Crusoe's Island: A Ramble in the Footsteps of Alexander Selkirk

As soon as it was light next morning I took another observation of the weather. It was still snowing, but not so heavily as on the preceding day. My remaining partner was by this time completely crippled in his feet, and had to hire a horse at the rate of twenty dollars for twenty-five miles.

I was delayed some hours in getting off, owing to the pressure of the forces at the breakfast-table, but finally made a fair start for the summit. My pack had become a source of considerable inconvenience. I was accustomed to walking, but not to carrying a burden of twenty or twenty-five pounds. My shoulders and ankles were so galled that every step had to be made on the nicest calculation; but the new snow on top of the old trail began to melt as soon as the sun came out, making a very bad trail for pedestrians. Two miles from Strawberry we crossed a bridge, and struck for the summit.

Here we had need of all our powers of endurance. It was a constant struggle through melted snow and mud – slipping, sliding, grasping, rolling, tumbling, and climbing, up again and still up, till it verily seemed as if we must be approaching the clouds. The most prominent peculiarity of these mountains is, that a person on foot, with a heavy load on his back, is never at the top when he imagines he is; the "divide" is always a little farther on and a little higher up – at least until he passes it, which he does entirely ignorant of the fact. There is really no perceptible "divide;" you pass a series of elevations, and commence the descent without any apparent difference in the trail.

The pack trains had broken through the old snow in many places, leaving deep holes, which, being now partially covered with recent snow, proved to be regular man-traps, often bringing up the unwary pedestrian "all standing." The sudden wrenching of the feet in the smaller holes, which had been explored by the legs of horses, mules, and cattle, was an occurrence of every ten or a dozen steps. In many places the trail was perfectly honeycombed with holes, where the heavily-laden animals had cut through the snow, and it was exceedingly difficult to find a foothold. To step on either side and avoid these bad places would seem easy enough, but I tried it on more than one occasion, and got very nearly buried alive. All along the route, at intervals of a mile or two, we continued to meet pack trains; and as every body had to give way before them, the tumbling out and plunging in the snow were very lively.

I walked on rapidly in the hope of making Woodford's – the station on the eastern slope of the mountain – before night, and by degrees got ahead of the main body of footmen who had left Strawberry that morning. In a narrow gorge, a short distance from the commencement of the descent into Lake Valley, I happened to look up a little to the right, where, to my astonishment, I perceived four large brown wolves sitting on their haunches not over twenty feet from me! They seemed entirely unconcerned at my presence, except in so far as they may have indulged in some speculation as to the amount of flesh contained on my body. As I was entirely unarmed, I thought it would be but common politeness to speak to them, so I gave them a yell in the Indian language. At this they retired a short distance, but presently came back again as if to inquire the exact meaning of my salutation. I now thought it best not to be too intimate, for I saw they were getting rather familiar on a short acquaintance; and picking up a stick of wood, I made a rush and a yell at them which must have been formidable in the extreme. This time they retreated more rapidly, and seemed undecided about returning. At this crisis in affairs a pack train came along, the driver of which had a pistol. Upon pointing out the wolves to him he fired, but missed them. They then retreated up the side of the mountain, and I saw nothing more of them.

The descent of the "grade" was the next rough feature in our day's journey. From the point overlooking Lake Valley the view is exceedingly fine. Lake Bigler – a sheet of water forty or fifty miles in length by ten or fifteen wide – lies embosomed in the mountains in full view from this elevation; but there was a drizzling sleet which obscured it on this occasion. I had a fine sight of it on my return, however, and have seldom witnessed any scene in Europe or elsewhere to compare with it in extent and grandeur.

The trail on the grade was slippery with sleet, and walking upon it was out of the question. Running, jumping, and sliding were the only modes of locomotion at all practicable. I tried one of the short cuts, and found it an expeditious way of getting to the bottom. Some trifling obstruction deprived me of the use of my feet at the very start, after which I traveled down in a series of gyrations at once picturesque and complicated. When I reached the bottom I was entirely unable to comprehend how it had all happened; but there I was, pack and baggage, all safely delivered in the snow – bones sound, and free of expense.

At the Lake House – a tolerably good-sized shanty at the foot of the grade – we found a large party assembled, taking their ease as they best could in such a place, without much to eat and but little to drink, except old-fashioned tarentula-juice, "warranted to kill at forty paces."

