Audubon's Western Journal: 1849-1850 — A Tour Of The Gold-fields Part 1

A TOUR OF THE GOLD-FIELDS

_January 2d, 1850. _ Leaving Stockton we tramped through mud and water, so like the coast of Louisiana (the Mississippi) that it might have been winter there, instead of in California.

We had packed the day before leaving, so left early for our walk of twenty miles after our pack-mules, and went over a partially sandy prairie to the Stanislaus River, and at eight that night reached good wood and water, and encamped about three miles from the river.

Next morning, January 3d, we left in the rain for the ferry, but owing to the bad weather, heavy roads and exhaustion of Bachman and McGown, stopped at a good camping ground, with excellent grass, after going only three miles.

The rain poured all day and all night, and we lost two days here in consequence, for the river rose so rapidly that we could not cross our mules.

The next day the most of us did get over, and Clement and Hudson remained behind to look after the mules.

_January 6th.

_ Leaving the middle ferry, known as Islip's, our first day was over a good road with occasional quicksands in the way.

The next day, January 7th, 1850, as we had a cold northeast drizzle, we lay by, and the following morning, January 8th, left for our destination, the Chinese Mines.

Many of the views before us, as we mounted hill after hill looking towards the mountains, are very beautiful park-like country; the roads are a series of mud-holes and quicksands at this season, and the trees, either swamp, or post-oak, with occasionally a fine ridge of a species of live-oak.

At times we had to pack the cargoes of the weaker mules, every few hundred yards, and at one place, had nine mules mired at the same time, the mud being so tenacious that even when the packs were taken off, the poor animals could not get out without our help.

Three days of such travelling brought us to our present camp, the soil red clay and sand, mixed thinly with white quartz of various sizes, but generally small, not more than two, or at most, three inches in diameter, and generally even smaller.

[_No date_.

] We went up to the "diggings"[39] on the morning after our arrival, and looked round to see what prospects were ahead of us.

We found the little branches bored, and pitted, and washed out in every direction, so much so that we tried to "prospect" for ourselves, and we lost three days.

We found the men already there kind and polite, showing the mode of working and washing, of digging and drawing most willingly, and tomorrow open a pit close beside some of the most fortunate.

The uncertainty of digging renders the life of the miner, for profit, that of a gambler, for most of his good luck depends on chance.

At times you may see two pits side by side, one man getting two ounces a day, and the other hardly two dollars: we heard of one instance of much greater disparity; two friends working next each other found that at the end of the week, one had an ounce of gold, worth about twenty dollars, the other gold worth six thousand dollars.

So it goes, and we shall all have to work hard.

Again and again I am overwhelmed by the thought that I am at these dreary mines—I, who started intent on drawing and obtaining new specimens—to have so different a destiny thrust upon me, is bewildering.

The ground here is beautiful rolling valley of sandy clay, so like the post-oak country of Texas that one might almost fancy himself there.

A

few pines are scattered about, the cones are very large, say six inches long, and three in diameter; the seed is a pleasant nut, about the size and shape of a small, shelled almond; the quantity of resin contained is very great, and at the end of every leaf of the cones, quite a lump is seen.

The ultramarine jay, and Steller's, the red-shafted woodpecker and California quail are abundant, and many finches, some new, and others that I know, are everywhere; but I have no time to skin and preserve specimens.

Then too, the black-tailed deer, California hare, and grizzly bear, are common, as well as the small hare.

There are some few squirrels and a marmot or two, but I have not been able to procure them;

I have also seen the robin of this country and many others.

The country is otherwise barren, I wish I was out of it.

_January 20th, 1850. Chinese Diggings.

_ It does not seem possible, remembering the difficulties of the road, that we are only seventy miles from Stockton.

The men began "rocking" yesterday, one cradle, and get about a dollar an hour, but hope to get more when in the way of it.

Those at work around us get an average of fourteen a day, and at times much more; then again a week's work is lost.

The quantity of gold, so I am told by those who know more of it than I do, is very great, but so diffused that great labor is required to get it.

The lottery of the whole affair is beyond belief.

The richest gulches are supposed to be those on the river, the Tuolome [Tuolumne], or the creeks leading to the river.

