CHAPTER XIX.

JOURNEYING TOWARD THE GOLD DIGGINGS—THREATENED BY WILD HORSES—DIFFICULTIES OF TRAVELING—CONVOCATION OF THE FEATHERED CREATION—REJOIN OUR FRIENDS—FERRYING ACROSS A RIVER—STRIKE A GOLD PROSPECT—ON A PROSPECTING TOUR—AN AGREEMENT THAT FAILED—INSTRUCTED TO GO TO SAN FRANCISCO TO PROCEED ON A MISSION—TRIP TO STOCKTON—GAMBLERS, SHARPERS AND MINERS AT THAT PLACE—-A TEMPTATION OVERCOME—ARRIVE IN SAN FRANCISCO—WELCOMED BY SAINTS—RECEIVE KIND TREATMENT—ON BOARD A VESSEL BOUND FOR TAHITI.

ON the second day of our journey toward the mines we were confronted by a band of wild mustang horses. Two of our men who happened to be half a mile ahead of the other four of us were cut off from us by the wild animals, so that the confusion of the situation was such that we did not rejoin them for three days. The band was about three hours in passing us, and the trail was one mile in width. We thought it a low estimate to say that there were seven or eight thousand horses. There seemed to be hundreds of the finest animals dashing up and down, flanking the main herd, and driving, and shaping the course followed. To save ourselves and our horses from being taken in by them, we tied our horses' heads close together, and then stood between them and the wild band with our rifles in hand ready to shoot the leaders or any stallion that might attempt to gather in our horses, as we had heard that they did not hesitate to attempt to do when out on the open plains as we were. We supposed from all that we could learn that they had been to the San Joaquin River for water, and were returning over the plains to the foothills for pasture. The noise made by them as they galloped past us was like distant, heavy thunder, only it was a long, continuous roar or rumbling sound; we stood in almost breathless silence, and mingled fear and delight, and viewed the magnificent picture. At last the animals passed, and we heaved a sigh of relief.

We proceeded on for about four hours, when we had to call another halt and take similar precautions, and for the same reason, except that there were only about five hundred horses. When they passed we steered our course for the lower end of the Tulare Lake, where, so we had heard, a ferry had been located a few days before. As there was no road to travel, we thought we would go high enough and then follow the San Joaquin River down until we came to the crossing.

Night overtaking us, we camped by a slough where bear tracks, large and small, were in great abundance. For fear of Indians we dared not make much fire, so we passed a very lonely night, being filled with anxiety about our lost comrades, not knowing what had become of them; for, as near as my memory serves me, this was our second night camp since they were separated from us. To add to our troubles and gloom, the night was intensely dark, and a drizzling rain was falling.

Suddenly our horses all broke from us. We followed them by the sound of their feet as they ran, and after a long chase through swamps and sloughs we succeeded in capturing them. Then the next trouble came. We had lost one man and all our pack, and were without supper. Being out of hailing distance, it was by mere chance that we found our man and camp late in the night. Our horses had become so frightened that it was necessary to sit up till morning, to keep them quiet; so that only two of us could get a dreamy snooze at a time.

Next morning dawned and our friends were still missing. We journeyed on, passing down the sloughs to the river. At times it seemed that the whole feathered tribe had met over our heads and all around in one grand carnival, to consult over the advent of the white man into that swampy country. We had never before beheld such a grand aggregation of waterfowl, and the writer has never seen its equal since. For a time, we could not understand each other's talk, because of the clatter. Our next surprise was about five hundred elk which passed in front of us, but the deep sloughs between prevented our replenishing our scanty store of rations.

Soon we were pleased at falling in with our lost friends. They had found a lone wagon trail towards the river. We dispatched two of our party to meet the main company, and the rest of us followed the wagon trail to the river, where we found a man named Woods who had got there three days ahead of us, with a rowboat and a small supply of provisions and groceries. Salt pork and hard sea biscuit were selling at seventy-five cents per pound, and everything else proportionately high. The boat had just been launched.

