When gold was discovered in California, Unity, like most other eastern
towns, in spite of distance and perils, sent out her quota of men in
the great search.
In 1849, Hon. Crosby Fowler, his brother, Dutton Fowler, Joseph
Bartlett, William Weeks, Stephen T. Rackliff and Joseph Rackliff sailed
from Bath, Maine, in September, in the ship, “Hampden,” arriving in
San Francisco in a little’ less than six months. They went around Cape
Horn. It took forty cents to send a letter to California in those days.
In 1851, Gorham Hamilton, Joseph Chandler and Seth Thompson started
west, and in 1852 C. E. Mitchell and Chas. E. Taber, with his cousin,
Albert Taber of Albion, went. In 1856, Joseph Kelly, Burnham Kelly
and Simon Knight followed. In 1864, Crosby Fowler, J. F. Parkhurst
and Wilbur Mitchell drove a herd of cattle across the plains, through
Kansas, Nebraska, Wyoming, Utah and Nevada, a long, hard journey. The
cattle were mostly cows, which were sold to the dairymen. Job Chase,
Bartlett and Harrison G. Otis also went to California, but the date I
am unable to ascertain.
I append a letter written home recently by one of the “boys” who left
Unity in those early days, which gives a mind picture of the journey to
California:
Grass Valley, California,
Dec. 24, 1910.
* * * * *
I am going to hark back a long way and tell you when, where and how the
California gold fever bacillus got into my system, so that as a result
I have for nearly fifty-nine years been separated from all my kindred
and the companions of my youth.
The time was the spring of 1851, and reports were in circulation of
the finding of gold in the northern part of Maine. There was much
excitement, and a rush for the mines was started. Four from Unity
joined it, E. S. Stevens, Robert Lytte, the hotel keeper at the
village, and myself. “Shelly” and I went together with a little horse
that grandfather had for his use. When we got on the main road up the
Kennebec river, we were sometimes in a procession, all bound for the
new Eldorado, but as we neared the boundary we began to meet teams
returning, and after a brief examination of the mines a little farther
on, we, too, turned and wended our way homeward.
Up to that time, I think I had never had any idea of going to
California, but in three weeks from my return I was getting ready
for the trip. At that time there was such a rush for California that
tickets for passage were sold two or three months ahead. I paid three
hundred and ten dollars for a steerage ticket.
We left New York on the 24th of February. My berth was away down in
the lower regions of the steamer, but by the third night it was warm
enough to sleep on deck, rolled in blankets, which I did for the
rest of the trip. The steamer, the “Georgia,”, had as many--probably
more--passengers as the law allowed. Food of all kinds was cooked by
the barrel, and it didn’t come out in a condition to invite. Often I
passed through the mess room without taking more than a bite of what
looked best, but I had a box of food with me and got along fairly well.
Such fare wouldn’t have seemed quite so bad to me after I had been in
this state two or three years.
In due course of time we reached Havana, and at the same time the
“Ohio” reached there with a load of passengers from New Orleans. Both
steamers had all the passengers allowed, but at Havana all were taken
upon the “Ohio” for the Isthmus. And such a crowd as there was! It
was a jam upon decks and between decks and under decks. The cooks and
waiters were kept “on the jump” from early morning till late at night
to provide two meals a day. The first mess would be called in quite
early in the morning, and it would be ten or eleven at night before the
last mess had its second meal.
I think we were eight or nine days from New York to the Isthmus. At
Aspinwall (now Colon) the railroad had been finished for about fourteen
miles, at which point it reached the river, so, for the purpose of
making a little easy money for the road, we were landed at Aspinwall.
The fare for this ride on flat cars, with no seats, was five dollars.
At one place where a stop was made for water, the engine could not
start the train without help, and I was one of a number who got off to
help boost.
When we reached the river, we found flat-bottomed boats with a capacity
of from six to twenty. They were propelled by natives, standing upon
the board walk on each side of the boat. In places where there was
considerable current, the natives would jump off and push the boat
along. Clad in the snug-fitting, waterproof garments provided by
nature, the water being warm, they experienced no discomfort.
The end of boat navigation was at Gorgona, from which place one could
proceed by “foot and walker’s line,” by jack or mule back, or be
carried by natives. The four of us hired three jacks, upon one of which
we packed our blankets and extra clothing, and took turns in riding the
others.
Arriving at Panama, we found two steamers, “The Panama” and “The
Isthmus,” waiting for us. Our party was taken out to “The Panama,”
a mile or more from the shore. “The Isthmus” started several hours
ahead of us, and we saw no more of her until we were making the Golden
Gate. Heavy drafts were made upon our fuel, so a stop was made at San
Diego--then a sleepy little hamlet, now preparing for a World’s Fair
in 1915.
On the morning of April 1, “The Isthmus” was sighted, apparently
a little in advance, though being outside, she was no nearer San
Francisco than we. It soon became evident that a race was on between
the two steamers. The passengers were made to keep in position to
maintain an even keel. Fuel was wanting, and partitions and bulkheads
were knocked down and fed to the furnaces. Our steamer had a little the
advantage, but so little that the passengers were landed at the same
time.
I recall here one sad event on the way up. A monkey had been chained
on the upper deck. One day a passenger was having a little sport with
him, stepping back when the monkey jumped at him. There was an airshaft
leading to the engine room far below. In retreating, the man went down
the shaft and was taken up dead. Nothing could be found upon him by
which to learn his name or home; so I suppose that somewhere there was
a long waiting for tidings that never came from the victim of this
tragedy.
But here I am at last in San Francisco.