ranks of usurping armies, to despoil feeble neighbours; who man piratical expeditions against the possessions of an allied and friendly country; and who, when the pirates have met their deserts—as richly earned as was the fate of any freebooter and murderer who ever hung in chains on bank of Thames or West Indian key—muster by twenties of thousands in the great cities of the States, utter frantic yells for vengeance, set police and order at defiance, destroy the property of innocent traders, and drive diplomatic agents to seek safety for their lives within prison walls. To this disreputable class, and to its worst specimens, belonged, as will easily be imagined, a great majority of the American immigrants into California. Their two chief characteristics were the grossest selfishness and the most unwarrantable interference in their neighbours’ concerns. A party of these men, including two of the three who had accused Shaw and Mac of trespassing, paid them a visit, fully armed, one night after dark, as the two Englishmen, weary with the day’s work, lay smoking their pipes beneath their roof of leaves and branches. The Yankee diggers came to grumble and bully. Their pretext was, the presence of the Chinese and Malay, whom they either believed, or pretended to believe, were serfs to the others, working for their benefit.

“We assured the men that we exercised no compulsion over the blacks,
who might leave us at pleasure; and, notwithstanding they had
previously declared that coloured men were not privileged to work in a
country intended only for American citizens, some of them were
inconsistent enough to ask the Celestial and Malay to work for them
for pay; but nothing would shake their allegiance to us. Some time
afterwards, this feeling against the coloured races rose to a pitch of
exasperation.... The mines becoming more thickly populated by
Americans, these, relying on their numerical strength, commenced acts
of hostility and aggression on any _placer_ inhabited by coloured
people, if it were worth appropriating, or excited their cupidity:
ejectments constantly occurred, and thousands, driven from the
_placeres_, left the country, whilst others penetrated farther into
the hill ranges.”

The wet season in California is usually from November till March; but in 1849 it set in unusually early. Mr Shaw and his partner had been but three weeks at the diggings when a flood of rain descended. Their habitation was a delightful one for hot weather—a sort of sylvan bower in a clump of trees, with a park-like tract in the rear, and the bright stream about a hundred paces in front. Now the rain poured in through their bower of foliage, soaking everything in an instant. They tried to keep it off with blankets, but in vain; the weight of the torrent overwhelmed everything. They continued their search after gold. The labour had been hard at first; it now was painful and desperate.

“At mid-day it was a July heat, of an evening and morning the chill of
January. In the dry season we had not minded, when in a profuse
perspiration, and oppressed with heat, taking a turn in the water;
but, now that the river was filling, none liked standing long up to
the waist in snow-water from the mountains. When we thought of former
exposures, and contemplated our present position, the terrors of ague,
rheumatism, fever, dysentery, and other accompaniments of a
Californian winter, occurred to our minds.”

Ominous forebodings, speedily to be fulfilled. As fast as they built up their hut, it was knocked down again, until at last they almost gave up hopes of shelter, wrapped themselves in their blankets, and cowered round the fire, the teeth of Mahomet and the Celestial chattering dismal duets. Again they tried to work, and again desisted, deterred by symptoms of sickness, which the Chinese was the first to feel. Anything more dreary and wretched than their situation, as described by Mr Shaw, can hardly be conceived. The whole country was becoming deluged; a chilly south-east wind blew through their hut, which resembled a shower-bath, and Mac, applying his nautical experience to the consideration of the Californian clouds, predicted much foul weather. In the midst of all this misery and discomfort, provisions ran low. Mr Shaw and the Malay volunteered to fetch a small supply, and, making their way through bush and swamp, at last reached the ford. This was hard by the place where the cutting had been made which had caused the desperate fight between the two parties of miners. Labour and blood had alike been fruitlessly expended; for want of due precaution, the mountain torrents had carried away the embankments. The waters at the ford were agitated and dangerous. “Mahomet looked sagaciously at the current, then, picking pebbles from the bank, sat himself down, and pitched them successively into different portions of the river, complacently watching the results: this, he told me, was his country fashion of finding out the depth of water, as, by the bubbles produced by the falling stones, the depth of water was ascertained.”

