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WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 24, 1845
Trip to Cape May.
Sketches by travelling editors have become so common
—4O much matters of course, in the editorial routine, as
scarcely to challenge criticism in any point of view ;
hence we feel emboldened to venture upon one, in an
interval of graver labors. In speaking thus of travelling
'editors, we desire not to be understood astlisparhing the
e lms of those connected with the public press, whom
pleasure or business may have sent abroad. On the
contrary, we differ widely frommany of the conclusiOns
recently expressed in the columns of this paper in regard
to the racy and graphic sketches of WILLIS in his Euro•
peas wanderings. We generally turn to them with
pleasure , and enjoy the contrast which they present to
the more elaborate and finished pictures of Brt TANT, now
on the same side of the Atlantic.• Nor have we failed
in being both profited and delighted whenever, our es
teemed eoremporary of the UtiTted States Gazette, cont.
tonnes with this •" Arm Chair," during a ramble from
borne. We have observed too, that our friend Former
of the Lancaster Intelligencer, travels with his eyes open,
and knows right well how to describe what he sees:
The wry mention of these, renders us more diffident
in sending to press our own hasty pencillings, made lit
trey by the way-side. Having entered upon an ex
i!ie,str, and apologetic strain, we.tnay as well at this
urge ako promise, that in our occasional labors for this
rarer—soth Bil due respect to its readers be it Fran:—
we seek as much our own amusement as any thing else ;
and least of all, du we write from any pride ,f author
-ship. There are, in the lives of. all—(and much too
frequent have they come to ns in later years)—melan
choly moments—when a heavy-hearted despondency has
crept over us, on finding some long-cherished friendship
rudely driven from its favorite resting-place ;—or mo
ments of morbid gloom, when a listless indifference seems
to have swallowed up even our best hopes and ;affec
tions, and we feel for a season, abandoned on the wide
waste of cheerless existence, without elace to cast an
chor, and without a shore in view, to excite a singlewish,
or give the slightest interest to contemplation. In such
moments as these, we are sure to find relief in the cheer
ful exercise i f the pen. To comment, criticise, or rea
son—careless often as to the thought or the subject we
we seize upon—lo roam any where in the irfinite field
of menial speculation, serves to recall the mind to its
wonted tone and energy, and to dispel the gathering
clouds. Such, freqUently have been our incentives to
literary labor; and such especially way the spirit in which
we sat down to fill up our notes of a " trip to Cape May."
A Might and beautiful morning in July, Yee entered a
eartiage.that had been summoned for the purpose to the
door of some hospitable friend* With whom we had been
',jamming in Philadelphia, determined to obey the fash
ionable it4tilse—(which was accelerated in our case, by
the plea of ill:health put in by a compognon du royoge_ . :
eo to the Cape. Not by any means intending tir
to in-innate, that we were Mrs. Caudle-d into a jaunt,
which gentlemen are quite as fond Of taking, as the la
dies—though they often pretend otherwise. As we
neared Chesnut Street wharf, a shower of printed bills
setting forth the merits of the rival steamboat-, then in
readiness for the Capes, was thrown into our carriage;
and soon breathless runners on each side, also began vas
oferously to claim our patroziage. " Turn to the right"
—"take the left." "The Portsmouth sir." " Napoleon
at your service sir." '• This way." "0, take our boat
4ir"—were shouted in deafening cadence and eager,ear
nestness, by half a dozen voices. Which boat s4all
we take"—asked one of our party doubtingly. In spite
of the attraction of a great name, we entered the Ports
mouth—being the safest bOat in case of rough weath
er in the Bay.
