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Title: History of the big bonanza
Author: Dan De Quille
Release date: November 2, 2024 [eBook #74667]
Language: English
Original publication: United States: American Publishing Company
Credits: deaurider, KD Weeks, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was produced from images generously made available by The Internet Archive)
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[Illustration: GOLD HILL]
[Illustration: CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINE.]
HISTORY OF
THE BIG BONANZA:
AN AUTHENTIC ACCOUNT OF THE DISCOVERY, HISTORY, AND WORKING OF THE
WORLD RENOWNED
COMSTOCK SILVER LODE OF NEVADA
INCLUDING THE
PRESENT CONDITION OF THE VARIOUS MINES SITUATED THEREON;
SKETCHES OF THE MOST PROMINENT MEN INTERESTED IN
THEM; INCIDENTS AND ADVENTURES CONNECTED WITH
MINING, THE INDIANS, AND THE COUNTRY;
AMUSING STORIES, EXPERIENCES,
ANECDOTES, &C., &C.
AND A FULL
EXPOSITION OF THE PRODUCTION OF PURE SILVER
BY
DAN DE QUILLE.
(WILLIAM WRIGHT.)
=PROFUSELY ILLUSTRATED.=
-------
SOLD BY SUBSCRIPTION ONLY.
-------
HARTFORD, CONN.:
AMERICAN PUBLISHING COMPANY.
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.:
A. L. BANCROFT & CO.
1876.
Entered according to act of Congress, in year 1876 by
AMERICAN PUBLISHING CO.,
in the office of the Librarian of Congress at Washington.
INTRODUCTORY.
-------
One easily gets a surface-knowledge of any remote country, through the
writings of travellers. The inner life of such a country is not very
often presented to the reader. The outside of a strange house is
interesting, but the people, the life, and the furniture inside, are far
more so.
Nevada is peculiarly a surface-known country, for no one has written of
that land who had lived long there and made himself competent to furnish
an inside view to the public. I think the present volume supplies this
defect in an eminently satisfactory way. The writer of it has spent
sixteen years in the heart of the silver-mining region, as one of the
editors of the principal daily newspaper of Nevada; he is thoroughly
acquainted with his subject, and wields a practised pen. He is a
gentleman of character and reliability. Certain of us who have known him
personally during half a generation are well able to testify in this
regard.
MARK TWAIN.
HARTFORD, May, 1876.
TO
JOHN MACKEY, ESQ.,
_PRINCE OF MINERS_,
AND
“BOSS” OF THE BIG BONANZA,
IS THIS BOOK
RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED.
PREFACE.
-------
I have put all I had to say into the body of this book; but, being
informed that a preface is a necessary evil, I have written this one.
THE AUTHOR.
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.[A]
——————●——————
PAGE.
GOLD HILL FRONTISPIECE
1. CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINE do.
2. KIT CARSON 21
3. “OLD VIRGINIA” AND HIS ROCKER 28
4. TEE PRINCESS SARAH WINNEMUCCA 30
5. JACOB JOB’S LITTLE GAME 31
6. GOLD DIGGINGS IN 1859 44
7. COMSTOCK DISCOVERING SILVER 50
8. AN ARASTRA 58
9. NAMING VIRGINIA CITY 58
10. EUREKA MILLS CARSON RIVER 67
11. COMSTOCK’S AFFINITY 76
12. RETURN OF COMSTOCK’S WIFE 76
13. H. T. P. COMSTOCK 85
14. THE HAPPY BREAKFAST 92
15. O’RILEY AND HIS GUN 97
16. GUIDED BY SPIRITS 98
17. ENCOURAGED BY REVELATIONS 101
18. THE LAST BLAST 101
19. BOUND FOR WASHOE 103
20. D—N WASHOE 103
21. BUSINESS 105
22. GOOD MORNING 107
23. GOING IN 108
24. CHANGE OF MIND 108
25. COMING BACK 108
26. BUSTIN’ THE INJUNCTION 110
27. SAVAGES 126
28. TIMBERING THE MINES 137
29. “HOLD UP YOUR HANDS” 151
30. A BONANZA OF BEEF 151
31. HOISTING WORKS 165
32. THREE FAMOUS MINES 167
33. WASTE ROCK DUMPS OF THE CHOLLAR-POTOSI, SAVAGE, 171
HALE, AND NORCROSS MINES
34. THE BURNING MINE 180
35. OFFICE OF THE CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINES 190
36. ACCIDENTS IN THE MINES 203
37. THE PILGRIM’S LODGINGS 213
38. VIRGINIA CITY 214
39. MISS VIRGINIA TILTON 217
40. COUNTRY AND CITY 220
41. DUMP-PILES OF HALE AND NORCROSS MINES 223
42. WOOD AND WATER 227
43. RHODE ISLAND MILL GOLD HILL 222
44. RESIDENCE OF HON J. P. JONES 222
45. GOLD HILL LOOKING NORTH 237
46. LUMBERING ON LAKE TAHOE 241
47. CAPTURE OF PERKINS 251
48. EXECUTION OF PERKINS 251
49. INDIAN HUNTER AND SQUAWS 261
50. WINNEMUCCA—CHIEF OF THE PIUTES 267
51. PRINCE NATCHEZ 270
52. THE STORY OF THE CAVE 275
53. SHRIMPS 285
54. AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT 291
55. GRINDING AXES 295
56. CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA HOISTING WORKS 299
57. HOISTING CAGE 300
58. HOISTING CARS AND CAGES IN SILVER MINES 305
59. DIAGRAM SHOWING HEIGHT OF MINES 325
60. MERRIMAC MILL, CARSON RIVER 333
61. LOADING SILVER ORE CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINES 337
62. FIRST QUARTZ MINE IN NEVADA 342
63. QUARTZ MILL—AMALGAMATING ROOM 342
64. HOISTING WORKS 349
65. THE TRIAL OF SKILL 363
66. THE SCARED BULLY 379
67. “THE HEATHEN CHINEE” 389
68. SCANNING THE BULLETIN 403
69. FUNNY INCIDENTS 408
70. THE SECRET 411
71. VIEWS AT LAKE TAHOE 414
72. NICK-OF-THE-WOODS 416
73. HANK MONK 416
74. DONNER LAKE 422
75. SUMMIT OF THE SIERRAS 422
76. WINTER AMONG THE MOUNTAINS 424
77. SONG OF THE HONEST MINER 433
78. AT WORK AND AT HOME 441
79. MINERS’ UNION HALL 441
80. THE HOTTEST PLACE 449
81. MINERS’ BATTLES 455
82. SURROUNDINGS 477
83. THE MISSING WELL BOTTOM 503
84. THE MAN-EATER 508
85. JOHN MACKEY 516
86. HON. WM. SHARON 520
87. JAMES G. FAIR 524
88. CAPT. SAMUEL CURTIS 527
89. HON. J. P. JONES 531
90. THE SLAPJACK FEAT 538
91. THE STORY OF PIKE AND TOM 549
[Illustration: CONTENTS]
CHAPTER I.
THE FIRST SETTLERS IN NEVADA.
Facts and Fiction—How the Rivers are Lost—Unwelcome
Visitors—The Washoes—Taking in the Pilgrims. 17
CHAPTER II.
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
“Washing”—Celestials at the Diggings—Original
Papers—Primitive Amusements—Jacob Job’s little Game—A
Delusion and a Snare. 26
CHAPTER III.
ADVENTURES OF EARLY PROSPECTORS.
The Mysterious Brothers—What was found in a Shaft—Pike’s
Great Discovery—“Stuff they Make Compasses of”—Wonderful
travelling Stones. 33
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT THEY DISCOVERED.
“That Blasted Blue Stuff”—“Old Pancake”—A Discovery—John
Bishop’s Story—Unearthly Treasure. 39
CHAPTER V.
Discovery of the Great Comstock—What they threw Away—Old
Pancake Arrives—Questionable Rights—Sold and
“Sold”—Locking up “Old Virginia.” 47
CHAPTER VI.
THE DISCOVER OF SILVER.
“Old Pancake’s” Weakness—Naming the town—An Astounding
Disclosure—Going to the Diggings—A Grand Discovery. 55
CHAPTER VII.
REMINISCENCES OF EARLY MINING-DAYS.
The Old Record Book—Strange Notices—Curious Houses—A Modern
Robinson Crusoe—Before the World—Mills and Arastras. 61
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FATE OF DISCOVERERS.
Thieves in the Camp—An Unpleasant Joke—Sales of Mining
Property—Smelting on a Small Scale—What they Got from the
Furnaces. 70
CHAPTER IX.
COMSTOCK’S MATRIMONY.
“Old Pancake” Courting—Catching a Runaway Wife—Women and
Mischief—Always the Same—Winnie and his Wife—Seeking a New
Bonanza. 77
CHAPTER X.
COMSTOCK’S LETTER.
“Old Pancake’s” Story—Roughing It—The Fate of Old
Virginia—Ole Comstock Dead—A Man who drank but Little. 82
CHAPTER XI.
OLD VIRGINIA AND HIS STORIES.
Prospecting for a dinner—A Skunk Story—O’Riley’s Mistake—A
Duel: Curious Consequences—Flight of the Victor—O’Riley
and his Gun. 89
CHAPTER XII.
MISLED BY THE SPIRITS.
The Great Oil-Tank—An Untapped Reservoir—Going in and Coming
out—Experiences of those who Stayed—Approach of
Spring—“Zephyrs” and Avalanches—A Rather long Night—Queer
Incidents 100
CHAPTER XIII.
EARLY MINING.
“Bring out your Injunction”—Testing Ores for Gold—Testing
Ores for Silver—A Fire Assay—Valuable Donkeys—The Washoe
“Canary” 109
CHAPTER XIV.
MIGRATION ON A LARGE SCALE.
The Migratory Instinct—The Piute War—Battle of Pyramid
Lake—Second Expedition—The Survivors of the Slaughter 116
CHAPTER XV.
TROUBLE WITH THE INDIANS.
An Unlucky Dutchman—Skirmishing—An Appeal to Indian
Justice—After the Scalps—Old Gus, and his “Injun.” 121
CHAPTER XVI.
STATE OF SOCIETY.
Organization Begun—In Search of the Gold—Fighting Sam
Brown—The Knife and the Pistol—Pugnacious Periods. 128
CHAPTER XVII.
EARLY COMSTOCK MINING OPERATIONS.
In the Heart of the Bonanza—Inside the Mine—Extraordinary
Experiments—“Process Peddlers” and their Devices—The Value
of Tailings—Neat way of making Rings—Waste of Gold and
Silver 133
CHAPTER XVIII.
LOSS OF THE PRECIOUS METALS.
Floating Treasure—Where the Quicksilver Goes—An Unanswered
Question—Floating Away 143
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SOCIAL ASPECT OF THE TERRITORY.
Footpads on the “Divide”—Attacking a Dutchman—Mysterious
Disappearances—Search for the Missing—A Bonanza of
Beef—Where did they go to? 146
CHAPTER XX.
THE MOUNTAIN REGION OF NEVADA.
Providing for his Friends—The Sierra Nevada Mountains—The
Ascent of Mount Davidson—An Eclipse—Going Back to the
City—A Majestic Scene. 154
CHAPTER XXI.
THE SIERRAS.
How the Fissures were Formed—Formation of Quartz and
Ores—How the Comstock Vein was Found—Disagreeable
“Pinching”—Never Discouraged. 160
CHAPTER XXII.
BONANZA AND BORRASCA.
Sales of Stock—A Day’s Vicissitudes—Speculations—An
Infallible Maxim—Mr. Frank’s Devices—_Nada Bonanza_. 165
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOW THE MINES ARE WORKED.
Hoisting the “Giraffe”—Deserted Shafts—Perilous Ways and
Dark Places—What they saw in the Night—Rather
Astonished—Poisoned. 170
CHAPTER XXIV.
FIREDAMP.—A MINE IN FLAMES.
Yellow-Jacket Mine in a Blaze—A Scene of Horror—The Victims
Subduing the Flames—The Work of Destruction—Scenes at the
Mouth of the Shaft—On Fire for three Years—Missing Men. 176
CHAPTER XXV.
DEATH IN THE MINE.
Explosions of Firedamp—How Gas is formed in the
Mines—Searching for the Dead—What the Giant-powder Did—The
Inquest, and the Dead—Carelessness of the Miners. 186
CHAPTER XXVI.
DESTRUCTION OF THE BELCHER SHAFT.
Progress of the Flames—Descending the Burning Shaft—Danger—A
Cave in the Mine—Deluge of Fire—Courage of the Men—Still
Burning—A Warm Comparison—The Centre of the Earth. 191
CHAPTER XXVII.
WAR IN THE MINE.
Smoking out the Enemy—The Early days of Washoe—Amiable
Miners—The Kossuth and the Alhambra—Causes of Fear—A
Little Mischief—Burnt Rags. 197
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
The Adventures of Four Miners—Fixed—A Struggle for
Life—Dangerous Playthings—Exploding with a Scratch—Those
little Copper Cylinders—Loss of Noses and Thumbs. 201
CHAPTER XXIX.
MINING FATALITIES.
Tumbling down Two Thousand Feet—Blown to Atoms—A Singular
Accident—Automatic Safety—Origin of Accidents—The Pilgrim
in a Coffin—Shuffling out the “Corpse”. 208
CHAPTER XXX.
TOWNS OF THE BIG BONANZA.
The First-born of Virginia City—A Comical
Newspaper-Office—Growing like Mushrooms—A little
Picture—Among the Rubbish-Dumps—Big Loads—“See for
Yourselves.” 215
CHAPTER XXXI.
RAILROAD LINES.
Travelling in a Circle—Through the Six Tunnels—Crooked
Roads—Side-tracks and Other Devices—The Way the Iron Horse
Goes—The Men on the Line—Timed by Telegraph. 227
CHAPTER XXXII.
AN ENGINEERING TRIUMPH.
Spring Business—Tapping the Hills—Dams Constructed—What Mr.
Shussler Did—The Big Water-Pipe—Testing the Siphon—Great
Rejoicings—The Work Completed. 231
CHAPTER XXXIII.
HOW WOOD IS CUT IN THE SIERRAS.
The Forests of the Mountains—A Daring Leap—The Rafts on Lake
Tahoe—Descending the Flumes—Vanishing Forests—Coal
Deposits of Nevada. 238
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE “SIX HUNDRED AND ONE.”
A Mysterious Society—Afraid—Led forth to Death—The fate of
Perkins—“Another Man Gone”—Kirk’s Fate—Venturing too
Far—“You see he Stayed.” 247
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE WASHOE ZEPHYR.
An Unpleasant Breeze—“Sleep no More”—A Jackass on the
Wing—Weird Scenes—The Artist’s Soul—Light and
Shade—Mountain Scenery—The Giants of the Sierras. 255
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE RED PROPRIETORS.
The Piutes and the other Reds—A Strange Pair—Old
Winnemucca—The Woman who made the Indians—The Indians’
Ancestress—The Piute Brave—Big Injuns. 259
CHAPTER XXXVII.
WINNEMUCCA AND HIS BRAVES.
On the War-path—An Interview with the Chief—A White
Indian—Captain Truckee—John’s Funeral Oration—The
“Princess.” Sarah. 266
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE.
Juan’s Spanish Speculation—The Devil’s Visit to
Earth—Cooking the Sage—What was It?—Piute Theology—_Poco
Tiempo_—“Plenty Old”—Jim and his Ducks. 272
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CONCERNING “LO” AND HIS FAMILY.
A Little Warrior in a Fix—Only a Shrimp—Piutes in Virginia
City—The Lord and His Lady—How the Little Ones Came—The
Early Settler—Adam and Eve—A Model Parent—An Important
Occasion—Sam’s Theft. 282
CHAPTER XL.
A VISIT TO THE MINES.
Above Ground—Suspicious Attacks—How the Cage is Worked—Great
Responsibility—Cages, Reels, and Cables—Comical Disguises. 293
CHAPTER XLI.
DESCENDING IN THE SAFETY-CAGE.
Our Conductor—Downward—Unpleasant Possibilities—Safety—A
Blessed Inventor—The Price of Stock—Vasquez and His
Friends—The Carman. 301
CHAPTER XLII.
BELOW THE SURFACE.
Tumbling down a Chute—Timbering a Mine—Taking Samples—What
the “Giraffe” can Carry—Gnomes of the
Mine—Troglodytes—What is “Sumpf?” 310
CHAPTER XLIII.
CURIOSITIES OF VENTILATION.
Draughts and Drifts—Machinery of the Lower-Levels—Southward
Currents—Use of Compressed Air—Industrious little Engines. 317
CHAPTER XLIV.
UNDERGROUND BUSINESS ARRANGEMENTS.
Changing Shifts—A Shift-Boss’s Report—Useful Items—Modern
Troglodytes—Shirtless but Hot—Fights and Factions. 322
CHAPTER XLV.
GHOST-HAUNTED SHAFTS.
Rats—Unwelcome Visitors—Chasing the Ghost—Cornered. 329
CHAPTER XLVI.
EXTRACTING SILVER FROM THE ORE.
The Reduction-Works—Working the Machinery—The
Batteries—Preparing the Ore—The Amalgamating-Room—Two
Processes. 336
CHAPTER XLVII.
ASSAYS OF THE SILVER BULLION.
How Quicksilver Vanishes—Charging the Retorts—Ladling out
the Molten Silver—How Assays are Made—Results. 346
CHAPTER XLVIII.
SALOON-BIRDS.
Big Eaters—Recognizing Murphy—A Nice Little Supper—What he
Did with his Gun—“A Devil of a Time”—“A Nice Agreeable
Gentleman.” 354
CHAPTER XLIX.
SOME VERY QUEER CUSTOMERS.
A trifling Accident—Blazer and His Friends—A Little
Misunderstanding—“Couldn’t Drink Alone”—“I’ll bring in the
Rabble”—The Deacon Sent For—Resurrection!—“Awful big
Gooses.” 362
CHAPTER L.
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.
A Fuddled Pillar—Philosophical Advice—“Don’t Git Married
Afferd”— Mr. Jones’s Guest—The War-hoss of the
Hills—Something of a Fighter—Beating a Retreat—“Jim Carter
or the Devil.” 371
CHAPTER LI.
THE “HEATHEN CHINEE.”
A Strange Mixture of Duties—Wicked Mongolian Tricks—’Melican
and Chinaman Compared—A Ghostly Difference—Restless
Spirits. 382
CHAPTER LII.
CHINESE OPIUM-DENS.
How they Smoke the Drug—Babel—Street-Scenes in Virginia
City—Voices of the People—Hard Cash—The Grasshopper Man. 388
CHAPTER LIII.
HOW FORTUNES ARE MADE AND LOST.
Bulls and Bears—Doings of the Brokers—On a Margin—“Pussy-Cat
Wilde” and “Bobtaile”—Going Up!—Dealers and Dabblers. 397
CHAPTER LIV.
CURIOUS SPECULATIONS IN STOCK.
Old Joe’s Disaster—A New Excitement—Sharp Doings—“The
Greatest Buy on the Lead”—A Lady’s Speculation. 405
CHAPTER LV.
HOLIDAYS AND FUN.
Romantic Scenery—A Curious Freak of Nature—Lake Tahoe—Hank
Monk—He Couldn’t tell a Lie—Practical Joking—The Summit. 413
CHAPTER LVI.
TERRIBLE STORY OF THE DONNERS.
Donner Lake—Lost in the Snow—A Horrible Scene—What became of
the Donners—The Sulphur Springs—The Golden State. 420
CHAPTER LVII.
TRACES OF THE TRICKSY MINER.
A Neat little Game—What Doubting Thomas Found—“Doctoring” a
Tape-line—Devices of an Honest Man—What a Stockholder
Found. 427
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE PARADISE OF BOGUS MINERS.
“Me Ketch um There”—Doings of the Roving Miner—The “Goddess
of Poverty”—The Bully Honest Miner. 432
CHAPTER LIX.
PAY-DAY AT THE MINES.
Among the Employés—Miners’ Union—Labor and Capital—A Heavy
Pay-list—Where the Money Goes to—“Steamer Day.” 439
CHAPTER LX.
THE HOTTEST PLACE IN THE MINE.
Secrecy—“Booming” Stock—Adventures of a French Count—Left in
the Dark—Making it Hot for Him—Rescued—Polite to the Last. 446
CHAPTER LXI.
UNDERGROUND BATTLES.
The Beginning of Trouble—The Contest—“Fighting Interests.” 454
CHAPTER LXII.
THE WEALTH OF THE WORLD.
Mines of Ancient Days—The Yield of American Mines—Humboldt’s
Curious Calculations—Varied Fortunes—The Plum in the
Pudding—Value of the Different Levels—Searching in the
Dark. 461
CHAPTER LXIII.
FLUCTUATIONS OF FORTUNE.
The Comstock Mines—Hidden Treasure—A Great Sensation—The
Excitement Increases—Panic—A Millionaire’s Advice. 460
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE RICHEST SPOT IN THE WORLD.
The Grand Gallery—Glittering Caverns—The World’s Greatest
Treasure-Store—“Ventilation”—A “Horse” in the Mine. 479
CHAPTER LXV.
AGGREGATED WEALTH.
A Fortune in one Foot—Future Prospects—What Yet
Remains—Undiscovered Bonanza—Figures before Facts—Facts
After Figures—Distribution of the Wealth—Its Influence. 487
CHAPTER LXVI.
CONCERNING VENTILATION.
Too hot for Comfort—Blowers—Down Deep—The Sutro Tunnel. 496
CHAPTER LXVII.
BELOW THE WATER-DEPOSITS.
Deeper than a Well—Bottom Dropped Out—Creeping
Propensities—A Skull Discovered—An Unlucky Slip. 501
CHAPTER LXVIII.
SOME INTERESTING CREATURES.
Carson City—Lizards and Scorpions—A Pleasing Insect—A Wicked
way of Laying Eggs—Another Agreeable Insect. 509
CHAPTER LXIX.
MILLIONAIRE PROPRIETORS.
Mr. John Mackey—The Hon. William Sharon—How his Fortune was
Made—Mr. James C. Fair—Mr. Samuel S. Curtis—The Hon. J. P.
Jones—A Big Business. 517
CHAPTER LXX.
FUN AND FROLIC.
A Secret Expedition—Bitten by a Snake—All a Mistake—Camping
Out— Manufacture of Slapjacks—“It never came Down.” 533
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE BRIGHT SIDE OF PROSPECTING.
Off for the Land of Gold—Something in his Boot—Afraid of
Tom—Tom’s Intentions—Pike Outwitted—Left Behind. 540
CHAPTER LXXII.
THE COMICAL STORY OF PIKE.
Tom Sings—The Joke Successful—Pike Vanishes—A Pretty Big
Story—Doubtful Dreams—Self-deceived—Our Journey’s End. 547
CHAPTER I.
HE FIRST SETTLERS IN NEVADA.
The bare mention of a mine of silver calls up in most minds visions of
glittering wealth and a world of romantic situations and associations.
All no doubt have read the story of the Indian hunter, Diego Hualca,
who, in the year 1545, discovered the world-famous silver-mine of
Potosi, Peru. How, while climbing up the face of a steep mountain in
pursuit of a wild goat, this fortunate hunter laid hold upon a bush, in
order to pull himself up over a steep ledge of rocks, and how the bush
was torn out by the roots, when lo! wonderful store of wealth was laid
bare. In the roots of the upturned bush, and in the soil of the spot
whence it was torn, the eyes of the lone Indian hunter beheld masses of
glittering silver.
Having all our lives had in mind this romantic story, and having a
thousand times pictured to ourselves the great, shining lumps of native
silver, as they lay exposed in the black soil before that Indian, who
stood alone in a far-away place on the wild mountain, we are apt to
imagine that something of the same kind is to be seen wherever a
silver-mine exists. Besides, we have all heard the stories told by the
old settlers of the Atlantic States in regard to the wonderful mines of
silver known to the Indians in early days.
Hardly a State in the Union but has its legend of a silver-mine known to
the red-men when they inhabited the country. This mine was pretty much
the same in every State and in every region. Upon the removal of a large
flat stone an opening resembling the mouth of a cavern was seen.
Entering this, you found yourself in a great crevice in the rocks, and
the sides of this crevice were lined with silver, which you forthwith
proceeded to hew and chip off with a hatchet kindly furnished you by
your Indian guide. You worked rapidly, as, according to contract, you
had but a limited time to remain in the mine. When the Indian at your
side announced your time up, the tomahawk was taken from your hand, even
though you might have an immense mass detached, save a mere clinging
thread.
Only men who had saved the life of some Indian of renown were ever led
to these silver caverns and they were invariably obliged to submit to be
blindfolded, so that none of them were ever able to find their way back
to the mines they had been shown.
These and kindred stories have placed masses of native silver, and
deposits of rich ores of silver very near to the surface of the ground,
in the popular mind. No doubt there are many places in the world where
native silver exists almost upon the present surface, as was the case in
the Potosi mine, in Peru, and as was the case with the rich deposit of
silver ore first found on the Comstock lode, but those who visit the
present mines of the Comstock will find little in them that at all
agrees with their preconceived notions of silver-mines. On the surface
they will find nothing that is glittering, nothing that is at all
romantic. The soil looks much the same as in any other mountainous
region, and the rocks seem to have a very ordinary look to the
inexperienced eye. The general hue of the hills is a yellowish-brown,
and all about through the rents in the ashen-hued sagebrush which
clothes the country, peep jagged piles of granite—the bones of the land,
showing through its rags.
In sketching the history of the famous Comstock silver lode of Nevada,
however, and of the bonanza mines, situated on that lode, it seems
proper to begin by giving a brief account of the first settlement of the
country, when known as Western Utah, and under Mormon, if under any
rule; also, to chronicle what is to be gathered in regard to the finding
of gold-diggings in that region, the working of which finally resulted
in the discovery of the richest silver-mines in the world.
Nevada, as at present bounded, extends from the 35th to the 42d degree
of north latitude, and from the 114th to the 120th degree west longitude
from Greenwich.
The area of the State is 112,190 square miles, or 71,801,819 acres.
Assuming the water-surface of the several lakes in the State to cover an
area of 1,690 square miles, or 1,081,819 acres, there remain 110,500
square miles, or 70,720,000 acres as the land-area of the State.
I do not know that this is correct to the fraction of an acre, but, when
the quality of the greater part of the land is considered, I don’t think
anybody is likely to come along and make trouble about the measurement.
The Sierra Nevada Mountains, with long lines of snowy peaks towering to
the clouds, form the western boundary of the State and rise far above
any mountain ranges lying to the westward in the Great Basin region, a
region largely made up of alkali deserts and rugged, barren hills, yet a
country abounding in all manner of minerals.
The rivers of Nevada are none of them of great size. They all pour their
waters into lakes that have no outlet, where they sink into the earth or
are dissipated by the active evaporation that goes on in all this region
during the greater part of the year. Each river empties into its lake,
or what in that country is called its “sink.” Not a river of them all
gets out of the State or through any other river reaches the sea.
This condition of the rivers of Nevada was once thus curiously accounted
for by an old mountaineer and prospector. Said he:
“The way it came about was in this wise—The Almighty, at the time he
was creatin’ and fashionin’ of this here yearth, got along to this
section late on Saturday evening. He had finished all of the great
lakes, like Superior, Michigan, Huron, Erie and them—had made the
Ohio, Missouri and Mississippi rivers, and, as a sort of wind-up, was
about to make a river that would be far ahead of anything he had yet
done in that line. So he started in and traced out Humboldt River, and
Truckee River, and Walker River, and Reese River, and all the other
rivers, and he was leadin’ of them along, calkerlatin’ to bring ’em
all together into one big boss river and then lead that off and let it
empty into the Gulf of Mexico or the Gulf of California, as might be
most convenient; but as he was bringin’ down and leadin’ along the
several branches—the Truckee, Humboldt, Carson, Walker, and them—it
came on dark and instead of trying to carry out the original plan, he
jist tucked the lower ends of the several streams into the ground,
whar they have remained from that day to this.”
Carson River and Carson Valley were named in honor of Kit Carson, the
famous Indian fighter, trapper, and guide, who visited that region as
early as 1833. He was accompanied by old Jim Beckworth, once chief of
the Crow Indians, three Crow Indians and some white trappers—nine men in
all. The party passed over the Sierra Nevada Mountains to California.
Thirteen years later when with Col. J. C. Fremont, Kit Carson followed
his old trail in crossing the Sierras, going in the direction of Bear
River, and at last, ascending a high hill in the neighborhood of where
Rough-and-Ready, California, now stands, Kit struck a landmark he well
remembered. Pointing out the blue peaks of the Marysville Buttes, seen
far away in the smoky distance, he said, “Yonder lies the valley of the
Sacramento!”
At the time of the discovery of silver, the principal settlement in that
part of Utah which afterwards became the Territory and eventually the
State of Nevada, was at Genoa, now the county-seat of Douglas county and
situated about fourteen miles south of Carson City, the capital of the
State. To all who crossed the Plains, on their way to the gold-fields of
California, in the early days, Genoa was known as “Mormon Station,” a
name it continued to bear for some years. Even after the name had been
changed to Genoa, many of the old settlers persisted in calling the
place Mormon Station.
The first building of a permanent character erected in Genoa was built
by Col. John Reese, who came from Salt Lake City early in the spring of
1851 with a stock of dry-goods. This first structure was a large
log-house, covering an area of forty-five square yards, was in the form
of an L and at one time formed two sides of a pentagon-shaped fort.
Colonel Reese bought the land on which the town of Genoa now stands,
with a farm adjoining, of Captain Jim, of the Washoe tribe of Indians,
for two sacks of flour.
[Illustration: KIT CARSON.]
Besides the settlement at Mormon Station, a settlement, also by Mormons,
was commenced in the spring of 1853 at Franktown, Washoe Valley. Quite a
little hamlet was formed at Franktown; and others of the colony settled
at various points along the west side of the valley at the base of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. Several Mormon families still reside in this
neighborhood and occasionally the voice of the Mormon preacher is yet to
be heard.
Orson Hyde, a man of considerable note at Salt Lake, had in charge the
spiritual and temporal welfare of the Mormon settlements in the early
days, he being both preacher and Justice of the Peace.
At this time in the history of the country there was no town in Eagle
Valley, where Carson City now stands. The first building erected in that
neighborhood was at Eagle Ranche, from which ranche the valley took its
name. This place was afterwards better known as King’s Ranche, a name it
still bears. Two or three houses were next built on the present site of
Carson City, but the town was not regularly laid out until 1858, when
the land was purchased by Major Ormsby, who gave the place the name it
now bears.
Although these early settlements were made upon lands belonging to the
Washoe Indians, a tribe of considerable strength at the time, yet no
very serious battles were ever had with them. The whites, however, who
were at first a mere handful, Mormons and “Gentiles,” all told, stood in
considerable awe of the redskins. They were obliged to quietly endure
not a few insults from some of the bullies of the tribe, who had a
fashion of walking into houses and making themselves at home in the
cupboards. They were often exceedingly insolent, and when only women and
children were found at a house, always managed to frighten them into
giving up most of the provisions about the place.
In one instance, however, an Indian who went to the house of a Gentile,
when the only occupants were a boy about twelve years of age and his
sister still younger, met a fate he little anticipated. The Indian,
after regaling himself in the pantry, began threatening the children
with a roasting at the stake, for the purpose of enjoying their fright;
and, finally, whipping out a big knife, began “making believe” to take
the scalp of the little girl. The boy, it would seem, thought they had
had about enough of this foolishness, as he went into an adjoining room,
took down his father’s rifle and returning to where the brave was
flourishing his knife and enjoying himself, shot him dead in his tracks.
The Indian killed was one of the worst in the Washoe tribe, and was
greatly dreaded in all the settlements. The father of the boy who rid
the country of the much-feared Indian bully, was obliged to “pull up
stakes” at once and fly to California for safety.
The Washoes inhabited the eastern slope of the Sierras, and made the
stealing of the stock of the settlers both their business and their
pleasure. Like crows they sat looking down into the valleys from the
tops of the rocky buttresses of the mountains, and when they saw the
coast clear, down they came and gathered in as many animals as they were
able to drive.
Whenever the whites were so incautious as to collect for the purpose of
enjoying a ball or any such social festivity, the Washoes were pretty
sure to know of the affair, and seldom neglected to swoop from their
mountain fastnesses, gathering up and driving away whatever animals they
could find. The trail of the Indian depredators, when followed, was
generally found marked with the remains of roasted horses—the Washoes
having a great fondness for horse-flesh. On the occasion of a ball in
Dayton, as late as 1854, the Washoes came down and “gobbled up” all the
horses of the revellers. The Indians appeared to think this cunning and
a very good joke.
Although Colonel Reese had about his big log-house at Mormon Station, a
strong stockade, that defence was never required as a protection against
the Washoe Indians. The tribe has dwindled away until at the present day
those remaining are few and miserably poor, ragged, filthy, and
spiritless. They now cling to the skirts of the white man and stand in
awe of all surrounding tribes of Indians, even in time of peace.
The settlements thus far mentioned were all scattered along the eastern
base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, but as early as 1851, there were
erected a few temporary structures, principally canvas houses, at
various points to the eastward, along the line of the main “Emigrant
Road.” This, the then grand highway across the continent, after passing
through some of the worst and most dreaded deserts between the Rocky
Mountains and the Sierras, led to the well-watered and fertile valley of
the Carson, a region that doubtless seemed almost a paradise to the
weary emigrant, who for months and months had been toiling over rugged
mountains and across sterile plains.
Mormon Station being directly on the old Hangtown (afterwards
Placerville) Road, then the principal route over the Sierras, drove a
thriving trade with the thousands and tens of thousands of adventurers
who were then pushing their way toward the gold-fields of California.
Seeing that there was money in this trade, not a few adventurers,
principally from Salt Lake and California, established posts on the line
of the road to the eastward of Mormon Station and Eagle Ranche, a few
even pushing out a considerable distance into the deserts. The majority
of these traders, however, returned to California each season, following
in the wake of the last emigrant-trains that came in over the Plains,
and there remained until the tide of emigration began to pour in again
the next year.
These traders furnished the “pilgrims” cheap luxuries at outrageously
high prices, traded for their disabled cattle and swindled them in every
possible manner, as they all considered the emigrant their lawful prey.
CHAPTER II.
THE SEARCH FOR GOLD.
Gold was first discovered in Nevada in the spring of 1850, by some
Mormon emigrants. They had started for California, but so early in the
season that when they arrived at the Carson River they learned that the
snow on the summit of the Sierra Nevada Mountains was still too deep to
allow of their being crossed. This being the case, the party encamped on
the Carson to await the opening of the road.
Having nothing else to do, some of the men of the party began
prospecting for gold. Their camp on the river being at no great distance
from the mouth of the Gold Cañon, the largest cañon in the neighborhood,
they were naturally attracted to it and there began their prospecting
operations.
Although they knew but little about mining, and had only pans with which
to wash the gravel, they found gold sufficiently plentiful to enable
them to make small wages. It does not appear, however, that the
discoverers worked them longer than until they were able to continue
their journey to California.
Other emigrants coming in and encamping on the river learned of the
discovery of gold in the cañon, and, being anxious to begin gold-digging
as soon as possible, did some prospecting along the bed of the ravine.
But the gold being fine (_i. e._, like dust—in fine particles), and the
quantity not being up to their expectations, nearly all pushed on to
California, where they expected to make fortunes in a few weeks or
months; as all believed, that they, through their superior acuteness,
would find places in some of the dark and secret gulches of the Sierras
where they would be able to gather pounds of golden nuggets.
Finally, Spofford Hall, of Fort Wayne, Indiana, arrived across the
Plains and, thinking it a good point at which to establish a permanent
station, erected a substantial log-house at a point not far from the
mouth of the Gold Cañon. This was for some time known as Hall’s Station.
Afterwards it was known as M^cMartin’s Station, the property having been
purchased by James M^cMartin, a man who came across the Plains with Mr.
Hall. This house stood on ground now covered by the town of Dayton and
was still being used as a store at the time of the discovery of silver,
it being then owned by Major Ormsby, killed at Pyramid Lake, in 1860, in
the first battle with the Piutes.
This discovery of gold at the mouth of Gold Cañon was undoubtedly that
which led to the discovery, some years later, of the Comstock lode—the
first step, as it were, to the grand silver discovery of the age. At the
head of Gold Cañon are situated a number of the leading mines of the
Comstock range.
In the spring of 1852 a considerable number of men began working on the
lower part of Gold Cañon, most of them using rockers in their mining
operations. As these men did well, making from $5 to $10 per day, the
number of miners on the cañon was considerably greater in the winter and
spring of 1853, there being as many as two or three hundred men at work.
As there was little water in the bed of the cañon except during the
winter and spring months, few miners were to be seen at work in
summer—seldom more than forty or fifty.
As the miners worked their way up the cañon from bar to bar, a new town
was eventually founded at a point a few miles above the first settlement
at its mouth. This was a little hamlet of a dozen houses of all kinds,
and was christened Johntown. In this little town or “Camp,” as such
places are usually styled in mining countries, lived Henry Comstock, who
gave his name, some years later to the great silver lode; also, Peter
O’Riley and Patrick McLaughlin, the discoverers of the Comstock vein.
“Old Virginia” (James Finney, or Fennimore), in whose honor Virginia
City, the great mining town of Nevada, was named, was also a resident of
Johntown in the early days, as were several other persons who are now
classed among the worthies of the Comstock range.
[Illustration: “OLD VIRGINIA” AT HIS ROCKER.]
From about 1856 up to 1858, Johntown was the “big mining town” of
Western Utah—at least was the headquarters of most of the miners at work
in the country. All told, the camp contained only about a dozen
buildings, some of which were mere shanties, but many of the miners
preferred to camp out during the spring and summer months—they had no
use for houses.
A large number of Chinamen being at work at the mouth of the cañon, near
where the gold was first discovered, that place finally became known as
“Chinatown,” a name which it long retained, though the whites who
settled there did not much fancy the name. They gave the place the name
of Mineral Rapids, but this did not take; then there was danger of it
being christened Nevada City, but the citizens rose in their might and
at a meeting, held November 3d. 1861, the name of Dayton was unanimously
adopted, and Dayton it has ever since remained.
The Chinamen mentioned, forty or fifty in number at first, were brought
over from California, in 1856, to work on a big water-ditch, by means of
which water was to be brought to the Gold Cañon mines from the Carson
River. Finding they would be allowed to mine in certain places, others
followed, and at one time not less than one hundred and eighty
Mongolians were at work at the lower end of the Cañon.
The Celestials probably found very good pay, even in the places where
they were allowed to plant their rockers, as it is said that the bars
for some miles up the cañon paid well when first worked, there being
places where an ounce per day was taken out.
The cañon continued to pay pretty fair wages for some years, and was
still being worked at the time of the discovery of silver and the grand
silver excitement which immediately followed.
Literature was not neglected at this early period in the history of
Washoe. There were, even in the early days when Johntown was the great
mining centre of the country, two spicy weekly papers published in the
land. They were written on foolscap, often several sheets, and, by being
assiduously passed from hand to hand, were widely circulated in the
several settlements. These papers were everywhere eagerly read. One,
called the _Scorpion_, was published at Genoa, and was edited by S. A.
Kinsey; the other was published at Johntown and was edited by Joe Webb.
It was called _The Gold-Cañon Switch_. These papers were both published
between the years 1854 and 1858.
The people of Johntown, though not numerous, were jovial. They were fond
of amusements of all kinds. Nearly every Saturday night a “grand ball”
was given at “Dutch Nick’s” saloon. As there were but three white women
in the town, it was necessary, in order to “make up the set,” to take in
Miss Sarah Winnemucca, the “Piute Princess” (daughter of Winnemucca,
chief of all the Piutes). When the orchestra—a “yaller-backed
fiddle”—struck up and the ‘French four’ was in order, the enthusiastic
Johntowners went forth in the dance with ardor and filled the air with
splinters from the puncheon floor. When a Johntown “hoss” balanced in
front of the “Princess” he made no effort to economise shoe-leather.
[Illustration: THE PRINCESS SARAH WINNEMUCCA.]
Even in those early days and in that primitive community, the “beast of
the jungle” was known in the land. The “boys” were not allowed to
languish for want of amusement. When their sacks of gold-dust became
painfully plethoric, and too heavy to be conveniently packed around,
Jacob Job, the leading merchant of the place used to deal faro for them
“out of hand;” that is, he took the cards from his hand and laid them
out on the table, instead of drawing them from a box such as is used in
the game by regular “sports.”
Billy Williams, a man who had a ranche up in Carson Valley, occasionally
came down to Johntown in seasons of great auriferous affluence, and
dealt for the boys a little game called “Twenty-one.” Faro, out of hand,
and Twenty-one, with Williams at the helm, usually sent all the male
Johntowners back to their toms and rockers, each man financially a total
wreck.
About 1857-58 the diggings along Gold Cañon showed signs of failing, all
the best bars and banks being pretty well worked out. It was only
occasionally that a rich spot could be found, and most of the miners
were only making small wages. That this was the case is evident from the
fact that about this time the Johntowners, the mining men of the land,
began to scatter out through the country and make prospecting raids in
all directions among the hills.
[Illustration: JACOB JOB’S LITTLE GAME.]
In 1857, several men from Johntown, struck gold-diggings on Six-mile
Cañon. This cañon heads on the north side of Mount Davidson, while Gold
Cañon, in which gold was first found, heads on the south side of the
same mountain. The heads of the two cañons are about a mile apart, and
through the eastern face of Mount Davidson, across a sort of plateau,
runs the Comstock Silver lode. The lode (or lead), extends across the
heads of both cañons, and the gold that was being mined in both came
from the decomposed rock of the croppings of the vein.
Thus, it will be seen, these early miners were approaching the great
silver lode from two points—on Gold Cañon towards the south, and on
Six-mile Cañon toward the north side of Mount Davidson. But not a man
among them knew anything of what was ahead. They were only working for
gold and were looking for that nowhere but in the gravel of the ravines;
none of them having thought of looking for gold-bearing quartz veins.
The men who were mining on Six-mile Cañon first struck paying ground, at
a point nearly a mile below the place where silver ore was afterwards
found in the Ophir mine. The gold was in clay, which was so tough that
before it could be washed out in rockers it was necessary to “puddle”
it—that is, put it into a large square box or a hole in the ground, and
dissolve it by adding a proper quantity of water and working it about
with hoes or shovels. Even working in this way, the men were able to
make from five dollars to an ounce per day. The gold found at this
distance down the cañon was worth about $13.50 per ounce.
The miners on Six-mile Cañon sold their dust in Placerville, California.
Being acquainted with some California boys who were mining in a place
called ’Coon Hollow, our Washoe miners were in the habit of buying a
certain quantity of fine dust of them, which they mixed with the gold
from Six-mile Cañon, when they were able to sell the whole lot at such a
price as was equal to fifteen dollars per ounce for their own dust. As
they worked further up the ravine, toward the Comstock lode, the gold
deteriorated so rapidly in weight, color and value, that this game could
no longer be played. The gold-buyer looked upon the mixture of Six-mile
Cañon and ’Coon Hollow products and pronounced it a delusion and a
snare.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER III.
ADVENTURES OF EARLY PROSPECTORS.
Two young men who were mining in Gold Cañon, suspected the existence of
silver-mines in the country at least five or six years before silver was
actually discovered. These men were Hosea B. and Edgar Allen Grosch,
sons of A. B. Grosch, a Universalist clergyman of considerable note, and
editor of a Universalist paper at Utica, New York. The Grosch brothers
were well educated and had considerable knowledge of mineralogy and
assaying.
They came to Gold Cañon in 1852, from Volcano, California, and engaged
in placer-mining. In 1853 and 1854, they appear to have become convinced
that there was silver to be found in the country, and did a good deal of
prospecting in various directions among the neighboring mountains,
doubtless in search of silver ore.
In their cabin, which stood near the present town of Silver City, about
a mile above Johntown, they are said to have had a library consisting of
a considerable number of volumes of scientific works; also chemical
apparatus and assayer’s tools.
They did not associate with the miners working on the cañon, and were
very reticent in regard to what they were doing. They, however, informed
a few persons that they had discovered a vein of silver-bearing quartz
and it was well known among the miners that they had formed a company
for the purpose of working their mine. The majority of the members of
their company were understood to be in California (about Volcano), and
in one of the Atlantic States. Mrs. L. M. Dettenreider, one of the early
settlers of the country, and a lady who had befriended the brothers, was
given an interest in their mine, and at one time had in her possession a
piece of ore from it. This ore, they assured her, contained gold,
silver, lead, and antimony.
Mrs. Dettenreider, who is a resident of Virginia City, says she always
understood that the mine discovered by the Grosch brothers was somewhere
about Mount Davidson, and thinks they may have obtained their ore
somewhere along the Comstock lead.
In 1860, I saw their old furnaces unearthed, they having been covered up
to the depth of a foot or more by a deposit of mud and sand from Gold
Cañon. They were two in number and but two or three feet in length, a
foot in height and a foot and a half in width. One had been used as a
smelting and the other as a cupel furnace. The remains of melting-pots
and fragments of cupels were found in and about the furnaces, also a
large piece of argentiferous galena, which had doubtless been procured a
short distance west of Silver City, where there are yet to be seen veins
containing ore of that character, some of which yield fair assays in
silver.
In the spring of 1857, Hosea Grosch, while engaged in mining, stuck a
pick in his foot, inflicting a wound, from the effects of which he died,
in a few days. In November of that year, while on his way to Volcano,
California, Allen, the surviving brother, was caught in a heavy storm in
the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and had his feet frozen so badly that
amputation was necessary, from the shock of which operation he died.
With the brothers was lost the secret of the whereabouts of their
silver-mine; if they ever discovered any silver except that contained in
the ore of the veins of argentiferous galena I have mentioned.
After the discovery of the old furnaces of the Grosch brothers in 1860,
there was much search by miners in the neighborhood for the mine they
had been prospecting, but no mine was ever found.
In a sort of sink on the side of a large mountain, at the foot of which
stood the cabin and furnaces of the brothers, was found an old shaft.
Here was supposed to be the spot where they had worked, and the place
was “located” (“claimed” or “pre-empted”), and called the “Lost Shaft.”
About the first discovery made by the locators, when they began cleaning
out the shaft, was the body—a sort of mummy—of a Piute squaw, who had
been murdered some years before by members of her tribe, who had tumbled
her remains into the old shaft.
After finding this “dead thing,” the owners of the claim let a contract
for the further sinking and exploration of the old shaft. The men who
took the contract soon gave it up. They said they could not work in the
shaft; that stones were falling out of its sides without cause. Others
took the contract, and each party of miners that went to work in the
shaft gave it up, saying that their lives were endangered by the stones
which suddenly and at unexpected times, jumped out of its sides. A
tunnel was then started to tap the ledge on which the old shaft was
supposed to have been sunk, but it was never completed. It is now well
known that the old shaft was sunk by a party of Gold Cañon miners in
1851, they having taken it into their heads that from this
curious-looking pit or sink in the side of the mountain came all the
gold found below in the cañon.
There was also a story current among the miners, in 1860, that before
starting on the trip over the Sierras which resulted in his death, Allen
Grosch boxed up the library and all the chemical and assaying apparatus,
and _cached_ the whole somewhere about Grizzly Hill, the mountain at the
base of which stood the cabin occupied by the brothers. There was much
search by curious miners in the neighborhood for this supposed deposit
of valuables. They crawled under the edge of shelving rocks, peered into
crevices among the cliffs, and probed all suspicious-looking
stone-heaps, but no bonanza of scientific apparatus was ever discovered.
When Allen Grosch left to go over the mountains to California, Comstock
was placed in charge of the cabin, and it is very probable that whatever
books and apparatus there may have been were carried away by such
visitors as took a fancy to them, and thus were scattered and lost.
In the summer of 1860 I was camped on a branch of Gold Cañon, near where
the old stone-cabin of the Grosch brothers stood. I had a score or more
of neighbors, whose tents were pitched on the banks of the ravine, or
who, having no tents, made the willows on the bars their shelter. One
hot day in July, one of the men, a big, long-legged Missourian, started
up the mountain to see what he could find. One object probably was to
look for the Grosch scientific “bonanza,” but, being a man who had no
more knowledge of ores and minerals than a Piute, he was quite sure to
make some remarkable discovery, no matter in what direction he traveled.
He had been absent some hours when, looking up towards the summit of
Grizzly Hill, we saw a cloud of dust moving down the face of the
mountain. In the midst of this whirling cloud, we caught occasional
glimpses of a man, bounding along like a wild goat. Rocks disturbed by
his feet, rolled down the steep slope of the mountain, adding greatly to
the dust and commotion. All in camp were soon out gazing at the unusual
spectacle, and all wondered what had happened to “Pike,” who by this
time had been recognized by his long legs and reckless manner of
handling them.
Some thought that a bear or some other wild beast was in pursuit of
Pike, as he charged down the steep mountain in a manner so reckless that
it was very evident he was taking no thought of the risk he ran of
breaking his neck.
Over jutting ledges and through huge patches of loose, sliding rock,
bounded Pike, and soon he came rushing wild-eyed into camp.
Rivulets of perspiration were coursing down his dust-covered cheeks;
dust whitened the ends of his long black locks, and dust seemed to fly
from his nostrils as, puffing and blowing, he made his way into our
midst.
In both hands he held a quantity of black-looking rock. As soon as he
could get his breath he said: “Boys, I’ve struck it! There’s millions of
tons of it! Millions on millions—enough to make the whole camp rich!”
“Well, what is it Pike?” asked some one. “Is it silver, gold, or what?”
“It is what none of you fellers would ever have found: it’s the stuff
they make compasses of!”
“Make compasses of! What do you mean?” asked the men.
“Mean! I mean just what I say, that it is the stuff they make compasses
of—surveyors’ compasses, mariners’ compasses, and all them kind of
compasses that pint to the North Pole. None of you would ever have found
it; you wouldn’t have knowed what it was!”
“Well, where is it? Where is this big thing?”
“Way up yander on top of the mountain,” said Pike, pointing towards the
summit of Grizzly Hill. “There’s a whole ledge of it—a ledge fifty foot
wide!”
“But how do you know that the stuff is good for anything?” asked the
boys. “How do you know that it is what compasses are made of?”
“How do I know? Easy enough. Just look here, will you!”
Pike then took a piece of the rock weighing about five pounds, and
placing one end of it in the midst of a handful of smaller pieces,
ranging from the size of a pea to that of a hulled walnut, the whole
mass of small fragments was lifted up and remained clinging to the
larger lump of rock.
“See that!” cried Pike, glancing at one and another of the men about
him: “What did I tell you? and there is millions more where I got this!”
All were now really a good deal interested in the rock found by Pike,
and in the powerful magnetic qualities it exhibited, as the large lumps
would pick up and hold suspended fragments weighing over an ounce.
“The way I come to find it,” now explained Pike, “was this: I found the
big ledge of black, heavy rock, and taking up a chunk of it began trying
to break off a slice from the main ledge. As I hammered away, I noticed
that all the little bits of rock pounded loose stuck to the chunk I held
in my hand. I thought at first that there was pine-gum on the chunk, but
could find none, then it all at once flashed into my mind, and I
said—‘I’ve struck it! This is the stuff they make compasses of!’ Then
you just ought to have seen me make tracks down the mountain.”
“We saw you!” said the men.
Pike then went on to say, that his discovery was one of the most
important, in many respects, that had been made in modern times. It
would be of incalculable advantage to navigation and would increase the
navies of the world a thousand-fold. He even went so far the next
morning (which showed that his brain had not been idle during the night)
as to assert that hereafter there would be no difficulty about reaching
the North Pole. All that would be necessary, he said, would be to place
a block of about ten tons of his rock on the bow of a ship, when,
without the aid of sail or rudder, and in spite of adverse winds and
ice-floes, the vessel would plough its way up through the oceans of the
north and never stop until its nose rested against the side of the Pole.
Pike had several assays of his “find” made, and it was weeks before he
could be made to believe that it was not something of more value than
magnetic iron ore.
Some years after Pike’s great discovery, a prospector who had been
roaming through the Pahranagat Mountains, the wildest and most sterile
portion of southeastern Nevada, brought back with him a great curiosity
in the shape of a number of traveling stones. The stones were almost
perfectly round, the majority of them as large as a hulled walnut, and
very heavy, being of an irony nature. When scattered about on the floor,
on a table, or other level surface, within two or three feet of each
other, they immediately began traveling toward a common centre, and then
huddled up in a bunch like a lot of eggs in a nest. A single stone
removed to a distance of a yard, upon being released, at once started
off with wonderful and somewhat comical celerity to rejoin its fellows;
but if taken away four or five feet it remained motionless.
The man who was in possession of these traveling stones said that he
found them in a region of country that, though comparatively level, is
nothing but bare rock. Scattered about in this rocky plain are a great
number of little basins, from a few feet to two or three rods in
diameter, and it is in the bottom of these basins that the rolling
stones are found. In the basins they are seen from the size of a pea to
five or six inches in diameter. These curious pebbles appeared to be
formed of loadstone or magnetic iron ore.
CHAPTER IV.
WHAT THEY DISCOVERED.
To return to the notions of the early miners and others, in regard to
the existence of silver in Nevada. Few, it would seem, besides the
Grosch brothers, and one or two of their intimate friends, ever dreamed
of there being any silver-mines in the country. Had there been anything
said about the existence of silver, those who made predictions that it
would be found, would not have been slow to remind their friends of the
fact as soon as the first discovery of silver was made. Some of the
Johntowners say that, in 1853, a Mexican who was hired by them and who
worked a few days in Gold Cañon, tried to tell them that he was of the
opinion that there were silver-mines in the mountains above them. The
man spoke no English, therefore was unable at that time to make himself
understood; now that the silver-mines have been found, all seems plain
enough.
Pointing to the large fragments of quartz rock lying along the bed of
the cañon, the Mexican said: “_Bueno!_”—good! Then pointing toward the
mountain peaks about the head of the cañon, and giving his hand a
general wave over them all, he cried emphatically: “_Mucho plata! mucho
plata!_” “Much silver! much silver! all above you in those hills,” was
what the Mexican said by word and gesture.
The men who were at work with the Mexican remember this, because during
the two or three days he was at work with them he several times uttered
the same words and went through the same pantomime. All that the miners
understood of what the fellow was driving at was, “lots of money, gold,”
somewhere above them in the mountains.
The fact is, that silver was so little in the minds of the early miners,
and they knew so little about any ore of silver, that when they at last
found it, they did not know what it was and cursed it as some kind of
heavy, worthless sand of iron, or some other base metal, that covered up
the quicksilver in the bottom of their rockers and interfered with the
amalgamation and saving of the gold they were washing out. They damned
this stuff from the rising of the sun till the going down thereof, and
worked in it for a considerable length of time before anybody knew what
it was. Until after an assay of the “blasted blue stuff” had been made,
the miners were all working in blissful ignorance of silver existing
anywhere in the country.
In the spring of 1858, which the snow was going off and water was
plentiful, the men who had worked in Six-mile Cañon the year before,
with a number of other miners from Johntown, returned to their diggings.
The newcomers set to work on the cañon above the claims of those who had
mined there the previous year, planting their rockers wherever they
found a spot of ground that would pay wages.
Among those who came to mine on Six-mile Cañon at this time were Peter
O’Riley and Pat McLaughlin, the discoverers of the Comstock silver lode,
and “Old Virginia” who gave his name to Virginia City, under the streets
of which now lie the bonanza mines.
Nick Ambrose, better known in that country as “Dutch Nick,” also moved
up to Six-mile Cañon, following his customers in their exodus from
Johntown. Nick came not to mine, but to minister to the wants of the
miners. He set up a large tent and ran it as a saloon and
boarding-house. The boys paid him $14 per week for board and “slept
themselves;” that is, they were provided with blankets of their own, and
rolling up in these, they just curled down in the sagebrush, wherever
and whenever they pleased.
The liquid refreshment furnished these miners by Nick was probably the
first of that popular brand of whisky known as “tarantula juice” ever
dispensed within the limits of Virginia City. When the boys were well
charged with this whisky it made the snakes and tarantulas that bit them
very sick.
At this time, H. T. P. Comstock was engaged in mining on American Flat
Ravine, a branch of Gold Cañon, a short distance above the point where
Silver City now stands. He was working with a “tom” (a contrivance for
washing auriferous gravel which combines the principles of the rocker
and the sluice-box), and, the water used in the tom being some distance
below where his “pay-dirt” was found, he had a number of lusty Piute
Indians employed in packing the dirt to where he was engaged in washing
it and supervising things in general, as became the proprietor of the
“works.”
The ground worked was not so rich as to greatly excite anyone, it being
about, as the Chinamen say, “two pan, one color,” therefore it is not
likely that the Indians received wages that gave them a very exalted
opinion of mining as a regular business.
At that time Comstock, whose name is now heard in all parts of the world
in connection with the great silver lode bearing his name, was
familiarly known to the miners of Johntown and neighboring mining camps
as “Old Pancake.” This name was given him by his brother miners because
he was never known to bake any bread. He always had—or imagined he
had—so much business on hand that he could spare no time to fool away in
making and baking bread. All of his flour was worked up into pancakes.
And even as, with spoon in hand, he stirred up his pancake batter, it is
said he kept one eye on the top of some distant peak and was lost in
speculations in regard to the wealth in gold and silver that might rest
somewhere beneath its rocky crest.
Meantime, while “Old Pancake” was thus toiling in American-Flat Ravine,
and utilizing the native muscle of the land in his struggles with the
stubborn matrix of auriferous deposits, the miners on Six-mile Cañon
were steadily working along the channel of the same, picking out the
richer places, and the gold extracted was gradually becoming lighter in
color and weight, consequently less valuable; a condition of things that
puzzled them all not a little. As, at that time, the presence of silver
was not suspected, the miners could not imagine what was the matter with
the gold, further than that there seemed to be some kind of bogus stuff
mixed with it in the form of an alloy. This light metal, whatever it
might be, seemed gradually taking the place of the gold and changing the
color of the dust. As a small percentage of silver alters the color of a
great quantity of gold, the value per ounce was not so much reduced as
one would have supposed from looking at it; but in the value there was a
slight but steady decrease.
The miners on Six-mile Cañon worked on in the fall of 1858 with
tolerable success—making small wages—until it became so cold that the
water they had been using in rocking was frozen up, when all hands broke
up camp and returned to Johntown, to go into winter quarters.
In January 1859, there came a spell of fine weather, when some of the
Johntowners struck out in various directions, for the purpose of
prospecting; water being plentiful in all the ravines, owing to the
melting of the snow.
On Saturday, January 28, 1859, “Old Virginia,” H. T. P. (Pancake)
Comstock, and several others struck the surface-diggings at Gold Hill,
and located a considerable number of claims. They claimed the ground for
placer-mining but had no idea of there being a rich vein of gold and
silver-bearing quartz underlying the whole region upon which they were
staking off their gravel-mines.
[Illustration: GOLD DIGGINGS OF 1859.]
They had struck upon the little knoll to which the name of Gold Hill was
soon after given, which knoll stood at the north end of the site of the
present town of Gold Hill. Although at first mistaken for
placer-diggings, the ground forming this hillock was in reality nothing
more than a great mass of the decomposed croppings of the Comstock lode.
This discovery was made at a point on the head of Gold Cañon about a
mile south of where, a few months later, silver was discovered in the
Ophir mine, at the head of Six-mile Cañon. John Bishop, one of the men
who made this strike, thus describes the manner of it. I give his own
words:
“Where Gold Hill now stands, I had noticed indications of a ledge and
had got a little color. I spoke to ‘Old Virginia’ about it, and he
remembered the locality, for he said he had often seen the place when
hunting deer and antelope. He also said that he had seen any quantity
of quartz there. So he joined our party and Comstock also followed
along. When we got to the ground, I took a pan and filled it with
dirt, with my foot, for I had no shovel or spade. The others did the
same thing, though I believe that some of them had shovels. I noticed
some willows growing on the hillside and I started for them with my
pan. The place looked like an Indian spring, which it proved to be.
“I began washing my pan. When I had finished, I found that I had in it
about fifteen cents. None of the others had less than eight cents, and
none more than fifteen. It was very fine gold; just as fine as flour.
Old Virginia decided that it was a good place to locate and work.
“The next difficulty was to obtain water. We followed the cañon along
for some distance and found what appeared to be the same formation all
the way along. Presently Old Virginia and another man who had been
rambling away, came back and said they had found any amount of water
which could be brought right there to the ground.
“I and my partner had meantime had a talk together and had decided to
put the others of the party right in the middle of the good ground.
“After Old Virginia got back we told him this, but were not
understood, as he said if we had decided to ‘hog’ it we could do so
and he would look around further; but he remained, and when the ground
was measured off, took his share with the rest.
“After we had measured the ground we had a consultation as to what
name was to be given the place. It was decidedly not Gold Cañon, for
it was a little hill; so we concluded to call it Gold Hill. That is
how the place came by its present name.”
The new diggings were discovered on Saturday, and the next day (Sunday)
nearly all the male inhabitants of Johntown went up to the head of Gold
Cañon to take a look at and “pass upon” the new mines. The majority of
the sagacious citizens of the then mining metropolis of the country did
not think much of the new strike. They had placer-mines near at home,
five miles below, that prospected much better. However, “Old Pancake”
and some of others interested in the new diggings, blowed about them as
being the big thing of the country.
Although the prospects at first may not all have been as large as stated
by Bishop, who is quoted above, yet Comstock, Old Virginia, and party
soon reached very rich dirt—very much richer than Comstock had ever
found in any part of his American Ravine claim, where he worked the
braves of the Piute tribe. Starting in at about $5 per day, they were
soon making from $15 to $20, and for a time even more to the man.
Believing they were working placer-mines, they were at times moved too
far away from the main deposit of decomposed croppings, when they made
small wages until they got back and started again on the right track.
It was not long before most of the Johntowners had moved to Gold Hill,
camping under the trees at first, then building shanties and eventually
putting up substantial log-houses.
Thus was first discovered, located, and worked that portion of the
Comstock lode lying under the town of Gold Hill, and containing the
Belcher, Crown Point, Yellow Jacket, Imperial, Empire, Kentuck, and
other leading mines of the country—mines that have yielded millions upon
millions in gold and silver bullion.
It was not, however, until these mines had been worked for two or three
years, that they were positively known to be silver-mines and a
continuation of the Comstock lead, then being so successfully mined upon
a mile north, at Virginia City.
CHAPTER V.
DISCOVERY OF THE GREAT COMSTOCK MINE.
In the spring of 1859, a considerable number of miners returned to
Six-Mile Cañon, to work. They now made their headquarters at Gold Hill,
where two or three log-houses including a large log boarding-house, had
been erected.
Peter O’Riley and Pat M^cLaughlin set to work well up at the head of the
ravine, where the ground began to rise toward the mountain. They used
rockers and found small pay. They continued to work at this point until
about the 1st of June, 1859, gradually extending their operations up the
slope of the hill, in the hope of finding something better. They had
started a little cut or trench up the hill and were washing the dirt
taken from this in their rockers. Before they started the cut they were
making only from $1.50 to $2 per day; in the cut their pay was even
less. They were becoming discouraged, and were thinking of going to
Walker River to try their luck, placer-mines having been found in that
region the year before, but concluded to work on where they were a few
days longer—probably in the hope of being able to raise money with which
to go to Walker River.
Having but a small stream of water, it became necessary for them to dig
a hole as a sort of reservoir, in which to collect it for use in their
rockers.
They set to work a short distance above the little cut in which they
were mining, to make the needed reservoir or water-hole, and at a depth
of about four feet, struck into a stratum of the rich decomposed ore of
the Ophir Mine, and of the now world-famous Comstock silver lode.
The manner in which the grand discovery was made, was much less romantic
than in the case of the discovery of the celebrated silver-mine of
Potosi, Peru. What our miners found, was not glittering native silver,
but a great bed of black sulphuret of silver—a decomposed ore of silver
filled with spangles of native gold. This gold, however, was alloyed
with silver to such an extent that it was more the color of silver than
of gold.
The gold dug in the placer-mines of California, is worth from $16 to $19
per ounce, whereas, the gold taken from the croppings of the Comstock
was worth no more than $11 or $12 per ounce.
When the discoverers struck into the odd-looking, black dirt, they only
thought that it was a sudden and rather singular change from the
yellowish gravel and clay in which they had been digging. As any change
was welcome, the luck in which they had been working considered, they at
once concluded to try some of the curious-looking stuff in their
rockers.
The result astounded them. Before, they had only been taking out a
dollar or two per day, but now they found the bottoms of their rockers
covered with gold as soon as a few buckets of the new dirt had been
washed. They found that they were literally taking out gold by the
pound.
However, as the gold they were getting was much lighter in color and
weight than any they had found below on the cañon, or even on the
surface in their cut, they began to fear that all was not right. They
thought that, after all, what they had found might be some sort of
“bogus stuff”—base metal of some new and strange kind.
It is not strange that these impecunious miners, tinkering away there on
the side of a lone, sage-covered mountain, with their rockers, should
have felt a little alarmed on account of the great quantity of gold they
were getting, as in a few weeks after the discovery had been made—and
the work had been advanced further into the croppings of the lode—they
were taking out gold at the rate of $1,000 per day. This they were doing
with the rockers. Taking the harder lumps left on the screens of the
rockers, one man was able to pound out gold at the rate of $100 per day
in a common hand-mortar.
[Illustration: COMSTOCK DISCOVERING SILVER.]
In the evening of the day on which the grand discovery was made by
O’Riley and M^cLaughlin, H. T. P. Comstock made his appearance upon the
scene.
“Old Pancake,” who was then looking after his Gold Hill mines, which
were beginning to yield largely, had strolled northward up the mountain,
toward evening, in search of a mustang pony that he had out prospecting
for a living among the hills. He had found his pony, had mounted him,
and with his long legs dragging the tops of the sage-brush, came riding
up just as the lucky miners were making the last clean-up of their
rockers for the day.
Comstock, who had a keen eye for all that was going on in the way of
mining in any place he might visit, saw at a glance the unusual quantity
of gold that was in sight.
When the gold caught his eye, he was off the back of his pony in an
instant. He was soon down in the thick of it all—“hefting” and running
his fingers through the gold, and picking into and probing the mass of
strange-looking “stuff” exposed.
Conceiving at once that a wonderful discovery of some kind had been
made, Old Pancake straightened himself up, as he arose from a critical
examination of the black mass in the cut, wherein he had observed the
glittering spangles of gold, and coolly proceeded to inform the
astonished miners that they were working on ground that belonged to him.
He asserted that he had some time before taken up 160 acres of land at
this point, for a ranche; also, that he owned the water they were using
in mining, it being from the Caldwell spring, in what was afterwards
known as Spanish Ravine.
Suspecting that they were working in a decomposed quartz vein,
M^cLaughlin and O’Riley had written out and posted up a notice, calling
for a claim of 300 feet for each and a third claim for the discovery;
which extra claim they were entitled to under the mining laws.
Having soon ascertained all this from the men before him, Comstock would
have “none of it.” He boisterously declared that they should not work
there at all, unless they would agree to locate himself and his friend
Manny (Emmanuel) Penrod in the claim. In case he and Penrod were given
an interest, there should be no further trouble about the ground.
After consulting together, the discoverers concluded that, rather than
have a great row about the matter, they would put the names of Comstock
and Penrod in their notice of location.
This being arranged to his satisfaction, Comstock next demanded that 100
feet of ground on the lead should be segregated and given to Penrod and
himself for the right to the water they were using—he stoutly asserting
that he not only owned the land, but also the water, and, as they had
recognized his right to the land, they could not consistently ignore his
claim to the water flowing upon it. In short, he talked so loudly and so
much about his water-right that he at last got the 100 feet, segregated,
as he demanded. This 100 feet afterwards became the Spanish or Mexican
mine, and yielded millions of dollars.
Comstock would probably not so easily have obtained what he demanded,
had the men who made the discovery been fully aware of its great value.
They, however, did not know that the “blue stuff” (sulphuret of silver),
which they had dug into, was of any value, and even the gold itself
seemed altogether too plentiful as well as a good deal “off color.”
Comstock had probably at some time posted up a notice claiming 160 acres
of land, somewhere in that neighborhood, as a ranche, but if he did so
he never had his notice recorded. Men in those days, while roving about
the country, very frequently wrote out and stuck up notices claiming
land, springs, the water of streams, quartz veins, gravel deposits, or
anything else that they might for the moment think valuable, but unless
such claims were properly recorded and worked they could not be held, as
all miners and others well knew—a mere notice expiring at the end of ten
days, when the property might be taken up, recorded and held by the
first man that came along. Comstock had some show of right to the water
and to the placer-mines along the upper part of Six-mile Cañon, as the
year before, he, Old Virginia and Penrod, had bought of old Joe Caldwell
a set of sluice-boxes and the water of a spring. However, the possession
of a set of sluices on the cañon and a right to use water from a certain
spring in the neighborhood, by no means gave Comstock or his friends the
right to lay claim to a vein of quartz found in a hill somewhere in
their section of the country.
John Bishop, who bought Old Virginia’s interest in the sluices,
gravel-diggings and water, got no share of the quartz vein discovered by
Pete O’Riley and Pat M^cLaughlin, though he managed to get in on the
lead, locating the mine known as the Central No. 1; now a part of the
California, one of the bonanza mines with millions of ore in sight.
Bishop put up the first arastra ever built on the lead, starting it up
two or three days before that of the Ophir folks began running. He sold
his interest in the Central No 1. for $4,000 and shortly afterwards the
purchasers sold the same ground for $1,800 per foot—now (as incorporated
in the California mine) the ground is selling at over $50,000 per foot,
and John Bishop still works, as a miner, at Gold Hill.
After Comstock had managed to become largely interested in the new
discovery, and after the gold taken out by O’Riley and M^cLaughlin had
been carried down to Gold Hill and exhibited and examined, there was at
once a great local excitement in regard to the new diggings, and all
were anxious to get an interest in the claim, or on the lead as near to
the original discovery as possible.
Those who were finally recorded in the Ophir notice as original locators
were the following persons: Peter O’Riley, Patrick M^cLaughlin, H. T. P.
Comstock, E. Penrod, and J. A. (“Kentuck”) Osborne. The men named had
one-sixth each of 1,400 feet of ground on the lead and, in addition,
Comstock and Penrod had 100 feet segregated to them, making 1,500 feet
taken up by the party.
The 100 feet of Comstock and Penrod, though in the midst of the 1,400
feet of ground, was not reckoned as a part of the Ophir claim and was
soon sold and worked as a separate mine, under the name of the Mexican
or Spanish mine.
The Ophir claim was the first that was located, as a quartz claim, at
any point on the Comstock lode, though as early as February 22nd., 1858,
Old Virginia made a location on a large vein lying to the westward of
the Comstock. This vein is known as the Virginia lead or Virginia
croppings. It has never yielded much ore, but contains vast quantities
of base metal of various kinds.
At one time it was thought by some that this would prove to be the main
or “mother” lead of the range, as at the surface, and for a considerable
distance below the surface, the Comstock vein dipped west toward it.
Parties bought Old Virginia’s claim, and began suit against the Ophir
Company, asserting that the lead on which they were at work was the same
as that located, in 1858, by Old Virginia. It was a sort of speculation
on the part of those who brought the suit, and it is understood that
they succeeded in obtaining $60,000 from the Ophir Company.
At the beginning of this suit it was necessary, if possible, to produce
the original notice placed upon the croppings of the lead by Old
Virginia, but the parties to whom he had sold his claim could never get
him sufficiently sobered up to show where it could be found. Growing
desperate, they at length seized the old fellow one evening, and
thrusting him into the mouth of a big tunnel, closed and locked upon him
a heavy iron gate. The next morning when they went to the tunnel they
found Old Virginia sober, but very savage.
He would say nor do nothing until they had taken him down town and given
him half a tumbler of whisky. This swallowed, he was ready for business.
He marched directly up the side of the mountain, and going straight to a
large tower of croppings, drew out a small block of rock, and lo! behind
it was seen snugly stowed the much-desired notice.
It was probably on account of his having made this location that Old
Virginia was given the credit of having been the discoverer of the
Comstock lode, his interest in which he was said to have sold for an old
horse, a pair of blankets, and a bottle of whisky. He sold a third
interest in the sluices, water, and diggings in the cañon to John
Bishop, for $25.
James Hart, who had an interest in the sluices, and diggings in the
cañon, sold his right to be “considered in” on the big discovery to J.
D. Winters, of Washoe Valley, for a horse and $20 in coin. In this way
Winters got into the Ophir as one of the locators, and from this came
the “old horse” story that has always been saddled upon Old Virginia—to
fix it still more firmly upon the old fellow, the bottle of whiskey was
added.
CHAPTER VI.
THE DISCOVERY OF SILVER.
Once Comstock got into the Ophir claim he elected himself superintendent
and was the man who did all of the heavy talking. He made himself so
conspicuous on every occasion that he soon came to be considered not
only the discoverer but almost the father of the lode. As it was all
Comstock for a considerable distance round the Ophir mine, people began
to speak of the vein as Comstock’s mine, Comstock’s lode, and the lead
throughout its length and breadth came to be known as the Comstock lode,
a name which it bears to this day; while the names of O’Riley and
M^cLaughlin, the real discoverers, are seldom heard, even in the city
that stands on the spot where they first opened to the light of the sun
the glittering treasures of the vein.
Even after the Ophir claim had been duly recorded and its owners had
gone regularly to work upon it, they had no idea that the ore contained
anything of value except the gold that was found in it.
For some weeks they dug down the rich decomposed silver ore, washed the
gold out of it, and let it go as waste—throwing it anywhere to get it
out of the way of the rockers. They not only did not try to save it, but
they constantly and conscientiously cursed it.
Being very heavy, it settled to the bottom of their rockers, covered up
the quicksilver they contained, and prevented the thorough amalgamation
of the gold. The miners all thought well of the diggings, but for this
stuff. It was the great drawback. In mining on Gold Cañon, they had been
bothered with a superabundance of black sand and heavy pebbles of iron
ore, but this new, bluish sand was a thing which they had never before
encountered anywhere in the country.
Notwithstanding their trouble with the sulphuret of silver, they were
taking out gold at the rate of a thousand dollars or more per day; their
dust selling at about $11 per ounce. In some spots they obtained from
$50 to $150 in a single pan of dirt.
About this time some ladies from Genoa visited the mine, attracted by
the reports which had reached their town of its great richness. Comstock
was delighted, showed them everything and very gallantly offered each
lady a pan of dirt, a piece of politeness customary in California in the
early days when ladies visited a mine. “Old Pancake” was anxious that
each of the ladies should get something worth carrying home, therefore
by means of sly nods and winks gave one of the workmen to understand
that he was to fill the pans from the richest spot.
One of the ladies was young and very pretty. Although the other ladies
had each obtained from $150 to $200 in her pan, Comstock was determined
that something still handsomer should be done for this one. Therefore,
when her pan of dirt was being handed up out of the cut (_i. e._ the
open drift run into the lead), he stepped forward to receive it, and as
he did so, slyly slipped into it a large handful of gold which he had
taken out of his private purse. The result was a pan that went over
$300, and “Old Pancake” was happy all the rest of the day.
Although Comstock had a passion for possessing rich mines, and appeared
to have a great greediness for gold, yet no sooner was it in his
possession than he was ready to give it to the first man, woman, or
child that asked for it, or to recklessly squander it in all directions.
Anything that he saw and took a fancy to he bought, no matter what the
price might be, so long as he had the money. The article to which he had
taken a momentary fancy, once purchased, he presented it to the first
person that appeared to admire it, whether that person was white, red,
or black.
As work progressed, and the opening made in the hillside penetrated
further into the lead, the silver sulphuret, which had at first been
found in a decomposed condition, began to grow more firm. In order to
work it in the rockers it was necessary to pulverise much of it by
beating it with the poll of a pick or sledge-hammer. Even then there
were many lumps which it was necessary to pound in a mortar, and soon
much of the ore began to assume the form of a tolerably firm rock, when
it became necessary to work it in arastras—an old Mexican contrivance
for grinding up gold and silver-bearing quartz.
[Illustration: AN ARASTRA.]
[Illustration: NAMING VIRGINIA CITY.]
As soon as the grand strike had been made at the Ophir mine by O’Riley
and M^cLaughlin, there was a great rush to that neighborhood; not only
of miners from Johntown, Gold Hill, and Dayton (then known as
Chinatown), but also from the agricultural sections of the country—from
Washoe Valley, Tracker Meadow and from Carson and Eagle Valleys.
Claims were taken up and staked off for a great distance north and south
of the Ophir mine in the direction the lead was shown to run by the huge
croppings of quartz that came to the surface, and towered far above the
surface, in various places.
It was not long before other companies had found pay, and soon there was
in the place quite a lively little camp, the miners living in brush
shanties, houses made of canvas, or camping in the open air in the
sage-brush flats.
At this time the camp was spoken of, in documents placed upon the
records, as “Pleasant Hill” and as “Mount Pleasant Point;” in August,
1859, it was designated as “Ophir” and “the settlement known as Ophir,”
and in September, as “Ophir Diggings.” In October the place is first
mentioned as “Virginia Town,” but a month later it was proposed to
“change the name of the place from Virginia Town to Wun-u-muc-a, in
honor of the chief of the Py-utes.” Old Winnemucca, chief of all the
Piutes was not so honored, and in November, 1859, the town was first
called Virginia City, a name it has ever since retained.
Comstock says the way the place came to take the name of Virginia City
was this:
“‘Old Virginia‘ was out one night with a lot of the “boys” on a drunk,
when he fell down and broke his whisky bottle. On rising he said—‘I
baptize this ground Virginia.’”
For a time the old settlers had the new diggings all to themselves and
were hard at work with their rockers, saving only the gold and paying no
further attention to the silver than to curse it for interfering with
their operations; but in a few weeks after the discovery had been made,
there was suddenly stirred up in California a whirlwind of excitement
that swept over the Sierras, and not only overwhelmed these first miners
on the Comstock, but swept them almost out of sight.
About the 1st of July, 1859, Augustus Harrison, a ranchman living on the
Truckee Meadows, visited the new diggings about which so much was then
said in the several settlements. He took a piece of the ore and going to
California shortly afterwards carried it to Grass Valley, Nevada county.
He gave the specimen, as a curiosity, to Judge James Walsh, a resident
of Grass Valley, who took it to the office of Melville Atwood, an
assayer in the town. The ore was assayed and yielded at the rate of
several thousand dollars per ton, in gold and silver.
All were astonished and not a little excited when it was ascertained
that the black-looking rock which the miners over in Washoe—as the
region about the Comstock lode was called—considered worthless, and were
throwing away, was almost a solid mass of silver. The excitement by no
means abated when they were informed by Mr. Harrison that there were
tons and tons of the same stuff in sight in the opening that the Ophir
Company had already made in the lead. It was agreed among the few who
knew the result of the assay, that the matter should, for the time
being, be kept a profound secret; meantime they would arrange to cross
the Sierras and secure as much ground as possible on the line of the
newly-discovered silver lode.
But each man had intimate friends in whom he had the utmost confidence
in every respect, and these bosom friends soon knew that a silver-mine
of wonderful richness had been discovered over in the Washoe country.
These again had their friends, and, although the result of the assay
made by Mr. Atwood was not ascertained until late at night, by 9 o’clock
the next morning half the town of Grass Valley knew the wonderful news.
Judge Walsh and Joe Woodworth packed a mule with provisions, and
mounting horses, were off for the eastern slope of the Sierras at a very
early hour in the morning. This was soon known, and the news of the
discovery and their departure ran like wildfire through Nevada county.
In a few days hundreds of miners had left their diggings in California
and were flocking over the mountains on horseback, on foot, with teams,
and in any way that offered. Many men packed donkeys with tools and
provisions, and, going on foot themselves, trudged over the Sierras at
the best speed they were able to make.
CHAPTER VII.
REMINISCENCES OF EARLY MINING DAYS.
When news began to be received in various parts of California from the
first parties of these adventurers, upon their arrival in Washoe, their
reports were confirmatory of all that had before been said and imagined
of the new mines, and an almost unparalled excitement followed. Miners,
business men, and capitalists flocked to the wonderful land of silver
that had been found in the wilderness of Washoe, beyond the snowy peaks
of the Sierras.
The few hardy first prospectors soon counted their neighbors by
thousands, and found eager and excited newcomers jostling them on every
hand, planting stakes under their very noses and running lines round or
through their brush-shanties, as regardless of their presence as though
they were Piutes. The handful of old settlers found themselves
strangers, almost in a single day, in their own land and their own
dwellings.
There were numerous sales of mining claims almost daily, at what then
was thought high prices, and the hundreds who were unprovided with money
with which to purchase mining ground swarmed the hills in search of
ledges that were still undiscovered and unclaimed. The whole country was
supposed to be full of silver lodes as rich as the Comstock, and the man
who was so fortunate as to find a large unoccupied vein, containing rock
of a color similar to that of the Ophir, considered his fortune made.
The Mining Recorder of the district now drove a thriving trade; he could
hardly record the locations of mining claims as fast as they were made.
Some of these notices were literary curiosities, particularly those to
be found in the old Gold Hill book of records.
V. A. Houseworth, the “village blacksmith,” was the first Recorder at
Gold Hill, and the book of records was kept at a saloon, where it lay
upon a shelf behind the bar.
The “boys” were in the habit of taking it from behind the bar whenever
they desired to consult it, and if they thought a location made by them
was not advantageously bounded they altered the course of their lines
and fixed the whole thing up in good shape, in accordance with the
latest developments.
When the book was not wanted for this use, those lounging about the
saloon were in the habit of snatching it up and “batting” each other
over the head with it.
The old book is now in the office of the County Recorder, at Virginia
City, and is beginning to be regarded as quite as curiosity. It shows
altered dates, places where leaves have been torn out, and much other
rough usage.
The majority of the notices of location recorded by the early miners are
very vague. The first notice recorded in the book is one of the location
of a spring of water by Peter O’Riley and Patrick M^cLaughlin. It reads:
“We the undersigned claim this spring and stream, for mining
purposes.”
Nothing is said about where the spring is located. For aught the person
reading the record can discover, it may be in California or Oregon.
In the book are scores of locations made and recorded in the same loose
manner. Many of the recorded notices read:
“We the undersigned claim 2,000 feet on this quartz lead, ledge, lode,
or vein, beginning at this stake and running north.”
Not a word is said about where the stake is to be found. No wonder that
the lawyers drove a thriving trade in the early days of Washoe!
During the progress of a mining suit in the early days the lawyers
quarrelled for nearly two days about a certain stump from which one of
the parties to the suit desired to begin the measurement of their claim.
They produced witnesses who said they could identify the stump, and the
next morning the court adjourned, and jury and all concerned went out to
take a look at the landmark in question. No stump could be found. The
parties of the opposite side had dug it up the night before and packed
it away. Not even the spot where it was supposed to have stood could be
found, so completely had the ground been levelled in all directions.
I give the following verbatim copy of the original location-notice of
the Yellow-Jacket mine—a mine that has yielded many millions of
dollars—as it stands on the old Gold Hill records:
NOTICE.
That we the undersign claim Twelve hundred (1200) feet of this Quartz
Vain of its depths & Spurs commencing at Houseworth claim & running
north including twenty-five feet of surface on each Side of the Vain.
This Vain is known as the Yellow Jacket Vain. Taken up on May 1st.
1859—recorded June 27th, ’59.
H. B. CAMP.
JOHN BISHOP.
J. F. ROGERS.
The claim was called the Yellow Jacket because of the fact of the
locators finding a nest of yellow-jackets in the surface rock while they
were digging about for the purpose of prospecting the vein. Future
developments proved this claim to be on the Comstock lode.
What the locators meant by “depths,” in their notice, was dips—no matter
in what direction the “vain” might dip, they desired to put on record
their right to follow it.
Many notices read—“This vein with all of its dips, spurs, angles, and
variations.” The word ‘variations’ was presumed to capture everything in
the vicinity.
A practice prevailed among the early miners of locating quartz ledges as
“twins.” This was when they found two parallel veins so near together
that they feared, in case of their locating but one, that parties would
take up the other and give them trouble in some way. None of the twins
ever became famous.
The owners of the Ophir, and some of the adjoining claims on the
Comstock lead, continued to use rockers and arastras for some time after
it was ascertained that what was at first supposed to be worthless, was
silver ore of the richest description, but they no longer threw the
“blue stuff” away. It was all saved and sacked up for shipment to San
Francisco, thence to England for reduction. Many arastras were running,
and the camp soon presented quite a bustling appearance. The first house
erected in Virginia City, was built by Lyman Jones, who is still a
resident of Nevada. It was a canvas structure, 18 × 40 feet in size, and
stood near the present corner of B Street and Sutton Avenue, at no great
distance from the Ophir Mine.
It was kept as a boarding-house and saloon. Mr. Jones opened his house
with two barrels of “straight” whisky, but being of an accommodating
disposition and wishing to suit all tastes, he dignified the contents of
one of these barrels with the name of brandy. As alcohol was the
foundation of nearly all the liquors seen in the country at that time,
it made little difference by what name they were announced to the
consumer, Mr. Jones had an old sluice-box for a bar, and the bar
fixtures were by no means numerous or costly.
At this time the Ophir Company were in the habit of bringing their
gold-dust to Mr. Jones’s house, and leaving it for safe-keeping, and
frequently he had in his place as high as twenty and thirty thousand
dollars.
As the walls of his “hotel” were constructed of nothing more substantial
than a single thickness of cotton cloth, safer places might have been
conceived of, in which to deposit such an amount of gold. At length,
when the grand rush from California came, and adventurers of all kinds
swarmed along the lode, Mr. Jones refused to any longer act in the
capacity of banker to the Ophir folks, as he did not care to run the
risk of having his throat cut for gold not his own,—in fact did not want
his throat cut at all.
At first it was almost impossible to procure lumber of any kind for
building purposes, and the houses erected were principally of canvas;
though a few rough stone-houses were soon built and the miners
constructed cabins of the rough rocks lying about on the sides of the
hills. Many dug holes a few feet square in the sides of steep banks, and
covering these with a roof of sage-bush and dirt announced themselves
“at home” to their friends.
As winter came on, not a few who had been living in tents or the open
air, betook themselves for shelter to the tunnels they had begun to run
into the hills; widening out a place at some distance back from the
mouth for bedroom and parlor.
Some of those who thus made habitations of tunnels did their cooking in
the open air, under a brush-shed placed in front; others, displaying
more industry and ingenuity, made a kitchen some distance back in their
underground quarters, working a hole up to the surface of the earth,
through which the smoke of their fire found egress, presenting the
curious appearance of a small semi-active volcano, when seen at a
distance by one who knew nothing of the subterranean lodging-house
whence the smoke proceeded.
A Scotchman tunnelled into a hill of dry and soft rock near Silver City
and excavated a habitation in which he dwelt for years, and in which he
finally died. He worked out several chambers of considerable size in the
rock, one of which was his library and contained three or four hundred
volumes of books, principally of a religious character.
His place was on a secluded ravine, a mile from the town, and he led the
life of a hermit; indeed, his home not a little resembled the
rock-dwelling of Robinson Crusoe. He had been educated for the ministry
in his youth, and now in his old age, became again a student and gave
nearly his whole time to pious meditations. During pleasant weather, in
summer, the ladies of Silver City frequently visited the recluse on the
Sabbath, when, sitting on a bench at the mouth of his subterranean
habitation, he would talk beautiful sermons to them.
In 1859, when the discovery of silver was made, the only wagon-road in
all the country was the old Emigrant Road; coming in across the Plains,
passing through Carson Valley and thence ascending and crossing the
Sierra Nevada Mountains to California, by the way of Placerville.
Virginia City being situated on a sort of sloping plateau, on the
eastern face of Mount Davidson, at the height of over 6000 feet above
the level of the sea, was a place difficult of access. Wagons could be
used in the surrounding valleys, but Virginia City could receive no
freight except such as could be carried up the mountain on the backs of
pack-mules. Soon after the discovery of silver, however, companies
located routes for wagon-roads to the place, and began the difficult
work of building them, blasting out passage-ways in many places through
solid rock along the sides of cañons shut in by almost perpendicular
walls. Men swarmed on these roads during their construction, the
explosion of heavy blasts was almost constant along the cañons, and it
was not many months before they were completed, when lumber, timber, and
many other much-needed articles, that could not be packed on the backs
of mules, poured into Virginia City whose streets were soon crowded with
huge “prairie schooners”—as the great mountain wagons are called—drawn
by long lines of mules or horses, all musical with bells.
The completion of a practicable wagon-road to Virginia City was at that
time considered a great achievement, but now locomotives rush and shriek
round the mountain steeps up which the patient mules tugged and groaned
in former days.
While the wagon-roads were being built, the miners were not idle.
Supplies for their use could readily be packed up the mountain, and the
rich silver ore, securely sewed up in canvas bags, made convenient
return loads for the trains of pack-mules. In a month or two the several
companies working on the Comstock discontinued the use of rockers and
arastras. The richest of their ore was sacked up and sold for shipment
to Europe, and that of a lower grade was piled up in dumps and ore-bins
to be worked in mills in the country at some future day.
[Illustration: THE EUREKA MILL—CARSON RIVER.]
The following extract from the _Territorial Enterprise_, then published
as a weekly newspaper at Genoa (it is now published as a daily and
weekly at Virginia City, and is the leading paper of the city and
state), will give some idea of what was being done three months after
the discovery. The item was published on Saturday, October 1, under the
title of “The Mines:”
“The mines at Virginia Town and Gold Hill are exceeding the most
sanguine expectations of their owners. At Virginia Town, particularly,
the claims on the main leads promise to excel in richness the
far-famed Allison lead in California in its palmiest days.
“Claims are changing hands at almost fabulous prices. No fictitious
sales either, but _bona-fide_ business operation. The main lead, on
which is the celebrated Comstock and other claims, appears to be
composed of ores producing both silver and gold, and the more it is
prospected the richer it is proving.
“Donald Davidson & Co., of San Francisco, have purchased 200 tons of
the rock, containing gold and silver in conjunction, at $2,000 per
ton, and are shipping it to England by way of San Francisco, for
assay. (Smelting is meant). Other parties are investing heavily. All
that are now interested are but making preliminary arrangements for
next spring, when we may expect to find an amount of either dust or
ore sent from that section that will astonish some of the now
incredulous ones in California.”
They were not only selling and shipping large quantities of ore at this
time, but were also beginning to work ores in mills and water-power
arastras on the Carson River, near Dayton. In October, 1859, Logan &
Holmes had a four-stamp mill in operation (by horse-power) at Dayton,
which crushed four tons of ore per day, and Messrs. Hastings & Woodworth
had two water-power arastras running, which reduced three tons each per
day. The ore being worked by these mills was from Gold Hill, where the
ore of the vein as yet contained only gold, they not yet having
penetrated to a sufficient depth to reach the silver.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER VIII.
THE FATE OF THE DISCOVERERS.
Although occupying the western portion of Utah Territory, the laws under
which the people of the Comstock range were at this time living were of
their own making. At a meeting held by the miners of Gold Hill, June 11,
1859, the following preamble and “rules and regulations” were
unanimously adopted:
At the present day all manner of gambling games are allowed by the State
laws and are licensed by the towns and cities. In the original document,
preserved in the old Gold Hill book of records, there are given several
additional sections, but as they relate to matters not of interest to
the general reader I have omitted them. One of these provides that “No
Chinaman shall hold a claim in this district.”
_Whereas_, The isolated position we occupy far from all legal
tribunals, and cut off from those fountains of justice which every
American citizen should enjoy—renders it necessary that we organize in
body politic for our mutual protection against the lawless and for
meting out justice between man and man, therefore we, citizens of Gold
Hill, do hereby agree to adopt the following rules and laws for our
government—
RULES AND REGULATIONS.
SEC. 1. Any person who shall wilfully and with malice aforethought
take the life of any person, shall, upon being duly convicted thereof,
suffer the penalty of death by hanging.
SEC. 2. Any person who shall wilfully wound another, shall upon
conviction thereof, suffer such penalty as the jury may determine.
SEC. 3. Any person found guilty of robbery or theft, shall, upon
conviction, be punished with stripes or banishment, as the jury may
determine.
SEC. 4. Any person found guilty of assault and battery, or exhibiting
deadly weapons, shall, upon conviction, be fined or banished, as the
jury may determine.
SEC. 5. No banking games, under any consideration, shall be allowed in
this district, under the penalty of final banishment from the
district.
At the present day all manner of gambling games are allowed by the State
laws and are licensed by the towns and cities. In the original
documents, preserved in the old Gold Hill book of records, there are
given several additional sections, but as they relate to matters not of
general interest to the reader I have omitted them. One of these
provides that “No Chinaman shall hold a claim in this district.”
As may be seen, the laws of the first settlers were few and to the
point; they were for use, not for ornament or the puzzling of the common
understanding. In each settlement were in force some such “rules and
regulations” as these. The man who broke one of the “rules” was sure to
suffer a strict enforcement of the “regulations.”
In August, 1859, two thieves who gave the names of George Ruspas and
David Reise, stole a yoke of cattle at Chinatown (now Dayton), and
driving them to Washoe Valley, offered them for sale at a price so low
that they were at once suspected of having stolen the animals. They were
arrested, and it having been proved that the cattle had been stolen from
the ranche of a Mr. Campbell, near Dayton, the sentence of the jury was
that they have their left ears cut off, and that they be banished the
country.
The trial was held under a big pine-tree, near the western shore of
Washoe Lake, at the base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Jim Sturtevant,
an old resident of Washoe Valley, was appointed executioner. He drew out
a big knife, ran his thumb along the blade, and not finding its edge
just to his mind, gave it a few rakes across a rock. He then walked up
to Reise and taking a firm hold on the upper part of the organ
designated by the jury, shaved it off, close up, at a single slash.
As he approached Ruspas, the face of that gentleman was observed to wear
a cunning smile. He seemed very much amused about something. The
executioner, however, meant business, and tossing Reise’s ear over to
the jury, who sat at the root of the pine, he went after that of Ruspas,
whose eyes were following every motion made and whose face wore the
expression of that of a man about to say or do a good thing.
Sturtevant pulled aside the fellow’s hair, which he wore hanging down
about his shoulders, and lo! there was no left ear, it having been
parted with on some previous and similar occasion.
Here was a fix for the executioner! His instructions were to cut off the
fellow’s left ear, but there was no left ear on which to operate.
The prisoner now looked him in the face and laughed aloud. The joke was
so good that he could no longer restrain himself.
Sturtevant appealed to the jury for instructions. The jury were enjoying
the scene not a little, and being, in a good humor, said that they would
reconsider their sentence; that rather than anyone should be
disappointed the executioner might take off the prisoner’s right ear, if
he had one.
The smile faded out of the countenance of Ruspas as he felt Sturtevant’s
fingers securing a firm hold on the top of his right ear. An instant
after, Sturtevant gave a vigorous slash, and then tossed Ruspas’ ear
over to the jury, saying as he did so, that they now had a pair of ears
that were “rights and lefts” and therefore properly mated.
This little ceremony over, the pair of thieves were directed to take the
road leading over the Sierras to the beautiful “Golden State.” They
went, not as Adam and Eve left paradise, “dropping some natural tears,”
but as a pair of twin lambs are seen to depart when in the spring-time
the farmer has whacked off their too luxuriant tails—went dropping
blood.
There have been numerous stories told in regard to the amount of money
received by Comstock for his interest in the Ophir mine and other mining
property on the Comstock lode at Virginia City, some of which are far
from the truth. The sale made by Comstock to Judge Walsh is recorded in
the books of Virginia mining district and is dated at the “mining
village or settlement known as Ophir,” August 12, 1859. I make the
following extract in regard to the amount to be paid—and what was
eventually paid:
“For and in consideration of $10 to me in hand paid, and for the
further consideration of ten thousand nine hundred and ninety dollars
to be paid by James Walsh, according to the provisions and terms of an
obligation executed by him to me this day, I have bargained and sold,”
etc.
The description of the property sold is as follows:
“One undivided one-sixth part of 1400 feet, said 1400 feet being now
worked by myself, Penrod, Osborne, M^cLaughlin, Riley, and other
owners, and known as Comstock & Co.’s claims, and owned jointly by
myself, James Cary and others our associates; also, one undivided half
of 200 feet of mining ground being worked by the California Company at
the present time under an agreement made with me; also, all my right,
title, and interest in and to certain mining claims at Six-mile Cañon
diggings, being the claims known as the Caldwell claims; also,
one-half the water-right known as the Caldwell Springs, situated on
the hill above the said village of Ophir, and being the springs
supplying the workings on the first-mentioned 1,400 feet—the present
owners in said 1,400 feet being only entitled to the use of said water
so long as they continue to be owners; also my recorded title, to a
ranche on which the aforesaid village of Ophir is located, together
with the springs on the lower part of said ranche. Also, the
surface-diggings on the first-mentioned 1,400 feet and one-sixth of
all improvements, animals, arastras, and all other property belonging
to the company working the first-mentioned 1,400 feet.”
If Comstock had a ranche recorded which covered the site of Virginia
City, the page containing such record must have been one in the old book
of records of Gold Hill district. At first all claims located in
Virginia district were recorded at Gold Hill.
September 23, 1859, Pat M^cLaughlin, one of the discoverers of the
silver, sold his interest, one-sixth, in the Ophir mine for $3,500.
Peter O’Riley, the other original discoverer, held on to his interest in
the mine longer than any of the original locators, and received for it
about $40,000, with back dividends amounting to four or five thousand
dollars. Osborne received $7,000 for his ground.
V. A. Houseworth, the recorder at Gold Hill, who had trade for
one-fourth of one-sixth interest in the mine, sold that interest to
Judge Walsh, in September, 1859, for $3,000. All of these men supposed
at the time that they were obtaining a big price for their interests in
the mine. They knew nothing about silver-mines and feared that the
deposit discovered might suddenly “peter” out.
November 30, 1859, E. Penrod sold to Gabriel Maldarnardo, a Mexican
miner, his interest in the 100 feet of ground segregated to himself and
Comstock, at the time the Ophir mine was located. The deed given on this
occasion is quite a curiosity. It shows that the legal genius who drew
it up was determined to corral all that was in sight in the way of
“tenements, hereditaments” and “appurtenances.” It reads:
“For and in consideration of $3,000, to him in hand paid, this day, E.
Penrod has remised, released, and quit-claimed, and by these presents
do remise, release and quitclaim unto said party of the second part
and his heirs and assigns forever, all his right, title, and interest
in and to the undivided one-half of one hundred feet of a certain
Quartz Lead known as the reserved claim of Comstock, Penrod, & Co., on
the original location of the said company at Virginia City, near the
head of Six-mile Cañon, in Virginia Mining District, said Territory of
Utah, said claim known as the Spanish claim, together with all and
singular the tenements, hereditaments and appurtenances thereunto
belonging, or in anywise appertaining, and the reversion and
reversions, remainder and remainders, rents, dues, and profits
thereof. And, also, all the estate, right, title, interest, property,
possession, claim, and demand whatsoever, as well in law as in equity,
of said party of the first part, of, in, or to the above-described
premises, and every part and parcel thereof, with the appurtences, to
have and to hold, all and singular the above-mentioned and described
premises, together with the appurtenances, unto the said party of the
second part, to his heirs and assigns forever.”
This tremendous document held the property, and Maldarnardo soon after
coming into possession of it, erected two small smelting-furnaces and
began working the ore of the mine after the Mexican fashion.
The furnaces would hold but about fifty pounds of ore each, yet he
managed to melt out a considerable amount of bullion—gold and silver
mingled. The bullion, as it came from the furnace, was worth about $2.25
per ounce. The blast for the furnace was furnished by means of a common
blacksmith’s bellows. It was a slow process, and was soon abandoned,
though quite a number of cakes of bullion of considerable value were
shipped to San Francisco during the time the furnaces were in operation.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: COMSTOCK’S AFFINITY.]
[Illustration: RETURN OF COMSTOCK’S WIFE.]
CHAPTER IX.
COMSTOCK’S MATRIMONIAL VENTURE.
A short time before he sold his mining interests in Virginia City,
Comstock was smitten by the tender passion and made a venture in the
matrimonial time. It appears that a Mormon from Salt Lake, a little
sore-eyed fellow named Carter, landed at the diggings one day with his
wife and all his worldly effects on board of a dilapidated wagon, drawn
by a pair of sorry nags.
The man said he desired to go to work, and if he could find employment
would take up his residence in the diggings.
Comstock looked upon the fair features of the wife, and his susceptible
heart was touched—his soul went out toward her as she sat there in the
end of the little canvas-covered wagon, mournfully gazing out from the
depths of her calico sun-bonnet. Having charge of the Ophir mine, as
superintendent, Comstock hired the man and set him to work, being
determined to keep the woman in the camp.
The Mormon pair made their home in their wagon, and in the course of a
week or two it was observed that Comstock spent most of his time in the
neighborhood of the vehicle, was all the time hanging about it. Finally
he was one day seen seated upon the wagon tongue, smiling upon all
nature, with the Mormon wife engaged in combing his hair. The next
morning both Comstock and the wife were missing. The hair-combing had
meant business—showed the sealing of a compact of some kind. The pair
had made a bee-line for Washoe Valley, where a preacher acquaintance of
Comstock’s—one of the old settlers of the country—married them after the
manner of the “Gentiles.”
The next day Comstock and bride went to Carson City, and while there
receiving the congratulations of friends, the Mormon husband suddenly
appeared upon the scene.
There was for a time a considerable amount of blowing on both sides,
Comstock producing his certificate of marriage and asserting that it was
the right he stood upon. Finally, to settle the difficulty, Comstock
agreed to give the ex-husband a horse, a revolver, and $60 in money for
the woman, and so have no more bother.
This was agreed to and Carter took the “consideration” and started
off. After he had gone a distance of two or three hundred yards,
Comstock shouted after him and told him to come back. When he had
returned, Comstock demanded of him a bill of sale for his wife, saying
that the right way to do business was “up and up;” he wanted no
“after-claps”—didn’t wish to be obliged to pay for the woman a dozen
times over.
Carter then made out and signed a regular bill of sale, which Comstock
put in his wallet and then waved the man away.
In a few days Comstock had business at San Francisco. He left his bride
at Carson City and started over the mountains. When he had reached
Sacramento, word was sent him that his wife had run away with a
seductive youth of the town, and that the pair were on their way to
California by the Placerville route.
Comstock was all activity as soon as this news reached him. He engaged
the services of half a dozen Washoe friends whom he found at Sacramento,
and all hands hastened to Placerville, where they waited for the
runaways, who were on foot, to come in.
In due season they arrived and were pounced upon. Comstock and his wife
had a long talk in private.
At length Comstock made his appearance and told his friends that it was
all right, there would be no more trouble, as his wife was sorry for
what she had done and would now live with him right along and be a good
wife to him. All congratulated “Old Pancake” upon having brought his
affairs to a conclusion so satisfactory.
Wishing to bring forth his wife and have her tell his friends how good
she was going to be in the future, Comstock presently went to the room
in which he had left her. No wife was there! While Comstock had been
talking with his friends and receiving their congratulations, his wife
had climbed out of a back window and was off again with her young lover.
