USA > California > A history of California: the American period > Part 42
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15th-Sunday-Detained two hours hunting for Nye's horse. Road much the same as yesterday. A barren plain along the coast, broken by ravines, destitute of water, no vegetation but cactus. A mountain range in the distance to the east. Camped early near another deserted brush ranch. Have dug a well and found tolerable water enough for ourselves and the poor animals. The Pacific is roaring within a few rods of us. We have gathered drift wood on the beach and built a big fire on the lee side of a high rock. 10 leagues to-day. What a life! "Home Sweet Home." How my thoughts travel back! And how little do you all know what I am enduring. Now for the blanket on the ground. These "ranches" I mentioned were brush huts, the temporary shelter of herdsmen when from rains there might happen to be feed for stock, and were the only signs of habitation.
Our camp was a somewhat romantic place. A small rocky promontory, on which the sea dashed with fury; roaring and rumbling in the caverns worn in the rocks by the beating waves. Many rugged crags stood breasting the surge out from the shore. In the night I was awakened by the most hideous scream- img and howling imaginable. I thought we were beset by a legion of wild beasts, in haste seized my gun and woke up Nye. He, an old sailor, at once recognized the voices of sea lions in what so alarmed me. They were all around us attracted by the fire. Though reassured, I did not sleep much more that night.
16th-I was aroused this morning by the cry, "Come, boys, 4 o'clock." We soon saddled up and were off. The trail left the coast and took off among the hills. About noon a horse gave out from hunger and thirst. We left him
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to perish. Late at night we found water much to our joy. There is no grass. But we were obliged to stop. Our poor animals are failing fast. Provisions almost gone. San Luis the only place we know of is an indefinite distance ahead. Have seen no one since we left Todos Santos. A crisis in our affairs seems near at hand but "never say die" is our watch word. The boys are singing "Oh Susanna, don't you cry for me." I must join. We've made a rule never to turn in without a cheerful song.
17th-This morning old Joe had vamoosed and left us in a fix. After several hours fruitless search we packed our poor jaded horse and prepared for a gloomy march on foot. Just then Van came in from the hunt and with him an Indian who told of an inhabited ranch a few miles in the interior and guided by him we repaired there immediately. And here we are trying to recruit ourselves and animals and buy some more horses. Indulging the while in plenty of feed and water. We have found here a gentlemanly Portuguese, the son-in-law of the proprietor. He speaks English. (From what they tell us here, our expedition came near being brought to a terminus. The trail we intended taking would have led through a sandy desert without grass or water, 70 miles to Magdalena Bay where we would have found neither, nor any within 100 miles farther on. Our only escape would have been to come directly back, which we never would have done. The trail was one used by the natives when at certain seasons they went down to the Bay to trade with whalers and then they packed water with them. So in all probability, old Joe saved us there. A vaquero brought him in that evening.
18th-Laid by all day at the rancho, buying horses and making provisions for prosecuting our journey. People very kind. The Portuguese very intelligent. He has a fine vineyard and fruit trees in a valley back in the mountains. My new horse is a beauty, but wild like the Californians themselves. Much interested by their wonderful performances with the Lasso. This seems a good specimen of a California ranch. The old proprietor is as one of the ancient Patriarchs. They are a better people than the Mexicans. Now to my blankets. They have spread ox hides on the ground for us to lie upon, quite a mark of civility towards us. This place is called the "Rancho Colorado" from the river of that name on the bank of which it stands. The house is a long iow rambling concern, built of reeds and brush interwoven. The roofs of weeds and flags. One half of one side open. A ground floor. In the corner of the room is a clay furnace for cooking. The river is dry now except a large and deep pond of several acres which is the water supply for the establishment. For drinking purposes there are under the shed two large vessels of porous earthenware kept filled with water, and in which it becomes very cool. The Portuguese told us that years sometimes passed without the river flowing; but occasionally it was furious, which was apparent from the immense channel and marks of destruction. Such is the character of most of the streams in the Abajo. At the time we passed there had been scarcely any rain for five years. The people live almost entirely upon beef cooked every way except any mode we were accustomed to, but they never fail to add chili pepper enough to bring tears from the eyes of a dried codfish.