The next day, when the wagons came in, we took them apart and crossed in a boat, all except my wagon; it being heavy and having the rodometer attached to it, we got a cable rope and thought to tow the wagon over with the load, but when it had reached the middle of the river, which was about fifteen rods wide, the rope parted and the wagon turned over and over. Then Irwin Stoddard jumped in and made the rope fast to the hind axle, and as he could not manage the pole of the wagon, I jumped in to help him. Between us, we liberated the pole, so that after great exertion and hazard of life we finally succeeded in saving the vehicle, but we were thoroughly chilled through. We did not cross our animals till next morning, when we drove them in and they swam over, and we were soon on our way to and up the Merced River. Six of us proceeded ahead of the teams, traveling on horseback, to see what we could learn that would be of benefit to the company.

On the third day, I think it was, we came to a small mining camp called Burns' Diggings, on the south side of the Merced River. There we struck a very good prospect, and stopped until the main company came up. As it was evident that we could take from twelve to fifteen dollars per day to the man, we advised the company to begin work there, as the country was so muddy and soft that we could not make much headway in traveling higher into the foot hills. They agreed to accept our advice; then came a quite laughable performance. Those who had been the very worst drones in camp were now the first with the pick and washpan. They pitched into the creek as if they expected to scoop up the gold by shovelfuls, leaving their teams hitched to their wagons; while those who had been on hand early and late, taking a more methodical view of things, first formed the camp, got their dinner, and then went quietly to prospecting up and down the creek. By this time our drones decided there was no gold there, and that they would go where there was some. What a lesson we learned there of human nature! The next day, however, things settled down a little more like business, after it was ascertained that some had been making from fifteen to twenty-five and fifty, and some even as high as one hundred dollars per day, to the man. Next day, Captain Egan and five others of our number were elected to go further up into the mountains and prospect for the company, while the others dug gold. The latter were to keep an account of all they earned, and when we returned they were to give us an equal share with those who stayed and worked.

On these conditions six of us set out on horseback and with pack mules. When we got well into the mountains it began to rain and snow so that we were not able to do much but cut browse for our horses. The snow became so deep that we had to go ahead of our horses and break the road so as to get out. We were soaked to the skin, and our bedclothes were all wet. Our provisions were almost gone; so we set out for our camp, after spending ten days in a most miserable condition. We traveled in snow two and a half feet deep from 2 p.m. until 6 a.m. before we succeeded in reaching camp, when we found that Apostle Rich had been there, and the men had sent every dollar's worth of gold they had dug in our absence to Stockton for supplies of provisions, clothing, tools, etc., so there was none left to pay us our proportion.

As Apostle C. C. Rich had brought word that Brother A. Pratt desired me to meet him in San Francisco by a certain date, I packed up my effects, sold my oxen to Captain Jefferson Hunt for two hundred dollars, and bade adieu to the rest of the camp, who owed me one hundred dollars, and they yet owe it.

I traveled in company with C. C. Rich and Howard Egan. On the 20th of March, when we got out of the hills, we took the main road to Stockton, crossing the Merced, Tuolumne, and Stanislaus rivers, all tributaries to the San Joaquin River. We arrived in Stockton on March 28th. The place was at that time a point of debarkation where freight was landed for the many mining camps. There were a few trading establishments and warehouses, and three or four large gambling houses in and around which were gathered freighters, packers, and one of the most motley gangs it has ever been my lot to see. Bands of music were in the gambling halls. At one of these I noted twelve tables, four men at each, armed with bowie knives and revolvers; and to me it looked as if there were more gold and silver exposed on those twelve tables than six mules could draw. On the street and around the door, calling on the passers-by to come in and have a free drink and listen to the music, were men whom I soon learned were called cappers, or ropers-in, to the gambling hall; they would steam men up with drink, get them to gambling, and rob them. Sometimes men would come in from the mines with their buckskin wallets containing three to four hundred dollars' worth of gold. They would stand around with perfect strangers and drink free whisky until they became dazed, then would set down their wallets of gold on a card, and the next moment their money would be taken up by the gambler, who would continue dealing his cards as unconcernedly as he would knock the ashes from his cigar. The poor, silly miner would turn away with a sickly look, having not even enough left to get him a change of clothing. He would go into the street with his old miner's clothes on, without a dime to pay for his supper or to get a night's lodging. Sometimes thousands of dollars would change hands in a few moments. This was in the spring of 1850, when the strong, with revolver and bowie knife, were law, when gamblers and blacklegs ran many of the towns in California.

