said he,
"by ---- you have got more pluck than any man I ever saw." He went on
and so did I, and I have not seen him since. It took me about two weeks
to get so that I could not throw the dirt to the surface, then I had to
make a windlass, get a tub and rope, and hire a man to help me at eight
dollars a day, and 50 cents a point for sharpening picks. These things
completed and in operation, I was able to make two or three feet per day,
and we finally reached the bedrock at a depth of 97 feet. The last two
feet in the bottom of the shaft I saved for washing, and had to haul it
about one mile to water. I washed it out and realized 3 1/2 ounces of very
coarse gold. Now we were on the bedrock and the next thing to do was to
start three drifts in as many directions. This called for two more men
to work the drifts, and a man with his team to haul the dirt to the
water, while I stood at the windless and watched both ends. This went on
for one week. When I washed out my dirt, paid off my help and other
expenses, I had two dollars and a half for myself.

About this time I was feeling a little blue and I gave directions for
each man in the drifts to start drifts to the left at the end of each
drift. This was done, and we went on for another week as before, and
this time I came out about one hundred dollars ahead. About this time a
couple of miners came along and offered me thirteen hundred dollars for
my claim, and I sold it, took the dust and went to Sacramento and sent
it to my father in Vermont. That paid up for all the money that I had
borrowed, and made things quite easy at home.

Now, I am mining again with cradle, pick, shovel and pan in gulches, on
the flats, in the river and on the banks, with miner's luck, up and
down, most of the time down. However, "pluck" was always the watchword
with me. I floated some of the time in water, some of the time in the
air, some of the time on dry land, it did not make much difference with
me at that time where I was. I was at home wherever night overtook me.
But finally I got tired of that and began to look about and think of
home and "the girl I left behind me."

Home Again. Married. Return to California.

In the spring of '52 I left San Francisco on the steamer "Independence"
via the "Nicaragua route" for New York, arrived there in course of a
month, and took train for Boston, where I found my father from Vermont
with a carload of horses. This was clover for me. We remained th