“To horse! to horse!” was then the cry, and soon Comstock’s friends had
mounted and were away. Not a moment was to be lost if the fugitives were
to be captured, and the pursuit began at once. Comstock himself was not
idle. He went forth into the town and offered $100 reward for the
capture and return of the runaways. He also went to a livery-stable and
hired all the teams about the establishment, sending forth upon the
search all who could be induced to go.
Most of those who accepted teams went off pleasure-riding, and would not
have disturbed the runaways had they found them. One man who went out on
the search, however, was a California miner who happened to be in
Placerville “dead broke.” He wanted the reward, and when he started out
he meant business.
The next day this man walked the runaways into Placerville in front of
his six-shooter. Comstock was delighted, and at once paid the man the
$100 reward. He then took his wife away to a secure place in the upper
story of a building, and locked her up in a room in order to have
another talk with her.
Meantime, his friends had charge of the young fellow who was making a
business of stealing Comstock’s wife. They shut him up in a room at the
hotel where they were stopping, and placed a man over him as a guard,
until they could consult together in regard to what was to be his
fate—at least this was what the young fellow was given to understand.
Soon after dark the guard told the young man that it had been decided to
take him out and hang him. The guard pretended to regret that they were
going to be so rough with the young fellow and finally told him that if
he could manage to escape it would be all right. “Now,” said he, “I am
going out to the bar to take a drink and if I find you here when I come
back it will be your own fault.”
The young fellow was not found nor was he ever seen in the town again.
By practicing eternal vigilance, Comstock managed to keep his wife that
winter, but in the spring, when the snow had gone off and the little
wild-flowers were beginning to peep up about the rocks and round the
roots of the tall pines, she watched her chance and ran away with a
long-legged miner who, with his blankets on his back, came strolling
that way.
Mrs. Comstock finally ceased to roam; she came to anchor in a lager-beer
cellar in Sacramento.
The fate of Carter, the Mormon who sold his wife to Comstock, was
tragic. After making the sale he mounted the horse he had received in
part payment for his spouse, and crossing the Sierra Nevada Mountains by
way of Hope Valley and the Big Trees, went down into California. There
he fell in with an emigrant train and courted and married a young girl,
all within a week. The next spring he came to Virginia City with his
wife. He had lived there but a short time before his wife learned of his
having sold a recent wife to Comstock, when she left Carter’s bed and
board and sued for and obtained a divorce. She then married a Mr.
Winnie, of Gold Hill.
At that time it was the fashion to take up mining ground in the names of
women. Carter had caused some claims to be located in his wife’s name,
and after she was divorced from him and married to Winnie, kept running
to see her about these claims, wishing to get some share of them back.
The frequent visits of Carter were not relished by Winnie, and he and
Carter had several wars of words. At length, one day when Carter came
and was bothering Mrs. Winnie about the mining ground, she went out and
called in her husband, who was at work near at hand. As Winnie entered
the house the battle was opened by Carter drawing his revolver and
shooting three fingers off Winnie’s left hand. Winnie then turned loose
with his six-shooter and killed Carter in his tracks. Some time after
this, in a similar argument Winnie had a few fingers—less than half a
dozen—shot off his right hand.
Winnie afterwards went to Honey Lake Valley, where his wife was thrown
from a horse, dragged over the ground, and killed.
After Comstock’s wife ran away with the strolling miner he thought best
to let her continue her travels unmolested. He opened a store at Carson
City with the money received for his mining interests in Virginia City
and also had a branch-store at Silver City, a town on Gold Cañon, about
three miles below Gold Hill, which was laid out in the summer of 1859.
He soon broke up in the mercantile line, losing everything. He trusted
everybody—all went to his stores and purchased goods without money and
without price, and at last his old friends the Piute Indians came in and
carried away the remnants. Comstock made them all happy, male and
female, by passing out to them armfuls of red blankets and calico of
brilliant hues.
His stock in the Carson store was as good as was seen in most trading
establishments of the kind at that day, but his Silver City branch never
amounted to much, the stock consisting principally, as the miners said,
of blue cotton overalls, pick-handles, rusty bacon, “nigger” shoes, and
“dog-leg” tobacco.
After losing all of his property, Comstock left Nevada and went to Idaho
and Montana, through which countries he wandered and prospected for some
years, always hoping that some day he should come upon a second Comstock
lode. He was always ready to join every expedition that was fitted out
to explore new regions, as the “big thing” seemed to him to be ever just
ahead.
In 1870 he joined the Big Horn expedition in Montana, and this was his
last undertaking. When near Bozeman City, on September 27th, 1870, he
committed suicide by shooting himself in the head with his revolver. The
Montana papers said it was supposed that he committed the act while
laboring under temporary aberration of mind, and this was doubtless the
case, as his was by no means a sound or well-balanced brain.
CHAPTER X.
A LETTER FROM COMSTOCK.
The following letter from H. T. P. Comstock was originally published in
the St. Louis _Republican_, some years ago, and gives a good idea of the
man and his mental condition during the latter years of his life. He was
always very eccentric, and even during the time he was in Washoe, in the
early days, was considered by many persons to be “a little cracked” in
the “upper story”—was a man flighty in his imaginings. The first part of
the letter, with the date, is lacking and was no doubt left off as being
merely introductory and unimportant, by the papers which republished it
after it reached the Pacific Coast. The letter was written from Butte
City, Montana. Some of Comstock’s statements are correct, but the
greater part of what he says is a mere jumble and shows a wavering mind.
His letter begins:
“These men, there in Washoe, are interested in misrepresenting the
facts about the Comstock lode; they fear my claims to the water, the
town site of Virginia and other interests they have swindled me out
of. It is just what they are afraid of exactly; and that’s what
everybody in Washoe is afraid of. I shall yet have my say, I am
writing a history of my life and all those fellows had better stand
from under. Now I want to tell the whole truth about the Comstock
lode: I’ll try to do it and I want you to publish it. If you are
gentlemen you will do it—it is nothing more than right. Here it is:
I, Henry Thomas Paige Comstock, first went to that country—the
Washoe—from Mexico, in 1853; roved all around California, and went
back to Mexico that year; went back then to Washoe, in the spring of
1854, and staid there. My home was in Santa Fe, when in Mexico. I, old
Joe Caldwell, Elmore & Co., partners of mine for twelve years, were
the first men who ever worked in that section.
Worked there in 1855-56 on surface-diggings, prospecting all the while
for silver ore. The Grosch brothers worked at what is now known as
Silver City. One of them, Hosea, stuck a pick in his foot and died in
my cabin. The other, Allen, died near Sugar-Loaf, California. This was
three years before the Comstock lode was discovered.
The first discovery of the Comstock lode was made in this way: In the
middle of January, 1859, I saw some queer-looking stuff in a gopher
hole; I ran my hand in and took out a handful of dirt and saw silver
and gold in it. At that time, big John Bishop and old Virginia were
with me, when I found it; they were sitting upon the side of the hill,
Gold Hill, a couple of hundred yards from me. I took up five claims. A
couple of weeks from that time, and where the Ophir is now located, I
found the same prospects, and told the boys at Gold Hill I was going
to work as good a mine as the first discovery; did not know at the
time there was a lead of that description there. Riley and M^cLaughlin
were working for me at the time of the Ophir discovery. I caved the
cut in and went after my party to take up the lead and form my
company. Manny Penrod, Peter Riley, Patrick M^cLaughlin, ‘Kentuck,’ or
Osborne, and myself formed a company. With my party I opened the lead,
and called it Comstock lode; that is the way they came by their
interests; I gave it to them.
We started to rocking with my water; had only a small quantity to rock
with. We made from five to ten and twelve pounds a day, and the dust
was from $9 to $12 an ounce—went that at Brewster’s bank, Placerville,
California, where I did my business.
I continued owning the claim, locating 1,400 feet out for myself, for
the use of my water to the company. I also located the Savage claim;
showed the ground to old man Savage. I located the Gould & Curry—went
into the valley and got old Daddy Curry to come down, and put him in
possession of it.
I also owned the Hale & Norcross, and kept Norcross for a year to work
in that ground. I also owned the principal part in Gold Hill and
leased it out to Walsh and Woodruff—leased to them 950 for 760—don’t
now remember which. Now I will tell you how I sold it; it has never
been told as it ought to be told throughout the United States for my
benefit, and it shall be.
Sandy Bowers, I gave him his claim of 20 feet in Gold Hill. Bill
Knight, I gave him his claim; Joe Plato, I gave him his. Joe is dead
now, and his widow is awful rich.
I was working this claim, the Ophir, and taking out a good deal of
ore; I did not know what the ore was worth, being in the wilderness
then, with no road to get out or into from California. It was an awful
wilderness! I took several tons of the ore and transported it by
ox-teams, to best advantage through the mountains of California, and
Judge Walsh was my agent and helped me.
Now during this time I was taking out large gold and silver specimens,
and took one specimen, weighing 12 pounds, and boxed it up and ordered
it sent to Washington City. I instructed John Musser, a lawyer at
Washoe, to send it; I don’t know whether it ever reached there or not.
I wanted Congress to see it, and the President, for it was the first
gold and silver ore mixed ever found in the United States.
I went on working, and Judge Walsh and Woodruff were there for two
months, trying every day to buy me out. My health being bad I sold the
claim to them on these terms: I was to get $10,000, and did get it at
last; and I was to receive one-eleventh of all that ever came out of
the claim during my natural life, and at my death was to will it to
whoever I pleased; also, to receive $100 per month.
That was the contract; and two men, Elder Bennett and Manny Penrod,
witnessed it; but my health was bad, and before I had the contract of
sale recorded, Woodruff and Walsh sold it out. Having taken no lien on
the property, I never got a dollar, from that day to this, except what
was at first received.
I am a regular born mountaineer, and did not know the intrigues of
civilized rascality. I am not ashamed to acknowledge that. Well, I had
a store in Carson City and was lying in the back room sick and
helpless. I told Ed. Belcher to take all my papers, and the contract
between Judge Walsh and Woodruff and myself, and put them under my
pillow. I could speak, but couldn’t help myself a bit. They all said I
would die, and said: ‘Boys, let’s pitch in and help ourselves!’ And
they did pitch in; and I never saw the papers afterwards. And the Gold
Hill I leased to Walsh and Woodruff; and then Frink and Kincaid got
it, and I never got anything for it; and the 160 acres of ground on
which Virginia City is built is my old recorded ranche. I used to
raise all my potatoes and vegetables on it, and had the Indians do the
work for me.
Virginia City was first called Silver City. I named it at the time I
gave the Ophir claim its name. Old Virginia and the other boys got on
a drunk one night there, and Old Virginia fell down and broke his
bottle, and when he got up he said he baptized that ground
Virginia—hence Virginia City—and that is the way it got its name. At
that time there were a few tents, a few little huts, and a grog-shop;
that was all there was. I was camped under a cedar-tree at that time—I
and my party.
I am now living at Butte City, in Montana Territory. The quartz in
Montana is very rich quartz, and the Cable claim is next to the
Comstock, but gold in place of silver. There is a greater variety of
minerals in Montana than in any country I have ever explored. There
are tin mines here. I discovered them myself; and there are alabaster
mines here. Silver, vastly rich, and gold very rich. The Flint Creek
mines—oh, God! how rich! This is bound to be a rich country, but we
are a long way from market and have to go slow.
And the Butte mines, too, they are vastly rich, but very much mixed
with other metals—that is, a great many of them—and Highland has a
good many rich leads now open and opening.
[Illustration: H. T. P. COMSTOCK.]
This is a country second to none on the globe, in point of mineral
wealth and in the precious metals. Now, you newspaper men have got me
in your papers, I want to say a word about myself. I am a man that has
been through the wars. I was in the Black Hawk war; was with Black
Hawk when he died. I was in the Mexican war, and all through in the
patriot war in Canada; had three brothers in it—I was the youngest;
they are all dead now.
I am the son of old Noah Comstock, living in Cleveland, Ohio. He has
been largely engaged in the lumber and hotel business there. I have
been in the wilderness since a child; was bound to the American Fur
Company; my boss died and that’s the way I got with old Black Hawk. My
first recollection was packing traps; trapped all over Canada,
Michigan, and Indiana; but the Rocky Mountains have been my home; I
have been a guide these years and years. I was born in Canada, and am
now near fifty years of age.
HENRY T. P. COMSTOCK.”
James Fennimore, better known as James Finney and familiarly called “Old
Virginia,” by all the old settlers of Washoe, he being a native of the
State of Virginia, came to the mines on Gold Cañon, in 1851. He came
from the Kern River country, California, where he had a “difficulty”
with a man, and, believing he had killed him, took a little walk across
the Sierra Nevada Mountains, dropping the name of Fennimore and calling
himself James Finney.
Although fond of the bottle, Old Virginia was by no means a loafer. He
had his sprees, but these were generally followed by seasons of great
activity.
He was very fond of hunting, and when not engaged in mining or
prospecting he was ranging the mountains and valleys in search of deer,
antelope, and mountain sheep. He was interested in nearly all the
enterprises of the early Johntown and Gold Hill mines but missed being
in the Ophir at the time of the discovery of silver, having sold his
interest in the Six-mile Cañon diggings the previous season.
He was killed in the town of Dayton, in July, 1861, by being thrown from
a “bucking” mustang that he was trying to ride while a good deal under
the influence of liquor. He was pitched head first upon the ground,
suffered a fracture of the skull, and died in a few hours. At the time
of his death he was possessed of about $3,000 in coin and had been
talking of returning soon to his native State.
I one day met a Piute Indian in Virginia City who recollected both
Comstock and Old Virginia very well. Fifteen or twenty stalwart Indians,
who had been engaged at driving wood and timber on the Carson River, had
visited Virginia for the purpose of expending their earnings in the
purchase of blankets and other staples. Among the number was an Indian
who appeared to be forty-five or fifty years of age. Something that he
said about the changed appearance of the place induced me to ask him how
long he had known the town.
“Well,” said he, speaking pretty fair English, “long time. When me first
come here, no house here; all sagebrush. Me work here first time me come
for Old Birginey (Old Virginia). Yes; me work for Old Birginey down in
Six-mile Cañyum.”
“At mining?” I asked.
“Yes; minin’. Me heap pull um rocker. Me that time know Comstock—Ole
Comstock. You Sabe him?”
“Yes;” said I, “have seen him. He is dead now. Got broke, up in Montana;
bad luck all the time; got crazy and shot himself through the head with
a pistol.”
“Hum! Ole Comstock dead,” said the old warrior musingly, “dead! Well,
Ole Comstock owe me fifty-five dollar. That money gone now. Well, same
way Ole Birginey. He owe me forty-five dollar when he die.”
“How did he die?” I asked.
“Well, you see he die down to Dayton long time ago. Ole Birginey he all
time drink too much whisky. One day he bully drunk, he get on pony; pony
he run, he buck one bully buck and Ole Birginey go over pony head. One
foot stay in stirrup and pony drag ole man on ground and kill him. Me
help dig one grave, bury Ole Birginey, down Dayton, by Carson River.
Well, well,” said the old redskin, reflectively, “hoss kill um Ole
Birginey, Comstock he kill heself. Comstock owe me fifty-five dollar;
Ole Birginey owe me forty-five dollar! Me think,” shaking his head,
“maybe both time too much whisky!” The sage old Piute was mistaken as
regarded Comstock; he was a man who drank but little.
CHAPTER XI.
OLD VIRGINIA AND HIS STORIES.
Old Virginia used to tell of a terrible fight that took place one
evening in Gold Hill. The stakes, he said, were two short bits (twenty
cents). The fight lasted half an hour and was most stubbornly contested
on both sides. The contest was, as he would here explain, between his
appetite and his “drinketite.” He held stakes, and for a good while was
unable to decide which had won. At last, however, drinketite got his
opponent down and kept him down so long that he decided in his favor,
and all three struck out for the nearest saloon—appetite grumbling at
him all the way about his decision.
As has been already mentioned, Old Virginia was a great hunter. When not
engaged in mining or prospecting, he was off in the hills with his gun;
most generally alone wandering and philosophizing through the wilderness
as he viewed the stupendous works of nature. He used to tell a story of
a feast he once had in the desert regions of the Humboldt, which was
quite amusing. It ran as follows:
OLD VIRGINIA’S FISHER STORY.
“In ’53, six or eight of us were out on a huntin’ trip and camped on
the Humboldt River, down to’ards the sink of the same.
“We’d been havin’ miserable luck. Couldn’t strike any game and had
’bout devoured what grub we’d carried out with us when we left
Johntown. This being the case, we nat’rally had to keep stirrin’ about
to try to skeer up somethin’ that would do to eat. So, one afternoon,
when the pot was ’bout empty, all hands struck out to try for
something in the way of game; some goin’ one way and some another.
“Old Captain Crooks and one or two more, went off down the river,
while the rest of our fellers struck back from the stream and kind o’
promiscuously diversified themselves out across the sand-hills and
sage-brush flats in search of sage-hen and rabbits; you see we
couldn’t expect to find big game in that section—deer, and antelope,
and them sort of fellers.
“I finally went off up the river alone. I jogged along up the stream,
’bout half a mile, and then laid down in a big bunch of weedy-lookin’
bushes. As I was reposin’ thar in the silence, gazin’ up at the deep
blue sky, I fell to ruminatin’ on the unsartainty of all things here
below—on what is above, and why we are here.
“I had jist arrived at the conclusion that man can no more help bein’
born than a blade of grass can stay in the ground when spring comes;
and, as the blade of grass can’t help fadin’ and dyin’ when winter
comes on, so man goes out of the world with about as little say in the
matter as when he comes into it.
“All of this I was a-thinkin’ about as I lay thar lookin’ up at the
sky, half-way noticin’ a solitary raven as was a sailin about high
above. I’d fixed it up that thar was a great head mind up in them blue
heavens somewhar, as was a-seein’ to all matters for me and the grass,
and that things was liable to work jist about as that mind willed,
whether me and the grass made a fuss about it or not, when all at once
I heerd a small racket, near me in some dry grass.
“Erectin’ myself cautiously, and peepin’ over the top of my clump of
bushes, I seed a all-fired big skunk, rootin’ under the dry, matted
grass near the brink of the river. He war lookin’ after mice, worms,
bugs, grass-nuts, and sich like provender.
“I brought my gun to my shoulder and knocked the unsuspectin’ critter
over so dead that he never kicked. He was jist as good game as I
wanted—I wouldn’t have traded him for any number of blue-meated
rabbits.
“Bein’ shot in jist the right spot, thar wasn’t a particle of smell
about him. You see I’d knocked over many sich fellers back in Ole
Virginney and knowed percisely whar to hold on him to do the work.
Many’s the fine fat one I’d cooked and devoured! But it’s not every
place whar they’ll eat skunk—it’s a thing that runs in streaks and
through sartain settlements, as you may say.
“This was a prime feller! I think I never, in all my experience,
killed a finer or fatter one. I shouldered my game and trudged back to
the camp, which I found vacant. None of the boys had yet returned.
[Illustration: THE HAPPY BREAKFAST.]
“I sat down and skinned my skunk, then tuck and hid the skin in some
low bushes, a few rods from camp, in order that none of the fellows
might know the exact natur of the game I’d brought in.
“If they knowed it war a skunk, not one of ’em would eat a bite of
it—some people’s so prejudiced, you know ’bout outside appearances and
the little nat’ral peculiarities of birds and beast.
“Well, to’ards night, Captain Crook’s and all the fellers got into
camp, and not one of them had killed a thing. They soon spied the fine
plump animal I had hangin’ up on a stake, near camp, and wanted to
know what for critter it war. I told ’em I didn’t know for sartin—the
blame thing ruther headed my time, and I war convarsant with most of
the four-footed quadrupeds perambulatin’ the present hemisphere; yet I
reckon the thing might do to eat on a pinch.
“All hands now wanted to see the skin. I pretended to look for it,
then told ’em I’d seed the dogs a worryin’ with somethin’ a bit ago’
and ruther guessed they’d drug the skin into the river.
“Captain Crooks seemed to be took with a idea. Says he: ‘Was it a
kinder brownish-black lookin’ thing, with a kinder middlin’-like bushy
tail?’
“‘What would it be apt to be if it was that way?’ says I.
“‘A fisher,’ says he.
“‘Is a fisher good to eat?’ says I.
“‘Yes, fisher’s bully eatin,’ says he.
“‘That’s the way its tail looked,’ says I.
“‘How about the color?‘ says he.
“‘Air fishers as good as rabbit?’ says I.
“‘Much bulleyer!’ says he.
“‘Then,’ says I, ‘you’ve guessed the color.’
“The old Captain then turned to the boys and said he knowed it was a
fisher the moment he sot eyes on it, and he hadn’t seen one for goin’
on eleven year, now.
“Then he went to braggin’ so much about what good eatin’ fisher was,
that the boys all got awful anxious to be tryin’ some of the critter.
“But the Captain said fisher warn’t good till it had first been well
parboiled; that we must put him in the camp-kettle and bile him that
night, then stew him down in a pan for breakfast.
“When we went to bed we left the fisher gently simmerin’ over the
fire, and by mornin’ he was not only biled, but too much so—was biled
to rags.
“The Captain looked a litle puzzled at this phernominon, but the boys
said it was all the better.
“We fried as much of the animal as we could stack into two pans and
had a reg’lar feast of fisher; as the fellers all believed the thing
to be.
“Old Captain Crooks was delighted. He had his plate filled about five
times, and told the boys, as all were squatted in a circle round about
on the ground, how he used to have big times up in Wisconsin a
catchin’ and a cookin’ of fishers.
“I’d finished my breakfast and started to go and ketch up my horse,
when I came to the skunk skin, layin’ in the bushes whar I’d hid it
away. An idea popped into my head. I looked at the great
black-and-white, woolly hide, then at the ole Captain, who, with his
knife and fork balanced acrost his fingers, was showin’ the boys how
to set a trap for a fisher. He still had in his lap ’bout half a plate
of greasy, steamin’ fisher stew, and the fellers was all still a
shovelin’ in fisher, watchin’., between mouthfuls, the trap the
Captain was fixen up for ’em.
“‘I’ll do it!’ says I, to myself. Pickin’ up the skin by ’bout six of
the long white hairs in the end of the tail, I marched up to where all
war squatted.
“Hy‘ar, fellers,’ says I, ‘blame me if hyar ain’t that dam fisher skin
now!’
“Gentlemen, if I war to talk from now till next week I couldn’t do
full justice to what follered! Old Captain Crooks was just raisin’ a
forkful of stew to his mouth, when he ketched sight of that air skin.
The fork dropped from his hand; his eyes bugged out like the horns of
a snail, and a sort of convulsive shudder shook his whole animal
system as he yelled: ‘Skunk, by all that’s stinkin’ and nasty!’
“‘Skunk, by thunder!’ howled all the rest in chorus.
“Sick! well, I needn’t mention what follered. But, fellers, that like
ter cost me my life—that trick did. When them boys finally got
convalescent and riz up and come for me, it was close papers for a
time.
“Ole Captain Crooks picked one lock o’ hair out o’ my head before I
had time to make the least explanation. It tuck awful hard swearin’ to
make them fellers believe I had’nt never seed a skunk afore.”
Peter O’Riley, in the early days, when mining on Gold Cañon and along
Six-mile Cañon, was an honest, hard-working, good-natured, harmless kind
of man, yet when aroused displayed a most fierce and ungovernable
temper. When he flew into a passion he was ready to do anything or use
any kind of weapon that first came to hand. Even then, he showed, in
this, signs of that insanity in which he ended his days. Many instances
of his exhibitions of blind and furious rage are related by the early
miners.
During these early days a sham duel was got up at Johntown between
O’Riley and a young man named Smith, a miner working in Gold Cañon. As
in most real duels, there was a woman in the case, a girl living up in
Carson Valley. Both O’Riley and Smith found pleasure in the smile of the
young girl in question, and the light of her eyes was as sunshine to
their hearts. O’Riley was so much smitten that he would sometimes go and
work all day on the farm of the father without money and without reward
of any kind, other than the pleasure of being near the daughter during
the time he was taking his meals. Such hard-working love as this must
have been strong and honest. As O’Riley could neither read nor write the
“boys” fixed up letters purporting to come from the girl, in which she
expressed unbounded love for both men, but the trouble was that for the
life of her she could not say which she most loved. At last there came a
letter in which she said she had thought of a way of deciding the
matter. O’Riley and Smith were to fight a duel, and her hand was to be
the prize of the victor.
O’Riley was ready for this at once, for, as I have said, he was a man
who was quite desperate when the deeper feelings of his nature were
aroused, and Smith, though he pretended to dislike the proposition,
finally agreed to stand up to the rack; there appearing to be no other
way in which the difficulty could be settled.
It was left to the friends of the principals to make the necessary
arrangements. These decided that as but one of the men could have the
girl, the duel should be to the death. They therefore announced that the
fight must be with double-barrelled shotguns, at twenty paces.
The appointed time arrived, and the rival lovers were placed in
position, each armed with a shotgun. The guns were heavily charged with
powder and paper-wads, but O’Riley, who was in downright earnest and
thirsted for blood, supposed that all was on the square and that each
barrel of both guns contained not less than nine revolver-balls.
At the word, both men fired; but O’Riley, who was determined to put his
rival out of the way, turned loose with both barrels of his gun, firing
his second barrel almost before the smoke had drifted away from the
muzzle of the first.
Young Smith fell groaning to the ground, where his brother who was
standing near with his left hand filled with the blood of a chicken, ran
to him, crying: “Oh! my poor brother, my poor brother!” at the same time
smearing his brother’s breast with the blood he held in his hand.
O’Riley was brought to the spot by his seconds, and while they were
asking the seconds of the opposite side if their man had received
satisfaction, the brother of the man lying on the ground suddenly drew
his six-shooter, and shouting: “You have killed my brother, now I’ll
have your life!” made at O’Riley, who ran like a deer for the house of a
neighbor, where he knew a loaded shotgun was kept.
As he ran, the brother of the man supposed to be killed, occasionally
fired his pistol, causing O’Riley to do some lively zigzaging, after the
manner practiced by the Piute Indians under similar circumstances.
The farce of the duel having been carefully studied in all of its
details, long before going upon the ground, and knowing that at this
stage of its progress O’Riley would go for this shotgun, the boys had
rammed tremendous charges into both barrels of the ponderous old family
weapon, putting a number of paper wads down upon the powder.
Leaping into the house and getting possession of the gun, O’Riley rushed
out and was about to make his way across Gold Cañon, when his pursuer,
now dangerously near, blazed away at him again with his revolver.
O’Riley, standing on the brink of the cañon, wheeled about and let drive
at his relentless pursuer. He had cocked both barrels of the gun and
both went off together, the breech striking him full on the nose and
mouth, sending him rolling fifteen or twenty feet to the bottom of the
cañon. He landed in active retreat, however, and went up through the
cañon like an antelope.
O’Riley made directly for the village of Franktown, distant twelve
miles, over the mountain, and remained there some two weeks, though the
Johntowners several times sent word to him to come back and work his
claim—that he had not killed Smith, that all was right and the duel was
only a sham affair.
But not a word of all this would O’Riley believe. He had seen his rival
stretched upon the ground in his gore, had heard his dying groans, and
was not to be fooled back to Johntown to be shot by the incensed Smiths
or hanged by the miners of the camp.
[Illustration]
Taking with them young Smith, the man supposed to have been killed in
the duel, a party of Johntowners went over to Franktown to see O’Riley.
No sooner did the latter see that Smith was really alive than he flew
into a terrible rage and it was all that the friends on both sides could
do to prevent shooting that was not sham and bloodshed in earnest. Peace
was finally made by young Smith agreeing to renounce all pretensions to
the hand of the young lady.
Peter O’Riley, one of the discoverers of the Comstock lode, as has been
stated, held his interest in the Ophir mine, longer than any of the
original locators, and realized nearly $50,000. He seemed to be “fixed”
for the remainder of his days. Being a man used to roughing it all the
days of his life, his wants, both real and imaginary, were few. Had he
placed his money at interest he could have taken his ease all the rest
of his days. But he built a big stone hotel in Virginia City, and then
allowed persons to persuade him that he was a great man, a man of
financial genius, who should make himself felt in the stock-market. As
he could neither read nor write, he was obliged to find persons to do
that part of the business for him. He and his assistants then
speculated—speculated until one day “poor old Pete” found himself with
pick, shovel, and pan, on his back, again going forth to prospect; as we
have seen Comstock wandering in unrest through the wilds of Montana.
Being a spiritualist and having always the latest advices from the
ghosts of the departed, in regard to mines and all else worth knowing
about, O’Riley did not find it necessary to wander as far as to Montana.
The spirits pointed out a place in the foothills of the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, where they said was stored up far more gold and silver than
in the whole Comstock lode.
The place shown O’Riley by the spirits was nothing more than a bed of
rotten granite. Here he toiled alone at running a tunnel—worked for two
or three years—under all manner of difficulties.
The ground in which he was at work was full of water, and caves
frequently occurred in his tunnel. The work of many weeks was often lost
in a moment by a cave, which crushed in his timbers and drove him back
almost to where he first began; but the spirits said there was a whole
mountain of silver and gold ahead, and he believed them and persevered.
[Illustration: GUIDED BY SPIRITS.]
He was without money but not without friends. One and another of his
friends among the old settlers, purchased for him what he required in
the way of provisions and tools. As he worked alone in his dark tunnel,
month after month, far under the mountain, the spirits began to grow
more and more familiar. They swarmed about him, advising him and
directing the work. As he wielded pick and sledge, their voices came to
him out of the darkness which walled in the light of his solitary
candle, cheering him on; voices from the chinks in the rocks whispered
to him stories of great masses of native silver at no great distance
ahead, of caverns floored with silver and roofed with great arches hung
with stalactites of pure silver and glittering, native gold.
The spirits talked so much with him in his tunnel under the mountain,
and had made themselves so familiar then, that at last they boldly
conversed with him under the broad light of day, and in the city as well
as in the solitude of the mountains. He was heard muttering to them as
he walked the streets, and a wild and joyous light gleamed in his eyes
as he listened to their promises of mountains of gold and caves of
silver.
News at length came that O’Riley had been caved on and badly hurt; then
that the physicians had pronounced him insane.
When he recovered from his hurt, he was anxious to return to his
tunnel—the spirits under the mountain were calling to him—but he was
sent to a private asylum for the insane, at Woodbridge, California, and
in a year or two died there; the spirits to the last lingering about him
and heaping on him reproaches for having left the golden mountains and
silver caverns they had pointed out to him.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XII.
MISLED BY THE “SPIRITS.”
Comstock was a believer in spirits. Mrs. L. S. Bowers—one of the early
settlers at Johntown and at Gold Hill, and now known as the “Washoe
Seeress,” on account of her many predictions about fires in the mines
and rich bodies of ore—is a Spiritualist, and very many of the early
settlers and those who were one way and another connected with the
discovery of silver in Nevada, were Spiritualists. Old Virginia was also
a believer in “spirits.” O’Riley was not the only person who did mining
in Nevada under the direction of the spirits. Much money has been lost
in that country with spirit superintendents in charge of the work.
The most ridiculous work of the kind ever done there however, under the
direction of spirits was that by some parties who were led to believe
that Mount Davidson—the mountain on the side of which Virginia stands
and which towers nearly 2000 feet above the city—was an immense tank of
oil.
This was about the time of the excitement in regard to the oil wells of
Pennsylvania; while “Coal-oil Tommy” was “swinging round the circle.”
The great coal oil revelation was made through an old lady of Virginia
City who was a great medium, and the great oil deposit, according to
this old lady and her spirits, was near the summit of Mount Davidson.
To Joe Grigg, an engineer at the old Savage mining-works, the medium
made known the spot where the great subterranean lake of oil was to be
found. Joe got some tools and began a tunnel in the flinty granite, or
rather gneiss, which was stratified and stood as would the shingles on a
house if turned upside down. For a long time Joe dug away in his tunnel,
encouraged by new revelations almost daily.
[Illustration: ENCOURAGED BY REVELATIONS.]
[Illustration: THE LAST BLAST.]
The medium could see the oil and was carefully observing the progress of
the tunnel. Joe was getting closer and closer to the vast reservoir
every day. At last it seemed to Joe that he must be almost on the point
of breaking through into it. Just ahead of him the medium could see the
great lake of oil—an oleaginous ocean. Joe, at work away up there all
alone on the steep slope of the mountain began cogitating on the
situation and became frightened. It seemed altogether too big a
thing—too great an abundance of oil. Then, too, he began to think of the
consequences to the town, and the innocent and unsuspecting inhabitants
thereof. There he was, blasting and banging away on the mountain-side,
with a mere shell of granite—perhaps not ten inches thick—between
himself and the great lake. He pondered upon the matter until at last he
became afraid to continue, and decided the blast he was then putting in,
should be his last. He feared even that might break through the shell of
rock and set on fire the great lake of oil. In imagination he already
saw this vast tank of oil pouring down the side of the mountain,
overwhelming and destroying the city.
In this emergency the spirits were again consulted. They declared that a
large iron pipe must be procured and laid from the tunnel down into the
town, when the oil might be tapped and its flow controlled. The spirits
also asserted that the time for forming a company had now arrived and
advised that certain persons be let into the secret. Joe having hitherto
been “going it alone.”
The persons to whom the secret of the existence of the great
subterranean reservoir of oil was made known were nearly all
spiritualists. The “Mount Davidson Oil Company” was formed, and all
concerned kept very quiet about the matter in hand.
All was now in readiness for tapping the oil so soon as the pipe could
be procured and laid. In order that they might not lack the pipe, the
medium—who was at the head of the company and was managing the whole
business—proceeded to levy an assessment of $5 per share on the capital
stock. That assessment exploded the whole arrangement. Every shareholder
turned tail and “got out of the wilderness.” To this day that lake of
oil remains untapped, and—as it is not likely that the spirits would lie
about the small matter of a few million hogshead of coal-oil—Mount
Davidson stands to-day the greatest natural reservoir of oil in the
known world.
Patrick M^cLaughlin, who, with Peter O’Riley, made the discovery of
silver in the Ophir mine, was alive at last accounts (in 1875) and was
at work at the Green mine, San Bernardino county, California. He was
doing the cooking for some half-dozen men, employed at the mine named.
He sold his interest in the Ophir mine for $3,500 and probably received
considerable sums for shares owned by him in other mines on the Comstock
range, all of which he doubtless lost in speculations of various
kinds—speculations undertaken with a view to securing millions. Few of
those who were original locators anywhere along the Comstock lode
received large prices for their claims, and in a few years all were
again as poor as before the silver was found. Those who bought and
continued to buy at what seemed like enormous figures were they who have
made the most money out of the mines.
The first winter after the discovery of silver: 1859-60, was one of the
severest the country has known. As I have already stated, there were
very few buildings in Virginia City that were worthy of the name. The
majority of the inhabitants lived in mere shanties and in underground
caves and dens—a tribe of troglodytes.
[Illustration: BOUND FOR WASHOE.]
[Illustration: D——N WASHOE.]
Many men who were in the country during the summer and fall, left for
California before winter set in, some with the intention of returning
and others cursing the country. These last were men who had for years
been working in the placer-mines of California and who had rushed over
the mountains to Washoe as soon as news reached them of the great wages
being taken out with rockers. They supposed there were extensive
placer-mines in the new region. When they found none but such as had
already been gutted by the Johntowners and the Chinese who had worked
about the mouth of Gold Cañon, they wanted nothing more to do with the
country. They had no taste for working quartz veins or for deep mining
of any kind. They lingered in the country till toward fall, hunting for
rich pockets in veins of quartz that appeared to be gold-bearing, then
rose up and in a flock crossed the Sierras to the more congenial hills,
flats, and gulches of the “Golden State.”
Many persons, however, remained at Virginia City, Gold Hill, Silver
City, and Dayton, and a rough time they all had of it before spring. The
first snow fell on the 22nd of November; it snowed all day, and four
days later again set in, when snow fell to the depth of five or six
feet, cutting off all communication between Gold Hill and Virginia,
though the two towns were but a mile apart. The worst of the winter was
between this time and the 1st of February. In December many cattle were
dying of cold and hunger about Chinatown (Dayton), where they had been
sent to find a living in the valley along the Carson River. Not only
cattle, but also horses, donkeys, and animals of all kinds died of cold
and hunger. Most of them starved to death. It was impossible to procure
food for them.
In March, 1860, hay was selling at 50 cents per pound and barley at 40
cents. Men could not afford to keep horses, and therefore shot them or
let them wander away into the valleys and flats and take their own time
about dying. Food for man was about as dear as that for beast. Flour
sold for $75 per 100 pounds in Virginia City; coffee at 50 cents per
pound, and bacon at 40 cents. Lumber was worth $150 per thousand feet,
and all else in proportion. None of the settlers starved, but the
stomachs of many of them had frequent holidays. Fuel was scarce, it
being necessary to pack it through the deep snow from the surrounding
hills, where, at that time, was to be found a sparse growth of stunted
pines and cedars. The stoves of the saloons and lodging-houses were well
patronized. Bean-poker and old sledge were the principal amusements,
aside from talking over the great expectations, which all cherished.
Every man who had a claim expected to sell it for a fortune when spring
came.
Little work could be done in the mines, but that little showed them to
be growing richer and richer for every foot of progress made or depth
attained. The excitement was at fever heat in California, and a grand
rush of capitalists was expected as soon as the mountains could be
crossed. This being the case, those who were wintering in Washoe though
physically uncomfortable were comfortable in spirit. Gold lent its hue
to all of their visions of the future.
[Illustration: BUSINESS.]
Some Indians lingered in the neighborhood, and they were quite as hard
up for provisions as the whites. They frequently came to the cabins of
the miners to beg food. On such occasions—like some white beggars—they
began business by presenting a paper to be read. The paper very often
read as follows:
“This Indian is a d—d old thief. He will steal anything he can lay his
hands on. If he comes about your camp, break his head.
A Friend”
In the early part of February it began to grow warm. Many days were
almost as warm as summer, but of nights it continued to freeze. Building
soon began, and in March many houses were going up in Virginia City, in
all directions, and the town was roughly laid out for many a mile along
the Comstock lead. People began to flounder through the snow from
California, during the latter part of February, and early in March began
to cross the Sierras in swarms. Great hardships were endured by some of
the first parties that crossed the mountains, and a few persons lost
their lives in storms that suddenly arose.
Although there was much fine weather in February, March, and April,
snow-squalls were of frequent occurrence in May and even as late as
June; this, however, was not particularly out of place in that country;
it still does the same way out there. It is a region that has no climate
of its own. What climate it has is blown over the Sierras from
California and comes in fragments. But for the towering, snow-clad peaks
of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, Nevada would have a climate similar to
that of California, but these mountains chill all the “weather” that
passes over them.
They may be having a fine, warm rain in California, but any portion of
it that reaches Nevada is transformed during its passage over the
Sierras and descends in the shape of snow. Owing to the altitude of
Virginia City, whenever clouds shut off the sun for any considerable
length of time it becomes cold.
The early settlers at Virginia made the acquaintance of the “Washoe
zephyr” during this first winter of their sojourn in the town. This
“zephyr,” as it is sarcastically termed, is a furious westerly gale
which is a frequent visitant during the fall and spring months. It
appears to come sweeping from the Pacific Ocean, passing over
California, and only plunging down to the earth when it has crossed the
Sierras. It made wild work that first winter with the frail tenements of
the first settlers. Canvas-houses, tents, and brush-shanties were
scattered right and left.
During the prevalence of a zephyr, early in the spring of 1860, some
enterprising Washoeite performed the feat of stealing a hot stove. A
canvas-house occupied by a lone woman was blown down, and while she was
gone to find some men to set it up, her stove disappeared, and never
more was seen.
Avalanches also put in an appearance, and in March, a man who was
cutting wood on a hill just north of Virginia was buried by one, and his
body was not recovered till the snow had melted away. Avalanches are
still of occasional occurrence, and several lives have been lost and a
number of buildings demolished in the southern part of Virginia City, by
heavy slides of snow rushing down the side of Mount Davidson into the
western suburbs of the town.
In the spring of 1860, an avalanche which fell near Silver City, covered
the mouth of a tunnel in which half a dozen miners were living. It came
down in the night when they were all asleep. At the usual hour in the
morning some of the men awoke, but finding it still dark, turned over
and went to sleep again. Others of the party did the same. After a time
all were tired of sleeping and began talking about what a long night it
seemed. However, they concluded it was all right, and each again
addressed himself to the task of trying to sleep the night through. All
would not do, and in an hour or two they were again discussing the
apparent great length of the night, wondering, also, whether or not all
hands might not be unusually wakeful.
At length, one of the party said he would go out to the mouth of the
tunnel and see if he could perceive any sign of the approach of
daylight. On reaching the mouth of the tunnel, he ran his nose into a
solid bank of snow. The exclamation of surprise he uttered, brought all
to their feet. They soon comprehended the situation. Luckily they had
several shovels in the tunnel. Lighting a candle, they set to work, and
in half an hour had dug their way out, when they found that it was
almost sundown.
[Illustration: GOOD MORNING.]
When warm weather came, and men and money were pouring in from
California, those who had wintered in the several new towns of Washoe
forgot all the troubles they had had and all the hardships they had
passed through. They were on the alert to sell claims, and many did
realize handsome little fortunes, as all the newcomers, see next
sentence on next page] were wild with excitement, and all were anxious
to get hold of ground near the mines. Newcomers who had no money,
prospected for new leads, or “jumped” the claims of parties who had made
locations the previous fall. This made times lively, and numerous
battles, with guns and pistols were the result.
[Illustration: GOING IN.]
[Illustration: CHANGE OF MIND.]
[Illustration: COMING BACK.]
One day while a battle was raging at a claim on the hillside, near the
town, a big long-legged fellow, with a knife and pistol slung to his
belt, started up to where the fight was raging, on a dead run. Those who
were watching the affair said: “Now, we shall see the fur fly, when that
fellow gets on the ground!” When about half way up the hill, a pistol
ball came along and took off a portion of his goatee. He never for an
instant ceased to run, but as the ball cut through his goatee he spun
round on his heel and the running he did after that was all in the other
direction. From his start till his return, his gait was unbroken.
An honest Dutchman who, at great pains and expense, had built him a
cabin in the northern part of the place, came into town one evening to
make some purchases. When he went home he found his cabin jumped. To add
insult to injury the jumpers were fiddling and dancing, had a lot of
whisky, and were having a regular house-warming. The Dutchman had to go
and raise an army of his friends before he could drive the intruders
out. It was three or four days before he regained possession of his
cabin. Such occurrences were not rare, and persons were often placed in
very annoying situations.
CHAPTER XIII.
EARLY MINING.
During the spring of ’60, two mining companies were at war about their
locations, and one company threatened the other with an injunction.
There had been considerable talk among members of the threatened company
about this injunction being put on their claim. Two green Irishmen of
the company, who heard this, and who were at work on the claim,
concluded that they would keep a bright lookout for this injunction.
They had no idea what it was like, but if anything of the kind was going
to be put upon their claim they’d see about it. Every day they kept a
bright eye open for the injunction, but saw nothing stuck up anywhere
about their claim that looked like one.
About this time, however, it so happened that a party of surveyors were
engaged in running out a road in that neighborhood. The surveyors
arrived at the disputed claim just at noon, and, leaving their
theodolite standing on the line they were running, went into town to get
dinner. Pat and Mike were also away at dinner, but got back to their
claim before the party of surveyors returned. It so chanced that the
theodolite had been left standing on the bank immediately above the cut
in which the two sons of Erin had been at work. The first thing that
caught the eye of Pat and Mike, was the large and costly instrument,
standing on the bank, as though on guard over the cut in which they had
been working.
“By the powers ’o war, Pat!” cries Mike, “what divilish thing is that,
standing there on its three legs?”
“It looks like some quare kind of patent invintion,” said Pat, “wid all
of its brass muzzles and stop-cocks. What would it be, anyhow?”
“Well, now,” said Mike, “I wondther if it isn’t the thaving injunction
thim rascally divils over beyant have been swearin’ they’d put upon the
claim?”
“By the sivin churches, ye’ve said it!” yelled Pat. “Let’s afther it!”
[Illustration: BUSTIN’ THE INJUNCTION.]
With this, one seized a pick, the other a crowbar, and rushing upon the
theodolite they smashed it into a hundred pieces, crying—“This for all
of yer infernal injunctions!” Pat flung one leg of the instrument as far
as he could send it, yelling: “To the divil wid all injunctions!” Mike
sent another whirling down the hill, shouting: “Bring on yer
injunctions, we’re the lads that can knock the stuffin’ out of the best
and the biggest of thim!” Just as the pair had succeeded in “bustin’ up
the injunction” the party of surveyors returned. The interview between
them and the two Irishmen was short, but, as Pat afterwards
acknowledged, it was “mighty improvin.”
The newcomers who swarmed across the Sierras spread along the Comstock
range for miles, pitching their tents and establishing their camps
wherever wood and water were to be found. Having thus established their
headquarters they scouted out on prospecting expeditions in all
directions among the hills. In places on the ravines and in the flats,
where good water and some grass were to be found, there were to be seen
considerable villages of tents and brush shanties.
Of evenings, when the prospectors returned from the hills, there was a
big time among them, as they exhibited specimens of ore from the ledges
they had discovered and compared notes. All gathered about and opinions
were passed in regard to the value of the ores brought in.
The next business was to test the ores for the precious metals. In
gold-bearing quartz, small specks of gold were often to be seen with the
naked eye or aided by a small magnifying glass, such as every prospector
carried in his vest pocket for use in the examination of ores. If gold
could be seen at all, either with the naked eye or the glass, it was
considered a good sign. In order to further test the specimen, it was
then either beaten to a powder in a mortar or was ground as fine as
flour on a large flat stone, using a smaller stone for a muller. This
pulverized ore was then placed in a “horn,” a little canoe-shaped vessel
made of the split horn of an ox, when it was carefully washed out, much
as auriferous gravel is washed in a pan. The gold, in case the ore
experimented upon contained that metal, was found lying in a yellow
streak in the bottom of the horn; generally small particles of gold
dust, almost as fine as flour.
This was the test for gold, and any miner was able to judge, from the
“prospect” obtained in his horn, whether or not the quartz from which it
came was rich enough to pay for working in a mill.
In testing ores for silver, the miners in the early days used acids. If
a specimen of ore was supposed to contain silver, it was pulverized in
the same way as gold-bearing quartz, then was placed in the horn and the
lighter matter it contained washed out. When that which remained in the
horn appeared to be principally sulphurets and other metalline matter,
the washing ceased. The heavy residuum was then washed from the horn
into a matrass (a flask of annealed glass, with a narrow neck and a
broad bottom). Nitric acid was then poured into the matrass until the
matter to be tested was covered, when the flask was suspended over the
flame of a candle or lamp and boiled until the fumes escaping (which are
for a time red) came off white. The boiling operation was then presumed
to be completed.
When the contents of the matrass had been allowed to cool and settle,
the liquid portion was poured off into a vial of clear, thin glass,
called a test-tube. A few drops of a strong solution of common salt was
now poured into the test-tube. If the ore operated upon contained
silver, the contents of the test-tube would at once assume a milky hue.
This would begin at the top of the liquid in the tube, where the salt
solution first touched the solution of silver in the acid and would be
seen to gradually descend to the bottom of the vial. If there was much
silver in the ore, the milky matter formed was quite thick, and clinging
together descends to the bottom of the tube in the form of little ropes.
Muriatic acid poured into the tube produced the same effect as the
solution of salt and water. The white matter formed was the chloride of
silver.
In case the prospector had any doubt about what he had obtained being
genuine chloride of silver, he held the test-tube in the strong light of
the sun for a few minutes, when the chloride would be seen to assume a
rich purple color—a color which no photographer would ever mistake.
Those who wish to try this experiment may do so anywhere. If no silver
ore is to be had a few filings of a silver coin, or anything containing
silver, may be used. The boiling in nitric acid may be performed in a
small saucer of ordinary table ware and a common vial may be used in
lieu of a test-tube.
The chloride of silver obtained in the bottom of the tube may easily be
reduced to the metallic state. To do this it is dried and placed in a
small hole scooped out in a piece of charcoal, when the flame of a
candle is blown upon it until it is melted, and a bright little button
of pure silver is obtained. Lead ore (galena) treated with nitric acid,
as in testing silver ore, will produce a chloride somewhat resembling
that of silver, but is more granular in appearance, does not turn purple
in the light of the sun, and is dissolved in twenty times its bulk of
water; whereas washing with water does not dissolve the chloride of
silver, no matter how many times the washings are repeated.
If the presence of copper is suspected in the ore tested for silver, a
bit of bright iron wire or the blade of a penknife may be dipped into
the solution obtained from the specimen, either before or after adding
the salt, when, if copper be present, the wire or knife will show a
coating of it in the metallic state.
Chloride ores of silver cannot be tested by the acid method—they being
chloride of silver in advance of the operation. These ores must be
subjected to the test of a fire assay—must be smelted in a crucible.
This being the case, our prospectors were not utterly cast down when
their pet specimens failed to show silver when tested by the acid
process. They at once declared that the silver was in the form of a
chloride, and were not satisfied that they were not millionaires, until
they had carried their specimens to some assay office and had a regular
fire assay made. Then, when the certificate of the assayer came, they
were generally obliged to take a back seat, receiving the imprecations
of the camp. Occasionally, however, a “big assay” was obtained. Then
there was a grand excitement. Every man in the camp wanted the lucky man
to put him down in his notice of location for a claim of 200 feet—the
amount of ground that could be taken up by one man under the revised
laws of the district. In order to get an interest in a claim that
promised to turn out a “big thing,” there was much pulling and hauling,
buzzing and log-rolling, among the miners who knew of the “strike.”
The miners all did their own cooking, but this was no great task, as
when you had mentioned slapjacks, beans, bacon, and coffee, you were at
the bottom of the bill of fare. A few men, however, in every camp,
developed a decided genius in the art culinary and concocted some
wonderful dishes, the raw material at hand considered.
About three-fourths of the prospecting miners who came over from
California, packed their traps on the backs of donkeys, and, driving
these before them, boldly, if not swiftly, scaled the Sierras. These
donkeys became a great nuisance about the several camps. All became
thieves of the most accomplished type. They would steal flour, sugar,
bacon, beans, and everything eatable about the camp. They would even
devour gunny sacks in which bacon had been packed, old woollen shirts
and almost everything else but the picks and shovels. The donkeys would
be seen demurely grazing on the flats and on the hillsides when the
miners left camp in the morning to go out prospecting, but all the time
had one eye upon every movement that was made. Hardly were the miners
out of sight ere the donkeys were in the camp, with heads in the tents
devouring all within reach. When the miners returned the donkeys were
all out picking about on the hillsides, as calmly as though nothing had
happened; but the swearing heard in camp, as the work of the cunning
beasts came to light, would have furnished any ordinary bull-driver a
stock of oaths that he could not exhaust in six months.
One of these donkeys—too confiding—was caught in the act. Many of the
miners used a kind of flour, called “self-rising.” There was mixed with
it when it was ground all of the ingredients used in the manufacture of
yeast powders. All the miner had to do in making bread from this flour
was to add the proper quantity of water and mix it, when it “came up”
beautifully. The donkey in question had struck a sack of this flour and
had eaten all he could hold of it. He then went down to a spring, near
the camp, and drank a quantity of water. When we came home that evening
Mr. Donkey was still at the spring. The self-rising principle in the
flour had done its work. The beast was round as an apple and his legs
stood out like those of a carpenter’s bench. He was very dead. Here was
one of the thieves. Cunning as he had been, he was caught at last, and
with “wool in his teeth.”
A queer genius thus described the donkey, called by everybody in that
region, “The Washoe Canary”:
SOME ACCOUNT OF YE WASHOE CANARY.
Let it be proclaimed at the outset that ye Washoe canary is not at all
a bird: and, though hee hath voice in great volume, lykë unto that of
a _prima donna_, yet is hee no sweet singer in Israel. Hee is none
other than ye ungainly beaste known in other landes as ye jackass. You
may many times observe ye Washoe canary strolling at hys leasure high
up on the side of ye craggy hill and in ye declivous place, basking in
ye picturesque and charging hys soul wyth ye majestic. Hee rolleth
abroad hys poetic eye upon ye beauties of nature; yea, expandeth hys
nostryls and drinketh in sublimity.
Hee looketh about hym upon ye rocks and ye sage-bushes; he beholdeth
ye lizard basking in ye sun, and observeth ye gambols of ye horned
toad. Straightway hys poetic imagination becometh heated, he feeleth
ye spirit upon him; hee becometh puffed up with ye ardent intensity of
hys elevated sensations; he braceth outwardly hys feet and poureth
forth in long-drawn, triumphant gushes hys thunderous notes of
rapture, the meanwhile wielding hys tayle up and down in the most
wanton manner. Hys musick does not approach unto ye ravishing strains
whyche descended through ye charmed mountain of Alfouran, and
overflowed with melody the cell of the hermit Sanballad. It hath, in
some parts, a quaver more of Chinese harmoniousness.
A wild, uneducated species of canary was thought worthy of mention in
ye booke of Job, among the more note-worthy beasts and birds of ye
earth; now, how much more worthy of description must be the cultivated
and highly accomplished warbler whyche is ye subject of this briefe
hystory? We shall presently see that hee will compare favorably with
any fowl or beaste of whyche we have mention in ye goode booke. Of ye
leviathan we read—“Who can come to him with a double bridle?” But, ah!
who dare come to ye Washoe canary wythe a Spanish-bitted double
bridle, two rope halters and a lasso? Again, of ye leviathan: “Lay
thine hand upon hym, remember the battle, do no more.” Verily, I say
of ye Washoe canary—lay thine hand upon hym, remember hys heeles, do
no more.
Of ye behemoth it is said: “He moveth hys tayle lyke a cedar,” but
when ye Washoe canary giveth vent to hys sudden inspiration in an
impromptu vocal effort he moveth hys tayle like unto two cedars and
one pump-handle.
Again, of ye behemoth—“He eateth grass as an ox.” Ye Washoe canary not
only eateth grass, but in ye wild luxuriance of hys voluptuous fancy,
and hys unbounded confidence in hys digestive capacity, rioteth in ye
most reckless manner on sage-brush, prickly-pears, thorns and
greasewood.
Of ye horse: “He smelleth ye battle afar off and saith, ‘ha, ha!’”
Now, not any horse can further smell out a thing presumed to be
hidden—sugar, bacon, and ye lyke—than ye Washoe canary—then, indeed,
hys “yee-haw” far surpasseth the “ha, ha!” of a horse-laugh. What are
ye wings of ye peacock or ye feathers of ye ostriche to ye fierceness
of hys foretop and ye widespread awfulness of hys ears?
Of ye horse: “He swalloweth ye ground in fierceness and rage.” Now, ye
Washoe canary swalloweth woolen shirts, old breeches, gunny sacks and
dilapidated hoop-skirts when in a state of pensive good nature—what,
then, must we suppose hym capable of swallowing, once hys wrath is
enkindled and all ye fearful ferocity of hys nature is aroused; Such
is ye Washoe canary. Be in haste at no time to proclaim a victory over
him.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XIV.
MIGRATION ON A LARGE SCALE.
On the Pacific Coast there is felt every spring a kind of unrest—men of
all classes feel as if they should go somewhere. This feeling is
particularly strong among miners, and they look about to see if some
region cannot be thought of into which they may make a prospecting raid.
Others feel like going up into the mountains, or some wild and far-away
region, on general principles—just to be rambling and seeing something
new and picturesque. To desire to be on the move when spring opens
appears to be natural to all mankind—to be a sort of animal instinct
implanted in the human race, and an instinct probably never wholly
eradicated by the influences of even the most refined civilization.
With the opening of spring, our Indians and all savage tribes of people
are on the move. Even among wild animals the same migratory instinct is
to be observed. Bear, deer, elk, and other animals that have wintered in
the valleys, move up into the mountains, when the snow has disappeared
under the warmth of the returning sun. The spring unrest is doubtless
now much less strong within us, than at that remote period when we
sported tails, yet we still retain in some degree this instinct of our
former savage state; it is still in us, and at each return of the season
for breaking up camp and moving out of winter quarters it takes
possession of us. In the older settled communities, the people may not
think of wandering to any great distance, but even there the farmer
feels best when he is rambling in his farthest fields, and his wife
prefers working in her garden and roving in the open air, to remaining
in her house.
No doubt in the dim and distant ages of the past—when we still retained
our caudal appendages—spring was a stirring season with the race. There
was then a general awakening of the tribes. Knowing nothing, at that
time, of the means by which we might provide artificial warmth, when the
rigors of winter began to be felt we all left the mountains. Descending
into the deepest and most sheltered valleys, we there hibernated, as
best we might, in the mouths of caves and in sunny nooks among the
hills, till the spring sun again warmed us into life. When it was judged
time to be on the move toward the mountains, the sagacious elders
probably took up their position on some prominent ledge of rock above
the sheltering ravine in which the winter had been passed, and addressed
the assembled tribe. What a glad chorus of yelps applauded the sage
chatterings of the orators, and what a wildly exultant waving of tails
was there when it was known all were to migrate “to fresh woods and
pastures new!”
The discovery of the silver mines in Nevada gave all an excellent
opportunity of gratifying their migratory instincts, and miners and men
of all classes and all trades and professions flocked over the Sierras,
in the spring of 1860.
At first they came on foot, driving donkeys or other pack-animals before
them, or on horseback, riding where they could and leading their horses
where the snow was soft, but soon sleighs and stages were started, and
in some shape floundered through with their passengers. Saddle trains
for passengers were started, however, before vehicles of any kind began
to run, and the snow passed over was in many places from thirty to sixty
feet in depth.
At first there was not sufficient shelter for the newcomers, and they
crowded to overflowing every building of whatever kind, in all the towns
along the Comstock range. But houses were rapidly being built in all
directions, and the weather soon became warm enough to allow of camping
out in comfort almost anywhere; men who had rolled up in their blankets
and slept on the snow, high up on the frosty Sierras, did not much mind
sleeping in the open air on the lower hills.
The newcomers from California not only prospected in the neighborhood of
Virginia, Gold Hill, Silver City, and all the hills surrounding these
towns and the Comstock, but scouted out in all directions to the
distance of from fifty to one hundred miles. They generally went in
parties of from five or six to a dozen or more men, and when they
traveled any great distance, were mounted, and had pack animals with
them, to carry their provisions and tools.
The excitement in regard to the mines discovered and being worked, those
newly found and those yet to be found—in regard to town sites, mill
sites and all manner of property in the new land—was at its greatest
height, when that occurred which for a time paralyzed every industry,
and alike brought business and prospecting to a stand. A Pony rider—the
mail was then being carried across the Plains and over the Sierras to
California by Pony Express—came in and reported that the Piute Indians,
till then friendly toward the whites, had burned Williams’ Station, on
the Carson River, thirty-one miles below Dayton, and had murdered two or
three men whom they found in charge.
The news that the Piutes were on the war path, and had begun killing and
burning, spread like wild-fire through the several towns and settlements
of the country. It was determined that the murderous redskins should be
punished. There was a call for volunteers in all the towns, and the call
was promptly responded to everywhere.
The news of the burning of Williams’ Station, and the murders there,
reached Virginia City, May 8th, 1860, and May 9th a party of 105 men,
volunteers from the several towns, under command of Major Ormsby, of
Carson City, marched down the Carson River for the purpose of overtaking
the Indians, and inflicting upon them a proper chastisement.
As I am not writing a history of Nevada I shall leave a detailed account
of the “Indian war” to be given by some future writer. I shall but
briefly sketch this first and last Indian trouble in Nevada, not
attempting to give the names of more than a few of the men who were
prominent participants in the battles at Pyramid Lake.
The men under Major Ormsby were poorly armed, badly mounted, and almost
wholly unorganized. The majority of the men thought that there would not
be much of a fight. They thought they should probably have a bit of a
skirmish with the Indians, kill a few of them, capture a lot of ponies,
and on the whole have rather a good time. Major Ormsby and a few of the
leading men and old settlers doubtless knew the Indians better, but most
of the recent arrivals from California who volunteered on the occasion
thought it would turn out a sort of pleasure excursion. They were
wofully disappointed. Finding no Indians at Williams’ Station on his
arrival there, Major Ormsby and command marched toward Pyramid Lake,
known to be the headquarters of the Piute tribe in that region of
country, and distant less than two days’ march.
On the morning of the 12th of May, on the Truckee River, at a point
about three miles from Pyramid Lake, they found a party of Indians
occupying a strong position on a rocky hill. They attacked these
Indians, who retreated after firing a few shots, falling back along the
sides of a ravine.
As the Indians fell back they continued a scattering fire. The whites
charged into the ravine in pursuit. They had proceeded some distance
when a body of two or three hundred Indians suddenly confronted them,
pouring into their ranks in quick succession several deadly volleys.
On the side of the whites many men and horses fell at this spot. The
volunteers were staggered by this sudden onslaught, and made but a
feeble reply to the fire of the enemy. At this critical juncture it was
observed that the Indians were gathering in the ravine behind them, when
a precipitate retreat was made for a piece of woods on the river. The
Indians hotly pursued them, firing as they advanced. At the edge of the
wood the whites dismounted and tried to make a stand, but the Indians
gathered from all sides, pouring in a rapid and galling fire, killing
several men and horses. The men were then ordered to mount for another
charge. While this was being done the Indians rushed forward, firing and
yelling, throwing the whites into a confusion which ended in a
precipitate and disorderly retreat.
Many men had no horses, and these fell an easy prey to the elated and
victorious savages who pursued the whites a distance of fifteen or
twenty miles, even overtaking and killing men who were tolerably well
mounted.
The trail of the retreating volunteers was strewn with dead bodies,
saddles, guns, knives, pistols, and blankets, thrown away when the chase
became desperate, and every man was trying to save his own life. Of the
105 men who went into the fight 76 were killed and a few wounded,
slightly, who managed to escape.
Among the killed was Major Ormsby, the commander of the expedition, an
old resident in the country; and Henry Meredith, a young lawyer from
Nevada City, California, a man well-known and highly esteemed on the
Pacific Coast. At the first volley fired by the Indians, in the cañon
into which the command had been entrapped, Meredith was wounded and fell
from his horse, but rose on one knee and fired three shots from his
revolver as the foe advanced upon him.
When the survivors of this slaughter reached Virginia City and told the
news of the defeat, the excitement was intense. In all the towns it
began to be feared that the Indians, elated by their victory, would come
in and sweep everything before them. It was said that there were 500
warriors in the fight at Pyramid Lake and it was supposed that the
Piutes could muster 5,000 men. Dispatches were sent to California for
regular troops, and as the news spread men volunteered and companies
were formed in Sacramento, Nevada City and Downieville, California. Men
also volunteered again in the several Washoe towns, and soon an army of
several hundred men, regulars and volunteers, was in the field for the
effectual putting down of the savages.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XV.
TROUBLE WITH THE INDIANS.
Meantime there was a grand panic in the several towns along the Comstock
range. Many men, women, and children at once left for California. The
night after the survivors of the fight at Pyramid Lake came in, it was
reported in Virginia City and Gold Hill that the Indians were advancing
in full force and were but twenty miles away. This news caused a grand
stampede, many men suddenly remembering that they had business on the
other side of the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
At Virginia City, during this season of alarms, the women and children
who remained were corraled for safety in a large stone hotel, that was
being built by Peter O’Riley, and the walls of which were up to such a
height that it made a pretty fair sort of a fort.
There were frequent night alarms and at times it was reported that the
Indians were on their way up Six-mile Cañon to attack the town. There
were but two classes of persons in the place, those who were not at all
frightened, and those who were frightened almost out of their wits.
One night when there was an alarm at Virginia, a Dutchman got his
partner to let him down into a shaft, about fifty feet in depth,
thinking that about the safest place that could be found in case of an
Indian raid.
After the Dutchman had been deposited at the bottom of the shaft his
partner went down into the town. He had been there but a short time
before a lot of horses and mules were stampeded somewhere down the cañon
and came charging up toward the town with great clatter. All thought the
Indians were surely coming this time, and not a few went out of the town
by the back trails and struck out for California.
Among these was the Dutchman’s partner. In his fright he thought only of
himself. The poor Teuton roosted at the bottom of the shaft for three
days and nights before he was discovered, and was almost dead when taken
out.
The people of Silver City determined to stand their ground. They were on
the war-path. Just above their town, on Gold Cañon, rugged rocks rise to
the height of two hundred feet or more, leaving a very narrow pass. This
place is called the Devil’s Gate, and here the Silverites determined to
make the Indians smell “villainous saltpeter.” They went up on top of
the Devil’s Gate, and built a stone fort about two rods in diameter. The
genius in command of this enterprise then bored out a pine log, hooped
it with iron bands, and mounting it in the fort as a cannon, filled it
full of pieces of scrap-iron, bits of chain, and the like. The muzzle
was so pointed that when fired it would sweep the cañon for a great
distance, making it very unpleasant for any Indians who might happen to
be jogging up that way.
After the war was over, some parties one day concluded to fire this
wooden gun off. They took it from the fort and carried it to a
considerable distance back on the hill, rigged a slow match to it, and
then got out of the way.
When the explosion finally came, the air was filled in all directions,
for many rods, with pieces of scrap-iron, iron bands, and chunks of
wood. Had it ever been fired in the fort it would have killed every man
near it.
At Virginia City, when the news of the defeat at Pyramid Lake came,
among other business transacted was the unanimous adoption of the
following resolution:
“_Resolved_, That during the next sixty days, or until the settlement
of the present Indian difficulties, no claim or mining ground within
the Territory, shall be subject to re-location, or liable to be jumped
for non-work.”
This gave many persons who had urgent business in California an
opportunity of going over and attending to it—doubtless many started
soon after voting upon the resolution.
On the 24th of May, the second expedition against the Indians left
Virginia City. It consisted of a force of 207 regular soldiers and 549
volunteers, all armed with minie-muskets and well equipped in every
respect.
The regulars had with them two twelve-pounder mountain howitzers, and
all felt in starting out that they were now prepared to give the Indians
a good substantial battle, in case they should be found in fighting
humor.
About noon, June 2d., the Piutes were found in force near the old
battle-ground at Pyramid Lake, and fire was opened on them.
As soon as the firing began, the plain, the ravines, hillsides,
sand-drifts, and mountain tops seemed alive with Indians.
The battle was short and decisive. The Indians were severely punished.
They lost 160 killed and had a great many wounded, while the whites had
but two men killed and only three or four wounded. Captain E. F. Storey,
from whom Storey county, Nevada, takes its name, was shot through the
lungs, and died in camp in the evening. Captain Storey was taking aim at
an Indian who was lying behind a rock at the time he received his death
wound. The Indian was too quick for him and got the first shot. Storey’s
men instantly riddled the fellow.
This expedition brought in the remains of Meredith and Major Ormsby. The
bodies of many of the dead were found to have been horribly mutilated.
About the place where the bodies of the volunteers were found, the
ground, for the space of two hundred yards, was beaten as solid as a
brickyard. Appearances indicated that the Indians had taken these men
alive, and had held a big dance about them before killing them.
After this battle no more was seen of the Indians in a long time, and
there has been no trouble with them since.
In September of that year, Winnemucca, chief of the tribe, visited Fort
Churchill, (a fort that was built on the Carson River, near Williams’
Station, after the last battle at Pyramid Lake,) accompanied by several
leading men of his tribe. The old fellow said that he not only desired
at that time, but at all other times had desired, to live at peace with
the whites. The late trouble had been brought about by a few Bannocks, a
lot of Shoshones and Pitt River Indians, with some bad Piutes. The
whites had, he said, charged in among his people without seeking an
interview with him and he had defended himself to the best of his
ability. He hoped that the peace would be permanent, and desired that
the whites and Piutes should now become firm friends and allies.
After the trouble was all over the cause of it was ascertained. It was
this.—In the absence of Williams, proprietor of the station where the
massacre, as it was called, occurred, two or three men left in charge
had seized upon two young Piute women and had treated them in the most
outrageous manner, keeping them shut up in an outside cellar or cave for
a day or two.
The husband of one of the women coming in search of his wife, heard her
voice calling him from the place in which she was hidden. When he
attempted to go to his wife’s assistance the men at the station beat him
and drove him away, threatening to kill him if he did not leave at once.
It so happened that the women who had been outraged were of the branch
of the Piute tribe living at Walker Lake who had married men of the
Bannock tribe. The Indian who was driven away from the station hastened
to Walker Lake and informed the chief man there of the outrage, asking
him to send a band of braves to punish the men at the station. But the
sub-chief at Walker Lake would send no men.
The wronged Indian then went to Old Winnemucca, who said he would send
no men, that he wanted no trouble with the whites. His advice was that
the whites be informed of the outrage, and requested to punish the men
in their own way, in accordance with their laws.
Not satisfied with this, the Bannock went to young Winnemucca, the war
chief. Here he was given the same advice that he had already received
from the old chief. Thirsting for vengeance, the man then hastened to
his own country and his own chief.
When the chief of the Bannocks had heard the man’s story he at once gave
him thirty of his best men, and told him to go and avenge the wrong that
had been done him. He went and the result is known.
After killing the men and burning the station, the Bannocks marked their
return trail with blood. They murdered in cold blood several small
parties of unarmed prospectors. The bodies of these were not discovered
until after the last fight at Pyramid Lake, when the murders were
charged to the account of the Piutes.
[Illustration: SAVAGES.]
Old Winnemucca was not at the first fight at Pyramid Lake, he being on
the Humboldt River at the time, but young Winnemucca, the war-chief, was
there, and commanded.
Before the fight began he showed a white flag and wished to explain
matters, but a man among the whites, who had a telescope rifle, fired
and killed an Indian who showed himself on the rocks, and thus
precipitated the battle which ended so disastrously for the whites.
When the volunteers returned victorious from the second battle, they
were the heroes of the hour, until some of them began to walk into
stores and help themselves to clothing.
They called this mode of obtaining clothing “pressing” it, and declared
that it was a military necessity. Some of the merchants thought they
were “pressing” it a little too strong when they began to help
themselves to fine calf-skin boots and cassimere pantaloons, and in two
or three instances fights ensued in which pistols were used, one of the
merchants and two or three of the raiders receiving severe wounds. This
“pressing” was done by a “hoodlum” class that came over the Sierras
among the volunteers. These were the men who took Indian scalps after
the battle. In one instance one of them found an Indian lying with his
back broken by a minie musket-ball. Drawing his bowie-knife he proceeded
to scalp the poor devil alive. As he was sawing away at the tough scalp,
the Indian spat in his face. This had the desired effect—the white
butcher drew his revolver and blew out the Indian’s brains. The officers
allowed no scalping, yet two or three scalps found their way to Virginia
City.
“Old Gus,” an old Dutchman, marched about the town, from saloon to
saloon, with an Indian bow stuck in the muzzle of his musket, at the end
of which dangled a scalp. This gave “Old Gus” all the whisky he wanted.
Wherever he came it was: “Hurrah for Old Gus, he got his Injun!”
The captain of one of the volunteer companies afterwards told me that in
passing over the ground after the fight he chanced to come upon Old Gus,
behind a rock, industriously engaged in skinning the head of a dead
Indian, meanwhile calmly smoking his pipe.
CHAPTER XVI.
STATE OF SOCIETY.
Owing to the breaking out of the war with the Piutes, and to the fact
that the precious metals existed in solid quartz, and, in most
instances, far beneath the surface, where it could only be reached by
means of deep shafts or long and expensive tunnels, many men who came to
the country early in the spring of 1860, left in disgust.
Hundreds of prospectors came in the expectation of being able to find
rich placer-mines, or at least large deposits of decomposed quartz, rich
in gold, which they might wash out with rockers and sluices, as they
were accustomed to wash the auriferous gravel of the California
gold-fields. Being unable to find anything of this kind, except the
ground already taken up and being worked at Virginia and Gold Hill,
these men said that, though rich, the mines were of “no extent,” and
made haste to return to those they had left on the western slope of the
Sierras, in the Golden State.
The Indian troubles greatly assisted many of these men in a speedy
arrival at the conclusion that Washoe was no good country in which to
abide. Few of those who first rushed to the country possessed sufficient
capital to enable them to undertake the expensive works required for the
proper opening and development of the claims they had located, and not
being able to sell a “pig in a poke,” they wanted nothing more to do
with silver mining, while many of those who had the means lacked faith
in the value of the leads discovered.
The business of working silver mines was then new to our people, and at
first they depended much on what was told them by the Mexican silver
miners who flocked to the country. Mexicans were in great demand. The
man who had the word of a Mexican that his lead or his location was
“bueno,” felt that his fortune was made. It has since been suspected
that many of these Mexicans were but “vaqueros” from the “cow counties”
of California, who knew no more of silver and silver mining than a
Digger Indian. They were shrewd enough, however, to keep their own
counsel, and any man who spoke the Spanish language was supposed to have
mined all his days in the richest silver mines of Mexico.
There were, however, undoubtedly in the country many old and skilful
Mexican miners—skilful after the fashion of mining in Mexico—and with
what our people were able to learn of these men, and what they soon
themselves discovered, it was not long before very good work was being
done, both in the mines and in the works erected for the reduction of
the ores. In the reduction of ores much that was of great practical
value was learned from the scientific Germans who flocked to the mines,
men who had had much experience in the silver mines of their own
country, both in mining and in the working of ores. Although rapid
progress was made in mining and milling, in building roads and making
substantial improvements of all kinds, Washoe was a region almost
destitute of laws of any kind, and all carried pistols and knives at
their belts, each man a “law unto himself.”
The people of Western Utah, now Nevada, were supposed to be living under
Mormon law, but the laws of the Saints were distasteful to the Gentiles
and they would have nothing to do with them. They preferred living under
some such “rules and regulations,” as we have seen were adopted at Gold
Hill, in June, 1859, or to settle their difficulties in a fair fight.
Such a dislike had the people to the Mormon laws that they early began
to agitate the matter of a separation from Utah and the erection of a
new Territory out of its western half. Delegates were sent to Congress
to urge this, but nothing was accomplished, and at length the people
took the matter into their own hands and determined to secede from Utah.
A convention was called, and met at Genoa, July 18th., 1859, when steps
were taken for the formation of a “Provisional Government.” A
“Declaration” and “Constitution” were drafted, submitted to a vote of
the people, and adopted. An election for Governor and members of the
Legislature was held, and, December 15th., 1859, this Legislature met at
Genoa, the capital, organized, received the “first annual message” of
Governor Roop, passed a number of resolutions, appointed a few
committees, and then adjourned. This was their first and last
adjournment; they never met again. The silver mines were discovered and
Governor Roop and all hands had other things to think of. The new
population created by the grand rush to the mines so altered the whole
face of affairs that it was considered inexpedient and impolitic to
proceed further in the Provisional Government at that time. The
discovery of silver and the rapid settlement of the country soon brought
the people of Western Utah to the notice of Congress: the Territory of
Nevada was created, and in July, 1861, Governor Nye and a number of the
Federal appointees arrived in the country and set in motion the wheels
of a government that was in accord with the feelings and traditions of
the people. In 1860, however, the Mormon laws were the only laws left to
the people; the Legislature of the provisional government having
adjourned before making any new laws. Having an abundance of “rules and
regulations,” with that ready-reckoner the revolver, laws were not much
missed for a time; besides, all were too eagerly engaged in the pursuit
of wealth in the shape of mines of silver and gold to give much serious
attention to matters political.
Soon after the last battle at Pyramid Lake, prospecting parties again
began to scout out into the wild and then unknown and unexplored regions
lying to the eastward and southward of the Comstock range. Stories of
wonderful discoveries of all kinds in these regions kept the people in
the several mining towns and settlements in a constant state of
excitement. Reports of these new discoveries, greatly exaggerated in
most instances, reaching California, a return tide of miners from that
State soon set in. The marvellous richness of the Ophir and other
Comstock mines continuing, and constantly increasing, capitalists came
flocking back to Virginia and Gold Hill, and it was not long before all
enterprises were in a condition as flourishing as before the Indian
troubles began. With the miners and capitalists also came gamblers of
both high and low degree, roughs, robbers, thieves, and adventurers of
all kinds, colors, and nationalities. Not a few noted and well-known
desperadoes arrived and walked the streets and presided in the saloons
as “chiefs.” It was the ambition of men of this class to be considered
as being “chief” in whatever town they might conclude to infest. Early
in the spring of 1860, Sam Brown, known all over the Pacific Coast as
“Fighting Sam Brown,” arrived at Virginia. He was a big chief, and when
he walked into a saloon, a side at a time, with his big Spanish spurs
clanking along the floor, and his six-shooter flapping under his
coat-tails, the little “chiefs” hunted their holes and talked small on
back seats.
In order to signalize his arrival and let it be known that he was no
“King Log,” Sam Brown committed a murder soon after reaching Virginia.
He picked a quarrel one night in a saloon with a man who was so drunk
that he did not know what he was saying, ripped him up with his
bowie-knife, killing him instantly; then, wiping his knife on the leg of
his pantaloons, walked across the saloon, lay down on a bench and went
to sleep. After this, where was the chief who dared say that Sam Brown
was not the _big_ chief? Sam had then killed about fifteen men,
doubtless much in the same way as he killed the last man. Not long was
Sam chief in Washoe. He took a ride down into Carson Valley, and
stopping at Van Sickles’ Station, near Genoa, took a shot or two at the
barkeeper, then mounted his horse and rode away.
Van Sickles was soon informed of what had occurred, and mounting a fast
horse, with a heavily-loaded double-barrelled shotgun in his hand,
started in pursuit.
He overtook the desperado before he reached Genoa.
Sam no doubt felt that his hour had come, for an enraged ranchman on his
track meant business, as he well knew—it was very different from having
to do with a “chief.” Sam turned in his saddle and began firing, as Van
Sickles approached; but the ranchman was uninjured, and raising his
shotgun riddled the great fighter with buckshot, tumbling him dead from
his horse, just in the edge of the town of Genoa. Thus died “Fighting
Sam Brown”—died with his “boots on;” an end which all “chiefs” dread.
After the death of Sam Brown, numerous chiefs rose up and there were
many bloody fights in regard to the succession. Also, there were many
bloody fights in which the chieftainship was not the mooted question.
Having knives and pistols ever at hand, men of all classes too
frequently used them. The reports of pistols were heard almost nightly,
and in passing along the streets frequent stampedes from the
gambling-houses were to be seen. As innocent parties were as likely to
be killed as the persons engaged in the shooting, those who were not
directly interested in a fight always withdrew when pistols were drawn
in a saloon or gambling-house. At such times they came out into the
street much as a flock of sheep would go through a gap in a fence with a
dog at their heels.
The street gained they turned and stood peeping back. If the war did not
presently begin they gradually ventured to return and resume their
interrupted occupations and pleasures, not expecting an apology from the
gentlemen who had inconvenienced them.
Thus were those not directly engaged in mining, or other productive
industry worrying along.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVII.
EARLY COMSTOCK MINING OPERATIONS.
In the mines rapid advances were soon made, both in the development of
the various claims and in the machinery and appliances used. Whereas,
the first shafts sunk were mere round holes, precisely similar in every
respect to an ordinary well, now began to be seen well-timbered square
shafts of two or more compartments; the old hand-windlasses gave place
to horse-whims and to steam hoisting machinery, and large and
substantially constructed tunnels took the place of the “coyote holes”
which were at first run into the hills.
The first steam hoisting and pumping machinery seen on the Comstock lead
was put in at the Ophir mine, in 1860. The machinery was driven by a
fifteen-horse-power donkey-engine. The mine was at that time being
worked through an incline (an inclined shaft) which followed the dip of
the vein. A track was laid down in this incline and a car was lowered
and hoisted through it by steam-power. The pump then used had a pipe but
four inches in diameter, and it was hard work to keep the mine drained,
even at the slight depth then attained. At this time the dip of the vein
was to the west, and all supposed that that was the true dip of the
Comstock lode: on this account locations lying to the west of the
Comstock were considered to be much more valuable, and were much more
sought for than those lying to the east. The westward dip of the great
lode would carry it directly into and under Mount Davidson, on the
eastern slope of which, and 1500 feet below its summit, the croppings of
the vein made their appearance; all, therefore, were desirous of
obtaining mining ground on the side of Mount Davidson and the mountains
flanking it north and south. But when the depth of 300 feet had been
attained in the Ophir mine, the lead began to straighten up and soon
assumed its true dip to the east, at an angle of about forty-five
degrees, a dip it has maintained ever since, and not only at that
particular point, but throughout its entire length of nearly three
miles.
When the true dip of the vein had been ascertained, it was then seen
that its apparent dip to the west was owing to the pressure of the
superincumbent rock and earth, on the steep side of the mountain, having
pressed down the upper part and bent it over to the east. When those who
had located claims on the side of Mount Davidson, and adjacent
mountains, saw the Comstock lead thus turning tail and leaving them,
they stood aghast. Those who had located to the eastward and had mourned
because they could do no better, were now happy men—the Comstock was
making toward them.
In December, 1860, the Ophir folks had attained a depth of but 180 feet
in their mine. They were working down in the heart of the bonanza, or
rich ore-body, and at that depth the breadth of ore was forty-five feet.
No such great width of ore had ever before been seen, and the miners
were at their wits’ end to know how to work it and keep up the
superincumbent ground—how to support such a great width of ground with
timbers, was the question. The ordinary plan of using posts and caps
would not do, as posts of sufficient length could not be obtained, and,
even though they could be had, would be inadequate to the support of the
great weight and pressure that would be brought to bear upon them. In
this emergency the company sent to California for Mr. Philip
Deidesheimer, a gentleman who had had much practical experience both in
the mines of Germany and those of the Pacific coast.
After Mr. Deidesheimer arrived and was placed in charge of the mine as
superintendent, he worked upon the problem before him for three weeks
before he arrived at a satisfactory solution. He then hit upon the plan
of timbering in “square sets” which is still in use in all the mines on
the Comstock, and without which they could not be worked. The plan was
to frame timbers and put them together in the shape of cribs, four by
five or six feet in size, piling these cribs one upon another—but all
neatly framed together—to any desired height. Thus was the ground
supported and braced up in all directions. Where the vein was of great
width, a certain number of these cribs could be filled in with waste
rock, forming pillars of stone reaching up to the wall of rock to be
supported—up to the roof of the mine.
Previous to the invention by Mr. Deidesheimer of the system of timbering
by means of “square sets,” the only supports used in the mines were
round logs cut on the surrounding hills. These logs were from sixteen to
thirty-five feet in length. When of the latter length they were
manufactured, that is, were made of two logs spliced and held together
by means of iron bolts and bands. Owing to the stunted character of the
pines and cedars found in the neighborhood it was almost impossible to
procure a log more than twenty feet in length. After setting up two of
these long logs, a log about eighteen feet long was placed upon them as
a cap. These posts and caps were placed as close together as they could
be made to stand, but then would not hold up the ground when it began to
slack and swell from exposure to the air.
Besides this difficulty there was no safe way of working either above or
below these sets, in the vein. To take out ore, either under or over the
timbers, loosened them and caused a disastrous cave. Many accidents
happened and many men lost their lives while this method of timbering
was practiced, but no lives have ever been lost in timbering by the
square-set or Deidesheimer plan. In the mines at Gold Hill was where the
timbers thirty-five feet in length were used, and there was where the
greatest number of accidents happened; but in the Ophir mine, timbers
sixteen feet long had been used.
When the miners of Gold Hill heard of the new mode of timbering
practiced in the Ophir mine, they went up to Virginia to see it, and
found it was just what was required. Mr. Deidesheimer sent some of his
carpenters down to Gold Hill to show the workmen there how to frame the
new timbers, and how to set them up. In 1861 this style of timbering was
adopted along the whole line of the Comstock and has been in use ever
since. The Ophir was probably the first mine in any part of the world
where such a system of timbering became a necessity, as no ore-body of
such great width had ever before been found. Nothing seen in the
Comstock mines more surprises and pleases the mining men of Europe than
this mode of timbering. It is a thing none of them has ever before seen
or thought of, and its utility is so strikingly obvious that they can
hardly find words in which to adequately express their great admiration
of it.
In 1861, Mr. Deidesheimer prevailed upon the Ophir Company to put up a
forty-five horse-power engine, an eight-inch pump and improved hoisting
machinery for the incline of the mine. The company thought this a
fearfully extravagant move, and were almost frightened out of their wits
when this “tremendous” machinery was first mentioned. Now there is
hardly anything in the shape of a mine anywhere along the Comstock range
on which there is not in operation more powerful and costly machinery.
At the depth of 180 feet, at what was called the third gallery, the
width of the ore was, as I have said, 45 feet; at the fourth gallery it
became 66 feet in width, and the miners were delighted to find that the
new timbers supported the ground in the most perfect manner. At this
time the ore extracted from this first bonanza was assorted as it was
extracted. That which would average $1,000 per ton was sacked up and
shipped to England for reduction, while the remainder was piled up as
second and third-class ore, to await the erection of proper mills for
working it at home. At the Mexican and other mines in the neighborhood,
about the same disposition was at this time being made of the ores taken
out, while at Gold Hill they had not yet attained a sufficient depth to
reach the silver, and were working their ores for gold alone; though
much silver was obtained with the gold.
[Illustration: TIMBERING OF A MINE.]
The first mill started up for the reduction of silver ores was that
known as the “Pioneer,” located at the Devil’s Gate, just where the
warlike “Silverites” built their fort at the time of the Indian
troubles. Other mills started up within a few days after this first one
went into operation and soon there were many at work in all directions.
The early millmen knew but little about working silver ores, and all
manner of experiments were tried with a view to the thorough
amalgamation of the silver contained in the rock that was crushed. This,
in the opinion of most superintendents of mills, was to be accomplished
by the use of chemicals. A more promiscuous collection of strange drugs
and vegetable decoctions never before was used for any purpose. The
amalgamating pans in the mills surpassed the caldron of Macbeth’s
witches in the variety and villainousness of their contents. Not content
with blue-stone (sulphate of copper), salt, and one or two other simple
articles of known efficacy, they poured into their pans all manner of
acids; dumped in potash, borax, saltpetre, alum, and all else that could
be found at the drug-stores, then went to the hills and started in on
the vegetable kingdom. They peeled bark off the cedar-trees, boiled it
down till they had obtained a strong tea, and then poured it into the
pans where it would have an opportunity of attacking the silver
stubbornly remaining in the rocky parts of the ore. The native
sage-brush, which everywhere covered the hills, being the bitterest,
most unsavory, and nauseating shrub to be found in any part of the
world, it was not long before a genius in charge of a mill conceived the
idea of making a tea of this and putting it into his pans. Soon, the
wonders performed by the “sage-brush process,” as it was called, were
being heralded through the land. The superintendent of every mill had
his secret process of working the silver ore. Often, when it was
supposed that one of the superintendents had made a grand discovery, the
workmen of the mill were bribed to make known the secret. To guard as
much as possible against this, the superintendent generally had a
private room in which he made his vile compounds. “Process-peddlers,”
with little vials of chemicals in their vest pockets, went from mill to
mill to show what they could do and would do, provided they received
from $5,000 to $20,000 for their secret. The object with many inventors
of “processes” appeared to be to physic the silver out of the rock, or
at least to make it so sick that it would be obliged to loose its hold
upon its matrix and come out and be caught by the quicksilver lying in
wait for it in the bottom of the pans. Had it been in the dark ages that
these experiments were in progress, the efficacy of the blood of human
victims would doubtless have been tried; they would occasionally have
hoisted an honest miner up from the subterranean depths and cut his
throat over a pan. The “process-peddlers” finally became a worse
nuisance than ever lightning-rod men have been—the limited space of
country to which they were confined being considered—and the millmen
became disgusted with all the patent processes—-their own as well as
those of others—and soon little, save salt and blue-stone, was used in
the pans. It was found that thorough grinding and careful working of the
ore was what was required.
During the first few years that they were experimenting on the Comstock
ores, in the many new and inefficient mills, millions of dollars in
silver and gold were lost in the tailings; that is, in the pulverized
ore that ran away from the mills after it had been operated upon in the
pans, settlers, and other apparatus for the saving and amalgamation of
silver by the wet-process. These tailings flowed from the mills into the
cañons and were swept down into the Carson River, thence down to the
“sink” or lake into which the river empties. These millions still lie in
the bed of the Carson River and in the bottom of the sink. Had any man
thought of saving these tailings in the early days of milling, by
putting a flume into Gold Cañon and running them to some flat or valley
where they could have been dumped in a great heap, all that is now lost
would have been saved, and the originator of the enterprise would have
made half a dozen big fortunes. The Mexicans knew the value of these
tailings and worked them, but they always do things on such a small
scale that what they obtained was a mere trifle, and nobody thought of
collecting the whole of the tailings running to waste in the cañons and
saving them in bulk; besides, the price of milling at that time was so
high—about $50 per ton—that the general impression was that it would not
pay to save the whole mass of tailings.
Two Mexicans were at work all one summer in Gold Cañon, at Silver City,
at concentrating and working the tailings that were flowing down the
stream, a mere rill of muddy water. They caught the tailings in a small
reservoir, from which they took them and spread them on a table that
stood at an inclination of about thirty degrees. They then threw water
over the tailings with a small dipper, beginning at the top of the table
and gradually working downward until they reached the bottom, at which
point, where the end of the table rested on the ground, would be found
some pounds of sulphuret of silver, with some particles of amalgam and
quicksilver that had escaped from the mills. This they placed upon a
platform of boards, called a “_patio_,” and when several hundred pounds
had been saved, sulphate of copper, salts, and quicksilver, in proper
proportions, were added to the mass of sulphuret and tailings, and the
whole was mixed up as builders mix mortar. When thoroughly mixed, the
whole mass was drawn together into a round heap, and allowed to stand
and sweat and digest in that shape for a certain number of hours. It was
then spread out and worked over, giving it the benefit of the air for a
time, when it was again heaped up to digest. This being several times
repeated, the operation was complete, and the silver, amalgamated with
quicksilver, was washed out in a pan or rocker. This is the famous
Mexican ‘_patio_’ process on a small scale. At the mines in Mexico they
have large, circular _patios_, paved with stone or tamped with tough
clay, in which horses are driven about to tread and knead the pulverized
and moistened ore. It is, however, the same thing in effect as the
process described above. The two Mexicans mentioned worked all summer,
and the supposition was that they were about “making grub,” but after
they left, the butcher of whom they obtained their meat stated that they
took away with them about $3,000 each; that they were in the habit of
bringing their bullion to his shop every Saturday night to weigh it,
therefore he knew what they had been doing all the time, but had
promised to keep their secret, as they were afraid of being driven away
before winter if it were known that they were making money.
After freshets in the cañon the miners used to go out and collect
amalgam by digging it out of the crevices in the rocks with knives, or
scooping it out with spoons. Having retorted this, they would take it to
a blacksmith’s forge, and make rings out of it by melting it and pouring
it into a mould cut in an adobe or piece of brick. In this way they made
rings that would weigh an ounce or more, and of nights, when going into
town to have a good time with the “boys,” would slip three or four of
these rings upon the fingers of their right hands, for use in lieu of
brass knuckles.
Notwithstanding all these evidences of the richness of tailings it was
long before men began to work them in any regular or scientific manner.
At length, however, shallow flumes were put up on the cañons in which
the tailings were concentrated and the sulphurets caught on strips of
coarse blanketing placed in the bottom of the sluices, and, finally,
huge reservoirs were constructed in which the whole of the tailings were
caught and saved in bulk, it being found that they could be worked at an
expense not exceeding four or five dollars per ton. With the tailings
there is always caught more or less amalgam and quicksilver. It appears
to be impossible to save all the gold and silver contained in ore by any
one process; indeed, after it has been worked over several times, and in
several different ways, the tailings that finally escape still contain
gold, silver, and quicksilver, but a much larger per cent is at present
saved than formerly.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XVIII.
LOSS OF THE PRECIOUS METALS.
The divisibility of quicksilver, and also of silver and gold, as shown
by the milling operations conducted in Nevada, is incomprehensibly
great, and would seem to be almost unlimited; particularly in the case
of the metal first named. A globule of quicksilver may be divided until
no longer visible to the naked eye, and, indeed, until scarcely visible
under a microscope, and yet even the most minute subdivision shall be
found to contain both gold and silver. How infinitesimally small, then,
must be the particles of silver and gold contained in one of these
almost invisible and immeasurable globules of mercury!
In regard to the remarkable divisibility of the precious metals, the
following instance may be given in illustration: The superintendent of a
water mill on the Carson River, when working for a considerable length
of time an ore in which gold largely predominated, used every precaution
to guard against loss. In addition to the usual settling-tanks, he
caused to be dug in the ground a number of large pits, into which the
waste water flowed after leaving the tanks.
After leaving these pits, the water passed off in a small flume, and to
the eye appeared as clear as the water of the purest mountain stream.
For the sake of experiment, the superintendent coated a copper bowl with
quicksilver, and placed it in such a position that the water from the
flume should fall into it. He also placed in the flume, below the bowl,
some copper riffles, properly coated with quicksilver. Although the
water passing through the flume appeared to be perfectly clear, yet at
the end of three months the bowl and riffles were cleaned up and over
$100 in amalgam was obtained.
This mill is driven by water taken from the Carson River, and carried
for a considerable distance through a large wooden flume. At one time it
became necessary to shut off the water, for the purpose of repairing
this flume. In making the repairs it was found that in many places that
the heads of the nails driven into the bottom of the flume were thickly
coated with amalgam. Within a distance of about three rods along the
flume, the workmen engaged in making repairs collected over an ounce of
amalgam. The water flowing through the flume was taken from the river,
below a number of large mills, and, though far from being clear, would
never have been suspected to contain floating quicksilver in such
quantity as to form collections of amalgam on the heads of iron nails.
In order that quicksilver may amalgamate with iron, the iron must be
scratched or polished while immersed in the quicksilver; it will
therefore be seen that much amalgam must have passed by before the
accidental occurrence of the conditions under which the collection of
amalgam on the heads of the nails could begin. As a beginning, a passing
pebble must have pricked through a globule of quicksilver just at the
moment when it was rolling over the head of a nail. By a succession of
these accidental collisions the head was finally covered with
quicksilver, and the collection of amalgam then went on rapidly.
As further evidence that quicksilver in considerable quantities floats
in the water of flumes and streams, below reduction-works, in a state of
invisible division, and yet carries with it the precious metals, I may
give an additional instance. At a mill on the Carson River one of the
workmen required a piece of copper. Remembering to have seen some old
sheets of that metal lying near the waste-gate of the flume, through
which water was brought to the wheel of the mill, he went to the spot
and hauled them out of a puddle in which they were lying. Much to his
surprise he found the sheets heavily coated with amalgam and so eaten up
by quicksilver that they were as thin as writing paper. The water
pouring out through the waste-gate had a fall of about fifteen feet. It
did not fall directly upon the copper plates, but in such a way as to
keep them constantly splashed and wet. The plates had lain where they
were found four or five years. Over a pound of amalgam was scraped off
them. It would seem that in these striking instances of the unsuspected
floating away of the precious metals there is for millmen food for
reflection, and for inventors a field of profit and distinction.
Just what becomes of all the quicksilver used in the reduction-works of
Nevada is a question which has never yet been fully and satisfactorily
answered. Much floats away with the water flowing from the mills; but it
cannot be that the whole of the immense quantities used is lost in that
way. Quicksilver in great quantities is constantly being taken into the
State, and not an ounce is ever returned. When it has been used in the
amalgamation of a batch of ore, it is taken to the amalgamating-pans,
and is used over and over again until it has disappeared. Whether it may
float away with the water used in amalgamating, or is lost by
evaporation while in the hot-bath of the steam-heated pans, there must
be a vast amount of the metal collecting somewhere, as it is a metal not
easily destroyed. In case it is lost by evaporation it must condense and
fall to the ground somewhere near the works in which it is used, and if
it floats away in the water it must eventually find a resting place on
the bottom of the stream in which it is carried away.
It is an axiom among millmen that “wherever quicksilver is lost, silver
is lost;” therefore there must be a large amount of silver lost, as we
shall presently see. The amount of quicksilver used by mills working the
Comstock ores alone averages 800 flasks, of 76½ pounds each; or 61,200
pounds per month. This in one year would amount to 734,400 pounds of
quicksilver that go somewhere, and counting backwards for ten years
shows 7,344,000 pounds that have _gone_ somewhere—either up the flue or
down the flume.
The quantity of quicksilver distributed monthly among the mills shows
just how much is lost per month. None is sold or sent out of the country
in or with the bullion; therefore, if there were no loss, the mills
would never want any more quicksilver than enough to give them their
first start, as the same lot could be used over and over again, _ad
infinitum_.
CHAPTER XIX.
THE SOCIAL ASPECT OF THE TERRITORY.
In 1862-3, with mills running in all directions and mines open and
hoisting ore for a distance of a mile or more along the Comstock,
Virginia City was a lively place. Where but two or three years before
was nothing but a rocky slope covered with sage-brush and scrub cedar,
were now to be seen large fire-proof brick and stone buildings, and
streets crowded with men and teams.
As all goods were at that time brought across the mountains by teams,
and as hundreds of teams were required to haul ore from the mines to the
mills, and to bring wood and timber from the hills and mountains, as
well as to do all kinds of local freighting, there often occurred most
vexatious blockades in the streets. A jam of teams would take place,
owing to some accident or to mismanagement on the part of some teamster,
and teams rolling in from each side, there would soon be seen a regular
blockade. These blockades were of daily occurrence and sometimes lasted
for hours. Teamsters waiting for the road to open grew hungry, and
producing their lunch-pails sat on their wagons and ate dinner, still
waiting patiently for the blockade to be broken. Half a dozen
stage-lines were running into the place, and these arrived loaded down
with passengers—capitalists, miners, “sports,” thieves, robbers, and
adventurers of all kinds. Cutting, shooting, and rows of every
description became of much more frequent occurrence than at any time in
the early days. The stages on all the roads leading to the city were
very frequently robbed by masked men, who halted the driver with
revolvers or double-barrelled shot-guns and called upon him to hand out
Wells, Fargo & Co’s treasure-box. One driver was halted so often and
became so well acquainted with the routine of the business, that
whenever he happened upon a man with a shot-gun, he went down into the
boot of his vehicle for the treasure-box. The usual plan of the robbers,
after securing the treasure-box, was to form the passengers in line by
the roadside, and while one masked robber stood guard over them with a
shot-gun, another would search them and relieve them of their coin,
watches, and other valuables. After this ceremony they would be ordered
on board the stage and told to “go along.”
The stages were robbed scores of times, bars of bullion, coin, and all
manner of valuables being taken. It was finally ascertained that the
gang who did most of this work—indeed, made it a regular business—were
men living on Six-mile Cañon, only about five miles from Virginia City.
They were ostensibly engaged in mining and had leased a mill, but the
bars they produced were those captured in their raids upon the stages.
The mill was only a blind. Without it they would not have dared to
dispose of their stolen bars. The capture of stage-coaches being
considered not quite up to the genius of the gang, they finally took a
whole train of cars on the Central Pacific Railroad, and got a spoil of
over $50,000. But this was their last exploit. All were soon captured
and the greater part of the stolen treasure recovered.
On the ridge between Virginia City and Gold Hill, called the “Divide,”
and forming the suburbs of both towns, was for some years a place where
footpads prowled nightly, and robberies there were of constant
occurrence. A belated Gold Hiller would be hurrying to his home when a
man would suddenly step out from behind a lumber-pile and tell him to
hold up his hands. With a cocked pistol pointed at his head the Gold
Hiller, or any other man, uniformly obeyed the order, when he was
quickly relieved of his loose change and told to “move on.” A footpad
would sometimes rob three or four men in quick succession in this way,
provided they happened along one at a time. They were quite industrious,
and were not the men to borrow or beg while they were able to make a
living by the labor of their hands.
On one occasion a Virginian was coming up over the Divide from Gold Hill
late at night. He had three twenty-dollar gold pieces in his breeches’
pocket, and, happening to be sauntering along with his hands in his
pockets, had the coin in his hand. Suddenly a masked man stepped before
him and thrusting a pistol into his face, cried: “Hold up your hands,
sir!” The gentleman held both hands high above his head, when the
footpad searched his pockets and found nothing. The gentleman had closed
his hand upon the three “twenties” and held them above his head while
submitting to the search. The footpad was evidently much disappointed,
as he said: “If you ever come along here again without any money, I’ll
take you a lick under the butt of the ear. That’s what I’ll do with
you!”
One night a stout young German was passing over the Divide, when he was
suddenly confronted by two masked robbers, one of whom placed a
six-shooter at his head. The level-headed German just reached out and
twisted the pistol out of the robber’s hand; whereupon he and his
partner in the business of collecting tolls from belated travelers took
to their heels, zigzagging and dodging industriously in the expectation
that a bullet would be sent after them. Some one asked the young German
what put it into his head to go for the pistol. “Py dunder,” said he, “I
did vant him; because in der spring, you see, I goes to der Bannock
country!”
Although few dead bodies were found on the roads, it is supposed that
many murders were committed about this time, the majority of the victims
being strangers in the country; yet not a few well-known residents of
the State have from time to time mysteriously disappeared. Almost every
year the remains of human beings are found in old shafts. Inquests are
held by the coroner of the county, but the remains are generally so much
decomposed that they cannot be identified, and the witnesses summoned
can only make mention of the several men known to them who have at
various times suddenly and unaccountably disappeared. In one old shaft,
when work was resumed on it after the lapse of some years, no less than
three dead bodies of men were found. Pieces of rope were found tied
about the arms and legs, as though for the purpose of making the bodies
up into a bundle convenient for transportation to the shaft. This shaft
was located below the town of Gold Hill, a short distance from a road on
which there were few houses. Many persons have also, no doubt,
accidentally walked into these old abandoned shafts, which everywhere
cover the face of the country, in the night or in the winter, when their
mouths were covered with drifts of snow. There are many instances of
this where persons have narrowly escaped death.
In Virginia City and other Washoe towns many goats are kept by families
for their milk. There are hundreds of goats to be seen everywhere on the
hills and mountains. The goat is an animal that is fond of caves and
caverns. De Foe was right in putting an old goat into a dark cavern, in
his “Robinson Crusoe.” The goats in Washoe constantly frequent the old
tunnels high up on the side of Mount Davidson and other mountains. In
many of these tunnels, at a distance of from two hundred to five hundred
feet from the mouth, vertical shafts have been sunk, to the depth of
from one hundred to two or three hundred feet. It often happens that the
goats, in the darkness of the old tunnels, walk into these shafts. Some
years ago a man living on Gold Cañon went out to look up a strayed goat.
He found the fresh tracks of goats leading into an old tunnel, and
ventured in. In walking back along the tunnel in the darkness he fell
into a shaft in its bottom. The shaft was about eighty feet in depth,
and he would probably have been instantly killed, but that there were at
the bottom the bodies of four or five dead goats; as it was, he had an
arm and a leg broken.
The man being missed, his neighbors turned out in search of him. They
found his tracks leading into the tunnel and went in after him, in
Indian file. Suddenly the head man disappeared, he having in the dim
light of the place, stepped into the mouth of the old shaft. From the
groans heard below his friends knew that he had not been killed, and at
once procured a windlass and rope and descended to his rescue, when, to
their surprise, they found that they had two men in the bottom of the
shaft. The man who last fell in had a leg broken, and by his fall came
so near jolting the life out of the man of whom they at first came in
search, that when first taken out it was thought he was dead.