Having at length got across, “we went to our customary store, kept by a knowing ‘Down-East’ youth, whom we found seated astride on the top of a sugar cask, chewing lustily at a plug of tobacco. He was a good natured fellow, for when he saw the plight we were in, (both of us wet up to the waist, and Mahomet rueful and shivering,) he pulled from his pocket a brandy bottle, and handed it to us to drink.” Most rare generosity at the diggings! Provisions procured, they returned to the hut; but next morning Mahomet awoke with spasms, and the Celestial was very bad. Brandy there was none; the poor fellows’ funds were running low; and as the Malay’s case was urgent, Mr Shaw went to the nearest tent where spirits were. “Christian men wanted liquor,” was the reply of the humane and Christianlike Americans, “and they would be darned if they would give any to black cattle.” So Mr Shaw made another trip to the store, and then he and Mac, defying the weather, went down to dig, and were so fortunate as to get a full ounce of gold. A little encouraged by this success, Mr Shaw took his gun and walked off “in search of something suitable for an invalid.” After rambling far and finding nothing, he espied a flock of crows, clustered on the decayed carcasses of some oxen, and knocked over three. The very picking them out of the putrid mass amongst which they had fallen was a most disgusting task; but he bagged them with a shudder, and, on returning with his loathsome prize, so eager were the party to eat something that was fresh—or rather, not salt—that it was decided, _nem. con._, to make a supper on the crows. “They actually smelt of carrion, but were very plump; and when plucked and boiled by the Celestial, they ate much better than I anticipated.” After such a repast, no wonder that “the following day both Mac and myself experienced a shivering sensation; the Chinese and Mahomet were also worse.” Indeed, it was the wretched condition into which the two Asiatics now fell that partly detained their masters at the diggings. As to remaining there in hope of profit, Mr Shaw and his messmate were getting daily more persuaded of the fallacy of any such expectation. Hard work, frugality and economy, had as yet done little towards enriching them; and here they were, with five or six months’ rain before them, during which they would necessarily gain less and spend more. Themselves were now so poorly, and the pains in their limbs so severe, that it was all they could do to keep up the fire and dress their food. But the Malay and the Chinese were in a terrible state, and lay moaning dismally, to the consternation of the others. And all this time the party of sufferers may be said to have lived in water, for they had been refused admittance into a tent, and the roof of branches kept out no rain. “On one occasion, after an agitated sleep, the boy sprang up shrieking in a fit, and fell into the fire. _Luckily his clothes were too wet to catch a light_, and we pulled him out instantly; but after this occurrence we thought it prudent to bind him by the feet.” When things are at the worst they must mend, says the proverb; and certainly it were difficult to imagine anything worse than the condition of the four unfortunates in the ruined hut. But one day a man was seen coming over the hill; they hailed him, and he approached them. It was the Down-Easter from the store. That jewel of a fellow, who deserved to be put under a glass-case as an unparalleled specimen of a humane Yankee at the diggings, offered them shelter in his store. How joyfully they accepted it needs hardly to be said. Poor Mahomet could not walk; but he was by this time a mere skeleton, and easily carried. The two Englishmen were quartered in the store itself; their coloured dependants were sheltered in an adjoining tent. A German—self-dubbed a surgeon, but who in his own country had been more accustomed to dress hair than wounds—now came to see them, at the moderate rate of five dollars a visit, and insisted upon bleeding Mac, who unwisely submitted, although already extremely weak, and in greater need of nourishment than blood-letting. Mr Shaw mistrusted the quack-salver, suffered no lancet to approach his veins, and his health rapidly mended. “In the morning I took a stroll round the tents: a most ominous silence prevailed; of the busy crowds not one was to be seen at work; all was as still as an hospital. We had not been the only sufferers; sickness universally prevailed, seeming as infectious as the plague. In every tent lay sufferers in various stages of disease; out of two hundred, at least twenty had died, and not more than sixty were able to move. Those convalescent would be seen gathered together in the stores,” gambling the gold dust for which they had toiled all summer, knocking the necks off champagne bottles, devouring turtle, lobsters, and other delicacies, preserved in tins and sold at fabulous prices. Idleness and ostentation were the motives of this lavish expenditure of their hard-gotten wealth, and Mr Shaw believes “that the majority wished themselves again in the backwoods, preferring beef-broth and spruce-beer there to champagne and turtle in the diggings.” Meanwhile, the sick “lay huddled together in tents, moaning and cursing, many of them dying, with no one to attend to their spiritual or bodily wants; and I cannot but think that many died from sheer starvation or mere want of attendance.” California is the place for contrasts. In one tent revelry, gambling and drunkenness; in the next, disease, delirium, despair: a reckless life terminated by a godless death.

