California Letter—From Francis B. Knowlton.
Antwine Canyon, May 2, 1851
My Dear Wife: It has been a long time since I have received any communication
from you, not since some time during the early part of last winter, and
I am quite anxious to hear from you and the children. A letter always
enlivens the spirits and takes away all uncertainty which depresses. To
learn that all is well makes me quite happy, happy indeed as I well can
be so far from you and the lambs. As for my own health, it is excellent
and has been the entire winter past, except touches of the scurvy, which
has been to me rather unpleasant and somewhat enervating, though not so
much so as to prevent my daily avocation, which you know has constantly
been digging, dig, dig, with much drudgery. I am not in the same place
where I wintered, but higher up the mountain. Where I was, the weather
was summer warm and everything in its growth was far advanced. Here, things
are not so forward, the snow has not wholly disappeared, though the storms
are over for the season and the weather fine. The country here is very
broken and mountainous, the canyons [sic] numerous but well filled with
water, so that I shall have to wait some two or three weeks before I can
commence operations to advantage. As to the quality of the diggings in
these very deep and rocky canyons, among these towering and snow capped
mountains, it is hard to say, but I always hope for the best, and do my
best, and leave the result to Providence; however, for my toil I think
I shall be well paid. Mining though is much like a lottery business, one
may draw many times and get nothing, and where one makes a fortune, a
thousand make positively nothing above current expenses. Many there are
who would be glad to return home to their friends and wife and little
ones, had they the means. But ill luck, sickness, &c., is not the
only misfortune of many.
They have unhappily yielded to the numerous temptations with which they
are surrounded, and become intemperate—drink and the play absorb
all their earnings. Indeed the hell-holes are very numerous, are a regular
nuisance, and every inducement is held out to captivate and ensnare the
unsuspecting and inexperienced. This country is no place for those who
are not proof against every species of vice. One young man spent eight
ounces of gold in one short night, the hard earnings of three years. I
have not been over fortunate in mining, yet I am thankful that my persevering
efforts have been crowned with as good success as they have.
Twenty-eight hundred dollars is the fruit of my labor, and I intend to
work on this summer yet, and about next December start for home, and sooner
if the snow should compel me earlier to leave the mountains.
If any at home are yet ill with the California fever, tell them not to come the overland route, unless they are willing to sustain life by the flesh of mules, wolves, old shoes, and leather straps, and go whole days without a drop of water, and then when found so strong with salaratus that it can scarcely be swallowed, and wade through the deep, burning sand, the sun melting hot, and the Indians, sickness and death in their track.
You must, my dear wife, endeavor to keep up good courage till I come
home; borrow no trouble about me, for it is very healthy where I am.
Remember we are in the hands of the “Great Spirit.” Let us
“cast our care on him, for he careth for us.”
………………..
For Mary and the boys, I know you will do all that a mother can, but pray keep them close at school and let every possible pains be taken with their education, but I have said nothing in answer to the last letter I received. In reply I must say—
Now I am here, I feel content,
Because I came with your consent,
So at my tarry pray don’t scold,
And I will bring a lot of gold.
The clothes you made for me to wear,
Are full of holes and worn threadbare,
And for the time I here have spent,
I hope you never will repent.
For here I shall no longer stay,
Than for my time I get good pay,
And when I once get safely home,
I never more from you will roam;
Then you will find among my things,
The promised gold to make the rings,
For I have got some pieces stored;
So Mary’s ears must be well bored,
And Samuel, he must have a share
Out of the dust I have to spare;
For he will have to early rise
And pick some berries for the pies.
Tell John to kill his little pig,
Or when I come it will be big,
And I will buy a little dog,
To please him better than a hog;
Then if our money makes us proud,
Upon the poor we will not crowd,
But with our might we still will labor,
To cheer and comfort every neighbor,
And if our lives have been well spent,
In our old age we shan’t relent
That when we snap life’s brittle cord,
We have a treasure in the Lord.
Upon my knees I this have written,
For no table is in my kitchen;
And now farewell, my dearest wife,
And soon we’ll part no more for life.
FRANCIS B. KNOWLTON.
Mrs. Frances J. Knowlton.
Judy Simpson
14 July 2007