In Virginia City, some men who were one day at work in a lumber-yard,
concluded it would be a good plan to pile a lot of boards over the mouth
of an old shaft that was in a part of the yard, not far from the
principal street leading to the town of Gold Hill. After they had
commenced the work, one of the men said that as he put down a plank he
thought that he heard a groan in the shaft. All listened. After a time
another man said he had heard what seemed to be a faint moan at the
bottom of the shaft. All again listened, and hearing nothing more were
about to go on with their work, when there came up from the bottom of
the shaft a deep groan that was heard by all. A windlass was procured,
and on descending the shaft a man was found lying at its bottom in an
unconscious condition. He was brought to the surface, when it was found
that he had a leg broken in two places, and was badly cut and bruised in
many parts of his body. He was a man weighing about 180 pounds, and had
fallen a distance of over one hundred feet. He proved to be an engineer
employed at one of the mills at Silver City, and finally fully
recovered. He remembered nothing about falling into the shaft; he only
remembered that on a certain day he was in Virginia City and started for
home very drunk. From this it was shown that he had been in the shaft
three days and nights when found. He stated, that while in the shaft he
regained his consciousness for a time, and to some extent comprehended
his situation, as, looking about, he saw the walls of the shaft and the
light of day at its top. When he recovered he “swore off” drinking—never
would drink another drop as long as he lived—and did not get drunk again
for nearly a month.
[Illustration: “HOLD UP YOUR HANDS!”]
[Illustration: A BONANZA OF BEEF.]
One day a boy about six years of age was lost at Virginia City. His
parents and their neighbors searched in vain for the missing child. The
police turned out to their assistance, and many firemen and miners
joined in the search. Bell-ringers had been through the city, and every
place above ground had been searched. A dog had accompanied the boy when
he left home, and this dog was also missing. Finally some one went up on
the side of the mountain above town, and entered an old tunnel, in the
floor of which was a vertical shaft over one hundred and fifty feet in
depth. Calling at the mouth of this shaft, a faint cry was heard below.
A windlass was hastily rigged, and a miner descended the shaft, and at
its bottom found the missing child with not a bone broken. He had fallen
upon the dead bodies of two or three goats that lay at the bottom of the
shaft. The dog was also found alive at the bottom of the shaft. The man
who descended was almost suffocated when he came to the surface. The air
was bad in the bottom of the shaft and the stench from the dead goats
almost unendurable. The child was nearly dead when taken out, and was
covered with a mass of flies that had insinuated themselves into his
mouth, nose, ears, and eyes; but in about ten days the little fellow had
fully recovered and was ready for fresh adventures.
Many other instances—scores of them—might be given to show the dangerous
character of these traps, which everywhere cover the face of the
country, for miles about the principal mining towns, but I shall
conclude with the following:
A teamster, stopping at noon two or three miles from the city, unhitched
eight yoke of oxen from his wagon, in order to let them graze about
among the sage-brush while he was eating his dinner. Although unhitched,
they were fastened together in a string by a heavy log-chain which
passed through their several yokes. The teamster, seated on his wagon,
eating, was astounded at seeing his whole team of cattle, then distant
about one hundred yards, suddenly disappear into the ground. In picking
along they reached an old shaft, round which those in the lead had
passed, then moving forward had so straightened the line as to pull a
middle yoke into the mouth of the shaft. All then followed, going down
like links of sausage. The shaft was three hundred feet in depth, and
that bonanza of beef still remains unworked at its bottom.
The Comstock range is a region in which a stranger should never venture
to wander at night, either on foot or on horseback. Even in daylight, in
the midst of a driving snow-storm, a man once rode his horse into a
shaft over fifty feet in depth. The city authorities have caused most of
the old shafts to be filled up or securely planked over, but scores of
open shafts are still to be seen everywhere in the suburbs of the town.
CHAPTER XX.
THE MOUNTAIN REGION OF NEVADA.
Mount Davidson, of which frequent mention has been made, was originally
called “Sun Peak.” This was the name given it by the early miners of
Gold Cañon—Old Virginia, Comstock, O’Riley, and the other pioneers of
the country. It was a very appropriate name, as the towering granite
peak reaching far above all others about it is the first to be lighted
by the morning sun and the last on which rest his evening rays.
The mountain was given its present name in honor of the late Donald
Davidson, of San Francisco, who in the early days purchased the ores of
the Ophir and other companies on the Comstock, sending them to England
for reduction. On one of his trips to Virginia, Donald Davidson
accompanied a party of men to the summit of the mountain. On their
return to the town it was unanimously agreed that the tall peak which
they had that day scaled should be called Mount Davidson.
Half a score of the hardy miners whose camps were pitched along the lead
had accompanied Mr. Davidson up the mountain, and while on their way a
number of quartz veins of more or less promising appearance were found.
In the evening, while in a saloon, talking over the events of the day,
it was thought that it would not be a bad idea to locate some of the
ledges they had seen. The charge was then fifty cents per name for
recording a claim of two hundred feet on a ledge. A man called “Joe
Bowers,” but probably not the original “Joe” immortalized by the poet,
took the lead in making out the notices and arranging for the recording.
Joe swore that all the ledges they had seen were immensely rich—millions
in them!—and would make the fortune of any man who had an interest in
any one of them. As the names were mentioned and written down on the
notices, Joe called for “four-bits.” This must be put up, in order that
it might be handed over to the recorder of the district the first thing
in the morning.
Donald Davidson would say: “Well, here is Mr. A., a neighbor of mine in
San Francisco, and a very worthy man; suppose we put him down for a
claim in this mine?”
“All right, Mr. Davidson,” Joe would cry, “all right, sir; put up for
him and in he goes!”
“Then there is Mr. B., a friend of mine and a worthy fellow; we might
put him down.”
“All right, Mr. Davidson,” cried Joe, who cared not how long the string
of names might be, provided each name were represented in his pocket by
a half-dollar, “down he goes!”
All the notices were finally made out, and all the half-dollars paid in.
Joe was to attend to the recording the first thing in the morning, but
that night he struck a “little game of draw,” and to this day those
claims have not been recorded—at least not by Joseph.
As the leads upon the side of Mount Davidson have turned out, it was no
doubt a fortunate thing for the old Scotchman’s “worthy friends” that
Joe found his “little game.” The height of Mount Davidson above the
level of the sea is 7,775 feet, and the altitude of C street, the
principal business street in Virginia City, is 6,205 feet. Thus, it will
be seen, the peak of the mountain towers to the height of 1,570 feet
above the town. As the city stands on the eastern face of the mountain,
the sunsets in Virginia are rather early. In winter the sun sinks behind
the top of Mount Davidson about 3 o’clock in the afternoon, when the
city lies in shadow and it at once begins to grow cold. The altitude of
the place is so great that, at any season, when clouds obscure the sun
and shut out his rays it rapidly becomes cold. During the summer,
however, clouds are seldom seen—weeks and weeks pass without a cloudy
day. In order to have the benefit of the sun in winter, until a late
hour each day, a Washoe genius once proposed to run a large tunnel
through the peak of Mount Davidson. Through this tunnel he proposed to
bring the light and heat of the sun after it had gone down behind the
mountain. As he could not expect the sun to shine directly through the
tunnel at all points in his course down to the western horizon, our
inventor proposed to set at the western terminus of his tunnel a huge
mirror, moved by clock-work, which should pour the rays of the sun in a
constant stream through the tunnel. At the eastern terminus was to be
placed a large receiving mirror, which should catch the rays coming
through the tunnel and throw them to a distributing mirror down in the
town, and from this the sunlight would be reflected throughout the town
by smaller mirrors placed at proper points on all the streets. Although
this grand scheme was much admired, capital—which is proverbially
timid—could never be found to begin the work.
There is a grand view from the summit of Mount Davidson. On a clear day
the eye reaches hundreds of miles in many directions. The Sierra Nevada
Mountains, twenty-five miles away to the west, and extending north and
south as far as the eye can reach, form a magnificent panorama of wild
mountain scenery, embracing hundreds of tall snowy peaks and dark,
pine-clad ridges reaching upwards toward naked granite towers. To the
southward along the great range, the peaks are taller and more imposing
than those rising along the northern part of its course. To the
southward, then, we turn and see at the distance of from forty to
seventy-five or eighty miles, scores of massive peaks standing stately
and clearly defined against the sky. Seen when robed from head to foot
in glittering snow, these peaks present a particularly striking
appearance. They may easily be imagined an army of giants marching up
from the desert wilds of Arizona in meandering array.
Far away the tail of this procession of the peaks is seen to sweep miles
on miles to the eastward, while above the white hoods of the giants
forming this lagging curve, is dimly discerned through the haze a hint
of heads in the still more distant rear, swinging back to the west and
falling, as it were, into the general line of march to the northward.
All above, beyond, and about the giant army, looks so settled, calm, and
silent that one is awed into all manner of weird imaginings in regard to
its motionless march. These mighty peaks are impressive at any time, but
when they come before us in procession robed in their trailing shrouds
they set us to thinking ponderous, solemn thoughts that we don’t more
than half like. The view to the eastward is unobstructed for over one
hundred miles, and by its vastness and its stern ruggedness is made
imposing and grand, though but a region of rocky sterile mountains and
broad deserts crested over with salt and alkaline exudations from the
sandy and bitter soil.
Far as the eye can range, not a tree, not a house, not a sign of life is
seen. All is as dead, and as arid and wrinkled in death, as the valleys
and the mountains of the moon. On this side—the east—clinging along the
face of the mountain, we see below us Virginia City; turning again to
the west, Washoe Lake is seen shimmering almost at the base of the peak
on which we stand, its waves washing the feet of the hills that flank
the Sierras. Where we stand, on the narrow circle of granite forming the
apex of the mountain, is planted a tall flag-staff on which, upon each
recurrence of the natal day of the nation, the Stars and Stripes are
unfurled. The flag is run up during the night, by a man who is annually
sent to the top of the mountain on this errand, and those who turn their
eyes toward the peak, on the morning of the 4th of July, will always see
the flag of their country floating there through the “dawn’s early
light.”
On the occasion of the total eclipse of the moon, which occurred on the
night of October 24, 1874, it was not only cloudy at Virginia City, but
there prevailed a furious and blinding snow-storm. Not a glimpse of the
heavens or of the rising moon could be obtained when evening set in. Not
to lose a spectacle so grand as a total eclipse of the moon, I
determined to make the ascent of Mount Davidson and so reach a point
above the clouds. Accompanied by half a dozen friends, I started a few
minutes before 8 o’clock in the evening, and, pressing upward through
the fast-falling snow, and through the dense cloud-mass, which we
entered on the upper slopes of the mountain, at 10 o’clock we reached
the topmost peak, and to our delight found that we at last stood above
the clouds and the storm.
It was one of the grandest sights ever witnessed by mortals. As far as
the eye could reach, on all sides, stretched a level sea of clouds. All
the surrounding mountains were shut—all the lower world was hidden; all
but the extreme point of the bare granite peak on which we stood, a
little island some fifty feet in circumference, with the tall flag-staff
standing in its centre. High above, the full moon shone in splendor, and
in all quarters of the heavens the stars twinkled brightly. The air was
keen and frosty, but we were provided with blanket-overcoats and
mufflers.
For some minutes after rising out of the sea of clouds in which we had
so long been enveloped, our little party stood at the foot of the
flag-staff and gazed on all around in speechless awe. It almost seemed
that we had left the world. Our little island appeared to be all that
remained of earth. Hundreds of miles on all sides, as it looked to us,
stretched a smooth and level sea of pearl. In the distance this appeared
to be motionless, but nearer it all moved slowly and majestically from
west to east, while, at the same time, a peculiar swaying up and down
was seen as it passed along. On and along the crests of these
cloud-waves, or rather cloud-swells, were observed to run and faintly
flicker such tints as are seen in mother-of-pearl. All this was very
beautiful, but with it came a sense of isolation from the world—a
feeling of loneliness that was most depressing. However, as the moon
began to enter the shadow of the earth there were so many and such
wonderful changes in the appearance of all about us, that our loneliness
and littleness were forgotten.
The sea about us, which before had shown only the tints of the pearl,
now took on the hue of amber, but still floated past and gently waved up
and down as had the sea of pearl. As the obscuration progressed, the
more distant portions of the cloud-sea changed from amber to brown, and
this to black, gradually closing in upon us from all sides, but most
from the northward. In our immediate neighborhood all had changed from
amber to a deep burnt-sienna tinge. So deep and decided was this tint
that at one time, for the space of some minutes, it seemed to pervade
the whole atmosphere; our clothing partook of it, and the flag-staff
near which we stood looked like a great rod of rusty iron.
During this dark stage a heavy breeze sprang up, and the swells in the
vaporous sea surrounding us were tossed far higher than before. At times
these billows rolled many feet above our heads, and the eclipse being
then nearly total, we were sometimes, for minutes, left in midnight
darkness, and but for the lanterns we had carried up the mountain, and
which were standing at the foot of the flag-staff, we could not have
seen our hands when held before our faces. But these waves of darkness
seldom lasted more than two or three minutes, and we had, from first to
last, an imposing and deeply impressive view of the eclipse. It is
probable that a total eclipse of the moon was never before observed
under precisely such circumstances as was this by our little party,
standing on a mountain peak above the clouds. As the eclipse passed off,
about the same phenomena were observed above and about us as in its
coming on.
Being chilled to the very marrow in our bones, we left the top of the
mountain, however, while nearly half the face of the moon was still
obscured. Taking a last lingering look at all about us, observing that
our cloud-sea was again assuming the hue of amber and that the horizon
was widening and brightening in all directions, as the light spread
abroad and drove back the brown and the more distant black, we plunged
down into the thick cloud-stratum, and, guided by the light of our
lanterns, made the best of our way down the bed of a huge gorge in the
face of the mountain, and went back into the city. Strange as it may
appear to some, we found it much warmer in the midst of the clouds and
drifting snow than above on the summit of the mountain. Not one of the
party will ever forget that total eclipse of the moon, seen from old
Mount Davidson’s topmost height, nearly 8,000 feet above the level of
the sea.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXI.
THE SIERRA NEVADA MOUNTAINS.
The Virginia range of mountains, of which Mount Davidson is the
principal peak, is separated from the Sierra Nevada Mountains by a
series of small valleys, the principal of which are Washoe Valley, Eagle
Valley, Steamboat Valley, and the Truckee Meadows. The range can be
traced for a distance of about one hundred miles from the point where it
diverges from the Sierras, as they trend to the northwest, to where it
finally dies out in the Mud Lake region. The average width of the range
is about eighteen miles, though it is quite irregular. The great mass of
the mountains composing the range is made up of volcanic rocks, the
accumulation of several successive outpourings.
On the eastern face of Mount Davidson, about 1,500 feet below the
summit, are found the croppings of the Comstock lode. The rock on the
west side of the vein—called the “country rock” by mining men, because
it is the general rock of the country outside of the lode—is syenite,
a rock which forms the mass of Mount Davidson; on the east side of
the vein the country rock is propylite, a volcanic rock of much more
recent origin than the syenite. (Syenite is much the same as granite,
and propylite is a rock of a porphyritic character.) Between these
two rocks, by some throe of nature, was formed the immense fissure in
which lies the Comstock vein—a fissure known to be nearly four miles in
length and from one or two hundred to nearly fifteen hundred feet in
width. This vast chasm was undoubtedly formed by volcanic action. It is
not one fissure, but more properly speaking, a series of rents running
parallel with the main opening. The smaller parallel fractures are
principally in the propylite or east country rock. It is but natural
that they should be in this, as it was the stratum that was lifted up
and shattered when the main fissure was formed. In depth, all of these
rents will be found to be lost in the principal opening.
After the rending apart of the rocks and the formation of the chasm,
there doubtless burst up through the opening immense volumes of hot
mineral waters, steam, and gases, from solfataras or hot springs
underneath, and these charged the vein with its rich sulphurets and
other ores of silver.
Signs of hot springs are seen everywhere on the hills to the eastward of
the vein, and hot springs that are still active are found in various
directions, at the distance of a few miles, the most remarkable of which
are those known as the Steamboat Springs; which, even at this day, are
briskly sending up hot water, steam, and columns of heated gases through
a fissure over a mile in length, in fact are actively engaged in the
formation of a metallic lode.
It is not improbable that the fissure in which the Comstock lode was
formed was originally rent by the upward pressure of the confined steam
and gases of hot springs formed between the syenite and propylite far
beneath the surface of the earth. Be that as it may, the rent was
formed, and afterwards was charged with its present mineral contents.
When the rocks were rent apart, fragments from the edges of the
chasm—principally from the east or propylite side, the side reared
up—fell into the opening, and sliding down the smooth slope of the
syenite, blocked the fissure, preventing its closing. Some of these
fragments were at least one thousand feet long and from three to four
hundred feet in thickness, and many of them were from fifty to one
hundred and fifty feet in length, with a proportionate thickness. These
still rest in the vein, the ore, quartz, etc. having formed about them.
By the miners these are called “horses.” They are generally composed of
propylite (commonly spoken of as porphyry in the mines, owing to its
inclosing crystals of feldspar and fragments of hornblende), but there
are some that came from the west side of the fissure and are syenite.
After the fissure was thus propped open, still other fragments of
propylite fell from its roof during the time the vein was filling with
its present precious contents, and these are found to be surrounded on
all sides by ore of the richest character. The cavities caused by their
displacement were also filled with quartz and ore. This makes the east
wall or propylite side of the vein very jagged and uneven, while the
less disturbed west or syenite wall is quite regular, descending to the
eastward at an angle of from thirty-five to fifty degrees, being
throughout quite smooth and covered with a heavy coating of clay.
The fragments of rock that fell into the chasm during the time it was
being charged with the precious metals, formed each a nucleus about
which the quartz and ores collected. In all parts of the vein are to be
seen pieces of country rock, from the size of a filbert to many pounds
in weight, about which quartz has formed, and with the quartz ore.
After the vein was filled, it appears to have again several times
opened, when fresh fragments fell into the newly formed fissures, and
were surrounded by quartz and ores by the action of the waters and gases
forced up from below. These several convulsions pulverized the quartz
and ore previously formed in the vein, leaving it in such a condition
that in most of the mines the greater part of it can be dug down with
picks.
In most places in the ore-bodies in the lower levels, appearances
indicate that while the ore and quartz were in this shattered and
pulverized state, floods of hot water poured in upon it and boiled it as
in a caldron, and that at the end of this cooking operation it finally
settled down, assuming a horizontally stratified position. In this way
must have been formed the occasional streaks of clay and the numerous
strata of various shades of color and degrees of fineness of subdivision
of component parts seen in the ore as it now rests in the vein. It is as
plainly sedimentary in form as any gravel deposit seen on the surface.
This is not seen everywhere in the lower levels, but in such places as
were most subject to dynamical action.
All who have visited the lower levels of the mines on the Comstock lode
must have observed, even upon the most cursory examination of the ores,
the peculiar stratification of which I speak. The chasm in which is
formed the Comstock lode was doubtless at one time a seething caldron,
and at the great depths now attained, not only great quantities of hot
water are found, but the rock itself is in many places sufficiently hot
to be almost painful to the naked hand.
The course or “strike” of the Comstock vein is a little east of the
magnetic meridian, about north twenty-five degrees east. The lode crops
out in several places along the face of Mount Davidson, throwing up huge
piles of quartz at intervals of from three hundred to five hundred or
one thousand yards, as it takes its course southward across the
“Divide,” and through and beyond Gold Hill; also, to the northward, in
the direction of Cedar Hill and Seven-mile Cañon. When the ledge crops
out it has a first or false dip to the west, but after being followed
down it becomes straight, then turns, and takes its regular dip to the
east at an angle of from thirty-five to fifty degrees. In the Ophir,
when the true dip was first discovered, the vein turned to the east at
the depth of three hundred and thirty feet. The croppings of the vein
being above and to the west of Virginia City, this eastern dip carries
it under the whole length and breadth of the town, and it also passes
under the town of Gold Hill, a mile further south in the same way.
The lead follows the curved outlines of the hills on the surface,
swinging in at the ravines and bearing out on the points of the ridges,
but as depth is attained it will doubtless be found to straighten in the
direction of its present general course. The only gangue of the vein is
quartz, though, in places, there are found detached patches and masses
of gypsum and carbonate of lime. The ore contains native gold, native
silver, sulphuret of silver (silver glance), stephanite, chloride of
silver, some rich galena and antimony, and a few rare forms of silver in
small quantities; also, mingled with the whole mass of the ores, iron
pyrites, copper pyrites, zinc-blende, and a few other minerals.
The early miners began the work of opening their claims along the
Comstock by sinking shafts on the croppings and by running short tunnels
to pass under these croppings and tap the vein at depths varying from
two hundred to six or seven hundred feet. The shafts were mere circular
holes precisely like an ordinary well, and a common windlass, rope, and
bucket, constituted all there was coming under the head of machinery.
When more water was encountered than could be hoisted out with a bucket,
these early miners were at the “end of their string.” Those who were
running tunnels, however, were not incommoded by the water they tapped
during the progress of their work, as it flowed out as fast as it came
in.
The Ophir mine was at first worked by means of an incline which followed
the dip of the vein to the west. They soon began to be bothered with
water and were obliged to set up a small pump, as has already been
stated. All of those who had locations on the Comstock, however, were
able to find means for the erection of machinery as soon as it was found
necessary to use it, though much of the first hoisting and pumping
apparatus was too light and was badly arranged. But almost any kind of
steam machinery was better than hoisting by the hand-windlass or with
the horse-whim.
After starting up with steam hoisting-works, it was not long before a
number of companies began to extract ore from the upper series of
bonanzas, and these being exhausted, carried their work to lower levels
and searched out new bodies of ore. It often happened that when the ore
in sight was exhausted, the company was obliged to drift in all
directions for a long time before again finding paying ore. In case a
level was opened and explored in all parts without finding ore, sinking
was resumed in the main shaft, and a new level was opened at a greater
depth in the vein. The miners are never discouraged so long as they find
a good width of quartz and other vein-matter between the two walls of
the lode, as there is then always a chance of finding ore somewhere in
the mass. What they do not like, however, is to find the walls coming
together—“pinching,” as they call it. The coming together of the walls
pinches out or cuts off the vein; yet, even at the “pinch,” there is
always left a seam of clay, or some such sign, by which the lead may be
followed until the pinch has been passed and the vein again widens and
becomes ore-producing.
[Illustration: HOISTING-WORKS.]
CHAPTER XXII.
BONANZA AND BORRASCA.
There are always some companies in “borrasca”—out of luck; in barren
rock—while others are in “bonanza”—in good luck; working large bodies of
rich ore. In a year or two, those who are to-day at work in barren
quartz may have a rich body of ore, while those who are to-day in rich
ore may in a year or two be delving through barren rock in search of a
new bonanza.
When a company has for a long time been engaged in the unsuccessful
search for ore, their stock very frequently falls to a very low figure
and few care to buy it at all, when of a sudden they come upon a great
body of rich ore. A rumor of this reaches the surface, and those who
have money to invest buy—“take in”—a few shares at a venture. The
officers of the company and their friends in San Francisco—who are daily
informed by telegraph of all that is going on in the mine—begin to
quietly gather in all of the stock that they can find, and soon the
secret is out and the stock at once bounds upward to a high figure.
Everybody then becomes wild to possess a few shares of the stock. Men
who would not touch it when it was selling for a mere trifle, now rush
in and pay the highest prices. Some appear never to think of buying
stock until they see the whole community excited about it and recklessly
bidding for it; they then rush in and pay the highest figures. It is
like piling bricks one upon another till the whole column begins to
topple and finally tumbles to the ground. When stock goes down in this
way it nearly always goes as far below as it has before been above true
merit.
Many men who are good judges of mines make large purchases of stock in
mines that are in borrasca—that are out of ore and appear to be out of
luck, biding their time for profit. They have confidence in the mine
from the position it occupies on the Comstock lode and from its having
had rich bodies of ore above. These, they will contend, were never
rained down into the mines from the heavens, but came up from the
regions below; therefore in the regions below, whence came the rich ore
already found, there must be more of the same kind. To find it, say
they, is a mere matter of time.
In November, 1870, an immense bonanza was found in the Crown Point mine,
Gold Hill, at the depth of 1,100 feet. Four months before the discovery
of this bonanza, that is, in August of the same year, the stock of the
mine was selling at three dollars per share; in May, 1872, the stock was
selling at one thousand eight hundred and twenty-five dollars per share.
The same bonanza extended south into the Belcher mine, the stock of
which was selling for one dollar and fifty cents per share in September,
1870; in April, 1872, it sold for one thousand five hundred and
twenty-five dollars per share. At this time, however, there was a grand
stock excitement and the stock of many mines in which there was little
if any ore sold at very high figures. The masses had come into the
market as purchasers and were blindly buying right and left; they were
all industriously engaged in adding bricks to the pile, stocking them up
higher and higher, as idiotically strong in the faith that they were
building for all time as were the builders of Babel. Finally down went
everything in a grand crash. During this excitement there was an
increase in the value of the mines on the Comstock, in about two months,
of over forty-five million dollars.
[Illustration: THREE FAMOUS MINES.]
It frequently happens that when a company have been a long time in
search of ore it is at last found at a time when the officers and
leading men have but a small amount of stock in their possession. They
then not only keep their strike a secret, but in case of anything
leaking out through their men they bear their stock in the market,
throwing in all the shares they dare venture for the purpose of breaking
down the price in order that they may buy in a great amount at a low
figure. Sometimes they succeed in this, but it often happens that the
“outsiders” are too well informed in regard to what is in the mine, when
there is a general scramble for the stock and it at once goes up with a
rush. Not a few persons nearly always make money in stocks by observing
the simple rule of buying them when they are down so low that nobody
appears to care to touch them, paying for them in full and then holding
them for developments in the mines, and it seldom happens that there is
not a time within two years when they can sell for twice or three times
the price originally paid. If there should be no strike in the mines in
which they hold stock there may be valuable developments in adjoining
mines, which sends up the price of the stocks of all the mines in the
neighborhood.
While work is being done in a mine there is always a probability of
something being found, sooner or later. When a company whose claim is
well situated on the lead has been a longtime out of luck not a few will
buy stock in their mine, because they consider that it is about time for
the luck of the company to change.
The Mexican silver-miners have an aphorism, in the infallibility of
which they have unbounded faith. It is as follows: “As many days as you
are in borrasca (barren rock), so many days shall you be in
bonanza”—rich ore. Such faith have they in this maxim, that in Mexico
they frequently go to work in a mine that has ceased to be productive
with no other contract or understanding than the simple one that they
are to be allowed to work as many days in the “bonanza” as they spend
days in finding it. Such a contract as this was once made on the
Comstock lode. It was at the time when the upper or first line of
bonanzas was opened in the Ophir, Mexican, Gould & Curry, and other
leading mines.
Otto H. Frank was at that time superintendent of the old Central mine.
He was anxious to find a bonanza in his mine, but found only barren
quartz in all of his drifts and cross-cuts.
Some Mexican miners were very desirous of getting into the mine. They
“felt it in their bones” that they could find a bonanza. The terms they
proposed to Superintendent Frank were simply these: “As many days as we
are drifting in search of the bonanza, so many days shall we be allowed
to extract ore from the bonanza.”
Mr. Frank thought it all over. He had failed in his search for a
bonanza; what was proposed by the Mexicans seemed fair enough; he would
let them try their luck, anyhow, to get a bonanza.
So the bargain was struck:—“So many days in borrasca, so many days in
bonanza.”
The Mexicans went to work in high spirits. Mr. Frank also was quite
cheerful, as he thought those “knowing cusses” from the mines of Mexico
would drift into a big body of ore the first week, when he would step in
the week after and turn them all out before they had done more than get
a taste of the bonanza. But they didn’t strike it the first week, nor
the second, nor the third. The fact is they didn’t strike it the first
month, nor the second, nor the third. Indeed, at the end of six months
they had found no bonanza.
Now it was that Superintendant Frank began to be frightened—began to
curse all Mexican mining aphorisms and rules and regulations. Should the
Mexicans now strike a bonanza, what kind of a bonanza, he reasoned,
would it be by the time it came into his hands? In six months those
Mexicans would have it completely skinned and gutted. He might as well
have no mine. He now began to suspect that the fellows knew exactly
where to drift to open out in a bonanza of vast size and incalculable
richness—probably nearly all silver—but were only drifting about on the
outside of it in order to get more time inside. He began to hate the
very sound of those words: “As many days as you are in borrasca, so many
days shall you be in bonanza.”
Being greatly worried about the bargain he had thoughtlessly made, Mr.
Frank went to see old man Meer, an old Castilian who had but one eye,
but who was the greatest “ore expert” that ever set foot upon the
Comstock—whose one eye bored into the rock further and faster than any
diamond drill. He told Meer about the bargain he had made and the fears
and suspicions he entertained, asking him to go into the mine, give it a
thorough examination, and tell him if there was a bonanza anywhere
about. Old Meer went into the mine, traversed all the drifts,
cross-cuts, and coyote-holes, boring into the rock at all points with
that eye of his.
When they came out and again and stood upon the surface at the mouth of
the tunnel, in the broad light of day, Mr. Frank turned to Meer and
said: “Well, what do you think?”
Meer uttered only two words, but those two words lifted a great load off
Mr. Frank’s breast. Old Meer simply said: “_Nada bonanza_,” and “no
bonanza” it proved.
The Mexicans worked on for another week or two, when they became
disheartened and gave up their contract, and with it, doubtless, some
portion of their faith in their favorite saying: “So many days as you
are in borrasca, so many days shall you be in bonanza.” They had toiled
more than six long, weary months and the result was—“_nada bonanza_.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIII.
HOW THE MINES ARE WORKED.
When the upper line of bonanzas had been worked out, and the shafts were
sunk to greater depths in search of new bodies of ore, they eventually
attained such a depth as brought them down upon the barren syenite
forming the west wall. The shafts were then deflected from the vertical
and passed down along the syenitic foot-wall to the eastward, in the
shape of an incline. At length it was seen that these inclines were
becoming too long to permit of their being worked through to advantage
with the machinery then in use, and company after company moved to the
eastward, a distance of a thousand feet or more, and then established a
new line of shafts, over which they set up new and more powerful
machinery than had yet been seen on the lead. These shafts did not
strike the lead until they had been sunk to the depth of one thousand or
one thousand two hundred feet, whereas the first line of shafts were
either sunk on the lead, or at such a distance in front of the croppings
as to tap it at the depth of from two to five hundred feet.
A third line of shafts had been commenced in 1875, and one of these,
which is now being sunk by the Savage, Hale, & Norcross, and the
Challar-Potosi Companies combined, is nearly a mile east of the
croppings. This is intended to be a shaft for all time. It will be of
vast size, containing several spacious compartments for hoisting and
pumping purposes, and will be supplied with the most powerful machinery
that can be manufactured. It will require some years to sink this shaft
to a point where it will intersect the vein; meantime the several
companies will continue to work through their present shafts and
inclines.
[Illustration:
WASTE ROCK DUMPS.
(_Challar, Potosi, Savage, Hale & Norcross Mines._)
]
The Savage Company are prepared to sink the incline of their present
shaft to the great depth of four thousand feet. For this purpose they
have set up new hoisting machinery of novel construction and of the most
powerful description. The reel on which the hoisting-cable winds is a
novelty for the first time introduced on the Comstock lode, and a brief
description of it and the cable used upon it may not be without interest
for the general reader.
The reel is fifteen feet in length, and at the larger end is twenty-two
feet in diameter, while at the smaller end the diameter is but thirteen
feet. It is suspended upon a wrought iron shaft about sixteen inches in
diameter, the ends of which revolve in ponderous bearings supported by
foundations of cut stone reaching into the earth to solid rock. The
shell of the reel is covered with thick wooden staves, and the whole
somewhat resembles a great tapering cask. Over the staves are securely
bolted heavy iron plates forming a strong armor outside of the wooden
structure. In this iron armor is a deep groove which, starting at the
smaller end of the great conical drum, runs in a spiral manner to the
larger end; just as the groove between the threads of a screw is seen to
run. In this groove winds the cable as the incline-car (“giraffe”) is
let down into or drawn up out of the mine.
When the car is at the bottom of the incline, the greater part of the
cable is off the reel, and when the hoisting begins it is wound up on
the smaller end of the drum, where the engines have greater purchase on
the load. As the hoisting proceeds, and the weight to be raised becomes
momentarily lighter, on account of the heavy steel cable being wound up,
the lifting force is steadily moved toward the larger end of the drum,
and each revolution adds to the swiftness of the ascent of the car that
is being raised. The cable is round, and is made of the best steel wire.
It is 4,000 feet in length, and weighs 25,190 pounds. The upper part,
for a distance of 1,500 feet down, is two inches in diameter; for the
remainder of its length, 2,000 feet, it gradually tapers till at the
lower end its diameter is one and three-quarter inches. The taper is not
made by dropping wires in the several strands of the rope, but by
drawing each wire (as it is manufactured) slightly tapering for the last
2,500 feet of its length.
The incline hoisting-works stand a short distance from the building in
which is contained the hoisting machinery of the vertical shaft, and the
cable, after entering the latter building, is carried over a large iron
pulley or sheave that is placed over the main shaft. Thence it passes
down a compartment of the main shaft a vertical distance of 1,300 feet,
when it passes _under_ a second sheave and continues down the incline to
its bottom.
The car used in the incline runs on an iron track, holds about five tons
of rock, and is capable of hoisting (easily) from 480 to 500 tons per 24
hours. The car is made wholly of iron and steel.
When this incline car has been hauled up as far as the bottom of the
vertical shaft, that is, to within 1,300 feet of the surface, it there
dumps its load by means of a self-acting gate in its bottom. The rock
thus dumped from the incline-car is then taken in smaller cars and sent
to the surface on cages that ply up and down the hoisting-compartments
of the main vertical shaft.
The engines for driving the huge reel, and thus hoisting this iron car
or “giraffe,” with its load of ore and the 25,000 pounds of cable, are
two in number and of 200-horse power each. A precisely similar hoisting
apparatus has since been set up at the Ophir mine; indeed, the drawings
for this powerful machinery were first made for the Ophir Company. The
length and weight of cable at the Ophir is the same as that in use at
the Savage mines.
Some of the old shafts opened on and about the first or upper line of
bonanzas have quite gone to decay. They still stand, but the timbers in
many places, far down in the bowels of the earth, are racked and rotten;
while the timbers built up in the mine to support the chambers from
which ore was extracted, and set up in the galleries, drifts,
cross-cuts, and chutes, millions on millions of feet in all, have quite
gone to decay. It is perilous to undertake the exploration of these old
worked-out levels. In many places they are caved in every direction, the
old floors are rotten, water drips from above, a hot musty atmosphere
and almost stifles the explorer, and in places, the air is so foul that
his candle is almost extinguished.
Down in these deserted and dreary old levels, hundreds of feet beneath
the surface, are encountered fungi of monstrous growth and most uncouth
and uncanny form. They cover the old posts in great moist,
dew-distilling masses, and depend from the timbers overhead in broad
slimy curtains, or hang down like long squirming serpents or the twisted
horns of the ram. Some of these take most fantastic shapes, almost
exactly counterfeiting things seen on the surface. Specimens of these
are to be seen in most of the cabinets of curiosities in Virginia City.
Some of the fungi that grow up from the bottoms of old disused drifts
are wholly mineral and are composed of minute crystals of such salts as
are contained in the earth from which they spring.
These old, decaying places breed all manner of gases, some of them, as
the firedamp (carburetted hydrogen gas), dangerous to human life.
One winter night, in 1874, some of the residents of the western part of
Virginia City were startled by seeing what seemed a column of flame
fifty or sixty feet in height, shooting up from the mouth of an old
shaft near the old upper works of the Ophir Company. It was at first
thought that the timbers in the old mine were on fire, and three or four
men ran to the spot to see what could be done toward smothering the
flames.
On reaching the shaft, however, they found that there was no smell of
smoke, and also that the supposed fire was a light unlike anything they
had ever before seen, in its weird whiteness and the strange
coruscations of its component particles, the light shed about by the
flame, the faces of the men were of a corpse-like pallor. Their clothing
and hair also partook in some degree of the same ghastly and unnatural
hue. The light came up the full size of the large square shaft, and seen
at a distance, as it rose through the falling snow, closely resembled
one of the shooting spires of the aurora borealis, and it exhibited
something of the same waving and inconstant motion.
Although the men felt creeping over them a sort of superstitious awe,
they still had sufficient courage to approach the shaft and gaze into
it. A strange sight was there seen. The whole interior of the shaft
seemed to be at a white heat, and glowed like a furnace. The timbers on
the sides were particularly brilliant. Each splinter, excrescence, or
bit of fungus seemed darting dazzling rays that streamed steadily out in
all directions. A warm, strange current of air ascended from the
sweltering regions below, and there was observed a musty, sickening
smell. All of those who looked into the shaft afterwards felt a severe
pain in the temples, and two or three were made sick at the stomach.
This strange appearance lasted over half an hour, and before it ended a
crowd of a dozen or more miners returning from their work had collected
about the shaft. The light died out from the top downwards, and
protuberances from the sides of the shaft continued to glow for some
minutes after the light was no longer visible at its top. This
remarkable phenomenon was undoubtedly caused by the belching forth of a
highly phosphurated gas of some kind from the deep, underground chambers
of the old abandoned works. The rush of this gas was probably caused by
an extensive cave in a place where the timbers had rotted away. One of
the men who witnessed the spectacle was of the opinion that the mingling
of the gas from the mine with the atmospheric air had something to do
with intensifying the light. He observed in the ascending current of
pseudo-flame myriads of small particles of some substance of a
floss-like texture, which appeared to flash and glow as they darted
upward, and which presented in the general column of light much the same
appearance as motes moving about in a sunbeam.
In February, 1874, some miners at work in the Utah mine, just north of
Virginia City, were all made temporarily blind by certain water or gases
which they encountered. They were running a drift at the depth of 400
feet to connect with some old, flooded works. When the end of the drift
neared the old works, the water they contained began to be drained off.
The water had attained a great height, and the pressure was so strong
that it sent streams darting and hissing from every hole and crevice in
the rock in which the drift was being run. In places, these streams of
water spurted out with as much force as though they had been thrown by a
hydraulic pipe.
The water, or the steam and gases from it, poisoned all who worked in
the drift. Their heads and faces were so swollen that their eyes were
closed, and all were thus rendered blind for some days. A few years
before, the same thing occurred in the Savage and the Yellow-Jacket
mines, when drifts were run to tap old flooded works in which rotten
timbers were soaking. Quite recently, all the miners at work in the
Sutro Tunnel were poisoned, and had their eyes closed for some days by
the tapping of a shaft which had been filled with water for two or three
years. All who are thus poisoned speedily recover by remaining above
ground for three or four days.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIV.
FIREDAMP.—A MINE IN FLAMES.
No premature explosion of blasts, crushing in of timbers, caving of
earth and rock—no accident of any kind is so much feared or is more
terrible than a great fire in a large mine. It is a hell, and often a
hell that contains living, moving, breathing, and suffering human
beings—not the ethereal and intangible souls of men. It is a region of
fire and flame, from which the modes of egress are few and perilous. A
great fire on the surface of the earth is a grand and fearful spectacle,
but a great fire hundreds of feet beneath the surface of the earth is
terrible—terrible beyond measure or the power of words to express, when
we know that far down underneath the ground which lies so calmly on all
sides, giving forth no sound, are scores of human beings pursued by
flames and gases, scorched and panting, fleeing into all manner of nooks
and corners, there to meet their death.
A large mine in which are employed from five hundred to one thousand men
is of itself a considerable village, though it be a village far below
the light of day. In it are more timbers, lumber, and other combustible
matter than is found in all the houses of a town of two thousand
inhabitants—it contains millions on millions of square feet of timber—in
it whole forests have found a tomb.
Besides being built up to a height of from one thousand to one thousand
five hundred or two thousand feet, with cribs composed of massive
timbers, each crib filling a space five by six feet in size, there are
floors of heavy planks, six feet apart, one above another, all the
distance from bottom to top. In many places, too, the main timbers are
doubled again and so filled with blocks and wedges and braces that all
is a solid mass of wood. In numberless places there are stairs leading
from floor to floor, and then there are scores of chutes, built of
timber and lined with planks, with vertical winzes, constructed in the
same way, all of which, with the chutes, lead up through the floors from
level to level; also numerous drifts and cross-cuts supported by timbers
and walled in with lagging (split pine-stuff like staves, but longer),
all of which serve as flues to conduct and spread the heat and flames
throughout the mine.
The mines of the Comstock have not escaped fires. They have not been
many, but they have been fearful as experiences, and have cost many
lives.
The first and most terrible of these fires was that which broke out in
the Yellow-Jacket mine, Gold Hill, about 7 o’clock on the morning of
Wednesday, April 7, 1869, in which forty-five men lost their lives.
The fire started at the 800-foot level (that is 800 feet below the
surface) at a point two hundred feet south of the main shaft, near the
line of the Kentuck mine. It was first discovered at 7 o’clock in the
morning, though it had no doubt been burning longer, as some of the
miners asserted that they detected the smell of smoke as early as 3
o’clock A. M. The night shift (relay) left at 4 A. M. and the morning
shift began work at 7 A. M., and it was supposed that the fire
originated from a candle left sticking against a timber by men on the
night shift. From 4 o’clock till 7 o’clock the only men in the mine were
the car-men, but before the danger had been discovered many of the day
shift had been lowered into the mines—Yellow-Jacket, Crown Point, and
Kentuck.
The first thing done on discovering the fire was to try to get the men
up out of the mines. The alarm of fire was sounded, and the fire
companies of Gold Hill and Virginia City at once turned out.
Pending the arrival of the firemen with their apparatus, those about the
several mines were doing all in their power to rescue the men who were
left underground. At first the smoke was so dense that no one dared
venture into either of the shafts, but about 9 o’clock in the morning it
seemed to draw away from the Kentuck shaft, and men descended on the
cage and recovered two dead bodies.
At the Crown Point mine, when the cage was being hoisted for the last
time, some of the men on it were so far suffocated as to fall back and
were crushed to death between the sides of the cage and the timbers of
the shaft.
Toward noon some of the firemen working at the Yellow-Jacket mine
ventured down the shaft to the 800-foot level and recovered three or
four bodies of asphyxiated miners.
About the same time, at the Crown Point mine, a cage was sent down with
a lighted lantern upon it. It was lowered to the 1000-foot level, and
with the lantern was sent the following dispatch, written on a large
piece of pasteboard:
“We are fast subduing the fire. It is death to attempt to come up from
where you are. We shall get you out soon. The gas in the shaft is
terrible, and produces sure and speedy death. Write a word to us and
send it upon the cage, and let us know where you are.”
No answer came back—all below were dead.
As soon as it was known that the mines were on fire, and that a large
number of miners were imprisoned below, by the dense volumes of smoke
and suffocating gases that poured up through the several shafts, the
most intense excitement prevailed, both in Gold Hill and Virginia City.
The wives, children, and relatives of the lost flocked to the several
hoisting works, approaching as near to the mouths of the shafts as they
were allowed to come, and, standing there on all sides, their grief and
lamentations caused tears to course down the cheeks of the most
stout-hearted. “Lost! lost! lost!” was the despairing cry constantly
uttered by many of the women whose husbands were below.
The Rev. Father Manogue, a pioneer of the country, and several other
Catholic clergymen of Virginia City and Gold Hill, moved about among the
people and did all that could be done to comfort and quiet the weeping
women and children, but even the reverend fathers could find little to
say in mitigation of the woes of such an occasion. Many of the poor
women, with weeping children clinging about them, stood round the
shafts, convulsively clasping and wringing their hands, and rocking
their bodies to and fro in excess of misery, yet uttering scarcely a
word or a sob—they at first seemed utterly stupefied and overwhelmed by
the suddenness and awfulness of the calamity. Turn where they might
there was no comfort for them.
At the Yellow-Jacket mine the smoke and gases drew away to the
southward, men descended the shaft, and all but one man known to be
below at that point were brought up dead.
As the cage containing the dead bodies rose up at the mouth of the shaft
there was heard a general wail from the women, who could with difficulty
be restrained from climbing over the ropes stretched to keep back the
crowd. “Oh! God,! who is it this time?” Some one among them would be
heard to say. The dead bodies would then be lifted from the cage, and
then borne in the arms of stout miners and firemen outside of the circle
of ropes.
As the men passed out with the dead, the women would crowd forward in an
agony of fear and suspense to see the faces. “Oh! Patrick!” one would be
heard to shriek, when the bystanders would be obliged to seize her and
lead her away.
At the Kentuck and Crown Point shafts there steadily arose thick,
stifling columns of smoke and pungent gases, generated by the burning
pine-wood and heated ores below. No person who stood at the mouth of
either of these shafts could entertain the slightest hope that any one
of those in the mines could be alive; yet wives and relatives would
still hope against everything. In every direction almost superhuman
exertions were made to extinguish the fire.
By closing up the shafts and pouring down water, it was thought that the
fire might have been extinguished, but to have done so would have been
equivalent to saying that all below were dead—and would, indeed, have
been death to any that might have been living—besides, the order to
close the shafts would have drawn from all present at all interested in
the fate of those below such a wail as no one would have cared to hear.
No one could enter the Crown Point or Kentuck shafts, but that of the
Yellow-Jacket being cooler, the firemen began to work their way down it,
carrying with them their hose and bravely battling with the fire. A long
string of hose was attached to a hydrant and carried down to the
800-foot level, where the fight began. It was such work as few firemen
in the United States have ever undertaken, and such as none but firemen
in a mining country could have done. The miners and firemen battled side
by side. The firemen would advance as far as possible, extinguishing the
burning timbers, and when a cave of earth and rock occurred, or the
blackened and weakened timbers seemed about to give way, the miners
would go to the front and make all secure.
The walls of the drifts were so heated that it was very frequently found
necessary to fall back, even after the burning timbers had been
extinguished, and play a stream on the rock in order to cool it down. In
places boiling hot water stood, to the depth of two or three inches, on
the floors of the drifts. Steam, fumes of sulphur, and gases from the
heated ore and minerals rendered the air so bad that it became necessary
to lead in an air-pipe from the main blower above, to enable the men to
continue work. When caves occurred, flames and poisonous gases were
driven forward upon the men, singeing and partially suffocating them.
Their position was one of great peril. Their only means of reaching the
surface was through the shaft, and at any moment an accident might
happen that would cut them off from this; or the draught might change
and overwhelm them with stifling gases before they could ascend to the
surface.
The situation below, when the fire broke out, was fearful. The smoke and
gases came upon the men so suddenly that, although they ran at once for
the shaft, many were suffocated and sank down by the way. At the Crown
Point the men so crowded upon the cage at first (a cage holds from
twelve to sixteen men.) that it was detained nearly five minutes; the
station-tender being afraid to give the signal to hoist while so many
men were in danger of being torn to pieces. A young man who came up on
that cage told me, that as they were finally about to start, a man
crawled upon the cage, and thrusting his head in between his (the young
man’s) legs, begged to be allowed to remain there and go up. He was
permitted to keep the place, and his life was saved.
[Illustration: THE BURNING MINE.]
As this cage started up, hope left the hearts of those remaining behind.
They were heard to throw themselves into the shaft and to fall back on
the floors of the mine. Another young man told me that in rushing toward
the shaft, it occurred to him that he might fall into it—all being dark
below—when he got down on his hands and knees and crawled, feeling his
way until he knew that he was at the shaft. While lying there, three or
four men came running along from behind, and pitched headlong into it,
to their instant death. At one lowering of the cage, a man who went down
from the surface, finding that there were more persons below than could
be brought up that trip, generously got off into a drift and put on
board a young man who was so far suffocated that he was unable to stand.
The man who did this was afterwards brought up unharmed.
The firemen not only went into the burning underground regions
cheerfully, but there was strife among them to be allowed to go. To see
them in their big hats, ascending and descending the shafts, as they
relieved each other, was a novel sight. It was a new way of going to a
fire. Although a stream was kept playing at the 800-foot level of the
Yellow-Jacket all day, at 9 o’clock at night it was found that the fire
was rising, and a second stream was put on at the 700.
At 2 o’clock, on the morning of the 8th, thirteen bodies had been
recovered. Some of these were found in the sump (place in which to
collect water at the bottom of a shaft) at the 1,100-foot level where
they had fallen from stations above, others were found at the 1000-foot
level, lying in all kinds of despairing positions, just as they had sunk
down and died when overtaken by the poisonous gases.
At 1 o’clock, on the afternoon of the 8th, twenty-three bodies had been
recovered. When the fire first broke out, an explosion of gases occurred
near the Crown Point shaft, which is supposed to have killed several men
in that direction. Wherever the stifling gas swept in upon the men it
left them dead. One dead miner was found clasping a ladder with death
grip, his head hanging backwards. It was necessary to lower the body
with a rope a distance of fifty feet to the bottom of the level. On the
900-foot level of the Crown Point mine, about thirty feet from the
shaft, nine men were found in one heap. They had unjointed an air-pipe
in the hope of being able to get enough fresh air to keep them alive.
On the morning of the 10th it was evident that the fire had increased to
such an extent that no more bodies could be recovered,—that none in that
pit of fire could be alive—and at, 11 A. M., the mouths of all the
shafts were covered with planks, wet blankets, and earth. At noon, steam
from the boilers was turned into the Yellow-Jacket shaft through the
air-pipe leading from the blower (a fan revolving in a drum, used in
forcing air into the mines) down to the 800 and 900-foot levels, whence
it would go wherever it could find egress.
On the 12th, a few more bodies were found, and there was so much fire
that the mines were again closed and steam forced into them. Some of the
bodies last taken out of the mines were so decomposed, owing to the
great heat below, that in order to handle them it was necessary to roll
them up in canvas coated with tar. Several bodies were in such a
condition that the wives and relatives of the deceased were not allowed
to see their faces. They were told to remember them as they had last
seen them in life. One woman begged hard to see the face of her husband;
then to see his hair. Being shown his hair, she laid her hand on it, and
said: “Good-bye, my husband.” As she turned away, a little girl she was
leading said: “Can’t I see my papa?” when the mother fainted.
On the 14th, at 3 o’clock P. M., steam was shut off from the shafts and
all the works stopped. Five bodies still remained in the mines. Three
days later the shafts were opened and some explorations made. Spots of
fire were extinguished, where they could be reached. Almost daily they
were able to get into some one of the mines and direct streams of water
upon some parts of the fire. At this work men were frequently
asphyxiated, and then it was necessary to hasten with them to the
surface. On the 28th, another body was recovered, and on the 29th,
efforts were made to reach the bodies (four) still remaining on the
upper levels of the Kentuck; but some of the men fell down insensible
from asphyxia, and the attempt was abandoned.
Thus the miners struggled with the fire, until May 2nd, when it grew
worse. The drifts between the Yellow-Jacket and the Kentuck and Crown
Point mines were then closed, and the shafts of the latter mines were
again sealed. The fresh air thrown into the mines by the blowers was
supposed to have given the fire new life.
On May 18th, the Kentuck and the Crown Point mines were opened, and
miners descended to the lower levels of both. On the 20th May another
body was recovered in the south compartment of the Crown Point
shaft, when it was found lying on a scaffold at the 1000-foot level,
leaving three bodies not yet found. After this the fire again increased
and drove the men away from places where they had been able to work. May
24th, it was discovered that the fire was on the 800-foot levels of the
Crown Point and Kentuck mines, and the miners finally succeeded in
walling it up and confining it to this space.
As late as June 23d, men were occasionally brought to the surface in an
insensible condition, and the fire continued to burn in that portion of
the mines to which it was confined, for over a year. Nearly three years
from the time of the breaking out of the fire the rocks in the 800-foot
levels of the Crown Point and Kentuck mines were found to be red-hot.
Only fragments of the skeletons of the three missing men were ever
found. Their bodies were in those parts of the mines that were walled in
and given up to the flames.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXV.
DEATH IN THE MINE.
On the 20th of September, 1873, about 3 o’clock in the morning, a second
fire and series of explosions occurred in the Yellow-Jacket mine, by
which six men lost their lives and several were seriously injured.
This fire originated in a winze on the 1300-foot level of the mine. The
winze was directly over the forge of an underground blacksmith’s shop,
for which it served as a chimney. The fire seems to have been burning in
the wood-work of this winze in a smouldering way, generating a quantity
of gas, and when an assistant blacksmith approached with a lighted
lantern in his hand, a heavy explosion occurred. A great quantity of
smoke rushed up the main shaft and hung in a black cloud over the works.
When this was seen, an alarm of fire was sounded on the surface, and
soon there were over two thousand persons collected about the mine.
Among the wives, children, and relations of those in the mines were
enacted the same heartrending scenes as on the occasion of the first
great fire in April, 1869. When the firemen reached the works, the fatal
mistake was made of throwing water down the shaft, thus driving the
smoke and gases back upon the men in the lower levels, and causing the
loss of life. This was stopped by Captain Taylor, superintendent of the
mine, as soon as he arrived on the ground.
About this time a man was sent to the old shaft of the mine, some
distance above on the hill, to see that all was right there. Doors were
shut down over the mouth of this shaft, and while the man was looking to
see that these were properly closed, he took the candle from his lantern
and held it over the shaft. As he did so, he saw a streak of fire flash
along up a post that stood in the middle of the shaft, between the
folding doors. Thinking that a quantity of lint on the corner of the
post had taken fire, he struck at it with his hat to blow it out. As he
did this, an explosion occurred that shook the whole town. A sheet of
flame darted from the mouth of the shaft, and the man, who was still
over it, hat in hand, was thrown backwards a distance of several feet.
This second explosion, which caused the solid earth to rock, not only
added greatly to the terror of those on the surface, but it sent sheets
of flame through all the mines as far as the Belcher, a distance of two
thousand feet. Men who were in the Crown Point mine at the moment,
stated that this fire seemed a solid mass that filled all the space
about them, and that it flashed toward and past them as swiftly as
lightning. At the same time the concussion which accompanied the flash
was so great as to knock them down and drive them along the ground for a
considerable distance. These streams of fire did not penetrate into the
cross-drifts, but darted straight southward along the main drifts and
galleries, owing to which fact, doubtless, several miners who happened
to be in cross-drifts, escaped being killed or seriously injured. To add
to the terrors of the situation, all of the lights were blown out by the
explosions, and the lower levels of the mines were everywhere in total
darkness.
Those who lost their lives died from asphyxia, while those who were
injured were burned by the sheets of flame that darted through the
several mines. The fire burned and stripped the shirts entirely off the
backs of some of the men, and those who were touched by any part of the
flame lost their whiskers, eyebrows, and the greater part of their hair.
There being several hundred men in the mines, the utmost consternation
prevailed when the first explosion occurred, and the smell of smoke and
gases—a smell well remembered by the old miners—swept through the lower
levels; but the work of hoisting these men to the surface was performed
at the several shafts with safety, precision, and almost lightning
swiftness. Notwithstanding the excitement that prevailed all about them,
the engineers never for a single instant lost their presence of mind.
They answered every tap of the signal-bells as promptly, and kept their
eyes as steadfastly fixed upon the marks on their cables, as though
nothing were wrong below. The cages and “giraffes” were rushed up and
down the shafts and inclines with their living freight at a rate of
speed which under ordinary circumstances would have been simply
terrific. But by no means was this work too rapidly performed to suit
the men who were fleeing up from the fiery furnace of the regions below.
It luckily happened that the winze in which this fire raged was
surrounded on all sides by solid rock, therefore when the timbers it
contained were consumed, the fire died out. The man who at first
approached the smouldering winze with his lantern, was found lying dead
at a distance of about two hundred feet from it; having been
asphyxiated. Men who die of asphyxia in the mines, look like living men
if brought to the surface at any time within a few hours after life is
extinct. Their cheeks are flushed and roseate, and their bodies are as
limp as though they were still alive. With their eyes closed, they
appear to be men in a fever, lying in a sound sleep. It is a painless
death. Several miners who were brought to the surface in an unconscious
state, and who would no doubt have died in a few minutes had they been
left in the mine, assert that a sensation of faintness was all they
experienced, they did not even remember falling to the ground; but all
are very sick after regaining their senses.
As it would have been impossible for the small fire in the winze to have
generated such immense quantities of inflammable gases as must have been
consumed in the two explosions that occurred during this last fire in
the Yellow-Jacket mine, many men are of the opinion that a small
quantity of the gas from pine-wood mingled with gases already in the
mines, rendered the whole explosive. In this instance some such
accidental compound must have been formed. Common air being mingled with
the gases probably had much to do with causing the explosions.
On the morning of May 24th, 1874, the hoisting works of the Succor
Mining Company, near Silver City, were destroyed by fire, and two miners
who were at work in the shaft at the time, lost their lives. The fire
was kindled by some cartridges of giant-powder that had been left lying
on the boiler. The cartridges did not explode, but simply burned. They
were about a dozen in number, enough to have blown the works to atoms,
had they exploded. They burned very rapidly, throwing up a fountain of
fire. The flames were intensely bright, and wherever the jets struck
they set fire to the wood-work. The roof and all that part of the works
about the boilers were on fire in an instant.
The only men in the works were the engineer and the carman. Two miners
were at work at the bottom of the shaft, five hundred feet below the
surface. The engineer and carman shook the cable attached to the
hoisting tub, which was at the bottom of the shaft, as a signal for the
men below to come up; also, shouted to them, but could not make them
understand their danger. Soon the two men were driven out of the
building, which was speedily consumed.
Two days later, when the fire in the timbers of the upper part of the
shaft had been extinguished, a windlass was rigged and men were lowered
to see how things looked below. It was not expected that the bodies of
the dead miners would be found, as much earth had caved from the top of
the shaft, and its bottom was supposed to be filled to the depth of
twenty or thirty feet with broken timbers, rocks, and earth. Contrary to
the general expectation, the men had not been lowered a great distance
into the shaft before they signalled those above to stop; they then
shouted up the shaft that the bodies were found. A large crowd had
collected about the shaft, and when this unexpected report came up, the
excitement was great.
The bodies of the poor fellows were discovered at the pump station—a
recess some feet square in one side of the shaft—to which point they had
ascended by almost superhuman exertions. This pump station was two
hundred and sixty-five feet above the bottom of the shaft, and the whole
of this great distance the men had climbed in their desperate struggle
for life, with nothing to cling to but the slight cracks between the
timbers walling the sides. Considering the small and uncertain hold
afforded by the timbers of the shaft, their climbing to such a height
was a feat bordering on the miraculous, and one which could only have
been performed by young and active men, as both were. Both men had died
from asphyxia. Neither their bodies nor their clothing were scorched.
In the pump station they were protected from the falling brands and
beams from the burning building, and there they had remained till
suffocated by the deadly gases that settled down into the shaft. The
face of one of the men was rosy and as natural as in life, while that of
the other, who lay in the outer part of the station, was black and
frightfully swollen.
An inquest was held, and the verdict of the Coroner’s jury was that the
men who lost their lives by the fire, James Billings and James Rickard
“came to their death by suffocation caused by the burning of the
Succor hoisting-works and part of the shaft, said fire having been
caused by the combustion of giant-powder which was kept on the top of
one of the boilers, and we strongly deprecate the custom prevalent in
many mines of keeping giant-powder on the boilers about the works.”
And well they might find fault with this practice of cooking
giant-powder on the tops of boilers; also, they might mildly suggest
that the custom of thawing frozen giant-powder and nitro-glycerine on
stoves and at the forges of blacksmith’s shops is a thing not to be
encouraged. Several, however, have prospected about until they have
found this out for themselves. It is now probably well known in the
other world, as a few of those best informed on the point have gone
there.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: OFFICE OF THE CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINE.]
CHAPTER XXVI.
DESTRUCTION OF THE BELCHER SHAFT.
About 2 o’clock, on the afternoon of October 30, 1874, the air shaft of
the Belcher mine took fire and was totally destroyed. The shaft was not
completed at the time of the accident, but went down to a depth of 1000
feet below the surface. It was twelve by six feet in width, divided into
two compartments, and substantially timbered from top to bottom. It had
cost between $30,000 and $40,000, and was designed to ventilate and cool
the lower levels of the mines—those at the depth of 1500 and 1600 feet.
As soon as the fire was discovered, the miners working below were
notified, and all were safely hoisted out of the mine. It being found
impossible to save the shaft, all connection between it and other parts
of the mine was cut off and the fire allowed to have its way.
The fire was first discovered by persons down in the mine, but it soon
made itself manifest on the surface, in the dense volume of smoke of
inky blackness that rose from the mouth of the shaft and ascended to a
perpendicular height of three or four hundred feet. This large column of
smoke was one of the grandest sights imaginable. The air was perfectly
calm, and the smoke assumed the form of huge balloons rolling upward,
one over the other. This ominous cloud of smoke was visible for many
miles in all directions and filled the hearts of all beholders with
terror. The steam-whistle at the Belcher hoisting works, near at hand,
sent forth its long-drawn wail—the fire signal—as soon as the first
black puffs of smoke rose above the surface of the ground. Instantly,
the whistles of dozens of mills and hoisting works joined in, and the
whole air was rent for half an hour with their steady unceasing shrieks.
All who saw the awful pall of smoke rise up and hang over the mine,
feared the worst, and all who had husbands, fathers, brothers, or
friends at work in the Belcher, hastened to the mine.
Firemen from Gold Hill and Virginia, with steamers and hand-engines,
soon swarmed the place, but were not allowed to throw water into the
shaft—the effects of this had been seen at the last fire in the
Yellow-Jacket mine. There were houses to save, all about the shaft, and
to this work the attention of the firemen was turned. To attempt to
describe the wretchedness and despair of the women and children gathered
round the shaft and looking upon the awful column of smoke, would be
futile, and to the imagination of the reader may be left their joy on
being told that all who had been in the mine were safe upon the surface.
After the great column of smoke had rolled upward from the mouth of the
shaft for twenty minutes or more, and when a great crowd was collected
about the spot, there came a flash, as of lightning, there was a dull,
heavy report, which was heard at the distance of a mile, and a sheet of
flame shot upward to the height of nearly five hundred feet.
Instantly, the dark column of smoke was gone—was consumed in the tall
pillar of fire. The flame then gradually fell back to a height of about
sixty feet, and to this height it continued to rush for over an hour,
with a roar that could be heard at the distance of half a mile. Pieces
of flaming wood and live coals larger than a man’s hand, were shot sixty
feet into the air, and fell in such showers that they covered the ground
on all sides and rolled by bushels from the roofs of buildings in the
neighborhood. At a distance the burning shaft bore a striking
resemblance to an active volcano. The draught through it was the same
that would be seen on the surface, in a burning chimney a thousand feet
in height.
At this critical juncture it was decided to go below and close all of
the drifts leading from the burning shaft. The main hoisting shaft and
works stood at a distance of one hundred yards from the air-shaft, and
in the buildings at this point were collected the miners who had just
escaped from the lower levels. Showers of live coals were falling upon
the roofs of all the buildings about and over the main working shaft,
and a score of men engaged in pouring water over them could hardly
prevent them from taking fire. In the hoisting works the engineers stood
at their posts awaiting orders. A rope had been stretched about the
mouth of the main shaft to keep back the crowd, and within the circle of
this rope stood thirty or forty miners, also awaiting orders. The cage
was below with two or three officers of the mine, who had gone down to
ascertain the situation in the neighborhood of the bottom of the burning
shaft. All were anxiously awaiting some news from these men, as since
the escape of the miners from the lower levels, they were the first who
had ventured back into the underground regions.
Presently a cage—a three-decker—came up and stopped at the mouth of the
shaft. On its lower deck stood an underground foreman. As the cage
stopped, this official said: “I want eighteen men to go down to the
1000-foot level with me.” The men knew that on the level mentioned was
the bottom of the perpendicular portion of the burning air-shaft, but
they did not know the situation at that point, nor did they know what
they would be asked to do on arriving at their destination. Yet no
sooner had the call for volunteers been made than there was a rush of
men to the cage.
The lower compartment was instantly filled. The engineer, who stood with
his hand on the lever of his engine, dropped the cage till the second
compartment stood level with the floor, and this had no sooner been done
than it was filled with men. The same was the case when the last
compartment came down; indeed there was a quiet struggle among the men
for a place on the cage, though few words were spoken. As the six men
were taking their places on the last section of the cage, a young man
pulled one of them off, and took his place, saying: “No, John, you’ve
got a family.”
The men were all brave, determined-looking fellows. The faces of all
were calm and firm—not a cheek was pale. While the men were filling the
cage, as it hung in the mouth of the shaft, I said to a friend, “Those
are all fine, brave men. See! with what nerve they step upon that cage
to go down into the burning mine! It may be that some of those men will
never reach the surface alive, yet not one shows a sign of fear.”
“Very true,” said my friend, “but I don’t think there is any real danger
down there. The fire is confined to the air-shaft, all around it is safe
enough.”
“Men never go into a mine at any time,” said I, “but they are in danger,
and when there is anything wrong in a mine the danger is vastly
increased—particularly when there is a fire in any of the lower levels.”
“Well, but what can happen to these men?” asked the gentleman.
“These men,” said I, “will probably come out all right, if no cave shall
occur in the burning shaft while they are below; but it will now soon be
time for the caving to begin. The timbers must soon begin to weaken.”
“Well, what would be the result of a cave in the shaft?”
“It would close up the shaft and suddenly send poisonous gases through
the lower levels.”
Leaving the shaft and the works, soon after the men had descended on
their dangerous mission, 1000 feet below the surface of the earth, we
returned to the town of Gold Hill.
As we entered the main street of the town, we turned and looked in the
direction of the burning shaft, half a mile away. No sign of flame was
visible, but there rolled up from the mouth of the shaft a great inky
cloud of smoke.
“See!” cried my companion, “the fire has gone out! It is all smoke now!”
“There has been a cave in the shaft!” said I, and in less than half a
minute the column of flame again darted into the air to the height of
sixty or eighty feet, and instantly all the smoke disappeared.
Now let us see what happened in the mine at that time. After the fire
broke out in the air-shaft, the draught, which had always before been
downward into the mine (contrary to the general expectation when it was
made), changed, and rushed fiercely upwards. The draught in the main
shaft at the hoisting works, one hundred yards distant, which had before
been upward, was instantly changed, and in it there was found a strong
downward suction. This allowed the men who went below to approach quite
near to the bottom of the burning shaft. They were set to work at
tearing out the woodwork and pulling up the car-tracks in a drift
connecting with the air-shaft at the 1000-foot level, preparatory to
filling it with a bulkhead of rocks and earth, in order to cut off its
connection with other parts of the mine.
While they were at this work the cave occurred in the shaft. When the
mass of rocks and earth composing the cave fell down through the
shaft—perhaps a distance of five hundred feet—it forced back, down into
the mine, and out through the drift in which the miners were at work, a
vast tongue of flame as fierce as that from a blow-pipe—forced back upon
the men all the heat and flame there was in the lower part of the shaft
when it fell.
This deluge of fire lasted but the fraction of a minute, when it was all
sucked back into the shaft by the draught, but while it lasted it was
fierce as the flames of a furnace. The men working in the drift were
naked from the waist upwards, and below wore nothing but cotton
overalls. In a moment the flames were upon them, and all were terribly
burned, notwithstanding that they threw themselves flat upon the ground.
In some instances their overalls were licked from their bodies—turned to
ashes in an instant.
Nine of the eighteen men we saw so bravely descend into the burning mine
were hoisted out, scarred and crisped; their clothes burnt from their
bodies, and the skin peeling off in great flakes, wherever they were
touched. One man was brought up dead. He was not found till the next
day, when his dead body was discovered at the bottom of a winze into
which he had fallen while fleeing before the flames. All of those burned
finally recovered, but several not for many weeks. When the first squad
of men was disabled, others bravely took their place in the drift, and
finally succeeded in completing a substantial bulkhead; thus saving the
mine. Though several caves occurred and drove them from their work, none
were so disastrous as the first—the mass of rock in the bottom of the
shaft doubtless preventing a free outpouring of flame.
Although this fire occurred in October, 1874, in May, 1875, when a new
shaft was being constructed, great masses of rocks, still almost at a
white heat were encountered by the workmen. These lay at the bottom of
the old shaft, and there was no burning timber, charcoal, or fire among
them, but they were so hot as to set on fire the timbers the miners were
trying to set up in the drift run by them, and in order to work at all
it was found necessary to carry a line of hose into the place and play a
stream of water upon the rocks.
When we find so small a mass of rocks as can be contained in the bottom
of a shaft, remaining red-hot for eight months, should we be incredulous
on being assured by men of science that the centre of the earth, once a
molten mass of rock, still remains in a molten state after untold ages?
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXVII.
WAR IN THE MINE.
Little difficulty has ever been experienced from firedamp, in the mines
along the Comstock lode. Firedamp is a gas which is more frequently
generated in, and more strictly confined to, coal mines than to any
others; yet in a few instances it has been found to exist in mines on
the Comstock. It is probably generated by decaying pine-timber.
On one occasion, a mining superintendent of Gold Hill went into an old
drift of the Segregated Belcher mine, and while passing along it,
happened to lift his candle to its roof, to examine the rock. Much to
his astonishment, he set fire to a stratum of carburetted hydrogen
(firedamp), which produced a brilliant flash that extended the whole
length of the drift. Some miners working in the Gould & Curry mine on
one occasion had a similar, but much more lively, bit of experience. On
tapping an old drift in that mine quite an explosion occurred, though no
harm was done, further than the singeing of the hair and whiskers of the
astonished miners.
In the early days of Washoe it occasionally happened that adjoining
mining companies drifted into each other’s works, far below the surface.
On such occasions there was war down in the bowels of the earth. In case
pistols and similar weapons were not used, the battles were fought after
the Chinese stink-pot plan. Each company sought to smoke the other out.
The latest instance in which these underground amenities of the amiable
miner were indulged in, was in May, 1874, when the Kossuth and the
Alhambra folks ceased to admire each other.
The works of the two companies made an unexpected connection several
feet below the surface. As to what passages at arms may have occurred in
and about the breach below when it was first opened, those of the
surface world are not informed. However, the Alhambra folks presently
smelt something burning. They were not long in doubt as to the nature of
the fumigation. The odor wafted to them was not that of sandal-wood,
neither of frankincense nor myrrh. That which reached them was the hot,
pungent, stifling smoke and gas that told of burning pitch-pine. The
Kossuth folks had secretly prepared and lighted in a drift of their
mine, connecting with the Alhambra shaft, a large bonfire of pine-wood.
There being a draught into and up the shaft named, the men working
therein soon found themselves in danger of suffocation, and made all
possible haste to reach the surface.
The superintendent of the Alhambra mine narrowly escaped losing his
life. When he was hoisted to the top of the shaft, some hundreds of
feet, he was asphyxiated to the verge of insensibility, and fell back,
but luckily caught at the edge of some planks and held on long enough to
give those standing near time to snatch him away. Had he fallen to the
bottom of the shaft, it would have been certain death, for had he not
been dashed to pieces by the fall, the smoke and gases ascending the
shaft would have prevented his friends from going down to his
assistance, and he must have inevitably perished.
Turning the tables on the Kossuthites was now tried by the men of the
Alhambra. They covered the mouth of their shaft with planks and wet
blankets, in order, if possible, to force the smoke back into the
Kossuth mine. The smoke still appearing to gather in their shaft,
several large casks of water were got in readiness, the planks and
blankets were raised, and a flood of water turned suddenly down. To what
extent this experiment discommoded the Kossuthites was never made
public, but the indications were that they received at least a temporary
hoist from their own petard, as, shortly after, their numbers above
ground were observed to have increased.
During the war, a deserter came over to the Alhambra side and informed
them that he had been ordered to drill a hole under the bottom of their
shaft, charge it with giant-powder, and blow them all to the lower
levels of Lucifer’s brimstone pit, when they came to work in the
morning. Rather than become a second Guy Fawkes, the man threw up his
situation; at least this was his story. The Kossuth folks caused to be
published a statement of the affair, in which it was said that their
foreman was a second Uncle Toby—he wouldn’t harm a fly. As for the
smoking business, they had explained to the Alhambra folks the fact that
they were about to kindle a little fire to dry their drift, and had told
them that in case they found the smoke disagreeable, they could “go
aloft.”
There is nothing so much dreaded by the miner as fire. When millions of
tons of rock begin to settle down he is not frightened. He goes among
them when they are being splintered in all directions and are cracking
like pistols; coolly puts in double timbers and braces, drives wedges,
and builds up sections with rock, for he knows that the settling must be
gradual, and that if it is not stopped it can only continue till all the
timbers in the place are pressed out as thin as wafers—shortly before
which time he will depart. When caves of ore fall from the breasts in a
stope, he knows that they only endanger the few men who happen to be
under or near them. When the premature explosion of a blast occurs, only
those in the immediate vicinity are killed or wounded. But when there is
a fire in a mine, the life of every man is in peril.
One great reason why a fire in a mine is so much dreaded, is because
there are so few avenues of escape open to the miner. Probably there is
but a single shaft (if the mine is connected with no other) and up this,
a thousand or fifteen hundred feet, he must go to escape. The smoke and
deadly gases may reach the shaft before he arrives, and then he can but
sit down and await his death. In case of a fire, there is liable to be a
panic. A panic in a church or other building on the surface is always a
terrible thing; then what must be a panic in a mine where there are
eight hundred or one thousand men, perhaps, all to go up a single shaft
a thousand feet, a cage-load at a time? At such times, too, there are
explosions of gases which extinguish all of the lights, and the men
rushing to and fro are exposed to the danger of tumbling headlong into
scores of pitfalls in the shape of chutes, winzes, and other
excavations.
All these things being often in the miner’s mind give him a wonderful
delicacy of nostril. He can scent a fire afar. He knows the smell of
burning fuse, of giant-powder, of black powder and of everything with
which fire ordinarily comes in contact in a mine, and the scent of these
are no more noticed than is noticed the air he breathes on the surface
of the earth; but let any unusual substance be ignited and, like the
hunted stag, his nose is in the air at once. Let but a splinter of pine
be held in a candle, and soon the smell of the burning wood is detected
by the miners above and around, and there is a commotion such as is seen
when a hive of bees is disturbed—men drop down from, and rush out of,
all manner of places where no men were seen before. A bit of burning rag
or anything of that nature creates uneasiness.
On one occasion, I was in the 1500-foot level of the Consolidated
Virginia mine when a gentleman from San Francisco was getting some
samples of ore. These he tied up in small sacks. When he tied up the
first he found that he had left his knife above, in changing his
clothes. Having no knife with which to cut the string he had tied about
the sack, he held it in the flame of a candle and burnt it off. The
string was of cotton, and a length of about two inches was consumed in
all. In less than a minute afterwards a man from some part of the mine
hastily approached, and said to the underground foreman,
“What is burning?”
“Is there anything burning?” inquired the foreman, giving us a wink.
“Yes, sir; there is something burning in this part of the mine.”
“What makes you thinks so?”
“Well, I smell it. It’s cotton rags or something of that kind.”
The foreman then showed the man the cotton string that had been burned
off, and he left, giving the San Francisco man a sour look as he
departed. Even a dead rat in any close or heated part of the mine annoys
the men, and is speedily scented out and sent above. So with everything
else from which there can arise the slightest effluvium.
CHAPTER XXVIII.
A CHAPTER OF ACCIDENTS.
Accidents are of constant occurrence in mines in every part of the
world, and the mines on the Comstock lode enjoy no immunity from what
appears to be the common lot or prevalent fatality, in this respect.
Accidents of every imaginable kind have occurred since the opening of
the first mine on the Comstock, still occur, and will continue to occur
so long as a mine on the lode is worked.
In the early days, when the miners worked in a primitive way with a
hand-windlass, and sunk a small round shaft resembling an ordinary well,
they quite as frequently broke legs, arms, and ribs, or were instantly
killed, as at the present day. Though men were working in that which was
but a straight round hole, only fifty or a hundred feet in depth, they
were still able to injure themselves in many ways. They fell out of
buckets, or the crank of a windlass was broken, and they went back to
the bottom of the shaft “by the run;” a blast exploded while they were
yet standing over it; rocks fell out of the walls of their untimbered
shafts; or dropped from a bucket as it was being landed at the top of
the shaft—in short, they were maimed and killed in ways innumerable and
past finding out until the thing had happened.
At the present day, with all manner of safety apparatus, and every
avenue to accident seemingly thoroughly guarded, men are wounded and
killed the same as before. They are constantly being hurt and killed in
new and unheard-of ways—in fact, in every way imaginable. It is a saying
in the mines, that these accidents run in streaks; that they occur in
groups. When two or three accidents have happened within as many days,
you will hear the miners say: “Now, look out, we are going to have a
regular run of accidents!” and so it generally turns out. There will
often be a dozen accidents within a fortnight, half of them, perhaps, of
a fatal character.
More accidents happen to old miners than to men who are new to the
business. The old miner sometimes forgets where he is, while
‘where he is’ is just what the greenhorn is all the time thinking
about. He is always on the lookout for trouble, and he is always
holding on to something that has the appearance of being pretty
substantial—particularly when he is in the neighborhood of shafts
and winzes; but a man who has worked in the mines for years will
walk into a winze or chute in a musing mood, or run a car into the
main shaft and be pulled in after it, which is a thing a green
hand has never been known to do. Shafts, chutes, winzes, and
things of that nature are what he is always looking for, and you
couldn’t pull him into one of them with any yoke of oxen ever seen
in a mine.
Hundreds upon hundreds of accidents have happened in the Comstock mines,
some hundreds of them fatal. A large volume would not contain their
history. I may furnish a few examples at random—by no means the worst
that have happened—in order to give the reader some insight into the
nature of the accidents that occur in mines:
In January, 1874, four miners met with quite a thrilling and perilous
adventure in the bottom of the main shaft of the Ophir mine. No
situation in a sensational play could possibly have been more
blood-curdling than that in which the four men found themselves.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: ACCIDENTS IN THE MINES.]
They were at work sinking the shaft below the 1700-foot level, and had
drilled and charged four holes, all of which they intended to fire at
once. All being in readiness, they pulled the bell-rope, striking five
bells at the surface, which was the signal for the engineer to lower the
cage to the bottom. The signal was answered by the cage coming down to
where they stood. They now set fire to the fuses leading into the four
blasts in the bottom of the shaft, and then hastened to place themselves
upon the cage, when they gave the signal to hoist—this signal being one
bell. To their consternation the cage did not move. As each second
passed—seconds were long then—they expected to feel the cable taut and
the cage start up, but it remained stationary. The fuses were spitting
fire and smoke as they burned down toward the powder; still the cage
moved not. The signal was again given, but the cage remained as
steadfast as before.
The fire was now just boring its way down through the fuses toward the
four charges of powder tightly tamped deep in the rock, while the men
were standing helplessly over the fearful spot. One of the men, as a
forlorn hope, ran to the charges and wrenched away two of the fuses
before they had burned down into the rock below his reach, but when he
came to the others he found to his consternation that the fire had
passed down into the rock. Rushing back to the cage, he shouted to his
companions to save themselves by climbing the cable and timbers.
A fierce struggle for life then ensued. The men scrambled, by means of
the cable and the timbers, to get as far up the shaft as possible, each
moment expecting the stunning explosion and shower of rocks which they
knew must soon come. One of the men, who, it would seem, was completely
paralyzed by the terrors of the situation, had hardly made an attempt to
move when the explosion came. The three others managed to flatten their
bodies against the walls, and screw themselves among the lower timbers
of the shaft, and escaped unhurt; but the man below was struck in the
forehead, above the right eye, by a small piece of rock which crushed in
his skull.
The charges in the bottom of the shaft were usually fired by means of an
electrical machine stationed above, but this being out of order at the
time, the men took the responsibility of firing the blasts in the manner
described, and with the result stated. The trouble in regard to the
giving of the last signal was that the bell-rope—one thousand seven
hundred feet in length—had got foul on a timber, and no stroke was given
on the bell above; thus the engineer knew nothing of the thrilling scene
that was being enacted below. Strange to relate, the man who was hurt
got well. A surgeon took out a number of pieces of bone, and though a
large hole was left in the skull, the man soon regained his senses and
complained but little about his injury.
In February, 1874, they had a new blasting experience at the Belcher
mine, Gold Hill. They had this experience at the 1200-foot level at a
point where a patent drill run by compressed air was being used. It was
the practice to drill a number of holes, charge them all with
giant-powder cartridges (without any tamping), and explode the whole
series at once by means of an electrical battery. On the occasion of the
accident, the men on the forenoon shift had fired a number of holes in
this way, but one of the holes, it seems, did not explode, the wire
thrust into it having slipped out. When the afternoon shift came to
work, they supposed this hole was one that had not been finished, and,
inserting the drill, began working in it. The concussion of the drill
fired the cartridge, and a terrific explosion followed.
At the moment of the explosion there were five men standing about the
drill, all of whom were more or less injured. The man who was guiding
the drill was struck by a shower of small pieces of rock, which cut his
face, and badly cut and bruised his arms and hips, and, in short,
peppered him over the whole body. Another man had the bridge of his nose
broken, was cut about the head, and had his eyes filled with gravel, and
all the others injured were somewhat similarly cut and bruised. Scores
of ordinary blasting accidents might be mentioned—accidents that
occurred from the premature explosion of blasts; by trying to drill out
blasts; by blasts being discharged as the wires from the electrical
battery were being inserted; by persons coming unawares upon blasts at
the moment of their explosion; and powder and blasting accidents of
every conceivable nature—but they can all be imagined.
The caps used in exploding giant-powder and nitro-glycerine are filled
with a powerful fulminating powder, and are very dangerous. They explode
with the slightest scratch upon their contents. They are about half an
inch in length, and their interior diameter is sufficient to admit the
end of a piece of ordinary blasting fuse. Persons unacquainted with
their uses always appear to be overcome by an ungovernable curiosity in
regard to the nature of their contents, the moment they by any means get
hold of any of these caps. The first thing they do is to begin probing
and scratching in the interior of the little copper cylinders, in order
to get out and examine a sample of their contents. It invariably happens
that at about the first or second scratch the cap explodes, and the
person engaged in prospecting it loses the ends of two fingers and the
thumb of the left hand.
In Virginia City and Gold Hill, about one boy per week, on an average,
tries this experiment, and always with the same result. In the two towns
there must now be scores of boys who lack the ends of the thumb and
first and middle fingers of their left hands. On one occasion a boy
created quite a sensation in one of the public schools by prospecting
the interior of one of these giant-powder caps. The report startled the
whole school, frightened the school-teacher nearly out of her wits, and
spattered blood and bits of flesh and bone over the faces and books of
half a dozen of the pupils. Miners very frequently carry these caps
loose in their pockets, often mixed with their tobacco, and thus
occasionally get them into their pipes. Several favorite meerschaums
have been lost in this way, and the ends of a few noses.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXIX.
MINING FATALITIES.
Many miners are killed by thoughtlessly running cars into the main
working shafts of the mines, when no cage is standing in the shaft. They
probably suppose that a cage is standing in the shaft ready to receive
the car, and, without looking, push it into the open mouth of the shaft.
Accidents of this kind generally happen at the stations of the
underground levels. It almost invariably happens when a carman pushes
his car into the mouth of a shaft, that he is pulled in after it. The
sudden pitching forward and downward of the car, upon the top of the
rear end of which he has hold with both hands, causes him to so far lose
his balance that he can never regain it, and down the shaft he goes
after his car, dashed from side to side against the timbers and planking
of the compartments of the shaft into which he has fallen, till the
bottom is reached, hundreds of feet below.
The effect of a fall through a vertical shaft 1500 feet in depth is much
the same as though a man were shot from the mouth of a cannon and thrown
a distance of 500 yards. Mount Davidson stands about 1500 feet higher
than Virginia City, and to fall down a shaft 1500 feet in depth, is much
the same as would be a fall from the peak of that mountain (if such a
thing were possible) into one of the streets of the town. The body of a
man falling a distance of one thousand feet or more, emits towards the
latter part of its course, a humming sound, somewhat similar to that
heard from a passing cannon-ball of large size.
A few instances will serve to show the effect of a fall of this
character upon the human body: A miner who was ascending the
Imperial-Empire[B] shaft, from the 900-foot level, accompanied by six
companions, when within one hundred and fifty feet of the surface, spoke
of feeling faint. He had hardly spoken before he reeled and fell. As he
was falling, his friends caught him by the coat, but as the garment was
only thrown loosely over his shoulders, it pulled off, and he fell off
the cage and to the bottom of the shaft—a distance of 750 feet. The cage
was promptly lowered again and search made for the body, which was found
to have fallen into the “sump” or well at the bottom of the shaft. As
the sump contained a considerable quantity of water the efforts to fish
up the body were not successful, until a good deal of bailing with the
hoisting tank (a large tank with a valve in its bottom) had been done.
Footnote B:
This is not the name of a single mining company, else it would be as
idiotic as it sounds, but the partnership shaft is owned by the
“Empire” company and the “Imperial” company—hence the name.
When the body was at last recovered, it was found to be shockingly
mangled. The left foot was pulled off at the ankle joint, the left hand
at the wrist, the skull was crushed to pieces, and the bones of the
right leg were crushed into small fragments. The face was but slightly
disfigured. The left foot was found hanging by the torn tendons, to a
timber some 200 feet below where the man fell from the cage. The left
hand fell into the sump, and was not found.
Many lives are lost in this way. Men coming up from the heated regions
below, when the thermometer indicates a temperature of from 110 to 120
degrees, faint on reaching the cold air at, or near, the top of the
shaft. Strangers visiting the mines should always mention the fact to
those with them on the cage, if they feel the slightest symptom of
vertigo or faintness, as they may then be properly supported.
On one occasion when I was in the Consolidated Virginia mine, a foreman
who had gone up with a cage-load of men, some of whom were visitors to
the mine, informed us on his return that one of the party just conducted
to the surface had made a narrow escape. He said, that just at the
moment of reaching the surface, the man fainted, and fell upon the floor
of the cage. Had he fallen before, while the cage was in motion, we
should probably have had him down with our party at the foot of the
shaft, 1500 feet below, some minutes before the foreman returned. As our
party got on board the cage, I said that a man who felt the slightest
degree of uneasiness in the region of the stomach, or of faintness,
should at once mention the fact. We were within about 200 feet of the
top of the shaft when a gentleman from San Francisco said:— “I am
beginning to feel sick!” Instantly two or three person took firm hold
upon his arms and the collar of his coat, and thus held him until the
surface was reached. At the surface he fainted, and a man under each arm
carried him into the dressing-room, where he soon revived.
The last time I visited this mine I had but just changed my clothes, and
stepped outside of the building, when a miner fainted at the top of the
shaft and fell to the bottom.
His head was torn off, his arms and legs were torn off, and all that was
left was his trunk, in which not a whole bone remained. The trunk was
rolled up in a piece of canvas and brought to the surface, while pieces
of his arms, legs, and head were scraped up and sent up in candle-boxes.
In falling, the body bounded from side to side against the walls of the
shaft, and, in passing the 1400-foot station, a piece of one of the
bones of a leg, with some flesh adhering, flew out of the compartments
and fell on the station floor. He was a French Canadian, and had just
purchased a lot of trinkets to send home to his wife and family by a
friend who was going to leave for Canada the next day.
Just as they were bringing up the remains in the canvas and
candle-boxes, this friend arrived to get the trinkets which he was to
carry to Canada.
When cages are passing stations, men sometimes put their heads out into
the shaft and have them crushed to atoms or pulled entirely off. In
June, 1874, a miner was instantly killed by having his head caught by a
descending cage at the Crown Point mine. He was at the time in the act
of pulling the bell-wire at the station at the 1000-foot level. As the
man went to pull the wire to stop the cage, a friend who was with him
turned to a box to get a candle. When he turned again he saw his
companion going down with the cage. The cage passed down just below the
level of the station, and stopped, having struck the head of the man who
had fallen being wedged between it and the side of the shaft. The man
left at the station, thinking his friend had gone to the bottom of the
shaft, rang up the cage (a double-decker), when the body came up with
it, the legs still fast.
In August, 1873, at the Chollar-Potosi mine, a miner ran an empty car
into the shaft, and was pulled in after it, falling a distance of 890
feet. In the sump were found floating portions of the shattered car but
the body of the man had sunk to the bottom of the water. By the use of
grappling-irons the body, mangled almost out of all semblance to a man,
was finally recovered. The whole of the head was gone, down to the
underjaw, both legs and both arms were broken in dozens of places, and,
indeed, not a whole bone was left in any part of the body. So torn and
mangled was it—so nearly reduced to pulp—that it was found necessary to
roll it in a blanket, and lash it to a piece of plank, in order to get
it up to the surface. In pulling, the man was dashed from side to side
of the shaft, striking against the timbers, now on this side and now on
that, tearing all the clothing from his person. Shreds of clothing were
found sticking to the shaft timbers in several places. In one place one
of his gloves was found lying on a timber, and in another place hung a
piece of one of his socks, containing a toe that had been torn from the
foot. The pump brought up bloody water for a considerable time after the
accident, showing that the whole contents of the sump had been
crimsoned.
Although the ingenuity of the many mechanics about the mines is
constantly exercised in devising means for the prevention of accidents,
and although there are now in operation a great number of useful
inventions of this kind, yet men continue to find ways of being wounded
and killed never before dreamed of. In all of the leading mines
safety-cages are in use; also, safety incline-cars, or “giraffes,” and
these have saved scores of lives. With the safety-cage or giraffe in use
the miners do not fall to the bottom when a cable breaks. The safety
apparatus instantly comes in play, and the cage or giraffe is at once
stopped, at the point of ascent or descent at which the cable parted.
In all the hoisting works there is a strong cover of latticework over
the mouth of each compartment of the main shaft, to prevent men from
stumbling or thoughtlessly walking into it. When the cage comes up the
shaft, the iron shield or “bonnet” on its top picks up this cover, and
holds it up out of the way, the floor of the cage meantime filling the
mouth of the compartment, and guarding it in place of the cover; when
the cage descends it leaves the cover behind on the opening through
which it passed down, somewhat like the cunning little animal that pulls
the door of its hole in after it when it retreats into the ground.
With all these provisions for protecting life and limb, accidents
continue, and must ever continue to happen, as there are so many things
against which neither the owners of mines nor the miners themselves can
guard. In case of a cable parting, for instance, the men who are on the
cage are protected by the safety apparatus, but the upper part of the
cable is liable to spring backwards and kill the engineer standing at
his engine fifty or sixty feet in the rear of the shaft, quite at the
opposite end of the building.
A heavy cable of steel wire whipping back in this way, will cut a broad
road through the whole length of the ceiling of a building, taking off
large joists and beams as though they were so many bars of soap. Huge
fly-wheels of many tons’ weight occasionally burst asunder, tearing the
sides and roof of the works to pieces, killing or wounding all who may
be in the way of the flying fragments; boilers sometimes explode, and
leave hardly a vestige of the works in which they stood; men are caught
in the cog-wheels of the machinery; and, in short, there is no safety
either above or below ground.
Below the surface, however, the accidents are most numerous and
terrible. In the examples given by means of which to illustrate the
fearful velocity attained by the human body in falling through a space
of from 1000 to 1500 feet, it may be thought that I have selected the
most shocking I could find; but such is not the case. It is the usual
experience that in falling such a distance, the hand, foot, or head of a
man coming in contact with a timber toward the bottom of a shaft, is cut
or torn off. It is by no means unusual for the remains of men to be
collected at the bottom of a shaft and sent to the surface in
candle-boxes; to such an extent are the bodies and limbs of many who
fall into shafts rent and scattered. On one occasion of this kind, when
the jury of inquest had finished hearing the testimony and were sitting
silent round the fragmentary remains, considering their verdict, a man
came hurriedly in, with a candle-box under his arm, approached the
foreman, and said to him in a reverent tone, “Wait a moment, please—I’ve
got some more of him.”
[Illustration: THE PILGRIM’S LODGINGS.]
Speaking of undertakers, reminds me of a little story: One night a
Virginia City policeman while going his round, found an inebriated
“pilgrim” reposing on a bench in front of an undertaking establishment.
The officer shook the fellow until he awoke him from his drunken
slumber, and then explained to him that unless he found other and less
public quarters he should be obliged to escort him to the station-house.
The pilgrim sat up, and rubbing his eyes, explained to the officer that
he was a stranger in the town; that he had but fifty cents in his
pocket, and, the night being warm, he had concluded to sleep out of
doors, and save his money to pay for a breakfast the next morning. Not
being a hard-hearted man the officer told the fellow that he might
finish his sleep, provided he would get up and move out of sight before
people were astir in the streets.
Passing the same way, in the course of an hour or two, the officer found
that his man had rolled off the bench, and was lying at full length in
the empty case of a coffin that was standing at the edge of the
sidewalk, close beside the bench. Rousing his “pilgrim” again, the
officer told him he must “get out of that!”
“Out o’ what?” growled the fellow.
“Why, out of that coffin!” said the officer—though it was only one of
those coffin-shaped cases in which coffins are shipped.
“Who’s in a coffin?” asked the fellow, evidently becoming somewhat
interested.
“Why, you are!” said the officer.
“Not if I know it, I ain’t!” said the pilgrim.
“Well, I know it,” said the officer sharply, “and if you don’t get out
of it pretty shortly it will be the last of you. Don’t you know that if
these undertakers get up in the morning and find you snoozing away
there, they’ll clap a lid on that coffin, screw it down, hustle you out
to the graveyard and bury you, then send in a bill and make the county
pay your funeral expenses. It’s just one of the tricks that our Washoe
undertakers like to play!”
Crawling out of his narrow quarters, the fellow rubbed his eyes and
gazed at the coffin-shaped case for some time, then said:
“I’d like to know what sort of a dod-rotted set of undertakers you’ve
got out here in this country, anyway, that go and set rows of coffins
’longside the sidewalks, fur to ketch corpses?” and without waiting for
an answer, he shuffled away to find safer quarters.
[Illustration: VIRGINIA CITY, NEVADA.]
CHAPTER XXX.
HE TOWNS OF THE BIG BONANZA.
As not much has yet been said in regard to the principal towns of the
“big bonanza,” I shall now devote a few chapters to Virginia City and
Gold Hill, but more particularly to railroads, water-works,
lumber-flumes, and other things intimately connected with the growth and
prosperity of those towns, and the cheap and economical working of the
mines.
To begin, I may say that the two towns, Virginia City and Gold Hill,
which were formerly over one mile apart, are now united, and the
dividing line cannot be distinguished. The population of Virginia City
is a little over twenty thousand, and that of Gold Hill about ten
thousand, according to the directory for 1875.
Virginia City, as has already several times been mentioned, lies along
the eastern face of Mount Davidson, on a broad sloping plateau, and is
surrounded on all sides by rugged hills and rocky mountain peaks. In the
early days, these hills were covered with a sparse growth of nut
pine-trees—a sort of stunted pine, in size and form of trunk and
branches somewhat resembling an ordinary apple-tree—but the demand for
fuel for the mines, mills, and domestic uses, swept all these away in a
very few years, and even the stumps have been dug up and made into
firewood by the Chinese.
Gold Hill is situated at the head of Gold Cañon, on the south side of
Mount Davidson, and is shut in by the walls of the ravine, along which
stand the principal buildings of the town. A ridge about two hundred
feet in height, lies between the two towns, which is known as the
“Divide.” The Divide is covered with buildings, and is a fine airy
location—a place where the “Washoe zephyr” waltzes to and fro at will.
In 1859, there were some scattering nut pine-trees on the sides of the
mountains about Gold Hill, but these soon went the way of those about
Virginia City, and now all the hills and mountains, as far as the eye
can reach, are brown and treeless. The only covering of either hills or
valleys is the eternal and ever-present sage-brush.
This shrub grows to the height of from one to four feet, and its leaves
are not green, but of an ashen-grey—much the color and much the same in
shape as the leaves of the common garden sage. The botanical name of
this shrub is _artemisia tridentata_. Through the scanty covering of
sage-brush the rocks everywhere rise up as though they might be the
bones of the land peeping through its skin.
The first house built in Virginia City was a canvas structure, eighteen
by forty feet in size, erected in 1859 by Lyman Jones, one of the
pioneers of the country. Mrs. Jones was the first white woman who lived
where Virginia City now stands, and her daughter Ella, was the first
white child seen in the camp.
The first white child born in Virginia City was a daughter of J. H.
Tilton, one of the pioneer wagon-road builders of the country. She was
born on the 1st of April, 1860, and was named Virginia. She still lives
in the town in which she first saw the light.
In Virginia City are to be seen as many large and substantial buildings,
both public and private, as in any town of like population on the
Pacific Coast. The Catholics, Episcopalians, Presbyterians, Methodists,
Baptists, and other leading Christian denominations have fine and costly
churches in the town, and these are as well attended as the churches in
any other land. The Masons and Odd Fellows have fine halls, and both
societies are in a very flourishing condition.
[Illustration: VIRGINIA TILTON.]
There are in the city most of the orders and societies found in other
large towns; as, the Knights of Pythias, Ancient Order of Druids,
Improved Order of Red-Men, Knights of the Red Branch, Champions of the
Red Cross, Crescents, Irish Confederation, Ancient Order of Hibernians,
Caledonia Society, Society of Pacific Coast Pioneers, two Turn Vereins,
Miners’ Union, Printers’ Union, and several similar societies.
In the way of benevolent associations, there are, the Virginia
Benevolent Society, Italian Benevolent Society, Hibernian Benevolent
Society, St. Vincent de Paul Benevolent Society, and several others. In
the city is St. Mary’s Orphan Asylum and School (under the charge of the
Sisters of Charity), built at the cost of about $100,000, and the St.
Vincent Hospital, which cost $40,000 or $50,000. In the town are five
military companies—the National Guard, Emmet Guard, Washington Guard,
Montgomery Guard, and the Nevada Artillery.
In the several wards of the city are handsome, commodious and
comfortable school-houses, and there are several flourishing
Sunday-schools, conducted under the auspices of various religious
societies. The city is lighted with gas, is supplied with pure water
from the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and has telegraphic communication with
all parts of the world.
Two daily papers are published in Virginia, the _Territorial
Enterprise_, and the _Evening Chronicle_. The _Enterprise_ is a morning
paper, and the _Chronicle_, as its name implies, is published in the
evening. The _Enterprise_ is the oldest newspaper in Nevada. The first
number (it was then a weekly), was issued at Genoa, on Saturday,
December 18th, 1858. This was the year before the discovery of silver in
Nevada, and Genoa was then a town of about 200 inhabitants. The office
of publication was removed to Carson City, in November, 1859, and
remained there till November, 1860, when it was removed to Virginia
City. The office in which the _Enterprise_ was first published in
Virginia City, was a small, one-story frame building with a shed or
lean-to on one side, and was a queerly arranged establishment. The
proprietors had the shed part fitted up as a kitchen and dining and
lodging-place. Bunks were ranged along the sides of the room, one above
another, as on shipboard, and here editors, printers, proprietors, and
all hands “bunked” after the style of the miners in their cabins. A
Chinaman, “Old Joe,” did the cooking, and three times each day the whole
crowd of “newspaper men” were called out to the long table in the shed
to get their “square meal.” The “devil” went for numerous lunches
between meals, and often came flying out into the composition-room with
a large piece of pie in his mouth, and the old Chinaman at his heels.
The Virginia City Fire Department contains four fine steam fire engines,
one Babcock engine and two or three hand engines, hook and ladder
apparatus, and all else required in battling with fires in a town of the
size. There are also in various places hydrants, to which hose can be
attached and powerful streams thrown, in case of a fire occurring in
their neighborhood.
In the business part of the city are many large and substantial
fire-proof brick and stone structures. There is a large frame theatre
and several halls in which balls and lectures are given. The rooms of
the Washoe Club are as fine as those of most similar clubs in large
cities, and were fitted up at a cost of about $75,000. They contain a
library, reading and billiard-rooms, dining-room, and all else required
for the accommodation of members. Many fine oil paintings adorn the
walls, and the furniture and all the appointments are costly and
elegant.
Owing to the fact that the plateau on which the town is built slopes
rapidly to the east, buildings that are but three stories high in front,
are in places five or six stories in the rear. This configuration of the
ground is of great advantage to those who wish to make a display in
cellars and basements.
On account of the altitude, the atmosphere is very light and thin, but
the climate is as healthful as that of any town on the Pacific Coast.
When the town was first settled, for some reason never explained, a
notion prevailed that it was a bad place for children—that children
could not be reared there; but this was a great mistake. Finer or more
robust children can be seen in no town or city in the Union than those
of Virginia. They grow like mushrooms. This is probably because they
have to contend with but a small amount of atmospheric pressure—there is
nothing to prevent their shooting up and expanding in all directions.
[Illustration: COUNTRY AND CITY.]
It is a well-known scientific fact that animals, as sheep and deer,
found on elevated mountain ranges, have larger lungs than the same
species when inhabiting places at or near the level of the sea;
therefore the children of Virginia City are likely to be large-lunged
and broad-chested when they arrive at maturity. The air being thin and
light, it is necessary for those breathing it to inhale it in greater
volume than would be required in breathing the denser atmosphere of
places at or near the level of the sea, and to do this, there must be a
proper and proportionate expansion of the lungs. Children born in the
country provide themselves with a proper supply of lungs without any
looking after, but adults sometimes find the stretching of their lungs
to the required standard, a somewhat unpleasant operation.
The town of Gold Hill is well supplied with churches and schools,
societies of all kinds, fire apparatus, and all else that should be
found in a place of its population and business. What has been said of
Virginia City in regard to these matters, will apply equally well to
Gold Hill. The town has one daily paper, the _Evening News_, contains
the works of many of the leading mines of the Comstock, and is a lively,
bustling business place—is full of the thunder of machinery and the
shriek of steam-whistles. Although but a mile from the centre of
Virginia, the temperature of Gold Hill is about five degrees higher,
winter and summer, than in the first-named town.
The whole town is undermined, and may be said to stand on a foundation
of timbers. The ground worked out underneath the town has, however,
been so thoroughly filled in with timbers and waste rock that there is
no danger of it caving, though it is immediately but slowly settling.
To the eastward of the town, and behind a large hill on which a portion
of the town stands, a crevice has opened which is nearly a mile in
length, and in places over two feet in width. This shows that the
whole place, hill and all, is gradually “subsiding.” Both Virginia and
Gold Hill have frequently been swept over by great fires, involving
a loss of property to the extent of many millions of dollars. The
burnt districts, however, have always been speedily rebuilt. The
houses destroyed have been replaced with better and more substantial
structures, and consequently the towns have improved in appearance by
means of the fires they have passed through, though many persons have
suffered great loss.