The monotony of the wet season at the diggings was presently varied by an exciting incident. A tent on the outskirts of the settlement was ransacked, and its two inmates speared, by a party of Indians. A dozen men assembled to follow and take vengeance, chiefly Yankee backwoodsmen, with two English hunters from Oregon for their leaders. Mr Shaw cleaned his gun and pistols, put a store of flour in his knapsack, slung his blanket, and accompanied them, in spite of the arguments of his two countrymen, who thought him physically unequal to the hardships of the expedition. On the second day they came upon the Indian camp, consisting of some thirty men and twenty women. The marauding party had just come in, and were narrating their exploits—their plunder displayed upon the ground. The Indians—who seem, for Indians, to have been extremely incautious, and to have dispensed altogether with vedettes or sentries—gathered together in a group to sup, when their repast was unpleasantly interrupted by the crack of the white men’s rifles, immediately followed by a headlong charge with pistol and bowie-knife. Five were killed by the first volley, and a number wounded, most of whom were remorselessly put to death, whilst a few were saved by the intercession of Oregon Frank and others of the more humanely disposed. One old squaw had got a bullet in her leg, but as a string of scalps was amongst her personal ornaments, she excited little compassion. “Knowing the treachery of Indians,” Mr Shaw artlessly remarks—meaning, we suppose, the possibility of an attack from the remnant of the party which he and his friends had so mercilessly decimated—“we loaded our firearms before sitting down to supper, keeping a watchful eye about us. The repast, of which we took possession, consisted of roots, venison, acorn-bread, boiled horse-chestnuts, and a dish of vermin: the former were very palatable after our fatiguing march, but the slugs and worms we declined tasting. When we first sat down, some arrows were shot with great precision into the midst of us: one stuck firm in a large piece of venison, which we were compelled to throw away for fear of the arrow being poisoned.” A forced march of sixty miles in twenty-eight hours saved them from an attack by overwhelming numbers on their way homewards, and they reached the diggings without loss. There things were gloomy enough. During their absence a man had had his ear cut off for larceny; Mac was rather worse than better; the Malay and Celestial were on the brink of the grave. The overflow of the river had flooded most of the diggings; Mr Shaw’s was completely inundated, and not a vestige remained of his hut. “As I viewed,” he says, “the desolation of all around, I thanked God that I had regained my health, and involuntarily shuddered at what might otherwise have been my fate, thinking with sadness upon the probable death of those who accompanied me hither.” It now appeared that, owing to the rainy season having set in a month earlier than usual, the provisions in store were insufficient to pass the winter. Many of the diggers had their own tents and stock of food, and they might weather it out; others had gold wherewith to buy food, so long as food there was to buy: this latter class were not secure from starvation, which would be the almost certain fate of those who had but the labour of their arms to depend upon. The friendly storekeeper intended selling off and starting; the two Oregonians were about to quit—perhaps to try the dry diggings, perhaps to return home through the mountains—and wished Mr Shaw to accompany them. He had but thirty dollars left, and his digging was under water. In this perplexity he took council with Mac, who was in stout spirits, although still an invalid. He advised a retreat to Stockton. Mr Shaw acquiesced, and as he would only have expended his slender funds, without benefit to his friend, by awaiting Mac’s convalescence, he resolved to set out alone upon the following day. As to Mahomet and the Chinaman, their case was utterly hopeless. They were dreadfully emaciated, and so delirious that they did not seem to recognise their old master and fellow-labourer when he paid them a farewell visit. With painful regret he parted from Mac, and set out upon his lonely journey across two hundred miles of wilderness. Here, as in other parts of the book, one cannot but admire the judgment and resolution of this young fellow, then not out of his teens, but who displayed, on many occasions, qualities that would do credit to a man of mature age and far greater experience.