The host of the Lake was in a constant state of nervous excitement, and did more scolding, swearing, gouging, and general hotel work in the brief space of half an hour than any man I ever saw. He seemed to be quite worn out with his run of customers – from a hundred to three hundred of a night, and nowhere to stow 'em – all cussin' at him for not keepin' provisions; and how could he, when they ate him clean out every day, and some of 'em never paid him, and never will?

I was not sorry to get clear of the Lake House, its filth, and its troubles.

Upon crossing the valley, which is here about a mile wide, the ascent of the next summit commences. Here we had almost a repetition of the main summit, except that the descent on the other side is more gradual.

At length we struck the beginning of Hope Valley. I shall always remember this portion of the journey as the worst I ever traveled on foot. Every yard of the trail was honeycombed to the depth of two or three feet. On the edges there was no foothold at all; and occasionally we had to wade knee-deep in black, sticky mire, from which it was difficult to extricate one's feet and boots at the same time. I was glad enough when myself and two casual acquaintances succeeded in reaching the solitary log house which stands near the middle of the valley.

I little expected to find in this wilderness a philosopher of the old school; but here was a man who had evidently made up his mind to withstand all the allurements of wealth, and devote the remainder of his life to ascetic reflections upon the follies of mankind. Diogenes in his tub was not more rigorous in his seclusion than this isolated inhabitant of Hope Valley. His log cabin, to be sure, was some improvement, in extent, upon the domicile of that famous philosopher; but in point of architectural style, I don't know that there could have been much advantage either way.

A few empty bags, and a bar entirely destitute of bottles, with a rough bench to sit upon, comprised all the furniture that was visible to the naked eye. From a beam overhead hung a bunch of foxskins, which emitted a very gamy odor; and the clay floor had apparently never been swept, save by the storms that had passed over it before the cabin was built. A couple of rifles hung upon pegs projecting from the chimney, and a powder-flask was the only mantle-piece ornament. Diogenes sat, or rather reclined, on the pile of empty sacks, holding by the neck a fierce bull-dog. The sanguinary propensities of the animal were manifested by repeated attempts to break away, and seize somebody by the throat or the leg; not that he growled, or snarled, or showed any puppyish symptoms of a trifling kind, but there was a playful switching of his tail and a leer of the eye uncommonly vicious and tiger-like. It certainly would not have taken him more than two minutes to hamstring the stoutest man in the party.

Between the dog and his master there was a very striking congeniality of disposition, if one might judge by the expression of their respective countenances. It would apparently have taken but little provocation to make either of them bite.

Battered and bruised as we were, and hungry into the bargain, after our hard struggle over the mountain, it became a matter of vital importance that we should secure lodgings for the night, and, if possible, get something to eat. The place looked rather unpromising; but, after our experience in Lake Valley, we were not easily discouraged. Upon broaching the subject to Diogenes in the mildest possible manner, his brow darkened, as if a positive insult to his common sense had been attempted.

"Stay here all night!" he repeated, savagely. "What the h – ll do you want to stay here all night for?"

We hinted at a disposition to sleep, and thought he might possibly have room on the floor for our blankets.

At this he snapped his fingers contemptuously, and muttered, "Can't come that over me! I've been here too long for that!"

"But we are willing to pay you whatever is fair."

"Pay? Who said I wanted pay? Do I look like a man that wants money?"

We thought not.

"If I wanted money," continued Diogenes, "I could have made fifty dollars a day for the last two months. But I ask no favors of the world. Some of 'em wants to stay here whether I will or no; I rather think I'm too many for any of that sort – eh, Bull, what d'ye say?" Bull growled, with a bloodthirsty meaning. "Too many altogether, gents – me and Bull."

There was a sturdy independence about this fellow, and a scorn for filthy lucre that rather astonished me as a citizen of a money-loving state.

"Well, if you can't let us stay all night, perhaps you can get us up a snack of dinner?"

"Snack of dinner?" – and here there was a guttural chuckle that boded failure again – "I tell you this ain't a tavern; and if it was, my cook's gone out to take a airing."

"But have you nothing in the house to eat?"

"Oh yes, there's a bunch of foxskins. If you'd like some of 'em cooked, I'll bile 'em for you."

