Chapter IX: Preface (3)

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.

VII.

THE RETURN TRIP TO PANAMA.

1849.

The difference in cost of passage between cabin and steerage from San Francisco to Panama was $100. We clubbed together, and bought some private stores and took steerage tickets. The vessel made but one call on the trip—at Acapulco about half way, where we remained one day and all went ashore. Acapulco is by nature a paradise, a beautiful little harbor, perfectly land locked, the land rising quite rapidly from the white sandy beach, for 40 or 50 rods, then descending on the opposite side through a magnificent grove of orange and other trees down to a beautiful stream of clear sparkling water about twice the size of the Ouleout. Here we all enjoyed the luxury of a swim in the clear water. I cannot remember when I enjoyed a day’s outing as upon that occasion.

During my rambles through the city of Acapulco I came across a pathological curiosity. I have ever regretted loosing its measurements which I took at the time. It was a hydrocephalous child which, judging from its physical developments, was two or three years of age; the face had an infant’s appearance while the cranium or skull was distended to the size I am confident of half a barrel. I took its measure anterior—posteriorly and laterally over the crown, put the paper in my pocket where it disappeared with my clothes mysteriously as I will explain farther on.

We raised anchor and sailed from Acapulco about dark the following evening, and being in a hot climate everybody lay on their blankets out on deck whenever they could. I lay down on the boiler deck about in the centre of the boat, the deck being occupied by sleeping men all around me. Some time in the night I awoke with a feeling of extreme fright, having the impression that the passengers charged me with having committed a crime so heinous that they were about to mob me. Knowing I was innocent of any offence, I lay some minutes endeavoring to convince myself that it was a delusion of my own mind, but the more I cogitated over it the more my fears were aroused, until as a final resort to save myself, I sprang up and jumped down to the main deck, some ten or twelve feet, and hid in the water closet forward of the wheelhouse.

From that time for nine days all is a blank to my mind, although I shall ever retain the impression, which proved incorrect, that I left the closet and on reaching the deck met Henry Wright who was among the passengers and is now living in Walton, a man whom all our older people will remember as having formerly lived here[114] universally respected and recognized as a man of unimpeachable integrity. My reasons for thus speaking in complimentary terms will soon be apparent.

My impression was that I had told Mr. Wright my gold dust bags were in the water closet, and requested him to take care of them. Fortunately for friend Wright and myself the traditional honesty of the sailor was our salvation from an unpleasant situation. My old friend Norton informed me after I had passed the crisis and recovered consciousness, that the morning after my attack, he found me alone in the cabin with a pair of blankets over my shoulders and no other clothing, not even a shirt, on. He asked me what was the matter and I replied “Nothing.” “But where is your clothing?” I replied, “I came aboard without any.” “Where is your money, he asked?” and my reply was “Mr. Wright has it.”

After getting me in bed and calling the ship surgeon, he looked up Mr. Wright, saying, “I suppose you will take good care of his money.” “I have no knowledge of his money,” Mr. Wright answered, “I have not seen it.” Norton said: “Halsey just told me he informed you where it was and asked you to take care of it.” “It is a mistake. I have not seen Halsey and know nothing whatever of his money.”

During the day the mate of the vessel gave out notice that one of the sailors while in the performance of his duties had found some bags of gold, which the owner could have by proving ownership. Norton, familiar with these bags, was able to obtain them, thus freeing Mr. Wright from the charge I should have entertained—that he had my money—had the sailor been a dishonest man and kept the gold.

The morning of the tenth day from the day of my attack of sickness the steamer cast anchor in Panama bay. The rattle of the chain as the anchor was run out aroused me to consciousness. I can never forget the feelings with which I looked around, bewildered and amazed, unable to account for my condition and surroundings, unable to lift a finger even. I could only appeal to the good angel—Norton—who was standing over me, for an explanation. I was carefully swung into a hammock over the side of the vessel and thence into a small boat and got ashore. Then they placed me upon the sand outside the wall of the city where I lay for an hour or more, until Norton could go into the town and secure a room at the American Hotel. I was there two weeks, hovering between life and death until I secured a physician from New Orleans, who with his family, was on his way to the new Eldorado and was stopping at Panama to recuperate his purse, which had been depleted.