The pit, or piece of ground allotted to each man is sixteen feet square, this having been settled by the diggers, and the law is enforced by an alcalde.

Many is the week's work, the men say, when they do not get the price of their board, and again large amounts are found.

One individual told me he was getting two ounces a day, and gave his claim up, to join a company in digging out the bed of a river which they had drained off.

He worked a month at the river scarcely making two dollars a day, while the man who bought his first place, had accumulated several thousands.

I have heard fifty such stories, but as a whole this country will pay the laborer and the mechanic better than the miners, unless the latter have capital.

Had we come my route and reached here with a hundred mules, a fortune could soon have been made by packing.

But, alas!

against my better judgment I allowed myself to be swayed by Col. Webb, who had his own way at the cost of twenty-seven thousand dollars, thirteen lives, and the loss of many months to all the men who came through.

_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.

The soil in the ravines here is mostly clay, but from time to time partakes of the sandy red clay so common in this country, resembling very much the gravelly hills of the post-oaks of Texas.

The ride up the stream to "Mokolumne rich gulch," is very interesting, passing between two hills, or lines of hills, with occasional ravines leading down to the creek we were following.

We passed an Indian village of six huts; the squaws were pounding acorns to make "payote," in natural mortars, formed by the slight indentations being used constantly; the pounding of the stone (small granite boulders, water-worn smooth), sometimes wear the holes a foot deep; but they are generally deserted before that depth is reached.

A

smooth, flat stone is usually preferred by the Indians to begin on, and if the country suits their purposes, and the lodges remain any length of time in the neighborhood, the stone is often marked with thirty or forty of these mortar holes.

[_No date.

_] Leaving "Rich gulch," we took a southerly course over the ridge, and wound down the branches of the Calaveras, until the various rivulets united and formed what is called the "north branch of the Calaveras."

Where we crossed, it was about eighteen inches deep, and runs over a rough bed of various-sized pebbles, with larger lumps of granite and quartz for the horses to stumble over, making the ford when the stream is muddy from recent rains, very treacherous.

The soil is of the same character for a mile or two, occasionally of a reddish loam, containing both clay and sand, mixed with gravel, of angular formation, very small, and with more or less quartz, equally various as to the size and quantity of the pieces.

The pits dug by the miners at the Chinese Diggings, five miles from the Tuolome [Tuolumne] River, and midway between the mountains and plains, among the hills, present ordinarily a superficial loam of from six to eighteen inches, rich, at times, but again of the light bluish clay;

the next stratum is of reddish clay and gravel, and very hard, ending in slatey rock, soft and dead to pick at, and having the usual friability of the trap slate that is so plentiful all over the country, sticking up in places like the headstones of a deserted churchyard.

At Wood's Diggings the same appearance is seen, but with the slate in more upright strata and hard.

_March 18th.

_ At Murphy's New Diggings, the gulch is full of lumps of granite and heavy gravel; in the part called "The Flat" in the lower part of the valley the soil is of great depth, in places eight to ten feet, less in others.

_March 20th.

_ From Murphy's New Diggings to Angel's Camp is six miles;

the country just undulating, inviting the squatter to put up his log house, made from the few pines that, from time to time, form little clusters, but so far apart as always to arrest the attention, and call forth the admiration of the wanderer through these lonely hills, where the want of woods to me gives more solitude than our densest forest; so much for habit, for I recollect well that "Beaver," my Delaware Indian guide in Texas, always was anxious for the prairie, whenever I took him into the deep swamps of the Brasos or Guadaloupe.

"Angel's Diggings" is one of the many repetitions of the same thing seen every day.

A beautiful little brook, with precipitous sides, and gravelly or rocky beds; high hills of red clayey loam, mixed or sprinkled with bits of quartz and slate, forming continual amphitheatres at almost every bend of the creek.

Here I met a gentleman who had, for many years, been washing gold in the Carolinas; he had a quicksilver machine of his own invention, price one thousand dollars, which he was working with six men.

He told me he was getting a pound a day from the sands he was washing, which had been washed already in the common rocker.

He did not feel so sure of its efficacy in the clay diggings, but for sand it certainly was admirable.

