Part I     Part II

14 June 1850

Today being the holy Sabbath, we remained in camp. We are in a lovely valley, seemingly shut up on every hand by an impassable barrier of mountains—the tops of which are at this moment completely enveloped in mist; thus ren­der­ing the illusion more perfect. It has rained nearly all day. Since we struck Bear River we have seen a few huckleberry bushes, sugar tree shrubs, wild beans and one or two varieties of phlox; great country this for a lazy botanist!

15 June 1850

Started this morning, during the rain and hail, with the expectation that it would soon clear up—but alas, vain hope, thou art a delusive syren, whose words serve to charm only for a season.—Travelled up an undulating valley to a small creek, a tributary of the Columbia about 18 miles from camp; crossed and travelled about 4 miles over a long hill crowned with cedars, and camped on a small spring branch. The scenery has been varied and grand. We have been travelling along the dividing ridge between the waters of the Pacific and the Great Basin, and have noticed the loftiest mountains that we have yet seen. When on the top of a mountain today, before descending to the creek, the clouds enveloped the ridges all around us, presenting a sublime scene; in places their black folds hid the surrounding hills entirely from sight; in others, a cloud of snowy, white encompassed the peaks of the towering mountains. While ascending the mountain after crossing the creek, a half formed cloud rolled over the summit and broke upon us; it was charged with hail, rain, snow and mist—and a most unwelcome visitor it was. Sun sets clear. Several horses have been stolen by the Indians here recently.

16 June 1850

Again, we cannot see the sun rise, left camp and followed up a valley between high mountains to a small creek where we nooned. A few miles further on we crossed another creek of clear water, and commenced ascending a long hill, arriving at the summit of which we turned N.W. into a narrow defile between high mountain ridges, which we followed up a gradual slope for 3 miles to a quaking aspen grove; where the trunks of the trees are scarred with a thousand names cut in the bark; we then com­menced descending over a rough, sliding road, through a ravine so narrow as only to admit the passage of one wagon at a time. It was nearly night when we arrived at the foot of the mountain, but we could find no water; we, therefore, drove on down the Valley in search of this nec­essary article, and camped near a snow bank, where we had good wood and grass. We melted snow and thus procured enough water for camping purposes. The day has been cloudy and the temperature very changeable—we would be in our shirt sleeves sometimes and in fifteen minutes we would require overcoats. Capt. N. O. Ferris received a serious injury today from the kick of a horse, which will probably confine him to the wagon the remainder of the trip.

17 June 1850

Continued down the valley about five miles, when we ascended the mountain through a defile, at the summit of which we found water on the hill side half a mile from the road. We here watered our teams and proceeded over a low range of hills to a creek where we nooned. After din­ner we crossed a high hill and passed through a long, narrow and deep defile to a sudden bend in the road to the north, a mile from which we encamped with good grass, water and fuel, near a grove of pine trees. The Indians say there is a spring a half mile to the left of the road opposite a cedar bluff at the foot of the long hill we descended last night; emigrants next year would do well to search for it. A man who started on foot from the States was just at our tent begging something to eat; we sup­plied his immediate wants with pilot bread—any such applications, however, would run us short.

18 June 1850

Continued down the defile for 18 miles, crossing 2 creeks, when the road opened upon the valley of the Raft River, a tributary of the Columbia at a small creek. This valley extends more than 14 miles across a barren plain to the Raft River where we camped for the night where we had grass and sage. The last 5 miles have been very swampy, and we were obliged to cross several very bad sloughs. This morning the water was so cold that the quaking aspen leaves couldn't tremble and running water froze a half inch thick, but we have been descending all day and are now in a warmer region. Here we leave Hudspeth’s cut off, which we have found to be an excellent road—in fact as good as we could ask over the mountains.