He prescribed 30 grains of quinine to be taken in 10 grain doses at intervals of two hours, thus taking 30 grains in three hours, an amount which no physician at the North would dare to prescribe. It unquestionably saved my life. I was wholly unconscious for the next 24 hours. When the effect wore off my fever was banished but I was as helpless as an infant. His after treatment did not suit me and at the tenth visit I dismissed him, paying for his services $100 with thanks for his good intentions. After a few days I became satisfied that I could not get any strength in Panama, but must get across the Isthmus into a cooler climate. I made a bargain with four natives to put me into a hammock, sling it on a bamboo pole and take me across to Cruces[115] on the Chagres River for twenty dollars.

We started in the morning, but when a mile or two on our way and in a dense forest, the natives laid me down and refused to go further without more pay. Here again I was cared for and protected by my dear friend Norton, except for whose presence and prompt action I should doubtless have been left to the wild beasts, or death from exposure, if not actually murdered. Norton is a large, muscular man, with the courage of a lion, though as gentle and kind in disposition as a lamb when not aroused. He was the owner of a double barrelled shot gun, which he had taken to California and thought so much of that he brought it back. His hair was very long with full uncut beard, which hung down in front to his waist, altogether giving him a leonine appearance not to be trifled with. When they laid me down he drew the cover off his gun, cocked it, deliberately stepped in front of the rascals, with the most savage look imaginable—I can see it now—and with his gun at his shoulder ready to fire, ordered them to pick me up. The cowered fellows sullenly complied and we had no further trouble.

We arrived at Cruces after dark on the second day. I was refused admission to a hotel kept by a Yankee on account of my condition, the proprietor fearing I had a contagious disease, but was allowed to pass the night in an out building on a pile of dry hides. I never passed a better night of sweet sleep, and in the morning walked unaided into the hotel and relished a breakfast of sugar cured ham, soft boiled eggs and coffee, bought a bottle of sherry wine, chartered a dug out and started for Chagres, where I was put aboard a steamer bound for New York.

VIII.

JAMAICA AND THE RETURN TO UNADILLA.

1849-1850.

As soon as we got under way, and struck the north-west trade wind, the effect upon me was like magic. A glass of lemonade could have been no equivalent in relieving thirst to that cool, delicious wind. I sat on deck and took it in with more relish than I ever drank any iced beverage on a sultry day in August. Every breath I took added new life and stimulation to every nerve and muscle like electricity. My appetite became almost uncontrollable. About an hour before the opening of the dining room I would seat myself at the door, the first one to enter and last to leave the table. It was on that vessel I found my relish for the tomato; it had always been a disagreeable article to me, but one day the stewardess brought out a pan of them and put them in one of the small boats which hung at the davits. They looked so inviting that I reached over and took one. I bit into it and a more luscious fruit never passed my lips.

The voyage was a very pleasant and uneventful one. We stopped at Kingston on the Island of Jamaica for one day. I went on shore and while sitting in a hotel a native seeing me very shabbily dressed—and by the way my clothing aboard the vessel coming down the Pacific was never found; I suppose I must have thrown it overboard after taking out my gold dust[116] and placed it where the sailor found it, other passengers had contributing to cover my nakedness—approached and asked me if I did not wish to buy some clothing. That being my object in going ashore I replied in the affirmative. He offered to take me to a shop and without thinking I started, not even saying a word to Norton who was sitting near by. The man led me into several streets and finally through a narrow alley into another street where the shop was situated.

When he entered that alley the thought struck me, suddenly, that he had evil intentions. Owing to the fact that Kingston was renowned for the disorders committed by its villainous population,[117] I felt that I was in a dangerous predicament. But it would not do to show fear. My only resort was to put on a bold, unconcerned appearance, keeping my eyes open. The alley being narrow I dropped behind him and kept behind the rest of the way. I selected my suit and fortunately had loose change enough to pay the bill, but no other money in sight.

I think this delayed him in his plan. Soon after we started back he asked me if I was intending to remain ashore that night. I promptly answered that I expected to do so. He then said he would be around at bed time and see that I had a good room. He urged me not to go to bed until he came, which I promised, but before dark I went aboard the vessel, believing I had escaped harm once more.

