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1 
 
 
 i>-' 
 
 1 
 
 Ihf If Mil of liskiuou. 
 
 J 
 
 — OR- 
 
 ^iui©e;-0rd J[|)eR. 
 
 A Story of the "Lost Cabin" P'ound, the 
 
 Fountain of Perpetual Youth 
 
 Revived etc. 
 
 By L. W^. iVIUSICK:. 
 
 Published from the office of the 
 Crescent City News. 
 
 Cres(^ent City, Del Norte County, 
 California. 
 
 -1896. 
 
 
 <S 
 
 ^ 
 
 


r--^*_ 
 
 T6 3S'- 
 
 «c=— >^=:r=y5. 
 
 Entered according to Act of Congress, in 
 
 the Office of the Librarian of Congress, 
 
 Washington, D. C, in the year A. D. One 
 
 Thousand Eight Hundred and Ninety-six. 
 
 BY 
 
 L. W. JVIUSICK, 
 
 ■^^=^: 
 
 ALL KIGHTS RESKRVED. 
 


PREFACE. 
 
 The Hermit of Siskiyou is designed 
 (aside from tJie presentation of a readable 
 story) to aid in the perpetuation of some of 
 the quaint legends that have become in a 
 degree historical ot the region represented ; 
 and though the narrative is intended to be 
 self-supporting, it is deenjed but fairly con- 
 sistent to otier therewith a more detailed 
 >tatement of the accumulated evidences of 
 its groiU)dwork. 
 
 There is a distinctive grandeur and di- 
 versity of scenery within tlie Siskiyou range 
 of mountains that affords to the bordering 
 counties— Del Norte, Humboldt and Siski- 
 you, of northein California, and Josephine 
 and Jackson, of southern Oregon — a back- 
 ground of wild and remantic splendor. 
 
 Snow crested and sun-girt, niajestically 
 stands the gray old dome, the sentinel of 
 


neigli boring comnionwealtlis and arbiter of 
 their respective jurisdictions. Bluffly she 
 casts her iuorning prohle upon the western 
 sea, and with greeting to the rising' sun, her 
 massive form substitute-^ the brief interval 
 between the Sierra and Cascade ranges, as if 
 to share with thera the gravid burden of 
 the great Jakes thus pent of their anxious 
 fiow toward the Pacihc and, as well, to as- 
 sist in staying the border ot the immense 
 plateau that bears upon the easterly slope of 
 this grand convention of mountain ranges. 
 
 Not alone upon lier cragged exterior is 
 the marvelous wealth of her wonders recog- 
 nized and appreciated. Her immense cav- 
 erns, ot recent discovery, already rival in 
 extent and magnificence the great Mam- 
 nioth Cave of Kentucky, and will doubtless 
 alibrd the scene of tiie world's greatest fu- 
 ture subterranean exploration and develop- 
 ment. 
 
 In some instances, where otherwise tlie 
 subject uiatter miglit seem occult to any but 
 the Iccal reader, reference is made to an 
 appendix, designed to supply such infor- 
 mation. The hryt of these embraces a sub- 
 stantial claim for some place on Mount Sis- 
 kiyou, or wilhin its immediate burmund- 
 ings, as the probable lociation of the world- 
 famed ''Lost Cabin." * 
 
 * See N(.te Two, Appeiwlix. 
 


If in any degree the "Hermit's Story" 
 subserves the purpose of directing attention 
 to the many deserving features of the dis- 
 trict mainly presented, the patriotic en- 
 deavor of the writer will have been fully 
 recompensed and his most extra vegant 
 hope realized. 
 
 Trustful of a generous forbearance, is re- 
 spectfully subscribed 
 
 The Authos. 
 








INDEX. 
 
 PAGE, 
 
 Introduction, 5. 
 
 Interlude, (1st) 11. 
 
 Hermit's Story, 12. 
 
 Interlide, (2nd) 35. 
 
 Story Kesumeo, 40. 
 
 Sequel, 72. 
 
 Appendix, 75, 
 








flic lerait of lishiuou. 
 
 A .Story of the "Lost Cabin" Found, the 
 
 Fountain of Perpetual Youth 
 
 Kevivep, etc. 
 
 INT^RODUCTTION. 
 
 I. 
 
 ^^HE sotting sun was glint the breast 
 {^ Of iMonnt Siskiyou, from whose crest 
 
 T VVus rifted on the scene below 
 ISefiections of its virgin snow, 
 As cadence from Orphean Jiarp, 
 Keverted from some cranny, sharp, 
 That floats in twilight's gentle glow 
 With measured accent, faint and slow. 
 


6 
 
 And on the tops of giant trees, 
 Stirred lightly hy the straying breeze, 
 A radiance as of burnished gold 
 Was clinging to each branch and fold ; 
 While in the vale and canyon, deep, 
 The shades of night began to creep. 
 
 II. 
 
 Keposing in a pleasant glade, 
 Beneath the hemlock's ample siiade, 
 A cam])tire's cheerlnl, rudtly ra.y 
 Consumed the waning light of day. 
 As if. in in,iniature, to gain 
 TheconqUest otOid Sol's domain. 
 
 III. 
 
 Prospectors were they wlio thus hadniade 
 The hre to burn within the glade; 
 And 'round its cheer-inspiiiiig blaze, 
 With story of long by-gone days, 
 Discoursed they of each hopeful theme 
 Whereof, perchance, might lend a gleam 
 Of ligiit ui)on a thing obscure; 
 Or, of some charm, the gods allui-e 
 And, peradventure, gain their heed 
 And counsel — then of i;reat need. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Some busy wero with all the ends 
 Of camp ecpiipnient, such as tends 
 To corporeal needs, when are required 
 As Ppu or .Mori:)heus have inspired. 
 


7- 
 
 V. 
 
 Yet one, of no such menial zest, 
 deemed quire content himself to rest; - 
 Save that his cliin, with endless wag, 
 Was prone to chat, and even brag 
 Of what he knew of things, galore. 
 And what he'd heard long years before 
 Of treasure found and lost again — 
 And he, perhaps, the only man 
 Witliin the world's profound embrace 
 Wlio could divine itshitlingphice. 
 
 VI. 
 
 "Now, men," s;.id lie, "just hearken to 
 My candid words and counsel true: 
 Perhaps you're acquainted with 
 Tiie story — some call it a myth — 
 Of how. in i)rimal "days of gold," 
 Was louud a mine of wealth untold — 
 Upon the earth all scattered 'round— 
 And that the party who thus found 
 J'idtake tiiereof their hearts' content 
 And from the place forever went; 
 Nor lias it been tlie lot of man 
 To gaze upon that s])Ot again. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Yet wliile soJQurning at the mine, 
 A hut they built, trom logs of pine, 
 That in its fastness and alone 
 As the J^ost Cabin still is known. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Some thiidc it cpiite remote frc>m here, 
 


B 
 
 Yet, (though to you it may seem queer,) 
 I'll tell jou or a legend true 
 That claims it for Old Siskiyou ; 
 As will, I trust, in time he found 
 Within the region here around. 
 And 1 would turther say — but, liark ! 
 A footstep! and t)ie watchdog's bark! 
 
 IX. 
 
 Through mingled light of fire anri sun 
 
 Was ])rotiled on the horiaon 
 
 A form so grand and marked of age 
 
 As reverence to at once engage 
 
 With great surpri5^e and wonderment 
 
 Of wheiice he came— of what intent. 
 
 X. 
 
 Within decorous distance, he 
 Obeisance made, vvith courtesy ; 
 And baring, then, his hoary head. 
 In voice sepulchral thus he said: 
 
 XI. 
 
 "Friends: If thus to you I may indite 
 M\ counsel, be ware of your plight! 
 Seek ye not m my domain 
 Augiit oi' repose until you gain 
 Of one wiio, of a prior claim, 
 J lath preference and right to nanie 
 The conditions upon which you 
 May prospect on Old Siskiyou. 
 XII. 
 
 It is a fact I well divine 
 


9 
 
 That 3^ou are seeking here a mine 
 
 Of wondrous wealth and ancient fame; 
 
 And of that goal seek I, the same. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Fn"st, hear my story, then decide 
 'Tvvixt life and death; for woe-betide 
 Is he who seeks, without consent, 
 Upon these grounds to pitch liis tent. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Perhaps you've heard of Old I'rench Hill — * 
 
 Ol those in past, and even still, 
 
 Who're nuuiLercd with the dead or lost— 
 
 A region not le.note, but crossed 
 
 By magic line, vvhereuf is bound 
 
 Tne confines of enchanted ground. 
 
 Know yel that of the pastdecade, 
 
 That from that lonely liill have strayed 
 
 Of luirdy miners quite a score — 
 
 Xor will return for e�rmore. 
 
 XV. 
 
 1 come not, thouuli, with threat' ning rage; 
 
 ±>ut of true kindness, to presage 
 
 The evils tiint must fall in train. 
 
 And eflbrts that must ]>rove quite vain, 
 
 I'ldess with purpose in accord 
 
 With charms wit inn my knowledge stored, 
 
 * Sec Note Two, Apj)endix. 
 


lO 
 
 The Fates have willed it thus to be; 
 If not observed, doomed, then are ye. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 That you, each one, I may impress — 
 I.est of grave laws j^ou should transgress- 
 Take ye from tliis faltering hand 
 This little stone — a talisman. 
 It will immunity assure 
 And from the Fates at once secure 
 The fiafhts that tliey are wont to own 
 Inherent m this precious stone. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Keceive ye now the charm 'twill lend, 
 And from each one past? to your friend. 
 Thus will oar friendship be made whole 
 And thus our efforts for the goal 
 Be rendered of account the best; 
 As will my story soon attest — 
 Related now, as best I can, 
 The memories of a twice-old man. 
 
 


11 
 
 xG^-a 
 
 (s^ 
 
 (ilNTERLUDE,^ 
 
 m UK red li^ht of the pitch-pine tire 
 
 iSJade ample cheer for all. 
 And around its radiant spire 
 
 A distant sable wall; 
 Beneath whose seeming- canopy 
 
 Was spread iiiion the ground 
 A rude repast, of plenary-, 
 
 And all were gathered 'round. 
 
 {£JlTHIN the circle, by request, 
 
 An<l at the festal board, 
 The venerable and aged guest — 
 
 Of friendship thus assured — 
 Began the story of his lives 
 
 With all the amplitude 
 Of one who in earnest strives 
 
 To be well understood. 
 
