Three Graves by the Middle Yuba
Gaily bedight
A gallant knight,
In sunshine and in shadow,
Had journeyed long,
Singing a song,
In search of Eldorado.
But he grew old--
This knight so bold--
And o'er his heart a shadow
Fell as he found
No spot of ground
That looked like Eldorado.
And, as his strength
Failed him at length,
He met a pilgrim shadow--
"Shadow," said he,
"Where can it be--
This land of Eldorado?"
"Over the Mountains
Of the Moon,
Down the Valley of the Shadow,
Ride, boldly ride,"
The shade replied,
"If you seek for Eldorado!"
Edgar Allan Poe.
Robert Palmer's diggings on Fillmore Hill are still plainly seen from
the stage road on the other side of the cañon of the Middle Yuba; but he
who has the hardihood to cross the cañon will find the mine worked out,
the water-ditch dry, and the old man's house pulled down. The basement
of the house still affords shelter to adventurers who come to dig for
Palmer's hidden treasure. There is no other treasure on that barren
hill-top, for the Woolsey boys, to whom the old man deeded his mine,
worked out the paying gravel long ago.
At the bottom of the cañon, and just across the cold, rushing river, is
a clump of rose bushes, which mark the spot where the Woolsey brothers
lived with their mother and old Sherwood, their step-father. Beyond the
rose bushes, in the edge of a meadow, are three lonely graves, covered
by the branches of alders, unmarked save for flat field stones, and
unknown except to a few ranchmen who drive their cattle up the river for
summer pasturage. The first burial was that of one "Scotty," a ranchman.
In 1915 there was living at the Soldiers' Home in the Napa Valley an
octogenarian, last surviving member of the Keystone Club, who had helped
to dig Scotty's grave. In the middle grave by the Middle Yuba lies the
body of Robert Palmer. The third grave is that of Sherwood. No doubt
these Californians rest as peacefully as those whose mortal remains have
been gathered into the cemetery at Downieville. Mother Earth has
received her children back into her bosom, and day and night the river
chants their requiem.
In September, ten weeks after Henry Francis's visit, Palmer put his
house in order, and with Sammy, the cat and his dog Bruce, sought
protection at Sherwood's. For Sherwood he had little respect; and he
thought Mrs. Sherwood a silly woman to have brought her boys to such a
home. But the boys were now grown men, friendly, generous, and strong.
The old man had no better neighbors.
He insisted, proud and independent to the last, that he should provision
the family for the winter. So he drew on Hintzen, who packed in an
abundance of good things from Forest City. Every night the old man sat
by the stove. He liked to stroke Sammy's sleek coat and listen to the
cat's affectionate purring. He liked to tell how his dog Bruce had saved
his life. For it seems Palmer had once started off for Forest City by
night, was stricken with a paralytic shock, and, falling unconscious in
the woods, was finally rescued by neighbors who had heard the dog's
insistent barking.
When the snow was deep in the cañon, and the supply of provisions was
getting low, the old man ordered more from Hintzen. He recalled the
severity of New England winters, and talked of the friends of his youth.
He began to plan a trip East in the coming summer, directed John Woolsey
to inquire as to the expense of such a trip, and proposed to employ him
as a traveling companion. And feeling the need of some money, he bade
Mrs. Sherwood write a letter for him to Francis, signing it with his
mark.
For some unaccountable reason Francis made no answer, and the old man
seemed much disturbed. Other letters were dispatched. Still no answer.
After long waiting a letter in a feminine hand, postmarked "San
Francisco," and addressed to "Rob't Palmer, Moore's Flat," found its way
through the snow-drifts to Sherwood's ranch. It was from Harriet Somers.
But no letter came from Francis.
Finally Sherwood suggested a registered letter. In a few days a receipt
came back, followed by a letter in which Francis explained that he had
just returned from a trip to Honolulu for his health, and that he hoped
when he was better to go up into the mountains to see Mr. Palmer.