We reached New York on Christmas morning. It was the coldest day I ever experienced. I have no recollection of the temperature of the thermometer, but having come direct from the torrid climate into the frigid the contrast was fearful. I stopped at the United States Hotel, still standing in Fulton Street. Here came my first experience in sleeping in a feather bed since leaving home in February previous. Sleep I could not, but rolled from one side to the other in misery—such is the power of habit—and finally got out on the floor with a single covering and there slept like a log the balance of the night.

Reaching my home in Connecticut the next day, I was received as one from the dead. Friends had had no word from me since my first arrival at Panama. From California not one letter had yet reached them.

Thus ends a brief recital of my adventurous gold seeking trip to California. Here I must refer again to the great obligations I shall ever rest under to my old friend Capt. Norton. May his days be as long and happy as, were it in my power, I would make them, with the full consciousness that when he goes to his last home, the verdict will be: There was a faithful friend and an honest man. The world in more ways than I have personally known, has been the better for his having been an actor in life’s great drama. God bless him.

Physically a wreck and in no condition for business, I made a visit soon after my return to this beautiful village for recuperation and pleasure among old friends. Meeting with a most cordial greeting and many requests to again become a resident, and having nothing in Connecticut to hold me—I had sold my property there before going to California—; moreover, as is universally the case with those who have spent the whole or a part of life in Unadilla[118] I still held a high appreciation of it and so was pleased again to become a resident, being in this appreciation no exception to the familiar rule.

Confluence of the Susquehanna and Unadilla Rivers.

From “The Old New York Frontier.” Courtesy of Charles Scribner’s Sons.]

Before returning to Connecticut I bought the old Martin Brook corner property[119] of Col. A. D. Williams. This was in the spring of 1850. The property then embraced what is now the Joyce furniture store and White store lots. As an evidence of the growth of the village and the advance in the value of real estate, let me say I paid Col. Williams $800 for the property, built the office, the same year, and the barn the next. The railroad project was started a few years later and real estate began to boom. I sold the White store lot for $600 and the balance for $3500. The furniture store lot was afterwards sold off and last summer (1889) I re-purchased the balance for more than three times what I had paid Col. Williams for the whole original tract. It is now the most eligible site for a business block, and will undoubtedly be so occupied in the future.

When I had again become a resident in 1850, I had and have always since had no disposition to change until the final change—the common lot of all, which I am ready to accept at any time.

During the war of the rebellion and just after the battle of Antietam[120] I was impelled by sympathy for the poor sufferers from that terrible fight to go down to Washington in company with Dr. Joshua J. Sweet and tender my services, gratis. Judge Turner, of Cooperstown, was then acting as Assistant Secretary of war. He procured an order and forwarded us to Frederick, Maryland, for duty in the barracks hospital at that place. I spent two weeks in charge of a ward where were twenty or more poor fellows suffering every imaginable form of wounds. I saw in that time all the horrors of war that I cared to see.[121]

[Dr. Halsey was asked to write a chapter giving his experience in the hospitals at Frederick. He could not be induced to do so. The entire war topic was repugnant to him. “I always feel,” he said in 1890, “like using an oath whenever the subject is brought up.” He never could believe that real necessity for the war was compatible with public intelligence. He felt fortified in this view by the success with which he had seen slavery peacefully abolished elsewhere in the world. England had abolished it in her own colonies long before our Civil War and without loss of blood. In Russia millions of slaves were freed without war and the same result had been achieved without domestic conflict in Brazil. One of these countries was ruled by an autocrat and two of the three comprise in part scarcely more than semi-civilized people and yet they effected great economic revolutions by means entirely peaceful.

Nor could he forget that slavery in the northern States had been abolished without war. He knew that this was not due to higher moral sense on the part of the northern people, but to causes purely economic. Slavery in the North did not pay and hence it was abolished. He believed this would ultimately have been the result in the South, a view which the tremendous changes wrought in agricultural labor by machinery since the war has steadily tended to confirm in many thoughtful minds.

