VI.

IN THE GOLD DIGGINGS.

1849.

From Sutter’s mill our route now lay over the steep rocky divide between the South and Middle Forks of the American river with nothing but a mule path to follow. The mountains before us called the Coast Range were from 2,000 to 3,000 feet high, very steep and rocky, covered with several varieties of oak and red cedar; wolves and bear were numerous, and also deer. We encountered no bear, but saw many fresh tracks soon after leaving camp in the morning.

There were numerous flocks of fowl larger than our partridge, the plumage a bluish color and a cockade of feathers curving from the top of the head toward the bird’s bill. From the crest of the mountain at the foot of which the Middle Fork, our destination, came in sight, it seemed impossible for a human being, much less a loaded mule to make the descent, the grade was so nearly perpendicular, but a zig zag or rail fence shaped path led down and we succeeded in traveling it without any mishap. A few days after, happening to look up the mountain, I saw a loaded train of mules coming down; one mule made a misstep, lost his balance and rolled head over heels to the bottom; he must have rolled 80 rods at least. I supposed he was killed of course, but the next morning he was feeding around apparently no worse for the trip.

We arrived at the foot of the mountain about 10 o’clock A.M., and set about putting up our tent and getting dinner. One of the company anxious to see gold stole quietly away with a pan and spoon. He returned within an hour with a half ounce of it. This aroused all; it was the first gold dust we had seen and that dinner was disposed of in short notice. All went down to the water edge, where our companion had found it. It was evidently an old hole worked the year before. As the result of our afternoon’s work we took to camp 12 ounces of gold and a happier company of men could hardly be imagined.

We were two weeks in exhausting the hole. Let me explain what I mean by “hole.” We had located on a large bar known then and afterwards as the Big Bar of the Middle Fork.[110] There were about 30 acres in it lying in a bend of the stream. It had been built up by the water during freshets. Gravel, cobble stones, and boulders comprised the material. The boulders which were in greatest proportion were from the size of an ordinary pumpkin, to that of a 40 gallon cask, of a green color, oblong in shape, worn to as smooth surface as a globe and nearly as heavy as the same quantity of lead would be. Consequently the moving of them was very laborious with no angles to clasp, no crowbars at hand and having from 8 to 10 feet in depth to move before we reached “paying dirt,” the thermometer standing at 118 in the shade from 10 to 3 o’clock. All these things combined will give some idea of the fun of gold digging. There being no statute laws the miners organized a code based upon Judge Lynch. Among these laws were those affecting titles to “claims.” A plot 10 feet wide running back 50 feet toward the mountain constituted a “claim.” A tool, worn out shovel, or other thing, placed there constituted a title; no one thought of disturbing a claim as long as the tool lay there. A claim being worked was the “hole.”

We finally pitched our tent upon a beautiful little plateau formed originally by a land slide. A spring of very cold water was near by. While we were at work in our first hole, a company from Vermont came to the bar and struck in a claim, sank a well hole down to the bed rock and left it. We had to pass by it on our way from our hole and I finally threw an old shovel in. It lay there several weeks undisturbed and when we had exhausted our job, three of our company including myself as the fourth decided to strike into this abandoned hole—here I should say that our company of eight—the others not yet arrived—had divided into three squads. It took us all the forenoon to clear out the hole of the boulders and debris which had been thrown in from the adjoining claims. After dinner we began washing pay dirt. I shoveled, another carried to the water, while a third was working the “rocker.” I laid bare a piece of gold while shoveling the second pailful, about one and one-half inches long and one-half to three-fourths of an inch wide and one-eighth of an inch thick, holding it up and hallooing to the boys if they knew what that was. We did not fool away much time that afternoon and carried home at night 12 ounces of dust worth then $16 per ounce or $192 for the half day’s work—pretty fair wages. But after taking out the offsets the profits were materially reduced. In the first place it took us one-half of our time to get down to “pay dirt,” then it cost us $3 per day to live—nothing was less than one dollar per pound—and the squad I was with made nearly all the money.[111]

That hole lasted our squad through the season. We would take down a bench of the overlying dirt two feet wide, ten feet in length and eight feet deep, down to within a foot of the bed rock where we would strike “pay dirt” and it was rich. We would carry home at night from 20 to 36 ounces of the shining metal. I remember distinctly that for the last two days, we carried home one day 36 ounces and the other 24. There was but one more bench to take down and we swapped it for a horse to pack our combined accumulations down to Sacramento, it being about time for the winter storms, with snow and rain, to set in. A big snow storm was liable to come on and shut us in the mountains for the winter, which, without a good stock of provisions was not a pleasant outlook; besides our partnership expired in October and we must go to Sacramento to settle up and divide. Running through the hole was a smaller hole about the size of an inch augur, literally crammed full of clean pure gold which required no washing, in flakes looking almost precisely like ripe cucumber seeds. We would get from ten to twelve ounces, out of that vein every bench we took down.

