In 1915 the Oldest Pioneer Living in California Who Mined in
"The Days of Old, The Days of Gold
The Days of '49"
My full name is Carlo Pedro Deogo Laudier de Andriado. It means in English: Charles Peter James Laudier of Andriado. The latter being the name of the city my family originated in.
Like an animal encumbered with too long a tail, I found my full name to be unwieldy, so I amputated it at the second joint soon after leaving home. I have called myself and have been known for nearly eighty years as Charles Peters.
I was born on January 12, 1825, on the Island of Faial which is off the western coast of Portugal and belongs to the Government of Portugal
My father's name was the same as my own. He held a position in the service of Emperor Dom Pedro when I was born. He was the owner of a large vineyard, employing about twenty-five men to handle the harvest of grapes and make the wine which he marketed.
My mother's maiden name was Anna Isabel Pellates. My parents were both descendants from the ancient inhabitants of Portugal called Lusitanians; who ruled my land before the Carthaginians under Hannibal and the Romans under Julius Caesar conquered the country.
I was the only child. My father lived his three score and ten, while my mother was 99 years, 11 months and 20 days old when she passed away. It was a great shock to me when I learned of her death in her prime, for I fully believed she would outlive the nineteenth century and reach the average age of her ancestors of over 120 years.
Owing to the continual absence of my father from our home, attending
to his official duties in Lisbon, I was almost all the time under my mother's
care, and looked to her entirely for guidance and instruction. I was sent
to school when I was five years old and, while there were one or two studies
I was good in, it soon developed I was not born to be a scholar, and I
steadily fell behind the other scholars of my age in studies, until, at
the age of ten, I was in an
embarrassing position. The social standing of the scholars was divided
into two classes; the children who wore shoes and those who went barefoot.
My mother had strong objections to my associating with the poorer children
who went barefoot, but, somehow, I preferred to mix with them, rather than
with the children of the more prosperous parents. On account of this preference,
my mother caught me in the only untruth I ever told. She accused me of
playing with the barefoot children, which I denied, but she had the proof.
I got a severe whipping and had red pepper put into my mouth. Then I listened
to a lecture on the evil of lying that I remember to this day and I have
been truthful ever since.
On account of my inability to learn my lessons, I began at the age of ten to look for my future career on the deep blue waters of the sea. A desire to emulate the deeds of my famous countryman and ancestor Magellan, began to kindle the fire of a marine ambition in my brain. One day an American vessel came in and anchored in the bay; the school teacher dismissed school and with about four hundred school children, I went down to the dock and cheered and cheered and saluted the American flag. When I heard that the captain was so pleased with our reception that he had told the Consul he wanted one of the boys to go with him as his cabin boy, I applied for the place. I pleaded with my mother and got her consent to go upon my promise that I would obey her precepts and come back the captain of a ship. The captain promised to be my guardian, and while my mother, before we sailed, regretted her action, yet, she bade me keep my word. My father was now the private secretary of Queen Donna Marie at Lisbon. When my mother sent the document she and the captain had signed, to him, he was very angry and sent messengers to take me from the ship, but they came too late for the ship had sailed, and for the next thirteen years I was with Captain Pendleton on whaling voyages on the Atlantic and Pacific oceans. His home was in New London, Conn., and we delivered our cargoes and obtained our supplies from the New England ports we arrived at and sailed from on our voyages. My experience on board the whaler was uneventful, except in one instance. Of course, for the first few weeks after leaving home, I was seasick and homesick, but the feeling of distress from these causes soon passed off. But, had I had the authority, I would have turned the vessel back and returned to my native land never to be a sailor again.
One afternoon the captain and the first mate left a large plug of chewing tobacco, from which each had cut a piece and put in their mouths, on the cabin table. I thought that it would make me more a sailor if I followed their example, so I took a good sized chunk in my mouth and began to chew. I swallowed the saliva it produced, not knowing it was necessary to expectorate it. The result was I became the sickest boy that ever fell into a bunk on a ship. The captain thought I was going to die but never knew what disease I had, because I was afraid to tell him the cause. I have never tried to chew tobacco since.