These diggings like all I have seen that were worth anything were completely riddled; first by the top washing, and "dry" washing of the Mexicans, then by the hurried, superficial "panning out" of the lucky American who came first and reaped his fortune; next better dug out by the gold digger for his three ounces a day, and now toil and hard labor gave the strong determined washer from small amounts to, occasionally, an ounce a day, when the water will permit him to work.

_March 23d.

_ Our road to Cayote [Coyote] made a "V" from Murphy's, over a poor soil, with nothing of interest along the six miles but a small elevation of semi-basaltic sand-stone, mixed with granite, with large particles of crystal-like spar.

The approach to Cayote is down a red clay hill, of course, and is on a point made by two little rivers (I should call them streams) which meet at the lower end of the diggings.

The larger one is called the Cayote River, a branch of the north fork of the Stanislaus, and the diggings are about ten miles up if you follow the windings of the creek, but by the road only five to the Stanislaus.

The first year these diggings were worked many large amounts of gold were dug here with little labor; the second year required harder labor for poorer results, and it is its early reputation that keeps it up, though some holes are still paying well; I was told four, out of the fifty then being worked.

The largest amount taken in the time I have been here, two days, was found by five Englishmen, two pounds and three ounces; others are well content with an ounce a day and do not give up their holes if much less than that is the result of ten hours or more work.

There are a few Indians near this place; poor, miserable devils, dirty and half clothed, for they have given up buckskin for Mexican blankets, their faces begrimed with dirt and their whole appearance one of neglect and filth.

They dig a little gold from time to time and leave a good share of it with a French trader, Poillon by name.

He makes his trade pay by giving them presents in the morning to secure their good-will, and a little extra change at night, on his provisions.

I saw him selling the lowest part of a leg from the forequarter of a very poor beef at an abominable price, and he turned to me with a pitiful expression, and asked if he ought to let it go for so small a price, showing me an ounce of gold.

All Indian trading appears to be done in the same way, make them presents, and then charge double the value of the gift, on the first article they buy.

The food of these Indians is chiefly the "payote" made from the acorns into a kind of gruel, rather astringent to the taste of the white man, but to an Indian digestion all seems good that can be swallowed.

I saw a papoose, too small to walk, with a stone in his hand half as big as his head, shelling out the nuts of the pine-cone, cracking and eating them with the judgment of a monkey, and looking very much like one.

Their wigwams faced the south, and formed an irregular cluster of bark and mud cones; the usual number of fox- and wolf-like dogs gave the same effect that I am accustomed to, but the tribe is not as handsome as the Indians of the east, or even the Yumas, Pimos, or the Maricopas on the Gila.

Leaving Cayote diggings, the trail for five miles passes between two moderately high ridges to Carson's Creek, where the soil changes to a much poorer quality; crossing the creek we ascended a fairly high hill, from which I took a sketch across the Stanislaus.

The sunset effect was fine, but I had no colors with me.

_March 25th.

_ After crossing the Stanislaus we ascended a long hill leading about southwest, towards the "Mormon Gulch" three miles distant.

The road wound up ravines for the first two miles, and would have made as beautiful a walk as it did a ride.

All nature was still and calm, and the silent scene brought Sunday to both our minds, and we agreed that whether in the wilderness, or at home, the day brought a feeling of tranquillity.

We almost changed our minds when we reached the diggings, so different was the scene.

The bar-rooms were all doing a "thriving business," and the monte dealers were doing even a better, gloating over the hard-earned piles of gold dust which ought to have served a better purpose.

Passing all this, and going up a beautiful gorge, winding at times so as almost to form a semi-circle, we turned our course, and came upon a most exquisite cascade; the water split upon a bold rock about fifty feet high and tumbled in leaps of from six to ten feet until it reached the rocky bed, where it rushed on boiling and bubbling impetuously until it joined the Stanislaus.

Our walk to Wood's Creek was hot and tiresome, and after cooling off we took a sponge bath, the water being too cold for a plunge, and then sauntered about looking for the best points at which to take views of this most beautiful part of the country.

Situated, by comparison, in a basin, and straggling up and down the creek are here situated Wood's diggings, Jamestown and Yorktown.

