Part 14 (1/2)
On our return we called to see Yank's cub, which is fast rising into young grizzly-bearhood. It is about the size of a calf, very good-natured, and quite tame. Its acquirements, as yet, are few, being limited to climbing a pole. Its education has not been conducted with that care and attention which so intelligent a beast merits, but it is soon, I hear, to be removed to the valley and placed under teachers capable of developing its wonderful talents to the utmost.
We also stopped at a shanty to get a large gray squirrel which had been promised to me some days before; but I certainly am the most unfortunate wretch in the world with pets. This spiteful thing, on purpose to annoy me I do believe, went and got itself drowned the very night before I was to take it home. It is always so.
I never had two humming-birds, With plumage like a sunset sky, But one was sure to fly away, And the other one was sure to die.
I never nursed a flying-squirrel, To glad me with its soft black eye, But it always ran into somebody's tent, Got mistaken for a rat and killed!
There, M.; there is poetry for you. ”Oh, the second verse doesn't rhyme.”--”Doesn't?”--”And it ain't original, is it?” Well, _I_ never heard that rhyme was necessary to make a poet, any more than colors to make a painter. And what if Moore _did_ say the same thing twenty years ago? I am sure any writer would consider himself lucky to have an idea which has been antic.i.p.ated but _once_. I am tired of being a ”mute inglorious Milton,” and, like that grand old master of English song, would gladly write something which the world would not willingly let die; and having made that first step, as witness the above verses, who knows what will follow?
Last night one of our neighbors had a dinner-party. He came in to borrow a teaspoon. ”Had you not better take them all?” I said. ”Oh, no,” was the answer; ”that would be too much luxury. My guests are not used to it, and they would think that I was getting aristocratic, and putting on airs. One is enough; they can pa.s.s it round from one to the other.”
A blacksmith--not the learned one--has just entered, inquiring for the Doctor, who is not in, and he is obliged to wait. Shall I write down the conversation with which he is at this moment entertaining me? ”Who writ this 'ere?” is his first remark, taking up one of my most precious books, and leaving the marks of his irreverent fingers upon the clean pages. ”Shakespeare,” I answer, as politely as possible. ”Did Spokeshave write it? He was an almighty smart fellow, that Spokeshave, I've hear'n tell,” replies my visitor. ”I must write hum and tell our folks that this 'ere is the first carpet I've seen sin' I came to Californy, four year come next month,” is his next remark. For the last half-hour he has been entertaining me with a wearisome account of the murder of his brother by an Irishman in Boston, and the chief feeling which he exhibits is a fear that the jury should only bring in a verdict of manslaughter. But I hear F.'s step, and his entrance relieves me from the bore.
I am too tired to write more. Alas, dear M. this letter is indeed a stupid one--a poor return for your pregnant epistles. It is too late to better it. The express goes at eight in the morning. The midnight moon is looking wonderingly in at the cabin window, and the river has a sleepy murmur that impels me irresistibly bedward.
LETTER _the_ TWENTY-FIRST
[_The_ PIONEER, _October_, 1855]
DISCOMFORTS _of_ TRIP _to_ POLITICAL CONVENTION
SYNOPSIS
Visit to the American Valley. Journey thither. Scenes by the way.
Political convention. Delegates from Indian Bar. Arrival at Greenwood's Rancho, headquarters of Democrats. Overcrowded. Party proceed to the American Rancho, headquarters of Whigs. Also overcrowded. Tiresome ride of ladies on horseback. Proceed to house of friend of lady in party. An inhospitable reception, but the author entertains herself. Men of party return to American Rancho. Inroad upon the eatables. Landlord aghast, but pacified by generous orders for drinkables. California houses not proof against eavesdroppers. Misunderstandings and explanations overheard by the author. Illness of hostess. Uncomfortable and miserable night, and worse quarters. Handsome riding-habit, etc., of the hostess. Table-service, carpeting, chests of tea, casks of sugar, bags of coffee, etc., ”the good people possessed everything but a house”. ”The most beautiful spot I ever saw in California”. Owner building house of huge hewn logs. The author returns to the American Rancho. Its primitive furniture, etc. Political visitors. The convention. Horse-racing and gambling. The author goes to Greenwood's Rancho. More primitive furniture and lack of accommodations. Misplaced benevolence of Bostonians. Should transfer their activities to California.