Our success was soon heralded down to Sacramento and San Francisco and miners flocked in until we had a village there of several hundred. The foot of the bar was made up almost entirely of the large boulders above described. The bed rock as it showed at the edge of the stream was evidently cup shaped declining back from the water. I proposed that one squad strike in there, but the work requisite was too formidable the others thought. I offered to be one of three to give the company one ounce a day for my time and take my chances, but no one would join me. A company of sturdy Pennsylvania Dutchmen started in there and took out gold in enormous quantities. They worked there four weeks and pulled out for home saying they had all the gold they wanted. You can rest assured I did some scolding as well as laughing at our men. The bed rock shelved back from the stream rapidly making a large receptacle for the heavy metal to drop in.

I worked as hard as anyone, although not obliged to do so according to our contract. I hung my “shingle” outside our tent, had a naval medicine chest of drugs and instruments, and did quite a professional business. One case I shall never forget. A tall, straight, noble looking German came into the tent one day. By motions—he could not speak English—I understood his ears were at fault; on looking in I could seen an obstruction. Making a dish of soap suds and with a glass syringe I took out of each ear a wad of figured calico cloth nearly as large as the end of my thumb. Warmer expressions of delight than those he exhibited I never witnessed. He drew out a bag of gold dust, threw it upon my medicine chest as much as to say “Take what you please, if it is all.” I weighed out two ounces which was as much as my conscience would allow; thirty-two dollars for syringing out a man’s ears seemed enough, but he was not satisfied and asked the entire company to go to a liquor tent close by and take drinks all around which cost him $1 per head or $8 in all. I suppose he had been in the military service in Germany and stuffed his ears in order to get his discharge.

We took turns of a week each as cook. The style of living was quite primeval. The kitchen apparatus consisted of a camp kettle, coffee pot and frying pan; the kettle answered for a boiler, baker and stewer. We freighted in a tierce of pork, dumped it on the ground under an oak tree, covered it with old coffee sacks where it lay until used up, the last portion as sweet as the first. Fresh meat hung up in the shade would not spoil but dry up as hard as our dried beef here. Pork, fresh beef or mutton, flour, corn meal, dried apples and onions were our articles of diet and all a dollar per pound.

We had as light and palatable bread as I ever saw, baked every day. We saved a bit of the dough for lightening the next day’s batch, adding the surplus grease from our fried pork. I committed an error while acting as cook that caused great fun for the boys for a long time after. I thought to surprise them at dinner by getting up an old fashioned boiled Indian pudding such as my mother used to make occasionally at our home in Kortright. I stirred up a measure of corn meal in cold water—that was the error—put in dried apples as fruit, tied it up in a white sheet and got it over the fire in the camp kettle about 11 o’clock while preparing the balance of the dinner and then called the boys. After disposing of what there was on the table they started to leave. I told them to wait as I had a desert; then went out to the fire, brought in my pudding bag anticipating the expressions of delight they would make when the delicious dish was revealed. It did look inviting when I rolled it out on the tin plate, but to my astonishment when I cut down the centre and the two halves rolled apart the inside was as dry as though it had never been wet up.

There was another bar across the stream just below us on which one of our squads proposed to start a hole. How to get across was the first question. A large pitch pine tree stood on the bank on our side, about three feet in diameter. Norton, who was a stout, two fisted Yankee, well accustomed to the axe, said he would cut it to fall across for a foot bridge. He took his axe after dinner and in about an hour he came back to the tent saying he had had enough of that job. I asked, “How so?” He replied that he had done his best and only succeeded in getting out the first chip, the tree being so full of pitch that it cut like lead.

About that time or soon after a company of 40 miners organized to cut a canal across the base of the opposite bar for the purpose of turning the whole channel of the stream and thus laying bare and dry about 100 rods of the original bed. One of the company, a last year’s miner from Oregon, gave it as his opinion that in a deep hole just at the head of the bar, cut out of the bed rock by the water dropping over a fall of several feet, was a large amount of gold. What gave assurance of the truth of the opinion was that at the head of the falls where the water was shallow but swift, scales of gold could be seen in large quantities in the seams and crevises of the bed rock, but the current was so swift that it was impossible to secure them when dug out with a knife.

