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:
“For thee, for thee, vile yellow slave,
I left a heart that loved me true!
I crossed the tedious ocean-wave,
To roam in climes unkind and new.
The cold wind of the stranger blew
Chill on my withered heart—the grave
Dark and untimely met my view—
And all for thee, vile yellow slave!”
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.