April twenty-ninth, eighteen hundred and fifty-four.
Several weeks have elapsed since closing my last journal to the present
date of this entry, and longer still this interval might have been but
for sickness, which keeps me from my daily task and compels me to pass
the hours of ennui and solitude by such means as circumstances afford.
Among these means, reading is my favorite occupation if the subject of
it is attractive and pleasing and one main reason that my diary is not
more regularly kept is because it is easier to read the productions of
others' minds than to make efforts for a similar purpose ourselves.
The efforts I am going to make are not to be compared to the writing
of fictitious works, nor still less scientific essays but are simply
to note down the most important occurrences of my career—a few abrupt
ideas of my own and other men and some remarks upon the political and
moral affairs of the world.
Well then, to begin. I am at present as already stated, compelled by
sickness to stop in the house for an uncertain period of time which,
however, I ardently hope may not fetter me like the criminal to his
cell longer than nature may possibly require to heal the diseased part
of my body. This is a sore ankle, caused by the rubbing of the seams
of a boot, which, as undoubtedly a muscle or nerve was hurt, affects
the whole system and gives me a good deal of pain. These things will,
however, always happen and always by our own fault or carelessness—at
least this is my case. Having this conviction one must try to take it
as patiently as possible.
Although rain in April is rather a rarity, still, we had several
showers within the last week or so and a very wet night and forenoon
to-day. This is a great benefit to the country, both to the vegetable
and auriferous world. The former it animates while the water channels
which it swells assist the miner in procuring the latter—ore. I have
been tolerable successful for the last three months, averaging about
five dollars per day with prospects of continuing so as long as may be
water for our supply. The troubled state of our company has temporarily
subsided. Which fact is more to be ascribed to the just mentioned
success than to an alleviation of the antagonistic elements prevailing
among us. This however is not looked for by myself, nor does it matter
any in this case what the cause is, as long as the effect is good.
Monday morning, May first, eighteen fifty-four. The merry blooming
month of May has arrived and nature, shaking off the drowsiness of
Winter appears in all its beauty and splendor. A carpet of verdure
variegated by the innumerable hues and shades of myriads of flowers,
shrubs and trees, spreads over the crust of reanimated Mother
Earth—which scenery, combined with the beautiful sky of a California
heaven, grants a sublime sight to the beholder and admirer of the
garden of nature. In gazing upon these fields, hills and dales, all in
their bloom and vernal beauty; upon the pure sky that overspreads and
adds to their grandeur—the mind gradually loses itself in meditation
and deep thought. Minor objects lose their hold upon us and higher,
nobler sentiments take their place. In such sacred moments the empire
of the mind reigns and we truly live. The grand and wonderful effect of
a great unknown first cause meets us at every side—and while admiring
the former we wonder at the magnitude and goodness of the latter. We
try to penetrate the darkness which veils that unknown from our sight
and behold the _prima facie_—till now only known by its reflections.
Besides this desire to find and look upon the omnipotent, other
thoughts and images rise before our mind's eye. While looking at some
green and blooming spot, moments of the past or rather, recollections
associated with those gone-by hours, those blooming fields, crowd in.
We think of the innocent joys of those playfellows that loved us, of a
kind Mother that received us when we, flushed and exhausted arrived
home to refresh and rest ourselves, who would lay her hand upon our
forehead to dry the perspiration and brush aside our hair to restore
our infant beauty, and, with those benign eyes looking upon us, would
with her lips which always were so fond of kissing—express her fears
that we would over-heat ourselves and take sick. I would begin to
cry and promise to be more careful in the future. Yes, these are
recollections which will cheer the darkest and increase the fullness of
the happiest moments of our life.
May nineteenth, eighteen fifty-four. I am well once more, enjoying the
blessedness derived from such a state. I have just returned after a
day's work and having an hour to spare from this to dark I thought to
dedicate the same to scrawl down a few lines in these memoirs.
[Illustration: FACSIMILE OF PAGE FROM DIARY]
Although this is early May—the middle of Spring, we have already the
warmer days of August and the ground which had hardly got a good
soaking during Winter is dry now as ever it gets in our Northern
States. So with the vegetables. The flora and fauna of the country,
which have already seen their infancy—although now everything is
verdant and budding—in but a short month more will pass away and the
green will change to yellow, the bud to the ripened fruit and all
nature put on the attire of mellow Fall, and be finally resuscitated
by deluges of rain which pour down in Winter in this country. If ever
by some natural change this country shall be blessed by seasonable
rains through the Summer, it will undoubtedly exert a most beneficial
influence upon the soil of the land and make agricultural business more
permanent and profitable and vastly benefit the mining community and
make living itself more pleasant and comfortable on the shores of the
Pacific. There is a certain fact which manifests itself in new settled
countries—namely, that the amount of rain which falls every year
increases in proportion to the cultivation and irrigation of the soil.
At Salt Lake, and so here, when settlers first arrived rain was hardly
known to fall but has increased in amount every year since that period.
This is a fact experience has taught us to hold true although its cause
is hardly known.
The merry month of May has passed away; June holds reign over prairie,
hills and dales. The weather in general is just warm enough to make
it pleasant to work—which in itself is pain enough without having
it doubled by exposure to a scorching sun. A pleasant breeze being
wafted up from the smooth waters of the Pacific moderates the climate
to a genial warmth which only for want of sufficient rain would be
as beautiful as any person could wish for. But from a want of this
infinitely useful element at the proper season of the year, the soil,
otherwise fertile produces but little vegetation. July generally sees
this dying off for want of moisture. Still there are many fertile
spots in the valleys watered by mountain streams which intersect the
country—heading in the snow clad mountains and pouring their icy waters
like veins into the heart of the country to give vigor and health to
the country in their proximity. A traveler therefore can see in one
day's journey and less both the budding and refreshing Spring and the
yellow Autumn, the former in the valleys, the latter in the higher
parts of the land. It is on highlands that these lines are written—with
a valley spread at the foot of it, which extends to the Coast Range of
mountains whose outlines I can plainly trace on the horizon and this
minute its highest peaks stand out in bold relief, illuminated by the
setting sun close upon their brow. Ten minutes more—they will hide it
from view where, in the pacific waters of the broad Ocean it will seek
a resting place after its daily journey through the heavens, to rise
with new splendor and magnificence in the morning. To many thousands
who gaze upon the rising and setting of the sun its movement from East
to West is still a great mystery.