When the war afterwards became a war to save the Union, and the Emancipation Proclamation had eliminated slavery from the issue, he knew how entirely the situation and the motives for the war had changed; but never to his last day did he fail to regard the war, in its immediate origin, as a public iniquity in which extremists at the North and South alike had dyed their hands in innocent blood. He knew that secession sentiments were not exclusively the property of South Carolina and Mississippi and that Abolitionists at the North, who have since been held in great honor and almost made national heroes, openly advocated it, long before the Southern leaders fled to it as a desperate resort.[122]]

In 1865 I became interested with a partner in the first drug store[123] opened in the village, which finally came into my hands alone and made necessary my withdrawing from the active practice of my profession. Failing health at last compelled me to dispose of the drug store in the spring of 1888.

Thus briefly have I reviewed my personal history in the past half century. Notwithstanding its length it has occupied much more time than I expected when starting it. Yet, had I included all points of any special interest as they passed my mind’s eye in panoramic order, perhaps I could have occupied a far larger space. The urgent wish of my children was the first inducement. The pleasure derived from thus reviewing my life in leisure moments has been the fullest compensation. If readers have been in any like proportion gratified, this truly has been an additional as well as unexpected pleasure.

I cannot refrain from attempting as a final addendum a look into the probable and possible developments of the next fifty years. While I am neither a prophet nor a son of a prophet, yet in view of what the past fifty years have brought out in utilizing and subjecting the primary elements to the practical benefit of mankind, I have no hesitation in placing myself on record as anticipating as great or greater achievements in the same direction. Who would have called a man sane fifty years ago that should have sincerely said we would ever talk with another living thousands of miles away? or that one’s voice could be stirred up and again given to another’s auditory sense years after?

In view of this and other equally incredible developments, how long before the air will be as safely navigable as the earth or water? It is but a question of time when principles of economy will secure us against extravagant waste of fuel. The earth is fast being gridironed with railroads driven by the consumption of coal, but only a small per cent of the heat evolved is utilized. The other ninety per cent or so is complete waste. Geology says coal will eventually be exhausted and wood is already practically destroyed as fuel.

The child is now living who will see heating, lighting, washing, cooking, etc., done at central points, and supplies distributed wherever needed. He will also see the fact recognized and generally adopted that Omniscience in creating and developing our wonderful Universe had some loftier, more ennobling object in view than to allow the few to enslave the masses simply for power and gain. God speed the time when the old saying of Robert Burns, “man’s inhumanity to man makes countless thousands mourn” will cease to be true.

IX.

MY CALIFORNIA DIARY.

Feb. 12, 1849-Nov. 11, 1849.

[This diary was brought to light not long after the foregoing Reminiscences had appeared in “The Unadilla Times.” Dr. Halsey was urged to include it in the proposed pamphlet, but made no definite reply to the suggestion. It obviously did not occur to him that it would be interesting to others than himself—not even to members of his own family. I do not remember having ever seen it before, or been informed by him of its existence. Written as it was amid the scenes described, the propriety of including it here seems clear. Although he used a pencil, and more than fifty years have passed, the words are still as distinct and legible as when he set them down.]

Feb. 12, ’49; left Plainville; stormy; staid at New Haven till 16th one o’clock P.M.; arrived in New York 7 P.M.

Left New York Friday 23, at 9 o’clock and 20 minutes; all sea sick before night. Saturday 24th, table vacant pretty much. Good appetites are few. Wind commenced to blow up from the north-east Saturday night and continued with rain till Sunday 25th at 2 o’clock P.M., when it changed into the south-east and continued a perfect gale Monday, Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday till 9 A.M., when it went into the north-east, or rather when we struck the trade winds blowing from the north-east.

We are now, Thursday P.M. 1st March tripping it towards Chagres at the rate of 10 knots an hour.

Friday 2nd. A beautiful day and going at a nice rate; warm and balmy.

Saturday 3d. A beautiful day; we this day crossed the tropic and every man has his coat off; sun comes down hot.

Tuesday 4th. Made land this morning 6 o’clock, the Caicos Islands on our right and Turks Island on our left; a beautiful day, thermometer at 10 o’clock stood at summer heat; shirt sleeves and summer vests are out in profusion; had divine service on board to-day by a lay brother (Mr. Appleton) of New York, an aged man who with two sons and two nephews are going to California after fortunes. Had occasion to prescribe for two cases to-day on board.

