Early days in California : an autobiography written for my grandchildren.
August 15, 1922
Charles R. Stetson
Going to California...
After getting under way, it was discovered that a greater part of the water was unfit for drinking purposes, and we were put on a limited amount . The Captain announced he would put into the Port of Acapulco to replenish his supplies, which he did, but gave notice to any going ashore to return at once, upon the blowing of the steamers whistle, as he did not propose to delay any longer than to replenish his stores. We, that is Julius and myself, had seated ourselves by the railing, where we were watching the Mexican boys dive for pennies and small coins, and almost always they would come up with the coin after staying under water an incredible time. We were also interested in seeing the sailors hoist beef cattle on board by a rope attached back of their horns, and then through a pulley attached to the yard arm, as well as hoisting hogsheads of water the same way and drawing the rope through a block attached to the deck, where fifty to one hundred men would take hold of the rope and running back on the deck, the cattle or water would quickly rise and be stored where desired. We had talked the matter over and had decided we would not go ashore, but a sudden thought of the poor fare we had so far endured, led us to decide to go ashore and purchase some oranges and a little Mexican cakes to help out poor rations for the rest of the journey. So, going aft, we hired a boat and immediately pushed off from the stern and just at that instant they were hoisting a hogshead of water which caught under the hurricane deck. The mast and yards broke off at the cross-trees and the barrel crashing down, broke through the deck, where a moment before we were sitting, throwing some of the passengers into the bay, fatally injuring one, and wounding several. We were almost stunned at the suddenness, and we wondered what power prompted us to go ashore just at that moment, for we had up to that time no intention of doing so. There seems to be a power or force that determines our actions and our fate. Some think it is a kind Providence that guides us. I cannot doubt but that it is He, who from the beginning to the end, directs our lives and our fate, and one whom we poor mortals can only wonder about and adore. After a short run to the shore, we made a few purchases of food and returned to the steamer and were soon on our way again, without top mast or yards, depending wholly on steam for our motor power.
At that time, there was great rivalry between Nicaragua Route and the Pacific Mail Route, via Panama, and shortly after leaving Acapulco we sighted the Pacific Mail Steamer John L. Stephens and now came the race to see which would reach San Francisco first. I noticed the smoke stack of our ship was red hot, fully half its length, night after night, until we arrived at our destination. There was only a few hours difference in our arrival. It was a very exciting trip while it lasted. On the passage up, groups of passengers would gather and tell what they expected to do on arriving, and it seems queer to recall what crude ideas were entertained, until experience changed the point of view. I recollect one in particular, an Irishman, who told of a countryman of his, who had written to his home in New York that he was making eight dollars a day in the mines, and he said if he can earn eight dollars a day I can double it, as I could always do twice as much work in a day as he. Another passenger thought that to get large lumps was easier than fine gold and should look for them instead of the finer sort. No doubt both discovered their theories were not sound in practice.
After looking over San Francisco from Broadway to Market Streets and the water
front from Davis to Montgomery, we took passage in the steamer Helan Henshlyî
for Stockton, which left Broadway wharf at 4 p.m. The streets of San Francisco
at that time were in a most wretched condition. Davis Street then was wholly
piled and the planks were full of holes and dangerous to travel upon. Montgomery
Street was only partially paved and mud was everywhere. The side walks were
made of loose planks, resting on old tobacco boxes, and anything that would
serve to hold the planks above the mud. Our steamer reached Stockton the following
morning and the crowd of stage runners was bedlam broken loose; All aboard
for Mariposa, Sonora, Angel's Camp, San Andras, Mokolukne Hill, was enough
to scare the wits out of two green New England lads, but we finally, after
much pulling and hauling, got our seats and baggage aboard the Sonora stage,
and were off on the last lap of our journey to the land of gold.
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