September twelfth, eighteen fifty-four. Over three months have passed
since I made my last entry in this journal and not only have I changed
my residence but my profession. I have exchanged the miner for the
confinements of the Store Room to which I intend to adhere in the
future.
July and August passed in indolence and mental indifference. It is but
a few days back that I left off mining and find myself now comfortably
seated in my store writing these notes. This place—French Hill—is
within one-half mile of Camp Secco which was destroyed by fire about
three weeks ago, which however by the enterprise of its inhabitants
is rapidly building up and this time is an improved place. The place
of present residence is rapidly springing up into a little village as
yet nameless from its recent date and gives fair promise towards a
prosperous business. That this may be the case is my earnest wish, as
I hope to realize if no unforeseen mishaps befall me—enough to leave
California for a better home far to the East.
February, eighteen fifty-five. Four months have passed away since I
made the last notes but although the above dates indicate the Winter
season when in the Eastern States snow and frost are plenty, we still
enjoy as beautiful warm and dry weather as one can wish for—no snow,
nor cold chilly days but pleasant weather in their place. As miners
mainly depend upon the rain to wash their dirt, hove up throughout a
period of nine months, a failure of it in Winter when it is _anxiously_
looked for is a great disappointment to the miners all over the
country. When mining is stopped, everything else is dull and depressed.
We may have some rain yet for California presents such a strange
instance of change that it is hard to tell when it will come. It is
this morning cloudy and has every indication of rain. Three or four
weeks of even moderate rain would furnish a great deal of water—the
great commodity for the miner.
There appears to be at present a general depression in business all
over the country, money tight and provisions dear and labor scarce.
Heavy failures happen almost daily in the Atlantic Cities. Houses which
enjoyed the greatest public confidence and patronage are suspending
payment, not being able to pay their liabilities by a fearful amount.
Even Page and Bacon, one of the best and wealthiest banking houses in
the Union, has suspended payment which, however, is more ascribed to
the detention of gold shipments from California than to deficiency of
funds. The main cause for all this embarrassment in the money market
appears to lie in the heavy export of gold to England in exchange for
English manufactures and in the extravagance of our bankers, brokers
and merchant princes in the last ten years. Nothing but a stoppage in
the import of foreign manufacture and a more industrious sort of living
will save this country from bankruptcy. Even here, the great source
of wealth for the last six years, the pressure is felt. Gold diggings
are getting scarcer all the time and as living is almost as dear as in
forty-nine and fifty when it was easier to make an ounce than it is at
the present day to make a dollar—it is easy to imagine how oppressive
the hard times must be. The business I am engaged in at the present
yields but a very small profit for everything in the mercantile line
is high in the market and as miners reap but a very scant harvest
for their labor one has to sell just as low as admissible. Profits
therefore are but small. Still, making a little is better than making
nothing at all and as long as this can be done I intend to stop here.
March second. Again I pick up the pen to make a few notes in this diary
to keep the links in the chain of events which happen in this dull life
of mine. While writing these lines the cool breezes wafted from the
broad Pacific stir the warm air which was throughout the day oppressive
and in the hours of twilight grant comfort and ease to the inhabitants
of hot climates. The weather now is already as hot as it ever gets in
the middle of the Summer at home. Yes—I believe that the mercury is
higher now than it ever gets there. This being only March, when they
at home have still snow storms and frost, we have beautiful Spring and
nature is already attired in her sprightly dress of green variegated
with flowers of all hues and shapes. Trees assume their verdant
garments and alongside of streamlets adorn the garden of nature. Oh!
nature, grand and beautiful art thou! Beautiful in every scene that
meets our eye—the streamlet which meanders through pleasant valleys
by picturesque hills ornamented by vines, with the contented peasant
gathering the grapes. Mountains with their highest peaks covered with
everlasting snows meet our looks in the far off horizon and crown with
sublimity the rural beauties of the hills and vales at their foot. Man
himself feels stronger and of higher spirits in the Spring of the year,
the purity of the air and the balmy smell which emanates from flowers,
shrubs and trees exhilarate the soul and body of every animated organic
being. In time all this changes to yellow as their life runs out and
their vitality, their sweet smell are dried up by the tropical heat of
the South to rest and gather life and nutriment anew from Mother Earth.
Man, too, undergoes this change that everything in nature is subjected
to. His life compares favourably with the changes in the vegetable
world. First, tender and weak he gains care and attention, strength of
body and mind. In the Springtime of life, his beauty is of the noblest
kind and life is constant happiness. As time rolls on his body and mind
mature, he becomes wiser and abler and in this estate of manhood acts
and operates for himself and fellowmen. This is the most useful part
of man's career and as he grows older he loses the vigour he formerly
possessed and at the end—in the Winter of his life droops down, grows
weaker and weaker until finally his career is run and he has to join
Mother Earth again to serve some new purpose in the organization of
nature.
