At last Bigbear Gully was reached, and our travellers--especially those
of them who, being new to the work, were all enthusiasm--pressed eagerly
forward, anxious to begin without delay.
Bigbear Gully--so named because of a huge grizzly bear that had been
shot there at the commencement of digging operations--was a wild and
somewhat gloomy but picturesque mountain gorge, the first sight of
which, with its lights and shadows, stupendous cliffs and clumps of wood
clinging to the hill-sides, called forth a burst of delight and
admiration from Frank Allfrey, whose mind at once leaped with loving
desire to the brush and the colour-box; but as these implements were at
that time packed among the baggage on the mule's back, and as the love
of art was not sufficiently strong in the guide to induce him to permit
of a moment's delay in the journey, our hero was fain to content himself
with visions of future indulgence in his favourite study.
The "diggings," which they first got sight of in the afternoon of a fine
and sunny but cool day, were at the mouth of a deep gorge at the lower
end of the gully, having an abrupt mountain acclivity about eight
hundred feet high on one side, and on the other a plain bounded by
mountains. Here numbers of tents of all sizes and various shapes were
pitched on the slopes and near the banks of the river that brawled down
the centre of the little valley.
No sooner had the travellers entered the camp than the diggers left
their work and flocked round them to ask the news, and, more
particularly, to ascertain what provisions had been brought to the
valley,--for the necessaries of life at that time were getting scarce,
and the party from which Frank and his companions had separated, strange
to say, had not arrived.
Great anxiety was manifested by the diggers on hearing of this
separation, because on the safe and speedy arrival of that party they
depended almost for their existence, and deep as well as loud were the
expressions of disappointment and discontent when they were told that,
if all had gone well, they should have been at the gully some days
before.
Soon, however, the diggers had exhausted their queries and returned to
their work, leaving the new arrivals to look after their own affairs.
This they proceeded to do promptly.
"Now, friends," said Jeffson, "our journeying together has come to an
end, and it remains for you to settle whether you shall keep together
and work in company, or separate. As for me, my business compels me to
leave you. Yonder white tent, which you see about half a mile up
the river, belongs to me and my partner. It is the great
economico-universal store of Jeffson and Company, which supplies diggers
liberally on the most moderate terms, giving credit as long as it seems
advisable to do so. When Jeffson is absent, Company takes charge of the
concern, and it is my opinion that Company will be kind o' glad to-night
to see the head of the firm come back safe and sound with fresh
supplies. You see, gentlemen, I feel it sort of incumbent on me to make
you a farewell speech as a fellow-traveller, because I mean to become a
host for to-night, and ask you to come up to the store and partake of
our hospitality. I am quite sure that you will acquit me of the
unworthy motive of wishing to attract you as customers, when I tell you
that I am already certain of your custom, seeing that there is no other
store in the gully, and I guess you won't be inclined to go down to
Sacramento for supplies for some time to come."
There was a general laugh at this, followed by a hearty expression of
thanks from all the party, who forthwith adjourned to the store, where
they found "Company" (who was an Irishman named Quin) barely able to
keep his legs, in consequence of a violent attack of dysentery which had
reduced him to a mere shadow. The poor man could scarcely refrain from
shedding tears of joy at the sight of his partner, who, to do him
justice, was almost as much affected by sorrow at the miserable
appearance presented by his friend.
"Sure it's dead I am intirely--all but," said Quin, as he wrung
Jeffson's hand again and again; "if ye'd bin a day later it's my belaif
I'd have gone under the sod."
"Well, you do look like it, Quin," said Jeffson, stepping back to take a
more critical view of him. "What on airth pulled all the flesh off yer
bones in this fashion?"
"Sickness, no less. Faix, there's more than me is in the same fix. Jim
Dander, down at the cross creek, has got so thin that it's of no manner
o' use looking at him sideways, he's not quite visible till he turns his
flat front to ye. And Foxey is all but gone; and there's many a man
besides as is on the road to the grave, if not there already. Sure, the
doctor's the only man that makes money now, though he kills more than he
cures. The baste called to try his hand on mysilf, but I flung my big
boots at his head, an' saw no more of him."
"That's a bad account of things," said Jeffson; "however, here I am back
again with fresh supplies, so cheer up, man, and we'll weather the storm
yet. I've brought some fellow-travellers, you see, and hope you will
receive them hospitably."
"That must not be," said Frank Allfrey, advancing, "it would be unfair
to put your friend to unnecessary trouble, considering the state of
weakness to which--"
"Waikness, is it?" exclaimed Quin, seizing Frank's hand and shaking it;
"well, now, it's little I thought I'd iver live to be called waik!
Howsever, it's too thrue, but me moral strength is wonderful, so you're
heartily welcome, if ye can slaip on a plank floor an' ait salt-pork an'
paise. There, now, don't be botherin' a sick man wid yer assurances.
Just make yerselves at home, gintlemen, an' the head o' the firm will
git yer supper ready."
