Much of the time was passed in vexatious calms. We were such a picture as Coleridge had in his mind when he wrote,

June 25th, 1849, we reached San Francisco, seventy-four days from San Blas, and one hundred and forty-five days from Philadelphia. This wonderful city is an uninviting spot. There is but a small strip of level land, crowded down to the bay, surrounded by high, sandy hills, covered with short bushes, while not a tree is to be seen. The city is composed chiefly of tents. Each day regularly, at about ten o’clock, there arrives in the city, coming down with a rush over the bleak and barren hills, a cold, chilling wind, which takes one at once from the summer to the winter solstice. Fires are comfortable, and cloaks or serapis are necessary. Gambling seems to be universal. Rents are held at the most exorbitant prices. I almost fear to risk my credibility by stating that the Parker House rents at $150,000 a year. On the afternoon of the second day after our arrival, the 27th of June, our luggage being transferred from the Colooney to a river schooner which was taken alongside, we “set sail” up the bay.

We spent the first night at Benicia, anchoring near the landing. Taking our blankets, as we would our umbrellas at home, we called upon the Rev. Mr. W., and were introduced by him to a trader, who kindly permitted us to sleep in a large unfinished room, while in another part of the same room were a party consisting of a Mexican master and his peons, on their way to the mines.

June 29th. Arrived at Sacramento City, the present of which is under canvas, and the future on paper. Every thing is new except the ground, and trees, and the stars, beneath a canopy of which we slept. Quarreling and cheating form the employments, drinking and gambling the amusements, making the largest pile of gold the only ambition of the inhabitants. As each one steps his foot on shore, he seems to have entered a magic circle, in which he is under the influence of new impulses. The wills of all seem under the control of some strong and hidden agency. The city is every day newly filled, then emptied but to be filled again. The crowd ever presses on, elate with hope, excited by expectations, which it would be impossible to define or realize. The world-renowned Sutter’s Fort, which is two miles from the landing, is a rude structure made of sun-dried bricks, about five hundred feet long and two hundred wide. It is now used for other purposes, a part of it being fitted up as a hospital.

July 2d. Walked from Sacramento to Mormon Island, a distance of twenty-nine miles; and the next day, each one having forty pounds of baggage upon his back, consisting of a cradle, tools for mining, provisions, blankets, &c., walked eight miles farther up the south fork of the American River to Salmon Falls, there to commence our mining operations.

CHAPTER III.

NORTHERN MINES.

Salmon Falls, South Fork of the American River, July 4th, 1849.

Here we are, at length, in the gold diggings. Seated around us, upon the ground, beneath a large oak, are a group of wild Indians, from the tribe called “Diggers,” so named from their living chiefly upon roots. These Indians are of medium size, seldom more than five feet and eight or ten inches high; are very coarse and indolent in appearance, of a dark complexion, with long black hair which comes down over the face; are uncivilized, and possess few of the arts of life. They weave a basket of willow so closely as to hold water, in which they boil their mush, made of acorns dried and pounded to a powder, or their flour, purchased at some trading tent. You will perhaps ask how water can be boiled in a basket without the fire’s burning it. This is done simply by heating stones and putting them into the water, which is thus, in a short time, raised to the boiling point. They have brought us in some salmon, one of which weighs twenty-nine pounds. These they spear with great dexterity, and exchange for provisions, or clothing, and ornaments of bright colors. We are surrounded on all sides by high, steep mountains, over which are scattered the evergreen and white oak, and which are inhabited by the wolf and bear.[A] This will always be to us a memorable fourth of July, as being our first day at the mines. We have spent the day in “prospecting.” This term, as it designates a very important part of the business of mining, requires explanation. I should first, however, give some description of the bar upon which we are to labor. This lies on both sides the river, and is covered with smooth, brassy-looking rocks, some of which weigh many tons. It is a little higher than the water-level; but we find, as we dig down, that the water soon begins to flow in, and must be “baled out.” This bar, or rather succession of bars, extends a distance of some miles up and down the river, over which the water runs with surprising rapidity in the freshets, which are common during the rainy season, and break up and reduce the gold-bearing quartz, tearing it away from its primitive bed, robbing it, in its course, of its virgin gold, and attriting it till it is at length deposited, in greater or less abundance, within some crevice or some water-worn hollow, or beneath some rock so formed as to receive it. These bars vary from a few feet to several hundred yards in width. In order to find the deposits, the ground must be “prospected.” A spot is first selected, in the choice of which science has little and chance every thing to do. The stones and loose upper soil, as also the subsoil, almost down to the primitive rock, are removed. Upon or near this rock most of the gold is found; and it is the object, in every mining operation, to reach this, however great the labor, and even if it lies forty, eighty, or a hundred feet beneath the surface. If, when this strata-belt of rock is attained, it is found to present a smooth surface, it may as well be abandoned at once; if soft and friable, or if seamed with crevices, running at angles with the river, the prospect of the miner is favorable. Some of the dirt is then put into a pan, and taken to the water, and washed out with great care. The miner stoops down by the stream, choosing a place where there is the least current, and, dipping a quantity of water into the pan with the dirt, stirs it about with his hands, washing and throwing out the large pebbles, till the dirt is thoroughly wet. More water is then taken into the pan, and the whole mass is well stirred and shaken, and the top gravel thrown off with the fingers, while the gold, being heavier, sinks deeper into the pan. It is then shaken about, more water being continually added, and thrown off with a sideway motion, which carries with it the dirt at the top, while the gold settles yet lower down. It must be often stirred with the hands to prevent “baking,” as the hardening of the mud at the bottom is called. When the dirt is nearly washed out, great care is requisite to prevent the lighter scales of gold from being washed out with the magnetic sand, which is best done by pushing back the gold, and cleaning the sand from the edge of the pan with the thumb. At length a ridge of gold scales, mixed with a little sand, remains in the pan, from the quantity of which some estimate may be formed of the richness of the place. If there are five to eight grains, it is considered that “it will pay.” If less gold is found, the miner digs deeper or opens a new hole, till he finds a place affording a good prospect. When this is done, he sets his cradle by the side of the stream, in some convenient place, and proceeds to wash all the dirt. This is aptly named prospecting, and is the hardest part of a miner’s business. Thus have we been employed the whole of this day, digging one hole after another—washing out many test-pans—hoping, at every new attempt, to find that which would reward our toil, and we have made ten cents each.

July 5th. My share to-day is $1 25. These details may appear dull and uninteresting; but the reader will bear in mind that it is the writer’s object to give a full and true description of a miner’s life. He might pass by all the days and months of profitless labor, and record only the days of success; but those who have friends at the mines, and those who purpose going there, will certainly wish to know what are the trials and discouragements of such a life. They wish to know the truth.