There is one great invention which will ever illumine the time
between the Dark Ages and the present epoch. An invention which is
as remarkable for its intensity of light as the Middle Ages for
their impenetrable darkness and consequent superstition. This is
the invention of printing by John Gutenberg of Metz in Germany in
fourteen hundred and forty. By one sublime thought which struck the
mind of a single man or more properly, by the divine inspiration of a
single human being, benefits as great and incalculable were bestowed
upon mankind as universal space itself is infinite and beyond human
calculation. Before that time all learning was limited to one class—the
Clergy of all countries, who had it in their power to devote time which
was at their own disposal to literary pursuits, in which they had great
assistance in the manuscripts of former ages, therefore enjoyed already
although to a limited extent the blessings which the art of printing
afterwards bestowed more universally upon the mass of mankind.
We all know now that as much as man is superior and master of all
other animals, so is the intelligent and well informed, master of the
ignorant and superstitious. The priests therefore of former ages—since
they possessed knowledge above the rest of mankind were to a great
extent the masters and in consequence ruled with a stronger rod than
ever any monarch ruled his subject since printing and consequent
knowledge became more diffused among the masses of mankind. When books,
in consequence of their cheapness became plentier and the masses became
possessed of the same—light began to penetrate the utter darkness which
formerly reigned supreme in the mind of man and in a comparatively
short period of time since the death of this inventor, the human family
has made a more rapid and greater progress in science and useful
knowledge than was made in all time before that great event.
March twenty-eighth, eighteen hundred and fifty-eight. Left this day
Camp Secco—where I had been stopping for three years doing business,
such as groceries and miners' implements. My success has been pretty
good—might however have been better. Still I don't complain. Although
I have not made as much as many a one has done in the same length of
time, still I am satisfied.
The time while there passed dully enough with me, arising from the
want of desirable company and the non-existence of any places of
amusement. I had lots of time to myself and had I been so disposed, had
I possessed different mental stamina, force, energy and perseverance,
I might easily have acquired a store of useful knowledge. But it is
of no use a-croaking now. The time has fled and in place of enjoying
at present a cultivated mind I hardly realize ideas enough to make me
sensible that I am an intelligent, animated being. And it always will
be so with me. I think nature is more to blame for it than I myself.
Had I been endowed with Genius great, with even the present balance of
mind I think I should have made a great man. I tried once, years ago,
to obtain a lofty position in science, labored hard and long and what
was the result? A machine capable of a certain amount of labor laid out
for it. Nothing else. I had no thought nor ideas of my own of the least
practical use. I had better then be satisfied. Although I might possess
a great deal more, still I don't think that it would materially benefit
my happiness here.
April twentieth, eighteen hundred and fifty-eight. This day at ten
o'clock, I left the wharf of San Francisco on the steamboat _Golden
Age_ for the Atlantic States—for my home in old Virginia and my friends.
I came to this country on the twentieth day of August eighteen hundred
and fifty-two— making the time that I have been here, five years and
eight months to a day. My success here, if not what it might have
been, still yielded me a small capital—enough to start me in business
most anywhere and consequently by proper management, diligence and
industry, I shall be enabled to get along in this world comfortably.
Had I mentally as well improved as I did my pecuniary circumstances,
I should be well enough satisfied. This, however, is not the case and
for this reason and this reason alone am I sorry that I ever came to
California. Had I remained at home, associated as I was with men of
intelligence and in a pursuit where mental effort was required I would
now unquestionably be a smarter if not equally as rich a man. My mind,
although naturally sterile, by proper care and pains would have been
cultivated; my taste beautified; my feelings and sentiments ennobled.
In short, I believe that I would have been a wiser, better, and in
consequence a happier man than I am now. Still, courage, "faint heart,"
the future may even yet bestow on you content and happiness.
I am tracing these lines in the steerage on board the steamer, looking
through a port hole onto the wide dark blue ocean of the Pacific, which
is laid before my eyes in every direction to the far off horizon. How
monotonous it seems to me. There are no hills nor mountains in the
background of the vast rolling Pacific before me. No trees, bushes,
plants of any kind; nor is there an animated being to be seen—unless
once in a while a shark or whale will show themselves to our greedy
eyes which long for something else than boundless waters.
There is something fearful in the fact that there is nothing between
destruction and the ocean tossed mariner but some frail planks which
half a dozen accidents may dislodge and send him to the deep bottom of
the pitiless sea. Such is man in his wild career in pursuit of wealth
and power that he will entrust his life, his all, to a frail bark
which the winds may toss on rocks and breakers from which there is no
salvation. These things are painfully clear to me now that there is no
escape from them and though I am not absolutely afraid, still I know
that there are many chances which may destroy us. Who knows—many a
stout vessel with passengers ever as sanguine of a safe voyage left a
safe haven never to reach the place of their destination. This may be
our—yes, my—fate. Still I will hope for the best. Hope that our voyage
across the treacherous ocean may be a safe one and carry us to a safe
Port at Panama. We have thus far enjoyed fine weather, a calm sea, and
I have enjoyed thus far tolerable good health.
Distance from San Francisco to Panama, three thousand, two hundred and
sixty-two miles.
Saturday, April twenty-fifth. The coast was out of sight since the
second morning and reappeared this morning, running for miles almost
level then suddenly turning abruptly into craggy headlands, standing
out grotesque in the background of the otherwise monotonous ocean. And
this is certainly a great relief after gazing day after day upon the
same far extending, swaying, rippling ocean, with nothing for the eye
after exhausting the utmost power of vision to rest on, but a hazy
horizon touching the blue expanse of waters.
The weather has been, up to this, clear and pleasant, perhaps a little
cold at first but now really very charming. The sea has been tolerably
quiet and smooth so we have had but little sickness on board—less than
I expected to see. How old I am getting though. While writing this, my
feet pain me which has been the case for the last four months. Also my
teeth which are mostly decayed and even my energies are dormant. I, who
once set myself the great task of studying a profession—now can hardly
even concentrate enough thought to note down a few sensible ideas. Yes,
I am surely grown old very fast in the last three years. I can feel
both in mind and body. The latter is invariably inclined to indolence.
