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[Illustration: THE PACIFIC SERIES.]
THE
YOUNG MINER;
OR,
TOM NELSON IN CALIFORNIA.
BY
HORATIO ALGER, JR.,
AUTHOR OF "RAGGED DICK," "TATTERED TOM," "LUCK AND PLUCK," "BRAVE AND
BOLD" SERIES, ETC., ETC.
PHILADELPHIA:
HENRY T. COATES & CO.
FAMOUS ALGER BOOKS.
* * * * *
=RAGGED DICK SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 6 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
RAGGED DICK.
FAME AND FORTUNE.
MARK THE MATCH BOY.
ROUGH AND READY.
BEN THE LUGGAGE BOY.
RUFUS AND ROSE.
=TATTERED TOM SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. FIRST
SERIES.
TATTERED TOM.
PAUL THE PEDDLER.
PHIL THE FIDDLER.
SLOW AND SURE.
=TATTERED TOM SERIES=. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
JULIUS.
THE YOUNG OUTLAW.
SAM'S CHANCE.
THE TELEGRAPH BOY.
=CAMPAIGN SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols.
FRANK'S CAMPAIGN.
PAUL PRESCOTT'S CHARGE.
CHARLIE CODMAN'S CRUISE.
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mos. Cloth.
FIRST SERIES.
LUCK AND PLUCK.
SINK OR SWIM.
STRONG AND STEADY.
STRIVE AND SUCCEED.
=LUCK AND PLUCK SERIES=. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth. SECOND SERIES.
TRY AND TRUST.
BOUND TO RISE.
RISEN FROM THE RANKS.
HERBERT CARTER'S LEGACY.
=BRAVE AND BOLD SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BRAVE AND BOLD.
JACK'S WARD.
SHIFTING FOR HIMSELF.
WAIT AND HOPE.
=PACIFIC SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo.
THE YOUNG ADVENTURER.
THE YOUNG MINER.
THE YOUNG EXPLORERS.
BEN'S NUGGET.
=ATLANTIC SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols.
THE YOUNG CIRCUS RIDER.
DO AND DARE.
HECTOR'S INHERITANCE.
HELPING HIMSELF.
=WAY TO SUCCESS SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 4 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
BOB BURTON.
THE STORE BOY.
LUKE WALTON.
STRUGGLING UPWARD.
=NEW WORLD SERIES=. By HORATIO ALGER, JR. 3 vols. 12mo. Cloth.
DIGGING FOR GOLD.
FACING THE WORLD.
IN A NEW WORLD.
=_Other Volumes in Preparation._=
* * * * *
COPYRIGHT BY A. K. LORING, 1879.
To
GENEVIEVE AND ANITA ALGER,
This Volume
IS AFFECTIONATELY DEDICATED.
PREFACE.
When "The Young Adventurer" was published, a year since, as the initial
volume of The Pacific Series, it was announced that the second volume
would be "The Young Pioneer." This has been changed to "The Young
Miner," in order to avoid confusion with a book bearing a title somewhat
similar to the one first proposed.
Those who were interested in Tom Nelson's trip across the Plains will
find in the present story a record of his adventures in the Land of
Gold. Though his prosperity was chiefly due to his own energy and
industry, it is also true that he was exceptionally lucky. Yet his good
fortune has been far exceeded by that of numerous adventurous spirits in
Colorado, within the last twelve months. Some measure of prosperity
generally awaits the patient and energetic worker, and seldom comes to
those who idly wait for something to turn up.
NEW YORK, Oct. 1, 1879.
THE YOUNG MINER;
OR,
TOM NELSON IN CALIFORNIA.
CHAPTER I.
THE GOLD-SEEKERS.
A dozen men, provided with rockers, were busily engaged in gathering and
washing dirt, mingled with gold-dust, on the banks of a small stream in
California. It was in the early days, and this party was but one of
hundreds who were scattered over the new Eldorado, seeking for the
shining metal which throughout the civilized world exercises a sway
potent and irresistible.
I have said there were a dozen men, but this is a mistake. One of the
party was a well-grown boy of sixteen, with a good-humored and even
handsome face. He was something more than good-humored, however. There
was an expression on his face which spoke of strength and resolution
and patient endurance. The readers of "The Young Adventurer" will at
once recognize in our young hero Tom Nelson, the oldest son of a poor
New England farmer, who, finding no prospects at home, had joined the
tide of emigrants pouring from all parts of the country to the land of
which so many marvelous stories were told. Tom had come to work; and
though he doubtless shared to some extent the extravagant anticipations
of the great body of Eastern visitors who hoped to make a fortune in a
year, he did not expect to succeed without hard toil.
His companions belonged to the same party with whom he had crossed the
plains, under the leadership of Phineas Fletcher, a broad-shouldered
Illinois farmer, who had his family with him. Next to Tom was Donald
Ferguson, a grave Scotchman, and Tom's special friend; a man of
excellent principles, thoroughly reliable, and held in high respect by
all though not possessed of popular manners. On the other side was
Lawrence Peabody, a young Boston clerk, who had spent several years
behind a dry-goods counter. He was soft and effeminate, with no talent
for "roughing it," and wholly unfitted for the hard work which he had
undertaken. He was deeply disappointed in his first work at
gold-hunting, having come out with the vague idea that he should pick up
a big nugget within a short time that would make his fortune and enable
him to go home a rich man. The practical side of gold-seeking--this
washing particles of dust from the dirt of the river-bed--was in the
highest degree unsatisfactory and discouraging. He was not a bad fellow;
and his companions, though they laughed at him, were well disposed
towards him.
