Christopher Carson by John S. C. Abbott (best fiction novels of all time txt) 📕

scared by any sights or sounds emanating from them. We pressed on without molestation to Salt Lake, passing continually the newly made graves of the dead. The cholera had broken out with awful fatality, along the whole line of the emigrants' march, consigning thousands to burial in the wilderness.

We reached the Great Salt Lake, the home of the Mormons, in safety. Here we remained for nearly a month. I called on Brigham Young, and also on the old patriarch Joe Smith. From the latter I received a commission, or power of attorney, for the consideration of two dollars, authorizing me to heal the sick, to raise the dead, and to speak all languages. Perhaps my want of faith left me as powerless as other men, notwithstanding my commission. We spent our time here in strolling around the city, visiting the tabernacle, bathing and fishing in the river Jordan, which empties into the lake, and in making sundry purchases for the continuation of our journey to the Pacific.

Again we started upon our journey. After weary days of travel, without encountering any adventure of special interest, we reached the vast ridge of the Sierra Nevada mountains. Up, up, and still up, the trail led us over the gigantic cliffs. On the summit we found snow hundreds of feet deep, and apparently as hard as the rock which it surmounted. We crossed the ridge by what is called the Carson route. Descending the mountains on the western side, we find ourselves in California, and pressing on through Sacramento, to Benicia, are at our journey's end.

We left Independence on the third of June. It is now the latter part of September. We have spent almost four months on the road. And here let me say, that had I given a description of the country, its rivers, its mountains, its scenery, its abundance of game, among the noblest of which, are the buffalo, bears of different kinds, deer, antelope, mountain sheep; its numerous rivers abounding with a great variety of fishes, - had I endeavored to give a full description of all these, it would have demanded a volume rather than a chapter.

Here I was at Benicia, and winter was at hand. I decided not to go to the mining district until the spring sun should return. Provisions commanded almost fabulous prices. Packers got a dollar a pound for packing flour, sugar, rice and other things which the miners must have.

But an unexpected opening presented itself to me. Mr. Frederick Loring was about to set out on a surveying tour in behalf of the government. I secured a position in the party as chain-man.

We set out for San Rafael, which is in Marin county, on the coast of the Pacific, just north of San Francisco. We had been out but five or six weeks, when Mr. Loring's health began seriously to fail him. One day he called me to him, and said:

"I wish you now to quit chaining and to carry my instrument and to watch me, that you may learn to use it yourself. I shall probably not be able to finish this contract. I ought to be on my bed now."

Very readily I fell in with this arrangement. Having studied navigation while a boy at school, which is somewhat similar to surveying, it did not take me a great while to learn to adjust the instrument, or to take the variations at night, on the elongation of the north star. I will here remark in passing, that Mr. Loring soon became so enfeebled that he returned to San Francisco, where he died.

One day while surveying in the coast range, we had descended a mountain, and upon a plain below had found a dense chaparral or thicket of bushes, so closely interwoven that we could not penetrate it with our pack animals. We therefore sent the boys down the plain, along the edge of the thickets, to find some better place to go through. Mr. Loring, our chain-man and I prepared to make a triangulation, in order to get the distance from the point we were at, to a white stone on our line of survey, which was on the side of the opposite mountain and across the chaparral.

Having finished the triangulation, Mr. Loring and I endeavored to cross the chaparral by a direction different from that which the main body of the party was pursuing. Suddenly Mr. Loring dropped his instrument and in a tone of terror exclaimed:

"Look at that bear." I looked as he pointed in the direction of a large rock, and there were three huge grizzly bears. Loring, being longer legged than I, left me like a shot from a gun. I ran to a tree, near by, from four to six feet in circumference, and very speedily found myself perched among its branches. I looked for the bears. One had not left the spot where we discovered them. Another was growling and snarling at the foot of the tree which I had climbed. The other was going after Loring at no very slow pace.

We had got through the chaparral and our party with the mules had also come across and were many rods farther down the valley, coming up to meet us. As Loring fled with the speed of an antelope, he met the first animal, which happened to be the kitchen mule. He was so called, because he had very large open bags or panniers, into which we put all our cooking utensils. Loring sprang upon the back of the mule. At the same moment the animal caught sight of the grizzly bear. Frantic with terror, he turned and fled as mule never fled before. Down went the mule on the back track along the edge of the chaparral. Once in a while, as the bags flew around, they would catch on the bushes, and tear a hole. Soon the tin cups and plates began to fly, the mule kicking at them with every jump, making such a din as to set all the rest of the animals flying through the bushes, and down the trail in the wildest imaginable stampede. The huge bear in mad pursuit was rushing after them.

