Prentice Mulford's story: life by land and seaMulford, Prentice
History
Prentice Mulford's story: life by land and sea
Mulford, Prentice
California -- Biography; California -- Description and travel; California -- Gold discoveries; Mulford, Prentice, 1834-1891
December, January, February, and March passed, and we heard nothing from
the great world outside of and below us. We arose in the morning,
cooked, ate our breakfast, got out fencing stuff till dinner time, going
and returning from our work on snowshoes, and digging in the snow a pit
large enough to work in. We ate our noon beans, returned to work, skated
back to the house by half-past two to get in firewood for the night,
and at half-past three or four the dark winter’s day was over, and we
had fifteen hours to live through before getting the next day’s meagre
allowance of light, for Eureka Valley is a narrow cleft in the mountains
not over a quarter of a mile in width, and lined on either side by
ridges 1,500 to 2,000 feet in height. The sun merely looked in at the
eastern end about nine <small>A.M.</small>, said “good day,” and was off again. We
rolled in sufficient firewood every night to supply any civilized family
for a week. Two-thirds of the caloric generated went up our chimney. It
did not have far to go, either. The chimney was very wide and very low.
At night a person unacquainted with the country might have tumbled into
the house through that chimney. The winds of heaven did tumble into it
frequently, scattering ashes and sometimes cinders throughout the
domicil. Sometimes they thus assailed us while getting breakfast. We
consumed ashes plentifully in our breakfasts; we drank small charcoal in
our coffee; we found it in the bread. On cold mornings the flapjacks
would cool on one side ere they were baked on the other. A warm meal was
enjoyed only by placing the tin coffee-cup on the hot coals after
drinking, and a similar process was necessary with the other viands. The
“other viands” were generally bread, bacon, beans, and beef. It was
peculiar beef. It was beef fattened on oak leaves and bark. Perhaps some
of you California ancients may recollect the two consecutive rainless
summers of “’63” and “’64,” when tens of thousands of cattle were driven
from the totally dried-up plains into the mountains for feed.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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