This man's disposition had evidently been soured in early life. I think he must have been crossed in love. His style had the merit of being terse, but his manner was sarcastic to the verge of impoliteness.

"Well, I suppose we can warm ourselves at the fire?"

"If you can," quoth Diogenes, "you can do more than I can;" and here he hauled his blanket over his shoulders, and fell back on the empty potato sacks as if there was no more to be said on that or any other subject.

The bull-dog seemed to be of the same way of thinking, and quietly laid down by his master; still, however, keeping his eye on us, as suspicious characters.

Nothing remained but to push on for Woodford's, distant six miles.

Now, when you come to put six miles on the end of a day's journey such as ours had been, it becomes a serious matter. Besides, it was growing late, and a terrific wind, accompanied by a blinding sleet, rendered it scarcely practicable to stand up, much less to walk. I do not know how we ever staggered over that six miles. The last three, however, were down hill, and not so bad, as the snow was pretty well gone from the cañon on the approach to Woodford's.

This is the last station on the way over from Carson, and forms the upper terminus of that valley. It is supposed to be in Utah, but our landlord could not tell us exactly where the boundary-line ran.

We found here several hundred people, bound in both directions, and passed a very rough night, trying to get a little sleep amid the motley and noisy crowd.

I had endured the journey thus far very well, and had gained considerably in strength and appetite. The next day, however, upon striking into the sand of Carson Valley, my feet became terribly blistered, and the walking was exceedingly painful. There are some good farms in the upper part of the valley, between Woodford's and Genoa, though the general aspect of the country is barren in the extreme.

By sundown I had made only fifteen miles, and still was three miles from Genoa. Every hundred yards was now equal to a mile. At length I found it utterly impossible to move another step. It was quite dark, and there was nothing for it but to sit down on the road-side. Fortunately, the weather was comparatively mild. As I was meditating how to pass the night, I perceived a hot spring close by, toward which I crept; and finding the water strongly impregnated with salt, it occurred to me that it might benefit my feet. I soon plunged them in, and in half an hour found them so much improved that I was enabled to resume my journey. An hour more, and I was snugly housed at Genoa.

This was a place of some importance during the time of the Mormon settlements, but had not kept pace with Carson City in the general improvement caused by the recent discoveries. At present it contained a population of not more than two or three hundred, chiefly store-keepers, teamsters, and workmen employed upon a neighboring saw-mill. The inhabitants professed to be rich in silver leads, but upon an examination of the records to find the lead in which my San Francisco friend had invested, and which was represented to be in this district, I was unable to find any trace of it; and there was no such name as that of the alleged owner known or ever heard of in Genoa. In fact, as I afterward ascertained, it was purely a fictitious name, and the whole transaction was one of those Peter Funk swindles so often practiced upon the unwary during this memorable era of swindles. I don't know how my friend received the intelligence, but I reported it to him without a solitary mitigating circumstance. Had I met with the vile miscreant who had imposed upon him, I should have felt bound to resort to personal measures of satisfaction, in consideration of the fund expended by my friend on the expenses of this commission of inquiry. The deeds were so admirably drawn, and the names written so legibly, that I don't wonder he was taken in. In fact, the only obstacle to his scheme of sudden wealth was, that there were no such mines, and no such men as the alleged discoverers in existence.

I proceeded the next day to Carson City, which I had fixed upon as the future head-quarters of my agency. The distance from Genoa is fifteen miles, the road winding around the base of the foot-hills most of the way. I was much impressed with the marked difference between the country on this side of the Sierra Nevada range and the California side. Here the mountains were but sparsely timbered; the soil was poor and sandy, producing little else than stunted sage bushes; and the few scattering farms had a thriftless and poverty-stricken look, as if the task of cultivation had proved entirely hopeless, and had long since been given up. Across the valley toward the Desert, ranges of mountains, almost destitute of trees, and of most stern and forbidding aspect, stretched as far as the eye could reach. Carson River, which courses through the plain, presented the only pleasing feature in the scene.