 ■ a>^x^^gX><« 
 


12 
 
 The Hermit's Story, 
 
 I. 
 
 ^^ HE wondrous things 1 have in store 
 ^j Date from a time long years before 
 f All men, save L, now on the earth 
 Had knowledge oi, or even birth. 
 Of fact, my youth and native place 
 Of consequence haveno embrace; 
 jSor has my humble cognomen 
 Of great import that you should ken; 
 ►Save, that "Old Hermit," now applied, 
 JNIaj', of uood fortune, soon deride 
 The one who thus denominates. 
 It is a caprice of the Fates 
 To change within the briefest time 
 The aged to tiieir youth and prime. 
 
 II. 
 
 Then, if to me you deign to call, 
 I answer to the name ol Paul; 
 


13 
 
 But those wlio would of favor gain 
 Address me as ''Sir Paul De Paj'ne." 
 
 Ill, 
 
 Of date mj' nieni'ry server uie poor; 
 Though, of event, i am quite sure 
 'Tvvas while there raged most fearful strife 
 With brand and blade and scalping knife- 
 Yet known as Kir.g George's War— 
 ]'"r(.ni whieli I trace tlie titful star 
 Thus far my wand'ring stej)S to guide — 
 With clianging !?ceueat every stride — 
 Till now I dwell within a cave, 
 Which tlireatens to become my grave; 
 Tliere, ^^heltered frcmthe winds and rain, 
 To bleach the bones of Paul De Payne. 
 Yet of the future's woe or weal, 
 Kor of the pre>ent, shall I deal; 
 Until my lite from early date 
 I trace unto its present ;-iate. 
 
 IV. 
 
 SUitice it that my story tells 
 In briefe^^t w ay, nor even dwells 
 Upon that one great theme of life — 
 The gaining of a faithful wife — 
 That briefly of it now' I'll say: 
 She whom I loved was Lena K.aj% 
 
 V. 
 
 Let hard anrl poet rhyme and sing 
 


14: 
 
 The rapturous tlienie. its cuarni, its ::'ting, 
 And romance make of wondrous fame — 
 VVheieof. included, ours tlie same. 
 
 VI. 
 
 I wooed to win, and winning, wed; 
 And by the stars now overhead 
 That radiate ]jerpetuall\', 
 ISo judge ye of our constancy. 
 
 VII. 
 
 But sadly must I now relate 
 Of joys so brief and sorrows great; 
 For scarce one mouth had we been wed 
 Wlien terror o'er the land was spread: 
 From (ireat Britain and old France — 
 From o'er the seas — did strife advance, 
 That grounded on colonial shore 
 With clash ol arms and cannoji's roar. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And savage tribes with glowing braird, 
 With tomahawk and knife in hand — 
 Witii javelin and ber^dod bow 
 And painted face of warlike show — 
 Did ally of the Freiu'h p.-eieiid, 
 Thougli, as ol'foe, sraied r.ot the fViend. 
 
 IX, 
 
 OfpatieTiCe, and luUiring hand, 
 Had I a home in Marvland, 
 


15 
 
 Of rustic style and sculpture rude; 
 Hewn from the native forest wcod. 
 
 X, 
 
 Of changing- rule did I then stand 
 
 An alien, in my uative land ; 
 
 The subject of a regal crown"— 
 
 ]Sor of its favor had renown. 
 
 And thus did 1 the more expose 
 
 Myself, than others, friends or toes, 
 
 To savage warfare and the torch, 
 
 Oi which my flesh was made to scorch. 
 
 Xf. 
 
 For soon there came upon the fanu, 
 AN'ilhin tiie night, the hie's alarm; 
 And as it cast its warning blaze, 
 Astonished, and with frenzied daze. 
 Was 1 taken Irom my bed, 
 And to a woodland nearbj led; 
 And pinioned was I to a tree 
 From whence I could not fail to see 
 The iiames around our cottage burn; 
 Xor less the fearful i-ight discern 
 01 savages, with fiendish laugh, 
 Thru.st in the tlames my better-half. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And i<indlcd at my feet had they 
 A tire that blazed with scorching ray; 
 Yet with their orgies 'round the fiie, 
 That seemed to be a funeral ]>yre. 
 


16 
 
 The wretches were rheniore intent, 
 And, of the time, from me they wenr; 
 When on a gh~)wiiig window shiried 
 A form angeiic, pantomimed; 
 And ere the flames had hvpped between, 
 Of farewell gesture had I rieen. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Tlien praying God to make m.e strong, 
 J surged against ajid broke the thong 
 Tliat hound my arras aronrid the tree; 
 Then loosed the others, and was free. 
 "Bat, oh, the word — what mockery! 
 How undefii";ed is liberty! 
 
 xn'. 
 
 Beyond the hope of liuman strife 
 A'Vas it to save more than my life; 
 Nor of avail was it to stay, 
 "jSor less of dread to run away. 
 Yet fear oft times the heart beguiles 
 With franticness or groundle; s wiles; 
 Xo joy behind nor hoiie ahead. 
 Into tlie darkness then I fled. 
 
 ::v. 
 
 Through copse and ghide and glen I went, 
 V7ith scarce a purpose or intent — 
 Throughout the night and tlicn theda}^ — 
 Till readied the MonongaiieJa; 
 Where Indian boat I found there moored, 
 Replete with all eqipments stored 
 


17 
 
 For voyage of days, or weeks perhaps, 
 Consisting of provisions, traps, 
 Bows, arrows, gun and deadly spear; 
 Mor owner of did there appear. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Of consequence yon well may gness, 
 No scruples had 1 to ])Ossess 
 The ready craft, with its cargo. 
 And down the river swiftly row; 
 Wlien on its winding way I steered — 
 Nor of its course cared I, nor feared; 
 But wildly onward was my theme 
 fleedless of whither went the stream. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 Not then, as now, was there extant 
 
 The knowledge of the late savant 
 
 Of books and charts that bear attest 
 
 Of wonders in the great wide-west; 
 
 Nor of the then existing lore 
 
 Had 1 of learning much in store; 
 
 And of the river's source and trend 
 
 I knew not whence, nor where 'twould end. 
 
 Grave night its sable cast had spread 
 
 Around, about and overhead; 
 
 And though from danger more secure, 
 
 Of spectre foes there were full more. 
 
 xvni. 
 
 The bravest heart oft dreads the liight 
 


IS 
 
 And from its phantoms takes ati'riglitj 
 And of the awe, inspiring show 
 Forgets the threat'ning real foe. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 T!ie dense nocturnal atmospliere 
 
 JMade gurgling stream with voice appear. 
 
 And e'en the firefly's tiny spark 
 
 A lamp light in the distant dark ; 
 
 And when on liglit of real blaze 
 
 i\ly eyes were fixed witli wondering gaze, 
 
 It was witJi hope to meet with friend; 
 
 Though fears my longings would attend 
 
 Lest savage hands had made the ttre 
 
 And savage liearts were iarkins there. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Day had dawned, and with it came 
 Assurance more and scenes more tame; 
 But of account was it to make 
 Assurance sure, and thus to take 
 Within the day, ensconced, to sJeep, 
 And through the night my wand' rings keep ; 
 And suiting action to tlie thouglit, 
 My boat was then to anchor brought. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Through interstice of drooping bough 
 With stealth i shoved mv In-ave canoe. 
 Where, sheltered near the wooded bank, 
 Into dee]) shtmbcr soon I said^;. 
 


19 
 
 And 111 my boat, as also, bed, 
 I slept as sleep the long'-past dead; 
 And when awaked, it yet was day; 
 Thongii, of a truth I cannot say — 
 Nor ever will be ascertained — 
 If DAY, or DAYS, liaa intervened, 
 
 XXII. 
 
 The clear blue sk,y first met my gaze 
 Through emerald sheen of leafy haze, 
 W^ith twig of elm tree interwove; 
 And birds there sang of joy and love. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 All round me seemed a paradise, 
 VVith nauglit remiss of good device; 
 And though aroused to conscii^usness 
 Of what had been my grave distress, 
 And round my heart its horors ci'ept, 
 I knew no: if I swooned or slej;>t, 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Yet half iicrsiuided to be glad 
 Then was I, of a vision had, 
 While as, ])erhai)S, within a trance. 
 That gave to me foretelling glance 
 Of things not ol the mind's accord— 
 Nor yet so vague as ought discard. 
 
 XXV, 
 
 And stirring, then, my visiiin ^eenled 
 


20 
 
 As tbongli I had but only dreamed; 
 Yet, still, within my secret mind, 
 The hope of something-, undetined, 
 (xave strength ot will and courage, bold. 
 To live the life in dream foretold. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Then came the time wJien sedate owl 
 Goes forth from nest, the woods to prowl; 
 And bat lot loose from hanging perch 
 Sets forth upon his night's research; 
 And robber, from his secret den, 
 To slaj^ and rob his teliowmen. 
 Tiiough not of purpose as with them. 
 My boat I launched into the stream; 
 And once again within its fllovv, 
 Sped onward, to the Ohio. 
 
 XXV n. 
 
 And now suffice it tliat, in brief, 
 I trace that stream to its relief 
 Within the Mississippi tide, 
 And <3f the then eventful ride 
 State, only, that succeeding daj^'s 
 Were fraught with all the stern amaze 
 That e'er adventure served to thrill 
 The song of bard or poet's quill. 
 xlnd there wliere jueer, with one assent, 
 The waters of a continent, 
 Rode 1, at the dawn of day. 
 Upon its swift and turbid way. 
 


21 
 
 "Father of Waters" was the name 
 That Indian tribes gave it, of fame, 
 And of tlie stream — its every branch — 
 Of sole dominion claimed the French. 
 
 XXVllI. 
 
 Then driftnig down with will intent 
 To cross the stream ere far I went, 
 <)f chanct I met a small bateau 
 With Frenchmen at the helm and row. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 JJeliverance was at once assured, 
 
 And boat to boat then fast secured, 
 
 And story briefly told, I fell 
 
 Prostrate, and o'er. me came a spell, 
 
 A dream or \ ision as before; 
 
 xVnd seemed there Irom the splashing oar 
 
 To cornea gentle, mellow voice 
 
 That bade my weary soid rejoice. 
 
 XXX. 
 