A striking feature of both towns, and one which at once rivets the
attention of all strangers, is the immense piles of rock seen in the
neighborhood of all the principal mines. In these great dump-piles are
heaped the rock and earth extracted in sinking the shafts, running the
drifts, and in making other underground excavations. Persons from the
Atlantic States, who are in the habit of judging of the depth of a well
or other excavation by the amount of rubbish seen on the surface, are
greatly surprised at the size of the dumps, and their first question is:
“Did all that dirt come out of one mine?” As soon as they see one of
these mountains of waste rock, they begin a mental calculation as to the
size of the hole left in the ground. It is no small pile of rubbish that
comes out of a shaft six feet wide, twenty-two feet long, and from 1,500
to 2,500 feet deep—to say nothing of the _débris_ from innumerable
drifts, crosscuts and winzes.
The dump-piles of the Savage and Hale and Norcross, mining companies,
situated in the southeastern part of Virginia City, are among the
largest on the Comstock, the shafts of these mines having been carried
down to a depth of nearly 2,500 feet; the waste-dump of the Bullion
mine, at the north end of Gold Hill, is also of great size. In many
instances, the waste rock hoisted out of the mines is utilized in
filling in and leveling the ground surrounding the buildings above the
shafts. In this way, acres of level ground are made, and the number of
the unsightly dump-piles is much diminished.
J. P. Jones, United States Senator from Nevada, has a residence in the
town of Gold Hill, where live his mother and three of his brothers, one
of whom, Samuel L. Jones, is superintendent of the Crown Point mine, one
of the leading mines of the Comstock. The mother of the Senator,
although she might reside in any one of the cities of the Union, prefers
to make her home at Gold Hill—is really in love with the wild beauty of
the surrounding hills, and the thunder of machinery, and all the sights,
sounds, and excitements incident to life in the midst of the
silver-mines.
[Illustration: RHODE ISLAND, GOLD HILL.]
[Illustration:
WASTE ROCK.
(_Hale & Norcross Mines_.)
]
Omnibuses ply between Gold Hill and Virginia City, and soon street-cars
will be running between the two towns, and perhaps as far as Silver
City, a distance of five miles. Gold Cañon, between Gold Hill and Silver
City, is filled with mills, hoisting-works, business houses and
residences, and from the place last named to Virginia City, a distance
of five miles, it may be said to be one town.
In the early history of the Comstock towns, huge “prairie schooners,”
laden with goods, merchandise, and machinery, from over the Sierras,
thronged the streets. Each “schooner” was drawn by a team of from
fourteen to sixteen mules, and each mule was provided with a chime of
bells, suspended in a steel bow or arch above the bearskin housings of
his collar. A few of these teams sufficed to fill a whole street with
music, but it was a kind of music that sounded best when heard at a
distance and far up in the mountains. These great teams are now no
longer seen. The only big teams are those employed in hauling quartz to
mills that are off the line of the railroad, and in similar local
freighting.
Many of the wagons still in use are capable of hauling immense loads. In
that country they have a way of hitching a second and smaller wagon
behind the first, which second wagon is called a “back-action.” Often as
many as three and four wagons are thus coupled together in a train. In
this way twenty-four cords of wood have been hauled by a team of twelve
animals; ten horses hauled on one occasion 73,050 pounds of quartz, and
on another occasion twelve horses hauled 84,000 pounds of ore a distance
of eight miles. Four wagons were used in each instance. These were, of
course, unusually large loads, and were hauled on account of there being
some bantering between certain team-owners, but the teamsters of Nevada
usually haul heavier loads than are hauled elsewhere.
Being in Gold Hill, on one occasion, with two Western farmers who wished
to see some of the mills and hoisting works of the place, I was somewhat
amused at their anxiety to satisfy themselves in regard to the weight of
the loads hauled by the Washoe teamsters. They had been told a good many
stories in regard to big loads, and had made many memorandums of the
same, but still could hardly credit what had been told them.
Seeing a wagon-load of ore being weighed, they said: “Now we have caught
them in the act! Now we shall see for ourselves. They are just weighing
that load. Two—four—six horses. We shall now see what is a Washoe load
for six horses!”
As the wagon was driven off the scales, I said to the man who had done
the weighing: “These gentlemen are farmers from the West. They are
curious to know the weight of the load of ore that has just been driven
off the scales.”
“It weighed just 28,000 pounds,” said the man of the scales. The farmers
looked at each other and smiled.
“You may see for yourselves,” said he of the scales; “the weights used,
as you see, are still on—count them up.”
“No;” said the farmers; “we are satisfied; but it will never do for us
to speak of the loads hauled in Washoe, when we get back among our
neighbors.”
Said the weigh-master, “I’ll tell you what is a fact; a team of ten
horses, drawing a train of four wagons, hauled a load of ore which
weighed over 73,000 pounds along this street on which you stand.”
Said the Iowa farmer to the Ohio farmer: “Let us go; we don’t want to
hear too much!”
The man at the scales then offered to show them a whole bookful of
weights of loads hauled, if they would step into his office; but they
had seen and heard enough, and, as they said—“More than we dare speak of
at home.”
At present, the greater part of the ore that is not reduced near the
mines, is exported by rail, and, indeed, the railroad does most of the
heavy freighting of the whole country.
[Illustration: WOOD AND WATER.]
CHAPTER XXXI.
CONSTRUCTION OF RAILROAD LINES.
The Virginia and Truckee Railroad, runs from Virginia City to Reno, on
the Truckee River, at which point it connects with the Central Pacific
Railroad. The length of the road is 52 miles, and it is undoubtedly the
crookedest road in the United States—probably the crookedest in the
world.
Ground was broken for the road, on the 19th of February, 1869, and in
eight months after, it was doing business between Virginia and Carson
City—a distance of twenty-one miles.
The heavy work lies between these points—nearly all of the tunnels, deep
cuts and sharp curves—and for the greater part of the distance the road
was cut through solid rock.
From Virginia City to the Carson River, a distance of 13 miles, the
track is a continuous incline. The maximum grade is 116 feet. The
maximum radius of curves is 300 feet, and the degrees of curvature
amount in all—between Virginia and Carson City—to 6,120; or, in other
words, are equal to going seventeen times round a circle. Thus, in
traveling from Virginia City to Carson—twenty-one miles—one passes
through a sufficiency of curves to carry him round a circle, 360
degrees, seventeen times. This surpasses any “swinging round the
circle,” political or otherwise, that has ever been done in the United
States.
There are on the road six tunnels of an aggregate length of 2,400 feet.
All of these tunnels are lined through their whole length with zinc, as
a protection against fire. Wood is the fuel used on all the locomotives,
and in tugging up the mountain with heavy trains such a Vesuvius of
sparks is poured from the smoke-stacks, that without the protection of
the zinc lining the woodwork of tunnels would constantly be taking fire.
As I have said, the heaviest work on the road was between Virginia and
Carson City. The cost of this section of 21 miles of road was
$1,750,000, or about $83,000 per mile, which includes permanent way and
graduation—that is, with the track laid, and the road ready for
business. The cost of the whole road was about $3,000,000. From Virginia
City to Reno, the terminus of the road, the distance in an air-line is
16½ miles, while by rail it is 52 miles. By the wagon-road, over the
mountain, the distance from Virginia to Reno is only 22 miles. Over this
wagon-road, known as the Griger Grade, supplies of all kinds, including
heavy machinery for the mines, were brought to Virginia, previous to the
completion of the railroad; the hauling being done by teams of ten,
twelve, fourteen, and sixteen mules each, attached to huge wagons known
as “prairie schooners.”
As will be seen, by the distance from Virginia City to Reno in a direct
line, the traveler not only swings seventeen times round the circle, in
going from Virginia to Carson, but has almost completed a grand circle
when he reaches the end of the road and connects with the Central
Pacific. He starts off in a southerly direction, and so continues until
Carson is reached, when he turns and travels northward until he arrives
at Reno.
At Steamboat Springs, between Carson City and Reno, the traveler who
starts from Virginia has traveled forty miles by rail, yet it is but 5½
miles from the place whence he started, Steamboat Springs being situated
just back or west of Mount Davidson, on the eastern face of which
Virginia City stands. Between Virginia and Carson the only piece of
straight road is one little stretch about 5½ miles in length, but
between Carson and Reno are found several miles of road tolerably
straight. The road does an immense local carrying business. From 500 to
800 tons of ore are daily carried over it to the mills on the Carson
River, and return trains bring great quantities of wood, lumber, and
timber for use at the mines. From thirty to as high as forty-five trains
per day pass over that part of the road lying between Virginia and
Carson City.
Notwithstanding the crookedness of the road, trains run over it at a
high rate of speed, as the road is kept in perfect order and steel rails
are used on the mountains where short curves most abound. So crooked is
the road that in places, in going down the mountain with a long train,
the locomotive seems to be coming back directly toward the rear car,
when directly it gracefully sheers off and heads down the mountain
again, the train being thrown into the form of the letter S, reminding
one of what the Bible says of the “way of a serpent on a rock.”
From Reno—over the whole length of the road—come vast amounts of
machinery, stores, and supplies of all kinds for the mines and mills,
and goods and merchandise for all of the towns along the river and in
the mines. Along the road are a great number of side tracks and switches
leading to mills and mining works. Some of these are of considerable
length and, as more are constantly being constructed, the indications
are that the added length of these will possibly exceed that of the main
road.
Branch roads, all of a permanent and substantial character, are
being built to the shafts of the leading mines, to be used in taking
in machinery, wood, timber, lumber, and other supplies, and for
sending ore out to the mills. Many of these side-tracks are laid in
places where it would be almost impossible to construct an ordinary
wagon-road, and to see trains darting out of tunnels, and rushing
along the face of almost perpendicular hills, disappearing behind a
great tower of rock one moment, and the next coming in sight again and
swinging round a second rugged tower, looks somewhat too “lively.”
All the wonderful engineering required in the construction of these
side-tracks, as well as in the main road, was done by Mr. I. E. James,
an old resident of the country—the man who has done nearly all of the
intricate surveying that has been required in the leading mines on the
Comstock lode. Although one of the most modest and unassuming men on
the Pacific Coast, with him nothing in the way of engineering appears
to be impossible.
After having seen the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, all will say that
there is no region so rugged but that a track for the “iron horse” may
be found over it and through it in all directions. When engineers,
conductors, and other railroad men from the Atlantic States, first begin
running on the Virginia and Truckee road they promise themselves that
they will make a very short stay, but in a few months they begin to take
pride in their ability to run on such a road; they like the excitement
of it and consider that those who only run on roads that are straight
and level know but little about the beauties of the business—about
railroading as a fine art. Although these men run trains down the
mountains from Virginia City to Carson River swinging seventeen times
round the circle and going at a fearful rate of speed, yet serious
accidents very seldom occur. The trains are timed by telegraph and the
stations are so numerous that the conductors are always well informed in
regard to the trains on the road, and their position.
Surveys have been made for a narrow-gauge railroad from Virginia City to
Reno, and thence to the northward, along the eastern base of the Sierra
Nevada Mountains. This road will run northward from Virginia—starting
out in an opposite direction from that taken by the Virginia and Truckee
Railroad, and will pass over some very rough country, but will reach
Reno by a shorter _route_ than the other road named. The object in
building this narrow-gauge road is the tapping of the vast forests of
pine lying along the eastern slope of the Sierras.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXII.
AN ENGINEERING TRIUMPH.
Another work that has been of great benefit to the towns along the
Comstock, and to all the mining and milling companies in and about the
towns, and along the cañons below, was the bringing of an ample supply
of pure water from the Sierra Nevada Mountains.
In the early days, when the first mining was done at Virginia City and
Gold Hill, natural springs furnished a supply of water for the use of
the few persons then living in the two camps. For a time after the
discovery of silver, these springs, and a few wells that were dug by the
settlers, sufficed for all uses, but as the towns grew in population, an
increased supply of water was demanded. A water company was formed and
the water flowing from several tunnels that had been run into the
mountains west of Virginia City for prospecting purposes, was collected
in large wooden tanks, and distributed about the two towns by means of
pipes. At length the tunnels from which this supply was obtained began
to run dry, and a water famine was threatened. It then became necessary
to set men to work at extending the tunnels further into the hills to
cut across new strata of rock. This increased the supply for a time,
but, at length, the whole top of the hill into which the tunnels
extended appeared to be completely drained.
Early in the spring, when the snow was melting, they afforded a
considerable supply; but in the summer, when water was most needed, the
tunnels furnished but feeble streams and these were much impregnated
with minerals, one of the least feared of which was arsenic. The ladies
rather liked arsenic, as it improved their complexion; made them fair
and rosy-cheeked—almost young again, some of them. The miners did not
object to arsenic; as, while it did not injure their complexion, it
strengthened their lungs—made them strong-winded, and able to scale
mountains. (Every man of them hungered to hunt the wild chamois.) But
there were other minerals held in solution in the water—those that
caused diarrhœa for instance—that were not so well thought of.
The nearer hills having thus been drained, tunnels were run into such of
those further away as were of sufficient altitude to permit of streams
from them being brought to the two towns. These tunnels were run for no
other purpose than to find water. A hill was examined with a view to its
water-producing capacity. It was found that those which rose up in a
single sharp or rounded peak were not rich in water. The best
water-producers were hills on the tops of which there were large areas
of flat ground. That portion of a range of mountains which contained on
the summit a large shallow basin surrounded by clusters of hills or
peaks was found to yield largely and for a long time, when tapped by a
tunnel run under the basin or sink at the depth of three or four hundred
feet.
Dams were constructed across the outlets of these basins to hold back
the water from the melting snow, in order that it might filter down
through the earth to the tunnels. At the mouths of the tunnels heavy
bulkheads of timbers and plank were constructed, to keep back and dam up
the water where it could be kept cool and pure. Where deep shafts stood
near the line of these tunnels, ditches were dug to them along the sides
of the hills, and the water formed by the melting of the snow in the
spring was let into them. All manner of devices, in short, were resorted
to for the purpose of keeping in and upon the hills all of the moisture
from snow or rains that fell upon them. Yet one after another these
hills failed. When once the tops had been thoroughly drained it appeared
to require all of the water that fell on them in any shape during winter
to reach down into and moisten them to the level of the tunnels.
Finally, there were in all many miles of these horizontal wells. All the
hills from which water could be brought, for miles away to the northward
and southward of Virginia and Gold Hill, were tapped, thousands on
thousands of dollars being expended in this work. When a reservoir of
water was first tapped in a new hill there would be poured out a great
flood for a few days; this would then fall to a moderate stream and so
remain for a month or two, when it would begin to dwindle away. The
water from the many tunnels was collected by means of small wooden
flumes or troughs, winding about the curves of the hills for miles, and
in summer, when most wanted, the sickly streams from the more distant
tunnels were lost by leakage and evaporation before having finished half
their course to the towns.
Virginia City and Gold Hill were frequently placed upon a short
allowance of water, and it was seen that a great water famine must soon
prevail in both towns, in case the tunnels that had been run into the
mountains were depended upon for a supply. The Virginia and Gold Hill
Water Company then determined to bring a supply of pure water from the
streams and lakes of the Sierra Nevada Mountains—from the regions of
eternal snow.
The distance from Virginia City to the first available streams in the
Sierras was about twenty-five miles; but between the Virginia range of
mountains and the Sierras, lay the deep depression known as Washoe
Valley,—in one part of which is situated Washoe Lake. The problem to be
solved in bringing water from the Sierras to Virginia City was how to
convey it across this deep valley.
Mr. H. Schussler, the engineer under whose supervision the Spring Valley
Water Works, of San Francisco, were constructed, was sent for, and
crossing the Sierras he made an examination of the route over which it
was proposed to bring the water. He acknowledged that the undertaking
was one of great difficulty. To convey the water across the deep
depression formed by Washoe Valley would demand the performing of a feat
in hydraulic engineering never before attempted in any part of the
world. This was to carry the water through an iron pipe under a
perpendicular pressure of 1,720 feet. This feat, however, Mr. Schussler
said could be performed, and he was ready to undertake it at once.
Surveys were made, in the spring of 1872, and orders given for the
manufacture of the pipe. To make the pipe was the work of nearly a year.
The manufacturers were furnished with a diagram of the line on which it
was to be laid and each section was made to fit a certain spot. When the
route lay round a point of rocks the pipe was made of the required
curve, and other curved sections were required when the line crossed
deep and narrow ravines.
The first section of pipe was laid, June 11th, 1873, and the last on the
25th, of July the same year. The whole length of the pipe is seven miles
and one hundred and thirty-four feet. Its interior diameter is twelve
inches, and it is capable of delivering 2,200,000 gallons of water per
twenty-four hours. It lies across Washoe Valley, in the form of an
inverted siphon. The end at which the water is received rests upon a
spur from the main Sierras, at an elevation of 1885 feet above Washoe
Valley. The outlet is on the crest of the Virginia range of mountains,
on the eastern slope of which are situated the towns of Virginia and
Gold Hill. The perpendicular elevation of the inlet above the outlet is
465 feet. Thus is brought to bear a great pressure which forces the
water rapidly through the pipe.
The water is brought to the inlet through a large wooden flume, and at
the outlet is delivered into a similar flume, twelve miles in length,
which conveys it to Virginia City. The pipe is of wrought iron, and is
fastened by three rows of ⅝ inch rivets. At the lowest point in the
ground crossed, the perpendicular pressure is 1,720 feet, equal to 800
pounds to the square inch. Here the iron is 5/16 of an inch in
thickness, but as the ground rises to the east and west, and the
pressure is reduced, the thickness of the iron decreases through ¼,
3/16, down to 1/16.
In its course, the pipe crosses thirteen deep gulches, making necessary
that number of undulations, as it is throughout its length laid at the
depth of 2½ feet below the surface of the earth. Besides these, there
are a great number of lateral curves round hills and points of rocks.
There was just one place and none other for each section of pipe as
received from the manufactory. At each point where there is a depression
in the pipe there is a blow-off cock, for the removal of any sediment
that may collect, and on the top of each ridge is an air-cock, for
blowing off the air when the water was first let in, and at other times
when the pipe is being filled. The pipe contains no less than 1,150,000
pounds of rolled iron; is held together by 1,000,000 rivets, and there
were used in securing the joints 52,000 pounds of lead, which was melted
and poured in from a portable furnace that moved along the line as the
work of laying the pipe progressed. Before being put down, each section
of pipe was boiled in a bath of asphaltum and coal-tar, at a temperature
of 380 degrees. At the first filling of the pipe a stream of water,
about the thickness of a common lead-pencil, escaped through the lead
packing of a joint, at a point where the pressure was greatest. This
struck against the face of a rock, and, rebounding, played upon the
upper side of the pipe. The water brought with it from the rock a small
quantity of sand or grit, perhaps, but at all events it soon bored a
hole through the top of the pipe, and from this hole, which shortly
became two or three inches in diameter, a jet of water ascended to the
height of two hundred feet or more, spreading out in the shape of a fan
toward the top.
When this break occurred, a signal smoke was made in the valley, and the
lookout at the inlet of the pipe on the mountain spur shut off the
water. Over each joint in the pipe was placed a cast-iron sleeve or
band, weighing 300 pounds, and within this sleeve was poured the molten
lead which served as packing. In all there were used 1,475 or 442,500
pounds of these sleeves, and but three out of the whole number proved
faulty, and failed to sustain the strain brought upon them, and of
12,640 sheets of iron used in the pipe, but one bad one was found. As it
would have been a great task to test each section of the pipe by
hydraulic pressure at the manufactory, the engineer proposed to bring
the whole under the required strain at once, after they were put down.
He began the pressure with a perpendicular height of 1,250 feet in the
column of water; increased it to 1,550, to 1,700, and finally to 1,850,
being 130 feet more than the pipe would be required to sustain when in
actual use.
During these experiments, men were stationed at the inlet of the pipe,
at its outlet on the summit of the Virginia range, and at various points
through the valley, as lookout men. They made their signals by means of
a smoke during the day, and a fire by night—a trick learned from the
Piute Indians.
As the water came surging down through the great inverted siphon from
the elevated mountain spur, and began to fill and press upon the parts
lying in the deeper portions of the valley, one after another the
blow-off cocks on the crests of the ridges crossed, opened, and allowed
the escape of the compressed air. Compared with what was heard when
these cocks blew off, the blowing of a whale was a mere whisper. The
water finally flowed through the pipe and reached Gold Hill and Virginia
City on the night of August 1, 1873. Early that evening a signal fire
was lighted in the mountains at the inlet of the pipe, showing that the
water had again been turned on.
As the pipe filled, the progress of the water in it could be traced by
the blowing off of the air on the tops of the ridges through the valley,
and at last, to the great joy of the engineer and all concerned in the
success of the enterprise, the signal fire at the outlet, on the summit
of the Virginia range, was for the first time lighted, showing that the
water was flowing through the whole length of the pipe.
When the water reached Virginia there was great rejoicing. Cannon were
fired, bands of music paraded the streets, and rockets were sent up all
over the city. Many persons went out and filled bottles with this first
water from the Sierras, and a bottle of it is still preserved in the
cabinet of the Pacific Coast Pioneers.
Previous to the laying of this pipe for the Virginia and Gold Hill Water
Company, the greatest pressure under which water had ever been carried
in any part of the world was 910 feet. This was at Cherokee Flat,
California, and was also under the supervision of Mr. Schussler.
In 1875, the Virginia and Gold Hill Water Company laid a second pipe
alongside of the first. This has an inside diameter of ten inches.
Instead of being fastened with rivets it is lap-welded, and is the
largest pipe ever made in that way. As there are no rivet-heads in it to
produce friction, it delivers the same amount of water as the larger
pipe, namely, 2,200,000 gallons per twenty-four hours.
[Illustration: GOLD HILL—LOOKING NORTH.]
Previous to 1875, the supply of water was principally obtained from a
stream known as Hobart Creek, but, in the year named, the works in the
mountains were extended by pushing the supply flume through to Marlette
Lake, within the basin of Lake Tahoe, a distance of eight and a half
miles, and a total distance from Virginia City of thirty-one and a half
miles. In order to reach and tap Marlette Lake it was necessary in one
place to run a tunnel 3,000 feet in length under a dividing ridge—the
ridge forming the rim of the Lake Tahoe basin. Marlette Lake covers over
300 acres of ground, and in the middle is 30 or 40 feet in depth.
Connected with the works are several reservoirs that hold from three
million to ten million gallons of water. Signal fires are no longer
necessary along the line of the works, as there is now set up a line of
printing telegraph, with numerous stations between Virginia City and
Marlette Lake. Marlette Lake lies at an altitude of 1,500 feet above C
street, Virginia City, and the water is brought in at such a height
above the town that it can everywhere be carried far above the highest
buildings, and streams from the hydrants are thrown with great force and
effect in case of a fire occurring near them.
There is now not only an ample supply of water in the city for all town
and domestic uses, but also for the boilers of the many hoisting works,
and for use in the several mills where the ores of the Comstock mines
are reduced. The cost of the water-works was over two million dollars.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXIII.
HOW WOOD IS CUT IN THE SIERRAS.
The Comstock lode may truthfully be said to be the tomb of the forests
of the Sierras. Millions on millions of feet of lumber are annually
buried in the mines, never-more to be resurrected. When once it is
planted in the lower levels it never again sees the light of day. The
immense bodies of timber now being entombed along the Comstock, will
probably be discovered some thousands of years hence, by the people to
be born in a future age, in the shape of huge beds of coal, and the
geologists of that day will say that this coal or lignite came from
large deposits of driftwood at the bottom of a lake; that there came a
grand upheaval, and Mount Davidson arose, carrying the coal with it on
its eastern slope.
Not less than eighty million feet of timber and lumber are annually
consumed on the Comstock lode. In a single mine—the Consolidated
Virginia—timber is being buried at the rate of six million feet per
annum, and in all other mines in like proportion. At the same time about
250,000 cords of wood are consumed.
The pine-forests of the Sierra Nevada Mountains are drawn upon for
everything in the shape of wood or lumber, and have been thus drawn upon
for many years. For a distance of fifty or sixty miles all the hills of
the eastern slope of the Sierras have been to a great extent denuded of
trees of every kind; those suitable only for wood as well as those fit
for the manufacture of lumber for use in the mines. Already the
lumbermen are not only extending their operations to a greater distance
north and south along the great mountain range, but are also beginning
to reach over to the western slope—over to the California side of the
range.
Long since, all the forests on the lower hills of the Nevada side of the
mountains that could be reached by teams, were swept away, when the
lumbermen began to scale the higher hills, felling the trees thereon,
and rolling or sliding the logs down to flats whence they could be
hauled. The next movement was to erect saw-mills far up in the
mountains, and to construct from these, large flumes leading down into
the valleys, through which to float wood, lumber, and timber. Some of
these flumes are over twenty miles in length, and are very substantial
structures, costing from $20,000 to $250,000 each. They are built on a
regular grade, and, in order to maintain this grade, wind round hills,
pass along the sides of steep mountains, and cross deep cañons; reared,
in many places, on trestle-work of great height.
These flumes are made so large that timbers sixteen inches square and
twenty or thirty feet in length may be floated down in them. In a
properly constructed flume, timbers of a large size are floated by a
very small head of water; and not alone single logs, but long
processions of them. Timbers, wood, lumber—in fact, all that will
float—is carried away as fast as thrown in. When a stick of timber or a
plank has been placed in the flume, then ends all the expense of
transportation, as, without further attention, it is dumped in the
valley—twenty miles away, perhaps. By means of these flumes, tens of
thousands of acres of timber-land are made available, that could never
have been reached by teams.
In some places, where the ground is very steep, there are to be seen
what are called gravitation flumes, down which wood is sent without the
aid of water. These, however, are merely straight chutes, running from
the top to the bottom of a single hill or range of hills. In places,
they are of great use, as through them wood may be sent down within
reach of the main water-flume leading to the valley. Nearly all of the
flumes have their dumps near the line of the Virginia and Truckee
Railroad, or some of its branches or side-tracks, and in these dumps are
at times to be seen thousands upon thousands of cords of wood and
millions of feet of lumber.
In some localities a kind of chute is in use, made by laying down a line
of heavy timbers in such shape as to form a sort of trough. Down these
tracks or troughs are slid huge logs. When the troughs are steep, the
logs rush down at more than railroad speed, leaving behind them a trail
of fire and smoke. Such log-ways are generally to be seen about the
lakes, and are so contrived that the logs leap from them into water of
great depth, as otherwise they would be shivered to pieces and spoiled
for use in the manufacture of lumber. Occasionally, in summer, a daring
lumberman mounts a large log at the top of one of these chutes, high up
the mountain, and darting down at lightning speed, with hair streaming
in the breeze, takes a wild leap of twenty or thirty feet into the lake.
In one place, in order to obtain a supply of water sufficient to run two
lumber-flumes, a tunnel was run a distance of 2,100 feet at a cost of
$30,000. This tunnel passed through a ridge, and tapped a lake lying
within the basin of Lake Tahoe.
Yerington, Bliss, & Co., one of the heaviest lumbering firms in the
Sierra Nevada Mountains, have built a narrow-gauge railroad from their
saw-mills on the shore of Lake Tahoe to the head of Clear Creek, on the
first or eastern summit of the Sierras. The road is eight miles in
length, and is used in the transportation of lumber from the mills of
the company to their large flume at the head of Clear Creek. This
railroad passes through a tunnel 500 feet in length, which was the only
tunnel and the heaviest piece of work on the road.
Logs are rafted across Lake Tahoe to the mills, from all points. The
lake being of great size, and all of its shores and the slopes of the
surrounding mountains being heavily timbered, the company have command
of a vast area of pine-forests. Through the waters of the lake and its
numerous bays, they reach out and up into the mountains in all
directions, gathering the pines into their mills, carrying them, in the
shape of lumber, up their railroad, and then shooting them through their
big flume down over all the hills till they land in Carson Valley.
[Illustration: LOG RIDING]
[Illustration: LUMBERING AT LAKE TAHOE.]
This is all very well for the company and for the mining companies, who
must have lumber and timber, but it is going to make sad work, ere long,
with the picturesque hills surrounding Lake Tahoe, the most beautiful of
all the lakes in the Sierra Nevada Mountains. Where tall pines now shade
all the shores and wave on all the mountain slope, nought will shortly
be seen, save decaying stumps and naked granite rocks. But timber and
lumber are imperatively demanded, and the forests of not only these
hills but of a thousand others, will doubtless be sacrificed.
The rafts of logs are towed across the lake by small steamboats. This
rafting is of a novel character. The logs forming the raft are not
pinned or in any way fastened together. The steamboat runs up to a bay
or other place where logs are lying, and casts anchor. A boat is then
sent out which carries a long cable strung full of large buoys. This
cable is carried round a proper fleet of logs, as a seine is carried
round a school of fish. The steamer then weighs anchor and starts across
the lake, towing along all the logs about which the cable has been cast.
No matter how rough the lake may be, the logs remain in a bunch, being
attracted the one to the other, and clinging together as bits of stick
and chips are often seen to do when floating on a lake or stream.
On the side of the lake opposite the mills of Yerington, Bliss, & Co., a
man who has a contract for delivering logs in the water ready for
rafting, does his “logging” with a locomotive. He has laid a railroad
track, some six miles in length, through the heaviest part of the
forest, and instead of hauling the logs to the lake with oxen, in the
old-fashioned way, rolls them upon low trucks, and hauls a whole train
of them away at once, with his locomotive.
At the edge of the lake the track is laid under water for a considerable
distance, and the train being run upon this track, the logs are floated
off the low cars, and are ready for rafting.
Other large mills besides those of the company named, are engaged in
devouring the forest surrounding Lake Tahoe. About five million feet of
lumber per month are turned out by the several mills at the lake, and
each summer about three million feet of timbers are hewn in that
locality. Many of the sugar-pine trees about Lake Tahoe are five, six,
and some even eight feet, in diameter; all are very tall and straight.
At a point in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, about eleven miles from the
town of Reno, on the Central Pacific Railroad, Messrs. Mackay & Fair
have a lumber-flume over twenty miles in length. This flume was built
through an exceedingly rugged region, and cost $250,000. It taps a tract
of twelve thousand acres of heavy pine-forest owned by the parties
named. The land is estimated to contain 500,000 cords of wood,
100,000,000 feet of saw-logs, and 30,000,000 feet of hewn timber; all of
which will be brought down to the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, through
the flume. A printing telegraph extends along the whole line of the
flume, by means of which orders are transmitted to all points.
There are a great number of these flumes reaching up into the Sierras
from the valleys of Nevada, and soon it will be necessary to build
railroads to haul the lumber up to the heads of these from the
California side of the mountains, as has been done by Yerington, Bliss,
& Co. No means of transporting wood, lumber, and timber is or can be
cheaper than these flumes. When once a plank or stick of wood has been
dropped in at the head of the flume it is already as good as at the
other end, twenty or thirty miles away. The flumes are far ahead of
railroads of any gauge, broad or narrow, as a means of cheap
transportation for wood and lumber.
Each season, from 80,000 to 100,000 cords of wood are floated down the
Carson River. This wood is cut high up in the Sierras, at the
head-waters of the Carson and its tributaries, and is sent down from the
mountain slopes for many miles, in flumes of the same kind as those in
use for the transportation of lumber. The wood is collected on the banks
of the river, ready to be launched at the proper and auspicious moment.
Contrary to what most persons would suppose, the proper time for
starting one of these drives of eighty or one hundred thousand cords of
wood, is not when there is a big freshet, but at the falling of the
stream after a freshet; that is, on the heels of a grand overflow. If
the wood be put into the river at a time when its waters are over the
banks, it floats away into the flats and out over the valleys, whence it
is almost impossible, but at too great cost, to get it back into the
channel, and thus it is as good as lost. The lumbermen are for this
reason careful not to put their wood into the river while there is
danger of there occurring a sudden flood, which would lift it above the
banks and scatter it broadcast over the country.
The time for starting the drive is just after the great flood of the
season—after the thaw which sweeps the greater part of the snow from the
mountains. Then the wood comes down huddled in the channel, and covering
the whole surface of the water, for fifty miles or more. At points where
there are sloughs or bayous leading out of the river, booms are
stretched to keep the wood in the straight and narrow way. French
Canadian lumbermen and Piute Indians are generally employed in making
these drives. As the wood must be followed up and kept moving, it is a
wet and laborious business.
The time is not far distant when the whole of that part of the Sierra
Nevada range lying adjacent to the Nevada silver-mining region will be
utterly denuded of trees of every kind. Already, one bad effect of this
denudation is seen in the summer failure of the water in the Carson
River. The first spell of hot weather in the spring now sweeps nearly
all the snow from the mountains, and sends it down into the valleys in
one grand flood; whereas, while the mountains were thickly clad with
pines, the melting of the snow was gradual, and there was a good volume
of water in the river throughout the summer and fall months.
The prevailing breezes in Nevada are from the west—indeed the wind
seldom blows from any other quarter than the west—which is directly over
the Sierra Nevada Mountains. In passing over the fields of snow, on the
summit of the Sierras, the breezes are cooled, and the summer weather in
Nevada is thus rendered delightful. But when once the mountains shall
have been denuded of their timber, all the snow on both slopes will be
swept away by the first warm weather of spring—as it is now swept away
on the eastern slope—when a marked increase in the heat of the summers
in Nevada is likely to be experienced.
Railroads are being pushed, both north and south, along the eastern base
of the Sierras, with no other object than to strip the mountains of the
forests in which they are now clothed, in the course of time. We may
therefore look to see the whole range lying bare in the sun. When this
shall come to pass, the Great Basin region to the eastward will be a
perfect furnace in summer.
There must come a day when wood will be scarce and dear, and some other
fuel must be found. Coal from the Rocky Mountains is now extensively
used at Virginia City, but it costs about as much as wood. The problem
may be solved in a wonderful deposit of lignite recently opened by the
Virginia City Coal Company, and it is to be hoped that the mine will
prove to be all that it now promises.
This coal deposit is on El Dorado Cañon, eleven miles from Dayton, ten
from Carson City, and seventeen from Virginia City. Such an extensive
deposit of lignite as this has seldom been found in any country. There
are two strata of it, each fifteen feet in thickness. The first vein was
cut at the depth of forty feet, and forty feet below this was found the
second stratum, of the same thickness (fifteen feet) as that above. Both
veins dip to the southwest, at an inclination of four inches per foot,
under a mountain of great size. The company have erected steam-hoisting
and pumping machinery, and have sunk their main shaft to the depth of
180 feet, at which point they drifted out until they cut their lower
vein, at a point 460 feet distant from the bottom of the shaft. They
then followed the stratum back to the shaft, for the purposes of
ventilation, and were all the way in coal of an excellent quality. The
coal burns well and freely, and must prove of great value as soon as it
can be cheaply brought to the several towns where it is needed, as it
appears to exist in almost inexhaustible quantities. A narrow-gauge
railroad is to be built from the mine to the neighboring towns.
One or two mills have been run with coal, but the cost of hauling it on
wagons is too great to make it much more economical as a fuel than the
wood and coal already in use.
CHAPTER XXXIV.
THE “SIX HUNDRED AND ONE.”
In the spring of 1871, there sprang into existence in Virginia City, a
secret organization known as “Six Hundred and One.” It was a “Vigilance
Committee” similar to that organized in San Francisco in the early days.
The object of the organization in Virginia City, as far as is known,
appears to have been the speedy execution of persons guilty of
cold-blooded murder, and the banishment of dangerous men from the city.
At the time “601” made its appearance, there were frequent incendiary
fires, many murders had been committed, robberies were common, and there
prevailed an unusual amount of lawlessness. The idea of those belonging
to the organization seems to have been to strike terror to the hearts of
evil-doers by the summary punishment of desperate characters who, with
little or no provocation, killed peaceable citizens.
“Six Hundred and One” was so quietly and secretly organized that it
appeared to spring into existence in a single night. The first that was
publicly known of the organization was on the night of March 24, 1871,
when Arthur Perkins Heffernan, who, a short time before, had shot down a
man in cold blood at the bar of the saloon in the principal hotel of the
town, was taken from the County Jail and hanged.
In the morning, when the coroner went to cut down the body of Arthur
Perkins, as he was commonly called, there was found pinned upon it a
paper on which were the figures “601.” This was taken to be the name of
the “vigilante” organization, and “601” it has ever since been called.
It is supposed to be still in existence, and it is said that meetings
are frequently held, in which the “situation” is discussed. The members
are supposed to be leading citizens and business men of the town, but
just who they are is not certainly known, as they always appear in masks
when out on business. Perkins was taken from the jail and hanged, at
about 1 o’clock in the morning. The majority of the residents of the
city knew nothing of the occurrence until they arose, yet many persons
were still on the streets and lingering about the saloons and other
places of public resort, and not a few met “601” face to face, greatly
to their astonishment.
The meaning of the appearance of armed and masked men in the streets at
such a time in the night was rightly guessed by most persons, as soon as
they had time for reflection. The members of the organization had
quietly taken possession of the armory of one of the military companies
of the town, where they armed themselves with muskets and bayonets, drew
on their white masks, and suddenly sallied forth.
Their first move was to place a strong guard at the four corners of the
streets round the block in which stood the jail. The appearance of these
guards at the street corners was the first intimation that the people of
the town had that anything unusual was transpiring. Men started to go to
their homes, when they suddenly found themselves confronted by a score
of masked men, who brought to bear upon them a row of glittering
bayonets, and said; “Go back!” Most persons went “back” without a word,
but a few wanted to know “what’s up!” and “what was the reason they
could not pass?” when they were again told to go back or they would
“find out what was up!”
Some persons after being thus turned back, went round the block and
tried at the next street corner, where they were again met by a
glittering array of bayonets and the stern order: “Go back!”
A woman who happened to be scouting about the town at the unseemly hour
when the net was drawn about the block, found herself caught in it. She
tried every corner and, at each, found a row of bayonets held in front
of her.
Not a word was spoken anywhere, and this silence and the sight of the
arms and masks so frightened her that she galloped about at a very
lively rate for a time, then suddenly disappeared, no one knew whither.
Some printers also going home from their work on a morning paper, were
halted, and their foreman, a fussy, fidgetty old fellow, recently from
San Francisco, was frightened nearly out of his wits. When he found half
a dozen bayonets at his breast, and saw before him the masked faces, he
was sure he had fallen into the hands of robbers.
“Don’t shoot! for God’s sake don’t shoot!” he cried. “I’m a poor
miserable old printer and haven’t got a cent!”
Said a voice: “We know you, you old fool. You only want to go two doors
above here. I guess we’ll just escort you!” Then turning to the
printers, who stood back, heartily enjoying the fright of their foreman,
the same masked man said: “Come on boys, you lodge in the same house, I
believe!”
Four or five men stepped out and marched the printers within the lines,
seeing them to and through their own door.
“Gentlemen, will we be quite safe here?” asked the still anxious
foreman, thrusting his head out at the door, after it was thought he was
secured within.
“You are safe inside,” said one of the masked men, “but if you come out
again we’ll blow the whole top of your head off!”
The head instantly disappeared.
Every few minutes some belated citizen was halted and turned back, at
one or another corner of the beleaguered block, giving him an
opportunity of returning to his favorite saloon, telling of the wonder
and taking another drink. The armed and masked men at the corners were
all that any one saw; what was going on within the guarded square no one
knew, but all were able to make a tolerably correct guess.
Suddenly the heavy boom of a cannon shook the town and disturbed the
stillness of the night. Instantly, and as though by magic, the armed and
masked men disappeared from the streets, going no one knew whither. The
boom of the cannon, which was fired in the eastern part of the city, at
an old military post occupied during the rebellion by a provost guard,
told that Arthur Perkins was no more.
While the masked men stood on guard at the corners of the streets,
Perkins was hanged in the western suburb of the city. It appears that
twenty or thirty members of “601” who were within the lines, quietly
went to the Court-house, and, with a crow-bar, wrenched open the front
door. They then quickly advanced to the private office and
sleeping-apartment occupied by the sheriff and a deputy. These officers
were surprised in their beds, their weapons were secured, and the keys
of the jail and cells taken from them. All the rest was now easily done.
Arthur Perkins and a man who, in a fit of jealousy, had shot and wounded
his wife, occupied the same cell. When the heavy tramp of the vigilantes
was heard in the outer room, Perkins suspected its meaning—
“They have come for me,” said he to his companion. “I may as well bid
you good-bye; this is my last night on earth!”
When the masked men entered the room in which were ranged the cells,
they advanced to that occupied by Perkins, and unlocking the door, said:
“Come out, we want you.”
The man who was in the cell with Perkins was terribly frightened. He
supposed that he, also, was wanted—indeed thought a clean sweep of all
in the jail was to be made. He started to march out with Perkins, but
was pushed back, one of the men saying: “Go back! we don’t want you.”
These, the man afterwards said, were the most comforting words he ever
heard in his life. In his excitement Perkins was unable to get on one of
his boots. “Never mind the boot,” said one of the vigilantes, “where you
are going you will not need boots!”
Perkins was marched by the back way through the Court-house, was hurried
to a point near the old Ophir works, and there, when a convenient timber
was found, was hanged. He stood on a plank placed across the mouth of a
tunnel and, when the fatal moment came, did not wait for the plank to be
pulled from under his feet, but sprang into the air as high as he could
leap, in order to fall with as much force as possible and thus end his
life quickly and with little pain.
[Illustration: CAPTURE OF PERKINS.]
[Illustration: EXECUTION OF PERKINS.]
On the 26th of September, 1846, the ship _Thomas H. Perkins_ sailed from
New York, having on board a portion of Stevenson’s regiment of
California volunteers. The _Perkins_ was commanded by Captain Arthur,
and Arthur Perkins Heffernan was born on the vessel during her passage
between New York and Rio de Janeiro. He was named after the vessel and
her captain. His father was a corporal in Company F; F. J. Lippite
commanding; his mother was a sister of the notorious robber, Jack
Powers, who was also at that time a member of company F. A girl was born
on the ship _Thomas H. Perkins_ about the same time that young Heffernan
first saw the light, and it was an understood thing by those on board
the vessel that this girl, called Alta California, should, at the proper
age, become the wife of Arthur Perkins Heffernan,—an event that never
came to pass. Both children were baptized at Rio, at the American
Embassy, by the chaplain of the United States’ ship _Columbia_, then
lying in Brazilian waters.
On the 18th of July, 1871, “601” hanged George B. Kirk, a man who was
considered a very bad character, who had killed a man in California, and
who had lately been released from the Nevada State Prison. He had
received a note (ticket of leave, as these notes came to be called) from
“601,” ordering him to leave the city. He left, but after being gone
some time ventured back. Acquaintances told him that to attempt to
remain in the town would cost him his life, but he thought otherwise.
The first night he was in the city he was found at the house of a female
acquaintance, and, at about 11 o’clock, he was captured by “601,” placed
in a buggy, and taken out to the north end of the town, to the Sierra
Nevada mining works, and there hanged from the timbers of a flume. Again
the cannon in the eastern part of the city boomed, and as the single,
heavy shot echoed through the mountains those who heard it said: “Ha!
Six Hundred and One! Another man gone!” Had Kirk remained away from the
city he would not have been harmed. When he came back in defiance of the
order he had received, commanding him to absent himself from the city,
the vigilantes found it necessary to make an example of him, as
otherwise all who had received “tickets of leave” would have flocked
back to the town.
Since the hanging of Kirk, “601” has not found it necessary to “deal
with” any others of the desperadoes of the country. A wholesome fear of
the organization is felt. All know that a man who behaves himself in
even a half-way decent manner is in no danger from the vigilantes.
As the reader may desire to know what the regularly constituted
authorities do in the case of an execution of the irregular character of
those of “601,” I give the verdict of the coroner’s jury in the case of
Kirk:
“We find the deceased was named Geo. B. Kirk; was a native of Jackson
county, Missouri, aged about 36 years; that he came to his death on
the 18th day of July, 1871, by being hanged by parties unknown to us.”
The morning after the hanging, when Kirk’s remains were lying at an
undertaking establishment, a man who appeared to be a stranger in the
city, observing something of a crowd about the door, approached, and
looked in at the body lying in the coffin.
“Man dead?” asked he of a person standing near.
“Yes, sir;” shortly answered the person questioned.
Fidgetting a little the stranger tried it again: “How did he die?”
“Hung.” was the laconic reply.
“Hung! Ah, hung himself?”
“No sir, he was hanged by ‘601‘—by the Vigilantes.”
“What did they hang him for?”
“He had been notified to leave town, but after leaving he came back.”
“When a man has been notified to leave the town, can’t he never come
back here again and stay?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Yes? Then how is this?”
“Well he came back and”—pointing to the coffin—“you see _he stayed_.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXV.
THE WASHOE “ZEPHYR.”
The “zephyr” is one of the peculiar institutions of Washoe, and as such
is worthy of special mention. At certain seasons—generally in the fall
and spring—furious gales prevail along the Comstock range. In and about
Virginia City these wind-storms are particularly severe. The city being
built on the eastern slope of Mount Davidson, at an elevation of over
6,000 feet above the level of the sea, and the mountain rising abruptly
above the city on the west, to the height of about 2,000 feet above the
town, fierce whirls and “sucks” are formed in the lee of the mountain.
The prevailing winds of the country come from the west, and from this
quarter also comes the “zephyr.” It is probably a straight-ahead gale
before it strikes Mount Davidson, but upon that towering mass of granite
it splits. Currents pass round the north and south sides of the
mountain, meet in the city, and waltz about in the shape of whirlwinds
of from eighty to two hundred horse-power. To complicate things still
more, a third portion of the gale comes howling directly over the peak
of the mountain, and plunges down into the town among the whirlwinds,
knocking them right and left whenever it encounters them.
It is no doubt this particular and peculiar current of the gale whipping
down over the summit of the mountain, that produces the remarkable
vertical atmospheric action observable during the prevalence of a
first-class zephyr. A breeze of this kind will snatch a man’s hat off
his head and take it vertically a hundred feet into the air; then, as he
stands gazing after it, the hat suddenly comes down at his feet, as
though shot out of a cannon, and lies before him as completely flattened
out as though it had been struck with a sledge-hammer.
The action of the zephyr is sometimes much the same as that seen in the
leathern sucker with which boys are able to lift stones of considerable
weight. A furious gust falls upon the flat tin roof of a building, then
suddenly bounding upward rips a great hole in the tin. The whirlwinds
and winds of all other kinds—for in the same minute, and almost at the
same instant, it blows fiercely from every point of the compass—then
enter the hole, seize upon the roof, and very soon complete its wreck. A
section of tin twenty feet square, may be seen to flap in the air, like
the loose sail of a vessel at sea, but with a clashing sound that may be
heard a mile away; then, on a sudden, the whole sheet is ripped off, and
goes sailing through the air like a piece of paper, landing, perhaps,
two or three hundred yards away, and passing over half a dozen houses
during its flight.
Of late these “zephyrs” have not been so furious and destructive as in
years past. Then the tin on half a dozen roofs was often to be seen
flapping in the breeze at the same moment, each section of roofing
giving out a roar more startling than would be the combined sheet-iron
thunder of a dozen country theatres of average enterprise.
“Sleep! Sleep no more! the zephyr doth murder sleep.” After a night of
such wild work, the stranger within the gates of Virginia City is likely
to make his appearance very early in the morning, red-eyed and wrathy.
I remember to have heard a gentleman who sported a bunch of hair on each
cheek, about the size of a coyote’s tail, thus express himself one
morning after such an elemental carnival:
“Wind! talk about wind! Why, the wind ’owled at such a rate last night
that I thought it would bring the bloody ’ouse down about my ears. Blast
it! when it ’owls like that a fellow can’t sleep, you know! The clark o’
the ’otel calls it a Washoe zephyr—zephyr be blowed, it was a bloody
gale, you know!”
Not to exaggerate, I may say that one of the good old-fashioned Washoe
zephyrs, even in the present condition of the town, not only howls
itself, but also makes Virginia City howl, and would make Rome or any
other place howl. At times such clouds of dust are raised, that, viewed
from a distance, all there is to be seen is a steeple sticking up here
and there, a few scattering chimneys, an occasional poodle-dog, and,
perhaps, a stray infant drifting wrong end up, high above all the
house-tops. Down below in the darkness, gravel-stones are flying along
the street like grape-shot, and all the people have taken refuge in the
doorways.
Such ripping of signs, threshing of awnings, rattling and banging of
iron and wooden shutters—such tumbling about of chimney-pots and
sections of stovepipe, is seldom seen or heard in any less favored town.
Out on the Divide, a high part of the city where the wind has a fair
sweep (this is generally of nights, when strangers are not likely to see
it), the air is filled with dust, rags, tin cans, empty packing-cases,
old cooking-stoves, all manner of second-hand furniture, crowbars,
log-chains, lamp-posts, and similar rubbish. Hats! More hats are lost
during the prevalence of a single zephyr than in any city in the Union
on any election held in the last twenty years. These hats all go down
the side of the mountain and land in a deep gulch known as Six-mile
Cañon—the place where the Johntown Jasons found the first tag-locks of
the big bonanza.
After a very severe zephyr, it is said, drifts of hats fully fifteen
feet in depth, are to be seen in the bed of the cañon just named. All
these hats are found and appropriated by the Piute Indians, who always
go down to the cañon the next morning after a rousing and fruitful gale,
to gather in the hat crop. When the innocent and guileless children of
the desert come back to town, they are all loaded down to the guards
with hats. Each head is decorated with at least half a dozen hats of all
kinds and colors—braves, squaws, and pappooses are walking pyramids of
hats.
There is a tradition in Virginia City, that in the spring of 1863, a
donkey was caught up from the side of Mount Davidson—far up on the
northern side, near the summit of the mountain—and carried eastward over
the city, at a height of five or six hundred feet above the houses,
finally landing near the Sugar-Loaf Mountain—nearly five miles away.
Those who witnessed this remarkable instance of the force of the zephyr,
say that as the poor beast was hurried away over the town, his neck was
stretched out to its greatest length, and he was shrieking in the most
despairing and heart-rending tones ever heard from any living creature.
The oldest inhabitant sometimes tries to spoil this story by saying that
what was seen was an old gander, the leader of a flock of wild geese,
lost in the storm, and baffled in his attempt to make headway southward
against the hurricane. It may be so, but most folks along the Comstock
cling to the donkey and sneer at the gander.
Although there is hardly a green spot to be seen in any direction, yet
there are, in many places in Washoe, landscapes that will always at once
attract attention. From Virginia City, perched as it is, high on the
side of Mount Davidson, is obtained a grand view of a vast wilderness of
hills, mountains, and desert plains. The eye sweeps eastward over untold
scores of hills and valleys to the tall peaks of the Humboldt mountains,
distant not less than one hundred and eighty miles. Hill rises beyond
hill far away in all directions, each hill exhibiting in all its
outlines a stern individuality, and each rearing aloft a rock-crowned
and treeless head.
In the interstices of these peaks, each of which stands a dark-browed
and sullen Ajax, we catch glimpses of deserts that lie white and
glittering, long journeys away, yet we almost feel our eyes scorched as
we gaze, by their far-darted shimmer. These spots that so glitter and
twinkle, far away through the brown of the hills, are great plains of
salt and alkali—deserts more hungry and sterile than the wilds of
Sahara. In the view before us we have the “hoar austerity of rugged
desolation,” yet there dwells in it a grandeur that is almost awful, and
a something very fascinating.
Every artist who looks upon this weird and unsmiling landscape feels his
soul stirred with a desire to paint it. No man has yet painted it—no man
will ever paint it. There is that in it which no cunning in colors can
reach—no skill in drawing can express. The only way in which an artist
can approach the subject is by painting what he feels, not what he sees.
This vast landscape is at all times grand and worthy of study, but when
its many moods are evoked by elemental disturbances, it becomes wildly
beautiful.
Often in summer several thunder-showers are to be seen in progress at
the same moment, far out in the wide wilderness, each separated from the
other by a broad belt of blue sky and bright sunshine. While one dark
storm-cloud hovers over the city, showering its moisture upon the
thirsty earth, another is seen a whole day’s journey to the eastward,
creeping along some parched desert, with the rain, in slanting columns,
pouring upon the white and shining fields of alkali, and still others
hang about the mountain peaks in various directions, sending down red
bolts of lightning upon their dark granite summits. Away to the
northeast the tall, turreted peaks of Castle District rise against an
inky sky, each line of their rugged spires distinctly traceable, while
to the southeast, looming high above the horizon, are seen, through a
shower, the ashen-hued mountains of Como.
To the right of these, and miles on miles further away—far south of the
Carson River—stand many tall, purple peaks, here and there one among the
highest tipped with sunlight. Eastward, below the level of the city and
almost in the centre of the picture, the Sugar-Loaf rears its rounded
top, over which, and far beyond, stretched partly in sunlight and partly
in shadow, lies the valley of the Carson. A green fringe of cottonwoods,
visible along all the river’s eccentric meanderings, is the only tinge
of green in all the broad land before us. Here and there are seen short
reaches in the river that glitter like burnished silver in the rays of
the evening sun.
A long table-mountain cuts short our view of the valley and river, but
over this mountain we see, spread out like a vast sheet of parchment,
the Forty-mile Desert, over which shadows of clouds move as slowly as in
early times crawled across the same sands the long trains of weary
pilgrims, wearing out the way to the land of gold, over the Sierras. Far
beyond, where the cloud-shadows move in black squadrons across the
desert sands—quite two days’ journey beyond—are reared against the
eastern sky the Humboldt mountains, whose white peaks might pass for the
tombs and cenotaphs of the giants of the olden times. Some of these are
half hidden in patches of dark mist, or veiled by slanting columns of
rain, while others stand in the full glory of the sun. But in this scene
we have a constant change of light and shade. Peaks that were a moment
since sooty-black, suddenly flash up and become golden and brilliant,
soon again to resume their dusky robes, while neighboring peaks stand
forth clad in the garments of their departed glory.
As the sun sinks lower, night is seen to settle into the deeper cañons,
and take shelter behind the lower hills, and the shadow of Mount
Davidson goes forth as a giant, and stretches darkness from hill-top to
hill-top everywhere.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE RED PROPRIETORS.
As we have now been a long time among the mines, the reader will
probably not object to a little more information concerning the Indians
of the country, before making another plunge into the “lower levels” of
the Comstock lode.
The Piute Indians were formerly the owners of all that region in which
the Comstock mines are situated; also, of nearly all of the western part
of the State of Nevada, though the Washoe Indians held Carson, Eagle,
Steamboat, and Washoe Valley, the Truckee Meadows and the country in the
neighborhood of Lake Tahoe. The Shoshones owned what is now Eastern
Nevada, and they still live in that region.
The Piutes range nearly up to Oregon, and far south toward Arizona. They
have always been great travelers, and as early as in the days of the
“Mission Fathers,” were in the habit of crossing the Sierra Nevada
Mountains and visiting the Pacific seaboard every summer; a journey
still taken by many of them each year, as not a few Piute women are
married to Spaniards who own large ranches in the vicinity of Santa Cruz
and other towns in the southern part of California.
Originally, it is said, the Piutes, the Utes, the Pitt River Indians,
the Queen’s River Indians, and some other small bands, were all
Shoshones, but the tribe multiplied rapidly, and at last was spread over
such a vast extent of country that one chief could not govern all. They
then broke up into large bands that took the names which now distinguish
them as tribes.
The Piutes belonged to the Ute band at the time that the original
Shoshone tribe broke up through its own weight and unwieldy size. They
settled about the lakes—Humboldt, Pyramid, Carson, and Walker—and were
therefore called Pah-Utes; that is, water Utes, “pah” being the word
that signifies water among all the Indians of the Great Basin region,
Finally, the Utes and Pah-Utes, or “Piutes”—as the name is now
generally, though improperly, written—became separate tribes.
The language of all the tribes in the Great Basin region and far to the
northward still retains a sufficient number of the words of the original
Shoshone tongue to enable members of any one of the present tribes to
make themselves understood by their neighbors. When pressed to go far
back into the dim and distant past, beyond the time when they were all
Shoshones, the Piutes have a legend according to which they owe their
origin to the marriage of a white wolf and a woman. The white wolf came
from the far north, and the woman, who was the daughter of a great
chief, came from the south.
The Piutes, according to the legend, are the descendants of this strange
pair.
Away north, on the summit of a high bluff on Pitt River, is to be seen a
huge white rock which, when viewed from certain points, bears a striking
resemblance to a wolf in a recumbent position. To this day, many of the
Piutes point to this rock and say that it is their great father—the
father of all the Piutes—that he never died, but was changed into this
rock, in which he still lives. I once told this story to an old and very
intelligent Piute, and asked him what he thought about it. He said: “Who
told you this story, Tom or Natchez?” referring to two of the sons of
old Winnemucca, the head chief.
“I have heard it from Tom, and also from many other Piutes,” said I.
“O,” said he, “it is only a story of times long ago. It was while we
were still Shoshones, that this happened. You have heard the story the
way the old women tell it.”
[Illustration: WASHOE INDIAN SQUAWS.]
[Illustration: WASHOE INDIAN HUNTER.]
He then proceeded to say that, a very long time ago, there was a great
war between a tribe of Indians living in the north, the name of whose
chief was White Wolf, and a tribe living in the south. For years they
fought every summer, and many on both sides were killed. Still, the old
men would stir up the young men to continue the strife. At last both
tribes grew weak and weary of the long war, and at a big council it was
arranged that the White Wolf should marry the daughter of the chief of
the tribe against which he had so long drawn a hostile bow, and thus all
difficulties were settled. The two tribes settled down and lived
together, all as Shoshones.
The old Indian then proceeded to give me the true and most ancient
tradition that has been handed down in the tribe, in regard to the
origin of the Indians living in the Great Basin. He said that the
Indians were made by a man and his wife, who came from he knew not
where. They made the Indians of clay and something else, taken out of
the water, the English name of which he did not know. After the Indian
men and women were made, the man made all kinds of animals; as bears,
deer, antelopes, buffaloes, rabbits, wolves, and the like. The woman
made the birds and the flowers, and all the fishes in the rivers, and
the grass and the nut-pine trees, and all the bushes that bear berries.
The man taught the men to make bows and arrows, spears with which to
catch fish, and nets for use in fishing and taking rabbits. He also
taught them to build and navigate tule (a giant bulrush) boats, for all
the country was then covered with great lakes, and the tops of the
present hills and mountains were islands. The woman taught the Indian
women to make baskets and how to prepare food and do all things proper
to be done by women.
After they had done all these things the mysterious pair took their
departure, going away to the southward.
“Do you expect them to return some day?” I asked.
“How can I say?” answered the Indian. “They came of their own accord at
first.”
“Do you hear the old men of the tribe speak of them?”
“Often.”
“Do they think the man and his wife will come back?”
“How do they know? They only know that they are gone.”
“That is all the old men know?”
“Well, they sometimes say they have gone south to the big water—maybe
they live in the big water. Who knows?”
When an Indian begins to say “who knows,” he has then told you about all
he knows in regard to the point upon which you are questioning him. All
the Indian could say was that the pair came and did their work of
creation, and then went away to the southward.
This tradition bears a striking resemblance, in many respects, to that
of the Peruvians in regard to the appearance among them of Manco Capac
and his sister and wife, Mama Ocllo Huaco; also, to the Mexican
tradition in regard to the Huastecas, the strange family that came,
whence, no one knew, to the mouth of the Panuco River, headed by
Quetzalcoatl, priest and lawgiver, and who afterwards disappeared in the
direction of Guatemala. The disappearance of Quetzalcoatl is strikingly
like that of the pair mentioned in the Piute tradition. Strange as it
may appear, a prehistoric skull was found at the depth of several
hundred feet in the Comstock vein which, on being sent to the Academy of
Sciences, San Francisco, was found to exhibit peculiarities to be found
only in the skulls of the ancient Peruvians, the people to whom appeared
Manco Capac and his wife.
What is said in the Indian traditions, about nearly the whole face of
the country having been covered with water in ancient times, is
undoubtedly true. In all the valleys throughout the Great Basin are to
be seen traces of water, and on the sides of the hills water-marks have
been left that are visible at the distance of a mile, and can be traced
for many miles. In places, there are four or five of these water marks,
showing the gradual subsidence of the lakes. For hundreds on hundreds of
miles, on all sides, there was a labyrinth of lakes. The water-marks
showing the former levels of the lakes (in places two or three hundred
feet above the present level of the valleys) not having yet disappeared
by erosion, the date of the subsidence of their waters cannot be many
centuries back. The Piutes and Shoshones have lost nothing by the coming
among them of the whites; indeed, they appear to fare better now than in
the days when they were in undisturbed possession of the whole land.
They pitch their camps in the suburbs of the towns and fare sumptuously
every day on the broken victuals collected by the bushel at hotels,
restaurants, and private houses, by the squaws. The men, unlike the men
of many other tribes, are not above work. They work at sawing and
splitting wood, at grading off building-lots, or anything that they can
manage—all they want is to be shown money.
It is not unusual to see a Piute brave marching through a street in
Virginia City with a wood-saw and buck under his left arm, and upon his
right shoulder an ax—the living exemplification of the dawn of
civilization upon barbarism. Thus far, however, he is one of the
civilized, and represents “labor” seeking “capital,” but with all the
implements of peaceful industry borne about him, his pride still clings
to the ancient insignia of the “brave” in his tribe. His face is painted
in zigzag lines of black, white, and red; a necklace of bear’s claws
rests on his breast, and an eagle feather decorates his scalp-lock; but
instead of bearing a bow and arrows, a tomahawk and scalping-knife, he
carries only his saw, buck, and ax, and is only on the war-path to do
battle with a wood-pile; therefore is either a peaceful warrior or a
warlike wood-sawyer, just as you may choose to consider him. He has, as
we may say, beaten his sword into a plowshare, but has not the heart to
throw away the scabbard.
Old Winnemucca, the head chief of all the Piutes, is about 70 years of
age, and has but little to say about the “affairs of the nation”;
indeed, there is little demand for legislation as the tribe is at
present situated. Many years ago the old fellow appears to have turned
over business of almost every kind to his nephew, young Winnemucca, then
war-chief. Young Winnemucca was in command at the time of the trouble
between the Piutes and the whites, in the spring of 1860. Young
Winnemucca never gambled, but old Winnemucca was an inveterate
gambler—that is, among his own people. The Piutes do not gamble with
white men. Old Winnemucca has been known to lose all his ponies, all his
blankets and arms, and, in fact, everything he possessed, down to a
breech-clout, at a single sitting. He is a good-natured, kind-hearted
old man, but not a man remarkable for either wisdom or cunning.
CHAPTER XXXVII.
WINNEMUCCA AND HIS BRAVES.
At the time the war broke out between the whites and Piutes, two young
Germans were engaged in prospecting at a point in the mountains east of
the sink of the Humboldt. They knew nothing of the trouble and started
to come into Chinatown.
On reaching a station on the Humboldt River they found the buildings
burned, and various articles, such as books and cards, strewn about. The
thought then struck them that there was trouble between the Indians and
whites. Feeling that they could make no fight, and not desiring to give
the Indians an opportunity of blowing their brains out with their own
weapons, the young men threw their guns into the river, and poured their
powder upon the ground and set fire to it.
After leaving the burned station they traveled on till night, without
seeing any Indians; but after they camped, an Indian who spoke very good
English came riding up to the fire. He told the young fellows to pack
their things and come with him, for should they remain in their present
camp they were sure to be killed, as the Piutes were now at war with the
whites.
“Piute man,” said he, “kill um great many white man at Pyramid Lake, get
heap gun, heap pony. S’pose white man kill Piute, Piute kill um white
man!”
The young men thought it best to do as requested, and catching up their
mustangs, packed their blankets and equipments, when they announced
their readiness to follow their red guide. After an hour’s travel they
reached a large encampment, and found themselves in the midst of three
or four hundred warriors.
Their guide conducted them to a tent near the middle of the camp, which
he informed them was “Winnemucca’s house.”
[Illustration: WINNEMUCCA—CHIEF OF THE PIUTES.]
Soon the old chief made his appearance and catechised them as follows:
“Where are you from?”
“From beyond the Sink of the Humboldt.”
“What were you doing there?”
“Prospecting.”
“Did you see many Indians there?”
“A good many.”
“Did they beg of you much?”
“A great deal.”
“Did you give them anything?”
“All we could spare.”
“Did they try to take your grub?”
“No.”
“Did they steal?”
“Yes, a little.”
“Bad Injuns! bad Injuns! Many white men bad too; many bad men—some white
some red! What have you in your packs?”
“Blankets and grub.”
“Have you sugar left?”
“A little.”
“Will you sell me two pounds?”
“Yes; certainly—or give it to you.”
“No, no! I must pay.”
Having measured out the sugar in a tin cup—a cupful for a
pound—Winnemucca, on being told the price was a dollar, said it was not
enough, and handed them two dollars. He next asked for gunpowder. Being
told they had none, he caused their packs to be opened and searched. No
powder being found the old fellow looked disappointed.
When first brought into camp, the young fellows were a good deal
frightened, but after their interview with Winnemucca, began to feel
quite easy in mind. Winnemucca told them that he was only at war with
the Californians, and said he had no quarrel with white men who came
from the East. The horses of the young men were picketed out with those
of the Indians, and they were shown where to spread their blankets.
Although surrounded by Indians, they were soon asleep, being very tired.
Late in the night one of the men felt a hand on his head, and awoke. He
was greatly terrified at finding that an old squaw with a long knife in
her hand had him by the hair, and was about to cut his throat. Before he
could make a move, or utter a cry, an Indian lying near, sprang up,
pushed the squaw away and then lay down at their heads.
“Hush!” said this man as he lay down.
“I shall speak to old Winnemucca about this in the morning,” whispered
the man whose throat had been in danger.
“Do nothing of the kind,” said their self-appointed guard, “that woman
with the knife was one of the old fellow’s wives. Say nothing about it.”
“Who are you? You speak now like a white man.”
“I am not only a white man, but am also a countryman of yours. I heard
you and your partner speaking together in German last night. Say
nothing, I am an Indian now, and have been for years.”
The young men were not again disturbed, and in the morning went to
Winnemucca and signified their desire to depart. The old chief gave
orders for their horses to be brought, and then told them to be sure to
travel fast, and not to stop to prospect.
When they had packed up and were about ready to start, Winnemucca gave
them a string made of twisted sinews in which were tied a number of
knots, telling them that wherever they were stopped by Indians they must
show them the string. They were stopped two or three times in the course
of the forenoon, but the string operated like magic, as the sight of it
instantly changed the countenances of the Indians from the scowl of an
enemy to the smile of a friend.
Wherever they were stopped the string was taken from them and one of the
knots untied, when it was handed back to them. The Indians would then
say, as they left them: “Go straight to Chinatown—travel fast!” In one
place, while they were passing through a cañon, they were fired on by a
small party of Indians and two or three bullets whistled past them. They
halted and called out: “We are from Winnemucca’s camp! We are friends!”
Two or three Indians then approached, and being shown the pass they
exchanged glances, but took the string and undid a knot. They then shook
hands, saying; “Now we all heap good friend.” As they were leaving, one
of them faced about, and said, “Don’t tell Winnemucca that we shot at
you.” In another place they passed a hut that stood near the road, but
seeing no one there, except an old woman, they did not take the trouble
to show her the pass. In half an hour they were overtaken by three
Indians on horseback, who levelled guns at them and told them to stop.
On showing their pass they were asked why they did not show it to the
old woman; however, one of the braves took out a knot, when all three
turned about and went off laughing.
After they had passed the site of Williams’ Station, the burning of
which, and the killing of the men stopping there, brought on all the
trouble, they were again stopped by an Indian who undid their last knot
and then kept the string. As the Indian turned to ride away, he began
singing in a low tone: “Was ist des Deutschen Vaterland?” and the young
fellows said: “There is our countryman again!” They were about to turn
back and call to him, but looking in the direction whence he came and in
which he was again going, they saw the heads of several Indians and
ponies among the willows, on the banks of the Carson River, along which
they were now traveling.
Old Captain Truckee, in whose honor the Truckee River was named, was a
very intelligent man, and was always a great friend to the whites. He
had been a good deal with Fremont and other American explorers, in the
capacity of guide, and well understood and appreciated the superior
conveniences and substantial comforts resulting from the industrious
habits of civilized people. He deplored the ignorance and wilfulness of
his people in preferring to lead a wandering life—deriving a precarious
subsistance from the proceeds of the chase and the spontaneous products
of the soil—to settling permanently in their rich valleys and turning
their attention to the raising of stock and the cultivation of the soil.
Captain Truckee died in the Palmyra Mountains, in 1860, from the bite of
some insect—probably a tarantula. Before his death he gave the most
minute directions in regard to his burial. He had in his possession a
letter of recommendation from Col. John C. Fremont, speaking of him as
being a faithful and efficient guide and a good honest man. He also had
other documents of a similar character from other white men, all of
which he desired to have placed in his left hand when he was carried to
his grave. He had been much about the Catholic Missions in California,
and desired to have a cross erected at the head of his grave with his
name cut upon it; he also told how deep the grave must be dug, how his
head was to be laid, and mentioned particularly that they were to fold
his hands on his breast and heap the earth in a mound above his last
resting-place.
As the Indians did not know how to do all these things, they asked some
whites who were prospecting near at hand to come and bury Truckee as he
had desired to be buried. All of his instructions were carried out to
the last particular. The Indians all loved the old man, and there was
great weeping and wailing at his funeral, which was taken charge of by a
white man who had long known the old fellow and who was called by the
Indians “the white Winnemucca.”
At the grave, Captain John, a son-in-law of Truckee, pronounced the
eulogy. He spoke first in Piute and then in English, and said:
“A good man is gone. The white man knows he was good, for he guided
him round deserts and led him in paths where there was grass and good
water. His people know he was good, for he loved them and cared for
them and came home to them to die. All know that Truckee was a good
man—Piutes and Americans. He is dead; the good man is gone. All of our
people cry, for they loved Truckee.
I must go to Walker River and see the big Captain there and say to
him, the good man is dead. I must go to Pyramid Lake, to Winnemucca,
and say to him, the good man is dead. Winnemucca sits in the door of
his house and says: ‘No sabe, no sabe?’ Winnemucca himself is growing
old. When he knows the good man is dead, he and the big Captain at
Walker River will have a talk and will choose a man to put in his
place; but not many are fit to lead in the path where Truckee walked.
[Captain John was himself chosen.] Truckee was much with the white
men, he liked their way and learned much of them that we don’t
understand. He wished to be buried as the white men bury their dead,
and the white Winnemucca and the white men his friends have seen it
done. I thank him and I thank them—I thank all for Truckee and
Truckee’s people. Good-bye! I go to Walker River to see the big
Captain—” and he at once set out on a run.
The Indians who remained packed up their traps, and setting fire to the
hut in which Truckee died, they all set out along a trail leading to the
northward, weeping and wailing as they went.
[Illustration: PRINCE NATCHEZ.]
One of old Winnemucca’s wives (he had three or four) was a daughter of
Captain Truckee. This wife was the mother of Sarah, known in Nevada as
the “Princess Sarah.” She was educated at Santa Cruz, California, at a
Catholic Mission, and reads and writes very well, sometimes writing
articles for publication in the papers, concerning her people. She was
married to a German named Snyder, and lived with him a number of years.
Snyder died while on his way to Germany, on a visit, when the “Princess
Sarah” married Lieutenant Bartlett, of the United States Army. She lived
with him but a short time, when she left him and returned to her people.
When in towns and cities she dresses after the fashion of American
ladies,[C] but when with her people generally dons the Piute dress. Her
Indian name is Sonometa—even a prettier name than Sarah. Prince Natchez,
a full brother of Sonometa, is heir-apparent to the Winnemucca throne
and is now looked upon by all the Piutes as their leading man—the man to
stir up the agent sent to the tribe by the “Great Father” at Washington,
and he keeps all the money appropriated for the use of the Piutes.
“Natches” is a name given to the “Prince” by the whites. His folks
simply called him “Nah-tze,” the Piute for boy. The Indians have now
split the difference and call him “Natchee.”
Footnote C:
See page 30.
Old Winnemucca wears in his nose a stick some four inches in length, and
when he goes to the happy hunting-ground Nachez will no doubt thrust
into his nasal croppings this badge of royalty. The name, “Winnemucca,”
means the charitable man.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XXXVIII.
SKETCHES OF INDIAN LIFE.
Shortly after the so-called Indian war I took a prospecting trip into
the wilderness lying to the eastward of the sinks or lakes of the Carson
and Humboldt Rivers. I had with me two white men, and we roamed through
the Indian country for nearly a month. During the greater part of this
time we had with us a Piute guide known as Captain or “Capitan” Juan.
When Fremont passed through the country and took Captain Truckee into
his service as a guide, Juan and nine other adventurous Piute youths
accompanied him. When they reached California, these young Piutes liked
the country so well, that the majority of them remained there several
years. Juan lived there ten years. He worked upon a ranche and could
plow and plant, reap and thresh grain as well as any white man. Then he
learned the Spanish language, which he spoke quite as well as the
Mexicans generally speak it. He also speaks pretty fair English, but
mixed in a good deal of Spanish, when a little excited. He proved a
trusty and excellent guide, and we retained him as long as we remained
in his country. Captain Juan had seen his ups and downs in the world as
well as the rest of us.
One evening when we were all seated about our camp-fire, after a hearty
supper, being in a talkative mood, he said: “I was pretty well off once,
over in California—I had _fifty dollars_.” He named the amount with an
emphasis which showed that he considered the announcement one of
considerable importance.
“Indeed!—Had you so much money?” said I.
“O, yes; I was well off—_many ricos_!”
“And what became of all this wealth?”
“Me burst all to smash!”
“Well, that was bad. In kind of speculation?”
“Me not understand spectoolation. What you call um spectoolation?”
“Well, it’s when you put your money into something that you expect to
make plenty more money out off—like you plant wheat. You plant your
money in some speculation to get more money.”
“Yes; well, me make one bad plant.”
“One bad speculation, eh?”
“Yes; _muy malo_—one _mucho_ bad spectoolashe. She was one Spanish
spectoolashe. Me marry one Spanish woman. She purty soon got all me
money. She say, ‘Juan you got-a some money?’ Me say, ‘No; no, got-a
money?’ She say, ‘Juan, you no ketch-a money you vamose—you git!’ Me no
like _los senoritas_. Spanish spectoolashe no good for Piute man—you
think?”
“No; very bad speculation. But I suppose you went to work and earned
more money for your Spanish wife?”
“No; me stop work—heap mad. Me no want no more money—no more senorita.
Too much all time want new dress. One night me vamose. Me come over
mountains to my people, ketch me one Piute wife. She no all time want
money, money.’”
“Then you have a good Piute wife?”
“O, yes; _muy bueno_—muy bonita! Me keep-a her _mucho_ well dress—give
her many shirt. She got heap-a shirt. Not many Piute woman get so much
shirt!”
“Why, John, you surprise me. How many shirts has she got—twenty?” Juan
looked astounded and abashed at this extravagant guessing. He scratched
his head, looked at me, then at the fire, and seemed to have some notion
of not telling me the exact “quantity” of shirt in which his wife
rejoiced. At length he slowly said:
“Well, she got two shirt—two shirt, but all fix up nice—plenty braid,
_mucho_ ribbon, O, very nice! Twenty shirt no good. What you talk?—me
never see one woman got twenty shirt.”
Juan one evening told me the story of a wonderful cave in a region far
to the northward, where his tribe lived in the days of his fathers—long
and long before they came south, and long before the first white men
crossed the Plains. This cave was in the side of a great mountain, and
when the Evil One tried his hand at creation and began to make
scorpions, tarantulas, snakes, horned toads, cactus, deserts and pools
of alkali water, the Good Spirit (Pahah) caught him and put him into the
cave, closing the entrance with a great mountain. There, far down in the
ground, for many hundred of winters the Evil One used to roar and
bellow. At times the hills trembled with terror; great rocks were shaken
from their beds on the mountains and rolled down into the valleys, and
fire came up out of the ground. Some of the mountains burst open, and
one—a great one—sank down out of sight and left in its place a broad
lake.
The hill rolled off the mouth of the cave at this time and the devil
came out and flew away toward sunrise. So large was he that, though he
flew more swiftly than a hawk, his wings had not passed over when three
sleeps were done. They shut out the light of the sun. There was no moon
or stars. The medicine men said there would be no more day till the Evil
One was again shut up, for he was very mad and had swallowed the sun,
moon, and stars. The medicine men, however, held a council and by
burning a great deal of buffalo hair made such a smoke as to make the
devil very sick, when he vomited up the sun, moon and a great many
stars, and it has been light ever since; but now there are not so many
stars as in former times. Since the flight of the Evil One there has
been no more groaning in the mountains, and the hills have ceased to
tremble.
[Illustration: THE STORY OF THE CAVE.]
After the devil left the cave, a great buffalo came and lived in it.
This buffalo was larger than twenty ponies, and had horns growing out of
his nose. All the other buffalo went into this great cave every winter
to see their big chief and did not come back till spring. At last this
big buffalo got to be so old and weak that when he went to get a drink
at the lake where the mountains had sunk, he stuck fast in the mud. The
Indians there found him, and got all round him, and for three days shot
him full of arrows and beat him with great stones. Still he was not
dead. They then built a big fire on his head, and so killed him.
Afterwards, an old man came out of the cave. His hair was as white as
snow, and reached to his hips. The Indians called him Taweeta. He never
spoke to living man, for he had seen the Great Spirit and had spoken
with him, and therefore dare not again speak the language of man.
Taweeta was very wise; he had seen the place where the sun sleeps, and
had visited the wigwam where a great black man keeps the thunder in a
gourd: he had been allowed to view the happy hunting-grounds, where all
who die like men are permitted to live and hunt in peace forever; and he
knew the place where winter hides from summer and where the summer has
its home.
The white sage on which the herds of Nevada now fatten, was in times
past much used by the Piutes as an article of food. Juan, in speaking of
the many advantages enjoined by the Indians since the coming amongst
them of the whites, said that in former times they were often almost
starved. He said that he could still remember a time, when he was a
little boy, when they were obliged to live almost wholly on white sage.
“How did you cook it?” I asked.
“Well,” said Juan, “the women cooked it. They made soup of it.”
“How did they make the soup?”
“Well, they put the sage into a big basket and filled the basket with
water, then put in hot stones till it was cooked.”
“Did they put in nothing but sage—no meat?”
“Sometimes—s’pose you ketch um—put in some piece rabbit or pish” (fish).
“As you had no spoons, how did you eat the soup—drink it out of the
basket?”
“No. All got round basket and dip up with hands.”
“Was it good?”
“Yes; good all same hay for cow,” said Juan making a wry face.
Juan then explained that in former times when there was a failure of the
pine-nut crop and no game could be found, the whole tribe was obliged to
subsist on white sage.
The white sage differs from the common sage-brush of the country, which
few animals can eat, owing to its extreme bitterness. It sends up a
great number of white shoots which become quite tender and nutritious
after the fall frosts, when cattle greedily feed and rapidly fatten upon
them.
In Nevada this white sage is the principal food of vast herds of cattle
that cover not alone a thousand but ten thousand hills—the white sage
and the bunch-grass. The bunch-grass is considered to be as good for
horses as barley, as it bears a heavy crop of seed. This seed somewhat
resembles millet, and is much used as an article of food by the Indians.
It is ground on a flat stone, with the seeds of the wild sunflower and
other oleaginous seeds, and cakes are made of the meal thus produced. I
have seen patches of bunch-grass many acres in extent, that had been
cut, bound up in sheaves, and set up in shocks, the same as wheat in a
field. This work is done by the squaws, who also sometimes strip the
heads of the grass off between two sticks, tied together in the shape of
a pair of scissors, throwing the seed over their heads into a large
basket carried on their backs.
In regions where deserts abound, on all sides there are always extensive
flats on the tops of the mountain ranges where the bunch-grass and other
grasses flourish.
In Nevada, no less than four kinds of wild-clover are found. The seeds
of one kind are inclosed in a small octagonal burr. In the little
valleys on these mountains, flax is found growing wild. It is precisely
the same as the cultivated species, except that it is perennial. It is
from the fibre of this flax that the twine is made which is used by the
Indians in making their nets for catching fish, rabbits, and water-fowl.
While all is green and fresh on the summits of the mountains, in the
surrounding deserts all is salt, alkali, sterility, and desolation. In
the early days, when thousands on thousands of persons were annually
crossing the Plains to California and Oregon, hundreds perished because
they did not understand the country through which they were passing. In
looking for water they always went to the lowest places they could find,
as they were in the habit of doing at home in the Eastern and Western
States, whereas they should have left the desert valleys and climbed to
the tops of the highest of the surrounding hills.
On all of the mountain ranges springs of excellent water are found, and
in places, small brooks; but the water sinks in the beds of the ravines
and is lost long before it reaches the level of the deserts. The Indians
always travel along the tops of the mountain ranges in summer. On their
trails are put up signs that tell where springs can be found. These are
small monuments of rock, capped with a stone, the longest part of which
points in the direction of the nearest spring.
Toward this spring are turned the long points of all the cap-stones on
the monuments, until it is reached. Passing by the spring, the
index-stones all point back to it until there is a nearer spring ahead,
when the pointers are all turned in that direction.
On finding the first monument, after striking the Indian trail, one may
thus know which end of it to take to the nearest water. In traveling
along a dry cañon, where all was parched and dusty, I have sometimes
seen upon one of its steep banks a monument, and, climbing up to it,
have found the index pointing directly up the hill, where all seemed as
dry as in the ravine below. But taking the direction indicated, it would
not be long before a bunch of willows would be seen, and among these a
spring was sure to be found. Not knowing the meaning of these little
stone monuments, the early prospectors made a business of kicking them
over wherever they found them, and so destroyed what would have been a
useful thing to them had they understood it.
The Piutes believe in a heaven and a hell, a good being and an evil
being. God, or the Good Spirit, they call “Pah-ah;” the devil or the
Evil One, they call “Avea-dagii.” Heaven is a delightful place where
there is plenty of good water, and abundance of game and droves of stout
squaws, to do all the work—no rest for the poor squaws, even in heaven.
Hell is one vast burning desert; no water there but that which is red
with alkali, and which burns like fire when swallowed. When the bad
Indians try to get out of this, and essay to climb the hills to the
happy hunting-grounds they are thrust with brands of fire, and so wander
back across the burning sands to meet with the same treatment in trying
to escape on the other side. Thus they wander forever; always trying to
escape, and always thrust back into the burning desert. They have
preachers—Piutes—among them who preach very good Methodist doctrine.
They sometimes begin preaching early in the evening and preach all
night—telling the Indians that if they lie, steal, and murder, they are
sure to bring up in the great desert, “tooroop,” when they die.
Among themselves, and at their own games, the Piutes are nearly all
inveterate gamblers. Old and young, male and female, are always ready to
bet their last quarter at one of their games. Very few Piutes will touch
whiskey or liquor of any kind. The women are remarkable for their
chastity, and are in this respect models not only for the women of all
surrounding tribes, but for those of all nations and colors.
Although the Piutes swarm about the towns no one ever thinks of their
stealing anything. On the contrary, the Chief of Police of Virginia City
knows a certain man called “Snake Creek Sam” who often brings him
valuable information in regard to the movements of rogues who may be
hiding or scouting about in the hills. Some of them are a little
trickish when it comes to a trade, but there are white men who think it
no sin to get the best of a bargain when opportunity offers.
A Piute on one occasion went about among the residents of Virginia City,
selling suckers for trout to such unsophisticated housewives as he could
find. One lady thought the fish did not look exactly right for trout,
and said: “What makes their noses so long, Jim?” “Him heap young,” said
the deceitful Jeems. “Poco tiempo plenty old; no more nose—mout’ all
same me,” and Jim opened his mouth from ear to ear. Looking upon the
open countenance of the red-man, the lady believed him free from guile,
and purchased a dozen of his long-nosed trout.
An Indian is always ready to leave any work he may be doing and run
after game if any is seen to approach. One day, at Washoe City, a few
miles west of Virginia, some men who were stopping at the principal
hotel, happened to be out on the veranda, taking a look at the
surrounding country, when they saw a large flock of ducks settle down on
the further side of Washoe Lake. A Washoe Indian, who was sawing wood
near the hotel, also saw the ducks, and told the men that he would go
after them if they would get him a gun. In the hotel they found an old
United States’ musket. This they loaded nearly to the muzzle, and giving
it to the Indian, started him for the lake.
The men then went into the balcony of the hotel, and, with opera
glasses, watched the progress of the red Nimrod.
He, at length, reached the spot where the ducks had been seen to settle
down among the tules—a kind of bulrush from ten to fifteen feet in
height.
Presently the watchers saw the smoke dart from the end of the Indian’s
gun; saw him fall backwards to the ground, then a tremendous roar came
across the lake—a sound as though the gun had burst into a thousand
pieces. Fearing that the gun had indeed burst and killed the poor devil,
the wags began to feel very guilty. They hastened from the house and
hurried round the lake to the rescue. When they had gone about half way
round they met their Indian coming toward them. There was a long gash
across his right cheek-bone, his nose was bunged up, and his face was
covered with blood, but he was completely loaded down with ducks.
“Well, Jim,” said the wags, who now felt better satisfied with their
little joke, “how did you make it?”
“Yes;” said Jim, “one more shoot um—no more ducks, no more Injun!”
CHAPTER XXXIX.
CONCERNING “LO” AND HIS FAMILY.
It is said to be next to impossible to astonish an Indian, but on one
occasion, while residing in Virginia City, I astonished, frightened, and
disgusted a whole flock of the unsophisticated “children of the desert,”
and with a mere handful of shrimps.
A crowd of Piutes, numbering over a dozen, male and female, great and
small, had come to anchor, squat upon the ground, just off the sidewalk,
in front of a fruit-stand (a favorite place of resort with them), and
were in the midst of what to them was a great feast. Upon an old shawl,
spread in the centre of their circle, was a great heap of half-rotten
apples, damaged cherries, soured strawberries, and other offal from the
fruit-store in front of which they were squatted. Among the male Indians
was Smoke Creek Sam, the Piute detective, who, with head thrown back,
was each moment dropping into his mouth great wads of strawberries,
squeezed together, stems and all, of the size of an ordinary
codfish-ball.
Some of the little Indian boys and girls were smeared to the eyes with a
leathery mess, half strawberries and half dirt, which they scooped up
from the common heap, and held to their mouths in both hands.
Even the most comely among the squaws had a brown dab of rotten apple on
the end of her nose, which that organ had brought away as a trophy
during some one of the frequent visits of her industrious mouth to the
deep interior of a slushy pippin.
One hideous old woman had raked a quantity of decayed cherries into her
lap, and sat “and munched, and munched, and munched.”
Under the vigorous attack of so many diligent hands and capacious and
willing mouths, the mound of vegetable garbage was soon swept away.
As I then lacked amusement, I stepped to a market next door, and
procured a handful of shrimps. With these I approached the now surfeited
group of savages, and began eating, by way of experiment on their
nerves.
At first they looked curiously on, and some of the juveniles rose to
their feet to have a better view of the new and horrible-looking
esculent. At a respectful distance they stood and gazed, as they saw me
pull in two and devour the many-legged little monsters, each “little
Injun” with lips curled up, teeth set, and nose wrinkled.
The bucks shrugged their shoulders as they saw each fresh “bug” pulled
out and eaten, and some of the squaws drew down the corners of their
mouths and spat upon the ground with decided emphasis.
The whole party, as though fascinated by a sight so fearful, sat and
closely watched each shrimp as it was shucked out and swallowed, the
general disgust each moment increasing.
Finally, I held out toward a “brave” of some ten “snows” the few
crustaceous specimens remaining in my hand. This incipient warrior was
arrayed as to his head, in some Comstock dandy’s cast-off “stovepipe”
hat, and as to his nether extensions, in a pair of adult unmentionables
of bake-oven capacity in the rear.
As my hand approached, his moon eyes rapidly grew moonier, and he began
craw fishing, though determined, if possible, to retreat in good order,
and with his face to the foe.
At this critical moment I pitched at the budding chieftain the empty
shell of a shrimp I had just finished. By chance it alighted upon a lock
of hair hanging over his forehead, and there remained for a moment,
hanging by the claws, and dangling before his eyes.
The boy gave a yelp, made one grab at the ugly thing, then turned a
complete back somersault over the old cherry-muncher. He landed running,
but, his “plug” hat being down over his eyes, he soon brought up on
all-fours, with his head between the legs of a passing Chinese
wood-peddler, who was so frightened at the unexpected assault in the
rear, that he, in turn, came near turning a somersault over the back of
the donkey he was driving.
The other youngsters, seeing what had happened, scattered in all
directions like a brood of startled quail, while the squaws—lusty old
gals, all of them!—hastily snatched up the pappooses, which, in their
wicker cradles, were lying across their laps, or standing against
awning-posts or empty barrels, and deftly slinging them upon their
backs, drew the straps across their foreheads, and started up the street
at a rolling gallop, the noise of which resembled that of the stampede
of a flock of fat wethers when in full wool.
The old hag mentioned as the “cherry-muncher”—probably fearing that a
shrimp would be thrown into her straggling locks—hanging with both hands
to the dead branch of a cedar, poled herself along in the rear of the
stampeders with astonishing agility.
At the distance of thirty yards she halted to get her wind, and seeing
that she was not being pursued, faced about. Still grasping her rude
staff in both hands, and resting her wrinkled and venerable lump of nose
on its top, she stared back at me from under her mop of grizzled hair,
like an old witch frightened away from some unholy feast.
Some of the bucks sullenly marched away, casting backward glances from
malevolent eyes which plainly showed their opinion of practical jokes,
but Smoke Creek Sam stood his ground. He, too, had been outraged and
disgusted, but as he had not yet found opportunity to beg a handful of
smoking tobacco, he concealed his feelings and deferred his retreat.
Extracting the pith of a particularly large and healthy shrimp, I
approached Sam with it.
“You no bring um here!” cried he, waving me back with his hand. “No
bring um, me say!”
“Just try this one, Sam,” said I.
“No!” said Sam, decidedly; “glash-hop, purty good; klicket, me eat um;
scorpium-bug, heap no good. Scorpium make Injun man high up sick!”
[Illustration: SHRIMPS.]
I now saw it all, and was not so much surprised at the astonishment and
disgust shown by the whole crowd of redskins. Knowing nothing about
shrimps, all supposed that I was eating scorpions, a poisonous reptile
very abundant in Nevada, and very closely resembling the shrimp. Seeing
me, as they supposed, deliberately devouring scorpions, all thought that
the Evil One himself was before them.
The Piutes are the early birds in Virginia City. Almost as soon as it is
sufficiently light for them to see, the squaws are down from their huts
on the slopes of the surrounding mountains. The Piute squaw is the
scavenger of the town. When she rolls into the place in the morning, she
comes with her gunny-sack over her shoulder, and into this stows all
that in her eyes is valuable. She gathers up every little wisp of hay
that falls in her way, even to the last straw, as she wants it for the
half-starved family pony, staked out in the hills near the camp; looks
into dry-goods boxes in search of straw, also for the pony; dives into
barrels in front of the markets, for half-rotten fruit, wilted turnips,
carrots, and other vegetables good for the family, and as the markets
open and the business of the day begins, she manages to secure all the
heads and tails of salmon and other fish that are cut up. All this time
she has one eye open for fuel—the hills being stripped to the last
rotten stick, by the Chinamen, who have even dug all the tree-stumps out
by the roots. Bits of boxes, wooden hoops, staves, all that is wood she
stuffs into her sack, along with the rest of her plunder.
If the sack is full and a good haul of wood falls in her way, she makes
it up into a bundle and places it on her head, and finally, loaded down
like a donkey, the frugal housewife climbs the mountain to where her hut
is perched, when she makes glad the heart of her lord and master and
little ones, with the good things she has brought home to them. Others
hang about the kitchens of the town, and collect loads of broken
victuals, as there no swine are kept by families, and they have no use
for the scraps that are carried from the table.
The male Piute is not always idle, but he cannot always find a job. The
Chinamen swarm the town in search of about the only kinds of work poor
“Lo” is able to do. But no man with a fat government contract ever felt
himself better fixed, than does one of these ex-warriors when he has
fairly settled down at a job of wood-sawing, for which he is to receive
one dollar per cord in coin, and board while he is doing the work. This
is just the kind of bargain he likes to make with a newcomer, or some
other unsophisticated citizen. The kitchen upon which he has thus
established a lien is never out of his mind. He is on hand at dawn of
day, and from the mountain height on which sits his eyrie, brings the
appetite of a tiger. Until he has had his breakfast, his face is ever
toward the dwelling of his employer, and ever and anon he is seen to
pause with his saw in the midst of a half-finished stick, as he snuffs
the odors wafted from the kitchen.
Breakfast over, he begins watching and snuffing for his dinner; dinner
over, his mind dwells upon the coming supper. Between meals, he
frequently becomes so exhausted that he cannot force his saw through the
smallest stick, unless braced up by an occasional cup of coffee, slice
of bread, and joint of cold meat.
When the noble red-man boards himself, however, he works like a
steam-engine, and loses not a moment until the last stick is done, and
he can extend his palm for his coin.
We hear much about the disappearance of the Indian before the march of
civilization, and in some quarters predictions are freely hazarded that
in a short time he will become extinct—will pass away with the dodo.
Whatever may be the case with other tribes, the Piute has no notion of
passing away. He is among the most prolific of _autochthones_. To
“increase and multiply” appears to be the first care of the average
adult Piute. It looks somewhat as if he were bound to occupy the land in
case his productiveness shall continue. The Piutes are a remarkably
healthy people. They are seldom sick, and few deaths occur among them.
The few who die seem to die of old age. There appear to be about one
hundred births among them to one death. Hardly a squaw that is over
sixteen and under sixty years of age can be seen, but she has a pappoose
slung on her back, and some of them surpass the wife of the martyred
John Rogers in evidences of prolificness. The women do not appear to be
much addicted to twins, but the little ones come marching along quite
rapidly in single file.
The Piutes are certainly multiplying more rapidly than any other people
in the State of Nevada. Even astonishingly old women among them bear
children.
“What shall be done with these people?” will one day be a question in
Nevada that must be answered in some way. The women are virtuous, and
the men temperate, and so long as they thus remain, there seems to be no
likelihood of their dying off.
Among the Piutes to work is considered no disgrace, and the biggest
“brave” is not ashamed to be seen handling an ax or saw—no, nor to be
found carrying his child, a thing that would ruin him in almost any
other tribe. Their greatest vice is gambling among themselves.
All is now well with these children of the desert, as they are not yet
so numerous but that the cast-off clothing of the whites suffices for
all, great and small, and the cold victuals given away in all the towns
is more than enough to feed them; but a time will come when this will
not be the case. Then some place must be found, and some provision made
for this people.
A well-known old Piute couple in Virginia City were “Adam” and “Eve.”
Old Adam was supposed to have been about one hundred years of age at the
time of his death, and Eve also was very old.
At the death of the aged couple there was a strange fatality. Old Adam
was bitten by a ferocious dog, and after lingering some weeks, during
which time he was cared for by the Sisters of Charity, he departed for
the happy hunting-grounds. A year later old Eve was attacked and
terribly mangled by a savage dog, the sinews being drawn out of one of
her ankles by the teeth of the brute. She, too lingered some weeks,
watched over and cared for by the Sisters, when she went to join old
Adam where the grass is always green and bright waters ever flow.
The old couple seem to have embraced the Christian religion in the early
days, at some one of the Catholic Missions in California. Old Adam was
very fond of being in and about the Catholic Church in Virginia City,
and was never happier than when noticed by Father Manogue, the pastor,
with whom the ancient red-man was fond of conversing, in his childish
way, upon religious subjects. Whenever grand-children and great-grand
children were born to him, “Old Adam” never failed to bring them to
Father Manogue, in order that they might be duly baptized. Thus is the
name of Patrick and Michael now heard in the Piute tribe.
About the streets of Virginia is frequently to be seen stalking a
thin-visaged, solemn-looking squaw who attracts much attention from her
great height and her tremendous strides in walking. The gaunt apparition
in female attire is, however, no squaw, but a “buck,” a man of the Piute
tribe condemned to wear the dress of a woman all the days of his life,
for cowardice exhibited at the battle of Pyramid lake. He is shunned by
both the men and women among his people, and therefore, like Baxter’s
hog, goes in a “drove” by himself. The last time I saw him he had on a
new calico dress, of the meal-bag pattern in the skirt, and had a new
gingham handkerchief upon his head; still he was not proud. Nothing
good, bad, or indifferent is said to him by the Indians, but the white
boys about town scoff at him and his face wears a calm, resigned,
chronic “sour.”
Many of the Piutes are anxious to have their children learn to read and
write, and, in 1875, three little Indians boys were in attendance at the
public school in Silver City, the principal of the school taking them in
at the solicitation of the father and by way of experiment. In a few
weeks they were able to read tolerably well in the first reader. They
began with the alphabet and were very proud of the progress they were
able to make. Unlike the majority of white parents, the father of the
little redskins thinks it worth while to visit the school occasionally,
to see how things are going. When the stern old brave visits the school
he marches into the institution of learning with a turkey feather in his
hair, his face painted in bright zigzag lines of black, white and red,
and a long double-barrelled shotgun on his shoulder. This has a business
look which is doubtless appreciated by the teacher.
As an object of distraction to the school the “lamb that little Mary
had” would not amount to a row of pins—would be a mere digitless
cipher—by the side of that Indian father in all the full-blown pride of
shotgun, war-paint, and turkey feathers.
The Piutes have some notion of picking up English songs and tunes. I one
day saw a dusky maiden of perhaps sixteen summers vocalizing in front of
a fruit-store, who evidently felt that she was a long way in advance of
the majority of her tribe. The song she sang was: “I feel, I feel like a
to-morrow morning star, Soo Fly! don’t bodda my! Soo Fly!” Her object
appeared to charm a few wilted apples from the keeper of the store, but
he being a native of melodious Italy was not much affected, and even
scowled upon the singer, as though he felt it a duty to discourage and
nip in the bud all talent manifesting itself in such a quarter.
[Illustration: AN INDIAN ENCAMPMENT.]
At one time a savior arose for the Piute people. This was Sam Brown, the
civilizer, an Oregon Indian who had wandered to Virginia City and who
was able to read and write. Sam Brown was a natural born
philantropist—he cared not for himself so long as he could ameliorate
the condition of the aborigine. He desired to see the Indian tribes
educated and civilized, and to this work he was devoted, body and soul.
He went forth among the Piutes residing in the neighborhood of Virginia
and Gold Hill, and made known to them his plans—told them of the
school-house he would build for the education of their children and how
he should finally have them all residing in houses and working at trades
like white men.
All the Indians were well pleased with what Sam told them; they said it
was “good talk.” Sam looked about him for a man fit to be made chief of
all the Piutes living about the two towns, and finally selected himself
as being the person most worthy to receive that high and honorable
position. Soon after that he one day marshalled all of his people in
procession, and with the American flag proudly floating at the head of
the motley throng of men, women, and children, gaily marched them about
the streets of Virginia City. They were the raggedest lot of recruits
ever seen. To observe the dignified bearing of the old warriors and the
grave expression of each countenance, was ludicrous beyond measure. They
thought they were being adopted into the American nation, and therefore
considered it a duty to conduct themselves in a grave and becoming
manner on such a momentous occasion.
The use of a balcony on the principal street in the city was obtained,
and from this, Sam Brown and several Piutes, also one or two white men,
addressed the common herd below.
This completed the inauguration of Sam Brown as chief, and he was now
ready to begin the work of civilizing his subjects. The first thing in
order with Sam was the building of a school-house. He owned a lot
somewhere in the suburbs of the town, and on this he determined to rear
a proper structure, Sam had worked as a carpenter in Oregon, and felt
equal to the task of building the school-house himself, if he but had
tools and lumber. However, to the man who is a born reformer and
philanthropist, whose soul thirsts continually to improve and benefit
his species, no obstacle is so great but that by dint of untiring
patience and perseverance it will finally overcome.
Sam stole a chest of carpenters’ tools and had made considerable
progress in the gradual removal of a lumber-yard, when unsympathetic
eyes took cognizance of his philanthropic labors, and, failing to
appreciate the purity of his motives, threw him into a prison, the fate,
alas! of many great reformers in all ages. Samuel Brown, the civilizer,
now abides in the Nevada State Prison, where he has time to consider the
vanity of all philanthropic endeavors, and to mourn the obtuseness of
the average human intellect in respect to the motives that inspire the
soul of the reformer to do noble deeds and undertake arduous labors.
To this day the proposed school-house has not been built and to this day
the Piutes remain uncivilized.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XL.
A VISIT TO THE MINES.
Having rambled far and wide among the Piute Indians, I shall now ask the
reader to accompany me in a ramble far below the light of day, to the
underground regions of the silver-mines. During our trip through the
lower levels of the mines I shall endeavor to explain all that is seen.
As all of the leading mines in the Comstock lode are opened and worked
after the same general plan, a description of one mine will suffice for
all. In singling out a mine, a description of the machinery and
operations in which shall stand for all, I select the Consolidated
Virginia as that in which is to be found all of the latest and most
approved machinery, and in which all operations are conducted in a
systematic and scientific manner. It will also be more satisfactory to
the reader if he knows that what he is reading applies to a certain mine
the name of which is known to him.
In giving a description of the various operations of mining, and of the
machinery used, I shall find it necessary in but two or three instances
to go outside of the Consolidated Virginia mine. In these cases I shall
name the mine in which is to be seen what I am speaking of.
The popular idea of a silver-mine among most persons in the Atlantic
States, appears to be that a deep hole in the form of a common well has
been sunk somewhere on the side of a mountain, from the bottom of which
is dug the silver ore. As the ore is dug up from the bottom of the
shaft, they suppose it to be hoisted to the surface in buckets, by means
of an ordinary windlass, or some such rude contrivance. What really is
seen at the main shaft or entrance to one of the leading mines on the
Comstock lode is very different.
When we approach the main shaft and hoisting works of the Consolidated
Virginia Mining Company we find before us a main building of great size,
from which extend several large wings. One of these wings is the
boiler-house, in which are several sets of boilers, and from the roof
arise a number of tall, black smoke-stacks.
Another wing is the blacksmith shop, containing several forges at which
are sharpened the picks and drills used, and where is done a vast amount
of work of all kinds required in and about the mine.
Then there is the wing in which is the carpenter’s shop, where the
timbers used as supports in the lower levels of the mine are framed, and
where circular saws, run by steam, are used in cutting and shaping the
heavy square beams; also, a wing in which is a machine-shop containing a
steam-engine which runs planers, lathes, and other machines for working
iron. The main building is handsomely finished and painted with
fire-proof paint, as are all of the wings. Rows of windows are seen in
the several buildings, and from the roof of the main building and some
of the wings, arise pipes from which white clouds of steam are
constantly puffed.
In the mass of buildings before us we see nothing to cause us to think
of a mine. What we have before us more nearly resembles a large
iron-foundry or big manufactory of some kind. As we see on the grounds
surrounding the buildings a number of immense piles of timber and
lumber; in all, an amount sufficient to stock at least half a dozen
ordinary lumber-yards, we should be more likely to guess that we saw
before us a large planing-mill, or door, sash, and blind manufactory,
than that we were approaching the main working shaft of a great
silver-mine. Near the main pile of buildings, are detached structures,
which are occupied as offices; one being the assay office, where the
silver bullion is melted, moulded into bars, and assayed.
[Illustration: GRINDING AXES.]