Monday 5th. Another fine day; we made the passage to-day between the Islands of Hayti and Cuba; we were not near enough to either to see how they looked except that there was very high land on both. The inauguration of President Taylor was observed by cracking a few bottles of champagne furnished us by the generosity of the house of Livingston and Wells of New York. It is getting very hot for us northerners.

Wednesday 7th. Another fine day and fine run. We shall make Chagres Friday if everything continues favorable.

Thursday 8th. Another fine day and we have made a fine run. Nothing of consequence has occurred to-day except an eclipse of the moon this evening. To-morrow we expect to see Chagres, being at 4 o’clock to-day but 130 miles off.

Friday 9th. Made Porto Bello this morning and from there to Chagres is thirty miles; the scenery was magnificent. Arrived off Chagres about noon where we anchored and lay till Saturday noon; had fine sport fishing.

Saturday 10th. Towed into harbor this morning by the “Orus.” Left Chagres 2 P.M. in the “Orus” which took us 15 miles up the river and then we took canoes. The scenery up the river is beyond northern conception in point of beauty. The land must be capable of producing unlimitedly.

Sunday 11th. Arrived at Gorgona and pitched our tent. The river is literally crammed with nice fish, but cannot be caught with a hook; am not so favorably impressed with the natives here as at Chagres; they are fast learning dishonesty from the Americans. They all smoke, women and all; I observed one woman smoking with the lit end in her mouth.

Monday 12th. Nothing of note to mention except that we drew our seine and caught a few noble fish; but there are too many snags to fish safely. Gambling is carried on here by some Americans and several fools have lost all their money and returned home. Very hot, thermometer ranging about 100.

Tuesday 13th. Five of our company went on to-day with the most of our baggage and the rest of us go when we get ready. Freight is from 6 to 10 dollars per 100 lbs. as you make your bargain.

Saturday 17th. Left Gorgona for Panama. Walked to the half way house and put up,—the distance called from 12 to 15 miles.

Sunday 18th. Started about 4 o’clock and reached Panama about 12; fell in on the way with a company who had a dog, and about two miles from the city it was taken rabid, but the owner would not consent to have it shot till it had treed us all. The city is a very ancient looking place, the buildings being constructed of stone, the old Spanish style with tiled roofs and surrounded by a wall of great strength, but time is crumbling it in many places. The inhabitants are a mixture of blacks, Indians and Spaniards—an ignorant inoffensive people, all Catholics; the cathedral was a splendid building in its day. All people smoke.

May 17th. Left Panama in a bunjo for the Panama steamer lying in the bay and with no little satisfaction—such in fact as no one but who has been imprisoned nine weeks in the same place can appreciate. We raised anchor about 12 P.M. and started for Francisco.

Friday 18th. We are on our way, all a jolly looking set of fellows. The news received from California and our being set free from a tedious imprisonment have put a happy look upon all. Saw a whale spouting this morning before getting out of the bay and also sharks.

Monday 21st. Nothing of note since last date. Pierce was taken sick today.

Tuesday 22d. P. is quite sick to-day, but hope he will not be long. We are getting along fine. We were followed to-day by a school of black fish and they attracted great notice jumping out of the water. They followed us several miles.

Wednesday 23d. P. is about the same. I fear he will be hard sick.

Thursday 24th. Nothing of note. We are on our way finely, having so far beautiful weather. P. is no better; a hard place to be sick in; no attention being paid to either sick or well.

Friday 25th. Many a sick person would give a fortune to be insured as delightful weather for a sea voyage. P. is about the same, his fever not quite as high as it has been.

Saturday 26th. We last night came very near being lost in the breakers. Our “look out” fell asleep and the first we knew we were aroused by the noise of the breakers, they being not more than one and a half miles off and we going 9 or 10 knots. The captain says there is a serious mistake in the survey of the coast along here as laid down on the chart, for at noon yesterday on taking his observation and looking at his chart, it made us to be 25 miles farther from land than we were which, with the heedless “look out” came very near being our death. We spoke a little schooner this morning bound for California in distress. She was 64 days out from Panama and had lost four men from thirst and 4 others with their small boat who went ashore for water and did not return—for what reason they know not and they already had the scurvy aboard. We supplied them with water and getting three hearty cheers for it we parted. Poor fellows, I fear they will never reach their destination. A fellow of the name of McGruder, who came with us from New York on the “Abrasia” went aboard of her as mate and was one of the four who went ashore and did not return.