The proposed canal was about forty rods long. They needed a foot bridge and hired a man to chop down the pine Norton had assailed for eight dollars; he worked all day and gave up the job, but was induced to continue by liberal offers of pay; he worked steadily for a week and with the combined assistance of the company, on the Sunday following succeeded in felling it. As incredible as this may seem it is literally true; the character of the timber and the man having nothing but a single axe for the work make the unreasonableness of the story materially modified even to a skeptic. But what detracts from the romance of the undertaking is the fact that the result was almost a complete failure; they spent the entire season and turned the entire stream very completely; pumped out the deep hole and secured two or three bushel of fish; not an ounce of gold in it. But just at the foot of the hole they found a large mass of gold, the balance of the bed not showing any pay dirt. They were a sorry looking company and had the sympathy of the entire settlement. The water coming from the snow capped mountains, in sight and estimated to be 30 miles away, was very cold, almost ice water, too cold for bathing and well stocked with fish similar to our trout but without speckles.

Sunday was recognized as a day of rest from digging but used as washing day. From 10 A.M. to 3 P.M. was a period of rest in consequence of the extreme heat; the reflection of heat from the high barren rocky mountains was simply terrific; the thermometer ranged daily at 118. A piece of iron left in the sun could not be held in the hand; about 10 the north-west trade wind would start up so that under cover or shade one would be very comfortable while quiet; the nights were deliciously cool requiring a pair of woolen blankets for comfort.[112]

We packed our valuables onto the old gray horse and bidding goodbye to the diggings started for the top of the mountain, which we reached just after dark. We arrived at the Sutter sawmill, now called Coloma, the second day after when we concluded to stop and “divide” up as some of the number wanted to go back into the dry diggings. We reached Sacramento about 9 P.M. When we left there in June the town had no buildings or streets and only a few tents. Now we found in October solid blocks of buildings of two and three stories, more like Broadway, New York, than when we saw it last with streets open and built up in all directions, and a population of 10,000. Could it be possible? Yes! it must be true; like Rip Van Winkle we had been spending our lives as it were in a sleep, and had just been aroused to find the world so completely changed as to make us strangers in it. Such were my feelings that night, and it was days before I could locate old land marks, so as to realize I had ever been in the place before.

It was my intention to open an office and practice my profession at Sacramento, but on looking over the ground I was simply amazed to see the number of doctors’ shingles hanging out. I actually think one would have been safe to call every other man he met doctor; he would get an affirmative answer and in truth I was ashamed to let myself be known as a physician. As a consequence I decided to go to San Francisco and look about.

I have overlooked a matter in its proper order. As previously stated our company organized with a capital of $4,000; when we reached the diggings our funds except the outfit, tools, camp equipage, etc., were exhausted and we owed $1200, of which $100 is still unpaid. We gave a note for that amount in Sacramento, but on our return to the city we were unable to find the owner after making a diligent search. I took passage for San Francisco on the first down trip of the first steamboat[113] that was put on the Sacramento river. It was a flat bottom scow with two small engines, one to each wheel with no deck cabins or other conveniences. At the Bay we were put aboard a sloop for the balance of the trip, the steamer not being safe.

Arriving at San Francisco I was again astonished at the marvelous change since leaving it four months before. A veritable city of 15,000 inhabitants had sprung up with towering blocks of buildings, many of which would vie with those of that time in Broadway, New York; where there was water were now docks covered with buildings and still being pushed out farther into the bay; a teeming busy throng filled the streets bordering on the water. I found the same state of affairs as to the number of doctors’ signs. I was negotiating to take an interest in a drug store as a practitioner when it was announced through the papers that the stock of provisions was rapidly diminishing and none were known to be on the way. Flour jumped from $50 to $120 per barrel at once and every thing else in the eatable line went up in the same proportion.

The condition was any thing but a pleasant one, I looked the matter over very carefully and finally decided that I could go home and return the next spring for less money than it would cost me to stay there. One of our company, Captain Norton, was intending to take the next steamer for Panama and home and I decided to accompany him. While preparing for the journey we came across the Vermont party whom I have mentioned as abandoning the hole which I afterwards held with an old shovel; they were also returning on the same vessel.