July 6th. We have to-day removed to the opposite side of the river. This, with pitching our tent, has occupied most of the day. Still, we have made $4 each. I have been seated for several hours by the river side, rocking a heavy cradle filled with dirt and stones. The working of a cradle requires from three to five persons, according to the character of the diggings. If there is much of the auriferous dirt, and it is easily obtained, three are sufficient; but if there is little soil, and this found in crevices, so as only to be obtained with the knife, five or more can be employed in keeping the cradle in operation. One of these gives his whole attention to working the cradle, and another takes the dirt to be washed, in pans or buckets, from the hole to the cradle, while one or two others supply the buckets. The cradle, so called from its general resemblance to that article of furniture, has two rockers, which move easily back and forth in two grooves of a frame, which is laid down firmly on the edge of or over the water, so that the person working it may at the same time dip up the water. It must be inclined a few degrees forward, that the dirt may be washed gradually out, and must be so placed that the mud may be carried off with the stream. Cleets are nailed across the bottom of the body, over which the loose dirt passes with the water, and behind which the magnetic sand and gold settle. An apron is placed beneath the hopper, and conducts the water, dirt, &c., from that to the body below—a construction similar to that of the common fanning-mill. The hopper, which is placed at the top of the cradle behind, is a box, the bottom of which is a sheet of tin, zinc, or sheet iron, perforated with holes from the size of a gold dollar up to that of a quarter eagle. Through these the dirt, gravel, and gold are all carried by the water upon the apron and into the body below, leaving only the pebbles, too large to be passed through, in the hopper, which are thrown out by raising it in the hands, and by a sudden forward, then backward motion, depositing them on one side in a heap. To facilitate this operation, the hopper is sometimes made with hinges, by which means, by the raising the forward end, the dirt falls over behind. There is generally a handle, so placed on one side that the cradle may be rocked with the left hand, leaving it to the choice of the person rocking whether to stand or sit while at work. The dirt taken from the hole is turned into the hopper at the top. The person, rocking the cradle with his left hand, at the same time uses his right in dipping up continually ladles of water, which he dashes upon the dirt in the hopper. Twenty-five buckets of dirt are generally washed through, the mass in the body of the cradle being occasionally stirred up to prevent its hardening, and thus causing the gold to slide over it and be lost. It is then drawn off into a pan through holes at the bottom of the cradle, and “panned out,” or washed, in the same way as in prospecting. While this is being done by one of the company, it is common for the others to spend the ten minutes’ interval in resting themselves. Seated upon the rocks about their companion, they watch the ridge of gold as it dimples brightly up amid the black sand, seeming to me always the smile of hope, while many enlivening remarks and the cheering laugh go round. At length, the washing completed, the pan passes from one to another, while each one gives his opinion as to the quantity. The holes in the bottom of the cradle are stopped, more dirt is thrown into the hopper, and again the grating, scraping sounds are heard which are peculiar to the rocking of the cradle, and which, years hence, will accompany our dreams of the mines.

July 7th. This morning witnessed an instance of that remarkable success in mining which rarely occurs, but which, when it takes place, turns the heads of so many. I might aptly quote Virgil’s figurative description of Rumor, and apply it to these gold stories. They go out quite respectable in appearance, furnished with hat and cane at the start, but, as they proceed, they suddenly expand to the proportions of Hercules, with his trunk of a tree for a club. We met this story long afterward, after it had returned from its voyage to the States and to Europe, and, but for its having claimed Salmon Falls as its birth-place, it could not have been recognized at all. The facts were simply these: Two Irishmen followed the “lead” of the Jordan brothers, who had made their gold by penetrating into a bank which had evidently been detached from the mountains behind in some convulsion of nature, and pushed forward over the bar. They commenced in the bank at the edge of the bar, and when they reached the line in which the Jordans had found their vein, they were so fortunate as to find it again. This vein is about seven inches wide, and ten feet below the surface of the bank, and is imbedded in a stratum of hard clay, through which the fine scale gold is richly sprinkled. The vein runs, in a compact body, diagonally across the claims which have been and are being “worked out,” and so on, in a straight line, to the edge of the bar, where it is broken, scattered, and lost by its descent. At this remarkable place, these two men, before breakfast this morning, took out $422. As I witnessed their success, for we are working within three yards of them, and when I held a large bottle, nearly full of the beautiful gold, in my hands, I was at first conscious of feelings of elation and hope. This has given place, this evening, to temporary despondency, for I have been compelled to contrast our own small operations with their brilliant success. Poor Jemmie, one of these Irishmen, and who had never before been the owner of a sovereign, said to me to-day, “Every body is talking about my good luck, but, I don’t know how it is, I can’t feel so; and, faith, I think a sovereign looks to me more!” Our company have been engaged to-day in “prospecting,” and preparing for work. The last washings, near night, gave us fifty cents to the pan, which is considered encouraging.

July 8th, Sunday. All the miners upon the bar, with the exception of one man, who is working by himself below, have laid aside their labors for the day. This is, partly at least, owing to a regard for its sacredness. And when may we be so much sustained by the encouragements, cheered by the promises, or influenced by the restraints of religion, as in the circumstances in which we are now placed? Religion—Heaven’s most precious gift to man—comes and offers to lead us, and to be with us in all our weary exile from home.

July 9th. To-day we have made $20 each. One of the conclusions at which we are rapidly arriving is, that the chances of our making a fortune in the gold mines are about the same as those in favor of our drawing a prize in a lottery. No kind of work is so uncertain. A miner may happen upon a good location in his very first attempt, and in a very few days make his hundreds or thousands, while the old miners about him may do nothing. Two foreigners, who had been some time in the mines, began to work their respective claims, leaving a small space between them. The question arose to which of them this space belonged. As they could not amicably settle the dispute, they agreed to leave it to the decision of an American who happened by, and who had not yet done an hour’s work in the mines. He measured off ten feet—which is allowed by custom—to each of the claimants, taking for his trouble the narrow strip of land lying between them. In a few hours, the larger claims, belonging to the old miners, were abandoned as useless, while the new miner discovered a deposit which yielded him $7435.

July 10th. We made $3 each to-day. This life of severe hardship and exposure has affected my health. Our diet consists of hard bread, flour, which we eat half cooked, and salt pork, with occasionally a salmon which we purchase of the Indians. Vegetables are not to be procured. Our feet are wet all day, while a hot sun shines down upon our heads, and the very air parches the skin like the hot air of an oven. Our drinking water comes down to us thoroughly impregnated with the mineral substances washed through the thousand cradles above us. After our days of labor, exhausted and faint, we retire—if this word may be applied to the simple act of lying down in our clothes—robbing our feet of their boots to make a pillow of them, and wrapping our blankets about us, on a bed of pine boughs, or on the ground, beneath the clear, bright stars of night. Near morning there is always a change in the temperature of the air, and several blankets become necessary. Then the feet and the hands of the novice in this business become blistered and lame, and the limbs are stiff. Besides all these causes of sickness, the anxieties and cares which wear away the life of so many men who leave their families to come to this land of gold, contribute, in no small degree, to this same result. It may with truth be said, “the whole head is sick, and the whole heart faint.” I have to-day removed to the top of the hill above the encampment, and beneath a large oak-tree, for the benefit of a cooler air and shade during the intense heat of noon.

Aug. 20th. After my last date I was prostrated at once by the acclimating disease of the country, and rendered as helpless as a child. All day and all night long I was alone under my oak, and without those kind attentions so necessary in sickness, and which can not be had here. I was reduced to a very low state, with but little hope, under the circumstances, of recovery. It did seem hard to lie down to die there, and to think that I was no more to see my beloved family. Yet I feared not to die. Indeed, I marked off the spot under the oak where my grave should be, and prayed for submission to God’s righteous will, and that his love would protect and bless those dear to me.

The lines of an Englishman, addressed, as he was dying at the mines, “to a gold coin,” vividly described my feelings at that time:

At this critical time, a gentleman from New Orleans, hearing of my case, came up to see me, and gave me a few pills, which, fortunately, he had with him. They checked the disease, and after a few hours I could eat a bird shot and cooked for me by a kind friend. Not soon shall I forget this noble-hearted friend, B. Rough as a grisly bear, he was yet one of nature’s noblemen. At home he filled, at one time, the office of sheriff. He said that the office cost him too much, and was making him poor. If he was sent to seize a destitute woman’s effects for rent, he would be sure to pay that rent, and then would send her a bag of flour from his own farm. Thus we learn that many of the most valuable traits of character and excellencies of heart lie, like the purest gold, concealed beneath a rough surface.