Letter _the_ Twenty-first
DISCOMFORTS _of_ TRIP _to_ POLITICAL CONVENTION
_From our Log Cabin_, INDIAN BAR,
_October_ 16, 1852.
Since I last wrote you, dear M., I have spent three weeks in the American Valley, and I returned therefrom humbled to the very dust when thinking of my former vainglorious boast of having ”seen the elephant.”
To be sure, if having fathomed to its very depths the power of mere existence, without any reference to those conventional aids which civilization has the folly to think necessary to the performance of that agreeable duty, was any criterion, I certainly fancied that I had a right to brag of having taken a full view of that most piquant specimen of the brute creation, the California ”elephant.” But it seems that I was mistaken, and that we miners have been dwelling in perfect palaces, surrounded by furniture of the most gorgeous description, and reveling in every possible luxury. Well, one lives and learns, even on the borders of civilization. But to begin at the beginning, let me tell you the history of my dreadful pleasure-tour to the American Valley.
You must know that a convention had been appointed to meet at that place for the purpose of nominating representatives for the coming election. As F. had the misfortune to be one of the delegates, nothing would do but I must accompany him; for, as my health had really suffered through the excitements of the summer, he fancied that change of air might do me good. Mrs. ----, one of our new ladies, had been invited to spend a few weeks in the same place, at the residence of a friend of her husband, who was living there with his family. As Mr.
---- was also one of the delegates, we made up a party together, and, being joined by two or three other gentlemen, formed quite a gay cavalcade.
The day was beautiful. But when is it ever otherwise in the mountains of California? We left the Bar by another ascent than the one from which I entered the Bar, and it was so infinitely less steep than the latter, that it seemed a mere nothing. You, however, would have fancied it quite a respectably hill, and Mr. ---- said that so fearful did it seem to him the first time he went down it, that he vowed never to cross it but once more,--a vow, by the way, which has been broken many times. The whole road was a succession of charming tableaux, in which sparkling streamlets, tiny waterfalls, frisky squirrels gleaming amid the foliage like a flash of red light, quails with their pretty gray plumage flecked with ivory, dandy jays, great awkward black crows, pert little lizards, innumerable b.u.t.terflies, and a hundred other
Plumed insects, winged and free, Like golden boats on a sunny sea,
were the characters, grouped in a frame of living green, curtained with the blue folds of our inimitable sky.
We had intended to start very early in the morning, but, as usual on such excursions, did not get off until about ten o'clock. Somebody's horse came up missing, or somebody's saddle needed repairing, or somebody's s.h.i.+rt did not come home in season from the washer-Chinaman (for if we _do_ wear flannel s.h.i.+rts, we choose to have them clean when we ride out with the ladies), or something else equally important detained us. It was about nine o'clock in the evening when we reached the valley and rode up to Greenwood's Rancho, which, by the way, was the headquarters of the Democratic party. It was crowded to overflowing, as our ears told us long before we came in sight of it, and we found it utterly impossible to obtain lodgings there. This building has no windows, but a strip of crimson calico, placed half-way from the roof and running all round the house, lets in the _red_ light and supplies their place. However, we did not stop long to enjoy the pictorial effect of the scarlet windows,--which really look very prettily in the night,--but rode straight to the American Rancho, a quarter of a mile beyond. This was the headquarters of the Whigs, to which party our entire company, excepting myself, belonged. Indeed, the gentlemen had only consented to call at the other house through compa.s.sion for the ladies, who were suffering from extreme fatigue, and they were rejoiced at the prospect of getting among birds of the same feather. There, however, we were informed that it was equally impossible to procure accommodations. In this dilemma we could do nothing but accept Mrs. ----'s kind invitation and accompany her to the rancho of her friend, although she herself had intended, as it was so late, to stop at one of the hotels for the night. We were so lucky as to procure a guide at this place, and with this desirable addition to the party, we started on.