Among the rest, mention may be made of John Miles, Henry Scott, and
Chapman, owner of a refractory donkey named after King Solomon.
Not far away from the river were the tents occupied by the miners. There
was but one house, roughly built of logs. This was occupied by Captain
Fletcher and his family. He had not had the trouble of building it, but
had found it ready for occupation, having been constructed by a
previous party who had wandered farther down the river in search of
richer washings. In fact, it was this building which had decided our
party to remain.
"There isn't much difference in places," said Fletcher. "We may as well
stay here."
"Then why was it deserted?" suggested John Miles, dubiously. "That's
rather against it, isn't it, captain?"
"Not necessarily, Miles. You've been on berrying parties, haven't you,
when at home?"
"Many a time."
"You've noticed that many of the pickers leave good places, just from
love of novelty, and wander about the field, often faring worse than if
they remained where they were?"
"That's so, captain."
"Then let us give this place a try. We'll make more working steady in a
medium place than wandering here, there, and everywhere."
So the whole party agreed to "give the place a try."
There had been no brilliant success as yet, but fair luck. In six days
Tom had washed out twenty-five dollars' worth of gold-dust, in spite of
awkwardness and inexperience. Others had done better, but poor Lawrence
Peabody had barely five dollars' worth to show. It must be said,
however, that he had not averaged more than two or three hours of real
labor in every twenty-four. He spent the rest of the time in wandering
about aimlessly, or sitting down and watching the labors of his
companions, while he enlivened them by pathetic lamentations over his
unfortunate position, so far away from Boston and the refining
influences of civilization.
A little transcript of a conversation between Tom and himself will throw
light upon the characters of both.
"This is beastly work," sighed Peabody, resting from his by no means
arduous labors, and looking over to Tom. "I tell you, it isn't fit for a
gentleman."
"It is rather hard to keep one's hands clean, Mr. Peabody," said Tom;
"but you mustn't think of the present. Think of the time when you will
go home, your pockets full of gold."
"I don't see any prospect of it, Tom," sighed Peabody. "Here I've been
hard at work for a week, and I haven't got over five dollars' worth of
dust."
"I have five times as much," said Tom.
"Some people are lucky," said Peabody.
"You haven't worked like Tom," said the Scotchman, plainly. "You haven't
averaged over two hours a day, while Tom has worked eight or ten."
"I have worked till my back was like to break," said the young man from
Boston. "I am not accustomed to manual labor, Mr. Ferguson. My friend
Tom has worked on a farm, while I have been engaged in mercantile
pursuits. Oh, why did I leave Boston!"
"I am sure I can't guess," said Ferguson, dryly.
"I never expected anything like _this_."
"What did you expect, if I may be so bold as to inquire?"
"I thought I should find the gold in big nuggets worth thousands of
dollars apiece. I was always reading in the papers about finding them. I
think it's a great shame to deceive people by such stories. I don't
believe there are any nuggets."
"Oh, yes, there are; but they are few and far between," said Fletcher.
"A neighbor of mine found one worth three thousand dollars. Altogether
he brought home five thousand dollars, and invested it in a farm and
saw-mill. He is doing a good business. When he came to California he had
nothing."
"That is what I should like, Captain Fletcher," said Tom. "If I could
only manage to carry home five thousand dollars, I could make my father
comfortable for life."
"I shouldn't be satisfied with five thousand dollars," said Peabody,
whose ideas were lofty.
"How much would satisfy you?"
"About fifty thousand," said the young Bostonian, his face lighting up
at the thought of so large a sum.
"And what would you do with it, if I may make so bold?" asked Ferguson.
"I would buy a nice house at the South End, furnish it handsomely, and
live in style."
"I suppose you would marry?" suggested Tom, smiling.
"I probably should," answered Peabody, gravely.
"Perhaps you have the lady already selected."
"I have."
"Who is she?" asked John Mills. "Come, now, Peabody, don't be bashful."
"It is the daughter of a Boston merchant."
"Does the lady love you?"
"We understand each other," answered Peabody, loftily. "She would marry
me, poor as I am, but for her purse-proud, mercenary sire. It will be a
happy day when, with my pockets full of gold, I enter his presence and
claim his daughter's hand."
"I wish you success, Mr. Peabody," said Tom. "I hope you have no
rivals."
"Yes, there is one."
"Are you not afraid of him?"
"Oh, no; he is a fellow of no style," said Peabody, drawing up his
slender form, and looking as stylish as a very dirty shirt, muddy boots,
and a soiled suit would allow.
"I think I shall wait awhile before getting married," said Tom. "I am
afraid I wouldn't stand any chance with an heiress, Mr. Peabody. Do you
think I can ever be stylish?"
The Bostonian understood Tom to be in earnest, and told him he thought
in time, under proper training, he might become fairly stylish.
The conversation was interrupted by the ringing of a bell from the
log-house. Mrs. Fletcher, by an arrangement with the party, prepared
their meals, and thus they fared better than most of the early pioneers.
Their labor gave them a good appetite, and they were more solicitous
about quantity than quality. Slow as he was at his work, there was no
one who exhibited greater alacrity at meal-times, than Lawrence Peabody.
At such times he was even cheerful.