"Is it possible? Why, I have read horrible stories of the people crushed to death going over these mountains!" "Very likely-they kill 'em quite lively on the Henness route. Git alang, my beauties! Drivers only break their legs a little on this route; that is, some of the opposition boys did it last summer; but our company's very strict; they won't keep drivers, as a genr'l thing, that gets drunk and mashes up stages. Git aeoup, Jake! Git alang, Mack! "Twon't pay; 'tain't a good investment for man nor beast. A stage is worth more'n two thousand dollars, and legs costs heavy besides. You Jake, git!" "Don't you get tired driving over the same road so often?" 66 "Well, I do-kalklate to quit the business next trip. I'm getting well on in years, you see, and don't like it so well as I used to, afore I was busted in!" "How long have you driven stage?" "Nigh on to thirty years, an' I'm no better off now than when I commenced. Pay's small; work heavy; gettin' old; rheumatism in the bones; nobody to look out for used-up stagedrivers; kick the bucket one of these days, and that's the last of Old Charlie." "Why, you must have made plenty of friends "How in the world can you see your way during so long a career of staging?" through this dust?" "Smell it. Fact is, I've traveled over these mountains so often I can tell where the road is by the sound of the wheels. When they rattle I'm on hard ground; when they don't rattle I gen'r'lly look over the side to see where she's agoing." "Have you any other signs?" "Backer's another sign; when I'm a little skeer'd I chaw more'n ordinary. Then I know the road's bad." "Oh yes, plenty of 'em; see 'em to-day, gone to-morrow! Git alang!" And so passed the long hours of the night, Charlie and I gossiping pleasantly about the risks and hardships, mysteries and charms of the stage-driving profession. All hail to thee, Old Charlie! Never shall it be said that ingratitude is one of my vices. Here, in the pages of this magazine, your name shall be rescued from oblivion. Sweet and gentle ladies shall pay the tribute of admiration to your manly features; and honest men shall award you honor, to whom honor is due. For in the vicissitudes of my career have I not found brave and sterling qualities in all classes of men ; heroes whose names are never known; hearts and souls, human affections, and the fear of God in the bodies of stage-drivers? Thus I think and moralize as we approach the grade. The bad road is at an end. We strike in upon the smooth broad highway, and dash onward with a feeling of absolute relief. The horses' hoofs clatter merrily on the hard, gravelly earth. The tall pines form a magnificent avenue through which the moon begins to glimmer, making a fretwork of silvery light on the backs of our noble animals. superbly adorned with flowing manes and tails. The stillness of the night is pleasantly broken by their measured tread, and the rattle of the wheels over the gravel echoes through the wild rifts and openings of the cañon like a voice from the civilized world telling of human enterprise. Down, and still down, we plunge into the gloomy depths of the abyss; the ghostly forms of trees looming up on our left; to the right, rising far beyond the range of vision, the towering heights of the Sierras; and ever and anon yawning gulfs in front and bottomless pits of darkness still threatening to devour. The road turns and winds like a serpent, sometimes apparently running into a huge bank of granite boulders, then whirling suddenly, and plunging into a shimmering wilderness of rocks and trees, where destruction seems inevitable. Yet onward dash the horses, with an instinct so admirable in its precision that it seems for the time superior to hu track; through the fretwork of light and darkness they pursue their way with unrivaled ease and grace; sweeping around the narrow turns ; now coursing along on the extreme edge of the precipice, or closely hugging the upper bank as the road winds to the right or the left; now plunging down and whirling with marvelous sagacity over the narrow bridges that span the ravines, often where there is neither rail nor post to mark the way, ever true to the slightest touch of the reins, and ever obedient to the voice of their driver. Is it a wonder that Old Charlie loves his horses and talks of his teams with a kind of paternal affection-that he knows them by heart, and holds converse with them through the long watches of the night as with human The approach to the crossing of the American River is indescribably grand. Here the grade takes a downward plunge, and here the scenery becomes truly Alpine. Formerly the descent was made on the right side of the ridge. Won-man intelligence. They never swerve from the derful improvements, however, have taken place in the grades of this road during the past few years, chiefly owing to the enterprise of Mr. Louis M'Lean, President of the Pioneer Stage Company. In 1860, as already stated, I traveled over this part of the country on