We bought a steer and had the man dress and jerk the meat for us. They roasted the head, hair, horns, and all with hot stones in a hole in the ground. They politely invited us to share. We were not fastidious and laid hold. We found it perfectly delicious. They were much interested in our revolvers. Had never before seen such a weapon. But what they most coveted was
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tobacco. Our stock of that was low and Nye and I were smokers, yet we divided with them. Afterwards we smoked willow bark ourselves. The old proprietor was years ago a leading politician in Mexico. Was exiled to this place by the Emperor Iturbide. He had here an immense tract of desert land and about 2000 head of cattle and horses, his sole wealth. We learned from Francisco, the Portuguese, that the journey before us was a serious affair. He gave us much advice which was of timely benefit. He told us of a party who from lack of precaution had not long before perished on the same route. Under his supervision, we were furnished with a number of leather water bottles which they all charged us to fill at every opportunity. Told us to throw away our Mexican bridles and huge steel bits and ride our horses with hackamores (head halters). Also provided a stock of dried beef and "pinole" (wheat ground by hand on a tortilla stone.)
19th-Packed up this morning at ten o'clock and with regret bade adieu to our friends of the rancho. Their kindness was in such contrast to the horrid country. We made them all a gift of some kind from our scanty store. I gave Francisco my red silk scarf which he had admired. They sent a man this far to guide us on the right way to San Luis. The path is rugged over shelving rocky hills and dry rivers. Five fresh horses make our cavalcade imposing and carry us along finely. We camped at six on the bank of the Rio Passeo with wood, water and plenty of grass. 14 leagues. (The grass was always dry like hay. Horses do well on such feed. The trouble was its scarcity. To one who has never seen a such region it is hard to describe the awful sterility of the country we passed over for many days thereafter.)
20th-Broke camp at 6 o'clock. Over many stones reached San Luis at 12 M. Now this was one of the places laid down on our chart, and from what they told us at "Rancho Colorado, " and I am sure they told us all they knew, we expected to find at least a small village, but it is nothing but a deserted old Jesuit mission, in ruins. It stands solitary in the midst of desolation. Search- ing around we found an old decrepit Indian who lived somewhere in the village who showed us some paintings of the Madonna and saints in good preservation. The mission is a large stone building and a fine specimen of old Spanish Architecture.
"Any eggs?" No hay. "Tortillas?" No hay, Señor. "Any bread?" Tam Raco (as little). "Nada, nada, para comer" (Nothing to eat.) But after some persuasion he produced some food. Camp 8 leagues from San Luis. No water to-night but our canteens, and no certainty where we shall find more. There is nothing so fearful to us traveling in this desert as that we may not find water. (The old Indian at the mission was not disposed to give or sell us anything. Nor would he tell us anything about the trail or country as we expected. We found this disposition manifested frequently by these people and often threats went farther with them than persuasion.)
21st-Started early, have been wandering all day among rocks and over mountains. For many leagues have had no trail. We are lost. How will we get out of this scrape? Fortunately we have found water and grass. We are bewildered but not at all discouraged.
22nd-Under way at 6. Found the trail. What a cursed country! Rocks, thorns and this cursed cactus! the devil's own plant. Old Joe, confound him, got up several estampedes. Plenty of water but little grass. Nye shot a huge rattlesnake. We are hard up but full of spirit. My only pair of breaches is in rags, used up by the thorns. Well, my skin is sound yet. (The only vegetation
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was cactus of every size, shape and form. It frequently formed a barrier through which we were obliged to force our horses, the sharp points piercing us and them. The ground everywhere was literally covered with thorny plants, indeed the region seemed to have been gotten up in a spirit of maledic- tion.)
23d-Another day of toil and vexation. Had a two hours' hunt for a horse this morning. Road rugged. One tremendous steep mountain side. Stones upon stone. These stones in the trail look like pieces of broken black junk bottles. They are obsidian and cut like knives. The poor unshod horses leave blood at every track. Provisions are failing. Have not seen a human being this side of San Luis. 10 leagues. (In places there was a broad almost level surface apparently old lava flow, fields of this shivered, shattered obsidian. Off the trail on either side were impassable cracks and fissures.)
24th-Started at 9 o'clock. Found a small ranch where we got a few provisions. Lost the road and after wandering up and down and over the most horrible mountain I ever saw, here we are at 10 at night, stuck in a deep ravine on a bed of rocks, without grass or water. I am keeping up a fire of dry cactus, and by the light the boys are trying to level a spot where we can lie without breaking our necks. I never conceived a road could be so bad but our horses seem to climb like cats. (That was a miserable night. I remember how we sung many cheerful songs to keep up our courage. How old Nye would say "Come, brace up boys, now one more song." We learned that day that we had straggled from the coast trail which we should have kept to the "camino arriero," or mountain road.)
