Some time during the season, and I believe it was during this time, I cut some more wood near Yuba City. At that time the steamboat company did not wish to buy any green wood, but they said if we should cut some and have it drawn out and piled on the bank of the river they would need it after it had become seasoned. Some one, Worcester Gage of Pelham, as I remember, cut with me. We cut quite a quantity and had it piled on the river bank below Yuba City, near an Indian village.
About this time the cholera was raging among these Indians to a fearful extent, and many of them died of the disease. It was their custom to cremate their dead bodies, which they did by placing them on a pile of wood and burning it. The flesh was burned, but the bones would remain unconsumed, which they would gather up and deposit in a small hole in the ground, dug for that purpose. When these bodies were being consumed it created a very sickening odor. After the wood became seasoned it was very convenient for these Indians to use for their domestic purposes, and they carried away considerable quantities of it.
I once tried to frighten them, telling them that I would shoot the first one that I should find in the act of removing any of the wood. It seemed to me that there was not so much removed afterwards. Before the wood was sold Mr. Gage went home to Pelham and left his share of the wood with me to be disposed of and to forward to him his share of the proceeds. I afterwards sold it and sent him his share of the money.
Some time during the fall, after I had sold the hay, I was traveling up the road going toward Bidwell’s, when I heard a horse coming behind me, and on looking back I saw some one riding toward me horseback that I soon recognized as my friend Mr. Damon, though I had supposed he was in the states. He soon overtook me and said he had been no farther than San Francisco, where he had remained for some time, and had concluded to return and not go East at present. On his reaching Marysville he had learned that I had started for Feather River mines, and he came on after me. I was not expecting him for several months and had made no plans to pay him his share for the hay, but presumed of course that he would like his money. I believe I was owing him something more than $400.
I explained to him the situation, and said that probably I did not have enough with me to settle with him in full. He said he had anticipated that situation and that I could pay him as much as I could conveniently spare, or if I could not spare him any at that time it would be just as well. After we had calculated the amount due him from me, we went into one of the cloth hotels by the roadside near by and weighed out the amount in gold dust that was his due, and which exhausted almost the whole amount I had with me. He almost absolutely refused to take it all at that time, but I insisted and he did so. As he was then present I desired to have the matter fully settled.
We then parted and he went toward Marysville, while I continued my journey toward Feather River mines. I have no remembrance of ever meeting Mr. Damon afterwards. He was a good man.
One incident that transpired during the spring of 1850 while I was in the mines of Feather River: Several of us were camped there at the time, one of whom was a man from some town in New Hampshire who crossed the plains in company with us, and whose name as I now remember it, was Watkins. He and I were taken at about the same time with a similar illness, and one was substantially as ill as the other. I didn’t apprehend that either of us was dangerously ill. Mr. Watkins soon lost his courage and began to talk that the should never again meet his friends at home. I endeavored to encourage him to the best of my ability, but it seemed to have no beneficial effect whatever.
Soon after I began to improve, but he grew worse constantly and became more despondent. We had a tent to camp in, but as it was previous to the end of the rainy season, there was yet some damp, cold, stormy weather, and it was cold in the tent.
That he might be made as comfortable as was possible, I constructed a stone fireplace at the end of the tent and built a stone chimney to a point a little higher than the ridge of the tent. This made it possible to keep a fire so as to warm the tent and keep it dry and comfortable, and it operated quite satisfactorily. Mr. Watkins seemed to be very well pleased with the arrangements, but did not improve. I nursed him to the best of my ability, but he steadily declined, and a few days later he died.
We opened a grave in a convenient place, wound his blankets about him, and buried him, which was all we could do for him. Poor Watkins! He had gone to his home, but not to the home that seemed to be uppermost in his mind.