foot, in common with some thousands of adventurers, equally independent of horse-flesh. I then enjoyed the scenery of the American River, for I saw it by the early morning, when the mountains were decked in all the glories of spring; when torrents of snow-water burst from every ravine, and fell thundering into the depths below, and limpid springs made a pleasant music over the mosscovered rocks by the way-side; when the sun's rays glimmered through the dripping trees, and the air was fragrant with the odor of wild flow-friends? ers. But I had never till now been impressed I have attempted to give some idea of the rowith an adequate sense of its beauties. How mantic beauties of these mountain regions and calm and still the night was! how exquisitely the peculiar wildness of the scenery; but it must balmy the air! how sublime the repose of these be conceded that nature has not been permitted grand old mountains! I thought of all the to lie wholly undisturbed in the immediate vicinscenes I had witnessed in other countries, yet ity of the road. There is probably not an acre could not recall any thing to surpass this. There of ground, possessing a water privilege, on the is something in the mystic lights and shades, entire route between Placerville and Virginia and the profound solemnity of the night, which City, which has not been taken up and settled lends an awful sublimity to these wild regions. upon by some enterprising squatter or speculator, The gigantic forest trees standing in bold out- whose views of the present necessities of trade line on the opposite sides of the mountains, seem and the future prosperity of Nevada invest this to pierce the sky; and the moonbeams pouring region of country with an extraordinary value. down into the mysterious abyss through which When I traveled over the road in the spring of the river dashes, fringe the tops of the pines, as '60 there were symptoms of rapid progress. far down as the eye can reach, with a frost-like Tents and shanties were springing up all along drapery. Nothing can be more thrilling than the way-side; and if the weary pedestrian could the descent of the grade by moonlight. The get nothing else, he could at least always be road is a magnificent piece of engineering- sure of whisky, even where the houses had neismooth, broad, and beautifully regular. ther walls nor roofs. If lodgings were scarce bedfellows were plenty; if there was trouble in keeping the outer man warm there was abundance of fuel for the inner man. For this reason, perhaps, it was not an uncommon thing to see the sturdy adventurers who were on their way to the silver regions quite elevated by the time they reached the summit; and if ever they got sober again, it must have been after they had Imagine yourself seated in front of the stage, by the side of that genial old whipster, Charlie, who knows every foot of the way, and upon whom you can implicitly rely for the safety of your life and limbs. Holding the reins with a firm hand, and casting a penetrating eye ahead, he cracks his whip, and away go the horses with inspiring velocity-six magnificent chestnuts, invested their last dollar in some of those flourishing leads which prevailed around Carson and the Devil's Gate. The state of things is now very different. Good and substantial taverns, well supplied with provisions, beds, fleas, bugs, etc., to say nothing of the essential article of whisky, are to be met with at intervals of every two or three miles all along the route. Here the stages stop, and here the horses are watered and changed; and here the drivers and passengers get down and stretch their legs, but as a general thing they don't indulge so much in water as the horses. As we approached Strawberry, I am free to admit that I became somewhat nervous. A lurking suspicion took possession of me that I was recognized by the driver, Old Charlie; though I took particular pains to join with him in abusing that vile slanderer Ross Browne, whose Peep at Washoe had aroused the indignation of every publican on the route. Charlie admitted that he had never read any of this fellow's productions, but he believed him to be the Prince of Liars on general principles; an assertion in which I heartily coincided, with an internal reservation that it was strange how angry it made people to have the truth told about them. "Lord, Lord, Charlie," said I, handing him a cigar, "how this world is given to lying!" By this time we were at Strawberry, and I saw that I had to face the music. The story goes that there was once upon a time a man named Berry, who located a claim in a pleasant little flat about eight miles from the summit of the mountain. Here he set up his shanty, seeing with a prophetic eye that it would soon become an important point for the accommodation of travelers on the way over to Carson. When the people of California were seized with the silver mania, and began to crowd up the slopes of the Sierras with their teams and pack-trains, their picks, shovels, and