The former to downright dormancy. Oh, could I regain the play of my
imagination, the buoyancy of thought which I once possessed; could I
possess myself of ambition, pride, to stimulate me, all yet might be
right and it is to have the former forced upon me by circumstances more
or less that I reseek the scenes of my former home, hoping that in
the wild and exciting race there for wealth and position I too may be
roused enough to take a share.
April twenty-sixth. We passed Cape St. Lucas on the night of the
twenty-fourth and ran yesterday across the mouth of the Gulf of
California which I believe is here one hundred and sixty miles wide.
While doing so we lost sight of the coast which, however, reappeared
this morning at daylight. The coast here presents a succession of
ridges rising higher back towards the land—the whole, however, broken
up into abrupt peaks rising from four to five hundred feet above the
sea level. Occasionally a high cliff stands boldly out into the sea—its
foot washed by the eternal breakers. The whole of them are covered with
a short low shrubbery which is now colored in a reddish dress being in
blossom at present.
After running down the coast about fifty miles, we doubled a headland
and turned into a short bay at the East side of which is the village of
Mansenilla inhabited by Mexicans who under supervision of Government
officers carry on silver mining here. The appearance of everything
here, the woods, houses and men would indicate that we are in a warmer
climate, if the weather did not. The people themselves wear clothing,
as may be judged by its scantiness, to hide their nakedness rather than
for protection against the climate. Their color is slightly coppery,
almost as much so as our California Indians. Their houses too are more
built as a shelter from the tropical sun than against the rigours of
a cold country, they being the roughest, simplest kind of huts built
out of timber and brush. We lay here about an hour during which time
we sent two passengers ashore in one of our boats, while a number of
natives in dugouts swarmed around the vessel, called out, I presume,
more on account of the novelty of our presence than any other notion.
We are now on our onward voyage, standing out to sea while the coast
range of mountains is still at our left. Yesterday being Sunday and
having several soul savers on board we had of course preaching—and
enough of it—as much as three times. I think were we all put
through the same task every day for the next three months it would
either make us the most orthodox Christians or else disgusted with
Christianity. The whole of them, the sermons, amounted to the same old
rigmarole,—believe and be saved—disbelieve and you are doomed to hell
and everlasting punishment.
We arrived at Acapulco this day, the twenty-eighth of April. This is
a Spanish town, situated on one of the best harbors on the Pacific
Coast. It forms a perfect elbow in shape and is therefore perfectly
water locked and on that account offers safe mooring to vessels. How
strange the contrast between a Spanish and an American town—the latter
enjoying all the health and vigor and activity of youth, progress. In
the former it is an eternal stand still, no activity of any kind, no
display of the least spirit or energy is to be met with here. Action,
perpetual action, is the characteristic of the American. The want of
all life, of the least healthy action so necessary to the existence
of a people is to be found in Mexico. They, the people, are lazy,
indolent by nature. All they ever strive for is to acquire enough of
the simplest necessaries of life and they are satisfied if not happy.
Toil is unknown to them and leisure is their _status quo_. They show
this fact in everything—in the way they dress, wearing nothing but
just enough to cover their nakedness. Their homes are builded of mud,
covered with old fashioned tiles or with straw, and present more the
appearance of fortified places than of dwellings. They (the houses)
most all have piazzas where the greater portion of the inhabitants
pass—in smoking and talking and sleeping—their days, yes, the greater
portion of their life. The streets are made of sandstone slabs or else
hewn in the same as it lies. As there is never hardly any rain here,
and the town being built on solid sandstone foundations, they are of
course perfectly clean which, as already intimated, is owing more to
the nature of the site than to the cleanliness and industry of the
people.
The town is situated on the North West side of the Bay and consists
of several streets filled up by mud houses as already stated. North
from the town, about one-half mile distant, lies the fort on a slight
elevation sloping on the East toward the sea. The site is a very
favourable one as it can command the harbor with its guns, having
enough of the latter to sink any vessel which may try to force its
entrance in time of war. The fort itself is builded in the shape of a
square, with several embattlements. Its walls rise about thirty feet
from the bottom of the trench which is of a depth of about ten feet
and surrounds the whole. The entrance is afforded by a drawbridge
through a door fronting the town. The soldiers are but a sorry set and
I doubt, very little calculated to do war time service. I judge their
bravery by the general character of the Mexican people—which I know in
the main to be cowardly. I presume the soldiers—which are by the by,
the most ragged set I have ever seen, having neither uniform nor even
shoes, marching and countermarching like a lot of beggars on the street
with no military rearing whatever—will be the same. If I am allowed
to judge Mexico by this town of Acapulco—which has all the advantage
of a most favoured situation as seaport and in consequence is well
fitted for commerce, it is certainly a most neglected country and with
the resources it possesses both in mineral and agricultural wealth it
cannot be doubted but what it would soon in the hands of our people be
one of the richest as well as loveliest countries in the world. This,
however, seems to be its ultimate fate. Years may intervene but it
must most surely eventually give way to the rapid strides of an onward
moving civilization. When that day will come—that Mexico shall add
another star to our illustrious country—is not for me to say. I hope,
however, for the sake of the Mexican people themselves and for the sake
of the numerous resources the country offers that it may soon come.
We left Acapulco Bay about five o'clock this afternoon and stood out
to sea. We are now within three days of Panama, in fact nearer, but it
will take three days to make it.
This is the first day of May. Lovely May has come around once more
and Spring with its fine bracing breezes has set in. We are even now
within ten degrees of the Equator, enjoying the benefit of it in the
Trades which blow from the South East. The next morning after we left
Acapulco, I believe, we found ourselves in the Gulf of Tehuantepeck
which was tolerable rough. I was taken sea-sick, that most terrible of
all sicknesses. After three days' suffering, I have gotten better.
Still, even now I feel the sensation of it in my throat. Still, I think
that I have seen the worst of it. If so, I shall not lament it, as I
think it will secure me good health for a while.
