Chinese Diggings. February 1st, 1850. Friday, and a most beautiful day; birds all around are in gay chatter, and the song of the raven, jay-like, but sweet to listen to, from the attempt at softness, as he nods and bows with swelling throat to his mate. It is like March in Louisiana. Alas for the poor fellows who have left the southern states to come to this, and settle here as farmers; to be drowned out in winter, and burnt up in summer! However, when the excitement of the gold fever ceases, as it must, California will find its level with the other states, and many a hastily made fortune will be as rapidly lost.
I am leaving for the North Fork of the Stanislaus, twenty-five miles, to make one more effort to keep the company together and to pay off our indebtedness to the stockholders, but I fear my efforts will be useless.
Murphy's Diggings. Sunday, February 10. Everything seems against us—weather and season, water and rain, interrupt us in all our attempts at work, and ill-luck seems to follow us. After fruitless labor at the Chinese Diggings I came here, where the diggings are said to be very rich, but where we have to wait for the waters to subside, perhaps two months, and I have not the means to keep the men for that length of time, even if the date of their contract did not expire before then.
These diggings are said to be the richest in the southern mining district and here I came to make my last effort for the good of my men; for myself my home is awaiting me, and ample means to pay off all the indebtedness I have personally incurred; many times a day I thank God I never asked one man to join the venture, though I feel strongly that some, notably Clement, Walsh, Boden, poor fellow, my cousin Howard Bakewell, and a few others joined because I did. Knowing this, and knowing too how many have risked their all, I hesitate to leave, as long as I feel I can be of help in any way, and shall go into the matter very carefully with the men, most of whom however I know feel as I do.
February 25th, 1850. Today we all met together and after much serious talk, I told the men that their time was more than up, and that, consequently they were their own masters and the company dissolved. I told them, too, that I was ready to help each and all to the best of my ability, poor enough, but I believed we could do better in other ways than mining. Not a word was said, and silently all went to their tents; we had been a year together, in sickness and trouble, in boisterous mirth and sorrowful anxiety, and like old and tried friends we felt the coming separation keenly; we were all greatly depressed. I shall be with the men for some weeks, and shall then try to make up for part of what I have lost, making drawings and sketches, and collecting such specimens as I can. I am bitterly disappointed for the men who have been so faithful, and who have stood by me so staunchly, but as Tone said to me some hours after our talk: "There's more money to be made here by land speculations, and every kind of work than there is in mining, and those who work will get on." I quite agree with him, and when one hears of the return of men with large fortunes, ask if speculations in land or trade, bar-keeping or Monte dealing has not swollen the first few hundreds, dug and gained with hard labor, privation, or, in rare cases, wonderful luck. Even then for one man who has a thousand, there are hundreds who will not average a tenth of it after expenses are paid.
March 6th. Again on the road from Stockton east, towards the mines. I have been to San Francisco and am now on my way to join Layton to begin my tour of the mining and agricultural districts of this now most fairy-like country, everything so smiling and beautiful, flowers of the smaller varieties by thousands; and the snow melting sends its waters down all the little rills and rivulets clear and pure, giving freshness and luxuriance to the whole country; could it retain so much beauty through the summer, I should pronounce it, at once, the most enchanting land I had ever seen, and yet, as I think of the beautiful shrubs of the east, and where they do exist, of the magnolias, wild roses, and flowering vines and trees we have, I think the countries balanced, for here two species of oak, three pines, the redwood and the laurel, will almost enumerate the whole of the common varieties of trees.
Farther south, back of San Diego, in the valley of Santa Maria, I saw the finest sycamores I have ever come across; they grow where they have room enough to extend their gigantic limbs laterally, instead of forcing their huge trunks in rivalry with the oaks, to get fresh air and sunshine.
The country from Stockton is a clayey flat, so little of an inclination to the land, that the water appears to lie until evaporated, and the "sloughs" in many places are sluggish and seem to be more water-holes than running streams, until they reach the Calaveras, which is a beautiful creek nearly dry four months of the year, but the other eight giving good water. The meadow-like flats about it look just ready for the plough, though by using that, a sward of good grass would be lost. The country from here becomes very gradually more and more undulating, changing the nature of the soil every few miles. In some places the hills are of clay, and valleys of greyish loam, or red sand thickly mixed in with quartz; in many cases water-worn, but all is so beautiful that were the woods more dense, and the water-courses now so inviting, "never-failing," the farmer would here find his Paradise, and by selecting his land so as to avoid the gravelly sub-soil, which is too abundant for richness, and choosing that which has the clay foundation, his plantation might be one of great permanence, for the rains here do not wash off much of the soil.
March 8th. Following up one of the north forks of the Calaveras, we passed through beautiful valleys, green and luxuriant, but very short stretches of grass; the hills, at times, so close together at the base that the valley was almost lost; but the ascent was rapid, and we found ourselves soon on the singular hills of this country within a mile of the Mokolumne [Mokelumme] mines, where we camped for the night.
March 9th, 1850. The ice this morning was half an inch thick, and the cold at day-light, intense. One hour after sunrise, the day began to be summer, and at nine o'clock our coats were off, and we were riding towards the beautiful view made by the interesting lines of Mokolumne hill and its adjacent fellows, all eccentric, and all interesting.