blankets, Berry's became a great stopping-place, and his house, which he speedily enlarged, a famous resort for travelers; and this Berry soon became a very rich Berry. His dinners were excellent; his suppers without reproach; his beds as good as any on the road; his whisky as sure to kill at any given range as the best Port Townsend; and altogether he was a popular and a flourishing Berry. But as teams crowded around his premises and supplies of hay were cut off by storms and bad roads, he was forced to offer straw to his customers as a substitute for the regular horse and mule feed. Of course he charged hay prices, for even straw has a hay value under certain circumstances. Now the teamsters when they got straw in place of hay waxed unreasonably wroth, and called this excellent old Berry STRAW-BERRY-a name to which let all homage be rendered. By this honored name goes to this day that famous stopping-place known to the traveling public as Strawberry. I deemed it prudent, however, not to avow my name on the occasion of my present visit. It was 10 o'clock when we arrived. Covered with dust; beard, eyebrows, and hair a motley gray; hat, coat, shirt, trowsers, and boots the same color; face all striped and piebald, I was effectually disguised. If any body was there who had ever seen me before he could not have recognized me now with a microscope. I walked all about the old room with the fire-place—familiar, yet changed-looked calmly at every body about the premises, and stood with my back to the fire while the horses were being changed, with a delightful consciousness of security. In the darkness of night I had escaped Dirty Mike, and now, amidst the curious and penetrating crowd at Strawberry, not a soul knew me! The improvements at Strawberry are not to be slighted. A fine hotel now adjoins the old building; a telegraph office affords conveniences for stock-jobbing and catching thieves; handsome rooms are to be had merely for the asking; spring beds invite the wayfarer to repose; the dining-room, billiard saloon, and bar would do credit to Virginia City, or any other civilized community, where men eat, gamble, and drink spirituous liquors; the out-buildings are numerous and capacious; the stables fit for the most aristocratic horses; the hay no longer a subject of reproach to man nor beast, the straw as good as ever bore grain-Oh, Straw-Berry! The trees are scraggy; "All aboard!"-a new voice, a new face, and a new driver. I bade good-by to Charlie, and hoped we might meet again in the next world, if not in this. Once more we are on our way. The road over the mountain from Strawberry has been greatly improved. It is now a magnificent highway. Formerly the ascent to the summit was difficult and dangerous. The rise is now so beautifully graded as to be scarcely appreciable. Our horses trotted along briskly nearly the whole way. The scenery becomes weird and stern as we approach the highest altitude of the Sierras. the earth is barren and of a whitish cast; great boulders of rock rear their hoary crests high over the way-side, threatening to topple over and crush all beneath them. Sometimes huge masses of rock seem detached from the main body of the slope or cliff around which the road winds, and balanced on a mere point-thousands of tons of solid stone, ready apparently at the slightest vibration of the earth or puff of wind to come crashing down upon the stage. At some of these points I deeply sympathized with a gentleman from San Francisco, of whom the driver spoke in terms of ridicule. "He was so 'fraid them rocks 'ud be shook loose and fall on his head, he kept a dodgin' 'em all the time. His hair stood right up like a hog's brussels. Every now and then he was peerin' around for a soft spot of road to jump out on; an' when he seed he couldn't find it, he held on to the railin' with both hands till his fingers wos all blistered. 'D-d-driver,' sez he, 'd'ye think there's any danger?' 'Danger!' sez I-'ov course there's danger! Supposing that 'ere rock was shook loose by the rattlin' ov this 'ere stage-what d'ye think 'ud be the consequences?' 'I r-r-really can't say,' sez he; 'p-p-possibly it would crush the stage!' 'No,' sez I, 'it wouldn't crush it; but it 'ud make sich a d-d squash of it that bones wouldn't count. Your bones an' my bones, an' the bones ov three passengers above an' four behind an' nine down below, 'ud be all squashed, an' the verdic of Corners Inquest 'ud be-Eighteen men, six horses, an' a Pioneer Stage squashed by the above stone!' 'D-d-driver,' sez he- his teeth a-chatterin' like a box o' dice is that so?' 'You bet,' sez I, 'the last time I see it done, three ladies an' ten gents from Frisco was squashed.' 'Good gracious!' sez he, turnin' as white as a sheet, let me down at the next station!' And sure 'nuff he got down at the next station and made tracks for | For a distance of five or six miles the road Frisco. He changed his base-he did. aeoup!" Git winds around the sides of the mountains, crossing ravines and doubling up occasionally in turns so rapid that the stage seems to run one way and the horses another. Some of these whirling turns reminded me of the flight of an Australian bomerang. As we strike the straight "Is that true, driver?" "True?"