Although in the tropics, we have enjoyed till now cool and extremely
pleasant weather with beautiful star and moonlight nights and the
bright expanse of ocean round us, with our vessel like a thing of life
moving along upon its bosom, and in the dark, at twilight before the
moon is up, what splendid sight is revealed to the traveller of the
sea. I mean the bright brilliant sparks and flashes which emit from
the spraying sheets which our cutwater sends off at both sides of our
vessel—caused by friction upon the phosphorescent matter contained in
the water of the ocean.
May second. This morning the land, consisting of detached ranges of
mountains, again came in sight, and now, five o'clock P.M. we are
abreast of an island to the left. This isle is very heavily timbered;
the whole of it is a mountain of about one hundred and fifty feet high
with a small point of level country at the Eastern end of it.
May third. We came up to another island this morning, thickly covered
with timber and vegetation of tropical growth. We kept now in sight of
land all the time, numbers of islands being to our left and towards
evening the Bay of Panama came in sight. This Bay is of large
dimensions and very secure, being well sheltered by islands and the
main coast. We passed Tobanga Island where the W. S. M. Company has
a station where they repair and clean their vessels when at Panama.
We entered the Bay and dropped anchor twenty minutes past seven
o'clock A.M. The next morning at four we took the ferry boat for the
wharfs, arrived there, took the cars across the Isthmus of Darien to
Aspinwall on the Gulf of Mexico. All the section of country we crossed
over on the cars offered a most beautiful sight. It is more or less
mountainous and covered with one emerald sheet of thick and almost
impenetrable highly perfumed tropical vegetation. I could not discover
any trees nor plants of the moderate zones—all being the products of
the tropics. This country, but for the extreme heat and the malaria it
must necessarily create from its numerous swamps, would be almost a
Paradise to live in. If Americans should ever possess it and be able to
live there, they in truth will make it indeed what it seems intended
for by nature—one of the loveliest spots the world knows. Aspinwall
is a new place and traces its origin to the discovery of the gold
mines in California and the subsequent travel across the Isthmus. It
is principally inhabited by natives of Central America, some French
and some Americans. The latter, however, being the only influential
portion of the community. They have made it and named it what it is
this day. They own the railroad and a large depot three hundred by one
hundred feet, fire proof, and a very commodious dock for the handling
of the mail steamers and offices to carry on their business.
We left the docks of Aspinwall about four o'clock. The trip across the
Isthmus occupied about five hours, so that we got to Aspinwall about
twelve and had from then till four at the latter place.
May fifth. _The Star of the West_, the boat I am now on, is not near as
large nor as good a boat as the steamer on the other side. Still, if
she only brings us safe to New York I shall be satisfied well enough. I
perceive by the latest New York news that yellow fever broke out on the
U. S. S. frigate _Susquehanna_ and at the Central American Port of St.
James. If I dread anything, I dread that and I hope to God it will not
appear on board of this bark. If it should be doomed to that, God only
knows what its effect might be. I must hope for the best. We are only
about a week's sail from New York. Still, how uncertain is our arrival
there considering the numerous accidents which we are apt to encounter,
which may finish our existence before we once more set our feet on
blessed Mother Earth.
Distance across the Isthmus from Panama to Aspinwall on Navy Bay
(Colon) forty-five miles. Distance to New York one thousand one hundred
miles.
Another bright day has risen over the water and a slight breeze
stiffens our sails, carrying us homewards. I am still in bad health, my
stomach being completely deranged and in consequence can't enjoy the
trip as well as I otherwise might were I in good health.
The steamboat _New Grenada_ which started one hour before us from
Aspinwall has been more or less in sight since we left that Port
and now is about ten miles astern of us. Last evening about five
o'clock P.M. we passed the island of Providence to our right. This
Island like all the rest I have seen on this trip is mountainous and
thickly timbered. As there were fires on the coast I presume it must
be inhabited and there are undoubtedly spots on it under cultivation.
All the country in these lower latitudes is very fertile, producing
luxurious growths of most all the tropical fruits.
Providence is about two hundred and forty miles North East of North
from Aspinwall. This being the course we have steered since we left
there. Now we are steering due North.
May ninth. In the evening of the seventh we came in sight of the
lighthouse of Saint Antoine—the S. W. Cape of Cuba. This night and the
next day, the eighth, we cruised along side of Cuba for some three
hundred miles. We came opposite to Havana about five o'clock on the
eighth. Havana is builded close to the shore, seemingly resting upon
the water. The ground back of it is higher and portions of the town
are builded there. The main city, however, is at the water's edge.
Morro Castle, the fort at the Harbor, is at the North East part of the
City. We sailed within about five miles of the City. The above were
all the points I could scan at this distance. Having struck the Gulf
Stream, the sea became rougher and I, in consequence, sick again and
feel miserable while scribbling this. I have the more reason to wish
myself safe on shore at New York, having ascertained to-day the fact of
the unseaworthiness of our boat. The Florida reefs—keys—came in sight
this forenoon and are still in sight. They are low lands, or rather are
elevated reefs, thinly timbered and dreaded, on account of the reefs
and rocks in the neighborhood, by the mariner.
We arrived on the night of Wednesday, May twelfth, in sight of the
Long Island and Sandy Hook Lights and after having taken on a Pilot we
entered Sandy Hook and passing into New York Harbor arrived at the city
about five o'clock in the morning of the thirteenth of May.
Here then I am in New York—the Empire City of America—the greatest
commercial port in the American Continent and the World. Its tonnage
is larger than that of any other Port city I believe in the World.
While it is connected by the Ocean with all Foreign Countries, it is
likewise so with all the important cities of the United States by
railroads and steamboat conveyance.