Upon entering the main building, we are at once struck by the peculiar
style of dress worn by the men we see grouped or moving about. They all
wear grey or blue woollen shirts, caps, or narrow-brimmed felt hats, and
blue cotton or thin woollen overalls. They are all serious-looking men,
and their faces all seem bleached out to an unnatural and unhealthy
whiteness. The whole building is floored as handsomely as though it were
a church, and all the floors are scrupulously neat and clean. All
overhead being open to the roof, forty feet above, and there being no
partitions in the main building, the interior presents a most spacious
appearance.
Almost the first object that attracts our attention upon entering the
place, is the mouth of the main shaft. Toward this we are at once
attracted, for the reason that we see rushing up through several square
openings in the floor, great volumes of steam. This steam appears to be
hissing hot, and rushes almost to the roof of the building. We are
surprised to see men coolly ascending and descending the very heart of
these columns of steam.
Looking for the first time upon the rolling and whirling clouds of vapor
pouring up from the shaft, more than one dandy tourist, who but a few
minutes before was very enthusiastic in his talk about exploring the
lower levels, has wished in his secret soul that he had never hinted
that he had the slightest desire to descend into the dark and dismal
bowels of the earth.
Many back down squarely. They suddenly remember that they are subject to
vertigo, are threatened with apoplexy; or—which is a very common disease
at such times—palpitation of the heart. So many persons visiting the
mines, and seeing the mouth of the shafts for the first time, have made
serious mention of being greatly troubled with “palpitation of the
heart,” that the old miner standing near finds it a difficult matter to
keep a sober countenance upon hearing that ailment mentioned. Nothing
can induce some persons to venture into the steaming shaft after they
have taken one good look at it, while proper explanations speedily cure
others of their vertigo, apoplectic symptoms, palpitation of the heart,
or whatever disease it may be their fancy to affect.
When we inspect the mouth of the shaft more closely, we find before us
an opening in the floor about five feet in width and twenty feet in
length. This opening is divided into four lesser openings or
“compartments,” by partitions which run from the top to the bottom of
the shaft. Three of these are called hoisting-compartments, as in them
the hoisting-cages pass up and down, just us does the elevator in a
hotel. The fourth is known as the pump-compartment, as down it passes
the pump column, an iron pipe from twelve to sixteen inches in diameter,
through which the water is forced up from the bottom of the mine. The
pumping machinery is the most pondrous about a mine, and the largest
engine in the hoisting works of a mine is always that which drives the
pump. The pumping apparatus, balance-bobs, tanks down the line of the
shaft, the course of the water from the bottom of the mine to the
surface, and the working of the several parts from the surface down, all
are too complicated to be explained without the aid of many drawings.
The hoisting-engines, and all the hoisting machinery, are at the end of
the building opposite that occupied by the shaft and fifty or sixty feet
away. Here we find the alert and keen-eyed engineers constantly at their
post by their engines. Before them is a large dial, like the face of a
clock. On this dial are figures, and there is a hand like that of a
clock, which moves slowly round and tells the engineer exactly where his
cage is at all times after it has entered the shaft and passed out of
his sight. By watching the hand moving round the dial he can see exactly
when his cage is at the 900, the 1,000, 1,200, 1,500-foot or any other
station. Besides keeping his eyes upon the dial, he must also keep his
ears open for the signals struck upon his bell.
The bell stands near him and is his only means of communication with
those far down in the lower levels of the mine. A man 1,500 feet below
the surface strikes a signal upon the bell, and the engineer
unhesitatingly obeys it. By means of this bell the engineer receives
nearly all his orders. He is told when to start the cage up and when to
stop, if he is to stop short of the surface; is told to hoist slowly;
that there are men on board; and a great many other things which he
understands as readily as the telegraph operator understands the click
of his instrument. Each engineer has his bell and knows its sound better
than he knows the sound of his own voice.
[Illustration: CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA HOISTING-WORKS]
The hoisting-engines and the engineers who run them, occupy a large
platform raised three or four feet above the general level of the floor,
and about this platform are placards inscribed:
“NO PERSON IS ALLOWED ON THE PLATFORM, OR TO SPEAK TO
THE ENGINEERS WHILE ON DUTY.”
The lives of the miners are in the engineer’s hands every minute of the
day and night. To turn his head to nod to an acquaintance might cost a
dozen lives. The man who is trusted at one of these engines is always a
man who is thoroughly known and who has a well-established reputation
for sobriety, “eternal vigilance,” and good qualities of all kinds. In
short, he is a man that can be trusted anywhere, and to say that Mr.
Jones is engineer at this or that mine is to say that Jones is a man
much above the average.
Over the mouth of the shaft stands a frame, made of very large and
strong timbers, which is called the gallows-frame, probably from the
huge cross-beam it supports. On this cross-beam are fastened the great
iron wheels or pulleys over which pass the cables that extend down into
the shaft and raise and lower the cages. These cables are not, as might
be supposed from the name, round hempen ropes, like the cables of a
vessel. The cables used in hoisting from the shafts of mines are flat,
like a piece of tape, and are braided of the best quality of steel wire.
They are five or six inches in width and about three-quarters of an inch
in thickness. As they are constantly exposed to dripping water in the
lower part of the shaft, the cables are all kept covered with a coating
of tar to prevent their rusting.
Near the engine is what is called the hoisting-reel, and on this the
cable is wound up or unwound, in raising or lowering the cage, just as a
piece of tape would be wound upon a spool. The steam-engines revolve the
huge reels, and the cage is let down into the shaft or is hauled up from
its bottom just as is required.
The cages work independently of each other. One may be going down while
another is coming up, or one may be in motion while the others are
standing still. When there is no living freight on the cages, they are
often raised and lowered at a frightful rate of speed, but with men on
board they are moved less rapidly.
Owing to the intense heat prevailing in many places in the lower levels
of the mines, visitors must divest themselves of every stitch of their
ordinary attire, as the first step toward their underground journey.
This being the case, a comfortable and commodious dressing-room is
fitted up in the works.
Hanging upon the walls of this room will be found a great number of
clean suits for the accommodation of visitors. A suit for the journey
into the lower regions is neat but not gaudy. It consists simply of a
pair of blue flannel pantaloons, a grey or blue woollen shirt, a pair of
heavy brogans for the feet, and a felt hat, with a narrow brim, for the
head. In a suit of this kind even the greatest dignitaries present a
very ordinary appearance. A minister of the gospel of meek and lowly
aspect, when in his suit of black, becomes such a desperate-looking
villain on donning blue woollen pantaloons and shirt, brogans, and felt
hat, that you would not meet him alone on a mountain trail for all the
wealth of the big bonanza; a pompous railroad president to whom you
would almost fear to speak while in his upper-world attire, upon
presenting himself before you in lower-level rig looks so much like a
sneak-thief that you feel strongly impelled to kick him out of the room.
Fat men have the advantage in dressing for a trip to the lower levels,
as nearly all of the pantaloons appear to have been selected for the
special accommodation of men of Falstaffian proportions. In thus
dressing for a trip into the mine there is always great merriment; each
man laughs at his friend, unconscious of the ridiculous, mean, or
insignificant figure he himself is cutting.
In the dressing-room will be found a bath-tub, hot and cold water ready
to hand by the mere turning of the cocks, an abundance of clean towels
and all the convenience for taking a bath on coming up from the
sweltering lower levels.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: HOISTING CAGE.]
CHAPTER XLI.
DESCENDING IN THE SAFETY-CAGE.
All being clad in the uniform of the gnomes of the silver-caverns, we go
out to the shaft. A cage is stopped at the top of one of the
compartments of the shaft, and its platform stands just on a level with
the floor of the building. The cage is a heavy iron frame with grooves
on two sides, which fit upon wooden guides run from the top to the
bottom of the shaft. Upon these guides the cage runs smoothly through
the whole course up and down the shaft, much the same as an elevator in
a large hotel is seen to work.
The cage may have but a single floor or platform, or it may have two or
three, upon each of which may be hoisted a car loaded with ore, or on
which men may be raised or lowered. Those with two platforms are called
“double-deckers,” and those with three platforms are called
“three-deckers.”
One of the foremen of the mine, the superintendent, or whoever is to be
our conductor, groups us upon the cage, showing us where we may safely
grasp its iron frame for support, and finally all are in position.
The engineer is standing with one hand on the lever of his engine,
watching our proceedings. Our conductor turns toward him with a wave of
the hand. Instantly we feel ourselves dropping into the depth and
darkness of the shaft.
Our first thought is, that between us and the bottom of the shaft—1500
feet below—we have nothing but the frail platform of the cage, and,
instinctively, we tighten our grip upon the iron bars of the cage,
determined that, should the bottom drop out, we will be found hanging to
the upper works of our strange vehicle.
At the first plunge all is dark, but suspended from the cross-bar of the
cage, or in the hands of our conductor, we have a lantern or two, and by
the light afforded by these, we soon begin to distinguish the sides of
the shaft. Our view is very unsatisfactory, however, as all the timbers
on the sides of the compartment appear to be darting swiftly upward
toward the top of the shaft; just as trees, fences, and telegraph poles
seem to be running backwards when we are flying through the country on a
lightning-express train.
Our speed is probably not half that at which the cage is lowered when
its only load is an empty ore-car, a few beams of timber, or some such
freight; but we are not anxious to go any faster. In the early days, on
receiving a wink from a foreman, an engineer would drop men down a shaft
at such a rate of speed that their breath was almost taken away, but at
present, no superintendent on the Comstock allows any such dangerous
fooling.
As soon as we have descended a few feet into the shaft, we see nothing
of the steam, which, rushing out at its top, had presented so formidable
an appearance above. It really amounts to nothing. It is merely the
moist, warm breath of the mine coming in contact with the cold air at
the surface. It is the same as the steam rising from a spring in winter,
or as one’s breath blown into the air on a frosty morning. This steam is
seen at the mouth of the Consolidated Virginia shaft because it is what
is called an “upcast,” that is, the draft in it is upward. At the Ophir
shaft no steam is seen, as it is a “downcast,” the surface air is drawn
or sucked in at its mouth. The air that enters the mouth of the Ophir
shaft comes out at the mouth of the Consolidated Virginia shaft.
As we dart along down the shaft, we soon begin to pass the stations of
the first or upper levels. Our speed is such that we see but little. We
get a glimpse of what appears to be a room of considerable size, see a
few men standing about with candles or lanterns in their hands, hear
voices, and probably the clank of machinery. An instant after, all is
again smooth sailing, and we see only the upward-fleeing sides of the
shaft. Then there is another flash of many lights, a glimpse of
half-naked men, a murmur of voices, and a clash of machinery, and we
have passed another station. It is much like running past a railroad
station in the night.
Sometimes our conductor is hailed by some one at a station as we dart
past. We hear the voice, but distinguish no words. The conductor,
however, has understood, and makes answer. As he replies, we drop away
from the sound of his voice at such a rapid rate that his words are
drawn out into sounds which we can hardly understand, though we are
standing by his side. The answer, which is left scattered along up the
shaft, is finally gathered in at the station for which it was intended,
and is there put together and understood.
When we have descended to such a depth that from one thousand to twelve
hundred feet of cable have been paid out from the reel above, we begin
to experience quite a novel sensation. This is the “spring” of the
cable.
Most persons have observed the very active bobbing motion of a toy ball
suspended from an india-rubber string. The motion of our cage, hanging
at the end of the cable, is much the same. The less one has of this
peculiar motion the more he enjoys it. When this motion sets in, we at
once begin to speculate in regard to the probable amount of “stretch” to
be found in a first-class steel-wire cable—how far it may stretch before
reaching the breaking point. It may be no more than 500 feet to the
bottom of the shaft, but we feel that we do not care to risk falling
even that short distance.
However, should the cable really break, there would be no danger, we
should not fall. Attached to the upper part of the cage is a
safety-apparatus designed expressly to prevent accidents of this nature.
At the instant that the cable parted there would be released powerful
springs which would throw out on each side of the shaft an eccentric,
toothed wheel. These wheels, biting into the guides on each side, would
instantly stop and hold the cage, block it fast in the shaft, as the
wheels are of such a shape that the greater the weight and downward
pressure upon the cage, the tighter they hold. In case of the cable
breaking, we should not fall an inch, perhaps not half an inch—thanks to
that life-saving invention, the safety-cage!
When the safety-cage was first introduced on the Comstock, I had the
pleasure of assisting in making a test of the efficacy of the
safety-apparatus at the Savage mine. We attached the cage to the iron
cable by means of a large hempen rope.
This done, the superintendent and a gentleman present, who was in search
of excitement, got upon the cage, and we lowered them into the mouth of
the shaft, which was 1,000 feet in depth. We at the surface, who were
conducting the experiment, then asked the superintendent and his
companion if they were ready to be “launched into eternity,” and
receiving an affirmative reply, a brawny-armed miner, standing ready
with a big broad-ax, severed the rope at a single blow. The cage dropped
less than an inch, we above were all glad the experiment was over.
Had the safety apparatus failed to work, we at the surface would
doubtless have all been summoned as witnesses when the coroner held his
inquest.
In case of a train of railroad cars getting off the track, we never know
where we shall bring up; we may go over an embankment or may be dragged
against a point of rocks, but when a cable breaks while we are
descending a shaft, we stop exactly where we happen to be when the
accident occurs. Thus, as the sailor in a storm at sea pities the poor
wretches who are on shore, so may the miner pity those persons above
ground who travel on railroads.
In former times, however, previous to the introduction of the
safety-cage in the Comstock mines, the breaking of a cable was an
accident more dreaded and more dreadful than almost any other. There was
no dodging when a cable parted. All who were on the cage must go to the
bottom of the shaft. There the cage would be torn to pieces and driven
through platforms of plank three or four inches in thickness into the
“sump” or well of the shaft, where all who were not killed outright,
were drowned.
Whether half a dozen men or a dozen were on the cage, it nearly always
happened that all were killed. If any did in any instance escape, it was
in such a horribly mangled condition that they were maimed for life. No
wonder, then, that the miner every day of his life, and as often as he
goes up and down the great shafts, blesses in his heart the inventor of
the safety-cage!
[Illustration: HOISTING CAGES AND CARS IN SILVER MINES.]
We have been a long time in the shaft, though it takes but a very short
time to make the actual descent. There is an occasional flash of lights,
hum of voices, and clash of machinery, as described above, when the
motion of the cage begins to “slow down,” and a moment after this is
noticed it stops exactly on a level with the floor of the station, 1,500
feet below the surface of the earth. We can hardly realize that we are
standing at such a great depth below the upper world and the light of
day.
Before us is what is called the “Station.”
A ‘station’ is the place of landing at each level of the mine (the
levels are generally about 100 feet apart), and it is at the station
that the cage stops to take on or let off passengers, to take on cars
loaded with ore that are going up, or to put off empty cars that are
going down. The station is generally a large and roomy apartment, the
walls of which are ceiled with rough boards, and the roof of which shows
heavy supporting beams.
It looks not unlike the interior of some of the large, rude wayside-inns
seen in places in California on mountain roads. Hats, coats, shirts, and
many similar articles are seen hanging upon nails driven into the walls,
and two or three large coal-oil lamps fixed in brackets, render the
place light and cheerful.
Upon the floor of the station (it has a floor as good as would be seen
in most houses), ranged along the walls are seen boxes of candles, coils
of fuse, and many other mining stores. There is also a large cask
containing ice-water, with a tin dipper hanging on a nail near at hand.
The station is a sort of lounging place, where the men who happen to
have nothing to do for a few minutes stop to hear the news from the
surface. Here there is more chat and sociability than in any other part
of the mine. The reports of the sales of stocks in the San Francisco
Stock Board are brought to the office of the mine as soon as they are
telegraphed to the city, and about the time the reports arrive, you will
hear the men at the station anxiously inquiring the price of stocks of
the first man who comes down from the surface. The man thus questioned
seems well prepared to answer, and gives the prices for the day, of a
dozen or more of the leading stocks.
His report doubtless quickly passes through the mine, and soon five or
six hundred men away down in the silver caverns, from 1,500 to 2,000
feet beneath the surface, know as much about the price of stocks for the
day as do those persons who are walking the streets of the town. Other
items of news circulate in the same way; but stocks they are always
interested in. Almost every miner owns shares in some mine. There are
not a few men working in mines along the Comstock who are worth from
$40,000 to $50,000, and some who are probably worth still larger sums.
While at work they are earning $4 per day regularly, and can “speculate”
just as well as if they were constantly on the streets watching the
stock reports.
In some of the stations are to be seen things that one would not expect
to find hundreds of feet below the surface. In the Crown Point mine, for
instance, the visitor finds on one of the walls of the station at the
1,100-foot level, a handsome little cabinet of ores, minerals, coins,
and curiosities of all kinds—all neatly displayed in a suitable case
which is provided with glazed doors. On the walls is also to be seen a
considerable collection of photographs of actors, actresses, singers,
and other celebrities. There is one group that is labelled “Vasquez and
His Friends.” The “friends” grouped about the notorious bandit are
photographs of leading citizens of the town of Gold Hill, a church
deacon among the number.
We have all heard about things being played “low down,” but it would
seem that this joker, at the depth of 1,100 feet, has it down about as
low as any man on the continent. The cabinet, and the gallery of
celebrities are the property, the care, and the pride of the
station-tender of the level named.
A car-track—a railroad track in miniature—is laid through the floor in
the centre of the station, which track runs out to the main north and
south drift of the mine (it must be borne in mind that the general
course of the Comstock lode is north and south), and through the main
drift connects—by means of turn-tables—with a great number of cross-cuts
and other drifts.
As we stand in the station, cars loaded with ore are regularly arriving
from the several “stopes” of the level. These are run upon the cage, the
signal to hoist is given to the engineer above, and an instant after,
the cage and car, with its load of ore, dart swiftly up the shaft.
Perhaps at the same instant a cage comes down the adjoining compartment,
bringing with it an empty ore-car. This is at once grasped by a man in
waiting, known in the mine as a “carman,” and is trundled away to some
distant part of the mine, to be again loaded with ore and again whisked
up to the surface on the cage.
As there are three hoisting compartments, the arrivals and departures
are quite frequent, and the station is really quite a business place.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XLII.
BELOW THE SURFACE.
In order that the reader may get a proper idea of the underground works
of a mine, I shall now give a detailed description of all that is worthy
of special mention. Drifts are openings or galleries from four to six
feet in width, and from six to eight feet in height, opened along the
course of the vein. They are generally run along one of the walls of the
vein, in the “country rock,” (rock outside of the vein) as that contains
no lime, and therefore stands best, and does not swell and crush the
timbers. In some drifts the rock stands without being timbered. The main
north and south drift, generally the first reached after leaving a
station in a mine, is the highway of the level in which it is opened. It
has a car-track running through its whole length, and, in some cases, as
in the main drift on the 1500-foot level of the consolidated Virginia
and California mines, contains a double car-track.
The cross-cuts are the same kind of openings as the drifts, but they are
smaller and run across the course of the vein—run east and west. They
start from the main drift, and are pushed out into the vein and
ore-body, if ore-body there be. Pushed out in this way from the main
drift at intervals of about 100 feet, they cut through and “prospect”
the vein. The progress of the cross-cuts on a new level in a leading
mine on the Comstock is always watched with great interest by all the
“mining experts,” “stock sharps,” and mining men generally.
Car-tracks are laid in all of the cross-cuts, and connect with the track
of the main drift by means of turn-tables. The cross-cuts are pushed
through the vein to its opposite wall, in order that the whole of the
ground may be thoroughly explored and its boundaries defined. In order
to secure a free circulation of air on the level, they are frequently
connected at various points by cross-drifts.
Winzes are small shafts sunk from one level to another in the mine. They
are sunk in any place where they may happen to be required. Some are
sunk vertically, but many follow the foot-wall of the vein, and thus go
down at an angle of from thirty-five to forty-five degrees. All are of
great use for the purpose of ventilation, and those that are sunk at an
angle are very frequently properly planked up, and used as chutes
through which to send ore or timbers to a lower level. In all mines will
be found a great number of these chutes. Sometimes the men fall into
them. When this happens they are always to be found at the bottom, on
the level below, immediately after. Generally, men are not very badly
hurt by sliding through an ordinary chute, yet not a few have been
killed by such a fall, and many have had bones broken.
In going down a chute much depends upon the angle of the opening—the
steeper, the more danger there is in making the trip. On the surface of
the earth all the vertical winzes would be called shafts, and what are
called drifts and cross-cuts below would be called tunnels, were they
where their mouths came out on the surface. An “upraise” is where the
miners begin on a lower level and dig upward toward a higher. While it
is going up, it is an upraise, but when it is connected with the level
above it is a winze. Should it never reach the level for which it was
started it remains an upraise for all time.
Winzes are very often thus made—one set of miners being engaged below at
digging up, while above another set are digging down. The progress made
by the men below is always much more rapid than that of the men above,
as every ounce of dirt loosened at once falls down out of the way.
When the ore-body has been properly opened, explored, and ventilated by
means of drifts, cross-cuts, and winzes, the work of extraction is
commenced.
The first opening is made on the “track-floor” of the level—the floor on
which are run the drifts and cross-cuts wherein are laid the
car-tracks—and in the bottom of this opening or chamber are put down the
sills for the first “square-set” of timbers.
The timbers used as supports in a mine are from twelve to fourteen
inches square. The posts are six feet, and the caps five feet, in
length. The upper ends of the posts are framed in such a manner that the
ends of four caps may rest upon each, and leave a mortise in the centre,
in which to insert the tenon of the post of the next “set”; on the top
of this is a place for another post, and so the work of building up sets
goes on to any height that may be required.
As the ore is extracted at the sides of the first set, the same squares
of timbers are built up in those places, and there is formed a sort of
pyramid of cribs, rising constantly as the work of extracting the ore
proceeds. The top sets of this pyramid are secured closely against the
ore, by means of large wooden wedges, and the side sets are also wedged
up against the ore in the same way, as they are carried up. In this way
the mass of ore overhead is supported at all points by the cribs of
timbers, except here and there where chambers are being excavated in the
ore-body for new sets.
Thus are squares of timbers constantly added, and the pyramid carried up
till the ore has been worked out to the level above. If the level above
has been worked out, it is already filled with the same square sets as
are being built up from below, and the latter rise into their proper
places and fit as neatly as the squares on a checker or chess-board.
The sets are six feet in height by five feet in width, and as they rise,
floors of strong plank are laid upon each set. Thus there are seen
floors some six feet apart from the bottom to the top of the level.
In these floors are square openings as for trap-doors, with short
flights of steps leading from floor to floor. The floors are pushed out
against the breasts of ore on all sides as the stope is extended. A
light blast of giant-powder being exploded in the face of the
ore-breast, the mass is shattered, and is then easily pulled down by the
picks of the miners.
As the ore is dug down it falls upon the floors, from which it is easily
shovelled into the wheelbarrows, by means of which it is carried to the
chutes. These chutes lead down to ore-bins on the track-floor, where the
cars are loaded which carry the ore to the main shaft and finally up to
the surface, and out along a track which leads to the ore-house, from
which it is sent to the mills. This is the method of timbering mines
that was invented by Mr. Philip Deidesheimer, in the early days of
Washoe, when he was superintendent of the old Ophir mine. The building
up of timbers in square sets or cribs is found to be exactly what is
required, as a cavity of any size, however great, can by this plan be
filled up and its roof supported.
In order to still further secure the mine, it is usual to plank or
timber up a section of four of these square sets, and fill them in from
bottom to top with waste rock. Thus is provided a large column of stone
reaching up to and supporting the roof of the mine. Such columns are
constructed in a number of places, at suitable intervals throughout each
level of the mine, and they are found to stand more strain than would
all of the timber that could be piled into a level. Being built up of
loose rocks they gradually yield for a time, but still stand as firmly
in their places as before, whereas a solid column of stone would be
crushed into a thousand fragments, and would let down the whole upper
part of the mine.
In some mines many blocks of porphyry and other barren rock are found
with the ore, making it necessary to do a great deal of assorting, but
in the Consolidated Virginia mine there is no work of this kind to be
done, at least not on the 1500-foot level, where they are sloping out in
the bonanza. There is nothing to do but dig down the rich masses of
black sulphuret and chloride ores, shovel them into the cars, and send
them to the surface to be taken to the mills, and the same is the case
in the California mine.
Samples are taken from each car-load of ore down in the mine, when it
reaches the main shaft; at the surface other samples are taken, and at
the mills samples are taken of the pulp, every hour, as it runs from the
batteries—in short, the ore is sampled everywhere, and at all stages in
the handling, from the ore-breasts till it has passed through the mills,
and finally appears in the shape of large, shining silver bricks, each
weighing a hundred pounds or more. All the samples thus taken are
carefully assayed, and the results compared and noted.
An incline is simply an inclined extension of the main shaft, from some
convenient point below, or rather at or near the point where the shaft
strikes the west wall of the vein. The Comstock lode dips to the
eastward at an angle of from thirty-five to forty-five degrees, and as
the main working shaft of a mine is always sunk to a considerable
distance—a thousand feet or more—to the eastward of the croppings [_i.
e._ that part of the lode which comes to the surface of the earth], the
west wall is not reached until the shaft has attained a depth of from
1000 to 1500 feet, depending upon how far east of the croppings it was
sunk.
The main incline of a mine is of about the same dimensions as the main
shaft, and is timbered in much the same way. In the Consolidated
Virginia mine there is as yet no incline, but at the Crown Point mine is
to be seen one that is a model in every respect. This incline starts at
the 1100-foot level, from the bottom of the vertical shaft, and goes
down with the dip of the vein (at an angle of about thirty-five
degrees), to the 1700-foot level, its present terminus. A track is laid
on its bottom, of ordinary railroad iron, and as neither cages nor a car
of the usual pattern can be used in an incline, recourse is had to
another device. A kind of car called a “giraffe” is used for hoisting
through an incline. It has low wheels in front and high ones behind;
thus the body of the giraffe stands level, the same as a common ore-car
on an ordinary track.
The giraffe is capable of carrying eight tons of ore—more than eight
ordinary car-loads. It is lowered down the track to the bottom of the
incline, and hauled up to the foot of the shaft by means of a round
steel-wire cable which runs upon a reel at the surface.
The cable passes over a large iron pulley at the top of the vertical
shaft, and _under_ a second pulley of the same kind at its bottom. The
cable is also supported by rollers, placed in the centre of the track,
as it travels up and down the incline, otherwise its great weight would
cause it to drag upon the ground. From the upper side of an incline,
stations are made, the same as they are made at intervals along a
vertical shaft; drifts are then run, and the work of cross-cutting and
prospecting the vein goes on in the same way as when the ore-body is
approached by means of a shaft. The giraffe has in front and on the
“outside” two seats, facing each other, on which six passengers can ride
very comfortably. Sometimes there is hitched behind the giraffe a second
car of the same pattern, called the “back-action.”
There is not a little of novelty in a ride up an incline on a “giraffe.”
The conductor of the “train,” who is seated by our side, gives the
signal for starting by pulling a wire and striking upon the engineer’s
bell—far away up the incline and up the vertical shaft, and some
distance beyond that again in the engine-house—a certain number of
strokes. Instantly we start, and soon are darting up the steep iron way
at a terrific rate of speed. Lamps are placed at intervals on the sides
of the incline; besides, we carry lanterns, and there are lights burning
at all the stations. Thus our underground railroad is well lighted up.
We have a good view of the track, and can see the rails glistening far
ahead of and above us.
We rush up this steep road so rapidly that the posts along the sides of
the incline resemble a fine-toothed comb. To look ahead and see before
you, and high above you, a hundred yards or more of semi-vertical
railroad, up which you are thundering at whirlwind speed, is strikingly
the reverse of natural. Going down does not in any way interfere with
your notions of the “eternal fitness of things,” for it is quite natural
for anything that is loose to run down hill, but this fierce darting up
the steep iron rails somewhat unsettles you.
Up this queer railroad you are hurled through the caverns of the gazing
Troglodytes, till you reach the foot of the vertical shaft, when they
transfer you to a cage, and you are shot out at the top, much as the
“Red Gnome,” in the play, is shot up through the trap in the stage-floor
of a theatre.
A giraffe is provided with a safety-apparatus somewhat similar to that
on a cage. A large wooden rail runs the whole length of the track.
Extending from the side of the giraffe, and almost clasping this rail,
are two toothed, eccentric wheels. Should the cable break, these wheels
would instantly grasp and clasp the rail, and the greater the weight
upon the car the more fiercely they would bite into the wood, and retain
their hold upon it. This invention has been the means of saving scores
of lives.
The “sump” is the well or hole sunk below the bottom of a shaft, for the
purpose of holding the water flowing in from above. In this is placed
the “suction” of the pump, and into it is collected the water from all
parts of the mine. Although “sump” is now considered an English word, it
was doubtless derived from the German word, “sumpf,” which means a
marsh, pool, bog, or fen. When miners fall down a shaft it is frequently
necessary to fish their mangled remains out of the sump with grappling
irons.
As some persons may desire to know how sinking can be carried on in the
bottom of a shaft where there is a strong influx of water, it may be
well to explain the matter. On the end of the pump-column or tube which
comes down near to the bottom of the shaft, is a piece of flexible hose,
the same as the “suction” of a fire-engine, and this is moved about from
side to side in the shaft, always keeping the end of it in the low
places where the water collects.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XLIII.
CURIOSITIES OF VENTILATION.
The only air-shaft on the Comstock lode worthy of the name, is that of
the Belcher Mining Company. In many situations air-shafts do not seem to
be required, connections with the main working shafts of other mines
serving the same purpose. In some places along the lode are old
shafts—sunk in the early days—with which connection has been made, and
these often do very good service as air-shafts. The air-shaft of the
Belcher Company is sunk at a point about 100 yards to the northward of
their main hoisting-works.
The size of the excavation made in the rock is 8×14 feet. This, when
timbered up, gives two compartments, each 6×6 in size. Where the rock is
hard and perfectly solid the shaft is cribbed with timbers 6×12 inches
in size; but where it is soft and inclined to swell, it is timbered in
sets; timbers 12 inches square being used. All of this work is done in
the most substantial manner possible. From the surface to the 1000-foot
level the shaft is carried down vertically, but from this point it is on
an incline corresponding to the dip of the ledge, which is about 36
degrees, and to the east. The portion of the shaft which is carried down
on an incline was kept in the west country rock lying back of the ledge.
The object in keeping in this rock was to avoid ground that would be
liable to swell and then crush in the sides of the shaft.
This shaft is of the same size and is constructed after the same plan as
that destroyed by fire, October 30, 1874, by which accident a large
number of men were badly burned, and some lost their lives. It extends
down to the lowest levels of the mine and will be continued downward as
new levels are opened. In excavating the shaft, work was begun at the
same time on the surface and down at the 850-foot level of the mine—the
men below digging upward while those above were sinking.
The shaft is “downcast,” that is, the air from the surface of the earth
is drawn or sucked down into it and finds its way out through the main
working shaft and other shafts connecting with the mine by means of
drifts. The first shaft was also a “downcast,” but when on fire, the
draught was changed, and a column of flame darted upward from its mouth
a hundred feet into the air, with a roar that could be heard at the
distance of a mile or more. Had not the shaft caved and filled up with
rock after the timbers were burned out of it, it would always have
remained an “upcast;” at least, so say all the old miners.
Here it may not be out of place to speak of some of the curiosities of
ventilation.
The Yellow-Jacket shaft, previous to the great fire in that mine some
years ago, had a strong draught downward; the fire changed the draught,
and it has ever since remained an “upcast.” This is a curious freak of
nature which all old miners have observed. When once the change in the
draught takes place it is permanent. A curious thing in ventilation—and
it is a nut for the scientists to crack—is that everywhere along the
Comstock lode the tendency of all currents of air is to the southward—in
the same direction that the ore chimneys tend. Here certainly is at work
another mysterious force of nature. This tendency of the air-currents to
move southward has never been overcome, except in one or two instances,
and these exceptional cases will presently be mentioned. There are some
queer courses taken by currents of air when once they have descended
beneath the surface of the earth, which none of our scientific men have
attempted to explain. The commonly accepted theory is that when two
shafts are connected by means of a drift, the draught or ascending
current of air will be through the higher shaft—the longer branch of the
siphon—but exactly the reverse is seen if the short shaft happens to
stand to the southward of the long one.
The air will even go down a shaft and crawl out through a tunnel when
that tunnel runs in a southerly direction! When the Union tunnel
connected with the old Ophir mine the air did not draw through the
tunnel and pass up and out through the main shaft, but came out of the
mouth of the tunnel. When the old Best and Belcher works connected with
the Gould and Curry tunnel, the same thing was seen—the air went down
the shaft and passed out at the mouth of the tunnel. About the next
connection of the kind made on the lead was between the Crown Point and
Belcher, at the depth of 160 feet; and the current of air went down the
higher shaft, moved southward, and came out at the Belcher. Next the
Yellow-Jacket and the Crown Point connected, and the draught was
southward to the Crown Point. The Alpha and the Imperial next connected,
and the draught went south to the Jacket. When the Gould and Curry and
the Savage connected, the draught went south to the Savage. When
connection was made between the Ophir and the Consolidated Virginia, the
air went south to the Consolidated. The only places I know of on the
lead where the air moves to the northward are between the Gould and
Curry and the Consolidated Virginia, and between the Hale and Norcross
and the Savage, and here it probably would not move north but for strong
inducements.
The latest instance of this tendency of currents of air to move
southward in mines is seen in the Overman mine. When that mine was
connected with the Belcher, the draught was southward, out through the
Overman shaft, though it stands much lower than any of the shafts
connected with the Belcher mine.
From the facts given, it will be seen that there are some curious things
connected with the ventilation of mines, and that it is not altogether
impossible that Sutro’s big tunnel may draw backwards, when completed.
A great deal of machinery is now beginning to be used on the lower
levels of the principal mines on the Comstock. Some years ago
steam-engines were set up in the lower levels of some of the leading
mines, with boilers, furnaces, and all, just as on the surface. This
would not do. The heat of the furnaces, boilers, and steam, added to the
heat of the mine, could not be endured by the engineers and others whose
duty it was to “stand watches” about the machinery.
A few years since an engine was set up on the 1000-foot level of the
Gould and Curry mine, and steam was conducted to it from boilers
situated on the surface. When this engine was started up there was a
popping of champagne corks away down there in the bowels of the earth,
and a good time was had drinking to the success of the experiment. But
it was not a success after all—it wouldn’t do. The ground began
swelling, the timbers were crushed and twisted, the engine bed could not
be kept level three days at a time—it was like a boat in a rough sea,
now on this end, and now on that—and the experiment was a failure.
The latest attempt to use steam machinery underground was at the Ophir
mine. A boiler and engine were set up on the 1465-foot level, near the
main shaft, up which was extended a sheet-iron smoke-stack reaching to
the surface. This engine was used in sinking a winze (situated 365 feet
to the eastward) to the 1700-foot level, and also in doing some work on
the level last named. The furnace and boiler heated up the level to such
a degree that it was “killing” to the men. The boiler still stands where
it was set up, but is now used as a reservoir for compressed air.
The introduction of engines and machinery to be run by means of
compressed air, was a grand forward stride in the science of mining.
In the Consolidated Virginia and California mines are to be seen at work
a number of small engines that are run by compressed air, furnished by
two powerful compressors that are constantly in operation on the
surface. The air is carried down the main shaft in a large iron pipe,
and from this smaller pipes branch off in all directions, and are
carried along the roofs of the drifts and cross-cuts, as we see
gas-pipes running through buildings in the upper-world.
Thus is the compressed air carried down into all parts of the mine where
work is being done. In places we see small engines at work at the top of
winzes, where they do all the hoisting, and effect a great saving of
both money and muscle. At other points, in passing along a drift, we
suddenly come upon a small chamber constructed on one side, and sitting
in this we see a “cunning” little engine, industriously at work at
running a blower (a machine such as we see in foundries for furnishing a
blast to the cupola, where metal is melted), which blower is sending a
stream of fresh air through a pipe to men working in some far-away,
heated cross-cut or upraise.
There are quite a number of these little engines and blowers in various
parts of the mine, and instead of heating they greatly assist in cooling
those parts of the mine in which they are used.
As the drifts and cross-cuts are advanced, the air-pipes are carried
along their roofs or sides, and are in readiness for use in running the
Burleigh drills, by means of which the holes are drilled in the face of
the drift where the rock requires to be blasted. The air-pipes being in
place in all the cross-cuts and drifts, the Burleigh drill may be moved
about from place to place as required, and thus a single drill can be
used in several different drifts during the day. When a sufficient
number of holes for blasting have been made in one drift, the drill is
placed upon its carriage and is moved along the car-track to another,
where connection is made with the air-pipe, and it is hammering away
again with but little loss of time.
In the Ophir mine a small engine, situated at the winze mentioned above
as being 365 feet east of the main shaft, does all the hoisting from the
1700-foot level, and in a more satisfactory manner in every respect than
the same work was formerly done by the old steam-engine. On the
1150-foot level of the Consolidated Virginia mine a winze was sunk to
the depth of 140 feet, with one of these little air-engines, and it
could have been sunk to any depth required, but for an influx of water
which was too strong to be contended with in that remote part of the
mine at that time.
Each year more and more machinery will be run in the mines of the
Comstock, by means of compressed air. It is exactly what is needed, as
all the air exhausted in the lower levels of a mine is beneficial and is
so much ventilation and so much food gained for the lungs of the miners.
Compressors, and machinery to be worked by them, are being ordered by
all of the leading mines, and are already considered indispensable
appliances in modern mining.
CHAPTER XLIV.
UNDERGROUND BUSINESS ARRANGEMENTS.
In order that the reader may obtain something like a correct idea of the
appearance of the interior of a first-class mine, let him imagine it
hoisted out of the ground and left standing upon the surface. He would
then see before him an immense structure, four or five times as large as
the greatest hotel in America, about twice or three times as wide, and
over 2000 feet high. The several levels of the mine would represent the
floors of the building, These floors would be 100 feet apart—that is,
there would be in the building twenty stories, each 100 feet in height.
In a grand hotel communication between these floors would be by means of
an elevator; in the mine would be in use the same contrivances, but
instead of an “elevator,” it would be called a “cage.”
Our mine, raised to the surface, as we have supposed, would present much
the same appearance as would a large building with the side walls
removed, allowing a full view of all of its floors to be obtained. As we
should see the elevator stopping at various floors to take on and put
off passengers and baggage, so we should see the cage stopping at the
several levels to take on and put off miners or full or empty ore-cars.
Upon the various floors of our mine we should see hundreds of men at
work, but there would be seen between the floors, in many places, a
solid mass of ore, in which the men were working their way up and
rearing their scaffolding of timbers toward the floor above.
Not only would the men be seen thus at work, but there would also be
seen at work on the various floors, engines and other machinery; with,
high above all, the huge pump, swaying up and down its great rod, 2,000
feet in length and hung at several points with immense balance-bobs, to
prevent it being pulled apart by its own weight.
Occasionally, too, we should see all of the men disappear from a floor,
and soon after would be heard in rapid succession ten or a dozen
stunning reports—the noise of exploding blasts.
When blasts are about to be let off in a mine, after the fuses have been
lighted and the miners are retreating to a place of safety, “Fire!” is
the startling cry that is heard from them, as they fall back along the
drifts and cross-cuts. The cry is well understood throughout the mine to
mean no more than that fire has been set to the fuses, and that several
blasts will shortly go off.
In the Consolidated Virginia mine, and in all other leading mines, three
shifts of men are employed, each shift working eight hours.
The morning shift goes on at 7 o’clock. Before descending the shaft the
men go to the office of the time-keeper, situated in the hoisting works,
and give their names at a window which resembles the window of the
ticket-office at a railroad-station. These men come up out of the mine
at 3 o’clock P. M., and again go to the window of the time-keeper’s
office, and give their names.
The afternoon shifts go down at this hour—3 o’clock P. M.,—giving in
their names before descending the shaft. They come up out of the mine at
11 o’clock at night, but do not give their names. If any men are
missing, or are taken sick, and do not work, their names are reported by
the bosses of their shift.
The night shift go down into the mine at 11 o’clock at night and come
out at 7 o’clock in the morning, when they go to the time-keeper’s
window, give their names, and get their mark for the day’s work done.
There are three shift-bosses for each level where regular eight-hour
shifts are being worked.
When the shifts are being changed the men do not rush promiscuously to
the shaft, but form in a line and march up to the cages in single file,
just as men are seen to form in line in front of the window of a
post-office or at the polls on the occasion of an election. On the
levels below, when the men are coming up, they form in lines in the same
way in front of the shaft. No crowding or disorder of any kind is
permitted.
The shift-bosses report to the time-keepers the number of men employed
on their shift, the number of car-loads of ore, and the number of
car-loads of waste rock hoisted during the shift, all of which is placed
in a daily report, for which there are, in the office of the time
keeper, printed blanks. A car-load of ore is calculated to weigh 1,800
pounds, and the number of tons hoisted during the day is also figured up
and set down in the blank. The following is one of the blanks used in
the Consolidated Virginia—filled up with the exact work of the day on
which it is dated—the names given are those of the shift-bosses:
CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MINING COMPANY.
DAILY REPORT OF ORE EXTRACTED.
DATE. NUMBER CARS CARS TONS OF TOTAL TONS
OF OF OF ORE OF ORE
March 19th, 1875. MEN. WASTE. ORE. HOISTED. HOISTED.
1300 STATION LEVEL.
7 _o’clock_ } 17
3 _do._ } Wilson. 8
11 _do._ } 8
1400 STATION LEVEL.
7 _o’clock_ Dan. Skerry, 75 4 54 48 1200
3 _do._ Wm. Harper, 78 7 67 60 600
11 _do._ Jas. M^cCourt, 76 5 79 71 200 180
1500 STATION LEVEL.
7 _o’clock_ Jas. O’Toole, 63 6 65 58 1000
3 _do._ Wm. Odey, 53 3 131 117 1800
11 _do._ Richd. Lewis, 54 7 117 105 600 281 1400
Hoisted through
G and C Shaft.
March 18th, ’75. 41 26 38 38 38
—— ——
Total No. of Tons 499 1400
180 Tons to Mill Lump,
281 ” ” Mine ”
By this report it will be seen that the account of the ore taken out
through the Gould and Curry (“G & C.”) shaft is not handed in until the
day after the work is done. The report also shows the number of tons
sent to the dump of the big mill, near the mine, and the number sent to
the dump of the mine to be shipped to other mills. In all departments an
equally exact account is kept of all work done.
[Illustration: DIAGRAM SHOWING HEIGHT OF MINES.]
In the Consolidated Virginia mine there is a man who is what may be
called a general foreman. He has charge of the shaft, the prospecting
drifts, and cross-cuts, and attends to the ventilation of the mine and
to keeping it clear of water; in short, looks after underground affairs
generally.
After ore has been struck in the drifts and the work of extraction
begins, this officer turns that portion of the mine over to one of the
foremen who superintends the work of extracting the ore.
There is always a day-boss on the 1500-foot level, and at night his
place is filled by a second general foreman of the underground regions,
who has charge of everything by night, as the other officer has during
the day.
Besides the miners there are employed a great number of timbermen, who
look after the timbers and the timbering; the pump man, who takes care
of the pumps; the watchmen, who go their rounds, each on his level, to
look out for fire and to keep an eye on things generally; and the
pick-boy, who goes about through the mine gathering up the dull picks
and sending them up the shaft to be sharpened, who carries the sharp
picks to the places where they are wanted, who distributes water among
the men and who, in short, is general errand-boy in the mine. As may be
supposed, his position is no sinecure.
The following amounts of timber, wood, and other mining supplies are
used per month in the Consolidated Virginia mine, and, from this, what
is used in other leading mines may be surmised: Feet of timber per
month, 500,000; cords of wood, 550; boxes of candles, 350; giant-powder,
2 tons; 100 gallons of coal-oil, 200 gallons of lard-oil, 800 pounds of
tallow, 20,000 feet of fuse, 37 tons of ice, 3,000 bushels of charcoal,
1½ tons of steel, 5 tons of round and square iron, 4 tons of hard coal
(Cumberland), 50 kegs of nails, and a thousand and one other articles in
the same proportion. The amount of timbers buried in the mines of the
Comstock is almost beyond computation. It is more than there is in all
of the buildings in the State of Nevada.
Nearly all the pine forests on the eastern slope of the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, for a distance of fifty or sixty miles north and south, have
been swept away and buried in the lower levels, or consumed under the
boilers of the mills and hoisting works. Already the lumbermen are
pushing their way beyond the summit of the mountains, and the demand for
timber and lumber is increasing every month, as new levels and new mines
are opened.
In a silver-mine it is not all dark and dismal below, as many persons
suppose. On the contrary, the long drifts and cross-cuts are lighted up
with candles and lamps. It is only the little-used drifts, in parts of
the mine distant from the main workings, that absolute and pitchy
darkness prevails.
In the principal levels candles and lamps are always burning. When it is
midnight above, and storms and darkness prevail throughout the city,
whole acres of ground, hundreds of feet below in the bowels of the
earth, are lighted up; and down there all is calm and silent, save when
sounds peculiar to the place break the stillness.
In a mine there is neither day nor night; it is always candle-light. If
we go into a mine late in the afternoon and remain below for some hours,
a gloomy feeling is experienced when we come to the surface and find it
is everywhere night above. We almost wish ourselves back in the lower
levels of the mine, for when we are there it seems to be always daylight
above.
On the principal levels of a mine we have long drifts, galleries and
cross-cuts which intersect each other, much as do the streets and alleys
in some old-fashioned, overcrowded village—some village seated in a
confined place, where encroaching precipices seem to crush it out of
shape.
Our underground streets are not wanting in life. As we pass along the
highways and byways of the lower levels, we meet with the people of the
place at every turn. One mine connects with another, and so we have
streets 3 miles long. There are employed in a single mine from 500 to
700 men; a number sufficient to populate a town of considerable size.
Men meet and pass us—all going about their business, as on the
surface—and frequently a turn brings us in sight of whole groups of
them. We seem to have been suddenly brought face to face with a new and
strange race of men. All are naked to the waist, and many from the
middle of their thighs to their feet. Superb, muscular forms are seen on
all sides and in all attitudes, gleaming white as marble in the light of
the many candles. We everywhere see men who would delight the eye of the
sculptor. These men seem of a different race from those we see above—the
clothes-wearers. Before us we have the Troglodytes—the cave-dwellers. We
go back in thought to the time when the human race housed in caverns;
not only far up the Nile, as the ancients supposed, but in every land,
at a certain stage of their advancement in the arts of life.
Not infrequently, while travelling along a lonely passage in some remote
section of the mine, we are suddenly confronted by a man of large
stature, huge, spreading beard, and breast covered with shaggy hair, who
comes sliding down out of some narrow side-drift, lands in our path, and
for a moment stands and gazes curiously upon us, as though half inclined
to consider us intruders upon his own peculiar domain. We seem to have
before us one of the old cave-dwellers and we should not be at all
surprised to see him cut a caper in the air, brandish a ponderous stone
ax, and advance upon us with a wild whoop.
The only clothing worn by the men working in the lower levels of a mine
are a pair of thin pantaloons or overalls, stout shoes, and a small felt
hat or a cap such as cooks are often seen to wear. Not a shirt is seen.
From the head to the hips each man is as naked as on the day he was
born. All are drenched with perspiration, and their bodies glisten in
the light of the candles as though they had just come up through the
waters of some subterranean lake.
In places, in some of the mines, the heat is so great that the men do
not even wear overalls, but are seen in the breech-clout of the
primitive races. Instead of a breech-clout, some of the miners wear a
pair of drawers with the legs cut off about the middle of the thighs.
Something must be worn on the head to keep the falling sand and dirt out
of the hair, and shoes must be worn to protect the feet from the sharp
fragments of quartz which strew the floors of the levels. One may be
well acquainted with a miner as he appears upon the streets, yet for a
time utterly fail to recognize him as found attired in the underground
regions of a mine.
When about their work in the mine, the miners have little to say, and in
going about in the several levels group after group may be passed and
nothing said by any one, except some question may be asked by the
foreman of the level or the superintendent of the mine, who are the
usual guides of those who visit these underground regions.
Underground the men all have their respective levels, and there alone
they belong. The miner who works on the 1400-foot level may not venture
down upon the 1,500, nor up to the 1300. Those who are working on one
level of a mine knows no more of what is going on in the level above or
below—when there is anything of special importance being done—than they
do of the developments that are being made in the mine of another
company. The foreman of one level does not intrude upon the domain of a
brother foreman. When, for instance, he has shown a visitor through his
own level, he conducts him to the next and turns him over to the foreman
or “boss” in charge of that portion of the mine.
In small or newly-opened mines this is of course different, as there but
little is to be seen, and there is generally but a single officer in
charge.
No fighting is allowed among the miners while in the lower levels. No
matter how angry they may become, not a blow must be struck. The penalty
for a violation of this rule is the immediate discharge of both parties
to the quarrel.
It very frequently happens that two men who have had a serious
misunderstanding while in the mine, repair to some quiet place when they
come to the surface and have their fight out, friends on both sides
being present and the rules of the prize ring being observed.
Fights growing out of wrangles in the mines are always thus settled with
fists; knives or pistols are never used on such occasions. However,
there is much less quarrelling in the mines than would be supposed, the
large number of men and their various and antagonistic nationalities
being considered. The fact that nearly all are members of the same
society,—the Miners Union—doubtless has much to do with keeping peace
among all the large underground families along the Comstock lode.
CHAPTER XLV.
GHOST-HAUNTED SHAFTS.
Thus far we have seen only such levels, drifts, and cross-cuts as were
well-timbered and in perfect order. We will now take a trip through an
old upper level, where the ore has all been extracted, and where no
trouble is taken to keep the ground up—one of the old upper levels of
the Belcher mine, for instance. Here we find about ten acres of
worked-out ground which is a regular wilderness.
In this place one sees something of the tremendous weight and pressure
of the superincumbent earth. It is a place to make the hair rise erect
on the head of any clothes-wearing man who has not been scalped by
nature or by art. The large, square timbers are crushed down to half
their original height, and are splintered and twisted; chambers
originally square are squeezed into a diamond shape, and their roofs
almost touch the floor in the centre; solid piles of timber that have
been packed into the ground as long as there was room for another stick,
are pressed into pancakes; winzes and chutes are “telescoped;”
ladder-ways, once spacious, are crushed out of all shape, and now can
hardly accommodate a cat—all is confused and shapeless.
This region somewhat resembles the track of a tornado in a timbered
country—what is called a “windfall.” In places we enter immense caverns
where the timbers are gone, and where huge flakes of clay lean far out
from the walls, and composedly look down upon us as we tremblingly glide
along underneath. One is afraid to sneeze lest he bring these down upon
his head. A smell of mustiness and decay pervades the whole place. The
whole level is gradually settling down and squeezing together. There is
no danger of the sudden caving of any considerable area of ground, but
eventually all the timbers will be pressed into a pancake, and the place
will be forever closed.
In these deserted levels the paths are circuitous and uncertain, and in
threading the labyrinth of fast-disappearing drifts, galleries, and
cross-cuts, one must have a guide who passes through them almost daily.
To those not familiar with mines it may appear strange, but the lower
levels—indeed, all of the levels—are alive with rats. The miners never
kill or molest them, therefore they become quite tame and saucy. As the
miners all carry a lunch with them into the mine, the rats live well on
the fragments. These rats are really of service, as they devour the
scraps of meat and bones thrown upon the ground, which would in a short
time create a bad odor in the mine. The decay of the smallest thing in a
mine cannot be endured. Should a rat be killed by any accident it must
be sent up out of the mine. Should a small piece of cotton cloth be
burned in a drift, the miners would smell it throughout the level, and
to burn a small splinter of pine would probably cause serious alarm, if
not a grand stampede among them, as they would think there was a fire in
the timbers of the mine.
In the old upper levels we find as many rats as in any other place. If
we sit down upon a fallen timber and converse for a few minutes they
will come about us. They think we are miners sitting down to lunch. They
come and sit near us on the ends of the timbers, and cock their heads
this way and that, as they look inquiringly about. Evidently they do not
at all understand it. Why we should be sitting there talking, with no
dinner-pails in sight, seems to puzzle them not a little.
There are frequently rats that are the pets of the men working in a
particular part of the mine—a rat known to them by some mark, as his
having lost a piece of his tail. To this rat they give some such name as
“Bobby,” or “Tommy,” and feed and pet him until he becomes so saucy that
he can hardly be kept out of the dinner-pails.
When there is about to be a great cave in a mine, the rats give the
miners their first warning. They become very uneasy, and are seen
scampering about at unwonted times and in unusual places. The rats first
discover that the mine is settling, and they start out in search of a
place of safety. It is supposed that in settling, the waste rock and
timbers pinch them in their usual holes and haunts, and they are obliged
to go forth in search of new quarters, in order to escape being crushed
to death. A fire in a mine kills them by thousands. The poisonous gases
penetrate to every part of the level, and not a rat is left alive.
Sometimes after a fire in a mine they are gathered up on the floors by
bushels. In trying to jump across the main shaft, a rat occasionally
miscalculates the distance, and falls to the bottom. A rat falling a
thousand feet and striking a miner on the head is sure to knock him
down. The rat is killed, of course, as he generally explodes wherever he
strikes. Dogs are dangerous about a shaft. Some years since, at Gold
Hill, a dog fell into a shaft across which he attempted to jump, and
killed two men who were at work at its bottom, three hundred feet below
the surface.
So many men have been killed in all of the principal mines that there is
hardly a mine on the lead that does not contain ghosts, if we are to
believe what the miners say.
Some of the miners are very superstitious, while others are afraid of
nothing living or dead, and lay plans for frightening those known to be
timid. At times, the miner who is passing through unfrequented drifts in
the old upper levels is almost paralyzed by the sudden breaking forth of
most fearful groans and shrieks, all ending, perhaps, in a burst of
fiendish laughter. These sounds sometimes follow him to a considerable
distance, coming from various directions. When a timid man hears these
ghostly salutations, he loses no time in making his way to the settled
portions of the mine.
The last troublesome ghost was one that haunted the 700-foot level of
the Ophir mine, where a miner was killed some years ago. The bells of
the engineers and all the signal-bells in the Ophir are worked by
electricity. Although there was no one at work on the 700-foot level,
troublesome signals often came from there. When the cage arrived at that
point the engineer would be signalled to stop. Although confident that
there was no one at the level, he could not do otherwise than obey the
signal; not to heed it might cost a life.
Next would come a signal to lower to the level below; then a signal to
hoist to the top, and the cage which had thus been travelling about
would come to the surface with nothing upon it but the car-load of ore
with which it started from the bottom of the shaft.
Sometimes there would come from the haunted level a perfect storm of
signals, such as no man could understand; then for a day or two there
would be no trouble. A man who was set to watch at the level was
frightened nearly out of his wits by groans and shrieks, flashing
lights, and all manner of fearful things, and swore he would not go
there again for the whole Ophir mine. He even went so far as to declare
that a ghost crept up behind him and threw its arms about him. All this
perplexed the electrician of the mine not a little. One day, therefore,
when signals were coming from the haunted level, he took a dark lantern
and went down to that point. He had hardly stepped off the cage before
he was saluted with an awful groan. Advancing into the drift a blinding
light flashed into his eyes, and he heard a low, gurgling laugh that
almost froze the blood in his veins.
He had gone down to the level, however, to clear up the mystery of the
disturbances at that point, and he determined that no ghost should
frighten him away.
He advanced towards where he had heard the laugh, and was again blinded
by a flash of light. He then threw the light of his dark lantern before
him along the drift, but it was empty. Far away, however, he heard
groans, and then a fearful shriek.
Pushing on and flashing his light this way and that, he pursued the
ghost. Time and again the light was flashed in his eyes, and the low,
mocking laugh was heard, but however quickly he might turn his own light
in the direction whence came the sound, he could see nothing. A moment
after, the whole mine would seem to be lighted up in the distance, and
the laugh would be heard far away.
[Illustration: MERRIMAC MILL, CARSON RIVER.]
Did he attempt to advance, the light flashed in his face from some nook
near at hand, and a shriek was uttered almost at his side. Becoming
desperate, the electrician charged about at random through the level,
flashing his lantern in all directions. At length his light fell upon a
man just as he was making into the mouth of an old drift. Keeping his
light upon the spot, our electrician rushed forward, and pushing into
the drift saw his man crouched behind some timbers at the further end.
He was cornered at last.
Finding that he was caught, the fellow rose up and coolly said: “Well,
_you_ don’t scare worth a cent!” In his hand the man held the bulls-eye
lantern which he had been flashing in the face of the electrician, and
he owned to having a confederate somewhere on the level who was
similarly equipped, but refused to give his name.
The mysterious signals from the level were now accounted for. This man
and two or three other mischievous fellows, who were the only men
employed in that part of the mine, had been ringing themselves up and
down between the almost deserted levels, and had been frightening out of
their wits all who ventured near the haunted 700-foot level. Since the
day of the electrician’s adventure nothing more has been heard of the
Ophir ghost.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XLVI.
EXTRACTING SILVER FROM THE ORE.
Having shown the reader what is to be seen in the underground regions of
the mines, I shall now proceed to show him what is to be seen in a
quartz-mill, explaining the use of the machinery and various processes
for the extraction of the silver from the ore. I shall begin with the
ore as it comes from the mine, and follow it through the reduction-works
until it makes its appearance in the shape of silver bars, stamped with
their value, and ready for the mint or the market.
The mills in which the ores of the Comstock lode are reduced, are all
built on the same general plan. When the tourist has visited and
examined one mill, he has seen them all, both great and small, so far as
regards the processes in use for the reduction of the ore. Some mills
are more conveniently arranged than others, however, and while in some
machinery is used which is somewhat behind the age, in others will be
found in operation in every department machinery of the latest and most
approved pattern.
The model mill of the State, and of the world, for the reduction of
silver ore, is the new 60-stamp mill of the Consolidated Virginia Mining
Company. In this mill is to be found all that is valuable in any mill,
and much in the way of machinery that can be seen in no other works of
the kind.
[Illustration: LOADING SILVER ORE—CONSOLIDATED VIRGINIA MILLS.]
In describing a quartz-mill, and the processes used in working the ores
of the Comstock mines, I shall, therefore, select the Consolidated
Virginia reduction-works as those through which to conduct the reader.
The Consolidated Virginia mill stands about 200 feet north-east of the
company’s main shaft and hoisting-works. The ground was well chosen,
there being a considerable incline toward the east, which allowed of a
proper and regular descent from the battery-room on the west to the room
containing the agitators on the east, so that the course of everything
is downward, from the time of dumping the ore into the chutes at the top
of the mill. The ground was graded out in regular terraces of the proper
size for the several departments, as the initial step, and in their
proper order were reared upon these, foundations for the various kinds
of machinery, and the whole covered by one immense building or series of
buildings, principally under one roof—a vast aggregation of buildings
and machinery.
The battery-room, with ore-bin, etc., is situated on the west side of
the mill, and is 100 feet in length by 58 feet in width. Immediately
adjoining this, on the east, on a terrace a few feet lower, is the
amalgamating-room, containing the pans, settlers, and other amalgamating
apparatus. This room is 120 feet in length by 92 feet in depth. East of
this, and a few feet lower down, is the room containing the agitators
and other apparatus connected therewith. This room is 92 feet in length
by 20 feet in width. North of the amalgamating-room is the engine-room,
containing the engine and boilers. This room is 92 feet long by 58 feet
in width. Near the mill stands a handsome office, 20×30 feet in size;
and to the eastward, and distant from the mill some 30 feet, is the
retort-house, built of brick, and 20×60 feet in size.
To drive the whole of the machinery of the works there is a compound
condensing-engine of 600-horse power. This engine has two cylinders, the
first 24×48 inches, and the second 48×48 inches in size. The steam is
admitted to the first or “initial cylinder,” where it is cut off at half
stroke. It then passes into the second or “expansion cylinder,” which,
being twice the size of the first and having four times its capacity in
cubical contents, gives an expansion of eight bulks—twice in the first
cylinder, and four times in the second. After the steam has left the
expansion cylinder, instead of exhausting in the open air it exhausts
into a condenser, where it gains an additional power equal to the
atmospheric pressure at the altitude of Virginia. The main shaft from
this engine is 14 inches in diameter, and weighs 15,000 pounds. On this
shaft is a fly-wheel (which is also a band-wheel and carries the large
belt by which the batteries are driven) 18 feet in diameter and weighing
16½ tons. On the extreme end of the main driving shaft is coupled a
shaft 11 inches in diameter, which extends into the amalgamating-room
and drives the pans and settlers—indeed, all the machinery except that
connected with the batteries. The whole weight of the engine is about 50
tons, and it stands on a foundation of 450 cubic yards of masonry, laid
in cement, the weight of which is over 600 tons. There are in this room
four pair of boilers, eight in all, each of which is 54 inches in
diameter, and 16 feet in length. All of these boilers can be used
simultaneously, or each pair can be run separately—just as may be
required. From the floor of the engine-room to the ridge of the roof the
distance is 50 feet. The west side of this, and of some of the adjoining
rooms, is formed by a stone wall 22 feet in height. In these walls there
are in all, 4,000 perches of mason-work—all trachyte rock. The
smoke-stacks of the boilers are four in number, and each is 42 inches in
diameter and 90 feet in height. In this room are two large steam-pumps
for use in feeding the boilers, or to be used for fighting fire, if need
be; each being supplied with hose of sufficient length to reach to any
part of the building.
About 28 cords of wood are used per day—10,080 per annum. This wood is
brought to the mill from a side-track of the Virginia and Truckee
Railroad, on a truck which holds exactly one cord. Thus is the wood
measured as it is delivered. The truck dumps the wood into a chute,
which carries it down into the boiler-room, and it is landed just in
front of the furnaces, where it is wanted.
We will now return to the west side of the mill and ascend to its
extreme top, even above the roof. Here, above the roof, comes in a large
car-track, leading directly from the main shaft of the hoisting-works at
the mine. This track is 278 feet in length, and is housed in for its
entire length. It is handsomely finished off, contains windows its whole
length, is painted a light brown color, and strikingly resembles a
rope-walk.
When the cages bring to the top of the shaft the cars loaded with ore, a
carman is standing ready, who takes the car from the cage and pushes it
before him over an iron track to the chutes which lead down through the
roof of the mill into the huge ore-bin below. This car-track, and the
long building covering it, are supported upon a strong trestle-work
constructed of large square timbers, and rising forty-four feet above
the surface of the ground in the highest part. To keep the stamps
supplied with ore requires one car-load to be sent out from the shaft
every five minutes during the day and night. Although the cars were at
first pushed out over the track by hand, they are now made up into
trains of ten, and are hauled by a mule from the hoisting-works to the
mill.
The ore, on being dumped into the chutes at the top of the mill,
descends to the centre, from each side. The chutes have in their bottoms
what are called “grizzlies”—iron bars placed three inches apart so as to
form a screen—through which the fine ore drops into the bin below, while
the coarse rock rolls on down and is dumped on a floor above the
ore-bin, and about its centre, where stands the rock-breaker.
The rock-breaker is a heavy piece of machinery, which in appearance, and
the principle upon which it works, not a little resembles a huge
nut-cracker or lemon-squeezer. It is the same kind of machine that is
used in some cities for chewing up rock for macadamizing streets, and
which is known as a “masticator.”
The coarse rock being crushed in the rock-breaker is carried into the
ore-bin by a chute. In the main chutes above are what are called
distributing chutes, which are chutes that carry the descending ore far
away from the centre of the bin. But for this arrangement, all of the
ore would fall in the middle of the bin, which is 110 feet in length.
In the battery-room are ranged in a row, north and south through the
building, six batteries of ten stamps each, or sixty stamps in all. Each
stamp weighs 800 pounds. Each set of ten stamps works independently of
each other set, and can be stopped and started at will by simply moving
a sort of brake or clutch. The whole of the stamps and the apparatus
connected therewith, are driven by a belt from the main fly and
band-wheel (mentioned above), which belt is 24 inches in width and 160
feet in length. This runs the counter-shaft in front of the batteries,
and from the pullies on this counter-shaft there are belts 14 inches in
width and 60 feet in length, which run each battery of ten stamps. The
main belt, which drives the whole of this machinery, runs at the rate of
3,600 feet per minute.
From the ore-bin the ore descends into the Tulloch self-feeders, one of
which machines is required for every five stamps, or twelve in all.
These do the whole work of feeding. The ore is not touched by anyone
after it falls into the bin. Two men are able to keep watch over all the
feeders supplying ore to the whole sixty stamps. The feeder is the
invention of James Tulloch, of California, and is a very valuable
labor-saving apparatus. The feeders are self-regulating, the motion of
the stamps in dropping, operating them. When there is too much ore in
the battery, the tappet of the stamp does not fall sufficiently low to
strike the end of the rod attached to the feed-table, and no more rock
enters the battery for a time; but as the rock is worked out, the feeder
again begins to operate. In most of the mills the ore is still fed into
the batteries, with shovels, by men known as “feeders.” When the feeding
is done by hand, the amount of ore reduced in a given time, depends much
on the men who do the work. They must put under the stamps all the ore
they can crush, and no more. This must be done constantly throughout the
twenty-hours for weeks and months.
In the Consolidated Virginia mill, the mortars—the huge iron boxes in
which the stamps work—do not discharge the pulp or pulverized ore in
front, as is usual, but at one side. This gives free access to the
mortars in front for the purpose of putting in new shoes and dies. The
“shoes” are the heavy blocks of iron or steel fastened to the lower end
of the stamp. It is the shoes that fall upon and crush the ore when the
stamp is dropped by the cam which raises it. The “dies” are much the
same in shape and size as the shoes, and are fitted into the bottom of
the mortar in such a position that one is exactly under the point where
the shoe of each stamp strikes. Thus it is between the “shoes” and
“dies” that the rock is pulverized.
[Illustration: FIRST QUARTZ MILL IN NEVADA.]
[Illustration: QUARTZ-MILL—AMALGAMATING ROOM.]
A small stream of water is constantly running into the battery among the
ore, which water, being strongly churned and agitated takes up and
floats all of the finer particles of ore. Across the face of the mortar,
just in front of the dies, are the screens, made of the best Russian
sheet-iron, punched full of small holes. Through these holes the water
and the finely powdered ore pass into a sluice or trough running to the
settling-tanks in the amalgamating-room, where the ore, now in the shape
of fine sand, is deposited, to be finally shovelled out and placed in
the amalgamating-pans. The finer the screens the smaller the quantity of
ore that can be put through a battery in a given time.
The roar of Niagara is as a faint murmur compared with the deafening
noise of sixty stamps, all in full operation. In the battery-room, and
indeed throughout the mill, the noise is such that it is almost
impossible to converse. Every word must be shouted into your ear at the
top of the speaker’s voice, and in a tone that would be audible at the
distance of a mile in the open air. There is little talking done in the
battery-room; except when ladies visit the works; then you can see that
their lips continue to move, and the presumption is that they are
talking right straight along.
Just in front of the battery-room, but having its floor some feet lower,
is the amalgamating or pan-room, 92×120 feet in size. Into this room
comes the pulp as it runs from the batteries. The pans stand in two long
lines, running east and west, and back of the lines of pans are the
settling-tanks, while in front of them are ranged the “settlers,” a
large kind of pan into which the pulp passes from the pans proper—the
amalgamating-pans. On each side of the building, over the
settling-tanks, are sluices bringing the pulp (mingled with water) from
the batteries. Each sluice brings the pulp from thirty stamps, and
supplies one row of settling-tanks—there being spouts leading from the
sluice to each tank. There are seventeen of these settling-tanks, and
when the pulp has settled in them till it is of the consistency of thick
mortar, it is shovelled out upon a platform which runs alongside the row
of amalgamating-pans. There are sixteen pans in each row—thirty-two in
all—and each pan is five and one-half feet in diameter, and holds a
charge of 3,000 pounds of this pulp.
In the bottom of the pans are thick plates of cast-iron called “dies,”
while revolving upon these are the mullers, which are furnished with
other thick plates of iron called “shoes.” It amounts to much the same
thing as the shoes and dies in the batteries, except that in the latter
the ore is pulverized by percussion, while in the pans it is done by a
rotary motion—by grinding.
When the charge of pulp has been shovelled into an amalgamating-pan, a
certain quantity of water is added to thin it to the proper consistency
for working, when the mullers are set in motion, and the work of
grinding the ore in the pan begins. The pans have covers and double
bottoms, and when they are at work, steam is not only let into the pulp,
but also underneath, between the two bottoms.
After the pulp has been thus heated and ground for two and a half hours,
there is placed in the pan 300 pounds of quicksilver, and it is run two
and a half hours longer—five hours in all. Besides the quicksilver,
there is put into the pan with the charge a certain quantity of salt and
sulphate of copper; also, when thought necessary, soda and some other
chemicals are added.
The foundation of this method of working silver-ore is the old Mexican
patio process. When Americans came to engage in the working of silver
ores, upon the discovery of the Comstock lode, they found the Mexican
plan of working too slow, and they began to study, in order to make
improvements in it. In the Mexican patio process the pulverized ore is
made up into a thick mortar on a floor of planks or stone (which is the
patio), when salt and sulphate of copper are added and mixed in, and the
pile of mortar is built up in the shape of a mound, and allowed to heat
and sweat.
After a proper time has elapsed the mound is pulled down and spread
about, when quicksilver is sprinkled upon and well worked into the mass,
and it is again made up into a mound-shaped pile, to heat. This pulling
down and building up, spreading about, and airing, is several times
repeated, and the whole operation lasts a number of days, when finally
the mass of mortar is washed and the quicksilver and amalgam secured. By
placing the pulp, or mortar, in large iron pans, heated by steam and
stirred by machinery, we see that the time of bringing the ore to the
metallic state, is reduced from five or six days to as many hours. The
principle involved in the two processes—pan and patio—is essentially the
same.
On a platform below the amalgamating-pans, stand eight settlers, one for
each pair of pans. The settlers are each nine feet in diameter, and five
or six feet in depth. Into the settlers, at the end of five hours, the
contents of the pans—quicksilver and all—are drawn. The pulp,
quicksilver, and the amalgam (silver and quicksilver combined), remain
in the settler about two hours, during which time the quicksilver and
amalgam are drawn off through a pipe, at the bottom of the settler, and
run into strainers, one of which stands in front of each settler, and
all of which are provided with iron covers that are kept locked.
The silver separates from the ore while in the amalgamating-pan, being
changed from the chloride and sulphuret to the metallic form, by the
action of the salt and sulphate of copper. As soon as it has assumed the
metallic form, it unites or amalgamates with the quicksilver, but both
in the pan and in the settler it is still mingled with the earthy matter
of the ore from which it was produced.
It is first seen freed from this gross and earthy matter—pulverized
rock, principally quartz—when it passes from the bottom of the settler
through the iron pipe into the top of the strainer. Then it is mingled
with nothing more base than quicksilver.
The strainers are bags of heavy canvas suspended in strong boxes,
covered, as has been mentioned, with iron lids, somewhat funnel-shaped,
and perforated with holes through which the quicksilver and amalgam may
pass to the straining-bags—where we will leave them for the present.
CHAPTER XLVII.
ASSAYS OF THE SILVER BULLION.
The water and pulp discharged from the settlers runs through sluices to
the lowest part of the building, where, some eight or ten feet below the
level of the floor of the amalgamating-room, stand the agitators, four
in number. These are huge tubs, having in them revolving rakes or
“stirrers,” and here is caught whatever valuable matter may have passed
through the settlers.
Twice in twenty-four hours, the heavy matter collected in the bottom of
the agitators is cleaned out and placed in four small pans and two
settlers that stand in the same room to be re-worked. Finally, the pulp
leaves the agitators and, carried by a quantity of water to float it,
passes out of the mill in a trough or flume through which it flows
eastward to a considerable distance from the mill, when it reaches what
are called the “blanket sluices,” the working of which will be described
further on. In speaking of the pans and settlers, I have described but
one row or set. The two rows, one on the north and the other on the
south side of the large room, are exactly alike. Each row of pans has
its row of settling tanks, settlers and amalgam strainers. To these
strainers, in which we left the amalgam and quicksilver, a few minutes
since, we now return.
While in the strainers a great quantity of the superfluous quicksilver
mingled with the amalgam drains off, and flowing through pipes, is
conducted to a large receiving-tank under the floor of the room. After
it has thus drained till no more quicksilver will flow from it, the
amalgam is removed from the ordinary strainers and is taken to the
hydraulic strainer.
It is now a pasty mass of fine particles of silver, held together by
quicksilver, and when pressed between the fingers gives out a peculiar
squeaking sound. Although we may be unable to start a single globule of
quicksilver from a lump of this amalgam by pressing it beneath our
fingers, yet it is far from being as dry as it may be made by pressure.
In this state it is placed in the hydraulic strainer, a heavy
cylindrical cast-iron vessel, a good deal resembling a mortar—such as
bombs are fired from. Over the “muzzle” of the “mortar” is fastened, by
means of bolts and screws, a lid of iron through which enters an iron
pipe. This pipe is then connected with a water-pipe, and water under
several hundred feet of pressure is turned into the strainer. The
pressure exerted upon the amalgam in this strainer amounts to 150 pounds
to the square inch.
When taken out the amalgam has changed color and looks much less bright
than before; one would think that but little quicksilver now remained in
it, yet three-fourths of the mass is still quicksilver. Though strained
and pressed as thoroughly as possible by ordinary methods, amalgam
yields but one-sixth or one-seventh in silver bullion when retorted,
whereas by the hydraulic strainer the yield is one-fourth.
The quicksilver pressed out by the hydraulic strainer is also conducted
to the large receiving tank under the floor of the room. From this tank
it is pumped up by powerful patent machinery—a pump having valves which
are india-rubber balls [Toy balls of india-rubber, such as children play
with may be used when those furnished with the pump are not at hand]—and
goes to the distributing tanks. There are two of these tanks, one
standing above each row of pans. Each distributing tank feeds eight
quicksilver bowls, and each bowl supplies two pans, all by means of
pipes. Thus, it will be seen, the quicksilver is in constant
circulation. It passes through the pans, settlers, and strainers to the
main receiving tank, from which it is pumped up into the distributing
tanks, from these flows into the quicksilver bowls, thence passing into
the pans again. So it goes on constantly circulating until it is worn
out and lost.
The loss in quicksilver by grinding the “life” out of it in the pans is
very great. In the eight mills of the Consolidated Virginia Mining
Company—mostly mills of from ten to twenty stamps each—the loss in
quicksilver amounts to between $60,000 and $70,000 per month. Much of
this loss is occasioned by grinding quicksilver in the pans five hours,
when it should only be subjected to this destructive process two and a
half hours. The intention is to have quicksilver in the pans but the
length of time last mentioned, but in drawing off their contents into
the settlers a considerable quantity remains behind in the interstices
of the dies in the bottom of the pans, and is thus subjected to the two
and a half hours of grinding given the first charge of pulp, previous to
the putting in of the usual dose of 300 pounds of quicksilver. Many
millmen and amalgamators are experimenting for the purpose of, if
possible, devising means by which this extra grinding of quicksilver may
be obviated.
Through the whole length of the amalgamating-room, between the two rows
of strainers, a car-track is laid upon the floor and on this runs the
amalgam car, made wholly of iron, and capable of holding two tons of
amalgam. When told that this car, so insignificant in size, holds two
tons, we get some idea of the great weight of the amalgam. The car takes
the amalgam from the hydraulic strainer and conveys it to the
retort-house, standing about 30 feet from the main mill building.
The floor of the amalgamating-room is eight or ten feet above the level
of that of the retort-house, and when the car, with its load, has
reached the end of the car-track in the amalgamating room, it is run
upon a hydraulic elevator by means of which it is quickly lowered to the
level of the track running to the retorts.
The retort-house is built of brick and is 24×60 feet in size. It
contains six retorts, capable of retorting five tons of amalgam per day,
but the amount retorted daily is but from two to two and a half tons.
The retorts are cast-iron cylinders about six feet in length and
eighteen inches in diameter, placed horizontally in brickwork, each
having under it a small furnace. The row of retorts closely resembles a
row of little steam boilers.
In charging the retorts they are about half filled with the amalgam,
which looks more like grey mud than silver or any other metal. It is
very cheap-looking stuff. Although one cannot see a single globule of
quicksilver in it, yet it is about three-fourths quicksilver. You can
squeeze no quicksilver out.
[Illustration: HOISTING-WORKS.]
Upon the application of gradual but intense heat, the mercury separates
rapidly from the silver, which from the retort-house is taken to the
assay-office. All mining companies do not do their own melting and
assaying. It is only a few of the leading companies that can afford to
have assay-offices of their own.
The assay-office of the Consolidated Virginia Mining Company is a large
and handsomely constructed building standing a short distance south of
the main hoisting works. It is divided into a number of rooms, in which
are the several departments of the business. In the melting-room are six
furnaces ranged in a row in which are placed the melting-pots, which are
made of plumbago. These pots are capable of holding 300 pounds of silver
each, but the quantity melted is generally from 220 to 230 pounds,
sufficient to make two large bars or “bricks,” as they are commonly
called.
After the silver is thoroughly melted it is well stirred up, and the
dross which rises to the surface is skimmed off. The pots are then
lifted out of the furnace, and the molten silver is poured into iron
moulds which form the bars, weighing a little over 100 pounds each.
When the pots of molten silver are lifted out of the furnace, a small
quantity of the liquid mass is taken from the surface in a little ladle.
The silver thus taken out is thrown into water, when it scatters, and
spreads out in a thousand fantastic shapes. Some of these sprays of
silver resemble butterflies, flowers, or the leaves of plants—all are
very bright and beautiful. They are called “granulations” and it is from
these particles of silver that the assays are made by which the value of
the bar is known.
As the molten silver is poured from the pot, in moulding the second and
last bar, the little ladle is dipped quite down to the bottom of the pot
and a small quantity of the liquid metal is taken out and thrown into
cold water, as was the first. The resulting granulations are assayed,
and the two assays must agree exactly, or all is to be done over again
before the bars can be stamped with their value in silver and gold. All
of the Comstock bullion contains a considerable percentage of gold. This
percentage varies in different mines. Thus in the Belcher bullion it is
often as high as 50 per cent., while in the Consolidated Virginia
bullion it is as low as 10 per cent.
On an average there are melted, moulded into bars and assayed at the
Consolidated Virginia assay-office from 500 to 600 pounds of bullion per
day.
In making an assay of the granulated silver, a French gramme in weight
is taken. This is wrapped up in a thin sheet of pure lead—lead which
contains no silver—when it is put into a cupel, made of bone ashes, and
the whole is then placed in a muffle-furnace. In the great heat of this
furnace both lead and silver are soon liquified, when the lead is
absorbed by the cupel, carrying with it whatever base metal there may be
in the gramme of bullion. The “button” left at the end of this process
of cupellation is weighed, when is ascertained the weight in fine
metal—gold and silver.
The bullion is now hammered out till it forms a thin sheet, when it is
placed in an annealed glass flask, called a matrass, and strong nitric
acid is poured over it. The flask is then placed in a sand-bath (a sort
of oven, the bottom of which is covered to the depth of an inch or more
with hot sand) and the flattened button is boiled in the acid until all
the silver in it is dissolved. The gold which remains in the bottom of
the flask in the form of a fine powder, is collected in an unglazed
porcelain crucible. The crucible is placed in a warm place until the
gold has dried; when it is put into a furnace and annealed—heated until
the particles unite and form what is called “matte.”
It is then removed from the crucible and carefully weighed. The weight
of this matter shows the gold contained in the button, and the loss in
the weight—that which was dissolved out of the original button by the
action of the nitric acid—represents the silver. The bars being next
accurately weighed, their value is determined from the amount of gold
and silver found in the sample of one gramme taken from the silver of
which the bars were moulded. The calculations here required are much
facilitated by the use of very comprehensive tables of values for all
degrees of fineness of silver and gold—a species of logarithms. Thus,
for instance, when silver is 900 fine, an ounce of such silver is worth
$1,16,36, and when gold is 900 fine an ounce of it is worth $18,60½.
This is seen at a glance by referring to the tables; and the same is the
case no matter what the degree of fineness of the metal may be.
The scales used in assaying are wonderfully delicate and sensitive. The
smaller ones will weigh a piece of hair only an inch in length, from the
human head. There is a separate room in which the weighing is done and
the calculations made. All in this room is as neat and clean as in the
finest parlor. In another room are the muffle-furnace and sand-bath, and
in still another the furnace where the assays are made, also a still for
distilling water. In ore assays, 200 grains of finely powered ore are
placed in a small earthen crucible; a proper quantity of flux is added,
and the whole is then placed in the furnace and melted. After the mass
has remained in the molten state a sufficient length of time, the
crucible is taken out and allowed to cool. When cold it is broken by a
blow with a hammer, and the button deposited by the ore is found at its
bottom. This button is then assayed in the same way as the granulations
taken from the melting-pot, and from the result the value per ton of the
ore is calculated.
In the Consolidated Virginia assay-office from sixty to eighty assays of
ore, tailings, and slimes are daily made. The finished bars of silver
have stamped upon them their weight, fineness of gold and silver, value
in gold and in silver, and the total value of the bars. They are then
ready to be sent to one of the United States’ Mints to be coined, or to
be shipped to Europe, China, or Japan, and sold. The total cost of the
Consolidated Virginia reduction works was $350,000.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XLVIII.
SALOON BIRDS.
As the reader has been kept for some time in the “lower levels,” and
amid the roar of the machinery of the mills, I shall now give a few
chapters illustrative of life in Virginia City, and along the Comstock
lode.
In Virginia City are found many odd, curious, and reckless characters.
It would be strange, indeed, if such were not the case, in a city having
a population of over twenty thousand souls, composed of adventurers from
every land, all attracted thither by the great richness of the mines and
the abundance of money. Hundreds of thousands of dollars being paid out
on the first of every month to the miners and the workmen employed in
the many mills, there have been attracted to the Comstock range hundreds
of gamblers of all grades, and men of all kinds who live by their wits.
There is always a small army of men who haunt the saloons and gambling
rooms, and by begging a good deal and stealing a little, and playing all
manner of tricks and dodges, manage to pick up a precarious subsistence.
There are in Virginia City about one hundred saloons, all of which have
their customers. The majority of these saloons are what are called “bit
houses;” that is, drinks of all kinds and cigars are one bit—twelve and
one-half cents. The dime, however, passes as a “bit” in all of these
houses.
The money in circulation is wholly gold and silver coin, and the
smallest coin in use is the bit, ten-cent piece—sometimes spoken of as a
“short bit,” as not being twelve and one-half cents, the “long bit.”
There being no smaller change in use than the dime, the bit passes for
the half of twenty-five cents. Thus, whenever a customer throws down a
quarter of a dollar in payment for a drink or a cigar, he gets back a
dime, and so has paid fifteen cents for his “nip” or smoke. The new
twenty-cent pieces, of which Senator Jones, of Nevada, is the father,
will, however, cure this little ill. In the “two-bit,” or twenty-five
cent saloons, everything is twenty-five cents, even the same drinks that
are sold in the bit houses for ten cents; as lager beer, soda water,
lemonade, cider, and the like.
There is really but one hotel—kept after the plan of hotels in other
places—in Virginia City. The people of the town eat at restaurants and
have their rooms at lodging-houses. It is on the European plan, except
that a restaurant is seldom found in the same building as a
lodging-house. Those who live in lodging-houses patronize that
restaurant which best suits them. Restaurants and lodging-houses are,
therefore, even more numerous in the town than saloons.
The grand army of men who live by their wits are always at war with the
restaurant keepers. Of late, however, the latter have formed an
association for their mutual protection, and furnish each other lists of
all swindling customers, which makes it no easy matter for one of the
“dead beats” to get a “square meal,” unless he first “puts up” his coin.
These fellows cannot now rove from house to house as in former times.
Some years ago a restaurant keeper had a number of these customers, who
were eating him out of house and home. One day he seriously remonstrated
with one of his patrons. He told him that unless he and others like him
paid up, the house must close.
Said the restaurant man: “Here, now, it has been two weeks since I paid
my meat bill. If I don’t pay up this week the butcher will shut down on
me, and I can get no more meat. Don’t you see, I shall be obliged to
close my house!”
“O, no!” said the customer, “don’t close your house. Keep her open.
We’ll all stay by you. If you can’t get any meat, we’ll play you a
string on vegetables!”
Even some such customers as pay are a terror to the restaurant keeper.
When the check-guerrilla is eating his semi-weekly square meal, the
landlord paces the room wringing his hands—eyes red, face flushed, brows
corrugated, general aspect venomous. In his walk—as steak after steak
disappears—he eyes his customer in a malignant, yet helpless manner. In
case of fifteen or twenty such customers arriving in one day, the
restaurant keeper generally goes out into his back yard and cuts his
throat.
Pat Murphy had the name of being the biggest eater on the Comstock
range. He was a very good sort of man, and tried his best not to make
his appetite conspicuous, but it was a thing that could not be
concealed. In order not to be too hard on any one man, Murphy was in the
habit of changing his boarding place quite frequently. On one occasion a
new restaurant was opened, and nearly every morning the patrons of the
place would ask the landlord if Pat Murphy had not yet come to board
with him. The landlord would say that he had seen no man of that name.
Finding that the “sports” who were boarding with him continued daily to
ask if he had yet seen Murphy, the landlord began to feel that he should
like to know something about him. He asked what kind of man Murphy was,
and how he would be able to recognize him in case he should come to the
restaurant.
“Never mind about how he looks,” said the sports, “you will know him
when he comes.”
One morning a tall, gaunt, middle-aged man came edging into the
restaurant, and meekly took a seat. The landlord rather liked the
appearance of the new customer, and at once went to take his order.
“Landlord,” said the man, “let me have a porther-house steak and onions,
some liver and bacon on the side, six fried eggs, a bit of ham, a Jarman
pancake, some fried pertaties, a cup of coffee, and a couple of
doughnuts, and—if ye have them—a couple of waffles.” When the sports
came in to breakfast, the landlord said: “He has been here—I’ve seen
Murphy, the man who eats.”
Many of the emigrants from the older states arrive in Washoe with
exaggerated notions and with eyes and ears open for strange things of
all kinds. Being well aware of this, a Comstocker who dropped in at a
chop-house where about a dozen newcomers had just settled in a flock, at
two or three adjoining tables, concluded to have some fun with them.
Seating himself near them, the Comstocker roared: “Waiter, how long does
a man have to sit here before you come to take his order?”
“All right, sir!” said the alert waiter, who was well acquainted with
the customer, and saw that he was up to some kind of mischief. “All
right! What will you have, sir?”
The emigrants all turned to take a look at the man of stentorian voice,
who spoke so authoritatively.
Straightening himself up, and speaking even louder than before, the
Comstocker cried: “Give me a baked horned toad, two broiled lizards on
toast, with tarantula sauce—stewed rattlesnake and poached scorpions on
the side!”
Without the slightest hesitation or the least sign of astonishment, the
waiter called out to the Chinese cooks in the kitchen: “Baked horned
toad; two briled lizards on toast, tarantula sauce; stewed rattlesnake
and poached scorpions. Very nice and well done, for Mr. Terry!”
There was then a great buzzing among the emigrants as they laid their
heads together, and many curious side glances were shot at that most
incorrigible of jokers, Bill Terry. Even after Bill’s breakfast had been
placed before him—his real order having been given on the sly—the
emigrants were unable to make out what he was eating, though they nearly
twisted their necks out of joint with glancing over their shoulders at
his table.
The white sage which grows in great abundance throughout Nevada, is not
only useful as a food for cattle, but from it has been manufactured a
hair restorative—a wash for making hair grow on bald heads. One day Bill
Terry happened to be seated opposite a stranger at a table in a
restaurant, when the stranger—who was a side-whiskered, lisping man who
showed a good deal of the dandy in his dress—attracted the attention of
“William” by opening a conversation as follows:—
STRANGER.—“Deah me! this is disgusting! (Holding up his knife and gazing
fixedly at its point.) This is either the second or the third hair that
I have found in this buttah!”
BILL TERRY—“You’ve not been here long, I judge?”
STRANGER—“No sir; I arrived here yesterday morning.”
BILL TERRY—“I thought so, otherwise you would not complain of hairs in
the butter.”
STRANGER—“Not complain of hairs in the butter? You suppwise me, sir! How
could I do otherwise?”
BILL TERRY—“Those hairs, sir, are just as natural to Washoe butter as
butter is a natural product of milk. They are just as good and just as
clean as the butter.”
STRANGER—“Impossible!”
BILL TERRY—“Not at all, sir. All our butter comes from the great valley
of our State where flourishes that most nutritious and truly wonderful
plant, the white sage. On this white sage our cattle feed and fatten.
The plant has many virtues. It is of an oleaginous nature and is good in
lung diseases, and from it is also manufactured a most wonderful and
very popular hair restorative.”
STRANGER—“Ah, yes; I’ve heard something of the kind.”
BILL TERRY—“Well, then, sir, in a country where all the cows feed on the
white sage, do you think it likely that the butter will be bald-headed.”
Promontory is a new place out on the Central Pacific Railroad. Out there
they have no “Hotel and Restaurant-keepers’ Mutual Protection
Association,” as they have in Virginia City. The place is too small and
scattering for the advanced ideas that rule in the more metropolitan
towns. A Comstocker went out to Promontory to prospect and look around
for a time. He stopped at the principal hotel, which stood at the edge
of the town. Our Comstocker liked the looks of things. The landlord
seemed a very agreeable and friendly sort of man, and he thought he
would stop and board with him a while.
When dinner was ready the landlord took a double-barrelled shot-gun from
behind the bar, and, stepping out in front of his house, fired off one
of the barrels.
The Comstocker, who had followed him to the door to see what was up,
said to him: “What did you do that for?”
“To call my boarders to dinner,” said the landlord.
“I see,” said the Comstocker, “but why don’t you fire off both barrels?”
“Well,” said the landlord, “you see I keep the other to collect with.”
Having but a few “short bits” in his pocket our Comstocker, after
getting his dinner, concluded to shoulder his carpet-bag and jog along.
Speaking of short bits: A “hoodlum” went into a cigar store in Virginia
City one day, and after getting a “bit” cigar, laid a dime on the
counter and picked up a twenty-five cent piece which he saw lying there,
saying as he walked off: “Just the change!”
The astonished shop-keeper gazed at the lone bit, then at his box of
cigars, and then in the direction taken by the young sharper. At last he
said: “Vell, now, how dat vas? Dat vas make der right schange, sure; but
it look to me like it vas make em de wrong vay somehow. Vell, de next
time what dare comes a bargain like dese, I make der schange mineselfs.
Ven effery fool what come to der store make schange, it soon schpiles
der piziness!”
The saloon-keepers as well as the keepers of restaurants have some very
amiable gentlemen to deal with occasionally, but more frequently such as
are “on the beat.”
One evening a tall wild-looking fellow rushed into a first-class saloon
apparently in a terrible state of excitement. Throwing his hat on the
counter he said to the bar-keeper: “There’ll be the biggest row here in
about a minute that ever you saw! Give me a drink quick!”
The bar-keeper set out the bottle, and while the fellow was helping
himself, looked under the bar to see that his six-shooter was all right
and his club handy.
Leaving his hat on the bar, the fellow ran to the door, looked out, then
rushed back and said: “Yes; in less than half a minute there’ll be a
devil of a time here! Give me another drink, quick!” And seizing the
bottle he helped himself to another rousing horn. He then took up his
hat and was coolly marching away, when the bar-keeper called after him:
“See here you fellow there! What’s all this about a row? Do you know you
haven’t paid me for those drinks!”
“There you go!” said the fellow.
“Well, and there you don’t go until you pay for your drinks. Come back
here or I’ll give you a taste of my club!”
“There you go again! Didn’t I say there’d be a fearful row here in about
a minute? I knew it; and there you go!”
The bar-keeper now saw the point and said: “Look here, you can come back
here and take another drink if you like, but I wish it distinctly
understood, my good fellow, that this is to be the last “row” you ever
raise in this house!”
A man one day sauntered into a two-bit saloon and called for a drink of
whiskey. The proprietor of the place was behind the bar and set out the
Bourbon bottle. When the man had drank he threw a ten-cent piece on the
counter and started off.
“This is a two-bit house, sir,” said the proprietor, in a tone which
showed that he felt some pride in the establishment.
“Ah!” said the customer. “Two-bit house, eh? Well, I thought so when I
first came in, but after I had tasted your whiskey I concluded it was a
bit house.”
Some of the customers of the saloon-keepers are not only fellows of
infinite jest, but are also men of such an agreeable disposition that it
is pleasant to have them around.
“Do you know Mr. Popper?” asked a saloon-keeper of one of his customers.
“I’ve heard of him,” said the customer, “but I don’t know that I ever
met him.”
“No;” said the saloon man. “Well, you ought to make his acquaintance.
He’s a nice agreeable gentleman. I never saw him until night before last
when he came in here about 12 o’clock and took a drink. He is a man who
makes himself at home with you at once. Why he had hardly been in here
five minutes before he drew out his six-shooter and began shooting holes
through the pictures, the lamp, and other little notions about the
place, just as familiarly as though he and I had been boys together.
Nothing cold and distant about him! He’s a charming fellow!—charming!”
There is nothing at which these agreeable gentlemen are more likely to
take a shot, than a large and costly mirror. A mirror is generally the
first thing that attracts their attention when they are inclined to be
sociable and good-natured, though a lamp, suspended in the middle of a
room, very frequently draws their first fire. Sometimes two or three
marksmen take a hand in the sport. Then it’s right jolly.
Probably as preparatory to a more public performance, half a dozen men
went one night to a pistol gallery to practice. To snuff a candle with a
pistol or rifle has always been a great feat among crack shots. These
men were not only going to snuff the candle, but each man in turn was to
hold the candle while the other snuffed it. At the first fire the man
who held the candle got a bullet through his left hand. Although the
wound was of a very painful character, he insisted on having his shot.
He got it, and put a bullet through his friend’s arm just below the
elbow. After this the party did not feel that enthusiasm for
candle-snuffing which previously animated their bosoms. They concluded
that they were not candle-snuffers.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER XLIX.
SOME VERY QUEER CUSTOMERS.
Out on the Divide, in the extreme southern part of Virginia City, they
do much better shooting than that mentioned in the last chapter—also,
much worse. Out there, one morning, a man fired six shots at his
brother-in-law and missed him every time, though the practice all took
place within the bounds of a small door-yard. During the afternoon of
the same day some men at a saloon were discussing the morning’s
shooting, and all agreed that it was scandalous—was a discredit to their
end of the town, and to Washoe. That to shoot at a man six times, and
not hit him, was shameful. After awhile, with these things occurring, it
would go abroad that a Washoe man could not hit the side of a barn.
After much more talk about the disgraceful affair of the morning, a man
from Pioche—a lively camp in the eastern part of Nevada (they kill a man
there every week or two) bantered a Comstocker, whom he knew to be a
fine shot with a pistol, to go out into the back yard with him and do
some shooting, just to show the “boys” how it should be done.
In the saloon—which also was a grocery-store—was a box of eggs, and the
Piocher proposed, that they each shoot two eggs off the bare head of the
other, at the distance of ten paces, the one missing, to treat the
crowd. The Comstocker was determined not to be bluffed by a man from the
other end of the State, so to the back yard all hands adjourned. Each
man used his own six-shooter. The Comstocker first “busted” his egg on
the top of the Piocher’s head, and the feat was loudly applauded by all
present.
[Illustration: THE TRIAL OF SKILL.]
It was then the Piocher’s time to shoot, and an egg was produced to be
placed upon the head of the Comstocker, but when he removed his hat,
there was a general laugh, as the top of his head was as smooth as a
billiard-ball.
For full five minutes all hands tried to make an egg stand on the smooth
pate of the Comstocker. It couldn’t be done. The Piocher then taunted
the Comstocker with having gone into the arrangement knowing that he was
safe. The latter told him to set up his egg, and it was all right—he was
there. The Pioche man stood contemplating the bald pate before him for a
time, then turned, and went into the saloon. A moment after he came out
with a small handful of flour, which he dabbed upon the bald head of the
Comstocker, and then triumphantly planted in it his egg, fell back ten
paces, and knocked it off. The Comstock man then told him to set up his
second egg and shoot at it, as he didn’t want to have his head chalked
twice during the same game. This was done, and the wreck of the second
egg streamed over the Comstocker’s pate.
The Piocher now stood out with his last egg on his head. The Comstocker
raised his pistol and fired. The Piocher bounded a yard into the air,
and the egg rolled unscathed from his head.
“I’ve lost!” cried the Comstocker. “Let all come up and drink. By a slip
of the finger, I’ve put half the width of my bullet through the top of
his left ear!” and so it proved upon measurement.
All Washoe men, however, do not stand fire so well as this pair of
egg-shooters. On one occasion a “sport,” of herculean frame, and wearing
a huge black beard that gave him a most ferocious appearance, cheated a
miner out of four or five hundred dollars in a game of draw-poker. As he
made his last losing, the miner saw the cheat, and demanded the return
of all the money he had lost. The big gambler laughed in his face. The
miner, who was quite a small man, left the place wearing an ugly look.
Some of those present, who knew the miner, told the big sport that he
had better leave, as his man had gone off to “heel himself,” and there
would soon be trouble.
But the big man was not alarmed—he was not going to be frightened away.
He sat in a chair in a rear room of the saloon, near an open window, his
head thrown back, and his legs cocked up. He didn’t care how many
weapons the miner might bring.
“Why, gentlemen,” said he, “you don’t know me!—you don’t know who I am!
I’m the Wild Boar of Tehama! The click of a six-shooter is music to my
ear, and a bowie-knife is my looking-glass—” Here he happened to look
toward the door, and saw the miner entering the door with a shot-gun,
when he said: “But a shot-gun lets me out!” and he went through the
window behind him, head first.
A very different sort of man from the “Wild Boar of Tehama” was Blazer.
Blazer was a man who never felt himself at peace except “when at war.”
He would leave his dinner any day, if he thought he could find a fight.
When unable to “mix” in a “muss” of some kind, he was the most miserable
dog alive. A week without a battle, and he began to think there was
nothing in the world worth living for.
Although Blazer seldom won more than one fight out of ten, it was all
the same to him. He rather enjoyed a good pommelling.
One night some of Blazer’s friends—because they were his
enemies—happened to be passing through a part of Virginia City called
the “Barbary Coast,” on account of its being the roughest and worst
place in the town—the “Five Points” of the place. As Blazer’s friends
were passing through this region of blood and robberies, their attention
was attracted to a “shebang” near at hand, by a terrible uproar within
its doors. There was a smashing of glass, a crashing of chairs, bottles,
and tumblers; fierce yells, bitter curses, and, in short, a fearful
commotion.
Thinking one of the voices heard above the din had a familiar sound,
Blazer’s friends entered the place. As they pushed in at the door they
saw Blazer surrounded by half a dozen “Coasters,” who were giving it to
him right and left. Blazer’s nose was flattened; one eye closed; his
upper lip laid open, his face covered with blood, and his clothes nearly
torn off his back. A clip under the ear sent him to “grass,” when those
nearest him began jumping upon him and kicking him in the ribs. His
friends rushed to his rescue. The breath was completely knocked and
kicked out of poor Blazer, and he lay stretched senseless on the floor.
Some water dashed in his face revived him. Recognizing his friends, he
smiled as amiably as was possible, with his distorted upper lip, and
huskily whispered: “Boys, it’s gorgeous! I’ve struck a perfect
paradise!”
Somewhat of the same pattern as Blazer was the youth encountered on this
same “Barbary Coast” one night by a policeman whose beat was among the
“dives” in that region.
“Where was that row just now?” said the policeman. The question was
addressed to a wall-eyed young hoodlum, who, with hands thrust nearly to
his knees in his breeches pockets, lounged against a lamp-post.
“Ro-o-ow?” listlessly drawled the short-haired youth. “I hain’t seen
nuthin’ of no row.”
“You hain’t?” said the policeman, eyeing the young gentleman over.
“N-o; I hain’t!” reiterated the fellow, with a sneering Bowery drawl.
“Do yer sup-pose I’d be a loafin’ here if ther’ was any row a-goin? Not
much!”
“I was told down street,” said the policeman, “that there was a regular
row in one of the shebangs up this way. Now I want to know where it
was—do you understand?”
“Wa-all, I dunno, but I guess maybe ther’ mout a bin a little
misunderstandin’ or sumpthin’ o’ that sort in at Broncho Sall’s saloon.
’Bout a minit or so ago I seed Wasatch Sam roll out ’er thare and seed
him spit out some feller’s ear, as he went ’long by here; but I don’t
reckon there’s bin any pertickler row—hain’t seed nuthin’ o’ none.”
The same policeman one night heard a sound of scuffling in a Barbary
Coast “dive” and ran in to see was what going on. As he entered the
place, he saw two men struggling upon the floor. The uppermost man arose
from the prostrate and bleeding form of his antagonist as the policeman
approached, and said: “I’m a quiet man, a man who wouldn’t harm a fly,
but when I’m crowded too far, I will remonstrate!” whereupon he spat out
the nose of the man who was lying on the floor.
Curious characters are frequently encountered in towns of the
silver-mines—queer customers from all parts of the world. A few drinks
generally bring out the peculiarities of these men. One day an
odd-looking, wiry old chap, evidently from some ranch in the Sierra
Nevada Mountains, and apparently a man rich in flocks and herds, made
his way to the bar of one of the first-class two-bit saloons of Virginia
City. His “keg” was evidently “full” to overflowing, yet he was still
athirst. Cocking one eye upon the bar-keeper and the other on the array
of bottles before him, he thrust his right hand deep into his breeches’
pocket and there stirred up a stunning jingle of coin. Turning to a
gentleman standing near, the little old man said: “Stranger, excuse me,
but will yer jine in a drink?”
“Please excuse me, sir,” said the gentleman addressed, “I’ve just
drank.”
“Stand another, can’t yer?”
“No; I’m much obliged. I don’t wish to drink.”
Turning to another gentleman, the old fellow said: “Take a drink,
sir—with me?”
“No, sir; I thank you, I’ve just been to dinner,” and this man turned
and walked away.
The little old man of the mountains looked annoyed and irritated, and
turning from the bar, he walked across the saloon to where three or four
gentlemen were conversing together: “Gentlemen,” said he, “you must
excuse me, I’m a stranger here, but I never like to drink alone. Now,
will you oblige me by all comin’ up and takin’ a drink at my expense?
I’m one of your sociable kind, and never like to go in a drove by
myself.”
Thinking the old fellow had drank about as much as was good for him, all
declined the proffered treat. This exasperated the old chap. Jerking his
cap off his head and slapping it against his thigh, he broke loose with:
“Well, now, this beats my time! Not a man in this room that will drink
with me! Damme! I’ll go forth into the street and bring in the rabble!
I’ll be like that old rancher down in the Valley of Galilee, that the
Bible tells of. He was one of my kind. When he had a frolic he wanted to
see things whiz!”
“Which of the old patriarchs was that?” asked a gentleman present, who
thought it might be worth while to draw the old fellow out.
