We now have introduced the land and the people: the mountains, deserts, and prairies; the Indians, trappers, and settlers. This is the cast of characters, so to speak, who played out the drama of winning the West. The next group of selections will illustrate the ways by which the land was tamed and the wilderness brought under the yoke of civilization. We will visit California by ship, travel with the covered wagons, starve with the Donner party in the Sierras, and ride the Overland Stage with Mark Twain. Finally we will look at the building of the railroad, the event that spelled the end of the Old West.

The coast of California was first explored by Juan Cabrillo in 1542, but it was not until the time of the American Revolution that the Spanish established effective political control as far north as San Francisco. Then, for the next three quarters of a century, until the Mexican War, Spanish culture flourished. By the time California was annexed to the United States, a great deal of commerce was being carried on between eastern United States ports and the West Coast, and when the gold rush took place thousands of fortune seekers came to California via sea.

Richard Henry Dana, Jr., Visits the Coast of California

One of the best descriptions of California before it became part of the United States was written by a young Bostonian, Richard Henry Dana, Jr. This young man suffered eye trouble during his sophomore year at Harvard and sailed for California in 1834 as a common sailor. After working 15 months on the California coast gathering hides, the cargo that American ships carried home in exchange for manufactured products, he returned to Harvard and completed his education. His book, Two Years Before the Mast, from which the next selection is taken, is a splendid adventure story.

Just before sun-down the mate ordered a boat’s crew ashore, and I went as one of the number. We passed under the stern of the English brig, and had a long pull ashore. I shall never forget the impression which our first landing on the beach of California made upon me. The sun had just gone down; it was getting dusky; the damp night wind was beginning to blow, and the heavy swell of the Pacific was setting in, and breaking in loud and high “combers” upon the beach. We lay on our oars in the swell, just outside of the surf, waiting for a good chance to run in, when a boat, which had put off from the Ayacucho just after us, came alongside of us, with a crew of dusky Sandwich Islanders, talking and hallooing in their outlandish tongue. [This landing took place at Santa Barbara.]

They knew that we were novices in this kind of boating, and waited to see us go in. The second mate, however, who steered our boat, determined to have the advantage of their experience, and would not go in first. Finding, at length, how matters stood, they gave a shout, and taking advantage of a great comber which came swelling in, rearing its head, and lifting up the stern of our boat nearly perpendicular, and again dropping it in the trough, they gave three or four long and strong pulls, and went in on top of the great wave, throwing their oars overboard, and as far from the boat as they could throw them, and jumping out the instant that the boat touched the beach, and then seizing hold of her and running her up high and dry upon the sand.

We saw, at once, how it was to be done, and also the necessity of keeping the boat “stern on” to the sea; for the instant the sea should strike upon her broad-side or quarter, she would be driven up broad-side on, and capsized. We pulled strongly in, and as soon as we felt that the sea had got hold of us and was carrying us in with the speed of a race-horse, we threw the oars as far from the boat as we could, and took hold of the gunwale, ready to spring out and seize her when she struck, the officer using his utmost strength to keep her stern on. We were shot up upon the beach like an arrow from a bow, and seizing the boat, ran her up high and dry, and soon picked up our oars, and stood by her, ready for the captain to come down.

Finding that the captain did not come immediately, we put our oars in the boat, and leaving one to watch it, walked about the beach to see what we could of the place. The beach is nearly a mile in length between the two points, and of smooth sand. We had taken the only good landing-place, which is in the middle; it being more stony toward the ends. It is about twenty yards in width from high-water mark to a slight bank at which the soil begins, and so hard that it is a favorite place for running horses. It was growing dark, so that we could just distinguish the dim outlines of the two vessels in the offing; and the great seas were rolling in, in regular lines, growing larger and larger as they approached the shore, and hanging over the beach upon which they were to break, when their tops would curl over and turn white with foam, and, beginning at one extreme of the line, break rapidly to the other, as a long card-house falls when the children knock down the cards at one end.

The Sandwich Islanders, in the meantime, had turned their boat round, and ran her down into the water, and were loading her with hides and tallow. As this was the work in which we were soon to be engaged, we looked on with some curiosity. They ran the boat into the water so far that every large sea might float her, and two of them, with their trousers rolled up, stood by the bows, one on each side, keeping her in her right position. This was hard work; for beside the force they had to use upon the boat, the large seas nearly took them off their legs. The others were running from the boat to the bank, upon which, out of the reach of the water, was a pile of dry bullocks’ hides, doubled lengthwise in the middle, and nearly as stiff as boards. These they took upon their heads, one or two at a time, and carried down to the boat, where one of their number stowed them away. They were obliged to carry them on their heads, to keep them out of the water, and we observed that they had on thick woolen caps. “Look here, Bill, and see what you’re coming to!” said one of our men to another who stood by the boat. “Well, D——,” said the second mate to me, “this does not look much like Cambridge college, does it? This is what I call ‘head work’.” To tell the truth, it did not look very encouraging.