I remained at New York till the twenty-first instant. During my stay
here I visited the different theaters. The Laura Keene on Broadway was
the handsomest I had ever seen in America, and what was still better,
the acting was equally good and, as the building, the best I had ever
the pleasure to see in this country. The Crystal Palace I saw from
the outside only. The whole is built of iron. Its model is chaste and
displays a good deal of art and beauty. The Palace is surrounded by an
iron railing and between it and the building intervenes a beautiful
green sward. East from the Palace is the reservoir of the great Croton
water works which supply the whole of New York with water which is
brought some twenty-five or thirty miles to this grand reservoir, built
of solid masonry and occupying a large area of ground. From here the
water is distributed over the whole city for drinking, culinary and
manufacturing purposes. Another place of great celebrity, Barnum's
Museum, of American wide fame, was also visited by me. Here are stored
in rich profusion treasures of the animal world both of land and sea.
Also a good gathering of antiquities of almost all portions of the
world, and several statues of fame and renown. Among them are the wax
models of the Emperor of Russia, Joseph of Austria, Napoleon III and
Queen Victoria of England, and last but not least Kossuth and Napoleon
Bonaparte and the notorious Mrs. Cunningham in whose eyes passion and
crime but great beauty is also written. Among the persons of higher
renown is Mary the Mother of Jesus. Animals of all kinds and species
are amassed here in great variety too numerous to mention. They are
mostly stuffed except numerous fresh and salt water fishes which are
kept alive here enjoying their native element in large tanks. The large
boa constrictor and another large snake are also kept living here by
means of artificial heat supplied them. Among the antiques are coins
of centuries long since passed. American state documents of the last
century, flags and arms of the Revolutionary and Indian wars. Among the
latter a number of tomahawks, spears, battleaxes, etc. Curiosities from
China and Japan are also here in this great _multum in parvo_. Also a
large metallurgical collection with minerals of all kinds. A Panorama
with representation of many beautiful scenes from Italy, France and
Austria is found here. The pictures of the celebrated Generals and
Statesmen of American History as those of celebrated men and women of
the present day adorn its walls. The exposition in this Museum is so
grand and my survey of its treasures was so short and superficial that
I am not able to relate and specify them any plainer or with greater
accuracy. I was, however, well pleased the few hours I remained there
and considered that time spent to exceeding great purpose.
New York has many beautiful buildings and the Fifth Avenue is a street
of palaces and in my opinion compares favourably with any street of any
city in the World. Here reside the richest people in the city. None
but nabobs being able to exist in the air of this moneyed American
aristocracy. If the insides of these dwellings enjoy corresponding
happiness with all these luxurious surroundings is not for the people
to know. Still, as nothing in this world is all blessedness and
sunshine, one may well suppose that too, in these grand dwellings
wretchedness and heartburnings may be met. The great enterprise of New
York at present upon which succeeding ages will bestow all gratitude is
the building of a grand Park where the thousands of this city—the rich,
the poor, the highly born and lowly may pass moments of pleasure and
rest from the noise and turmoil of the city and acquire strength and
cheerfulness for the hard tasks of every day life.
I left New York City on the twenty-first instant for Philadelphia—the
Quaker City—where I arrived at four o'clock P.M. This, which I always
supposed to be the handsomest city in America, I am sorry that I am
compelled to state, disappointed all my bright anticipation of its
beauties. It is true, being considerably exhausted by much traveling
and having my thirst for sight-seeing considerably abated at New
York, I was not exactly in a condition to receive grand and stunning
impressions. Had I arrived here first, fresh from the mountains of
California instead of New York, Philadelphia might have impressed
me with feelings of admiration and satiated my desire to view
architectural and artistic beauties to its full. As it is—New York had
the precedence in my visit and with the remembrance of its grandeur
fresh upon my mind, I am obliged to admit that the City of Penn fell
short in its treasures of beauty of what I hoped and wished to find.
Here, however, as is universally the case, are exceptions to be met.
Only had I hoped the inverted to be the case—namely that beauties
might be the rule and common appearance the exception. I refer to the
Institution which will for a far off future immortalize the name it
bears—I mean Girard College. This is as far as I have knowledge, the
handsomest and grace-fullest edifice in America. At the time of day I
went to visit it, I could not get admittance and my view of it was in
consequence indistinct from the walls and distance that intervened.
Still, I saw enough fully to sustain the above opinion. The edifice
is large in size, surrounded by a portico ornamented by Corinthian
Columns of the chastest workmanship. The material which composes its
grand walls is I believe, fine marble. This, the main edifice, has
two additional buildings on each side—two for the male and two for
the female pupils. Beautiful grounds, planted with handsome trees and
flower beds intersected by gravel walks surround the buildings. The
whole again is enclosed by a big wall to keep the outer world from
intruding and marring the quiet and beauty within. Girard, the founder,
once poor but rich in thought, energy, and perseverance, accumulated by
well applied industry and diligence a princely fortune of which he the
greater portion, $800,000, bestowed upon the orphans of Philadelphia in
the most generous and useful way in this, the greatest American Orphan
College. He, in his will forbade the introduction of any religion for
educational purposes and also, the entrance of any of its apostles
within the walls. And who will blame him for this sweeping and, by many
condemned as sinful, prescription? It was not the want of faith of the
man in an all ruling Deity. No, but quite otherwise, his high regard
for the same, which guided him in this action. Knowing as we all know
of the great variety of religious communities, all differing with one
another, yes, in many cases condemning one another, he thought well
and justly so to keep the infant mind free of the different feuds
and enmities of the different sects. His purpose was to give them an
enlightened education, to acquaint their mind with facts, with events
and their causes and effects—so that when ripened and matured into men
and women free from all prejudices, they might themselves be enabled by
pure and cultivated thought to form a just and enlightened opinion of
their own about religion and its principles and aim and purpose. Is it
not better so to have the mind of the to-man-grown boy and the mind of
the girl who has reached womanhood unfettered by stubborn prejudices,
perhaps with hatred against its fellow creatures, than to have it
in its infancy so directed as to make it almost impossible to allow
them different views and opinions from those early implanted upon the
infant mind? I approve the motive and can appreciate the intelligence
and foresight of the mind of its originator. Honor and blessing be to
him—Girard—one of the great benefactors of the poor.