Not thinking it best, in the feeble state of my health, to return to mining immediately, as soon as I was strong enough, with my blankets upon my back, I walked to “Sutter’s Mill,” now named Coloma. When I first reached the country, a school had been offered me in this place at a stipulated compensation of $16 a day. After spending a few days with Mr. W., one of the two who discovered the first gold, while engaged in digging a mill-race for Mr. Sutter, a spot now regarded with peculiar interest, my health was so much improved that I concluded to return to the mines.

On reaching Salmon Falls, to my surprise I found Mr. C., a French gentleman, and who had formerly had the charge of the French classes in my seminary, and who was now waiting to invite me to join himself and a friend, a dentist from Philadelphia, in a prospecting tour upon the north and middle forks. We spent two weeks in this exploring tour, and on our return to Salmon Falls spent several days in mining there. When all our expenses were paid and a dividend made, we had $2 each, the result of three weeks of hard toil.

Hearing of good diggings at Weaver’s Creek, I proposed to my companions to go over, and, after prospecting, send them word. One of them accompanied me on my way as far as Coloma. As he was leaving me to return, after spending the night together in an emigrant’s wagon we found by the roadside, a miner who had just arrived, after a long and dangerous journey across the plains, rode up to me. He told me he was without money, and without provisions or tools for mining, having exhausted his means on his long journey. This miner, named W., had been a Texas Ranger. When he told me his condition, I went with him into Coloma, and succeeded in procuring all he wanted on a credit of a few days. He manifested his gratitude by offering to pack my provisions with his own upon his mule, and to accompany me wherever I was going. After traveling three miles, we stopped under a tree to cook slap-jacks—a fried batter—and pork, and wait for the cool of the evening. About four o’clock we again started for the diggings on Weaver’s Creek, five miles distant. Taking the wrong trail, we lost our way, and wandered on six miles till it was too dark to see the path. We were in a wild gorge of the mountain, hungry and tired, with no means of kindling a fire, and my feet badly blistered. But our most serious want was that of water, our thirst having become intolerable. We tied a rope to the neck of our mule, keeping one end of it in our hands, hoping that his instinct would lead him to water; but we were disappointed; and hungry, thirsty, and tired, we laid us down where we could feel a place in the dark which was smooth enough.

In the morning we found, to our surprise, that we had been sleeping in the middle of the road, and within a few yards of us was a fine spring of water. Yesterday morning we reached Weaver’s Creek, and, after prospecting some hours, located ourselves on the spot where we now are at work, with some good prospect of success. Just below us is a Georgia miner, who showed me to-day nine pounds of gold he made last week with the assistance of two hired men. The mountains here are very precipitous and abrupt, hanging over our heads in wild grandeur. The creek is only accessible through wild ravines and over steep mountains. Owing to their great depth, and their being shut up on all sides by mountains so lofty that the sun rises two hours later, and sets two hours earlier than upon the plains, the heat is most intense. We have spent our first day in making preparations for our work. W. is now putting up a brush arbor, to guard us more effectually against the heat of the sun. Beneath the same large and wide-spreading tree are two other companies of miners. In one of these companies is a Missourian, shivering beneath the hot sun with a violent attack of fever and ague. For several days I have remonstrated with him against going into the cold water when heated, and standing there while washing out the gold. To-day he became much heated, and in this state repeated the experiment, and in ten minutes was seen creeping into his blankets. In a little time he sent for me. His look was very wild and wandering as I went to his side, and he said, looking up shivering into the tree above him, “Woods, if you don’t remove this tree, my fever never will break.”

Weaver’s Creek, Aug. 21st. Our mining company has been to-day increased, two others having joined us, making our number five. One of these has been engaged in walling in a spring where we obtain our drinking-water—another is making a cradle. The others have been employed in removing the stones and top soil, and carrying the auriferous dirt on hand-barrows, made of hides, down to the edge of the water, ready to be washed. From every indication, we have “struck a rich lead.” We find much gold on the rocks: on one I counted twenty-five scales.

Aug. 22d. We have finished our cradle, and washed a little dirt this forenoon, which yielded us about $10 in all. Our hopes are bright for the morrow.

Aug. 23d. How is “the gold become dim!” After all our preparations and hopes, our toil early and late, toil of the most laborious kind, digging down in the channel of the river till the water was up to our knees, giving ourselves barely time to eat, we have made but $4 each. We sat down upon the rocks, and looked at the small ridge of gold in the pan, and then at each other. One fell to swearing, another to laughing; I tried to say some encouraging things. Our way indeed is dark, and great are our difficulties, and oft-repeated our failures, and we experience the bitterness of the “hope deferred which maketh the heart sick,” but our motto must be press on. The motives which induced us to come here were good—our object is good—then, trusting in God’s merciful providence, let us persevere.

One young man near us has just died. He was without companion or friend—alone in his tent. Not even his name could be discovered. We buried him, tied down his tent, leaving his effects within. Thus is a home made doubly desolate. Years will pass, and that loved son, or brother, or husband still be expected, and the question still repeated, Why don’t he come? Right below me, upon a root of our wide-spreading oak, is seated an old man of three-score and ten years. He left a wife and seven children at home, whose memory he cherishes with a kind of devotion unheard of before. He says when he is home-sick he can not cry, but it makes him sick at his stomach. He is an industrious old man, but has not made enough to buy his provisions, and we have given him a helping hand. Is it surprising that many fly to gambling, and more to drink, to drown their disappointments? To-day I have weighed my little store of gold, after paying all expenses, and find it amounts, after over six weeks of hard labor, to $35.

Aug. 25th. Yesterday I returned to Salmon Falls, and am again encamped beneath the old oak upon the hill, Mr. C. and his friend being with me. They have slung their hammocks up among the branches, where they sleep comfortably, protected from the ants and vermin. My bed is, as usual, upon the ground, where even my night-bag does not guard me from the annoying attacks of the ants and lizards. Last night, after I had fallen asleep, my companions were aroused by hearing a ciote barking near us, and soon they saw him come and smell of my hands and face, seeming to doubt whether he could take a bite without being detected.

A company of nineteen have just commenced damming the river at the head of an island above the falls, nearly a mile in length, by which they expect to lay bare the channel, on one side, the whole length of the island. The proceedings of a meeting of the company to-day, with reference to my admission, were truly Californian. It was first resolved that I should be admitted, and then, as they had been at work two days, that I should furnish the company five bottles of brandy as the condition of my membership. The brandy was bought and drank, and then a committee waited upon me to notify me that I was a member, and that the trader had furnished them brandy to the amount of $10 on my account. As they knew that there was no other way by which they could obtain a “treat” from me, it was bought and drank before I was informed of the transaction.

On my way from Weaver’s Creek yesterday, I made the acquaintance of an intelligent gentleman from Washington City, who had held there a profitable office under government, and had left a family behind him. He came hoping to better a good condition. A few days labor in the mines was sufficient to convince him that it would have been better to “let well enough alone.” His is not a solitary case. The mines are full of such. The wonderful instances of success which those at home are made to believe are common, are about in the proportion of one to a thousand. Of the nine hundred and ninety-nine cases of failure, or at least of limited success, those at a distance know nothing—nothing of the privations and discouragements, trials, dangers, and deaths.

