cams_Willshire_b16_F007_001_001

Cosumnes River Gold Mines June 8^th 1850

Dear Sarah

I thought I could employ my time, to
no better purpose, than to write you a few lines, giving
a short sketch of my California life. Before I go any
farther, I must beg you to excuse my miserable scrawling
which I term, though misname, writing, and I will satisfy
you why I write so miserable a hand. Last winter for about
two months, I experienced a severe sickness, called the Typhoyd [Typhoid]
or Mountain Fever, by which I came very near paying the last
debt of nature; had it not been for one of my partners, named
Henry T. Davis, who waded nearly up to his arm-pitts [armpits]
in water in the winter for a physician and had it not been
for his excelent [excellent] care of me, I should not be writing this
letter: the doctor said, he expected to visit my grave instead of me:
God was pleased to let me recover though I lost my speech and my
sickness seriously effected my right hand and left leg.

Many of my fellow passengers are dead and many of my companions
young men belonging to Wethersfield. I should be thankful to
God for sparing my life, but I am afraid that I am not
enough so although he spared my life twice since I have been
in the country: I would do any thing for Davis if it were die
for him, therefore I ought to be more thankful, but we are
ungrateful creatures the best of us.

Now I will give you an account how near I came loosing my life
last summer.

A number of my fellow – passengers and myself were beating