By this time I imagine that the reader asks what, as a missionary, I was doing there. I might answer by quoting the saying of Christ, that it was not the righteous but the sinners that He had come to call to repentance. But I will not offer this excuse, for it was not applicable; and as open confession is good for the soul, I will make one, hoping that it may be not only good for my soul, but be a warning to all who read it. I was twenty-one years old at the time, and was alone on the street. I did not know where to go or what to do. My companions had left on business, and as I started along the street I met with an old time friend who appeared very much pleased to see me. His pleasure was reciprocated. He asked me to go in and have something to drink; I thanked him and said that I was not in the habit of indulging. He said, "Oh, come in, and have a little wine for old friendship's sake. There is no harm in a little wine; come, go in and hear the music, anyway." With that I turned in with him to the largest gambling den in the town. The place was packed with men of almost every nationality. This was the house I have described.

In the time of great excitement, it must be confessed, the writer was tempted to lay down a purse of one hundred dollars, as he had that amount with him. But the next instant the thought came to him, Would you try to beat a watchmaker or a gunsmith at his trade? The idea was so absurd that he then thought how foolish it was to try to beat these professional gamblers at their own game. Then the disgrace that attached to the act became so repulsive to his nature, that he felt ashamed that he ever had been tempted; and to this day, in a life of seventy-two years, he has never gambled. He has always felt thankful that that simple thought came to him at that time and place.

As soon as I could arrange a little business that detained me at Stockton, I boarded a steamboat called the Captain Sutter, bound for San Francisco, paying twenty-five dollars for a seventy-five mile ride on the crowded deck. I paid two dollars for a dinner that consisted of tough beef, poor bread, and a cup of tea. Such were "times" in California in 1850.

We landed at the great wharf in San Francisco about 8 o'clock that evening, April 5th. I went up town, where the streets were crowded, then returned and slept on the deck of the boat. Next morning, I took my trunk to the Boston House, and leaving it there, sought friends. I was not long in finding Brother Morris, who directed me to Brother Cade's, who, together with his good lady, received me very kindly. He inquired if I had any place to stop at, and when I told him no, he said, "Stop and have dinner with us, then bring your trunk here and stay until you can do better, if you can do with such fare as we have. We are old and cannot do very well, but you are welcome to stay with us as long as my old lady can cook for us."

With thanks, the writer accepted the kind offer, and from there visited the Saints in San Francisco. I met Amasa M. Lyman and Charles C. Rich, two of the Twelve Apostles, also found Addison Pratt, my fellow missionary. Brother and Sister Cade were not willing that I should stop over night at any other place, or pay for my washing. The good old lady said she had money enough to last her while she lived and pay for the washing of my clothes. Sister Ivins, who lived near by, sent for my clothes and had them well laundered. While I stayed there, Sister Cade presented me with five dollars and a nice silk handkerchief, and the old gentleman gave me a good inkstand. Sister Patch, who lived near by, gave me five dollars and a silk vest, and many of the Saints showed us favors.

On April 19th we carried our trunks on board the brig Frederick, Captain Dunham commanding. The fare was one hundred dollars each, in the cabin. We returned on shore and stayed over night, and having received our instructions and blessings from Apostles A. M. Lyman and C. C. Rich, we boarded the vessel at 6 o'clock a.m., April 20, and sailed away to the southwest, for the island of Tahiti, South Pacific Ocean.