In a few moments we were ploughing our way through
the broad and placid bosom of the Delaware. We
watched the city we had left, and as it g-ndually sunk
in the distance, and one after aniitlier of its swelling
domes and glittering spires faded from the view—our
mind reverted to memories of its crowded streets ; its va
ried contrasts of want and wealth —of virtue mid deprasi
ty. Every large city in these respects is the same. The
lununous acid gilded carriages of the rich, roll carelessly
on. while the shnnking beggar clamors for bread, or
pines in sullen hate ; grace and deformity jostle each
other in its crowded pathways—and the sweet tones and
gentl e werilg of virtuous beauty, are often borne on the
same breeze with the hollow laugh and heartless , hilari
ty of the strolling wanton. The ravishing music which
peals from its splendid "boudoirs and drawing-rooms,
scarcely drowns the voices of anguish that rise in the
sickly atmosphere of pent-tip courts, where cluster the
crowded dwellings of the poor. Nor is misery and vice
to be found only in the low abodes of poverty. Could
we tear the mask from the face of splendor and wealth,
bow many features would be black with evil passions, or
convulsed in the darkest despair !•There is in city-life
!such to covet; and many in its thronging Crowds whom
We could admire and love. But more—how much more
there, unworthy and illusive ! Like the dangerous
gardens of the fair East, where fair flowers „and shady
trees wave in beauty and bloom ; but beneath them cow
ers the green adder anal the basilisk, and around, prowls
in stealth, t'be gaunt wolf and merciless tiger,pantiug for
blow!,
At length, the windings of the river ihut oat sudden
ly from our view, the dim outline of the city, and chan
ged the current of our moralizing. Thus distance af
fects the physical, as time does the moral world. A few
more yearn will by—a little longer shall we toss
upon the billows, or drift on the bosom of the lazy cur
rent of life, or be hurried swiftly along its swelling tide
and the incidents we have met with—the pleasures we
have enjoyed, and the friends we have so fondly, clung
to whether in sun-shine or in storm—will all gradually
fade from the minds•eye, and be nearly forgotten, when
tyrant death, like an angle in the stream, shall at once
blot them from before ne , and open perhaps, a new and
different scene to our vision.
The harsh voice of the colored stewartlA—" ell gem s '
men what hao'nt paid their paesenges, please step to the
Cap'ne office and settle"—soon roused us from our rev
eries, and turned our attention to more practical affairs.
The day continued beautiful in the extreme. A fine
Tweeze from the ocean, lifted th waters of the river against
the prow of our steamer, which dashed them off again,
long in a track of foam on either side. We stopped at
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Wilmington and New Castle to take in passengers. At
the latter place there WILS a large accession to our numbets
—mostly from Baltimore. Below New Castle, the bay
grows'w ider ; its low green shores spreading out, as it were,
to embrace the " bounding sea." Soon these were no
longer visible, and there was
All around us, one broad ocean—
All above us, one blue sky."
. Just before losing sight of land, we passed the ne
ship Susquehanna, of Philadelphia, homeward hound
from Liverpool. Her decks were crowded with passen
gers--emigrants escaping from the tyranny of the told
world, seeking the just reward of honest toil under our
equal and benign institutions. And who shall say them
nay I Why should not our country be and become the
asylum of the oppressed I It is another question what
probation they shall undergo—how long they shall be
required to study the principles of our government, 'be
fore they are permitted a voice or a vote in selecting its
rulers,—and it is a question about which we may hon
estly differ. But what American freeman can look up•
on the suffering and oppression of the down-trodden
I masses of Europe—suffering end oppression which if it
had not been for the spirit and valor of his forefathers,
might to a great extent even now have been his own,—
and not feel Hs sympathies aroused, and his heart open
ed to allow all who may escape to these free shores, a
home in our aide-spread domain?
Late in the afternoon we reached the landing-place
on Cape Island. Here we were crowded promiscuously
into small Rockaway wagons (as they are called) and
driven at a snails-pace through the .sand, some four or
live mills to the village. This we found to consist of a
cluster of common.looking wooden buildings, irregularly
-placed and occupied in the sunimei chiefly as boarding.
houses—interspersed with four large, showy hotels. The
buildings—hotels. and all—were surmounted as usual 'in
New Jersey, with staring red roofs. "Jersey blue," (es
pecially with its political and historical associations,) it
well enough. But " Jersey red," every where capping
the otherwise plain and neat dwellings of Jersey farriters
—has always been our aversion. 11e learned to detest
the color, for marring some very beautiful landscapes in
in Penns) Ivania. Even savages, never employ it, ex
cept as an emblem of war and hatred!
We four.d very comfortable quarters at the new "At.
!antic Hotel," notwithstanding the crowd—there being
an invalid " lady in our case ;" and were soon fairly ft,-
tabliNhee, with leisure to look around us. Of course,
our attention was first attracted by the Ocean, whose
swelling
waves with all their !bite crests dancing
Come, like thick plurri'd squadrons, to the shore
Gallant) , bounding—" •
theme far away in the distance, it seemed as calm and
plat id as the blue Heaven above.