Saying this, the poor man, who was quite worn out with excitement and
the exertion of welcoming his partner, flung himself on his couch with a
deep sigh. As Jeffson also pressed his friends to remain, they made no
further objection.
While supper was being prepared, Frank and Joe went out to look at the
diggers.
"Now," said the former as they sauntered along the bank of the river,
"the question that you and I must settle at once is, are we two to work
by ourselves, or are we to join with our late friends, and work in
company?"
"Jine 'em, say I," replied Joe. "I'm fond of Meyer, and I like the
Scotchman too, though he is rather fond of argification; besides, it
strikes me that from what we have heard of diggers' ways, we shall be
the better of being a strong party."
"Four men don't form a very strong party, Joe; however, I agree with
you. It would be well that we four should stick together. So, that's
settled, and now we shall go and ask yonder fellow in the red shirt and
big boots something about our prospects."
The scene in the midst of which they now found themselves was curious,
interesting, and suggestive. For two miles along its course the banks
of the river were studded with tents, and on each side of it were
diggers, working at short distances apart, or congregated together,
according to the richness of the deposits. About twenty feet was the
space generally allowed at that time to a washing machine. Most of the
diggers worked close to the banks of the stream, others partially
diverted its course to get at its bed, which was considered the richest
soil. At one place a company of eighty men had banded together for the
purpose of cutting a fresh channel for the river--a proceeding which
afterwards resulted in a fierce and fatal affray with the men who worked
below them. Elsewhere on the sides of the mountains and in "gulches"
formed by torrents, men toiled singly and in twos or threes, with picks,
shovels, washing-pans, and cradles. All were very busy, but all were
not equally hopeful, for, while some had been successful in finding the
precious metal, others had failed, and were very desponding.
"Have you had good fortune to-day?" asked Frank, stopping at the edge of
the hole in which the miner with the red shirt toiled.
"Not very good," replied the man, whose voice betokened him an
Englishman.
He was an immensely powerful, good-looking fellow, and paused in his
work to reply to Frank's question with a hearty air.
"Have you to dig very deep?" inquired Frank.
"Not very," he replied; "the depth varies in different parts of the
diggings. Here it is seldom necessary to go deeper than four feet.
Indeed, a white rock usually lays about the depth of two feet under the
soil. It is difficult to cut through, and does not pay for the
trouble."
"Do you find gold on the surface?" continued Frank.
"Almost none. Being weighty, it sinks downwards through the loose
earth, and settles on the rock. I see, gentlemen, that you are
strangers, and, if I mistake not, Englishmen. I am a countryman,
hailing from Cornwall, and, if you have no objection, will accompany you
in your inspection of the diggings. My experience may be of service to
you, perhaps, and I can at all events guard you from the scoundrels who
make a livelihood by deceiving and cheating newcomers."
Frank thanked the Cornish miner for his kind offer, and accompanied by
this new and intelligent friend, he and Joe continued their ramble.
One of the first men whom they addressed happened to be one of the
sharpers referred to. He was a Yankee, and although the Yankees were by
no means the _only_ scoundrels there, for there was no lack of such--
English, Scotch, Irish, German, and Chinese--they were unquestionably
the "'cutest!"
This man was very busy when they approached, and appeared to be quite
indifferent to them. Observing, however, that they were about to pass
by, he looked up, and, wiping his brow, said, "Good-evening."
"Good-evening," said Frank, "What luck?"
"Luck enough," replied the man, "I'm tired of luck; the fact is, I have
made my pile, and want to make tracks for home, but this is such a
splendid claim that I can't tear myself away from it. See here."
He struck his shovel into the ground as he spoke, and lifted a quantity
of earth, or "dirt," into a basin, washed it out, and displayed to the
astonished gaze of the "greenhorns," as newcomers were called, a large
quantity of gold-dust, with several small nuggets interspersed.
"Splendid!" exclaimed Frank.
"You'll make your fortin," said Joe Graddy.
"It's made already, I reckon," said the Yankee, with the air of a man
who was overburdened with success. "The truth is, I want to get away
before the rainy season comes on, and will part with this here claim for
an old song. I'm half inclined to make you a present of it, but I don't
quite see my way to that. However, I've no objection to hand it over
for, say a hundred dollars."
"H'm!" ejaculated the Cornish man, "will you take a shovelful from the
_other_ end of the claim and wash it out?"
The Yankee smiled, put his finger on the side of his nose, and, wishing
them success in whatever line of life they chose to undertake, went on
with his work.
The Cornish miner laughed, and, as he walked away, explained to his
astonished companions that this was a common dodge.
"The rascals," he said, "hide a little gold in a claim that is
valueless, and, digging it up as you have seen, wash it out in the
presence of newcomers, in the hope of taking them in. But here we come
to a party who will show you a little of legitimate gold-washing."
