GOLD
The discovery of gold--made, as everyone knows, by James Marshall, a
foreman of Sutter's, engaged in building a sawmill for the Captain--came
at a psychological time.[4]The Mexican War was just over and the
adventurous spirits, unwilling to settle down, were looking for new
excitement. Furthermore, the hard times of the Forties had blanketed the
East with mortgages. Many sober communities were ready, deliberately and
without excitement, to send their young men westward in the hope of
finding a way out of their financial difficulties. The Oregon question,
as has been already indicated, had aroused patriotism to such an extent
that westward migration had become a sort of mental contagion.
[4: January 24, 1848, is the date usually given.]
It took some time for the first discoveries to leak out, and to be
believed after they had gained currency. Even in California itself
interest was rather tepid at first. Gold had been found in small
quantities many years before, and only the actual sight of the metal in
considerable weight could rouse men's imaginations to the blazing point.
Among the most enthusiastic protagonists was one Sam Brannan, who often
appeared afterwards in the pages of Californian history. Brannan was a
Mormon who had set out from New York with two hundred and fifty Mormons
to try out the land of California as a possible refuge for the
persecuted sect. That the westward migration of Mormons stopped at Salt
Lake may well be due to the fact that on entering San Francisco Bay,
Brannan found himself just too late. The American flag was already
floating over the Presidio. Eye-witnesses say that Brannan dashed his
hat to the deck, exclaiming, "There is that damned rag again." However,
he proved an adaptable creature, for he and his Mormons landed
nevertheless, and took up the industries of the country.
Brannan collected the usual tithes from these men, with the ostensible
purpose of sending them on to the Church at Salt Lake. This, however,
he consistently failed to do. One of the Mormons, on asking Sutter how
long they should be expected to pay these tithes, received the answer,
"As long as you are fools enough to do so." But they did not remain
fools very much longer, and Brannan found himself deprived of this
source of revenue. On being dunned by Brigham Young for the tithes
already collected, Brannan blandly resigned from the Church, still
retaining the assets. With this auspicious beginning, aided by a burly,
engaging personality, a coarse, direct manner that appealed to men, and
an instinct for the limelight, he went far. Though there were a great
many admirable traits in his character, people were forced to like him
in spite of rather than because of them. His enthusiasm for any public
agitation was always on tap.
In the present instance he rode down from Sutter's Fort, where he then
had a store, bringing with him gold-dust and nuggets from the new
placers. "Gold! Gold! Gold from the American River!" shouted Brannan, as
he strode down the street, swinging his hat in one hand and holding
aloft the bottle of gold-dust in the other. This he displayed to the
crowd that immediately gathered. With such a start, this new interest
brought about a stampede that nearly depopulated the city.
The fever spread. People scrambled to the mines from all parts of the
State. Practically every able-bodied man in the community, except the
Spanish Californians, who as usual did not join this new enterprise with
any unanimity, took at least a try at the diggings. Not only did they
desert almost every sort of industry, but soldiers left the ranks and
sailors the ships, so that often a ship was left in sole charge of its
captain. All of American and foreign California moved to the foothills.
Then ensued the brief period so affectionately described in all
literalness as the Arcadian Age. Men drank and gambled and enjoyed
themselves in the rough manner of mining camps; but they were hardly
ever drunken and in no instance dishonest. In all literalness the miners
kept their gold-dust in tin cans and similar receptacles, on shelves,
unguarded in tents or open cabins. Even quarrels and disorder were
practically unknown. The communities were individualistic in the
extreme, and yet, with the Anglo-Saxon love of order, they adopted rules
and regulations and simple forms of government that proved entirely
adequate to their needs. When the "good old days" are mentioned with
the lingering regret associated with that phrase, the reference is to
this brief period that came between the actual discovery and
appreciation of gold and the influx from abroad that came in the
following years.
This condition was principally due to the class of men concerned. The
earliest miners were a very different lot from the majority of those who
arrived in the next few years. They were mostly the original population,
who had come out either as pioneers or in the government service. They
included the discharged soldiers of Stevenson's regiment of New York
Volunteers, who had been detailed for the war but who had arrived a
little late, the so-called Mormon Battalion, Sam Brannan's immigrants,
and those who had come as settlers since 1842. They were a rough lot
with both the virtues and the defects of the pioneer. Nevertheless among
their most marked characteristics were their honesty and their kindness.
Hittell gives an incident that illustrates the latter trait very well.
"It was a little camp, the name of which is not given and perhaps is not
important. The day was a hot one when a youth of sixteen came limping
along, footsore, weary, hungry, and penniless. There were at least
thirty robust miners at work in the ravine and it may well be believed
they were cheerful, probably now and then joining in a chorus or
laughing at a joke. The lad as he saw and heard them sat down upon the
bank, his face telling the sad story of his misfortunes. Though he said
nothing he was not unobserved. At length one of the miners, a stalwart
fellow, pointing up to the poor fellow on the bank, exclaimed to his
companions, 'Boys, I'll work an hour for that chap if you will.' All
answered in the affirmative and picks and shovels were plied with even
more activity than before. At the end of an hour a hundred dollars'
worth of gold-dust was poured into his handkerchief. As this was done
the miners who had crowded around the grateful boy made out a list of
tools and said to him: 'You go now and buy these tools and come back.
We'll have a good claim staked out for you; then you've got to paddle
for yourself.'"
Another reason for this distinguished honesty was the extent and
incredible richness of the diggings, combined with the firm belief that
this richness would last forever and possibly increase. The first gold
was often found actually at the roots of bushes, or could be picked out
from the veins in the rocks by the aid of an ordinary hunting-knife.