-and the indignant look with which my friend of the whip resented the question satisfied me that it would not be prudent to push my doubts too far-so I qualified the inquiry-road again the driver gives rein to our spirited "Is it on the square, I mean?" "Stranger," said he, solemnly, "I don't make a habit o' lyin'; when I lie I kin lie as good as any body; but gen'rally speakin' I'm on the square." "Of course-that's all right; that's just what I mean; you don't usually steer clear of facts when the truth is strange-stranger than fiction.' Won't you take a cigar, driver?" "Don't care if I do." And thus the dawning difficulty was amicably adjusted. Owing to our late start we did not reach the summit before two o'clock. The air at this elevation was sharp, though not unpleasantly so. The altitude is estimated at eight thousand feet above the level of the sea. Frost was on the ground, and there was promise of colder nights soon to come. The moon, which had so kindly befriended us during the greater part of our journey to this point, was still shining brightly, shedding its silvery rays over the wilderness of mountains that loomed up around us. The view over Lake Valley was superb. I have seen nothing to surpass it in Switzerland or Norway. Perhaps the finest feature of the whole journey is the descent of the new grade. animals; crack goes the whip, and down we plunge over narrow bridges, along the edges of terrific precipices a thousand feet deep, through dark forests of pine and along frowning banks of granite, hewn from the solid bed of the mountain. Despite the ridiculous stories we had heard of accidents and alarms, every passenger with a nervous system clings tenaciously to the stage-fixtures, as if determined to follow the stage wherever it might go, and there were moments when we even held our breath to keep up a balance. I flatter myself I saved the lives of the whole party several times by hoisting at the lee rail, and holding my breath hard, while I leaned over on the weather side. It is not comfortable to look down when you are flying along at the rate of ten miles an hour and see no bottom short of a thousand or fifteen hundred feet. Yet there is a charm in this dashing, reckless journey by moonlight. The danger is just sufficient to give it a relish. The excitement keeps the blood warm; the fresh mountain air invigorates and inspires every faculty; the spirit rises with the rapidity of the motion, and before you get half-way to the valley you find yourself in a condition to sing, shout, or dance. The driver, by whose side I had the honor to sit, had evidently cultivated his voice for singing; but unfortunately he knew but one song-and of that he remembered but one line "When this cruel war is over!" which he sang straight ahead for three hours, commencing at the top of the grade and ending only when relieved by a new driver. Indeed, I am not sure that he ended then, for the last I heard of him he was leaning against a post at the station-house, humming over to himself "When this cruel war is over!" and it is not impossible he may be at it yet. The only variety I noticed during the journey was in the form of an interlude as he spoke to the horses, "Git aeoup, Bummers! Git alang, Rebs! "When this and so forth; now git!" The song is not bad when you get the whole of it, with a strong chorus; but a single line of it repeated for a distance of twenty-five miles without a chorus becomes monotonous. Whether the monotony of the poetry had a soporific tendency, or loss of rest produced a heaviness in the head, I don't know; but after the novelty of our flight down the grade had worn away somewhat, I now and then detected myself in the act of plunging overboard on the backs of the horses, or bobbing into some frightful abyss. Once I actually thought I was gone, and received such a shock when I discovered that I had only been asleep, and was still on hand, as to keep me wide awake during the rest of the way to Lake Tahoe. This beautiful lake was originally named Bigler, after a distinguished politician, who held the position of Governor of CaliforniaJohn Bigler. It was so named by a gentleman who had a high admiration for the name of Bigler. The beauty of the scenery, the crystal clearness of the water, the inspiring purity of the atmosphere filled the soul of Bigler's friend with poetry, and he called this lovely spot Bigler. It was a just tribute to the popularity of the Governor among his friends; but no governor on earth can enjoy every man's friendship. Bigler had enemies like other governors -some because they wanted office and couldn't get it; others because they wanted a contract and couldn't get it; and many because they wanted to be governor themselves. When this |