But the old man's strength was failing, and worry over Francis had
resulted in another paralytic shock. Dr. Mason was summoned, and made
his way into the cañon on skis. He found the patient in bad condition,
suffering from miner's paralysis in its worst form. Still, the old man
rallied, affixed his mark in lieu of signature to a letter ordering
medicines and other necessaries from Hintzen, and forbade the writing of
alarming letters to his relatives. He hoped to weather the storm again
as he had done under Dr. Lefevre's treatment.
But patient and nurses had their premonitions. He would call out in
distress, "Mrs. Sherwood, please help my hand," and she, taking the
stiffened fingers in hers, would soothe him so. He came more and more to
depend upon her. Told her he trusted she would do whatever was needful;
and, sure sign of the coming end, spoke of his relatives in the East.
Save for the astronomer nephew, he had seen none of them for more than
thirty years; but his heart went out in tenderness towards them. He
spoke of his brothers and sisters and their promising children. Weeping,
he told of his beloved mother, who died when he was a boy of seven years
and left him heart-broken.
He talked about making legal provision for pet cat and dog, which did
not forsake him in his weakness. Mrs. Sherwood, remarking upon such
extravagance, asked:
"You have considerable means, Mr. Palmer?" And he, grown less secretive
under her patient nursing, replied:
"Why, yes, I have considerable money."
The days went by, and he got no better. But his mind was clear; and he
resolved before it was too late to reward his benefactors. So a justice
of the peace was summoned, and a deed of the old man's claim on Fillmore
Hill was drawn up, making the property over to the Woolsey brothers.
Without hesitation he described his boundaries in legal fashion; and he
signed the deed with his mark, before witnesses. Furthermore, he told
the boys where they would be likely to find rich gravel; and they
afterward had cause to praise the old man's judgment.
He became as gentle as a woman. Indeed, Mrs. Sherwood, who had hung up
some of his family portraits about his bed, remarked that in his
sickness he very much resembled the astronomer's mother, his sister. He
comforted his friends, and told them his wishes in case he was "caught
in a worse snap," as he put it.
About this time he was stricken with blindness. Mrs. Sherwood was much
affected. She took down her Bible and read to him. And she read the
beautiful litanies of the Episcopal prayer-book. With her boys she knelt
in prayer by his bedside. The blind eyes moistened; for the strong man's
heart and brain still served him well.
Only a few days before the end, when the whole body was apparently
paralyzed, Dr. Mason inquired if there was any business which he wished
attended to, and Robert Palmer replied:
"My affairs are settled; and, Doctor, you will be paid for your
services."
The last day of April had arrived; but the snow banks were still deep in
the cañon. Nothing further had been heard from Henry Francis, but the
old man at last seemed reconciled. Perhaps Francis was not well enough
to come through the snow. It was Sunday, and at midnight came the fatal
stroke. He did not regain consciousness, and died peacefully on Tuesday
afternoon, May 2, 1882.
Then strange things happened. Hintzen, a large, heavy man, unused to
exercise, appeared on snow-shoes at Sherwood's house and asked if Mr.
Palmer had said anything about his property. No! And though the dead man
lay within, he turned away and immediately put back to Forest City.
Henry Francis was notified. But Henry Francis did not make his
appearance. And the snow drifts being deep, Robert Palmer was buried by
the side of Scotty, like a pauper.
No, not like a pauper; for there was still twenty-nine dollars standing
to his credit at Hintzen's. And this sum defrayed his funeral expenses.
Out of rough planks, lying about to mend sluices, the Woolsey boys
framed a coffin, for which they procured handles at a neighboring
village. And Mrs. Sherwood, faithful nurse and spiritual adviser, laid
the old man out in his best clothes. The rugged face showed no look of
annoyance. After thirty-three years of honest striving the old
Forty-niner slept the sleep of the just.
The doctor's bill remained unpaid, a circumstance which would have
annoyed Robert Palmer exceedingly, were he further concerned with the
affairs of this world. It would appear that Henry Francis deemed it good
policy to assume no obligations. So for thirty-three years that honest
debt remained unpaid; while in the meantime Francis, Hintzen and
Haggerty became wealthy, lost their money, and passed on to their
reward. The doctor, long since removed from North Bloomfield, thieves,
and murderers, was finally paid by Palmers of a later generation.