I was rather agreeably surprised at the civilized aspect of Carson City. It is really quite a pretty and thrifty little town. Situated within a mile of the foot-hills, within reach of the main timber region of the country, and well watered by streams from the mountains, it is rather imposing on first acquaintance; but the climate is abominable, and not to be endured. I know of none so bad except that of Virginia City, which is infinitely worse. The population was about twelve or fifteen hundred at the time of my visit. There was great speculation in town lots going on, a rumor having come from Salt Lake that the seat of government of Utah was about to be removed to Carson. Hotels and stores were in progress of erection all about the Plaza, but especially drinking and gambling saloons, it being an article of faith among the embryo sovereigns of Utah that no government can be judiciously administered without plenty of whisky, and superior accommodations for "bucking at monte." I am not sure but there is a similar feature in the California Constitution; at least, the practice is carried on to some extent at Sacramento during the sittings of the Legislature. Measures of the most vital importance are first introduced in rum cocktails, then steeped in whisky, after which they are engrossed in gin for a third reading. Before the final vote the opponents adjourn to a game of poker or sledge, and upon the amount of Champagne furnished on the occasion by the respective parties interested in the bill depends its passage or defeat. It was said that Champagne carried one of the great senatorial elections; but this has been denied, and it would be dangerous to insist upon it.

I had the pleasure of meeting in Carson an esteemed friend from San Francisco, Mr. A. J. Van Winkle, Real Estate Agent, who, being a descendant of the famous Rip Van Winkle, was thoughtful enough to furnish me with a bunk to sleep in. Warned by the fate of his unhappy ancestor, my friend had gone briskly into the land business, and now owned enough of town lots, of amazingly appreciative value, to keep any man awake for the remainder of his life. I think if I had as much property, doubling itself up all the time like an acrobat in a circus, I would never sleep another wink thinking about it.

Chief among the curiosities of Carson City is the Territorial Enterprise– a newspaper of an origin long anterior to the mining excitement. I was introduced to "the Colonel," who presides over the editorial department, and found him uncommonly strong on the ultimate destiny of Carson. His office was located in a dirty frame shanty, where, amid types, rollers, composing-stones, and general rubbish of a dark and literary aspect, those astounding editorials which now and then arouse the public mind are concocted. The Colonel and his compositors live in a sort of family fashion, entirely free from the rigorous etiquette of such establishments in New York. They cook their own food in the composition room (which is also the editorial and press room), and being, as a general thing, short of plates, use the frying-pan in common for that purpose. In cases of great festivity and rejoicing, when a subscriber has settled up arrearages or the cash is paid down for a good job of hand-bills, the Colonel purchases the best tenderloin steak to be had in market, and cooks it with one hand, while with the other he writes a letter of thanks to the subscriber, or a puff on the hand-bill. But the great hope upon which the Colonel feeds his imagination is the removal of the seat of government from Salt Lake to Carson City, which he considers the proper place. Mr. Van Winkle is also of the same opinion; and, as a general thing, the proposition is favorably entertained by the citizens of Carson.

As usual in new countries, a strong feeling of rivalry exists between the Carsonites and the inhabitants of Virginia City. I have summed up the arguments on both sides and reduced them to the following pungent essence:

Virginia City – a mud-hole; climate, hurricanes and snow; water, a dilution of arsenic, plumbago, and copperas; wood, none at all except sage-brush; no title to property, and no property worth having.

Carson City – a mere accident; occupation of the inhabitants, waylaying strangers bound for Virginia; business, selling whisky, and so dull at that, men fall asleep in the middle of the street going from one groggery to another; productions, grass and weeds on the Plaza.

While this fight is going on, Silver City, which lies about midway between the two, shrugs her shoulders and thanks her stars there can be no rivalry in her case. If ever there was a spot fitted by nature for a seat of government, it is Silver City – the most central, the most moral, the most promising; in short, the only place where the seat of government can exist for any length of time.

This Kilkenny-cat fight is highly edifying to a stranger, who, of course, is expected to take sides, or at once acknowledge himself an enemy. The result, I hope, will be satisfactory and triumphant to all parties. I would suggest that the government be split into three slices, and a slice stowed away under ground in each of the great cities, so that it may permeate the foundations of society.

CHAPTER IV.

AN INFERNAL CITY

A few days after my arrival in Carson the sky darkened, and we soon had a specimen of the spring weather of this region. To say that it stormed, snowed, and rained would be ridiculously tame in comparison with the real state of the case. The wind whistled through the thin shanties in a manner that left scarcely a hope of roof or frame standing till night. Through the crevices came little hurricanes of snow-drift mixed with sand; each tenement groaned and creaked as if its last hour had come; the air was bitterly cold; and it seemed, in short, as if the vengeance of Heaven had been let loose on this desolate and benighted region.