19 June 1850

We crossed Raft River which is here about 20 feet wide and 4 feet deep; we had to unload our wagons and carry over our baggage on a willow brush foot bridge. We inter­sected the Fort Hall Road, which has not been much travelled this spring, and followed up the river 8 miles where we recrossed it and struck out a S.W. course through a wide valley with gigantic hills on the right covered with eternal snows, from the suface of which, here and there, the top of a buried pine struggled into view. We then crossed a swampy piece of ground and camped on a large creek. The hills around us are covered with quartz pebbles but the gold ain’t “thar.” The upland grass is drying up fast, being already ripe enough to burn. The bottom grass is very good yet. Three weeks later, however, it will be a hard matter to graze stock in this region. Weather clear and temperate—for a wonder.

20 June 1850

About 9 miles from camp we struck the trail leading from the Salt Lake. Before arriving here we passed for several miles through an opening in the mountains which I will term the Valley of the City of Castles. It deserves this appellation from the great number of bare, granite rocks with which it is filled; there rocks, or hills, are of every possible form, and it would confound the most adept geometrician to classify their shapes, and of every size, from a hay-cock to the proudly towering dome. Crossed several streams, and nooned near the foot of the moun­tains.—Passed through a gap in the mountains, and after driving a few miles ascended a high hill where we ob­tained the most magnificent view that we have had on the whole trip. Stretching away, on every hand, like a billowy sea congealed, ragged hills, while a thin, hazy smoke which encircled them rendered the view more enchanting by the vagueness of their outline—a storm was visible far away in the Great Basin to the south—stretching off to the north, we could discern the snowy peaks of a distant range of mountains while immediately below us far down in the valley, we could discover the wandering course of Goose creek. Followed up Goose creek 4 miles and encamped.

The road up Goose Creek is miserable, and we found no good grass till night.—About 3 miles from morning’s camp I visited a low cliff of soft sand stone, where I saw in­scribed “Capt. Findley July 11, 1849.” The man to whom we gave hard bread a few days since stole a sack of flour from a mess in the Rock Island train who had permitted him to tent with them for a week or so; but the flour was found and our grateful gent had to slope.

22 June 1850

Travelled up what is termed Hot Spring Valley; the land resembling the valley of the Platte—ground covered in many places with a slight efflorescence of alkali. Found water at convenient distances, and camped, after a drive of about 30 miles on a narrow, swampy creek, where we found good grass, though the ground is very miry.

Today, I saw six Root Digger Indians, who had hidden their nakedness with castoff garments they had picked up on the road. I was behind the train, and was beset by the ragged devils, but rode by them though they looked saucy enough to be mischievous had they not been rather intim­i­dated by the sight of a packing train just coming in view around the hill; two of them following A. McFarland more than a mile, searched his pockets, but left him when he offered “fistiana” resistance. Mr. Platte, late of Rock island, camped with us tonight. He is driving an ox team, having wintered with his family at Fort Laramie, and taken an early start. He has a roadometer attached to his wagon, and intends publishing a Guide Book. I looked over his manuscript and find it very correct. A company of packers, via Salt Lake, are also near us. They procured potatoes for $2.50; flour for $25.00 per 100 lbs. and radishes and let­tuce in abundance. They tell us that it is about 120 miles out of the way, which I think is correct. Persons who left on that route when we took the Cutoff are several days behind. The streams on this side of the city are all high, and the rates of ferriage most exorbitant; on the whole I think that we “hit the nail on the head” by not coming that road.

23 June 1850

We remained in camp this morning to prepare for packing. Swezy and Dr. McDill remain for the same purpose. We do this in order to make good time which we cannot do with our wagons. We used up our horses on our heavy wagons, and think it much the most advisable plan now to pack through, as our load is very light, and we are in a country where we are at length free from rain. About noon we left our camp and continued along the Valley about 4 miles; where we crossed a creek and swamp. Here there are nu­mer­ous springs of very hot water; this water is clear, and slightly impregnated with sulphur. About 6 miles from these springs we entered a canyon where there is a good spring. Here we found excellent grass. Passing over a hill we struck a small creek, and encamped with plenty of grass and sage.