In the midst of a storm of wind and rain, and encumbered by a heavy load, Mr Shaw took a last look at those diggings where his “golden dreams” had been so rudely dispelled, and ascended the steep mountain which commenced his laborious march. His knapsack contained “twelve yards of jerked beef, dried in strips, six pounds of biscuits, one pound of beans, and two of flour.” He was further loaded with his blankets and bag for water, his pistols, gun, and a huge bowie-knife. Road there was none; the track that there _had_ been was obliterated by the rain; he steered his course by landmarks. The summer streamlets and mountain gullies were converted into deep and rapid rivers; cataracts roared down amongst the rocks, bringing with them avalanches of soil and trees; the whole surface of the earth was flooded. At dark he was compelled to halt, lest he should find a grave in some ravine. Establishing his bivouac beneath a tree, he at first hesitated to light a fire lest it should attract Indians; but this risk he was compelled to run, in order to deter wild beasts, for a couple of coyotes and a tiger-cat showed themselves; and although pretty well used to the howling of wolves, he could not think without trepidation of the certain results of an encounter with a grizzly bear, a monster by no means uncommon in those latitudes, and between which and the ursine specimens we have opportunities of observing in England there is as wide a difference, as between a lady’s park palfrey and the mad charger that bore Mazeppa to the desert. “Their speed being almost equal to that of a horse, notwithstanding their clumsy appearance and gait, foot-travellers have no chance with them, as they can climb a tree or gnaw the trunk away with equal facility. The most marvellous accounts of their bulk are current amongst hunters. Some of these monsters are said to be the height of a jackass, and weigh fifteen hundred pounds.” No wonder that, in hopes of scaring away carnivora of this magnitude, he lit a fire and risked his scalp. We were puzzled to think how, in the midst of the deluge he describes, he got his fire to burn. But here nature has been merciful, and there is a crumb of compensation and comfort for the drenched wayfarer in California. The gum-trees and firs of the country are his resource. However wet the weather, he has but to strip the bark from the base of one of these; the wood underneath is perfectly dry; a few resinous chips, cut out with a hatchet, are easily persuaded to flame, and these set light to the foot of the tree, which, once kindled, burns steadily and gradually, without spreading or blazing, and gives out a genial heat. Mr Shaw usually selected a tree about three feet in diameter for his watch-fire, which seems to have been just the right size to last the night, for “on awaking in the morning,” he says “agreeably surprised to find myself unmolested, the tree, being almost burnt through, fell with a crash.” To avoid the risk, otherwise imminent, of being crushed by the remains of this sylvan fireplace, it is necessary to select a tree so inclined as to be certain to fall in a contrary direction to the wind, which serves to keep up the fire and to keep the embers from the sleeper, who of course lays himself down to windward.