On the whaling voyage to the Arctic and Pacific oceans in 1846, our vessel entered and anchored a few days in San Francisco Bay. It was a good sized village then, but we had little thought of it becoming the city it now is.
I was in New London, Conn., in 1848, when the news came of the discovery of gold in California, and I soon got the gold fever. I sailed the ship "Elfa" from New York with several hundred other '49ers. Captain Porter was in command and when the vessel passed the Farralones he sent for me and said: "Charley, you have been here before, can you pilot this ship into San Francisco Bay?" I replied: "Yes." So I took charge of the vessel as pilot and landed it safely and was given three cheers by the men and women there when we came to anchor. Captain Porter said: "Charley, that was worth $500 to me," and he, in a feeling of great generosity, paid me $20 for my services as pilot.
I arrived in Sacramento with two sacks, made from sail cloth, filled with my personal effects. I carried the sacks on my back fastened with leather straps under my arms.
I hired out as a cook for $200 a month and after working a few weeks, I became acquainted with a man from the mines. He proposed we go to Columbia and go to gold mining and I agreed. We were going to walk and when we got ready to start it required two men to lift my two sacks of things upon my back, they were so heavy. A man standing by said to the crowd around me: "That man has a load for a jackass." I replied: "You had better carry it, then."
Now, like Samson, I have never shaved, but, unlike Samson, a Delilah has never shorn me of my locks - or my pocketbook - but I do not attribute to anything else except my life at sea, the fact that I was blessed with prodigious strength. I carried my load easily for ten miles without stopping to rest and then my partner, who had begun to fag, proposed we take a rest. Although, it was raining, I told him to come along when he was rested and I continued on in my usual stride. About ten miles further on I overtook a teamster with a span of horses and his wagon stuck in the mud. "Hey Cap," said he, "ain't you got a big load? Don't you want a rest?" I said: "No, I haven't had to take a rest yet." "Well," said he, "put your load in my wagon and help push over the bad places and I will give you a ride." "All right," I said, and putting my pack in his wagon I began to push on one of the wheels. In a few minutes he yelled: "Hey! Stop, Cap! You're pushing the wagon on top of my horses." He told me afterwards that I was equal in strength to his horses and if he had me with him all of the time, he would never get stuck.
I finally reached Dry Creek about eight miles from Columbia. The storekeeper there was the justice of the peace and kept a bar and a boarding house in a later tent. He had forty-six boarders and charged an ounce ($18) a week for board. There was a big, burly fellow there who proposed to go into a partnership with me and work a claim. I agreed to it as I was looking for a chance to dig gold. Several of the miners there now began to warn me against the man, saying no man stayed long with him and all had had trouble with him and he had thrashed two or three of his partners within the past two weeks. As I was not afraid of any man living, I bought a shovel for $6 and started in to work with him. On the fourth day I found my shovel gone. When my partner saw I had no shovel, he began to curse me. I challenged him to fight and the men from the other claims gathered around us. The big bully struck at me, with his fist, a vicious blow, but I dodged and gave him a swat under the ear that sent him flat on his back on the ground. Every time he tried to get up, I gave him another and he, finally, too weak to talk, whispered, "enough." The justice of the peace was his friend and wanted me arrested, but every boarder threatened to quit his house if he did, and he finally subsided. I worked the claim alone for awhile and then a miner came along and induced me to go to Jackson. I bought a span of horses and a supply of grub and with my things started for the better diggings.
In Forman's Gulch, about ten miles from Mokelumne Hill, I found a man with his wife and sister-in-law working a placer claim. The man wielded a pick and shovelled the pay dirt into a bucket which his wife carried a couple hundred of feet to where the sister-in-law, a comely maiden, rocked the rocker. I have always been susceptible, and I am now, to the flattery of the female sex, and when this young maiden, expressed a wish that she had my physical strength, in order to perform her task easily, I took her place and rocked for about four hours and also aided in an occasional clean up, which showed the claim was paying over an ounce a day. After awhile, I found the young lady was more interested in the result of the clean ups than basking in the sunshine of love, so, somewhat disappointed, I resumed my journey toward Jackson.