There is a strange, sympathy in the mind with exter
nal objects, which no philosophy can repress. Stoicism
may teach us to bear what we cannot escape ; but there
are certain emotions which it can never master. No man
on the summit of a lofty mountains feels as he did upon
the plain. Even the sight of a mountain, swells the
heart with a feeling of admiration. But how much
more—especially in him who looks upon it butseldom—
does the great ocean expand the senses and give rise to
lofty ideas. As we behold a vast body of waters rolling
in eternal commotion, and embracing in its deep bosom
so many wonders—our thoughts naturally recur to that
inconceivable Being who thus rocks it forever in its
mighty bed ! And then—to stand upon the vessel's deck,
far out from shore, amid the waste of waters, and watch
the rising storm. To see the blank clouds float swiftly
and silently up the track of sky, like armed ships ranging
fur a battle, and as if guided by an invisible storm-spirit.
Soon, the red sheet ordazzling flame leaps out from its
hiding-place, and the crashing thunder peals aloft; and
the very air groans as it were, with terror—while the
soaring eagle screams, and the sea-bird flaps his broad
wings and veheels.above the sullen wave. Onward now
dashes the heaving billow, and the sea becomes white
with foam; the wind sweeps through th e hare and creaking
masts, arid the ship rocks and trembles and plunges,
so if in agony—while the blinding sheet of rain pours
over its streaming deck. Oh !' it must be a stern and
proud spirit indeed, that will not quail, at least for a
moment, in a war of elements like this; and trembling
feel the being and presence of a Gad who•' rides upon the
whirl-wind and directs the storm." Once it was our
chance to witness such a scene at sea, and long will it
be before we forget its awful sublimity.
Always since we first read them, whenever we - gaze
upon the ocear, those noble stanzas in" Childe Harold "
rise almost involuntary to our lips:
•• Roll on, thou dark and deep blue ocean—roll!
Ten thousandfleets sweep over thee in vain;
Man marks the earth with ruin—Shis control
Stops with the shore ;—upon the watery plain
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain
A shadow of man's ravage, save big own,
when, for a moment like a 'drop of rain,
He sinks into thy depths with baling groan,
Without a grave, uuknell'd, uncut:Sued, and unknown
Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty's form
Glasses itself in tempests, in all time,
Calm or convuls'd—in breeie, or gale, or storm,
Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime
Dark-heaving ;—boundless, endless, and sublime—
The image of eternity—the throne
Of the invisible; even from out thy slime
The monsters of the deep are made ach emus
Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone."
Barry Cornwall, in his ‘.llfarcian Colonnr," has Ostia
thrilling apostrophe on the same subject, which, though
less hackneyed, is scarcely second in beauty and power
to that of Byron.
" 0 thou east Ocean ! Ever sounding sea !
Thou symbol of a drear immensity !
Thou thing that windest round the solid world
Like a huge animal, which, downward btard
From the black clouds, lire weltering and alone,
Lashing and writhing till its strength he gone.
Thy voicsie like the thunder, and thy sleep
Is as a giant's slumber loud and deep.
Thou speakcst in the East and in the West
At once, and on thy heavily laden breast
Fleets come and go, end shapes that have no life
Or motion yet are moved and meet in strife.
The earth bath nought of this no chance no change
}Mines its surface, and no spirit dare
Give answer to the tempest-waken air;
But o'er its wastes the weakly tenants range -
At will, end wound its bosom as they go;
Ever the some, it bath no ebb, no Bow ;
But in their stated rounds the seasons come,
And pass like visions to their viewless home,
And come again, and vanish ; the young Spring
Looks ever bright and blossoming,
And winter always winds his sullen horn, •
And the wild Autumn with a look forlorn
Dim in his stormy manhood ; and the skies
PUBLISHED EVERY WEDNESDAY, AT TOWANDA, BRADFORD COUNTY, PA., BY E. S. GOODRICH & SON.
"REGARDLESS OF DENUNCIATION FROM ANT QUARTER."
Weep and flowers sicken when the summer Ries.
Oh ! wonderful thou art, great element :
And fearful in thy spleeny humors bent,
And lovely in repose: thy summer form
Is beautiful, and when silver waves
Make music in earth's dark and winding caves,
I love to wander on thy pebbled beach
Markin; the sunlight at the evening hour,
And hearken to the thoughts thy waters teach—
Eternity, Eternity, and rower."
A stroll on the beach by moonlight, and an hour or
two spent as a looker-on at a dance—(" hop," is the fash
ionable phrase)—which had been arranged in the large
dining-hall of our hotel—made up our first evening at
Cape May.
