SAN FRANCISCO TO VIRGINIA CITY.
A sojourn of a fortnight or so, at San Francisco, sufficed for rest
and bringing up back Reports, and on the evening of May 16th, we took
the good boat, Chrysopolis for Sacramento, and thence on to Virginia
City. There were posts in Nevada I was ordered to inspect, and this
was then the best route to reach them. The weather was raw at San
Francisco, but when we got well up the bay and past Benicia, the air
became mild and June-like, and the evening was passed delightfully
on deck, under such star-lit skies as only California and the Far
West can boast. We had a full complement of passengers, of all grades
from New York cockneys to Nevada miners; but the proportion of
ladies was small, as usually on the Coast. The few children aboard
seemed general pets, and many eagerly seized a moment's chat with
them. I saw a rough-looking miner, tall, and "bearded like a pard,"
entice two of them to his side, and, subsequently wander all over
the boat with them, talking with the little folks by the hour, about
the machinery and whatever else excited their curiosity. At supper,
we had a substantial and excellent meal; at bed-time, we found the
berths clean and sweet; and the conduct of the boat in general was
all that could be desired.
The Sacramento itself is a noble stream, of which any commonwealth
might well be proud. To Benicia, and beyond, it is navigable for
first-class sea-going vessels, and here upon the bold shores and by
the deep waters thereabouts, San Francisco ought really to have been
built, as elsewhere intimated. But, unfortunately, the metropolis got
itself camped down on the sand-hills, near the Golden Gate, and now
will remain there forever.
We reached Sacramento City, one hundred and twenty miles from San
Francisco, about 2 A. M. next day, and after an early breakfast and
a short walk through the town, took the train at 6-1/2 A. M. for
Cisco, then the advance station on the Central Pacific Railroad.
This ride, of about a hundred miles, was first up the rich valley of
the Sacramento, and then through the foot-hills, and up the Sierra
Nevadas. At Sacramento the river was still broad and deep, but with
low banks that necessitated levees to guard against overflows. Once
a clear mountain stream, fresh from the Sierras, it was now tawnier
than the yellow Tiber, with the results of mining on its head-waters
and tributaries, and, it was reported, was steadily filling up.
Sacramento, indeed, may well have an eye to this; but what she can do
to correct or prevent it, it seems difficult to say.
As we advanced, the valley of the Sacramento steadily narrowed, but
everywhere appeared rich and fertile. Broad farms stretched out on
every side, and clumps of live-oaks, with their deep green foliage,
everywhere relieved the golden yellow of the ripening wheat-fields.
The general lack of timber continued noticeable, but these scattered
live-oaks, sturdy and defiant, relieved the landscape, and they seemed
preserved with commendable care. As we approached the foot-hills, the
soil grew thinner, the lordly wheat-fields gave place to extensive
vineyards, and soon the dense pines of the Sierras made their
appearance. Here, too, we struck the mines, and on all sides saw
evidences of the spade and rocker. In many places, there were only
old placers abandoned, with the hills ragged and torn, and the earth
generally topsy-turvy with past operations--cabins empty, ditches dry,
sluice-ways falling to pieces; but, in others, the washings were still
in full operation, and the hills and streams seemed alive with human
industry and energy. Little mining hamlets were perched, here and
there, on the edge of mountain torrents; and, where the water did not
suffice, broad ditches, improvised for the locality, brought it from
some far-off point and carried it wheresoever wanted.
Some of these water-ditches are among the wonders of the Pacific
Coast, and deserve more than a passing notice. With surprising
engineering, they wind down and around and among the mountains,
leaping ravines, crossing ridges, and everywhere following the miner,
like faithful servants of his will. Wherever necessary, the miner
taps them, and either uses the water in his ordinary sluice-way, or
else by his hydraulic pipes hurls it against the hills, and literally
washes them to the plain. This hydraulic mining seemed to be most in
favor there, and the power developed by some of these streams was
immense. The momentum acquired by the water in its long descent,
sufficed to melt huge hills of clay and gravel very quickly; and
instances were reported where men, and mules even, had been killed by
being struck by the water, as it issued from the pipes or hose. The
men engaged in mining were rough and hirsute, as miners everywhere
are; but they looked bright and keen, and as if they believed in
California and her future, come what might.