“I’m not much of a biblist,” said the old man, “but I mean that jolly
old cock that lived somewhere down in Galilee or Nazareth. The old
gentleman, you know, that gave the big blow-out when his oldest gal got
married. You recollect he killed a lot of oxen, and sheep, and calves,
and goats, and had a tearin’ barbacue, invitin’ all the neighbors for
miles round. But devil a one came near the house. All too durned
high-toned! Then what does that old chap do but git up on his ear and
swear the thing shall be a success. So he sends his hired man out to
gather up all of the old bummers and deadbeats, the lame, halt, and
blind, sayin: ‘Bring ’em all in, and we’ll have a regular tear—the big
blow-out of the season!’
“Then the hungry and thirsty old bummers and guttersnipes all came
charging in from the back alleys, and tumblin’ up from the lumber-yards,
and they piled in and they made it hot for that lunch, and whiskey, and
lager-beer, and they fiddled and danced till they all got blind drunk
and broke up in a row. But the gal had a stavin’ lively weddin’ after
all!
“Now that’s the kind of man I am. Ef you _gentlemen_ won’t drink with
me, damme, I’ll go out and bring in the rabble and we’ll eat up all the
free-lunch, drink ourselves disorderly, and have a reg’lar weddin’ feast
right hyar!”
This little oration had the desired effect. All in the room shook hands
with the old chap and took a drink with him, when he exultantly
exclaimed, bringing his fist down upon the counter, as he emptied his
glass: “Damme, you don’t know Old Sol Winters down hyar; but he’s a
pretty big Injun when he’s at home, up in Orion Valley!”
Another curious old ’coon was “Old Taggart.” Old Taggart is dead. We
planted him under the sod in 1874. Where the soul of Old Taggart has
gone to, nobody knows. Old Taggart was a good sort of man, but had his
“ways.” Old Taggart didn’t fear death. As he lay on his death-bed, he
was conscious, calm, and serene to the last. Said he toward the close:
“During these many years I have thought it all over, and I am ready to
take the chances.”
Being what is called a “pious” woman, Old Taggart’s wife was a good deal
disturbed by the thought of seeing her husband die without having
“experienced religion.” She worried the old man a good deal toward the
last on this account.
Old Taggart said: “Wife, I’m as sorry for all the bad things I have done
during my life, and as much ashamed of all the mean things, as any man
could be.”
Still the old lady wanted to see him “experience a change of heart.” So
she sent for Deacon Dudley to come and talk to the old man. The deacon
came, and, seating himself by the bedside, turned to the sick man and
told him about the wonders and the glories of heaven. He told him all
about the New Jerusalem, where the streets are paved with gold, and
where angels “touch the soft lyre and tune the vocal lay.” He then asked
Old Taggart if he didn’t think he’d like to go up there.
“No;” said Old Taggart, “I don’t think I should feel at home in the kind
of place you tell about.”
“But, my dear friend,” said the Deacon, “you are at the point of
death—you should not talk in this way about heaven!”
“Well, Deacon, I’ll jist die and trust to the Almighty. I’ll jist settle
down wherever he puts me. I don’t know nothin’ about the lay of the land
in ’tother world myself, but I’ll chance Him.”
“I’m surprised, my good friend, to hear that you don’t want to be one of
that heavenly band that sit before the throne, playing on golden harps,
and singing praises forever and forever!”
“Me play on a harp, Deacon?” said Old Taggart, smiling faintly.
“Yes; upon the wondrous golden harp!” briskly replied the Deacon.
“There,” said Old Taggart, doggedly, “I don’t want to go to that part of
heaven. The Lord will give me a place out in some of the back
settlements, like. He’ll find a place for me, I’ll be bound!”
“It’s wicked to talk as you are doing,” said the Deacon. “You have the
worst ideas about heaven of any man I ever saw!”
“Can’t help it, Deacon,” said Old Taggart, “its all nonsense to talk
about me playin’ a harp. I tell you plainly, Deacon, that I don’t want
to go among the musicians up there. It wouldn’t suit me!”
“This is absolutely sinful!” said the Deacon.
“Can’t help it,” said the old man, “can’t help it! It’s no use of
talkin’; I’ll die my own way, and trust to the Almighty. I’ve a notion
that when Old Taggart comes to Him, He will make him comfortable
somewheres up there in the kingdom.”
Here Old Taggart gave a gasp or two, and was dead. He has probably found
a place “up there.”
Then there was Old Daniels, a queer old fellow who lived at Gold Hill.
Old Daniels would sometimes get so drunk that he didn’t know whether he
was dead or alive. Very late one night some wags found Old Daniels lying
in an alley so much intoxicated that they at first thought he was dead.
They got a hand-barrow and carried him out to the graveyard. They there
found the grave of a Chinaman that had been opened in order that the
bones of the defunct might be sent back to China. The old shattered
coffin of the Chinaman still lay beside the open grave, and alongside of
the coffin they laid Old Daniels.
The wags then secreted themselves near the spot in order to see how the
old fellow would act when he came to his senses, for he was sleeping
like a log. They were obliged to wait a long time—till very weary of
it—but about daylight, when the air began to grow cold, Old Daniels
began to toss and tumble uneasily, and presently was fully awake. He
arose to a sitting posture and began a deliberate survey of his
surroundings—the empty coffin by his side, the open grave, the
tombstones all round.
“The day of resurrection!” said he solemnly, then took another survey of
the graveyard. “Yes;” said he, “the day of resurrection, and I’m the
first son of a gun out of the ground!”
In the early days, a Frenchman brought to Nevada half a dozen camels,
which he placed on his ranche, on the Carson River, a few miles below
Dayton. The climate and the herbage of the country appear to be well
adapted to the requirements of the animals, and they have thriven and
increased and multiplied until the herd now numbers about forty, of all
ages. These camels are used in packing salt from the deserts, for
carrying wood, hay, and freight of all kinds, and they carry quite as
large loads as do the camels of Arabia. They are not allowed to be
brought into the streets of Virginia City during daylight, for the
reason that they frighten mules and horses, and cause dangerous
runaways. Mules cannot endure the sight of them. Of nights, however, the
camels come into town and pass along the back streets.
One moonlight night, as the animals were solemnly stalking along an
unfrequented street, a pair of Teutons, who had probably been enjoying
themselves at some festival until a late hour, turned into the street
through which the camels were passing: “O, Sheorge,” cried one of the
men, to his companion, “yoost see dem awful big gooses!”
The other took one look, and said: “Mine Gott, Levi, we petter run home
quick. I dinks dare coomes der raisurrection!” and both took to their
heels.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER L.
ORIGINAL CHARACTERS.
Occasionally persons not usually found training in the ranks of the
festive throng of Comstockers are out until the “wee sma’” hours, and
meet with adventures quite as strange as was that of the two Germans who
encountered a herd of camels at a time when they supposed that there
were no animals of the kind nearer than the desert of Sahara.
One of the pillars of the church, a powerful exhorter and a liberal
disburser of psalmody before the Lord, went astray one Fourth of July
night, and even got into a German dance-house before his patriotism was
fully expended. However, he recollected himself presently, and took his
departure. As he was meandering along the street, with his hat resting
in a style of graceful bravado on his left ear, he was met by a
policeman who knew him and advised him to get home.
“Home? No, sir!—no sir!” cried the exhorter. “Live while you live. Life
is short, sir; we are like flowers of the field, sir—lilies of the
valley. Let us not be proud nor puffed up, for we are all worms of the
dust! I’m not proud, sir—nozur! I’ve been among the daughters of the
Teuton, sir; even among the cunning dancers whose feet are beautiful on
the mountains—whose feet twinkle as alabaster in the waters of the
Jordan—also have I been among the sons of Jubal, even such as handle the
harp, the fiddle, and the psaltry. I have danced even as David danced,
and drank wine even as Noah, when he began to be a husbandman. But tell
it not in Gath, publish it not in the streets of Virginia!” The
policeman—a “son of Belial,” the fuddled pillar called him—now began to
talk very plainly, and the godly reveller caught a glimpse of the error
of his ways, and changed his tune.
“Woe is me!” cried he, “how could I dare to burn incense unto Baal and
walk after strange gods! Silver spread into plates is brought from
Tarshish, and gold from Uphaz, but who shall be able to keep shekels of
silver, wedges of gold, or rings of jasper from these greedy
Delilahs—Delilahs not to be appeased with hair, whose hands a whole wig
would not stay! For the mountains I will take up a wailing, and for the
habitations of the wilderness a lamentation. I flee from the daughters
of the Teuton; they are as black as the tents of Kedar. How can I face
that good woman, Hanner?—bone of my bone and flesh of my flesh—for in
the day that I see her face will there come, that selfsame day, a
blowing of trumpets, a breaking of seals, and a pouring out of vials!
No, sir; don’t talk to me or wrestle with me, even as the angel wrestled
with Jacob at the ford of Jabbok; whither thou goest I cannot go;
whither thou lodgest I cannot lodge. I’m the speckled bird of the
mountains of Gilboa—a hungry pelican in the wilderness, sir! I go to the
unsealing—to the breaking of seals, and the blowing of trumpets—yea, I
go to face Hanner!” and the “speckled bird of Gilboa” spread its wings
and took its zigzag flight to meet the good Hannah, mighty blower of
trumpets, breaker of seals, and outpourer of vials before the Lord.
These matters—churches and pillars of churches—bring up the “old French
Doctor,” of Virginia City, who was one of the oddities of the place.
Whole volumes of his curious sayings might be given. The old man is now
dead, but he is still remembered and quoted along the Comstock by those
who knew him in life. The old doctor—for a wonder—had been to church,
and came away delighted.
“Ah, my dear boy,” said he, “I have to-day listen to one ver’ excellent
narratif by ze reverence preacher. It was about David and Nasan. You see
Nasan he vish to make to David one grand reproof. So Nasan he come to
David one day, and tell to him one ver’ long, big sheep story. He fool
David—Nasan do—wiz ze story of ze sheep and ze big rich man zat steal ze
sheep of ze poor man, till by and by David become ver’ moche interest in
ze narratif—become ver’ much enrage wiz ze rich man. Wiz zat, and
precisement at zat moment, Nasan he jump up on ze top of a bench and he
proclaim to David: ‘Zou art ze man! I see ze wool in you teef!’ Ah, my
boy, zat was one gran’ reproof—one ver’ big what you call sell, on
Monsieur David—eh?”
“Uncle Pete,” the curb-stone philosopher, always had his “say” on all
topics of the day, and he also looked after the welfare of such of the
rising generation as fell in his way. His disciples were generally of
the genus “hoodlum.” Propped at ease against a favorite lamp-post, with
one of these before him, he would say: “Young man, don’t you go to
strivin’ for a big name, or frettin’ yourself to make a mark in the
world. It’s all wanity and wexation of spirit. Study to become a
philosopher. Look at me! Life has no terrors for me; yet I toil not,
neither do I spin. To live without care is my philosophy. That’s a motto
to live up to. All else is wanity. What does a man get by doin’ things,
makin’ inwentions and the like? Nuthin.
“Look at Christopher Columbus! What does he get for the trouble he had
in discovering America? He gits called a swindler and a imposture. He
had all his trouble for nuthin’, for they have found out that he wasn’t
the feller that discovered America after all. It was some Laplander—one
of them fellers away up north. But he never said nuthin’ about it until
lately. The next generation will find out that the Laplander was a
humbug.
“What does William H. Shakespeare git for the trouble he had in writin’
them plays o’ his? He gits busted out intirely. They now say there never
was no sich man as William H. Shakespeare, and I believe ’em. No one man
could a-done it.
“What was the use of William Tell shootin’ old Geyser? He run a big risk
of passin’ in his own checks, and now they say there never was no sich
man. He’d better staid up in the mountains and prospected.
“See the life that Robinson Crusoe led on that ‘lone barren isle,’ as
the song says, and now they say there never was no Crusoe.
“Young man, don’t you never try to discover America, nor the
steam-engine, nor the cotton-gin, nor the telegraft—as old Moss
did—’cause you’ll find out when its too late to be of any benefit to you
that it wasn’t you at all, but some other jackass that died before you
was born, and don’t know whether he ever done anything or not. Lead the
life of a philosopher, young man. Get all you can out of the world, and
never do nothin’ for the world—then you are ahead of the world and are a
true philosopher!” The disciples of Uncle Pete are many and promising.
The inebriated individual who took his friend by the button and read to
him the following lecture on matrimony, was also something of a
philosopher: “Now, don’t get married, Afferd—don’t git married! If you
git married yer gone up the flume—busted out. You won’t be married a
week ’fore yer wife’ll put on her worst shoes and stick ’em rite up on
the stove under your nose. When she gits all the clothes she wants,
she’ll have a sick sister down to San Jose; wants two hunerd fifty
dollar go see’r poor sisser. Goes; sisser dies; father-in-lor straitened
sirkstances; wants two hunerd fifty more—bury poor sisser. Goes into
hunerd fifty dollar wuth mournin’, then wants more money to come home
on. Comes home’n calls you nassy, dirty, drunken beas’—don’t you git
married, Afferd—don’t!”
This man should have had a dog such as that owned by the ranchman on
Truckee Meadows. This rancher once brought his dog to Virginia City. The
dog rode into town by the side of his master on a load of potatoes. He
was not a pretty dog. He was a tall, gaunt, shaggy-haired, wild-eyed,
brindle beast of unrecorded pedigree. When the wagon halted in town some
men who were lounging in the neighborhood began to remark upon the
ungainly appearance of the countryman’s dog.
“Fellers,” said the owner of the animal, coming to the front, “that air
ain’t a purty dog, I know—he’s like me, makes no pertentions to nat’ral
beauty—but he’s jist the durndest knowenest dog what ever wore har. Now,
he’s got more instink, that dog has, an’ more savey, an’ pen’tration
into human natur, right in that ugly old cabeza of his, nor can be found
in the heds of a whole plaza full of eddicated town dogs—poodles and
sich.
“Now, that’s what I pride in him fur—his reg’lar human sense. I tell
yer, fellers, he’s jist the durndest dog out! Now, ef I come home from
town perfectly sober (when I’ve left him to see after the ranch), it
would do your hearts good to see that dog show off what a sense of
appreciation he’s got of me. Fellers, his gorgeous tail then stands
aloft; he skyugles about; he runs on afore me, a-scrapin’ up the yearth
with his hind feet, sendin’ the chips a-flyin’; he holds up his head and
barks in a cheerful, manly tone of voice, escortin’ me forward, and
feelin’ prouder’n ef he’d holed a woodchuck!
“But let me come home full of tangle-leg, sheep-herder’s delight, and
tarant’ler juice, and that is the durndest shamedest dog above ground.
He jist takes one look at me and he knows it all. Down goes his tail, he
lops his years, hangs his head, squats his back, and slinks away, and
crawls under the barn—acturly ashamed to be seen about the primises for
fear somebody’ll find out I own him!”
Just previous to the Senatorial contest which resulted in his election,
the Hon. J. P. Jones had the following funny adventure in Virginia City
with a man who came to hire himself out as a “fighter”:
Mr. Jones and several friends were in one of the first-class saloons,
sipping their wine, smoking and chatting, when a rather strange-looking
customer entered the place, and, sauntering up to the group, began the
operation of “eying over” the gentlemen composing it.
He was a man of middle age and medium height, with arms
disproportionately long, great, spreading hands, and knotty fingers. His
angular, ungainly form was poorly and scantily clad, and he was topped
out with a curious little bullet-head, set upon a very short allowance
of neck. From the sides of his little, round head stood leaning out two
great pulpy ears, and all that appeared on his face in the way of beard
was a jet-black stubbed moustache. This seemed to have been planted a
hair at a time with a pegging-awl and hammer, the latter coming down on
the defenseless nose as each bristle was inserted, and so intimidating
said organ that it had ever since remained crouched out of sight behind
the hairy stockade. A large, livid scar described a semi-circle round
one of his projecting cheek-bones, and passing down entered the corner
of his mouth, giving to the feature an ugly upward hitch on that side.
Wabbling his little, glittering grey eyes over the party before him,
until said orbs rested upon the rotund form and rosy face of Mr. Jones,
he pulled off the hirsute ten-pin ball which he would have called his
head, a scrap of hat, and making an awkward bow, said:
“J. P. Jones, I believe?”
“That is my name, sir,” said Jones.
“Correct,” sententiously observed the strange visitor.
“Do you want to see me?” said Jones.
“About three minutes, and in private, if you please.”
Mr. Jones led the way to a large private room in the rear of the saloon.
“Mr. Jones, sir, you don’t know me,” said the fellow, “but when you
lived in old Tuolumne, I war also in that part of Californey—in the
adjinin’ county. Mr. Jones, I’m the ‘Taranterler of Calaveras;’ I’m a
war-hoss of the hills and a fighter from h—l!”
“I don’t dispute your word, sir,” said J. P., “but how does your being
‘war-horse of the hills’ concern me?”
“I’m here to tell you. Here, now, you are goin’ into this here contest,
and it’s liable to be a very lively one. About ’lection day it’ll be
all-fired hot. Now what you’ll need will be a good fighter; a feller to
stand up, knock down, and drag out for you; a man what can go to the
polls and knock down right an’ left—wade through everything!”
Mr. Jones said he had not thought it would be necessary to have such a
man at the polls on election day.
“Oh, but it will!” cried the man of muscle. “You see you don’t know
about them things. I’ll manage it all for you.”
“So you want me to hire you as my fighter?”
“Jest so!”
“What would be your price from now till after election? You see as I’ve
never yet had occasion to hire a fighter, I don’t know much about the
value of such service.”
“Well, I couldn’t undertake the job short of $1,000; there’ll be lots of
work to do.”
“Ain’t that pretty high?”
“Of course it’s a considerable sum, but thar’s a terrible rough set over
here. These Washoe fellow are nearly h—l themselves, and they are more
on the cut and shoot than is healthy. You see $1,000 is no money at all
when you calkerlate the risk. I’m liable to be chopped all to pieces,
riddled with bullets, and either killed out and out or crippled for
life. You see $1,000 is no money at all.”
“Well, come to look at it in that light, I don’t know but your price is
reasonable enough.”
“Cheap! of course it is. I rather like your style or I wouldn’t
undertake the job at that figger. Come—is it a bargain? Am I your man,
at the figger named?”
“Well, not so fast. If I am to have a fighter, I want the best that is
to be had. I don’t want a fellow that will be kicked and cuffed about
town by every bummer. I am able to pay for a first-class fighter, and I
won’t have anything else!”
“Ain’t I a fighter?” rolling his eyes fiercely and thrusting first his
right, then his left arm, straight out from the shoulder, ducking his
head comically about and poising himself on one foot; “will anybody kick
and cuff me? me, the war-hoss of the hills; the Taranterler of
Calaveras? Not much!”
“Have you ever whipped anybody?”
“Ever whipped anybody? Me—have I ever whipped anybody? Ha! ha! ha! You
make me laugh. Next you will be asking if I was ever whipped. Show me
your man—show me your men—for I ain’t perticular about ’em coming one at
a time. Bring ’em on, and I’ll whip all that can stand in this room in
one minute by the clock!”
“Well,” said “J. P.,” “I think you’ll do; but, as I said before, I want
the best man in the country. My fighter must be a regular lightning
striker. Now I have another man in my eye. He is something of a fighter.
Has a graveyard of his own of considerable size. It lies between the
pair of you. The best man is the man for my money.”
“D—n your man! Bring him on. D—n me, I’ll devour him! Show him to the
Taranterler!”
“Remain here two minutes and I’ll bring him in.”
Now, before coming into the room with the fellow, Mr. Jones had observed
James N. Cartter—commonly known on the Pacific Coast as Big Jim
Cartter—sauntering around the saloon. As is well known to everybody in
this city, and pretty generally throughout the towns and cities of
Nevada and California, Jim Cartter is a powerfully-built man, standing
over six feet in his stockings, a man who is “on the shoulder” and who
is at home with either knife or pistol, as more than one grave can
testify. Calling to Cartter, Mr. Jones briefly made known the situation
and invited him in to interview the “war-hoss of the hills.”
This was as good a thing as Cartter wanted, and into the room they went.
“Here,” said Jones, as they entered the room, “is the man. Nobody will
disturb you here, and after all is over the best man is the man for my
coin.”
Jim waltzed into the room with his hat standing on two hairs and a
wicked smile playing upon his features. Said he:
“Is this the blessed infant that has come to eat me up? Is this the
Calaveras skunk that has come over here to set himself up as ‘Chief?’
Move back the chairs!”
With this Cartter began to wriggle from side to side in the effort to
“shuck” himself of the long-tailed black coat he always wore, and in so
doing he displayed on one side that famous old white-handled,
sixteen-inch bowie-knife, his constant companion, and on the other the
butt of a navy revolver.
“So this is the lop-eared cur of Calaveras who comes here to set up as a
fighter? Move the chairs to the wall!” cried Cartter still wriggling at
his coat.
“Mr. Jones,” cried the mighty devourer of men, “Mr. Jones this man is a
friend of yours. I can’t fight any friend of yours. With any friend of
yours I am a lamb; I could not harm a hair of his head!”
“No friend at all. He is a fighter like yourself. Besides, what has
friendship got to do with a transaction involving $1,000? I want the
best man I can find. If you whip this fellow I hire you as my fighter.
That’s all there is about it.”
“That’s fair and business-like, you skunk!” cried Cartter. “Peel
yourself and waltz out here!”
“Mr. Jones,” said the “war-hoss of the hills,” in a mild conciliatory
tone, “I am satisfied that this man is a friend of yours. You might
insult me and banter me and tear me all to pieces, but against a friend
of yours I’d never lift a hand. Now your friend is of the right stripe;
I like his looks. Thar’s no use of two good men a-fightin for nothin, so
I’ll tell you what you best do. You give him $500 and me $500 an’ we’ll
work together. The two of us could chaw up the town—we’d be a terror to
it.”
“No,” said Jones, “you won’t do. You ain’t game, you—”
“He’s a dunghill!” chipped in Cartter.
“I can’t fight in a room,” said the fellow; “I have never yet had a
fight in a room. I don’t like it.”
[Illustration: THE SCARED BULLY.]
“I guess you’re not struck after it anywhere!” said Cartter.
“It is rather close to fight in a room,” said Jones. Then turning to the
fellow, whose eyes were still wandering in the direction of Cartter’s
coat-tails, he handed him a twenty-dollar gold piece, saying; “Take
this: I hire you for my open-air fighter. You are never to fight for me
except in the open air and where there is a good chance for you to run.”
“Thank you Mr. Jones,” said the fellow, pocketing the coin and making
for the door. “Thank you, and if I ever see a show to put in a lick for
you I’ll not forget to do it.”
“Provided you have a chance to run,” sneered Cartter.
Turning as he was passing out of the door, the fellow said:
“It’s all very nice, Mr. Jones, but that is either Jim Cartter or the
devil, and you can’t ring him in on me!”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LI.
THE “HEATHEN CHINEE.”
As a rule the miners have no very exalted opinion of geologists,
mineralogists, and other scientific persons who come into the country
and claim to be able to tell all about each lead and stratum of rock,
from the earliest ages down to the last Presidential election.
In 1874, after a State Mineralogist had been elected in Nevada—it was
just previous to the transit of Venus—a Comstocker gave the following
information in regard to the duties of the newly-elected officer, they
not being very well understood by the majority of the people:
1. He will calculate all eclipses of the sun, moon, and larger stars,
as soon as he is reliably informed that any have occurred, sending in
to the Board of Alderman on the following Tuesday evening his
diagnosis, in order that it may be duly referred to the Committee on
Fire and Water.
2. He is to discover earthquakes and provide suitable means for the
extermination of the same; also, for book-agents, erysipelas, corn
doctors, cerebro-spinal meningitis and the Grecian bend.
3. He will be expected to foretell cloud-bursts, and to cause them to
burst by degrees.
4. He is to guard the State against irruptions of the grasshopper, and
must at suitable intervals, put up petitions for the putting down of
the potato-bug.
5. When Venus transits he is to go up to the top of Mount Davidson,
the day before, provided with a shot-gun and other nautical
instruments with which to stop her, if, in his opinion, what she does
on that occasion is liable to have a bad effect on any of the leading
interests of this State—particularly the anchovy-fields and the
bologna marshes.
6. In case of an aurora borealis he will let it take its course—the
same with comets and measles.
7. In the spring, when the farmers have sown their cereals, he is to
go down into the valleys and reduce the atmospheric pressure, in order
that the grains may sprout without painfully straining themselves in
swelling; also, in the fall he will perform the same duty, so that the
pumpkins and cabbages may grow with less effort.
8. He will assist the Fish Commissioner in the introduction into our
State of the alligator and other improved breeds of shrimps; will
splice out short rainbows, cure warts free of charge, and furnish
antidotes for harelip, night-mare, corners in stocks, twins, and
Beecher-Tilton at the same price—sending his bill in to the Board of
County Commissioners.
9. In case of foreign invasion, by the Piute Indians, or any other
intestine foe, he is to so alter the boundary lines to our State, so
as to throw the part containing the war into California—reserving, of
course, our right to the free navigation of the waters of Lake Tahoe.
10. Should he at any time discover in any part of the State
indications of milk-sickness, female suffrage, poison-oak or
choke-damp, he will forthwith proceed to make an assay of the same,
and, having extracted the cube root, will deposit it among the
archives of the Pacific Coast Pioneers; with a recommendation to the
mercy of the Court.
11. When a man is bitten by a mad dog, he is to kill the dog first—the
same if the dog bites anybody else.
12. When not otherwise engaged, he is to keep our cows from giving
bloody milk; cause the water to run up hill in the Virginia City
sewers; bag the surplus of all “Washoe zephyrs” for use in the lower
levels of the mines; clip the ears of black-and-tans; cause the sun to
shine on cloudy days; vaccinate for fits; have the moon shine on dark
nights, and cause all the leading mines on the Comstock range to pay
monthly dividends every two weeks.
In the eastern suburbs of Virginia City is situated the Chinese quarter
of the town, commonly called “Chinatown.” In this Chinese quarter live
several hundred Mongolians of both sexes and all ages and conditions. In
their part of the town they have stores of various kinds, shops, and
markets, gambling-dens, a joss-house, where they worship their gods, and
all other establishments required by them either for business or
pleasure. In their part of the town these people live much as they would
at home in China.
Many of the men are employed as servants in families in the city,
generally in the capacity of cooks. In most of the restaurants, Chinese
cooks are also employed. Many of them are laundrymen, and the town is
full of wash-houses. There are several Chinese-physcians in the city,
some of whom are frequently consulted by white persons. Among the
residents of Chinatown are a great number of wood-peddlers. During the
summer months they collect wood among the hills surrounding the city,
often scouting out several miles. They get wood where a white man would
see nothing that he would think of attempting to convert into fuel. For
many miles in all directions about the town they have dug up and hacked
to pieces the stumps left by the white men who first denuded the hills
of their sparse covering of cedar and nut-pine.
The Chinese wood-peddlers are a feature of the town in winter. They are
to be seen on every street, patiently plodding along behind the donkey
on which is piled their stock-in-trade. They utter no cry in passing
along the streets, but expect to be called by those who want wood. The
common price is one dollar for a donkey-load, but when the weather is
very cold and stormy, or when a storm is imminent, if you say: “How
much-ee, John?” John, with a knowing look from his weather eye, in the
direction of the approaching storm, glibly says: “One dolla quarty!” If
the storm is very bad he probably says: “One dolla hap!” The price of
wood goes up and down with the mercury.
John also understands the art of piling wood. He cuts his sticks very
short and piles them up to a great height. While he is trading with you
he keeps the head of his donkey turned toward you, so you have but an
end view of the commodity in which you propose to invest. To the casual
observer this manœuver of the Mongolian may seem to be mere accident,
but it is pure cunning and is one of the tricks of his trade. Turn his
donkey about broadside and view your load of wood edgewise, and it is
not much thicker than a trade dollar. Take a rear view, and you find
that the rotten ends of all the sticks of the load are pointing in the
direction of the donkey’s tail. When you see John approaching you he
seems to have a monster load on his donkey, but when he is opposite
there is little of it but “ragged edge.” Take what appears to be quite a
little “jag” of wood, as seen on the donkey, and when it is tumbled off,
and lies on the ground, half of it seems to have disappeared—such is
their cunning in piling it on their donkeys.
The Chinese are a curious people and have curious notions on all
subjects. They are like Europeans in nothing. They are very
superstitious, and believe in ghosts and all that sort of thing, yet
they sometimes act as though Satan himself could not frighten them. As
showing their notions in regard to funerals, death, and a future state,
I am able to give the ideas of a very intelligent Chinaman, of the name
of Wing Lee.
On the 29th of June, 1875, at 11 o’clock at night, there occurred in
Virginia City an explosion of nitro-glycerine by which ten or twelve
persons lost their lives, three buildings were torn to pieces and then
totally destroyed by a fire which broke out in them. The explosion
occurred in a room occupied by General J. L. Van Bokkelen, in a large
brick building. The General was agent for a giant-powder company, and at
the time of the explosion was known to be experimenting, with a view to
the invention of an explosive that should be far more powerful than
anything known; but nobody knew that he was conducting his experiments
in the heart of the city, until after the mischief had been done. What
it was that blew up was never exactly ascertained, but it was known that
he had in his room a considerable quantity of gun-cotton saturated with
nitro-glycerine. He also had in his room a pet monkey, and by many it
was supposed that the monkey having seen the General experimenting,
tried his hand among the chemicals. Man or monkey, the explosion killed
ten or twelve persons, and destroyed property to the value of nearly
$200,000. Among those killed were several leading citizens, and the
funeral procession on the occasion of their burial was one of the
largest and most imposing ever seen in the place.
It was while this procession was passing through the town that the
Chinaman referred to above gave me his views in regard to such matters.
What he said can only be given in his words. Said he: “Suppose some big
lich (rich) Chinaman die; Chinaman no get newspaper all same ’Melican,
so he family send-ee some letter to everybody come bury. Everybody be
belly glad for cause one big lich man die; he all heap come—two, tlee
(three) thousand maybe—all glad get heap eat-ee. Put many mat on ground;
10 o’clock morning all begin eatee pake (pork) and licee (rice); all
belly glad, heap eat-ee.
“Now all people, everyone, he get tlee (three) piec-ee white cloth—two
yard-ee long, hap (half) yard-ee wide. One piec-ee he tie ’bout he head;
one piec-ee ’bout he waist, one piec-ee on arm—all white; no black same
’Melican man. Now, all go to take dead man; all go foot, no wagon, no
horse-ee, all go foot. Big lich man he get one big housee make on top
big hill; housee all stone. Put he in he housee he sleep well, all set
up in he chair make in stone; all he fine dress put on, all he diamond,
all he watch-ee, all he chain—everything same one live man. Then he git
all fasten up by heself in he housee; then he family hire one man
watch-ee every nightee all time, so no man he come dig. So everybody he
go home belly glad, for because he got one big dinner, tlee piec-ee good
clothee—all Chinaman belly glad when one big lich Chinaman dies. Poor
Chinaman, put he in one hole like ’Melican, all in mud—no big dinner, no
clothee. Some big lich Chinaman he funeral cost-ee ten, twrenty thousand
dolla.
“One dead Chinaman he all same one live Chinaman—he heap eat all time,
he come back to he hous-ee, to he bed, he walkee in house all same like
when he no dead. Suppose you no put some pake (pork), some licee (rice)
on he grave he come back in dark nightee, talkee in your ear, he pinch
you toe. Dead Chinaman heap hungry, all same one live Chinaman—heap want
eatee.
“Chinaman no likee git bury this countlee—he no git good feed—likee be
take back he own countlee to he father, he mother, he sister, he
brother, so he git feed—no likee die here. You say ’Melican man no come
back when he die?—me no sabe why—Chinaman he come back, sure. Dead
Chinaman all same live Chinaman.
“One ’Melican man he die on one bed; two nightee more you put one live
’Melican sleep same bed—no good! You put one live Chinaman in one dead
Chinaman bed, dead Chinaman he makee some d—d hot for live Chinaman—you
bet! Dead he all same live Chinaman—Chinaman he never all dead: You know
one Chinaman two, tlee year ’go, he git kill down Chinatown? Well, he
heap come back—many Chinaman see him—you bet. He lookee all blood; he
say all time: ‘Oh! oh!’ and all time he say: ‘You go catchee that one
man what he kill me!’ He come walkee up and down belly much. One time he
no come one hap (half) year; all other time he come every week. When
dead Chinaman he come back some people he much flaid, put-a blanket on
he head; some people hee no flaid, talkee to dead Chinaman: ‘What
matter? You no sleep well?’ Some Chinaman no got good eye, no can see
dead Chinaman; he only can hear dead man walkee, maybe talkee. Me hear
belly good, me no got good eyes—no see dead Chinaman.
“Dead Chinaman all the same like one live Chinaman! Las’ year one
Chinaman git die here in this town, git bury over China bury-ground.
Nex’ night he come back he say to one man: ‘Me no can sleep; my one leg
he crook up, me belly (very) sore.’ But that one man he will no go
straight he leg, so he go to some other several Chinaman and all time
say: ‘Come fix me leg.’ Well, when they can no do other way some
Chinaman go dig up fix he leg; he sleep belly well, he come back no
more. Dead Chinaman he not get plenty eat, he come back, sure—you bet!
Dead Chinaman all same like one live Chinaman!”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LII.
CHINESE OPIUM-DENS.
In Virginia City, as in all other places where there is a considerable
Chinese population, are found opium-dens. These are sometimes on the
first floor, but are generally in a cellar or basement. We will take a
look at one not in any building: it is a subterranean opium-den—a cave
of oblivion:—
In the side of a little hill in the eastern part of the Chinese quarter
of Virginia City is to be seen a low door of rough boards. An open cut,
dug in the slope of the hill and walled with rough rocks, leads to the
door. The boards forming the door and its frame are blackened by smoke,
particularly at the top, for the den has neither chimney nor flue. The
surface of the hill forms its roof. All that is to be seen on the
outside is the door and the walled entrance leading up to it. Not a
sound is heard within or about the place. The cave of the Seven Sleepers
was not more silent. But gently pushing the door, it opens—opens as
noiselessly as though hinged in cups of oil.
At first we can see nothing, save a small lamp suspended from the centre
of the ceiling. This lamp burns with a dull red light that illuminates
nothing. It seems more like a distant fiery star than anything mundane.
Though at first we see nothing but the lamp, gradually our eyes adapt
themselves to the dim light, and we can make out the walls and some of
the larger objects in the place. A voice says: “What you want?” Looking
in the direction whence proceeds the inquiry, we see a sallow old
Mongolian seated near a small table. He is the proprietor of the den.
“What you want?” he repeats. We feel that we have no business where we
are, but to speak the truth is always best, therefore we simply say, in
pigeon-English: “Me comee see your smokee saloon.” The old fellow
settles one elbow on the table before him, and makes a remark which
appears to be the Chinese equivalent for “Humph!”
[Illustration: “THE HEATHEN CHINEE.”]
Before this taciturn dispenser of somnial drugs are a number of little
horn boxes of opium, several opium-pipes, small scales for weighing,
with beam of bone, covered with black dots instead of figures; small
steel spatulas, wire probes, and other smoking-apparatus.
We now observe that two sides of the den are fitted up with bunks, one
above the other, like the berths on shipboard. A cadaverous opium-smoker
is seen in nearly every bunk. These men are in various stages of stupor.
Each lies upon a scrap of grass mat or old blanket. Before him is a
small alcohol lamp burning with a blue flame which gives out but little
light—only enough to cast a sickly glare upon the corpse-like face of
the smoker, as he holds his pipe in the flame, and by a long draught
inhales and swallows the smoke of the loved drug. These fellows are
silent as dead men, and seem unconscious of our presence. Occasionally,
at a sign, the proprietor arises and furnishes the customer a fresh
supply of the drug. The peculiar sweetish-bitter odor of the burning
opium fills and saturates the whole place—one can almost taste it.
While the majority, lying upon their sides, and propped on one elbow,
are calmly inhaling their dose, a few appear to have had enough. These
lie with their heads resting upon short sections of bamboo, which serve
this curious people as pillows, and move no more than dead men. The eyes
of some are wide open, as in a fixed stare, while those of others are
partially or wholly closed. If they have any of those heavenly visions
of which we are told, they keep them to themselves; as, save in a few
somniloquous mutterings, they utter no sound. The door is gently opened,
and a gaunt, wild-eyed Mongolian slips stealthily in. The old man at the
table merely elevates his eyes. The newcomer steps out of his sandals
and, making no more noise than a cat, crosses the earthen floor of the
room and creeps into a vacant bunk. The boss of this cavern of Morpheus
now raises his elbows from the table, takes up a pipe and its
belongings, sleepily lights one of the small alcohol lamps, and then
places the whole before his customer. The old man then returns to his
table and sits down. Not a word is spoken.
Thus the business of the cavern goes on, day and night, and this is all
of opium-smoking that appears on the surface, tales of travellers to the
contrary notwithstanding. What shapes may appear to the sleepers, or
what flight their souls may take into interstellar regions, we know not.
To a looker-on it is all vapid, vacuous stupefaction.
Not a few white men in Virginia City—and a few women—are opium-smokers.
They visit the Chinese opium dens two or three times a week. They say
that the effect is exhilarating—that it is the same as intoxication
produced by drinking liquor, except that under the influence of opium a
man has all his senses, and his brain is almost supernaturally bright
and clear. An American told me that he had been an opium-smoker for
eighteen years, and said there were about fifty persons in Virginia City
who were of the initiated. In San Francisco he says there are over five
hundred white opium-smokers, many women among them.
During summer, men who have for sale all manner of quack nostrums, men
with all kinds of notions for sale, street-shows, beggars, singers, men
with electrical-machines, apparatus for testing the strength of the
lungs, and a thousand other similar things, flock to Virginia City. Of
evenings, when the torches of these parties of peddlers, showmen, and
quack doctors are all lighted and all are in full cry, a great fair
seems to be under headway in the principal street of the town—there is a
perfect Babel of cries and harangues.
The man with the electrical-machine, for instance, leads off with:
“Who is the next gentleman who wishes to try the battery? It makes the
old man feel young, and the young man feel strong. Remember,
gentlemen, that a quarter of a dollar pays the bill. Try the battery!
Try the battery! Bear in mind that there can be nothing applied equal
to it, as it is one of nature’s own remedies. A quarter of a dollar
places you in a position to have your nervous system electrified. The
small sum of one quarter of a—Try the battery, sir? The small sum of
one quarter of a dollar pays the whole entire bill. Who is the next
man to try the battery? Try the battery! Try the battery and improve
your health while you have the opportunity. Who is the next man that
wishes to—Try the battery, sir? Try the battery! Try the battery!
Purifies the blood, strengthens the nervous system; cures headaches,
toothaches, neuralgia, and all diseases of the nervous system. Can be
applied to a child six months old as well as to a full-grown person.
Try the battery! Try the battery! Re-e-emember, gentlemen, that the
sma-a-all and tri-i-fling sum of o-one quarter of a dollar pays the
whole entire—Try the battery, sir? Try the battery! Try the battery!
Can regulate the instrument to suit all constitutions. Try the
battery! Re-e-member that electricity is life. It is what you, each
and every one of you, require, and it is utterly impossible for you to
live without it. Try the battery! Try the battery!”
The soap-root tooth-powder man next starts in with his little talk:
“Gentlemen, I have here three little articles, and I start out by
telling you that they are all three humbugs. But starting out with
this proposition that they are all humbugs, I only do so in order that
before I get through I may [Try the battery!] disprove said
proposition to your entire satisfaction. I will first show you a
little article called [Try the battery! Try the battery!] the
California Soap-root Tooth-powder. Years ago, gentlemen, about 75
miles northeast of Waterville, in the State of California, I saw the
Indians [Try the battery!] washing their clothes with this root. I
examined it and found [One quarter of a dollar pays the entire bill!]
it was a wonderful production of nature, gentlemen. I found that it
[Makes the old man feel young, and the young man feel strong!] grew in
abundance in the mountains. I procured a quantity of it and took it to
[Try the battery, sir?] San Francisco, when I began to [Try the
battery!] to try [Try the battery!] experiments with it. The result
was, gentlemen, that I produced this beautiful article which [Purifies
the blood, strengthens the nervous system, and improves your general
health!] instantly removes all stains from the teeth and [A quarter of
a dollar pays the whole entire bill!] leaves the breath pure and
sweet. [Try the battery!]”
The German ballad-singer now comes to the front:
“Lauterbach hab’ i mein’ Strumpf verlorn,
Ohne Strumpf geh’ i not hoam,
Geh’ i halt weider auf Lauterbach,
Kauf’ mir an Strumpf zu dem oan.
Tillee leari, oiko, hi oiko, hi oiko!
Tillee oiko, oiko. Tilli oi-i-oi-oiko!
Tillee leari—[Try the battery!] hi oiko!
Z’ Lauterbach hab’ i mein Herz verlorn,
Ohne Herz kann i not [Try the battery!] leb’n.”
Clem Berry (Scipio Africanus) now takes the field:
“Only two dollars, gentlemen, takes you to Reno by this splendid
Concord coach, landing you there at 6 o’clock in the evening, when you
may [Try the battery!] sleep till the train arrives [Seventy-five
miles northeast of Weaverville, in the State of California, where I
saw the Indians—] from the East, when you [Try the battery!] get
aboard [which removes all stains from the teeth] at the same time as
the passengers by the Virginia and Truckee Railroad [Tillee oiko,
hioiko!] and [Try the battery!] are perfectly fresh—[Oi-i-oi-oiko!]”
The spotted boy, dwarf, and big snakes now loom up, and we hear that:
“This wonderful spotted boy was captured in the wilds of Africa
[Seventy-five miles northeast of Weaverville—] with his strange
companion [Lauterbach], the huge boa constructor, which you see [Try
the battery!] him handle with the greatest possible [Hioiko!] freedom
[without causing the gums to bleed]. And here is the wonderful little
Fairy Queen, 18 years of age, and only thirty-one inches in height.
She was born [Ohne Strumpf] in Grand Rapids, [Seventy-five miles
northeast of Weaverville], Wisconsin; has a thorough education, and
possesses [A splendid Concord coach!] the [Small sum of one quarter of
a dollar] graces and manners becoming a [Lauterbach] lady of the
highest [Hioiko!] standing in society.”
All hands round:
“Get right aboard here, now, and at 6 o’clock I’ll land you at Reno,
seventy-five miles northeast of Weaverville, in the wilds of Africa,
where I saw the Indian thirty-one inches in height, born at Grand
Rapids, try the battery and take all the stains out of the wonderful
spotted boy, who only eats once in four months, and sheds his skin
twice a year. Having been educated in a convent in Milwaukee, geh i
not hoam to try the battery, when the big white snake eats the little
girl across the way you’ll get a drink for a bit, and see the sea-lion
try the battery free, up in the mountains this wonderful Lauterbach
soap-root climbs a tree and then hangs by the tail, tilee leari, oiko
hi oiko! which purifies the blood, strengthens the nerves of the
spotted boy, cleanses the teeth, and does not fear to encounter either
the lion or the tiger, being able to regulate the instrument to suit
all constitutions.”
In Virginia City, as well as in all the towns and cities on the Pacific
Coast, gold and silver coin is the only money in circulation. There are
now in circulation at least two American coins almost unknown in other
parts of the Union—the trade-dollar and the twenty-five cent piece—as
their coinage was not authorized until after greenbacks became a legal
tender, and had taken possession of the Atlantic States to the exclusion
of all coin, except copper and nickle.
The trade-dollar was coined for our trade with China and Japan. It was
coined expressly to supersede the Mexican dollar in the countries named.
It contains a trifle more silver than the Mexican dollar, and the
Chinese were not long in ascertaining this fact. Now the American
trade-dollar is in great demand both in China and Japan, and the old
Mexican dollar is thrown completely into the shade. The Chinese and
Japanese are great lovers of silver, and the American trade-dollar,
being pure silver, is preferred by them to the coin of any other nation.
The end—the final fate—of the trade-dollar, however, is inglorious. It
is sent to India by the Chinese for the purchase of opium. In India they
are sent to the Calcutta mint and are there made into rupees, stamped
with the value on one side and on the other outlandish heathen
characters. Thus the silver of the big bonanza fills the opium-pipe of
the Chinese mandarin. The amount of American silver sent to India to pay
for opium is very great.
The Chinese in Nevada and in all other towns on the Pacific Coast
industriously gather trade-dollars which they send to the head men of
their companies in San Francisco, by whom they are shipped to China.
Persons who have but lately arrived from States where no coin is seen,
are astonished at the abundance of silver in Virginia City, and
delighted to be in a place where they may once again hear the almost
forgotten jingle of gold and silver; though I once heard a New York lady
say: “I never saw such a place. I hear nothing but the jingle of money
from one end of the town to the other. The people all go about jingling
their money as though on purpose to show that they are able to pay their
way!”
To the impecunious new arrivals—the weary and tattered immigrants—this
jingling of coin must be still more aggravating.
A gentleman in Virginia City one day told a story about slipping a
silver half-dollar into the gaping coat pocket of a grasshopper sufferer
who was gazing hungrily in at the window of a restaurant. The man
continued looking at the good things displayed in the window for some
time, devouring them in imagination, then, heaving a sigh, turned away.
As he was moving off, however, he carelessly, and through force of
habit, as it were, put his hand into his pocket. Bringing forth the
silver coin the instant his hand came in contact with it, the fellow
gazed upon it with a face which wore a look of astonishment comical to
behold. Finally he seemed to conclude that it was all right, the Lord
had sent it, when he retraced his steps to the restaurant and soon was
seated before that which was probably the first square meal he had faced
in some days.
A Comstocker, who heard this story told, relates that he concluded he
would experiment a little in the same direction. If half a dollar had
power to so astound an impecunious immigrant, he would try the effect of
a trade-dollar. Procuring a bright, new trade-dollar, he sallied forth
in search of a subject. He had not travelled far until he saw before him
a young man of most rueful countenance—an undoubted grasshopper
sufferer. The man was leaning against a lamp-post on a street corner,
his face elongated, his mouth standing negligently open, and his
half-closed eyes gazing wearily up among the fleecy clouds, as though he
were wishing himself dead and taking his ease as an angel, far away in
the realms above.
The Comstocker saw that here was his man, and, passing near the dreamer,
slily slid the trade-dollar into the capacious pocket of his butternut
coat, then taking up a position a few paces distant, awaited
developments. He had not long to wait. Soon, in shifting his position,
the grasshopper man mechanically placed his hand in his pocket, and, as
was to be seen by the general awakening of his features, was not a
little surprised to find something where he had supposed there was
nothing. When he brought out the big bright dollar, his eyes almost
started from their sockets, and he looked as though about to fall down
in a fit of some kind. However, after a gasp or two he appeared to
recover somewhat, and glancing curiously, and in a bewildered sort of
way, at all standing near him, started across the street, carefully
fobbing the dollar as he went.
By the time he had gone half across the street, he appeared to change
his mind. After gazing back and scratching his head for half a minute,
he returned to the post and taking up his old position, spread open the
pocket of his coat to its fullest extent. He had concluded to set it
again.
CHAPTER LIII.
HOW FORTUNES ARE MADE AND LOST.
During the prevalence of a big stock excitement, times are lively along
the Comstock range. Virginia City then hums like a Brobdignagian
beehive. All who failed to make fortunes on the occasion of previous
excitements in stocks are going to do better this time. They have seen
how these things work, and this time are going to sell when they can do
so at a fair profit. They don’t want the last cent: they will give some
one else a chance to make something.
This is the way they talk at the start. As soon as there is a marked
advance in stocks, however, they will be heard to say: “As soon as I can
double my money I am going to sell.” In three days from the time of
their making this assertion, stocks have taken such a “jump” that they
could sell and double or more than double their money. Everybody is
saying, however, that they are not selling for half what they are worth;
that they will sell for twice or three times present prices before the
end of another month.
The men who were intending to sell whenever they could double their
money cannot think of doing anything of the kind as things are now
looking. Instead of selling they become excited, put up their stocks
(which they had probably bought and paid for “out and out”) as a
“margin,” then put in all the money they can raise besides, and buy as
many shares of their favorite stocks as they can in any way manage to
secure. Stocks still go up, and each day these dabblers will be found
counting their profits. They have invested largely in the low-priced
stocks of “outside mines”—mines in which nothing of value has yet been
found, but mines in which, all are saying, grand developments are liable
to be made at any time—mines, in short, which in dull times are
generally designated as “wild-cat.” The masses—the servant girls,
chamber-maids, cooks, hostlers, washerwoman, preachers, teachers,
hackmen and draymen—are wildly and blindly buying these low-priced
stocks, and from day to day they are going up “with a rush,” and
everybody is getting rich.
Our men who only “went in” to make a fair profit, now tell you that they
made yesterday $10,000; to-day they have made $15,000, and in a week or
two they will say that they are worth a quarter of a million, half a
million or a million of dollars. But they are not going to sell yet: no,
indeed—the rise has only commenced. Pretty soon stocks fall off a
little. Never mind, to-morrow they will do better. To-morrow they are
still a “little off,” as is said when stocks are going down. The next
day they are rather “soft,” which is the same thing as a “little off.”
However, that is all right. Our dealers—amateur speculators—have some
points, given them by a friend who is on the inside. A development is
about to be made in a favorite mine. The “bears” are trying to break the
stock; but they can’t do it; no, sir!—impossible. Too much merit in the
mines at this time. All will be up and “booming” in a day or two. Next
time you shall see them go higher than they have yet been seen.
Our men who started in to make a fair profit might yet sell and double
their money—much more than double it—but they are not going to do
anything of the kind. They are going to wait till “things take a turn.”
The “bulls” will soon make a grand rally, and when things go up again
our men will sell. They admit that they should have sold when their
stocks were all up before, but, never mind! they will go to the same
figures again in less than a fortnight, when they will be sure to sell.
There does come a “spurt,” and for a day or two there is a cheering
improvement in prices along the whole line. Faces brighten and everybody
talks of all stocks going higher than ever.
All at once everything is again “soft;” the next day “softer,” and the
next decidedly “off.” It is then said that some one in the “bear”
interest has been telegraphing to the “Bay” (San Francisco) a pack of
lies about the mines, and the “bears” “below” (at San Francisco) have
made use of these lies to get up a “scare.” Never mind! the scare will
be over in a day or two.
But stocks still go down. Then it is said that some big dealer is
“unloading” and there is talk of a “crash.” Still our men who started in
but to make a “fair profit” do not feel like taking thousands, when they
might a short time before have taken tens of thousands of dollars. They
still hold on, saying that even though one or two big dealers are
unloading, the big men among the bulls will “stand in” and take all the
stocks that are offered. Also, they will have some points from a friend
“on the inside” and developments are about to be made in one or two of
the mines that will make all who have sold “very sick” particularly
those bloodless demons who have “sold short.” The “shorts” will have a
merry time of it when they come to “fill.”
Thus matters stand, when suddenly there comes what looks very much like
the beginning of a “crash.” The “bears” are all diligently crying,
“stand from under.” Many persons become frightened, and throw their
stocks upon the market. Down go prices and soon “soft” is no name for
it. The masses—the tinker and tailor, the preacher and the teacher, the
hostler and the waiter—rush in to try to “save themselves” and there is
seen a grand and unmistakeable crash. Brokers are calling on all sides
for “margins” to be “made good,” and men are rushing about trying to
raise money to “put up” in order to prevent their stocks being sold at
less than cost.
They perhaps raise the money required, and for a few days breathe again,
when there is a further decline in stocks, and the brokers are again
sending notes to their customers telling them that if they do not put up
more money they will be sold out. Sooner or later there comes a time
when the customer can raise no more money, and his stocks are thrown
into the market by the broker—in whose hands they remain—and are sold.
Thus ends the grand speculation.
Our men, who at the start were resolved to be content with a fair profit
are generally found among the number of those who are sold out, when
they are heard to say that if they ever have another such chance to make
money they will not hold on for the last cent. They have said the same
thing year after year ever since the opening of the Comstock mines. But
whenever there is a grand upward movement in stocks they never fail to
become excited and try to buy about ten times as much stock as they can
pay for. In this way they lose all except what they may have happened to
purchase at a fair price in a mine of real merit.
Persons who purchase mining-stocks on a “margin” pay their broker, as a
rule, one-half the market value of the stock so bought. The other half
is advanced by the broker, the customer paying him interest on the
amount at the rate of two per cent. per month. The broker also receives
one per cent commission on all sales and purchases made for the
customer. Stocks are nearly always bought and sold in the San Francisco
Stock Board, the broker in Virginia City telegraphing to his agent “at
the Bay” to buy or sell such a number of shares of a certain stock, and
the bill for this telegraphing is paid by the customer.
In case of a decline in the price of the stock purchased, the customer
must pay in to the broker enough money to make him secure for the amount
he has advanced, taking into account the current price of the stock.
Should there be a further and continued decline, the customer must
continue to put up money, in order to make his broker safe. If he is
unable to do this his broker sells him out—_i. e._ takes care of “number
one.”
From this it will be seen that the broker who does a strictly commission
business—who is not himself a dabbler in stocks—makes a very soft thing
out of it. Sometimes, however, stocks drop so rapidly that the broker
cannot sell in time to save himself. This is generally when the customer
has been allowed to buy stock on the presumed value of the stocks he
already has in the hands of his broker, putting up stocks that have
advanced at their current value as a margin on which to purchase still
other stocks, and so running his purchases up on the compound-interest
principle.
When a broker calls for money to make margins good, “mud” is the slang
word used among dealers in stocks, by which to designate the money so
demanded. One frequently hears a man who is a dabbler in stocks cursing
his luck, the condition of the market, and all else, concluding with:
“And here is my broker calling for more mud!” When the reports of the
sales of stocks are received from San Francisco and prices are a “little
off,” one hears some person who has read the news sing out: “More mud,
boys!”
The demand for “mud” often causes very long faces to be seen on the
streets—to many it means ruin. Yet men will continue to buy on margins,
taking all the chances, and stretching what ready-money they have as far
as the broker will allow them to go. Provided men buy on a margin at a
time when stocks are very low and then shortly after comes a grand
excitement, they are liable to make a little fortune with a very small
amount of capital, but to buy in this way at a time when everything is
high is dangerous business and the demands for “mud” are likely to be
very numerous.
The following letter received in Virginia City, from a Frenchman, in San
Francisco, shows how he first became acquainted with this dreadful word,
“mud” and how he relished the thing itself:
SAN FRANCISCO, CAL. April 11 1875.
Monsieur—By zee advice of one goot friend who informed me zat he be on
zee inside, and who make for me zee negoziazione, I have procure some
time past on what you call “on zee time,” many share of zee Bobtaile.
Zee prix zat time be fortee dollaire on monnie d’or des Etats-Unis;
bote I buy on zee time and not pay zee prix. My friend on zee insides
tell me Bobtaile one ver fine bargain for fortee dollaire. Ah ha!
Bobtaile one ver fine compagnie! plenty mashine pour work; grand
nombre d’employés; Superintendent un salaire plus grand, je suppose!
all ting ver fine. Me buy? Vraiment, oui. He—mine friend who repose on
zee insides—express himself of zee mine wis moche enthousiasme. “Zee
mine be one merveille de la nature; zee works, un chef-d’œuvre de
l’art!” Je suppose to purchase be une chance rare. I purchase, but
now, pretty soon—le diable! Zee brokaire man use zee expression to me,
as follows: “More mud.” At zee first I not ver well comprehend. Sans
doubte it be une expression, ver mysterieuse—zis exclamation: “More
mud.” So many five, seex time have he, zee brokaire, desire of me some
leetle more mud, zat now I mus make one grand sacrifice pecuniaire. It
be now become scandaleuse! Parbleu, c’est horrible, cette “mud!” For
me to communicate wis my brokaire—bah! it was one grand plaiser, Of de
mine, des minerals I be plenty sick. Under de circonstances I read no
more wis enthousiasme of—“Les compagnie’s certificat d’incorporation;”
“la Pussy Cat Wilde, objet: Operations dans l’Etat de Nevada,
etc.”—“Les directeurs sont: Bill Tubb, Sam Hobb, Jack Dobb, etc.”
Capital social, $45,800,000,002; divise en 56,000,000,000,000,000
actions. Vraiment oui!—“More mud!” Pretty soon you hear one crash
financial,—I gone bust—me! No more do I eat me my dennaire a de la
restaurant du Poodle Dog, rue Duponte, but wis circomspection
admirable I betake me to la cote de Barbarie, to zee Hell Kitchen—zee
cuisine de l’enfer. Parole d’honneur monsieur, I be ver moche perplex
wis zee stoke prices, He viggle up, he viggle down all zee time. Vill
you have zee complaisance to inform me how soon he vill viggle high up
and remain to pass some time up dare? “Mud!” le diable!—zee word have
for me un signification sardonique!
Your tres-humble and tres-obeissant servant,
PIERRE EDOUARD OUDIN.
In the winter of 1874-75, owing to the wonderful developments made in
the Consolidated Virginia and California mines, there was a grand stock
excitement throughout the towns of the Pacific Coast. San Francisco and
Virginia City, however, were the two great centres of this excitement.
As the vast and astonishingly rich deposits of ore in the California
mine began to be drifted into and opened to view, the stock of the
company rapidly and steadily advanced from about fifty dollars per share
to nearly one thousand dollars. Consolidated Virginia stock advanced in
about the same ratio, as in the mine of that company the width and
richness of the ore was far beyond anything that had ever before been
seen on the Comstock lode. In the Ophir mine, the next north of the
California, large and rich bodies of ore were being opened, and the
stock of that company advanced with almost bewildering rapidity. Persons
who happened to have twenty, fifty, or one hundred shares in either of
these mines suddenly found themselves rich. The investment of a few
hundreds of dollars had brought them thousands, and the investments of
thousands brought them tens of thousands of dollars.
The great strike in the “bonanza” mines started up the stocks of all the
adjoining mines, and, indeed, of all the mines along the Comstock range.
The stock of mines that were rich in “great expectations” only were as
eagerly sought for and as briskly dealt in, as were those in which ore
was already being extracted, for many said: “It is just as well for us
to double our money in a stock that costs but one or two dollars per
share as in stocks that cost from one to five hundred dollars.” And many
did double and more than double their money in such stocks; indeed, in
some instances they sold for five or ten times what their stocks cost
them.
[Illustration: SCANNING THE BULLETIN.]
Every day there is a morning and an afternoon session of the San
Francisco Stock Board, and the reports of the sales are telegraphed to
Virginia City, Gold Hill and other Nevada towns as fast as the stocks
are called. Thus, as soon as the Stock Board is in session and business
begins, reports of sales begin to arrive in Virginia City and are placed
in the windows or on the bulletin-boards of the various stock-brokers of
the town, where all interested may see them. Therefore during a big
stock excitement the bulletin-boards are the centres about which are
seen large crowds of anxious dealers—and nearly everybody in the city
dabbles more or less in stocks, women as well as men.
On very critical occasions, either when stocks are rapidly rushing or
when they are rapidly “tumbling,” then is a grand charge made upon all
the bulletin-boards as soon as it is known that the reports have
arrived. Dry-goods clerks—yardstick in hand and scissors peeping from
vest-pocket—come running out bare-headed and bald-headed to catch a
glimpse of the bulletin; bar-keepers in their white aprons come;
bare-headed, bare-armed, and white-aproned butchers smelling of blood,
come; blacksmiths, in leather aprons and hammer in hand, flour-dusted
bakers, cooks in paper caps cobblers, tinkers, and tailors all come to
learn the best and the worst. The miner on his way to or from work,
carrying his dinner-pail and candlestick, halts for a moment to see how
fares his favorite stock, the teamster stops his long string of mules
opposite one of the centres of attraction and, thrusting his “black
snake” under the housing of his saddle-mule, marches to the board to
read his fate. Ladies linger as they pass the groups at the
bulletin-boards and try to catch some word of hope, or ensconce
themselves in the nearest shops, and hence send messenger-lads to bring
tidings of their favorite gamble.
Even the Chinese dabble in stocks. Some of these are able to read the
reports for themselves, while others ask white men to tell them the
price of the stocks in which they are dealing. There was an old fellow
who, for a long time was dealing in the stocks of the Belcher and the
Segregated Belcher mines. The Belcher he called the “big Belch,” and the
Segregated Belcher the “little Belch.” Crowding his way up to a
bulletin-board he would say to some by-stander: “How much-ee to-day
catch-ee big Belch?” Being told, and finding the stock up, he would say:
“Bully for big Belch!”
Next he would ask: “How much-ee to day catch-ee little Belch?”
Finding that stock a “little off” he would say:
“Belly bad! belly bad! Little Belch too much-ee all time, bust me up!”
In passing the bulletin-boards one catches scraps of conversation like
the following: “Didn’t I tell you so? I have said so all the time.” “I
saw a man this morning who is thoroughly reliable, and he says”—“Yes, it
may be a buy, but, confound it, I get sold so often!”—“I knew they would
all be up to-day”—“Now you raise the money; I tell you it is just as I
say. I have points that”—“Dealing in stocks with these rings is just
like playing poker with a man who knows both hands”—“They have it awful
in the”—“They haven’t got an ounce afore in the”—“I shan’t sell yet.
Stocks have only begun to go up.” “I wish I had sold yesterday.” “Well I
have laid up my treasures above, where the bulls and bears can never
come.”—The last speaker is generally a newspaper reporter or some other
such holy person, who is seen standing aloof from the ungodly
worshippers at the shrine of Mammon.
The amount of “stock talk” heard in every saloon, public-house and
shop, and on every street, is at times enough to render an easy-going
Granger from one of the eastern or middle States, to whom it is all
Greek a raving maniac or a drivelling idiot. The sidewalks on C
street, the principal business street of Virginia City, are generally
so thronged that it is a difficult matter to pass along them, except
at the same slow pace at which the mass of the pedestrians is moving;
therefore at times when there is an excitement in regard to stocks
there are frequent blockades in front of the offices of the brokers,
and persons wishing to pass are obliged to take to the streets. At
times the police are obliged to clear passages through the throngs, as
men become so interested in their stocks as to have neither eyes nor
ears for anything else, and ladies and children find themselves unable
to pass.
CHAPTER LIV.
CURIOUS SPECULATIONS IN STOCK.
When there is a grand upward movement in stocks, and all is excitement
among the dealers, from the big operator worth millions, down to the
little curb-stone broker whose fortune is yet to be made, early and
reliable information in regard to what is going on in the lower-levels
is valuable and is always in demand.
On the Comstock there is a class of men, for whom there is no
distinctive name, whose business it is to find out all that can in any
way be learned in regard to the condition of the mines, and report the
same to the dealers in stocks by whom they are employed. These mining
reporters, they might be called—as a class, are shrewd and eternally
vigilant. They must always keep their employers, who are generally in
San Francisco, well informed in regard to the condition of the Comstock
mines at all times when a “strike” is anticipated or reported in any
particular mine; it is expected of them, by hook or by crook, to
ascertain exactly in what part of the mine it was made or is about to be
made. If made at all, they are to find out the value of the strike,
probable extent of the body of ore found, its richness, direction, and
many other things not easily ascertained.
When a strike is reported made in a mine and all its gates and doors are
closed, the strictest secresy enjoined on all the workmen, and
admittance refused to all “outsiders,” then is the time for the mining
reporter to display his genius or give up his trade. By bribing workmen
or by getting a man of his own into the mine to work, or in some other
way he must find out what he wants to know.
On one occasion a rich strike was reported in a leading mine. Every
avenue to the lower-levels was closed against the outside world. The
superintendent was exceedingly close-mouthed and mysterious; the miners
were reticent and unbribable—nothing could be learned in regard to the
strike, though strike there was, as all felt convinced. The gatherers of
mining news scouted about the surface works, watching everything and
making mental notes of all that occurred which appeared to be indicative
of a rich body of ore below. Nothing, however, of the slightest value
could be bored, pumped, or gouged out of anybody or anything, and
finally all the newsgatherers but one drew off and gave it up as a bad
job. One man still lingered, day after day, all eyes and ears. The
superintendent came and went, and he was none the wiser for having seen
him.
At last a bright idea struck him. The superintendent came to the mine,
and, as usual, went down into the lower-levels. Our man remained
loitering about the works until he came out—lingered until he had seen
him take off and throw aside his muddy boots, his clay-besmeared
overalls and shirt, and till he had finally taken himself off. Watching
his chance, the hungry reporter of mining news darted into the
dressing-room, and with his jack-knife scraped from the boots, overalls,
felt hat, shirt, and everything, all the mud, clay, and earth sticking
to them. Of this and the loose particles of ore found in the pockets of
the shirt, he made a large ball, which was composed of a general average
of the bottom, top and sides of the drift run into the new deposit; he
had a little of everything the superintendent had touched, and this ball
he had carefully assayed. By the result obtained he became satisfied
that a strike of extraordinary richness had been made. He immediately
telegraphed to his employers in San Francisco to buy all of the stock
they could get. They bought largely, and made an immense profit, as the
stock soon went up from a few dollars to high in the hundreds.
At the time of the big excitement in 1875, a fine, motherly-looking old
lady came up to Virginia City from Reno to see about the “big bonanza.”
She had in her pocket twenty shares of California stock which she had
bought when it was selling at $30. At the time she made her trip to
Virginia the stock was selling for over $600 per share. Her son
accompanied her on her trip of inspection. Leaving the cars at the
depôt, mother and son walked down the railroad-track to a point where
could be obtained a good view of the Consolidated Virginia
hoisting-works, the big mill of that company and of the Ophir works.
Some men of whom they inquired told them that the ground they saw
between the Ophir and the Consolidated Virginia, was that of the
California Company, and was principally bonanza.
On hearing this, the good old lady wiped her spectacles, placed them
astride of her venerable nose, threw back her head, and long and
carefully surveyed the lay of the land between the two sets of
hoisting-works. This done, she took off and folded up her glasses, put
them into their case, and carefully deposited them in her capacious
pocket. She then brought forth her reticule, opened it, took out her
stock, found it all right, replaced it, and drew the string as tight as
her trembling fingers would allow of her doing. She then said to her
son: “George, give me your arm. Let us go home—it will go to $1,000.”
Nat Codrington was one of the unlucky speculators. He was always
complaining about William Sharon, the great mining millionaire. Whenever
things went wrong with Nat, “Uncle Billy”—as Nat affectionately called
Mr. Sharon—was at the bottom of the business. When Nat bought stock it
was sure to go down at once, then he would say: “That’s Uncle Billy,
he’s turning the crank again!” As soon as Nat sold short on a stock, up
it would go, and he would say: “Well, Uncle Billy’s at it again—grindin’
of ’em the other way this time!”
As long as he could, Nat responded to the calls for “mud,” but his pile
of filthy lucre was not like the widow’s cruse of oil, and at last it
became a thing of the past, and Nat ceased to take even his former
feeble interest in “Uncle Billy’s” crank-turning.
The last seen of Nat he was off for California. The iron had entered his
soul and he had reached the seventh level of despair. No more mining—no
more mud-eating stocks for him. “Yes,” said Nat, “I’m off for the
pastoral regions, where the woodbine twineth and the dissolute
grasshopper sitteth on the mullin stalk and assiduously raspeth his
stridulous fiddle.”
Old Joe Staker is one of a class to be found both along the line of the
Comstock and in San Francisco, on those streets where speculators in
stocks most do congregate. Old Joe probably never owned the shadow of a
share in any mine on the Comstock lode, yet he is always in the thick of
every excitement, and claims to have shares in all the big mines.
In 1875, Old Joe was in his element. His is a very sympathetic nature,
and when California was booming up toward $1,000 per share, Old Joe was
rushing about, ever in the midst of the _mélée_—was ever with those who
were drinking and rejoicing.
Later in the season, when there had been a crash along the whole
line—when all stocks, good, bad, and indifferent, “tumbled”—Old Joe was
to be found in the midst of the mourners, drowning his sorrows at every
opportunity. He did not, however, at all times find those who were
losing their thousands each hour by the fall so liberal as had been
those who had been winning at the same rate by the rise, nor were they
so good-natured, and Old Joe frequently found himself elbowed out
altogether.
One day half a dozen groups had given him the shake. He was exceedingly
thirsty—his throat as dry as a lime-burner’s shoe.
[Illustration: FUNNY INCIDENTS.]
While he was disconsolately roving from saloon to saloon in search of a
sympathetic being with whom to shed tears, he encountered a
dilapidated-looking individual just arrived from the great West—a Kansas
sufferer, in short. Old Joe heard something of this man’s story of the
ruin wrought in the West by the grasshopper, and at once froze to him
with his story of losses in stocks. After three drinks together—the
grasshopper man appeared to have a thin stratum of greenbacks left in
his wallet, toward which Old Joe cocked an occasional eye—after about
three drinks it was settled by the pair that grasshoppers and bonanzas
were two of the worst plagues by which the world had ever been
devastated. As more drinks were taken, grasshoppers and porphyry and
bonanzas and beanstalks became fearfully mixed. At a late hour they were
still mingling their tears and toasting each other. “Here’s hoping,”
said the grasshopper man, “that yer cornstalks may always bear three
full (hic!) ears and a nubbin!” “And here,” said Old Joe, “is death and
confusion to all (hic!) brasshoppers and gonanzas!”
Old Joe then encircled the neck of his new-found friend with his left
arm, and said in his most kindly tone: “Now, ef you was perfec’ly des
(hic!) destitute and I was perfec’ly des (hic!) tute, you’d soak
everything you had for (hic!) me, and I’d spout everything I persessed
for you; (hic!) wouldn’t we?”
The opening of the big bonanza at the north end of the Comstock
occasioned a grand rush of prospectors to the northward of Virginia
City, a region which had, strangely enough, never been prospected.
There had been some surface-scratching done in that direction in early
times, and some shafts had been sunk to the depth of fifty to one
hundred feet, but no regular scientific prospecting had been done.
Claims were taken up in all directions, first-class shafts begun,
machinery set up, and buildings of all kinds erected. In a few months
quite a village was built up, to which was given the name of North
Virginia. This place is about two miles north of Virginia City, and in
case of the continuation of the Comstock lode being found in that
neighborhood will be likely to be a place of considerable importance.
Some excellent “prospects” are being found in the shafts that are being
sunk in that direction, and the owners of several mines are confident
that at no distant day they will find a big bonanza on their part of the
lode.
At the time these claims were being located there was almost a revival
of the scenes of early days. Men were out in the night staking off
ground and posting notices, and there was a good deal of claim-jumping,
with some fights, going on. Men were seen bringing pieces of rock into
town as specimens from their mines, and these were passed from hand to
hand and commented on, much as when the miners first began to roam the
hills. Even the colored population, who seldom trouble themselves about
mines, caught the infection and went out prospecting and locating
mines—became experts on ore. One of these coming into town with a big
chunk of rock in his hand met a friend whose eyes began to dilate at
what he thought might be a lump of solid silver. Said the—
First Expert—“Wha—what yer got thar?”
Second Expert—“Look at dat, sah! Dat’s out’en de Day of Jubilee mine.
Boy, I tell yer dat’s gwine to be a mine. Wha—what you say, now, dat’s
gwine to pay at de present prices of deduction, hey?”
First Expert—“Fore de Lord, I doesn’t know! Gwine to pay, think?”
Second Expert—“Gwine to pay? _gwine to pay?_ Now you makes me laugh. Jes
look at dat rock, Edward Arthur—look at dat side of it! See de pure
chloroform dat’s percolated all ober it! Now ax me ef dat rock’s gwine
to pay. Look at de formation and de stratification! Ax me ef dat rock’s
gwine to pay! Why, you see you doesn’t know de fust principles ’bout dem
oldah prefatory periods when dis here yearf was a multitudinous mass,
floatin’ roun’ in a chaotic hemisphere; time o’ de propylites an
jewrasic periods. Your ignorance perfectly affixes me.”
During the stock excitement on the Comstock, in 1872, a shrewd operator
in stocks found himself in possession of an immense number of shares of
Alpha mining-stock—many more shares than he cared to hold. He was a man
who was and still is considered one of the sharpest operators on the
lode. A word or even a hint from him was worth a whole mint of money.
One day this “stock-sharp” said to his wife: “My dear, how much money
have you got?”
“I have $6,000,” said the wife. “Why?”
“Put it all into the Alpha,” said her husband. “Ask no questions, but
buy all the Alpha you can get. Be careful, however, not to mention to a
living soul that I told you to do this.”
[Illustration: THE SECRET.]
The wife faithfully promised that she would “not even breathe the name
of the mine.” As soon as her husband was out of sight, she put on her
hat and shawl and hurried away to the house of her married sister and
gently murmured into her ear the news that Alpha was a “big buy.” That
night the brother-in-law, Mr. Hornbeck, knew that there was a big
speculation in Alpha; his folks and the Doolittles next heard of it,
then the Turners, and Horners, and Huffs, and Howards—all the relations
of the speculator’s wife, and the relations of their relations, were in
possession of the grand secret in about three days, and about the fifth
day all the bosom friends of all these knew that Alpha was going to
“boom sky-high” and all were buying Alpha right and left.
Being in such great demand, the stock did “boom,” sure enough. All the
time it was booming, and the wife’s relations were going for it, our
shrewd manipulator and deep observer of human nature (feminine), was
quietly feeding it out to them at the highest figures—not only to them,
but to hundreds of others, for by this time about half the population of
Virginia City had been confidentially informed that Alpha was the
“greatest buy on the whole lead.”
Just what was to happen in the mine no one knew—no one pretended to
know—but the grand head authority—away back so far along the line of
knowing ones that few in the front ranks knew his name even—could not be
mistaken. The general idea was that a grand development was about to be
made in the mine. Some went so far as to say that a big strike had been
made in one of the drifts on the lower-level of the mine months before,
but that the drift had been boarded up for reasons best known to the
officers of the company. This bit of news, it was said, had come out
through one of the miners who was of the secret shift engaged in the
drift when the rich ore—“almost pure silver,” some now began to assert
with a considerable degree of positiveness—was struck.
All at last being loaded down with the stock, and no new buyers coming
in, Alpha began to tumble. The Horners and the Huffs and the Howards
became frightened and began to sell. The stock then tumbled more rapidly
than ever, and the Hornbecks and Doolittles and Turners became
panic-stricken and threw their stock upon the market, when from $280 per
share it finally went down to $42 and stopped there dead and flat.
One day, soon after this low price had been reached, our stock-sharp
said to his wife: “By the way, my dear, how did you come out with that
Alpha stock of yours? You sold, I presume, while it was up?”
“Why, n-no, dear,” hesitatingly answered his better-half, “I thought
from all I heard that it would go to $500 and so I held on to it and
have got it all yet.”
“Well, well,” said the husband, “did I ever hear the like in my life!
Got all of your stock yet? Tut! tut! then you’ve lost your $6,000! Well,
dear, don’t mind it. Here is a check for $6,000; take it, and don’t you
ever again try speculating in stocks. You don’t understand it, my
dear—indeed you don’t!”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LV.
HOLIDAYS AND FUN.
The people of the land of the “big bonanza” do not toil always and
without ceasing; but, as in other lands, give some time to pleasure and
recreation.
There are a number of places of summer resort to which all may flee for
a few weeks each year during the hot weather of July and August. Most
popular among these is Lake Tahoe, situated high among the grand scenery
of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and distant but thirty-five miles from
Virginia City. No land can boast a more beautiful sheet of water than
Lake Tahoe, and its surroundings form a fit setting for such a gem.
Donner Lake, also in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and situated but a few
miles north of Lake Tahoe, is almost as popular as the latter, though it
is much smaller. Its surroundings are, however, grand and picturesque,
turn which way we may.
There are, besides, Webber and Independence Lakes, which are in the same
neighborhood, and which are easy of access. In Hope Valley on or near
the summit of the Sierras, where many pleasure-seekers go, there is
found fine trout-fishing in all the brooks, and excellent quail and
grouse-shooting everywhere among the hills. Indeed, for those who have
the time and means to spend a few weeks in the bracing atmosphere and
amid the wild and picturesque scenery of the mountains, there is no lack
of attractions. The man of meditative disposition, who is weary of the
bustle and strife and the noise and crowds of towns, will wander along
by himself and be happy in many and many a place away up by the tall
peaks in the grand solitudes, where whispers from heaven seem to come
down through the pines.
Lake Tahoe lies one mile and a quarter above the level of the sea, and
is surrounded on all sides by most romantic and picturesque mountain
scenery. The lake is about thirty miles in length from north to south,
and from eight to fifteen miles in width. It lies partly in California
and partly in Nevada. Its waters are of extraordinary purity and
clearness and, in places, have been sounded to a depth of over two
thousand feet.
There are several fine bays around the lake, the largest and most
beautiful of which is that known as Emerald Bay, which is over two miles
long. This bay is about four hundred yards wide at its mouth, but
rapidly widens inland. It is completely land-locked and is surrounded
with timbered hills, many of which are covered with rugged and
picturesque rocks, which tower among and above the pines, and other
evergreen-trees. There are some small islands in the bay which add much
to its beauty, and on all sides are to be obtained fine views of immense
rocky cañons. Eagle Cañon contains some vast piles of rocks, with clumps
of pines scattered here and there among them, and a whole day might be
spent in rambling through it without exhausting its many beauties. Cave
Rock, on the eastern shore of the lake is a huge pyramid of granite
which occupies a very picturesque position and which contains on one
side a cavern of considerable extent. In the neighborhood of this rock
tall and beautiful pines are seen quite down to the shore of the lake.
The view from what is called Rocky Point, on the eastern shore, looking
toward Cave Rock is also very fine. Another fine view in the direction
of Cave Rock is obtained from the Sierra Rocks. The view to the
northward from Sierra Rocks, toward Rocky Point, is one in which are
found several picturesque tree-covered points of rocky land, extending
far out into the waters of the lake. Indeed, there are new beauties to
be found in all directions.
[Illustration: VIEWS ON LAKE TAHOE.]
Zephyr Cave, also on the eastern shore of the lake is a most romantic
spot and the scenery is such as to set the artist thinking of his
pencils the moment he enters the little bay. The Shakespeare-Rock,
plainly visible from the Glenbrook House, on the southern shore of the
lake, is so called on account of there being in the rugged outlines of
its face a striking resemblance to the features of the immortal poet.
All who visit the lake desire first of all to see this rock. Like many
other things of the kind, there is much in the position from which it is
viewed, and not a little in the imaginative powers of the person viewing
it. The water of the lake is so transparent that pebbles on its bottom
can be distinctly seen at the depth of fifty or sixty feet. When out
upon the water in a boat during a time when it is perfectly calm, one
seems suspended in mid-air. It is not easy to swim in the waters of the
lake. Owing to the great altitude and consequent decrease of atmospheric
pressure, the water is much less dense then the water of a lake or
stream at the level of the sea. On account of this lack of density and
buoyancy, the bodies of persons drowned in the lake never rise to the
surface. Many have been drowned in Lake Tahoe, but a body has never yet
been recovered.
Leaving the lake and rambling off into the surrounding country, much
that is grand and romantic is to be found. From the western summit is to
be had a magnificent panoramic view of the lake and the valley or basin
in which it is situated, with all the surrounding mountains. The tourist
may extend his rambles above Lake Tahoe to Fallen Leaf Lake, one of the
most beatiful little lakes in the mountains. Cascade Lake and other
small lakes will also be found worthy of a visit. About the shores of
Lake Tahoe will frequently be encountered the huts of the Washoe
Indians. They are generally found in some romantic spot, and, with their
uncouth occupants, add not a little to the picturesqueness of the
region. Some of the old saw-mills are also of a rather unusual style and
will attract the attention of the tourist and the artist.
At “Yank’s Station,” on the Placerville road, a short distance from the
shore of the lake, is to be seen a most singular freak of nature to
which the name of “Nick of the Woods” has been given. It is a large knot
in a crotch of a cedar-tree, which forks a few feet from the ground, but
it looks like a work of art. It startlingly resembles the head of an old
man. In looking upon this marvel of nature we can very easily imagine it
to be some hoary-headed old sinner thus wedged into the crotch of the
tree and imprisoned for all time on account of some grievous offence
committed about the time that he was thus placed in the stocks. So
natural and perfect is this head of an old man, and such an expression
of patient suffering is seen in every feature of the face, that many
persons will not believe that it is wholly the work of nature until
after having closely examined it. “Yank’s” and all of the other stations
along the Placerville road, were places of much importance during the
early days of Washoe, when all the machinery and supplies of every kind
came over the mountains on wagons.
When the teamsters stopped at night or noon, the road in front of the
stations at which they halted would be blockaded for a great distance,
and it looked almost as though all the teams in California were crossing
the Sierras in one grand caravan. Now, since the completion of the
Central Pacific, and Virginia and Truckee Railroads, the travellers on
the old mountain-roads are few, and nothing of the old life and bustle
is seen at the once famous stations. Even the old Lake House, at Tahoe,
though it was built of good pine-logs and was very warm and substantial,
has given way to more stylish structures. Times are changed and few but
pleasure-seekers are now seen on the old road where once the sounding
“blacksnake” awoke the echoes far and wide among the hills.
The tourist who wishes to see as much as possible of the mountains may
go to the Big Tree Grove, Calaveras county, California, from Lake Tahoe,
by taking what is called the Big Tree Road. On this road he will find
many beautiful valleys, and much romantic scenery at an elevation of
from seven to nine thousand feet above the level of the sea. At Lake
Tahoe there are large and well-kept hotels at several points, two or
three small steamboats and a great fleet of sail and row-boats, with
fishing-tackle of all kinds, as trout abound in the waters of the lake.
Tourists from the East who desire to visit the lake while on their way
to California can do so very conveniently by leaving the Central Pacific
Railroad at Reno and taking the cars of the Virginia and Truckee
Railroad to Carson City, a distance of thirty-one miles, thence by stage
to the lake, a distance of fourteen miles.
[Illustration: NICK-OF-THE-WOODS.]
[Illustration:
HANK MONK.
(_The Famous Stage-driver of the Sierras._)
]
On this stage-line (Benton’s) from Carson to Lake Tahoe will be found
Hank Monk, one of the best known and most famous stage-drivers of the
Sierra Nevada Mountains. He it was who gave Horace Greeley his memorable
ride across the Sierras on the occasion of his visit to California. Mr.
Greeley was anxious to reach Placerville as early in the evening as
possible, as he was expected to make a speech to the people of the town,
and once or twice expressed a fear that he should be behind time. Monk
said nothing, as he was then on a long up-grade. At length the top of
the mountain was reached, and Monk started on the down-grade at a
fearful rate of speed. Mr. Greeley bounded about the coach like a bean
in a gourd, and soon became greatly alarmed. He thrust his head out at
the coach window and tried to remonstrate, but Monk only cried: “Keep
your seat, Horace, I’ll take you through on time!”
Mr. Greeley then remained quiet for a time, when he again became alarmed
as they whirled at lightning speed around some short curve in the road,
and out would come his head, and again Monk would shout: “Keep your
seat, Horace.”
It is safe to say that the philosopher never took a wilder ride, than
that in the Sierras with Hank Monk for his driver.
Monk, in common with all his tribe, hates the sight of one of those
ponderous specimens of architecture in the trunk-line known as the
“Saratoga bandbox.” On one occasion a lady who was stopping at the
Glenbrook House, Lake Tahoe, had a “Saratoga” of the three-decker style
at Carson City, which she wished brought up to the lake. The trunk was
about as long and wide as a first-class spring mattress and seven or
eight feet high. The lady had managed to get it as far as Carson by
rail, but the trouble was to get it up into the mountain. Monk had two
or three times promised to bring it up “next trip,” but always arrived
without it. At last he drove up in front of the hotel one evening, and,
as usual, the lady came out on the veranda to ask if he had brought her
trunk.
Like the immortal Washington, Monk cannot tell a lie, and so he said:
“No, marm, I haven’t brought it, but I think some of it will be up on
the next stage.”
“Some of it!” cried the lady.
“Yes; maybe half of it, or such a matter.”
“Half of it?” fairly shrieked the owner of the Saratoga.
“Yes, marm; half to-morrow and the rest of it next day or the day
after.”
“Why, how in the name of common sense can they bring half of it?”
“Well, when I left they were sawing it in two, and—”
“Sawing it in two! Sawing _my_ trunk in two?”
“That was what I said,” coolly answered Monk. “Two men had a big
cross-cut saw, and were working down through it—had got down about to
the middle, I think.”
“Sawing my trunk in two in the middle!” groaned the lady. “Sawing it in
two and all my best clothes in it! God help the man that saws _my_
trunk!—God help him I say!” and in a flood of tears and a towering
passion she rushed indoors, threatening the hotel-keeper, the
stage-line, the railroad company, the town of Carson, and the State of
Nevada with suits for damages. It was in vain that she was assured that
there was no truth in the story of the sawing—that she was told that
Monk was a great joker—she would not believe but that her trunk had been
cut in two until it arrived intact; even then she had first to examine
its contents most thoroughly, so strongly had the story of the sawing
impressed itself on her mind. Monk’s “Saratoga” joke is still remembered
and told at Lake Tahoe, but the ladies all say that they can’t see that
there is “one bit of fun in it.”
Just here I may say that when at Carson City, by taking the cars of the
Virginia and Truckee Railroad to Virginia City, the “big bonanza” and
all of the big mines, and mills on the Comstock lode may be seen and
explored. The distance is but twenty-one miles.
In passing down the Carson River by rail, the tourists will see a number
of water-mills that are at work on silver ores, and after leaving the
river, and beginning the ascent of the mountain to Virginia, he will see
many miles of the crookedest railroad in the world. Were these wonderful
silver-mines in Chili and Peru, all Americans who found themselves
anywhere within five hundred miles of them would visit and examine them,
even though obliged to bribe a dozen squads of guards in order to attain
their object; but being here on American soil, where they may be reached
in a ride of three hours by rail from the main line of travel, few take
the trouble to visit them. Ladies, as well as gentlemen, may visit and
explore the mines, even to the lowest of the lower levels.
Travellers may leave the Central Pacific Railroad at Reno, take the
Virginia and Truckee Railroad and run up to Virginia City, examine the
mines and mills, return to Carson City and take the stage-line to Lake
Tahoe, cross the lake on a steamer, then take another line of stages,
nine miles, to Truckee, on the line of the Central Pacific again, when
the journey to San Francisco may be resumed.
In passing by stage from Carson City to Lake Tahoe a fine view will be
obtained of the huge lumber-flume of the Carson and Lake Tahoe Lumber
Company, which is twenty-one miles in length and through which seven
hundred cords of wood, or half a million feet of lumber or mining
timbers can daily be delivered at Carson from the eastern summit of the
Sierras. The altitude of the eastern summit is 7,312 feet; of Lake
Tahoe, 6,220 feet; and of the western summit, 7,315 feet; consequently
the lake lies in a basin about 1000 feet in depth.
At the north end of the lake, near Tahoe City, stands the mountain
selected for the Lick Observatory. This astronomical observatory is to
be built with money donated for the purpose by James Lick, a San
Francisco millionaire, and on it is to be mounted the finest and most
powerful telescope that can be manufactured in the world. At Truckee, on
the Central Pacific Railroad, the altitude is 5,860 feet; at Summit
Valley, seventeen miles further west, it is 6,800; and ten miles beyond,
at Cisco, it has decreased to 5,950. Here is the great snow-belt on the
summit of the Sierras. It is here that snow falls to such a depth as to
almost cover up the houses, and here it is that the people travel on
Norwegian snow-shoes in winter, when they travel any other way than by
rail.
About Cisco the snow appears to fall to a greater depth than at any
other point on the mountains. It is a very difficult matter to keep the
track of the railroad open at this place in winter, and at times the
trains are almost buried in the snow. The snow-banks are frequently so
high on both sides of the track that even the smoke-stack of the engine
is hidden when a train passes along.
CHAPTER LVI.
TERRIBLE STORY OF THE DONNERS.
On his arrival at Truckee, the pleasure-seeker will do well to spend a
few hours in the examination of the beauties of Donner Lake, a lake much
resorted to by the people both of California and Nevada, and a perfect
little gem. Those who are afraid to venture out upon the broad waters of
Tahoe, will be quite at ease on Donner.
From the town of Truckee, Donner Lake is reached in travelling a
distance of but two miles, over an excellent carriage-road. The lake is
about three miles in length and from a mile to a mile and a half in
width. It is shut in on all sides by lofty and picturesque mountains. To
the south and west these are very imposing—mountain piled on mountain.
While the mountains to the southward are covered to a considerable
extent, in their lower ranges, with pine, fir, spruce, and other
evergreen trees, those on the west, toward the summit, are principally
bald and barren piles of granite; though there are scattering pines
clinging in places where their roots find a hold in the crevices of the
rocks.
The track of the Central Pacific Railroad passes along the face of the
mountains on the south side of the lake, hundreds of feet above its
placid waters. From the lake the trains are seen moving along the sides
of the great cliffs, where they seem to run on a track laid in the air
or to cling to the rocks “by their eyebrows,” as an old “mountain man”
once suggested, on looking up at the trains. At numerous points along
the track there are snow-sheds which greatly interfere with the view of
the lake from the cars, yet in many places picturesque glimpses of it
are obtained, and of the mountain scenery in all directions.
Through the bare granite mountains walling in the lake on the west,
passes a tunnel, into which it is a relief to see the trains plunge as
they dart through the last of the snow-sheds and glide round the last of
the cliffs.
From the top of the great mountain through which passes the
railroad-tunnel, is obtained a grand and comprehensive view of Donner
Lake and all its surroundings. The valley in which the little sheet of
water lies is so small that, seen from above, it presents much the
appearance of the crater of an extinct volcano. At each end, east and
west, are seen dark groves of small pines, a few acres in extent, and
these, with the waters of the lake, occupy all the level land in the
basin.
To the eastward of the lake, days of mountain climbing distant, rise the
snowy peaks of the eastern summit of the Sierras, glittering in the
sunlight and dimly seen; to the westward, on the western summit, rises
Donner Peak, crowned with black and rugged rocks, flecked with patches
of snow, and tufted here and there with a few scattering and stunted
pines. The water of Donner Lake is as clear, cold, and sweet as that of
any mountain-spring. At the lake are good hotels and both sail and
row-boats for the accommodation of visitors. Those who are lovers of the
sport so lauded by good old Isaak Walton, will find an abundance of
trout in the small brooks putting down from the mountains. The lake has
an outlet at the east end which forms a stream of considerable size,
called Little Truckee River. This unites with the main Truckee River,
which is the outlet of Lake Tahoe. There is good trout-fishing in the
Little Truckee, which is a bright and rapid stream.
It was on the banks of the Little Truckee, in the groves of pine at the
foot of the lake, that occurred the horrible Donner disaster, some years
before the discovery of gold in California.
The unfortunate Donner party, numbering seventy-six souls, principally
emigrants from Illinois, reached the Sierra Nevada Mountains, October
31st, 1746, a month later in the season than was safe at that time to be
found in such a region. That year the winter snows set in about three
weeks earlier than usual, and with unusual severity, and in a few days
fell to the depth of several feet.
When the snow began falling, the train had crossed what is known as the
eastern summit of the Sierras, and had entered Summit Valley, in which
lies Donner Lake. The train was pushed on through the storm until the
foot of the lake was reached. Here the snow fell so rapidly, day and
night, that it was soon several feet in depth, and it was impossible to
proceed; indeed, so great was the fall of snow that the cattle and
horses of the train were soon buried beneath it in all directions about
the camp.
The emigrants then built a number of log-houses in which to winter, and
moving into these from their wagons, began a season of suffering
unprecedented in the history of the Sierras, where many men have
perished in the snow. Though many individuals and small parties have
lost their lives in these mountains, as a horrible scene of suffering,
starvation, and death, the disaster which befel the Donner party stands
alone in the history of the Pacific Coast.
The stumps of the trees cut by the party still stand, and are from
fifteen to eighteen feet in height, showing the great depth to which the
cabins and all in the camp lay buried. At first the unfortunate people
lived on the cattle they were able to dig out of the snow, but there
came a time when no more of these could be found, and then the pangs of
hunger began to be felt in the dreary camp. It was seen that unless
relief could be obtained from some quarter, all must soon die of
starvation.
In this emergency a Mr. Reed, a man of iron frame, provided with a
scanty stock of such provisions as could be gathered in the huts of the
castaways, struggled through the snow till he had crossed the western
summit of the Sierras, when he made his way as speedily as possible to
the village of Yerba Buena, now San Francisco; the first place where he
could look for relief. Here he made known the perilous position of his
friends in the mountains. As soon as his story was heard, a meeting was
called, provisions were contributed, and a relief-party was organized.
When the relief-party arrived at the camp on Donner Lake and entered the
cabins of the unfortunates, forty persons were found to be still alive
and were rescued. Thirty-six were dead, and the snow formed for them a
winding-sheet.
[Illustration: DONNER LAKE, SIERRA NEVADAS.]
[Illustration: SUMMIT-CROSSING OF SIERRA NEVADAS, NEAR DONNER LAKE.]
When the relief-party started on their return from the cabins, they were
obliged to leave behind Mr. Donner, a farmer from Illinois, who was very
ill; also, his wife, who refused to be saved if her husband must be left
behind. Keysbury, a German, for some reason for which no satisfactory
explanation has ever been given, was left behind with the Donners. These
three persons were left to winter in the camp, such provisions as could
be spared by the relief-party being given them. What passed in the lone
camp during the dark and dreary months that followed, will never be
known.
In April, a party, under General Kearney, was sent out to bring these
persons over the mountains. On entering the camp, only Keysbury was
found alive. The party found the body of Mr. Donner in a tent, where it
had been carefully laid out by his wife. Nothing could be seen of Mrs.
Donner, however. Old Keysbury was found reclining at his ease upon the
floor of one of the cabins, calmly smoking his pipe, and apparently
engaged in watching the smoke-wreaths as they curled upward. He sat near
a wide fireplace on the hearth of which blazed a fire, on which hung a
camp-kettle, found to be half filled with human flesh. Near at hand
stood a bucket partly filled with blood and pieces of human flesh, while
pieces of human flesh, fresh and bloody, were strewn about the floor.
Old Keysbury himself presented a most repulsive appearance—no ogre or
ghoul, feasting in his den, could have been more hideous. His beard was
of great length, and spread in tangled strings over his breast, his hair
in a great, matted mop, hung about his shoulders and stood out over his
eyes, while the nails of his fingers had grown to such a length that
they resembled the claws of a wild beast. He was ragged to an indecent
degree, exceedingly filthy, and as ferocious as he was filthy. When
confronted in his den and discovered in the very act of indulging in his
cannibal feast, he roused up and glared upon those who approached as
though he were a hyena.
After some trouble he was secured and was then charged with having
murdered Mrs. Donner for her flesh and money. He stoutly denied the
charge, but a rope having been placed about his neck and one end of it
thrown over the limb of a tree, the old fiend began to beg for his life,
and, being released, showed where he had hidden a portion of the money.
In pity of his miserable condition—he appearing not wholly in his right
mind—and in view of the apparent fact that he was driven to the deed by
the pangs of hunger, Keysbury’s life was spared, but he was driven forth
from the society of his kind, and became a wanderer on the face of the
earth, spurned and avoided wherever he became known.
A young son and daughter of the Donners were rescued by the first
relief-party. They were carried over the deep snow that lay in the
mountains, on the backs of men. When these children reached San
Francisco they excited universal sympathy and in order to do something
toward giving them a start in the world, they were granted a 100-vara
lot each. Many years afterwards, when the village of Yerba Buena became
San Francisco, and a great and rich city, these lots became the subject
of a lawsuit of much importance. The remains of the Donner cabins were
to be seen until a few years since. In some of the cabinets of the
curious, in Virginia City, are bones collected at the old Donner camp,
about the sites of the decayed cabins, and some of these may even have
been gnawed by old Keysbury.
At no great distance from Virginia City, there are in several localities
hot springs, all of which possess medicinal virtues and are much
frequented by persons afflicted with rheumatism and kindred disorders.
The most wonderful of all these are the Steamboat Springs, in Steamboat
Valley, on the line of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad, about midway
between Reno and Carson City. The springs are situated on a low mound,
about a mile in length and six hundred feet in width, formed of rocky
incrustations deposited by the mineral waters. Running north and south
through this low ridge are several large crevices from which arise
columns of steam, heated air and gases.
[Illustration: WINTER IN THE MOUNTAINS.]
Early in the morning, when the air is cool and calm, as many as sixty or
seventy columns of steam may be seen rising along the ridge, many of
which ascend to the height of over fifty feet. Far down in the crevices,
which are over a foot in width, may be heard the surging of billows of
boiling water. At the sides and ends of the crevices are a great number
of boiling springs, some of which spurt water to the height of two or
three feet above the surface. A strong smell of sulphur pervades the
atmosphere, and pure sulphur is found in many places along the line of
the large crevices.
At times, some of these springs spout water to a great height. In 1860,
one about the diameter of an ordinary well, threw a column of hot water
three feet in diameter to the height of over fifty feet. This spring was
intermittent. After spouting steadily for an hour it would suddenly
cease with a sound as of a great sigh, as the direction of the internal
force changed and the water seemed sucked back into the regions below.
The eruptions of this spring occurred once in about eight hours. After
the water was sucked back into the ground, a hole about nine feet in
depth was seen, the bottom of which was covered with sand. The
withdrawing of the water through this sand appeared to be the cause of
the sighing sound heard at the end of each eruption.
When a grand season of spouting was about to begin, a heavy rumbling
would be heard below, there was a hissing sound at the bottom of the
well, bubbles came up through the sand, and presently boiling water
surged in. This water would rush, foaming and hissing, to within two or
three feet of the surface, when it would suddenly withdraw with a great
sigh. In about a minute the hissing and rumbling would again begin, and
again the water would rush almost to the top of the well. When this had
been three or four times repeated, the preliminary performance—notes of
preparation, as it were—had ended. A rumbling much louder than anything
before heard began, the ground for many rods about the spot was
violently shaken, and on a sudden, with a great roar, a huge column of
water darted into the air. Had this spring continued these eruptions, it
would have been one of the lions of the country, but after a season of
activity in the Spring of 1860, it became closed up, and has since been
one of the tamest springs along the line. In 1862 a spring for a time
spouted water to the height of fifty or sixty feet, through an orifice
about three inches in diameter.
In June, 1873, the then proprietor of the Steamboat Springs and hotel,
lost his life in one of the springs. He was engaged in the erection of a
new bath-house over a large pool of boiling water, some five feet in
depth, for use in giving steam baths. Timbers for the foundation had
been laid across the pool, and the man walked out on one of these to
arrange a cross-timber, when he slipped and fell into the scalding
water. The water was so deep as to reach nearly to his neck, and so hot
that eggs could be cooked in it in two minutes.
When he fell into the pool, he was either so much frightened or felt
such pain that for a time he seemed in a manner paralyzed, and did
hardly anything toward trying to make his escape. He was in the spring
at least half a minute before he got out, which he at last did
principally through his own exertions, though a man who was working near
the place ran to his assistance and lent him a helping hand when he had
reached the bank of the pool. When his clothes were taken off, the
greater part of the skin slipped from his body. He was literally cooked
alive, and lived but a short time.
At certain seasons of the year, many of the millionaires of the Comstock
are to be found rambling in California, taking their ease in that land
of sunshine and flowers. Los Angeles, Santa Barbara, and other places on
the sea-coast are much frequented by those who are weary of the eternal
sameness and the light and dry atmosphere of the mountains, and who wish
to find some pleasant place in which to rest and recuperate. Said an
enthusiastic Comstocker, who had just returned from a visit to the
“Golden State”: “California, sir! It is the land of the palm, and the
banana! Look abroad on her vine-clad hills, sir! Beautiful! Observe her
glorious gardens—gardens such as were not in Eden—the propped trees of
her orchards; her fields of golden grain; her giant eucalyptus; and see,
towering over all and overshadowing all—with one hand resting on the
peaks of the Coast Range and the other on the summit of the Sierras—her
hoodlum! Beautiful, sir, beautiful!”
CHAPTER LVII.
TRACES OF THE TRICKSY MINER.
Now that we have had a ramble among the lakes and the valleys of the
Sierras, and are rested and recuperated by reclining under the tall
pines, and breathing the cool air of that region of eternal snow, we
return once more to the mines and the miners. A few chapters on the
tricks of miners, and their characteristics, good and bad, may prove of
interest to readers residing in regions purely agricultural.
The “honest miner” is sometimes a little trickish. Should he find that
he has made a bad bargain in taking a contract, he will sometimes resort
to “ways that are dark” in order to “play even.” A trick of rather an
original character was some years since successfully played by some
roving miners who had taken a contract to extend a certain tunnel at
Virginia City, a distance of ten feet. The tunnel already extended a
distance of five or six hundred feet, and in exceedingly hard rock. The
miners, four in number, contracted to drive the tunnel forward ten feet,
at $30 per foot, but soon found they would make nothing at this price,
owing to the extreme hardness and stubbornness of the rock.
When they took the contract an officer of the mine caused a hole to be
drilled in the rock, and a wooden plug inserted just even with the face
of the tunnel. The plug was shown the contractors as their starting
point—the point from which they were to advance the work a distance of
ten feet. All this was quite satisfactory, but when the men began work
they soon found that they had undertaken a very unprofitable job—a job
that would not pay their “grub.”
As soon as they became fully aware of this, the men began to consider
how they might best find their way out of the trouble into which they
had involved themselves. That way they were not long in hitting upon.
They drew out the wooden plug which had been placed in the rock as the
mark from which they were to start, then putting a blast in the hole,
blew it out, completely obliterating all trace of the place where it had
been drilled. They then measured back from the face of the tunnel a
distance of ten feet, good strong measure, and drilling a hole in the
rock drove into it the plug. This done, the four men took their ease
about town for some days—about the length of time that would have been
required to do the work—when they waited upon the officer from whom they
had taken the contract and informed him that they were ready to receive
their pay: also, putting in a great deal about the hardness of the rock
and the very poor speculation the job had proved. The secretary, if it
was that officer, hunted up a tape-line and went out to the tunnel with
one of the men to measure the work.
Mr. Secretary found the peg all right. Placing the end of his line upon
it, he measured back to the face of the tunnel and found the distance to
be ten feet, good and strong. The honest sons of toil received their
$300, immediately slung their blankets across their shoulders and “lit
out” in search of a new camp and another profitable contract.
The trick was not discovered until a “doubting Thomas,” a member of the
company—some days after the money had been paid—called for a measurement
of the tunnel from its mouth back to its face. The whole tunnel was then
found to be exactly the same length, to an inch, as before the last
contract was let. The language of the members of the company who were
present when this last measurement was made, as they groped their way
out of the tunnel, was such as would be discountenanced in any Sabbath
School in the land.
“Doctoring the tape-line” is a trick that strolling miners have
sometimes been known to perform, when the opportunity was found. This
operation is simple enough. All that is to be done is to get hold of the
foreman, superintendent, or whoever is likely to measure the work; and
cut out a few feet. The line is then neatly sewed together again. In
order to succeed in this game it is necessary for those playing it, to
“doctor” the line a few hours before their work is to be measured—at
night, for instance, when they know their work is to be measured the
first thing in the morning.
A mining superintendent, on the Comstock range, one day said to me: “I
had my tape-line ‘doctored’ the other day, and, confound the fellows!
they got away with their trick nicely.”
“How was that?” I asked.
