Our Celestial Brothers

The Chinese race played quite a part in the life of pioneer California. The lust for gold brought them into the mining districts. In Camptonville there were two Chinatowns - one out in back at the end of Brooks Lane, which was extinct before my time, and the other to the left of Main Street, down back of the present hotel. This one I can recall vividly.

At the time there were two of them, the celestial population amounted to about 500 persons, most of them men, although there were a few women. The only one that I can remember was China Mary, who was a short, stocky Chinese woman, with all the garb and characteristics of the Chinese women at that day and age.

There was a Chinese cemetery, back of and east of Highway 49, up and behind the Camptonville Garage, and a funeral was a big event. Along with all the wailing, the procession from town to the cemetary was a colorful affair, with the usual red papers with Chinese writing scattered behind the procession to scare away the devil. And a most elaborate arrangement of food, consisting of a roast pig with all the trimmings, was taken along and placed upon the grave. After the thing was over, some of the bums around town would go over and have a repast with all the fine food. In later years, all of the bones of the Chinese buried in this cemetary were dug up and shipped to China, and now not a single grave remains in the long forgotten Chinese Cemetery.

The China Town which I knew was a colorful place, and I regret that no one at the time had enough sense to take a picture of it. (Of course, in that day and age cameras were not plentiful.) The houses were wall-to-wall together. They were meagerly furnished with crude tables and benches, and the beds were the bunk type, with a board for a pillow. They never slept with pillows. In front of each door on the porch, was a jar, usually an empty ginger jar, filled with sand, in which most all day punks were burning; this, also, I believe had something to do with scaring away the devil. On each front door, in the middle of it, was plastered some red papers with Chinese writing; these were renewed from time to time.

In each house, a pot of tea was on the table, and one could partake of cold tea at any time of the day; this they drank mostly instead of water or other beverages. Their dishes were purely Chinese, which at this day and age would demand a premium price, for the historical value if nothing else, and of course, knives and forks were unknown, chopsticks being the only implement for eating. (And I had a hell of a time trying to use them whenever I ate with them, which was occasionally.)

In one fairly central location, they had a large barrel buried in the ground, which was more or less a community project, and into which they emptied their urine and other sewage, diluted it with water, and used it to irrigate their gardens. Also, it was not uncommon to see a dead cat hanging on the clothes line, being dried for food at a future time.

These Chinese were of the old-country type, wearing long cues and the usual Chinese clothing. They did not speak English very well; in fact, some of them could not talk it at all. My grandfather was fairly well versed in the Chinese language, and could talk to most any of them...

I do not recall many of the names of the Chinese I knew in the local population, but the few included, along with the two above mentioned, Rat Eye (I do not know what his proper name was). He had been injured in an explosion and had a crippled hand, and his face was somewhat deformed; he was a good old soul, but could not say a word of English, and it certainly was a chore to try to wait on him in the store. Another was Ah Fong; then Ah Chung, this one was quite an intelligent person who lived in a little cabin near Garden Valley. Ah Sing lived in Garden Valley; he worked hard all his life to get enough money to go to China with, and when he finally accomplished it and left for China with all his money, he got as far as Stockton, where he was robbed and murdered. Rat Eye was the last survivor of the Chinese population in this community, and after he died, there were no more. The old were gone, and no new ones ever came.

Their meager cabins were scattered throughout this area. Here and there in every direction could be found a cabin, in some secluded spot near a creek where the panning or sluicing was good, and about weekly or monthly, they would come to our store to sell their gold dust.

They were mostly all good honest citizens, and did well by the community, considering the half a chance they had with the tormenting and other cruel practices that were played upon them by the white population. They did have peculiar medicinal habits, using herbs and reptiles. They made medicine from horn toads and rattlesnakes, and paid a price for these when caught. One time one of the Hansons was below town and in jumping over a log, was bit on the arm by a rattlesnake. It happened right near a Chinaman's cabin, and the Chinaman made him come in, lay down, and be quiet while he went out into the woods, picked some herbs of some kind, came back in and stewed them up on the stove, plastered them on the bite, and within a short time, the victim was able to proceed on home and had no bad results from the ordeal...

The other one who worked for us for years was Ah Suey, a cook. He cooked for us, both at my grandmother's house and at the hotel when we ran it. Ah Suey was a good cook; he wore a long cue, and once in a while in the large, light, fluffy, raised biscuits which he used to make, one would find a que hair curled up in the middle of it! He had the rheumatism, and at one time paid someone to catch a rattlesnake for him, put the snake in a large fruit jar, and filled it full of whiskey, which of course drowned the snake, and after it cured for some little time, Suey used to take a small glassful each day for his rheumatism. This he kept in my grandmother's cellar for quite some time. It was perfectly safe, as none of the other drinkers in the vicinity cared for that kind of a hi-ball!!