The favorite hours for bathing in the surf, are eleven
in the morning, and five in the evening. Then may
be witnessed a scene of the most animated and exciting
description. Several hundred persons of all sexes and
ages—bathing dresses of all colors and fashions. La
dies, in their little oiled-silk caps, or in coarse straw
gypsey hats drawn down at the sides ;—gentlemen, with
hats and caps of all patterns, and many without any
thing of the kind;—children dressed; or undrered just
as it may happen—ill mingled in the dashing surf—
shrieking, helloing; shouting, laughing in one grand
chorus. Nut unfiequently you hear in the intervals, a
child, or a timid, nervous woman screaming and remon
strating at being held up to be whelmed again in the
chill and pitiless wave. Yonder, is a fine Newfound
land dog, breasting the sea and anxiously watching its
floating master nr mistress ;—near by, may be seen a
favorite horse, sharing the invigorating exposure with
its owner—whilst user the IA hide scene, the glorious sun
is shedding warmth, and life—flashing brightly on each
rising billow, and sparkling in every drop of .pray,
Whenever the batkrs become tired of their sport,
they retreat to the littlAvooden sheds or closets, placed
along the beach, for the purpose. Here the dripping ba
thing-dress is thrown off, and dry clothes huddled on, so
as to reach their chambers decently—always avoiding
recognition by the way, if possible. An elahorate'tuilet
and its mysteries, soon enables them to re-appear
"The glass of Fashion, and the mould of Form—"
ready fur the trying glare of the dinner hour, or the
more softened light of the evening meal. We gaze—
we wonder—we admire;—hut the ugly costume of the
surf—the merciless clinging and drenching of the wave—
why will ye thus haunt our memory Corsets and bus
tles and cotton-bags I May we never speak against you
again—never—never ! We know better now. Our
eyes were opened by the salt -water, and our understand
ings enlightened by the sea-breeze at Cape M 4. silent
we mean to be on the subject—except to advise all la
dies who are indebted to their milliners for any of what
Hogarth terms the " curve lines of beauty," to go to lie
hant for sea-bathing,—where, according to Miss Marti
neau, there is a luxurious place for them—" alittle beach,
shut in by rocks along the top of which runs a high
fence, and where the retirement is complete."
Paulding, speaking of this fashionable bathing in the
open sea by ladies, has somewhere ill-naturedly said,
that in their transits to and from the waves—instead of
looking like the fabled goddess' rising from the ocean—
they reminded him of " old-clothes women when they
went in, and drowned rata when they came out." By
the vi s ay, speaking of the " fabled goddess" we must be
secied to add, that if Phryne of Athens, had put on
any thing like modern bathing costume of the sex, when
she took it into her pretty head to bathe on the open
shore during the feast of Eleusis, not much caring who,
or how many were looking on—sure we are, that two of
the chef dourres of Grecian art, the Venus of the wave
by Apelles, on canvas., and the Guidean Venus of ?nisi
teles in marble, would never have been modeled after
her. And inespite of her matchless beauty, the offer to
rebuild Thebes; if she could he allowed to inscribe upon
its walls—'• Alexander diruif zed meretrix Phryne , re
fecil—" would have been the proudest record of her
memory.
Well—having disposed of and described the bathing
unless we go to particular and personal history, (which
of course we shall not do)—we may as well draw our
rambling, desultory sketch to a close. - The generalities
of life at Cape May, can be enumerated in tivery brief
space. First in the day, comes breakfast ; then, ba
thing—dressing--dinner;—bathing again,—dressing—
lea: A stroll on the herd white beach—a ride or a
drive, and dancing afterwards, (if you like it)—make up
the evening. Newspapers—cigars and for the
gentlemen ; and delicate little bits of scandal for the la
dies, fill up the intervals. A week, being all we could
spare from business, fur the present season, sufficed us.
