Shepherd. What are mony o' the pleasures o' memory, sirs, but the pains o' the past spirit realeezed?

North. Tickler?

Tickler. Good.

Noctes Ambrosianae.

In September, 1859, in company with a brawny six-footer named Alexander Cameron, from Camptonville, Yuba County, California, I prospected as far south as Big Oak Flat, in old Tuolumne County. At that place we heard that rich placer diggings had been struck near Mono Lake. The "big thing," as ever is the case, was still ahead. However, being already on the wing, we concluded to continue our flight across the Sierra Nevada Mountains to the latest El Dorado.

The first part of our route lay along the Yosemite trail, but in a short distance after leaving Cascade Creek this trail bore to the right and entered the beautiful valley, at the head of which are situated the worldfamed falls, leaving us to turn to the left on what was then called the Walker River trail. This consisted almost wholly of "blazes" (ax marks) on the trees, as so few had been over the route that no pathway had been worn. This so-called trail led across the mountains to the northward of Yosemite Valley, yet so near that we had frequent and grand views of the valley and of some of the falls. It was a most wild

Pete

About the time of our leaving Cascade Creek to strike out upon this trail-or rather these premonitory symptoms of a trail--Cameron and I were joined by two Germans, Pete and Zeb, from the neighborhood of Vallecito, Calaveras County. was a huge, raw-boned, double-fisted fellow, with a voice like a steam whistle and an ungovernable temper-was full of the senseless fury of a spoiled child. Zeb was just the opposite of his partner in everything. He was short, rather plump, goodnatured, and timid-in fact was so thoroughly subjugated that he was almost afraid to open his mouth in the presence of Pete. In the Vaterland, Zeb had been for many years the servant of an officer in the German army. This life of servitude had so thoroughly imbued all his instincts and impulses that poor Zeb seemed to have utterly forgotten that there was such a person as himself in existence. How he managed to live when alone I do not know, but whenever there were others about the good little man constantly ministered to them in every way. Taking advantage of Zeb's self-abnegation and timidity, Pete not only made a regular lackey of him, but by his outbursts of idiotic rage kept the poor little man in a chronic state of terror.

The pair had with them a powerful irongray horse, on whose back was piled a mountain of provisions, mining tools, and bedding the whole topped out with a scythe and pitchfork. Never before had I seen such tools as these last packed by miners. It may be guessed that the scythe gave no end of trouble on such a wild trail as we were traveling. Either the blade or the snath was constantly fouling with trees and bushes. Pete would not detach the blade from the snath, for the reason, as he

said, that we were liable at any moment to reach a meadow, when the tool would be required for immediate use. It would be nearer the truth, however, to say that Pete thus carried the scythe for the reason that it gave him opportunity to swear and scold at Zeb every ten minutes during the day.

After one of these cursing scenes, Zeb would say, almost in a whisper: "Pete, he is a goot man, but he do git so tam awful, awful mad!" and the poor fellow would tremble in his boots.

At the first camping ground reached after passing Cascade Creek, we were overtaken by a party of four others, bound like ourselves for the new Mono diggings. One of these we called Chowchille, because he was eternally talking about the mines of the Chowchille River. The three others were from Kern River, and were known to us as "Uncle Bob," "Old Dave," and "Steve." These were the only names I ever heard given them.

Our trail led us to Lake Tenaya, thence to the headwaters of the Tuolumne, and across the Sierras through what was then known as the Mono Pass, but is now called "Bloody Cañon," for the reason that the jagged rocks projecting into the trail leading through it so wound all passing animals as to spatter the rocky pathway with blood from top to bottom. At the head of this pass, on the main range of the Sierras, stand as sentinels on either hand Mount Dana and Mount Lyell, respectively 13,227 and 13,217 feet in height, while at its foot are stretched the desert plains lying south of Mono Lake.

At the head of a small creek on the north side of Mono Lake lay the placers we had come so far to prospect. We found all the paying ground to which water could be carried fully occupied. All the placer diggings for a mile up and down the creek were claimed, and a town called Monoville had been laid out.

Our party prospected about Monoville,

A

and in the neighborhood of where the town of Bodie now stands, until in October. few miles north of Bodie we found lying on the desert a brass gun-a mountain howitzer-left there by Frémont in 1846, which I caused to be brought to the Comstock, in 1860, by a man named James Whitten, who was packing provisions from Virginia City to Bodie. The gun lay in the sand untarnished and glittering.

Presently there began to be seen signs of winter, and many of those in the camp left for California. The majority crossed the Sierras by way of the Sonora Pass, but not a few went north to have a look at the silver mines of the Comstock, then recently discovered, thence to cross back to California by the old emigrant road-the Placerville route. Finally a meeting was called of the miners left in the camp, and a resolution was adopted by the terms of which all claims were to hold good without furthe work until June 1st, 1860.