 The past and future, to my mind. 
 Were, with the present, then combined: 
 I saw cliff'-dweliers on the shore, 
 And mound-l)ui}ders-, as of yore; 
 And, on the dark and turbid flow, 
 b'orfns bent o'er the dead De Soto; 
 And then, beneath the darkling wave, 
 Beheld Ue Soto's humid grave; 
 WTien, of a sudden changing sheen, 
 I met the maid Evangeline 
 


Who once sought there, with hopeful spell, 
 Again to hnd her Gabriel. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And then, anon, I met a boat 
 That seemed a paradise, afloat. 
 With cloud-like vapor streaming back 
 And people crowded on her deck. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 (.Treat cities thronged on either shore— 
 And then there came a fearful war, 
 Ai:d iron boats were made to float; 
 And many things of wondrous note 
 Before me came while m my trance; 
 r>ut great of all, I ween, per ciiance, 
 At least, within my own attest. 
 The voice that counseled me: "(lo west." 
 
 XXXIIl. 
 
 And when awakened from my dream 
 We nianj" miles were up the stream. 
 And, halting by the wooded shore, 
 Our goods ))roceeded to unsture. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 And on the bank a village stood. 
 Where cast the shade of cotton wood 
 With sycamore and poplar tree, 
 And feathered choir of oichestra 
 Discoursed from lofty, siiellered hoWer 
 


S3 
 
 With melody to charm the hour, 
 
 xxxv. 
 
 With cottages, a few, and rude, 
 
 And wigwams m disorder strewed, 
 
 The scene appeared distracted of 
 
 A primal try sting-place of love; 
 
 Though warm of heart were those who gave 
 
 To me of cheer and i^mdly lave; 
 
 And Indian rivaled with the white 
 
 Of merest wliim to expedite. 
 
 Until decided was I to 
 
 Kemain witli them m friendship true. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 And pai'ties fortli were sent, afar, 
 
 To aid their allies in tiie war; 
 
 And deeds of Jiorror to relate 
 
 Were reckoned of the war's estate — 
 
 When ironi tlie distant Orient 
 
 CaniP story of grave discontent* 
 
 That in a region far and strange— 
 
 And past tlie Ailegliany range — 
 
 Had brave Choctaws gone forth to tight 
 
 And stormed a farm-house in the night, 
 
 And, "deed of valor" to proclaim, 
 
 A helpless v^'omyn cast in tlame; 
 
 Though ol a man, wliom they had bound, 
 
 Plscape had made, nor yet was found. 
 
 XXXV 11. 
 
 Then (.'ame the soldiers of King George 
 


24: 
 
 And, of their vengefulr.ess to gorge, 
 Pursued the braves, then in their tiight, 
 iSnrprising them within the night 
 When tliey had halted ]iear the shore 
 Where left their boat some days before-- 
 Though when returned no boat appeared, 
 Winch of escape then interfeied. 
 
 XXXVIIi. 
 
 Then swooped the soldiers of the Crown 
 And, without mercy, cut them down, 
 6ave one w^ho plunged into the tide 
 And crossed it to the other side, 
 And homeward witli the news to tell 
 And dire revenge to stir, as well, 
 f^ped onward as the tieeting roe 
 And fiercely as the buffalo. 
 
 XXXI X. 
 
 Then burrying scenes of men and boats, 
 And piercing cries of warlike notes 
 Were on the earth and in the air 
 And life pervading everywhere; 
 And then the capering �arrior dance 
 Of those equipped for its advance. — 
 All painted and of frightful show- 
 As if to scare away the foe. 
 
 XL. 
 
 And .Frenchmen wondered with alarm 
 At signs portentious of great harm : 
 


26 
 
 N o longer in the war conclave 
 Were they permitted with the "brave;" 
 When day by day the cleft between 
 Was wider made and plainer seen. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 And then with language stern and brief- 
 As emissary of the Chief — 
 Appeared a stoic savage face 
 At front of my abiding place, 
 Demanding of the French inmates 
 The stranger then within their gates. 
 
 XLII. 
 
 "For well we know," said he, "of fact, 
 'Twas of this man's unfriendl}^ act 
 That our brave comrades, ten in all. 
 Of heartless foe were made to fall — 
 Bare one escaping, and he, who 
 >sow recognizes their canoe 
 As of identity the same 
 With that in whicli the "pale-face" canie- 
 The selfsame man who, once their prize, 
 Made safe escape before their eyes. 
 
 XLIII 
 
 Now" mark ye of this grave demand, 
 Nor dare attempt to stay the hand 
 That springs the bow its shaft to speed 
 And cause the faithless heart to bleed. 
 


S6 
 
 XLiV. 
 
 liemember too, thatot our tribe 
 The foiest leaves are made describe 
 Our numbers, and of oar prowess 
 The tribes around are made confess; 
 But of the i-i^rench, though valiant too. 
 Of warriors have they but a few. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Then hasten ye to give consent, 
 Or else to scorn our discontent, 
 That, of decision, we may know 
 If to regard you friend or foe." 
 
 XLXL 
 
 Then spoke the chieftain of his clan : 
 
 And, cunningl.y, the shrewd Frenchman 
 
 Made bold to say in tirm accent: 
 
 ''Of your demand am I content 
 
 To give this man unto his fate 
 
 And of his crime to expiaie — 
 
 Wlio of my kindred claimed to be, 
 
 Yet proves our common er.eniy. 
 
 TliDUgh of this life by you required 
 
 Allow me, of the end desired. 
 
 To arrange in lull detail 
 
 A novel plan that cannot fail. 
 
 xirx'ii. 
 
 For yet three days of vengeance stayed 
 Trust to jnv care, nor be afraid 
 


- 2T 
 
 Le«t he escape, which to secure, 
 1 pledge my life that he appear 
 At place affixed and at the time 
 To expiate his awful crime. 
 
 XLVIIl, 
 
 Within the time will I prepare 
 
 An ensign, and with colors rare, 
 
 A faithful likeness make thereon 
 
 To represent his heart of stone; 
 
 And to his bear back will 1 bind 
 
 The effigy, with will designed 
 
 To mark the place whereat converge 
 
 The life streams in their constant surge. 
 
 XLIX.' 
 
 And ten best archers in the land 
 We'll station at a proper stand — 
 One to avenge each wari'ior slain— 
 To pierce the heart of Paul DePayne; 
 Who face toward the setting sun 
 Ten paces otf, prepared to run, 
 h:^ha!l thei'c await word of command 
 To save his life, if so he can. 
 
 L. 
 
 And archer with his Ijow and dart 
 Shall aim directly at the heart, 
 And each that strikes the bounds within 
 Shall beads and blanket from me win. 
 


28 
 
 LI. 
 
 "Good. " saith tJie eniissarj' brave: 
 '•If through such ordeal he can save 
 His guilty life, we'll saj' 'tis charnied; 
 For since he ran away unharmed 
 From hre prepared for him a roast, 
 Some even now think him a ghost. 
 Though, hit or miss, I'm pledged with you 
 This novel plan to carry through 
 liemember, too, my words are deeds — 
 Also the BLANKETS and the beads." 
 
 Lir. 
 
 When gone was he, the sly Frenchman 
 Kevealed to me his cunning plan — 
 And this the plan to me reveaJed: 
 That ensign be, as well; a shield ; 
 And that wheji fastened to my back 
 Of streng-th and hrmness would not lack 
 To break the yjointed arrowhead 
 And sta}^ the missile at me sped. 
 
 LIII. 
 
 A-ud of ttiose archers did he know 
 Their great expertness with the bow, 
 And that the heart they'd pierce full well 
 As was the apple pierced by Tell. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 The time arrived, and— "one, two, three!" 
 Off went DePayne, straight as a bee. 
 


29 
 
 L\. 
 
 ''Snap" went ten bows with one accord; 
 And in the heart ten arrows stored; 
 But naught of Ditierence to DePaynne 
 Save impetus, his speed to gain. 
 
 LVl. 
 
 Tlien safe within designed retreat 
 Where, of appointment, was to meet 
 With aid and comfort from my friends- 
 Gun, ammunition, odds and ends — 
 I waited patientij^ till came 
 The messenger, and of the same 
 I learned that quiet was restored 
 And greatest friendship then assured : 
 Ten blankets and the beads, foretold, 
 Had settled for ten warriors bold, 
 
 LVll. 
 
 lietore me lay the wilderness, 
 And of its wonders to possess' 
 Was I an exile from the land 
 Whereof against me every hand. 
 As was, of old, with xAdam's Cain 
 80 was it then with Paul DePayne. 
 
 LVIIi, 
 
 With friends reduced to, singly, one, 
 And that my ever trusted gun. 
 On it relied 1 for supplies 
 Of commissary, and likewise, 
 For all i»r(itection on my way 
 


30 
 
 From Indians and from beasts of prey, 
 
 LIX. 
 
 No purpose iiad 1, well defined, 
 Save former scenes to leave behind; 
 And cautiously, foes to avoid, 
 I westward then my course deployed. 
 
 LX. 
 
 (3ne scene described, describes a score: 
 
 it was adventure o'er and o'er 
 
 With savage beasts and savage men, 
 
 As past the wigwam or the den 
 
 My course oft times was wont to stray — 
 
 Sometimes at night, sometimes by day. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 But I am dwelling far too long 
 
 'Pon iu'-ideiits that ever throng 
 
 The mem'ries of that fearful time 
 
 And with my story bearing chinie; 
 
 Though pardon me of one that bears 
 
 Upon the subject of our cares: 
 
 'Twas near a stream now known as Platte- 
 
 And ne'er was wilder scene than that. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 First came a deep and sullen roai-, 
 iis breakers on a distant shore; 
 And then, aijon, as rushing storm 
 And thunderbolt, of fierce alarm, 
 There crashing came from o'er the plain 
 


31 
 
 Al rumbling, of stiil wilder strain. 
 
 LXIII. 
 
 And, casting far toward the north, 
 A dark cloud moved upon the'earth, 
 And, with my camp direct in course, 
 Came with the speed of running horse. 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Then closer drawn, and seen quite plain, 
 Were heads and horns, ot: furious mien; 
 And straight they came as arrow shoots, 
 A living sea of maddened brutes, 
 From whose escape did hope then seem 
 The phantom of a nightmare dream. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 But soon tlie tirst, witli snort and bound, 
 
 [Shied at my camp, to go around; 
 
 x'ind, as the leader, so the herd: 
 
 Each that followed shied and veered 
 
 Ajid left me fast within the tiow 
 
 Of frantic, bellowing buffalo, 
 
 As island in a swollen stream 
 
 That threatens o'er its banks to teem. 
 
