All these valleys along the river look more fertile in winter than at this season, as the wet and moisture gives the appearance of richness, which is now completely dissipated by the already parched-up effect of the land.
To give you some little idea of the changes occurring in this country: the ferry we crossed last winter (and could only be taken over after great bargaining for a dollar each), we crossed today, all three of us, and our mule for the same sum of one dollar. So at the mines, the same change has taken place; last year an ounce was considered the average of the produce of good working men per diem; this year half an ounce is considered the average, by equally good and better skilled workmen. The people at home will not believe that the roads are travelled by a continuous line of miners; some on foot, some with packs, mules, wagons, in search of "better luck."
The snows are melting so fast just now that the river is within two feet of being as high as when I crossed in the winter just after two nights of rain; then it was muddy, and anyone could see was not in a natural state, now though almost as rapid and deep its clear waters do not give the angry look it had then—so much for summer and its softening effects.
The road from Stanislaus over broad prairies of poor sandy soil extends for miles until nearing the edge of the line of beautiful old oaks that fringe French Creek and its swamps; then the earth becomes richer and sends up a growth of clover and beautiful grass knee high, until you reach Stockton. Indeed all the best lands of the San Joaquin River are admirably suited for planting with proper drainage and cultivation.
The sea breeze at this season is cold and searching, keeping the thermometer at 60 degrees and 62 degrees for days; when a lull comes the heat is at once oppressive, and the mercury rises to 80 degrees or 85 degrees, and the heat dances before us almost in palpable shapes; the water all stagnant sends its odor of decaying vegetation everywhere, accompanied by myriads of mosquitoes. These conditions exist for miles over the east side, towards the mountains of the San Joaquin.
April 16th. I am still at Stockton making various excursions with Layton and his friend Howard from New Orleans, and sketching constantly and steadily. I am indeed crowding all sail to start for home on the steamer which sails on June 1st, with Capt. Patterson. I have made nearly ninety careful sketches, and many hasty ones, the most interesting I have been able to find in these southern mines, and expect to leave in a few days for Sacramento.
Stockton, April 18th. I am hardly fit to write for I have just had most melancholy news from Simson. Lieut. Browning, my dear and devoted friend; to whom I owe a debt of gratitude which I can never pay, for his friendship and kindness to me last year, from the hour that he took my hand on the accursed Rio Grande River until we parted in San Francisco, has been drowned. With Lieuts. Bache and Blunt he was examining the coast near Trinidad Bay, and on attempting to land, the boat "broached to" in the breakers and capsized. Five were drowned, among them Lieuts. Browning and Bache. Thus is added another victim to our ill-fated expedition. Strange that from first to last we have been so fatally followed. Night after night Browning and I shared the same tent, the same blankets; we knew each [other] well, we were friends.
April 23d. The whole country to the north and east of Stockton through to the Calaveras is most rich and splendid soil, but in many places too low for farming, but the grazing was excellent, quantities of wild oats, rye grass (I think), clover and a species resembling red-top. In many places the grasses were breast high as I waded through them but generally full knee-deep. As we neared the Calaveras we lost our way trying to avoid some bad arroyos, and followed a trail off to the eastward, perhaps three miles, and the country if changed at all, changed for the better. Finding the trend of the trail we were following did not suit our ideas of direction, we turned back at even more than a right angle, and in half an hour entered a wood of open timber, with here and there a lagoon or quagmire of mud and mire; but we worked through and Layton went ahead to reconnoitre, and in about twenty minutes reported the river, which we followed down on a good firm cattle trail, and in half an hour more had come to the upper settlement of the ferry, and were stopped by the fences of newly made farms, and again driven to the swamps to get only a few hundred yards down to the ferry.
We crossed the river after having assisted some Germans with about six hundred sheep, and camped for the night tired enough, having made only about ten miles, but walked nearly twenty of hard travel.
April 24th. As the traveller leaves the north side of the Calaveras and rises higher, the ground becomes cold and has a bluish-looking clay for the road, almost as hard as soft brick, and more tenacious; there are streaks of sandy soil, and in a few places good land; this is scarce however, between the Calaveras and Mokulumne where the Sacramento road crosses the plain. The last three miles of the road is through a pleasant, half-wooded country of live-oak and a few varieties of other shrubs, for the whole of the wood is small.