Next day the clouds gradually lifted from the mountain tops, and the sun once more shone out bright and clear. The snow, which now covered the valley, began to disappear; the lowing of half-starved cattle, in search of the few green patches visible here and there, gave some promise of life; but soon the portentous gusts of wind swept down again from the cañons; dark clouds overspread the sky, and a still more violent storm than on the preceding day set in, and continued without intermission all night. By morning the whole face of the country was covered with snow. A few stragglers came in from Woodford's, who reported that the trail to Placerville was covered up to the depth of six or eight feet, and was entirely impracticable for man or beast. Apprehensions were felt for the safety of the trains on the way through, as nothing could be heard from them. A large party had started out to open the trail, but were forced back by the severity of the weather. The snow-drifts were said to vary from twenty to thirty feet in depth.

Here was a pretty predicament! To be shut up in this desolate region, where even the cattle were dying of starvation, with seven or eight thousand human mouths to be fed, and the stock of provisions rapidly giving out, was rather a serious aspect of affairs. I do not know that actual starvation could have resulted for some time, certainly not until what cattle were alive had been killed, and soup made of the dead carcasses that covered the plain. Even before resorting to the latter extremity there were horses, mules, burros, and dogs on hand, upon which the cravings of hunger might be appeased for a month or so; and in the event of all these resources giving out, should the worst come to the worst, the few Digger Indians that hung around the settlements might be made available as an article of temporary subsistence.

In this extremity, when considerable suffering, if not absolute starvation, stared us in the face, the anxiety respecting the opening of the trails became general. Groups of men of divers occupations stood in the streets, or on every little rise of ground in the neighborhood, speculating upon the chances or peering through the gloom in the hope of discerning the approach of some relief train. The sugar was gone; flour was eighty dollars a sack, and but little to be had at that; barley was seventy-five cents a pound, and hay sixty cents; horses were dying for want of something to eat; cigars were rapidly giving out; whisky might stand the pull another week, but the prospect was gloomy of any thing more nourishing.

In this exciting state of affairs, when every brain was racked to devise ways and means of relief, and when hope of succor was almost at an end, a scout came running in from the direction of the Downerville trail with the glorious tidings of an approaching mule train. The taverns, billiard saloons, groggeries, and various stores were soon empty – every body rushed down the street to have assurance made doubly sure. Cheer after cheer burst from the elated crowd when the train hove in sight. On it came – at first like a row of ants creeping down the hillside; then nearer and larger, till the clatter of the hoofs and the rattling of the packs could be heard; then the blowing of the tired mules; and at last the leader, an old gray mule, came staggering wearily along heavily packed. A barrel was poised on his back – doubtless a barrel of beef, or it might be pork, or bacon. The brand heaves in sight. Per Baccho! it is neither beef, pork, nor bacon, but whisky– old Bourbon whisky! The next mule totters along under two half barrels. Speculation is rife. Every man with a stomach and an appetite for wholesome food is interested. Pigs' feet perhaps, or mackerel, or, it may be, preserved chicken? But here is the mark —brandy; by the powers! nothing but brandy! However, here comes the third with a load of five-gallon kegs – molasses beyond question, or lard, or butter? Wrong again, gentlemen —gin, nothing but gin. On staggers a fourth, heavily burdened with more kegs – sugar, or corn-meal, or preserved apples, I'll bet my head. Never bet your head. It is nothing but bitters —Mack's Bitters! But surely the fifth carries a box of crushed sugar on his back, he bears himself so gayly under his burden. And well he may! That box contains no more sugar than you do, my friend; it is stuffed choke-full with decanters, tumblers, and pewter spoons. But there are still ten or fifteen mules more. Surely there must be some provisions in the train. Nobody can live to a very protracted period of life on brandy, whisky, gin, Mack's Bitters, and glass-ware. Alas for human expectation! One by one the jaded animals pass, groaning and tottering under their heavy burdens – a barrel of rum; two boxes of bottled ale; six crates of Champagne; two pipes of California wine; a large crate of bar fixtures; and a dozen boxes of cigars – none of them nutritious articles of subsistence.