 LXVl. 
 A moment then an age appeared, 
 As onward moved the countless herd. 
 And when the train, at length, had passed, 
 With wonderment, I stood aghast 
 To see near by upon the plain 
 


32 
 
 An Indian, and the brnte he'd slain; 
 And yet another disengage 
 From out the lierd, with frighiful rage, 
 As, wounded with the spear or bow, 
 He sought the vauquishnient oi' loe. 
 
 i.XVII. 
 
 The Indian, tliough a stalwart "l)rave," 
 To valor then discretion gave: 
 To run he thought the wiser plan, 
 A:.d, face-about, the race began. 
 At running lie was far from slcnv, 
 Though fleeter, still, the butialo, 
 
 LXVIII. 
 
 'Twixt heels antl liornsthe s]»ace decliised 
 Till scarce a perch the liorn.s belimd. 
 Theri leveled 1 my gun, with aim. 
 And, hriiig quick, In-oUKht down the game. 
 
 I.XIX. 
 
 The red-man with amazement turn-ed, 
 Whereof by him Aas I discerned — 
 Who then approE.ched me and expressed 
 With si^ns and n otions, suited best, 
 His gratitude for what I'd ckme: 
 Then pointed he toward the sun 
 And, of the gestnres that he wrought, 
 Betokened ot iiis favor bought. 
 As by that orb, it> warmth, its light. 
 Proclaimed he of his lieart aright 
 


33 
 
 And, of true kindness more to own, 
 Made present of this little stone. 
 Whereof is sealed our friendship now-- 
 Nor e'er was stronger plighted vow, 
 
 LXX. 
 
 And then, of gesture aptly made, 
 To iollow him he kindly bade, 
 When o'er the plain, together, we 
 Strode onward to his rancheria, 
 Where found I, to my great relief, 
 My friend none other than the Chief, 
 Who of his subjects bade them go 
 And bring in camp the buffalo; 
 When, of the slain and roasted beast, 
 Was changed a funeral to a feast, 
 At which attended, with good cheer, 
 The tribe around, from far and near; 
 And of each honored royal guest 
 Had 1 of favor more attest. 
 Whereof, to me, it was quite plain 
 The Chieftain wished me to remaiii 
 With him. And, wearj' of my tramp, 
 Decided I there to encamp. 
 And duty, first, myself prescribe 
 To learn the language of the tribe. 
 
 LXXI. 
 
 Of this decision 1 essaj'ed 
 
 With sign and grimace and cherade 
 


To then make known unto my friend. 
 Who seemed at once to understand, 
 And, understanding, gave consent- 
 Inviting me into his tent. 
 
 LXXII. 
 
 He then, of gesture as foretold, 
 Me introduced to his household, 
 And thus of duties did assign : 
 His daughter, teacher — pupil, mine. 
 
 Lxxni. 
 
 Here, friends, forgive me of the pause, 
 For language fails me when of squaws 
 1 would for charms invoke the muse: 
 Permit me time my words to choose. 
 
 LXXIV. 
 
 The hour is late, tlie fire burns low; 
 Now to my cavern shall 1 go. 
 And on the morrow, with (Tod's will. 
 Return, my promise t<t fulfill. 
 


35 
 
 INTERLUDE. 
 
 ^i'' those encamped upon the hill. 
 Were Pete and Mike and Jack and Bill- 
 All Crefescent City men — 
 Besides a tifth one, called "The Squire,"* 
 Who busied was to stir the tire, 
 
 And, ot the meanwhile, then, 
 The others of opinion dared, 
 While yet the Squire was unprepared. 
 
 'Tvvas not kis tactics ever, though, 
 
 To give opinion tirst; 
 But wlien of Others all to know 
 
 His then he gave — reversed. 
 
 * See Note Three, Appendix. 
 


36 
 
 Said Pete, "1 thin^ we're being bored; 
 Nor ol" the time can we affV»rd 
 
 To list the niore from Paul DePayne. 
 "That's my opinion too," said Bill; 
 •*1 think he's giving us a till 
 
 Of words entirely vain 
 Of our purpose now to hnd 
 The old cabin where they mined 
 In early day, 
 Now lost, they say." 
 And Mike, with acquiescence, said: 
 ''The old man has wheels in his head." 
 
 And Jack did of opinion join, 
 But said he had more time than coin 
 And, if the man cared to proceed, 
 It was HIS will to give him heed. 
 
 Again the tire gave forth its glow, 
 That on the curtained branches low, 
 Of tamarack and hr and spruce, 
 Was, of etfulgence, made produce 
 The scenes with which, of fantacy, 
 The mind regales its imagery. 
 


37 
 
 And then the Squire, with loaded pipe, 
 And self-prepared wheieof to "swipe".* 
 The laurels tliat of fortune crown 
 The story-teller of renown, 
 
 He thus began: 
 "Why! men," said he, "'tis my surprise 
 To hear you fellows speak thuswise 
 
 About t!ie man. 
 
 I've heard of Paul DePayne before, 
 And of his story am quite sure 
 That 'twill of piiri^ose yet attain 
 To give us knowledge not in vain. 
 
 You may have heard the story, too, 
 Of how, upon Mount 8isi?iyou, 
 Was seen an ape, or spook, or tramp. 
 In region near to Happy Camp — * 
 
 Some years gone bj^ — 
 That was of stature taller than 
 The ordinary height of man — 
 WJio fed on berries, roots and brouse, 
 Nor, of abode, had tent or house, 
 
 And from whose eye 
 There gleamed the tierceness of the beast 
 
 * Appropriated from local slaug. 
 t See Note Four, Appendix. 
 


38 
 
 That, thwarted of voracious feast, 
 VV'itli sullenness, feigns to retire 
 Far in the jungle, to his lair; 
 Though loiters near his wanted prey 
 Till eiieni}^ hath gone away. 
 
 The same it is who now appears, 
 Divested of all former fears, 
 And seltishness, as well, subdued, 
 Lest others ol his rights intrude — 
 Tlie same it is, now Paul DePayne, 
 j-ienascent of liimselt again. 
 
 Then patiently let's bide with him, 
 And, though his story vague and dim 
 May seem to be of our design, 
 Let's to the sequel yet incline. 
 
 Though of the fate I most bewail. 
 The hermit's seeming endless tale 
 (iives me no chance to say a word — 
 Which, by the way, I think absurd. 
 Though of that comfort Lll forego, 
 To give the lieriv.it am])le show." 
 
 "Hurrah I" said Pill — "That's dealing fair 
 


39 
 
 And Fete thus said unto ttie Squire; 
 "That's better than we did expect, 
 And of its kindness will reflect 
 The honor of your name abroad" — 
 And then the party all hurrahed. 
 
 5-)<> c(S 
 
 ;*> "(© 
 


4:0 
 
 STORY RKSUiVIKD. 
 
 I. 
 
 RETUKNEJ) am I, though poor, indeed, 
 Will be the story of your lieed 
 Wherein of romance shall I make 
 The detail of a grave mistake: 
 For lesson hrst, that I then learned, 
 Was ot a fact, c^^uite well discerned. 
 That ray fair tutress then installed — 
 Lolacondi, her name was called — 
 Had of design— to state in brief- 
 More than appointed of the Chief: 
 Seated on one hide, to suit, 
 She studied i^'rench and I, Piute; 
 And. aptly studious, 'twas not long. 
 Ere I was master of the tongue. 
 


41 
 
 II. 
 
 Companionship, sometimes, eni'orced 
 By reason of all else divorced, 
 Remains intact when are reversed 
 The causes that inspired it tirst; 
 And, of the fancy thus betrayed, 
 Begets affection, true and staid. 
 
 III. 
 
 God said to Adam : '"Tis not well 
 To be alone." Then who dare tell 
 The soul that pineth for a mate 
 Its native longings to abate? 
 
 As of a stricken, helpless dove, 
 Perceived 1 of the artle.ss love 
 That fettered Lolacondi's heart, 
 With wound from (Aipid's aimless dart. 
 And may have she, as well, observed 
 The secret of m;/ thougiits, reserved. 
 
 V. 
 
 Her form, at tirst, of comeliness, 
 <)f faultless charm did soon possess. 
 Complexion, too, did I forsjet — 
 b'rom duskiness changed to brunette. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Her smile became as rippling stream 
 


42 
 
 With shade thereon and dappled gleam 
 Of sunshine peeping thvoiigh the bower, 
 A.nd in her trilling voice the power 
 That Cupid knows just how to wield 
 To pierce the heart, with arrow steeled. 
 
 VII. 
 
 With sparkling eyes and teeth of pearl, 
 And flowing hair, the Indian girl 
 Seemed then of rightfulness to claim 
 Of royal birth its proudest fame. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 And vaguely did I have in mind 
 The presence of two loves combined: 
 The hrst none other could displace — 
 Tlie seconi, though, of hopeful grace. 
 One, of 1 he brutal savage slain — 
 The other, of that blood whose stain 
 Had marked the fearful, heartless deed; 
 Nor of such rival could I heed. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet did I learn, to my regret — 
 Nor of consent from me to get — 
 That soon should be our wedding day. 
 When Chief, resigned, would give me sway. 
 
 X. 
 
 And of tlie stone the old Chief gave. 
 Was I informed its power to save 
 


4:3 
 
 From dangers of tlie warrior foe— 
 
 (Though doubtfully of buffalo). 
 
 That of its charms were treasures found, 
 
 And friendships made of endless bound: 
 
 And of its favor more to lend. 
 
 The Chief did then on me depend. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And of its hist'ry, far remote, 
 
 'Twas found where western billows float ; 
 
 Where even yet, 'tis said, are found 
 
 Upon the beach, and scattered round, 
 
 Some pebbles of the rarest sort; 
 
 The placers now known as Del Norte.* 
 
 XII. 
 
 Though, of this one, 'twill change its hue 
 From azure to the darkest blue, 
 And, of its changes, doth portend 
 Of fortune, to myself or friend. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 I've watched its change for many years, 
 Within my cave, with hopes and fears 
 Alternate with each change of hue; 
 But now 'tis of a darker blue 
 Than of that dreary time gone by, 
 And far more liopeful now am I 
 


4:4 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Keturning to the old Chiefs lodge, 
 I'll now state of the artful dodge 
 That, of its planning, served me well 
 To make escape, yet not to tell 
 Of my unfaithfulness to him, 
 Or disapproval of his scheme 
 To wed me to the handsome squaw, 
 xlnd thus make me his son-in-law; 
 And therewith give me of renown 
 The glory of a chieftain's crown. 
 