The change in the climate, as we plunged into the foot-hills, and
felt our way up into the Sierras, was very apparent, and soon
became disagreeably so. At Sacramento, the weather was close and
warm; but hour by hour, as we ascended, the thermometer went down,
and long before reaching Cisco, only about a hundred miles or so,
we were shivering in winter garments. As I have said, this was then
the "jumping off" place or terminus of the Central Pacific road, and
is well up into the mountains. We reached there soon after noon,
and I must say were surprised at the general excellence, as well as
audacity of the road. Some of its grades are over a hundred feet to the
mile,[25] and in many places it literally springs into the air, over
immense trestle-work bridges or along the dizzy edge of precipices,
that seem fraught with peril and destruction; but we reached Cisco safe
and sound, and sat down to a smoking dinner, with the snow-drifts still
up to the eaves of the roofs of the hotel, and the houses round-about.
Cisco was then a scattered village, of frame tenements, only a few
months old; but as the terminus of the road, and depot of supplies
for all Nevada, it was bustling with business. The Overland Mail, for
Virginia City and the East, left here daily, on the arrival of the
train; and, after a hurried dinner, we were off again with the mail.
It was now May 17th, and though the advancing summer had melted the
snow in the regular roadway, so that wagoning was practicable for
some distance, yet the old snow still lay six and eight feet deep on
the general level, and our road ran between solid walls of it. We
set off from Cisco in stage-coaches (mountain mud-wagons), but soon
had to surrender these for sleighs; and then came a long and dreary
pull, through slush and mud and ice, for several miles, till we got
well across the summit of the Sierras, when we again took coaches and
rattled down to Donner Lake, where we arrived at 8-1/2 P. M., having
made only eighteen miles since noon. The most of us walked a good
part of the way, and found it altogether rather a fatiguing march.
The depth of the snow still left on the summit seemed surprising; but
a gentleman I met in San Francisco assured me, that when he crossed
the Sierras in December previous, he found the telegraph poles, even,
in many places snowed under. The stage-people reported the snow as
having been fifteen and twenty feet in depth on the level generally,
and we could see where they had set up poles and "shakes" long
before, to mark out the general course of the road itself.
It was these huge vast snows that the Central Pacific folks had
mainly to provide against, and the problem would have appalled most
men. But they quietly set to work to board the snows out, and since
then have literally housed their road in for thirty miles or more.
The surrounding forests furnished them cheap timber, and portable
saw-mills shifted from point to point soon converted this into the
required lumber. But what a herculean job it really was! These great
snow-sheds or snow-galleries consumed in all nearly forty-five million
feet, board measure, of sawed timber, and over a million and a quarter
feet of round timber, equivalent in the aggregate to fifty-two and
a half million feet, board measure, of sawed timber; and nearly a
thousand tons of iron and spikes. Two general styles of construction
were adopted--one intended for localities where the _weight_ of the
snow only had to be supported, and the other for such places as
were exposed to "slides," and the slower but almost irresistible
"glacial movement" of the snow, as on the steep and rocky slopes near
the summit. These galleries have proved a great success, and though
frequently covered with drifted snow to a depth of ten or twenty feet,
and in some places of more than fifty feet, they afford a safe passage
for trains at all seasons, without noticeable detentions.
Near the summit, we came upon John Chinaman again, in all his glory.
Here was the "Heathen Chinee," five thousand strong, burrowing and
tunnelling a way for the road, through the back-bone of the Sierras.
It was a huge piece of work, nearly half a mile long, through the
solid granite; but John was patiently pegging away at it, from four
different faces, and soon afterwards completed it successfully. They
all wore their pig-tails, the same as in San Francisco, but usually
had these sacred appendages twisted well around their heads, instead
of dangling at their heels; and, with the exception of the universal
blue blouse, were dressed like ordinary navvies or laborers. Of
course, they had American or English superintendents and foremen of
gangs; but these all spoke well of the almond-eyed strangers, and
praised them, especially, for their docility and intelligence. A more
industrious or orderly set of workingmen, were never seen; and though
railroad-building was a new employment for Asiatics, they seemed to
take to it very kindly. Subsequently, they pushed the Central down
the mountains, and through to Ogden City; and the day is not distant,
when they will push such roads, with their thousand civilizing
influences, all through the Flowery Kingdom.