24 June 1850

I slept last night in the open air, and enjoyed my slumber remarkably well. Started in the cool of the morning and found a small creek, after travelling 5 miles, where the advance portion of the company camped last night. At noon we passed through a canyon, and turning a barren bluff point camped on a small sluggish stream 20 miles from morning’s camp. The water was not fit to drink, but we found a spring about half a mile further up, which, although smelling strongly of sulphuretted hydrogen, sufficed to quench our thrist. Here several of McDill’s & Swezy’s horses were poisoned—froth at the mouth, appear choked, and get very weak, but with a good drenching of vinegar or acid water will soon recover. Travelled across a ten mile stretch to a bad creek, a tributary of the Hum­boldt; crossed and camped near the bluffs. A few Indians are lurking about. We are now in California.

25 June 1850

Travelled two miles; and after crossing several running sloughs, we came upon the banks of the famous Humboldt or St. Mary’s River. This we crossed without difficulty as the stream is here but a small brook; but as we fol­lowed down the valley, we found the volume of water greatly increased and the current more rapid. We have had hot weather and dusty roads, and are now camped near the mouth of Martin’s Fork. The river has been very high, and the road we are now travelling was made this spring by the Salt Lake Mormons; the old road being in many places 3 feet under water now. The upland grass we find nearly all gone—(pardon the bull) but the head grass in the bottoms is just in its prime. Teams are rushing up, and others who have just commenced packing are on the road.

26 June 1850

Crossed the Fork and, crossing a low bluff, continued down the river. Good grass of the banks. At noon four of the boys, Slone, Wykoff, McGaw and Bowman, left camp with provisions and guns, intending to foot it through to the diggings, thinking by this means to get in far in ad­vance of the teams. The boys bade them goodbye, and gave them the charge “If you get there before we do, Just tell ’em we’re a’coming too.”

Where we camped last night, four Indians made an attempt to steal horses from McKee’s train two nights ago, which resulted in the killing of one Indian by the guard.

27 June 1850

Our road now leaves the river and winds away through a succession of bluffs, elevating the old road which here crosses the river. About noon crossed a small stream. Camped tonight with some grass on a bluff, where the bed of a dry stream, where we were obliged to sink holes to procure a little water. I am reminded to mention what I have heretofore neglected—that the ladies are not unrep­re­sented on the road, as there are a great number of fam­ilies emigrating this spring; the family trains are generally from Ohio and Missouri. About ten o’clock this morning we overtook our pedestrians, who were glad to get back to the train. They got lost last night and had to travel consid­er­ably out of their whereabouts; so, after taking a dry break­fast, they thought it would be best to give up the expedition as a bad job and run the risk of a little ridicule.

28 June 1850

Started very early and passed through a canyon, in which are a number of springs. I took a “cut off” and found myself, after a long and tedious jaunt along a rocky and dusty path about 4 miles behind the horses. I was not the only “green horn” however. We then followed down the river, crossed a small, deep creek, and camped with plenty of grass.

29 June 1850

I was on guard this morning in company with a man from Belvidere whose horses were grazing with ours. I had just been the regular round and found all safe, when he gave utterance to a few unearthly yells and fired off his gun. We aroused the camp, and in a few minutes our men were all out, guns in hand, but after a thorough search for the “dead Indian” we were satisfied that if the Belvidere man had seen anything other than his own moon shadow, that thing had sloped. Followed the valley down till noon where we struck the river at a stony ledge which I will take the liberty of naming Rocky Point, where a jetting point ex­tends into the river. Here the road runs in a westerly direc­tion over a desert plain parched and dusty. Camped at night near the river where we got some grass by wading in the water.