 XV. 
 
 Of this arrangement did I feign 
 Of all its honors to be vain ; 
 And then, of prowess lair to show, 
 Ulaimed I the riglit, alone to go 
 ITnto a distant w arring tribe, 
 Whereof to me did they describe, 
 And bring as trophy to the bride, 
 From u'hieftain's head the hair and liide. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 "That's good enough," the Chief rejoined 
 And of the favor thus purloined, 
 Mj^ journey soon had I begun — 
 With face toward the setting sun. 
 They told me that ten sleeps away 
 I'd find the chieftain whom to slay. 
 
 XVII. 
 Though, many sleeps have I since had 
 


45 
 
 And often times my poor heart sad, 
 And stricken low m;y soul with grief, 
 For Lolacondi and the Chief. 
 
 X\11I. 
 
 Yet onward came I, day by ^ay, 
 As course of empire takes its way— 
 Across the "Rockies," then the plain, 
 Till reached a mountain range, again. 
 Where meet Sierra and Cascade; 
 And, as of diherence to evade. 
 There meets iu conclave with tlie two 
 Our grand old mountain, Siskiyou.* 
 Where, of the region, lakes abound. 
 And hsh and game of plenty found; 
 And of tlie place deculed 1 
 There toreniain — tc live and die. 
 
 XIX. 
 
 Nor of iny cherished talisman 
 Did I much heed or take in hand. 
 For since possession I had gained 
 Its color changeless had reniained; 
 Though friendly were the tribes around, 
 And with them favor 1 iiad found. 
 
 XX. 
 
 Suthce it now to disengage 
 * See Note Six, Appenrlix. 
 


46 
 
 From passing scenes, unto old age: 
 
 * -S * -)r -X- * -H- -X- 
 
 Of childishness, perhaps, inclined, 
 The little stone then came in nnnd. 
 And tinding- it, pei'ceived its blue; 
 A_nd then athwart my mem'ry tlevv 
 The vision that me once impressed, 
 And still olcounsel seemed: "Uo west." 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Then on the mountain's rugged trend 
 1 groped my w ay unto the end 
 Where saw I then, as now behol.J, 
 The waves npon the lieach unfold 
 Against the rocky western shore— 
 saw them splash and heard them roar. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 And then, of feebleness, 1 paused — 
 Old Time had claimed, ot rightful cause, 
 ■J'he prize awaiting of his trust: 
 Then "earth to earth, and dust to dust" 
 Became the question ofthebnur — 
 Or else my body wolves devour. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 And then decided I the plan — 
 
 As did behold my talisman, 
 
 That of true color did not lack, 
 
 And of such blue 'twas almost black — 
 


4:7 
 
 Which gave me courage to proceed 
 With tliis my tinal earthlj^ need. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 My plan was to arrange a pile — 
 And, of convenience, did Ismile 
 To tind great logs of tir all heaped 
 And of their resin fully steeped; 
 And this should be my funeral pyre, 
 Wherein would kindle I the tire 
 At end remote from where I'd lie 
 When safe became my time to die. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 The time arrived, and, ot the while, 
 Alighted [ the funeral pile. 
 When, of the thirst that tever gave, 
 Of spring, near by, sought 1 to lave. 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Ajic1 shambling to its flowing brim, 
 Witli aching head and feeble limb, 
 There of my thirst did I then slake, 
 And from its bounty cupful take ; 
 And feeling stronger, when returned, 
 Was glad the tire but feebly burned. 
 
 XXVIl. 
 
 Then from my cup again I quaffed. 
 And, of a rashness, almost laughed 
 When reasoned I: "Of real truth, 
 


4:8 
 
 Kequited are from early youth 
 The pail), the anguish and the sigh, 
 Now thus, ofecstacy, to die." 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Then from the cup quatJ'ed I again, 
 ThougJi naught of feyer or of j^ain 
 Disturbed the quiet of my soul. 
 '*01d toper," said I: "Fill your bowl — 
 Drink, ye, to your heart's content!" 
 Then to the spring again 1 went, 
 With steady gait and form erect, 
 When from its depth did there reflect 
 A gleam as of the bright topaz. 
 Or !<apphire of its lustre has. 
 And from it spai-ks of azure hue 
 Emitted were and flashing through 
 The limpid tide in miniature 
 That of my vision did allure; 
 And clasping it, the more to scarj, 
 1 foundit was my talisman. 
 Which from my custody had sji])i>ed 
 And in the crystal fountain dip))ed. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 With feeling, then, so nuich improved, 
 Was I of purpose aptly moyed 
 The gruesome task yet to forego 
 As sexton — and as subject, too. 
 


4:9 
 
 XXX. 
 
 xlnd tlien, of bivouac to prepare, 
 Of lightness seemed its every care; ^ 
 And 'neatli tlie mantle of the night, 
 With scenes the rarest of delight 
 That e'er in fancy's roundelay 
 In noontide dream of summer's day 
 Inspired the finite mind with praise 
 To ^s'atuj-e's God, for all his waj^s, 
 Did dreams, elysian, throng my mind 
 VVitii myriad raptures, all combined. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Tlien came the morn, with birds to sing, 
 And, from their dormer branches, gpring 
 To catch the hapless little worm 
 That, "late from lodge," might homeward 
 
 squirm — 
 And thus, for morsel delicate, 
 Rob home of parent, and a mate. 
 Yet frcni sncli gormand throats proceed 
 The songs that fairies deign to heed, 
 And so atone, with melody. 
 The evil--that of needs must be. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 And when aroused, and on my- feet, 
 Me old-time >vature seemed to greet 
 With radiant smile, as of my youth, 
 And cheering prcnnise that, forsooth, 
 


50 
 
 To castle-builder in the air 
 
 Would give the phininiet, line and square. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 As youth inclines to sportiveness, 
 'T^Yas tiien my feeling to ])0ssess, 
 And, lest decorum should forget 
 And strive to turn a summei'set, 
 My Bible ()])ened 1, to read. 
 Surprise! no Sflasses were of need. 
 
 XXX IV. 
 
 Then to the sjtring went I, again. 
 With bounding step and cheerful mien. 
 And, with ablutions and a sip. 
 Returned with hop and bound and skip, 
 Kar unbecoming of my age; 
 And of my mind did thoughts enga;:e 
 Of liai)|>y days yet far remote, 
 And o'er the fancy did I gloat 
 With boyish trust and contidence, 
 rntil aroused to graver sense. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 Succeediiig days had change came o'er 
 Me as it had l)rief tinie before. 
 When chanced 1 in the spi-iiig to look: 
 And. as Narcissus, ii the brook, 
 Was 1 portrayed with kind accent, 
 And oil mv features not a rent 
 


51 
 
 Of Time's disturbing iiand was there; 
 And raven were my locks of fiair 
 As when in youthful age and prime. 
 For once defied, then, was old Time, 
 And in the swath his sickle bent, 
 And all his rancor vainly spent. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 But trying days then came, in turn, 
 And, of a scorching fever's burn, 
 VVas I with hercest torment scourged; 
 And of the pains within me merged, 
 Did seem to be, of greatest cause. 
 The soreness of my toothless jaws; 
 And of the virtues of th^ spring- 
 As panacea for everything. 
 When of its service would engage, 
 Seemed t^nly greater tt) enrage; 
 And, as of fretful teething child, 
 VVas I, of torture, almost wild; 
 Till, strange to tell, though of a truth - 
 Discovery made — I had atootli. 
 And iiling, then, in quick relief. 
 Full set had gained in time quite luief. 
 
 xxx
. 
 
 No fortune further to possess, 
 So came the need of needfulness; 
 And, of the passing hours to wliile, 
 Devices of the juvenile 
 Did I adopt, and with delight. 
 


5S 
 
 I sported with the to]) and kite, 
 As inipr-.* vised witli nimble hand 
 it'roiu best resources of conuiiaud. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 I'd Jaugh and skip aud run and jump, 
 And play at "blindman" with astuni]); 
 And other sports attempt to do 
 W'lierein the game requires two. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 Tlien of a sudden ha])i)y thought, 
 That ofniy iiealing, overwrought — 
 With all its present seeming siood — 
 I'd Soon become ''babe in the wood," 
 I thus decided that 'twas time 
 For me to seek another clime 
 And from the tempting spring refrain 
 To take of pleasing draught again. 
 
 XL. 
 
 Yet down the rill, of source the same, 
 Descended I, in quest of game. 
 When — scene of woiidej' to behold! — 
 I found its bed was strewn with gold ; 
 And of the bounty thus supi)iied, 
 1 sought of ])ienty to i)rovide. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 With speed then measured by m> load, 
 My course, still westward, on I strode, 
 


53 
 
 I'lie mighty ocean's strand to reach; 
 Then southward turned along its beach — 
 With iiiiught of interest on my way, 
 Till reached the San l^'rancisco bay, 
 When fortune rare, then to^avail, 
 Found vessel ready there to sail, 
 With products of the land well stored, 
 And destined for Atlantic board. 
 
 XlJf 
 
 Then of tliree dreary months, or more, 
 When nearing of Atlantic shore — 
 And marvel I yet while I speak — 
 We sailed into the Cliesapeake: 
 And io that land had 1 returned 
 That of my former self had spurned. 
 
 XLIII. 
 
 Though of m.y purpose, then in way, 
 Of greatest kindness to display 
 And, foitune then within command, 
 Give needy ones, with liberal hand, 
 IL proper seemed that, ere to roam, 
 Ought cluirity begin at home. 
 
 XLIV. 
 
 But, oh ! the thoughts within revived 
 Yet of my wand'rings not outlived. 
 The hand of art had Monders wrought, 
 And three score years of change had brought 
 


54: 
 
 New actors on the stage of life — 
 
 And naught remained of former strife. 
 
 XLV. 
 
 Of ruin was my birthplace marked, 
 Nor from its silence was there harked 
 Of voice from out its long decay 
 Save screeching of the startled jay 
 Within the bushes, rank and tall, 
 With rootlets clinging to the wall, 
 And, as from 'neath some mold' ring log, 
 The croaking of sequestered frog. 
 
 XLVI. 
 