On my arrival in Jackson, in the latter part of 1850, I built a log cabin. The first night I slept in it I had the company of three rats. During the night, I felt something cold moving across my feet and thought it was one of the rats getting friendly. In the morning I found a rattlesnake curled up in a corner of my cabin. It had thirteen rattles, an unlucky number for it, for I quickly sent him where he would cease from rattling and my weary feet could be at rest.
On the North Fork of Jackson Creek, I went in partnership with a Frenchman
named Douet to work a claim. Owing to mispronouncing his name, we called
him "Do it." He was quite an expert, and finding a good flow of water coming
down the gulch, he proposed to ground sluice the bank. We dug a ditch and
soon had the water undermining the bank and caving it down in large chunks
which we manipulated in the stream of water with our picks, and, as the
stones were washed from their covering of earth, we cast them out. I had
only been using the pan method of mining which gave a frequent result that
encouraged and enthused one as the yield was small or large. We worked
about nine hours ground sluicing, during which time I did not see a color
and felt quite discouraged. Unless a nugget was as big as a man's fist,
it would hardly be seen in the flood of muddy water.
"Do it," at last, suggested we clean up and while I went and turned
off the water, he got his pan and a big clasp knife ready. When the flow
of water ceased, he seated himself on the bedrock and with the pan between
his knees began digging with his knife the mud out of the crevices and
dropping it into the pan. Soon a yellow gleam began to appear in the pan
and then my hopes began to rise. Then a nugget, weighing at least two ounces,
dropped with a bang upon the bottom of the pan and "Do it," with an explanation
that sounded like "Kee-ees-Kee-Dee," looked up and smiled. "Have we struck
it?" I asked. "Oui, Oui," said he, and then I knew we had. When "Do it"
finished his cleanup and we started for the cabin to cook our supper, we
had over nine pounds of gold dust in our pan. But it was the hardest work
I had ever done. My back ached, my feet were wet and cold and my hands
were numb. I realized then, that, while there was plenty of gold in the
ground, it could not be picked up with ease. Hard labor and often poor
results to many, with lucky finds to the few, I could then look into the
future and see. A pang of pity passed through my mind as I thought of the
many physically weak men I had seen rushing through Sacramento to the mines
and of the many I had seen on my tramp to Columbia and journey to Jackson,
who were totally unfit to cope with the conditions of hard work, exposure
and privation it required to mine in the placers for gold.
On Sunday I went over to Butte City prospecting and met an Englishman who had been mining in Hunt's Gulch, and he gave his opinion in the following characteristic language:
"By me soul, Peters, this is a great country! Here, a man can dig up as much gold in a day as he ever saw in his life in London. I have got already more of the bloody stuff than I know what to do with and I've only been here a week. I came here without a bloody farthing in my pocket. The Frenchman who keeps the shop down on the bottom of the hill wouldn't trust me for a shilling's worth of bread. 'If ye got no money, go dig,' said he. 'I'll not dig on Sunday for any blarsted villain,' says I. 'Then starve,' says he. But I didn't, though I had an empty belly until Monday came, and then I dug an ounce and on Tuesday, two ounces, and on Friday I had two pounds of the bloody stuff with a lump as big as my fist. I got all this luck from not working on Sunday. Peters, did ye ever see such a big country as this?"