25th-All day the trail has led through the bed of a dry river. Some places good, at others difficult. In an opening of the ravine we were surprised to come upon a large fine-cut stone building. A map of arches, towers and pinnacles. The tile roofs and stone walls were in good preservation. The grounds around had been terraced with walls and once no doubt were produc- tive, but now the walls which confined the earth are broken down and where once were blooming gardens is now a barren waste. Nothing remains but the desolate edifice, a few stunted date trees and some stumps of vines, to tell of the great labors and weary self-denial of the good old fathers and of the mission of San Gabriel. My San José horse gave out. Left him by the road. Met a man and gave him the horse to guide us to Comondu. Very poor feed for the horses to-night. We have a feast of fresh beef and soup. Camp in a narrow valley, high mountains all around. (In the afternoon we came to a place where some natives (Indians) were roasting "Mescal" roots. The process is by heating rocks in a hole and covering the rocks and roots with earth for a day or more. The "Mescal" is a plant much like the Agave. They had a little beef and rather unwillingly sold us some. The costumes of these "Hombres" was so simple and natural as would be best described by saying nothing.)
26th-All day among the rocks and mountains. Little to be noticed, always excepting the cursed cactus, which is everywhere and of every shape. Passed two huts where we got some milk and a little bitter wine. I forgot my gun and sent the guide back for it. The boys said I would never see my gun or guide again but he disappointed them. Bad water. Poor grass. Horses foot- sore. 10 leagues.
27th-All day, the so-called road, was over a table mountain. The most barren region imaginable. The earth or rather the rocks have been convulsed
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in a singular manner and piled fantastically one on another. They could not be more rugged. Over such a country we picked a difficult way, depressed by the suffering of our poor horses and the utter desolation around us. Unex- pectedly we came to the margin of a great chasm. Some one said, "See, there is Comondu." Looking down there lay, some 200 feet below us, a perfect picture. A beautiful little valley green as an emerald, while the sunlight glancing from water fairly made the very horses laugh. Impulsively we scrambled down the barranca side at a breakneck pace and soon arrived to the satisfaction of man and beast. We were tired out but here we now are enjoying plenty of good food and sweet water, and our poor horses are revelling up to their knees in green grass. This is another station of the good Padres. Judging by the work they did there must have been many more people in the country in their time than now. A place could not be more secluded than this. Yet the people appear happy. They are quite civilized and a large proportion are part blood Castilian. The valley is about two miles long and 2 or 300 yards wide. Plenty of running water which they say never fails. The products are corn, grass, sugar cane, oranges, olives, figs, bananas, pomegranites and grapes. From the latter they make an astringent wine, like a bad port. Here we will lay in supplies of food for the next objective point, San Ignacio. We must be coming within the gold mining influence. Things are getting dear. They have heard here of "oro" and some have even left this valley of content to search for it in the " Alta."
28th-Resting at Comondu. In the morning repaired my tattered clothing. In the afternoon rode up the valley and went through the mission building. It is a fine large stone structure in good condition. In the belfrey is suspended a chime of four large Spanish Bells, on one was an inscription "Valladolid, 1643." Bought a fine horse for $25. Saw many vines and fruit trees. The valley is all closely intersected with small irrigating canals, and all cultivated. We feasted on strawberries. Have hired a guide and will start in the morning. Now to my blankets and saddle pillow.
29th-Slept well and long and dreamed of home. Purchased a mule and at 5 P. M. packed up and with some regret bade adieu to Comondu, the valley of the vine and fig tree. Rode about a league down the canon and camped under trees by the brookside. Horses feasting on sweet clover. Like my new horses very much. The animals improved by their rest. Old Joe running loose. Fine moonlight. Ten o'clock. Turn in.
30th-Started at six. Valley soon opened out into the coast desert and the brook disappeared in the sand. Goodbye sweet clover. Turned to the right over low sandhills and into the Camino Abajo. Killed a large rattlesnake in the trail. Once more on the Pacific Coast. This guide is an old fool. "No sacate aqui." (No grass here.) Late march. Camp at 8. 10 leagues. (We thought the guide knew nothing of the country because he found no grass. We afterwards knew we had wronged the old fellow, for there was no grass to be found, only burrs and thorns).
May 1st-May Day. What are they doing at home? God grant they are all well! Started very early. "Rio Purisima" and a ranchetta. Brackish water. Rio San Gregorio. Very salt. Hills of loose drifted sand. Joe stam- pedes. Camp near the sea. 14 leagues. No grass. My pipe is out. Good- night.