At about noon on his third day’s march, Mr Shaw found his progress barred by a swollen stream, nearly a quarter of a mile wide, whose current raced past at fully seven knots an hour. After patrolling its banks in quest of a shallower and narrower place, and finding none, he risked the passage. “Unbuckling the burden on my shoulders, holding it by a slender cord with one hand, my gun above my head with the other, and my knife between my teeth, I cautiously entered the water. On gaining the middle of the stream, I felt with painful anxiety the water rising higher and higher; and the current, nearly carrying me off my legs, compelled me reluctantly to use the gun as a support and sounding rod. The general depth averaged from my waist upwards to my neck; for a minute I was immersed over head, but regained a footing without sacrificing my pack, and succeeded in crossing safely.” That night, the wolves, as if aware of the unserviceable state of his firearms, were unusually clamorous and daring, and he was awakened at midnight by their abominable serenade. “From rock to rock their dismal howls were echoed, responded to in the distance by the fiendish laugh of a jackall. Casting a look around, a huge shaggy wolf stood within five yards, his eyes glaring at me like burning coals. Snatching up a firebrand, I hurled it at him, which made him turn tail and beat a rapid retreat.” By a very long march the next day he cleared the mountains and got to the Stanislaus, but not until after dark. “The moonlight was palely reflected on the silvery surface of the water, which sparkled with the leaping of salmon; the stream made a hollow murmuring sound, as it dashed over the rocky obstructions in its bed; and a grove of trees and shrubs, which overhung the edge, cast a deep shade around. As far as I could guess, it was at least three quarters of a mile in width.” Near the ford, which he made correctly, but which, owing to the increase of the waters, was hardly recognisable, a party of Indians were salmon-spearing. To the hungry traveller, long unused to better food than dry biscuit and salt beef, the idea of a slice of fresh-broiled salmon was most captivating. But although pretty well convinced, from some Spanish exclamations he overheard, that these were Mission-Indians, belonging to a friendly and Christian tribe, he thought it as prudent not to accost them, and plunged into the stream. When about half-way across, he got out of his depth, was swept away by the current, and shouted for succour. He was got ashore insensible, but was brought to life by the exertions of a hideous squaw, who kneeled upon his chest to pump the water out at his mouth. At first doubtful whether humanity or hunger had prompted his rescue, and whether he was to be fed or fed upon, he was soon relieved from the unpleasant doubt by the kindness of the poor Indians, who wrapped him in blankets and gave him salmon and maize-cake for supper. A cross tatooed upon his arm (sailor fashion) increased their regard for him, by convincing them he was a Roman Catholic; and on learning he was an Englishman, they testified extreme satisfaction. “The two leading characteristics of the Mission-Indians are Catholic zeal, and an inherent detestation of Yankees.” After leaving these hospitable savages, who were bound inland to winterquarters, Mr Shaw had to traverse the sandy plain which had been the scene of so much suffering on his march to the diggings. The weather was now cool, and he was plentifully supplied with water, so all that he had to put up with was the fatigue of walking through sand into which he sank ankle-deep at every step. Notwithstanding this disadvantage, he accomplished thirty-five miles the first day, proving himself a stout pedestrian. He passed a dead mule, laden with a pack of hosiery, and saw various skeletons, partly buried in sand-drifts; and the next morning his route took him by several recently-made graves. That evening he entered Stockton, heartily glad once more to find himself in a civilised settlement, but not without misgivings as to how he should manage to earn a living and get on to San Francisco. It was too late to hunt for his old shipmates, so he warmed his pot of coffee at a deserted fire, and then, creeping under a cart, lay down upon some rotten wood and rushes. Just as he was falling asleep, he was roused by a singular incident. A hale gigantic man of thirty, who was sleeping near him, was stung by a venomous insect peculiar to that country, whose sting he knew to be mortal.

“A convulsive tremor shook his frame, and the perspiration dropped
from his brows, as he stood before a large fire with his hands
clasped, exclaiming, ‘The Lord have mercy on my soul!’ Various
remedies were proposed, but he shook his head: ‘No,’ said he; ‘die I
must,’ and thus philosophically he resigned himself to his fate.
Intelligence of this disaster had a startling effect on most of the
sleepers. I, as well as others, from a morbid anxiety, watched the
gradual working of the venom. The doomed man, with the equanimity of a
Socrates, joined in the conversation, but kept drinking large draughts
of brandy; violent spasms soon came on, and he shouted for more
liquor; his features, seen by the lurid light of the fire, were
horrible to contemplate; and it was not without violent struggles that
he gave up the ghost.”