Hunt's Gulch, referred to by the luck Englishman, was one of the richest placer grounds in the State. It was first located by a Frenchman named Hunt in 1848. He dug a fortune out of its banks in a few months and went back to France. It flows from the ridge about two miles from Jackson, between two steep hills, down into the Mokelumne River. It was worked over for the fourth time in 1852, and it was then estimated that over three tons of gold, valued at a million and a half dollars, had been taken out of it. It was worked for the ninth time in 1858 by Joe Mason, two brothers named Gleason and a man named Davenport, who built a flume and with a big head of water were washing dirt on an extensive scale. In February, 1858, they cleaned up, after a six days' run, 15 pounds of gold valued at over $3000 and in one week in July 1858, they cleaned up 34 pounds valued at $6900. How many tons of gold and how many millions in value this auriferous gulch yielded, can only be conjectured and not computed. I passed Hunt's Gulch by when I had a chance to obtain a claim there, because a miner, named Halsey, in August, 1852, found a ten pound nugget worth $2000 near Clinton, on the Middle Fork of Jackson Creek, and I thought there must be a flock of them there and acted accordingly.
In November, 1851, a couple of negroes began prospecting on a hill near the town of Mokelumne Hill. They sunk a hole about fifteen feet deep and found gravel that showed free gold. They filled a flour sack full of this dirt and one of the negroes toted it down to the gulch where there was a flow of water to wash it. It yielded nearly four pounds of gold valued at over $750. Subsequently, they found dirt that paid $10 to the pan. This started an excitement. When the news reached me on Jackson Creek, I, with others, who were making less than an ounce a day, immediately joined the rush and went to Mokelumne Hill as fast as our legs would take us. When I got there everybody, except the Jews, who never worked a placer, and the prisoners in jail, were gone to Negro Hill, the name given the scene of the new discovery. Nearly all the saloons were closed up. The saloon and barkeepers all were locating claims. The courthouse was deserted; the county officials, with everybody else in the town, had gone to the place where rich deposits had been found. I proceeded quickly to the place. It resembled a human ant hill. I was too late to secure a location, for locations had been made a mile or two on each side of Negro Hill when I got there, but I secured not one job, but two. I found two men who desired to employ me and I went to work days for one and nights for the other, each paying me an ounce a day. I went without sleep for six days and while I was physically able to stand the strain, mentally, I was not, and I went under a doctor's care. It cost me nearly all of the twelve ounces I had earned to be back into normal condition again. I had been so successful and honest in my work for one of these men that he soon had all the gold desired and gave me the unworked portion of his claim, amounting to about seventeen square feet. Out of this I took nearly seventeen pounds of gold. On parting with him, he said: "Now, Peters, that I have all the gold I want, I'm going back home to New York and the first thing I'm going to do is to gratify my fondest wish." "What's that?" I asked. "Peters," said he, "I'm going to buy a pair of suspenders for each pair of trousers I own."
When I was about fourteen years of age, I was baptized and became a
member of a Baptist Church. I suppose it was due to my love of the water
that I joined that sect, for all religious creeds look alike to me. There
may be some difference in the route taken, but all their paths lead to
the same destination, so, on my return to Jackson from Mokelumne Hill,
I found the Rev. Mr. Fish trying to organize and build a Methodist church.
I turned to and helped him to success. Soon after this church was organized,
a big Methodist revival was started in Drytown. Among those converted was
an all-round sporting character named John Rix, who was the champion foot
racer of this section of the State. His religious ardor started him out
in an endeavor to build a church and he sought for subscriptions among
his former sporting associates. He, one day appeared at Jackson and there
met a man he had beaten in a foot race several months previous and this
man challenged him to a hundred yard contest for $100 a side. Mr Askey,
one of the proprietors of the Louisiana Hotel, with several other strong
supporters of all forms of sport, agreed with Rix to meet the defi and
if Rix won to let the winnings to go toward building the church. The foot
race was run on a Saturday afternoon on Water Street in Jackson and was
witnessed by a large crowd. Rix, with the fervor of a supporter of the
Lord, won with ease and then his trouble began. The foot race caused a
lot of gossip and comment, and when Rix endeavored to turn over the stake,
the Methodist minister and the deacons of the church refused to receive
it, as it was tainted money.
I learned afterward that Rix, unable to apply the money toward the
building of the church, backslided and painted the town red in the interest
of the devil.