Aug. 26th. On my way to the place for preaching to-day, I stepped into a hornet’s nest, and was badly stung on my hand. These hornets, called “yellow jackets,” live around and in our tents, and share our provisions. I have had twenty of them on my plate at once. My hand was much swollen, and I feared I should be unable to fulfill my engagement with the company by preaching to them. The kindness of the wife of one of the miners, who brought a bottle of hartshorn from the tent, and bathed my hand with it, soon relieved me. Our church was “God’s first temple.” My audience were seated upon the grass on the river bank, beneath a cluster of pine trees. There they were, from all the states—from Europe, from Africa, from Oceanica. Such hours of worship on God’s holy day, spent with my mining companions, or with some beloved Christian brother who remained “steadfast, unmoveable” in his integrity amid the corrupting vices of the mines, will never be forgotten. When we could not walk to the house of God in company, we sometimes walked upon the mountains, and there together sang the songs of Zion, and prayed to the Father ever merciful and good in a strange land. I take pleasure in recalling to my mind such a noble-hearted Christian, who had devoted one fourth of all his anticipated earnings in California to religious charities. It was my pleasure afterward, when in San Francisco, to send him, through the Secretary of the American Bible Society, a quantity of Bibles, hymn-books, and sermons, his purpose being to form a Bible class among the miners. He wished them to be sent as early as possible, as “he hoped,” he said, “to get possession of the ground, and thus keep out the gambling table and the brandy bottle.”

Sept. 3d. We are yet at work throwing a dam over the river. It would be thought, from the manner in which some members of the company talk about what they “know must be” in the channel of the river, that they expect to do no more work after this. A perfect Mohammedan heaven, with its tree bearing every luxury, its beautiful treasures, its arbors where no care or trouble exist, seem ready to be revealed as soon as the water which curtains them over shall be drawn aside. An interesting incident occurred to-day. A young Englishman in our company, from the Society Islands, was returning to his tent during the interval at noon for lunch and rest. On his way, one of the many strangers he met inquired the way to certain mines below. From this they fell into a conversation upon some indifferent topic, and both being wearied, they sat down, side by side, upon a rock, little thinking what an interesting and beautiful revelation was about to be made to them. In the conversation, one incidentally inquired of the other where he was from. “From the Society Islands,” was the reply. With an awakened interest in his manner, he inquired, “Which island?” “Tahiti,” was the answer. He looked into the face of the other with a searching gaze, and with deep emotion inquired, “What is your name?” “ H.,” he said, “You are my brother!” And they were locked in each other’s arms. There they are, on the bar below me, walking arm in arm, and conversing with intense interest. I afterward learned more of these brothers from a lady, whose father was the first missionary to Tahiti.

Sept. 8th. Our damming operation has been an entire failure. We spent many days in constructing the dam, which, when completed, drained a large portion of the river. When this was done, we thoroughly prospected the whole, and found nothing. The banks and bars of the river were rich in some places, but there was not a grain of gold in the channel.

Sept. 9th. Attended preaching at Mormon Island to-day. Being late out, I called to spend the night with a company of gentlemen from Cincinnati, who are encamped in a solitary place some two miles below Salmon Falls, upon the river. We had just finished our supper an hour since, during which they were relating to me some difficulties they had with the Indians, who had stolen $200 from them. After this theft, and the measures which had been resorted to for the recovery of the money, the Indians would frequently come after dark and throw stones across the river into their camp.

Sept. 15th. Upon a bar above our dam some miners lately met with some success. Rumors of this success, but much exaggerated, were circulated. Ounces were reported pounds. The change at once was magical. Trading tents, the signs of rival physicians, eating and gambling booths have sprung up, and the noise and confusion of a large village are heard. More than a hundred men are at work upon the bar. The auriferous dirt must be taken a quarter of a mile to the river to be washed. Some do this by packing the dirt in bags upon mules, and some pack this upon their own backs. One company, from Hartford, gave us a surprise this morning. They had with them a quantity of hose, and by this means brought the water from the river upon the bar, thus saving the labor of packing the dirt. The gold is chiefly found in one vein, running in nearly a direct line at right angles to the river. The few who have found this vein have done comparatively well. All the rest “spend their labor for that which is not bread.” A company of Cincinnati miners have invited me to work with them a “claim” upon this bar. They have just told me that the Indians came last night in large numbers, and made an attack upon their camp, which they were compelled to abandon at midnight, and, swimming the river, to take refuge with a company of New York miners.

Sept. 18th. There is but little dirt upon this bar, and it is now regarded as “worked out,” and the miners are leaving as fast as they came. Our company have made upon the bar $65 each. I have been now three months in the mines, and have made $390. There is much sickness here. One half of the whole population are sick. I have to-day been informed of the mournful death of a merchant from Philadelphia, a fellow-voyager from Cape San Lucas. He was the object of anxious solicitude to his friends soon after his arrival at San Francisco. He had come on with bright hopes, which were sadly disappointed. To drown his sorrows and disappointments, he had given himself up to drink. Many times had they expostulated with him, but in vain. He died at San Francisco.

Sept. 30th. Left Salmon Falls on Wednesday last for San Francisco. My object in taking this journey was to get my letters from home. On my arrival in the country I had received letters, but it is now five months since my last were dated. My anxiety to hear from my family had become very great. A friend offered me the use of a vicious mule for the journey to Sacramento. No bridle could be borrowed, and, besides, I was to be mounted upon a pack-saddle without stirrups. Imagine me, then, as thus starting off, my hair and beard of truly patriarchal length, all unshorn and unshaven. Such superfluities as coat, vest, collar, cravat, &c., were only remembered with the other comforts once enjoyed. My red flannel garments gave me a rather warlike appearance. Thus habited and mounted, a rope’s end was tied around my mule’s neck, which passed in a running noose over his nose, while I checked his movements by the other end, which I held in my hand. He did his best several times to run with me and to throw me, and my companions enjoyed their sport at my expense. The mule had a most ludicrous way of throwing up his head and braying as he was about starting to run. From this circumstance I named him “Roaring Lion.” They were compelled to acknowledge that in these trials of strength I had the “upper hand.”

At Sacramento I inquired for a bag of clothing which I supposed had been stored in the place, and, after a long search, it was pointed out to me hanging in a tree-top in the town. The friend with whom I left it in charge to store had put his own clothing in it, and, to avoid paying the exorbitant price charged for storage, had deposited it where found. On reaching San Francisco, after a tedious voyage of five days, I hastened at once to the office of Livingston & Co. to get my letters. When I inquired for them, I was told there were a number for me, but, on looking for them, it was found that they had been forwarded, only the day before, to the mines. My disappointment was great. All the other privations and trials to which I had been subject were truly light compared with this. But, like them all, it had this good effect: it led me to set a higher and more true estimate upon the blessings of our native land. How priceless, when thus deprived of them, become our homes—better than fine gold! On turning away from the office, oppressed with anxiety and disappointment, I was walking slowly up the street, when the lively notes of a piano struck my ear. I stopped to listen. It was a favorite home song—“We have lived and loved together.” My feelings were moved with emotions of inexpressible tenderness and sorrow.

San Francisco, Oct. 19th. Have spent nearly three weeks in this city, waiting for letters. Col. Moore, post-master, kindly interested himself in the recall of those sent to the mountains, but they have not been received. Two mail steamers have arrived since I have been here, and, though three mails were due, have brought none. Not only one gulf, but parts of two oceans and one continent, are between me and my family, while the only comfort which reaches me is the thought that those I love are under the protecting care of an Almighty Friend.