This melancholy event so disturbed Mr Shaw that he quitted his sleeping-place beneath the cart, and, after some prowling about, took up his quarters in a dilapidated tent, containing a forge and anvil. There he lay down under a bench, upon some iron rubbish, “arranged as comfortably as could be, for a mattress;” and there, in the morning, he was awakened by a kick in the ribs from the inhospitable smith who owned the “location,” and who overwhelmed him with foul language for intruding into his shop. “As it is useless to expostulate with surly, ill-conditioned people, I merely made a brisk exit.” In California, a man who is at all scrupulous about taking human life, and whom nature has not gifted with the thews and muscles of an athlete, or art endowed with the pugilistic science of a prize-fighter, must make up his mind to submit to occasional rough treatment. Not possessing sufficient bodily strength to pummel the brutal Vulcan who grudged him a nap upon his old iron, Mr Shaw—whose courage and resolution no one will doubt who reads his unassuming narrative, but who appears to be of active rather than of powerful frame—might, had it so pleased him, have had recourse to Colt, and sent half-a-dozen bullets in rapid succession through the vitals of his assailant. The chances are that, in the infant state, and with the provocation given, he would have escaped unpunished, unless, indeed, his quality of a Britisher had rendered him particularly obnoxious to Judge Lynch. To thrive in California, or even to hold his own—at least in the year 1849, and we have shrewd doubts about things having much mended since that date—a man must not be over-particular about defacing the image of his Maker, but prompt to revenge his own grievances, and act as judge and executioner in his own quarrel. There, ascendency and impunity are too often accorded to brutal violence and cruelty, whilst fair play is almost unknown. At San Francisco, soon after Mr Shaw’s arrival there, the influx of thousands of sick and impoverished miners, come in from the diggings to winter, caused a glut in the labour market, and large nightly meetings were held—

“Ending in furious tirades, forbidding foreigners to seek employment,
or people to hire them; accusing them of being the cause of a fall in
wages, and holding out deadly threats to all who dared labour under
the fixed rate of payment, ten dollars a-day. These nocturnal
assemblies had in them something appalling, being composed of from
three hundred to a thousand cut-throats, armed with bowie-knives and
firearms, and often intoxicated. The stump-orators and leading
demagogues were usually notorious characters, celebrated not for
mental superiority, but for their extreme democratic principles and
physical powers. On one occasion, an orator, being interrupted in his
harangue by certain remarks derogatory to his person, leaped off his
tub into the midst of the crowd and seized the offender. Fierce was
the struggle, a ring was formed, when, throwing his antagonist down,
the orator jumped on him with his heavy boots! In vain were the
victim’s shrieks of agony—no one ventured to interpose. The
demagogue’s rage being satiated, he remounted the tub and continued
his oration.”

In default of protection from the laws, surely a bowie-knife could find no more appropriate sheath than between the ribs of such a ruffian.