 Thence to the s[)ring ni}' course did stray 
 When, of the sultry summer's day 
 And ment'ries ol' the past so dear. 
 Twice grateful was I of its cheer. 
 Of all the scene it was least change<1 
 From what it was of yore arranged. 
 
 XL
. 
 
 Then stooped 1, of the spring to drink, 
 And then upon the sward to sink, 
 Where, casting not too far around, 
 Returning childhood seemed profound. 
 
 XLVIll. 
 
 And, of the spell, did I give way 
 To slumber, as of chiidliood's day; 
 


55 
 
 Wiien saw I, m the cottage low, 
 M}' mother, rocking to and fro 
 Within her rustic easy chair, 
 As toyed she with my flaxen hair; 
 And father, too, of smile to vvin. 
 Would coddle me beneath the chin. 
 
 XLIX. 
 
 Witli brotiiers, listers, and playmates, 
 Then liiea we forth, to ride the gates, 
 And do of tilings, quite innocent. 
 That bad would be, save the intent. 
 
 1,. 
 
 Distinctly then I heard: "Oh, Paul!" 
 And, answering to my mother's call, 
 [ woke to consciousness again — 
 And sighed the fate of Paul DePa^^ne. 
 
 LI. 
 
 Then of the schoolhouse, by the lane, 
 
 Sougiit I, but of seeking vain; 
 
 For naught of school Imuse could be found, 
 
 Nor even lane, upon the ground; 
 
 And of the grove, that once was there. 
 
 Of, even, stunii)s the place was bare; 
 
 Though scenes whereof 1 met that day 
 
 More sacred were that Lena Kay 
 
 Had, other vision, known as well, 
 
 And often times to me would tell 
 


oG 
 
 (_)t" those lier pure heart lo�d the best — 
 And such 1 thought were truly blest. 
 
 LII. 
 
 .Mv I'aiue soon si)read throughout tlie land- 
 Both of my wealth and liberal hand- 
 And of preierineut was 1, there, 
 With everyone, and with the fair 
 Was 1 at once a favored beau; 
 And, of my gallantry to show. 
 Was courteous, perhaps, to a lauU ; 
 And often times, of sad revolt 
 Was I, the stricken heart to see 
 That of requitenieTit ne'er could be; 
 And, though regretful of the pain, 
 The pride of conquest made uie \ ain. 
 
 LIU. 
 
 Yet, oft, when vict'ry seems to ciown. 
 Is tickle smile changed to a frown : 
 The moth that flutters near the torch 
 <)f pinion rarely fails to scorch. 
 
 LIV. 
 
 As in due season bird seeks mate, 
 
 So of myself, regenerate. 
 
 Was I then within tlie toil 
 
 That gladdens life or makes despoil. 
 
 LV. 
 
 Through it once my course had led. 
 And of its promptings had I wed; 
 


57 
 
 And though its joys so soon were stilled, 
 
 The mission of a life fultilled. 
 
 Though seemed it, then, the rule of fate 
 
 Of former things to duplicate; 
 
 And, of occasion opportune, 
 
 I met with A^daline McCune— 
 
 Than whom, of all the belles around, 
 
 None were of beauty so renowned — 
 
 Who with grace ot torm combined 
 
 A pure and highly cultured mind. 
 
 LVI. 
 
 Our meetings, though at first by chance, 
 Were not devoid of artful glance 
 Whereof the soul can mutely state 
 To otlier !soal its love or hate. 
 
 LVII. . 
 
 And, then, of meetings pre-arranged, 
 Were we from others more estranged, 
 Till of the presence scarce aware 
 Of nu)re tliau two upon this sphere. 
 
 LVill 
 
 Though rivaled was I, even then: 
 b'or who can tell of where, or when, 
 iSince Adam courted mother Eve, 
 That such rare fortune did relieve, 
 And suitor of the fair assure. 
 Without a rival — one or more? 
 


68 
 
 L[X. 
 
 Of purpose, now, I've none to state 
 More of this subject, delicate, 
 Tlian briefiy to outline the way 
 Wheieot deluded fancies stray 
 Into the realms ol' fond juirsuit 
 To seek, i)erhai)s, forbidden fruit. 
 
 LX. 
 
 Call it a conquest, if you will: 
 
 Of faithfulness then to fulfill 
 
 I sought the iiand of Adaline, 
 
 And trustingly 'twas placnd in mine; 
 
 When with forebodings gravely mixed 
 
 The signet ring I then affixed. 
 
 LXI. 
 
 \ l)o that hath gained ambition's goal 
 E'er found the solace that, in w hole, 
 Relieved t!ie heart from further strain 
 Of anxiousness yet to attain 
 Some greater joy of its embrace? 
 Nay, even triumph brings menace. 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Then was I of a faltering mind; 
 Nor of consolement did I find 
 The time approaching near at hand 
 To take the Bendictine staiid. 
 


59 
 
 LXIIl. 
 
 And in her presence once so dear, 
 1 stood abashed as of the fear 
 Whereof the conscience, tlius abused, 
 Ooiifessioii makes when unaccused. 
 The trutii had drawn upon my mind: 
 To her, and self, was I unkind — 
 In that the love to her I bore 
 Was less by far than that before. 
 
 LXI\'. 
 
 80 came the struggle of my life, 
 Compared with which all former strife- 
 W hereof to vanqish was 1 strong— 
 1 reckoned not, as with that wrong 
 Of my own making; and that, too, 
 A wrong 1 could not then undo. 
 
 LXV. 
 
 Oft strayed 1 in tlie silent wood 
 To seek within its solitude 
 Consolenieiit of my wretched state; 
 But (Jli ! the time then seemed too late : 
 No device of the mind could plan 
 To make me less the wretched man 
 That of my rasimess was I made; 
 Nor less its sconrgings to evade. 
 
 LXVl. 
 


60 
 
 Resolved, at length, the spell to break- 
 Whatever course events might take— 
 I did of all my heart's design 
 Confession make to Adaline. 
 
 LXVIl. 
 
 1 told her of mj' purpose changed 
 And of afrection.^ disarranged; 
 And thought it better far that we 
 Be friends again, in "fancy free." 
 
 L.WIfl. 
 
 Surprise to me ! — fier un&urprise. 
 Betokened of her calm, blue eyes, 
 And of demeanor so unchanged, 
 1 saw at once her love estranged; 
 And thus she meekly answered me: 
 "How well our thoughts always agree. 
 I've thought as you have, Sir De Payne, 
 Though, of my feeling, did restrain 
 The truth as you have promptly told. 
 Oh, manly heart, how true, how bold! 
 Saved am I now from all regret. 
 That of life's tortunes we had met; 
 P^xcepting that for — well, you know." 
 And well did I — ni\ rival beau. 
 
 i.XIX. 
 
 Then happy was I of success. 
 Though chagrined that of worthiness 
 The minor share she gave to me. 
 


31 
 
 How sensitive is vanity ! 
 
 LXX. 
 
 Kebuked thus of my selfishness, 
 I thought iijion the world's distress, 
 Whereof To me did fortune -give 
 Much of its sorrows to relieve; 
 When in tlie hut, the lane, the street, 
 Its haji'gard face I strove to meet; 
 And fain my heart would, of the task, 
 Within the boundless duty bask. 
 
 LXX I. 
 
 Upon the street the haU-clad child 
 I met, and parting, then it smiled. 
 And wlien I met, within the lane. 
 Tlie beggar man who with his cane, 
 Couhl scarcely trudge liis lonely way. 
 Happier was lie of the day 
 Wiiercof our meeting- to attain; 
 And liappy too was Paul DePa.
e. 
 
 LXXIi. 
 
 And in the hovel, at the door. 
 The lonely widow, aged and pooi-, 
 With gratitude my ottering took; 
 When, of a wonderirig gaze to look, 
 She startled seemed, and then siie said 
 *'<)h, image of the long past dead I — 
 b'orgive me, Sir, yet do I hold 
 Your presence dearer than your gold. 
 


62 
 
 Oh, tell me: Have I gone insane? 
 Are you the ghost of Paul DePayne— 
 My husband of so long ago. 
 Whose features yet so well 1 know? 
 
 LXXIII. 
 
 "Oh, Lena!" then 1 feebly gasped— 
 As of her bending form 1 clasped — 
 "Oh! Lena, dear, how can this be?" 
 But answer came not then to ine. 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 I'hen followed weeks of patient care. 
 From doctors summoned, far and near, 
 And nurses — best within command — 
 While life and death strove, liand to hand 
 Until, at length, the fevered brain 
 Once more of health and strength did gain 
 And of her form, ematiate, 
 'Twas much imj^roved from former state. 
 
 LXXV. 
 
 And, of her story, tlien I learned 
 Why, wiih the house, had she not burned 
 When in the flames so rudely cast, 
 As fuel added to the blast. 
 
 LXXVI. 
 
 One of the "braves" — indeed a brave- 
 Determined of our lives to save; 
 


63 
 
 And, counsel tailing to dissuade 
 The party from the fearful raid, 
 He cunningly devised to meet 
 And of their purpose cause defeat, 
 
 LXXVII. 
 
 And he it was who fettered me 
 
 And bound me, slackly, to the tree 
 
 VVitli thong that, of my strength, would 
 
 break- 
 Whereof, my freedom then to take. 
 And then, with seeming ruthless hand, 
 Did to my feet apply the brand, 
 That of mute language improvised, 
 With burning words, to make apprised 
 The object of his artful luse, 
 Might deftly of my pinions loose, 
 
 Lxxvni. 
 
 And, in pursuit, all joined the chase, 
 Save he, who tarried to embrace 
 His i)urpose, then so opportune, 
 That executed was so soon 
 That scarcely failed he in the race 
 At once to gain the foremost place. 
 
 LXXIX, 
 
 Nor w^as he of the ten who paid 
 The measure of the crime portrayed, 
 But singled from the rest was he. 
 


64: 
 
 And from the deadly aim was free — 
 
 Whereof his guilty comrades fell — 
 
 And he the story left to tell. 
 
 "No trace of me then to obtain, 
 
 So monrned as dead was Paul DePayne. 
 
 LXXX. 
 
 My wand' rings then to Lena told — 
 A.nd of the spring and mine of gold — 
 Her smile assumed most rare delight, 
 As thus she said : "Oh,, what a plight! 
 You're young and handsome still, but I 
 Am. old enough that soon must die; 
 Though crowded in the present are 
 The pleasures of a life to share, 
 And restful in the grave I'll sleep 
 That of its care your vigils keep," 
 
 LXXXII. 
 