The Young American Hotel, built over the Middle Fork of Jackson Creek where the Broadway street bridge spans it, was a great gambling resort in the '50s. It's spacious barroom had several billiard tables and poker tables galore. One night, I strolled in to look on the rapid exchange of wealth, good and bad luck was causing, and became a witness to a thrilling episode. A sport called "Blue Dick," who always carried two revolvers and a bowie knife and had a local reputation of being a man ready to shoot on the slightest provocation, was playing poker with three other men. Finally, "Blue Dick" and one of the other players were dealt good hands and began calling and raising each other until "Blue Dick" demanded a sight, having put up his last dollar. This his opponent refused to give him, claiming, he had revolvers and jewelry of value which he could pawn and see the bet. With an oath "Blue Dick" laid his cards on the table and drawing his bowie knife sunk it into the table an inch deep through the cards, thus fastening them to the table. Then saying he would kill any man who touched his poker hand while he was gone, left the saloon to raise more money.
There was a little boy about six years of age who lived next door to the hotel and was a sort of a pet among the gamblers. They had taught him to chew tobacco, to swear and to play cards. He was nicknamed "Shellabark," after a little Shetland pony that had performed in a circus a year or so before. While the three players were engaged in conversation awaiting "Blue Dick's" return, "Shellabark" climbed upon his chair and unnoticed, pulled three of the cards from the blade of the bowie knife before he was seen and stopped. Two of the players, considering discretion was their best act, picked up their money and departed. The other player, recovering from the shock, quickly replaced the cards so that they appeared to be in the same place that "Blue Dick" left them; kept his seat and drew his revolver. This, he carefully examined and cocking it, held it down by his side awaiting the return of his adversary. "Blue Dick" returned in about half an hour. He had been unsuccessful in his effort to get more money to bet. He withdrew the bowie knife, turned over his poker hand and studied it a moment, then, without noticing it had been disturbed, with an oath, threw it aside and gave up the pot. He left the saloon a few minutes afterward and there was a big sigh of relief when he departed.
Of course, every pioneer has told of the high prices that prevailed in the early days; how flour sold for a dollar a pound; onions and potatoes a dollar a piece and a can of sardines for two dollars and a half, but the highest priced commodity I saw during this period was raisins. I sat on the counter of a store in Jackson one evening, when a Digger Indian came in with several ounces of nuggets tied up in a rag. He put the package in one bowl of the scales and laconically spoke the word "raisin." The storekeeper leisurely walked around the counter, found a box of raisins and returning to the scales began dropping raisins, one at a time, as if they were too precious to part with, into the other bowl of the scale. When the raisins balanced the gold, he emptied them into a paper bag which he handed to the Indian who departed satisfied. Raisins at $16 an ounce would make a Fresno grower turn over in his grave, if he heard of such a price now. Another high priced commodity I once saw was watermelon seeds. A miner, a neighbor of mine, bought a watermelon from an Ione Valley grower for $2 in 1851 and saved the seeds. These he put up in packages of about twenty seeds in each and sold them the next Spring to miners, who wanted to plant them, for $1 a package. He cleared over $30 from his thoughtfulness, but, the distribution killed the business, for next season watermelon seeds were so plentiful they could be not be given away.
On the night of August 6, 1855, a gang of Mexican robbers entered the Rancheria Hotel in Amador County, and after killing five men and the landlady and wounding several other men, robbed the hotel safe of about $10,000 in gold dust and then made their escape. Great excitement prevailed and three Mexicans were lynched by a mob from Drytown. Sheriff Phoenix, with a posse from Jackson, pursued a portion of the gang into Tuolumne County. A battle between the officers and the Greasers occurred near Chinese Camp in which Sheriff Phoenix and two of the robbers were killed. Rafael Escobar, one of the band, was captured in Columbia by Deputy Sheriff George Durham, and brought to Jackson on August 22nd to be held for trial. Durham and his prisoner were promptly met by a reception committee of citizens and in less than thirty minutes afterwards the picture of the hanging was taken. I was in the crowd, but, I am not the man up in the tree. Escobar was the tenth man hung from the limb of the live oak that overhung Main Street. The tree was destroyed in the great fire of August 23, 1862.