During Mr Shaw’s brief absence, the town of Stockton had greatly increased in size. Regular streets of wooden houses had been built; vessels were discharging cargo, steamers were puffing at the wharf, strings of mules stood in the streets, laden with goods for the interior. Dollars were plentiful, but the bakers had formed a league, and bread was six shillings a loaf. Unable to find any of his shipmates, Mr Shaw walked down to the quay in search of work. After numerous unsuccessful attempts, he obtained employment as a rough carpenter. Poor fellow! he knew little of the trade, and was discharged at night, with four dollars for his services. Next day he was hired by a sailmaker, to stitch canvass for tents. Again found inefficient, his services were dispensed with, but he received seven dollars. Then he turned cook—to a gang of carpenters who were constructing a foot-bridge. His duties were to hew wood for firing, to cook beefsteaks and damper, and boil coffee, five dollars a-day being the stipulated guerdon. His twelve masters were never satisfied: the steak was always voted tough, or the damper heavy; and seeing that some of them were determined to grumble till they got rid of him, he gave warning on the third day, and left without a character. Once more his own master, he took a stroll through the town, and visited the hospital—“a silent and sombre tenement, eighty feet long by fifteen in width, made of tarred canvass, and lighted by two slush-lamps.” The rain dripped through the roof; about thirty patients, of all countries, classes, and colours, lay on straw upon the ground, with only their blankets to cover them. Nurses there were none. Twice a-day a doctor came—such a doctor as one might expect to find in such a place. Here lay a man with a gaping wound in the abdomen, received from a bowie-knife in a drunken fray. When any died, they lay for days waiting removal—the dead amongst the living. Here Mr Shaw met one of his shipmates, a young man whom he had left at Stockton when he started for the diggings, and who had since been driven mad by disease, misfortune, and despondency. He was seated on the straw, busily untwisting the threads of his quilt. Mr Shaw hurried to the doctor, stated the respectability of the maniac’s friends, and the certainty of a handsome recompense if his health were restored, and he were conveyed on board the Mazeppa. The humane _medico_ calculated his recovery was considerable unlikely; and as for the promised reward, why, he was too far Down-East to trust to that. The poor fellow, who then had lucid intervals, became totally deranged, and subsequently died. “Insanity, as may be supposed, is very frequent in this country, where the mind is liable to very violent shocks, caused by sudden reverses of fortune, privation, and danger.” Having expended his last dollar in bread for supper, Mr Shaw, when grievously at a loss for breakfast, was so lucky as to fall in with a party of sailors, recently paid off from the American man-of-war Ohio. They had come to Stockton in a whale-boat, intending to proceed to the diggings; but the narrative of Mr Shaw’s mishaps made them abandon their project, in which they had already begun to waver, discouraged by the sight of so many sickly disappointed miners. Several of these men-of-war’s-men were of English extraction, and one, Cockney Bill, from the “New Cut, Lambeth,” who was the leading character amongst them, made Mr Shaw heartily welcome to their mess and a seat in the whale-boat, in which, after a severe pull, they reached San Francisco. Here Mr Shaw was fortunate enough to find out the tent of a passenger by the Mazeppa, who gave him a kind welcome and the shelter he greatly needed. This was the same man who had got drunk, and set fire to the grog-store, when they first landed in California. He was now a steady fellow, and was making money by retailing spirits. Under his canvass roof, and partly by his assiduous attentions, Mr Shaw got through a bad attack of fever and ague; having recovered from which, he went out to look for work. Certainly he was just the lad to rough it, in any part of the world. Nothing came amiss to him. “My occupations were manifold,” he says—“discharging cargoes, carrying merchants’ goods, cutting roads, tent-making, vending fruit, and packing timber. Five was my usual hour of rising, and, however miserable and dark the morning, I was at the various ‘points’ in search of occupation, eager to seek, and willing to accept, any description of work. Having no settled abode, I lived according to the day’s luck, sleeping wherever chance directed.” Soon, owing to the mob of labourers and the prevailing agitation, it was not very safe for a foreigner to seek work, whilst it was decidedly dangerous to work under wages. “There was a high cliff near the rendezvous at Miller’s Point, which I carefully avoided at night, as from this ‘Tarpeian rock’ three poor fellows were hurled who had worked under wages, or were suspected of having done so. The beach below was used as a burying-ground; those who perished from want or sickness were conveyed thither. The labour of digging graves was unnecessary, the bodies being either covered at high tide with a layer of sand, or carried out to sea. _When digging sand for the masons_, I exhumed several bodies in various places.” He had made a contract to work for a mason for one hundred dollars a-month and his board, including sleeping-room in the forecastle of a vessel, the driest lodging he had had since he left the Mazeppa. About this time (the latter autumn of 1849) occurred one of those terrible conflagrations to which San Francisco has been so liable. Several of the principal gambling-houses and largest buildings were blazing; from a distance the appearance was that of an immense burning crater: owing to the direction of the wind, the whole city was in danger of being burned down. But the mob would not stir a finger towards extinguishing the flames, until “the rate of compensation was decided upon.” Highly characteristic is this of that greed and selfishness which are such prominent symptoms of the Californian gold-fever. Three dollars an hour was the rate of payment ultimately fixed. Water was very difficult to procure, and some of the merchants were said to have paid sixty dollars for a water-cart load. The loss was estimated at one hundred and fifty thousand dollars. Some of the frame-houses destroyed were three stories high, contained a hundred rooms, and paid eight thousand dollars ground-rent. The part of the town burned down being notorious for its gambling-houses, “many regarded the fire as a visitation of Providence; opposite the scene of ruin, some zealous preachers were mounted on tubs, crying ‘Woe unto Sodom and Gomorrah!’ and exhorting the people to turn from the error of their ways, and erect places of worship. Nor was this calamity without its good effects, as funds for a church were raised; many calculating men paying the subscription as they would an insurance, not to promote the salvation of souls, but in the hope of thereby saving their goods and chattels.”