We crossed the summit just at sunset, and from that proud
altitude--seven thousand two hundred feet above the sea--gazed down
upon that gem of the Sierras, Donner Lake--a body of crystalline
water, five miles long by over half a mile wide, in the very heart
of the mountains. The crest of the Sierras lifts itself boldly along
the west, but elsewhere the ridges slope down to the Lake, and the
hoary peaks and cliffs seem to hold it in their lap, like a sleeping
infant. The sunset itself, that evening, was superb. The clouds
became gold, the snow burnished silver, while a purple haze sifted
down from the sky, and soon veiled exquisitely the lake and its
far-stretching cañons. As the night gathered deeper, the lights and
shadows became grandly sublime; and then, as a fitting sequel, came
one of those glorious skies, ablaze with stars, for which the Coast
is so famed. It was blackest marble, gemmed with silver. It seemed to
uplift itself into eternity. The whole scene fixed itself indelibly
in the memory, and though we saw Lake Tahoe afterwards I preferred
this view of Donner Lake.
In the midst of the falling shadows, we passed the snow-limit, and
again betook ourselves to mountain mud-wagons, which farther down
we again exchanged for Concord coaches. About 9 P. M. we halted for
supper, but were soon on the road again, and striking the Truckee,
followed it down until long after sunrise. Once out of the mountains,
its valley rapidly broadened; but here was the rainless region, and
sage-brush again prevailed, as in Idaho and Arizona. Here and there,
we passed some fair farms; but irrigation was the secret, and without
this, agriculture in Nevada, as elsewhere in the great basin of the
continent, will seldom amount to much. The air continued raw and
chilly, well into the morning; but the roads had become dusty and
superb, and we bowled along down the mountains, and up the wonderful
Geiger grade, at a swinging pace, that brought us into Virginia
City--seventy miles or more from Cisco--at about 10 A. M. Here we
stopped at the International, then the "swell" house of Virginia
City, and found excellent cheer, for the hungry and the weary.
The next day was Sunday, and though many of the business houses
continued open, yet the mines and mills as a rule were silent, and
the proportion of church-goers was larger than we expected. Virginia
already boasted several creditable churches, and in one of these a
noted revivalist from the East (Rev. Mr. E.) was attracting crowds
by his zeal and earnestness. His discourse that day was bald to
plainness, but direct and searching; and when, at its close, he invited
penitents to rise, a score or more stood up--many of them rough and
burly men, bathed in tears. He had crossed our path in Oregon in
December, and subsequently we had heard of him again in San Francisco,
where the press were divided as to his merits. But here in Nevada, he
was regarded as a great evangelist, and one enthusiastic journalist
asserted that he had added more to the church, during his brief tour on
the Coast, than all their parsons before all put together. Some days
after, when about to depart for other fields, he was presented with a
silver "brick" or two, as appropriate evidence of Nevada appreciation.
As a mining town, Virginia City impresses one very favorably, and her
growth seemed steady and real. She already possessed many excellent
buildings, and others were fast going up. She sits high and dry,
on the side of a silver mountain, six thousand feet above the sea,
with a population of some eight or ten thousand souls, with other
mountains shouldering away beneath and above her; and, of course,
would never have been at all, had it not been for the lucky discovery
of the Comstock Lode. This is _the_ great lode of Nevada, from
which the bulk of her silver has been taken, and few of her mining
operations elsewhere were then paying for themselves. White Pine had
not then been discovered (May, '67), and the great enterprises of
Nevada, such as Gould & Curry, Yellow Jacket, Ophir, Savage, Crown
Point, etc., were all located on the Comstock Lode. This ran along
the mountain-side, beneath the town, for two or three miles, varying
in width from fifty to one hundred feet, and of unknown depth. The
Gould & Curry Company had sunk a shaft nearly a thousand feet, and
the argentiferous deposits still appeared, more or less richly.
