482 A Voice from the Diggings. [Oct.
of his hut. "As I viewed," he says, "the desolation of all around, I thanked God that I had regained my health, and involuntarily shuddered at what might otherwise have been my fate, thinking with sadness upon the probable death of those who accompanied me hither." It now appeared that, owing to the rainy season having set in a month earlier than usual, the provisions in store were insufficient to pass the winter. Many of the diggers had their own tents and stock of food, and they might weather it out; others had gold wherewith to buy food, so long as food there was to buy: this latter class were not secure from starvation, which would be the almost certain fate of those who had but the labour of their arms to depend upon. The friendly storekeeper intended selling off and starting; the two Oregonians were about to quit—perhaps to try the dry diggings, perhaps to return home through the mountains—and wished Mr Shaw to accompany them. He had but thirty dollars left, and his digging was under water. In this perplexity he took council with Mac, who was in stout spirits, although still an invalid. He advised a retreat to Stockton. Mr Shaw acquiesced, and as he would only have expended his slender funds, without benefit to his friend, by awaiting Mac's convalescence, he resolved to set out alone upon the following day. As to Mahomet and the Chinaman, their case was utterly hopeless. They were dreadfully emaciated, and so delirious that they did not seem to recognise their old master and fellow labourer when he paid them a farewell visit. With painful regret he parted from Mac, and set out upon his lonely journey across two hundred miles of wilderness. Here, as in other parts of the book, one cannot but admire the judgment and resolution of this young fellow, then not out of his teens, but who displayed, on many occasions, qualities that would do credit to a man of mature age and far greater experience.
In the midst of a storm of wind and rain, and encumbered by a heavy load, Mr Shaw took a last look at those diggings where his "golden dreams" had been so rudely dispelled, and ascended the steep mountain which commenced his laborious march. His knapsack contained "twelve yards of jerked beef, dried in strips, six pounds of biscuits, one pound of beans, and two of flour." He was further loaded with his blankets and bag for water, his pistols, gun, and a huge bowie-knife. Road there was none; the track that there had been was obliterated by the rain; he steered his course by landmarks. The summer streamlets and mountain gullies were converted into deep and rapid rivers; cataracts roared down amongst the rocks, bringing with them avalanches of soil and trees; the whole surface of the earth was flooded. At dark he was compelled to halt, lest he should find a grave in some ravine. Establishing his bivouac beneath a tree, he at first hesitated to light a fire lest it should attract Indians; but this risk he was compelled to run, in order to deter wild beasts, for a couple of coyotes and a tiger-cat showed themselves; and although pretty well used to the howling of wolves, he could not think without trepidation of the certain results of an encounter with a grizzly bear, a monster by no means uncommon in those latitudes, and between which and the ursine specimens we have opportunities of observing in England there is as wide a difference, as between a lady's park palfrey and the mad charger that bore Mazeppa to the desert. "Their speed being almost equal to that of a horse, notwithstanding their clumsy appearance and gait, foot-travellers have no chance with them, as they can climb a tree or gnaw the trunk away with equal facility. The most marvellous accounts of their bulk are current amongst hunters. Some of these monsters are said to be the height of a jackass, and weigh fifteen hundred pounds." No wonder that, in hopes of scaring away carnivora of this magnitude, he lit a fire and risked his scalp. We were puzzled to think how, in the midst of the deluge he describes, he got his fire to burn. But here nature has been merciful, and there is a crumb of compensation and comfort for the drenched wayfarer in California. The gum-trees and firs of the country are his resource. However wet the weather, he has but