They approached, as he spoke, a bend of the river where several men were
busy at work--some with pick and shovel, some with the cradle, and
others with tin washing-pans. Here they stood for some time watching
the process of gold-washing.
At the time of which we write, only the two simple processes of washing,
with the pan and with the cradle, were practised at Bigbear Gully, the
more elaborate methods of crushing quartz, etcetera, not having been
introduced.
The most simple of these was the _pan_ process, which was much in
favour, because the soil, or "dirt" was so rich in gold-dust that it
"paid" well, and it only required that the miner should possess a pick,
a shovel, and a tin pan. With this very limited stock in trade he could
begin without delay, and earn at least a subsistence; perhaps even make
"his pile," or, in other words, his fortune.
One of the men connected with the party above referred to was engaged in
pan-washing. He stood in a hole four feet deep, and had just filled a
flat tin dish with dirt, as Frank and his companions stopped to observe
him. Pouring water on the dirt, the miner set the pan down, dipped both
hands into it and stirred the contents about until they became liquid
mud--removing the stones in the process, and operating in such a manner
that he caused some of the contents to escape, or spill, off the top at
each revolution. More water was added from time to time, and the
process continued until all the earthy matter was washed away, and
nothing but a kind of black sand, which contained the gold, left at the
bottom. The separation of the metal from the black sand was an after
process, and a more difficult one. It was accomplished in some cases by
means of a magnet which attracted the sand. In other cases this was
blown carefully off from a sheet of paper, but a few of the miners, who
managed matters in a more extensive and thorough manner, effected the
separation by means of quicksilver. They mixed it with the sand, added
a little water, and stirred it about until the gold amalgamated with the
quicksilver, converting it into a little massive, tangible, and soft
heap. It was then put into a buckskin cloth, through the pores of which
the quicksilver was squeezed, leaving the pure gold behind. Any
trifling quantity of the former that might still remain was afterwards
evaporated on a heated shovel or pan.
An expert worker in average ground could gather and wash a panful of
dirt every ten minutes. There were few places in Bigbear Gully that
would not yield two shillings' worth of gold to the panful, so that in
those early days, while the surface soil was still fresh, a man could,
by steady work alone--without incidental nuggets--work out gold-dust to
the value of between five and six pounds sterling a day, while,
occasionally, he came upon a lump, or nugget, equal, perhaps, to what he
could procure by the labour of a week or more.
Many, however, of the more energetic miners worked in companies and used
cradles, by means of which they washed out a much larger quantity of
gold in shorter time; and in places which did not yield a sufficient
return by the pan process to render it worth while working, the cradle
owners obtained ample remuneration for their toil.
The cradle, which Frank and his comrades saw working not far from the
pan-washer, was by no means a complex affair. It was a semi-circular
trough hollowed out of a log six feet long by sixteen inches diameter.
At one end of this was a perforated copper or iron plate, with a rim of
iron or wood round it, on which the dirt was thrown, and water poured
thereon, by one man, while the cradle was rocked by another. The gold,
earth, and small gravel were thus separated from the larger stones, and
washed down the trough, in which, at intervals, two tranverse bars were
placed; the first of these arrested the gold, which from its great
weight sunk to the bottom, while the gravel, and lighter substances,
were swept away by the current. The lower bar caught any particles
that, by awkward management, might have passed the upper one.
Having satisfied their curiosity, and learned from an obliging miner the
method of washing the gold, our adventurers returned to Jeffson's store,
and there spent the night in discussing their plan of procedure. It was
decided, first of all, that they should stick together and work in
company.
"You see, mates," observed Joe Graddy, after the others had given their
opinions, "this is how it stands. I must stick by Mister Allfrey,
'cause why, we've bin pullin' in the same boat together for some time
past, an' it's nat'ral for to wish to continue so to do. Then Douglas
and Meyer ought to stick to us, 'cause we have for so long stuck to
them, an' they ought to stick to one another 'cause they're mootooally
fond o' misty-physical jabberin' on religious subjects, which is greatly
to our edification, seein' that we don't onderstand it, and finds it
highly amoosin' while we smoke our pipes after a hard day's work, d'ye
see? So, on them grounds, I votes that we j'ine company an' go to work
at seven o'clock to-morrow mornin'."
"Das ist goot advise," said the German, slapping Joe on the shoulder,
"an' I vould add mine vott, vich is, to make you commandair of de
forces."
"Very good, then I command you to shut your mouth, and go to bed."
"Unpossabil," replied Meyer, "for I do snor, an' always do him troo de
mout'."
"I prefers to do it through the nose," remarked Joe, rolling his blanket
round him and lying down on the hard boards with his head on a sack.
Expressing a hope that they would restrain their snoring propensities as
much as possible, the remaining members of the new co-partnery lay down
beside them, and were speedily in the land of dreams. Need we add that
their dreams that night were of gold? Surely not, and perhaps it were
equally unnecessary to observe that their slumbers were profound.