Miller and the old mule had a long race that day over the sandhills and through the cactus. I could have pardoned the Lieut. had he killed him as
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he vowed he would. Our camp was in a singular place, on a flat behind a bank of sand thrown up by the sea, perhaps 100 feet high extending in each direc- tion as far as could be seen. We climbed up the steep landside to the top of the ridge and were surprised to find that the land where we were camped was many feet lower than the ocean. It may have been high tide. The land where we camped was full of scorpions. We always scraped the place to spread our blankets, for scorpions, tarantulas and centipedes, but that night, I remember they were so thick we gathered a quantity of dry cactus and burned off a sleeping place.
2nd-Sand hills. Galloped along the smooth beach. Many beautiful shells, wish I could carry some with me. Seals and sea lions lying out on the rocks. Small spring of fresh water. Leave seaside. Rocky hills, "mucha piedra." Camp late in the little valley. No pasture. Moonlight 11 o'clock. 13 leagues.
3rd-Country rolling. Barren as usual. San José de Gracia. Vines, figs, oranges and bananas. As usual "No hay nada para comer," that is, we have nothing to eat. Short stay. Steep mountain climb by a stony trail and many stones. Late march. All in an ill humor. Camp at 10 P. M. on a bleak mountain top without grass or water. Fasten horses and mules to cactus stumps. It is cold. 18 leagues. 12 o'clock.
4th-Morning cold. Stones! Stones !! Stones !!! Up and down steep hills and deep barrancas. Miserable dry grass all day. At noon we came to El Patricio, an adobe mission in ruins. An Indian family in a corner room of the old building. Water and palm trees. A "diamond in the desert." Got some food for ourselves and cane leaves for the horses. Camp in a valley all rocks. No grass again. Slim supper. One long treasured small Bologna sausage for five men. 12 leagues.
5th-Country all the same. About noon found off the trail, a small spring of sweet water, with cane growing around on which we fed our starving animals. At 6 P. M. came to a hut in a pretty little valley. It was inhabited by an American, a native of Connecticut. He had lived here alone for many years. He came to this coast with Commodore Porter in 1813. Could hardly speak English. Left our guide here. Pushing on made San Ignacio at 10 P. M. much jaded. The mission looks splendid by moonlight.
6th-The Mission of San Ignacio. This is the largest and best preserved of these old establishments we have seen. We spent the day rambling through the building. The interior of the rooms is well finished with plaster frescoes, carved woodwork and paintings. Much of the color on the walls is yet fresh and bright and seems as if the Padres had just left. In the refectory were stone tables and stone benches and on the plastered wall was plain to be seen the mark of greasy heads made many years ago. There are some good framed pictures of the Saviour and Saints. One large historical painting of the battle of Lepanto. The remarkable feature of which is the Heavenly Father above in the clouds directing a host of angels who are hurling darts upon the poor Turks. Don Juan of Austria is about four times the usual stature, and is swinging a flaming sword. How interesting are these relics. They seem to resemble what is told of Tadmor and Petrea. So massive and beautiful. Yet deserted in a wilderness. I remember reading of the Padres "Urgarte" and "Salva Tierra" who led the way and gave their lives to this great and humane endeavor of the Jesuits to Christianize and ameliorate the conditions of the miserable savages in this inhospitable region. About 100 half civilized Indians live around in
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mud huts covered with cane leaves kept together by a superstitious reverence for the old place which they keep clean. They dare not touch to injure or take away anything. Even the silver censers and other vessels of silver remain on the altar. A priest comes once a year to marry them and to say mass for the dead. When the old Indian who guided us through the building pointed out San Christo (Christ), San Pablo, San Ignacio and other saints, I asked him "Which of these is the biggest man." He seemed surprised at my ignorance and answered quickly "San Ignacio, Señor, he is the greatest man of all." "What kind of a man was San Christo?" "Oh muy buen hombre, no mucho grande" (a very good man, but not very big). The boys have gone to a fandango. I am alone by the camp fire, thinking of home and friends who I am sure are thinking of me, a weary wanderer. A long road is yet before us. Horses weak, money scarce, clothes in rags, and barefooted, save slips of raw- hide, but we are not discouraged. To-morrow's sun must see us many miles hence. Here we had to choose between two routes. The "Camino Abajo" by the ocean coast over sandy plains with neither grass nor water for nine days except what we could pack. This would take us to Rosano (a point we must make in ten days), but we knew that in the weak condition of our animals we would never get through. So determined to attempt without a guide a trail over the mountains to the Gulf and thence back to the coast. This we were told was a 20 days journey but we would find water and grass occasionally.