 "Dear Lena," then I gravely said: 
 "Think not to consort with the dead 
 Until we've tried a hopeful plan:" 
 Then told her of the talismaji 
 And of its charms whereof should try 
 To make her even yuung as I. 
 Propitious, still, the little gem — 
 And sparkling as a diadem ! 
 
 LXXXIll. 
 


65 
 
 Proposal was, from me, command 
 To Lena, who, to understand, 
 In brief, the statement of my will, 
 Made it her pleasure to fultill. 
 
 LXXXIV. 
 
 x
d, then, despite extreme old age, 
 Of task she did at once engage 
 To journey with me to the West; 
 And of the manner suited best, 
 I deemed 'twould be as tirst I went — 
 Direct across the continent — 
 And of equipment did provide 
 ('unvenient means whereof to ride; 
 Nor had we troubles on our way. 
 As journeyed on from day to day. 
 
 LXXXV. 
 
 Of incidents, Til not intrude 
 Lipon your time, save to allude 
 To one, as sequel now, in brief. 
 Of l.olacondi and the (Jhief. 
 
 LXXXV I. 
 
 We. found their village, and I saw 
 
 And recognized the aged squaw : 
 
 'Twas Lolacondi, then uiost blind, 
 
 Who of ?n,v presence, though, divined; 
 
 And then of poise with cane to help, 
 
 She cuitly said: "But, where' s the scalp?" 
 


66 
 
 LXXXVil. 
 
 The old Chief, though, had, long since, died, 
 And Lolacondi, ne'er a bride, 
 Was waiting stilly for my return — 
 Yet, of my faithlessness to learn. 
 Persuaded, thougii, she with ns went 
 Our journey to the Occident. 
 
 LXXXVil I. 
 
 Again arriving at the :>[)ring, 
 I found unchanged most everytliing, 
 x
d straightway, of its n>agi<.' weal. 
 My patients there I .sought to heal; 
 And counsel gave, lest ct excess, 
 They'd drink to childish helplessness. 
 
 LXXXIX. 
 
 Then, with arrangements made for camp 
 My leave I took whereof to iramp 
 In sportive way the re^^ion round, 
 l-"or game, the rarest to be found— 
 Nor promise made when would return, 
 Save till my presence they discern. 
 
 XC. 
 
 And when of days thus gayly spent, 
 To cam}) again my course 1 Dent, 
 And, of approach to near the spring". 
 


67 
 
 I saw a child thei'e, in a swing, 
 And swinging whom was Lena Ray, 
 As saw her on our wedding day. 
 
 XCI. 
 
 As Eden, of Creation morn, 
 With Eve its radiance to adorn, 
 So, of its glor> to renew, 
 Was Eden then of Siskiyou. 
 'Twas Paradise indeed regained, 
 Nor greater joy could be attained. 
 
 X(1I. 
 
 All nature did our purpose suit, 
 Nor knew we of forbidden fruit; 
 Nor yet came, as did with Eve, 
 The wily serpent to deceive 
 With age, tlie world had better grown, 
 And, of its sorrows, had we known 
 The bitterness that savors life — 
 Insipid, wholelelj , without strife. 
 
 XCIII. 
 
 "Bur, Lena," said I, "whence the child? 
 And where the woman?" Then she smiled 
 And answering, said: "The twain are one. 
 And, oh ! — we had the rarest fun 
 At romping, and at everything, 
 Till Lola tumbled in the spring. 
 I call her "Lola," now, tliat she 
 


68 
 
 Is changed so niiich from used-to-be 
 That of her former selt remain 
 But few the tokens now to gain ; 
 And, as adopted child, I thought 
 To christen her anew we ought. 
 
 XCIV. 
 
 But now, dear Paul, I'm not amazed 
 That of her beauty you so praised: 
 When in transition from old age, 
 Did charms adorn that primal sta<^'e, 
 The hrst of blooming womaniKiod, 
 And seeing, then I understood 
 Why you were baffled, as expressed ; 
 Though, of decision, am conl'essed — 
 And, of preferment, am I glad — 
 That doubtful promptings then yon liad. 
 
 xcv. 
 
 Were Heaven on earth 'twould not sutiice 
 
 To satisfy our craving eyes, 
 
 Nor of the longings would abate 
 
 Of finite mind, insatiate. 
 
 The more we gain of world's estate 
 
 The less its import do we rate. 
 
 XCVI. 
 
 The Eden of the wilderness 
 
 No longer did the charm possess 
 


69 
 
 That of cur restless souls could bind, 
 Or hope avert of joys to find 
 In other lands, and far away. 
 That of our cravings might allay. 
 Tlien bJithly on our way we went, 
 Again toward the Orienr. -^ 
 
 XCVII. 
 
 With treasure, and with health and prime, 
 
 We journeyed on, yet of the time, 
 
 Or scenes w^e met upon the way 
 
 I'll not atte!n])t now to portray. 
 
 Until within the borders of 
 
 The land of wiience our primal love; 
 
 VV'lierein we met and recognized 
 
 Friends of the past, who, thus surprised, 
 
 Did scarcely of good faith exy)ress 
 
 Thei"- credence of our truthfulness. 
 
 XCXlll. 
 
 It was a lime wiien war again 
 iiaged fearfully on land and main — 
 Tlie second war twixt old England 
 And heroes of our imtriot i)and. 
 
 X(TX. 
 
 Of patriotism, and for faiu*^, 
 I sought to gain heroic name; 
 And of the chances to appear. 
 Upon the seas, as privateei-, 
 i>id then of purj^ose seem the liest 
 


70 
 
 For country and ambitious zest; 
 And, seJf-fominissioiied, ronunodoie, 
 I n.iade equipments Irom my store 
 Ot l)ouuleou8 wealth, then of command, 
 And vessel well and ably nmnned. 
 
 V. 
 
 And when prepared were we to sail, 
 Vain were j^ersuasions to prevail 
 With I^ena to remain beliind. 
 Said she: "Our foi'tune-; are combined, 
 And braver far my heart will be 
 To share witb you. upon the sea, 
 The gi'eatest danger there in store 
 Than of your absence to deplore." 
 
 (T. 
 
 Then thouiibt I of the ma.i^ic stdiie, 
 And, of its gracious povvei' to own, 
 I cast all fear at once aside 
 Whereof for Lena to i)rovide, 
 Within the craft bellig-erent, 
 Arrangements aptly of intent, 
 
 (^11. 
 
 And then, before the driving breeze, 
 We soon were on the great high seas, 
 Where drum and tife, with martial strain 
 Resounding on the placid main — 
 And not a foe within our sight — 
 'Twas pleasure thus on sea to tight; 
 


71 
 
 And, with all peace and joy and health, 
 VVe were a fioatiiig conuuonwealth 
 Tliat, of a thriving era bad, 
 \Va^ of its being truly gh.d. 
 
 cm. 
 
 b'roni day to day we onward sailed, 
 And south winds on our ship prevailed 
 To drive us to the leaward far, 
 With course toward the polar star; 
 When 111 the dreary uiglits that came, 
 Tlie flicker of l)oreal flame, 
 As substitute for light of day, 
 Did i)Oorly of the sun's delay 
 Give reconiijense, nor did i)reclnde 
 The gelidness of latitude. 
 
 CIV. 
 
 And. on the frosty atmosphere, 
 Rang forth a warning, loud and clear: 
 "Boat, ahoy '."—from matin guard- 
 Ana fronting, on our ship's starboard, 
 Was flashed upon the lurid sea 
 The blazing of artillery. 
 CV. 
 
 And from that time dates there a blank 
 'Twas said that from a drifting plank 
 Had I been rescued far at sea, 
 And lifeless seemed, at flrst, to be. 
 
 CVI. 
 


7S 
 
 More of events I never learned, 
 Save 'twas of vessel long returned 
 From out the war upon the main, 
 That did my helpless form regain. 
 
 CA'lI. 
 
 For years a prisoner, close eontiiied, 
 
 Was I — of distracted mind— 
 
 From whence and when, till now, m vain 
 
 I've sought to find that siting again, 
 
 Whereof the gladness to recall 
 
 That Eden had before the lall." 
 
 SKQUEL. 
 
 1. 
 
 HEN ceased the henuit to relate, 
 l)escri])tive of his past estate, 
 To his friends a.iiain he showed 
 The little stone, that faiily glowed 
 Then with the lustre ofits hue 
 


73 
 
 And purple scintillations threw 
 That pointed toward the M'estern sea; 
 Then said the hermit: "Follow nie." 
 
 II. 
 
 And staiiihtway to tha spring he led, 
 And to his comrades prom])ly said: 
 "Someone indeed iias here trespassed. 
 For since, of yore, my visit last. 
 That cabin on the hill v\"as made." 
 "Lost Cabin Found!"'— thou.a:h mnch de- 
 cayed. 
 
 III. 
 
 Then drank he till no longer old, 
 Ar.d two mules laden with the gold — 
 Oi;e fastened to tiie other's tail— 
 Jle drove them tandem on the trail. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Though of the party, who yet stayed. 
 They fi'olicked in the pleasant glade 
 And qualfed elixir from the spi'ing. 
 And laughed and joked' 'bout everything; 
 And, next — tlie saddest of regrets — 
 A fondness showed for cigarettes. 
 
 V. 
 
 Contriving, then, of ball and bat, 
 
 They played the game, "three-cornered-cat," 
 


74: 
 
 And climbed the trees, the spring around, 
 Robbing birdsnests therein found — 
 Till Tired, at length, there, of the play, 
 With sticks, tor liorses, rode away. 
 


75 
 
 APPENDIX. 
 
 Nol'E 1. Referingto that most prolific incent- 
 ive of wildly speculative mining excitements, 
 "The Lost Cabin,'' the Del Norte Record,* dated 
 Jan. iHth, 1883, says: 
 
 "Since the year 18n2, various articles have ap- 
 peared ill print, not only in this State, but have 
 found their way into the journals of the East, as 
 well, concerning the far-farned stories of the 
 "Lost Cabin." This much sought-for cabin has 
 been loeateri, according to the different tales 
 coneerniug it, all the way from the Gulf Stream 
 to the wilds of Montana a"d Colorado, and the 
 first searching party started from various points 
 along the coast. 
 
