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!