30 June 1850

Left camp at sunrise and continued down the valley over the same desert plain. About noon we struck the river again, where we found our boys who were in advance of us. They, with hundreds of others, were preparing hay for the “Desert,” which rather astonished me, as I had not supposed that we were yet within a hundred miles of the “Sink,” where the desert commences. Someone has stuck up a board near this place stating that he had been to the sink, 18 miles below, where he had found no grass, and had returned here to make his hay. I believe this to be all humbug, for, according to Fremont’s map, we are not yet to the Big Bend, sixty miles this side the Sink; but as prudence is at all times in order, we concluded to do as others had done, and follow this person’s advice. We swam the river, waded through mud and water two feet deep, cut our grass three-quarters of a mile from the river, and then packed it to the bank on our shoulders where we boated it over in wagon beds by the aid of swimmers and ropes, and dried it. I was thus engaged about six hours, and a most delectable job I found it. Hundreds of emigrants are here, and if we are fooled, many others will also be; even some who went through last year are in doubt as to their locality, at which I am surprised.

1 July 1850

Left camp early and for the first four miles our road led through a perfect alkali swamp, covered with water a foot deep which smelled and tasted like weak lye. Then crossed a hill and passed through a canyon which opened upon a broad, swampy valley, encompassed by high hills on either side. Can this, then, be the Valley of the Sink? I think not, for the river runs west, while Fremont makes its course at the Sink south. Encamped tonight on a slough and had to swim it for grass. I am now certain that the “guide board” was put up for the purpose of delaying the emigration, and if I knew the miscreant’s name, it would afford me the greatest pleasure to assist him to a little notoriety.

3 July 1850

After some ineffectual inquiry of emigrants concerning my journal, I followed after the train which was several hours in advance of me. The country is sandy and barren—so much so that even the wild sage cannot grow, nothing being seen but a few dwarf greasewood bushes. Crossed a stretch of 18 miles without a drop of water. Camped at night in “Green Valley,” where by wading, we got some grass. Very many on the road are running out of provi­sions. The destruction of property along the road contin­ues to be immense. All the fortune I would ask would be to have all the articles in the States that are thrown away in the road. I must return my thanks to Messrs. Smith and Grant of Galesburg for the hospitable reception I met from them about dinner time, and for the excellent meal that I partook of with them.

4 July 1850

The anniversary of American Independence was ushered in this morning by a few shots, which was the only out­burst of patriotism that we could afford to expend. We tacitly acknowledged the glory, wisdom and majesty of our beloved republic, and required no orator to tell us about our “forefathers who fought, &c.” We travelled on a few miles to the Great Bend, where the renowned “Greenhorn’s cut off” leads away to the westward; from the appearance of the road several teams must have taken this route this season. At night the road descends thro’ a winding ridge of bluffs to the river where we camped. No grass, but we got a few rushes by wading in a slough. The character of the river has materially changed; it now runs through steep banks of clay, with a narrow bottom. How any person who had ever been along here before could have mistaken his locality is a mystery to me.

5 July 1850

Travelled 6 miles and stopped on a bluff; went a mile for a sack of grass. Proceeded on our journey and struck the river six miles further on. Then went 18 miles to a ravine where we found a number of springs of good cold water. Here we crossed grass growing in a slough where we made our hay for the desert in earnest—that which we had made before having all been fed out long ago. I am very much indebted to Daniel E. Pierce, Esq. of Belleville, Ill., for bringing up my lost journal. Mr. P. accompanied by his lady and Mr. H. Padfield is rushing through in fine style with a good mule team.

6 July 1850

Remained in camp till 3 o’clock, when we pushed out for the Sink. We travelled through a storm of wind and drift­ing sand till about sundown when the wind lulled, and we entered the valley of Humboldt Lake, commonly called the Sink of the St. Mary’s. This valley is probably from 12 to 15 miles wide. The surface is level and entirely destitute of vegetation except a few greasewood bushes on the out­skirts of the bed of the Lake, and a patch of rushes here and there on the banks of the stream. In the spring this vast basin is filled with water, but now the water occupies but a small portion of the extreme left of the stretch. Night over took us before we had reached the Sink and we travelled on till 12 o’clock, when, supposing that we were very near the end of the basin, we spread our blankets and slept well after our night’s drive.

