Humboldt Bay, Cal.
March 25th 1854
I have had just one solitary letter from you since I arrived at this place and that was written about October of last year. I cannot believe that you have neglected to write all this time but it does seem hard that I should not hear from you. I am afraid too that many of my letters do not reach you. The only way of mailing them is to give them to a Captain of a vessel to put them in the Post Office at San Francisco, which, if he does, they are all safe, but I have no doubt but that many times they never spend a second thought about letters entrusted to them.
April 3d After geting as far as I have done in this letterI was interupted by the entrance of some officers, from continuing for the evening and as the bar at the outlet of the bay was so rough as to prevent vessels from going out for some days I have not taken it up until now. There has been no vessel going out since. The irregularity of mails is an annoyance which can only be appreciated by those who suffer from it. We here however do not suffer from it so much as at two or three stations in this (by government) neglected country. It is very much to be feared that even this last place is to be abandoned for another in the interior where none, or but very poor quarters, will be found. The best we can expect is to go to fort Jones 1 where the buildings were hastily run up by the soldiers. They are just rough log penns, covered over, with places for a door & window but left without these luxuries as well as without floors. Mrs. Collins was there for two or three months where she says she had to live in one of these penns cooking, eating, sleeping and receiving calls from officers, all in but one of these small apartments. Here we are better off having each two comfortable rooms, plastered and with a brick chimney, to each. Mr. Hunt