There is much sickness now in this city. Many come down sick from the mines. The situation of such is desperate indeed. There is a heartless unconcern in the community generally to the sufferings and wants of the many who are dying wretched deaths in the midst of them. It may not, perhaps, be possible that it should be otherwise. Every man is too much occupied with his own concerns to be able to search out objects of charity; and there are so many such cases constantly recurring, as to induce a feeling of indifference, the result of familiarity with the sufferings of others. I was present at a religious meeting when this subject was mentioned, and means were suggested for some systematic and efficient relief. Some cases were related which called for immediate aid. The case of one young man, in particular, awakened my sympathy, and I devoted the next forenoon to an effort to find him. I was at length directed to a large open lot bordering upon the shore, and covered with bales, boxes, and barrels of goods of all descriptions. After walking up and down over this lot, I could discover no object of distress, or no place where he could have found a resting-place, and gave up the pursuit. Three days afterward, as I was standing at the door of a store opposite this lot, a small crowd gathered there, and were looking at some object with intense interest. I crossed over, and there, beneath a hide stretched over two boxes, and crouched down between these boxes, was the corpse of the poor man I had sought, who had died there unfriended and alone. His head was leaning upon his hand, placed upon an edge of the box. No one could have supposed that a human body was concealed there. I had twice passed by that very spot in my search for him. The least groan could have been heard from the street. At the religious meeting I have mentioned, held beneath the tent chapel of the Presbyterian church, it was stated that there had been lately twelve cases of suicide in San Francisco. Yesterday a young man from New England left his tent in “Happy Valley,” and went to a retired place, untied his cravat and hung it upon the bushes, took a razor from its case, and put the case upon his cravat, and then deliberately cut his own throat. Pecuniary losses, it is supposed, was the cause.

The house in which I have passed my time since I came to the city is one occupied by Rev. Mr. W., in the suburbs—soon to be the heart of the city. Across the street from us are some canvas tents, and below these a shed-house, in which is kept a restaurant; then comes a house made of hides stretched over a frame, and still lower down are more tents, adobe and frame houses, containing men, women, and children from all parts of the world. And there below me extends, far away, the noble bay, covered with its ships from all nations, to which new arrivals are daily added. Throngs of people, horses, wagons, oxen, carts, and mules, are ever passing. And this moment there goes toward the “Presidio” a heavy piece of ordnance. Here follow two merry young Americans on horseback, each with a gayly-dressed sigñorita before him, both without bonnets, and laughing merrily; and hear those glad and happy shouts of children! Stretched away before me is the world of San Francisco—and what a world! How the tide of human life flows and dashes upon its shores! Crowds every day arrive, and other crowds every day leave. Old friends meet, exchange a few words, and hasten on to the shrine of Mammon. Multitudes die, the waves close over them, and they are forgotten. It can hardly be supposed that people come to California to live, since they are here only preparing to live—much less do they come here to die. I pray that my life may be spared till I return to a land of friends, and where man is united to man by the sympathies of life!

The indifference of a class of the population here even to the lives of others, was illustrated by the grave-digger, who has generally to dig eight or more graves in a day, but yesterday only having three ordered, he cursed the Yankees for cheating him out of half his day’s earnings.

Last evening I walked around to about fifty of the gambling tables. A volume could not describe their splendor or their fatal attractions. The halls themselves are vast and magnificent, spread over with tables and implements for gambling. The pictures which decorate them no pen of mine shall describe. The bar-rooms are furnished with the most expensive liquors, no care or attention being spared in the compounding and coloring of them. The music is performed often by professors, and is of the best kind. The tables are sometimes graced, or disgraced, by females, who came at first masked, and who are employed to deal the cards, or who come to play on their own account. “The Bank” consists of a solid pile of silver coin, surmounted by the golden currency of as many countries as there are dupes about the table. Often a sack or two of bullion, which has cost the poor miner months of labor, is placed upon the top of all. Sufficient money to send one home independent changed owners during my short stay. A boy of ten years came to one of the tables with a few dollars. His “run of luck” was surprising, and to him bewildering. In ten minutes he was the owner of a pile of silver, with some gold. In one minute more he was without a dollar. Thinking by one turn of the cards to double his profits, he lost the whole. The instances of great good luck on the part of the players are very rare. But they sometimes occur. A lawyer of this city recently swept three tables in one evening. A young man came from the States in one of the last steamers, and was preparing to go to the mines. He borrowed ten dollars, and went to one of the faro banks. During the night and a part of the next forenoon, he had won $7000, when he made a resolution never to play more, and returned home in the next steamer. Mr. Davidson, the agent of the Rothschilds, says that some of the professed gamblers send home by him to England the average sum of $17,000 a month. Many tricks are resorted to in order to bring persons to the table. An eye-witness assures me that he has seen the president of the bank slip secretly into the hand of some one, employed for the purpose of decoying others, a quantity of coin. On receiving this, he would leave the room, but soon return, and present himself in a noisy manner at the table, and boldly “plank down” the very money he had received. In five minutes the table would be surrounded by eager players.

There are but few women yet in California. Several merchants, and others who intend to spend some years in the country, send for their families. But the situation of these ladies is not the most comfortable, owing to the want of society, and to the utter impossibility of procuring servants in the family. By the death of their husbands, the condition of the wives would be pitiable, though there seem to be enough who would persuade them to change their solitary life as soon as possible. A lady now in this city, soon after her arrival here lost her husband. Before he had been dead a week, she received three proposals of marriage.

The price of labor is yet very high, though not as high as it was in the spring. Good carpenters and masons command their $8 a day. The citizens frequently send their clothes to the Sandwich and Society Islands, and even to Valparaiso, and other places on the coast, to be washed, to avoid the great expense for washing here. All kinds of goods are lower than they were a few months since. Coal, which was $100, is now $9 a ton. Vegetables have fallen from $1 to 25 cts. a lb. Eggs maintain their high price, selling at $20 a dozen.

After much inquiry, we have determined to go, for our next mining season, to the southern mines. We are led to this determination chiefly on account of the better health enjoyed there.

CHAPTER IV.

SOUTHERN MINES.

Having made our preparations, and engaged passage on board a schooner for Stockton, on the 19th day of October we started. Our company was made up chiefly of young gentlemen from Boston. Our sail up the bays and the San Joaquin River was accomplished in six days. We furnished our own provisions, which, owing to the length of our journey, proved insufficient. Notwithstanding the very heavy dews, we were compelled to sleep on deck. In consequence, one of our company took so severe a cold that he returned to San Francisco from Stockton, abandoning mining; while another, a young man from Uxbridge—alas! will disregard all the earnest advice of his friends to return, and will go on, a doomed man—will reach the mines, and we shall there leave him in his grave. Poor C., may his sad story be a warning to multitudes of young men, having good business and good prospects at home, to remain there, contented with small, but steady and sure gains! Sad, sad was his fate to be, for we were soon to bury him, in sight, and within a few yards of those rich deposits, the exaggerated accounts of which are now luring him, and will lure so many others to their ruin! Poor friend! even the hardened muleteers, having charge of our provisions, pity his sorrows, and walk themselves, that they may supply a mule for his faltering and fainting steps. All see death in his haggard countenance and sunken eyes, yet he sees it not. Never shall I forget my interview with him, while I walked by the mule on which he was riding, a few days only before his death. He was telling me of the bright and happy future before him. Taking from his vest pocket a daguerreotype, he placed it in my hands, requesting me to open it. What simplicity, what truth were portrayed in that lovely countenance! Well might he think his future a happy one. I could hardly conceal from him my emotion as I returned his priceless treasure, and thought, never will you take to your bosom the loving and the loved! In a few days I communicated to his friends the intelligence of his death.

Stockton, Oct. 25th. An escape so remarkable occurred to-day that it should not be omitted. Calling at the store of Paige & Webster to purchase provisions, I stood conversing with the clerk, the bag containing the supplies lying at my feet. Thinking the string was loose, I stooped over to examine it. At that very moment there was the sharp crack of a pistol in the store adjoining, and separated only by a cloth partition. On rising hastily, I perceived that the bullet had passed through the tent directly in range of my body. Without moving, I took the measurement, and found that, had I not moved the very second I did, the ball must have gone directly through my heart. It passed within an inch or two of my spine. A little crowd were instantly upon the spot, wondering at this almost miraculous escape.