7 & 8 July 1850

We moved on about a mile this morning to a point where the waters of the Humboldt are brought to a stand still. Here we found a little grass, and remained encamped till 3 o’clock p.m. We left our camp, (if a solitary tent for a company of forty men and a few packs be worthy of the name,) and started across the desert—so long dreaded. We arrived at the junction of the Carson and Truckie routes, and finding that all the travel had gone the former road, we took it. Five miles further, after passing a few salt springs, we came upon what really deserved the name, for a more completely barren waste cannot well be imagined. For miles and miles extended a perfectly level surface of hard baked clay without a spear of grass or the slightest elevation of earth. Nothing could be discovered upon it save here and there a black speck far off the road which we found to be water casks which had been blown away from the road by the wind. We travelled upon this barren plain five miles before night closed in upon us, and noticed hundreds of water kegs and great numbers of wagons that had been left. We now gave our horses a little hay, and about a half bucket each of water, which we procured from one of the wagons. The water being now all used up all the wagons remaining in the company were left, except Harris’ and Swezy’s. We started on in about an hour, and travelled probably 8 miles when we again fed hay and rested an hour. Started on again, we could see nothing but the faintly glimmering stars above, and the horses ahead of us—feel nothing but our steps grating through the sand or patterning in the dust—and smell nothing but the effluvia which indicated too vividly the presence of the carcasses of dead horse along the road. Travelling 8 miles further we stopped about sunrise and rested and fed for the last time on this forty mile stretch, and after breakfast pushed on over the deep sand for 9 miles, during which we suffered a little for the heat of the morning—the forenoon here being the hottest part of the day, as the afternoon winds serve to cool the air. Within about three miles of Carson River we met a train of re­turning Californians; each man having three mules, with which they are making great headway. We arrived at the Carson River, a larger stream than the Humboldt, and which, like it, is lost in the sands of the Great Basin. There being no grass here we travelled up the river 5 miles, waded three sloughs for grass and encamped.—Here let me say, that the Humboldt has not a tree upon its whole extent—the nearest approach to timber being a few willow bushes, none thicker than your wrist. On the Carson, however, we find a few scattered cottonwood trees.

On the 7th we were out of sight of snow—the first time since the 22nd May. Today, we again are greeted with the glittering mountain sheets of shining snows.

9 July 1850

We left the river and travelled over sandy roads 10 miles without grass or water. Nooned and travelled across a des­ert stretch of 20 miles, with a sandy road. On this desert we all suffered a little from thirst, and it went harder with our horses than did the Great Desert, over which they all came unscathed. Camped in the night without any grass.

10 July 1850

Our horses look thin this morning after their supper of willow leaves. We moved on about five miles and turned out to graze. We then crossed a desert of 10 miles and nooned on the river. Near us at noon was Updegraff’s train from Macomb. Camped tonight near the river with good grass.

From Salt Lake City

We have received a copy of the Deseret News of July 20 printed at Salt Lake City in which we find a long list of names of emigrants for California, among which are the following from this region: D. Lyles, L. P. Eider, Wm. F. Davis, J. C. Beeding, A. Wells, J. M. Darnell, men and teams all well, J. C. Woods, R. Woods, W. Dinwiddie, J. Cunningham, J. W. Jones, A. D. Jackson and J. W. Bond, Greenbush.

[Emphasis added.]