Less than a third of the companies then at work on this great lode,
however (some thirty in all), were then paying dividends, and the
general product of the State, it was conceded, was falling off.
One company had spent over a million dollars, in "developing" its
property, without striking "pay-ore," and others were following in
its footsteps. But others, again, had paid very handsomely. The Gould
& Curry, on an investment of less than two hundred thousand dollars
from its stockholders, had paid them back four millions in dividends,
and altogether had produced over twelve millions in bullion. In one
year, it had yielded nearly five millions, with a clear profit of
over one million; but in 1867, it was not promising so well. It had
spent vast sums in mining and improvements, with something here and
there that looked like extravagance, if not worse. Its magnificent
mill, of eighty-stamp power, cost over a million of dollars, and was
said to be the largest and finest quartz-mill in the world. This
company owned twelve hundred feet of the Comstock Lode, and had
dug down nearly a thousand feet in depth, and back and forth fifty
times. Its shafts and tunnels measured over two miles under ground,
and it had used more lumber in strengthing its walls, it was said,
than was embraced in the whole of Virginia City overhead. We spent
an afternoon wandering through its drifts and galleries, part of the
time nine hundred and fifty feet beneath the surface, and were amazed
at the work that had been done.
Another, the Yellow Jacket, had yielded over two millions of dollars,
and paid its stock-holders nearly four hundred thousand dollars, or
fifty thousand more than all their subscriptions and assessments.
The Savage had taken out six millions of bullion, and the Ophir over
twelve millions; but, as yet, the stockholders had realized but
little, because of bad management and expensive experiments, that
proved failures. This Comstock ore averaged less than forty dollars
per ton, more usually only twenty-five to thirty; but it was less
refractory than most American ores, and required only to be crushed
and amalgamated to extract the bullion. Better "processes" were
continually being looked for, as in Colorado, with which it was hoped
much poorer ores would pay well. Selected ores, such as averaged a
thousand dollars per ton or so, were still shipped to Swansea, Wales,
for treatment, though this seemed absurd, considering the distance
and expense, and our vast deposits of coal at home. The famous Sutro
Tunnel, in behalf of which Congress has since been so earnestly
memorialized, is a magnificent scheme to tap this great lode at lower
levels, where it may be drained and worked at much better advantage;
and, if ever realized, will no doubt result in the Comstock turning
out fabulous sums again.[26]
The most of the mining capital seemed to be furnished by California,
and the best-informed people thought, notwithstanding the large
yield of many mines, that she had not yet received back the amount
of money she had actually invested. A fair estimate was, that she
had put fully a hundred millions into Nevada mines and mills, and
had taken out only about sixty millions, leaving a balance of forty
millions on the wrong side of the ledger yet; but then there were
the shafts and tunnels, the mills and machinery, with large added
experience, and 'Frisco capitalists were still hopeful of the future.
The fluctuations of mining stocks were great and frequent, and we
watched them with interest while on the Coast. A lucky "strike,"
probably in some rich "pocket," would send Savage or Yellow Jacket
high up·on the list for a few days or weeks, when the vein would
"peter out," and again it would drop to its former figures or
below. Our conclusion was, that silver-mining, after all, is a very
risky business. There may be money in it, for superintendents and
directors; but for stockholders, as a rule, very little. The Mexicans
have an adage, and they are old and experienced miners, that "it
takes a _mine_ to work a mine;" and that seemed to be about the
opinion of the best minds we met with. Miners and mining-life, are
much the same everywhere; and if the reader wants to know more about
them, let him turn to Chapter V., p. 58.
FOOTNOTES:
[25] Above Dutch Flat, the maximum grade of 116 feet per mile has
been resorted to, for over ten miles. From Owl Gap to the Summit, a
distance of twenty-four and a half miles, the average grade is 81,
and the maximum 85 feet per mile. From the Summit to the Truckee,
the average is 84, and the maximum 90 feet per mile; but down the
Truckee, the grades average less than 40 feet per mile.
[26] See Appendix.