10th-All but myself have turned in. I am alone by the fire tending a pot of soup for breakfast. And will try to bring up my neglected journal. God knows there has been enough lately to prevent my writing. We were detained in San Ignacio the 6th purchasing a horse. Next morning our best mule, a valuable and beautiful animal, was missing. These people had tried to buy or trade us other mules for her, failing that, the cut throat villains had stolen her away in the mountains where we could not find her. They took advantage of our necessity to ask an exhorbitant price for any other mule, far more than we could afford to pay. Our remaining animals had not strength to pack our scanty stock of baggage, provisions and the water which we must carry, so we were stuck fast. All we could get to replace our pretty Jul was a miserable old horse. We went to the Indian Alcalde. He only laughed at us. The day before he could talk Spanish fast enough. Now all we could get out of him was "no entiendo" (don't understand.) We were sure that he was the very thief. We could not bear to give up the only animal that we could depend upon. It seemed like risking our lives to go on without her to pack water. In our anger we almost cried. We left the place the evening of the 7th-and for three days have been getting along badly enough. Our animals and ourselves have suffered much. This afternoon we found this spring of water and grass just in time to save their lives and our own. Two horses lost in one day from thirst. We fear they will all go soon. We have thrown away all baggage not indis- pensable. We are at least 20 days from San Diego and will probably make a barefoot march through this mountainous desert, almost destitute of water. The only water from San Ignacio here we found in a deep rock cavern and bitter at that. We are in a difficult position but must go on. I never before found myself in quite so tight a place. We are all good game yet and whistle and sing. (I will record a transaction omitted from my journal because I had not yet seen and suffered quite enough to be satisfied that "necessity knew no laws." We did not know the full value of our good mule until at last we started without her. After beating along the miserable old substitute for
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about 5 miles, we halted, and after a consultation agreed that while one kept camp the others should go back and make one more attempt to recover Jul. That failing, we would, at all hazard, seize the best mule we could find. So leaving Van, three of us put our pistols in order and mounting the best horses, returned to the village. Our search and demands were of no avail, though we threatened to burn the whole place unless they produced her. So we openly took possession of the Alcalde's best mule and led it off to camp. We then packed it and started off by moonlight, traveling all night to elude the pursuit. Making a short halt the morning of the 8th we kept on over a dreadful road. About the middle of the afternoon while winding through a narrow chasm we found ourselves surrounded by an over-powering band of 100 or more black rascals, armed with escopetas. We kept them at a safe distance with pointed guns, but we were out of water and it was evident they would kill the whole of us in such a place, so preferring discretion to valor we turned the mule loose, after which they did not molest us. It was well for them they did not. We were desperate and had ready in hand 60 shots. For the next two days our suffering was very great. It was by a last struggle we reached this water spring. Before leaving there we determined to obtain what we must have to live, peaceably if we could, but forcibly if we must, and that we had as well die one way as another. In that spirit we prosecuted the rest of our journey to San Diego. With some reluctance I must tell how near our expedition came to a tragic close. The facts are like a horrid dream. On the 9th the trail was over a dry desert where tracks left but a dimple in the hot sands. Neither water nor grass all the day. At night we threw down on the plain, tied the animals to cactus. We divided and drank our last few swallows of bitter water and laid down. We could not eat, could not sleep from thirst. We started in the morning early. The sun came up as a great ball of fire. To the east was a range of hills. There was the only chance for water. We traveled for them. About noon, two horses laid down and died. We came to a dry cañon. The heat was intense and our tongues were so swollen we could scarcely speak. Presently the cañon grew narrow. A high rock threw a few feet of shade on the burning sand. All, men and animals, crowded into this shade, but this would not do. Van and I drove the animals out. Nye and Miller lay down under the rock and could not come. There was no time to lose. It was simply find water or die. We left them and we had not gone far when a Jackass-one we had brought from the Rancho Colorado-pricked up his ears, gave a loud bray and started on a run, square off, up the steep side of the cañon. All of the other animals followed pell mell up the hill side, over the ridge and out of sight in a cloud of dust. Van and I climbed slowly after them to the top and there looking down we saw a little green valley, a water brook and the mules and horses standing in the water drinking. We got there quickly and drank our fill. Then we filled two leather bottles with water and I hurried back to the rock. Nye and Miller were both asleep in a stupor. I poured water in their mouths and with an effort aroused them. That time the instinct of a Jackass saved us. We never would have found that water but for the Jackass.
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