Of Captain Jack
Mellon, the noted pilot of the Colorado river, adding that he was
undoubtedly one of the most picturesque characters who had ever
lived on the Pacific Coast and that he had died some years ago.
And so he was really dead! And perhaps the others too, were all
gone from the earth, I thought when one day I received a
communication from an entire stranger, who informed me that the
writer of the review in the San Francisco newspaper had been
mistaken in the matter of Captain Mellon's death, that he had
seen him recently and that he lived at San Diego. So I wrote to
him and made haste to forward him a copy of my book, which
reached him at Yuma, on the Colorado, and this is what he wrote:
YUMA, Dec. 15th, 1908.
My dear Mrs. Summerhayes:
Your good book and letter came yesterday p. m., for which accept
my thanks. My home is not in San Diego, but in Coronado, across
the bay from San Diego. That is the reason I did not get your
letter sooner.
In one hour after I received your book, I had orders for nine of
them. All these books go to the official force of the Reclamation
Service here who are Damming the Colorado for the Government
Irrigation Project. They are not Damming it as we formerly did,
but with good solid masonry. The Dam is 4800 feet long and 300
feet wide and 10 feet above high water. In high water it will
flow over the top of the Dam, but in low water the ditches or
canals will take all the water out of the River, the approximate
cost is three million. There will be a tunnel under the River at
Yuma just below the Bridge, to bring the water into Arizona which
is thickly settled to the Mexican Line.
I have done nothing on the River since the 23rd of last August,
at which date they closed the River to Navigation, and the only
reason I am now in Yumai s trying to get something from
Government for my boats made useless by the Dam. I expect to get
a little, but not a tenth of what they cost me.
Your book could not have a better title: it is "Vanished Arizona"
sure enough, vanished the good and warm Hearts that were here
when you were. The People here now are cold blooded as a snake
and are all trying to get the best of the other fellow.
There are but two alive that were on the River when you were on
it. Polhemus and myself are all that are left, but I have many
friends on this coast.
* * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * * *
* * *
The nurse Patrocina died in Los Angeles last summer and the
crying kid Jesusita she had on the boat when you went from
Ehrenberg to the mouth of the River grew up to be the finest
looking Girl in these Parts; She was the Star witness in a murder
trial in Los Angeles last winter, and her picture was in all of
the Papers.
I am sending you a picture of the Steamer "Mojave" which was not
on the river when you were here. I made 20 trips with her up to
the Virgin River, which is 145 miles above Fort Mojave, or 75
miles higher than any other man has gone with a boat: she was 10
feet longer than the "Gila" or any other boat ever on the River.
(Excuse this blowing but it's the truth).
In 1864 I was on a trip down the Gulf of California, in a small
sail boat and one of my companions was John Stanton. In Angel's
Bay a man whom we were giving a passage to, murdered my partner
and ran off with the boat and left Charley Ticen, John Stanton
and myself on the beach. We were seventeen days tramping to a
village with nothing to eat but cactus but I think I have told
you the story before and what I want to know, is this Stanton
alive. He belonged to New Bedford - his father had been master of
a whale-ship.
When we reached Guaymas, Stanton found a friend, the mate of a
steamer, the mate also belonged to New Bedford. When we parted,
Stanton told me he was going home and was going to stay there,
and as he was two years younger than me, he may still be in New
Bedford, and as you are on the ground, maybe you can help me to
find out.
All the people that I know praise your descriptive power and now
my dear Mrs. Summerhayes I suppose you will have a hard time
wading through my scrawl but I know you will be generous and
remember that I went to sea when a little over nine years of age
and had my pen been half as often in my hand as a marlin spike, I
would now be able to write a much clearer hand.
I have a little bungalow on Coronado Beach, across the bay from
San Diego, and if you ever come there, you or your husband, you
are welcome; while I have a bean you can have half. I would like
to see you and talk over old times. Yuma is quite a place now; no
more adobes built; it is brick and concrete, cement sidewalks and
flower gardens with electric light and a good water system.
My home is within five minutes walk of the Pacific Ocean. I was
born at Digby, Nova Scotia, and the first music I ever heard was
the surf of the Bay of Fundy, and when I close my eyes forever I
hope the surf of the Pacific will be the last sound that will
greet my ears.