From here I continued my journey by the P. C. R. R. via Harrisburg
over the Alleghenys to Pittsburg, and from there took the steamer to
Wheeling the home of my brother Frederic and his family. I parted from
them, New Year eighteen fifty-one and as I, in the Spring of the same
year, left for California from which I have only now returned, I had
not seen them since. My arrival seemed to give them great pleasure
and all subsequent appearances seemed to warrant the genuineness
of their display of affectionate feelings. I trust this may really
be the case. That sincerity and not an un-nobler motive was at the
bottom of the lavished kindness. I know the value of a _true, sincere,
noble affection_ and _love_ so that I am always prone to suspect its
genuineness when too freely and plentifully offered. I still trust it
may have been real in this case. Brother Henry who resides at Sunfish,
Munro Co., Ohio, I also visited for five or six days and passed the
time right cheerfully whilst there. Henry is an honest soul, true and
sincere, incapable of deception. Both brothers wished me to remain
with them and join them in business. Their wishes, however, I saw best
to decline. I am certain that by separation we can harbor more and
better affection between us. Then the place and its environs did not
suit my taste for a life long _Home_. Yesterday, Tuesday, the eighth
of June, I bade them again farewell and took on the steamer _Courier_,
my departure for Cincinnati to go from there further West in search
of a home. Ho, for the West! Kind God, may ye will that I meet my
anticipations and wishes. All I wish is a pleasant, yes a beautiful and
healthy nook to live in, with a kind and loving wife to cheer me in
the battle of life and loving children to surround and ease when once
I journey the down hill of life towards ???—the grave—dissolution—the
end of man? In short, I want _Love in a Cottage_.
I arrived at Cincinnati on the morning of the tenth instant and took up
lodgings at the Spencer House, one of the best and of course, dearest
hotels in the city. This place surpassed my expectations which I had
formed in regard to its industry, activity and wealth. Since my last
visit here in eighteen fifty-two, the town has been greatly embellished
by many beautiful buildings, both private and public. Among the latter
those which deserve mention are the Custom House, and Post Office, the
Court House and many beautiful churches, amongst which the Catholic
Cathedral is the handsomest. Besides this, many new hotels—all of them
fine houses, as also many imposing business houses have been erected of
late years. The streets, at least in the main part of the town which
I only ambulated, are laid out at right angles. Among those which
run from the river, forming a right angle with the same, I noticed
Broadway, Main, Sycamore, Walnut. These are intersected by the streets
running parallel with the river numbered One, Two, Three, Four, etc. In
short Cincinnati, with a population of 200,000 and still increasing,
has all the appearance of a thriving, wealthy, industrial and
commercial city, and fills the position of such in the United States.
It is especially famous for the millions of hogs killed and packed here
annually. From here, in the shape of shoulders, bacon and ham they are
sent all over the United States and a large portion shipped via New
Orleans to England. Opposite to Cincinnati, is New Port, Kentucky—also
a thriving town. I stopped here over night and left the eleventh at
twelve o'clock on the steamer _Jacob Stratton_, the first and only low
pressure boat I ever saw on the Ohio, for Louisville, Kentucky. During
last night it set in again raining and continued so all day—so that
I had but little desire of being outside the cabin and consequently
observed but little of the scenery along the river to Louisville. There
are a number of thriving towns along the river—the principal of which
is Madison, Indiana. The Big Miami river divides Ohio from Indiana. We
lay over night at Louisville. The next morning I and my recently made
acquaintance Mr. Charles N. Scram, went over the greater part of the
city. Louisville belongs to Kentucky, situated on the Ohio river at
the head of the celebrated falls of the Ohio. The latter are, except
at high water, an obstruction to navigation to overcome which the
two-mile long canal was built at enormous cost and boats go through it
around the falls and strike again the Ohio below. Louisville counts a
population of sixty thousand inhabitants and is of both commercial and
industrial importance. It has several fine public buildings and the
richness and beauty and chastity of its many private buildings bespeak
at once the wealth and taste of its occupants. Its streets are wide and
it rejoices with Cincinnati in Avenues of trees now covered with the
richest of foliage.
We delayed here till noon of the twelfth, when we again took the
steamer _Moses McLellan_ for St. Louis, Missouri. The rain still
continued to fall and the Ohio river, as all the rivers throughout the
country, continues to rise. They promise to cause by their overflow an
incalculable amount of damage to the crops in the bottoms through which
they now roll their courses with the wildest of turbulence. Last night,
or rather, this morning, the rain has abated and thank God the sun once
more radiates its genial beams. May it continue and its blessed warmth
may yet reclaim many otherwise lost acres of grain.
It is now Sunday, twelve o'clock and we have arrived three hundred and
three miles from Louisville, having still three hundred and sixteen
miles to St. Louis. We shall probably get there tomorrow night. Thanks
to my cursed mind, I have this last two days again been oppressed with
the blues, what it will ever end in I don't know, possibly in suicide.
Why was I ever made or why was I not endowed with a mind to make life
desireful, pleasing and cheerful instead of the one I possess, which
is incapable to create a world for itself and too dull and selfish to
enjoy that of others? However, there is no help except—what can't be
cured must be endured.