During the '50s the Volunteer Fire Department was a leading factor in celebrations and social entertainment. How we "tripped the light fantastic toe" then will be shown by the following copy of a programme at one of our grand balls:
Grand Ball
Given by the Jackson Fire Department, July 4th, 1858
PROGRAMME OF DANCES
Plain Quadrille Plain Quadrille
Waltz Waltz
Plain Quadrille Sicilian Circle
Mazurka Gallop
Lancers French Four
Polka Polka
Plain Quadrille Quadrille (Old Dan Tucker)
Schottische Waltz
Varsovienne Virginia Reel
Quadrille (Basket) Schottische
Danish Polka Quadrille (Pop Goes the Weasel)
Supper March Waltz
Tickets, Including Supper, $5.00 Ladies Free
"We won't go home 'till morning;
We'll dance 'till the break o' day."
While mining on the Mokelumne River, my partner and myself were attacked by a grizzly bear. I fired six shots from my pistol into the Grizzly's body, which had only the effect of angering him. He chased me down the river until I took advantage of the trunk of a pine tree by getting behind it, and then drawing my sheath knife I awaited his coming. He rose upon his hind legs and struck at me with one of his forepaws. I caught it on the point of my knife and ripped it open. This caused him to turn and run for the bush.
The worst tussle I ever had with an animal was with a mastiff, kept by a German merchant in Jackson. it was the largest dog in the country, if not in the State. I entered the merchant's back yard one afternoon to deliver a load of wood, when the mastiff made an angry rush at me. As he jumped at my throat, I grasped him by both ears and bore him down to the ground. I then spit in his eye, kicked all the wind out from between his ribs and when he howled from fear, with a final kick, I let him loose and he slunk to his kennel with his tail between his legs. About fifty people had gathered to see the battle, not one of whom offered me any assistance, but, when it was over, nearly all had advice to give as to how to kill the brute. I said no, he is a whipped cur and that is sufficient.
An elderly man, whom we called the Major, and who lived on the creek
a short distance from me, one afternoon came over to my claim to have a
chat. Knowing he had been on Jackson Creek sometime before I came there,
to satisfy my curiosity, I asked him:
"Major, how long have you been here?" "Do you see the Butte over yonder?"
asked he, pointing to the peak, popularly called by the people of Jackson,
"Butte Mountain." "Yes," I replied. "Well," said the Major, spitting at
a piece of quartz about ten feet away: "When I came here the Butte was
nothing but a hole in the ground." An amusing part of this statement is,
on account of my being young in years and a foreigner I, for some time
afterward, believed what he said.
Another big yarn spinner, and one who could spit further and straighter than the Major, that I met in Jackson, was a man named Gibbons, who mined on the North Fork near where the Kennedy Mill is now located. He, with a partner, worked during the summer of "54 getting out pay dirt to wash when the Autumn rains came. He had a number of large chispas and by exhibiting different ones at various times and to different parties, created an impression he was frequently finding nuggets an ounce or more in weight. He so impressed a widow, with whom he and his partner boarded, that she married his partner and expected to share the fortune the final clean up would yield. Whether because he had matrimonial intentions himself and was disappointed, or from some other cause, he, late in the summer, sold out and departed for Sacramento. He tipped off to a few he was going to the mint to dispose of the bag of nuggets he had gathered and intended to return, but he never did. On the stage he made such a display of his nuggets and gave such a vivid description of how he could thrust his hand, at will, into the pile of pay dirt he and his partner had dug and draw out a nugget that some of the passengers took passage back to Jackson on the next stage to locate claims. He remained in Sacramento two days, during which time his exhibition of nuggets and tales of fabulous richness, caused a couple of hundred greedy gold seekers to start for Jackson, where their arrival astonished the residents of the town who had no information of the rich strike and that the excitement of Negro Hill was about to be repeated. As rumor, with its swift wings, made