Sunday 27th. We are passing the mouth of the Gulf of California to-day and there is a great change in the weather. P. is improving slowly.

Monday 28th. We this morning about 5 o’clock made Cape St. Lucas and of course got the first sight of California, showing a range of very high mountains. I began to feel as if I was going to California sure. May my Julia feel as well and happy to-day as I do. God protect her while I am absent. P. is doing well. A good many of the passengers have their overcoats on—a very unusual sight for the past four months.

Tuesday 29th. Nothing of note has occurred to-day. We saw a sail, but so far off as not to distinguish. More overcoats are in good demand. The weather is very cool. P. is about well. We had a very fine view of a whale to-day, being quite near and showing 30 or 40 feet of his length. He threw the water fine.

Wednesday 30th. This is the day fixed upon for the United States and Mexican governments to meet at San Diego to commence running the boundary line. We have the United States Commissioner (Col. Weller[124]) and suite aboard; we shall not reach San Diego before day after to-morrow (Friday) which of course breaks the treaty, the consequences of which we shall see. We have had strong head winds all the way from Panama and for the last 24 hours almost a gale because of which we have not made very fast time. We had another fine view of a whale to-day, being in the midst of a school of them spouting in every direction and our course right along side one, within I should think 50 feet of the vessel. It was a grand sight when he came to the surface throwing the cloud of spray and showing 40 or 50 feet of his length.

Thursday 31st. We are plodding along and shall probably reach San Diego to-morrow. Saw plenty of whale to-day. Had the laugh on 4 or 5 of the passengers who were in the habit of hooking from the galley. The cook baked a pie containing tartar emetic. They stole it and of course had occasion to cast up their accounts.

Friday, June 1st. We made San Diego today before it was noon and landed Colonel Weller and party, during which stay one of our crew ran away. We left about 2 P.M. again and hope to reach Francisco Sunday night.

Saturday 2nd. We found this morning that we were short of coal, but after looking about discovered several tons which we knew nothing of—a culpable neglect of the chief engineer, I should think. With prudence and using spars and other loose stuff about the vessel we hope to reach Francisco. We have had strong head winds to-day and made Point Conception about 2 o’clock, where it always blows a gale, but we weathered it. The coast about the Point presents a beautiful prospect of table land and high mountains in the rear. There is but little vegetation—no trees except occasionally a cluster with patches of grass. The plains are covered with herds of wild cattle.

Sunday 3d. We have had to give up our berths to make fuel for the engine. With the aid of them we hope to reach Francisco by 2 o’clock to-night. We have seen any quantity of whale to-day.

Monday 4th. We arrived at Francisco about 6 this morning after burning every thing loose about the vessel. The bay is a splendid one and the entrance puts me in mind of New York. The tide was going out and there was a terrible commotion of the water. The town is a small place yet but alive with persons. We are not discouraged about “the diggings” from what we hear. This is the windiest place I ever saw—worse than Unadilla Centre. We pitched our tents and remained here until Saturday 9th, when we left for the diggings intending to remain at Sacramento City a few days. We left Francisco about 5 o’clock and sailed up the bay about 30 miles and cast anchor for the night. For what reason I know not, but on endeavoring to raise the anchor on Sunday 10th morning, we could not do it and were obliged to cut the chain and go on.

Monday 11th. We had a dead calm to-day and only made five miles.

Tuesday 12th. We passed a very uncomfortable night last night. It rained all night and we all were wet through and, to add to our discomfort, the calm has continued all day and our provisions are getting low. “I’m going to Sacramento with my banjo on my knee.” I can realize that song now.

Wednesday 13th. The calm still continues and we have been trying to warp up, but haven’t made but a mile or two. I know not what we shall do, for starvation is staring us in the face. Hurrah! our agent went ashore this morning and walked to a small ranch and bought a small piece, 2 or 3 pounds; gave two dollars for it which will prevent our starving a day or two longer. What makes our situation more horrible are the clouds of mosquitoes. I never saw mosquitoes before so large and you cannot get away from them; every man’s face and hands look like puff balls.