During this period we picked up our quota of Cape dia•
monde—swallowed more than our share of sea•water,—
conned many a, new and interesting page in the great
book of human nature, and came away, at least as well
satisfied, as we had expected to be. We have engaged
to make another trip—but don't be alarmed gentle read
er."—whatever we may do in the premises --of this rest
assured—we shall never again undertake to write you
an account of it. •
THE AFFECTIoIi OF OLD AoE.—How beau
tifully affecting to witness an aged couple who
have weathered tile's stormOiand in hand, and
smiled on each other amid all the trials and
tribulations which they have met in this vale
of tears "—even as when basking together in
the brightest
each
of prosperity—whose
pleasures in each other's society are decreased
not by the butfetings of ) Time—shat sure de
spoiler of all that is beautiful in the human
form divine." To such a couple, thoughts are
an inexhaustible spring of joy. as, from the
mirror of memory, the bright rays of their
youthful happiness and love are once mote re
flected upon them ; and the pore Spirit of
Religion unfolds to their view, through the
portals of the tomb, the hopeful prospect of a
happy' re-union in that world
" Where parting is no mote
PORITY OF HEAR?.--Purity of heart IS of
all virtues. the most elevated. A Greek maid
being asked what fortune she could bring to
her husband, answered, "I will being him what
is more valuable man any treasure, a heart un•
spotted, and virtue without a stain, which is
all that descended to me from my parents."
TAKINO IT Commt.—The editor of a Buck.
eye paper has beeti threatened with a flogging.
He ver i y quietly insinuates that he ,may be
found up stairs. •• anti that it is but forty feet
to the bottom.'
[From the Washington Union..)
Fremont's Exploring Expeditions.
January 20.—The party started with a
guide. Suffering much from the Cold, one
man had his feet frost-bitten. At night, many
Indians visited his camp. Held a council With
them by signs. They appeared to have no
knowledge of the use of fire arms. Engaged
a guide, repaired moccasins, leggins,.elothing.
and made every arrangement to cross the
Sierrra Nevada." The guide was also
clothed.
...February 2.—lt had ceased snowing, but
the air was clear and frosty. The peaks of the
*. Sierra " were near. The guide shook his
head, and pointed to the icy pinnacles shoot
ing high up iu the sky." The people were
unusually silent, for every man knew that
our enterprise was hazardous and extremely
doubtful." The snow deepened rapidly. To
day the journey was 16 miles, the elevation
above the sea, 6.760 feet.
February 3.—Could make only 7 miles ;
snow and ice impeding progress at every step.
The road had to be opened, and the snow was
so deep in the hollows, that he was obliged to
keep on the mountain side. cut a foot
ing as we advanced, and a road through for
the animals ; but occasionally one plunged out
of the trail, and elided along the field to the
bottom, a hundred yards below." Towards a
pats which the guide had indicated, endeavors
were made to force a wa) ; but, alter great el
forte, it had to be abandoned. The animals
had not sufficient strength to get on, even with
out a load ; and the' road was strewed with
camp stores and horses floundering m the
stow. That night the party had no shelter.
Some Indians joined them, and one gave them
a talk.
• He spoke in a very loud voice, and there
was a singular repetition of phrases and ar
rangement of words, which rendered his speech
striking. and not unmusical.
We had now begun to understand some
words, and, with the aid of signs, easily com
prehended die old man's simple ideas. Rock
upon rock—rock upon rock—snow upon
snow—snow upon snow," said he ; • even it
you get over the'snow, you will'not be able to
get down front th- mountains." He made us
the sign of precipices, and allowed is how the
feet or the horses would slip, and throw Ihent
ofT from the narrow trails which led along
their sides. Out' Chinook, who comprehend
ed even more readily than ourselves, and be
lieved our situation hopeless, covered his head
with his blanket, and t egait to weep and le
nient. 1 wanted to see the whites," said
he; •• I came away from my own people to
see the whites, and I would'm rare to die
among them; but here "—and he looked
around into the cold night and gloomy forest,
and drawing his blanket over his head, began
again to lament.
-
•
Seated around the tree, the fire illumina
ting the rocks and the tall bolls of the pines
uld about, and the old Indian haranguing, we
presented a group of very sarious faces.
February s.—The night had been too cold
to sleep, and we were up very eary. Our
guide was standing by the fire with all his
finery on ; and, seeing him shiver in the cold,
I threw on his shoulders one of my blankets.
We missed him a few minutes afterwards, and
never saw him again. He had deserted. His
bad faith and treachery were in perfect keep
ing with the estimate of Indian character, which
a long intercourse with this people had gradu
ally forced upon my mind.
" While a portion of the camp were occupi
ed in bringing up the baggage to this point,
the:remainder were busied in making sledges
and snow-shoes. I had determined to explore
the mountain ahead, and the sledges were to
be used in transporting the baggage.
"The mountains here rusisted wholly ofa
white micaceous granite.
'• The day was perfectly clear. and,•wltile
the sun was iu the sky, it was warm and plea
sant.