Such pockets were, to be sure, by no means numerous; but the miners did
not know that. To them it seemed extremely possible that gold in such
quantities was to be found almost anywhere for the mere seeking.
Authenticated instances are known of men getting ten, fifteen, twenty,
and thirty thousand dollars within a week or ten days, without
particularly hard work. Gold was so abundant it was much easier to dig
it than to steal it, considering the risks attendant on the latter
course. A story is told of a miner, while paying for something, dropping
a small lump of gold worth perhaps two or three dollars. A bystander
picked it up and offered it to him. The miner, without taking it, looked
at the man with amazement, exclaiming: "Well, stranger, you are a
curiosity. I guess you haven't been in the diggings long. You had better
keep that lump for a sample."
These were the days of the red-shirted miner, of romance, of Arcadian
simplicity, of clean, honest working under blue skies and beneath the
warm California sun, of immense fortunes made quickly, of faithful
"pardners," and all the rest. This life was so complete in all its
elements that, as we look back upon it, we unconsciously give it a
longer period than it actually occupied. It seems to be an epoch, as
indeed it was; but it was an epoch of less than a single year, and it
ended when the immigration from the world at large began.
The first news of the gold discovery filtered to the east in a
roundabout fashion through vessels from the Sandwich Islands. A
Baltimore paper published a short item. Everybody laughed at the rumor,
for people were already beginning to discount California stories. But
they remembered it. Romance, as ever, increases with the square of the
distance; and this was a remote land. But soon there came an official
letter written by Governor Mason to the War Department wherein he said
that in his opinion, "There is more gold in the country drained by the
Sacramento and San Joaquin rivers than would pay the cost of the late
war with Mexico a hundred times over." The public immediately was alert.
And then, strangely enough, to give direction to the restless spirit
seething beneath the surface of society, came a silly popular song. As
has happened many times before and since, a great movement was set to
the lilt of a commonplace melody. Minstrels started it; the public
caught it up. Soon in every quarter of the world were heard the strains
of _Oh, Susannah!_ or rather the modification of it made to fit this
case:
"I'll scrape the mountains clean, old girl,
I'll drain the rivers dry.
I'm off for California, Susannah, don't you cry.
Oh, Susannah, don't you cry for me,
I'm off to California with my wash bowl on my
knee!"
The public mind already prepared for excitement by the stirring events
of the past few years, but now falling into the doldrums of both
monotonous and hard times, responded eagerly. Every man with a drop of
red blood in his veins wanted to go to California. But the journey was a
long one, and it cost a great deal of money, and there were such things
as ties of family or business impossible to shake off. However, those
who saw no immediate prospect of going often joined the curious clubs
formed for the purpose of getting at least one or more of their members
to the El Dorado. These clubs met once in so often, talked over details,
worked upon each other's excitement even occasionally and officially
sent some one of their members to the point of running amuck. Then he
usually broke off all responsibilities and rushed headlong to the gold
coast.
The most absurd ideas obtained currency. Stories did not lose in travel.
A work entitled _Three Weeks in the Gold Mines_, written by a mendacious
individual who signed himself H.I. Simpson, had a wide vogue. It is
doubtful if the author had ever been ten miles from New York; but he
wrote a marvelous and at the time convincing tale. According to his
account, Simpson had only three weeks for a tour of the gold-fields, and
considered ten days of the period was all he could spare the unimportant
job of picking up gold. In the ten days, however, with no other
implements than a pocket-knife, he accumulated fifty thousand dollars.
The rest of the time he really preferred to travel about viewing the
country! He condescended, however, to pick up incidental nuggets that
happened to lie under his very footstep. Said one man to his friend: "I
believe I'll go. I know most of this talk is wildly exaggerated, but I
am sensible enough to discount all that sort of thing and to disbelieve
absurd stories. I shan't go with the slightest notion of finding the
thing true, but will be satisfied if I do reasonably well. In fact, if I
don't pick up more than a hatful of gold a day I shall be perfectly
satisfied."
Men's minds were full of strange positive knowledge, not only as to the
extent of the goldmines, but also as to theory and practice of the
actual mining. Contemporary writers tell us of the hundreds and hundreds
of different strange machines invented for washing out the gold and
actually carried around the Horn or over the Isthmus of Panama to San
Francisco. They were of all types, from little pocket-sized affairs up
to huge arrangements with windmill arms and wings. Their destination was
inevitably the beach below the San Francisco settlement, where, half
buried in the sand, torn by the trade winds, and looted for whatever of
value might inhere in the metal parts, they rusted and disintegrated, a
pathetic and grisly reminder of the futile greed of men.
Nor was this excitement confined to the eastern United States. In France
itself lotteries were held, called, I believe, the Lotteries of the
Golden Ingot. The holders of the winning tickets were given a trip to
the gold-fields. A considerable number of French came over in that
manner, so that life in California was then, as now, considerably
leavened by Gallicism. Their ignorance of English together with their
national clannishness caused them to stick together in communities.
They soon became known as Keskydees. Very few people knew why. It was
merely the frontiersmen's understanding of the invariable French phrase
_"Qu'est-ce qu'il dit?"_ In Great Britain, Norway, to a certain extent
in Germany, South America, and even distant Australia, the adventurous
and impecunious were pricking up their ears and laying their plans.
There were offered three distinct channels for this immigration. The
first of these was by sailing around Cape Horn. This was a slow but
fairly comfortable and reasonably safe route. It was never subject to
the extreme overcrowding of the Isthmus route, and it may be dismissed
in this paragraph. The second was by the overland route, of which there
were several trails. The third was by the Isthmus of Panama. Each of
these two is worth a chapter, and we shall take up the overland
migration first.