Thursday 14th. The wind has served us very well to-day—at least until about three P.M., when we came into a bend in the river, when it was ahead and we had to warp again. But just before we had got through the bend the wind caught us and away we went down stream, losing all we had gained and brought up at a tree on the opposite side of the river where we tied up for the night and I went ashore with my blankets and slept under a splendid oak tree—the first good night’s rest I have had on the trip.

Friday 15th. By warping this morning a short distance we succeeded in getting the wind in our favor and we finally have reached our destination, Sacramento City, composed of two framed buildings and some 200 cloth ones and tents. The news we get here is as good as I looked for, but all of our baggage is a dead weight pretty much, as it will cost us more to get it to the mines (50 dollars a hundred) than it is worth and they ask 4 dollars a barrel per month for storing. We shall sell what we can and leave the rest.

Tuesday 19th. Five of us started to-day for the Middle Fork of the American river the balance remaining at Sacramento City. We travelled four miles and camped for the night under a splendid oak tree and we were well serenaded by a pack of prairie wolves.

Wednesday 20th. We have had a day’s walk in a broiling sun through an oak opening as level as a floor and have travelled 20 miles where there is no water. We met a man who showed us a lump of gold weighing 49 ounces, taken out a few days since. We have 25 miles to make to-morrow to reach Sutter’s Mill, and I dread it for my feet are both blistered.

Thursday 21st. We have only made 15 miles to-day over a hilly road and have had fine sport shooting game along the road. The country is full of wild animals, particularly wolves. We saw four this morning within 40 rods of each other. I suppose they were after a deer which was near them.

Friday 22d. We reached Sutter’s Mill (Coloma) about one o’clock to-day and found it like the other towns, a lively place of cloth houses and the hottest place I ever saw. I think the thermometer stands to-day 130° in the shade. I thought Panama was hot but this is ahead of it. We were disturbed last night between 11 and 12 by a person we took to be an Indian and we thought best to keep watch the balance of the night, each one to take his turn for an hour, but we had no further trouble.

Saturday 23d. We have been out to try our washer to-day and have washed out about 8 dollars—very good for raw hands, I think.

Monday 25th. We have been out to-day again and had better luck, having got 34 pwts. and 3 grains.

Thursday 26th. Started for the Middle Fork and arrived on

Thursday 28th; nothing occurring on the road worthy of note. One of our company went out with his pan and was gone about three hours and brought back 9 pwts. 11 grains of gold. I thought I had seen a wild, desolate region before, but it was a mistake. Here we are hemmed in by towering mountains, the thermometer from 100° upwards and snow in sight.

Friday 29th. We have been at work to-day, at least three of us, and have done very well; made 7 ounces, 8 pwts. and 18 grains. There is gold enough here but it requires very hard labor to get it.

Saturday 30th. We have done well indeed to-day, having dug, three of us, 11 ozs. 16 pwts. and 18 grains.

October 26th. We left the mines about the 1st of October and I made my way down to San Francisco where it was my intention of wintering, but there are more of my profession than patients and I shall make my way home as fast as possible.

Thursday 1st November. We left San Francisco to-day at 1 o’clock P.M. and made the port of Monterey the following day about 1 P.M. from which port we sailed about 4 P.M. and have had a rain storm since and it still (Saturday 3rd) continues to rain.

Sunday 4th. The rain ceased about 10 last evening when it cleared away and the wind changed into the north-west. We spread our sails and we are now speeding away by the united aid of wind and steam, but with nothing to relieve the aggravating ennui of a sea voyage except the western coast of California and Mexico which being a dreary, barren waste, gives but little relief. However, the cheering thought that I am on my way and with good fortune shall soon find dear friends and more than these my own Julia, makes my heart leap for joy. God speed the vessel.

Monday 5th. We made the port of San Diego last evening where we had to take in a new supply of coal which detained us till this evening. Our next port is Mazatlan.

Tuesday 6th. Nothing of note except fine weather and we are getting into a warmer climate.