'• By observatton, our latitude was 38° 42'
28" ; and elevation, by the boiling point, 7,400
feet.
February o.—Accompanied by Mr. Fitz
patrick, I set out to-day with a reconnoitring
party, on snow-shoes. We marched all it
single file, trampling the snow as heavily as
we could. Crossing the open basin, nt a
march of about ten miles we reached the top of
one of the peaks, to the left of the pass indica
ted by our guide. Far below us, dimmed by
the distance, was a large snowless
bounded on the western side, at the distance
of about a hundred miles, by a 'low range of
mountains, which Carson recognized with de
light as the mountains bordering the coast.—
" There." said he, t. is the little mountain—it
is 15 years ago since I saw it; but I ant just
as sure as it I had seen it yesterday." Be
tween its, then, and this low coat t range. was
the valky of the Sacramento ; and no one who
had not accompanied us through the incidents
of our life for,the last few months, could rea
lize the delight with which at last we looked
down upon it. At the distance of apparently
30 miles beyond us were distinguished spots
of prairie ; and a dark line, which could be
traced with the glass, was imagined to he the
course of the river; but we were evidently
at a great height above the valley. and between
us and the plains extended miles of snowy
fields, and broken ridges of pine-covered moun
tains.
•• It was late in the day when we tinned to
wards the camp t and it grew rapidly cold as
it drew towards night. One of the men
became fatigued. and his feet began to freeze,
and, building a fire in the quoit ()la dry old
cedar, Mr. Fitzpatrick remained with
til his clothes could be dried, and he was in
condition to come on. After a day's. march of
20 miles, we straggled. into camp. u.ne after
another, at night-fall ;" the greater number ex
cessively fatigued, only two,of the party hav
ing ever. traveled on snow-shoes before.
. .• All our energies were now directed to get
ting our animals across the snow ;.anitit was
supposed that, after all cite baggage had been
drawn with the sleighs over the trail • , we had
made, it would be sufficiently hard to bear our
animals. At several places, between this point
and the ridge, we had discovered some grassy
spots where the wind and sun had dispersed
the snow from the sides of the hills ; and these
were to form resting-places to support the ani
mals for a night in their passage across. On
our way across, we had set on fire several
broken stumps, and dried trees, to 'melt holes
In the snow for the camps. 'lts general depth
was five feet; hut we passed over pfaCes
where it was twenty' feet deep, as shtivrit by
the trees.
•• With one party drawing sleighs loaded
with baggage, I advanced to-day about four
miles Meng the trail, and encamped at the first
grassy spot where we expected to bring our
horses. Mr. Fitzpatrick, with another party,
remained behind, to form an intermediate sta
tion between us and the animals.
February 8.--The night has been extreme
ly cold ; but perfectly still, and beautifully
clear. Before the sun appeared this morning,
the thermometer was 3° below zero; 1° high
er, when his rays struck the lofty peaks ; and
0° when he reached our ramp. -
February 9.—A severe storm—the trail co
vered with snow ; had to remain in camp that
day, men becoming weak from insufficient
food. . The elevation of the camp "by tte
boiling point, is 7,920 feet."
February 10.—The wind kept the air filled
with snow. The elevation of the camp by
the same ". point " this day. 8,050 feet-1.000
feet above the South pass of the Rocky
mountains, and still we are not done ascend
ing." Went out exploring on snow shoes.—
" The glare of the snow, combined with great
fatigue, h•td rendered many .of the people near
ly Hind."
Februaryi I.—The high wind eontinueil.—
At work in beating a road, Feb. 12—made
mauls" and worked hard upon the road..:-
13—continued the labor upon the road. "We
had to-night an extraordinary meal—pea-soup,
mule, and dog." 14th. 15th, 10th—still toiling
and workit g on. Had become satisfied, from
his numerous reeonnoitnngs, that he had fnund
-the stream upon which ,Jr. Sutter lived, and
then returned In his camp. But we will again
use the words of Capt. Fremont:
I was now perfectly satisfied that we had
strudi the stream on which Mr. Sutter lived';
imd. turning about, made a hard push, and
readied the ramp at dark. Here we had the
pleasure to find all the remaining animals, 57
in number, safely arrived at the grassy hill
near the camp; and here, also, we were
agreeably surprised with the sight of an abuti
dance of salt. 'Some of tho horse-guard .14d
gone to a neighboring hut for pine nuts,-and
discovered unexpectedly a large cake of very
white, fine-grained salt, which the Indians told
them they had brought front the other side of
the mountain; they used it to eat with their
pine nuts, and readily sold it for goods.
