The Golden Summer Comes Again
The golden summer had come again. To old man Palmer, living alone on the
top of Fillmore Hill, the great snow banks stored high upon the
mountains meant abundance of water for mining. The strange flowers of
California, yellow and red, grown familiar now after many years, made
their appeal to him. With the returning summer he welcomed the yellow
bird with red crown and black wings. He loved the exhilarating air and
the glorious sunshine. But I am afraid the golden glow of morning
suggested gold.
He was cleaning up several square rods of bed-rock in the ancient river
bed on the hill-top, and the dirt was rich in gold. Every morning early,
leaving his breakfast dishes unwashed, he carefully shoveled this dirt
into his sluices, and watched the water carry mud and sand away. Once in
a while he would shut off the water to examine the rich amalgam at each
cleat across the trough, removing that which was saturated with gold and
replacing it with fresh mercury. This clean-up was going to be
especially good, and he was glad to be alone.
Treasure like this would tempt his lawless neighbors. He wanted no such
rogues round as they had at Angels Camp, Calaveras County, where,
according to his last copy of "The California Democrat," the post-office
had been robbed of a thousand dollars, including one hundred dollars'
worth of postage stamps. Postage stamps! He laughed to think to what
straits thieves had come in Calaveras County.
Then he thought of his own hard-earned treasures, safely locked up in
the Hibernia Bank of San Francisco and with D. O. Mills of Sacramento.
Some day kindred back in Connecticut would have cause to praise his
frugality and self-denial. Sometimes he thought of his blasted romance
and of the poor woman in San Francisco who scrubbed floors for an honest
living. Ah, well, life is hard. His own years of toil were nearly over,
as he knew by unmistakable signs. Perhaps this rich clean-up would be
his last. And so it was; though nearly two years elapsed before a
merciful Providence released the old man from this world where thieves
break through and steal the fruits of our labors.
The Woolsey boys, young men now, with the strength of the hills in bone
and muscle, were the old man's chief reliance. They could see that he
was failing, and felt sincerely sorry. They noted with what grim
determination he stuck to his work. The tenacity inherited from a
hundred generations of strong men, farmers, sea-kings, warriors, nerved
his old arms and kept strong the will within him.
One day about the first of August, in the early afternoon when the sun
is hottest, they found the old man within doors, washing dishes.
"Sit down, Mr. Palmer," said John, the older of the boys, "and we will
do the dishes for you."
"Well, boys, go ahead. I know what famous pot-wrastlers ye be. I can't
compete with you." And he gladly sat down, to examine a legal document
the boys had brought him. For one Dupre, who had a rough farm at the
bottom of the cañon and sold the old man vegetables, had sued him for
damages, because the dirt washed down from Palmer's diggings had covered
up a few square rods of grass land. The damage was slight, but the
Frenchman was thrifty, and had sued for a round sum. Palmer was quite
willing to pay actual damages, but he had refused to be robbed. A
compromise had finally been made, and Dupre agreed to withdraw his suit
upon the payment of fifty dollars. To this contract the old man now
affixed his signature, in a very shaky hand.
"There, I'm glad that's settled," said he. And a moment later he had
fallen out of his chair upon the floor.
Miner's paralysis! Even the Woolsey boys knew the symptoms. They lifted
the old man up and put him on his bed, gave him whiskey, and then
consulted as to their next duty. They could not leave him there alone
upon the mountain-top; nor was it an easy matter to descend to the
bottom of the cañon for help.
"You stay here, Charley," said John, "and I'll go for Dr. Mason."
"That won't do, Jack. It will be five o'clock before you can cross the
cañon, and dark by the time you reach North Bloomfield. Alleghany City
is the place to strike for. Get Dr. Lefevre over there. They say he can
cure paralysis if any man can."
"It's no easy trip to Alleghany, either," said John thoughtfully. "The
cañon of Wolf Creek is as bad as the cañon of the Middle Yuba. And
there's Kanaka Creek beyond."
"Then again, whichever way you go," responded his brother, "you ain't
sure of finding the doctor. Better take the old man with us and make for
Alleghany, I guess."