This meeting was held at the canvas saloon of Mart Taylor, famous throughout the mining towns of California in the early days for the size of his nose and his ability to string out impromptu local songs miles in length. Johnson, the author of the songs of "Joe Bowers" and "Sweet Betsy from Pike," was also present. The meeting was made the occasion of a farewell blow-out. In a day or two all would scatter and depart for California. Mart Taylor had made a song for the parting, and he also disposed of all the chain-lightning left in his tent at a pinch of gold dust for each drink, through which many were slaughtered" both physically and financially.

We had eaten up everything in Monoville, and the day before that on which we intended setting out on our return trip, two of us went over to the East Walker River, where a Frenchwoman kept a store, but all we could buy there was a half-sack of flour, molasses and tea. Pete and Zeb had ten or twelve pounds of flour; the Kern River

On

men as much more, and two men from Grass Valley, Nevada County, who joined us, about the same amount, with a few pounds of beans; but we had not five pounds of bacon for our whole party. taking an account of our stock of provisions, we all saw that we must lose no time in getting out of that inhospitable region. It was decided to move camp that very evening to Mono Lake, and from that point make an early start next morning.

Hardly had we halted in a small grove by a spring at the west end of Mono Lake, before flakes of snow began to come timidly circling down. This was a sight by no means "beautiful" to us. There was consternation in camp. In view of our small stock of provisions, every man at once became ravenously hungry. Each snowflake seemed as big as an ordinary slapjack. More provisions must be had. round on the north shore of the lake was a small ranch, where it was known that a few swine were herded. Two men were sent thither to buy, beg, or borrow a hog. No matter what the cost might be, they were not to return without meat.

Far

After the two men had started for the ranch, I took my gun and managed, just in the edge of the evening, to bag half a dozen. ducks of the spoon-bill variety, the only species ever seen on the lake. Long after dark our foraging party returned with a pig that would weigh about sixty pounds. The two men reported that they found no one at the ranch, therefore they shot the hog and left a note, saying they would pay for it the next spring. It is probable that the pleasure of spelling out that note was all the pay that the rancher ever got for his pig. However, our case was much the same as that of the boy who was after the woodchuck. we had no means of scalding the pig, it was skinned and the skin thrown away-a wasteful proceeding, which we afterwards regretted.

As

On awaking the next morning, we found.

that only enough snow had fallen to whiten the ground. This soon disappeared under a bright sun. Nearly all our party then said, "All the snow is now out of the air; this ends it-there will be no big storm for a month." Such was the talk that morning with a bright sky above us.

Skirting the western shore of the lake and crossing a considerable stretch of low, barren sand-hills, we presently reached the mouth of Bloody Cañon, and began its ascent. In coming we arrived at the head of the cañon at sunset and passed down it in the night, a thing no man will voluntarily undertake a second time. We had never seen the cañon, but we had felt it. Shoes had been torn off our horses; packs had been pitched over the heads of mules and donkeys in jumping these down terraces from three to five feet in height, and animals of all kinds had been more or less flayed by raking against sharp rocks.

Now we saw the trail by daylight, and wondered that we got down it with our lives in the darkness of a moonless night. The rocks over which the trail passes are sprinkled with blood, and sharp, projecting points hold as trophies bunches of hair and strips of skin. So numerous are the zigzags and so short the turns that in passing, an animal must either be raked by rocks or forced from the trail down into rocky chasms of great depth.

Near the mouth of the cañon is a lake-then called Little Mono about two miles long and half a mile wide; while above in the narrower part are two small circular lakes apparently of great depth. The basin of the upper lake occupies nearly the whole. width of the cañon, and its walls are so steep that looking at the place by daylight, it seemed almost a miracle that we could have passed down that way in the night without tumbling into the dark blue water at the bottom. Towards the head of the cañon mountain, masses of rock, gray and brown, form the walls on either hand, and tower to

such a height that on their tops appears to rest the blue roof of heaven. This cañon is about ten miles in length and approaches the vertical as nearly as any man could desire. On the very summit of the Sierras, at the head of the pass, is a circular pool of crystal water about forty feet in diameter. From this steals out through grass and water plants a tiny stream which, flowing westward, finally becomes a considerable branch of the Tuolumne River. A ditch a rod or two in length would drain this pool to the eastward and send its waters down Bloody Gulch.

A strong breeze from the west seems to blow unceasingly through the great notch in the Sierras forming the head of Mono Pass. One must hold one's hat with both hands-it almost blows the button-holes out of one's coat. As we passed down from the summit there was less wind, and we presently began to meet masses of clouds of the cumulus variety, slowly drifting east. Some of these were not larger than an average haystack and of much the same shape. It was rather weird to see the head of our cavalcade pass into one of these and instantly disappear from sight. Within one. of these cloud-banks twilight prevailed, though outside the sun was shining brightly; and there was a earthy smell such as I have observed in a thick fog on the Sacramento River.