Our journey from Stockton to Marepoosa, a distance of one hundred and twenty miles, was accomplished between Oct. 27th and Nov. 15th. We took our own provisions and cooking utensils with us, there being few eating tents on the way. After three days’ travel the rainy season set in, and we found it necessary to pitch our tents—sometimes doing this in the mud, spreading down our blankets upon the wet and cold ground, there to remain for two or three days. After we had crossed the plain of the San Joaquin and entered among the mountains, we had fine scenery and beautiful sunsets. Our guide was endeavoring to take us by a new track to the mines, and on our march, Nov. 2d, we were lost among the mountains. After a consultation, the guide and muleteers concluded to cross a high mountain, without a path and very steep. In ascending, two of the mules missed their footing, rolling over and over, down the precipitous sides of the hill, till arrested uninjured by some rock or stump. By the time we had reached the summit of the mountain, and passed across an extent of table-land to an abrupt bluff, at the foot of which was to be seen the beautiful Tuolumne, night had crept upon us. With the night came torrents of rain, driving through our thin canvas roof in a shower of large drops. During the night I was conscious of a sensation of coldness which had completely benumbed me. When sufficiently awake to ascertain the cause, I found that, owing to the unevenness of the ground, I had slid down till my feet were immersed in a cold bath outside the tent. All the next day we kept our tent, amusing ourselves by reading, sewing, and conversing. The morning after, the clouds had disappeared, and the sun rose in splendor. The birds sang their most enlivening songs. It was like our May at home. On walking out of our tents, we perceived the huge foot-prints of the grisly bear at just twenty-six paces distant, and there were the holes where he had scratched up the ground in pursuit of the ants and bugs, which he devours with avidity. The centipedes and tarantulas occasioned us no little apprehension and uneasiness. After the rain commenced, we frequently found them between and under our blankets.

On one of the mornings of our march, my feet being lame, I started in advance of the train, that I might take time to rest, not expecting to see the party again till they overtook me at the end of the day’s march. When I left, all preparations for a start had been made, and the muleteers had gone out for their mules. Two of them, however, were missing, and so much of the day was spent before they were found, that the guide concluded to remain in camp till the next morning. Upon reaching the spring where I supposed we were to encamp, and having quenched my thirst, hungry and weary, I went to a large and shady tree a short distance from the path, and sat down to await my companions. For some time I occupied my mind with reading the “Pilgrim’s Progress,” which I had in my pocket. Soon, however, Bunyan’s dream began to mingle with my own, and I fell into a long, deep sleep. When I awoke, bewildered and confused, it was near night, and nowhere were my companions to be seen. Had they passed me during the day, and gone on to the next encampment, or had some accident delayed them, were becoming anxious questions to me. I perceived, by new tracks, that several trains had passed while I was asleep. Was mine one of them? I determined—why, I hardly know—to retrace my morning steps. But soon a new source of anxiety arose. My course in the morning had been across a plain at the foot of the mountains, till at length it brought me up among them. As I descended the last steeps of these, and saw the plain extended out below me, far in the distance, and very far from the trail I had come, I saw a mule-train which I thought must be mine, and concluded that I had been all this time wandering out of my way. Fixing their direction in my mind before descending upon the plain, and while the sun was setting, I struck across, leaving my path, and hoping to intersect theirs by the time they should come into camp. If I could not effect this, I must spend the night without food, or water, or blankets, with also the prospect of being lost among the mountains. This, in my situation, would be attended with much inconvenience and some danger. Several have been lost in this manner, and never seen again. At length I succeeded in reaching the train, and found it was not mine; but I had the satisfaction of hearing from my companions, and that they were still at their last night’s camp. At about ten o’clock I reached our encampment. Tired and hungry as I was, I stood for some time struck with the scene before me. In addition to the usual camp-fires, giving to every thing a wild, gipsy-like air, my friends had cut down a large tree, and, piling up all the branches and a quantity of dry fuel, had made a grand bonfire. The whole country about was lighted up. Hastening to the camp, I first snatched up the coffee-pot, and, finding it half full, began to drink heartily of the contents, too thirsty to judge of its quality. When I joined the cheerful party around the blazing fire, I was appealed to to decide a question which they had been and still were eagerly discussing. The subject was one which, being brought up under our circumstances, and at such a distance from home, was calculated to awaken a lively interest. It was respecting the comparative merits of the Boston Common and the New York Battery, and was agitated by young miners from those cities.

As we approach the mines, accounts vary greatly as to the prospects of the miners. Those who are, like ourselves, going toward the Marepoosa diggings, hear a thousand exasperated stories of success; but the multitude who are already leaving this region for other mines bring back the most discouraging reports. As we have found it elsewhere, so it is here; at a distance—in Stockton, in San Francisco, in the States, the Marepoosa diggings are regarded as very rich, and are thought by some to be the ancient Ophir. Now that we are within a few miles, the enchantment which distance lends has vanished. It is found that, in general, the miners are not making a living. At the River Mercedes we saw some Indians, called Savage’s Indians, from an American with that name, who shot the chief and took his place in the tribe. He was formerly a companion of Colonel Fremont. These Indians were fishing for salmon, at which business they are very expert and successful. All the Indians in the country are openly friendly, but their friendship is not to be trusted. They have acquired a growing distrust of the emigrant miners, so often are they made the subjects of the most cruel and barbarous impositions. To me their whole deportment appears threatening. Even when they come into our camps with presents or to trade, their conduct says plainly, “We bide our time!” It may be delayed, but the time will come when they will seek revenge; and woe be to those who are among these wild mountain fastnesses when that fearful time comes!

I have seen but few birds among the mountains of California. The large French woodpecker is the most common. It feeds upon the acorn, of which it lays up immense supplies after they have fallen from the trees. It can not put its stores in the ground, for the bears and squirrels would scratch them up and devour them. They pick a hole in the bark of the tree, of such a size that the acorn will exactly fit into it; then they fly down, and, taking one in the bill, drive it deep into the hole. There are thousands of these acorns sometimes in a single tree, which have the appearance of so many bullets shot into it. There is a singular species of the frog, similar to the “horned frog” of Texas. It is as large as the common frog, but covered with scales, with two of the same scales, but larger, protruding out from its head. There are abundance of elk, deer, and antelope; but the most remarkable animal is the grisly bear. This animal is eight to eleven feet in length, and four to six in girth. It is of a dark brown color, with long, shaggy hair. It possesses wonderful strength, and a single blow of its iron-clawed paw would fell an ox; yet it rarely attacks unless provoked. It never lies in wait for its prey. It is dangerous to attack him. Few persons have the hardihood, when alone, to fire upon him, and then look for a tree to which they may retreat.

We passed, on our way, through “Fremont’s camp,” where, a year since, the colonel had a large number of Indians working for him. It is now quite a settlement; and the very day we passed through, a company of sixty men was organized to pursue and punish the Indians for various depredations lately committed. Finding so little which was favorable in our prospect, we started for Sherlock’s diggings, led by new stories of wonderful success. The two brothers Sherlock, who discovered this place, are said to have taken out $30,000 from a small square spot of ground. They went to Monterey to deposit their money and make preparations to continue their profitable labors. While there, in an unguarded manner, one day, they let fall some hints concerning their success. These were not lost upon two sailors belonging to a man-of-war then lying in the bay, and who happened to be present. They returned on board, asked and obtained a furlough for seven weeks, made their preparations, and when the Sherlocks started, they started also. It was not long before the Sherlocks suspected the purpose of the sailors, and, to elude them, very quietly arose at midnight, packed their mules, and silently proceeded on their way. What was their surprise in the morning to find their pursuers still following them. Every means was resorted to in order to avoid them or mislead their search, but all in vain. They were always there. Seeing that they were “in for it,” they made a virtue of necessity, took the sailors with them, gave them valuable instructions, and every assistance in their power. A few weeks since, and before the expiration of their furlough, the two sailors returned on board with ninety pounds of gold.