The soil looks poor, and the rock is granite and sandstone with some slate.

On the high points and peaks of "Table Mountain" huge masses of conglomerate boulders, two feet and more in diameter, are scattered everywhere, and give a dreary look to all the north side of Wood's diggings.

The hill to the west has shot up into beautiful obelisks of quartz, and you only cease to admire it to be in raptures over the views seen by turning east, to look over mountain beyond mountain, snowy peaks bare of trees, and between them the rounded points of hills, looking tiny by comparison.

To the south, bold, rounded but high mountains, full of verdure and with most graceful outlines, enchant you, while the verdant stretches at the foot of these mountains have a pastoral air which made us think of home.

_March 27th.

_ My day passed in a vain attempt to transfer to canvas the scene before our tent; when I had worked some hours I went into the tent next to ours, where lies a poor man, ill, pale, dejected, unable to move even a few steps.

His mud roof leaks, the soil forming the side of his cabin is so porous that it admits such quantities of water that a ditch is necessary to carry it off from the dirt floor.

This man came round the Horn, and the long voyage and poor food left him such a victim of scurvy that since he arrived in California, the first of last October, he has worked only six days; the relative with whom he came, and who has toiled for both, has only been able to keep them in provisions, with his best endeavors; he has no money to get home, now his only wish.

This man is the brother of Barnum, the museum man; he has written to him, and is awaiting a draft which will enable him to return.

Day and night (these beautiful moonlight nights), flock after flock of wild geese pass almost hourly over our heads to the north.

I give up in despair trying to fathom the use of their migration, when hundreds of their fellows are known to breed so far south.

Their courtship is kept up as they fly high over the grassy plains where they fed last fall, for if you look closely at the flock, you will see that with the exception of the old gander, a fourth larger than the others, as a rule all the rest are in pairs, and the males follow the females so closely that the line is composed of two very near together, two a little distance from them, and so on to the end.

_March 28th.

_ Wood's diggings having given me such sketches as I could take, we took the valley road to Chinese diggings, en route for Hawkin's [Hawkins's] bar, on the Tuolomne.

We were assured before we left that "Woods" now only giving five dollars at the most to good workers, once gave as many ounces, and is now kept up on its past reputation by the storekeepers, as all prospectors must pay something; one takes a drink, another some fresh meat, another a pair of boots; all is sold at exorbitant prices, and storekeepers get rich if no one else does.

We are now leaving Layton for Sonora Camp, and I, for Hawkin's Bar.

Every turn gives some vista of beauty in this Garden of Eden; the soft southerly breeze is perfumed with the delicate odor of millions of the smaller varieties of prairie flowers, in some places so abundant as to color acres, whole hillsides, so thickly as to hide the ground, and my mule had to eat flowers rather than grass.

One without home ties might well feel all his days could be passed in the beauties of these valleys, roseate yellow and blue, so soft that the purest sky cannot surpass the color for delicacy.

Tangled masses of vines climb everywhere, hiding the hard surfaces of the quartz rocks, and beyond this exquisite vegetation always some view, wild and impressive, meets the eye.

But to facts: Bob Layton says: "Don't bring your wagons through Chinese Diggings;" and I agree with him, unless you have nine yoke of pretty good oxen to your load of three thousand five hundred pounds.

I believe that teams such as these do get about three miles a day across the boggy flat and post-oak quicksands of these diggings.

(In many places the body of the luggage wagon is six inches deep in the mud.

) This condition lasts from December to March inclusive.

What this country must be in summer I cannot say, but if it cracks as the soil does south of Los Angeles, it must indeed be miserable, and the stories of the Mexicans we met below the Colorado must be true, when they said it was almost impassable.

A few miles on towards Hawkin's Bar on the Tuolomne the country is very fine, and little plains and valleys fill the six miles, all but the last one, which is a steep descent, short and rugged, over clay and rocks.

On this ridge the grass is sparse, and "arrow-wood" was plentiful.

The day's march over, you set up your tent, and find cool and delicious water from the Tuolomne just as it leaves its mountain gorge; a little creek on the left which has taken its rise below the altitude of snow is twenty degrees warmer, and so more welcome for bathing purposes.