THE FIRST DAY AT THE MINES.
About three o’clock in the afternoon the stage from Sacramento arrived
at Howe’s Gulch.
Among the other passengers Grant descended, his limbs sore from rattling
over the roughest kind of roads, and stretching himself, he looked
around him.
The stage had drawn up in front of the hotel, but it was not such a
hotel as the reader is accustomed to see. It was a long, low frame
building, with what might be called an attic overhead, which was used as
a general dormitory, with loose beds of straw spread over the floor.
Here twenty-five persons slept in a single room. Down below rude meals
were supplied for those who could afford to pay the price.
But Grant felt little interest in the hotel. He expected to meet Tom
Cooper, and looked out for him.
He had not long to wait.
“How are you, Grant? Delighted to see you. How’s the folks?”
Grant turned, and in the bearded, roughly dressed miner found it
difficult to recognize his friend of the plains—Tom Cooper.
His face lighted up as he grasped Tom’s hand cordially.
“Your father and mother are well,” he said, “and so is Mr. Silverthorn.”
“What! have you seen that scoundrel?”
“I left him at Sacramento. He wanted me to pay his fare out here.”
“You declined?”
“Yes; I thought he would be company for your father. He may adopt
Silverthorn in your place.”
“He’s welcome to him, if he likes. It’s good for sore eyes to see you,
Grant. How do you feel?”
“Sore enough. I thought I should be shaken to pieces over the rough
road.”
“You are hungry, I reckon. Come into the hotel, and we’ll have dinner.”
Nothing loath, Grant followed Tom into the dining-room, where dinner was
laid in readiness for the stage passengers. It was not such a meal as an
epicure would enjoy, but Grant ate with great relish.
“So you have been doing well, Tom?” said Grant, between two mouthfuls.
“Yes; you didn’t tell father what I wrote you?”
“No; you told me not to.”
“What did he say about me?”
“He said that he didn’t believe you were doing much; he thought you had
better come back to Sacramento and help him in the shop.”
Tom laughed.
“I think I’ll stay here a little longer,” he replied. “How is dad
doing?”
“Finely. He is making ten dollars a day.”
“Good for him! He wouldn’t do for mining. Besides, there’s mother. He’s
better off where he is.”
“Where do you sleep, Tom?”
“Upstairs. I have a pair of blankets up there, and a pillow, and I don’t
need anybody to make my bed.”
“I suppose I ought to have a pair of blankets.”
“I’ll buy you a pair. There’s a chap going to leave to-day, and we can
buy his. Now come out and see the mines.”
Leaving the hotel, Tom led the way to the mining claims. There was a
deep gulch half a mile distant, at the base of which ran a creek, and it
was along this that the claims were staked out. They were about twenty
feet wide, in some cases more. Tom led the way to his, and showed Grant
the way he worked. He used a rocker, or cradle. A sieve was fitted in at
the top, and into this the miner shoveled the dirt. Tom rocked the
cradle with one hand, after it was filled, and poured water on the dirt
from a dipper. Gradually the dirt was washed out, and if there was any
gold it would remain in small gleaming particles mixed with black sand.
“Isn’t that rather a rough way of working, Tom?” asked Grant, after his
tour of inspection.
“Yes; I have been thinking of getting what the miners call a ‘long
tom’—no pun intended.”
“What is that?”
I won’t give Tom’s answer, but quote a more accurate description from an
English book published in 1857: “A ‘long tom’ is nothing more than a
wooden trough from twelve to twenty-five feet long, and about a foot
wide. At the lower end it widens considerably, and the floor of it is a
sheet of iron, pierced with holes half an inch in diameter, under which
is placed a flat box a couple of inches deep. The long tom is set at a
slight inclination over the place which is to be worked, and a stream of
water is kept running through it by means of a hose. While some of the
party shovel the dirt into the tom as fast as they can dig it up, one
man stands at the lower end, stirring up the dirt as it is washed down,
separating the stones and throwing them out, while the earth and small
gravel fall with the water through the sieve into the ripple box. This
box is about five feet long, and is crossed by two partitions. It is
also placed at an inclination, so that the water falling into it keeps
the dirt loose, allowing the gold and heavy particles to settle to the
bottom, while all the lighter stuff washes over the end of the box along
with the water.”
The dirt taken out of the ripple box has to be washed out afterward, so
as to leave the gold particles.
“Where is the claim you have bought for me, Tom?” asked Grant.
“A little farther down the creek. I will show you.”
“Lend me your cradle, and, see if I can work it.”
Grant took the cradle and, under Tom’s direction, shoveled in some dirt,
and proceeded to rock it. He was quite delighted when, as the result of
his labors, a few specks of gold appeared at the bottom.
“How much does it amount to, Tom?” he asked, gathering it into his hand.
“Perhaps a dime.”
Grant looked rather disappointed.
“It would take some time to get rich at that rate,” he said rather
ruefully.
“Yes; but there is always a chance of ‘striking it rich.’ That is what
keeps our spirits up. By the way, Grant, I have a proposal to make to
you.”
“What is it, Tom?”
“Suppose we work together. We can take turns in digging, shovelling in
the dirt, and rocking the cradle. That will be more sociable, and we can
divide equally whatever gold we obtain.”
“That will suit me exactly, Tom; but as you are more experienced than I,
you ought to have more than half.”
“No, Grant. It shall be share and share alike. There is another
advantage. It will save getting an extra rocker.”
“I am ready to begin at once.”
“Are you not too tired?”
“No, Tom. I want to feel that I have begun to work. If I get tired I can
sleep better to-night.”
They worked for two hours, when they knocked off for the day. The work
was done on Grant’s claim. Tom estimated the result at a dollar.
“That is fifty cents apiece,” he said. “To-morrow we’ll do better.”
“I don’t mind, Tom. I have made a beginning. Now I feel that I am a
miner.”
At six o’clock they went to the hotel, which was a general
lounging-place for the miners.