“Well, I had let a contract to some boys who came along to sink a small
shaft to the depth of 50 feet. One morning they told me the shaft was
finished, and asked me to go out and measure the work.
“One of the men got into the bucket and was lowered into the shaft,
holding the end of the line, which was reeled off as he descended. When
he got down he held his end of the line on the bottom of the shaft, and,
looking at my end, I found the shaft exactly 50 feet in depth. I paid
the men their money, and they left. In a day or two I had occasion to
measure something—a stick of timber—and was astonished to find it much
longer than it looked. Overhauling my tape-line, I found that just six
feet had been cut out of it and the two parts neatly sewed together
again. I knew then that my shaft was exactly 44 feet deep, and, I tell
you, I never was more ashamed of anything in all my life!”
In 1861, a miner who had been out on a prospecting expedition, upon his
return to Silver City, the place whence he started, showed several
business men of the town some very fine specimens of ore taken, as he
said, from a lead he had discovered in the foothills of the Sierras, a
few miles below Carson City. He proposed to put the names of the
business men down in his notice of location, informing them that all he
asked of them was a trifle monthly to be used in the purchase of
provisions, powder, fuse, and other supplies. He was ready to do all the
work, provided these things were furnished him. As the specimens shown
contained a considerable percentage of gold and silver, a number of men
allowed their names to be used, and agreed to be assessed for the amount
that would be required in pushing the proposed mining enterprise. This
was in the fall of the year. From the time of perfecting the arrangement
for working his claim, and all through the winter, the miner was
punctually at hand every month for his assessments. He reported the work
progressing favorably, and brought specimens of ore that showed steady
improvement; each month the ore was just a little better than the last.
The men who had been taken into the company by the honest miner, paid
the assessments willingly and smilingly; each man expecting at no
distant day he would be able to sell for several thousand dollars that
which cost him but a few dollars per month.
About the middle of the winter the assessment was more than doubled, but
none of the stockholders found fault with this, as the miner informed
them that his tunnel had attained such a length that he had found it
necessary to hire two assistants, to help about the blasting and
wheeling out of the earth. As it would have looked a little mean to have
found fault with the miner about the manner in which he was doing the
work, after he had as good as given them their shares in the mine, all
spoke well of the plan of rushing along the work by hiring assistance.
All went on swimmingly until late in the spring, the honest miner
appearing punctually on the first day of each month for his regular
assessment. As it was no unusual thing at that day to locate as many as
fifteen or twenty men in one claim, each man being set down in the
notice for 200 feet of ground, the assessments, when they were all
gathered in, amounted to quite a snug little sum. Finally, when the snow
was all gone from the hills, and wild-flowers began to bloom in the
little valleys on the side of the mountains, the honest miner came no
more for his assessment. The stockholders wondered, yea, marvelled
greatly at this—the man had heretofore been as true to his time as the
planets in their course. They began to think some accident had befallen
their honest friend—feared he might have been hurt by a cave in the
tunnel. There were some, however, who held other views. “If this man was
hurt by a cave,” said these, “his assistants would most assuredly have
come up to Silver City and made known the fact.” Their idea was that
their man had suddenly drifted into a bonanza of immense richness and
that he was going to manage in some way to cheat them out of their
share.
Finally, one of the party holding this opinion volunteered to spare
sufficient time from his business to go and look after the mine, which,
by the way, was called the “Royal George.” He arrived in the
neighborhood in which the mine was understood to be situated, and after
two days of inquiry at last found a man who said he could point out the
Royal George location. This man led the way to a rugged hill and in its
side, where there was a small streak of decomposed granite, pointed out
a little open cut, such as any man of ordinary industry might dig in
half a day. The stockholder thought his guide mistaken: “Where was the
tunnel, where the dwelling of the men, the ore-dump and the rest of the
works?” The guide, however, pointed to a notice posted on the trunk of a
small cedar, a short distance above the cut; and proceeding thither, the
stockholder read the name of the claim—the Royal George—and below it his
own name and the names of fifteen or twenty of his business friends as
the locators of—“this silver lode or lead, with all dips, spurs, angles
and variations.”
During his journey back to Silver City, the stockholder had plenty of
time in which to swear, and he doubtless made the most of the
opportunity. It was afterwards ascertained that the honest miner who was
the discoverer and original locator of the Royal George, never went near
the claim after making the location, but was all the fall and winter
engaged in cutting wood on a ranche he had taken up in the Palmyra
Mountains, many miles away, and quite in a different direction from the
region in which was located the Royal George. The assessments collected
were sufficient to keep the honest fellow in provisions, to enable him
to hire some assistance, and, indeed, to keep his wood-ranche running
very nicely until he found a purchaser at a good round sum—good
wood-ranches being at that time in brisk demand.
CHAPTER LVIII.
THE PARADISE OF BOGUS MINERS.
In the early days the roving, prospecting miners who swarmed the country
were given to tricks of all kinds. Not being able to “salt” quartz veins
as easily as they had salted the placer-mines Of California, where they
frequently planted gold in the gravel, to the taking in and undoing of
Chinamen and greenhorns, they often showed rich specimens of ore
obtained from mines on the Comstock, and, pretending that they were
obtained in some wild region in distant mountains, soon had about them
men of capital from San Francisco and other cities, who were only too
glad to accommodate them with loans of from $20 to $50 or $100.
These men were always about to return to the place wherein was situated
their “big finds,” but were able to find no end of excuses for not going
at once. They must have money with which to pay up their landlords
before leaving; they must have money with which to procure a proper
outfit, and when this had been given they pretended to have discovered
that they were being watched—that there were parties dogging them day
and night for the purpose of following them out into the mountains and
crowding in and gobbling up the lion’s share of the “big thing”
discovered.
[Illustration: SONG OF THE HONEST MINER.]
Thus these pretended prospectors, who probably never went outside of the
town, would linger and delay, living on the fat of the land. They
carried a memorandum book of considerable size, in which they could be
induced, after much persuasion, to place the name of a man of means as
one whose good fortune it would be to have a share in the wonderful
silver discovery when the mine came to be duly located. Once he was thus
fairly hooked, the man of money was never to refuse the jolly prospector
any favor, was always to stand ready to hand out any sum that might be
called for, from a four-bit piece to a double eagle; otherwise, the
prospecting man might bring out that little stub of a pencil which he
always carried in his vest pocket—with which he was to be seen figuring
most industriously, as though trying to estimate the millions in his
mine—and at a single sweep scratch out the name of the moneyed man and
his chance for an interest in one of the biggest things of the age. This
kind of game the pretended prospector would play till found out by all
with whom he had dealings, when he would find it necessary to start
business afresh in some other camp.
In the early days the Indians were supposed to know the whereabouts of
many rich mines, and men were ready to follow wherever they might lead.
A man who always had an eye open for the main chance, one day saw a
Piute Indian strolling about Virginia City with a piece of very rich
silver-ore in his hand. He at once secured that Indian’s undivided
attention by enticing him out to a vacant lot.
Would Jim tell where he found the ore? Well, Jim might tell. Could he
find the place again? O yes; Jim could find the place, sure. Was there
more ore of the same kind in the place Jim had seen? Heap more. Finally,
Jim agreed to point out the place in consideration of his receiving a
big red blanket and two new shirts. Jim then led his white acquaintance
up the side of the mountain to the dump of the Ophir Mining Company, and
pointing out a great heap of ore said: “Me ketch um there. You see, heap
plenty more all same. Injun man heap good, he no lie!” It was a fair
transaction, still the white man was not happy.
The paradise of the roving class of miners for many years was the
gold-fields of California. There was his “happy home,” the place where
he roamed and howled—when he felt inclined to howl. Put him in a gulch
where there was free water, water for the use of which in his mining
operations he was obliged to pay no man a cent, and he asked nothing
more—except that the distance to the nearest place where grub and grog
could be obtained should not exceed six or eight miles; just a nice
Sabbath day’s journey for him.
The real simon-pure, “honest miner” was pretty apt to “peter” (fail to
pay, become unproductive) a short time before his mine had “petered,” as
he laid by treasure with which to tramp away in search of fresh fields.
In case of his becoming “dead broke,” he often had a hard time of it
with the dealers in grub and “tarantula juice,” for if he had not
“played them a string” some of his friends of a feather had, and in
order to get trusted it was necessary for him to do big talking and show
big prospects. It was not so in the “days of ’49,” for then all had
money, or if they had not, no man was refused credit for provisions, as
those who had no gold to-day were liable to have thousands to-morrow. In
the days of the roving class to which the “honest miner” belongs,
however, many of the diggings were of the kind spoken of by the
Chinaman, who said that in his claim you “wash um one pan, catch um one
color.”
When silver was discovered in Nevada, there was a grand rush of the
roving miners of California to the Comstock range, but they did not like
the hard work requisite to insure success in quartz-mining, and it was
not long before the majority of them made their way back to their old
haunts in the foothills of California, where they could find patches of
ground in which to use their rockers and sluices. While they remained in
Nevada, these were the fellows who carried memorandum books and talked
of wonders in distant wilds, big things they had found, but had not yet
fully appropriated.
I shall conclude my account of the honest miner by giving “A Tribute to
the Goddess of Poverty,” by George Sand, and a parody on the “good
goddess,” in which I shall try to do justice to the “honest miner.” The
tribute to the “Goddess of poverty” runs as follows:
Paths sanded with gold, verdant heaths, ravens loved by the wild
goats, great mountains crowned with stars, wandering torrents,
impenetrable forests, let the good Goddess pass through—the Goddess of
Poverty! Since the world existed, since men have been, she travels the
world, she dwells among men; she travels singing, and she sings
working—the Goddess, good Goddess of Poverty! Some men assembled to
curse her. They found her too beautiful, too gay, too nimble, and too
strong. ‘Pluck out her wings,’ said they; ‘chain her, bruise her with
blows, that she may perish—the Goddess of Poverty!’
They have chained the good Goddess; they have beaten and persecuted
her; but they cannot disgrace her. She has taken refuge in the soul of
poets, in the soul of peasants, in the soul of martyrs, in the soul of
saints—the good Goddess, the Goddess of Poverty! She has walked more
than the Wandering Jew; she has travelled more than the swallows; she
is older than the egg of the wren: she has multiplied more upon the
earth than strawberries in Bohemian forests—the Goddess, the good
Goddess of Poverty! She always makes the grandest and most beautiful
things that we see upon earth; it is she who has cultivated the
fields, and pruned the trees; it is she who tends the fields, singing
the most beautiful airs; it is she who sees the first peep of dawn,
and receives the last smile of evening—the good Goddess of Poverty! It
is she who carries the sabre and gun; who makes war and conquest; it
is she who collects the dead, tends the wounded, and hides the
conquered—the Goddess, the good Goddess of Poverty!
Thy children will cease, one day, to carry the world on their
shoulders; they will be recompensed for their labor and toil. The time
approaches when there will be neither rich nor poor; when all men
shall consume the fruits of the earth, and equally enjoy the gifts of
God. But thou wilt not be forgotten in their hymns—oh, good Goddess of
Poverty!
TRIBUTE TO THE “HONEST MINER:”
Two-bits to the pan on the bed-rock, bed-rock pitching, nuggets loved by
the dead-broke, great chunks of gold in the ground-sluice, fine dust in
the boxes, oceans of free water, hardest granite rim-rock, let the
Honest Miner pass through—the bully Honest Miner!
Since “indications” have existed, since miners have been, he tramps the
mountains, he dwells in brush-shanties, he packs his blankets, he
whistles as he works his rocker—the Honest Miner, the bully Honest
Miner! The grub dealers assembled to curse him. They found him on his
muscle, too strong, too much sinew, too handy with his six-shooter.
“Seize him by the coat-tails,” said they; “roll him in the mud, let into
him with pick-handles, that he may be knocked into a cocked-hat, that he
may kick the bucket—the Honest Miner!”
They have kicked the bully Miner; they have ducked him in the ditch, but
they can’t make him pungle. He has fallen back on his “dig,” swears by
the soul of a beggar, by the soul of a Chinaman, by the soul of a
Digger, by the soul of a nigger he has nary red—the Honest Miner, the
bully Honest Miner! He has out-packed the Dutch peddler; he has
travelled more than a candidate for Congress; he is older than Washoe
butter; he is younger than the beef; he has drunk more cocktails than
there are shares on the Comstock—the Honest Miner, the bully Honest
miner!
He it is that makes it hot for the free-lunch tables; it is he that
bucks at _monte_; plays draw-poker; fights the tiger; patronizes the
Hurdies; sings like a “Washoe canary;” it is he who sees the first peep
of dawn—through the bottom of a tumbler—through the same cocks his eye
on the last smile of evening—the bully Honest Miner! It is he who
carries the pick, pan, and shovel, who digs about croppings, who picks
up “indications,” pounds them in a mortar, and “salts” the
“prospect”—the Honest Miner, the bully Honest Miner! Thou wilt, one day,
cease to carry sacks of “specimens” on thy shoulders; thou’lt go into
thy last “prospect hole;” six feet will be the extent of thy last claim
on earth; the stakes bearing thy last “notice” will be no further
apart—six feet only; but six feet is a big “interest” in the “Eternal
lead,” if properly “recorded;” the “pay-streak” there is broad, the
bullion pure—no base metal. Every miner claiming on this lead shall find
pay, even unto the farthest “extension.” Honest Miner, we shall think of
thee as we halt and read thy last “notice.” So long as thou art
remembered, thou shalt not be forgotten—oh, bully, Bully Honest Miner!
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LIX.
PAY-DAY AT THE MINES.
The majority of the miners at present working in the silver-mines of
Nevada are honest in the true and best sense of the word, and are the
most charitable men, as a class, to be found on the continent; and the
same will apply to the owners and officers of mines.
The money annually donated by the miners of the leading mines on the
Comstock must aggregate a very large sum. When a brother miner is
accidentally killed it is not at all unusual for the men of the mine in
which he worked to make up a purse of from $1,000 to $1,500 for his
widow and orphans.
A small sum is generally given at once—say, two or three hundred
dollars—then on the first of the next month, which is always pay-day in
the mines, each man, as he receives his wages, leaves in the hands of
the officer who is “paying off” from one to two dollars, to be given to
the person to be assisted. There being in the leading mines from five
hundred to eight hundred or one thousand men, a large sum is in this way
speedily raised. Each man gives cheerfully and as a duty, for he does
not know but that on the next pay-day his brother-miners may be giving a
share of their wages for the support of his own widow and her children.
When men are hurt in the mines the companies always render them
assistance and they are also assisted, if long disabled, by their
comrades. There are three Miners’ Unions, one at Virginia City, one at
Gold Hill, and the third at Silver City, the object of which is the
protection of the interest of the working miner and the keeping up of
wages to the standard of four dollars per day—eight hours. These Unions
have handsome and commodious halls in which they hold regular meetings,
and, thus far, the principal officers and leading spirits of the several
organizations have been men of such honesty of purpose and have shown
such fairness in all of their demands that there has been no trouble
between miners and mine-owners.
These Unions always have money with which to assist the distressed in
case of emergency. The excursions of the Unions, and balls and benefits
of all kinds, are always very liberally patronized by all classes of
citizens, and thus, when their treasury has been depleted by some
calamity in the mines—as a fire—large sums of money are speedily placed
in their hands.
The relations existing between the miners and the superintendents are
generally very cordial. The men are always respectful and obedient and
the superintendents by no means haughty or austere in their intercourse
with their men, conversing as freely with a miner upon all subjects,
when conversation is in order, as though he were a millionaire. The
same may be said of the foremen of the mines, most of whom have been
raised from the ranks, as also, have not a few of the superintendents.
The miners always have it as an incentive to good conduct and the
acquiring of skill and knowledge in mining, that they may one day be
promoted.
Most superintendents take a good deal of pride in their men—in having
men who are industrious, skilful and reliable in every emergency—and
they not infrequently take an interest in the pecuniary affairs of those
who are found to be deserving, lending them a helping hand occasionally
and always advising them as well as they are capable of doing, when
their advice is sought in regard to any little investments they may
think of making.
[Illustration: MINERS’ UNION HALL.]
[Illustration: AT WORK AND AT HOME.]
The miners in return take a considerable degree of interest and feel a
certain pride in a mine in which they are at work—in the richness of its
ores, the power and perfection of its machinery, and, in short, in all
connected with it. As sailors are proud of belonging to a first-class
ship, so miners are proud to be able to mention a first-class mine as
that in which they are employed. In short, thus far the relations of
miner and mine-owner have been all that could be desired, and there
seems to be no danger of any trouble in the future, as it is generally
conceded that the miner who risks his life in the mines and toils in the
sweltering lower levels should receive at least four dollars per day.
The mining superintendents themselves lead no easy life, as they make
daily visits to the mines in their charge, descend into the lower
levels, and pass through and inspect all manner of dangerous and
disagreeable places. Often they are in the lower levels for hours at a
time, and sometimes are obliged to descend into the mine three and four
times in one day.
As a rule the superintendents of the mines on the Comstock lode are men
much above the average in understanding, culture, and education—men of
marked ability and such as would be leaders in any line of business in
which they might engage—captains among men, as it were. The foremen are
men of much the same class as the superintendents, but are generally
less prominently before the public. Their time is spent in the mines
among the men, and though they do not labor with their hands, they have
by no means an easy time of it, as they must be almost constantly on
their feet, and are obliged to climb and crawl into all manner of
dangerous and difficult places. When anything is going wrong in a
mine—ground settling, and timbers giving way, a fire or a rush of
water—they have little rest until all is again secure.
But for the better wages and the honor of the position, the ordinary
miner has a more desirable place in a mine than that occupied by a
foreman, as he has nothing to do but work his shift, of eight hours,
when he can go home and leave care behind—he has no responsibilities,
nothing about which to worry. To do an honest day’s work is all his
care.
The engineers, station-tender, pump-men, and the watchmen on the lower
levels, all occupy positions to which are attached grave
responsibilities, the lives of their fellow workmen being constantly in
their hands. The miners receive their pay—$4 per day—regularly every
month, from the first to the third day of the month. Pay-day is a happy
day with the men. They go to the office of the time-keeper as they come
up out of the mine, at the change of shifts, and “get their time” for
the month—that is they get a slip of paper on which is an account of the
number of days they have worked during the month. With this they go to
the office of the secretary or head-clerk of the mine where they form in
a line, as lines are sometimes formed in a post-office or at the polls
on an election day, and each man in his turn receives his wages.
Over half a million dollars are paid out on the first of every month
along the Comstock, to miners, mechanics, and others who are employed in
and about the mines. The monthly pay-rolls of some of the leading
companies are as follows: Consolidated Virginia, $90,000; Crown Point,
$90,000; Belcher, $65,000; Ophir, $33,000; Savage, $22,000;
Chollar-Potosi, $25,000; Hale & Norcross, $20,000; and a long list of
companies whose pay-rolls amount to from $10,000 to $15,000 per month.
Even at mines where they are merely sinking a prospecting-shaft, from
ten to fifteen men are employed and there is paid out per month in the
shape of wages from $1,500 to $2,000—as mechanics, carpenters,
blacksmiths, and engineers, receive from five to seven dollars per day.
Besides the money that is paid out monthly to the men about the mines,
the wages of the men employed in the many mills about Virginia City, and
Gold Hill, and along the Carson River amount to a large sum. There may
be added to this the wages of the men employed on the Virginia and
Truckee Railroad, over which ore is sent to the mills, and lumber,
timber, and wood are brought to the mines; also, the men employed in the
saw-mills and in other branches of the lumbering business in the
mountains are paid monthly, and all this money is expended in the towns
along the Comstock.
Such large sums paid out every month to working men—who scatter it
broadcast in the land—causes money to be quite plentiful in all the
towns. In case of business being a little dull toward the close of any
month, merchants, shopkeepers, and others do not grumble. They merely
say: “Never mind, the pay-days are near at hand!” It is not as in
agricultural communities, where when a bad crop is made all must wait
for another year before good times can be expected.
Besides the money paid out every month in the shape of wages, dividends
are paid each month by such companies as are in a sufficiently
flourishing condition to thus gladden the hearts of their stockholders.
The Consolidated Virginia alone pays $1,080,000 per month in dividends.
In many kinds of business the persons employed are paid every week, and
the merchants, and business men in general, square all accounts of
transactions among themselves every Monday; hence Monday in Virginia
City is sometimes jocularly termed “steamer day,” as corresponding to
the old “steamer day” of San Francisco—the day when the steamer sailed
for New York, and when all business men were expected to make good all
their coin contracts.
When the miners receive their wages the first business of the unmarried
men is to pay the rent of their lodging room, and the next is to pay
their bill at the restaurant, while the married men settle their bills
at the meat-markets, the grocery and provision stores, and the dry-goods
stores. Happy is the man who can square up every month and have a few
dollars to put by for a rainy day. Some, as in every country, are always
behind, but the most miserable of the miners are those who gamble. Much
of the time they are working to pay for a “dead horse,” for when they
have lost their wages they borrow as long as they can find friends to
lend. But whether gambled away or judiciously and economically expended,
the money paid out each month to laboring men makes lively times for a
fortnight or more—all have coin jingling in their pockets, even check
guerillas and thieves.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LX.
THE HOTTEST PLACE IN THE MINE.
“Curbstone brokers” and many other dabblers in stocks rely a good deal
upon “points” obtained from miners, in regard to what is going on in the
lower levels of the mines. It probably happens once in a while that a
miner gives some friend on the “outside” early news of a rich strike in
the mine in which he is employed, but it is generally on condition that
the “outsider” purchase and carry for him a considerable amount of the
stock of the mine.
In order to keep himself well informed in regard to the mines in this
way, the speculator must not only have a man in each mine but must have
a man on nearly every level of each mine, as the miners are not allowed
to ramble about at will in the lower levels of any of the leading mines.
To fee a man on each level of half a dozen mines, even, would be a very
expensive means of obtaining early information.
As the miner who is merely receiving a fee occasionally for such
“points” as he may be able to furnish is desirous of receiving a “price”
as frequently as possible, he is somewhat addicted to the manufacture in
a dull time.
Men working in a large and strictly-regulated mine have little
opportunity of knowing when a development has been made at a particular
point in a mine, or anything about the value of any body of ore that may
be encountered.
When a cross-cut is being run at a point where it is thought that ore
will be found, the work is carried on by what is called a “secret
shift.” This shift is composed of the oldest and most trustworthy men in
the mine—men who will work for weeks in a drift that sparkles with
native silver and yet remain as mute as the same number of oysters, when
above, circulating among those of the surface-world. These secret-shift
men generally find their silence profitable. They are helped to a few
shares of the stock at the low figure at which it is probably selling
when the ore is found, and pocket whatever advance there may be in the
stock when the nature and extent of the new development have been made
known.
The men working on a secret shift are not sworn to secrecy, and it is
seldom that they are even pledged—they know why they are selected, and
what is expected of them. When a secret has been divulged and the guilty
person cannot be discovered, every man on that shift is discharged, and
not one of them will again be employed on a secret shift in any mine
until the real culprit has been found. Men working in any kind of place
in the mines are very cautious about telling what is going on
underground, as any valuable information given on the surface is soon
sown broadcast, and is not long in reaching the ear of the
superintendent, foreman, or some other officer of the mine, when it is
quickly traced to the man who brought it up from the lower levels. This
being the case, many of the men, when “pumped” for “points,” invent some
story of a rich development at some point in the mine where all is
country rock or mere barren porphyry. These stories circulate as rapidly
as the others, but a quiet smile is all the attention they receive from
the officers of the mine—they, at such times, remain mute and neutral.
During the great stock excitement in 1872, a gentleman who had several
thousand dollars that he desired to invest in stocks, cultivated the
acquaintance of a man who had the appearance of being a miner, and soon
gave him to understand that in case he could give him any points in
regard to what was going on in certain mines, they would invest and
divide the profits. The man thus “approached” was a miner, but was out
of employment, was at work in no mine on the lead. However, he was
willing to do something. He saw that the gentleman in search of points
was a stranger in the town, and felt that a good thing to do would be to
take him in. Therefore points were promised. In a day or two the alert
miner made his appearance at the hotel of the stranger, and beckoning
him out, furnished him a big point in regard to a grand development in a
certain Gold Hill mine, and a large number of shares were at once
purchased.
This was just at the beginning of the excitement, and the next day there
was a considerable advance in the price of the stock. The man of points
said the newly-discovered ore-body was improving. Day after day the
stock continued to rise, and the pseudo-miner swore it was the richest
thing he ever saw in any mine on the Comstock. He seemed greatly
excited, and was not made easy in mind until he had sworn the gentleman
to secrecy, saying that if even a whisper in regard to the strike got
abroad he would lose his place—would almost be kicked out of the mine.
What the fellow said about the strike seemed to be gospel truth, as the
next day after he had described the appearance of the silver-caverns in
which he was daily delving, the stock went up like a rocket in the San
Francisco Stock Board.
“Aha!” cried the gentleman, “they have found it out already down at the
Bay!”
For two or three days the stock “boomed”—for every stock was just then
booming—then it began to go down a little and “see-sawed” for a day or
two. As soon as the latter symptom became manifest, the well-informed
miner came to his stranger friend wearing a long face and told him to
sell at once. The gentleman was inclined to think that by holding on a
day or two the stock would go to a higher figure than it had yet
reached, but on hearing this the miner came out with another great
secret, and the stranger was again sworn. The ore-body had pinched out
in porphyry, and in cross-cutting through what at first appeared to be a
vast body of immensely rich ore, it had been found a mere shell, all the
rest was barren quartz. Hearing this, the gentleman sold at once, and
the pair of speculators divided over §6,000 profit. The joke of the
whole affair was that no work was being done in the mine whose stock
they had been dealing in, nor had a pick been struck in any part of it
for over two years.
[Illustration: THE HOTTEST PLACE.]
Some of the pranks of the miners are quite amusing. The following is an
instance: At the time that the 1,400-foot level of the Crown Point mine
was being opened, and while it was boiling hot, a Frenchman, a stranger
and a very suave and enthusiastic young man withal, called at the
hoisting-works and asked permission to descend and examine the
lower-levels. The foreman was very busy at the time, and would have
refused the request had it been preferred in language less polite or
manner less eager and earnest. But, seeing the man’s soul in his eyes,
and that he was almost trembling with excess of desire, he thought it
would be positive cruelty to deny him the favor he craved. After some
hesitation, with the Frenchman’s pleading eyes still fixed upon him, the
foreman said it was not a proper time for admitting visitors; that he
was particularly engaged at the moment and could not accompany him; yet,
some miners being about to descend to the lower levels, he might, if so
inclined, go down in their company. The little Frenchman was delighted.
It was just the arrangement that suited him, and he was profuse in his
thanks.
Leaving the native of “sunny France” for a moment, the foreman advanced
to where the workmen were preparing to descend the shaft, and told them
he was going to send a Frenchman down with them to see the lower levels,
and that one of them could bring him up after he had satisfied his
curiosity. Being somewhat vexed at having to send the man down at all,
the foreman added to his other instructions: “And, confound him, put him
into the hottest hole you can find!”
“All right, sir,” cheerily answered the men.
The Frenchman was told to get aboard the cage, when down he was sent in
the same clothing in which he came to the mine—coat, hat, and all. Now
the miners in whose hands the Frenchman had fallen, were all fellows of
“infinite jest”—ready for any kind of deviltry. They considered that in
the parting words of their foreman—“Put him into the hottest place you
can find,” they were given permission to play the Frenchman almost any
trick their humor might suggest.
On arriving at the 1,400-foot level, while moving about lighting
candles, the plan hit upon for “doing” their French friend was whispered
among the miners. They showed their man about for a time, greatly to his
delight. He admired everything; yet he could but exclaim occasionally:
“Begar zee atmosphere which exist here be fearful intemperate!” At
length the miners informed the visitor that they were about to conduct
him to the most interesting point in the mine—to the most advanced
drift, the place in which all the hopes of the company were centered.
They honestly stated that the place was very hot, but if he could stand
the heat he should see a spot the eye of no “outsider” had yet viewed,
but which many would give thousands of dollars to behold.
“Oh,” cried the Frenchman, “it will be one grand plaisir! I sall be ver
delighted! Nossing could be more agreeable. Bote, now zat I sink of it,
I would prefer zat I have leave me coat at zee surface.”
The miners led the way to a long drift, in the end of which had been
bored a deep drill-hole, from which flowed a stream of water so hot that
eggs had actually been boiled in it in a few minutes. All of the rock
forming the walls of the drift was so hot that to place the naked hand
upon it was painful. The crowbars and drills lying back near the face of
the drift were so hot that they could not be handled.
Into the very end of this drift the miners led the enthusiastic little
man, and began showing him the ore there to be seen. Soon the
perspiration poured in streams from his face and a small rill ran from
the end of his nose. He opened his vest and clutched at his necktie to
get air, but still he was not utterly discouraged. Said he, rubbing the
water from his eyes: “How ver true it is for you gentlemen vich vork in
zee mines what is observe in zee Bible, in zee curse to the first
parent—‘In zee perspiration of you forehead sall you eat of zee loaf of
bread! ’”
About this time, in some unaccountable way, all of the candles at once
went out. Pitchy darkness prevailed. The miners charged their French
friend to stand perfectly still and they would go out and re-light their
candles. The poor devil only said:
“Vell, vell, ziz is to me incomprehensible and must be one chance
extraordenaire for all zee candaile to become extinguish so very
instantaneous. Je suppose it was one accident. Make all zee dispatch
vich is possible. Zee heat of zee atmosphere is indescriptible!” Soon
after this little scene in the drift, Sam Jones, superintendent of the
mine, came along through the level with a lantern in his hand. Much to
his surprise, he found several men standing in the dark before a drift,
the mouth of which they had carefully closed with “logging” and pieces
of boards.
“Hello!” cried he, “what are you all doing here in the dark? And why is
the mouth of this drift closed?” No one volunteered a remark, each
waiting for the other probably.
“Have you seen a young Frenchman on this level?” asked the
superintendent, “the foreman above tells me he sent him down here.”
Now some one _had_ to speak.
“Yes;” said one of the men, “he is here.”
“Here! Where?”
“Back in the end of the drift.”
“What in thunder is he doing there?”
“Waiting for a light, I think.”
“In the devil’s name! what trick is this?” cried the superintendent.
“Don’t you know that the man is an ex-count and a big French banker—a
man of note?”
“Can’t help that. The foreman told us to show him the hottest place in
the mine, and we’re a-showin’ it to him—and makin’ it as hot for him as
we know how.”
In an instant the superintendent had torn away the planks and logging,
and was making his way back, lantern in hand, to where the poor devil of
a Frenchman was roasting—literally roasting, for the whole drift was as
hot as a furnace seven times heated, and the man was more dead than
alive. Elevating his lantern, to get a view of the foreign gentleman,
the superintendent found him standing with coat and vest across his arm,
and collar and necktie in his hand. He was wilted till as limber as a
dish-rag.
“Ze Cod on ’bove be praise,” he cried, “zat you have come! I am just on
zee point to expire. Zee distemperament of zee place have increase
immediatement after you retire in more as ten-fold progression.” Then,
wiping the blinding perspiration from his eyes, he surveyed Mr. Jones
for a moment in surprise. “Ah! pardon me monsieur,” he cried, “I have
not first zee plaisir to behold you before. I mistake you for zee
gentlemen who have depart wis the purpose to re-enlight zee candaile.
Excuse me zat I trouble you wis zee narration, bote we meet here wis one
leetle accident, sare; one leetle accident which have, how you call it?
exterminate, estinguis’ zee entire of the candaile, sare.”
“I am sorry that anything so unpleasant should have occurred,” said the
superintendent, “and I assure you, sir, I shall look into this matter.”
“You are too kind, monsieur—too kind! I assure you sare, zat I have
remain here until zis moment in parfaite tranquilety; bote now, sare, I
vill depart, if you please. Vill you have zee complaisance to put me on
zee machine, and elevate me to zee surfaice immediatement? My God, sare,
I expire wis zee heat! Elevate me, monsieur, wis dispatch—wis all
dispatch. I vill not remain for zee gentleman who have go wis zee
purpose to re-enlight zee candaile. Some ozzaire time I vill make zem my
apology.”
In all haste the superintendent led the way to the main shaft, the
polite little Frenchmen hurrying after, saying: “Yes, some ozzaire time
I moos make to zem my apology.” They were soon aboard the cage, and, a
minute after, at the 1100-foot level. Here the superintendent was
obliged to stop a few minutes, but told the Frenchman that if he would
get off and wait, they would go up together on the next cage. But to
this the half-dead man would not listen. He stuck to the cage like grim
death, and said:
“Let zee machine continue to ascend up, if you please, sare, I vill be
elevate on zee surfaice promptment—wis all despatch, sare.”
The superintendent then sent a trusty miner up with the roasted
ex-count. When daylight was reached the little fellow was himself again.
“Ah!” cried he, “how ver’ beautiful is zee cool air, zee light of zee
glorious sun, and all of God’s work, how grand! I have make one terrible
experience; bote I would not have miss him, sare, no, not for many
dollaires!”
He then tried to make the man who came up the shaft with him accept a
five-dollar gold piece. Not succeeding in this he made him go with him
to the nearest saloon and get a glass of beer. Not satisfied with this,
and the men below again coming into his mind, he paid the barkeeper for
two buckets of beer, telling the miner with him that he wished it given
to the men who went to light the candle.
“I have,” said he, “been ver impolite to come away before zee return of
zee gentlemen who have gone to re-enlight zee candaile. Veil, zat was
one ver curious accident and bring to me one ver terrible experience of
zee discomfort of zee heat at zat place of remarkable interest.”
Although the French count doubtless suffered terribly while shut up in
the drift, with boiling water and heated rock all about him, his
“discomfort,” after all, was not much greater than was that of the
miners who played him the trick while drinking the beer he sent
them—though their torture was of a different kind. Most amply, yet most
innocently, had the Frenchman avenged himself.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LXI.
UNDERGROUND BATTLES
In the early days of Washoe, fights between rival claimants of mining
ground were frequent, and often stubbornly contested and bloody. These
fights sometimes occurred upon the surface, sometimes far down in the
bowels of the earth—one company having broken into ground claimed by
another with a drift or a tunnel. On such occasions the rival companies
armed and fortified underground as well as upon the surface.
Sometimes a company tried to smoke their rivals out, and in this they
generally succeeded, but were, in most instances, themselves smoked out
as well, by their own bonfires and stink-pots. Of late years, however,
most difficulties in regard to the ownership of mining property have
been settled in the courts. Men at last began to realize that battles
with guns, pistols, and knives settled nothing; no matter how many lives
were sacrificed, matters had to be brought before the proper tribunal at
last. Yet a little of the old warlike spirit is occasionally manifested
even at the present day.
The last mining fight, of any importance, on the Comstock lode, occurred
at the Justice mine on the evening of Saturday, October 3, 1874, which
resulted in the death of five men in about as many minutes.
[Illustration: MINERS’ BATTLES.]
It may be of interest to give the particulars in regard to the
last-affair, as it will serve to illustrate the manner in which these
battles in the mines are fought, and show in what way they are sometimes
brought on. The fight occurred at about 6 o’clock in the evening, at
what is known as the Waller’s Defeat Shaft of the Justice mine, situated
on Gold Cañon, between Gold Hill and Silver City. The battle was between
two factions of the Justice Mining Company, contending for possession of
the mine. There had for some time been trouble among the trustees of the
company, and on the day of the fight the president of the company
appointed a new superintendent and instructed him to take possession of
the mine.
It was the talk that the old superintendent would not give up the mine,
and there were rumors during the afternoon that a fight might be
expected, and many were talking about going down to the Justice to “see
the fun.” Finally the brother of the newly-appointed superintendent, as
a deputy, and accompanied by a number of men, went down to the mine, and
had a talk with the foreman in charge about taking possession of the
works. The foreman said he was ready to give possession whenever the
other came with proper authority, but as things then stood he would
prefer to hear from his superior, the old superintendent, before doing
anything.
Meantime the newly-appointed superintendent was in Virginia City looking
for the old superintendent, in order to show him the dispatches he had
received from San Francisco, instructing him to take possession of the
mine; but he failed to find him and left the city. About this time the
old superintendent, who was in Virginia City, sent a note to his foreman
at the mine instructing him to give the newly-appointed officer
possession of the works at both shafts—the old Justice and the Waller’s
Defeat Shaft.
Before this note reached its destination and before the two
superintendents—the old and the new—had met, the men themselves had
precipitated the fight. There were with the deputy superintendent twelve
men who were to be used in holding possession of the two shafts in case
of their being given up by the men in charge. All of these men were
armed with pistols, and some of them had been drinking enough to make
them feel inclined to have things go about as they wished. They grew
impatient on account of the delay in giving possession of the works and
presently left the Justice shaft, and started for the Waller’s Defeat,
two or three hundred yards distant.
The deputy superintendent had started to go to Gold Hill, when, looking
back, he saw his men moving in a body toward the Waller’s Defeat Shaft.
Fearing trouble, he turned and hastened after them. When he overtook
them they were close to the building over the shaft and were still
advancing. It was well understood that there were in this building
several armed men, and he ran before his men and tried to induce them to
halt.
At the same time a voice from the hoisting-works over the shaft
commanded them to stop. It was now growing dark, and the persons in the
building could not be seen. As the deputy was still trying to keep his
men back, two of them pushed past him and advanced toward the building.
One of these raised his revolver as he moved forward, and instantly a
volley was fired from the building. Three men fell, two of whom died on
the ground, while the third, who was shot through the spine and abdomen,
lived but a few hours.
A short parley now ensued. The deputy superintendent told those within
the building that he desired to have a talk with them; to tell them what
he wanted to do. He said that such work as they were having must not go
on; that he did not come there to have a battle with those in possession
of the works. He then asked if he might enter the building. A voice said
he might come in, if he came alone; but if another man attempted to
follow him they would fire on the whole party. The deputy then advanced
to the building, and had just raised his foot to step into the door when
those inside fired, and he fell dead in his tracks. One of his men ran
up to bring away his body and received a charge of buckshot in the
breast that laid him dead beside the deputy. During this time several
shots were fired into the building by those on the outside, but without
effect. After these scattering shots there was an entire cessation of
hostilities on both sides, and outside parties—persons not belonging to
either faction—were allowed to approach and carry away the dead.
A gentleman who was on the ground through the whole affair, considered
the advance of the deputy’s party as being very ill-advised, and quite
against the wishes of the deputy himself, as that gentleman did all in
his power to keep his men back. Much rashness and hot-headedness was
exhibited on both sides. It was said that the reason the deputy was
fired on was that as he advanced to the door of the works some of his
men moved forward behind him. The dead were carried to a small cabin
near at hand, and when they had been decently composed, with
handkerchiefs tied over their heads and under their chins, they
presented a ghastly spectacle, as they were still in the clothes in
which they fell, all of which were soaked in blood. Their shirts were
open, and the wounds of those shot in the breast were exposed to sight.
To stand in the little cabin, twelve by fourteen feet in size, and see
the whole floor covered with dead bodies, one seemed to be on the edge
of a field whereon had just been fought some great and bloody battle.
The news of the fight brought not less than a thousand persons to the
spot, but all gave the building over the Waller’s Defeat shaft a wide
berth. All was dark and silent as the grave within the building. This
stillness and darkness seemed ominous. No one wished to venture near it,
as all said it was quite certain that the men within would not be taken
alive. A guard was placed about the works and all night men armed with
muskets patrolled before and around the building.
When daylight came a cautious advance was made, and finally the building
was entered. Not a man was found within it. All had escaped some time
during the previous night, probably immediately after the last shooting,
and long before the guard was set. Though no men were found in the
building, there was found a Henry rifle, a double-barrelled shot-gun,
three revolvers, and a smaller pistol, together with several
powder-flasks and a quantity of ammunition; also, about one hundred
cigars, and two demijohns partly filled with whisky—“fighting whisky,”
no doubt. An inquest was held by the coroner of Storey County, and the
following verdict found:
We the undersigned jurors, summoned by Coroner Homles of Storey County
to make due inquiry into the cause of the deaths of William Kellogg,
Michael Riley, John Brown, Michael Cain, and W. D. Shifiett, on being
duly sworn do find that the true names and ages of deceased were as
follows: Michael Cain, a native of Ireland, aged 35 years; W. D.
Shifiett, a native of Virginia, aged 47 years; W. P. Kellogg, a native
of New York, aged 42 years; Michael Riley, a native of Ireland, aged
37 years, and John Brown, a native of Pennsylvania, aged 37 years: and
we do find that they came to their deaths at Waller Defeat shaft of
the Justice mine in Gold Hill, Storey County, Nevada, on Saturday
October 3, 1874, from gunshot wounds inflicted by the hands of parties
to us unknown.
Four men were arrested on suspicion of being concerned in the shooting,
but these were finally discharged by the grand jury, and so ended the
last mining battle on the Comstock lode.
The men who were in the Waller’s Defeat building, and handled the guns,
were not regular miners such as work in the lower levels, but belonged
to a class that generally toil on the surface at about ten dollars per
day, taking “fighting interests” in mines that are in dispute, or hiring
out keep possession of property that has more than one claimant. In
former times they were a class of laborers that were in brisk demand.
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LXII.
THE WEALTH OF THE WORLD.
Silver was known to the ancients as far back in the dim and distant ages
of the past as any record extends. It was undoubtedly one of the first
metals mined by mankind. In writings, both sacred and profane, mention
is made of silver in the earliest ages of the world.
Gold being a metal that is found native, and silver being very
frequently found in the native state, these were doubtless among the
first metals with which the primitive races of mankind became
acquainted. Native silver being found mingled with various ores of
silver, it was probably not long after the metal became known and valued
that men conceived the idea of smelting these ores and thus obtaining a
larger supply of the metal than was yielded in the native form. In the
Bible frequent mention is made of silver, from the very beginning.
Silver was more highly prized than gold by all the primitive peoples of
the earth. Even the sacred writers speak of it with gusto. To this day
we find that savages and semi-civilized nations prefer silver to gold.
It is the case with the negro tribes of Africa, the Indians of the
American Continent, and with the nations of China and Japan. The human
animal must be educated up to a just appreciation of gold, but silver by
its brilliant white lustre and flash in the light of the sun recommends
itself to him as soon as its sheen strikes his eye.
All metals were no doubt first extracted from their ores by smelting,
yet it appears that the process of extracting silver from its ores, and
gold from its matrix, by means of quicksilver was not unknown to the
ancients. Pliny and Vitruvius speak of quicksilver being used for this
purpose. In ancient times, if Pliny is to be believed, the art of mining
was well understood, as he speaks of silver-mines being worked to the
depth of a mile and a half. If this be true, our modern mines have
little to boast of. To have done such mining the ancients must have
possessed hoisting and pumping machinery, or their equivalents, with
appliances for ventilation equal to if not surpassing any known to the
mining engineers of the present age. There is every evidence that
silver-mines were worked in many countries in the Old World at a very
early day, and not a few are still being worked, in regard to the date
of the discovery and opening of which there is no record. All that is
known is that they seem to have always been worked.
Fuller, in his treatise on silver-mines, says:
“Wherever in any part of the world silver-mines have been worked they
are worked now, unless for some unexplainable cause, such as the lack
of machinery, the existence of war, the invasion of Indians, etc. We
know of no silver-mining regions in the world that have given out.
Mexican mines, worked by the Aztecs before the conquest, are still
worked as profitably as ever; the old Spanish mines opened long before
Hannibal’s time, are still worked with enormous profits; the South
American mines have constantly yielded their wealth for more than
three hundred years, and are as productive as ever; mines in Hungary,
that were worked by the Romans before the Saviour’s time, still yield
abundance of ore; the silver-mines of Freiburg, opened in the eleventh
century and worked continually ever since, yield their steady
increase. So in Norway, Sweden, and Russia, and indeed, wherever
silver-mines have been opened, we believe without exception, they
continue to be worked at the present day, and generally are more
productive than at any time in their past history. For permanent and
rich returns, silver-mining has no parallel in any other business.”
In regard to the yield of the silver-mines in Spain in ancient times
little can now be ascertained. By many persons the Spanish peninsula is
regarded as the Tarshish of old, and through such traditions as have
come down to us it is quite certain that Solomon drew much of his wealth
from the Spanish mines at the time it is said, “it was nothing accounted
of, for the King made silver to be as stones in Jerusalem.”
Among the fabulous stories of the ancients in regard to the silver-mines
of Spain is that of Diodorous, who relates that the shepherds of the
Pyrenees set fire to the forests in the neighborhood of their camps,
when by the burning of the fallen timber the minerals of the earth were
fused and the molten silver ran upon the ground as water in a brook.
Among the modern silver-mines of Spain are those of Sierra de Almagrera,
which were discovered and opened in 1839, and which in 1845 gave
employment to eight thousand miners. The most important silver-mines in
Spain at the present time are those of Hiendelaencia, which were
discovered about thirty years ago and which have been productive ever
since—their average annual yield for twenty years was 31,577 pounds
troy. The whole silver yield of Spain is at present about one hundred
thousand pounds troy per annum.
In Germany, the silver-mines discovered in the Hartz mountains and at
Frieberg, Saxony, in the tenth century are still being worked as
vigorously as ever. Much of the silver-ore worked in Germany is of no
better quality than is thrown away on the Comstock as “waste rock.” In
Norway and Sweden silver-mines known before the discovery of America,
are being worked. The mines of Sala, Westmania, which are yet being
worked were known and worked over 500 years ago. The Cero de Pasco
mines, Peru, discovered in 1630, from which no less than five million
pounds of silver were taken out in forty-three years, are still
productive. The famous mines of Potosi (Cerro de Potosi), Bolivia,
formerly included in the territory of Peru, discovered in 1544, are said
to have yielded $1,200,000,000. The total annual yield of Bolivia at
present is about 450,000 pounds.
The Zacatecas mines, in Mexico, were opened in 1548, and the mines of
Guanajuata in 1558. The principal mines of Mexico are those of
Guanajuata, Catorce, Zacatecas, and Real del Monte. The yield of the
Mexican mines since the conquest of the country by the Spaniards, up to
1860, amounted to $2,039,100,000. The following is the yield of some of
the older silver-mines of Mexico and South America: Sierra Madre mines,
$800,000,000, Veta Madre, $235,934,636; Rio Grande, $650,000,000; Royas,
$85,421,015; Valencia, $31,813,486; Santa Anna, $21,347,210; Biscania,
$16,341,000. These are, in most instances, not single veins, but mining
districts in which there are numerous veins of various sizes and degrees
of richness. They are groups of parallel veins. The Veta Madre, of
Mexico, is however, situated much the same as the Comstock lode of
Nevada. It fills a similar fissure and is in a similar formation.
Although other mines in Mexico contain much richer ores, the Veta Madre
(Mother Vein), has been more extensively worked than any other mine in
that country. It has been steadily worked for over three hundred years,
yet during the three centuries there has been taken from it but little
more silver than has been taken from the Comstock during sixteen years.
Humboldt says the silver sent to Europe from Mexico and South America,
from the discovery of the New World by Columbus to 1809, would make a
solid ball eighty-three and seven-tenths Paris feet in diameter; at the
present rate of production the Comstock lode alone should roll up a
tolerably large ball, as in sixteen years it is estimated the yield of
the vein has been $220,000,000, or an average annual yield of
$13,750,000. This is a good showing when we consider that our people did
not know what the silver-ore was when they found it, and that during the
first two or three years after they began working the ores much time was
spent in trying experiments with all kinds of processes, and with
machinery of an inferior character.
In 1874 the yield of the Comstock mines was $21,940,123,96; in 1874, it
was $22,242,274,95; and for 1875 it will be much greater.
According to recent estimates the total silver product of the world from
1850 to 1875 was $1,025,000,000 and the Comstock mines are now yielding
one-tenth of the entire amount produced in the world. The latest
estimates of German and American authorities give the total product of
all the gold and silver-mines in the world, from the year 1500 to 1874,
as follows: Pounds of silver—364,000,000, valued at $8,175,000,000.
Pounds of gold—17,000,000, valued at $6,450,000,000. Total pounds of
gold and silver—381,600,000; valued at $14,625,000,000. These figures
are probably not very exact. It is a hard matter to get the exact yield
of even such mines as are worked by regularly organized companies, and
almost impossible to get figures at all where gold is being mined from
placers.
It would not be of general interest to trace the progress of mining
events on the Comstock year by year from the discovery of silver up to
the present writing. It is sufficient to say that in 1862-3, up to which
time operations on the lode have been pretty fully described, there
began to be an abundance of tolerably efficient mills, and
hoisting-works that were sufficiently powerful to do the work at the
depth to which the shafts of the principal companies had then been sunk.
Even as late as 1866 the greatest depth which had been attained in any
mine on the Comstock lode was 923 feet. This was in the Chollor-Potosi
mine. The Gould & Curry were then working at a depth of 900 feet,
Belcher, 850; Bullion, 800; Hale & Norcross, 783; Savage, 614; Ophir,
547, and other leading companies at a depth of from 500 to 600 feet.
Ever since the setting up of the first steam-hoisting and pumping
machinery on the lode, and ever since the starting of the first mills
for the reduction of the ores extracted, improvements have been made and
still continue to be made. The mills and hoisting-works at present in
operation would astound the miner and millman of 1862-3, though he
doubtless flattered himself that the mills and hoisting-works of that
day had attained a degree of perfection beyond which there was little
room for improvement.
During these years there were numerous changes in the fortunes of the
companies along the lode. Some that had rich ore upon the surface had
worked down to the bottom of their deposit and had found themselves in
clay or barren porphyry, while others who had started in with no ore on
the surface, as the Hale & Norcross and some others, found themselves in
“bonanza” at the depth of six or seven hundred feet; and when ore began
to grow thin with these last the first companies, by drafting east from
the point where their pay pinched out in clay and porphyry, had again
found ore and in larger and richer bodies than at first. Thus the
bonanza and luck shift, and will probably so continue to shift as long
as the mines are worked. It never but once happened—which was in
1865—that so many mines were at once in barren as to depress business
and cause a feeling of distress in regard to the permanence of the
mines.
No sooner had some of the more timid taken their departure, however, and
raised the cry that the country was “played out,” than longer and richer
bodies of ore began to be found than ever before. Those who had run away
then came back, bitterly regretting the want of faith which had caused
them to leave just at a time when a fortune might have been had for a
mere song. In 1862, the Reese River mines, 150 or 200 miles east of
Virginia City, were discovered, a rush to these occurred, and the town
of Austin was built up; then came the White Pine excitement, and the
towns of Hamilton and Treasure City were built; afterwards Eureka and
Pioche were built by the discovery of rich mines in their neighborhood.
The camps named still flourish, though they have their “ups and
downs”—are sometimes in “bonanza” and sometimes in “borrasca.”
It may be well just here to explain these words. Both are Spanish.
“Bonanza” signifies prosperity, success—that all is well. At sea it is
used by sailors when the weather is fair and they are sailing with a
fair wind—when all is well with them. Among miners it means that they
are working in a body of ore, that they are in luck, and all with them
is prosperous. “Borrasca” means just the opposite of “bonanza.” At sea
it means tempestuous and dangerous weather, bad fortune—all going wrong;
among miners it means that they are in barren rock, that they are in a
bad streak, out of luck. Among miners, borrasca is suggestive of long
faces, sad hearts, and empty pockets, while bonanza shows us faces
wreathed in smiles, hearts that are merry, and purses that are
plethoric. Along the Comstock the mining companies are sometimes in
bonanza and sometimes in borrasca. So long as they are in the great
fissure, however, and have a good width of “vein-matter” they are not
utterly cast down even though they may be drifting in barren rock—they
are liable to run into ore at any time and often do so when such good
fortune is least expected. Some have compared the vein-matter of the
lode to a great pudding into which has been stirred raisins, currants,
and plums; sometimes you find a currant, sometimes a raisin, and
sometimes a plum, while again you are blessed with nothing better than
the matter of which the mass of the pudding is composed.
To multiply examples would be tedious, but an example or two will
probably not be out of place. Although there is ore in the Crown Point
mine, Gold Hill, at the depth of 900 feet, their first great bonanza was
not found until they had attained a depth of 1300 feet. This was a
magnificent body of ore, and yielded many millions of dollars. The very
rich ore was confined to a space about two hundred feet in length lying
just north of the line of the Belcher mine, but the vein contained a
considerable amount of low-grade ore for a distance of about 350 feet
further north. Finally, in 1873, they had worked down through this rich
deposit to the 1400-foot level and there started a cross-cut east in
search of ore. When this cross-cut had passed through the west clay wall
of the vein a deposit of very rich ore was found some feet in width.
Passing through the cross-cut next encountered, a streak of white and
almost barren quartz about two feet in width, and beyond this reached
ore worth from $45 to $75 per ton. This body of ore proved to be
twenty-four feet in width. The cross-cut being continued east across
this suddenly struck a solid wall of porphyry. The whole face of the
cross-cut was in this barren rock, and it was at first thought that the
east wall of the ledge had been reached, but after passing through a few
feet of porphyry a very large body of ore assaying from $250 to $600 per
ton was reached. As the mine continued to be worked this search for ore
was repeated at intervals, and thus far the search has never been in
vain. In 1875 ore was being extracted everywhere from the 900 down to
the 1500-feet level, though much of that obtained in the upper-levels
was of low-grade, yet too rich to be left behind.
In May, 1873, in the Belcher mine, adjoining the Crown Point on the
south, was found the continuation of the same rich deposit worked on the
1300-foot level of the last mine named. Afterwards, other bodies were
found at a still greater depth, and to the eastward, and so the work of
sinking and searching for new bonanza still goes on, while at the same
time ore is being extracted from those already found. In the Savage,
Gould & Curry, Hale & Norcross, Chollar-Potosi, Yellow-Jacket, Imperial,
Empire, Overman, and a score of other mines this is the work which is
constantly going on.
Some persons will no doubt think that if there is a deposit of ore in a
mine it should be found in a short time and with but little trouble, but
miners can see no further into the ground than persons who have their
homes and business on the surface. Place a man in the bottom of a shaft
one thousand feet in depth; then tell him to drift off and find a body
of ore, and he is much the same as a man groping about in a dark cellar.
He knows which way to go to reach the vein, but when once he is in the
vein he may almost touch that of which he is in search without finding
it.
If mining men knew the exact spot in which the rich deposits are
located, it would be an easy matter to sink a shaft or run a drift to
tap them. Thus it happened that it was fourteen years after the
discovery of silver, and the Comstock lode before what is now known as
the “Big Bonanza,”—the chief of all the bonanzas—was found. For fourteen
years men daily and hourly walked over the ground under which lay the
greatest mass of wealth that the world has ever seen in the shape of
silver ore, yet nobody suspected its presence. The ground on the surface
presented the same appearance as the soil in other places in the same
neighborhood, and roads were dug in it, houses were built upon it, and
all kinds of things were done on, in, and about it without anybody
thinking any more of, or about it, than of any other ground in the town.
CHAPTER LXIII.
FLUCTUATIONS OF FORTUNE.
What are now known as the “bonanza mines” are in great part made up of
small mines that were located to the southward of the Ophir soon after
the discovery of silver. The big bonanza lies in the Consolidated
Virginia and California mines, and its northern extremity extends into
the Ophir, as is supposed; it is also thought that it will be found to
extend into the Best and Belcher, which is the first mine south of the
Consolidated Virginia.
The north end of the vein is divided into claims at this point, as is
shown in the accompanying diagram.
The California mine contains 600 feet on the length of the ledge, and is
of whatever width the vein shall prove to be, as the owners have a right
to follow it, wherever it may go. It consists of the original California
of 300 feet to which has been added by purchase the Central mine No. 1,
containing 150 feet; the Central No. 2, 100 feet, and the Kinney ground
50 feet. There are 900 shares to the foot, or 540,000 shares in the
whole mine.
The Consolidated Virginia mine contains 710 feet of ground along the
lode, and is made up of the Dick Sides ground, 500 feet, and the White &
Murphy ground, 210 feet. There are 108,000 shares in the mine. The
Ophir, which lies next north of the California mine, contains 675 feet
and is divided into 100,800 shares. In 1874, 600 feet were taken off the
north end of the Ophir and incorporated as a separate mine, which was
called the Mexican. The Mexican contains 108,000 shares.
_Longitudinal Section of the North End of the Comstock Lode._
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| NORTH. |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| |
| Sierra Nevada. 2657 ft.|
| |
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Union Consolidated. 600 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Mexican. 600 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Ophir. 675 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| California. 600 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Consolidated Virginia. 710 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| Best & Belcher. 224 ft.|
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Gould & Curry. 921 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| |
| Savage. 768 ft.|
| |
+-----------------------------------------------------+
| SOUTH. |
The bonanza mines are situated in the northeast part of Virginia City,
and many buildings stand on the ground under which they lie. Small
bodies of paying ore were found in some of the mines composing the
California mine in the early days, but they were soon worked out, and
for a number of years the ground lay idle. In the Dick Sides and White &
Murphy, the two mines from which was formed the Consolidated Virginia,
very little ore of any kind was found on the surface or even at the
depth of three or four hundred feet, and these claims had also lain idle
several years before they were purchased by Messrs Mackey & Fair and
their associates Messrs Flood & O’Brien, of San Francisco. However, on
what is now the Consolidated Virginia ground, a shaft had been sunk to
the depth of six or seven hundred feet from the bottom of which had been
run a drift of considerable length.
Ore was first found in the Consolidated Virginia, in March, 1873 at the
time when Captain S. T. Curtis (in 1875 superintendent of the Ophir) was
in charge. The ore then found was a body about twelve feet in width,
which was encountered at the depth of 1,167 feet below the surface in a
drift run from the corresponding level of the Gould & Curry mine. At the
same time two other bodies of ore—the largest seven feet in width—were
found, which yielded assays averaging $60 per ton. At this time their
present main shaft was down 710 feet, and was being sunk at the rate of
three feet per day.
In October, 1873, the main shaft had reached the 1,167-foot level and in
drifting southeasterly a distance of 250 feet a very rich deposit of ore
was reached—the top of the big bonanza, in fact. The work of breasting
out and regularly extracting ore from this body was commenced October
16, and by the 29th a chamber had been opened in it from six to nine
sets of timbers in width (the sets are five feet apart each way) and
four floors or sets in height, with solid masses of ore in sight on all
sides. A drift had then been run lengthwise through the ore a distance
of one hundred and forty feet, while the nine sets of timbers showed it
to be fifty-four feet in width. Although all this wealth was in sight in
the mine, the people of the town, walking over and around the mine knew
nothing of it. What was in the mine was only known to those at work
there, and to the officers of the company. I had the satisfaction of
being the first “outsider” to descend into the mine and inspect the
deposit in regard to which—the mine being closed to visitors—there had
been a thousand surmises, favorable and unfavorable. I took samples from
all parts of the ore-body and had them assayed. The highest assay
obtained was $632,63 per ton, and the lowest, $93,67,—seven samples
being tested. Thus it will be seen that even the top of the bonanza was
wonderfully rich.
The company continued to explore this body of ore in all directions,
running drifts and cross-cuts through it, sinking winzes upon it and
making upraises. They followed it down to the 1200, the 1300, 1400 and
to the 1500-foot levels, with the same rich ore everywhere. Although
people knew in a general way that there was an abundance of rich ore in
the mine, they did not get excited about it, nor did they trouble
themselves much about it in any way, further, perhaps, than to say:
“Well, I am glad to hear that the Consolidated folks have a big body of
ore; it will be a good thing for the town.” The mine did not attract
more attention than many others, until in October 1874, when the work of
opening out on the 1500-foot level was begun. The ore then found was of
such extraordinary richness, and the ore-body appeared to be of such
unprecedented extent that people began to talk about it, and then some
few began to visit and examine it, all coming to the surface greatly
astonished at what they had seen. The reports in regard to the great
wealth in sight in the mine, brought to the people of the upper world by
scores of reliable men and capable mining experts, soon caused not a
little excitement, and everywhere in the streets persons were to be
heard talking of the wonderful wealth that was being developed in the
Consolidated Virginia mine. Day after day the excitement grew as the
reports came from the visitors to the mine that the cross-cuts had been
advanced fifty feet, seventy-five, then one hundred feet into the big
bonanza and still no signs of getting through it were seen. The
cross-cuts still contained in a solid mass of ore of the richest
description and each day found them advancing in the same, even after
they had gone one hundred and fifty and two hundred feet.
At this time no cross-cuts had been made into the California ground, but
the most northerly cross-cut in the Consolidated Virginia was but a few
feet from the California south line, therefore this would serve very
well to test that portion of both mines. All who comprehended the
situation being now confident that the great body of ore which was
slowly being explored in the Consolidated Virginia must extend far
northward into the ground of the California Company, the stock of said
company was soon in brisk demand. As drifts extended southward from the
Ophir mine into the California and they encountered rich ore in two or
three places, it was considered certain that a mass of ore extended all
the way from the Consolidated Virginia to the mine first named, a
distance of six hundred feet. Although the stock of the California was
but $30 or $40 per share in the beginning, it finally reached $750, for
the old shares—afterwards increased five for one.
At this time, although there were no cross-cuts in the California
section of the bonanza, there was a main north and south drift extending
from the Consolidated Virginia mine to the Ophir, through the
west-country rock, and, from this, cross-cuts had been started, and at
no distant day reached the ore.
As the progress of these cross-cuts in the rich ore of the bonanza was
made known from time to time the excitement gradually increased until it
reached fever heat, both in Virginia City and San Francisco. Never were
the people more fairly treated on the occasion of any big strike on the
Comstock lode than they were by the Consolidated Virginia and California
Companies during the time the big bonanza was being opened and explored.
All who desired to do so were allowed to descend into the mines and see
for themselves what was being done. Often there were such crowds of
visitors as to very seriously interfere with all underground operations.
There were times when for days together the miners did not do more than
two or three hours work on a shift, so frequent were the interruptions
caused by persons visiting the drifts and cross-cuts that had penetrated
the ore-body. One party had no sooner been shown through the two mines
than another arrived. All were allowed to dig into and examine the ore,
to carry away samples for assays, and, in short, to try whatever
experiments they chose in order to satisfy themselves in regard to the
value of the deposit.
The men who visited the lower levels and made themselves most familiar
with the developments thereon, were the men who purchased more freely,
and those who were experts in mining matters were those who were most
astounded at the great richness and vast extent of the body of ore
opened into. These men bought on their judgement while the mercurial
masses bought at random, and under the influence of contact with persons
as much and as blindly excited as they themselves were.
It was the coming in of the multitude, as, indeed, it always is, that
sent not only the stock of the bonanza mines, but also all other stocks
rushing sky-ward with rocket-like celerity. When the people start in _en
masse_ to buy stocks they—to use a very elegant illustration—shut their
eyes and rush in like a hog going into battle. They exhibit startling
vigor, activity, and enthusiasm, for a short time, but the moment they
stop to “get their wind,” that moment they are in a fit condition for a
panic. The least thing now startles them, and they take wing and are off
like a flock of pigeons; or, to carry out the simile, turn tail with a
snort, and make for the canebrakes. As many of these unusual dealers in
stocks have bought at the highest figures, and on margins to a ruinous
extent taking all manner of desperate chances, a panic among them
speedily demoralizes the money-markets, and persons who have made their
purchases with the best of judgement lose, as all stocks are driven as
much below as they were before forced above their real value.
In the time of a grand panic the coolest of persons and men of best
judgment are forced to sell their stocks in self-defence, or because it
is, as they say, “business” to sell when it is plainly to be seen that
the tendency of prices is irresistibly downward; and in this way the
crash is made still more complete and sweeping. Men no more take into
consideration the real value of a stock at a time when there is a crash
in the market than they do when the market is unduly excited and
everything is going up with a “rush.” The condition of the mines is not
taken into consideration on the occasion of a panic. Rich developments
in the mines undoubtedly are the prime cause of an advance, and this
advance is generally such as is justified by the mineral wealth brought
to light until the people “rise up in their might” and take a hand in
the business, after which time no man can say what will happen.
As the masses purchase without knowing anything of the mines except what
they have heard, so they sell in spite of all that may be told them.
Having never seen or examined the mines into which they have bought,
when a panic occurs they are more ready to believe that there are no
mines at all than to believe that they still exist and remain the same
as when they made their purchases. Thus at the time of the panic, in
1875, there was actually a vast deal more ore in sight and the mines
were looking better than at the time that the highest figures were
reached—that was daily being brought to light the existence of which had
formerly only been surmised. Men, however, were not dealing in the big
bonanza as it existed in Nevada, but as it appeared on California
street, San Francisco. They had lost their interest in the mines and
were thinking only of their money.
At the time of the panic men who had seen and examined the great bodies
of ore developed in the Consolidated Virginia and California mines, not
only held on to their stock but continued to purchase as long as they
had money—buying more and more as the stock receded, and in this way
some of even the best-informed “came to grief,” as, looking only at the
mines and not at California street, they bought on margins, and the call
of the brokers for “mud” soon distressed them and forced them to make
ruinous sacrifices. In speaking with Mr. John Mackey, the mining
millionaire and one of the principal owners in the bonanza mines, about
this time (February, 1875), he said to me: “We have not yet fairly
started in upon the California. It will require steady work for at least
six months to show what that mine really is.”
In regard to the Consolidated Virginia (then yielding at the rate of
$1,000,000 per month), he said: “Some persons think that the stock has
already sold for more than it is worth. The truth is that it has never
yet sold for one-half of its value; but all this will be seen in good
time. People will see it after a while.”
Speaking of the crash in stocks, Mr. Mackey said; “It is no affair of
mine. I am not speculating in stocks. My business is mining—legitimate
mining. I see that my men do their work properly in the mines, and that
all goes on as it should in the mills. I make my money here out of the
ore. Had I desired to do so, I could have gone down to San Francisco
with ten thousand shares of stock in my pocket, and, by throwing it on
the market at the critical moment, I could have brought about a panic
and a crash, just as has been done. Suppose I had done so, and had made
$500,000 by the job—what is that to me? By attending to my legitimate
business here at home I take out $500,000 in one week.”
Mr. Mackey, indeed, troubles himself very little with the ups and downs
of the stock-market or with the chicanery and wire-pulling of the stock
manipulators. As he says, he is content to see that all goes well in his
mines and mills, and, as it were, scoops his coin directly from the
lower levels into his pockets. He wants to make no money by engineering
crashes in stocks which ruin thousands on thousands of industrious and
worthy persons. During a short conversation with him, Mr. Mackey
repeatedly said: “My business is square, legitimate mining, I make my
money here from the mines—from the ore itself. Both here and in San
Francisco,” continued he, “persons are constantly coming to me, or
writing to me, to ask—‘What shall I buy?' I say to all that come to
me—‘Go and put your money in a savings bank.’”
Indulging in a quiet laugh, at this point, Mr. Mackey said: “You should
see some of them stare at me when they hear this advice. They evidently
consider me a strange kind of mining-man. But in speaking so I mean just
what I say, and my advice is good. I never advise people to buy
mining-stocks of any kind.”
In this Mr. Mackey is right. He can never know what jobs may be put up
by the “stock-sharps” to break the price of almost any stock on the
list, merit or no merit. By giving no advice he escapes all reproach,
and pursues the even tenor of his way, digging his dollars out of his
mines, regardless of the fluctuations in stocks and the machinations of
the “manipulators.”
[Illustration: SURROUNDINGS.]
CHAPTER LXIV.
THE RICHEST SPOT IN THE WORLD.
As by this time the general reader will have heard as much as he will
care to know about excitements in stocks, crashes, the tricks of the
manipulators, and the troubles of the manipulated, I shall now turn to
the Big Bonanza itself.
A description of a trip down a deep shaft being given elsewhere, I shall
with the reader’s permission, drop at once to the bottom of the shaft of
the Consolidated Virginia mine, landing among the miners at a station
1,500 feet below the surface of the earth, on what is known as the
“1500-foot level.”
Although many bodies of ore that have yielded millions of dollars have
been found on the great lode, here has at last been discovered what
appears to be the heart of the Comstock. At the point where the big
bonanza was found the fissure in which is formed the Comstock lode is of
unusual width. Measuring, from the country-rock (syenite) on the west to
the east country rock (propylite), the distance is from one thousand to
one thousand two hundred feet. This space between the two country-rocks
represents the width of the fissure, and is filled with a “vein-matter”
or gangue composed of quartz, clay, and porphyry. In this gangue has
been formed the ore. As the vein-matter or gangue appears to be the
“matter” of the ore, in order to produce so great a deposit as is seen
in the Consolidated Virginia and California mines, an immense mass of it
was required. In a place where the fissure is narrow and the vein-matter
is pinched, no great breadth of ore may be looked for—it will be in
proportion to the vein-matter.
As we have seen, the Consolidated Virginia folks reached the crest of
the subterranean silver-mountain in 1873, at the depth of 1,167 feet,
but it was not until in the fall of 1874 that they began to open out on
the 1500-foot level, running cross-cuts into the mass of ore that
produced an unprecedented sensation among the mining men of both Europe
and America.
Leaving the station into which we dropped with the cage from the
hoisting-works, standing 1500 feet above, we advance a few steps
eastward along a broad gallery, the sides and roof of which are composed
of a mass of heavy timbers and thick planks, when we reach the main
north-and-south drift, which is the great highway of the mine. It is a
grand gallery, nine feet in width by about the same in height, and over
one thousand feet in length. It extends through the whole length of the
California (600 feet) to the Ophir mine. From the Ophir to the north
line of the Consolidated Virginia it was made of double height in order
to carry a great volume of air; as the air, fresh and pure from the
surface, is drawn down the Ophir shaft and passing through that mine
enters the great main drift which it follows through the California and
the Consolidated Virginia to the shaft of the mine last named, where it
ascends and again mingles with the atmosphere of the upper-world. In
passing from shaft to shaft, however, this air has been turned from its
direct course in various places (by means of doors closing drifts and
cross-cuts) and carried to where it has refreshed and given life to many
miners digging down the ore in the breasts of the several heated stopes.
Crossing this thoroughfare of the 1500-foot level and advancing a few
steps further to the eastward, we reach the vast deposit of ore known as
the “Big Bonanza.” Cross-cuts pass through the ore, east and west, and
cross-drifts from north to south, cutting it into blocks from fifty to
one hundred feet square, as the streets run through and divide a town
into blocks. It is indeed a sort of subterranean town, and is more
populous than many towns on the surface, as it numbers from 800 to 1,000
souls, and nearly all are voters.
Passing to the south end of the bonanza, to the place where it was first
crossed by a drift, we find it to be one hundred and forty-eight feet in
width—all a solid mass of ore of the richest description. Here a large
stope is opened, and we see the miners at work in the vein, blasting and
digging down the ore. They are working upward from the floor of the
level, and as they progress they build up square sets of supporting
timbers in the cavities or chambers cut out in extracting the ore from
the bonanza. Even here, well toward its south end—as far as explored—the
ore-body is by no means small, being over nine and one half rods in
width! This is not a mixture of ore and worthless rock, but is a solid
mass of rich silver-ore which is sent to the mills just as it is dug or
blasted down—ore that will pay from $100 to $300 per ton. As thirteen
cubic feet make a ton of ore, we have here for every block of ore three
feet square from $200 to $600 in pure silver and gold.
We may take our stand here, where the miners are digging out the ore,
and for a distance of seventy-five feet on each side of us all is ore,
while we may gaze upward to nearly that height to where the twinkling
light of candles shows us miners delving up into the same great mass of
wealth. On all sides of the pyramidal scaffold of timbers to its very
apex, where the candles twinkle like stars in the heavens, we see the
miners cutting their way into the precious ore—battering it with
sledge-hammers and cutting it to pieces with their picks as though it
were but common sandstone. Silver-ore is not—as many may suppose—a
bright and glittering mass. In color the ore runs from a blueish-grey to
a deep black. The sulphuret ore (silver glance) is quite black and has
but a slight metallic lustre, while what is called chloride ore is a
kind of steel-grey, with, in places, a pale green tinge—the green
showing the presence of chloride of silver. Throughout the mass of the
ore in very many places, however, the walls of the silver-caverns
glitter as though studded with diamonds. But it is not silver that
glitters. It is the iron and copper pyrites that are everywhere mingled
with the ore, and which, in many places, are found in the form of
regular and beautiful crystals that send out from their facets flashes
of light that almost rival the fire and splendor of precious stones.
There are also often found in the mass of the ore great nests of
transparent and beautiful quartz crystals that are almost as brilliant
as diamonds. Many of these crystals are three or four inches in length.
Some of the nests of crystals are of a light blue color, and then they
may be classed among the precious stones, as they are amethysts. Some of
these are almost as handsome as the precious amethyst. The miners always
like to find these nests of crystals, as they indicate life and strength
in the vein.
On the 1500-foot level the bonanza extends into the Consolidated
Virginia ground over three hundred feet. How much further it may extend
in that direction on the levels below remains to be ascertained. The
“chimneys” of ore, or bonanzas, everywhere on the Comstock have had a
southward inclination, in addition to dipping eastward with the vein.
The dip of the vein is to the east, at an angle of from 30 to 45
degrees, while the inclination of the chimneys of ore to the southward
is at an angle of from 60 to 75 degrees. This southern dip or
inclination will, as many suppose, carry the southern part of the
bonanza into the Best & Belcher ground at a certain depth. To reach the
Best & Belcher the ore must pass entirely through the lower-levels of
the Consolidated Virginia mine. At the depth of 1700 feet a drift has
been run southward into the Best & Belcher ground from the Gould &
Curry, and the work of cross-cutting commenced. Even at this depth it is
not unlikely that they will tap the bonanza.
Two hundred feet north of the bonanza we have been examining (the stope
at cross-cut No. 3), another stope has been raised (on cross-cut No. 1)
toward the 1400-foot level, and here large quantities of rich ore are
being extracted. Cross-cut No. 2, about half way between the two stopes
mentioned, shows the bonanza to be three hundred feet in width, all of
this great distance being a mass of rich ore, and ore that can be sent
to the mills without assorting. Think of a mass of silver-ore over
eighteen rods in width! In many places a vein of ore three feet in
thickness is considered large, and in California veins of gold-bearing
quartz that are only from one to six inches in thickness are profitably
worked. Compared with such deposits the bonanza is not a vein at all but
a field, a district of ore!
No such breadth of silver-ore has ever before been found in any mine in
the world. The silver-bearing veins of Europe are but a few feet in
width, and to speak to a German miner of a mine in which the breadth of
ore was measured by rods would cause him to suppose that he was talking
with a crazy man. Even in the richest mines of Mexico and South America
they have never had any such astounding width of bonanza. Then they have
always been able to keep up their ground with single timbers—posts and
caps—which they could not have done with bodies of ore more than a few
feet in width. On the Comstock hardly one bonanza has been found that
could have been worked by timbering with posts and caps. In order to
work the ore-bodies of the Comstock it became necessary to invent a new
and special system of timbering.
In this broadest part of the bonanza we find at work a great number of
miners, but they are so distributed that we see but a few in any one
spot. They work on separate floors, and floor above floor they are
digging down the ore. The pyramids of timbers rise to the height of
fifty or seventy-five feet, and, as all the heated air of the level
ascends to the highest point, it is very hot where the upper gangs of
men are at work. In addition to the natural heat of the mine, coming
from the heated rock and hot water, the flame of the hundreds of candles
and lamps does much to heat the limited atmosphere of the level;
besides, the air is vitiated by the breathing of so many men. Candles
and lungs rapidly consume the oxygen contained in a given amount of air.
In order that the miners in the upper part of the stope may work in
something approaching to comfort, there are here small blowers which
send up to them through tin tubes a supply of fresh air. Without fresh
air from the surface men can no more work in a mine than they could work
under the sea in a diving-bell, were no air sent them. These blowers are
all driven by small engines run by compressed air, there being in
constant operation on the surface two powerful air-compressors that
force air down through mains, under a great pressure, for the supplying
of the Burleigh drills and the engines in various places on the several
levels of the mine.
Besides the air-engines that run the blowers in this part of the mine
there are other engines, driven by compressed air, that hoist all of the
timbers to the men working in the upper part of the stopes. Nothing is
done by hand that can be done by machinery. As the miners always work
upwards in extracting ore, there is little heavy handling of the ore
itself after it is dug out of the breasts. It is sent down to the floor
of the level in chutes, which land it in bins, from which it is drawn
out through gates into the cars which convey it to the main shaft, up
which it is hoisted to the surface.
In the centre of this part of the bonanza we have on each side of us a
width of over nine rods of silver-ore that will mill from $100 to $250,
and in many parts of which ore is found that assays five or six hundred
dollars. Not only have we this mass of ore on all sides of us, but it
also extends to a great height above. On the 1,400, 1,300, 1,200, and
the 1,167-foot levels men are at work as we see them here. From the
level last named, when the ore was first found, in 1873, they have
followed it up to the 1000-foot level and even above. Fifty feet below
the level on which we stand, or on the 1550-foot level, a long drift has
been run through rich ore toward the Ophir mine, and from this drift a
number of cross-cuts have been run into the bonanza. On this 1550-foot
level a winze has been sunk to the depth of over two hundred feet, all
the way in excellent ore. This shows the bonanza to extend, at least, to
a depth of over 1,750 feet. Near the stope on cross-cut No. 1, about the
California line, is seen some of the richest ore found in the great
bonanza. At this point comes in what is called a “horse,” which is a
huge mass of propylite (generally spoken of as porphyry in the mines),
which tumbled into the vein from the upper or hanging wall at the time
of the formation of the fissure. This “horse” crowds the ore into a
smaller space, and the ore-body is here only about twelve rods in width,
but the greater part of it is immensely rich—such as will yield from
$300 to $600 per ton.
Here are frequently found deposits of stephanite, or silver in the form
of crystals. This is almost pure silver. In the places where the
stephanite occurs there are frequently found nests of pure, malleable
silver in the shape of flattened wires that look as though they had been
pulled in two, and in springing back after breaking had coiled up
against the pieces of ore on which they are found. Some of these wires
have the lustre of metallic silver, but the greater part are blackened
as though by the fumes of sulphur. Some of the smaller and finer wires
on being unrolled and straightened out are found to be a foot or more in
length, and often have several branches, when they somewhat resemble
sea-moss, or some similar vegetable production. The old Mexican mine was
particularly rich in specimens of this kind. In that mine they were
found in a kind of yellow clay in the crevices occurring in the mass of
the ore.
Free gold, in glittering spangles, is also very frequently found in the
places where the rich deposits of black sulphuret of silver, and native
silver occur. A large percentage of the value of the ores of all the
mines on the Comstock is in gold. In many instances the bullion
extracted is fifty per cent. gold. In that part of the bonanza through
which passes the line between the California and the Consolidated
Virginia Companies, it is an easy matter to find ore that assays from
$1,000 to $5,000 or $10,000 per ton, but this is, of course, only in
places where the strength of the vein appears to have concentrated.
At the time that the first cross-cut (No. 1) was run through this part
of the bonanza, at a point about fourteen feet south of the California
line, a chamber about ten feet square was opened (at a point marked
“winze down to 1550” on the map) the walls of which were a solid mass of
black sulphuret ore flecked with native silver, while the roof was
filled with stephanite, or silver in the form of crystals. This was one
of the richest spots found in that part of the bonanza, and the masses
of ore taken out were almost pure silver. Many magnificent specimens for
cabinets were taken from this chamber and parts of the mine adjoining,
some of them little else but stephanite and wires of native silver. The
whole cross-cut through this part of the mine showed an average assay of
$600 per ton. Bottom, top, sides were all the same. Look where you might
you saw but a solid mass of black sulphuret ore mingled with the pale
green ore containing chloride of silver.
Two mining superintendents were one day discussing the bonanza, when one
of them said to his brother silver-hunter: “Supposing the Almighty to
have given you full power and authority to make such a body of ore as
you pleased, could you have made a better than this?”
“I don’t know that I could,” said the other, “but I should have made it
still bigger.”
“Well,” said the first speaker, “you have more cheek than any man I ever
saw!”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LXV.
AGGREGATED WEALTH.
In the California ground the bonanza extends through to the Ophir, the
next mine north, and by the cross-cuts run into it every one hundred
feet, it is shown to be—as far as explored—fron one hundred and fifty to
two hundred and fifty feet in width, and everywhere are found the rich
chloride and sulphuret ores. At the present writing (August 1875,) no
ore has been extracted from the California, except that taken out in
running drifts and cross-cuts. The ground, however, as far as developed,
has been laid off in large blocks by means of drifts and cross-cuts,
therefore is ready to be mined whenever it is necessary to extract ore
for reduction, which will be whenever the company’s new mill is
completed.
In the California ground are found the same nests of stephanite and
other extraordinarily rich ores as are seen in the Consolidated Virginia
mine. While these form no large part of the bonanza, they are
sufficiently large and numerous to very materially swell the average
value of the deposit.
The Consolidated Virginia Company extracts five hundred tons of ore per
day. This is the average daily yield from all parts of the mine—from the
1500-foot level, and from the levels above. Although much of the ore
from the upper levels is of low grade, yet the whole averages $100 per
ton in the mills. The yield of the mine has regularly been $50,000 per
day, or from $1,500,000 to $1,600,000 per month ever since the work of
reaching ore from the bonanza began. Much of the ore on the 1500-foot
level is too rich to be economically worked alone by pan process,
therefore it is mixed with poorer ore from certain parts of the upper
levels. Much more than 500 tons of ore per day might be extracted were
it necessary, but that is all that is required to keep the mills of the
company in operation.
Opened as it now is, there can easily be extracted from the California
mine as many tons of ore per day as are being taken out of the
Consolidated Virginia, and ore that will average even higher, as the
upper levels of the California are all intact. There is not the
slightest doubt that when the California mill shall be started up, these
two mines will produce $3,000,000 per month, or $36,000,000 per year;
and not for one or two, but for many years—ten years at least, in which
time would be extracted $360,000,000. A single foot of ground taken out
across the whole width of the bonanza in its widest part would contain a
fortune for any man of moderate desires. Should we go into the centre of
the Consolidated Virginia ground and take a slice from the bonanza 250
feet in width and extending one level below and two levels above the
1500-foot level we should then have a section of ore 300 feet long, 250
feet in width, and one foot thick. This would contain 75,000 cubic feet,
and containing thirteen cubic feet to the ton would weigh a trifle over
5,769 tons, which at $100 per ton would amount to $576,900 for a single
slice of the bonanza one foot in width. By continuing to cut off such
slices until we had reached the California line—say 230 feet—we should
have in all $132,687,000.
At a time when the Consolidated Virginia mine was much less extensively
developed than at present, Mr. I. E. James, a mining engineer who has
been engaged on the Comstock for many years, made an estimate of the ore
contained in the mine at the time. He took from the working plans of the
mines the actual length of each drift and the cross-cuts measured by
sections, and measured all triangles separately. The winzes were
measured no lower than they had been sunk, and in no place did he
estimate ore which had not yet been opened. The amount of ore thus found
was 20,669,500 cubic feet. The usual calculation is thirteen cubic feet
of ore to the ton, but in order to make ample allowances for “horses”
and waste rock two feet were added and fifteen cubic feet reckoned to a
ton, giving 1,377,966 tons, which at $100 per ton amounts to
$137,796,600, and at $200, as many estimate, the average of the ore in
the bonanza proper, would amount to $275,593,200. Mr. James G. Fair,
superintendent of the mine, puts the cost of milling and mining at $17
per ton, but calling it $18, it cost to mine and mill the number of tons
mentioned $24,803,388. Subtracting this from the gross amounts at $100
and at $200 per ton, and dividing the product by the number of shares in
the mine, namely 108,000, and it is found that if the ore averages $100
per ton, each share of stock will receive in net dividends $1,046 and at
$200 per ton will receive $2,322 in dividends. The stock is selling at
about $400 per share, and a dividend of $10 per share $1,080,000 in all
is paid regularly every month.
Whatever amount of wealth there may be in the Consolidated Virginia and
California mines it is evident that their owners are quite confident
that they will continue to yield as at present for many years to come,
otherwise they would not expend money as lavishly as they are doing in
preparations for their long continued and more extensive working. They
are sinking a new and very large shaft 1000 feet east of the present
main shaft of the Consolidated Virginia, the machinery to be set up at
which will cost $200,000. Through a drift run from this shaft ore will
be extracted from both the California and the Consolidated Virginia
mines. The two companies are equally interested in the shaft. The new
mill being erected by the California Company will cost $400,000. The
mill containing the stamps will be near the mine, and the crushed ore as
it runs from the batteries will be conveyed in a flume to the pan-mill,
nearly half a mile below on Six-mile Cañon.
Besides these heavy expenditures the two companies have bought 12,000
acres of timber-land high in the Sierras, to which has been constructed
a flume through which to float wood, lumber, and timber, and the cost of
this flume (twenty-one miles in length) was $250,000. These grand and
expensive preparations show that the companies in question are but
getting ready to mine.
Notwithstanding that this Comstock bonanza is the largest and richest
deposit of silver in the world, none of the scientific men of America
have yet taken the trouble to visit and examine it. It has been visited
by many mining men from Europe, however. The majority of the European
visitors are Englishmen, though many Germans and Frenchman, and a few
Russians, have come to see and inspect this wonder of the modern mining
world. All these foreigners are not only astounded at the great size and
richness of the vein, but are also forced to admit that the mining and
milling machinery of Nevada is far superior to anything of the kind to
be found in Europe.
The northern extremity of the bonanza penetrates the Ophir ground where,
however, it as yet appears to be somewhat broken and is found to lie in
huge detached masses, between the 1300 and the 1600-foot levels. Much of
the ore found is exceedingly rich, carrying a large percentage of gold.
Stopes have been opened in several places in the Ophir, and ore is being
extracted at the rate of three hundred tons per day. Here, too, are
being made very extensive preparations for future mining operations.
Hoisting-machinery for the incline is being erected that will be capable
of sinking to the depth of 4,000 feet—well on toward a mile. Machinery
for the pumping from the same great depth is also being erected. Their
present greatest depth is 1700 feet, at which point they are drifting
for the vein. Their present shaft is on a line, north and south, with
the Consolidated Virginia, and Gould & Curry shafts, and is about one
thousand feet east of the old shaft, and the point where silver was
first discovered in 1859 by Pat M^cLaughlin and Peter O’Riley.
It is a circumstance worthy of note that fourteen years after the
discovery of silver, the big bonanza, the mammoth deposit of the lode,
should be found near where the first silver ore was turned up to the
light of day. About one thousand feet eastward from the spot where
O’Riley and M^cLaughlin first saw and wondered at the strange “blue
stuff” in the bottom of their rocker we now have the bonanza, a second
wonder. Still to the eastward one of these days a third will be found.
Out of the first bonanza, into the top of which O’Riley and M^cLaughlin
luckily struck their picks, was taken about $20,000,000 before the
deposit was exhausted; out of the Consolidated Virginia mine alone has
already been taken $15,500,000 and as yet they have hardly begun working
in real earnest. What they have worked out in the bonanza is as one room
to a whole block of buildings. In regard to what is still below, they
only know that at the greatest depth yet attained they still have the
same rich ore that is found on the 1500-foot level.
By referring to the map of the 1500-foot level it will be seen that the
Consolidated Virginia Company still have a great amount of unexplored
ground lying to the southward of where they have drifted and opened
stopes in the great ore-body. What is in the ground remains to be seen,
but undoubtedly it contains a vast amount of rich ore. As is to be seen,
the California Company have to the eastward a vast unexplored region
into which no less than five cross-cuts, one hundred feet apart, are
being extended. All of these are in ore of the richest character, and
the width of the bonanza at that point is likely to prove as great as at
cross-cut No. 2, in the Consolidated Virginia, namely eighteen or twenty
rods. To cut off and estimate “slices” through the whole length of the
California ground would count up more hundreds of millions of dollars
than I dare name. When the new mill of the California Company shall have
gone into operation, silver will be produced so rapidly, and in such
amount as to astonish the world, and may perhaps reduce the market value
of the metal. When they begin the work of extracting ore they will be
able to take out all that they can reduce in their own mill and as many
other mills as they can secure, whether the amount required be five
hundred or one thousand tons per day.
In the Mexican and Union Consolidated mines, lying just north of the
Ophir, the work of prospecting has but recently been commenced, yet very
promising assays are obtained. The Sierra Nevada mine, which lies next
to the Union Consolidated, on the north, has yielded a large amount in
gold from surface earth, and from decomposed rock and earth extracted a
short distance below the surface, but as yet nothing that could be
called a bonanza has been found. In the early days, about 1862, a great
deal of gold was extracted from the surface earth by washing with the
hydraulic apparatus, as the placer-mines of California are worked. As at
Gold Hill, and at the head of Six-mile Cañon were found great bonanzas
where were at first found gold-diggings on the surface; so the Sierra
Nevada Company may yet expect to find a bonanza in some part of the
large mountain on which their mine is located. To the eastward of the
mines in which is situated the big bonanza a score of new claims have
been located, and on many of these, machinery has been set up, and large
shafts are being rapidly sunk. A new bonanza is liable to be found in
this direction, as it is a part of the silver belt that has been but
little explored.
The excitement in regard to the grand development in the Consolidated
Virginia and California mines had the effect of sending up the price of
stocks along the whole line of the Comstock. Mines that could show no
manner of improvements in their prospects went up with the rest, under
the pressure of the excitement. The aggregate value of mines in Virginia
and Gold Hill districts, whose stocks are called in the San Francisco
Stock Board, was about $93,000,000 November 22, 1874. On the same day of
the following month their market value was as follows:
Andes, $250,000
Arizona and Utah, 18,000
Alpha, 159,000
American Flat, 240,000
Baltimore Consolidated, 450,000
Bacon, 240,000
Belcher, 5,720,000
Best & Belcher, 3,528,000
Bullion, 1,700,000
Caledonia, 520,000
California, 54,000,000
Chollar, 2,464,000
Confidence, 1,123,200
Consolidated Virginia, 54,000,000
Consolidated Gold Hill Quartz, 140,000
Crown Point, 5,200,000
Challenge, 600,000
Crown Point Ravine, 100,000
Dardanelles, 670,000
Eclipse, 250,000
Empire Mill, 800,000
Exchequer, 900,000
Globe, 25,000
Gould and Curry, 2,880,000
Hale and Norcross, 1,024,000
Imperial, 1,900,000
Julia, 210,000
Justice, 1,470,000
Kentuck, 660,000
Knickerbocker, 120,000
Kossuth, 216,000
Lady Washington, 75,000
Leo, 40,000
Mexican, 3,456,000
New York Consolidated, 144,000
Ophir, 18,900,000
Overman, 2,944,000
Rock Island, 125,000
Savage, 2,000,000
Segregated Belcher, 960,000
Silver Hill, 540,000
Sierra Nevada, 340,000
Succor, 114,000
Trench, 50,000
Union Consolidated, 1,400,000
Utah, 160,000
Whitman, 150,000
Woodville, 252,000
Yellow-Jacket, 1,920,000
—————————-
Total. $175,147,200
By the above it will be seen that the appreciation in the value of
forty-nine mines was over $82,000,000 in thirty days. Besides the mines
given in the above list there were a score more that have a market
value, all of which were more or less affected by the excitement, and
were bought by persons who not having money to purchase bonanza stocks
were yet determined to get into mines of some kind.
The body of ore in the California and Consolidated Virginia mines, known
as the “Big Bonanza” is by no means the only bonanza found on the
Comstock that was worth having. From the first Ophir bonanza was
extracted, all told, about $20,000,000; from the Savage, $15,750,000;
Hale & Norcross, $8,000,000; Chollar-Potosi, $16,000,000; Gould & Curry,
$15,550,000; Yellow-Jacket, $15,000,000; Crown Point, $20,000,000;
Belcher, $25,000,000; Overman, $3,000,000; Imperial, $2,500,000, and
many other mines sums running into millions, or well up in the hundreds
of thousands. The Belcher and Crown Point mines are still yielding about
500 tons of ore each per day. The Belcher mine has paid its stockholders
dividends to the amount of $14,135,000; the stockholders of the Crown
Point have received $11,588,000; the Consolidated Virginia has paid
$9,720,000; Chollar-Potosi, $3,080,000; Gould & Curry, $3,826,800; Hale
& Norcross, $1,598,000; Savage, $4,440,000; Yellow-Jacket, $2,184,000;
and many others sums ranging from fifty thousand to one million dollars.
There is, of course, a vast deal of money paid out in the shape of
assessments levied for the purpose of opening new mines, and sometimes
on mines already opened, when they get into a “bad streak”—are in
“borrasca”—but, taking all kinds of mines together, the dividends have
far exceeded the assessments. From first to last, on all the mines the
stock of which is bought and sold in the San Francisco Stock Board,
there have been levied assessments amounting to $54,258,500; showing a
balance of $28,256,708 in favor of the mines; there is also the present
market value of the mines to be taken into consideration, which is a
grand item.
The mines of the Comstock give life to the whole Pacific Coast, and are
the main-spring, so to speak, of all kinds of trades and every kind of
business. They furnish to the California mechanic that employment which
gives him his bread. The army of workmen of all kinds, who were employed
in the building of the famous Palace Hotel, of San Francisco, the
largest and most costly structure of the kind in the world, were all
paid with money taken out of the mines of the Comstock. Washoe money
also reared the Nevada Block, and scores more of the finest and most
costly buildings in San Francisco—buildings which are the pride of the
city.
All the foundries and machine-shops of San Francisco and other large
towns on the Pacific Coast are running day and night to fill orders from
Nevada for engines, boilers, pumps, and all manner of mining machinery;
but for the Washoe silver-mines nearly all the workmen employed in these
foundries and machine-shops would be obliged to migrate to some other
land. The ranchmen and fruit-growers of California would find times very
dull with them but for Nevada, as in the towns of the silver-mines, they
always find a market for all their products at high prices in ready
coin. Without the “big bonanza,” and the many other silver-mines of all
classes in Nevada, times would be very different from what they now are
in San Francisco, and, indeed, throughout California and over the whole
Pacific Coast.
The influence of the Washoe silver-mines does not stop on the Pacific
Coast, but extends throughout the United States and is also felt in
Europe. Not only are manufacturing establishments in California running
to fill orders for machinery for the mines of Nevada, but many
establishments in the Atlantic States and a few in European countries
are also at work on certain kinds of machinery required in the
silver-mines; as steel-wire cables, air-compressure power-drills, and
the like. Not alone to the deposit of ore in one or two mines, but to
the whole Comstock lode should be given the name of the “Big Bonanza.”
[Illustration]
CHAPTER LXVI.
CONCERNING VENTILATION.
Although something has already been said of the ventilation of mines and
of subterranean water, I shall now devote a chapter or two to these
matters, else they may not be thoroughly understood.
The proper ventilation of a mine is a matter of the first importance.
Without ventilation no mine can be worked. Without ventilation the whole
mine, even to the mouth of the shaft, would be filled with stagnant and
foul air, in which men could not live for half a minute. No mine can be
worked unless air from the surface of the earth is introduced into it.
It is even impossible to sink a straight shaft to the depth of one
hundred and fifty or two hundred feet—all the circumstances being the
most favorable possible—without carrying fresh air down to the men
working in its bottom. When mining was first begun on the Comstock,
wind-sails were used to carry air down into the shafts. This is a
contrivance of cotton-cloth, and is a cross between a sail and a bag.
The mouth of the baggy sail is turned to the wind, and when it fills,
air is forced down a tube that leads from its lower end. Sometimes air
was forced into a shaft by means of a common blacksmith’s bellows—slow
and hard work. When water and a proper amount of fall can be obtained, a
water-blast is sometimes used. In this the water falling through a tube
carries down with it and forces into the shaft or mine a certain amount
of air.
At the present time, however, the only manner in which air is forced
into mines is by means of rotary blowers or fans—precisely the same as
those used at the foundries for furnishing a blast to the cupolas in
which iron is melted. At all of the mines along the Comstock these
blowers are seen in operation. The best, cheapest, and most thorough
means of ventilation is by making connection with the shaft of an
adjoining mine. The moment such connection is made, the air from the
surface goes down one shaft and comes up the other. In passing to the
shaft through which it again rises to the surface, the air, of course,
takes the most direct route, yet a great volume of pure air is
introduced into the two mines. By means of doors fitted to the
connecting drifts between the two mines, the air thus introduced may be
distributed pretty evenly through the principal levels, as it can be
made to circulate at a considerable distance from what would be its
direct and natural route.
In all mines, however, there are always drifts, cross-cuts, winzes, and
upraises in remote places to which it is impossible to convey the air
circulating in the body of the mine. To provide a supply of air at these
points the blowers are used. They send a column of air down into the
mine through a large iron pipe, and on the several levels are smaller
pipes which convey it to where it is required. In many of the mines
there are small blowers on the lower-levels that are run by engines
driven by compressed air. These are very useful in furnishing a supply
of air in out-of-the-way places.
It is not only necessary to furnish pure air for the miners to breathe,
but fresh air is required in great volume to cool off the rock and keep
down the heat in the drifts and cross-cuts of the lower-levels. As the
shafts and inclines increase in depth there is a constant and
corresponding increase of heat in the rocks into which the works are
advanced. At the depth of from 1,500 to 2,000 feet the rock is so hot
that it is painful to the naked hand. In many places, from crevices in
the rock, or from holes drilled into it, streams of boiling water gush
out. In these places the thermometer often shows a temperature of from
one hundred and twenty to one hundred and thirty degrees. It is as hot
as in the hottest Turkish bath. In these places men could not live but
for the supply of cool air that is pumped into the drift or other place
in which they are at work; even then the temperature often remains as
high as one hundred and ten degrees. The rock in a newly opened level
retains its heat for months, however much air may be brought into the
mine. Nearly all the leading mines on the Comstock are down to where the
rock is exceedingly hot. The Crown Point and Belcher Companies are down
1,700 feet; Yellow-Jacket, 1,740; Bullion, 1,700; Imperial-Empire,
2,100; Gould & Curry, Best & Belcher, Consolidated Virginia, and Ophir,
each 1,700; while the Savage Company are down nearly 2,300, and the Hale
& Norcross, about 2,200. In the two mines last named they find it
fearfully hot. As the Savage Company have started up machinery capable
of sinking to the depth of 4,000 feet, they will presently be in danger
of dropping into the great central fires of the earth.
As depth is attained it is found necessary to increase the size and
capacity of the blowers used and the main pipes through which the air is
forced into the mines have now been increased to about two feet in
diameter, whereas the diameter of those first used was only about six
inches. With a small pipe the air backs up on the blower and there is a
waste of power. The pipe should be so large that there is no longer any
perceptible back-pressure—so large that all the air blown into it finds
an abundance of room in which to advance without encountering the
resistance of its own elasticity. The pipes should be enlarged until the
air goes through without any rebounding.
It is a question in many minds whether the miners of Nevada have gone
the right way about the ventilation of their mines; whether instead of
forcing air into the lower-levels they should not pump the foul and
heated air out, when pure air would rush down and fill the vacuum thus
created. In the mines of Germany they practice this plan of pumping out
the foul air. In Nevada, however, it is not likely that it would answer
so good a purpose as the plan of pumping in fresh air. By blowing in air
as is now practiced there is always more or less good air at the face of
a drift about the end of the pipe, but by the pumping-out plan the air
surrounding the end of the pipe would be sucked into it, and that which
would reach the men would be such as flowed a long distance in contact
with the heated rock forming the walls of the cross-cut or drift.
American miners work so fast that the rock does not have much time in
which to cool behind them. Therefore the better plan for them seems to
be the reverse of that practiced in the Old World.
It remains to be seen what effect the Sutro Tunnel will have in creating
a circulation of air in the lower-levels of the mines when it shall have
been completed. This tunnel, about which so much has been said in
Congress and elsewhere, starts at the edge of the valley of the Carson
River, in a southeasterly direction from Virginia City, and is intended
to tap the Comstock lode at the depth of 200 feet. Its total length will
be 20,145 feet. Work was commenced on it in October, 1859, and it has
now been extended a distance of between nine and ten thousand feet.
About 1,100 feet of the tunnel, from the mouth in, has been made of full
size, twelve by sixteen feet; the remainder, what is called the header,
is six by seven feet in size.
There are along the line of the tunnel, which runs under several
mountains of considerable size, four shafts. These were designed to be
sunk down to the level of the tunnel, when work on the tunnel might be
prosecuted in two directions from the bottom. Shaft No. 1 is located at
a distance of 4,915 feet from the mouth of the tunnel; shaft No. 2,
9,065 feet from the mouth of the tunnel; No. 3, 13,545 feet from the
mouth of the tunnel; and shaft No. 4, 17,695 feet from the same point,
and 2,450 feet from the point where the tunnel will intersect the
Comstock lode. Shafts Nos. 1 and 2 are down to the level of the tunnel
and work has been done through them. Shaft No. 1 is 523 feet, and shaft
No. 2, 1,041 feet in depth. Shafts Nos. 3 and 4 are not yet down to the
level of the tunnel, the “header” of which is progressing between shafts
Nos. 2 and 3. When the tunnel shall have been completed, there will be a
connection between the Comstock lode and shaft No. 4 through which there
will be a circulation of air. This shaft (No. 4) will be 1,485 feet in
depth, and when the connection is made the air will either pass down it,
along the tunnel a distance of 2,450 feet and out through the mines at
the point of intersection, or will pass down through the mines and out
through the shaft. Which way the draught will be, no man can say, as the
course of currents of air underground is governed by laws not yet well
understood. Whichever way the draught may be, however, there will be a
great improvement in the circulation of the air in the lower-levels of
the adjacent mines, to the depth of 2,000 feet.
However diligently work may be prosecuted on the Sutro Tunnel, it must
be some years yet before it can be completed to the point of
intersection with the Comstock lode. Meantime there is being sunk at the
distance of about 2,000 feet east of the lode, and about 450 or 500 feet
west of shaft No. 4 of the Sutro Tunnel, a shaft which will be the
largest and most perfect in every respect ever sunk in that country.
This shaft is being sunk by a combination of three leading mining
companies—the Chollar-Potosi, Savage, and Hale & Norcross. It will be
ten by thirty feet in size, divided into four compartments by stout
plank partitions, and the machinery placed over it will be of a capacity
to sink it to the depth of one mile.
Rapid progress is being made in the sinking of this great shaft. At
proper intervals drifts will be run from it to the Comstock lode. The
first drift will probably be run at the depth of 2,000 feet, and it will
reach the lode long before the completion of the Sutro Tunnel, and as
regards ventilation, will do all that could be expected of the tunnel.
As two or three of the leading mines are already working at a depth of
nearly 2,500 feet, the big shaft must be looked to for ventilation
everywhere below the depth of 2,000 feet; therefore below this depth
drifts will doubtless be run between the lode and the shaft at frequent
intervals.
Owing to the lead dipping to the east at an angle of from thirty to
fifty degrees, the distance necessary to be run to connect the lode and
shaft will constantly decrease until at a certain depth the shaft itself
will cut the lead, after which time the drift to reach and ventilate the
vein must be run to the eastward. A branch-track connects this shaft
with the main Virginia and Truckee Railroad.
CHAPTER LXVII.
BELOW THE WATER-DEPOSITS.