11 July 1850

We moved on this morning crossing several beautiful streams; gradually approaching the Eastern base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, which we reached after about ten miles travel from camp. These mountains, covered with pine trees rise abruptly from the general level of the Valley, opposing an impassable barrier to the traveller. To cross them at this point is a matter of impossibility, and the only passage for wagons anywhere in this region is through the canyon formed by the Carson River twenty miles further on. At the place where we strike the foot of the mountains, the Mormons—(where will you go, and not find them)—have established a trading post, where we procured some “neck beef” at seventy-five cents per lb., and musty flour for two dollars; what think you of that, farmers of Illinois!—Passing on from this place, as fast as we could, in order to save what little money we had, we continued up Carson valley, our road not approaching the river nearer than a mile until night. About three miles from the Station, I noticed a guide board directing foot­men and packers to take a “cut-off” over the hills thro’ a narrow ravine, which would bring them to the diggings at Georgetown, and save three days travel. We preferred, however, the main road, having the fear of the “Greenhorn cut-off” constantly before our eyes. Being very thirsty this afternoon, I approached a clear, sparkling spring of chrystal water, gushing from the base of a spur of the mountains, and stooped down to imbibe the delicious fluid. The water met my lips with so ardent a kiss that I started to my feet again, uttering an exclamation not remarkably classic, which I may paraphrase thus: “hot as—the region of damned spirits.” A mile or two further on we came to the first of a succession of mountain rills, which continued at intervals of half a mile the remainder of the day; and more glorious sparkling clear-living water I never drank. The weather, was very warm, and that water, I shall never forget it. I don’t believe that the most highly concocted glass of alcoholic liquors ever compounded, gave the same pleasure to the partaker as did a draught from those cold, limpid waters which came leaping down, over beds of white gravel, from the slowly melting snows of the summits of the mountain above. We are camped tonight in the mouth of the canyon, surrounded by the most grandly beautiful scenery that I have beheld anywhere on the route except the Gap of Devil’s Gate.

If we could rest our horse on the excellent grass of Carson valley before crossing the Mountains, I think we could go over with flying colors, but as it is, we have to push ahead, even at the risk of killing them all. We have now been on short allowance ever since we left the Sink, and many of the company are as short up as we are. We have lived since we left Humboldt on a half pound of bread, and about two tablespoons full of rice per day. We were re­duced to this by having lost about 60 lbs. flour and 20 lbs. went by having it stolen, by some poor, hunger-driven-to robbery devil.

12 July 1850

This morning we commenced climbing the mountain—through the canyon—and such a climb! The road was such an one as the most distorted imagination could have formed no idea of: rocky-muddy-sidelong—these words do not convey to the mind the slightest impression of what it is, and I despair of giving the reader a comprehensive description. The road had been cut through, and late in the season, would probably be tolerable, but now in some places a mountain stream crossed along the track, mud holes presented themselves at every level platform we reached, rocks from the size of a football to that of a hogshead were to be surmounted, narrow paths led along the side of the hill almost impassable, owing to the roots, stumps of fallen trees and loose stones. These roads high towering hills on either side of the canyon, which gradu­ally diminished its height as we went up the rapid roaring stream of Carson River, which every mile was growing less in volume, but more impetuous and headlong as it plunged down over its ragged bed. This was our first day in the mountains. Tonight the atmosphere is cool.

13 July 1850

Kept on our course over the mountain, with much the same road and scenery as on yesterday. No grass, but abundance of flowers. Left Carson River to the left.

14 July 1850

This morning we descended to a swampy valley, where we had considerable difficulty in crossing a stream—a tribu­tary of the Salmon Front River. We now commenced ascending the last ridge—the summit of the chain. I shall never forget the tramp I have taken today—From the stream I have alluded to, we had a view of the snow clad summits, and of trains crossing over the white field five miles distant. Our road led up, up, up through heavy pine forest—over snow banks, where through a gap melted away by the side of a rock we could see a stream plunging down the side of the mountains 20 feet beneath us—and at last over a steep snow field of more than a mile in extent, where we were compelled to walk over a slippery road, our horse before us—to the long-hoped-for summit. Here, we found no snow whatever; we were above all vegetation save a stunted cedar bush, which had braved the storm, and planted itself above the snow; the air was cold and chilly; the atmosphere was the purplish-blue tint, which chilled us as we looked around and below. We could see lakes, hills, forests, snow fields,—and, far to the west, hill after hill, which yet interpossed between us and our des­tin­ation. We remained on the summit a half hour, and then com­menced our descent, which we found more wearisome—over the snow—than the ascent. In many places, we saw, where the road ran a few weeks ago, trees protruding to the height of 6 feet, and I have no doubt that even below our road the progress of the thaw will discover some “tall brush.” We met a great many packers today, going over with flour; and find that, tonight, we can buy this necessary article for $1 I saw several horses, today which had been killed, and had the steak cut away from them! To such want are some honest men reduced.