His back nearly broken, and his hands cut to pieces by carrying huge blocks of coral rock, brought from the Sandwich Islands for building purposes, Mr Shaw, dreading a return of sickness, then very prevalent in San Francisco, resolved to quit “that city of sordid selfishness and heartless profligacy,” and to seek shelter for the remainder of the bad season in some remote _rancho_. A few hours’ walk brought him to the “Mission of Dolores.” A wing of this old convent had been converted into an inn, and was kept by a family of Yankee Mormons, in partnership with the superior. Here Mr Shaw obtained employment; and a laughable description he gives of his multifarious duties, of his bed upon a soft plank amongst the rats in the granary, of his breakfasts on brandy bitters—the favourite morning beverage of the Mormon hostess and her daughters—of his milking cows and mixing juleps, and of the gambling, cock-fighting, bullock-hunting, and other diversions of the frequenters of the tavern. His possession of a tooth-brush, and the use he made of it, were cause of great wonder to the primitive people amongst whom he now found himself. The Mormon ladies looked upon him as a superior being, and were immensely edified by his descriptions of European habits; his master treated him with confidence and consideration; and regular diet and freedom from anxiety renovated his strength, although he was still subject at intervals to a depression of spirits and weakness in the limbs peculiar to that country. His stay at the sign of the Bull’s Head, however, was shorter than he had expected, and than his employers wished. Going into San Francisco to make some purchases, the captain of the Mazeppa offered him a free cabin passage to Sydney or the Sandwich Islands—an offer with which he thankfully closed. Owing to the exorbitant price of labour, the captain, supercargo, and chief mate, had been obliged to discharge the cargo themselves. A portion of it, consisting of assortments of musical instruments, ladies’ apparel, and other commodities useless in California, had not paid charges. “As no return-freight could be obtained, the Mazeppa was going back in ballast of sand and rum—this inferior spirit, which would not pay customs’ duty, being cheaper to buy than stone ballast.” Mr Shaw proposed recruiting his health at the Sandwich Islands, and returning to the diggings in the following spring; but he afterwards changed his mind, and went on to Sydney. His account of the voyage, of his visit to the Sandwich and Navigator’s Islands, of Mr Pritchard the consul, and of the manners and customs of the Samoans, is very entertaining. From the first page to the last, his book is full of incident and interest; and although carelessly enough written upon the whole, the reader is struck at times by a sort of vivid simplicity of style, examples of which are afforded by some of our extracts. As regards California, Mr Shaw has unquestionably presented us with the black side of the picture; but we have no reason to think that he has tinted it one shade darker than the facts of the case fully warrant.

THE EXPERIMENT.

In the moral and political sciences the friends of truth seem doomed to wage an incessant warfare with the advocates of error and the patrons of delusion. In these fields of inquiry no ground seems ever to be incontestibly won, and no conquest so securely made as to defy hostile challenge. Errors that had been refuted to the satisfaction of all thinking men, and consigned to the limbo of oblivion, are prone to appear in vigorous rejuvenescence, and to demand, like the heads of the fabulous hydra, a second extermination. In physical science the progress may be slow; but, a step in advance being gained, it can neither be lost nor questioned. The law of gravitation once proved, the most daring Pyrrhonist could not deny it without raising a doubt of his sanity; and the moment Pythagoras offered his hecatomb to the gods, no geometrician could ever be asked to redemonstrate that the square of the hypotenuse of a right-angled triangle was equal to the squares of the sides. In morals, and the mixed science of politics, so much is the case reversed, that no one position can be held as settled beyond the chance of subsequent controversy. To repine at such a result would be ridiculous, and would imply an unpardonable ignorance of an elementary law regulating every moral and political inquiry. No evidence in favour of any one proposition in these branches of human knowledge can ever amount to scientific certainty; and, not amounting to scientific certainty, no proposition can be determined so that it may not be opened up for fresh adjudication and discussion. These, accordingly, have ever been the fields in which moonstruck speculators have delighted to disport; it being impossible to demonstrate that any experiments made in these metaphysical regions have resulted in disastrous failures.