Ott the 19th. the people were occupied in
making a road and bringing up the baggage ;
and. on the afternoon of the next day, Feb.2o,
1844. we encamped with the animals and all
the materiel of the camp, on the summit of
the Pass in the dividing ridge, 1.000 Miles
by our traveled road from the Dulles of the
Columbia.
" The people, who had not vet been to this
point, climbed the neighboring peak, to enjoy
a look at the valley.
The temperature of boiling water gave for
the elevation of the encampment 9,338 feet
above the sea.
" This was 2.000 feet higher than the South
Pass in the Rocky mountains, and several
peaks in view rose several thousand feet still
higher. - Thus, at the extremity of the conti
nent, and near the coast, the phenomenon was
seen of a range of mountains still higher than
the great Rocky mountains themselves. This
extraordinary fact accounts for the Great Ra.
sin, and shows that there must be a system of
small lakes and rivers here scattered over a fiat
country.and which the extended and lofty range
of the Sierra Nevada preVents from escaping to
the Pacific ocean. Latitude 38° 45' ; longitude
t2o° 28'.
'• Thus this Pass in the Sierra Nevada,
which so well deserves its name of - Snowy
mountains, is 11° west, and about 4° south of
the South Pass.
'• February 21.—We now considered our
selves victorious over the mountain ; having
only the descent before us, and the valley un
der our eyes, we felt strong hope that we
should force our way down. But this was a
case in which the descent was not facile. Still
deep fields of snotty lay betWeeu, and there was
a large intervening spare of roughluokingi
mountains, through which we had yet to wind'
our way. Carson roused me this morning
with an early fire, and we were all up long be
fore day, in order to pass the snow-fields be
fore the sun should redder the crust soft. We
enjoyed this morning a scene at sunrise, which
even here was unusually glorious anti beautiful.
Immediately above the eastern mountain was
repeated a cloud-formed mass of purple ranges.
bordering with bright yellow gold; the. peaks
shot up Into a narrow line of crimson cloud,
above which the air was filled with a greenish
orange; and over all was the singular beauty
of the blue sky. Passing along a ridge which
commanded the lake on our right,,of which we
began to discorer, , an outlet through a chasm
on the west, we passed ocer alternating, open,
ground, and hard crusted snow 7 fields, which
supported ihe'sminials. and ,encamped on the
ridge after a journey of sii miles.
,T,he'graiS
was betti;r than We had yet iren. - and we were
encaMped in a clunip of trees twertty or thirty
feet CO. resembling white pine: With' tW
eleepfion of lhese small clumps, the 'ilibrt;tr
were bare ; and, where the snow feumh the
support of the trees, the wind'had blown it up
into hanks" ten or fifteen feet high. It required
much rare to hunt outs practicable way, as the
most open places frequently led tmimpassable
banks,' •
we had hard auddoubtful labor vet before
ue, as the enow appeared, to he Jteevier.witere,
the timber began further tatru,„islith few open
spots: Ascending a height, we traced out the
==i=
best line we could discover for the 'neit
march, and had, at least, the consolation to see
that the mountain descended rapidly. The
day had been one of April., --gusty, slew
occasional flakes of snow ; which, in the after
noon. enveloped the upper mountain in clouds.
We Matched them anxiously, `as no* we
dreaded a snow-sturm. Shortly afterwards we
heard the roll of thunder, and, looking towards
the valley, found it all enveloped in a thunaer
storm: For us, as connected with the idea of
summer, it had a singular charm ; and we
watched its progress With excited feelingir un
til nearly sunset, when the eky cleared off
brightly, and we Caw a shining line of water
directing its course towards another, ebroader
and larger sheet. We knew that these could
be no other than the Saeranieinto and the boy
of San Francisco ; but, after our long wander
ing in rugged mountains, where so Irequently
we had Met with disappointments,_ and Where
the crossing of every ridge displayedibrne un
known lake or river, we were yet alMost afraid
to believe that we were at last to escape into ,
the genial country of which we bad heard so
many glowing descriptions. and dreaded - again
to find some vast interior lake, whose bitter
waters would bring us disappointment. On
the southern shore tikwitat appeared to be the
bay, could be traced the gleaming line where
entered another large stream ; and again the
Buenaventura ruse up in our minds."