Here we encountered severe hardships, camping in leaky tents, upon wet and muddy ground, from which we raised ourselves only by spreading down pine boughs beneath us, being chilled with the cold rain and snow. Yesterday a friend was seated by me upon a log at the opening of the tent. “Oh!” said he, “let me be at home with my wife and little daughter, and I will live on one meal a day. I have often wondered,” he continued, “how the poor Irish could live in their hovels, but look here at our home! Their situation is Paradise compared to ours! My wife would cry herself to death if she could see what I suffer!”

Nov. 16th. To-day we commenced our labors at Sherlock’s, contracting to pay $5 a day for an old cradle, while the sum total of our first day’s labor has been one dollar. One of my companions amused us by telling us, while speaking of the wrong ideas those form of the mines who have never seen them, the advice his father gave him. He told him not to work too hard, but to buy a low chair and a small iron rake, and, taking his seat, to rake over the sand, and, picking up the pieces of gold as they came to view, to put them in a box.

Nov. 17th. The sum total made to-day is 25 cents; and this when provisions are selling at $1 25 a pound, with the prospect of being still higher. We returned this evening to our camp tired and hungry, and, finding very little here to eat, have put on a kettle of acorns to boil, upon which, with a little venison, we shall make our supper. There are many depredations committed by the Indians. Mules are stolen, and driven away to be eaten.

Nov. 19th. To-day we have made 50 cents each. This evening, as I was passing through the village on my way to the trading-tent, I perceived an old, drunken sailor cooking some nice steaks from the grisly bear. I had never yet tasted the meat, and when I expressed a curiosity to do this, a tin plate, with a generous slice of the savory meat, was placed before me on the ground, with a bottle of brandy. The latter I eschewed, while the former I chewed, and found it delicious—similar to young pork. While we were enjoying the feast, the old sailor related to me a remarkable instance of success in his own case a few days before. His account was corroborated by others, who gave me some particulars which he withheld. He was walking, or rather staggering, for he had been drinking pretty deeply, upon the bank, below which the miners were hard at work. As he was thus proceeding, singing as he went, he kicked his foot against a stone, causing it to roll over. Turning around, and at the same time raising his clinched fist, he began to curse the stone, when his attention and oaths were all arrested together, for he saw at the bottom of the hole from which the stone was displaced something yellow and bright. In an instant he was upon his knees, knife in hand, and soon held up a beautiful lump of nearly pure gold, valued at $500. In one week he had drank and gambled the whole away. Such instances as this have given rise to the opinion among the miners that the worthless, drinking, and gambling characters have better success than the sober and persevering laborer.

Nov. 21st. It is now about seven months since my last letter from my family. My feelings may then be imagined when, late yesterday afternoon, I heard there were letters for me at Fremont’s camp, eight miles distant, over the mountain. Although suffering greatly from blistered feet, I started early this morning, after passing a sleepless night. Alas! what was my disappointment at finding my letters were from San Francisco, soliciting the votes and influence of our company in favor of the election of a candidate to some office! Indeed, it is not surprising that, amid such trials and hardships, so many become disheartened, and resort to forbidden and fatal pleasures and stimulants.

Dec. 1st. Finding all our efforts unavailing, and that none around us were succeeding, we visited Aqua Frio some days since, and have now removed here. There does not appear to be much doing here, but it is a larger settlement, but few now remaining at Sherlock’s. It is, on this account, more safe from the encroachments of the Indians, and provisions are more easily obtained. These are, however, constantly rising. Each dash of rain adds one or two shillings a pound to the price of every article. This is owing to the fact that, as the rains render the roads worse, the price for transportation proportionally increases. We are now paying $1 50 a pound for provisions. The price of a barrel of flour here would go far toward supporting a family at home for a year. Four pounds of hard, moldy bread for our mule cost us about $6. And yet, with these high prices, the miners in the best diggings in the region do not average $1 50 a day. We have not done this.

Dec. 3d. Lying awake in my tent last night, I overheard three miners, who had come in partially intoxicated at midnight to their tent, within a few feet of us, talking over their plans. It seemed that one of them had just weighed the gold they had made that day, and found it nine ounces. They were to be up early, and start for the same place again. I conformed my movements to theirs the next forenoon, with an experienced miner for a companion. With our picks and spades, we soon reached the place where they were at work. They were in the middle of the channel, having turned the stream from its course, up to their knees in the mud and water, while one of their number was constantly employed in “bailing out.” We prospected near them for a few hours, as they told us many others had done, unsuccessfully. They did not themselves expect to find employment for more than two days, the deposit already beginning to fail.

Dec. 4th. There was a large fall of snow last night, which pressed so heavily upon our tent that it fell in upon us; but we kept our beds till morning, the bank of snow above us adding not a little to the warmth of our blankets. I went down, after breakfast, to the diggings, and brushing away the snow, and breaking the ice, attempted to wash out some gold in a pan; but I made nothing. Becoming thoroughly chilled, with my hands and feet frost-bitten, I returned to my tent; but here it is almost as bad. The canvas, of which our tent is made, is under the snow, our provisions scarce, the fire out, and the day very cold. Two of my companions, feeling the pressure of hunger, went to the tent of an acquaintance, where they found some venison steaks and bread, which had been left at breakfast. They made their dinner from these, being comforted by the thought that some ciote or stray dog would bear the blame. What renders our situation more deplorable is the want of proper clothing. Good boots are so scarce that $96 are readily given for a pair.

A miner related in my hearing to-day the manner in which he employed others to work for him. He marked off a claim ten feet square, and commenced digging in one corner of it. Finding it likely to be a more serious job than he anticipated, and being tired of it, and yet not willing to abandon it without knowing what lay at the bottom, he concealed several pieces of gold, one weighing two ounces, in a corner of his claim. Watching his opportunity when several persons were near, he artfully uncovered one of the lumps, seeming, at the same time, anxious to conceal it. In a few moments several spectators were eyeing his movements. Soon he turned up two or three more small pieces, and then the larger one. In ten minutes the ground all about him was marked off, and many picks and shovels were employed in prospecting for him, while he went back to his tent, pleased with the success of his maneuver. Several good offers were made him for his claim, and, had he been so disposed, he might have made a good bargain; but he was satisfied with the amount of labor he thus procured. In many cases the grossest impositions have been practiced. Persons have scattered gold in the dirt of a claim they held, then have offered it for a high price, exhibiting a pan full of the rich soil as a specimen. We have now spent many days at Aqua Frio without finding any prospect of success; on the contrary, being involved in debt; and have determined to break up our camp, and, disposing of our tents, cooking utensils, &c., to retrace our steps toward Stockton. One of our company is disposed a little longer to try his fortunes—or rather his misfortunes—at the Marepoosa mines. Another remains in his lonely grave. All the others, excepting myself, intend to return to San Francisco, and, as soon as they are able, to leave for home.