 All those who vvere in Crescent City at an ear- 
 ly date will recollect distinctly the excitement 
 created by the report in circulation regarding 
 this "Lost Cabin" and the time and money ex- 
 pended in searching for it. As the first person 
 who went in search of it happened to be well 
 known to us, having lived in our family for 
 
 * The Del Nortr Record is a weekly news- 
 paper published at Crescent City, r'alifornia, by 
 J. E. Eldredge, Esq., of whose favor the above 
 facts and data are presented. 
 


76 
 
 some time, and whose wife is now a member of 
 the family, and as we consider that we are prob- 
 ably better posted in the matter than anyone 
 noAV living, except it may V)e one person, who a 
 number of years since was living in a lower coun- 
 ty, we propose, briefly, to give our readers a state- 
 raent of ttie facts as'they actually occurred. In 
 the year 1849, Col. Samuel C. Hall crossed the 
 plains from Missouri to California, and drifting 
 about with the tide of migration to dift'erent 
 parts of the country in seaich of the precious 
 metal, in the sumn'er of 1852, found himself at 
 Trinidad. While there, a party of three nien 
 came down from the moii mains, one at whom, 
 Vernile Thompson, was an old acquaintance of 
 his from Missouri. After the usual g reelings, 
 questions were asked and .-.nswered in quick 
 succession, and finally Thompson produced a 
 large quantity of g(dd dust and confided to him 
 the secret of where it had been found; saying at 
 the same time that there was plenty left at the 
 place where they had been mining. They had 
 built a cabin wiiich they left, and also their 
 tools. They had three pack-mules pretty well 
 loaded with dust, and with the usutd reckless 
 prodigality of miners in those days, thinking 
 they had suffieenl to last them for the remain- 
 der'of their lives, never expected to return. 
 They had left papers in the cabin with full in- 
 structions where the mines v.ere located, should 
 they ever wish to direct <ithers to the place.. 
 Colonel Hall became greatly interestuil and hav- 
 ing entire faith in their representations, ob- 
 tained from tliem a diagram of the country 
 which was reputed to be so rich, together with 
 written directions how and where to find the 
 cabin they had left but a short time before. They 
 stated that the place was in hearing of the 
 ocean's roar, but, as at that time but little' ex- 
 ploring had been done on the northern coast, 
 they could not give him the exact locality. The 
 three men tlien'left for the East. He immedi- 
 ately organized a small company and started in 
 search of the rich diggings. They followed the 
 directions as best they could, taking a northerly 
 course and keeping within hearing of the ocean. 
 They spent the summer in fruitless search, and 
 


77 
 
 by winter, the story h:iviug aradually leaked 
 out, other parties starced in pursuit of what 
 hao become known as the "Lost Cabin,'' meet- 
 ing, however, with no better success. lu the 
 spring seareli was resumed, and the story hav- 
 ing by this time been circulated that enormous 
 Avealth awaited the finder of ihe Lost Cabin, 
 parties were frr. nied and started out from diiTer- 
 ent parts of rhe country, having but very little 
 id?a w hethe/ it \j;> in Caliiornia, Oregon or 
 Washington Territory. Col. Hall, becoming dis- 
 couraged, returned to his n;itive State in 1854. 
 In J 85") he again came to this country, with his 
 family, aud settled in Crescent City", where he 
 1 emained for some years. He finally removed to 
 1 akeport, and there met Thompson who had 
 again come to California and settled in that 
 place, and after a private interview wdth him, 
 the Colonel could never again be induced to talk 
 upon the subject of the Lost '"abin. It is sup- 
 posed to be located somewhere near this place, 
 and year after year it ha.s been sought for. but 
 liO trace of the ( abin ever having i5een discov- 
 ered, many have supposed that the men who 
 appeare^i at Trinidad with such large quantities 
 j)i dttst, had become possessed of their gold in 
 other wa>-s than by lionest labor. However this 
 nuiy be, the above are the facts as they actually 
 occurred concerning the Lost Cabin e.\'citement 
 iii early times, a revival of which, has from time 
 to time caused much excitement along the 
 coast, and a great amount of hunting by those 
 in search ol imnieiliate weal'Lh," 
 
 From a long-ago intimate acquaintance of the 
 author of this little volnme with D. V. Thomp- 
 son , (or Vernile Thompson, as above designated) 
 it seems but just to ofl'er a few wdrds for the dis- 
 engagement of sentiment questionable of the 
 manner in which he and his associates became 
 possessed of their treasure. Mr. Thompson was 
 for many years, and, probably still is, a highly 
 respected citizen of Lake county, Califoruia, 
 


78 
 
 "where he hns been honored with various of- 
 ttce« of Avorth and contidence, and where his 
 name was ever .synonymous with that f)f strict 
 integrity. 
 
 Assuminu' that the Lost Cabin story is not en- 
 tirely a myth, it is doubtful if any other region 
 could establish a more saithoritative claim for 
 its location than is presented in the foregoing 
 account, for tlie westerly slope of the Siskiyou 
 range, included principally in Del Nortecounty 
 
 Note '.'. Relative to the prolonged and un- 
 accounted-for absence of a miner from his cabin 
 on French Hil, (subsequently found dead) the 
 Crescent City News, dated Jan.-.'5th, '!!5 says: 
 
 "It jy said that of the eighteen disappearances 
 around the French Hill counti y only oiic of the 
 bodies has been found.' 
 
 The preceding quotation would answer as a 
 text upon which to found many speculations 
 with respect to the mysterious disappearances 
 from the region indicated. Such occurrences 
 hav:- become so common, in fact, as to elicit, 
 locally, only the stereotyped allusion: ''Another 
 French Hill victim." Many strange stories have 
 obtained with reference to the misfortunes that 
 have, or, peradventure, might have, befallen 
 those who were thus seemingly spirited aw^ay, 
 and^et no definite solution of the great prob- 
 lem has been reached. They simply become 
 merged in obscurity, but whether of violence, of 
 accident, or of self- volition, is a matter solely of 
 conjecture; however, a sombre cloud of reproach 
 has settled upon the shaggy brow of old French 
 Hill, and, alas! the vaults of her native treasury 
 


ro 
 
 are less inviting to the miner and prospector 
 tlaan if the spectre of the mysterious foe stalked 
 iiot her lonely caverns. 
 
 Note 3. The subject designated as the ''Squire, 
 at reference, page 35, is one of the distinguish- 
 ing featured of Crescent City, without whom 
 the place would greatly decline in its individu- 
 ality and become simply eom.monplaee among 
 the towns along the Pacific sea-board. The 
 Squire is tho essential oracle and weather-proph- 
 et of the town, and no one has yet attempted to 
 vanquish him in the relation of extraordinary 
 fiS'-h storie.v. 
 
 Note 4. A Del Nort Record correspondent, 
 writing from tiappy Camp. Siskiyou county, 
 Jan.'J , IcSSfi, discourses as follows: 
 
 "I do not remember to have seen any refer- 
 ence to the 'Wild Man" which haunts this part 
 of the country, so I shall allude to him briefly. 
 Not a great while since, Mr. Jack Dover, one of 
 ourmosttrustworty citizens, while hunting saw 
 an object standing one hundred and fifty yards 
 from him picking berries or tender shoots from 
 the bushes. The thing was of gigantic size- 
 about stveu feet high— with a bull-dog head, 
 short ears and long hair; it was also furnished 
 with a beard, and was free from hiar on such 
 parts of Its body as is common among men. Its 
 voice was shrill", or soprano, and very human, 
 like that oi a woman in great fear. Mr. Dover 
 could not see its foot-prints as it walked on hard 
 soil. He aimed his gun at the animal, or what- 
 ever it is, several times, but because it was so 
 human would not shoot. The range of the <niri- 
 osity is between Marble montain and the vicini- 
 ty of Happy Camp. A number of people have 
 seen it and all agree in their descriptions except 
 that some make it taller than others. It is ap- 
 


so 
 
 parently herbiveroas and makes winter quarters 
 in some of the caves of Marble mountain." 
 
 Note 5. One of the many attractive features 
 of the northern California coast is the renowned 
 Pebble Beach, in Del Xorte county, near Cres- 
 cent City. It has been a place of constant re- 
 sort since the earliest settlement of the place, 
 and it is known, even, that the aborigines had 
 esteemed of value some of the gems there found 
 long before their pale-faced brother came wiJi 
 his trinkets and shekels to barter for the rare 
 and attractive jewels from the rude casket of 
 the guileless red man. But, still, the ebb and 
 flow of the tides continue to leave new and va- 
 ried attractions upon the beach, and the fasci- 
 nation for the pebbl: -seeker yet remains. The 
 pebbles found are principally agate and mocha- 
 stone, of divers colors and varying degrees of 
 brilliancy; though it is claimed that emeralds 
 and other high grade jev,-els have been discov- 
 ered there. It is not extremely rare to find a 
 pebble of mutable color— the alterations being, 
 as supposed, influenced by the variations of 
 temperature and other meteorological phenom- 
 ena. 
 
 :note 6- The region of country briefly noted 
 at reference, page 45, as the abiding place of the 
 Hermit from early manhood till old and decrep- 
 it, has since become historic as the seeue of the 
 Madoc War and location of the lava beds, where 
 Captain Jack, in his well-chosen natural fortih- 
 eation, for months defied the attack of our gov- 
 ernment forces. The region is an exceedingly 
 


81 
 
 high plateau, intereuersed with lakes, hiils and 
 dales. The lakes are pure aud limpid and 
 abound with fish and fowl, and the hills and 
 valleys are ela,d with tne pereTiuial bunch-grass, 
 where, of the past, sported immense herds of 
 wild animals. In its prestine splendor, it was 
 indeed the Indian's paradise, and fairly typical 
 of the happiest h'lntiiig ground that the exu- 
 berant fancy of the red man ever conceived.. 
 TheT-e, in immediate vicinity, presumably, upon 
 the morning of Creation, met the three imposing 
 mountain ranges: the Sierra Nevada, the Cascade 
 and the Siskiyou — the latter of which, rectan- 
 gular in extent, as compared with the two for- 
 mer, constitutes, in h manner, the natural, as 
 well as the political, division of the States of 
 California and Oregon, aud approximate of 
 whose easterly summit the Klamath river takes 
 its source, from the lakes of that elevated re- 
 gion, suddenly precipitating its flow, in a rag- 
 ing cataract, to a level with the mountain 
 range and thence girding it, latter^lly, to the sea. 
 









 
 
 
 
 
 


• 1 1 
 
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