Wednesday 7th. I have had to witness a scene to-day which I hope never to be obliged to see again—a burial at sea. The earthly remains of an only son, the pride of doting parents in New York, were committed to the mighty deep—a horrible sight to me. God grant that I may be allowed to get back to mother earth when I die, let that be where it will, among friends or foe; I care but little; but give me a tenement in the bosom of earth.

Saturday 13th. We made the port of Mazatlan[125] about 10 A.M. where passengers were to be allowed to go ashore and some had left in the small boats when a British naval officer came aboard and brought the news of the cholera being ashore and of course we were not permitted to leave.

Sunday 11th. We made the port of San Blas about 10 A.M. but did not remain long.

[Here the diary abruptly ends. Three day’s later the ship must have reached Acapulco, on leaving which point Dr. Halsey became dangerously ill of fever and for nine days was unconscious, as described by him in a previous chapter. During the remainder of the voyage home he was never able to complete these notes of his trip. When again he took up the unfinished task, more than forty years had passed over his head and when he finally completed it he had reached almost the end of his allotted days.]

EDITORIAL NOTE—ILLNESS AND DEATH.

After the attack of Chagres fever Dr. Halsey continued through life a man in robust health. The only subsequent illness he ever had was the last. He wrote as follows in a letter of January, 1886:

“Three years more bring me to seventy years of age. I have good reason for feeling that I may not reach that period, and as time develops the truth of my views I can dispose of my affairs to better advantage than executors could. I am perfectly aware that my right kidney is affected with disease. I have been conscious of it for two years and have kept it measurably in abeyance, but it is gradually making progress. I have lost flesh within that time in very marked degree. I weigh less than 180, whereas I have been up to 212.

“I tell you this, not to alarm you, as it is only to be looked for as a final result some time in the future, though serious enough to warn me to put my house in order. I can keep the disease under control for some time probably, and as long as I can do so, prefer to remain in business. I have no fears of death or the future. With my children all fitted for life and well situated, my life work is finished and I am ready to yield to the universal demand of nature. I feel that I have lived not wholly in vain; that the world in some small degree may have been benefited. Although conscious that I have not filled the full measure of what might have been, want of training and guidance after I was left an orphan, is in a measure to be charged with the shortcomings. I am thus frank with my boys.”

After the last chapter of his Reminiscences had appeared in “The Unadilla Times” his health failed alarmingly. He wrote on Jan. 17, 1891: “I have lost ground in a quite marked way during the last week including the sense of feeling in my right foot. A little exertion exhausts me. To the Post Office and back is about all I can do. I feel that my worldly career is nearly ended, though I hope to see the Spring.” Three days later he wrote in what is probably his last letter: “If I lose ground as fast as I have lost it in the past two weeks, my stay here is short. I have my own affairs arranged in as good shape as possible, [he had made his will between the writing of these letters and had written out his wishes in regard to the funeral] and am ready to submit to the inevitable at any time.”

A few days before the end came, he was heard to say: “I am content enough, and yet I could have wished to visit Fred”—a reference to his son Frederick A. Halsey, detained at his home in Sherbrooke, Canada, by illness in his own family. His esteemed friend of many years, Dr. Paris Garner Clark, was now in constant attendance, visiting him each day and several times was called in the late hours of the night. During the last week he lost ground with unexpected rapidity, but on Sunday, February 15th, was able to sit up and dictate some final instructions as to his Reminiscences.

The end came on Tuesday the 17th. After a night of peaceful sleep, in the early forenoon of a beautiful winter’s day, the sky blue and cloudless, the earth white with snow, he passed away as if in a sleep. Among his final words were these: “I am going, going; but we have had a happy life. God bless you all.”

The approach of dissolution, which he had noted with professional discernment from week to week and day to day was thus accepted in the spirit in which he had performed the duties of life—without fear and with a manly heart.

That serene ending has often reminded me, as indeed his whole life reminds me, seen now from afar, of some lines by Walter Savage Land or to whom, in temperament and character, he had one or two points of close resemblance:

“I strove with none, for none was worth my strife:
Nature I loved, and, next to Nature, Art;
I warmed both hands before the fire of life;
It sinks, and I am ready to depart.”