Cairo, at the junction of the Mississippi and Ohio rivers, we reached
Sunday evening. The flood has desolated much of this lower country,
destroying crops and homes and in fact all kinds of property it
encountered in its sweeping course. Here it broke through the levee
which had been builded at a cost of twelve millions of dollars and
overran the whole town except a portion on the highest part of the Ohio
levee. The damage is immense and general. All being sufferers by it, it
is chance now whether it will ever be rebuilded. Its locality is such
that it must always be at the mercy of the high floods which occur in
these upper rivers periodically. They may fail some years, but will
only when they do come be so much more terrible in their destruction.
We doubled the point and with a strong current against us, ran up
stream. All the bottom along the river was covered with water, water,
presenting one bright broad sheet of water variegated with forests of
trees, in many places the roofs of homes being apparent only and many
being entirely under water.
We reached St. Louis Tuesday morning, the fifteenth instant. St.
Louis is a stirring place, made so by its favourable location on the
Mississippi river. This river connects it with the State of Missouri,
Illinois, Iowa, Minnesota and Kansas, and with all the country on the
lower Mississippi—principally New Orleans. This place will in a short
time rival any inland town in the Union and eventually become the next
largest city to New York. I stopped here almost two days, left it on
the seventeenth of June for the Northern part of Missouri and Kansas.
The trip up the Missouri is very tedious, the scenery being all the
same all the way. Bluffs of little beauty and bottom lands covered with
cottonwood. The river is very crooked and very rapid in its course.
On both these accounts we made slow headway up narrow chutes, around
innumerable bends, past ever so many towns and villages.
Sunday evening we got to Kansas City, Missouri. I laid over here the
next day Monday, in order to see the place and find out something about
its resources and prospects. While here I visited Wyandot on the North
side of Kansas River, the same side as Kansas City on the Missouri.
This is a very new free state settlement and although but of recent
origin has many fine houses, stores and hotels. Possessing a very good
site for a city with a good landing, it will be in time, when the
resources of Kansas are developed, a thriving place. Kansas City is
built on a bluff rising from the river bank and expensive grading was
necessary to secure an area for houses. From here streets are made by
excavating through the bluffs to the best part of the city which lies
back of the bluffs. This addition is quite new but springing up now
very fast and will become in time a large city.
I left Kansas City on Monday afternoon for Leavenworth and St. Joseph
and reached the latter place on the twenty-fourth instant. I had been
here in eighteen fifty-two, on my way to California. I remembered well
enough its site but the town has changed very much since that time,
having at least four times increased in its size and population. It is
laid out in rectangular streets having on Second street an open place
for the market house. There are already many fine buildings here and
many more going up. Property has greatly enhanced in value on account
of its unrivalled location. I stayed here several days making enquiry
and gaining information as to the resources of the place and its
adaptability to my business. The prospects held out to me were fair
enough and I partly decided if I could not find a place suiting still
better to return here and establish myself in business.
I left this town for Leavenworth, seventy miles South of St. Joseph on
the Missouri River. This is in Kansas and although only three years old
has already attained a size and enjoys a large and growing commerce
which rivals many a town of ten times its age. It is at present the
key port to Kansas Territory. Most of the business for the Territory
is transacted here. Its location on the Missouri River secures it the
connection with St. Louis and through it by the Grand Central Web of
Railroads with all parts of the United States. The site for the town is
good and back some distance from the river and right above the business
part of the town, up the River, beautiful.
This town holds out the same inducements to me to start business here
as St. Joseph. It does now and I think always will lead St. Joseph
in commercial importance and the fact of being in a free State will
probably turn the scale in its favor in my decision between the two
places. Leavenworth City at present is yet only three years old and
grown as sudden as it has, everyone putting up buildings only studying
to make the least outlay practicable for present purposes, the sanitary
arrangements have of consequence been neglected and this I am satisfied
in my mind will be the cause of severe sickness during this and the
still coming scorching heat of Summer. This fact will probably keep
me off till Fall, when colder winds will purify the air from putrid
exhalations.
I started on a short trip inland, to see somewhat more of the Territory
than its outskirts, on the last day of June. This is certainly a lovely
country to survey, bound to attract the admiration of any one in whose
heart the least drop of human kindness is not forever dried up. A
living sea is the truest picture I can give of its appearance, the
whole is a vast expanse of land, undulating, shifting, like the eternal
throwings of the Ocean. Here and there streams meandering along through
some of its shallow curves, fringed with trees, add to the sublimity
of the scene. But for me to portray this part of nature's face is a
useless task. I can feel the grandeurs of it easier than to describe
them.
After passing through the reservation of the Delaware, we crossed the
Kansas River and arrived at Lawrence, the first town this side of
Leavenworth. I arrived just in time to hear of the acquittal of Jim
Lame for the murder of Jennings. After a stay of an hour during which
I promenaded once or twice through the only street which makes the
present town, I took the stage for Topeka, twenty-five miles distance.
I had the pleasure of enjoying a right good thorough jolting, making
the trip one of punishment instead of pleasure. After a long and
tedious ride of nine hours, passing through Tecompton and Tecomseh, we
arrived at two o'clock in the morning of the first of July in Topeka. I
came here principally to buy hides, but could not find any here. This,
like all the places here is quiet and at present very dull, being in
fact at the lowest stage of commercial stagnation. I shall take the
stage tomorrow at two A.M. for Leavenworth City.
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│ Transcriber's Note: │
│ │
│ Minor typographical errors have been corrected without note. │
│ │
│ Punctuation and spelling were made consistent when a predominant │
│ form was found in this book; otherwise they were not changed. │
│ │
│ Ambiguous hyphens at the ends of lines were retained. │
│ │
│ Italicized words are surrounded by underline characters, _like │
│ this_. │
│ │
│ Other notes: │
│ Fort Kerney changed to Fort Kearney (pp. 20, 23, 25). │
│ Fort Bredger changed to Fort Bridger (p. 40). │
│ John Guttenburg changed to John Gutenberg (p. 71). │
│ Saint Antoin changed to Saint Antoine (p. 85). │
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