In countries where no mining is done it is the prevalent opinion that at
a certain depth the earth is full of water, and that the deeper we go
the more water will abound. This is a mistaken notion. After delving
beyond certain bounds, water ceases to be generally disseminated in the
earth. This is after we have gone below the “scalp” or surface-water of
the country. Until we have passed through this scalp, water is found
almost everywhere. This being the case, it is quite natural that persons
residing in countries where wells sunk in search of a supply of water
are the deepest works of the kind undertaken, should imagine
overwhelming floods of water to exist everywhere far down in the bowels
of the earth.
In Nevada—and the rule probably holds good in every country—after
passing the more open and softer matter—drift and rock—there is reached
the solid rocky mass forming what might be termed the “skull” of the
earth—the hard shell lying between the comparatively spongy exterior
strata, and the molten interior mass. This intermediate shell of hard
rock is where the miners along the Comstock are now delving in all the
deeper mines. Here we find that solid rock takes the place of water in
most situations—solid rock is the rule. When the rock is not solid and
perfectly homogeneous, there water finds its way and forms subterranean
reservoirs of all sizes and shapes, which, in mining parlance, are
called “pockets.”
These pockets may be of almost any shape, but are generally in the form
of a crevice. As a rule, the crevices are not open spaces like caverns,
but are filled with some permeable material into which the water may
find its way and settle, as in the ground composing the “scalp” above.
The water at the depth of from 1,000 to 2,000 feet lies in detached
bodies. In the country-rock (the rock lying on each side of a vein and
forming the general rock of the country) there are fewer of these
pockets of water than within the bounds of a vein, as the solidity and
homogenous character of the outside rock leaves no space in which water
may be contained. The Comstock lode occupying an immense fissure,
extending into the intermediate crust of the earth to an indeterminate
depth, there are naturally many openings in it, through which water may
descend; besides, the material of which the vein is composed is in
general much softer, and therefore more pervious than the great mass of
rock outside of the vein. The pockets of water are confined within walls
of clay or hard, impervious rock. Thus drifts may be run on all sides
of, and even under, these subterranean reservoirs, and no water is seen
until the confining walls are cut. When a body of clay is encountered
and there is reason to suspect that a body of water is being approached,
a long drill is used with which to feel the way in advance of the drift,
and let the water out, if any there be, in a controllable stream. Were
the miners to push ahead with a drift of full size, the pressure of
water would presently burst in the whole face of their opening, tear
down the timbers, cause extensive caving of the ground, and perhaps
flood everything and drown the men before they could escape.
When once the works of a mine have been carried down into the solid
shell of the earth, the work of draining any body of water that may be
encountered is a mere question of time. If the underground cistern is
small it is soon pumped out; if large it takes a proportionally longer
time, the same pump being used in each case; but, sooner or later, it
must be exhausted. If water were not thus found in detached bodies
(instead of being universally diffused) in that zone of the earth under
consideration, there could be mining under seas, lakes, and rivers, as
is now successfully practiced in many countries.
In illustration of the manner in which miners often drift under and
around bodies of water, I may give an incident of the early days of
Washoe, when drifts and tunnels had not yet drained off the
surface-water, and wells were yet a possibility in Virginia City.
[Illustration: THE MISSING WELL BOTTOM.]
A lady resident of the town one day went to a well in her door-yard to
draw some water. Being in haste, she let the bucket go down from the
windlass “by the run,” and the instant it struck the water out dropped
the whole bottom of the well. Every drop of water instantly disappeared
and nought was seen where it had been, but a black, yawning chasm in
which hung and dangled the bucket. Amazed almost beyond the power of
speech, the lady for a time stood and gazed into the bottomless well,
then rushed to the house. She had considered the matter and comprehended
it.
“What did I tell you?” cried she, addressing her rather easy-going
husband. “I knew that the men who dug that well were taking no pains
with their work!”
“What is the matter now?” said the husband.
“Matter?—matter enough! The bottom has dropped out of the well!”
“Bottom dropped out of the well!” exclaimed the husband, beginning to
become interested.
“Yes: the bottom has dropped out of the well, and I am not at all
surprised—I am not one bit astonished! I knew when I saw the men putting
the bottom in that well that it would never be of any account!”
The cause of the accident was simple enough. The well had been dug in
the line of a tunnel advancing from a distant point below. The miners,
all unconscious of the presence of the well, had drifted under it, and
at no great distance below its bottom. Being without adequate support
the bottom must soon have fallen out, of its own accord, but the sudden
jar of the bucket on the surface of the water undoubtedly precipitated
the event. A peculiar kind of clay is found in many places on the
Comstock lode which is not a little curious on account of its creeping
propensities. A stratum of this clay will be seen to crawl out into
tunnels and other openings in a manner much resembling the action of the
toy known as Pharaoh’s serpents. You are unable to see where it is
coming from or what moves it, yet it is constantly crawling out into all
the openings that reach it.
In places where drifts have been run into this clay it is necessary to
keep one or two men constantly at work at cutting it away in order to
keep the drifts open and passable. This is not owing to the slaking and
swelling of the exposed surface, as in that case after a few removals of
the surplus material a hole would be left, and there would be no more
trouble. The whole body of the clay appears to be creeping. It has the
almost imperceptible motion of the glacier, irresistibly advancing,
crushing everything in the shape of timbers that may be placed before
it. All that can then be done is to set men to work at cutting it off as
fast as it comes out. The cause of this creeping is probably to be found
in the pressure, of the superincumbent or surrounding strata of rock.
Its motion is not unlike that seen in the straightening out of a piece
of pith that has been compressed. There is a limit to this creeping
power of the clay, but it is not reached till many feet have crept out
into the drift, tunnel, shaft, or chamber, and have been cut off and
removed. Its actions is so mysterious that some of the miners are ready
to explain it by saying that the clay comes out and fills up the drifts
because “Nature abhors a vacuum.”
If left to its course the clay would very soon close up the drift, as
completely as if none had ever been made. Thousands of feet of drifts
and tunnels in the mines are closed in this way.
In the Caledonia mine, American Flat, much trouble was experienced with
this creeping clay. On one occasion a streak of it two or three feet in
width continued to rise from the floor of a tunnel until over thirty
feet had thus come up and been cut off. It is bad anywhere, but is most
mischievous in the main shaft. For this reason mining men always seek a
spot in which to put down such shafts, where they are likely to pass
through solid “country-rock” to a great depth below surface. The sad
experience of early days taught them this lesson. The clay is generally
found within the wall of the vein. It abounds in the mines south of Gold
Hill, about American Flat. The ordinary clay found next to the foot, and
hanging walls in all mines is liable to swell—on account of the lime it
contains—when exposed to atmospheric action, but after the pressure on
the timbers has been eased by cutting away behind them a few times,
there is no more trouble.
The power of this swelling, slacking clay is immense. It crushes in, and
splinters all the timbers that can be placed before it: it somewhat
resembles the power exerted in the expansion and contraction of large
masses of iron, as seen in iron bridges and similar structures. The
following curious Comstock “find” may be of interest to some readers.
In working out the first or upper bonanza of the Ophir mine, there was
brought to light a human skull of a very ancient and curious type. The
skull was dug out where a drift was being run in the ore-body at a depth
of about three hundred feet below the surface. It was brought out, and
dumped with a car-load of ore, not being observed by the miners. United
States District Judge A. W. Baldwin, since killed by a railroad accident
in California, happened to be present when the car-load of ore was
dumped. Seeing an object of peculiar shape roll toward his feet among
the ore dumped from the car, the Judge picked it up, and found it to be
a human skull of a peculiar form and thickly crusted over with sulphuret
of silver. He carried it into town and presented it to Wm. Shepard, of
the firm of Tinker & Shepard, who placed it in a cabinet of curiosities,
where it still remains.
The skull attracted no attention outside of Virginia City until 1874,
when, mention being made of it in the newspapers, the Academy of
Sciences, of San Francisco, sent for it for the purpose of making a
critical examination of it. While it was in San Francisco a plaster cast
was made of it, and at a meeting of the Academy of Sciences, Dr. Blake
exhibited the cast and spoke of it as follows: “There is in this skull a
peculiarity that is seen in some of the ancient Peruvian skulls, namely,
on interparietal bone. The general _contour_ of the skull is of a very
low type; the anterior portion is very slightly developed and receding;
the hinder portion is largely developed. It bears a similarity to the
skull of the carnivorous apes, the cavity for the lower jaw-bone being
very deep and not allowing of any grinding motion of the jaws. The skull
when found was covered with a metallic layer. It is of a different type
from any that have been found, and belonged to a carnivorous man, who
could walk easier on all fours than on two feet.” Several ancient
Peruvian skulls were then produced in order to show the interparietal
bone.
Professor Whitney was very anxious to be allowed to send the skull to
the Atlantic States and Europe, but the owners would not part with it
for that purpose. The plaster cast taken was sent to Dr. J. Wyman, of
Cambridge. It would seem that the conclusion arrived at in San Francisco
was that the skull was that of a man belonging to a pre-historic race.
He probably was adorned with a tail. At the time the great fissure was
formed in which the Comstock lode was deposited, or perhaps at the time
the fissure was being filled with its rich ores, this pre-historic
creature was probably fooling about the edge of the chasm, looking down
into it to see what discoveries he could make, when the earth crumbled
beneath his weight, and he rolled down and was incorporated in the heart
of the vein. His sad fate must have proved a salutary warning to all
others of his tribe, as his skull is the only thing in the way of
ancient human remains that has ever been found in any mine on the lode.
[Illustration]
[Illustration: THE MAN-EATER]
CHAPTER LXVIII.
SOME INTERESTING CREATURES.
There are in operation, in all, in the vicinity of the Comstock, mills,
the aggregate of whose stamps is over one thousand.
The Consolidated Virginia Company give employment to the following
mills: Consolidated mill, sixty stamps and crushing capacity of 230 tons
per day; Sacramento mill, 50 tons; Mariposa, 12 stamps, 40 tons; Hoosier
State, 18 stamps, 50 tons; Devil’s Gate, 10 stamps, 35 tons; Kelsey, 15
stamps, 45 tons; Bacon, 20 stamps, 50 tons; Occidental, 20 stamps, 50
tons; total, 195 stamps, 600 tons per day. The pay-roll of the men
employed in these mills amounts to $35,000 per month.
At Silver City, about five miles below Virginia City, on Gold Cañon, are
a considerable number of fine mills (some of those mentioned above among
the number) in all of which steam is the motive power. A branch of the
Virginia and Truckee Railroad runs to Silver City and supplies these
mills with ore, wood, and all other articles required. Near the town are
several mines—the Silver Hill, Dayton, Kossuth, Daney, and Buckeye—on
which are in operation first-class hoisting-works, and the southern
continuation of the Comstock is supposed to pass through the ground on
which the village stands. It is already a lively camp, boasts a
tri-weekly newspaper—the Lyon County _Times_—and should the hopes of the
mining-companies now at work in that vicinity be realized, will soon be
one of the leading mining-towns of the State.
On the Carson River are a large number of first-class reduction-works
that are driven by water-power. The Eureka mill, of the Union Mill and
Mining Company, of which company Mr. Sharon is a principal stockholder,
is one of the finest mills on the river. It contains sixty stamps (the
same number as the Consolidated Virginia mill) and is provided with a
proportionate amount of amalgamating-machinery. It is run on ore from
the Belcher mine. It is connected with the Virginia and Truckee Railroad
by a tramway over two miles in length. The Brunswick mill, also on the
river, contains fifty-six stamps and works Crown Point ore. The
Merrimac, Santiago, Morgan, and Mexican mills are all on the Carson
River and receive their supplies of ore over the Virginia and Truckee
Railroad. Some of these mills are very picturesquely situated, being
surrounded by high, rocky hills and having near them, on the bars of the
river, handsome groves of willow and cottonwood trees.
Carson City contains no mills, but the interests of her business men are
identified with those of the mining towns above. The town, which
contains about 8,000 inhabitants, is situated in Eagle Valley, at the
base of the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and contains many fine buildings,
both public and private. Carson City is the capital of the State. The
capitol building and the United States’ Mint are imposing structures,
built of a handsome grey sandstone obtained at the State Prison quarry,
about one mile east of the town. The Virginia and Truckee Railroad
Company have large machine-shops and other large and substantial
buildings at Carson.
At Carson trees are grown, and about the town are to be seen some very
handsome private grounds. The plaza surrounding the State House, some
ten acres in extent, is inclosed by a handsome wrought-iron fence, the
successful bidder for the construction of which was an enterprising New
England schoolmarm.
Although Carson is an oasis where something in the shape of verdure
refreshes the eye, yet to the eastward, northward, and in all directions
but westward—where the Sierras rise—all the landscape is made up of
brown and sterile hills and mountains capped with piles of grey granite.
These hills are not only barren and dreary in aspect, but are, in fact,
as desolate as they appear. In travelling among the rocky hills and
desert valleys there is apparent an absence of animal life that causes
one to feel very lonely. Out in the great wilds all is silence. Not the
note of a bird is heard—not a bird is seen. Although the wind may be
blowing a gale, nothing is stirred by it, for there is nothing to stir.
It seems strange to feel the force of the wind, yet hear no sound from
it nor see anything moved by it. In these wild regions we find basking
upon the rocks or gambolling over the barren ground great numbers of
lizards. They are seen in great variety, and some of them are very
handsome, being striped in red, yellow, black, white, brown, and many
other colors. Some kinds are over a foot in length. All are very active,
and it is a difficult matter to catch them. Some of the larger kinds
have long and sharp teeth and know how to use them. I have never heard
of anyone being bitten by one of them, but the Mexicans say that the
bite of one variety, which has a black ring round its neck, is fatal.
On one occasion I assisted a gentlemen in catching a dozen or more of
all kinds, the object being to preserve them in alcohol. They were
placed in a sack as caught. On getting home with them, after carrying
them about two miles, it was found that they had torn each other to
ribbons.
A curious little reptile is found everywhere throughout the country,
which is called a horned toad. It grows to be four or five inches in
length and looks like a cross between a lizard and a terrapin. What are
called its horns are nothing more than several diamond-shaped scales
that grow on its head, and which it has the power to erect or depress.
It is of a buff color, sprinkled with spots of dull red. Like the
chameleon, it appears to live on air. Specimens have been kept for
months in glass jars and have never been seen to eat, though flies and
other insects in abundance were furnished them. Persons in Nevada
sometimes send these pets to friends in the Atlantic States through the
mails. They generally go through all right. Scorpions abound among the
loose rock on the sides of the hills. They have a sting in the end of
the tail with which they are very handy. Their sting is very painful,
but not fatal. The antidote is ammonia, taken internally, and rubbed
upon the wound. These unpleasant creatures are from three to five inches
in length, and present much the appearance of a shrimp or a craw-fish.
When the prospector is camped in the hills the scorpion is fond of
crawling down his neck as he lies sleeping on the ground. When objection
is made to this familiarity the scorpion uses his sting.
A few centipedes are found in the country, but they are not very large
or venomous, and are not much boasted of. In the spring of 1875, a lady
residing in Silver City awoke one night to find something crawling about
in her bed, and getting a light discovered it to be a centipede about
eight inches in length. She was stung in two or three places by the
insect, but eventually recovered. In countries further south the
centipede is more dreaded than the rattlesnake.
Tarantulas are abundant in Nevada, but persons are seldom bitten by
them. They are sometimes so large that they stand three inches high when
walking, and their legs and bodies covered with hair as long as that of
a mouse. Their fangs are about the length of those of a rattlesnake, and
the little, round mouth from which they project is blood-red. When the
end of an iron ramrod is presented to them their fangs may be heard to
grate upon it. They make a nest in the ground about four inches in
diameter, which is lined by a fabric, spun by the creature itself, which
is as fine and glossy as white satin. A lid, made of small bits of rock
and soil glued together, covers the entrance to the nest. The under side
of the lid is also lined with the satin-like substance, and is hung on a
hinge of the same. Although the tarantula travels slowly, yet when it
has reached its nest it darts within it and closes the lid so quickly
that the eye can hardly follow its motions. When the lid of the nest has
been closed it is a difficult matter to distinguish it, as its upper
side presents precisely the same appearance as the pebbles and earth
surrounding it. Once it is within its nest the tarantula is able to hold
the lid down and to resist any small force used for the purpose of
raising it. When the lid is raised the creature shrinks back in its nest
and there sits with its malignant little eyes shining like two beads of
jet.
By using great care the nest of the tarantula may be extracted from the
ground, when it is found to be a ball about four inches in diameter
composed of agglutinated pebbles, bits of clay, and other components of
the soil in which it is built. In this shape they are sometimes placed
in cabinets with the tarantula imprisoned within, a thread being tied
over the lid of the nest. A tarantula, however, is not a very desirable
pet. The tarantula has an enemy in a large wasp, of which he stands in
mortal fear. When the tarantula goes out for a quiet stroll this wasp
frequently finds him, and if he is more than a few feet away from his
nest he never reaches it.
As vultures appear to drop out of the sky when an animal has fallen dead
in the desert, so this wasp, the deadly enemy of the tarantula, comes
upon the scene. Straight as an arrow from the bow, and as swift as
light, he comes from the upper air and pierces the tarantula through the
body. The tarantula turns upon his back and in mortal terror claws the
air, but the wasp has disappeared—can nowhere be seen. After watching
for a time, with his legs in the air, the tarantula gets upon his feet
and travels at his best pace for his nest. Almost instantly there is a
whiz, and the wasp has given him another thrust—perhaps two stabs, as he
is quick as lightning.
Although I have called the enemy of the tarantula a wasp, it is not a
wasp, though looking much like one. The lance which it thrusts into the
tarantula is not a sting, but an ovapositor, and at each stab an egg is
deposited in the body of the tarantula. All this appears to be well
understood by the tarantula himself and from the time the first egg has
been planted in his back he seems to feel that his days are numbered; as
the egg will soon hatch a grub—a worm—that will devour his vitals. At
each encounter the tarantula throws himself upon his back and tries to
fend off or to grasp his antagonist with his claws, but the wasp
patiently waits somewhere high in the air, till he gets upon his feet,
then darts down and pierces him with his lance. The tarantula soon grows
weak, and then the wasp thrusts into his body half a dozen eggs at each
visit. Soon the tarantula is unable to move and after a few stabs is
quite dead. The wasp then digs a hole in the ground two or three inches
in depth, crams the dead tarantula down to the bottom of it, and then
closes it up. When the eggs of the wasp hatch, the young grubs find
their food at hand in the body of the dead tarantula.
Another agreeable insect found in the hills of Nevada is an ant that is
armed with a sting. It is black in color, and has a few scattering
orange-colored hairs on its back. It is seldom seen, and appears to lead
even a more solitary and secluded life than does the tarantula.
[Illustration: decoration]
[Illustration: JOHN McKEY.]
CHAPTER LXIX.
MILLIONAIRE PROPRIETORS.
A chapter giving a few words in regard to persons prominently connected
with the big bonanza and the Comstock lode may be of interest to some
readers. I cannot undertake to give more than the outlines in each
instance. The biography of almost any man who has been ten years on the
Pacific Coast would make a large volume, were all of his experiences
written up.
John Mackey Esq., the millionaire miner of the “big bonanza,” was born
in the city of Dublin, Ireland, and served his time as a ship-carpenter.
He came to California soon after the discovery of gold, and mined at and
near Downieville, Sierra county, for many years. In the placer-mines he
had his “ups and downs” the same as other miners, and often did a vast
amount of hard work for a small amount of gold. Mr. Mackey came to the
silver-mines of Washoe in the early days, and for a time after his
arrival worked for wages at the Mexican and other mines—swinging a pick
and shovel as an ordinary miner. It was not long, however, before he
began to get ahead financially, and, it is said, made his first “raise”
in the Kentuck mine, Gold Hill. He finally obtained a large interest in
the Hale & Norcross mine, Virginia City. Here he took Mr. Fair in as a
partner and the two men secured control of the mine, rescinded an
assessment that had been levied, and began paying dividends. The Hale &
Norcross being “in bonanza,” the partners soon had money with which to
secure other mines. Finally, in company with Messrs Flood & O’Brien, of
San Francisco, they purchased the Consolidated Virginia ground, getting
it for about $80,000, and eventually acquired a controlling interest in
the California mine.
Although Mr. Mackey is now worth fifty or sixty million dollars, yet,
like Mr. Fair, he spends much of his time, when at Virginia City, in the
lower levels. Almost every morning at six o’clock he descends into one
or another of his mines, and often remains underground for several
hours, passing through all the levels where work is being done, when
there is anything that requires his attention. In passing through a
level he sees all that is going on at a glance. Mr. Mackey is one of the
most modest and unassuming of men, yet he is a shrewd observer of
character, and of all that is going on in the world about him. Generally
he has but little to say, but that little is to the point—goes directly
to the bull’s-eye. He is not often misunderstood. He most thoroughly
understands mining in all its branches, as there is nothing required to
be done in a mine that he has not done with his own hands. No man is
more ready to adopt improvements than Mr. Mackey. He is ever ready to
spend money for labor-saving machinery. Those of his men who imagine
they have discovered a new plan of doing any kind of work whereby a
saving in time or muscle can be effected, always find an attentive
listener in Mr. Mackey, and all the encouragement they require. He
frequently stimulates their inventive faculties by telling them of
certain things for which he desires some new mode of working to be
thought out, or some new machine to be constructed.
Although one of the most kind-hearted and generous of men—as the
hundreds he has befriended can testify—I may here state, for the benefit
of a certain class of persons, that he pays no attention to the bushels
of silly begging-letters which he receives from all parts of the United
States and even from the remotest corners of Europe—all are tumbled into
his waste-basket.
[Illustration: HON. WILLIAM SHARON.]
Notwithstanding that Mr. Fair is the superintendent of the mine owned by
the firm, Mr. Mackey also does duty as superintendent, and the pair
generally hold a grand council on all matters of moment. When this
council is in session in the private office at the works, the miners in
passing back and forth hold up their fingers to one another as a sign
that no noise is to be made that will interfere with the deliberations
that are in progress near at hand. No man in Nevada more thoroughly
understands the Comstock lode than Mr. Mackey. He has made it his study
for years. No change of rock can occur but that he knows what it
portends. He appears to know almost every clay-seam, and streak of
quartz, and porphyry that runs through the vein. By looking at a sample
of ore he can tell the amount of silver it contains almost as well as if
he had seen it assayed. He is particularly at home in the northern part
of the Comstock, where he has had most acquaintance with the mines, and
may be said to have that part of the lode by heart. As regards mining
knowledge, Mr. Mackey is the “boss” of the big bonanza.
The Hon. William Sharon, who for many years figured so prominently in
the mining and milling interests of the Comstock lode as to earn for
himself the title of the “King of the Comstock,” was born in Jefferson
county, Ohio, in 1821. His family were Quakers and his ancestors were
among those who settled at Philadelphia with William Penn. When a boy of
seventeen Mr. Sharon thought that the life of a boatman would suit him.
He purchased an interest in a flatboat, and started down the Ohio River,
bound for New Orleans, but “landed his boat” when he reached Louisville.
At this point the boat struck a rock in crossing the falls, and was left
a total wreck. Mr. Sharon then returned to his native town disgusted
with a “seafaring” life, and went to college a few years, then studied
law and practiced for a time in St. Louis, Missouri.
Giving up the practice of law on account of bad health, he figured as a
merchant, at Carrollton, Illinois, until the discovery of gold in
California. He was among those who crossed the Plains in 1849, and in
August of that year reached Sacramento, where he purchased a stock of
goods and opened a store. The floods of the winter of 1849-50 swept his
stock into the Pacific Ocean, leaving him about as he was left when he
struck the falls at Louisville, on the Ohio River.
After his store had been carried away by the flood he went down to San
Francisco and opened a real-estate office. He continued in this business
until 1864, and had accumulated a fortune of $150,000, when he began
speculating in mining-stock. In this he again struck the Louisville
Falls and again “landed his boat,” a total wreck. Being once more
foot-loose and ready for anything that might offer in the way of
business, he was sent over the Sierras to Virginia City, Nevada, by the
Bank of California to look after certain of the affairs of that
institution which required attention. After reaching Virginia City he
soon arranged all the affairs of the Bank of California, and while
looking about and probing into matters in so doing, was shrewd enough to
see that he had at last reached the place where all the money on the
Pacific Coast was coming from. He at once urged upon the officers of the
Bank of California the necessity of opening a branch at Virginia City,
which was done and Mr. Sharon was placed at the head of the new
institution, with unlimited powers. He remained in Virginia City a
number of years as the head of the branch bank in that place, and
finally resigned in order to look after affairs of his own, leaving in
his place an excellent and capable man in the person of Mr. A. J.
Ralston.
Mr. Sharon is the father of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad,
undoubtedly the crookedest railroad in the world, and a wonderful road
in many other respects. In building this road Mr. Sharon secured a
subsidy of $500,000 from the people of Washoe in aid of the project,
constructed as much of the road as the sum would build, then mortgaged
the whole road for the amount of money required for its completion. In
this way he built the road without putting his hand into his own pocket
for a cent, and he still owns half the road—worth $2,500,000 and
bringing him in as Mr. Adolph Sutro says, $12,000 per day. On this trip
he got his boat over the falls in good shape. The road, however, has
been of great benefit to the country, and Mr. Sharon was a good man for
the country while he was at the head of the Virginia branch of the Bank
of California, as he had the nerve to advance money for the development
of mines and the building of mills at the time when no outside
banking-house would have ventured a cent. He saw that, though some of
the mining companies were in “borrasca” there was every likelihood of
their being in “bonanza” soon again, provided they were furnished with a
sum sufficient to make proper explorations.
Mr. Sharon is the principal owner of the Palace Hotel, San Francisco,
the largest and most costly hotel in the world, and of a vast deal of
other property in the city named, and in various places in California
and Nevada. In all he is probably worth seventy or eighty million
dollars. In 1874, he was elected United States’ Senator from Nevada, for
six years, to take the place of Mr. Stewart. Mr. Sharon has a very clear
head, a thorough understanding of financial questions, is a shrewd
business man, and a man of large capabilities in all the walks of life.
[Illustration:
JAMES G. FAIR.
(_Supt. California and Consolidated Virginia Mines._)
]
James G. Fair Esq., one of the principal owners and the superintendent
of the Consolidated Virginia and California mines, was born in the north
of Ireland. He came to the United States in his youth and settled in
Illinois. Upon the discovery of gold in California he determined to try
his “luck” as a miner. He left Illinois, in 1849, and reached
California, in August, 1850, when he went to Long’s Bar, Feather River,
called by the Mexicans _el Rio de los Plumas_—the river of feathers.
On Feather River, Mr. Fair learned the art of mining for gold in the
bars and river channels, among boulders so large that to look at them
made one sick at heart. In 1860 he gave up mining for gold, and made his
way across the Sierras to Virginia City, where he has ever since made
his home, and where he has constantly been engaged in mining and other
enterprises. In 1857 he became the partner of John Mackey in the Hale &
Norcross mine, when both he and Mr. Mackey made a “snug bit” of money.
Since becoming partners, Messrs Mackey & Fair, and their associates,
Messrs Flood & O’Brien, of San Francisco, who are interested with them
in many speculations, have acquired controlling interests in the Gould &
Curry, Best & Belcher, Consolidated Virginia, California, Utah, and
Occidental mines; also, of the Virginia City and Gold Hill Water-Works,
of a large number of quartz-mills, of the Pacific Wood, Lumber, &
Fluming Company, in the Sierra Nevada Mountains, and are concerned in
various enterprises in California. Messrs Mackey & Fair also have mines
in Idaho, Montana, and Utah—have even reached down into Georgia and
taken hold of some of the gold-mines in that region, sending old and
reliable Comstock mining superintendents to examine and test the mines.
They have probably also viewed the New Hampshire silver-mines through
their agents, and weighed and estimated Silver Isle, Lake Superior.
At the time of the Arizona diamond excitement, and swindle, Mr. Fair had
a man there and all over the ground as soon as the first whisper in
regard to the finding of precious stones in that region had gone abroad.
While nobody in Virginia City knew that he was taking the slightest
interest in the diamond excitement, or that he had even heard of it, Mr.
Fair had “prospected” the whole thing and found out all about it. Still
he said nothing, and probably not five men on the Comstock range to-day
know that Mr. Fair was close upon the heels of the men who put up the
great Arizona diamond swindle and prospected their “salted” ground about
as soon as the “salt” was sown. He now has in his house at Virginia City
a whole drawerful of stones of all kinds that were brought to him by the
agent he sent down into the diamond-fields.
Mr. Fair is a man who never talks when he is acting, and no one knows
exactly what “Uncle Jimmy,” as the “boys” call him, is up to. You see
the hole by which he goes into the ground, but when once he is down out
of sight you never know in what direction he is drifting. Mr. Fair is
worth thirty or forty million dollars, yet he spends as much time in
miners’ garb, down in the seething lower levels, and “poking about” in
all manner of old abandoned drifts, and tunnels, as though he were
working for four dollars per day, and had a very hard and exacting
“boss.” He is a shrewd and enterprising business man, and thoroughly
understands mines and mining. In his mills he is as much at home as in
the mines, and perfectly understands the reduction of silver ores, and
all the operations connected therewith. He is quite unassuming, and
always has a cheerful word for the “boys” of the lower levels when
passing through his mines. Like Mr. Mackey he is ever ready to give all
kinds of machinery a trial and to adopt it if it is found useful.
Captain Samuel T. Curtis, superintendent of the Ophir mine, is a miner
of great experience both in the silver-mines of Nevada and the
gold-mines of California. He was born in the south of Ireland, but came
to the United States when quite young, settling in Western Virginia,
where he lived many years. From Virginia he went to Cincinnati, Ohio,
where he resided until the discovery of gold in California.
[Illustration:
CAPTAIN SAMUEL CURTIS.
(_Supt. Ophir Mine._)
]
In common with thousands of others of an adventurous disposition, he
caught the gold-fever, and in April 1849 started across the Plains.
After many hardships and adventures of all kinds, he landed at Lassen’s
Ranche, in the northern part of California, in November of the year
named. His party started across the Plains with saw-mills, and an
immense train of wagons loaded with all manner of machinery and stores,
but abandoned everything, and were glad to reach California alive. Mr.
Curtis at once made his way to Feather River, where he mined until 1858
when he went to Nevada county and engaged in mining in that place. In
1859 he was elected to the California Legislature, and when he went to
Sacramento to take his seat was the first time that he had been out of
the mountains for ten years—he had seen no towns larger than the mining
camps of the Sierras.
At the time of the Indian trouble in Washoe, in 1860, Mr. Curtis raised
a company of volunteers in Sacramento, and, as captain of the company so
raised, brought over the Sierra Nevada Mountains a timely supply of arms
and ammunition. Being obliged to provision his company for some time
after arriving in Nevada, the part he took in the “war” cost him over
$3000. It was no better as a speculation than bringing saw-mills across
the Plains. During his residence in Washoe, Captain Curtis has had the
superintendence, of the St. Louis, Empire Mill Mining Company, Union
Consolidated, Sierra Nevada, Mexican, Savage and several other mines,
and now is in charge of the Ophir. As a mining superintendent he has
always been very fortunate, and, from his many years of experience in
various mines along the Comstock, he knows almost every foot of the
vein. He has given much attention to the stratification of the vein, and
to the crystalization and other characteristics of the rocks found
within its walls. So fortunate has he been in hitting upon bonanzas that
when he has taken charge of a mine the men say: “If there is anything in
the claim the Captain will find it!” When in charge of a mine he is
indefatigable. He is about as much underground, and about as much at
home there as upon the surface.
The Hon. J. P. Jones, United States Senator from Nevada, is a man who
had much mining experience in California, previous to his crossing the
Sierras and taking up his residence on the Comstock lode. He has long
had control of the Crown Point mine, at Gold Hill, and from its several
bonanzas has extracted many millions of dollars. He thoroughly
understands the business of silver-mining and is an excellent judge of
the ores of the Comstock. He is not only well acquainted with that
portion of the great lode which passes through Gold Hill, but also with
the mines on all parts of the vein. He owns a controlling interest in
the Savage mine, in Virginia City, and still retains the Crown Point
mine which is yielding as largely as ever, though the ore extracted is
less rich than that which was being extracted some years since.
The mills of the Nevada Mill Company, nine in number, and containing 222
stamps, are owned by Mr. Jones and Hon. Wm. Sharon and are capable of
crushing 650 tons of ore per day. The Rhode Island mill, 24 stamps,
belongs to the Crown Point Company. Besides his many interests along the
Comstock range, Mr. Jones has a large number of mines and much mining
property at Panamint, has town-sites down on the coast of California,
and is engaged in enterprises of various kinds in all parts of the
Union. “No pent-up Utica contracts his powers,” he has a genius for
mining and for surface business of all kinds, and when he rises in his
place in the United States Senate can make a good talk—is about as much
at home as though among the men on the lower levels of one of his mines,
giving directions for the opening of a new stope. Mr. Jones counts his
dollars by millions. It is said that he has about five times as many
millions as he has fingers and toes.
[Illustration: decoration]
[Illustration: HON. J. P. JONES.]
CHAPTER LXX.
FUN AND FROLIC.
As it may be of interest to persons who have never been in the
mining-regions of the Pacific Coast, I shall give an account of a
prospecting trip which I took in Washoe, in 1860, just after the Indian
troubles. Although no grand discovery was made, a sketch of the trip
will serve to show the manner in which such expeditions were at one time
conducted.
I was at that time camped at Silver City. One day a miner came to my
cabin in a great state of excitement and said he had just learned that
some men had struck placer-diggings of extraordinary richness on El
Dorado Cañon, a large cañon to the southward of the Carson River. He
said: “They are getting gold as large as peas, and are making from $10
to $20 per man with rockers.” A dozen or more in the camp were let into
the secret, and we soon had several mules packed with “grub”—flour,
beans, bacon, tea, and sugar—and were ready for a start. We wished to
reach the new gold-region in time to get good claims and in advance of
the rush of prospectors that was likely to occur as soon as news of the
new strike should leak out. Not a soul in the camp knew where we were
going, and as we marched down Gold Cañon, the miners pushed aside the
blankets which were hung up as doors to their cabins and gazed in wonder
upon our caravan. Each countenance said more plainly than words could
have expressed it: “A big strike has been made somewhere. Those fellows
know where it is and are going to it. I must find out about it and be
off after them!” With a great clatter of pots, kettles, gold-pans, and
frying-pans, our mules trotted into Chinatown (now Dayton). In this camp
our “grand entry” created something of a sensation, and curiosity was
seen in every face. Even the unimpressible Chinamen gazed upon us in
almond-eyed astonishment. We were nearly all on foot and carried picks
and shovels upon our shoulders, and long knives and six-shooters slung
to our belts.
All who saw us were dying to ask us what was up; but, evidently feeling
that it was a secret expedition, no man ventured to question us. Already
we were rich, in imagination, and all felt as jolly as so many
millionaires setting off on a pleasure excursion. Indeed, miners
generally make these trips a sort of pleasure excursion and give about
as much time to deviltry, and to curiously wandering about and viewing
the wonders of the wilds, as they do to the real business of the
journey.
Passing through Chinatown, we were soon at the Carson River, where we
found trouble that we had not thought of. The river was high and swift;
nearly all of our party were on foot; the mules were heavily packed, and
there was but one horse without a load. This horse, however, was a large
and powerful animal. Tom Lovel, his owner, finally rode across the
stream and found that the water just reached to the horse’s back. The
pack-mules were driven across the stream after Tom by means of clubs and
stones thrown after them. All got safely over but one puny and unlucky
beast that was carried down the stream. The little rascal never
attempted to swim until he had been swept some distance down the river,
when he turned his head against the current and paddled away like a good
fellow, for about ten minutes, without gaining or losing an inch, then
with a mournful, despairing groan he gave up and floated ashore on the
same side from which he started. Tom then came back on his horse, and
throwing a lasso about the neck of the dripping little beast, towed him
to the other shore, despite his moanings, and sundry other expostulatory
demonstrations. Next we foot-men were, one at a time, mounted behind Tom
and borne across the stream, all but myself landing in shape. I was the
last to cross, and, on mounting the opposite shore, Tom, having overmuch
confidence in the strength and activity of his horse, insisted upon
trying to ascend a perpendicular bank. The consequence was that we both
slid back upon the horse’s rump, causing his hind feet to sink into the
mud until he assumed a perpendicular position.
The next thing I saw was that horse’s head coming straight into my face.
There was then a dull splash and a surging sound, and I was at the
bottom of the Carson River, with Tom and horse a-top of me. I did some
lively work for a time, and finally came to the surface with my mouth
full of black mud. Tom got out in some way before I came to the surface.
While I was pouring the water out of my boots, wringing out my shirt,
and firing off and reloading my revolver, the majority of our party
moved on, Tom allowing a friend to ride his horse. Only Tom, myself, and
a Missourian known as “Pike” (the man who found the “stuff compasses are
made of”) remained behind; and when we finally started the others were
nearly a mile away. We had not travelled half a mile before we came to a
bayou or slough, half as large as the river itself and of which it was a
sort of a cut-off. Here we halted. The “boys” had gone on with the
animals, and, seeing that there was no other way—and being about as wet
as water could make me—I plunged in and waded across, the water coming
almost to my armpits. Tom hesitated and hallooed to try to make those in
advance come back with his horse, but they were beyond hearing. Finally
he offered Pike half a dollar to carry him across the slough on his
back, which offer Pike gladly accepted. When Tom mounted Pike’s back he
settled him down in the mud nearly to his knees, and when he got out
into the stream, Pike floundered about alarmingly.
Tom drew up his legs and wrapped them about Pike’s hips, hugging to him
as closely as a young Indian.
All on a sudden Pike began to shout: “Snake! snake! For God’s sake, Tom,
get off my back, a snake is biting me all to pieces!”
“What in thunder do you mean?” cried Tom. “Don’t you try foolin’ with me
about a snake!”
“Snake! snake!” cried Pike, striving to run, but Tom clung to him like
the Old Man of the Sea, thinking that he was putting up a job to throw
him into the water.
“Stop your foolin’ or I’ll hit you!” said Tom.
But Pike still plunged furiously, and then began calling upon Tom to put
down his legs. “Put down your legs, confound you! Don’t you see that you
are killing me—that you are cutting me all to pieces with—” But Pike was
not allowed to finish the sentence, as Tom, who was by this time blind
with rage, drew back his fist as well as he was able and struck Pike in
the mouth.
The unexpected blow caused Pike to throw his head back so far that both
went over backwards and disappeared under the water. They came up about
four feet apart, and as soon as Tom got his hair out of his eyes he made
for Pike. The latter was on his guard and stepped aside, at the same
time grasping Tom and giving him such a plunge as must have sent him to
the depth of a foot into the mud at the bottom of the stream. Pike then
broke for the shore with such furious strides as to nearly lift the
waters from their bed. By the time Tom had reached shore Pike was at a
safe distance, yet when Tom began snapping his revolver at him he danced
about at a lively rate.
“Hold on! hold on!” cried Pike, “stay where you are! Don’t shoot till I
tell you about it! Blast it, don’t you know that down in the water thar
you was jist cuttin’ me all to pieces with them infernal spurs of
yours!”
Tom glanced down at his heels and saw it all. There were his huge
Spanish spurs, sharp as needles, and there he had been digging into poor
Pike’s flesh while riding him through the water, causing him to think he
was being bitten on all sides by water-snakes.
“Haw! haw!” laughed Tom. “Why Pike, you fool, why didn’t you tell me
that I was hurtin’ you with my spurs?”
“I didn’t know what it was myself, at fust; then when I did find out you
wouldn’t give me time to say it.”
After these explanations Tom and Pike shook hands and called it even.
Peace being restored, we set forward along the trail on which our
companions had preceded us, but did not overtake them until we had
reached the mouth of El Dorado Cañon, the gulch on which we expected to
find the diggings. Up this cañon we travelled a considerable distance,
when we found our friends had halted for dinner. Most of the way we had
found the cañon but a few rods in width and walled in by almost
perpendicular piles of granite and slate, but where our party had halted
there was a beautiful little valley, several springs, and two or three
small groves of willows and cottonwoods.
It does not take long for a party of prospectors to prepare a meal. The
mules are first unpacked and turned out to graze; wood is then collected
and a fire built, and by the time this is blazing several cooks are
getting ready for business. Self-rising flour is placed in the same pans
that are used in prospecting for gold; water is then added, and the
whole is then stirred up with a spoon until of the proper consistency
for pancakes. Soon two or three men, each with a frying-pan, are at work
baking slapjacks, while as many more are frying the savory bacon; tea is
being made in a coffee-pot, and soon all is ready. Each man then hunts
up his tin plate, puts a handful of earth upon it and scours away all
traces of the last meal, when he is ready for his allowance of bacon and
slapjacks. Tin cups are used for the tea. These meals in the wilds of
the mountains are eaten with a relish by the hardy prospector. There are
generally a few raw onions to go with the bacon, and when a camp is made
at night beans are cooked.
Of nights, too, when there is more time for cooking than during the noon
halt, bread is baked. In making bread the miner mixes it in his
prospecting-pan, as for slapjacks, and when it has been properly
kneaded, takes it between his huge paws, and hammers it out in the shape
of a large flat cake. This cake he places in his frying-pan and then
stands it in front of his fire to bake, turning it over when one side is
done.
Sometimes a regular loaf is made. When a loaf is decided upon, a large
hole is dug in the ground, and a fire made in it. By the time the fire
has burnt down and there is nothing left but a bed of coals, the loaf is
manufactured. The coals are raked out of the pit, and the loaf is placed
in a gold-pan and set in its bottom. Another gold-pan is turned over
that containing the loaf, when the whole is covered with live coals, hot
ashes and earth. In this way is made a loaf that is as sweet as any that
ever came out of the oven of the baker. Beans—after they have been
boiled until soft—are often baked in the same way, the camp-kettle
containing them being buried in a pit in which a fire has been made.
[Illustration: THE SLAPJACK FEAT.]
In making slapjacks a miner considers himself a greenhorn if he is not
able to turn them without doing it with a knife, after the fashion of a
woman. He shuffles the cake about in the pan till it is loosened, then
deftly tosses it into the air, catching it, batter side down, as it
descends. This way of turning slapjacks is a trick, however, that some
men find it impossible to learn. I once had a partner whose one dream of
life it was to be able to turn a slapjack in this way. If he could but
flip a slapjack into the air and catch it all right, he thought he would
be perfectly happy, whether the diggings paid or not. One day, while in
the cabin cooking slapjacks, he announced that he would turn one in the
air or die. He was a man who weighed about one hundred and eighty pounds
and had somehow got it into his head that in order to successfully
perform the feat a great outlay of strength was required.
Taking hold of the handle of the frying-pan with both hands and getting
out into the middle of the floor, where he could have plenty of room, he
hustled the cake about in the pan until he found it was loose on all
sides. He then squatted nearly to the floor, and, giving a mighty heave,
sent the pancake flying upward. This done, he stood, frying-pan in hand,
waiting for the cake to come down, in order that he might catch it. But
that pancake never came down, it struck batter side against the ceiling,
and there it stuck as fast as the wafer on a love-letter.
I have heard of men who were able to throw a slapjack up through the
chimney, then run outside of the house and catch it before it struck the
ground, but I have never had the good fortune to see the feat performed.
[Illustration: decoration]
CHAPTER LXXI.
THE BRIGHT SIDE OF PROSPECTING.
In the place where we had encamped for dinner there was on one side of
the ravine, and at the height of about fifty feet above its bed, a long
bench of rocks on which were piled, tier upon tier, rocks that bore a
striking resemblance to sacks of grain. Always having the “evil one” in
their winds when not in the wilderness, the boys called this place the
“Devil’s Levee.” Another place, on the opposite side of the cañon, where
a dozen or more huge, egg-shaped boulders, set on end, stood nodding
this way and that, they christened the “Granite Polka.”
Continuing our journeysners were at work who were reported to be making
from $10 to $20 per day. They seemed much surprised to see our party and
told us that they were making nothing. None of us believed this, and,
without waiting to unpack their animals, two or three of our men rushed
off up the ravine to secure claims. I asked to see the kind of gold they
were getting, and was shown a pan in which were five or six specks about
one fourth as large as the head of a pin. The man who had told me in
Silver City, about the big strike, and who had induced me to join the
expedition, said the men were fooling us; he was sure they had rich
diggings. Taking the pan, this man got down into the hole that had been
dug by the miners, and got a panful of the best-looking gravel he could
find. Winking for me to follow, he started down the stream to a small
pool. When we were out of hearing he said he thought the men were trying
to “play us.” “They don’t want it known that there is anything here,”
said he, “until their friends are all on hand to gobble up the ground.
You can bet high that I’ll get a good prospect out of this pan of dirt.
It looks like the right stuff.”
Meanwhile he was washing it down, stopping once in a while as he neared
the bottom to flit the water over it in the expectation of seeing a
“chispa” or a “nugget.” The less sand there was in the pan the longer
grew his face. At last all was panned out, even to the last grain of
“black sand,” and nought remained but the few little specks of gold
(“colors”) originally in the pan.
“Skunked, by the holy spoons,” cried he. I then washed out the pan and
filled it with earth out of a crevice—the best I could find—panned it
down, and had three small colors.
We then went back to the camp of the miners who had dug the
prospect-hole and asked how the story got started that they had found
gold of the size of peas and were making from $10 to $20 per day. They
knew nothing about it, but one of them finally recollected that when he
went to Silver City for a rocker he had said to some one that from the
number and shape of the “colors” they were finding on the surface he did
not doubt they would find them as big as peas when they reached the
bed-rock. Some one then remarked—‘If you do you’ll be able to make from
$10 to $20 per day,’—from this grew the story of the rich strike in El
Dorado Cañon. We all felt rather “cheap” when we heard this explanation,
the perfect truthfulness of which we could not doubt. I have known many
grand mining excitements that had even less foundation. Even this little
“sport” did not end with our visit to the cañon.
After we had been at home a week, and when we supposed it was well
understood that the diggings were too poor to pay, parties were still
rushing thither. Presently the story crossed the Sierras, and the
California papers said that, “in the El Dorado Cañon diggings, Nevada,
miners are making from $20 to $40 per day with rockers; and the gold is
of fine quality, being worth $17 per ounce.” Though our ardor was a good
deal cooled by what we had learned in regard to the diggings, we were
not altogether discouraged. The boys got their picks, pans and shovels,
and dividing into small parties, struck out in various directions, up
and down the cañon, and among the small ravines putting in from the
hills; agreeing that wherever the best prospects were found, claims
should be staked out for all. At night all hands returned, and nothing
had been found that would pay—a few small colors was all that could be
found, and they could be obtained almost everywhere. It was something
like the present Black Hills mines. Lighting our camp-fire we baked our
slap-jacks, fried our bacon, and made a glorious meal, after which pipes
were lighted, and many stories told of the good old days of “49,” when
the pockets of every honest miner overflowed with gold. When each man
had spun his yarn it was time to think of sleep, and every man rolled
himself in his blankets and stretched himself in the best and softest
spot he could find, looking up at the stars in the ceiling of his
bedroom until he fell asleep. At daylight we were astir, Pike was among
the first up. Tom did not “unroll” till breakfast was almost ready. He
then crawled out and proceeded to pull on his boots, taking a seat on a
pack-saddle.
About this time I observed that Pike was closely watching Tom’s
movements. Tom had got one boot on and his toes started in the other,
when he stopped and yawned lazily. Rousing himself, he then drew his
boot on with a “chuck.” His foot had hardly struck bottom before he gave
a yell and turned deadly pale. Grasping his foot he tried to pull his
boot off, but lost balance and rolled to the ground.
“Pull off my boot, quick, somebody! There is a scorpion in it!” cried
Tom.
Pike managed to be the first to reach Tom, and catching him by the ankle
began tugging desperately, dragging Tom here and there, with nothing but
the top of his head touching the ground.
“Your foot is swelled, Tom, and this boot can’t be got off!” said Pike.
“Yes, it can,” cried Tom. “Pull, confound you, pull! He is stingin’ me
all the time. Pull, Pike—confound you, pull! He’s stingin’ me to death!”
Pike gave several desperate plunges, lifting Tom clear of the ground
each time; then stopped.
“I tell yer, Tom,” said he, “it ain’t no use; it’ll never come off, your
foot is swelled so bad.”
“Cut it off then!” roared Tom, “cut it off, I can’t die this way!”
Pike drew his bowie-knife and had ripped the leg of Tom’s boot half way
down when, thinking the joke had been carried far enough—for I was
satisfied Pike had been playing a trick of some kind—I pushed Pike
aside, and pulled the boot off at once. When the boot was off, behold!
sticking to the bottom of Tom’s stocking, a small prickly pear.
On seeing the prickly pear, where there should have been a scorpion, all
hands laughed, and all were pretty well satisfied that the trick was
Pike’s, as a good deal of sport had been made of him in regard to his
having been snake-bitten. To the surprise of all Tom neither raved nor
swore—said not a word, in fact—but set quietly to work at extracting the
spines which had penetrated his foot in fifty places. He then examined
his boot, which was cut down almost to the heel, drew it on and took his
seat in silence at the camp breakfast. This conduct on Tom’s part gave
Pike great uneasiness, as all could see. At last he said:
“Who in thunder do you suppose put that air cussed par in your boot,
Tom?”
“I suppose you know as much about it as anyone here,” said Tom.
“Me! good Lord I don’t purtend to know. I can’t account for it nohow,
without one of them mountain rats might of done it.”
“Yes,” said Tom, dryly, “mountain rats are mighty fond of runnin’ about
with prickly pears in their mouths, so we’ll say no more about it.”
Pike felt very uneasy about the matter. He didn’t like the way Tom was
acting. After breakfast, when we were alone, he asked me if I didn’t
think Tom would watch his opportunity and shoot him. When all had
breakfasted it was concluded to scout out and prospect at a greater
distance from camp than we had yet done. While some of us prospected the
ravines others were to take the animals and go out into the hills to
look for quartz ledges. Pike wished to go with the quartz-hunters, but
had no animal to ride. To the surprise of all, and almost to the terror
of Pike, Tom offered him his horse. Pike stammered his acceptance and
turned away, looking very quiet. In passing off it fell out that Tom and
myself were to prospect certain ravines. We dug a number of holes down
to the bed-rock and washed and washed out many pans of earth, but a few
small colors was all the gold we could find.
During the day Tom said:
“Do you know that was a villainous trick that Pike played me? To
pretend, too, that he couldn’t get my boot off, when all the time he had
hold about my ankle. Then to go and cut my boot!”
“But you told him to do that.”
“Yes, I know I did, for between you and me, I was awful scared. I
thought I was gone in sure. I’d have bet my life on there being a
scorpion in my boot.”
“Do you know that Pike thinks you intend to kill him?” said I.
“No. Is he such a fool as that?”
“You know men are killed in this country for more trifling things.”
“I don’t want to kill any man, but I do want to play even on Pike. It
was mean on him to put that thing into my boot after we had shook hands
down at the river.”
After a time Tom said: “Pike is a great coward and I’ll watch my chance
and scare the life out of him before this trip is over.”
“So be it,” said I.
As we could find no gold we turned our attention to prospecting for the
beauties of nature. In one place, standing high and dry at some distance
from the cañon, we found a very handsome natural bridge or arch. It was
about eighty feet high, with a span or opening thirty feet in width by
fifty feet in height, and beautifully set off with turrets and spires
which rose from the top of the arch. Near this natural arch we found a
cave, but it proved to be of no great depth. From the remains of fires
in it, it appeared to have been used by the Indians as a place of
shelter.
After wandering about in the hills for some hours we started for camp,
and as we neared it saw a great bustle there among the men. They had
brought in all of the animals and were busily engaged in packing up. As
soon as they saw us approaching they called to us to make haste. Pike
came running towards us, and laying his hand alongside of his mouth,
sang out in a hoarse whisper: “Injuns!”
“Injuns?” said we.
“Yes,” said Pike, “Injuns! Hills full of ’em! Hurry up, we’re goin’ to
light out o’ here!”
The long and short of the story was that Pike and his partner had
crossed the mountain into what was called Sullivan district, when they
found all the miners packing up and leaving for Carson City, on account
of Indians having been seen watching them from the rocks. One of our
boys who was lying in the shade of a bushy cedar, with his boots off,
cooling his feet, had also seen Indians and had rushed into camp. His
story was that, as he was lying under the tree, eleven Indians, all in
war-paint, and each armed with a minie musket and revolver, passed along
a trail about five rods away. They were in single file and were going
eastward at a dog-trot. Thus were the Indians running one way and the
whites another—the opposite direction. On reaching camp we tried to
prevent this stampede, telling the men that the Indians seen were merely
a scouting party, and were probably then many miles away in the
direction of Pyramid Lake, but several said they would bet any money
that the redskins were even then watching us from the tops of some of
the surrounding rocky hills. They could see rocks on the hills that
looked like the heads of Indians, and by watching these some said they
could see them move.
The miners whom we found on the cañon had pulled up stakes and left on
the first alarm. After much talk, a majority of our party declared in
favor of remaining on the cañon another day, but the minority owned the
mules, and swore they were going to leave at once. They said they did
not imagine the Indians would attack us, but they were tired of
prospecting and were going down to Carson River to _fish_. Pike was very
anxious to try his luck at fishing, and was ready to start at once for
Chinatown to buy hooks and lines, if anyone would furnish him a horse.
After much talk, Tom came to me, and said: “Let us go down the cañon a
few miles with these fellows, and then make them camp, where we can have
a night-attack by the Indians, and scare Pike out of his wits.” This was
agreed to, and off we all started. About sundown we reached an open,
grassy spot calling a halt proposed to camp there. The minority would
not hear of such a thing. Pike was the most determined of any, and was
bound to go to the river. The joke of the night-attack had been
whispered among our men, and they determined to keep Pike with us. One
of them took him aside and told him that we had reason to believe that
the Indians were lower down the cañon; that, in fact, they were lying in
wait for us in the rocky hills about its mouth, and that all who went
down that night would be killed.
“Good Lord!” cried Pike, “you don’t say so. Well, if that’s the case
I’ll be dogoned if you ketch me goin’ down thataway!” But Pike presently
had a doubt about this plan. Said he: “If we stop here won’t the cussed
Injuns get tired of waitin’ and come up here after us?”
“Well,” said our man, “but you see we’ll let these fellows go that want
to go so bad, and when the Injuns git them they’ll think they’ve got us
all and so will be satisfied. However, it is almost too bad to let them
go down there and be killed. I guess I’ll go and tell them where the
Injuns are.”
“No, no!” cried Pike, “what are you about. If you tell them and stop
them from goin’ down, thar won’t be no place safe! Don’t talk so loud or
they may take the hint and not go.”
“Come, Pike,” called the fellows who were so anxious to go fishing, “if
you intend to go with us, hurry up, or we’ll leave you!”
“Leave me and be dogoned to you!” cried Pike. “I’ve got a pistol now (a
lie) and I’m goin’ to stay here and have some fun a fightin’ Injuns
’fore mornin’. Go along with you. I’m all right now!”
Pike’s friends were evidently amazed at this sudden exhibition of
courage on his part. They whispered together for a time; then one of
them said: “Gentlemen you may think that you are exhibiting bravery;
but, gentlemen, it is not bravery, it is madness.” This earnest speech
was greeted with a laugh from our side of the house, and the “fishermen”
turned the mules into the trail and were soon out of sight.
CHAPTER LXXII.
THE COMICAL STORY OF PIKE.
As soon as we were left to ourselves we built a roaring fire, in spite
of all Pike’s remonstrances. “It’s jist as good a thing as the Injuns
want,” said he. “It’s jist showin’ ’em whar we are. We’ll all lose our
skelps afore mornin’.”
When we began to think of supper, we found that we had played a little
joke on ourselves, in our hurry to get the other fellows away in order
to make sure of Pike. We had nothing in the shape of provision except a
few pounds of rice, which happened to be on Tom’s horse. We put some of
this into a gold-pan and boiled it, but it was rather poor eating
without either butter or salt. As we were sitting about the pan scooping
up this rice with knives and wooden paddles, Pike said: “I allers knowed
I didn’t like rice as well as I thought I did, and now I’m sure of it.”
But we had plenty of tobacco and what we lacked in “grub” we made up in
smoke. As soon as it grew dark Pike became very restless.
“What was that?” he would say. “Did you hear the rocks rattle upon the
hillside?” and he would peer out into the darkness.
Tom now began to sing as loud as he could roar:
“My name it is Joe Bowers, I’ve got a brother Ike,
I come from old Missouri, yes, all the way from Pike.”
“Stop singin’ so loud, Tom,” cried Pike in alarm. “Don’t!” But Tom
roared the louder—
“I’ll tell you why I left thar, and how I came to roam,
And leave my poor old mammy, so far away from home.”
“Tom! Tom! Good Lord don’t!” begged Pike.
“I used to love a gal thar, they called her Sally Black,
I axed her for to marry me, she said it was a whack,
But says she to me: ‘Joe Bowers, before we hitch for life,
You’d orter have a little home, to keep your little wife.’”
“If you’ve got a little home, Tom,” said Pike, “I wish to God you was
now in it!”
“Says I, ‘my dearest Sally, Oh! Sally for your sake,
I’ll go to Californy, and try to raise a stake.’”
“That thar’s a fool song,” said Pike, “and nobody but a fool would sing
it!”
“But one day I got a letter, from my dear brother Ike,
It came from old Missouri, sent all the way from Pike.”
“Whar I wish to the Lord I was now!” groaned Pike.
“It brought the goldarndedst news that ever you did hear,
My heart is almost bustin’, so pray excuse this tear,
It said my Sal was fickle, that her love for me had fled,
That she’d married with a butcher, whose har was orful red.”
“Thar’ll be butchers here ’fore long,” groaned Pike.
“It told me more than that, Oh! it’s enough to make one swear!
It said Sally had a baby, and the baby had red hair.”
“Now, cuss yer pictur!” said Pike, “yer done, air yer? I’ll bet thar’ll
be red har enough here before mornin’. Your singin’ has played thunder
with us, sure as thar’s wool on a nigger, but you’ll not have a bit on
the—”
“Top of his head, where the wool had orter be,” roared Tom.
Pike was now at his wits’ end, and went off a rod or two from the fire
and sat down by a dark clump of bushes, sullen and thoroughly disgusted.
Tom called out to him: “Say, Pike, are you loadin’ that revolver o’
your’n?” but Pike had the sulks and would not condescend to answer. It
was soon time to “turn in” for the night, and each man took his blankets
and sought the smoothest place to be found. Pike and one of our party
known as “Hank,” spread their blankets together at some distance from
the fire, which was now quite low, while the rest of us found places for
our beds among some willows.
[Illustration: THE STORY OF PIKE AND TOM.]
Pike lay awake a long time listening for Indians, and would rise to his
knees at the slightest sound, pulling the blankets off Hank, who was
trying to make him lie still, so that he could get to sleep. There was a
high hill on the east side of the cañon, covered on the side next to us
with shelly slate rock, and whenever a fox, coyote, or even a rat ran
over this it caused a great clatter, the scales of slate ringing like
pieces of pottery. This was a place fruitful of alarms and caused Pike
to be upon his knees about every five minutes, but about midnight he
could keep his eyes open no longer. Hank made the signal agreed upon, by
holding up his hat, when two of the boys crept cautiously out of the
camp with six-shooters in their hands. By following up a little ravine
they were able to gain the summit of the slaty hill without making the
slightest noise, as there was no loose rock except on the slope.
Presently they started down the slope through the loose rock, leaping
and making as much noise as though old Winnemucca and half the Piute
tribe were coming down the mountain. At the same time they began yelling
and firing their revolvers. At the first racket made on the hill Pike
was on his feet and came running toward us, who were returning the fire
of the supposed Indians, and yelling as we fired, making altogether
enough noise for half a dozen small battles. When Pike reached us two or
three of our men fell, crying out that they were killed, and at the same
time Hank fell and caught him about the legs, crying: “I’m wounded.
Carry me off and hide me in the bushes!”
“Let go of me, Hank, there’s five hundred of ’em comin’!”
“I’ll never let go of you,” said Hank. “Carry me off!”
Pike then lifted Hank who was groaning at a terrible rate, and carrying
him about two rods, pitched him, neck and heels, into a clump of thorny
bushes. This done, Pike rushed down the cañon at the speed of an
antelope. Tom rolled on the ground and laughed until he almost smothered
himself. “I’m even with Pike on the prickly-pear business!” cried he, as
soon as he was able to speak, “he shall never hear the last of this
Injun fight!” For my part, now that the fun was all over, I began to
feel quite miserable over the whole affair. I feared that in his great
fright Pike might dash his brains out against a tree or break his neck
among the rocks. I firmly resolved never to take part in another affair
of the kind, calling to mind several sham fights and other deviltry in
California that had been attended by fatal results to the victims.
In the morning we were ready for a start at sunrise. The first thing I
saw was Pike’s hat, lying near the place where he had spread his
blankets the night before. The sight gave me quite a shock, as it seemed
to be the hat of a dead man. I soon found that the others were beginning
to feel much as I did about the matter, for, as Pike’s blankets were
being rolled up to be packed on Tom’s horse, one of the boys said: “I
hope nothing has happened to Pike.” Another said: “O, he’s all right!”
but at the same time it was easy to see that the speaker feared that he
was not “all right.”
As we passed down the cañon, I could not help thinking that we should
presently find Pike lying wounded or already dead in some rocky pit or
pile of boulders near the trail, and most of our party looked quite
solemn. The man who carried Pike’s hat looked as though he were in a
funeral procession, carrying a portion of the corpse. At length we were
through the cañon, and having reached the level plain without finding
Pike’s remains, we all felt quite jolly again and immediately set to
work and planned another surprise for him, when we should find him.
Instead of fording the river, as we had done in going out, we went some
two miles further down and crossed at a ferry. We inquired of the
colored man in charge if anyone had crossed during the night. He assured
us that no one had crossed, as he found the boat tied up on the west
bank, as he had left it the evening before.
We now knew that Pike must have crossed at the ford and again began to
feel uneasy, fearing that reaching the river in a state of exhaustion,
he had plunged in and had been swept under by the current. One of two
things was certain: he was either safe across, or was drowned, as the
Mississippi itself would not have stayed his flight. On turning into the
main street of Chinatown we came suddenly upon a group of men with minie
muskets in their hands and in their midst stood Pike, with a
handkerchief tied about his head. He had a musket in his hand and was
the centre of attraction. We could see that he was telling those about
him of the dreadful affair of the previous night. All those surrounding
him were listening so intently that we approached without being
observed. Pike was just saying: “Yes; Hank may be alive. I carried him
about two miles on my back, with the red cusses yellin’ at my heels,
then laid him down and kivered him up with brush. But all the rest—”
Here Pike turned and saw our party. His jaw dropped, and his eyes almost
started from their sockets.
“Well, what of the rest?” said one of his auditors.
“Why, my God! they are all here!” said Pike. “There they all stand!”
The crowd now turned to us, and began to ask: “Who was killed?” “Were
there many Indians?” and many other like questions. Not a word of this,
however, could we be made to understand. We had seen no Indians; we had
never dreamed of any danger from Indians. The whole crowd at once turned
to Pike for an explanation. Some of the men hinted that unless he gave a
pretty satisfactory explanation of his strange stories he would get into
trouble. Pike was thunderstruck and gazed at us with a look of utter
helplessness. At last he stammered: “Tom, wasn’t you killed?”
“If I was killed I wouldn’t be here, would I?”
“I thought I saw you fall,” and Pike’s face wore the most puzzled look
imaginable. His fingers sought the yellowish tuft of hair on his chin
and gazing at one and another of us he sighed: “I don’t understand it
all.”
“We none of us understand it,” said one of the crowd, sneeringly.
“All here—all here!” said Pike, his countenance wearing the look of an
insane person.
“Pike,” said I, “you must have dreamt all this about Indians.”
Pike’s face brightened for a moment, but soon resumed its old look of
despair. “No, no,” said he, “no dream. I saw them all killed.”
“But, Pike, look at us; we are all here—all alive and well!”
Pike looked vacantly about him at the boys, and said: “Yes, I know, but
I don’t understand it at all.”
“Well,” said I, “all there is about it is that you were dreaming and
suddenly rose up shouting ‘Injuns! Injuns!’ and before we could stop
you, you ran away down the cañon.”
“Yes,” said Pike, “it must have been a dream. You are all here—it must
have been a dream. But it don’t seem that way at all.”
“Don’t seem what way?”
“Why, the way you tell it.”
“Well, how does it seem. Let us hear you tell it. Let us have your
dream.”
“Give us the dream! Let’s have yer dream!” cried the crowd.
“Well, you see I was a layin’ thar in my blankets—But I’ll be dogoned ef
I believe I did dream it!” cried Pike. “I can almost hear the guns crack
now!”
“Of course you dreamt it. Ain’t we all here?”
“Yes; I know. But how did I act—what did I do?”
“Why, I’ve just told you all you did. You know that after you went to
bed you was bouncing up on your knees every five minutes, and at last
you bounced up and took to your heels.”
“Yes; I know I was a little oneasy like. I kept a-hearin’ somethin’
rattle up on that hill, so I kinder kept on my guard like.”
“Well, let us have the dream,” all again cried.
“Well,” began Pike, “at first I was a-dreamin’ along kinder nice and
easy like, when all at once I heard the rocks clatter—I mean I thought I
heard ’em clatter. Then bang, bang! pop, pop! went the guns, and O! sich
yells—sich yells! I thought my hair riz straight on end, and I seed
more’n five hundred Injuns, all a-hoppin’ down the hill like turkeys.
All this time I thought that you fellers was a blazin’ away at about two
hundred of ’em that was all round you, and about five hundred on the
hill. Then I thought I grabbed up a pick and went right inter the thick
of the cusses and fit and fit till I’d wore out the pick, and then fit a
long time with the handle. By this time I thought you fellers was all
killed and I thought I’d git up and dust. But jist then I thought that
Hank got holt round my legs and said he was wounded, and wouldn’t let go
of me ’thout I’d carry him off. I thought I tuck him on my back and
carried him ’bout four miles, and hid him in some brush. Then I thought
I run on and waded across the river—”
“No, no! you didn’t dream that! You did actually wade across the river.”
“Well, then what part of it did I dream? Can anybody tell me that?” and
poor Pike looked more puzzled than ever.
“You must have waded the river, you know, or you would not be here.”
“Well, yes; I s’pose I did, but that don’t seem a bit plainer, nor
hardly half as plain as the shootin’ and yellin’ part. That was the
dogonest plainest dream I ever did hev!”
“Yet, as we are all here, alive and well; it must have been a dream?”
“Oh, yes, it was a dream, sartain and sure, but what gits me was its
bein’ so astonishin’ plain—jist the same as bein’ wide awake!”
Pike continued to tell his dream for some years, constantly adding new
matter, till at last it was a wonderful yarn. He enlarged greatly on the
part he took in the fight, and after wearing out the pick on the skulls
of the Indians, wound up by thrusting the handle down the throat of a
brave, as his last act before beating a retreat. Tom more than once told
him the truth about the whole affair, bringing in half a dozen of the
“boys” to corroborate what he said, but not a word of it would Pike
believe.
“Do you think,” he would say, “that I was fool enough to believe that
sich things actually happened? No, it was all a dream from fust to last,
and the biggest and plainest dream I ever had!”
The account I have given of our prospecting trip is a fair sample of all
such expeditions—though this trip “panned out” rather more than the
usual amount of deviltry. Parties of men frequently travel two or three
hundred miles to prospect a certain region, and when they reach it,
merely scratch about on the surface for a day or two and if nothing is
then found they curse the place and strike out for some other section,
when the same surface scratching is repeated. With prospectors the “big
thing” is always just ahead, never in the place where they are. Of
course good miners are frequently found, but in nine cases out of ten a
prospecting trip results about as did the little scout given above.
When we were prospecting there were things worth looking after, but we
did not pay any attention to them. We saw in the cañon abundant
indications of coal, but we were looking for gold alone. The coal, the
croppings of which we saw, is now being extracted by a company and their
mine is one of great value. Near where we camped while prospecting in
the cañon now stand the steam-hoisting works of the coal company. It may
look as though we did very little work for a prospecting party, but I
have known a party of men to travel three hundred miles without having
washed a pan of dirt; half the time they did not even dismount from
their horses when looking at mining ground. Large parties do less work
than small ones, as they can never agree in regard to where they are to
set in or what is to be done. If one or two men wish to stop and
prospect, the others are pretty sure to say: “Confound the place! there
is nothing there. I know by the looks of the ground that it is of no
account,” and so the whole party moves on, and a _good_ place in which
to set to work is never found.
A majority of those who go on prospecting expeditions do not want to
find a place where there is going to be much hard work to be done. They
prefer rambling through the country and viewing new and curious sights
to sinking shafts and running tunnels. If they can’t find gold or silver
in rock that shows itself on the surface, they continue to travel. The
novelty of delving in the earth for the precious metals has long since
passed away in the case of the old miner or prospector. New-comers—known
as “pilgrims” or “greenhorns”—are much more likely to do real work when
on a prospecting trip than any of the old miners. In the case of the
pilgrim there is a fascination in the bare fact that he is digging for
silver or gold which drives him on and lends strength to his muscle.
THE GREAT FIRE.
[OCTOBER, 1875.]
Many large fires have at various times swept through Virginia City, but
the greatest and most destructive that ever occurred in the town was
that of October 26, 1875. At 6 o’clock on the morning of that day a fire
started in a little wooden lodging-house on A street, in the western
part of the town, which in a few hours destroyed all the buildings
standing on an area of ground half a mile square, in the heart of the
city. Most of the public buildings and the hoisting-works, and many
other buildings of the bonanza mines, were burned. In all, property to
the value of over $10,000,000 was swept away. About two thousand
buildings were reduced to ruins, and hundreds of persons left homeless
and destitute.
The fire started at an hour when few persons were abroad. Only the
butchers, bakers, marketmen, and other early risers were astir. The
“owls” of the city, birds of prey that haunt the place all night, had
disappeared with the grey of dawn and were in their first deep sleep;
the time was an hour too early for the change of shifts in the mines,
therefore at no other time, day or night, could the streets have been
found more completely deserted.
When the first fire-bells rang few persons heeded, even though they
heard them. Soon, however, the mournful and long-drawn wail of one
steam-whistle after another, in quick succession, was heard to join in
sounding the alarm till the fierce clangor of the bells was almost
drowned. The bells, loudly as they rang, only said: “There is a fire,”
but in the fierce, wild shriek of the whistles there was that which
thrilled all, and which said as though with a human voice: “There is a
fire, and a great and most dangerous one!” In the sounding of the
whistles it was to be noted that there was no hesitation or timidity
anywhere shown; each engineer pulled open the valve of his whistle to
its full extent, at the first grasp of his hand.
The fire started in the midst of scores of wooden buildings, and seemed
to dart above all the surrounding roofs at the first bound. In addition
to their being constructed of wood, nearly the whole of the buildings in
the neighborhood were lined with cotton cloth, on which was pasted
paper, as on a plastered wall. The partitions dividing the room, and the
ceilings of all the rooms, were also constructed of muslin and
wall-paper. Hardly a drop of rain had fallen during the preceding summer
months, and the whole town was as inflammable as scorched flax.
Almost instantly the column of fire that was at first seen to arise
began to assume the form of a pyramid. The base of this pyramid rapidly
extended into the sides of houses in all directions—the glass falling in
showers from the windows to give ingress to the flames—and structure
after structure burst out in sheets of fire more rapidly than could be
counted or noted down. Shouts of men and women rang through the halls of
all the large hotels and lodging-houses in the neighborhood, and loud
rappings, to arouse the sleepers, were heard at the doors of rooms.
Nearer the scene of the fire, persons of all ages, both sexes, and every
condition were fleeing for their lives in all stages of dress and all
manner of undress. Many of those nearest the building in which the fire
broke out had only time to leap from their beds and rush into the
streets, as their houses were wrapped in fire before they were aware of
their danger.
At the time the fire burst forth a fierce gale was blowing from the
west. This carried great sheets of wall-paper, blazing shingles, and a
great shower of fiery missiles of all kinds high into the air and far to
the eastward, kindling fresh fires in advance of the main roaring mass
of flame. The main body of the fire streamed before the gale as fierce
as the flame from a blow-pipe. It stopped for nothing. It was seen
resting against the side of a stone or brick building for a minute, then
black smoke began to roll up through the roof, and a moment after the
smoke became flame—flame that joined the main stream and darted on and
through all that stood in its way.
Many of the buildings destroyed were such as had always been thought
fire-proof; but they fell before the fire as quickly as though they had
been the commonest of wooden structures. There was apparently much fire
in the midst of the streets as within the buildings; indeed the whole
air seemed on fire. Water thrown into the midst of the flames produced
no effect unless, as many thought, it added to their fury and
fierceness. Although the firemen were at work with both hand-engines and
steamers, while yet but few buildings were involved, the water they
threw upon the burning buildings might as well have been as much oil,
for any effect it had in checking the flames. The firemen were driven
back from every point where they attempted to make a stand, and it soon
became evident that no efforts of theirs could check the progress of the
fire. It was such a fire as that which swept Chicago and Boston—a fire
as fierce and uncontrollable as though belched up from the bottomless
pits of the lower regions.
When it was seen that the fire was wholly beyond control, that it must
take its own course and burn its way out through the city, the wildest
confusion ensued. It was as when a beaten army begins its retreat. All
took what they could conveniently carry in their hands, those things
they most prized, and fell back out of the track of the fire. Men,
women, and children thus leaving their homes, and house after house
being thus deserted, a great human wave was pushed back on all sides
toward the suburbs of the city. Hundreds moved their goods again and
again, each time losing something, until at last they found themselves
driven far up on the open face of the mountain, empty-handed, panting
for breath, and parched with thirst. While the whole face of the
mountain seemed a sea of fire, with great billows tossing to and fro,
the sounds that reached the ear were as fearful as the scene spread
before the eye. From the armories of the various military companies,
from the gunsmith shops and from many of the variety-stores, there came
a constant roar of exploding cartridges, guns, pistols, fire-crackers,
bombs, rockets, and all manner of fireworks, sounding like the steady
discharge of small arms in a great battle. Amid and above all this din
were heard the frequent and startling discharges of giant-powder,
gunpowder, and Hercules powder, as building after building was blown up
in various parts of the town.
As the fire began to approach the great mining-works these heavy reports
became more frequent and terrific. The miners carried into buildings,
not a few cartridges only of the powerful explosives they were using,
but whole boxes of them, and when these were fired they seemed to shake
Mount Davidson from base to peak. By the blowing up of buildings, and by
almost superhuman exertions at carrying water and wetting the roofs and
sides of houses, the progress of the fire was stayed at a few important
points, and a great amount of valuable property saved that would
otherwise have been destroyed; yet, in the main, the flames held their
course through the heart of the town.
Thus in a few short hours was swept away the best part of what at dawn
had been a fair city—a city filled with elegant and comfortable homes,
handsome and costly public buildings, large stores, packed with all
manner of valuable goods, and mills and mining-works the most complete
of the kind in the whole world. All these were licked from the face of
the mountain, and but a wilderness of toppling walls and smoking ruins
showed where they had been.
This great fire was started in a low lodging-house kept by a woman known
as “Crazy Kate”—Kate Shea—by the breaking of a coal-oil lamp in a
drunken row, as is asserted by those who occupied the adjoining houses.
In its march to the eastward down the slope of the mountain, the
Court-house was the first large public building that was destroyed; the
building and rooms of the Washoe Club, filled with elegant furniture and
costly paintings, was the next to fall. Devouring at a gulp a score of
smaller buildings, the International Hotel, the principal hotel of the
city and a huge brick structure, filled with stores, saloons, and other
places of business on its first floors, was soon reached by the flames
and became a volcano of fire. About the same time, further to the
southward, the Bank of California, the _Enterprise_ (newspaper)
building, and many large brick and stone structures, from three to five
stories in height, were vomiting fire from every window and door from
roof to basement. Soon Piper’s Opera House, a huge frame building, like
some great fire-ship was spreading terror through the neighborhood;
while to the right and southward the Methodist, Catholic, and Episcopal
Churches were towering pillars of fire, with seas of fire below and
about them. To the left and northward the freight and passenger depôts
of the Virginia and Truckee Railroad Company, with many smaller
buildings, were pouring great streams of fire to the eastward into the
hoisting-works of the Consolidated Virginia Mining Company, which in
turn, with over a million feet of lumber, sent a broad river of flame
into and over the big mill of the company—a mill the most costly and
complete then in operation in any part of the world. Not only this mill,
but also the California stamp mill, near at hand, was here swept away.
The buildings of the new “C and C” (California and Consolidated
Virginia) shaft were saved through the most strenuous exertions of many
miners, and after blowing up many houses.
To the northward at this time, the City Hall and scores of large and
costly private residences were wallowing in a lake of flames, which lake
overflowing on the east, inundated the several buildings constituting
the works of the Ophir Mining Company, sweeping them from the face of
the earth. Building after building was hurled hundreds of feet into the
air to prevent the fire reaching these works, but nothing stayed its
advance. Shattered buildings seemed to burst into flames in mid-air and
their wrecks served but as trains laid to lead the fire more surely to
the doomed works.
At times great whirlwinds came down the side of the mountain and waltzed
about in the midst of the burning buildings, carrying spiral columns of
flame and fiery missiles thousands of feet into the air. The tops of
some of these pillars of fire were seen by persons fifteen or twenty
miles away. An Indian who was on the opposite side of Mount Davidson,
and on the west side of Washoe Valley, at the foot of the Sierra Nevada
Mountains, fifteen miles distant, observed one of these whirlwinds of
fire, which he said “looked like an augur,” and started for the city to
see what had befallen it. Jonah-like he wanted to see whatever trouble
there might be in store for the place. He reached the top of Mount
Davidson in time to see the churches all aflame. A grand view of the
burning town he must have had from the top of the mountain!
At first, while but a few houses were on fire, there was heard some
wailing among the half-dressed women and children, but as block after
block became involved, the ruin being wrought was on a scale so grand
that the excitement and terror of the scene forbade all thought of
anything so small that tears could prove a solace for its loss.
When all was over, the people for a time seemed stupefied, or rather
drunk, with the excitement of the day, and it was almost night before
many of them remembered that they were without homes. All the houses
left standing were soon filled; many young men, who could do so, went by
rail to neighboring towns, while, for one or two nights, persons camped
out on the sides of the hills—the school-houses and other public
buildings remaining being filled to overflowing. The next morning after
the fire, relief came pouring in from all quarters, for over two
thousand buildings were destroyed, and hundreds of people were left
homeless and destitute. Carson City sent two or three car-loads of
provisions, ready cooked, early the next morning after the fire, to
supply the immediate wants of the sufferers, and San Francisco and other
towns and cities of California, at once telegraphed money and started
clothing, blankets, bedding, and provisions over the Sierras, by
express. A Relief Committee was organized in the city, and similar
committees in San Francisco and other towns and cities of the Pacific
Coast, and soon all the sufferers were made as comfortable as shelter,
food, and clothing could make them. All the towns of Nevada and
California contributed as generously as though their own people had been
in distress, and San Francisco was untiring in her efforts for the
relief of the sufferers as though the people of Virginia were her own
sons and daughters. But two persons are known to have perished in the
flames, though there were scores of narrow escapes. After the fire two
or three men were killed by falling walls.
The insurance on the property amounted to $2,500,000, and this, with
what many had left in money, stocks, and other kinds of property, joined
with stout hearts and unlimited faith in the inexhaustible wealth of the
mines, gave all courage to set to work at re-establishing themselves.
To rebuild the town was the one thought of all. The next morning after
the fire the work of cooling down and clearing away the ruins of
buildings was in progress in hundreds of places; lumber was coming in by
rail and was being hauled up on the still smoking ground. From that time
forward the work went on almost day and night, and in all kinds of
weather. A week after the fire a tornado blew down and demolished a
great number of the newly erected and partially completed wooden
buildings, but the moment the storm ceased the wrecks were cleared away
and building was again resumed. The mining companies whose works were
destroyed showed undaunted spirit and indomitable energy. The
Consolidated Virginia Mining Company’s hoisting-works and mill, and the
California Mining Company’s stamp mill, were a loss of over a million
dollars at one fell swoop.
The Consolidated Virginia hoisting work’s assay-office, 1,250,000 feet
of lumber and timbers, 800 cords of wood and the stock of mining
supplies on hand was a loss of $800,000.
The loss by the burning of the Consolidated Virginia mill was $431,000;
battery mill of the California Company, $80,000; hoisting-works and
building of the Ophir Company $150,000; a total loss to the bonanza
mines of $1,461,000. Large as were the losses of the several mining
companies they had hundreds of men at work the day after the fire at
clearing away the still burning ruins preparatory to immediate
rebuilding. There was not a moment’s hesitation.
In November the Consolidated Virginia Company declared their usual
dividend (No. 19), of $10 per share on their capital stock, aggregating
$1,080,000; and again in December a dividend (No. 20), amounting to the
same great sum was declared. Thus did this Crœsus of mining companies
pay out to stockholders the princely sum of $2,160,000 during the time
they were engaged in the costly business of rebuilding their works and
filling them with expensive machinery. That they could do this must seem
incredible to persons unacquainted with the almost inexhaustible
deposits of rich ore in the bonanza mines.
The withholding of one of these dividends would have furnished more than
enough money to have rebuilt both hoisting-works and mill, but having
millions in sight in the lower levels of the mine which could be rapidly
taken out when once the works were again running, the company gave the
stockholders their regular dividends, just as though nothing had
happened. The California Company had both their stamp-mill and their
pan-mill almost completed and in a short time, but for the fire, would
have been extracting ore. Their pan-mill (an improvement on the big mill
of the Consolidated Virginia Company), one of the finest in existence,
was saved, being nearly half a mile to the eastward of the mine and the
scene of the fire. The shafts of the Ophir and Consolidated Virginia
mines were blocked up and filled in with earth about their mouths when
it was seen that the buildings covering them were doomed to destruction,
yet the fire worked its way some distance down the latter and was with
difficulty extinguished. Had the fire reached the immense masses of
timbers in the underground works it would perhaps have gone through the
whole of the mines on the northern part of the Comstock range, when the
loss would have been many times greater than that of all that was
destroyed on the surface, counting in all that was swept away in the
town as well as on and about the mines.
In San Francisco the wildest excitement prevailed on California Street
and, indeed, in all parts of the city as soon as it become generally
known that a great fire was raging in Virginia City, and that the
mining-works were in danger. Those who first received news of the fire
did not make it public, but began selling their stocks on the street.
Ophir, which closed at $52.75 on Monday evening, October 25, was
offered, Tuesday morning, October 26, at $50, and considerable amounts
of the stock were sold at this figure. As the news spread all stocks
fell, and before the panic ended Ophir sold as low as $36 per share, but
before night rallied to $41. Thousands upon thousands of shares of
stocks were sold on California Street (the grand rallying place for
dealers in stocks) before the Stock-Boards opened, the street being a
surging mass of pale-faced and excited humanity. In the San Francisco
Board, when the calling of the list of stocks began the place instantly
became a perfect bedlam.
In the evening, when the full extent of the damage done by the fire had
reached San Francisco, the people became quiet and began to gain
courage. They reasoned that although the surface-works of the leading
companies had been destroyed the mines were still there and as rich as
the day before the fire; that the resumption of the extraction of ore
was only a matter of time and all would be going on as usual in from
forty to sixty days. Finally all retired for the night, greatly
reassured, and the terrible panic was over. The people of San Francisco
were correct in their estimate of the energy of the men who were at the
head of the affairs of the mining companies—Col. James G. Fair and John
Mackey, of the Consolidated Virginia and California, and Capt. S. T.
Curtis, of the Ophir. In less than thirty days new buildings stood in
the place of those that had been burned, both at the Consolidated
Virginia and Ophir mines; and on Thanksgiving Day, just thirty days
after the fire, the hoisting engine of the latter was started up amid
the rejoicings of some hundreds of persons who had collected at the
works, and (merely to be able to say that it was done) a few car-loads
of ore were hoisted from the 1,300 foot level, though the business of
regularly hoisting ore was not resumed until after the starting of the
large pump and the proper draining of the mine, some time afterwards.
Before the expiration of the sixty days allowed (by close calculators at
the time of the fire) for the rebuilding of the Consolidated Virginia
hoisting-works, they were not only put up in better style in all
respects than before the fire, but they were again taking out ore at the
rate of over $1,500,000 per month. The Ophir Company were also soon
after hoisting ore as before the fire, and ere long the work of
extracting the vast stores of immensely rich ore (hitherto untouched)
standing in great squares in the mine of the California Company was
begun, giving full employment to the splendid mill of that company and,
with the yield from the Consolidated Virginia, adding $3,000,000 per
month to the hard-money wealth of the world.
In order to guard against a recurrence of such a calamity as that
described in this chapter, the people of Virginia City at once set about
the construction of a series of large reservoirs upon the side of the
mountain above their town which, with a proper system of mains and
hydrants, should afford them better protection against fire than they
had ever before enjoyed. In sixty days after the fire the principal
streets running through the burnt districts were again lined with
business houses, the majority of which were of a better class than those
destroyed, and dwellings once more covered what a few weeks before a
good deal resembled the bottomless pit. The gap left in the city by the
fire was again filled, and was not readily distinguished by strangers,
except by its striking resemblance to a new patch placed on a pair of
old pantaloons.
But for the Virginia and Truckee Railroad all this work could not have
been done in a year. Indeed it would have taken the whole winter, with
all the teams that could be pressed into the service, to have hauled
from the mills in the mountains sufficient lumber to rebuild the
mining-works alone. Nearly all of those whose homes were destroyed would
have been obliged to seek shelter in California, and it would have been
a difficult matter to bring in enough provisions and other supplies to
comfortably keep such as remained in those parts of the city left
intact.
The Railroad Company not only poured into the city an unbroken stream
of lumber, timbers, and supplies of all kinds for the use of the
mining companies and citizens, but at the same time did a vast amount
of work for themselves. Their depôt buildings, trestle-work, bridges,
switches, the timbers of a tunnel, track, and, in short, all of their
improvements in the city were destroyed. All these were replaced and
at the same time all the other work done. Trains ran day and night—as
many as forty-five trains passing over this road some days—and thus was
the great work of rebuilding so speedily accomplished that a new town
seemed to spring up out of the ground.
THE END.
APPENDIX.
MEXICAN MINING TERMS.
_Agua_—Water.
_Acciones_—Shares in a mine.
_Ahogar_—To gouge out a mine by working narrow and only in rich places.
_Ademada_—Timbered.
_Abonar_—To pay a debt by instalments.
_Azogue_—Quicksilver.
_Aire_—Air.
_Bonanza_—A large and rich body of ore—prosperity.
_Borrâsca_—Barren rock—bad luck—adversity.
_Bartolina_—A chamber cut out in a mine in which to keep tools and
stores.
_Barranca_—A precipice.
_Barretero_—A miner.
_Barrena_—A drill.
_Batea_—A wooden bowl used in washing auriferous earth.
_Buena saca_—Doing well.
_Contro-pozo_—An “upraise” to meet a winze.
_Contra Mina_—An underground connection.
_Charqueo interior_—To lead water to a drain.
_Cavallo_—A “horse”—a block of barren rock in the midst of a body of
ore.
_Cinta_—A streak of ore.
_Chorrerra_—A cave—the caving in of a mine.
_Cavassos_—Borings—drillings.
_Cavasal_—A cross-piece—timber.
_Calabrote_—A large rope.
_Cabreste_—A hair rope—a line.
_Canada_—A deep ravine, gulch.
_Cuarzo_—Quartz.
_Cascajo_—Gravel.
_De Cielo_—The roof—working overhead.
_De Pied_ or _a Pique_—Beneath the floor—sinking, or working down.
_Derotada_—Gutted, spoiled and abandoned.
_Dispacho_ or _Dispensa_—An ore-house.
_Destajo_—A contract.
_El Cordon_—A ridge or spur of a mountain.
_El Creston_—A crest or outcropping.
_El Rumbo_—The course.
_El Manto_—(mantada)—A flat deposit.
_Escabar_—To strip a claim on the surface merely.
_El Tajo abierto_—An open cut.
_El Socabon_—An adit.
_El Tiro general_—The main shaft.
_El Crucero_—A cross-cut.
_El Fronton_—An ore breast.
_El Alto_—The hanging wall.
_El Abajo_—The foot wall.
_El Patio_—The level space at the mouth of a mine or tunnel.
_Echardero_—A platform for weighing, sorting, or packing ore on. A
Patio of a mine.
_En Frutos_—In ore.
_En Borra_ (_Emborrescade_, _Borrasca_)—Not in pay ore—“petered
out”—applied to the barrenness of veins, not to dead work, as a
tunnel run to reach a vein.
_Fundido_—Filled with water.
_Fueros_—Special privileges.
_Guardas de Labor_—Roof and walls of a mine in general.
_Grantio_—Granite.
_Hilos_—Threads of ore.
_Hundido_—A settling or sinking.
_Las Sierras_—Mountains or mountain ranges.
_La Guia_—A guide, or the float rock.
_La Recuesta_—The dip.
_Las Medias_—The boundary lines of a claim as marked by _Las Escatas_,
stakes, or _Estacada_, staked off.
_Las Guardas Rayas_—Monuments of wood or stone.
_La Demasia_ or _Hueco_—The unclaimed ground between two claims.
_La Bocca-vieja_—The mouth—the old mouth.
_La Obra_—The tunnel—the work.
_La Lumbrera_—The air shaft.
_Las Canones_—The drifts.
_La Cata_—A small pit—a “coyote hole.”
_La Tabla_—A stope.
_La Patia_—A narrow footpath in a mine.
_Las Respaldas_—The walls of a mine.
_Los Caminos_—The travelled roads in a mine of any kind.
_Los Planes_—The deepest workings or bottom of a mine.
_Los Pilares_—The pillars of a mine—place of timbers—to “_dispilar_” a
mine is to dig down the pillars.
_Las Desagues_—The drains of a mine.
_Las Escaleras_—The notched stepping poles or ladders in a mine.
_La Tronada_—The rocks thrown down by a blast.
_Los Llavis_—Beams, timbers.
_Latones_—Small poles.
_La Quebrada_—A ravine.
_Maderas_—All kinds of wood used in a mine for any purpose.
_Mecati_—A small line.
_Minero_—A miner.
_Nivel_—A level.
_Obsa muerta_—Dead work.
_Orcones_—Forked poles.
_Oro_—Gold.
_Oro en polvo_—Gold dust.
_Oro en pasta_, _bruto_ or _virgen_—Gold bullion.
_Presa_—A dam.
_Pileta_—A sump or tank.
_Paradera_—Sluice-gates.
_Pico_—A pick.
_Pala_—A shovel.
_Polvora_—Powder.
_Plata_—Silver.
_Plata virgen_ or _brulo_—A rude mass of silver—native silver.
_Pizarra_—Slate rock.
_Puertas_—When a vein pinches—“cap rock.”
_Pied direcho_—A stud.
_Pedregal_—A stony place.
_Roca_—A rock.
_Risco_—A steep rock.
_Reata_—A rope for tying mules or horses.
_Suffocante_—Hot, bad air.
_Terrero_—A pile of waste rock.
_Un Mineral_—A mining district.
_Una Veta_—A lode or ledge—a true fissure vein.
_Una Veta tapada_—A “blind” ledge or lode—a lode that is covered with
soil.
_Una Vena_—A vein—a narrow seam or streak.
_Una Pertinencia_—A claim on a lode. (By the Mexican mining law it is
_200 Varas ie Medin_—200 yards running measure. A _vara_ is 33
inches.)
_Un Pozo_—A shaft, pit, or winze.
_Un Labor_—Any part of a mine from which ore is being extracted.
_Un Claro_—Any worked out portion of a mine.
_Un Tapextle_—A landing or platform in a shaft—a gallery.
_Un Quarton_—A slip or “fault” which cuts off the ore.
_Un Clavo_—A chimney of ore.
_Un Amparo_—A permit from the Government to quit work on a mine for any
time beyond the customary four months in each year.
_Un Ojo_—A “pocket.”
_Una Bonanza_—A big rich strike.
_Una Caida_—A fall—a slide.
_Un Barreno_—A drill-hole.
_Un Cohete_—A blast.
_Un Tequio_—A task—each cleaner’s pile of ore.
_Una Adema_—A set of timbers.
_Un Malacate_—A horse whim.
_Una Manesuela_, _Argans_, _Hicho bueno_—A windlass.
_Una Soga_—A native rope.
_Un Negocio_—An enterprise, transaction, or business.
_Veta Cata_—A new vein.
_Vapor_—Foul air.
_Ventilacion_—Ventilation.
_Ventilar_—To Ventilate.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Transcriber’s Note
The list of illustrations, though numbered consecutively, are somewhat
disordered.
Illustration #43 (“Rhode Island Mill, Gold Hill”) at p. 222 is
listed _after_ #42 (“Wood and Water”) on p. 227.
Illustration #44 (“Resicence of Hon. J. P Jones”), also referring to
p. 222 is simply missing.
Illustration #46 (“Lumbering on Lake Tahoe”) consists of two
drawings with the first “Log Riding:” not appearing in the list.
Illustration #80 (“The Hottest Place”) appears at p. 449, not p.
459.
In the Table of Contents,
Chapter XXXV appears at p. 259, not p. 261.
Chapter LIII appers at p. 397, not p. 497.
By far the most common error was finding a comma or no punctuation at
all at the end of a sentence: California[,/.] (69.5), understanding[.]
(71.12), curiosity[.] (73.37), satisfactory[.] (78.35), runaways[,/.]
(79.8), there[,/.] (83.12), out[,/.] (84.9), rascality[,/.] (84.13),
here[,/.] (84.35), explanation[,/.] (94.31), white[.]) (112.1),
neighborhood[,/.] (167.12), particles[./,] (173.31), shaft[./,]
(193.36), towns[.] (232.11), “Often[.]” (263.37), walking[,/.] (290.2),
side[.] (303.9), whoop[.] (327.17), charge[.] (328.18), venomous[.]
(355.39), drink[.] (366.17), spirit[’/.] (373.13), dog[.] (374.23),
effort[,/.] (383.3), blanket[.] (391.16), with it[.] (393.29), or
two[,/.] (398.23), down[,/.] (399.4), Saratoga[,/.] (417.35), feet[,/.]
(427.16), tunnel[,/.] (430.33), business[. ](407.26), were[.] (474.8),
bank[,/.] (476.21), earnest[,/.] (490.36), bread[,/.] (494.21), up[.]
(517.9), vein[,/.] (530.8), adversity[,/.] (567.14), merely[,/,]
(567.26), extracted[,/.] (569.8), mine[,/.] (569.10), windlass[.]
(569.11), blast[.] (568.4), poles[.] (568.6), inches[.] (569.5).
The (many) other errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been
corrected, and are noted here. The references are to the page and line
in the original. Where the error occurs in a quoted document, it is
merely noted.
viii.21 FIRST QUA[R]TZ MINE IN NEVADA Inserted.
viii.22 QUA[R]TZ MILL—AMALGAMATING ROOM Inserted.
viii.26 “THE HEATHE[N] CHINEE” Restored.
ix.23 THE DISCOVERY[ OF] SILVER. Inserted.
ix.34 An U[u/n]pleasant Joke Inverted.
x.30 Old Gus[./,] and his “Injun.” Replaced.
x.39 [w/W]aste of Gold and Silver Uppercase.
xi.26 Peril[l]ous Ways and Dark Places Removed.
xii.19 A little Pict[n/u]re Inverted.
xii.22 RA[I]LROAD LINES. Inserted.
xv.36 “Fighting Interests.[”] Added.
xvi.5 C[A/H]APTER LXIV. Replaced.
xvi.14 [G/C]HAPTER LXVI. Replaced.
xvi.41 Doubtf[n/u]l Dreams Inverted.
20.19 he said[./,] “Yonder lies Replaced.
35.6 “dead thing,[’/”] Restored.
38.36 formed of [lodestone] or magnetic iron ore. _sic_
46.15 yielded millions upon mil[l]ions in gold Inserted.
51.1 made by O[ /’]Riley and M^cLaughlin Replaced.
53.8 sold his interest in the Central No. 1[.] for
$4,000 Removed.
56.22 “Old Pancake[”] was happy Added.
56.25 no sooner was it in his posses[s]ion Inserted.
59.31 ‘I baptize this ground Virginia.[’] Added.
60.2 living on the Trucke[r/e] Meadows Replaced.
63.9 including of[ of] its depths Removed.
72.8 he could no longer rest[r]ain himself Inserted.
72.17 and then tossed Ruspas[,/’ ]ear over to the
jury Replaced.
72.38 this day,[’/ ]I have bargained and sold Replaced.
73.5 all my right[./,] title, and interest Replaced.
74.14 with the [appurtences] _sic_
88.15 the head with a pistol.[”] Added.
90.19 as I lay thar lookin’ up[’] at the sky Removed.
93.7 “[’]Well, to’ards night Removed.
94.12 watchin[,’/’], between mouthfuls, Transposed.
94.17 that dam fisher skin now![”/’] Replaced.
94.18 I could[’n/n’]t do full justice Transposed.
94.24 by all that’s stinkin’ and nasty![”/’] Replaced.
94.35 [“]Peter O’Riley, in the early days, Removed.
94.26 I need[’n/n’]t mention what follered. Transposed.
95.12 she expressed u[u/n]bounded love Inverted.
96.16 having been caref[n/u]lly studied Inverted.
100.3 Mrs[.] L. S. Bowers Added.
104.5 congenial hills[,] flats, and gulches Added.
107.23 all the new[ ]comers Removed.
112.20 be seen to as[s]ume a rich purple color Inserted.
131.27 stopping at Van Sickle[’s/s’] Station Transposed.
144.24 these accidental collis[i]ons Inserted.
156.37 all manner of w[ie/ei]rd imaginings Transposed.
160.19 a volcanic rock of[ of] much more recent Removed.
160.20 ([s/S]yenite is much the same as granite Uppercase.
163.1 the peculiar [s]tratification Added.
168.1 Mr[.] Frank thought it all over. Added.
173.33 of a corpse-like pal[l]or. Inserted.
177.5 with vertic[le/al] winzes Replaced.
177.12 They have not been[,] many, but they have been Removed.
181.23 lying in all kinds of d[i/e]spairing positions Replaced.
182.2 covered with planks[,] wet blankets, and
earth. Added.
168.7 Mr[.] Frank also was quite cheerful Added.
209.8 The cage was prom[p]tly lowered again Inserted.
218.39 It is a well[ known]-known scientific fact Removed.
222.1 more substantial st[r]uctures Inserted.
249.22 another corner of the beleagu[e]red block Inserted.
251.34 from the vigilantes.[”] Removed.
267.18 What have you in your packs[!/?] Replaced.
272.12 took Captain Trucke[r/e] into his service Replaced.
273.16 She say, [‘]Juan you got-a some money?’ Added.
273.22 for your Spanish wife?[”] Added.
273.27 She no all time want [‘]money, money.’ Added.
273.32 [“]Why, John, you surprise me. Added.
273.33 How many shirts has she got—twenty?[”] Added.
291.8 a natural born philanthrop[h]ist Removed
291.9 he could amel[i]orate the condition Inserted.
292.4 continually to i[n/m]prove and benefit Replace.
300.8 villain on don[n]ing blue woollen pantaloons Inserted.
307.6 1[./,]500 feet below the surface Replaced.
313.25 s[t/l]oping out in the bonanza. Replaced.
347.34 into the dist[r]ibuting tanks Inserted.
351.35 their value in silver and gold[,/.] Replaced.
352.27 which was dis[s]olved Inserted.
323.21 3 o’clock P. M[.] Added.
372.38 become ver[’] moche interest Added.
373.30 [“]What was the use of William Tell Added.
375.4 and feelin[’] prouder’n Added.
376.24 I’ll manage it all for you.[”] Added.
376.28 I don[’]t know much about Inserted.
376.9 of such service.[”] Added.
376.13 “Of course it[’]s a considerable sum Inserted.
378.15 on the other the but[t] of a navy revolver Added.
385.6 were torn to p[ei/ie]ces Transposed.
385.8 in a room [a/o]ccupied by General Replaced.
385.36 [“]Now all people, everyone Added.
385.37 two yard-ee long, hap (half) yard-ee[ ]wide Inserted.
386.13 [“]One dead Chinaman Added.
386.20 [“]Chinaman no likee Added.
386.26 [“]One ’Melican man Added.
386.33 you bet.[’] Removed.
387.4 [“]Dead Chinaman all the same Added.
388.10 wire probes, and[ and] other
smoking-apparatus. Removed.
392.32 The man with the elect[r]ical-machine Inserted.
400.22 Should there be a furth[u/e]r Replaced.
401.30 [“]Zee mine be one merveille Added.
401.42 [“]Capital Removed.
404.18 afore in the[”]— Inserted.
411.35 and the Hornbeck[’]s and Doolittles Removed.
415.20 one of the most bea[u]tiful little lakes Inserted.
415.27 also of a rather un[u]sual style Inserted.
416.3 “Yank’s[”] and all of the other stations Added.
424.16 they excited universal s[y]mpathy Inserted.
429.14 [“]One of the men Added.
430.2 the miner was punc[ut/tu]ally at hand Transposed.
437.7 she is older tha[t/n] the egg Added.
437.31 the bully Honest [m/M]iner Uppercase.
452.23 [“]Yes, some ozzaire time Added.
452.37 [“]how ver’ beautiful is zee cool air Added.
462.32 in any other business.[”] Added.
466.33 in the great fiss[s]ure Removed.
471.9 depth of three [a/o]r four hundred feet Replaced.
471.29 in[ in] fact. Removed.
487. fro[n/m] one hundred and fifty Replaced.
488.10 or $3[4/6],000,000 per year Replaced.
489.4 Sub[s]tracting this from the gross amounts Removed.
491.1 By refer[r]ing to the map Inserted.
499.12 southeasterly direction from Virgin[i]a City Inserted.
503.27 all uncon[s]cious of the presence Inserted.
503.36 Pharaoh’s serpents[.] Added.
504.37 eased by cutt[t]ng away behind them Removed.
505.38 were then produced [l/i]n order to Replaced.
506.4 Virginia and Trucke[r/e] Railroad Replaced.
518.35 owned by the f[l/i]rm Replaced.
525.14 reached California, in August, 18[3/5]0 Replaced.
538.15 flip a [f/s]lapjack into the air Replaced.
539.11 to throw a slap[-]jack up through Removed.
540.11 they christened the “Granite Polka.[”] Added.
546.31 Pike’s friend[s] were evidently amazed Added.
548.9 try to raise a stake.[’]” Inserted.
548.13 [“]It came from old Missouri Removed.
554.10 “Give us the dream![”] Let’s have Removed.
554.27 I mean I tho[n/]ught I heard ’em Inverted.
560.5 when the[r/s]e were fired Replaced.
560.36 Soon Piper[’]s Opera House Inserted.
560.38 while to the right [the/and] southward Probable.
564.18 California St[e/r]eet Replaced.
564.28 sold on California St[e/r]eet Replaced.
562.5 people for a time seemed stup[i/e]fied Replaced.
568.43 [a/A] stony place[.]’ Uppercase./Added.
568.44 A ro[e/c]k[.] Replaced./Added.
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