February 22.—Moved on early in the morn
ing over the frozen snow. That night killed
another ntle, now the "only resource from
starvation."
February 23.—A difficult and laborioub day:
Had, in many clues, to crawl across the
enow.beds." Axes and mauls were necessary
to make the road, That evening reached the
creek, and encamped on a dry, open place in
the ravine.
February 24.—Early that morning, the
thermometer 2° below. zero; latitude 38° 44'
58." longitude 120!' 24' 20." • The- descent
Was now very rapid, along which the patty
hurried with great energy.
" The oppOsite mountain-side Was very
steep and continuous, unbroken by ravines,
and covered with pines and snow . ; while, on
the role we were traveling, innumerable rivu
lets poured down from the ridge. Continuing
on, we hatted a moment at one of these rivulets,
to admire some beautiful evergreen trees; re
sembling live-oak, which shaded the little
stream. They were forty or fifty - feet high,
and two in diameter, witlia uniform tufted top;
and the summer green of their beautiful foliage,
with the singing -birds, and the sweet summer
wind, which was whirling about the dry oak
leaves, nearly intoxicated us with delight ; and
we hurried on, filled with excitement, to es
cape entirely from the horrid region of inhos
pitable snow, to the perpetual spring of the
Sacramento.
Witco we had traveled about ten miles.
the valley opened a httle to an oak And pine
bottom, through which ran rivulets closely
bordered with rush, s, on which our half•starv
ed horses fell with avidity ; and here we made
our encampment. Here the roaring torrent
has already, become a river, and we had de
scended with elevation of 3,864 feet.
" Another horse was killed to-night, for
food."
February 25. 26, 27, continued down the
valley of this stream, with comparative com
fort, living on horse or Mule soup. Still the
dangers were not over : one of his men .bm
came " light-headed and wandering," and um
less food could be found for the horses, death
yet hung his gloomy pall over them. While
searching for grass, : a loud shout from Carson
was heard : " Life vet." said he, as he came
up. " life yet—l have found a hill side sprink
led with grass enough for the night.". Three
horses "gave out " that day—the remainder
were conducted to the fund, which had been
found. February 29(11, rested. for the horses
to gain strength, and to recover those that had
failed and strayed. Another man became de
ranged. " The time were severe when - stout
men lost their minds from extremity of suffer
ing—when horses died—and when mules and
horses ready to die of starvation, ivere killed
for food ; yet there was no murmurifigot heel
tation."_ The journey still continued down
the valley of this stream. On the sth March,
Mr. Preuss recovered the camp; after having
been wandering alone for several days. On
the 6:11, the horses had recovered suttreient
strength to carry riders. On that day, they
(that is. the advanced party) reached "Sutter's.
Yet, the joy at the termination of this dread
ful passage of the " Sierra " did not make
Capt. Fremont forget his men. He started
hack the next day. to meet those left behind
under the care of itlr. Fitzpatrick, taking with
him a supply of fresh horses and of provision.
HP met them in two days--a forlorn and OW
hi e sight--.. all on foot—each man, weak and
emaciated, leading a' horse or.mule as weak
and emaciated as himself." Many of.the ani-
Male had fallen over precipices ; among others;
a mule with the plants which had been colter
ted since leaving:. , Fort Hall;" others had
been eaten; so that out of 07, with which the
passage of t h e Sierra "had been commenced,
only 33 had reached the valley of the Serra
memo.... On thmBth cf March the.whole party
were together, near hospitable mansion of
Captain Sinter. Here we ' trill let them rest,
and here, alio we will take some rest ourselves.
ia..4SWERED.—A •yotint wife reinonp
piratedr with her litiabaml. n iliasipated *pen&
thrift: on, bia ennd net:. ...My love." , said -he.
"1 stir , only like the prmligal enm 1 shall rt.;
form by 'and ht," l I will be like the ptodi
g:;l atm. to'h,"'she " for 1 Will arias
intQo,tO, my fail er,"
QvAllT rr7 S.(:rtie pilk.s! , l4lfr gtie,i4ooll
foltiming. Onaintn!y)e : •
'rain' are ea:file:he' apple - ilornplinrii
t holed nni liirget
those .r ' hu' ure''ancliing, the herring bone of
"No 111. is horn irobler 111211 another," lays
Seneca. " ueless he is born' with lietter ably
ties, 'and a more amiable
ME
1 ! '
~~t~31~~3 11~0
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