W. Boring of San
Jose. From here I went to Marysville. The storm had been raging high in
the mountains for some days, and the Yuba river rising fast, overflowing
its banks as I walked into town, and the next day the merchants were
very busy piling their goods above high water mark. I went to a hotel
and called for a bed. "Yes," says the landlord "Is your name John or
Peter?" I told him William, which he set down in his book and we went up
stairs to the best room which was fitted up with berths three tiers high
on each side, and only one or two empty ones. He looked around for
covers, but none could be found unoccupied, but one fellow who was sound
asleep and snoring awfully, so he took the blanket off from him saying:
"He wont know a thing about it till morning, be jabers, so don't say a
word."
Next morning the river was booming, its surface covered with all sorts
of mining outfit such as flume timber, rockers, various qualities of
lumber, pieces of trees as well as whole ones, water wheels and other
traps. The river between Downieville and here must have been swept clean
of all material that would float, including "long Toms." The water
continued to rise till it covered the Plaza, and in two days a steamer
came up and sailed across the public square. This looked like a wet
season to me, and when the boat was ready to go down the river I went on
board, bound for Sacramento. Here it was also getting terrible wet and
muddy, and the rain kept pouring down.
Pages:
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529