its flight from Sacramento into El Dorado, Placer and Nevada Counties, and in exaggerated terms, whispered the news of the strike, several hundred rainbow chasers, afoot, on horseback and with other means of conveyance, for the next ten days, began to pour into Jackson, eager to get a portion of the great treasure to be uncovered there. Either in derision or disgust, the disappointed crowd christened the scene of Gibbons' labors, "Humbug Hill," and those who had the means soon departed wiser but sadder men, while those who came with a shoestring and used it, had to stay and seek other means of existence. The hotelkeepers and the storekeepers were unprepared for the army. Everything eatable was eaten up. Lodgings were inadequate for the crowd and they slept on the sidewalks, in the stables and many laid down to rest on the hillsides. As the latch string on my cabin door always hung on the outside and there was an ample supply of food inside to fill all empty stomachs that applied, I soon had as many boarders as a county hospital and they paid me about as much as the denizens of a poor farm would. Among the number was a man named Davis who was as regular in his eating as I was and with as healthy an appetite. While he probably ate more than any other of my boarders, he paid less. He stayed over three weeks and then concluding to hike out to new diggings, insisted, as he could not pay in gold, on giving me his note for $50, which he would pay as soon as he made his expected strike. I held his note several years without hearing from him and as he had handed it to me folded up, I had not read it's contents. One day I did so and found it read: "One day, after death, I promise to pay, etc." As I will never meet Davis here again and don't expect to see him in the next world, I have cancelled the debt.
Now Gibbons, in his romancing , was only a few thousand feet, in a downward direction, from the truth. Had he said there was enormous riches a couple of thousand feet below instead of on the surface, he would have been truthful, for on the slope of "Humbug Hill" is the shaft and mill of the great Kennedy Mine. Kennedy, I believe, and one or two of his partners, came to Jackson with the '54 rush and remained to prospect and mine in that vicinity. Kennedy and Henning located the Kennedy mine in February, 1857. They sold four-sixths at $1000 a sixth, which made the value of the mine $6000 with six partners. They worked it a few years and finally sold out for the same amount to Jim Flemming and three other Irishmen, who, with a one-horse whim worked the mine until they struck a quartz horse several hundred feet below the surface and went broke.
"Humbug Hill" was not only entirely barren of nuggets, for two miners named Gilbert and Gleason, in February, 1859, cleaned up in one week 12 pounds of gold from their claim on the hill, and a Frenchman, named Charron, in May, '59, paid $18,000 for a half interest in a placer claim on the Hill and took out three pounds of gold next day.
In 1855 some men were employed to sink a well in the rear of Kurczyn's store on the west side of Main Street of Jackson. One day they struck a seam of gold-bearing quartz, which caused some excitement, but as no one in the town was familiar with quartz veins and a supply of water was considered more important, interest in it soon subsided. One day I stood on Meek's Hill in South Jackson, and looking at the Kennedy Mine, I remembered the quartz vein in Kurczyn's well and it struck me the extension of the Kennedy vein must pass under a portion of the town of Jackson. I made an eyesight survey and the result was the location by me of the Good Hope Mine, about midway between Meek's Hill and the mouth of the South Fork of Jackson Creek. I formed a company with three other men and began operations. We offered $25,000 for the mine on a thirty-day operation in 1871, and it would probably have been sold to a company of Chicago capitalists, but the big fire of that year swept them out of existence as capitalists and the deal fell through. I have succeeded in sinking a shaft on the mine to a depth of 140 feet and it has cost me many thousands of dollars since. I located it in July, 1865. I still have faith and hope in the mine. I believe if it was sunk to a proper depth, it would prove to be as rich as any mine ever developed in Amador County and bring prosperity to thousands now unborn.
