San Diego to San Francisco 187 



I left the men at the "French Camp," the first 

 prairie out of the water, five miles to the south-west, 

 and came into Stockton, with Hudson and Boggs 

 and a pack mule to take out provisions for those at 

 the camp. We went into the "Exchange Hotel," 

 which might better be called the "Exchange of 

 Blacklegs." Such a crowd as the bar-room of this 

 hotel presents nightly, cannot be found except 

 where all nations meet. Cards were being pla3^ed 

 for stakes every where, and the crowd around 

 added to the picture, which once seen is difficult 

 to forget. The tall, raw-boned Westerner, bearded 

 and moustached like his Mexican neighbor beside 

 him, the broad-headed German and sallow Span- 

 iard, French, Irish, Scotch, I know not how many 

 nationalities are here represented. I saw even two 

 Chilians with their cold, indifferent air, all mixing 

 together, each man on his guard against his fellow- 

 man. The tight fitting jacket and flowing sarape 

 touch each other, all blending into weirdness in the 

 dim light of a few candles, would that I had time 

 and opportunity to sketch some of the many scenes 

 I beheld. 



Having bought what we required we made our 

 way back to camp through the dark dismal night, 

 wind blowing and rain falling in torrents. 



[No date.'] Today we went up to Stockton 

 again, the approach is through mud and mire, or 

 rather water, reminding one of that at Houston 