It was a sight I shall never forget. Loring on the cook's mule hanging on with all his might. The tin ware flying in all directions. All the boys as well as your humble servant, up in the trees looking on. I laughed so heartily at the ludicrous scene, that I was in danger of falling, in which case the bear would have torn me to pieces right quick.

But who is this coming towards me? He is an old hunter of our party who used to make shingles in the Red-woods. He has had two sons killed by bears. Now he has joined our party to provide us with game. Deliberately, he walks up to within ten feet of the bear who is growling at the foot of my tree. Bruin turns on his new foe, and rising on his hind feet, with appalling howlings, prepares for battle. But in an instant the old man's rifle is at his shoulder. His eye runs quickly through the sights, an explosion follows, and the bear is dead. The hunter knew well where to strike a vital point. Satisfied that the monster was powerless, I came down from the tree.

The other bear, apparently dismayed by the commotion he had created, turned into the chaparral and disappeared. It required all the rest of the day to re-collect our party and to repair damages.

Let us now pass from these scenes to the spring of the year 1854. Here we are then in San Francisco, all ready to start on board the Sea Bird. "Cast off the lines." "Aye, aye, sir." Off we go around North Beach. You will see Point Boneta on the north, and Point de los Lobos on the south. Through the straits we go out at the Golden Gate. Onward we glide past Farallones de los Frayles, and here we are out on the broad Pacific.

After sailing about three hundred miles south we arrive at San Pedro. We go ashore at once and secure seats in the stage for Ciudad de los Angelos, which is situated about twenty-five miles from here in a northerly direction. There is now, after the lapse of twenty years, a railroad, instead of Banning's stages, by which one can be transported to the City of Angels. We shall be obliged to stay here for a few days, to prepare our outfit. Let us see what we want. Mules and jacks, pack-saddles, saddles for ourselves to ride, in fact every thing pertaining to camp-life. Here we can get almost any thing we wish for man or beast.

Well then we will suppose that now we are ready to start. Away we go towards San Bernardino. We pass the finest of vineyards where thousands of gallons of wine are made. On, on we go, and at last, after a ride of about seventy miles, we arrive at San Bernardino. One of the first things which attracts our attention is the mountain of the same name. It rises seventeen thousand feet above the level of the ocean, attaining an altitude two thousand feet above that of Mont Blanc, the monarch of the Alps.

The inhabitants of the towns are, with few exceptions, Mormons. It was from this place that we started on a survey, commencing east of the coast range of mountains, and extending our operations to the extreme boundary line of California, on the east. The Colorado river was then the line which separated California from New Mexico.

The party employed in this surveying tour consisted of about forty men. The first day we went as far as the mouth of the Cahon Pass, by which we were to penetrate through the coast range of which I have spoken. At this spot we found a large farm, which they call a ranche, where provisions can be purchased, and also poor whiskey. We rested here for the night, sleeping in the open air, and at an early hour in the morning, sprung from our blankets ready dressed. The cook speedily prepared our breakfast, we ate like hungry men and then packed our mules and jacks, and were on our way. Our pack animals will carry from two to three hundred pounds without any trouble.

Nearly at the eastern end of the pass we came to water. This I claim that I discovered, or at least that my horse discovered it for me. It is called in Spanish _Guilliome Bobo_, or "William I Drink." No one would see the spring unless narrowly looking for it. It trickles down the almost perpendicular side of the mountain. We encamped at the spring, and in the morning made an early start, as we had some forty or fifty miles to go that day. But we had a serious job to encounter before we could get out of this defile. It is so steep at its eastern extremity, that we had to unpack and send up very small loads at a time. In some places we had to use ropes, to haul up our goods.

But after a while everything is ready for another start. On, on we go, through a barren cactus country, till we reach the Mohavè river. The day is far spent, we are all very weary, men as well as animals. So, boys, off with the packs of provisions, and let your mules go with their long hair ropes. Let one of the men be sent to look out for the animals. This was no sooner said than done. I was captain of my men. A harder set could not