needed, although a whole broadside was poured into the brute from shot-guns, rifles and pistols. In fact, every one enjoyed the luxury of a shot at the bear, but the huge hide was awarded to the intrepid hero of the feat, whose skill, coolness and deliberate courage were fully appreciated, under circumstances so emphatically impressive. I believe our American woodsmen, especially the elder race of trappers and hunters, the Saturns and Titans of our forests, are not surpassed in nerve by any men in the world. With muscles of iron, and souls that know not fear, no effort discourages, no peril daunts them; but, like honest Tom Cole, their aim is as steady and deadly in a moment of imminent danger, as it would be at grouse shooting on a summer's day.

It would give me pleasure, in the course of these pages, to impart a faithful idea of California to those who choose to read them; but as it is not my design to write a treatise by rule and compass, nor to trouble the reader with exact measurements and tedious details, that "gentle" personage must learn, if at all, from general observations, and abide rather by the spirit "which maketh alive" than by the letter "which killeth." I detest the diary form of writing, and hope no sensible man cares to know exactly where a traveller slept on each particular night, the precise distance he travelled every day, and each dish of which he partook at every meal. Nor shall I strain after being particularly entertaining, or faultlessly methodical; and it may often happen that I shall write without point, and in a discursive, egotistical, desultory style. For instance, here is an account of a ride without a bear, which many will find dull and some may think instructive.

Early one fine morning I left Monterey with a companion to conduct me to Salinas, where we arrived about noon. Every thing connected with this ride was delightful. The fresh morning air was redolent of the sweetest perfume ever wafted to the celestial "daughter

42

A RIDE WITHOUT A BEAR.

of the dawn." It was none of your common-place Atlantic atmospheres, but laden with fragrance; soft and voluptuous, yet not enervating, but gently bracing. In truth there was a pervading reality in the sweet gales which wooed us, seeming to impart to them intense vitality, and to establish sympathy if not familiarity with the viewless spirits who "people the sun-beam." Our way lay through delicious plains, richly enamelled with those exquisite wild-flowers varying from palest blue to brightest flamecolor, which are produced spontaneously in all parts of California. Occasionally we wound through groves of oaks verdant as misseltoe, and arranged in clumps with a skill which man might vainly imitate, through the openings of which the startled deer darted with lightning speed as our cavalcade dislodged them from their leafy coverts. The balmy air, the perfume of countless flowers, combined with scenery now sweetly beautiful, now grandly bold, gave zest and life to the conscious enjoyment of the free and rapid motion of our steeds, which united to fleetness and spirit perfect obedience to the rider's will. I am not aware of any higher and truer enjoyment of mere physical existence than this kind of travelling in California, which the world can hardly match. I have travelled in all sorts of ways, in all sorts of countries; in the toiling diligences of France, and on the broad pack-saddle of a contrabandista's mule in Spain; I have been whisked across the Pontine marshes by half-wild colts, guided by shouting postillions; been jolted half to death in Syria and Egypt on the unsteady deck of a "desert ship," conducted by Arabs clamorous for "bucksheesch;" travelled "dawk" in India, with the "last new novel" in a palankeen; and once had the pleasure to back an elephant in the Island of Ceylon. But all these were vulgar joys compared with the rapturous pleasure of travelling in that part of the United States of America called California. Seated in your firm and chair-like saddle, your horse held well in hand, but not irritated by the severe

and subduing Spanish bit; going on a full gallop, which is the travelling gait of the country, the shouting vaquero* (outrider) driving on the road far ahead a "caballada" of rushing steeds, and changing your horse for a fresh one at the slightest symptom of fatigue, what can be more. delightful, more satisfying, surrounded as you are with such glorious accessories, breathing the fulness of life into every sense? Who cares for the artificial world across the continent, when he can thus enjoy wild and uncontrolled independence? Who cares for the wealth of Wall street, when, dashing over the painted plains and far-surveying hills, he may exclaim with Goldsmith

"Creation's heir, the world, the world is mine!"

We arrived early in the evening at the rancho of Don Francisco Pacheco, having accomplished, since morning, with perfect ease, an equestrian journey, which, on our side of the continent, would have been considered a great performance.

* Vaquero means herdsman, outrider or groom.

CHAPTER IV.

View from Picacho Verde-Santa Cruz-Timber and Saw MillsFremont's California Expedition His Operations Sansalito Harbor.

NEAR the homestead of Señor Pacheco, and on his land, is the Picacho Verde, one of the highest mountains of the coast range, elevated many hundred feet above the level of the sea. From its summit we had a magnificent and extensive prospect. To the north-east lay the flat meadow land of the Tulare Valley, with the river San Joaquim winding through it, while the distant heights of the Sierra Nevada, or Snowy Mountains of California, bounded the view on that side. Toward the west we beheld the beautiful little Rattlesnake Vale seemingly at our feet, and presenting a miniature of the large valley on the other side. The Sierras of the mission lands of San Juan, and a distant sheet of water, which appeared like mist, completed the panorama. That sheet of water was the renowned Bay of San Francisco, the most magnificent harbor in the world. On our return to Monterey, we visited the mission of San Juan, the buildings of which are as yet in tolerable preservation, but fast falling into decay.

Crossing a high mountain we proceeded thence to Santa Cruz, a town situated near the bay, on the north side of the same indenture of the coast where stands Monterey. The population is small, and composed partly of Americans; but the inhabitants have improved their time, and the place presents a busy aspect. The people here are chiefly engaged

in the lumber trade, excellent saw-mills having been erected by Mr. Graham and others, which are constantly in operation, all the lumber they can produce selling readily at high prices. The principal timber here is the palo colorado, or red-wood, which grows to a monstrous size, and appears somewhat like a huge cedar, to which species it belongs. The timber is soft and easily cut up, and is of a reddish color, like the cedar of the United States. The fibre is perfectly straight, and the wood will split its entire length as true as if sawed. It is slightly odoriferous, as if impregnated with an essential oil, and, when kept dry, is incorruptible, so that it is probably the best wood in the world for beams, rafters, shingles, joists, &c. Pine is also abundant, and is sawed at this place for flooring, the red-wood being too soft for that purpose. I was informed, by authority not to be doubted, that a single red-wood tree had produced the enormous quantity of 113,000 feet of lumber, sawed into clapboards. The lumber is shipped from the beach for the leeward ports of California, where the timber exists only in almost inaccessible mountains, the ravines of which are inhabited only by Indians.

In excursions of this kind, we passed the time pleasantly enough-now hunting deer, now shooting ducks and partridges, and now fishing. Game and fish are abundant, and the emigrant who is anything of a sportsman, is in no danger of starvation, even when the gold mania rages. Occasionally we had a merienda (pic-nic), a few miles into the country, or a bayle (dance) at the house of one of our polite and hospitable friends. We wound up the month of April with a grand ball, given by the officers of the ship, at which the American and Mexican flags gracefully and lovingly intertwined in a most fraternal embrace, forming one of the most conspicuous decorations of the room. Don José Castro, commandante general, was our principal guest. But little more than a month afterwards, the same national symbols were arrayed against each other in hostile feud,