I stopped placer mining late in the '50s and took up a ranch and have been, ever since, endeavoring to earn an honest living and prevent many dishonest persons cheating me out of my mining and other property. While my mother impressed upon me, before I left her, the precepts of always paying my just debts; of telling the truth; of avoiding gossip; of never indulging in intoxicating drink or tobacco; of keeping my word and of being kind to my fellow-men and all dumb animals, she never warned me against getting into a lawsuit and this has been the bane of my existence. I roughly estimate my experience with the Code of Civil Procedure has cost me $14,000. I have never begun a lawsuit without knowing I was right and d--d be he who says otherwise.
I have always been willing to assist in any way I could to add to the enjoyment of my fellow-men. At the big Pioneers' picnic held near Jackson during the '80s I was selected, on account of my known ability in that line, to cook the pork and beans for the crowd, as that dish was to be the feature of the barbecue. I had two assistants and we cooked four pots, each holding from eighty to one hundred pounds. I also cooked the hams that were to be served cold and sliced. I used a pitchfork to handle the hams and a shovel to serve the beans in large mining pans. Everybody ate them with spoons and didn't seem to know when they had had enough. My favorite dish is pork and beans with young parsnips.
In cooking pork and beans, I first wash and carefully pick the beans over to remove those having a blemish. I then cover them with boiling water and let stand until cool and then put into a pot and cover with clean water. In a separate pot I cook the pork or bacon until it is tender. Then I put the pork and beans together and cook until done. I, myself, prefer some seasoning with a small piece of garlic, some mustard, parsley, pepper and young parsnips.
[The following refers to a picture which could not be reproduced because of its poor condition.] At the head of the table, on the right, is Charley Peters; at the end on the left is his son, daughter-in-law and grandchild; seated in the center, wearing his coat, is Col. Wm. P. Peek, a pioneer of Calaveras County and now a resident of Jackson. He is 87 years of age and as hale and hearty as Mr. Peters. Raising a tin cup in his hand, stands Senator A. Caminetti getting ready to make a speech. The others are Amador pioneers who have passed on.
I married in Jackson in September, 1865, to Miss Lydia Parkinson. My wife died when my son, Charles, was born in September, 1866. My son married Miss Ella McGarr. He died in March, 1909, and his wife passed away in July 1911. I have two grandchildren living: Raymond C. Peters is now 14 years of age and Lena Mary Peters is 12. It is my desire to leave these grandchildren something more than my name, and, if I could sink the Good Hope a thousand feet deeper it would be accomplished.
I am five feet six inches in height and weigh 195 pounds. I have enjoyed perfect health for many years and attribute it to not only inheriting a strong constitution but to my correct habits of living. I eat my food cold. For breakfast I beat up four eggs which I mix with a quart of milk; for flavoring purposes only, I add a tablespoonful of "Old Crow" whiskey. Then I add a supply of bread crumbs. I milk my own cow and my chickens lay my eggs. I usually have pork and beans for supper and only partake of two meals a day.
My favorite beverage is Holland gin, but I have to confine myself to only indulging in it when I am treated and the treating habit seems to be going out of fashion with the younger generation. I am one of the best pedro players in the State but there are only a few of us left.
I have never been active in politics. I was a strong supporter of Abraham Lincoln and General Grant, since which time I have only taken an interest in Senator Caminetti's political aspirations. And now, that I have passed my 90th birthday, I feel confident I can outfight, run, jump, and tango any man of my age in California, and if I was 70 years younger I would not hesitate to aspire to be the "White Hope" of the American people. I challenge any pioneer of my age to cook a pot of pork and beans and make a pot of coffee equal to my own. If he can beat me, I will eat what he cooks. And after a residence of 66 years in our beautiful State I can truthfully say:
I love you California; Your Sunny Land of Bliss;
I love your Mountains and your Peaks,
Your Rivers and your Creeks;
I love your Hills and your Vales,
And your Poppy-covered Dales;
I love your Mines and your Vines,
Your sturdy Oaks and stately Pines;
I love you California and your Tulips I will kiss.
Yours truly,
Charles Peters
Source: Peters, Charles. The Autobiography of Charles Peters. Sacramento:
La Grave Co.,
1915.