15 July 1850

The character of the Country has entirely changed. We have now good roads, a few oak trees scattered here and there among the most magnificent pines, cedars, and hemlocks that ever grew, and the most luxurious abund­ance of wild flowers that I ever saw. If I had a hundred acres of the pine I have seen today standing on the banks of the Mississippi, I would never wish to “try the mines.”—I have estimated the height of many of these trees, and find it to be an average of 200 feet though some of them go beyond three hundred! We have no snow tonight. We have had no grass for three days—having to feed our horses on weeds and leaves. We will reach Hangtown tomorrow, and then, thank the Lord, we will indulge in one more hearty meal.

16 July 1850

Hurra! We have reached the goal of our destination! We have seen gold washed from the vulgar soil!—Flour is only 17 cents a pound, and now for as much as we can eat, once more!

Reader, my dinner is over, and if ever any one enjoyed slap jacks and fat pork—this and nothing more—that individual was your humble servant. I am in a good humor now, and with a few closing remarks, I shall cut your acquaintance, for the present, though I may soon endeavor to cultivate it again.

I have walked two-thirds of this twenty-four hundred mile trip; been out of “grub” part of the time—the very time, too, I had to work the hardest; and must say that I can­not regret having taken the journey. I have never, yet, seen the elephant, nor do I believe any one else, who came over with the same outfit, has had any cause to complain, unless he be a person who has had no curiosity to gratify—no ambition to sustain him in difficulties, or who is constitutionally too lazy to enjoy good health. We are at length here, in the land of our golden dreams, and shall endeavor to make up for lost time. I must claim the indulgence of my readers for these badly written sketches. No one, but a person who has crossed the Plains, can imagine the difficulty with which I have written. Sleep is all we ever desired, after supper, or when we were resting during the day, and I have had to snatch from my covet­ous eyelids, what little time I devoted to this journal.—I thought I could have made an interesting book. My mater­ial was ample, and had I been seated in My sanctum, I might have made my “impressions” readable—as it is, I have done my best, and, hoping again to hold converse with you from this distant land under more favorable auspices. I am, as ever,

Your friend and servant, E. H. N. P.

[Item with no heading]

We have received letters and papers from our Junior up to the 14th August from Sacramento City and San Francisco. Having located at Sacramento, our readers may expect to hear from him regularly, by every mail steamer.

The report of the riot on the 13th of August and the destruction of the city of Sacramento by fire on the 4th, we are inclined to believe unfounded, as our Junior makes no mention of the riot in his letter written on the night of the 13th, nor does the Placer Times of the 14th give any account of it. We take the following extracts from the letter:

“I have heard nothing further from Lt. Mitchell since I wrote last. He was then on Middle Fork of Yuba; and every account we receive from there, tells of extensive failures.

“The boys are nearly all in from the Plains. I have heard of all of them except Rockwell and Snook. The last I heard of Sammy he had not yet got in; though he has by this time, undoubtedly. Rock­well has probably got in, but I have not yet heard from him. Ives, C. B. Jones, & c. came in ahead of Lynn, but it was a satisfactory arrange­ment—they await his arrival at Hangtown. All the Warren boys are in and up about Weaverville.—Perkins, and Graham have gone into business at Hangtown. Graham was down here a day or two ago. Theodore and John McFarland are at Cold Spring. R. W. Miles has arrived and gone to dig­ging at Cold Spring. The Galesburg boys are nearly all there. John McGaw, Applegate, Henderson, Birdsall, A. Knowles, Watson, Chapins, and several of the other boys from Oquawka, are also there. Dr. Knowles opens a store there this week.—Dr. McDill has gone into partnership with Dr. Plumer of Rock Island at Placerville. Some extraordinary tales are told about “big lumps” down in the Southern mines on the tributaries of the San Joaquin. The operation of the foreign tax has driven away many of the miners from that district.”