At a

On the headwaters of the Tuolumne River are some of the most beautiful meadows to be seen anywhere in the mountains. Here and there on these stand detached masses of granite from fifty to one hundred feet in height. Nearly all are surrounded by dense groves of small silver firs. distance these masses of rock look like the gray ruins of the castles of the Old World. The water of all the streams is of crystal clearness, and many kinds of wild flowers deck the meadows. From near the summit of a high, timbered mountain on the south, a great avalanche has rushed down,

bearing with it trees and rocks, which lie in an immense semi-circular heap where they were shoved out into a large meadow. From the starting point on the mountain to where the avalanche halted in the valley, a distance of over a mile, everything is swept clean in its track, the trees being broken and ground to fragments among the rocks in the moving mass.

In this beautiful region, alongside of one of the castellated rocks that rose a hundred feet above us, we halted for the night. So near at hand that its waters reflected the light of our camp fire flowed the Tuolumne, now a stream five or six yards in width. Our tired animals were busy in the meadows, where sweet mountain grass reached to their knees. The heavens were now full of stars, and there seemed no danger of a storm ; yet I felt uneasy. Consulting with Uncle Bob, an old mountain man, I found that he looked for bad weather. He said he could However, he was

"smell snow" in the air.

easy-going and much inclined to trust to luck in every case. I therefore gave Zeb instructions he was an early bird-to rouse the whole camp at peep of day. I also had a private talk with Cameron, telling him that if we were to get safe across the mountains we had no time to lose.

After supper it was decided to put on and boil a camp kettle of beans for use the next day. For a wonder, Pete volunteered to attend to the beans. After the pot had been boiling for nearly an hour it partly tipped over, and a litte water slopped into the fire, sending up a cloud of ashes. to his feet in a great rage.

Pete bounded

Grasping his that and his

pitchfork (he still clung to scythe), he caught the bail of the pot on its. prongs and began whirling the whole in a circle above his head, swearing like a pirate. Beans were flying in all directions; and he heeded no call to desist until "Old Dave " took up a shot gun and swore he would drop him in his tracks if he did not replace the pot. Little was left in the kettle when Pete

was done sporting with it; and no one felt well towards him for this wanton and idiotic waste of provisions. Poor Zeb was nearly frightened out of his wits. He crept close to me and whispered: "Pete, he is a goot man, but he do get so tam awful mad!”

Next morning at daybreak, Zeb began crowing like a cock. Some of the men swore, and Pete loudest of all, but all turned out as soon as a fire was started.

I had been so often down to Mono Lake during our stay at Monoville, and had waded so much in its alkaline waters-for I had kept our whole party supplied with game-that my boots were completely eaten up" sole and body." It was just as though they had been baked in an oven. I did not find this out until I got among the rocks of Bloody Cañon, where my foot-gear went to pieces. The soles broke into fragments, and the uppers were such a total wreck that no tying up with strings would keep them on my feet. Zeb had a pair of new boots, and had on his left foot an old boot that was not bad, while on the right was its mate with the top cut off, making it a shoe. Before leaving this camp, Zeb put on his new boots and gave me the boot and the shoe, enabling me to get about very well. On this trail there was very little riding, though the old men-Uncle Bob and Old Davestuck to their horses in places where they risked their necks.

We left camp under a bright sky. After leading for a time down the Tuolumne meadows, our trail left them and struck southward into a region of rolling hills heavily timbered with pines. Our next point was Lake Tenaya, distant about eight or ten miles. After we had traveled about seven miles we came to a place where our trail branched. We had seen no branch in going out. Here all came to a halt, and a grand pow-wow was held. The majority were for taking the left hand trail, because it seemed most distinct. Two or three of us were positive that we ought to take the

dim trail to the right. But the heavens were beginning to darken, and a few flakes of snow came circling down. It was absolutely necessary that we should take some trail and get down out of the mountains. The pine timber in which we were was so tall and dense that we could see none of the bare surrounding peaks-no landmarks.

We took the left hand trail-some of us very reluctantly-and had followed it about a mile when we reached a high ridge, from which we had a pretty fair view of the surrounding country. Miles away to the west and on our right, I saw towering above the pines a conical peak of granite that was cleft in twain from top to base. On my way out I had sketched this rock. I now took out my memorandum book and exhibited the sketch. All recognized the "Two Brothers," as we had named the twin rocks, as the same I had sketched when camped within a hundred yards of their base.

My sketch settled the matter. We returned and took the right hand trail. Before we reached the trail, however, Pete left us, and striking out into the dense forest cried out to us: "I takes one little cut-off-I beats you all!” In vain we pointed to the sky, black above the pines, and called upon him to keep with the others of the party; he went out on his "little cut-off."

Soon our trail brought us to places we recognized. We could not mistake the rocky walls that lead out to the northeast from Lake Tenaya, towering as they do on either hand to the height of a thousand feet or more. Over the beetling brow of the cliff on our left hand tumbled the waters of a small creek, exploding and becoming a mere veil of mist long before reaching the ground. This curtain of mist, wafted to and fro by every breeze, gave life to a great variety of creeping mosses and trailing water plants, which were to be seen clinging to clefts and hanging over narrow ledges in the