This seemed the most feasible plan. So they saddled Palmer's sure-footed
horse, put his sick master into the saddle, and started down the trail
across the cañon of Wolf Creek. It was a long, hard trip. To the Woolsey
boys, holding and steadying the old man, the cañon had never seemed so
deep. At last they reached the Plumbago Mine, on the opposite height,
where they borrowed two mules to carry them the rest of the way. It was
easy going now as far as Chipp's Flat. Late in the evening they climbed
the steep trail from Kanaka Creek to Alleghany City, took their charge
to the hotel, and hunted up Dr. Lefevre.
So began a long, hard sickness, the first serious sickness Robert Palmer
had suffered since his arrival in the gold fields. For days he lay
helpless. As soon as he was sufficiently recovered to take notice of his
surroundings, he begged to be moved from the noisy hotel, with its
sickening smells, to the cabin of an old friend named Lee, who lived
some distance from the main street.
There are not more than half a dozen streets in Alleghany City, the
principal one being the road along the mountain-side, which, leaving the
village, climbs up over an ancient stream of lava, and crossing the
summit of the mountain plunges down to Forest City. Dr. Lefevre was the
only doctor in the two "cities," and spent much of his time crossing the
high ridge that separates the two. He often wished that the miners, in
pursuit of gold-bearing gravel, had dug a passage-way through the ridge,
as they had done on the opposite side of Kanaka Creek, where there was a
tunnel from Chipp's Flat to Minnesota. But on this side of the creek
they mined for quartz. However, the miners were good patients, and some
day the doctor hoped to return to France with the gold his skill had
earned him.
With a Frenchman's zeal for science and thoroughness, he was a most
excellent physician. By the first of October, Robert Palmer was cured.
To the doctor it seemed almost a miracle; and he cautioned the old miner
kindly:
"Mr. Palmer, one can never tell about this malady. To-day you are well,
thanks to your remarkable constitution and a Frenchman's art. Next
month, perhaps"--and he shrugged his shoulders.
"If you have any business matters to settle, monsieur, any affair of the
heart, any will to make, you had better attend to such things while the
good Lord gives you strength."
Robert Palmer heeded this advice; and so, a few days after, when he had
returned to his house on Fillmore Hill, he wrote the following
remarkable document:
"Fillmore Hill, Oct. 12, 1880.
"I, Robert Palmer, the undersigned, of sound mind, declare this to
be my last will and testament. After my death it is my will that
after all just, honest debts and expenses are paid, if there is any
property left that it shall be divided equally between my nieces
and nephews: that is, each one shall receive an equal share; and it
is also my will that should a majority of my nieces believe money
or other property placed in the hands of any of their number would
not be used properly the others shall hold such money or property
and pay it to the owner at such times and in such amounts as they
may think best: and it is also my will that the same plan shall be
adopted and carried out with regard to my nephews as I have named
above for my nieces, except my nephews shall hold the property.
"Now then be it known that I hereby appoint as my administrators or
executors, to execute and carry out the above my will, the
following named persons, (to wit), John Hintzen of Forest City,
Sierra County; John Haggerty of Moore's Flat, Nevada County, and
Henry Francis of Moore's Flat, Nevada County: also James B. Francis
of Reedsville, Mifflin County, Pennsylvania; to act without bonds,
and also to act without the interference of any court of law or any
Public Administrator whatever; to act at all times and under all
circumstances to the best of their judgment in settling my affairs:
if they have patience they may hear any pleas my relations have to
offer, but I wish them in the end to stand firm and resolute on
their own judgment, and take time to settle the concern whether it
need one year or twenty years.
"And furthermore it is my will that if the above named persons
cannot act conveniently then if two or more act they shall have the
same power as if all acted; but if only two act they shall both
agree on all the matters, but if more act then the majority may
rule.
"Robert Palmer." Oct. 12, 1880.
Only one who knows the spirit of early California can understand this
document. Its beginning is modest: "if there is any property left." What
amount was the old man about to distribute? He was too cautious to
mention it; and when his friend John Hintzen of Forest City, in whose
safe the will was deposited, wrote asking for a list of the property,
the old man parried the question.
Another curious feature of this document is that the old man chose two
executors. He did not care to trust any one friend too far, apparently.
Robert Palmer, Democrat, paid his respects to courts and lawyers. His
executors were "to act without bonds, and also to act without
interference of any court of law or any Public Administrator whatever."
He might better have trusted the courts, as we shall see, for his
friends failed him. After thirty years the executors all died; and to
this day the will of Robert Palmer is an unsolved mystery.