On Monday, Dec. 10th, we started with a mule-train bound for Stockton, which took a few pounds of freight for us, while I packed twenty pounds upon my back. The first day we traveled fifteen miles over the mountains, and saw hundreds going to and from the mines. Burns’s tent was so filled with travelers that we were compelled to sleep out in the open air, which was so severely cold that the water froze by our side. The next night we slept at Montgomery’s ranch, after walking twenty-three miles. Spreading our blankets down upon the ground, beneath a canvas roof, we slept so closely packed that no person could have stepped between us. For breakfast we had tea, hard bread, beans, and pork, and a few pickles, for all which we paid $2 each. The following day we traveled in the rain twenty-five miles, fording the Tuolumne. My companions had all dropped behind, half frozen and tired out, seeking shelter and rest in some trading or eating tents we had passed. I pushed on with the mule-train, hoping at night to reach a comfortable shelter; but night found us completely exhausted, and far from any settlement. The company traveling with the mule-train had a tent, but there was no spare room which they could offer me. I had to make up my mind to spend the night alone in the drenching rain, and it was a night I shall never forget. A large log-fire was burning, by which I sat till a late hour, when I happened to remember that I had seen a large hollow tree by the road side, at some little distance from our camp. Taking a blazing brand, I went and examined the tree, and found that the hollow would afford my body a shelter by sitting upright, and leaving my feet exposed to the rain. I kindled a fire, collecting some brush and bark with which to replenish it during the night. Then, with the ax I had borrowed, I removed a quantity of dead leaves and filthy rubbish accumulated at the bottom of my cavern. To my alarm, I found among this rubbish fresh marks of a large bear, which had lately found refuge here from a storm such as now drove me to its shelter. But there seemed no alternative, and I thought, besides, that my fire would be a protection against wild beasts; so I wrapped my blankets about me, and, sinking down into my novel bed, with my feet in a cold bath, I listened to the pattering of the rain, thinking of those far away. Soon my fire began to fail, and I had placed the last piece of bark upon it, and fallen asleep. When I awoke it was pouring in torrents, and my fire was entirely out. Then came thoughts of the bear, and I instinctively drew in my legs, not wishing to place temptation within his reach, should he be prowling about me. It would not do; I was nearly frozen; the water began to find its way into my bed, which I apprehended I should soon be compelled to share with old Bruin. Then it was so dark. I got up, took my blankets over my arm, and started to return to the log-fire, which I saw dimly burning in the distance. In my haste, I forgot that there was a bend in the bank of the stream below us, making it necessary for me to take a circuit round in order to reach my companions. I soon found myself lodged among the bushes and stones at the bottom of the bank. Then came over me a nervous feeling like a nightmare, and I could already feel myself in the grasp of the grisly bear—his claws and teeth were in my flesh. Dropping my ax, and every thing but my blankets, and losing one of my shoes, I began an imaginary scramble and flight from my imaginary pursuer. The remainder of the night I passed, wrapped up in my blankets, by the log-fire. A walk of twelve miles the day following brought me to the Stanislaus, where I was to separate from my companions, who had not yet come up—they going on to Stockton, and I to the Stanislaus diggings. The rain continued to pour down. Little dreamed our friends at home of our situation then! With scarcely a dollar in our pockets, a long journey before us, cold, hungry, and wet, our oppressed hearts were ready to sink. Alas! little did I anticipate what a gloomy future was before two of those companions! One of them was the only and the idolized son of his parents, and tenderly and dearly loved by his sisters. His home possessed every comfort and convenience. He had come far from his father’s house to perish with hunger. He resolved, “I will arise and go to my father.” But that father and that heart-broken mother he was no more to see. A year after we parted—and oh! what a year of suffering and privation must that have been—with that companion of his boyhood and youth, he reached Chagres in most destitute circumstances. To raise money enough to take him home, he engaged as a boatman on the river, took the fever, and died. In consequence of my recent exposure, I had a severe cold, and was entirely unable to travel; yet I had no means of paying my expenses at a ranch. Under these circumstances, I crossed the Stanislaus, went to the ranch of Mr. George Islip, a gentleman from Canada, and told him my situation. “Give yourself no uneasiness,” he said; “you are welcome as long as you choose to remain with us; all I request of you is that you will feel yourself at home.” I passed a very pleasant week with this noble-hearted man, and was treated as a brother. The wind had blown down his house, and torn the canvas roof to ribbons, and we were without shelter from the pelting rain; but warm fires, kept up in the middle of the temporary shelter, made us comfortable. To protect my body from the rain, I would creep under the table, managing to keep my feet near the fire. After a week of interesting and wild adventure, I was set over the river by my friend, and started for the mines again. The roads were very muddy, and the streams forded with difficulty. In my first day’s walk I passed three wagons which were mired—a common occurrence at this season of the year. There were many dead animals by the road side. My Christmas eve I spent most cheerlessly at Green Spring, and the next day reached Woods’s diggings. On the 26th Dec. I visited Sullivan’s diggings, Jamestown, Yorktown, and Curtis’s Creek. A residence in this portion of the mines was, in every way, more desirable than in the more distant mines at this season. Provisions were cheaper, and there was less danger of attacks from the Indians. All the places I have mentioned, together with the Chinese diggings, Mormon Gulch, Sonora, and others, were a cluster of mines lying near to each other, and between the Stanislaus and Tuolumne Rivers. At each of these places were trading tents and dwellings of the miners, chiefly of canvas, with some log and hide houses, and one or two frame buildings. Sonora is the principal of these, the residence chiefly of Mexicans and Chilinos, of whom there are some twelve thousand. Here are furnished provisions, clothing, tools, &c., at almost as low rates as at Stockton. Its hotels, restaurants, and trading tents presented a very busy appearance; and there is no place in the mines where gambling is so much the business. Some comfortable houses have been erected here. After visiting all the mines, and finding but indifferent prospects at any of them, I located myself at Curtis’s Creek, to labor in the winter diggings. I was without a companion, and had heard of a gentleman from New England who was desirous of sharing his tent and provisions with some one. He had been out of health, but was supposed to be improving. My name had been mentioned to him by a friend before I arrived, and he had expressed a desire to enter into such an arrangement as might be of mutual advantage. He was considered a man of great intelligence and worth; and it was partly with the hope of having him as a mining companion that I had visited Curtis’s. His tent was a mile from the settlement. Taking my roll of blankets, I walked over to see him. Judge of my surprise, on reaching his tent, and raising the curtains at the entrance, and stepping in, to find myself standing before a corpse, laid out upon a hammock! I learned from a colored man, who soon came in, that Mr. H. had died half an hour before. He was alone, and seemed to have just been reaching from his bed for something. The last sentiment to which he gave utterance was, “I believe I left home a moral and a religious man; I have brought morality and religion with me, and, with God’s assistance, I will keep them to the last.” Neither he nor others supposed that he was dangerously sick. With the black man, I went out, and we selected a spot beneath a large tree, and there we dug his grave. The noon of the next day was the time named for the funeral, and notice accordingly was sent to the various mines near by. It being impracticable to provide a coffin, the body was wrapped in several blankets, and a quantity of pine boughs spread at the bottom of the grave. At the time appointed for the burial, most of the miners might be seen leaving their various employments, and slowly walking in small groups toward the grave. Another group—the bearers and friends—met them, and all proceeded together on the way. How solemn and impressive, under those circumstances, “the burial service” of the Church, which was then performed. An appropriate hymn was sung, and the body laid in its last repose, then covered with pine boughs, and the grave was filled up. Having purchased the tent and a part of the provisions, I spent the two following days, assisted by a friend—young Dr. R., of New Jersey—in removing the tent, and preparing for the labors of mining. On the Sunday following—the 30th Dec.—I was requested to go over to Woods’s diggings and attend the funeral of a young man from Philadelphia. We had formerly both listened together to the faithful preaching of the Rev. Mr. Fowles. Could it have been anticipated, as I fixed my eye upon that healthy, intelligent countenance at the close of the services, that in the wilds of California I should so soon be called to pronounce over him the solemn sentence—in this case sadly solemn—“Earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust!” The brother of young A. was with him at the mines, but he died alone. The next morning, the last of the year, Dr. R. and myself started upon a prospecting excursion; and we returned at night as wise, as rich, and a little more tired than we were when we left in the morning.