It was not until so late as 1851 that the feet of a white man ever trod the valley, which for years had proven the secure hiding-place of marauding Indians. In their early battles with the savages, the whites were often nonplussed by the sudden disappearance of their foes, who left no trace behind them, on which occasions, as was afterwards discovered, they fled to the nearly inaccessible Yosemite Valley. Betrayed at last by a treacherous Indian, the tribe was here surprised and nearly all destroyed; the few remaining warriors were only too glad to make terms at any sacrifice. The name Yosemite, in the native tongue, signifies "Great Grizzly Bear." There are few residents in the valley, except those connected with the stages that run hither during the summer months, and with the hotel kept for the accommodation of visitors. The vegetation is remarkable for its profuseness and almost tropical luxuriance. A few domestic cattle find rich browsing and good winter quarters, but provisions must be laid in before the fall is over, the place being inaccessible in winter.
Our last view, on leaving the valley, was at the sheet of water already mentioned as the Bridal Veil, falling from such an immense height that it becomes in its course gauze-like, almost as thin as lace in appearance, notwithstanding its large body, which is evident enough when it reaches the rocky bed and joins the Merced, not far away. Around the base of the cliffs, promoted by the constant moisture, there was an abundant growth of vegetation and especially of ferns, of such size and variety as is seldom seen out of the tropics. An encampment of native Indians was located on the river's bank, under the shade of a grove of trees, adding to the picturesqueness of the scene during our visit. The fish and forest game close at hand afforded these aborigines ample food, besides which they had stored for winter use the acorn crop about them, which when ground makes good bread. They were sad looking creatures, far worse than the Spanish gypsies we afterwards saw in Andalusia. The Merced River, which winds through the valley, rises some twenty miles away towards the north, fed by the Yosemite Fall, a cataract unsurpassed in height by any other upon the globe. The vertical height of the fall is set down at 2,550 feet, though it is not composed of one perpendicular sheet of water. The reader will remember that the lands coming under the general term of the Yosemite Valley have been ceded by the National Government to the State of California, to be kept in its present wild and natural condition for all time. It must not be considered anticipatory, in the course of these notes, to say that in no other part of the world have we seen the natural beauty and grandeur of the Yosemite Valley surpassed.
When we commenced our return from the valley, early in the morning, heavy clouds hung over the mountain tops, but there was no other indication of bad weather; so we started off and struggled upwards with a stout team of six horses, the gentlemen walking to lighten the load and expedite the ascent. At the close of the first hour's progress a chilliness in the atmosphere called for extra clothing for those who remained in the coach, and presently a thin mist enshrouded us, cutting off all distant view. Up, up we plodded, steadily but slowly, until the mist turned to rain and then to hail, sharp and cutting. By the time we had reached Inspiration Point we were in the midst of a lively snow-storm. This was not only disagreeable, but dangerous, as it rendered the road slippery and obliterated the wheel tracks; unless these were carefully adhered to, we might at any moment be launched into the ever-threatening abyss. It was late in the season to attempt the passage, and our party was cautioned as to the risk which was connected with the expedition. The regular stages having been taken off for the season, ours was an extra, improvised for the occasion. Suddenly it began to grow lighter; the dark clouds, like the Arabs, folded their tents, and silently stole away. The sun, the warm, bright, morning sun, shone forth in marvelous splendor.
What a scene then burst upon our vision!
Pine, and fir, and tall spruce, every tree and shrub, in place of leaves, had assumed a dress of milk white feathers. How dazzling it was. The eye could hardly bear the strong reflected light. A forest of feathers! We had never seen this effect in such perfection before. And now the sun, kissing these feathery sprays with warmth and burning ardor, made them blush rosy red, like the cheeks of a young maiden pressed by amorous lips. The feathery robe of the branches was as frail as false modesty, and melted away like good resolutions under strong temptation, so that in half an hour the snow had entirely disappeared wherever the sun had discovered and visited it. The deep green of the uncovered foliage only sparkled with the dewy moisture that was left, as though dropping tears of shame at being thus denuded of their gauzy veil. Never shall we forget the varied and beautiful appearance of the foliage under these rapid changes. It was like a theatrical exhibition, where a nearly transparent scene dissolves before the eyes of the audience. The sky, before so dark and brooding, was now all smiles; the sun, after its dalliance with the foliage, seemed to have taken new life; and the atmosphere even became clear and transparent, as it had hardly been when we came up the other side of the mountain to enter the valley.
For a brief time the views were grand and far-reaching as we sped rapidly on our way, descending towards the plain. Undoubtedly it was safe enough, since accidents seldom happen; but it looked a little careless, to one not accustomed to the road, to come down its narrow winding course, just clearing such frightful chasms, drawn by a team of six horses at the full gallop. By degrees the weather changed again into a sombre mood; the clouds gathered in close array, and began to pelt us, first with hailstones, but, having apparently soon exhausted the supply, were content to soak us with a deluge of water. But we only laughed at this, for had we not accomplished the Yosemite in spite of prognostications to the contrary, and the assurance that it was too late in the season to attempt it? We were rejoiced now that we had not heeded the stories about people who had, in former seasons, been "snowed in" for weeks. It was nearly night when we reached Clark's, and we were in just the condition to appreciate the big fireplace of the sitting-room piled with unsawed cordwood, by which we dried our dripping clothes and rehearsed our experiences.
It not only rained that night, but it poured so that on the following morning, when we started for the Mariposa Grove of Big Trees, twelve miles off our regular route, the query arose whether a boat or a wheeled vehicle was the best conveyance for the purpose. We will not attempt to give a detailed account of what has been so often and so well described. Suffice it to say we visited the locality famous for its forest monarchs, in a quiet glade, thousands of feet up the slopes of the Sierra, and viewed those marvels with none the less interest because we were already familiar with their actual measurement. Our entire team, stage, driver, passengers, and horses, passed through the upright hollow trunk of one of the mammoth trees, which, though sufficiently decayed to admit of this, was still possessed of such vitality as to cause it to bear leaves to the topmost branches, three hundred feet above the ground. Our attention was called to the curious fact, that although these are the largest known trees in the world, yet their cones are no bigger than walnuts, and their seeds hardly a quarter of an inch in length. There are trees lying upon the ground in the immediate neighborhood, thrown down by tempests, which are believed to have been growing on the spot long before Christ first came upon earth, and others which are satisfactorily proven to have had thirteen hundred years' growth, by their clearly defined annual rings. How immense must have been the power required to uproot the huge trunks that lie here and there, like prostrate giants fallen in a confused fight. There are others, white with age, and bearing no leaves, but which still firmly retain their upright position, with outstretched skeleton arms defying the tempest.
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